#perhaps maybe I'm not the only one feeling like that? I can't stand it because it hurts too much and I'm not ready to experience it again

[rjthirsty]

Bound Forever

Gilbert/Reader Roderic/Reader

Words: 2k

CW: Major Character Death. Angst. Tragedy. Grief. Smut. Route Spoilers.

A/N: @scummy-writes did a piece on Gilbert dying called Normalcy Bias that inspired this piece. We've spoken at length about our Gil headcanons, and I admire her as a writer, so I wanted to give myself a chance to mimic the depth of emotion I read in her works. I'm honestly hoping to cause some tears with this.

Gilbert had disappeared again.

It was always terrifying when he vanished, because you knew the only reason he had for leaving without saying a word - he was unwell. Like a wounded or sick animal, Gil removed himself from the palace to find a place he could rest until either he felt better or he perished. Thankfully he had always returned, but you still hated every time he left, feeling helpless and worried sick that you might not see him again.

Walter knew before you did. He always knew when Gil left, but he wasn't allowed to say anything. That, in itself, was a giveaway on why you couldn't find your husband. Just looking at Walter these days answered the question for you since you had danced this routine enough times to know when Gil had told him to keep things from you. Today, Walter refused to make eye contact with you when you visited his office in the medical ward, pretending like he didn't see you enter. You didn't even need to ask. That was enough.

Roderic knew, though he didn't know where Gil ran off to, or even if it was the same location each time. Walter was likely the only one who truly knew where Gil was. Roderic was painfully aware whenever Gilbert disappeared, scared that his master - his friend - would never return. Since you became a part of their lives, Roderic would stay with you on those long days that Gil vanished and the two of you would hold hands and try to keep each other's minds off the possibility. Neither of you wanted to voice that possibility.

As night fell, the black castle felt darker and more hollow without Gilbert's presence. Alone in your shared room, you restlessly waited for your husband's return. Some absences would span a few days, some only a few hours. Today turned to tomorrow, and a sleepless night passed you by with still no word from him.

Another day with Roderic for company. Another attempt to keep your thoughts from spiraling to the worst case. Perhaps baking would help. Gil could return to an abundance of sweets and maybe, just maybe he'll understand how hard it is for you when he goes off like this.

Another dusk leaving you alone with your fears for company in your shared room. Another sleepless night. Another morning that looks more gray than the previous. Three days was the longest he had ever spent away. It had only been two. There was still hope he would return, though that hope was a candle in the fury of a storm right now, barely keeping lit.

“You need to sleep.” Walter scolded.

“I want to see him as soon as he comes home.” It was a silly reason to keep yourself from sleeping, but even if you attempted to rest, you'd be haunted by the thought of him dying somewhere alone. He was alone right now. Alone and sick.

“I'll wake you when he gets back.” Roderic offered.

You're tired. A short rest would be good for you, but… “I'm scared.”

The tears start falling as you hug yourself. Walter looks away, cursing Gilbert for putting you through this. Roderic watches you, unable to offer any assurances. He's scared, too.

Laying on the large bed you share with your husband, it feels so cold and empty. The sunshine doesn't touch here even with the curtains opened. Your pillow is wet from your tears. You can't seem to quell them.

“I'll be right outside,” Roderic promises.

What good would that do? You're still alone in this large room. Exhaustion weighs your eyelids down until you fall into darkness.

You wake into darkness. The large windows are filled with the night sky. The room has no candles nor lamps lit. A shadow stands near the bed, far enough that his presence is hidden but the dull, midnight light from the sky beyond the windows outlines his form. His black hair shines like obsidian and you draw in a sharp breath.

“Gil?” You whisper his name, fearful that the slightest noise would wake you from this dream and he would fade away like an apparition.

He doesn't answer. He's not really there. Again tears well in your eyes and stream down your cheeks.

“Don't cry, Little Rabbit.” He steps towards the bed, out of the shadows. “Did you miss me that much?”

His red eye gleams from the starlight. His smile is perfectly placed. Now that he's closer you can see the layers he's wearing, still in his cloak, he must have just arrived. You glance towards the door, wondering why Roderic didn't wake you. The closed door gives no answers, though it is clearly late so perhaps he went to bed.

Throwing the blankets off, you jump out of bed and run to your love. You throw your arms around him and nuzzle into his chest and the tears come faster. “Yes, I missed you that much!”

Shakily drawing in breaths between your outpouring of feelings and the sobs you try to swallow down, you continue as you cling to him. “Everytime you leave like that I don't know if I'm ever going to see you again! It's been three days! I thought the worst and I couldn't sleep and you can't keep doing this to me!”

Slowly, Gil's arms wrap and you. Gently, he rubs circles on your back to soothe you. He leans down to softly drop a warm kiss to your forehead. He has no words to comfort you. He makes no promises. He never does.

“That was the last time.”

Except, this time he does.

He's warm in your arms.

You draw back as the horrible realization hits you. Looking up into his single red eye that holds more emotions than Gil ever expressed, you take a step backwards. Shaking your head as if it would do any good to convince yourself this wasn't happening, you back up another step.

“No no no. No. Please. No!” A third step has you stumbling into the bed, falling onto it. You can't even feel your legs anymore.

The man posing as Gilbert slowly came closer. The man who hadn't woke you on your husband's return, because he had never returned. Roderic delicately cups your jaw. Warm hands. He wipes your tears, even as new ones fall. Warm fingers. He speaks in such a sweet voice. A voice you love. “It's alright, Little Rabbit. You won't have to miss me ever again.”

Grief so deep you never thought possible drowns your heart and sobs wrack you. Warm lips kiss your eyes as your pain pours out.

Somehow he was on the bed next to you and you fall against his shoulder. Warm arms hold you close.

He murmurs words of affection and hushes soothing encouragement. And when your sobs finally die down to hiccups and gasps and shuddering breaths, you find a handkerchief already in hand to help clean your face. He guides you through the movements you are too numb to manage on your own.

His lips touch the corner of your mouth. Dazed, you turn towards him and your husband's face looks so forlorn. Fingers touch below your chin, lifting it for lips once again to touch yours. So soft. A slow blink from you and you find your voice.

“Roderic–”

“Gil.” He corrects, and the offer is so tempting.

You knew this was always the plan. You hoped it would be a long time from now, and you had pushed it from your mind. But the time has come and now… it would be so easy to close your eyes and pretend it was all a bad dream.

“Gil.” You repeat, your eyelids falling close.

“That's right, Little Rabbit.”

It's his voice that gusts across your lips. 

A nibble on your bottom lip and a longing sigh rises from your throat. It's his teeth that catches you, so familiar in pain and pleasure.

His tongue touches yours and you can almost believe that he's still there with you. Your mouths move together, chasing the memory of the man you love through clumsy movements that aren't quite right.

It hurts so much. Your chest aches and head throbs and you just want to forget. 

Fingers find clasps, and pull ties, and brush clothing from both of your bodies. Were they yours or his? Does it matter?

Teeth sink into flesh and tongue soothes the pain and your body responds to the training you've endured to appreciate the way his love feels on you. Marks blossom on your skin from his mouth that burns too hot.

Your eyes burn, tears forming between eyelids squeezed tight.

Your chest burns, bleeding out from the inside.

Your groin burns, desire whispering sweetly that if you just let go it'll be alright.

Think of him.

Think of him.

It hurts so, so much.

Your fingers tangle in his hair. His fingers push inside of you. You cry out his name as he rubs along your inner walls, exploring you for the first time, finding the places that cause you to buck into his hand and whimper and moan.

He learns quickly. He has always known.

New overlaps with old as your husband touches on memories from times before. Building that sweet ache in the pit of your belly. Causing your cunt to throb and drip making lewd sounds that your lusty moans overshadow.

You're on your back and he's over you. When did you lie down? He pulls his fingers out of you and you whimper in frustration. You were so close to covering the hurt in your heart with the pleasure of climax and he snatched it away.

He's gone.

A single sob breaks between your gasping breaths. Tears brim again between your closed eyelids. They fall hot, so hot down the sides of your face. You're empty. Alone.

His cock touches your wet folds and you crack your eyes to see your lover with damp lashes. He looks away and buries his face in your neck as he buries his cock inside of you. Your back arches and thighs cling to his hips, as he clings to you with strong arms and roaming hands.

He pumps into you and you can't help but rock with him to squeeze and drag and churn his dick inside of you. Fingers digging into his back. Nails biting skin. He gasps and whimpers and moans near your ear. You love to hear him. His teeth dig into you. It hurts so good.

You're not alone. Your voice grows louder. He's relentless. Pounding your sex and knocking every moan out of you. Biting you again, and again, and again. Your cunt clenching tight as the pressure in your pelvis reaches a tipping point.

His thrusts turn too eager. His rhythm lopes out of pace. But you're so, so close! Please! Just– “Ah! Gil!” His hot hands grip your hips and he slams into you finding his rhythm again and he moans and heat and orgasm and shivers and spasms snap through you.

Your thoughts go blank, flooded with relief from the throbbing from before. Euphoria washes over you, wave after wave as your cunt continues to clench sending another crashing over you, then another. Gil slowed down his pumping to ride out the squeezing milking his cock. And just as you finally thought you were coming to the end of your climax, Gil thrusts deeper, his pelvis flush against yours, trying to push further still as he spills his seed into you.

You gasp. He breathes heavily on top of you. You hold him pressed against you– too hot. So hot. He's stifling. He clings to you. He needs you to smother his own pain. Pain you understand because the both of you share it. Pain neither of you can ever talk about.

He's gone. The two of you are together but his absence in this room you share with your husband is felt, as if there was a void that could never be filled. You hold each other, your hearts bleeding for the same person. Silent tears will be shed and it hurts. So. So. Much.

[eldrichthingy]

I really... physically, like literally can't handle Astarion's good ending and I do love it, but I hate how it makes me feel so much pain I can't believe it. That scene when he kills Cazador is so fucking heavy yet yes, catharsic and beautiful, but it's so fucking heavy I could handle seeing it only ONE time and swore that I'll never repeat it again. That's just my own opinion, it breaks my heart and it's truly so well-written, but I hate seeing it. I hate the ending where he's forced to return to living in shadow, I hate when he burns on sun and I hate how companions (mostly) say something rather.. jokingly? I hate how the moment after he finally has true freedom, he's forced to not see the colours of life ever again (untill, of course, the cure is found). Especially in his own origin non-ascended ending. It seems even more... tragic. There are so many moments in this route that just... make me burst into tears. For me, this ending is much heavier and heartbreaking than ascendant one. It's so hard to process for me. Which might be a reason why I prefer ascended Astarion much more - because I don't have to see, experience all that and feel like my heart have been shattered to thousand pieces. For sure, it's very... satisfying? But I personally can't stand it for this simple reason: it's painful. And I'm hurting- like, badly.

[mirohlayo]

🍓❝ you know i love and care about you, right? ❞ with lando <3

LET ME SHOW YOU

( maybe you're insecure, but that will never bother Lando, since it's a way to remind you how much he loves you. )

warning : insecurities, fluff

word count : 1.1k

You're not the type to be jealous or insecure. Especially not about your boyfriend. You trust him with all your heart, you can never blame him for anything because he is simply perfect. Adorable and perfect.

And yet, here you are in this situation. It had become usual for everyone now, to see Lando alongside beautiful models. Pretty women, with perfect and angelic faces, elegant posture and careful gestures. Even more so when he was partying.

You didn't see any problem with it. Since after all, Lando always made you feel like the most beautiful woman, Lando always reassured you that he only had eyes for you. And you know, you can't deny a fact that is true.

But seeing him constantly surrounded by these models was perhaps something that saddened you today. So, you locked yourself in your hotel room, while Lando continued to test the car on the track. He asked you about your health, if you were okay, but you just said you were tired.

Sometimes you would glance at Instagram, instantly regretting opening the app the second different posts of Lando alongside these girls popped up. You couldn't stand this.

It's probably toxic and unhealthy, but you can't help but feel insecure. After all, who wouldn't want a rich and handsome Formula 1 driver? Especially when that meme man is a lovable personality.

The day passed slowly. You heard the distant sound of the Formula 1 engines, thinking of Lando who was driving one of them. You regretted the moment he returned to the hotel. You didn't want to appear so weak and insecure in front of him, knowing that this isn't the first time you've talked about it.

But yet, despite your complexes, despite the fact that you felt apart, Lando was always there to comfort you about your relationship.

“Hello, sweetheart.” The day is over, since you yourself are surprised to see Lando standing in front of you. You try as best you can to come back to reality, giving your lover a weak smile. “Ooh my baby, I missed you so much”. His body collapses onto yours, as he nestles his head in the crook of your neck.

You delicately stroke his curly hair, while he snuggles a little closer to you. “I missed you too, Lan.” “Of course you missed me, you stayed at the hotel all day.” A silence settles in, you didn't really know what to answer. You didn't want to tell him about your insecurities.

"Sorry. I don't like leaving you alone on the track." He lifts his head slightly, just enough for his eyes to meet yours. "Don't apologize, baby. You needed some rest." His lips press against yours, gently, delicately.

You already feel better, just from this simple kiss. It's unfair the way he manages to console you, to comfort you just by his simple presence. "I've been thinking about you all day. Even when I was in the car." His voice is muffled since his face is still hidden in the crook of your neck.

Still, it makes you smile. “You can’t do without me Lando.” You giggle slowly, while you feel a smile appear on his face. "Absolutely, I'm obsessed with you. Maybe a little too much... Fuck, I love you so much princess." A soft laugh escapes his throat as his arms wrap a little tighter around you.

But these words are enough to make you cry. Of joy, of sadness? You don't really know, but on the other hand you know that Lando's sincerity is the source of your tears. Because even without being aware of your insecurities, he manages to make them go away. To chase them away.

He always knew how to make you feel special and unique, make you feel his. Through his words and actions, he always showed only love and tenderness towards you. And even without talking about your problems, he manages to solve them with a snap of his fingers, thanks to his way of showing his affection.

Your wet tears fall on his hair, running down his neck. He senses that something is wrong, and suddenly raises his head to look at you. His face falls as he searches your face and your gaze for an answer.

"Oh my baby. Why are you crying?" He sweeps the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, cupping your face in the process. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your sobs. His lips place soft, long kisses on your face, while he gives you time to find your words.

“Take your time, princess. I’m here with you, I won’t leave.” You smile weakly at him as your tears fall once again. "I know it's childish, Lan but-" "Hey, don't ever say that again. Your problems aren't childish, you have the right to feel how you feel." He cuts you off, an expression of displeasure displayed on his face.

You nod slowly, sniffling otherwise. "I'm just... it annoys me a little to see you surrounded by pretty girls and models. I know we've talked about this before and it's something I need to work on with myself... “He encourages you to continue, gently caressing your cheeks.

"But I still feel a little insecure about it. I know you love me and I trust you, but sometimes it makes me insecure. I'm just afraid you'll find someone better than me." Lando's lips seem to curl down, to the point where his face resembles that of a puppy.

“Oh my baby girl.” He doesn't wait a second before kissing you languorously, his hands anchored on your cheeks, caressing them ever so gently. He pulls back, a soothing smile plastered on his lips. "How could I find anyone better than you? You are the very definition of the girl of my dreams."

You can't help but roll your eyes as a smile takes over. Which makes Lando smile more. “I only have you in my thoughts, my dreams and my heart. Only you my girl”. He kisses you lightly again, not being able to stop himself from smiling.

His eyes admire you as if you were the most beautiful thing on earth. Which is totally the case for him. “You know I love and care about you, right?” He leans down again to kiss the tip of your nose, as you nod eagerly. “I love you so much, Lan. I’m so in love with you.” You can only say these words in a low whisper.

His eyes crinkle into another smile, a most affectionate smile. “Then let me show you how much I am in love with you too, pretty girl”. And without further ado, he doesn't hesitate to cover your entire face with thousands and thousands of kisses.

[luveline]

𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

When Eddie asks you on a date, you don’t believe it. He probably meant as friends, right? Spoiler alert — Eddie wants to be more than friends, and he’s willing to prove it. [4k]

fluff, slight hurt/comfort, fem!reader, plus-sized!reader, reader feels undesirable, kissing, obligatory ‘don’t be cruel’ scene, eddie calls you pretty like ten times, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie has one of those smiles that screams trouble. Every time he looks at you with that smile he might as well have "I'm gonna break your heart," written across his forehead in tandem. 

You sneak a glance at him across the atrium. Eddie’s paused bussing tables to talk to a patron, his customer service voice in play with a matching smile. It isn't the one you mean, but it's bad enough to make you flush red-hot. You cross your arms over the bar, regret it for its stickiness, and let your head rest against the crook of your elbow. 

You've been working together for a long time now, almost six months, and he's your favourite coworker hands down. He cleans up after himself, he brings snacks that you never accept (lest you look like the greedy chubby girl you worry everyone expects you to be), and he talks to you like a real person.

It's horrifying and it's not fair, but being fat means that sometimes guys don’t want to look at you. They don't want to be in the same room with you, and you can tell; they avert their eyes, or simply don't talk to you directly.

You've never had that feeling with Eddie. He meets your eyes, unflinching, and he sends you one of those pretty smiles and you think Fuck, because he should've been a movie star, he has the cheekbones for it, or a rockstar like that band he's always raving about. He'd have a slim LA girl on both arms, no doubt about it. 

He likely wouldn't waste his time with you. 

Not someone pretty as he is. Sometimes he'll lean over and expose the flat stretch of his stomach, his v-lines and the dark trail of hair peeking above his jeans, and you feel acutely miserable 'cause you know you'll never get to touch him. Workplace crushes suck. 

"Hey, are you okay?" a voice asks, a hand dropping against your shoulder. 

You pull yourself up quickly. Speak of the devil, Eddie stands beside you with his hair tied away from his face. He looks more entertained than concerned, his smile unfortunately genuine. 

"I'm fine," you say, stepping back. His hand falls away from your shoulder. "Sorry, just tired." 

Eddie leans into your space, squinting. You freeze up, but he's only checking the time on the clock behind you. "Gotta tough it out. Still an hour and a half 'til closing." 

Which means there's more than two hours of your shift left. Your face must show how unexciting that is —Eddie laughs, warm and quiet, and gives your hand a squeeze. 

"You'll live," he promises. "Are you busy tonight? Maybe we could go get pizza or something." 

"What, nobody else is available?" you ask. 

His head juts back a touch, put upon shock. "And why can't I ask you? I like you and I like pizza, that's a good combination. And even if you don't like me that much, you like pizza, right?" 

You know —you know, you do— that Eddie doesn't mean it as a slight. This isn't some thinly veiled insult on how you look. Why wouldn't you like pizza? Most people do, but his comment twists itself into an evil inky ball in your chest anyways, thick and hot as tar. 

You shake it off. 

"Who says I don't like you?" you ask, steering the conversation away from food altogether. 

His smile gets somehow better, which is to say worse. You're being punished for something, a childhood wrongdoing or a future crime, perhaps. Nothing else could warrant the mental torture that is being so close to him while he looks the way he does. 

"Good. Good, then we should get pizza. It's a date," he says, nodding. 

Morgan the shift manager calls for him to stop distracting you, though the Hideout is abandoned tonight, and there's nothing to distract you from. Eddie stands at full height, with a soldier's salute. "Yes, sir. No more lollygagging." He turns to you when you laugh, and you share a secret smile. 

He and Morgan disappear into the back of house. If you strain your ears, you can hear Eddie complaining about having to keep his hair in a bun, as it's totally against what he stands for, dude, it's stifling his self expression. 

"Count yourself lucky I don't make you wear a hair net, kid," Morgan says.

You turn back to your sticky bar, numb. It's a date? Did he mean, like, an actual date? A romantic date? 

Not a chance in hell. It's a colloquialism. Nothing more. 

Despite yourself, you stare into the silver reflection of a beer tap and try to liven up. You fix your hair, check your teeth, dig a lip balm out of your apron pocket and scratch the corners of your mouth just in case. The entire time you're heckling yourself about delusions. Eddie Munson doesn't like you. He's had a girl come around once or twice, and she'd been everything you're not: slender, confident. You'd wanted to dislike her, but she hadn't done anything wrong. There's no crime in being desirable. 

For the remainder of the night, you man the bar and serve the occasional patron. It's a Sunday night, so most stick to light beer or soft drinks. The live entertainment says goodnight and the Hideout empties like an opened floodgate. You clean the bar, Eddie buses the tables, and the kitchen staff turn on the radio and get to work cleaning. Soon, you can smell cigarette smoke and reheated mozzarella sticks. 

You wander into the kitchen to help. 

"Hi beautiful," Leon says, one of the cooks, "you want something to eat?" 

"No she does not!" Eddie says, helping the dishwasher Marcie with her last round of plates. Suds drip down to his rolled sleeves as he waves his hands around. "We're going to get pizza." 

"Yes!" Marcie says, delighted. 

"Where are we going?" Paul asks, another cook. 

"We," Eddie says, pointing at you and then himself, "are going to Marletto's. Yeah?" 

You startle when you realise he's asking you. "Oh, sure. Anywhere you want." 

His head bobs up and down, pleased. He goes back to his dishes. "Anywhere I want," he murmurs to Marcie, though he's saying it for everybody to hear, "hear that, Marc? I'm spoiled." 

You wipe down a few counters, label some leftover iceberg lettuce and put it back in the fridge. It's easy work, made better by the camaraderie of your coworkers, but you can't settle down. Your heart races at what's to come. "It's a date," is starting to feel less colloquial now Eddie's dissuading the other from joining you. That's how that works, right? He wants to be alone with you.

It might not mean anything. Maybe Eddie needs something from you he doesn't want the others to know about, like money. Maybe he wants girl advice, finally chasing that pretty girl who drops by sometimes. Or boy advice —there's a guy who comes around too, tall and blond and handsome. 

There's a logical solution. Any other girl would hear the word date and take it at face value, but you aren't them. You're you. You can't remember the last time somebody looked at you with desire in their eyes, if they ever have. High school was a shit show and work isn't exactly a hub for romance. Eddie joining the team here is the most excitement you've ever had in your life, for all his gentle squeezes and teasing elbows, his inside jokes and his tendency to burst into an air guitar solo at any given moment. He's a cheeseball, and you like him. It sucks. 

"Hi, are you ready?" he asks, coming out of nowhere. You're kneeling down near the lockers tying your shoelaces. 

It is a horrible position for him to see you in. You can't imagine what you look like, but you know it won't be pretty. You spring up with your shoelace untied still and smile weakly. "Yeah, I'm ready." 

"You need help with that?" he asks, eyes on your shoe. 

You burn with embarrassment. "I– no, I–" 

Eddie kneels down on the floor and reaches for your shoe. He ties it quickly in a double-knotted bunny-loop and pats the side of your ankle when he's done. When he looks up at you, you're in the middle of hoping a natural disaster will occur and put you out of your misery. 

He smiles at you from his position. Does he ever stop? 

"Cool," he says, standing up. He grabs his coat from his locker and doesn't bother closing it. "Let's go! I'm starving, man, Leon needs to mess up more often so I can steal the rejects." 

You follow him in a daze. Through the lockers and out of the kitchen, waving goodbye to the lingering closers and a grimacing Morgan. You aren't looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow. You're more than sure he'll have something to say about workplace fraternising and general dawdling. 

"You okay for us to take the van?" he asks. 

Eddie's given you rides home before, and what felt awkward before has lended itself to a familiarity. You nod your agreement and cross the small parking lot out back, your breath rising in the cold night air. 

Eddie pulls open the passenger door of his van with a strong-armed tug. 

"Been meaning to get the latch looked at. I'd rather it have trouble opening than trouble closing, though, so that's a plus." 

He waits for you to climb the short step and sit before he closes the door. 

“All limbs inside the ride?" he asks. 

You laugh. It comes out weird. You kind of sound like you're being held at gunpoint. 

Eddie gets in the van and makes small talk as he starts the engine and pulls her out of the lot. Your mind isn't there, exactly, or rather it's too close. You want to think about your answers but instead you're worrying about how you look while you say them. You're worried about the seat belt around your stomach, and the way you look from the side. Being around Eddie makes you more self-conscious than usual. 

Marletto's isn't the best pizza place in Hawkins but it's open until three AM. You and Eddie take the first empty booth you come across, and the agony of ordering in front of someone else begins. 

"Meat feast for me, obviously," he says, pulling off his jacket. 

The cracked vinyl seat beneath him crunches with his movement. You dedicate yourself to staying still. 

"I'll get a margarita," you say, glancing between him and the menu for his reaction.  

"Didn't take you for such a bore," he teases. "Drinks? Sides?" 

"Just water will be fine." 

"Are you sure? I'm paying. If you wanna take advantage of me, now's the time."

You shake your head, pushing your cold hands under your thighs. 

Eddie frowns. "If you're sure…" 

He gets up to track down the register. You sit there, wondering why you agreed to this, what possessed you, why you could ever think this was a good idea. You don't wanna eat in front of him, you don't know what to say, he's looking at you like everything's normal but this is so not normal, this is the opposite side of the spectrum. 

Eddie returns with your water and a coke, all smiles despite your clear nerves. 

He puts the drinks down and clambers into the seat with a leg folded underneath himself, his elbows halfway across the table. He looks you straight in the face. 

"That guy just looked at me like I was crazy. I'm hungry, sue me. Three orders of mozzarella sticks is a normal human thing to get, right?" 

"Three?" you ask. 

His hand reaches toward you. If your hand were there, he'd likely squeeze it roughly as he sometimes does, like a playful scolding. "I'm hungry," he repeats. "I didn't get any lunch on my lunch break. What's the point in that? Just sat down in the locker room thinking about it. It was actually worse than working." 

"You should've had Leon make you a burger. He's always offering." 

"Always offering you, maybe. The rest of us gotta fend for ourselves." 

"That's not true. He asks Marcie, too." 

"Yeah, well, Leon's a sucker for pretty girls." 

You look down at the table. 

"I got enough fries for both of us, I know you didn't want any sides but everyone wants fries. I won't be sharing the mozzarella sticks, so if you want some you better speak now." He raps the table with his knuckles. When you look up, his face softens. "Well, alright. Maybe I'll share them with you. I'm a sucker, too." 

"What's that mean?" 

"What?" 

"You know what," you say. 

Eddie crosses his arms across the table. His hands and arms are pale, the ink of his black tattoos stark. You could draw them without prompting, that's how often you've fallen into his trap. When he crosses his arms like this, his biceps bulge up a little bit, emphasising the pretty curves and ridges of his arms and the hints of greeny-blue veins hiding under his skin. He tilts his head toward his shoulder, his limp curls dragging against the table. 

"It means…" he says, holding your eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips, "that you're pretty. You're so pretty, I'd do anything you asked me to." 

You flinch. You pull your numb hands from under your thighs and cover your stomach with your forearms, glaring at the table between you thoughtlessly. 

"That's cruel." 

"What?" 

"That's cruel, Eddie. You're being mean," you mutter.

"I–" Eddie stammers. "What? I'm just trying to tell you how I think about you– how I feel. I'm sorry if you don't wanna hear it, I'm not trying to be mean." 

Hurt creeps into the lines of your face, your eyebrows pulled down and the starts pulled up, your lips pursed. Heat bursts in your throat as a molten lump takes shape there. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you have to. 

"I thought you were my friend," you say quietly. 

"I want to be more than that." 

"You're making fun of me." 

"No." 

Eddie reaches across the table again. There's nothing for him to grab so he spreads his fingers and presses his palm flat. He ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are ridiculously big, the black of his pupils blown and leaching into his dark irises until they're almost indistinguishable in the fuzzy lighting of the restaurant. 

"Come on," he says quietly, "when have I ever done that to you? I mess around, but I wouldn't say shit like that unless I meant it." His fingers lift off of the table. "I mean it. I think you're beautiful." His voice takes on a raw quality. 

You bite the tip of your tongue, fully frowning now. "I don't believe you," you say. 

"Why not?" he asks, frowning back. 

"Because I'm– I'm– I'm fat." You hate yourself for saying it out loud. 

People hate that word. Usually, if you admit to it, there's a rushed response. No, you're not. Pretty friends talk you down, loved ones wrap an arm around your shoulder and harp about puppy fat or big bones. 

Eddie doesn't do either. He sits back in his seat and smiles hesitantly. 

"Why's that a bad thing?" he asks. He shakes his head at himself. "I mean– I'm sorry, I should've said you aren't, you aren't–" 

"No, I am," you say. 

"You're so pretty," he says again, in a rush. "I don't care what size you are, I really don't. I just think you're beautiful and I wanted to ask you on a real date but I saw you and I couldn't wait anymore." He wraps his hand around the neck of his coke bottles and pulls it towards his chest. "Shit, I've made a huge fucking mess of it." 

You lean forward. Your body doesn't know what to do, the whiplash of hurt smothered by his enthusiastic, sincere compliments.

Why's that a bad thing? means more than anything else he said to you. 

"You really think I'm pretty?" you ask timidly. 

"Drop dead," he says. Hope flickers behind his eyes. "Morgan pulled me aside on my second week, you know that? Said if I didn't stop staring at you he'd put me in the back for the week." 

"He did put you in the back," you say, confused. 

"Exactly." 

Oh. You raise your head properly. Eddie's watching you, just you, obviously waiting for you to speak. The hope on his face is clear as day now, his lips parted, the tiniest peek of his tongue on display. 

"You promise you aren't messing with me?" you ask finally. 

"I promise." He holds his hand out, palm up. "I swear." 

Your heart a hummingbird, you take your hand from your waist and put it carefully in his. His fingers curl around yours like a prince, the tip of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles slowly, half an inch at a time. You exhale out of your nose as goosebumps race up your arm. 

He looks like he has more to say, but the pizza and all his sides arrive. You spring apart like teenagers, blood rushing in your ears. The server unloads his tray.

"Alright guys," he says, looking down at you both with a knowing smile. "Anything else I can get you while I'm here?" 

Eddie sneaks a look at you that holds way too much meaning. "No, I think we're alright." 

There's a tiny, awkward silence. You busy yourself with unfolding a napkin over your lap, not sure what to say to bridge the gap. 

Eddie takes the plunge. 

He slides a basket of mozzarella sticks at you. "Pretty girl privileges," he says.

You feel insecure eating in front of him, but the sheer ferocity of his compliments discourages any shame. He thinks you're pretty. He held your hand like it was made of glass and he got put in Hideout jail for staring. 

"I think you're handsome, too," you say. 

Eddie almost chokes on a handful of fries. "Shit," he says, swallowing roughly, hand thumping at his chest. "Thank god for that. I mean, of course you do. My devilish good looks are hard to resist." 

He's not wrong. 

—

Getting put on kitchen duty isn't half as bad as Morgan seems to think it is. Eddie kind of likes it, the noise, the chaos, the heat. Plus, he can steal fries hot and fresh out of the basket. He's only burned himself once. 

"What're you in for?" Leon asks him.

"Staring." 

"You're a freak, Munson, you know that?" 

Eddie shrugs. "If your girlfriend looked like mine, you'd stare too." 

"Uh-huh." Leon grabs up a spatula to flip a burger, pink meat down and brown side up. Fat sizzles dangerously. Neither man flinches. "She ain't going nowhere." 

"You don't know that. Some rockstar might blaze through here and snap her up. Who would I be to stop her? She should be a trophy wife, she's a stunner." 

"Christ," Marcie says from across the room. 

"How the fuck can you hear us?" Eddie asks. Over the sound of the overhead spray and the sizzle of the burners, Marcie must have superpowers or something. 

"Uh, 'cause you're fucking yelling," she says. 

Eddie looks to Leon for some defence, but Leon agrees. "You are super loud." 

"You would be too–"

"If I had a girlfriend as pretty as yours," Leon says, audibly grouchy. "I know." 

"Don't be jealous that I got there first." 

"How is this fair? You get in trouble and I'm the one punished." 

Eddie blows a big breath out of the corner of his mouth, one of his shorter curls dancing away from his warm face. Ridiculous. They're all awful, and jealous, and nobody wants him to be happy. "Losers," he mumbles. 

He's kidding, mostly. He knows that everyone is actually very happy for the both of you. How could they not be? Eddie's happier than ever and you've turned to mush. It's his favourite thing in the world. 

He thought you were pretty before. These days, you're gold dust incarnate. You see him and smile like you've been waiting for him, no more nervousness (which, he found out, was down to a raging crush on him) (he walked on air for days), no more shying away from his touch. Eddie puts a hand on your shoulder and you don't tense; you melt. Butter in the sun. 

It's glorious. 

And sure, Eddie ends up in the brig a lot. He 'hovers' apparently. So what? He'll say it again, if any of these guys were in his shoes, they'd fall victim to the same compulsion. 

He waits for an opportunity to arise, four dinner tickets and a dishwasher disaster, and sneaks away as silently as he can manage, creeping out of the kitchen and to the bar. You're busy pouring a beer and don't notice him until the customer's left and he's wrapping an arm around your waist. 

"Eddie," you scold lightly, leaning forward to accommodate his weight against your back, "come on. You might actually lose your job." 

"They can't fire me. I'm the best bus boy ever." 

You turn your face to look at him. Eddie wants to put you on TV, you look that sweet. 

"No, you're awful, you," —Eddie interrupts you, leaning down for a quick chaste kiss— "distract me, and you," —he steals a second— "don't actually bus tables when you should," you finish, disjointed. 

He brings his hand to your soft cheek, stroking a badly behaved baby hair back into place. You go lax like he's some kind of quick fix drug, and your eyes contain a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He covers his heart with his hand. 

"You're awful," you murmur. 

He takes your face into both hands slowly. One cups your cheek, and the other slides behind your ear. He pulls your face forward and down toward his chin, his lips by your ear. You smell amazing. His eyes close on instinct.

"A little. It's not my fault. You're just–" 

"So pretty?" you ask. "Yeah, you've told me." 

"I have, have I? Have to let me tell you again." He kisses the skin before your ear, more a press of his lips than anything. "You're beautiful," he mouths. 

You shiver, but ultimately end up planting your hands against his chest and ushering him away from you. 

"Stop it. I mean it! We're in public, at work, and you're gonna mess me up." 

"I want to mess you up," he says easily. 

"I know you do." 

Eddie sighs, agonised, but heeds your warning. "Alright," he says, squeezing your shoulder in goodbye. You smile and squeeze his elbow in return. It's your new thing, silent conversation in fond touches. 

He's a couple of feet away when the urge to turn back is too much. He jogs back to your side, gets his hand behind your neck, and kisses you with enough pressure that your lips part underneath his in shock. He adores the side of your neck with his thumb one sweeping stroke at a time, his nose digging sliding against yours as he inches in further, and further. The dizzy pleasure of your lips can't be understated. Eddie fights back a kiss-ruining smile with all he's worth. 

"Sorry," he says, pulling back. Your lips shine and you blink, dazed. "Sorry," he says again, leaning in to kiss them dry. 

You laugh quietly, a breath against his cheek, and he's a goner, dropping pecks all over your pretty face until you're giggling and sinking into his arms. 

"I really am sorry." He punctuates with a kiss under your jaw. 

"No," you say breathlessly. Your hand twines loosely in his hair. "You're not." 

No, he isn't. He's never felt less sorry for anything in his life. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please consider reblogging, it helps more than you know!! <3 

[the-modern-typewriter]

Can i get an immortal villain×mortal hero please please please🥺

I'll give you my croissants 🥐🥐🥐

"How would you like to die?" the villain asked. Their eyes were closed where they sat upon a park bench, head tipped back to the cool breeze and the clear blue sky.

The hero stopped, a little uncertain, but not exactly startled.

"I've tried every kind of death," the villain said. "I can make a recommendation if you prefer."

"I'm not going to die."

The villain's lips twisted - a smile, of sorts. "All mortals die. It is the linchpin of their condition."

"I won't die because of you."

The villain's smile broadened. "Drowning, perhaps. Or maybe suffocation. I don't want to disturb the ducks."

"Why those in particular?"

The villain finally deigned to open their eyes at the question, considering the hero where they stood. The hero couldn't quite read the villain's expression, but their voice remained casual. "Everyone always thinks they can survive those ones. If they just thrash, just fight, hard enough. Then they go very still and very quiet when they realise they can't. You have time to realise what's going to happen to you, see."

"Nice to see you at least put thought into your craft."

"What can I say, I'm a sweetheart. You only get one death."

"But you don't."

"You've done some research. Not enough," the villain added, tipping their head, "seeing as you're still standing there talking to me. But some. Kudos. I guess we'll see if you're brave or stupid."

"I'm not trying to kill you."

"Contain me. Incapacitate me." The villain waved a dismissive hand. "You might save your generation, perhaps, if you get lucky. Are you feeling lucky?"

"I'm not trying to do that either."

"Oh?" The villain sat up a little, finally tuning in properly to the conversation. "Are you not a hero? You dress like one."

"I'm hoping to find a more peaceful, effective solution."

The villain slumped, bored, again. "Mm. This should be good."

"Because I have done my research," the hero said, taking another step closer. "You're immortal. You only kill people when they attack you or are in the way of you wanting something."

"As I said, I'm a sweetheart and a saint."

The hero's jaw tightened. The villain had slaughtered thousands across the decades after all. They were many things, and had lived many lives, but in none of them had they ever been a sweetheart or a saint.

"And what you want most," the hero ploughed on, "other than your comfortable life, is not to be bored. There's no end, after all. So you need distraction. Diversion. Something to make time a little less of of a prison."

The villain was silent for a long moment, watching the hero. "I take it back," they said, finally. "I'm going to drive a knife through your ribs. Nice and slow. You know it's much harder to die from a stab wound than people think? Often it's the blood loss that gets ya."

"And then what?"

The villain shrugged. "Feed the ducks. Go back to my book. Make Christmas lights out of your bones. The possibilities are endless!"

"Sounds lonely."

"You think you're the first to try this, don't you?"

"I think you haven't met me before."

"Maybe I will entertain myself with you," the villain said. "Maybe I'll destroy your life and the live of everyone you talk to from now on. That could be fun. It's been a while since I've been so personal a devil."

Despite themselves, the hero swallowed. Despite their resolve, they considered walking away. Just for a moment.

The villain pushed to their feet, tossing their paperback carelessly aside.

The hero squared their shoulders. They felt their suddenly-fragile feeling heart begin to race. They let the villain stop in front of them, they tried not to let out a desperate shudder as the villain's fingers wrapped around their throat.

"Pick an option," the villain said, caressing their pulse. "Lose air. Lose blood. Or lose everything, but get a few more years before you go. If you ask really nicely, I might even make it quick. "

The hero shifted. They passed through the villain's fingers as if it were nothing, as if the villain were nothing. A ghost. Untouchable.

When the villain turned, the hero sat on the bench the villain had vacated. They made a show of picking up the villain's book, willing their once-more solid fingers not to tremble.

The villain raised an eyebrow. "Phasing. Cute."

"I don't age when I'm in ghost mode. Any injuries I have heal. If someone kills me, I stay dead, presumably. I'm mortal, as you say, but..."

"Hard to kill."

"Hardest you'll find. Or does the challenge scare you?"

"Determined little martyr, aren't you?"

"Not like you have anything to lose experimenting. You have all the time in the world."

"You realise I don't have to honour any deal now that you've revealed your hand? I could just hunt you and continue hurting other people, especially now I know how much it bothers me."

"I'll disappear."

"I have all the time in the world. I'd find you eventually."

"I guess then I'd just vanish again, if you don't want to play ball."

"You really are just the cutest, aren't you?"

"Is that a yes?"

"Maybe." The villain held out a hand for their book. "I haven't decided. Buy me lunch. See if you can keep my interest for more than five minutes."

"Lunch."

"There's a new cafe I haven't tried. Apparently they make their own croissants."

"You want to go to lunch with me?"

"No, I want to go to lunch. All this talk of bloodshed is giving me the munchies! But I'm assuming you're currently planning to haunt me, so you may as well pay. Unless you want me to just...kill anyone who tries to charge me."

"No! No."

"That's what I thought. Great minds."

The hero pushed to their feet, as the villain had, tentatively offering them their book back. They weren't entirely sure if that encounter had gone well or not.

The villain smiled, full of teeth, eyes gleaming.

"For your sake, little hero, do try not to be boring."

And, so, they went for lunch.

[zedecksiew]

DECOLONISING D&D

In 2019, after seeing yet another round of alarmist discourse in Xwitter about how Dungeons & Dragons is FULL of COLONIALIST tropes and patterns, and needs to be revised, SCRUBBED of its PROBLEMATIC FILTH---I rage-tweeted this brainfart:

"Decolonising D&D"

I've seen this thread round the community, since. Humza K quotes it in Productive Scab-picking: On Oppressive Themes in Gaming. Prismatic Wasteland quotes it in Apolitical RPGs Don't Exist. Most recently, it was referenced in a 1999AD post about Western TTRPGs (an interesting discussion on its own merit; one that already has a counterpoint from Sandro / Fail Forward.)

If folks are still referring to it five years later, maybe I should give the thread a little more credit? Perhaps the fart miasma has crystalised into something concrete.

In the interest of record / saving this thought from the ephemerality of Xwitter, here is the text in full, properly paragraphed, and somewhat more cleanly expressed:

+++

"DECOLONISING D&D"

Firstly: saying "D&D is colonialist" is similar to saying: "the English language is colonialist".

If your method of decolonising RPGs is to abandon D&D---well, some folks abandon English; they don't want to work in the language of the coloniser. More power to them!

For those who want to continue using the "language" of D&D---

Going forth into the "wild hinterland" (as if this weren't somebody's homeland);

to "seek treasure" (as if this didn't belong to anybody);

and "slay monsters" (monsters to whom?)

Yeah. There's some problematic stuff here, and definitely these aspects should make more people uncomfortable.

But! I think it is an error to "decolonise D&D" by scrubbing such content from the game.

That feels like erasure; like an unwillingness to face history / context; like a way to appease one's own settler guilt.

Do you live in the West? Do you live in any Asian urban metropole? White or Person of Colour(tm)---you are already complicit in colonialist / capitalist (yes, of course they are inextricably linked) behaviour. (I can't speak for urban metropoles elsewhere, but I bet they are similar centres of extraction.)

Removing such patterns from the TTRPGs you play might let you feel better, at your game table. But won't change what you are.

I think it is more truthful and more useful NOT to avert one's eyes from D&D's colonialism.

The fact that going forth into the hinterland to seek treasure and slay monsters is a thing, and fucking fun, tells us valuable things about the shape and psychology of colonialism. Why conquistadors in the past did it; why liberal foreign policy, corporations, and post-colonial societies do it today.

Speaking personally:

I write stuff that evokes / deals with the context I'm in---Southeast Asia. An intrinsic part of that is looking at the ways colonial violence has happened to us---as well as the ways / reasons we now, supposedly free, perpetrate it on others.

A long chain of suffering. Heavy stuff.

I also write for people who want to have fun / kill monsters / pretend to be elves, of course. But for those people who want to consider serious stuff like colonialism: I offer no FIGHT THE POWER righteousness, no good feeling, no answers.

Only discomfort. Because the truth is uncomfortable.

Here's a screenshot of the Author's Note for Lorn Song of the Bachelor:

"Any text inspired by Southeast Asia has to reckon with colonialism ... This text presents a difficult situation; there are no easy solutions. "... If I offered a mechanical incentive for you to fight colonial invaders, you wouldn’t be making a moral decision, but a mercenary one. "The choice you face should echo ... the kind of calculus my grandparents faced."

I stand by that.

Also: might we be more precise and more careful about using the term "decolonising", please?

Here I quote Tuck and Yang's landmark and (sadly) still trenchant "Decolonization is not a metaphor":

"Decolonization brings about the repatriation of Indigenous land and life; it is not a metaphor for other things we want to do to improve our societies ..."

+++

Further Reading

So this post isn't just me reheating a hot take, here are some touchstone writings from around the TTRPG community about colonialism as a subject and mode of play in games:

+

"Jim Corbett was called upon to hunt down another fifty maneaters over the course of the next 35 years. Together, those tigers had killed over 2000 people, for much the same reasons as the Champawat Tiger - injury, desperation, starvation, and habitat loss. Would you look at that. The root cause was British colonialism."

D&D Doesn't Understand What Monsters Are from Throne of Salt

+

"Another effect of having colonizers in my setting would be giving players the opportunity to drive them away from the islands, their home. This maybe just be for the catharsis. After all, isn’t catharsis a big part of why we play roleplaying games?"

I’m Adding Colonizers To My Setting from Goobernut's Blog

+

"When you have a slime boy and the other characters are a really fat lizard and one's playing Humpty Dumpty, it completely shatters the straight-faced serious authoritarian illusion of race, and replaces it with complete fucking nonsense. I love the idea of proliferating the number and types of "races" into absurdity, to the point where the entire logical structure of it collapses in on itself and race as a category ceases to become coherent or meaningful in any sense."

Interview with Ava Islam - Designer of the RPG Errant from Ava Islam / The Lost Bay

+

"Perhaps most critically, the fundamental basis of power is not land or even money but manpower. That’s what local rulers fight over, and what Chinese commercial networks export, in return for unique island products. It’s what the European colonists really need (even if it’s not what they most desire). There is rich loot to be grabbed in the form of spices, Spanish silver, Indian gold, sea cucumbers (the Chinese love ’em), perfumes, dyes, cloth etc. so there’s ample opportunity for piracy, trade and smuggling, but the key to long-term success – the key to independent survival – is nakedly and unquestionably uniting people."

Counter-colonial Heistcrawl: previous high scores from Richard's Dystopian Pokeverse

+

"They worked their own land—which they dispossessed from American Indians—or became small shop owners or opportunistic gold diggers or bounty hunters or itinerant ranchers. To me, substituting these situations for one ruled by industrial monopoly ignores that the Wild West is a perfect example of how capitalism operates outside of (or prior to) mass industry, instead being composed of self-employers and self-sustainers."

Fantastic Detours - Frontier Scum from Traverse Fantasy / Bones of Contention

+

"... using the Western framing and D&D's baked-in imperialist and capitalist structure to get people earnestly participating in the experience of forming imperial power structures and the early roots of regional capitalism ... The PCs aren't the drifters on the train or the townsfolk watching with apprehension - they're the railroad itself."

An Arrow for the General: Confronting D&D-as-Western in the Kalahari from A Most Majestic Fly Whisk

+++

[30somethingautisticteacher]

The Dry Spell

It's fairly common knowledge that first responders work long shifts together, often 24 or 48 hours at a time. This kind of togetherness builds strong bonds and makes it nearly impossible to keep secrets. Which was why the entire station seemed to know that Buck and Tommy were in a bit of a dry spell right now.

Buck was in the locker room, changing after a particularly grueling shift. He didn't mean to start venting, but Hen had asked how things were going at home, and before he knew it, he was spilling his guts.

"I mean, it's been over 3 weeks," Buck said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "And yes, partially it's been us having opposite schedules, but it hasn't only been that. It's just...3 weeks. I'm starting to go crazy."

Hen nodded sympathetically, leaning against the lockers. "That's rough, Buckaroo. Have you talked to Tommy about it?"

Buck sighed, closing his locker with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. "I've tried, but every time I bring it up, something comes up. A call, Emmett needs something, one of us is too tired... It's like the universe is conspiring against us."

He lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one else was within earshot. "And the worst part? I'm turned on like, all the time now. It's getting ridiculous. Yesterday, I got distracted during dinner because Tommy reached across the table for the salt. The salt, Hen!"

Hen tried to suppress a smile, but failed. "Oh, Buck. You've got it bad."

"I know," Buck groaned. "It's like I'm a teenager again. I can't focus. Every little thing Tommy does is suddenly the hottest thing I've ever seen. This morning, he was just getting ready for his shift, putting on his flight suit, and I nearly lost it."

"Maybe you two need to schedule some alone time," Chimney chimed in as he walked into the locker room. "You know, make it a priority."

Buck flushed red. "Chim! How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know you're about to combust," Chimney teased. "Seriously though, Buck. Talk to your husband. I'm sure he's feeling it too."

Buck nodded, trying to ignore the embarrassment creeping up his neck. "Yeah, you're right. I just... I miss him, you know? Not just the physical stuff, but the intimacy, the connection. Though right now, I wouldn't say no to the physical stuff either." Suddenly, a thought occurred to him and a sly grin spread across his face. "Wait a minute, Chim. Does this mean you're offering to babysit Emmett?"

Chimney's eyes widened as he realized the implication of his advice. "I, uh..."

Hen burst out laughing. "Oh, he's got you there, Chim! You can't give advice without being willing to back it up."

Chimney sighed dramatically, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Fine, fine. Maddie and I can take Emmett for a night. But I don't want to hear any details, got it?"

Buck's face lit up. "Chim, you're a lifesaver! I promise, no details. Just... thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," Chimney waved him off, but he was smiling. Just make it count, Buckaroo."

Buck's blush deepened, but he couldn't wipe the grin off his face. Finally, a chance for some alone time with Tommy. Now he just had to make it through his shift without spontaneously combusting at the thought.

It took everything in Buck's power not to speed home. As soon as he walked through the door, he called out, "Tommy!"

"In the kitchen, babe," Tommy's voice replied.

Buck rushed into the kitchen, his eyes wild with excitement. "Pack Emmett a bag. We gotta go!"

Tommy turned from the stove, spatula in hand, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What? Slow down. What are you talking about?"

"Sex," Buck blurted out, his cheeks flushing. "Lots of sex. So much sex."

Tommy's eyebrows shot up, a bemused smile playing on his lips. "Interesting, but I'm still not sure I follow."

Buck took a deep breath, trying to calm himself enough to explain coherently. "Okay, so I may have been venting at work about our... dry spell. And Chimney offered to babysit Emmett for the night so we could have some alone time."

Understanding dawned on Tommy's face, followed quickly by a mischievous grin. "Oh, I see. And you're in such a hurry because...?"

"Because," Buck said, stepping closer to Tommy, his voice dropping low, "I've been going crazy thinking about you all day. Do you know how distracting you are? This morning, watching you put on your flight suit... I nearly lost it right there."

Tommy's eyes darkened with desire. "Is that so?" he murmured, setting down the spatula and wrapping his arms around Buck's waist.

"Mhmm," Buck hummed, leaning in for a kiss. "I've been imagining all the things I want to do to you once we're alone."

Just as their lips were about to meet, they heard the patter of little feet.

"Daddy! Papa!" Emmett's voice called out.

They broke apart, both chuckling but with heat still in their eyes. "I'll go pack his bag," Tommy said, pressing a quick kiss to Buck's cheek. "You go tell him he's having a sleepover with Aunt Maddie and Uncle Chim."

As Tommy headed upstairs, Buck called after him, "I'll text Maddie to pick him up. The sooner they get here..."

Tommy paused at the top of the stairs, throwing a smoldering look over his shoulder. "The sooner we can pick up where we left off."

Buck grinned, anticipation coursing through him. "Exactly."

As they separated to prepare for their evening, both men felt a surge of excitement. Buck quickly sent a text to Maddie, asking if they could pick Emmett up as soon as possible. Then he went to find their son, his mind already racing with thoughts of what the night would bring once they were alone.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Buck opened it to find Maddie, Chimney, and Jee-Yun.

"Uncle Buck!" Jee exclaimed, hugging his legs.

"Hey there, munchkin," Buck said, ruffling her hair. "Thanks for coming so quickly, guys."

Chimney raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on his face. "No problem. Wouldn't want to keep you waiting."

Buck felt his cheeks heat up, but before he could respond, Tommy appeared with Emmett and his overnight bag.

As they said their goodbyes to Emmett, promising to pick him up tomorrow afternoon, Buck and Tommy exchanged heated glances. The moment the door closed behind Maddie, Chimney, and the kids, Tommy turned to Buck, his eyes dark with desire.

"Now," Tommy said, his voice low and full of promise, "where were we?"

Buck lunged forward, capturing Tommy's lips in a searing kiss. Their bodies pressed together, and both men groaned at the contact, feeling the evidence of each other's arousal.

"Tommy," Buck gasped, breaking the kiss. "I need you. It's been too long."

Tommy's hands roamed Buck's back, pulling him even closer. "I know, baby. I've missed you too."

As they stumbled into their bedroom, Buck couldn't take his eyes off Tommy. The need to touch, to feel, to taste was overwhelming. Without breaking eye contact, Buck slowly sank to his knees in front of Tommy, his intentions clear.

Tommy's breath hitched, his eyes dark with desire. "Evan," he breathed, voice rough with want.

Buck's hands trembled as he reached for Tommy's belt. "Please," he murmured, "I need this. Need you."

Tommy cupped Buck's face gently, his touch a stark contrast to the urgency thrumming through both their bodies. "We've got all night, baby. Let's take our time, ok?"

Buck nodded, but didn't move from his position. The anticipation was electric, every nerve ending on fire. As Tommy's fingers carded through his hair, Buck leaned forward, ready to show his husband just how much he'd missed him.

They had hours ahead of them to reconnect, to relearn each other's bodies, to make up for lost time. And they intended to savor every moment.

[pockeymcmockey]

𝔚𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℭ𝔥𝔢𝔡𝔡𝔞𝔯 | ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

Synopsis: The events of Blood and Cheese but told by someone else.

Warnings: Angst, death, descriptions of decapitation, insinuated touching of inappropriate places on a child (not sexually).

Author's Note: Wanted to try writing in a new point of view to make it easier for readers to place themselves as the main character.

Aelys is fussing in his crib tonight. He senses something I cannot. The twist in my stomach is unnerving, but I cannot tell the difference if it is anxiety or the babe growing in it. I comfort him the only way I know how. Brushing an index finger down the bridge of his nose, cooing him silently back to slumber, plentiful in dreams, perhaps. A brother, or perhaps a sister will be born soon. I hope for a daughter but I suppose Aelys is fit for braids as well.

A jiggle at the bedchamber door. Has Aemond returned? The boy grows restless, I think he is afraid. Is it because of his father? No. I know why, now. My heart is racing. I'm afraid, too. This smell, a rancid stench that turns my stomach and I gag. He is hungry, not for food but for something else. For me? Will he defile me? He's holding a weapon. It's cutting at my skin and it stings, but the blood tickles as it runs to soak my clothes.

He's speaking, to me, I think. Does he want coin? Jewels, maybe. I have a ring from Mother. Would he want that? I can't hear him. What is pounding in my ear? Oh... It's my heart. Yes, I am definitely afraid. I want to protect my child. I have to. But I cannot move an inch, not unless I want to meet the Gods, Old and New. Oh, he's not alone. Are they ratcatchers? The bigger one looks like a ratcatcher.

"Does she look like a fuckin' son to you?" The big one is afraid, too. I can tell. A son. They are not here for me. Are they here for Aemond? He's not here. He's away. Flea Bottom, usually. They want a son. I have a son. They'll take him. My boy. I love my boy. I can't stop them, though.

"She's the prince's lady wife," the smaller one answered. His nose presses against my jaw and it's cold. He reeks. I can't stand the smell, I might empty my stomach. He whispers words to me. He wants me to tell him if the child is a boy. I should lie. But what if they check? They'll hurt me for my untruthfulness. I'm scared. They'll hurt my baby.

"It's a boy."

The big one is touching my boy. He knows now. He's going to hurt him. Anything. Anything but my sweet Aelys. "Please..." I think I'm crying. My cheeks feel wet and my eyes sting. I can't see very well either. They're blurry. "Don't take my boy." They're not listening. They didn't listen. The short one released me, he's walking to the crib.

The large one pulled something out of his bag. Is- I can't breathe. The squelching, the smell. I run. Run out of the room and down the corridors. My belly churns. My heart feels sad and cold. I don't like this feeling. I want it to stop. There's mother's door. Mother. And Ser Criston. I fall at the bed. Clinging to my unborn child. My chest hurts. It's my heart, I think.

"They killed the boy." I think I said it out loud but my ears ring too loudly for me to tell. I wish Aemond were here. He'll be angry. He'll burn someplace I think. He always burns things when he's angry. Mother's getting dressed. Ser Criston, too. I think they heard me. I don't want to go back. Mother said I should stay here. I will.

They've returned. It's been an hour. They said they've found Aelys' head. They took my boy's head. I'm crying again. I weep for my son. Aemond is home. He stands at the door looking at me. Just looking. I think he is sad too. His eye holds a tear unshed. Is he sorry? I hope not. I don't think I could forgive him if he was.

"Are you harmed?" He asks me. I nod but I cannot speak. I have no other words to say. I miss my lovely boy. He was beautiful like his father. He was kind. Aemond looks angry again. Not at me, I think. He's kneeling now. His touch is soft when he brushes my cheek. Oh, he's wiping my tears. He tells me to sleep. That he'll be back in the morning. I know he's going to hurt them. But I listen. I don't want to sleep on the bed. The floor is comfortable.

I don't remember falling asleep but I'm awake now. I want to see the aftermath. It's upsetting. It's also lonely. The crib is gone. They're building a new one for the babe. They'll be here soon. My belly is large. I don't want another child. I want Aelys. I'm being selfish. I like being selfish. Aemond is selfish. I was alone. He was with his mistress.

I care not for a child I know not.

How ironic. The sky is lovely this morrow. The wind blows stronger. The grass grows greener. And Aelys is... beautiful.

[yazmarina]

straight flush

zak o'sullivan (f2) x afab!reader

the triple header was hard on everyone, zak especially. it's a good thing you're there to make things better.

warnings/notes: smut, somnophilia, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fwb setup, creampie, breeding

a/n: hello everyone i am back with a present and yes I know it's zak again, he's just so fun to write and I'm obsessed (if that wasn't clear enough). this can be read as a continuation of this or just as a standalone. enjoy!

"Tough week?"

Zak merely hums as he sets his helmet down on the table in front of you. The ART tent is busy with post-race activity with team members bustling about. Victor passes by and flashes you a friendly smile just as you feel Zak sink into the seat beside you.

"Tough month," Zak admits, running a hand frustratedly through his hair. Your heart clenches when you see the deep creases in between his brows.

"Triple headers are always hard," you offer, laying a reassuring hand on Zak's knee. He glances up at you and his face immediately softens, his shoulders sagging as if your touch had eased the tension in his body.

You've been with Zak all throughout the three consecutive races, going under the guise of being a supportive friend, but an unprompted, a-little-more-than-friendly encounter in Monaco after his win had left the two of you in a sort of limbo, hands wandering and lips finding each other in dark corners.

You thought it was a one-off thing. Maybe a two-off. Three times is enough, you said. Your conservative estimate now would be between five and ten.

Though, admittedly, you like having Zak's attention like this. In the weeks between Monaco and Barcelona, so intense was his yearning for you that he flew you out to Yonne just to see you during the days he'd be cooped up at the sim at headquarters. You'd flown out together to Spain and ART was gracious enough (or perhaps perceptive) to provide you with passes for the next few weeks.

And now, in rainy Silverstone, your hand finds its place once again in his.

Zak rests his arm on the backrest of your chair, his head tilting closer to yours. You feel him place a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Not here," you immediately whisper, swatting at Zak's thigh.

"What? Can't I kiss my partner around here?" Zak questions, leaning in once more. You pull away before he can even make contact.

"But I'm not your partner," you say, giving Zak a pointed look.

Zak shrugs. "They think you are."

"But I'm not," you repeat, voice dropping to a whisper. "That stuff is only reserved for the bedroom, remember?"

Zak chuckles, eyes glancing up for a moment as if recalling a fond memory.

"We didn't really do it in the bedroom in Monaco–ow!"

Your fingers pinch harshly at Zak's side, eyes widening threateningly at him. He sighs, taking your hand in his before planting a sweet kiss on your palm.

"Go on back to the hotel," Zak suggests. "I'll be there right after debrief."

"I hope you like it when I'm asleep because a nap sounds good right now," you respond teasingly before giving him a playful shove.

You stand up, grabbing Zak's shoulder firmly before walking out of the tent.

-

It turns out, in fact, that you really needed that nap.

You didn't even bother changing out of the dress you had on for the day as you slumped onto Zak's hotel bed. You felt bad for a split second, figuring that if you were this tired, then Zak must feel even worse. All was forgotten, however, when the heaviness of your eyelids took over.

Slowly emerging from your slumber now, the first thing you notice is the stillness in the room around you. It's the same as when you fell asleep but the walls are awash with the fading light of dusk streaming in from the large window opposite you. But a slight shift in the air alerts you more, the remnants of sleep fading away steadily.

You feel a warm touch travel up your exposed thigh, all the way under your dress, which had hiked up considerably in your sleep.

You inhale, shifting to your side, nearly fully awake now. Zak's face swims into view, his expression etched with mild concern as he eyes you. He's back in his team kit, phone in hand as if mid-scroll, his upper body propped up against the headboard. You glance down to see that his hand still rests on your thigh, large and rough against your supple skin.

"Slept well?" he asks, brushing some of your hair away from your face. You mumble an unintelligible version of 'yes' before sidling up to his side, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He smells as race day usually does–sweat, a hint of fuel, rubber, his perfume, hotel soap.

Zak chuckles and you feel the sound rumble through his body. You feel yourself drifting off again but you try to fight it, worrying that Zak might need you right now. A listening ear, perhaps, or a shoulder to cry on.

"Still tired, babe?" Zak asks, pulling you closer.

"A bit," you admit. You pull back slightly to look at him. "You should be the one resting, though."

Zak just smiles, leaning in. He kisses you firmly and you sigh, your arm weakly thrown around his neck.

"I'll rest in a bit," Zak whispers against your lips. "You should go back to sleep."

You blink, studying Zak's face for a moment. You're close to taking his advice, but you know he's itching for something and he's just too much of a gentleman to say so.

"You can...you know," you begin, reaching down to slowly undo the front buttons of your dress.

"While I'm asleep."

Zak visibly gulps, eyes going wide as he takes in what you're suggesting. You let your dress fall open, exposing your stomach and your chest. You let your eyes close again your hand lazily guiding Zak's in between your legs.

"Only if you want to, though," you add with a hint of a smirk.

"Are you sure?" Zak questions, voice low and quiet. You peek an eye open, giggling at how worried he looks.

"Yes. I trust you, Zak."

You close your eyes again and exhale, letting your breathing even out. You genuinely are still drowsy but you feel wetness pool between your legs at the anticipation of whether or not Zak is going to bite at your proposition.

Nothing happens for a few seconds and you're convinced Zak is going to refuse and the two of you will just nap until the early hours of the morning. But the bed sinks around you and you feel Zak's large hands smooth down your sides.

"Safe word is still Monaco," Zak whispers before kissing behind your ear. He makes his way down your neck and over your chest, pulling one of your bra's cups down to expose your aching nipple.

You sigh, teetering between wakefulness and sleep, as Zak suckles on your nub. His hand reaches down and slips expertly into your underwear, as he's done many times before. You groan as his fingers quickly find your clit, Zak now perfectly acquainted with your body.

The thought sends your heart thumping.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps, eyes fluttering as you keep them closed. You feel yourself get wetter and wetter as Zak rubs delicately over you, his tongue mimicking the movements on your teat.

"So pretty," Zak mumbles against your skin. "Can I use you, babe? Let me blow off some steam?"

You don't answer. Zak chuckles, pulling away. He yanks your open dress off your shoulders, maneuvering you around as he pries it completely off you. The next thing to go is your panties, tugged down impatiently, in such haste that they dangle almost pathetically on one of your legs.

Your eyes fly open when you feel your body flip over, your face smushed against the pillow and your arms splayed awkwardly. You whine helplessly, glancing back at Zak. His eyes are dark as he stares down at your motionless form, his hands working to undo his belt and zipper.

"Go back to sleep," Zak coaxes, pulling his bottoms down just enough to let his cock spring free. He leans down and kisses your forehead, a sigh escaping your lips as you close your eyes once more.

"Good girl," Zak whispers. He parts your legs and you feel him angle himself at your entrance. He pushes in halfway through and you let out a strangled moan, arching back into Zak's frame.

"Fuck," he mutters, grabbing your hips and sheathing all the way in. You slump forward, burying your face into the pillow as you accommodate the stretch between your legs.

Zak presses his weight down on you, effectively trapping you beneath him as he fucks you harshly. He grunts loudly in your ear, nearly animalistic in the way he moves. You let yourself get manhandled, limp as a ragdoll as Zak pulls you even closer against him, the desperation evident. He's angry, of course. Annoyed. Frustrated. The past three weeks have been hell for him, this weekend, especially. A home race to forget.

"Oh, sweetheart," Zak coos sweetly. "So good for me, letting me use you like this."

It's almost a crushing feeling in your chest with the way Zak has you pinned down, but you gasp and sigh and mewl, drooling all over the sheets, all the while your eyes are still closed.

"Z-Zak...," you manage to croak out.

"I know, baby, I know," he says through gritted teeth. "I'm almost there. Wanna cum in you so bad."

You whine in mock protest, making a move to grab at Zak's arm that's snaked around your torso. He holds you even tighter against him.

He doesn't let up in the slightest, slamming his hips down roughly against yours repeatedly. He's digging his nails into your hips now and you know for a fact that you'll wake up tomorrow bruised in several places. But you don't mind. Not when it feels this good to have Zak take his anger out on you.

"God, fuck–!"

Zak doesn't even finish speaking before he groans right in your ear, pressing further into you as he spills himself inside. You pant as the exhilaration in your chest comes to a boil, the feeling of Zak twitching and emptying himself in you turning you on even more.

You take in a big gulp of air as you feel the weight lift off you, Zak hastily rolling onto one side of the bed. A yawn escapes you as you blink the bleariness away from your eyes.

"Feel better?" You ask, reaching for Zak's hand.

He grins, so widely it makes you laugh. Zak squeezes your palm, pressing a long, tender kiss to the top of your head.

"Always better when I'm with you."

[zerobaselove]

light in the dark | kim gyuvin

pairing: gyuvin x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 763

warnings: none. lowercase intended, not proofread

notes: im back!! hopefully pretty permanently. but i wanted to pick a random request to get me back in the zone a little so here we go,, i'm a little rusty so sorry everyone </3 i love you all lots i hope you're doing well!!

you were tired, exhausted even. so tired in fact, that you were sure the second your head hit the pillow your eyes would shut and you'd be on the ride to dreamland. oh how wrong you were.

the first half hour laying in darkness wasn't too bad, telling yourself maybe if you just laid there still for another few minutes that you would finally slip into a peaceful sleep. the half hour of that, not so fun. there was only so much tossing and turning you could too, only so many positions you could lay in in an attempt to finally get some rest.

the apartment you shared with your best friend was quiet, almost too quiet, and it was starting to get to you.

maybe i'll just get a drink of water. you thought to yourself as you hauled yourself out of bed, quietly slipping out of your bedroom and past your roommates door just across the hall. gyuvin shouldn't have to lose sleep just because you are, right?

you must have spaced out drinking your glass of water, trying to convince yourself that you could just lay down and fall asleep, because the voice emerging from the darkness nearly made your soul leave your body.

"you're still awake?" he called out quietly, the sound still amplified in your nearly empty apartment, the sleeping world outside only making everything feel that much louder. you let out a tired huff, "gyuvin you nearly gave me a heart attack," you took a second to steady your heartbeat, "but i could ask you the same, what're you doing up?"

he only shrugged as he walked closer, leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen. his hair was messily laid across his forehead, dark circles found themselves under his eyes. even his shirt was all twisted around his tall frame, the small light on the counter made the collarbone peaking out from his oversized shirt more apparent... not that it mattered, obviously.

"go back to bed gyu, you look exhausted." you gave a small smile, bringing your hand up to fix the mop of hair on his head. only to have his hand grab yours gently, "you're the one who can't sleep," his usual goofy tone was gone, replaced with a soft, perhaps caring cadence. "don't think i didn't hear you kicking your blankets off the bed." a smile spread across his lips, despite the obvious concern for your wellbeing this evening.

you didn't know what to say other than mutter a brief apology for the disturbance, maybe you could've come up with something better, something more intelligible had the time not been pushing 3 in the morning. but that wasn't the case.

"you don't have to apologize," he said simply, squeezing your hand that was still in his, now hanging beside your standing figures. "what can i do to help?"

a moment of silence passed as you considered the options, considered what truly would help; you had no idea.

gyuvin seemed to take the silence as an answer in itself, simply tugging you back into your bedroom, hushing your protests about leaving the cup out on the counter. that's a tomorrow problem, he insisted.

he only let go of your hand for a moment to rearrange the blankets on your bed, picking up the ones that had been kicked off earlier in the night. he lightly hit the pillows in an attempt to fluff them, before hopping into your bed himself.

with his arms open he muttered a soft, "your turn." and before you could question him, he was grabbing your hand and dragging you into your own bed beside him, whether you liked it or not. but you were too tired to argue, and his embrace was too warm and inviting to resist, especially now.

his breathing so close to you would usually have you ready to playfully smack him, but like this? you could get used to this. it was safe. he was safe.

maybe it was the soft hands through your hair or the warm hand against your waist, but you felt yourself drifting off easier than before, and maybe it was just that sleepy haze that made you just that much more sentimental. "thank you gyuvin," you mumbled, breathing in the lingering scent of his body wash, "for everything, i love you."

you had started to drift off right as the words left your mouth, but you could've sworn you heard the boy mumble back as he pressed a kiss to your head. "i love you too y/n."

[sugar-omi]

WAITTT but imagine if cove and mc can actually get out the door to their dinner date w/o dropping everything to fuck!! i fear at the restaurant cove would be an absolute menace of a tease the entire time, pleading w/ you to let him touch you cuz this man just wants you SOOO BAD YOU LOOK SO GOOD HOW CAN HE NOT?-$’ wit

or he’s like super whiny about it all, he just wants out of here so he can touch on you without repercussions dudes practically BEGGINGGG for yall to go home cuz he’s just sooo hard he can’t stand it OH EM GEE MOOTIE

bonus points yall end up doing at the restaurant YK WHAT IM SAYIN AHHH

jfc I think abt that way too much!!! and while the thought is so tantalizing, so arousing that it makes you fucking sick with need. it'd be so dangerous to fuck cove in a public place

you know he can't be quiet. and he's laying pipe so well, working your body so well that it'd be impossible for you to stay quiet too...

before either of you give in, his desire for you is so obvious to everyone. you'd sit at the table, and cove would move his chair so he's sitting next to you instead of in front of you, and while you're trying to browse the menu, he's shaking his leg... then watching you impatiently as you decide on your order.

"cove... knock it off." you hiss, gripping his traveling hand on your thigh.

"i'm sorry.. you jus look so good right now..." he purrs, nuzzling his nose under your ear, his lips placing fluttering kisses along your jaw.

it's a good thing the restaurant is dark, one of those fancy, lowlit romantic restaurants that may or may not have any business being this expensive depending on how good the food is.

he barely pulls himself together long enough for the waiter to take your order and leave.

while you're waiting, there's a bit of small talk between you. maybe you're on a well-deserved vacation and raving about the activities he planned for you two earlier that day, or how boring work was and that you looked forward to this date so much. that you missed him..

and he just looks so in love, leaning in his elbow, watching you with those heart eyes.

but when you aren't looking, his eyes are trailing over you, along your collarbone, following the lines of your body and expanse of your pretty skin, perhaps your necklaces twinkling in the candle light, until his eyes find your chest, biting his lip as he imagines what's underneath.

because you know he watched you get ready, saw you take a long time in the bath until you smelt good and looked even better, than helped you put on lotion, any jewelry, "helped" you do your hair or makeup by hugging your waist and kissing your neck.

watched you pull on all your clothes. he knows what underwear is underneath that outfit, and while he loves it on you. he wants it on the floor, with your legs on his shoulders, and he wants to go down on you until you're squirming, crying even. and only then will he--

has to break out of it when the food comes. forces a smile and a polite thank you even though his jeans are getting tight, and his mind is hazing with lust. wanting nothing more than to bend you over the table...

he stuffs down this overbearing lust long enough for you two to eat. but you can't even get the last bite in your mouth before he's leaning into you again, his big hand on your thigh, gripping and squeezing the flesh. [his hand high up your skirt] it's like his body heat is marking you. a simple touch from him as your body flaring up, squirming and squeezing your thighs as he brushes his fingers against your clothed sex...

"please.. i wanna be close to you, and you look so sexy tonight..." he pants right into your ear, sound desperate. out of breath. pleading.. "ion wanna wait until we get back.."

you tense, chewing your food as you try to hold your resolve. he's so enticing.. if it wasn't illegal, and perhaps too embarrassing for the both of you. you'd take him right now.

"cove..." you try to ignore his kisses on your jaw and neck. your voice strained, and you can feel him smirk against your skin. "you're not gonna die if we don't fuck right now."

although you might if he doesn't get his hand off your sex, his fingers stroking your clit through the fabric / his palm groping your filling bulge.

"i might." he grins widely, mischievously. you can even hear the teasing tilt in his voice but you can't focus on it, or his cockiness, when he bites down lightly on your skin.

removes your hand from your face when you stifle your moan, your cheeks hot and eyes cut at him. the restaurant is full, and while everyone seems to be focused on their food or business, you're in public.

but everything melts in the face of those sweet blue eyes, so wide and deep like the ocean, dark waves pulling you under when he pulls you into a kiss, his lips addictive on your tongue.

he kisses you like he's putting a spell on you, and he probably is, probably has because you've been with him for over 10 years, known each other for longer. you can't get enough of him, ever.

and you always find yourself rolling along with his tricks. because when he pulls away, your heart breaks. you want him. wanna feel his touch and his hot skin, his moans in your ear and his hands pulling you into him, drawing his name from the depths of your chest in a cry of escatsy.

"okay..." you breathe out, lips parting, wet and trembling. you're a mess from a simple kiss, although his teasing hand under the table has a lot to do with it..

you sneak away after asking the waiter for dessert, hoping that the recent ask will at least let them stay off your trail even though you might not be at the table once it comes.

you can't even bring yourself to care that much, because cove's hands are pulling up your clothes and tugging down your bottoms..

he wouldn't be above going down on you right here and now either, especially if you don't protest. and if you're afab, don't worry about sitting your ass on the questionable sink or toilet, just throw your leg over his shoulder and let him hold up your weight. just spread your legs, hold your skirt or shirt up, and lean forward for him...

that's too long though. i need a separate post for that...

he finally sinks into you. don't ask me if he has a condom on hand, that's up to you... but I also like to imagine him fucking you so well, so desperately, the sex has your mind spiralling at the thrill of possibly being caught, being heard.

and on top of that, having to go back to the table with his cum stuffed into your bullied insides, his cum hot and sticky and you have to make sure no cum was left on the floor, embarrassingly, shyly wiping up your mess. wiping up the line of cum running down your shaky thighs.

and now you have to sit and squirm while eating your dessert, his cum pooling in your undies and you're so paranoid about leaving any spots on your clothes. maybe it's just the anxiety talking, but you feel like everyone knows. you feel like the waiter can see through you, and when you walk out you worry that everyone knows something..

anyway anyway...

my whole point is, cove would be so loud. really, you're playing a dangerous game here.

because he tries to be quiet he really does.. he thrusts in and out so slowly... almost like you're making love for the first time again.

but he can't put up with this, you grinding back into him isn't enough, your butt meeting him in the middle with a muffled clap from his clothes in between to muffle the sound..

it's not enough. the strategic maneuvers of your hips isn't good enough, he needs to feel you tight and hot around him, your load moans bouncing off these walls and your strangled cries for more as he fucks you harder and harder against this wall.

he knows it's animalistic. he isn't usually so fucking horny, so desperate. so feral. but he just needs more, needs to scratch that deep itch and climb impossible highs together.

mumbles something, you can't hear. not when he speaks so lowly and you can still hear the hustle and bustle outside, your ears seemingly stuffed with cotton.

"ah-!" you cry so pretty, and cove's groan echos off the wall. this is bad, you're too noisy. the audible plap plap plap of his thrusts echo off the tiles and you can't catch the moans and whimpers that slip out, and even with cove gritting his teeth, he still curses and groans, his gravely voice purring out praises.

if someone got close, they'd hear. in fact, maybe they can already. you don't know how thick these walls are, definitely not enough to hide the cries and groans and gumbled mantra of your man babbling about how good you feel, you're so pretty, so hot, so perfect. he loves you, loves you so much...

if he wasn't loud already, when he gets close you better kiss him, or stuff your fingers in his mouth, let him suck and drool all over the two digits, eyes lidded and fluttering, cheeks flushed as he inches closer n closer..

he'd be so receptive to your dirty talk too. go ahead and tell him how nasty it is he can't even wait to get home, how he's so needy and cute. say whatever you want, he's eating it up the entire time.

ohh and if you bring up someone listening, just for this i want him to like it. want him to tremble and burst with pleasure and need at the thought that's someone's listening to him fuck you, wish they were either one of you because your moans sound so pretty, the passion obviously hot from the other side of the door...

after cleaning up, you'd both all but run out of there. but even if cove laughs nervously, or acts shy, embarrassed. he can't hide his damn glow, or how happy he is with himself.

[adoregojo]

★- haunted by the trails of you.

a/n: here's some more angst i had in drafts and now I'm setting it free. wanted more pain but this what yall are getting for now d: (potentially getting a part two)

summary: their first anniversary without you, and you'd still be haunting them. !! gn reader!! characters: isagi, reo, rin. warnings: men. hurt/barely an comfort, the word 'vomit', blood mentions in rin's part, appear of other characters. perhaps heavy angst?

isagi: it was at his own home. for what he can fathom, isagi isn't considered as someone who's hooked on the past. at least that's what he pinned his head to. what had chronicles should've been a lesson, something that'll help him move forward, a memory that'll get him through to his feet again.

once the past had been written, there was no undoing. only exceptions and take the moral out of it.

sometimes isagi wished he had tugged on that enough as much as he tugged his heart to yours.

he was about to send himself a clout. has he learned nothing? why can't he draw a clear line without the ghost of you obsessing in every corner of his life? so instead, he botches his hair to untidy navy-blue locks flying out of place, mumbling cusses to none other than himself.

He bet he looked like a madman, uttering loathes undertone within every step upon a stair he took. He swore he spotted a middle aged lady covering her son's ears in horror. maybe he wasn't muttering as low as he thought.

it was saturday, in which isagi takes a day off to greet his parents from time to time. and he wasn't gonna cancel that over some feelings he might've got the wrong end of the stick about, it was probably just lingering lust and affection he had for you, but I'll past. clinging to the mere possibility and ignoring the ache that remains for too long than intended.

swirling the keys with his bare hands, isagi can view the frigid smoke of his breath appearing with every puff he let out. the tips of his fingers and knuckles were embarrassing standing out an angry shade of red, he forgot his gloves, again ,recalling: yoichi never really had to bat an eye when it comes to gloves. he'll even do it on purpose since you wouldn't think twice before launching yours to his frosty hands, while interlocking your hands with the other one.

now that he mentioned it, he always recollect how futile of an attempt it was. because the back of his hand will always remain polar, but at that time, it didn't carried a feather. he didn't really mind freezing to death if it meant I'll be in your arms. then he'll die any day.

isagi remains stationary, until his forehead rests the irony of his house door. he didn't know if he was deeply disappointed in himself, or just drowned by the sweet bygone days. gabbling something about how an idiot he was before taking a deep lungful of air and finally opening the door.

flinging his shoes to gods knows where, at this state even his mother's berating wouldn't budge a bone in him, yeah, this is how bad it was.

to his astonishment, there were no trails of his parents. isagi called, shouting once, twice. and gave up on the third time. he jogs around to the kitchen era, like expected: a dangling note covering some plate, informing him that they went out and they'll be back before dinner. 

isagi just let out a defeated sigh, an obvious pessimistic wave looming over him. he was genuinely hoping to spend a family-time right away, and something to divert him away from the wraith of you.

a part of him wondered, what answer could he hand his parents, breaking the fact that you two were no longer together. his parents always loved you, adored you even. they'd definitely be shattered, he'll just muddle it by saying that you two drew apart till an ultimate downfall drilled up a hole in your relationship, leading to a break up. they’ll buy it, right?

blindly, isagi carried out the plat, slamming it flatly against the wooden table of the living room. making himself comfortable on the couch that held on the glimpse of his childhood, it was a pleasant to be at home again, and one of a great distraction.

he needed it.. anything to sway him away from the remainder of what name of this day earned..

from the corner of his eye, he spotted a second note. scoffing at himself isagi gets a grasp on it, living on the thought it might've been his parents requesting him to do chores, or just asking him to take extra care of himself. 

isagi consulted it, even when a part of him begged him not to.

‘dear, yocchan. we really hope you'll be the one to read this, but if not! hello yoichi’s partner, that's quite embarrassing if you're reading this hahaha. but anyway, we figured that today is your two anniversary, isn't that just great? We remember just yesterday they were being introduced to us for the first time. What a good time to be alive, but anyway. There's some surprise cake for the two of you to share! Happy anniversary, you lovebirds.- your mother (in law).”

‘don't get too carried away please! - your father (in law).”

isagi flouts, bitterly. so sorely that all the rock-hard grip of his hand went straight to poor paper, ripping it apart to fall into small chunks. the stomach-bug swirl, not the one with the butterflies plopping in the depths of his stomach, swarming with to define a new level of bliss. but a disgusting ache of venom mobbing, making him want to vomit in an instant. 

if it wasn't for his neighbors, isagi would've outcry his lungs out of frustration. but he wasn't on the field, where his anger planted. Now it's just a sad smile etching on his features. 

and maybe a drip of a few tears..

how long were you planning on haunting him for..

reo: he had to delete it.. for the longest period, reo had never been so glued on what he busted by his own hands, words and ego. he had no one to blame but himself, and yet no amount of strength that earth granted him, no matter how the sky have bore in tears gleaming the ground, a pool of agony cries pleading for him to do it.

all that and he’d still struggle to press the delete button. He just couldn't.

“man, just delete it already.” chigiri cried out, slamming his palms against the skin of his forehead. He was tired. and he wasn't even getting paid to deal with this shit.

“it's easier for you to say it, you don't get it.” reo sassed back, trudging inches away from the redhead who's eyes twitched in disbelief. 

nagi and chigiri一well, mostly chigiri, have been summoned by a cry for help from their shared friend. just for the end of the world to be him trying to delete the pictures and videos of you and him, his ex that lived in his head rent free. 

it was a wretched sight to see, his eyes were tearing up while scrolling through your memories together. chigiri一god’s greatest soldier, was really, really doing everything he can to encourage reo back on his feet. It was like helping a spineless creature to straighten up. 

it's quite impressive, he can use all his abilities on soccer pitches, give his best assists, be the heart, the mind and the soul of the field. Yet behind the plate was a completely different person, a hopeless guy curled up in a ball of your blanket that carried most of your left cologne, and sobbing till the sunrise. and today was a special show, he was absolutely shattered because your scent was slowly vanishing. 

all chigiri can do is pinch the bridge of his nose in foiling, “listen, how about we go out or something? there's a nearby place we can get lunch and-”

“they used to love that restaurant¦” reo whines, shoving his phone into the redhead face, it carried a picture of you smiling blissfully and unaware, cheeks rife with food. “they're.. cute, so cute it makes me want to die.” falling backwards on the silky duvet of the queen-sized bed. 

“Please don't, I still need my monthly allowance on genshin.” the one time nagi decided to finally say something, it had to be this. and chigiri never wanted to zip up someone's mouth so badly.

“you keep on stabbing yourself in the throat, you dumbass. if you can't do it then I'll do it for you.” stretching out his arm, opening up his palms for reo to hand over the phone and get this over with already.

in an instant, the phone was being embraced tightly to his chest, “no! I can do it myself, I just need some time," Chigiri just raised his hands in surrender, mumbling a quick ‘whatever’ as he jumped out the bed, leaving the extra space for his friend to grieve, alone.

it was a miracle that his tears still remain un-parched. Every photo he scroll through, the lump in his throat narrows painfully. clinching his lips upwards every time he crossed over while you were smiling, it hurts so good. He doesn't recognize whatever the knot in his stomach was reducing in sorrow or ecstatic.

he wasn't trashing any of those, he couldn't find it in his heart too. instead of criticizing himself of what he should've said to make you stay, what could've he done to swoon your heart instead of fleeting it. you'll keep on tip-toeing around his heartstrings and he'll let you without a charge.

he squeaked in his pillow, he just kept on bruising himself, torturing himself by the dim memory of what the two of you had once. something that not even money could regain or even soothe on. he yearned for one more kiss, one more embrace, one more chance to get a glimpse of you and he'll die a happy man, that's a lie, he'll misses you even after death.

he wished for you to come and haunt him, eat him to bits. but it was like he was the one haunting the crumbs of you.

on the middle of his groaning mess, an amber eyes staring sharply at him, his figure casting a shadow over his state. “here, drink up.” nonchalant, he handed him a random juice he ‘eeny, meeny’ his way to. reo accepted the drink, his arm sluggishly taking it. chigiri swore he was about to crack the glass over his head if he wouldn't stop this pitiful little act of his.

“why are you even this hardcore sad? you were never like this in the last weeks.”

“it's their anniversary, but not anymore I guess.” nagi shrugged, still too focused on the screen of his phone to pay the slightest amount of attention. turning a blind eye when reo flinches a bit at his truthful words 

“have anyone told you you're a terrible human being?” 

one sip, a second one. and his lilac eyes were watering for a million time. “they used to love this drink.” he whispered.

“i genuinely hope you choke on it.” 

rin: it got so bad, he talked to sae about it.. running a few years backwards, if you told the sixteen years old itoshi rin he'd be seeking his own deadbeat of a brother to vent he'd spit out in your face with no second thought.

and if he could, he would've. because rin was rethinking his life choices, taking a step back every second yet taking two ahead then comprehending once again. and now there was no going back, what was between him and the urgent fate was a wooden door. 

his hands buried deep in his pockets instead of making an attempt to knock. he found gazing at his pair of shoes much more entertaining. 

he didn't have it in his head to think straight, not when you clouded over like an angry storm, all he can do is take it and let your teardrop roll down his face, or maybe they were his own tears, he couldn't savvy it. 

after a deep lungful of air, rin thrust his forward, just an inch away, only to stop briskly. sae? really? just how desperate is he? very. he come to cuss himself for counting you as the one and only person he apostrophizes with. if only he’d listen when you would rant about him approving his social skills, he should've listened instead plugging his ears. He wished he listened to a lot of things you said..

in a rush, the door unlocked in a swift. almost making him funk backwards, unraveling the sight of his older brother, standing unimpressed. and before rin could speak a word, sae took the lead. 

“you know I could see your shadow casting under my doorstep, right?” 

Rin clicks his tongue in annoyance, and when he doesn't reply, the reddish head moves to the side, and rin steers his way in. shutting the door behind him, sae jog away, letting him take off his shoes. not even a proper welcome, he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up.

the apartment was quite tidy, a strong aroma loomed underneath his nose. Despite that, it was awkwardly dull, not even ghosts would bother haunting it. rin takes a seat in a solo couch, fumbling his fingers in a bothersome way, the silence was a deadline, not anything he wasn't used to.

It was just the first time rin had come here, by himself. without an actual family required to stick to the back. 

or without you.

unintentionally, Rin's leg keeps thrusting. a bad habit of his when the tension gets thick. every passing second he berates himself even further, damn him for having only one path to seek solace in, for allowing only one soul to soothe over his frail heart, for authorizing only one embrace to delay him.

and damn you for carving open his heart. just to leave him to bleed.

the echoing steps of sae cut his strails of thoughts. settling down his cup of hot tea. rin raised a brow at the uncivil manner. “you didn't ask for one.” his brother shrugs calmly, oh he was driving him nuts with this unchanged attitude. 

breathe in, rin.

reverberating voice called, so he obeys. straighten his pouster. “I wanted to talk to you about something. it's important.” 

“I can tell. and your sidekick is nowhere to be found, did they finally ditch you?”

his hands clutching up in a makeshift ball, rin says nothing.

“oh, so they did?” sae blows a few times over the overheated cup, taking a sip then uttering something under his breath. “Well, that's unfortunate.” adding another cube of sugar as he retorted. 

rin only got something out of this, that his brother didn't give a single fuck. and it drove him to the edge.

“You can at least pretend that you care.”

“never said I didn't.”

“you didn't have to, it's fucking showing.” rin seethed, his clenched hand striking the table balance, making the sugar cubes fall out of place. his anger was collapsing even the sweetest floras.

that doesn't nuge sae the slightest, but makes him frowns his brows a bit, because he was the one who had to sweep that off later.

the tension was solid and bulky, and Rin refused to break eye contact with the equal hues. Daring him to say something, anything. Yet he took it as a challenge, like he always does. The only way he communicates with sae is by beating him, proving himself. He'll die on that hill, even if it killed him itself. even if it has killed you already.

he knew this was a stupid idea, he should've just rotted in bed, he should've kept on living in the repeated circle of misery. He should've just lived up with every rush of breeze rustling his mistakes over and over, where he could've sworn that it was your voice.

breath, rin.

he was fucking trying. 

“So what do you want me to do about it? be your wingman and pair you together again?” 

“or, you could just say nothing. listening is enough.”

after a moment of silence, sae shoulders ease up. a guster pointed for him to keep going. so rin dose, he rants and rants like he had the time of the world right in his palms. It was mostly about you, how you were something that became his everything, how he should've stopped you like he wanted to, how he let you be driven away like he always does, how he should've apologized like he was supposed to. 

blustring about ‘what the if’s’ and what would've happened if he just.. he loved you like you loved him.. if only he tried. he can't blame it on his immense ego, his lack of communication, the digged hole on his soul that you bleeded to fill, you gave all your flesh till there was nothing left but bones.

he could've rebuilt the broken pieces of your heart, but they were too sharp to hold. He bled within every one, he was bleeding to ashes, to nothingness. 

you loved till there was nothing left to love about you. you drained down the hill. not even his blood could fulfill you.

his voice would crack, a dust cloud blows over his eyes, yet sae would stare at him ever so flatly. if he even dares to say disappointment. disappointed that his younger brother was just a copy past of him. 

someone that kills everything he touches.

When rin has nothing left to say, sae stands up. reaching his pocket for a card that carries a name and a number. as the dark-head flipped the card between his fingers, blood-thirst eyes narrowed at him.

“a fucking therapist? are you fucking kidding me?"

“you clearly need one.”

“I don't, is this some kind of lukewarm joke?”

“stop being corny, I'm trying to help you here. if you aren't willing to let yourself feel the sense of loss, you can suit yourself out.”

and with that, sae turns his back to him. like he always does. climbing the stairs to his bedroom, leaving rin to reconsider where his actions have driven him, how beyond it threw it all. 

although, he’ll never let himself feel the sense of loss. never. He'd rather be haunted by you than be alone forever, he'll be a stray till you pick him up again.

lmao wrote this with nagi plushie watching me like a hawk

[phoward89]

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2:

White hot pain courses throughout your body as you lay on your stomach, on your small bed in the corner of the room. The room that was your bedroom, kitchen, and living room all in one cramped spot. Sitting on the bed next to you was Coryo.

He was washing your wounds, causing you to wince; let out sobs and whimpers since he wasn't very gentle.

“Stop whining, I'm almost done, darling.” Coryo told you with an edge to his baritone.

“It hurts, Coryo.” You cried, feeling like you just wanted to die- that's how much pain you're in.

And it seems that the asshole next to you, the peacekeeper responsible for your situation, isn't very empathetic despite claiming that he's your man now. Oh hell…how did this happen to you? Is your luck really that shitty?

“My friend, Sejanus, has some morphling for a bum knee. I'll find him; get some for you.” He told you, cleaning the last of your wounds. “Okay, pretty girl?”

“Okay.” You said, relieved that your tormenter (err new peacekeeper boyfriend?) was going to get you something for the pain.

“I'll get you some food too.” Coryo said while pulling your blanket on you, so that you wouldn't be cold. “Can't have my girl starving while she's hurt and healing, can I?” He rhetorically asked, standing up and taking the bowl with the bloody water and stained wash cloth over to the sink.

You heard the sound of the bowl clanking against the counter as he set it down. You also heard the sound of cabinets opening and closing as he looked for something in your sorry excuse for a kitchen. Curious about what he was doing, you turned your head only to see him taking your box of teabags out of the cabinet you stored them in. Oh, how nice of him. He's making you tea after he got you whipped; got your back torn to bloody shreds.

Oh yes, a cup of tea’s going to make everything all better. You'd rather have the morphling. You'd also rather be alone right now to wallow in your misery as well.

After leaving a cup of tea by your bedside and telling you to rest, Coriolanus left your apartment to go buy some groceries. After buying a bag of food, enough to feed the both of you for the week, he searched for Sejanus. Coriolanus was only seeking out the annoying district dog because you needed morphling; Sejanus was his only option to get it for you.

Well, that's not exactly true. Coriolanus can always acquire some from the local black market, but it'd cost him a fortune. Plus, he's not even sure that a morphling dealer would even sell to him considering he's wearing denim blue Peacekeeper fatigues. And he couldn't waste his time trying to haggle with some drug dealer, not when you're in desperate need of pain meds.

Oh, if only you didn't steal that apple; then Coriolanus would've never turned you in and you wouldn't be hurt. Why did you have to be so desperate? Couldn't you have just waited for him to approach you, to offer to buy you a treat of some sort?

Coriolanus knew that he'd have to teach you some patience. It is, after all, a very important virtue to have. He, in fact, is a very patient man. Perhaps that's why he was able to put up with all of your sobbing while cleaning up your bloody; shredded back. If he was a lesser man, he would've backhanded you and tossed you into the shower.

But, he's a patient man, so he'll deal with your bullshit in order to get what he wants. Oh, yea, and what he wants is you. You getting his dick wet more precisely. And also being the mother of his children, his wife, and his future First Lady since he finds you to be both beautiful and captivating.

He just has to teach you patience and maybe some manners too. At least you’re smart, or he thinks you are since you didn't try to run from him or beg your way out of your punishment.

So, when Coriolanus finally spots Sejanus (talking to some shady looking locals, of course) he jogs up to him- causing the sack of groceries slug over his shoulder to jostle around. “Sejanus, I need some of your morphling. My girl, Y/N, was whipped real bad this morning; I've been taking care of her since, but she's in pain- tear inducing pain.”

Of course, Coriolanus wasn't going to tell his friend that he's the one who turned you in; the one who got you whipped. Why would he? It wasn't any of Sejanus' business. He didn't need to know that tiny, insignificant detail. The district born dog didn't need to know everything about you and Coryo's life.

Sejanus' eyes went wide at his friend's words. He heard from a local rebel contact that a girl was stripped naked and badly whipped on the snow over an allegation of a stolen apple, one that she didn't have on her. But he didn't know that it was Coryo's girl that got whipped that morning.

“I heard about that, but I didn't know she was your girl, Coryo. Of course, I'll give you my morphling for her.” Sejanus told Coriolanus, sticking his hand in his pocket and quickly pulling out a bottle of morphling. Handing it over to the platinum blonde, he said, “If she needs anymore, just take it out of my lockbox.”

Yes! Score!

Coriolanus was ecstatic that he was able to manipulate stupid, sweet, do-gooder Sejanus into giving him some morphling. He wasn't expecting him to tell Coryo to wipe him out of his drug supply, but he's not going to turn that down.

No…

He's going to make good on that offer, snag up all of Sejanus' morphling so that you won't be in pain while you heal. You're just so pretty; Coriolanus hates the idea of you being in so much pain. And over something that could've been easily avoided too.

“Thank you, Sej. Really, I don't know what we'd do without your help.” Coryo told the dark haired peacekeeper, clasping him on the shoulder before taking off to get back to you.

You were half asleep (actually, you were half passed out from pain) whenever you heard the door creek open. Turning your head towards the door, you saw Coryo enter the small one-room apartment in the rundown tenant building you call home. A sack was slung over his shoulder.

Going over to the kitchen counter and setting down the sack, he announced, “I got us some groceries; got you the morphling from Sejanus too.”

Us? Since when does he live with you? Doesn't he live on base? Oh fucking hell…

As if he could hear your mental musings, he explained, “I'm trading days with some of my squad, taking their days off and then working for them, so I can spend some time here with you until you can get up; do for yourself.”, while unpacking the sack of groceries.

Great…

Just great…

Now he's dead set on staying with you, taking care of you til you're able to move around, and he's trading work days to do it. Oh by the gods, how the hell did this insane man find you? He's acting as if you're his lover, not some girl he turned in for punishment- for whipping.

Hell…

Why did you listen to Ashlie? You should've stayed home, in District 12. At least you wouldn't be dealing with delusional Private Coryo if you’d stayed in 12. God, you hate District 8 so much right now.

“Did you drink your tea?” Coryo asked, as if he really gave a fuck about your well-being, while grabbing some produce and putting them away in your small fridge.

“Some of it.” You answered right as a knock sounded at the door.

“You expecting anyone?” The platinum blonde demon of a man asked while going over to the door.

“No.” You simply told him, earning you a nod.

Coriolanus answered the door, only to be met with a petite young woman. “Are you here to see my girl, Y/N?” He asked the brunette, who was trying to look around his large frame and into the apartment.

“Your girl? She didn't mention taking up with a peacekeeper last time I saw her.” You heard Ashlie, your late brother's girlfriend that abandoned you after dragging you out here to this hellhole called 8, tell Coryo.

“Yes, well, it’s a fairly new development. But she's mine all the same.” Coryo told Ashlie in a diplomatic tone, a shit eating grin on his face.

He has power over you and like hell some ratty whore was going to poke and prod him about his relationship with you. It was none of her business that he just scooped you up today, literally.

“Send her away, Coryo.” You loudly ordered, since with didn't want to be bothered with Ashlie. Didn't she have better things to do, like live her new life with that rebel boyfriend of hers, then to check in on you? Not like she's been going out of her way to see you before you got hurt.

Looking between you and the door, Coryo simply nodded and, without warning, slammed the door shut in Ashlie's face. She tried to open it back up, but he threw his tall body against it- slamming it shut again and quickly locked the lock and placed the door chain in place.

Crossing the room, making a beeline towards your bed, Coriolanus asked, “Who was she, Y/N?”

“She used to be my brother's girl til he got blown up to bits during the summer when our rebel neighbor bombed the mines.” You explained to him as he pulled out a vial of morphling from his pocket.

Crouching down next to you, he popped the cork of the vial and tilted your chin up, only to pour the pain medicine down your throat. “Mines? But 8 doesn't have any mines.”

“Thank you.” You gratefully told Coryo as he set the empty vial to the side, next to your half empty teacup. “I'm originally from 12; just applied for a district transfer cause Ashlie couldn't handle her grief over Rein's death. She begged me to come here with her when word got out that a plague decreased their workforce; made district transfers available.” You explained, even tho you probably shouldn't be. He is a peacekeeper after all. And the one to get you whipped. But what harm is there in telling him your story? It's not like you have anyone anyways, you're an orphan- truly alone.

“I take it you're not on good terms with her.” Coryo said knowingly.

You're at the mercy of a delusional white-blonde peacekeeper. Thanks to Ashlie taking off. And any hope there was at repairing the sisterly friendship you once had flew out the window once you go whipped and became the the girl of some peacekeeper grunt- who's a hand short of a full deck.

“Not long after moving here she hooked up with some guy she met; left me all alone. So, yea, we're not on good terms.”

“I'm sorry she did that to you, darling. Family should never abandon family.” The blonde told you, lifting up your blanket to check on your wounds. “I'm here now, baby. You're my girl; I'll never let you be alone again.’ He promised, pressing a kiss to an unblemished part of your shoulder.

You didn't know what was worse. Being alone or being stuck with him. And something deep in your gut tells you that you'll never get rid of him. That he's worse than a tick on a bloodhound.

“Some of these lashes are deep. I can see some muscle and bone.” Coryo informed you. Well, that would explain why your back hurts like a bitch. At least the morphling he got you’s taking the edge off.

“You'll have to stitch me up, Coryo, or else I could get an infection and die.” You honestly told the peacekeeper, since the last thing you wanted was to get gangrene or sepsis. You really didn't want to get stuck going to the rundown public district hospital. You didn't have money for that, plus you heard some horror stories from coworkers at the peacekeeper uniform plant about the hospital.

No thank you, you'll take your chances at home with the devil.

“Don't talk like that, my darling. I'm not going to let you die; I'm going to take care of you.” Coryo said, petting your hair and pressing a soft kiss on your cheek before leaving your side to go find your sewing kit in order to stitch you up.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @twinkletwinklenotastar @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @shellybellysstuff @zombicupcake3

[skywerse]

AVA FERIN MIGHT STILL BE ALIVE

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS IN GENERAL

HEAR ME OUT, READ BELOW THE CUT AND TELL ME IF IT'S SOMETHING OR IF I'M SIMPLY LOOSING MY SHIT OVER NOTHING... BECAUSE IT MAKES SENSE TO ME—

Fey Ferin wants R.A.F.T to seize control over the world, and there's nothing that can stand in her way, not even her own family.

There might have been a time when Jayson Ferin was a good man. Based on what May says about him and glimpses we get from Jay's early memories (I recall one with the pin), it appears he once was. Perhaps Jayson desired change for the navy too, but that would be such a pain for Fey to deal with. So, she seems to have brainwashed him for months, possibly years by now (ep 79, Gilly detects corruption in him mixed with good energy), molding him into the perfect soldier who doesn't question orders and neglects his family for the sake of helping his mother to carry out this great fucking world domination plan.

Fey likely harbors resentment towards Drey for not being obedient like his brother, opting for a pirate's life over being loyal to his family and their ideals. Yet, Fey can't bring herself to kill him, so she puts him in a top security prison to let him rot instead.

Ava was the ideal soldier—strong, brave, and revered by all. However, for Fey, Ava's kindness, compassion, and desire for change is simply another pain to deal with. But of course, she would not kill her own family. And she couldn't let her just vanish either.

Perhaps Fey suspected that Ava had a soft spot for pirates, given her upbringing in Eagle's Den and being raised by such a softhearted daughter-in-law. But perhaps, on one occasion, someone witnessed Ava together with a pirate, and somehow that information reached Fey. And after learning that her granddaughter, her esteemed captain, had feelings for a pirate from the crew of the last remaining pirate lord she aimed to get rid of, Fey simply couldn't let this opportunity slip by.

Maybe Ava cooperated willingly, fought like hell, or simply was faced with a deal she couldn't refuse. R.A.F.T. wouldn't just eliminate their top captain, such a vital asset for the upcoming war. Instead, they created a doppelgänger, and chucked the real Ava into some top-notch secret confinement. Letting the dopple to become their pawn. A perfect martyred hero to be killed by those bad bad pirates. A perfect excuse to wage a war over.

But the doppelgängers aren't perfect. So when Lizzie tells Ava about a pirate who is like a father to her, Ava doesn't remember. And when Lizzie begs her not to fight, Ava doesn't listen because she doesn't remember the numerous times they sneaked out together to simply talk like normal people do. And when there's an order to shoot, Ava doesn't move away, as she remembers she was only created to destroy and to be destroyed.

Would Jayson know? Probably not. His hatered toward the pirates responsible for his daughter's death would likely fuel his brainwashed self even more. Very convenient for the long run.

Fey might permit her youngest granddaughter to infiltrate the pirates, banking on her own hatered over her sister's death to maybe one day make her an even better soldier than Ava ever was.

But maybe Fey was wrong.

And she knows it when she receives news of her son's escape from prison, and when her other son suddenly takes leave, or perhaps when a navy base on the Black Sea is breached.

So, when her promising soldier begins to rebel, it might be time to reveal the secret that she's been keping. Maybe it will help her granddaughter decide which side to choose in the end.

me rn:

But idk, that's just my speculation. If it turns out to be a load of bullshit you can point and laugh, but at this point it makes so much sense in that smooth brain of mine as I'm writing this at 7am after getting no sleep whatsoever.

ALSO, just something fun to think over:

In the rolled for 114, Grizz mentioned that the doppel/brainwashing machine had buttons with dates on them. And if pressed, it would display the people who had previously used it. I can't help but wonder if my theory about Ava is true if she might have showed up there. Or maybe it could have shown Jayson getting his fucking brain blasted. BUT WELP, someone rolled like shit (pointsatgillionpointsatgillion) and we'll never know now—

[oneawkwardwriter]

prince caspian, inspired by 'I see the light' from tangled also imagine on the dawn threader at night under the moon and the stars

anything else is up to you

I See The Light

pairing: Dawn Treader!King Caspian x gn!reader warnings: a little bit of pining, very intense eye-contact, maybe perhaps some kissing... maybe even perhaps things getting just a little bit more heated... not quite nsfw, but there's some implying summary: you're staring at the moon and stars; Caspian is staring at you a/n: thank you so much for requesting this, I absolutely LOVE Tangled and I've recently come back into my King Caspian Narnia hyperfixation. Also, this is techically not the first time I've written something like this, but definitely one of the better things I've written wc: 1.3k

The only light, besides that of the moon, that illuminates your path to the railing of the Dawn Treader is the lantern at the helm, where a faint flame is dancing in its little cage.

For the first time since you've left the harbour, the midnight sky is fully clear, not a cloud that dares to blanket the twinkling stars or the silver glow of the moon. It's colder than usual, a light breeze blows against your cheek.

You lean down on the railing, resting your head in the palm of your hand as you look up at the sky. For some reason, there's something mesmerising about the way the moon casts a silver glow across the water, how the stars form constellations that only exist because someone decided to connect the dots to make some sense of it all.

You're too caught up in your own head to hear the door to below deck open. And so Caspian, King of Narnia, finds you staring out into the midnight sky. He leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed, a smile adorns his lips. His eyes skim over your figure, taking in every detail as the wind lightly ruffles your hair.

For a moment, he just stands there, not wanting to disturb you. After some time, he carefully approaches you. You hadn't noticed him at first, but after a while, you had felt his eyes burning in your back. So when he came to stand beside you, you weren't entirely startled.

"Can't sleep?" Caspian asks softly, not looking you in the eyes just yet and instead looks up at the sky as well.

"Oh, I'm sure I could if I bothered to try," You answer, "It's just that the sky hasn't been this clear ever since we sailed out of the harbour."

"It also hasn't been this cold ever since we sailed out of the harbour," He remarks, "A simple shirt won't keep you warm enough."

"Oh please, I'm fine," You say, even though you're unable to hide the shiver as it runs down your spine. "Besides, shouldn't you be fast asleep in your bed?"

The king lets out a dry chuckle and shakes his head. "Perhaps, but luckily for me, I don't have to follow orders," He says, his gaze drifting towards you now, "You, on the other hand, would be wise to do so. You should go to bed, get some rest."

You playfully roll your eyes. "I'll go to bed shortly," You say, looking back at him as well now. "You know, you're welcome to stay here for a while, Your Majesty."

"Oh, don't go calling me by my title now, we're past that," He says, finally being able to properly look you in the eyes. "Please, just call me Caspian. Also, thank you for allowing me to stay on my own ship."

"Alright, I didn't mean it like that," You respond as you lightly chuckle and shake your head, "I just didn't want you to think you couldn't be here because I was already here, even though it's your ship, which you said and... I'm rambling, aren't I?"

Caspian looked at you with a light smile on his lips, his eyes trained on yours. "You are, but please, don't stop on my account," He says, moving almost unnoticably closer. "Really, do continue, please."

"Oh, okay, uhm..." It didn't make sense why your mind suddenly went completely blank. There was no reason for your cheeks suddenly feeling warm and turning a bright red. "What... what did you want to talk about?"

"Oh, anything, really," Caspian answered, the silver light of the moon reflecting in his eyes. "That wasn't an order, by the way. I just... really love it when you talk."

"Good to know," You say softly, averting your eyes for a moment before looking back up at the midnight sky. "So... the sky is beautiful tonight, isn't it?"

"Yes, it truly is." If you had looked at him, you would've seen Caspian's eyes were still trained on you rather than the sky. "The way the moon and stars cast their silver glow is... truly mesmerising."

Despite the chilled breeze that glides over the ship and the silence between them, the atmosphere is strangely comfortable and relaxed. Time seems to stand still, stretching the minutes into an eternity as the two of you continue to gaze up at the midnight sky.

After Aslan knows how long, Caspian softly speaks up again. "Have I ever told you why I love being at sea so much?"

You avert your gaze from the stars to look at him. "No, but please, do tell."

"Back in the palace," He begins, "everyone and everything always seems to be in such a hurry. And despite all of that, I feel like I'm doing nothing but chasing down daydreams until the days just... blur together.

"But out here, everything is so peaceful. The gentle rocking of the ship, the glow of the starlight... suddenly, everything is crystal clear, like I've finally found what I'm supposed to do."

You softly smile as you listen intentively, resting your head on the palm of his hand. After a while, Caspian looks at you in slight confusion, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" He asks, letting out a soft chuckle.

"Oh, nothing," You say, your smile turning into the lightest of smirks as you continue, "I just... really love it when you talk."

Caspian let out another chuckle as he shakes his head. "Using my own words against me, are you now?" He comments teasingly, leaning in just a little bit closer. "Are you sure it's a good idea to challenge your king?"

"Didn't you say that we were past using your title?" You raise an eyebrow at him, daring enough to take a small step closer as well. "And if not, what will you do? Exile me?"

"Oh no, my dear, I wouldn't dream of it." The world seemed to somehow shift into a blur as the back of his fingers lightly brushes against your cheek, creating a contrast between the warmth of his touch and the chilled gusts of the wind. "Has anyone ever told you your eyes are as bright as the stars above?"

The light touch of his hand and his soothing words managed to knock the breath out of your lungs, the way he gazed into your eyes left you in a trance-like state. If your eyes were as bright as the stars, his were brighter than a thousand suns with the intensity he was looking at you.

Slowly, carefully, an invisble force seemed to push the two of you closer together until there were mere millimeters between your lips. And then, time seemed to freeze into a moment of uncertainty, even though the electricity could be sliced with a knife.

"Tell me to stop," Caspian breathed, his hand resting on your cheek as those brown eyes bored into yours. "My Starlight, tell me to stop. I won't be able to hold back."

"Don't stop... don't hold back."

And that was all he needed to hear before closing the distance between you. In his defense, he really intended on holding back on the intensity, but as soon as those words had fallen from your lips, he was done for.

One hand snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his body while his older hand held steadily onto your face. Your hands crept into his hair, your fingers softly running through the strands, earning yourself a soft groan falling from his lips.

His grip on your waist tightens slightly, the fervour in his kiss grows a little stronger. "Please," He whispers against your lips, nearly sounding like a desperate plea.

"Okay..." You respond breathlessly, letting him pull you towards the stairs leading to below deck.

© This work belongs to @oneawkwardwriter, please do not copy this work to any other site or claim it as your own. Reblogs are allowed and appreciated!

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[esmedelacroix]

"I hate it when you're not around,"

husband!miguel x f!reader ♡

10 Things I Hate About You ← mini-series masterlist

"Even worse when you make me cry" ← previous part

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What Miguel didn't know was that you had already forgiven him. One of the hardest tasks in the world for you was to stay mad at him. You had forgiven him the moment he kissed your shoulder and said the simple words, "I'm sorry," Why? Because you love him. Maybe a little too much.

Most people would think that the words, "I'm sorry" have lost all meaning in your relationship. That the phrase is used by Miguel so much that it is just something he says to avoid disputes. That's not true though. You know that there is gravity behind every "I'm sorry," Miguel says.

That didn't stop the fact that Miguel hurt you. You just wanted him to feel the same pain you did. So you stopped visiting him at work and you stopped waiting for him to come home and just went straight to bed. It killed you not to be able to see him during the day, but you were upset. He made you cry, he deserved it.

. . .

Miguel's POV

Something has been missing from my days. I know exactly what it is but I've been trying to take my mind off of it. But how could I not think about her? My sweet angel that usually visits me is nowhere to be found today, just like yesterday and the day before. It's like eating a pb &j without the j or the pb or anything. It's like my days lose some of their meaning when she's not here with me.

An unfamiliar and chilling gloom cast on my office. Similar to the one that was there before I met the love of my life. It was too often an occurrence where things would be insane at work and it affected my home life with her.

She's never been this upset with me. But I guess once one thing happens over and over you begin to get tired. Is she perhaps getting tired of me? Just when I'd reached the peak of my overthinking spree, Peter B. barged into my office with Hobie, Gwen, and Mayday.

"Alright Miguel we've had enough," Peter started stomping up to me.

"Enough of what," I deadpanned.

"Enough of your sulking and enough of your wife not being here, we're friends with her. We all miss her," Gwen continued.

"You do know why she's so upset with you, right?" Hobie asked.

I finally turned away from my screens and faced the group interrogating me. "Because... I've been working too much?" he answered.

"No, she's used to that. It's because of Justine," Hobie interjected.

"Justine?" he repeated, confused.

"Yes Justine, the girl you keep running to instead of spending time with your wife," Gwen said.

"The girl you keep choosing over your wife," Peter B added.

"The girl you're cheating on your wife with," Hobie interjected.

"Woah woah hold your horses. I'm not cheating on my wife with Justine!? That's absurd! I can barely stand her!" he retired. He didn't raise his voice but his tone was definitely unusually unstable.

"But do you see how she could think that you're choosing Justine over her?" Peter asked.

"I mean I guess so but I was just following protocol," he replied.

"You could've waited until after lunch," Gwen responded.

"She needed a friend the night she went to her universe. I see myself in her. I was only trying to help. I couldn't imagine being with another woman that's not my love," he insisted.

"Well, you have to say that all to her, not us. It sounds like you guys have a bit of a communication problem," Hobie replied.

"Dios mío[my God], I can't believe I'm getting advice from a kid," he whispered to himself.

"Well you better take that advice," Peter answered.

"But she doesn't want to see me," he sighed, sinking down into his seat.

"Do you really believe that?" Peter B asked raising a brow and placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

With that encouragement, Miguel dropped all his work and swung to your home hoping you wouldn't already be asleep. Like the whole universe was against him, little problems kept coming up on the way. An old lady's cat stuck in a tree, bodega robbery, bank robbery, you name it.

None of that would stop him from coming home to you on time.

. . .

next part → "And the fact that you didn't call,"

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