#or she doesn’t know and she thinks she’s gotten her powers back. but every time she uses them she forgets duke

[thepromisedbride]

proposed ending for miss holloween: as miss holloway cannot use her powers to save hatchetfield, duke decides he would do anything to save the woman he still loves and makes a contract with the lords in black. same rules as before except this time it’s miss holloway having to forget duke. miserable endings all round except for the lords in black who are having a great time.

[erideights]

Little pieces here and there (3)

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

Chapters: one, two, four, five

Word Count: around 2K again.

Warnings: minimum context of the arlong park part of the story (background), MUTUAL FLIRTING, forbiden pinning of them both, Buggy has his body back *wiggling eyebrows*, sexy times

A/N: devil works hard but i'm working harder, every 5 free min i have from work/class/practices i'm writing on my phone, i'ts actually insane and i love it (ROAD TO CHAPTER 4?? If you like this one and want the next one, please let me know!)

Oh, he was mad. He was really mad.

Maybe "sexually frustrated" was a way more accurate term given the circumstances but the feeling was so strong, so visceral, he was sure he was reaching a point where jumping to the sea to end that agony -even if a bit exaggerated, like him always, everywhere and for everything- was justified.

Somewhere in Arlong Park, Buggy could feel the boner pressing his pants, demanding to be satisfied; dirty talk was one of his true passions and when (Y/N) played that card on him, being capable of picturing himself with her on his lap, that damn woman so -actually- close to his face in that moment he was already tasting her lips, her low, smooth voice driving him insane, he could not help it, but get turned on so easily and so strong is been hours, and he's still mad, incapable of stop thinking about that.

That is, perhaps, the reason he feels relief as soon as the sun rises and Usopp is back on the helm again, asking for directions as Buggy, in fact, demands to go faster. Like instead of slicing and dicing his body, his power could control the wind that propelled the boat or the force of the waves against the hull.

(Y/N) ran away just after such a -even if brief- conversation. She may have broken his balls with that dirty trick, but she was equally a victim of her own game. She knew what to say to push Buggy and leave him so stunned -to speak- that the poor clown didn't have the chance to fight back at that moment, not without his body to help him keep her in that kitchen, lift her up on the counter, force her to back down, regret even thinking she could do that to him, and then, only then, yes, fuck her until she wakes up the rest of her little and - according to him - pathetic crew with her moans.

Or so the girl imagined, leaning against the door of her room, eyes closed, heart slightly racing, fighting the temptation to lie down on the bed and masturbate thinking about what had just happened.

Which included him. Him!! What the hell, was she actually losing her mind? All that damn flirting had really gotten into her, for fucks sake, because regardless of her finding him quite interesting when they met, this attraction was something else.

Lately everything around her was something else. Did she really think through the decision of leaving her mercenary life behind and follow those kids to the Grand Line? Did she really think through the decision of flirting back with a psychopath clown?

Because in the end it's just that, right? Flirting. Was nothing else, is nothing else, and will be nothing else. She doesn’t want it to be something more, that's for sure; there's no need for unnecessary complications and extra headaches. In the meantime, it's fun, a bit of a backfire kind of situation, a bit -sexually- frustrating, but fun.

After a good ol' resting night and already some hours into the new day, (Y/N) notices that it's been a lot, since their encounter in the kitchen to be precise, that Buggy not only doesn't flirt with her, but doesn't talk that much or even look at her as amazed as before. Of course, he is, also, way less annoying, which Zoro subtly points out clearly pleased with how calm, nice and silent this morning is.

At some point she shakes her head, knowing, or at least guessing, the reason for this behavior, so she decides to check no one's around and the rudder is locked in the right direction, and then goes to where the bag with his head is, closed probably by the sniper when he got the last indications he needed from him. She opens it, lowering it until the clown's head is free on top of that barrel.

"How are you doing, Bugs?" she starts with a funny little smile, looking intently at him as she leans her back forward to leave her face level with his. "It's been hours I don't hear your raspy voice, I'm starting to miss it."

Silence. Absolute indifference besides the sidelong glance he gives her because let's face it, Buggy is annoyingly proud, extremely, exaggeratedly, but he loves attention. He likes nothing more than receiving it, no matter where, when, and from who, and she could see it as soon as they met.

"Also your silly nicknames for me" She grants, giving in. She would also be mad as hell if someone leaves her as horny as she knew she left him, so she doesn't have any problem being the one to start the tug-war this time.

"Already tired of the shidiots?" He finally asks, almost drily, after a minute; now he is the one to play difficult, huh? "No wonder, they don't even know where to start being pirates."

"Oh, of course, because no one compares to the famous Buggy The Clown, the colorful nightmare or the East Blue." Playful, she retreats a bit, resting her hip in the barrel, arms crossed over her chest.

"Quit the sarcasm doll, you know I'm right." Well, he was, in fact, right. None of them had real experience in the whole i-wanna-become-a-pirate thing, still, they were doing pretty good to be newbies. She was quite proud of them.

"I cannot wait to have my body back" he then murmurs, adding before she could say anything else about her new friends. "To do what?" She asks, you know, like she didn't know.

"Take a guess"

"Recover your spotlight? Find a new crew and a way to enter the Grand Line to go search the One Piece and be the king of the pirates?" (Y/N) mocks, clearly enjoying being the annoying one this time.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah'' Buggy rolls his eyes, scoffing. ''All that, but not before making you regret what you did last night." To that accusation she gasps, resting her right hand over her chest "What did I do last night?"

The clown falls silent again, but his mood is completely different. Right now he's not pissed off, it's obvious that this time, instead of flirting with her in a casual and natural way, he’s thinking what to say, choosing carefully his words to return a fraction of the effect she had on him hours ago.

His eyes darken, and his voice goes octaves lower and raspier. "Sweetheart, there will be no possible escape from what I plan to do with you. At the slightest opportunity I will make you cum on me so many times you will be the one to find the One Piece without needing to go to the Grand Line, but first…'' He pauses, breathes, and lets it go calmly, like the intimidating, psychopathic calculator she saw at the circus and not that flirty cartoonish version she got to know on the ship. ''you will beg for it."

She knows she shouldn't surrender to this type of tease, but she also can't and doesn't want to avoid it. Getting heavily carried away, without thinking about it twice, one of the girl's hands slides to the back of his neck, slipping under the bandana, and tugs his hair aggressively as she leans in again to speak close to his face. He grunts in pure satisfaction, closing his eyes for a second. Of course (Y/N) is, once again, taking advantage of the fact that he cannot defend himself no being more than a head, and the fact is that he enjoys like a condemned bastard those small but intense gestures the girl has given him since they met at the circus.

He can't wait to break a woman like her. And oh, he will.

"Are you sure about that?" Hearing distant steps, someone from the crew coming out on deck and climbing the stairs, she gets some distance from him, acting naturally, closing the bag again around his head. "My expectations just skyrocketed, I hope you don't disappoint."

By the end of the day, the Konomi Islands begin to appear on the horizon, and as soon as they set foot on them, shits get really serious. The situation of the poor people who live there is heartbreaking, so for two days, no one dares to make a single joke, Luffy's usual energy and bubbly positivity is nowhere to be seen, and of course, the interactions of (Y/N) and Buggy are reduced to = 0. The clown's head is no longer of any real use to them, and it’s poor Sanji, the new recruit, who’s carrying it around just in case.

At least until they reach Arlong Park.

Again, (Y/N) is not exactly the type of mercenary expert in martial arts and although she knows how to defend herself, fighting like Zoro or Sanji is, in few words, impossible. Her only advantage is being very, very fast, and knowing how to use the scenery to her advantage, so it doesn't take long for her to hide here and there among the different tents and attractions in the area to get rid of the most straggler fishmen, with a knife she got long ago during one of her jobs, capable of cutting their tough skin easily.

Everything happens so fast and is so chaotic that apart from some screams and blows in the background and having seen Usopp running towards the forest, (Y/N) is completely unaware of what is happening in the main complex.

A strong pull on her left arm activates her flight or fight response as one last fish falls dead to the ground in front of her. Raising the knife, in a quick movement, she tries to defend herself by aiming at the stranger's neck, although in vain; a pair of lips whose red has already been worn for days impact against hers, stealing her breath, a small moan escaping her. Eyes wide open, she barely registers the blurry color of Buggy's nose when two strong hands squeeze her hips as if the life of the clown depended on it, pushing the girl against the wall of the building behind them, cornering her without any type of delicacy.

She hadn't heard from him since they reached the island. Hell, she didn't even know he had got his full body back and was already so close to it that air was unable to pass between each other.

Of course, the moment the clown's head joined the rest of himself -the feeling much better than he remembered- he fucked off his captors and decided to flee. Not before making a vital stop along the way.

The ideas about how to proceed with her once he was whole were very, very different in his wild fantasies, but when he saw the girl's back, he knew that the only thing that would -partially- calm his yearning would be to kiss her before disappearing as fast as possible. To taste her lips, to feel her warmth.

Still not recovered from the shock of the kiss, Y/N doesn't remove the knife from the clown's neck, but he couldn't care less; quite the opposite. He is so turned on and waited so much -again, exaggerated- for this he doesn't know yet how he will be able to break the kiss, take distance from her, and run away.

Passionately carried away, moved by his most primitive instincts, Buggy sneaks one of his legs between hers, pressing in between them as Y/N inhales through her nose and her free hand flies to his vest, pulling it a little.

It wasn't the time, nor the place, to think about fucking that asshole, but damn, after all the teasing and the tension and the adrenaline of the fight--

And just when she starts fully giving in to him, he retreats just enough, panting a bit, and looks at her now red, stained lips, eyes darkened and full of lust. Just like hers.

"Hate to leave you like this sweetheart but I have things to do and places to go. I don't want people relating me to Arlong, I would hate the bad press on my persona." He whispers, cracking his usual cruel, playful smirk when he finally puts some distance between each other.

‘’It's time to exit stage left.’’ Buggy adds, theatrically raising both hands in the air. ‘’I promise I’ll see you around.’’

And like this, he stars running away again. Where? She doesn't know, or even guess at this moment, too busy registering the kiss in her memory, the way his lips felt on hers, how his nose pressed her cheek the entire time, or his hands grabbed onto her for dear life.

Bastard.

''You better'', she whispers to herself.

[lyrefromthesea]

hiii i really love you blind!reader x hashira + Kokushibo 🫶

can you PLEASE write more of blind!reader x Kokushibo? like how they met OR how Kokushibo had “mysteriously” adored the reader after they first met OR how their relationship functions coz she doesn’t know that Kokushibo is a demon???

please and thank you so much 🙏 more grace and power to you

Kokushibo - Behind poisonous trees

author's note: i just received the notification that i've reached over 25 thousand hearts. thank you all for appreciating my work like this.

pairing: Kokushibo x blind!reader

content warning: reader (obviously) is blind, brief mention of blood, reader is described as she/her

he didn't know what led him down the thin path between rows of wisteria trees. demons kept away from the poisonous plants, knowing it could be the death of them, his behavior made no sense.

then again, he wasn't like every other demon. he was strong - the strongest - and had a mind of his own.

the path had been pulling at him, attaching to his sleeve and whispering coaxing words into his ears. he was promised a future if he just followed the mysterious way long enough.

yet he began to wonder after minutes of waiting, what could be at the end of this trail? it wasn't normal for humans to build areas like these - lonely and silent.

the thought consumed him until he saw a glimmer of hope in the distance. the path led to a small estate, clearly of older times. the building stood in the middle of a clearing, fully surrounded by wisteria trees.

the sight made unease spread through his body. this looked like a cage. a trap. a place no demon should visit.

but what intrigued him even more, made curiosity and caution consume him, was the faint scent of a single human being.

a marechi.

his speed picked up the slightest bit, bringing him towards the entrance of the clearing. he hadn't seen it from afar, but the clearing was filled with varieties of flowers.

who had planted them here? different colored waves of flora filled the scenery, letting the clearing look like an ocean.

"who goes there?" he froze, the voice he had heard - barely above a whisper - had been unlike anything he had heard.

soft. harsh. cold. warm. but most importantly - close.

he turned around in the blink of an eye, six eyes focusing on the single human being in front of him.

the human, who looked weirdly weak and still strong, had successfully moved right behind him. he didn't remember the last time someone managed to do that.

a hundred years ago? or maybe a few more. it must've been a strong swordsman who took him by surprise back then, but he couldn't remember his face.

"i asked you a question." the human stated, hand clenching around the stick in hand.

he felt his blood run cold, the woman in front of him wasn't a normal marechi. she looked too different - too similar.

he didn't think he'd be able to remember this face, but now it was all too clear to him.

she reminded him of his former wife.

it wasn't only her face, but also her demeanour. the way she carried herself. only that her eyes looked different - empty.

she almost appeared like she looked past him, as if her eyes observed a different world than his. and when his eyes wandered back to the stick in her hand, it all made sense.

she was blind.

"i did not mean to intrude." he answered, internally questioning himself for what he did. he was supposed to eat her, become stronger - stay the strongest. she was a marechi, if he didn't eat her, another demon would.

but his body remained stiff, his eyes staying on the woman. "i must've gotten lost."

he wasn't lost, he knew the way back. but his voice was betraying him, finding it hard to turn away from the woman.

"you're lost?" she asked, her voice having grown more soft. he watched her look up at the sky, as if she could see the stars wandering along the firmament.

"i see.. come inside, i have a guestroom to spare." he didn't know what brought her to this decision, but she was ready to let him in after just a few words.

perhaps she was brave. perhaps she was naive.

"there's no need, i will surely find my way back." he insisted, feeling the lump in his throat grow. something was holding him back from killing you right then and there.

he didn't understand, he was a demon and you a mere human. he was used to killing his victims with a single slice, watching the blood splatter and the live leave their eyes.

but somehow he couldn't lift a single finger with the intention to hurt you and he slowly came to realize that it wasn't only because of your similarity to his wife.

"i insist, there are demons lurking outside the woods, this is the only place to be safe." you answered, walking towards the small estate without another word. he watched you move with a silent grace lingering around your figure.

you must've walked through this area a hundred times already, as the accuracy of your step was phenomenal in his eyes.

he only snapped out of his quiet fascination when you opened the door, stopping and turning around just so you could face him. "i'll prepare some fresh food."

the invitation was left unanswered, at least no words came to accompany yours. instead his feet dragged him forward without his consent, silently longing for what was to happen next.

he was completely in your ban and he still hadn't noticed.

[wheatnoodle]

robin is using everything in her power to find steve a boyfriend. now that she had finally gotten her head out of her ass to see that nancy didn’t find her rambling annoying, but charming and that got comfy in their new relationship, she wanted nothing more than the same for her best friend.

for too long, robin has stood back and watched as steve got used and played again and again. too many men and women coming around and flashing him pretty smiles and saying all the right things just to take him on a date, get him to drop his pants, and then he’d never hear from them again. she sees the way it effects him, the way he seems to be deteriorating right before her eyes.

he’s given up flirting with the babes that walk in the front door of their job, choosing to stay behind the counter. he leans on his fist, flips through a magazine and only glances up to say hello.

unless, of course, that customer is eddie munson. eddie, who will come in so quiet and lean down in steve’s space to break him from his trance. and steve will smile. and he’ll blush. and he’ll giggle and look away so eddie can’t see how flustered he is. and he waves the late fees every time. and she continues to watch.

robin is using everything in her power to get steve eddie as a boyfriend. sweet eddie who holds the door for steve and makes him smile brighter than robin has ever seen.

and it’s this reason that she was able to convince steve to join her and nancy at a bar in indy and invite eddie along so he “doesn’t third wheel”. meaning it’s also this reason she’s currently tearing apart steve’s closet for the perfect “date me!” outfit. because if he pulls up to this place in a polo and robin’s the one who brought him? she could never go back.

“robs, i can’t wear these.” steve is bright red in the face as he looks over his shoulder in the mirror. she got him in the tightest jeans he owns, the denim light and hugging every single curve from the waist down. he’s lucky he can even breathe in them. he hates how his butt is on display and there’s no room in his crotch to move comfortably and what if his knees get cold where they’re exposed to the outside elements?

“you absolutely can and you absolutely will. turn around and let me pretend you’re a girl so i can drool over your ass,” robin whistles from her place on his bed. she’s surrounded by piles of clothes, a multicolored avalanche of preppy and she just might go insane. “now you need a shirt.”

“i don’t get why you’re putting in all this effort. i’m just gonna embarrass myself in front of him. especially if i try to make a move,” steve grumbles and tugs his current sweatshirt over his head. robin’s got a pair of scissors from his bedside drawer and a clearly well-loved pink floyd t-shirt in hand. “what are you doing?”

“how much do you love this shirt?”

“robin don’t you-“

“how much, steven.” her gaze is firm and he knows it best to just give in. he rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a huff and robin smiles back at him in victory. he’s turned back to the mirror, listening to the sound of slicing fabric behind him.

she tosses it to him once she’s done and he pulls it over his head. dear god his waist is on display. and the trail of hair down to- oh this is humiliating. “robin.”

“steve!” she squeals, clapping her hands together.

“robin,” he whines, throwing his head back and tugging at the jagged edge of the shirt.

“steve!” she answers in the same tone with a bright smile. “you’re so hot! eddie is going to eat you up and if he doesn’t, then somebody else absolutely will.”

“you think so?” steve looks at her through the mirror. a soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips and she can’t help but smile back, full of love and warmth.

“i know so.”

[mothmanssweetsucculentass]

ZZZ Headcanons

Help this game has taken over my free time I love these characters sm <3 Billy Soukaku and Ellen my beloved

Nicole: has a not so secret hobby of bedazzling anything and everything. It’s a real problem in the Cunning Hares apartment, nothing is safe from pink rhinestones and stickers

Anby: cracked at rhythm games to an alarming degree. Can do a 2 person extremely hard DDR song all by herself

Billy: I don’t know how they did it but they programmed an android with autism. Has his own version of a skincare routine which is basically just maintenance on all of his tiny mechanical parts. Can also gain power multiple ways, including solar power. The apartment complex where the Cunning Hares live had a blackout once and everyone used Billy as a personal charging port. Nicole promised to pay him in Starlight Knight merch.

Nekomata: cuts her own hair and offers to do it for other people. DO NOT trust her when she says she’s good at it

Grace: did gymnastics as a kid which is why she’s able to pull off a ton of backflips and flexible maneuvers in battle

Anton: uses actual cement to keep his hair spikes in shape. Koleda caught him in the act once and instead of chewing him out, she decided to apply some to her own hair and now they’re cement combover gang

Ben: is completely vegan and loves chilling at hot springs a lot. Still sleeps with stuffed animals btw

Koleda: I’m making it canon right now Koleda is trans and you can’t do shit about it. Also has welding as a hobby and made most of her accessories from scratch

Corin: when not in Victoria Housekeeping Co uniform, is a Jfashion junkie. I’m talking super dedicated Lolita fits, menhera inspired clothing, the whole shebang. She ofc designs a lot of her own stuff like her bear backpack and is also responsible for a lot of the accessories Victoria Housekeeping Co wears (Rina’s bows, Ellen’s shark jaw head and neckpieces, Lycaon’s eyepatch and tail straps). She also has a massive crush on Ellen and is too scared to admit it

Rina: has a fur allergy and can’t keep animals around. Which also means she’s allergic to Lycaon. She has to take so much Zyrtec before clocking in but has such a good poker face that Lycaon has no idea. Ellen knows tho

Lycaon: specifically wears the heeled boots and has his odd posture because he’s self conscious about his digitigrade legs, he thinks they’re unsightly for a butler of his standing to have. He also tries to encourage Ellen to wear a long maid dress like Rina does to hide her tail.

Ellen: coincidentally falls into a lot of shark stereotypes. She loves seafood, has to constantly be fidgeting or she feels like she’ll go mad, and the kicker, she gets frenzied around blood, or if the thing she’s fighting puts up a struggle. Corin accidentally cut her hand while repairing her saw blade once and both Lycaon and Rina could barely hold Ellen back once Corin began bleeding. Ellen feels awful for scaring the already timid girl. Corin secretly thought it was hot and would die on the spot if anyone knew that

Soukaku: despite being a huge foodie this girl cannot cook for shit. Is also physically cold to the touch and during the summer her coworkers will ask her to hold their drinks because they’ll stay cold. Soukaku always secretly sneaks sips every time they do this to her.

Miyabi: has the worst sleep schedule known to man. Sometimes you’ll find her awake at 3AM and conked out by 4PM, other times she goes to bed at 8PM and wakes up at 4AM. It’s inconsistent and irregular and a gamble trying to contact her outside of work because she might not even be awake

Harumasa: GAY GAY HOMOSEXUAL GAY. Also pretty cracked at chess and other strategy games. Is also a major old fashioned guy and doesn’t own a lot of modern technology. He’s not into retro or old stuff, he just doesn’t like new stuff

Yanagi: her glasses are fake. When she was younger she needed them, but her vision had naturally gotten better over the years, so she now wears contacts, but for some reason still insists on wearing her glasses. Loses them constantly during battle.

Lucy: even though she was forced to play piano as a kid, she really wanted to be a sporty girl and play stuff like soccer and baseball. Now she has the freedom to take part in the sports she likes and watch them surrounded by the people she likes

Piper: insanely picky eater to the point it drives Lucy up a wall. Is also picky about a lot of other things, like how different fabrics feel, different comfort levels of chairs and beds, girl is a complainer and will always find something to complain about

Lighter: has a side gig as a tattoo artist, has really stable hands too

Soldier 11: has 5 younger brothers, a younger sister, and 2 older siblings who she doesn’t see super often. Has divorced parents who also liked to adopt, which is why she has such a huge family. Her younger brothers love it when she comes home and plays secret agent military with them

Seth: can’t drive. That’s it send tweet.

Qingyi: is outwardly dismissive of meditation tricks and hacks and tips but utilizes that shit in private ALL the time.

Zhu Yuan: shares the vegetables she grows in her garden with all her neighbors. Is also a REALLY good cook to the point people have encouraged her to potentially consider a different career path

Jane Doe: the rat girl has pet rats go figure. But in all seriousness she’d die for her little guys. She has a white one named Cocaine and a brown one named Tobacco and a gray one named Crystal Meth. She thinks the names are hilarious and every time she introduces the rats to other people their facial expressions are priceless

[macfrog]

little aphrodite sex on fire chapter nine

the amount i had to write jean-marc in this chapter makes me nauseous. anywho. these two heal my soul and make me weep. please enjoy a little look back at the ceo's experience of paris.

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: we're going back to paris. this time, through joel's eyes.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, alcohol consumption, ostentatious flaunting of wealth (eat the rich i say), sugardaddy!joel, softdom!joel, oral (f and m receiving), daddy kink, praise kink, cursing, angst & pining, and...well. the ceo falls in love.

word count: 7.5k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

He wasn’t even sure you’d say yes when he asked. Thought you’d find it a bit much, flying halfway across the world just for one lousy meeting. He had what he’d say when you turned him down in mind, already: Sure, yeah, no problem. No, I just thought – Yeah. ‘s alright. I’ll bring you back som’ as a souvenir.

But you didn’t.

Oh, yeah? you’d said. Your face seemed to light – humored, impressed even. It made Joel feel braver. Reassured. You’ve a habit of doing that to him.

Mhm, he replied, chewing on the sub you’d ordered him after his conference call. He can’t remember what he promised Human Resources he’d have done within the hour. You walked in as he was saying it, and – well. Two days, he said, swallowing, Saturday Sunday.

And are you gonna make me take minutes while you meet with this Jean-Marc? You wiggled your fingers as you said it, letting the name drip through your lips in some kind of dreamy song. I don’t make the flight back unless they’re typed up by the time we leave? That the catch?

No catch. You don’t even gotta come to the meetin’.

I don’t have to –? Wow, Miller. You’re spoiling me, no? You kicked your leg, one knee hooked over the other. Your skirt shrinking up your thigh.

You were sat in the chair on the right, opposite his desk. You always sit in that one – and Joel’s still trying to figure out why. The working theory so far is that it’s at a good angle to watch the city below, and at the same time, see exactly who comes and goes in and out of the office during lunch.

But there has to be more to it, he thinks. He suspects. Martha’s desk is, like, five feet from yours. She spends her lunches in the conference room with Deb, shaking salads doused in balsamic vinegar and sharing cross-floor gossip. They invite you every day, and almost every day, you turn them down in favor of his shuttered office, the muted swish of cars on the street, the mock gasps and clutch of invisible pearls when you share that same fifth-floor gossip with him over the desk.

You’d been talking while he’d been thinking about the damn chair. He hadn’t heard a word of it. Huh? he asked, and you rolled your eyes.

Ain’t never listenin’, you muttered, peeling the damp paper back from your own sub.

Say it again, Joel said. Was just making a mental note to book dinner for us over there.

You scoffed, licking mayo from the corner of your lips. Why you making mental notes for anything? That’s what you pay me for.

And you were right – it is what he pays you for. Pays you to be his shadow, his right-hand man, his eyes and his ears and his entire brain, some days.

But lately – he doesn’t know. It’s different.

Truth be told, he has no idea what’s gotten into him. Looking at you the way he is. You’ve fucked around twice, now, and both times have been…nothing short of fucking amazing. Both times, Joel’s thought he might come within the first two minutes. Pushing inside your velvet walls, watching the way you roll forward, hearing the lewd moans pour across your lips.

He’s always thought you were attractive. It’s pretty fucking hard to ignore. Physically, sure – the look of your body, the way you know how to dress it. And the prettiest, softest face he’s ever seen. You can win him over in any discussion without a word, just by fluttering your eyelashes at him.

But you’re more than that. He thinks of you both as friends, maybe something more. Something deeper. It’s in the glances you steal, the silent lines tossed between one another. The way you read one another like an open book. Sometimes, he wonders if you actually can read his mind.

You’re intelligent, you’re funny, and you’re a hard fucking worker. Always on time, always seemingly juggling thirty things at once, and never letting him down. Nothing is too much, it seems; everything just is as it is. And he likes that about you. Simple. No baggage.

The morning of the flight, you send him a voice note telling him you’re downstairs. “And I ain’t lugging two cases up to the top floor only to bring ‘em back down when we’re leaving, Mr. CEO.”

He’s striding past Martha for the elevator before he’s even done listening to the message.

“Uh-uh!” she chirps, dashing over to slip between the brass doors behind him.

Joel sighs under his breath.

“I know better than to rely on you to remember all this stuff,” she says, holding up a file he’d asked her to put together for the trip.

She’s right not to – he’d probably leave that file in the car, or put it down somewhere and walk off without it. You’re the only one who can be trusted with it – with anything. You’re good at your job. And yet, he resents the fact that Martha’s about to lump you with even a fraction of responsibility for the next four days.

So when the Rolls pulls off and Martha is nothing but a pin-sized silhouette through the back window, still waving from the sidewalk, he pinches the folder in two fingers and tosses it to his left hip. Out of your grasp. You smile, eyes rolling, and pop your earbuds in. Joel breathes a laugh, eyes dipping again to skim read some contract on his phone. His hand is locked around your thigh. He likes that you just let him do it now.

Likes a lot of things about you. Likes that you put your music on shuffle, and then skip eleven tracks until you find one you actually want to listen to. Likes that your fingers twirl around the light chain of your necklace – the way they do anytime you’re nervous – and when he asks if you’re alright, you bareface lie to him and squeak, Yep.

Likes the glow the morning sun casts on you when you emerge from the car on the tarmac, pooling in the dimples on your cheeks, bright gold. The way you tug on the loose cotton of your sweatpants, bashful. Shy. And he likes that, when he follows you up the steps to the plane cabin, your awestruck expression lasts all of five seconds before that quick wit kicks straight back in.

“Feelin’ pretty guilty about all the air pollution,” you tell him, and Joel silently says his fifth thankful prayer this morning that he thought to ask you and not Martha.

He watches you settle into a seat by the window, watches you crane your neck to survey the view from the tiny circle of thick glass. He thinks about what he’d do if you were alone right now, if there weren’t crew slowly filing into the jet behind him.

He floats the idea. Tells you about the bedroom up back, tells you it’s cozy. You read between the lines just like he wants you to. And when the plane’s in the air, you follow after him.

You fall into bed together the same way you do when you arrive at the hotel. A tangle of limbs, of sweat and stuffy plane air. He sleeps the soundest he has in months – years, maybe. Pushed off by the sound of your breathing, the dip in the mattress by his side. The warmth which radiates from your body, the soft brush of your hand against his.

He puts it down to the travelling – the eight-hour flight, the plushy super king waiting on the other side. He puts it down to the way the world feels different, this side of the Atlantic. The privacy he feels come over the two of you, like sneaking into the next room: your voices muffled through the wall, your movements reduced to vague shadows beneath the door.

He watches you through sleepy eyes as you prance around the suite in the morning, twirling in and out of the bathroom while you get ready for the day. He wonders if this is what you’re like every day – if you spend your Monday mornings beaming like a little kid, toothbrush hanging lopsided from the corner of your mouth, white bubbles lining your gums. He wonders why he’s wondering. Why a part of him wants to see that version of you, too.

This version – now following his lead down Avenue Montaigne, doe-eyed and wonderstruck – is over all too soon. He’s dragged from her, from you, before he’s ready to leave.

His phone vibrates in his pocket right as he’s leading you out of some ridiculously overpriced jewelers – an irritating reminder of his meeting in an hour’s time.

“Fuck,” he whispers, holding you steady as you spin around to glimpse at the baroque building. “Hey, pretty girl,” he squeezes your hand, “I got some bad news.”

Your bottom lip pouts, eyes gleaming. It’s enough, he thinks, to convince him to stick around. If you asked him to, he’d text Jean-Marc right now and tell him to fuck off. But you tell him to go, tell him you’ll meet him back at the hotel once he’s done and you’re tired. With a teasing smirk and a tiny wave, you see him off down the cobbled street. He watches from the back window as you set off again, heading towards another iron-gated store.

Denis pulls up alongside the towering hotel, totters around the car to meet Joel as he stretches out of the Maybach. The square-jawed man stands with his hands linked, and nods enthusiastically when Joel thanks him.

“The shopping – I will take it back to the hotel,” he assures his boss, a wide smile on his lips.

He’s a good guy, Denis. He’s chauffeured Joel to five of these meetings over as many years – he knows the drill by now. Knows it’ll be a couple hours and a few whiskeys before he gets another call to pick him up.

His nodding doubles, more obedient when Joel asks him to make sure he listens for your call. “You mind stayin’ nearby that part of town?” he asks. “Just so – when she’s done, y’know…”

“Not at all,” Denis says, flapping two palms to the ground. Swatting away Joel’s concern, his worrying, his missing you.

He replies, a little absentmindedly, passing by the head of gray hair with a distant smile. “Thanks, Denis. See you later.”

Five meetings, five trips over here to be pestered by some obnoxious little man in an obnoxious little robe and obnoxious little loafers, and still, Joel never knows what to expect. He strides beneath the golden archway entrance into a domed lobby, every surface spotless and shining; marble counter in the center with a symmetrically-suited clerk sat behind.

She stands and smiles politely to Joel as he approaches, recognizing him with a flutter of her eyelashes. He feels the absence of your arm on his, an ache at his elbow.

“Monsieur,” she croons, pale fingers reaching for the telephone. She whispers something softly into the receiver and then nods, folding her painted lips together as she places the handset back into its cradle. With a floating hand aimed at the elevator behind her, she says, sultry and dreamlike, “He is ready for you.”

Joel fights an eyeroll with every fiber of his being. He wanders round the circular desk, bunches his shoulders into the tight elevator, and jams his thumb into the button marked P.

The doors shudder open when he reaches the top floor. He steps out slowly, waiting for the Frenchman to pounce on him like some kind of wild cat. Wouldn’t put it past him, Joel thinks. As he’s scanning the room, counting the six bouquets dotted around, there’s a single clap from behind the veiled curtains. A silhouette out on the terrace.

Jean-Marc swings between the sheer white, calling out to the lonely figure in his entryway. “If it isn’t my favorite American,” he sings, taking Joel by the arms and squeezing roughly. “How lovely to see you again, Joelie. Please, come.”

The sunlight blinds Joel when he steps out into it, peering over the city skyline under low brows. Jean-Marc is already sat at the top of a thin, glass table, pouring golden whiskey into a square glass and scooping two bulky ice cubes in. The nectar swirls around when the glass is held out to Joel, the ice tittering as he accepts it.

The table, a rocky terrain of pain au chocolat and brioche, pools of citrus spreads and dishes of butter. Joel keeps his hands to himself as Jean-Marc slaps jam onto a croissant, bronze flakes fluttering all over the table as he attempts to regale Joel with some investment into a casino.

“Riccardo says it is too much; I told him to go to hell. We will double the cost of the place, I know it, Joel. We have the eye for things like these, men like you and I, hm?”

Men like you and I, Joel thinks, lips tilting. He balances the glass on his thigh, watches the ice cubes turn over themselves. He thinks of you, thinks of the man you see him as. Thinks how tall he stands against the man Jean-Marc must see sat opposite him right now.

Thinks how rotten, and ugly, and how small the latter is. How easily you and your words could crumble him. All show, all sitting on perfect terraces with pretentious dickbags disguised as friends, drinking pissy whiskey with a plastered smile on his lips.

How comical it all is – the sound of yapping across the tabletop, These idiots would pay millions for manure if you painted it golden, the sprawling sheets of green-leafed plants, the headache-inducing flowers, the buckled loafers and the signet ring catching the sun.

How much he misses the weight of you on his hips, forearms flat on his chest, ear against his heart. The sound of your laughter lilting in his ear. The rosy smell of your skin and the feel of your eyelashes, featherlight on his cheek. He feels the distance between the two of you like elastic strung apart, stretching thinner and thinner, weaker and frailer, ready to snap into two halves at any moment.

“Anyways,” Jean-Marc says, lifting the wine bottle shakily. It clinks brashly against the lip of his glass, a painful scrape. Joel wonders if he’s already halfway to hammered. “Tell me how you’ve been, Joelie.”

Joel tells him he’s been fine. Business is fine. Money is fine. Company’s doing fine. Everything’s fucking fine. Easiest answer to avoid further questioning, to satiate Jean-Marc’s constant thirst for news, or intel, or just plain gossip.

He slips up, though. Makes the one colossal mistake he spent all morning hoping and praying and drilling directly into his brain that he wouldn’t.

Jean-Marc asks how his flight was, sticking the damp end of a cigarette to his bottom lip.

Joel says, “Good, yeah. We got here, maybe, ten o’clock last night.”

And Jean-Marc’s eyebrows arch. His hands freeze, match held against the striker strip. “We?” he asks, white stick flapping between his teeth.

“Uh,” Joel shifts in his seat. Your gentle wave, the corners of your lips, the toss of hair over your shoulder. It’s as though Jean-Marc can see his thoughts played on a reel before him, the haste with which Joel attempts to wipe you from his own mind. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, “Jerry ‘n Lisa. Len and Pol.”

The Frenchman’s eyes narrow, a grin pulling on his pink lips. “We,” he says again, whipping the match roughly against the strip. Speaking into cupped hands, a cloud of white billowing from his leathery fingers, he murmurs, “Joel brought company with him to Paris, yes? Who is the lucky tourist? Une petite amie?”

Joel’s tongue dabs at the sickly wash of whiskey on his lips. He thinks to grab the fucker by the throat, throttle him until the idea of you rattles from his skull, spilling back into Joel’s safe hands where you belong.

He almost fucking lies. Almost says it’s just Martha, or Drew, or his fucking mother. But Jean-Marc is like a rat, scurrying along after a source of water. He’ll find it in the end. They always do.

He breathes your name, reluctant to let it go. Jean-Marc cocks his head, leans in, a swirling snake of silky smoke lifting from the cigarette between his fingers. Joel repeats it, voice louder, but flatter. Breaks it into too many syllables. Lets his host hear every bite of annoyance.

“She’s my assistant,” he says, and Jean-Marc claps again.

“Your assistant! How wonderful. And where is she today? She is not…” his fingers circle the air, disturbing the trail of smoke, “…assisting you?”

“Gave her the afternoon off.” Joel lifts his glass to his lips. The geometric shape amplifies his voice, bass like the growl of a bear. “Busy couple days. She deserves some downtime.”

He hates the sound of your name as it peels from Jean-Marc’s tongue. Like a hangnail, the residue a gorge of bloody, torn skin. Your name is Joel’s favorite sound, he realizes now, and the way this little asshole keeps butchering it boils an anger so hot and so quick under his skin that he’s not sure he can hold it at bay.

It’s not as if he owns you or your name – far from it. He has no desire to be anything more than a placeholder: somewhere for you to slot your hand, rest your head, curl your body against. Still, he feels a direct protectiveness over you right now. An impulse to stand in front of Jean-Marc’s tiny figure, arms wide, stopping him from picturing you or learning about you or meeting you.

Which is, of course, exactly what the little fucker suggests.

A wet pff sound as he rids his mouth of bitter smoke, and he offers to host breakfast in the morning.

“No, no, we, uh –” Joel’s hands are up, like pleading with the man, whiskey kissing the lip of its glass, “– you don’t have to – Look, Jean-Marc, I’m sure you’re busy enough with all –”

“Nonsense!” Jean-Marc waves a hand. Ash sprinkles down the cuff of his robe. “It would be my pleasure. Shall we say, ten?”

Joel grumbles, eye following the flight of a bird in the distance. What are you doing right now? Are you back in the suite, trying on the outfit you picked out together? Are you still wandering down the streets, drinking up the lavish city like a perfect little cocktail of bliss and wonder?

And what the fuck does he have to do to excuse himself, to come find you, to wrap his arms around you and never let you leave his side again?

He feels idiotic. Juvenile. Like a stupid little teenager, pining for his junior year girlfriend. The feelings all sharp and brittle, prodding his heart roughly anytime he thinks too hard on them.

When he looks back to Jean-Marc – the cigarette tearing closer and closer to his fingers, an expectant smile on his lips – he concedes.

“Ten is fine,” he says, and suddenly, the sky casts over.

You’re on the terrace when he finally returns to the hotel room. Head aching from the alcohol and forced conversation, he drags himself over to you.

The sight of you, hair lifting in the breeze, the sweet smell and soft touch under his hands feels like the pouring of honey on a raw throat, like cool water lapping at his waist on a scorching day. And he needs more, and he feels the saliva pool beneath his tongue, and you’re touching him and talking to him and all he can think about is replacing his saliva with you – with every drop of you that you’ll lend him.

You follow his every request – parting your legs, making room for him between them, opening yourself to him like coming home after work, like sinking deep into your shared bed, like pushing your salt-slicked fingers on his tongue and chanting taste me taste me love me need me.

Petals opening, shards of orange separating. His cock throbs in his pants when he feels the circle of your hips against his jaw, the taste of sweet, sweet nectar spilling from your center. His clothes still smell of the smoke from Jean-Marc’s weedy lips; the sweat on his skin borne from three hours sat in the sun, dehydrated by whiskey, discussing money and gold and then money again.

He doesn’t want to fuck you here, like this. As that puny, pompous prick he’s felt like since the second he wandered through the Frenchman’s hotel doors. He can’t. You deserve him clean, new. You deserve the Joel you think he is – yours. Affected by your touch alone, moved by the gleam in your eye. You deserve him, Joel decides, on your terms.

And that same night, stood in the same spot, dregs of sunlight replaced by molten moonlight, staring at the dazzling Eiffel Tower against the deep blue sky – that same night, when he turns and clocks the silhouette of your body just feet from him, he realizes that this is it.

He’s sure he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, standing in the dim light, your fingers playing with the bust of the silk robe draped over your body. The jewelry on your neck catching the light like his own private attraction, his own little spectacle. Just for him.

He forgets any other version of himself. Shakes them off like seawater flying from his body as he emerges from the ocean. Venus stood before him; hair lifting in the light, palm over her breast. And he doesn’t notice the departure of those old versions; doesn’t feel the way they tear from his skin. His eyes are glued on you, only you, everything around the two of you reducing to dark matter. There is only his awestruck gaze pointed to your radiant form, as though the scene sits alive in the eye of Botticelli or Michelangelo.

Baby, he whispers, and you move forward, dragging him with you under a wave of lust and rebirth.

He stirs the next morning to the feeling of a weight shifting across his body, two divots in the mattress either side of his waist. Something nuzzling, warm and featherlight, into the nook below his earlobe. Wet kisses trailing down his neck.

There’s no weight of you in the crook of his arm anymore. He’s scooping thin air. He lifts it, and his palm meets the baggy cotton of his own T-shirt, draped over your body, draped over him.

A laugh brushes between his lips. “Mornin’, darlin’,” he croaks, voice still low and broken.

“Hi,” you whisper back, voice like silk and sugar and tufts of lustrous clouds.

He opens his eyes and you’re hovering over him. Tip of your nose circling his, hips light as air across his own.

You look so fucking cute, he thinks. He’d take what he had last night – you, dripping in black lace and bound by satin straps – every night for the rest of his life, if he could. If you’d grant him it. But, this. This.

You – in Joel’s clothes and nothing else. You – the curl of your hair now a lazy wave, the smoky afterthought of your half-removed makeup. The smell of sex still lingering on your skin, the taste of Joel still home on your tongue. Each part of you laced with a part of him.

You – holding yourself up over him, less than an inch apart, and all Joel thinks to do is wrap his arms around your back and let you drop onto his body; his strong, solid body, which accepts the weight of you with only so much as a tiny grunt over his lips when you fall on top of him.

You giggle. He swears he feels butterflies in his stomach. He prays you don’t feel them, fluttering purposefully against your ribcage.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumble into his collarbone, words curled by the smile on your lips. You suck a mark into the hot skin, teeth and flesh and sel et sucre, and then push off from his chest, nudging his thighs wider with your knee.

Your tongue drags a wet trail down his chest, from solid sternum to suppler stomach, following the thickening of hair the lower you move. You leave wet kisses along the crests of his hipbones, the gentle slope of skin leading you to the wide base of his cock, already stiff.

Joel’s breath hitches when your tongue sweeps across it. Your eyes lift and lock with his, fingers taking a heavy hold of him. He smiles, tongue sitting patiently behind his teeth.

“Go on, angel,” he nods, “put that pretty little mouth on daddy.”

You obey instantly, as hungry for it as he is, your tongue swiping from the base of him up, curling around as you reach the head. Swollen, gleaming, slit dripping with slick precome that you lick with just the tip of your tongue and send a roll of pleasure across every nerve in Joel’s body.

He falls back, hands searching for the back of your skull as your lips sink further down down down, tightening around the smooth skin, stopping only when they meet the tuft of hair decorating his dick. His tip pushes against the back of your throat. His head begins to spin.

His back arches, hands anchored on your head, holding you steady as you bob up and down. His shoulders push heavy into the mattress, tummy sucks in until the points of his ribcage mold through his skin. And, oh – you’re so soft with it, so wet and so warm and so good with your tongue, kitten licks over his tip, wet fist wrapped tight around the width of him.

You lift your hand and meet his halfway up his stomach, fingers intertwining, Joel’s knuckles instantly whitening.

“Doin’ so good, baby,” he groans, gasping when your throat constricts around him again.

You gag, choking with a wet grunt, but you never pull away. A quick pause, a heavy breath from your nostrils, and your movements resume.

“’s alright,” Joel coos, fingers rubbing against the back of your hand, “you got it. Atta-girl, fuck.”

His hips begin to lift, slowly jerking up into your mouth. He looks down, loosens the grip you have on his hand only to run his thumb delicately across your cheek, dabbing lightly at the tears in the corner of your eye.

You suck hard around him, cheeks hollowing, tongue flattening to his underside to let him fuck your mouth – a rhythm of sopping sounds and heartbeat hums from your throat. He’s close. He’s so fucking close.

“Just like that,” he tells you, and you blink up at him. Moans muffled by the mouthful of cock, saliva and sex slipping from your swollen lips. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come. You’re such a good girl – you want daddy to give it to you?”

Mhm, you mumble into the warmth of his cock, the vibration of your throat on the eager skin enough to send Joel over the fucking edge. He throws his head back, lifts his hips up to you, and fills your mouth at the same rate he fills the room with the sound of his orgasm.

You take every last drop. You’re so good for him. Once he stills, once the screaming in his ears subsides, once the room slowly desaturates back to normal, a faded, blurry normal – he sits up and hooks his hands under your arms, pulling you up into him.

You collapse against his chest for the second time this morning, giggling and licking the last of his come from your mouth. Joel guides your jaw towards his, lips meeting in the middle, and licks the salty aftertaste from your tongue.

He rolls you both over, your thighs sitting safe on his hips.

“I know,” you sigh, head rolling against the curve of his arm beneath, “I know. You don’t gotta tell me.”

“Tell you what, angel?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting.

“Best head you ever had. I know.”

He scoffs, lips finding the hinge of your jaw. You giggle into his ear, a sound softer than birds cooing at the break of dawn, sweeter than the first bite of ripe fruit – the sharp taste bursting across his tongue and coating his teeth in sugar, numbed by the holy coaxing of feathered doves.

“You’re good with it, I’ll give you that,” he murmurs, and the giggle erupts into a laugh which fuels him enough to follow your roll out of bed, tear his shirt from your shoulders, and slip into the shower behind you, kneeling before you when you turn to look.

Joel’s second encounter with Jean-Marc in as many days, goes about as well as the first.

He balls his fists as he introduces the pair of you, watches like a caged and bound animal as Jean-Marc’s eyes loop all around your face, your shoulders, the pull of your dress around your waist.

He knows he’s being quiet. The glances you keep stealing at him tell him you know it, too. He wishes there was something he could say, something his lips might be able to carve into a neat little sentence. Tongue sanding the jagged edges of what he’d really like to say into a joke, a quip to ease the tension you so obviously feel.

But he can’t. His tongue isn’t blunt, isn’t defensive. It’s sharp like the kiss of venom, protective and aggressive. He knows he’d do better to hold it tight between his teeth.

The best he finds himself able to do is keep a heavy hand on your thigh, let you wrap your fingers around his own, squeeze you in place of whispering in your ear.

You hold your own, up against Jean-Marc. He knew you would. He learned less than a week into working with you, not to underestimate you. Your quick tongue, the million and one observations hidden behind the flash of a frown. He knows you can read Jean-Marc – probably better than he can, having known the guy ten years.

It doesn’t make it feel any safer, though. Luring you into a lion’s den. He knows you’ll make it out alive, but he can’t stand the thought of the claw marks in your skin.

That feeling washes over him again – that urge scored so deep into his bones that it hits marrow, to put himself between you and anything which might come to harm you. He swallows it down with the acidic sting of orange juice – slots it somewhere safe in his chest until he can assess whatever the fuck it is. Whatever the fuck it means.

His hand tightens around your leg when Jean-Marc mutters something to his assistant. Joel decides against asking you what it means, for fear he’ll tear the Frenchman limb from limb, strips of satin robe strung across the paved patio.

The assistant – tall, thin, looming over you like impending doom on legs – offers to show you the view of the city. And as Jean-Marc settles into your empty chair, the image of that torn satin robe shunts closer towards reality.

“I wonder if you might indulge me,” Jean-Marc slithers, pinching thin air with one hand and resting the other on the back of Joel’s chair.

“I wonder,” Joel mutters, finger tapping angrily on the table.

“She is a wonderful character. Beautiful, and very smart, I can see. I would be crazy not to ask, you must understand, Joel –”

He can’t help himself. He bites before Jean-Marc lays the trap. His head shakes. “She’s – she’s –”

And suddenly there isn’t a single word in the English dictionary worthy of describing you. Not a single combination of letters, of sounds, of syllables and phonetics that would do you justice.

He settles for, “I wouldn’t be anywhere without her.” It feels fucking redundant. It is fucking redundant.

Jean-Marc nods. “And you know that I see the value in things, hm?”

Joel dead-eyes his opponent, gaze narrowing. “What are you sayin’, Jean-Marc?”

“Well,” he shrugs, gesturing to the shadow pointing out the Eiffel Tower, “Paul is fantastic. Dedicated, hardworking. But it is a lot, for one person. I am sure you can understand, being that you have two assistants yourself.”

“And you wanna take one of ‘em out from under me?”

Jean-Marc chuckles, shaking his head. Tutting. Teeth grinding. He senses the bitter tone, hears the distortion of words squeezing through gritted teeth. “Not at all, my dear Joelie, not at all.”

Placating. It pisses Joel off more.

“I simply would like to raise the question of: would she like to be…taken?”

“Taken?”

“Hired. By me.”

The smug grin which pulls over taut lips incites Joel with a desire to punch the luminous veneers from their gummy holders. His fist balls again, nails digging harshly into his palm. He swallows roughly.

“She seems…she seems happy enough where she is to me.” He glances over, catches your eye for a fleeting second before Paul’s ghostly hand perches on your shoulder and turns your attention away again. Resigned, he adds, “You would have to ask her. I ain’t speakin’ for her.”

Jean-Marc’s leer only grows. “Ask her,” he repeats, nodding. “That is an idea.” He pushes out of his chair with a squeal of wood across stone, calling to the party, “Why don’t we take a drive? There is so much of the city I would love to show you – both of you, of course.”

Before he knows it, Joel’s on his feet, too, panic hammering through every muscle in his body. He tosses some half-assed excuse to the breeze; a half-truth, a desperate attempt to pull you away from the beady eyes and sharp claws of Jean-Marc and his assistant, and back over to his side. He takes your arm and scatters, pulling you past four, five, six bursting bouquets, your heels clicking along the polished floor, your head spinning.

He can feel the blood thrashing through his veins as the elevator arrives back in the lobby. Can see the shadow of Paul the assistant still over your shoulder, the place his hand sat like charcoal on white linen. He feels red hot, anger mixed with panic mixed with a word he hasn’t let slip just yet. He covers it by answering your questions shakily, diverting the ones about the conversation on the terrace.

And then you’re back in the safety of Denis’s car. You’re back to being on your own, together. No third set of eyes watching your every move, studying you like you’re some doll to be observed, or worse. You’re touching him again, holding his arm, caressing his cheek. His breathing eases, his body relaxes into the backseat of the Maybach.

You tell him you’d like to see the Louvre. So Joel takes you to see the Louvre.

Joel Miller has never been in love.

He’s said it, sure. Said it plenty to Avery.

G’night, love you.

I’m so proud of you, sweet; I love you so much.

Thanks for makin’ dinner, babe, I love you.

It began to take the form of breath, passing over his tongue with as much ease and instinct as his lungs would push out air. She looked at him a certain way – he’d say he loved her. They’d talk about the future – he’d tell her he loved her. They fought, over his working hours or the interest rates at different banks or whose family to spend Christmas with – and he’d remind her he loved her.

He meant every single one. He did, truly, love her. He loved her auburn hair, the way it’d sweep over her shoulders like a wave of fire. He loved the way she would pause to take thirty photos of the sky at sunset. He loved how homely she was, how simple and warm she could be. Her recipe books lining the shelves in her kitchen. Her pajamas folded neatly at the foot of her bed, waiting for her at the end of the day.

He loved her enough to spend four years with her, a life split nearly down the middle. Never seeping into one another. His side of the bed, and hers. His items in the fridge, and hers. His fucking bathrobe, and hers.

But right now, standing in a jam-packed room, maneuvering awkwardly around museum guides and backpacked tourists, avoiding the knee-height glass barriers and dodging fucking selfie sticks – Joel knows: he has never been in love.

Not until the moment he turns from some headless bust to search the room – the dark marble walls and great, carved arches; the white Parisian sky illuminating everything in a pale glow. Not until he catches a glimpse of you amongst the sea of bodies – stood before the Venus de Milo, staring up in wonder at Aphrodite like she’s the first thing in the world you’ve ever truly seen. The gentle lean of her body, the low sling of marble fabric around her waist, the soft dimple of her navel.

The way your eyes scan every detail of her form – every fold draped over her thigh, ever chisel mark and chip in her torso. The round swell of her breasts and the wavelike swirl of her hair. Barely blinking, afraid to lose sight of her for even a second.

Joel’s never been in love. Not until this very moment.

He only turned to make some quip about…well, now he can’t fucking remember, can he? Something irrelevant. Something so mundane, so meaningless, so dull that he wishes he could take back every word he ever said to you and use the breath more wisely – use the time spent making stupid jokes and work orders, just to look at you. Watch you, like he is right now. Every other thought, every worry and concern drop weightlessly from his mind, with such ease that he doesn’t feel the loss.

Your fixed stare up at the statue’s set face, the slow pacing of your heels, ankles crossing over one another as you pivot around her. And the look of wonder on your face – as if Joel instantly recognizes eight-year-old you, thumbing through the pages of the first art book she was ever gifted, copying the curled hair and round shoulders of the marble goddess in a pencil sketch.

Haloed by the towering windows behind you, arms crossed over your chest. Lips melting from a content smile to agape, and then pinning back in a smile again.

And suddenly – he can’t remember the flame of hair over his ex’s shoulder. Doesn’t remember a single meal she ever cooked for him. In the blink of an eye, he realizes he doesn’t want a life neatly split anywhere.

He realizes that his life, the way he wants it, was always meant to be meshed with yours. Intertwined so tightly that there is no his and hers. Last night at dinner, you couldn’t decide between the bœuf bourguignon and the confit de canard, so Joel ordered both – as well as what he wanted – and the two of you picked at three separate meals. Holding out forkfuls to feed one another, comparing and judging them like professional chefs on a fucking cooking show.

Back at the hotel, you fell asleep in his arms. Your head nestled under his chin; your arms curved around his shoulders. In the center of the bed, laying at an angle. When he got up this morning, the robe he threw around himself smelled like your perfume. The terrycloth on your shoulders, tinged with the weak scent of whiskey.

None of it – not the relationship you had before any of this happened, not the strolling over one boundary to the next, not the blurring of lines between colleague, and friend, and lover – has been neat. None of it has made any sense. And maybe that’s why he fucking trusts it so much.

Joel spent the first two weeks after you fooled around in his office swearing he wasn’t that guy. Staring himself down in the mirror with a balled fist, a pointed finger that said, You don’t sleep with your fucking assistant, you idiot.

And now, standing opposite you in a crowded room and only seeing you – he knows. He finally gets it.

He loves you. He – no, fuck.

He doesn’t just love you.

He’s on his knees, dagger through his heart –

blood spilling all over the pristine floor –

pathetic and adolescent in its nature –

butterflies tearing through his stomach as destructive as a hurricane –

in love with you.

He thinks to say it. To wander over and kiss your shoulder, hook his chin into your collarbone like he did in the Dolce and Gabbana store, and whisper, Hey. I love you. Did you know that?

But he knows that’d be fucking insane. Knows you’d probably unstick yourself from him and back up, tripping in your step. Paris ruined.

He knows he’d probably get so far as curving around your back and then bottle it, anyway. The words would die in his throat. You’d just lean back into him, none the wiser. You’d still make his heart pound.

Pound the way it does when you reach for his wrist and drag him off into the next room, and the next, and the next. And with every piece of art your eyes fall upon, another fragment of your soul is revealed to Joel. The depth of da Vinci, the color of Bruyère. The scale of Veronese and the beauty of Canova.

And with every part revealed, a desire blooms in him to learn the next part. Understand you; know you better than he knows himself. See you, the way he’s seeing you right now.

He takes his ex’s lead, when you’re stood in front of the Mona Lisa. All those fucking sunset photos, like she was afraid to forget what it looked like. The thought becomes urgent, pushing past every other meaningless word in his head.

He taps you on the shoulder, says your name lightly. When you turn, he’s already holding the phone up, watching your delayed motions through the screen. Please don’t let me forget this. Don’t let me forget you, like this.

“Smile,” he says, and you do.

“You’re cheesy,” you tell him, wandering off from the painting.

He’s still staring at the photo. At your dimpled cheeks, your red lips. Staring at your eyes, seeing a new glint in them that wasn’t there before. Like eight-year-old you smiling back at him, trusting him, knowing him.

Joel breathes, “She’s beautiful,” taking your waist in a steady arm to guide you out of the room.

You misunderstand him. He knows it. He doesn’t correct you.

She’s beautiful – the Mona Lisa. But she only became beautiful the second you laid eyes on her. The second she handed you a piece of your soul, the transaction laid bare for Joel to witness. A bucket list item ticked, or simply your childhood self, stood before one of her own seven wonders.

Everything is only beautiful after it comes into contact with you.

There’s a change in you, the morning that you leave. Something low-lying, melancholy and blue. Joel feels it under your skin, in the grip you keep on his hand the entire car ride from the hotel to the airport.

“You good?” he asks, walking up the steps of the jet, shelled around you. Safe, with him, safe with him.

You nod, but you’re watching the Maybach roll off, rounding the corner back to the airport. The same way you watch the city disappear beneath the clouds as the plane takes off.

The same way you glance over to him, your glossy eyes twinkling, pearly tears swimming across your waterline. Joel gets it. Figures he feels much the same.

He leads you slowly back through to the dark cabin bedroom, where you peel the shirt and sweats from your body. He watches from the bed, arm outstretched and inviting you to burrow into his side, curl around his body, loop your legs through his. His own little Aphrodite, the curves and the dimples and all the beauty to go with her.

He sinks his shoulder to let you nuzzle into him, let your slow-closing eyes follow his movements like rocking you back and forth to sleep. You link your arm through his, locking your bodies tight together. Joel slows his typing down, moves gentler, so you can fall asleep without being nudged too much by his arm.

You mumble something into the sleeve of his tee. He pauses. Looks down at your already closed eyes, your parted lips.

“What’d you say, baby?”

You take a deep, slow breath. Already sleeping, he thinks. And then, in the sigh that escapes from your mouth, you whisper to him.

“Please don’t ever leave.”

[beyond-the-raining-field]

I have some things to say.

to begin: Neil Gaiman sucks. I loved and looked up to the man because of his work, because I thought his writing was amazing and Good Omens helped me through the toughest time in my life. the recent news however, does change my opinion - as at should for EVERYBODY. I feel disappointed by the Good Omens fandom. I do not think making yourself the victim publicly is at all okay. The women are the victims. If it does turn out to be fake: that’s good. But it does not change the fact that the power imbalance was there and would have affected how the relationship worked from the beginning. No matter if it is fake, right now saying “but how will I enjoy ___” is not okay . I understand, I do. I love Good Omens and I will continue to love Good Omens because it is a piece of media that matters so much to me.

I admit I have gotten of point. To get back on track let me make it simple and clear: You can not say “believe the victim” then go on to say “but Neil Gaiman is a good person…”. He is not. Yes it is wonderful that he has supported queer and trans people but you, I have to say, are not a good person for saying it if it depends on who assaulted - ASSAULTED - someone. No, PEOPLE. Two GIRLS.

Neil Gaiman is not a good person.

You can separate the author and the work, I am doing that with Good Omens as I have done it in the past but you canNOT support and endorse HIM.

And to end it off, if it turns out to be false: good. But he met one of the girls when she was 18, and waited for her to be of age. That is not something good men do.

Believe the victims, it doesn’t matter that you looked up to him. He did something bad, horrible, tragic and disgusting, admit that and talk about it to bring awareness.

And I would like to add: It is hard - and nearly impossible - for me to let go of Good Omens and The Graveyard Book. The Graveyard Book is the only book my father read to me as a child that stuck with me and led to an obsession. The obsessions have died down. If you own his books and enjoy them you are not a bad person, his writing is good. If a book means a lot to you, you are not a bad person. You are only a bad person if you make excuses for him. His is a shitty human who is a good author. Fuck him, but you owning his books doesn’t make you a bad person. Just refrain from buying NEW work.

And if it does turn out to be false, yes it eases the entire fandom. He is still sketchy in my books because as far as I know he cannot prove he has not done anything and got with two very young woman as a much older man.

An updated opinion: Neil Gaiman most likely did it. The amount of tales from people who - as young women - met him and had horrible interactions or stories of friends of his employees. He, most likely, has always been a bad person who simply uses the themes he does to make himself seem like a good person. This is not ours to mourn, it’s ours to take action and keep characters you happen to love alive in yourself instead of something HE did. Or, get rid of your stock. Up to you. It’s 1 am and I am distraught by the news but I’m not denying anything because given every piece of proof to show that he most likely did it, denying it is a bad thing to do and is a horrible name for the fandom.

[crossfandomslut]

At Peace in your Fire (Pt 4)

part 1 part 2 part 3

Summary: the after math of the meeting in Hewn City

Pairing: Eris x Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: out of character Feyre (Keeping secrets from Rhys) slight angst, fluff 😊

Notes: Ahhhhhhhh !! Thank you everyone who is reading, liking, commenting, reblogging and asking to be on the taglist I love each and every one of you ! This chapter is a little short, but I really hope you like it ! I wanted to get something out this weekend, and cant wait to work on the next part this week !

Eris’ POV

Eris has experienced a lot of fear in his life. Plenty of terrifying moments to plague his nightmares every century of his life. But this- Y/n falling unconscious before them, crying out in agony before the darkness took her- he thought he had suffered all his worst fears by now. He was so devastatingly wrong.

He moved so fast he didn’t have time to think about what he was doing. He was to her before her head could hit the ground. But before he could pull her into his arms, Cassian grabbed her and Azriel yanked Eris back.

“Don’t you touch her.” Azriel growled.

“You’re lucky I moved as quickly as I did! None of you sprang to action and a head wound is the last thing she needs in this state!” Eris defended.

“Why do you even care?” Mor snapped.

“Okay, that’s enough. We need to get Y/n to Madja. This meeting is over.” Rhys started to walk toward Cassian where he still held Y/n’s unconscious figure.

All Eris could do was stand there dumbly and watch as they all prepared to winnow her away, and he would have no way to know how she was or what was wrong. He hadn’t felt so helpless in so long and it felt like a punch to the gut. Only Nesta threw him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher, but it wasn’t nearly as cold as she had looked at him before.

And then they were gone. And Eris had to sit down, or he may have thrown up. He was shaking with pent up energy and emotions. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her at all during the meeting, not when she has been looking at him with soft eyes that expected a good male to be standing before her. He was not good. He was tortured and twisted and wrong. He knew if he had looked into her eyes he would have fallen apart and gotten to his knees before her to ask for her forgiveness for what had happened with Mor, and even with Lucien. He usually brushed off the comments about those events, any event where his morals are questioned. But with Y/n standing there he felt such a need to defend himself- to explain. But he couldn’t. Not fully. And now Y/n will know he is a monster, and she will never again touch his hands with softness, never again look into his eyes with hopeful caution. Gods. All it took was one damn dance and Eris was a fool for her.

He had to see her again. Had to know if she was okay. For now, though, all he can do is go home to the Autumn Court, and pray his father remained unaware of his absence.

Y/n’s POV

Amber eyes, freckled skin, sharp cheekbones, and the softest red hair. Y/n had been dreaming of this face for weeks, but now, instead of a frozen lake with pain and fear in his eyes, they were on the dancefloor. He still looked at her with fear in those beautiful eyes, but this was a much more vulnerable kind of fear. Not fear of her power, but fear of her looking too closely at him. Fear of being seen. In this dream, he doesn’t turn and run away. In this dream he stays, and they stare into each other’s souls for a long while. Then, she leans into him and rests her head on his chest, and he continues to sway her back and forth until the song comes to an end.

When she looks back up at him, his face is cold. His gaze harsh and unforgiving as he pushes her away. She stumbles, but her family rushes in behind her. Eris, who was soft and warm moments ago, was now distant and cruel as he sneers and looks you up and down before exiting the dancehall.

Y/n jolted awake gasping for air. Feyre was immediately by her side, holding her hand. When Y/n catches her breath, Feyre cups her cheek and wipes away the stray tears that Y/n hadn’t noticed falling. Feyre climbs into the bed next to her. The small bed was set up right next to the fireplace, and Y/n crooned toward the heat and golden glow on her face. It was nighttime, or maybe the early hours of the morning. Feyre laid on the side furthest from the fire, her head propped up on her hand and reached the other out to comb Y/n’s hair with her fingers.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre whispered.

Y/n motioned to her throat in a request for water and Feyre jumped up to get it for her. After a few large, unladylike gulps, she set the glass down on her bedside table. “Thank you. I’m okay. What happened?”

“We were in the meeting with Eris,” Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name and tried to not make it obvious she had just been dreaming about him, “when all of a sudden you cried out in pain and fell unconscious.” Feyre finished.

“My head had been hurting throughout the meeting. I don’t know what was wrong, I’m sorry. That must have been so embarrassing and unprofessional. Is Rhys upset?”

“Rhys? Oh Y/n, of course not! He’s been worried sick about you. Like a mother hen. He’s terrible, honestly,” Feyre chuckled softly. It made Y/n feel more at ease.

“But we didn’t get the information from Eris about the Spring Court. I messed up the whole meeting because of a silly headache- “

“Y/n, stop, it’s really okay. Eris was being an ass anyway and- “ Feyre halted as Y/n groaned and held her head in her hands. “Y/n? Y/n what can I do?” Feyre sat helpless as her twin’s face contorted in pain. Y/n swung her legs over the side of the bed to fully face the fire raging in the hearth and she felt the pressure in her head lighten.

Feyre came to sit beside her again, and when she could think again, Y/n started to remember what happened at the meeting. She remembered being confused the whole meeting. By Eris refusing to look at her, by the history with Mor and with his brother, and the rising tension in the room and the distain that her family held for Eris. She remembered the pain in Eris’ voice that no one else could bother to hear, when he said, “not all of us were as lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.” And that was when the pain in her head escalated to a point that she could not handle. Then she comes to now, when Feyre started to insult him, and the pain came back. The only to help, being the fire… Her twin wasn’t stupid. Y/n knew she had pieced it together too before even looking at her. And it wasn’t her daemati power. Y/n had worked tirelessly on her mental shield.

Y/n slowly turned to lock eyes with Feyre and was met with a knowing but weary gaze. “So… Eris, huh?”

“Ugh, Feyre!” Y/n groaned and threw her pillow at her head. Easily grabbing the pillow, Feyre and Y/n burst out into laughter. They hadn’t laughed like this together in so long. They had been so close until Feyre came to Prythian, and Y/n hadn’t noticed how much she had been missing her sister.

When their breathing slowed and they could once again keep a straight face, Y/n looked back to her sister. “I don’t know. I feel this pull to him, but I also know how much everyone hates him. I mean her tried to take you from us on that damned lake, he apparently has hurt Mor, and I don’t even know what to think about what happened to poor Lucien. And at the same time, I think I see him in a way that not even he can. He is the embodiment of fire, Fey. How could I not be drawn to him like a moth to a flame? I think… I think he might be a good male deep down. But I’m so confused.” Y/n sighed and put her head in her hands again.

Feyre rubbed her sister’s back in an attempt to soothe her. It makes sense, she thinks, for her sister to be intrigued by Eris. But she was in the same boat with their family’s animosity toward the male, it would be difficult to work around centuries of hurt, even if they were misunderstandings. “We’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

When Y/n woke the next morning, it was close to noon and Feyre was gone. Likely off performing her duties as High Lady to get ready for the High Lords meeting, they were planning. As she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, she noticed a quill and parchment sat out on her desk across the room. Having learned how to read and write not long ago, she thought it might be a sign to practice. She had already missed her usual lesson with Rhys or Amren, so this would have to do.

She wrapped the plush green robe tighter around her shivering frame and sat in the large desk chair with her knees to her chest, her head resting atop them. The desk was a beautiful cherry oak wood, stained to deepen the natural red tint of the wood. The complexity of the color and the grain of the wood had Y/n’s mind wandering to a certain male who was just as complex and had hair a similar shade of red. Thinking of the way his hand felt on her waist as they danced, how warm he was, and the moment of vulnerability he showed during the meeting. She felt her heart crack slightly as she recounted the look on his face and the way his voice broke imperceptibly when he said, “not all of us were as lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

The memories had her picking up the quill, dipping it into some ink, and pressing to the page.

She folded the parchment into a triangle shape that could be carried by the wind, and with all her power, willed the wind to carry it to the Autumn Court. Hoping and praying to whatever gods may listen, that no one else finds it.

Eris’ POV

The minute he arrived back in the Autumn Court, Eris was so exhausted that he could have wept when he saw his horse standing there waiting for him. The chestnut stallion was a clear mirror of himself. Tall, deceivingly strong with his lean frame, and a coat the color red that could only be found in his home court. A striking white blaze ran down his long face onto his soft muzzle. As Eris approached him, Ignatius lifted his head in greeting and let out a low nicker. Eris approached him with tired eyes and a small, fond smile. “Hello, friend. Let’s go home, shall we?” Stroking his neck in a few long, slow movements, Eris mounted his steed and they started on their way back to the Forest House.

When they made it back to the stable, Eris took Ignatius’ saddle and bridle off, put him in his stall and made sure he had extra gain for the night. Giving his friend a final brushing, Eris bid him goodnight- although it was likely closer to morning by now.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, sleep embraced him in a tight hold and dragged him to a land of dreams. Dreams of Y/n and her shining y/h/c hair, her soft but calloused hands in his, and her stunning y/e/c eyes staring straight into his soul. He could stay in this dream forever he thinks. Hearing her soft voice say far too kind things to him.

Eris finally awoke when a maid opened his door and startled him from sleep. She squealed and jumped when Eris shot up from his bed, and profusely apologized as she scurries away, closing the door behind her. He rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed, making his way over to his balcony where the first maid must have come in and set out his tea for the morning. The pot was cold by now, but that was no issue for a fire wielder. Quickly, his tea was hot once again as he sat and looked out upon the grounds of his house. House, not home. As he sat and breathed in the early afternoon air, something caught his attention. It looked like a piece of parchment floating on the breeze. It couldn’t be- but it kept getting closer to him and suddenly in was within his reach. He snatched the paper from the sky and looked at it with wide eyes. He could smell her. Y/n’s scent of cashmere and cinnamon, all things warm and comforting. He closed his eyes for a long moment, just breathing her in. when he regained his composure, he sat down and unfolded the letter.

Dear Eris,

I am fine, in case you were wondering. Truthfully… I’ve been wondering about you. Maybe that isn’t appropriate to say, but I’ve already written it and I simply can’t waste good parchment to not say what I mean and what I feel. I’m confused and I want to talk to you. I don’t believe there is ever only one side to a story and I’d very much like to hear yours.

Y/n

Eris choked out a laugh and had to cover his mouth with a hand to keep himself from breaking out into a fit. He knew she was bold, but this was something he could not have anticipated. She was thinking about him. Eris shook his head to clear his thoughts and rushed back inside to his large mahogany desk. The drawers painted the shade of green of the forest after a heavy rain. After he thought through what he wanted to say, he put ink to paper and wrote out his response. He hoped he didn’t seem desperate by responding with such haste, but he too was wondering about her and wanted to know her. So, he held the letter in the palm of his hand and set it alight.

Y/n’s POV

Despite the late start to her day, she tried to regain some sense of control by tracking down Cassian for a training session, eating lunch and doing some studying that Amren assigned her in the library. By the time she got back to her room, the sun was setting, and she asked the house to bring her dinner to her room.

With her eyes half closed from exhaustion, she plopped down on her couch in front of the already lit fire. When she peeled her eyes open, she noticed a small, folded paper sitting in front of the hearth. She felt her heart jump to her throat as she scrambled to reach for it on the ground. Holding her breath, she unfolded the paper delicately. As if it might turn to ash in her hands.

Dearest Y/n,

I am glad to know you are alright. I was… worried. About you. I am also happy to see your boldness knows no bounds. You fascinate me and I find myself wanting to know you. But it seems you have questions for me too, so let us make a deal. A question for a question. What do you say, little dove?

I eagerly await your response,

Eris

Taglist: @abysshaven @myromanempiree @lilah-asteria @96jnie

@ivy-34 @minaethrym @nebarious @anxious-study @slytherintaco @talesofadragon @paleidiot @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @tenebrisirae

[freenos]

Ok maybe I do have more thoughts on the Medea interactions and how they reflect on Melinoe:

I’ve noticed that the discussion around Melinoe’s morality tends to focus on her proximity to the Olympians but I think there’s also something to be said about the moral grey area that witches fall under. She didn’t grow up in the House of Hades or Olympus, she grew up in the Crossroads and her perspective is influenced by the guidance of witches. And while Circe and Hecate are a little coy about their misdeeds, Medea stands out as the one who really owns the darker aspects of her craft and talks about the suffering she inflicts with pride. In contrast, Melinoe is…not pure but very invested in the idea of doing the right thing and being in the right. So there’s this contrast between them, Melinoe clings to moral justification for her task while Medea isn’t held back by moral dilemmas.

And I think part of that is because Medea pursues her craft to satisfy her own vengeful desires while Melinoe hasn’t gotten to fully explore her identity as a witch yet: They both use their craft in vengeful ways but Melinoe always has this degree of separation from the root conflict. (Nemesis gets at this idea quite a lot actually.) The titans are retaliating for things her family did long before she was born, yet Melinoe is tasked with cleaning up the mess. And when she does take time to herself, she often feels guilty about it. In contrast, Medea gets the satisfaction of personal revenge and is content to use her curses on anyone who gets on her bad side.

It’s that intent that differentiates Medea from Melinoe, I think. No matter how impressive her feats, Melinoe is ultimately a weapon wielded by someone else and lacks pure intent of her own so she often hints at feeling…morally conflicted when talking to Medea. While Medea draws her power from the “blackest of intent” , it seems like Melinoe is forcing a tough exterior, filling a role that doesn’t always come naturally to her. And she wants to know how Medea manages to pull it off so seamlessly. Medea’s “with practice!” line is funny but also, if Melinoe is going to eventually become the goddess of nightmares, maybe she will get there with practice…

I have a suspicion that her arc won’t be about “becoming the nicest person and making everyone proud” but instead, channeling her craft to achieve her own goals without seeking the approval of a higher authority or abiding by someone else's vision of the future. Not perfectly restoring the Age of Gods or the Golden Age of mortals but instead bringing about a different future. She may end up letting her compassion guide her but Prometheus doesn't call her an agent of good or evil, he calls her an agent of change. And it seems like witches in this game are portrayed as catalysts for transformation.

As her understanding of the world grows and shifts, I think it’s interesting that Medea is one of the people Melinoe looks up to and confides in. She asks Medea these very earnest questions about mortals and gods and Medea grants her a joyfully bleak perspective every time:

Medea also has this consistent tendency to disregard mortal suffering, to compare them to livestock and talk about them in terms of how poison-susceptible they are. I get the sense that Melinoe's perception of mortal weakness is influenced by these kinds of conversations:

Melinoe's understanding of the world is shaped by an interesting range of perspectives and is somewhat...shaky and incomplete for now. I think she isn't quite sure how to reconcile her more compassionate impulses and the responsibility that she's dedicated her life to:

Although she adheres to a very black-and-white set of beliefs for the sake of completing her task, there's also hints of uncertainty in her conversations, especially with Medea, a more experienced and self-assured witch. I think Melinoe's character development has the potential to go in a lot of interesting directions!

[readerwithsalt]

I think Hazel should’ve gone with Nico instead down to Tartarus. Without a prophecy or quest bc Nico and Hazel don’t play by the rule book.

Then we could’ve gotten an adorable underworld sibling bonding book with both of them hilariously being unaware of modern stuff. And telling each other stuff they’ve learned.

They ditch both of their boyfriends who are freaking out because they don’t know where they snuck off to. And since Nico said in HoH that when he and Hazel shared power that anything felt possible, they truly believe they can succeed.

(Also Hazel understands death and wouldn’t be complaining every five seconds like Will was. Maybe it would’ve been more original and less percabeth 2.0 (but worse)

It begins with Nico leaving Camp Jupiter, having visited Hazel (for what he believes could be the last time) and telling Will he would be back in a week or so. A lie Nico tells to keep his boyfriend from coming after him to Tartarus (way more in character of him lol) as he believes a child of Apollo would easily be snuffed out down there.

Nico realizes he’s throwing a good possible future away by sneaking out to do this, but the nightmares have become so twisted and unbearably disturbing that he fears he’s going to lose his mind either way if he doesn’t manage to find the person calling out his name every night.

He also doesn’t like when others are left behind.

Since Will has insisted Nico not use shadowtravel to get back to New York from California, Nico says he’s going to take the train instead.

But Hazel KNOWS someone is off. Knows Nico is hiding something. Something that causes her brothers eyes to tinge red when he hugs her, gives her a wobbly goodbye, and squeezes just a bit too tight. Something that causes the paper thin smile he gives her when she sees him off to board his train.

Something that inexplicably makes her sneak onto that train behind him.

Upon Nico putting his stuff away in the closet of his train compartment and finding a head of cinnamon brown curls say ‘ouch’ when he accidentally throws his suitcase on top of a stowaway sister, being mad is a bit of an understatement…

When Hazel knowingly questions why he’s so upset at her, Nico suddenly has no words.

They eat in the trains dining room, Chinese noodles with strangely large fortune cookies that they save for later.

Hazel doesn’t manage to get anything out of Nico as they sit side by side next to a window, watching the world whoosh by and making idle chatter that Nico only seems to be half heartedly replying to. Seeing her brothers zoned out gaze, thin hands shaking slightly, the ever present tinge of red and fear ringing his large dark eyes, Hazel knows this is something more than wrong.

If the bravest demigod she’s ever met looks this terrified, to her it can only mean one thing.

Her suspicion is proven correct when her and Nico crack open their fortune cookies from dinner and instead of a thin piece of white with a generic quote on the paper… two small black parchments with gold lettering come out instead.

Two warnings. From what god? They don’t know.

Hazel’s questioning dies on her tongue when she sees the thin lines of tears falling from her brothers eyes. She doesn’t ask him anything else that night, just wraps a hug around him as frail shoulders shake in her arms.

The next day Nico acts as if nothing happened and asks her if frank knows she’s okay which she sheepishly replies that he probably doesn’t even know where she is. Nico says the same about Will, and they decide to not tell their current boyfriends anything yet.

Yet…. After the incident of last night and the fortune cookie parchment mentioning a place that hazel has definitely heard of before, she knows exactly what Nico is planning.

And she’s not letting anything happen to him as long as she’s alive. Even if Nico insists on pretending Hazel doesn’t know anything.

After the long train ride and Nico questioning this one random passenger for an hour about the strange gaming device in his hands (a Nintendo lol) and the siblings chatting about mundane things happening in their camps; they finally are in Manhattan.

Hazel is now done with letting Nico pretend.

Before she can get a word out the word ‘No’ has already passed her brothers lips. They fight. Their first actual fight ever. One that ends in sobs wrecking through Nicos body and pangs of guilt, sadness, and anger piercing Hazels heart.

But one thing rises above them all:

Protectiveness.

After making up and Nico realizing Hazels not ever going to back down given the look in her eyes, he realizes he doesn’t have a say in this. She is coming with him whether he likes it or not. Fear plummets in his stomach.

After a trip to Target for food and supplies for the trip that neither of them currently want to think about because what they are planning to do is… insane. Literally insane. But as Nico remembers that feeling of the time he and Hazel shared their power that one time, a thread of hope starts to weave in his heart. Psychotic hope, but still hope nonetheless.

They shadowtravel to Central Park, Nico not feeling nearly as woozy with Hazels help. He also delightfully finds out that coffee seems to cure the fatigue from using that side of his powers lol.

They manage to open the doors of Orpheus’ by ‘borrowing’ a guys phone as they see him jog by, and play some random song called ‘into the dark’ (by death cab for cuties lol) from the guys playlist holding it up to the opening.

The song sounds like another warning. They both ignore it.

They travel down dark steps, hands clasped. They talk in the quiet empty smelling air, comfortable in the underground silence. Until faint light hits their faces. The ever constant line of fresh souls lead them to Charons boat where they are taken to the land of the dead.

They now must avoid detection from their father at all costs. Nicos not worried about Charon tattling on them to Hades since he doesn’t get paid enough anyway (lol). Nico takes Hazel to meet the trogs new home down in the underworld (one thing I liked in tsats).

Hazel adores them and their funny outfits.

The trogs tell Nico that his ‘really deep tunnel’ he requested they dig is almost done, and Hazel is hurt that Nicos been planning this so long without telling her or anybody. They make Nico and Hazel spend the night with them before they go and they play with the baby trogs and dance together, trying to forget what they’re going to do tomorrow. They fall asleep to the sound of baby trogs giggling next to them.

The next day Nico attempts to sneak away from Hazel one more time and Hazel explodes at him. Anger making her say some things she doesn’t want to and Nico apologizing profusely but saying he’s angry at himself for allowing her to come with him.

They are interrupted by the trogs leader saying the Tunnel Into the Dark is finished. They can feel the intense suction of The Pit even from several feet away. Memories of the first time Nico was sucked down threaten to spill over and embarrassingly makes him want to run and hide somewhere.

But he feels Hazels hand in his and that strange, wonderful feeling of intense power. And love. And then they are straddling a boat the trogs pull from the river of forgotten dreams (the Styx I think) and with one final push… they are falling.

On the boat it feels like they’re floating.

They fall for a very long time. But Nico notices it’s not as long as the first time. Or maybe it doesn’t feel that long bc someone is here beside him.

They use their shared geokinisis powers to make an enormous slide of bones, black dirt, and stone.

When the boat hits the ground Nico almost gets flung face first into the Phlegethon river. They drink from it and begin the search.

They devastatingly find out the voice was never Bob bc Bob was absorbed into tartarus’s breastplate (like in actual canon HoH) but that it was something else entirely.

Something that makes Nico perhaps the angriest he’s ever been.

They find Jason’s soul down there. Something that shocks both Nico and Hazel to the core. Nico thinks it’s a trick but soon can tell that the soul that is looking at him so coldly and unfamiliar is actually Jason.

A different Jason. One with hatred illuminating every thread of his form.

That’s why Nico didn’t know where Jason’s spirit had gone. It had been intercepted by something and Jason has turned into a mania like his mother. A spirit that fumes on hatred and forgotten dreams. The one thing he never wanted to be.

Nico cries over the horrid inevitable fate of Bob and promises that he will ALWAYS be remembered. He doesn’t have much time to think on this though because right now a livid son of Jupiter is rising higher and higher above Nico and Hazel, the threat is obvious.

In Jason’s manic state he blames Nico for not checking on him and seeing that he got a peaceful afterlife and greives the fact that Piper and Leo and Nico ‘never bothered’ to attend his funeral. He blames the gods, his father especially, for being unworthy of their demigod children. He blames the underworlds justice system not following up on his missing soul and dismissing his entire life as if it was nothing.

As if he was never a hero. Never anything at all.

Nicos is crushed, but realizes that Jason’s being manipulated by something. A dream demon that wanted to trap Nico the entire time in order to consume his energy/power and shadow travel out of his prison and into the mortal world bc it would’ve taken him years to get out otherwise.

The dream demon used its powers to intercept Jason’s soul thanks to Caligulas cursed blade that had killed him, and reached inside his mind to find out about Nico and figure out the best way to get Nico to come back to his worst nightmare.

And now that Hazel and Nico are both there that’s double the power to consume.

Turns out the entire thing was simply about a selfish monster playing with demigods. A tale as old as the beginning of mythology.

The demon taunts them saying he used Jason - son of the King of the Gods - as a little toy in order to easily bring his meal to him. Remarking how easy and quick it was to bait someone like Nico.

Someone who can never leave someone behind.

And Hazel, how easy it was to get her to follow her brother. Taunting that she’s just as stupid, gullible, and selfless…

The children of the underworld snap.

And all Hades breaks loose. Signaling to every monster within a 100 mile radius to know exactly where they are.

They battle together but the waves and waves of monsters is just too extreme. On the brink of inevitable death, a certain goddess appears.

The one who gave them the warnings in the form of fortune cookies. The one that sensed Nicos need for vengeance.

They escape with Nemesis help, but she wants something equally valuable in return for helping Nico and Hazel escape. Nico breaks down and agrees to relinquish all of his precious memories of Bianca and his past life in return for Hazel and a new possible future. A true balance in his heart.

Choosing Hazel over memories of Bianca makes Hazel cry and they bond stronger.

Strangely enough Nico becomes happier without the constant grief of his older sister on his shoulder.

In a way choosing to let her go the same way she did when she chose to be with the hunters.

And then once again when she chose reincarnation.

They still have to worry about Jason though who is constantly causing blood thunderstorms across Tartarus’s sky and wrecking havoc all over the place.

(Also it would be so funny to see Jason literally just… chase Nico and Hazel all over the place… flying after them screaming while they run for their lives bc they can’t see or hear due to the bloodstorm & huge booms of thunder and shit lol.)

Hazel manages to trap Jason in a kaleidoscope of his own storm and shadow with her mist magic and her and Nico manage to shadowtravel him to the ghostly boat that will lead them out. She lets him out but he’s struggling so much in his metal binds that Nico has to knock him out with a punch to the face bc he’s the only one that can touch ghosts.

They ferry up the river Acheron out of Tartarus and chat about what the fuck just happened down there.

Hades awaits them when they arrive.

He’s very angered that his two only living children disobeyed his strict order of not going down there, but relinquishes it eventually when he realizes how tired and beat up his kids look and praises them instead. Hades turns to Nico and states that his older sister would be proud of him. Which Nico replies with confusion saying he doesn’t have an older sister which saddens hades as he figures out what Nico had to give away.

He offers them both something they want.

Anything.

Hazel wishes for Jason to be cured of his mania, and Nico wishes to give Jason back a chance at life. As he still had so much work to do for the gods and goddesses that did not have shrines and action figures to respect them.

Both of these things surprise hades but he grudgingly does so (bc Jason is a son of Jupiter/zeus) saying that Nico and Hazel are indeed very special children.

Although Hades honors Nicos wish he can’t simply let a soul leave the underworld without a final test (hazel being the exception) and does something he did thousands of years ago with another hero begging for his wife’s soul back.

He tells Nico and Hazel they can lead Jason out of the underworld but only if they don’t look back at him. Across the fields of asphodel, across cerebus’ cavern, across the river styx, the journey on Charons boat, back up the many steps that lead to the mortal world…. If they look back once their friend is gone forever. Again…

They distract themselves with a deck of mythomagic cards Hazel stole from Frank (cause she wanted to know why her brother and boyfriend liked the game so much) much to Nico’s embarrassed delight. Nico’s so into explaining the game to Hazel, that the intense need to check if Jason’s still behind them dissipates a bit.

They only notice they’re outside when a wave of sunlight blinds them both and a large figure grabs them from behind.

Jason hugs the daylights out of Nico & Hazel crying like a little kid as months of memories of torment in Tartarus resurface into guilt.

Hades thinks it’s slightly amusing to see a tall muscular son of Jupiter being consoled by his two smaller children as he mentally watches the scene play out from his godly throne.

Nico says he kept the plans of the shrines Jason wanted to build and says maybe he can help with decorating (lol)

I’m gonna have to get an artist to draw a fancomic of this to heal my soul.

Also…. What the fuck did I just write?

[extremelyblackandwhite]

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

author’s note: sorry for the delay folks xx

masterlist

now i wish we’d never met ‘cause you’re too hard to forget while i’m cleaning up your mess i know he’s taking off your dress and i know that you don’t but if i ask you if you love me i hope you lie to me

Bucky Barnes was a great many things, a paradox in a single man, many opposite things to different people. For some he was an angel, charity driven and ready to sacrifice himself for everything and everyone. For others, he was a demon, someone who was power driven, filled with the need for success and stepping on anyone he needed to be the first and the best. No matter what both thought, all agreed on one thing - Bucky Barnes was one hell of a charmer. He’d gotten that from his mother - old high class British charm, his father used to say. That combined with his looks made him irresistible to most people. Everyone flocked to him, everyone except for Y/N. She’d vanished from his side a bit later into the night and he hadn’t seen her since. Each time he thought to look for her, someone would need him or catch his attention.

Even with all that, he couldn’t find her. Y/N was an eye catching woman, she was beautiful and if she were anywhere near he would’ve found her. Instead, she was nowhere to be found and he was starting to get annoyed. He wanted to spend the evening with her, or at least he had intended to spend the evening with her, introducing her to the right people who could help her. He continued listening to whoever was talking to him right now - truth was, he wasn’t even sure who that person was. He just usually smiled and kept up simple talks, that was what was required of him so he would gladly keep doing it as long as it yielded results.

As for Y/N, she had almost forgotten who she was here with. Christopher Davis was someone who she always could picture herself with. He was smart, well spoken, well mannered and seemed to have an interest on her. Besides, he had gone through the same thing as her back at Columbia.

      - I’m just saying Professor Williams is a pain. - Chris laughed as Y/N explained what her supervisor had said. - If Professor Anderson likes you then you must be a bright student.  

      - Or maybe I’m just really daft. 

      - I don’t think so. - he smiled. - Sergeant Barnes doesn’t employ someone who doesn’t have promise. 

      - Except I don’t work for him ... I mean, not like you work for him, I’m just an au pair. I reckon the only criteria was are you a threat and are you good with children. 

      - How is it working with Sergeant Barnes if you don’t mind me asking?

Chris looked at her and then back at James whom he didn’t notice had been staring them down until now. He sighed, putting on his best smile, after all, he was trying to impress this girl. 

     - He’s uptight and a bit controlling but I guess you have to be if you want things to run smoothly. Specially when you work in advertising. 

     - That’s most CEOs isn’t it?

     - Yes but James Barnes is .. different. Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a disgruntled employee. 

     - That is fine. Sergeant Barnes has got me on my nerves every once and again?

     - Is that so? - Y/N felt the blood drain from her face as she turned around to face her boss. She wasn’t afraid of him per say, but she also knew, she just knew he would probably be pissy for the rest of the evening. - Good evening Y/N, Mr. Davis. 

     - I will see you tomorrow, Y/N. - Chris smiled at the au pair.

To say Y/N was over the moon was a massive understatement. He liked her, at least she thought he liked her enough to invite her out. She didn’t think she still had it within her, she was usually busy looking over Sadie or with her postgraduate studies - that didn’t give her enough time to think about her sex and love life. That being said, maybe that explained why she was having the weird dreams and fantasies about James; familiarity. Right? It had to be that.

Bucky on the other hand felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Chris was ... well, he didn’t know that much about Chris other than he came from money yet he couldn’t even blame him from that since he had come from money as well. He was just boring, Bucky found him boring. He didn’t take risks, at least not enough risks for someone who worked at advertising. He played it safe. It worked, but it wasn’t revolutionary. Still, Bucky didn’t like him. He definitely didn’t like him for Y/N either. Y/N was smart, innovative, caring and another bunch of positive adjectives which were too long to list. Chris was just boring.

     - So how’s that lady? - Y/N broke the silence between the two of them, a bit tipsy on the champagne which she wasn’t used to drinking.

     - What lady?

     - Delilah? - she looked up through her dizzy, tipsy mind, before snapping her fingers. - Delia. Yeah, that’s her name. How is Delia?

     - You would know if you weren’t busy flirting with my employees. 

     - Oh so you can flirt but I can’t?

     - Not when you’re with me. You’re embarrassing yourself and humiliating me.

     - But I’m not here with you, am I, sergeant? I am not your date, am I?

     - No. - he smiled forcefully. - However if I were going to flirt with someone I would pick someone less boring. 

     - You work in advertising, Sergeant. Everyone is boring. 

(...)

Bucky had never spent a whole night alone with Sadie, not when she was awake. Yet, here he was, left behind by his au pair so she could go and date boring Chris while he had to deal with a very hyper Sadie who was running around as if it wasn’t 8 o’clock yet. He usually had a babysitter or he had Y/N, or Steve yet right now he was by his lonesome. He thought she would’ve settled down if he played princesses, yet, she did not. Instead Bucky now had knotted hair, glitter on his face and probably some on his eye and permanent marker on his neck. He had finally given up and done the worse thing in the eyes of every parenting book - he’d given her a tablet loaded with all the Bluey seasons. Meanwhile he’d taken to watching re-runs of Mad Men. 

     - Bed? - he asked the curly haired ginger who looked up at him, her hair in front of her face. - I’ll give you 10 dollars?

     - No. - she replied before looking back at her tablet. Bucky sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Soon the terrible twos would be done and he’d have the terrifying threes. 

    - 20 dollars? - he said once again but she ignored him. He sighed, how come Y/N managed to do this? - Sadie, you can either go to bed or you can be tired tomorrow and not go to the park with Y/N. Choose. 

She looked at him with the death stare which she had inherited from him, but eventually got up, grabbing his hand. Bucky smiled, picking her up and walking to her bedroom. He pushed the sheets from her bed, carefully rolling her to her mattress before tucking her in, handing her a Bingo plushie. 

    - You want a story, babe? - he asked her, brushing her curls away from her forehead. - No?

    - Light?

    - I’ll turn your little moonlight on. - he kissed her forehead. - I love you, Sisi bug. 

She smiled at him and it was enough for him to know she meant she loved him too. He tucked her once more before turning off the main light, leaving the room softly lit by the nightlight. Slowly and softly he went up the stairs, grabbing a wick basket and started collecting toys onto it. She had too many toys, still he wouldn’t stop buying them. As he finished it, Bucky sat back down on the couch. He was annoyed. Why did she even go out with that prick? The only thing they had in common was an alma matter and god knows Chris was a legacy student so it wasn’t like he tried as hard to get into university like Y/N had. God, he hated him. Hated how bland and boring he was. 

He toyed around with the remote, trying to find something that would get his head out of the idea of goddamn Christopher Davis trying to get her out of the practically translucent dress she had been wearing. Bucky could swear she did it on purpose, just to show off to him in those strap heels and short sheer black dress like a temptress. He changed channels once more, hoping he’d find something ... maybe a pay per view porn channel or something. Yet nothing took his mind of his au pair, his employee who he should have some professionalism with, and that stupid lacy bra he could make out under that dress. Dressing up like that for goddamn Davis. 

He stared at his phone, watching as hours passed yet nothing fulfilled. Eventually, Bucky made a mistake, a huge, massive mistake. A mistake which fulfilled itself as he opened the door to show Delia. He handled things badly but right now he needed his fill. 

His lips attacked hers as they stumbled towards the bedroom, Bucky locking the door behind him. This was a bad habit, a terrible habit but her lips felt good, her taste was tempting and Bucky wasn’t the one to have good habits. However, today, things were ... different. Her lips leaving lipstick marks on his neck didn’t feel the same. Maybe this was a mistake. He shouldn’t really have a woman in the house when his daughter was asleep upstairs. 

   - Are you alright? - Delia pulled away from him.

Bucky blinked, he had to be going ... stir crazy. Maybe he’d drank a bit too much whiskey but her features morphed and he could swear that in place of the woman he usually called whenever he needed release, stood the woman he wanted to be here now. The sheer dress a vivid memory in the back of his mind. He ignored her question, moving to kiss her neck and putting his hand over her mouth. His fantasies took full front stage as his mind drew a different reality.

All he could see was her, red lips open wide with soft, high pitched moaned as he kissed down her body, doing away with her dress and her underwear. He wanted to mark her, he wanted to mark this vision of a woman he craved. His hands found the top of his joggers, pushing it down as if he were a horny mess. His cock was painfully hard, slapping against his stomach as he stood over her, this vision of Y/N. All he could think of were all the times she saw her, the outline of her breasts, her collarbones. He didn't pace himself, instead lining up with the woman's entrance before he gripped her hips and slide himself in, without much a second of though. The feeling made him grown, he was insane he reckoned, insane because he knew this wasn't her but all he could see is her. The soft moans, the contracted muscles. He fucked her hard and rough until he felt his release approach. Once he did, he slide himself off, jerking off and coming on her stomach, rolling to the side of the bed. He stared at the ceiling fan of the guest bedroom, his mind lulling him back to reality ... all he could think when that moment was once simple thing - Fuck Chris Davis. 

(...)

Y/N didn’t spend the night. He noticed that in the morning as he was getting prepared from work and saw her walk in, with her dress crimped and hair barely brushed. His blood bubbled. If she wanted to fuck old money, she could’ve fucked him. 

    - Had your release? - he knew he was being mean now, just looking to stir the pot. - Fun night?

    - Why? Need some new jerking off material? - she crossed her arms, speaking in a manner and language that almost made him spit his coffee. - Who’s taking Sadie to school?

    - Well, if you can still walk I’d say he did a pretty shit job, huh?

    - I guess I’m taking Sadie to school. - she rolled her eyes. - And it’s none of your business.

    - Well my employee is fucking another one of my employees. Maybe you should go to HR. 

    - Maybe I should and tell them that the boss is acting like an ass. Are you seriously still upset at me that I flirted with someone at your weird benefit? I’m single, I’m allowed to flirt!

    - Not with Chris Davis. Seriously, Y/N, get a better taste in men. 

    - Because you have such a great taste in women. - she poured herself a cup of coffee. - Since you’re dressed, maybe you should take Sadie to school and see your favourite ego boosting group the PTA mums. 

    - Maybe I will.

    - Picking Sadie up from school or do you want me to?

    - Steve’s picking her up.

    - Steve?

Steve. 

////////////////////////////////////

taglist : @talesofadragon @themermaidscales82​ @winters1917​ @vladsgirlxx​

[property-of-sevika]

Smoking Hot

I had a choice on whether to go to the gym that’s close to my house or go to the one that Sevika goes to.

It wasn’t a hard choice.

I just had to walk 6 extra blocks which ironically was like working out before and after I go work out… so I could see the woman who’s stuck in my head.

My heart always beats so fast when I approach that gym. I'm mentally getting ready for Sevika’s gun show. She’s so muscular and I never saw her wear a shirt with sleeves. She’s beyond confident and that works for her. I recently decided that cockiness wasn’t hot on anyone but her. She watches herself workout in the mirror when she’s alone. I’ve seen her smirk in the mirror before. Just so pleased with the view… I can’t blame her. I'm pleased too. I suppose I'm in denial that I’m kind of a stalker… A nice, sweet, smart, funny, awesome, super dope stalker at least.

I noticed that every once in a while she’ll be a spotter for a group of younger goons who work for Silco. I figured keeping them in shape is a way to protect herself in the long run. All that “stalking” gave me info to put the story together.

One time, I saw her kick a loud, obnoxious big guy out of the gym and I know she doesn’t even work there. Then she strutted back to the area the goons were at, sat down on a bench, and then sparked a blunt right there in the gym. She only smoked a few puffs and then put it out, but WOWWW she’s ballsy. I wonder what provoked that whole situation in the first place…

Honestly, thinking I’m some sort of stalker is cringe and cowardly so it’s time I talk to her today. No more guessing what is going on with her.

As I approached the door I quickly put my plan together. I will first see what kind of workout she’ll be doing and then go do some exercise next to her. After that I’ll go with the flow and make a move at the first chance. But ummm what’s my move? Uhhhh too late I’m here.

As I stepped into the bustling gym, the rhythmic sound of weights clinking filled the air. Among the sea of focused faces, my heart skipped a beat as I spotted my crush across the room. She was alone, engrossed in her workout, grunting with her muscles glistening with sweat under the fluorescent lights.

I’m so happy she is actually here!

I mustered the courage to approach, exchanging a shy smile as I passed by. Our eyes met for a second but I kept it moving … even though her eyes are super beautiful, I didn’t want to embarrass myself by staring. Although I wouldn’t mind looking at her all day and night.

I chose a barbell bench press next to her. I sat my water down on the floor and stretched my arms. To tell the truth, I’m in pretty good shape myself… got most of my fit looks from running around on the streets and roofs in Zhaun. Half the time it was out of necessity because this area tends to be rough. I’ve had to run from all kinds of jerks my whole life so staying in shape was a must.

Anyway, I felt like Sevika was watching me out of the corner of my eye. I fixed my eyes on the mirror as I pushed up my sleeves, flexed, and shook my arms, loosening up and honestly trying to shake off the nerves.

Sevika was so close right now. Seems like she had gotten at least a foot closer!

I “casually” glanced at her when she was putting down a free weight she was doing bicep curls with.

She didn’t see me peek at her that time. Jeez, she's attractive. Her posture exudes confidence. She has such a strong, athletic physique, with defined muscles that showcase her dedication to fitness. Her waist is trim while her thick legs are powerful and sculpted from years of training. A smile uncontrollably appears on my face.

…Don’t be a stalker…

I set up my weights and sat on the bench. In my head I’m psyching myself up to lift them … I now have to face a taunting afterthought of regret for making them heavy to show off. Can’t make it lighter at this point.

So, instead of jumping right into it I do more stretches. I bend my fingers and then shrug my shoulders in circles.

Suddenly I’m hyper-aware of every tiny movement I’m making and worried it looks awkward. I’m trying to act cool, but my mind keeps racing, thinking about how to look more composed. My stomach flips, and I can’t help but to glance at her in the mirror reflection again. To my surprise her eyes were fixed on me! In autopilot mode, I smiled as a way of acknowledging her, saying hi with no words, and she knowingly grinned back. Even that small interaction feels immense, and I get a mix of excitement and nervous energy coursing through me. Butterflies are going absolutely crazy in my stomach.

…I hope that wasn’t weird! Ugh…

Out of panic, I just grabbed the bar and started my workout. In no time my arms get tired fast and I pumped slower and slower as my muscles fatigued. The struggle was real. It felt like I was making ugly faces while straining to get the heavy bar back on the stand.

… come on arms!!! …

All of a sudden the weights got lighter and loud metal on metal clanking indicated the bar was back in a safe position.

My surprise hero spoke, “Looked like you needed a little help there. I’ll spot you. Do it again in 2 minutes.” Sevika’s smoky voice was music to my ears. She stunned me and pretty much saved me from whatever disaster I was about to cause in front of everyone.

I sat up quickly and turned to look at her, “thank you! Wow! Thank you for real! I… I umm” I didn’t know what to say and she put her hand up to stop me from explaining.

“2 minutes,” she nodded and spun on her heel to head back to her own weights.

Those two minutes contained the most exciting streak of anticipation and relief of my life. I massaged my arms and prepared for the next set. She had given me a new wave of confidence and enthusiasm.

And most of all the ice had been broken.

And it was easy because I wasn’t the one who had to do it.

My crush stood next to me and did her set in the mirror… frequently looking at me in the reflection with reassurance and authority… almost like she was checking on me.

As she stepped back over to my bench I got into position on my back and gripped the bar. She stood close and examined my body. Without hiding it, her eyes raked over me.

She reached out over me and lightly touched my stomach, “brace your core,” she asserted, then gracefully ran the tips of her fingers up my arms and said, “breathe out when you push up.”

The odd urge to completely obey her took over and I complied immediately with a soft, “ok.”

As I began, I looked up at her and she watched me like a hawk in the mirror reflection. She looked so tall from this angle. This view of her towering over me above my head is actually very hot! Her jaw line is delectable! Her body’s curves and muscles are astounding.

My mind was about to slip into the gutter but she interjects, “don’t rush.” She gently guides the bar to get me going at the correct speed.

Her words “don’t rush” repeat in my mind… creating borders to my workout as well as my dirty thoughts.

I focused and completed my set perfectly with her guidance.

This time when I sat up we spoke for a moment. This cordial conversation, giving our names, fitness goals of the gym day, and pointing out our favorite gym equipment was very natural and gratifying.

I knew from that point on I could always say hi and talk to her when I saw her there.

Then right back to her undaunted nature, she winked and declared herself my “favorite trainer” and went back to her impressive workout next to me.

I can’t tell if she was flirting but the fact that I couldn’t tell revved me up and was satisfying enough. She wasn’t mean or cold at all. She seemed to genuinely care and was quite charming in real life.

The rest of my workout was strategically placed in her vicinity so Sevika could randomly jump in and give me advice or spot me again.

I can’t explain how good it felt to lock eyes in the mirror and be able to smile at her without feeling like a stalker anymore.

With each glance, the connection grew stronger, igniting a spark that lingered long after our workouts ended.

Later, I saw when she came out of the locker room and scanned the room looking for me. Our eyes met yet again and she came over to me at the front desk.

As she made her way over to me all I could think was how lucky I was.

She took my hand in hers and professed, “good workout, I’m glad we got to meet. I hope you’ll be back.”

I told her while trying not to smile too hard, “I actually just extended my membership! So yes, I’ll definitely be back! And I want to thank you again for helping me today. You definitely are my new favorite trainer!” We laughed a little bit at that and I continued, “seriously, you gave me some important advice… I’m really happy we finally met. And… umm I’m just thankful…because I wanted … you’re so… I just…”

She could clearly tell I was getting flustered so she interrupted, “Ayeeee don’t worry about it. It was my pleasure but let’s just say… you owe me.” She gave me a devious smile and a flirty eyebrow waggle.

Oh god yes! I can give you anything you want! I’m over hiding my desperate desire for her. My heart raced as I looked deep in her eyes and I bit my lip.

I suggestively responded, “my pleasure.”

The moment she realizes I’m flirting with her, her face lights up with a soft, surprised smile, her eyes widening just a bit as the playful energy between us becomes clear. There's a spark of excitement in her gaze.

She leaned closer to me and her reply to my comment was smug and a little quieter, “literally.”

Amidst the clatter of machines and the thumping of music, I realized that the gym wasn't just a place for physical fitness—it was where hearts collided and new beginnings unfolded.

[augustinapril]

Heyyy Spence

So I saw that you wanted some batfam requests (especially platonic ones) so I was wondering if I could ask for a batfam (you pick whatever characters you want to be added) x bat!sibling reader who’s getting a special award but doesn’t tell anyone about it? Not bc they don’t think the family will care, they just think that the rest of them are busy and don’t want to bother them. They somehow find out though and are all there so surprise the reader?

If not- that’s totally fine too!!

Take care <333

Spider || Batfam

Paring: Batfam & gn!reader

Sypnosis: You're Brooklyns resident Spider, or The Insect, as Heaven likes to call you. It's a job you've taken with honor, and you're being thanked for it by the city. What you didn't expect was to see your family in the crowd.

Warnings: kind of a spiderman x dc crossover? r is basically the spiderman of DC, talks of heights, violence and terribly written fight scenes, reader is threatened by a villian, swearing, mentions of food, its poorly written I'm sorry!!

wc: 3.2k || nav || m.list

a/n: shout out to @lu-vin-it for being a character in this fic! he also happens to write so you should definitely go check out their stuff (that's a threat not a request). thank you @lemkay-luminary for proofreading!! <3 reblogs > likes!!

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Gotham City was constantly buzzing with life, along with death. It was a violent city, full of murderers, thieves, robbers, and villians drowning in a thirst for blood. More times than you could count, the city has stolen the life of people you've cared for. 

It held too many bad memories for you to stay. You loved the city, and it would always be your home, but you had a new home in Brooklyn, too.

Brooklyn gave you a breath of fresh air, here you could see the sun most days. It was calming, the warmth of it a comfort. You love it here and the people here love you in return.

"Spider!" A little girl from down below shouted, strawberry ice cream smeared across her face as she pointed up at you. "It's Spider!"

Her father gave her a light lecture on how it was rude to point when you attached yourself to the side of a building, offering the little girl a wave. She waved back, squealing in excitement at the fact that the Spider was waving at her. 

"Y/n, you know those guys we've been tracking for God knows how long?" Heaven's voice spoke through the comms, startling you.

"I don't, actually, I think they've managed to slip my mind." You retorted sarcastically as you jumped off and swung your way to a nearby rooftop.

"You were bitten by an insect, I can treat you like an insect." 

"Spiders aren't insects, they're—"

There was an annoyed huff that cut you off, it made you snicker. "Fuck you. I should make you do all this by yourself, but I don't. Be grateful. Anyways, so I've gotten a location on them, Visage is most definitely there."

"Where?" You asked quickly. Visage has been tormenting the city for a while now.

"Near Plymouth Church. They've been spotted in some run down building near it." 

"Thank you." You responded and the comms cut out.

That's when you jumped, arms behind you, the breeze pushed against your suit. It was exhilarating to fly through the air, being so high above everything else. 

Helping people in the way you do, swinging through the city and hearing people like that little girl call out to you was worth every risk the job came with. You'd put yourself on the line every time because you're here to protect them. 

Which brought you here, on top of some building across from an abandoned grocery store. Your eyes were glued to the doors, as you watched and waited for something to happen.

A man walked out, wearing protective green gear. It was Visage, you knew it was. There was no mistaking him and his rather ugly suit. 

"Visage, my man, what's up?" You jumped over to the power line nearby, standing on top of the wooden pole. His head snapped up to you, and the second it did, you webbed him. Jumping up you yanked him up with you. You grabbed ahold of his head and slammed it onto the pole. There was a crack in his helmet, him falling to the ground and letting out a pained groan.

"Fuck," You heard him hiss under his breath, struggling to pull himself off the ground. You didn't give him much of a chance before you leapt down in front of him, landing before swiping him off his feet.

"I'm gonna kill you," He raised his gauntleted hand and he fired at you from his spot on the ground.

It was one of his weird creations, Vistech as he liked to call it. It made you realize that villians are extremely uncreative when it comes to naming things.

"'I'm gonna kill you' blah blah blah, I've heard it all before. Your words mean nothing." You retorted, moving out of the way of whatever it was he shot at you. He had a nasty habit of creating new concoctions and testing them on you.

You were sure you probably seemed cocky, and the way he tensed made it evident he wasn't very appreciative of your attitude. "You're really annoying, you know that?"

After that he charged at you, gear adding power to his steps. Your senses spiked, making you leap out of his way. His gauntlet grabbed hold of your arm, as he throwed you towards a nearby wall. 

The impact knocked the wind out of your lungs, falling to the ground with a wheeze. You could hear his heavy boots hit the ground with each step he took towards you. You pushed yourself off the ground, then you lifted your hand and shot webbing at his face. His cries were muffled by the substance, his hand scratched to try and get the webs off. 

You fully pushed yourself off of the ground, wincing in pain. Much to your dismay, the second you were on your feet Visage had pulled off the webs. He ran towards you again and you were lucky to move out of the way on time.

You put your hand behind his head and slammed it full force into the wall, knocking him unconscious. You crouched down, inspecting Visage's guantlet, lifting the heavy metal. It was warm to the touch, most likely because of the weird substance in them.

You looked them over, searching for a way to remove them . It was more sophisticated than you originally thought, but you found it eventually. 

You knew Visage wasn't the highest of rank in whatever business he worked for, but he was high enough on there for you to get some information on the entire organization. 

You tied him up with your webbing, and when you heard police sirens you leapt up to the rooftop of the nearest building, Visage's guantlet in hand.

***

The fight had been all over the news.

Some people praised you for your efforts whilst others said you were nothing but a menace, but the mayor, much to your surprise, was extremely pleased with your work.

She made an announcement on television about wanting to thank you personally for everything you've done for Brooklyn.

Which led you here, stood near the entrance of the building the mayor did most of her work in. She looked elegant, black pencil skirt hugging her legs and waist, a matching jacket on top of a white dress shirt. She was so put together it made you nervous.

You didn't look put together. Not that you really could in your spidersuit but you still felt self-conscious. 

Yet she offered you a warm smile, holding her hand out towards you. "Spider! It's nice to meet you in person."

You smiled back, though she couldn't see it from underneath your mask. "It's nice to meet you too, Madame Mayor." Her hand was warm against the fabric of your suit.

"So you and I will just walk out that door," She began, pointing over towards the door. "And I'll greet the crowd, give a speech, and then I'll shake your hand once more. I'll warn you now, there will be a lot of people."

It was strange how you could fight dangerous people and yet the mention of a crowd made your heart rate pick up. 

You nodded, and she smiled again. Her heels clicked loudly against the white flooring of the office building, your steps quieter than hers. You made sure to wear your converse here. There had been many times you forgot to slip on your shoes before heading out of your bedroom window, your mind racing to find reported criminals.

The doors opened, sunlight shined through as you exited the brick building. There was an abundance of people in the crowd, the snapping of pictures and shouts of Spider filled the atmosphere. There were news reporters that surrounded the barricades of the stairs, keeping the rambunctious crowd from getting too close.

"Hello people of Brooklyn!" The Mayor waved, sun reflecting off of her white painted nails. The way she handled the crowd made you envious and it took everything in you not to teeter on your feet to calm the nerves. 

The crowd gave a series of shouts and greetings in reply, making the mayor laugh. She was good at this, but you suppose she had to be. That's when she introduced you, another wave of excited noise spilled from the ocean of people across from you.

"Hello." You replied as you waved and cringed at how awkward you probably sounded. Another group of greetings sounded around you.

People could be loud when they wanted to be, and that amplified in groups. You eyed them, and noticed the little girl from a few days ago again. She rested on top of her father's shoulders—her face was ice-creamless now—and her abundance of red waves was put into braids with ribbons tied at the end.

She made you smile from under your mask, as the beginning of the mayor's speech slipped past your ears. You moved your gaze from her, your eyes looked over the people and that's when you saw them. Your family in the very back.

Dick looked silly. The entirety of his outfit was just Spider merchandise and you were sure he seemed like an obnoxious fan to the rest of the crowd. Jason stood away from him, probably upset that he had to stand so close to Dick when he looked like that. He blended in more with the crowd, he wore simple attire that any normal person would wear in public. Not that he was normal, he just didn't like to stand out in such a way. 

Your father wore a suit. A very pristine suit, as usual, no one except reporters ever wore something so proper to an event like this. 

Steph had the biggest smile ever on her face, hair pulled back by a purple headband, dressed simply in a long skirt and a purple cardigan to cover it. Tim stood next to her, adorned in a sweater Bernard had given him and a pair of shorts. The both of them were on the opposite side of the crowd. Cass was not too far away. 

She had never enjoyed crowds, or people in general. You wouldn't have noticed her if not for your enhanced senses. She leaned against Bruce's car, the entirety of her black attire blended in with the car's paint. Damian was beside her, arms crossed. The warm weather had him in a simple pair of brown cargo shirts, his green t-shirt blended nicely with them.

Damian probably didn't want to come. Not that he didn't love you or anything, no he often talked about how you were the most tolerable out of the rest of his family, he just never saw the point in coming to something he could very easily watch on TV. You were going to make sure to thank him later.

You returned your attention back to the mayor. As she was nearing the end of her speech she turned to you. "—And I'd like to thank each and every one of you for coming here today. The Spider has done so much for our city this last year, and it seemed rude to not provide our hero a proper thank you."

Her hand reached toward you once again, but before she could grasp your hand an intense feeling of danger hit you. Your head snapped up, turning over and noticing a man—one of Visage's men it seemed from the apparel he wore—directing one of the  special guns directly at the mayor. You shielded her quickly, pulling her away just as he pulled the trigger. 

The crowd screamed at the sound, erupting in panic. You should've known this would have happened. Nothing is ever so easy.

 "Are you okay?" You asked the mayor, and she nodded, mumbling a thank you. You once her over just to make sure before jumping back into the crowd. It was almost as if the man multiplied in your short time of making sure the mayor was okay. 

"Can't you guys take days off or something?" You asked, annoyed when you webbed one of the weapons, yanking it out of his hands and sticking it up against the wall of a building. "Seriously, you guys are everywhere. I think you might need to bring this up with your boss."

One of them charged at you, which you swiftly moved out of the way but kept your foot in place, snickering when she tripped on the ground. 

You jumped, legs pushing you high enough to land on the top of a street lamp. You'd yanked one of the men up with you, slamming his head into the light before webbing him to it, leaving him dangling when you jumped down. 

"Do you ever shut up?" A woman shouted, irritated with you. She lunged at you, but hit the wall—hard enough as to where you could hear a loud groan.

"Only if you say please."

There was only one person left, he radiated irritation. It was easy to piss these people off. If it were a sport you'd have 1st place medals galore.

"And then there were two." You joked, watching as he pulled out a similar weapon to the first guys.

"Shut your fucking mouth!"

You scoffed, preparing yourself to attack him before you answered. "Do you people have no manners?"

It was a swift motion, webbing the weapon so he couldn't fire. He tried to rip off the webs before you got him in the face. His sounds of confusion were muffled, and you took this time to kick the legs out from under him, sticking his hand together 

Within minutes, you'd gotten all of them tied up. It was a swift battle—if you could even consider it one—and now you made your way back to the Mayor.

With a quick once over, you knew she was okay. Shaken up, but overall physically okay. You still asked to be sure. "Are you okay?"

She looked at you, offering a smile. "Yes, I'm okay thanks to you. Thank you again, Spider. For everything. I don't know where Brooklyn would be without you."

You couldn’t think of a response. Talking to people was hard, but talking to the Mayor was harder. Especially when she said something like that. “It’s no problem.” You said, though you questioned if it sounded awkward.

After assisting to make sure everyone was okay. You felt a small tug at the stretchy fabric of your suit. Your head drifting in the direction of the source, your heart warmed. It was the little girl from before. “Spider!”

You grinned underneath your mask, crouching down to see eye-to-eye with her, taking notice of the adorable crochet beanie in her head. “Hello. I really like your hat!”

She giggled, the brightest smile you’ve ever seen crossing her features. “It has you on it!”

"It does! Did someone make it for you?"

Her waves bounced around her head when she nodded, grabbing ahold of her father's hand and shaking it around. "My daddy made it for me! Isn't that right, daddy?"

He gave a proud grin, though it wasn't as bright as it would be if he didn't look so exhausted. "Yeah, that's right, sweetheart. I did make it."

"You should convince him to make me one," You joked, looking up at her father. "It's an awesome hat. I'm honored to have such a hat with me on it."

"She wouldn't stop pestering me until I finished," He replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. "She asked me everyday if her hat was done. She loves you."

You warmed and looked back at the child. "And her love will always be appreciated."

After a rather hard goodbye, he led her back towards their small car. It took a few hours, but eventually you were able to make your way back home for a quick meal. You had some spare time before you decided you were going to force yourself back out into the city, hoping to finally give yourself a chance to relax.

Though it seemed your plans had been foiled, the smell of Mac & Cheese filled your apartment, and the slight chatter of familiar voices bouncing off of the fake wooden walls.

"Alfred?" Your eyebrows rose when you saw the man that was basically your second father standing in front of your stove, a pot in front of him as he stirred a wooden spoon through the creamy noodles. "You're making Mac & Cheese?"

Alfred never enjoyed making Mac & Cheese like this, far more into homemade foods rather than the cheap store-bought boxes. He enjoyed putting care into his cooking, and boxed Mac & Cheese took that away. In his eyes, at least.

You set your stuff down, listening to Alfreds words even though he didn't look at you. "I would have made something else, but it seems this was all you had in your cupboard, L/n."

"Fair." You shrugged before you heard someone clearing his throat.

"No hello to your father?"

You looked at him and smiled. "Hello Father."

Jason snickered, as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You sound like Damian." His feet on your table made you send him a light glare.

"Better him than you, Jay. And get your nasty ass feet off my table." You shoved his feet off of the fake wood, as you ignored the glare he sent you when you walked by, and ruffled Damian's hair. "How's the favorite brother?"

He huffed in annoyance and shoved your hand away, an incoherent grumble being your only response.

"Y/n!" Steph interrupted, a blur of purple passing your vision as he gave you a swift hug, arms wrapping tightly around you. "We missed you!"

"I missed you guys too." You grinned, brushing a few strands of blonde hair that fell out of her headband behind her ear after she pulled away. "Where's Cass and Dick?"

As if on queue, Dick walked through the door, his hand in the air as he answered. "We're here!" He had a flare for the dramatics, his high-school yearbooks and his years of theater could prove it. 

Cass' entrance was far more tame, as she carefully walked through as to not drop the big yellow box in her hands,closing the door with her foot. "We brought cake."

"Cake?" You weren't expecting cake, and especially not store bought cake. Alfred would be quivering in his boots if he didn't have to hide his irritation. 

"You didn't tell us about the Mayor." Damian interrupted, his arms crossed. Irritation was written all over his face—which seemed to mask his slight pain about the topic—and you were hit with a sudden pang of guilt.

"Sorry, Dami." You began, as you gave an apologetic smile. You looked at all of them, trying to explain yourself. "You guys are all so busy, I didn't wanna pull you away from your work."

The explanation seemed silly now that you said it out loud. It was a stupid reason, your family cared about you a lot and it probably seemed like a kick in the face. You continued, words spilling out of your mouth in an anxiety consumed guilt.

"It's not that I thought you guys wouldn't care or anything I just— I don't know, I didn't wanna pull you guys away from something more important."

"No work could ever come above you," Bruce spoke quickly, taking your hand within his. He squeezed it, as if it were to make his words stronger with meaning.

And in a way it did, it reminded you that your family may be busy, but you all would always put each other first.

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sorry this was all over the place!! constructive criticism is always welcome!! please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it!!

[pisoprano]

Another Loveybug AU concept, this time with amnesia!

Ladybug’s identity gets exposed to Monarch. She manages to get away, but she knows that she can’t remain as Ladybug or the Guardian anymore. She contacts Su-Han and tells him she has to give up the miracle box.

But before relinquishing anything, Marinette starts playing with her transformation. She finds out that if she focuses on her romantic feelings, it manifests as a different suit, one that she is completely unrecognizable in.

Marinette convinces Su-Han that they can’t afford to get someone else to be the new ladybug, not when Scarabella and Kitty Noire were so easily discovered. She’ll keep the earrings. She just won’t be able to remember her time as Ladybug.

Ladybug goes out in public to face Monarch one last time, this time following in Master Fu’s footsteps to sacrifice her memories to pass on the miracle box (now, returning it back to Su-Han).

A disoriented Marinette finds herself standing before a purple man who wails about losing something. But before she can ask what’s going on, a boy in cat ears takes her in his arms and carries her home. There’s something in his eyes, something she can’t quite place. Sadness? Love? Whatever it is, he doesn’t say. He merely kisses her forehead and says, “Thank you for everything.” And then he’s gone.

Alone in her bedroom, Marinette finds a box with a pair of earrings inside. As she tries them on, she is accosted by a bug-mouse who can talk. ‘Tikki,’ this being calls herself, tells Marinette that she was chosen to inherit the Ladybug mantle. Tikki also says that if Marinette channels her feelings of love, she can become a hero who can protect Paris. Marinette thinks of her love for her boyfriend Adrien (who could ever forget him?), then proclaims “Hearts on!” And suddenly, she’s pink.

She encounters the boy with cat ears again. He tells her that he’ll protect her as she gets used to her powers. She finds herself acclimating far more easily than she thought possible for a clumsy girl like her. (It’s probably a side effect of the super suit.)

She looks up information about her predecessor—apparently Alya was obsessed with cataloging every detail she knew about ‘Ladybug.’ Marinette isn’t entirely sure why she doesn’t remember much about all the months of attacks that have plagued Paris. Maybe that purple man acquired mind erasing powers and Ladybug hadn’t been able to fix it with her miracle cure before she passed on the miraculous?

Tikki tries to inspire her with her own stories of Ladybug. How she’d always try to stand up against the cruelty of the world and fight for kindness. Marinette wasn’t sure how she was supposed to fill the shoes of someone like that. Though apparently Ladybug had been a klutz with a stutter too, so maybe Marinette might not be entirely a hopeless cause.

Alya’s been sad ever since Ladybug went away. Alya had dedicated so much of her life to Ladybug, it made sense she’d miss the superheroine when she’d gone. Marinette tries to get Alya to get invested in reporting about Loveybug, but she doesn’t bite. Alya’s far more interested in making sure Marinette knows how amazing Ladybug was. Even if it makes her sad, Alya clearly needs to reminisce, and Marinette is happy to be there for her.

Adrien’s been sad too, though he seems to cheer up a lot when he’s around her. He’s also gotten really protective. Practically every time an akuma alert goes off, Adrien is sticking Marinette in a closet for her to hide in before running off to his own hiding place. She doesn’t point out that she’d feel more protected if he stayed in the closet with her—she needs to use the time alone to transform. But it’s always nice that she can use the moments where Adrien kisses her goodbye as fuel to use for ‘channeling love’ when transforming into Loveybug.

The boy in the cat ears is different too, at least from how he acted in all those videos. It was incredibly obvious that he was head over heels for Ladybug from the beginning. Marinette doesn’t understand why Ladybug had apparently rejected his advances. He was sweet. And he is still sweet, but when he’s around Loveybug… the light leaves his eyes. She probably reminds him of the partner he lost. She tries to give him space, but that only seems to make him look even more lonely. She tries to cheer him up instead. Make him laugh. It turns out he had a magical laugh. (If she wasn’t already with Adrien, she could see herself falling for the boy in cat ears too.)

Gabriel Agreste sends Adrien away to London. Marinette tries to keep the boy she loves home, but only manages one final kiss goodbye before he is taken away. She doesn’t think she can channel that kiss to becoming Loveybug. Her heart hurts too much.

As Marinette mourns, Tikki finds a box of rainbow cookies somewhere in Marinette’s room. In an attempt to cheer her up, she eats a purple macaron and tells Marinette she’ll provide a cool new power the next time she transforms. Marinette, heart still heavy, says, “Tikki, power up.” Suddenly, she’s weightless. Realizing this power has opened up the entire world to her, she immediately takes to the skies. Adrien. She could now find Adrien!

She searches London for the boy she loves, serendipitously finding him standing on a balcony of a secluded apartment. Adrien stares at her, eyes impossibly wide. “Cosmobug?” he asks, his voice hesitant.

She looks down at the suit she’s wearing for the first time. There aren’t any hearts anywhere. Only spots. She thinks she’s seen a picture of Ladybug wearing a suit very much like this. Maybe this was how all powered-up suits looked?

“I’m Loveybug,” she explains. “I’m here to rescue you!”

Adrien stands there unmoving, like he’s calculating a tough math problem in his head. Finally, he asks, “Marinette?”

She squeaks. “How did you figure me out? I’ve been so careful! Oh no, it’s because I forgot to ‘channel love’ before transforming, isn’t it? It messed with the mask magic, didn’t it? I knew I was going to mess up eventually…”

Adrien put his arms around her. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m really happy I found out your identity.”

Marinette curls in on herself. “Ladybug would be so disappointed in me if she knew…”

Adrien blinks. “You don’t know who Ladybug is?”

“Tikki can’t tell me things like that. She can only talk about how great her old holder was and how much she misses her.” She realizes Adrien probably has no idea what she’s talking about. “Oh! Tikki is—“

“I know who Tikki is,” he says, smiling. “And I think she left out some things. Come inside, I want to show you something.”

Adrien leads her to a mirror. “Try powering down. But this time, don’t do the ‘channeling love’ thing you do to become Loveybug.”

“What do I channel instead?”

“Nothing. Don’t think about it, just let whatever happen happen.”

She closes her eyes takes a deep breath. She tries to forget that Adrien was here with her. She tries to think of nothing, but her mind won’t let her stay on nothing. Instead, it turns towards the boy with the cat ears. The boy she has no business loving. She thinks about how she doesn’t need to be in love with him to want to be his friend. His partner, something inside her whispers. Aloud, she says, “Power down.”

She opens her eyes and sees her reflection. The hearts are still gone. The face, though… “Why do I look like Ladybug?” she whispers.

“Because you are Ladybug,” Adrien tells her.

“That’s not possible.”

“It is. Ladybug gave up her memories to protect the miraculous. But she—you—found a way to stay by Chat Noir’s side anyway.”

By becoming Loveybug. By channeling her love. “Was I in love with him before? Chat Noir?”

“I think so.”

She bites her lip. “Do you think I should return to him?”

“Are you in love with him now?” he asks.

“I… maybe,” she admits. Somehow, even when suppressing her feelings, the boy in cat ears tugged at her heart. But she could also feel a strong tug in another direction. “But I’m in love with you too, Adrien. I don’t want to give us up.”

He smiled, nodding like it was the ‘right’ answer. “You don’t have to, my lady.”

‘My lady.’ She knew those words. Not just from the Ladyblog videos. The term of endearment passing through his lips thrums against her very soul.

“Chat Noir?” she asks, unsure this could be real.

She looks into his eyes. His green eyes. Not quite like a cat’s, but there was a familiarity in the way they moved. In the way those eyes looked at her like she was his entire world.

“Yes. It’s me.”

She has so many questions. But the one that ends up leaving her mouth is, “Why are you still here? You could transform, leave here with no one to stop you.”

Adrien’s mouth falls agape once, then twice as he searches for words. Finally, he shrugs. “I guess I was waiting for someone to rescue me. If you still want to do the honors?”

Well, she hadn’t come all this way for nothing. She lifts him in her arms, every fiber of her straining with the desire to keep this precious boy safe. She still isn’t entirely sure how she’s going to protect him when his father finds out. Maybe Chat Noir could be a more permanent fixture around Paris? And, to make sure he didn’t feel so alone, Loveybug would spend as much time as possible there by his side.

Two of the biggest romantics in Paris, falling for each other… Alya might finally get invested in covering Loveybug now there was juicy relationship gossip to invest in. But Marinette should probably give Alya some closure about what really happened to Ladybug first, even if Alya couldn’t share that information with the rest of the world. Marinette couldn’t wait to see the look on her BFF’s face when she learned that Marinette Dupain Cheng of all people wielded the ladybug miraculous!

Until then, she holds on tight to Adrien Agreste as she flies him home.

At some point, he starts to get cold and she suggests that he transform to get protection from the suit.

His mouth pulls into a cheeky grin. “Plagg, claws out.” His hair turns green.

Wrong catboy! her mind screams, dropping him in a burst of horrifying clumsiness.

He calls up a power-up transformation before he falls into the sea, then flies up beside her. This time, he looks how she knows Chat Noir looks when given the gift of flight, not a green hair in sight. “Did I mention I can also transform into Catwalker?” he asks, feigning innocence (badly).

“No you did not!” she hisses.

“Just thought you should know I’ve got a backup identity too. In case we need it.”

“Do you plan on erasing your memories?”

“No…?”

“Then we don’t need another backup,” she declares. “Adrien and Chat Noir are plenty for me.”

[chaoticbardlady99]

She’s my Religion- Part 3: Everyone Wants to Have Their Taste (Astarion x F! Reader)

Synopsis- You and Astarion don’t see eye to eye about him ascending. Cazador kidnaps you to lure Astarion to the palace. Astarion realizes that more powerful vampires may not be capable of love.

CW: Violence, non-descriptive mentions of gore, mentions of SA, threats of SA, mentions of suicidal ideation

I feel so gross cause I made myself sob while editing this.

*picture belongs to @clowndroids

It had quite literally only been two hours since Pale Petras had kidnapped you. You were having a drink with Karlach after your fight with Astarion.

Astarion finally broke you and you gave your opinion on the Rite of Profane Ascension- he was not thrilled with your opinion to say the least.

“Astarion! I don’t even want to marry a fucking Master Vampire!” You had screamed after he had gotten pissed at you for saying you didn’t think he should ascend, “not only that- I will lose you entirely. You will no longer be anything, but fucking Mephistopheles’ vessel to what he pleases with! I can’t be with you if… if you ascend- I can’t sit back and let you torture me for eternity or watch you fade away.”

“Well-I guess we’re done then.”

You had watched him walk off miserably- your heart shattered into a million pieces. Karlach consoled you at the bar.

You should have tried to be calmer, maybe it wouldn’t have resulted in a break up.

You had begun to not feel well so you went back to your shared room with Astarion.

Astarion was out hunting so that he could be at his best for the fight with Cazador tomorrow- that gives you plenty of time to move your stuff into another room.

You are sniffling as another uncomfortable wave of nausea and exhaustion overwhelms you and then you collapse. You hear footsteps walking towards you- hoping it might be someone friendly. You thought how incredibly inconvenient timing it would be if the Cult of the Absolute was coming to kidnap you.

Except it wasn’t an Absolute Cultist or a friendly face- it had been Pale fucking Petras.

You woke up in what you assume is the Kennels- Cazador leering down at you like he’d caught you doing something you weren’t supposed to do.

Oh and you had. You had given yourself to Astarion- let yourself be “ruined.”

Every lash of the flail against your bare skin feels even more numb and painful than the last- you are barely conscious by the time Cazador decides he’s done and you are “purified”.

“What a shame- I would have liked your skin to remain porcelain and perfect before we have to consummate our marriage,” Cazador feigns sadness, “but I do suppose you have time to heal- a few hours, give or take. Dalyria- please help my beautiful, crimson colored bride clean up a little bit, leave the majority of the blood- it smells delectable.”

Cazador begins to leave and then turns around to say one last thing, “And do get her into her wedding dress. I have a homecoming to prepare for my prodigal son and I’m sure he’d love to wish us eternal happiness, my Love.”

The smile he gave you made your entire body shake with fear. He kidnapped you to force Astarion’s hand. You hope that Astarion stays out all night like he occasionally does when he hunts pissed off.

You would much rather he be prepared to fight and feel confident than rush head first into a battle because you are in danger. Or worse- maybe he wouldn’t care at all. He did break up with you.

You know the consequences if Astarion doesn’t show up quickly- Cazador is going to marry you, violate you, and then turn you into his spawn. Cazador told you that, by the time he is done completing the ritual, you should be ready to be his obedient consort.

Astarion would die knowing you were damned to an eternity of suffering at Cazador’s hands- whether he got there in time or not was inconsequential to Cazador- either would make Astarion crumble (despite telling him that he had quite literally dumped you not even an hour or two earlier).

You asked him how stupid he is considering he revealed his whole plan to you before you had even been there 30 minutes (he knows about the tadpole)- he bashed your head into the wall two times. Hard.

“Better?” He had said, roughly grabbing your hair and making you look up at him.

You listen for his footsteps and hold back the painful, strained sobs that rattle your broken rib cage. Your head is throbbing and your body is aching- every piece of skin cut up in some way or another besides your face. That needed to be “protected” according to Cazador.

You don’t remember when Dalyria gently helped you up off the ground and provided you with awkward, but soothing words. You cried as she began getting you ready for your impending doom. She washed your hair with care and despite what Cazador said, she made sure the majority of your blood was cleaned up and the wounds were safe from infection.

“He’ll get here in time,” Dalyria whispers, “Astarion won’t let this happen to you- he adores you far too much.”

“Doubtful,” You sniff, “and anyway, I don’t want him to make any rash decisions.”

“Right now, Tav?” Dalyria looks at you with sorrow, putting makeup on your cheeks “rash decisions is what is going to save you.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion is nervous while heading back to Elfsong Tavern- he had a bear for his meal and he is eager to see you. While he was out hunting, he realized that you had a lot of very valid points. In what world could he ask you to become his thrall when Astarion knows how Spawns suffer at the hands of their master’s. The other point that stuck with him was when you said you would lose him. Astarion can acknowledge those points- he is sure he can even reassure you. Cazador never let anyone touch you nor did he ever lay a finger on you- not all Vampire Lords are evil and abusive. Astarion will be wonderful to you.

Except, when he gets to your shared room to talk- you are gone and the only evidence of you being there is a blood stain on the floor and your supplies scattered every which way.

Astarion is frozen and he runs to Karlach and Shadowheart’s room- hoping you are maybe there and just had a minor cut that needed healing. Karlach informs him you had gone back to your shared room when you stopped feeling well.

Once all the pieces were put together- everyone was sprinting out the door towards the Crimson Palace. It had been two whole hours since anyone last saw you. Astarion can’t imagine that Cazador would actually hurt you- he’s too possessive of you.

Astarion feels sick to his stomach, enraged, and terrified all at the same time.

Astarion isn’t sure he believes in any of the Gods, but he is begging to any that will listen to him that you are okay- unharmed.

************************************

Cazador holding you up by your hair, tears streaming down your face in a blood stained revealing white wedding dress is an image that will forever be burnt into Astarion’s brain. Cazador has mutilated your skin.

Astarion and your other companions had ran in right as Cazador was cutting into you again- yelling at Dalyria that she did this to you, if she had just listened and not cleaned up the blood like he had said- he wouldn’t have needed more for the dress.

When Cazador notices Astarion, he gives him a chilling grin.

“I told you that he would come for you, Pet,” Cazador cooed, a broken sob escapes your lips, “it was so cute, boy. ‘Just use me for your ritual, I’ll take his place, don’t hurt him-“

You whimper as Cazador licks the blood running from one of the cuts on your collar bones- nipping at the skin painfully. Astarion is going to rip the bastard apart, limb by limb.

“My favorite though,” Cazador maliciously states, “is when she told me how you left her and that you wouldn’t come for her. I’ve never been so thrilled to see someone so heartbroken over the life and love of a pathetic creature such as yourself. I’m not worried though,” Cazador places kisses along your neck and Astarion watches as another wave of sobs racks your body, “I’ll pleasure myself with her body until she starts screaming my name instead of yours.”

Astarion is seething as another pained scream leaves your mouth as Cazador gives you one last deep cut on your right side- dropping your weak, shaking body to the ground. The smell of your blood and fear is overwhelming.

Astarion barely remembers the battle- he remembers Wyll pulling him out of the ritual and then killing every creature that dared try to keep him from you.

Cazador is still looming over you- occasionally digging his staff into your side and Astarion gets angrier with every wheezing cry he hears. You are trying so hard to fight back- clawing, kicking, and punching. You are throwing cantrips as Cazador continues to throw you around.

Cazador goes to hit you again, but his swing is interrupted by Astarion stabbing his dagger straight through the Vampire Lord’s wrist- the staff landing with a clatter.

Astarion is all daggers and nails- his rage towards Cazador coming out in a frightening display of bloodlust. Cazador is barely visible under all the blood Astarion as drawn, but the man still teleports to his coffin.

Astarion charges towards the coffin- he’s not done yet. Astarion wants the man to suffer for everything he’s done to him, to the countless lives he forced Astarion to ruin, and you- your freedom and guaranteed safety. He’ll be killing Bridril Von next.

Astarion pushes the lid off of Cazador’s coffin.

“No, no. No healing sleep for you,” he pulls the Vampire Lord out of his coffin, “Wake up!”

Astarion flings the man with so much force he slides across the floor. Cazador gets onto his knees and looks at Astarion with pure loathing and disgust.

“Get your hands off me, worm.”

“Ha! I’m not the one in the dirt,” Astarion says with a sneer.

Astarion picks up the knife nearby and looks at Cazador, “one last thrust and I’ll be free of you. I’ll never have to fear you again.”

Astarion cocks his head to the side, “but, if I finish the ritual you started, I’ll never have to fear anyone, ever.”

“You think me a fool? That I would allow anyone to usurp me, speak the words and ascend in my place?”

Cazador cackles before continuing, “The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual. Complete it, and all those bearing the scares will be sacrificed- you included.”

Astarion’s face contorts as Cazador smiles, “ you are simply a means to an end. I made you to be consumed.”

“I am so much more than what you made me,” Astarion retorts.

His whole body is shaking with anticipation- Astarion will finally end this man’s life. Astarion will have pow-

The pull of the Ascension is disrupted by Shadowheart screaming for Halsin to come and help- you’ve lost a lot of blood and she thinks you may be poisoned to some extent as well. You aren’t talking and you are motionless on the ground. You are looking at him though, tears rolling down your face.

Your affection for him warms his body as he enters your mind through the tadpole. You are barley conscious enough to notice the invasion of privacy.

Without the pull of the ascension, Astarion is unsure of his next move. He needs to know what to do, he doesn’t know and he needs your help.

Astarion’s body is then filled quickly with an intense suffocating grief. He is watching memories of the two of you together run through your mind as if you are having your own silent funeral for him. Astarion hasn’t seen himself in 200 years, but seeing him from your point of view- a loving, grieving point of view- takes all the wind out of his sails. Astarion is beautiful, but your affections towards him make him even more so. Together reading books, making love, joking, playing games- it’s all there in a nice warm little box that is slowly turning blue.

There is a finality in your head that eats him alive. There is acceptance and happiness for him- Gods all you have ever wanted was for him to be happy- but you are screaming and crying on the inside for your lost love. Aching and all alone- wishing Cazador would have just killed you and hoping there is a possibility they won’t be able to save you in time so you don’t have to watch him become Mephistopheles’ puppet- now or in the future.

Astarion feels tears stream down his face as your eyes begin to close. Your breathes are getting more shallow and he feels you give up- unable to continue with this life all alone. You’ve lost everyone now.

Goodbye, my Star. I should have told you I love you.

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 26

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military Universe

Words: 5k

TW: Violence

Masterlist

———————————————————————

 Wednesday, December 23; 8:00 PM - Home

A few days have passed since I returned to Barcelona. I’ve never enjoyed a vacation so much. There hasn't been a single moment of boredom. Mapi has practically been living at my place since I got back. As usual, her parents are off living their own lives without her, so she’s living hers without them. Sunday was fantastic. Joan was over the moon when we took him to the amusement park. He hadn’t realized I’d be staying for two whole weeks, so when he understood I’d be here longer than usual, he was ecstatic.

I haven’t told him yet that I’ll be leaving earlier for New Year’s, but he’ll probably be too busy to notice. As always, my mom and Marcus will take him to celebrate New Year’s with friends who have a child his age. In any case, I’ll make a resolution to keep in touch with him more regularly. He’s missed me so much that she hasn’t left our side even once. Not during our movie and TV marathon on Saturday, not during our day at the skate park the next day, and especially not when we went to the ice rink. Those were incredible days.

Today, we decided it would be a relaxation day. Joan is at a friend’s house, so we spent our morning at the beauty salon. We got waxed and had our nails done for Christmas Eve. My family will be coming over tomorrow. I usually take care of myself, but this time we wanted to be pampered. Well, it was mainly Mapi who was dying for it. She couldn’t let go of the idea. So, I sucked it up and wore clothes that didn’t require me to undress completely. She’s lucky I appreciate the results. We continued the day with lunch at a restaurant in town, and then we went to the pool. It was so much fun. It seems like it just opened, so there weren’t many people, and we could relax as we should.

Now, here we are, standing in line for the cinema. It must be around 8:00 PM. It’s a way to do something relaxing without being cooped up in my room. I found out while she was in the shower that she’s been harassed by Ana. Apparently, Ana is sorry and wants Mapi back. I was relieved to see she hadn’t responded to any of the texts, but also slightly hurt that she hadn’t told me. I respect her silence, though. I haven’t brought it up with her, afraid she might shut down. That doesn’t stop me from being a good friend. I noticed she’s been glancing at her phone whenever she gets the chance today. I sense she’s about to crack, so I’ve done everything in my power to keep her busy. It’s clear she’s not doing as well as she pretends, although I imagine our days full of activities help her not think about it.

It’s time to pay for our tickets. I don’t even know what movie we’re going to see. I let Mapi choose since I haven’t been keeping up with new releases while I was at Camp Wiegman. We have similar tastes, so I’m not worried. Mapi insists on stopping by the concession stand for some popcorn. I take the opportunity to grab a drink, which she ends up getting too. We then have our tickets validated and head into our theater. We’re half an hour early, so I’m not surprised to find the place empty. We settle in a corner at the top. Mapi is never quiet during a movie, no matter where we are. She has the annoying habit of commenting on every action. Needless to say, it annoys everyone around us. It used to irritate me too, but over time, I started commenting with her. We’ve gotten to the point where if we’re watching a movie at home, we pick one we’ve already seen to make sure we understand the content.

I still make the effort to go to the movies with her, thinking I can always rewatch the film online if it seems good. It reminds me that Lucy had offered to lend me some movies, but she never did. I doubt she remembers. That conversation must have been over a month ago. I feel a pang of guilt, realizing I haven’t written to her since returning to Miami. Then again, she hasn’t written to me either. After all, she’s just my supervisor; I shouldn’t worry. She’s made it clear more than once that we can’t be friends while I’m her student.

"Isn’t that Miller and Bryan down there?" Mapi asks me.

I scan the area, looking for two heads that could be our friends. I smile when I spot them a few rows below us, completely on the opposite side. It’s impossible for them to see us. I notice their little gestures of affection, which are so cute.

"Yeah, it looks like it."

"Should we call out to them? I mean, we could see them at the same time."

"They’re on a date, leave them alone. We’ll catch up with them after the movie."

Mapi nods in agreement. The lights dim shortly after. To be honest, I’m still having a hard time seeing them as a couple, but they’re so adorable. To think that a few years ago, it was us as a couple and them as best friends. At least Mapi and I were lucky not to lose each other. She clumsily apologized for kissing me spontaneously. I couldn’t blame her for needing affection. Few people manage to stay on good terms with their ex, but I’m glad we did. She was my rock back then, and I won’t forget what she did for me. My feelings were mixed when we first reconnected, but I quickly pushed them aside, realizing it wasn’t mutual anymore. I never knew if that was truly the case, but I guess she was just protecting herself.

The ads fade away, and the movie begins. As I predicted, Mapi comments on every action, but today it’s a bit different. She also starts complimenting the women in the film. She seems to find them beautiful and amazing She’s lucky I’m  lesbianand find some truth in her words; otherwise, I’d get bored quickly. I join in, telling her my preferences. I’ve always preferred brunettes, even dark-haired ones,I find them more attractive and mysterious.

“Tell me an actress you find hot.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Just because. Someone you’d want in your bed.”

“I don’t want anyone in my bed.”

“You know exactly what I mean! Like if you had the chance to go on a date with an actress... Or a celebrity, whatever. Who would you choose?”

“Your question is really dumb.”

“Come on, play along. Give me a name.”

I think about it, running my hand through my hair. I have no idea. I don’t have a favorite actress or anything like that.

“I don’t know. Mila Kunis?” I say randomly.

“Mila Kunis?” she repeats. “Hmm… Not bad, true. Does she look like Bronze?”

I roll my eyes. And there she goes again, bringing up the subject. I don’t know what’s gotten into her with Lucy lately, but she keeps asking me questions about her.

“No,” I shut down.

“Oh, sorry. It’s just that I wonder what she looks like. I have the right to be curious. Here, compare her to Mila Kunis so I can get an idea.”

I can’t believe it when she pulls up a picture of the actress on her phone. I already know she won’t leave me alone until she gets her answers. I sigh and look at the photo carefully to make a comparison.

“Lucy has a much finer nose and much fuller lips. As for her eyes, they’re almond-shaped and green, much more sparkling than the dark eyes Mila Kunis has in this picture. And her hair leans more towards a brown shade than black.”

Mapi nods seriously. She seems to be creating an image of my supervisor in her head. Her silence makes me wonder if I went too far with my details. I realize just how much I’ve observed her to know so much about her appearance. She finally turns to me with a small smile forming on her lips.

“She must be cute.”

“She is.”

“Is she taller than you?”

I think back, trying to recall moments that might give me an answer to this question. I nod eventually.

“Yeah. But only by a few centimeters.”

“So, you claim you’re not interested in her, but you can tell me details like that about her?”

A smug smile spreads across her face, and I realize my mistake. I knew it was a bad idea to tell her all that.

“You’re exasperating, Mapi.”

“And yet, I didn’t even point out that you called her Lucy. So that’s her little name?”

I groan at her teasing. I slowly run my hand over my face to avoid losing my temper.

“Where’s her part in her hair?”

“Mostly in the middle, but sometimes she moves it to the left side.”

The words slip out before I can hold them back. I’m surprised myself at how easily I answered. How did I retain such subtle information about her? Damn brain. Mapi mocks me without restraint.

“Just as I thought.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” she smiles foolishly.

“Yeah, whatever,” I mumble. 

I sink into my seat, crossing my arms, clearly upset that my mind could betray me like that. How did I answer so instinctively? Lucy is my supervisor. Sure, she’s beautiful and attractive, but that doesn’t mean I’m interested.

Mapi tries to insist one more time, but she’s met with "shhhhht" sounds from all around. I think we’ve reached our chatter limit. It doesn’t seem to calm Mapi, who starts laughing at every scene that’s even slightly funny. No matter how much I ask her to calm down, it feels like she’s doing it on purpose to annoy our neighbors. They’re starting to get really angry, but fortunately, the movie is coming to an end. I wouldn’t have bet on our safety if it had lasted any longer. We hurry out of the theater as soon as the credits roll to avoid facing the hateful glares of the other viewers. Sometimes I wonder if we’re really civilized. Right now, I’d say no. I instantly regret our rush when we run into the one person we would’ve wanted to avoid on this earth. Mapi instinctively takes a defensive stance in front of me. Feli doesn’t take her eyes off me for a second, as if I’m the only one there.

- "Ona-..."

- "Don’t talk to her," Mapi interrupts in a sharp tone.

- "That’s not for you to decide."

- "Forget it. Let’s go, Mapi..."

I grab her arm, and I couldn’t say if it’s to pull her away with me or to stop her from doing something she might regret—or not. Mapi stays rooted to the spot, glaring daggers at my ex. I can understand her urge to tear her apart for what she did, right here and now. However, this is neither the time nor the place. All I want is to get out of here. I realize that’s not her intention when she violently shakes off my grip.

- "Get out of the way," she growls.

- "No," she says, stepping forward. "You know, Ona... I thought I’d see you again after what I injected you with."

A shiver runs down my spine as she admits this, never taking her eyes off me. No... I can’t believe it. She didn’t just say that.

- "I’m disappointed to see you in such a normal state..."

I feel myself wavering as she manages to slip past Mapi’s defenses to stroke my hand. Her gesture, which should be gentle, sends me spiraling back into a whirlpool of memories. I’m disconnected from my senses until Mapi’s fist slamming into Feli’s face brings me back to reality. Her punch is so powerful that she crashes to the ground, her mouth agape.

- "That’s for what you did to my best friend. And this is for sleeping with my girlfriend, you bitch!"

Her words are followed by a kick to her stomach. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mapi this angry. I’m so caught up in the scene that I jump when an arm wraps around my shoulders. I struggle against the unexpected contact, but calm down when I see Bryan by my side. Meanwhile, Miller is grabbing my best friend by the waist, pulling her away from Feli before the situation escalates further. Security has been called. They arrived just in time to restrain my ex, who was about to fight back. The guys managed to defuse the situation by announcing our departure. However, Mapi isn’t willing to leave it at that.

"Don't let her go!" she spits out. "She's gone mad, and she's stalking my friend. She even just admitted in front of everyone that she drugged her to get her back! You better not let her follow us, or I'll press charges against you!"

"Mapi, that's enough," says Miller, trying to calm her down.

"No, it's not enough! That bitch deserves what’s coming to her!"

"Let's just leave, please."

Bryan nods and leads me towards the exit. Thankfully, Miller is strong enough to drag Mapi out with us after apologizing to the officers. I'm struggling to process the whole encounter. It feels like I'm in shock. Mapi keeps cursing under her breath to vent her frustration, which isn't helping me pull myself together. If the guys hadn't intervened, things could've gone really wrong. It's only when we get outside that Mapi notices my state. She immediately pulls me into her arms.

"Are you okay?" she murmurs.

I want to answer her, but no words come out. I try to nod to reassure her, but it’s all lies. Feli drugged me. She really drugged me to make me relapse. How can I be okay? I can't even tell if she went further because I have no memory of it. For all I know... No, I don't even want to think about it.

"How about we forget this whole incident by grabbing a drink?" Miller suggests. "We wanted to catch up, so now's the time."

Mapi agrees without consulting me, so I have no choice but to go along. Miller drives us there in his car. Mapi and I are in the back. She's set her anger aside to try to lift my spirits. It's a lost cause, but I appreciate the effort. When we get to the bar, I wait just long enough to order a drink before excusing myself. I need to be alone and get some air. Mapi didn’t want to let me go out alone, but Miller convinced her. I couldn’t be more grateful. I sit on the curb once outside, burying my head in my arms to collect my thoughts. The evening has gone by too fast. I can't fully grasp everything that happened. After a while, I pull my phone out of my pocket and fidget with it, debating whether to call her or not. I realize I should've done it days ago. I muster up the courage to do it now. One ring... Two... Three... My heart stops when the beeping ends.

"Hello?"

Her voice echoes in my head. I can't find the words to speak. My lower lip trembles so much it affects me. I never thought hearing her voice would make me feel so relieved.

"Ona?" she presses, sensing my silence.

I let my head fall back into my arms as a sob escapes, one I can't hold back. Why do I always turn to her only when I’m not okay? She deserves so much better, even if she doesn’t want me as a friend.

"I'm sorry for calling so late..." I say between sniffles.

« It’s not late in Manchester " she replies calmly. "What's going on?"

"No... I—We’re halfway through the week... I- I should’ve called you much sooner," I murmur.

"It doesn’t matter, as long as you're okay. But you're not, are you?"

"I'm sorry for only talking to you when I need something," I say, choking up.

"Hey, that’s not true, and you know it."

"Yes, it is!" I cry out.

"Don’t raise your voice like that," she scolds me.

"S-sorry... I-I shouldn’t have."

She sighs long and hard, making me cry even harder. I feel so pathetic. I shouldn’t have called her now. I couldn’t even talk to Mapi, so there’s no way I’d be able to do it with Lucy either. I should've waited until I was more composed.

"Hey, Ona. I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to tell me something. Anything," she orders sternly.

"You don’t have the right to give me orders from afar," I say, managing a weak smile.

I joke to lighten the mood. I hear her laugh, which warms my heart. I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand and tighten my jacket, remembering I’m wearing hers. I couldn't find one that suited me when we were at the mall. I guess it’s because I’m already too attached to this one.

"I have every right over you. Have you forgotten?"

"It seems I have," I murmur.

"Enough joking... You didn’t call for no reason, did you?"

I groan, shaking my head. I feel foolish now that she's voicing the truth. I would've hung up a long time ago if I were her.

"Come on, spill it. You wouldn’t have called if you didn’t need to."

I rest my head on my arm, thinking for a moment. I do need this, that’s for sure, but how do I say it without breaking down completely? A silence falls between us that neither of us breaks. She’s waiting for an answer.

"It’s her..." I finally whisper.

"Her? You’ll have to be clearer if you want me to understand anything," she chuckles.

"Feli, my ex, the junkie. S-she’s the one who drugged me the other night. W-We ran into her with Mapi, and she admitted it. I—"

"Hey, calm down. Why are you reacting like this? Isn’t this supposed to be good news?" she asks. "It proves it wasn’t you who did it. That’s what you wanted to know, right? I think it’s a good thing. You didn’t relapse on your own."

How does she manage to find something positive in this mess?! I’m tearing my hair out, tormented. I know she's trying to reassure me, but she’d change her tune if she knew how seeing him again affected me. She can't know because she doesn’t know what he put me through.

"Well... If you say so..."

"Come on, dry your tears. You look so much cuter with a smile on your face."

She’s really trying to cheer me up. I smile timidly and run my fingers under my eyes to wipe away the black streaks of makeup that have probably run.

"So, how’s your vacation going, besides all that?" she suddenly changes the subject.

"Good... I’m enjoying it like you advised me to. And you?"

"Same here. I’m seeing my family and leaving for Portugal early tomorrow morning for a few days."

"You’re so lucky. I wish I could go back there too..."

"I can imagine. How’s Mapi? Is she doing better?"

"Yeah, she’s okay. We’re spending all our days together."

"Do you already have plans for New Year’s?"

"Yeah, I’m heading back to Manchester early. Leah and Alessia are hosting a party at their place."

"Oh. So Mapi agreed then."

"Yeah, it’ll be good for her to get a change of scenery. It was either that or we’d spend the night alone at my place."

"I see," she laughs. "That wouldn’t be the worst thing either."

"For you, maybe, but definitely not for Mapi. She’s never experienced anything like that at home."

"That’s a shame. Do you already know where you’ll be staying before school starts again?"

I stay silent. Honestly, I haven’t thought about it. Lucy laughs heartily. I hide my smile, rubbing my cheeks against the sleeves of my jacket. Damn. I’ve missed hearing her laugh so much.

"You haven’t thought about it, have you?"

"Not really, no," I admit with flushed cheeks. "I guess I’ll try to negotiate a spot with the Leah and Alessia, and if they can’t put me up, I’ll get a hotel room."

"A hotel?" she scoffs. "Don’t be silly. If you really have nowhere to stay, let me know, okay?"

"Oh no, don’t worry. I’ll manage."

"I’m serious. I’m not going to let you stay on the streets. Knowing you, you’d get lost."

"Ha ha ha, very funny!" I laugh sarcastically.

"It’s true," she giggles. "By the way, where are you? I can hear cars passing by."

"In the street, outside," I say with a smile, knowing how she’ll react.

"Excuse me?"

I can picture her frowning with a stern look on her face. Why am I still smiling like an idiot? Lucy must have this effect on me.

"I’m in the street, outside a bar," I repeat.

My smile widens even more. She’s definitely going to scold me. I start an unconscious countdown in my head. I reach zero just as she raises her voice through the phone.

"You’ve got to be kidding me!"

"No."

"Oh, so let me get this straight. One bad moment, and you’re ready to get wasted? If that’s your plan, you’d better head home!"

"Relax, I’m not alone. Mapi’s with me."

"And that’s supposed to make me feel better?" she grumbles. "She was with you last time too!"

I laugh, realizing she’s right. That night, she left me for her girlfriend, and she wasn’t in any better shape than I was. I don’t think Lucy noticed when she had her on the phone. If she had, she wouldn’t have trusted her to get me home. One thing I know is that I did the right thing by calling her. Without her, I would’ve ended the night with a brain in pieces.

"I’m with two other friends. I don’t intend to drink. If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting on the curb talking to you. I’d be inside drinking."

"Hmm," she says, skeptical. "You’d better text me every five minutes to update me on your sobriety once this call is over."

"If you want," I say with a smile. "Aren’t you going out tonight?"

"No. I have to get up early, so I’m enjoying a quiet evening in my apartment."

"Oh, I’m bothering you then."

"Don’t be ridiculous. I’m happy to talk to you."

"Oh really...? Me too," I admit. "I never thought I’d miss your bossy attitude this much. I keep thinking about what you’d say when I’m in an awkward situation," I chuckle.

"It’s been a while since you’ve called me that. I hope you’re at least listening to that little voice if you’re hearing it."

I hold back a laugh. If she knew all the trouble Mapi has gotten me into... I’d end up doing more than just laps.

"Come on, you have to tell me all the nonsense you’ve been up to now."

I finally laugh softly. My long silence must have given me away.

"No, it’s better not to."

There’s a silver lining to the distance after all. She can’t reach me, let alone intimidate me with her eyes and gestures.

"I’m not kidding. If you come back as that little kid from the very beginning, you’re going to hear from me."

"Hey!" I exclaim, offended. "That girl is long gone."

"Hmm, she’d better be."

I jump when a hand lands on my shoulder. I look up to see that it’s just Mapi. She’s leaning her head to the side with a small smile. I relax my muscles and timidly return her smile.

"Feeling better? You seemed really upset when you came out."

"Yeah... I’m feeling better," I reassure her without taking the phone from my ear.

"Who’s on the phone? Is it the person who managed to bring that smile back to your face?"

"Hmm," I shrug. "It’s Bronze."

I instantly regret being honest when I see a dreamy smile appear on her lips. I’ve just fueled her imagination. Those mental movies of hers won’t be going away anytime soon

- "Hey, I thought I told you not to use my name anymore," comments Lucy through my phone with a hint of playfulness.

- "I'll call you whatever I want!"

- "What does your boss want?" asks Mapi.

- "Nothing. How's your hand?" I ask, noticing an ice pack on her fist.

- "Hurts, but it was worth it," she giggles.

Both of them start talking at the same time, as if they're having a conversation with each other even though they can't hear each other. I don't know where to turn my head. I can't even decipher their words. I groan as I run my hand over my eyes.

- "For heaven's sake, shut up!" I groan.

I open my eyes again when the silence finally falls. I glance at my best friend, who is staring at me with wide eyes.

- "Thank you," I sigh. "How's your hand?" I finally ask Mapi, noticing the ice pack on her fist again.

- "Hurts, but it was worth it," she giggles.

- "Thanks again..."

- "It's normal," she smiles softly. "Well, I'm going home. Don't stay out too late."

I nod as I watch her go back inside. I groan, massaging my temples. I hope she won't be too upset with me for raising my voice.

- "You guys just gave me a headache."

- "At least now you know how it feels when you drive me crazy," Lucy giggles.

- "Are you kidding? I've never yelled in your ears, and I'm not that crazy!"

- "Oh yes, you were! At least, you used to be," she giggles. "You still have your moments, but now I find it adorable as long as you don't overdo it."

- "Oh, come on," I mumble, hiding my blush.

- "The worst was during exam revision when you wouldn't let anyone say anything to you."

- "Hey! Sometimes it was worth it, I was right!"

- "It only happened once!"

- "Once, but that question was on the exam! Believe me, I answered it correctly."

- "Well, good for you, if you can remember things like that."

- "Yeah."

- "Okay, I'm going to let you go; you must be expected. Enjoy your evening, but not too much."

- "Already?"

I have a hard time hiding my disappointment. I would have preferred to spend the evening talking to her. Am I crazy for wanting that?

- "Yes," she laughs. "Enjoy your time with your friends. We'll have plenty of time to talk when you get back. And don't forget to moderate, or even avoid alcohol, okay?"

- "I'm twenty, Luce. I can moderate myself."

- "Hmm, you never know.The past proved me wrong."

- "Not here. Do you have Snapchat?"

- "Snapchat? Why are you asking?"

- "If you give it to me, I could send you pictures of my drinks to make sure I'm not drinking."

- "Of course," she laughs. "Even if you send me a picture of a soda, who’s to say you haven't mixed it with vodka? I'd need to smell the drink instead, don't you think?"

- "As far as I know, there's no app that can do that yet."

- "You're silly," she giggles. "Okay, I'm letting you go. Don't forget I want texts. I wouldn't want you to do something stupid again."

- "I promise. Goodnight, Lucy."

- "Goodnight to you too, Ona. Don't stay out too late."

I put away my phone after we hang up. Now that I'm alone again, all my thoughts come flooding back. I sigh as I stand up. I pat my jeans to get rid of any dirt that might have clung to them. My butt is cold now from sitting on the ground. That wasn't very smart of me. I look at my phone, which is already vibrating. I smile when I see the handle, which I guess is her Snapchat: LBronze22. Wow, I can't believe it! I didn't expect to get it. My request was just a joke. I could know her whole life if she posts stories regularly. Then again, it's not impossible that she might block me too. I add her immediately on the app, then I head back inside. They're talking about the couples that formed among the people who were with us in high school. The room goes quiet when I sit down.

- "Don't stop on my account," I say.

- "How are you feeling?" Miller asks me.

- "Better. I just needed to step out."

I catch Mapi's smug smile, which I quickly avoid. She can smile all she wants because I do feel better thanks to Lucy. Thinking of her, I decide to kick off the fun by sending her a picture of my glass of soda. I caption it saying it's my one and only drink. I also take the initiative to write her a message, as she asked me to do regularly. I force myself to join the conversation to reassure my friends. I ask about some people I liked back then. The evening continues here for another good hour. I kept texting Lucy discreetly so as not to attract Mapi's attention. We decide to leave the bar around half past midnight. When I told Lucy, she seemed happy that I was being reasonable for once. Our last message exchange happens just as Miller drops us off at my place. We wished each other goodnight. I didn't want to bother her any longer, and besides, I planned to go to bed once I was in my room. I go to the bathroom first, then I join Mapi. Unlike the past few nights, it's Mapi's turn to hold me as we sleep. That's why I adore her. I don't need to talk or pretend with her. She knows me too well for that. Luckily for me, sleep caught up with me before I reached the point of insomnia.