#maybe a character x character fic then?? ive never done that before so would be fun

[itadore-you]

A sudden feeling has come over me. I must write a hakari fic at some point

[lokissweater]

hey i really really love your fics and the way you write youre so talented! ive been searching for a virgin!yuji x virgin!reader for so long and my life would literally be urs if you wrote this. if not no worries, i totally get it.

sending love! - anon

OH THIS IDEA IS HOOOOTTTTT AND U BEST BELIEVE IM ALL OVER IT!! thank you for your sweet words and for sending in a request!! i hope you like it!! :] <333

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oh my god, pretty!

{yuji itadori x f!reader}

summary: your relationship with yuji was semi new and cute, you both absolutely adoring the fuck out of one another since the moment you met. one thing you have in common though? you’re both loser virgins with absolutely no experience whatsoever, and on one night where you’re both innocently cuddling on the couch watching a movie— yuji goes NUTS.

warnings: MDNI. college!au, afab!reader, SMUT, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it ya’ll), accidental creampie LOL, yuji is a little perv, smut with barely any plot she goes straight to the good stuff, cursing, pet names, fluff, FILTHYYYY this is filthy, all characters are aged up.

word count: 3.9k

authors note: PHEEWWWW THIS ONE HAD ME MEOWING LIKE A KITTY CAT AND I HOPE YALL MEOW WITH ME!!! thank you for your support always, that is an absolute given, i love you and i love you forever. MWAAAHHHH <3333

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“are you okay baby?”

no you were not.

because yuji was in a black tight compression tee and pj’s while you both were watching a movie together and cuddling on your living room couch, the sleeves of his shirt accentuating his biceps and the rest of it squeezing over his pecs and torso, the brightness of your tv illuminating all of his sharp handsome features that had you gnawing at your nails in a nervous fit— him looking at you with pinched eyebrows.

yuji and you had just started dating a couple of months ago— his lively overly friendly personality winning you over without really much effort at all, and your genuine sweet one catching his heart the minute he saw you come into one of his lectures last year, looking soul killingly beautiful and radiant, the both of you befriending each other quickly as your interests aligned.

and you started hanging out on and off campus a lot more frequently after that— gradually falling more and more in love until yuji finally gathered up his jumpy nerves and asked you to be his girlfriend.

there was a problem though.

neither of you had had sex before, or had done anything in between the lines with other people before you got together.

it was the first thing that yuji worried about when he first started dating you— embarrassed and afraid that you would think he was a big fat loser with no game and that he would potentially run the risk of losing you, you maybe preferring a man of experience to match your own needs.

but when he admitted that to you, and when you shook your worried little head and told him you were in the same exact boat as him, he was fucking elated— his apprehensions crumbling down like a landslide and replaced instead with the giddiness of getting to do stuff with you for the first time ever, and him being the man (the only man ever he hoped) to get to do it to you.

but then there was another problem.

neither of you seemed to want to start anything, the both of you hesitant and scared because of your lack of experience— petrified of humiliating yourselves if one of you tried and pathetically failed at it or did something incorrectly.

“mhm! fine.” you smiled sweetly, your calm voice a completely different contrast to what was currently happening inside your reeling fuzzy brain.

you had both definitely talked about it, the subject of intimacy. but it was always something that the two of you reassured each other would happen eventually when you were both ready, that there was no rush— choosing to brush the subject off like it was nothing.

except it wasn’t nothing. it was never nothing. and you were both way past fucking ready, especially yuji, him practically ripping apart at the seams with horn dog need anytime he saw you wear those little skirts that you like so much, or whenever you’d straddle his lap during one of your daily makeout sessions— his hands literally trembling over your ass in attempts at being respectful of pretty ol’ you, settling for placing them on your upper back instead.

and you would internally pout, disappointed, because you always without fail noticed all of this yet you were too shy to mention anything or do something about it on your own.

“you sure?” he asked softly. “you look like you’re thinking about something.”

he raised a hand and gently poked your cheek repeatedly with his index finger, a silly smile on his face. “tell me baby tell me baby tell me baby—”

you giggled, “i’m okay! just zoned out.” you pushed his finger away, leaning up and pressing a quick shy kiss to his cheek that made him instantly flush pink in return, a wobbly smile spreading across his face.

in the midst of you retreating back to your previous position, yuji caught your chin with his fingers and turned you to look at him, your cheeks blushing as he stared at you with lovesick dreamy eyes.

“can we— um.” his gaze flickered to your lips. “can we make out.”

your eyes widened slightly and your hands grew clammy fast, cheeks buzzing as you stared back at him.

since making out was the only thing you both properly conquered, it happened almost every single time you saw each other, the act practically filling in and making up for the more lewd exchanges you both were missing out on, your kisses always sloppy and messy but heated— though each time it came around to it you were often just as nervous as the first time.

“s—sure!” you stammered. “you don’t have to ask me yuji… you can just— y’know… do it..”

he bit his tongue, your timidness for some fucking reason sending a shock of arousal through his veins and straight down to his dick as he tried his best to swallow it and not make it obvious for you.

“okay!”

he brought your face closer then and kissed you, a solid one at first, until you slowly parted your lips and ushered him in, deeper, your body moving closer to his on its own as he immediately responded with placing a hand on your leg to throw it over his lap, your mouths wet and slippery as he properly settled you to sit on him.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, the movie drowned out completely in the background as a sequence of lip smackings echoed throughout the room, yuji’s hands on your upper back like always as you continued to make out… until you felt a little stinging cramp in your knee— moving your hips a little bit to readjust, utterly unaware of how you accidentally applied pressure over yuji’s crotch as he sucked in a breath through his nose and pulled away.

“fuck don’t do that baby don’t do that.”

you froze, hands quickly retracting back to your chest. “what? what do what?”

“oh—” he froze, eyes wide and cheeks pink as his mouth opened and closed like a fishy out of water.

he couldn’t possibly tell you why, not wanting to scare you away by admitting that you grinding down on his crotch like that made his dick jerk and mind haze in the most filthy and perverted way imaginable, feeling like he wanted to dig himself a big fat grave of horny shame to throw himself into as he watched your pretty eyes look at him the way that they were, wanting that same look but underneath him instead—

your bent knee cramped up once more and you hissed, moving your hips again except this time harder, yuji’s eyes flying open as the grip around your upper torso tightened, a strangled whiny hum escaping his throat.

your eyes snapped to his at the sound, now feeling something hard poking your clothed pussy as your brain finally put fucking two and two together, your hand slapping over your mouth in embarrassment at what you did and over your stupid delayed realization.

“oh! yuji i’m so sorry i— i didn’t realize—”

he shook his head rapidly, his cheeks and ears red as he shakily smoothed his hands over your hips comfortingly.

“no baby! don’t be sorry it’s okay!” he quickly kissed your forehead. “i—it’s me… it’s not you at all…”

but there was something else behind his eyes, something you couldn’t quite pinpoint as he just stared at the place where your body met his crotch, hands slowly gripping your hips tighter in a certain way and… and actually moving you now in a certain way that made you promptly realize he was grinding you against him, pleasure quickly twitching at your clit in response as flat hands flew to his chest to stabilize yourself.

“what— what are you doing?” you stammered, your chest heaving a little.

“s—sorry!…” he mumbled, eyes still trained to the same area. “it just— felt kind of good… so..”

yuji peered up at you, a cautious look on his face as he eyed you curiously with his pinky cheeks bright— hesitantly indulging in his overwhelming sick need for you, as simply making out was just not cutting it anymore ever since he got a taste of how something like this could feel a couple of seconds ago.

and your thoughts were identical to his.

timidly, you slid your hands up slowly to rest back on his manly shoulders, the rough material of his compression tee under your fingers making you literally squeeze your hole around nothing, eyes nervously darting around his face.

“o—okay…”

his hand came up to brush some of your soft hair over your shoulder, his thumb moving in to caress gently over your hot cheek.

“can i… can i do it again?”

you shakily nodded, and he gripped your hips again before moving you just like he did before, your crotch coming down to meet his slowly and cautiously as your mouth partially hung open at how good it actually felt, yuji staring at your expression with blown out pupils and nearly drooling over it.

but he wanted more, his hands moving you then to grind on him a little faster, his hips coming up to meet yours at the same time as you shyly met him halfway— quick and stuttery until all of a sudden you were full blown humping into each other like rabid dogs, your tiny whiny moans setting him the fuck off as he captured your lips again to make out with you, fearing if he let you quietly moan like that for his ears to selfishly drink up that he was going to end up busting in his pants.

“y—yuji…” you whimpered in between kisses.

“yeah baby?” his husky voice sent another electrical shock of ecstasy through your body, your fingers gripping his shirt in tiny fists as you didn’t even know what exactly you were pleading him for.

but he knew.

he wrapped his arms entirely around you and moved so that you were laying flat on your back now, yuji in between your legs as he kissed you sloppily while grinding himself back on you again, him literally mimicking how it would be to fuck you as you squeezed his biceps for support, your thin pajama shorts feeling his hard cock bulging from his pj pants and rutting against your cunt desperately with every hump.

yuji, literally trapped in a dimension of arousal and nasty fucking thoughts of you with every moan that slipped past your puffy soft lips, had him reaching and tugging down on the waist band of your shorts like an animal, your baby blue panties with a little ribbon bow in the middle making him nearly choke on his spit.

your hand quickly came to clasp around his wrist, stopping him.

“y—yuji my parents! i don’t know if we should—”

“oh fuck—” he whispered, looking up to the top of your staircase and down where your parents were sound asleep, gnawing so much on his bottom lip in cock blocked agony that he accidentally drew blood.

and you didn’t know why, but the urge was unforgiving as you reached up and cupped his hot sweaty cheeks, pulling his face down as you stuck your tongue out and licked over his bleeding lip.

yuji stared, eyes wide, before he let out a low guttural grown and shoved his face into the crook of your neck.

“fuck fuck fuck fuck—”

you were fucking killing him.

he rolled his leaky cock slowly into you again, his shoulders trembling at the cold feeling of his wet boxers that were literally covered in pre cum the moment your pretty plush thighs sat over his lap, you speaking up.

“m—maybe—”

he pulled back fast.

“yeah?”

“maybe if you just— look. that… that should be fine, right?”

“yeah yeah!” yuji’s invisible tail was practically wagging over your words. “look uh huh! just look baby.”

you bit your lip, slowly reaching down and tugging as both of yuji’s hands went flying down to help you, pulling them over your thighs and down to your ankles before setting them behind him on the couch with a soft thud.

you kept your thighs closed, shy and timid as you realized yuji hadn’t seen you like this yet… your cheeks flaring in embarrassment as he pulled your knees apart and gawked at the vision before him, yuji looking at you like you had built the entirety of rome by yourself with your bare hands.

you hadn’t noticed yet, but your panties were drenched— a patch of wet spread over your lips that literally outlined the anatomy of your pussy to a t, leaving little to the imagination as his eyes stayed locked on your clit in a complete trance.

“oh my god, pretty!…” he murmured, his index finger coming down to softly touch and rub your puffed up clit over your panties, you squeaking in response and slamming your thighs closed again.

“sorry! sorry!” he sputtered, frantic as he came down to peck little kisses on your cheek apologetically, your eyes shut, bashful. “did that hurt? i didn’t mean to i’m sorry—”

“n—no!” you shook your head and slowly peeked your eyes open. “it didn’t… just felt s—sensitive.”

his shoulders relaxed in relief, nodding, his eyes widening in delight when you spread your legs back open for him again, your panties literally stuck slick to your pussy at this point.

yuji’s fingers pressed against your folds, him wanting to just feel the way your little wet lips mushed up against his digits, his curious hand directing him slowly up over your clit and back down by your virgin hole as he breathed hard through his nose, trying to get himself to calm the fuck down over your cunt and not freak you out.

but what he was doing felt good, him having no idea as you pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth with your eyebrows screwed together in euphoria, his ears perking up at the sounds of your sweet little moans and whines the more pressure he applied to it.

and then he got an idea.

as you were distracted getting riled up by his fingers, yuji shoved his other hand under his wet pajama pants and boxers, pulling out his throbbing cock and pumping it a little as his angry tip leaked with every jerk— a drop oozing down and landing right on your nub before rolling over your panties as he breathed out a string of hushed curses.

yuji replaced the hand on your pussy with his cock, his length and tip pushing up in between your sopping cunt and back down, completely soiling your panties with a mix of your arousal and his pre cum as he rolled his hips into you again, you not noticing at all until both of his rough hands came to grip and squeeze over your inner thighs, your eyes fluttering open as you wondered why it felt way better than before, them bulging once you saw his thick long dick slipping and sliding hurriedly against your pussy.

“b—baby!” you moaned breathlessly, but yuji literally could not hear you as his dazed droopy eyes stayed focused on your swollen puss while he continued to rut.

“uh huh..?..” he panted. “what’s wrong sweetheart…”

your words lodged themselves in the back of your throat as a particular rough thrust made you choke and clamp your mouth shut, squeezing your eyes shut in response with your sensitive nub pulsing as you felt yuji’s leaky sticky cum all over you.

“does it— does it feel good?” his eyes finally trailed up to look at you, his already fucked out expression and flushed face forming a yummy pit in your stomach that you recognized as your release whenever you fingered yourself, except that feeling no where near as good as what you felt right fucking now.

“mhm..” you moaned and licked your lips.

yuji’s fingers slid up from your inner thighs and to the straps of your panties, fiddling and playing with them as he rolled his hips like a little perv, his tip at times falling and literally sinking into your gaping virgin hole a bit— your panties a thin stretchy wall that frustratingly stopped his cock from going, slipping back upward instead.

“baby…” he moaned lowly, whispering. “maybe we should just have sex right now…”

you gasped. “right now?! i don’t know yuji my— my parents— and we’ve never—”

he leaned down and sloppily kissed you, speaking in between each smack.

“they’re asleep it’s—” mmphf— “it’s okay—”

yuji already had his middle finger hooked under your wet panties as he started pulling down, you squeaking at the cold breeze hitting your bare clit.

“i want to but— hic!”

he rubbed his tip over your entrance a bit, pooling your juice up.

“what if— what if we get too loud? and they come downstairs—”

he shook his head. “i’ll keep on a lookout pretty don’t worry about it...” he murmured. “you just relax while i pump my cock in, yeah?”

you whimpered, nodding quickly and pathetically as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down flush against your chest, suctioning tiny sucks on his jaw to keep you from moaning the loudest you’ve moaned all night as he started pushing in, yuji’s mind in a literal fucking state of delirium as his dick was finally gonna be buried in your cute pussy after wanting it for so long.

you hiccuped against his jaw, your arms gripping him tighter as he stretched you out so good, feeling a little pinch in your walls that made you spread your legs wider in attempts at alleviating it.

“ohhhh fuckkkk baby—” he moaned loud and you quickly clamped a hand over his mouth.

“shhh honey shhh—”

“m’sorry m’sorry m’sorry—”

his voice was muffled against your hand as he pumped deeper, your squeal catching itself in your throat and his body fucking shivering at the way your tight slobbering walls sucked him in without him having to even push, your hole clenching around him and pumping more strings of stray pre cum out inside you.

“my god do that again please do that again—” he panted, reeling his hips back slowly and pushing in at a steady rhythm.

“d—do what?” you panted, your eyes closing in pleasure.

“squeeze— shit!— squeeze me please please—” he begged, pressing wet open mouthed kisses on your cheeks as he licked up your little overstimulated tears.

“like— like this?”

you clenched your hole again and his body jerked, his choked moans huffing in your ear as he rolled and snapped his hips faster.

“mm! yuji my god—” you squealed and he placed a hand over your mouth, the both of you now covering over each others as he proceeded to drill his hips in, the couch squeaking with every messy hit.

your hand tightened over his lips the louder he moaned, your eyes silently pleading with him to be a little quieter, but him too lost in the milking of his cock and the way your fucked out face looked as he couldn’t connect the dots with what you were asking of him, suddenly your blurry brain coming into reasonable consciousness for a second as you became aware of the fact that you weren’t even using protection.

“b—baby—” you muffled against his hand. “we’re not using a— mmm! c—condom we need—”

smack smack smack—

“shit i don’t— i don’t have one sweetheart.” he stifled, and yuji only went faster then, harder and jerky as his awkward virgin hips jolted you up and down on him, your eyes rolling back. “s’okay i’ll just pull out m’kay? i’ll pull out—”

his snappy pace brought your brain back into your previous dumb erotic state, nodding dazedly as he scooched his hand down and shoved his middle and ring finger inside your wet mouth, your tongue slobbering over his digits before your lips lewdly closed around them and sucked.

yuji was not keeping a lookout for your parents.

“oh fuck baby you look so fucking pretty doing that…” he choked. “you look so so pretty under me and taking my dick—”

“mhm..” you moaned around his fingers, drool seeping out of your mouth and down your chin as you felt like you were on the brink of cumming and squelching all over him.

“i’m gonna pull out soon okay? i feel—” pant— “i feel like i’m cumming—”

you pulled back from his fingers with a pop and licked your lips, nodding vigorously as you squeezed your eyes painfully shut, your release washing over you like a prickly wave with your mouth hung wide open and your vision blowing bright white.

but in the midst of you creaming, you accidentally clamped your thighs shut around yuji as he tried to slip his dick out.

“fuck! i can’t—” pant— “baby open your legs please im gonna— fuck fuck fuck!—”

yuji’s cum pummeled inside you and filled you the absolute brim as he gasped and whined in your ear, his balls draining so much of it into you that it took no time at all for it to slip past your hole and onto your couch below, the both of you heaving heavily with your clothes stuck against your sweaty sticky bodies.

“are you—” he swallowed. “are you okay baby? i’m sorry i came inside—”

“it’s okay it wasn’t you—” you tried to regulate your breathing. “it— it was my fault… i trapped you in…”

you sheepishly looked at him and gnawed at the inside of your cheek in shame, your face only making him lazily grin and press a hard loving kiss to your cheek.

“it’s okay. we can figure it out later!”

he peeled away from you and sat up, his softening cock still buried inside as he slowly pulled out and watched the rest of his cum spurt out, taking one of his shaky fingers and collecting some before pushing it back in your hole.

“don’t put it back in yujiiii!” you whined.

“sorry! sorry sorry—” he grabbed your wrist gently and kissed the back of your hand, his pinky cheeks vibrant as he looked at you with a wobbly shy smile. “i— i couldn’t help myself…”

you giggled. “s’okay honey.”

he laid his body back over yours, being mindful not to squish you as he leaned some of his weight on his arms, cutely pecking your puffy lips over and over until he was satisfied with the amount, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck after.

“m’glad my first time was with you yuji…” you murmured into his ear, your words causing his heart to literally bang against his chest as he felt like he was on cloud nine with you underneath him like that.

“i’m glad it was with you pretty.” he pushed, looking into your fucked out eyes with sincerity. “and i hope it stays that way. just my dick.”

you laughed loudly, your hand quickly coming up to cover your mouth as he giggled.

you pecked his nose sweetly and readjusted your hips, your cum covered pussy brushing against his cock again, the blood immediately rushing back to it faster than a speeding fucking bullet.

he traced a loving finger across your bottom lip delicately, a little grin on his face.

you quirked a brow. “what?”

“can we um—“ he quickly kissed you. “can we try doggy style right now?”

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taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @fushigurioo @wil10wthetree

[rosenclaws]

Restless night | Variant!Logan x reader

summary: Logan has nightmares about his world and you want to help.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, descriptions of bodies (not graphic), sad logan, possibly ooc bc ive never written for him im sorry dfslj. Reader has like, memory manipulation powers? Ig that's how you'd explain them??

a/n: Hello! This is my first Logan fic ever and I am very nervous but after watching Deadpool I have fallen in love with wolverine, particularly this wolverine. I don't know if I'll ever write again for him but I wrote this and felt like sharing so I hope you like it too <3

wc: 1.7k

"Logan!" You yell angrily. He grits his teeth as you slam the door wide open. Curious heads turn towards the two of you as you storm after him. 

"What." He bites back as he continues to walk. 

"Can you just stop for one fucking second!" Your fists clench at your sides as you stop right in front of the front doors. "You are a real asshole, you know that? You're a mutant whether you like it or not. So how about doing something good and helping us." He pulls out a cigar and lights it, blowing the smoke directly into your face. 

"For the last fucking time, I don't want any part of your X-Men bullshit." You sigh and shake your head. So fucking stubborn. 

"We need you Logan, please. I need you please." You place your hand on his arm, rubbing your thumb over his leather jacket. For a moment you think he might stay. Maybe he'll admit for once in his life that he wants the family that waits for him here. Instead he pushes your hand off. Rolls his eyes and walks straight past you. 

"Fuck off." He walks out the doors, letting them slam loudly.

Those were the last words he ever spoke to you. Well, the you that he knew.

"Logan?" He flinches hard as your voice snaps him from his spiral. 

It makes his stomach turn to see you. You look exactly how he remembers. Except you have a scar on your forehead. His eyes focus on that, a reminder that you're not the you he knew. No, in this universe you're Wade's next door neighbor. A mutant who retired from teaching at the mansion and lives a quiet, happy life. At least you're happy in this world. 

"M'fine." He mumbles as he stands up from the table. No one was really paying attention to the two of you as dinner was dying down. You want to say more but he leaves before you can. Sighing, you watch him retreat into his room. He's barely said two words at a time to you. No matter how hard you try he refuses to speak to you. At first you thought you had done something but the few times you've caught him staring you see a terrible sadness in his eyes. You know he's from another timeline and that something went terribly wrong. Your room shares a wall with his and as hard as he tries he can't hide his nightmares.

"Don't worry about him, he's got that tragic backstory kind of character development going." Wade comments. "God knows he could use some therapy but I doubt Marvel would ever green light that movie." You nod absentmindedly, not really listening to Wade's rambling. 

You float around for a little longer until you can silently excuse yourself and go back to your own apartment. Logan stays on your mind the whole time. You wonder if he knew you in his world. If something had happened that made him like this. As you lay in bed you close your eyes and listen, you can hear him tossing and turning. He settles and you silently hope that for once he can sleep through the night. 

It's eerily silent as he stumbles back to the mansion. He stops right outside of the door. His ears alert for the sound of you to see if you were awake yet. Except no matter how hard he listens he can't hear anything. A horrible scent fills his nose and it makes him sick. The smell of blood. Barging through the door's he's met with destruction and bodies.

This is a nightmare, it has to be. He calls your name frantically. Racing through the mansion, begging for anyone to be alive. Instead he finds body after body. Until he stumbles upon yours. He falls to his knees, his hands ghosting over your face. You look so peaceful but you're cold to the touch. Maybe if he had been there, he could have saved you.

His claws unsheathe themselves as white hot rage bubbles to the surface. Without another word he walks out of the mansion with only the thought of killing on his mind. Blood for blood.

Logan's voice is what wakes you up. Even through the walls you can hear him. You can't quite make out what he's saying but it's clearly a nightmare. He's turning wildly. You knock on the wall, hoping maybe it would wake him somehow. Worry builds as he gets louder. 

Suddenly through the walls you hear a resounding shout before metal claws burst through your wall. You can't help but scream as they miss you by only a few inches. Breathing heavily you slowly reach out to touch them but they retract before you can.

"Fuck!" You hear him shout. The sound of scrambling and frantic footsteps following his outburst. A loud knocking fills your apartment as you shake off the shock. Quickly you rush to the door and open it, finding a shirtless Logan standing before you. His eyes scan you for injuries, injuries that he would have caused. He grabs your arms firmly and pushes you inside, closing the door behind him with his foot. 

"Logan I'm okay, just a little startled." You try to reassure him but he doesn't hear you. His mind is snowballing out of control. 

"Logan!" You say louder and he finally looks at you. 

"I'm okay." You say softly. Slowly he loosens his grip as he lets his body relax, but only a little. 

"Another nightmare?" You ask and he nods. His eyes drift to your open bedroom door. He can see the holes left by his claws. Just how close they sit next to your pillow. Guilt floods him as he deflates.

"I..." He doesn't really know what to say. This would be your first real conversation since he came to this world. For years he's thought about what he'd say to you if he was ever gifted the chance. Yet, he stands here completely silent. 

"They're getting worse." You say, breaking the silence. 

Cautiously you reach to take his hand. He closes his eyes as he feels your thumb rub along the top of his hand. He lets you guide him to your bedroom. When you let go he almost reaches out to take it back, but he doesn’t. Instead he turns his attention towards your wall. He’s ruined a fair amount of bed sheets before but this was new. He traces the holes with his hand. Wincing as he notices just how close he was to cutting you open. 

"Sit." You gesture to the empty side of your bed. He hesitates and you huff. 

"Humor me." You plead and he can't find it in himself to say no. 

It's almost too much as he sits down, everything smells like you. Your hands move towards his temples but he grabs your wrists before you can go any further.

"Logan, let me help." He half smiles at that. 

"You were always so persistent about that." Your eyes widen as you realize he's talking about his universe’s you. 

"I told you I didn't want you poking around in my head but you just wanted to help the nightmares. I never let you though" He admits. 

"I should've. I should've stopped being a stubborn ass and just listen to you." His voice wavers and you have a feeling he's not talking about dreams anymore. 

"Then listen to me and let me help you." He lets go of your wrists and looks up at your face. Savoring the look of kindness in your eyes. 

"You don't want to go in here, once you do..." Wordlessly you place your fingers on the side of his head. Suddenly you're overcome with visions of bloodshed and anger. A tear slips down your face as you see flashes of Logan's memories. 

The rage, the hopelessness, the darkness that plagues his mind. Through all of that there was a lurking feeling of indescribable guilt. So much pain, so much sorrow. Logan knocks your hands away as he watches more tears pour down your face. You open your eyes and wipe the tears away. 

"I told you baby," He waits for you to move away from him. To call him a monster. It's what he deserves. To his surprise you wrap your arms around him instead. He buries his face in your shoulder and hugs you tight. 

"I'm so sorry." It’s the last thing he expects to hear and it nearly breaks him.

"What I did.." 

"You were in pain, so much pain." You know it's not easy for him to see but all of this pain led to him becoming the hero he never thought he could be. 

"You saved the world Logan. You're a hero whether you like it or not." He winces as he remembers you say something similar to him before. "And a hero deserves to sleep peacefully, for one night at least."

"You won't stop will you?" You shake your head and he finally relents.

He sinks down into your bed, resting his head on your lap. You bring your fingers back to the side of his head and use your powers to calm his mind. Searching for happy memories and temporarily suppressing the bad ones. Calmness washes over him, a feeling he hasn't felt in years. He's already drifting in and out of sleep but something nags at him from the back of his mind. 

"I loved you. My universe's you." He admits in a whisper. The words he never got to say. It's been eating him alive for decades. He never got to say them to you, he was too much of a coward. 

Your heart skips a beat at his confession and he can hear it. You don't respond, instead offering a comforting hum. He doesn't know you. The similarities are there but he knows you're two different people. But he wants to know you and he hopes you feel the same way. For a moment he thinks that maybe the universe is finally giving him what he's always wanted, a second chance.  

"Sleep well Logan." You watch his breathing slow and his mind settle. Though you could stop using your powers now, you hold on for a while longer.

And for the first time in a long time, Logan sleeps.

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 7

Chapter 7: conserving Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader minor character death, guns, reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry WC: 3676 Hiiii : ) so sorry for taking so long with this. I know I promised a really long chapter but instead, ive broken it up to keep it at a readable length and i will be putting out ch 8 later today to make up for taking so long, i hope you can forgive me 😔 I was so honored to see all of your lovely comments and feedback, im so happy, omg you have no clue, all of the little notes i got that were excited to see updates make me cry 🥹 Tags: no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, some sweet arthur cuddle, arthur and his foul mouth : )

Arthur reveals a truth about himself.

Waking late in the night, there is a heavy presence behind you. On the verge of suffocating really, Arthur breathes; slow and even, asleep. It comes as a surprise to you that both of you fit in this tent; Arthur being such a large man. The fire crackles on and casts a deep orange glow still lighting the night around you. The warmth that surrounds you, however, comes completely from Arthur. It’s a little uncomfortable with him so close, the rough leather of his gun belt presses into your lower back. You wiggle, but he hardly stirs. But you can’t help to appreciate the heat he wraps you up in, the simple pleasure it gives you to have him hold you so close.

Your thoughts wander in the opposite direction of your appreciation. You think of carefully slipping out and going to your horse, leaving Arthur at this camp alone. But you opened your big mouth and told him where you and your parents lived. There’s no way you can keep Lucky very quiet, he would snort and stomp around grumpily. 

If Arthur woke while you were leaving, he would be furious. Worse then, is the idea of him waking up, cold, searching for you. Your stomach sours at the thought of Arthur waking alone. How angry he would be, how lonely. Maybe you would be lonely without him too. Would you miss him? Miss his lustful acts, his kisses? His overbearing presence, his heavy warmth? 

Some part of you can’t go back to the ignorance you had before. The innocence in not knowing entirely what he wanted with you when he took you to bed. You thought such an act to be sacred, reserved between man and wife, not just for pleasure, to feel so whole. It would feel like something was missing if you couldn’t have what Arthur had given you. It’s a strange thought, it makes your eyes scrunch shut. How awful a thought, that you need Arthur and all of the things he's done to you, that you want them to happen again. That you don’t want to leave him. 

Who knows if you’d even be able to lift Arthur’s arm off of you, anyway. He has a big arm slung over your hip, you imagine how he fell asleep holding your own sleeping form close to himself. It’s an oddly comforting thought, twisting your stomach with some sort of affection. He may not be traditional, may not be the perfect love story you had wanted when you were a girl. He hasn’t even been so bold or vulnerable to tell you that he loved you. But all of his actions point to some untold feeling that he harbors for you. You had never met a man who tried so hard to be with you, who met you and wanted nothing else but to have you at his side. 

Just as you’re about to drift back to sleep while thinking of him, Lucky starts to snort anyhow, nervous and shuffling. Somebody’s voice breaks the calm of your state immediately, like you’ve jumped in a cold river, shock freezes your limbs.

“Quiet, stupid animal,” a nasally male voice says over the sounds of the night and Lucky's anxious chuffing. You try to nudge Arthur, wiggling to face him but he only breathes deeply. You can hear the man looking through your things, pocketing items. You poke hard into Arthur, making him groan. 

He sees you when he groggily opens his eyes, face to face. He’s about to open his mouth when you shake your head, trying to convey your panic. His eyes stare confusedly and bleary from sleep. It’s not until he can hear the man rifling through the supplies on the wagon that he seems to understand. You see his features harden like tree sap, a look you’ve never seen on him before. He squeezes your hip, to comfort you, you think; before he sits up slowly, hand already on his revolver. He sleeps in his gun belt, as if already expecting some stranger to creep in on him. 

With an ease you didn’t think such a big man like him could have, he’s out of the tent and up on his feet. You can hear Arthur raise his gun and click the hammer back, making the man freeze. 

“Startin’ to miss when it was me doin’ the robbin’,” he says. The man turns so suddenly. You peek outside of the tent. You know Arthur wouldn’t want you to make yourself known but you can’t help but peek out of the thin sliver between the flaps. 

“Now, well, I was only hungry, ain’t ate nothin’ in three days! Slim pickin’s out here,” the man’s voice is strained. Arthur doesn’t falter. As if thinking over the man’s words, he hesitates. The burglar does look worse for wear but he did have every intention of taking all that he could carry. The panic wells in his eyes, the fear makes him shake. 

“I can give it back! No harm done, right?” He begins rifling through his pockets in an attempt to appease Arthur, but he fumbles, dropping something to the ground. Arthur’s words interrupts the moment. The thief puts his hands up. 

“Reckon you was gonna take more than a can of beans,” Arthur has his easy drawl to all of his words. His revolver doesn’t sway, doesn’t lower. It’s focused on the man. The calmness he possesses sucks the air out of the space. You think of his comment. He misses when it was him robbing others. He has done this before and he has no problem doing it again, holding his gun up at somebody, his commanding voice making his victim tremble in fear. 

A loud bang and a puff of smoke scares birds from their nests. You cover your ears and slip from where you were peeking down to your bottom. Arthur stows his weapon against the leather of his holster. Once you can hear clearly again, the gentle ringing of his spurs is all you can make out.

You come out, shocked at the sight of the thief crumpled on the ground. You’re almost afraid to look, walking up to where Arthur stands and the man lies in a pool of his own blood, soaking the earth underneath him. Arthur’s shot was perfect. Right in the center of his forehead. The contents of his skull leak out all over the floor of this clearing. Much too visceral for you. You cover your mouth. Nausea hits you, seeing such a disturbing display. You had never seen a dead man before. He has such an odd look on his features, his last moment of fear is stuck there on his face. His eyes look like they could still blink at any moment.

“Y’alright? Don’t look if it’s gonna make you cry, girl,” he’s picking through the man’s pockets, taking back the things he stole, a pocket watch and a coin purse from your saddle bag. “Damn rat,” he sighs, nudging the body in the side with his boot. He tosses all of the stolen goods into the back of the cart. 

Arthur has no reaction akin to yours, only indifference which borders on cruelty. His irreverent behavior has you flinching. You can’t seem to look anywhere else but at those lifeless eyes, at the hollow stare. It’s hard to say if the man deserved to have a hole in his head the way he did. 

 Arthur clicks his tongue in a small irritation when he notices you stuck to the scene, unable to look anywhere else but the vacant stare of the thief. He’s marching over and pulling you away, gently taking you into his arms. He puts himself between you and the body, til you can’t see it anymore. Comforting strokes down your back make you ease, albeit slowly. The fire flickers weakly, not much left to burn but daylight would be here within the next two hours. You sigh and let yourself sink into Arthur. It isn’t fair how warm he is with no coat on. 

“Alright, back to bed with you, too cold out here,” he’s ushering you back to the tent. 

“Are you coming back to bed?” You find your ask sounding more like a plea. You notice when it comes out of your mouth, your face warm. He shakes his head, shrugs on his coat. 

“Gotta clean up this mess, unless you like the extra company,” your face crinkles. How he finds humor after killing a man, you don’t understand. You kneel down to enter but turn around to look at the shape of Arthur in the fire light. Broad and dark, a shadow. 

“I-I don’t want you to go,” you don't look at first (out of embarrassment) but you do look up when your words make him stop in his tracks. He stops his dutiful striding. He looks over his shoulder but not turning completely. His posture before was upright and ready for action but with your words, he sags a little, putting his hand on his hip, huffing a barely audible chuckle. 

“Won’t take me too long,” he’s off and he picks up the body, up over his shoulder. As if it were a sack of potatoes or corn. His boots crunch in the snow, walking for a few minutes down into a thicket. You can hear him toss the body. No reverence. You don’t know how to feel. You’re sure that man wasn’t planning to kill you. Arthur could have let him go. But he had kept you safe. 

Arthur returns with little change in his attitude, letting the events of the night slide off of him, water over the scales of an alligator. He’s in the tent with you, more than happy to relax. Laying down, crossing one leg over the other. Like nothing has happened. He has his arm out for you to tuck into. You do, as always. How strange you are to take comfort and safety in the arms of a man who shot down another not even ten minutes ago. The both of you are strange, two mismatched people looking for comfort in one another. 

“You killed him,” you whisper in the night air, the sound of branches swaying in the wind is the only thing nature can give to break up the utter silence of winter. You say those words like you can’t believe he took a life so easily. Like instinct, a second nature. Arthur did seem to have something lurking just under the surface. Waiting for the right opportunity, the right provocation. 

“I did,” he has nothing else to say. As casual as anything else. You can’t find an argument to give him. A sigh escapes him, a slightly fed-up tone to it. “And you give a shit?” He’s a bit forceful, like he wants you to lash out at him, to tell him he’s a monster, a bad man. Your fingers tighten as they grip onto him. You settle into his warmth, his hold. Like a house cat. Your heart rate slips slowly into relaxation as you sigh against him.

“Never seen a dead man,” Instead you tell him the truth or as much as you can reveal of it. That you’re twisted enough to only remark on the fact that the man was a new sight. Your voice is a whisper, almost too quiet for him to hear.

A small tension in him is released when you say that.“ Lost count of how many I’ve seen,” he’s stating a simple fact. You wonder what he’s done in life to not remember how many men he’s seen like that, crumpled like an old newspaper and forgotten. You want to ask but you’re afraid of the answer after what he said earlier. 

Your hand is on his chest, head on his shoulder. You try not to think of that man’s head popped open, spilling on the ground. You must seem so childish to him. A sheltered girl kept from the world. You breathe slowly. Can hardly stand to sleep but Arthur lays awake with you. 

“Ain’t nobody else comin’, honey, just go to sleep,” he doesn’t sound exasperated. His voice feels like it's confined to this tent, so quiet. Like the world stops outside of the canvas woven around you. 

You don’t know why but you feel the sudden onslaught of emotions, some delayed fear rouses from the depths of you, washing over you in one big wave. You try to keep it from happening, feeling rather immature. Tears leak from you anyway. You grip onto Arthur before you start to cry, fingers scrunching into the fabric of his shirt and vest. 

You don't have the capacity to read Arthur for his reaction but you can feel him close around you, his scent, his gentle shushing. “You’ll be alright now, ain’t nothin’ to worry about,” The comment is a little awkward, unpracticed. But his desire to comfort you feels genuine. 

You sob into his chest, sniffling and curling in on him, overwhelmed. It takes you a while to come back, quieting down as he lays a kiss in your hair. He’s pulled you almost entirely into him, pressed flush against him. He pulls his riding gloves from his hands, untucks your shirt from where it's trapped underneath your riding pants. His hands are warm and rough, sliding over the give of your soft belly up to your back. His touch feels like hot tea with honey. Pleasing in this soft moment, where he holds you. 

You sniffle, wetting his shirt with your tears. You're so sapped of energy, barely able to keep your eyes open. Embarrassment unfurls in you too at the thought of you crying your eyes out on his shirt. 

“Got a little crybaby, don’t I?” He’s poking fun, not too mean spirited. However he still derives joy from seeing you tuck into him, hiding your face shyly. 

Arthur doesn't say much after that. Tucking you into the safety of his shoulder. You listen to his lungs fill with air. You don’t know how he can be so cruel in one moment and so docile in the next, he’s a completely different person.

You adjust so that your noses almost touch, his eyes snap open when he senses you looking at him. 

Perhaps a day or two ago, you would have minded more if your thoughts wandered to him kissing you, messy and loving despite your situation. But all you want is for him to kiss you. Though heat climbs up your neck and cheeks, you still find yourself wishing he just knew what you wanted, too embarrassed to tell him. You could only imagine the smug smile he would have, he probably wouldn’t give in either, he’d make you beg or some other humiliating act. He’d revel in your shyness. 

He doesn't seem to realize your desire. You have no desire to share it in a verbal manner or an actionable one either. Though you're not brave enough to initiate a kiss with him, you know he likes it when you touch him. 

And you do. Up his chest, to his cheek, the stubby hairs poking the delicate skin of your finger tips. Your touch makes him react too, makes his eyes relax, the smallest sigh leaves his lips. With you touching his face, he finally fulfills your wish, pressing so close, lips chapped but the flick of his tongue adds a bright warmth. The contact sends your heart into a frenzy. Why you're so happy, why you enjoy it so much isn't such a mystery anymore. You've started to internalize his words, how he'd be your husband, how he’d take care of you. And that’s all he’s done so far; taken care of you. 

He pulls you so close, grabbing everything he can, squeezing at the flesh that gives on your hips and bottom. His tongue pushes past your hesitance, licking into your mouth. You let him lay claim to you in every way he wants to. After he’s had his fill, he holds your face in his hands. Your fingers skim down to where you can feel his heart the strongest. You can taste the tobacco he smoked earlier. Playfully, you pull away, pushing your smaller hands against him. For a moment he’s displeased until you open your mouth to speak.

“You taste bitter,” your whisper is quiet and he grins at you. 

“There a problem? Wasn't me pulled out that cigarette,” 

You shake your head, a smile breaks on your lips. You bite your lip before kissing him anyway. From the feel of it, he smiles too. ‘That's what I thought’ is mumbled against you before his tongue meets your own again.

 It's euphoria that breaks up on your tongue like candy, melts away and slides down your throat. The soft sounds you make are returned with his own sighs and groans. Your kiss has him as close as he can be but you want him closer. The thought of him killing sours the moment for only a second before you rush to right his wrongs for him. Your valiant protector, keeping danger away at all costs. Every second between you two, you savor. You know that he would do anything to keep you safe now. 

“Arthur…” he hums; calling his name can't pull his attention away from trailing his mouth down to your chin and the underside of your neck. Giggles come from your lips, his beard tickles the sensitive area of your neck and face. He rights himself so he can bow over you, open mouthed kisses on your neck turn into a startling sting when he latches on your skin. You vainly push at his shoulders, whining, but he won't stop until he's satisfied. You don’t understand why he’s kissing so rough, too weak to push at him enough. When he pulls away you stare up at him, no doubt making a pout that he touches with his thumb. 

“That hurt,” You rub at the spot, wet with his spit. His smug grin doesn't drop at all. He just finds your confusion endearing. 

“Jus’ gotta make sure you know you’re mine, s’all,” He says, as if his actions were an obvious reality. His words touch some unknown part of you, sensitive to his odd sentiments. Even though theyre dipped in his usual cool attitude, a breathy chuckle that betrays him. He liked that more than he let on.

“Yours,” you say, almost offhandedly but the simple word has Arthur looking at you. In the dark, you can't see much but you can hear his breathing pick up. That urge of his to utterly possess you is stoked like a fire, burning brighter. He bears down on you, face so close to yours. You can feel the ridge of his uneven nose bump your cheek. 

“Supposed to be puttin’ you to bed, girl,” He speaks like you're a tempting thought, a seductress. Nothing you do strikes you as particularly flirtatious but you might try your hand at it.

“What would you do instead?” you ask, knowing what he would have in mind but teasing him would do him no harm. 

“You're messin’, playin games with me,” He sees right through you. Arthur is always too aware to have one pulled over on him. All of your bravery has drained from you, you might have liked getting a rise out of him but Arthur is obviously a man not to be tossed about. Not so easily anyway. His words have you looking away, even in the dark but his hand guides your face back up. He looks down at you but he grumbles. “This tent is too goddamn small for this, maybe I can fuck on you proper in your bed. With your folks in the next room, on a little bed you had since you were a girl no doubt,” He flops down onto his back again, pulling you so you’re at his side, tucking an arm underneath you. His laugh rumbles through his chest, his hand playing with the edges of your hair, sliding over your shoulder. You feel your face heat and a worried look pull your brows into each other. You smack his chest lightly, feeling scandalized at the mere thought.

“We-You can’t do that, Arthur!” That petulant tone to your voice embarrasses you even more than his perverted statements. A scratchy whine, childish. 

“And why the hell not? Must be big enough to bend you over the damn thing,” He scratches nonchalantly at his chin, as if discussing the weather. “I’m tired anyway, your little pussy cat can suck the milk outta me tomorrow,” His vulgar words make you turn away. How undignified they are. But you can’t deny how they make you feel. He has a chuckle, thick with his puffed up pride. 

He sighs and adjusts himself. The thrill you get at thinking of doing such a thing with your parents in the same house makes you sick. You had never dreamed of doing something so deplorable. 

“Arthur, you- you’re-” 

“I’m what?” His voice is gruff in your ear as he presses up behind you, turning so that he can hold your body close to his chest. You can feel how big he is like this, how you are nowhere near the very length of him laid out at your back. 

“Disgusting,” He huffs a small laugh against the curve of your ear lobe, tickling your hair. 

“Do I revile you? My poor princess,” It's only a little sarcastic, his arms tighten around you, comforting. You realize that he has completely distracted you from your outburst, from the incident with the thief. The exchange with him has pulled you away.

You hold his arms around you, brushing over his roughened and dry knuckles. Relaxing on him has his words stopping there, ready to soothe you to sleep. Just as you're slipping into slumber, Arthur mutters a ‘G’night,’ to you, kissing your hair. 

Thank you for reading ! Arthur is such a weenie omg, arthur and his nasty mouth, i love him your honor. i would be so happy to cuddle with him, omg, cuddle with arthur is perhaps a transcendental experience, i think. sorry i made reader a weenie in this chapter but i mean if i saw arthur blow some guys head off, i think id be kind of 😶 as well. either way i would probably just think it was kinda hot at the end of the day like my man is a murderer 🥹💖 pardon him of his crimes : ) cant wait to show you guys ch 8 tomorrow !!!

[silverofthunder]

☆ the prisoner ☆

Papa Emeritus IV x GN Reader || 🔞 MDNI 🔞

summary: Bying an abandoned house in the middle of the nowhere had seemed like a good idea. But as the nightmares came to plague your dreams, you started slowly to realize that the place you had thought would be a calm, safe haven to you, was anything but that.

content/warnings: 5k words, mystery (kind of), evil demonic creature!Copia, demonic powers, emotional manipulation, nightmares, self-harming, vomiting, non-con vibes, hurt (with minimal comfort), suicidal thoughts, kind of dark & twisted romance, obsessive & possessive behavior

⚫!! this fic might disturbing as there is no nice things happening; Copia is pure evil in this, so if there's something triggering, i suggest you don't read this !! ⚫

I don't know what got into me but I got this idea of something really dark and this piece was born. I've never written anything like this but oh, how fun it was to just go wickedly wild with this. Evil!Copia might own me after this. I'm also kinda scared to post this but hey, this is a work of fiction so... I went to straight into the deep end. Hope that some of you like this!

You should have known it wasn’t a good idea. Bying an abandoned house that was in the middle of nowhere must have been your first idea that was actually the worst. Not that you knew it until it was too late.

But the house had looked so cool – it had something that called you right from the very fist time you saw a picture of it. But when you actually saw it with your eyes, you knew you had to get it and after a few weeks you got the announcement that it was yours. You were so happy when you got the keys and could finally start planning some renovations that needed to be done. You didn’t want to change too much as the house had some character and it didn’t take that long until you could finally stay there.

You enjoyed the quietness, the surrounding forest – after living in a bigger town for several years, it felt like a heaven to finally be able to breathe some fresh air and not feel the rush that seemed to always be present in town. However, after a while you couldn’t help but notice how it was almost too quiet. Despite that the forest was right there, you rarely heard birds or any other animal sounds, the fog there seemed to get thicker even though it wasn’t even autumn yet.

And one night when you stood on the porch, smoking a cigarette, your eyes caught something right on the line of your yard and the forest. The fog made it hard to see properly but it resembled a shape of a man. You stared at it for a while, your heart beating a little quicker in your chest, and then you took a long drag of your cigarette and closed your eyes. You let out the smoke and when you eventually opened your eyes, the man – or whatever it was – was gone.

Maybe it was just your imagination making some stupid shit up. It wouldn’t be a surprise as the place like this could easily get your imagination go wild. Or who knew, maybe someone from the nearest town had heard that someone had bought the house and was now just messing with you a little.

You shook the silly thoughts from your mind and finished smoking your cigarette before going back inside and to your bedroom. You placed your phone on the night stand and slipped under the blankets with a sigh. The sleep became fast and was followed by the dream.

You stood frozen in place, the fog around you so thick you barely see the path you were walking on. The air felt heavy and almost… suffocating. Your head turned side to side and then you heard a rustle and caught something in the corner of your eye on your left. Slowly you turned to look at whatever was there and as soon as your eyes settled on the dark figure, definitely in the shape of a man, you wanted to run. Something within you was screaming ’run’ but your legs wouldn’t obey you. You gasped for air as the man stepped closer to you and now you saw that he had… claws? And something was dripping from those claws.

Blood.

You swallowed, your heart now beating rapidly in your chest, pure fear settling deep within you. And in the next moment you heard a sound that was like a laugh but it made your blood run cold and your skin crawl in the most unpleasant way and then the man – or creature – was gone.

Copia was delighted to know that someone had finally bought the old house. He had now a chance to finally get what he had longed for so long… But he had to be careful at first. Keep a distance, then start slowly to worm his way into the mind of the resident. It shouldn’t be hard to break in and make them realize where they now belonged. To whom they belonged.

A wicked smile rose to Copia’s lips as he looked at the porch, the person standing there, smoking a cigarette. They seemed calm but Copia could sense there were some uneasiness in their bones. It would only be a matter of time before that would turn into a fear, a proper terror and Copia could hardly wait that.

Days went by and Copia watched closely over the person. He was the shadow in the darkest corner, following every movement they made. And their dreams… He had to get into them, make them darker. That way it would be easier to lure them into his world. Eternal darkness was lonely but he knew how to fight against that. He didn’t need to be alone.

Now as he watched the sleeping person, he flexed his clawed fingers, wanting to go and touch them. But it wasn’t time for that, not yet. Instead he inhaled deeply, that oddly sweet scent hitting his nose instantly and he let out a low growl. It was a bit too sweet, it needed to be sharpened.

You threw cold water over your face and dried it with a towel, then looking your face in the mirror. There were slight dark circles around your eyes telling that you hadn’t gotten enough sleep. For a few weeks you hadn’t slept that well as the nightmares had been disturbing you. It was always the same kind of atmosphere in those dreams – distressing, heavy, threatening. And in the middle of it was always the same man, or creature.

With a sigh you set the towel aside and walked to you work room, opening the upper drawer of your desk and took the old, worn-out diary out of it. You had found it a few days earlier in the attic, secured into a box. The lock had been so rusty it had opened easily and so you had gotten the access to the diary. At first you thought you didn’t want to find out what was written in it but eventually your curiousity had won and you had started to read it.

It had been hard to read, the handwriting being quite messy but you had been able to make out some sentences and words.

A demonic creature in the house. Nightmares. Scratches on the skin. The feeling that someone is watching you all the time.

Some of those sounded familiar. Especially the feeling that someone was watching you. At first you had brushed that feeling off but now that it had gotten even more stronger, you couldn’t ignore it anymore. But you didn’t know what you could do to it so you tried to just go on. Whatever was there… Well, maybe you would eventually found it out.

Nightmares was another thing you could sign. A demonic creature didn’t really ring a bell but there was some creature in your dreams so maybe it was that? Or did that mean the one watching you was a demonic creature? You didn’t know if you believed in those – you couldn’t believe in anything you hadn’t seen, right?

Scratches on the skin. Those you hadn’t seen – yet and it was terrifying. What would it mean when they appeared? That someone was actually there, in the house, with you? So many questions but so little answers. You opened the diary, searching for the last page that contained writing, the last words…

Leave before it’s too late.

That was written much clearer and repeated a few times until it all turns into a mix of red and black. Blood and ink, maybe. Something in your stomach turned as you thought of what might have happened to whoever had written the diary. Then you closed the diary, setting it on the desk before sitting down on the chair and opening your laptop.

You had googled your house before, obviously, but you hadn’t really paid much attention to other stuff beside the sales ad. You typed the place into the search bar and started going through the results.

Missing people, no bodies found. Stories of the ’man of the forest’ and several mentions of demon that lived in the house. You weren’t exactly surprised but the results definitely didn’t ease your nerves. Which ones those things were actually true and which ones were only made up, that you couldn’t tell.

Suddenly a loud, screeching sound interrupted you and you almost fell from your chair as you turned to look at the window. A shiver run down your spine as you saw long, clawed fingers scraping the glass. Your heartbeat rang in your ears as you stared how the claws dissappear from your sight. Then you waited and waited, tried to listen if you could hear anything else, something unusual. But you couldn’t.

Only quietness was left.

You breathed deeply in and released the breath slowly, then shook your head. Maybe your tired mind was starting to really play tricks on you. It had happened before so why would this time be any different?

Copia was smiling widely, walking towards the person who now leaned against the tree, eyes wide with fear, the smell of fear strong around them. Copia flashed his fangs, extending his hand and wrapping his clawed fingers around the person’s throat.

”Mmmh, such a delicious sight you are,” he purred venomously, leaning closer to the person who let out a miserable cry, squeezing their eyes shut. That sound made Copia hum pleased and he tightened his hold around the person’s throat.

”Burns,” the person croaked out, tears spilling from their eyes and Copia only chuckled darkly.

”Shhh, it won’t hurt long.”

He did enjoy seeing his preys hurting. But this one was no ordinary prey, no. This one was something else. Something so much better. He then released the person’s throat, his eyes falling to the red marks on the skin and ran one claw over it, the touch making the person sob and twitch. Copia licked his lips, moving his fingers under the person’s jaw and tapping the skin with his claws.

”Open your eyes,” he asked but the person gave just a little shake of head. Copia grabbed a hold of their jaw, repeating the words with a growl. The person finally obeyed, opening their eyes and Copia’s smile grew pleased.

”That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The person didn’t say anything, just stared at him with watery eyes and Copia could hear their heart beating rapidly. He could sense how much they wanted to run away, as far as they could get from him. They couldn’t run, though, as Copia didn’t want them to. On rare occasions he allowed the preys to run but it was more fun like this – when all they could do was stand frozen in place and take whatever treatment Copia offered.

And usually the treatment they got was far from pretty.

”What are you?” The person’s voice was barely audible and they looked like they had almost given up. Accepted their fate, whatever that might be. Copia chuckled, squeezing the person’s jaw.

”Your worst nightmare.”

You stopped by the small cafe when you were driving back to your house. It was kind of strangely cozy with its slightly worn-out table-chair sets and with a decor that you could only describe as witchy. You bought a coffee and a little piece of chocolate cake and went to sit in the corner, near the window.

There weren’t that many people in but you couldn’t help but notice that a few of them seemed to look at you curiously and then whispering something to whoever was sitting beside them. It was a small town where most of the people probably knew each other, at least by face, and you hadn’t visited the places in there for many times so people probably didn’t recognize you.

You tried to ignore the staring, moving your gaze out the window. The clouds seemed to be darker, the blue sky disappearing behind them – most likely it would soon start to rain. The leaves in the trees were also starting to change their color, the red, yellow and orange blending into the green, and you couldn’t wait to see the nature in its autumn glory. You could imagine how beautiful the forest would look from your porch.

”Monster lives in your house.”

You got startled by the voice and turned to see a little girl standing close by, looking at you with wide eyes. Beside her was supposedly her mother who offered you an awkward smile. You smiled at her back before turning your attention back to the little girl.

”I don’t believe in monsters,” you said as politely as you could, and the girl blinked, shaking her head.

”Not all of them are real but the one in your house is.”

What the--? You let out a sigh, taking a sip from your coffee and the mother of the girl took her hand.

”Sorry, she is a bit… meddlesome,” the mother said, making a face at that and you gave a small wave of a hand. That wasn’t the first time someone said something like that about your house. Despite not visiting the town much, the whispers still had reached your ears.

You quickly finished your coffee and the cake, exiting the cafe and walking to your car as fast as you could. When you got inside, you slammed your forehead against the wheel, letting out a string of curses. You were tired, confused and a bit afraid. People weren’t exactly wrong – you knew there was someone in your house, at least part of the time. But who, that was still a mystery to you.

Copia dragged his claws along the wall, watching the person flinch and turn their head from side to side, eyes wide before walking over to another wall and doing the same, this time much slower. The person’s eyes settled onto the marks, mouth hanging open in shock and Copia could sense the question burning on their tongue.

He waited, patiently, but for his disappointment the person stayed quiet. They squeezed their hands into fists, anger replacing the shock on their face as they stormed off to another room. Copia followed close by, seeing how the person grabbed the old diary from the desk drawer and sat down on the bed, opening it.

Copia recognized that diary. Remembered how he had watched it to be written. The owner had suffered greatly until the very last day. It had been such a fun game. To drive the poor one mad and then strike when they had least expected it.

Copia smiled at the memory, still fresh in his mind.

”Stupid diary!” Copia chuckled at the person’s frustration as they went through the pages. ”Why can’t you give me any clear answers?”

He walked closer to the person, stopping right beside them, and thought of forcing them to look at him. The power he would feel when the person would gaze up at him, fear clear in their eyes, a weak plea on their lips. He imagined how he would run his claws along those pretty features, rip those clothes off and reveal the body underneath, admire it before marking it as his.

He was almost touching the person as he broke out of his reverie, and backed off a few steps. It was hard to keep control when something so delicious was right before him. But he didn’t want to ruin his chance – if things went right, he could be able to feast from this for a very long time. A little more time was all he needed.

The dreams, nightmares, had turned into more sexual ones and whenever you woke up, you were feeling so strange that you were sure you were starting to lose your mind. It wasn’t the only odd thing, though, there was also the red scratch marks that now marred your skin, mostly on your neck and arms but a few times you had spotted them on your hips and thighs.

They were real, lingering on your skin for days.

In resent nightmares you had seen the man, the creature, finally revealing himself from the shadows as he used your body to his own fun. Before he had been just a shape, like a black smoke-kind of thing and now he had a face of a man, covered with black and white paint, other eye seeming very human-like while the other glowed inhumanly white. Fingers with long claws, sharp fangs that was revealed whenever he had that wicked, predatoric smile on.

And his voice… That deep growl, it seemed to nest into you in a way that made you want to rip your skin off. He might have looked partly like a human but it was clear that he wasn’t a human. No human could ever make you feel like that. There was something so dark in him, no sign of kindness in his eyes when he had looked at you while your bodies had been slotted together in what should have been a pleasurable heaven.

To you it had been hell.

You took a pillow and pressed in against your face, screaming into it as you had done several mornings. It helped a little but not enough. You felt dirty in the worst way possible and went to shower quickly, trying to scrub him off of your skin, of your memory. The scratch marks stung but you didn’t stop scrubbing until some of them started to bleed.

With a head hung low you watched how the water turned to pink, disappearing eventually to the drain. After stepping out of the shower and drying yourself, you looked for some ointment and applied it upon the worst of the scratch marks. You did your best to avoid focusing on your image in the mirror and got dressed quickly, feeling slightly better when most of those ugly marks on your skin disappeared from your sight.

You went straight to the kitchen and opened the fridge, looking for something to eat. You weren’t that hungry as the images of your dreams made you feel nauseous but you still had to eat something. You made yourself a sandwhich and sat down on the nearest chair to eat it. A few days old newspaper was on the table and your eyes landed on the small headline on the left corner.

A missing person found dead in the woods

The body had been found near the other town and the police had apparently arrested someone that they thought had been behind it. So far there hadn’t been any disturbing news regarding the area where you lived but for some reason you believed that people might just keep their mouths shut if they saw something unusual happening. Hell, that was what you were now doing.

But the thing was… If you had talked about this all to someone, would they have believed you?

With a sigh, you continued munching your sandwhich, focusing your gaze somewhere at the opposite wall. It was a quiet morning, as usual – too quiet. At first it had been so relaxing and welcomed but now it only seemed to be a sign of something bad, something that still mostly hid in the shadows. You could feel the heaviness upon you, a force that seemed to grow darker every day.

A sudden tightening in your stomach made you froze for a moment and you dropped the rest of your sandwhich onto the table. The nausea had come back with a force and now you had to rush into bathroom and bend over the toilet to empty your stomach. Tears spilled into your eyes as you finally slid to the floor after you were sure nothing more came up.

You drew your legs closer, wrapping your arms around them and burying your head between your knees. Sobs jolted your body and you cried until you just couldn’t anymore. On the outside you looked like a mess, you had no much energy to do things and internally you were screaming.

Screaming into the void where no one could hear you.

Poor thing, Copia thought as he watched the person trying to tame the vines that had grown too big on the side of the house. They had fallen down a few times and Copia could sense that their strength had lessened. He flashed a pleased smile as he knew that his moment to shine was about to come soon. The poison was already rooted within them, slowly spreading, consuming them.

Copia went closer, leaning against the wall, eyes glued to the person who let out a frustrated grunts every once in a while as they cut the vines and pulled them off. Their shirt hung on them loosely, much loosely than it had sometime ago, the red marks on their skin now more prominent. They healed slower even though the person had put some kind of ointment on them.

With every passing day the beauty of the person grew and Copia was fully entranced. Meddling with dreams had been fun and all but the best part was yet to come and he couldn’t wait for it. It was a different thing to be the plague of the dreams than to be the nightmare of the reality. Though, for the person, the line between the dream and reality had already gotten blurry.

Copia hummed and the placed his claw against the wooden wall, slowly carving a long line onto it, and watched how the person’s head turned right towards him. The look in their eyes barely had any shock or surprise in them as they stared right at him. Of course, they couldn’t see him unless he wanted them to but still, their eyes were straight on him, then moving to the carved line.

With a weak laugh and a shrug, they returned back to their work and Copia continued watching them, his mind already wandering to what was to come. How his work would soon be complete. Step by step the eternal darkness was starting to feel less lonely. Soon he would have a companion to share it all.

He could already feel the power that he would possess after the union was complete.

Mine, mine, MINE.

The voice sounded so real and you blinked your eyes open, your vision blurry for a while. You shook your head, breathing heavily and soon you heard that voice again, the sound of it so loud you jumped straight up from the bed.

”This isn’t funny anymore! Whoever you are, stop messing with me!”

You knew it wouldn’t probably help but you had to do something. An echo of an evil laugh came somewhere behind you and you turned to look at there, seeing nothing.

”Leave me alone!” Your voice sounded thin and weak and tears burned in your eyes. You were so desperate for this all to end. This nightmare had to end.

There was a wind-like sound and then the same voice was whispering something right into your ear – or that was how it felt.

Run, run, RUN.

As the last word came out, your legs worked like an automatic and despite the weakness in your muscles, they carried you downstairs and out of the house. The cold night hit your skin immediately as you were wearing only an oversized t-shirt and your underwear. You didn’t look back as you run, heading straight towards the forest, the thick fog surrounding you as soon as you reached it.

You wanted to stop but no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t. Tears were now blurring your vision and you could barely breathe as you legs led you even deeper into the forest. And then it felt like you collided with an invisible wall, cutting your way and sending you to the ground. Soon the same evil laugh reached your ears, making your gut twist and you knew whatever was coming, couldn’t be anything good.

A figure of a man stepped into your line of vision from the shadows and the closer he got, the more details you started to see. You recognized him – it was the same man, or creature, from your dreams. The black and white paint on his face, the glowing inhuman white eye, fangs and claws. You couldn’t do anything than sit there, on the ground, frozen, a huge wave of dread swirling inside you. The closer the creature got, the more… powerless you started to feel, like someone was trying to shrink you.

You knew instantly that there wasn’t anything kind in that creature. Everything around him screamed danger and evil, as well as the way his eyes seemed to flash when he kneeled down and placed one of his clawed fingers under your jaw.

”Finally we meet in person, my darkest one,” he spoke, his voice making cold shivers run down your spine. You swallowed, then drew in a short breath, your whole body starting to shake as you fought against the mysterious force that kept you stuck in there.

”Oh, poor thing,” the creature cooed mockingly, slowly dragging his claw along your throat. ”There’s no point in fighting. You can’t go anywhere unless I let you.”

The smile that rose to the creature’s lips, didn’t leave anything unclear and you were starting to realize that maybe your nightmare hadn’t even started properly yet.

”Let me go,” you said through your teeth, and that only made the creature chuckle wickedly, his fingers wrapping around your throat as he leaned closer. He mouth was so close to your lips and you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for his next move. Your nails dug into the ground as you soon felt a pair of lips pressing against the corner of your mouth.

The kiss burned and you let out a scream, though it sounded so weak in your own ears. The creature’s hum echoed all around you as his hold around your throat tightened.

”I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

That was the last thing you heard before the darkness filled your mind.

Your whole body felt like being on fire as you finally got a part of your consciousness back. Everything hurt and you could only make out a figure hovering above you and the blurry surroundings. You were inside the house, in your bedroom, on your bed, completely naked.

”Shhh, it won’t hurt soon,” the creature spoke as he run his hand along your body, and you writhed underneath him. His voice was far from comforting.

Nothing had ever hurt so much. It was blinding, the burn slowly crawling under your skin. And all you wanted was it to end, you would do anything to make it end.

”Please, make it stop,” you cried out, tears flowing as it all was too much. Lips pressed against your cheek, claws digging into your hip and it only made it all worse. The creature took it slow, he wanted you to suffer, he enjoyed seeing you in pain. The chuckle he let out after another burn wave hit you, was pleased.

It was slowly sinking in that this all had been just a fun game to him. That he had pulled the strings right from the start and you hadn’t been able to do anything but to play along. This had been his goal all along, to use you as he wished, mentally and physically. There would be no way out of this nightmare anymore.

You wished you could die. That would surely end the suffering.

”Oh, I like the way you think but sadly that’s not my plan,” the creature said, his lips fanning over your marred skin on your chest and something within you shattered.

So you were getting the worst fate one could think of.

”Mine… You’ll mine,” the creature continued, his voice seeming to ooze more power with every word. ”You’ll help me to rule the darkness, the shadows.”

You drew in sharp breaths as the creature’s lips found your most sensitive parts of your body and you felt the nausea twist in your stomach. He growled as you writhed, some wicked pleasure blending with the disgust as your body reacted to his touch. It was wrong, so wrong. You grabbed a fistful of sheets, the burn spreading all over you again, the pillow under your head feeling damp from all the tears you had shed.

”Do you want me to take you?”

No, you wanted to say but that wasn’t what came out of your mouth.

”Yes.”

And in the next moment, he entered your body, claiming you as his. The pain only got worse but it lasted only for a moment, being soon replaced by something that you couldn’t describe. It wasn’t pain but it was far from pleasure, too. You felt something flowing into you – something purely evil, conquering you, filling your every cell with darkness.

There was no gentleness, only harsh movements as the creature defiled your body. You wanted to scream but it was only possible in your mind, the echo of it mixing with the moan escaping from your mouth in reality.

Or was this even the reality, you didn’t know. And it didn’t matter whether this was a dream or reality as the nightmare was still there, in the form of this creature that looked too much like a man. A handsome man that surely would have caught your attention if you had seen him somewhere in town.

A devil in disguise, spreading his poison into you and bounding you to him.

As his eyes finally met yours, you knew that there was no point of return. This house, the place you had thought would be your safe haven, had now become a cage and the man, the creature above you, in you, was a predator. A predator who loved to play with his preys. But you weren’t a prey, no, you were something much worse.

A prisoner, his prisoner – maybe even some kind of a spouse – for as long as he wished.

[fordohyon]

hello dear!! I want to request a junghoon imagine please! (Write it when you’re finished your other request its okay💕) when you enter the practice room and find him dancing/exercising as you’re bf? Like a clingy bf stuff kiss and hugs🥹🥹🩵🩵( i hope you get it💕 ) thank youuu!!

I hope you’ve been amazing dear 💗🙌

ofcc, sorry that this took me so long to do 😞 i promise ill do better with posting and writing 🤞 ive just been procrastinating a lot 😢😢

PAIRING - JUNGHOON(xikers) x Reader

TAGS - fluff, just fluff. Nothing else but fluff

WARNING(S) - NOT PROOFREAD maybe a bit out of character for him, but idkkkk

WC - 289 (just a super short drabble 🥲 I swear I’ll make a 1k+ wc fix for him 🫡)

A/N - this request is long overdue 🥲🥲 ill be doing more fics for hoonie tho!! - me thinks he's the type to call you babe and honey, I'm very serious about this!! If he were to use a pet name it'd be babe or honey!!! 💯 might post a sumin fic tomorrow or the next day!! I'm almost done 😮‍💨

Entering the practice room your boyfriend was using was a bit bizarre, it's not like you've never seen him dancing or exercising, you just wanted to accompany him while his members were out of the country for a while. The moment you came into the room you didn't go unnoticed, watching him dance for a bit, "Junghoon...?" You let out, voice barely audible.

"Y/N, What's the occasion? I'm not complaining or anything, it's just that you don't usually come into the practice rooms, even when I'm inside..." That's something you don't think he'd even notice, what an attentive boyfriend he is. "I... uhm just came to accompany you! I thought you would have felt a bit lonely during these times is all!" You meekly say before approaching Junghoon and wiping his sweat off with your handkerchief.

Junghoon isn't one to usually cling to you but today seems to be the opposite of that. "Babe... Can we just sit down? Wanna hug you.” He groans, sitting down on the floor. “Missed you, a lot hoonie…” Kissing his cheek as he cuddles you, “I missed you too, honey, though it’s only been 2 days since we last saw each other.” Kissing you again, this time you can feel him smile in between the kisses. “Too long, Couldn’t hug and kiss you then..!” His head sinks onto your shoulder. Goggling at him for a few minutes, you just can’t believe you have the cutest boyfriend ever.

Especially when he’s needy. “Honey, want you to kiss me… actually,” He says before plummeting kisses all over your face. He’s not one to do these but visiting him more often seems to brood your mind. “I love you, Junghoon.”

“I love you too, Y/N”

[xoxo-surfergirl]

wash my sins away

IV. beneath them there is none.

aemond targaryen x fem!lucerys velaryon

abstract: lucera and aemond awake on a beach in storm's end, with no recollection of how they got there. they sense the brewing war, but amnesia has ripped away the memory of visery's passing.

themes: potential dub con but nothing happens, dark aemond (he's a dark character so he's gonna come off as dark in this fic), all of rhaenyra's children are girls, enemies to enemies to lovers, eventual smut, medium burn

lucy's notes: there will be a minor pairing of aegon x female jacaerys velaryon. yay for an aegon feature!

word count: 6.2k

Blackwater Bay

The ocean is quiet at night. Not in the way forests are—no. There is no chirping of insects, random rustling, or the occasional howl. Every object making noise is directly in sight. Oars rocking against their holders, water loudly whispering its touch to the edge of the boat. It is silence without consequence, every noise made by oneself painfully loud. 

Aegon had never experienced silence like this before. 

He was alone, truly alone, on the skiff he had “bartered” for at the far end of the docks in King’s Landing. There had been no one around at that hour, exactly what he could have hoped for, and found a man sleeping in his boat. He ended it quickly—slitting his throat before throwing him into the sea as gently as the act could be done. The man’s friends would think him to have gone fishing, and no one would suspect anything for another day or two. 

Aegon felt bad about it. He didn’t like having blood on his hands. He never did. There had been too much spilt at the coronation already. It was greatly smattered on the floor, and he couldn’t believe it had happened in his name. 

But that was the past, and the pain it had brought would come to an end, for him at least. He was here now, gradually sliding his way across Blackwater Bay in the shroud of the new moon. He could not remember the last time he had been truly alone, and suspected the idea that maybe it never had before. Kingsguard, sworn shields, courtiers, servants, his mother…there was always someone around. If not visible, they were lurking in the corner, awaiting his call. 

If he was fully honest with himself, it made him feel vulnerable to be so alone, without guaranteed protection, or a guarantee of anything, for that matter. 

But this was his only real choice. In his mind, at least. 

The resistance of the water had only seemed to grow. His shoulders burned in places he had never felt before. Sweat had gathered and dried and gathered and dried again on his brow since he began several hours past. His breath had become his steady metronome, keeping it even and in time with his rowing, allowing him to enter a trance-like state of paddling that accelerated his movement. It also kept him sane. It prevented him from thinking about what he was doing. 

Which, by the way, he did not have much time to do.  

It’s not that he hadn’t thought it through. It’s that he was approaching the hard part. It was all happening , or it was about to, and he needed to be ready to put his head down and charge to the end. He was in a joust, on his horse in the ring, and these were the final seconds before the horn bellowed and his opponent barreled towards him with all their might, and he knew his only chance of survival was to avoid being knocked to the ground. 

It’s harder than it looks.

The moment he was found missing from his featherbed, there would be alarm, and it would only take nigh a few hours after their noticing his absence to realize he was nowhere in the Keep, and the search of the city would begin. After a thorough search of the city was conducted, which will probably require two days to fully come to completion, the search of the Realm would begin. And by then, he needed to be on a boat to Myr. 

But that was the worst case scenario. Reality, for once, had chosen to side with him: just like when he disappeared the morning of his coronation, his mother and Otto would be hindered in their search by the need for it to remain secret. It does them no favors to have their King missing. It wouldn’t exactly put the people’s trust in his hands. But that doesn’t even uncover the possibilities if Rhaenyra found out. She would absolutely seize the opportunity to take back her throne. He told himself he had two days to find a boat in Massey’s Hook to take him across the Narrow Sea, but he knew in truth he had more. 

This blessing of more time was his silver lining. Aegon was in limbo, an in-between state where he was neither here nor there, having to give up everything he knew for a life of his choosing. His new life was not guaranteed, either: it may not be great, and it may not even be good. He may never have any riches again. He may never ride Sunfyre again (his Mother had the foresight to chain him in his nest, not to be released to Aegon under any circumstances after his stunt before he was crowned). He may never see his mother again, or any of his other family. It made his heart ache. His face contorted in deep emotion as he rowed harder. But my life will be mine, and no one else’s. 

Thinking of which, he wondered if Aemond had secretly shared the same plan. He smiled to himself. Perhaps he’s fooled me all this time . He hoped so. 

He hated the idea that he hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to the one person he had wanted to. If Aemond were in the Keep, Aegon would have told him his escape plan. He would have congratulated Aemond on being the next ruler of the Realm, and he would have said that he was much more worthy to be king. 

But Aemond disappearing gave Aegon all the more reason to disappear in the first place. When there had been no word of him from Storm’s End, it turned a quiet contemplation into a committed plan. 

He hadn’t wanted to sit the throne to begin with. He didn’t want it, and he didn’t even care if it went to Aemond, Rhaenyra, Otto, Daemon, or anyone else, so long as he got to live. But he especially could not sit the throne without Aemond by his side. He hadn’t known what to do without his brother to keep him straight, to reprimand him when he did something foolish. It was comforting in its own way, a comfort that he hadn’t fully realized the extent of until it was gone. Aemond would whisper in his ear exactly what to say to the court, grab him by his collar when he needed a fresh slap of sobriety to get him through a courtier’s feast, and remind him of his duties. 

It wasn’t like his mother, who had a funny definition of love that appeared as hate in a way only a mother of a disappointment could understand,  or Otto, who he was sure had diminished any sense of family he had felt between them when it had become clear his own agenda would be complicated by Aegon’s mere existence. He knew Helaena loved him, and she was gentle and soft with him, but airy and childlike. Her love was dear to him, and he knew she would be devastated, but it was a sacrifice he had to make. Aegon knew, on some level, she would understand. 

Aemond’s love was different, harsh and loyal. Even if Aegon shrugged him off, which he did much of the time, there was someone who was there—who cared about him and understood him, who had his back in a way no one else did. 

But Aemond wasn’t there, not anymore. It was so unlike him to disappear. That’s my job, damn the gods. Aegon laughed out loud to himself. 

He knew he had been progressing through the Blackwater, careful to keep the coastline of the southernmost part of the bay in his view so as to not lose direction. 

It was deep in the night. The stars looked down upon him. He heaved a deep breath, and pushed his arms, his shoulders, his neck through their weeping ache in another stroke of the oars. Heave and push. Heave and push. Over and over again in the oblivion of the sea, no one or nothing around him to acknowledge his pain, his breath. 

But dawn was coming, he felt it. 

And the sunrise is going to be beautiful .

Shipwreck Village, Stormlands

Voices from below wafted through the leaky window panes. Lucera and Aemond had been lightly shifting in eachothers arms for more than half the morning, the heat caught underneath their covers tempting their sweat. Aemond had removed his shirt in the middle of the night, leaving him only in his small clothes. 

He was so solid—pure strength—and Lucera tried not to melt into a puddle everytime he moved his hands across her through the night. They had been shifting and adjusting to new positions in comfort, their warmth tied between them. 

Aemond loved the plumpness of her thighs, and he wanted little else than to grab a handful and flex his hips into her arse. His length was hard, aching, and his remedy was so close , yet so far. He hoped she could feel it; all of it. He wanted her to know that she did so many things to him, and he wanted to do so many things to her in return. 

But patience. The moment would come. 

Lucera lifted her eyes open, seeing Aemond’s platinum hair in the least tidy state she’d ever seen it. It’s not that it was messy—it just wasn’t pin-straight perfect. A side effect of sleeping in the same bed as him, she supposed. 

Lucera had thought about it lightly before, since the first night they shared together: she had never been this close to a man before, and certainly had never had one in her bed. 

She stilled at the thought. Oh gods.  

What would her mother think? She would be furious . In fact, what in the seven hells was she doing, with him in her bed? 

Bastard daughters are born to be whores . If anyone found out, if anyone knew, all of the whispers about her would be true. Her breath hitched in her chest, and she removed Aemond’s heavy tangled arms around her and got out of the bed as quickly as she could. 

How had she not thought about this yet? Was it the hazy memory? Being bedridden? She gripped the window sill, looking down at all of the people gathered for the festival below. 

There were flourishes of the gathering below her, but it was the loudness of her thoughts that caused her ears to ring. She could hear Aemond shift the covers behind her, and the wood creaking towards her as he walked. His hand sat on her lower back, urging her to face him. 

He tilted her face with his hand. “What is it?” 

Lucera didn’t know if she wanted to respond, unsure if it would do her much good. He had always been cruel to her—he probably would relish in her embarrassment and shame. Was that his plan? To build the shame around her and turn the whispers into truths? 

He searched her face intently. “Lucera. Answer me.” 

If that were his plan or motivation, it was already done. Her acknowledgement could do no further harm. 

“I—we’ve slept in a bed together, if anyone knew—” she searched his face for answers, pleading for him to say something of comfort. 

“No one will question your virtue.” He swept a lock of her hair behind her ear, leering down at her. “I will not mention it, dear niece.” 

She held his gaze questioningly, waiting for a cache, for him to add a clause in which he would ask something great of her in return for his secrecy. It never came, and she held the silence tensely. 

“I am a maiden. I swear it.” She added, unbreaking of their eye contact. 

“I believe you.” He stepped closer to her, closing a few inches of distance that had sat between them. “I can tell because you shiver under my hand. No man has ever put their hands on you besides me.” 

Feeling a sweltering combination of humiliation at her noticeability but relief at his trust, she simply nodded. 

They held each other’s silence for a moment before a horn sounded from the crowd below them, welcoming in the affairs and celebration of the festival of the Stranger. The two looked down out the window where people poured into the square. 

Lucera found her words once more, turning to face him. “We should join them. Enjoy ourselves a bit.” 

Aemond stared blankly ahead. “They might recognize me.” 

“Not with your cloak, they won’t.” She tossed him the black cloak hanging on the bedpost. “What else would we do? Watch the festival from the window and sulk?” 

Down in the square, they squeezed their shoulders between the shrouds of smallfolk. They observed as the crowd smiled openly, laughed freely, danced lively. The food was exquisitely humble, new flavors and textures twisting on their tongue. Lucera marveled at the lanterns and flags floating above them, the light wind forcing their sway. Young smallfolk girls with dirty smocks and bright smiles had asked to braid her lengthy curly hair, to which Lucera sweetly obliged. Their giggles fulfilled her, and small but careful hands stuffed flowers in the pockets of their plaits. 

Aemond regarded her as they did so. Her brown hair made her so plain to him, and yet it didn’t. She glowed in spite of it. The smallfolk girls had chosen her amongst the rest of the women there who grew their hair down their backs. He had no doubt they could see her inner light, the one that he felt drawn to. 

He turned away, not wanting to explore his thoughts further at the moment. 

Lucera had been correct in her pull to get them outside of the inn and join the celebrations. The day had been a welcome distraction in their plight, but the weight of the unknown still sat heavy on each of them. 

The sun was closing over the horizon, her last rays of light brilliant and gaudy settling down underneath the darkness.  A large pile of wood was filling in the center of the square. The music intensified as the darkness grew, more drums being rolled out into the square, and more people filling in the cracks to dance. Lucera was laughing boldly and openly as she pulled Aemond closer towards the apex of the festivities, between bodies and flailing limbs. 

A large horn sounded next to the large pile of wood, a group of smallfolk wearing all black in their honor of the Stranger. The music quieted. Jips and laughter turned to quieted voices and whispers as one of the smallfolk stood on a platform, each but one holding large torches. 

The one without a torch, a burly man with dark scruff framing his face, broke the hush. 

“We come to celebrate the Stranger. He who escorts us through the ultimate unknown. He who is the bringer of death,” he bellowed over the crowd, pausing to emphasize his words.  “But, he also promises us rebirth. Today, we remember that when he calls, we must not be afraid. We must surrender to him, knowing that he promises us new life.” 

The men with the torches split, each moving to gather around the large pile of wood. In perfect rhythm, a low drumming resumed, approaching as a panther would stalk its prey. The men raised their torches, flames hungry to eat. 

Raising his fist, the pepper-scruffed man shouted. “To surrender!” 

The smallfolk gathered around repeated the same phrase with vigor. 

“To death!” His face screwed in intensity as he exclaimed. The drums intensified, building at the energy behind his words. 

“To death!” A chorus of voices, taking on the depth of each of their own octaves, responded. 

For a final time, his fist raised vehemently. “To new life!” 

Those gathered around them followed his actions and his words. “To new life!” 

The torches were raised at the proclamation, and then dipped to touch the wood. The flames, released from their confinement and now able to run free, crawled up every mutilated pine and birch in exaltation. The fire unfurled like a bird of paradise, exuberant and wild at the center of the square. The music resumed, and dancing rippled through the gathering. 

Lucera looked at Aemond, who had already laid his eye on her. The flames were bright in his pupils, his face alight with fire. She wondered if her eyes looked the same. They were standing nearly chest to chest, and fell into the dance just as everyone around them. 

Both were light and careful on their feet, her hair spinning in a beautiful haze, a veil catching the firelight. Their eye contact was penetrating, something having come over the two of them, just as it had the entirety of the smallfolk present. An intensity had settled between them, sitting in the space of their bodies. They both felt it, and through their dancing, it became harder to ignore. 

Aemond was captivated by her movements, the way her waist felt against his hand and the blood rushing to the surface of her cheeks as he did so. Lucera was ignited by his touch and proximity, unwilling to live in any moment but the present. The bonfire crackled as they winded around it through intentional steps and crosses. 

Her breathing intensified, the music reaching new heights and growth as they weaved between the smallfolk. 

Unexpectedly, Aemond led her to the side, out of the river of dancers. Lucera eagerly followed him, their hands remaining intertwined even as he thrust her back against a cobbled wall. He used his leverage to remain steadfast against her. 

His hands reached for her face, fingers sliding across her cheeks, leaning down to meet her lips. 

Lucera was warmth, all molten silver under his fingers. The dance had lowered her inhibitions, making her eager and wanting, their fiery desire stoked to a boiling point. She couldn’t help her carnal instincts—the gratification of his want for her. He was in control, leading her with his tongue and lips, holding her face, guiding her as it pleased him. Lucera felt herself slide into his desire, confident and submitting in his lead. 

Between them, their roles split with no objection. He had always been the dominant one, after all. 

Lucera, as inexperienced as she was, couldn’t control the soft whimpers through their kiss as he slid his hands through her hair, across her face and neck, and down her waist. He swallowed her lips into his mouth hungrily. 

She loved the delicate dance between the softness and firmness of his kiss, reveling in his tongue in her mouth and his thumb tracing her jaw while his fingers splayed across the back of her neck. 

In her exploration of his torso, her hand accidentally brushed against the hilt of his sword. She was reminded of his capabilities as the hard leather of his belt pressed into her, his strength and agility, his deadliness. It amplified the intensity of his movements—he could kill her where she stood. 

Lucera was overcome by the fever of experiencing intimacy for the first time, her body pulling towards his unconsciously, asking and wanting for things unknown to her. 

But Aemond knew. The pleading grip of her hands, unsure of where to hold him, the flex of her hips as she silently begged for more. It made him smug to know she wanted him as he wanted her. 

He dipped to her neck, intent on leaving marks. “My, my, you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” 

He took some of her skin in his mouth, sucking gently. Her breath caught in her throat as he plunged her into the sensation, just as he knew it would. 

“Aemond—,” Lucera pushed with what little breath she had. 

Oh, the things he could show her. 

He moved his lips up to lick her ear, sealing it with a soft bite. Lucera shuddered as every nerve sent ripples throughout the rest of her body, holding back a moan. Aemond was ripping open a trap door of pleasure, and she was falling down it. 

He laughed lowly against her skin, continuing his love bites across her neck. When he felt she was plenty adorned, he slid back up to her face, kissing her deeply. She drank in his kiss, keeping up with his motions. Their synchronization and rhythm from the dance lingered as they fell into each other. 

The celebrations beyond them continued, and the bonfire ate away the wood, but the two were engulfed by one another—years of torment and uncertainty culminating between them, fueled by the mystery of their happenstance. Neither could deny their burn for each other, a deeply etched mark that sat scratching and desperate to be satisfied by something that only the other could give. Did it want love? Pain? Would it only be satiated by the intensity of madness? What was sitting in the liminal space of their lives before Shipwreck beach and the present moment? 

He pulled away from her against his own will, searching her face for any sort of reaction, anything else he could devour. Lucera looked up at him breathless, her eyes large, freckles dotting her skin like a fresh doe’s back. Her lips were parted and swollen with his kiss, wetness smeared across them from his tongue. 

She took the moment to catch her breath, all of the novelty filling her with a sense of discovery. His darkness was in control, she could sense it. It sparked a twinkle of fear in her, as it always had, but this time it was different—this time, that fear was accompanied by excitement. Lucera was at his mercy, as she always had been, and as she accepted she most likely always would be. 

But now, it’s different. Or at least it felt that way. 

He looked at her like a starving man, ravenous and ready to take. 

In silent agreement, they broke off of the cobble wall, Aemond careful to adjust his cloak. He kept his hand on her lower back, steady and firm, as she walked only a step or two in front of him through the masses of smallfolk and to the entrance of the Inn. He was tempted to grab her thighs as she bounced up the stairs, knowing the soft flesh would feel exquisite in his palms. 

Lucera hastily opened the door, turning around to meet him as he brushed the door closed before pulling her back into his grip. He wrapped his arm around her mid back, pulling her further into him as he swallowed her into a kiss. In between their kisses, he deftly threw off his cloak. He took her arms in his hands and assuredly backed her into the bed, pushing her downwards. Lucera was on her back, lost under his weight, meeting his firm kisses with her own, trying to control her impulse to roll her hips against him. 

He dipped down to her neck once more, breathing in her scent. He flexed his hips into her own, knowing she could feel his hardness against her hip. Aemond felt her take a hesitant inhale. 

He bit her ear lightly. “Mmm. I want you, Lucera.” 

Her chest rose and fell with heavy feeling, unsure of what she should do. Of what she could do. Her body and mind whirled between one another. 

Her silence beckoned him to continue, knowing it came from a place of unsureness. Aemond didn’t care—he wanted her to know exactly how he felt. 

“I want to feel you from the inside.” He gripped her hip, his long hair falling around her face. “Do you feel me? Do you feel how much I want you?” 

Lucera looked up at him, eyes still full. There was a warmth in her belly, twisting and pulling with every slight movement of his hips and hands. Stars danced around her as he expressed his desire, knowing that he could somehow fix her ache. 

It was Aemond. The Cruel Prince, the tormentor of her days—both from guilt and by his own hand. And she had made him that way. She wanted to succumb to his darkness, to fall into their joint desire and burn. He had shown her kindness in their time together—in his own way. They had reached an understanding of each other, of the depth between them and its complexity. She knew there was something more there, and had been afraid to express it, but she knew he felt it too. Their fates were interwoven, deep and locked in. 

She was a puddle in his hands, dripping through his fingers. 

But she couldn’t do it. 

“Remember earlier? I’m a maiden.” She whimpered below him. 

He kissed her cheek softly. “And I shall have you, do I not deserve it? You took my eye, I deserve your maidenhead, don’t you think?” 

“Yes but, I—this could ruin my reputation.” 

In truth, his discovery at her purity and desire for innocence pleased him greatly. It was not the first time he had called her something of a whore, but it was the first time she had openly refused it as being true. No one would have her but him.

Aemond sneered. “You don’t think your reputation is already ruined? You don’t think your mother ruined your reputation before you were even conscious by birthing you and your bastard sisters?” 

Lucera stilled, feeling small at his accusation. It used to cut her deep, and it still hurt, but there was a certain numbness that accompanies the same insults one hears across a lifetime. Her and Jacaera had fought the accusation of being promiscuous their entire lives, the whispers only worsening with age. 

She closed her eyes, letting it roll off of her as she was used to, especially from him. “And that is exactly why I can’t. Because I have to try harder than any other lady to keep my reputation clean.” 

He looked at her, his face stuck in a smirk. “And what would the court say if they knew you and I to be sharing a room?” 

Lucera fought the very thoughts that had been haunting her since the morning. “We are blood, they wouldn’t think—” 

“And we are also Targaryens.” Aemond was quick to interject, pulling a lock of hair behind her ear.  “Don’t you think they would imagine you just like this? Underneath me? You’ve already indulged me in a kiss, I’m sure a little more wouldn’t hurt.” 

Lucera tried to sit up, but he held her arms pinned. Her eyes, once large with desire, widened in surprise. 

“Please don’t tell anyone. Please Aemond.” She pleaded. 

Seven hells . He loved it when she begged, and he had to restrain himself from hiking up her skirt and rutting into her like a madman. He could feel her desire and conflict bubbling from her skin, especially as he ran his hand along the curve of her body. 

“Mmm.” He contemplated, lazy watching the trail of his hand, imagining her body bare. “I won’t. But I know your true desires. I know you want me too, little niece.” 

She shivered underneath him, a confirmation of what he knew very much to be true. He continued. “I already told you I wouldn’t tell. You can speak freely.” 

Lucera hesitated, eyes looking for his. He held all of the power: if he told the court what she had done, if anyone had known their true identities and seen them in the square, her reputation would be irreparably tarnished. But she was too far gone to hold back her words. “You make me feel…so many things. But I need my maidenhead. What if my future husband knows? I cannot risk it.” 

Aemond bent down to kiss her softly. The way she had said future husband made him want to roll his eye. It didn’t sit right with him. But, he found the way she fought so valiantly for her maidenhead endearing, even through her pleasure. 

He pulled away from her, looking at her straight in the eyes. “You can keep your maidenhead, for now. As for everything else, don’t worry, little niece,” he leant down to whisper into her. “It can be our little secret.” 

Lucera closed her eyes in relief, the weight of her life heavy on her shoulders. She felt envious of Aemond in that moment, watching him as he brought himself off the bed to remove his boots and layers. He would never have to worry of sullying his own reputation, he would never have to understand the consequence of indulgence in flesh. She was cross about it, even as she felt movement by her feet. 

He was crouched, delicately unlacing her boots. Her expression softened as he pulled one foot out, and then another, running his hand up her calf, gently massaging each in his palm. 

Aemond felt she needed a little bit of softness from him, it would go a long way for a girl like her. It wasn’t because he wanted to ease her anguish…or so he told himself. 

He climbed up to meet her, adjusting the blankets and pulling her back to him in a deep kiss. Their circumstances were of little worry as they held each other fully and deeply. 

Massey's Hook

The firm ground was welcome to the rocking seas of the Gullet. The dawn was ready to break as they arrived, a cool blue slowly edging its way to lightness before the sun rose above the horizon. Their horses were grateful to etch dirt in their hooves, having been unsettled for a large part of their journey. 

A pit of nerves laced around her stomach as the vast expanse of forest was laid in front of her, a reminder of the uncertainty and mystery in the journey. At the very least, they could find what happened to Lucera—and if Aemond was truly missing, him too. 

Jacaera pulled out the map tucked into her cloak. This is what it meant to be a ruler. To solve problems, to journey into the unknown, and to do the best you can. To be there for people who need you. She carefully studied the coastline of Sharp Point, tracing its edges and comparing them to the rough split between the land and sea in front of her. 

She knew there was little chance that Lucera, if alive, had ended up this far north. Because of this, cast her bets and decided to wait to ask the townsfolk in the surrounding area until they got further south. It was a risk she was willing to take to avoid suspicion, as the town was still too close to Dragonstone. 

Her mare huffed beside her, eager to loosen her legs after a stagnant journey. She was a white and gray dotted beauty, a favorite of Jacaera’s to ride. Taking a deep breath, Jacaera threw herself over the saddle, and signaled for her beauty to move. 

As they crossed the threshold of the forest, Jacaera turned her head to watch the boat that had carried them across the Gullet slowly push back to Dragonstone. A shiver of finality ran through her—she was really doing this, and there was no returning home so easily. She watched Ser Lorent trailing behind her, his large shoulders unable to be concealed by the peasant cloaks they were given to remain anonymous. 

Her hair hung freely down her back. In all moments, but in this moment especially, Jacaera was grateful for her blood father’s hair. It made her just like the smallfolk, easily blending in with the right clothing. The smallfolk needed an heir who they could relate to and connect with, representation that Targaryen features don’t allow for. She was unwilling to conform to the court who jested about her bastardy, as if their features were any different. As if it made a person any more or less human. She wore her blood father’s features with pride—olive skin, brown eyes, and freckles. Her mother and Ser Harwin’s love was nothing worthy of shame. 

It was a tricky thing, though. She could let the words roll off of her all she wanted, but it didn’t change the careful approach she needed to maintain her reputation of her virtue. Dragonstone had allowed for less courtly life to rule her, but she wanted to ensure that no unsavory rumors would reach King’s Landing. She thought of Lucera, who had always held more shame about her features. It sent an ache through her heart. 

Lucera.  

The clicking of her horse’s hooves was a constant melody, the trot of the second quartet not far behind. They were close enough to the watchtower of Sharp Point to need haste so as to not be spotted as first light poured in. 

Jacaera was tired, and she was certain Ser Lorent was as well. But Lucera couldn’t wait . Her body was out there, breathing or not. She rubbed the dryness scratching at her eyes, willing her mare forward. 

The wood had long faded, leaving way for rocky brushland spattered with wind-blown junipers and greasewoods. The sun had risen nearly halfway above them when they reached a small town, dirt turning to organized cobbles rising into modest buildings and arches. Jacaera settled her feet on the ground, walking her horse as she took in the state of the village. 

She was unsure of where to start, of what to do—but she figured that she must begin somewhere. She beckoned Ser Lorent forward from his shadowy stride, and together they entered a bakery. 

Jacaera examined the humble number of breads sitting on the rack, as a comely woman slapped dough on a table deeper in the room. 

The hearth was alight, the smell of freshly baked bread warming her. The woman in the back turned her head at the sound of footsteps. 

“Whaddya want?” She commented, as if she had been disturbed by their presence. Jacaera noticed her voice had a firmness to it. 

It was unusual for her to be spoken to in such an uncaring manner by anyone other than her family. A part of the experience excited her. 

Jacaera cleared her throat. “Your freshest loaf, please.” 

The woman forcefully threw the dough she had been kneading onto the table, waddled over to the stone oven, and eyed Jacaera and Ser Lorent carefully. “Set the copper stars on the counter, dear.” 

Jacaera recognized her hesitancy at their presence, and attempted to emulate anything other than her royal accent. “Don’t get many out of towners, do yah?” 

“It’s rare anyone I don’t know comes through my doors.” She reached for the large pan still in the hearth. “Hardly anyone travels this far up the Hook. But, I suppose it happens.” 

Jacaera cursed herself. Maybe this was too early of a town. But she knew any information was valuable to their search. “We’re visiting a cousin. She’s getting married on the morrow.” 

The woman set the steaming loaf of sourdough in front of Jacaera on the table with a knowing look. “Who’s yer cousin?” 

Seven hells. Jacaera set the copper stars on the table, hardening her brow. Ser Lorent straightened behind her. 

The woman threw up her hands. “Alright, keep yer secrets.” She went back to her raw dough, working it with her hands a bit more before looking at Jacaera one last time. 

“Just know, there ‘re very few secrets kept around here.” 

Once outside the doors, Jacaera sighed. “Well, that went well.” 

Ser Lorent simply shrugged. “Any information is valuable information.” 

She looked up at him, his blonde hair nearly covering his eyes. “You’re right. It’s important to know how they think. That tells us that the smallfolk, especially in smaller towns and villages, all know of each other, or at least are familiar with each other’s faces. If Lucera is still around, she will be noticed.” 

Jacaera turned her head forward solemnly, fishing in her bag for a large chunk of cheese. She was too worry sick to eat herself, but she knew Ser Lorent wasn’t. Jacaera ripped a large piece off of the loaf, holding out her hands to him offering both the cheese and bread. 

He took a large bite, speaking through his food. “It’s easier for us that way. And, I’m sure if anything were to happen to a stranger, it would be the gossip of the town” 

Jacaera turned her head away from the crumbs falling out of his mouth. 

She hesitated at the hope blooming in her chest. She didn’t want to be disappointed, to allow herself to feel relieved only for her to discover that something terrible had happened.

The lump in her throat thickened, but she swallowed it down. 

Jacaera turned to where she knew the water of Blackwater Bay was, if not obstructed by rock. She thought of King’s Landing in the distance, the towering Keep where Aegon had been crowned, where her family had been scorned, where the brink of war lay waiting. She prayed they did not know of Lucera’s disappearance. 

Haven't we endured enough? 

She climbed on her horse, bitter and driven. 

[missiemoosie]

Fanfic writer interview~

Thank you for the tag, @sotwk~!

A note: I put links to each of the fics that get mentioned, but only logged in AO3 users can see them.

How many works do you have on AO3?

8

What's your total AO3 word count?

1,698,209

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

Her Dreams Became Nightmares [The Hobbit, Thorin x f!oc]

Of Sparrow and Drystan [PotC, Jack Sparrow x f!oc x genderfluid!oc]

Azying [The Hobbit, Bofur x f!oc x m!oc and rewrite of Finding Their Place]

Finding Their Place [The Hobbit, Bofur x f!oc]

Daughter of Death [Mulan (1998), no romance, f!oc]

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to respond to as many comments as I can, though sometimes, I just don't have the energy. The ones I do reply to are usually ones that make me laugh or have non-spoilery questions~

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Daughter of Death, definitely. Though, it's sequel, Daughter of Rebirth, might be tied with it.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Taming a Monster. Only because, other than the aforementioned Mulan fics, it's the only fic on my account that's actually finished LMAO

Do you write crossovers?

Not really. I do sometimes sneak little easter eggs into my fics, though. Like in Finding Their Place/Azying, Ned the Piemaker from Pushing Daisies is the brother to Adela. And in my PotC fic, I plan on Emil running into Edward Kenway from Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag (among others).

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yeah. Some people didn't like that my oc for Taming a Monster was dark skinned. Not that she was half troll, but that she was dark-skinned in a Viking-Based fandom. Also got one hate comment on Of Sparrow and Drystan because someone was pissed Emil was actually a woman....But that's about it.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I sometimes do, but I don't post it. Because I don't need all my kinks out in the open. I'm nervous enough posting my drawn smut LOL

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I...don't think I have. I do know someone was translating Taming a Monster into Russian, so if ever anyone ever came across that, please know it was done with permission.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Speak of the devil, I just mentioned this =D

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. My friend and I were going to try co-writing an Avengers fic a few years ago, but we never got around to it.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

We talking canon x canon? Or can we include oc x canon? Because, tbh, I don't really hardcore ship any canon x canon ships, aside from Will and Elizabeth from PotC or Kaz x Inej from Six of Crows. So maybe those? Or Bofur x Thorin. Otherwise, my favorite ships are mostly ot3s with an oc involved.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Daughter of Life, the final part of my Mulan series. I just got so incredibly burnt out on it that even thinking about it makes me feel like that one meme of Ben Affleck smoking.

What are your writing strengths?

People tell me it's my descriptions and keeping the characters...well, in character.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle with shorter stories and that, in turn, gives me burn out. I've gotten better about writing shorter chapters over the last couple of years, though.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I do it sparingly, unless it's a made up language like Khuzdul. But even then, I try to keep it limited because I know there are people who actually speak neo-Khuzdul and would probably want to strangle me for the way I write it LOL

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

None, really. I just want to be able to get the gumption to work on my own stories soon LOL

What's your favorite fic you've written?

Since you say 'written', I'm assuming this means finished fics. So in this case, it'd have to be Taming a Monster. If we're talking fanfics in general, then Azying. It's got more of my headcanons and worldbuilding in it for the Hobbit than HDBN, since I allow myself more freedom to play around (and did I mention it's an everyone lives AU?)

Time for tags~! Most of the people I know who write fics have already been tagged, so there aren't too many I can add to the list. However, the ones I will add:

@arcadian-dragon-riding @kotaka-kun @oh--you--pretty--things and whoever else would like to do this~!

[cornley-amateur-drama-society]

@ficwip's 2024 in Review Questions Answered!

This will be long since there're 30 questions, and we all know I have a tendency to talk a lot. Fear not! The first three questions will be above the cut, and the rest under the cut, so's to save your dashes, lmao. (Also, I hate how you can't just type “1.” at the beginning of a line without having it automatically turn into a Numbered List. I'm just now realizing as I type this that I could have done “1:” but I've already done the Roman numerals now, so we're just gonna roll with it I suppose.)

|/|\/|\/|\|

I. How many fics have you worked on since January?

An embarrassing amount, let's call it. Perhaps too many for me to have to remember to be counted.

II. What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

Non-linear narratives. Most of the stuff I've written on my ao3 has been fairly linear with clearly defined flashbacks, but I've experimented a bit. I also tried my hand at drabbles again and have successfully done three so far, which I never thought would happen!

III. What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

Unequivocally The Goes Wrong Show and its related plays Peter Pan Goes Wrong and A Christmas Carol Goes Wrong. I have not had creative brainrot this much in so long. Mischief Theatre really came up and fucking walloped me with a hockey stick and it shows.

IV. How many fandoms did you write for this year?

I wrote for a whopping twenty-five different fandoms this year! Very exciting.

[New Girl, The Blooms at Ruyi Pavilion, Derry Girls. Ready or Not (2019), Seraphina by Rachel Hartman, Miraculous Ladybug, Calvin & Hobbes, DC Comics, Pride and Prejudice, The Goes Wrong Show, Peter Pan Goes Wrong, The Witcher, Criminal Minds, Percy Jackson!verse, A Love So Beautiful, Professional Single, Mr. Bean, Wicked Little Letters (2023), Danny Phantom, Over the Garden Wall, Love O2O, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Red One (2024), and several k-pop and c-pop groups.]

V. What ships captured your heart?

So many, oh my god. But I think the strongest ones have been Chris Bean x Vanessa Wilcock-Wynn-Carroway, Max Bennett x Vanessa, and though I didn't write anything, Ben Affleck x Matt Damon. The tag on my main blog is Full.

VI. What characters captured your heart?

Lydia Bennet, the entire cast of TGWS but esp Chris Bean and Vanessa Wilcock-Wynn-Carroway.

VII. Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

Five new fandoms: The Goes Wrong Show, Peter Pan Goes Wrong, Mr. Bean, Wicked Little Letters (2023), and Red One (2024)

And so many ships, it's embarrassing if I cared.

VIII. What fic meant the most to you to write?

OUGH, what a question. I think maybe the ones I did for Calvin & Hobbes because I've adored the comic for so much of my life? I got to see some of Bill Watterson's original archived work in Columbus, Ohio at the comic book museum in the spring this year, which was fucking incredible.

IX. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

Oh, I loved working on the main narrative of my this peace is fragile au, If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me. I had so much fun creating the cultures of both Kingdoms, and playing around with what the Cornley characters would be like in this situation. I just loved everything about it.

X. What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

My Pride and Prejudice modern day AU I wrote for Whumptober 2024, Little Girl, You're in the Middle of the Ride. I really was so invested in what I was writing, and seeing it all come together at the end was so satisfying.

XI. What fic was the most difficult to write?

Oh, hands and above, the first prompt fill for Cornley Christmas Chaos. I can't even remember how many times I restarted the damn fic before throwing in the towel and just deciding to make it a drabble. Which was another added difficulty because I am so bad at keeping my thoughts short. I was successful in the end, though, and the amount of victory I felt was hilarious. (Read it here!)

XII. What fic was the easiest to write?

I think maybe When You Give a Robert A Spell Book… or The Golden Goose. I just remember banging them out in a surprisingly short amount of time.

XIII. What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

Longest: If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me with 11,650 words.

Shortest: Three drabbles this year. A PJO Pipeyna fic entitled a happiness not elusive; the infamous C Cubed Day One prompt fill in the blink of an eye; and a Love O2O fic entitled and i retrocede as if i was swimming, which is a friendship fic between Sīsī and Yìrán.

The difference between the shortest and longest fics are an incredible 11,550 words.

XIV. What were your go-to writing songs?

Whatever was on my Spotify On-Repeat playlist or my playlist “my emo phase pt. ii”. I wasn't super picky with the music this year.

XV. What was the hardest fic to title?

Probably my Ready or Not (2019) pre-canon into canon fic that focuses on Daniel Le Domas thinking about how he got to bleeding out on the floor towards the end of the movie. Nothing I came up with felt right for the longest time, which was annoying. I eventually settled on a dangerous, dangerous game, one that i am definitely losing.

XVI. What’s your favorite title of the year?

Oh, I can't choose just one aldjf;ds. I have a handful that I enjoyed so much.

Younger Family Members Meddling Offers Surprisingly Good Results (not clickbait)

TFW You Find Out You're Marrying Your Brother-in-Law

“Sorry” is a Five-Letter Word (and never does enough)

Hal Jordan Makes a Good Call, Bruce Wayne Found Shocked and in Disbelief

it's hard to speak with a sob in your throat

XVII. Share your favorite opening line.

It was stupid, he knew, to get distracted while one of his hands is inside a piano and the other is hitting keys.

From TFW You Tune Your Strings to the Sound of Her Voice

OR

Róng'ér watches with disbelief as her older sister once again misinterprets Bái-gē’s words and turns his invitation of a date for two to the movies that night into an invitation for their friend group to go out to the movies. Granted, “Would you like to go to the movies tonight?” is a pretty ambiguous statement on its own.

From Younger Family Members Meddling Offers Surprisingly Good Results (not clickbait)

XVIII. Share your favorite ending line.

There’s a streak of blood that almost looked like one of Mom’s arrows on the floor, by his stomach.

From a dangerous, dangerous game, one that i am definitely losing

OR

And if his solicitor couldn’t help… There is hell to pay, and Darce has always been good with money.

From Little Girl, You're in the Middle of the Ride

XIX. Share your favorite piece of dialogue.

“I don’t know,” he said, his tone a touch defensive.  “I told him that I was fine.  He just had to stick his nose into my business.  I was only telling him to buzz off.” Hobbes gave Calvin a dry look.  “By calling him a noodle-necked, muffin-brained, straw-for-arms, nosey jerk?” “… Maybe I was a little harsh,” Calvin admitted, magnanimous in demeanor. “You should apologize,” Hobbes said, ignoring Calvin’s faux humility.

From “Sorry” is a Five-Letter Word (and never does enough)

OR

“This just doesn’t make any sense,” Trevor said, “magic doesn’t exist.  Not really.” Jonathan gave him an unimpressed stare.  “Explain why I’m a metre tall, then.”

From When You Give a Robert a Spell Book…

OR

“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes, “but you’ve only seen him in his uniform.  He’s bound to look different in, say, trackies or something.” “If you’ve set me up with a secret chav, I might genuinely push you into the Thames.” “Isn’t that how Ed Gamble says he got his diabetes?”  Kitty asked, frowning as she tried to remember what his stand-up routine was. “I’m pretty sure Jacaster or Nish said that,” Lydia corrected, silently willing the path to the ring toss to get longer rather than shorter, as it was currently wont to do. “Never getting over the fact you call him Jacaster,” Kitty giggled, doing a poor job of not looking a little moon-eyed about her celebrity crush. “Never getting over the fact that you audibly squeaked when you saw him in that one Mock the Week episode,” Lydia fired back as only little sisters can. “Oh my god, shut up, I didn’t!” “Right,” Lydia pretended to agree, “and Jimmy Carr doesn’t whiten his teeth.”

From Don't Write Yourself Off Yet

XX. Share your funniest line.

Heresy and Elsie rolled their eyes at the same time.  “That’s because you have the unfortunate taste of being into older blond men.”  Heresy snarked over her shoulder as the quartet started to ascend the stairs.

From I demand euphoria

OR

“Your coworkers aren’t as bad as I feared,” Calvin said, turning to Hal. “You haven’t met all of them,” Hal said, smirking. “You haven’t met my Dad’s coworkers.  Talk about corporate zombies.  Yeesh!”

From Hal Jordan Makes a Good Call, Bruce Wayne Found Shocked and in Disbelief

XXI. What’s something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

I think for some of them it was that the fic suddenly kept getting longer and longer and I was surprised that I had so much to say. I think that i might've changed it in some of them, giving it greater emotoinal depth, but in others I think it was probably just unecessary descriptions. Well, not unnecessary, but perhaps superfluous in some cases.

XXII. What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

I used the age old, ever important to the writing process tumblr drafts, along with my computer's notes program, and google docs. I think there was one that I started in docs, finished in ao3 then posted it, and then copy-paste it to the original doc, lmao.

XXIII. If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Ohhhh... Maybe how I somehow wrote 11,650 words in one fic? It's my longest oneshot currently, and I didn't realize how much I had been writing.

XXIV. Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

Not really. I post about it, and if I can be arsed to do it, I post the link. But for the most part, I just finish it and move on to the next thing.

XXV. How did you recharge between fics?

I got really into watching New York Ballet's videos about The Nutcracker, as well as watching a lot of British comedy stuff.

XXVI. Did you create fanworks other than fic?

I made some neko edits of several characters but nothing much other than that. One of my sideblogs orginally started out as a Danny Phantom x DC Comics crossover-specific blog, now with Over the Garden Wall and Calvin & Hobbes, and I made themed icons and headers for it.

XXVII. How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

HHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH so many

Fictober 2024, Whumptober 2024, Cornley Christmas Chaos 2024, 76 Kisses to Valentine's Day 2024-25, Arrowed AUs (a prompt meme list I found a few years ago with little arrows as the bullet points), and Ninette Week 2024.

XXVIII. If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

Definitely my friends and mutuals that I talk to a lot since they got to be witness to my writing process of screaming about how I have no idea what I'm doing. I also owe a lot to @baobeejun who helped "Britpick" my Pride and Prejudice modern day, half-Chinese Bennet daughters AU. Anna has been witness to my nonsense going on five years this spring, and I love her dearly.

XXIX. What’s left on your to-do list for 2024?

I am behind on so many things rn LMAOOOO It's a lot of writing challenges I'd started and not finished, haha. And seeing as I'm posting this on the first day of 2025, I feel like it's very on brand for me.

XXX. What would you like to write next year?

I have the rest of the 76 Kisses left to do, as well as catching up on the other challenges I'd not finished. I do have a prompt meme which I've decided to do this summer entitled "a summer of intimacy", but I'm leaving talking about it more to the early spring!

[acerathia]

twenty questions for fic writers 💖

thank u for the dag erika @kedsandtubesocks !! and!! open tag for everyone who wants to!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

as of now, 10! i'd like to think im pretty consistent with posting on there fjsdlkf

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

88,099 words lolol

3. What fandoms do you write for?

honestly, anything that tickles my fancy. a lot of bnha, some jjk, naruto ofc, and honestly, even genshin, hsr, lds, undertale, orv. i even had a phase where i was writing marvel fics hahaha

4. Top five fics by kudos

let's see

drowning in you (Rafayel x reader)

The Apple of my Eye (Izuku x reader)

equilibrium (Aventurine x reader)

Grave Robbery (Katsuki x reader)

two birds: a tragedy in five acts (Obito x reader)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I honestly get so excited over every comment i get, i cant help but immediately respond 😔

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

idk if it's considered a fic, but that short dabi piece, i cant find the link o7 but it was pretty angsty but in terms of an actual fic, i would consider the ending of 'two birds' as the angstiest ending? maybe

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i would say that on terms of happiness, most of them are equal, bc i tend to end fics on the same place during the momentum hahaha

8. Do you get hate on fics?

this question assumes that people outside of my mutuals read my fics hahaha, no, not really o7

9. Do you write smut?

i've never written explicit smut, just alluding to it or using metaphors. i dont feel comfy writing smut (yet) hahaha

10. Craziest crossover?

never done a crossover o7

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

again, no hahaha

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

boring answer, again no

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes,,, i did write a fics with my bsf in middle school. but also, kinda during my wattpad days... dont ask hahaha

14. All time favorite ship?

my mutualy x happiness <3

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

my marvel fics honestly had pretty cool ideas, but i'm just not into it anymore lolol. but also, one huge fic ive written in ms for mm, but bc it was on paper, i lost everything o7 i'd like to think that even if i take breaks, that i pull through most of the time, unless i completely lose interest

16. What are your writing strengths?

good question, uhm, i think my writing style is nice? idk

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I often cant pull through if the plot is supposed to be longer, as it feels like i lose momentum, also, i often get distracted in the middle of writing and lose my thoughts hahah

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

It depends imo, whole dialogue in another language can rip one out of the vibe, but bits and pieces if done correctly can hint at the personality of the character. esp if one considers how people do that too (i loveee using random english words while speaking other languages)

19. First fandom you wrote in?

naruto o7 ive got a track record worth years atp

20. Favorite fic you've written?

in terms of the overall writing, i like 'two birds' a lot bc the foreshadowing was real hahaha, but also the way i used rhetorical figures and stuff plotwise i like drowning in you, bc it was so self-indulgend and very soft

[my-castles-crumbling]

hey, cas

so, i kind of wanted to rant a bit, but theres a few things in here i know could get people riled up so honestly im a little nervous sharing this. i also want to preface it by saying that i am NOT hating on any fics i name here, they are just well-known examples and fics that the fandom hold close

as a fic writer myself, i love adding my own little headcanons to characters. sometimes theyre hcs ive seen from someone else and loved, and other times ive thought of them myself. in the latter case, ill often then see that someone else thought of it too, which is really cool!

but then there comes the hcs that people see and think "oh! thats from x fic!" for example, if you bring up dyslexic remus to most marauders fans, theyre gonna talk about atyd. ive never read the fic myself, its not my taste, but ive heard a lot of things about it and it does honestly sound like a great fic so genuinely no hate towards it. but i hc remus as dyslexic and i did so before learning that atyd has dyslexic remus, and any time i consider putting that hc into one of my fics all i can think about is that people will see it and talk about atyd. maybe theyll say i was copying or stole the idea. maybe theyll compare the two and decide the way i depict it isnt as good. maybe ill end up accidentally using a similar or the same thing for remus to have aiding him, for example a spell or something one of his friends do, and ill be told im plagiarising, and i absolutely hate that.

another example is best friends brother. its such a well known fic in the fandom that anyone who writes anything similar is going to be compared to it. or crimson rivers; anyone who writes a hunger games au (even if its not even remotely similar to cr) is going to be told theyre trying to copy. i love both bfb and cr but i wish people could accept that two writers can have the same idea without copying or trying to recreate/steal it

one of my current ongoing fics has the same central trope as another big fic in the fandom (i dont want to reveal which, because i dont want to risk being de-anoned) and i went out of my way to avoid reading the big fandom fic until ive finished writing my own because im so terrified that if theres even a single vague similarity i might get called out and told im copying

i want to say im just being paranoid, but i cant. i hate that the fandom has come to the point where authors have to bring something out that absolutely noone has ever done before ever just so that they dont get told theyve taken the idea from someone else. even if they had, its perfectly normal and fine to be inspired by an idea to make it your own! obviously actual plagiarism is not okay and should be called out, but theres a difference between plagiarism and just having a similar idea or hc

going back to my original point (because this was where my frustrations with this started) i hate that dyslexic remus will always be seen as an atyd thing, when it isnt. again, no hate to the fic or the author, this isnt an attack on them at all, its just unfortunate that the fandom has kind of taken it so much as canon that anything will always be compared to it, if that makes sense?

tldr: let me have dyslexic remus without telling me im copying atyd! let me have him use magic or have his friends do little things to help him without telling me i stole it from atyd!

sorry about that cas haha, i realise its a bit long. it just really really frustrates me to no end, yknow?

Hi!

Yes, I can definitely see what you're saying. I think if something is inspired by another fic (i.e. you read CR and then you're like...oh, I wanna write a Hunger Games AU) it's good to give credit where it's due by saying "inspired by x." But in a fandom with thousands of fics, the same ideas are bound to come up even without having read other fics. If people accuse you of copying and you genuinely haven't, I would just let them yell. People are always going to have negative things to say, you know?

[library-ghoulette]

Chapter 6 / ?

(You can also read this and my other fics on ao3!)

Pairing: Copia (Papa Emeritus IV) x Original Female Character

Rating: This chapter is mature, later chapters will be explicit

Tags: Third person POV, original female character, slowburn, workplace romance, character development, loneliness, mutual pining, emotional repression, black mass

Words: 4365

Summary: In which Sister Beatrice spends the weekend attempting to relax and not think about work (or Copia), but her efforts are thwarted; secondary characters are introduced; and our heroine is betrayed by her feelings during mass.

A/N: I spent a long time--perhaps too long--researching and overthinking this one. Hopefully that paid off!

I refer to Linköping as Lincopia here, both to keep it in line with canonical Ghost lore in "The Summoning" and to give myself the freedom of not having to write an accurate depiction of the city. Lincopia as I've written it is best interpreted as an entirely fictional location. I have borrowed some architectural features from real places, including the Linköping City Library and Linköping Cathedral.

Saturday

There are people who have wonderful weekends, and then there are people like Sister Beatrice.

Like relaxing, Beatrice simply is not good at weekends. She has never ended a weekend feeling that she has used it to its full potential, never gone into a Monday morning with either a peaceful, well-rested feeling or the satisfaction of having accomplished everything that she wanted.

More often than not, she ends up either paralyzed by the thought of everything that she wants to get done, stuck in a horrible limbo where she does nothing but also does not relax, or she overextends herself, doing so much that by Monday she is an empty husk.

Sometimes, in her more self-aware moments, it occurs to her that maybe her problem begins with believing that "good at weekends" is something that it's even possible to be, but unfortunately this lucidity never sticks with her for very long.

But this weekend she set out with good intentions. On Friday night, she crawled into bed without setting an alarm, eager to sleep in and recuperate from a week of late nights. Maybe, when she woke, she wouldn't even think about work.

Then Saturday morning comes, and somehow she wakes even earlier than she would have on a weekday. As she lies under her covers, staring myopically into the blur of the slanted ceiling of her bedroom, she considers going up to the Abbey, anyway. Why not? She has no plans, and there is always more to do—

No. She remembers back when she worked at the public library, of her perpetually stressed-out crew on the closing shift; all of the times that she lectured them about having a good work/life balance and loving themselves because their job would never love them back. If one of them had wanted to come in on their day off, she would have been aghast.

Of course, even back then, she was the one to volunteer for extra shifts, to cover for someone who was sick, to take on the worst of other duties as required herself rather than subject anyone else to the toilet-plunging and piss-mopping. She's always been a bit of a hypocrite in this matter—work/life balance is for other people, I have to earn it—even before blending her professional life with her spiritual one, transforming job into vocation in a way that sends tendrils of duty into her every waking moment.

Well, not today. This is the Saturday when Sister Beatrice gets good at weekends. She's moved halfway around the world. She's on at least the third brand-new start of her life. She can change. She can relax.

She'll even get out of the house for awhile, she thinks, formulating a plan as she brushes her teeth in the tiny bathroom. (How can she expect to relax without a plan, after all?) She'll bike up to the public library, and go get a treat from that cute coffee shop she's been meaning to go to more since moving here, and maybe ride around the park. Yes, good. A+ relaxing. Gold star.

Although, since she's going to the public library, anyway, she might as well bring that flier she printed to advertise her open positions…

She dresses casually in a lightweight black linen dress and strappy sandals, slipping on her ever-present silver grucifix and wrapping her rosary around her wrist, the pearl links still retaining warmth from her morning prayers. She loops the chain carefully, threading the inverted cross pendant through and tucking it securely. She always feels better when she has it near, wears it like armor.

Ready for the day, Beatrice locks up her apartment and descends the staircase leading down the side of the house into a mild, sunny morning. The air is scented with the delicate perfume of lilac hedges, in full bloom along two sides of the property, holding steadfast against the end of their season.

The lilacs are only part of the botanical splendor surrounding the little yellow house Beatrice shares with her landlady, who occupies the ground floor. The back garden is a riot of color, its beds spilling forth a profusion of flowers of all kinds: white daisies and purple coneflowers, blue hydrangeas, ditch lilies with their orange petals that remind Beatrice of autumn leaves. Along the back fence grows a line of burgeoning sunflowers, yet to reach their full height, but already turning their faces to the sky.

Beatrice spies a small figure kneeling amid the dahlias, wearing a straw sunhat that looks almost too big for the slight frame to hold up, the end of a long, white braid trailing down the back. As she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she calls out, "Good morning, Ms. Blomgren!"

A small calico head pops up out of the foliage at the sound of Beatrice's voice, the cat trotting over with an excited mrr even before her owner can return Beatrice's greeting with a cheery "Good morning, Beatrice!"

Her landlady stands with some effort, then turns to regard Beatrice—stooping to offer ear scritches to the happy cat—with a smile that deepens the wrinkles around her warm brown eyes. She plants her hands on her hips.

"You'd better watch out," Ms. Blomgren warns with a nod to the cat. "Pixie'll have you doing that all day if you're not careful."

The aforementioned Pixie flops over onto her back, offering Beatrice her warm, soft belly. It's an obvious trap that Beatrice refuses to fall for, giving the cat a gentle boop on the nose, instead, before standing.

"What are you getting into today?" Ms. Blomgren asks. "I have an extra pair of gloves if you want to help out here."

"Sorry, Ms. Blomgren, but maybe later. I'm heading into the town center for a little while, and going to the library. Do you need anything?"

"Nothing that I can think of, dear. You enjoy your day off. But I'll be having a nightcap later by the firepit if you want to join."

When Beatrice moved in, Ms. Blomgren had admonished her that under no circumstances would partying or excessive drinking be tolerated on her property. To the spry octogenarian, a nightcap meant a good cup of tea—though judging from the raucous singing that sometimes emanated up from the garden late at night, that cup usually had a healthy dollop of something stronger in it, too.

"I might take you up on that," Beatrice says, smiling at the invitation.

"Please do!" Ms. Blomgren sighs fondly. "It's so nice to have a respectable young lady living upstairs."

During the application process, Ms. Blomgren had been charmed to see librarian listed as Beatrice's occupation, liked the connotations of a kind of old-fashioned and no-nonsense, spinstery femininity that the role carried. She had been even more charmed to learn that Beatrice was a woman of faith.

For her part, Beatrice had been charmed by the attic apartment's location and shockingly affordable rent, and had wisely let Ms. Blomgren make whatever positive assumptions she needed in order to draw up the lease, keeping quiet the details of which faith she subscribed to.

Beatrice wonders now if Ms. Blomgren's estimation of her would change if she knew precisely what she spends her days doing, what order of nuns she belongs to and what they get up to in that big, old church where she works. But she has no plans to find out anytime soon.

She bids Ms. Blomgren a quick farewell before collecting her bike from the garden shed and heading out.

The Lincopia library is the exact opposite of the Ministry's, housed in a big, blocky, modern building lined with windows that lend the interior an open, airy brightness. Beatrice enters to find the foyer and circulation areas buzzing, small children toting precarious stacks of picture books to check out while their attendant parents trail behind them, chatting over their heads and catching each other up on gossip.

Beatrice slides her returns into the book drop and wends through the cacophony, breathing a sigh of relief as she makes her way to the much more serene adult section, the chaos receding behind her with each step.

She's not looking for anything in particular, just wants to lose herself in the process of browsing the stacks. The colorful spines of popular paperbacks and mylar-wrapped hardcovers, shiny as candies, are a sharp contrast to the academic texts and leatherbound tomes of the Ministry's collection. Still, she can't resist the urge to straighten shelves as she goes, righting books that have toppled over and adjusting the wire bookends to snug them into place. She's still a librarian, even if this isn't her library.

She hasn't read much since moving. Most nights she gets home late, and by the time she settles in with a book, her eyes are too heavy to get through more than a few pages before she's falling asleep. And she works through her breaks, feeling more behind each day and desperately trying to catch up. A pang of longing shoots through her as she remembers her favorite bench on her old church campus, the one under the ancient and gnarled magnolia tree, where she would hide to escape into a novel during most of her lunch breaks.

She reminds herself forcefully that this is the weekend, and that she has a plan to not squander it, and that nothing is stopping her from finding a fun book and spending the rest of the day tearing through the entire thing.Right after she realphabetizes this shelf, anyway.

Usually Beatrice would check out at the self-serve kiosk near the door, but today she waits in the now much-diminished line to have an excuse to talk to a library assistant. The man who greets her from behind the desk looks young, in his early twenties, with curly brown hair pulled back into a low bun and a short beard. His does double duty of adding to his aesthetic and guarding against the perpetual chill of all libraries during summer.

"Anything else?" he asks Beatrice, as he finishes checking out her books and slides the due date receipt between the pages of the one on top.

"Yes, actually." She pulls a folder out of her tote and retrieves two copies of the discreet help wanted flier she designed earlier in the week. "Do you mind posting this on your job board?"

He takes the flier and looks it over with a curious eye. "Is this from that big old church on the edge of town?"

Nervousness flares in her at the question, but his tone doesn't sound aggressive. Hoping for the best, she puts on her brightest outreach smile and sunniest customer service voice. "Yes! I'm the Head Librarian there. Sister Beatrice."

She sticks out a hand for him to shake, which he does, with a bemused look on his face. "Ollie," he says. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise!"

"Uh, I'll have to get a supervisor to approve this," Ollie says, waving the flier lightly. "Do you wanna wait, or…?"

"No, that's fine," Beatrice says, bundling her books back into her tote. "Have a nice day!"

"You too?"

He watches her stride toward the door, then turns his attention back to the flier. Very interesting.

About midway between the library and her next destination, Beatrice passes the street that, if she turns left, will take her up to the Abbey. She's felt its presence all morning—it's odd not to steer her bike up that street, toward the spires of the cathedral rising above the town in shades of verdigris, imposing and, to her eyes, lovely.

The coffee shop is less crowded than the library, most of the customers choosing to dine out on the small stone patio or taking their orders to go, to enjoy in the park across the street. Beatrice opts to stay inside, settling into a corner table for two with her iced matcha latte and pain au chocolat.

She sits with her back to the wall, facing the door and the pleasantly kitschy dining room, its walls adorned with work by local artists and old concert posters. Her vigilance is old and ingrained, as is the anxiety that she tries to tamp down as she sips her beverage.

She's not used to being out in the secular world, she realizes, not anymore. She lived on-campus at her old church, in a single cell but surrounded, always, with people who shared her faith and values. Working and worshipping alongside her Sisters, under the watchful, protective eye of the local clergy.

The Sisters of Sin are not a cloistered order, not by a long shot—many of them are sent out into the world to win new souls for Satan, both on tour with the Ghost Project and in other ways—but back home, they were… more insular. After a certain point, Beatrice rarely left campus. And on the occasions when she did, she was never without the company of a handful of other nuns.

It was for the safety found in numbers. So that they could back one another up if some evangelist caught a glimpse of grucifix and decided that it was the perfect opportunity to save a wayward soul, by any means necessary. What started as a supposedly kind word of concern could so easily spiral, once rebuffed, into shouts of abuse, or worse.

And although she knows that she is less likely to be harassed here—where the Ministry holds more power than her little church ever could hope for, and where the environment is more progressive and accepting in general—she's still wary.

Wary, and a bit lonely. She props one of her library books open on the little cafe table and—careful to keep pastry crumbs off of the pages—tries to read. But her attention keeps wavering, distracted by the tinkling of the bell over the entrance and by the conversations of the people around her. It feels like she's the only person there alone, surrounded by groups of friends making plans for their Saturday night and by couples sharing adoring looks over their coffees.

She looks at the empty chair across from her at the table, at the absence that suddenly feels heavy, tangible. Memories of people she's shared tables—and conversation, and touches, and jokes, and belonging—with before rise unbidden in her mind.

She pushes these thoughts aside.

She wonders, with a suddenness that she wants to believe indicates a non sequitur, what Copia is doing right now.

This thought, too, she pushes aside.

She tries to be present, focusing on the warm, buttery-rich pastry, and on the words of the book she's reading, and on her goal of having a pleasant, relaxing weekend. No sad memories of lost loves, and no work thoughts.

But even the act of resolving not to think about work makes her think about work, and before she can stop herself, she's reaching for her phone and opening the Ministry work chat app.

She's caught up on all the general chat, and there are no direct messages for her. Of course there aren't—it's the weekend, and she is not important. Her only notification is Sister Imperator responding to a long update about the struggles of the library job search with a thumbs-up emoji.

Though there is nothing new to see, Beatrice scrolls back through days of older threads, most of them irrelevant to her. But her attention snags on a post from Copia, and her thumb pauses its mindless scroll.

Like everyone else's, his icon is his staff photo, an endearingly awkward, wide-eyed headshot that makes him look as though the photographer caught him doing something untoward right as the camera flashed. She taps to enlarge it, and sees the little green circle indicating that he is online.

An inexplicable urge to send him a message washes over her, and she goes so far as to open up their sparse, strictly professional DM exchange before getting a hold on herself. What could she possibly have to say that he would be interested in?

Disgusted with herself, she closes the app.

Copia swears under his breath and paws around in his bed, searching blindly for his phone, the alarm blaring. The sheets are askew, all tangled around his legs from his fitful night's—and morning's —sleep, and it takes him awhile to find the offending device and silence the alarm for yet another five more minutes. But when he holds the screen up, he finds what looks like dozens of notifications of varying degrees of urgency lighting up the screen.

Might as well get rid of some of them.

As expected, most are from Sister Imperator, the most recent one a reminder that he needs to pick the readings and finish his homily before mass tomorrow. He shoots back a quick, annoyed reply that he's been finished with it, then makes a mental note that his top priority of the day should probably be figuring out what the fuck the homily is going to be about.

He scrolls through his other unread messages. Various missives from the ghouls, questions about song arrangements and lyrics and rehearsals. A deeply inappropriate meme from Dewdrop that elicits a pleased ehehe from Copia. Documents from other department heads that he needs to review. A scattering of messages from some Sisters of Sin seeking, ahem, spiritual guidance. Perhaps he should answer those, but he continues to ignore them.

And beneath them all, his conversation with Beatrice. There's nothing unread here, but he opens the thread anyway, scrolls through their scant back-and-forth about meeting logistics and budgeting ideas.

The little circle under her photo is green.

He considers sending her a message—something light-hearted, telling her not to work so hard, admonishing her for being logged in on a Saturday—but before he can settle on a combination of wording and emoji choice that will get the right tone across without sounding weird, the little green dot turns to gray.

She's gone.

Sunday

Sundays are much better than Saturdays, Beatrice thinks. Sundays have a built-in routine, a reason for getting up early. Sunday is the comfort of donning her familiar habit—the simple black dress and the white veil that will be replaced by a black one when she professes her final vows. Sunday is the silence of early morning, the heavy hush of entering the empty sanctuary, the careworn routine of genuflecting before the altar and settling into her customary pew. Sunday is a day for knowing her place and fitting into it perfectly.

Back at her old church, she made it her custom to arrive at mass early, and she has seen no reason to change that since her move to Ministry headquarters. If anything, she's never needed those quiet moments of contemplation as much as she does now.

Today she arrives well ahead of the start of mass. She pauses in the narthex on her way in, stopping to arrange the vase of flowers that Ms. Blomgren sent along with her—a reward for the weeding that she did end up helping with after returning home yesterday—on the small table beneath the bulletin board.

A pleasant chill runs down her spine upon entering the nave. She can hardly believe that this is the church she gets to worship in—so old and so grand, with its high, arched ceiling held up by towering columns, and the stained glass casting rainbows of light upon the floor, and the huge, imposing inverted cross suspended above the ornate altar. As with the library, she fell in love with the cathedral from the moment she first stepped inside, moved almost to tears by its beauty. It is easy to feel a part of history in this space, to sense the undeniable presence of the Adversary, and it both calms and stirs her spirit.

Her footsteps echo through the vast space as she makes her way down the aisle, genuflecting briefly before the altar, then making her way to her usual pew near the front, in the rows reserved for the Sisters.

Beatrice rests her knees on the kneeler, unwraps her rosary from her wrist, and, pressing the inverted cross briefly to her lips, silently begins to pray the Pater Noster. Our Father, who art in Hell…

With each prayer, with each bead that moves smoothly between her fingers, the world falls farther and farther away, and serenity flows more deeply into her. The sad memories and concerns of yesterday are gone. In this space, there is no loneliness, no confusion, no fruitless longing. Her soul sends out its pleas for strength and wisdom and power, and from within itself is answered again and again: Yes, my child. Yes.

Beatrice hears the ringing of foosteps and shuffling of skirts as her fellow Sisters begin to arrive, right in time for her to end her prayer with a whispered, heartfelt nema. She settles into her pew, and catches Sister Imperator's eye as the prioress walks by on the way to her own seat. Beatrice attempts a small smile and friendly wave, which Sister Imperator returns with a noticeable lack of warmth.

Beatrice has little time to reflect on this, though, as a bell chimes, clear and sweet, and the processional begins. The congregation rises as one, and the familiar chant echoes through the hallowed space: Il Padre, il Figlio, et lo Spiritus Malum, omni caelestis delenda est…

The previous masses Beatrice has attended here so far were presided over by one of several lower priests in residece at the Abbey. But today, when she turns to take in the spectacle, she finds Copia striding up the aisle behind the altar servers, his hands folded in an attitude of prayer, resplendent in a blue chasuble richly embroidered with gold.

His expression is solemn beneath his paints as he takes his place before the congregation, his odd eyes sweeping over the assembled worshippers in welcome.

But when his gaze comes to Beatrice, he pauses for just a moment, and his expression softens just enough for her to notice, just enough to send a jolt of recognition through her like a crackle of electricity.

Oh no.

The solemn, pious comfort she's used to feeling during mass has faded. In its place a telltale warmth unspools through her chest, and lower. She wants to flee the cathedral. And she never wants to stop looking at Copia.

There is no time for her to pick apart these conflicting feelings. The mass rolls onward as Copia crosses himself in reverse and intones, "In nómine Magni Dei Nostri Sátanae introíbo ad altáre Dómini Inferi."

And in unison, the congregation responds: "Ad Eum Qui laetíficat juventútem meam."

Beatrice moves through the familiar motions of the rite on autopilot, sitting and standing with the rest of the congregation, never missing a syllable of each response. But her mind is a riot, thoughts far away and panicked. She feels sweat beading on her forehead and chastises herself to get her shit together.

She's not naive. She knows that she is far from the first Sister of Sin to have… warm feelings during mass. She's probably not the only one having them in this room, at this very moment (which, she realizes, is not exactly a comforting thought).

She recognizes the inherent eroticism of faith, has experienced transcendental moments when the spiritual ecstasies of prayer tip over into something decidedly other. She thinks of Saint Teresa, heart pierced by an angel. Fuck, even the Catholics aren't completely oblivious to this.

But that's supposed to be enough for her. The ecstasy of communion with the Unholy Spirit. The thrill of learning. Sometimes, maybe, the release of falling into the arms of one of her Sisters or Brothers during a ritual, in service of something larger than a personal connection.

She knows herself, knows that she gets attached too deeply, too quickly, knows that her past relationships have ended in disaster and that, if she's brutally honest with herself, that she is not meant to be loved. That she is both too much and not enough, and better off alone. Safer if she is in control of herself, emotions locked away.

She's not supposed to be having feelings for anyone, she thinks, as Copia steps down from the altar and the lector takes over for the reading. Especially not feelings for someone who is technically her boss. Someone who would never be interested in her.

Someone she's going to have to be in close proximity to, alone, in only a few days.

She studies him, sitting in an ornate wooden chair to the side of the altar, hands folded in his lap as he listens to the reading, seemingly attending to it far more diligently than she is. It's only when his gaze turns to her, as though he could feel her eyes on him, that she blushes and hurriedly returns her attention to the lector, hoping that no one else noticed her staring.

"To woman he promised science; and woman faced death to free her thought," the lector reads. "Man found his companion who was so sublime that he dared to prefer her to God. By giving their lives, one to intelligence, the other one to love, both deserved to pass through the ordeals of life towards the immortality of intelligence and love. They were expelled from the paradise of innocence, but they became laborious kings of the earth that was given them to conquer."

It's from Eliphas Lévi, Le Testament de la liberté. The words are familiar to her; back at her apartment, she still has a textbook from a class she took on Satanism in a historical context, that contains the excerpt, with the same passage underlined in the purple ink of her favorite pen. The sentiment struck her then, as it strikes her now anew, with its truth and beauty and nobility.

And when Copia takes his place at the altar again, to deliver is homily on the infernal gift of knowledge and the freedom it confers, Beatrice feels as though he is speaking directly to her.

Endnotes:

While writing this chapter, I kept joking that it needed a works cited page. In that spirit, here is a list of sources that I consulted and found helpful:

- Satanism: A Reader edited by Per Faxneld and Johan Nilsson - Cloistered: My Years as a Nun by Catherine Coldstream - Missa Niger - The Black Mass by Aubrey Melech - Praying the Satanic Rosary uploaded onto Scribd by jimhoward300380

P.S. No, I haven't overlooked the potential of sexually-charged communion, but this chapter was getting egregiously long. We'll see a snippet of it in Chapter 7, I promise. :)

[help-i-need-a-cool-username]

Its the end of the year! Which means its time to post the

Tags That Made Me Smile 2022

The following are a collective list of tags, author notes, and fic names that i saw on ao3 and tumblr that made me either laugh or smile. Ive separated them by fandom but a good amount arent actually fandom specific. Ive added the character names or fandom at the end like {name} to clarify who the tag is talking about

[2021's list]

Author Specific / Non-Specific

i saw canon; acknowledged it; And promply burned it in a dirty trash can thanks; Have this instead

Give me pain I need to feel something

this is self projection thank you coming to my ted talk

Whats that?? Overused tropes that everyone has seen before????? Pfffffffft. This fic is literally just a big mess of "how can I cater to myself and myself only"

you ever just look at your life and wonder how you got here; bc that's what this fic is for me

Don't underestimate me I DO NOT know how long this fan-fic will be

can you tell my target audience is myself

this is content specifically catered to me and no one else

these characters are my landlords and i pay them rent

P O L Y A M O R Y   I S   M Y   P O L Y J A M O R Y

cheek kiss warning

kidnapping isn’t sexy don’t do it

i've never read the archie comics but that's not gonna stop me {archie sonic}

not me writing a whole fic for a ship only i care about; that like maybe two other people ship; rowing this boat is hard but someone has to do it {scourge x fleetway sonic}

ankles don't heal this fast but fuck it i do what i want

no beta we die like men; or rather we drown like the sad shipper with a pool noodle we are

I'm afraid of the Danimals mascot and you should be too

if you're getting flood warnings, don't worry. It's just MY TEARS!

me at every character: anxiety be upon ye

Me (Grabs canon and runs a marathon with it)

Quote: Do you think God stays in heaven because he too lives in fear of what he's created (Spy Kids) {tmnt crossover}

Alternate Universe - Monty Python and the Holy Grail

contains dangerous amount of bed based snuggling

(kind of its a very short very homosexual fight scene); and then they kiss.

Hostage situation takes a romantic turn???? Not clickbait????

enemies to frenemies

Improper Use of Pool Noodles

stone cold stoicism meeting determined stupidity

Star Wars

Kanan Jarrus: The Daddening

platonic love is what healed his lonely existence {din djarin}

when in doubt: road trip with the besties {din, boba, fennec}

Soul Eater

found family at its finest {kid, liz, patty}

The Witcher

wife (platonic) {yennskier}

at first I was like haha geralt and Istredd should kiss as a joke…. but bro I don’t think it’s a joke anymore….

Sonic the Hedgehog

Movie!Super Sonic is made out of LOVE no one touch me

Sonics gay awakening I guess

sonic movie 2 made me make an ao3 account lol

Sonic was made to love people

Two Bros Chillin’ in an ER Five Feet Apart ‘cause they’re not gay {sonic x shadow}

the most dangerous thing is to love {shadow}

Trapped in a small box with just enough room to face some feelings {sonic x shadow}

the R in rivalry stand for romance {sonic x shadow}

The L in Rivalry Stands For 'Love' {sonic x shadow}

A Largely Platonic Cave

i love boom!shadow so naturally i made him even more insufferable

Sad-ow

Wachowskis holdin it down in the bg; Absolute champs

I love how Shadow is just so mindbogglingly utterly done with reality

Knuckles is a guardian of all things great and small

“Would you kiss a worm?" “If he was cute as fuck? Yeah.” {wade x stone}

"What is this made of, bendable titanium?!" "INCORRECT. IT IS MADE OF THE FRUSTRATIONS OF MOTHERS EVERYWHERE." {team dark}

featuring a scourge that trips far too much because it's my fic and I said so {scourge x fleetway sonic}

no thoughts just soft hedgehog moments

listen if im going to die at the hands of injured lancelot shit i might as well take advantage of it

Everyone has a crush on Lancelot and I'll die on this hill

fairy Lancelot Fairy Lancelot FAIRY LANCELOT!!!

TMNT

Slow Burn; mostly on april's end of things; casey and donnie are basically on fire right off the bat {tmnt 2012}

Rise!Donnie and 2012!Casey be out there committing arson together for their first date >.>

Please enjoy Casey, the fool, realizing his feelings for Donnie, another fool {tmnt 2012}

Draxum and Splinter are the turtles' dads (it's a reluctant partnership)

just two absolute powerhouses holding each other gently {raph x mona}

“There’s nothing wrong with the way you love, Dee. Goodnight.” {rottmnt}

Wondering what to do when the apocalypse happens? Easy: fly across the country and get Vegas-married. That's definetley an appropriate reaction that won't involve your complicated feelings towards your roommate at all {hypno x warren}

Look rise are weapons of war 12 were accidents and I play with that HARD in this fic

"GET IN THE TURTLE TANK BITCHES WE GOING TO FAMILY THERAPY" {rottmnt}

Donatello is now Dad-Atello {rottmnt}

The other [Casey] is out on a beach in Tahiti; It's what he deserves after surviving the Krang {rottmnt}

Leo is now actively being hunted for sport; (the only sport Donnie is good at) {rottmnt}

These turtles can fit so much trauma

2018 Karai lives because fuck Nick; Casey x Donnie x April are a healthy ship and also fuck nick again

I cant be the only one pissed by Leo's and Karais 'love interest plot'; Leonardo's weird feelings were simply gender envy...Yes that is canon now {tmnt 2012}

What happens when two "dudes" call each other 'girlfriend'; Transgender activities, that's what! {tmnt 2012}

splinter is twice divorced and never married {rottmnt}

Papatello / Dadatello {rottmnt}

draxum's gone from dadxum to grand-dadxum good for him

HOLY FUCKING SHIT YES YES YES YES; GRANDPA BARRY COMING IN CLUTCH

draxum just be like gramps still got it; and by 'it' i mean a complete lack of forethought for care when creating random children

Puts the Bi in Bitchless {rottmnt leo}

its because ninja turtles

feral mamatello {rottmnt}

Marvel

it's the anguish, the self flagellation, the audacity to love the man who annihilate ur nation and killed ur mother; your m o t h e r {black panther}

[poptod]

Will You? (Rami Malek x Reader)

Description: Meeting Rami in the back alley behind an awards show.

Notes: ugh ive been having writers block for the first time in like two years so ive only been writing short stuff. i have a couple fics backpiled for various rami characters so thats coming up! gender neutral as usual WC: 1.5k

+

Ugh.

How quickly it all became too much. You wondered, clutching your aching head, why you even came here; large parties were never your scene, public events even less so. A world-wide broadcasted movie awards event was nothing near anything you'd done before. Earlier in the day, as you were dressing and readying yourself for the evening, you stared into the mirror and wondered then, as well, what you were doing.

Maybe––probably––it had to do with the fact that one of your favorite actors' presence was assured, and you rarely ever visited New York, making this the first time you'd been in the right place at the right time to have the opportunity to do this. You steeled yourself then and you steeled yourself now, digging into your clutch bag to pull out a carton of cigarettes.

You fumbled with the cigarette as you reached back in, searching for your lighter. A frustrated grumble grew in your mouth and came out as a curse. With a harsh sigh you yanked your hand out, throwing it up into the air, and sitting with a thud on a wooden box laying by the side of a large trash bin. You rubbed your face harshly, attempting to wipe away the irritation. To no avail––you had no lighter, and your nerves were itching, teeming with aggravation that crawled like bugs beneath your skin. You needed this and the world didn't like you.

The door you'd left the building from opened once more, swinging shut with a loud clanking sound that seemed to echo in the vacant alleyway. Drops of water fell into the puddles at your feet, still present from the earlier rain, and now filled with bits of trash. The very same water almost splashed onto you as a car passed by, its' wheels revving and spinning away through a massive puddle. It must've been midnight, but assholes were still awake as well, and the city lights showed no sign of stopping.

This was why you only visited New York City.

"Here," someone with a deep, rough voice spoke, and you looked up to find a vein-filled hand balancing a blue lighter between the second and third fingers.

There weren't any active lights in the alleyway, but the puddles reflected the street lights that stood a few meters away. That was enough to recognize him when you glanced to his face.

Rami fucking Malek.

He turned almost the second you looked up at him, meaning he didn't catch the sudden, stumbling recognition that flooded your expression. Thankfully, you had the time to calm yourself before he sat down across from you on a dirty (and probably wet) stool.

"Thank you," you said, lighting your cigarette and breathing in the sweet smoke before you said anything else. "You're a lifesaver."

"No, I just have a smoking problem," he said.

You both laughed, softly, and looked away.

You took another drag.

"You're Rami Malek, aren't you?" You said through the smoke that escaped you. It was rough on your throat, but you didn't especially care anymore. Somehow, you remembered a flask of water––just not the lighter.

"Yeah," he said with another soft, bashful, chuckle.

"I like your work. Or, your style," you mumbled as you tapped the ashy end away. He might've been a star of your dreams, and mere images of him might've taken your breath away, but you would treat him like a regular person. "It's.. unique, but familiar."

"Thank you," he said, nodding, a charming grin on his face. "May I ask your name?"

"(Y/N)." You shifted in your seat as you looked down. An ounce of humor came to you once you said, "you won't recognize the name."

"No, but I'm happy to recognize it in the future," he said, tilting his head in your direction.

You broke out in a laugh and a wide, blushing grin, shaking your head. God, he looked good in a suit––all black. Silver in his lapel. His neck revealed colored veins that led up to a jawline that would surely cut you. Why was he talking to you? Why was he being nice?

"You're a charmer," you finally said through your giggling, continuing with, "do you want some?" before he could say anything.

You handed the cigarette to him and he took it, pursing his lips and letting go with a puff of smoke. Even in the hot, humid air, those clouds coalesced and drifted away just as usual.

"You're not an actor," he stated, his eyes fixed on the cigarette as he tapped the ashes away. "Not here for that, so why are you here? Just out of curiosity."

"That's... a very good question," you said with an exasperated laugh. "I'm a teacher, I don't know what I'm doing here."

"Teacher?" He repeated. "My brother's one of those. What d'you teach?"

He handed the cigarette back to you.

"Third graders," you grumbled. He sucked in a sharp breath in a wince. "I usually do first graders, but not this year."

"That's rough, I've heard those are demonic years," he said, earning a laugh from you.

"Yeah, that's a good way of putting it," you said as you doted on the cigarette. "I guess this is just the first time I've visited New York when an awards show is happening."

"How do you like the big screen life so far?"

"Not very much, but I never thought I would," you said quietly, but he still chuckled. "I... I did think about being an actor, when I was a kid. I think a lot of kids do these days, though. Actors are.. like the new Gods. You know, in ancient times people would worship idols, and that's what people call you now..." you met his gaze and couldn't tear yourself from it, "... idols. Images of something to strive for."

He nodded, his brow creased in deep thought.

"After a while the world shows you what celebrity life is really like, and you read all sorts of things, see how people change... eventually you don't really want it anymore," you said, shrugging. "Or you decide you want it, or want part of it despite the other stuff."

He nodded again but had little to say despite being a celebrity himself.

"Which was it for you?"

"Hm?"

A spell broke over his eyes and he appeared to return to normal, having not heard or comprehended your words.

"Did you become an actor because you wanted all of it, with the bad parts, or you wanted a specific part and still became an actor despite all the other things?"

"... complex question," he said after a moment, rocking his balance back and forth awkwardly as you laughed. "I wanted to become other people, transform myself into characters. I was attracted to the job. Not the other things attached to it."

"Well I'm glad you became an actor anyway," you said, relighting the cigarette with a quick drag. "That way I could meet you."

"And I could meet you, as well," he said in that same, deep voice he used when he first spoke to you.

You could do nothing but chuckle and cast your eyes down, shaking your head.

"Yeah, I guess you could," you mumbled.

He reached forward, snagging the cigarette from between your fingers. That made you look up, drawing your attention back to the subtle lines marking his face, and the glow of fire that revealed cool, green eyes behind thick lashes.

A loud wave of cheering came from inside the building, and the both of you looked back at the steel door. Still unopened.

"I should probably get inside, the cameras might notice my seat's empty," he said in a similar mumble.

The cigarette, now nothing more than a filter, dropped from his lips and fell to the ground, squashed beneath his shiny, black shoe.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Have to be," you said as you stood. "Not wasting a fifty dollar ticket on my damn social anxiety."

He chuckled and said, "I'd invite you to sit with me, but there aren't any free spots. How about..." He'd been opening the door, but he paused, causing you to misstep and halt yourself only when your chest was an inch from his. Your eyes darted up to his. "Come see me after the show. I have a '97 bottle of Montalcino at home that I think you'd enjoy."

You nearly choked on your own spit, but fortunately for you, it only came out as a cough and a clearing of the throat. 'What', almost escaped your mouth in the most astounded tone before you bit it back.

Was he propositioning you? Was this a friendly invitation? Why was, again, Rami fucking Malek asking to spend anymore time with you than he had to?

You realized a silence had spanned between you when his eyes flickered down to your lips, at which point shock fully brought you back into your body.

"Will you?" He asked hopefully.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I'd like that."

[parvulous-writings]

Illness is a Consequence // McCree x F!Reader

Request:     Super new and ive read alot of your fics and your writings are so well written. This is my first req for Overwatch and I dunno if you done this yet but. Reader x A sick Mccree perhaps? Like he comes home after a long day and he starts to almost faint by the doorway what would the reader do? I just imagine her being caring, putting him under the blankets and just spoils him haha. She/her afab btw. No rush take your time 👉👈💖

Requested by: @fragolaaaaaaa​​

Summary: The request! 

Warnings: illness (It’s very generic though)

Words: 1.4K

Notes: Can I just say 🥺. This is an amazing request, I loved receiving it! It also fills me with joy to hear you’ve been reading a lot of my fics! I hope this lives up to your expectations!  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif 

You had been in the Overwatch complex in some sense alone for the past three days. Of course you weren’t really alone, you had many other members of the entire force also in the building with you, but the man you had the closest connection with wasn’t there. He was off on a mission- assigned to him and a few other select members of the force. Unfortunately you were not one included on that list. So, all you could do was wait for your beloved to return to you, hopefully unscathed. You were currently walking back from the canteen, a few brownies in one hand. You didn’t know what they put in those brownies, but damn were they good.  You turned down several corridors, chowing down on your little evening snack, heading towards the quarters that you and Jesse were recently given to share. 

It looked mostly like every other sleeping quarters in the complex- shared or otherwise- with monotonous grey walls and grey floors, though the pair of you were lucky enough to have a window that looked out over the training grounds of the complex. The room was also filled with stray belongings of yours and Jesse’s, some of you shoes, a couple of stray ponchos. It wasn’t messy, but at the same time it could be cleaner. Regardless of that, you still thought it was one of the most homely places you could be. You grabbed one of the discarded ponchos, not caring for it’s cleanliness, wrapping it around your shoulders to relax yourself, and to remind yourself of McCree’s embrace. It still smelt like him- slightly of cigar smoke, the whiskey that he always seemed to like and bang on about, and something woodier, which you assumed was the cologne he often wore. 

You were quite peaceful sitting there on the bed, your eyes wandering aimlessly over the buildings in the distance. You had just finished your brownies- unfortunately- and were starting to settle down to catch some rest, when you heard the door to your quarters slide open. You sat up again, looking curiously over to the source of the noise, to spot Jesse himself, the man you had missed the whole time of your separation, standing there and resting on the doorframe.  He looked up from under the brim of his hat, his eyes coming to rest on you as he gave you a tired smile, so you assumed his assignment had worn him out. “Hey, sugar.” He greeted, and though there was tiredness in his voice, there was something else there too, something that didn’t quite sound right. He seemed to notice your look of concern, and tried to silently wave it away, though when you didn’t look convinced he spoke.  “I’m fine, pumpkin, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” He tried to assure you as he stepped inside. 

His legs seemed to give out under him, and you immediately leapt from your bed to tend to him. “Jesse!” You exclaimed as you moved, he was already trying to push himself up with a quiet groan.  “No, no, sugarcube, you get yourself back into bed,” He told you, trying to refuse your help as you assisted him back to his feet. “You were about t’ get some sleep, I can tell...” He mumbled, though his protests became weaker and weaker as you slowly guided him towards the bed.  “That doesn’t matter, Jesse. Not when you’re like this...” You told him quietly, taking off his hat and placing it on the bedside table. He collapsed down onto the covers, another quiet groan escaping his lips as he rubbed a hand over his face. 

You gently pushed his hand to the side, pressing the back of your own hand to his forehead- the skin was almost scalding to the touch. “Jesse, you’re burning up..” You tell him, concern lacing your tone. “Get those clothes off, we can get you rested up.” Jesse gave a quiet chuckle at your words.  “Oh, I thought you were thinkin’ another route there sugar..” He mused, before coughing a little bit. You shake your head at his slight childishness.  “No, Jesse. That’s not what I mean, and I think you know that.” You tell him, starting to help him take his poncho off.  “Ah, pity..” He joked, trying to make you smile despite the clear worry in your features. His joking didn’t work very well, though a small part of you did appreciate the effort he was making, despite his rather ill demeanour. 

“McCree, what did you even do on that damn mission? You never get sick,” You muttered, using his last name to emphasise to him how seriously you were taking this situation.  “Well.. It was nothin’ really... We went to Volskaya to try and-” You cut him off with a look.  “You didn’t wrap up properly, did you?” You asked him quite sternly, and he smiled a little sheepishly.  “Well, I tried, sugar- but I got a little too hot before we left our outpost, and-” “For god’s sake, Jesse!” You sighed in exasperation. “I tell you every single time we head out there together, how come you never listen?” You asked him, clearly very unimpressed. “Why am I not surprised that you don’t take my advice, and the one time I’m not there to remind you about it you get sick...”  “I ain’t sick, pumpkin... Just a little under the weather.” Jesse denied with a shake of his head.  “That’s why you collapsed, is it, honey?” You reply sarcastically, carefully pushing him back so that he laid down. McCree sighed softly.  “I just don’t want you worryin’-”  “I always worry about you, Jesse. That’s my job.” You say to him, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. “You stay here for a moment, I’m going to go get you a washcloth in case you get a proper fever, alright? And do you want any food?” Jesse shook his head in response, before giving in to you, knowing full well that you would not give up trying to look after him, so he yielded. 

He sunk back into the bed, as you moved through to the bathroom, grabbing his washcloth for him, and a small bowl the pair of you kept there, filling it with cool, crisp water. You then moved through to the bedroom again, to see Jesse just about to fall into the clutches of slumber. He peered at you through half-closed eyes, giving you a tired smile. “You spoil me, sugar...” He whispered, starting to chuckle before it evolved into a round of coughs. You placed the bowl down quickly, helping him sit up a little bit. “Hold on, honey, I’ll get you some water, okay?” You said quietly, and he nodded silently. You quickly move back through to the bathroom again, grabbing the glass you usually used for rinsing your mouth out after brushing your teeth, filling it with cool water from the same tap. When you return Jesse had stopped coughing, but, still looked very tired, and rather pale. You move towards him, offering the drink which he happily took, bringing the water to his lips, having a few mouthfuls. 

He carefully put the glass on the bedside cabinet, and you pushed it further on to the surface, so that it didn’t fall off. He started to settle in again, and you got up to go and do a few chores, get a few things done whilst he slept, but a hand on your wrist kept you back. You look back in confusion, and there Jesse lay, giving you the most puppy-like eyes he could muster. “C’mon, sugar... Don’t go so soon.. Ain’t ya missed me?”  “Jesse, you are ill. One, I don’t want to get what you’ve clearly got, and two, things need to get done around here.”  “You can get ‘em done later.”  “Jesse-”  “No buts. You wanna look after me, right? Well, I’m asking for ya to stay. That’s how I want ya t’ look after me.” He told you firmly, and you chuckle softly.  “You’re as stubborn as a child, you know that, don’t you?”  “Yeah, but ya love me.” He chortled, pulling you back to him and onto the bed, his arms wrapping around you like you were some sort of beloved stuffed toy. He snuggled his face into the nape of your neck, a smile slowly slipping onto his face.  “Can I have some chocolate when I wake up?” He asks sweetly.  “Maybe, but don’t push your luck Jesse.” 

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McCree taglist: @rey-is-not-a-skywalker​

[yongtxt]

hundred [johnny]

word count: 4.5k words

characters: boxer!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: blood/wound/stitches mentions, johnny hates hospitals but he likes the pretty doctor, [im not a doctor nor a boxer pls dont say that i have info wrong because I Know]

author’s note: i know this isnt long to some of u but to me it is and i havent written this much for so long im so proud of myself for finishing this:( it isnt that good but this is the first long fic ive written in a while and shhsdjk also i needed to get this out of my system ive thought about this au since that jcc came out where johnny and hyuck was doing muay thai plssss (i couldnt find a better gif tho) ok this is getting too long / feedback is appreciated tysm

Johnny Suh hated hospitals with a burning passion.

It wasn't from a past trauma nor was he afraid of it, it wasn't that serious. He wasn't exactly sure what the cause of it really was. If he had to make a guess, it was probably from the accumulation of the little things, the insignificant factors people would usually dismiss but bothered him enough that it contributed to the big hatred he built for hospitals.

Maybe it was the distinct smell of hospitals, it reeked of death and old people. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the fluorescent-lit hallways, always gloomy and heavy. Maybe it was also the fact that the fees were so expensive and yet the food they provide tasted horrible, even the coffee was a hit or miss. The only upside he could think of was people get better in hospitals, but even that wasn't assured.

Despite how much Johnny despised hospitals, he always finds himself coming back. If he wanted to get better, he had no choice but to go. He would endure the gruesome process over and over again whether it be to treat his wounds or to stitch his cuts.

With his jaw littered with small bruises and his lips busted at the corner, he sat impatiently on the hospital bed as he waited for his doctor. He was fiddling with his fingers, knuckles bruised the same way his face was. He looked beaten up, he always did.

The clothes he wore contradicted the state he was in, they were fresh and laid back. He looked like a college student from the way he dressed. A delinquent more like, if one considered his cuts and bruises. Before heading to the hospital, he always makes it a point to shower and make himself appear presentable to the public. Although no one really bothers to take notice of his effort, only him.

The sliding door opened and Johnny's attention shot up from his phone, his gaze meeting with yours. Your head popped in, peaking through the small crack you made. Your eyes lit up in recognition as it always did whenever you see him.

"Youngho-ssi?" You spoke almost as if it was a question, voice barely above a whisper to make sure you were in the correct room, about to tend the correct patient.

Johnny didn't understand why you always did that, call out his name as if this was the first time you were seeing him. At that point, you've been already acquainted with him enough due to his numerous trips to the hospital. Either way, he nods every time.

You gave him a small smile, widening the door enough so you could enter. You wore a white lab coat, a name tag pinned to your chest and a stethoscope hung around your neck. You were small, although anyone compared to him was bound to be comparatively smaller – that wasn't the point, you looked young and that never fails to astound him every time you go through the door.

You had a clipboard in your hands, scanning through what he assumed to be his condition that a nurse had written earlier after a quick checkup and disinfection of his open wound. Your lips were formed on a tight line, eyebrows furrowed. He continued to stare at you with such amusement.

"You don't have to answer my question, Youngho-ssi, but why are you always here?" You finally broke the silence, startling him in the slightest. You never bothered to ask before, always just offering smiles and small talks while you did your work; maybe his sudden regularity of coming to the hospital recently made your curiosity peaked.

He couldn't blame you. Anybody would be curious why a 24-year-old man keeps coming back to the hospital with no clear explanation.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, he never liked saying his job. He said, "I box for a living."

"Ah, that makes sense!" Your eyes visibly glimmered, absentmindedly jotting down notes on his medical records. "My coworkers and I thought you were in a gang or something."

"I don't think I would be allowed to be here if I was." He chuckled, making you giggle as well.

"Seo Youngho, 24, minor lip laceration in need of immediate suture." You read of his data from the clipboard, almost comically. It was medical terms he was unfortunately already too familiar with, to him, it basically meant that he had a busted lip that needs to be sewed shut.

"You can just call me Johnny. Youngho sounds too formal to me." He said nonchalantly. You nodded your head to his simple request; it probably was best if you got to know him better since he frequented the hospital so much.

"Alright, Johnny. We'll start the process now, okay?"

With keen eyes, he watched you slip on a pair of surgical gloves. You grabbed a tissue from the metal tray that sat beside him and began folding it into squares. He felt his heartbeat quicken, he hated getting stitches or any form of medical treatments for that matter, but as morbid as it was, he thought of it as punishment for his recklessness in the ring.

"Isn't boxing just, I don't know, senseless violence?" You asked, tone dripping with pure innocence and unadulterated interest as you gently dabbed away the remaining dried blood the nurse failed to clean earlier.

"It's a sport, it's how I bring money to the table." He pursed his lips, ignoring the twinge of pain that surged through his nerves. He visibly relaxed when you placed a hand onto his shoulder to reassure him.

Ever since the first time you got assigned to him, the first thing he took note of was the softness of your hands. You handled him as if he was fragile glass, despite how he easily towered over you. He felt pathetic as a 24-year-old but your gentle touches would greatly help put him at ease.

"I guess. I didn't mean to be rude." You were hesitant, Johnny could tell but he was glad you didn't push on any further. He couldn't handle explaining his occupation when you were about to pierce his skin. "Okay, Johnny, now that your lip is clean and the anesthesia had seeped in, we'll start. I think you know how it goes by now."

"Make it quick, please." He nodded, squinting his eyes shut at the mere contact of a surgical pen grazing over his gaped lips. You were relieved that his cut wasn't too big, you couldn't stomach the idea of putting him in too much pain for longer.

As you picked up the tweezers and string of nylon, you couldn't help but laugh at the six-foot boxer in front of you who was clearly petrified of getting stitches, "This will be done as soon as you know it. You won't really feel it because of the anesthesia, remember? Now count to a hundred backward for me."

Once the numb feeling of nylon dragged through his lips, he swore he saw white spots flicker in his vision. His eyes immediately watered and he tried his best not to squirm under your hold, beginning to count to a hundred backward like you had instructed him to. You admitted it to him the first time you stitched him that it was a trick that you learned from your pediatrician friend. Despite it being for children, it helped to get him distracted while you focused on your job.

Minutes felt like hours, Johnny had been fighting the urge to punch something, anything, to release tension and nerves. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a peak and tried to take his attention away from what was currently happening on his lip. His gaze landed on your pretty eyes, how it was narrowed in focus and how your lashes perfectly framed it.

This wasn't the first time he'd observe you up close, there had been many occasions in the past that you had been too close for comfort in order to tend his wounds. It had been too many that it was almost as if he was close to memorizing your features. You were not only beautiful but you were also a smart and capable doctor.

Eventually, you finished and started to rub ointment on his sore lip — the finishing line.

"Try not to eat anything spicy or hard. You know the drill." You grinned at his suddenly pale features, ripping off your gloves as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the room. "You're good to go. Be careful next time."

He let out a shaky breath, clearly still winded up from the procedure, "I'll try. Thanks again, doc."

-

The punching bag felt great against Johnny's fists. There wasn't a feeling in the world that could compare to the impact of leather slamming against his skin. He could last hours mindlessly pummeling the bag if his stamina just allowed him to.

Hyunsik, Johnny's manager and personal trainer, drew away from the punching bag he held in between his arms. He let out a breath and held out a hand to motion that Johnny has done enough.

Johnny was hurting, Hyunsik could see that much. The bandages he had wrapped for the boxer's fingers were turning into a shade of red that they were all too familiar with.

Hyunsik clicked his tongue, "You should've used your gloves."

"How can I grow stronger if I keep relying on them?" Johnny rolled his eyes. His muscles needed a boost and this seemed to be the only logical way to strengthen them — a little blood never hurt anybody.

"Someday you're gonna fracture your hand and you'll be forced out of the ring. Remember that." Hyunsik huffed, his voice stern. "Take them off, I'll clean the blood off."

Johnny reluctantly did as told, unfurling the bandages wrapped around his fingers. The pain was excruciating when the fabric grazed along his tender skin, he winced at the unsightly view of his reopened wounds.

Hyunsik led him back outside of the ring to the benches where the first aid kit was. He made the boxer sit down so he could start cleaning off his wounds. It looked horrific, more so than it usually did and he had no choice but to break the news to Johnny.

"It looks really bad. You need to go get that checked in the hospital and have it sewed back." Hyunsik said, taking a wet towel and carefully dabbing it across Johnny's bloodied knuckles.

He didn't want to go to the hospital. Going to the hospital to have his wounds treated meant that Johnny would be medically required to take days off work to let his hand heal. Johnny frowned, "Don't you have an ointment or something that could help? I can't afford to lose a day of practice."

"Don't you think I know that?" Hyunsik rolled his eyes. "As your manager, I want you to be in top shape for your match next week, even if it means sacrificing a day or two for you to heal."

Johnny could only nod. He sat through Hyunsik's lecture on the changes he should make to his dietary plan and the exercises he should do during his temporary break. It infuriated him that he couldn't do anything about it but nod along.

The incoming match that was set next week would make or break his career as an underground boxer. He didn't have the option of missing it because of some measly reopened wounds. If he had to rest to get better, he had no choice but to suck it up. This was his fault anyway for pushing himself too much.

Johnny showered in the locker rooms and changed into nicer clothes that didn't reek of blood and sweat. His hands were stinging but he shook it off.

He ignored the concerned looks other boxers were giving him and begrudgingly made his way to the hospital to get himself checked in. You wouldn't be happy to see him all bloodied again, he thought.

-

Much to Johnny's surprise, it wasn't you who was assigned to him. It was a much older doctor with graying hair and a nose stuck too far up in the air. She was rude and condescending, her lack of politeness to her patients was quite appalling. If Johnny wasn't in such a bad mood, he might've complained already.

God, this day couldn't get any worse.

With a meek voice, Johnny asked where you were and at the mention of your name, his doctor gave him a narrowed look. She sneered, "She's handling much more important cases. Does she know you?"

"I think so." Johnny gulped, unsure of the answer himself.

The doctor's grip was tight and she was hasty. It was as if she was trying to speed through the process to just get it over with. Johnny wanted to cry because he was starting to get traumatized by this doctor's procedure, he didn't want to hate the hospital more than he already did.

He internally screamed for your name as he watched the doctor pull on the gloves. The sliding door harshly whipped open and there you were in all your glory, like an angel sent from above to save him from the devil incarnate who was about to pierce his skin.

You were panting and the sheen on your forehead made it obvious that you ran your way to his room. Johnny's heart leaped with glee.

"Unnie, I'll handle him." You said, unable to catch your breath as you made your way inside. "I think the ER needs you more than me."

The doctor seemed hesitant at first but you tried to convince her otherwise. She eventually agreed and left you with Johnny who had a cheesy smile on his face the entire time since you've arrived.

"So Johnny, what happened this time?" You asked, picking up the clipboard that sat next to him on the bed.

"I overdid the punching during training and it reopened some old wounds on my knuckles. It hurts like a bitch."

You pulled a face, "That's a bit intense."

He chuckled, "It's normal."

"Can I please see it?" You opened your palm so he could place his hand on yours. You observed his cuts and the scabs that were beginning to form around it, it was too deep to let it heal on its own so you made the verdict that he needed to get it sewed back together ⁠— as unfortunate as it was since he was a boxer and he needed his hands to box.

You tugged on a new pair of gloves and began the painful procedure, Johnny started counting down even without you instructing him to. You quickly got to work and stitched back his wounds with your lip in between your teeth

Johnny felt squeamish, he could never get used to the feeling of stitches. His eyes were glued shut and he mumbled numbers like it was mantra.

Once you were done, you smiled fondly at your work. You managed to get by with fewer stitches and you felt pride swell up in your chest. Johnny noticed and, as lightheaded as he was, couldn't help but smile as well.

"You're pretty good."

"At stitching?"

Johnny nodded with his cheeks flushed, he made a mental reminder to smack himself in the head later for such a crude comment. You probably thought he was an idiot now.

"I sure hope so." You chuckled, making him blush even deeper if that was even possible. "It's part of my job."

Johnny shook his head in embarrassment, his dark hair bouncing from how vigorously he did it. He mumbled, "That sounded really lame and not smooth, I'm sorry. Please forget I opened my mouth."

You could only chuckle as you apply the ointment around his knuckles. He wanted the ground to open up and just swallow him whole.

"Please let this heal completely, Johnny. Don't apply any strain on your injuries for a couple of days and refrain yourself from carrying anything heavy so that the stitches won't rip." You said, carefully placing down his hand back on his knee. You were gentle as ever, Johnny swooned. "Absolutely no punching for a while."

"I have an important match at the end of next week. Is there any way to speed up the healing process?" Johnny asked, his eyes were almost pleading at you and you blinked at him in surprise.

"Apart from what I just said, there's really nothing else you could do." You pursed your lips, watching his expression visibly deflate. "If you want to have even a sliver of a chance at winning your match, I suggest you do as I say. Your stitches won't take too long to heal, I promise."

If Hyunsik was there with him, he would've probably already scolded him but the point would be the same. He had always prioritized Johnny's health above winning.

"Okay, doc. I'll do my best." Johnny said, defeated.

"You know, I always see the aftermath of your matches and your training. I want to see you in the ring next time when you're not bloody and beaten up yet." You smiled at him and you swore that all the color that was previously drained from Johnny's face came rushing back. "If it's okay."

"Are you serious?" Johnny asked, almost dumbfounded. Did the pretty doctor he'd been crushing on for months really just asked if she could watch his match?

You nodded with the same hue of red now tainting your cheeks.

"O-Of course! It's on Saturday next week! Please come and cheer me on!" Like a little kid, he excitedly rambled on about the details about the upcoming match and you nodded with the same enthusiast as you wrapped bandages around his hands.

You weren't from his world so everything he said sounded foreign to you. The terms he said, the infamy of his opponents, the prominence of it all — you were eager to learn it if it meant seeing him this happy.

You've always known that he hated hospitals. It was clear from the way he acted during your first meeting. He was stiff and tense, the body language he exuded just screamed that he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. As he visited the hospital more and more, you noticed the hatred never faltered. He only became better at hiding it from you.

To see him so relaxed and carefree within the four walls he hated with all his being, it was a breath of fresh air and the feeling you had in your chest grew stronger.

"You're good to go. I promise to see you in your match." You were jotting some last-minute details on the clipboard and you missed the way Johnny kept grinning like an idiot. "As much as I love seeing you here, I hate that you keep getting yourself injured. Keep out of trouble for me, Johnny."

You left the room without letting Johnny say another word.

Fuck, Johnny realized he hadn't asked for your number.

-

Johnny's match started in ten minutes. His heart was pounding in his ears, he almost couldn't hear what Hyunsik was shouting to him.

The underground stadium was filled to the brim with people, he felt more nervous than he did during his first boxing match. A lot was at stake for this win, he needed the belt. He was desperate for it.

"Johnny, are you listening to me?" Hyunsik raised his voice, aggressively slapping Johnny's cheeks together in his hands so he could focus on him. The boxer's mind was fleeting and it was his job to pull him back to reality now.

He hadn't seen you since last week and as much as he wanted to go back to the hospital to see you, he refused to badly hurt himself in the days that led up to the match. Johnny scanned the crowd for your face but he couldn't see it. You weren't there.

At the lack of your turnout, he failed to mask his disappointment. Hyunsik let out an aggravated groan and pulled the boxer on his feet to berate him further.

"Johnny, please for the love of all things holy, look me in the eye."

"I'm sorry. I'm okay now. I'm listening."

"Good because your match is starting soon and I need you to win this. All your hardships and sacrifices boils down to this match, you hear me?" Hyunsik bellowed, trying his best to keep his voice louder than the cries and chants of the audience. "Show them what Johnny Suh is capable of!"

Johnny nodded fervently, forcing himself into a state of serenity of peacefulness. He let out heavy breaths to even out his breathing as his team surrounded him, prepping him for what was about to come.

Hyunsik raised his hand at Johnny. He had five minutes left until his match started and he wasn't calming down.

"Can I please have some water?" Johnny asked and his medic stumbled on his feet to fetch him a bottle from the nearby cooler. He couldn't help but let out a shaky chuckle, his team seemed tenser than he was.

He downed the bottle as soon as it reached his hand. His hand was shaky. Goddammit, why was he so nervous?

At the corner of his eye, he saw Hyunsik making his way over to the barricade that separated his corner to the rest of the stadium. He arched his neck in a way that would let him take a peek what was so important that Hyunsik had to leave his side when the match was starting in a few minutes.

It seemed like Hyunsik was trying to stop a girl who was forcing her way in through the barricade. His stomach lurched at the sight of her familiar face.

As if he was acting purely on instinct, Johnny shot up from his seat and ran towards you. Hyunsik held up his arm to stop him from going any closer to you. You could've been a deranged fan, for all Hyunsik knows.

"Johnny-"

"I know her."

Hyunsik was startled at his response and started to profusely apologize to you. You looked nothing but smug and Johnny let out a breathy laugh that helped unravel the knots in his stomach. The boxer quietly motioned for him to take his leave and Hyunsik hesitantly did as told only after tapping his wrist as a sign that time was ticking.

You bowed at him apologetically, "I'm so sorry I'm late! There was this damn patient-"

"It's okay. You're here now." He cut you off, a cheesy smile on his face. You easily reciprocated it back.

"I just came down here to wish you good luck." You said with the usual confidence in your tone gone and now replaced with a sudden timidness and bashfulness. "Not like you need it or anything."

"Where are you sitting?" Johnny asked, noticing that you were struggling to keep your attention on his eyes. He peered down and realized that he didn't have a shirt on, he chuckled.

You pointed near the walls of the stadium and he strained his vision to see so far away. He pursed his lips and let out a noise of discontent. You said that it was the only seats available because you were so late.

"Why don't you sit here with them? They wouldn't mind." Johnny said, jutting his thumb over to his team who was furtively watching his interaction.

"Oh no, it's okay."

"I insist. I want you to see me win up close."

You blushed a deep shade of scarlet and Johnny grinned at his successful attempt at a flirt. Was it even a flirt or was it an ego stroke? Either way, it didn't matter because you were smiling at him. You were easing his nerves and you didn't even know.

"I got out of my shift early so I wouldn't be in the hospital later to stitch you up." You teased, softly prodding his shoulder blade.

Johnny playfully puffed out his chest, "I don't plan on getting too injured today, I wanna look cool in front of you."

"Whatever you say, Johnny."

"But I'm nervous. I'm actually really nervous today." Johnny mumbled as if he didn't want anyone else in on your conversation, gone all traces of his cockiness as his heart thudded erratically against his chest when he heard Hyunsik's call of the last minute until he has to go inside the ring.

You gingerly reached for his taped hands and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Just count back from a hundred like I always tell you to. You'll do fine."

"Wait for me after the match, okay?" And so you did.

Counting down the numbers, Johnny clambered inside the ring and the bell rang to signal the start of the match. Being in the medical field meant that you were against all forms of violence so you couldn't really watch the entirety of the match without feeling sick to your stomach. Johnny didn't care, he was just happy that you kept your promise and was cheering him on.

It was hectic and everything was happening all at once. It was loud and everybody was screaming. This wasn't your world, it was Johnny's and your heart fluttered at the thought that he was willing to let you in it.

Eventually, the match ended in Johnny's favor and the next thing you knew, you were being hoisted up in the air. You had the biggest smile on your face, similar to Johnny's who now had a shiny belt slung over his shoulder. All his hard work and all his trips to the hospital paid off.

"Congrats on your win!" You exclaimed, placing your palms on his chest to steady yourself.

"I wanted you to see me get the belt." He admittedly sheepishly, reaching out to hold your wrists in his bruised hands.

"Aren't you hurt in any way? We can drop by the hospital if you want." You asked, checking to see if he had any major injuries but true to his word, Johnny was inflicted little to no injuries during the match, exclude the few bruises on his jaw and a busted lip

"Actually, I'd rather we get some coffee instead." Johnny said, the small smile on his lips making you chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I don't date my patients." You smirked at Johnny's crestfallen expression, softly shoving his side to make it known that you were only joking.

Johnny pulled a face, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding once he realized your joke. He played along, "I think you can make me an exception, I don't usually invite people to my matches."

"So this is about getting even, huh?" You were teasing him and now your faces were merely inches apart but before Johnny could even think of leaning in, you spun around and grabbed his hand once more. "C'mon then, my treat!"

Johnny let out a laugh. A boxer and a doctor, who would've thought?