#of the real issue to fit your fiction!

[numbuh]

i just want to put them in the same room and see what happens

[play-now-my-lord]

it's interesting to me that torture just works to us, as a literary device. It's everywhere in movies and stories and whatnot, from big-budget dramas to little grindhouse short stories. It fits neatly into the requirements of plot: character doesn't want to offer information, Gets Tortured, has to offer information.

the issue with this is that it isn't how it works.

torture is a display of power. It fouls interrogation, this is known; a person being tortured will tell you whatever you want to hear to make it stop, which is more often than not a lie, made up on the spot, or if the truth an incomplete and useless version of it. It isn't generally done for information's sake anyway, but as a form of what the ancient Greeks called hybris, the violent exhibition of your power over another person.

This is, every once in a great while, done right in fiction, but it's a challenge to write vs. the idea that it's a shortcut to one character revealing plot-critical information to another. Pretty much every form of torture works this way, even the ones that are legally permissible. Psychological torment or physical discomfort also produce an animalistic desire to escape harm and foul interrogation. The forms of torture the cops can do? The cops do it not to gain information (or if they think it will, they're lying to themselves) but because it makes them feel powerful.

There's probably a master's thesis in it for somebody studying the rise of torture as a plot device since the beginning of the war on terror and the contemporaneous development of the Broken Windows theory of policing. I'm not really aware of any similar level of disconnect between what Works in fiction and what happens in real life!

[a-silent-observer]

Ohhhhhhh noooooooooooo when will it end for real

[borathae]

The Consequences of Fucking Up

“Your break up was messy and painful. All you want to do is to forget about him. His friends, who ever since you ended it with Yoongi see you as their bullying target, make sure that the memory of him stays fresh in your mind however, haunting you day by fucking day. While Yoongi makes it seem as if he gives no fuck about your situation. Until one night he is in front of your door. Drunk and fucking regretful.”

♥️ Requested by anonie ♥️

Pairing: Gangster!Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: Exes!AU, Messy Break-Up!AU, Crime!AU, Cop!AU, Hurt and Comfort, Angst, Smut, a lil bit of Fluff

Wordcount: 15.9k

Warnings: lowkey they're bad for each other, but also somehow so right?, OC is such a people hater, I feel like she has mental health issues which are never addressed tbfh, she is quite the pessimist, unhealthy consumption of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes & weed (listen. i hate smoking and stand by that but it sadly fits their characters), Yoongi is kinda apathetic and cold, or is he??, IS HE???, implied violence and murder, corrupt cops & lawyers, policeman!Jungkook makes an appearance and he stole my heart tbfh :(, he is so cute that i almost sobbed, drugdealer!Hoseok makes an appearance too, there is also detective!Namjoon and smuggler!Taehyung because I love this vibe :); abuse of power, fuck Yoongi just fuck he is so ngngn, slightly protective & possessive!Yoongi, intoxicated sex, desperate!Yoongi, no foreplay, but she is not uncomfortable, choking (m.receiving), rough desperate sex, position change from sex against a sofa to missionary on said sofa, a lil bit of strength kink hihi, he cums too soon, dirty talk, tears :'), he is actually so emotional during the sex, the ending is so cheesy and cute <3, Spoiler: he is willing to change!! and he is a cutie actually, jsjsjsj sorry but i love yoongi a lot :(

Disclaimer: This is purely fiction and isn't like my usual stories. It does not portray how the boys actually are and it is not how I see them. This is a work of fiction with no correlation to real life. The type of relationships depicted in this story are far from how I normally portray my relationships and I do not advertise for such relationhips or staying in such relationships. This story is supposed to be twisted and dark & so are the relationships in it, as well as the characters. You have been warned. If you decide to continue reading, then it is out of your own free will.

a/n: now that the disclaimer is out of the way i can officially bark because woof woof fuckkcc anonie thank you so much for this idea. i had the worst and best time writing this story like nfnfnf her mental state was definitely very difficult to write, but their tension just got to me. i made the ending as cute and fluffy as possible just as you wanted hihi <3 also i love villian characters who would set the whole world on fire just to prove their dedication :) i hope this is what you imagined, because i kinda made it longer and with more plot than i planned to at first sjjsjs i couldn't be stopped jsjsj ALSO this is giving me the perfect opportunity to finally write a Kook request I got years ago ohoho

Yoongi collides with the wall, feeling the cold nuzzle of the gun press against his chin. He drops the keys and flowers he was carrying, lifting his hands in defeat.

“Careful, it’s just me”, he lulls.

“Get the fuck out of my house”, you spit, carrying murder in your eyes. 

Three months prior

“So you’re breaking up with me?” he asks, gawking at you with widened eyes. He looks more surprised than he does hurt. Probably because it hasn’t actually sunk in yet.

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.” He laughs because he never takes anything seriously.

“Yes. I am.”

“Too bad, I won’t act like it.”

“Yeah, you will.”

He laughs, “you’ve had better jokes, but I still admire the commitment.”

“You see. That’s the problem with you. Everything’s a fucking joke to you.”

He is smiling. It reaches his eyes.

“Your job, your men. Me. Everything’s a fucking joke to you. If you would have taken Sukuna’s thread seriously, Soojin would still be alive. If you didn’t fucking insult Miss Mei, you wouldn’t have lost twenty thousand in drugs and you wouldn’t have to fucking kiss asses like a beggar.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes anymore.

“If you would have put any kind of effort into me, I wouldn’t be leaving now. You take everything as a joke, while in reality you are the biggest joke here.”

His smile falls. You stood up and that actually scared him. 

“Wait baby, wait. Princess, we can talk about this”, he argues, closing the distance with his arms stretched open. “I’ll fix the issue with Miss Mei, I promise.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m done talking. Soojin died because of your recklessness.” 

Yoongi touches your hands. He holds them, clutches them. You have never felt such a touch from him before. As if he actually loved you. 

“What can I do? Tell me and I’ll do it”, he offers, caressing your knuckles. 

This is what you craved for months. Affection. Attention. You were always a passing thought to him. Something to fuck and possess. Something low maintenance like all his other shit. His current touch almost makes you want to stay because for the briefest moment, your breaking heart wants to believe that he finally changed. 

But you know better. He doesn’t take you seriously and if you stay, you will one day end up like Soojin. Metaphorically or not, you will end up dead because of him. 

“There is nothing you can do. Sorry.”

You slip out of his touch.

“Baby”, Yoongi follows you with panicked eyes, trying to touch you again.

“Goodbye, Min Yoongi.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

You close the door and run, finally letting the tears escape. 

You love him.

You always have and perhaps always will. 

You don’t want to leave, but know that staying will kill you. 

One week passes. You spent it holed up in your small, shitty apartment, crying your heart out. Yoongi was the best and worst thing that ever happened to you and you miss him. You hate that you miss him. Because he was way worse than he was good. 

He was never abusive. He was a violent man to anyone but you. You, he always touched with utmost care. At you, he never screamed. But he was still not good. He was cold and apathetic at times, then terribly affectionate at others, only to become cold again. And you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You wouldn’t have left your apartment today if your fridge hadn’t been empty. It wasn’t always empty, but sadly enough, groceries don’t magically appear. Not even for an outlaw such as yourself.

The city is busy. The smell of street food, smog and body odor poisons the air. The weather is hot these days and people started sweating more. You can’t stand people. You pull the mask tighter around your nose, hoping to shield the stench this way. 

You greet the clerk when you enter the shop, lowering your mask. It smells of grocery store in here. Fresh bread, produce and clean floors. It’s a welcome change to the rancid outside.

You spent fourty minutes in the shop and pay with cash. You never pay with card because it can be traced. Someone like you can’t risk being found. 

“See you”, you say your goodbyes and leave the store. You plan on coming back in three weeks. You can’t stand being outside often.

The door just about closed behind you and then someone jumps you. Three people to be more exact. Two hold your arms while one rips the bags out of your hands. 

“Let go! Hey, you fuckers!” you fight them off instantly, surprised at how easily it is to do. Way too easy. They let go of you as quickly as they grabbed you. At first you think that nothing happened, until you notice your grocery bags in one of the guys’ hands. They stole your stuff!

“You motherfuckers! Get back here! They’re mine!” 

They run away, flipping you off over their shoulders.

You sprint after them, but before you reach them, they jump onto a tuk tuk and drive off, finally showing you their faces. Those were some of Yoongi’s underlings.

“What the fuck?” You stumble back in disbelief. “Did they fucking steal my food? What the fuck’s happening?” 

It takes you a while before you finally come to the conclusion that you have to buy everything they stole a second time. And you do. And nobody jumps you. And you go home, make yourself shitty dinner and drink a bottle of soju all by yourself. It isn’t a good night. It’s a shit night. But then. All your nights have been shit for years.

You met Yoongi four years ago. It correlates with when your shit nights began. Okay, you are being unfair. The first two years with him were paradise and your nights were wonderful. You were an aspiring lawyer, while he was in the midst of getting a promotion to superintendent.  You supported each other’s dreams, motivated each other and celebrated when your goals were achieved. Then the truth spilled out. The man you knew to love turned out to be a lie. Why you never left, you do not know. He gave you the chance to leave, but you didn’t. You made yourself low maintenance to him and your nights became shit. He pretended to be a proper policeman by day while you pretended to be a proper lawyer and at night he became what he hunted by day while you tried to hide whatever evidence about him flooded into the offices. You hated it at first, then loved it, then lost your job because of it and became dependent on him and started to hate it again. Well, at least working for him. You liked everything else. Having to work in the system and seeing how corrupt even the most eligible politicians or CEOs truly are, made you realise that perhaps stealing from them isn’t as bad as it first sounded. You liked being on the dark side of the law because the bright side was just as twisted. You just simply started to hate that it means being close to Yoongi.

It took Soojin’s death to finally make you realise that staying with him will end in your death as well. And so you finally left.

You will start a new life, make up a new identity, move to a different country and forget about him. Maybe. Who knows. You haven’t decided yet.

A letter comes five days after the grocery store incident. It is stuffed into an unsealed envelope and clearly delivered by the person who wrote it. You open it, feeling shit instantly. Whoever wrote this letter is calling you the most hurtful of names, telling you personal stuff which truly hurts. You throw it away and go back inside, opening a bottle of soju. It wasn’t Yoongi’s handwriting, but somehow you still think that it is connected to him. You try not to let it get to you, but you still end up rotting away in your bed for the rest of the week only leaving it to piss, shit and eat. 

The next week your packages are missing. You never get them back. The culprit is never found. You curse the sky, knowing that it was fruitless. Yet again, you think that it was connected to him. To Yoongi, the man you wanted to forget, but who keeps haunting you day by day.

The city at night is a dangerous place. If you don’t know where to walk, you could find yourself in a rather messy situation. Especially as a woman. You are glad that most women are clever enough to stay at home once darkness greets the streets. Most women don’t know how to defend themselves though. Properly and without the law in mind. You killed before. Once. It was self defence. Yoongi took care of the body, you never found out what happened to it. He stayed with you the night it happened, even let you cry in his arms. He was gone the next day and never spoke of it again.

You clutch the big knife tightly in your bag, scanning the streets constantly. It isn’t far anymore until you are home. Hopefully the heavy rain clouds stay dry until you get there. You aren’t in the mood to get wet. Not tonight. You would have never left if you hadn’t ran out of fucking cigarettes. The kiosk was closed, so the journey was useless. Thunder announces that the clouds aren’t your friends. Mere seconds later, it starts pouring.

“Fucking shit, I hate this city.”

Rain in this city is always dirty and never really cold. You take it as a bad sign. Rain shouldn’t be warm. Not always, not constantly. Something’s wrong with this city. Something is rotting slowly until one day it will consume everything in its wake. You hope to have left before it can wake up.

The way home is too long for the amount of dirty rain it pours. You find refuge under a shop sign. There are no rooftops or canopies in sight and the only thing close to a safe place was the stupid restaurant sign. Authentic Asian Beef Noodles, it reads in bright red letters. The place is stuffed with people and the smell of beef broth mixes with the dirty scent of rain. You grind your teeth. What a shitty situation you find yourself in. You prefer being outside though. You know that once inside, the restaurant would be hot and stink of digested booze and body odor. You take getting wet over breathing in people’s air.

Except that you don’t really stay wet for long. The distinct sound of rain hitting an umbrella meets your ears. You look up. Black. You look to the side at the person holding it. Yoongi. Your stomach twists, your heart skips a beat. He is wearing a suit tonight. Black with a black tie. His hair is slicked back. He used makeup to  conceal the scar running all the way from his forehead over his eye and down half his cheek. This is his work outfit. His police chief outfit. Yes. He is a chief these days.

Your instincts tell you to leave without saying anything, but it’s been six weeks since the breakup and you still love him. You hate that you do, but can’t stop staring at his face. He has his brows raised in a nonchalant way as he inspects the heavy rain. He doesn’t grant you eye contact, but holds the umbrella in a way which lets you know that he came out here after seeing you. His left shoulder is getting wet, while you stay dry completely.

“What are you doing here?” you hear yourself ask him.

“Work dinner. I have to pay ‘cause I’m the boss and all that shit. They’re eating like greedy pigs”, he scoffs, “fucking assholes.”

“I see.”

“You?” 

“Buying smokes.”

He finally looks at you, studying from head to toe.

“The kiosk was closed”, you answer his question about your cigarettes’ whereabouts before he can ask it.

“I thought you quit.”

“Some things happened which made me start again.”

“Mhm”, he hums and takes out a packet of cigarettes from the inside of his suit jacket. He lights himself one and puts the packet away again, leaving you to stare at the smoke he blows out through his nose.

He isn’t actually serious, is he? It is like he is mocking you. It is already bad enough that he sends his stupid goons to terrorise you, now he is mocking you as well? You hate that you still love him.

You stay like this for a while. You staring at him while he holds the umbrella for you and smokes. You don’t know why you stay. You hate that you love him. You hate it so much.

Yoongi takes a long drag of the cigarette and exhales the smoke in an almost sigh-like breath. He lifts the cigarette, holding it closer to you.

“What?” you sound disbelieved, scandalised even.

He doesn’t say anything. He just shows you the cigarette as his eyes follow the endless rain. You hate that you love him. You hate it so much. But you still take the cigarette and put your lips right where he had his’ moments before. But you still smoke it as if it was the most normal thing to do. Because it once was. You and he shared many smokes in the past. It was once the most sensual, erotic thing to do between you and him. Barely clothed, intoxicated minds and high on the other, you often shared a joint as you got each other off. Fuck, it was always so fucking orgasmic to be with him that way.

“Wanna grab a bite?” he offers, pointing at the restaurant behind him, “one more mouth to feed isn’t gonna ruin me.”

You are hungry. You haven’t had a proper meal in weeks. Instant ramen, frozen food and snacks is all your body has to run on. You have no energy to cook and with how shitty you eat, it is a vicious cycle. Shitty food gives little energy, you already have low energy. The motivation to properly cook grows lower and lower each day. You dread the day you have only enough energy left to open a package of chips and eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

“I’m not hungry.”

He glances at you. He knows that you are lying. Your eyes have greyed in starvation. He almost rips the cigarette out of your fingers and smokes it angrily, huffing out the smoke. 

“I’m offering”, he hisses.

“And I’m declining. I can take care of myself”, you throw back and rip the cigarette from his grasp to smoke it angrily. 

You may be starving, but you will be damned if you make yourself dependent on him again. You left him to finally prove to yourself that you can take care of yourself. You don’t need his help. Not anymore. 

You take another deep drag, then hand the cigarette to him. He smokes it, glaring at you. You know that your stubbornness angers him.

“Tell your men to stop pestering me”, you say into the tense silence. 

He looks over his shoulder at his police team. They are too drunk and caught in conversation to pay their boss any mind.

“They’re inside”, he says.

“You know I don’t mean them. Tell your other men to stop annoying me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes. You do.” It is your turn to smoke. “It all started when they stole my groceries, but it’s been getting childish. My packages keep getting stolen, my internet cuts off, I find letters in my mail. Letters saying awful things about me. It’s getting ridiculous. Tell your men to stop terrorising me.”

“Stolen packages?” He takes the cigarette from you, brushing his fingers against yours as he does. The touch feels like the sweetest poison on your skin. “This doesn’t sound like my problem to solve. Go to the police.”

“Are you serious?” 

He inhales, exhales the smoke into your face. You should be disgusted by it, but almost huff it in like an addict. Yoongi watches your lids lower and your chest raise in a greedy breath, finding it hard not to stare at your lips as he hands you the cigarette. You smoke it. His eyes are still on your lips, glued to the shape of them as his throat runs dry.

“Very serious”, he rasps.

“You are the police”, you throw back in disbelief, exhaling the smoke into his face that way.

“Mhm yeah, I guess I am.” He takes the cigarette, smoking it with half lidded eyes. He exhales, handing you the cigarette. “When are you going to come home again?” he asks, looking back at the rain.

You almost choke on the smoke, exhaling it in a cough. Yoongi glances at you from the corner of his eyes.

“Your farce is getting ridiculous”, he says coldly.

“My farce?”

This break up wasn’t the first break up you and he went through. You left many times before, always thinking that you were finally strong enough to forget him only to come crawling back again. You don’t blame him for doubting that this time will be different, but you still can’t stop yourself from getting angry.

“Did you even hear what I said?”

“I did. Go to the police. I have nothing to do with it.”

You drop the half-finished cigarette. It dies in the puddle on the ground.

“I was smoking this”, he says dryly, “besides, don’t litter.”

“Pick it up yourself if you care so much about these dirty ass streets”, you spit and turn to leave. You take getting wet over being with him any longer.

Yoongi watches you leave, shakes his head in disbelief and bends down to pick up the cigarette. He won’t run after you because you will come crawling back eventually. You always do.

“Sir?” 

He turns his head. One of his officers. He is young and with sparkles of big dreams in his eyes. Yoongi pities him. This city is going to chew him up until there is nothing left of him. He had the same dreams once and knows what the viper nest, which is the justice system, is going to do to him. 

“What do you want?” he asks him dryly, rolling the wet cigarette between his fingers.

“Who did you talk to right now?”

“Just someone important to me.”

“Shouldn’t we escort her home? It’s raining and there could be criminals on the streets. It’s too dangerous for a woman to be alone.”

“She’ll get home safely.”

“Are you sure, Sir? I stayed sober for cases like these. I could get the car right away.”

“You’re sober?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“But it’s a work dinner. You’ve been off work for hours.”

The young officer salutes, “I know, Sir but a policeman shouldn’t slack, Sir.”

Yoongi feels deep pity for the young man. He is so motivated, so proper and full of good spirit. Waking up is going to hurt like a bitch for him.

He pats him on the shoulder.

“You’re a good person, Jeon”, he says and swerves past him to get back inside. 

The young officer follows him with pride glimmering in his innocent eyes. Yes, waking up is going to hurt like a bitch for him. 

Yoongi wasn’t always living two lives. He was like his young officer once. Full of dreams and motivation. He dreamed of using his powers to do good, to help those who needed it most and then he woke up. He watched politicians and men in power ruin, rape and kill the powerless without ever getting punished for it. He felt helpless. If even someone in his position can’t change the world, then who will? His criminal work was honourable once. He slipped evidence money under the table to hand out to the powerless, he let proof disappear for people doing crimes out of desperation. One time he was supposed to put a starving mother behind bars because she stole diapers for her babies. Yoongi couldn’t do it and so he disobeyed the law for these kinds of people.

But then his criminal work became less about the powerless and more about him. Making money the illegal way was easy and it is fucking addicting. Especially when he could make sure that evidence about him never reached the higher ups. Yoongi fucking loved the sudden power he possessed and he was too blinded by it to see that he became exactly what drove him to criminality in the first place.

Yoongi tells his officer to check up on your place that night. The young officer rings the doorbell like he was told to do.

You open it, swaying from intoxication as you do. The stench of digested booze wafts off you. But you somehow seem to sober up when you see the police badges on his shirt.

“You’ve got the wrong person”, you tell him, trying to morph your face into an expression of sobriety.

“Don’t worry, Miss. I came here to check on you.”

“Check on me?”

“Yes, Miss.” He salutes you. “I have orders from my captain to make sure that you arrived home safely and that you received this”, he says with an innocent smile on his lips, presenting a plastic bag to you. 

Authentic Asian Beef Noodles, it reads in red letters and inside, three big takeout containers of food are waiting to be eaten. 

Everything clicks into place. This is one of Yoongi’s employees. Another young, hopeful spirit which will be crushed in the system. You pity the young officer. You had the same innocent sparkle in your eyes once.

Hesitantly, you accept the takeout food.

“Thanks”, you mumble.

“Any time, Miss.” He studies you for a moment. “Are you…are you okay, Miss?”

You bite back tears. His empathy is going to kill him one day. But it feels so good to receive. You haven’t been asked this question in so long.

You shake your head. He straightens up in worry. 

“Should I call help for you, Miss?”

You know what he indicates.

“Thank you, no. I’m just going through some shit. Sorry, I’m being sappy tonight.”

“You don’t have to go through it alone, Miss.”

“I know. I’m just… I’m seriously alright, I won’t do anything stupid. You don’t have to worry, officer.” 

“Yes, well I still see it as my duty to stay because you seem sad to me”, he says and tries to go inside your apartment. He still has a lot to learn. You know from his eyes that he has no bad intentions and that he truly wants to help, but you know how the city will treat such deeds. One day he will try to help the wrong person and end up with attempted sexual assault charges. And it will fucking destroy him because people like him only see the good in the world and can’t imagine that others would want to hurt people.

You stop him with a guiding hand on his chest.

“That isn’t necessary, really. My packages keep getting stolen and I guess it’s been annoying me.”

He pulls out a pen paper instantly, stepping closer to you without noticing, “your packages? Have you seen anyone suspicious? How many packages have gone missing? When did it start?”

“No, I… Thank you for your concern and the food, but I will get through the night safely.”

He steps back, cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

“Forgive me, I don’t know why I did that. My captain said that you were important to him and that I should make sure that you are well, so I wanted to do a good job at it.” He bows at you deeply. “Please forgive me, Miss.” 

“He said that?” you whisper.

He nods his head, “yes, Miss.”

“Oh. Uhm. ” You clear your throat. “Thank you, I, uhm, tell him that I’m good.” 

“I will, Miss. Here, my card. You can always call me when you need something” he hesitates, “or when you just need someone to talk to.” 

“Thank you. This is so kind.”

“You are never alone, Miss.”

“Thank you”, you say, bowing at him. He is so kind. God, you want to grab him and tell him to run before it’s too late.

He bows as well, “good night, Miss.”

“Good night.”

You watch him leave. He gives you one last look out of the police car and a kind wave, then drives off. 

You close the door with a curse. This just sobered you up. The young policeman’s kindness just sobered you up. You check his name on the card he handed you. Jeon Jungkook. Why someone like him? He never should have found his way into this field of work. 

You look at the takeout food next, feeling your stomach twist. You are important to Yoongi. Holy fuck.

It’s been eight weeks since you left him. You don’t feel better. The cigarette you shared was two weeks ago and yet you still feel as if it was sticking to your lungs. Each time you breathe out, you swear you can taste him. It almost suffocates you and keeps you from relaxing. So you leave your depressing place for a walk to the kiosk. You read somewhere that walks are good for one’s mental health. You can’t agree. Walks force you to be outside where people are loud and fucking stink.

The vendor must be fucking with you. The day is bright, but the kiosk is closed again. You bang your fist against the closed door, cursing loudly. You want your fucking smokes is that too much to ask? This city is fucking shit.

You’ll just call someone who will always help. You saved him as Jay. His real name is Hoseok. You don’t say his real name in public. He doesn’t say yours. Yoongi sometimes called him his best friend, but what is such a title out of the mouth of the most apathetic man you know? You were his girlfriend too and look at where this has gotten you, living as an outlaw in the shit and dirt of this city.

Like always, Hoseok lets the phone ring four times then he picks up.

“Flames are hot”, he says.

“And the arsonist works hard”, you answer him.

“Hyacinth, it’s good to hear your voice”, there is finally a smile in his voice now that you answered the code correctly.

“The same goes for you, Jay.”

“What’s up? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“Nothing much. I’m out of smokes.”

“The corner in twenty?”

“Yeah.”

You and he end the call at the same time. Twenty minutes later you meet. He wears black overalls and smudged eyeliner. He says it keeps the char easier to hide. Like always, he greets you with a quick hug.

“What do you got?” you ask him.

“Whatever you want.” He opens his bag. “I’ve got cigarettes, but something stronger too”, he says, scurrying around the contents of the bag with his fingers. He always has burn marks on them, but somehow they are never dirty.

“What do fifty bucks buy?”

“For you? Two packs of cigarettes and two joints. That’s a steal.”

“Fuck dude, you’re getting expensive.”

“Yeah well, a man’s gotta eat.”

“Fine, I’ll take it.”

You and he exchange goods. He makes small talk.

“But why are you here with me? Did Suga run out of goods?”

Suga is Yoongi’s codename in public. The sound of it almost brings bile into your throat. You did such a good job in forgetting him and now the memory of him is as fresh as a new day. At least you like to pretend that you are doing a good job at forgetting him. Your heart knows better though.

“We, uhm…”

Hoseok exhales sharply, “again?”

You nod your head.

“When?”

“More than two months ago.”

“Damn, that’s long.”

“Yeah, I’m serious about it.”

He cocks his brow up.

“I am”, you insist just a little snappishly.

“Alright”, he closes his bag, “I gotta go now.”

“Already?”

He looks around nervously. Almost as if he didn’t want to be seen with you.

“Yup. Use the stuff wisely, I won’t have new stuff for a while.”

“Seriously?”

He nods his head and salutes you nonchalantly.

“See you around.”

“See…you?”

He turns his back to you and walks off quickly, soon disappearing into the busy crowd. Is this your fate? Even the people closest to you avoid you now that you aren’t Yoongi’s anymore? Were you truly only worth something as his little thing? You ball your hands into fists, bending the joints this way. You have to leave this fucking place. There is actually nothing holding you here anymore.

That night the phone terror starts. Numbers keep calling you over and over and over again. You pick up the first time, only to have to listen to the most hurtful things another human has ever said to you. The voice wasn’t Yoongi’s, but you still blame him. Now that you aren’t his thing anymore, you became free food to whoever had been waiting to make your life a living hell. You turn off your phone after an hour and go to sleep with the help of Hoseok’s joints.

The doorbell wakes you the next morning. You consider not answering because it’s probably just one of his goons wanting to terrorise you. But whoever is ringing the doorbell is stubborn, forcing you out of your bedroom. You look through the door cam first.

That young officer. He is in full uniform.

You open the door hesitantly.

“Good morning”, he greets you with a wave and a smile.

“Good morning”, you murmur. Your mouth is as dry as a fucking desert. You are also so hungry that you could throw up in his face right now.

“How are you feeling, Miss?”

“Good.”

“That’s good to hear.” He says and shows you a package which he kept hidden behind his back all this time. He smiles brightly and proudly. “Tada!”

“What’s that?”

“I caught the package thief, Miss.”

“Are you serious?” you gasp and your eyes instinctively drift to the car you have noticed parked outside your unit for days. The door is opened and someone is sitting in the backseat. He looked cuffed to the seat. You glance at the young officer and the shiteating, proud grin he is sporting. He has been watching you? Did Yoongi tell him to?

“Wait. You’re actually serious.”

“Very serious. For you, Miss”, he says and shoves the package into your face.

“Uhm, uh. Thanks”, you accept it, putting it under your arm. “Have you been watching me?”

“Did you notice the car? Sorry, I thought that I was better hidden. I’m still new to all of this. But I caught the thief, heh.” He points at himself with his thumbs. “That’s my first real arrest.”

He manages to drag an honest smile to your lips. He is kind of adorable in a way.

“That’s cool. Thank you for taking care of it. Now I’ve got nothing to worry about anymore.”

He grins and nods his head, studying your features afterwards. He opens his mouth.

“Jeon are you there? Over”, his walkie talkie interrupts whatever he wanted to ask you. He takes it off his chest harness.

“I’m here, Kim Sir. Over.”

“Come to the precinct. We need reinforcements. Over.”

“Coming right away, Sir. I caught a thief right now, Sir. Over.”

A pause where the higher officer is definitely baffled by his confession.

“Good job, Jeon. Over.”

The young officer giggles before he speaks again, doing so as seriously as possible.

“Thank you, Kim Sir. I am taking the criminal to the precinct. Over.”

“Understood. Over.”

He puts the walkie talkie back on its harness and gives you a sorry smile.

“That was my boss. My other boss, not your friend who is the boss of this boss. Anyways. I have to go now, duty calls. Are you going to be okay, Miss?”

“I am. Thank you for your kindness.”

“Anytime, Miss. Uhm, have a good day”, he says and leaves with a wave of his hand. He waves again as he drives off. You retort it, staring at his car until it disappears behind a corner. You sigh deeply. He is so nice. Why someone like him? Why does this life always find people like him?

It’s been ten weeks since you left him. You read somewhere that walks are good for your mental health. You still can’t agree. Walks force you to be outside where people are still loud and still fucking stink. But it’s better than staying in your apartment. You’ve got new neighbours since Monday. They keep fucking like actual animals. They fucked when you left your place tonight. You were this close to kicking their door in and slaughtering them like pigs. You opted for a walk in the end.

You walk for a while then sit down by an empty bench next to the river. It is quiet. Nobody is really here. At least nobody important. A couple, how disgusting. A late night jogger, clearly a man. A homeless person, who uses another bench as their bed. You hate looking at homeless people because you feel helpless seeing them. You stopped being on the bright side of the law because of people like them. You thought that maybe if you stole from the corrupt men in power often enough, you would be able to help the ones who truly needed it. But you never managed to actually achieve anything. The homelessness in the city grows, while the pockets of the politicians become fatter and fatter in wealth. You fucking hate this city. It is rotten to the core.

“Look who we have here. If that isn’t our pretty little Hyacinth.”

You aren’t quick enough to get up to leave and then you already have two men throwing their arms over your shoulders while a third is grabbing the back of your head from behind. You try to reach for your knife but can’t. Their grip on you is too good.

“What are you doing here all alone?”

Their voices are familiar and one look at them confirms your suspicions. It’s them. The same three underlings who stole your groceries months ago.

“Leave me alone”, you tell them.

“Why should we? You are all alone. If the boss knew we’re leaving you alone, he’d grow angry.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Now, now don’t be like that. You’re just a girl and there are many dangerous men out there.”

You look to your side. One of them is licking their lips like a hungry animal.

“Yeah? And you’re being fucking inappropriate. Leave me alone”, you spit, shaking off their arms.

They let you. Just as they let you stand up and take your bag.

“Goodnight”, you tell them and leave. Quickly. You walk a good hundred feet until you finally dare to look over your shoulder only to realise in horror that they are following you. Quickly.

You can defend yourself. You know how to kill, but you also know when you are outnumbered. And three bigger men against a woman is sadly never going to end well for the woman. You hate this city and you hate this life. You know that their words were nothing but provocation. They know you aren’t with Yoongi anymore, that you aren’t under his protection anymore and that in some weird way, you sullied his honour. You also know how people who bring dishonour to the gangs of this city are punished. The men are murdered and the women, well, they are murdered too but not before being sullied themselves. You hate this city and you hate this life. This life which is going to fucking end for you soon.

You dare to look over your shoulder one more time. They are so close that you can see the hunger in their eyes. No. Nononononono. It can’t end like this. You were supposed to leave this city, start a new life, forget about Yoongi. You are not going to die here in this dirty, shitty park far away from your dream.

Thump.

You bounce back from the impact, letting out a blood curling scream. It was instinct. Just as it is instinct of the person you ran into to grasp you by your arms and pull you closer again.

“Let me go! Help! Help me!”

“Quiet”, the person hisses and shakes you. This voice sounded different. Familiar in an almost intimate way.

You dare to shift your eyes to them.

Yoongi.

“I, I, I”, you stutter, feeling delirious in both fear and shock. You grab his shirt, twisting it to get closer to him. The act is intimate and out-of-place but you are too frightened to think clearly. 

Yoongi brushes over the state of your glassy eyes to look over your shoulder. There are three men suddenly scurrying away, using the darkness to hide. He managed to get their faces.

He looks back at you. Your eyes meet. A little bit of clarity returns to you. What are you doing? Your fingers soften around his shirt. 

“I don’t…”

“Come on, we’re going home”, he say sternly and puts an arm around your waist, dragging you with him like this.

You follow him all the way to his car. You even let him sit you down on the passenger seat and you even stay seated when he rounds the car to get to the driver side. You think that you are in shock because you don’t protest when he starts the car, nor when he drives off. You simply stare outside with your knees turned to him because your body acts against your consciousness. The city passes you by in flashes of neon colours. His car smells like his cologne and leather. He has no music playing. 

Yoongi glances at your face. You have your head against the window, squeezing your hands between your thighs. The neon lights illuminate your features each time he passes by another light source. He can see that you are trying not to shake.

He takes a deep breath, shifting his eyes to the road. He has to grip the steering wheel, otherwise his hands would shake in anger.

“Should we get dinner?”

His voice rips you from whatever trance you were in. You sit up straight, looking at him. He is gripping the steering wheel to the point his knuckles pale. His long hair is hanging into his face tonight. A turquoise varsity jacket adorns him. His scar wasn’t hidden behind concealer. He wasn’t working his day job today. What was he doing at the park? Why was he there?

“Take me home”, you order him.

“I am.”

“No. Home. Not your place.”

“My place is your home”, he gets out through gritted teeth.

“No, it isn’t. Not anymore.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Did you see what they were doing to me?”

“No.”

You are lost for words for a moment. The tears come afterwards.

“Stop the car.”

Yoongi looks at you because your voice was shaking. He holds his breath at the sight of your tears.

“What?” he makes sure.

“Stop. The. Car. Now.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

You pull the knife out on him. He swerves to the side on instinct, fixing the mistake so vigorously, you and he shake in the small space. You don’t let it affect you, holding the knife against his skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses.

“Stop the fucking car or I’ll kill us both”, you spit, holding the knife against his throat.

“Fuck”, he growls and hits the steering wheel. The car rolls to a stop.

“Get out”, you threaten.

“I am. Fuck.”

He follows your orders because you have his life at blade’s end. He still slams the door closed. You leave the car instantly.

“What the fuck were you thinking? You could have killed us both” he tries to scold you, but you silence him.

“I’m talking now”, you roar.

Yoongi closes his mouth because he has never heard you like this before.

“You are such an asshole! Each day I regret the moment I met you! You are the worst thing that ever happened to me!”

Yoongi gulps. 

“I had a life before you. I had dreams and ambitions and, and goals and…a chance. I could have had a good life. I was supposed to use my degree to help people but you ruined everything for me.”

He rounds the car in big steps, coming so close to you that you smell his breath. It smells like chewing gum. 

“You could have achieved something? What exactly did you achieve as a lawyer? Mhm, what did you achieve? This city is fucked.”

“Yes, because you fucked it!” you hit his chest. He doesn’t budge, but also doesn’t stop you. “You fucked it and you fucked me and I hate you for it!”

“Don’t blame me for your decisions. I gave you a chance to leave me back then. You were the one who stayed.”

You inch closer until your lips are almost touching. Yoongi exhales shakily, placing his hand on your hip. 

“And I will regret this decision till the day I die”, you whisper, breaking the closeness.

You slip out of his hold. He follows you in a small stumble and a trembling gasp. 

“I never want to see you again. Are we clear?” you hiss at him.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous, you don’t want this”, he hisses back at you.

“You’re wrong, I don’t want you. I thought I still did, but I don’t. You don’t care about me, it’s finally so fucking obvious to me. You don’t fucking care.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“They are terrorising me, Yoongi!” You finally scream. “I wake up to people ringing my doorbell in the middle of the night, I have to keep my phone turned off because the phone calls don’t stop. I keep getting my stuff stolen and, and I thought I was going to be raped tonight! They are terrorising me and you called it not your problem!”

“No, you-”

“I’ve been living in constant fear, our friends don’t even look at me anymore, I haven’t eaten in days and I can’t-”, you stop yourself. He doesn’t even deserve your anger anymore. “-you know what? Fuck this and fuck you. I’m leaving.”

You turn your back to him and leave. 

He says your name and takes your hand. He pulls, tries to turn you to him. But you rip yourself free again.

“Don’t go”, he says.

You don’t listen.

“I’m ordering you to stay”, he sounds desperate, yelling your name, “I am ordering you!” 

He can yell as much as he wants to. You don’t listen to him anymore. The subway station isn’t far. You will make an exception and take it tonight. Even if you hate it. It stinks. Just like the rest of this shitty city.

You are going to leave. Once you are home, you are going to start packing and then you are going to leave. You will call V. You don’t know his real name, but he can change your identity as quickly as others change their socks. You will call V and tell him to have your passport ready the day after tomorrow. You will pay him with the money you have under your pillow and then leave for somewhere clean. Maybe somewhere with lots of mountains. You always heard that the air at these places is breathable.

You call V the same night. He tells you that two days is too short and to wait another week. So you wait. Your bags have been packed. You live out of them in your own place. You don’t leave it. You are scared. With how little Yoongi cared about your situation, you doubt that he told his men to stop. You are scared that if you left again, they would finally go through with what they couldn’t finish back then.

The doorbell rings during a rainy, dark night. You flinch awake to the point where you feel sick to the stomach. The lights are turned on instantly eventhough you know not to do that in such a situation. You can’t think clearly. You just want this to be over. All of it.

You run to the front door because you suddenly feared that it was unlocked. It isn’t, but you can watch someone push an envelope under your door. The shadow blocking the light outside leaves the moment the letter is inside your apartment.

You don’t want to open it at first, staring at it as if someone had planted a bomb in your apartment. Fuck it, if that is how you die then so be it, you think in the end and bend down to pick it up. It feels different in your fingers. Sophisticated. Intimate. The envelope is glued closed as if someone licked the glue stripe and the faint smell of well-known cologne lingers on the paper. You open it with shaky fingers.

A letter. It is heavy and folded once. You open it, gasping when three photographs fall out of it and onto the ground. You don’t know what is on them because they landed on their face side. So you read the letter first.

“It has always been mine as well.”

Written in black ink and a familiar handwriting. This is Yoongi’s writing.

With even shakier hands, you pick up the pictures. You feel sick for a moment, gawking at the cruel pictures with your hand thrown over your mouth. The three men who terrorised you. Their mutilated corpses look back at you. He tortured them to death.

You rip the door open, stumbling onto the balcony. You look down at what tripped you. Two bags of your favourite takeout food and a six pack of water. Both clearly fresh. So it was him. Yoongi must be here somewhere. You look into the distance. The night is loud and blurry in a thunderstorm. The streets are empty. The ghost of your past is gone again. You squint your eyes. A person.

“Yoongi!” you call out, unable to realise that you are smiling and waving your hand.

The person moves. Oh. It was just the shadow of a tree. For just a moment you had hoped that the dark shape was him waiting for you. It was just a tree…and you were happy that if could have been Yoongi. The realisation hurts.

“Fuck”, you press out, going back inside. The lump in your throat makes it hard to breathe. You stumble back to bed, halting for a moment when you pass your suitcases.

It has always been mine as well. His words repeat themselves in your head. All this time, you thought that he didn’t care. All this time, you thought that your terror left him cold. Your eyes drift over the empty takeout boxes from the noodle place. You still haven’t cleaned them up. He made sure that you were properly fed for days back then. A glance at the new stuff he got tonight. He is still making sure that you are. Your eyes drift over the package next. He made sure that they stopped getting stolen. You look at the pictures in your hands. He made sure that they would never hurt you again. All this time, you were so blinded by your own anger that you missed how he had always looked out for you. You missed his way of showing you that you were important to him.

It has always been his problem as well.

Something inside you breaks and you scream. You don’t know what you scream for, but you scream. It hurts so much. It hurts so much because you will still leave. He will hurt you again if you stay. All his efforts healed your heart and it hurts so much because you will still leave. You were meant to stay broken hearted. Leaving would have been so easy this way. Now it hurts like a bitch. But you can’t sway. You have to leave this place. It will chew up what little is left of you until you truly cease to exist.

V comes to your place the next day. He rings your doorbell. It wakes you from the uncomfortable sofa you fell asleep on last night. You groan as you sit up and you barely want to open your eyes as you stumble to the door.

You open it without checking the camera first.

“Took you long en- you?”

Jungkook, the young officer, greets you with a smile.

“I swear I’m not stalking you.”

You have a headache today, so it is difficult not to snap at him. He is also not the person you wanted in front of your door today.

“I’m starting to doubt that.”

He laughs, “it’s not that. I talked to my boss. Your friend, the boss of the other boss. Sorry, anyways. I need you to come to the precinct with me.”

“What? Why?”

“Okay so, this is actually so cool and I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but you’re my boss’ friend so I guess it’s okay”, he begins with sparkling eyes, “turns out that the package thief is actually a serial thief and you aren’t the first one he stole from. Isn’t that cool? It’s like in those movies. Those cool cop movies.”

“Really? He stole from more people?” You highly doubt that.

“Yeah”, he laughs as he answers you, nodding his head excitedly, “now we’re calling in everyone who he stole from so we can take their statements. My boss says that we can’t keep the thief locked up for long otherwise.”

You know that this wasn’t really how the law works. After all, you were once a lawyer who was fucking good at her job. Is Yoongi trying to drag you back to him? First he tries to change your mind by killing your bullies and now he is trying to do the final blow by abusing his power as police chief? You check the time. Couldn’t the young officer have come later? You could have had your passport already and be far, far away from this place.

“Can I just give it to you here?” you ask him.

“Mhm”, he tilts his head to the side, “no, I don’t think that it works like this. I’m sorry, Miss. The captain said that it’s important that all the victims come into the precinct.”

You have to give Yoongi that. He is real clever about it. That means however that you can’t escape this situation. Any more resistance from you would make you suspicious.

You give up with a sigh. “Can I just change into something different?”

“Of course, Miss.”

The young officer lets you sit in the passenger seat. He is so new at all of this. With such naivety he tells you his entire life story. That he was from the countryside and that his dream has always been to be a policeman in the city. That he studied hard for years and that he completed his enlistment with honour just so he could be a proper officer. He sounds so proud of himself that each second with him makes you hate his presence more and more. He is so fucking stupid and it angers you. Why would he throw away his life like that? Why someone like him?

You are led to one of the precinct’s interrogation rooms and are told to wait there. The table is decked with different foods.

“What’s all that?” you ask Jungkook.

“Breakfast, Miss.”

“Did your captain tell you to do that?”

“He said that wanted to make sure you get your breakfast because we called you in so early. The captain really cares for the citizens.”

You stifle a scoff. Sure he does.

“Mhm, I see.”

“Either way, it won’t take long”, the young officer bids his goodbyes and leaves you in the interrogation room.

His words were a lie. You wait and wait and wait, but nothing happens. There are no clocks in this godforsaken room, but you still know that it has to be hours. You didn’t want to eat the breakfast at first, glaring at the two-way mirror because in your mind, Yoongi was behind it, watching you and making sure that you ate. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction at first, but had to in the end. The body begins working against one’s will when it is starving and the breakfast looked way too good. You eat all of it, then glare at the mirror again. You are still left alone and more time passes. It is as if they are trying to wear you down, as if you were the criminal in this situation. Granted, you are a criminal, but only Yoongi knows that and right now you are a poor civilian having done nothing wrong. You know that it’s Yoongi’s doing. That he somehow wants to terrorise you.

So when the door finally opens and he walks into the room, you almost throw the empty bowl at his head.

“Forgive the wait, Miss but something came up”, he says nonchalantly, flicking through some papers.

His second in command Kim Namjoon and the young officer Jeon Jungkook are behind him, which is why he is putting up this act. You grind your teeth.

“I already started to wonder if I’m in danger here”, you say way too sweetly.

“That depends on how you are going to answer our questions”, he says and sits down on the chair in front of you.

Jungkook stays by the door while Kim Namjoon stands a little to your side.

You look around yourself. He is trying to intimidate you.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I thought that I’m here to give my statement because of my stolen packages.”

Yoongi glances up from the papers. This is the first time your eyes meet after your fight and he killed your bullies. If only the others in this room would know how much blood he has on his hands and to which length he is willing to go to protect you. There were times where you would have dragged him over the table and kissed him senseless, but not anymore. You are stronger than your urges, even if it hurts your heart. You can’t give in again. If you do, he will take you for granted again. You won’t be happy with him. You finally have to fucking understand that.

“You’re right. You are here because of that”, he says dryly.

“Good. It started on May sixteen. I came home at around seven ten and noticed that my packages were missing. Two were stolen back then, but in total he stole eight packages”, you say and proceed to tell him the exact dates with the time as well as what was stolen.  

“You seem to know how such hearings work”, he says after he wrote down what you said.

“I had a few hours to practice what I was going to say”, you say with a poisonous smile.

One Yoongi retorts with just as much poison and a deep hum.

“Apologies again.”

“Don’t worry, I know how hard the police works at keeping this honourable city safe.”

He tongues his cheek. You give him a victorious smirk. This cut. Good. He takes a deep breath and releases it through his nose, reaching into his suit pocket to pull out a cigarette. He gets as far as to put it to his lips and then Kim Namjoon already speaks up.

“Captain. Smoking is prohibited in this building.”

“Fuck”, Yoongi presses out and takes the cigarette between two fingers to tap it against the table instead.

“Smoking is bad for you either way”, you say.

He tongues his cheek again. You know that he wants to curse at you right now, but can’t. He has to put up a friendly act.

“I know, can’t shake the habit”, he says and studies your face, “so what now?”

“Sir?” Kim Namjoon is rightfully confused. Yoongi slipped up.

“I don’t know, I was never in such a place before. Do you still need to take my information?” you act oblivious.

“We already have everything.”

“Great. Then I can go?” you ask, fluttering your lashes innocently.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Sir?” “What? Why?”

Yoongi shifts in his chair until he manspreads like an idiot. He crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks you.

“Uhm…is this still part of my hearing?” you ask, glancing at Kim Namjoon.

“No of course not, Miss. Please, follow me.”

“Sit. Down.”

The room is silent for a moment. You glare at Yoongi while Namjoon and Jungkook gawk in complete confusion. Their captain acts out of character. There is no reason to keep the innocent lady here any longer. This isn’t like him at all. He has been fidgeting all day, barely drank his coffee, went for far too many smoke breaks and now this. The officers have no explanation for their captain’s sudden behaviour.

“What is the reason for this?” you ask him.

“Just safety precautions. We wouldn’t want our honest citizen to get into danger”, he says coldly, “now answer my question. What are your plans now, Miss?”

“I will go home.”

“Where is that home?”

“Sir, I don’t know if that is necessary.”

“Shut up, Kim.”

Namjoon gulps, exchanging a confused look with Jeon Jungkook. This is really not like their captain.

Yoongi straightens up and leans forward so he is closer to you.

“Where is that home, Miss?”

You lower your eyes in anger.

“I don’t know yet, I’m planning to leave this city.”

“What?” his voice shook as he spoke. His fingers close and break the cigarette that way. His eyes almost bore holes into yours from how deeply he stares into them.

“This city’s become too depressing for me. I plan on leaving it for good.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. There is nothing holding me here anymore.”

“Yes, there is.”

“No, there really isn’t. I will leave.”

Bang!

You flinched back. Namjoon and Jungkook tense up as well.

Yoongi slammed his hand on the table, jumping to his feet.

“No the fuck you won’t!” he yells.

“Sir? What are you doing?!”

“Excuse me? It’s my right as an honest citizen to move”, you act oblivious as well.

“Keep her here”, he talks to Jungkook, pointing at him, “lock her up and keep her here.”

“Under what pretence, Sir?” the young officer asks with widened eyes.

“I, I, I don’t know. Refusal to, to, to cooperate or some shit like that”, Yoongi never stutters and he never paces, but he is currently doing both of those things.

“Sir…is…this legal?” Jungkook asks shyly.

Yoongi is by Jungkook’s side within a few steps, grabbing him by the collar.

“Do as you are told, Jeon! Unless you want to lose this job!” Yoongi growls, making Jungkook whimper with fear.

“Captain Min, you are stepping out of place”, Kim Namjoon speaks up, dragging him away from Jungkook, “and get off this poor officer’s neck. He is just doing his job.”

Yoongi whips around, now targeting his anger at Namjoon.

“If he was doing his fucking job, he would lock her up”, he hisses, pointing at you.

“I need you to step out for a moment, Captain”, Namjoon says and gestures Jungkook to open the door. The young officer obeys, holding it open as Namjoon shoves a protesting Yoongi out of the room. He closes the door again, muting the vivid fighting Yoongi was doing with Namjoon outside.

He meets your eyes, smiling awkwardly.

“Please forgive the Captain, Miss. He is very concerned about his citizens’ safety.” He is a terrible liar, but you don’t blame him. If you were in his situation, you would have no idea how to explain such a situation to a supposed innocent citizen either.

“Don’t worry. I, I’m just wondering if maybe I can finally leave? I’m sorry, this just really scared me and I just want to lie down at home now”, you act shaken up, looking at the young officer with pleading eyes. 

“Of course, Miss. Our honest apologies again, Miss. Please follow me”, he says and leads you out of the room.

Yoongi and Namjoon are still arguing, but stop when they see you come out. You lock eyes with Yoongi for the briefest of moments. 

He closes the distance and grabs your wrist, dragging you with him with such vigour that nobody truly gets time to act. Not even you know what was happening to you until you find yourself in his office with the door slammed shut. 

“What are you doing?” you gasp.

“Shut the fuck up, you’re not the one asking this question right now!”

“Yoongi, lower your voice. This isn’t the place for screams.”

He steps closer to you, pointing at your face in warning.

“I have every fucking right to scream right now and you know that”, he presses out through gritted teeth.

“Why? Because I finally don’t need you anymore?”

“You can’t move. What the fuck are you thinking?”

“I’m-”

‘I'm not done”, he interrupts you, “I killed them for you. I did it. Just for you. Because your safety matters to me. I care.” He hits his own chest. “I showed you that I care and you’re gonna leave?”

You hate that you love him, but not for the usual reasons. You hate it because it hurts. You are going to leave despite not wanting to. You love him, perhaps you always will but you are also going to leave. 

You nod your head.

Yoongi exhales shakily, taking a stumbling step back. He stares at you as if you were the ghost whose haunting hurts him the most. He huffs out air, rubs his hand over his mouth, then runs it through his hair and down the side of his neck.

“I’ll kill the thief”, he says in the end.

“What?” 

“I'll make it seem like suicide. He’ll look like a pisser who couldn’t take prison and killed himself.”

“Are you out of your mind? He’s just a thief.”

“Well, what more do you need?!” he screams

“Nothing! I don’t need anything from you!”

“Why not? I can give you whatever you want!”

“Look at you. Now that you finally realised, I’m actually serious about the breakup, you wanna act like you care.”

“I care”, his voice broke, but you are both too angry to acknowledge it, “i-i-if I knew that you- I just-” He breathes in, breathes out, rubs his mouth, then his neck. “It can’t end like this. It can’t.”

“It can. I’m done begging you for everything.”

Yoongi steps closer.

“I can-”

“Sir? What is the meaning of this?” 

Kim Namjoon and Jeon Jungkook are in the office. The rest of the precinct gawks at you and Yoongi through the doorway. The latter lifts his hands and steps back. His fingers are shaking. 

“The captain just voiced his worries for my move. Don’t worry about it, Kim Sir”, you lie and turn to leave, “may I finally leave?”

Namjoon tells Jungkook to handle it with a nod of his head. The young officer points at the open door.

“Please after you, Miss.”

Yoongi says your name. 

You look at him over your shoulder, despite knowing you shouldn’t. He takes a step closer, lifting his brows in pleading. Don’t give in. Don’t give in. Don’t give in. You ball your hands to fists and turn your back to him.

Yoongi tries your name again, hoping for another look. One which doesn’t come. 

“Come back”, he tries, but gets stopped by Namjoon.

You can hear them talk as you leave.

“What the fuck’s your issue, man? You’ve been weird all day and now you’re screaming at citizens?”

“Watch your tone.”

“Hyung, I’m not here as your colleague right now. I’m here as your friend.”

“She’s gonna leave, she can’t…”

Jungkook leads you away from the office before you can hear Yoongi’s full answer. 

“Are you crying, Miss??”

“Hm? Oh that, don’t mind them. It’s just…” Your heart is broken and you want to run back to Yoongi. “...forgive me, I’m just a little shaken from everything.”

“I’m sorry, Miss. The captain isn’t normally like this.”

“It’s alright. I know how Yoongi can be sometimes.”

“Yoongi?” Jungkook asks, glancing at the captain’s office. He wonders what kind of friends you and he are. Maybe Those kind of friends? Is that why you are important to the captain? 

“I mean…sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I just wish to go home now.”

“Of course, Miss.”

“Oh god, I don’t even have money for a bus ticket with me”, you murmur to yourself, looking for your wallet. This is all a scheme to get Jungkook to drive you home again. You are worried that if he didn’t, Yoongi would somehow get to you before you could reach the station.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss. As a policeman, it is my duty to make sure that you get home safely.”

“Really? I wouldn’t want to waste your time.”

“Of course, Miss.”

And so he takes you home and you hate yourself because of it. So it began. You were the first person who used his kindness to her advantage. You were the drop beginning the inevitable filling of the tank until one day it will swap over. And once that happens, it is almost impossible to stop the leak. Fuck, you are just as terrible as everyone else in this city.

But the young officer is oblivious to what you just did, driving you home with a kind smile on his face. He even walks you to your door and stays as you unlock it. Your neighbours are fucking again. He glances at their door, then awkwardly at you.

“Yeah, I’ve got new neighbours. You can’t go over there and flash your badge and tell them to shut up, can you?”

“Of course I can, Miss. Just one mom-”

“No stop, I was joking”, you stop him, studying him with exhausted eyes. You are so sorry. You are so fucking sorry.

“Ah, okay. Please forgive me, I always take everything way too seriously”, he says, scratching his own neck shyly. He furrows his brows. “What’s the matter, Miss?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Miss.”

“Run.”

“What?”

“Run back to your hometown. Run and never look back.”

“Excuse me?” he laughs in confusion, furrowing his brows harder.

“You’re a good person, Jeon Jungkook. This city will fucking ruin you.”

“I…uh…” He laughs nervously. “I don’t seem to follow, Miss. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to get it, just listen to me. Please.”

“O…kay? I uhm…”

“Thank you for driving me home. I’ll think of you sometimes in my new home.”

“Miss, are you okay?”

“I am. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. Just promise me to run.”

“I promise?”

“Good. Be happy, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Miss, I-”

You close the door on him and lock it. You don’t expect him to knock or ring the bell. He is too proper to annoy you this way. You check the camera. He stares at the closed door for a few moments longer, looking confused. He lifts his hand to knock, hesitates and turns his back to the door instead, leaving down the steps to drive off. You know that you confused him, but you had to. Please let it be enough to save him.

V arrives later that day. He is stressed and clearly in a hurry.

“What’s wrong? You look like you need to be somewhere or like you need to shit. Do you need to shit?”

“What? No”, he sounds out of breath as well as annoyed, “I’m risking my ass being here. I’ve got your stuff. It’s the only thing except mine that I managed to save. Give me the money, quick.”

“Save?” you probe, giving him the money.

He stuffs it into his boxers hastily, looking over his shoulder again.

“My place got raided by cops. I was at the market getting food, then came back to five cop cars in front of my place. I barely escaped. If I didn’t always carry my stuff with me, I’d have been fucked.”

“What?!”

“Sorry, Hyacinth. Gotta leave the city for a while. I wish you all the best.”

“V, what the fuck?”

“Here’s to never seeing each other again, aye?” he jokes, laughing nervously. It’s a good thing he said. Never seeing each other again meant that you and he managed to escape safely.

“Wait. Where will you go?”

“I can’t tell you. You know I can’t.”

“Yeah, just…be careful.”

“You too.”

He leaves and you know that he will be successful. If there is one person who won’t ever be found it is V. 

You are in a trance for the rest of the day. Yoongi raided V’s place. He went as far as to betray his own people just to make sure that you wouldn’t leave. Carrying your new passport feels like a trophy, as much as it feels like a curse. Leaving this city won’t be as easy anymore now that he knows. You are so fucking stupid for telling him, but you didn’t want to miss out on his reaction when he found out. The small moment of satisfaction seems skippable now that you know how far he is willing to go to keep you close. And because V came as late as he did, your means of escape don’t drive anymore either. You have to wait for the earliest bus if you wanted to or not. Fuck, you did this to yourself. You stupid fucking woman. Look at you. You have this big, honourable degree and still manage to get yourself into shitty situations over and over again.

You go to sleep with a gun under your pillow. You won’t risk anything.

You don’t get a lot of sleep and then a noise wakes you. You heard it as clear as day. Someone unlocked your front door. He sent men to get you. Now he’s gone too far. You jump out of bed and grab your loaded gun, tiptoeing to a spot from where you could observe the apartment. You have to be strategic about it. First count the men, then calculate the fastest way to shoot them, then act. The door closes and locks again. Clever bastards, they want to make sure that you don’t flee. Oh, you are going to have a blast killing them. One last little thing to leave Yoongi before you abandon him.

The automatic lights turn on. Got you, assholes.

The first enters your vision.

“Hm?”

Yoongi. Clearly drunk, he is dragging his feet over the floor, using the wall as support. No one else follows him. So he came here alone. 

Overtaken by anger, you jump out of hiding and at him.

Yoongi collides with the wall, feeling the cold nuzzle of the gun press against his chin. He drops the keys and flowers he was carrying, lifting his hands in defeat.

“Careful, it’s just me”, he lulls.

“Get the fuck out of my house”, you spit, carrying murder in your eyes. 

“I can’t believe you’re still hiding your keys under the flower pot. Don’t make me so worried, anyone could enter.”

“I’m gonna count to three and if you haven’t disappeared by then, I’ll shoot.”

“Can we talk?”

“One.”

“I know I fucked up. I can’t stop thinking about you. Please, can we try again?”

“Two.”

“I promise I changed. You were right, I was a joke. But I wanna do better now.”

“Three.” “I’m sorry!”

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. His death never comes. He peels his eyes open again.

You are staring, panting heavily. Tears are in your eyes.

“I’m sorry”, he whispers.

This is the first time he is the one to say these words first. It feels so good, but you can’t give in again. You made up your mind to leave…didn’t you? You study the state of him. He is heavily intoxicated. He looks the way and reeks of it.

“You’re drunk.” 

He nods his head, furrowing his brows. He touches your elbows, caressing them softly. Such touch you only get when he is drunk.

“I drank because of you. What you said today. I just…don’t move away, please”, he begs, eyes filling with tears.

“So now you care? I wasn’t important to you when I was with you and now that I’m leaving, I’m suddenly important?”

“You’ve always been important.”

“No, I haven’t. You took me for granted.”

“I did and I’m sorry. I never should have taken you for granted. I’ll do better now, please just give me a chance to prove it to you.”

“If I give you a chance again, you’ll just abuse it and hurt me.”

“No, I won’t. Please, I just.” He cups your face, running his thumbs under your eyes as gently as possible. “We were right once. We were so good together. We were a team and, and we had dreams and we made each other happy. I want this back, I wanna try to get this back again please.”

“I just want to be happy, Yoongi”, you press out.

“I’ll make you happy, baby. Please, I-I’ll make you happy again.”

“No, you’re drunk and talking fucking shit.”

“I’ll leave this city if you want me to.”

You falter. He would give up what he built just for you?

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I would. For you I would. I’d set this whole city on fire and leave with you as it burns to fucking ashes behind us, please.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Please”, he whispers and drops his forehead against yours, “please, I want to make you happy again.”

You hate that you love him. You hate that he made you addicted to him. This is so awfully him. He gives you enough affection that you get addicted to it then takes it away again. And once he feeds it to you again, you drink it up like an alcoholic. It is always the same. 

“No, you won’t. You’re drunk.”

“Please.”

“Leave my place.”

He presses himself off the wall and grabs the nuzzle of the gun, guiding it right between his brows.

“You have to kill me if you want me gone.”

You gulp. He forces your finger to the trigger. Your airways close up.

“Kill me. Fucking kill me. I can’t live without you anyways.”

You could end it. You’ve got everything. Your suitcases, your papers, the keys of his car he drunkenly drove like an asshole. You’ve got everything you need to escape this place. You could end it, finally make sure that you have no temptation to return. You could end him and your addiction with it. He’s got your finger on the trigger, it needs just one flex and it would be over. But you never wanted him dead. No matter how much you wished for him to be gone, you never wanted him dead. Because in some fucked up way, all you really wanted was for him to put more effort into you.

“No”, you whimper, shaking your head. 

He rips the gun from your fingers and drops it on your dresser. 

“I don’t want to kill you”, you press out, sobbing softly. 

He cradles your face, wiping your tears. 

“I know”, he gets out, nodding his head, “I know you don’t, princess. I know.”

“Yoongi”, you squeak out, twisting his shirt. 

“I’m here, princess. I’m here.”

He pulls you closer until his kiss is just one breath away, feeding on the shaky breath you let ghost against his lips. His drunken eyes gaze at your mouth, his heart is racing in his chest.

“Push me away”, he tells you.

“I hate you.”

“And I love you.”

“Yoongi”, you whimper, finally touching his chest instead of his shirt. 

He moans and pulls you into a kiss. A deep, hungry kiss. 

You pull at his hair to get him off of you as much as you pull him closer, fighting for air. You hate that you love…do you really? Do you really fucking hate it? Do you really hate it when his kiss makes you feel alive again? You spent months feeling out of breath and now it’s gone. You can breathe again. At least metaphorically, physically he’s got you very close to passing out. You push at him to get distance. Air. He lets you breathe, but not escape. He pushes you to your sofa until your legs collide with the back of it. Your shaky breaths intermingle, your shared moans follow. His right hand slides to your ass, his knee lifts to your middle. 

You gasp, grinding down on him. You can’t protest because he kisses you so deeply it feels as if he wanted to consume your soul. He kisses and gropes, kisses and gropes until air is sparse. He gasps.

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m fucked”, he gets out and pulls your head back so he could drag his tongue up your throat. 

It should disgust you, but it doesn’t. You moan, running your nails down his chest and arching your back. He lifts his head, looking at you with drunken, crazed obsession. His fingers just can’t stay still on your body. It is as if he wanted to touch everywhere at all times. The attention makes you short of breath.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You touch his cheek. He leans into your palm, closing his eyes when you trace his scar. You were with him when he got it. It was during a fight. He fought with his fists, his opponent chose the cowardly way and pulled a knife on him. He was lucky that he didn’t lose his eyesight. He hated it at first, but you made him feel handsome. You always looked out for him that way.

“Do you…do you think I’m handsome?” he asks. Such questions you only get when he’s drunk. 

“I do.”

His breath trembles as it leaves him. He drops his hand from your hips to take out his cock. He touches himself, gazing at you as if he needed the view of you to stay hard. And he does. He needs you. You are the only person who can turn him on.

You look at what his hand is doing, gulping heavily. He sighs, gazing at your face. You are as mesmerised by him as you were when everything was still good between you and him. His cock still has the same effect on you.

“Princess?” he tilts your head back up to meet your eyes, using only two fingers under your chin for it. 

You meet his eyes, heart racing unbearably.

“Yes?” One little lift of his brows and you give him the answer he craved. 

You part your legs, tilting your hips closer to him. You nod your head vigorously, gazing at his cock again.

He doesn’t bother to pull his pants down all the way, neither does he care about taking off your panties. He pushes them to the side and stuffs you full of him, gripping the edge of the couch and your right thigh as deep moans leave him. Your right leg is lifted like this, supported by him.

You gasp, tensing up. Your toes curl instantly, your fingers clutch his lower arms. His cock stretches you out and stuffs your walls. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is definitely intense. You gasp again, looking at him with widened eyes.

“I know baby, I know”, he breathes and bottoms out. “It’s been too long. Fuck.” 

He moves, chasing your warmth in drunk, sloppy thrusts. You writhe and gasp repeatedly, scratching the back of his neck. You want to hate that you love him. He should feel like an intruder. You should want to kick and scream for help. But you don’t want to. You feel whole again. No preparation, but he doesn’t hurt. His kiss and touch was enough. Your addiction to him runs so deep that his cock is pure heroin to you.

“Yoongi”, you get out, grabbing his throat. Your thumbs are on his Adam’s apple, threatening to press down.

He smiles, “I love you”, he gasps out and drops his head against yours. His long hair tickles your face, his drunken breath swirls over your skin. He gulps and moans under your fingers, pumping into you with no signs of slowing down. You start losing strength in your calf, standing like this is exhausting, but if you were being honest, you don’t want it to stop. 

“I hate you.”

“Fucking kill me then”, he rasps.

You close your fingers slightly.

“Harder. This isn’t gonna do it.”

“You first.”

“Fuck, baby”, he gets out and lifts you so he could round the sofa with you. He pins you down into the pillows, ripping the panties off of you and kicking his pants off. He pushes into you before you can truly realise what was happening, feeding you all of him until he can’t give any more. He twists the pillow next to your head as he takes on a punishing rhythm. His dark hair hangs into his face, his teeth are bared as he huffs like an angry animal.

“Yoon-”

“I know, baby I know. You already told me, baby. I know”, he whispers, wiping your cheek, “take me, I know you can. You’re my baby, you’re made for me.”

His praise is like medicine to you. This is all you needed. To know that he is still obsessed with you and that you still affect him. 

You close your legs around his hips, keeping him with you this way. You need him to always stay like this. He moans your name, slipping his fingers from your cheek to hold the pillow instead. You told him that you hated him, but your body betrays you. Your eyes betray you. You keep him close, gaze at him as if he was your everything. Yoongi’s head is turning. Not only from the alcohol, but also from being with you again. And from knowing that you still loved him.

Because he loves you so much. He hates himself for taking you for granted. He never should have. You are his everything. The fucking reason why he does all of this. The last three months were torture for him. He started smoking again, drank too much, slept too little, worked too many hours. And if he didn't distract himself with work, he tried thinking up ways of showing you that he was still there for you. He ordered his officers to look out for you, sent food deliveries to your place, parked in front of your place somewhere hidden to watch you smoke on the staircase. He also followed you sometimes after you confessed to him that some of his goons were terrorising you. And each time he followed you, he wished for you to notice him just so he could get a chance at talking to you again. But you never did and Yoongi thought that you will come back again soon. Then you told him that you would move and Yoongi finally broke. He was truly losing you. Three months of hell, of lonely nights and heartbreak and he was truly losing you. 

“I missed you”, he gets out, painting his name against your favourite spots. The eagerness with which you clasp him results in your hips to lift off the pillow, allowing your clit to grind against him each time he bottoms out. The necklaces he is wearing are tangling over your face. They were too long once, but Yoongi cut them to the perfect length so they wouldn't hit your face when you are underneath him. That was six months ago. During a time you thought he didn’t care anymore. You feel so stupid now. His way of showing you that he cared was always there. He was always looking out for you. You were just too blind to see. 

You gasp and whimper, mewl and keen, looking up at him with teary eyes and your fingers closing around nothing. You can’t tell him that you missed him too because you are too overwhelmed. 

“Did you miss me too?” but Yoongi is drunk tonight and when he is drunk he is needy for your affection. 

You nod your head. 

“Say it.”

“I missed you”, you get out, following it up with a sob. 

“Baby, I love you”, he croaks, wiping your tears before dropping his forehead against yours, “I love you, baby, I love you. Don’t leave me again, please.”

“You’re so drunk.”

“Yeah, drunk ‘cause of you. Thought I’ll lose you. Baby, I can’t lose you”, he croaks and shows you his honesty with passionate rolls of his hips. Somehow he goes even deeper than before, he hits your favourite spots even better. 

You arch your back and scream his name, throwing your head back as best as possible. This is electric. Holy shit, he makes you feel good. Your face scrunches up against your will, your feet shake on his back. 

Yoongi admires you with a pounding head and racing heart, repeating what he did before over and over and over again. You react in mewls and moans and screams and he can’t get enough of it. He wants for you to lose your fucking voice because you couldn’t stop screaming for him. Because if you sound like this for him, he makes you happy. It has been too long since you actually screamed this way, so Yoongi is especially affected by tonight.

He laces his fingers with yours – again, he is drunk – and squeezes them needily. He thinks that he is crying too. He watches pearls of something drip onto your face sometimes. His eyes also burn. He doesn’t want it to stop. He is willing to carry his emotions on his sleeve if it meant you were happy again.

“Is this what you needed? Does this finally make you fucking happy?” he gets out, chasing the ecstasy as much as he helps you with your own pleasure trip.

You squeeze his hands back, making him moan your name.

“Ye-yes.”

“Argh”, he growls, trying so much harder to fuck you right. It feels so good. He has to tell you. He stayed silent way too often in the past. You want his efforts and he wants to give them to you. “You feel so good.”

The first confession was hard because he isn’t used to sharing his feelings. It was hard, but it was also ecstatic because your sounds of pleasure became louder and you tightened around him, squeezing his hands happily. 

“You feel so good. You feel so fucking good. You feel so good, princess. You feel…so good”, he can’t stop now that he started, telling you over and over and over again how you make him feel. Good. So good. He feels so good when he is with you. “You are so good. Princess, fuck. I have to..I, I have to- ah!” 

You open your eyes in time with Yoongi collapsing on top of you. He whimpers into the crook of your neck, shaking almost pathetically.

There are two things you always believed to be true about Yoongi. First: When he fucks, his moans are always deep, raspy and growly. Second: He has perfect control over his orgasms. 

Both of these things are getting proven wrong to you right here and now as he whimpers and shakes and paints your walls with his unexpected orgasm. You want to blame the alcohol on it and maybe the months of abstinence, perhaps even the fear of losing you paired with the relief of having you again. Holy fuck, he actually loves you doesn’t he?

“I love you”,  he sobs, hugging you close. 

“Yoongi ah”, he breaks you with his confession and the tenderness with which he holds you. You swear that you can taste colours for a moment. You haven’t felt honestly good in your own skin in months. This right here is what feeling good is. This is it. 

You don’t know who comes down first. You think it is Yoongi, but even if he does, he doesn’t pull out. He lets you shake and throb and clench around him until your moment of peak pleasure is over as well. He holds you silently afterwards, catching his breath in the crook of your neck. He missed your scent like nothing else. Truly, it leaves him so drugged out that he actually finds himself drooling as he smiles like a giddy boy. 

You calm down with his weight atop your chest, his length still inside you and his hair between your fingers. It is still a little stiff and crusty from the variety of hair products he keeps in it during his day job. To think that mere hours ago, you were screaming at each other in his office. It feels so far away to you now. Like a memory of an unbelievable life.

You don’t hate that you love him. You really don’t. 

“How.” He clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.”

“Are you sore? Does anything hurt?”

“No, but I’m leaking.”

“Fuck”, he laughs into your shoulder, nibbling on it gently, “sorry, I just…am drunk and missed you.”

“You were pathetic doing that.”

He laughs harder. You and he have a peculiar sense of humour. He knows that you meant it fondly. You laugh as well. He lifts his head at the sound of it, cupping your cheek. 

“If it means you’re laughing, I can live with being pathetic.”

Your heart flutters.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Booze. Way too much booze.”

You laugh again. His eyes soften, he caresses your face. 

“Definitely too much booze, yeah”, you agree.

“Mhm, fuck.” He cuddles into your shoulder again. “I’m sleeping here.”

“And you think I’d let you?”

He nods his head.

“Fuck, you’re the worst.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not.”

You wake up alone the next morning. It hurts. So nothing changed. He got what he wanted, made you addicted again only to leave. Like he always did. And you are left feeling dirty and used and fucking awful. 

You probably would have stayed in bed to cry the entire day if a very worrying noise hadn’t come from outside your door. Someone’s in your kitchen. You roll out of bed and leave the room. You don’t need weapons today. You are angry enough that you will probably be able to beat whoever is dumb enough to break in. 

You cross the corner and stop, lowering your fists.

Yoongi. 

He took a shower and tied all of his wet hair into a messy bun. He is shirtless, wearing a towel around his hips. Music is playing from his phone while on the stove, breakfast is sizzling. 

“You?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, face lighting up instantly. 

“Good morning, beautiful”, he says, closing the distance to take you into a hug. “Did you sleep well?”

You don’t answer him, you push at his chest so you could look at him. You can’t believe that he is still here and that he is making you breakfast.

“What’s the matter?” he asks. 

“Why the fuck are you still here?”

He furrows his brows, “why not?”

“I, I don’t know. I just, just. I thought that…huh? You didn’t leave?”

He frowns in regret for a moment, before leaning in to kiss your cheek. He gives your left buttock an almost playful squeeze afterwards, stepping back to return to the cooking.

“I’m making your favourite. I also cleaned. Your place was a shithole, honestly.”

Still flabbergasted beyond relief, you look around your small apartment. He didn’t just clean up the garbage and tidy, he fully wiped the place down. You check the clock next. It’s way past one at noon. You slept for more than twelve hours. Damn. You never even realised how much sleep these last three months took from you until you finally fell asleep in his arms again and actually stayed asleep. You feel refreshed and not uncomfortable in your own skin. 

Last, you look at Yoongi. He is humming to the music, switching between stirring the eggs in the pan and chopping up some pork belly. 

At first you don’t want to accept that this is actually happening to you, but then the desire to be close to him gets too grande to bear. You almost run to him, colliding with his back in a passionate hug. 

He stumbles and grunts, following it up with a fond chuckle and his big hands rubbing your lower arms. 

“Please don’t make me regret this again. Please.”

He turns in your arms, caressing your waist. He shakes his head, looking at you in ways he hasn’t looked at you in ages. As if he honestly loved you. 

“Can you promise me?”

“I promise you, baby”, he says in a soft voice and locks pinkies with you. 

The gesture is so cute and honest, that you have to stifle a giggle. Your heart hasn’t fluttered like this in ages.

“I have an idea. How about I’ll take next week off and we’re leaving this city for a while? Maybe the mountains? You’d like the air there”, he suggests. 

“Are you serious? Do you actually mean that?”

He nods his head. You and he began swaying to the music, looking at nothing else but the other. 

“But first I gotta sort out the mess I made when I busted V’s place”, he says.

“Yeah true.” You slap his chest. “Fuck you for that. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, I know. I acted irrationally, I admit. But I’m gonna fix this. You know how easily I can make stuff disappear. He’ll be able to return again in a week or so.”

“I hope you’ll fix this, you idiot you.”

“Mhm, I will and then I’m taking you on a long vacation”, he says, kissing your forehead before hugging you against his chest.

You close your eyes, melting into his chest. 

“And when we’re there, I’m gonna make you breakfast and make you cum and make you smile. Yeah?” he whispers.

“Yeah”, you snicker.

He smells like your shower gel today, but you don’t mind. He hasn’t shown such an actual desire to change in months and it feels so good to receive. You love that you love him. You really do. 

“I love you, Yoongi”, you whisper, feeling him squeeze you for just a moment as your confession overwhelms him. 

“I love you too, princess”, he tells you and he is sober for it because he swore to himself that he won’t need alcohol anymore to be able to show you his affection. 

He is willing to better himself, he truly is and a week later, you and he are in his car on your way to a long vacation in the mountains.

[megamindsecretlair]

Make Me Weak, Part 1

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: Desperately at your absolute limit, you decide to see one last therapist to try and help with your condition. After one session, Dr. Richmond manages to put you at ease, giving you enough tools to start you on your journey. As the exploration continues, your true hope is that you don’t get burned.

Word Count: 4,648k

AO3 Link

A/N: Don't judge me for this chile. I saw that beautiful man in a black turtleneck with glasses and lost my marbles. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

He came highly recommended. That was the only reason you were here. You’d stared at his pictures and read all of the available posts recommending him but you couldn’t get over the fact that he was so damn pretty. And intimidating. 

But after going through nine different therapists, most who ended up as creeps or couldn’t help you, you were at your wit’s end. It was already embarrassing enough starting over with a brand new therapist, but this had to take the cake. 

The hallway was quiet, with muted browns and reds. Supposedly academic, soothing colors. As if the darker the color, the less likely you were to think about anything sexual. You stared at the imposing brown door with his name embossed on a placard. Dr. Terry Richmond. 

You bit your lip and stared at the slip in your hand with the referral scrawled across it. He took on special cases. Pathetic cases. 

“Fuck this,” you said to yourself. You turned on your heel and stepped down the hallway. The door opened and the man himself looked down the hallway. 

“Are you my two o’clock?” He asked. His deep baritone was unexpected. Soothing. Calming. Unnerving. 

“Uh,” you sighed.

He continued to stare so you continued to stare back. He wore an all black outfit, right down to his black tennis shoes. He wore a long sleeved black T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Black, form fitting pants that only highlighted how tall he was. He had to be 6’1. Hell, possibly 6’3. 

He cleared his throat, looking for an answer. Light refracted off of his frames, temporarily hiding his eyes. You gripped the straps of your purse and squared your shoulders. “Yes,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond nodded his head and waved you inside. You walked behind him, feeling like you were walking to your doom. Inside his office, it was just as drab as outside.

Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed with medical texts and non-fictional books on powerful Black figures through history. The office was small, but clean, with a golden brown sofa pushed against a solid wall of taupe. He had a painting above the sofa, showing a serene ocean view with a boat out on the water. 

Natural light filtered into the room from a window showcasing the cityscape outside. His office was high up in the building, letting you look down on all the people living their normal lives. 

The door closed behind you and you jumped, whipping around to see Dr. Richmond leaning away from the door. He raised his hands. “I’m sorry, would you like it to remain open?” He asked. 

You shook your head. Closed was preferable. You watched Dr. Richmond take his seat behind a massive desk, everything in a neat stack and in its proper place. He rolled forward and then opened a black folder, picking up a pen.

“Please, have a seat. Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“My thick ass file didn’t give me away? Sorry, I shouldn’t say ass. Sorry,” you said and winced after cussing so much. You pointed to a thick file on his desk and you knew without a doubt that it was yours. 

It was crazy how you had a full record of your insanity, detailing how you started down this deep, dark path. Cataloged every doctor, every note, every nasty thought in your mind. Okay, you were being a little dramatic, but this was just so…embarrassing. And it didn’t help to have someone who looked like that hearing what you had to say. 

“There’s no rules here. You want to say ass, go for it,” he said and shrugged. 

You giggled, feeling more at ease. You nodded and took a seat on the sofa. There was a clear coffee table in front of it that held a zen garden complete with little trees, shiny rocks, and…were those Lego figures? You looked from it to him and he smirked, drawing your attention to his full, lush lips. 

 “Some people find it easier to occupy their hands during discussions. You can give it a try if you want,” he said.

You sat back on the sofa. Maybe later. You felt too awkward as is. Like you were some alien visitor testing out your disguise on the human population. You rubbed your sweaty palms on your leggings and shook your head. “What, uh, did my file say about me?” 

Dr. Richmond shrugged and leaned back in his seat, fixing his thin gold glasses on his face. “Those are words and opinions from other doctors. I’d rather hear what you have to say,” he said and leaned back in his seat.

He was so…disarming in a way that allowed you to release the ironclad control you held on to. You picked at your nails and focused on that, rather than his stormy eyes. “I think I’m broken. And I’m not entirely sure why I’m even entertaining this,” you said. 

“Why are you then?” He prompted.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Tired of feeling like a freak,” you said.

“A freak? Why would you use that term?” He asked. 

You snuck a glance at him. He no longer held the pen. He rested his hands against his stomach, clasped, and just looked at you. Even that was different from all your other therapists combined. 

“Because that’s what it feels like. Like I’m in a freak show. I–,” you stopped and licked your lips. But you were here now. May as well rip the bandaid off. “I can’t cum! And I know, it’s normal. I know plenty of people experience it. I know that women especially have a hard time doing it. But no matter what I fuckin’ try, I just can’t. I feel it coming, I know it’s coming, but then it sort of…goes away? And then I’m sitting there embarrassed that I can’t and when I’m with a partner, they pretend that it’s cool, but then I never hear from them again.” 

You clicked your teeth shut as you realized you were rambling. You picked at a stiff hangnail, tugged at it until it started to hurt. You continued flicking at it, egged on by your awkwardness. And realizing you were being awkward was only making it worse. So you picked. And picked, until the hangnail tore and hurt worse. 

“Why is it important that you cum?” He asked. 

“What?” You asked. You looked at him, expecting to see pity. Disgust. Curiousness. Dr. Richmond held none of those things. His face was a pillar of stoicism, balancing the perfect mix of professionalism and empathy. 

“Why is it so important to you? If you know that it’s normal and plenty of people experience it, shouldn’t the journey matter more than the destination?” He asked. 

Your mouth fell open on a silent gasp as you looked at him. Your mind emptied of every single possible answer to that question. It was important because…it was. Because you never got anything else right either. You were always a step behind, slow on the uptick, feeling like you were taking up too much space in the world even after shrinking yourself to the smallest possible point.

Not easy to do considering your size. You loved your body and wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it wasn’t exactly easy to hide. You were unassuming, sweet, kind, and a great friend. But beneath all of that, you wanted desperately to fit in. This was a basic human release. It was part of the big three things that humans needed. Food, safety, sex. And you could only achieve one of those things.

But how did you word that without sounding like a pathetic kook? You pulled at the hangnail, felt the burn as it ripped, and shrugged your shoulders. Might as well tell the truth. “Because I feel like a freak when I can’t. Like I waited too long. To have sex, to experience life, to explore what I’m into,” you said. 

“Do you think there are goal posts for life?” He asked. He may as well have been a statue for how often he moved. He retained his position, chair turned slightly towards you, as he looked at you like you were a puzzle. 

“Isn’t there? That’s why we call them milestones? Reach your 18th birthday, yay you’re an adult. Find the love of your life, yay you’re married. Pop out some kids, yay, you’re continuing the bloodline. I feel like now, at my age, I should know what one fuckin’ orgasm feels like,” you said. 

“How do you know you haven’t had one already?” He asked.

“I know my body. There’s nothing. There’s the build up, there’s the excitement, there’s everything leading up to it. But I never get over that peak. It just…goes away,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond nodded and turned his attention to the pad. He wrote down a few sentences and it was so quiet in his office, you could hear a clock ticking nearby. You also heard his pen scratch against the paper. He must be using some fancy, fountain pen. He looked the type. 

“What do you hope to achieve through therapy?” He asked. 

You shrugged. “If I knew, you wouldn’t be my tenth therapist,” you said with a heavy sigh. When you first thought about going to therapy, you thought it wasn’t truly for you. There was nothing that really bothered you outside of life’s stress. Everybody had that. 

But you ended up finding some that encouraged you to dig deep and find the woman within. The one comfortable in her skin. Encouraged you to explore your sexuality and think about it in depth. You crawled through so many forums, so many health websites, so many articles that you had a great idea of what ailed you. 

“There has to be a reason you keep trying,” he said. 

You leaned back into the sofa with a huff. “You definitely ask the easy questions. What happened to the intake and whatever?” You asked.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. He tapped his pen against your folder. “You’ve done plenty of that, don’t you think?” 

Your lips twisted with a smile. Okay, maybe you were starting to see why he was so highly recommended. He was comforting without being condescending. Soothing without being smarmy. He treated you like an adult and for the first time, you had a little beacon of hope. 

“I keep trying because I want it. I don’t have the words right now to describe why I want it. I want to know the hype. I want the relief. I want to know what post nut clarity feels like,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond chuckled and you chuckled with him. It sounded funny, but you were so serious. It was exhausting at this point. Pretending like you knew what the fuck you were talking about when others asked you. Your group chat blew up with your equally single friends who were less discerning about who they took to bed.

Every other night, there were stories about dick sizes, oral, and a whole treatise on the lack of finesse these guys had. You almost snorted thinking about your best friend, Brooklyn, and how she said that no wonder men were trapping women in marriages in the past. It was the only way they could get women to be with them. It certainly wasn’t because of their pornographic sexual prowess. 

“What’s been your journey with sex so far?” He asked. 

You took a deep breath and told him all about it. The way that you picked up a book one day with sex in it and never looked back. In a lot of ways, that book probably shaped how you viewed sex and your sexual kinks. Before long, you were searching for more and more books with the exact same tropes. A sexy, semi-asshole alpha male that was too big to be real. 7’8, long dick, and a short attitude. Typically bad boy types with tattoos and “touch her and die” vibes. The kind to only be soft with the female main character.

You could wax poetic about why it appealed to you. Blah blah blah, you had a terrible childhood where you felt invisible. It was all there in the file if he wanted to take a gander. 

“I know I’m submissive, that I want to be dominated in bed. But, whew, the game out here is ridiculous,” you said. “The men I wouldn’t mind submitting to are too damn weak to take control. The men I would never submit to act like I’m their pet already and can speak to me however they want.” 

“Do you think you’re being too picky?” He asked. 

You were startled into a laugh. “What gave me away, Dr. Richmond?” You asked.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “I have a process, bear with me,” he said. That ain’t all you wanted to do. He was fine as hell. You mentally shook your head. No, you could not go there. Not at all. 

You continued to discuss how you led to certain conclusions. Yes, you were picky. But why shouldn’t you be? You weren’t seeking perfection. You just wanted something normal. Something healthy. Something toe curling, mind numbing, sickeningly disgusting and sweet. Was that too much to ask for? 

Dr. Richmond asked more questions and you relaxed fraction by fraction, getting right to the core of why you were seeking professional help. You told him about some of the partners you had. Some who were sweet and really tried. You had a long term boyfriend at one point who was attentive and caring. But he fell short of making you cum. 

He ate you out long enough to get you wet and going and then jumped straight to sex just so he could cum. You often lied about cumming until it got too exhausting to keep up with. He promptly got mad, hurt that you lied, and possibly embarrassed that he wasn’t God’s gift to sex. His loss. 

It was awkward at first to discuss such intimate details with Dr. Richmond but you often forgot he was even there. Until he asked you to expand on something you said or ask a clarifying question. Even the scratch of his pen faded into the background as you spoke about how you arrived in his office. 

Dr. Richmond finally finished and leaned back in his seat once more, squaring his broad shoulders against the high back of his chair. He crossed his leg and looked at you and you briefly wondered what he’d look like without the glasses. 

“We’re nearing the end of our session but I think I’m getting a clearer picture of why you’re here. After hearing from you and looking through your file, it seems like your perception of what sex really is has been skewed. Either through these books, these movies, or even porn. It’s perfectly okay to consider what you like in bed or what you prefer in a partner. But most people’s foray into their sexual journey starts with themselves. What’s your relationship like with your body?” 

“I love my body,” you said, immediately. Why wouldn’t you love your body? You were gorgeous. Sure, you struggled with your weight, but you didn’t want to be thin anyway. You just wanted to roll out of bed without being out of breath sometimes. Or cut your toenails without having to stop every few minutes for air. 

Dr. Richmond licked his lips and your eyes dropped immediately to it. He rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb and it drew your attention to his big hands. Too damn bad you hadn’t met him under better circumstances. You bet he could make you cum. Often.

“What else?” He asked. 

“What else is there?” You asked, clearing your throat, and drawing your attention away from how drop dead gorgeous he was. Your thoughts ran wild still, picturing him in all sorts of nasty scenarios. If nothing else, your imagination was always there to show you a good time. Your own perfect world where you experienced back to back orgasms. 

“What has your personal sexual journey encompassed besides you loving your body? Do you touch yourself?” He asked. 

You fought every urge you had to squeeze your thighs together. How the hell did this man end up in this profession? He missed his calling as a phone sex operator. Or an erotic audio content creator. Good lord, he could have people eating out of the palm of his hand if he so wished. Swimming in a tub full of money earned from hundreds of thousands of horny bitches who could cum to his voice alone. Lucky bitches.

You shrugged. “Of course I touch myself. I can’t cum that way either,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “This only works if you lower them walls you try so hard to hide behind,” he said.

You kissed your teeth and rolled your eyes to the ceiling. The hell did he know. So what if he had fancy doctor diplomas behind his chair. So what if he had a MD in this field. What the hell did he know?

After cursing him out two ways from Sunday in your mind, you deflated. “I know I’m not relaxed when I masterbate. I lock my door, I put on headphones, and I still feel like I’m…”

“Like you’re…?” Dr. Richmond prompted. 

“Being watched? Being judged? You can probably guess I grew up religious. It’s not like I had enough time or space to explore my body. My room was directly next to my parents’. If I so much as sighed too loud, my mom was banging on my wall telling me to fix my attitude,” you admitted. That had been oodles of fun. Growing up, you couldn’t even roll your eyes without someone telling you to fix your face. 

“What does relax you then?” He asked.

“When I find out, I’ll tell you,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled, showing off a dazzling, mega-watt movie star smile that made your knees weak. If you weren’t already sitting down, you’d fall flat on your face. 

“I believe I can help you, but you have to be willing to do the work. I need total, focused commitment from you. Do you think you can do that?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said instantly. There wasn’t even a question. You wanted this more than breathing, more than eating. And that was saying something because you would happily drive far and wide for a good meal. 

Dr. Richmond nodded. “Good. I’m giving you homework. I want you to spend the next week exploring your body. Nothing sexual. Spend time in your body and with your body. Touch yourself, but no masterbating. When you shower, acknowledge your body. When you lotion up, pay attention to every mole, every scar. This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body. I also want you to keep a journal. You won’t share it with me unless you want to, but this exercise is to get you in tune with your body. Rewire how you perceive sex and sexual completion. Does that sound doable?” 

You nodded, not trusting your voice at the moment. He must not know the effect he had on those around him. He had to be completely clueless. Batshit fucking oblivious. The wreck he was having on your libido was absolutely insane. 

Joking aside, you were taking this seriously. In just one session, Dr. Richmond managed to give you a tiny spark of hope. That maybe you weren’t a lost cause. You immediately tempered your thoughts. Hope hurt. You’d been hopeful so many times in the past, with different therapists, who seemed like they had a plan to help you.

Only for them to diagnose some other problem. You had anxiety, duh. You had depression, shocker. You had a laundry list of diagnoses from doctors and therapists who just thought you were obsessed with sex. That was like saying the sky was blue. Who wasn’t obsessed with sex? Besides asexual people. 

“I’ll do it,” you said.

“Good,” he said. He went over your schedule, working out a time to see him once a week until you would eventually graduate to fewer sessions. That bummed you out. Not seeing his gorgeous face ever again? Could you fake another issue and continue seeing him? 

Dr. Richmond dismissed you and you left his office feeling a smidgen lighter than when you entered. Maybe this would actually work out. Maybe. 

Terry

Terry finished with his last client of the day and went over his notes, inputting his clearer thoughts into the patient portal on his laptop. When he ran across your file, he paused and opened it once more.

Your case fascinated him. He couldn’t stop pouring over your files, doctor’s notes, direct quotes. There had been plenty of therapists before him, all trying to help the beautiful woman who entered his office earlier in the afternoon. 

He wasn’t immune to his patients. Some were beautiful and charming and all tried to flirt their way into his bed. He never crossed that line. Never. Yet…when you discussed your story, the rawness of it captivated him. He held onto your every word like you were a theater production right before his eyes. 

He hardly took notes because he was so fascinated with the dichotomy of you. On the outside, you were a bit shy. Perhaps too self-aware which led you to shrink, hide who you really were. He got the sense that there was an entire universe wrapped up in your mind and he began asking deeper questions than he ever had on a first session. 

The hour had gone by too fast for his tastes. He wanted to hear more. Learn more. Know more. He hated to admit it, he even got semi-erect as you told your tale. He was understandably disgusted and it wasn’t the first time; occupational hazard. But it was the first time he’d ever cursed his medical degree. 

You were perfect. Absolutely perfect. When you admitted to being submissive, his dick even twitched. Ached. Why couldn’t he have met you somewhere else? Surely, fate hadn’t been so cruel as to put the perfect sub within reach and then ensure that he could never have you? Never touch you? 

Describing your previous lovers actually made his chest boil. You had been subjected to ignorant men who wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you. And they had you believing that you were the problem. It was laughable. It was maddening. It was cruel. 

He frowned at your file. He had gone over it so many times in preparation for the session. He didn’t know what would walk through the door. A file this thick? He thought he’d have a sex-obsessed, delusional fiend on his hands that he’d have to contend with.

Your wish of cumming was almost cute. Terry sighed. He shouldn’t be thinking it was cute. If anything, he should be passing your case off to his colleague down the hall. Dr. Crawford was as capable as Terry was, their ideas often aligning in regards to treatment.

He preferred a holistic approach. Most problems could be resolved within a few months, once people began to shift their idea of sex and their role in it. 

“Everything is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.” That was one of his favorite quotes, said so many times that no one truly knew where it originated. 

It was a quote he often repeated to his patients at the right moment. When they were beginning to discover a part of themselves previously unexplored. He wondered how long it would take for your moment? That dawning realization. 

He was only sad he couldn’t see it in real time. That moment when you let yourself feel. Let yourself relax and sink into that subspace you so desperately needed. Terry grunted and closed your file. 

He was about to crack you open like an egg and watch a brand new woman emerge. He was about to hand you off to the first man who pretended to understand your needs. He took out his fresh notepad, every patient got one, and scribbled some more notes. He’d have to make sure you understood the difference between a real dom and a little boy playing dress up. 

His eyes scanned across his earlier notes, little things he jotted down while you spoke. Areas you skipped over, areas you expanded on. They were only a sentence or two long, something to kickstart his memory. Because at the time, his eyes were focused on you. On your face, your voice, your mannerisms. 

It was both a curse and a blessing to notice so much. See so much. Understand so much. But it worked when necessary. You deflected about your sexual partners, retreated when he tried to push further about how you reached these conclusions. What methods you tried.

Usually, Terry did a whole song and dance to ease patients into talking about sex. Sex was taboo until it was time to have it. Now everything was awkward, unbalanced, and led to too many instances of abuse. 

But between your file and how skittish but determined you seemed, you didn’t need a song and dance. You needed someone to give you guideposts. You didn’t truly need therapists. You just needed a nudge in the right direction. A nudge to someone else.

Terry pursed his lips and looked at your name on the file. He had to be careful. If he wasn’t, you would end up being trouble in more ways than one. 

He finished up the last of his notes and then scanned through for anything he might have missed. He wrote down what your homework assignment was. He hadn’t truly known where that came from. 

Perhaps it was the look in your eyes. Perhaps it was the helpless, frantic twist to your mouth that had him going from zero to one hundred where you were concerned. But the more he described it, the lower your eyes went. The way your mouth slackened just a bit. As if you were caught in some picture in your mind that he couldn’t see. 

Terry leaned away from his desk and looked outside of his window. The tinted glass showed the sun in the distance, sinking lower towards the horizon. A bird flew, twisting and turning with the hot currents it found. 

He ought to do the right thing. There was no way to remain objective in this manner. Not when he was strangely drawn to you, drawn to your file, and drawn to the unique challenge it presented. 

You could very well end up a case study in some medical textbook or journal, name changed, but the presentation exactly the same. He didn’t relish the thought of being the one to put you there. But your case could end up helping someone else. It was the way the world worked.

He only hoped that he had enough self-restraint to walk away if he found himself compromised. If he couldn’t reign in his personal tastes and habits to help you. If he found himself looking at your lips as you spoke, your smile as you made self-deprecating jokes, or the shy way you licked your lips. 

“Shit.” He took his phone out of his bag and hit up his on again, off again submissive play partner, Tasia. Perhaps it’d been too long since he took care of his own needs. Perhaps what he needed was to release the pent up tension he carried around all the time. 

How long had it been? He didn’t know. But even as he set up the details with Tasia, he couldn’t help wondering if you were following his directions to the letter.

I said don't judge me! LOL. Thank you for reading, truly.

The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist:

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

@semi-yah @halfreal-and-halffiction @motheroffae @melaninpov @pinkpantheris

@slutsareteacherstoo @blackerthings @dreamsinfocus @brattyfics @mermaidchansons

@monaeesstuff @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @charismablu @playgurlxoxo

@misskiki90 @miyuhpapayuh @satoruya @starcrossedxwriter @yamst3rdamctrl

@steampunkprincess147 @sweettea-and-honeybutter @theblacklewinsky @soft-persephone @notapradagurl7

@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Crafting Compelling Morally Gray Characters: A Guide for Fiction Writers

In literature, there is often a clear distinction between good and evil. Heroes are portrayed as virtuous and villains as wicked. However, in recent years, there has been a rise in the popularity of morally gray characters - those who do not fit neatly into the categories of good or evil. These characters are complex, flawed, and often make decisions that challenge the reader's moral compass. In this guide, I'll help you explore the art of crafting compelling morally gray characters and how to make them stand out in your fiction writing.

What Are Morally Gray Characters?

Morally gray characters, also known as morally ambiguous characters, are those who do not conform to traditional notions of good or evil. They may have both positive and negative traits, and their actions may be motivated by a mix of good and bad intentions. These characters often blur the lines between right and wrong, making them more relatable and intriguing to readers.

Examples of Morally Gray Characters

Some well-known examples of morally gray characters include:

Severus Snape from the Harry Potter series: Initially portrayed as a villain, Snape's true motivations and actions are revealed to be more complex and morally ambiguous.

Jaime Lannister from A Song of Ice and Fire series: Known for his arrogance and incestuous relationship with his sister, Jaime's character evolves throughout the series, showcasing his internal struggle between his duty and his personal desires.

Walter White from Breaking Bad: A high school chemistry teacher turned methamphetamine producer, Walter's character is constantly torn between his desire for power and his moral compass.

Why Are Morally Gray Characters Compelling?

Morally gray characters are compelling because they challenge the reader's perceptions of right and wrong. They are not easily categorized as heroes or villains, making them more relatable and human. These characters also add depth and complexity to a story, making it more interesting and thought-provoking.

The Power of Relatability

One of the main reasons morally gray characters are so compelling is because they are relatable. They are not perfect, and they make mistakes, just like real people. This makes them more human and allows readers to connect with them on a deeper level. When readers can see themselves in a character, it creates a stronger emotional connection to the story.

The Element of Surprise

Morally gray characters also add an element of surprise to a story. Their actions and decisions may not always align with what the reader expects, keeping them on the edge of their seat. This unpredictability makes the story more engaging and can lead to unexpected plot twists.

The Exploration of Morality

Morally gray characters also allow for a deeper exploration of morality in a story. By challenging traditional notions of good and evil, these characters force readers to question their own moral compass and consider the gray areas of morality. This can lead to thought-provoking discussions and a deeper understanding of complex moral issues.

How to Craft Morally Gray Characters

Crafting morally gray characters requires a delicate balance of positive and negative traits, as well as a deep understanding of their motivations and internal struggles. Here are some tips for creating compelling morally gray characters in your writing.

Give Them a Strong Motivation

Every character, regardless of their moral alignment, should have a strong motivation for their actions. For morally gray characters, this motivation should be complex and not easily defined as purely good or evil. It could be a desire for power, revenge, or even a sense of duty. This motivation will drive their decisions and actions throughout the story.

Show Their Flaws and Vulnerabilities

Morally gray characters are not perfect, and they should not be portrayed as such. They should have flaws and vulnerabilities that make them more relatable and human. These flaws could be physical, emotional, or moral, and they should play a role in the character's development and decisions.

Create Internal Conflict

One of the defining characteristics of morally gray characters is their internal conflict. They are torn between their good and bad tendencies, and this struggle should be evident in their thoughts and actions. This internal conflict adds depth to the character and makes them more relatable to readers.

Avoid Stereotypes

When crafting morally gray characters, it's important to avoid falling into stereotypes. These characters should not be one-dimensional or defined solely by their moral ambiguity. They should have unique personalities, backgrounds, and motivations that make them stand out as individuals.

Show Their Growth and Development

As with any well-written character, morally gray characters should experience growth and development throughout the story. They should learn from their mistakes and make decisions that challenge their moral compass. This growth and development will make them more dynamic and interesting to readers.

How to Make Morally Gray Characters Stand Out

With the rise in popularity of morally gray characters, it's important to make yours stand out in a sea of similar characters. Here are some tips for making your morally gray characters unique and memorable.

Give Them a Distinctive Voice

A character's voice is an essential part of their identity. It should be unique and reflective of their personality and motivations. For morally gray characters, their voice should reflect their internal conflict and the complexity of their moral alignment.

Create a Strong Backstory

A character's backstory can provide valuable insight into their motivations and actions. For morally gray characters, a strong backstory can help explain their moral ambiguity and add depth to their character. It can also create empathy and understanding for their decisions.

Use Foils to Highlight Their Morality

Foils are characters who contrast with the main character, highlighting their strengths and weaknesses. For morally gray characters, foils can be used to showcase their moral ambiguity and challenge their beliefs. This can add depth to the character and create interesting dynamics between them and other characters.

Morally gray characters add depth, complexity, and relatability to a story. By challenging traditional notions of good and evil, these characters force readers to question their own moral compass and consider the gray areas of morality.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

daddy all along

pairing: leon x reader

cw: smut, daddy kink, age-gap, hurt/comfort, alcoholism, daddy issues, morally dubious behavior, virgin reader, reader is 21 during all sexual/suggestive scenes but there is a non-sexual scene at the beginning where reader is a child.

word count: 7k

summary: leon is reader's dad's best friend. he has known you since you were very little and has acted as a secondary father figure at different times in your life because your father is an alcoholic/workaholic. but leon's not your dad, he's actually there for you (and he's very sexy). your dad misses your 21st birthday and leaves you with leon, and you convince him to take your virginity.

a/n: no, you should not do this in real life. this is purely for fiction. yes, it is weird to write reader as a child and then as an adult. if you don't want to see this type of content, then don't read it.

part 2

You remember the first time you called Leon 'Daddy.' It was the first time you slept with him, on your 21st birthday. That's your version of the truth but not the truth. Leon remembers the first time you called him 'Daddy.' You were three years old. 

"Leon," a tiny voice whispered, and with it came even tinier footsteps down the stairs.

Leon paused the TV and turned towards you.

"What is it, princess?" he said, matching your tone.

"I can't sleep," you pouted.

He motioned for you to come closer, and you did. 

"Why is that?" he asked, lifting you into his lap.

Sitting on his knee, you said, "I'm scared of monsters". 

"But there aren't monsters, sweet pea."

"But what if there are, and we can't see them?" 

He looked into your big eyes and saw the genuine worry behind them. He pulled you closer, towards one hip, so that he could safely stand with you in his arms. 

"How about we check one more time, and I'll show you that there are no monsters?"

You nodded, head pressed to his chest, relaxing into the comfort of his arms. 

He put you down in your bed and looked through every corner of your room - the back of your closet, under the bed, every drawer in your dresser - to prove there were no monsters. 

"And even if a monster came in here, I'll be right downstairs, so they'll have to go through me before they can come get you."

"What if the monster gets you?"

"The monsters never win against me."

And that was true. You were too young to understand what he meant, though. 

"Can you sleep in here?"

"I can't fit in your bed, princess."

"When I get scared, sometimes Dad sleeps on the floor."

Leon had been substituting for Dad more and more frequently. It made him upset, not at you, but for you. He couldn't believe that, especially after your mother had abandoned you both, your father would choose work, women, and alcohol over you. Someone had to choose you, and that someone was going to be Leon. He always wanted to save people and to be a good man. Heck, he even imagined himself as a father before Raccoon City flipped his life upside down. Since then, he'd resigned to the idea that he'd never get the stereotypical wife and two kids living in a house with a white picket fence. The closest Leon would get to being a family man was when he slept in your father's guest room. He'd made peace with that. 

So, that night, he slept poorly on your bedroom floor, even after you bargained with you to give him a pillow. You gave him one of your stuffed animals, too, thinking it might help him in the way that it helped you. He nearly cried at how thoughtful you were as a little kid.

"Thank you, sweet pea," he said, accepting your thoughtful gift. 

You smiled, rubbed your sleepy eyes, and said, "Goodnight, Daddy."

Leon heard what you called him, but he never acknowledged it to you. He had a good poker face. 

"Goodnight," he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

You slept, thank god, and as he suspected, no monsters appeared. 

This went on periodically throughout your childhood, your father being gone, and Leon stepping in. At some point, you got old enough that Leon didn't have to sleep on your bedroom floor as you no longer believed in monsters. Ironic, he thought, considering what he'd seen, but he'd never share the horrors of his job with you, even if the government would let him. No one deserved to bear that kind of hurt, not even he did. 

Leon was around less once you were old enough to take care of yourself. According to your father, he'd been going through some things - those things remained unspecified, but you put together the pieces once you saw him. 

Alcohol. That's what your father meant. It took your father away from you, and you feared Leon would be next. Leon drank a little too much, too often, and when he did, you distanced yourself from him. He never told you that he'd noticed the way you shied away from him, how you always retreated to the safe space of your bedroom when he was over. On the surface, you handled it all quite well. You didn't yell at Leon and tell him to get sober, you didn't cry yourself to sleep, you bypassed the first four stages of grief when you felt like you were losing him. Too used to being disappointed, you preemptively resigned yourself to the fact that he would end up like your father: gone, in one way or another. 

Leon got better, though, unlike your father. Neither of you ever talked about it, but your rift mended itself. Leon watched your face light up in hope and gratitude when he refused the drink your father offered him for the first time in a long time. Your hello and goodbye hugs returned, and you made noticeable efforts to linger in his presence; most notably, you went back to derailing the conversation whenever it came to bedtime, something you'd done since you were a kid. 

You became a debate champion and a master manipulator when it came to convincing Leon to let you stay up later. Every argument was futile, and he knew it; he continued to play your games for fun, but you had the key to his heart whether you knew it or not, and he would always give in to you. 

Leon didn't need to babysit you anymore as you got older, and his work life got increasingly busy. Plus, he had to spend time on therapy and self-care now that he'd decided to get sober. Thus, he saw you less often. It was okay, though; you had secretly and very loosely planned to visit him in D.C. once you graduated college, got a big girl job, and were no longer governed by your father's rule. 

Adulthood couldn't come sooner.

For your 21st birthday, you were hoping you could go out with a friend - or go to a party, though you wouldn't tell your dad the second part. However, you had been grounded for partying the weekend before - indefinitely, so your 21st would be spent at home with your dad. It could be a blessing in disguise, you thought initially, since your dad was rarely around. Now, you'd finally get to spend some quality time together. But alas, you were so very wrong about that. At the very last minute, your father was called out on an urgent work mission. 

When you were a child, this was his standard excuse for anything from a date to a night out on the town with friends. Sometimes, though, he really was needed at work. You'd allow yourself to believe it this time as a birthday gift. You'd spend the night crying otherwise. 

The nail in the coffin was that your dad got you a 'babysitter.' A babysitter on your 21st birthday?! It seemed like there should be a way to legally refuse that kind of thing. You expected the babysitter to be the mean old woman who lived next door; maybe if you were lucky, her daughter, who was slightly less of a bitch, would be in town, and your dad could pay her to take care of you instead. 

You were in your room, beginning your pity party, when the doorbell rang. 

"Honey, your babysitter is here. How about you come down and say hi," your dad called. 

"Tell my babysitter to fuck off," you fired back.

"How about you come tell him yourself?"

Him? You thought. A male babysitter? 

You walked downstairs to give this man a piece of your mind, making sure your resting bitch face was securely in place, but when you made it halfway down the stairs, you met the man's eyes and realized, "Leon?!" 

You ran into his arms, which were already outstretched for you. 

"Hey, Princess," he chuckled into your hair, "did you have something you wanted to say to me?"

"I missed you?"

"No, I thought you were coming down to tell me to 'fuck off.'"

"I didn't know it was you. I would never tell you that."

Your dad was already halfway out the door when he said, "Happy Birthday," with a wink, like they'd planned this night all along. There was no way in your mind that your father was a wingman and not a tyrannical dictator, at least not until that night. 

You were a simple woman and could be satisfied with pizza, a movie, and your favorite middle-aged man sitting next to you on the couch. 

Leon called the pizza place and ordered the usual for the both of you: half of your favorite toppings and half of his. The estimated delivery time was 30 minutes, according to the person on the phone. 

"What's your bet?" Leon asked, hanging up. 

"45 minutes," you said. 

"Wow, you're pessimistic today," he said. 

"No, I'm realistic, and I'm accounting for traffic," you said, "What's your guess?"

"One dollar," he said. 

You played by The Price is Right rules - whoever is the closest without going over wins. The prize? The loser has to answer the door when the doorbell rings. It was a low-stakes game.

40 minutes later, Leon was crowned the winner, but you still made him get the door because it was your birthday. 

There was another tradition your family shared surrounding pizza; it was an ancient memory but so well-preserved. When you were much younger, having lost the little guessing game, your father answered the door, and Leon remarked off-handedly that the woman was beautiful - she was out of earshot, of course. Your dad jokingly offered to ask for her number on his behalf. 

So, when Leon returned with a mischievous smile, you should've known what he was going to say.  

"Here, princess," he said, handing you the receipt, "got his number for you. It's right on the back."

"You did not!" you took the receipt in your hands and searched for a phone number on the back, falling for Leon's tricks. 

"I did not, you're right." Leon stuck his tongue out at you, as you used to do to him when you were a little girl. 

You returned the gesture, and he served you up a slice of pizza, serving himself second like a gentleman would. 

Unlike old times, you were allowed to eat in the living room since you'd reached an age where you could be trusted not to ruin the furniture.

On his way to the couch, he made a detour to ruffle your hair. "Movie?" he asked, holding the remote.

"Sure." You sat down beside him, a respectful distance away.

Leon wanted to watch something new, but you wanted to watch Jerry Maguire for the umpteenth time. So, naturally, you compromised by watching Jerry Maguire.  

At some point during the movie, you turned to him and said, "I just realized I don't know anything about you." 

That was the truth. The only things that you'd gathered from the many years you'd spent around Leon was that he wore a leather jacket, he rode a motorcycle, which you were not allowed to touch, and whatever cologne he wore smelled delightful. You couldn't pinpoint the particular scent, couldn't tell cedar from pine. If you had to describe it, you'd say it smelled familiar and good. You'd never seen him with a woman, and you weren't allowed to know anything about his job, similar to your father's. 

"What do you wanna know?" Leon asked.

You hadn't really thought that far. You didn't expect him to be so receptive to your questioning. 

"Have you ever been in love?" you blurted out.

He tilted his head to the side, confused about why you'd ask about his love life. 

"What?" he asked with a mouthful of pizza.

"I asked -"

"- I heard what you said; I was just wondering why you asked."

"I don't know, really."

"Okay, uh, yeah, I've been in love before," he said, looking towards the ceiling like he was trying to find a memory, "It was a long time ago, though."

"Okay."

"Is that sufficient?"

"I doubt I'll get anything else out of you, so it'll have to do, I guess."

"Smart girl. You say you don't know much about me, but you know me better than you think."

Leon went on to ask you questions about school, your friends, and the like, trying to shift the spotlight from his life onto yours. Getting information from him was like pulling teeth. It made you wonder if he'd learned to keep his secrets due to his line of work or if he was always a private guy. 

"Leon?"

"Yes, princess?"

"Can I ask you another question?"

"Based on your last question, I should probably say no, but because it's your birthday, I'll let you continue your interrogation."

"It's not an interrogation. You're not in handcuffs or anything."

"Uh-huh," he said with an eye-roll, "Ask away before I change my mind."

"When did you lose your virginity?" you blurted out.

He choked on his water, spitting it onto his shirt. 

"Wow, okay, that's - you're really going there, aren't you?"

"Just answer the question."

"I can't plead the fifth?"

"It's a normal question; you're making it weird." You couldn't meet his eyes and opted to look down at your feet. 

Maybe he pitied you because he answered after a deep breath. "I was, uh, 16."

"Was it any good?"

He sighed. "It was okay… for me, at least. I don't know how much she enjoyed it. Didn't really know what I was doing back then."

You hummed in response, nodding and briefly looking up to see his face. 

"How 'bout you?" he asked in an unexpected turn of events.

"What?" 

"Didn't think you could get away without answering the question, too, did you?"

"Oh," you started, "I'm, uh, I haven't yet."

"Nothing to be ashamed of; it's normal at your age. Not that I'd know, of course."

He was always the one to try to lighten the mood, and it pretty much always worked. You laughed and playfully smacked him before saying, "I'm gonna go get in my pj's, I think." 

"Good idea. Gimme your plate, and I'll clean up."

You handed him your plate on the way out of the room, quickly making your way upstairs. You had a plan. 

Every man had a sex drive; every man had something that made them tick, but what was that special thing for Leon? How could you entice him if you'd never seen him with a woman? You had no idea what he liked, so all you could do was guess. 

You had a cute pink nightgown ready for this occasion. It was all silky with lace trim and all too revealing of your decolletage, peeking through the top, as well as the tiniest pair of panties you owned. A lace thong that matched the trim of the nightgown perfectly.

You waltzed downstairs to find Leon in the kitchen doing the dishes by hand. You decided that you should get a glass of water to put on a little show for Leon. You reached up to the top shelf to grab a glass, which made your nightgown ride up, showing your entire ass, subsequently bending down to reach the filtered water in the fridge, giving Leon a similar view. You couldn't tell if he was looking, but you lingered, teasing him, begging him to take a look. When you turned around, you caught him turning his head in the opposite direction. He knew he'd been caught, too. 

You took your glass of water to the couch and sat down, knowing that unless he wanted to walk out the back door, Leon would have to face you in the living room. You could see him trying to fix his pants in a way that would hide his hard-on, but you could still see the bulge when he came into the living room and sat down next to you. He didn't dare look below your neck. You scooted closer to him, and he pretended to look at the clock before saying, "You know what? I'm going to change into something more comfortable as well," and promptly headed upstairs. 

When he came back, he was wearing a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, which did a piss-poor job of hiding his erection. You sat there all pretty, smiling at him, watching him shift his weight from foot to foot. 

"It's pretty late. I think it's getting close to bedtime," he said, acting like you were still a child.

"Okay," you said, pouting, pretending to be reluctant to walk towards him. 

You sauntered over, and he made a deliberate effort not to look at you. 

"Will you tuck me in?" you asked, using your cute little pouty face on him - the one that always worked. 

"Don't you think you're a little old for that, princess?"

Princess? He must be messing with you. He must know he's making you want him even more, right?

"Please, Leon. It's my birthday."

"Fine. Since it's your birthday, I guess I have to tuck you in, don't I?"

He gestured for you to walk upstairs first. Maybe he did want to get a peek at your ass. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, hands in your lap, back straight, with a smile. A good girl.

Leon's figure loomed in the doorway. "I'm gonna level with you here," he started, "I don't know what you're trying to do, but you and I both know this is an act."

"What's an act?" you continued to feign innocence. 

"The naive little girl thing. The tiny nightgown, the pouty face, bending over in the kitchen."

"It's your problem if you're turned on by it."

"Who said anything about being turned on by it?"

You looked him in the eyes, then down at his sweatpants, which did nothing to hide his arousal, and then back at his eyes. 

He was red in the face. "Fine. You win. Happy?"

"What do I win?"

"Getting to see me embarrassed. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"No."

"Then what is it that you want?" He crossed his arms, waiting for you to say it. 

"You."

He shook his head. "Mm-mm. Nope."

"Why not? You want me too."

"It's not right. That's why."

But he didn't deny it. 

"I'm 21. I'm an adult."

"But I'm still too old for you. And I've known you since you were a baby."

"And that's exactly why we should feel comfortable around each other."

"I have no problem being comfortable with you in a non-sexual context."

"But it's my birthday."

"You already played that card, princess."

"Please?"

"Please, what?"

"Just one kiss?"

He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, contemplating. 

"I won't tell anyone," you promised preemptively. 

"One." He walked towards you. "But that's it." 

"Deal, but it better be a real kiss. Not like a friendly peck on the lips."

You'd probably given him one of those when you were a toddler. This was different.

"I should've known you'd negotiate further." He pretended to be exasperated, but his smile betrayed him. He had a soft spot for you. "What are the terms?"

"It has to last at least 30 seconds."

"10."

"20 is the lowest I'll go."

"20 for the birthday girl."

He closed his eyes and leaned in. His lips were soft, and his mouth tasted minty. You weren't counting the seconds and hoping he wasn't, either. You knew you were pushing it when you brought your tongue into the equation, but he'd already given in to you. He allowed the tip of his tongue to meet yours.  

He pulled away first. Quickly, so you couldn't catch him and pull him back in. 

"You happy now?" he asked, much more amused than annoyed.

You stared at him, seeing stars already. 

"I think that was only 10 seconds." The edges of lips curved upwards slowly. 

"Oh really? I think it was at least a minute."

"I was counting."

"No, you were not."

Despite protesting, he was still sitting in your bed, laughing with you. 

"But Leon-"

"But what, princess?" He cocked his head to the side, taunting you. 

You were out of bargaining chips. You'd played every card that wasn't flat-out begging him. 

"Did you at least think it was good?" you asked, needing his approval more than anything.

"It was great." He sounded sincere, and you hoped that he meant it more than anything. 

"Really? You promise you'd never lie to me?" you held out your pinky and he took it in his. 

"Promise," he said.

When he was about to stand up, you said, "But if it was good, then why don't you want more?"

He flopped back on your bed and sighed in exasperation. "Because it's not appropriate."

"But that doesn't mean you don't want it."

"No, but it doesn't matter. I'm the adult in the situation, and I'm telling you it's a bad idea."

"I'm the adult, too, and I think it's a great idea."

"Well, I have more experience than you, and I know it's a bad idea."

"If you have more experience, then you can help me."

"How many more arguments do you have? Just hit me with all of them so I can give you a collective 'no,' and then we can both go to bed."

You could see his frustrations dueling in his mind. He was tired of your arguing, but the more frustrated he got at you, still sitting next to him in a tiny pink nightgown, the more he wanted you. His gentle, sweet sexual fantasies about you were being replaced by rougher ones. He knew that if he told you to turn around and get on all fours, you'd do it. He could spank you as punishment for your naughty behavior, and you'd like it. 

"I was going to resort to begging next."

"And you think that would break me?"

"It always does."

"Because I have a weak spot for you," he paused, "and because you usually aren't asking me for sex."

"Who said I was asking for sex?"

He glared at you, knowing that was exactly what you wanted.

"You said that you lost your virginity at my age," you said, hoping your reasoning would make sense to him.

"And?" He understood, but that didn't mean he agreed. 

"I don't want to be a virgin anymore. I wanna be cool like you, Leon."

You'd told him that before, wearing his leather jacket that was too big for you, waddling around the house as a kindergartner. 

"Well, then find a nice guy - or girl - your age and do that on your own time."

"But I want you."

He closed his eyes, resigning himself to the fact that he might have to give into you while he still wanted you gently. Otherwise, with your track record, you'd get him to concede to your wishes, but only after losing self-control, which was the only thing holding him back from tying you to the headboard. 

"You don't know this yet because you haven't had this experience yet, but it's hard not to get attached to the first person you're with."

"And? We're already close."

"Not like that, though. We're not dating, not married, and we never will be. I'm trying to protect you."

"I'm not proposing marriage."

"Thank god."

"You've protected me from everything my whole life. Now I'm an adult, and I want to choose. Remember when I was little, you used to say, 'I'll tell you when you're older' or 'When you're an adult, you can make your own choices'? I'm not your responsibility anymore, Leon."

"You never were." He took your hand because he still loved you despite it all. "I care about you, so I can't let you get hurt, but I also can't be with you. And things aren't going to be the same if we do this."

"I promise I'll be okay. I can handle it."

He sat silently for a moment before finally saying, "You're not going to tell your dad, right?"

"No, god no, never."

"You're not going to brag to your friends?"

"Are you saying I'd want to brag? That you're worthy of such high praise?"

"I'd like to think I'm decent at it."

"Is this you agreeing?" Your eyes lit up the way they did whenever you got your way. 

"I'm exhausted, you're in a tiny nightgown, and you're begging. I'm powerless against you."

"And I thought that Leon Kennedy could have me pinned down in under a second."

"Is that what you'd like?"

"Maybe." At this point, you were hovering over him, one leg outside each of his. You sat down, straddling him, and he struggled to keep a straight face. 

"Have you done anything before?" He asked. 

You made a lewd gesture, indicating that you'd performed oral sex on a guy before.

"You're gonna have to be more mature than that if we're gonna do this." 

"Fine. I sucked a guy's dick once." You didn't want to be so vulgar, but how else were you supposed to say it? 

"Good for you." Leon pretended to be unimpressed, but in truth, he was thinking about the view that guy must've gotten. How perfect you'd look on your knees. 

"No, good for him."

"He didn't reciprocate?"

Leon's hands were gripping your hips. You couldn't tell if he wanted you to move or if he was trying to keep you still. 

"That's too bad. You're a good girl. You deserve it."

"A good girl?" Your voice faltered, and your eyes said it all. 

"Yes, a very good girl." He leaned down and caught your mouth in a quick kiss. 

Even looming over you, he looked hesitant to touch you, like you were too delicate and fragile.

"You wanna take this off?" he asked, toying with the hem of your nightgown.

"Only if you agree to take your shirt off."

"Deal."

He sat up and took his shirt off. You could see how his arms flexed when he did it and his now-exposed chest and abs.

"How do you look so good at your age?" You meant to keep that thought to yourself, but your mouth had a mind of its own. As you spoke, you ran your hands down his chest, noting that his body felt as lovely as it looked. 

"I'm not sure if I should be offended that you called me old or flattered that you think I look good."

"You look hot."

"You gonna hold up your end of the deal?"

You sat up and removed your nightgown, revealing a tiny white thong with a little bow. 

"Cute," he mused, playing with the bow. 

"I didn't know what you liked, so I had to guess."

"You did a great job."

His large hands cupped one of your now-exposed breasts in each hand, thumbs running over your nipples, making you shiver. 

He hummed in satisfaction at your reaction. Seeing your face flush, he said, "Don't be embarrassed, princess."

You didn't have time to answer before his lips were on yours again, making their way down your neck, stopping to whisper into your ear.

"Promise you'll tell me if I do anything you don't like?"

"Promise."

With open-mouthed kisses, he made his way down to your chest, letting his tongue circle each nipple, looking for weaknesses. It wasn't hard to find them. You were soaking through the thin lace of your panties. 

Feeling Leon's lips on your tits, you let out a small moan and tried to cover any others up with a hand over your mouth. Leon removed your hand and said, "Mm-mm. If I do this for you, you can't cover your mouth. I wanna hear your pretty noises."

He made his way to the hem of your panties. The lace barely covered anything. You felt him lap at your folds through the fabric, making you gasp. 

"Can I take them off?"

"Uh-huh."

 He looked up into your eyes, which had no thoughts behind them other than how much you needed this. He removed your panties, teasing you with kisses on your hip bones and thighs, wanting to see if you'd beg for a feeling you'd never felt. 

He made eye contact while he flicked his tongue over your clit, anticipating your strong reaction. You threw your head back and gripped the sheets.

"Already, princess? I've barely even done anything to you," He mumbled into your skin. 

There were infinite combinations of words in the English language that could accurately describe your embarrassment, but they were all out of reach, as pleasure had taken your mind hostage.

When Leon had imagined this moment - and yeah, he'd imagined it, filled with such intense lust and followed by an even larger wave of guilt - he'd imagined his fingers inside you by this point. But, now, he was just letting his tongue glide along your folds, trying to tease you, trying to taste you, trying to burn a memory onto his mental hard drive of this moment. He pressed a kiss to your clit and watched as your eyes rolled back and you arched your body off the bed. He'd never seen a woman so sensitive, though. He'd never done anything with a virgin before. Most of the women he'd hooked up with in the past decade were in their 30s. 

"Leon," You whined.

"I know, baby girl. Let go for me," he said softly, looking into your eyes with a loving gaze. 

He sucked lightly on your clit, leading you through your orgasm. The intense sensation coursed through your entire body, making your thighs tremble, and your moans turn into sobs.

"Oh my god. Daddy!" In the heat of the moment, it just came out. 

Leon didn't pull away, despite his surprise - truthfully, he couldn't have because your thighs kept him in a headlock. You could've suffocated him, maybe even broken his neck like that, but he was strong enough that he could push your legs apart if he really needed to breathe. Not that he cared very much. Leon had faced death enough times to know that this would've been one of the best ways to go. He'd take his chances if it meant he got an extra minute between your thighs.

"Daddy, huh? Thought you were an innocent little girl. Shoulda known better."

"Sorry. It was just so good, and I wasn't thinking."

"I know, princess. I'm glad I could make you feel good."

He kissed each cheek and your forehead. The way he'd always done when he put you to bed.

"You wanna go to bed now?" he asked. You couldn't tell if he wanted a 'yes' or a 'no'. The smile on his face was the same as it always was - happy and warm and honest. It was the same look he'd given you when he'd said goodnight to you for decades. He wanted you to sleep because he cared about you but didn't mind having you stay up because he loved you. 

"No, I don't wanna go to bed," you said, reaching down to palm him through his sweatpants.

He gave you a look of arousal poorly concealed by hesitation to take things any further.

"I don't wanna hurt you," he said. 

You pouted, and he was defenseless.

"Always get what you want," he said under his breath.

You hooked your thumbs in the waistband of his sweatpants, and he took them off.

When you tried to go for his underwear, he said, "Yeah, yeah. Gimme a second."

He got out of bed, and you whined. 

"I'll be right there." He feigned annoyance, but he obviously still found you cute. 

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for my wallet. It's probably in the other room."

He went to your guest room next door, and you were initially confused, worried he'd left you. Until he came back with a condom held between two fingers. 

"Did you know this was going to happen?"

"No, but I'm always prepared."

It was the truth. No way in Hell did he ever think this would happen when he came to your house.

"Would you ever do it without one?"

"If you're proposing that, the answer is absolutely not."

Secretly, you both wished for him to be inside you without the rubber barrier. You watched him pull out his dick and slip on the condom unceremoniously as if this wasn't the most important moment of your life thus far. 

He caught you ogling. "What? Impressed or disappointed?"

He knew the answer. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten that kind of reaction. 

"Do you think it's gonna fit?" you asked.

"No need to flatter me, sweetheart. You've already got me in bed."

"I'm being serious."

"I'll go slow," he assured you, voice quiet and sweet.

He brushed his thumb across your cheek. He kissed you with such tenderness you felt like you might melt. 

You got a rush of adrenaline watching him line himself up at your entrance. Both from excitement and nerves. You truly were worried about whether it would fit inside you. 

The first thrust was a bit painful - nothing excruciating, just a bit of discomfort - but Leon, worried about you, immediately pulled back and asked, "What's wrong, baby girl? Did I hurt you?"

You nodded meekly and made the "little bit" sign with your pointer and thumb. 

"Okay. Lemme try something else then."

At this point, he had pulled entirely out of you, and he started to play with your clit lazily while gazing at your face. All discomfort faded from your expression and was replaced by pleasure. He had you nearly writhing again over such minimal contact. 

In his deep, silky voice, he said, "Open," pushing two fingers into your mouth, making sure he didn't go too far and make you gag. 

You knew he wanted you to wet them for him, but you decided to give him a little show, too. You looked into his eyes while sucking his fingers, swirling your tongue around them. You could tell he was trying to keep his composure, but you could feel his dick twitch against your leg. 

Though he was enjoying the sight, he removed his fingers from your mouth and pushed them, one, then both, into you and gently stroked your inner walls. His other hand was tending to your clit all the while, and you began to feel the pressure in your abdomen rise again. It must've shown on your face because he started pumping his fingers in and out of you with greater force until you were teetering on the edge of a second orgasm. Your walls clenched around his fingers, and he promptly took them away.

"Why did you do that?" You whined with tears, acting like it was the greatest betrayal. 

"It's okay, princess. I'm gonna let you come. I wanna be inside you when you do, though."

You felt the head prodding at your entrance; the only thing you felt was a desire for more. The feeling of being stretched out took a moment to adjust to, but it felt good to be filled. He gently gave himself to you inch by inch. 

"You're doing so good for me, princess."

"Daddy?" you said in a voice neither of you had ever heard before.

"Yes, baby?" Leon's breath hitched. It didn't matter how wrong it was; it was too good. 

I love you. Those were the words you wanted to say, and 'I love you, Leon' was something you'd said a thousand times, but it was never 'Daddy, I love you' - and it was never during sex, obviously. 

"Thank you," you said - for what? You weren't sure, but Leon seemed to get the gist. 

He didn't say anything, just smiled and then pressed a kiss to your cheek, still thrusting in and out of you, speeding up when he knew you could take it. 

The face Leon made when he bottomed out inside you was a heavenly sight. It made you tighten around him, eliciting a low groan from him. He took one hand from beside your head and slid it down between your thighs, touching you where you needed it most. The feeling of him rubbing your clit as he fucked you made your pussy spasm around him. 

"Gonna be a good girl and come for Daddy?" he asked. 

"Oh my god, Daddy!" You nearly screamed when you came. 

Leon did his best to hide his feelings about that word, maintaining the rhythm of his thrusts, thumb not leaving your clit. The physical sensation of you clenching around him nearly sent him over the edge with you, but the conflicting feelings that 'Daddy' gave him held him back. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

If you'd told him before that moment that you wanted to call him 'Daddy,' he would've thought it was odd, but watching your eyes roll back and feeling your nails dig into his back as you said it made it sexy. 

Once your orgasm subsided, he allowed himself to let go. Your eyes fluttered back open just in time to watch his face as he came. 

"Fuck," he groaned, drawn out, followed by heavy breaths. 

You were still a bit dazed when he got up, threw the condom in the trash, and immediately collapsed beside you. You were greeted with a kiss on the forehead once you returned to Earth. 

Leon stopped himself from saying, "I love you," even though you'd both said it to each other a thousand times over the years. The fact remained that both of you loved each other, but the specificities of that love had now become blurry. 

At the risk of embarrassing you, he asked, "So, the whole 'Daddy' thing?"

"I'm sorry. Did it weird you out?"

"I wouldn't put it like that."

"You can just say it did."

"No, it's just – it feels wrong considering the circumstances."

"Yeah, I know. I shouldn't have let myself get that carried away."

"There's no reason to be embarrassed about it. It wasn't a turn-off. I still came, so the proof is… well, it's in your trash can."

You smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood, but your face was still bright red. 

"You really shouldn't feel bad about it. It's no big deal."

"But it is. You said it - because…" 

You couldn't say, "You're like a second father to me," or anything else that came to mind. The whole thing simultaneously made more and less sense. Of course, he was 'Daddy' in your mind, but in more ways than one. 

"I know," he said simply. You didn't need to finish your sentence for him to understand. 

"Can you hold me?" You asked, getting teary-eyed for reasons more complicated than you could verbalize. Overstimulation, overwhelming pleasure, a closeness beyond what you'd ever felt with someone before, the sense that things had changed for good, concern that this had caused irreparable damage to whatever bond you'd had, but most of all, how angry you were at your real dad. 

"Of course, baby girl, c'mere," Leon said with arms wide open. He sat up in bed, knowing what you wanted. You sat in his lap and clung to him while he held you tightly. 

"I can't believe he couldn't even be here for my birthday," you sobbed, still naked in Leon's lap. 

"I know, and I'm sorry, princess. I'm upset about it, too."

He pressed little kisses into your hair.

You wondered if maybe Leon was right: you had gotten attached to him, but this part was always going to happen. In every reality, you would've ended up crying in his arms. 

All the emotions you tried to keep inside came out of your tear ducts at once, and you felt like a little girl. 

You got up eventually to pee because Leon forced you to. He put his pants back on and was about to do the same with his shirt when you asked, "Can I have it?"

"Yeah."

He threw it to you, not even thinking the same thing you were. He'd given girlfriends and hookups t-shirts to wear to bed, but it had nothing to do with sex at this moment; you needed the comfort you always would have. It was like a hug from him. The way you'd sleep in your dad's room when he wasn't home, just to feel like he was there.

You got into your bed, still wearing Leon's shirt, and he got up to leave, as he was supposed to, as you knew he would. Sleeping with you was never part of the agreement, but your eyes flooded with tears when you watched him leave. 

"Goodnight," he said at the door. 

You were too choked up to say it back. Leon waited for you to speak, knowing what you'd say. 

"Don't leave, please," you said, crying, not pouting, not whining, but crying. Leon remembered when you were a kid, and he slept on your bedroom floor because you didn't want to be alone. Because you cried and begged him not to leave, and he felt awful seeing your tears, knowing your mom walked out and your dad was rarely there, knowing that - whether you understood it or not - you meant, 'don't leave me like everyone else.' Leon couldn't do that to you, couldn't leave a neglected little girl alone. As he'd told you, he didn't have to do this by any obligation other than a self-imposed one. Sleeping in your bed right now was dangerous - your father could walk in, you could get the wrong idea and get more attached, you could try to go for round two - but, if you hadn't had sex, if he'd done the right thing in the first place and said no, you'd still have been crying in his arms, you'd still ask him to stay. The right thing to do would be to stay. 

He nodded and climbed into bed with you, letting you rest your head on his chest.

Leon was right: you were so very attached to him.

[elucubrare]

What are your biggest turn-offs when reading/watching historical fiction or retellings of myths?

this is really complicated - i can put it in two boxes, both of which are packed very full.

disconnection from the material reality of the past

when characters display a very specifically modern mindset (about social issues especially, but other stuff too)

(I also get bothered by some kinds of modern language - I don't mind it when, idk, an author uses "sensible" with the modern connotation of "practical" and not the 18th century "emotional" or "empathetic", but "yeah" or "okay," or even, as i found out when someone used it in medieval fantasy, "holy shit" will get on my nerves.)

there are modern things where (made up example!) a character who's supposed to be a cook will talk about making caprese salad for a fancy restaurant in December, and someone snarking on the book will say "yeah, right, they should know better than to make something that depends on a fresh summer vegetable!" and even with greenhouses, that's pretty fair. and that's even more extreme in the past. it's 1650 in Verona, it's December, you cannot obtain fresh tomatoes. i don't think this means that people in the past were, necessarily, more emotionally or spiritually in tune with the cycle of the year, or the labor it took to get clothes, or furniture, or any other material item, and of course wealth can insulate people from some of that difficulty, but it does mean that the seasons had more direct impact on people's lives. It's possible to, for example, buy clothes ready-made, but for anything fancy, it's more likely that it'll be made to fit if it's new, or altered extensively and painstakingly if it's not. that means that tearing or staining a fancy dress isn't just an issue of looking bad - you can't just replace it, and you probably won't throw it out - you figure out how to reuse it. those concerns of access to material goods are just a lot closer to the surface of the world than they often are now.

my objections to modern attitudes about the world are not that people in the past 100% accepted the views of their contemporaries - there were always people who didn't, and it makes sense that a protagonist would be one of them. but people wouldn't phrase those objections in the same way that modern people would - say your main character doesn't want a woman accused of being a witch burned. "God's power is such that the Devil cannot give this woman the ability to sour milk" is most likely going to be more persuasive to the crowd than "witches aren't real." and sometimes that's rough - it's not super fun to read about a Roman with Roman attitudes about provincial wars, or slavery in the city, but I put something down because a Roman character said (in internal dialogue) that he was disgusted to see that a man had been tortured because "Romans simply didn't do that." Historical Romans did do that, routinely - a slave could not testify in a law court unless they had been tortured. Even with distasteful things like that, I'd much rather it just be glossed over than to have them say the "correct" modern thing. It just makes it feel too much like the theme park version of the culture.

Both of these are because of specific things I come to historical fiction for - I want that sense of alienation, the gulf of experience. I hate that most historical fiction (and fantasy set in semi-recognizable periods) characters don't really care about Honor, except as a joke, because I love when characters organize their lives around arcane rules and systems that cause tiny things to escalate into blood feud. I just think they're neat! I like it when people's worldviews are shaped by their lack of scientific certainty about what causes crops to fail! If I wanted to read about people who thought and acted like me, and had lives that were mostly similar to mine, only cooler, I'd just read contemporary fiction.

[alexandraisyes]

Seeing lot of aroace hate on my dash today, what’s up with that? Why are we targeting aroace creators for “not being aro enough” and “not being ace enough” in their writing of fictional characters?

I’m a sex-repulsed asexual. I’m offline enough to understand that just because someone makes a fictional character one sexuality doesn’t mean they don’t respect the canon sexuality of that character. And it definitely doesn’t mean they don’t respect real life people. Why the fuck are we more worried about fictional characters than real people?

A fictional character can be whatever you want it to be. They can be trans, they can be intersex, they can be gay or lesbian or bisexual or even fucking aroace and it would have no impact on the real world because they only exist on your google docs. If we can make straight characters gay, and male characters trans, and change everything about them then we shouldn’t throw a fit when creators project their specific aroace spiciness onto an aroace character.

Yes! There is a very small amount of sex-repulsed rep! There’s a very small amount of romance repulsed rep too! That is an issue! But fanfiction writers are not the owners of the original media, and them writing fanfiction with an aroace character and making them demisexual and aroflux instead of the “media friendly sex-and-romance-repulsed aroace” is not the end of the world.

Creators are not obligated to write what you want, and have you ever once thought of how hard it is to find rep of the other types of aroace? Because there’s more than just sex and romance repulsed. I’ve never read a published novel or seen a movie where a character is openly cupiosexual or demiromantic or aceflux. The entire spectrum is under represented, and so claiming it’s just romance and sex repulsed is really shitty when if the media is going to put in an aroace character they’re going to make them romance or sex repulsed. Name three canonically cupiosexual characters and I’ll retract this statement.

If you can’t find the stories you want to read, write them yourself. Attacking aroace creators for not being “aroace the right way” is aphobic as fuck.

Prioritize real people over fictional ones.

[life-of-an-asexual]

Asexual Non-Fiction

Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex by Angela Chen

An engaging exploration of what it means to be asexual in a world that's obsessed with sexual attraction, and what we can all learn about desire and identity by using an ace lens to see the world. Through interviews, cultural criticism, and memoir, ACE invites all readers to consider big-picture issues through the lens of asexuality, because every place that sexuality touches our world, asexuality does too.

The Invisible Orientation: An Introduction to Asexuality by Julie Sondra Decker

In The Invisible Orientation, Julie Sondra Decker outlines what asexuality is, counters misconceptions, provides resources, and puts asexual people's experiences in context as they move through a very sexualized world. It includes information for asexual people to help understand their orientation and what it means for their relationships, as well as tips and facts for those who want to understand their asexual friends and loved ones.

How to Be Ace: A Memoir of Growing Up Asexual by Rebecca Burgess

In this brave, hilarious and empowering graphic memoir, we follow Rebecca as they navigate a culture obsessed with sex—from being bullied at school and trying to fit in with friends, to forcing themself into relationships and experiencing anxiety and OCD—before coming to understand and embrace their asexual identity.

A Quick & Easy Guide to Asexuality by Molly Mulldoon and Will Hernandez

Writer Molly Muldoon and cartoonist Will Hernandez, both in the ace community, are here to shed light on society’s misconceptions of asexuality and what being ace is really like. This book is for anyone who wants to learn about asexuality, and for Ace people themselves, to validate their experiences. Asexuality is a real identity and it’s time the world recognizes it. Here’s to being invisible no more! 

Asexualities: Feminist and Queer Perspectives edited by Karli June Cerankowski and Megan Milks

As the first book-length collection of critical essays ever produced on the topic of asexuality, this book serves as a foundational text in a growing field of study. It also aims to reshape the directions of feminist and queer studies, and to radically alter popular conceptions of sex and desire. Including units addressing theories of asexual orientation; the politics of asexuality; asexuality in media culture; masculinity and asexuality; health, disability, and medicalization; and asexual literary theory, Asexualities will be of interest to scholars and students in sexuality, gender, sociology, cultural studies, disability studies, and media culture.

Refusing Compulsory Sexuality: A Black Asexual Lens on Our Sex-Obsessed Culture by Sherronda J. Brown

In this exploration of what it means to be Black and asexual in America today, Sherronda J. Brown offers new perspectives on asexuality. She takes an incisive look at how anti-Blackness, white supremacy, patriarchy, heteronormativity, and capitalism enact harm against asexual people, contextualizing acephobia within a racial framework in the first book of its kind. A necessary and unapologetic reclamation, Refusing Compulsory Sexuality is smart, timely, and an essential read for asexuals, aromantics, queer readers, and anyone looking to better understand sexual politics in America.

I Am Ace: Advice on Living Your Best Asexual Life by Cody Daigle-Orians

Within these pages lie all the advice you need as a questioning ace teen. Tackling everything from what asexuality is, the asexual spectrum and tips on coming out, to intimacy, relationships, acephobia and finding joy, this guide will help you better understand your asexual identity alongside deeply relatable anecdotes drawn from Cody's personal experience. Whether you are ace, demi, gray-ace or not sure yet, this book will give you the courage and confidence to embrace your authentic self and live your best ace life.

Ace Voices: What it Means to Be Asexual, Aromantic, Demi or Grey-Ace by Eris Young

Drawing upon interviews with a wide range of people across the asexual spectrum, Eris Young is here to take you on an empowering, enriching journey through the rich multitudes of asexual life. With chapters spanning everything from dating, relationships and sex, to mental and emotional health, family, community and joy, the inspirational stories and personal experiences within these pages speak to aces living and loving in unique ways. Find support amongst the diverse narratives of aces sex-repulsed and sex-favourable, alongside voices exploring what it means to be black and ace, to be queer and ace, or ace and multi-partnered - and use it as a springboard for your own ace growth.

Asexual Erotics: Intimate Readings of Compulsory Sexuality by Ela Przybylo

Through a wide-ranging analysis of pivotal queer, feminist, and anti-racist movements; television and film; art and photography; and fiction, nonfiction, and theoretical texts, each chapter explores asexual erotics and demonstrates how asexuality has been vital to the formulation of intimate ways of knowing and being. Asexual Erotics assembles a compendium of asexual possibilities that speaks against the centralization of sex and sexuality, asking that we consider the ways in which compulsory sexuality is detrimental not only to asexual and nonsexual people but to all.

Ace Notes by Michele Kirichanskaya

As an ace or questioning person in an oh-so-allo world, you're probably in desperate need of a cheat sheet. Covering everything from coming out, explaining asexuality and understanding different types of attraction, to marriage, relationships, sex, consent, gatekeeping, religion, ace culture and more, this is the ultimate arsenal for whatever the allo world throws at you.

Ace and Aro Journeys: A Guide to Embracing Your Asexual or Aromantic Identity by The Ace and Aro Advocacy Project

Join the The Ace and Aro Advocacy Project (TAAAP) for a deep dive into the process of discovering and embracing your ace and aro identities. Empower yourself to explore the nuances of your identity, find and develop support networks, explore different kinds of partnership, come out to your communities and find real joy within. Combining a rigorous exploration of identity and sexuality models with hundreds of candid and poignant testimonials - this companion vouches for your personal truth, wherever you lie on the aspec spectrum.

Sounds Fake But Okay: An Asexual and Aromantic Perspective on Love, Relationships, Sex, and Pretty Much Anything Else by Sarah Costello and Kayla Kaszyca

Drawing on Sarah and Kayla's personal stories, and those of aspec friends all over the world, prepare to explore your microlabels, investigate different models of partnership, delve into the intersection of gender norms and compulsory sexuality and reconsider the meaning of sex - when allosexual attraction is out of the equation.

[cryptidghostgirl]

CHUBBY! READER X ALASTOR

I'm soooo sorry that I'm requesting something else this just came to me and I needed your storytelling expertise to bring it to life 😢

ALSO ALSO ALSO this one has a trigger warning so please read with the thought that YOURE PERFECT!!!😤(if you write it)

OTAY OTAY soooooooooooo reader has been apart of the hotel for awhile and has developed a crush on Alastor from afar and the small instances they do cross paths but hesitates to approach him on her own because well we're shy and HES THE RADIO DEMON anyway reader doesn't have to worry about distance between them because Alastor is AVOIDING HER ALL ON HIS OWN 😯 AND somehow reader gathers the courage to approach Alastor but sees his relationship with Rosie (they're besties, platonic soulmates definitely) and thinks 'wow, she's so beautiful and...thin' and proceeds to lock herself away from everyone (SOLITUDE) and skips meals (starving herself), Alastor is the first to notice shes missin and pulling away but doesn't know how to approach her without stumbling over his words (i like to think that hes a heartbreaker to other women like his fans but with someone that he likes with real feelings hes fumbling in the dark because he could get rejected instead, i will die on the hill) so so so he hesitates to ask reader whats wrong till he hears her throwing up or she says something awful about herself and Alastor gets angry on her behalf and reader goes silent, only for Alastor to take a breath and tell her that 'shes hurting herself, for a shallow reason such as looks', and reader goes 'i thought you liked to watch others downfalls' and then hes like 'not your downfall, never you' 😔 reader starts to cry and shouts "im not Rosie', confused Alastor finally starts putting the pieces together and grabs reader hands and sincerely says "good, i wouldn't rosie anyhow, or anyone else for that matter', reader continuing to cry tells him to stop lying that this joke isn't funny and Alastor kissies her hand as says "whos joking? I only want you, your perfect" then then then slowly Alastor starts to help reader look at themselves in a more positive light [[fit this in somewhere???????Alastor tells reader why hes so close to rosie (he's clueless about reciprocated love so he goes to Rosie because canon that she knows matters of the heart...right?)]]

A/N as always i am obsessed with your request. Also I 100% agree with the assessment of Alastor's ability to talk to people he actually likes. I am literally so obsessed with this request. Also I am assuming from your previous comments you wanted the same bunny demon character?? Please forgive me if I am wrong but I did it for her (because I love her dearly and she is based of meeeee and I'm egotisticalllllll). Kisses bestie <3 <3

Downfall (Alastor x Chubby!Bunny Demon!Reader)

Paring: Alastor x Reader

Word Count: 4,076 (I got a little carried away)

Warnings: BODY IMAGE ISSUES!!! EDS!!!! I think that's it but they're in all caps for a reason so if you have ED issues maybe don't read this one??? It is hurt//comfort tho so maybe do???? Idk. If you get triggered by ed descriptions, don't. If having a fictional character tell you you're perfect the way you are and beg you to stop destroying yourself because they can't bear to watch would help you, do.

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Alastor Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

It had taken months. Months of wondering what he was like, of stolen glances, of furtive daydreams. Months of building up courage, of backing down, months of hoping and dreaming. It had taken endless encouragement from Angel, countless pages in her diary. It had taken a million deep breaths, ten thousand trembles of her hands. Months, it had taken months.

It wasn't like Y/n had never spoken to the man before. That wasn't really the issue. She wasn't scared of him, just scared. The simple idea of being alone with him was an intoxicating mixture of terror and utter bliss. Y/n didn't know how to handle it, she didn't know how to handle him.

Alastor was untouchable, nearly semi-divine in her eyes. Sure, he was fucked up, but they all were. At the end of the day, his facade was as easy to see through as a cheap paper crown from a Christmas cracker. Beneath the wide smile, the sharp teeth, the stories, Alastor was just a man. He cared deeply for the world around him, for the people around him and those in his life. No matter how hard he tried to disguise it, it always shone through to Y/n.

It wasn't like she had never spoken to Alastor before, she had just never spoken to him alone before. Every interaction they had ever had was as a part of the larger group of Hotel residents and staff. On the rare occasion they ran into one another in the hallway or happened to each be in the kitchen at the same time, Y/n froze up. Words turned to stones in her stomach and all she could ever seem to manage was a gentle nod, a shaky smile. It frustrated her to no end.

Finally, she had worked up the courage to talk to him. It was all Angel's idea really, she would never have had the thought to do such a thing on her own but his pushing had been relentless and at last, Y/n had agreed.

And it had taken months, months! This was her third attempt to go up to him. They had even lowered the stakes, Angel saying all she had to do was have a single normal conversation with the man and he would let her off the hook, stop his pestering and teasing. It was just her luck, really just her god damn luck.

Sir Pentious had informed Y/n that Alastor had left the hotel to see a friend, Charlie had given her the address of the cafe he had said he would be at should they need him. Everyone was all smiles, all encouragement. Y/n reminded herself to yell at Angel later for spilling her secret although, she guessed she shouldn't have expected anything else from the hotel's biggest gossip.

Putting on her favorite outfit, her hair all done up and makeup perfect, Y/n had slicked her ears flat against her head in determination and stepped out onto the streets of Pentagram City. It didn't take long for her to find the place, a sweet little cafe on the outskirts of Cannibal Town with white wrought iron chairs and a cheerful pink and purple sign. It hadn't taken her long to spot the bright red of Alastor's suit through the window either, standing out against all the muted purples and dark blacks of the other cannibals enjoying their meals within.

"It's fine. It's totally not weird that you're going up to him in a cafe he's having lunch in with a friend, that you.... oh my god Y/n!! He's gonna think you were stalking him! You should just go back and- no! You promised. Y/n, you can do this."

She took a deep breath, centering herself in that little core, that rod of who she was, that shot down the center of her being. Raising a closed fist to her chest, she shut her eyes.

"You can do this, Bunny." she reaffirmed, "You can do this."

Opening her eyes, she crossed the street. Her hand was inches away from the door's handle, her heart racing but set on what she was about to do, when Y/n noticed exactly who Alastor's 'friend' was.

Across the table from him, sipping delicately on a cup of tea, was the most beautiful demon Y/n thought she had ever laid eyes on. She had long, dainty fingers, thin and spidery, and the most perfectly proportioned body. She was tall, long legs sheltered by her skirt and a tiny waist that threw her hips and chest into contrast. The woman's hair was neat, tucked up beneath a wide brimmed hat. Her clothes were classy, her smile was bright and charming, the black holes of her eyes were... were... were everything. She was everything, everything Y/n wasn't.

Suddenly, the weight of her own body against her bones became all too real. She felt the urge to never be touched again, the same strange sickness of her youth sinking its teeth into the softness of her stomach, her thighs, her arms, all of her. Her hand lowered from the handle, Alastor laughing at something the woman had said to him. He seemed relaxed, more at peace than Y/n had ever seen the man before. If that wasn't love, she didn't know what was.

It took a second for the other residents of the Hazbin Hotel to realize the change. Y/n was good at this, she'd had practice. For years, she had worked to move past it all but the threat of a relapse had always hung over her head. It was her sword of Damocles, her fated demise.

Y/n retreated in to herself, she couldn't get the image of that woman out of her head. Poised, statuesque, thin. God, Y/n had never wanted anything more than she wanted to be thin. She wanted to rip fistfuls of flesh from her body, she wanted to wither away so only something beautiful remained.

Alastor was the first to notice. He had a soft spot for the rabbit demon who always seemed to be full of that soft, discrete joy and unending kindness. She was a more toned down version of Charlie. She was genuine and completely herself, no holds bared. She had such a hope, she had such a goodness, it made him wonder why she hadn't ended up in Heaven instead.

The truth was, behind the bravado and the grin, Alastor was scared of Y/n. He was scared he would touch her and she would rot away or worse, that she would run. She was just so good, so intrinsically wondrous, and he was the opposite. She was a fresh rose and he was the person coming haplessly along with a pair of gardening shears. She was radiant, she was carved fresh from marble, he was down bad.

Women had never been a priority or a problem for Alastor. Living and dead, they flocked to him. He knew his reputation was to blame, not to mention his looks. They could be fun for a while. Alastor saw charming them as a game, a good way to pass the time. This was different, Y/n was different. Alastor didn't know what to do so, he did nothing. He avoided her like the plague and when he couldn't, he practically ignored her, barley spared her a word.

Alastor was untethered, completely in the dark and so, he did what everyone does when they feel like that: he went to talk to his best friend. When he had gotten back to the hotel after his rather illuminating little chat with Rosie, Charlie had asked him if he had seen Y/n. It felt like divine chance, a cruel joke of fate, that the demon Princess would bring up the very source of his problems so soon after having at last pushed past his pride to ask for help.

When he had revealed the truth to the gang, that no, he had not in fact seen Y/n, they seemed deflated. There had been some sighs, some shrugs, shared glances he didn't understand and then everything had gone back to normal except, it wasn't quite normal.

Where Y/n could normally be found causing trouble, making mischief with the people who had so quickly become her friends since she had started her stay at the hotel out in the open, there was now a distinct lack of her jovial presence. She began taking her plates to her room at meals, showing up to group activities less and less, claiming she was tired or had a stomach ache. Alastor noticed every time he did manage to catch a glimpse of the marvelous and strange creature who had captured his affections so, she seemed utterly exhausted. Y/n was always bundled up, even on the warmest of days.

He wanted to go talk to her, wanted to ask her if she was okay. Alastor was worried -- genuinely worried -- about her. The only thing that stopped him from knocking every time he passed her perpetually closed door, was that he knew himself too well. He knew that the minute he entered, he'd lose his courage, that the words would become mush in his mouth.

It was pure chance, right place wrong time, that he heard it. Alastor had been following his normal routine, heading up to his radio tower for a broadcast after a group activity. Today had been Operation Navigation! As Charlie had dubbed it. She and Vaggie had built an obstacle course and everyone had a partner who was blindfolded and had to be guided through. When they got to the other end, the pairs had switched. Miraculously, Y/n had shown up to this event.

Alastor had watched her carefully, noting her sluggish movements and the way it took her a second to fully register what anyone was saying in a given moment. It was out of the ordinary and his worry only grew. He knew he was going to have to do something about it eventually but just didn't know how. Maybe it would require another visit to Rosie.

As he walked past the lobby bathroom, Alastor was pulled from his thoughts. The door was slightly ajar, sending shards of light out into the darkened hallway.

"Why isn't it working!"

Came the hushed yell of defeat. It was Y/n's voice, he'd know it anywhere. Alastor stopped walking.

"Why do I have to be..."

There was a sniff, the sound of something hitting the wall. Alastor realized it had been Y/n at the sound of fabric against the wallpaper. He could see her in his minds eye as she slid down the wall, pulling her knees into her chest.

"Why can't I just be skinny."

Y/n's words were muffled, soft and shaky.

"Why can't I just be pretty. Why do I have to be... to be..." her words were briefly broken by a sob, "why can't I just be good. I can't even fucking starve myself right. I wish..."

Alastor's body reacted before his mind could catch up, he knocked gently on the door. There was a little yelp of surprise from within, a few sniffs and some rustling fabric.

"Yeah?"

Y/n's voice trembled as she tried to keep the tears at bay.

"May I come in?"

Alastor heard the sharp intake of breath. It was too late to back down now. The silence was thick between them, it felt eternal.

"Okay." Y/n agreed at last, her voice small, and Alastor stepped into the room.

It was exactly how he had imagined it. Y/n was huddled on the floor next to the door, her knees tucked up under her chin and her arms holding her shins tightly. Alastor noticed that the thick, woolen sweater she had been wearing earlier had been tossed to the side, laying haphazardly beside the sink. Y/n sniffed again, trying to smile.

"Everything okay?" she asked and Alastor fixed his eyes back on her.

Y/n's eyes were rimmed with red. Her ears lay limply around her face which was stained with tears. Her skin was covered in goosebumps, she shivered.

"No. It's not."

She seemed a bit taken aback by his answer, not having grasped the reality of the cracked door earlier.

"I don't... what's wrong?"

"You are starving yourself." Alastor replied in a matter-of-fact voice.

Y/n's eyes went wide.

"Fuck... I... fuck!" she buried her face in her knees, "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"Are you trying to die!?" Alastor asked,

He didn't mean to yell, he didn't mean to be this angry. Everything he said seemed to send shockwaves of regret through his body. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Are you... I just... are you stupid?!"

Y/n looked up at him again, her eyes wet with fresh tears.

"I-"

"You what." Alastor scoffed, "You want to be pretty?"

"I..."

"You want to be pretty so you lock yourself away? You make your friends watch as you... as you what, as you get thin? As you destroy yourself?"

She was crying now, truly crying. Alastor looked away, a hand to his head. He took a deep breath, everything was going wrong. When he looked at her again, her cheeks were flushed from a mixture of shame and hurt.

"I just..." he took another deep breath, sinking to his knees before her, "Why would you hurt yourself so badly for something as.. as shallow as your looks?"

Y/n sniffled, frantically trying to wipe away her tears.

"What, I thought you liked to watch other people's downfalls." she tried to shoot back at him but her words came out stuttering and broken through the thickly falling tears.

Y/n refused to meet Alastor's gaze. Everything was going wrong. She was horribly embarrassed, she felt like a butterfly and Alastor was the terror who had opened her chrysalis too soon. He wasn't supposed to see her like this, he wasn't supposed to see her now. He was only supposed to get the after. It was all for him, after all, wasn't it?

Except, Y/n knew the truth of the matter. Alastor had been the trigger but, these behaviors were too well engrained. She might not have known it then, but she'd been looking for an excuse all along. It was all for her, every inch of agony.

His heart dropped at her words. Was that what Y/n truly thought of him? It would make sense, it was the face he presented to the world after all. He had just thought... he had hoped... Rosie had said....

Rosie. That was the answer. She had told him to be honest, to be vulnerable no matter how terrifying such a prospect could be. She had said it was the only way they ever had the slightest chance.

Alastor reached a hand out gently, turning Y/n to look at him. Her skin was soft to the touch, the beating of her blood thrumming against his fingertips. With the utmost care he could muster in his clawed and rotten hands, Alastor wiped her tears away. He couldn't meet Y/n's eyes but heard her sniffle, watched as the flow of sorrow slowed.

"Not your downfall." he said, his words like quiet feathers falling through the air, "Never your downfall."

At last he met her trembling gaze, fear coursing hotly through him, mingling with his blood. She took a few short, stuttering breaths before bursting into tears once again. Alastor flinched slightly as her head fell forward onto his shoulder.

"But I'm not that woman!"

"Woman... what woman?"

"The one you were with at the cafe!"

"The one... Rosie?"

Y/n nodded, sniffiling slightly as she tried to calm herself down.

"You saw me with Rosie? How?"

"I went... I'd been working up all this courage and... I just wanted to talk to you and Charlie and Pen said you'd be there and... and... and I'm not Rosie!"

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. He had been right all along, Rosie was the answer. With the air of someone who hadn't had much physical affection given to them in their life, or received any for that matter, Alastor slowly wrapped his hands around Y/n's shaking back.

"Good."

"What do you mean 'good'? She's so beautiful and she made you laugh and she's just... she's so beautiful and thin!"

"She is beautiful, and a lovely woman but, I don't want Rosie. Or anyone else for that matter."

Y/n's sobs redoubled, she began to struggle against his grip.

"Let me go! Stop lying, Alastor."

Alastor released Y/n from his grasp and she pushed herself back against the wall, utterly mortified and unable to stop. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking away.

"Stop joking, it's... it's not funny."

"Who is joking? I..." Alastor took a deep breath.

Rosie had been right, it was terrifying. He hope she was right on the second part too, that it would be worth it.

"Y/n, have you seen yourself?"

"Yes! Why the fuck do you think I want to be anything else?!"

Alastor got to his feet, holding a hand out to Y/n.

"Come with me."

"No." she mumbled, scooting further away from him if it was possible.

Under another circumstance, he would have chuckled lightly, he would have found her reaction adorable. This was neither the time nor the place and so, summoning his shadows, he transported them both into the darkness of his room.

Y/n looked around, pulling herself to her feet.

"Where... where are we?"

"My room." Alastor sat down on the edge of his bed, "Come here."

Hesitantly, Y/n took a few steps forwards. Once she was in reach, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his lap. The feeling sent sparks through his body, Alastor tried his best to ignore it. There were more important things than the pleasure of the moment. Y/n struggled against his grasp, the tips of her ears dragging slightly across his arms.

"Alastor! Let me go! I'm too heavy!"

"No, you're quite perfect actually."

"I don't want to be touched! I don't want you to... you're making me want to tear my skin off, please."

"No." his voice was firm.

"Please, just please let go of my waist at least."

To this, he relented, one of his arms falling loosely onto her lap as he held the other up, snapping his fingers. Shadow's flooded into the room, bringing with them a full length mirror. He felt Y/n tense in his grasp.

They came to a stop, setting the mirror on the ground before them. Y/n turned her head away, her eyes shut tight.

"Please stop, Alastor. This really isn't funny."

"Y/n."

"No."

"Y/n."

"No!"

Y/n, please."

She had never heard him say the word before. Slowly, she opened her eyes, craning her neck to look up at Alastor.

"I want you to see what I see when I look at you."

"You promise you wont be mean?" Y/n asked suspiciously after a moment.

"I pinky promise."

He had seen her do this before, with other residents of the hotel. A simple locking of pinky's was all it ever took to make a promise, to assuage her doubts, to show she cared. Y/n's eyes widened slightly. Slowly, she reached her hand out, locking her pinky with his. They shook their hands once, the way Alastor had seen her do it a thousand times before.

"Wait." Y/n said as he made to move his hand away, looking away bashfully, her cheeks a bright pink and her voice quiet, "Don't let go."

"Okay."

Taking a deep breath, she turned to the mirror. It was terrible, she felt bile rise in her throat.

"Y/n, you are so... every inch of you is perfect." Alastor took a deep breath, the way his voice trembled not escaping Y/n's notice, "You have... amazing legs. I know everyone's all obsessed with Angel's but, he has nothing on you walking around on those sticks. You're... you're all soft curves and lace. If you were made of anything, you would be satin. You are a nymph rising from the lakes, a wild maenad in the woods. Your eyes shine like true stars, not what we have here. Did you know rabbits were always my favorite animal?"

Y/n giggled slightly, her tearstained cheeks flushed pink.

"Well they were. They still are. Your ears are just to die for, dearest."

He felt her ears twitch slightly against his back at the comment and Y/n watched through the mirror as his smile softened at it's harsh edges.

"Your grace is what the Greeks wrote about. You... Y/n, the first time I set eyes on you, I felt like I was drowning." Alastor looked away, unable to meet her eyes even through the glass, "Like you were a siren and I was nothing more than a hapless sailor at your mercy."

"But you never talk to me."

"You never talk to me!"

Y/n laughed again, smiling a gummy smile.

"I don't have to talk to you to see who you are, Y/n." Alastor continued, his hand that was in her lap turning so his palm rested gently on her thigh, "You light up any room you're in. You are charming and clever and constantly on the look out for places you can instill your special breed of controlled chaos."

Trembling, he shifted his hand in Y/n's so he held hers, raising it to his mouth. The heat of his breath on her skin drove Y/n wild, her breath hitched.

"I am glad you're not Rosie, I don't want Rosie. I don't want anyone else except for you."

Alastor planted a soft kiss on the back of her hand and Y/n's smile only grew, her tears long forgotten now as she watched Alastor's reflection.

"You are perfect. Please, don't change yourself, don't hurt yourself, trying to be something else. I'd miss you."

Slowly, he let their still clasped hands fall into Y/n's lap.

"Do you see now?"

Y/n turned back to the mirror, her head tilted slightly to one side as she hummed in consideration.

"No." she admitted, "But I think I might be able to start."

"One step at a time." Alastor rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand in comforting circles, "I'll be with you the whole way, if you'll have me."

He held his breath, waiting for her reply. Y/n met his eyes through the mirror, her brow furrowed.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Who is Rosie?"

Alastor could have laughed, he nearly did.

"She is a very old and dear friend. I was going to her for advice, that day."

"You? Needing advice?" Y/n paused before shaking her head, "Nah, I don't see it."

She laughed lightly at her own joke and Alastor smiled softly back at her.

"It was advice about you, actually."

Y/n turned herself in his lap, looking up at him with her legs on either side of his own.

"About me?"

"Y-yes."

He cursed himself internally. Alastor hadn't meant to stutter, she just looked too lovely sitting there and looking up at him with her pretty pink lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed.

"Well?" she asked expectantly.

"I..." Alastor felt the heat rising in his own cheeks and looked away, "well, I didn't know how to approach you."

"Wait, you were avoiding me this whole time?" Y/n laughed and Alastor nodded, "I thought I was avoiding you!"

"Wait, you were avoiding me?"

His gaze snapped back to hers and she laughed again.

"Yes! I was terrified to speak to you! You're so cool and hot and just... I'm not good at things like this!"

"You think I'm hot?"

"Is that all you got out of what I said?"

"Maybe."

They both laughed this time. Alastor's chest felt lighter than it hand in years.

"So," he began once they had both calmed down, "is that a yes?"

"To what?"

"To letting me... be... with you."

Y/n smiled, reaching a hand up to his cheek.

"That's a 'will you be with me?' I think actually."

----

Tags:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0@kahlan170

A/N Y'all, there were one or two times I almost wrote my name while doing this one. I've been writing x reader fics for eight years, this never happens to me anymore. I think I related a little too hard. I am x reader fic writing too close to the sun.

[theyanderespecialist]

Muzan's Experiment (Headcanons) Yandere Muzan Kibutsuji X Pregnant Reader (Demon Slayer)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am back with a new chapter! This one has Muzan being Yandere For His Pregnant Darling Who he had impregnanted! I hope you enjoy this chapter!] 

(Disclaimer: Muzan Kibutsuji is Not Yandere in canon! This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine! Just do not be illegal or gross about it! You know who you are! You Dirty, Flaky, Biscuits! Yandere are not ideal partners to have in real life! Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanons from canon! Thank you!)  -Yandere Headcanons With Yandere Muzan Kibutsuji X Pregnant Reader- 

.Muzan did plan when he would try and reproduce. 

.First, he would need a human that he deemed fit to carry his offspring. 

.That so happened to be you, he was attached to you and though he thought as a human you were less than him he did value you above other humans. 

.Also he saw you as his And HIS alone, so of course you were the perfect woman to carry his children. 

.He did not plan on having kids because he wanted them. No, they were more an experiment another way for him to conquer the sun. 

.And maybe to give him an heir to his demon kingdom. 

.He has big plans for his demons and would need someone to continue his plans if something did happen to him. 

.If you had a defective uterus or had your uterus removed before meeting him. 

.Well he would be working hard at fixing your uterus and or regrowing it back. 

.He could easily have just chosen a woman with a fertility uterus and healthy body, but no YOU are the one he wants to carry his children! 

.So it HAS To be you who he impregnates. 

.He does care for you, but it did not matter to him if you wanted children or not. 

.If you would not consent to lovemaking he would most likely get you drunk and or drug you. 

.Not with a date rape drug but more so something like an aphrodisiac where you would beg him to help you take the edge off. 

.In his sick twisted mind that was you consenting and remember this is Muzan he is a bad person. 

.He would do this over and over, even tracking when you are most fertile, and would eventually get you pregnant. 

.Once you are with a child, you can bet you will not leave the infinity castle, except for doctor visits. 

.That is if he did not kidnap Tamayo and force her to be your doctor. 

.He would make sure you got top-notch care and would make sure that you were well taken care of. 

.That your diet is perfect and all your cravings are met. 

.Surprisingly he does not lay a hand on you but he does lock you in your bedroom when you do misbehave. 

.He has severe anger issues but he does his best to never take them out on you. 

.He may yell at you though, especially if you have done something to put yourself at risk. 

.He has locked you away in the infinity castle for your own good, he would tell you. 

.This way no demon slayers can get to you or his children. 

.That you are his and you will be his queen. 

.He would even have a marriage ceremony made to make you his queen, all his upper moons would witness this act of marriage. 

.You would be treated like a queen and every demon would know that you belonged to Lord Muzan. 

.They would know you are to stay in Muzan's grasp but they are never to lay a hand on you and to look at you as little as possible. 

.As Muzan is a very jealous man and does not like anyone looking at the beauty you have. 

.He becomes even more possessive as the pregnancy goes on, saying that your beauty and glow are so strong as you carry his children. 

.You would be having twins, a boy and a girl. 

.Muzan would also become extremely overprotective and even more controlling than he already was. 

.You are to not leave his side and you are not to try and carry anything yourself. 

.He becomes a bit of a smothering and dotting yandere the more the pregnancy wears on, which is not only shocking to you but to all his demons as well. 

.He would also become more violent with his demons. 

.If they so as much mention your name they have their heads blown off. 

.You are his Wife, his Queen, and are THE MOTHER TO HIS CHILDREN! You deserve the respect he demands you have. 

.Anyone who dares insult you or tries to come on you, will face a fate worse than death. 

-Okay, not time for A Scenario of how you figured out you were pregnant- 

(No One's POV) (You Are Late) 

You feel dread fill you, you were one week late for your period. You have been a prisoner of Muzan's for a year now. And for the last six months, he has been trying to get you pregnant. You learned to enjoy the act of trying to make a baby. He would make sure you felt good during each love-making session. Even focusing sometimes on your pleasure and not even putting himself inside you. Those were the times you were not ovulating though. He could smell when you were ovulating and you knew for the whole time you were he would be inside you, doing his best to put a baby inside you.  So when your period for this month did not show up you felt like your world was ending. This could not be, you could not be pregnant with the original demon, the demon king himself! You were in denial and wanted to just crawl in a hole and die.  What was worse for the last week you have been having what you now know must be morning sickness. It was clear as day that you must be pregnant and that Muzan was the father. You knew he would be able to smell you were not on your period as he tacked your cycle like a goddamn hawk. You hear the door to the bedroom open and Muzan stepped in with A demon who had not seen before.  "(Name)." He says. "This is Lady Tamayo, she will be confirming if you are pregnant or not."  you nods your head and soon two other demons come in to help Tamayo. Muzan stands there watching her like a hawk.  "I am sorry." You say to her, knowing she must have been forced to do this.  "You do not have to be sorry." She says softly. "I do not blame you or any child or children that is inside you. When Muzan told me that you were pregnant, I-I cannot blame the innocent child inside of you."  "Enough chatting." Muzan snaps at her and you give her an apologetic look.  She took a blood sample and the demon would be sent off to test it. She then began to tell you and Muzan what would be expected in the first trimester and that there was a risk of miscarriage. Especially since the child or children would most likely have demonic traits. You were scared, would your children try and eat you while inside your womb... You were so scared.  Tamayo comforted you as best as she could and soon she was dismissed. Muzan walked over and smirked at you.  "My demons just told me~ You are pregnant (Name)." He tells you. "You will never leave me now, (Name)~"  You nodded and he kissed you, there was no chance of escape. Not when you were pregnant with his offspring, you are trapped. 

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, Another chapter is done! I hope that you all enjoyed this! and Stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!] 

[viivenn]

making an important announcement about some things i’ve noticed in the gwendoline christie fandom that really bug me.

disclaimer: read this at your own convenience and discretion. i am not responsible for any sort of hurt feelings and frankly… i don’t care. if you’re mad about this, you are probably the problem. /lh

to start with id like to begin on a positive note so that i’m not diving into negativity, i don’t want to be completely negative about my experiences because i’ve actually met some of the kindest people in the world through this fan base.

the gwen fandom, the gwandom, the gwendoline christie fandom , the lesbian cesspool, has been an incredible experience that i’m grateful i’ve had the pleasure of being apart of.

i went through a rough patch during november, and if i hadn’t found out about gwen, or met such wonderful people during my time here , i honestly wouldn’t be here right now. i owe my life to these people, gwen included. i will forever adore miss christie and what she stands for alongside the friends i’ve made along the way.

and while i know someday this hyperfix will end, it’s really disheartening to me when a fandom is what makes me grow distant from things i enjoy. it happened before, i feel as though it is happening all over again.

and no, i’m not taking issue with anything like the catrissa stuff or the brienne and larissa ship going around or anything like that. i like that we can all be weird together and enjoy aus like catrissa and crackships like bririssa (not sure the official name that was decided lol). my issue is the amount of content i’ve seen that either focuses on gwen herself, or the strange relationship with minors, or the odd artwork of gwen, and the absolute disgusting behaviour towards giles.

gwen would be absolutely appalled seeing fanfictions of herself that involve nsfw or just her in general, anyone would, it’s disgusting to make works of real people in that setting. it’s like you’re treating them as an original character you can mould and manipulate as you see fit and using someone who is real with thought and feeling and consciousness for smut fics is not okay, or any fic in general. i totally get the hype around her characters, i literally have “brienne’s princess” in my bio and i’ve had “jane murdstone’s bloodbag” (in reference to my vamp au) as a name in a discord server.

but i think the fandom has begun to blur the lines between fictional characters and reality settings when it comes to gwen and the personalities she portrays on the television screen. it’s not fair to her. it’s disgusting. i’ve seen a minor do it, i’ve seen a grown adult do it. it’s something i don’t see shamed and frowned upon often enough and it’s really not okay.

on that note i’d like to quickly mention the photos, we alllll know what photos i’m talking about. the bunny one, the nudes, the ones gwen has expressed regret towards and wishes to not have them spread. was there not a “fan” who brought her a book of her nudes and wanted her to sign it? that person who was blocked on instagram by gwen because they reposted her nudes on their story and tagged her???? how can you refer to yourself as a fan after behaving so abhorrently? absolutely disgusting behaviour. as a collective fandom we need to stop touching those photos (metaphorically speaking) and leave them in the past.

i’ve been told of numerous circumstances in which adults have shown their nsfw works to minors in this fandom and it has to fucking stop. it’s disgusting!! how can you do that knowingly? i constantly ponder terminating my account after a minor got ahold of my nsfw work, and upon realising they WERE a minor it was as simple as blocking and moving on. it’s truly not that hard, folks. and the minors on tiktok who fight with others saying silly things like “that’s my wife” or worse. i’ve seen it all, i feel like, and the more i see it the more sick i become. i cannot stand it.

i have seen and heard of fans who have fat shamed gwen for that one pink dress she wore to the met gala. she looked so happy in that dress, and the audacity one must have to fatshame that poor woman on twitter then turn around and continue to proclaim your ‘love for her’ as if you’d done no wrong? are you fucking serious? are you mental?

and the sexualisation over the porcelain doll look, gods some of you are sick. those were not real breasts, people. considering the fact she wholeheartedly regrets her nude photoshoots , what possesses you to believe she would actually flaunt her chest in that outfit?

the blatant mistreatment of poor giles is not fucking okay either. just because you’re jealous of someone who makes her immensely happy does not give you the right to post something so vile and cruel about him. shame on you. why do you believe this is okay to post:

????????

are you serious? have any of you stopped to consider how HAPPY giles makes her? or is her happiness the last thing you ponder when you look at her? have you even noticed how unhappy she looks lately? have you truly paused to consider how she would feel about seeing this on your page, random twitter user, or the rest of you who think this is okay? bless your hearts.

and some of the absolutely horrific things i’ve seen about her online and the hurtful behaviour towards giles makes me question the difference between a fan and just the general paparazzi. because if you truly loved her and you truly loved giles then i would not be ranting into the fucking void about it for no reason.

i avoid interacting with pages i find problematic on here to keep from stirring the pot but tonight i chose violence and got reeeeeal pissy about how i felt about this place. it’s not okay what i see on here and it’s getting exhausting seeing the same cycle of content on a daily.

that’s everything i have to say, i think. i probably missed a lot that should be discussed in the comments but i’m done for now because i know if i go on i’ll probably cry.

before you post things about real people with real feelings , stop to consider how they will feel those real feelings towards the content you put out. chances are you’ll become less problematic and obnoxious that way. 💘

[idksmtms]

willow (Cillian Murphy x Actress!reader) - evermore series

evermore series

A/N: I had an idea up on my masterlist about falling in love with Cillian while filming a movie so I just decided to merge it with this. Also I saw the picture of him and Emily Blunt walking in costume on the set of Oppenheimer and I thunk thoughts. (sidenote: I cannot write a summary to save my life) 

Extra info: I never say the title of the movie you guys are filming in the fic because I didn’t really want to get too detailed about it, but then I thought of the plot of The Delinquent Season the entire time lmao (I just changed random things because I’m a sucker for an age gap). Also, we’re pretending Oppenheimer hasn’t happened yet because it works for the story. 

Edit: I feel like the ending sucks but I’m too tired to change it. Sorry. 

Summary: When you met Cillian Murphy on set, you were already a fan. When you left, you were so much more…

Word count: 9,772  (oh my gosh I went so overboard with this…) 

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, age gap, PinV sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, toxic!Cillian, like 0 communication between characters, secret relationship, not proofread but they never are (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is written purely for fictional purposes and for the sake of writing. No disrespect is intended to the real people portrayed/concerned in this scenario. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

You met Cillian Murphy for the first time five hours before you kissed him. Despite being cast in the lead female role, you were a rather late addition to the movie. Issues had come up with the actress initially cast and you had gotten a phone call about two months before shooting started to get yourself to the studio to sign contracts and start costume fittings. This was an amazing opportunity, and regardless of the rush, you were excited to have it. You had been in movies before, of course, but this was your first lead role and if you did a good enough job, it could skyrocket your career trajectory. Aside from all the good things it could do for your career, you were simply excited to get to work, and to get to work with such a good cast and filmmaker. 

On top of all of that, you would be working closely alongside the Cillian Murphy. When you were told that he was to be your costar, you had been in shellshock for a moment before pressing an obnoxious kiss to your agent’s cheek. Cillian Murphy was one of those actors that only came around once in a lifetime. He was only in tasteful, and well done projects, playing a variety of the most interesting characters you had ever watched. You had seen Peaky Blinders, Inception, Dunkirk, and though you had no interest in superhero movies, you sat down and watched all three Batman movies just to watch him play a villain. In the few interviews you had done up to now, you had mentioned once or twice that you believed him to be the best actor of your lifetime, someone who was left unrecognised at awards shows but deserved all of them and more (as you walked onto set for the first time, you really hoped he hadn’t seen any of those interviews). So, to say you were a fan before the movie might have been an understatement, but you had worked with other people who you were fans of before, and Tom Glynn-Carney only had nice things to say about you afterward; you could be professional and a fan. 

You had been put up in a hotel the night before you were to be driven to the studio lot, your new home for however long you were going to be filming there, and in the morning a polite chauffeur arrived in a blacked out car to take you there. You felt a little giddy during the drive, as you always did before starting a new project. You hadn’t learnt the rhythms of the set yet, the director’s process, whether it would be a rush of technical work or a more relaxed set. You hadn’t worked with most of the other actors, you didn’t know how they approached the job, whether they were welcoming and friendly or preferred to focus on the job then return to solitude. It was all the unknowns that made your stomach feel swoopy, but you had come to like the feeling, viewed it as a challenge, the beginnings of an investigation to learn about your job and home for the rest of the duration of the project. 

You were deposited into the custody of one of the many assistants running around, and hurriedly walked to your trailer with a warning that you would only have five minutes to put your things down, change into your costume, possibly have a sip of water, before you would be taken to hair and makeup and given your costume. You smiled brightly at her, nodding and affirming her over and over that you understood. Your first actual job on a movie set had been as an assistant, you knew her job was hard enough without an actor giving her attitude, so you simply followed her. 

The area you walked through was like the other studio lots you had been to before, large buildings that looked like warehouses on the outside but probably held the coolest sets or the most intricate technology on the inside. People drove around in golf carts, some assistants sprinted while yelling down the phone, others hurriedly rolled clothing racks between buildings. You could see someone giving an interview in the distance but they were too far away for you to tell who it was. 

The trailer you were led to was in a wide space filled with other trailers, what you imagined the setup area for a circus looked like. It was bland and white on the outside, your name in big letters surrounded by the shape of a star (some intern clearly had fun with Canva) on the door, and you felt that bubble of excitement all over again. You let the assistant open the door for you, thanking her and shooting her a smile as if inviting her to join in on the excitement you felt before stepping in. It was exactly as you had expected it to be, and that made you happier than anything else. There was a small kitchenette area with cupboards and a minifridge. A counter separated it from a little seating area, couch seats against either wall, before a tiny hallway (which could barely be called a hallway) that had the door to the bathroom on one side and led into a little bedroom (which was just a bed with a little space on the side to walk and nothing else). Your clothes were hung up on a little hook on the bathroom door. 

You deposited your tote bag on the counter and went to the minifridge, pulling out a bottle of water and taking a big gulp. Ice cold and delicious. You scrunched yourself up and did a happy little jump and squeal because you were living the dream, and nothing could be better than that. You messaged your parents and friends that you had arrived, sent pictures and a little video of the trailer, before picking up your costume and getting into the little bedroom to change. 

It was a simple pair of mom jeans, well fitted and slightly higher than your ankle, accompanied with a plain white blouse that had blue detailing around the neck and off the shoulder sleeves that ended just after your elbow, something you could imagine a mum wearing on vacation in Greece. It was comfortable, and you made a little note to ask the costume designer where she got the pieces because it may or may not have been the best pair of jeans you had ever worn. 

You were able to take another big gulp of water before a knock and a voice at the door was telling you to get to hair and makeup. The trailer for hair and makeup was closer to the actual block of buildings you would be filming in, and a little golf cart was ready to take you there. You let out a little laugh as you settled yourself inside, chatting with the driver as he manoeuvred around people and other obstacles to get you there. 

It was quieter in this corner of the studio, more people walking than running, less things being shifted around in a hurry, and you felt a sense of calm in the air (or at least whatever semblance of calm one could get on a movie set). The driver stopped right in front of the doors and you thanked him, laughing at the parting joke he told you about a dog getting loose in the lot. You went up the first two steps for the trailer when the door swung open and you had to jump back to avoid being slammed into the wall with it. Someone came walking out with their head down, turning back to smile at someone else who had wished them goodluck from within the trailer. They paused when they finally noticed you, and you opened your mouth to say something but not a word came out. They smiled with a huff of a chuckle, and all you could think was that he was so much more beautiful in person than what any camera could capture. 

“I hope I didn’t whack you with the door,” he winced apologetically and you just took a deep breath in, shaking your head then breathing out quickly and laughing at yourself. 

“No, no, I just managed to avoid it,” you breathed out, giggling because your stomach was suddenly tingling and you couldn’t quite feel your hands (or maybe you could feel them too much). 

“Oh, good,” he nodded, “would not have been a good way to introduce myself. Cillian Murphy,” he held out his hand, smiling and polite, his eyes piercing through your skin. They were so bright, so blue. You blinked then kept staring into them as you brought your hand gently into his, hoping your grip wasn’t too limp nor too firm. 

“Y/n L/n, it is so nice to meet you. I’m sorry, I’m trying really hard to hide how starstruck I am and I think I’m failing,” you admitted, cheeks suddenly burning. You always talked when you were nervous, which meant you always overshared when you were nervous. But he just laughed, a deep chuckle that made his chest shake and drew your attention to it. He was broader than you, and wearing a cosy looking black sweater that you desperately wanted to push your face against and feel rub against your cheek. The sleeves had been pushed up to his elbows and you could see the round collar of a white t-shirt poking out at the neck. 

“Don’t worry, you were doing a good job so far, until you admitted it anyway,” he did that little huff-laugh again and you pressed a hand to your face, scrunching your eyes shut in shame at the bombardment of thoughts running through your head that made you feel brainless at the same time. 

“Alright, well then,” you laughed, shaking your head and stepping to the side so he could finally walk past you (which you thought he had wanted to do the entire time but was too polite to point out). “I’m sorry for keeping you trapped here, I’ll let you go wherever you need to go Mr. Murphy.” 

“Please, it’s Cillian,” he frowned in that way that said ‘don’t bother with such formality’, and waved the hand in the air that was carrying his script as if to bat the title away. 

“Right, sorry, Cillian,” and you smiled brightly because he was looking at you with those beautiful, beautiful, eyes, and watched him walk down the steps, wave back at you, run a hand through his hair that had been styled messily, and head for the door of the first building. 

When he had disappeared through the door, you slammed the heel of your hand against your forehead until it stung a little and made it feel like your brain had moved around in your head, grumbling “Mr. Murphy? Seriously? You’re an adult too, ya know? You can call people by their first names now, for fuck’s sake.” 

Cillian chewed on his lip as he sat in the foldable chair on set, waiting for everything else to be set up, his co-star to arrive, and the director to start dictating everything. He enjoyed these few minutes before filming, they helped him focus in on the set, get into the mind of his character, evaluate the situation and what would be needed from him. But he had a little extra time today, and he didn’t mind either because his mind was a little distracted. 

He didn’t think he had ever been called ‘Mr. Murphy’ by a co-star, and it made him laugh because it felt a little ridiculous, but it also made him wonder if you were just young or overly respectful. A quick google search told him you were younger, much younger, but didn’t necessarily answer the question. 

Regardless, he liked you, thus far anyway. He liked the way you looked, your hair was pretty and you had kind eyes, and you smelled nice, a soft flowery perfume. And he liked your voice too, a little loud sometimes, a little too quiet others, but it was nice. He hadn’t seen any of your movies, but he was feeling positive about you. Perhaps too positive, but he shut down that thought process with a snap. 

The makeup artist was best friends with the hairdresser and they were both some of the sweetest people you had ever met. They chatted with you the entire time, laughed at your story of embarrassing yourself in front of Cillian, comforted you that he was a nice, easygoing man who wouldn’t hold it against you, and offered you the little snacks they had lying around. Your hair was put into a simple braid, slicked down with pommade to control the flyaways you were plagued with, and the makeup was so natural you would question if you were wearing any if you hadn’t been there while she was rubbing and brushing the products onto your face. 

The costume designer had left some jewellery for you with them, and they helped you clasp the necklace and earrings while you rummaged in your bag for your script. The director had come in while your hair was being done and told you about some of the last-minute changes to the script and the scenes that were being filmed. The ‘first kiss’ scene was going to be filmed at the end of the day instead of in two weeks time because of scheduling complications and the intimacy coordinator would work with you and Cillian during the break at midday while they filmed some of the scenes that didn’t have either of you in them. You had simply nodded, you couldn’t have argued anyway, you didn’t have any authority here even if you had a lead role, and just told him you’d look over your script and mark it out. He had patted you on the shoulder with a smile and hurried back out and you had resisted the urge to press your face into your hands lest you ruin the makeup. 

Of course you were a little annoyed, you had been told to prepare for certain scenes and those were the scenes you had prepared for, but as you took deep breaths and rifled through the many pieces of advice your therapist had given you, you knew this wasn’t a problem to waste your feelings on. They would be lenient because of the last minute change, and if they weren’t originally then they would have to be because you weren’t a magician. A few deep breaths and reading your lines for the first scene you would be filming calmed you down and returned you to the necessary headspace for filming. 

You thanked both the makeup artist and hairdresser, then put in your headphones as you slowly walked toward the set. You needed to be in a sombre mood, needed to feel that apathy and sadness clawing at the edges of your mind. Your character was struggling, her life was falling apart and she felt like she had no solution, only minor escapes during her trysts with Jim, Cillian’s character. You tucked the script under your arm as you got to the set, taking out your earbuds and looking around for the director. You met eyes with Eva Birthistle who smiled widely and waved at you, excusing herself from the assistant director and walking over to you. 

“Hello, hello!” She hugged you tightly and you returned the greeting against her shoulder. 

Eva was the only member of the cast you had gotten to meet before filming began. One of your fittings had been at the same time as hers and you both had gotten to chatting about the movie. She was an absolute sweetheart, someone you could see as a mentor for yourself, and you were glad to see a familiar face on the set other than the director, a bonus that it was one as welcoming as hers. She wrapped her arm over your shoulder and led you over to the cluster of chairs behind the camera where Cillian was already seated, chatting with Andrew Scott. They both looked up and smiled at the two of you as you came and sat down on the remaining two chairs, Eva already engaging them in conversation. 

Looking at all of them sitting there, it hit you for the first time that you were the youngest person here, in both age and experience. These were all people who had done multiple movies in a variety of roles, had been acting by the time you were born, and had made names for themselves. A wave of shyness hit you that you scolded yourself for, your cheeks burning as you sat down and shook hands with Andrew. Thankfully, the wave didn’t last, because Eva and Andrew were chatty, and both ready to include you in the conversation. 

You were glad for this little moment, though it took you out of the headspace of the character you were trying to settle into. These were all people you would be acting closely with, yelling at or kissing on camera for the next few months, and the more comfortable you could get with them the better. 

Andrew was sweet, asking you questions about past jobs, the interview process, how you felt about your character, an endless supply of questions, jokes, and responses that made him an instant friend. Eva chimed in with her own stories and jokes, piling on top of his and making you laugh until your stomach hurt. Cillian was quieter, only speaking when directly spoken to or simply laughing along with the jokes, but his simple presence was enough for you to feel warm in your bones and excited at the prospect of acting with him. He was so nonchalant, so calm and focused but not deterrent or rude. While you seemed to learn a multitude about both Eva and Andrew, you learnt little about Cillian other than that he preferred living in Ireland to anywhere else. 

You thought maybe it was better that you didn’t get to know him too much. It would make the intimate scenes feel less personal, less intense. He genuinely was one of the most beautiful people you had ever seen and it was too easy for an actor to fall prey to the emotions of a scene in real life. You didn’t want to suddenly be sitting there after a sex scene wondering how similar it was to the real deal with him. You were here to do your job and nothing more. 

The conversation had quieted down as different checks were done on set and it was almost time for you all to convene with the director to get filming started. Cillian was reading quietly from his script, a pair of rectangular glasses with rounded edges and dark rims sat on his nose as he rubbed his index finger back and forth across his bottom lip. You watched him for a moment, the soft movement of his lips as he silently formed the words. Then the director was calling you all up and you felt like you were being snapped out of a trance you hadn’t known you had entered in the first place. 

“Alright, you guys have had a small dinner get-together at Jim and Danielle’s house. This is a sort of regular thing, every couple of weeks, maybe once a month, you have this dinner get-together. You’re all sitting at the dining table across from each other, picking at the final pieces of your meals. Jim and Danielle’s children are asleep upstairs and you guys are simply drinking wine and talking.” He walked you all over to the dining table and pointed out the seats, sitting you down first next to Eva before scrapping the idea and having you sit across from her and beside Andrew. Once you had all been assigned your seats, he turned to Eva and Cillian. 

“You two have been married for a long time, you have two children, you’re in a place in your lives where you believe you’re simply secure in your relationship, but if anyone pokes into this it’s fragile, and you’re not sure if you’re secure and still in love, or you’re just going through the motions of a life you have lived for a long time and don’t actually enjoy. You don’t question anything anymore, just go to work, come home, kiss each other, cook dinner, have a little chat before bed, and do it all over again, day by day.” Then he turned to you and Andrew. He looked at you for a moment before reaching out, pausing just before touching you and silently asking if it was alright. You nodded happily, and he gently pulled your braid to rest over one of your shoulders, moved the pendant on your necklace so it rested a little more to the left, and pulled one of your sleeves a little further down so just the edge of your bra strap was exposed. 

“You two have also been married for a while, but things are a little different. You married Chris right after graduating uni, most of your adult life has been married life. Chris is older, was already pushing forty when you guys got married. All of your friends are his age, mostly couple friends, and you’ve always felt pushed into this older, more mature role, that you don’t necessarily feel successful in. You lean on him quite a bit during these situations, deferring to him to answer difficult questions or when talking about your family life. Chris takes this in stride, it’s how it has always been in your relationship, even after years of marriage and a child. Chris is struggling silently recently, he’s easier to anger, feels a little distant, but honestly? You don’t even realise. You don’t know what he’s hiding, you don’t even know that he’s hiding anything. Andrew, the weight of the disease, hiding it from his family, all those private struggles, are always in the back of Chris’s mind, ok?” Both of you nodded and as you went to sit down at the table, he beckoned you and Cillian over to the side saying, “just a moment.” 

Cillian stood next to you with his arms crossed, the black sweater still pushed up to his elbows, and the edge just brushed against the skin of your arm. You shivered and stretched out your neck for a moment, a nervous tick, before returning your eyes to the director speaking in a low voice. 

“Alright, you two are sitting diagonally to each other at the table. You guys take the term ‘friends’ loosely. You’re friends because she’s friends with Danielle and you’re Danielle’s husband. You’re friends because you’re both couples who are friends, but you’ve never spoken to each other without your spouses in the room. Ok? But there is a little bit of intrigue, I guess. You glance at each other, not for long, just barely a look, or you meet eyes while one of you is talking to the group. I don’t want chemistry, I want the possibility of chemistry. Jim is laidback, especially compared to her husband. She’s pretty and young, especially compared to the other people at the table. I don’t want to notice anything between you yet, I want to come back and watch the movie one day in the future and suddenly notice that there’s something there, but too subtle to hint at the future affair. Ok?” You nodded as he spoke, feeling yourself settle into that focus you usually found just before filming, no more smile and twinkle in your eye. “Alright, break a leg,” and he was walking back to the cameras. You turned to Cillian for a second and he nodded at you, those eyes that you would never forget looking over your face for a moment before he headed for his seat at the table. You clenched your jaw for a second, staring at his back as he walked away, before shaking your head and holding it up high on your way to the table. 

“Alright, change costumes, change the lighting, we’re moving to the living room scene for the next couple of hours, I need the kids and Eva there, please. Cillian and Y/n, head down to studio three after changing, the intimacy coordinator is already there, you have a couple of hours to get it together before we start filming. Hop to it everyone!” 

You were happy to be moving on. Though you had been in films that took even longer for singular scenes, you were starting to feel stale in that environment and reverting to the exact same routine over and over. An assistant was quick to come up alongside you and direct you back to hair and makeup. 

“Your costume is already there, and once everything’s been changed, someone else will come get you to take you to studio three,” he told you, not once looking at you but rather at the clipboard in his hand filled with typed and handwritten notes. 

“Ok, thank you,” you nodded, watching the assistant nod goodbye before doubling back to find Cillian to relay the same information. You stood still and watched him for a moment, the glasses tucked into the neck of his sweater as he nodded at the assistant. 

The longer hair looked good on him, you thought. It was going a little grey in the places around his ears but you liked it more that way. His cheekbones cast shadows on his face in the dim light, but you could still see the faint freckles over his nose and the very light smattering he had on his neck. You could even see the freckles on his forearms and it made something warm bloom in your stomach. He looked up and directly at you. Those eyes… those eyes you could spend hours talking about, uncaring that you probably repeated yourself multiple times simply because of how beautiful they were. You smiled, something that could just barely be considered a smile with only the corners of your lips twitching up for barely a moment and your eyes fluttering, before turning away and walking out of the studio. 

You ended up changing in the corner of the hair and makeup trailer, both the women standing with their backs turned to you as they organised pins and palettes and chatted away. Your next costume was a set of oversized mauve-coloured pyjamas that felt a little too thin for your liking. You were a little relieved that it was only the first kissing scene being filmed. You had read the entire script twice over, and you knew about the other scenes to come that required a lot more of you. You had only ever filmed one ‘intimate’ scene before, and even that had only been a rather simple kissing scene. While this scene was definitely more than that, it didn’t feel as big of a leap on the first day simply because it cut off after the kiss. 

Your hair was let down from its braid, mussed up with the hairdresser’s hands and sprayed with hairspray. All your makeup was wiped off before they went to work again. Dabs of eyeshadow in strategic places made your eyes look slightly puffy, like you just woke up from a haggard sleep. Purple under eyes appeared out of nowhere and the faintest bruise was brought to life on your right cheekbone. Little dabs of red on your lips made them look bitten and your nails were chopped roughly to look like you had been chewing on them on and off. Again, you thanked the women and in a simple pair of slippers made your way outside to meet with the assistant responsible for guiding you to studio three. 

It looked like a school drama studio on the inside, with blackout curtains hung all the way around, a black linoleum floor and big wood blocks wrapped in fuzzy material pushed to the edges of the room. You would have taken your shoes and socks off outside the room out of habit if you had known what it looked like on the inside. You smiled to yourself at the thought, before quickly shuffling over to where Cillian stood talking to two women who looked like the opposites of each other. One was dressed in plain white pants, a white blouse tucked neatly into said pants, and a cream coloured cardigan. The other wore a poncho-style dress that fluttered as she moved her arms and was covered in dizzying bohemian patterns. Ten necklaces were draped over her chest, anything from chains to rope, and she had a bandana neatly wrapped to keep her hair out of her face. 

“Hi! I hope I’m not late!” You called, stopping just beside Cillian and smiling at the two women who looked old enough to be your grandmothers (the realisation that you would be making out with someone right in front of them was not a pleasant one). 

“Not at all, we were just talking about boundaries,” Poncho Lady told you warmly, reaching out to shake your hand. The one in the cardigan followed suit, though she was quieter, and you simply smiled brightly at both of them before waiting for instruction.

“Alright, give your scripts here and just stand in front of each other.” Poncho Lady gently pried the script from your hand, took your tote bag from your shoulder, and set them both down on one of the wood blocks Cardigan Lady had pulled over. “Ok, so we’re just here to make sure you don’t feel uncomfortable doing this scene, that no one pushes past any hard boundaries, and to make it seem natural without being unprofessional. Now, before you get to it, is there any place on your body that you would be uncomfortable with your partner touching?” You shook your head and watched Cillian mimic the reaction. 

Awkwardness was cloying at the back of your neck and you desperately wanted to open your mouth and make a stupid comment about how it would just look weird in the movie if he grabbed you between the legs anyway, and it took every ounce of your willpower to keep your mouth shut. “Alright! Let’s get started then! We’ll interrupt when needed.” You turned to fully face Cillian, tilting your head back slowly when you realised how close he was standing. He was still wearing the same jeans and sweater, but the shirt underneath had been changed to a black one, the neck perpetually poking out. 

You dipped your head down again, pressing your hand to your face as you began rambling about how stupid you were and how insane it was for you to be asking him to have an affair with you. Your eyes were squeezed so tight you could see white flashes on the backs of your eyelids. Then, gently, he was interrupting you, voice low as he told you that it was fine, everything was fine, you did nothing wrong, he completely understood, you were tired, emotional after everything. But you kept berating, spitting out words about how he was so good looking and so loyal and you were you, a horrible friend and obviously never a second thought on his mind. And then he was cutting you off, rambling in return about how you’re a beautiful woman, and he can’t lie that he hasn’t thought about you, he’s a man who can appreciate beauty after all. But he could see that you weren’t calming down, could see you slowly folding in on yourself in your panic. Then he was grabbing your hand. Gentle, soft fingers wrapping around your wrist, skin warm and making your own feel tingly. You took a deep breath, your chest visibly shaking, and he brought his other hand to your chin, slowly tilted your head back up to look him in the eye with his fingertips. You blinked, eyes big and wide, and he pressed your hand to his chest, covering it with his own. 

The sweater was so soft under your fingertips, and you desperately wanted it for yourself. His palm was warm on top of yours, warm and firm and unrelenting. You tuned into the sensation of his heart, a wild beating, and your face changed to just hint at concern. 

“Can you feel that?” He asked, voice so low it was almost a whisper. 

“It’s racing,” you breathed out, flexing your fingers against his chest so they caught a bit more of the material of his sweater. 

“Yeah,” he huffed out with a smile, and you moved just a little closer, reaching down to grab his other hand and pressing it to your own chest. His fingertips were a little cold, and your entire body shivered, a small sound leaving your lips. Your fingers were slightly threaded with his, and you pressed his palm to the place where your collar split away and exposed your chest. His hand covered so much of your chest, his pinky and index dipping under the fabric, and was so gentle on its own that you pressed it more firmly against the skin. You wanted his fingerprints imprinted on your skin. He breathed out shakily, almost loudly, and your next breath mimicked it as you closed your eyes. It was so hot in the room.

Both of you stood there feeling each other’s heartbeats for a moment, his head dipped lower so your foreheads almost touched. You were standing so close you could feel each other’s breaths against your lips and the sides of your noses just brushed every so often. He gulped, licking his lips as sweat began to build on the back of his neck and the need to rip the sweater off was soaring in priority in his mind. Your lips just brushed each other, cupid's bows just grazing- 

“Alright, so that’s where you say ‘feel my breast’ and begin guiding his hand under your shirt,” Poncho Lady interjected, looking up from the script in her hands. 

You let go of Cillian’s hand and stepped back quickly. It felt like stepping into an air conditioned room from a hot sunny day outside. Your insides were still warm, and the heat that had been tinging your skin hadn’t completely gone away, but you were more awake, more aware. You licked your lips and gave a small smile that you hoped didn’t betray the sudden embarrassment falling upon you. 

You had been in the scene, you had been lost in it. There had been times before when you were acting and when stopped abruptly felt like you were suddenly reentering your body, like your soul had been extracted for a few moments into a different person and then quickly pulled back and thrust into its original form. But this was a different level. This had been you and not you at the same time. You had been doing those things, had wanted to do those things, but you were also being controlled by something outside yourself, being told to do those things. You quietly excused yourself, saying you had left your water bottle in the hair and makeup trailer and would just quickly run and get it. As you turned back one last time at the door, you watched Cillian run a hand through his hair and smile at Poncho Lady as if nothing had happened since he had walked into the room. 

After the door closed behind you, Cillian happened to glance at your tote bag on the block, and saw your water bottle peaking out. He laughed quietly to himself as he sat down next to it. 

He understood how you were feeling. Intimate scenes were always hard, regardless of how many times an actor has done it. Especially intimate scenes when two people have palpable chemistry. If Poncho Lady hadn’t interrupted, he would have kissed you right then. 

Usually kisses between actors were saved for only when they were filming, but he had been lost in that scene, lost in you. Your eyes, teary and pained and so big, were so authentic that it had been easy to fall into his role, the saviour, the anchor. And as you guys had stepped closer and closer, and his senses were bombarded so much, he had lost himself more and more. Your perfume from earlier had worn off, but your skin smelt so good, like cocoa butter body wash. 

From his line of sight, he could see a sliver of your neck where your hair had fallen behind your shoulder. In the moment a sudden, impulsive thought had flashed in his mind, the intense need to lean down and press his mouth to your neck, to kiss it and let his tongue just poke out and drag over the skin. He could even see it now as he sat and waited for you to return, the place where your neck joined your head and the skin went up to behind your ear. He closed his eyes and let himself linger there. 

Then the scene moved on and so did the little movie in his mind. Your hand in his, so soft and gentle as it settled against his chest. Then his hand in yours, your fingertips slightly sweaty and shaking. For a moment he had considered letting his hand stay limp, wanting to see how you would manage to drag the weight of his arm, but that was another intrusive thought that had to be pushed away. 

The skin on your chest was firm but with how firmly you held his hand against it he could feel the slight give of your flesh. His finger had just barely stroked your collarbone as his hand had rested there and he had wanted to move his hand so much more, to so many other places. Up to your neck to feel the soft skin there, to see if he could make you do that full-body shiver again. Down to your breasts, to the delicate skin stretched over them and then to cup them, to feel the weight of them in his hands. 

Cillian opened his eyes and took your water bottle in his hands, opening it and drinking from it as you came back into the room. You looked directly at him and he smiled at the wide-eyed, almost scandalised, look you gave him. He brought the bottle down and screwed the cap back on, putting it right-way up on the block for you to clearly see. He could see a little flush in your cheeks, and watched you rub the tips of your ears with a mischievous smile. 

Poncho and Cardigan Lady didn’t even notice that you returned without a water bottle. 

The intimacy coordinators only made you rehearse the scene two more times before letting you go. They said you both seemed comfortable enough, that you understood what the other person was and wasn’t comfortable with and you were left to your own devices. You left without a glance back and told an assistant you would be heading back to your trailer. She nodded, telling you that someone would come get you for touch ups on your makeup in an hour, and then you walked the entire way back to the makeshift trailer park. 

You only got about fifteen minutes on your own before someone was knocking on the door. You had washed all the makeup off, reasoning that you could simply head back early on your own and give them the time to do it all over again. As you walked, you tied your hair up in a ponytail, awkwardly opening the door with one hand. Cillian smiled politely up at you, arms crossed over his chest and you simply stared at him with wide eyes, blinking stupidly. 

“Hi,” his smile was jovial and infectious, but the one you offered in return felt forced. You felt so awkward around him now, as if you had violated some trust by being so caught up in the moment. “I thought we could walk around a little bit, get to know each other. I think it helps a little bit when filming roles like these.” You paused, fidgeting with the door handle. 

You had really wanted to take a nap, to reset yourself before filming the scene all over again. But this was such an enticing invitation. And maybe it would help you push past all this awkwardness. Maybe getting to know the other actor was better than not knowing. Maybe feeling connected worked better because you had more to think about, more defence in the moment. 

You nodded, holding up your finger for him to wait a moment so you could put your sneakers on and deposit your slippers in your tote bag. He waited patiently, leaning against the outside of the trailer while thumbing through the script. You hopped down the steps and waited for him to take the first stride before following alongside him, taking a winding path back up to the studios. 

“What do you keep in this all-important tote bag?” He asked, eyes squinting in the sun as he teasingly tugged on one of the straps. 

“Oh, heh, just little on-set essentials. Phone, headphones, little snack,” you paused, “my water bottle,” you added quietly, pursing your lips as you watched his smile widen. 

“That’s quite a nice idea, I should think about getting my own,” he nodded as he spoke, and you just smiled. Both of you walked for a little bit without saying anything, and just as the urge to open your mouth and spew out whatever comment happened to be on the tip of your tongue became almost unbearable, Cillian spoke again. “Have you filmed scenes like this before?” He asked, and you knew there were other questions behind it, insinuations. You felt embarrassed all over again, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking straight ahead to the path you were walking. 

“Um, once. And it wasn’t even this intense. I was working on this show, a supporting role with a romantic storyline. I was working with Tom Glynn-Carney?” He let out a little ‘ah’ nodding his head in recognition, muttering a ‘good lad’. “Yeah, it was really small, like a chaste ‘this guy has been my boyfriend for the past two years and I’m just leaving for work’ kind of kiss.” He laughed at that, genuine and melodic, as he looked at the floor and shook his head before looking up to the sky like he was exasperated with your silliness. “And Tom’s really sweet so it went really well, but this has a lot more expectation on it. It feels like going from the kids' pool to the deep end.” You chose to leave out the fact that his very good looks and insane acting abilities made it that much more difficult. 

Both of you paused for a moment, turning to each other in the late afternoon light. He stared at you and you wrapped your arms around yourself again, suddenly feeling like you were exposed to the elements. Slowly, he reached up and pressed the tip of his index finger to your cheek just under your eye. You stared at him, at his lips as he breathed in, and the moment was so slow, so natural, that for a moment you considered stepping forward and kissing him. But someone hit fast-forward again and he pulled back, holding up his finger to you. 

“I’m sorry, you had an eyelash,” he explained. “Make a wish,” he whispered, holding it close to your lips and you waited a beat, looking into his eyes as you leaned closer and blew the little eyelash away. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You turned and began walking quickly, a rain of dread suddenly drizzling onto your shoulders. Maybe it was a premonition, maybe it was delusion, but something told you that all these moments were leading to something and you wouldn’t necessarily come out of it for the better. 

You pressed his hand to your chest, breathing in slowly and looking into his eyes as if everything you’ve ever wanted was held there. His fingers flexed, just slightly, and you began to move it down, dipping it under the edge of the pyjama shirt. 

“Feel my breast,” you whispered, guiding his hand into your shirt until you could feel it searing the flesh of your breast. He was breathing heavily now, chest shaking as he pressed even closer to you, moving his head so his nose lightly brushed your nose. You tilted your head up further so your lips were aligned and only a little move was necessary to connect them. You looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, thoughts racing, trying to decipher what the other person was thinking but also knowing exactly the thoughts that rain through their head, peaking themselves out into their eyes. And then he was kissing you, mouth slightly open, pressing your bottom lip between his. You moved the hand on his chest up to cup the side of your neck, steadying yourself as he gripped onto your chest and devoured your mouth. And his tongue was in your mouth, delving in and pressing to yours, and you couldn’t breathe but you didn’t want to either and his thumb was pressing against your nipple and your entire body was tingling and- 

“Cut! That was perfect, guys!” 

You pulled away slowly, so so slowly. Your lips still stuck to his a little as you moved away. His hand was almost lethargic in its pace to snake out of your shirt, and you moved your own down from his neck to his chest before bringing it back down to your side. You were both breathing heavily, glancing away from each other then back, away then back before you finally turned away and walked off the set toward the chairs and cameras. You licked your lips as you walked, trying to savour the taste of him. 

The director let you all go for the evening, telling you he’d see you all bright and early on the other side of the studio lot for the ‘second meeting’ scene. You hauled your tote bag over your shoulder and practically ran to the golf cart. You spent the entire ride with your eyes closed. 

You didn’t bother eating dinner, just did your night routine and lay down on the bed. There was a little window in the bed area covered with blinds that had been left unfolded. Yellow light from somewhere on the lot was shining in through the cracks but you couldn’t be bothered to move them. You lay in a state between sleep and wakefulness until midnight. Your brain was buzzing with too many thoughts but you were too tired to think through them. 

Five minutes past one, and there was a knock at your trailer door, three soft thuds. You shifted on the bed, lifting your head up slightly to listen for another one. It came, the person was trying to be quiet, and you slowly slid out of bed. You tiptoed to the door and only opened it an inch. Cillian stood directly in front of the trailer, so close to the door that if you opened it wider he would basically be inside. He was wearing a plain white round-neck shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, his hands shoved into the pockets. His hair was still relatively neat, which meant he hadn’t gone to bed yet, and you suddenly felt self-conscious, patting down the back of your head as you blinked up at him. He smiled, a small thing that didn’t reach his eyes, and you opened the door a little wider, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie down so they wrapped over your fingertips. 

“Can I come in?” He asked quietly, low and serious. You nodded, moving back and letting him close the door behind himself.

You both stood in the little space between the kitchenette and the door. You felt fully awake now, but everything in the world was still. There was pin-drop silence and you two simply looked at each other. Then he was moving forward, slowly, one step at a time, until he was standing as close to you as he was when you were both filming earlier, maybe even closer. 

Every breath you took made your chest brush his. You could feel your nipples tightening and pushing against your hoodie. He brought both of his hands up to cup your head on either side, then leaned down and kissed you firmly. It was slow, a little pull back and then he was pushing in, kissing you again. Everything inside you was slowly heating up, like a saucepan set on a low fire. Your limbs were filling up with it, there was a lump at the back of your throat, and your core was slowly tightening into itself. Your hands shook and you lifted them to press into his sides, clenching your hands into the soft material of his t-shirt. He kissed you again and again until you were heaving your breaths in and leaning your upper body onto his. 

Cillian pulled away and looked at you, a pause as if waiting or asking, and you simply pointed behind you at the little hallway that led to the bedroom. He nodded, just one little movement of his head tipping down, then he pulled away, grasping your hand in his and walking you both to the little bed area. 

The blinds were still spilling orangey-yellow light into the room, and he simply sat you on the bed before turning around to adjust them so they were closed a little tighter but still let small slits of light into the room. Then he got on his knees right in front of you, pushing himself forward so he was between your legs and your knees pressed into his ribs. You were taking deep breaths in, staring at him with parted lips as he brushed your hair away from your face and kissed you once. 

Everything felt so… small. The room was only the space you two inhabited, your breaths were his breaths, your eyes only looking into his eyes, your lips only existing to kiss his. His fingers gently burrowed under the fabric of your hoodie and began lifting it up. He waited for you to raise your arms then slowly removed each of your sleeves, dropping it into a heap next to himself. You were only wearing a bra underneath it, and he lightly caressed your stomach, watching you shudder out breaths at the sensation. He reached up with his other hand and slid one of the bra straps down your shoulder, touching the little mark it had left behind before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to it. Then the other strap was shifted down, another kiss on your shoulder. Your mouth was dry, your hands shaking. You wanted him to consume you. 

You reached out and lightly tugged on the collar of his shirt. He instantly leaned back and took it off, exposing pale skin and softly defined muscles. Each ridge was gentle, like the artist had painstakingly smudged out any harsh lines. You wanted to feel his body pressing down on top of you. 

He gently tugged your shorts down your legs, waiting patiently for you to lean back and lift your hips up so he could get them off. His right hand moved to splay over your stomach, gently pressing until you were laying flat on your back while his left hand lifted your legs to rest over his shoulders. He slowly pulled you forward until the small of your back was curved to the edge of the bed and all the weight of your lower body was on his shoulders. He looked up at you once, bright blue eyes so shiny in the dim light that you wanted to stop and take a picture. But you only breathed out a little shuddering moan as he pressed his lips against your pussy, poking his tongue out and gently licking between the folds. You clenched your eyes shut, one arm thrown carelessly above your head as you bit down on your other hand. 

It was warm and wet and hot. The room felt humid and your skin burned. His lips were so soft, his tongue skillful, and your hips rolled with every movement, warm tendrils of pleasure moving in waves through your body. He licked until your thighs were messy and you could feel his cheeks stick to the insides. He pressed the tip of his tongue inside you until the pressure at your entrance was making you convulse and the sounds leaving your lips were a little too loud for your own liking. You bit so hard into your hand that you were sure your teeth marks would be there the following morning and let your body quiver on the bed as he pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

You could see his chest heaving up and down and you pushed up to lean on your elbows, watching him push the sweatpants off his hips before draping himself over you. You closed your eyes and fell back onto the bed, letting him spread your legs and drape them over his hips. When he pushed into you, you curled around him. Your legs tightened around his waist, your arms wrapped around his torso and you pressed your face into his shoulder, muffled sounds spilling from your lips and into his skin. You could hear him panting directly by your ear, feel the wet breaths against the shell of your ear as he turned his head to nip at it. He began moving, backwards and forwards, pull and push, drag and rub. You pushed your hips up against him, a little ‘unh’ sound pushing from your chest when the little space below his belly button pressed perfectly against your clit. 

You lost yourself in the pleasure. Time didn’t exist in that space, only the feeling of your insides climbing up, reaching for something that would make stars burst behind your eyes. It was the feeling of the bed sheets rubbing against your skin, the clasp of your bra pressing into your back. It was his skin sticking to yours, your hands digging into his back, his lips on your cheek, behind your ear. It was the sounds of your hips meeting, soft consistent thumps that slowly began to increase in speed. 

And then you were there. The moment where everything was just right. When the weight of him inside you and the press against your clit lined up perfectly. When his lips were pressed against your cheek and somewhere a star aligned in the universe. It was like warm flowers blooming inside your stomach, so brightly it was almost painful. You clenched around him, pressed your knees to his ribs as tight as they would go. You clenched your teeth tightly together but pressed your mouth to his shoulder so all the sounds came out muffled and weird, high pitched from the back of your throat or deep from the pit of your stomach. 

He groaned when he finished, hands gripping your hips so tightly you felt them even after he let go. His eyes were scrunched shut and when his hips convulsed a few times he almost hissed at the sensation. He quickly pulled out, falling down right beside you. Neither of you moved for a long while. 

When your joints finally felt like they would no longer fall apart if you moved, you slowly turned to lay on your side. He was already looking at you, eyes soft and tracing over every feature of your face. He reached out, blunt fingertips gently brushing hair off of your forehead and cheeks. He stroked one with his thumb, then moved forward to press the gentlest, most loving kiss against your lips. You kept your eyes closed even when he pulled away. 

He was gone when you woke up in the morning. You thought you dreamed it for a moment, the most vivid dream you had ever had in your life. But you were naked under the blanket, and you never remembered pulling it up from the edge of the bed so someone had tucked you in. Your hoodie and shorts were folded and placed on the tiny nightstand beside the bed, and your blinds were fully closed. When you shifted to get out of bed, you could still feel the way fingertips had pressed into your thighs and a soft soreness throbbing between your legs. Not a dream. 

But then everything felt weird when you left the trailer. You didn’t see Cillian until you were on set for filming and he was busy with the director until ‘action!’ was called. You followed him after ‘cut!’ but he only sat and watched the scene over or read from his script. He smiled politely at you, gave you a wave when he caught you looking, but made no special effort to come over to you. 

You felt off-kilter the entire day, like a joke was being pulled on you but you couldn’t figure out what it was. But then, as you curled up in your bed after sunset, watching the sky darken through the window, he knocked on your door again. And you let him in, let him kiss you and take you to bed. And in the dead of night he wrapped you up in the bed sheets, whispering little jokes, telling stories, watching you like you were precious. And then the cycle started all over again the next day. 

You reasoned with yourself. You guys were still at work, you needed to be professional on set, and it seemed to explain everything away. He snuck into your bed at night, wrapped his arms around you and kissed you, coaxed you into sleep eventually, but never in the daylight. Not even a touch other than the ones on camera. 

You couldn’t feel yourself getting attached, couldn’t see yourself manoeuvring your life around him until you knew you would beg for him to just take your hand in the daytime once, let you call him your man. You came when he called, followed where he went. You didn’t realise until you were devoted, didn’t realise until the willow had bent to the wind.

Taglist: @4ria790

[alphajocklover]

I'd like to see how my life would have turned out, 20 years ago, had I joined my college football team instead of the college theater group.

Fuck. Fucking hell this fucking sucks. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. It’s not you, you’re not the reason I’m upset. Your request is interesting and I want to help you with it, I really do. It’s just… to do this, we’re going to have to use time travel. It’s not that it’s impossible or anything, I actually own a time machine so that’s not an issue. It’s that… I fucking hate time travel.

I don’t hate the concept of time travel itself. I think it can be a lot of fun in works of fiction. Doctor Who, Back to the Future, and Star Trek are all things that heavily feature time travel that I’m a big fan of. It’s just that, in real life, it gets so stupidly complicated. You know how every work of fiction seems to have different rules for turn travel? In real life time travel follows all these rules and none of them all at once. If that seems confusing, that’s because it is. It’s insane. But it’s the best chance for doing this, so we’re going to give it a try. Now, close your eyes and hold onto me tight. This is going to feel weird.

You can open your eyes now. Be careful though, it’s going to take a second for your eyes to adjust. We’re outside now, on the football field of your old college. You don’t have to worry about anyone seeing us. I may hate time travel but the time machine is pretty useful. Time travel, space travel, and camouflage. But that’s not important right now. See that skinny guy standing on the opposite side of the field? You should recognize him. It’s you, 20 years ago, as a college freshman. You really wanted to join the football team huh? I can see the longing in your eyes… but also some serious nervousness. I’m guessing this is about when you back out and decide to join the school's theater group. Not this time though. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna change anything drastic. I’m just going to give you a little… push in the right direction. Have to get you to join the team somehow. I just have to whisper some things in his, or I guess your ear while we’re in camouflage… and just like that everything is going to change. Welcome to the football team. You’re a little late on becoming a jock, but you’re a hard worker. You’ll catch up. Speaking of which…

We jumped forward in time. I probably should have warned you, I was just excited to see the changes. We’re not all the way back to the present, not yet. It’s been a year since the other you joined the football team, and just like I predicted you caught up real quick. Even when you were in theater you were a hard worker, and now that you’ve dedicated yourself to football instead, you’re an absolute beast. You’ve had a major growth spurt and fit right in with the guys who have been playing football since middle school, a total jock through and through. Looks like this version of you acts a little more jockish too. Probably because you’ve been spending so much time around jocks, they’ve been rubbing off on you. Literally in one very special case. That’s right, the new you managed to do what you never could in college: get a jock boyfriend. In the original timeline he never even looked your way, but now Tim Wire, the most popular jock in school, is head over heels for you. You two seem to have a great relationship… Let's see if it lasts.

Another jump forward, a much bigger one this time. It’s been about 5 years since you joined the football team. You didn’t go professional, not because you couldn’t but because you didn’t want to. A guy like you could have been a superstar, but you and your fiancée Tim agreed you both wanted something more stable. So you opened up a chain of gyms. It’s a small business, but it has a lot of potential for growth, especially with you as the face of the operation. You basically have it made. You own a small, successful business, have a sexy husband, and are about to adopt a 3 year old. Your life is fucking perfect. Let’s see if it gets better.

A final jump forward. We’re 20 years after you joined the football team, back into the present. You’re still the old you, but that’s only because I have to ‘finalize’ the changes. Take a look around. You might not recognize this place, this huge mansion, but it’s your home. You, your husband Tim, and your adopted son all live here together. This must be your home gym, and I believe that’s you and him flexing over there. Looks like the little guy ended up taking after his dads. He’s huge for an 18 year old. He’s smart too, all ready to take over the family business when you retire. Your gyms are a very successful franchise now, if you can’t tell from the sheer size of your house. It’s just my opinion but I think your life really would have been better if you joined the football team back then. And now it can be. All you need to do is press this button, and finalize the changes. It’s your choice-

Ok, that was quick. I guess it was an easy choice. I hope you enjoy your new life. I would if I were you. I mean a muscular sexy husband, a son you can be proud of, a successful business and an incredible amount of muscles and confidence. You’ve got it made. I just hope we didn’t change too much. I didn’t realize you’d start a gym franchise. That could have a big impact.

I’m sure it’s nothing though. I mean, how many lives can a gym really change?

[weirdfangirly]

Fatherless ─⊹⊱ ☆ ⊰⊹─

Dark-Fiction Central ©️

Dark!Joel x Reader

Summery: You offer yourself to a complete stranger in order to survive.

⚠️ : dark content. Dub-con. Age-gap (reader is not a minor). Dark Joel. Mean Joel. Loss of virginity. PiV. Slapping. Reader sees Joel as her dad. Painful sex. Joel enjoys seeing Reader hurt. Reader has daddy issues. Blood. Name calling. Degrading sex. Mention of suicide. Joel is NOT a hero in this one.

A/n: Well damn. If you want more, let me know.💓

─⊹⊱ ☆ ⊰⊹─

What a beautiful day to die, you thought when you opened your eyes this morning. You had spent the night in the woods—just like the night before, and the night before, and the night before...

You didn't dare set foot into the city. It was full with infected and raiders.

Sweat was dripping down from your forehead, even though you wore a light summer dress. Your legs were shaking from exhaustion, you were afraid they'd give in at any moment. You didn't know how long you had been wandering through the woods. Alone and lost. Your stomach was empty, as were your supplies. The only thing that kept you alive was the water from the river flowing through the woods.

Every day was a torment of uncertainty. You wandered between the many trees. You wandered with no destination in mind, with nothing in mind other than to put one foot in front of the other. Basic bodily functions like keeping your eyes open became harder with every passing day. The forest was rough and unpredictable, and you were not dressed appropriately. You were lucky that you hadn't broken an ankle with the footwear you were wearing. Yesterday you had stepped into a ditch and fell, you couldn’t find the strength to pull yourself out of it, so you just lay there and cried yourself to sleep.

Hoping to never wake up again.

Hunger made you grip your stomach in pain. You wished you could just cut it out, so that you didn’t have to put up with the cramps any longer. You had tried to catch squirrels and rabbits when your supplies became thin, but it was hopeless. You felt mocked by them. They led you deeper and deeper into the forest before seemingly vanishing into thin air, leaving you behind exhausted and still hungry. Your starving mind was trying desperately to come up with solutions. At one point you’d even eaten tree barks. Feeling full felt good, but it was short lived.

Suddenly your eyes caught something very promising. You stopped in your tracks, thinking that maybe this was yet another sick joke of your mind…

A berry bush.

Your eyes widened at the mere sight of the thick juicy berries. A miracle.

You ran to the berries. You couldn't remember the last time you had enough strength to actually run, but the mere thought of eating real food gave you the energy you needed to do that. You eagerly started to pick up as many berries as possible. Your hands were shaking in anticipation, your mouth watering, your mind running wild.

You were about to stuff the handful of berries inside your mouth when you suddenly heard the clicking sound of a gun.

*click click*

Your body froze.

„I wouldn't eat those if I were you.“, said a deep masculine voice.

The man was standing a few feet behind you, barrel of his gun aimed at you. The sight of you deeply confused him. When was the last time he’d seen a girl wearing a summer dress?

25 fucking years ago?

„Turn around.“, he said. „Slowly.“

You did what you were told, carefully turning around.

The first thing you saw was death lingering at the barrel of his gun. You slowly raised your shaking hands and looked up at your possible executor. A tall man, older than your father had been when he had passed. His old age didn’t match with his body. He had board shoulders and strong arms. His legs were long and steady. Fit. Invincible.

He looked like someone who would survive the apocalypse. Ruthless.

What a beautiful day to die, you remembered your thoughts from this morning—you weren’t so sure about that anymore…

He on the other hand, didn’t know what to think of you.

“Pokeweed berries..”, he pointed his gun at the berry bush behind you. “..are poisonous.”

“T-thank y-you.”, you stutter, unsure what else to say. You opened your palms and let the berries fall to the ground like little pearls.

It was comical that you were thanking the man who had a gun pointed at your face, but he appreciated your good manners.

“Now, tell me what are you doing on my land, girl.”, he demanded to know.

“I-I didn’t know...”, the last time you’d spoken to someone was your father. Your voice sounded brittle. You cleared your throat. “I-I didn’t know I was trespassing, s-sir.”

Joel had a way of dealing with trespassers; putting a bullet in their heads. No exceptions. He had never encountered a trespasser looking quite like you though. You were clearly malnourished—the gun in his hands weighted more than you. Your legs were covered in little scratches and nasty bruises. Your long hair were covering half of your face like a curtain—he could still make out enough to confidently say that you were too young and too pretty to be anywhere out here on your own. He saw no weapon on you neither. He raised his eyebrow when he spotted your painted toenails…You were wearing fucking sandals. You made no sense to him. Hadn’t you realised in what times you were living?

He could feel his pants getting tighter—which annoyed him greatly. It clearly had been a long time since he’d fucked a cunt when the mere sight of painted toenails and a pretty face excited him this much.

You were oblivious of what was happening inside the man’s pants. Your only worry was the gun pointed at your face. You wanted to run away, but your head was dizzy, your vision foggy, your stomach hurting and your mind running crazy.

It was a miracle that you were still standing at this point.

“Where are your people?”, he doubted you were traveling alone. You were probably just lost and people were already searching for you.

You shook your head.

“Bullshit.”, he spat. “Don’t lie to me, girl.”

He quickly scanned his surroundings, expecting someone hiding behind the trees and waiting to attack him. He took a step closer to you, which made you take a step back. “You gon’tell me that a girl like you is up here all by herself? I ain’t buyin it.”

“I-I swear, sir.”, you sobbed. “I’m…I have no one.”

Hearing the truth hurt. It took a lot of you not to break down crying. This was the first time someone had ever pointed a gun at you and it reminded you of the death of your mother. This is how she must’ve felt during her last seconds on earth? Scared and helpless.

Joel wasn’t sure if he believed you or not. By the looks of your physical state, it seemed to him that there was some truth behind your words.

“What’s in your backpack? Any weapon’s?”, he wanted to know. He thought about making you hand it over to him, but he doubted that you were carrying anything of use in it.

You shook your head. “Just my-my pocket knife.”

“Of course.”, he murmured, getting more and more frustrated with you. What a stupid girl. Walking around like this not even armed. He lowered his gun and turned around.

“Get lost.”, he said, before walking away. “Before I kill you.”

You were standing there perplexed, hands still up. You watched him walk away. He was the first human interaction you had in weeks. Your first human interaction besides your family. You shook your head in disbelief.

He was leaving you.

Leaving you alone.

Leaving you to Die.

Alone with your hunger and pain.

Your only chance of survival was literally walking away from you.

“Wait!”, you called out after him, but he kept walking.

No, no, no.

You started to run after him, almost tripping over your own feet. You couldn’t let him just walk away like that.

You had to do something.

“Please.”, you begged, not even sure for what.

But the man kept walking. His face was stone cold, looking right ahead.

“Please, sir.”, you tried again. “Please don’t leave me alone. I’m…I’m hungry.”

You sounded pathetic to him—something Joel barely tolerated.

“Not my problem, girl.”

You grabbed his arm, trying to stop him from walking any further—big mistake. He turned around in a heartbeat and grabbed your wrist. Your wrist felt like a toothpick in his iron-like grip. His first instinct was to break your fucking arm, but he stopped himself from doing just that, reminding himself that you were just a stupid kid.

Tears started to swell up from your eyes and your plump lip started to wobble. Fear was written all over your face and you immediately submitted to his strength. Knowing it was pointless to fight against it.

“Ouch.”, a sob escaped your throat and you begun to cry. Fat ugly tears started to run down your doll-like face.

He frowned, disgusted by your weakness and himself for finding it arousing…He let go of your wrist and you collapsed to the ground. Your shoulders started to shake uncontrollably. “I-I miss my d-daddy.”, you suddenly hiccuped.

A wave of feelings washed over him. He was annoyed of your showcase of weakness in front of him—a total stranger. He wanted to pull you up and slap you across the face, to get you back to reality. He was angry at himself for feeling sorry for you, just because you reminded him of his daughter in one way or another. Equally as innocent. Sarah never got to get used to the brutality of the world, she died an angel. Sweet and pure. He hadn’t felt this type of emotion for a long time. Sadness. Sarah—No. He shook the thoughts of his past life away. You weren’t Sarah. You were a nobody. Just a stupid girl that clearly didn’t know what was good for her—because Joel clearly wasn’t, especially since his pants got even tighter after hearing you cry out the word daddy.

Sick son of a bitch.

He decided that every feeling was easier to deal with than sadnesses. He wanted to forget, so he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you up. He slapped you across the face. Hard. Pain shot through your body and made you shut up immediately. His slap had put you in some kind of shock like state. The only other person who had ever done this to you was you father.

His hit felt so familiar, you almost wanted to beg for more.

“Consider this a warning, girl.”, he whispered close to your ear. “Have you any idea, what a stranger with a gun could do to a girl like you during times like this?”

You didn’t say a word. Your brain was still trying to regulate the pain that was radiating from where his hand had collided with your face.

“Last chance, girl,”, he said, voice dangerously low. “Get lost, before I blow your pretty face away.”

After a pregnant pause, you opened your mouth to speak. “You find me pretty?”

He has called you pretty.

He frowned at your words. Bewildered at your question in a situation like this

“Do you?”, you urged to know.

“I slapped you a little too hard, sweetheart? Seems like you’ve lost you goddamn mind.”

“Keep me.”

“What?”

“Keep me.”, you repeated, now silent tears running down your face. “Take me with you, I’ll be good to you. I-I promise.”

Your words angered him deeply because they sounded so goddamn good to him.

“I don’t want to die.”, it came out as a whisper.

He grabbed you by your throat. If you were scared, you didn’t show it. Your eyes seemed dull, disconnected. You truly looked like a lifeless doll to him. He brought you closer to his face. Observing you intensely.

You were so easy, so submissive. He didn’t know what to feel.

“You don’t know what you are getting yourself into, kiddo.”, he whispered. You could feel his hot breath on you skin. “You will not like what you recive..”

And he was right. You didn’t know what you were getting yourself into. You didn’t know anything. Your father had kept you sheltered away from reality. You never left the parameters of your fathers farm. You’d never spoken to anyone but him since the death of your mother. You didn’t know anything about the real world—but you’d read books. Many of them. Romances. You once read that “the female body is the most powerful weapon against a man.” At first you didn’t understand, but now you do. You knew what men wanted…it was the only thing you had to offer to him in order to survive.

He waited for you to say something. To apologise and beg him to let you go, that it was all an misunderstanding and that you were just a stupid girl who didn’t know any better— but you stayed quiet.

He saw desperation in your eyes, behind all the dullness.

Fuck.

He tossed you to the ground like a rag doll.

He was circling you like a lion, while throwing his weapon aside.

The man crouched down and spread your legs. He pulled your dress up, revealing your clothed cunt. He could see the outline of your plump lips through the thin fabric of your underwear. He nearly fucking came just by the sight of it. He tore your underwear apart with a grunt.

This wasn’t at all how you’d imagined your first time to be. You’d hoped it would be more like how it was in your books; with a guy you trusted and loved. Sweet and innocent. Exciting and nerve-wracking. Silly and dumb. Kind and loving.

Sadly, your really looked different; The forest floor was rough and uneven. Sticks and stones poked you in the back. It was uncomfortable. The man in front of you, who was currently slowly unbuckling his belt, was twice your age and far away from being your boyfriend. In fact, he was a total stranger. You were hungry and utterly exhausted. You felt disconnected from the situation—which was a good thing considering what would happen next.

„Fucking perfect.“, he whispered. You watched him stare at your most private parts. You felt ashamed and closed your legs again, blocking his view. His eyes snapped up at you, frowning.

„Open them.“, he said calmly. Chest falling up and down.

The sight of him in a state like this scared you. You nodded, scared of the sudden shift of his energy, and opened your legs for him again.

„Try this again and I’ll fucking cut your legs off.“, he warned.

He was slowly losing himself, losing control. The rational part of him knew that what he was doing was wrong for so many reasons. He was taking advantage of an starving girl. You were young, he didn’t even know how old. Definitely way younger than Sarah would’ve been now had he not failed her...

Stop.

A sudden wave of rage overcame him. This had nothing to do with Sarah. You had nothing to do with Sarah. It pissed him off that you made him think about her while being in a state like this.

You shook your head in dread. „I-I just…I…can I know your name?“

You hoped that maybe if you knew his name that this would feel less dirty, more intimate…

“Shut up.”, he just hissed. He grabbed inside his pants and freed his member. Your eyes widened and you let out a little whine of protest.

It was your first time seeing a man’s cock. It looked unnatural to you. It looked wrong. Thick and veiny. Too big. It was painfully red, throbbing.

He rubbed his hand over your little cunt, sending a shockwave through your body. He then put his thick finger inside you to feel you up.

„Are you scared?“, he asked.

You nodded. Scared and hungry. So hungry.

„I can tell, you’re fucking dry.“, he murmured, annoyed. He spit inside his palm and stroked his throbbing cock—this was all the preparation you would get from him.

Without wasting any more time, he slammed his thick cock inside you—or at least he tried. The size of his cock was too much to handle for your body, your cunt was rejecting him, working against him—but Joel kept pushing, forcing his length inside you. All of it.

Meanwhile, you were chocking on your own screams.

“Good job, cunt.”, Joel praised after making you take all of his cock.

He watched you cry for a second. Your face was painfully distorted and you were holding tightly onto his forearms for support.

“Fuck!”, he hissed. You were so tight, it was almost painful for him too. Almost.

He started to fuck you hard but slow. He was on top of you, holding himself up on his hands. After a few of his thrusts your body’s natural instincts kicked in and your cunt started to become wet for him, making this feel even better for him.

“Do you like it, baby?”, he chuckled darkly.

You didn’t. You had started to remove yourself from the situation by focusing on the branches of the leaves above you. So pretty.

Joel didn’t like that. He wanted you here. He wanted you to learn—too see what happens to dumb girls like you if not careful enough. He slapped you across the face again. This time hard enough to cause your nose to bleed—he didn’t mean to do that, he was pumped full of testosterone and adrenaline.

“I said, do. You. Like. It?”, with every word his hips snapped into yours, hard. Seeing you bleed for him like that only made him want to hurt you even more. Your were so goddamn sweet.

You looked up. Your vision was blurry, but he still looked so handsome to you. “Yes, dad.”, you whispered, confusing him with your father.

You had missed being close with someone. You had missed being loved. You had missed the warmth of human interaction. You were alone and scared for so long now. You never wanted to go back to that—even if it meant to suffer.

Hearing you call him dad, angered him. He stilled abruptly and grabbed you by your throat, making you chocke. “M’not your goddamn father, you fucking whore.”

He spit in your face. How dare you call him dad?

„Say it.“, he demanded.

You tried to but he was choking you too hard. He removed his hand from your throat.

„Your-your not my dad!“, you choked out.

He continued to fuck you, but this time his thrusts were even more unforgiving. His hips snapped into yours, bruising you up.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”, you cried out. “Please, ah!”

Joel didn’t care about your cries. It only turned him on more. Your father had clearly never explained to you how dangerous this world was for girls like you. You were lucky that it was him fucking you. It could’ve been much worse for you. You should thank him really.

Joel was fucking you like a beast, grunting and hissing in your ear. His sweat was dripping down your neck. He was hot, yet you felt cold. He kept his unforgiving rhythm; hard but slow.

You didn’t know how long it took him to find his high and finish, but he eventually came all over your stomach and dress. Growling like a wolf. You didn't even realize it was over. You could still feel him all over you.

“Fuck!”, he needed a few seconds to calm down. Kneeling over you and trying to catch his breath. His half-hard cock was hanging out of his pants. He wiped the sweat from his forehead while watching you lay beneath him covered in his hot cum.

He raised an eyebrow when he saw that blood was dripping down from your abused entrance. He looked down at his cock just to see it painted with your blood…

“Virgin?”, he whispered. You were a fucking virgin?

“What kinda fucking virgin whores herself out like this?”, he hissed at you. He was still panting heavily.

You didn’t respond, too stunned with the mixture of emotions you were feeling.

He got up and put his cock away, mumbling words to himself. He picked his firearm up from the ground.

He looked down at you. You still hadn’t made any efforts to get up. Your dress was still rolled up, cunt on display, cum all over you. He felt disgust by his handiwork.

“Get up, girl.”, he said. “C’mon.”

“It hurts.”, you just whispered, looking up at the dancing leaves.

He crouched down and rolled you dress down, covering you up before helping you in your feet. You looked down at yourself, your virginity was dripping down your slander legs. Your cheeks turned red out of shame as if it was your fault.

He cleared his throat. “M’name is Joel.”

You looked up at him and cracked a small broken smile. “I’m very hungry, Joel.”

He nodded a few times. “I know. Can you walk?”

He felt bad for even asking.

You tried to make a baby-step forward and pain shot through your body. “Ouch.”, you hissed and cupped your private part.

“C’mon. Hold onto me. S’not far.”, he offered you his arm and you looked up at him for any indication that he was just messing with you and that he would push you away the second you would touch him.

“Thank you, Joel.”, you said and grabbed his arm for support, looking forward to your meal.