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specshroom · 11 months ago

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•The Queen of Curses•

Part 1 / Part 2

(CW: It's smut bro. Sukuna has two dicks, pp in vagina, pp in ass, They fuck in the curse blood bath, cunnilingus, fingering, cervix fucking? Idk. )

The Queen of Curses tries her best to be as nonchalant as possible as she's being escorted to the curse blood bath meant to reguvinate her body to it's full strength. Anybody would struggle to stay nonchalant if they could feel the gaze of the King of Curses trained on their body. She's surprised he can't smell the need flowing off her from where he walks, a few feet behind her. Uraume definitely can with the way the woman's perked nipple presses into the sorcerer's arm and the way her flushed skin radiates heat.

As they reach their destination a few steps above the giant pool, the woman turns to her husband and bows dramatically.

"Please you first, My king" she says with a grin.

Sukuna scoffs at his wife's antics, crossing two arms over his chest as the other two go to undo the string keeping his baggy white pants up. The article drops to the floor and his wife isn't bashful about taking in all her husband has to offer as he walks past her into the huge pool of dark liquid.

She looks to her subordinate who is already kneeling on the ground folding up Sukuna's forgotten pants. Taking the opportunity she steps towards them and says.

"Uraume, would you mind helping me undress?"

Uraume stands up without a word. When they stand to full height their head only comes up to their masters cleavage, something that was always very amusing to the woman.

Uraume's delicate fingers go to the knot tying their masters kimono around her body. They gently loosen the knot until it unwraps and the loosened clothing exposes her whole front to them. Uraume isn't surprised at all by the fact that their master isn't wearing anything under her kimono.

"AY, hurry it up!"

Sukuna yells from where he sits in the waist high blood. The woman clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes.

"So impatient."

she scoffs to Uraume before shrugging the kimono off her shoulders till it falls to the ground. She walks down the steps towards the pool as Uraume kneels again to fold the long silky piece of fabric. They know that neither of their masters will need their garments any time soon.

Sukuna stands up as his wife steps into the pool, dark droplets falling from his sculpted frame. Where Uraume only makes it up to their masters breasts, she barely makes it to Sukuna's shoulders.

She looks up at him through her lashes as she gets closer, so close her tits graze against his crossed arms.

She slowly reaches out to caress the skin of her lover, following the inked lines up his waist. She keeps following the dark lines until she gets to the pair of crossed arms, encourage them to uncross and bringing them to her waist. Sukuna starts rubbing his fingers into her lower back just the way she likes. She traces the black patterns higher up his chest, along his neck until she cups both sides of his face.

She delicately runs her fingers against the deformed side of his face, caressing the massive beast as if he's made of porcelain. He grasps the wrist of the hand that so gently touches him, holding it still as he leans into her palm. The two hands on her waist pull her body closer, he closes his eyes and breaths her in.

"why so soft all of a sudden?"

he mumbles against her tattooed wrist, it didn't sound as teasing as he wanted it to.

She smiles at him.

"Because I'm your wife."

She says lowly, half lidded eyes staring into his soul... If he has one. The curse king stares back with just as much reverence, they move closer until their noses are touching, breaths mixing.

She suddenly pushes him away hard enough to make him lose balance and fall ass first into the thigh deep blood they're standing in. When his head resurfaces he sees his wife doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach.

The man growls in anger. Why must the woman he loves be so irritating?

"Hahahaha! Uraume did you see tha- ah!"

Sukuna grabs his wife while she's gloating, pulling her closer to him by her thighs. One hand on the upper thigh, one on her ass, one on the other knee, pulling it over his shoulder and the last one around her ankle holding her in place. Finally his face is exactly where he's wanted it to be for a thousand years now, just a few inches away from her warm cunt.

He looks up at her with four angry eyes.

"You play around too much, woman."

She looks down at him from between her breasts which move up and down with her short breaths. Having him so close to where she needs him the most is making something in her stomach heat up.

"You think I can't tell how much you want me right now? You think I don't know you crave me just as much as I crave you?"

She grabs at his hair and shuffles in his hold. She can feel his breaths on her cunt, her need is overwhelming. She tries pushing his head to finally make contact with her needy pussy but he doesn't budge, grinning up at her while he nuzzles the side of his face into the flesh of her thigh.

"Mhm. I can be a tease too, baby."

She lets out an irritated huff.

"Ryo, if you don't eat me out right now I swear-"

She pauses, not knowing what to say while her husband looks at her with a shit eating grin, cocking his eyebrows up for her to continue.

"I won't suck either of your dicks."

She says with finality as if she didn't just come up with that on the spot. She crosses her arms over her tits, all proud of herself.

Sukuna chuckles, she can feel the breathy laugh on her cunt. She involuntarily clenches around nothing and her posture hunches a little.

"Well damn baby, that's all you had to say."

He says before finally. Finally. diving his head in between her plush thighs. Licking one big stripe up her cunt to her clit before settling on a rhythm of eager lapping and sucking. The pleasure is instant as she hunches over and curls her fingers in his short fluffy hair.

The groan she lets out is so gutteral it makes him moan into her pussy. Safe to say, even after so many years he hasn't lost his touch. He keeps going at it as she grinds back into his mouth. The hard malformed part of his face scrapes against her thigh but she's always liked it. It reminded her exactly who was making her feel so good.

"Ahh, Ryo" She groans into the night air as her husband holds up her whole body without any struggle, getting perfect full access so he can get his tongue as deep inside her as possible. She places a foot on his shoulder granting him even easier access, hands still tugging his hair.

He squeezes her ass and gropes at her thigh pulling her impossibly closer like he can never get enough of her. By the higher pitched noises she's making and the way her thighs tense up around his head, he can tell she's already on the edge of orgasm, about to reach her peak.

He suddenly unlatches her legs from his shoulders and reaches up, grabbing her by the neck to pull her down into a harsh kiss. Her entire body gets pulled down so that she's straddling him now, blood coming up to just under her breasts. She struggles in the kiss, kicking at him and reeling from her ruined orgasm while Sukuna grins into the kiss.

She bites at his lips and he just kisses back with equal intensity. When her animalistic growls give way to a pitiful whine, he releases her from the kiss. Her nails dig into the wrist of the hand still around her throat. Drawing blood that drips down and mixes with the blood of hunreds of other curses.

"You fucking bastard."

She snarls at her supposed lover. He chuckles menacingly at her, very much enjoying the rageful passion she spits at him. That part of her is what made him fall in love with her in the first place after all.

"Aww, poor baby."

Sukuna coos in the most patronising manner possible. The look of absolute rage on his wife's face makes him surprised the blood around them isn't at boiling point. She thrashes around in his grip, grunting, pushing, splashing, fighting against her horrible husband's hold. Sukuna just holds onto her tighter, never holding up, like she's his life force and if he lets go he'll die.

She yells out in frustration and anger which is when Sukuna thinks it's the perfect time for the fat toungue of the mouth on his stomach to lick a hard long strip up her whole pussy. She instantly stills as her breath hitches.

Sukuna brings his hand to her jaw making her look him in the eyes again as he thrusts the large tongue into her. The stretch makes her hiss and tense up. The initial sting quickly grows into euphoria, the feeling of the huge tongue moving against her walls is a pleasure that is indescribable.

As her moans get louder and her eyes roll back, she almost loses herself again in the feeling but quickly shakes her head and looks at her husband with an intense glare.

"You better make me cum this time, Ryo"

She says in a raspy voice, the man in question grins as if he's innocent and replies back.

"Of course, anything for My Queen."

She groans, not appreciating his teasing at all.

"I'm serious, I'll kill you. I'll kill you if you do that again-"

Her ernest death threats are rudely interrupted by Sukuna shoving two of his fingers in her mouth. The other hand holds her jaw up for better access. Her dark eyes still trained on his, fingers wrapped around his wrist.

"I said I will."

He says, the teasing tone replaced with something deep and honest like a promise to her.

The Queen takes a moment to admire her devoted partner before she allows herself to lose her mind on his tongue.

Sukuna slowly thrusts his two fingers into his wife's mouth, loving the way her tongue flattens out to lick his fingers as he thrusts. He brings his other hand that's not holding her down on his tongue to press gently into her unoccupied hole.

She groans at the new sensation of having her ass played with as Sukuna slowly moves to thrust a finger inside. He lowers the hand on her jaw to fondle and squeeze at her tits.

The woman is in absolute euphoria, her eyes flutter shut as her tongue lols out, spit messing down Sukuna's wrist and her chin. So many different places being stimulated. So many areas of pleasure. It's so overwhelming, it's no wonder she's already almost there again.

She opens her eyes to stare at her husband, they always liked looking into eachothers eyes when they cum. She only gets louder and needier as Sukuna uses multiple hands to dutifully work her up to her climax. Sukuna brings two hands to her hips and thrusts her down hard on his tongue right as he thrusts it up so deep into her. She uncontrollably clenches hard as she comes undone on his massive tongue, loving every second he gives her.

Sukuna takes his fingers out of her mouth to kiss her sloppily as she rides out the high. It takes a while for her to come down but once she does she's wrapping her arms around her husbands neck, pushing her body as close to him as it can be while kissing his neck.

"I missed you."

she whispers in between the soft kisses. Sukuna feels his heart and dicks pulse.

"I noticed."

He grins cockily, the expected response from a bastard like him.

"Yeah? Well I missed them too."

She murmured against his lips, shuffling her leg so that it grazes the two hard shafts below her. The King grins at her and waists no time hauling her up, pressing her close to his chest. He walks towards the edge of the giant pool and rests her down on the edge.

She leans back on her hands, legs spread wide for him to stand in between them. She admires her husband's imposing frame as he admires how she openly flaunts her body to him.

Sukuna then holds both her legs right under the knee and brings them to either side of her chest so that his pretty wife is bent in half for him. Said wife lightly moans at the position he's chosen, shes basically presenting her pussy to him. She lets out another louder moan when she feels his two heavy cocks graze against her wet puffy pussy. Sukuna brings his face close to hers so he can see her face clearly as he rubs his cocks up and down her cunt.

"You ready?"

He asks, knowing full well that she most definitely is with how slick her hole is. She nods looking into his eyes.

"Put it in then"

He says lowly, it was meant to be an order but there's just a hint of a plead in there. She reaches down between them to line up his two cocks to their respective holes. She holds them there so that Sukuna can slowly tease them into each entrance. Once the mushroom heads pop in, they both weakly moan. She moves her hand to grab his waist to ease him forward, gradually burying his cocks deeper into her. Once he's halfway in she presses on his waist to make him still, letting herself adjust.

"Cmon, ease up baby." He mumbles, caressing her hips, waist and thighs soothing her body so that she's not so tense. He gives her neck kisses and eventually she eases up enough, pulling him forward again by the waist. Both of his fat cocks bottom out and the two lovers are in absolute euphoria. Chest to chest, arms clutching around eachother. They sit there for a minute, foreheads touching so they can stare into eachothers eyes. Neither of them meant for this to be so sincere but they truly just missed eachother so damn much and it's overwhelming.

Sukuna adjusts, getting in a better position where his knees are bent and his whole body is hunched over his wife's in a mating press like position. This gives him much better leverage to slowly pull out, indulging in his wife's cute whines before he slides a pair of hands around her lower back and slams right back into her.

The hands under her back lift her hips up slightly and it's such a perfect angle, allowing him to go as deep as possible. Feeling every inch of him in both her holes is making her go crazy. They both are so loud when they fuck, the sounds of their moans and the fast plap plap plap of their skin echos through the otherwise silent atmosphere.

"Ah! Squeezing me so tight, you're already gonna cum? Fuck!"

Sukuna tries to sound cocky but miserably fails. She can't even respond, she's been lost in the pleasure since he started thrusting. His grip on her thighs and waist tighten as she tightens around both of his cocks, so close to release. He has no idea how he hasn't cum yet but he's getting so desperate humping into her almost like a dog. The clenching and shaking is too much for him, he's gonna-

"Fill me up, Ryo."

She whispers to him, tired eyes still looking up at him. With that, he cums hard and fast, shooting strong ropes of cum into her pussy and ass. Her eyes squeeze shut as the feeling of being filled up so well in both holes roughly pushes her over the edge. It's a feeling she'll never get used to.

It takes a while for her to come down from the high, her fingers ease the grip she had on his newly bruised skin. Sukuna is lazily sucking on her neck, licking at the sweaty skin. Hes laying all his weight ontop of her, good thing she isn't a mortal woman or she'd be crushed under his monster weight. She feels him soften inside her and grins, a devious plan cooking up in her evil brain.

"Hmm, Ryo?"

"Hmmm"

His head doesn't leave the crook of her neck as she rubs his back.

"Do you think I can still fit both of them in my pussy?"

He halts. She's built up enough energy to roll the tired man onto his back and sit up in a single quick motion, dicks still inside her. Feet planted on the floor on either side of his waist she places both hands on his chest for balance and lifts herself off his cocks, making them both groan at the loss. He only watches, enamored by the sheer amount of cum that drips from her holes onto his abs.

She adjusts to balance on the front part of her feet, spreading her legs wide as she manoeuvres her pussy over his two spent cocks. She takes both of them in hand, looking at his face to watch his reactions to her touch on his sensitive members. His eyebrows scrunch but he doesn't waver, lifting himself slightly on two elbows. She holds her pussy open with two fingers and brings herself down slowly, slightly taking in both heads. They both watch where the two heads disappear inside her dripping cunt. She stills and just when Sukuna opens his mouth to complain she quickly drops herself down, taking both cocks inside her in a rapid motion. Both of them let out something between a moan and a scream at the sudden stimulation of both Sukuna's thick cocks being forced so deeply inside such a tight space.

"Fucking crazy woman."

He struggles out. The stretch feels so devine as she clenches and moans. Her head tilted up to the stars in the sky with a dreamy look on her face. She brings her hand to caress her tummy and grins when she feels it, the bump in her stomach right where his two cocks inside her are. She looks down at it which makes Sukuna look too and the man curses, tipping his head back, absolutely enamoured with his perfect wife.

She pulls his hand from her hip to her stomach to hold it over the bulge there. They both moan at the feeling as she starts grinding back and forth in slow circles.

"You got another one for me, Honey?"

She asks snarkily, as if she doesn't know how many rounds her husband is capable of, he just huffs and smirks. She raises herself up on her feet, until both dicks are juuust about to pop out and rams back down letting out a gutteral sound as they reach the deepest parts of her pussy. She continues with these hard long thrusts, moving her whole body up and down his lengths. Sukuna just let's his wife do her magic, occasionally clutching into her thighs and hips. Sukuna knows he'll never be allowed into heaven but the feeling of his two cocks rubbing up against one another inside his wife's pretty cunt is the closest thing to heaven he'll ever need.

As she gets closer and moves faster the overstimulation starts getting to her and her full body thrusts get sloppier. Her body can't keep up with her need and she frantically tells her husband.

"Ah, fuck me, Ryo please!"

Sukuna waists no time following his wife's orders and reaches under her legs to grab her waist with two hands. Her legs are pressed against her chest and he sits up before lifting her body up and pounding her even deeper than before. She clutches his biceps for some stability as she gets her cervix fucked by her insanely big husband.

The position, the depth, the speed, the strength it's all too much for Sukuna as she clenches impossibly tighter. Before he can even register it, his balls clench and his dicks twitch until he's cumming hard for her. He hisses and lets out a long groan, pulling her close to him as he bottoms out so he can shoot his cum as deep inside her as possible. She can barely handle the amount of cum that gets pumped into her. Nothing in the world can compare to the feeling of being filled to the brim by her lover, its no time before she's cumming with him. Her pussy milking his two cocks for all they have.

They stay dead still like that for a solid minute until Sukuna falls onto his back bringing his wife with him, still clutching her tightly to his chest. They both breathe ragged breaths, bathing in the sweaty after glow.

"Wow." She chuckles in exhaustion lifting her head from where it rested on his chest to rest her hand on her chin and smile dazedly at him. He lazily grins back from the hard ground while his hands stroke up and down her thighs and back, one arm resting under his head.

She slowly pushed herself up more with her hands on his chest before she gradually pulled his softened dicks out of her now fill cunt. She's surprised her belly didn't expand with all the cum inside her at this point.

She stands up, feet on either side of her husband's waist. The copious amount of cum that leaks out of her is so lewd it would make a pornstar blush. He curls a hand around her ankle, his eyes not leaving the leaking pussy infront of him. She places her hands on her hips and puffs out her chest, standing there like some lewd naked superhero. She clears her throat to get his attention and his eyes flick up to her very smug face.

"I win."

She says simply. His dazed grin falls comically fast.

"What?"

"I made you come first, both times we fucked."

She holds out her hand, presenting two fingers. Sukuna is dumbfounded to say the least.

"What the fuck are you talking about? I made you cum first on my tongue."

He retorts, holding up one finger.

"Nuh uh, that doesn't count."

He's getting angry now and she knows it. He lifts himself up on his elbows.

"What the fuck do you mean it doesn't count?"

She stretches her arms above her head stepping over him to walk away.

"Doesn't count. Better luck next time, My Love"

He grabs at her ankle.

"Hey! You promised me you'd suck my dick if I made you cum, remember?"

She pretends to think for a second.

"Huh, I did say that."

she pauses before shrugging,

"Well, I'm hungry now. Uraumeee!"

She dashes out of his grip but he anticipates it and stands up to grab her around the waist.

"You will make good on your promise." He growls into her hair slightly grinding his bare cocks into her ass.

She's unfazed as she turns in his hold and says sternly.

"I know you know what it's like to not eat a single thing for ONE THOUSAND YEARS!"

Sukuna groans in exasperation, tipping his head up to the sky.

"You got to eat plenty of innocents already! I've not had a single mortal and might I remind you who's fault all this was in the first-"

"You called master?“

Uraume suddenly appears bowing behind the woman, interrupting her tangent which Sukuna is relieved about. The woman turns with a gleeful look in her eyes.

"Uraume~ Darling, I'm starving."

"I've already prepared you both a few meals and clean clothing."

The Queen practically vibrates with happiness. She reaches out to bring the sorcerer into a sweaty hug.

"Oh Uraume, what would I do without you?"

Just like that the Queen of Curses is back to cooing over her favourite sorcerer, clinging onto them as they lead her to the meal they prepared.

Sukuna just stands there for a minute, contemplating his entire marriage to this point as he watches the two scale up the stares. He peers a bit lower to the absolutely drenched state of her thighs as his multiple loads leak from her filled pussy, walking just a little wobbly. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. As much as he wants to complain and act like he hates it, he knows he's absolutely pussy whipped.

#This is my Christmas present lmao enjoy <3 #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk sukuna #uraume #Uraume x reader #queen of curses

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gloomwitchwrites · 4 months ago

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Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, describing a man’s size, brief alcohol, non-descriptive mentions of sex, intimidation

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Part Twenty-One of Ink & Needle

The past resurfaces. Simon's enemy shows his face.

Chapter Twenty

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Three Years Ago

“Confess, bitch. Give us the details.”

Sam takes a towel to a bottle of prosecco, the cork popping as she dislodges it. Jade collects four tumblers from the mini-bar and sets them out on top of the low dresser the television sits on.

“Don’t leave anything out,” adds Jade, tossing her blue hair over her shoulder.

All of you are freshly showered and wearing the fluffy hotel provided robes. The softness is absolute heaven. Like wearing a cloud.

You sigh heavily and fall onto your back on the plush hotel bed, hands pressed over your eyes. There is a pleasant ache between your legs—a reminder of your wraith. His scent still lingers even though you stood under scalding water and scrubbed the day away. There is a hint of mint. Of black tea. A whisp of smoke.

Maybe it’s in your hair.

Maybe it’s embedded into your skin.

Thorns that have burrowed and only time will push them out or leave them to fester and infect.

“What do you want to know?” you groan, rubbing your temples.

Already, the alcohol is beginning to creep from your system, leaving a tension behind that signals an oncoming hangover. It’s not piercing yet. Just a nuisance. Sam tops off the glasses and the prosecco is distributed. The bubbly drink burns your nose a bit but it drives off the blooming headache.

Begrudgingly, you push up to a more seated position, your three best friends staring back expectantly. It’s the moment of truth. You’re facing the jury. This is your judgement.

“Was it good?” asks Sam, one eyebrow arched in question. She takes a sip of her drink, leaning slightly to the right, adjusting the front of the robe.

“Yes,” you reply slowly.

“And?” she prompts, waving her hand in a signal to go on.

“Do we have to talk about this right now?” you mutter, staring down into your dwindling glass of prosecco. If you’re going to get through this conversation, you’re going to require more.

Jade sets her glass down on the side table between the two beds. She goes up on her knees, excitement buzzing through her bones. “How big was he?” she asks. “What did it look like?”

“Jesus Christ, Jade,” you groan.

Yes. More prosecco will fix this.

“Just say when,” interrupts Jade. She brings her hands flat against each other, and then slowly starts to move them away.

Sam snorts, and then chokes on her beverage, nearly rolling off the bed as she goes for a tissue. You stare dumbly at Jade, not saying anything.

“Just say—seriously? Seriously?” Jade’s hands are unrealistically far apart. “This is impossible. I’m starting over.”

“Stop,” you laugh, grabbing her hands. “He was…decent?”

“Decent?” snaps Sam. “We don’t get any details? Color? Length?”

“Girth,” adds Jade. “A prominent vein?”

Sam rolls her eyes. “Girl. Give us something!”

You glance over at Evie. “Are you going to help me at all?”

She shrugs and sips on her prosecco. “I’m curious too,” she says softly.

You down the rest of your prosecco and immediately regret it. A wave of indigestion hits you and you swallow down a burp.

“Okay,” you concede, holding up one hand placatingly. “Fine.”

The three women settle onto the bed, all their attention on you. It takes a moment—a deep inhalation before you begin. But you do, and you tell them most of it. You talk about Ghost’s proposition out in the alleyway and of where he took you to. You describe the positions he put you in, and how damn good the man was at tonguing orgasm after orgasm out of you.

They sigh and swoon. They giggle or simply stare open-mouthed.

There are some things you don’t say. You don’t tell them how you felt in your heart when you left or the circumstances of why. The sense of needing to run was insistent and strong, but looking back—you now feel shame.

You regret not staying even for a few extra minutes.

“Damn,” sighs Sam, leaning back on one elbow.

Jade just blinks, her mind still trying to process the information.

Evie smiles behind her glass, and you know that look. “What?” you prompt, lightly smacking her thigh.

“Sounds like you had fun.” She lightly smacks your thigh back. “Aren’t you happy we went?”

Now

“Bag packed?”

“I think so. How’s Lillian?”

Evie takes a bite of her sandwich and glances down into the bassinet. “Asleep. For now.”

“How are you feeling?” you ask softly, walking around to the side of the bed. Sitting down on the edge, you lean back slightly, staring at your friend.

It’s been over a week since Archie’s parents came to visit. The rest of the day and the following, Evie was a mess. But her cheeks have color to them now, and the bags under her eyes are almost non-existent. She’s always been the mediator, but it doesn’t seem like she’s willing to the mediator in this anymore. Her fuse no longer sparks.

While Evie hasn’t spoken it out loud, her actions indicate her willingness to separate from Archie’s family completely. It would be better for everyone, but mostly for her mental wellbeing. She’s dealt with too much of their bullshit, and it’s time that she breaks away from them for good.

It’s their own fault. Their own behavior that has caused all this. It never had to come to this, and now they likely won’t see their granddaughter at all.

“Better,” she sighs. “A bit nauseous.”

“Headache?” you ask.

She nods. “I just need a little caffeine. Maybe something carbonated.”

“All the paperwork signed?”

“Yep. On the table in the kitchen.” Evie takes another bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s fine, Evie. I’m happy to do it.”

“I know,” she says quickly. “And I know I keep thanking you, but I do mean it. Having Amelia around is wonderful, but she wouldn’t be able to do everything you’re doing for me.”

It’s true in a way. Amelia has been integral in helping with Lillian, but it is you that has spent all your time taking care of the financial end. Mister Grant calls you. The estate agent contacts you. You are Evie’s voice at the moment, and you’re more than happy to do it.

“I’m not the one packing anything up,” you laugh, throwing up your hands. “All I have to do is point and Jennifer’s assistant will label it.”

“That’ll be easier,” sighs Evie. “I can’t imagine trying to go through all our belongings by hand.”

You shrug. “I get to eat lots of takeout in the meantime. I’ll be fine.”

Evie reaches out and squeezes your hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Evelyn Green.”

Her grin is infectious as you push up from the bed and snag the backpack you packed. Hefting it over one shoulder, you salute Evie and walk out of the room backwards. You hear her giggle all the way down the hall.

Once the paperwork is in your hands, Amelia drops you off at the train station. You spend the entire trip hunched over the paperwork and reviewing the list you made of all the items Evie wants to keep. She’s giving you liberty to make the final call on most things, but you know it’s because she’s doesn’t want to deal with any of it.

It’s understandable. Everything in the home reminds Evie of her dead husband, and she’s already emotional delicate. If she doesn’t want to look at or deal with any of it, you’ll carry the burden.

When you arrive in Cambridge, it’s a quick taxi ride to the house.

The quiet is almost ominous, and the dark rooms seem bigger without anyone here with you. For a moment, you consider calling Simon to ask if he’d like to come out here and join you. But the idea is quickly dismissed. Simon has work. He has a job to do. Already he’s made numerous changes to his schedule just to accommodate your needs.

It’s not like he wouldn’t come if you called. You know that if you picked up the phone right now and dialed Simon’s number, he wouldn’t even hesitate. Simon would come like a moth to a flame.

But moths are often consumed in fire.

You think better of it.

The estate agent, Jennifer, and her assistant are supposed to arrive early in the morning to start the pack-up process. There isn’t time to dwell on your feelings or how much you wish Simon was here with you.

On the kitchen island, you set out the paperwork, organizing it now so you don’t have to deal with it in the morning. You just want to sleep—to have as much quiet as you can before the work begins. Lillian keeps Evie up, but the little one keeps you up as well. The lack of sleeping is starting to eat away at you.

It’s a fresh start in a way. You sleep deep and you sleep hard. When Jessica and Mollie arrive, you’re refreshed.

“Evelyn wants these packed?” asks Jessica, gesturing toward an array of kitchen appliances.

“Yes,” you confirm.

Jessica nods and Mollie writes “pack” on a sticky note before attaching it to the mixing bowls. Plenty of things are going into storage for now—at least until Evie is confident enough to find her own place that is uniquely hers.

You haven’t broached the subject explicitly. It’s only been mentioned in passing, and Evie agreed that she didn’t want to sell everything off only to have to replace it later. What she truly wants is for the house to be sold. To create a space that doesn’t constantly remind her of her dead husband.

You and Jessica walk around the entire house and garden with Mollie trailing behind, her arms loaded with tape, paper, and sticky notes. It takes several hours to go through everything, and by the end you’re starving. The coffee and croissant you ate for breakfast are out of your system entirely.

Jessica taps away at her phone, a frown on her face. “I swear. I’ve been having issues with this thing all morning,” she grumbles.

Mollie shrugs. “Want me to reach out to them?”

“Please,” sighs Jessica. “They’re supposed to deliver the boxes for us. Find out from John what time.”

Mollie nods and grabs her tablet, her fingers tapping away furiously. She gives her back, one arm clutching the tablet while her other hand unloads the pens from her coat pocket.

Jessica turns to you with a bright smile. “I’ll find out when the boxes are supposed to arrive.” She lifts her phone in the air. “If this will cooperate. Bloody technology.”

“It’s fine,” you laugh. “They’ll get here when they get here. I can manage until then.”

“Too true,” she beams. “At least you have a few to start with.”

“But the rest will be boxed up independently?”

“Yes,” confirms Jessica. “Just take the things that Evelyn wants. Leave the rest. I have the keys. When the team is ready, I’m meet them here. We’ll take care of everything else.”

“Wonderful,” you sigh, as you say your goodbyes and escort Jessica and Mollie to the front door.

The boxes do arrive, but so do an endless parade of people. Mister Grant stops by to review the paperwork before handing over more for you to take to Evie when you return to London. The appraiser comes to evaluate the house, and several different contractors arrive to assess potential fixes that Jessica suggested during the walkthrough.

It’s an avalanche of faces—and the only one you want to see is Simon. It’s the face you think about when you slip into bed that night. It’s the face you imagine when the ache between your thighs grows and you need some sweet relief. It’s the face in your dreams that night, and the one that lingers when you wake.

You need Simon like plants need the sun. He is your light. Your sustenance. This love blooming in your chest is a twisting beast that intends to devour you whole. It is lovely. It is consuming.

All you want is him.

When you return to London, the first thing you’re doing is heading for 141 Ink to spend an afternoon in his shop. Watching Simon work is a pleasure. You’ve only witnessed it a few times, and it was hypnotizing when you did.

“Really?” you mutter, staring at the text message on the phone screen, stuffing the rest of your breakfast into your mouth.

It’s Jessica! New phone! Sending the assessor out to you today! One last walkthrough!

“They were just here,” you groan, staring around at all the empty boxes. “Why is this necessary?”

The boxes were delivered, but they were all flat. At least packing tape came with. Otherwise, you’d be out of luck. Evie wants some things to come to Amelia’s and those are the items you’re supposed to be collecting. That is supposed to be your focus at the moment.

And a new number for Jessica is annoyingly inconvenient, but you’ll deal with it. Her phone was acting up yesterday.

“Whatever,” you say to the ceiling, updating your contact information for Jessica.

You continue to pack, taking breaks every so often to check work emails. You’re in the zone—a flurry of activity—so when the doorbell goes off, you nearly flinch at the sound.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, sealing a box with packing tape.

Pushing up to standing, your knees pop. The doorbell rings through the house again and you sprint to the front door, legs a bit achy from crouching.

You open the door, a little breathless. “Hi!”

A man in his mid-thirties stands on the other side. His dark hair is cropped short and he wears a polo with khakis. On the left side of the polo is a little logo that says “Heisman Consulting.” He clutches a clipboard in one hand and has a utility belt hooked around his hips. Behind his right ear is a sharpened pencil.

“You must be the assessor Jessica mentioned,” you greet.

“That’s me,” he says, presenting his hand. “I’m Jack.”

You take it, giving him your own name. It’s a firm, strong handshake. His eye contact is intense. It’s a bit strange actually. You’re not sure why he’s staring like he’s trying to see into your soul.

“We just had the assessor here yesterday. Did Jessica give a reason for another visit?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light.

Jack just grins and it’s disarming. “Second opinion.”

“I see,” you say slowly, not understanding at all.

What’s the point of a second opinion? Did the first one already come back? That seems unlikely. These things don’t happen overnight. But you’re not the expert on real estate. This is out of your depth.

What you want is to leave this conversation as quickly as possible and return to your task. “I have a few things to take care of. I’ll make sure to stay out of your way while you walk around the property.”

“That won’t be necessary,” replies Jack, his smile still in place.

“I’m sorry?”

“Jessica wants you present for the inspection.”

You laugh, the sound awkward as it leaves your lips. “No she doesn’t. I’ll be around. Just come grab me if you need something.”

Jack shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders casually. “Jessica isn’t happy with the last assessment. Wants someone else observing.”

“Like a witness?” you ask.

He shrugs his shoulders again, and the unease only grows. Why does he want you to stick around so bad? If anything, you shouldn’t be in his way at all.

“Fine,” you concede, attempting to give him a smile. “Not sure I’ll be of much help.”

Jack glances down at his clipboard and removes the pencil from behind is ear. “S’all good, love.” He winks and notes something on the clipboard before his gaze scans the room.

Love.

In Jack’s mouth, it sounds like an insult. It doesn’t sit right. The only person you enjoy calling you that is Simon.

You try to smile, but it falls flat.

There are too many things to do, and you only have a few days to complete them. You’re supposed to be in Cambridge for the weekend—returning at the latest on Tuesday if necessary.

“Where would you like to start?” you ask, taking a cautious step back, edging toward the paperwork sitting on the counter.

Jack takes another gander of the kitchen and living room. It’s strange, really, how he’s observing the space but not really looking at it. It almost appears passive, like he’s not interested in it at all.

You tuck the loose paperwork into the binder Mister Grant left and lean against the counter, arms crossed over your chest.

“Let’s cover the outdoors first,” Jack finally says. “Weather is all right for now. Never know when it might rain.”

“Sure,” you reply. “Let me grab my coat.”

You quietly excuse yourself, heading for the guest bedroom. It’s at the end of the hall. Tucked away. Even though you don’t sense a presence at your back, you keep checking, glancing over your shoulder like Jack will suddenly appear.

It’s silly, really. Why are you uneasy about all this? Jessica sometimes gets back to you last minute on things. It’s just a little tight. A little odd. But it’s not completely unusual.

Grabbing your coat, you return downstairs, finding Jack near the patio door. He’s hunched over a bit, blocking your view of the handle.

“Want to start in the backyard first?” you ask loudly, tugging on the coat.

He turns sharply, his mouth a firm, flat line before morphing into a smile. He’s still blocking your view of the handle.

Reaching behind him, he slides the patio door open. “Sounds great.” He moves with it and stays there. “Ladies first.”

You slowly approach and brush past him. Jack is far too close and you wrap your coat a little tighter around you as he exits after you. With clipboard in hand, the two of you begin walking the perimeter of the house.

Jack never removes any tools from his belt. He doesn’t measure anything. He only observers and makes notes on his clipboard. There are no questions asked. Nothing. The silence is excruciating, and while you’re itching to break it, you don’t dare do so.

There is a chill beneath your skin, and it’s not the cool December air. It might be cold out but it’s not that cold—not like it can get in the States. This is a creeping chill. One that starts at a point in your chest and slowly spreads outward until the tips of your fingers and toes feel numb.

Jack isn’t wearing a coat, but perhaps he’s simply used to the weather. He doesn’t appear bothered by it.

“Anything I can help with?” you finally ask once the two of you make it back to the patio area.

“Just keep close,” he winks, stepping inside the house.

You stand just outside, unsure if you want to go in at all. Your phone burns a hole in your pocket. The urge to call Jessica is intense—nearly stifling.

You step inside, glancing back the interior handle. The screws are gone. And the lock is clearly broken.

“What the fuck,” you mutter, whirling around to find Jack standing nearby, a hammer clutched in his fist.

Jack isn’t smiling. His frown is deep. A scowl. Your gaze darts to the hammer in his hand and then back up to his face. He’s between you and the front door. The only way out is through the patio door. It might be directly behind you, but you still have to run along the side of the house to make a break for the road.

If you’re fast, you could do it. But you’ll have to give Jack your back. And he’s wielding a fucking weapon. Even if you’re out of swinging distance, he could still hurl it at you like a javelin.

Slowly, you slide your foot backward.

Jack remains utterly motionless.

“I’m calling Jessica.”

Again, Jack doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

You take another slow step backward.

Without taking your eyes off of him, you fish out your phone, holding it up in the air. With Jessica at the top of your message list, it’s not difficult to hit the “call” button. There is a pause before you hear the muted ring coming from your phone.

But that isn’t what unnerves you.

A ringer goes off. Loud. Near.

It’s not Jack. He still stands there in the middle of the room with hammer in hand. Unfazed.

It’s coming from behind you.

The muted ring from your phone and the loud, audible one sync together. Jack’s gaze slowly shifts from you to a point over your shoulder.

Your eyes burn and you don’t realize that you’re crying until the salt of them sting your cheeks.

Jack isn’t looking at you anymore. His gaze is beyond. Absorbed elsewhere.

Twisting, you glance over your shoulder and find a man standing just outside the patio door. He holds up a ringing cellphone and half of his face is covered in burn scars.

“Hello, love,” he says, voice gruff like he’s smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. “The name’s Kit.”

taglist:

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@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @lialacleaf @unhinged-reader-36

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bloodiedrogue · 1 year ago

Text

GUARD DOG (11)

SUMMARY: During the aftermath of your confession, you and Astarion navigate your feelings.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,982

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2, canon typical violence, brief mentions of past abuse.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, I made my Saturday schedule with a few hours to spare. :') Also, update: I'm going to be closing my tag list on Monday. I have a lot of people signed up and it's becoming a bit overwhelming to keep track of over time so if you've been thinking about joining do it while you still can!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

You feel like a ghost, drifting from one experience to the next —your body moving as needed while your mind wanders, failing to grasp the fact that you’re already rooted inside of Moonrise Towers.

Blinking hard at such a realization, you find yourself scanning the secluded office you and the party suddenly occupy, feeling the fog of your mind slowly begin to lift, remembering why you’re here. Why Ketheric Thorm has somehow allowed you to explore the contents of his subject’s office.

He needs you to get the relic. Not that you know exactly what that is. Considering he doesn’t trust you yet, all you know is that after you’ve gathered supplies you’re meant to go to the mausoleum to find it. Along with a man named Balthazar who’s gone missing. The same man whose office you now find yourself looting.

Moving through the space as quietly as possible, you notice quickly that all around there are stacks of books, creating this sort of claustrophobic space you have to steady your breath against. Deep within your chest, you can feel the past anxiety of the day bubbling up within your throat as you take it all in, threatening to spill just as Wyll clears his throat, telling you to hurry up so that Z’rell doesn’t get suspicious.

At the mention of Ketheric’s disciple —an orc woman you met earlier— you swallow hard and nod, allowing the fog to resurface as you wander towards a nearby desk, exploring the contents of the tabletop with narrowed eyes. Across it, all the usual items sit: various notebooks, an ink bottle with a well-used quill, a couple of decorative knick knacks here and there. However, there’s also a skull that sits at the top right edge, piquing your interest enough to reach out and grab it, testing out the weight.

“Death enthusiast or necromancer?”

As if on cue, Astarion slithers up to your side, pulling out various tools from his pocket before kneeling on the ground, turning his attention to the desk drawer.

Almost immediately you reply with necromancer, but unlike him, there isn’t a flirtatious tone that coats your words. Instead, there’s just exhaustive sadness, prompting his eyes to flicker up momentarily as he pushes the hook into the keyhole.

“Care to elaborate?”

You shrug and run your finger around the eye socket of the skull, tracing the edge with distraction —feeling your mind continue to distance itself from the task at hand as your gaze grows fuzzy.

It’s a sensation that suddenly makes you remember the events of earlier. The ones where you foolishly confessed your feelings only to receive no such reciprocation. A feeling that weighs you down without warning, covering you in a layer of anxious smog that sticks to your skin, reminding you that you’re mad at him. Frustrated and disappointed —a version of yourself that makes you wish you could be anywhere else so that you could process your feelings.

Because you haven’t had time to, yet. Thanks to Shadowheart’s interruption, all you’ve been left with is questions. Inquiries so intense that between fighting the convoy for the lantern and arriving at the steps of Moonrise, you’ve managed to drive yourself over the edge.

Breathing in, you can feel how heavy it’s made you. How, as Astarion remains knelt beside you, trying his best to avoid your gaze but ultimately failing to do so, makes you want to plummet into the earth in a heap of tears.

“I’m going to take a look in the other room,” you tell him then, giving yourself a moment of reprieve as you place the skull back onto the desk and make your way to the door. Once there, you reach for the handle and freeze in place, releasing a shaky plume of air before you swallow hard and push it open, allowing it to close until Astarion’s hand shoots out to grab it.

“I’ll give you a hand.”

Standing near the entrance, you open your mouth to respond but ultimately fail to come up with anything that isn’t mean-spirited, prompting you to instead frown and turn on your heel, moving towards the farthest bookcase you can find. Immediately after that, you attempt to tune out his presence completely, opting to sift through the catalogue of books before you, searching for some sort of clue. Perhaps a book on the Shadowlands themselves or something to do with the undead —anything to distract your mind from Astarion’s movements as he explores the room, eventually turning to face you.

“I assume you want to talk about earlier.”

You do but not right now, so instead of responding you roll your eyes and grab the first book you see, opening it up to find a series of familiar-looking symbols gracing the page.

At first, they merely look like some sort of intricate design. The way each figure curls in odd ways, drawing your eye to the complicated graph in the centre. Then your mind clicks into place and you’re suddenly blinking back the fog, forcing your mind to focus on the translations written below each image, realizing what they are.

They’re Infernal letters. The language of the Hells clearly displayed in front of you, reminding you of Astarion’s scars as you look up to scan him, watching him reach for a nearby book.

“Listen, darling, I know you’re angry with me but—“

Without even thinking, you shush him loudly, moving towards his frame. “Take off your shirt.”

He drops his jaw open in shock, laughing in slight confusion. “I beg your pardon? Take off my shirt?” His eyes are wide as he continues to stare, quickly discovering that you’re serious as he tosses the aforementioned book aside. “You’re aware our compatriots are just beyond this door, correct? Or have you suddenly gone mad with lust and failed to remember?”

You scrunch up your face, shaking your head. “Ew, Astarion. No, not like that.”

He shoots you a look of relief before quickly backtracking and narrowing his eyes. “I’m sorry —what d’you mean ew?”

His sudden offence makes you scoff and motion to the open page in front of you, forcing him to notice the symbols. “These look like your scars, don’t they? The ones on your back.”

There’s a moment of silence that stirs between you then. As Astarion reaches for the page, gently brushing his fingers over yours while leaning in, you swallow hard and try not to think of before. Of the unrequited statement that still lingers between you, ripping you apart while he somehow remains fine.

Standing there, drinking in the great interest that befalls his face, you find it incredibly hard not to reach out and shake him in that moment. To grip him by the collar and demand answers despite knowing there are far more important things at hand. For example, the fact that, on top of the already complicated infiltration mission, you’re now required to go on this little treasure hunt. One that will most likely have dangerous consequences if you manage to fail.

Meaning, the last thing you should be thinking about is how Astarion still hasn’t bothered to respond to your confession.

“Did that bastard seriously carve Infernal into my flesh?” He looks disgusted as he glances up at you, his brows knitted towards the centre of his face while you offer your sympathies.

“I guess so.”

Swearing under his breath, he takes a step back, immediately moving his hands to pop open the leathers of his armour, ignoring the way you press your lips together nervously.

“You know he spent the entire night doing it,” he says then, moving his hands across the many fastenings, shaking his head at the memory. “For hours I laid bare beneath him, enduring the pain of his blasted knife —and for what? So he could further brand me as his own? Make even more claim to a helpless slave.”

You frown at his words, hearing the ache of his voice crack inside your ears as you take a step forward, listening to him huff and toss his leathers onto the floor before taking off his undershirt.

“Wasn’t it enough to merely strip me of my rights? To starve me as I filled him up each night.”

A part of you wants to tell him no. That nothing Cazador did to him would ever be enough. But then you hear the breath that escapes his chest —the tremors of its wake hitting your fingers as you tentatively grip his shoulder, feeling the strain of his muscles tense beneath your touch.

“We don’t have to do this right now,” you tell him, forcing your thumb further into his flesh with careful precision, feeling him melt. “We can take the book and come back to it.”

Immediately, he scoffs in response, craning his neck towards you just as the door creaks open, revealing a very shocked looking Gale who freezes at the doorway.

“I uh… I recognize that I’m interrupting something. However, might I suggest the two of you perhaps don’t do this right now?”

Releasing Astarion from your grasp, you take a step back and close the book in your hand. “May I suggest knocking, maybe?”

Gale snorts and raises his hands in innocence. “Perhaps you’re right. My apologies. I promise I’m not here to make a fuss. Just here to remind you that while you’re attempting to bed one another in quite literally the worst location we’ve experienced thus far, the rest of us are out here dealing with the constant reminder of our impending doom.”

Smiling sarcastically, Gale then motions to Astarion who smiles back and reaches for his clothes. “And here I was thinking of inviting you to our little party.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll have to decline though on account of the fact that both of you frighten me and frankly, I’m not one for sharing.”

“Hm. Too bad.” Astarion pouts, prompting you to sigh in embarrassment, pressing the book in your hands against your forehead.

“Yes, well, anyway. The rest of us are going to split up and take a look around. Feel free to join us?”

His last sentence is phrased as a question but you know deep down it’s more of a command, telling you to stop, so you do. Nodding your head in response, the two of you then watch him leave before turning to the other, releasing shared heavy breaths as Astarion continues to redress.

“Stupid wizard.”

Despite the grin that erupts across your face, you realize then that focusing on anything other than the task at hand is dangerous. That, even though you want the answers to all the questions floating inside your head, the only thing you should be focusing on is Ketheric Thorm and the hidden relic that Balthazar failed to collect.

You shouldn’t be thinking of yourselves. At least, not in the way your mind wants to. Instead of emotions, it should be focused on survival. On the steps needed to ensure your safety to get to all the parts you actually want.

“He’s right you know —about doing this another time.” You tap the cover of the book and see Astarion roll his eyes, moving his hands to readjust the top layer of his armour with a sigh.

“I understand that but—“

Before he can finish, your hand finds his chest, pressing it softly. “We’ll figure it out, okay? I promise. Just give it time.”

Deep down you know it’s a difficult thing to ask. Considering Astarion’s spent the majority of his life waiting already, you’re well aware of the lack of patience he’s developed. How, his sliver of freedom thanks to the Illithid has granted him the ability to become easily irritated by time.

Unsurprisingly, since you’ve known him, he’s always been prone to bouts of restlessness. Whenever he’s forced to wait there’s often a scowl that presents itself across his face, growing with each passing moment until he eventually explodes. Because of this, when you look at him with desperate eyes, watching the way he twitches and shifts, you’re more than anxious. You’re downright terrified. Lost to a grouping of thoughts that tell you he most likely hates you for asking.

“I promise the moment we have time, I’ll spend every waking hour trying to translate this for you,” you tell him. Hoping and praying that just this once he’ll understand that waiting is the right thing to do and not a lie you tell him to gain his trust.

“Can we even afford to wait, though?”

You look at him like you don’t know the answer, sliding your hand upwards to play with his collar. “At this rate, we might just have to take that chance. You heard so yourself, Gale and the others are already planning to depart. We can’t fall behind and further risk our chance of surviving this.”

He knows you're right. You can tell by the way his jaw clenches and he looks away, trying to suppress the frustrations.

“I know I already said it before but I do love you. Truly. I’d do anything to make you happy but right now keeping you safe is my number one priority and if that means delaying said happiness, so be it.”

After that, there’s a moment of silence that hits. One that’s filled with avoided glances and heavy sighs —all of which come from Astarion as he struggles to accept your words.

At first, it fills you with regret, realizing the way you phrased yourself probably sounds a bit insensitive. But then you see that familiar smirk begin to curl across his lips, pulling upwards with a scoff as he playfully shoves you away.

“Fine. I’ll wait. But not because you told me to.”

“Of course.”

“I’m serious. You’re not the boss of me. I can do whatever I please. You just happen to make an effective argument. Plus, you’re rather convincing when you’re professing your undying love for me.”

“Shut up.” Pushing him back in annoyance, you shake your head and step through the doorway, moving through the office until you’re out in the hall again, glancing around as you pack away the book. “What supplies do we need anyway?”

“Potions, definitely. Perhaps some arrows or elixirs. I know Gale wanted some spell scrolls but after the stunt he pulled earlier I refuse to get him any.”

You fake pout in his direction as you both begin to walk with no destination in mind. “Aw, is somebody sad that the wizard didn’t accept his sexual invitation?”

“Hardly. That man wouldn’t know an orgasm from a sneeze.”

Suppressing the urge to laugh, you offer an unknowing shrug. “I don’t know. You don’t bed a goddess and not have the dexterity to please a woman.”

Scoffing, Astarion turns towards a random doorway, giving you a curious look before you nod your head, prompting him to open the door. “Please, the man pales in dexterous endeavours compared to me.”

“Hm. Maybe. Perhaps I’ll ask him for a hand one day. Maybe do a little experimentation?”

As you smirk in his direction there’s a feeling of normalcy that hits. Slowly but surely it fills you up with that familiar warmth, reminding you of the reason you first fell for Astarion in the first place. Somehow he has this unwavering ability to make you grin through the darkness. To distract you from the hellish fear that nips at your feet each time you step into dangerous territory.

Compared to everyone else he’s the closest thing you’ve had to a friend. And now that you’re joking back and forth, grinning as he stares at you in fake shock thanks to your statement, you begin to accept that his response no longer matters. That you’ve made your peace with it, knowing he’s still there, comforting you in all the ways you need as you walk further into the room, noticing a white-haired woman standing in the corner.

Upon taking another step she turns from the worktable in front of her, raising a brow at the two of you before fully turning around with a grin. “Ah, the True Soul.” Moving forward, she then extends her hand towards you but fails to meet your gaze once she notices Astarion’s nose begin to turn up, causing you to frown. “I’m Araj Oblodra, trader in blood and the sanguineous arts.”

Taking her hand, you feel an unwanted heat hit your palm, making you look down as you peel away, offering your name before motioning to Astarion. “This is—“

“A vampire spawn,” she interrupts with interest, leaning towards him with crossed arms and curious eyes. “What an absolute pleasure.”

Both of you share an awkward glance that doesn’t go unnoticed. Despite that though, she barely bats an eye as she offers her hand again, this time to Astarion who clears his throat and shakes his head. “Astarion… sorry I don’t… touch.”

At first, she seems a bit disappointed but then such feelings are quickly erased when she turns her attention back to you, revealing another grin as she drops her hand. “I assume you’re faring well around Moonrise?”

“If by fairing you mean struggling to find a decent potion seller then yes.”

She clicks her tongue in understanding, turning towards the worktable behind her to grab a vial unprompted. “Perhaps I could be of service then? As long as you’re willing, of course.”

“Willing?” You raise your brow, watching her twist the vile between her fingers with a smirk.

“I happen to trade in blood,” she explains. “And the potions that can be wrung from it. Obviously considering such details it’s ideal that I earn the consent of my customers. Otherwise who knows what kind of havoc might occur. Hence the willingness.”

“Hm, now nice of you to offer the bare minimum,” Astarion comments, making you narrow your eyes in confusion, wondering what’s suddenly got him so on edge.

“Yes well, if you’d humour me with a drop or two of your blood I could whip up something truly potent for the both of us.”

Immediately there’s a wariness that sets in at the mention of sharing. Overall, it feels as if there’s something off about her. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself or the instant distrust you sense from Astarion as he stands beside you, tensing up with every passing moment you spend talking to her. Either or, you take both as a sign of caution, taking a moment to collect your thoughts as you glance around to view her workspace, noticing various needles and vials, haphazardly filled with liquids you can only assume to be her customer’s blood.

“Not sure I like the idea of weaponizing my blood, to be honest.” Offering her a polite smile, you see her kindness falter in response, replacing it with an air of curiosity.

“I can assure you it’s safe,” she says. “Nothing more than a pinprick but obviously if you aren’t keen perhaps we can discuss other matters.”

As she speaks her gaze focuses on Astarion once again, her lids half-closing in such a lusty way you find your chest brimming with something bordering between anger and jealousy —enveloping you in hatred.

“Your spawn, for example.”

The way she says it feels like she’s insinuating a sense of ownership. As if Astarion’s your pet or something equally disgusting. Angrily, it makes you scrunch up your face and turn towards him, sharing a look of displeasure before ultimately turning back to scowl. “You’re aware he’s his own person, right?”

She laughs dryly. “I’m sure he believes that.”

“Yes, he does. Because it’s true.”

After that she’s silent for a moment, taking in your words. Allowing them to sift within the air as each of you stare at one another, trying to figure out how to proceed even though you know you’re already done.

Unable to entertain the lack of sense, you move your hand to Astarion’s arm, feeling him tense beneath your grasp. Then you awaken your tadpole to contact his, feeling the creature shift against the corner of your eye.

Can we leave, please?

Before he can make the effort to listen to your words, Araj is already speaking again, telling you stories of her childhood and how, even then, she wished to be bitten by a vampire, prompting the two of you to stop.

“I’m sorry. You want to be bitten?” Astarion says in disbelief, watching her nod and take a step closer, sharing her interest further.

“To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance on the edge between life and death?

She looks at him longingly as she speaks, telling him then that she’d want nothing more than to feel the icy sting of his teeth against her flesh, making you scoff in disgust even though you know all too well what it feels like. How addictive it can be to let your mind drift away as you're sucked dry.

“I’ll even compensate you if you like.”

“Compensate me?” Astarion laughs. “Darling, I’m sorry but my talents cannot be bought.”

“Not even for a potion of legendary power?” she muses.

Immediately, he shakes his head. “Hm, afraid not.”

Her tone shifts then, frustrations filling her every pore as she looks towards you but motions to him. “You might want to talk some sense into your spawn, you know. I don’t offer such rarities lightly.”

You catch Astarion open his mouth to respond, but before he can you’re already stepping forward, inserting yourself into Araj’s space with such powerful aggression, pressing your knife to her throat.

“Are you always this dense?”

Suddenly aware of the consequences of her actions, she lets out a shaky breath and eyes Astarion, her expression filling with desperation as you press the blade further into her flesh, using your other hand to force her to look at you. “You’re aware of the meaning, yes? Of the word no?”

Instead of answering she just groans at you, angling her head upwards to try and distance herself from the knife, forcing you to tighten your hold. “Oh, you don’t? Well, allow me to enlighten you then.”

For a moment you pause, grinning wickedly at the fear within her eyes. Taking in the change of demeanour as you twist the edge of your blade away, huffing as you release her all at once, watching her gasp.

“It means he doesn’t want to suck your fucking throat. Just as I don’t want to kill you… at least, not here.”

Sensing the truth within your words, Araj gives you a careful nod and retreats, reaching to grip her tender neck as you put away your blade and scowl one final time.

As you do Astarion looks at you with wide eyes, barely responding when you grab his arm and lead him back out of the room, swearing angrily under your breath when you slam the door behind you.

“Well, that was an eventual moment.”

You can’t help but laugh and lean forward once you realize you’re alone again, resting your forehead against his shoulder in slight embarrassment. “Sorry. I just…”

His hand loops around your shoulders before you can even think to pull away, forcing you into his chest as he laughs and kisses your head, granting you a moment of peace within his hold. “Don’t be. It’s quite enjoyable seeing you like that.”

“All deranged?” you mumble against his chest.

“Protective,” he corrects. “In fact, I find it quite flattering seeing you puffed up, ready to kill for me.”

You snort and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him even closer. “Like I said, it’s because I love you.”

“Yes, well…” Pausing to clear his throat, you feel his hand stroke the top of your head, slowly moving down towards the back of your neck before repeating the process —doing it several times before he ultimately releases a heavy breath. “I love you too, darling. Thank you.”

TAGLIST:

@poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo@jjfchk@idiotsatan@bluestuesday@bloopthebat@art-by-greenie@heneralmoon@sukunababe@dreamingaboutyousworld@ranfithegood@haniscrying@liadamerondjarin@the-lake-is-calling@marina-and-the-memes@rookieoftheyear@zraloci-cpr@kaetmo@snickerdoodle-daydream@wowowwild@d1anna@raswiet@conniesbbymama@venus-wrts@demonicthorns@kihten@deadglamsheep@sanscas@spammypasta@leighsartworks216@rose-gold-blue@p1ssmagg0t@hellish-writes@ghostinvenus@otayz@sexysquatch@sleepyeclair@colorful-anxieties@alina-exe@ilana-the-lasagna@lillifer@girlwiththepapatattoo@y2cade@acelin-ginsberg@pinkuranium@catrad0rable@scarletrosesposts@qwnamidala@itsrosebabe@bunnyperi@queenofcarrotflowers-s@tatumadams20@spkyxszn@chlort@f3v3rs@awkwardwookie@joy-the-reader@warm-milk-with-honey-blog@vertigocrime@iyis@wildpiper@pebblethestone@tillywasneverhere@bex-03@kaetmo@revemiya@staticspouse@itzagothamcitysiren@djarinsmixtape@when-the-night-came@epicy0n@bababahannah@sleepyred1703@lotus-99@lofcompass@r4d10h34d5@vampninjaz@itsmekalou@offbrandhand@yikes-buddy@konenichi@rainonarden@oceanbluesixeyes@bodtyworship@maydayitsjay@greasyslimebucket@yeeteth-the-raven@fantasyfairysworld@allexthakatt@flowersaretheshit@morglyne@thespectacularspaceace@cephiss0@use-your-telescope@furblrwurblr@kloverfield@angelofthorr@writervaul-t@starved-kitten@minixluvr@crowley--aziraphale@sapphicwren@alionera-blog@jennithejester@dezedrol@thisisew@saladalpaca@applepiewithbacon@httpbiohazard@aurasyn@nerdoodles@kingpinthedevil@itzkawaiix@domainoflostsouls@silverskylan@uminootome@helpidkwhatimdoingwrong@deadlyinfernos@blackbirdswhispers@sarahskywalker-amadala@writingmysanity@f3v3rs@jayjones03@quietlyebbie@optimisticprime3@eyes-for-daze@sunnytalia3@megoshh@maddiedott@cappsikle@mostbeautifulnightmare@lynnlovesloki@simpytheshrimpy69@astarion-archive@smaranshakthi@autistic-deer@shadowfeart@freckled-petals@candied-lavender@hp-art-studio@ghouligan

(If you'd like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form. Also, if your name isn't on here and it should be I couldn't tag you so message me and I'll try again next time!)

#guard dog #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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thefallennightmare · 4 months ago

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Faded Memories- Chapter One Teaser

a/n: so with this series, it will be very small. I think 6 chapters. Updates for it will be sporadic, so if you haven't already filled out my tag list document, feel free to post here or the master list post for this series if you want to be tagged!

I plan on hopefully getting the first chapter posted sometime this week(and then I will jump back into JP!)

Heads up, Matty will be a dick in this series. We love mean!matty. But its kind of justified once you find out why.

LITTLE LONGER THAN NORMAL TEASER BELOW THE CUT!

"Elvi," Matt grunted, his warm breath fanning over the back of my neck.

I pushed my ass farther back against him, desperately needing him to go faster; deeper.

"Matt," I whined. "Please. I need more of you."

A tender kiss to the middle of my spine was all I felt before his pace became erratic, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the small hotel room. The room had filled with the musty scent of our shared arousal and with the sounds of the lies of our true feelings. Both of us knew this wasn't meant to happen, the outcome of this being catastrophic for our friendship but we couldn't deny the chemistry between us; the way our bodies practically craved one another.

Rough, calloused hands smacked my ass, causing me to bellow out in pleasure. Matt's other hand snaked around my neck, hoisting my jaw up towards the ceiling.

"You're so fucking pretty when you scream for me, Elvi," his teeth grazed over the shell of my ear. "I'm not letting you go after tonight. You're mine."

Blinking away the memory, I stood in the middle of the large parking lot while letting out a deep breath. That specific memory from four years ago continued to inhabit my mind. I could still feel the way his cock felt inside of me. I could still smell his scent as it lingered deep into my skin for weeks. I could still remember the way my heart dropped to the depths when I heard him on the phone minutes after we came down from our shared high.

But worst of all, I could still remember the way I cried for what could have been as I slipped out of that hotel room, never looking back.

Touring with Bloodline was never supposed to end like it did. I wasn't supposed to lose my best friend from a night of sexual tension that boiled over like a forgotten pot of water on a stove; yet, like the pot, everything between us evaporated into thin air.

Shaking away the distant feeling of regret, I adjusted the bag on my shoulder and trekked over to the large tour bus as my future awaited me. I gave small waves to everyone, already meeting them days ago, and as Folio showed me up the steps of the bus, rambling on about how excited he was that I was his drum tech for this world tour, I did my best to match his excitement even though I was nervous as hell.

"There's one bunk left, it's right across from our tour manager and front of house guy. He's great though, you'll love him!" Folio smiled as we came to a stop in the middle of the bus.

"Speak of the devil," he chuckled before motioning towards a man who sat on the long couch of the tour bus, hat hung low over those eyes.

Folio's words fell away against the numbness of my body as I stared at the man sitting in front of me; those fading memories slowly resurfacing. Four years later, and he still looked the same.

The only difference was the sheer heartbreak on what used to be the soft features of his face. Those already dark eyes inked with sheer black when they took in the sight of me, remembrance clear as the Los Angeles sky.

"Matt, this is my new drum tech. The one I was telling you about. Her name is-."

Matt stood tall, interrupting Folio's introduction, and he peered down at me. I swallowed thickly, that all too familiar scent encompassing me, rendering me useless.

"Elvi," Matt sneered before roughly pushing past me to stomp his way toward the back area of the bus.

#tina talks #bad omens #bad omens cult #matt dierkes #matt dierkes fanfiction #matt dierkes x ofc #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens x ofc

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peppymintdreams · 16 days ago

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Sakuverse Masterlist

Every ZSakuVA fanfic i've written (except for Sakuverse Reimagined Twist of Fate and Headcanon) is here, NOTICE NON BLUE FIC TITLES WILL BE MOVED TO MASTER-LIST II

Angst: 🔥 Fluff: ☁️ NSFW: 🌶️ Yandere: 🔪 AU:🌎

Alex:

Andrew Marston:

Disobedient 🌶️

The First Morning After ☁️

A Resurfacing Nightmare 🔥

You Broke Me Now We Drift Away 🔥

Soft Keys ☁️

A Swan's Cry 🔥

Haunting Dreams 🔥

Shattered Reflections 🔥

The Breaking Point 🔥☁️

A Battle Of Wills 🔥🌶️

An Unwritten Chapter 🔥☁️

Winding Roads ☁️

Not In Love 🔥

A Waltz Under Glass and Stars ☁️

My Darling ☁️

After The Fight 🔥

Forever and Always 🔥☁️

Unyielding Obsession 🔪

I Want to Protect You 🔥

Whispers in The Highways 🔥

You're My Daydream ☁️

Show Me How ☁️

A Photograph Worth a Thousand Memories☁️

Twin Troubles 🔥

Asirel:

Cevyk:

Dontis:

Elias:

Eye Understand You ☁️

Secret Weapon☁️

Hey Sexy Boy ☁️

Hot and Sweaty.... Ramen ☁️🌶️

Sick and Tired of You ☁️

Shower With You ☁️

A Catty Man 🔥

You a Sickie Baby ☁️

Memories We Can't Recall 🔥

Gifts ☁️

Crumbling Dreams 🔥

Just Me and My Thoughts ☁️

A Quiet Moment

A Quiet Escape

Marked Territory

Caged Affection

Green-Eyed Trouble

Until You Wake

Caught In The Act

Close Enough

Unexpected Trouble

Beach Buddies

Wines Affect

Mario Party Madness

The Tears of a Grown Man

Sunset Moonrise

“[Secret Agent Barista]”

Bratty Behavior

Tears in the Storm

Portrait of Disaster

Namaste or Not

Riding Into The Sunset

Isaac Rhoades:

Sing Sweet Nightingale 🔪

Morning Love ☁️

Sick and Pickled ☁️

The Dawn in the First Light ☁️

Crime and Idiocracy ☁️

Broken Promises🔥☁️

Soft interruptions☁️

Lines Crossed🔥☁️

Movie Night☁️

Anxious🔥☁️

A Work of Art From God ☁️🌶️

Insomnia Who? ☁️

Burn It ☁️

Panik....Kalm....PANIK 🔥☁️

Begone Thot🔥🌶️

Trust 🔥☁️

I'm Tired of this Grandpa 🔥☁️

So Purty ☁️

Waiting for You 🔥

Who did This 🔥🔪

Forgotten Flames 🔥☁️

Thinking ☁️

Furry Little Friends ☁️

Dress Code 🔥🌶️

You Signed the Contract

Good morning to You too…

The Gifts of Orchids

Pieces of My Heart

Until I’m Home Again

Sweet Moments

Steps to the Heart

Blossoms in His Arms

Shadows of The Past

Jonah:

Kayson Mayer:

Luca Pearce:

Wicked 🌎🔥

Rainey Nights New Beginnings 🌎☁️

The Heart Knows no Boundaries🔥☁️

You Fit Perfectly With Me🔥☁️

Mentally Not There🔥

The Straw that Breaks the Bunny's back🔥

Trip Down Memory Lane☁️

I Don't Want you to Leave☁️

Everybody get in the fuckin holiday spirit☁️

Read 5:38 Pm☁️

You're My everything i'm Glad your here☁️

Wrong Side of Bed🔥☁️

Fading🌎🔥

Make a Wish with Me☁️

Obsessed ☁️

Late night Snack ☁️

Call Me ☁️

Obsessed with You Too ☁️

Sleepy Cuddles ☁️

Not Today ☁️

My Husband ☁️

A Cozy Night Out

Queen of Hearts

Tsundere Tendencies

Wisdom Tooth Woes

Daddy’s Little Princess

Home…

Wet Dreams

Matias:

Niall:

Rowan:

Xanthus Claiborne:

Periods ☁️

Time With You ☁️

Bound by Shadows

The Enchanted Night

The Moonlit Pact

Midnight Whispers

A Warm Embrace

The Eternal Gallery

Before the Dawn

A Vampire’s Veil of Shadows Ball

Feeding

A Gift in Ink

A Gem for Love

Eyes on Me

A Vampiric Makeover

Mortal Beauty

Immortal Beauty

Zaros Kymen Atha'lin:

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ataraxiaspainting · 11 months ago

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Sweet Hibiscus Tea.

Yan Shalnark x F Reader.

Synopsis: After a day of finally trying to face your social anxiety, you walk home alone. The roads are empty, quiet, and eerie. But you are almost home now, aren’t you? You are not going to cry anymore. Just when you think life is starting to turn around for you, it goes in the exact opposite direction.

Warnings: Yandere themes, violence, kidnapping, misogyny, not SFW implications, psychological horror elements, manipulation, panic attacks, Shalnark being an asshole, unhealthy relationships, and stalking.

Word Count: 5k.

Can be considered to be within the Hier Encore universe.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Look Who’s Inside Again by Bo Burnham

Things She Said by Chris Garneau

Baby Bride Rag by Roar

Butch 4 Butch by Rio Romeo

Appetite of a People-Pleaser by Ghost and Pals

Valentine, Texas by Mitski

I’m Yer Dad by GRLwood

Cry Baby by Melanie Martinez

Freaks by Surf Curse

Neighbour by Mother Mother

“You stay soft, you get beaten; only natural to harden up.” — Mitski, Stay Soft

*~*~*~*

Regardless of how much time has passed, this convenience store always remains the same.

There is always the familiar, tired face of the clerk behind the cash register, her gaze never on you or any other customer who walks in and out of the doors, a simple, muted hello being the only proof that she noticed you.

The lights dim and blink without fail, fading from white to a shade of daffodil to dark flaxen before disappearing and resurfacing yet again as alabaster. No matter how black the night sky is, the less-than-bright illumination never changes.

Neither does the rest of the scenery.

Next to the payment area are two vending machines, with one not functioning. It is dead, with the glass broken by a punch that left a large gaping hole in the dead center. Once when you accidentally touched the front wall while bending down to get your can of lemonade from the working one, it left a sticky residue that had you rubbing your palm on your sweater for what felt like an eternity. It somewhat helped, you guessed, but it also stained your clothes. The vending machine to its right was always out of most sweet drinks, often leaving you with the choice of coffee, lemonade, green tea, or water.

You don’t buy any snacks aside from strawberry Pocky and, if you are lucky, a chocolate bar.

But you do buy meals here because it is cheap. Usually fish with miso or a salad, but there have been times when you can find a premade sandwich.

The total cost comes to between 500 to 1000 Jenny. There is always a poster that claims the cashier is the employee of the month, though you are certain that she is the only one who works there.

The only thing that ever changes is the calendar behind her. The past dates are crossed out in red ink that is in the form of thick, scraggly lines. They remind you of the drawings you used to make as a child when your father was too busy screaming outside your door and your mother was too powerless to do anything but cry and yelp as he hit her. One time you drew them fighting, and when one of your maids saw it, it inevitably found its way to his desk.

Needless to say, he was not happy by any means.

*~*~*~*

The calendar behind the worker reads the 17th of April, 1998. On this day in 1985, your first and only ever friend, the head gardener’s apprentice, went missing. When you eventually gathered up the courage after waiting for hours outside, you went to your father’s room to ask where she was.

“She has been removed from the premises for distracting you instead of doing her job.” The answer you got was to the point, because when has he ever been warm to you? “I made sure that she had learned her lesson before she died. She was in pain the whole time. It was a shame to put a bullet between her pretty eyes. But at least she had a bit more use to me beforehand.”

You cried and cried until you threw up.

That is when your mother, the usual bandage over her left cheek this time, came in and sat on your bed gently, sadly.

She patted the area next to her and slowly you stood up from the floor where you kneeled as you sobbed and went over. She asked you if you wanted a hug and you said no. She responded with a simple nod, respecting your answer. But then what she said next turned your tear-stricken face into a glare.

“She’s alive.” She muttered, along with thanks to God and a hold of the cross on her neck.

“...What?”

Your mother shushed you when she heard footsteps coming to the door. When the sound eventually leaves further into the hallway, she leans into your ear while pointing to your vanity. Your gaze leads you to the dusty cat statue made of garnet.

It got shattered a little while ago when a maid cleaning your room accidentally made it fall to the floor. You felt bad for her as she was a new hire, so you never told anyone aside from your mother. You knew that if your father, the head of this household, ever found out he would punish her severely, even when he did not care for the statue at all. You got to choose, if you were lucky, which part gets whipped or cut off.

“Yes.”

Her short answer leaves you almost jumping up out of your seat. “...Huh?”

“At last week’s banquet, she caught the attention of your father’s wealthiest business partner.” She turns to the curtains covering the lone window in your room, her back now facing you. “She was tricked into boarding a car when the driver claimed you were inside waiting for her. To the partner in question, she is nothing but another pretty face to add to his collection.”

At the slight turn of the doorknob next door, you two go as still as wax people in a museum. “Why did he lie to me?”

“Why? Well, he certainly did not want you rebelling against his decision.”

“But I have never rebelled against him before.”

“I know.” Your mother lets out a sharp laugh, salty and sour. “I know you are always trying to be good, trying to stay under the radar. I know, I know because you are a lot like me. but now I am going to teach you a lesson about your father and the world at large. Remember that a man’s resentful attitude will always result in a woman’s agony, physical or otherwise, always. However, when things go right for a man, a woman is either praised like a dog or ignored until something goes wrong because it is never enough.”

You can’t breathe. “But why? Why, why, why? What did I do wrong? What could I have done right?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. There is nothing you can do or could have done. No matter what, your faults will always be found. That is how most men are raised, to find, and how most women are raised, to hide.”

“...”

“Men’s hearts are such cruel, small things. Oftentimes they can only fit themselves in them, but there have been times where even they cannot fit.” She is still holding onto the cross charm on her gold necklace, firmer than she has ever held you. “They are cold, are or are almost dead. There is no room for people like you and me. No room at all. All they see us as is something to own, something with no feelings whatsoever, and whose only purpose is to please no matter the cost. Such pigs, all of them.” She murmurs some prayers that you cannot hear. “I want you to be better. I want what is best for you, what I never have been able to accomplish; run and live.”

She opens the drawer beside your bed, and you don’t do anything to stop her. It is not like you can hide anything, from her or anyone else in this house. Whatever is buried eventually resurfaces. She pulls out your rarely used bible, a thick layer of dust on the leather cover. It smells and makes you cough. She doesn’t though.

“At least your father does not force you to read this day and night.”

“Mmhmm.”

“It is one of the few things I appreciate him not doing, I do not want you to grow up hating the church.”

“I know.”

“He has made you hate a lot of things already.”

She turns the pages, dust flying around the cold air.

“He made me hate a lot of things too. Blankets, steaks, cameras. The color white, the color black, the color red. The sounds of belts unbuckling, the sound of laughter, the sounds of doors opening and closing and locking.”

You don’t say anything, only looking at her hands. Only in the dark can you not see her scars, her blooming wrinkles, and the bruises that are always fresh.

You don’t say anything, because you have learned from a very young age that you are her only listening ear. You are the only one who keeps her head on her shoulders. You don’t say anything, because she is right. He has made you hate plenty of things. But, but, but. But you can’t hate him, and you can’t hate your mother.

You can’t hate her, because who knows what she would do when she finds out that no one cares about her pain in this hell?

“Mother.” You mutter, putting your head on her shoulder as you scan the text on the page that she selected. She does not stop you.

“Yes, [First]?”

“Do you hate me?” You ask, trying so very hard to not let her see the tears that threaten to come out of your eyes. “Because… because… if I wasn’t conceived, you wouldn’t be here hurting, would you?”

You could swear that you heard her heart skip a beat.

“...I would not be here, yes.”

She is honest, for once. You know at least some of this situation is all your fault.

“Do you hate me?”

“...”

“Mother, please answer me.”

You hear a sniffle as she starts mumbling the words written. “‘A gracious woman gets honor, and violent men get riches.’”

You choose not to press on the subject. You don’t want her to suffer anymore.

*~*~*~*

You buy an orange-flavored Ramune soda, a pack of pork ginger instant ramen, and strawberry Pocky.

The total would come to about 600 Jenny if your quick calculations are right. You could get something extra, like a topping for your ramen or some chips. But would it be wise? You have never been someone who finishes their plate after you had ran away, so what if you just waste your money?

So, you decide not to get anything else.

You walk to the cash register.

You hear an explosion from the back of the building. Small sparks of white and orange. The lights go off before you can place your chosen items down, and you can hear the employee cursing under her breath. The breaker. What happened?

“Damn it, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” She grumbles, putting her thumb and pointer finger on the bridge of her nose, rubbing. “No raises whatsoever. Only one here. Without me, this place wouldn’t be working, ungrateful pricks.”

Fighting the way your heart rate shoots up, you decide that talking to her would be best. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone aside from your boss, right?

Maybe your anxieties would quell, and you can eventually graduate to talking to your co-workers, that would be a dream come true for you.

You haven’t had a friend, a real friend, ever since Rose was taken from you all those years ago. You still cry whenever you think about her. You miss her. Is she dead, is she alive?

You still blame yourself. If only you hadn’t talked to her, maybe she would still be with you. What kind of adult would she have been? A kind one, a responsible one? You would still be friends at least, wouldn’t you? Or would she grow to hate you, if she didn’t already?

You keep telling yourself that she wouldn’t and didn’t, but that is not what your mind tells you.

Is she dead?

You could picture a rotting corpse six feet under. An unmarked grave. Glassy, dead, amber eyes looking upward to anyone who looks down, helpless, pleading. You always liked them, always complimenting them much to Rose’s shy chuckles. She was so pretty, that much was true. You could only imagine how beautiful she would have been as an adult.

Her looks were a personal gift from God, the heavens, and the angels.

But if she didn’t have them, would she not have been treated like she was in the estate?

“Erm, excuse me,” You mutter, taking a few steps forward. “If you want I can go check it out.”

It is what Rose would do. She always liked helping others. You just wish that people would have appreciated it more and seen past her appearance. It was a double-edged sword. It helped her become the head gardener’s apprentice but also caught the attention of both your father and his business partners. You felt bad for her, and still do.

The employee turns around, her confusion prominent despite the dark.

“Erm,” You mutter, looking down at your hands and entangling your fingers in one another. You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment. “Is that okay?”

It takes a few moments to respond. Her surprise was unexpected, as you never spoke to her outside of asking her if she had change or telling her you hoped that she had a good night. Rose would be better at this kind of thing. You once had a dream that at a fast food joint, an adult her would order for you and correct the staff when they put pickles on your burger. It’s what could have been, funny moments like that. She had always been the one to take charge, you following her like a lost puppy.

You miss her so much.

So much.

The worker slowly nods. “...Okay.”

“...It’s in the back, right? The breaker.”

This is so awkward. Rose would be better. You wish she was here. Or your mother. Anyone.

“...Uh. Um… I like your eyeliner.” As soon as you say that, you curse at yourself, not wanting to sound like a creep. The woman’s confusion becomes even more prominent.

“...Thanks, and yeah, it’s in the back.”

“...Okay.” Jesus Christ. You turn away from her, the heat on your cheeks hot enough to be mistaken for a fever. This is not what Rose would have done.

“...You can leave your stuff here.” She says, and you quickly spin your heel and put your items on the counter. “It’s not like they are going to grow legs and run off, so relax.”

“...” You both chuckle, and you feel slightly better. “...Thanks. I’ll go now.”

“...” You start walking. “Wrong way.”

You stop.

It takes you a few seconds for you to move back to first base and go off in the opposite direction. As soon as you open the creaky steel door, strong rain and cold wind greet you, along with a loud clap of thunder and lightning.

Perhaps you could go back and get your umbrella from the stand by the door. But that would be even more awkward.

“Stupid. Stupid.”

“If we are lucky, the wind simply detached it or something. Not the best at this sort of thing, though.”

“I don’t think breakers detach.” You could picture her shrugging and scoffing at your murmur. “Sorry. Sorry. Just… sorry. I’m the best at this sort of thing either.”

You close the door behind you and start looking amongst the pitter-patter of the raindrops and gusts that nearly make you fall over.

Stupid. Why do you make everything so weird? Rose would have been so much more charismatic. It was one of her strongest traits after all.

Stupid.

It’s hard to see. Trying not to trip over stones and cracked cement, you grip onto the wall and walk forward. Soon, you feel something.

“Ew, ew, ew!” You cry out, quickly moving your hand away from the slimy slug. “Ew!”

“You okay?”

“Uh, nothing. Just a bug. Yeah, just a bug.”

You hear a chuckle. Stupid.

“Sorry!” You exclaim, almost bowing your head. “Sorry! Really!”

Making sure you don’t touch the slug again, you keep moving.

Eventually, you find the breaker. But it wasn’t what you were expecting by any means. The damage almost looks like it was done on purpose, the way it was open and covered in soot. Did something get to it?

The breaker that exploded was a mass of melted metal that had been blown apart from the intense amount of heat and pressure. It was now barely recognizable as a single unit–parts of it scattered across the cement path and others having been fused and becoming something else entirely. The metal had been melted and blown upwards in the sheer force of the explosion, coating parts of the wall, wet grass, and roof with small, solidified droplets of metal. The ground around the remains of the breaker is burnt and scarred with traces of the immense fire that had consumed it.

It seems the rain put it out.

“No hope for this, huh?”

“Hey,” The employee calls out. “How bad is it? If there is nothing you can do, come back inside.”

So, you do.

The way she turns at you is robotic almost. A smile is on her face that was not there before. She nods when she sees you. Something tells you to not approach.

“It exploded into molten metal.”

“Oh well.”

Under the stormy skies, her gaze turns pale. Her eyes, seemingly captivating, lack any hint of vitality, while her lips curve in a disarming and saccharine manner. A shiver runs down your spine as you meet her gaze, every fiber of your being urging you to flee. Deep within your primal instincts, an innate awareness stirs, recognizing the smile as a charade, a mask of humanity that ventures into the realm of unease: akin to an artificial being adorned with synthetic flesh or a wax figure encased in glass. Those lifeless, white eyes, coupled with a forked tongue and an unsettlingly beautiful countenance, leave you with an undeniable sense of mistrust.

“You’re not mad? Really? Um…”

Something is off. What happened? She looks more like an imposter than anything else. But if she is, where did the real cashier go?

“Don’t worry.” She says, her voice oddly chipper and no longer confused by your awkwardness. “It’s fine. I’m quitting anyway, so it’ll be my boss’ problem.”

You turn your head. “Really?”

She nods. Something is off.

“Like really?”

You blink multiple times and you don’t think she does. She just stands there. Slowly, she nods. Something tells you to run yet again.

“Um… um… okay. Okay. I’ll just pay and leave. How much does it come up to?”

She shakes her head.

“Um. I have to pay. It’s thievery if I don’t.” You get closer. “It’s the law.”

“It’s fine.”

“I can’t just not pay.” You say, taking out your wallet from your sweater pocket. “That’s stealing. It’s wrong.”

Every action she takes is measured and precise, and she seems to move like a machine rather than a person. It’s as if she’s been programmed to act and talk in a certain way, and she doesn’t seem to have the ability to break out of that. She simply stares at you, not speaking.

Run.

You undo the metallic button, hearing the shuffling of paper Jenny within your wallet. “Um. Let me pay. Please.”

She simply shakes her head again.

“It’s fine.” The employee says, the smile still plastered on her face. There is quite more than a hint of blankness and detachment in her expression. She speaks in a mechanical and emotionless manner, her words delivered as though repeated from a script of carefully chosen sentences. Her movements are quick and precise, putting your chosen items in a plastic bag. There is no life or energy in her actions, instead, she moves like a mindless machine, performing her tasks before her without showing any personality of her own. Is it better to just accept it?

What should you do? What shouldn’t you do? Is she joking? Should you leave?

What would Rose do?

One of her hands grasps onto the plastic handles and she holds it out before you. There is no authenticity or warmth. Her eyes are blank. What happened? Should you ask? Should you just take the bag without saying anything further?

“Okay,” You murmur, obeying her silent command. “I hope you don’t get into any trouble though.”

*~*~*~*

Boss (9th May 1996 17:45)

Did you find anything?

Boss (9th May 1996 17:45)

Feitan found her heels nearby along with some blood, so she couldn’t have gotten very far.

You (9th May 1996 17:45)

Nothing yet

Boss (9th May 1996 17:47)

Try checking the stores nearby.

Boss (9th May 1996 17:47)

From the blood trail, she is most likely injured from running and trying to fix herself up in some sort of shelter.

Boss (9th May 1996 17:48)

She may have also discarded the rest of her clothes, not just the heels, and is currently wearing something else.

You (9th May 1996 18:15)

I found a dress and jewelry at the bottom of a lake

You (9th May 1996 18:18)

(image sent)

Boss (9th May 1996 18:20)

That’s it.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:20)

Disappointing. I’ll send over Pakunoda to ask people nearby.

You (9th May 1996 18:20)

You (9th May 1996 18:21)

Don’t cry, I’m sure we’ll find her soon :)

Boss (9th May 1996 18:22)

I wasn’t crying.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:22)

I just thought she came around already.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:23)

This will set our heists back weeks.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:24)

She has planned this out for more than a year, it seems.

*~*~*~*

Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. You can’t hear anything else. The sounds sting your ears like an aggravated hornet.

The darkness around you is solid, more so than the cracked, aged concrete path beneath your shoes. There is a tiny light in the distance; a streetlamp.

Silence.

“...”

“Have a good day!”

“...Thank you.”

Let there be light.

“Um…” You can’t see anything. The sounds… stopped. “...Time to go home.”

But the pain stays.

It feels like a drill.

It hurts.

“...” You feel deaf and blind. No, maybe something even worse. “...”

You turn around, to the dark convenience store, and you see the cashier still staring at you. “Have a good day!”

“...”

“[First]?”

…How does she know your name? Did you say it to her in the past?

When you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you.

“[First], dear.” She starts waving as you look at her. “[First]. [First]. [First]. [First]. [First]!”

There is nothing but emptiness. Is your name all she can say? What happened to her? It is like she has regressed. Like a storm cloud in summer, you do not wish for this pain. Now you feel deaf and blind and mute now.

You almost wish that you were dead. All there is is pain. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm.

Interruption. The sounds returned. Is this good? Is this bad? Does it matter at all?

You walk. You don’t speak. Only walk. You can’t breathe. You can only move. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun.

Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm.

A hand clamps over your mouth.

You drop the plastic bag from shock, and then you finally hear something other than those sounds; glass shattering.

“Sh…” A voice, calm, along with the smell of oranges. “It’s okay.”

“...!”

“Don’t scream.”

The touch of lips, a man’s lips, on your ear, thin and hard.

“Breathe. Just breathe for me, okay?”

But you can’t. The wind goes down your throat. It is suffocating. You can’t breathe. You smell oranges and something rotting, blood.

It stinks. It fucking stinks.

Christ. Get away. That stink. That fucking stink. Your body rejects it by continuing to not breathe.

“Sh… Breathe. Just breathe, for me, for you, for us.”

“...St… Sto-”

“Sh…” The voice is sweet, not at all sour, like candy. “Calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen. Just breathe. You’re going to pass out.” The lips and the scent of his breath are like salted leather in a butcher’s shop, stinky and rotting. “Calm down. Don’t worry.”

“...Sto… Si-”

“Breathe. Sh… It’s okay. Breathe.”

“...Ge… Sti…”

“Sh… Breathe. Breathe, [First]. Breathe. [First]. Breathe. Breathe. It’s okay. Don’t worry about all this. Breathe.”

When you finally do, you gasp, desperate. “...Huff… Huff… Huff…”

Get off of me, I can smell you.

“There we go!”

Your vision clears up a bit. “...Huff… Huff… Huff…”

“Just keep breathing.”

“...Huff…”

You can smell him. You can practically taste him, with his mouth so close to you.

“Whew! That was a close one!” The man exclaimed, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

Pain. Get off of me. I can smell you, I can hear you, I can taste you. Get off of me. Please.

The pain still stays, in your chest and your ears, and your head. Oranges. Blood.

Get off of me.

Please–

A pain in the back of your neck and you go limp.

Darkness. Then pain again. You can’t move. You can only breathe. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm.

*~*~*~*

SAINTSHORE SPACE THEATRE

UNDER THE DIRECTION OF RANDOLF URASLEF, GRETEL JAMES, AND QUINCEY J. ORATICE

PAUL DONSHEL CELESTE BAKER ANNE CROAKS

AND

THE GREAT COMET THEATRE COMPANY

SWAN LAKE

ADAPTED BY MUSIC WRITTEN BY PYOTR ILLYICH TCHAIKOVSKY

INSPIRED BY THE CHOREOGRAPHY OF JULIUS REISINGER

WITH THE WONDERFUL CAST OF

(IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE)

Odette, the White Swan………………………………………………………….JEAN YVETTE

Odile, the Black Swan……………………………………………………………...JUNO LILOU

Prince Siegfried……………………………………………………………(the name is illegible.)

The rest of the list’s names cannot be read just like Prince Siegfried.

“She is simply beautiful. Just so beautiful. Simply wonderful, perfect.”

As the spotlights ignite, their scorching beams engulf you, causing you to shield your eyes with futile resistance. The sheer force of the light overwhelms your feeble defense. An ethereal audience erupts with exuberant cheers, applause, and whistles, resonating from vacant seats. Champagne flutes collide, men erupt with hearty laughter from their very core, and women unleash piercing screams akin to banshees.

The temperature rises and the noise intensifies, repeatedly, enveloping you in a symphony of overwhelming sensations.

Onlookers casually share their thoughts.

“Get off the stage, we want to see the play, not some stagehand!”

“Boo!”

“Fuck off!”

You run off crying.

“Where is that Odile girl?”

You run into a dressing room. One used by a woman wearing a black dress. She is so pretty. Her long strawberry blonde hair falls off her bare shoulders, clearly just done with a flat iron. There is a burning smell in the air. Smoke. When her gold eyes meet yours, she marches towards you and slams the door shut.

You can almost hear sobbing coming from the other side. Cries.

“So lonely…” The woman mutters. “When will it ever be enough?”

The voice sounds familiar. Her eyes. Her hair.

Nostalgia. Memories you would much rather forget. The basement. The imaginary ripping of clothes and tears and men’s laughter.

“I can’t do this much longer…”

Someone else knocks on her door. You want to scream.

“Come out, dearest.”

The devil. Tall with curved horns and a forked tongue. You want to warn her.

You want to save her. “I’m not going to harm you, I am going to make you happy.”

You are so focused on whether the woman opens the door or not that you do not notice what happens next until it is too late. A clawed hand on your mouth. A tongue licking your ear. Tasting your sweat. Your tears. Laughter. The rest of the world disappears, and the only one there aside from you is the one behind you.

Sh… Sh… Sh… Sh… Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm.

Get off of me. Please.

“Breathe. It makes things more fun for me.” The voice echoed like you two are in a cave.

You gasp for air, and the smell of blood and oranges fills your nostrils.

“...Huff…”

“That’s better.”

You turn around. There is a body of a man.

But the scaled, furred, horrifying face of a demon.

“Good.” He says, smiling his sharp teeth. “Deep breaths, in and out, come on.”

You do what he says. He praises you again, you think. But you can’t hear it. Either that or you simply do not pay attention to it. What happened to the woman?

“...”

“We should go.”

The woman. The devil, this other… thing.

“...Rose…”

The demon laughs.

“Wake up.”

*~*~*~*

The first things you hear come from a happy man’s voice. “My boss’ girlfriend ran away more than a year ago you see, and he’s been heartbroken ever since. I want to prevent that kind of loss from happening to me. Real pretty one, too! He didn’t expect it, but I don’t blame her. After all, she’s been held captive for more than a year, she had to try to escape eventually.”

…The first thing you feel is lace on your neck. A collar.

It does not tickle or hurt. It itches.

A cold hand plays with it, and it almost chokes you. At your discomfort, the man laughs.

“You are so cute.”

Something metal is on the collar, and it blinks a small red light.

#author aya #yandere #yandere x reader #hxh #phantom troupe #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #shalnark #hunter x hunter #hxh phantom troupe #hxh x reader #hxh shalnark #shalnark ryusei #shalnark x reader #yandere shalnark #ultraviolet.

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dreemurr-skelememer · 1 year ago

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Inktobertale 2023 Day 3: Medicine You've got a warm heart You've got a beautiful brain But it's disintegrating From all the medicine

rsp ink jumpscare! :)

#inktobertale2023 #undertale #sans #ink sans #resurfacing past #resurfacing past ink #utmv #undertale au #inktobertale #inktobertale 2023 #kia doodles shit

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undertheopensky · 5 months ago

Text

In Loving Memory

Whumptober Day 29: Troubled Past Resurfacing

Characters: Legend

Trigger warnings: Hurt/No Comfort, Grief, Depression

This is not at all in the spirit of the prompt, but it’s what came to me, and it’s suitably angsty for inclusion in Whumptober!

Read on Ao3!

---

He hadn’t even been looking for it.

Link (it had taken him a long time to get used to that, again; even now he sometimes hears a voice murmur his nickname and his whole body jolts; he’s never sure if he overheard it or imagined it or what) is in the library. He’s not that interested in the books. He just – couldn’t stand to be in the house, when it keeps echoing with voices that don’t exist. And there’s only so many sad looks he can take from Fable – Zelda – before he snaps.

So he’d excused himself to one of the few places in the castle he can lose himself in without fear. People never expect to find him here, so as long as he has a book in hand and a suitable corner to look unapproachable in, anyone who does spot him will dismiss him as another Hylian scholar lost in the stacks.

He wanders along, fingers trailing through the dust on a shelf. It’s quiet, back here. Being so far from the entrance and the most heavily-trodden sections of the library muffles the noise of the castle. Makes it easy to ignore anything that might be people searching for him.

He’s so tired. He hasn’t been sleeping well, lately. Sometimes Ravio can only wake him from nightmares by calling Legend, and it helps but it hurts, waking to the wrong warm face and remembering all over again that the nickname and the people associated with it are far beyond his reach.

He’s had to say goodbye before, but usually not with such finality. He’ll run into Din on the road again someday; Ralph will turn up when he’s least needed; Gulley comes back from Kakariko to visit every month.

This time it’s not just distance, but massive swathes of time, hundreds or thousands of years away. Or they don’t exist, and never will, because his is the broken timeline, the one where evil prospered and is barely held at bay by a few stubborn souls.

Link’s fingers catch on a spine so badly frayed it probably shouldn’t even be in circulation. He pulls it out.

RECORDS, proclaims the front, stamped into the leather and darkened with ink. Not valuable enough for gold leaf, then. Or for proper repairs. The book is old, and tattered, and shows the singed-edge pages of a book narrowly saved from a fire. Surely someone should have thrown it away by now…

Curiosity well and truly piqued, Link flips it open.

The symbol stamped on the title page makes his heart skip a beat. Four had showed him that, something like it; a Guild medallion, proving his mastery and recognition by Hyrule’s Blacksmithing Guild. At first Legend had been equal parts jealous and impressed, and then he’d just been excited, when Four offered to teach him.

Small, steady hands, with callouses more used to holding a hammer than a blade. Correcting his grip with gentle confidence. Demonstrating a technique long forgotten to Legend’s time, swinging with so much force but such a light touch on the handle –

And a rare smile when Legend’s latest attempt came out well.

Goddesses, he misses them.

Legend – Link – swipes a hand over his eyes and starts turning pages. Mindlessly reading the dust-dry entries, regularly stamped with dates and official guild signatures. One person trained seven apprentices to full mastery over their career; another died without ever training anyone and the royal court had to source someone new. None of the names are familiar. It’s all just words on a page. Then, abruptly:

ROYAL ARMOURER XXXX-XXXX IN HER MAJESTY QUEEN ZELDA THE NINTH’S REIGN

LINK “FOUR” SMITH

APPRENTICE: LINK “LEGEND” ALFONSSON.

LINK “FOUR” SMITH ATTESTS THAT HIS APPRENTICE LINK “LEGEND” ALFONSSON HAS ACQUIRED THE SKILLS NECESSARY TO BE CERTIFIED AS A BLACKSMITH WITHIN THE HYRULETOWN GUILD.

THE GUILD HAS BEEN PRESENTED WITH EVIDENCE OF LINK “LEGEND” ALFONSSON’S BLACKSMITHING WORK.

IT IS AGREED LINK “LEGEND” ALFONSSON’S BLACKSMITHING WORK IS OF SUFFICIENT QUALITY TO GRANT HIM CERTIFICATION.

IN THE YEAR XX OF HER MAJESTY QUEEN ZELDA THE NINTH’S REIGN, FULL GUILD MEMBERSHIP IS AWARDED TO LINK “LEGEND” ALFONSSON.

That’s how Zelda finds him, hours later. Curled protectively over an ancient book of boring records so his tears wouldn’t smudge the ink. Clinging to the proof that one of his brothers, long-dead, had existed. Had loved him. Had kept loving him, long after Legend departed their life.

He misses them.

#whumptober 2023 #skies writes #linked universe #lu legend #lu fic

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skylar-jay · 2 months ago

Text

Oops, my hand slipped-

At any moment my past hyperfixations are lurking ready to resurface lol, so have Ink in the Cat Quest style :)

~~~

Ink sans belongs to @comyet :D

#my art #cat quest 2 #ink sans #Idk what else to say lol #someone mentioned Ink on the CQ discord server and my old hyperfixation came back with a vengeance lmao

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sentientgolfball · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! Can I request a Phantom x Reader where reader is heavily tattooed? Like from her fingers to her feet, but it's typically hidden by her uniform and dress glove, and Phantom finds out. Can be Sfw or Nsfw, which you feel like writing! Thank you!

All of you are personally responsible for my Phantom brainrot only getting worse <3 I hope you enjoy it anon

Went nsfw for this one cause why the hell not sooooo

18+ MDNI

My requests are open !

Your head shot up at the sound of multiple voices getting louder and louder. You immediately noticed a gaggle of ghouls making their way to the dock, arms full of various beach day supplies and copious amounts of alcohol. You grumbled and sunk below the surface, letting the water envelope you in its cool embrace. It has been extraordinarily hot for the past two weeks and you were over it. The Ministry was so stuffy with all the bodies and the habits weren’t exactly made out of the most breathable material. The only people who seemed even remotely comfortable were the fire ghouls who resided on site.

You were sick of it. Everyday you woke up and prayed to the Lords below that it would be cooler, or at least let a breeze pass through, and everyday it seemed to only get hotter. You had reached your limit. You worked yourself half to death over the weekend and early into the week so that you could squeeze in a day off or two to go be lazy at the lake. And that’s exactly what you were doing, or it was. You resurfaced when you felt your lungs start to burn with lack of oxygen and began to swim back to the beach. You were a bit annoyed about the fact that your lazy day got interrupted. It’s not that you didn’t like the ghouls per say but they were very energetic and very loud and you had really been enjoying quietly floating around.

Oh well.

You had been at the lake for hours now so you can’t complain too much. When you got to the shallows you stood and walked the rest of the way to where your stuff was set up and the moment you did you heard the calls from the ghouls. You weren’t all that surprised. You had worn a swimsuit that left little to the imagination. You always did when you went to the lake, it was just about your only chance to really show off the ink that adorned every inch of your body. You were proud of them. You hated that your everyday habit covered up almost all of them.

You ignored the ghouls while you packed up your things and dried off. When you were finished you wrapped your towel around your waist forgoing the clothes you brought to put on. It was still too damn hot. As you turned to leave you made eye contact with one of the ghouls at the dock and immediately recognized him as the new quintessence ghoul. Phantom. Oh the look on his face was priceless. He was completely frozen in place staring at you as you walked past, slack jawed, eyes roaming over your body. His cheeks were dusted a deep plum color and you would bet money that it’s not from the heat. You felt a surge of confidence, suddenly completely forgetting about your earlier annoyance. You gave him a little wave before you completely passed the dock on your trek back to the Ministry. Just before you were out of earshot you heard the teasing voices of Dew and Rain.

“Aww the new kids got a crush on the sister.”

“I mean can you blame him? You’ve seen how that back tat looks when she—“

The thought was quickly cut off by a yelp and a splash. You laughed at the mental image of Phantom shoving the little fire ghoul into the water. You also couldn’t help your own blush creeping onto your face. You thought the quintessence ghoul was very cute. He was always so eager to help and learn about human things. He constantly looked like a puppy seeing a Christmas tree for the first time and it made you smile. You also really wanted to wreck him. Something about the thought of getting a ghoul to beg and cry as a human turned you on. You pocketed that thought for later, though, because right now your focus was on finding a way to spend your day off not dying in a pool of your own sweat. Maybe the kitchen staff would let you read in the walk in?

~~~

You ended up taking a nice long shower to wash the lake smell away and binge watched a series a friend had recommended to you for the remainder of your day. You groaned when you heard the bells chime signaling that dinner was ready in the feast hall. You had begrudgingly pulled your habit and gloves back on. You didn’t hate your position as an occultist-in-training but the uniform was a bit much in your opinion, especially compared to other Sibling’s outfits. You sighed, adjusted yourself one final time in the mirror and left.

That’s where you are now. Sitting in the hall trying your hardest to focus on whatever gossip your friends were sharing, but that was almost impossible with the feeling of Phantom burning holes into the back of your head. You noticed him staring the minute you entered the feast hall and he hasn’t looked away since. You considered walking over to him, trying to speak with him, but you didn’t want to seem too forward. Then you contemplated returning his gaze, but you know your group would’ve clocked what you were doing immediately and you were not in the mood to entertain an interrogation. So you sat there quietly wolfing down your meal so you could get the hell out and back to your room.

You waited for a lull in the conversation before standing and leaving, bidding everyone a good night. You walked down the hallways a few feet before glancing around to make sure no Clergy or higher Siblings were around before ripping your gloves. It was still too damn hot to be wearing your full uniform.

“So it is you.”

You jump at the sound of a voice. You spin around only to find Phantom standing right behind you.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

“I think you answered your own question.”

You crack a smile at his joke before moving to put the gloves back on. He grabs your wrist.

“Don’t. I like them” he brushes his thumb over the design of the raised skin “I think they’re pretty.”

“Is that why you were staring all night?” You tease knowing damn well none of your tattoos are visible in uniform. He blushed and when he speaks his voice is a bit higher.

“Well no I mean yes I was just…confused? You smelled the same but you looked completely different. I wasn’t sure if I had the right person.”

His explanation gives you the perfect idea to end your little lazy day.

“Do you wanna see them again?” you step closer to him “all of them?”

It’s adorable how quickly he nods his head, tail wagging in the air behind him.

You really have no idea how it happens. You close the door to your room and he’s immediately on you, though not in the way you expected. He’s squeezing you tight against him, wrapping his tail around your leg, but you don’t miss the way the spade sways dangerously close to your clothed clit. Or the way you can feel his dick getting chubby with interest. You’ve been with ghouls before. You know he can smell your arousal. Hell, he’s a quintessence ghoul he can probably feel it. You assume he’s just trying to draw out the electric energy of anticipation. He laughs and you get your answer.

You decide to ruin his plans and pull him straight into a deep kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. He kisses you back just as passionately, tightening his grip on your hips. You shudder at the feeling of his claws digging in. He pulls back suddenly panting ever so slightly.

“Can I see them now?” His eyes roam your form.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

He huffs a laugh and you’re about ready to respond when you feel the tip of his tail ghost over your clit. You gasp at the sudden feeling and smack him lightly on the arm.

“I said ask.” You say as you begin to pull your top off.

“It worked didn’t it?” He shrugs his shoulders with a smile. You throw the ball of fabric at his head. He pulls it off with a laugh, but stops when he sees your bare chest. You can see the outline of his cock straining against his pants.

“You can touch them.” You whisper suddenly feeling a bit flustered by the way he’s looking at you. He slowly brings his hands to your forearms, trailing them up to your shoulders before letting go and tracing the design on your abdomen.

“Have you never seen tattoos before?” You ask, watching his hands.

“Of course I have but I just…I’ve never seen a human with so many. They’re all so different. They’re so beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

You wrap your arms around the back of his head and pull him into another kiss sliding the tip of your tongue into the fork of his. You moan into his mouth when you feel his hands slide up to squeeze and knead your tits, swiping his thumb over your nipples. You thread your fingers through his hair, giving it a light tug before taking a few steps backwards towards your bed. You pull him without breaking contact as you fall into the plush mattress. You pull his head up by his hair to meet your eyes eliciting a breathy moan from him. His hands are rubbing circles into your hips, gently sliding over the hem of your pants.

“Please?” He whines out not taking his eyes off the tattoo that dips below the waistline.

“Fuck go right ahead baby boy.” You wiggle your hips to help him as he makes quick work of taking your pants and underwear off in one go before tossing his own shirt off who knows where.

You’re both left staring in awe at each other, him completely enamored by the art adorning your skin, you mesmerized by the lichtenberg figure scars cutting through the entire left half of his body. Of course you had seen the scars on his face, but you had no idea they continued down so low.

“You can touch them.” He says mirroring your positions from earlier. You prop yourself up on your elbows and lean forward to trail soft kisses from the epicenter to the branch that strikes up his neck pulling little whines and whimpers from him. You gasp and pull back when the scars pulse purple and little sparks of magic zap through you.

“Shit sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t control it when I get excited.” He looks a little fearful.

You just laugh and brush your hands over your lips “No it’s alright. It just shocked me.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence before Phantom busts out laughing and you throw your head into the pillow with a groan at the accidental pun.

“Alright that’s it, no more sex. That was too embarrassing.”

“Nah you’re stuck with me now.” He lays his whole weight on you and buries his face into the crook of your neck purring wildly. The laugh you felt bubbling up turns into a moan when you feel him drag his fangs over your pulse point. He sucks a bruise into the skin before biting hard enough to leave a mark. He trails his lips from your shoulder to your collarbone, pausing briefly to add some art of his own on your tits before continuing down your abdomen to your hips. He makes sure to take his time, practically worshiping each design with his mouth when he passes over them. The whole thing has you shuddering and squirming beneath him.

He scrapes his fangs from the tattoo on your hip to the one on your thigh.

“I wonder if they’d make you taste different.”

You knock him in the head gently with your knee.

“Don’t even think about it. I like that one too much for you to give me a piercing.”

He hums in disappointment “Fine. I can always taste something else.” He says before burying himself between your legs.

You gasp at the suddenness of it and scramble to find something to grasp. Your hand makes its way right back into his hair as he drags his forked tongue from your slit to your clit. He circles his tongue before taking it into his mouth and sucking, causing you to moan and push your hips closer to him. You feel him loop his tongue around your clit before snaking down to lap at your entrance.

“Shit Phantom. Just like that. You’re such a good boy.” He moans against you as more sparks of quintessence ripple across his skin and over yours. You make a mental note of that reaction before you feel his impossibly long tongue sliding into you.

You arch against his face, involuntarily squeezing your thighs around his head as you feel him lick places you didn’t even know existed. Your legs tremble as the gentle probing of his tongue becomes steadier, more earnest.

“If you keep doing that I’m gonna fuck—“ He flexes his claws against the meat of your thighs as his brow furrows in a concentration you’ve never seen from the ghoul. He swirls his tongue through your folds before pushing it all the way back in, burying his nose against your clit. You can feel the swell of your orgasm deep in your stomach as he fucks you with this tongue. Another pulse of quintessence shoots through you and you can’t hold back. Your eyes slam shut as you cum against his face, moaning out a string of curses and praises.

He pulls back and sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before licking it. His eyes roll to the back of his head.

“I need you. Right now.”

“You can fucking have me baby boy.”

He lets out a pleased trill and makes quick work of unbuckling his belt and wiggling out of his pants and boxers. As he’s doing this, you flip over onto your back. You feel him run the tips of his claws reverently tracing the tat there before sliding down to squeeze your ass. You look over your shoulder at him only to be met with the biggest, blown out eyes you’ve ever seen.

“What?” You say cocking your head innocently “Just wanted to show you exactly what Dew was talking about.”

He blushes so deep he’s practically glowing. The sight makes you laugh as you slowly lift your hips and tuck your knees to your stomach. He wastes no time in getting behind you. He digs his fingers into your hips to steady himself as he slowly drags the head of his cock against your slick.

“Still can’t believe how wet humans get.” He mutters more to himself before he’s sliding gradually into you. You both moan when he bottoms out. He pauses for a moment letting you get accustomed to the feeling of him before he gives you a few experimental thrusts. You push your hips back against him searching for more and he gives it to you. He slides almost all the way out before pushing back in with one snap of his hips. He starts up a rhythmic pace as you arch your back and moan into the pillow.

“You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful. You’re so good.” He whines watching the way the design of the ink shifts and stretches with each movement of your body. His head rolls back on his shoulders when you clench around him. He snakes his hands between your thighs and rubs at your clit as he snaps into you, dragging the head of his cock against your walls. The air pulses with quintessence and when you turn your head to breathe you can see the room aglow with purple lighting. You steal a glance behind you and see his scars pulsing with magic, his head thrown back in absolute ecstasy. You can see his lips moving but you can’t hear anything coming out.

You feel another ripple of quintessence and you squeeze around him with a moan. He keens forward and drapes himself over you searching for your hands while he desperately ruts into you. You feel the rubber band snap within you.

“Phantom oh fuck I’m gonna—“ another spark of magic and you’re done for. You cum on his cock, crying out little praises of ‘good boy’ as the wave of pleasure engulfs you.

It only takes a few more thrusts before you feel him pull out and splash hotly onto your back.

“Holy shit.” You pant out, letting yourself go limp into the bed.

“Blasphemous.” he laughs and grabs his discarded shirt off the floor to wipe his spend off of you.

When he’s done you roll back over only to be met with his glowing eyes looking down affectionately at you. You open your arms and he practically jumps into them shifting your positions around so that he’s the one holding you. You give him a kiss and scratch behind his pointed ear, smiling when you hear his tail thump against the bed. He keeps you pressed close to him. You can already feel his dick stiffening again.

So maybe you were in for a longer night than you expected.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #phantom ghoul #phantom x reader #i hope you like it anon <3 #nameless ghoul x reader #ghost fic #mdni #golfball writes

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cm-lily · 9 months ago

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“. . . We'll be taking Grian with us.”

And just like that, Jimmy remembers knowing someone named Grian.

The memory resurfaced slowly, like a crack on a dam. The longer he walked on the ruins of what was once “Spawn Area”, the bigger the rift is. Grian is their friend, Grian is their admin. Or was their admin. Grian is taken by the watcher, and, Jimmy... Doesn't know what to make of that.

He knows he should be sad, that was their friends who was taken by these beings! But everything is so foggy, Jimmy couldn't think past that fog. He's just numbly walking and looping back to the same place. (That confusion where Grian's face is blurry... He struggles to hold it, like water cupped on his palm. Every image distorted.)

He found a journal. It belong to Grian, obvious by the name of writer in every page. Jimmy doesn't know why it's in his backpack. He didn't remember picking it up, hell, he didn't ventured that deep to the Grian Empire when the rest of Evolutionist is paying their respect to Grian. The Journal changed than what he remembered, the small evo logo was reshaped as a spiral.

The content is normal, the journal was mostly used to keep track of his building idea. There's reference of people he doesn't know. Even though it felt like intruding a privacy of his supposedly good friend, Jimmy need to know. Maybe knowing about Grian can lift the veil... To whatever mist of mystery that been keeping him all night and paranoid.

He found the two last page. The other looks like an ink was spilled over it, and then the paper was hastily scribbled. Jimmy knows it shouldn't be the two last pages, there's a hint of someone ripping a few pages off. But that's not where his mind focused at. (If he were more calm he would've notice and recognize his brain's attempt to remember something, someone. Aside from Grian who's also went missing, who everyone forgot their existence.)

And scribbled on the last page of the journal, the day before their big fight with the Ender dragon, is a word hastily written over and over again. That Jimmy feared the ink could bleed from the paper.

THEY ATE HIM

#cm art #evolution smp #evo smp #watcher lore #grian fanart #taurtis fanart #Cm write #This is purely inspired by the False Hydra #I wrote this in the middle of the night sorry if it wasn't coherent enough #All critics are appreciated #watcher grian

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pinkandgoldensoul · 11 months ago

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CL#16 || Mine First || tape b

Navigation || Masterlist

: ̗̀➛ tape b of the 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 series If this is your first time here on this blog, please check the Disclaimers here.

pairing: charles leclerc x female!reader x pierre gasly!bestfriend genre: childhood exes (?) to lovers, (fake) love triangle, fluff, a bit of angst tw: swearing, tiny suggestive crumb word count: 10.2k plot: going back to Monaco, you meet him again. Both being Pierre's friends, you're often trapped in the same room: it's inevitable for the past to resurface, through glances, dances, pages filled of ink.

Your walk inside the paddock was followed by gusts of wind throwing strands of hair in every direction, preys of the unpredictable, forcing you to move them out of your face repeatedly. The forecast couldn’t have been clearer: 90% chances of rain. A storm was approaching the track, and so were you.

Looking around, you stared attentively at the frenetic movement pulsating in every corner: mechanics, engineers, journalists and cameras ready to capture any detail, VIPs begging for selfies with bewildered eyes and staring at the screens in awe and confusion. It was all so foreign to you. Despite growing up in Monaco, you had always shied away from the spotlight and tried to live a simple life, therefore moving out in your youth to an unknown town in South France, near the coast, but far enough from the contradiction of luxury. Still, Pierre being a dear old friend of yours, after pleading insistence, you had given up to his invitation to a Grand Prix. You had first agreed to be hosted at his home race, Paul Ricard, then obliged to choose another circuit since the track had disappeared from the 2023 calendar: and so there you were, crossing the streets you had walked countless times, the ones you had run away from.

«Do you think it’s going to rain hard?» «How do you expect me to know?» You snorted, arms crossed. Pierre simply shrugged, zipping up his suit. «I don’t know, you’ve lived here enough to recognize Monaco’s clouds.» he half-joked. «Maybe you’re the Monegasque Mazepin.» «Who’s that?» you asked, frowning. «No one, forget it. I just thought you, standing there doing nothing, had more time than I do to check the forecast.» «Uhm, if you want, I can take a look.» you offered, searching for your phone. Pierre quickly made it over to you, crossing the garage, and put his hands on your shoulders with a smile. «Y/n, I’m just messing around. Why are you taking everything so seriously? You always get my jokes, what’s up with you today?» «Uhm… maybe… It’s Monaco’s clouds.» Pierre couldn’t help but grin bigger and shake his head, leaving you standing on your own while he got near his helmet to clean it. «If you’re worried about tonight’s dinner, there’s no need to.» You sighed. To your annoyance, Pierre had stricken home yet another time. He was too good at reading you like an open book, your expressions and reactions too plain for him to interpret after years of sincere friendship. «I just don’t understand why you want to introduce me to this one friend… It’s a bit intimidating, like, the three of us…» «Oh, but we won’t be completely alone!» Pierre said, amending his partial explanation. «We’ll be hanging out in group, it’s going to be fun! I just wanted to introduce you to my best mate, that’s all.» «Fine, but… why can’t I even know his name? Why are you acting like I’m going to be surprised about who he is?» «Because I think you will.» «You’re such a drama queen.» He laughed at your arms-crossed and roll-eye as he finished cleaning the helmet, placing back on a counter. «Of course I am.»

To Pierre’s amusement, you hadn’t followed free practices with a lot of attention, which is a euphemism to say that you basically didn’t watch the screens installed for the guests inside the garage at all: instead, you had nestled in a small empty spot right next to his engineer and you had silently followed Pierre’s action and data, without really understanding much, more so as the second sessions had been red flagged before being half-way through it.

Pierre was dying of laughter onto the small, leathered couch of the club you had chosen for the beginning of the night, waiting for all his friends to show up, as he listened to your unforgettably miserable experience in the Alpine box. «So you didn’t see any other driver?» he asked, still chuckling. «No, I mean… I was also getting a bit car sick, with all those walls left and right. You drive way too fast, you guys are crazy…» Loud as a freight train crashing the rails with its speed, a group of youngsters entered the club with a thunderous burst of laughter, which made you flinch in your seat. «Oh, here they are!» Pierre immediately flailed around and whistled in order to be heard by les gars, who soon walked towards your table. Without you noticing, he stood up and waited them to hug and give friendly back pats. Composed in your awkward silence, you felt even more uneasy as one of the newcomers stopped and looked down at you sitting, staring with an uncomfortable persistence, a smile fading from his lips. «Who are you?» he asked, curiosity and perplexity mixed in his tone. Reciprocating with the same depth his stare, you realized you had just fallen inside a dangerous and unexpected sand trap, wishing the dark-lit room would suddenly turn the lights on so that you could make out his features clearer, or completely drown them out together with the anxiety in the pit of your stomach. «Finally I can introduce you both!» Pierre clapped his hands, breaking the moment and inviting you to get up. «Y/n, this is my best friend: Charles.» «Charles…» you muttered under your breath, trying to make sense of it. «Yes, Charles Leclerc.» he repeated in confirmation, smiling, shaking and holding your cold and still hand. «And this is y/n, one of my dearest friends.» «Nice to meet you.» The flickering sparkle in his eyes, the dimples making their painful appearance and his sweet, fond smile struck you all at once, the freight train now hitting you as you simply stood by the platform of time, uncapable of anything but playing reruns of distant and long forgotten memories in the back of your mind. He let go of your hand and you slowly slipped down in your seat, heart beating uncontrollably. But everyone was just too absorbed into the conversation to notice, too playful and happy to be in joined company. Drinking from your glass full of insecurities, your gaze was always searching for his, carefully studying his heavenly face, then immediately straying away, consumed by indecision and inner turmoil.

You all got up a couple of hours after to have a nice walk through the harbor; the cool breeze sweeping the dump asphalt made your skin shiver, and you felt forced to bring your hands upon your forearms to soothe the coldness. Pierre had noticed for a while the way you hadn’t engaged in the conversations a lot, had seen you full of thoughts back in the club and, of course, immediately read your body language; in a few strides, he was next to you, placing his jacket onto your shoulders, matching your steps. «Thank you.» you smiled. You both slowly walked alongside, letting silence fill the gaps, until the Frenchman couldn’t bear it anymore, as he gazed at the stars. «I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy yourself that much tonight… I thought you would get along just fine, since you’re all friends of mine.» «They’re nice, in fact!» you tried to reply. Pierre gave you a knowing look. «Y/n, there’s no need to cover it up, I’ve got two eyes to see you have been running away from everyone tonight… Especially from Charles.» «What?» You stood still, watching him stop as you did. Had he noticed? Did he… know? «Are you… are you, like, jealous of him?» Pierre asked, reticent. «What?! N-no, of course not, why would I-» «Sorry, I was just wondering why you gave him strange looks all night, that’s it.» «No, it’s just… I think I’ve seen him somewhere else, before.» you swallowed hard, hoping he’d buy into your lie. Pierre first looked at you, then started laughing contagiously, to the point you had to giggle as well with a frown. «Why are you laughing?» you asked. «Are you kidding me? Of course you’ve seen him before!» «And… where?» you hesitated, now even scarier than earlier. «On track, y/n! He races for Ferrari, putain!» His laugh didn’t complement your heart drop. «You didn’t watch any race for real, uh? I thought you were joking. Now, that hurts!» The attempt at matching his laugh was almost miserable; the clench grinding your poor heart felt unbearable, feelings gushing and bleeding out beneath your skin.

Nothing had prepared you to see him once again face to face, nor you had anticipated talking to him, spending time together. For sure, no one had warned you about the way he would’ve changed so much growing up. A childish mischief still lingered in his expression, but you could clearly see he had matured, his perfectly crafted jawline and his beard giving it away; his athletic body resembled nothing of the young, agile and slim figure you remembered. You recalled witnessing Pierre’s transformation. Looking at them now, they didn’t seem like guys in their mid-twenties and, compared to them, you felt like a child, whereas they had already achieved a lifestyle you would never even dream of. Despite the obvious differences in the physique, something about Charles’ demeanor had unexpectedly softened: you were so accustomed to his impulsive, black-or-white younger self that you almost couldn’t recognize him under the charming and elegant masquerade. It can’t be him, you thought.

An awkward tension made every gesture clumsy, intrinsically wrong: throughout the weekend, anytime you’d cross each other’s way, you both moved cautiously around each other, studying the new person you had in front, as if you were trying to read a book you once knew by heart, word by word, now translated into an unknown language. And even though you struggled recognizing the Charles you used to know, he could clearly tell it was the same old you beneath the embarrassment: he always found you lightheartedly making jokes and having fun, smiling kindly, or thinking deep in silence. When you were with Pierre. Because as soon as Charles entered your vision, he would see you stiffening, stuttering, fighting insecurities in every sentence and gesture. And as much as he felt discomfort in making you all flustered, a thorn of pride stung his heart. He still had an effect on you. He wouldn’t makeyou laugh uncontrollably as Pierre did, but he was still able to stir some deep feelings inside of you, and it fueled him like gasoline on fire, for some reason. # Charles genuinely thought seeing you in Monaco was a karmic debt’s payment, enduring the comfort and the palpable chemistry between you and his best friend: apart from the small talk he had tried to initiate with you, Charles had kept away from you, purposely avoiding your presence. Undeniably, you still had an effect on him too.

When he entered the paddock on Wednesday, welcomed by the Spanish heat, crossing the lane with the hospitalities already brimming of life, he definitely didn’t expect to see you again, let alone to find you sat on a white wicker couch next to Pierre. Right as he witnessed the scene, the Frenchman swiftly placing your bare legs on his lap, his fingers drawing circles upon your skin, both spread out and chilling, enjoying the nice weather, Charles couldn’t help himself from chewing his inner cheek and pacing quickly towards Ferrari’s hospitality. What made him even more furious was knowing that Pierre was well aware of the cameras pointing towards you and taking pictures with no disturb, implicitly giving them permission, being so physical with you in public. Pierre wasn’t stupid. He knew what he was doing. And Charles didn’t like it. Because you seemed so innocent, always caring, smiley, kind and considerate of others, hanging off Pierre’s lips; and Charles hated, oh, he hated it as much as immediately spotting the flash of fear and tension crossing your irises as soon as he tried to approach you. Charles would’ve gladly done without hovering around you, or stop caring about you and Pierre’s affair, but he simply couldn’t: after seeing you amidst the crowd, he was drawn to you, by far the quickest in reaching you swiftly dodging everybody else, ready to find stupid excuses to chat with you and get your attention away from Pierre at least for a couple of minutes. The painful truth was that Charles desperately wanted to catch up with you, spend an entire night just the two of you and be your listener, hearing your enchanting voice narrate the life you had led so far and staring into your mesmerizing eyes full of dreams. He wanted to amend for the past. He felt guilty for what he had said, yet he acknowledged he wouldn’t know any better back at the time.

Instead, he was attending yet another night out with Pierre and mutual friends, throwing deadly glances over your dancing silhouettes, painfully reminded of what it could’ve been. Charles had so many apologetic words stuck in his throat, but an overwhelming wave of unlabeled feelings impeded him to talk the matter out with you. Only a question, the same one, all over again. Why Pierre? He unfortunately knew why you two had broken up, he couldn’t blame you in any way: but Charles couldn’t accept being discarded in place of Pierre. He loved him like a brother, he was one of his best buddies, and exactly because he knew him that well and had met you before, he was sure you two, as a couple, could never work out. Or, at least, that’s what he believed. There was also another annoyance cutting Charles’ skin: the fact that Pierre hadn’t been honest while introducing you. A friend? Sharing jackets and hoodies, letting each other be touchy and clingy, always hanging out together? Yeah, of course. Charles was having none of it. His drink tasted bitter, with you two in his vision; he couldn’t bear it any longer. So he simply decided to get the work done by himself.

Pierre had been talking and cracking jokes non-stop since the beginning of the night, getting his mouth dry quite rapidly; right as he left you dancing by yourself to grab another drink, Charles took the chance and crossed the dance floor fueled by liquid bravery, stopping right behind you, placing his hands on your waist carefully, so that you’d acknowledge his presence too late to run away from him. «Having fun with Pierre? Hasn’t he run out of words yet?» Charles teased you. «When he’s drunk, he gets quite talkative.» you explained. «And so do you.» At your raised brow, Charles took a sip of his drink with a smirk. «Just checking up on someone who seemed to be getting bored.» he leaned in a bit closer upon your shoulder. «Oh, and when did you start being concerned about me?» When I realized I was still in love with you, he thought. Charles wetted his lips. «Y/n, I’d really like to talk about everything that happened between us, if you just gave me the chance to-» «Charles, I suffered enough, trust me.» «And I’m suffering because of it now.» «Not my business. It’s your time to get over it.» «If you got over it, then why do you keep avoiding me like you’re still affected?» Charles knew he had hit home once he saw your eyes dart towards his, defenseless, uncapable of putting up shields of indifference. «Woah, Charles, stop bothering my girl!» Pierre loudly approached the two of you, drunkenly placing his arm around you, which Charles clearly interpreted as a “private property” sign. You were his girl, after all. Of course you wouldn’t give him a chance. Everything was already settled, nothing else left to be discussed. Still, if there was something Charles couldn’t do, it was losing without trying with all his might to grab the win. «Can I borrow her? Just wanted to dance with her.» Pierre chuckled and nodded. «Bien sur, go ahead!» You hated being treated like a parcel without thoughts and feelings, as if you not being willing to dance with Charles wasn’t even an option; indeed, you definitely didn’t refuse his gentle hand guiding you towards a quieter space on the dance floor, and didn’t sway the times Charles would place his face near yours, leaning against your ear, almost about to whisper something but never giving you the satisfaction to drop a single word.

There was no way you could deny the effect he still had on you, after all those years spent apart from each other: any moment your eyes flicked to glance at him, his bright eyes were still glistening with youthful innocence, his dimples still dazed you, his enigmatic smile still made you question his and your own feelings. For a moment, standing that close to him without sharing useless words, you imagined Charles had stayed. In fact, that you had stayed. With a little effort, you could almost imagine you two had never broken up: you were dancing, comfortably enjoying his hands on your waist, placing yours around his neck lightweight, scared of lengthening physical touch. He stared down at you with a pleased and peaceful gaze, so sweet it could almost stich up all the scars he had left over your heart, splitting them apart and filling them with love before sealing them forever. But he had made a choice back then, clear-cut. Formula One was his only lover, no room for others. No room for you. The music died around your ears. But it still pumped quick inside your heart. «Are you good?» Charles’ voice caught your attention, as his hands firmly kept you up and yours had fallen back onto his shoulders for support. You simply tripped, you said to yourself; something normal which would happen while dancing drunk, a usual slip of thoughts diving back into the hurt of the past. «Yeah, all good.» you breathed out, looking behind your back. Pierre’s silhouette had completely disappeared from the radar, leaving your clenching stomach lonely in the search of a ride home. «Where’s Pierre?» you slurred. «I don’t know…» Charles’ green eyes scanned the room and trailed off yours, joining them in the search. «Can you bring me back to the hotel?» Charles opened his eyes wide at those words. «What?» Maybe he hadn’t heard right. Maybe it was the voice of someone dancing next to him. «I’m tired, can you give me a ride?» The tip of his tongue slipping out to wet his lips got you stuck on his mouth, a lost soft look into your eyes that Charles had to avoid watching, before his drunk system would act bypassing rationality. «Of course.»

«Where are the keys?» Charles waited for your lazy hands to rummage inside your purse, quickly taking the shining, jingling metal out of your fingers. Right as the door cracked open, you aimed towards the king-sized bed, taking your heels off and slowly picking up the sheets in order to slip underneath them. «Don’t you want to change into something comfier?» he asked, dumbfounded. You whined in response, head already resting onto the pearl white pillow. «Y/n?» «Mmh?» «Do you want to sleep with your jeans on?» he almost chuckled. «Jeez, Cha’, I’m tired…» He walked next to the bed, kneeling down in front of you. «Yeah, I know, you said that quite a few times already.» With your eyes shut, you couldn’t see Charles’ enchanted stare; yet, you could feel the warmth of it even through the closed eyelids. «There’s a pair of shorts inside the wardrobe.» you mumbled. Pretty easy to spot, since it was the only piece of furniture Charles felt comfortable enough to name “wardrobe”, he slid the door of wood and sifted through. «They’re not hung… Are they inside a drawer?» «No, they’re on top of the first drawer. Under the hung clothes.» Following your instructions, Charles found the shorts, but pulling them out something fell down to the floor. «What was that?» you asked at the thud. «N-nothing, there you go with your shorts.» he quickly reached over. «Okay, don’t peek.» «Yep!» Charles turned back towards the wardrobe, gulping both at the guilt of dropping something off and at the shuffling denim behind him. He closed his eyes, covered in shame. Then, tugged by curiosity, he looked down before his shoes. A diary, spread open. Charles picked it up, a picture immediately threatening to escape the pages, but his fingers were fast enough to catch it. It was you and him, awkwardly posing for your mom, both wearing matching bracelets. «Cha’, the bed is cold.» «Uh?» he held his breath, caught by surprise. «Can you like… rub me from above the duvet?» Your drunken request didn’t sound weird to his equally drunken mind. He hopped onto the bed, with the back leaning onto the headrest, his right hand brushing you back and forth to soothe the cold, while he held the diary and the picture with the left. «Thank you, Cha’…» He couldn’t restrain himself from smiling, engraving in his mind the tender and natural rolling off of the nickname you had chosen. It was the same sweet tone you would use with him back then, when you still held hands, when your cheeks were tinted rose in his presence, when the only bracelet he would wear were the ones you made yourself. With love.

The shop windows were brimming with lights and Christmasy decorations: the whole city was lit alive by the thrilled atmosphere, and everyone seemed to be strolling by the pavement, making it difficult to catch up with your mother’s steps. «Come on, y/n, we’ll be late!» Winter holidays had started, and you couldn’t help but staring mesmerized at the streets, couples walking hand in hand, the grey sea roaring in the distance. Christmas was only a few days away and your mom had booked an appointment to the hairdresser to adjust your hair a little bit before the new year; you knew, though, that she had insisted also because she enjoyed Pascale’s company and gossiping quite a lot, especially since his son was only a year older than you and had the same middle school teachers you had.

«Ah, y/n, I wish I had a daughter like you. My sons are three devils.» Your mother chuckled at Pascale’s defeated comment, sitting on a couch behind you, holding a magazine. «But they’re talented, at least.» You pouted at your mom’s words, frowning. «Especially Charles. By the way, how is he doing?» your mother added. Pascale sighed, blow-drying your hair. «Very good… But I’m worried he’ll never finish school.» «But he’s in third grade now, how can’t he not?» you asked, with lively eyes. «Middle school isn’t the problem, y/n. I’m afraid he’ll never graduate from high school. I mean, he’s clearly on a league of his own, but… there are no certainties he’ll make it to Formula One, and in case things might not go as planned I don’t want him to struggle finding a job due to a lack of diploma.» «I don’t think you need to worry, Pascale. If Charles can’t succeed, then nobody else will!» Pascale sadly smiled at your mother’s answer, brushing your hair. Still staring at yourself inside the mirror, you caught eye of something quickly storming into the saloon from the backdoor. «Mom, can I go out now?» You had never met him, but it was immediately clear to you that the boy tugging at his mother’s apron was Charles. A lock of hair partly covered his eyes and you were amazed at how large and luminous they were, full of hopes and dreams. «Did you finish your homework?» she asked, still patiently brushing your hair. Hesitating, you saw his eyes trailing off towards Pascale’s movements, pointing towards your hair and ultimately fixed his green pearls onto you. Charles’ lips parted to let out an inaudible gasp, caught by surprise by your gracious and lightful beauty: your hair, perfectly combed, seemed like a crown of silk upon your face, and your blushing cheeks hit an unknow spot of his young, tender, unexperienced heart. «So?» Pascale prompted. «No, I haven’t finished yet.» Charles felt stupid, but he couldn’t stop staring at you, nor could you. He was so scared you would never see each other again he was trying to extend the moment as long as he possibly could. «But I’ll finish them.» he added. Pascale, surprised at the answer, never heard beforehand, watched him pacing fast out the backdoor and reemerging with the notebook in his hand, sitting on the couch nearest to you. Unbeknownst to both of you, your moms had exchanged a knowing look through the mirror; but how could you notice, when all your attention was undividedly offered to each other? He took furtive peeks, as you darted him side-eyed glances, enchanted with his haphazard pose. Needless to say, Charles didn’t get much homework done… But he studied, oh boy, he did: he studied all your features, your behavior, your shy answers to your mother, your graceful red dress as you stood up in order to leave the saloon.

«M-merry Christmas!» he hastily blurted out, before you exited the door. Melting like a candle under a flame, Charles’ chest tightened at your small smile. «Merry Christmas.»

First it was doing homework together, then it was hanging out to eat some ice-cream as a treat, then it was strolling by the sea, and then riding the bike chuckling and giggling, until it was walking to the school gate hand in hand and wearing the matching bracelets you’d gifted him – not making it on purpose – for Valentine’s Day. It had happened so fast you couldn’t give a name to it: you spent all the free time you had in his company – whenever he wasn’t down karting tracks training – and you let yourself be swamped by Charles’ explosiveness, dragging you alongside him down all Monaco, willing to show you anything beautiful he had seen in his life, making memories together.

You had seen other classmates of yours having boyfriends, but they all seemed too morbidly physical to you. Charles would only grab your hand occasionally or give shy and awkward hugs, and that was more than enough for you, more than you would ask him to do: you didn’t feel the need for more; everything was as perfect as he could be. Some of your classmates also mocked you for being his girlfriend, since everybody noticed he often skipped lessons and wasn’t known as an easy character. In fact, Charles, at times, especially at school, treated you a bit coldly, annoyed by all the guys watching him and judging the both of you spending the breaks together. It had never been a problem to you, though, because you had soon realized his heart was full of love and care for you.

«Did they do anything to you?» he asked you, accompanying you back home after school, referring to your classmates. «No, they just talked crap as always.» you shrugged. «Did they touch you?» he asked once again, grabbing your hand a little tighter. «Uh?» «I saw they patted your shoulder, in front of the gate, when you were coming out. Did they do anything before that?» «No, they didn’t.» Charles’ frown was still on display, and you could tell he had been upset by the scene. It was normal, after all: he had witnessed his girlfriend being bullied, liked none of it and wished he would’ve got the chance to intervene. But somehow, seeing him deep in thought and keeping you closer to him made you realize for the first time he genuinely cared about you, more than two good friends, and as your chest filled with an unexplainable excitement, you slowly leaned your head against his shoulder. You waited for him to sway and withdraw from the touch, but he didn’t. You walked back home, fingers intertwined, moving slow steps, both wishing the path was endless.

«Are you done?» «Almost.» Charles huffed in impatience, as your fingers knotted the thread tighter. «Done! Give me your wrist.» you said. After attentively securing the bracelet, Charles took the other one you had already completed. «Give me yours.» You pressed your lips together to suppress a smile as he tied the matching bracelet to your wrist. «I like it a lot. Thank you, y/n.» His few words of appreciation warmed your heart, which fluttered and flipped in joy. You had thought it through for weeks, months; you had shyly confided with your mother, who tried to push you in being a little braver; still, you couldn’t bring yourself to admit your love to Charles. Because it was love. As you stared at each other in silence, your heart was about to explode, but he seemed to be unfazed by your flushed cheeks and nervous giggles. “Charles really likes you, y/n. You don’t have to doubt it.”, Pascale had told you. So, without thinking, prompted by the reassurances you had gathered from external feedback, you quickly leaned towards him and gave him the fastest peck on the lips. Pulling back, you kept your eyes shut, too scared to face his reaction; completely still, terrified, heart flinging out of your chest, you were caught by surprise feeling Charles’ lips back onto yours. It wasn’t as rushed as yours; he probably wasn’t as scared as you were. Under the careful touch of his hand upon your arm, you felt all your tension melt like snow under the sun, giving in to the moment, happy you had broken the ice so that you could both enjoy this second kiss without hesitation. As his face moved away, you saw him opening his mouth in order to say something. «I… I love you, y/n.» he gulped. «And thanks for the gift, they’re so well-made.» The way he had immediately changed topic didn’t help making his first words going unnoticed; Charles couldn’t put his heart on the line that openly, after all. But it seemed like you had only heard those three words, getting stuck at them, flinging yourself towards to hug him. «I love you too, Cha’!»

Charles looked over at you, peacefully drifted away, sleeping your hangover off. He had never told you, but you had been his first love too. Charles didn’t stop tenderly rubbing you from above the sheet, shamelessly enamored with that delicate, indirect touch. Caught once again by the diary, he frowned at a wrinkled page.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, you knew bad news were coming. You had never seen him as silent, as closed off and distant before: instead of immediately reaching out to your hand, walking alongside, he had fastened his steps, marching ahead of you, without sparing you a glance. He stopped on the promenade quite abruptly, forcing you to halt to avoid tripping over him. He stared at the raging sea, tinted of green and grey waves, foaming onto the harbor. «Where do you want to go?» you asked, trying to be as quiet as possible. «It doesn’t matter.» His voice was categorical. «We can’t be together.» He didn’t glance over to you nor blinked, as he threw you on the abyss of the sea, in the freezing coldness of his heart. «What?» you said, above a whisper. «I need to win the karting championship, so I must exclusively focus on training. Spending time with you will make me waste time.» A waste of time. That’s what you were to him. «But… We can still see each other, once you’re done with training! There’s no need to-» «I want to be a Formula One driver, y/n. I can’t have distractions.» «I’m not a distraction, Cha’! We… We love each other!» you pleaded. He finally turned around and threw a pity and almost annoyed look at you. «My only love is racing.» Too young and vulnerable to know how to hide the hurt of rejection, weeping like a baby you bumped past him, running back home, completely distraught. Charles’ words had cut you open like a knife, and what made it worse was that he had given no warning sign: those months together had flown by like a fever dream, sweet and carefree, even when he was telling you about his races and training. It made no sense, to you. He had given you up without thinking twice, whenever the choice was presented to him: racing had been and would always be his answer. Your feelings, whatever you two had shared meant nothing to him. Slamming the door of your bedroom, you looked down at your wrist: with a violent grab, you tore your matching bracelet apart, sobbing loudly, desperate at the thought he would soon throw the one you had made for him too.

Charles’ chest clenched. He had forgotten about the words he had used with you back at the time, but he hadn’t been able to rub off his memory the tears you shed before him. He was sure to be making the right choice, despite not knowing the cost of blindly pursuing his dream without taking others into consideration. He heard you heaving peaceful under his hand, still placed upon the duvet, and he felt a deep regret assaulting him: how could he ask you to stay near him, to bear his presence after what he had done to you? But most importantly: why did he have to lose you only to discover, years later, that if he had kept you by his side, you would’ve been the most supporting and understanding person, given the honey-laced words Pierre always had rolling off his tongue whenever he talked about your presence during race weekends?

Charles sighed and flipped the pages over and got stuck onto another entry, enchanted by a matured handwriting.

Pierre has always been a friend. Every time he would invite you down karting tracks, he would do anything to make you laugh with his stupid jokes, telling you about all the places he had been able to see throughout his first racing weekends around France, dreaming together of his future and reassuring you he would bring you along with him once he would reach F1. No matter how convincing he could sound, his talks always managed to trigger a deep fear in you: you thought you would soon lose him as well, the only real friend you had made since moving out. But Pierre didn’t reject you as Charles had done. Instead of excluding you, he tried to involve you in his world made of races and revving engines, sharing every bit of energy and passion with you. So you grew up together, as close as time and space allowed. The ease and comfort you felt around him and that developed over time was a novelty, more so as you got to know each other since you were fourteen; if you really had to carefully think your relationship through, being there for each other during teenage ha certainly cemented your connection. Because Pierre has always been a good friend; but there had been times, occasions, small moments in which raveled feelings coursed beneath the seemingly smooth surface.

It was no mystery Pierre enjoyed partying, more so if he could drag you with him down the hell of heat, sweat, shots and loud blasting music pumping his blood stronger than ever. That night, though, he had overdone it a bit. Embarrassingly enough, for the first time in his nineteen-years-old existence, he was locked in a bathroom, hands on his stomach, nausea all over his head. And, most importantly, you all over his thoughts. He had downed drinks all night with the intent of celebrating his F1 debut, but completely forgetting about your intoxicating presence, your breathtaking smiles, the little temptations that had begun tormenting him subtly after you had both abandoned innocence and had inevitably grown older. Pierre had completely underestimated the power you had on him, and losing control with drinking loosened his nerves: throughout the night, his hands had unexpectedly lingered on your waist longer, betraying the intentions of removing them in a painstaking delay; his glance had flickered down to your lips too many times, despite him checking in with himself and correct it; the crowded club being accomplice, he had danced way closer to you than he should’ve had, closer than friends would do, and he had mischievously invited you to throw your arms behind his neck. Pierre had never felt so next to completely letting go of any restraint and kissing you then and there, freeing years of pent-up desires. And at that exact moment, nausea had hit him, throwing water upon his fire: he had excused himself to you with incoherent mumbles and ran, scattered, in search of the first restroom he could see. Of course, he should’ve imagined you would follow him and enter the bathroom with him, locking the door behind you.

«Do you… do you need help?» you asked, moving an unsure step towards him. Pierre’s thoughts were running wild: he closed his eyes, fighting the sickness and avoiding engraving in his memory your sweet, worried eyes. «No, I just need to calm down, I think.» You got closer to him after seeing him frustratedly passing a hand through his hair, and affectionately cupped his cheek, pained to see his skin pale under the yellowish light of the bathroom. «Do you want me to bring you some water? I’ll come back in a second.» But Pierre, who was melting into your palm pressed against his face, enjoying the touch with eyes still shut, opened them wide with a frown the second the contact was lost: he grabbed your wrist, which was willing to flee from him, and brought it close so that your fingers would linger back upon his cheek, not ready at all to let you go now that he had you so tantalizingly near. «Please, stay here.» he breathed out. The swift hand pulling your waist closer to him almost went unnoticed, since dizziness was beginning to get you as well; however, not a single hint thrown at you that night, and not even the ones he had left in the last three years or so, had ever led you to believe Pierre yearned for something more. After all, he was a highly popular guy, always hanging out with different girls every night, never trying to hide it from you, in fact. Chicks came and went, but you always stayed. And you also stayed as Pierre spitted a strained and husky putain before rapidly closing the gap between you and trapping your parted lips in a kiss. He didn’t leave much room for you to think nor react: Pierre’s tongue had already met yours in a sloppy and fast-paced dance, and your hand, previously brushing the lightest veil of his beard, had already made his way up to his hair, tugging at it, before you could realize what was happening. Pierre’s stare was completely drowned in dark lust and he couldn’t think straight anymore, taken over by the fog of alcohol and your addictive presence. He kept your lips glued to yours, too scared your words would break what Pierre reckoned to be a fantasy, too good to be true; still, even when he was quickly interrupting the kiss to catch breaths or change side and tilt his head the other way round, no protests were raised. Thirsty and urged by drought, he drank his fill from your lips with such an avidity he would take away any resistance hovering in your mind: Pierre’s desire to see your face under the poorly lit restroom won against the feral need of tasting you, failing to take into consideration how the trail of glistening saliva connecting your swollen lips would turn him on even more, combined with your drunk, dazed eyes and your flushed cheeks. His hands couldn’t stop roaming all over your back, gripping your neck to keep you close, then finally finding rest onto your hips. It didn’t take long before they became daring: still placed upon your waist, they slowly slid up, meeting the cotton of your top and slightly rolling it up-

Charles closed the diary with an abrupt thud. Breathing heavily, eyes filled with rage and fear, he stared straight into the void. He had no intention to keep reading that entry. He wouldn’t read other two pages of you and Pierre’s first hookup. First of how many? He had introduced you as one of his dearest friends… But Charles knew Pierre better than anybody else, and it was a fact he had never befriend that deeply any girl. Unless she was his girlfriend. The idea Charles had had you before and lost you, then found you again and now lost you once more, and to his best friend, stirred unknown feelings inside of him he’d rather bury deep.

A buzz broke his trail of thoughts. Caught by surprise, Charles realized you had dropped your phone onto the bed before slipping under the covers and it had sat near his thigh all along without him noticing. Until it started buzzing, of course. Unconsciously, he took the phone in his hand and saw the notifications pop-ups coming from Pierre. “where aare youuu? I can’t find you And Charles is gone as well ? Please text me back” Charles rested his head again the wall, just above the headrest, and sighed. He should answer Pierre’s texts in order for him not to panic about you two disappearing without warning… or ignore him and pretend he had never read anything? In that moment, Charles realized he had overstepped plenty of the boundaries of your privacy, reading through both your diary and your phone. So… why not going all the way in and earn full damnation? Once he was asked to put a passcode, he stared at the number pad waiting for his drunk brain gears to move; digiting his attempt, he hoped you still kept the same passcode you had back in middle school. It’ll never work, he thought. But to Charles’ amazement, it did. Pressing his lips together mentally mocking your laziness and lack of clever choices (overlooking the fact that he was the only one to possibly know your code from middle school times), he quickly tapped the notification and got ready to type an answer. “I brought her back to the hotel and we’ve just fucked, so that’s why she didn’t answer back :) " No, Charles, for freak’s sake. No resentment. No jealousy. No throwing it back in his face. He’s your best mate, after all. “Charles brought me back to the hotel cause I didn’t feel good We wanted to warn you but couldn’t find you” Quite satisfied, Charles reckoned that would be something you’d say. He didn’t even bother checking for Pierre’s replay, definitely willing to miss out on him being love-sickly worried about you, eye rolling at the mere thought. You were still there sleeping quietly, unaware of the emotional mess you had stirred in Charles’ poor heart. He glanced over at you for the last time, then slowly got up, put the diary back in the wardrobe and sneaked out, closing the door as delicate and silent as he could, not to wake the love he had put to sleep.

Charles sat to the small table, his lower calf resting on his other knee, the pointer finger brushing against his lower lip, in wait. He had been asked by the waiter to order a couple of times already, but Charles, as politely as his upset heart could allow him to, had dismissed him and sent him away. Pierre’s lean silhouette casually strolled towards him with that usual, smug smirk adorning his face with an aura that Charles, for the first time after years of hanging out together, behind his Ray Bans, found terribly unsufferable. He tried to study his best friend in search of whatever detail could’ve ever caught you trapped into his arms, and how the man now taking a seat right in front of him could’ve lied to him straight to the face keeping his new relationship away from him.

«So… I’m all ears.» Pierre stated, smiling. «Alright.» Charles didn’t move, watching his every movement. «Can I ask you something first?» the Frenchman interrupted him as he was about to speak up. «Sure.» Charles sighed, tilting his head in a slow, controlled back and forth motion. «You didn’t tell me anything about y/n since you met her. What do you think of her?» The Monegasque couldn’t restrain a snort, looking away and removing his glasses only to fidget them close, before enigmatically staring at Pierre. It wouldn’t take as long as Charles had predicted to get to the main point of the conversation. «Why does my opinion on her matter so much to you?» «Because you’re my best bro?» Pierre nervously chuckled, scratching his nape. He can’t be lying straight to my face so openly, Charles thought. «You know, you could’ve told me right away you wanted me to meet your new girlfriend. You didn’t have to put all this shit up and call her “one of my dearest friends”.»

Charles, still glancing at him, expected to savor Pierre’s astonished reaction, ready to catch him red-handed: so it was only natural for him to be left confused as the Frenchman frankly laughed, hand on his belly. «Mate, I don’t know how you made it up, but this is the most stupid crap I’ve heard in a while.» «Well, the way you two look at each other and are so comfortable with touching and being close gives it off. You aren’t subtle at all.» Pierre frowned, squinting his eyes to read into Charles’ expression. «Well, that’s a pity, because there’s nothing between me and her. And if you really want to know, she also rejected me long time ago.» «If she rejected you, something must’ve happened.» he stated, raising a brow. «We just made out once. I was celebrating for my F1 debut, I drank way too much and I kissed her. But she refused me quite badly.» he smiled at the thought. «What?» Charles stared at him conflicted, not knowing whether to trust Pierre’s version of the story. «She almost pushed me against the wall. I don’t even think she remembers, we were both completely hangover next day and we never talked about it anymore… Because there was no need to.» Charles would’ve liked to say that, in fact, you clearly remembered it, since he had found it in your diary; but knowing that he had skipped the pages which probably contained the rejection made him feel somewhat relieved. Yet, the undeniable closeness he had witnessed with his own eyes still put him in guard. «Still, you’re always PDA… and you also called her your girl.» «Did I? When?» «Literally last time we went out.» «Oh, I don’t remember. Too drunk to know.» Pierre smiled again. «But at this point, I guess there’s something you really would like to tell me about her.» Charles frowned, waiting for him to speak up again. «You act sus the entire night I introduced you both and dodge every conversation I try to have about her, but you still search for her any hour of the day just to give me second-hand embarrassment with you two’s awkward tension…» Pierre smirked to himself, shaking his head in the smallest movements and scrolling through his phone. «Then you use y/n’s phone to send me a drunk text she questions me about, stating it certainly isn’t hers, which kind of hints at the fact you stayed over to her room until…» he paused, then snorted loudly, «3 a.m. Wow.» Pierre put his phone on the table, screen facing downward. «Lastly, you invite me here, act all classy and cold with your Ray Bans, ready to confront me and make me confess my undying love for y/n with this pissed off face,» he pointed at his friend’s expression, «‘cause you’re jealous as fuck and you’re the one in love with her, uh? Good move, Charles. You’re the one who’s not being subtle at all, here.»

The waiter jumped right in at the worst possible moment, but this time Charles thanked his presence and let him interrupt the conversation: he felt spent, let down, somehow sorry for acting childishly. But, most of all, for being put in front of the harsh true: he still loved you. «Do you know all the story already?» Charles asked him, looking down, dejected. «Which story?» Pierre stared at him bamboozled, as Charles did in return. «But- you said I’m in love with her, so you know, right?» «Know what? What are you talking about?» Charles gulped. «That me and y/n have been together.» Charles saw Pierre’s eyes flick wide open, then him covering his mouth, in disbelief; once again staring back at him, completely sucked in by the news, willing to get at the bottom of it. «When she lived in Monaco…» «Yep.»

A short pause was offered by the drinks opportunely served, just in time for processing the information. «Now I understand why she acts weird when you’re around.» the Frenchman hummed, taking a sip. «Why did you breakup though?» «Guess I was too young to be in a serious relationship while also competing in karting.» Pierre glanced at his best friend, almost uncapable of recognizing him: he’d rarely seen him heartbroken and let down as he was, brushing his fingertip against the edge of his glass. «You should’ve invited y/n here instead of me.» Charles sadly smiled. «To say what?» «Exactly what you told me. You should’ve shown her you’re jealous of me and her, so that she knew you still love her. She should’ve seen you care for her as you probably did back then.» «So that she could rip my heart in two saying she doesn’t feel the same anymore?» «So that she could realize she never dated anybody else after you because she still feels something for you.» Charles bore his helpless eyes into Pierre’s, hope and surprise dancing in his irises. «C’mon, Charles, she even rejected me. Nobody has ever turned me down!» «Oh, please, I know that already.» Charles waited a couple of seconds to let the playful comment set before speaking up again. «Anyway, I tried to talk to her. But of course, she doesn’t want to listen, rightfully, and I can’t force her to.» Pierre loudly put down on the table his glass, spitting out a “tsk” of disapproval and disgust. «Where’s the Charles I know? The one who fights his battles until the end without giving up?»

In love, Charles had never had many problems. After you, that is. Loving came easy to him, as much as being loved: Pierre was popular due to his damned-cool boy reputation, but Charles wasn’t less of a dream for girls. He’d see the astonished stares, cheeks burning bright for him only, the small gasps and whispers shared between friends, the trembling voices and shaking fingers handing him the phone, a picture, a felted tip. A power he never used, let alone overused, to his own advantage. Still, he wished he would work with you. He always searched for any positive sign or reaction to his presence, but he never had the chance to spot them clearly. Every time some fans would hand him a bracelet, an instant stab of sorrow and regret seeped through his heart, overlaying memories of your delicate, small hands offering your handmade sign of love. Pierre was right. He couldn’t let you slip away, once again. «You must hurry up, though.» Pierre stood up, one hand stuffed in his jeans’ pocket. «Why?» «She leaves tomorrow. She… she goes back home.» he trailed off his stare. «What?! Why didn’t you tell me?» Charles abruptly stood up to face him, screeching his chair on the floor. «’Cause I didn’t know you cared?» Charles ran a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. «Oh, fuck me…» Pierre took his phone out of the pocket and sent a text, under the desperate stare of his best friend. «Okay, she’s in her room now. Go to her.» «W-where?» «She’s staying at my same hotel, room 214. But you know that already from last night.» Charles gaped, uncapable of letting words out. Pierre smiled, patting his shoulder. «You’re welcome. But get to work, okay?»

You knew since the beginning that Pierre’s newly gifted sweatshirts wouldn’t fit your suitcase, so you had warned him not to shower you with merch as he always did: in vain, of course. Hence, you were completely bent over the suitcase, desperately trying to squeeze it with your body weight, in order to close the zip. Huffing and grumbling, about to break the zip due to the excessive might, you halted every movement as a confident knocking on your door startled you. You weren’t expecting anyone; so typical of Pierre to forget stuff in your room and casually pass by… But his knocks would be usually followed by a string of embarrassing pet names, forcing you to open the door immediately. It was unusual for silence to drop right after the knocks.

You got closer to the door, only to jump back hearing insistent thuds against it. Okay, this is more like Pierre. You didn’t wonder further and simply got ready to welcome the sight of your best friend. Apart from the fact that the guy swiftly sneaking inside your room wasn’t him. «W-what are you doing?!» First rage, then fluster hit you: but Charles’ stormy eyes made you weak and helplessly condescending to anything he’d come by to say, as they had always done. «Why are you here?» you asked, your tone softened. Wetted his lips, irises scattered around, purposely avoiding yours, then a firm, determined yet resigned stare. «I read your diary.» «W-wha-» «When I brought you back here from the party, you were drunk. I made it drop by mistake and… and it was right open. I read it. And I also used your phone to answer Pierre’s texts, but you already know this.»

You couldn’t even get mad. As much as you tried to gather fury within you, something about him being vulnerable and fragile before you, frankly confessing the wrongdoings, seemingly heartbroken, couldn’t stir up blame on him. The only thing which made your ears ring and blurred your eyes was black fear. «What… what did you read?» Charles swallowed hard; you followed the movement with your eyes, you almost heard it loud and clear. «Everything.» With a single word, your pride tore apart. You could feel the void it left right beneath your sternum, and you could perceive the prickling tears stinging your eyes. Charles’ brows trembled in sorrow as he watched shame flash through your body, enhancing the shaking of your fingers, the twitching of your lips. «Why did you come here to embarrass me?» Not bearing being that far away from you while simultaneously being the reason you were crying, Charles closed the gap with a step, cupping your cheek with unknown tenderness. «Can you forgive me?» he whispered. You deeply wished he didn’t sound that fragile and loving; you couldn’t bear the pity look he was giving you, not after the brutal ways he had used with you in the past. He was being unnecessarily unfair. Because he probably knew, as you did deep down, that there was no way on earth you could avoid forgiving him.

Charles waited for your answer with his heart on the line, ready to crash in the abyss of despair or hopefully swim in relief, his fingers brushing the dust of time off your precious self, like a rediscovered chest of memories. He shouldn’t have never let you go. «You’re so stupid…» you shook your head and drop it low. «Charles, reading a diary isn’t as bad as-» «No, y/n, that’s not what I meant.» You raised your head up at his words. «Can you forgive me for… leaving you?» Beyond your inner walls, water fell and crashed the dam with its violent flow. He let you hide your face in the crook of his neck, hugging you closer, placing a kiss on your hair, tightening the embrace as your sobs tightened his chest. «Would you trust my love?» he spoke again. A loud sigh erupted from your lips. «I hate you so much…» Charles affectionately leaned his cheek upon your head, rubbing your back in hope to soothe your cries. «I was so naïve and stupid, y/n. I’m so sorry.» he whispered. «You don’t even know how much pain you put me through… I fucking left my hometown, Charles! I moved out…» «I know.» Charles acknowledged, resigned. «No, you don’t! You don’t…» «I never forgave myself for this. You know that?» His honesty showed through the hoarse tone of his voice, which obliged you to look at him, fast enough to see the veils of tears adorning his mesmerizing green, now saddened, eyes. «When my mom told me you had moved out, I thought it couldn’t be real. I waited for you out of school, to bring you back home as we always did, but you were never there.»

You cried harder against his skin, devastated by his shaking voice, and you encircled his neck with your arms to nestle closer. «I kept wearing your bracelet, I couldn’t take it off. It was the only thing I still had of you.» Charles trailed off his gaze and strayed away from the fixed spot he had been staring at, willing to interrupt the unraveling of his raw, way too powerful feelings; then he gently pushed you away the bit he needed to look inside your eyes. «Even if you don’t believe me, I won’t be able to forgive myself until you do. And I might not be able to forgive myself anyway,» he wiped off one of your tears with his thumb, «but I couldn’t add another regret, letting you go without telling you that I still love you.»

Charles felt a weight lifting off his shoulder, relaxing his tensed muscles all at once: he had said the words he had kept stuck in his heart for way too long. He let the hug loosen and moved backwards, now ready to see you leave. «But… if you’re in love with Pierre… I mean, I won’t interfere with you guys. You’re free to love whoever and I honestly can’t blame you, after all I’ve done.» You sadly smiled at his antics, diverging gaze as soon as he had broken the embrace and distancing from you. He had just told you he loved you, but had thrown another topic onto the table so that it would go unnoticed, so that he wouldn’t be hurt in case you didn’t reciprocate. He hadn’t changed, not even a bit. Under the cool and elegant demeanor, you could still see the shy, impulsive and passionate boy you had fallen in love with. «Cha’… You know I can’t choose who to love, right?» Charles’ eyes widened as soon as he saw you stepping towards him, closing the gap once again, lacing your hands around his neck while he held your waist in disbelief, scared you would fade away leaving him with splinters of a dream. «And the proof is that… I can’t help loving you.» «I’d like to say that I’m sorry for you, but…» You both inched over each other’s head, hearts twisting with the renewed novelty of what love felt like. «But there’s no need to be.» you breathed on his lips. The tension pent up through your muscles released all at once, right as you both fell caught inside a kiss: the lock which had sealed you heart for years cracked open at Charles’ key, unleashing the old, affectionate and immature feelings so that you could dress them with the newer and shinier clothes of reconciliation.

Charles couldn’t help a soft moan of frustration while deepening the kiss, his hands failing to keep you as close as he needed, touch-starved. You let him take control, overwhelmed by bliss to the point you simply gave in and relied completely on him; as he worshipped every corner of your beauty, your heart overflowed of unexperienced joy and love. You weren’t in a rush for taking the flight anymore: time was a senseless number uncapable of measuring the moment. Charles delicately laid you on the newly made bed, leaving a trail of feather-like kisses on your collarbones and down to your stomach, lips brushing against your summer dress and eyes desperately sticking onto yours all along. «Tell me you want this as much as I do.» His eyelids shut and his hopeful, breathless voice invited your fingers to pass through his hair, pulling his lips back above yours. «I promise I do.» Scared of opening his eyes and discovering he was having a feverish, heart-rending yet delightful dream, Charles helplessly smiled after resting his forehead upon yours. «Let me love you, then.»

I'm dead sure it's full of mistakes but I'm too tired and happy to be posting that I don't care! Thanks for bearing through everything! And thanks a ton to who leaves notes of feedback, they're so precious and dear to me! ♥ ✧ ˚ · . Wish you a wonderful day . · ˚✧

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