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writeyouin · 9 months ago

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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.

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daechwitatamic · 6 months ago

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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!

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ladykailitha · 12 days ago

Text

Of Butterflies and Backstrokes Part 11

Hey guys! We're back!! It is feeling like this story is almost done, but every time I finish a chapter I go "This has two more chapters in it, I'm almost done!" and I've done that for the last three chapters. So I have given up trying to figure out when it's going to end. Hopefully the answer is sometime before the next Olympics.

In this we have a silly Eddie, Steve and Max are sneaky, and Max and Eddie have their first competition.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Steve continued to have good days and bad days, but always Eddie and Robin were there to help him work through the bad. And then he would spill it all out to Dr. Hughes.

Today he had been able to wade out to Max in the main pool to correct her foot work. The water had come up to his chest, just like it did in the kiddie pool.

“All right,” Steve said gently. “I’m going to touch your leg. If you feel uncomfortable in anyway, I’ll have Robin do it instead, okay?”

Max thought about it for a moment. “But just my leg right?”

“Just your ankle even,” he assured her. “Ready?”

Max waded over to the side of the pool and started kicking her feet to level out her body. Steve gently grabbed her ankle and repositioned her foot so it was more like an extension of her leg.

“Whoa!”

“That’s right,” he said, “now keep it like that.”

Robin and Eddie who had been working in the endless pool came back to the main pool just as Steve was pulling his shirt back on.

Eddie eyed the wet swim trunks and the happily kicking Max and a sly smile spread over his face. “Stevie... you wouldn’t have happened to have gotten into the pool with Max would you have?”

Steve batted his eyelashes innocently. “Who me?” He turned to Max. “Did you see me get into the pool?”

“Nope!”

Eddie knelt on the side of the pool and said, “I’ll buy you ice cream for the next month if you tell me if he got in the pool.”

Robin sneaked up behind him and with Max’s help pulled him into the water as gently as they could, as to not trigger Steve.

It must have worked because when they all came up for air, Steve was doubled over with laughter.

“Absolute menaces the lot of you,” he said once he caught his breath. “I got the competition schedule for next week. Max is in beginner and Eddie in intermediate. I tried to argue for higher, but they because you’ve been out for so long, they want you in there first to see if you have room to grow.”

Eddie wiped the water off of his face. “That’s fair. I don’t think I’m ready for higher yet anyway.”

Steve gave him a fond look. “And then that’s what we’ll do. If you don’t feel comfortable competing at above intermediate yet, then I won’t force you. I just worry they’ll accuse of you of deliberately choosing lower to spank fifteen and sixteen year olds.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment.

“Oh.”

He went to go shove his hair in front of his face, but it was all tucked away in his cap, so he started to sink into the water.

Steve, Robin, and Max all watched as he held his breath under water.

“So how long do you think he can hold his breath?” Max asked after about a minute. “Because I think cell death happens after three minutes.”

“Eh...” Robin said waving her hand back and forth, “about four to five, actually.”

Just then Eddie burst through the water, gasping for air. He wiped the water away and looked around. “So is anyone going to be nice and completely forget that happened?”

All three of them shared glances with each other and then said together, “No.”

Eddie buried his head in his hands. He slunk off to his lane with a sigh. “Woe! Woe is me! For I have been forsaken by my own team. Woe!”

Steve and Max shared a glance.

“Is he always this dramatic?” Max asked, eyeing Eddie splashing about and moaning about his fate or some shit.

Robin scoffed as she pulled herself out of the pool and rotated to sit on its edge. “This is tame for him, if I’m being honest.”

Eddie stopped his sputtering and turned to her quickly. “I? I am dramatic?” Then he made a sweeping bow, nearly face planting into the water. “Why thank you!”

Everyone giggled but Max and Eddie got back into their lanes and started practicing again. Robin got up and went to go stand by Steve.

“I’m glad you were able to help Max on your own,” she murmured. “But just remember, if you can’t, call and I’ll coming running, okay?”

“Okay.”

It was their first swim meet and Robin wasn’t sure who was more nervous, Max and Eddie or Steve.

She was sure that that pen lid would be a mangled, tangled up mess by the time this was over with.

She looked around the room, spotting a few friends, the Hell Squad from their own facility, and one very unfriendly face indeed.

Billy Hargrove.

Billy Hargrove was a swimmer from California and he thought living on the coast instantly made you a better swimmer. He even had that bit of surfer boy charm. You’d expect this blond haired, blued eyed, tan Adonis to start singing Beach Boys or some shit, but no.

Billy Hargrove was an ass. And he hated all the comparisons between him and Steve at the last Olympics. Dude went on to barely win bronze in two of five events and not medal in any of the others.

Today he was wearing a red and gold coach’s jacket with HARGROVE emblazoned on the back with two blonds standing next him as he talked them in low voices. One was a girl with strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, and bright smile. The other was a guy that looked about the same age as the girl. He looked like he had walked out the pages of Good Christians R Us. Hair neatly cut, blue eyes, chiseled jaw and washboard abs.

Robin hated them both on sight.

She was about to steer Steve away from all that when Billy looked up immediately clocked Steve, who promptly stiffened.

Max and Eddie who were talking to him noticed the sudden change in Steve’s demeanor. And unlike the locker room with Andy, Eddie could tell that this was a different breed of shark coming their way.

“Stevie...” Billy greeted. “When I saw the name Harrington I was wondering if that was you and then here you are. Such a pleasant surprise.”

Robin and Steve shared a bitchy glance. “Pleasant isn’t the word I would use,” Steve scoffed.

“You actually getting in the water, Harrington, or are you going to bitch out again?” Billy went on as if Steve hadn’t said a word.

Steve seethed. Billy had been present the first time he tried to get into the pool after his accident and started screaming.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” Eddie said with a grin, “Stevie here doesn’t need to get in the water to beat you. He has me.”

Billy looked him up and down and he looked impressed for all of two seconds before he scoffed. “I didn’t think they allowed boys with such pretty curls,” he said tugging on one of the strands. Eddie swatted his hand away. “Maybe you should be on the girls’ team.”

“Last time I checked,” Eddie huffed, “I have the balls for the men’s team. Can’t say the same for the asshole who came up and harassed a guy that had his Olympic dreams washed away because of faulty equipment that left him traumatized and hurt for life, but still loves to swim so much that he would rather coach then to walk away forever.”

Billy’s face twisted in rage and he opened his mouth to reply when the whistle sounded. He jabbed a finger in Eddie’s face. “We’re not done.”

He walked off and suddenly all the tension built up in Steve escaped like a deflated balloon.

“That guy is a dick,” Max hissed. “My mom used to date a guy just like him out in Cali. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were related.”

That made Steve laugh. “I’ll beat him where I’ve always beaten him, in the water. Now come on, it’s time for you two to hit the showers. The beginners are about to start. You’re in the third heat, Max, first podium.”

She nodded and her and Eddie took off their team shirts and hit the showers. Steve looked over at Billy and smirked. Billy was watching every inch of Eddie’s body as he padded over to the showers that were next to the pool.

Robin handed him his bobby pins and he deftly put his hair under the cap, making it as sleek as any of the other male contestants.

The first set of eight girls lined up and then they were off with the shot of the starting gun. Steve watched, looking out for the girls that would be Max’s competition. So far none of the girls showed real promise and that included the girl who won.

The next heat was the same. None of the other girls had the same spark Max did. He looked up to the stands where the families were supposed to there to cheer them on. Robin’s parents were there. Eddie’s uncle, too. Of course Steve’s parents wouldn’t be there. He hadn’t talked them in so long.

He didn’t see the woman that would come to pick up Max and it made Steve squirm a bit. Then just before Max’s heat, he saw her come rushing in. Her hair was wild as if she had been running and she looked out of breath. She leaned over to whisper something to Wayne. Wayne shook his head and pointed to where Max was getting ready to get up on her podium.

Steve went over to her and pointed up at the stands.

Max’s eyes lit up and she waved at her mom. Her mom waved back. Max got up on her podium and put her goggles in place over her eyes. Steve stepped back and gave the judge with the gun a nod, showing that he had moved back far enough. Then the gun went off.

Max easily kept pace with the other girls and managed to squeak out winning by an arms length, touching her pad first.

She pulled off her goggles and looked at her time. She had clearly won. She started jumping and shrieking in the water. She pulled herself out and ran up to give Steve the biggest hug.

“I told you, you could do it,” Steve murmured into her cap.

“Yeah, yeah,” she huffed. “Nerd.”

They went through the next few heats and Max came in third overall in the girls division. Which considering it was her first meet, was very impressive.

Then it was time for the intermediate and as they watched the girls, Eddie began bouncing up and down to warm up his muscles.

“You ready to blow these people out of the water?” Steve asked with a grin. “I gave the organizers one last chance to put you in masters, but they wouldn’t do it.”

Eddie chuckled. “I don’t have the confidence you do in me, but hell yeah, I’m ready.”

Steve slapped him on the shoulder and watched as Eddie got up to the podium. He pulled the goggles over his eyes and turned away from the water.

This is what he loved most of all about the backstroke. Not facing the water or seeing his competitors out of the corners of his eyes. It was just him and waiting for the sound of the gun.

BANG!

And then he was arching backwards into the water, as smooth as silk. His arms and body worked with the water, slicing through like a hot knife through butter. He could hear the splashing of the other competitors but they all seemed so distant to himself. Not that they were that far away. Only that he felt on whole other realm then they were.

He touched the pad and peeled off his googles to look up at the clock.

He was in first place.

He looked up at the stands to see Mrs. Mayfield and Uncle Wayne on their feet and cheering for him. He raised his fist and they waved back excitedly.

It came as no surprise that he won best overall.

He was standing next to Steve celebrating with his team, when the judges came up to them.

“We would like to talk to you about moving up to the masters,” the first judge said with a grimace.

Eddie and Steve shared a knowing grin.

“I think that could be arranged,” Steve said, smug. The ‘I told you so’ lingering in the humid air of the pool.

Part 12

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @gloomysoup

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @eriquin

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chameleonhair @sadisticaltarts @dreamercec @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mac-attack19

10- @aol19 @tartarusknight @morallyundefined

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #olympic steddie #olympic swimmer au

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c-e-d-dreamer · 4 months ago

Text

When We Howl, the Moon Will Cower: Chapter 5

A/N: Sometimes, the real scars are the tragic backstory you reveal to your wife that you're pretending you totally don't care about, you know? Happy @cassianappreciationweek and hope everyone enjoys this update! As a warning, it starts out NSFW and ends on a cliffhanger

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Nesta

A high pitched whine bubbles up in Nesta’s throat, spilling past her lips before she can stop it. Heat blazes through her veins, flames twining deliciously around her every nerve ending. She wants the feeling to swallow her whole, wants to sink fully into that fire.

Cassian moves his tongue to swirl over her clit, and Nesta gasps out a low moan of his name. Her fingers tighten in the dark, curly strands of his hair, nails scraping against his scalp with the force of her grip. She tries to rock her hips against his face, but the hold he has on her thighs keeps her firmly in place. Even when she tries to press further up onto her knees, he pulls her right back down onto his mouth.

He groans against her, the vibrations against her cunt sending Nesta bowing forward. The movement has her catching Cassian’s gaze, already pinned on her. In moments like these, it’s hard for Nesta not to find him beautiful. His hazel eyes practically blaze with a fire of their own where they peek out from beneath her thighs, the golden glow of his wolf flickering through. She can see the pride, the bravado, the victory, gleaming in those eyes, and it has no right being as attractive as it is.

As Cassian continues to work his mouth over her, Nesta can feel that heat pooling low in her gut, coiling tighter and tighter. She drags her free hand up her stomach and to her breast, kneading and squeezing in time with every swipe and every drag of Cassian’s tongue. That precipice glimmers right in sight, and Nesta tosses her head back, ready to tumble right over it.

Except she doesn’t.

Before Nesta can even wrap her mind around the way Cassian has pulled his mouth back, her back hits the mattress, the male having used his grip on her thighs to all but toss her aside. His face swims into her vision, his lips red and glistening with her arousal but still pulled back into a smirk.

“Fuck you,” Nesta spits, huffing through her still heaving breaths. “I was close.”

“Oh, I know,” Cassian teases. He slides his hand down the center of Nesta’s chest, a shiver skittering up her spine in response to his touch. “You always get such a pretty pink flush here when you’re close.”

“Then why’d you stop?”

“I thought you were a good girl, Nes. Thought you knew that you’ll come on my knot or not at all.”

Cassian’s hands grasp at her hips, flipping her over onto her stomach, and Nesta moans into the sheets at being manhandled, at the blatant strength he simply throws her around. She pushes up onto her knees, spreading her legs wide and arching her back. Cassian’s fingers skate down along her spine, her skin blazing with heat and cascading in goosebumps everywhere he touches her skin.

“You are a good girl, aren’t you? Look at this display, just for me. Absolutely dripping and ready for me.”

He slides the head of his cock through the wetness of her cunt, teasing over her clit. The shudder that rocks through Nesta’s body is enough to already have her toes curling, to have her cunt clenching in anticipation. Desperation claws up her veins and sends her rocking her hips back. She feels desperate for the stretch of his cock, the stretch of his knot.

Feels desperate for him.

“Please,” Nesta moans softly again. “I need it.”

Cassian chuckles behind her, but this time, when he slides the head of his cock over her cunt, he presses his hips forward, the tip of him sinking into her. He continues to rock his hips, burying his cock inch by teasingly delicious inch. No matter how many times they do this, no matter how many times Cassian has her orgasming and screaming his name, the stretch of him continues to be indescribable. She can feel every curve, every vein of his cock as it drags against the walls of her cunt, and Nesta clenches down around it.

“Fuck. That’s it sweetheart. Look at how your cunt swallows me.” Cassian’s hands slide to where they’re joined, his thumbs spreading her wider still. “You’re just desperate for your husband’s cock.”

Nesta closes that final distance between them, pressing back until their hips are flush together. “Stop talking and fuck me. Take me.”

“Well, since you beg so pretty.”

Cassian pulls his hips back just to snap them back forward again. Each thrust is hard and deep, and Nesta moves her own hips to meet every one. His fingers find home in Nesta’s hair, curling harshly against the strands, but the burn is exactly what Nesta needs.

Cassian yanks until Nesta’s back is pressed to his chest, head tilted toward his shoulder. His teeth scrape teasingly against her throat, and for a moment, Nesta’s entire body freezes up. The pleasure coursing through her is blinding, spots dancing behind her closed lids, and she clenches down hard enough around Cassian’s cock that his answering groan echoes in her ear.

He shoves her back down into the mattress, grip returning to her hips as he pounds into her. Nesta moans and whimpers into the blankets, clawing desperately at them just to give herself something to hold onto. She’s half aware of the mess of arousal that continues to build and drip with every drag of Cassian’s cock, coating the inside of her thighs. Half aware of the wet sounds of sex, of slapping skin, and her own breathy, hoarse cries of pleasure filling the room around them. But it’s hard to focus on anything other than the feel of Cassian’s cock spearing deep into her cunt over and over again.

“Gods, nothing feels like your sweet cunt squeezing me,” Cassian groans softly, his snapping hips stuttering. “Desperate and ready to take my knot, aren’t you, Nes?”

Nesta’s body feels too wrung out to form coherent words, but she can feel Cassian’s knot teasing with every forward thrust. She widens her stance even more, opening herself up completely in anticipation. In invitation. A few more thrusts, and Cassian’s knot breaches, locking them together.

Nesta moans lowly at the stretch of his knot, at the feel of his cock pulsing deep in her cunt. Her moans turn high pitched and breathy when a hand curls around her hip, callused fingers tracing deft circles over her clit.

“Come on,” Cassian breathes right against her ear. “Want to feel you really milking my knot.”

Cassian starts to rock his hips shallowly, matching the movement of his fingers, but Nesta is already too keyed up, and it doesn’t take much for her own orgasm to crash through her. She slumps down against the blankets, catching her breath while waiting for his knot to subside. When Cassian finally pulls out, she relaxes fully into the bed, giving herself one more moment before clambering up to her feet. She doesn’t even look back as she grabs her robe, tugging it on and padding into the bathing chamber.

She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised when she steps back out and finds the bedroom now empty. With a soft sigh, she steps over to the vanity, taking the time to run a brush through the strands of her hair before beginning the process of intricately braiding it away from her face.

As much as she hates to admit it, she’s grown into a comfortable routine with the pack over the past week. She spends most of her mornings and afternoons with Cresseida, Emerie, or both of them. While the weight of a sword in her palm is still unfamiliar, there’s something satisfying too about the ache in her muscles. Something exhilarating about learning the steps and moves as though it’s a new dance. Something enthralling about disarming an opponent without touching a drop of her magic.

For once, she doesn’t mind training. For once, it’s actually fun.

Even more fun is what often comes after training. Discovering that she and Emerie have such similar tastes in books had been an exciting surprise, and it had led to Nesta and the pack’s second spending hours discussing their favorite characters. Had led to Nesta laughing harder than she had in years, until a stitch had sunk its claws into her side, causing her to laugh even more.

Which is why when Nesta finishes getting ready and steps out of the alpha’s cabin, she heads toward Emerie’s shop rather than the training rings. She still gets a few dubious looks, a few whispers behind her back, as she makes her way through the center of the pack’s village. But she earns a few polite nods as well, even gets a friendly smile from the baker, Nevaeh.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Emerie greets from behind the counter as soon as Nesta pushes through the door of the shop.

Nesta rolls her eyes good naturedly. “Hello to you too.”

“Have a good morning?” Emerie asks, the teasing tone of her voice and the smirk firmly on her face belying any innocence behind the question.

“What is that—”

“Ugh, who reeks of sex?” Cresseida calls out, stepping out from the back room with a box hefted in her arms. “Oh. Hi, Nesta.”

“Oh, yes, fine. Laugh it up,” Nesta scoffs with another roll of her eyes. “Wolves.”

Emerie laughs, the sound bright and easy, making it hard for Nesta to stay too mad at her. With a shake of her head, Nesta brushes past them both and steps into the back room, locating the remaining box. She returns to the main part of the shop, placing the box on the counter and opening it up.

“So, I take it you didn’t finish My Warrior’s Heart yet, then?” Emerie asks, reaching into the box and pulling out the clothing packed inside.

“Not yet,” Nesta sighs softly, reaching into the box as well and finding the soft, knit fabric scarves that she pulls out and adds to Emerie’s stack. “I got about halfway through last night, though. I just got to the part where Leila has been kidnapped.”

“That means you’re almost at my favorite part.”

“No spoilers!”

Emerie laughs again, but before she can say anything else, the door to the shop swings open, a small head of ashy blonde hair tumbling over the threshold and into the shop.

“Miss Cresseida! Miss Cresseida!”

Nesta lets out a quiet gasp of surprise when a weight knocks into her legs. She looks down and finds a child curled around her knees, small fingers curled into the skirts of Nesta’s dress. The little girl pulls her face back enough to look up, blinking at Nesta with wide, tear filled brown eyes. She lets out a gasp of her own, seemingly realizing she’s latched onto the wrong adult in the room.

“Miss Cresseida,” the little girl cries again, stumbling away. “The older boys pushed me into the dirt and I scraped up my knees.”

“Oh, Gracie,” Cresseida hums, crouching down to the little girl’s level. “And what did you say to them first?”

Gracie at least has the decency to look sheepish at the question, her bottom lip finding home between her teeth and her eyes glancing away nervously. Her fingers twist into the fabric of her shirt and she rocks back on her heels, but it does nothing to hide the little girl’s guilt.

“That’s what I thought.”

“I’m sure those older boys deserved it,” Emerie jumps in to offer, leaning over the counter enough to wink at Gracie. “That’s what you’re teaching her and training her for after all, aren’t you, Cress?”

“Don’t encourage her,” Cresseida scoffs, but Nesta spies the way her lips twitch with the barest hint of a smile. She scoops Gracie up under the arms, placing her on the counter. “Now, let’s look at those scraped knees.”

Nesta steps closer as Cresseida carefully lifts the hem on Gracie’s pants. She has to swallow down a wince as she takes in the state of the little girl’s knees. Angry, red lines criss cross over one another, and a particularly deep cut on her right knee still bubbles with droplets of blood. Already, the skin has started to purple, the beginning signs of what’s sure to be a nasty bruise.

“Do you have herbs?” Nesta asks, already making her way toward the stairs and the home above the shop before she even gets a response.

She steps into the kitchen, opening up cabinets, reading labels, and opening different jars to sniff at the contents within. She gathers everything she’ll need into her arms, heading back down the stairs and into the main shop. She sets everything down on the counter, making quick work of grinding down the herbs, mixing in honey until she’s created a familiar paste. It’s practically second nature, the way her hands work without a second thought.

“This might feel a bit cold,” Nesta explains, stepping around to Gracie and offering the little girl a small smile.

Gracie glances toward Cresseida and Emerie for a moment, but when she looks back at Nesta, she nods her head. Carefully, Nesta spreads the mixture on Gracie’s knee and the cuts there.

“And this will tingle,” Nesta warns, setting the small bowl back on the counter and raising her hand over Gracie’s knee.

Closing her eyes, Nesta reaches for the well of power within her. She keeps her touch gentle until she can feel fur slipping beneath her fingers, until she can feel the purring hum of her magic waking and responding. Until there’s a familiar warmth and golden glow pouring from her hand. Gracie lets out a gasp, but when Nesta opens her eyes and peers up at the little girl, her eyes are wide with awe, not pain.

Nesta has to bite down a smirk at the reaction as she finishes up, wiping away the remnants of the mixture from Gracie’s skin. “There. Good as new.”

Gracie swings her legs, seemingly testing her newly healed knees, before offering Nesta a wide toothy grin that shows off her missing bottom tooth. “Thank you, Miss Nesta!”

Gracie jumps down from the counter, running toward the door of the shop. She lets out a quiet oof when she collides with another body, Cassian’s large hand settling on the little girl’s shoulder to keep her from toppling over backwards. She quickly mumbles out an apology, cheeks turning bright pink, before continuing her sprint out of the shop.

“You have healing magic.”

The surprised tone is enough to have Nesta bristling. She turns her back on Cassian, cleaning up the supplies she used as an excuse to busy her hands. She’s all too aware of the way Cassian steps further into the shop, of his presence and heat closer to her, but she refuses to be cowed by him.

“That’s right,” Nesta finally answers, her voice cold and clipped. “I can in fact do more than just curse people. I’d offer to heal your stupid face, but I fear it’s unmendable unfortunately.”

“And yet, I distinctly remember how much you enjoyed sitting on my stupid face this morning.”

A snort comes from Nesta’s left, and she turns to glare at Emerie before turning her attention back on Cassian. He’s leaning casually against the shop counter, arms crossed over his chest and that ever present cocksure smirk painted across his face. He’s undeterred by the scowl Nesta settles him with, his hazel eyes only seeming to spark with amusement, with a challenge.

“Did you need something?” Nesta pushes out between gritted teeth.

“We’ve been summoned by the Vanserra coven. It seems that Eris thinks enough time has passed for you and your sisters to be… settled in. He wants you to try and locate the Cauldron.”

~ * * * ~

Cassian

Cassian knew that the Vanserras are known for their strength and magic of the natural elements. Knew that the few rumors and stories that slip from the tight knit members of the coven whispered of the family being all but attuned to the wood, to the fire beneath and the sunlight above. He knew that the place the coven called home was nicknamed the Forest House.

And yet still he finds himself surprised as he steps out of the carriage.

The manor is large, sprawling and stretching in front of them, and it seems to be growing right out of the ground. The spires twist and reach for the sky like the branches of trees, the stone facade all but blending in with the rocks. The shingles match the oranges and reds of autumn leaves, and Cassian swears they shimmer and shift with the evening breeze. With the setting sun sinking just behind the estate, it’s like a natural wonder.

Nesta sighs softly as she steps down from the carriage behind him. “Let’s get this over with.”

She lifts her skirts up, striding right past Cassian and toward the intricately carved oak front door without a care. Cassian is quick to jog after her, only needing a few of his longer strides to catch up. He tries to catch her arm with his, but she yanks it back, whirling on him and pinning him with those icy blue eyes narrowed in a glare.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s important that we present a united front,” Cassian explains, taking her arm again and placing her hand in the crook of his elbow. “I won’t have anyone thinking the pack has vulnerabilities that can be exploited.”

“And who is it you don’t trust?” Nesta asks, tilting her head but not removing her hand. “Rhysand and his vampires or the Vanserras?”

“I don’t trust anyone who isn’t a member of my pack.”

Her fingers flex and tighten against his arm, and Cassian places his own hand over hers, desperate to keep her from yanking away. “And does that include me? Am I a member of your pack?”

“I don’t know, Nes. Are you?”

He knows they’re expected inside, knows they shouldn’t keep someone like Eris Vanserra waiting, but he wants to see if she’ll answer. Wants to see just where her allegiance might lie. He meets her gaze head on, those icy blue eyes of her that blaze with a fire bright enough to incinerate him where he stands.

“I told you not to call me that.”

With that, Nesta turns away from him, the expectation clear. Cassian rolls his eyes at the clear dismissal, but then again, what did he really expect? He leads the way up the pathway and toward the large front door, intricate leaves and vines carved into the wood. It takes less than a second before the door swings open, a well dressed member of staff gesturing for them to enter and follow through a winding hall.

Eris has them set up in a large library. Tall, dark wooden shelves stretch all the way to the ceiling and along the walls, each shelf filled with various books and volumes of different size and age. Deep green rugs and curtains further add to the moody autumnal mood of the room, a fire roaring in the large fireplace along the left wall. And in the center of the room sits a large table, a map spread out across it.

“Nesta.”

Elain stands up from the arm of the large armchair she was sitting on, leaving her husband still settled against the plush, leather material. The middle Archeron–or Vanserra now, Cassian supposes–steps over to her elder sister, squeezing her hand with an easy smile.

“Just the two of you?” Eris asks, eying the way Nesta still has her hand tucked into the crook of Cassian’s elbow.

“Don’t worry, Eris. My wolves are near enough that I can call them if needed.” Eris’s attention turns to look out the window, and Cassian lets out a derisive snort. “You won’t see them.”

“I was checking on the sun,” Eris bites out. “We will have to wait until it properly sets before we see Rhysand and his little wife.”

“Is that all we are to you?” Nesta asks cooly, raising an eyebrow. “Little wives? And here I thought it was my sisters and I that you needed. Our magic and the strength we possess.”

Eris’s lips pinch, clearly holding back a sneer at the backhanded comment. His attention dances back toward Cassian, but the alpha merely meets his gaze with his own expectant expression. If Eris expects Cassian to keep Nesta Archeron in check, the coven leader has a new thing coming.

“I see we’re all here.”

Cassian turns his head just in time to see Rhys and Feyre stroll into the room, the vampire leader’s tiny second in tow just behind them. Rhys places his hand on the small of Feyre’s back, clearly intent on guiding her, but Cassian doesn’t miss the hard look Feyre cuts toward her husband, the underlying and unsaid tension between the two palpable.

At least, he’s not the only one with his hands full with an Archeron sister.

“Do we intend to stand around all night or are we going to find the damn Cauldron?” Rhys’s second asks the room at large, her voice sharp and annoyed.

“Amren is right,” Rhys agrees, shoving his hands into his pockets. “No point wasting anyone’s time.”

Eris hums his own agreement, stepping forward and sweeping his arm across the map. “Ladies.”

Sighing softly from beside him, Nesta finally drops her hand from the crook of Cassian’s elbow. He refuses to acknowledge the coldness that seems to seep beneath the fabric of his shirt and along his skin at the loss of her touch. Instead, he focuses on watching Nesta approach the table. She slides her fingers along the map, tracing the lines until she reaches the small wooden bowl Eris has placed at the corner.

“Are we sure this map is large enough?” Nesta asks, picking up the bones and stones from the bowl and sliding them between her palm and fingers. “It won’t work if the Cauldron is outside these boundaries.”

“It’s the best map we have,” Eris explains. “That includes all of Hybern’s known territories.”

“I’m sure it will be fine, Nesta,” Elain adds, stepping closer to her sister.

She holds out her hand expectantly, and Nesta sighs again but slides her free hand into Elain’s. Elain turns enough that she can reach out her other hand, Feyre stepping forward to take it. As soon as Feyre’s palm connects with Elain’s, as soon as her fingers close around her sister’s and the link is complete between the three of them, the whole energy in the room seems to shift.

For a moment, Cassian swears that the temperature in the room drops, swears that the flames in the fireplace flicker. Everything goes quiet enough that even without his wolf hearing, he could hear a pin drop. Everyone seems to be holding their breath, all eyes glued to the Archeron sisters.

All three close their eyes, and Nesta begins to murmur some sort of incantation beneath her breath, an old language that Cassian isn’t familiar with. Whatever she’s saying, every hair on the back of Cassian’s neck stands on end. His entire body feels on edge, warning bells leaving his nerve ends sparking, and he clenches his fists at his sides, resetting his stance. It’s as though another presence has entered the room, slinking along the floor like a shadow.

Nesta’s voice slowly trails off, and even from where he’s standing, Cassian can see the tension radiating off her and her hiked shoulders. He can see the way her fingers flex around the bones and stones in her hand, the way her chest expands with a hitched breath.

“Something’s wrong,” Lucien breaks the quiet of the room, pushing up from his seat and striding determinedly toward his wife.

“Don’t,” Eris hisses, glaring at his brother. “You’ll break their concentration. Wait just a little longer.”

A gasp draws everyone’s attention back to the sisters just in time to watch Feyre yank her hand away and cradle it against her chest.

“Ow, Elain. What the fuck?”

Nesta drops the bones and stones onto the table with a careless clatter, turning fully toward her sister. “Elain? Elain, pull back.”

Elain inhales sharply, swaying on her feet for a moment. Her eyes snap open, but they’re no longer a soft brown. Instead, there’s a milky white haze over her eyes, one that seems to glow with magic. It’s sight enough to have Cassian swallowing hard.

“Elain,” Nesta urges again, shifting her hands to her sister’s shoulders and squeezing. “What do you See?”

“Red,” Elain whispers, her voice raspy and somehow sounding far away. “So much red. It runs like a river. Runs through the field and stains the blades. It blinds and writhes like a fire so bright. Then a fire so cold. Cold… cold… so cold.” Elain gasps again. “It sees.”

It’s like watching a marionette get its strings cut, the way Elain’s eyes shutter, her entire body slumping. Lucien is quick to rush forward, catching Elain before she can fall to the floor. He gathers his wife against his chest, sliding a hand soothingly through the honeyed strands of her hair and tucking his face to whisper against the crown of her head.

It’s clearly a private moment between the two, but Cassian finds he can’t look away. He can’t tear his eyes away from the male tending to his wife so… tenderly. It seems so at odds with the circumstances of all the married couples in this room, and yet, a dark emotion that feels suspiciously like envy twists around Cassian’s ribs and threatens to squeeze around his heart.

“Well, that wasn’t ominous at all,” Rhys remarks dryly, breaking the quiet of the room.

~ * * * ~

Cassian can’t decide if he’s surprised or not that Nesta doesn’t speak once they leave the Vanserra estate. He can’t decide if he minds the tense quiet in the carriage or not. His mind keeps replaying Elain’s words on an endless, torturous loop. Of course, he’d known there was always going to be a war, knew that’s always where they were headed, but for her to have Seen a battlefield covered in blood has his chest tightening enough that his lungs hurt.

Whose blood was it? Was it his pack’s? After everything he’d done, everything he’s trying to do, would he still end up with his wolves strewn across a battlefield and nothing else to show for it?

Cassian chances a glance toward Nesta across the carriage, but her eyes are glued firmly out the window. Had her mind strayed to similar thoughts? She told him once that she only agreed to this marriage for her sisters, that everything was to keep them safe. Was she imagining them in Elain’s vision?

When the carriage finally pulls to a stop, Cassian is quick to slip out of the confinement and into the safety and familiarity of the pack village and the forest that stretches around it. He reaches a hand back expectantly, Nesta only hesitating for a moment before her palm slides against his, fingers curling gently as he helps her down.

Night still clings to the sky above, shadows casted across the branches of the trees and stars twinkling from between the leaves. The village is all quiet at this hour, the only sound the gentle breeze and crickets chirping from the brush. But Cassian knows that morning is only a few hours away, that soon the village will be teeming with the sounds of the early risers of the pack.

For now, though, they’re the only souls weaving through the center of the village.

Cassian makes a beeline for the kitchen as soon as they step inside the cabin. He grabs the kettle and fills it with water, keeping his hands busy preparing two mugs. When he turns again, Nesta is simply standing in the middle of the room. The blue of her eyes is dull, unfocused, and even in the dimness of the cabin, he can see the darkness that clings to the skin beneath them.

“Drink,” Cassian tells her, placing one of the mugs on the kitchen table in offering.

“What’s that?” Nesta asks, crossing her arms.

“It’s just tea, sweetheart.” Cassian pushes the mug further across the table, closer to her. “Drink.”

Nesta rolls her eyes and huffs, but she slides into the seat at the table, pulling the mug closer and curling her palms around the ceramic. She takes a small sip, but it does nothing to smooth the line between her eyebrows, to soothe the pinch of her lips. To erase that distant expression on her face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cassian broaches, taking a sip of his own tea. “Elain’s vision?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“We can talk about something else instead, then. Like your healing magic. You never mentioned you could do that.”

“I didn’t realize I was meant to be giving you detailed descriptions of my magic and capabilities,” Nesta offers sardonically with another roll of her eyes.

One step closer to drawing her out.

“You have healing magic and yet you haven’t healed that scar on your hand,” Cassian points out, nodding toward her left hand and the raised, slightly pink line that runs just beneath her thumb. He’d first noticed it on the day of their wedding, noticed the way she often ran her thumb over the scar almost absentmindedly at times.

“Perhaps I like to keep it as a reminder.”

It’s more than she’s ever dared to reveal to him, and Cassian tilts his head curiously. “A reminder of what?”

“What do you care?” Nesta sneers, baring her teeth.

Cassian doesn’t bother biting back his smirk at the fire blazing in her eyes now, the color that’s returned to her cheeks, as she glares at him. There she is. He’d noticed the way she sometimes curled in on herself, picked up on the way their back and forth often brought the Nesta he knew back to the surface.

“My father was the previous alpha,” Cassian answers instead, offering a piece of himself.

It’s enough to give Nesta pause, a small, confused frown tugging at her lips. “Your mother was–”

“No. Osian thought that as alpha, it was his right to take all of the… pleasures the pack had to offer. Sometimes forcefully,” Cassian explains, unable to swallow down the anger that colors his tone, that claws between his ribs whenever he thinks about the sorry excuse for a male that sired him. “My mother never told me he was my father. I never knew growing up.”

He never got to thank her for that, for the way she kept him shielded. The way he’s able to look back on his childhood fondly, remembering instead the lullabies she sang, the stories she told him.

“How did you find out, then?” Nesta asks quietly.

“It turned out Osian was chasing more than just pleasure. He wanted the best chance for creating a strong heir. But when Osian died, Kallon, Carwyn’s only son, didn’t appreciate his status as ‘true heir’ being in jeopardy. He went after all of us bastards, and he didn’t fight fair.”

“You killed him.”

It’s not a question, but Cassian still answers, “yes. After he killed my mother. And any supporters of Kallon were banished from the pack.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nesta reaches a hand across the table, curling her fingers around Cassian’s own. The touch is light, but still it sends a soothing balm cascading through his veins. He can’t tear his gaze away from her eyes, from the clear icy blue of them. They’re unguarded in a way he’s never seen before, open in a way that threatens to pull him under those waves. They’re beautiful.

A frantic knocking at the door finally pulls Cassian’s attention away, sparing him from fumbling for a response. He jumps to his feet in an instant, anxiety prickling through his veins even before he reaches the door. At this hour, there’s no denying that whatever awaits on the other side can’t be good. It’s his second that he finds on his doorstep, Baz’s chest heaving as though he ran all the way here.

“It’s… Elain… The Cauldron’s taken Elain.”

—

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#CassianWeek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #when we howl #my fic

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wannaeatramyeon · 1 year ago

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

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 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.

#not sure about this #not sure about a multi chap for gun cos i cannot write that guy #also not sure about writing so much from reader POV #lookism #lookism x reader #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #lookism fanfic #lookism fics #gun park #park jonggun #gun park x reader #park jonggun x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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emeritusemeritus · 10 months ago

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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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#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #george weasley x you #george weasley x reader x fred weasley #George Weasley smut #George Weasley #George Weasley fluff #no good deeds

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headfullofpresley · 1 year ago

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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

#elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #elvis presley smut #elvis au #elvis presley au #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x y/n #elvis #elvis presley #elvis series #elvis presley series #tamwrites #the curious female

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codenamesazanka · 6 months ago

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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.

#nalslastworkingbraincell #however much you want to blame this on Horikoshi's writing is also up to you #SORRY for the broken record #i'll stop at this post

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citylighten · 9 months ago

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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

#sink or swim #ts4 storytelling #ts4 story #sink or swim: chapter 5

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vibratingskull · 6 months ago

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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

#mermaid au #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x f!reader #mermaid x reader

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writeyouin · 9 months ago

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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

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.’

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…

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.”

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?”

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?”

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

“Come in,” You offered.

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

“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.”

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

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?”

“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.

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.

You were a ragdoll.

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

“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!”

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mayajadewrites · 8 months ago

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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.”

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman smut #attack on titan #aot #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #ceo levi ackerman

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