#or giving him a couple of framing pieces or even a side part

[nashvillethotchicken]

They need to give my bitch some volume at the root or keep the side part cus this is giving...

[shadesoflsk]

      LULLABY FOR A BROKEN HEART

pairing: Leon Kennedy x Gn reader.

summary: After a mission, Leon musters up the courage to ask for one thing he's always wanted.

warnings: hurt/comfort, a bit of angst, fluff, Leon is touch starved, no consumption of alcohol but there are mentions of it, injuries, mentions of trauma.

word count: 2.1k

author's note: Hello! So... I had prepared some dad leon headcanons but after reading DI manga latest chapter... I knew I had to write something about it. I wrote this with a platonic relationship in mind but you can also see it as an established relationship! I just wanted an excuse to write about Leon because he is literally an angel ueueueue. He deserves the world.

      masterlist

With heavy and wobbly steps, Leon’s blurry vision—from the lack of sleep— could make out the frame of your door, your apartment’s door. A part of him knows that he may be a burden—or that’s what he believes. Fatality, sorrow, and overall bad outcomes are the only things his mind can register.

He doesn’t want to bother you. Hell, he doesn’t want to speak to anyone right now. The fact that he somehow made it safely to your front door was enough for him to know that you would be so angry at him. You shouldn’t drive after a mission. You shouldn’t—... let yourself die. He knows all those phrases by heart. 

He’s getting better. He’s a lot better, to be honest. He no longer drinks, but he may as well look drunk right now. His head was hurting like hell, but he blamed it on his mission. He’s getting too old for that shit. But, a healthy improvement doesn’t mean that he can’t fall.��

Recovery isn’t a straight line of betterment. There are nights when he can sleep like a baby. But then again, some days, he goes to sleep knowing that a nightmare may attack his dreams. 

His fist bangs against your door, at first trying to be quiet. But after a few seconds, some desperation came within his knocking, and a louder sound filled the already silent night. 

The melancholic feeling of being alone lasts a couple of seconds before he hears some steps inside your home, those get even closer until he sees the door opening. The sight he admires before him is far from comforting. The eyebags under your eyes, your disheveled hair, and the quiet yawn that escapes your lips say it all, you were sleeping. 

At first, you don’t say anything, letting the silence in the air fill the lack of response from both parts. Yours and Leon’s, two souls that are aching right now but for different reasons.

Leon, who is hurting because he doesn’t want you to see him like this. And yours because you’d give him the world just for him to stop blaming himself. Ironic, but in reality you’re two sides of the same coin.

Amidst the countless things you want to tell Leon, you step aside allowing him to enter your apartment. The one he knows as his cozy getaway. His second home. The first one is your mere existence. 

Physical things last no more than a few weeks, months, or years. Everything is doomed to cease existing. He has witnessed it through the years he has worked as an agent. Those gigantic and marvelous houses politicians love to brag about? A bomb would destroy them. That motorcycle he loves? Yeah, that one…. No more than a few pieces remained.

But the simple fact that you were alive and breathing meant so much. He wasn’t a stranger to death. He knows that he has become desensitized to those topics as much as he denies it. But even if someone were to die, their proof that they belonged to this world would live in those who loved them, those who were close to them. 

And that’s why you’re his home. The kind of home that served as a refuge when life got too much, when life stopped basking him with its sunlights but rather sent him a blizzard. Your presence was enough for him because you granted him the affection he has long forgotten he could have.

As he enters your apartment, the normalcy and everydayness of the living room embrace him like a thick and warm blanket. The usual smell of your scented candlelight also brings him back to the reality where he could feel safe.

He’s alone for a while, you let him sit on your couch even though he might stain it with the dirt on his pants and whole body. You don’t exactly care, you can clean it after. 

His eyes are unfocused as he waits for you to come back. At that moment, the memories of his last mission came to his mind. They don’t haunt him like they used to do in the past, where he decided to stop the voices from getting louder by drowning in alcohol.

Now, they replay in his mind like a Deja Vu, like a movie he was the main star in. However, it doesn’t mean they stop stabbing his heart knowing that he had taken lives. 

He used to be a religious person. Right now if someone asks him if he follows a certain God, he would respond with a simple no. But when he sees the bodies of those whom he had to kill, he would offer a silent prayer, asking whoever hears him that their souls could rest in peace.

Leon kills, but he’s also a lover of life. He loves the world and its people. He wants to believe that he'd be reminded as the one who fought for those who couldn’t, even if he didn’t want to be associated with that type of job.

In his mind, it may sound corny but he has started appreciating the simple things in life. The way someone would smile at him in the supermarket, the way a random stranger would greet him even though they don’t know him. It was a nice reminder that he was, in fact, alive.

Your steps break the silence—once again. In your hands, there’s a first aid kit. 

There’s a certain urgency in the way you sit next to him to treat his wounds. Your eyes never leave him as you try to make sure that nothing is hurting him. Even when he has awoken you from your sweet dreams, you’re the same caring and compassionate person as always.

An alcohol swab touches one cut he had on his temple, a bruise already forming on the skin. Proof that his head was literally slammed against a metal tube. Not his proudest moment, if he had to be honest.

“I’m not going to break, you know…” Leon finally speaks as your hand seems to slightly shake out of fear of bringing more pain to him.

You manage to let out a chuckle at his words. “I know. But I’m not taking risks.”

His eyes continue to remain fixated on your face, like a puppy who is looking at a treat. But rather, he’s like a homeless man admiring one of the prettiest houses he has ever seen.

There are no questions asked, nor complaints about anything related to his late-night visit. He appreciates the fact that he’s welcomed no matter what. Nonetheless, he can’t help but thank you for your hospitality.

“Thank you.” He murmurs as you clean another injury that was just above his eyebrow. “You’re too good for me.” Leon's words show a moment of raw sincerity.

Leon’s humanity is palpable, even when he doesn’t notice it. There’s a childlike glimmer in his eyes when he watches his favorite movies, a hint of regret when he talks about his missions, and a big sense of empathy when he speaks about the victims who died at his hands.

Leon’s kindness knows no limits. And you wish everyone could observe what an amazing human he is.

“Why is that?” You asked, scooting closer to hear him better. To pay full attention to what he’s about to say. There’s nothing Leon loves more than knowing he can really talk with someone about his feelings since he has mastered the art of closing off.

“For this…” He admits as his hands gesture your first aid kit, to your apartment as a whole. “I’m not used to being… pampered like this. I get hurt and I fix myself up.” His expression darkens slightly.

“Well… I’m here, aren’t I?” You give Leon a warm smile before pinching one of his cheeks making sure not to touch any of his cuts. “You don’t have to be alone all the time, Leon. You can rely on me.”

Leon’s lips turn into a shy smile as you pinch his cheek. “Yeah, I know.” He’s grateful for your hospitality and overall care. But it’s hard for someone who has always been in solitude to think that it’s okay to rely on someone, that it’s okay to need a person. 

He’s silent for a moment before asking a question that’s been nagging him for a while now. “But… Don’t you get tired of it? Of taking care of me?”

You instantly shake your head, responding with a blunt “Nope, never.” In fact, you would be awake all night long just to make sure he was alright. 

“You’re a God’s sent… I swear.” He chuckles as his gaze moves towards his own hands which are fidgeting. As if he was looking for something to grab, to hold onto. 

He hesitates for a few seconds, he doesn’t want to overstep boundaries but then again… He’s not used to being touched let alone hugged. But right now… he craves feeling the tender and intimate affection that a hug brings.

When was the last time he was touched? He doesn’t remember. The sole thought of admitting it’s been months if not years that he hasn’t been hugged brings embarrassment to his already troubled mind. 

You notice, you know Leon a little too well. You recognize every little quirk he has, from the way he sometimes sticks out his tongue when he’s focused on something to the way he looks at everyone before delivering a punchline.

But you wait for him, you want him to be comfortable. 

As a sigh leaves his lips, he finally speaks. “Can you hug me?” His words come out hushed, as if ashamed of himself for asking something so… banal, so simple. “I really need it.”

The way he speaks, the way his voice suddenly cracks and the way his fingers twitch even more tell you enough.

“Come here.” You encourage him, opening your arms. He wastes no time getting himself closer and wrapping his arms around you. The kindness that you’re showing him could bring him to tears, but he doesn’t let them fall. Right now, he just wants to be embraced.

He was bigger than you, being an agent built his body to be ready to fight, to kill. Of course his muscles would basically bury your frame as he curls himself into the hug. But funnily enough, he feels like a kitten that found solace on a rainy day. He feels getting even smaller and almost disappearing from the catastrophes of this world.

He could easily rest his head on your shoulder. But instead, he decides to bury his face in the crook of your neck, feeling even more at ease in this peaceful moment. Closing his eyes, he lets the warmth of your body soothe his aching soul.

He always takes care of everyone, his mind and soul are connected to people he may as well never see again. He feels too much, he feels everything. Nevertheless, there are times when he wants to be the one being doted on, to feel safe.

And right now… he is safe.

“You may think I’m stupid…” His words are muffled as his face is pressed into your neck, his stubble ever so slightly brushing against your skin.

“I sometimes think you’re stupid.” You tease him, trying to bring some humor to the situation as you sense that Leon is starting to doubt himself. Your arms hug him closer, tighter. Letting him know that you aren’t going anywhere. “But right now… I think you’re the most amazing person ever.”

Leon doesn’t say anything for the moment. His breathing is steady and calm, drowning in your so familiar scent. His fingers caress the back of your head, touching your hair reminding himself that you were there, as if the hug wasn’t enough.

“You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever known.” You murmur, pressing a kiss on the top of his head. “You fight so much, you’re so important to many people. You don’t even know how much I thank life for having a Leon Kennedy next to me.”

Your words break his heart a little. Not because you said something wrong, not at all. But rather… he can’t imagine how his existence could bring happiness to someone. Chris, Rebecca, hell everyone has helped him a lot. But you are like an anchor which he clings to.

“Don’t feed a stray dog…” He tries joking, but his voice is barely a whisper. You’re used to his jokes. Most of the time, they are harmless and light-hearted. However, sometimes they served to hide what he was truly feeling. “They’ll always come back.”

“I don’t want you to come back…”  You respond. letting your hand rub his back. “I want you to stay.”

And Leon is definitely going to stay, he’s going to stay with you and with everyone else. He will fight off every bioweapon, he will succeed in every mission. Just to come back to his home and to his life. A life he’s learning to love and enjoy.

[madebyrolo]

Goosebumps

Rafe Cameron x reader

She/her

summary: becoming parents in toppers parents room.

warnings: smut, alcohol and drugs.

obx masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

7:30

The clock read in Rafes truck. Y/n and Rafe were on their way to a Toppers party. She was wearing a black mini skirt and a grey tube top paird with small boots and Rafe with a black t shirt and grey cargo pants with grey dunks.

They soon arrived to the house, colored lights beaming through the window, Travis Scott blasting loud enough you can hear it from down the street.

As Rafe parked in the driveway, he got out opening the door for his girlfriend. Giving her a hand as he helped her down and out the car leading them both inside. They went up stairs meeting up with Topper, Kelce greeting one another. They sat in a more secluded room, with just them and random people in the corner doing lines. They had a bottle passing it around amongst them getting the party started.

"So where's Sarah?" Y/n asked after not seeing her

"She dumped his ass for a pouge" Kelce laughed taking a hit from his vape

"Damn that's tough man. I thought you would've lasted longer than the rest" she giggled while taking a shot.

"With John b too" Rafe added

"Wait isnt his father yk... like.." y/n motioned a knife slitting her throat.

༺☆༻

"Yes he's gonna soon end up like his old man if his friend don't stop tryna start shit." He said with pure venom

“Chill out Topper, beside her lost. You were my favorite, you’re kind, sweet and a hell of a golf player” she praised him

"Thank you y/n i appreciate..." he said looking down twiddling his thumbs

"Hey hey no tears! We're at your fucking party man. You have many girls around take your pick. Get your mind off of her and hella maybe even fall in love." She said rasing her hands

"Yea Top, maybe their drunk enough not to think it though" Kelce told topper earning a hit the back of his head.

“Come on let’s get get shit faced” Rafe said getting up and the rest following him.

They soon joined the party down stairs taking shots with groups of people. Y/n grabbed the pink plastic shot glass filled with Don Julio, and a piece of lime. She tilts her head up letting the tequila slowly go down her throat burning every crevice then sucking the lime between her lips. While Rafe talked with his buddies y/n headed to the kitchen to fix herself a drink. She grabbed the Malibu bottle took a shot for herself put at least 4 in a red solo cup, then added 1 part pineapple juice and another part cranberry making a “pink pirate”.

She headed to a different room, filled with random strangers until the alcohol sets in. After she finished her drink she was finally buzzed, she started dancing with the girls hyping each other up and cracking drunk jokes soon become party besties. The smell of weed and alcohol filled their nose and the strobe lights, smoke, and alcohol affected their vision. Everyone in their fantastical drunken haze.

A couple minutes passed by and Rafe realized y/n wasn’t in the room, so he left and went to go find her. He searched room from room soon finding her on the 1st floor next to the kitchen. He spots her with girls he did not recognize as her friends. Y/n was grinding up on one of them her hands through her hair and eyes closed smiling feeling the rhythm. He watched her closely making sure there wasn’t anything too crazy going on, although he wouldn’t mind watching he knew how drunk y/n was for her to be like this.

His eyes took in every inch of her. The way her breasts slowly were peaking out her shirt, the skirt riding up her thighs with her ass barely out. Her hair fell perfectly on the sides of her face and a drunken smile plastered her face. Her body moved perfectly with the beat of the music, sliding into the other girl's frame, with her hands on y/n hips. If they were both in the right mind state he would be insanely jealous right now.

Y/n starting taking more shots with the girls, he watched as her tounge swiped against another girls shoulder as they placed salt on it, downing her shot following with some juice being poured down her throat by another. Rafe soon joined in, he walked towards his girlfriend grabbing and pulling her by the waist engulfing her in a soft yet heated kiss. The other girls were cheering them on offering him a shot. One of the girls grabbed the shot shaker and made y/n lean back before dumping a bit on her boobs. With that, he did what she did.

He looked at her with lust in his eyes, sending a smirk before putting his face down on her breast. He kissed them before sliding his tongue slowly across them licking up the salt. The feeling of Rafes mouth touching her sent goosebumps down her body like a little virgin. He soon downs the shot like water, demanding another doing it all over again.

Soon the whole room goes back to their little dance party after many shots. Rafe and Y/n dancing together, chest to chest with y/n grinding on his leg. His hands on her ass holding her against him as they star at each other with a playful smirk plastered on Rafes face. He starts kissing her going down to her neck leaving small bites that will definitely leave a mark for her to cover up tomorrow. Y/n tugging his hair with his face deep in her neck, his breath and wet kissing making her let out small groans out her lips.

He lets go soon letting her dance freely. He gets a hold of a blunt, and join a group of dudes in the corner talking about their sports and their cars and guy things while their girlfriends dance with each other.

But Rafe could not stop staring as his girl. The way her body flowed with the music, her ass grinding on another girl, the way her hair fell on her face perfectly and her sweat made her body glisten as the lights hit her.

Y/n looked up locking eyes with Rafe. The stone cold look on his face that was pleased yet with a hint of jealousy. Y/n grabbed the girls hands and touched her body, guiding the hands all over her. Eyes locked with Rafes. She smiled while his jaw clenched while he smiled.

Soon the other guys staring paying attention to the two girls, borderline porn fantasies playing right in front of them. One of the dudes managed their way behind the other girl so now it was 3 of them grinding eachother. They soon passed y/n a shot and placing the salt once again on the girls breast. Rafe watched the scene unfold as the boys and girls watched in hunger with more cheering with the song One Call by Rich Amiri playing in the room. Y/n downed the shot like it was water and her tongue latched on the girl as she threw her head back with a moan.

Rafe walked up to y/n spinning her around grinding on her as they all continued to dance. Their bodies melting together and their hands intertwined. Rafe sent small kisses behind her ears as his hands were between her thighs.

“Let’s take this somewhere else yeah?” Rafe whispered into her ear.

“Mhm baby.” Y/n slurred out.

Rafe led them out the room. Y/n followed behind hand in hand as they went up the stairs. Rafe walk into the master bedroom locking the door behind them. Immediately y/n laid down as Rafe walked over towering over her as she giggled.

“Come here pretty boy” she said as she pulled him by his shirt between her legs.

Wasting no time Rafe staring pulling down his pants as they kissed while y/n pulling off his shirt. She threw it to the side as he pulled her skirt up, ripping her panties off.

“I’ll buy you news ones doll.” He said as he pulled off her top throwing it with his clothes.

He took his fingers placing them on her clit, in the letter “R” motion. At first, when he started doing it y/n thought it was impractical but she soon find out it was the perfect clit and lip convo.

Kissing with moans in between as y/n starting to grab his dick stroking up and down. Begging with her hips as she bucked them into his hands.

“What did I say about using your words kid.” Rafe said in between kisses.

“Mhm I know sorry Rafey” she said as she was being stimulated with his hands.

Rafe put two fingers in without earring warning to tease her for his dick.

Going in and out feeling her juices and her walls clenching over his two “small” fingers.

“Mmm baby please” y/n barley let out.

“Baby please what ?” Rafe asked playing dumb

“Baby please,” she said in between moans, throwing her head back so deep into the feeling her his finger being able to reach her g spot hitting it perfectly.

“Fuck me Rafe.” She finally got out.

Rafe immediately took his fingers out, grabbing his dick not even taking his time. He shoved his rock hard dick into her.

Feeling her tight all around him like it was their first time sent him over the edge. He was starting to go at a slow pace trying to tease her but soon found it impossible.

Going at a medium speed, both in a moaning mess. Y/n nails digging into Rafes back as he pounds into his girl.

Soon enough y/n gets richer and tighter around him.

“Rafe Im close.” She says between moans.

As with that, he started doing faster. Hitting her g spot harder and harder with each thrust. Groaning with the pressure on his tip.

Him also reaching his high. As y/n finally finishing Rafe keeps going faster. Y/n knows he’s about to cum so she starting rubing her clit getting off just by the looks of Rafe completely pussy drunk.

The way his bangs fall in his face and the sweet beads all over his body. The smell of beer and sex fills the room.

With each thrust getting sloppier y/n wraps her legs around Rafe. Bet fingers get faster and faster reaching her high as she feels Rafe twitch inside her.

“Finish in me.” y/n says

and with that he did. Both finishing together as their juices mixing together inside her pussy.

Rafe falls right beside y/n, both catching their breaths.

A couple minutes later they finally got their clothes on, cleaning up in the connected bathroom.

As they walk open the door they are meeting with Topper.

“Did you guys just have sex in my parents bed?”

──── ꩜ .ᐟ ────

★

Didn’t think smut was this hard to write as a virgin.

Sorry for any typos!

[batbabydamian]

The Boy Wonder #3 by Juni Ba rambling about how cool this series would be to read in a single sitting...it's all so connected!!

rambles for issue #1 and issue #2!

i don't have as much personal interpretation for this cover besides it being a solid piece of art in shapes and silhouette! ALSO. bi bg lighting lol. Damian's "X" posing of his cape and swords parallels with Tim's "X" chest straps + the Robin emblem in the center. Tim's closed Red Robin wings frames Robin's own outstretched cape wings; and on top of that, the shadows cast inside the wings nicely frames Damian's demon mask.

Joe and Merle's dynamic has been so fun, especially with the mutual enthusiasm over the storytelling 🥺 Joe also opens up about his circumstances that led him to this moment, which perfectly sets up the setting of this issue! Even his very first introduction becomes a relevant detail when a fancy rich couple drops a champagne glass, uncaring of the people literally below them, saying “some poor sap down there’ll appreciate it” when it bonks Joe’s head.

it all comes around!! and tbh this issue proves how much this series would slap to read in a single sitting (GET THE COLLECTED EDITION)

Going beyond first impressions seems to apply to the color palette in this series. From #1 in the first page of Gotham, we see the gold of upper society to the blue of the downtrodden → from issues #2 and #3, it’s the warm gold of inner Gotham to the cold blue of the rich. there’s a sense of community displayed among the poor - even part of Jason’s intro avenging Bill, a generous man mourned on panel by many. The rich gives off a sense of individualism, celebrating themselves and their excess.

With the change in scenery, this issue steps into the more civilian side of things through a spy theme - fancy suits and lil gadget intros! Going down the civilian route with Tim feels very fitting since it's what makes Tim's run as Robin so charming!

i love that Talia’s taught Damian to be conscious of the rich’s effects on society, especially in the following page of small panels zoning in on the details of wealth and overindulgence. but also LIL DAMIAN. HIS LIL ROUND EYES AND HANDS 🥺

Damian’s aware of the facts, and his disgust is clearer after having just been through lower Gotham and seeing firsthand the poverty directly caused by the wealthy (also not sure if that old lady is the same one from #1 with similar hair and clothes, but pls she can't a break…)

i mentioned Damian’s “inciting incident” for this journey to be the intro of a demon for Damian to prove his worth but i’m correcting the use of that term!! the intro of the demon is more the beginning of plot, whereas the actual inciting incident is beheading the thief!! it’s the main reason he’s in this situation where he felt the need to prove himself, and atone. Most notably is that the beheaded thief is a consistent character that quite literally haunts Damian every step of the way.

The statue of Batman’s head being popped off becomes a significant visual, because while Damian started this journey to prove something to Bruce, the only one that really seems to have (quite literal) eyes for Damian’s journey is the thief. Why does he make more of an appearance than the actual Bat? Even his statue’s head doesn’t make a figurative presence; whereas the only one looming over Damian is the thief. Guilt over killing him may be driving him just as much as his desire to be worthy. Alternatively, it could be that Damian needs to reexamine his motivations since the thief is really getting in Damian's face now.

Damian is proud to be a positive influence on Tim, but the moment is short-lived. It’s an ironic moment to me because Damian doesn't even know the impact he's had on Jason just in the previous issue!! 😭

Damian's so desperate to prove his worth, yet he's been making choices in every issue to help others!! Helping the old woman up in #1, being vulnerable with Jason in #2, and now sacrificing himself for Tim!

The Ra’s "Weakness" panel has been reoccurring since #1, but it's the first time Talia has been included. Being great figures in his life and mind, their silhouettes consume Damian's, similar to a few of Batman's appearances below. This latest disappointment was such a blow to Damian, that Talia (who he might have the most respect for) becomes an added voice in his head.

Final thoughts!!

Like Rok, does the thief actually have a connection to the al Ghuls or is this beard just in fashion at the moment.

Lex is clearly referencing one of the Underwell warehouses that Joe and Merle are presently, so wondering if whatever he and Tim discuss here will be affecting them later.

Ending with Talia’s cover for extra hype!! i’ll probably go back to this for the next ramble, but i’m already gearing myself up to wail about Talia just based on this cover. The Mary and Jesus imagery (more prominent with Damian’s lil crown as a “prince”) but most importantly Talia weathering the flames for Damian…her own shroud/shawl wrapped around Damian and burning… oh boy

[erideights]

Little pieces here and there (5)

Pairing: Buggy x Fem!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

Chapters: one, two, three, four

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: light flirting, light metion of sex, a lot of feelings, super fluff (in their particular way)

A/N: I'M BACK WITH THE NEW AND LAST (????) CHAPTER OF THE SERIES AFTER AN HIATUS WEEK. I wanted to post something good, something beautiful, true to the characters and the story you all enjoyed reading as much as i writing! (sorry for the possible grammatical mistakes!)

Side note: this chapter is to be read with different time frames, so changing the lights of the room and their resting positions in bed!

"Say it."

"Nope."

"Why not!?" he whines, his beautiful dove eyes pleading. "C'mon baby. Say it. I deserve it. All the awards. All the honors." The fact he’s beneath her, trapped between her body and the mattress, doesn't help make him look less submissive. She has to admit, it’s extremely pleasant to see how his dignified ass drags himself for her.

"But it would be a lie," she says, sticking out her tongue in a gesture intended to make him suffer a little more. Unbelievable that this is the same man who forced her to beg for sex a couple of hours ago. "and I’m no liar."

''Didn't seem like a lie to me when you were moaning my name and cumming on my cock for the third time some minutes ago.'' Ah, there it is, his ego is back again. Or at least, a glimpse of it. Took a while to appear. 

In front of him, (Y/N) just smiles devilishly, which makes Buggy growl and look at her with pleading eyes again. "Look, we already established I know and even like how you need to play difficult, it's part of your charisma, but I need to hear it, okay? I will give you anything your wayward, fussy heart could desire. Consider it a prize."

''Anything?''

''Anything.''

Hmm. She plays along, and pretends to think about it for long, torturous seconds, shaking her head from side to side in slowmo, taking a deep breath. 

As expected, soon enough she decides to give in-- she’s satisfied after making him beg in her own particular way.

''Fine.'' She takes a breath and starts her dramatic performance, with one hand on her own chest, eyes closed. ''Oh, Buggy, you were right, you are the best lover I’ve ever had, thanks to you my soul has ascended and I have seen the One Piece.''

That is not the praise he was expecting about his sexual skills. Not even close. But was so /him/, so dramatic, exaggerated, and incredibly hilarious, that despite faking offense on his face, eyes half-closed, lips pressed together, fingers pinching her hips as punishment, he has to admit -he will not-, was funny.

''You're a moron'' That’s about everything he has to say on the matter.

‘’Like Ol’Axe-Hand?’’ She asks, raising an eyebrow, hoping he gets it. And of course he does. He's so surprised that he widens his eyes, smirking. Is she actually admitting how incredibly funny he is? ''You still remember that joke?''

''Was so bad it stuck with me since then like a fucking nightmare.'' Hit and sunk.

''Ouch''

"Don't worry, there's still time to improve the quality of your jokes. But for now I'll take the prize you promised.''

''Ugh, fine. What do you want?’' Buggy thinks he knows (Y/N), so he’s convinced she will ask for something impossible. A challenge that will ridicule him or an astronomical sum of money. ''If what you want are berries I’m sorry to inform you, sunshine, I'm broke, I still have to find...'' but the clown shuts himself when he feels the girl's fingers slowly caressing his sharp jaw, finally pulling him by his chin towards her. He leans in too, eyes fixed on her lips, yearning for the kiss he can see so clearly written in the dreamy way she looks at him.

There’s no need to announce it, nor to start it with their usual flirting or provocations. It's slow and doesn't demand anything at all, nor is intended to be the trigger of their next round.

It's just a kiss. Something so simple and intrinsically complex at the same time. And in the same way as if it had been the most fiery and passionate of his life, as not long ago, this kiss leaves him breathless, unable to form a single coherent thought that has nothing to do with her.

Oh, he’s down bad. Just like she is.

              …

And there they are on the mattress, she’s sitting on his lap, legs around him, his hands on her hips, hers on his abdomen in a relaxed pose. The scene is typical of two lovers who have known each other for a lifetime -or at least for years- and not of two people who just had the wildest sex of their lives less than a couple hours ago. For the first time. 

They tell each other anecdotes, surreal stories, and laugh together inside that little bubble they don't even know how it was created, where it came from, or how the hell it could have absorbed them so much, making them completely ignore the outside world.

"What do you mean a giant bird!?" she screams in laughter, her stomach hurting, her lungs burning. "Aha, yeah, laugh all you want but imagine thinking that you’re about to die turned into damn bird feed. It would fucking piss me off."

As it can’t be otherwise, (Y/N) ends up laughing until she cries with the story of how Buggy arrived at Loguetown, and the clown finds himself exaggerating his story more and more with each laugh he manages to get from the girl, eager to hear it again, knowing he’s the only cause of this beautiful melody.

It’s absurd how he would love -kill- to know more about her, ‘cause if he stops to think about it, he doesn't know this woman at all. He knows nothing beyond her name, her crew, and the fact that she has a bold sense of humor. She’s brave and sarcastic, keen, sharp, and much more intelligent and savvy than -in his opinion- all the idiots around her.

And this is how and when he realizes the post-nut clarity theory hasn't worked for him. Getting her out of his twisted mind will not be as easy as fucking her a couple times, get his needed ton of personal satisfaction from making her beg for him, and moving on to the next thing to do/achieve on his list.

Goddamnhim.

"Alright, as much as I love and enjoy being the main character, it's time for you to drop your femme fatale facade and show me who you truly are."

"Awh,’’ she smiles tenderly, reaching for one of his cheeks. ‘’you see me like a femme fatale? That's so cute."

"Cut the crap.’’ The clown slaps her hand away, not in a violent way, but offended. ‘’You're not easily intimidated and I noticed you're good with knives too. That's sexy, and it makes me curious as hell about what you did before you joined those shitty heads."

Fair enough, she would be curious too, so she thinks about it, a bit wary of talking about her private life because there is a part of her that prefers to keep it intact -in case she wants to come back to it-. However, she reasons, mentioning what she did without being very specific doesn’t reveal anything at all. It would piss her off if Buggy casually knows her mercenary name -by which she’s fairly known among marines and pirates alike- and connects some dots all of a sudden. 

Is he actually that smart?

"I was a mercenary." She says calmly, shrugging her shoulders. "With that angelic face?" He retorts in disbelief, raising both eyebrows, even though he knows it fits her personality just right. "You'd be surprised what you're capable of with it."

"No, no, I actually believe you." He cracks an amused smile, looking directly into her eyes after carefully scanning her face. ''I mean, If someone like you tried to sneak onto my ship I would know it’s a trap, either to kill me or to steal from me but I would end up saying ''whatever you say beautiful'' and would actually let you do your thing.''

He's an idiot but still, once again, he manages to make her laugh. “Looking like that, anyone would give you anything,” he adds because he is, in fact and undoubtedly, willing to give her a little more of himself. More time and more attention, because he should definitely be out there gathering his crew -only God knows what they'll be doing- and figuring out how to get to the Grand Line without a damn map.

The idea of asking her, or even suggesting she steals it for him, doesn't even cross his mind. Not even after having shared this /intimate/ afternoon together. He knows she won't do it, she doesn’t own him shit, she’s not one of these women who fall in love and suddenly do everything, and leave everything behind, for the man of their dreams.

And of course Buggy can see the way she looks at him, without an ounce of contempt or distaste for his extravagant appearance or the atrocities he's sure she knows he's committed and of which he's not one bit ashamed. She sees him as he is and still, she’s here, offering him back something as valuable as her time and company.

But she won't give him more, he is aware of that. That's why he didn't offer (Y/N) to run away with him when he escaped from Arlong Park, because as much as she enjoys his company and maybe, just maybe, the clown imagines, feels something for him, he has the impression she’s a disgustingly loyal person, to her principles and her people, and as much as she likes to flirt with him, she would have said no.

He must admit, that's also how he likes her. Strong, capable, independent. He would kill no matter who to have her by his side as part of his crew, although he knows it won't happen. He would settle, however, with the -hypothetical- opportunity to meet from time to time on the high seas or on any random island. To sneak away from their crews in secret, to disappear for a few hours in which all his attention, his entire being, could focus on her, lower the curtain just a little, leave the spotlight behind and relax.

There is a small part of him, the one that makes him unable to stop looking intensely at her with those blue eyes that mirrors his own soul, that truly hopes she feels the same.

…

''You know'' she starts, absently stroking his hair, the clown's head in her lap. ''I imagine-- no, I know the whole nose topic is a sensitive thing for you but honestly, it shouldn't-- big noses are incredibly attractive, and yours? Believe me, anyone would want to sit on it.’’

What.

He's so taken aback by the suddenness of the comment he completely forgets what they were talking about before and on top of that, he's unable to reply for some seconds, looking at her like she just started speaking in another, incomprehensible language.

He ends up raising an eyebrow, running his tongue over his red lips. ''Including you?''

''Including me''

''Well, sunshine, today's your lucky day then'' Sitting up, in a blink of her eyes he turns, catches the girl's hips and drags her with him, lying down, leaving her sitting on his chest while he rest his head on the pillow. Buggy winks at her, licking his lips again, this time cheekily rather than thoughtfully. “I’m about to make another one of your dreams come true.”

''Horny bastard.'' she whispers, swallowing saliva. What a view, having him between her legs again. ''Never denied, sweetheart'' with a low, erotic, and breathtaking laugh, he surrounds both her thighs with his arms and pulls her body up in a quick movement, causing a sudden brush of his nose against the inside of her thigh.

(Y/N) shudders and takes a deep breath, spreading her legs a little further as she settles them on the pillow. ''Show me what else you can do, captain.'' To that he just groans, already getting hard with just having her on top of his face and her way of talking to him, pushing his buttons just the right way.

In no time she’s a complete, total, and absolute mess, writhing with pleasure. Hands grabbing his hair, hips rocking over his mouth, forcing his nose to rub against her clitoris, she softly moans his name, an occasional insult or any other possible blasphemy.

''Oh, fuck-- Buggy.''

…

Worn off makeup all around her body, sun setting, long hours spent together in which they have told funny, long stories about each other's life and of course, in which they have ended up letting free -once again- that suffocating sexual tension that attracts them to the other like a month to a lamp. Buggy, surprisingly, ends up letting his guard down to the point where he falls asleep, and not long after, he starts snoring.

(Y/N) knows, it's time to leave and look for her friends. She also knows she warned them about her obsession with the city and that the chances of her getting lost were high, and in that case they should not worry about her, blablabla, because she would come back sooner or later. She didn’t even remotely expect the reason for her disappearance would be a self-declared enemy -Luffy’s enemy- of her crew, tho. Neither was she going to spend so much time away from them to be with him.

The excuses she will need to cover her tracks are endless, and a pain in the ass without even started to think about them yet.

Will Zoro still be lost somewhere on the island? Because she obviously assumed, he got lost as soon as they split.

Still in bed, she takes a moment to calmly look at him. (Y/N) is aware of how this may be the last time they ever see each other, and -not- surprisingly, this thought sparks a pang of sadness in her. She really likes him. She wouldn't say she is in love with him, because those are big words and they barely know each other yet, but... he was right, the chemistry between the two was something impossible to deny. And it hasn't weakened, nor disappeared a single bit after sex. Quite the opposite-- It has become something more, a kind of deep and sincere fondness that in this precise moment, dark outside, distant voices over the window from drunkards and bastards around the streets, his breathing calm for a fraction of second, his eyes closed and the fresh breeze that enters the room, invites her to caress his blue hair while he sleeps, sighing.

It’s been a long, long time since (Y/N)’d enjoyed this kind of genuine, absolute peace, sharing with someone she cares about, a room where time does not exist and life is just a thought instead of reality.

Part of her wishes or better said, acknowledges, she would stay here the entire night if she could. The other says that’s ridiculous, and that those are her hormones talking and nothing else. It would pass.

But does she want it to pass? To fade away?

Finally getting out of bed -all her willpower at once- after long minutes in which she simply memorizes every possible detail around her, she begins to retrieve her clothes scattered throughout the room and get dressed in silence, trying not to wake him up.

Through all this process, in the depths of her head resonates a single thought, ringing as loud and strong as an alarm. She’s unable to shut it up. She can’t ignore it either. It's another kind of thought she shouldn't have, and at the same time… feels so natural, so logical, she doesn't feel guilty for having it.

But should she listen to it? Should she follow it?

Taking a seat in the chair that fulfilled its great purpose a few hours ago, she sighs, again, head resting on her hand, elbow on the table. With a small smile, her eyes fall back on that ridiculous, snoring clown. And then, she just knows.

Reaching to a little secret pocket in her pants, she takes out a small piece of folded paper and starts to open it slowly, being careful to not tear it apart, leaving it on the table of the room once the copy of the map of the Grand Line can be perfectly seen. When (Y/N) suggested her crew make a couple of copies in case something happened to the original, she never thought she would use hers like this, but she doesn't regret it in the slightest.

Biting the tip of her tongue, her eyes scan the partially darkened room, jumping from side to side. When she finally finds what she was looking for, she leans over the table, and taking the pen from the inkwell, she writes in the upper right corner of the map "I will be waiting for you right here, come find me" .

If someone asked her why she does this, why she feels this, why does she decide to ignore her common sense and give something so important to someone as -objectively- miserable as him, she would simply answer that there are things… or better said-- not things, but the little pieces here and there, pieces of himself left in her during conversations, shared glances, laughter, flirts, light touches and the deep strong ones that came after those. It's the way he tried to make her laugh at all costs or how he didn't give up trying to win her over. Those blue eyes so intense she would swear, they reached her soul, or the small, genuine smile she knows she has seen this same afternoon, really far from the forced, crooked, exaggerated ones he usually has.

It is all of this and much more, and opening the door of the room, closing it again so that no one disturbs Buggy while she escapes the building and heads to her ship to find her crew, she knows she can't wait to see him again.

She knows she will. Her sixth sense tells her so.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the wind

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n the thirteenth part! I'm so so so sorry for the wait but girl drained her writing abilities too much and I just couldn't write and then couldn't give you all a shit chapter. I hope you will still enjoy this! ✨🤍 also, your girl is running on 3h of sleep so if there are mistakes, forgive me... I'll fix them when my brain is once again plugged to the internet.🙃

warning: kids, past trauma, substance use... low key seems too little of a list but nothing else comes to mind

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Axel's been desperate for a couple of days now. He had managed to lift off the ground and do a couple of flaps with his wings at the start of the week. The excitement on his face when Azriel carried him back home was unmatched. Unlike anything you had seen before. He was glowing. Radiant. So deeply loved, and it showed. The boy had rambled about it throughout the whole dinner. But Azriel hadn't denied his excitement even once, a proud smile on his face as he let the boy babble on and on.

It felt easy. It was so easy to be there. In Azriel's apartment. To wake up next to him. To watch him come home after a long day. Fetch the kids for classes. Not to mention that his place was ever-shifting. After the first night on his mattress, which was rung by the furthest of walls, Azriel had shown up with Cassian the very next day. Boxes in hand, they got to work putting together the biggest bed frame you had ever seen. He covered the knives stand with some sort of spell. They were there still, a big part of him, but the kids could not reach them. His way of baby-proofing the space. Slowly morphing it into something that suited everyone's needs.

"Lift up and do ten flaps", Azriel's voice floated through the field. The day was beautiful. The sun was out. Warm rays of sunshine kissed the skin. You and Zofie were sitting on a big knitted blanket. The little girl beside you was threading flower crowns. Her tiny tongue was slightly out as she concentrated on her very serious task.

"I can do more", Axel urged. He was standing next to Azriel. His tiny Illyrian leathers clad his skin. His safety armor. A tiny little piece of comfort that the spymaster had gifted to him. Azriel shook his head as he smiled, "Start with ten, then we will see". You could tell that Azriel had also found comfort in teaching Axel. A second chance at a glimpse of a happy childhood. With him and only him in the center of someone's happiness.

For a moment, there was only a warm breeze humming through the field. You watched how Axel got into a position. His determined face faltered, and his eyes darted back up at Azriel. "You will catch me, right?", here it was, that same bitter fear of failing. Of not trusting himself. But Azriel didn't let it settle in as he kneeled next to the boy, "You won't need my help, but if you do, I will be right by your side". Axel's big, golden eyes blinked at Azriel.

"And if I don't make it...", the boy doesn't finish the sentence, but the premise of it is clear. Will you be disappointed? Laugh? Give up on me? Azriel cupped the Axel's cheeks between his scared palms. "Look at me", the spymaster muttered, "You will do it. I know you will. You have to believe in yourself". They looked at each other for a moment before Axel quickly nodded his head, "Okay. I've got this", the boy muttered, Azriel quickly ruffled his hair, "Hell yeah, you do!".

Axel found your eyes across the field. You smiled at him, nodding your head. He could do it, and you did not doubt it. The boy nodded his head one more. A deep breath in. And within seconds, his tiny frame shot up. Axel faltered ever so slightly. Gravity pulling him down. But with one determined flap after another, he managed to stay up above. "Look at me", he beamed from the sky, the wind dancing in his onyx hair. "Y/n! Zo!", he shouted. The girl beside you let out a gasp. Scrambling to her feet as she ran through the flower field to get closer to her brother, "Axel!", she squealed happily. "Good job, honey!", you called right after her, your hand on your chest as you tried to suppress your emotions. One beat after another. Just his energy strained as fast as it was mustard. And the boy slowly sank back down. But the smile on his face didn't seem to shrink.

"Did you see it?", Axel looked across all three of you, breathing heavily. "We did, my love", you beamed at him, leaning closer to kiss his sweaty forehead. "I flew like all of the Illyrians", the boy taped at his leathers proudly, his eyes darting up at Azriel, whose smile was just as big. "I'm so proud of you", Azriel said. "Thank you, pa-Azzy", Axel stuttered, his big eyes suddenly laced with worry, but Azriel only scooped him up in his arms, seating Axel on his shoulder, "You got it, bud".

The kids were far from, content afterward. Too much excitement rushing through their tiny bodies, and now that they were painfully aware that they had Azriel wrapped around their fingers, within a couple of hours you were back in the city, for none other than street pancakes. "You didn't have to say yes", you muttered to Azriel as you two trailed behind the two overly excited younglings. "Why, not?", he said straight away as if tending to their needs had already become second nature for him. "Well, I'm sure you have meetings or people to scare", you shrugged, making Azriel chuckle slightly. The expression easy to miss because his colder mask was back on. What you didn't miss was how some people looked at him. At you all. The emotions were hard to pinpoint, but it was clear evidence that one didn't find the spymaster of the night court casually walking through Velaris streets.

"Look, it's the fountain", the two little monsters came tumbling back, pulling at the skirts of your dress, tiny fingers pointing toward the water fairies. "Now, what did I say about pointing fingers, huh?", you huffed, and the two of them dropped their hands. Quick apologies swirled around, but the pulling didn't ease. Azriel took a heartbeat to look at you three. The way a laugh slipped past your lips as one of the fairy bopped Axel's face making the boy jump back slightly. All courtwork aside, the past couple of weeks have left Azriel feeling weightless. No burdens. No worries. And if something managed to cling to him after a long day, it would all melt away the moment he stepped through his apartment door, hearing your voices and laughter. It felt so good to finally have something that belonged just to him. And it wasn't that territorial fea-male thing. Well, yes, it was, but there was so much more. Azriel finally felt like he had a purpose. His bland days were finally filled with more color. He loved being able to take Zofie to her dance classes. Fetch Axel for training with Cassian. To come home and find you smiling at him. To kiss you softly.

"Can I get two?", Zofie's voice filled Azriel's senses, and his head instantly turned towards the pancake stand. An old lady was already smiling as she looked down at the kids trying to pick their orders. "You won't be able to finish them both, bug," you said as you brushed your fingers through Zofie's hair. "But I can't pick between jam and chocolate", she pouted. Azriel stepped closer, earning a slight bow from the owner, that he quickly returned with a nod.

"Azzy, you pick", Zofie quickly moved towards the spymaster, cleverly making grabby hands at him so that once the order was made, she would be able to see how they were made because, not like Axel, she couldn't see over the stand. "I would like apple crumble, please", Axel said, fingers twirling with the material of your skirt. "And jam and chocolate", Azriel followed suit. You shot him a look, but he was already too occupied by how Zofie was beaming in his arms.

"Add it to my account too", Azriel said firmly, and you shook your head. "Nonsense, let me pay for it", you reached for the satchel fastened to your corset. But Azriel softly took hold of your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "Don't fight me on this, love", he simply muttered. And stop frowning; it doesn't suit you. Azriel's smug voice filled your mind, making you let out a huff. You're too full of yourself; let me pay for something. You muttered back, but Azriel only smirked. You are paying; it's our shared account. A breath hitched in your throat. A shared account? But only members of the inner circle shared accounts with their partners. And you... you blinked a couple of times. Had Azriel set his claim over you to Rhys? You're not an object. Azriel's velvety voice rang out once more.

You were about to answer him a gasp left Axel's lips, soon followed by Zofie. "Grammy", the two of them said in unison. Cordelia had just set her bags down as the two swarmed her. Jumping. Giggling. "My gorgeous bunch", the woman said, cradling them both in her arms, "I swear you two have grown an inch since I last saw you". They both beamed at her, pancakes long forgotten. Azriel's shadows made quick work of his mother's bags. Tiny little clouds got to work immediately as they moved to carry them back to her house.

"Azriel, Y/N", Cordelia said, turning to you both as you finally approached her hands full of food. "What are we celebrating?", the elderly woman asked. "Grammy, I flew. Azriel took me to the field. I was up in the sky", Axel said excitedly, and your eyes instantly filled up with tears, making you blink quickly. "Oh, sweet boy", Cordelia cupped Axel's cheek, "That's wonderful. Soon, you'll outmatch my Azriel. But don't tell him I told you so". The boy giggled sheepishly, catching a glimpse of Azriel, but his calm expectation didn't change.

"Why don't you two leave them with me", Cordelia said after a moment, "I'm heading home anyway". The kids instantly stepped towards her as if they didn't care for what any of you had to say. "No, ma'am, that...", "Cordelia, darling", Azriel's mom corrected you instantly. "You must be tired, and...", you tried again, only to be met with another smile, "Nonsense, these two are angels. Plus", she muttered, "When was the last time you two spent time alone?". Never. The answer was never. And the fact that the answers sank on you so quickly said it all. You and Azriel had never truly been alone. Had never been on a date.

"Exactly", Cordelia stated proudly. "I'm looking after my grandchildren, and if I see any of you at my doorstep before tomorrow evening", she narrowed her eyes, "Let's say you don't want to know what will happen". Azriel let out a laugh, shaking his head at his mother. "Thank you", he muttered. Cordelia simply leaned in to kiss her son's cheek before she squeezed your shoulder. "Have fun", she winked, turning towards the kids, already pointing them towards another stand.

"Do you want some more?", Azriel lifted the halfway-empty bottle, but you shook your head, "I still have some, thank you". Oddly enough, it felt strange to spend time with Azriel like this. No rush. No need to go places. No kids to look after. No serious worries. Just you two. A quiet apartment and a long night that was still ahead of you two. You shifted, brushing your hand through your hair.

"This feels strange in a way", Azriel breathed out, running his hand over his face, "I mean, I don't want you to feel like...", he was quick to point out, but you rested your hand on his thigh, "We're not used to being together like this". The shadowsinger nodded his head before he leaned back into the sofa, putting his glass on the tiny table that was set on the side. His arms reached forward, pulling at your hand. A chuckle slipped past your lips as Azriel tugged you closer to his chest. "What are you doing?", you breathed, still smiling. "Something I should have done at the start of the evening", Azriel mused, letting out a satisfied hum now that you were pressed against his chest.

Silence filled the room. You let yourself listen to the way Azriel's heart was drumming right beneath your ear. Warmth spread through your body. This, without a doubt, was how peace felt. "Should we play a game?", Azriel spoke up, finally making you lift your head from his chest. "A game?", you frowned slightly, pulling away. "Yeah, like, get to know each other game", Azriel breathed out, a slight pink tint brushing his cheeks. You let out a chuckle. "Okay, I am...", you breathed out, "Are Rhys and Cass your biological brothers?", "Straight at it...", Azriel let out a surprised breath, and worry instantly washed over you. "Was I not supposed to?", your big eyes looked at him. "No, no, it's okay; I like that you're taking the lead", Azriel reassured you wiggling his brows making you rill your eyes in return. You two moved to sit opposite each other. Your legs were tucked beneath you, but Azriel's hand still stayed on your thigh.

"And to answer your question, they are not", he said smoothly. "We meet in the camp. Rhys's mother pulled us under her wing; the rest is history but they feel like blood brothers". You found yourself nodding; you knew that they were in training together. Most people called them the inseparable three for a reason. The loved they shared always made you smile. It was rare. Especially between territorial Illyrian males. "Your mother was from Helion's court," Azriel stated, claiming his turn, "You've ever thought about going there?". You took a moment to let his words sink in. Rhys had brought that up a couple of times, but the idea of going to a place you knew nothing about to meet people you knew nothing about. "No...", you breathed out. "I mean, it'll sound bad, but Helion keeps his angels under tight wraps." Pulling the strand of your hair, you quickly twirled it around your fingers, "If he had use for me, he would have claimed me by now". A rumble left Azriel's chest, "No one can claim you; you make your own choices". His voice was thick with frustration. The thought, clearly, unsettled him. You reached for his hand once more, "Azriel, I know, hence why I said it would sound bad". But the frown between his brows didn't ease until your fingers carefully brushed over his skin.

You weighed your next question for a heartbeat before muttering, "Your hands, can you tell me the real story?", you watched as Azriel's face shifted with emotion. The man was almost a myth. The amount of stories told about him could easily be turned into a book but... most of them seemed so far fetched. For a heartbeat, you even regretted your question, but then Azriel let out a sigh. "You know about the basement...", the spymaster clenched his palms together. "This was one of their games", you shifted slightly, reaching for his hands as you clasped them in yours. Azriel's eyes lingered on your joined palms. "One night they wanted to test how quickly I would heal. So they dunked my hands in oil and set them on fire", his words sounded cold and distant. But then how else would you talk about the trauma that shifted your life. You bit the inside of your cheek as you leaned closer to him. But before you could fully rest against him, you pulled his hands up to your mouth, placing kiss after kiss on the scared surface. He didn't stop you. Didn't pull away. Soaking in the warmth of you. The tender touch.

But your movements stalled at his next words, "Your back", Azriel muttered. You let go of him instantly, drawing back, "What of it?", you asked, even if you knew more than well what he was asking for. In a way, your scars linked you both together. But you've worked your hardest to keep that side of you hidden from everyone. Even yourself. You let your head drop slightly, and Azriel's fingers instantly hooked beneath your chin. If there was something this man was against, it was you feeling small when you were with him.

"You don't have to", he breathed out, his gorgeous hazel eyes piercing through you. Eyes that had captured your soul the very same night you two had come for one another's throats in his room. You chose to swallow your words, turning away from him. Suddenly, your dress felt way too tight on your body. Azriel took that as a sign to drop the topic, ready to apologize when you muttered, "Undo the ribbon". Azriel swallowed thickly. Hesitation stilled his movements. But his trembling fingers still reached for the light blue material. Goosebumps trickled down your spine instantly.

Azriel could see the way your shoulders tensed the looser the fabric got around your chest. Leaning in, he placed a couple of loving kisses on your shoulder blades. He hesitated before letting the fabric fall off your skin, your hand instantly moving to cover your breasts in front. But Azriel was too far captured by the brutal slashes that even now shined red and black against your skin. The angel wings you had didn't start at the same spot where Illyrian wings rooted, which explained why the spymaster didn't catch a glimpse of them while you were in nothing but your silk nightgown.

"I hoped I could heal myself...", you muttered quietly, biting your lip. Azriel's eye snapped back up, and he instantly brought your trembling frame into his chest. Mother, strike him for letting himself gawk like that. He knew what being stared at like that felt like. The scrutiny. The pity. Blimey, his own family still shot him glances like that, and here he was. His strong arms cocooned your frame before he realized the lack of clothes covering your chest. Azriel's cheeks pinked, even if he couldn't see anything that he hadn't already seen. He moved to lift the fabric, but you stopped him, motioning for him to let you go. He got his clue here—you didn't want him watching, so his head wiped to a completely different side.

"I've never been with a male", you muttered after a heartbeat. Azriel's body froze once more. Something deep and territorial, way stronger than before, scratched at his chest. "Was I your first...", his words were barely a whisper, as you chased them away. "Everything so far...", you breathed out. Was admitting this to him awkward? Yes. But he was your mate. Surely, he would realize that eventually. Azriel turned back to face you. Realizing that he probably should have asked if he could turn around in the first place. But he found your shy eyes looking up at him. He reached for you once more. Pulling you over his lap, his hand resting on your hip.

"Thank you for sharing that", he breathed against your neck, brushing tiny feather-like kisses all over your collarbones. The tickling sensation made you giggle slightly before a frown washed over you once more. "I understand if it's not attractive", you breathed out, and Azriel halted in his movements, pulling back to meet your eyes. "Love, I'm more than okay with waiting till you're ready", he reassured you as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. "But that's... you have needs", you whispered, catching his wrist. Azriel let out a breathy chuckle, scanning your face before he leaned in to peck your lips. "I am no longer a teenager who gets a hard-on from any moving thing in front of him, but thank you for your concern, love", he said, utterly satisfied with his answer. "Ew, Azriel", you cackled, hitting his chest playfully. The spymaster's laugh matched yours in no time as he pulled you down on the plush sofa, nestling you deeper into his embrace.

You had hoped to wake up in Azriel's arms the next morning. The intimacy of last night's confessions still lingered. But once the slumber left your body, you quickly realized that the bed felt way too cold. A pang ached in your chest, but you knew that he was a busy man. A note you found in the kitchen proved just that. An urgent meeting. I hate that I had to leave you like that. I will see you in the evening, Az. You brushed your fingers over the paper, turning your attention to the bond, smothering it with soft touches, only to be met with a cold wall. You frowned slightly. But then, he always shut it off when he was out on duty. You knew that if something was seriously bad, he would answer. But nothing was seriously bad and you weren't about to become a needy partner. Brushing the nagging thoughts away, you smiled to yourself. No, nothing was going to ruin the plan you had for tonight.

And it started out so perfectly. From the way you had allowed yourself to explore the city. Wondering from one shop to another. Everyone greeted you with a smile. The streets were humming even in the early morning. All the smells and sounds fill your senses. You tested cheese from a local farmer's stand, listening to the stories about the sheep that he owned. You had forgotten what it felt like to live like this. Now fully understanding why Zofie and Axel loved it here so much. The white, quiet walls of the sanctuary felt more like a prison than a happy home when you compared it to the city.

Your arm was aching from the bag you were carrying, but it didn't seem to bother you today. Your eyes caught the stand full of freshly cut flowers. Like a little bee on a hunt for nectar, you turned its way. The lady greeted you with a wave. She, like the man before, shared her passion for the blooms before wrapping a big bouquet of peonies in paper. The smell of them made your lips taste sweet. But the moment her hands brushed yours, you felt a tight grip on your arms. Dark eyes looked at you. Sharp venomous teeth gleamed, "Silly child, he is not your happy ever after. You're burning in flames of pain for your mistakes", the thick words sounded, making you draw away, nearly dropping all of your stuff. You bumped into someone, pulling your eyes away from the lady, and when you finally blinked, a man was holding onto your shoulders. Steadying you. "Are you alright, dear?", the female called out to you, making you take a double look at both of them. "Yeah", you muttered, feeling your cheeks heating up. "I'm so sorry, I just got dizzy from all the smells", you breathed out, quickly taking hold of your things and hurrying away.

You hoped the feeling of unease would lessen eventually. That the image of that monstrous face would fade. But it stuck around. Sending shivers down your back all day long. The same way it did up at the house of wind. You had felt slightly better at Cordelia's house, where you stopped to get the kids, but the moment you crossed Azriel's apartment's entrance, it clasped right over your throat once more. "Do I put this in?", Axel called out, making you draw your attention back to the two kids. A pot of stew was bubbling on the stove. You pressed a palm against your temple, an odd throb aching there.

"Yes, sweetie, give it a mix too", the two of them had been desperate to make Azriel's mother's stew. Cordelia had cooked with them a couple of times, and now they had taken it upon themselves to show what they had learned. "I need help", Zofie muttered, pulling at your sleeve. She had been tasked with pulling some of the herbs from the stems and dicing them. Yet your body didn't seem to comprehend the request. Axel turned to her instead. "Show me", he said, but you could feel his eyes on you. Both of their eyes are on you.

"Y/N", Axel called out softly, "Is everything okay?" The real answer to that would be that you didn't know. It was the tightness and numbness in your chest that unsettled you the most. You've never felt like before. As if something was missing all of a sudden. You tried to claw out of the hazy daze, "Yeah, I'm...", but your voice died down to the sound of the knock on the door. Axel jumped off his step stool, but you caught him by his shoulder. "Stay here with Zo", you muttered. Deep down, you hoped that it was Azriel or someone from the family, but then Azriel wouldn't knock. He never did.

You cracked the door open as if you already didn't feel confused enough. There she stood. The prettiest pink dress framed her figure. Loose curls fell over her shoulders. Elain. You braced yourself against the doorframe. Mother, don't let this be what you thought it was. "Oh", the female gasped lightly. "I...", she stuttered, suddenly growing fidgety. "How can I help you?", you breathed out, trying to keep your racing mind at bay. "Azriel said we would meet here; that usually means alone", her tone was sweet, but every word sent daggers flying straight into your heart. Silly child, he is not your happy ever after. The voice echoed in your mind. You blinked rapidly, frown marking your features. For a moment, it seemed as if something flashed through Elain's eyes before she mustered a forced smile back on her lips.

"I apologize for interrupting", Elain turned to walk away but halted quickly as if changing her mind. "Actually", she muttered, "I forgot about a little gift", her voice trembled as she pulled her hand out of the dress pocket, opening her palm to reveal a crystal-clear powder. She blew on it gently, flecks flowing towards you. The same invisible hand clawed at your throat. You tried to gasp for air, but it felt useless. You staggered back, the sound of someone grinding their teeth drilled through your head. A scream echoed through the space as your body hit the floor. Muffled noises rang endlessly. Noises. Screams. Zofie and Axel. The last bits of your rational mind called out. You dug your nails into the floor, turning your body towards the kitchen. Black figures swarmed all around, both of the kids trashing in their grip. You reached your hand towards them, but before you could cry out to them, everything went black.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @naturakaashi @hoemadegrace @just-m-2 @thereadinggremlin @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @hijabi-desi-bookwarm

[metalhoops]

Corroded Coffin didn’t ‘do’ love songs. 

It wasn’t some unwritten rule or unspoken theory that they were too ‘cool’ for love songs. Hell, metal ballads were a whole subgenre. Even W.A.S.P. had a love song. 

It was just that in their three years as a band, they’d never written a single love song. If Corroded Coffin had a lyricist, it was Eddie. It wasn’t as though other members hadn’t tried their hand at writing. Gareth and Jeff had written a handful of songs between them, as well as helped Eddie polish a couple of verses. Grant had even written a chorus, but generally, the lyrics of a Corroded Coffin song were, first and foremost, Eddie’s brainchild. 

The closest they’d ever gotten to writing a love song was ‘Killer Konnection’, and that was all Jeff. Though it was more about lust than love. So you could imagine the boys' shock when Eddie showed up to band practice and played them a love song. 

It was unlike any of their other material. Since Eddie disappeared back in March after being framed for a series of murders, the songs he’d written had changed. That hadn’t surprised the boys. Being proverbially run out of town with pitchforks could really change a guy’s view of the world. He pulled out some killer prose about red skies filled with bats and dark wizards out for deathly revenge. But they’d never heard Eddie write anything like the song he played for them that morning. He hadn’t even named it. Though Gareth caught a glimpse in Eddie’s notebook and saw it was going by the tentative title of ‘S’. A mysterious name for a mysterious song. 

Sure, ‘S’ had all the hallmarks of a Corroded Coffin song. It had the killer beat spurred on by the anxiety-inducing pounding drumbeat and base, accompanied by thrashing guitars and raw vocals, but the lyrics? Downright Robert Smith or Morrissey vibes. Maybe ‘love song’ was too harsh. Really, it was a song about longing. Even the guitar chords appeared to ache under the weight of the song. 

The song left the three other members of Corroded Coffin asking one question. What the hell happened with Eddie? They’d known Eddie was gay since before they’d become a band. It wasn’t like the boys were the type for adhering to societal conventions anyway. 

It’d be another year before Gareth decided he didn’t particularly have any preference as to who he fell in love with, and Grant? He decided he’d rather play D&D and work on creating his own tabletop RPG than date anyone, anytime soon. Thank you very much. Jeff was the token straight friend, though he did like wearing eyeliner and painting his nails, so people thought what they would. 

They knew Eddie had dated guys — maybe ‘dated’ was too strong a word. They knew Eddie had hooked up with guys but none of them had inspired such a response. They made it their mission to work out who the hell ‘S’ was about, and maybe try to knock some sense into him. Eddie’s song sounded so damn heartbreaking. They were his best friends. They had to do something. 

It wasn’t until their next Hellfire session that all the pieces fell into place. Since Hawkins burst of Satanic Panic, D&D at the high school was no longer an option, so they’d been couch surfing across different members’ houses. How they ended up at the Harringtons’ the Corroded Coffin boys would never know. They knew Dustin and the younger kids were friends with the guy, but since he’d gotten off the hook for the town murders, Eddie and Steve had gotten close. 

The men had eyes. It was clear to see by the way Eddie’s focus honed in on Steve the second he entered the room, the guy was equal parts smitten and grief-stricken. It was also painfully apparent Steve was oblivious. Not Eddie falling for a straight guy, again. That always ended poorly. 

Yet there were moments, the boys questioned how one-sided the affair was. Gareth noticed the way Steve went straight to Eddie after the session was over. He asked about the game. He knew Harrington didn’t give two shits about D&D but he listened attentively, nodding his head and narrowing his eyes as though in deep concentration as Eddie spoke. Weird. 

He was also nice to the Corroded Coffin boys. Uncharacteristically nice.  Harrington got a little snarky with the kids. He’d make jabs about them making sure to use coasters or get their feet off the coffee table, but the Corroded Coffin boys? It was nothing but small talk and platitudes, as though he was trying particularly hard to be nice and non-offensive. Why would Harrington care what they thought? 

Eddie was always the last to arrive at rehearsals, which left plenty of time for the men to discuss. One pressing question: was Steve actually queer? Gareth said yes, Jeff said no and Grant wanted to be excluded from the conversation. The next, had anything actually happened between Eddie and Steve? After going through ‘S’s lyrics with a fine-toothed comb, they all agreed on ‘maybe’. Which was less than helpful. The boys weren’t usually the type for meddling but Eddie had been downright mopey all month.  They needed to do something. 

Gareth took one for the team at the next Hellfire session held at the Harringtons’. They’d been playing for three hours straight and were taking a well-deserved break. The kids were eating lunch while Eddie was smoking out back near Steve’s pool. Harrington was cleaning plates in the kitchen, so Gareth offered to help. He’d never been subtle, so he began the conversation with a sentence that seemed to hit Steve, much like a sledgehammer to the face. 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Steve looked at Gareth wide-eyed, all deer in headlights, dull doe eyes. Gareth didn’t understand Eddie’s seemingly deep and aching love for the guy, but he was easy enough on the eyes. 

“No. Not currently,” Steve fumbled. 

“Oh. Okay cool.” Gareth paused for too long. He should’ve had a better plan than just ‘talk to Steve’. 

“Do you want one?” 

“A girlfriend?” Steve clarified, still looking both alarmed and dumbfounded. 

“A friend. Who doesn’t happen to have to be a girl,” Gareth circumnavigated. People said Harrington was dumb, but the guy appeared to catch onto what he was implying too quickly for an entirely straight ex-jock. 

“I-uh. I don’t know you that well,” Steve mumbled, his eyes suddenly glued to the dishes in the sink. 

Holy fucking shit, Steve Harrington thought he was asking him out. Nope. NO. Abort. Gareth needed to crawl into a deep, dark hole for the foreseeable future. He had no clue what he’d said to Steve. He just got himself the hell out of there. Steve spent the rest of the session being annoyingly nice to him, without mentioning the awkward moment in the kitchen. Gareth spent the time wanting to crawl inside himself and puke. Eddie was going to be so mad if he ever found out. 

With all his inner turmoil, it wasn’t until he left the Harringtons’ that he realised, Steve hadn’t turned Gareth down because he was a guy. He’d turned him down because they didn’t know each other. Holy shit. There was hope.  

At the next rehearsal, he managed to sway the other band members into believing that despite their (and likely Eddie’s) assumptions, Steve Harrington wasn’t as ‘totally straight, off limits’ as they’d assumed. It was Jeff’s turn to have a plan. He kept the other members in the dark, besides his exclamation of ‘I have a plan’. By the time the plan came to fruition, it’d sunk into the back of the band members’ collective subconscious. 

The band was playing at The Hideout and Jeff insisted they change their setlist to include ‘S’. There wasn’t much argument.  When it was time to play the song, Jeff quickly introduced it, dedicating it to ‘someone special in the crowd’. It was then that the other Corroded Coffin boys were suddenly on hyper-alert, searching the crowd for whatever poor girl Jeff had decided to fall for, when all three sets of unassuming eyes found the familiar face of Steve Harrington lingering in the back booth. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst their regulars. 

Eddie looked ready to puke or run but the boys quickly counted him in, and they were off to the races. Eddie couldn’t resist a catchy hook. Once the setlist was over, Eddie remained hiding backstage, pacing and looking ready to actually commit a string of murders while muttering ‘what the fuck did you do?’ whether to himself or the rest of the band, they didn’t know. 

Eventually, a familiar figure appeared at the backstage door. Steve knocked tentatively before peeking in. He gave an awkward half-hearted wave to the other members before making a beeline for Eddie. 

“I got your note,” Steve said, the note all band members were now sure Jeff had somehow engineered. 

“I liked the song, it was kind of sad though...” Steve muttered, gazing down at his shoes: dentist’s teeth fresh, white reeboks. Who wore reeboks to a metal show at a bar? 

Much to the dismay of the other Corroded Coffin members, Grant chose that moment to get involved. He ushered Gareth and Jeff out to the front of house, out of earshot. Leaving Steve and Eddie to have their conversation in private. 

The next week, Eddie arrived at rehearsals early, with Steve Harrington and a new, real Corroded Coffin love song in tow. 

[moralesmilesanhour]

'cold turkey' except i re-wrote it

summary: exactly what the title says :) unsure what I'm referring to? check my masterlist linked in my pinned post!

A/N: Both the reader and Miles are college students here, so I guess you can imagine comic book Miles as well? But I'll be following the timeline of spiderverse so his mom's alive 🫶🏾 part one part two

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Tell him to turn the corner and I’m right there. Thank you so much, Jeff. Bye!”

You balanced your phone precariously between your shoulder and your ear as you slid the tray of uncooked mac and cheese into the now-heated oven. Shutting the oven door, you sighed and took the phone in your hand to check the time. 

Dinner was in five hours. 

The turkey was ready to be baked, but un-stuffed. The yams were uncooked, and the beans and stuffing had yet to be delivered because Jefferson Morales’ son had gotten lost on the way to your apartment. 

Though you’d lived only a couple houses down, you’d never formally met the boy. Different schools, and you were always swamped with extracurriculars anyway. His mother would give you a warm greeting sometimes after sending him off to school in the morning; you remembered her soft eyes and quick demeanor. The boy seemed to take after his father more, if you remembered correctly. He had a darker complexion and an awkward stiffness to the way he walked, as if someone had reminded him to straighten his posture.

You tapped your acrylics impatiently on the counter as you attempted to recall his name.

Milo…Michael..Milan…? Something like that. 

Whatever, you decided, He’ll tell me his name when he gets here.

As if summoned by your thoughts, the doorbell rang. You sighed in relief as you jogged over to the door.

“Y/N? I got your stuff!” a muffled voice called out from the other side.

Opening the door revealed a boy about your age - lean, and tall enough to take up nearly the entire door frame. His hair had miraculously stayed more or less the same after all these years, only now his afro had morphed into a high-top fade. 

He held several bags of groceries that hung off of both arms and grinned proudly at you, as if he hadn't arrived thirty minutes late.

“You Morales?” 

“Nah, that's my mom,” he joked, “I'm Miles.” 

You rolled your eyes and stepped aside for Miles to enter. 

“Well thank you, Miles, I really appreciate it,” you replied humorlessly, “But if you'll excuse me, I gotta get back to–”

When you reached out to take the bags, he raised them high above his head with ease like they were toys. Your head snapped up to see that his hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. 

“What are you doing?”

“I am terribly sorry, ma'am, but I cannot under any circumstances let you carry all these by yourself.”

“I'll manage,” you replied sharply. Miles raised an eyebrow, challenging you.

“You sure? ‘Cuz I smell smoke from your kitchen, and I feel like you might need the help.”

The smell in question wafted beneath your nose, and your eyes went wide.

“Shit–Fine, bring ‘em in, whatever!”

You spun around and bolted towards the kitchen with Miles following not too far behind.

Your eyes watered as soon as you entered. The oven blew smoke into your face when you opened it, but the fumes thankfully weren't black. 

Grabbing a pair of oven mitts from the counter, you carefully removed the hot tin from its fiery mouth, standing and setting it down in front of you.

The mac and cheese was a golden brown, with a few darker spots here and there. There must've been a piece of food or debris sitting in the oven that you'd missed that had burned instead.

Miles set down the bags of groceries and surveyed the kitchen, watching your stout figure scurry about, flipping switches and turning knobs.

“It's just you in here?” He asked.

“Yup,” you replied while chopping yams. “My sister was s'posed to be here to help, but she's stuck in traffic. So, here I am.”

An awkward silence settled in between you. Even without looking up, you could sense that Miles was still standing there. 

Finally, he spoke:

“You want any help with that?”

You set the knife down and turned to him with a hand on your hip, and tilted your head in amusement. 

“I dunno, Miles. Are you gonna keep standing there like a lost puppy if I say no?”

A grin spread across his face. “I'll make the stuffing!”

You returned to chopping. “Knock yourself out.”

-

After removing some of the plantains he'd bought, Miles rummaged through your fridge. There was garlic–thank God–and chili peppers. After grabbing those, he opened one of the cupboards and found a bottle of olive oil.

While he was painstakingly chopping veggies, he occasionally stole glances at you as you continued preparing the yams.

Your wide nose was scrunched in focus, occasionally pushing a stray box braid away from your face. Cute.

He accidentally caught your eye the next time he looked up, and you paused.

“What?”

Miles cleared his throat, “N-nothing.” 

He turned away and poured the chopped ingredients into a bowl and combined them with the olive oil. 

The smell floated its way over to you. Interest piqued, you peered over his shoulder and watched his nimble fingers expertly peel several ripe plantain bananas, before tossing them in with the chili and garlic. Miles rolled up one of his sleeves to mash everything together, muscles flexing beneath his brown skin with every turn. You noticed a tiny smile ghosting his lips.

“Yes?” He asked. 

Miles hadn't so much as glanced up at you. Was it possible that you'd been staring so hard that you had gotten his attention telepathically?

Startled, you fumbled for an excuse. “You’re uh, really good at cooking. I'm impressed.”

The corner of Miles’ mouth quirked up.

“Sure you are.”

After filling the turkey with the finished mofongo, Miles slid it into the oven where it joined the yams, and shut the door.

The sound of knives hitting cutting boards no longer filled the air, leaving behind yet another silence. And time to kill.

Miles shuffled over to the sink to wash his hands, the sound of only faucet water rushing even more maddening. You decided to break the silence this time.

“So, how’s college? My mom said you went to New Jersey to study.”

“It's alright,” he shrugged as he grabbed a paper towel to dry his hands off with. 

You crossed your arms and grinned. “You givin’ me the parent answer. How's it really going?”

Miles threw the paper towel away, and gave you a lopsided smile.

“Fine. School's kinda whooping my ass, and winter break can't come soon enough. You?”

“Same here,” you sighed, unfolding your arms to rest them on the counter. “Med school ain't for the weak. Labs every five minutes.”

“You gonna be a nurse?”

“Surgeon,” you corrected.

Miles let out a low whistle, making your chest swell with pride.

“What do you study? You look like a student athlete.”

“Whoah, what does that mean?” He laughed and raised an eyebrow.

“That's not what I meant!” You giggled, catching the joke.

“Relax, I know what you meant,” Miles leaned against the counter opposite you. “I'm a physics major, if you must know.”

You nodded thoughtfully. Your guess was way off.

“Never met a future physicist before. Usually it's business, or poli-sci, or something.”

Miles winked, “I'm full of surprises.”

The gesture made your face grow embarrassingly hot. You'd think that spending enough time on campus would make you less susceptible to the charms of pretty boys with high-top fades, but old habits die hard. Still, you held your ground.

“You use that line on every girl?”

“I came up with that just now, so no. Flattered that you think it's good enough for me to have used it before, though.”

Just as you were about to respond, your phone vibrated in your pocket. It was a text from your sister:

“Coming over in 15. Don't forget the beans like last time 💗💗💗”

“Oh shit,” Your hand flew over your mouth. “We forgot the beans!”

You darted over to the cupboard where Miles had said he put the cans of beans in. Unfortunately for you, they had been stacked onto the shelf that you could never reach, hence why it was usually empty.

You stood on the tips of your toes anyway and tried to stretch your arm as far as it could go. When that inevitably failed, you considered climbing on top of the counter when Miles’ voice stopped you.

“I'll get it.”

“Nope,” you grunted, “it's fine–”

“Seriously, it's my fault for puttin’ ‘em up there–”

You turned, the smell of chili peppers and faint cologne hitting you instantly as your eyes met his.

Miles had already reached over your head, and was currently holding a can of beans in his right hand. 

Up close, you could see rows of full, dense lashes that curled upwards and away from his eyes in ‘c’ shapes. Your eyes then fell a bit lower, where a tiny scar ran across his left cheek that made you wonder about its origins. Did he fall off of his bicycle one day? Did he fight? Would it be rude to ask about it?

Meanwhile, Miles' gaze landed on your lips. They were glossy, lined with black and another dark, brown shade. He liked the shape of them. 

Before either of you could make any drastic decisions, the doorbell snapped you out of your thoughts. 

You moved from beneath the cupboard and let Miles keep the beans.

“You can cook those,” you directed as you left the kitchen. “My sister's here.”

Miles blinked and remembered where he was. “Right.”

[darkpetal16]

totally not someone you know from the discord nope not at all but may i request a lil romantic/cute thing of US! Sans :3

I see you person I definitely don’t know.

The first picture you take together of the two of you, he’ll have it custom-made into a one thousand-piece puzzle. Then he’ll put it together, spray it with a glue to keep it together, and frame it.

He’ll do something similar with a lot of pictures you take together. He’ll include them as stand ins for game pieces, turn them into puzzles, or even use them as part of a puzzle box.

Keeps a notebook-turned-scrapbook about you. Yes, he’ll memorize the important things, but he also likes you and being crafty. Combining his two favorite things feels like a no-brainer to him.

Expect a lot of hand made gifts.

Spontaneous! Kidnappings!

In a good way.

It's spontaneous to you. Not your boss. He'll have a date planned out in advance and stealthily set up for you to leave work early. He'll show up with a bouquet of your favorite flowers (or favorite color of flowers if you don't have a specific flower you like) and pull you away for a surprise date.

He LOVES cooking together.

It doesn't have to be a flawless meal. In truth, he enjoys the chaos of just throwing things together and seeing how it turns out. Good or bad, if it's made with love, he'll merrily chow down on it.

Active. Unless you are physically incapable of running, he's pushing you to do morning runs with him. It's good for your physical and mental health.

He wants to live a long, long time with you, so you have to take care of yourself! Gripe and grumble all you want, he WILL drag you out if he has to. Being healthy is non-negotiable for him, and he considers it the bare minimum to being a functioning adult.

If you need help to get there--he's got your back! He'll be your personal cheerleader, coach, and dietician. Whatever you need to help you live your best life.

(If it ever gets too much, just ask Stretch for help. He knows breaks are every bit as important as the work.)

Hammock cuddles.

Specifically, either in their attic with the skylight to see the stars, or on the roof if it's a pleasant enough night. He's a big fan of the swaying motion a hammock makes, and getting to cuddle so close to you at the same time? He couldn't ask for anything better.

Physically affectionate.

Hand holding, side hugs, arm-links, head bumps, lap-sitting, etc. He's all for it.

Cannot sit still unless he's receiving affection; even then it's on a timer. Would rather give than receive affection because of how much energy he has to burn.

Has a goodbye routine. He needs a forehead kiss, to wish you a good day, and for you to promise you'll drink water. If the routine is broken or not met, the whole day feels off to him.

Hiking!

If you're too out of shape for some of the views he wants to show you, he will carry you. He's not letting you miss out on the BEST spot to watch meteor showers.

Matching outfits. Because all the cool couples have them.

PLAY IF - UNDERSWAP FOR HIS ROUTE HERE

MASTERLIST

[lis-likes-fics]

Music to My Eyes (Part 2)

Pairings: Finnick Odair x def!fem!Reader Word Count: 9.2k words Warnings: Mentions of the games, so killing and death, mentions of trauma, mentions of forced prostitution, my attempt at writing sign language, pre-Katniss, no Annie... A/N: Hey, everyone! I know it took sooo long for me to post this but it is finally out! I also know I said it would be a two parter, but I have decided to start writing a third part to this series. I have literally no clue when it will be released, as I have even begun to work on it yet. But I hope you all enjoy this! Thank you and happy reading! <3 Also A/N: Anything written in /slants/ is an indication of something being signed because explaining every little sign just does not work. Special thanks to my beta-reader @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen. She's so amazing! Thanks, Vee! 💖

You glance over the papers Hecton splayed out over the table, an itinerary for your next trip—a list of the people you were meeting, the districts you were attending, and other things you weren't exactly looking forward to.

You laid your head on the table and sighed, stroking a piece of paper hidden from his view. A new letter came in today from District 4. Most of the ones you received were from District 1 or the Capitol. But since you met Finnick a couple months prior, the two of you had been writing back and forth as much as you could.

You found that you missed his company far more than you expected to. You've been trying to get Hecton to plan a visit to Finnick's district, but there's always something else to be done…

Hecton's hand comes into view as he slides it across the table to grab your attention. You look up at him quickly. You see him sigh, his intense brows furrowed.

/Are you even listening?/

/Sorry,/ you reply, sitting up a little straighter and looking over the details again.

He softens. /I know you hate doing these,/ he starts, /but knowing what you're going into before you go into it is much safer than the alternative. Especially with this. So you have to be present./

You nod, looking down at your lap as you sigh. /Sorry, Hecton./ He watches you sign "friend" in place of his name and smiles.

He signs softly and mouths the word as he does it. /Thank you./

You move to get back to work when Hecton's focus shifts behind you, in the direction of the front door. You turn to look. /Must be a supervisor./

You watch Hecton sigh, rolling his own eyes as he massages the bridge of his nose. Standing, he made his way to the door in measured steps. Whoever it is can wait.

You rise to your own feet, trailing after him and leaning on the door frame of the foyer with your arms crossed over your chest. He pulls open the door, his frame blocking out your view of your “guest”. You try to look past him, to catch sight of the ambassador or peacekeeper or whoever else must be coming to checkup.

You watch him talk, one hand holding the door as the other gestures with his words. He's too used to you.

You take a step forward, and then over to the other. And then over again. And then one more step to take in the sight of a woman you know from the district. She and her family run one of the little ranches that raise the sheep.

She glances at you, smiling gently before her attention is caught by Hecton once again. He says something, she gives an indifference shrug. You read her lips.

“They asked to see you, I brought them.” She steps to the side.

A smile splits your face, the excitement building in your chest. You rush to the door.

Finnick smiles wide at the sight of you. “You're here!” he exclaims. “I was starting to think I got the wrong District.”

You laugh as you hug him, accepting the warmth of his arms. His arms wrap tightly around you, holding a fifth of a second too long before letting you go. The woman nods and takes her leave.

He motions to a woman next to him. She's small, with bushy white hair and the kindest smile. “This is Mags,” he says.

You take her soft hand in yours, returning her kind grin. You look over at Hecton, and he looks back at you with a raised brow. He stares back at you, stubborn and waiting for you to let him handle this.

But when you obviously choose not to, he glances away and huffs. You turn back to Mags triumphantly.

/Hi, Mags,/ you sign slowly, spelling out her name. Hecton translates accordingly. /I'm glad Finnick brought you. I've been looking forward to meeting you./

She nods, glancing at Finnick and making a gesture of her own. Finnick is the one to speak, “She says ‘thank you’.”

Your smile widens and you turn toward the door, waving them inside. They gladly follow.

As you go to bring them into the living room, Hecton lays a hand on your shoulder to get your attention again. He licks his lips, exasperation in his face as he turns you so his back faces your guests still walking inside.

/We should finish talking first,/ he urges, his movements small in order to talk in secret.

You offer a reluctant look. /Can we talk later? We have guests./

/Yes,/ he nods. /District 4 Victors./

You sigh. /Friends./

/Since when?/ He glances over at them, and then back at you. /We don't know these people./

/I know him. He's a friend. And she's his friend and mentor./ You tilt your head, setting a hand on his arm gently. /I trust them./

Hecton sighs, looking past you, contemplating.

/Are you sure?/

You nod, your gaze unwavering. He pinches the bridge of his nose and you know he's given up. /Fine./

You smile wide, giving your many thanks as you turn to go. He takes your arm again. /Keeps your aids close./

You wave dismissively, shaking your head. /I don't need them./

/Y/N./

But you're already gone, turning away from him to go rejoin Finnick and Mags. You rest your hand on Finnick’s forearm as you grab his attention. His smile is charming, as in meant to charm you because he winked at you when he did. It isn't just you finding him charming.

Which you don't.

You point to your wrist, and then down at the floor. “How long are we here?”

He's learning quickly.

You nod. “A few days,” he says. “Before we have…other engagements.” He glances at Mags, who just nods back to you, still smiling, though there's something else in her eyes.

Sighing, you nod as well as you point to yourself.

“You, too?”

You nod again, before quickly changing the subject by making another sign. He furrows his brow, admitting confusion. “What's that?”

You think for a moment, trying to find a way to illustrate what you're asking. You lift a cupped hand to your lips.

“Thirsty?”

You nod, making the original sign again to confirm. He shrugs, glancing at his mentor. “Why not? Mags?”

She nods as well.

~

The water shimmers in the sunlight like the lake is filled with a thousand thousand crystals. Finnick had suggested you all go out to the lake, have some fun. Plus, it would give you an opportunity to help teach Mags your language—you'd decided Hecton would also have to help teach her, as well. He could probably get it across a little clearer than you, since he could actually speak to her as he taught her and she would understand.

He’d agreed to help you with Mags. But, as you suspected, he immediately refused to help Finnick. But that's fine. He was learning well from you anyway.

Of course, Hecton wouldn’t let you be alone with them. He’s somewhere along the treeline of the small woods near Victor’s Village, tucked in the cover of the trees with a book and some water, perfectly prepared (by his standards) to sit there for hours surveillancing you. Whether he knows that you’re fully aware of his presence there, you’re unsure, but you are. You always know when Hecton’s around, even with how stealthy the man can become.

As you sit at the shallow end of the waters with Mags, showing her your alphabet as you'd done with Finnick before—only this time, without paper—he comes up from the deep waters with a smile. She looks at him, just as content.

“Can you swim?” he asks you. You nod. “Join me then.”

You gesture toward your new friends. /Mags?/

She just shakes her head, waving her arms gently before she gestures for you to go on. “I'll be fine,” she seems to say.

You accept as you stand to your feet, walking out with Finnick to trudge the depths. The water is cold, icy against your skin as it becomes deeper and deeper, until you have to use your arms and legs to keep your head above water. You welcome the chill. It means you’re alive.

Your eyes fall on Finnick, watching you closely as though he’s standing by in case you need his help. You give him a sweet smile, trying to ease the nerves you can see simmering there. When he winks back at you, you roll your eyes as you splash water in his face.

His mouth parts in a laugh. When he whips his hair back, tiny droplets spray over you and you wipe your face. He surprises you with a splash in return. One, two, three, four. The laughter that must have been coming out of you vibrated in your chest, splitting his grin to be wider than before as he eased up on you.

You sink into the water, swimming past him with more efficiency than he expected. You surprise him when he feels your hand grab at his ankle, letting go immediately. You don’t try to pull him underneath, you don’t tug, you simply grab him. He appreciates the courtesy, laughing as he joins you underneath.

You swim blindly, feeling the shift in the water at your left as he swims next to you. You dive deeper, deeper, deeper, until your hands brush the sandy ground of the lake floor. You let your fingers card through it: the sand, the pebbles and rocks, the stray growths of plants, the shells.

You let your hands smooth over the smooth surface of one, curling your fingers around it and coming back up as your lungs beg for air. You take in a deep, joyful breath as soon as the opportunity is given, filling your lungs with the gratifying air.

Finnick is waiting for you, treading carefully as he swims toward you. You look at him, smiling as you show him the shell you’d collected. He takes a look at it as you hold it in your hand, the top of the shell dark and dull, its ridges smooth going one side and rough going another. As you place it in his hand, turning it upside down, you smile at the iridescent underside of it.

“It’s nice,” he smiles, moving it around in his hand to see every little detail of it.

You nod, /Shiny./ Then you spell it so he understands. He mimics you, his smile widening when he gets it right.

But then he starts swimming away from you.

You gasp lightly, chasing after him. But he’s faster than you, evading every attempt you make at capturing him and the shell. You stop, ignoring the laughter you feel bubbling in your chest as you smack the water, pouting. “You want it back?” he asks, raising his brows as he taunts you.

You nod.

“You gotta catch it,” he shrugs, swimming back again.

He hears you whine, making a sign he’s unfamiliar with. He just keeps making you chase him.

You pout again, ducking under the water once more as you swim down, down, down. He looks around, staying afloat and watching the water carefully. You stay down longer than he expects you to. And even longer after that.

He starts to get worried, looking around and muttering your name under his breath as though you can hear him as he wonders if he should go down and look for you.

But then he feels your hand on his shoulder as you start to climb up his back, wrapping your body around him and snatching the shell from him before he can drop it out of shock. He panics for a split second before reminding himself that it’s just you. Safe and breathing.

His hands instinctively find your legs, his arms wrapping under his knees to keep you secure on his back. He starts to carry you around, letting you have your victory as you giggle above him. You smile wide, holding on tight to him. This is the most fun you’ve had in a long time.

Taking you by complete surprise, Finnick throws himself backwards as he dunks you. You let yourself fall back, being engulfed by the water as you sink. Slowly, the water takes you farther down into its depths as you admire the stillness.

You always feel nice when you go to the lake. You feel safe, still, understood. Under the water, enveloped by its mass, you feel like, for once…you’re not the only one. You feel like everyone else would know, just for a moment, what it was like in your mind. So silent. Just for a moment.

Your beating heart slows with the calm. It gives you time to think.

You’re not used to genuinely smiling this much; your throat and your chest feel weird, a good kind of achy. Even before the Games, before the heartache and the trauma, you never had much to smile about, living in one of the poorer Districts with nothing but the rundown house you grew up in with your parents until they died of an illness and you landed in the orphanage in even worse condition.

After that, you didn’t really have anyone until Hecton came by the orphanage to give food to the starving children, under the radar of the Peacekeepers of course. He came across you, a poor girl with no hearing, completely alone because she could not communicate. He began to frequent the orphanage much more, teaching you the signs he’d learned after his mother—she lost her hearing during the long war when she was five.

Then you were selected for the annual Games, where Hecton became your official mentor. And you survived, but it was hard to live after that. Because you could never just win the Game—no, you never win the Game. You just play a different one now.

And then there was the business with Snow.

So, no, there wasn’t much time for joy.

But with Finnick, everything feels lighter. You feel like maybe…maybe you could do this. Maybe you can go another day, smiling for people who don’t care about you, giving to people who wouldn’t give back. With Finnick, you can take the pain. Because he makes you smile. Oh, you think you could go through anything if it ended with Finnick making you smile.

Your lungs burn.

Coming to your senses, you swim up for air as you feel the need to gasp, to breathe, to inhale all of the water in search of even a sip of oxygen. You claw your way to the top like you're crawling out of a grave.

You fill your lungs as soon as the chill of breath teases you. You soothe the ache, overreaching as you feel your chest heave. But it’s okay. Just breathe.

Finnick won’t admit the relief that washes over him when you resurface. He won’t admit that he felt far too much panic when you stayed below the water way longer than he was anticipating. He won’t admit that he thought, for a moment, that he’d hurt you…or worse.

Instead, he swims toward you a little too quickly and makes sure you’re alright as you catch your precious breath. “I thought I was going to have to come down for you,” he sighs, forcing a chuckle at the end so he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.

You steady yourself, your tired arms keeping your head just above the water as you return your body to the calm. You’re tired and your stomach feels a little achy. You slowly press your fingertips together and tap your lips twice. /Hungry./

He takes your hand in his, smiling gently and easing his worry. “Well, come on then.” He pulls you gently with him back to the shore, where you spy Hecton standing at the treeline and looking like he was going to jump in at any moment to save you.

~

The sun is hanging a little lower in the sky now. The sky is painted a beautiful fade of orange and blue and pink. Sometimes it's hard to remember that a world as solemn and barbaric as Panem can be so beautiful.

E-F-G

You all have been at the lake all day. It's peaceful out here. Mags sits on the blanket laid over the sand with you right next to her. Finnick is sitting closer to the water, his arms wrapped around his knees. He's at an angle, always aware, always ready. The water is still.

K-L-M

Finnick shifts a rock in his palm, rearing his arm back to toss it at the water. It skips, skips, skips.

Q-X— Q-R-S

You point your stick, which you found nearer to the treeline a while ago, at all the letters you'd drawn in the sand. Mags studies them with you.

W-R— W-X-Y-Z.

You nod emphatically, a wide grin on your lips. /Yes! Yes!/ She's just as excited as you.

You'd both been going through the alphabet a few times, teaching her the signs of each letter just to get through with the basics. She's a fast learner, just like someone else you know…

Mags’ sweet smile spreads a bit wider. Thinking quickly, she turns to you and starts signing something, not quite sure of herself.

T…H…A…N…K…

You smile, lifting your hand to your chin and then gesturing to her in a slow, fluid motion. She repeats it. /Thank you./

You take her hand between yours. It's a little cold, a little shaky. She smiles fondly.

Taking her hand back slowly, she begins again. H…A…P…P…Y. You sign “happy” for her. She points to Finnick, then to you.

You try to hide your bashful grin. /Friends./ You spell it and then point to all of you.

Her smile is almost sly now. She shakes her head. /Him happy you. You happy him./

/Make. M-A-K-E./

She nods.

You look her way almost suspiciously. /I make him happy?/

She nods. /You make him…smile./ In an attempt to find a substitute for “smile”, she chose the right gesture for it.

You glance at the sand, your eyes slowly trailing up and up until they find Finnick, still staring out at the gleam of the water.

You turn your gaze back to Mags. She's all smiles. You lift a hand to your forehead, swiping it off into the letter “Y”.

Her brows furrow, a little confused. You remember yourself and spell it out. /W-H-Y?/

She contemplates, turning toward Finnick. Raising a hand high, she waves it a little. He sees it instantly, standing to his feet and making his way toward the both of you. At the sight of your faces, the corner of his lips raise curiously.

“You called?” He almost bows dramatically. Mags pats the empty space in front of her. He sits obediently.

Lifting her hands, she presses them gently against his chest and yours. She looks between the two of you, lingering and waiting for you to get it.

You look down at her hand on your chest, you look at his. Letting your eyes wander upward, your eyes meet and you pretend you're not affected. You look back at Mags. You just nod to her, halfway understanding what she means.

Finnick, not understanding at all, chuckles. “What are you two gossiping about?”

You laugh—or, rather, you assume you laughed. Mags’ silent laughter joins you as she drops her hands. You shake your head at him. /Nothing./

~

Hecton's heavy fist knocks lightly on the door of one of the spare bedrooms. He waits patiently. The door opens.

“Leary,” Finnick greets, smiling gently.

“Mr. Odair,” he responds. He almost adds an extra emphasis to “mister”. “May I have a word?”

“Of course,” Finnick, understanding what was being asked, says. He looks over his shoulder at Mags on the second bed—Finnick insisted they be put in the same room, and you all were fully aware of the reason why when there were plenty of rooms to choose from, so a second bed was moved into this one so they would both be comfortable.

“Mags,” he smiles reassuringly. “I'll be back.”

She nods.

Finnick steps out of the room and closes the door silently behind him. The two walk slowly through the halls, side by side with considerable space between them. Hecton holds his hands securely behind his back. Finnick’s own hands are clasped comfortably in front of him, his thumbs tapping one another as he waits for Hecton to begin.

Hecton stares at the ground, watching each foot pass the other with every step. He counts it silently in his head. One…two…three… One…two…three…

“I've been wanting to speak with you,” he finally says.

Finnick lifts a brow, “About?”

“About this…” Hecton glances up to slowly meet his gaze, “unusual relationship with Y/N.”

He chuckles lightly, shrugging his shoulders. “What's so unusual about it? We're friends.”

Hecton pauses on his next step, turning to face Finnick as the crease between his huge brows deepens. “And is that your only intent with her?”

Finnick’s own brow furrows this time.

Hecton continues walking again. “I also participated in the Games and won,” he says. “I know what it was like in there, and I know you do, too. People who went through what we went through don't go around making friends with one another. Not like this.”

When he stops again, they're in the living room and his back is facing the direction of your room. His face has fallen from any pleasantry and any distaste he holds for Finnick is clear across it. “What is it you want from her?”

Finnick notices the way Hecton speaks. His back (metaphorically) to you, his hands held tightly behind his back, his lips under-enunciate his words but he doesn't care to whisper. He's so used to talking only with you, even his way of “talking in private” is different. He keeps his back toward your direction to prevent you from reading his signs, and he holds his hands behind his back for the same reason. He speaks so closed-mouthed because you can read lips. Most of—if not his whole—life is centered around you.

You mean so much to this man. Finnick can't mistake his words for an insult because it isn't one. He's just looking out for you.

And that's all Finnick wants to do for you as well.

“All I want is her friendship,” he says, plain and simple. He doesn't sugarcoat, dress up in fancy language or strange little riddles. He just says it.

But Hecton is insistent. “Why?”

“Like you said,” Finnick continues, “you know what it was like. Well, so does she. All I want from her is to be friends with someone who knows.”

“And that's all it is?” he asks, urgent. “There are no other feelings involved?”

Finnick shakes his head slowly. “No.” At least, he's pretty sure of that.

Hecton stares at his face, thinking, searching his face for any kind of lie. But there isn't any dishonesty in his eyes. Or, at least, he can't find any. With a sigh, he relents.

“Good.”

He holds out his hand, his face watching Finnick straight on. He grasps it. There's a moment of silence as Hecton's hand begins to close around Finnick’s, squeezing tighter and tighter to ensure his threat is thoroughly felt. Finnick is unfazed.

“Mr. Odair…” he says, his voice low and his words leaving slowly through his lips, “I never had children. But you should know that Y/N happens to be something of a daughter to me. If you hurt her, in any way…” He takes a step closer, increasing the tension between them, “It will be the last thing you do on this earth.”

His face is stern, void of leniency or mercy. Still…Finnick has faced worse.

“Am I clear?” Hecton questions.

Finnick squeezes back. “Crystal.” Letting his lips part in a small grin, he tilts his head very slightly. “And, please…call me Finnick.”

~

“Thank you for welcoming us into your humble abode.” Finnick bows theatrically, smiling like an idiot when you wave him to stand.

/Very funny,/ you roll your eyes. You try not to let on how much you'll miss him. You don't know when next you'll see him. /Next time, I visit you./

He's getting better, but he doesn't know that word. He looks to Hecton, he translates briefly before returning to his goodbye to Mags. It's become a routine. But he is getting better.

He turns back to you. “Looking forward to it, sweetcheeks.” He winks at you as he clicks his tongue.

You scowl playfully at him, turning your nose up in feigned disgust. /Stop!/ Your hand lands on his shoulder, lightly shoving him away from you as he relents to the motion. /You're annoying./

His hands fly to his chest, over his beating heart as he closes his eyes in “pain”. “You wound me. Really, you do.”

/Clearly not enough./

He chuckles lightly, rolling his eyes. Like an idiot. He takes a step away when Mags comes forward. She smiles warmly. /Thank you, sweet girl./ Her signs are a little choppy, but they're heartfelt.

You return her smile. /You're welcome./ You take both her hands in yours, squeezing oh, so gently. /Come again soon. Please./

She takes one of her hands from yours and closes it around the others.

Hecton, his voice gentle and his hand on your shoulder even gentler, steps behind you. You turn over your shoulder. /You should be getting some rest now. We have a busy day tomorrow./

Your lashes flutter and you nod. You hug Mags, and then you hug Finnick. With Finnick, the hug lasts a little long…

He pulls away, his hands still on your arms. /See you soon./

You nod. Your hands create a sign he doesn't know. He looks to Hecton.

“Be safe,” he says.

Finnick smiles, a soft thing on his face as he nods. “Always.”

~

The walls are cold and sterile but still, contrastingly, just as grand and lavish as the rest of the Capitol. There are two Peacekeepers at your sides, one behind you, one leading you through familiar but winding halls. Hecton left you at the door. Only because he had to.

Their heavy footsteps pound in your ears in a maddeningly steady beat. There are people in the distance speaking over other people in the distance speaking. The sound of clothes rubbing against more clothes and skin and metal and whatever else there is to rub against is so unsteady that, that drives you madder.

A lady in extravagant professionalism walks toward you; a clipboard in her hands, manicured white nails, tiny circle glasses on her dark nose, her straightened blonde hair done up in a ridiculously lavish bun. She's in sterile white, with thin heels that make her a head taller than you. The tip-tap, clip-clop of them will finish out the last ounce of sanity you've managed to keep tight in your fist.

She smiles plainly at you as you get closer. The Peacekeeper in front of you breaks away to give her his former place. “Welcome back,” she says, her back to you as she walks. You keep up. “I trust you had safe transport?”

Her words are so strange in your mind. Knowing the words are one thing, hearing them are a completely different issue. This “eloquence” is ineloquent and, quite frankly, grating against your senses. Her S’s are sharp, her T’s are crisp, even her R’s cut your ears in twos and fours and on.

You don't find it pleasant.

You raise your hand to your left ear, tapping the tiny device once, twice, three times in an effort to soften the blow of each sound scraping your brain.

She seems to remember you can't respond to what she's saying and glances over her shoulder. You nod. She nods back.

“Very good,” she says, turning back around again. “You know the drill. Follow me this way, and we will get you in your proper attire before we take you to House.”

You nod again. She says nothing more.

You do as you're told, following her through the building until you reach the Sanitation Chambers. It’s a large room with a row of doors lining one wall, numbers above each highlighted red or green. Two Peacekeepers stay by Door 5, she gestures toward the door. “Your clothes are already inside, along with your robe. When you are ready, you will go through the other door and another guide will be waiting for you.”

If you're being completely honest with yourself, you have hardly understood a single word to come out of her mouth. You can read lips all day, you read someone's signs all day. But seeing words and hearing them are two completely different areas of understanding for you, and you've just been nodding and agreeing this whole time. But you've done this before. You just trust that you understand what's going on and move on from there…

You nod, turning toward the door. With a sigh, you open and close it behind you. The 5 clicks red. The room, sterile again, is small, closet-sized. There's a cubby with your clothes, shoes, and jewelry. Your robe is on a hook next to it.

You strip, letting your clothes drop carelessly to the floor. You stare at the white button above the hook. The word above it reads, “SANITIZE”. You take in a breath, hold it, and press the button.

The sound is harsh and sharp and hissing. It sucks into your skull and the pain rages in the valleys of your mind. Your mouth parts and a shout falls from your tongue as the white gas shoots out from spouts all around the room. Your hands fly to your ears, covering them as your nails just nearly scrape at the flesh. You dig your fingers into your ears, fishing out the tiny devices lodged in the drums.

The sound stops all at once.

You stand there, clutching your ears as your wide eyes stare at one corner of the floor. There's a tiny pebble there. It's brown, barely the size of a pea.

The gas has already stopped. But your heart is beating so fast, heavy in your chest as it beats against your ribcage like a wild animal in a crate.

You close your eyes, take in a deep breath, hold it for a few counts, and then let it out. Steadied and recentered, you look down at your two hearing aids scattered on the floor.

You promised Hecton you would wear them, but you don't think you could put those back in and continue on with the grating way of the world. You fold your discarded clothes, setting them on the shelf and placing your hearing aids in your shoe.

After you dress yourself again, you wrap your robe tight over your body and open the other door. It locks when you close it behind you.

Another guide meets you, just as the first said she would, and walks you into another room. She's saying something, but you don't understand. She walks in front of you. But you know the drill, and Hecton went through everything before you left.

You're taken to a waiting room, but you don't spend a lot of time there before your guide is taking you again to another room. This one, however, is the room you're most familiar with. It's the room you'll be practically locked in for the next week. A bedroom, with a joining bathroom completed with another sanitization chamber and a large closet pre-filled with more outfits than you'll have to wear all week.

Five minutes and the door opens again. And a familiar face walks through. Like a switch in your brain, your face is molded to the kind, friendly girl you're used to showing on stage.

This man is one you see often. Whenever you're booked for this kind of business, he's likely to be there. You don't like him. He feels loud. He's rough and kind of mean, and he's hard to understand because he doesn't speak visibly enough.

He smiles at you and your skin crawls. Like clockwork, you let your robe fall from your shoulders and he starts circling you. Like prey.

It feels like being in the arena again. The hair on the back of your neck stands on edge, the tips of your ears burn like they've been lit on fire.

When he's finished circling you, he begins walking toward you until you have no choice but to look up at him so much your neck hurts.

The bedroom falls away when you look at his face, at his eyes, burning. The anxiety is beginning to rise in you again but today, he isn't just hungry, he looks primal. He looks more dangerous, he feels more dangerous.

He's going to hurt you. The way he stares at you, the way he circled you, he's hunting you. Your heart picks up, your breathing quickens.

You take a step back and he takes a bigger one closer. You take another, and another, and another. You need to be away from you, your head spins with the fear replacing your nerves.

He's angry now. Why would you run from him? You aren't supposed to run.

He grabs your arm, his grip strong and crushing. You panic. Turning your arm from his grasp, you struggle away from him. He scowls.

You back up to the wall. He rushes toward you. Just as he's holding out his hands, he seems to grow bigger and bigger.

With quick reflex, you grab him just as he grabs you and turn around. You shove him up against the wall. His head smacks against it, hard, but he doesn't wince and his head doesn't move from its place.

His hold on you has completely loosened. You let him go and stumble back. Your eyes are wide, your heart doesn't feel like it's beating, everything is suddenly so still.

You take a step to the side, slowly, slowly taking one more as you peer behind his head. You can't scream, the sound doesn't leave your throat, it doesn't even rise in your chest, the shock and fear was too strong at the sight of his head stuck on a tiny hook in the wall. The blood streams down the wall, down his neck. It stains his clothes.

You breathe in, in, in, filling your lungs, filling them to the brim, rearing up for a scream—

A thumb strokes your cheek and your eyes flutter before snapping out, wide. He stands in front of you, having not moved from his original spot even once as he looked expectantly at you. One hand is on your cheek, the other is wrapped around your waist. He's saying something, his lips poorly forming the words.

“What's the hold up?”

It wasn't real. You were just imagining things. You aren't in the arena anymore, and you aren't in danger. You sigh and uneasily slip back into your act. You set your hands hesitantly on his shoulders and smile. You just nod.

A week. You can take a week.

~

Icy tremors sink into your flesh and bone as you shake. You clutch your hands to your arms, desperate for warmth in the damp cold.

Palms scrape against rocky ground as you struggle to escape the stalking beast created from the Games, not Mutt but Man.

His fists are clenched, his teeth are sharp, his smirk is primal. Just when you think he's going to kill you, he's knelt in front of you and sunk his claws into the flesh of your thigh. A soundless scream tears from your throat. His other hand wraps around your throat, and you claw at it in a desperate attempt to tear it away—

A hand on your shoulder shocks you awake. You bolt up, hands flying and eyes wild with fear and adrenaline. More hands find your face, but they rest with the softest touch on your cheeks and hold you gently.

A pair of lips come into view, forming words you can't hear and struggle to decipher for the moment. The hands move away from you and begin to form letters. O-K-O-K-O-K.

You finally look up and recognize Finnick’s worried eyes. You breathe quickly, moving your hands to communicate back.

/Slow down,/ he signs. “I can't read that fast, sweetheart.” His hand comes to rest on your cheek again, he holds it gently and brushes his thumb over the skin. You lean into his hand. “C’mon, breathe.”

You follow his head, breathing in…out…in…out. You close your eyes, resting your head against his palm. The world around you seems to still. You raise a hand to cover the back of his.

You steady yourself with another breath, reminding yourself once again that you are no longer in the arena. You're in District 4, visiting Finnick just as you promised you would. And everything is okay.

You open your eyes, a new calm settling over you as you circle your fist over your chest. /Sorry./

He shakes his head. “Don't apologize. It's not your fault.” He strokes your cheek again before slowly pulling his hand away and sitting next to you on the bed. “Nightmares happen, that's all.”

He holds his hand out toward you. You take it, holding his hand between both of yours. His other one covers yours as his thumb brushes them. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head gently. You don't meet his eyes. /Personal./

“You don't have to,” he assures you. “I'm not going to make you.”

His words mean so much to you. They warm your chest, make you feel so special. He gives you a choice. He makes it your decision on whether or not you want to talk to him, to share with him something so secret of yourself.

You glance up at him, then away at the desk in the corner of the room as you think. You shrug. /Just the Games…and things./

He asks softly, not pushy but curious. “What things?”

You shake your head gently. /You wouldn't understand./

His body shifts with a chuckle. “Try me.”

You sigh, your heart beating too noticeably in your chest at the idea of telling someone. Revealing this part of yourself to someone who wasn't Hecton, to someone who didn't know…it felt so vulnerable.

You go slowly to make sure he understands.

/After Games, it didn't stop for me. Even with my disability…/ you pause, taking a breath, /I was…/

He tilts his head. Suspicious but not wanting to get ahead of himself. “You were what?”

/Hard word,/ you explain. You don't know the sign for this one. /They said…/

You start to spell it, slowly as he voiced each letter. “D…E…S…I…” You keep signing, but he goes silent. You stop two letters later, dropping your hands and looking up at his crest-fallen eyes.

He shakes his head, a frown set deep in his face as his eyes seem to lose their light. “No,” he whispers.

Confused, you raise your hands hesitantly, rethinking multiple times before you finally continue on. /What?/

It takes him a moment to reply, though his lips twitch as they form the words. He shakes his head again. “Not you.”

/What do you mean?/ you ask slowly. When he doesn't answer you, he watches you sign ‘river’ and take his hands.

He looks away from you, clenching and unclenching his jaw. A deep frown is etched into the structure of his face, and he shakes his head as frustration joins his mixture of emotions.

Finnick closes his eyes when he turns his head to you next, taking a breath and hesitating before he speaks. “You won the Games, and Snow labeled you an object of…attraction. And he…” His eyes open again as he trails off.

Your hands shake. Leaning back, you try to understand what this means, but you find yourself too hateful of the truth to be able to come to terms with it. You move slowly, lethargically, as you continue. /He sold me./

He sighs, shutting his eyes again. His frustration melds into something more sullen, something sadder. He shakes his head, muttering to himself about the injustice, the unfairness.

“Not you.”

You set your hand on his shoulder to get his attention again, making him look at you as you struggle to understand. You swallow thickly. /How did you know?/ Your eyes sting with your desperate plea. /Finnick. How?/

He just looks up, his eyes landing on your face.

You bite your lip, his face becoming blurry as the tears build in your eyes, the tension high as they threaten to spill over your waterline.

/No./ Your hands, though trembling, are firm. /Not you./ He turns away, but you catch his cheek and turn him back to you. He almost seems to lean into your palm as you do. /Finnick, not you./ A single tear slips down his cheek. As if on cue, a tear of your own mirrors his.

/How long?/

He licks his bottom lip, sighing. “Since I won.”

Your throat is hot, it's a struggle to get fresh air down to your lungs as you shake your head. /Not you./

It's hopeless. Every time you get your hands on something good, Snow takes it away. Finnick wasn't supposed to know that world. He was supposed to be done. Sure, he had tours, he had appearances.

But not this.

You stare down at your hands.

He stands quickly, saying something you don't catch because he's turned away from you. He faces you again, motioning toward you. “And you're much better?” He covers his face with his hands, pressing his fingers against his eyes. His chest deflates as his hands sweep down, and he watches you with his head tilted to the side like it was too heavy to carry.

“He can't keep getting away with this.” He shakes his head again, forever denying the injustice. “Not with you.” This one was said softer, coated in the hopelessness twisting in his gut, in his chest.

You stand to your feet, walking over to him as you take his hands. You stand close to him, sighing. You try to reassure him. /I'm okay./

“It's not fair,” he says weakly.

You drop your head onto his shoulder, and his hands instinctively come to settle around you. You breathe in deep, closing your eyes. You don't want him to worry about you.

/It's okay./

There's a long silence.His arms wrap tighter around you, pulling you in close as your bodies provide a comfort you hadn't held in a very long time. His chin rests atop your head. He holds you for perhaps too long as he soaks in the feeling of your warmth.

He pulls away, but only enough to look at your face. You look up at him, content with his arms around your body and his eyes on you, if nothing else.

There's another pause. “What were you dreaming about?”

You let a gentle breath blow through your nose as you take a step back from him, sitting back down on the bed and giving him plenty of space to join you—and he does. /As I said, just the Games./ You pull your knees onto the bed, turning your body to face him as you communicate. Your brows furrow, /Only different./

“Different how?”

You shrug. /Both nightmares at once./ You lick your bottom lip, thinking out what you're going to say before saying it. You'll have to spell out a few words as you go, but he's never minded.

/I'm running through the mountains and go to hide in the caves, when someone finds me. No one is around to hear me, I don't even know if I'm making sound./ He struggles to keep his face partial to empathy and concern. He can't help the tightening of his jaw at the way you describe it. But you know the frustration isn't directed toward you.

You don't realize how your hands have begun moving faster, so fast they seem to flap around as you continue on. Your eyes burn with unshed tears, they burn with the quickening of your heart and the tightness of your chest. /He pushes me to the ground, pins me down. The cameras… The cameras point to me when…/

He watches two tears slip down your cheeks and immediately sets his hands on your shoulders. He holds off on hugging you so you can see him tell you, “Hey, it's okay. You're safe with me.”

Almost desperately, he pulls you into him another time, petting your hair slowly and carefully. He shushes you gently, though he knows you cannot hear it. You hold him close, though the tears have already been sucked back in and become reduced to a harsh ache in your throat.

You've had practice in hiding that pain…

Somehow, you feel lighter. With the burden of that secret, which lay so heavily on your shoulders for so long, finally lifted, you feel like you can breathe just a little more. And, selfishly, you're relieved. And you hate this simple fact, but you are. Because he understands. He knows what it's like, even more than other tributes may have after coming out of those Games without the added shame of selling their bodies for the cruel manipulations of President Snow.

He understands.

Finnick suddenly pulls away from you, and you miss the warmth of his chest on your cheek. He takes a moment, thinks, and then moves his hand with the words he speaks.

/No one will hurt you here./ Your heart aches with the affection that takes root there. /I promise./

You bite down hard on your lower lip as the lump in the back of your throat rises with a fury. You swallow thickly, forcing the fierce feeling inside of you down so you can properly breathe. It hurts, but you welcome the pain because it's the result of something special, something so uniquely Finnick that all you can do is cherish it forever.

/Don't leave. At least tonight?/ Your hands tremble with the emotion welling inside you.

He smiles. “I'll stay right here,” he promises. “Keeping you safe. You don't have to be alone.”

His words hit right where you're most vulnerable. /Thank you, Finnick./

His lips tug at the corners into a tiny smile. “You keep using ‘river’. Why is that?”

You look down at your lap in an effort to hide your small grin, shrugging gently. /Easier,/ you finally answer after a moment too long. /And more…special./

When he grins, it's that type of grin that you know is usually followed by something sarcastic or funny. It widens the span of your lips. “I'm special?” he asks, pressing a hand to your chest. You glance away from him, nodding a little but not wanting to give him the full pleasure of knowing so. He looks pleased. His trying to cheer you up has lifted his own mood tremendously. “Why, thank you, sweets.”

You wave him off, taking his hand and intertwining your fingers. You like the way his hand fits with yours…

“So why river?” he wonders.

/Water doesn't work as well, but you remind me of water. Like lakes or rivers./ You smile sweetly. /Very good swimmer, green eyes like lakes sometimes./

He seems proud now, and you almost regret telling him—except you love when he acts like this, simultaneously the cockiest and sweetest person you know. “I should call you…” He thinks for a moment, and then begins to sign something. “Music.”

Lightly smacking his shoulder, you shove him away from you. That feeling that bubbles out of you, that feeling you know is a laugh, rises in your chest and falls from your lips as you sign exaggeratedly. /That's mean!/

“No, it's not!” His own laughter rises from within him as he can't help himself. You're just so sweet. “Your laugh, it's like music.” You feel heat begin to pool in your cheeks, in your face. “Your name is gorgeous,” he continues. His hand rises and he crooks his finger, tucking it under your chin gently just to brush it there.

He smiles, and the way he does lets you know that he tries to be funny with it, but he's too sincere as he watches you closely. “You're music to my eyes, sweetness.”

You shake your head, hiding your face from him because you're too shy to face him after he's said something so sweet. /Crazy./

He does the chin thing again, mostly because he wants to see your pretty face again but also because he wants to tease you. You look at his mouth to see him speak but nothing else. “You’re crazy,” he accuses.

You smile, and—for once—you feel like you can do it shamelessly. You look up at him, looking at all the details of his face: the greens of his eyes, the subtle point of his nose, the couple of freckles here and there on his cheeks. You lick your bottom lip.

/How do you say you or name?/

He points to his chest, raising his brows questioningly. “My name?”

You nod. Unsure of what to say, he just says it. “Finnick.”

Your lips part, and you're suddenly incredibly self-conscious as you move your lips to form the name. You feel sound rise in your throat, but you don't know whether or not the right one came out.

He smiles. His name had been garbled in your name, muffled with the inexperience of using your own voice instead of your hands to speak. Your voice is hoarse, quiet and sticky with disuse. You must feel it, because you clear it right after as you raise your hand to feel your throat.

“Close,” he says. “Watch.” He raises his finger underneath his bottom lip and speaks again, slower this time. He over-articulates, speaking as clearly as he can. “Fin-ni-ck.”

You press your bottom lip to your top teeth, mimicking the placement of his own mouth. When you add sound to make the ‘F’, it comes out as a ‘V’. “Inni-ck.”

His smile widens, though he isn't taunting you. He holds out his palm. “Gimme your hand.” You do. He moves your hand into a fist and then raises your index. Then he pulls your finger to his lips and mouths the ‘F’ of his name, blowing on your finger and playfully rolling your eyes when you squirm. “Feel that?” he asks gently, patiently. “F-innick.” He spends extra time on the beginning once more.

He lets go of your hand and you bring it to your own lips to try, doing as he did and making sure you feel the air of that ‘F’ as you try again. “Fff-inni-ck.”

He smiles, a huge thing of a smile that shows you just how proud he is. “Yeah! Now put it together.”

So you say it again, and again, and again, repeating it over and over until you get it right. You watch Finnick's face, bright with wonder and amazing, shining with pride and triumph as he watches you attempt his name. And when you say it like you've spoken it a million times before, he feels a lump in his throat and a warmth in his chest. He thinks you're amazing.

“That's it,” he nods, swallowing thickly. He hopes you miss the way his eyes glittered. But you don’t. “That's my name. Finnick.”

“Finnick,” you repeat.

He smiles. “Y/N.”

Tilting your head, you raise your hands again. /How does mine sound?/

He's excited. He has quickly found that he loves doing this with you. “Let's see.” Just as he begins to speak, you stop him.

/Wait./ You think for a moment, making the decision with a final nod to yourself. /I…brought my hearing aids./ His face shifts slightly, a quiet realization. You go to your bag, digging through it to fish out the little box holding said devices. /I do not like wearing them, but Hecton hates when I do not have them close./ You sit by him again.

His hand sets over your own, stopping you gently. “You don't have to.”

/I want to,/ you promise. /I want to hear you./

His eyes flit across your face for a moment before he slowly withdraws his hands. You open the box and take a breath of courage before you pick them up one at a time, pushing them into your ears one at a time, ignoring the discomfort it brings the farther it goes one at a time. Another breath of courage and you switch them on.

It's not what you expected. Usually, the world was so loud. So relentlessly full of noise. But right here, right now… it was still. Still enough to take a breath and only hear the strange sound of the air passing through your nose and into your lungs.

You have to take a moment to adjust, even still, and Finnick understands this because he doesn't say a thing. He hardly moves to avoid the potential rustling of his clothes from bothering you. When you're ready, you turn your gaze to take him in.

You clear your throat as gently as you can, adjusting your volume accordingly. You let your lips part, take a moment, and then speak. “Hi, Finnick,” you speak. He notices how your ‘H’ doesn't quite come through, and it only makes his smile wider.

You pause, your lips parting just a slight at the sound of his name in your own, strange voice. “Finnick,” you repeat, as though you’re tasting the name. It’s like music, you think.

He takes your hand in his, squeezing as softly as he physically could as he smiles. “Hi, Y/N.”

Another pause. So that's what people heard when they heard your name? That's what you sound like to others?

Slowly but surely, you let your mouth form the letters of your name before, hesitantly, you replicate the sound. When you say it the first time, it doesn't sound quite right. Finnick repeats it again, encouraging you with the squeeze of his hand. And then you say it, feeling that same lump rising once more like a reoccurring pest.

 “Y/N,” you smile, biting down on your bottom lip to contain your joy at achieving something so…so nice. Something as simple but as special as saying your own name. You giggle a little, your eyes widening at the sound as you suddenly become addicted to it. You do it again. /Pretty./

“Pretty,” he voices.

With a little more confidence, you repeat it. “Pr-etty. Prett-y. Pretty.”

He nods, and a chuckle of his own slips from him. You like the sound of his laughter even more than the sound of your own. “Yes, it is pretty.” He still speaks slowly, wanting to make sure you're still properly understanding him. “You’re very pretty.”

You feel like he's going to make you cry again, but you just look down at your lap and let yourself feel and hear the chuckle that escapes you. Lifting your chin again, you bashfully smile. /Thank you./

“Thank you.”

Slowly and surely. “Th-ank you.”

Music to My Eyes taglist: @notplutos @avoxrising @akila-twt @hauntedclaudio @unstablereader @unholyhuntress @the-nerdy-goddess @anaiiiss @forget-me-not-my-dear @camilalexa93 @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @randomgurl2326 @caitsymichelle13 @whens-naptime @emma-andrea1 @briarlovesginny @b00klvrs @queermaxwooo Tag yourself here...

[nrdmssgs]

John Price meeting civilian reader scenario (part 2)

Part 1

Masterlist

The alarm sets off so early the next morning, you feel, like you've just closed your eyes a few minutes ago. You drag yourself out from a comfort of your warm blanket and head to the bathroom.

As you are standing there before the mirror, brushing your teeth, you remember, that yesterday you invited a man you've only known a few hours for today's walk. Sounds unsafe, but then again that smile, that deep voice and muffled croaky chuckles...

Someone may call you reckless, but you call it a risk worth taking. Plus, if you never come back from that walk with him - that means, that your vacation never actually ends. So there are bright sides to even the worst possible outcomes.

In half an hour, you step out of your cabin fully prepared. Deep inside, you are ready to go on your hike alone, if the guy doesn't show up.

But Price already waits for you, leaning on the bench where you chatted yesterday. He looks at you with a smirk.

"How do you look so alive It's not even 5 am now!" - you whine, jealous of his fresh look despite the early hour.

Instead of answering, he hands you his thermos. You open and sniff it. The aroma is faintly reminiscent of coffee...

"Careful. Just a sip." - he says quietly.

You take a tiny sip and cover your mouth with your hand to keep from spitting out the contents. This drink really remotely resembles coffee. Coffee, if mixed with earth, pieces of peat and liquid fire. You cough so hard that your body trembles and tears come to your eyes. "What the bloody... thing is it? Biohazard home brew?"

He tries to hold back his laughter, but he can't. "Sorry, I thought I brewed it softer than usual today." he smiles as he takes the thermos from you and wipes a tear from your cheek.

Moving out on the road, you still occasionally cough. He is genuinely remorseful, though he can't help but smile when you turn away.

You reach the trail just as fog begins to descend from the hills covered with fir trees. The first rays of the sun break through the branches. You take out your camera and turn it on.

"Ok, now I'll go a few steps ahead, and you will be in charge of navigation" - you give him a printed map of your route.

"Add an external observation to that, and I might as well charge you for my services..." - he murmurs under his breath, as you proceed to film your walk.

He inadvertently approaches you several times and almost overtakes you. You have to catch him by the sleeve of his jacket and gently pull him back so that he doesn't get into the frame.

"Sorry, John, I just want those videos to be only about nature. When we come back, I'll show you how good it looks, I promise" - you whisper.

He doesn't mind, though. Fresh and calm morning nature, crisp air, the view he gets, following you from behind... No, he doesn't mind at all.

He likes to silently follow you, occasionally directing you by the shoulder on the cross paths.

This feels like a perfect combination of something he's good at (taking care and guiding) and something he craves (to have a rest).

He even regrets that time has flown by so quickly when you return.

You show him your YouTube channel with silent walking videos, and he is absolutely delighted.

"So there is a right side of this bloody circus after all! I thought it was just an endless chaotic party being translated there." He sighs in relief and turns on your next video.

You wonder what exactly he means by "a right side" of YouTube, but decide to leave him in peace as he's browsing through your vids.

When you are out of sight, he discreetly pulls out his reading glasses, puts them on and writes your channels name down in a little notebook. Then he thinks for a couple of seconds and writes its address down too.

Yes, this whole "...tube.com/channel/UClD8....." stuff. Just to be sure, you know?

After this vacation, your channel has seen a huge increase in viewing statistics.

Price revisits your videos in any free minute.

Others in the Task Force 141 notice that their captain has begun to spend more time at the computer, although they couldn’t even drag him there by force before.

"So when I make time to find and share something funny with your ingrate asses - I'm to be yelled at, but when the captain rewatches a walk down some road in a random forest for several hours - this is not a problem for you?" - Soap grunts at dinner.

No one answers him, because your vids became kind of meditation sessions to a half of the team, since Price shared them with others.

Price leaves awkwardly formal commentaries under every your video.

Like "Dear content creator, I want to send my sincere gratitude for your taking the time to make this video. I genuinely appreciate your enthusiasm for sharing this walk of yours with us all. Thank you again for your dedication."

Gaz can't stand such a level of cringe and shows Price, that there is an "about the channel" info section out there, with your email in it. Just in case, Price wanted to... express his gratitude to you more privately.

"I never asked for it!" - snarls Price, but ends up emailing you as soon as Gaz is out of his sight.

[gravehags]

you send me

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: Terzo being Terzo, Copia snapping, Secondo is a shit head, Primo is just trying to play a nice game of Uno, introductions

Words: 1,082

Summary: You've never met a Satanic pope before. He sure is something.

a/n: just a short little baby fic because I needed reader to meet Terzo desperately because I know it would make Copia absolutely infuriated. Cheers.

divider by @gothdaddyissues!

“Son of a bitch,” you spit, watching a paper from the stack you’re holding drift towards the floor and under the table you’re working at.

With a frustrated noise, you slam the stack on the surface and get down on your hands and knees to retrieve it. The paper, of course, had landed a couple feet away, causing you to crawl underneath the heavy piece of furniture. Your fingers just about have it when you hear a low chuckle from behind you. It startles you so much that you jerk your head, slamming it into the hard surface above you.

“Fuck,” you hiss, trying your best to clamber off the ground and confront whoever is watching you. When you finally stand, straightening your skirt, your eyes land on a most peculiar figure. He’s slight, wearing a black and white suit. Jet black hair, parted in the center of his head, frames a face covered in paint designed to look like a stylized skull. The paint isn’t odd to you - you have of course seen Cardinal Copia’s paints - but somehow he seems more important than anyone you have met thus far at the abbey.

“You’re staring, bella,” he purrs in a seductive voice, “am I so very nice to look at?”

Jesus. You fumble over your introduction, sticking out a hand for him to shake. He takes it within both of his own white gloved hands and pulls you closer to him.

“I,” he begins, “am called Terzo Emeritus. You may call me ‘Terzo’ if you like. Or perhaps ‘Papa’, if you’re into that,” he says with an exaggerated wink.

“Huh…? Oh shit you’re him? You’re the Satanic pope? I am so sorry, your…unholiness.”

He looks like he’s trying to stifle a laugh as he continues to squeeze your hands in his.

“No need for titles, bella,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Whatever you call me, I’m all yours.”

Somehow he’s gotten even closer to you, so much so that you can smell the hair product he uses. You’re about to say something awkward when behind Terzo you see a flash of red.

“Cardinal!” you half-shout as he approaches, a frown on his face. “Thank God you’re…I mean…we were just…”

“Capisco, signorina. I understand exactly what is happening here. How good of Papa to visit his new employee.”

The look in Copia’s mismatched eyes - funny how they both have those eyes - is positively venomous. Odd. Terzo steps away from you and slaps Copia on the back with surprising force, causing him to jolt forward.

“Cardinale, your timing as always is impeccable,” he croons with a grin toying at his lips. “I am quite impressed with your bellissimo curatore you’ve been going on about for weeks now, eh?”

You flush and look down at your feet. Copia’s been talking about you? When you look back up he’s as red as you are, staring daggers at Terzo who has a beatific smile on his face.

“We will have to chat again soon, cara,” Terzo says in that low voice again. Copia’s eye twitches.

“Of course, thank you for stopping by Terzo,”

He gives you a lingering smile before turning on his heel and brushing past Copia, who is still standing there looking annoyed.

“Shall we begin?” you say softly, gesturing to the pile of papers on the table. He blinks and the sour expression is gone, looking at you with kind eyes.

"Sì, signorina. Let us get to work.”

—-

“There he is!” Terzo crows from his spot at the round table. Copia walks in, removing his biretta and tossing it on a side table. Secondo has a foul grin on his lips and Primo looks exhausted.

“I was just about to tell them about the new curatore,” he announces, as Copia takes the seat next to him, shoulders tense.

“Well go on,” Secondo says, tapping his cigar on the ashtray in front of him. Terzo makes a dramatic fainting motion and Secondo wiggles his eyebrows.

“Beautiful,” Terzo says, breathless. “Paffuta.” He makes a lewd squeezing motion with his hands and Copia’s gloves squeak as he balls his own hands into fists. Primo is watching him quietly from his side of the table but says nothing. “Matura,” Terzo continues with a growl.

Secondo blows a stream of smoke out of his nose and makes a thoughtful noise.

“I’ll have to see her myself. Perhaps she prefers someone older,” he says with a faint sneer. Terzo scoffs and lightly slams his fists on the table.

“You should have seen the way she was looking at me today fratellino,” he begins, “Wide eyes and everything. Positively smitten.”

Secondo rolls his eyes. “Maybe she’ll like Primo, eh?” He leans over and nudges the brother in question who is still silently observing Copia. “He can tend her garden.”

The two brothers erupt in raucous laughter. Copia has heard enough.

“Silenzio!” he shouts, banging his hands on the table and rising. “Do not speak of her as if she is some sibling you can fuck and then discard!” Primo lets out a deep sigh while Secondo gently sets his cigar in the ashtray. Terzo, however, looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“I knew it,” he whispers, “I knew you were besotted with her!”

Copia opens his mouth to say something, but finds himself at a loss.

“The way you went on and on and on about her for weeks before she even moved in. I knew it!” Secondo chuckles and Primo looks disappointed.

“Terzo,” he begins quietly, “you could have simply asked him instead of riling him up.”

“Eh, this was more fun,” he says, waving a hand dismissively at his brother. Copia is still standing and fidgeting with his hands. He wants to speak up and deny it but finds the lie offensive. Sensing his anxiety, Primo speaks up again.

“Why don’t you bring her to us, Copia? I would very much like to meet her.”

Copia nods, still fidgeting.

“Sì…sì, I will. She is…” he falters for a moment, trying to search for the appropriate word, “kind. I have not known her long but from what I have seen she is…lovely.”

His face is practically glowing at this point as Terzo cat calls and then is harshly cut short by Primo laying a firm slap to his arm.

“Looking forward to meeting this kind curatore,” Secondo comments, once again picking up his cigar. “Does she like bolognese?”

Huh. He doesn’t know. Copia plans to ask you the next time you meet.

[azure7539arts]

Re: being blind and in the dark—a side-by-side look at TtEotM and Black Moonlight

I have a whole draft about this but it's so long, and idk if i should post it, so here's the gist:

The fact that the show shifted the narrative of person-trapped-in-the-dark from Li Susu/Ye Xiwu to Tantai Jin is very important to me. (The show and the novel are companion pieces, you can't convince me otherwise.)

In the novel, Li Susu went blind and partially deaf because of the curse from the Qingshi Flower. Basically under house arrest in the Cold Palace with no human contact for an extended period in such a state, Li Susu was left deeply traumatized because freedom and the ability to see are both very important to her and her quality of life. The trauma carried over after she'd left Ye Xiwu's body, which culminated into a scene where she had to go into a dark cave in search of something and ended up having a panic attack due to the subsequent onslaught of bad memories. Tantai Jin, shaking with realization that Susu had developed a fear of darkness because of what had happened in the past, rushed in to her aid, and upon finding Susu, he dug through his belongings to find the most reliable source of light he had on hand before helping her out of the cave. Once out, she had an epiphany about confronting the traumas of one's past in order to move on and become a stronger person for it, then she immediately retreated from Tantai Jin, leaving his side to finish what she set out to do.

A lot can be said about this character development on Susu's part, but what I find most compelling is how the show took this and asked, in return: what of Tantai Jin?

In the show, Susu never developed a fear of the dark. There's a couple of reasons for this: one, she never went completely blind and was still able to see a little of the approaching thunder right to the end of her life as Ye Xiwu; two, she was less concerned about her own freedom and sight, and was more dead-set on attempting at righting the wrongs that had transpired between her and Tantai Jin—in doing so giving him another chance at life. Li Susu in the show is a little more mature than in the novel, and she possessed more self-reflection in all the things that she went through as Ye Xiwu with Tantai Jin, which contributed greatly to their developing relationship at the time as well as her own perception of him. Bo're Fusheng Arc, therefore, became a cornerstone of even greater importance in the show than in the novel, imo, because through Sang Jiu's story, Li Susu saw what kind of enduring suffering and hopelessness would push someone to the brink and down into the precipice. This was where she learnt that she didn't necessarily have to agree with someone's actions to have compassion for them, which is an amazing lead into her eventual argument with Tantai Jin after their wedding where he told her that he'd been lost in the dark for the 20 years of his existence, stumbling through that void like a blind man until he'd thought that he'd finally found his one light in life—her.

This is a direct parallel of what was depicted in the novel. A great reversal of a question to illustrate Tantai Jin's pains, even if his experiences didn't justify the viciousness of his retaliations, and how they had both pushed themselves into this corner: their inability to see beyond the frames of references they had operated on throughout their entire lives. She was unable to see past her prejudice against him, and he also was unable to see past the perceived betrayal from her, and in their blindness, they ended up torturing each other until there was barely anything left to salvage. The moment Susu, in the show, realized what had actually happened in regards to the poisoned congee and the death of Ye Xiwu's grandmother, all the previous set-ups from the showrunners were paid back in full: if she had ever had any misgivings about her initial assumptions of this, living through Sang Jiu's life with all of its trials and tribulations left no shadow of doubt in her heart that everyone had a breaking point no matter how resilient they seemed. A series of unfortunate tragedies had been enough to turn a once optimistic, naive, and softhearted princess (who had a great, if not spoiled, upbringing) into a cold-blooded murderer, then what of Tantai Jin? Tantai Jin who had never had anything in his life?

After all, "to become a god or a devil. It all lies in one single thought."

There was no taking back everything that they had done to one another, but "some people in darkness do not deserve light" had been the cruelest thing she could have told him, and Li Susu knew this. That was why she used whatever was left of her life at the time to exchange a new existence for him—to once and for all be that light in the dark that she had previously, continually denied him time and time again. So he could hopefully see a way out somehow, even after she'd gone, and do whatever he could to begin again.

(sighs.)

Truly convinced the novel and show are each other's companion and should be both read and watched for a full experience.

[a-dirty-secret]

Johnny's Girl - Part 19

tw: dub/non-con, hematolagnia, dacryphilia, blood, violence, stalking, rough sex

You took a deep breath, your shaky hand turning the doorknob to your motel room. You step inside, turning around to look at the man you'd brought with you. He had light hair that framed his handsome face. He was just barely shorter than Johnny, but not nearly as toned. He closed the door and approached you, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you close, his sandy eyes gazing into yours.

"You're so beautiful." The words sounded foreign coming from him, from someone other than Johnny. You'd spent the last couple of nights spending time with this man at a local bar. He seemed to be sweet and understanding, a typical southern gentleman.

He leans in, his lips soft against yours as he caresses your back. You pull him closer and deepen the kiss, attempting to feel something. Anything. Your mind wanders to Johnny involuntarily. His rough hands and overwhelming kiss. His deep voice and hot breath on your ear as he whispered sweet words just for you.

"Mmm..." You moan into the kiss, encouraging him to go further. He breaks the kiss briefly and pulls off your shirt, kneading your breasts gently before giving your nipples attention. The pleasure is dulled by sharp pangs of guilt. You were Johnny's, this didn't feel right.

You pull away, your saddened gaze meeting his. "I'm sorry, I can't do this." You sit on the bed, cupping your face as tears spill out.

"Here." he says, handing you your shirt before sitting next to you. He waits for you to be fully dressed then pulls you close, stroking your hair gently as you continue to cry.

"I'm sorry." you utter sheepishly.

"Hey, it's alright. I'm here if you need me." His words were gentle and kind but brought you no comfort. There was only one person you needed, and it wasn't him.

You let out a defeated sigh. You'd hoped finding somebody else would help you forget about Johnny, or at least prove to yourself that you didn't need him. Instead it did the total opposite. "You should probably leave." You stated, pulling away from him.

He got up and went to the nightstand, writing something on a piece of paper. "If you ever need somethin', that's my phone number. I can see that you're hurtin', a woman like you don't deserve that." He squeezed your shoulder, offering you a reassuring smile before leaving you to be alone with your thoughts.

The last month had been slow and painful. You spent most of your time alone, trying to work through your thoughts and emotions despite the depression you'd been lunged into. Your feelings for Johnny bordered on obsession, and you just didn't know how to deal with it. You had to convince yourself not to go back to him daily, and it hasn't gotten any easier. How could you convince yourself that he was bad for you? Honestly, you didn't think you could. His dark side didn't deter you, it drew you in. It made his soft side feel even more special, and it was a side of him reserved for just you.

How would he react if you went back? Would he be happy or would he decide to finally finish what he started? The more time passed the less you cared. Life was colorless without him. He was so intense and passionate, everything else dulled in comparison.

Thoughts of returning made your heart race, causing the pressure in your chest to release ever so slightly for the first time since you watched Johnny drive away. You get up, running around in a whirlwind as you throw things into your bag. You didn't care if you were obsessed and you didn't care if he was bad for you, you loved him.

You grab your keys and run to your car, desperate to get back to him. The thought of seeing him again is almost overwhelming, and for the first time since you left you feel something other than pain and numbness. You were Johnny's, you would always be Johnny's, and you were done fighting it. You rub the letters etched into your skin gently at the thought.

You drove for hours, the anticipation of seeing Johnny warding off any drowsiness. Your insides flutter when you start to recognize your surroundings lit up by the orange hue of the sunset. You look to the side of the road as you get close to your house and gasp, slamming on the breaks when you see Johnny's truck in your driveway. What was he doing here?

You park in the driveway and get out. You felt like a newborn learning how to walk as you made your way to the front door, your nerves overwhelming you. You stand in front of the door and take a few deep breaths, preparing yourself for Johnny's reaction.

You nervously open the door and step inside.

[tamorisana]

Just a little bit more, please.

Tags :Fluffy, sleeping together, little suggestive??

Pairing :Ghostsoap

Notes :It's just a light one before the nuclear second part of 'After'.

[——————————————————————————————————————————]

Waking up isn't exactly nice.

Soap absolutely fucking hates mornings. And waking up.

He hates leaving his little secure world of dreams for routine. Boring, monotonous, dull routine. New task, new mission, new possible injuries. Like the one on his right shoulder.

But today is different. Fundamentally different.

You see, waking up half-naked, being spooned by his lieutenant isn't exactly a usual thing. But not unappreciative. Hearing Simon's breathing again his hair, arms and warmth around him is... something.

Besides it all was wonderful.

Until it wasn't.

A knock on the door was so loud it felt inappropriate.

"Soap? Everything alright? Can I come in?" Is heard from the other side of the door. Darn you, Price. Oh God, how much he hates it, Johnny just wants to sleep, to forget about the wound on his shoulder, to cuddle with Simo— And then it hits. He is half naked, snuggling with his lieutenant and Captain is about to walk on them.

Holy shit.

They are fucked.

He doesn't think he ever got up, dressed, and at least somehow presentable that fast. Five seconds and he opens the door before Captain, right on fucking time because the man behind it is already reaching for it.

"G'morning, you need something?" Oh god, he hates this. He wants to go back to bed and his shoulder is acting up again.

"No, just needed to check on you. You didn't show up for breakfast, thought your cut opened and bled out. Figured out you might use one." Price leans on one shoulder using the door frame as support. God, he probably looks like a mess. A sleepy one too.

"So caring, Cap, I'm touched. Everything is alright, just slept in" Soap rubs the back of his head, going through his now long, uncombed hair. Simon said it's nice, so he keeps it this way. He needs a good shower once the stitches are healed.

"Alright, alright. You are desperate for sleep and rest so go do that, medic wants to see you and stitches in the evening by the way" He pushes himself up and moves away, Price turns away starting to move suddenly stopping "Did you see Ghost?"

Huh?

Oh, he did.

Different poses, angles and even his face on his own coc—

Shush. Answer.

"Aye, he went back to his room yesterday, didn't he?"

He didn't.

"Probably, didn't see him anywhere today. Okay, sleep. Now."

Oh no. His dad mode is on.

"Yes, sir. Good night..? Good morning??"

Soap stepped a couple steps back, chuckling as he did so. Already closing the door, going straight to bed, sliding under warm covers next to the still-laying body giving all of that warmth. Fucking furnace.

"Where were you" grumpily heard from Ghost– no. Simon as he turned to face Johnny, snuggling closer, showing and letting him see the men behind the skull mask. Trusting him so much and probably praying for him not to destroy what's left of Simon.

"Price got scared I reopened the wound and died from blood loss since I didn't show up for breakfast " answer was quick to roll of Johnny's lips as he started gently rubbing circles on the bigger man's back, trying to get him to relax and get more sleep as it's a rare occasion for Simon to actually sleep. "He is looking for you, by the way"

"Old man can wait. Sleep." there was not even a pause between the two sentences but Scotsman doesn't focus on that, breathing on his neck and big hot hands on his waist and hips are way more... interesting.

He definitely will try his best to put pieces of what's left of Simon together and fill in the missing parts.

[——————————————————————————————————————————]

Look at me working. Working hard to please yall the best I can.

For the love of god its 3:20 as i write this. I need sleep not hyperfixation.

[m-jelly]

Let’s see…

Well hello there 👀

Might I slip a request? Let it penetrate you? 👀

How about a Modern AU! Mike oneshot? Perhaps a fluffy continuation of the smut I requested for your winter event! It’s been a few months of dating Mike, and he is just so wonderful ❤️ It’s summertime now, with the weather being gorgeous in the small village. With all the nice weather, we are able to spend plentiful time with Mike in his carpentry shop! I forget what we were doing in the smut story, were we a baker? 🤣 I think it would be so cute to see a story of just Mike and us having fluffy times in his shop, seeing him show off some of his capabilities for us 🥰 Our little setup is connected to his shop, meaning we get constant view of our man working 👀

Of course, feel free to alter anything you wish!

- Le Skittle

WELL WELL WELL! If it is SKITTLES. Hi <3

Summer Crafting

Pairing: Mike x Fem!Reader

Genre and tags: Modern AU, fluff, romance, being a couple, summertime, admiring our man.

Concept: Many months into your relationship, you have moved shop location to Mike's Inn. Mike makes sure that the carpentry part of his inn is right next to your little shop. On long days you gaze at your lover and admire him.

Muscles flexed as sweat glistened in the summer sun. A soft grunt escaped the rough man as his large rough hands ran over curved wood. The tall muscle-bound frame rose up and raked back messy sandy blonde hair. Long fingers bent and moved as hair was tied back.

Pale blue eyes locked onto your body making you feel naked even though you were dressed. A playful smirk spread across kissable lips. You'd been caught staring, but you didn't care. You wanted to admire him more and he enjoyed you looking.

You left your post and checked your oven to see your sausage rolls were perfectly cooked. The filled contained meat hunted by Mike and cheese you made together. You collected one thick big one and paired it with a nice cold lemonade.

With a gentle blush on your cheeks, you hurried over to your boyfriend with the food and drink. Your heart skipped a beat when he Mike smirked a little and took what you were offering before giving you a loving kiss.

Mike took a big bite from his sausage roll and moaned. "So good, my little pumpkin. The meat, spice and cheese work well together."

"I'm so glad!"

He downed some lemonade and gasped. "You're just a perfect little peach, aren't ya?" He leaned closer to you. "I wanna take a bite."

Your cheeks burned. "Why don't you?"

He chuckled. "Because we're both at work. Behave and I'll give you everything we both want and need later."

You saluted to him. "Yes sir!"

Mike let out a deep chuckle. "You are so cute."

You giggled a little. "So, I haven't got any customers..." you walked closer and put your hands behind your back and pushed your chest out "mind showing me what you can do?"

Mike finished his food and led you into his workshop. "Mm, sure. I'm making a rocking chair for a customer."

"Oh cute!"

He grabbed a piece of wood. "I'll make one when we have a baby."

You blushed a little. "That'd be cute."

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you over to him. "Let's start." He stood behind you. "We need to shape the wood, so we'll heat it up and put it in this mould to help us."

You shivered as you felt Mike's broad chest against your back. "Y-Yes."

"You're doing well." He kissed the side of your head. "Now we wet it a bit more because we like it nice and wet." He leaned down and whispered against your ear. "The wetter the better."

You gulped hard. "You are not talking about the wood anymore, are you?"

"Maybe I'm talking about a certain wood."

You moaned a little. "I love that wood."

"I know you do." He chuckled and worked with you to bend the wood. "You're very good with your hands."

"Thank you." You huffed a bit. "This is hard work."

Mike locked the wood in place. "There we go, we leave that there for a bit while we carve another part." He pulled you over to the next station. "When you carve you go with the wood. Got it?" He placed his hands on yours and pushed the tool. "With the wood."

You hummed as you worked with him. "With the wood."

"You got it." He let your hands go. "You got it."

"You're incredible to make all these things."

He walked away and picked up a log making you blush at how strong he is. "Thank you." He slammed the log down and sighed. "I have you to inspire me now."

You hugged yourself and smiled. "Well, you make my baking better."

"Aw, thank you."

You walked up to him. "Bend down."

He leaned down to you. "Yes?"

You grabbed his shirt and kissed him. "I love you, Mike."

"I love you too."