#the damage i took at the beginning shames me

[mychoombatheroomba]

Almost 2 minutes of Krauser going absolutely ham to Rihanna (sound on for the full vibes)

[marvelmymarvel]

Not Special

Kakashi Hatake x NarutoMotherFigure!Reader

Synopsis: Before Naruto, you were a feared kunoichi who killed thousands before the age of 14. Naruto didn't know any of this, which is why you weren't anything special to him. But that all changes after the Hokage asks you to pick the sword up again to protect the village against an impending threat.

Naruto Masterlist: Here

“My mom isn't anyone special. She's just normal!”

Kakashi’s eyebrow shot up at that, eyes landing on the blonde as he talked adamantly to Sakura about how cool the other kid's parents were - and how uncool you were. He pursed his lips, fighting back the urge to spill the truth about you and your past, but he knew you wanted to keep it a secret. You weren't proud of it; it was much bloodier than his was. You gave it up for Naruto when he came along. Your time in the ninja world was short, yet many feared you.

All things Naruto didn't know.

But Kakashi couldn't stop his questions from coming out, wondering why Naruto saw you as a ‘weakling’ in the first place. “You say Y/n isn't special? How come?” Naruto stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing at Kakashi. “Well, she’s not a shinobi, first off. Secondly, all she does nowadays is help out at the daycare-”

“So that makes her not special?”

“Come on Kakashi-Sensei. You know what I mean! She's just not as strong as we are… Ya know?” 

The silence that hung in the air made Naruto shift on his feet, unnerved by his Sensei's sudden change in attitude. It was almost like he was challenging him to say another word. But Naruto knew better. “You don't know anything about who she was before you came along, Naruto….” 

“Wasn’t she 14? Kakashi-Sensei, I’m not sure she could have done much damage by the time she had turned 14-”

“That's enough” Kakashi’s sharp tone had Naruto shutting his mouth from fear; he didn't know how or why, but his statement cut deep. Kakashi wished you would have told Naruto about your past, why you stopped fighting, and why you kept it hidden. He wouldn't have to continuously hear about how ‘weak’ you were if you had just told Naruto everything.

“Now, let's begin our mission, shall we?”

Days had passed since Naruto left for his mission with the rest of team 7. You made Kakashi promise to keep him safe, which allowed you to focus on other ways to help the community. You had just handed off the last toddler to their parent and headed into the daycare to clean up your room. A figure in the middle of the mess caused you to jump in your spot - “Lord third! You scared me.”

He hummed at that before leaning against a bookshelf, pipe in between his teeth as he took in the chaotic room. The Third Hokage was against the path you chose; he’d have you as his personal guard if it were his way. He respected your wishes and respected them for 12 years, but now, as the threat of an enemy loomed over the village, he was coming back to you with a new offer.

One you simply cannot refuse.

“It is quite a shame that you gave up the Jonnin life at 14. You were a fine student, almost, if not better than Kakashi was,” He started as he moved through the room, his old eyes scanning over the arts and crafts drying on the tables. 

Your lips pursed at the sound of the Third Hokage’s words. You’ve heard this rant before; it was his specialty. He’d build you up with praise and acknowledgment, making you feel like you were the only person who could save the village before throwing an offer for you to return to the ninja life. You couldn't deny you missed it but didn't miss the blood. Didn't miss the death. Raising Naruto was more rewarding than killing hundreds of people for the village's sake.

Yet, you listened. Soaking up every word he told you as if you needed to hear them. He continued, recounting all of your successes before stopping to look at a particular picture on the wall. It was of you and your classroom, all in the picture, smiling. Did he want to do this? You sighed before bending down to pick up the toys on the floor.

“You don't just give praise without a request. Get on with it, Lord Third. I have a classroom to clean up.”

His eyes flicked to your figure. Your tone alone told him that your walls were up, and you wouldn't let him easily throw his suggestion over them. You would put up a fight, but maybe if he added Naruto into the mix, then you’d listen.

“You care about Naruto’s well-being, yes?”

Your body froze as your fingers hovered over a toy, your heart lurching in your throat as you braced yourself for this new approach. This was a sick, twisted way of getting what he wanted. He’s done this to you many times before, and while you know it's a trap, you always walk into it. You don't answer him, but your silence does.

“There's a threat looming over the village… I’ve gathered my best men, but I’m still missing the greatest one of all….” You sighed at that, eyebrows crinkling in pain as you felt the guilt creeping up your neck, practically strangling you with its cold bony fingers. “Naruto won't be safe if you can't help protect the village.”

There it was. 

Your e/c eyes flicked to his as you stood up straight. He was right in a sick, twisted kind of way. If you were involved, the threat would be easily avoidable. But how would you tell Naruto? You never once told him how many you’ve saved and never how many you’ve butchered in the name of the leaf village. He didn't know of the nightmares you shared with Kakashi or the vomiting due to the stress your young body was under.

He didn't know any of it. 

To him, you were just a daycare teacher. But to the village, to your Hokage, you were more. 

“I would like you to join the ANBU. When the threat passes, I will let you decide if you want to stay in the ANBU or return to this lifestyle.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears, and you fought the panic in your chest. You’ve been on a couple of missions with the ANBU; they were more ruthless than you were. Your teary eyes drifted to the picture beside the Hokage, lip pursing as you took in the smiling faces of the children you cared for daily. It wasn't just about you or Naruto; it never was.

“What do you say?”

You looked back at him before nodding slowly, “I will join the ANBU, but once this is over. I will never be picking up a Kunai again.”

Naruto bounded back into the village as their mission got cut short. The news spread like wildfire that a threat was coming down on the village, and all ninjas had been requested to return for backup. He raced to the daycare despite Kakashi’s yells. He had to get you to safety. You were the only person he cared for the most in this entire world. If anything happened to you, he would lose himself.

Naruto screamed your name as he ran up to the daycare, flinging open the doors as he flew down the hall. The lights were off, and a cold breeze flew past him as his eyes landed on the sight of your daycare room. Bodies lay everywhere, causing his eyes to widen at the sight of the enemy ninja strewn along the floor with jagged stabs in their chests. He backed out of the room; breath growing labored as he thought through where you may be. Naruto wasn't thinking clearly as he flew out of the daycare building. He would have known that the trap was set just for him if he were thinking clearly.

And he walked right into it.

A bag was shoved over his face as he was tackled. He called out for help, kicking and screaming for the men to get off him. The sound of slicing filled the air, and warm liquid splattered all over him; bodies were shoved off him one by one. Before long, he had freed himself from the group and ripped off the face covering. The sight before him made him stare in awe - A female ANBU officer was slaughtering the ninja one by one without breaking a sweat. It was as if they were nothing to her, almost as if she could take a hundred of them all at once and never falter in her movements. Finally, her sword drove through the chest of the last remaining ninja.

Naruto’s mouth hung open as she ripped the sword from the man's chest, sighing as she looked down at herself. She was drenched with blood. It was on her uniform, on her mask, in her hair, on her hands. The only thing she could wipe off was her sword. 

“Wow! That was, uh… Thank you” 

Her head snapped to the side to look at him before she once more let out a sigh. She slid the blade against her pant leg, trying to wipe off the blood she had accumulated in the past couple of hours. She put the sword back in the sheath on her back before storming towards him; reaching down, she hauled him back onto his feet.

“Why are you here?! Where is Kakashi?!” 

Naruto’s eyebrows furrowed at her words, the voice sounded familiar, but his brain refused to connect the dots. “You know Kakashi-Sensei? You’re starting to freak me out, lady.” The woman froze before him, realizing she had made a deadly error and there was no going back. She sighed before lifting her hand to her mask, “You can't tell anyone, Naruto.”

Naruto’s jaw dropped at the sight before him, “Hey… What the hell?!”

You shot a warning glare, silently scolding him for his language, but he didn't care. You were the ANBU lady??? The one he just saw brutally murder the 20 men lying around you. His eyes wandered around your face, brows crinkling in confusion as his brain caught up to the fact that you were in front of him, wearing an ANBU uniform and covered in blood. Lots and lots of blood.

“But, you’re not a shino-”

You sighed at his statement before he even finished, “A shinobi, yes I haven't been one for years” Naruto grew more confused at your confession. “For years? You were a shinobi before?” A small laugh flew from your lips as you face-palmed yourself. The blood on your hand smeared onto your face, making you cringe at the feeling and smell. Your heart started to race as you brought your hand from your face, eyes wide as you took in the crimson staining your skin. It made you feel sick; you didn't miss this at all. 

“Didn't I tell you to stay by my side Naruto?” Naruto jumped at Kakashi’s words as he landed beside you, slowly approaching you as if not wanting to spook you. “God, I hate this, Kakashi,” you whined out as you tried to look away from the blood on your hands. Kakashi quickly wiped it away with a small rag, reassuring you that you were doing something good, even if it meant killing people. There had been many nights where he’d have to reassure you in such a manner. The guilt you felt drove you mad; in a way, you were thankful for Naruto, who gave you a way out.

“How many did you kill, Y/n?” Kakashi whispered as he looked around the daycare. He was trying to gauge how many angry men would come after you. “About 70” 

Naruto gasped at the number, eyes widening as you turned into Kakashi. “So we should prepare for 100 more coming your way?” 

You nodded as your lip quivered - “I don't want to kill them. I can't do it anymore. I’m so tired.”

Kakashi nodded before starting to take off your vest. If he could get you out of the recognizable outfit and away from the fighting, he could quickly finish off the 100 angry men for you. “I can handle them; it's fine-”

“70?!” 

Your eyes shot to Naruto’s, and you froze at his awe-struck face. You didn't know if he was amazed or disgusted, but both reactions would have made your stomach churn all the same. Kakashi felt your sickness by the way you swayed in his arms, “Naruto, now is not the time-”

“I mean, how badass are you!? And you didn't even tell me?!?!”

Your eyes grew wide as you scanned the tree line for incoming intruders; suddenly, your fear-stricken face turned hard. Snatching up the mask from the ground, you shoved it on before drawing your sword. Kakashi held his breath. Your hearing was much sharper than his ever was. Before you knew it, 100 ninjas surrounded you three. You’ve fought more in one go; it was a simple task compared to other things you’ve had to do.

But doing it in front of Naruto made you falter. 

Did you want him to see the beast inside of you? The beast you hid from him as best you could. You let him believe you were boring to conceal that you were a kunoichi feared by many nations. You killed many men without mercy because you were instructed to, just as a good soldier does.

One of the ninjas looked toward Naruto, causing you to jump into action. You screamed for Naruto to run before slicing your sword to kill them quickly before they could get their hands on him. Naruto, for once, listened and ran to hide behind the building wall, far enough from the fighting to stay safe but close enough to watch you fight through the group. Kakashi did help a little, but you did most of the work. He was amazed and felt slightly guilty at his previous assumptions about you being weak. The display before him was anything but weak.

Within minutes, you had thinned down the group until the last one remained. Naruto expected you to kill him, but you did something else entirely. Your fingers gripped the bleeding man's collar, ripping him up so he was face-to-face with your ANBU mask. “Who do you take directions from? Who was the leader of this attack??” Your words were icy and full of hatred, not full of the warmth and love Naruto was used to. A shiver ripped down his spine as he watched you cock your head at the spluttering man. “Who. Is. In. Charge.” your snarl made the man break as he screamed out the name of the person in charge of the entire thing. You scoffed at him before driving your sword slowly into his chest. It was deliberately pushed in at a location that would  ensure a slow and painful death. It was then that Naruto realized this was the same ninja that looked his way at the beginning of the fight.

You ripped out your sword, letting the man fall to the ground as you watched him gasp for breath. Blood bubbled up from his throat before spewing from his mouth, he wouldn't die from internal bleeding, but he would die from drowning in the blood pooling in his lungs. Your head turned to the side, and while Naruto couldn't see your eyes, he knew your gaze was locked on him. You scared him and amazed him at the same time. He was amazed that you had taken down so many men without a worry in the world, but he was also scared at how fast you turned off your emotions when you went into killing mode.

You weren't the same. He didn't like this side of you.

A sigh flew from your lips as you read him like an open book. He was always so easy to see right through. You saw the fear radiating off him, causing you to drop your sword and rip off your mask as if trying to show him it was still you. That you were still the mom he loved so much. 

That you were nothing special.

But that wasn't true anymore; at least the last part wasn't.

You stepped towards him, head cocking as he cowered behind the wall. “Naruto, honey, I won't hurt you.” He didn't budge, didn't dare to, as you walked closer to him. “You aren’t my mom. I don't know who you are, but-”

“You’re right. I’m not your mom,” you stated firmly as you dropped into a crouch feet away from him. He jumped in his spot, flying back as you startled him. You smiled at his jumpiness but knew that this reaction was warranted. His lips trembled at your statement, and you realized your mistake. “No, no, that's not what I meant. The mom you know is not the mom in front of you. The person standing in front of you is someone that hasn't existed for 12 years. Naruto, I hate this person more than you would ever know. I let this person go so I could raise you, and after tonight, she will never come back.” You moved to sit cross-legged before him, hoping the childlike position would reassure him that the one he was talking to was his mom. 

The old you was far gone.

Naruto’s blue eyes flicked from you to Kakashi, who stood quietly behind you, hands in his pockets as if all this was old news. Because it was. Kakashi was the one that got you out of this mindset, and it silently terrified him just how easy it was for you to slip back into it. He knew he needed to bring it up later but now was not the time.

Seeing that his Sensei was calm and collected, Naruto nodded at your words before crawling towards you. Your eyebrows furrowed as he approached you, but they soon relaxed once you realized what he was doing. Naruto climbed into your lap, forcing your arms to wrap around him and cradle him in your embrace. You bit back a chuckle and pulled him in more, the blood smeared all over his clothes, but he didn't mind. He just needed to be reminded that you were his loving, carefree, warm-hearted mom. He didn't want a mom that was special. He didn't want a mom that was a renowned shinobi. He just wanted you. As you held him close, you decided then and there that you would never pick up a sword again, because caring for Naruto was more rewarding than wearing a mask and protecting the village. 

And nothing would change that.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

"I'm so sorry Crewel-sensei, I did not mean to summon one of your cauldrons into the floor of Ramshackle Dorm! It's just, Grim happened and I..." - Deuce

[Relates to this little theory!]

If he doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will.

“SPADE!!”

Crewel’s roar rumbled in his ears. From his bowing position, Deuce winced. Somehow, even with his courage shriveled, he managed to wrench himself to address his livid professor.

“S-Sorry, sir!” Deuce repeated, bowing even deeper. “So, SO sorry!!”

“Sorry? SORRY?! Do you really believe an apology alone will fix things? This—” Crewel jerked his chin in the direction of a cauldron that had collapsed into Ramshackle’s brittle floorboards. “—has happened far too frequently!!

“How many of our school’s cauldrons have you called away? Do you know just how much in damages this costs each time? Have you not properly reflected on your actions?! Lab equipment doesn’t grow on trees!”

His pointer sailed through the air, punctuating each pressing inquiry with a harsh CRACK. It made contact not with Deuce, but with Crewel’s palm—yet he still felt the weight of its impact, the biting guilt.

“It seems as though you’ve yet to be adequately trained. I’m disappointed in you, pup,” Crewel continued with a frown. “Detention!! Am I understood?”

“Y-Yessir!” Deuce replied miserably, his face burning with shame. He couldn’t argue—not when he agreed with all of his teacher’s points.

“Then I will see you in my office, on time and prepared to learn.”

“Learn…?”

“That’s right. It falls to me to curb the bad habits of misbehaving pups.” Crewel gave a wicked grin. “That you are pulling cauldrons from only our labs… It’s proof that your imagination is limited and inflexible. This Crewel-sama will change that.

“Prepare yourself, Spade! You’ll be on the receiving end of an intensive tutoring session. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll no longer be summoning from just our supply closets—no, you’ll be reaching farther than that. And, of course, I expect you to be cognizant of when it is and is not appropriate to use your magic.”

Deuce’s confusion morphed into hope. A fire ignited in his eyes.

“Thank you very much for believing in me, Crewel-sensei!! I…. won’t forget this—and I’ll work hard to make you proud of me!”

“Your bark is commendable, but let’s see how well your bite compares. To begin with, let’s haul this cauldron back to where it belongs.”

“Yessir! I’ve got this!”

Deuce crouched and, with a grunt, hoisted the cauldron up on his back. His arms shook, muscles straining against the extra weight. He took in a deep breath, then released it with a mighty shout.

“GRAAAAAAAAAH!!”

Crewel paled. “Wait, Spade—”

Deuce bolted off, cauldron and all, racing down the street toward the main school building. His voice, a continuous string of nonsense sound, carried across campus. He was nothing if not committed.

“… I meant hauling it back with levitation magic,” Crewel groaned, fingers massaging his temple. He could feel a migraine coming on. “That pup is all brawn and no brains…”

[vampyr-ss]

autonomy vs. shame and doubt | t. aemond

wc: 1.1k

other: this is a drabble lol

warnings: angst angst angst + aemond's 18 for marriage sake + targcest (reader is velaryon) + a little high valyrian + spoilers if you didn't finish season 1 + reader being afab alluded because they have a son.

the night your husband killed lucerys you had been putting your son to bed. growing up with aemond and the rest, lucerys was easily your favorite. you were older than him but held such a soft spot for the boy even if your families argued. aemond knew this, and albeit being completely platonic. you would never seek luke’s company like you sought out aemond’s. he knows this. or, at least, he should have.

aemond didn’t mean to kill luke. he regretted it the second he watched vhagar rage in retaliation. he knew that his newly-bonded dragon did not know him, nor did he, her. he felt the blind rage engulf the both of them as she soared higher than arrax. she ensured that she was above him before dipping quickly, and in the blink of an eye lucerys targaryen and his dragon were gone. aemond felt his voice cry out, but the damage was done. there was nothing to do. 

so, he fled.

when he came stumbling into your shared chambers, your son aenar was barely being put down. his head of white hair fell sleepily against his blanket in his crib. his dragon egg nestled comfortably near him, glowing a gentle green as it bonds with your son day by day. you flinched at the sound of the doors to your chamber being practically thrown open, your husbands ragged breaths quickly filling the air,

your son doesn’t wake, though he does shift in place. “aemond- aemond? is that blood?” your gentle voice shakes him from his frightened stupor, tears beginning to swell in his eyes. “i am fine, jorrāelagon it is not mine.” you rush to him as worry flits across your features. your white hair has been pulled back from your face since you were ready for bed. you quickly let your hands roam his body trying to feel for any missed injuries or anything awry. you only find the foreign blood–no signs that your husband is hurt.

(love)

“my mother sent me to interfere in rhaenyra’s plan.” he began while wrapping his arms around you. he pulled you closer to him by your waist. “lucerys was there,” dread fills his body when your eyes light up. “i got angry at him, i admit, but i did not intend to- i was angry.” your brows furrow as you try to understand your husband’s ramblings. you tilt your head at him, reeling back a little. “what are you saying, aemond?”

he cups your cheeks, admiring your face before he tells you what he knows will break your heart. you’ve always cherished him, he was practically a younger sibling to you. “i will admit i provoked him, i told him to give me his eyes. the baratheon– he told us to get out, so we did. we took to the sky, but it’s raining you know this..listen. he- he-” your eyes widen, and bile begins to build in your throat. your eyes are sore from tears unshed as you slowly confirm what plagued your thoughts. “no.”

you rip yourself from your husband’s grip. your mind runs wild with the thoughts of what he could possibly mean. little lucerys is gone? your lucerys? the lucerys that has sent you smuggled letters to your place in the castle, the lucerys who tells you of his innocent adventures and his cousin-wife’s grief? the little lucerys who has always been extra to care for? there is no way he has gone. he does not deserve it.

he does not deserve it.

without thinking, you find yourself moving towards your son. you delicately pick his little body up to cradle against yours. your first baby is gone, and the second shall never know him. the feeling in your stomach cannot be described. is this what a mother’s pain is to be? you blink back the tears in your eyes to look back at your husband, “why would you take that fucking dragon to confront lucerys? he has always been fragile!”

“my mother-” you scoff loudly, holding your son against your chest as he stirs. “aemond, fuck your mother. your bitch of a mother sent you to confront lucerys velaryon who is but a boy. he was of three and ten.” aemond flinches at the tone you take, practically yelling at him. his chest tightens and contracts when you seem to look at him in disgust. the same way you’ve looked at his mother and sir criston cole after walking in on them some time ago.

“nyke gōntan daor nūmāzma naejot issa jorrāelagon, rȳbagon issa.” you scoff as he speaks in your mother tongue. aegon’s singular eye has unshed tears clear in them because the one person he wishes to be on his side, is not. and he cannot find the means to cope with it. if you will not stay by his side, who will?

(i did not mean to my love, hear me.)

“he was a child, aemond!” you cry, tears slipping past your cheeks as anger bubbles in your stomach. you’ve carried aemond’s child. you’ve watched your son slowly progress day by day and you cannot imagine having that life taken away from him. your stomach lurches as you imagine how lucerys must have felt. you’ve no care for the issues between your family, but this specific event tears your heart apart. 

aemond takes a step toward you but you snap at him immediately, frowning and gripping your son tightly against you. “no. keep your hands away from me. nyke jāhor daor sagon nykeā accomplice naejot skoros ao emagon gaomagon, se dāria rȳ se embar jāhor daor māzigon syt issa tresy. instead, pōnta jāhor emagon ao. se nyke jāhor daor sagon kesīr.” you switch into your mother tongue easily, so swiftly that aemond freezes for a split second.

(i will not be an accomplice to what you have done, the queen across the sea will not come for my son. instead, they will have you. and i will not be here.)

“you cannot possibly mean-” your eyes have welled with more tears when aemond focuses his vision completely on you from where they’re fixated on the floor. “yes. you know precisely what i mean. ūndegon issa skori ao issi daor longer aōha muñnykeā's jaos.” your face scrunches out of both disbelief and pain. your husband, the boy you’d taught yourself to fall in love with has betrayed you. he knew what place in your heart the young boy held, but he allowed childhood actions to blur his vision.

 perhaps lucerys should have taken both his eyes.

(see me when you are no longer your mother’s dog.)

[pimosworld]

Only if you catch me

Pairing- Frankie Morales x f!reader

Chapter Summary-You and Frankie have your first official date.

Chapter Warnings- 18+, MDNI, mentions of addiction, angst, fluff, first date jitters, kissing, sexual tension, flirting, Frankie is a gentleman

WC-6.7k

A/N- These two are so sickeningly sweet I can’t stand it. Reader and Frankie have a long way to go but it almost always starts with butterflies. @toobusyshrimping Thank you for the help with the “foot in mouth” line.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter 2. Composite

For some people, one slip up means disaster. There is a huge emphasis on not taking that first drink. That first drink can trigger the obsession, the compulsion. The need for more and more. 

  It took Frankie awhile to find an NA meeting not focused on shame, but healing. A place that didn’t ask you to share something about your week like you were a child. A place that didn’t tell you to be comfortable all the while making you sit on hard metal folding chairs in a cold dingey room. 

  Soft ambient lighting strategically placed to help you relax, instead of the harsh fluorescent lights like you were being interrogated. 

  It’s a weekly routine. 

  One Frankie has grown used to over the last year. From that first day feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin to now being a regular face amongst the crowd. 

  His knee no longer bounces nervously as he listens to others talk about their battles with addiction. His hands are steady resting along his thighs instead of worrying at the frayed lines on his shirt.

  He’s seated facing the door so he sees Jones enter. The older man looked a little more gray than usual. The worry lines deeper and more evident on his face. His clothes could use an iron and he looks on the tail end of a three day bender…but he’s here. 

  He gravitates towards him and Frankie offers the open seat. 

  “Look, I’m sorry about…”

  Frankie waves him off, not wanting to do the awkward song and dance. Offers him an easy out and a curt don’t let it happen again. 

  “I hope your lady wasn’t too upset.” 

  Thankfully the moderator enters the room to save him from an explanation. His lady. A statement he hadn’t heard in awhile. Obviously way too soon to call you that, but he doesn’t feel like correcting him. He may be getting ahead of himself but he hopes he won’t have to correct him. 

  Frankie hasn’t felt this way about anyone since her. Somewhere deep down where he shoves every ounce of guilt he thinks he may have never felt this way about her at all. 

  Bonded by trauma and addiction, he somehow thought what they had was love. He thought they were meant for each other because who could possibly love him and all his fucked up past. He started coming to these meetings with her and then she made excuses as to why she didn’t need them anymore. That was the beginning of the end, when he finally realized that maybe they weren’t as compatible as he thought. Each day he healed his trauma, each day he stayed sober they grew further and further apart. 

  And then Colombia. 

  Frankie returned with the boys and no Tom. No amount of money could fix the damage they had all done. Fractured and barely holding on, when he needed her the most she came to him so strung out he didn’t recognize her. The woman he used to love, the woman who had laid her life on the line for them so many times he lost count. He’s glad for her sake that Santi couldn’t find her before Colombia or she might not have made it home. 

  “Francisco, do you want to share anything new about your week?”

  All eyes are on him and he’s not sure how long she’s been trying to get his attention. Judging by the sly way Jones tries to hide his smile behind his hands it’s been a second. 

He adjusts his cap on his head, nervously running his fingers through his hair. “Umm, not much to share about this week.”

  “That’s okay, we don’t always have to share. I’m just glad to see your face.” 

  He’s not sure where it comes from as she goes to address the next person. As though he has no control over his body when he begins to clear his throat and she redirects her attention back to him. 

  “Actually.” 

  He straightens up a little in his seat, squaring his shoulders back. 

  “I met someone this week.” He’s met with her pleased smile and a few low whistles. “We have a date this Saturday.” 

  He lets out a sigh of relief, not usually one to share during meetings but never being pushed too. Something makes him want to open up more. Perhaps it’s you. 

  “I’m proud of you Francisco. For sharing and for putting yourself out there.” 

  He knows she’s the only one who keeps track of everyone’s recovery process. He brushed it off six months ago when she informed him that he’s been coming in consistently for a year. 

  The silent understanding that he’d reached a milestone. 

  He memorized the pamphlet his first time coming in. The only thing he could focus on while his hands shook and his back sweat. 

  He scoffed when he first read the part about dating.

Dating too soon can be detrimental to mental health and well-being, and increase the risk of relapse. During early recovery, people are still learning to navigate their new sober lives, and dating can be a distraction or replacement addiction. It can also be difficult to maintain sobriety while dating. 

He ignored the advice that first month when Benny needed him as a wingman for a double date. He nearly had a panic attack at the restaurant when his date wouldn’t stop pestering him about his time in the military, what he did for work, does he have any siblings. All the monotonous first date conversations that he should be able to answer but her wine stained lips and suffocating perfume were making it all too much. 

For what it was worth Benny felt bad when Frankie ditched the date and drove straight to Will’s house because he didn’t trust himself to be alone. 

A year and a half later and you come along. A breath of fresh air

The rest of the meeting goes by in a blur of introductions, confessions and thoughts of you as he makes his way out to his truck. 

****

“I’m not entirely sure why you think I’m gonna be able to help you pick an outfit.” 

Your phone is propped up on top of your mirror with a little FaceTime image of your sister in the corner as you twirl around. 

“You used to help me pick outfits all the time Dom.” 

“Yes but I have no sense of style now. I spend most days in sweats.” 

You step out of frame not satisfied with the third outfit you’d tried as you add to the growing pile of clothes on the bed. 

“Tell me more about the date and I might be able to help you.” She yells knowing you’ve gone to your closet.You’ve spent the better part of the last hour hoping to find something that doesn’t remind you of him. You really needed to get some new clothes but that would require money you did not have at the moment. 

You pull out your dress from your college graduation. A red satin wrap with a low neckline and a flowy skirt. You may have worn it a thousand times but it’s never done you wrong. 

“He said we’re going to dinner, he’s picking me up at seven.Those are all the details I have.” You smooth your hands along the soft fabric as you stand in front of the mirror once more. Standing on your tip toes to get a better look you hear a tiny gasp. 

“Auntie you look so pwetty.” You can see the top of your nephew's dark curls just peeking out in the frame as your sister props him on her knee. 

“Well I think that’s a winner.” Dom says as she tickles her son and he lets out an excited squeal. “Don’t you think so buddy?” 

He nods enthusiastically and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. 

“I love red!” He yells and you both burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Red is his favorite color.” She ruffles his hair as he  slides off her lap, bored with the adults' conversation. “Red is bold?”

“Too bold?” 

She holds up her hands as she senses the nervousness in your voice. “I’m just saying it’s refreshing to see this side of you again.” 

You fix her with a look already knowing where this conversation is heading. A direction you don’t even want to follow right before a date. 

“Don’t think I don’t recognize that dress, I haven’t seen you wear it since that party.”

“Dom.” Your voice in a low warning. 

“I hated the way he spoke to you and then you never wore it again.” 

“Please don’t start.” Your voice trembles as you move out of frame, hastily untying the knot in the dress. 

“Come back please, I’m not trying to start a fight!” 

You know deep down she’s just being a concerned sister. You’ve been working on this particular trigger with your therapist. Not being able to sense when someone is helping and when someone is judging. 

You let out a shaky breath as you grab the phone from the mirror, plopping down amongst the clothes on your bed. A stray tear rolling down your cheek as you see her moving through her house to a quiet room. 

“Listen please….I love you and I just want what’s best for you. Don’t shut me out again because it nearly killed us both last time.” 

You close your eyes as you listen intently to your sister's words. Trying desperately to shove down the thoughts you’ve kept at bay for the better part of a year. 

“I’m not mom okay. I’m not judging you, I just want my sister back. I want that person back who wore the red dress. I want the person back who snuck out with me and got a tattoo for my eighteenth birthday.” She’s crying now and it’s just occurred to you that it’s been ages since you’ve seen her cry. “I want the sister who forged moms signature so she could go skydiving.” 

You both let out a guttural laugh when you remember how livid she was at the both of you. 

“I saw a glimpse of her the other day when you called me to talk about the job…and just now when you put on that dress.” 

You're grateful you still have hours to go before Frankie comes to get you as you wipe the mess on your face and smile back at your sister. 

“Jesus Dom, I’ll wear the damn dress. You didn’t need to make me cry.” 

She’s smiling ear to ear as she wipes the tears from her face and you both let out wet laughs. 

“Call me when you get home please.” 

“You know I will. Tell Elise I said hi and tell Casey I love him and thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

You hang up the phone and lay in your pile of clothes a little while longer just thinking about what your sister said. She was right. She was always right. 

****

6:45 pm

Frankie sits outside your quaint apartment building not wanting to head up too early. 

You live on the top floor, which is definitely the safer option for someone like you living alone. The complex isn’t gated and that makes him uneasy. 

Anyone can just walk up to your doorstep. 

He did notice security driving around which is nice, but security guards are a dime a dozen and they can’t really protect you from much.

It is one of the nicer neighborhoods in town, close to schools and a police station just down the road. 

But when do the police ever show up in time. 

He can tell he’s obsessing but he can’t really help himself. He is not really sure why he’s even so concerned about these things when it comes to you. He just met you and you’ve lived on your own successfully without him. He doesn’t need to swoop in and save you. In the words of his therapist, you don’t have to be in protective mode all the time.

Easier said than done. 

In the time he’s spent scoping out your living situation five minutes have passed. He figures that should give him enough time to head upstairs and only arrive five minutes early. He checks his hair once more in the rear view mirror not totally loving how it looks without his hat but deciding not to fidget with it anymore. He grabs the bouquet of red roses that he thought too hard over at the florist thinking maybe it was too cliche but at her insistence on how romantic of a gesture it was decided to go for it. 

****

6:45 pm

You’ve been standing in front of the floor length mirror in your bedroom for the last ten minutes trying to decide on a shoe. You texted your sister and she was no help telling you to go for something wild yet sensible. Those two things could not be more opposite. You didn’t want to go too fancy just in case this was a casual restaurant, but what if it was a really nice restaurant and you decided on a sandal? 

You were definitely overthinking this. 

You silently curse to yourself knowing you were running out of time and you can’t really go on a date barefoot when you remember some strappy low heels you bought for a wedding awhile ago. Perfectly cute and sensible all at once. 

You throw them on and give yourself one last look before you glance at your vanity table. The red lipstick you went back and forth over practically mocking you with the cap off. 

I want the person back who wore the red dress. 

Your sister's words echoing in the back of your mind. 

Fuck it. 

You hold the tube in your hand as your fingers tremble slightly. You stare down at the vibrant, fiery hue in stark contrast to your normal understated palette. With a deep breath you carefully apply, the texture smooth and crisp against your lips. When you first take a step back and look, the color is so striking it feels foreign. 

It’s also exhilarating and cliche that some red lipstick is giving you this huge boost of confidence. 

You grab a black leather purse hanging from your closet door opting to forgo your usual tote bag for something a little nicer. You tuck the lipstick, your phone and a little wallet inside leaving just enough room for Andy. Your sister would probably have your neck for bringing your camera on a date but it was your comfort blanket at the moment and you weren’t ready to let go of it. 

A heavy knock on your door and you take a deep breath and glance at the clock on your bedside table. 

****

6:55 pm

He knocks once and winces at the loud sound that echoes against the cheap wood. His hands are sweating against the plastic wrapped around the flowers and he hopes he’s not this rusty the rest of the night. 

When you greet him at the door he’s sure his heart stops for a few seconds. It’s entirely unexpected, his reaction and his complete underestimation of what he thought you would look like. He knew you were beautiful when he first saw you in the gym but this. This has him questioning everything. 

The red. 

Your dress and your lips. It’s Pavlovian the way he wants to sink his teeth into them. If this is you then he’s a goner. 

“Frankie…do you want to come in?”

“Oh shit…sorry. Ya, these are for you.” He practically shoves the roses at you and thankfully you laugh at his fumbling. He’s not sure how long he stood there gawking at you. 

“Why don’t you come in so I can put these in some water.” He’s following the scent of you like a cartoon Pepe le pew through your quaint apartment. 

You fumble around the kitchen cabinets looking for a vase as he takes in the space. It already feels a lot more warm and inviting than his five bedroom house that seems like a void of endless drab furniture. 

Little hints of you everywhere, a shelf with vintage cameras lined up. An odd shaped purple suede couch in the middle of the room, your coffee table looks like an old door with legs on it,  plants hung in any available window. A picture of you with a little baby on the wall along with some of the most vivid scenery shots he’s ever seen. Another picture with a woman who closely resembles you and an older man on what looks like your graduation day, wearing this dress. 

“I know I have a lot of…eclectic things.” You say as he turns to you. You’ve somehow trimmed and arranged the roses in the time it’s taken him to inspect your space. 

“Is that a pitcher?” 

“I mean…technically yes, but it’s serving as my vase since I don’t receive flowers much.” 

He hums in disbelief because how could a woman like you not receive flowers just for merely existing. 

He doesn’t even know if you realize you’re smiling behind the bouquet. A perfect blend of red that you serve as the backdrop. He takes out his phone and boldly takes a picture. 

You squint your eyes at him because he has his sound on. 

“Francisco.” Your voice drops an octave dripping all syrupy sweet. 

He surely won’t make it with you saying his name like that. 

“Yes, that is my name.” 

“Did you take my picture?” Hands on your hips and your tongue on your canine. 

“Maybe? I get the feeling you’re behind the camera too much.” 

You laugh as though it’s some inside joke because it is really. Your sister is always pestering you to be in the photo. But that leaves someone out and it might as well be you. 

“Can I see?” You move towards him and place your hand on his arm and he’s tempted to let you. He could read lips if they were yours as he repeats them back to himself. 

He places his phone in his pocket and watches as your eyes flit briefly to where it disappeared. 

“Not tonight.” 

Some other time 

You’re not so bold to reach in and see for yourself. You’re so close to him now you can feel his body heat and if this is what weak in the knees feels like then you’re certainly that. It takes every fiber of your being to remove your hand from his arm. 

He misses the warmth immediately as you step back but the look on your face shows a sign of that shy girl from the other night. 

“Should we?” You gesture to the door. “I don’t want to miss a reservation.” 

“No reservations needed. I know the owner of the restaurant.” 

You raise your eyebrows and he didn’t mean for it to come out so cocky. “I hope you like Italian.” He changes the subject hoping to avoid the awkwardness that he’s let fall over the room. 

“Points for you since that’s my favorite.” You reach for his hand as he leads you out and as you lock up your apartment you have to remind yourself that he’s not your ex. The man who knows the owner, the man who decides what you eat and drink, the man who didn’t care less what you wanted as long as you didn’t embarrass him. 

****

If he notices your shift in demeanor he says nothing. It’s easy to relax around Frankie and you notice yourself slipping into a peaceful routine with him. When he opens your door and helps you into the truck. When he instinctively grabs your hand as he drives, you notice his signature cap left at home for your date as his hair blows in the wind. 

This doesn’t feel like a first date. 

This feels like something you do all the time. Like you fit right into some imaginary puzzle piece in his life. He’s humming some tune under his breath and you’re feeling a little more bold as your fingers lace with his. 

You can feel him watching you from the corner of your eye as you look out the window at the familiar surroundings. He likes the way you look next to him, in his truck and something bubbles to the surface that he has to push down to not scare you away too soon. 

“I don’t think I told you how beautiful you look tonight.” You glance over at him as his large hand grips the steering wheel. “I was thinking it real hard but the words never came out.” 

“I was thinking something similar myself.” 

He notes that low timber in your voice when you compliment him. It takes everything in him to keep his eyes on the road. 

“I was hoping I wasn’t too overdressed.” You say apprehensively as he pulls into a small parking lot. 

“Baby for where we’re going you’re perfectly dressed.” 

You don’t have time to even react to the pet name when you see the restaurant come into view as he parks directly in front. 

“Frankie, this place is impossible to get a reservation. Trust me I tried and failed when my sister was in town visiting me.” 

He smirks as he opens and closes the drivers side door leaving you momentarily to saunter around and open yours. 

He holds his hand out to help you down and gently grabs your waist in the other. “Make sure to let me know next time she’s in town.” 

“Okay.” You say a little breathlessly as his large hand engulfs yours and he guides you towards the entrance. 

****

“Morales for two.” 

“Right this way Mr. Morales.” The Maitre d’ leads the way dressed in a tailored suit with a vest and small black bow tie. 

The interior is breathtaking as you make your way through the ornate hallway. Chandeliers cast a warm, golden light over the crisp white linens. There’s plush, crushed velvet and intricate woodwork furniture throughout.The walls are adorned with tapestries and the scent of fresh herbs and garlic wafts from the kitchen. 

You’ve noticed the entire night Frankie has been sure to walk behind you or beside you. Something you didn’t even realize in your previous relationship was a courtesy you weren’t afforded. Always being pulled along or left behind. His hand is warm, placed gently on your back as you pass by other well-dressed couples engaged in intimate conversations. Their voices a soft murmur against the backdrop of classical music playing somewhere in the distance. 

You’re both ushered toward a secluded corner of the restaurant, away from the bustling dining room. Your breath catches as you take in the scene before you. A small path opens up to a hidden courtyard, bathed in a soft glow of candlelight. Ivy climbs gracefully up the old stonewalls. A table set for two is adorned with empire candles and one single rose. 

Frankie’s eyes are on you, a mix of nervousness and pride etched across his face. He’s clearly pleased with your reaction and he chuckles to himself as he takes in the romantic setting his friend arranged just for this moment. 

“I hoped you’d like it.” Frankie says, his voice a soft murmur as he pulls out your chair. 

“Like it! Frankie, are you serious? This is incredible.” 

He smiles at your reaction as he takes his place across from you. The tenderness in his gesture, the thoughtfulness of the setting-it all makes your heart flutter. This isn’t just a date. It’s a memory in the making, and his effort to impress you is overwhelming in the best way possible. 

****

“Frankie I have to say the website photos do not do this place justice.” 

The laugh that erupts from his chest catches you off guard briefly. “The owner was being cheap-.” 

“Cheap!” A familiar voice sounds from behind you as the gorgeous man you recognize from Benny's fight strolls over to your table. His hair is slicked back showing off his perfect bone structure. Slight salt and pepper stubble across his face. Dressed in all black and the first two buttons undone to show off his tan chest. 

Frankie stands from the table and embraces the man in a tight hug. He whispers something you don’t quite catch before turning to you with a wide smile. 

“Hi, I’m Santiago.” He holds out his hand for you and to your surprise kisses the top of your outstretched hand. “Fish whisked you away before I had a chance to introduce myself the other day.” 

“Fish?” 

“That is exactly why I whisked her away.” Frankie says through gritted teeth. 

Santiago holds his hands up in apology. “Sorry, I mean Francisco.” 

The waiter appears with a pitcher of water and pours for the table as Santiago instructs him to bring a bottle of sparkling when he returns with the bread. 

“So I hear you’re quite the photographer, I could use your help.” 

“Pope.” Frankie eyes him in warning. 

You reach across the table and take Frankie’s hand in yours. “It’s fine really.” 

Santiago’s eyes on your joined hands and a knowing smirk on his face. 

“I would love to take some photos for your website. They really are quite awful.” You say honestly. 

“Well I took them myself so…”

You unconsciously grimace and it’s equal parts comical and painful to look at as you palm your face. “I’m so sorry.” 

Both men are laughing before you can continue your apology. 

“No hard feelings, cariño. I’m a big boy and can take some criticism. This guy on the other hand.” He pats Frankie on the back. “Go easy on him for me.” 

A look of gratitude passes between them and Santiago steps back as the waiter reappears. 

He claps his hands. “I’ll leave you two love birds to enjoy. I have a very special meal planned for the evening so I hope you’re hungry.” 

He turns to leave but not before Frankie speaks. 

“Gracias hermano realmente aprecio todo.” 

“Para ti cualquier cosa.”

****

The conversation between you and Frankie flowed easily as each course was presented to you. Per Santiago’s instruction the waiter presented each dish to you in great detail. 

First Course: Antipasti Deliziosi

The evening begins with an elegant spread of antipasti, served on a polished wooden platter. The colorful assortment included thinly sliced prosciutto, delicate burrata cheese drizzled with balsamic reduction, and an array of marinated olives, artichoke hearts, and sun-dried tomatoes. 

Frankie tells you a little about his time in the military with the boys. After a brief explanation that because of some private government contracts they all did very well for themselves after the service. Of course your curiosity was peaked at the thought of Benny and Will owning their own gym and Santiago owning the most popular restaurant in town. Frankie had casually mentioned at your first encounter that he owned a private helicopter business. None of these men came off as self centered or what you would consider avaricious so it was refreshing to see such successful men be so humble. 

Albeit very intimidating that you struggled most months to pay your bills and your savings was almost at nothing after a year of being here. You quickly steered the conversation away from that topic which made you uncomfortable because of your previous relationship. You didn’t want to come off as some kind of gold digger. 

Second Course: Risotto ai Frutti di Mare

The second course featured a luxurious risotto with a medley of seafood—plump shrimp, tender scallops, and mussels. The creamy, saffron-infused risotto, complemented by a hint of lemon zest. Between forkfuls, Frankie shares anecdotes about his most memorable helicopter flights, while you told him( sparing some of the not so pretty details) of your spontaneous move just a year ago. 

He listens intently to you talk about trying to work when you first arrived but it being too overwhelming. You briefly mention therapy and for that he’s grateful he doesn’t have to be ashamed to talk about his struggles after leaving the military. There’s no judgment in your eyes when he talks about those meetings that saved his life. 

First date feels inappropriate and a little too heavy to mention ex’s so you both stay far away from that topic. 

You don’t mention your sobriety so he doesn’t push. 

You talk about finally taking that step and reaching out to Will for the shoot and he can’t help but shake his head on the timing of it all. 

Third Course: Filetto di Manzo con Salsa 

For the third course, the table is graced with a perfectly cooked filet mignon, its tender surface glazed with butter and rich red tomato purée . Accompanied by truffle mashed potatoes and sautéed asparagus.

You’re beaming when you open up to him about some future projects you want to work on and the need to get back into weddings since those were your favorite. 

He may know some people that are seeking you out for just that but he won’t spoil the surprise. 

All of the normal first date questions that would usually bore him to death seem to feel different when he’s with you. The way you look in his eyes makes him feel like he’s floating. He’s sure you don’t notice the way you bite your lip when you’re thinking or the way you moan after trying the first bite of each course. 

Your knee keeps brushing his under the table but it’s comforting when you don’t pull away. 

Dessert: Tiramisu Classico

The evening concludes with a classic tiramisu—layers of espresso-soaked ladyfingers, creamy mascarpone, and a dusting of cocoa powder. 

Once the waiter disappears, and since he’s feeling a little bold he takes your fork and a small piece. Holding it out for you as you wrap your still red lips around it and let out the most sinful sound he’s ever heard. 

Worth it. 

You take his fork and serve up a slightly larger piece and do your best to lean as he meets you halfway. His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head when he takes a bite. 

Without thinking you reach across with your finger. “You’ve got.” And swipe the cream from the corner of his lip. Boldly licking the remnants as you watch something flash in his eyes. 

“Frankie. I don’t know how you’re gonna top this.” 

He watches you take another bite. “Oh I’m sure I can think of a few things.” He finally managed to say after he composed himself. “In fact, if you’re not afraid of heights I definitely have some ideas.” 

You sit back and clutch your chest. “Oh I would love to meet Lucy.” 

He chuckles as he looks at you and wonders where the hell you’ve been hiding. 

****

Santiago of course waited until you were finished to get your opinion and say his goodbyes. Frankie suggested you walk in the small park across from the restaurant. With a little push from Santi, the name he preferred you call him since Santiago was my father as he put it. 

It was a short walk to the park. 

You and Frankie strolled along the winding path encircling a small pond. The sun was already set but the sky still had those remnants of dusty pink and purple as the last rays bounced off the surface of the water. 

You love the way he instinctively takes your hand and he thinks it’s almost too perfect the way it fits in his. Like they had been designed for each other. The both of you walk in a comfortable silence exchanging glances as you stare at his profile and laugh to yourself. 

“Something funny hermosa?” 

“You never told me about the nickname.” You say matter of factly and he just sighs. 

Instinctually rubbing his hands along his jaw as he stops walking and you face him. “It’s better now but. I couldn’t grow a beard to save my life.” You laugh and he crowds your space. “The guys said I had whiskers like a catfish.” 

He raises his eyebrows as you hide your smile behind your hand. “I like it.” You say softly as you reach out, grazing your finger over the small spaces still missing some hair. His eyes close for just a moment and he leans into your touch. 

He’s so close you can feel his breath fan across your face and it would be so perfect if he just-

“You wouldn’t happen to have Andy in your bag by chance?” 

It takes you a moment to register what he’s said instead of kissing you. 

“What? I mean yes…um ya I do. Why?” Sounding more flustered than you want as he places his hands on your shoulders and slowly turns you around. 

You stifle a gasp as you see a man across the pond getting down on one knee and the camera is out of your bag before you can blink. 

You can see the woman as she covers her mouth in shock. Her excited squeals echoing over the water and it couldn’t be a more perfect backdrop. 

Frankie’s hands haven’t left you as his thumbs rub circles on your shoulder and he steals peaks of the photos when you take a moment to make sure the shots are just right. Adjusting the zoom on a few and grateful you don’t need the flash with just enough natural light left over.

Frankie watches you work and he’s just in awe of how you can capture the moment so well. You’re quiet and methodical in your approach and the juxtaposition of you moments ago makes his head spin. It’s like when he’s flying and everything else just shuts off around him and he can only focus on the controls and the shifts. 

He watches as the couple embraces and for the first time he thinks that’s something he wants. He’d spent so much time with his ex and that thought never once crossed his mind. 

“We should head over before they leave so I can show them.” It’s all rushed out in a hurry as you grab his hand and pull him along the path. 

He can’t help but laugh at your pure joy as you turn to look at him over your shoulder. 

He hangs back a little as you show the couple the photos. Your hands animatedly flailing to match the woman’s as she jumps up and down. The man looks over to him briefly and Frankie flashes him a thumbs up in congratulations. A man not much younger than him and he has his whole life to look forward to with this woman. 

****

“Oh my god, she thought he hired me.” Your voice comes out louder than you expected. As he glances over to you in the passenger seat looking through the photos. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

He clears his throat but keeps his eyes on the road. “I love watching you work.” 

“It doesn’t feel like work for moments like that.” 

“Hmm…ya I know what you mean.” 

His free hand resting on your thigh, you don’t think he’s gone the entire night without touching you and you don’t mind at all. He’s so grounding in a way you’ve never experienced before. 

The soft glow of the street lights are filtering in through the window as he pulls into your parking lot. That familiar tension is starting to settle into your chest at the thought of saying goodbye or at the prospect of Frankie being disappointed that you’re not quite ready for that next step. 

Frankie notices you’ve gone quiet in the seat next to him as he puts the truck in park. “Everything okay hermosa?” Suddenly feeling a little apprehensive. 

“Oh ya it’s fine…everything is fine.” He could tell by your tone it was most certainly not and he was starting to wonder if he’d done something to make you uncomfortable. 

He turns towards you, his hand resting on the seat next to you now. “I had a really great time tonight.” Frankie says, his voice steady and sincere. 

Your cheeks grow hot as you avoid his intense gaze. “Me too. It’s been…really nice.”

There’s a brief pause and you can feel that unspoken question lingering in the air. You’re fidgeting with the hem of your dress trying to gauge his reaction. “So,um, would you like to come up for coffee or something?” You asked, your voice wavering slightly. 

Frankie’s expression softened as the realization set in. “You don’t have to invite me up if you’re not ready. I want you to feel comfortable.” He takes your hand again forcing you to meet his deep brown eyes. “Just because we had a great dinner doesn’t mean you owe me anything. Or anyone for that matter.”

You exhale a sigh of relief. “Are you sure? Frankie…I really like you, but it feels too soon.” You turn to look away but he gently grabs your chin. 

“Of course I’m sure. We can take things at your pace.” 

Your pace

His eyes flit to your lips briefly as he retreats his hand. You stop him and grab his wrist hoping you didn’t send the wrong message. Your heart flutters as he leans in and you meet him halfway. Your lips meet in a tender kiss. You could taste the sweet remnants of dessert and the warmth of his breath. It’s intoxicating as his hands drift to your waist and despite the awkward angle you find yourself impossibly closer to him. 

Frankie has never felt like this before. Your hands drift to his hair and a deep growl erupts from his chest and he’s starting to question what your pace is as the kiss starts to get intense. It’s one of those kisses that has him questioning every one that came before you. 

You break apart for a second and rest your forehead on his trying to catch your breath. You had to remind yourself for what felt like the hundredth time, that you needed to be patient.

“How about I walk you upstairs? Just to make sure you get there safely.” 

All you can manage is a nod. “That would be nice. Thank you.” 

You both exited the car in silence. Your fingers brushing occasionally, sending small sparks through you. When you finally make it to your door he turns you to face him. His hands around the back of your neck as he leans in for one more kiss. This one much softer as the last still lingers on your lips. 

“Tonight was really special.” His voice full of gratitude. 

“Thank you Frankie.” You whisper against his lips, unable to pull away. “I had a great time.”

“Me too.” He says pulling back slightly, but keeping his hands on you. “I’ll call you soon okay?” 

If he doesn’t leave now he probably never will.

“Okay.” You laugh breathlessly as you wipe the evidence of lipstick from his face.

You have to let him go or you’ll end up eating your words and inviting him in. He’s backing away slowly as you turn to open your door. You can feel him watching you as you close the door behind you and lean against it, finally letting the breath out of your lungs. 

You can feel your phone buzzing in your purse. 

Glancing down to see Frankie’s name light up on the screen. 

“Have you even left the parking lot?” You hear his heavy breathing and a huff of laughter. 

“I told you I'd call you soon.” He teased as the sound of his truck door closing echoes in your ear. 

“A man of his word.” You reply as you walk through your apartment stripping yourself of your shoes and untying your dress. 

“So…what are you doing?” A hint of mischief in his voice. 

“Frankie.” 

“I’m just kidding.” He pauses briefly as you hear the truck roar to life wishing you were still sitting passenger. “If you’re free this Friday-“

“I am!” You hold the phone away cursing under your breath for sounding so eager. 

“Good, it’s a date.” 

You hang up and take in your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Your lips stained a pretty hue of pink now that the red has been kissed off. Your fingers brush them slightly and you know that Francisco Morales has your heart in his hands. 

Hopefully for your sake he treats it with care. 

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@lizzie-cakes @yopossum @sirendyes

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

[superluver]

how about fake dating with satoru gone wrong 👀 (they fall for each other)

Do you see what you do to me? G.S.

Pairing: Gojo Satorux Fem!Reader

wc: 3271 | cw: gojo has dimples, CURSING, fluff, angst if you squint, overthinking, Gojo is TOUCHYY, FEM!READER, cuddling, Gojo being a gentlemen?!, SLIGHTLY SUGGESTIVE

Description: Gojo is attending a month long ceremony, and as a single head, the higher-ups would do anything to pair him up with a powerful sorceress. Gojo invites you to go with him, as his lover.

Im sorry, who ever requested this if this isnt what you were looking for you can request me again and i'll fix it, @teaaleefs thank you again for helping w the story

“You want me to what?” You gape at the man who is kneeling on the ground before you. His eyes bandaged with a pouty lip to make up for the lack of eye contact.

“Please, (Y/N)?!” He begs, grabbing on your pant leg, tugging at you relentlessly. “DAMN IT GOJO,”

“Satoru,” he corrects, but your eyes are ablaze with anger. “You’re gonna tear up my pants again! This is my last pair—!”

He ignores your complaint, continuing to tug hard at the cloth. Your arms are holding down on the stretched fabric, and you pray it’s enough.

Gojo has a tendency to pull on your leg— literally— every time he wants you to do something for him.

“Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease,”

You groan in annoyance, eyebrows furrowed as your arms pull away from your pants. Instead, your hands slam onto the arm rests of your chair. “FINE— Yes, fine I will help you! Just let go—”

Rip

The two of you stare at the damage he had caused, your face emotionless.

“Oopsie?”

“Gojo, get out before I change my mind.”

He stands up quickly, saluting you before walking off. “Roger.”

You slump back into your seat with a sigh, rubbing the corners of your eyes.

What did you just get yourself into?

It’s a major event, a gala if you will, for the 3 Big Clans. Festivities for a consecutive month. And Gojo— Satoru, Satoru has no doubt that the higher ups are going to try and set him up with a powerful sorceress.

That’s where you come in.

For this entire month, you will be treated as the Gojo clan head’s lover. And it’s a big responsibility at that. Not only must you demonstrate your ability and your worthiness, the higher ups may begin to throw jobs at you left and right in order to see you falter.

It’s shameful to see the lady of the house falter at a trivial matter.

On the day of, the two of you were wearing extremely formal wear. Kimono’s in plain colors of blue and white; matching. Unconsciously you squeeze his hand for some form of comfort, protection, even.

You feel his gaze on you, your eyes meeting his crystal colored ones. His gaze is conceited, eyebrows raised, shit-eating grin… that fucker was annoying.

“G—Satoru,” you call out his name, casting him a seemingly polite closed eyed smile, your lips pressed together. It was clear you were agitated— if anyone knew better that is.

And there was only one person who knew better, and that person would be Go— SATORU. Please! Get used to his name.

“Hm?” He hums almost snarkily. His eyes are still on you, but not on your face anymore.

Just you.

Taking in the ornaments adorning you, his eyes wandered over you. Over the kanzashi in your hair, the diamonds dangling from the ends of it.

As well as the strong, yet elegant, steps you took in your zori sandals. All that before finally settling on your fierce gaze. But you didn’t know that he was, well— checking you out.

His gaze seemed gentler, softer than it normally is, but to you it seemed like he was nitpicking you with his eyes; tearing you apart with every individual scan he made of your body.

And at that moment, you had never felt so bare in your life. The most cloth you had ever worn, wrapped around your body, yet he still had the talent to make it feel as though you wore none.

“You look beautiful,” he muttered under his breath, snapping you out of your trance. You stare at him, confused with his words.

He’s smiling at you and you can see a dimple— which you never knew he had— cratering his cheek.

‘How adorable,’

“Thank you,” you mumbled in reply, feeling a little shy at the sudden compliment.

His eyes still linger on you, burning your skin.

“ENTERING, GOJO CLAN.” Someone shouts followed by a loud drum.

Satoru, being Satoru, snorted loudly as the doors opened. He was never one for old fashioned traditions. You clenched his hand, and to your surprise he squeezed back, smiling brightly at you as the large doors creaked open.

It was assumed Gojo would go alone like he did every year. So imagine the surprise on the elder’s and higher-ups' faces when you showed up, holding the young Gojo’s hand.

Your head was strongly held up, eyes blinking softly. Every time he glanced at you, he was reminded of a fairy from a story his nanny would tell him as a child.

“You’re staring, Gojo.” You say through clenched teeth, smiling at the elders.

“Yeah, I know.” He smiles back at you as he heads to the Gojo head’s seat. Normally, there would be two seats, one for the Lady and the Head. But, since Gojo always attended alone, they had left one seat.

Your face grew warm with embarrassment, having realized you would need to stand up at the table. You knew he would be the one sitting down so,

“Oh no, this won’t do.” He waves you over, hands on your shoulder as he guides you to his seat, pushing you down. The elder’s gape at his actions.

The lady sitting at the head’s seat? It’s uncalled for!

His hand slides down your arm, grabbing ahold of your hand. He pulls it up, placing a lingering kiss to your palm, his blue uncovered eyes staring back at you. “Anything for my lady,” he confesses, and you begin to stammer.

“G-go—”

“Satoru,” he whispers back, your palm still covering his mouth.

Eyes half-lidded, anyone would think he was in love with you.

Then, you feel wet. Your hand… was wet?

HE LICKED YOU?!

You feel the need to scream, but in order to keep your image you tug your hand back, wiping it on his own kimono rather than your own. He laughs in response, trying to dodge your currently slobbery hand.

Your eyebrows are furrowed, hand still extended trying to wipe it.

Finally, you get it on him, wiping your hand off of his drool.

“Ahem!”

Your head turns creakily to the voice that commanded your attention. A very wrinkly man, fist to his mouth.

You sweat, adjusting yourself in the very comfortable seat. Satoru has your hand in his own, his thumb rubbing circles on the backside of your palm.

You truly seemed like a couple in other people’s eyes. Satoru, a normally childish person, allowing his lover his seat. Something he probably would never do for anyone.

The old man reads some scriptures from the beginning of time, and you find yourself dozing off, blinking slowly.

Suddenly, his mouth nears your ear, bringing you to shiver at his hot breath hitting your neck and ear. “Don’t fall asleep now,” he teases.

You flutter your eyes at him, raising an eyebrow with pressed lips.

He smiles, and you smile back this time. With infinity being off, you never knew he could be so warm.

When you look at him, he seems like he’d be cold. Body temperature lower than the norm, but it’s surprisingly quite the opposite.

His hands are warm, radiating with heat. You wonder if even on the coldest days he would stay warm.

“I should be telling you that,” you whisper back, smirking at him. He, with raised eyebrows, steps closer to you before seating himself on the minimal space left on his your chair. When he realizes that the two of you won’t fit, he lifts you up, placing you on his lap. His arms wrap around you, securing you so you don’t run off. You squirm in his hold, but he tightens his grip.

His voice goes an octave lower, and into your ear he whispers. “I wouldn't do that if I were you..”

It was almost like a groan the way he said it, and it took two and two to put it together.

You stiffen, almost becoming statue-like as he chuckles into your shoulder, batting his long white eyelashes at you.

“You’re sick.” You spat.

“Just playing the part, sweetheart— hey! That rhymed!”

The elder finishes the scriptures, and that’s when it's time for sorcerers all alike to converse and meet heads of different clans. Though, for being a small percent of the population, there sure were a lot of people here.

“Okay sweetcheeks, time to get up.” He laughs loudly, lifting you up with him as he stands. His arms still wrapped around your waist, forearms in your armpits holding you up. Your feet grazing the ground.

“Let me go!” You swing and wriggle in his grasp, and he laughs manically, setting you down.

“Remember,” he tells you while you brush yourself off, straightening your kimono with an annoyed expression. “I’m Satoru to you— come up with a nickname if worst comes to worst.”

“Got it.” You say with clenched teeth, walking off towards the crowd of people. Satoru trailing closely behind, which gathers unnecessary attention.

“Why are you following me?!” You whisper-shout, and he grabs your wrist, tapping his finger on his cheek motioning for something. He stands with a minor slouch, as if he is leaning for something.. for you.

“What?” You ask, and he says nothing, continuing to tap on his cheek.

Your eyes go wide when you realize what he wants.

A kiss.

Unable to fight or deny out in the open you bite your tongue, pressing your plush lips to his pale cheek. He smirks, pulling your face closer, his pointy nose hitting yours. You can smell the dessert on his breath.

“One more?”

With a roll of your eyes, you bring your free hand up to his face and flick his forehead. While he’s busy rubbing his head in agony, you yank your wrist back, stomping off and away from the man.

“(Y/N)!!!” He calls your name, which sounds distant as you immerse tourself in the crowd of people.

Many woman and younger men stare at you bashfully, few tilting their head with respect as you step through. Their faces reddened at the scene of the strongest sorcerer bowing down to a measly woman.

The thought threw the higher-ups into a fit.

They had to get rid of you.

“How did you guys meet?” A woman asks you, a warm tea cup in your hand. You’re sipping it slowly, eyes scanning the room as you remenise back to the time when you first encountered Gojo Satoru.

“I met Gojo at the Jujutsu Tech,” you confess, and the woman stares at you with a raised eyebrow. “Gojo? Wouldn’t you call him as his first name.”

Caught red handed, and it hadn’t even been a day.

“O-oh! Yeah, Satoru. It’s a long story, of course I call him Satoru.”

She squints at you, then going into a face of shock. She’s not looking at you anymlre, now at the person who looms behind you. “Havin’ a party without me?” He jokes, swinging an arm around your shoulder.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he waves her up, almost commanding her to move closer. The woman does as she’s told, hesitantly moving her head closer.

“I like when she calls me that in bed.”

You gape, she gasps, he grins.

Her face is cherry red, now unable to look you or Gojo in the eye. And with a bow, she steps away.

“Wow,” he breathes out, taking your cup from you and placing it on the table, continuing as he does this action. “Couldn’t even hold out for a day.”

“I'm sorry, old habits die hard.”

“Wow, are you like 50?”

You deadpan, slapping his chest with the palm of your hand.

“We’re gonna have to have one on one training.” He whispers into your ear, then blowing air into the canal. You slap a hand over it, glaring at him. He doesn’t seem to care, casting you his childish grin.

You feel your heart flutter, eyes widening at him. Those dimples again.

Your hand trails up his face, thumbs pressing into the dents in his cheeks. “You’ve got some cute dimples there big shot.” It was meant to be teasing, but you couldn’t help but truthfully mean what you said. They made him so much more attractive.

Everyone knows Satoru Gojo is an attractive man. Hell, even Utahime confessed he was good-looking.

It’s just a fact.

“Why thank you,” he smirks, tapping his head onto yours. “You seem tired, let's get you to bed, yeah?”

With a hand on the small of your back, he leads you out of the gathering. Everything felt too natural with him, and you find yourself doubting.

‘He’s probably been with many women..’

For the first time this night, you find your head hanging low, lips pouty.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“Whatever do you mean?” You snakily reply.

“You’re all… pouty.”

You raise an eyebrow and meet his eyes, though you say nothing as you stare at him. “I’m just tired,” And that wasn’t a lie. It was a partial truth!

He blinks at you, squinting before shrugging.

“Well, if you say so.”

He said that in a knowing tone, as though he knew you were lying. He probably did, cursed energy had a tendency to vibrate and move in uncertain ways when someone is nervous, and with his six eyes, he’s practically a walking lie detector.

He takes you to the hotel you would be staying at, walking to the room only to find there was only one bed.

“Ah.”

“Gojo, why is there only one bed?” You ask groggily, pointing at the large king size bed.

He shrugs, almost clueless and as confused as you, he responds, “I have no clue. Maybe there was a mix up?” (He does very much does have a clue, he was the one that reserved the single bed).

“No, I guess it's alright. It is a pretty big bed, just dont touch me.” You tell him sharply, waving your finger at him.

He pouts, crossing his arms. “I can't make any promises, sweetheart.”

You click your tongue, grabbing your pajamas and undergarments and storming off to the bathroom.

He watches you silently enter the bathroom, and when you come out a while later.

Hair damp, a towel around your neck catching the moisture. Your lips parted, eyes closed... a satisfied expression.

He finds himself staring at you, and YOU catch him.

“Gojo? The shower is ready.” You tell him, placing the towel in a bin the room service provided. He blinks before he scrambles off the bed, dashing into the bathroom.

“Hm, I feel like im forgetting—”

A loud, high pitched scream erupts from Satoru. Soon after the bathroom door slams open, Satoru holding up your underwear with it hooked around his finger.

“You, uh— probably want this back.”

If you could die right now, you would.

Quickly, you snatch it away. Face as warm as you feel. Unable to meet his uncovered eyes, you stare down, “Y-yeah, thanks.”

He’s still standing in front of you, and you finally glance up. Blue hues stare into your own. He makes the prettiest eyes boring compared to his own.

“You should go shower,” you tell him, and he nods slowly, turning to enter the bathroom once more.

You dispose of the dirty clothes, placing them in the bin before making yourself comfortable on the right side of the bed.

“Oh no. I’m on the right, you’re the left.” He tells you once he comes back, pointing at you and the empty side of the bed.

You already started dozing off, you don’t open your eyes. Instead, you sink further into your pillow, “Too bad,” You mutter.

He grumbles, glancing left and right before sighing. You expect him to give up from the tone of that sigh, but what you DONT expect is for him to jump on you, full weight on your body.

“GOJO!” You screech, squirming away and trying to push him off.

“No.” Is the only word that comes out of his mouth.

“Offffff…! Off, off, off, off, offf!” You groan, pushing and hitting him with your palms.

He smiles into the sheets and you, his arms wrapping around you.

“Good night..”

“SATORU!” You scream, rolling away from his grip to the left, leaving him to the right. He sighs, slipping into the sheets before reaching his arms out once more, dragging you over to him.

Your back pressed on his chest, his arms wrappung around you. “Satoru, what are you doing?"

“Sleeping.”

You sigh, grumbling but not moving away. You liked this.. Not like you would ever admit it though.

His nose is buried in your hair, so much so that he can smell your shampoo. It’s nostalgic from your highschool days, when he first saw you pass by him, that same smell was much stronger than now.

It was like getting a whiff of roses, so refreshing the smell was. The smell would linger for long, and there would be days where he would pause in the hallway, taking deep inhales of your scent.

Now, it’s died down. Very faint, but still there. He doesn't even remember strengthening his hold around your waist, his head sinking further into your hair, spooning you.

Your body was swallowed in his much larger one, it was almost funny how much of a giant he was.

Like he was meant to be someone big in this world.

You’re a nobody, only given an opportunity to spend your days with this man before again going your separate ways.

So you'll take this in as much as you can. Allowing yourself to relax in the grip of the strongest, because he wasn't yours. However you can't say that you aren't his; your heart has been his for a long time.

You wonder if he can feel the thumping of your heart. It's worrisome. A tell-tale sign you’re nervous.

You can only sigh, not remembering when or how, but you begin to finally doze off.

Gojo, on the other hand, is not fully awake but awake enough to be aware of his surroundings. His lips end up curving slightly. Much to your dismay, he can in fact hear the erratic pumping of your heart.

He has to hold back his laugh, ‘you’re nervous,’ he thinks, his eyes half-lidded slits. Blue hues peering at the side of your face through your hair.

You don’t even know what you do to him. The way he keeps this façade, but in reality, his heart’s pounding through his chest and ready to burst. It’s giving him away too.

‘Can you really not feel it?’ He wonders, eyes shutting once more.

Since highschool, ever since you passed by him with that smell of flowers on a spring day, you’ve had him wrapped around your finger.

He’s yours, and he’s trying to let you know that he’s always been yours.

“I love you,” he whispers, before succumbing to his own exhaustion.

Little did he know, you weren’t all that asleep.

In the dark, your eyes went wide, and breathing halted. If you started breathing, you think you would gove away the fact that you weren't truly asleep.

Your face grew warm, and through that look of shock, a smile settled on your lips. Your hands finding his own— which are wrapped around your waist— you squeeze them.

It was your way of letting him know, ‘Me too, I love you too,’ without using your words.

And finally, your slumber comes too. Another couple days of acting as Gojo’s lover, might as well make the most of it.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 52: The Maestro's Correction

Prev > Masterlist > Next

tw: mind control, body control, burns, hand whump, whipping, blindness, abuse, blood drinking

October 1925

Alexander stood and bowed low as the Maestro entered the music room, trailed by Oliver in eerily perfect synchronization. "Good evening, sire. I hope you are well."

"I also hope I am well. That depends largely on your hospitality, I'm afraid," he said. "Let us begin by examining your new acquisition in more detail."

"Certainly, sire."

No, no, no -- it took all of Oliver's self-control to not fight as the Maestro sat down on the padded bench and forced him into a submissive kneel. The hook and eye on his dress was undone, and Oliver's dread rose. What did he mean by examining in more detail…?

It was somewhat of a relief when those stony eyes focused on the brand on his chest. "Slipshod. The edges are clearly uneven. The symbol will hardly be readable." The Maestro looked up. "It's obviously your work, Alexander. If you had coerced Lily into fulfilling your obligation, as you were no doubt tempted to do, it wouldn't be in such a sorry state."

"Yes, sire."

"Your thrall is permanently marred, the results of your task an abject disappointment, and all you have to say in response is 'yes, sire'," said the Maestro, his tone like a knife pressed against Alexander's neck. "When I attended the ballet, your thrall informed me that you are allowing him a great deal of freedom, as well, are you not?"

"Yes, sire."

Oliver couldn't turn around, but he could hear the despondence in Alexander's voice. This had been his fault, hadn't it? He should have covered for his master. But Alexander had warned him in no uncertain terms to be honest. What was the correct action? Was there even a correct action?

"Because your thrall is otherwise so obedient, I feel inclined to only impose a light punishment this time."

"Thank you, sire."

The Maestro indicated a fat candle sitting on the end table, its flames providing the only cheer and warmth in the room. "Place your hand in the candle's flame until I am satisifed."

"Yes, sire."

"No!" The choked cry came from Oliver's mouth before he could stop himself. He wrenched his head out of the Maestro's grasp just enough to see Alexander's shock, his hand hovering dangerously near the flames.

"Oh?" Oliver's head was snapped back to look in the Maestro's eyes, filled with a cold fury. "You disagree with my judgement?"

"No, no, sir, I don't --"

The Maestro slapped him across the face hard. "You disagree with my judgement and then you lie to compound it," he said, rage in every note of his musical voice. "You do this out of loyalty, no doubt. My misguided children seek companionship among humankind, and value loyalty over obedience. A flaw I have not yet burned out of them."

Oliver trembled as the Maestro took his right hand. The vampire's hands were colder than ice and smooth as porcelain. He ran his finger's down Oliver's palm in a way that might have been tender in other circumstances. "Do you play any instruments, child?"

He was thinking of burning Oliver's hands, wasn't he? Oliver desperately wished he could answer yes to that question, in the hopes that he would be spared, but the blossoming bruise on his cheek warned him otherwise. "No, sir."

"Are you clever with your hands?"

Oliver thought back to the many evenings he'd spent repairing the bindings of antique books and mending his worn clothes. "I believe so, sir."

"I see." The Maestro turned over Oliver's hands in his own. "Human hands can be permanently damaged. A shame, truly. Mutilating your hands before you've been given the opportunity to prove yourself useful would be a waste at this time, as would any corrective action that spills excessive blood."

Oliver wasn't sure if he should be relieved by that. "…Thank you, sir?"

"You have an obedient soul. I'm not wrong about such matters," said the Maestro. "It is your master's lack of discipline that is to blame for your insubordination. Therefore, I will not punish you."

"You won't, sir?" Oliver would have found this mercy difficult to believe even if he didn't notice Alexander tensing.

"You don't want to watch your master's punishment, do you?"

"No, sir."

"Then look into my eyes, child. Deep, deep into my eyes."

He didn't have a choice, as the Maestro's power drew his gaze upwards and locked it there before he fully realized what was happening.

"Deeper. Lose yourself."

There was a disconcerted ticking noise in Oliver's head, as though his ear were pressed to a clock, and he realized in terror that he was being enthralled, the power like chains wrapping around his mind. Despite Alexander's many warnings and his own resolve to be obedient and avoid trouble, Oliver couldn't help the urge to pull against it. It was bad enough to have to give over his body. The idea of this cruel vampire invading his mind was too much to bear.

But it was already too late. Oliver was already trapped in his eyes. As the ticking of the clock gradually slowed like a mechanical toy winding down, his thoughts slowed too, his vision engulfed by the cold oblivion of the Maestro's gaze.

"Close your eyes down. Tight. As tight as they can."

"Yes, sir." Oliver's eyes obediently shut, sparing him the weight of that gaze, but doing nothing to free his mind.

"I am placing lead weights on each one. Weights that are far too heavy to allow you to open your eyes on your own." A cold finger tapped each of Oliver's eyelids. "Only I can move these weights. You will not open your eyes again until I allow it."

"Yes, sir."

"Wake."

That crisp snap sounded next to Oliver's ear, and he felt the chains on his mind lift, but he did not open his eyes. Could not. Oliver couldn't help but be confused. The Maestro had full control of his body. Why go through the trouble just to make him shut his eyes?

There was one obvious, awful possibility: because he did not intend for Oliver to open his eyes ever again.

"Now that that's settled, you may take your punishment, Alexander," the Maestro said.

Oliver was forced back into a kneeling position and the Maestro placed one hand atop his head. He heard several steps across the wood floor, and then absolute silence.

Was his master actually burning his hand in the candle's flame? There was no sound at all, no cries of pain from Alexander, not even the sound of breathing. The only thing tethering Oliver to the world was that hand on top of his head. As much as Oliver would hate to see or hear his master in pain, the deathly silence and darkness and suspense made it so much worse.

And just as Oliver thought he couldn't take it any more, he smelled what he desperately hoped was not the scent of charred flesh. His spirit cried out to do something, anything, to help his master, but blinded and bound as he was, there was nothing he could do.

"Enough," said the Maestro, after what seemed like an eternity. "I grow weary of watching you disappoint me. Alexander, play."

Play? Alexander's sire couldn't possibly expect him to play an instrument with a ruined hand. Yet Oliver could hear Alexander sit down at the piano bench and begin to play a piece which obviously involved a great deal of intricate fingerwork. Perhaps his hand was not that damaged after all -- but the smell in the air said otherwise.

He didn't have long to sit and enjoy the music (as much as he could under the circumstances) because the Maestro stood and pulled Oliver up, leading him in a dance. Oliver couldn't see and didn't know the steps, but he didn't have to, as his body was once again puppeted without his input, gliding across the room with a grace that was not his own, his trembling hand trapped in that cold porcelain grasp.

"One," intoned the Maestro. "Two." Several beats of music. "Three."

Oliver didn't know what it meant. Swirling around the music room with his eyes shut tight, his anxiety was reaching a fever pitch, making it difficult for him to relax enough to allow his body to sink into the control.

"Four. Five."

He was counting the mistakes, Oliver realized. Every moment his concentration broke, his body was fighting just the smallest bit against the unwanted intrusion. Each time that happened, he would slightly miss a step, or pull against the Maestro's grip.

"Eleven. Twelve."

He couldn't focus. He couldn't follow. He couldn't stop his treacherous body from rebelling against being made the plaything of the implacable vampire in front of him. And the number was climbing.

"Twenty-two." The Maestro released his grip on Oliver, who reeled backwards. "You may stop now, Alexander. Do you see now what I was talking about? He has obedience, but lacks discipline."

"Yes, sire." Alexander sounded as dead inside as he was metaphysically.

"Try not to spill blood unnecessarily when you administer the punishment. I finally find myself with an appetite."

"Yes, sire."

Oliver didn't have to wait long to know what the punishment was. Once more, he was kneeling, and he felt a sharp blow from a thin implement sting his back. It was followed by another, and another, and although Oliver was being kept from movement, he couldn't help but cry. The anticipation of each blow was as bad as the pain, and his back felt like it was on fire.

"That's twenty-two, sire."

"Your hand was light," said the Maestro. "No matter. You had three mistakes in your playing."

He heard Alexander kneeling beside him. The blows the Maestro delivered to Alexander's back rang out through the music room, unmistakable.

"Now that that unfortunate business has been taken care of," said the Maestro as casually as though he'd been discussing an unpleasant chore, "I will take my meal."

Oliver felt every muscle in his body tense, despite the control holding him. It was wrong, wrong, wrong for anyone but his master to drink his blood, but everything about this evening had been wrong.

And it was made even worse by the fact that Oliver couldn't see what the Maestro was doing, when the bite was coming for him. All he could feel was a hand on his head and a thick vampiric aura enveloping his mind. It felt strangely empty. Not like desire or hunger or pleasure, like Oliver had always felt with his master. No, the Maestro's aura was purely about control and practicality, freezing him in position so that he could be fed from. Oliver couldn't even tilt his neck as he'd been trained.

At least a feeding wouldn't be so bad, compared to everything that had happened so far, Oliver reasoned. Miss Lily had instilled in him the craving to provide for a vampire, and the feedings he'd experienced so far had been pleasant, even euphoric. He'd been dreading it previously, but now it actually be a relief.

At least, it seemed like a relief until the Maestro's slender fangs sunk into the flesh of his neck.

Oliver gasped in surprise and pain. It hurt, agony radiating from the bite, and the sensation of teeth in his muscles was deeply violating, not to mention the uncomfortable suction of his blood being consumed. His world narrowed down to nothing but the awful, aching wound, his body spasming with the need to escape from the predator, frozen in place by unnatural means.

It hurt, of course it hurt. He should have known better than to think this might be a relief. Alexander always put him under a gentle spell of sleep and submission and pleasure as he fed, a spell that kept Oliver from feeling any of the pain that would naturally accompany his neck being bitten. Of course the Maestro would not do that, would instead relish his suffering.

As his master's sire drank his blood, his thoughts began to overpower Oliver's own, and he found…

Nothingness.

A pitch black sky with no stars or moon or clouds. An empty field devoid of life as far as the eye could see. A bitter chill sapping the strength and cheer from his very marrow.

Order. Solitude. Misery.

The inky sky rushed to meet him, to swallow him in oblivion, and Oliver thought he might be dying.

"Oliver?"

He was floating back up through the darkness, tethered by his master's voice.

"Oliver? Oliver, please wake up."

"I'm awake, sir," he said, trying to open his eyes and finding that he couldn't, the memories of what had transpired rushing back to him. He couldn't open his eyes at all, the imaginary lead weights keeping them firmly shut. He could tell that he was laid out on the padded bench, cradled gently in what he hoped was his master's arms. His back hurt and his cheek stung and the wound on his neck was intensely uncomfortable… but he was alive. "I can't…" he said, panic rising. "I can't open my eyes, sir. Is he still here? Is it over?"

"He's gone. He probably won't trouble us for some time," Alexander said. "You were brilliant, Oliver. A picture perfect thrall. I wish you didn't have to go through any of that, but you handled it all so well."

Praise from his master cut through some of Oliver's fear and pain. "Will I be able to open my eyes again, sir?"

"Yes, you will, I promise. Hypnotic commands usually fade away on their own if they're not reinforced."

"How long will that take, sir?" said Oliver. Despite the welcome reassurance that this wouldn't be forever, his mind was already filling with anxiety over how he would be able to live. How could he find his way around the expansive manor while blinded? How long would he have to go without reading?

"Well… my sire's very powerful, as I'm sure you know, and you're…"

"Weak, sir?"

"I wasn't going to say weak. You take to enthrallment very well, which has nothing to do with mental weakness, believe it or not. And it's a trait I find endearing, but unfortunately in this case it might be a problem. It could last a month, maybe more…"

Oliver's heart clenched at the idea of weeks in the dark. How could he even take care of himself? Would he be able to cook or bathe? Would he need his master to help him do all of those things? Would Alexander help him?

"…but don't worry!" said Alexander hastily, running a hand through Oliver's hair. "I'll take you to see Lily first thing tomorrow night. She can usually undo things like that, especially considering the grip she has on your mind already."

Oliver never thought he'd be so grateful for Miss Lily. "Thank you, sir. I hope it isn't too much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all. You endured all of this for me. Helping undo my sire's damage is the least I can do. Speaking of which, I've already bandaged your neck, but I should tend to the wounds on your back and make sure they aren't too serious. I could get some ice from the icebox for your face, as well."

"But what about your hand, sir? Did you actually…"

"Yes. It will heal on its own, and I can clean and bandage it later. You don't need to concern yourself with it. I wish to tend to you."

Blinded and in pain, Oliver couldn't bring himself to argue with that. "Thank you, sir."

"I can't easily undo my sire's work, but I can help ease your pain with my song. Would you like that?"

"Yes, very much, sir."

His master began to sing, and his voice was like a lifeline in the dark, soothing and relaxing him and making him feel like everything would be okay, even if it very much wasn't.

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Thanks for reading. Next week: happier days with Fitz.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 8 Review

‼️SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER‼️

Warning(s): unhinged behavior, fat shaming, unnecessary use of foul language, watch me pulverize a bag of expired chicken trash, aurora slander, no one is safe, cyberbullying at its finest ✨

I never thought I would have laughed at the beginning of this chapter.

Like I legit goofed off when I read it no joke.

We come back to Amalia and the beginning of her “fight” against the professional clowns and fatty is telling trophy daughter to get away.

No, come closer Aurora. For once, be an independent woman and don’t listen to your father. You got this honey, get A LOT closer 🥰🥰🥰

Oh my gosh, and she did!

She actually got closer! Good for you, Aurora, you’re such a good girl!

Eyo what.

I did not just hear this bitch say “I won’t run away”. Did I hear that right?

This is coming from the cunt who ran away from HER HUSBAND’S PEOPLE’S FUCKING WAR who’s saying that??

This is coming from the blue-skinned mc fry chicken-looking ass who listened to her daddy tell he to run away from a war but disobeys him when he tells her to not fight another woman?

Aurora.

You’d rather disobey your daddy to fight an experienced adventurous heroine but you’d listen to him when he tells you to flee from a war you were supposed to stay in?

This bitch is clinically slow.

Please lord, let this be a foreshadowing that she’ll actually die when she fights Amalia. 🙏🙏

And then you got her DUMB ASS turning into a Temu version of Echo saying:

Man, SHUT YOUR STUPID MICKEY ASS UP BITCH THOUGHT SHE WAS THE SHIT TALKING LIKE THAT‼️‼️‼️‼️

WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THEY NEEDED THAT ENERGY DURING THE WAR?!??

HOE THOUGHT IT WAS QUIRKY TO ACT UP LIKE THIS‼️‼️ AS IF IT WAS FUCKING APPROPRIATE ⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️

THIS U?

Nah. Amalia cook her up.

Fry her up into that McDonald’s Angus sandwich they took out from the menu AND LEMME EAT THAT SHIT RIGHT AFTER IT-

Literally what the fuck is wrong with this blue hoe. She uses her anger like that towards Amalia but not when it’s necessary???

How?? How does she think like that?

She did not do shit during the war and ran away because she said she was pregnant and did not want to fight and yet here she is saying she’s ready to brawl with Amalia while being pregnant. This doesn’t do shit for her cuz this is just implying that she was fully capable of defending the sadidas during the war!!

WHAT??????

AURORA WHAT MADE YOU THINK YOU COULD TALK LIKE THAT, YOU ONLY LOOK EVEN WORSE‼️‼️

Aurora is yapping as if she can efficiently win this.

Meanwhile, you got Amalia over here, who fought straight-up divinities: she fought against Harebourg, an infamous demigod xelor before he ran away, damaged Jiva's hands, the month protector of Javian, was able to momentarily restrain Oropo, a demigod copy of Yugo, managed to beat Black Bump, the demigod feca, by partnering up with Yugo, and stood her ground against a freaking necrome (a necrome is not a divinity but it technically stays "alive" for eternity).

Aurora has no brain cells, doesn't watch what the hell she's saying more than half the time, has no experience in battle, her pregnancy is the only thing relevant about her, lies for the sake of lying, and has a hideous bird transformation.

Because let's talk about it.

This might just be the ugliest bird transformation I have ever seen in my life. It’s not even pretty at all. Look at how her fingers turn into vulture claws and those feathers just sprouting out of her shoulders and arms.

Echo did it far better than her because her transformation was actually elegant and sublime. Meanwhile, you got Aurora’s slow-ass vulture transformation where she looks like she’s about to take a shit in that panel. Her head is lowered down, her face is hiding behind her hair, her body is shaking, her shoulders going back, and her hands trembling, yeah she’s definitely shitting herself just to do this transformation. Even Efrim’s paws are cuter CUZ HERS LOOK LIKE CHICKEN/VULTURE FEET.

ECHO COME BACK THIS BITCH IS RUINING YOUR FLOW‼️‼️‼️

Also, when you say: “It’s time we put her in her place”, who’s “we”??? You and your dad??? You think that fatty can fight back? Just a second ago, he was telling you to stay back and was sweating like a pig, so again, tf you mean “we”???

Woman thought she ate saying “iT’s TImE ThAT We PuT hEr iN HeR pLaCe” go sit your ass down, you couldn’t even fight against A THUNDER STRIKE. That thunder wasn’t even from the Eliatrope goddess, it was literally just nature that kicked your ass by touching your furry finger.

And that’s the worst part of it. It didn’t even touch your whole body. It touched the edge of your fucking fingers and you immediately dramatically fell like a bird’s white shit.

She’s such a clown omg…

This ain’t even funny anymore. She really thought she was on the same level as Amalia.

Even fucking Eva could take on Aurora while being pregnant, cuz unlike that blue-skinned brat, Eva was able to defend herself against a sram demigoddess AND escape from a pandawa demigod WHILE BEING MUCH FURTHER IN HER PREGNANCY THAN AURORA.

Tot, please for the love of god turn Aurora into a soufflé before the sadidas cause a rebellion French style with the guillotine when they find out she’s actual trash.

Aurora is literally that one jujutsu kaisen meme where they go “Nah, I’d win.” 💀💀💀

Our boss queen Amalia immediately picked up on her bullshit and sensed her coming from a mile away even when she was “going fast” while flying.

And this is literally one of the best krosmoz manga shots of Amalia ready to fucking destroy this worthless excuse of an osamodas.

I swear no matter how many times I keep seeing this panel, my heart wants to pull itself out of my chest, screaming, getting on adrenaline. Amalia’s just so perfect, I wanna be her and kick that chicken-legged braindead woman so badly 😫😫

But sadly, we’re going to have to wait for the next chapter to see this “fight”. I’m calling it like that cuz I bet my whole bank account that it’s just gonna be Amalia pummelling Aurora repeatedly, ain’t no way that blue hoe can actually fight after the shit I saw in Season 4.

And I hope that’s the case because we can see Aurora looking like she’s struggling on the cover of Chapter 9.

She looks enraged and flying fast towards Amalia perhaps. But she definitely looks furious and whenever she looks mad, we all now know it’s always because she’s losing or not getting something she wants.

So yes, Amalia, destroy this wench.

Meanwhile, Yugo’s tasting what hell feels like and my god that crater looks even bigger when we get close up…

What I especially loved about this chapter, was that we finally got another interaction between Yugo and Adamaï, this time more personal and something that felt like their dynamic from Season 2. It’s sad to know that their bond won’t be the same as it was before even when they have finally reunited and forgiven each other.

But this scene gave me hope that their brotherly bond has not entirely been washed away from the years of being apart.

Adamaï still cares for him a great deal and Season 4 was able to show it. And this chapter did the same thing.

This is heartbreaking too look at.

Yugo’s face when he hears him say that, is the look of realization, you can tell his heart just squeezed at his words.

It’s been so long since Adamaï told him these words. He didn’t even say them in Season 4 when they were both reconciling.

Adamaï actually had a really good idea to solve this issue. A temporary solution if you will. Since they’re both primordial twins of the Eliatrope goddess, it was very clever of him to deduce that they should both share the pain of the belladone poison!

Ad can actually impress us when he wants to damn…

Yugo refuses at first but realizes that since they don’t have any other options, he accepts.

(*i just now realized how big Adamaï’s hands looked in this shot. Damn. Imagine getting choked by that-*)

This whole scene, I genuinely felt the bond they used to share back in Seasons 1 and 2. The way Yugo completely relies on Adamaï for any decision that they make together and Adamaï being the one who highlights the issue at hand before coming up with a solution for the both of them.

And ngl, it actually felt very refreshing to see this change.

And here’s the shot guys.

This is the shot we’ve been waiting to see ever since that damn great wave webtoon trailer came out!!

I like how some of us collectively agreed that this was the moment where Yugo created the wave but I’m so happy it wasn’t the case. Because if it did happen like this, the timing would have felt way too forced and rushed. Now I’m just happy Yugo won’t have to cough up blood all the damn time (even tho I like that idea so much cuz Yugo suffering is something i KNOW we all want cuz god zammnn-) because he’ll actually be able to be balanced and stable for now.

Now that the link has been made, Adamaï lets Yugo know that they should move somewhere else to not cause any other damage to the kingdom which is another great idea (Adamaï’s all fired up with good ideas today lol)

ARE THEY IN SPACE?!!?!?!!

LITERALLY SLOW DOWN, YOU GUYS ARE ZIGZAGGING EVERYWHERE WAIT-

I believe there is a way to find a cure for the Belladone poison. Based on what I found, the poison doesn’t seem to have any remedy since it’s such a deadly substance to drink but I believe they could be able to find something that could potentially help Yugo and Adamaï get rid of it from their systems.

For example, the same thing happened to Amalia back in Season 1. Not only did she get bit by a demonic rose known to have been created to hurt Jiva, one of the month protectors of the world of twelve, but she ended up being fine once the others found a cure for the flower.

Granted, the flower and the belladone have two distinct differences that separate them on their severity level : A) The demonic rose is a flower while the belladone is a berry. B) The demonic rose is a deadly flower that, once touched, can kill you in under a day while the belladone, once eaten, can kill you in under a few seconds. It can even damage your skin if you hold one for too long.

Even so, it doesn’t change the fact that if an infamous red flower that has impacted a divinity can be cured, then so can the belladone.

These two are pure morons.

It doesn’t matter when or where they are, they’ll still smirk and come up with dumb jokes even when they’re in pain like this.

Adamaï’s over here treating this like “training”. I have no idea if he said that to lighten the mood when he realized they were somewhat stable now that they shared the pain or if it was just because he genuinely tested this like training to see if they could withstand the pain together.

Either way, they’re both idiots and brothers for life. Brothers who smile even when they’re not sure about the pain.

Extra: let’s just enjoy more pained yugo expressions lol

[moonlightspencie]

wait i noticed you also tagged remus lupin?? it's okay if you don't do it but what about a lil drabble where he comes back from a full moon with a new gash that's pretty deep and he tries to hide it but he's bleeding through his shirt so you take care of him and patch him up <3

i’m barking and growling. hurt/comfort with my current favorite man??? absolutely yes

pairing: remus lupin x gn!reader

warnings: owies (blood and patching it up)

“Remus?” you asked carefully, peeking into the room he’d just wandered into.

He turned quickly, face paler than it usually would be after a full moon. He tugged his half-off jacket back onto his shoulders, but it was too late— you’d already seen the damage done. He slumped in his posture when he saw the change in your face, looking away towards the ground.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, though the wince he gave when he tried to tighten the jacket around his middle proved otherwise.

You sighed softly, approaching him.

“Can I see?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll take care of it.”

“It looks bad.”

“It’s not.”

“Then prove it,” you challenged, knowing he was lying. It looked like the worse one he’d had in a long while. “Let me take a look.”

He flushed in embarrassment, shaking his head slowly. You merely reached out your hand, placing it on his shoulder. When he didn’t pull away, you rounded him to slowly take the jacket off of him. He didn’t meet your eye the entire time, but made a special effort when you took in a breath at the sight before you. The entire side of his white shirt was no longer white— it was completely stained red.

“This is bad, Remus,” you said quietly. “Come. Let’s go in the bathroom. This is going to need some special care.”

He begrudgingly followed you to the bathroom just down the hall, moving quite uncomfortably with the obvious pain that was radiating through him.

“Can I get you anything to help with the pain?” you asked, shutting the door as he walked inside the small room.

“No. I can manage,” he said softly. “You don’t have to do any of this.”

“Of course I don’t have to,” you began, unbuttoning the stained shirt, “but I want to. There is no shame in letting someone care for you when you need it.”

“It’s my own fault.”

“No, it isn’t. You and I both know you don’t choose to transform.”

He finally met your eyes for the first time since you’d caught him, and you gave him a reassuring smile. He didn’t smile back, but you could see a softness begin to settle over his features. You pulled the shirt over his shoulders, helping him out of it completely. You observed the gash in his side, trying to hide your own wince at the severity of it. It was a miracle he could walk back to the house at all after that.

“Remus,” you said softly in concern, looking at his face again.

His expression had soured again upon seeing your reaction, and even more as he saw the damage in full for the first time.

“M’sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t apologize. It’s just— I’ll have to clean this up before I can start the healing process. Are you sure you don’t want anything for the pain?”

“I’m sure.”

You shook your head as you moved behind him to get to the sink.

“Stubborn. I’m force feeding you soup after this,” you mumbled to yourself as you wet a washcloth in warm water.

This time, you caught a brief glimpse of a smile when you looked at him in the mirror.

“This is going to sting,” you warned.

He nodded, bracing himself with a hand against the counter top as you started cleaning around the wound. He tried hard not to react, but you could see it in his face every time you glanced up. It was a couple of long minutes before you were satisfied. You reached into a cupboard to take out the essence of dittany, giving him another, similar warning to the previous one.

You got to work, applying the essence and hearing a sharp hiss as it started doing its work.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, making sure you covered every bit of the gash.

“Don’t be.”

“You’re hurt.”

He nodded. “You’re helping.”

You nodded along with him, finally finishing. You took up the washcloth again, wiping any places you’d missed before, and ensured that you’d done a satisfactory job. You’d decided it was done well enough, at least.

“That should heal just fine,” you noted, glancing at him again.

He looked back at you with a small, grateful smile, and a glimmer of something else in his eyes.

“Thank you.”

You smiled back, cheeks suddenly a little warmer.

“Of course.”

[gravelsong]

I call this the "what if I overanalyzed the HELL out of the Arcee and Carly interaction" post because this scene was really good

Before this, the ONLY time we've really seen them interact is when Arcee saved Carly from falling. They're still on unfamiliar terms, probably only knowing each other through name. Arcee's come over to see Carly, being curious about her, wondering what she's doing, or both. Carly clearly doesn't give a shit though, responding in a very short, and clipped answer.

Okay, so she doesn't seem to be that thrilled about Arcee being over there. That's okay, Arcee will simply ask what Carly's doing instead of beating around the bush, which Carly ALSO responds to with a short, sarcastic answer. Her answer doesn't really help Arcee work out what's going on all that much, so she asks for further elaboration, both wanting to know more and also learn something new about Earth.

Carly gives another vague answer ("gotta start somewhere") so Arcee offers to join her in her activity, maybe hoping that they can connect more and she can learn further about what's on Carly's mind. However, Arcee's blaster causes a solid amount of damage, but it seems to catch Carly's attention and even makes her smile, impressed with the sight.

With Carly seeming more open, Arcee talks a bit about her own skills, her own history with weaponry. She IS a very impressive shot, as vouched by Optimus, but with her time spent fighting in the war, she's mournful over this, as her skill with a blaster adds to the carnage and horror she's seen (the flames in the background serving as a reflection of her memories, what she's witnessed through her talent).

Carly, who just recently lost her father to Starscream, is baffled by this statement, saying that Arcee's skill would REALLY help with killing decepticons (as she seems to have missed the point with what Arcee was trying to say). Carly even specifies Starscream, which makes it clear that she's practicing specifically for revenge purposes against Starscream (great news Carly, Soundwave already took care of that problem). Arcee recognizes this desire for revenge, and states her thoughts clearer: that she can see how Carly's falling to her rage, that her hurt is driving her to future pain (with Arcee probably reflecting on her familiarity with her own hatred).

Unfortunately, Carly is no longer open to listening, switching back into being angry and annoyed. She knows that Arcee's analyzing her, thinking that she knows better than her (also Carly is a teenager, and hurt teenagers tend to shut themselves off to focus on what they think is best for them). The remains of Arcee's shot also look like a burning inferno behind Carly, used as symbolism for her own feelings, her own rage.

("I apologize. It's just... you remind me of myself, when my gears were beginning to turn. I had a teacher then.")

Arcee isn't using subtle dialogue or small talk anymore, she's outright telling Carly of her own history, of how she was the same way. Of how she had someone she loved and trusted so dearly, but he died (ALSO MAGNUS IS DEAD AUGHH) because she allowed her hatred to control her. She was so focused on revenge, she lost another loved one. Even now, Arcee's reflection on her journey of healing is that her hate costed her far more than helped her. It's a painful memory for her, and she doesn't want to see someone else go down the same path she did.

But she's too caught up in her desire for revenge to really hear what Arcee's telling her.

Hell, even in the scene afterward, Cliffjumper is berating himself for not killing Starscream, and that Carly isn't even speaking to him anymore because he couldn't kill Starscream. Jazz tells him that there's no shame in pulling the trigger, but if that was true, then why does he feel so awful (he feels awful because he feels like he hurt Carly right there and then. Also, Starscream immediately grabbed her, and would've killed her if he hadn't been crushed. Cliffjumper is feeling guilty over not taking the shot because it could've killed Carly, and even though she survived, a part of her was still killed in that moment.)

[frogchiro]

Am I straight horny from reading eremite thirst? Yes. Do I want to dress up in Babel's clothing infront of them? Yes. Yes I do. I mean Babel got some hip windows and I know damn well her clothes are MADE to he ripped off

AS YOU SHOULD BE NONNY

rfhgueguegu I just looked up Babel and good golly please step on me lady

and you're right her clothes are as hot as she is, i'm going genuinely feral for the hip windows, as would the men of your group <3

fem!reader, slight nsfw, the usual drill; hot, big and horny Eremite men having the ultimate hots for you <3

Since you're staying with them permanently now, you decided on incorporating their style and culture into your life and what better to begin with than clothes! You bought them from a traveling merchant during a short stay at the Caravan Ribat before continuing further into the desert.

You had to set up camp for the night and since there has been a successful hunt with minimal damage your boys decided that a small celebration is in place; you could swear that they'd find any excuse to celebrate and make you dance for them so that they could use it as a way to grope you and eventually drag you back into the tent an have their way with you.

SO, you decided that this little gathering is a perfect way to make use of your new dress! It's a bit skimpy but it feels as if it's weightless, the dark gauzy fabric perfectly accentuating your curves and hugging all the right places.

Just as you got the last piece in place, a booming voice just outside your tent made you slightly jump as one of the men announced that they've set up the fire and roast and they're waiting for you which earned you a few loud and excited whoops of delight from the others.

You smiled slightly and made your way to remove the flap of the tent and reveal yourself getting kinda anxious what would they say about your new outfit, would they like it? What if you ended up looking ridiculous and-

Your train of thoughts was immediately brought to a halt when you noticed all the men staring at you, their eye bandanas temporarily removed and looking-or rather leering-right at you.

You noticed the look right away; dark, hungry, lustful, that of predator just about to pounce on a unsuspecting prey. You got bashful as you slowly stepped into the area where they were sitting in silence still, just looking.

Before you could say something to get the out of this trance you let out a yelp as suddenly a pair of strong arms belonging to Geo Enchanter wrapped around your middle and dragged you straight into his lap while the men sitting next to him flocked closer and started to run their hands all over you.

"And just where did ya get this thing Little Lady, hmm~? Think you can just walk dressed like that and expect a man to behave?"

The dark skinned man growled into your ear before nipping it lightly and letting his big scarred hands wander all over your body and slip under the sheer chest piece to tease your quickly stiffening nipples.

"I-ah! I-bought it. From that cloth merchant back at the Caravan Ribat. Y-You were so silent when I walked out, I thought you didn't like it-!"

Your ramble was quickly cut short by a slight swat to your bottom and the booming laughs of the surrounding men; just when did they all get so close?

"Well, ya can be pretty sure we like it, don't we boys?", Sunfrost's quip was answered by delighted calls.

"Then let's show this pretty Lady how much we love it~"

That sentence basically sealed your fate and they took you right then and there, on the laid out on the furs under the shining stars and night sky. When they were finaly finished with you, you were back inside the shared tent, all of the men tired out and panting with fatigue.

Right there in the middle of the sweaty bodies laid your naked form, the beautiful dress torn to shreds earlier in the night by the hungry hands of the Eremites; a shame really, the dress really was pretty but hey! At least you can be sure that your boys liked it too, right~?

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 43: MORE TAPE(S)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Extreme Smut

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

Two days had passed and you were back home in Dublin, confronted with a sex-tape between Cillian and his assistant Kit that, by now, had spread like wildfire, making you uncomfortable and emotional every time a notification popped up on your social media accounts, alerting you to the video. All of your friends and acquaintances had, by now, sent this to you and you were sick of it.

Reaching for his phone, Cillian shut off the recording, unable to bear witnessing further humiliation in front of you. The walls of his luxury apartment closed in on him, suffocating in an oppressive shroud of shame.

"My own daughter has seen this and so has my son! Fuck!" Cillian groaned aloud, pacing agitatedly in the room. He turned to you with a look of desperation, his eyes pleading for understanding. Despite your resignation to the fact, your heart went out to him, feeling sympathy and guilt for placing him in this predicament.

"You know you can sue her for this, right?" you suggested hesitantly, clasping his hands softly, trying to offer whatever solace you could provide. Though your intentions were pure, you couldn't help but notice Cillian's reluctance.

"No, this would make things worse, I think," Cillian responded solemnly, running his fingers through his tousled hair in distraction.

A heavy silence settled upon the two of you as reality seeped in – there was no escaping the consequences of this event. No amount of legal action could undo the damage already done.

"Will you at least confront her about it?" you asked, seeing that she had filmed this without his knowledge and then leaked it to the press in spite.

"Yes, I am meeting with her tomorrow. My lawyer has sent her a letter to address the issue privately at first. But legal action? It would just create more publicity which I don't want for Nina's sake," Cillian revealed, looking downward, defeated. 

"I understand, Cills and I think that you should tell her exactly how devastating this is for everyone involved, especially your children. Surely, she can see this. You need to be firm," you advised earnestly, trying to impart strength to his weakening spirit. He nodded gratefully, appreciating your support during this challenging period.

"I will be firm Y/N. I promise," Cillian responded resolutely, pulling away from your touch with newfound determination. He needed to maintain composure now more than ever; letting emotions overwhelm him wouldn't serve anyone's best interest. Instead, it required coolness, levelheadedness, and strategizing. The battle was about to begin, and it wasn't one easily won.

Kit, his once trustworthy employee, had betrayed him in the worst possible way.

The very thought made him nauseous. How could she film them doing something so personal and share it with the entire world? The anger boiling inside of him threatened to consume him entirely.

Walking around aimlessly throughout the day, you noticed his turmoil increasing tenfold. Every step he took echoed with uncertainty and doubt; you could sense that something truly dramatic was about to unfold. After hours of deliberation, Cillian finally decided to take matters into his own hands, requesting a change of scenery.

"We should do something nice after I deal with this tomorrow. Just you and me," he suggested, and you smiled faintly, grateful for any respite from this hellish storm. Glancing at his tired features, a wave of protectiveness swept over you. It was essential to stay strong for him, offering moral support where necessary.

"That sounds perfect. We need a break from all this madness," you agreed, smiling warmly at him. As you looked into his weary eyes, you felt a mix of love, admiration, and concern, knowing just how difficult this whole debacle had become for him.

"How about a trip to somewhere like the Maldives? I have never been there, and Dermont reckons it's quite nice. Just you and me on the beach," Cillian proposed with a sparkle in his eye, as though daring you to imagine the possibility.

Your stomach fluttered, excitement building within you at the prospect of exploring such an idyllic destination while, at the same time, you knew that you could not leave Ireland now without risking being denied re-entry upon your return.

Your visa was about to run out and you needed to address this issue before embarking on a vacation.

"Cillian, I would love to go on a holiday with you, but I can't leave the country right now. My student visa expires soon, and I don't know what to do about it just yet. I am working on it though. But, if I leave Ireland now, I can't return without a new visa in place," you explained sheepishly, avoiding his gaze.

His expression shifted instantly, a mixture of disappointment and frustration flashing across his features.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Cillian murmured softly, his eyes filled with understanding and worry.

Flinching momentarily, you admitted to him the difficulties you faced due to your impending immigration issues.

"Well, you've got your birthday coming up. You also have more important things to worry about at the moment and the premieres next month...I didn't want to burden you with my problems. I was just going to sort it out, but it proved to be much more difficult than I had anticipated, " you said and your words trailed off as your shoulders slumped, indicating your defeat.

Cillian wrapped an arm around your waist tenderly, displaying solidarity amidst adversity.

"Listen Y/N, you are my priority! I will ask my lawyer about this tomorrow after dealing with Kit. There must be an option if you want to stay. You may be able to change your visa to another visa or something," he said, and his tone exhibited care and understanding, allowing you to lean on him for support. "You do want to stay here, don't you?" Cillian questioned, wanting affirmation that his plan for staying together wasn't merely wishful thinking.

"Yes, Cillian. Of course I want to stay here. With you. I love you. Despite, Emma is staying in Ireland too. She is moving to Cork soon, and I want to be close to her as well," you expressed sincerely, locking eyes with him to convey your commitment.

His relief was palpable, and he held you closer still, promising to find a solution.

"Good. I am glad. Because there is no fucking way, I will ever let you go again," Cillian proclaimed confidently, taking charge of both situations which were now overshadowing your happiness.

"Dublin is my home now Cillian, so don't worry!" you replied cheerily but, just as you did, a bound of nausea hit you again, forcing you to make a mad dash to the bathroom.

Cillian, worried, followed behind and gently placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, whispering sweet words of encouragement, easing your anxiety somewhat.

He led you towards the bedroom afterwards, sitting beside you carefully, ensuring you felt comfortable enough to discuss the matter openly, thinking that the nausea was the result of your stress levels lately.

Feeling better physically, Cillian reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers lovingly. His eyes searched yours intently, seeking confirmation of your feelings regarding the situation.

"I hate seeing you like this, because of what Kit has done..." Cillian told you, but you interrupted him.

"No, it's not because of this. I am just hormonal. My cycle is all over the place ever since the surgery and I think that this is why I feel sick sometimes, "you tried to explain your condition, hoping that he understood the physical strain it put on you.

Cillian nodded sympathetically, wrapping you tightly in his arms, providing much-needed comfort.

"You should probably see someone about this again," he offered kindly, genuine concern evident in his voice. Your brow furrowed slightly in response, sensing the underlying undertone of concern rather than dismissal.

"I will, once you have dealt with Kit," you conceded, pondering the idea seriously for the first time. Your health had always taken a backseat, considering the recent surgeries and recoveries, coupled with the chaos surrounding the scandal. And perhaps this constant stress wasn't helping either.

"No, let's make sure we prioritise your health," Cillian remarked solemnly, adding weight to the conversation.

"Okay, I will get an appointment scheduled," you promised reluctantly, aware that the stress might eventually cause serious complications. Nevertheless, you couldn't help feeling irritated that these small concerns seemed to dominate most of your life currently.

With an aching heart, you glanced at your lover, acknowledging the gravity of the situation involving Kit and what you suggested next caught Cillian by suprise.

"You know, maybe, we should do something a little bit adventurous. Maybe this will take our minds off this video your crazy ass assistant shared on the internet," you teased playfully, your lips curling into a wicked smile.

"What do you have in mind?" Cillian asked, intrigued, as his eyebrows raised salaciously, a gleam of mischief lighting up his eyes.

"Something kinkier than anything we've done before," you told him before sliding down onto his lap.

"Okay. You have my attention. Tell me what you want to do," Cillian asked eagerly, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

A delicious thrill coursed through your veins as you contemplated the possibilities. The seductive power dynamics between you two made the air thick with sexual energy.

"I want us to explore some boundaries," you began slowly, savoring the taste of the forbidden fruit.

As you breathed heavily, trying to steady yourself against his chest, you continued, "And do things that we haven't even talked about."

Cillian swallowed hard, his breath catching. "Like what?" he ventured hesitantly, a hint of trepidation crossing his face.

You grinned wickedly, running your tongue along your bottom lip.

"Well, you are an actor, aren't you? So, how about some role play?"  You suggested coquettishly, letting your imagination run wild with various ideas dancing inside your head.

"I am all ears," Cillian said, his curiosity piqued.

"Well, we could pretend to be strangers meeting for the first time at a hotel. Then we could indulge in our fantasies, testing boundaries in our roles – teacher and student, doctor and patient, maybe even a dominant and submissive scenario," you mentioned, excited by the thought of turning the tables and experiencing each other differently.

"And we will film it, but just for us," you added, causing a wave of nervousness to ripple through him. Cillian hesitated briefly, his mind processing everything rapidly. Finally, he took a deep breath and accepted the challenge.

"I need to buy a camera first," he started, finally breaking the silence that hung heavy in the room. 

"Of course," you agreed, smiling warmly. The intensity of the discussion had increased exponentially, and your body burned with desire. It was almost painful to contain yourself, longing to experience the scenarios you discussed. As you kissed passionately, tangled limbs entwined in an erotic dance of pleasure, but your excitement was short lived as, suddenly, the doorbell rang startling you both.

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[daydream-cement]

The Neighbor Lady Ch. 3

Larissa Weems x Reader

Authors Note: The final part! Thank you for all the support for the series and a huge thank you to @bri-sonat for your help with this chapter!

“I have to go.” You tore your wrist from Larissa’s grasp, pushed past Luci and Em, and rushed down the stairs of her porch. 

As you sped back to your home, you watched your husband pacing back and forth on your own porch. You caught his gaze as you approached, the rage radiated from him. You stopped at the bottom of the stairs, too scared to move any further. His glare combined with the way his lip curled told you how disgusted he was with you. 

“Get in the house,” he growled and pointed towards the front door of the cabin.

You bit your upper lip and sent your gaze to the wood floorboards of the porch. Trudging up the stairs, you chose not to look at him, not wanting to anger him any further. He moved swiftly to open the screen door and, once you were in reach, he seized your upper arm and sent you stumbling into the cabin. He followed you in, the screen door slamming behind himself.

Larissa had been watching this from afar, her own rage beginning to boil. 

He maintained his grip on your arm, causing you to whine in pain. He finally released you when he shoved you towards the couch, “An affair? Really?"

His questions were rhetorical, this you knew. You took a seat on the couch and began staring down at your hands, readying yourself for the tongue lashing to come. He began to pace in front of you, his hands gesturing wildly as he ranted and raved. 

“I’ve fucked all my secretaries and I’ve kept it hidden. You could have at least done the decent thing and tried to keep it secret, but no.” The revelation shouldn’t have been a shock to you. The marriage had been loveless for years, but you couldn’t deny that hearing it aloud stung. His voice turned to a growl when he stopped his pacing and stared you down, “No! You had to make a huge fucking messy display of it all.”

“I didn’t-” You begin, hoping to defend your relationship with Larissa.

He was quick to cut you off. He was so angry. You watched his face turn bright red and he spat as he screamed, “I didn’t say you could speak! I won’t let you tarnish my reputation!” 

You felt sick to your stomach with embarrassment and guilt. Tears were beginning to prick at the corner of your eyes. For the first time in your life, you could say that you truly despised this man. Before you felt a mild apathy towards him, but the way he screamed at you turned any neutral emotions negative.

“You know what they are going to say? He couldn’t pleasure his wife so she switched sides.” He laughed, almost as if he was mocking your sexuality, but you knew he wasn’t upset with you being with a woman. It was all about him and the image you cast upon him. While you loved Larissa deeply and felt no shame for this, he knew where to strike you where it hurt the most. “You’re a goddamn embarrassment. You would be nothing without me.”

The screen door creaked open causing both you and your husband's gaze to turn at the intruder. Larissa. Her expression was deadly, almost as if she was considering the millions of ways she could kill your husband. 

“Well at least she isn’t ugly. Bit too tall though.” Your husband scoffed, earning a disgusted eye-roll from Larissa. 

She gave him a side glance before turning her eyes to you. Larissa raised her chin and adjusted her posture, wanting your husband to feel inferior, “Collect your things, darling.”

“You think she is going with you?” Your husband didn’t seem to be intimidated by Larissa, but his words elicited no emotional response from her. Rather, she took another step forward into the home and stared down at him apathetically. Your husband turned his gaze from Larissa back to you, “I’ve already done damage control. You aren’t going anywhere.”

You felt frozen in place. You wanted to go with Larissa, but your husband’s rage from earlier made you nervous of what he might do. He had never raised a hand to you before, but then again, you had never cheated on him before. 

“I think she is perfectly capable of making that decision herself. You truly have no say in what she does.” Larissa was calm and collected, her words so matter-of-fact. You look back and forth between them, knowing whatever happened next was based solely off your actions. 

There was no future with him. 

Larissa. It had to be Larissa. She made you feel alive.  

You clenched your fists, watching them open and close. With a deep breath, you twisted your wedding ring off your finger, tossing it on the coffee table before you. Larissa couldn’t hide her satisfied smile as the ring clinked across the wood, knowing you had chosen her over him. 

“If you leave me, you will have nothing. You won’t see a cent.” Your husband was begging you to stay in his own horrible way. Slowly you stood from your place on the couch, breathing in deeply to gather yourself. You ball your hands into fists again so he couldn’t see the way your hands shook.

“Okay.” You only shrug, offering a light smile. Once the ring was off your finger it felt like a weight had been lifted. You felt as if you could breathe again.

“You- I- How could-” Your husband wasn’t expecting your reaction. He was struggling to come up with reasons why you needed to stay. You weren’t listening either way. Your eyes were focused on Larissa and the way her red lips curled into a smile. 

“Pack up your things, darling. I’ll wait right here.” Larissa was speaking to you, but she side-eyed your husband, making it clear she wasn’t leaving the home without you. 

You turn on your heels and head to your back bedroom where most of your belongings were. Quickly, you pull your suitcase from the closet, tossing it on the bed, and leaving it wide open for you to shove most of your belongings. Rather than fold anything nicely, you pull your clothes from the closet in large groups, pushing them into the suitcase haphazardly. All of them could be refolded later.

You pull your clothes from the dresser drawers, tossing them into the suitcase, not wanting to waste a second more in this hellish cabin. Next you rush to push all of your toiletries into a separate bag. You left behind some of the clothing that belonged to your husband along with the dresses he would ask you to wear for work parties. You did take the jewelry he had given you for different birthdays and anniversaries, knowing it could come in handy to start a bank account of your own.

Once you were sure you had everything from the bedroom, you stacked the toiletry bag on the top of the suitcase and pulled it behind you into the living room, knowing the last thing to grab would be your purse. Larissa remained standing in the exact same spot, her hands laced in front of her. Your (soon to be ex) husband was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. 

You almost felt sorry for him, knowing his future would only be loveless marriage after loveless marriage. He was too self-absorbed for anyone else to matter. 

You pull your suitcase behind you until you stand by Larissa. She placed a hand on your back, looking down at you with concerned eyes, “Do you have everything, darling?”

“I need to get my purse from-” You feel something grab at your hand, stopping your sentence short. You look down to see your husband leaning over the arm of the couch, clutching your hand in desperation.

He sounded as if he was crying, but you knew the tears were fraudulent, “You can’t leave me. Don’t do this... Please, don’t do this.”

You clench your jaw and crinkle your nose at his pathetic behavior. You had never seen him behave like this before. Knowing you have the opportunity to truly cut deep with your words, you choose them wisely, “I have to, dear... After all, I don’t want to tarnish your reputation.” 

You pull your hand from his grasp with a defiant lift of your chin. Larissa smiled at you, baring her teeth as she found your response to be witty and quite ruthless. You turn away from both of them to grab your purse from the dining room table. While you fetched your purse, Larissa took your suitcase by the handle, moving it away from your husband who was beginning to sob in a dramatic fashion.

With your purse on your arm, you approach Larissa once more. She raised a hand to your face, fingers dancing over your forehead to tuck hair behind your ear, “Ready to go?”

You gaze up at her with a smile, giving her a nod. Larissa’s hand rests on your cheek for a moment, “Go ahead. I’ll get your bag.”

As you step out of the cabin, you take a deep breath, savoring the feeling of being freed of your marriage. You continue down the steps, ignoring the sound of your husband begging for you to stay. The whole while, Larissa couldn’t deny her elation at the thought of spending life with you completely uninhibited by your relationship with another person.

Larissa lifted your suitcase by the side handle and began carrying it towards her car. You follow along beside her, opening the side door for her to place your bag in the back seat, “We are going to put your bags in my car. I’ll pack my things and then we can take you home.” 

“Home?” You question, immediately thinking back to the home that you shared with your husband. You were disappointed with the thought of returning there, but hopefully she meant only to grab more of your belongings. 

“Yes, back to our home in Vermont.” Her clarification caused your heart to swell in your chest. She was taking you back to her home. The thought of her referring to it as ‘our home’ made you blush wildly. Larissa didn’t seem to think her words were as big of a deal as you did. She packed your suitcase and toiletry bag into the backseat. 

Shutting the back door, Larissa took you by the hand and pulled you behind herself, up the stairs to her own cabin. Once she had you inside, her hands were on the sides of your face, pulling you into a searing kiss. You reached upwards and held her face in return, hungrily accepting the intimacy. 

Larissa parted the kiss, a breathy laugh escaped her lips as she saw your eyes begin to water. You couldn’t help yourself. You couldn’t deny how happy you were at that moment. You couldn't deny how happy you were to be with her. 

“My girl. My darling girl.” Larissa pressed kiss after kiss over your cheeks, forehead, and nose. Then she wrapped you into another hug, squeezing you so tight you feared that you may not be able to breathe. Moments passed you by, Larissa alternating between kissing you, leaving little pecks all over your face, and squeezing you tight. She wasn’t about to hide the joy she felt for you choosing her. 

When she finally felt like she had displayed her love adequately, she pulled away from you, holding you by your shoulders, “I’ll get packed up and then we can be on our way.”

Larissa packed up her belongings quicker than you had. She saved most of her time by originally not taking most of her clothes from her suitcase. You lended a helping hand, carrying her things to the car when she asked. On your last trip, you gazed back at the house where you left your husband and he was now sitting on the front steps, watching you grievously from the front steps. 

You turn your back from him and watch Larissa carry out the last of her belongings. She ended up shoving the two toiletry bags in the trunk and slamming the trunk shut to make sure it closed. Larissa spinned to face you, her arm traveling around your waist, “Ready?”

“Let’s go home.” You say with a playful shove, breaking away from her so you could jump in the passenger seat. You give your husband a final glance before slipping into the front seat. Larissa pulled out from the driveway and you gazed out of the window, lifting a hand to wave at Luci and Em as you passed them by. Both of them wore a grin, not shocked by the path you chose. 

The drive was a few hours long. You chatted for about half of the drive and enjoyed the rest in a comfortable silence. 

Larissa spoke up as you turned down a long road that wound through the woods, “We are almost there...”

As Larissa drove you through the front gates, you leaned forward to stare up at the gothic building through the front windshield. The structure looked extraordinary and you couldn’t imagine the secrets it held inside. Gargoyles protected the building from the roof and whilst intimidating, you truly thought you could learn to call this place home.

“It’s beautiful...” Your voice was hushed, awe keeping your volume from increasing. 

Larissa smiled widely at your enamored reaction. She was hoping you would love her home as much as she did. She spoke softly, holding so much pride in her voice, “Welcome to Nevermore.”

-----

Your eyes parted slowly, the gentle early morning light had pulled you from your slumber. The form of another human is pressed to your side, their hot breath against your neck and legs tangled with yours. You turn your head, feeling their forehead under your chin, and gaze through your eyelashes to see Larissa’s white hair messy from sleep. 

Breathing deeply, you inhaled the citrusy, floral scent that lingered about her. You turn into her embrace, trying to snuggle even closer to her almost wishing you could be under her skin. You felt such a deep, impassioned love for her that you couldn’t bear to be away from her for a moment longer. 

This was the first morning you had ever gotten to wake up in her embrace, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

[flammingnachos]

𝑶𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅(Zoro x fem!reader)

𝘚𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴; Zoro can’t seem to get his fixation off a certain crew member that recently joined the pirates so what else can he do rather than confront her about the damage she’s doing to his heart.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨; clueless!reader

During my days of being apart of the straw hat pirates it was pretty hectic and exhausting but entirely fun

Their Captain Monkey D. Luffy had recruited me off another one of the islands that they had rescued initially, I wasn't planning on becoming a pirate but after Luffy had begged and pleaded so had some of the crew members pleaded for me to join since they needed a strategist and after seeing me give them a brilliant idea to take down the larger group of pirates that were trying to take over the island.

The captain himself had pleaded and pleaded and begged up I at least until I took up on that offer, I couldn’t say no to those big wide eyes of his they were just too irresistible

So here I am now, leaning over the railing of the ‘going merry’ as they called it and watched as the sun set and the salty sea air blow in my face pushing back my hair a bit out of my face

“My beautiful Vicky, would you care for one of my homemade drinks for someone as beautiful as you”Sanji I think that’s his name, fluttered out practically flying with his toes toward me with his hands extending with the drink he made

Aw how sweet

“Thanks, Sanji” I complimented flashing him one of my signature smiles, after that he basically fainted on the floor. Evaporating right in front of my face

“Anything for my beautiful Vicky..” he just kept muttering incoherent words to himself, the lit cigarette that was in his mouth dropped to the ground right next to him. His eyes turning into hearts

“Sanji..”I called out unsure of what to do at this moment

No response

He continued mumbling out words while pooling on the floor that was until I heard luffys voice yelling in the distance of the ship

“Sanji, I'm hungry!” he called out making his way over to where we both were at, at this Sanji angrily got up picking up his cigarette in the process and walked away muttering curse words to himself

“You’ll have to wait!” he responded in a much harsher tone

Luffy shrugged this off and continued his way towards me

“Hey Vicky” he greeted with that big ole gummy smile of his stuck on his face

“Hi Luffy” I greeted back taking a tiny sip from the drink Sanji got me, Luffy saw this and intensely eyed my drink with that stupid smile of his still on his face

“Something wrong Captain” I asked out confused

He shaked his head in response

“Nope” he popped out the ‘P’

then silence came back as he continued eyeing the drink in my hands

he wants the drink

I pushed out the drink towards Luffy’s face as he greedily snatched it and poured it down his mouth in one go

“Thank you Vicky!” He jumped up happily right then we heard some more yelling in the distance Once again

“Luffy’s you jackass, where's my juice” Nami ran out of her office with an empty glass container in her hand and speed walked toward us

“Gotta go” he giggled out speed walking the opposite direction

Nami saw this and ran towards him as she chased him down the other side of the ship

Strange Crew indeed

I shrugged this off and turned my attention back to the sunset that was now gone and nightfall had fallen upon the ship now

The breeze continued to blow in my face as I focused more on how my life has been going so far, the adventures I've been having and the new friends I've made

“Have anyone seen zoro” chopper asked roaming around the ship high and low looking for Zoro

Zorro..

This man was the finest thing on the grand line itself, it's a shame he's so ignorant and anti-social I would have tried to make a move on the guy but he was just so closed off I didn't know how he would react if I just go up to him and started a conversation

I've always had my eyes on the swordsman since the beginning from when I joined the ship, he was the only one who wasn't begging and pleading for me to join and just shrugged it off when Luffy informed him of a new crewmate

From the start, til now we haven't had a decent conversation with each other but just glances here and there, I'm too shy to just walk up to him and start talking and he's…I guess too closed off. I would occasionally pass by him here and there Working out and stuff but that's it, even during dinner we wouldn't speak to each other

Nami noticed this and always pestered me about why out of all the crew mates I hadn't spoken to Zoro yet at all, I would simply tell her to have patience and that I was waiting for him to feel comfortable enough to have an conversation with me

“Don’t let that cold facade fool you Vicky, he's nice..”

“When he wants to be” Robin chimed in one time when Nami was on her daily rants again about my relationship with Zoro

Naomi snickered at this in which I just blushed and walked off before she started all over again

𝒁𝑶𝑹𝑶

there she goes again..

Making my adrenaline rush to my ass and my heart beat ten times my normal heart rate, I don't know how to explain the way I feel about Vicky

The first time I laid eyes on her was when that Captain of ours fluffy announced that she had officially agreed to join the crew as the ships strategist

Personally, I didn't think we needed someone to make great plans for us we could have just go in and fight and go right back out and were done but boy seeing her in action really changed my mind, The Way how she just gave orders while still softly speaking it out just gave me weird things inside my stomach

Ever since she joined I've never personally spoken to her before rather than glimpses I would give to her here and there

I haven't mustered the courage to ever personally walk up to her and start a conversation but all I could do was watch that stupid cook flirt with her everyday practically drooling and having another one of his perverted seizures whenever she'd thank him or even just started a conversation with him

‘how does he do it’ I wondered

I wouldn't ever admit but Sanji had a way with the ladies that I was always secretly envious off, even when I wouldn't show it I hated the way he could just effortlessly flirt with her without getting a heartache and stammering halfway in the conversation, he would just simply let it flow through

I hated that

No matter how hard I tried and avoided her, frequently working out more than usual just to get this chick out of my mind but it simply wouldn't work and that's what pissed me off, my life was going so good before her and now that's she's here I can't seem to eat, sleep, breath, move, or even think straight without this chick crossing my mind and making me frozen

This had gone far long enough

Tonight I'm gonna confront her about this spell she's cast upon me to make me so weak in the knees, I would seriously need to tell Luffy that we might have invited a witch on board

𝑽𝑰𝑪𝑲𝒀

I yawned a bit, looking around and seeing that everyone must have gone to bed already while I was the only one up, I looked back at the ocean some more before pushing myself off the railings and heading downstairs

While doing so someone bumped into me when they were turning the corner form the gym room and basically toppled me down on the floor,

“My apologies” I looked up and it was Zoro sweating still carrying those dam three swords that nearly killed me just now

I nodded taking his hands that he had extended to help me to my feet and thanked him, turning my heel to walk back to the room when he halted my movement by holding onto my shoulders

“Can I ask you a question” he paused out

I turned my head slightly to look at him

“Yeah..”

He sucked in a deep breath of air before speaking

“Are you a witch”

This time I fully turned around and look at him in bewilderment

“You serious right now”

“You prance around here innocent and vulnerable but you think I haven't uncovered your secret yet. I have” he said

I just stared at him up and down in shock

An I dreaming now

“Zoro..” I whispered out

“You think I don’t know about your witch act!”

“you’ve put me under one of yours spells and I can’t get out, GET it the hell off me woman” He shouted

I looked over at him flabbergasted

“what spell” I mumbled out

He sighed at this

“you think I don’t know..that you put a love spell on me to force me to be in love with you!” He screamed moving up and down

“I’m not ready to be In love and it feels shitty because of all these damn insects in my stomach that won’t stop moving” He confessed in one breath

I started laughing at this cause ‘what the hell’, he quirked up his eyebrows

“What’s so funny”

“Zoro I think you like me”

The atmosphere froze

“I think your attracted to me to the point where you think I’m a witch because you’ve never felt this way about anyone before..” I explained

“by the way not a witch”

The atmosphere went quiet

“right..”He only mumbled

We didn’t say anything to each other as he scratched the back of his head while I nearly suffocated myself to not laugh my ass off in his face

“how about we go out to the deck and just talk” I breathed out walking past him as he followed behind

“ye.”

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Identity Pt 7

Part (7) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Yuh know... there are chapters that are just so much harder to write because I elected to keep Doc unnamed... I'm standing by that decision, but that doesn't mean I won't bitch about it on occasion

Warnings: Flashbacks/PTSD, description of torture, loads of angst, reference to gore, profanity, self-deprecating thoughts

WC: 3,926

“So much for keeping that squad of yours off my back.”

He’d already removed his helmet before I’d entered, yet my gaze still settled blindly on the dark transparasteel shielded beneath the extended ridge of his visor, attention absently noting how clearly the burnt orange reflected atop the polished surface of his pale desk, and I found myself remembering the immaculate attire boasted by those at the gala, how carefully the droids had been prepared for display, void of even a scuff of dust, yet Cody had made no effort to hide the marks left upon him by war.

So much of that brilliant orange had been worn and chipped away that the rays of light adorning his chestplate were nearly unrecognizable absent the memory of how clearly they once shone. Even the base white yielded to the grey of raw composite below from constant wear and abuse. He could have it repainted or replaced, could elect for a separate set entirely to keep pristine for these moments between battles, but he stood before me with no thought wasted toward such excess. He’d earned every scar carved into flesh and armor alike, and he wore them with neither pride nor shame but with the simple acceptance that they were a part of him.

My chest hitched at the belated realization that he’d spoken, that I’d been silent long enough to prompt him to call my name with a hesitant concern, brows drawing slightly together as his head ducked slightly to study me with eyes that I knew had seen the death of thousands of brothers yet still held such kindness. I gave a quick nod, tongue slipping over my lips in preparation for a response I hadn’t yet thought of.

“I think Wolffe has more to worry about from them than you do.” I offered, body shifting back to attention as though it might make up for how heavily my voice fell in something far closer to a mutter than a proper reply. Drawing in a quick breath, I tried to force some composure over myself, determined to dispel the commander’s worries.

“The initial stage of the mission went smoothly – I met with the contact and acquired the datachip, and reported a significant portion of the Separatist defenses to Commander Wolffe through the comm in the bracelet.” Cody didn’t move as I spoke, arms relaxed at his sides, gaze still focused on me, and I found myself wondering if he was searching for any sign that I’d been compromised; that I was damaged beyond further use to the GAR and unfit to return to my unit, and that thought was enough to send my heart racing, nerves lighting with fresh anxiety until my fingers tensed with the need to fidget.

“You’re not on trial here.” He murmured suddenly, and I froze, unsure if I felt caught – trapped – or if I could allow myself a taste of comfort offered in the gentleness of his voice, the softness of his eyes. Still, I cursed the way my breath threatened to shake. “I’ve seen soldiers with more years on the battlefield than you break from that kind of torture… It’s okay to struggle with what happened.” I wanted to turn away, to hide from everything he saw when he looked at me in that moment, and I was almost shocked at the anger that warmed my chest, unsure if it stemmed from some want to prove him wrong or simply from needing to prove to myself that it hadn’t broken me.

“I appreciate that, Commander. All the same…” I knew he gleaned no reassurance from the mediated determination forced into words spoken with far more strength than I felt, but pushed myself to continue regardless. “After the exchange, I continued patrolling. A woman took notice of me.” My lips twitched into the beginnings of a scowl at my ignorance in that moment but refused to let myself stop. “I’m afraid I never got her name, but I later learned that she was the one who orchestrated the gala; that she… handpicked each of the members in attendance.” I knew Wolffe’s report would have detailed all of this; that nothing I’d told him offered new insight, but such was the nature of debriefing: hearing the same story told from different mouths in search of any sign variation, for the smallest detail that might have only been noticed by accident in the hopes that it could reveal something profound.

“She asked me to dance. I attempted to decline but came to the conclusion that doing so might draw too much attention. Afterwards, the speaker was introduced – the same woman who’d approached me. She insisted I accompany her to the podium, which I now understand was her way of keeping me from leaving. Her speech had barely started when an explosion blew out the back wall.” The scent of ozone and burnt hair lingered beneath the subtle staleness of the ship’s recycled air.

“I understand you sustained some injuries from that explosion.” He prompted after a moment’s pause, and I gave another quick nod.

“Suspected concussion, some burns and bruises.” The brief, itemized response left me absent any emotion, thoughts sifting through the snips I could only barely remember; bodies undoubtedly void of life beside those vying to escape still burning debris; screams reverberating throughout a ceiling designed to echo music not the sounds of agony filling that elaborate hall. “Maybe a dozen guards surrounded the speaker. I couldn’t see her status, but she must have been alert enough to talk. One of them approached me. I was too disoriented to move, and they sedated me.”

I didn’t notice that he’d moved until he called my name, eyes flicking back up to find him now seated in the chair behind his desk, and part of me recognized exactly what he was doing; wanted to snap at him for thinking I needed such a rote example of physical de-escalation, shout my insult at his hope that some ancient part of my brain would recognize his laxed stance and find enough comfort in it that I might mimic him, but I could feel how quickly my heart raced, noted the stiff movement of my chest around too-shallow breaths, and I knew why he’d felt the need to try.

My gaze dropped to the chair beside me, hand hesitantly shifting to rest atop the pale plastoid. I imagined myself pulling it out enough to slip into the seat, thought of what posture might be most appropriate when finding oneself across from one of the highest ranking members of the GAR, and then I remembered how my body had strained against the reclined seat in that filthy cell, robbed of leverage and hope and autonomy, and I quietly let my hand return to my side.

“I’m not sure how long I was unconscious.” I continued as though nothing had happened, pointedly forcing my attention back to him. “I was restrained when I woke up. A man was already attempting to interrogate me. I-” My voice caught, jaw freezing at the memory of his callused fingers gripping me hard enough for the bone to ache. Breath fleeing lightly parted lips in a huff, I couldn’t keep myself from turning away once more, studying walls not tarnished with dirt and blood and all manner of nightmares.

“He wanted to know who was responsible for the explosion, then asked general things about me: my name, where I’m from.”

“What did you tell him?” I didn’t even try to look at him again, though I couldn’t dismiss my reluctant gratitude at how quietly he spoke, how free his voice was of any judgement or disappointment. My head shook before I could form an actual answer.

“I didn’t… I didn’t say anything.” The words felt weird as they dragged up my throat, as though my body was going through the motions of speech before my mind could anticipate the sensation of anything other than the burn of frigid water. “Then he put a cloth over my head.” I didn’t want to hear it. “Turned on a… spigot or… I don’t know – I couldn’t see where the water came from.” But my lips kept moving despite how my chest threatened to lock around what precious air filled my lungs. “He didn’t… It wouldn’t stop.” I remembered not being able to tell up from down as that icy liquid poured over me, remembered that first rush of true panic.

Again, Cody called my name, but that earlier softness was gone, replaced with something firmer, commanding, and it was just enough to rip my attention away from the deafening sound of crashing water. He wasn’t sitting anymore, stance rigid, hand clasped about the corner of his desk as though he’d paused midway to me.

“I want you to take a slow breath and tell me where we are.” He ordered, and only then did I realize how quickly my diaphragm bucked with rushed gasps. Shame sent heat up my neck and across my cheeks as I caught my lip between my teeth in an effort to force some control back over myself. Still, it took several seconds before I could bring myself to speak, breathing only just quieting.

“The Negotiator.” I answered roughly, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice, the disdain for my own weakness, but he drew no attention to either as he visibly eased the tension from his stance.

“Good.” There was no trace of condescension in that murmured word, and something about that left me feeling even more defeated, shoulders innately trying to tuck into my chest. “We’ll stop there for now. Take a day. Tend your injuries. We can finish this later.” My teeth ground against the violent rebuke sitting atop my tongue, mind balking at the thought of delaying this, of trying to walk away with that impending conversation looming over me.

“I’m fine. We can finish this now.” I stated firmly, expression pinched into something I hoped illustrated my determination rather than my fear. He didn’t respond for several, long seconds, but finally yielded with a slow exhale before motioning me to continue. I had to swallow back the stiffness in my throat, resettle the weight between my feet to convince my back to straighten.

“I was rendered unconscious.” Empty words, carefully void of all trace of emotion lest they cripple me. “The cloth was still over my eyes when I came to. The man immediately attempted to question me again – asking my name, who I worked with.” My head flinched at the ghost of water droplets hitting my forehead. “He repeatedly demanded I tell him who ordered the attack and who the primary target was.”

“Did you tell him about Commander Wolffe’s presence there?” Again, his voice fell into a gentle whisper, tiptoeing around the edge of pushing me too far, and part of me tried to remember that I should have rebelled against being coddled like that, but I merely shook my head in reply. “What did you tell him?” He asked softly. Something shouted at me to remain silent – to say nothing lest I reveal everything.

“I don’t know.” I muttered, faltering thoughts straining to remember who I was speaking with despite the rancid scent of filth filling the room that was somehow too light and too dark at the same time. “I… I said I didn’t know.” I clarified, neck seizing as I tried to swallow against the sudden dryness of my mouth. “And he’d… every time I did, he’d…” I choked around an attempt to clear my throat, eyelids straining to blink away the memory of that black fabric trapping me in utter darkness. “He’d pull the mask back down and… he’d wait until I was just about to pass out before turning the water off.” Something about my voice sounded wrong… drawn too thin… like my lungs were being stretched, squeezed.

“Did you tell him anything about the GAR’s involvement? Or the contact you were sent to meet with?” Again, I merely shook my head, unsure if my eyes were closed or if I’d feel that harsh fabric upon drawing my fingers over my face, and the sensation of cloth against my skin ruined me.

In an instant, my torso curled forward, hand clawing at my hair to rip away that wretched sack, my other arm thrashing against whatever held it trapped to my chest in sharp, desperate jerks that sent agony tearing through the joint. I couldn’t understand that the cloth I’d felt was from my own glove, that my arm was held fast by a split rather than those cruel restraints; that the frigid liquid soaking into my blacks was sweat as panic ripped all memory of thought from my mind.

The depth of familiarity that should have accompanied the voice echoing around me was muted beneath how violently my heart slammed against my ribs, the wheezed keening of frantic breaths stolen in what little time I knew lingered before that putrid water would again fill my lungs.

Something touched my arm, and my body reacted in a feral rush of terror, legs snapping out to launch myself away with enough force to nearly rip that coveted air from me at the powerful impact of my back slamming into the wall, and still I felt myself straining to escape, to vanish, feet pressing into the front of my boots until my toes ached.

“…otiator… safe…” Snips of words that held no meaning echoed amidst demands screaming from the shadows, questions I couldn’t answer laced between an icy guilt of knowing I was no better than the man torturing me.

“…eed you t…”

I couldn’t tell who was screaming, stomach churning at the scent of flesh burnt by blaster fire and explosions, and I sobbed at the knowledge that nothing I could do would get the bleeding to stop in time, that I deserved the hatred in his eyes in that first moment that understanding dawned on him even as his life slipped through my fingers.

“…member where… not…”

The shriek of my pistol morphed into his cries, and I realized I’d never bothered to note where his fingers had fallen, only felt the relief of watching him tumble closer and closer to breaking, to telling me what I needed to know, and I felt sickened at the certainty that the man in that cell had felt that same exhilaration granted by what self-deception promised us that fault lie only with the one refusing to answer our questions… how easy it was to believe that our cruelty was justified…

My body shied from a touch I should have known without thought, deaf to gentle words and blind to the concern darkening eyes I’d found comfort in so many times before. In that moment, however, I couldn’t remember the safety once so inherent to his presence, nerves screaming with a terror I had no hope of freeing myself from. He didn’t shy in the face of my panic, touch following me with a quiet persistence untainted by the impatient indifference that had left my jaw bruised and tugged so roughly at the sack clinging to my face between shouted questions, and, for that reason only, I found myself hesitating.

Trembling violently against a chill that no longer sank into my bones from fabric left soaked by hours of torture, I found myself again trying to find something beyond the memory of that almost perfect darkness, wide eyes darting all around for some glimpse of a reality that was lost to me.

“…d… don’t kn… I… I don’t know…” Was that my voice?

“Shh, just look at me, Doc.” Something swept carefully along the ridge of my cheekbone, and I felt myself flinch sharply away even as my mind longed to cling to the tenderness of that touch.

“N… I-I d…” Ruined, broken fragments of pleading words that I knew would bring me no relief stammered from lips shaking too violently to attempt real speech. Someone called my name, and I felt myself sob at the fleeting warmth laced through a smoky voice I so desperately wanted to remember.

“Just look at me, cyare… I’m right here…” I could feel the heat of his words washing over my cheek. There was no lingering stench of stale beer nor rancid sweat, no overwhelming taste of copper from old blood, and that didn’t make sense amidst the certainty of what nightmares engulfed me. “Good… that’s good…” He murmured, fingers shifting ever so slightly through my hair, and I couldn’t fight the shiver that swept down my spine. “I want you to try to breathe with me, Doc… nice and slow…” Was I looking at him? I couldn’t tell. My head swam, vision too blurry to make out more than churning colors… but… even that was different, brighter than the devouring darkness that had robbed me of all sense of self.

I vaguely understood that I was still pinning myself against the wall, fingers tangled into my hair as though it might keep that mask from blinding me again, that I’d slid down so far as to nearly be curled in a ball against the corner; that the man speaking so gently to me had lowered himself onto a knee at my side, callused hands delicate in how he cradled my face between them, how he wordlessly wiped away the line of tears falling from my eyes, and I somehow noted the slow rise of shoulders broadened by that familiar, dark armor illustrating his own mediated breaths.

“Come on, Doc… breathe.” It wasn’t a command. He was begging me. There was a whisper of logic reminding me of the dangers of hyperventilating – the way that imbalance of oxygen and carbon dioxide impairs cognitive function, how it increases blood pH and causes systemic upheaval; remembered that he could hear how quickly my heart was racing, smell the adrenaline flooding my veins. My hand tentatively shifted, fingertips just skimming the thick tendons lining his wrist, and I saw how quickly he stilled at my touch.

“H… Hunter?” I could barely whisper his name, only then realizing my eyes had locked onto his, and the way his body sank with a relief that should have left me ashamed only worked to further drive away dreams that I knew would haunt me for years to come. In that moment, though, I allowed myself to focus only on the man before me as his hand trailed lightly through my hair.

“Yeah… Yeah, it’s me.” He sighed, shifting his weight thoughtlessly in silent invitation, and I needed no further incentive, feet scrambling even as my legs folded uselessly beneath me, hand abandoning his wrist in favor of darting toward him for my arm to lock around the back of his neck in an effort to drag me closer. He didn’t hesitate, embrace instantly drawing me flush against his chest, and I sobbed at the familiar earthiness of his scent.

“I’ve got you, cyare… I’ve got you.” Another shiver tore through me at the warmth of his words fluttering atop my scalp, and I pressed myself harder against him because of it, the hand still trapped by that splint latching uselessly about the lip of his armor. “Alright… Just breathe, Doc… You’re alright…” How could I not melt into his touch at the softness in his voice, air fleeing me in a shuttered huff before forcing some steadiness into the next inhale, if only to hear the quiet “Good” whisper past his lips once more.

He made no effort to rush me as that panic gradually quelled, moving only to ease me closer against him as he leaned back to unfurl his leg, and I tried to ignore the static prickling up my own legs at nerves reawakened by the subtle change. I wondered if he was listening to the gradual slowing of my heart, if he was torn between the want to ask endless questions I was too frightened to answer or if he was too busy pushing back plumes of anger that the mission had clearly gone so wrong, forcing him to pick up the pieces… and then I felt that shame.

Body tensing, I couldn’t help but pull away from him slightly, head falling to my chest as my teeth burred into my lip. I could see his attention shift, gaze studying me expectantly though he kept purposefully silent. Cheeks warming as understanding finally dawned on me, as I realized just how deeply I’d broken and where, I stole only a quick glance around us, half expecting to find Cody watching with arms crossed about his chest and a knowing darkness in his eyes, but I saw no one else in the room.

“Cody’s outside with Wolffe.” Hunter explained quietly, and my brows drew together in confusion.

“Wolffe?” I asked, voice still too unsteady to keep from breaking.

“Cody called us both. I just got here first.” He explained, thumb absently dancing against my back. I took a moment to make sense of his words before a tiny huff of laughter escaped me, and my arms instantly tightened around him once more, but this time the gesture was driven by an affection I couldn’t bring myself to try to explain. I knew how far away the hanger was; could guess how much time had passed since I’d said my farewells to my old Commander, and I didn’t doubt just how hard Hunter had pushed himself if he reached me before Wolffe could.

At that, he paused slightly before returning the embrace. While that brief note of mirth was a desperately needed reprieve, it quickly ceded in light of the still wretched truth evident in the very need that had brought him so swiftly to me. I’d crumbled beneath the weight of all the horrors I’d done in those past weeks, beneath the horrors that had been done to me. There was no hiding from that truth; no means of denying the display of devastation and fear that had overcome me in front of the damn Marshall Commander himself… and a new fear brought back the ghostly chill that was so eager to whisper through my chest.

“Is… is Cody going to…” I couldn’t finish, my tentative grasp on control already threatening to cave at the mere thought of being discharged from the GAR because of this. It took him a moment to understand what I was asking, but then he answered me absent hesitation or doubt.

“No.” He leaned back just enough to meet my eyes, hand cupping the back of my head to keep my gaze turned toward him that I might see the conviction fueling his words. “He knows things have been… hard lately… and then this… but he’s leaving that decision up to me, and I’m not ready to let you go yet… Not unless that’s what you want.” He added, head ducking down slightly in an unspoken question. Unable to even try to respond, I quickly shook my head, overwhelmed by a relief I hadn’t begun to let myself hope for. He let out a carefully slowed breath before pulling me against him once more, and I finally managed to feel the stretch of air filling my lungs, the warmth of a safety somehow still untouched by a lifetime of terror, and I knew I would never be able to find the words to tell him just how much he meant to me, how desperately I needed him, so I merely hugged him harder.

Next Chapter

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[marupunch]

Hello! May I please know what exactly are your thoughts on the craftsman and why you hate him so much? /genq

(I do agree with you but I want to know why so much hatred if you don't mind)

Don't worry and thank you for asking! Sorry this took so long but I wanted to deliver something complete and objective (I had to write this 3 times because the first one looked like a rant...)

Even though I don't like Craftsman, it's not like a "I hate the character" kind of hate, more like "I don't think he's a good person but I'll try to reflect that on my art instead of downright hating the whole character" kind of hate. There's actually some background on why I think like this so I'll try to be as objective as possible with my arguments to make my point clear.

Remember, this is just a personal opinion and it's okay if someone doesn't agree with me!

These are video game characters and we're all allowed to have different perspectives about them.

(...)

⚠️WARNING OF LOOOONG TEXT AND SPOILERS FOR ORIGAMI KING⚠️

It's important that we understand that Origami King is a game that relies a lot on Japanese culture to tell a story and that's why there's a lot of misunderstanding in the western part of the fandom about Olly and his character, motivations, etc. We must also understand that origami is a highly respected and important art form in Japan, therefore, its creation entails different guidelines rooted in the culture of this country.

Let's start with the most basic. According to the rules of this art, you are not supposed to write over origami. To be honest, you are not supposed to use any type of tool on origami other than the paper and your hands. I'm not saying that it is completely prohibited but this reduces the value of a work. See it as a form of "cheating."

Writing over origami gives an aspect of informality to your piece. And it greatly influenced how Olly perceived himself, since he took Craftsman's writing as something that reduced his value as origami and even ruined him, as a work of art.

In Japan, a very important aspect of society is how people perceive you, the image you give to those around you. Olly was supposed to be a king, immaculate and perfect, but he was tainted by the very creator of him. His image was ruined and his appearance became a symbol of shame.

Hence his fury towards his creator, which is more highlighted in the Japanese version of the game and is not hidden behind a joke of "All Toads are the same", as in the American version.

At the end of the game it is revealed to us that the message were words of encouragement and good wishes. But again, these are only visible once Olly is on the brink of death, as they were inaccessible in his normal state. They were good intentions, but they did a lot of damage, in the end.

It makes me wonder how the Origami craftsman, being someone who practiced this art every day, did not know such a basic rule. Or maybe he ignored it, but this also leads him to be a bit indifferent, since it doesn't seem like he had the implications of creating a life in general in mind, much less ruining an origami work.

Which also brings us to his motivations. In the game, Craftsman mentions, and I quote, "I don't get to celebrate my craft very often, so I might have gone a bit... overboard."

(Note: I'm the Spanish version, he says "Because people don't compliment my work very often." Yeah, that doesn't help my view of him.)

Although the general perception leaves us with a father-son relationship, Craftsman never refers to Olly as such, since from the beginning, he had created him as a craft, a way for people to praise his abilities, never having in mind a family or considering what responsibility it had to create a new life.

I think he never fully understood the concept of what it was to bring origami to life beyond them being talking dolls, a striking party trick, because also, seeing what Olly has done, he mentions to Olivia that he should never have used the Fold Of Life.

The reason she and Olly are alive in the first place. Even Olivia herself understands the implication of this comment, responding to her creator "Don't say that, I love being alive!".

It almost seems that for Craftsman, the Fold Of Life was just a creative choice about whether or not to put more detail into his creations. But for Olly and Olivia, that technique was their entire lives, literally. The choice of whether they existed or not.

Clearly until now there is a certain objectification on the part of Craftsman towards his creations, seeing them as just this instead of real children. And although there are vain attempts like the doodle on Olly or giving Olivia a weapon to defeat her brother, we can agree that they were not the most optimal tools to try to guide two children who he was supposed to protect. Not like his creations, but like his children. But so far everything is normal.

At least until the end.

Craftsman's first reaction upon seeing Olly's body is to appreciate the material with which he had made it. Yes, perhaps a bit of nostalgia in the creation of it, but ultimately it's a bit insensitive to mention that given that there is a life that has been taken, his son's life, again, showing the aforementioned objectification.

Even worse when, even if he's watching Olivia's expression, he congratulates her for "using the weapon he implemented in his design." At this point I'm trying to be objective, but this is a completely off-base comment. Not only does he not come close to comforting Olivia in a situation that is probably difficult for her, but he is too focused on what HE did to her that he barely does anything to support her beyond teaching her how to make a paper crane.

She just killed her own brother PLEASE just for once be a little emphatic

By the time the ending arrives, Mario seems much more affected by the loss of Olivia than Craftsman himself, who seems much happier for someone who should be mourning his creations.

I think that the scene in the Secret Ending is the closure of why I hate this character, because as I mentioned before, it dehumanized Olly and Olivia a little, treating them only as creations that served a purpose (making him gain recognition) only for them to end...

...being that. The key problem was never acknowledged, Olly and Olivia ended up being exactly what he wanted them to be.

As I mentioned before, this is my PERSONAL PERSPECTIVE about him. It's okay if people don't see him this way but the idea of Craftsman being this kinda insensitive and irresponsable parent makes a lot of sense to me. It just feels correct, specially after how Olly shows symptoms of trauma, like not wanting to see Craftsman's face again being the reason why he wants to get rid of all of the Toads, as mentioned on the Japanese version.

I'm not justifying Olly at all because I know he's wrong with a lot of things but the game tells you he's wrong. He gets his punishment and the whole character of Olly revolves around being a young, irrational king. On the other hand, the image the game gives you about Craftsman is a poor victim who didn't do anything wrong.

I think the worst part is that he never got a single punishment after this. Maybe being trapped in his basement but considering he was the one who started everything in first place, he doesn't seem guilty or even affected. I guess creating two gods, then having them both die in front of you it's just another day for Theofold.

TLDR; Craftsman is an irresponsable, insensitive and negligent father who traumatized Olly. Also a poop head. (?)