#sink or swim: chapter 5

[citylighten]

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[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Stories and Dolls

A/N – Okay, so I just quit my job and I’m freefalling right now. Time to channel my anxiety into fanfiction. Also, this chapter is darker so I’m raising the rating to M.

Warnings – MENTIONS OF RAPE, S/A, ABUSE, KIDNAPPING, AND TORTURE.

Rating – M

TAG-LIST: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326 @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch @reverse-soe @koirb @usernameunavailable2 @lavenderkita @kannakanan @mcueveryday @amarokofficial @mbruben-stein @tyrythewolf @lasagna-501 @bizzardvark @firefirefeline @kaylanotkk @missme-07 @memontica @angelsdemonsmonsters @tj4shy

MALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Lucifer had to admit, he was getting used to you. He enjoyed making breakfast a show in the morning, entertaining you with his parlour tricks and general showmanship. You were like a child, easily amused by flashing lights or some sleight of hand.

And of a night, he also found your company less than objectionable, whether you were reading a book in the library with Spick and Span curled up at your feet, in front of a roaring fire (you had conjured them medallions with their names on them, so as to tell them apart), or those nights when you came back from visiting the hotel and regaled him with the tales of its inhabitants. Lucifer was starting to like Angel Dust, even if he didn’t believe the porn star actually had a chance at redemption. Nifty also seemed entertaining, Husk could be a source of wisdom and comfort in equal measure, and Alastair… Well, he was there too, taking up too much of your attention.

Yet, despite his newfound almost-friendship with you, he couldn’t help thinking about what you had said on your first night in the manor.

‘You don’t even know why I’m down here, and you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same.’

You were right. He didn’t know why you were there, and that was driving him crazy. He wanted to like you. Truly, he did. But how could he like you when he didn’t know your sin? People got sent to Hell for a reason! They wasted their free will. They sold drugs to kids, murdered people, trafficked victims, tricked and swindled others. For all Lucifer knew, you were there for drowning puppies.

The thought made him deeply uncomfortable.

Okay. He would ask you about it. No big deal. People probably talked about why they went to Hell a lot right? That was a normal conversation for Sinners, probably…

Lucifer wasn’t entirely wrong in thinking that. However, nearly all Sinners lied about what they went to Hell for, making it even more brutal or horrifying to try and earn some extra credit among their fellow Demons. Someone who had killed one person would claim to have been a serial killer. A low-life drug dealer would paint themselves as a mafioso with a drug empire, and arsonists… They didn’t have to lie much, as fires tended to spread quickly and they generally were as psychotic as they claimed to be.

It was all basic self-preservation in Hell. Be the toughest person there, so nobody could find new ways to hurt you. Kill or be killed (figuratively, since Demons couldn’t technically kill other Demons), sink or swim, do unto others before they did unto you.

Right. When Lucifer next saw you, he would ask.

“Hey Lucifer,” You said upon returning to the manor from the Hotel, “You doing okay?”

Lucifer froze. He hadn’t expected to see you so soon. Fuck.

“Hey bitch,” Lucifer greeted, feeling entirely awkward, yet trying to feign confidence.

“Uh… Back at ya,” You reciprocated confusedly.

“Sooooo,” Lucifer started, steepling his fingers together, and holding them to his mouth, his brow knitting together worriedly, “I have a question for you.”

“Oh.” You were surprised by Lucifer’s admission. While the two of you generally made conversation, he didn’t tend to ask too much. Besides, in the preface of announcing his question, it seemed that he was likely to ask you something personal.

You waved your hand casually, indicating that he was free to ask away.

“How- Uh how was everything at the Hotel? Is my little girl doing okay?”

As you smiled and fell into a description of how Charlie was doing and her general excitement about her meeting with Heaven, Lucifer cursed himself. He knew that what he wanted to ask was important, but it was just so personal. Well, at least he was happy to hear about his daughter. There were also some other colourful stories included in your conversation.

Finally, you wrapped up the conversation, effectively ending it when you casually said, “Anyway, I’m going to get ready for bed. I’m real tired, you know?”

Lucifer didn’t say much as you left, he was still pondering whether you might be a puppy killer or relative and accomplice to that Jeffrey Dahmer fellow, or something equally disturbing. If not… Why were you there?

Having gotten ready for bed, you sighed, letting the day’s events wash over you, lifting a weight off your shoulders. You were tired, but the day had been a good productive one. Moreover, it was nice to end the day by standing out on the balcony, overlooking the rest of Hell.

There was a time when you had died, during which you stood atop a building in the main streets watching all the fights, looting, and maiming, and you were horrified. Then, you met Charlie, and she had been so wonderfully pure, good, and non-judgemental that you had to agree with her. Hell could be a home to you, and all the other Sinners who lived there, and Sinners could always change for the better.

While you held onto the balcony railing, leaning over it, and staring at the red horizon, Lucifer approached your open door at the entrance of your room, knocking despite the open invitation to come in.

You turned and smiled at him, your smile putting him at ease.

“Come in,” You offered.

He did so, crossing the large room and taking quick mental notes of the changes you had made. They were minor, but they spoke of your personality. You had lit scented candles, brightening the room – the official scent name was Tapioca Tit-play.

Subconsciously, Lucifer worked his magic to remove the off-smell that he had placed there; it was redundant when your candles covered it, and he didn’t mind your company so much anymore.

He also observed several other items. There was a photograph of everyone at the Hotel, though you had drawn Alastor on the end in crayon since he didn’t love to be captured in photographs (he could bear it unlike being filmed, but he didn’t care much for it.)

Wrapped around your bedposts were nightlights to keep out the dark. On your bed, you had a teddy of one of Sir Pentious’ egg-bois, a gift from him. Husk had gifted you with a bottle of his best Whiskey, though it remained unopened on the nightstand. There was a cockroach/daisy hybrid necklace wrapped around a book. The candles were from Angel Dust. Beneath your pillow was a dagger, gifted by Vaggie, for your protection. Alastor had given you a collection of books from the store in Cannibal Town, including several that were rumoured to have been stolen from Heaven’s library, though nobody was certain where that rumour started or if it was even true, though there were no copies of the books anywhere else in Hell.

Although Lucifer had no way of knowing these items were all presents from your friends at the Hazbin Hotel, he could tell that you cared deeply for the odd assortment by their placement on the two bedside tables; they had been positioned with care, and were well looked after.

Then, his eye caught the rubber duck, slightly hidden behind the picture frame. He remembered making that one. As a hellhound imitation, it was meant to teleport to whoever needed it most inside the Manor, offering protection should they come under attack. Naturally, he and his family didn’t need such protection, but he had been experimenting with what powers he might imbue unto yet another duck.

He decided not to mention it as he joined you on the balcony, looking you over in your pyjamas.

You also spared him a glance, noting that he seemed more relaxed. Although he was still in his usual attire, he had removed his top-hat-crown and his overcoat, revealing the waistcoat and shirt beneath; the sleeves were rolled up, giving him a more casual appearance.

“Hell’s skies are beautiful, aren’t they,” You stated, returning your gaze to the horizon.

Lucifer looked up, but all he saw was Heaven, the home that didn’t want him.

“(Y/N),” He started, forcing himself to look down, so he wouldn’t have to stare at the painfully beautiful golden glow above.

“Hm?”

“How did you end up here?”

Your grip tightened on the railing drawing Lucifer’s gaze to the whites of your knuckles.

Your whole body became tense and you answered with a ragged breath, “I died.”

“Yes but-” Lucifer was about to lead into the question of your sins, but you spoke up again, seemingly misunderstanding the question as you continued, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“I was- I was murdered.”

Lucifer could have explained that the cause of your death wasn’t what he had been driving at, but now he was darkly fascinated. If you were the same kind-hearted, warm person in life, why would anyone wish to bring about your death?

He remained silent as you began recounting the manner in which you had been killed.

“I had a friend,” You started slowly, taking steady breaths between each part of the story that followed as if it would make it any easier. “I mean- I- I thought he was my friend. I loved him. He knew that. He counted on it.”

“I thought that he travelled for work. That’s what he told me. It’s why he was always coming and going. But no… He was just looking for more people like me. He found people. Made us fall for him. Then he- he took me out on a date. Blindfolded me. Said it was a surprise. I- I trusted him, but the blindfold just made it easier for him to- He knocked me out.”

You subconsciously touched the back of your head, remembering the blow that had come with no warning.

Lucifer turned to you, one hand holding onto the railing, the other planted firmly at his side.

“Did he-” He started to ask.

You shook your head. “It wasn’t rape. It was worse.”

You shivered, waiting until you were certain you weren’t going to vomit. Then you continued, your skin ashy.

“I woke up in a- It was like a cinderblock cell, but it had been sort of decorated to look like a fancy suite?”

You recalled the room. It was damp, and the floor was cheaply produced concrete, given away by the amount of air bubbles which had never been levelled and now pocked the surface, like a teenager with bad acne. The cinderblock walls were easy to see, though some talented artist had been paid to paint it with the likeness of the Ritz hotel or somewhere equally fancy. While that had made it look better, it was still clearly a cinderblock wall; then again, you can’t polish a turd, but you can roll it in glitter.

You had been handcuffed to a chair in the centre of the room. Your clothes had been taken, and you had been dressed in a skimpy shortened tuxedo, with a fitted vest instead of a jacket. You remembered screaming till your voice was raw. You screamed so much that you ended up spitting flecks of blood, but nobody came to save you.

“I- I was tied up,” You said simply, downplaying the memory to Lucifer, more for your own sake than his, though he could see the pain behind your eyes.  

Lucifer didn’t interrupt your story, but his anger was growing. Behind him his tail lashed furiously, his eyes became flaming red, and his fangs became sharper. You hadn’t noticed, you were lost in memory, and you had yet to look his way since beginning your story.

You sighed, thinking of the torture, humiliation, and suffering which followed, all at the hands of one man. It wasn’t your captor. It was who he had sold you to.

“It- I was- They were making snuff films. I don’t know how many people died there before or after me but- I was sold to an American. He- He liked to cut things. It was a while before- I don’t know if I bled out, or if my heart stopped, maybe both?”

For the first time, your skin changed colour, turning from your regular human shade to a pale seaweed-green. Against the colourful backdrop, Lucifer could see your now blinding white glowing scars. Upon your death they remained hidden, completely invisible, but now you were distressed… You seemingly did have something of a Demonic appearance after all.

You were a ragdoll.

There wasn’t a part of your body that hadn’t been cut, or originally sliced off, only to be repaired in death. In all likelihood, your real body was probably burned, buried, or dissolved in acid. In Hell, your scars were the stitches that held your body together. Lucifer now understood your human appearance since like a real ragdoll, you were good at playing dress-up. He bet that if you explored your abilities, you would have been able to look like anyone, a skin-changer, but you had adopted your appearance in life; it was likely an accident caused by the trauma of your memories.

“(Y/N),” Lucifer said through gritted teeth. He wanted to be comforting, but he was already thinking of all the ways he would punish your killer and any accomplice he may have had. There were worse things than Death in hell; he would torture those bastards for eternity, and then when he finally grew bored, he would end them with angelic weaponry, wiping their souls from existence, leaving no trace of such monsters.

You didn’t turn to face your King, who was now in his full Demonic form, his rage at its peak.

“Just go,” You murmured despondently, staring over the balcony, and down to the ground. A long drop and a short stop… It was a shame it wouldn’t kill you; at least the pain would end if you died.

“But-” Lucifer reached you to put a hand on your shoulder, his wings almost curling around you as if to envelop you.

“I- I would like to be alone. Please.”

Lucifer hesitantly withdrew his hand, “I’m sorry.”

That was all he said before walking away, leaving you alone.

You wished that you could have been left to wallow, but your phone soon buzzed and you opted to check it in case it was an emergency.

Retrieving it from the bed, you found a message from Charlie.

“EMERGENCY. ANGEL DUST. RELAPSE. GET OVER HERE. PLEASE!”

Damn it! If Charlie was texting you for this, it meant that Husk was either the cause or he wasn’t around to be the solution. Moreover, while Charlie would want to assist her friend, she was likely the last person Angel Dust wanted to see; sometimes, though she was well-intentioned, she just didn’t understand such issues or she could be a bit much.

Still stuck in your ragdoll body, you ran back to the balcony and vaulted over the edge. It wasn’t a smooth landing, and it hurt a lot. Anyone else would have broken their bones, but when you were like this, there wasn’t anything else that could be broken. Everything had already been torn off you. Ignoring the pain, you ran until you found a taxi. You took it to the Hotel.

[tigertales9]

Hard Reset IV

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut

Description: This fic covers the week 5 lead-up and win against the Cardinals.

Time/Place: Monday, Oct. 2, 2023 - Sunday, Oct. 8, 2023 / Cincinnati, Ohio & Glendale, Arizona

A/N: This is the fourth fic in the Hard Reset series.

Since we have a secret wedding coming up in the next chapter, I decided to use the bye week lakehouse idea from my Sink or Swim fic for the honeymoon location. I'll copy & paste the relevant bit here in case you haven't read it or to refresh your memory:

~ ~ This took place just before training camp in mid-July ~ ~

"Remember when we went to that party at the lake last summer? There was that cool lakehouse that we drove by a couple times when we got lost looking for the party?"

You furrow your brow as you try to think back, your face lighting up when the memory clicks into place. "The tall, narrow three-story house with the rooftop deck?"

"Yep," he grins, opening a tab on his computer and swiveling it to show you the screen. "It's called 'The Crows' Nest' and it's an Airbnb."

"No way." You lean closer for a better look. "It's even more awesome than I remember."

"I booked it for three nights during our bye week."

"Shut up!" you squeal, slapping Joe's arm as he looks simultaneously stoked and smug.

"I hope three nights is enough," he says nervously. "I thought about doing four, but . . ."

"Three nights is plenty," you interject. "If I remember correctly, it's about an hour and a half drive. We'll have an amazing getaway and be back in plenty of time for you to prep for the 49ers game the following week."

"I love that you already know my schedule."

"Front, back, side to side, Mr. Burrow," you purr, giving him a saucy wink.

~ ~ ~

All of that set-up is because the upcoming lakehouse honeymoon is mentioned in this chapter, so let's get to it . . .

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Monday, 10/2/23

You wake up to an empty bed, a satisfied smile gracing your lips as you think about the toe-curling sex you had with your man the night before. You slip out of bed, checking the clock before heading into the bathroom to pee and wash your face.

You eventually walk down the hallway and check Joe's office before heading downstairs, a little surprised that he's nowhere to be found since it's still pretty early, your eyebrows rising when you see a note on the kitchen counter. You pick it up and read it out loud.

"Couldn't sleep so decided to head to the facility to get an early start on work-out - treatment - film. I'll be late getting home tonight since a group of us are watching MNF at Sam's. Love, Joe."

You toss the note down and get your coffee started, a little surprised he's skipping his standing video game session with his high school friends. They play almost every Monday for a few hours until Monday Night Football kicks off at 8:15 pm. Some weeks they play even longer, especially if the MNF match-up isn't very sexy. Usually the only reason he skips it during the season is if he's playing football on Monday (in which case they postpone it to Tuesday) or if he's in a stank mood because he played bad the day before.

Your mind flashes back to yesterday's 27-3 loss to the Titans. "Stank mood for sure," you mumble to yourself, yawning as you add a glug of creamer to your coffee before heading upstairs to your office.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Tuesday, 10/3/23

You wake up to an empty bed again, your brow furrowing as you go through your morning routine before heading down the hall to Joe's office, a smile curling your lips when you hear football noises coming from inside.

"Hey babe," you greet, dropping a kiss on his neck as he hits pause on the game film he's watching. "Hey," he echoes, swiveling his desk chair around to face you. "Sorry I got home so late last night."

"It's okay. Did y'all enjoy the game?" you ask, brushing your fingers through his messy hair a few times to try and tame his rampant bedhead.

"Not really," he grumbles. "We kinda half-ass watched it while talking about what we need to do to get better." He makes a pensive face before giving you a big grin. "Oh yeah, check this out," he says, grabbing his phone and pulling something up before handing it to you. The vid features Ja'Marr and Tee arm wrestling on Sam's kitchen island while several other guys holler encouragement. The vid cuts out just after Ja'Marr wins.

"Y'all got a little bored last night, huh?" you laugh, handing him his phone back.

"Well, it all started when Ja'Marr made a comment about Tee not being as fast as him, so Tee was like 'yeah, but I'm stronger' so of course they had to arm wrestle."

"Of course," you agree. "Was Tee mad when Ja'Marr beat him?"

"A little," Joe shrugs, "but then he was like 'whatever, at least my dick's bigger'."

"Please tell me there's not a dick measuring vid," you mutter.

He gives you a cheeky wink before scrolling his phone like he's looking for said vid.

"Joseph!" you swat his arm. "I don't want to see it!"

He laughs at your scandalized expression before setting his phone on his desk. "Relax, babe, there's no dick measuring vid. At least not on my phone."

"Y'all are too much," you giggle, rolling your eyes playfully. "Everything's a damn competition."

"Wanna know who won?" he asks.

"No!" you chirp, sticking your tongue out when he chortles at your obvious discomfort. "You want some breakfast?" you ask, changing the subject before he decides to give you the unwanted dick report.

"Nah, I'll just grab something at the facility." He checks the time before wrinkling his nose. "I better get going. Lot of stuff to do today."

You lean down and give him a kiss before heading for the door. "I'm gonna get a shower. Have a good day."

"You too," he says, giving you a smile before turning his attention back to his computer.

~ ~ ~

You head downstairs about thirty minutes later, narrowing your eyes as you see another note on the kitchen counter; you snatch it up and read it.

"I'll prob be late again tonight since we're talking about new offensive schemes (thank fuck!) Lots of film to watch & I'll just grab dinner at the facility with the guys. Call me if you need me. Love, Joe."

"Could have told me that to my face," you grump, chewing on your lip and trying not to get too aggravated; he always spends extra time at the facility when shit's going sideways, so this is nothing new. It feels a little weird, though. Like he's avoiding you for some reason. "Don't overthink it," you warn yourself. "He's struggling and trying to figure his shit out. Don't make it about you."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Wednesday, 10/4/23

"Okay, fuck this," you mutter as you once again wake up to an empty bed. You heard him come in last night but pretended to be asleep since you were tired, aggravated and didn't feel like talking, but you def feel like talking now.

You snatch your phone off the bedside table and hurry down the hall to make sure he's not in his office before heading downstairs, your eyes rolling when you spot another damn note on the counter; you heave a sigh as you start to read.

"Sorry I got home late again. Big day today installing the new offense! I'm feeling optimistic for a change. Hate to say it, but I'll be late again. Going to Sam's tonight for pizza and film watching. Love, Joe."

"Shit," you grumble as you set your phone on the kitchen counter. "Can't unleash hell on Mr. Feeling Optimistic," you mutter under your breath, trying and failing to push aside the uneasy feeling the situation's giving you. You roll your shoulders as you wait for your coffee to brew. "He hasn't technically done anything wrong," you state, still trying to convince yourself. "The last thing I want to do is make him feel bad for doing his job."

~ ~ ~

You spend the next several hours doing your (mostly) normal routine:

a harder than normal work-out to relieve some stress

a couple hours of work followed by a virtual meeting to tie up some loose ends on a work project

a few chores and then some errands including a final stop to grab some Kung Pao chicken from your fav family-owned restaurant before heading home

You change into slinky shorts and a t-shirt as soon as you get home before pouring a glass of wine and tucking into your spicy dinner.

An hour later you're tidying up the kitchen when your phone rings; your brow furrows as you check the display before answering. "Hey Sam. What's up?"

"Is Joe there?"

"No. I thought he was eating pizza and watching film tonight at your place."

"Umm, yeah, I left the gym a few minutes before him and we were supposed to meet at my house, but I got a low air pressure warning on one of my tires and stopped to air it up. First place I stopped was out of service so I had to go to another gas station. Took almost thirty extra minutes and when I got home he wasn't there. I tried calling him, but it went straight to voicemail. I waited an hour and tried calling again but the same thing happened."

"That's weird," you mutter, your pulse immediately picking up. "Hopefully he didn't have a wreck or something."

"Oh, I'm sure it's not that," Sam mumbles.

"Well, let me know if you hear from him."

"Okay, you too."

You end the call and immediately try Joe's phone, a knot forming in your stomach when it goes straight to voicemail. You open your fav traffic app and chew on your lip as you look for accidents in the area he was traveling. "Nothing," you mutter, feeling slightly better until another hour passes without hearing from him.

You try his phone again, your heart thudding in your chest when it goes straight to voicemail. "Where are you?" you whisper, pacing back and forth as you try to decide what to do.

You wait thirty more minutes and are just about to call the nearest emergency room -- after Sam texts you asking if you've heard from Joe yet -- when you hear the garage door open, a flood of relief washing over you when he ambles in the door looking slightly disheveled. The odd look on his face makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up; you decide to play it cool.

"Hey," you say, giving him a smile. "How was practice? Did y'all install the new offense?"

"Yeah. Still have a lot of work to do, but I think we're headed in the right direction."

"Good." Your eyes drop down to his long fingers fiddling with his wristbands before you recapture his gaze. "How was the pizza at Sam's?"

"Fine," he shrugs, looking at his feet. "Nothing special."

You feel a wave of nausea hit at his obvious lie. Please let me hold down this Kung Pao, you think to yourself before speaking. "Sam called me several hours ago asking if I knew where you were. He had to stop and air up a tire, and you weren't at his house when he got there. He tried calling you but your phone was off." The color drains from his face as you continue. "Then he texted me a few minutes ago asking if I ever heard from you, so I know you haven't been with him."

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other but doesn't speak.

"You wanna tell me why you just lied to my face?"

"It's not what you think," he mutters, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows hard.

The action draws your gaze down to his throat for a few seconds before it shifts back up to his face; you become very aware of his facial hair, a thought flashing through your mind that it's a damn shame you're mad at him since you love to feel his scruff against your skin.

A darker thought creeps into your head when you consider the fact that he just lied to you about being with Sam. Is someone else enjoying the feel of that scruff? you muse to yourself, your stomach turning at the thought of him cheating on you.

You spin around and sprint down the hallway, barely making it to the guest bathroom in time to slam the door and fling the toilet seat up before emptying the contents of your stomach into the bowl. You spit a few times as you gasp for breath, eventually flushing the toilet and walking on trembling legs to the sink to rinse your mouth a few times and splash water on your flushed face. You pat dry with a hand towel and open the door, rushing forward two steps before crashing into a large, immovable object. Joe wraps his hands around your upper arms to steady you, his expression hard to read as you wrench yourself out of his grasp and step back.

He heaves a sigh before speaking. "We were supposed to meet at Sam's, but when he didn't show up for like twenty minutes I decided to take a drive to clear my head. I couldn't get my thoughts to stop racing," he continues with a shrug. "Thinking about how bad I've been playing, wondering if the new offensive scheme will help. I just needed a distraction."

"What's her name?" you snap.

"Huh?"

"The distraction. What's her name?"

"It's not like that," he soothes, reaching for you as you step farther out of reach.

"Then how is it?" you challenge. "You were out of contact for several hours with your phone turned off. That's not just a drive to clear your fucking head!"

He hesitates for a second and you spin around and stride for the stairs, launching yourself up them two at a time before heading through the master bedroom and into the bathroom, quickly brushing your teeth before hurrying into your walk-in closet.

You wrangle a suitcase into the middle of the closet floor and start flinging clothes inside with the same vigor that Joe uses when spiking a football after scoring a tuddy. You punctuate each motion with a curse word, your entire body shaking.

Eventually you become aware of the fact that he's standing in the doorway watching you; you give him a glare before continuing to pack.

"This is just a huge misunderstanding," he states, fiddling with his wristbands like his life depends on it.

"Obvs," you sneer. "I clearly misunderstood the nature of this relationship. Who could blame me, though?" you ask, plowing ahead before he has a chance to interject. "You've never given me a reason not to trust you. Plus you've been oh so vulnerable with me lately -- worried I'm gonna leave you, desperate to hurry up and get secretly married to put your mind at ease." You swallow hard around the lump in your throat, grateful that you're too stunned to cry. If I start crying, I may never stop, you think to yourself.

You stop packing long enough to lock eyes with him. "Meanwhile you're out doing God knows what with God knows who and lying straight to my face about it."

"I can explain everything," he urges. "I'm just trying not to spoil a surprise I set up for you."

"Surprise! I'm a lying asshole!" you chirp, giving a derisive snort before a petty idea hits you. If he wants to watch me pack, let's give him something to see. You walk deeper into the closet and start easing short, slinky cocktail dresses off of their padded hangers, folding them delicately before laying them almost reverently in your suitcase. You pull open a few drawers on your lingerie chest and scoop out copious handfuls of lacy, barely-there wisps of fabric in the form of bras, panties, teddys, thigh-high stockings and a few other naughty confections, smirking at his worried expression as you place the items in your suitcase.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"Where have you been?" you counter, crossing your arms in a defensive posture, your substantial engagement ring catching your eye when the overhead light glints off of it. "Oh … here … you can have this back," you mumble, sliding the ring off and handing it to him.

"What? No way!" he sputters, gently pushing your hand back toward you. "Jesus, I've fucked this up so bad it's not even funny," he grits out. "I seem to fuck everything up these days."

"Don't play the victim."

He takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling for several seconds before looking at you. "Will you please put your ring back on? I promise I'm about to tell you everything you want to know, but I can't think straight when you're not wearing your ring."

Something in his tone -- a pleading vibe -- makes you do as he asks.

"Thank you," he rasps, clearing his throat before holding a hand out to you. "Let's go sit down and I'll explain everything."

You stare at his hand for several seconds before placing your hand in it, your eyebrows climbing upward when he lets out the breath he was holding. He's shook, you think to yourself, hoping he has a damn good explanation for lying to you.

He leads you to the sitting area in your bedroom, gesturing for you to sit in one armchair before dropping into the other, his fingers immediately fiddling with his wristbands as he starts to speak.

"Okay … so … you know the lakehouse we're going to during bye week?"

"Yeah," you answer, your mind conjuring up an image of the cool, modern three-story house that you've been looking forward to staying in ever since Joe booked it back before training camp started. Back then it was just going to be a quick getaway during bye week, but it's morphed into your (first) honeymoon destination since y'all are getting secretly married just before you leave for the lake.

"Remember when I showed you the pics on the Airbnb site and you said -- if you were doing the decorating -- you'd arrange the furniture different in the master bedroom?"

"Yeah," you answer, thinking about the master suite that takes up the entire top floor of the house; one of its coolest features is an oversized skylight situated just above a sitting area. You mentioned it would be cooler to position the bed under the skylight so you could look up at the night sky while lying in bed.

"Well, I got in touch with the homeowner, Mr. Thompson, and asked him if I could switch the sitting area and bed for our stay." Your eyes go wide as he continues. "I told him I'd handle it, I just needed someone to let me and Sam in."

"We're not going for two more weeks, though," you mumble suspiciously.

"True," he agrees, "and I figured I'd go Monday the 16th -- the day before we arrive for our stay -- but Mr. Thompson said I could go anytime since no one else is staying there between now and then."

"That's … interesting."

"Mmm-hmm. So Mr. Thompson gave me the caretaker's number so I could set up a time for me and Sam to move the furniture."

If this is a lie, it's elaborate as fuck, you think to yourself as Joe continues.

"Max, the caretaker, agreed to meet me today. It's about an hour and a half drive, and I had just enough time to get there when I said I'd be there, so I left without Sam."

"Did you try calling Sam before you left?"

"No. To be honest I was a little aggravated." He shrugs before continuing. "He knew I was antsy to get on the road, and I felt like he was drag-assing."

"So you turned your phone off to teach him a lesson?"

"Maybe," he grins, having the decency to look a little sheepish about it.

"QB1 behavior," you mutter. "By the way, you better send him a quick text to let him know you're alive."

He does your bidding, and your gaze is drawn to his sexy hands as he types the text; you squeeze your eyes shut as a thought hits you. "Since Sam didn't go, who helped you move the furniture?"

"Max plus a couple of guys he brought with him. That king-sized bed is heavy as fuck so I was grateful he brought some extra muscle." He sees your skeptical expression and starts scrolling through his phone. "I'll show you the texts where we set it up," he offers, turning his phone where you can read it. "Here's the text from Mr. Thompson giving me Max's number. -- And here's where I texted Max to set up a time to meet. -- And here's his reply …"

You feel a flood of relief as you read the texts, your eyes meeting Joe's over the top of the phone for a split second before you break down crying; you drop your head into your hands as the sobs escalate, his concerned voice seemingly coming from a great distance even though his mouth is close to your ear.

"I can have Max send me footage from the security cams," he states. "The entire outer perimeter is covered so you'll be able to see me drive up and meet him and the other guys."

"That's not necessary," you wheeze, trying hard to draw breath and stem the steady flow of tears. "I believe you."

"Then why are you crying?" he asks, a slight tremble in his voice giving away his raw emotional state.

"Because I'm so relieved," you sniff, wiping your eyes before meeting his gaze. "I thought you were cheating on meeeee," you wail, your voice trailing off into sobs again as he stands up and scoops you up bridal-style; he drops into your chair with you sitting crossways in his lap, his deep voice like a balm to your frazzled nerves as he does his best to soothe you.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he whispers. "I would never cheat on you, okay? I was trying to set up a fun surprise for you, but I'm too much of a dumbass to get it right."

"You're not a dumbass," you sniffle, smiling as he wipes your tears away before dropping a kiss on each of your flushed cheeks. "It's not your fault that one of Sam's tires needed air."

"Yeah, this is all Sam's fault, the fucker," he grumbles, laughing along with you for a minute before turning serious. "You're shaking really bad," he states, running his hands up and down your arms. "Are you cold?"

"A little, but I think it's mostly a st…stress reaction," you stammer."

"Shit," he sighs. "I can't believe I did this to you."

"It's okay," you whisper. "You didn't mean to."

He drops a kiss on your forehead before standing up and setting you back in the chair, quickly grabbing a plush throw blanket off the foot of the bed and tucking it around you. "Sit tight for a sec. I'm gonna run a hot bath."

You nod your head as he turns and heads toward the bathroom, taking several slow, deep breaths to try and relax before he reappears. "Bath's ready," he states, gently pulling the blanket off of you before picking you up to carry you to the bathroom.

Five minutes later you're both immersed in the oversized tub, with him behind you and your back leaning against his chest. He runs his big hands up and down your arms, trying to chase away the chill bumps as you flutter your eyes closed and try to relax.

You spend the next fifteen minutes enjoying the feel of him rubbing your arms, your shoulders, and your thighs. "That feels good," you groan, the tension leaving your body with every stroke of his talented hands.

"Good." He drops a kiss on your neck. "Just relax."

"Sorry your surprise got ruined," you sigh, leaning your head to the side as he drops another kiss on your neck. "I think it's super sweet you went to so much trouble to surprise me," you continue, reaching a hand down to squeeze one of his thighs. "Can't wait to sleep with you under that huge skylight."

"It's gonna be amazing," he murmurs, his hot breath and scruff against your ear causing a shiver to run through you. "Still cold?" he asks. "No," you whisper, maneuvering around until you're facing him. His gaze is drawn down to your bare breasts just visible above the water. "You sure you're not cold?" he asks again. "You're chill bumpy, shivery, and … this," he breathes, ghosting his hot, wet fingers over your hard nipples, his eyes meeting yours when you give a soft moan and lean into his touch. "I'm the opposite of cold," you admit, gasping when he wraps his hands around your waist and slides you onto his lap, his mouth immediately capturing yours in a slow-burn kiss. His tongue tangles with yours for several minutes before he pulls back. "Let's go to bed," he orders, helping you out of the tub before stepping out behind you.

You quickly dry off and head into the bedroom, folding the covers down to the foot of the bed as your entire body hums with anticipation. "Y/n?" Joe calls from the bathroom. "Come here, please."

You walk back in the bathroom, an inquisitive look on your face as he gestures toward the open closet door; you turn your head to see what he's pointing at, a hot flush rising in your cheeks at the sight of your suitcase overflowing with lingerie. The sound of his voice pulls your attention back to him.

"Who were you gonna wear all that stuff for?" he asks, the edge in his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

"Nobody," you shrug, closing the distance between you and tilting your head up to look at him. "I thought you were cheating on me so I decided to make you a little jealous."

"A little jealous?" he snorts. "Just the thought of another man looking at you makes me insanely jealous." He wraps his hands around your waist as he continues. "The thought of another man touching you makes me homicidal."

"You threatening to kill me?" you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

"No, I'm threatening to kill him," he states matter-of-factly.

"You have nothing to worry about as long as you don't cheat on me."

"Promise?" he asks, the hint of vulnerability in his tone a complete contrast to the possessive anger of a few seconds ago. You wrap a hand behind his nape and pull him down until his face is about an inch from yours. "I promise," you whisper, pressing a kiss on his full lips. "You're the only man I want."

He pulls back and stares down at you, his demeanor shifting from vulnerable back to possessive. Provocative. You lick your lips as his hands tighten on your waist, opening your mouth to speak just as his mouth crashes down on yours. The kiss is intense, no teasing just taking, his need to possess you crystal clear as he slides his hands down to your ass and lifts you up, carrying you to bed while stating his intentions.

"I'm gonna lick you until you beg for my cock," he growls, the vibration of his deep voice in your ear causing a flood of liquid heat in your core. "Then I'm gonna fuck you senseless."

You're so drunk with lust that you can't form a coherent response. Instead you shove a hand in his hair as he eases you onto the bed, his eyes capturing yours for a few breathless seconds before he maneuvers his way down your body to make good on his carnal promise.

The next hour passes by like a fever dream, with him devouring you with a ferocity that has your body responding in kind, meeting his intense need with your own as you lose yourself in the feel of his hands and mouth on you, the hot velvet caress of his tongue bringing you to climax twice before he sinks his thick cock inside your tight heat. He rides you hard as he nips and sucks your neck and breasts, leaving love bites as you rake your fingernails up his muscular back, his first climax hitting just before your third.

He eventually pulls out and rolls off of you with a primal groan, your mutual heavy breathing the only sound for the next several minutes before you turn your head and give him a smile. "That was amazing," you pant, your eyes going wide as he rolls you onto your stomach.

"I'm not finished with you yet," he purrs in your ear, crawling between your spread thighs and biting the nape of your neck as he enters you from behind.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Thursday, 10/5/23

You wake up before Joe the next morning, stretching your deliciously sore, nude body beneath the slinky sheets before turning to look at him; he's sleeping peacefully, his pretty pink lips showing a hint of a smile as if he's enjoying a nice dream.

Last night felt like a dream, you think to yourself as you ease out of bed and head to the bathroom. The stomach-turning angst when you thought he was cheating, followed by intense relief and mind-blowing sex, was enough to give you an insane case of emotional whiplash.

"Crazy shit," you mumble to yourself, shaking your head at your reflection before turning on the faucet to wash your face.

You're patting your face dry when Joe walks in, giving you a smile before yawning and raking his long fingers through his messy hair. "Good morning, gorgeous," he greets as he walks up behind you, leaning down to press a kiss on your shoulder before meeting your eyes in the mirror.

"Good morning, gorgeous," you echo, biting your lip as the heat radiating off of his nude body causes your core to contract. Jesus, I'll never get enough of him, you think to yourself. "I'm gonna have to wear a turtleneck for my virtual meeting today," you state, pointing at the mark on your neck.

"Did I get a little overzealous marking my territory last night?" he asks, dropping a kiss on the love bite, the tip of his tongue darting out to give it a quick lick.

"Just the right amount of zealous," you giggle, watching his expression in the mirror as he notices the marks on your breasts.

"Do they hurt?" he murmurs, sliding his fingertips over the love bites plus the rug burn caused by his scruff.

"No," you breathe. "They just feel a little warm and tingly."

"That's good."

"Mmm-hmm," you hum, mesmerized by the sight of his big, strong hands delicately caressing your breasts, a gasp escaping your lips when he ghosts his fingertips over your hard nipples.

"Are you sore?" he asks, his voice husky with arousal as he slides a hand down to cup your mound, his erection thickening and lengthening against you.

"A little," you admit, "but it's a good kind of sore."

"Stop me if it's too much, okay?"

"Okay."

You both watch in the mirror as he dips one long finger inside your slick heat before pulling it back out, spreading the moisture over your sensitive folds as you grind back against him; he repeats the sensual action several times, his eyes dark with arousal as you bend over and press your forearms against the marble counter, rising up onto your tiptoes as he continues to tease you.

You arch your back in invitation as he lazily circles your swollen clit with slippery fingers. "I need you inside me," you whisper, your pulse picking up as he grabs his erection with his free hand and nestles the tip against your entrance; he meets your eyes in the mirror before slowly pushing inside, hissing in pleasure as your walls clench around him.

"I'll never get enough of you," he growls as he starts to thrust.

~ ~ ~

An hour and a half later -- after a couple of orgasms, a shared shower and a quick breakfast -- you give him a kiss before he heads for the door.

"I'll be home for dinner," he calls over his shoulder.

Your mouth drops open in exaggerated surprise. "No way!" you tease. "I was starting to think we'd never have dinner together again."

He spins around and walks back to you, cradling your face in his hands before speaking. "I know I've been gone a lot this week, but trying to figure shit out plus installing the new offense has been pretty intense."

"Not to mention sneaking off to upgrade our secret honeymoon love nest."

"That too," he chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss on your lips. "I can't wait for the bye week."

"Me neither," you purr, giving his plump butt a squeeze before he heads for the door.

~ ~ ~

Later that night -- after dinner, a couple episodes of Forensic Files, and some less-intense-but-no-less-satisfying sex -- y'all are lying in bed talking about the upcoming game in Arizona.

"If we lose," Joe says, making a face at the awful thought. "I only want to see you in the family & friends area after the game. My parents can wait for you outside, then y'all can ride to the airport together."

"Can't do that, babe."

"Why not?"

"Because your mom will get her feelings hurt. She's already a little upset that you're not meeting us after losses, but if you meet me and not them, she's gonna be seriously upset."

"Then she shouldn't be so extra with the praise every time I lose. It's fucking annoying."

"You're her baby," you soothe, pressing a kiss on his pouty lips. "She's always gonna try to make you feel better."

"If I play like shit, I don't want to feel better."

You sigh at the grumpy look on his pretty face. "Tell you what. If she starts in on the praise, I'll step in and gently shut it down."

"Really?" he asks, giving you a skeptical look.

"Really," you answer. "I'll just steer the convo in a different direction. I've done it a few times with her, and it's worked pretty well."

"You do have the magic touch when it comes to handling her like that. You're way better than me at it."

"Because I use a little finesse instead of coming at her like a wrecking ball," you tease.

"I have no patience for finesse when I'm pissed off."

"I know," you chuckle. "That's what you have me for."

He rolls onto his side and pulls you against him, your back to his chest. "We make a good team," he states, dropping a kiss on your shoulder.

"The best," you agree.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Sunday, 10/8/23

You stand against the wall in the large room designated for family & friends of the visiting team at State Farm stadium in Glendale, Arizona, the thrill of victory putting a huge smile on your face as you wait for Joe to appear.

The game had been the Joe & Ja'Marr show, with Joe throwing for 317 yards, and Ja'Marr catching 15 passes for 192 yards and 3 touchdowns. The almost-telepathic connection between the two of them was on full display as they led the Bengals to a 34-20 win over the Cardinals.

An excited buzz flows through the room as Joe walks in; he ignores the attention as he quickly strides up to you. "Hey," he greets you, leaning down to drop a kiss on your lips before pulling you into a tight hug. "Hey," you breathe against his sweaty neck, tempted to lick him but restraining yourself due to the crowd of people watching you, including his parents.

There's a wicked grin on his face when he steps back, like he read your mind. Speaking of telepathic, you think to yourself, giving him a discreet wink as his parents step forward to greet him.

A minute later he turns his attention back to you, leaning down to press his lips close to your ear. "See you at home," he whispers, the four words so full of heat that you feel a blush rise in your cheeks as he turns and heads for the door.

~ ~ ~

A little while later, as you're sitting in the airport waiting to catch your flight home, your phone rings. Your pulse picks up when you see who's calling.

"Hey gorgeous," you greet.

"Hey gorgeous," Joe responds. "Are my parents right there?"

"No. They went to find a bathroom before we board."

"You need to get some sleep on the plane," he says, his voice dropping an octave like it always does when he's thinking naughty thoughts. "I've got plans for you when I get home."

"Can't wait," you purr before a thought hits you. "Your parents are spending the night, so we'll have to be somewhat quiet."

"So we'll have mind-blowing, hair-pulling, screaming-orgasm sex minus the screaming."

"Sounds good," you whisper, your eyes going wide when you see Joe's parents headed your way. "Your parents are back."

"I can't wait to see you."

"Me too," you mutter, smiling at Robin as she sits beside you.

"Can't wait to get you naked," Joe growls. "I'm gonna …"

You loudly clear your throat when you notice Robin looking at you. "I better go; we're about to start boarding."

Joe's dirty chuckle brings a hot blush to your cheeks. "Love you, babe," he states.

"Love you, too," you whisper before ending the call.

"You look a little flushed," Robin says, pressing a hand against your forehead. "Do you think you're coming down with something?"

Just the hots for your sex god son, you think to yourself, giving her a smile before answering. "I feel fine. I think the excitement of the win is just now catching up with me."

"That's probably it," she agrees. "Nothing a good night's sleep won't cure."

"Definitely."

"Speaking of that," she continues. "Since we're getting back so late, let's push brunch tomorrow back a couple hours. That way you kids can get plenty of sleep. Does that sound good?"

"Yes, ma'am," you agree. "I know Joe is gonna be super tired when he gets home."

"For sure," she nods. "He'll be so tired he can barely walk."

He'll be even more tired when I get through with him, you think to yourself, standing up and grabbing your bag when they call your flight.

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 4 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!!

//

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: language, recreational drinking, depiction of a panic attack, there is a quick moment where you can infer that reader thinks vernon might be actively su*cidal but that is not the case and this is not outright stated, nip stim, dirty talk, piv sex, reader has a high fever but no specific illness is mentioned, a (verbal) fight with some yelling

wc: 6700

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

5 months ago

Five texts went unanswered.

I’m sorry.

I was so fucked up, I wasn’t saying what I meant.

Call me so I can explain.

I’m really sorry.

Please, Vernon.

Each time, they delivered, but no response came. You thought you might feel better if he told you to go away. The silence felt too open, like nothing was settled. Like maybe you just hadn’t said the right thing yet. Like maybe you could - or should - keep trying.

Four weeks passed; you tried not to let it drown you, tried to tread above the rising water of the situation. You swam through guilt, your own anger, guilt again. The knowledge of what had upset him nibbled at your toes like fish you couldn’t see in the murky depths. You tried to pretend it wasn’t there, that it was only seaweed underfoot.

You tried to reason with yourself; you hadn’t done anything that bad. He’d been upset because you’d implied he’d get bored of you someday - even though of course he would - and he thought… you didn’t know, he thought that was an attack on his character?

(You knew that wasn’t why he was mad.)

Or, because you’d implied that he would leave, when you were the one who’d gone silent before? That was valid, you thought. You had been the one to make him chase, when your grey days swallowed you up.

(You knew that wasn’t the whole truth, either.)

You kicked at the fish, kept swimming on.

Three times, you found yourself on the brink of coming clean to Chan. The first time, it had almost escaped from your mouth, prompted by nothing but your own need to hear someone absolve you; you wanted to tell Chan I think I hurt him, so he could say, it doesn’t sound like it’s your fault.

Chan didn’t lie to you, though, even when you wanted him to. He wouldn’t tell you it wasn’t your fault, because it was. So, you tucked the words back in, zipped them up safely.

The next time, he’d asked - “You still… with that guy?” He’d made a vague hand motion that must have meant still seeing, or still sleeping with.

I messed it up again.

I think I liked him too much.

“It’s been like a month,” you said lightly, like it was no big deal. “We’ve been busy.”

His sideways look was scalding. Chan didn’t lie to you; Chan was used to you lying to him, knew all the signs.

He let it go anyway.

Maybe he knew those signs, too. Maybe he knew without you telling him that you’d let the bunny rabbit instincts win - that you’d hid, scared, the second your fragile, broken brain told you to.

The third time, you almost told him all of it, even that it was Vernon. Chan was having dinner at your apartment, helping you clean up after, when his phone buzzed on the table.

“Hey, hyung,” he’d answered, tilting his head to grip the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he ran water in the sink and started rinsing the plates. “Yeah, I’m in. I don’t know, probably in like twenty minutes? Fifteen if I make all the green lights.”

You listened absently as you picked up the rest of the table - napkins in the trash, utensils tight in one hand, now-empty wine glasses in the other.

“Oh,” Chan said, surprised. “Vernon, too? Nice. Should I stop for beer since there’ll be more of us?”

You dropped a wine glass. Chan helped you sweep, and then you ran the vacuum cleaner. Still, you kept finding errant pieces of glass for days. You carried them carefully to the garbage.

It felt fitting, that hearing his name had caused this.

Twice, you called and left voicemails.

Two days after the argument, you’d called on your lunch break. It had rang six times and then his voicemail picked up.

“Vernon… listen, I know I pissed you off. I’d really like the chance to explain myself when I’m not… you know. I didn’t say it how I meant it. Text me. Or call me, whichever.”

After the four weeks crept by and the rest of your texts went unanswered as well, you tried again.

It took almost a whole bottle of wine by yourself to work up the courage, and you hoped he wouldn’t hear the slur in your voice when you told him, “I don’t know why I’m even calling. It’s been a month. I hate that this is just… unresolved. I hate making people mad. I want to know that you know I’m sorry. I want to know that… well. I just… wish we were talking again. I don’t… I don’t know why I’m calling.”

You sat at the stool by your easel for the first time in years, tested your balance, tucked one foot underneath the way you used to. Your hands shook a little as you mixed a purple so dark it was probably actually just black. You covered the canvas, the color of nine at night in the summertime, and stared at it, watching it dry.

When you could, you switched brushes, used a rounder texture to form something that might pass as clouds along the mottled sky. Then, you painted a full moon; it cracked like an egg.

You liked this, you followed the idea, paintbrush hurrying to chase the inspiration, whites and yellows coloring in whatever it was that might leak from the moon like marrow.

The bottom half of the canvas became a moving, living ocean; the blues were eight at night in the summertime but they looked good together with the hour after. You finished with the moon’s reflective path, a jagged yellow streak that dipped and bobbed through the waves.

You walked to the bathroom and washed your brushes, leaving them somewhere to dry where the cat couldn’t mess with them. Then you went back to the canvas, staring at it from a few feet away, your hands on your hips.

You’d done it - you’d painted something you didn’t want to burn.

One painting, one tiny step back towards the life you’d lost - that you’d let yourself lose, that you’d definitively pushed away.

4 months ago

It rained for three days. You lit lamps during the day, suddenly craved soups even though it was the height of spring and the weather had been consistently warm for weeks. The rain just called for it.

It called for you to sleep, too, luring you into bed with a steady patter against the windows. You slept early, and deeply, the cat curled up near your head. The rain beat against the windows like a metronome, helped your heart rate steady, helped your thoughts slow and settle.

You slept deeply, the sounds of the rain pulling you under, and when you were startled awake a few hours in, it was with no concept of where or who you were.

Your phone was still vibrating, jarring; you scrambled to grab it from the nightstand and the cat scrambled out of the room.

Your mom, you thought wildly. Or Chan.

What else could it be, but an emergency? No one else called at three in the morning. Someone used to, but only on the weekend, and that person hadn’t answered you in over a month.

“H’lo?” you mumbled, eyes too blurry to see the screen. You closed them, pressed the phone tighter to your ear to hear better.

No one spoke, but you could hear breathing - ragged and unsteady.

“Hello?” you repeated, more clearly, starting to wake up a bit, starting to worry. You rubbed at your eyes, then pulled the phone away so you could see the name on the screen.

Of course it was him.

“Vernon?” you asked, like you didn’t believe the word on the screen, but you were met with only silence - even his breathing went quiet for a second, like hearing his name had caused him to hold it. Like he suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted you to know he was there.

You said his name again, like a question, and it sounded like maybe he tried to speak but the noise - choked and quick - faded quickly. Your heart started to race, and certainty settled into your bones: something was wrong.

“Hey,” you said, a little sharply, like maybe he needed to snap out of it. “Are you okay?”

Finally, a word. “Dunno,” he managed, his voice thick.

“I’m coming there,” you said, already throwing the blankets off your legs and staggering to your closet to pull at some sweatpants. “Don’t leave, okay?”

“No,” he protested, but the way he gasped the breath after it cemented what you already knew - he needed you.

Or, he needed someone, and you were someone, and you would have to do.

“I’m on my way. Stay there, okay? Wait for me.” You were hopping on one foot as you said this, pulling clothes and shoes on, frantically reaching around in the dark for things like deodorant and car keys.

When he didn’t answer, you stopped moving, stopped trying to find your things. When you spoke again, your voice came out softer, a gentle plea instead of sharp instruction. “Hansol,” you said, quiet. “Wait for me. Okay?”

He ended the call without promising.

You stayed tucked into the building’s doorframe until you saw the Uber pull up; the rain was coming down in sheets, and you had to run to the car, splashing through still water until you could slide into the backseat. Your feet were soaked.

You spent the first five minutes of the ride wiping rain out of your eyes and trying to wring out the ends of your sleeves; the fabric clung to your hands, wet and cold. Outside the car, the rain water ran down the windows and the windshield wipers ran on the fastest setting.

im on my way, okay?

[ ]

vernon you’re scaring me

When the car pulled to a stop, you jumped out as soon as it was safe, bolting through the rain a second time and letting yourself into the building with the code you knew by heart. You took the stairs two at a time, heart flying. You were at once both scared to death of what you’d find when you got there, and refusing to put the specific fear to words, refusing to consider that it could be an option.

“Where are you?” you called, as soon as you got his door open. The apartment was mostly unlit, but for the light above the sink, and a dim light from the direction of his bedroom. “Vernon?”

You were met with silence and you almost choked on your heart as it climbed up your throat. You slipped off your shoes and made your way inside, heading for his bedroom.

You almost threw up with relief when you found him sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. The light you saw came from his bathroom - the door was closed almost completely, but light spilled out through the crack.

“What’s wrong, what’s happening?” you asked, inching closer. His hands were clenched into fists and bent back at an angle, veins raised along his tensed forearms. His breath went in raspy and came out in huffs, too quick to be productive.

You were pretty sure you knew what this was. You knelt in front of him, ran your hands over his tensed-up arms once, and then nudged under his chin gently with your forefinger, urging him to lift up and look at you.

He let you, his eyes faraway.

“Panic attack?” you guessed quietly. He nodded once, trying to tuck his chin back down, to look away and hide from the shame of this moment being witnessed - being recognized.

“If I put on my breathing app, will you do it?” you asked.

The sound he made was almost like a laugh. “I’ll try,” he muttered.

You opened your phone and set the app up, placing it on the bed beside him, the light from the screen tinting him pink. You heard the familiar, soothing voice begin to recite the directions, and you rocked back on your heels.

“I’m going to your kitchen real quick,” you told him, putting your hands on his knees to push yourself to standing. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll do the breathing with you in a sec.”

You shivered once as you stood with his fridge open; you’d been in his kitchen plenty of times, but never really perused on your own. Your gaze moved over beer and energy drinks, finally landing on juice. You slapped the bottle on the counter and rummaged in the closest cabinets until you found a glass.

Returning to his bedroom, you could hear your breathing app intoning hold… two… three… four… exhale slowly… two… three… four. It was hard to tell if Vernon was following - his head was still tucked, but his hands clenched and unclenched, like he was trying to return circulation after they’d fallen asleep.

You waited patiently until the breathing cycle ended, then nudged the glass into his hand. When he took it, you sat gently next to him, watching silently until he drank some.

“Where are you at?” you asked, and then started to explain what you meant.

Vernon interrupted; he’d understood the first time.

He usually did.

“Better,” he said, then added, “Not, like, better. But, better. Still buzzing.”

You knew the feeling - you tended to get buzzing in your legs first, then hands, and then it would crawl up your arms and into your chest if you didn’t shake it. When the attack receded, you usually felt it leave your chest first and then work its way slowly back down your arms.

“What usually helps?” you asked. “Is the breathing cycle better, or grounding?”

“Grounding, probably,” he said.

“Start by drinking some juice,” you instructed. “Then, can you tell me five things you see?”

“It’s dark,” he grumbled, but he brought the glass to his lips as requested. You rolled your eyes at his sass and walked over to turn on the lamp he kept on his desk. It cast the room in yellow, all the raindrops on the window suddenly catching the light.

“Now do it,” you said, coming back to sit by him again.

You heard him take a breath. He was better already - hands unclenched now, breathing still a bit quick but not raspy or gasped. “It feels silly to do out loud.”

“I’ll do it, too,” you said. “I see your laptop, your lamp, your cell phone, your dresser, and your very old and embarrassing Blink-182 poster. Literally, Vernon, is it 2003?”

He laughed, closing his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re roasting me right now,” he said, voice still a little thin and breathy.

“Five things you see,” you reminded him firmly.

He huffed in mild irritation. “Hamper,” he recited, finally. “Shoes. Empty Red Bull can.”

You laughed.

“Cologne bottle,” he finished, then looked up at you. “Girl who came out at three in the morning, in the rain, after a month of not speaking, because she was worried about me.”

You spluttered. “I was not.”

He knocked his shoulder into yours playfully. “I have it in writing.”

You let out an indignant breath. “I should have let you suffer alone,” you muttered.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he admitted, then dutifully drank some more juice.

“Okay,” you said, remembering what you were doing. “Four things you can hear.”

He sighed. “Bossy girl,” he listed, and you whacked at his knee. “Rain. Aircon. Traffic outside.”

You finished the exercise together.

“Now how is it?” you asked, reaching to take his empty glass.

He flexed his hands in front of him. “Buzzing’s down to my hands,” he reported. “Think I’m past the worst.”

“How do you feel, otherwise?”

He grimaced. “Exhausted, honestly.”

You looked at the clock - it was after 4:30 in the morning, almost time for sunrise to begin.

“You should try and sleep more,” you said, starting to rise.

“Stay?” he asked, and you thought you heard a note of, well, panic in it. Like he was scared to be alone again.

Something inside you screamed and beat its fists against your insides, furious and terrified as it felt you melt into goo at his request. Something inside you knew that you were walking into a building on fire. But there was no way you’d stay outside, not now, not if he was in there.

“Of course,” you said, as if it was obvious, as if you stayed over all the time - as if this weren’t, in fact, a first.

He seemed to take in your appearance for the first time, the still-drying patches on your clothes, the goosebumps on your damp skin. “You’re cold,” he said, frowning, like you should have led with that as soon as you came in, handled your needs first.

“I’m okay,” you denied, but he rolled his eyes and leaned over the other side of his bed, coming up with a rumpled black hoodie.

“I promise it’s clean,” he said, a little sheepishly, and you pulled off your damp tshirt and tugged the hoodie over your head, instantly warmer and surrounded by his smell. He left for the bathroom, and when you heard the sink run and the telltale buzzing from his electric toothbrush, you got up and turned his lamp back off. When he emerged, you were under the blankets, huddled warm and cozy inside his hoodie.

When he climbed into bed, you draped yourself over him, a leg over his legs, an arm over his torso, your face pressing against his t-shirt. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you in, and you lay in silence for a while, listening to the rain, awash in relief that he was okay - that you two were okay, that he’d let you back in even after you’d fucked it up.

Just as you were starting to drift a little, you felt his chest move under you, and he said, quietly, “I’m sorry for making you come out in the storm. In the middle of the night, too.”

“Don’t,” you said, shaking your head but not lifting it up to look at him. Your words carried out into the dark of the room. “You can call me. You can call me when you need me. I don’t care if it’s late. I don’t care if it’s… a hurricane, or whatever.”

It was too honest. It was too close to the truth. You shivered in the dark again, and you felt him hold you tighter for a second, as if to chase the chill away.

He let the moment go, didn’t chase it down and shine a light on it. But you know he heard you - you think, probably, he heard the whole thing, all the parts you didn’t say.

You waited in silence again, let the moment go, let the rain wash this away, too. Then, you ventured, “I’m sorry for what I said to you, last month. Really.”

You felt him nod above you. “I know. It’s… it’s okay.”

Is it? you wondered. But you didn’t push it - because you were scared that his forgiveness was fragile and might shatter if pressed, because you’d already admitted something you weren’t sure you’d meant to tonight, because saying anything seemed wrong while you were between his arms with the rain serenading you both from outside.

You drifted off; you woke up with his hands on your skin beneath his hoodie. You sighed, eyes still closed, as he refamiliarized himself with your body. You breathed in deeply when his fingers brushed up your stomach and found your breasts, teased over your nipples so lightly that it almost tickled, made you shudder in place.

You felt his lips at the nape of your neck, and that made you shiver, too. He pressed kisses along the tops of your shoulder as he teased one peak and then the other, finally giving in to your tiny, needy noises and rolling both buds between firm fingers. You moaned, long, feeling it pulled from deep within you until he let go, soothing over the spots with warm palms.

“Missed that sound,” he murmured against your back, and you pressed back against him desperately, suddenly sure that if he wasn’t inside you this instant you would completely lose it. You reached backwards, grabbing at his hips, trying to pull him closer.

“Need you,” you whined, hating it but knowing it was true anyway, the need larger than the embarrassment. You could feel him pressing against your ass, too many layers between you, and you shifted against him, hoping to spur him into action.

He hummed, pleased, and slid a clever hand back down over your stomach and past the waistbands of your sweats and panties, groaning low in his throat when he found arousal pooling between your legs. He barely bothered to work you open, likely feeling the same desperation you were after the time apart. You felt him shimmy out of his shorts, then his hands back on your skin as he peeled away your bottoms as well.

You kicked them off of your ankles and inhaled as you felt him slide along your slit, teasing at your entrance. He kept one hand up your hoodie, pressed against your chest to hold you tight against him, as he pushed into your heat one inch at a time. You heard yourself make a sound you couldn’t name, somewhere close to a whine, as you felt each bit of him rub against your walls as they struggled to adjust.

“Fuck,” he breathed, mouth close to your neck. “Tighter than I remember.”

He bottomed out and stilled, that one hand still holding you tight against his body. You closed your eyes and felt the moment: his heart beating against your back, your own pulse thundering through your limbs, your pussy pulsing around him as it adjusted and fluttered, his breath warm and steady on your skin, his hands soothing and grounding as they held you tight, the rain still falling steadily outside. You stayed still, eyes closed, as he caressed your hips, your lower belly, your thighs, as he pressed chaste and feather-light kisses along your shoulder.

Finally, he shifted, fucking into you in small movements, barely withdrawing at all before tilting his hips to push back in. You rocked back against him, silently begging for more.

He pulled out almost completely, and then slid back in; the sound you let out bordered on a sob, your nerves alight and sizzling as he began repeating the motion, each stroke slow and long, unhurried, burying himself as completely as he could. You floated like this, completely enveloped by him, still wearing his hoodie, as he took his time with you, until you couldn’t bear it anymore.

“More, Vernon,” you begged, “please.”

“As you wish,” he teased, and used his knee to move yours, bending your leg and hooking it up around his to open you up more, to give himself more room as he set a quicker, steady pace. Relieved, you matched his strokes, half-tempted to roll over so you could kiss him, but not wanting to lose even a second of the delicious feeling of him stretching you, of the friction that made your eyes want to roll back and your toes curl up.

It took you completely by surprise when he began pistoning into you, holding you in place by your waist, and a gasp flew from your mouth, morphing into a series of moans and cries as his hips battered at yours. Even more so when he grabbed at your thigh and tugged, rolling you onto your back and readjusting himself over you, slipping right back in as you wrapped your legs around him and tried to pull him closer.

His pace slowed only marginally as he grabbed at your hands and raised them above your head. Bent close over you, you finally got what you’d wanted the whole time - his lips finally found yours and you kissed hungrily as he fucked you deep. Above your head, you felt your fingers curl against his, lacing together. You squeezed his fingers tight when you came, his name slipping from your lips as your legs shook and your world went white. Vernon came with a cry, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched as he emptied himself in your still-pulsing heat, and then collapsed next to you, both of you panting.

“Shower?” he asked, when he’d caught his breath.

You tilted your phone so you could see the time. “I should probably just go home,” you admitted. “I have work.” This realization hit you - you’d gotten maybe four and a half hours of sleep, and not even all at once. Thank god it was Friday and you only had one day to struggle through.

He nodded, understanding. After you dressed, he wandered after you like a shadow. “You around tomorrow night?” he asked, and you could hear the effort to sound off-handed.

“Yeah,” you said, eyes flicking to his for a second. “Yeah, I’ll be around.”

When your ride pulled up and you stepped outside, you shielded your eyes from how bright everything was in the early morning light after days of gloom and clouds. Around you, everything glistened and sparkled, still wet from the days of incessant rain, as if everything you could see had been washed clean.

3 months ago

hi :]

what’s wrong with your face?

are you insulting my smiley?

again i ask you: is it 2003?

im gonna ignore that. come over?

can’t, sorry. i’m sick

whats wrong with u?

should i start listing?

ha ha. girl stuff?

vernon!!!!

lmao i mean if its not that i figured youd just tell me whats wrong

i have a fever, you ass

It was true - you’d carried your comforter from your bed to your couch that morning and had barely moved since. The cat was on top of your legs and you didn’t have the strength or energy to move him. Through the day, your fever had risen; you hadn’t helped things by refusing to get up, which meant you were probably dehydrated. As Vernon texted you, you took mental inventory of how badly everything on your body hurt - your limbs, your hips, everything ached. The pain in your head was sharp and bloody, and you felt like you were sweltering even though your feet were ice cold.

You felt too miserable to even watch a show; instead, you looked around your living room absently. You were pretty sure you were seeing colors off to the side, hazy swatches of red and blue.

Well, you thought dryly, that’s not good.

Then, your hallucinations took form, because the couch was dipping under you and someone was placing a cool hand against your head. You closed your eyes, leaning into the touch just because the coolness felt nice.

“You need to drink something,” someone told you.

“I had the lemonade,” you said.

There was a pause. “I don’t… think there’s lemonade here. Hey - wake up and look at me.”

You blinked, and looked towards the voice. The world’s most beautiful man looked down at you, frowning.

“Wow,” you heard yourself. “You’re so handsome. What are you here for?”

He laughed. “I’m here to take care of you,” he said. “I’m bringing you water, okay?”

You frowned. “I don’t want water. My throat hurts. I want juice.”

There was another pause, and then the voice came again, from further away. “I’ll bring you juice, but you need to drink water now.”

Then he was back, snapping in front of your face. “Hey, look at me again. This is serious. Have you taken any medicine? I don’t want to give you double of something and overdose you.”

“I don’t think I’ve left the couch today,” you told him honestly.

“Okay,” he said, and you didn’t remember him moving or leaving but he was somehow pressing pills into your hand, waiting for you to place them on your tongue before handing you a plastic cup full of water.

“Drink all of it,” he instructed.

“You’re too pretty to be so bossy,” you grumbled around the mouthful of pills.

He waited until you drained the cup. “I’m going to go to the store,” he told you. “Can you think of anything else you need besides juice?”

You didn’t remember if you answered him, or even him leaving. You think you slept. When you woke, someone was rummaging around your kitchen.

“Chan?” you called, blearily.

Instead, Vernon poked his head around the corner of your kitchen, a grocery store bag hanging off his arm.

“Hey,” he said. “How do you feel?”

You blinked at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what the fuck are you doing here?”

His smile widened. “Your fever must be down a little. You need anything? You still want juice?”

You just stared at him, bewildered. He finished putting away a few more things and then came back out to you, pressing a hand to your forehead.

“Definitely lower,” he said. “Do you have an actual thermometer? I couldn’t find it.”

“Yeah,” you said, still confused. “In my bathroom. Vernon, seriously, what’s going on?”

“Come on,” he said. “You should shower and put on clean pajamas and then maybe try to eat some of the soup I got.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think I can shower,” you admitted. “I don’t think I can stand up that long.”

He held out his hand. “I’ve got you. Just a quick rinse.”

He helped you off the couch and into the bathroom, where you sat on the closed toilet while he started the water and got it running warm, but not hot. You kept silent as he helped you undress, as he held your hand while you gingerly stepped over the bathtub’s lip, your legs aching.

“You okay?” he checked, once you were behind the shower curtain.

“Mhm.”

“Okay. I’m going in your room to get you clean clothes to put on.”

“Hurry.”

“I’m right outside. If you feel weird, just call me.”

You did okay, though, washing up and turning the water off on your own, reaching for the towel you kept on a hook. He came in when he heard the water change, and helped you dry off, his hands firm and his gaze gentle. Then he led you back to your bed, guiding you under the blankets.

“Do you think you could eat some soup?” he asked. “I bet you didn’t eat all day.”

You scrunched your nose. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

He shrugged. “It’s pre-made. I’ll heat some up.”

You tried to eat as much of the soup as you could, and then floated absently as Vernon cleaned up.

“Hey,” you said, struggling to sit up. “I don’t think I fed the cat tonight.”

“Tell me what to do,” he said, pushing on your shoulder to keep you from climbing out of bed.

“You can’t just- he’s particular - there’s a process -”

“Tell me the process, then,” Vernon said firmly.

Later, after he’d turned out all the lights, he came to the side of the bed and checked your temperature again - this time with your actual thermometer.

“I’m waking you up in three hours to take another fever-reducer,” he warned you, walking to set the thermometer down on your dresser.

“Okay,” you said, too tired to argue. You were already half-asleep as it was - you had no idea what time it was.

You barely registered it when he climbed into the bed next to you, just rolled over and buried your face in his chest, one arm reaching around his middle, already back under.

His alarm startled you both. You felt him pull away - you were sleeping in the same position, neither of you had moved - and then the alarm fell quiet.

“Medicine,” he said, starting to extract himself. You whined; you were comfy, and warm, and didn’t want him to leave.

“Don’t,” you whined. “Don’t leave.”

He laughed a little, a quiet huff of amusement. “I’m just going to the kitchen. Then I’ll be back.”

He watched you take another round of pills and drink half the water, leaving the glass on your nightstand. Then, as promised, he got right back in bed.

When you woke again, your bed was empty. And, impossibly, you felt both relief and disappointment. Then, from the living room, you heard a clatter and then a curse.

“Vernon?” you called.

Your bedroom door cracked open. Like a flash of lightning, the cat streaked into the room and under the bed.

“Sorry,” Vernon said from the doorway. “He was pissed that I wouldn’t let him in there with you. I wanted you to sleep. He was mutinying.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You didn’t go home?”

“Wanted to see how you were before I left,” he said. “You sound better. You look better, too - I mean, you looked really off yesterday. It was kind of scary.”

“I think I’m okay,” you said. “Okay enough that I can keep my fever down by myself. I shouldn’t have let it get that high yesterday, I should have stayed on top of it.”

He looked at you for a long time. Then, he clapped his hand against your doorframe, as if he’d made a decision. “Okay. I’ll go home, I guess. Just… let me know if it gets bad, okay? And eat something. I bought stuff for you yesterday - it’s all in the kitchen.”

“Thanks for doing that,” you said, a little sheepishly.

“It was nothing,” he promised.

After he left, you stayed in the bed, rolling onto your side so you could smell the blankets where he’d slept. It helped you feel safer, like you weren’t actually alone.

It occurred to you that you’d spent the night together twice in a row, now. The rules were breaking - the rules were changing.

Your head pounded, and so did your heart. Nothing had ever been this frightening in your life, you thought.

2 months ago

Vernon saw you as sunshine - not like it was your demeanor, because that wasn’t true. More like - something he needed without realizing he needed it, something he realized he needed only in its absence. Something that made things better and brighter, something that could sometimes be too bright. Something that made the grey days feel greyer in a can you understand happiness if you never feel sadness kind of way.

He tipped your head back to kiss you, caught your bottom lip between his teeth, rolled his hips into yours, watched your hands clench into fists in his sheets.

He forgot himself a little; or maybe he just gave in to something he’d been holding back for months - maybe even a year. Something cracked, marrow slipped out of him, sluiced into the rocky ocean below.

After, he held you close, whispered, “Don’t go home. Stay. Jagi, stay here.”

And, he had to give you credit - you were at least honest. You at least told him your truth, in your own way.

“I can’t,” you said, and he knew you, knew how you meant it. He didn’t argue or call you back when you dressed, when you left again, just how you’d done things almost every time over the last two years.

He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t want you, maybe even love you, and only have parts of you. It was too hard, it wasn’t fair. Two years, and he had nothing to show for it. Maybe he’d find someone, if he wasn’t spinning his wheels with you.

He saw you like sunshine. Something that was missed when it was gone. Something that couldn’t be forced to stay, something that didn’t come when it was called.

1 month ago

You could tell that something was different. You’d been around Vernon plenty when he was low - this was different.

“You’re being weird tonight,” you observed.

His eyes cut sideways at you. He’d never looked at you like that - this was another clue. Then his face went flat again.

“I’m not,” he said, and you frowned.

“You are,” you insisted. “What’s going on? What’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem,” he said, tone hollow.

“I’m not playing this game with you, Vernon!” you said, temper flaring. “If there’s a problem, you’re going to have to use your words and tell me.”

“I said there’s no problem,” he repeated, cool and even. Something inside you snapped tight, painful. You could feel it all coming to a boil right before your eyes - the way the boundaries had been shifting, the way he’d called you jagi, the way he’d looked when you’d walked away. It terrified you, made you want to show your claws, and it was infuriating that he was icing you out when you were ready to draw blood.

“Vernon!” you cried. “I cannot deal with this little apathy game anymore! I need you to engage here. I need you to care about something, and not just give me this expressionless, emotionless -”

“Care about something?” he thundered, wheeling on you. It startled you into silence. “That’s bullshit. Because I have been caring about you way more than I should, for ages now, and look what fucking good it’s done for me.”

Stunned, you blinked at him. Your heart pounded painfully, and your thoughts felt staticky and unclear. You needed to get away from him; you needed to process this in silence.

Finally, you spoke, your voice coming out tiny. “I’m going home.”

Vernon rolled his eyes, slapped his hand down to grab at his phone. “I’ll take you.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want you to.”

He ignored this, picking up his keys. “I said I’ll take you. It’s fine.”

You shouldn’t have followed him to the car. You shouldn’t have assumed he’d be mad for a few weeks and then get over it again, just like you two had done more than once now.

He drove you in silence, his face coming in fragmented pieces as he passed under streetlights. You were watching him, silently, when he finally spoke again.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said, still perfectly even.

Tears sprang to your eyes before you’d even processed the sentence, something inside you reacting before your brain really knew what you were reacting to.

“What?” you asked. “Why?”

You knew why.

He just kept driving.

“Pull over,” you demanded, suddenly furious, suddenly terrified, suddenly realizing you were losing him, right now, in real time.

He ignored you, didn’t even glance over at you.

“Vernon, I want to talk about this, pull over!” you cried, leaning forward in your seat, the seat belt tightening on your shoulder. “Pull over!”

Eventually, he listened, flicking on his turn signal and slowing as the car bumped off the pavement and onto the dirt shoulder.

“What?” he asked flatly, finally turning to face you.

“I asked why,” you said, heat laced through your voice.

He shook his head. “I’ve wasted two years with you -”

“Wasted?” you echoed, feeling the word like a punch to the gut. You felt like you couldn’t inhale.

“Well?” he asked, as if to say, well, wasn’t it?

“Fuck you, Vernon,” you spat.

“Fuck me is right!” he yelled, loud in the enclosed space of the sedan. “What are we doing? Just fucking, for eternity?”

You blinked at him. “You never asked me for anything else!”

“I tried,” he growled.

“Like hell you tried!”

“I did,” he asserted. “You ran, scared, every time.”

“Of course I was scared,” you snapped, because you couldn’t deny that one for a second. Your voice comes out choked. “I was right to be scared, and you know it!”

“Why?” he asked, the question falling between you, a landmine.

“Because,” you said seriously, the first tear finally falling. “This only ends one way.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away from you, out the windshield again. Then, he clicked on his turn signal again, shifted the car back into drive, and pulled back onto the highway.

“Yeah,” he said flatly, as the car met even pavement again. “You’re making sure of that, aren’t you?”

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thank you so much for reading! one chapter left to go!

[headfullofpresley]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 3,8K

Series summary: Elvis has worked hard to become the successful adult movie director that he is today and all that hard work is paying off by how well the public reacts to his work and how much money is coming into his bank account, despite the fact that porn is still very much illegal. Working in the adult industry is not something you saw yourself doing despite coming from a place where it always has been out in the open, but you soon find yourself swept up and away by a certain American director and right into the heart of the porn industry. The only question that remains is... will you sink, or will you swim?

Chapter summary: Working on his newest and what he believes his biggest project yet, Elvis flies to Amsterdam to shoot most of it. Everything is going well until he's forced to fire his leading actress on the spot and there's a stop being put to his work. But as he wanders into a cafe for a much needed drink in the bustling city, faith seems to be on his side.

Warnings: porn director!Elvis, European!reader, set in the year 1970 (so some details may be a little off?), obvious mentions of sex/porn etc, mentions of prostitution, Elvis giving reader a lowkey foot rub in public (honestly, he's going to be into feet in this series bc i'm feral), mentions of soft drugs, alcohol consumption.

A/N: hi! this idea was born from an ai but mostly from The Deuce (definitely watch it!), where i took most inspiration from. i'm super excited about this series, and honestly it's giving me a lot of inspiration to write in general again! this is going to be a short series- i'm thinking around 5 parts, but we shall see, hm? no smut in this part, but obvi there will be in future parts, as well as some darker topics. hope y'all enjoy! ❤

masterlist | want to be added to the taglist? just ask!

Who ever said Hollywood was a jungle has obviously never set foot in New York City.

They’ve obviously never experienced what a real concrete jungle is like and they definitely don’t know that the Golden Age of Hollywood has seen its best days. Directors were feeling pressures from the outside – from the public that wanted something different, something more than those cringy movie kisses. The smaller movie theaters were starting to ID their customers because their movies weren’t so family friendly anymore. Establishments that specialized in peep shows were popping out of the ground like weeds. Burlesque clubs were turning into proper stripclubs and people would rather spend their money on naked girls dancing in their faces than on overpriced cocktails at supper clubs.

They didn’t know that the world was changing.

They didn’t know that even though adult entertainment was far from legal, it was one of the most produced and exported and imported products in the country.

They didn’t know. But Elvis Presley did.

Having made his start as a director ten years ago when he was in his early twenties and was nothing but a naive Southern boy from Memphis, he crawled and clawed his way through shitty jobs in New York. From parking cars, to serving drinks in sketchy bars to being a bodyguard at a massage parlor and driving around hookers to their appointments… He’s seen it all, and he’s done it all.

He worked hard to get where he currently was – being one of the most famous porn directors in New York. Everyone knew who he was and everyone respected him. Times Square was home to countless of peep shows, stripclubs and whatnot and you’ll bump into a prostitute every five steps. Elvis never used their services but he was friendly with them, greeting them as if he had known them forever. Which in some girls’ cases, was true.

Most of those girls were looking for a way out, wanting to get off the streets and into the safety of a movie studio, but Elvis has learned from a previous mistake where he hired a girl who had a pimp and the leech tried to get him to pay them more than the other actors. Since then, Elvis stuck to actors and actors only.

The director was doing good for himself, owning his own studio and brand under the name of “Presley Productions”, and living in a spacious apartment in the city, yet he still wanted more.

He wanted to make a movie so good, it would get international attention. He wanted it to be so good that theaters wouldn’t stop showing it and he wanted it to be so damn good that it would get him a shiny, gold award on his shelf.

And whenever Elvis had his mind set on something, he made sure to accomplish whatever it was that he wanted to accomplish.

It would only be a matter of time before Hollywood would get whiff of his work, and who he was, and for him to open up a second studio there. Elvis didn’t believe in “Hollywood first, the world later” though – he was going to knock everyone off their feet, from the housewives in California to the business men in Hong Kong, all at the same time.

 

The script he had written for his newest movie had been done for months now and all there was left to do was the casting. The process went fairly simple and easy – his main actress was Annette Haven and she was a gorgeous brown eyed brunette, but for some reason he couldn’t get used to her.

Granted, he wasn’t the one playing in the movie and her co-star seemed to have no issues with her, so perhaps he figured he was just being too picky because he was so passionate about this project. Annette was friendly during the first few weeks of filming but as they got to Amsterdam, the sex capital of the world, to shoot most of the movie, her behavior started to change.

She was cranky on set, pranced around like she was the Queen and was late for filming almost every single day. To put it mildly, she was getting on Elvis’s nerves and when she showed up high as a kite one afternoon, the director was done with this girl.

He never was a tiran on set and always made sure everyone was doing okay, but right now it was like a bomb exploded and everyone watched and were awkwardly rooted to their places as Elvis had a go at the main actress and fired her on the spot.

“Take the rest of the day off. We’ll figure things out tomorrow,” he announced to the other actors and the crew. He gave them a bitter smile before he turned around and walked out of the studio they rented, angry and annoyed at the fact he lost a full day of filming, his leading actress and money.

He needed a goddamn drink.

 

Amsterdam was a crowded, bustling city and in some ways, it was much like New York but it was different in so many ways too. People were a little more laid back here (and he figured the many coffee shops where one definitely was not drinking coffee but getting high at instead had something to do with that) and instead of running into a lady of the night on a street corner, they were placed behind windows in certain areas. The Red Light District, for example. It was crowded with tourists and while there was a long canal outstretched in the middle of the district, there were shops, bars, coffee shops and sexual tinted business lined up on the sides, drawing people’s attention left and right. The infamous windows were located in the alley ways, the red lights that were on indicating a girl was working at the time. While he was definitely no stranger to sex workers and what the normal citizen would call “wildness of it all”, it was like he had stepped into a different world, yet it felt a little bit like home too.

Spotting a typical Dutch brown cafe on a corner, he stepped inside and was welcomed by the loud rumbles of laughter of men shooting pool and sitting at the tables and the bar and the smell of cigarette smoke and beer. Nobody aside from the waitress even spared him a glance as he sat at a table near the window and the second he looked at the girl that came up to him to take his order, a smirk spread across his face. In the middle of August, it was only natural for the girl to be wearing a pair of shorts and he was glad this place didn’t set any strict dress codes for their employees, because Good Lord, those legs looked like they went on for days. He noticed the red heeled sandals she wore on her feet and her fresh pedicure on her toes, drawing him in even more. The way that black little apron was tied around her waist did things to him and as his eyes shamelessly moved further up and noticed the size of her breasts that were filling up the tight top she was wearing, he could only think two things – first, he needed to get his hands on those things. And second, she would be perfect for the movie he was shooting out here.

Annette Haven who?

“Hallo?!” You spoke again, waving your hand in front of the dark haired man that just sat down by the window when he didn’t respond to you the first time. Instead, he was shamelessly checking you out from head to toe and working in a bar in the Red Light District, you were used to it but it still got you a little annoyed at times. At least some men tried to hide it and most men actually spoke, with actual words. As he excused himself in English and scanned the crowd for a second, you realised he wasn’t Dutch and decided to cut him some slack.

Perhaps he really was a creep, but your boss wouldn’t be too happy if a customer walked out without being served.

Happened before, because while other waitresses accepted the bold and creepy men that came to drink almost every single day, your mother had always taught you to stand up for yourself and to not take any shit from anyone.

Besides, this was 1970. What did men expect? For you to drape yourself over their laps and beg them to take you? Absolutely not.

“A beer’s just fine, honey,”

You bit your tongue to ignore the pet name and flashed the American a smile, looking him in the eye. “Anything else? Something to eat maybe?”

Elvis grinned and shook his head, watching you walk away to get his drink. You were a very pretty girl with a very pretty body and he realised he was going to amp up his charm if he wanted to see what was underneath.

And he definitely wanted to see what was underneath.

 

“There you go,” you said as you came back over to his table and put his beer down in front of him. Before you could make your escape once more, Elvis spoke up.

“You know, your English is pretty good,”

At this, you almost scoffed as you stood up straight and looked at him with a hand on your hip. These Americans were always so full of themselves.

“Thanks. It’s only a language spoken in countries all over the world,” you smiled sarcastically and Elvis grinned in amusement as he leaned his arms on the edge of the table, quirking an eyebrow.

Feisty. He was intrigued.

“I been to Germany back in the day and believe me, they definitely didn’t sound as pretty as you,”

You raised your eyebrows a little at the odd compliment. Didn’t sound as pretty? That was the first time you ever heard something like that. This guy looked exactly what you imagined a pimp to look like – gold rings adorning his fingers, dressed up nicely in a velvet crushed jacket despite the heat outside – yet he used the word “pretty”, instead of something vulgar like most customers did when they’d try to flirt with you.

You knew you had probably judged him too quickly and although you were intrigued by him the same way he was by you, you weren’t going to make it easy on him.

“Let me tell you a secret,” you whispered as you leaned down and closer to him a little, looking straight into his eyes, which you noticed were very blue and very pretty. “You’re not in Germany anymore, sir,”

Elvis let out a laugh as you gave his shoulder a playful pat and raised his glass, a sly smirk settling on his features.

“You got that right, honey,”

As you walked away, he didn’t fail to notice the playful smile you threw his way as you looked over your shoulder.

 

Elvis wasn’t planning on spending half the day in this particular cafe, but for some reason, he was already on his third beer and he just couldn’t leave.

He could say it was because he needed to clear his mind and think of a solution to fix the problem about not having a lead actress anymore, but the little voice in his head told him he was looking right at that exact solution.

You.

He knew it would be risky – you were just a waitress and you probably had never set foot on a movie set in your entire life, let alone an adult movie set, but he couldn’t stop imagining you in front of the camera, in all kinds of positions.

As he watched you move around the place, serving customers, it was almost like he was watching a movie right now. The way you moved so effortlessly on those little heels, the way you avoided customers that were a little too handsy and the way you were laughing with local customers who you’d probably served many times before.

The sound of your laugh was like music to his ears and he wondered how you’d sound while you were being fucked with those gorgeous long legs dangling in the air. Just imagining you moaning in pleasure had a shiver run down his spine.

And while you had pretended you didn’t like Elvis at all and he was just another annoying American tourist, you couldn’t help yourself from glancing into his direction every so often and making your way to his table to ask if he needed anything else.

When you did just that after talking to some locals at the bar, he looked at you and smiled.

“Sit down,” he told you as he nodded to the empty seat across from him as he leaned back in his seat. “Doesn’t the old man give you a break?”

You chuckled softly as he nodded to an older looking, grumpy man in the corner behind the bar. Your boss. He barely did any of the work and just sipped on his beer, watching his waitresses work their asses off.

For a shitty pay, too.

“Hardly,” you admitted honestly with a soft chuckle, noticing that your boss wasn’t paying any attention to you so you sat down opposite the dark haired man that had his eye on you the entire time. “So, what brought you to Amsterdam?”

Elvis was pleasantly surprised as you asked him that. Not only would it give him the chance to keep you at his table longer, but now was also the moment where he would have to tell you what he did. And find out your reaction to it.

So, he just came clean right away. In one way, it was a good test to see how open-minded the Europeans really were.

And if you were a full blown, crazed feminist.

God… please don’t be a fullblown crazed feminist, he prayed mentally.

“I’m here to make a porno.”

A silence lingered between you two, but it only lasted for about three seconds. You nodded your head and chuckled in an amused but friendly manner.

“Are you an actor?”

Thank God.

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head a little as he took a sip of his beer, licking his lips. “I’m the director of the movie,”

You leaned your arms on the table and sat on the edge of your seat, crossing your legs under the table as you swung your foot back and forth a little. Elvis looked at the way your breasts were pressed against your arms for a second before looking back at your face, an excited twinkle in his eyes.

“And why are you not directing your movie right now?” You wondered aloud, tilting your head a little.

“Well,” he let out a laugh as he tapped one of his rings against his glass for a second, looking at you. “My leading actress wasn’t as fit for the role as I thought.”

“Or maybe you aren’t as good as a director as you think you are,” you teased with a grin on your face.

At that, Elvis just looked at you with a raised eyebrow. He could tell you were pulling his tail, but perhaps far in the back of his mind… he wondered if that could be the truth. He decided not to let his insecurities get to him though, not right now, and when he felt your swaying foot hit his leg under the table, he reached a hand down and grabbed your ankle. You widened your eyes a little and stared at him as he gave you a cocky grin and removed your shoe, dropping the red heel to the floor before he put your foot in his lap.

You looked around nervously to see if your boss caught onto you slacking yet, but he was still busy with the locals at the bar. Elvis ran his hand down from your ankle to your foot and pressed his thumb against your sole, making you turn back to him and bite your tongue to hold back a small gasp.

While you certainly never let customers touch you, right now you weren’t trying to get away. Nor could you muster up a smart remark to throw at his head. You’d been on your feet all day, wearing those heels, and the little massage he suddenly decided to give you wasn’t entirely unwelcomed.

“I am a great director, sweetheart, trust me..” he grinned as he looked you in the eye, a kind but mischievous gleam in his blue orbs. This man definitely was bold and for the first time in your waitressing “career”, you were enjoying the attention of a customer. And a tourist, at that. “Some people just can’t resist the many coffee shops in the city,”

You chuckled, nodding your head as you tried to focus on the conversation and not his large hand rubbing your foot under the table.

“Ha! Bet she was A-American,” you mentally slapped yourself for the stutter (and the lame reply) but if he noticed it, he didn’t mention it. Instead he just grinned and caressed his short nails across the arch of your foot a little.

“Who said she was American?”

“Well, if she was Dutch, she could’ve.. resisted the tempting clouds of weed,” you countered back with a small, playful grin on your face.

He laughed as he cocked his eyebrow, his eyes staring intently into yours as he found your pressure point and pushed his thumb into it, making you nearly moan out loud right there in the middle of your work place.

You managed to save yourself with a small groan.

“Think you can do better?”

At this point, your face was flushed and he realised he was slowly breaking through that sarcastic façade of yours. Then again, he wasn’t exactly playing fair with the way he was shamelessly giving you a foot rub and while you had genuinely peaked his interest, he was a little desperate too.

He wanted to finish his movie and make sure it was good. It had to be perfect. And he didn’t want to get a professional actress now that he had laid eyes on you.

Porn wasn’t a strange concept to you despite never having been in a porno yourself. You lived in a city where sex was out in the open for everyone to see and consume and while porn was illegal here as much as it was in the States, it was tolerated. Perhaps it wasn’t such a strange idea for you to dip your toes into the world of adult entertainment.

“I know I can do better,” you said confidently, looking over at your boss who looked your way and you quickly pulled your foot out of Elvis’ grip, slipping it back into your heel. “Just tell me when and where,”

Elvis let out a hearty laugh as he widened his eyes at you a little. This had been easier than he expected – you were offering yourself for the job and while that was certainly surprising, he wasn’t complaining at all. You were perfect for this movie and the fact that you were inexperienced in the industry might even be better for the storyline.

After all, the lead girl was supposed to be a little naive and a whole lot of innocent.

You quickly urged him for a phone number and address when you noticed the sour face of your boss staring at you from behind the bar and Elvis quickly scribbled his contact information down on the back of a paper coaster as he realised he didn’t have any business cards on him at the moment. You grasped it from the table and shoved it in your pocket, getting up from your seat.

“Hold up,” he said after he paid for his drinks and you were about to walk off to the bar to get back to work. You felt him grabbing your wrist and you turned around, looking at him as your heartbeat sped up a little. “I didn’t get your name..”

“It’s Y/N,” You told him, gently pulling your arm out of his grip. You wouldn’t mind holding onto him a little longer but you felt your boss’ eyes burning in the back of your head.

“I’m Elvis. Elvis Presley.”

You nodded and flashed him a smile, tapping the back pocket of your shorts where you had put the coaster in. He grinned and nodded, slowly leaving the cafe, hoping you’d call him and go through with this.

A pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to work in a shitty place like this.

 

You watched him go and the entire time your boss was giving you an earful about work ethics as you stood behind the bar, you barely heard the words coming out of his mouth. Quite frankly, you just weren’t paid enough to deal with this. You liked your co-workers but that’s all they were – co-workers. They didn’t pay your bills and neither did your shitty monthly pay that your boss gave you.

You wanted a change. No, you needed a change.

And maybe it was a naive and stupid thing to do, but for some reason, you had trusted that stupid American tourist.

Maybe he wasn’t even a director at all, but the longer your boss went on and on about your behavior, you decided it was worth the risk.

“You know what,” you interrupted him loudly, pulling your apron off and throwing it at his face. “I quit!”

Your boss threw a string of profanities to your head as you opened the cash register and grasped the amount of money he still owed you. He was too slow, and too fat, to stop you and before he could get to you, you were already halfway out the door. Though ofcourse, you didn’t leave without theatrically flipping him off.

 

You ran down the street, squirming your way through the crowd, and into a phone booth. Closing the door behind you, you fished the coaster out of your pocket and rang the number. You were connected to Elvis’ hotel and then put through to his room after several minutes. As soon as you heard his voice on the other side of the line, you inhaled a sharp breath of air and clenched the phone against your ear.

How bad could the porn industry really be?

The fact that you were a virgin didn’t strike you as a problem. Nobody had to know, did they? You were sure you’d be able to mask it.

Even from the director.

You stared at the people walking by the phone booth and leaned against the glass wall, your next words rolling off your tongue determinedly.

“When do I start?”

taglist: @powerofelvis @breadsquash @generoustreemystic @ab4eva @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @notstefaniepresley @ellie-24 @dollksj @webbedwebs @re3kin @wivette @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @rosepresley @ccab @whatstruthgottodowithit @dkayfixates

[mayajadewrites]

Sweet Secret (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F! Reader CEO Levi Ackerman coming in hot. I've been wanting to write a CEO Levi/Sugar daddy Levi story for a hot minute. Enjoy! Summary: You needed a job. Ackerman Inc was hiring for an in house assistant for none other than the CEO: Levi Ackerman. He's known to be essentially the worst to work with, you decide to take the job and take on the challenge that is Levi Ackerman. Will your relationship remain professional, or will their be monetary value added to the stakes? Or possibly even... love? ao3 Chapter Seven: Paradise

The morning of your flight to Cabo you could not be more nervous. You’ve never been on a plane and decided to jump down the rabbit hole that is the internet and research airplanes.

Big mistake.

Levi decided an early morning flight was best, even though you would’ve loved to have slept in.

Levi checked you in and checked the bags. You ordered a lot online with the money Levi gave you, including some more risqué items that Ymir and Historia recommended. 

After breezing through TSA (of course Levi Ackerman has TSA Pre-Check) it was time to wait at the gate for your flight. Your stomach was in knots thinking about being in the air for a couple of hours.

“Are you okay?” Levi nudged you with his left elbow. “You’re quiet. That’s not like you.”

“Are you trying to say I talk a lot?”

“I’m saying you ask an awful lot of questions.” 

“I’m okay. I’ve just never been on a plane before.”

“It’ll be okay, I promise.” Levi reassured you as he brought his attention to his phone. You saw a text from Erwin pop up.

Erwin: Don’t do anything stupid, please. She’s a good girl.

You look away quickly, knowing you should’ve minded your own business. What Levi says to Erwin, or anyone for that matter is none of your business. 

Soon enough you were at your seats on the plane. Levi got first class. You don’t know what that means but it sounds fancy.

You sink in your seat as your heart starts to race when you hear the plane making noises.

“Hey,” Levi whispered, pressing his hand on top of yours. “You’re okay. I’m here.” He laced his fingers with yours and squeezed gently. You nod, looking out the window at runway.

Take off isn’t bad. Once your eats pop, you’re as good as gold. You don’t like the feeling in your chest when the plane tilts upwards, but you get over it.

Levi took his hand off yours once the seatbelt signs were off. You can’t help but miss his touch already. 

The plane ride is about 5 hours - perfect time for a nap. 

__________________

The hotel is gorgeous. Stunning, even. It’s like a hotel you see rich people go to in movies. There are several pools, palm trees, and more. The water is blue and the sand is almost white.

“Welcome to paradise!” An overly excited employee runs up to you and Levi. 

Levi looks less than impressed.

“Can we just check in?” Levi’s tone is flat. Even in a gorgeous place, Levi’s attitude is the same.

“Absolutely sir. What’s your name?”

“Levi Ackerman.”

“Oh! Mr. Ackerman! You and your wife got upgraded to our best suite. It’s top of the line!” 

Wife?

“Thank you.” Levi grabbed the room keys off the counter. “Tell Oscar I said thank you too.”

Levi carried your bags along with his up to the room. When he swiped the key card and opened the door - you swear you could have fainted. This room was as big as the apartment you lived in growing up. 

As you walk in, you notice one bed.

“Levi…” You turn to him. “There’s only one bed.”

“Well I didn’t book this one, Oscar upgraded us out of the kindness of his heart.” Levi used air quotes. “The one I booked had 2 beds. So don’t blame me.” 

One bed? You’ve shared the same house with Levi for a while now, but a bed? And you’ve never even really touched him?

Once you and Levi get settled in, you start to crave the sun.

“Let’s go outside! Tan, drink a little, maybe swim!” 

“I don’t tan.” Levi peered up at you, taking his eyes off his phone screen. 

“Can you get off your phone for a bit please?” You put your hands on your hips. “I didn’t come here to watch you play on your phone.” 

“So what did you come here for?” Levi shoves his phone in his pocket and stands up. He walks towards you, eliminating the space between you. 

“You say I ask a lot of questions, but I think it’s really you who asks most of them.” You turn around, unzipping your bag. “I’m gonna change and so are you. I’ll be in the bathroom.” You pull out your bikini and sandals. 

When you emerge from the bathroom, Levi’s eyes are glued to you. He watches your thick thighs as you walk towards him. You’re wearing the bikini he specifically said he liked: high on the thigh, stringy, and barely leaving anything to the imagination. 

Levi is wearing a white t-shirt with khaki colored shorts paired with sandals. His mouth is slightly open as he gazes at you.

“Ready?!” You smile as you grab your beach bag. 

“Are you gonna wear a cover up?” Levi’s cheeks turned a light shade of red.

“Why? It’s hot out.”

“Because…”

“Because why?” You tilt your head to the side, placing your hands on your hips.

Levi takes a few step towards you and leans down until his lips touch your ear. “Because I can’t promise I can control myself if you don’t put something on in the next 2 minutes.” 

You can’t help but smirk knowing you’re affecting him this way. You spin yourself around, giving him a full look at your ass.

“Do you want to leave this room?” Levi sucked his teeth.

“Fine.” You roll your eyes, grabbing a black dress to put over your body. “Better?”

“Barely. Lets go.” His tone was back to being serious.

Sometimes you really can’t tell if this man wants to fuck you or just wants to be your friend. 

_______________

“Levi, come in!” You swim in front of Levi as he reads his book on the lounge chair. 

“No.” He doesn’t even look up from what page he’s on.

“It’s 95 degrees, how can you even stand to just lay in the heat?!” You place your hands on the pool edge. “You won’t come swimming at all with me?”

“Maybe in… 3 days.” Levi held up 3 fingers. “Leave me alone so I can finish my book.” 

You huff and turn yourself around to swim to the swim-up bar. You take a seat and order some fruity drink that sounded cute.

“Well hello there. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” A man pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose. 

“Thank you.” You take a sip of your drink. The man isn’t ugly by any means, so you decide to entertain a conversation. “Where are you from?” You ask, placing your drink on the counter.

“I’m from California. You?”

“Wow, all the way on the west coast. I’m from New York.”

“A New Yorker! That’s crazy, you don’t have an accent or anything.” The man leaned forward towards you as he spoke. “My name is Ryan.”

You told him your name, and the conversation continued.

As you talk, you feel a hand push you gently into… a hard surface.

That hard surface was Levi Ackerman’s upper body. You look up and see those slate eyes burning a hole in Ryan’s head.

Ryan seems to catch on to what Levi is trying to insinuate, even though no words were exchanged.

“Dude, my bad! I didn’t know she was with you.” Ryan put his hands up. “I swear! The conversation was innocent!” 

Levi put his other hand on your other hip, gripping you tightly. 

“She is a sight for sore eyes, right?” He tilts his head to the right, glaring at Ryan. 

Then Ryan was gone.

“You swam!!” You spin your body to face Levi. You sit down on the seat in front of the bar and stare up at him. He is well sculpted, his abdominals carved out and his chest strong.

“I did.” Levi pushed a piece of hair behind your ear. 

“Levi, I-“ Your words get caught in your throat. The way he looks right now, with water dripping off his skin and his hair messy has you speechless.

“What’s your favorite color?” You blurt out. Smooth move.

“Navy blue. Yours is… black?” 

“Technically… no. My favorite color is actually sage green.”

“Any other questions? Get them out now while I’m in a good mood.” 

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Pasta.”

“I knew it!!” You smile at his response, putting your hand in a fist. “I told you!” 

“Are you gonna tell me yours or do I have to fish it out of you?” 

“Hmmmmm.” You tap your chin with your index finger. “Does ice cream count?”

“I guess it can.” Levi chuckled, letting out a real smile. You watched his mouth curve upwards, revealing his teeth. 

For the first time, you saw Levi Ackerman’s teeth. You made him laugh. A genuine laugh.

A low chuckle escaped his throat as he caressed your cheek gently. “You are so cute.” 

You have never wanted to kiss anyone more than you do right now. You would love to pull Levi down, straddle his waist, and attached your mouth to his.

But you can’t. If Levi wants something, he needs to make the first move. 

His lips grazed your ear as he whispered. “I can’t stop staring at you.” Levi brings his other hand on the opposite side of the ear his whispering into. “Your thighs are… hypnotizing.” 

You bite your lip and turn your head to the side.

“Don’t get shy. No one knows us here.” He grabs your chin between his index finger and thumb, pulling you to face him. “We can be whoever we want to be here.” 

“Whoever?” You search Levi’s eyes for a lifeline. Your body is craving him almost desperately. Goosebumps populate your skin as he touches you. 

“Whoever. Who do you want to be?” You swear you could feel his tongue on your earlobe. 

“I want to be a woman that’s kissed by you.” You lean into the palm of his hand as your heart rate increases.

Levi says nothing. He moves his face in front of you, letting his nose slightly touch yours. His lips are so close.

“You want me to kiss you, princess?” He whispers.

“Mhm.” You nod, almost giving in to the temptation. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Say please.” Levi’s lips are grazing yours, the touch sending electric shocks throughout your body. 

“Please, Levi.” You almost whine.

“So spoiled I made you, hm?” Levi buries his fingers in your hair as he sits down. He pulls you to him, letting your legs wrap around his waist under the water. 

Levi’s hand runs over the front side of your body - your stomach, your chest, to your neck. He gently grabs your neck to bring you close to him again. His fingers gently squeeze the sides of your neck, a gasp escaping your throat. Your lips are plump, begging to be touched. 

Finally, Levi presses his lips to yours. You swear your brain short circuited. His lips are so soft, but so… perfect. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing the back of your thighs to the tops of his. 

His tongue licks your bottom lip, begging for entry. You oblige, letting his tongue explore your mouth. You moan against his lips at the contact. Levi’s large hands move down to your ass, giving it a gently squeeze before he pulls away.

You can’t help but whine when you lose his lips. 

“That’s it for now.” He kisses your cheek gently.

“You’re such a tease.” You pout, pushing yourself off of him to the seat you were in a few minutes ago.

“I’m teaching you patience. I can’t have you acting like a spoiled brat. If I do everything you want, that’s what you’ll be.”

“Two can play at that game.” 

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: this is our place (we make the rules)

Chapter 1 Gun has a new neighbour. Index: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Epilogue

It’s not that weird, is it? 

Knocking on a neighbour’s door that you don’t know on a Friday evening, asking for a screwdriver as your kitchen sink is flooding, damp t-shirt sticking to you and a wet streak through your hair.

No. You shake your head. This resembles nothing like a terrible cheesy porn scenario. It’s fine. This is fine.

(And really, you should know who the maintenance people are in this building… Frankly. It’s your first night in this seriously upscale building. Do they even have maintenance people or is it just personal butlers?)

You self-consciously try to run your hands through your hair, already knowing you look desperately out of place in your new home.

But, god bless her soul, your estranged grandma has pretty much set you up for life. Leaving you a decent inheritance and an apartment in Gangnam. So what if it came with a dodgy sink where the water isn’t so much leaking as gushing out. 

No problem.

You have all the world’s information at your fingertips and countless NewTube tutorials. A lifetime of frugal habits and a can-do attitude means you’re not going to spend more than you need to.

So here you are.

Outside your neighbour’s door.

Putting off looking like a weirdo while every second your new apartment could be resembling more like a swimming pool.

You take a deep breath, steeling your resolve and ring the doorbell.

A faint chime from inside reaches your ears and you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And just as you’re on the verge of leaving and trying someone else, you hear footsteps. Which, you think with unease, sounds irritable. You didn’t even know footsteps could sound irritable.

The door cracks open, just slightly, and the man peering through the gap narrows his black eyes at you. Needs must; you’ll just casually breeze past that.

With what you hope is a winning smile, the words tumble out. 

“Hi, I’m your new neighbour. This used to belong to my grandma but I’m here. Just moved in! Funny story actually, she didn’t take too good care of it so now I have a leaky sink. You can probably tell,” you signal to the state of your hair and clothing, “I’m sorry for disturbing you, I didn’t mean to-”

He cuts you off, words short and terse. “Why are you here?”

“Oh… uh, do you have a screwdriver I can borrow? Flathead please.”

The guy takes one more look at you and shuts the door.

Excuse me? Did he just? Wow.

You’re not really sure what to do, because who doesn’t lend their neighbour a screwdriver? You shuffle your feet, contemplating if you should try the neighbours on the other floor. But what if they shut their door in your face too?

And maybe you should have called a plumber or maintenance already like a normal person. But they likely won't get here for hours. Hindsight is a bitch.

Just as you’re about to skulk away, trying to concoct another plan, the door opens again. Fully this time.

“Here,” the man says, now revealing himself to you and handing over a toolbox.

Holy shit. You take in his tall lean frame, pretty sure you can see his muscles and abs through his shirt what the fuck, the strong jaw and the hair which is this side of mussed, obviously relaxing after a long week. He looks about your age and might be the hottest guy you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Cheeks flushing, you stammer your thanks and after he gives you a slight nod (was that a smirk?), you take your leave.

.

.

Fuck fuck fuck. It doesn’t work. Fuck NewTube and fuck this sink.

What if it floods fully and leaks through to the apartment below. You can’t afford to pay for damages of whatever fancy shit you may or may not have broken.

Your neighbour' door opens for the third time this evening, and the guy holds his hand out expectantly for his toolbox. 

In for a penny, in for a pound. You move it a touch out of reach, a hostage of sorts, as you start to ramble again, this time tears pricking at your eyes.

“I’m so sorry but I couldn’t fix it. Is there a maintenance or plumbing number you can give me?”

He frowns, your words sinking in and checking out your sorry state.

“Is this going to damage my apartment?”

“No?” The question mark is loud.

“Tell me what is wrong with your… sink.”

You mutter something about hopefully just a leaky valve. Which should be oh-so-simple to fix, according to your troubleshooting skills. Perhaps that is as lacking as your handiness.

With a sigh, he grabs the toolbox out of your hand, fingers brushing yours too quickly before you’re able to comprehend what’s happening, and moves with confident strides towards your place.

.

.

Gun, he answered after you asked his name. You thought he didn’t hear when you asked the first time. The second time he hesitated, a little shifty with his body language. As if his name is a secret.

And as he ducks under your kitchen sink with a screwdriver, head almost fully shoved in the cabinet, vascular forearms showing with his sleeves rolled up, tinkering with something or another; you wonder if anything ever looks out of place in those arms, held in those fingers.

His shirt, which looks painfully expensive with a designer logo plastered all over it, is completely soaked through (dear god, those were his abs that were showing clearly through), now looking tantalising transparent and clinging to his torso.

With his arms lifted, it rides up. Showing a pale strip of skin. All hip bones and muscles and fuck. Fuck.

This is your home. Yours. How are you so incredibly flustered in your own home?

“Wrench.” comes his voice, low and silky. 

“Uhh…” you rummage around and hand him the adjustable tool.

A twist, a creak, and the water slows.

Drying up to a slow leak, then a few drips, then… nothing.

Is this guy an angel or what? Your survey the puddles, body sagging with relief that in hindsight it isn’t too terrible. No lasting damage.

Gun stands up, dusting himself off and you gush your thanks. Pouring your gratitude.

His black eyes shift to you, aloof and apathetic.

“Don’t mention it. It’s a one off. I’m not in the habit of doing favours.”

Huh?

Your jaw hangs open at his attitude as he makes a swift exit without giving you a second glance.

So much for him being an angel.

[emeritusemeritus]

No Good Deeds [George Weasley x Reader]

Part 7

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. George calls us Angel. Drinking. SMUT. The smut has arrived! P in V, oral (both). Angst, sadness, grief. Tags will be updated with each chapter. Not Beta-read or spell checked.

Honeymoon smut part 2🌹

Trying to push aside your droning inner monologue, you undressed into the bikini you'd bought with you, checking yourself over in the mirror. Sure enough, you had faint bruises on your upper thigh and a rather suspicious purple mark forming beside your right breast, right where George had focused his attention only hours ago. The very notion would have brought butterflies to your tummy only hours prior but now you felt overwhelmingly uncomfortable; a giant ball of shame, guilt and sadness. You knew you needed to talk to George, to figure everything out but that alone was frightening; what if you ruined everything?

You just needed to try and enjoy yourself, slap a smile on and not make it awkward for the rest of your stay, preferably without sex complicating matters. Easier said than done, especially when you spotted George in his swimming trunks, his naked, muscular and slightly freckled back on display for you.

You stepped out onto the decking with a big fluffy towel wrapped around you to block the chill in the air, watching as the steam from the hot tub rose in spirals before disappearing into the air. The sun was almost completely gone now, the very last rays of sun mixing with the outdoor lights to illuminate the deck.

"Okay we have beer, wine and some premixed cocktails, ladies choice," George says, pointing to the table where he'd laid out options for you both.

"Cocktails, always," you smile, pulling off the towel and placing it onto one of the chairs as he pours the drinks into plastic cups, pouring himself a bottle of daisyroot draught he must have brought with you. You pull the hair bobble off your wrist and tie your hair into a messy bun on your head to keep it from getting wet and thank George when he hands you the glass of premixed drink. You don't miss the way his eyes gaze over your body as he hands you the drink, his eyes washing over your partially exposed form as if he'd never seen it before.

"Ladies first?" He smirks, gesturing for you to go ahead of him, after checking the temperature with his hands. He offers his hand out to you for you to take hold of as you climb into the sunken tub, the water tingling your skin at the contrast of temperatures, feeling your whole body warming up as you sink further and further in. You can almost physically feel George's gaze on you, watching you in your bikini as you slink down into the water.

He hands you your drink as you sink down completely, the water level resting just above your breasts, leaving your shoulders exposed to the chill of the air, a rather pleasant mix. He climbs in after and sits down on one of the built in tiled benches on the other side of the tub and visibly relaxes as he does so, head resting on the side of the tub with his eyes closed.

You try not to, but you can't help but look at his muscular shoulders and arms, the column of his stretched throat and the two little moles you can see on the side of his neck; all of those things distinctly George Weasley.

There's a comfortable silence that falls between you both as you each relax in the warm water, alternating between closing your eyes to relax and trying to peak up at the dark trees, watching them sway in the breeze way up high. George refills your drink when it empties and for the second round, you sip your sweet cocktail slowly, using it as another mechanism to relax and also for Dutch courage as you think of the conversation you needed to have with George, the knowledge of it mentally tugging at you, making you less and less relaxed.

"This is the life," George says, still with his eyes closed but now with a smile across his features. Honestly you thought he'd fallen asleep, you were certain it was the longest you'd ever seen him be still in his life.

"Oh yeah," you reply, a little nonchalantly, not really paying attention.

"Another drink?" He asks, pulling your attention away from the trees. You looked down at the cup in your hand and noticed it was empty, apparently you hadn't been sipping it as slowly as you'd thought.

"I'll get them, getting a bit hot anyway," you say with a smile, suddenly glad to get away, procrastinating once again regarding the conversation.

He groans as you get out of the hot tub and when you turn with a questioning glance, he's resting his head against the side of the tub again, a smirk on his face though his eyes are open and fixed on you. He's turned down the jets on the hottub so that it's just a dull hum now, with the water still bubbling but without the noise and power of before.

"You're trying to kill me aren't you?" He mumbles, shifting closer until he's resting on his crossed arms in front of you. You look at his questioningly as you pour the next round of drinks, somewhat thankful for the chill in the air to cool you down as you look at the look that George was giving you.

"The little bikini," he says with a nod, "dripping wet... you're like every man's wet dream."

"Shove off," you say quickly with a roll of your eyes, though you're helpless to stop smiling and giggling a little at his words as you hand him his drink.

"I'm serious," he says, grabbing the drink from you and placing it onto the deck beside the tub. You slip back in to the hot tub, accepting George's outstretched hand but as soon as you'd placed your drink down, he pulls you onto his lap, an effortless move in the water that makes you higher than you had been before, the cold biting at your freshly exposed cleavage and back.

"You're so beautiful," he says, pushing back a few strands of hair that had fallen out of your messy bun, tucking them behind your ear. His hands are warm and wet from the water but you don't care, you're entirely transfixed on the look in his eyes.

He leans forward to press a kiss to your lips and you don't resist, your personal resolutions already broken and forgotten about as you get swept away by him all over again.

When he pulls back, you can only stare, breathless and rendered speechless by the way he's looking at you. His gaze slips over you as you sit in his lap, slowly and precisely as if he's commuting the view to memory before something catches his eye.

You feel a warm hand gently touching the right side of your breast, where the bikini ends and your skin begins, exactly where you knew the gift of a love bite sat.

A few beats pass, a pregnant pause between him looking away from the mark and up to your eyes, his own eyes conveying so much emotion that it's overwhelming, though you can't look away, enamoured by the love and desire in his eyes.

It takes all of three seconds before he reaches down and pulls your bikini to the side, completely exposing your breast to him, lovebite and all as your nipple pebbles from the sudden cold air surrounding it. It takes even fewer seconds before his mouth latches on to your nipple, tongue stroking over the hardened peak as his other hand slips to your other breast, toying with the nipple through the bikini before he pulls that to one side too. His mouth flicks between breasts as he devours you, your hands gripping his hair as he feasts on each breast, ravaging you with his tongue and lips, his tongue gently licking over the mark he'd left before and no doubt adding a few matching sets to your growing collection.

"God I love these tits," he says, face completely pressed into the curve of your breasts so much that the words are mumbled. "So perfect, so beautiful."

At least, you think that's what he says, his mouth never leaving your soft skin.

You can't help but rock your hips on his as you moan deeply and breathily at his actions, your breasts feeling more than sensitive as your arousal peaks. Your hips grind down onto his and it leaves you with no doubt of his own arousal, the long, thick erection rubbing perfectly against your heat, through the thin material of your swim clothes.

He groans at the contact, holding you tighter to him as you rock your hips with vigour, unashamedly rubbing yourself on him to create the most delicious friction you needed. His lips pull away from your oversensitive breasts as he leans up to kiss your lips once again, though this time it's without sweetness or hesitation.

"Can I fuck you here baby?" He says, voice so dangerously low and husky that it causes you to rock against him involuntarily, your mind spinning. "All I'd have to do is pull down my shorts and slip this little bikini out of the way."

His voice is still lower than usual but it's now filled with a sense of teasing as his hand wanders across your bum, around your thigh and down to your heat, fingers stroking over your centre through the thin material of the bikini. His fingers hook into the crotch of your bikini bottoms, absently grazing over your outer lips as he pulls the fabric away from your pussy just slightly to highlight his point. You gasp at the sensation, the water running freely over your exposed pussy, the closeness of his cock and his wandering fingers which tease you in feather light touches everywhere except exactly where you need him.

It's delicious agony, to have him so close but so far away and once again you're powerless to stop your hips rocking, as if your body is chasing his touch. He chuckles into your shoulder where his mouth occupies as your desperate movements and finally grants you reprieve, stroking his fingers across your lips, parting them with his middle finger and slide across your sensitive pussy, stroking a line from your entrance to your clit, just as he knew you liked. When his fingers makes contact with your sensitive bud you gasp out his name, hips rocking and chest heaving, already desperate for more.

Taking matters into your own hand, both literally and figuratively, you reach down to cup the rather obvious bulge in his shorts, visible even under the surface of the bubbling water. He groans at the contact and as you reach into the waistband of his shorts, he offers no resistance, lifting his hips enough for you to slip his shorts down. You reach down and grab his cock in your hand, stroking it with teasingly light touches before wrapping your hand around his shaft and dragging your hand deliciously slowly up the entire length of him. He groans and lifts his hips again, trying to work your hand against him. Your speed increases with every groan and moan that falls from his lips and in return, his fingers slip deeper into your bikini bottoms until his fingers slip inside you.

It's a complete rush of lust, with hands and lips attending each other's bodies like they were the only salvation. He slips inside of you as you ride his narrow hips, hands desperately clutching his shoulders as he gives you kiss after kiss as you ride out each other's  pleasure. It's frantic and desperate, the teasing having been drawn out far too long. You change positions until he's fucking you hard from behind, your naked bodies hardly submerged in the water anymore as you're bent over the side of the hot tub. He cums with a roar, pulling out of you and spilling into your waiting mouth, with droplets of cum splattering across your chest as you swallow him down as quickly as you can. His fingers immediately begin circling your clit only moments after his release and in no time at all, fuelled by the sheer filthiness of his orgasm, you're cumming around his skilled fingers.

You're both breathless and panting as you fight to steady your pounding heart rate, so overwhelmed by the sensation you'd been swept up in. The lust and passion between you both was almost electric, seemingly overtaking you and consuming your senses completely from just a spark.

You sipped your cocktail slowly as you climbed out of the hot tub on somewhat shaky legs, throwing the large towel around you and discreetly wiping off any remaining evidence of George's pleasure from your chest.

"So now we know the tub works, in more ways than one," George says from behind you, closing the lid on the no longer bubbling tub. You can hear the slink smirk in his voice and have to push down your own smile as you take another sip of the fruity concoction. "I'm thinking I cook us some food, we open that bottle of wine and play a dangerously intense game of exploding snap. Whatd'ya think sweetheart?"

You froze instantly at the name, your entire body pausing as you fight not to choke on your drink, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and swallow slowly. George had never called you sweetheart. The only person that had ever called you sweetheart was Fred. It was his nickname for you, the sickly sweet pet name that he'd used tirelessly over the years, starting as a teasing moniker in your early days before it became a habit that had lasted until his death. Fred called you sweetheart, no one else.

Hearing it for the first time since his death was too much for you, especially it falling from the lips of his twin brother. They'd never been identical to you, not really, but to hear it said in the same way, from a near identical voice made a chill run through you and your stomach lurch uncomfortably. You wanted to push it down, forget it happened and move on with your evening as if nothing had happened but it was physically impossible, tears already building in your eyes. Your fight or flights instinct was strong, the overwhelming urge to get yourself away from the situation, to hide away and accept that the tears were coming regardless of your effort to keep them at bay.

George noticed his faux pas immediately. He quietly whispered your name, trying to reach out for your shoulder but you'd already lurched away and began to slip into the cabin away from him before his hand could even make contact. You walked to the bathroom in a panic, suddenly feeling more ashamed of yourself than ever. You had been Fred's sweetheart once, could you ever be George's? You were used to Angel, his nickname for you for years and since your whole engagement fiasco he'd taken to teasing you through little pet names and endearments but never once had he overstepped and said that to you. You felt dirty, your body still tingling from your coupling with George, the taste of his cum in your mouth and your bikini barely hanging on to your body all whilst he called you his twin brother's nickname for you. It all felt so fundamentally wrong, so why did it actually feel so right in the moment?

You huffed out a sigh after fixing your bikini, gripping onto the sink in front of you as you stared at yourself in the mirror, the last remnants of spoiled mascara littering your cheeks and red-rimmed eyes that had once been so vividly happy.

A knock at the door startled you, even though you'd been expecting it since you'd dramatically exited.

"Angel? Please talk to me, I'm so sorry," George's voice says quietly through the door. You reach for the flannel beside the sink and dab at your eyes before opening the door, revealing George on the other side, his eyes full of apologetic sadness.

"No, it's okay," you protest weakly, not wanting him to feel bad about his accidental slip up. "I overreacted it was just... a lot."

"I understand," he says, nodding his head gently. He slowly reaches his hand out to you but he's hesitant, knowing there's a chance you'll deny him but you don't. You accept his hand and let him gently pull you into his body, through the door onto his side.

His skin smells of chlorine and sex, a strangely inviting blend of scents that you'll forever remember as George is this moment.

"I'm not trying to replace him," he says gently, his words soft but resolved, as if he'd practiced the line over in his head before saying it out loud. "I didn't mean to."

"I know," you say, pulling away gently enough to look up at him with a semi-forced smile on your face, your mind still whirling with sadness after the incident. "I know it was an accident, that you didn't mean... it was just hard hearing it from you and not him," you explain.

"You need some time?" He questions, hands rubbing up and down your arms lightly but there's something in his voice this time that makes you want to say no, feeling suddenly and overwhelmingly like a burden to him. You shake your head.

"I'm good."

"Good," he says with a small smile that fades a little too quickly, making you frown slightly.

"I'll go start tea," he says with a nod of his head, his hands slipping away from your skin as he walks out of the wood panelled hallway until you hear a few bangs from the kitchen as he pulls out pots and pans, leaving you alone and more than a little confused at his sudden change of behaviour.

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[codenamesazanka]

Deku’s not rejecting the 'great hero' label from All Might, and by Chapter 425, still doesn't seem more broken up about being unable to save Shigaraki. Which I think means he wasn't actually all that serious about his save. 

If he had really, truly wanted to save this Crying Child, and really, stubbornly thought he could and would, Shigaraki/Tenko’s death is a huge failure. A black mark on his values and aspirations. Failing to save a little child is just unacceptable. There’s no excuse for it, no comforting words in the aftermath, nothing. If Eri had gotten blown up during the Overhaul fight, I guarantee you Deku would be hysterical. Inconsolable. That sad abused 6-year-old he wanted to save just died. 

That Deku isn't any of that right now - or when he was conversing with Shigaraki in Shigaraki last’s moments, or when Shigaraki’s body was falling apart - means he knew Shigaraki wasn't 1-to-1 the Crying Child, he knew he wasn't actually dealing with a 5-year-old. He knew he can't actually save that 5-year-old, can't actually bring him into reality to cradle in his arms like Eri. It’s pretty obvious.

-> Deku did not believe Shigaraki was actually The Crying Child. To him, Shigaraki was an adult villain (whose life he values less than an actual innocent child - which is fair. That’s the standard belief.)

So… why repeat that mantra of 'Save The Crying Child'? Why focus so wholly on that psychic vision to the exclusion of anything else? This is already pretty gross - he’s ignoring the adult man in front of him for a psychic vision ghost child.

Then, it must be: Deku has to have known in some way that the Crying Child was only an inner representation of some trauma Shigaraki was carrying.

He'll be dealing with some mental wound inside of Shigaraki; he'll be working out Shigaraki's trauma and what exactly made him such an angry villain. Maybe healing that trauma might just cause Shigaraki to stop his rampage. 

And yet, despite knowing this was how things are, Deku never engages with Shigaraki in any way that opens up this avenue of investigation. He doesn't research anything about Shigaraki’s mental state or background or just his overall character, despite having hundreds of Shigaraki’s captured army sitting in jail cells, despite having core League member Mr. Compress right there, who evidently cared enough about his leader to mutilate himself to show Shigaraki to escape. 

Deku doesn't talk to Shigaraki, never asking questions, never calling for parley, never even just trying. If he shouted random things to Shigaraki - Do you like dogs? Isn't Danger Sense wild? If you sink Japan, that means you'll have to swim, so are you a good swimmer? - and Shigaraki ignored them, that'd be one thing. The most Deku does is to still yell about 'not ignoring the inner crying child’, but that's a statement of his (patronizing) intent. Not actually anything that invites Shigaraki to reciprocate, to create the start of a back-and-forth connection.

One might argue: Shigaraki could have responded to the ‘Crying Child’ comment so that Deku has something to work with… and Shigaraki actually does. In Chapter 412, Shigaraki says Deku is trying to fit him into his narrow worldview, when that crying child has turned into Shigaraki Tomura… But that’s not an answer that Deku accepts. He dismisses it entirely, to focus again on The Crying Child he saw. Deku doesn’t work with Shigaraki’s answer at all; it’s true the vestiges start talking to him, but Deku said himself ‘I have to ask why [Shigaraki] can’t let go of that lonely past of his’... then does not ask.

But before that, it’s not on Shigaraki to make the connection here, because he has no reason or intention to - it's entirely on Deku because Deku made it his motivation. And so it's also on Deku for refusing to latch onto any of the things Shigaraki does say: everything he’s witnessed in this world, the only thing that will save him is destruction, flattening Mt. Fuji for Spinner.

Deku supposedly wants to understand - wants connection - but it seems only on his terms, on the topic he dictates, with answers he likes. That's the farthest thing from establishing a rapport enough to even approach any inner trauma. Forget healing anything. How can he heal Shigaraki’s heart if he has no interest in what exactly lies inside of it? No, the Crying Child doesn't count. Like I said, that's the topic he dictates. 

-> Deku understood that the Crying Child was symbolic of pain that Shigaraki covered with a lid, yet when Shigaraki deigned not to share details, didn’t care much to find a way to uncover that lid beyond punching the crap out of Shigaraki.

This means… what, exactly?

There are many possible answers. None of them are good. He doesn’t actually respect Shigaraki very much, or at all. He’s only interested in Shigaraki affirming something for him. He thinks Shigaraki is despicable, but is at least nice enough to want to stop his pain - though not nice enough to do it non-violently. It’s less about Shigaraki and more about his own ego. He wanted to save Shigaraki, but also wanted him punished, so his save was brutal. 

But all that really boils down to this: Deku did not see Shigaraki as a full person, and did not treat him as such.

The Crying Child was a curiosity. He wanted to save The Crying Child to fulfill his own satisfaction. The manga backs it up:

Shigaraki, speaking through memory-visage: Say you learn more. What then? Say you expose his past to the light. Will that change a damn thing?  Deku: I don’t know! But letting this end without finding out wouldn’t sit right with me!

"letting this end without finding out wouldn’t sit right with me"

Deku doesn’t know. He doesn’t have a plan for what happens after receiving that information - no use, no application, no intentions. There’s no logic to his action here - it simply doesn’t ‘sit right’ with him. This is about his feelings. This is about fulfilling his own instinct to save. If he manages to make Shigaraki feel better, that’s good, but that’s a bonus.

Deku, during the battle, doesn’t even know if he can make Shigaraki feel better. He has no notebook full of ideas to make sure that saving Shigaraki’s heart will be the guaranteed outcome. He simply wants to try, because he wants to save, because it’s about his desire to be a Hero. The coolest thing someone can do. 

[vibratingskull]

Mermaid!Thrawn chapter 9

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

You lay against the guardrail, wind in your hair, ocean spray in your nose. The boat speeds away from the shore swiftly, jumping on the waves. 

“You know where you want to stop, (Y/n)?” Mr Vanto asks. “Not now, sir. I wanna go farther. “ You respond, “You’re a lucky gal, we even have a dolphin with us today!” He notes. You lean over the guardrail to observe the sea, and a dolphin appears, swimming swiftly next to the boat, its scars identifying it immediately. 

Thrawn. 

He swims in front of the boat to guide you and speeds up even more. You turn to Mr. Vanto “Follow that dolphin, I will dive with him.”, you take your wetsuit and enter the cabin to change. “Did you patch things up with Eli?” He asks loud enough for you to hear through the wood of the cabin. “No…” You admit, piercing your heart. “That can’t do, young one! Life is too short to sit angry at friends.”, “I know sir, I know… I try to speak to him, but he evades me.” 

“Didn’t he invite you for dinner?” Mr.Vanto insists through the wall. You purse your lips, “I came to understand it was more Eli’s mother's idea.” you respond forcing down your mane in the combination. You reappear outside with your air tank and your flippers. The boat speeds up on water, following Thrawn’s dolphin form easily, you look back to see the cliffs of chalk diminishing rapidly. The beach and port are long gone. You lean over the guardrail, eyes fixated on the dolphin jumping before the boat. You fear several times that they will hit but Thrawn swims and evades gracefully each time. 

When you came to Mr. Vanto you didn’t think he would say yes to bringing you with him, but he did. While you’ll be exploring the ocean’s depths he will try to fish in this new spot. 

You see the dolphin disappearing deeper into the ocean, it must be the location. 

“Stop here, Mister. I will dive here.” You warn him, “All right, be careful with all of this... equipment.” He stops the engines looking at your air tank and suit, "Yes sir!” you promise and let yourself fall backward into the water. The coldness bites your skin despite the wetsuit, you let yourself sink a bit deeper before unfolding your body and looking for Thrawn. 

Less than a minute after you see familiar shining red eyes approaching, swimming almost lazily toward you. He circles your body several times as he always does before extending his clawed finger in your direction. You present your palm and he gently grazes it with his claw as usual. 

This is your greeting. A thing only between the two of you. You observe him swimming fully underwater, his long hair crowning his head and floating around his beautiful face. His long tails undulating as he moves. 

He is such an elegant and graceful creature you realize. As beautiful as in the legends, you would gasp before such a regal being if your lips were not wrapped around an air tank tube. As he keeps circling you, waiting for you to follow him, your latest discussion comes back to your mind. 

“No.” He said plainly, “They refused.”You lowered your shoulders, of course, it was too beautiful to be true, visiting a mermaid city would be too perfect to be possible. But apparently, the mermaids in charge refused your demand. 

It was less than one week after you asked Thrawn about seeing where he lived, and just by his expression when you finished speaking you knew it would be complicated. He was not pleased by the idea, and his kin even less. 

You looked at him suspiciously, gauging him up and down, “Did you even ask? I know you didn’t like that idea at all.” You demanded. “You are right. I will not let a single human find our home and threaten us. But I chose you for the mission and you accepted, so I was ready to make an exception, for you. My superiors did not see the situation as I did and refused to access your demand.” 

You snort, amused. His superiors? Threat? Mission? Do they have a military of any sort? “You speak like a soldier.”, “I do not know what that word means, but I am what you call a warrior. My mission, the reason for my existence, is to protect my fellows from any rising threat.” He said that with such an intense gaze you pressed your legs tighter to your chest in a soothing manner. 

Back inside the cave where you met each other, protected from the blazing sun and sharing a new piece of salmon, you casually spoke. You asked questions about mermaids and he responded when he could, his protective mission asking him to keep some information hidden from you. 

“I have another proposition to offer you.” He said after finishing his raw salmon, “I may not be able to bring you to our city, but would visiting my hideout would interest you?”  

 You looked at him gingerly, munching on your fish. His hideout? What does he mean by that? His home? Where he sleeps? His “no women allowed” space? 

“Your what?” You asked, suspicious of what he was proposing to you. “My treasure collection hideout.” He reformulates, “Ooh! With all the pieces of art you collected?”, “Indeed” He confirmed, “Would it be acceptable to you?” 

You nodded enthusiastically, gulping down your last bite of fish “Yes! Of course, I imagine it is isolated from the city then.”, “It is quite far away indeed. They do not appreciate me bringing back human artifacts, they ordered me to get rid of them so I hid them away.”  

And here you are, swimming alongside him, getting deeper until you can see some reefs piercing the ground. You feel he is controlling his swimming speed to accommodate you, you know how truly fast he can be... 

You navigate through the reefs, slaloming between deadly long spikes that could gut a boat easily. You suddenly feel his hand take yours, you realize his hands are large, way larger than yours... But soft and... inviting. He very gently pulls you forward, inviting you to follow him through the maze of cavities and rock arches. He knows perfectly where to go, and which path to take to allow you to pass with your air tank strapped to your back, it is probably why he circled you earlier, to get an idea of its dimensions.  

And finally, you reach it. You see an opening in the black rocks and he heads towards it without hesitation and without releasing your hand despite being in a more spacious area. You enter the cave, holding your breath.  

You see nothing. Obviously. 

You take your light torch and flash it around the cavern. The natural form of the cave is chaotic but you can immediately see that everything is organized and placed very meticulously. Thrawn lets you go to let you observe as you please. Contrary to you he doesn’t seem to need any light to navigate in this pitch-black area.  

You wander inside. There are a ton of items, cutleries, jewelry, fabrics and costumes, hair pins,  actual statues,... And very old ones at that! None of those things are modern in the slightest. 

Did Thrawn visit an unknown site full of untouched antic boats... Or is he much older than you first anticipated? How old is he exactly? What’s their lifespan? 

You see his shiny red eyes moving around in the cave’s darkness where your light doesn’t shine. He lets you explore at your pace, visiting his cave on his terms. 

The jewels shimmer under the light, shining bright. The boxes containing the valuables are literally vomiting jewelry and cannot be closed back. Pearls, gold, diamonds, necklaces, rings, and earrings, ancients witnesses of a distant path. You observe them intently, terribly curious. Thrawn suddenly appears at your side, startling you. He takes one beautiful ring, set with a big white diamond. You flash the light on it to observe it better, it must be worth a lot!  

Out of nowhere he takes your hand and passes it onto your fingerring to contemplate; Your heart jumps in your chest, why this finger in particular? Why a ring? What is he- 

“I had the occasion to observe humans, alive and dead, wearing matching rings on this particular finger through the years. Almost all adults wear one with another adult, but never the young. Is it the symbol of something important in your society?” He asked, rotating your hand in his to admire the diamond on your finger. 

Oh... Oh. 

Your heart calms down, he simply doesn’t know about wedding rings. You nod at his question. 

His voice sounds... Quite different underwater. It is still deep and... Rich, but it sounds lighter? Like you were meant to hear him underwater. His voice is really beautiful, both on land and under the sea but it sounds almost musical here, like an added depth. Their vocal cords must be different than human’s. 

“You can keep the ring.” He simply says. “It suits your eyes.” 

... 

Is he serious?  

That thing must cost an arm! You can’t accept it. You shake your head and put back the ring in his palm. He considers you, almost surprised, almost... taken aback. Like he was pained you refused his present. But that expression disappears so quickly you must have dreamed it. He silently puts the ring back in the box and starts swimming alongside you, explaining to you where and how he found this or this artifact.  

You even find painted portraits in their frames. They all have a weird greenish substance on them, soiling the true colors. You scrubs some with your nail, curious. “I am especially interested in those type of art pieces, but they dissolve and disappear so quickly in salted water.” He sounds almost disappointed, “I found a mixture of algae that can prevent the degradation and preserve them but as you can see it taints them with a green shade. I lost so many of those pieces before finding the correct formula...” He sounds pained like this loss was truly heavy on his heart. You put your hand on his shoulder and sign “okay” to him, he nods back, his stern expression and tone back immediately, “I find less and less of those in your new ships. Did you stop creating them?” he asks. 

You nod again. “I see, a pity.” he simply responds. “Now you seem to have those rectangular realistic depictions.” He opens another box to take out a photographic picture in another greenish shade, “The formula is not the same and the material cannot be preserved indefinitely but the hyper-realistic style is fascinating. Some lack colors and are in black and white. I have no idea how you achieve such prowess, especially on such small formats, will you be able to explain it to me?” He inquires and you can hear and see true hope in his eyes and voice. You realize he really, really is passionate about arts and is craving knowledge.  

You also realize his eyes are... extremely expressive. He seems to have full control over them but when he does let an emotion slip through, his eyes let you know without a doubt. His expression was as impassible as ever, but his eyes spoke the truth of his hopes and expectations. 

How could you say no to such gorgeous eyes? 

You nod again, completely entranced by your discovery. You would promise him anything for those shiny eyes... You slap yourself mentally. 

“I thank you. I have to be honest, meeting you gave me hope to understand your art better, especially the newest techniques. I thank you for indulging me.” You nod again enthusiastically. He is a fricking merman, a mythic creature, of course, you are going to indulge him! 

You keep swimming deeper into the cavern and you take sneaky looks at him, not flashing the light directly at him, but just enough in his general direction to be able to detail him discreetly. 

His muscular and tall stature that intimated you the first time now appears... comforting, reassuring, and... terribly inviting. You would love to roam your hands on those large pecs and mighty shoulder blades. You feel your heart speeding and your throat drying as you detail his... utterly gorgeous body. 

You already noticed that he was handsome in his own alien way, but at this very second it seems to hit you like a ton of bricks. This man is really, really well-made.  

Are you... crushing on him? 

No, surely not 

But...  

Are you actually? 

He turns his head towards you, wondering why you suddenly slowed down, letting you admire his gorgeous face behind your goggles, hiding where your gaze explores his body. His, obviously, enchanting red eyes, his long, luscious hair, his turned-up nose, his sharp cheekbones and exotic forehead bumps. A truly harmonious and symmetric face... Truly beautiful. 

And the richness of his deep blue skin...  

As you stop moving entirely, too lost in your contemplation, Thrawn starts circling you slowly, his burning gaze on you, not leaving you for a second.  

An alarm starts rigging in your mind. Is it... a predator tactic? A hunting technique? A deep instinct deep inside him ordering him to corner the weak prey? 

It is terrifying. 

It is... thrilling 

Now that you can fully admire him in his liquid element, his true gracefulness and elegance irradiate from him, as his carnivorous and deadly features... You are suddenly hyper-aware of his shiny fangs and the claws of the hands that hold your so gently... 

He seems to very slowly swim closer and closer to you, threatening to hug you in a deadly constrictive embrace with his full body and tail. 

You gasp around your air tube, feeling his piercing red gaze burning your skin off your body. You suddenly feel exposed and naked in front of him. 

What if... He lied? What if there was no city, no other mermaids, no mission and this is how he tempts his prey in his lair? What use does he have for those claws and pointed teeth if not to tear soft flesh apart? 

“You are a peculiar being, (Y/n).” He speaks with his melodious voice, “You are surrounded by art and wonders but focus on me instead.” He sounds almost amused. Almost. “I understand species through their art and humans are truly... interesting. Complex and savage at the same time...You have all my interest and attention.” 

This time you gasp so hard you actually spit out your air tube. You try to catch it back in a panic but Thrawn swiftly catches it and presses it back against your mouth. He watches you eagerly wrapping your lips around the mask’s tube for that sweet, sweet air, prompting him to tilt his head, squinting at you, “Truly peculiar indeed...” 

You take deep breaths to calm down, realizing that you lost a lot of air in that short moment and you are using even more trying to calm down. You look up at your watch to discover that your air supplies are critically low. You desperately sign  “surface” several times as you taught him beforehand. 

Without any warning he swiftly grabs your hand and starts swimming at full speed, pulling you with him like you weight nothing. You exit the cavern so quickly the sudden light burns your eyes.  

And he stops dead in his track. 

You look around confused and discover another mermaid, guarding the exit. 

Armed. 

And visibly pissed off. 

She opens her mouth to shout something you don’t understand. Thrawn responds, calm and serene, but in the same alien language. They exchange several lines, the female more and more infuriated and Thrawn seems more and more pressing. 

You try very hard to be forgotten, hiding behind the huge stature of Thrawn but fully knowing she couldn’t have missed you when your watch starts beeping suddenly.  

Air tank empty. 

The mermaid switches her blade towards you in a very swift and practiced movement. She presses it at your throat, dangerously. 

You feel your lungs pulsating with the lack of air. 

 Thrawn calls for her calmly, in an appeasing manner that could calm down an enraged bear. Thrawn gently pushes the weapon away from you, speaking softly. She claps something back sharply, pointing at you. 

You squeeze Thrawn arm as a warning, feeling your vision darkening as your lungs feel like exploding. 

He says one last thing to the woman that seems to take her aback, or at least take her by such surprise she lowers her weapon entirely and opens her mouth agape. 

Suddenly, you feel Thrawn arms grabbing your legs, holding you bridal style and swimming straight up towards the surface at full speed. 

You pierce the surface brutally. Thrawn readjust his grip on your bust to keep your head well over water. 

You don’t react, don’t move, don’t tear the mask off your face to take a liberating gasp of air. And that is not normal. 

Thrawn takes the mask off your face himself and gently shakes you, “(Y/n)?” 

Nothing 

He presses his ear against your breast. Your heartbeat is feeble but still here, worryingly weak. What he cannot hear however is the air entering and leaving your throat and lungs.  

He takes your cheek with his clawed hand to raise your limping head up. “(Y/n), open your eyes, this is an order.” 

Nothing. 

He looks around to locate the boat. Nowhere to be seen, you’ll never reach the land in time. 

He pulls your face closer, pinching your nose, and leans towards you. He presses his lips on yours, pushing his air inside your still lungs. He opens his gills wide to gather as much air as possible for each breath, holding you tight against his body to prevent you from sinking in the cold water. He opens your mouth wide to have better access to your trachea. He pushes air deep several times for two long minutes, his lips clasped on yours in a tight embrace. He has to make sure to not hold you too tight or he’s going to break your bones, to not accidentally bite your tongue off with his long teeth, to not inadvertently slash an artery with his long, sharp claws. 

Humans are such fragile creatures but also reckless despite their weaknesses. He could hurt you with each of his movements, possibly killing you if he is careless. 

But Thrawn is anything but careless. 

He is conscientious and delicate. He modulates his strength to not hurt you in any way, he minds his teeth to not bite your tongue coming back to life, he positions his fingers for his claws to simply rest on the wetsuit and not pierce your flesh.  

He holds you like something precious to him. 

In some way... You are. 

You are his partner in his mission, his teammate, and the key to helping him accomplish his capital mission. He cannot let you die without trying to save you. He is a predator, not a monster... 

Suddenly you came back to life in his deep kiss, jerking forward to spit the water clogging your lungs and cough hard. He holds you above water as you almost dived your head back underwater with your large jerking motion, curling over yourself as your body contracts painfully to dislodge the rest of the water still inside. 

You suddenly push him away, to his surprise. “You kissed me?!” You asks out of yourself, not knowing what kind of reaction you should have. 

He brings to his secret lair, circles you in a weirdly sensual and deadly manner, drags you around like a sack of potatoes, and finally kisses you????? What is wrong with him?  

“You were unresponsive and the boat was not reachable in a timely manner. I did what I must to save you.” He simply speaks like it was a very normal occurence. 

“You...!” You cannot even finish your sentence with how confuse you are. 

You cannot with this man! He toys with you for months and then plays the benevolent savior like he cares? The audacity of this man, the insolence the... The... HIM! JUST HIM! 

“I advise you to calm down, losing consciousness may have unpredictable effects. I advise you to see one of your healers once back on shore.” He softly says, his two hands well visible in an appeasing manner. “Yes, thank you, I know!” You clap back. 

The last thing you saw was the mermaid blade against your throat and when you open back your eyes Thrawn is kissing you deeply in a tight embrace. 

Like...What the fuck? Could someone explain for once? Are all merpeople bipolars? 

“Manage your efforts and listen to your body’s signals.” He keeps advising calmly. 

You press your mouth in a thin line, trying to calm down. He did it to save your life, nothing more, nothing less. You do not know the significance of kissing in his culture.  

You breathe deeply, feeling anger subsiding, but still confused and dizzy “All right.” You concede. “Good.” He nods satisfied, gently backing away. 

“Thrawn, wait... I’m sorry.” You call him back, “I didn’t mean to offend you.”, “And I took no offense.” He simply replies, “On my end, I did not meant to shock you.” 

You extend your palm to him and he gently grazes it with his claw. 

All is well and forgiven. Or at least pushed under the rug... 

The boat appears on the horizon, coming for you. “It is time.” Thrawn says evenly, “Will you explain your modern art techniques to me at our next meeting?” He says hopefully, “Yes of course.” You nod, “I thank you. Travel back safely.” He bows his head to you and dives underwater to disappear. 

As the boat slowly approaches your rendez-vous point you cannot help but touch your lips, still feeling the ghost of his lips on yours. Shocked and deeply moved... 

He kissed you... 

@blueninjablade3 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @pencil-urchin @twilekchiss @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay, @obbicrystaleo @germie2037 @davesrightshoe

[shellyseashell]

2023 FIC REC LIST

I did this last year, and I thought I’d do it again. To close out 2023, here’s a list of some of my favorite fics I’ve read this year. These aren’t everything, just of course the highlights. If the author has a tumblr, I tried to tag them, but if I missed anyone let me know or feel free to tag them yourself!

WILLOW

did i dream (that we were so perfectly entwined) | General | Tanthamore | One Shot | 8.9k

Jade and Kit, from childhood through season one. Jade’s pov.

Our hardest battles are the oaths we keep by @rehizle28 | Mature | Tanthamore | 7/25 | 50.9k

Jade grows up as a Knight of Galladoorn. When Graydon and Kit are engaged, she travels to Tir Asleen as Graydon’s personal guard. Words cannot describe how much I love this. The pining and shenanigans these two get into is so so good. Kit causes problems on purpose and Jade Cannot figure out what the princess’s deal is. King Hastur is perfectly normal and has Totally Good intentions.

be my mirror (my sword and shield) by @onlyshestandsthere | Explicit | Tanthamore | 30/? | 228k

Bone Reaver Jade helps the Crone’s followers bring Kit to the Immemorial City. Quite easily one of the angstiest fics I have ever read. But for all 100k of angst there’s another 100k of fluff and that’s only vaguely an exaggeration. The magic is absolutely horrifying but it feels totally realistic to what we’ve seen in canon. Jade and Kit both need a hug.

if we’d turned a corner (if i had waited) by @sugarfey | Mature | Tanthamore | 5/? | 13.9k

Soccer au! There’s plenty of angst in this one, but it focuses on the healing. I love everything about this fic. Kit and Jade are so dumb as usual and I love the social media bits.

The Flawless Five, Vol. 1: Rise of the Five | Teen | Gen | 2/6 | 11.9k

Superhero au! It’s silly and goofy and so so much fun to read. I’m really liking the mystery so far, and I’m looking forward to how it unfolds.

Triumph of the Wyrm | Mature | Tanthamore | 3/12 | 13.8k

Series still currently in the first book. Kit successfully runs away, and every attempt to rescue Airk fails. Twenty years later, the world is under the rule of the Wyrm. Kit and Jade work in smuggling, unaware what happened to the other. Until, of course, they end up working together on a job. The world is so so horrifying but so well done. Also, Kit is allies with Sarris the Troll.

Let’s take a knife and cut the world in two by @spybrarian | Mature | Tanthamore | One Shot | 7.9k

Exorcist Jade and possessed Kit! Very angsty. The worldbuilding is very very well done and so so horrifying.

these walls come tumbling down by @onlyshestandsthere | Teen | Tanthamore | 4/? | 28.8k

Vet Jade and Perfectly Normal Human Kit. After Jade hits Kit (as a cat) with her car, she takes it upon herself to take care of her. Told in two timelines, one in Kit’s pov before the accident, and one in Jade’s pov after. I have laughed so much reading this I absolutely adore it.

One Night in October | Teen | Tanthamore | 9/9 | 29.k

Slasher fic! Angsty, mysterious, but it has a bittersweet ending.

Sink or Swim | Mature | Tanthamore | 7/7 | 16k

Lifeguard Jade and disaster Kit. Seriously she is so, so dumb and it is so, so funny.

LEGENDBORN

Rescue | General | Gen | 1/1 | 4k

Valec’s point of view of Chapter 42. I love Valec okay.

A Place at the Table | General | Gen | 1/1 | 7k

Legendborn/Merlin cross over. Basically, Arthur is a lot better than in canon and it’s so nice to read after Bloodmarked.

Beach Day Memory Walk by @justbrainrot | Mature | OT3 | 1/1 | 3.5k

Bree takes Sel and Nick on a memory walk during Sel’s birthday. Super cute and fun.

Mother, Merlin | Mature | Gen | 4/? | 13k

Natasia healing Sel after the events of Bloodmarked. Very very angsty, but also very very good. I love how Natasia is written.

Dancing in the moonlight by @nightworldlove | Teen | Willark | One Shot | 3k

William and Lark dance. Uh. In the moonlight. Very cute one shot.

Sometimes Hunting and Running Blur Together… by @ficnoire2 | Explicit | Other | 4/? | 11.9k

Valec backstory and I absolutely adore it

DESCENDANTS

Yeah I’m pretty sure we’ve all probably read most of these but nevertheless

Blessed Art Thou Among Women | Mature | Gen | One Shot | 1.3k

Claudine and the Catholic virtues

Descendants: A Different Tale by @kanzakurawrites | Teen | Gen | 9/? | 17.9k

I think this altered my brain chemistry tbh Mal deserves the best parents

Dark Fire by @dragoneyes618

Yeah just go read these if you like Claudine

Obligatory @isleofdarkness shoutout I am quite literally obsessed with this au

Let Dead Men Lie by @dragoneyes618 | General | One Shot | 2.6k

Everyone takes the blame for killing Frollo. Ben is struggling.

Death threats on Dead Beauty by @panthera-tigris-venenata | Mature | Gen | 2/3 | 2.7k

Listen I think Harry should be this feral all the time

the devil had done for the rest | Teen | Gen | One Shot | 2.5k

Harriet! Harry! Yeah that’s all.

Cursed || Harriet Hook | Teen | One Shot | 10.7k

Any Harriet content makes me insane and this is no different. Harriet backstory.

THE MECHANISMS

love in his own eyes by @nonbinarylowkey | General | Gen & Multi | One Shot | 5k

Arthur’s first night as a father

(im)mortality by @nonbinarylowkey | Teen | Multi | One Shot | 7.7k

Arthur handles Mordred’s “death” in a perfectly normal way. Sometimes I think about this fic and take physic damage.

From The Wastes His Child Came (Bringing Revelations Of All Things) | Teen | Other | 3/3 | 7k

Arthur forgets trans people exist and finds Mordred. I’ve reread this so many times I adore it.

la soleil passe son bras par la fenêtre by @ladydragonkiller | General | Gen | One Shot | 6.4k

Brian falls from the gallows and stops the Battle of Camlann, as he should

Inverse Suspension | General | Gen & Multi | One Shot | 3.4k

Mordred frees Brian, and everything turns out okay

no path past kindred’s stain | Teen | Multi | 3/3 | 9.8k

Pendragon backstories my beloved <3

[citylighten]

BEGINNING // PREVIOUS // NEXT

@cartelheir @wannabecatwriter @dresdendarlin @crsentfairy @santanasimsx @thewalkingplumbob @weirdosalike @nightlifeseries @ellemant @99simproblems @sharpiegirl @lushnightjelly @reverieinsimlish @javitrulovesims @eslanes @waitingforspoons @miss-may-i @rainymoodlet @quesims @keesimziaa @lynzishell @nilonne @percosim @havenroyals @digital-deluxe @swiftviolets @stevihj @sheplayswithlifee @joannebernice @ardeney-sims @straightouttasimulation

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Male-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Stories and Dolls

A/N – Okay, so I just quit my job and I’m freefalling right now. Time to channel my anxiety into fanfiction. Also, this chapter is darker so I’m raising the rating to M.

Warnings – MENTIONS OF RAPE, S/A, ABUSE, KIDNAPPING, AND TORTURE.

Rating – M

TAG-LIST: @lxkeee @moonieper @sle3pyh3ad2 @gomib0 @mixplara @ica1

FEMALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Lucifer had to admit, he was getting used to you. He enjoyed making breakfast a show in the morning, entertaining you with his parlour tricks and general showmanship. You were like a child, easily amused by flashing lights or some sleight of hand.

And of a night, he also found your company less than objectionable, whether you were reading a book in the library with Spick and Span curled up at your feet, in front of a roaring fire (you had conjured them medallions with their names on them, so as to tell them apart), or those nights when you came back from visiting the hotel and regaled him with the tales of its inhabitants. Lucifer was starting to like Angel Dust, even if he didn’t believe the porn star actually had a chance at redemption. Nifty also seemed entertaining, Husk could be a source of wisdom and comfort in equal measure, and Alastair… Well, he was there too, taking up too much of your attention.

Yet, despite his newfound almost-friendship with you, he couldn’t help thinking about what you had said on your first night in the manor.

‘You don’t even know why I’m down here, and you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same.’

You were right. He didn’t know why you were there, and that was driving him crazy. He wanted to like you. Truly, he did. But how could he like you when he didn’t know your sin? People got sent to Hell for a reason! They wasted their free will. They sold drugs to kids, murdered people, trafficked victims, tricked and swindled others. For all Lucifer knew, you were there for drowning puppies.

The thought made him deeply uncomfortable.

Okay. He would ask you about it. No big deal. People probably talked about why they went to Hell a lot right? That was a normal conversation for Sinners, probably…

Lucifer wasn’t entirely wrong in thinking that. However, nearly all Sinners lied about what they went to Hell for, making it even more brutal or horrifying to try and earn some extra credit among their fellow Demons. Someone who had killed one person would claim to have been a serial killer. A low-life drug dealer would paint themselves as a mafioso with a drug empire, and arsonists… They didn’t have to lie much, as fires tended to spread quickly and they generally were as psychotic as they claimed to be.

It was all basic self-preservation in Hell. Be the toughest person there, so nobody could find new ways to hurt you. Kill or be killed (figuratively, since Demons couldn’t technically kill other Demons), sink or swim, do unto others before they did unto you.

Right. When Lucifer next saw you, he would ask.

“Hey Lucifer,” You said upon returning to the manor from the Hotel, “You doing okay?”

Lucifer froze. He hadn’t expected to see you so soon. Fuck.

“Hey bitch,” Lucifer greeted, feeling entirely awkward, yet trying to feign confidence.

“Uh… Back at ya,” You reciprocated confusedly.

“Sooooo,” Lucifer started, steepling his fingers together, and holding them to his mouth, his brow knitting together worriedly, “I have a question for you.”

“Oh.” You were surprised by Lucifer’s admission. While the two of you generally made conversation, he didn’t tend to ask too much. Besides, in the preface of announcing his question, it seemed that he was likely to ask you something personal.

You waved your hand casually, indicating that he was free to ask away.

“How- Uh how was everything at the Hotel? Is my little girl doing okay?”

As you smiled and fell into a description of how Charlie was doing and her general excitement about her meeting with Heaven, Lucifer cursed himself. He knew that what he wanted to ask was important, but it was just so personal. Well, at least he was happy to hear about his daughter. There were also some other colourful stories included in your conversation.

Finally, you wrapped up the conversation, effectively ending it when you casually said, “Anyway, I’m going to get ready for bed. I’m real tired, you know?”

Lucifer didn’t say much as you left, he was still pondering whether you might be a puppy killer or relative and accomplice to that Jeffrey Dahmer fellow, or something equally disturbing. If not… Why were you there?

Having gotten ready for bed, you sighed, letting the day’s events wash over you, lifting a weight off your shoulders. You were tired, but the day had been a good productive one. Moreover, it was nice to end the day by standing out on the balcony, overlooking the rest of Hell.

There was a time when you had died, during which you stood atop a building in the main streets watching all the fights, looting, and maiming, and you were horrified. Then, you met Charlie, and she had been so wonderfully pure, good, and non-judgemental that you had to agree with her. Hell could be a home to you, and all the other Sinners who lived there, and Sinners could always change for the better.

While you held onto the balcony railing, leaning over it, and staring at the red horizon, Lucifer approached your open door at the entrance of your room, knocking despite the open invitation to come in.

You turned and smiled at him, your smile putting him at ease.

“Come in,” You offered.

He did so, crossing the large room and taking quick mental notes of the changes you had made. They were minor, but they spoke of your personality. You had lit scented candles, brightening the room – the official scent name was Tapioca Tit-play.

Subconsciously, Lucifer worked his magic to remove the off-smell that he had placed there; it was redundant when your candles covered it, and he didn’t mind your company so much anymore.

He also observed several other items. There was a photograph of everyone at the Hotel, though you had drawn Alastor on the end in crayon since he didn’t love to be captured in photographs (he could bear it unlike being filmed, but he didn’t care much for it.)

Wrapped around your bedposts were nightlights to keep out the dark. On your bed, you had a teddy of one of Sir Pentious’ egg-bois, a gift from him. Husk had gifted you with a bottle of his best Whiskey, though it remained unopened on the nightstand. There was a cockroach/daisy hybrid necklace wrapped around a book. The candles were from Angel Dust. Beneath your pillow was a dagger, gifted by Vaggie, for your protection. Alastor had given you a collection of books from the store in Cannibal Town, including several that were rumoured to have been stolen from Heaven’s library, though nobody was certain where that rumour started or if it was even true, though there were no copies of the books anywhere else in Hell.

Although Lucifer had no way of knowing these items were all presents from your friends at the Hazbin Hotel, he could tell that you cared deeply for the odd assortment by their placement on the two bedside tables; they had been positioned with care, and were well looked after.

Then, his eye caught the rubber duck, slightly hidden behind the picture frame. He remembered making that one. As a hellhound imitation, it was meant to teleport to whoever needed it most inside the Manor, offering protection should they come under attack. Naturally, he and his family didn’t need such protection, but he had been experimenting with what powers he might imbue unto yet another duck.

He decided not to mention it as he joined you on the balcony, looking you over in your pyjamas.

You also spared him a glance, noting that he seemed more relaxed. Although he was still in his usual attire, he had removed his top-hat-crown and his overcoat, revealing the waistcoat and shirt beneath; the sleeves were rolled up, giving him a more casual appearance.

“Hell’s skies are beautiful, aren’t they,” You stated, returning your gaze to the horizon.

Lucifer looked up, but all he saw was Heaven, the home that didn’t want him.

“(Y/N),” He started, forcing himself to look down, so he wouldn’t have to stare at the painfully beautiful golden glow above.

“Hm?”

“How did you end up here?”

Your grip tightened on the railing drawing Lucifer’s gaze to the whites of your knuckles.

Your whole body became tense and you answered with a ragged breath, “I died.”

“Yes but-” Lucifer was about to lead into the question of your sins, but you spoke up again, seemingly misunderstanding the question as you continued, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“I was- I was murdered.”

Lucifer could have explained that the cause of your death wasn’t what he had been driving at, but now he was darkly fascinated. If you were the same kind-hearted, warm person in life, why would anyone wish to bring about your death?

He remained silent as you began recounting the manner in which you had been killed.

“I had a friend,” You started slowly, taking steady breaths between each part of the story that followed as if it would make it any easier. “I mean- I- I thought he was my friend. I loved him. He knew that. He counted on it.”

“I thought that he travelled for work. That’s what he told me. It’s why he was always coming and going. But no… He was just looking for more people like me. He found people. Made us fall for him. Then he- he took me out on a date. Blindfolded me. Said it was a surprise. I- I trusted him, but the blindfold just made it easier for him to- He knocked me out.”

You subconsciously touched the back of your head, remembering the blow that had come with no warning.

Lucifer turned to you, one hand holding onto the railing, the other planted firmly at his side.

“Did he-” He started to ask.

You shook your head. “It wasn’t rape. It was worse.”

You shivered, waiting until you were certain you weren’t going to vomit. Then you continued, your skin ashy.

“I woke up in a- It was like a cinderblock cell, but it had been sort of decorated to look like a fancy suite?”

You recalled the room. It was damp, and the floor was cheaply produced concrete, given away by the amount of air bubbles which had never been levelled and now pocked the surface, like a teenager with bad acne. The cinderblock walls were easy to see, though some talented artist had been paid to paint it with the likeness of the Ritz hotel or somewhere equally fancy. While that had made it look better, it was still clearly a cinderblock wall; then again, you can’t polish a turd, but you can roll it in glitter.

You had been handcuffed to a chair in the centre of the room. Your clothes had been taken, and you had been dressed in a skimpy shortened tuxedo, with a fitted vest instead of a jacket. You remembered screaming till your voice was raw. You screamed so much that you ended up spitting flecks of blood, but nobody came to save you.

“I- I was tied up,” You said simply, downplaying the memory to Lucifer, more for your own sake than his, though he could see the pain behind your eyes.  

Lucifer didn’t interrupt your story, but his anger was growing. Behind him his tail lashed furiously, his eyes became flaming red, and his fangs became sharper. You hadn’t noticed, you were lost in memory, and you had yet to look his way since beginning your story.

You sighed, thinking of the torture, humiliation, and suffering which followed, all at the hands of one man. It wasn’t your captor. It was who he had sold you to.

“It- I was- They were making snuff films. I don’t know how many people died there before or after me but- I was sold to an American. He- He liked to cut things. It was a while before- I don’t know if I bled out, or if my heart stopped, maybe both?”

For the first time, your skin changed colour, turning from your regular human shade to a pale seaweed-green. Against the colourful backdrop, Lucifer could see your now blinding white glowing scars. Upon your death they remained hidden, completely invisible, but now you were distressed… You seemingly did have something of a Demonic appearance after all.

You were a ragdoll.

There wasn’t a part of your body that hadn’t been cut, or originally sliced off, only to be repaired in death. In all likelihood, your real body was probably burned, buried, or dissolved in acid. In Hell, your scars were the stitches that held your body together. Lucifer now understood your human appearance since like a real ragdoll, you were good at playing dress-up. He bet that if you explored your abilities, you would have been able to look like anyone, a skin-changer, but you had adopted your appearance in life; it was likely an accident caused by the trauma of your memories.

“(Y/N),” Lucifer said through gritted teeth. He wanted to be comforting, but he was already thinking of all the ways he would punish your killer and any accomplice he may have had. There were worse things than Death in hell; he would torture those bastards for eternity, and then when he finally grew bored, he would end them with angelic weaponry, wiping their souls from existence, leaving no trace of such monsters.

You didn’t turn to face your King, who was now in his full Demonic form, his rage at its peak.

“Just go,” You murmured despondently, staring over the balcony, and down to the ground. A long drop and a short stop… It was a shame it wouldn’t kill you; at least the pain would end if you died.

“But-” Lucifer reached you to put a hand on your shoulder, his wings almost curling around you as if to envelop you.

“I- I would like to be alone. Please.”

Lucifer hesitantly withdrew his hand, “I’m sorry.”

That was all he said before walking away, leaving you alone.

You wished that you could have been left to wallow, but your phone soon buzzed and you opted to check it in case it was an emergency.

Retrieving it from the bed, you found a message from Charlie.

“EMERGENCY. ANGEL DUST. RELAPSE. GET OVER HERE. PLEASE!”

Damn it! If Charlie was texting you for this, it meant that Husk was either the cause or he wasn’t around to be the solution. Moreover, while Charlie would want to assist her friend, she was likely the last person Angel Dust wanted to see; sometimes, though she was well-intentioned, she just didn’t understand such issues or she could be a bit much.

Still stuck in your ragdoll body, you ran back to the balcony and vaulted over the edge. It wasn’t a smooth landing, and it hurt a lot. Anyone else would have broken their bones, but when you were like this, there wasn’t anything else that could be broken. Everything had already been torn off you. Ignoring the pain, you ran until you found a taxi. You took it to the Hotel.

[aglaias-blog]

"Kindred Spirits" Chapt.5

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Author's note: In this chapter the reader's last Maiden's Day is described. I couldn't find many details about how this day would be celebrated, so I added some of my own ideas.

TW: afab!reader, soulmate AU, description of a panic attack, talk of religion/religious practices, homesickness, arranged marriage

Summary: Being a highborn lady, a love match is out of the question for you, much less a match with your soulmate. You're not even told about the intricacies of what meeting your soulmate entails. When you are tricked into a betrothal to Aemond Targaryen by your parents, you don't know how to handle things. The Prince's cold demeanor is off-putting, but he is also the only one who is willing to help you, the only one you can depend on. Just how is all this going to play out?

Kindred Spirits Masterlist

You awoke with a jolt, trying to fight the invisible vice that tightened more and more around your chest, forcing the air from your body. Struggling to breathe, you turned on your side, using your arm as support. Each breath you took seemed to be exhaled immediately, never reaching your lungs. The darkness of the room swirled around you, making your head spin – the void would swallow you whole!

Your head hung low, as the chocking neckline of your nightgown was now under the violent attack of your clawing hand. You were going to die, you were sure. The panic had made you numb to the way your nails dug into the delicate skin of your neck, over and over again, in a desperate attempt to relieve you from this suffocating nightmare.

Finally, you felt the fabric tear. The arm that was supporting you on the bed nearly gave out when you coughed, taking your first trembling breath. Protectively, you placed your hand on your chest - your heart was hammering painfully against its cage.

Slowly, you tried to move your fingers in your other hand - it had cramped into a painful fist, grabbing the bed linen. The sweat on your brow had cooled by now, but your breathing was still shallow.

You desperately needed light, to fight the dark, to chase away the demons that had possessed you mere seconds ago--

At the first feeling that you might retch, you stumbled out of bed – but instantly found yourself on the cold floor when your legs gave out underneath you. More than the pang of pain in your knees you felt the sting of tears, pricking behind your eyes. However, you brought yourself to crawl to your nightstand, trembling fingers feeling for the spill and candle in the dark. Finally, you had found both, and with wobbly legs you got up, taking small steps towards the fireplace.

The once lively crackling flames were dead, leaving only the last glowing embers. You lit the spill, and then the candle – sighing in relief when you felt its warmth on your face, the golden light spilling from the floor onto the walls. Now that you were safe, you couldn’t hold back the first sob that forced its way out of you.

You had convinced your mind of the inevitability of marriage - but your heart hadn’t understood.

The months you had spend learning about „wifely duties and virtues“, the lessons in leading a household, had all been in vain, you realised now. They hadn’t prepared you at all for what it truly meant to be sent to a foreign part of Westeros, where you knew nobody, what it felt like to be entirely on your own – left without the comfort of your parents, your siblings, your septa. It was eat or die here, sink or swim.

You couldn’t allow yourself to be – you always had to be watchful, throwing wary glances over your shoulder. And you only had been here for three damned days! You didn’t dare imagine what it would be like when you had to live here. When you would be a married woman. The thought of it alone made you whisper a quiet plea to the Maiden.

At dinner the sweet wine had lowered your guard, making you be your honest self – more open, genuine – you loved connecting with people and hearing their stories. Until the moment that you sensed that the things the Lords were asking were only disguised as simple questions – but were aiming for something much more dangerous, indeed.

At home the courtiers were no different, you just hadn’t needed to do the sorting yourself – your father had done it for you back then, shown you whom you could trust, and those you couldn’t trust hadn’t dared to come near you under the watchful eyes of your parents.

But here you had to fend for yourself. With a future husband who was aloof and cold, whom you could never share a bond with. Who had stared at you like an ox at a new gate when you and Maelor had tried to lift his spirits. Though, it was the first time you had seen him smile. The expression had looked foreign on his face.

Did he even want children? No, did he even like children? You assumed that he wanted children, being part of the royal family meant that producing heirs was a primary concern. But did he like them? You were unsure if you wanted to have children with someone who was as arrogant as him, who didn’t know how to show kindness to a toddler!

Yet, with marriage unpreventably came children, that much you knew. Your septa had taught you that after marriage, a child would follow within a year, usually. She had refused to tell you more about it, when you had asked for details, as it was an „inappropraite topic of conversation“.

You couldn’t stomach the thought of bearing his children – beautiful children, yes, but children who would turn out as haughty and withdrawn as their father. The humid cold that seemed to always permeate these thick walls appeared to have found its way into your heart.

Your only light of hope was your return home. Admittedly, it was only to officially come back to the Red Keep as his bride. The three weeks you would be given were far from sufficient, the journey alone would take a week! But it was enough time for you to gather your affairs, to bid your family farewell. Enough time for them to prepare your celebratory procession through King’s Landing at your arrival. Enough time to organize everything for the...marital rite, for the feast that was to follow.

The mere thought of leaving your siblings made another painful sob wrack through your body. You wouldn’t be able to see them nearly as often as you’d like. Your loyalty would lie with the royal family, and not with your own - your priority would be the realm, rather than seeing your home again.

Leaving your husband’s side would rarely be allowed, and travelling without a guardian was unheard of – a guardian which would be your husband, or a trusted member of his family or the court. And the way things were looking now, you knew that he would debar you the pleasure of making the journey with you, only to see your family. Any travels that weren’t related to business of the crown would be refused, you were sure.

Yet, should your siblings come to see you, they would be obligated to treat you as a member of the royal family. With marriage, your husband would be your family, and you would be royal – and were expected to be treated as such, even by your own family. Maybe something could be done about that, though. The relationship you had to the Queen seemed to have been a good one, from the start. Surely, she could make some changes to the royal protocol?

The sudden knock at the door startled you from your thoughts. Who could that be? A quick glance to the window told you that the sun hadn’t come up yet, it was much too early for anyone to be awake.

„My lady?“, you heard Alanna’s gentle voice behind the door which then slowly opened.

„My lady, are you alright?“ She sounded much more worried now that she saw you slumped over in front of the dead fireplace. Her worry quickly turned into serious concern when she noticed the state of your nightgown - and then the rough traces on your neck of where you had torn it.

Putting the garments she was carrying on the bed, she was by your side instantly, her hand on your back rubbing soothing circles – the warmth of her touch burning through the thin fabric of your nightgown made you realise that you were shivering.

„My lady, you must get up, you’ll fall ill if you stay on the floor“, Alanna said quietly, helping you to your feet and guiding you to your bed, putting the thick blanket around your shoulders hastily.

„What happened?“, she asked softly, taking your hands in hers, trying to warm them up.

You didn’t know what to say. Almost ashamed of the state you were in, you cast your eyes down.

„I couldn’t breathe - I- I don’t think- I’m not sure that I can do this“, you finally brought yourself to say. Your quivering voice sounded strange in your ears.

She understood immediately. You didn’t need to say more – your wet lashes and tear-dimmed eyes told her enough.

„If you truly do not wish to go forth with this betrothal, it can be called off“, she said, searching your eyes for any sign of real doubt. You knew, as well as her, that it would be scandalous to call off a royal engagement. Wars had been declared over broken betrothals! Even if it was against the law of the Seven Kingdoms to marry an unwilling person, rejecting a marriage rarely happened among nobility. You knew that the House Targaryen would see it as a severe insult should you withdraw now. Who in their right mind would refuse marriage with a Prince?

You also knew that you couldn’t avoid this altogether. The proceedings of a betrothal and marriage would always follow the same pattern, no matter into what family you would marry.

„I cannot break this betrothal“, you said quietly then. Doing so would put your family in jeopardy and shame on your house. Your father would never forgive you if you ruined the pact he so excellently negotiated. And you would never have a better opportunity than this – marrying into the royal family was an honour.

Seeing you so lost in your own thoughts, Alanna offered you a reassuring smile, hoping to cover her concern for you. It didn’t work - you saw right through her.

Then, your gaze fell on the gown Alanna had brought with her. You recognised the thick white fabric immediately. Right. Maiden’s Day. You had completely forgotten about it, whisked up in the chaos of yesterday. This was the reason why she had come to wake you so early.

The moment your maid heard the sound of heavy steps outside, she went to the fireside quickly, taking the candle and spill and putting it back on your nightstand. Not a second later, the servant knocked at the door. She had come to light the candles and the fire again. When she saw the thick blanket around you, she apologised profusely, hurrying to bring warmth to the chamber as quickly as possible.

Gently, you reassured her that you had been warm all throughout the night. It was a lie. Ignoring Alanna’s knowing look, you hoped that she would believe it.

After the servant had left, you got up, standing in the middle of the room, while Alanna dressed you. The dress weighed you down, the fabric feeling rough and heavy on your body.

Today was a holy day, meant for special worship of the Maiden. All noble maidens believing in the Seven Who Are One were expected to go to the sept before sunrise, showing reverence for Her, lighting candles and singing songs of innocence.

Tradition demanded that you came before the Maiden plainly, you were allowed no jewellery; no ornaments and no pins were to be used on your hair, except for the pinning of your veil. Your woollen dress was to be simple and unadorned, without colour.

The collar went up to your jaw - covering the swollen traces of where your night gown had chafed your neck when you had struggled to rip it.

Alanna was now carefully fixing the thin veil on your head. She had done so every year on this holy day ever since you were twelve years old. The age your parents had thought appropriate for you to have your own maid. When she had come into the service of the House Barryn, she had only been a couple years older than you. Alanna had accompanied you from childhood into majority, gone wherever you had, dried your tears and shared your laughter. And now she was there for you, on your last Maiden’s Day as a girl.

Come next year’s celebration of the Maiden, you would be a married woman.

-

The cold night air had immediately found its way into your bones the moment you stepped outside. Your woollen dress did nothing to protect you against the bitter winds from the sea.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you quickly were on your way to the middle bailey, Alanna close behind you. She carried the parchment garlands, and the heavy candle that you would light at the feet of the Maiden. You were not allowed to talk to her – yet another tradtion. No word was to be spoken by the noble maiden the morning of Maiden’s Day, until she was standing before the Maiden herself.

You had gotten to know the Red Keep in broad daylight - now, in the early morning hours, you almost didn’t recognize it.

The unsteady flickering light from the torches on the walls wasn’t able to illuminate the courtyards like bright sunlight did.

Still, the cold forced you to move forward, past a group of goldcloaks patrolling the castle, towards where you thought the sept to be.

It was when you got a whiff from the stench from the pigyard and the stables, that you knew that you were going in the right direction.

And there it was – the royal sept.

A septa was already waiting for you on top of the steps leading up to the intricately carved doors. Her white gown seemed to be glowing in the moonlight.

It took everything in you to not run up those steps – you were sure that you never had experienced a Maiden’s Day as bitingly cold as this.

Once you arrived at the top, you took the candle and garlands from Alanna’s hands with shaking fingers, thanking her worldlessly. She would have to wait outside the sept, as she wasn’t noble. Further, no men were allowed in the sept on Maiden’s Day, as well as mothers - and whores.

With a stern look, the septa opened one of the doors for you, not saying a word. She would stand guard in front of the sept, letting no-one enter.

The first thing you felt when stepping foot into the sept was warmth – finally, finally. Two massive iron fire bowls were positioned at either side of the entrance, and on either side of the altars of the Seven.

An amazed smile formed on your face. You had never seen a sept like this before. Of course, the sept you had at home was beautiful, but this-- it didn’t compare. The high windows were made of colourful glass, laid into intricate mosaics, depicting scenes from The Seven-Pointed Star. Your eyes flitted from one golden inlay glimmering in the walls to another, then to the many silver fabric panels, almost touching the floor.

The farther you stepped into the sept, the smaller you felt - the white marble statues of the Seven surrounding you simply looked too imposing.

They were all looking down at you, as if they had been waiting for your arrival.

Yet, you still felt heartbreakingly lonely in their company. This was your first Maiden’s Day alone.

At home, you had always celebrated with your sisters. The atmosphere had been solemn, yet giddy at the same time, when you had been getting ready together, going to the sept together – singing the songs of innocence for the Maiden – together.

And here you were in front of the Maiden – all alone.

Had you known then that it would be your last holy day celebration with them, you would have tried more urgently to burn it into your mind, would have treated the day with more seriousness.

Gently, you put down the candle you were holding. Back home you would have put the parchment garlands around the Maiden’s neck, but here the statue was too tall, you weren’t able to reach that high. So you put them at Her feet on the pedestal. You had always felt so close to Her, but now She seemed so far away that you were unsure that She would even hear your prayers.

Still, you lit a slender piece of wood with the flames of the fire bowl next to the Maiden’s altar, and then went over to the white candle. Kneeling down, you said a silent prayer for your sisters, before lighting the candle.

Then, standing up, you took a deep breath. How could you sing now? No sound would come from your throat, choked up as you were. Tears gathered in your eyes when you thought of your sisters once more – and your mother. You were sure that she was praying for you right now, asking the Maiden for your well-being, to keep you safe, hoping to have made the right choice when she had betrothed you.

You wanted to go to pieces at the thought.

But you had to sing before sunrise, if you wanted to show any reverence for the Maiden at all. So you swallowed your tears, before quietly beginning to sing the songs of innocence that you had been taught in childhood.

You missed holding your sisters’ hands while singing – you clasped your own, trying your best to soothe yourself. Admittedly, you struggled.

They would think of you now, wouldn’t they? Surely, they were missing you as much as you missed them? They would notice the hole in their circle when they sang the songs of innocence, certainly? You were all looking at the same beautiful face of God now, singing the same chants, you knew that. Only, that they were thousands of miles away.

-

The sun had come up over the sea, setting the Red Keep aglow, basking King’s Landing in the morning light.

The first tender rays shone through the crystals in the high windows of the sept – making many little rainbows appear on the walls.

You only noticed the light of day, when it shone directly on the innocent face of the Maiden that you had been staring at.

You had been begging her to watch over you, throwing yourself at her feet you asked her to keep you safe, to give you the courage to go through with this betrothal. But you also had to thank her for this marriage proposal, as afraid as you were of the unknown that came with it. It was more than suitable – as a little girl it had been your childish heart’s biggest dream to become a Princess, but as you had gotten older, you knew that there was little probability that it would come true. And now that it was, you could only smile melancholically - thinking back to that innocent girl you had been, unaware of what it meant to marry in the first place, much less into the royal family.

One glance to the white candle told you that your time was almost over. It was close to burning down completely. When it would go out, you could leave the sept.

You sang one last song for Her, as a goodbye. When you finished, the light of the candle had drowned in a puddle of wax.

Talking to the Maiden had been cathartic, you thought, as you slowly made your way to the entrance of the sept. It was purifying, in a way. You felt much closer to Her now, having left all your sorrows with Her.

Your attention was quickly with the outside world again, when you heard people talking outside the doors.

„You must leave, now!“, your hear what you assumed to be the septa’s barking voice. Surely, she wasn’t talking to Alanna like that? How dare she! Hastily, you opened one of the doors, eager to see what was going on.

But only the septa was standing there - next to Alanna who looked so content that it made you wary. The smile she tried to hide didn’t fit the fact that she had been standing outside the whole time, in the company of a strict septa.

You thanked the septa warmly for having stood guard at the doors of the sept.

„Of course“, she simply responded, only sparing you a stern look. What had happened before? It wasn’t your fault that she was so ill-humoured, was it? You only thanked her again, before linking arms with Alanna, almost dragging her down the steps of the sept to be out of earshot of the septa.

While going back to your quarters, you started a hushed conversation.

„What happened?“, you whispered, trying to contain your laughter at the septa’s seriousness. „Was the septa this stern the whole time you were with her?“

Alanna only giggled, nodding.

„Oh, you poor thing!“, you exclaimed theatrically, putting your hand over your heart. „It must have been dreadfully boring. Be honest though, how much did she actually talk to you?“

„Not a word!“, Alanna responded, making you both break out into laughter.

-

Once back in your quarters, you shut the door behind you and simply looked at Alanna curiously.

„What really happened back at the sept? You know, I heard the septa speaking to somebody, but when I left the sept, it didn’t seem like she was talking to you.“

The mischievous grin on your maid’s face only made your anticipation grow. What wasn’t she telling you?

„Alanna! Say something!“, you urged her to finally spill the truth.

„Well…“, she said, looking at you suggestively.

„It was the Prince.“

„What!?“, you shrieked, slapping your hand over your mouth, as if to shove the sound back into your mouth. You grabbed Alanna by her shoulders, making her look at you.

„What?“, you repeated, whispering now.

Alanna watched you with a satisfied smile, this was exactly the reaction she had expected.

„What did he want?“

„It seemed that he forgot that it was Maiden’s Day, my lady. He wanted to enter the sept, the septa kept him from doing so, and then he just-“, she started giggling again, „he just stood there. Listening to you sing. The septa had to chase him away!“

A blush slowly crept onto your face. He had heard you sing the songs of innocence? Why did you feel flattered that he wanted to stay to hear you at the sept?

You wanted to slap some sense into yourself!

It was just another thing he knew about you now, he was collecting little elements about your personality, like gemstones, while you still only knew about him what he wanted you to know!

„Ugh, he enfuriates me“, you decided to say, turning around to let Alanna loosen the ties of your dress - ignoring her failed attempt to hide her smile.

Taglist: @fan-goddess @toodlesxcuddles @heavenly1927

Chapter Six

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Introduction Post (Updated 5/26/2024)

Hello strangers and acquaintances, friends and enemies, welcome to the blog! I'm HotCheetoHatred (or just Cheeto, if you prefer) she/her, fanfic writer, broke college student, and mayonnaise hater! I mainly engage with Linked Universe, but I may occasionally reblog other things. My ask box is open!

For more information, including common tags and a planned chapter list for my fic Blood Drops on Roses, and links (heh) to some of my other works, see below the cut.

Common Tags:

My general tags:

#cheetoasks #cheetotalks #cheetoanswers

Tags for my writing:

#bdor #blooddropsonroses #cheetowrites #wild's wolf #lu lc au #linked universe lethal company au

Other common tags:

#not mine #cheetoficrec #pretty art #miracle whip propaganda #cursed consumables with cheeto #blessed consumables with cheeto

Chapter Lists (Subject to Change):

Blood Drops on Roses (Arc 1):

The Beginning 

A Quiet Morning 

Chasing Cuccos 

An Oddity 

Negotiations Pt 1 

Negotiations Pt 2 

Broken Pt 1 

Broken Pt 2

Little White Lies

Reunion

The Matriarch

Doubts Pt 1 

Doubts Pt 2 

Failure

A Trail of Blood and Shadows Pt 1

A Trail of Blood and Shadows Pt 2

A Trail of Blood and Shadows Pt 3 

A Trail of Blood and Shadows Pt 4

Settling In

Bargaining: The Third Stage of Grief

A Stressful Night (D:<)

Noble's Warning

The Wolf

Differences

A Friendly Spar

Rito

A Monster Fight (D:<)

Stitches

Guardians

Hateno Fort (D:<)

An Unfriendly Spar

A Covert Meeting (D:<)

Bows and Beetles; Stars

Too Quiet

A Frantic Search

A Call for Help

Heal

[Redacted]

Blood Drops on Roses (Arc 2):

A Midnight Snack

Little Talks Pt 1

Little Talks Pt 2

A Conspiracy

Rusting on the Forest Floor

Omissions

Sink or Swim

[Redacted]

Cooking Pt 1

Cooking Pt 2

Lunch and Dinner

The Heavy Mantle of a Hero

Ruse

Ancestry

Onto the Next Adventure

Centenarians

A Question of History

A Golden Rupee

Home

An Esteemed Guest Pt 1

An Esteemed Guest Pt 2

An Alley Fight

Fireworks Pt 1

Fireworks Pt 2

A Soft Night

Trust

Resolutions (D:<)

[Redacted] (D:<)

An Interesting Request

Returning

Scolding Pt 1

Scolding Pt 2

Interrogation

Lies

The Last Straw

[Redacted]

Storm

A Last Stand

Settling In

Warnings

A Sweet Memory

The Haircut (?)

Exchange

Blood Drops on Roses (Arc 3): Coming Soon!

:D

Prologue (Really Subject to Change):

The Yiga and The Sheikah (7/7)

A Haircut (5/5)

Ballrooms and Buffoonery (1/1)

The Sword that Learned to Speak (3/?)

The Wolf that Learned to Sign

The Trap (1/3)

The "Prank"

Shadows (2/2)

Memories

Horseshoes and Storm-y Tempers

Runaway

The Wolf in the City

ABC's and Black Eyes

Alla'yall'd've

Revali's Gale

Daruk's Protection

Urbosa's Fury

Mipha's Grace

After the Calamity

No Air to Breathe

FebuWhump 2024 (Unfinished):

Day 1 — Helplessness (Time POV & Legend)

Day 9 — Bees (Wild POV & Wind)

Day 10 — Killing In Self Defense (Sky POV & Warrior)

Day 12 — Semiconscious (Four POV)

Who Heals the Healer? (3/3)

The Captain’s Sacrifice (4/4)

Cracks In the Ice (2/2)

The Yiga (1/3)

The Dangers of Dungeon Diving (1/2)

Ongoing AU's:

Wild’s Wolf (4/20?) (Started as part of Febuwhump)

Linked Universe AU: Lethal Company (2/18)

Congrats on making it this far, go drink some water. The list above will update alongside new releases. I will strive to release one chapter of BDOR or Prologue every weekend, and if I am putting out a lot of Prologue, know that the main fic is fighting me (even though it's already 90% written, it's just rude to me D:) and send help XD. I'll also be trying to keep up with the LC LU AU releases once a week, we'll see how it goes.

[goldenblu]

hold your fire (by the throat) - chapter 5

One Piece | Zosan | Post-Wano AU where Sanji slowly loses his emotions

Chapter 5: sink or swim

The hand not holding the cigarette raises up and touches his hair briefly. He says, quietly, “Are you going to fulfill your promise?”

Preview:

Zoro’s not lost. Clearly. He’s just wandering around because he feels like it. He’s securing the perimeter, that’s what he’s doing. 

This excuse immediately collapses, of course, when he extends his Observation Haki and almost feels relieved that he senses a familiar presence approaching. 

“Oi! Shitty marimo!” 

Almost. 

“The fuck do you want?” Zoro injects annoyance to his voice as he pivots around in a half-circle, but the rest of the barbs on his tongue disintegrate as Sanji comes into his view. 

The cook looks irate, as he always does whenever he gets it into his head that Zoro’s gotten lost. But he also looks haggard and unsettled and maybe just a little bit afraid, face set into a grimace, eyes haunted by something only he can see. Zoro doesn’t know what triggered that reaction, although he can hazard a good guess. “Your hair changed.”

“It did?”

Ah, shit. He didn’t already know?

Sanji pulls his bangs away from his face, squinting at it in the dim light of the moon. His face, which already had an ashen sort of pallor to it, pales even further. Then he pats frantically at his eyebrow. Why, Zoro can’t say, since the curly brow looks normal to him. It doesn’t seem to be much of a comfort for the cook, who looks torn between relief and distress.

Letting go of his hair, Sanji says, “I need you to do it.”

Don’t jump to conclusions, Zoro reminds himself. Assess the situation. “Do what?”

Sanji stalks over and jabs a finger into his chest. “Don’t play dumb. You know what I fucking mean.”

Never one to back down, Zoro jabs a finger right back. “What I know is that you’re an idiot, curly, but this seems a bit much, even for you. It’s just hair. We already knew about this.”

“It’s not just that,” Sanji snaps. Then he drags a hand down his face, suddenly looking weary. “I can’t trust myself anymore. Now is the time.”

“If you can’t even trust yourself, then how can I trust you when you say shit like that?” Zoro rolls his eyes. “What did you do, forget to buy meat for Luffy? I always knew you weren’t a first-rate cook like you claimed.” 

Sanji looks dangerously close to setting himself, and then Zoro, on fire. Zoro kind of wishes he would just do it already. “As if a tasteless moron like you would know anything about cooking.” 

Zoro adds another point to the No Kill column. “What is it, then? Did you say no to Nami or something? You should do that more often, you know, instead of letting that witch take advantage of you.”

Flames blaze to life, and Zoro blocks Sanji’s foot an inch away from his face. Heat washes over his skin. Fucking finally. “Don’t say that about Nami-san, you brain-dead oaf, or I’ll kick your teeth in.”

No Kill is looking pretty favorable right about now. “If you don’t spit it out, I’m just going to keep guessing. You finally listened to Chopper and swore off cigarettes? You accidentally threw away some food scraps?” The vein in Sanji’s forehead pulses with irritation as Zoro continues. “You finally admitted I’m better than you? You kicked a woman? You didn’t feed someone who was hungry?”

To his surprise, Sanji actually falters at that last one, his next kick losing so much steam that Zoro barely has to put any effort into batting it aside. He doesn’t take the opening to counterattack, though, choosing instead to ask incredulously, “What, you actually didn’t feed someone?” 

(continue on AO3)