#the symbolism is everything to me and the timing is so fucking perfect i could scream

[too-young-to-fall-in-love]

Shot In The Dark

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part one)

Steve Rogers x f!Reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : Steve is about to walk out of your life, causing you to let go of everything you two have, and everything that could be.

📝 yes, the title is inspired by Taylor Swift's upcoming song The Bolter. In my interpretation and in this story, it is meant to symbolize someone who runs from someone or something. A potential relationship. A loved one. And the choice is not easy, one that may bring a lot of remorse or catharsis? Anyhow - Steve IS a bolter. In the beginning, at least.

themes/warnings : language, angst!!!, pining, unrequited love, Steve is kind of an asshole for leaving (but we love him anyway)

word count : < 1k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist ▪︎ next chapter

This is it.

This must be what true heartbreak feels like.

Steve, your best friend and the unrequited love of your life, has decided to volunteer to return the Infinity Stones to their respective timelines. Very noble of him.

But he also confessed that he plans to stay with Peggy, now that he finally has the chance.

They can have the dance that was stolen from them, decades ago.

Steve can be with his true love it seems. And that person is just not you.

Well, fuck my life.

"Doll," he smiles ruefully, both of your hands encased in his, "say something."

Say something, he says. What is there to say - I'm in love with you, I want you to stay with me? Don't leave me? I want you stay - for Bucky, for Sam, for Nat. For everyone. For me?

What can you fucking say that will ever be enough? In the 7 years that you've known Steve, you've grown to love him. As a friend, as family. Then, almost inevitably, as the only keeper of your heart. And he knows this.

But he's still leaving. Because, at the end of the day, Peggy is the keeper of his heart.

To you, Steve has always been everything good. Golden boy perfection, with a heart that would put a saint's to shame. Sunshine, laughter, companionship, standing tall and unwavering in his ideals. His gleaming red, white, and blue tendrils snaking their way into the very fibres of your being and taking root.

But now, all you feel is empty. You were angry, when he first told you, days ago. You had almost screamed at him, told him how unfair he was being. You made a long, drawn-out case for Bucky. How he doesn't deserve this. But really, you were making a case for yourself.

Stay, you had said.

He simply smiled, without any mirth. Not like his usual on-brand Steve Rogers gesture of sincerity. He smiled and it did not reach his eyes. He was sad, or maybe he pitied you. And that made you even angrier.

Until minutes later, when you finally broke down, and sobbed quietly in his arms.

"I hate you," you muttered against the creases of his shirt.

"I love you," he said back, and you hated him even more for it. He doesn't get to say that to you, in that way. Not in the same way he would say to Peggy.

Now, right before stepping onto the platform that will cause him to vanish from your life, he says it again.

"You do know that I love you, right?" His smile is genuine, if not a little nervous. He hoped you would be as accepting as Bucky, and send him off with just a rueful look. A gentle, final word. A sweet farewell that he can take with him as a reminder of all the times you spent together.

"I know," you breathe, relenting. Steve does not like that your eyes are glazed over, empty. Like you're not taking him in at all. You take notice of the resulting sag in his shoulders, out of character from the dignified stride he sported as he was saying goodbye to the others.

A big part of you wants to remain indignant. So what if he's hurt or uncomfortable due to your coldness? It serves him right.

"Come here," he whispers, and it comes across a silent plea. Come here? Will you, please?

You take just one small step closer, but he is already ahead, wrapping his arms around your frame. Your stony mask breaks as your cheek presses against his chest, away from his view. His chest plate glistens from your tears, but you don't have it in you to wipe them away.

When he pulls away to look down at you, his heart breaks. He cradles your face in his hands as you look up at him through wet eyelashes, and it's almost enough to make him consider staying.

But then you say, "It will all be okay, Steve." You gingerly pry his hands from your cheeks, giving them a comforting squeeze. "We will be okay."

You look behind you, where Bucky stands watching the exchange, and he offers an encouraging nod.

You take a step back, mustering everything that you possibly can, all the love you have for Steve, to give him one last genuine smile.

"Go get your girl."

Read part two here.

The way I was making myself upset while writing this - god I love angst!!! ~~~

I was gonna keep going, make it even more brutal, but I'll save that for the upcoming parts. It will have some Bucky x reader as well 🖤

God Bless America('s ass).

oh, and let me know if you wish to be tagged!

[monzamash]

★ bargain bin — lewis hamilton

ville d'amour lewis hamilton x you rating — 18+ (sex, coarse language) —requested by anon; "sex in front of a big window where anyone could glance up and spot them (maybe in vegas??) ps. i love your blog so much!!!"

the city of love.

it had been a dream weekend — every moment laced in adoration and soft touches. that's how it always was with lewis. he treasured you and made sure everything was perfect when he had you alone. you ached for these fleeting moments of serenity, clutching them in your grip for as long as possible, knowing any minute it could be over. —a phone call from his manager bringing you back to reality so you appreciated every second spent with your favourite person in your favourite city. 

paris was the place you felt the most alive. the twinkling skyline, the delectable dinners, sprawling cafes that had your name written all over them. you adored the history and tradition of it all, and made sure the city of love lived up to its name. and so did lewis. 

“you feel incredible, baby,” he growled into your ear, hips rocking at a languidly gentle pace. 

“feels so good, lew…”

you were floating on cloud nine — breathy and covered in a thin layer of sweat. the two of you had been like this for hours, edging and teasing until you begged for him to be inside you. it was almost always like this, lengthy and passionate. sex with lewis was to be savoured like a sweet delicacy.

lewis knew you loved to indulge him by the way you clenched around his girth, fingernails deliciously dragging down his muscular, tattooed back. he was a glorious lover, knowing all your little pressure points. he had a sixth sense about what you liked and how you liked it before you even knew. so when he tortuously pulled out, leaving you empty and pouting, he couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“up,” he motioned, large hands clutching your tender hips.

it took all of your strength to pull yourself from the cloud-like mattress, doused in pillows and smelling of lewis’ sweet cologne and sex — you wished you could bottle up the scent for those lonely nights. once you found balance, you carefully tiptoed over to where he was waiting, unsteady on your feet but lewis caught you.

“i’ve got you, baby girl. here, hold onto this…” he placed your hand on the shallow sill that lined the large floor to ceiling windows and you gasped at how cold it was to the touch.

outside was a breath-taking view of the eiffel tower, perfectly lit up against the dark, cloudy sky. it stood taller than every other building around it, proudly and stoically. a pillar of culture, a symbol of victory and freedom— the beginning of a new frontier. its symbolism reminded you a lot of the challenges lewis had faced in his career, fighting for what he believed to be important, giving voice to those without one. always staunch in his beliefs, unwavering and kind. 

“this view is beautiful,” you murmured as lewis traced his lips across your exposed shoulders and neck, admiring the beauty right in front of him while you looked beyond the horizon. 

“you’re beautiful,” he whispered in return, “every time you see the eiffel tower, i want you to think about how good i'm about to make you feel right now.” 

a surge of excitement shot down your spine at his promise as he reached around and softly stroked your swollen clit, warming you up again. you could feel his thick cock brushing against your ass, hard and no doubt pulsating at the thought of fucking you against this window, so exposed and on display. lewis loved the idea of people watching, his exhibitionist streak showing its hand early in your relationship. 

“need you inside me again, baby,” you moaned and reached around for him, but before you could make a move, your hands were pinned to the window pane. 

lewis shuffled your body forward until your breasts were pressed firmly against the glass —the chill from the cool night caressed your nipples and sent a wave of pleasure to your core. he kicked your feet apart slightly and spread your cheeks before sending a long string of spit down your backside and slipping into your warmth. 

“fuuuuck,” you groaned, forehead dipping against the window from the fullness. 

“need everyone to see how fucking sexy you look when you come all over my cock —need it so, so bad,” lewis panted almost desperately, eyes narrowed and focused on the way his cock disappeared into your slick hole. 

“fuck me harder…” you softly whimpered, fingertips white from the pressure placed against the glass. 

you could hear the devilish chuckle from the beautiful man serving you insurmountable pleasure on a silver platter, “better hold on then, baby girl.”

a/n — was going to post this tomorrow morning but fuck itttt! can't believe this is my first time writing for lewis, i enjoyed it so much!

shop the sale event here #end of (f1) season sale!! —see what other customers are buying ✨

[cogentsummoner]

9. First Kisses with All Might.

9. first kisses

It was beyond cliche. All Might, crushing on his pretty new secretary? It was so incredibly cliche, but he couldn't help it. You were funny, friendly, and quite possibly the most helpful person in the world. You were a godsend.

"…and this is where you describe the event in your own words," you explained, pointing at the new digital form for the hero incident reports. "I've noticed you tend to get wrapped up by this part, so I'd recommend using bullet points in a quick timeline of events."

You were so patient with both All Might and Yagi Toshinori, even after it became clear that Yagi was in way over his head and lacked any meaningful experience with this type of work.

Hell, you'd even started keeping snacks in your desks that you knew he could eat, tossing them across the office you shared playfully, making sure he ate.

You cared about him in real, tangible ways. How could he not fall for you?

"Sir?"

He jolted. "Ah! Yes! I am…totally paying attention!"

You giggled, and he grinned.

"It's okay if you wanna take a break. It is getting late, and even the Symbol of Peace needs to get a good night's rest," you said, leaning back in your chair, and inadvertently bringing your face very close to his. You either didn't mind or enjoyed the closeness, because instead of tensing up or something similar, you reached up and gently patted his cheek.

He leaned into it, humming. He didn't want to take a break. He had so little time as All Might, and every day it felt like it was slipping through his fingers more and more.

He wanted… he wanted more time with you. It was incredibly rare to have any time left in his muscle form, and to be able to just be around you, without berating himself for such a selfish use of his time.

Certainly, the two of you spent a lot of time together when he was Yagi, but… but he wanted to romance you, woo you. Yagi couldn't do that. You couldn't want him like that. He couldn't ask you to.

You were so close. He leaned in just a little bit closer, feeling your warm breath on his face. He wanted you. He wanted you so badly.

Would it really be so wrong? To try? Just- just to see if -?

He cupped your cheek; his hand was shaking minutely. You blinked owlishly at him before the prettiest blush spread across your cheeks as you realized where this was going.

You didn't move away, you didn't tense up, you didn't tell him to stop - you didn't close the distance either, but it seemed like… like you were waiting for him to make the next move.

So he did. All Might kissed you, carefully, slowly, giving you every opportunity to back away.

At first, you were motionless- then you began to kiss him back. Your lips were so soft against his, and you placed your hand in his, squeezing it gently.

It was perfect, wonderful, everything he wanted - then you sighed.

It was not a happy, contented sigh.

You broke the kiss, and the look on your face was apologetic.

All Might felt his heart sink like stone.

"Sir, it… I'm sorry. I can't," you said, so very gently, so very softly.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. God, he was such an idiot. Of course you didn't want him - why had he ever deluded himself into thinking you could?

"No, it's - I shouldn't have-" he said, haltingly. His words stuck in his throat; it felt like he might choke on them. He needed to get out of here. Get out of here and hide, from you, the world, and his own idiot yearning heart.

"Sir, please just wait-" you said as he stood up, ready to bolt. You refused to let go of his hand, squeezing it tighter. He could easily break your grip, but he'd fucked up enough tonight, and didn't want to make things worse by being rude.

"I should - I should go-" he said, his vision growing blurry. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"No, All Might. I need you to listen to me," you said, tone growing stern and hard in a way that made him freeze.

He stood still, waiting, listening. He couldn't look at you, though.

"It's not that there's no attraction there… I think you're a wonderful, kind man that anyone would be lucky to be with," you said, your words doing nothing to ease his aching heart. "It's just… I'm in love with Yagi."

His train of thought crashed, derailed and exploded; his mind came to a screeching halt.

Expression gone slack, he turned to you and croaked out, "Huh?"

"It's… I've been trying to… hint at how I feel, but…you know Yagi. He's very dense sometimes," you said, and he couldn't even disagree with you because what?

"I…hope we can remain friends, all three of us. You mean a great deal to me, All Might," you said, stepping forward and gently grabbing his other hand. "And I know that-"

"There's something I have to tell you," he interrupted, his brain suddenly back online.

The next moment, the room was filled with steam.

prompt list / accepting!

[tallulah477]

Soft Touches

⭒˚.⭒. 1K Follower Special .⭒.˚⭒

Pairing: Jake x Fem!Na'vi!Reader

Warnings: P in V, Fingering, Alien Genitalia, Soft Sex, Slight Tail Play, Creampie, Knotting, Finger sucking/Fingers in mouth, Slight Breeding Kink

Word Count: 4K

A/N: First fic in a while! Sorry its a little rusty.

A/N 2: For more about how I picture alien genitalia, see here.

Summary: You enjoy a nice lazy morning with your mate after a long night of celebration.

Translations:

Olo'eyktan - Clan Leader

Muntxate - Wife, female spouse

Ikran - Mountain banshee, dragon-like aerial predators

It’s mornings like these that remind you to take a breath.

The mornings when the village is mostly silent. When the normal hustle and bustle of early clan life is put on hold for just a moment, most others favoring the extra sleep and time alone with their loved ones after a long night of celebration before the reality of the day catches up to them and they need to re-enter the real world. 

The celebration was one of new beginnings. The new life born from the couple who had been trying for a long time - new parents who you had seen almost give up hope in ever conceiving after years of nothing finally receiving Eywa’s blessing in the form of a beautiful baby boy. The People cheered and prayed for their new clan member as Jake formally introduced him to the world, holding the baby high above his head and shouting his name with pride as if the baby were his own. 

You hope maybe one day soon, he’ll be able to do the same for your own child. 

As the ceremony turned into food and food turned into dance, the night passed by in a flurry of blood thumping music and happy memories. Your mate is a vision in his Olo’eyktan garb - muscular shoulders made even more broad by the layered feathers proudly displayed on him. His beautiful face somehow made even more beautiful framed by the ornate headpiece that lays distinguished on his forehead. The multitude of necklaces and armbands that adorn him, dressed with colorful beading, intricate knots, and bones. 

They’re symbols of respect. Symbols of honor. 

You can’t wait to tear them off his body when you get home.

And so you do - following every instinct you have as you rip the badges of honor from him in a fierce display that has your Olo’eyktan practically shaking in excitement and grinning that adorably goofy smile of his as he leans back against your shared woven mat, hands folded comfortably behind his head as he lets you ravage him to your heart’s delight. 

Your lovemaking is rough. Passionate. The perfect blend of ‘I love you, baby. Now fuck me like you don’t’. It’s the kind of intimacy that makes you feel alive. It’s exciting and fun, quick and intensely satisfying as you both greedily chase that pleasure that you know only the other can provide. 

“Fucked your brains out,” Jake jokes afterwards, and you resist the urge to smack him - too satisfied and gooey in the glow of the aftermath that you can’t even bring yourself to move to make the hit. 

You think he knows that, which is probably why he said it.

You don’t dream, and sometimes that’s better than even the best dreams. There’s nothing to keep your mind working, no other life to live in another world and nothing to bring your deepest fears or greatest dreams to life. It’s just silence. Pure rest and energy replenishment. You wake up feeling refreshed - calm and serene. 

Like the rest of the world is miles away and it’s just you and the love of your life together alone, away from all responsibility and the demands life brings.

Mornings like this are easy. 

Soft light just barely making it into the hut, just enough to light up everything around you, but not enough that you couldn’t easily fall back asleep if you wanted to. Jake’s arms are a warm blanket around you, keeping you close and safe and protected even in sleep. The consistent puffs of breath on your neck from where his face is pressed close to you is soothing in a way you can’t even begin to describe. You could lay here all day, wrapped up in the warmth of his body and the unassuming fuzziness of almost sleep blurring at the edges of your vision. 

There’s no worries right now, no concern or to-do’s or looming tasks that are faring for your attention. 

It’s just him and you. Even if for only right now. 

Your fingers subconsciously trace along Jake’s forearm, the tips dragging a lazy back and forth pattern along the smooth skin. He fits behind you perfectly, muscular body curling around yours like it was built to fit against yours. You think maybe it was. Eywa may not have been his maker, the body he is in now was once human-made. But despite not being his maker, she is his Mother - and you know just as well as any other Na’vi how the Great Mother can perform miracles. 

She made him for you somehow. Just for you.

Your fingers continue their featherlight touches on his arm and they’re more deliberate now as your tail curls around the back of Jake’s leg so the soft tuft of hair at the end can tickle along the back of his knee. The light touches are guaranteed to wake him up. He showers you in a strong gentleness, granting you the light and soft touches that you love so much exactly when you need them, but he prefers a firmer touch. The softer touches drive him insane after a while and he’ll often grab your hand and push it harder against his skin to starve off the sensation or even drag your nails across the spot to get rid of the itch. 

You’re a menace, purposefully teasing him with light touches just to see him react the way he does. Just because it's a soft and peaceful morning doesn’t mean you’ll show him reprieve. 

The tightness in your core says you want him, so he needs to wake up. Just the feel of his body pressing against yours and the rhythmic puffs of breath on the back of your neck is sending pleasant tingles down your spine. The warmth of his body heat turns into a different kind of warmth that swells in your stomach and settles between your thighs.

You can feel him start to stir behind you, the puffs of breath becoming harsher as his arm and leg twitch against your lovingly mean touches. Your body tenses in excitement when you feel the sharp teeth press against the nape of your neck and the low growl he lets out reverberates through your entire body.

“What have I said about the touching, baby?”

“Firm strokes,” You grin before adding on a smug, “Everywhere.”

Jake hums against you, teeth still a clear warning against the back of your neck and they dig in just a little harder at your cheeky answer. 

“That’s right,” He says against your skin. “So why is my mate being bad on this very nice morning?”

“Wanted you to wake up,” You breathe. 

Your tail flicks at the back of his knee again and you let out an excited laugh when he pulls his arm away from your tickling fingers to snatch your tail. He jerks it swiftly in reprimand, not hard enough to actually hurt but just enough for you to feel the sharp pull of it and the sensation shoots right down to your center.

“Wake up for what?” He asks, but you can hear the responding grin in his voice.

You arch your back, pressing your ass against his bare front just to drive the point home. His cock is still sheltered in its protective sheath, but the action is clear anyway. “You know for what,”

The move does its job and your Jake is significantly riled up in an instant. He presses his front harder against your back, rolling you slightly forward to better gain leverage against you. The muscular arm you’re using as a pillow shifts so that his hand can reach down and cup your breast, squeezing the soft flesh in his large hand. The other hand slides across your hip, the tip of your tail still caught in the loose ring of his thumb and pointer finger as he drags it with him between your thighs. 

He keeps it trapped there as his middle finger runs across your slick slit, sliding up and down the length of your pussy with the lightest of touches. The tuft of hair on your tail sticks together as Jake drags it with him and a part of you wants to yell at him, mortified at the idea of your own tail becoming dirtied by your own sticky mess. But the feeling of the soft hair sliding across your needy slit makes you even more desperate and the control that he shows he has over you as he uses your own hair tuft on your tail to help him tease you makes you whimper.

“Ma Jake,” You squirm. You tilt your hips trying to get him to touch you better - push a little harder, slide a finger inside, touch your clit, something. But he doesn’t budge. Just continues his teasing as he nips his sharp teeth at your ear.

“Hm, what’s wrong, babygirl?” He mocks. “I thought you liked soft touches.”

Since he moved, your hands had been clutching the wrist of the hand caressing your breast. Now, you pull one away from its resting place to grab the hand between your thighs trying to manipulate his fingers into moving to the places you want them to. The inside of your palm brushes against the sticky strands of hair as Jake makes it brush over your clit and your tail jerks in response as your body inadvertently tries to tug it away, but Jake keeps it hostage between his skilled fingers. The fine hairs leave silky lines of wetness against your palm. 

“Please,” You whine and your fingers press against his middle finger, forcing it to slip between your wet lips. “Be nice to your muntxate.”

“Yeah?” Jake grumbles. “After you were just so nice to me?”

A part of you wants him to continue to drag this out. You like the tease. The way the barely there touches are nowhere near enough to get you to where you want to be but the tortuous featherlight brush of fingers makes you wetter than direct and firm touches would. Jake knows how to play with you, knows how to work you up to near madness with barely even lifting a finger. He touches the right spots - gentle brushes against the length of your pussy, caressing along the sides and down the slit, dipping in enough just to be able to slide across your hole that clenches with need from every new ‘not touch’. Sometimes his fingers would nudge against your clit, just enough to make you jump as a shock of pleasure shoots into your belly at the place you most want him to touch finally getting some attention, even if for only one fleeting second. 

“I’m always nice to you,” You breathe. 

“Oh, yeah?” Jake laughs, knowing disbelief coloring the beautiful sound and you can’t help the cheeky grin that pulls at your lips in return. “You’re always nice to me, huh?

“Mhm,” You agree. You lean your head back so your cheek can rub against Jake’s. “The nicest and most perfect mate ever.”

“Hm,” Jake hums and your breathing hitches as when his fingers slide more purposefully towards your dripping hole. “Yeah, you’ve never been a pain in my ass for a single second, have you?”

Your tail lashes out behind you when Jake loosens his grip on it in favor of sinking his long fingers inside you. It smacks against Jake’s thigh a few times and distantly you hope that it leaves a wet spot there too as payback, but the thought is so removed from your brain right now that it hardly even registers at all. His fingers slide into you so perfectly, the size of two of them sinking into your cunt begins to stretch you out so well. Compared to the actual size of him, it's not enough to fully prepare you. But you can feel where his cock has come out to play behind you, already hard and wet from the slick of its protective sheath as it pokes at the curve of your ass. 

“You’ve just always been my good girl,”

His words are sweet, the urge to nod and agree that yes, yes you have always been his good girl is so strong as his fingers fill you up, but you know better than anyone how the edge of sarcasm in his words ring true. When you first met Jake, you had been hostile. Furious with your best friend when she had saved him in the forest and furious even more when she begged for your help to train him in the ways of The People when her father had instructed her to take on the task of babysitter. It makes you laugh now to think back on those months. Neytiri wasn’t nice by any means, but she had quickly developed a fond friendship with the dreamwalker despite her early aggression. And even though you hissed at him, smacked him instead of guiding him into place when learning to shoot a bow and arrow and use a knife, and called him every insult you knew straight to his face while fully taking advantage of the fact that he was still learning Na’vi - you had grown to be quite fond of him too.

The differences you had once held against him were now things to be cherished. The five fingers that once made you nervous, too associated with the demons that had come and killed people that you cared about and tried to destroy your home, were a symbol of his loyalty to you and The People. He chose you - chose to be with you and give his loyalty to you and Eywa and the rest of the clan over the species he was born as, and you take pride in seeing that fifth finger on his hand, playing with it lovingly between your own fingers, and knowing what it symbolizes to you. Made a human but created by the Great Mother: different, but still Na’vi. 

But you are a warrior - fierce and focused, courageous and determined. Maybe a little aggressive. Stubborn. So maybe you’re not always as nice as you could be. The fondness grown from spending the time of getting to know Jake and the unavoidable blessing of love that came after couldn’t have stopped the aspects of your personality and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you were always a patient, kind, and understanding bundle of joy. You argue and expect things, fierce in your opinions and beliefs just as fierce as you love. 

You would never have found a worthy match with someone else in the clan. No one else could have ever handled you the way Jake can. No one else would have ever loved you as much as Jake does. 

You’re a pain in his ass - on him from the start if he’s wrong about something, making a bad call or the wrong decision, and you push him to be better as a good mate should. Direct communication. No sugar-coating things. Jake can handle it and you hate it in the moment, but you’re grateful that you can say he returns the favor too. 

“My perfect mate,” Jake agrees and your tail shakes with excitement as he digs his fingers in deeper.

You’re so wet already, slick pooling between your thighs as you spread them more to give him a little more space for his hand. The hand on your breast clings to it, not letting go or loosening its grip for a second as he squeezes at your chest. His clever fingers form a cage around your nipple that pinches the hard bud between his third and fourth finger with each squeeze, and the sharp pang of pleasure that courses through your body from the stimulation drives you to grind down on the hand between your thighs even harder.

His fingers feel so good inside you, stretching you and thrusting as deep as they can go as you leak around them. He knows all your good spots, fingertips curling and rubbing against your slick walls as he torments the spots he can reach in his position and rakes the tips of his fangs on the back of your neck to make up for the ones he can’t. Your hand is still laying on top of his, moving with it as if it’s guiding its movements. Jake lets you keep it there. He knows you like to act like you’re in control sometimes. 

The thick head of his cock pokes at your ass, sliding against the curve of it and your hand finally leaves the top of his to reach behind you. Your hand curls around his length, stroking gently and feeling each textured bump and barb rub against your fingertips. His fingers are good, magical even. But even in the soft morning glow when things are quiet and you should be satisfied, it’s still not enough. 

“Ma Jake, please?”

He chuckles. “You’re so polite when you want something,” 

You grin. “Don’t make me be mean,”

Jake shifts his hips harder against your ass, somehow shoving his fingers deeper inside you as he rubs his cheek against yours, lips pressing just off to the side of your own in a quick kiss. “Yeah, wouldn’t want you to be mean, would we?”

The joking tone is there again. The humorous sarcasm. Jake likes you when you're sweet and pliant - it's a rarity that he likes to enjoy in the odd moments that it comes like this one. But he loves it when you're mean. 

He doesn’t let you respond, instead choosing to be nice and halting the sweet torment of his fingers in your cunt and replacing them with the blunt press of his cock at your entrance. Your body mourns the loss of his fingers when he pulls them from between your legs, but you do well to push the feeling down when he hooks his hand under your knee and bends your leg up, spreading you more to give him easier access to push his cock inside. 

Your eyes flutter shut in bliss as his length spears you open, stretching you and filling you up the way you know only he can. You can feel every delicious raised bump on his cock as he slides into you and you squeeze down on him, reveling in the way the texture scrapes against your slick walls. 

Sometimes you wonder what it would have been like to be like this with him in his human body. Wheelchair and paralyzing spinal injury aside - you still imagine him standing straight, as tall as he can be, and staring at you with that daring, cocky, fearless expression of his - smirking and ready to tame you just as he had tamed his ikran. 

He’d be so much smaller than you. Your hand easily encompassing the entire side of his head as you pulled him in for a kiss, and the agitation you might feel at having to wait even for the few seconds it takes for him to pull off his breathing mask. He’d be smaller down there too. The thought makes you giggle a little. It’s a shame really - because the idea of trying the human version of him, despite your pretenses, is very appealing. Smaller human Jake is still your Jake, no matter what body he is in.

How would it feel? There would be no barbs or added texture for stimulation, no extra slick other than a small amount of precum to make taking it any easier. No knot to lock you in and keep you close afterwards. 

How would it feel encased snugly inside your walls? It would be smooth, right? Save for maybe a vein here and there. He’s told you before that a human’s genitalia hangs outside the body, balls included. You think that’s rather interesting. Stupid - but interesting. A flawed design in a species that mostly considers itself perfect. But what would that feel like? You can picture what you think that would be like - Jake’s own swinging, unprotected, with each thrust. Would they slap against your ass as he fucks you? Could they hit your clit if you make him fuck you with you on all fours?

You’d never ask him. Your pride would never let you. But sometimes, you think about it and wonder. The desire to try something you know you never can and to do it with the only person you would ever want to try it with. 

The first retreat of him pulling back and then the slow and dragging slide of him pushing back into you makes sure to clear that lingering thought out of your mind. What could you possibly want that for when you have this right here? 

Perfect, passionate, intimate, and completely yours. 

His lips are at your ear, panting breath fanning at the curve of it as he murmurs to you about how tight you are and how good you feel around him. Like a perfect sleeve made just for my cock, he tells you, and groans when the words make you clench around him like a vice. 

Jake’s hand lets go of your knee to reach around your front again, fingers finding the sensitive bud between your thighs. Your clit throbs under his touch and there’s people around you in the nearby huts - families who can definitely hear you if you get too loud. And even though sex is not taboo among the Na’vi like you’ve learned it is among many humans, it's still early on a morning post celebration and people are sleeping. You don’t think Weim, Tsuakir, and their young daughter, Iski, would appreciate getting woken up by the pleasured mewling cries of their Olo’eyktan’s mate before it’s time for them to rise. 

You get out one loud moan before Jake is pulling his hand from your breast and shoving his fingers in your mouth. 

“Shhh, babygirl,” Jake whispers. “Can’t keep you all to myself if you wake up the whole damn village.”

A part of you wants to bite at the fingers in your mouth, the urge to rebel in any way you can against Jake’s slight increase in control over you, but they work too well - long digits pressing into the sides of your cheek and against your tongue just enough to keep you quiet. His other hand is drawing swirls around your clit, using the combined wetness of both of your slicks to make it nice and slippery.  

The knot on the base of his cock is swelling, pushing and pulling at the rim of your entrance with each rhythmic rock of his hips, and you suck eagerly at Jake’s fingers in your mouth as your body molds to each stretch and give. Jake’s voice is in your ear, gravely and deep as he groans about how he’s going to tie you to him, keep you locked on his cock and fill you up until your belly swells. 

“Maybe next time it will be us up there introducing our kid to the clan,” He grunts, nipping your ear with his sharp teeth. You moan, eyes fluttering as his thrusts speed up, the wet sounds of skin on skin and his voice filling your ear is all you can hear in the small hut. “Would you like that, baby?”

The swollen knot catches on your rim, pushing inside with a pointed snap of Jake’s hips, and you gasp when it slips inside you, stretching you to what you always feel are your limits but your body welcomes him willingly. The shock of his knot locking inside you and the insistent circles on your clit trigger your orgasm, and you cum to the warmth of Jake’s own release painting your insides as you clench around him, pleasure crashing through your body and leaving you feeling all the more fuzzy and weightless in the soft morning glow filling the hut than how you woke. 

Jake’s arms cuddle around you, his head laying on top of yours as you both bask in the afterglow. The village is starting to come back to life around you, sounds of children playing and the usual hustle and bustle of clan life making its way through the entrance of your home. Soon, you’ll have to leave the safety and closeness of Jake’s loving hold.

But not right now - you still have some time left. 

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[joojeans]

&team hyung line: top 5 kinks

request: sorry idk if u answered this b4 but what kinks do u think &team would be into? >.<

a/n: if you follow my multi writing blog you're probably familiar with this format lol

p.s. the kinks are not necessarily in order

k

dumbification - i talk a lot about k tying his ego to his sex life a lot and that's just because i'm right ok. it's like the one area he's allowed to get a big head without worrying about it being toxic. and seeing you a literal mess because of him? he makes you feel so good and so overwhelmed that you can't get your words out and you're either literally or figuratively drooling for him? yeah. that does it for him.

finger sucking - the stars in his eyes and the smirk on his face when you so willingly open your mouth for his fingers and suck on them. what wouldn't you let him do? this is just one of many ways he reminds you both that you're his, even at the most subconscious level.

quickies - k gets random bursts of very high energy and he needs an outlet for them. his favorite method is draining himself by fucking you like an animal in heat for a hot second. (obligatory ha ha animal in heat reference)

temperature play - tbh, it's just fun watching how you respond when he drops hot wax on your stomach or holds an ice cube in his mouth and traces a line down the front of your body. he loves anything that pulls a reaction out of you.

orgasm denial (giving) - this one is a twofer. he likes denying your orgasm because of how you beg him to give it to you. oh, you want him that bad? you need him that bad?

fuma

pet play - i mean... duh. we all saw this coming. fuma loves everything about pet play: how cute you look, how well you behave for him, how trusted and reliable he feels. he'll take it very seriously, too. i'm talking regular trips to buy new accessories, even toys. regular walks, of course. love of head pats for his best pet.

body worship - fuma likes this both ways. when he's feeling particularly lovey, he'll take his time cherishing every part of your body. and when he's feeling like he wants to be in control, he'll talk you through how to worship his body properly–the way he deserves.

breeding - this man will not hesitate to put a baby in you omg. of course, he wouldn't do this with just anyone or under any circumstances, but if you're right and the conditions are right, you don't have to ask twice. even if neither of you are wanting an actual baby, he will be breeding you as if you'll be getting one anyway.

restraints - sometimes he just wants you to lay there and take what he gives you. he takes such good care of you, after all.

roleplay - he is too good at this. he doesn't get giggly and drop character–he's taking his role seriously. he likes that he gets to figure out how to fuck you differently depending on the context of your characters.

nicholas

praise (receiving) - don't get me wrong, nicholas will be praising you too. but hearing you praise him? otherworldly. he could almost live off the high of that alone. he wants to know that he's your most special, most perfect boy and how much you enjoy being with him.

phone sex - hhhhh nicholas's deep voice. if there's one thing about nicholas, he knows his strengths. he knows his voice is one of them. he loves knowing he can make you squirm just by talking to you. and he loves frustrating himself because he always wants more, but he gets off on forcing himself to settle for just this.

choking (receiving) - nicholas likes to be completely and totally bare with you. he wants vulnerability in its entirety. what is more vulnerable than symbolically putting his life in your hands? he gets intoxicated by the feeling.

voyeurism - this isn't something you two get to do often because of the nature of it, but it's hot. he likes to watch other people fucking while he whispers in your ear, asking if you would like it if he did this too. if you would moan for him like that if he did that too.

lingerie - let him play dress up with you just so he can task himself with the delicious challenge of making love to you without messing up his masterpiece.

euijoo

dry humping/clothed sex - two reasons for this other than it just feels good tbh. 1) euijoo is sensitive so sometimes he gets aroused in a big way pretty quickly so everything can move a bit fast. 2) this usually doesn't come with a direct initiation from either of you. it just kinda... happens. he loves that.

marking - he likes to be marked more than he likes to mark, but both happen. when he marks you, it's like a proud little "look at what i did" moment and that's so cute dsfsaf. when you mark him (somewhere he doesn't have to hide it, please), he gets literal goosebumps every time he admires it in the mirror. instant arousal.

overstimulation - this also goes both ways. like i said, he's sensitive. it's easy to overstimulate him. he likes letting go of the control and the perfection he strives for every day like this. it forces him to. and when he does it to you, it's a huge boost to his self confidence. i'm being so serious when i say that overstimulating you in the bedroom translates to more confidence in his everyday life.

size kink - euijoo is always trying to grow as a person. he wants to be more self-assured, more assertive. his size over you is one of the ways that he feels like a man. he knows it would be easy to impose himself on you. he can see it in your eyes. any time he's able to use his size to his advantage with you, it's like a switch flips.

hair pulling (receiving) - telling him he's doing a good job with a nonverbal communication like this that also feels good? yes please. don't be shy to pull harder.

cr. cafekitsune for mdni banners ♡

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Does a bad ending ruin a good story? A comprehensive guide to my feelings on the Arcane finale

*Spoilers for Arcane season 2*

So. You just finished the show, and you're staring at the screen in bewilderment. Perhaps you’re even with some friends, shouting words of confusion to the rolling credits. Try as you might, you can barely hear them, because a single thought echoes in your mind and pushes away any other:

“What the fuck just happened?”

If this happened to you, then boy oh boy, we're on the same boat. If it didn't, well, I'm glad for you friend! We might not have been looking for the same things from this story. But this is my post, meaning I will give my opinions (which are objectively correct because this is my blog and I'm the mayor here) on everything that Arcane broke and failed to deliver in its last 2 episodes.

Let's start with characters, and why none of it mattered.

Jinx symbolized the fear we all have of not belonging somewhere, of not having anything to call home or anyone to call a family. Her anger stemmed from wanting to carve a place in a society and a world that had so harshly rejected her (i.e., Vi leaving her). Her existence was a huge middle finger to all that refused to let her live, a fight to build herself something wholeheartedly hers (hence her being an inventor). It was proof that despite the world telling her she was better off dead, she would never stop fighting to prove it wrong.

… and she died.

She died, and that means all the suffering she went through to exist simply amounted to nothing. She left nothing behind either, no trace of a legacy, something that would have left her mark on that world. Isha, the child she raised as a daughter, died. Silco, who she taught love and care to, died. Vander, who she brought back from years of trauma and torture, died. Jinx fought so hard to live, and in the end, it was as if she hadn't lived at all.

Viktor is most certainly the character that made me the angriest, because of how attached I am to the person he is in season 1 (and even the first two acts of season 2 to an extent). Everything that made him so beautifully complex… gone, in about 10 minutes. There was NO reason to make him the surprise ultimate villain. Viktor had always, always been a pacificist. That's why he was so adamant Hextech not be used as a weapon. That's why every time there were chances to test hextech to hurt, he tried to learn how it could heal. Yes, his fusion with the hexcore had changed him; but NOT into a man who didn't care for human life. He wanted to help all the hurt done to his people. People like him, living day to day in the undercity, but who had never gotten a chance to crawl out of their hell. His community was about HEALING, not controlling. The very IDEA that he would accept killing innocents and ally with Noxus, the warmongers, is so ridiculous I could genuinely laugh if it didn't make me so angry. The show needed an easy, black-and-white showdown to conclude a story that would have needed so much more time to tell. And they chose Viktor. Because it was the easy way out. It was the perfect foil to the return of the Golden Boy. And that PISSES me off.

There is this really shitty concept in popular media that the handicapped/chronically ill character is always in the pursuit of being “cured” and that they need outside help to realize “that their imperfections make them perfect”. Fuck. You. As someone with chronic illness and who just finished beating blood cancer, fuck you. That realization, that you're you with every part of your being, even the ‘bad’ ones, cannot come from outside. It's YOU who needs to learn it. It's you who needs to discover how your body and your mind are so much stronger than you previously thought them to be. Not your lover, your family, your friends, or God forbid your able-bodied lab partner. You. Others may tell you as many times as they want your illness doesn't define you; it won't matter until you, yourself, have understood why and have accepted it. Having someone swoop in and “fix” Viktor with a “you don't have to change uwu” is just….. so reductive I can barely find the words for it. That was VIKTOR’S path to find, and not Jayce’s role to find it for him.

Also… Viktor wasn't trying to ‘fix’ his leg; he was trying to find a cure to a deadly illness ravaging his body and no doubt the bodies of many in Zaun. The HELL is the message here??? That he should have just rolled with it because the deadly illness was part of him??? Again, as a cancer survivor. Fuck right off.

Of course, I can't just ignore the hideous get-up they put him in at the end. The man who laughed at Jayce's narcissism….you want me to believe… he would put on that fucking edge lord costume and not DIE of embarrassment??? The design makes no sense from a narrative standpoint either: if his cane has become the sceptre, why is he still keeping it? He doesn't need it anymore to walk, and it's a reminder of his weaknesses as a human that he apparently hated so much. Why the hell does he keep it then? And the hexclaw. Where did that bad boy come out from?? Did you all see a secret extra bonus scene where he steals it from the lab, because I sure didn't. It doesn't add anything to his sets of powers either it’s… it's a fucking laser gun. WHY. And oh sweet god that mask… there would have been so many ways of designing a mask more meaningful than the one from LoL. This one is just. A piece of metal he spawned in embryo. Get it? Because he's made of metal now and also hiding his face means no more humanity? Get it?? Of fucking course you do, because this was the easiest and worst possible way they could have integrated the mask.

Viktor and Jayce had a fantastic dynamic in that Viktor had started out as the loner, the underdog scientist from the slums; while Jayce was the leader figure, living in comfort that made him attachingly naive, his face plastered on posters stroking his ego. The shift is delightfully slow, as Viktor gains in confidence and determination to see his invention through no matter what, while Jayce is confronted with harsher and harsher truths about the world he so blissfully ignored. By Act 2, they have fully switched roles: Viktor is now the leader figure, a symbol of the future for the people, while Jayce is desperately alone, both physically in the hexcore anomaly, and mentally in being the only one who has seen the devastating future. Excellent stuff. What would be a great way to push these parallels further and to show the complexity of these characters, and perhaps how they can balance each other out? Well, Fortiche sure didn't know, now Viktor is the bad bad guy and Jayce is mister hero. Zaun bad, Piltover good. All nuance, gone. Proving that indeed, the man from poverty and inequality turns out evil, while the one from comfort and wealth turns out to be the hero of the story. The whole “giving a warm speech to the bad villain about how you care for them, somehow immediately changing their ways, and dying together to save the world” can work well in shounen anime where friendship is magic, or in the Ben 10 live-action movie (yes, that's the plot, I thought that wasn't deep when I was like 7 years old so imagine now), but not in a show like Arcane. Not with the ethical and moral nuances they have accustomed us to.

And now, let's explore...

Plotholes and incomplete storylines galore.

Ekko’s tree and the contamination of Zaun from Piltover? Fuck that. The huge showdown between the two opposite yet sister cities, like Jinx and Vi, that has been built up for two seasons? Fuck that. And for what?

For the Noxus sequel teaser.

Mel’s plotline about finding her mage origins had NOTHING to do with the main plot. Absolutely nothing. It added 0 twists or intrigues to the story, and served no purpose except making her a deus ex machina for a broken ending. All it was there for was to lay the base for a following show on Noxus and the Black Rose. Time that could have been spent either giving Mel a proper arc related to the plot, or giving all the other rushed character arcs more development.

Finally, and I deeply regret having to say this, but… the end of Vi and Cait's relationship was majorly disappointing to me. As an LGBTQ+ person myself, who feels attraction to women, it was a delight to have such a realistically portrayed w/w relationship on screen. Popular media tends to portray m/m relationships as these doomed, sinful feelings between two repressed guys, while w/w relationships are shown to just be all sunshine and rainbows and teddy bears, because two women together are a cute little accessory to have on screen. It’s non-threatening. But not Cait and Vi; their bond was raw, and rocky, with violent lows and passionate highs in a world that seemed to want to keep them apart. Their separation and the introduction of Maddie showed the reality of a w/w relationship, where fights and cheating ARE things that happen, because they're two adult women with different beliefs, objectives, an trauma. Putting them back together, as if nothing had happened, without giving us anything about how their relationship would have evolved from the breakup? I'd never thought I'd say this, but it's too easy. How about Caitlyn's literal descent into fascism??? We’ll just ignore that? Vi will just ignore that?

As with everything else, this last part of Arcane destroys all the complex emotions that exist between these characters, the resentment, the anger, the frustration, built upon years of different social conditioning… gone. Because they had 2 episodes left to wrap it up, and there was no way to make a coherent and natural transition to them getting back together with that kind of time. And can I just say. The decision to have Vi, symbol of Zaun, go down on Caitlyn, symbol of Piltover and enforcers, in a prison cell that has held innocent Zaunites and represents their complete lack of freedom as individuals by a cop state that oppresses them….. yeah, bad. So bad.

And… the multiverse. Yup, they went the multiverse route. Now, that's not necessarily a bad thing: the concept of multiverses itself is interesting in a vacuum, and quite a few properties have managed to make it work coherently. But it has been terribly overused and bastardized in serialized content in the last few years, for the simple reason that it's extremely practical. Why make a new, original series when you already have worlds and characters that are developed, and come with built-in fans? It's a money-saving hack! Why dedicate yourself to an ending that is meaningful in its finality and wraps the story properly when you can just say “It's just one ending in the multiverse!”. It takes away any accountability to the fans, and leaves the door open to a potential other version of the story! The perfect combo!

…except in practice, it comes off as lazy in a medium where that trope is overly saturated (don't start me on Marvel), and like a cowardly way of escaping from the responsibility of really taking the time to craft a good, solid ending to end your story.

So, with all that said: does it ruin Arcane for me? No, absolutely not, and I don’t think it should be for you either. The intricate artistry and raw talent that went into making the first season (and I would say a majority of the two first acts of season 2) is undeniable, and will stay undeniable. Nothing can touch that story. It will forever be one of my favourite pieces of animated media, which is saying a lot because I'm currently getting my master's degree on that topic.

However, it does give Arcane, as a whole rather than two separate seasons/entities, a very bittersweet feeling that is hard to forget. Thinking of what could have been, just if a little more time had been given to the minds behind the masterpiece you so loved… it's its own form of heartbreak. Academics have even compared it to experiencing a form of death of a loved one, before they ever got to reach their fullest potential and live the life they deserved. It may sound dramatic, but the feelings you feel in this moment, watching the horrible end of a fiction you have so much love for, are real. No one can take those away from you. You're allowed to grieve the loss of something that meant a lot to you.

Tldr; No, Arcane is not a bad series because of its rushed and incomprehensible ending. As they say, it's all about the journey, not the destination, even if that's one of the parts we tend to remember the most. And I don't know about you, but this was one of the best journeys I've ever been on.

[literalite]

mistki's the land is inhospitable and so are we (2023)!! as edits featuring mine and some of my friends ocs 😁 had a lot of fun with this project... rough explainer of how/why each song corresponds to each character/s under the cut because i love symbolism and talking! sorry it is long

bug like an angel - sapphire

without spoiling too much of her story and arc... sapphire's life is not easy. she's hurt by people she cares for and who care for her, although inadvertently, and in turn hurts people who she cares for and who cared for her, also not by her own volition. it's kind of a terrible truth that you will harm and be harmed by the people you love, even when you and they truly don't want to. it's up to you how much you're willing to take and deal. you can't keep every promise you make and you can't right every wrong. but you have to keep trying anyway. that's sapphire's strength, and the core of her goodness and why i personally consider her one of my favourite ocs. i chose to depict bug like an angel in mitski's more positive interpretation here and in that light i think it works best for saph

buffalo replaced - heiya

well first and foremost the vibes of the song fits heiya perfectly fhgjk but also lyricism and tone... yep. quick breakdown of heiya's background since i doubt i'll ever be able to do it properly she's an interesting character for me because she like a lot of my other characters has lost. everything. she had a wife and a child and they were both killed and she had to leave her home again and again and unlike how some of my others would have taken this she has never flagged in her unwavering dedication to preserving hope. for herself for her people for the future etc etc. which is a very fucking difficult thing to do! the world changes faster than you can keep up with it sometimes but for heiya she will not let herself tire and be swept away in it all. people rely on her. she's a guiding star as much as she is a woman. she's a lover and a fighter and thats what buffalo replaced means to me! so

heaven - vinny and caleb

i feel like of all my oc couples so far they have like. the sweetest most kind of simply mutually trusting dare i say straight forward love. they just love each other so much and thats all. the world could end around them when theyre together and it'd be okay truly. also yeah vinny is ostensibly in heaven now bye angel i feel like this one was pretty self explanatory. me and who WHEN

i don't like my mind - sunny

he just like me fr (said in denji voice) anyways wow ha. unstoppable unending guilt due to past actions that haunt your every waking moment? throwing yourself into any and all distraction just to take your mind off it, filling your time with other shit so that past sin doesnt for once echo in your awful and hollow brain? this song is perfect for sunny honestly just that sentiment also the "please don't take this job from me".... sometimes the coping is worse. you can be proud of something because you can do it better than anyone else even if that thing is terrible

the deal - wolfgang munch by @gunthermunch

Wolfgang Amadeus Munch. umm this will make more sense later on but it still kind of makes sense now i think. he doesn't want to be himself he keeps . leaving and moving and running away from his own memories his own self in reaction to others. if he could pawn it all off he would. if he could be better in an instant without having to feel every agonising second of change he would! but thats not how the world works. or is it. read munch by gunthermunch thats an order

when memories snow - lilian

i feel the older you get the more your past kind of swells up and trails behind you... at least for lilian that is shes very linked to the different versions of the girl/young woman she used to be. for her its a double edged blade, a lot of her own strength is drawn from who she was and what happened to her throughout her life. they haunt her but she's haunting it back in her own way

my love mine all mine - saige, bellona, ari

stares you down okay so usage of this song very much almost verges into spoiler territory but uhm. uhm. starts twitching basically the whole dynamic here is . sometimes when you love you will sacrifice. and while that is usually a good thing sometimes it is not but sometimes it still is. sometimes you pay your dues for love and sometimes someone else has to pay for your love as well. and whether that is worth it to them remains to be seen. but it's all about love still. whether that's a worthy cause is up to you i suppose

the frost - yoshiki and hikaru from hikaru ga shida natsu

fun fact (or not so fun fact since i had it listed as such) this slot was originally meant to be taken up by a gojo/geto edit and while it still works for them frighteningly well i swerved to do another black and white haired doomed gay pairing gfhjkl; i really recommend yall to read hikaru ga shinda natsu/the summer that hikaru died because honestly it speaks for itself! it's SO good i love it so bad

star - ari and luca by @anjitrait

wow these two did not deserve the horrors the narrative (me) slammed down onto their heads. they're kind of the most married of all time to me but like of course under pressure even the strongest most loving of bonds will warp. they've been together for roughly a decade and a half now. they know and love each other as totally as you could possibly imagine. despite it all i am yours, no matter. are we picking up what i'm putting down chat

i'm your man - nayef and sióar by @lucidicer

after the album dropped like at least 3 people swung into my dms with a ?this you?? about this song which. i mean the fucking dogs that start barking halfway through the song. are you kidding me. but anyways sioyef and devotion. sioyef and putting yourself in your lover's hands and looking to them like they are a god. this is super self explanatory. you know

i love me after you - redacted and ophelia

HM.... all i'll say here is that sometimes the homoerotic tension filled high school friendship where both parties have something very wrong with them but in totally different directions can be. scarring. bad. sometimes love just isn't enough when you don't know what you're meant to do with it and when you've lived in survival mode all your life. but that once the dust clears you can scrape yourself off the ground get up keep going and that isn't gonna be the end for you there. or for love, even. sometimes shit just ain't meant to be and thats ok

[mistyyyy]

How about a tall black reader who's father is a na'vi and mother is human causing her to have shading of blue on her arms and feet ( not t like vitiligo) and she has the same nerves sistem of na'vi and is taller than the avatar boys and is a super dom

Thinking about you

Oooh

I have two versions of this, I couldn't decide what to do but I think I made the right choice. The first one was peepee poopoo. sorry for not updating on this page for mooooonths but yall know how I do lol. It’s kinda meeehhhh, I need to ease my way back into smut lol

small blurb.

jake sully X black hybrid Navi reader

⚠️content:size kink, slightly perve jake, sub jake sully, jake m-wording (Tumblr is being very strict abt smut) abt you, HEAVY CHOKING KINK (creamin), embarrassed jake lol, small text

Pandoras sex symbol.

Or at least that's what Jake Sully calls you in his head. You were perfect, everything about you was perfect. The way your brown skin faded into the dark forest blue, the stripes in your body covering your strong limbs from head to toe. You were so fascinating. In a way, you reminded him of Earth, the good parts of it at least. From your human features to the way you wore your camo lioncloth. But what got him the most was your height. You were taller than most, maybe the tallest out of the clan, standing at a confident 9ft with the prettiest tight curly hair that mostly stayed in braids, wooden beads always sporting them. Your eyes were a little smaller than the regular Navi, but they were still that pretty amber he grew to love.

And that voice. Good lord above. He couldnt even count on his 10 didgets how many times he had goosebumps from it. It was deeper than the average womens, and he loved it. Especially when you talked in his ear after you pushed him into the floor by his neck. That with the combination of your strong thighs straddling him between your body. "come on sully, do better." it was a gentle scold, your accent causing his sweaty body to spasm under your heavy body, this movement making you drive him more into the dirt, hot bodies pressing into each other. "you're killing me right now.." he grunts, his hips pulling back into the dirt in hopes to not meet yours. "not yet at least." You pulled back, handing coming back from his neck with a cocky grin. You always won these competitions. Being born and raised here, trained by the RDA soldiers and the local navi before they got sent away. You were born to overpower him, even if he's been on the planet for 15 years.

He could never win against you, not that he wanted to, always ending up below you was his favorite part of the day. Every time the two of you would split up to go home, he didn't waste time pulling his matted braids up in a ponytail and stripping from his straining cloth. Dropping to his knees on his bouncy mat bed to grab the base of his thick cock. Impatient movements, he brought his hand back up to spit in his hand and back down to gently fist his tip. Frantic pumps going up and down his length with a drawn-out groan, head falling back as his free hand ran over the burning flesh of his abs, thick pecs until it found its way up the blue collums of his neck, holding it tight, giving him the light headed feeling you gave him a few times a week.

"fuck..aah shit" he cursed lazily in his native langueage, eyes fighting to stay open as his wet hand grips and twists the dripping head of his dick. Your hand around his thoat, tight even if it was a playful fight, you were so rough with him, always saying he could handle it. Fuck ,I can handle it. He squeezes his throat tighter, the pressure causing him to bite his lip, muffling his whimper as his warm seed squirts onto his fist, dripping down his fingers until it reached his tensed thighs.

Slowly grinding into his hand, letting his high settle, his eyes flutter open and looked down at the mess he's made once he came to a stop. Oh god, she'd kill me.

_______

Very not edited

[alicerosejensen]

Another you

Warning: reader mutation (c-virus), angst, blood, slight aggression, acquired albinism, fem/reader (not an agent, an ordinary civilian who worked at the museum), Leon has plot armor, more narration than dialogue, the text contains an antagonist like Simmons (male character), Ada is helping Leon again, relatively happy ending.

Synopsis: You didn’t want to change, you loved him, just as he loved you, but against your will, your love turned into hatred and animal anger towards him. However, Leon still hopes that you will remember him...

A/N: This is probably my biggest work. Tumblr told me to fuck off a few times while editing, but I came out victorious in the fight, although I had to re-write the text into the draft a few times because Tumblr for some damn reason published it without my knowledge. I hope feedback if anyone liked it, because I have been burning with this idea for a long time!

The text also contains an excerpt from Byron's poems (I adore him)

He promised himself first of all that nothing would happen to you. That his work won't affect you in any way and you won't get hit by the corporate bastards, and you really didn't. However, something else happened...

But people whom Leon loves or simply cares about tend to leave or even die.

Everything was fine with you. Ideal in his imperfect life and you were this perfection that he valued and protected. A prudent person would not keep an expensive diamond in front of everyone, so Leon did not scatter information about you and who you are to him. You were loved and dear to him more than all the treasures of the world, he appreciated your tenderness towards him and kindness, because it was you who helped him get out of the hole of despondency in which he buried himself. His personal little guardian angel. Still, he has something to continue his fight against bioterrorism.

A normal working day, except that the museum where you work was supposed to host an exhibition of some very expensive collection for which you were so carefully preparing, forgetting about yourself. It seemed to Leon that you were burning with enthusiasm and love for the work you were doing, which made you walk around too excited, forgetting about food, so he had to remind you to eat. This exhibition had no meaning for Kennedy, but he did not belittle your efforts thrown into this preparation, especially since you were so happy that you were incessantly talking about all these paintings, historical activities depicted on them and objects: a pendant with a strand of hair of some queen - you explained to him that this is a symbol of affection that was previously used It's like you're giving a piece of yourself to your giver, a kind of connection with a loved one, but this is just one of the meanings of such a peculiar gift. Silk fans, a clock, a desk, some items of clothing that, in Leon's opinion, were very strange and he was just glad that fashion had moved far ahead.

Although he could interpret all this in one word: beautifully.

And you were beautiful too. He would have liked to spend more time with you, but you were completely absorbed in your work, and he was overwhelmed with paperwork that he couldn't stand, but anyway, at least he could come back to you and listen to excited speeches and new facts that he didn't know anything about and would hardly remember if he told him about it someone else.

And everything went to hell when there was another outbreak, less global, but most importantly - human lives. And yours.

He was trying to save you, even if someone else had survived this exhibition, he would still have saved you first and not someone else. Mini Raccoon City, that's what he called it, making his way with you to the emergency exit while you kept up with him on your heels, because today you were supposed to shine and glow and not cry with fear looking at the pale corpses of history and art lovers. The light from Leon's flashlight illuminated a small part of the space while you walked quietly thinking about Leon's words, "I wonder how much time we have before they get up?"

"Were they poisoned?" you assumed, because how could you kill such a huge number of people without weapons. Leon, watching the ventilation grilles in the rooms, suggested in his head only one quick way.

"It must be gas,"

But then you would both have died too, you decided, but you did not voice your thought, because shortly before the tragedy you were invited to discuss something by the sponsor of this exhibition. A man who managed to collect so many magnificent things with a rich history. The man who gave you flowers and flirted with you from the day you first met, despite the fact that you made it clear to him that you were not interested in any relationship with him, except for work.

However, Leon also remained silent when he saw the luxurious bouquet of scarlet roses on your work table, which filled your entire small office with their aroma. But right now that simply wasn’t the main thing. He needed to get you out of the mess that happened, and then ask about flowers from rich strangers.

You walked slowly, trying not to make any noise or cry behind him while you clung to his jacket, partially managing to wonder why Leon's gun was with him when he had no reason to carry a gun. All this, of course, was secondary, given how stress, coupled with imagination, turned the exhibits into various frightening figures that frightened, made you scream, thinking that the fallen armor, which was probably simply poorly secured to the stand was another dead man. I didn’t even want to think about what happened in the exhibition hall, much less imagine. Leon had to take you by the hand and at times drag you along with him because the panic really aggravated everything, he was afraid that you would start to go hysterical, but it seems that despite the periodic stupor, you kept yourself well under control, exactly until the moment when Leon’s flashlight went out, leaving you in pitch darkness.

“Leon?” you called out anxiously, feeling noisy ragged breathing behind your back. Was this what Leon was talking about? Until recently, you hoped that his words were just another stupid joke and the dead do not rise, but here behind you is the living embodiment of a nightmare who is ready to grab your neck and feast on warm flesh. Have time to scream? You didn’t even have time to fully scream when a strong grip grabbed you by the shoulder and roughly threw you to the side from the line of danger because you fell, hitting your thigh on the marble tiles, after which a series of deafening shots and the muffled groan of a dead man was heard, three bullets or maybe be more? You didn't count.

As if in slow motion on a large screen, it was impossible to take your eyes off what you saw. All sounds died down, leaving the silence of your own mind and the smell of blood.

All you could do was watch how the beam of light from the flashlight shines directly on the corpse and how Leon’s hands are trying to bring you to your senses, because you knew the one whom he had just completely killed. Richard, your colleague with whom you had coffee this morning and discussed the latest news, sometimes often joked at lunch... was now dead and you were crying without knowing it. Tears just flow uncontrollably from your eyes even as Leon wipes your face with his thumbs, trying to lift you off the floor and make you go outside.

“Come on, sweetheart, I know it’s hard but we have to go"

"I... I can't... why here?" You ask more into the void than from him

“I don’t know, but we need to get out of here.” Leon grabs you under the armpits, helping you get to your feet, dragging you towards the exit.

Better yet, this would all just be a nightmare. The noise from the shots makes you cover your ears with your hands while Leon once shoots people, at the same time trying to protect the slow-moving you. They scream, moan, attack and you feel like you are in a horror film with high-quality special effects and good acting, but you realize, albeit reluctantly, that all this is not a joke but an evil reality where Leon almost at the very exit asks you to pull yourself together and you don’t even you can stand on your feet. Before your eyes, everything collapsed and the world went crazy, trying to grab you with it.

"I can't... can't... I'm so scared..." your hands grab Leon and he hugs you to him, which only makes you want to cry harder and ask him to do the impossible - to return everything to the way it was. He hugs you tightly, kissing you on the top of your head, giving at least some reassurance given the fact that he has always tried to protect the little that he loves from his work, but you accidentally found yourself in the epicenter and your reaction is quite expected.

"Everything will be fine, please look at me," he asks in a soft tone, lifting your head and forcing you to look into his eyes, "It will be difficult, I do not know what is happening outside and what kind of virus it is, but you must not leave me alone. I shoot, and you stand behind me or hide if I tell you to. If you see a dead person, don't you dare approach him!"

"Is it like this everywhere?"

Leon didn't quite understand if you were talking about the whole city or just the upcoming race, in any case, he only nodded briefly, giving you a little more time to catch your breath while you listened to the rapid pounding of the heart in his chest. He was afraid too.

It could have tried better. You really pulled yourself together, but after contacting Hunnigan, Leon exhaled for a second, saying that the virus had not spread so far and in fact the appropriate measures had already been taken, she sent the two of you to the evacuation point where doctors could examine you and give you a vaccine injection in case it really was gas, as Leon said, which logically you were both breathing anyway. So the virus could have entered your body, the scariest thing you reasoned while you were following him, is that you are both alive by a lucky chance, because if Leon had not been attacked by an attack of tenderness, it would probably have been the last day of his life. You no longer even thought about the fact that that sponsor called you somewhere... Emerick. You smiled when you remembered that Leon called him a high-dimensional asshole, but he probably became a victim like everyone else, so there's no need to speak ill of him.

You thought that because you didn't think he was a bad person. You and Emerick had common topics of conversation, he knew a lot and he had a rich collection of rare things bought from auctions for a lot of money, besides, as he himself said, much of what he actually has was inherited in his family, which made you think that he probably was some kind of hereditary noble. His manners were really perfect.

It took about an hour before Leon left you in a quiet place. There were only zombies outside and a few survivors who, no matter how hard Leon tried, still couldn't help. They always died in front of his eyes, even now leaving a sense of guilt in his soul, because he should protect and not kill, but now this is the best thing he can offer them to the infected. Wide windows on the third floor of a God-forsaken warehouse protected from enemies and if you believe Ingrit, then this is the C-Virus that Neo-umbrella created, not so old, but in the terrorist market, in fact, it is already junk.

"At least there are no cocoons and lepoticas, otherwise I would have big problems"

You were sitting on the crates risking tearing your nylon tights while Leon was talking via video link on his work smartphone, waiting for his colleague Ingrit from F.O.S to plot the safest route to the plane that should pick you two up. Leon thought you were safe with him. You just sit quietly next to him trying to catch your breath while he does the main work and he was really calm until you screamed sharply falling off the box, forcing him to turn to you when he saw you holding your neck.

The phone immediately fell to the floor.

"What happened? Are you in pain?!"his eyes widened as he pulled out the dart that was the cause of everything. "Baby, can you hear me?! Everything will be fine, hold on!"

There was no one in the window. By the way, there was no time to search for the culprit. Thoughts were flying crazily in his head, Leon picked you up in his arms, hiding you behind drawers so that you would not get into anyone else's lens, noticing how quickly your breathing becomes shallow.

Was it a new virus or an improved one from before? You curled up crying from what seemed like your organs were turning into a burning cauldron causing hellish pain that made you moan loudly.

"Hunnigan! I need a vaccine, urgently! Where's the damn helicopter?!" Ingrit shot up for a moment. The women's painful moans in the background were ready to make Leon burst into tears and she was almost sure that tears were stuck in the corners of his eyes.

"It will take time to figure out what it is..."

"There's no time!" he shouted into the phone. Ingrit's fingers immediately clicked on the keyboard.

You sobbed. The bones seemed to melt, which made you literally lie on the concrete floor until Leon shifted you onto his lap, feeling your body temperature rise from normal to high.

That's probably why you threw up and blood gushed out of your nose. Your heart was pounding wildly, you didn't hear Leon screaming in panic, hugging your body to him, realizing that if you don't inject the serum soon, then everything will be over. You're dying, but Leon's brain refuses to accept it when he picks you up in his arms trying to save you because with your death, life won't make sense to him.

"You're not going to die!" the words expressed through clenched teeth echo in the spacious building as Leon picks you up in his arms and carries you outside in time. "Everything will be different"

He couldn't let this happen again. It was as if everything was being repeated again from hell to hell, only now in Helena’s place he is himself and he definitely won’t have enough strength to put a bullet in your forehead, and if he does... then he’ll shoot himself too.

Every minute was precious and if it weren’t for the infected, Leon would have instantly reached the right place and injected you with the serum, but luck was not on his side again, just like on the first day of work in Raccoon City. You were heating up so much that he could feel the heat emanating from your body, even through your clothes. Once the virus enters the human body, the incubation period varies for everyone: Deborah Harper lasted two hours before she mutated, for some it takes about a couple of minutes, even God himself does not know how much time is measured for you.

Having reached the helipad, Leon cursed everything in the world since the helicopter was not even visible anywhere. The situation was clearly not going in your favor. You again let out a painful groan, feeling like your body was literally burning and your head hurt so much that you wanted to be hit with a huge hammer. Leon stroked your back, holding you close to him. God, your temperature was already colossally high!

"Just a little more, be patient, honey" Leon doesn't believe it, he wants to, but he can. You scream and cry, trying to tear off your skin with your nails just to make this heat go away. He would like to change places with you, it would be better if he were dying now and not you, and not so monstrously.

The virus flows through the veins, attacks all defense mechanisms, mercilessly rebuilding the entire body in a new way, creating an aggressive weapon out of a person capable of mass murder without any remorse. Leon's affection does not destroy you, right now it is the only way to save yourself, but even if by some miracle an active medicine fell on your head, what is the chance that it saved you? The probability of healing, even with side effects, tends to be no more than 5-7%.

"D-don't want to d-die"

A pitiful groan, through the agony of pain you see Leon’s crying eyes, the skin peels off unnaturally under the influence of high temperature, but this is not visible under the clothes, but face...

"No no no no!"

Leon fell to the ground from your sharp push, but immediately jumped to his feet, running up to you after a wild, painful cry. Just one second and the body was suddenly engulfed in a flash of fire, turning the flesh into a hardened cocoon. You are gone.

It was all over.

Leon sees double. It shouldn't be like this, it shouldn't be like this! The gun is lying somewhere a couple of meters away, having fallen out of the holster when you pushed it away from you, and if this was a standard work situation, Leon would have tried to quickly run up to it or pick up the Sentinel Nine, but his hand did not rise. His knees hit the concrete floor painfully, along with the realization that he had lost again. The hard cocoon transforms the caterpillar inside itself into a beautiful butterfly, which is destined to fly, but Leon knows that everything human in you has burned out and only a monster will hatch from this cocoon, at best only vaguely reminiscent of you, so maybe it’s better to just tear it apart and then let him go on his own a bullet for himself?

The rain continues to pour, gradually calming down. The guys from B.S.A.A are already somewhere down there clearing the city of the infected and saving the survivors because there is a vaccine, there are ways to destroy the trash that Neo-Umbrella created. The sounds of gunshots mix with a frenzied rumble in his heart, which is why Leon doesn't want to hear anything anymore, preferring instead to stretch out his hands to your still warm cocoon, where some movement is already visible. Watching this, Leon was ready to miss even the deafening sound of the helicopter, but the light made him close his eyes and lift his head up.

Even without looking closely, he immediately realized that it was not the helicopter that Hunnigan had sent.

For the sake of love, people really do the most cruel things.

Leon immediately realized who was behind all this when the helicopter landed and several armed men jumped out of it, their faces hidden by masks. He slowly got to his feet, looking at the culprit of his suffering, dressed in a snow-white suit, with an impudent grin that Kennedy remembered from the beginning of the evening, when everything was still fine. Leon could have sworn that he had never felt such rage before, although a painful scream stuck in his throat.

No one pointed a gun at him. Everyone just froze, waiting for something.

"It's a small world, Mr. Kennedy," he said, waving to one of his assistants, and he and two mercenaries pulled a cryogenic capsule out of the plane. "But it was stupid to think that a man like you would die from a bunch of mindless zombies. I must admit, I didn't want to go to extreme measures until the last moment, I liked today's event, but because of you, I had to cancel everything. I've lost most of my collection"

"So it was you after all…" Leon muttered through his teeth, not yet grabbing the gun, realizing the risks. He is alone in the open space - a wonderful target. "I didn't see your corpse in the museum."

"A distraction," he explained, watching the capsule's preparation from the corner of his eye.

Emerick… Leon suddenly remembered how you recently confessed to him that he began to take care of you by giving you flowers, then inviting you for a cup of coffee, listening to music or general topics of which there were too many. But in the end, when the attentions began to exceed the standard amount, hinting at something more, you refused him, saying that you already have someone. You didn't notice, but Leon has been catching his obsessive glances at you all evening… How sometimes you looked at the exhibits behind the glass case, which you can not touch, despite the ban.

But you didn't even choose between the two of them. Leon always came first.

"For what?"

Emerick smiled as he looked at the cocoon and Leon's question disappeared by itself. Because of jealousy? Because a rich bastard couldn't get what he wanted, even with a giant bank account?

"You won't believe it, Mr. Kennedy, but for love. Death took away a dear person from me and I want to return what belonged to me, however, you will not understand this"

Leon grinned, clenching his fists.

"Why? Why her? If you wanted to take revenge on me, then you would have taken revenge on me and not on her!"

"Who said it was you?" asked Emerick, looking at his interlocutor as if he were an idiot. "For the most part, you just annoyed me like an annoying fly, but no more, although you encroached on something that does not belong to you."

Leon was about to answer and pounce despite the machine guns pointed at him, but the movement below and the sound of the cocoon tearing attracted all attention. He has seen it many times and your hand was reaching out to break free from the tight shackles of the past flesh, forcing its way out. Everyone is closely watching the birth of a new life, but only in the eyes of one of those present there was delight, not fear and regret. Leon couldn't bear it… He didn't understand what was wrong. The transformation was different.

"Happy birthday, Ada,"

A memory flashed through his mind.

History repeats itself. Only it turns out that besides Simmons, there is another bastard who looks like him in everything.

Leon reached out to you, as if trying to grab you, to help you get out and take you away from here. A brief moment of hope still lit up in my soul like a small smoldering flame, my mind seemed to be clouded, and yet deep inside there was a glimmer of awareness. He couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was wrong while you were trying to get out, muffling all his annoying voices of caution. Wrong smell, wrong body color… Leon squints his eyes, the cocoon breaks and before he can grab your hand, he freezes.

The slimy, sticky naked body lying in front of him looked more like a white marble statue with a thin network of blue veins protruding under the skin. The mercenaries looked at each other, clutching their guns tighter but still not pointing them at you. The sight is really amazing. Leon comes up to you lying down, at first glance it seems lifeless, but looking closely, your chest quietly heaves and he kneels down again, pulling you to his shoulders, peering into familiar but still changed facial features.

There are no appendages behind the back, from which ugly claws protrude, no razor-sharp claws, no fangs. But instead, unnaturally pale skin and hair… the structure is thicker, and the color merges with the color of the body. The same discolored ones, but stuck together due to the transformation in the cocoon. You open your eyes a little, and instead of the usual iris, two red lights rush at him without a shadow of anger and aggression, just fatigue, something that Leon used to see when you stayed up late at work.

"And, when the grave restores her dead,

When life again to dust is given,

On thy dear breast I'll lay my head—

Without thee! where would be my Heaven?"

Ignoring the familiar lines of poetry, Leon remains silent when he gives him an order in a harsh voice.

"You won't understand," Leon has no doubt. He doesn't want to understand these motives. "You're not even worthy of the dirt under her nails, let alone touching her!"

Leon picks you up in his arms, turning to face Emerick, meeting with loaded guns.

"Did you infect her with the C-virus so that she would become your toy?"

"A toy?!" he snapped back.

Now it already looks like a confrontation between two men for the heart of one woman, almost a joust in modern realities in all its dirty manifestations and meannesses, but Leon does not feel the advantage. A fairy tale with a bad ending. One madman decided to use a virus to change the girl's memory and her appearance, making you the one who died a long time ago, and he…a brave man with a valiant heart who somehow thinks that even after death, Simmons is also connected with this. Even indirectly. Sold the idea of resurrecting someone else's personality in another person?

The rain is hitting your body in drops, and Leon wants to cover you, hide you, hoping that this is his second attempt. It seems that consciousness is returning to you, but you are still disoriented, not understanding who you are and what is happening. You became a part of the darkness that Leon carried on his shoulders.

"All for love," one wave of his hand, and the one standing behind him makes Leon bend painfully, crying out in pain, almost dropping you, his fingers dig into your skin, causing a barely audible moan from your mouth, but you are still snatched from his hands, carried into that capsule, after that, Emerick turns away from his opponent, putting something like an oxygen mask on you, stroking your cheek gently with his fingers.

"What the hell kind of love?!" Leon knows for sure that the other person is smiling even if he does not see it himself.

"You may not believe it, but I'm one-woman man, Mr. Kennedy. It took me a fortune to improve the C-virus so that it would affect her body without turning her into a vile insect-like creature. There was only one side effect after the final result - loss of pigmentation, but this is not significant, in all other respects it completely met my expectations. All THIS is for her sake."

"You sick... "

"No, I'm a heartbroken husband who lost his wife prematurely but now we will be reunited." Emerick looked at you lovingly before closing the capsule, which they began to load back into the helicopter. “And you, Mr. Kennedy, are just one of millions. You saw a work of art and decided to grped it when you had no right to do so. Someone like you will never understand her value, you were never able to give her everything she deserved!”

It’s hard to disagree when the muzzle of a machine gun is pressed to the back of his head, but Leon still fights as he watches the cryogenic capsule ahead being shoved back into the helicopter.

Adrenaline is pumping into his head and his palm is itching to get the second gun out of the holster, but Leon realizes one wrong move and this will be the finale in his story. You will drown in a pool of false memories, considering yourself the person you have never seen or known, you will begin to be called by another name, carrying antibodies to the improved C virus in your new body and you will give yourself into the arms of a man distraught from his loss, considering yourself his true love.

Leon walks on the edge, but now the feeling that a thin rope can throw him into the abyss, from where there is no return, feels more acute. If only Hunnigan's helicopter had arrived, but intuition suggested that the delay was caused not just by technical circumstances.

"Do you think you injected her with a virus and she will start to adore you? You gave her the power to smear you like a bug on the wall as soon as she wakes up." He does not know the properties of this virus and what abilities it can give, but experience suggests that minor adjustments in appearance and lack of pigment like albinos are not the whole potential obtained.

"You've dealt with many terrorists, but I'm not one of them, Mr. Kennedy," still pretending to politely hide his hatred for some American sharing a bed with his woman, whom he considered his own, Emerick retorts: "I don't want to turn people into monsters, although I don't want the world to be on fire, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices. This virus was tested on many before my trusted person injected it to her, and before using it, I tested it on many."

Leon clenches his teeth, glaring at Emerick, letting him finish. Truly, big money creates lawlessness.

"As I said, everything is for love"

But there is no love here. Just an obsession.

Emerick no longer intends to continue the conversation, sits back down in his seat in the helicopter next to the cryocapsule, again signaling his people to get rid of the last witness, besides, he no longer intends to dirty his hands, especially about someone like Kennedy. Although he may still have the desire to end Leon on his own, but looking back at the capsule, his lips are touched with a mocking smile. The project must be completed, and the finishing touches are always needed so that the creator can enjoy his creation.

"But so be it, I'll leave her memories of you. The most bitter and unhappy, she will remember you and be glad that I saved her from you. See, I can be generous even to those who don't deserve it."

"I will refuse your generosity."

The situation was turning into complete shit. Emerick probably hoped to clean up all traces of himself, which is why he left the mercenaries to clean up after him, while he himself rose into the air with a last contemptuous glance at Leon.

"I'll find you, you son of a bitch."

He'll find him and kill and then bring you back.

Fortunately, sometimes Leon has a guardian angel with a smoke bomb behind his back, covering him with shots from a crossbow bolt while Leon quickly pulls out his spare pistol, getting rid of the last two mercenaries. A familiar style and a familiar fragrance when the haze clears allowing you to see the savior in the flesh in his unchanging red outfit and Leon would even smile at her if the plane with you did not move away from him every second. Ada is the red queen of today who postponed the execution of her former lover, smiling at him gently and a little cunningly wondering how fate brings them together and separates their paths from time to time. Leon does not thank out loud, but words of gratitude to this woman who clearly spent her personal time on him still freeze in the air.

She looks at the remains of the cocoon, clutching the crossbow tighter, roughly imagining what could have happened, seeing Kennedy's wet eyelashes, although the rain could have been to blame for everything, which fortunately had already calmed down, as well as the noise outside, although occasionally groans and shots were heard in the distance. Today, her calculated accuracy saved him again.

 "Long time no see, Leon" The velvety voice sounds soothing, but a little tired. In any case, Leon definitely owed her more than double the fare for his rescue.

A princess must have a knight in love to protect her from evil. In fairy tales, a kiss of love usually solves all problems, but what if the princess herself does not remember losing herself in the memories of her own and others? A suppressed personality cries out from the depths, not wanting to be forgotten, fighting with the one who took the pedestal and two names… two girls cannot merge into one, causing you only panic attacks and uncontrolled aggression, forcing the creator to believe that he is not so skilled even if he was filled with desire and endowed with money.

A charming man who calls himself your husband bends over her, holding out his hand decorated with antique rings to you, and you look at her with a puzzled look, pressing your back against the wall, trying to create distance between you. Because no matter how hard they tried to suppress your personality, but the feeling of uncontrollable fear, fused together with a new body, did not leave you, so you did not believe. Neither to him, nor to himself, nor to anyone else, and the dagger in the white palm hidden behind your back does not seem so heavy. The reaction is faster, the senses are heightened, and although the virus does not give the princess strength, you still resist, wounding your "husband", allowing scarlet drops of blood to bloom like roses on a white dress that has merged with the color of your skin.

Contrary to that, you have not become perfect, but you are still a passionate obsession for two men: one with pure thoughts and the other with a mad desire that has been tormenting him for a long time. It's hard to escape from the mansion, but thanks to heightened senses, it no longer seems impossible. However, it is even harder to ignore your true self, which screams and tears your head apart, as well as to separate two personalities from yourself.

You're confused. Not in luxurious rooms and corridors, but in yourself.

Something screams from the inside telling you to run away from here, and then it calms you that this place is your home, you know every corner here, every crack on the vase, these outfits in a separate dressing room tailored specifically for you, everything is familiar and at the same time alien. Your husband said that he saved you from a bastard named Leon, and after saying this name, the image of a blond man with beautiful blue eyes immediately stands in your eyes, but your heart overflows with rage, forcing you to tighten your grip on the dagger hilt.

You still have at least one sincere emotion, as you thought, however...

Leon is intently examining the analysis result from the remains of the cocoon that was sent to him. It really was what he was thinking, but Ada had already revealed a little secret to him.

"Maybe years will pass, and her real personality will somehow begin to manifest itself. I still don't know how Simmons fixed Carla's memory."

Leon puts the phone back in his pocket, looking at Ada with a slightly offended look, although she knows that he holds a grudge only against himself.

"But she's an exact copy of you," Leon reminded her, saying that when you pulled out of the cocoon, your face remained almost the same, yes, the features changed a little, but it was still you.

"But it will explain your new friend's obsession with your girlfriend," she chuckled, teasing him kindly, "If she looks so much like his dead wifey, then why would he change her appearance when they are almost identical to each other."

"And if it was an extreme measure, as he said... " Leon continues, scolding himself even more.

"You provoked him to infect her yourself. If he was hitting on her and she turned him down because of you, then it makes sense. Maybe if your girlfriend had been more mercantile and greedy for money, everything would have been without the virus."

However, was it Leon's fault or yours? Ada didn't blame anyone.

Leon may never guess at the ulterior motives, which may not have existed at all, but who else but she helped him again, however, leaving all the dirty work to Leon himself. After all, you were his concern, not hers. Although she followed you and your strange behavior a little, she finally sent him the coordinates of the place and your photo.

"I wish I could say that she remembered everything, but it seems that the virus did not affect her the way it was originally intended. Be careful, your beloved is a little aggressive."

Is it a consequence of the virus, or do you still remember who you are? Leon wants to believe in the latter when he collects equipment for the road, no longer hoping for anyone's help. But your new house looks more like one big clever trap and all the working staff have disappeared somewhere. In Leon's opinion, there should be more than one butler here, but there were no corpses either. Holding a gun at the ready, it was essentially a trespass on private property, but in the report he would later indicate that he was getting evidence. It won't be easy to find you, although you might make a little noise to attract his attention.

And you? You are sitting in a silent garden in the sweet scent of roses, standing out against the background of bright colors as a white spot, listening to the noise of the fountain, which still somehow calms you down after the last scuffle with your spouse. Alone, barefoot, you walk along a stone path, fingering strands of hair between your fingers, trying to compare in your head incomprehensible pictures from the past of two different people. You cannot love that person, for some reason you are afraid and angry at him despite his care. He took the knife away from you, letting you wander around the house like a ghost humming an annoying melody from his own past to himself, letting Emerick hope that manipulation and time will do their job. You hate Kennedy and that's been enough.

The support group is ready, but Leon still prefers to pick you up and then let the guys from the alliance work, having their own personal accounts in this matter. This could be the easiest capture of a terrorist in all his professional experience, but when his presence becomes known, the situation becomes complicated in the form of additional traps equipped with deadly devices and gas for which the anti-C vaccine is useless. In the end, Leon remains even without light and the flashlight does not save well. He looks into every room in an attempt to find at least some hint of your stay here after almost six months of absence.

And he finds in one of the inhabited rooms where only one bed occupies a quarter of the space. There is a beautiful comb with precious stones with traces of white hair on the dressing table, and Leon, picking up the jewelry, is sure that you are here somewhere, just like he is wandering among the dark corridors, although he really regrets that he did not find you in this room. However, another thought comes to his head when a thin lace pale pink negligee lying on the back of the sofa catches his eye… you only walked around in such things with him alone, and clutching the fabric in his hands, Leon can't help but think that Emerick slept with you in this bed.

The funny thing is that he's ready to forgive you everything now. He won't even remember that another man touched you afterwards because you're a victim and Leon, even if you don't remember him, wants you to at least return to a relatively normal life.

But the silence is suddenly cut short when a creak is heard behind, barely perceptible to the ear. A secret door? He does not turn around, freezing in one position, continuing to hold your negligee in his hands, feeling someone's sharp gaze on his back, but out of the corner of his eye catches a familiar silhouette, in the darkness of which two red eyes are burning.

You.

Leon tenses up. The sound of the blade breaks the silence, and your light tread turns into a sharp jerk as you rush at him with a sharp hairpin, hoping to plunge it deeper into his back. Your reaction may have improved, but Leon's reflexes are still faster, Kennedy dodges to the side, which causes you to fall directly onto your dressing table, knocking it over with you, forcing him to open his eyes in amazement.

"No, no, no, you couldn't turn into a monster," a thought runs through Leon's head.

The mirror breaks into many pieces and dig into your skin, causing the blood to contrast brightly on the light skin, which seems almost an unnatural sight. But through the pain, you hiss again trying to pounce on him, which causes Leon to fall on his back, rather out of surprise, managing to intercept your hand that aimed the clip directly at his eye. Pushing you away is not too big a problem, but the point is that you will still continue to throw at him and he does not want to use weapons at all.

"Bastard!" you growl, "Don't you like being hit back?"

"Stop, it's me!" he shouted, still holding your wrist so that you couldn't hurt him.

It was as if you hadn't heard. Leon pushed you away a little, hoping that being farther away would allow you to get to know him better, but what he didn't expect was for you to lash out at him over and over again, and honestly, if it were up to him, he would have removed the threat quickly, but it's hard to hurt someone you love. He'd had to kill Marvin and the President in the past, that in itself still weighs on his soul, but if he had to kill you… Deborah was easier. She was Helena's sister, not his, so his hand didn't shake when he pulled the trigger of the shotgun, but you're different. You're impossible to shoot at.

"Stop it!" he begs twisting your wrist so that you scream in pain and that scream tears his soul causing a lump in his throat. "It's not you! I beg yoy don't make me hurt you."

He doesn't even want to think about the estate being so deserted because of you. Leon still thinks it's just a virus, and somewhere inside you remember his, you just need to trigger it somehow. Ada said the virus affects you differently than it does Carla, but she didn't mention that you're aggressive to anyone who tries to touch you. Leon keeps his guard up, but despite your tight grip, you've apparently acquired some sort of ability that allowed you to break free and run down the hallway. He's not sure if you can throw people against the wall like baseballs, but your regeneration is enviable, because the only reminder of the wounds from the broken mirror on your body are drops of blood.

No abrasions.

So, after a little scuffle, as a result of which the antique dressing table is smashed to pieces along with all the bottles standing on it, Leon gets to his feet trying to figure out what the hell just happened. However, your trail has already disappeared. The house is huge, but despite this, Leon still puts the safety on the gun, afraid to instinctively shoot you if you attack him again. In hand-to-hand combat, you have little chance, but his reflexes can work faster than his brain. But abrasions and wounds a couple of centimeters deep, your body is able to regenerate itself. So cold steel will be the best thing, in case he meets other inhabitants of the estate besides you.

As already mentioned, the flashlight did not save the situation too much, of course, fanatics worked in some places, especially in the garden, but Leon did not find anything except small supplies, although his gut instinct encouraged him to pick up a gun to feel confident. But in the backyard, after several hours of searching among the marble statues and the damp fresh air that hit in the face, somewhere among the bushes in which some cautious movement is heard. It's like a wild cat sneaking up to its prey and Leon realizes - you're here!

Behind him again, so Leon straightens up. If it were daytime or even evening, he would have no problem finding you, but there is a starry night overhead. Rage is growing somewhere between your ribs, inside, but everything is different for him, because despite the internal contradiction, Leon is to some extent convinced that it is useless to fight with you.

There is nothing in his chest but regret and delayed words that he rarely said.

And yet at some point you look at each other continuously. You notice that he has only one knife in his hands, just like you, although Leon hides it back in the case, taking two small steps back trying to talk again. White hair is blown away by the wind and it annoys you that there is no elastic band or barrette to put it in a bun or tail. There doesn't seem to be anything in this damn house for your comfort!

The most painful thing is the way you look at him, but Leon still grins hiding his pain behind an inappropriate joke, standing in a fighting stance preparing to deflect blows.

"Well, I'm not against role-playing games, I really liked it when you were my bunny last time."

It's confusing or rather discouraging that it stops you for a few seconds and Leon uses this time to take the knife away from you, but you dodge so deftly and still more scared, almost dropping the knife to the ground.

"Come on, drop it, sweetheart" Leon asks, taking a step towards you, then you, on the contrary, retreat trying to find your advantage. "You know I'm not the one who's going to hurt you. I'll take you home."

"fucking dog," you growl in response, seeing how he swallows the insult, "Do you think I'll go with the one who made me like this?!"

Your voice is almost hoarse with hate. At the same time, Leon's face takes on a painful appearance, as if he was hit from the inside in the most painful place. That's what that son of a bitch told you! Okay, you can scold him with the most vile words, most of which he'll really be surprised that you even know, but... No buts!

"See?! I'm not afraid of you anymore! "

"You've never been afraid of me."

"You loved me, and I still love you," he wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat. And after all, somewhere in the whirlpool of memories, these frames sometimes pop up in your head. Not the Stotholm syndrome...

You weren't afraid of him, but of the other one... the man who is your husband calls you by a different name, although Leon calls you by a completely different one, and what you hear from the agent seems much more familiar, more correct and more familiar.

"Baby, I don't want to hurt you! If I wanted to, I would have shot long ago, right? "

"I'm not your baby!" you're snarling, and your red eyes are burning even brighter in the dark.

Bad word.

Leon wants to bite his tongue. He still doesn't know about all the properties of your mutation, but he hopes that now you won't have claws behind your back, God bless him who left him many years ago, but it seems you don't have anything like that. Although when you attack him in a fit of anger, Leon really hurts like hell, which makes him even clench his teeth trying to hold back a moan of pain.

Probably, with strong malice, the power also somehow increases... A lot of times, because it looks like you broke his rib.

"Yeah, you never liked that word, but at least you didn't rush at me with a knife before," Leon still jokes, realizing that talking clearly won't help here. He doesn't want to use force, but it seems that there is no choice. He agrees that you may never love him more, but he won't leave you here either.

It is not even necessary to move to radical measures. Your head is bursting with pain again, causing tears to flow from your eyes and everything inside screams with fear, making you want to cower into a ball. Therefore, Leon does not expect you to bend at the knees and cry and start running away from him, just as you ran, according to Ada, all over the estate from Emerick. The wind licks wet tracks from your cheeks, scratching your skin when you run along the garden path, running out into a small open space before freezing in a frenzy, pressing your palms to your chest, as they did in a previous life, before mutation, when you were worried.

Cocoons.

A nightmare come true. Your heart was pounding and forehead was covered with sticky sweat, as were your palms from which the knife slipped.

"It's scary..." an inner voice echoes. You hear Leon running up to you and stopping too, looking at something he hoped to forget someday. Tears involuntarily flow down your cheeks, as if the real you are making your way, pushing someone else's personality into the background. Fire, pain, fear, a dart... This hellish pain that turns people into monsters, you haven't seen the staff, the estates, but now you understand what happened. Just like a divine epiphany.

Maybe it's just one of the reactions. Leon remembered from his own experience that not all individuals hatched from cocoons, but this was a huge rarity, and here as many as twenty if not more, however, this was the trigger. You remembered something.

The wet paths glowed in the light of the moon on your cheeks. If the situation had been different, Leon would have immediately tried to console you, but it seems that this could have become another stupid idea, on the other hand, your stupor could have been turned into a plus and they could have simply picked you up, put you in a helicopter and then calmly dealt with this crap. A tempting thought, of course, but... Something like a phantom pain... a feeling as if the whole body was burning again and being reshaped under high temperatures. Even the same hellish headache that sends a painful pulsation into the eyes. You were again struck by a short flash of memories, how someone’s strong hands held and stroked you while your body was changing and it definitely wasn’t your husband... his hands are icy, and his voice is dry, devoid of emotion... Maybe..

"Аt least it's clear where everyone has gone," a voice sounded from behind. It was getting harder to breathe and the world was spinning wildly in front of your eyes, so an inner voice told you to find where to land or your head was at risk of injury. This is not the first attack, but the most severe in the last few months. Anyway, your vague consciousness leaves you for a while, turning off, allowing you to get lost in fragmentary memories, but Leon's hands manage to catch you in time, carefully laying you on the grass.

Leon checked your pulse, the main thing is that your heart was beating and your chest was heaving smoothly. Apparently, it was an ordinary fainting fit against the background of a spectacle that caused you psychological trauma. He picked up your knife with which you tried to stab him a couple of minutes ago, was ready to take you away from this place as he had hoped earlier. Those guys who were still alive from his group proved that Emerick was not in the estate, but Leon did not believe.

And it's good that I didn't believe it. Leon didn't believe in miracles at all.

Well, right now he was definitely aiming to just pick you up before you regained consciousness, because trying to explain where the truth is and where the lie is clearly not the best idea. Calling a helicopter for evacuation and picking you up in his arms, hugging you closer to him, Leon quickly jumped up but heard a painfully familiar click to his right, which froze him in place.

“In the past, hands were cut off for theft, but I’ll assume that a colossal imbecile like you doesn’t know that.”

Leon grunts as he turns around. A tactical vest will protect his back and chest, but his head remains open for a shot.

"Then you should have been walking without hands for a long time," Leon retorts, putting you on a bench while delaying your rescue. "Looks like you didn't run away after all."

"I don't like unwanted guests, because of you, my wife and I will have to move to another place. It's a pity, she liked this garden."

"She's. Not. Your. Wife." Leon almost hisses, reaching for his gun, but jumps aside after a burst of three shots that were meant for him. "Bastard"

"I was informed that they did not get rid of you and I assumed that you would look for me at least out of a sense of duty to the country you work for, but please note that there are bigger fish in the sea. You seem to have a weakness for women with Asian features, so maybe you'll focus on your own preferences and not mess with my wife, whom, as I told you earlier, you just don't deserve. You have no idea what a valuable diamond she is, a nugget! One in a million!

Oh, this conceit! His measured and calm tone is annoying, Leon tries to suppress his anger at the fact that the bastard dug up information on him somewhere, but his attachment to Ada is in the past, although they still care about each other in some sense, but now there is you. And you are you, not the woman that Emerick considers his wife. Leon hides behind one of the cocoons and the bullets hit the non-dense flesh, after which a kind of ugly embryo that was once an ordinary person falls to the ground, forcing him to quickly take a better position behind the statue of the goddess Aphrodite.

"You've been living a lie for so long that you've come to believe it yourself!"

"Oh, sure, you know better!" sarcastic laughter makes anger boil from the inside, but Leon looks out of hiding just to look at you and make sure you're still where he left you. "We past even though we always knew that we were made for each other, and only by chance and then you got in my way! "

"I would have felt sorry for you if in your grief you hadn't tried to make an innocent girl into a copy of your dead wife and killed a lot of people in the process."

Leon pulled the safety off the gun. Now the main thing is not to catch a stray bullet and hope that this bastard does not turn into a giant mutated creature, because apart from four spare clips and another pistol, he has nothing and the space is not spacious enough to maneuver, besides, you could also get hurt. He has already forgotten that you can regenerate wounds, but nevertheless, there is no time to find out what is your Achilles heel yet.

"All for the sake of love"

"This is not love"

Leon pulled the trigger but Emerick dodged. There was a smell of gunpowder and something sickeningly acrid in the air, as if something had died somewhere and even the scent of flowers could not completely drown out this smell. You opened your eyes, but your head still continued to spin and the sharp noise of the vystreds only mocked your brain, forcing you to involuntarily pull up your arms and clap your ears with your palms, just like... Like when you were protected from zombies in a museum"

It wanted to hide, curled in a dark corner and not get out until everything resolves itself, although life knows how to throw surprises. You hear someone else's conversation, you hear how the one who came for you says that your husband is a sick cretin who considers it normal to infect people to make a copy of a dead person out of them, whereas he explains his reasons only with grief. The puzzle is not fully assembled and there are still many white spots in your memory, but some fragments have connected to each other despite the fact that you still do not understand who you are.

This shootout will continue for some time, and unnoticed by these two, you will slowly slide off the bench and see Leon and Emerick engage in hand-to-hand combat after they ran out of bullets. It is noteworthy that after losing your knife in battle, which is now proudly stuck in a tree post, he used his own, which he did not plan to part with, but since they are busy with each other, you calmly grabbed the handle and pulled out the blade, looking at your own reflection of scarlet eyes in steel.

You don't love any of them and you don't want to choose someone's side at all, but you also don't want to be tied to someone who actually infected you, having put so much effort into driving you crazy. You need to make a choice, and whether it will be right, only time will decide. Two people are fighting for one woman, although it looks like you are not a princess in trouble at all, and as Ada said, despite the effect of the virus, the real personality will still take everything back under his control, but the old life will never be. All dreams burned down along with that body, so you're also quite sincerely stabbing the family knife into Emerick's back.

The princess does not need a knight to kill the dragon, because she herself is able to stab him when he does not expect it. This is the simplest from the point of view of Leon's combat missions, but at the same time the most difficult. A scarlet stain spreads on the snow-white suit, but that's all. Emerick had not infected himself with anything, although his fate could not be called terrible. It was all for love, and he died at the hands of that love. A stupid death, which is even insulting, but not for you. And walking with you to the helicopter in the living room above the fireplace, Leon really understands why such an obsession arose...

You really look like the smiling girl in the portrait like two drops of water.

He was told that rehabilitation would take a long time, possibly years. You never spoke to him, you didn't even say a word, but you didn't attack him either. You just withdrew into yourself, allowing the doctors to conduct tests and identify whether you are ready to mutate into other stages when you receive any damage, but I was glad that you did not. In their opinion, all your physical data remained at the same level before infection, although perhaps you just deceived everyone well just so that they would leave you behind and not make you an experimental rat, allowing them to drain blood from you, but this allowed Rebecca's team to make a new improved vaccine. A dubious achievement for Leon, given the fact that you persistently ignore him.

He brings clothes, books, even begged for a TV for you to let you kill time and still nothing. You didn't even turn it on until the moment when, with fighting and shouting and after a bunch of official papers, Leon was finally allowed to take you home. They said that you don't have any regeneration and your injuries heal like on any other person, you don't rush at people in attempts to devour them, sometimes you still talk for more than five minutes a day (but not with Leon) and you don't have any unusual abilities. Nothing that would be of interest to the bigwigs of the government. You'd think that you'd literally become a black sheep, people would just start mistaking you for an albino, which is basically true now.

It's good when you can control some of your body's processes. This eliminates a lot of problems. At home, you curiously look at all these little things from your past life, thinking about what it was like to share this apartment with Leon, you look at the bed in which you must have slept with him, and it seems incredibly comfortable, although right now sleeping with Leon causes rejection. He does not climb into your personal space, no longer clings like a puppy, although he whines in the corner from the lost affection of a loved one. He gave you the bed, but he sleeps on the couch, brings breakfast and after a couple of months you get in touch.

It took Jill Valentine several years before she returned to the barn. Chris is so comforting, telling him that everything is still fine, but if necessary, he will let you go. One way or another, of course, he will check if everything is okay with you, but he will let you go if you still do not accept him back into your heart. Leon believes that therapy will help and you will remember your real self by separating the grain from the chaff. You don't have to love him again, although he will be happy if you ask him to stay by your side on a stormy night, hugging you after a nightmare. Then he will wrap you warmly in a blanket and press your face to his chest, gently stroking your back and comforting you with words.

Therapy will help and one day everything will be fine again. Kissing the top of your head, Leon wants to believe it as much as you do. At least you're willing to try.

[pilot-boi]

Whiteknight time travel Au

Pyrrha: Weiss why are we throwing away Jaunes razors

Weiss: Dear trust me give it 2 weeks and you'll never let a blade near his face... more than you already do

*weeks later*

Pyrrha: Weiss you are right it was worth it

Passing student: How could there be a not a single razer or blades in a 50 mile radius

Weiss: Did you buy all th-

Pyrrha: Razors in a 50 mile radius yes

Weiss:(kisses her) I love you so much

Pyrrha summoned them to her with her Semblance, it was deeply alarming

But also, gonna be the person to say it, Weiss wouldn’t do this to him

Fair warning, this is going to turn into a Jaune meta rant. I didn’t mean it to, it just sort of happened

Jaune growing the beard and the hair in the Ever After, no matter how attractive it was to Weiss, was representative of him not caring for himself. That’s why his armor was rusted but Crescent Rose was in perfect condition, he was putting all of his energy into worrying about/taking care of his friends and NONE into taking care of himself

And don’t say it’s because he didn’t have a way to cut it, he absolutely did. Crocea Mors was still sharp, even rusted, and if he wanted to he could’ve used that to cut his hair. Knives clearly existed and were sold, hell the Paper Pleasers had fucking scissors. If he cared about taking care of his appearance, he could’ve done so

But he didn’t. He let his physical body rust just as surely as his armor

Jaune’s whole arc is about loss of agency, and failing to live up to his own expectations

He didn’t REALLY have a choice about leaving Pyrrha, he didn’t REALLY have a choice about killing Penny, he didn’t REALLY have a choice about getting sent into the past. And then as a result of these traumas, he took agency away from the Paper Pleasers

He failed to become the hero on his own, so he doubled down on shouldering the burdens of his team. He failed to stand by Pyrrha’s side as her equal, so he doubled down on becoming a warrior. He failed to focus on protecting his friends at Haven, so he doubled down on becoming a healer/defender. He failed to heal/defend his friends and KILLED Penny, so he broke

His sword shattering was symbolic of that being the last straw. He couldn’t be a hero, he couldn’t be a leader, he couldn’t be a warrior, he couldn’t be a protector. In Jaune’s mind, he had nothing left to be

THATS why he let himself fall apart in the Ever After, in his mind he was only living to get RWBY back to Remnant. The one last thing he could do for them. THATS why he clung so hard to the role of the Rusted Knight, after so long with no purpose it was finally something he could be

That’s also why he focused so much on “protecting” the Paper Pleasers, and especially why he named them after his friends

His fragile helpful loving friends that he NEEDS to protect. Jaune knows he has more Aura than his friends (more than anyone he’s even met) and he’s meant to take the hits that his friends can’t. His weapon is a shield, and HE is a shield. The Paper Pleasers were representative of everything he failed to do for his friends, every time he failed to protect them

“Because I can actually protect these people!”

Jaune lost all of his agency when he landed in the Ever After. He didn’t chose to kill Penny, he didn’t choose to fall, he didn’t choose to go back in time. So he took away the Paper Pleaser’s AND ALYX’S agency because he was terrified of not being able to protect them

Weiss saw what happened to him at his worst, she saw what happened to Jaune when every choice was taken from him and he had nothing but failure to remember.

So no way in hell would Weiss take away his agency now, or make him think he’s failing her by not looking “mature”. She might joke with him about it, but she’d never take away his choice in the matter

[bamboobooshark]

BUCKY BARNES X READER

“It’s been a long time.” || 870 Words || P.G. 13 Rating (For Language) || Fandom: Marvel (Avengers)

Author’s Note : I know I’m so behind on fictober, but I finally have a day to mostly sit back and write a little. I can’t promise I’ll be able to keep up with all the prompts however there will be a free week I have to write! Like my first angst piece, this won’t be as perfect or sad as some may expect. Let’s just hope I do better as I get more experience!

CONTENT WARNINGS: Lack of personal care, educational struggles, sleep deprivation, altered timeline, able bodied Reader, crying, momentary profanity, denial, non-verbal Bucky, somewhat beta read.

College has been a pain in the ass lately. Each class has you in complete shambles. It’s been an endless cycle of lecture, take notes, study, and fail. You don’t know what you’re doing wrong; you don’t know what you’re missing. You’re trying your absolute hardest to keep your grades where they need to be. You’ve been saving and paying and working endlessly to get where you are now. It’s not the time to give up. Even if your clock reads one forty-two, you have to keep pushing.

Right now you’re working through a study guide for calculas that you made with a few of your classmates. The numbers, letters, and symbols are all smudging together. You can’t tell if you don’t have the mental capacity to comprehend what’s on your laptop screen or if your eyes are going blurry from the lack of taking care of your needs. You choose the latter because you think you hear a knock at your door. Unless you’re hallucinating or have a stalker, there’s no way someone is at your door this late at night. To reassure yourself that nothing’s wrong right now, you tilt your laptop screen down and quietly make your way to your door. You cautiously look through the peephole and have to do a double take.

No fucking way.

Is Bucky at your door right now? How did he find you? How does he know you live here? Did he assume you were awake, or had he been watching you? Thousands of anxious questions raced through your head. You took a minute to stare at him a little longer. It didn’t take you too long to realize his eyes were red and watery, so you immediately opened the door. He stood there—still, but still as gracious as he had been. His eyes were piercing through yours as if he knew you’d been standing there. You smiled softly to prompt a greeting from him. He was silent. His stillness, his silence, and his lack of emotion were unsettling. Last time you’d seen him, he was in the same state he was right now: crying with red eyes. The only difference was his screaming and fighting to get to you. Neither of you could process the fact that the other was physically here. “Bucky,” you said dryly. Not as a greeting nor a question. The two of you continued to share a gaze for a while. You mentally begged that he would say something, but he didn’t. You didn’t have the courage nor energy to start verbally pleading to him to speak, but that’s what was necessary. “Bucky. Why are you crying?” you asked gently before reaching out and rubbing his bicep up and down. He started to let his tears break from his eyes. His throat released silent chokes and sobs all from one question. You weren’t going to tell him that everything is okay and that he didn’t have to worry about anything because you knew damn well something was up.

You urged him into your living space, tightly locking the door behind the two of you. The second you led him to the couch, he slumped against it pitifully. You looked at him with my most worried expression ever. He grabbed and pawed at your arms desperately. “Talk to me, Bucky. Hell, show me. I don’t care. Please just help me understand,” you said softly while holding him close to your chest. He continued to hiccup and sob in your arms as he attempted to show you what he wanted or needed. He pulled away from your chest and placed a metal hand over your heart. There wasn’t space in your heart to try and pry him more about what happened; you instead attempted to guess what he needed. “You want to listen to me breathe? My heartbeat? Your chest hurts?” you guessed as you shifted. You laid your lower back against the armrest of your couch, and Bucky slung his legs up so his feet hung over the other end. Without a word, he quickly latched his arms around your waist and pressed his ear to your heart. “That’s it,” you cooed in hopes he was being soothed. Despite holding back tears of your own, you tried your best to breathe steadily to not disturb the man on top of you. His heavy tears left soft, wet stains in the fabric of your shirt, but you could care less about the cleanliness of your shirt.

He continued to cling to you for so long that the two of you had fallen asleep together, and when you woke up, he was still holding you just as tightly. His soft blue eyes looked up at you as he pressed a gentle kiss to your abdomen. “I’m sorry if this was too much,” he began to apologize. “It’s been a long time since I saw you. My first thought was to come find you,” he confessed, though you were confused by what he meant. “I have so much to explain,” he sighed in time with you before you ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry about it, Bucky. I’ll be here to listen,” you reassured him, shifting to kiss his forehead.

[xxfrankiesteinksxx]

small details in the dnpc video no one is mentioning

okay, look, i'm gonna admit it, i'm a game/film theory girly and a whore for lore, so i pick at details i shouldn't be picking at, so here's some things i see in the video that i don't see being mentioned in theories/analyses. also keep in mind my brain consists of a single cell encapsulated in aspic (i know what the actual deeper meaning is this is just a bit of fun for me)

the thing underneath the piano - the camera falls off the piano in one scene and something (i still cant figure out what exactly it might be) is visible, oddly clear-looking for something underneath a broken piano in shoddy lighting (actually looking at it again it might be a corpse, is it possibly phil's old body?)

dan telling phil not to film him drawing the sigils but phil still filming - you might be able to also throw in the part where phil screams "NO" when the camera's on him sitting in the corner; they don't seem to want things to be filmed but it feels like they're obligated to record everything to some extent

phil's very explicit control over dan - this is to the point where he even has to tell dan what and what isn't food, and takes away water privileges for some reason (btw this is your reminder to drink some water) and overall very demanding tone when instructing him

SOFT AND NEAT - there's a lot of reinforcement of this, its clearly a joke but i'm overanalytical and will blatantly ignore this. there's heavy hesitation with any sharp object around them (when dan has to cut his hand, kill phil, take out phil's heart, mentioning razor blades when using the shaving foam)

dan still primarily uses his left hand - people have mentioned how he's been "fixed" but him using his right hand seems to be performative since he pours most things, mixes with his left hand, and even primarily uses his left hand to spread the blood (plus he never sacrificed himself unlike phil who seems to have died in potato stamps and been resurrected with perfect vision) there's also old superstitions that being left-handed means you're somehow cursed by/connected to satan, speaking of which...

dan has a much better connection and the ability to communicate directly with Him - he seems to be a conduit, possibly being used by phil to properly perform anything (which also probably helped with his resurrection and eyesight improvement), he has uncontrollable actions from time to time

the sigils themselves - what do they all mean? what could they mean in a bigger, symbolic context? anyone that understands them pls explain to my aspic brain

the entire place fucking burns down after the ritual is complete and they're embraced by Him - it's clear at least to me that the shed is set on fire at the end of the video, cutting off further possible footage

dan doesn't put blood on phil's forehead during the ritual - might've just been a slipup during filming but we also dont see the blood dan put on his own forehead once he arrives and theyre all standing up in the pentagram

also just a couple fun facts:

the number on the case file when converted to corresponding letters of the alphabet spell out "satan"

what dan says in his reversed clip is just "thanks!", nothing is really said in the reversed clip of phil opening the shed door its juts kinda a random noise someone made

Aaaaand some misc nonsense crackpot theories/ideas/thoughts/brain vomit that my brain keeps me awake at night with (optional reading):

if the demon taking them at the end is actually baphomet and not just some generalized idea of satan, then "mother" could be another way to refer to "him" since baphomet is portrayed as having both female and male characteristics (bobs n pennies)

personally this is scarier/more unnerving than the actual blair witch project for some reason

my bathroom sink is the one sink you cant ship

i want a dapc for those dolls they hung everywhere

is cataloguing all of the ritual setup part of the craft channel's purpose?

what was the reason for summoning him? did they bring him to our plane of existence to just let him absorb these two brink-of-twinks and then use their gay power to torment the straights?

oh that rope is just his belt thing not rope tying dip and pip together

i think this is a good wrap-up idk what they could do in a part 5 to conclude things better

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest

Sweaters part 02!

hi everyone! haha i wrote this in Spain next to the hotel pool! darn it’s hot! i hope you like it! i worked hard on it!

Part 01 - Part 02

A few days had passed since Adam’s fiery encounter at the Hazbin Hotel. He had thrown himself into his work, every fiber of his being focused on fulfilling the avalanche of orders that poured into his shop. His hands moved mechanically, stitching fabric with practiced precision, but his thoughts? They swirled in a storm of anger and resentment.

“Fuck Lucifer,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and venomous as he carefully stitched teeth and bones onto a particularly macabre sweater requested by one of his more eccentric regulars. Each tug of the thread felt cathartic, like he was stitching his anger into the fabric itself. “Stupid fucking Lucifer, thinking he’s better than me!” His fingers worked deftly over the seams, his golden eyes narrowed in concentration. “As if I’m scheming something! Like I give a shit about his stupid kingdom.”

The rhythm of his work soothed him, but it also kept the thoughts at bay. He found himself repeating the same curses over and over, weaving his frustrations into every stitch, every scarf, every sweater. His shop was filled with the soft hum of the sewing machine, the scratch of needles against fabric, and Adam’s incessant grumbling.

Later, as he worked on a long scarf with a blue and black striped pattern, he found his focus sharpening on the intricate details. There were three ‘Vs’ stitched into the ends—a design request from a client with an eerie fascination with symbols. Adam paused for a moment, his hands hovering over the fabric, his eyes far away.

“Why the hell does everyone think the worst of me?” he hissed, the words slipping out, quieter this time, tinged with exhaustion rather than fury. His shoulders sagged slightly as he sighed, the weight of everything catching up to him. “Why can’t they see I’m just… trying to live my life?”

The shop felt colder suddenly, the air thicker, as though the oppressive presence of Hell itself was closing in on him. Adam’s hands slowed, his movements more deliberate as he carefully folded the finished sweater. He took a deep breath, eyes tracing over the delicate patterns he’d woven. His heart wasn’t in the insults anymore, the anger beginning to ebb like the receding tide.

He placed the sweaters and mittens into a box, the soft rustle of tissue paper filling the room as he packaged them with care. Each item was perfect, flawless in design, because despite everything, Adam still took pride in his work. It was the one thing he had control over, the one thing that he could do without question or judgment.

But the memory of Lucifer’s sneering face gnawed at him. The King of Hell’s words replayed in his mind, taunting him, filling him with a lingering sense of doubt. The way Lucifer had mocked him—mocked his very existence—stung deeper than Adam had anticipated.

“What did I generally do to them?” Adam whispered, his voice barely audible, as if speaking it aloud would solidify the painful truth. “Why does everyone hate me so much?”

His hands stilled over the box, his wings trembling slightly. It wasn’t just Lucifer. It was the way Vaggie had looked at him, the disbelieving scoff she gave. It was the way even Charlie had seemed uncertain, like she was waiting for him to prove her wrong.

Adam’s chest tightened. He wasn’t scheming. He wasn’t up to anything shady. He was just a man—or whatever he was now—trying to survive in a place that was never meant for someone like him. And yet, no one seemed willing to believe that.

The anger that had fueled him earlier had melted away, replaced by a hollow ache. He sighed quietly, his fingers tracing the edge of the box. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but what good would that do? It wasn’t like anyone would listen. Not here. Not in Hell.

His shop was his sanctuary, the one place where he could escape the chaos outside, the sneers, the assumptions. Here, he could create. Here, he could be useful. But even that felt fleeting. It was only a matter of time before the rest of Hell started thinking the same thing as Lucifer, wasn’t it?

“Fuck them,” he whispered, but the words lacked the venom they once held. They felt empty now. Hollow. He sealed the box with a finality that felt heavier than it should have and stepped back, surveying his work. Everything was perfect. Yet, nothing felt right.

For a moment, the room was still, the weight of his thoughts pressing in on him. Then, with a soft exhale, Adam turned away from the neatly packed orders, wiping his hands on his jeans. His eyes drifted to the window, where the neon glow of Pentagram City flickered in the distance, casting long shadows across the floor. The Hazbin Hotel loomed somewhere beyond those lights, a constant reminder of everything he wanted to leave behind.

But as much as he wanted to forget, as much as he wanted to bury the past and move on, the encounter with Lucifer had opened old wounds. The doubts, the fears—everything he thought he had put behind him was crawling back to the surface.

And yet, despite it all, Adam knew one thing for certain: he was never going to beg. Not for anyone. Not even for the fucking King of Hell.

With a deep breath, Adam picked up the next piece of fabric and threaded his needle. The anger may have melted away, but the determination? That still burned fiercely inside him.

And for now, that was enough.

Adam looked up as the bell above his shop door chimed, the familiar sound cutting through the quiet. He blinked a few times, pushing the lingering storm of thoughts away as his most loyal customer stepped inside.

Rosie. The cannibal with her floating black-and-red dress, gliding across the floor as if the laws of gravity didn't apply to her. Her eyes, black and pupil-less, sparkled in the dim light, and her high-pitched, almost sing-song voice greeted him with that same unsettling charm she always carried.

"Hi, sugar!" she chirped, her voice carrying an old-time accent that had always made Adam wonder just how long she'd been in this Hellhole. Her red hat was perched perfectly atop her head, framing her perfect white curls. As she walked further into the shop, her heels made no sound on the floor, a ghostly glide that sent a chill down Adam’s spine no matter how many times he’d seen it.

Adam swallowed, trying to pull himself together, but it was too late. Rosie had already fixed her gaze on him. Those shining black eyes, sharp and unblinking, zeroed in on his face. He could feel her stare peeling back layers of him, seeing more than he wanted to reveal.

"Oh! Pumpkin!" Rosie gasped, a dramatic gesture that had her hand flying up to her chest. "What's with the long face?" Her voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it, something that always left Adam feeling like prey. Before he could pull back, she was already upon him, her fingers cupping his face with a surprising amount of force for someone so dainty-looking.

"With a face this handsome, you shouldn’t be crying or frowning! No, no, nope!" she tsked, her red lips pulling into a sharp grin that sent a shiver down Adam’s spine. Her fingers were cold against his skin, her long nails tapping against his cheekbones in a way that made him feel like she was sizing him up—like a cut of meat in her butcher’s shop.

Rosie leaned in closer, her teeth gleaming in the low light, wickedly sharp as they caught the glint from the overhead lamps. “So cute, I could just eat you all up!”

She snapped her teeth playfully, but Adam knew the threat was never entirely absent. Every word she said was always dipped in a hint of menace, even when she was just being Rosie.

Adam forced a smile, gently pulling his face from her hands. “Thanks, Rosie,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to avoid her piercing gaze. “Just… you know, busy with orders.”

Rosie wasn’t convinced. She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head in that bird-like way she did when she was trying to read someone.

“Busy, huh?" She glanced around at the shelves, her fingers idly grazing one of the mittens on display. "Hmm, maybe that’s part of it, sugar, but I’ve been coming here long enough to know when something’s eating at you."

Her lips curled into a sinister smirk at the pun, the tips of her sharp teeth peeking out again.

Adam stiffened, trying not to let her words get to him, but damn if she wasn’t perceptive. He turned back to his workbench, threading a needle and pretending to be focused on the sweater he was stitching. “It’s nothing, Rosie. Just business stuff. Hell’s a tough crowd to please.”

Rosie sauntered over to the counter, her movements fluid, like a predator closing in on weakened prey.

“Oh, come on now, sweetheart,” she cooed, resting her elbows on the counter as she leaned forward, watching him like a hawk. “You’ve got a face that screams, ‘I’m about to rip someone's head off,’ and I’m guessing that someone’s not one of your lovely little customers.”

Adam’s hands stilled, the needle frozen mid-stitch. His thoughts flicked back to Lucifer, to the hotel, to the humiliation he nearly faced at the hands of the King of Hell. Anger bubbled up again, hot and bitter in his chest.

Rosie was watching him closely now, her eyes glittering with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “Come on, darling,” she purred. “Spill. What’s really going on?” She straightened up and fixed her hat again, her nails tapping on the countertop like claws against bone. "I won't bite... unless you ask me to."

Adam let out a heavy sigh, his grip tightening on the sweater in his lap. He wanted to keep it to himself, to shove it all down and keep pushing forward, but something about Rosie—whether it was her unnerving charm or the fact that she was the closest thing he had to a friend in this place—made him want to unload, even if just a little.

“My…old friend,” he finally said, spitting the name like it tasted bitter on his tongue. “Gave me shit. Tried to make me beg for help in front of everyone at the hotel. Like I need him or his damn protection.”

He shook his head, his wings bristling at the memory. “I don’t know why they all think I’m some... charity case. I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”

Rosie’s smile widened, dark amusement glinting in her eyes. “Oh, sugar, I bet he loves to remind everyone he’s top dog, but trust me, half of it’s just for show.” She tilted her head, tapping a finger to her lips. “Still, you’ve been ruffling some feathers, haven’t you?”

Adam scoffed, finally meeting her gaze, feeling some of his frustration seep into his words. “Apparently. He thinks I’m scheming something because I’ve got a business. Like I’m up to no good just because I don’t need him.”

Rosie chuckled softly, a sound that was both soothing and chilling. “That’s Hell for you, darling. The moment you start standing on your own two feet, everyone assumes you’ve got some dirty little plan up your sleeve.” Her voice lowered, almost conspiratorial, as she added, “But I wouldn’t worry too much about this friend of yours. He’s just pissed you don’t fit into his neat little box. You? You’re different, and that scares him.”

Adam blinked, taken aback by the comment. Different? Scaring Lucifer? He hadn’t thought of it that way. But something about Rosie’s words lodged in his mind, planting a seed of doubt and intrigue. Maybe he was different. Maybe that’s why Lucifer had been so intent on knocking him down a peg.

Adam sighed and placed Rosie’s latest order down. He arranged it with tissues and everything he gives to his best customers.

Rosie smiled sweetly, her sharp teeth flashing as she patted his hand. “Now, chin up, sugar. You keep doing what you’re doing, and let the King of Hell stew in his own insecurities. Besides,” she winked, taking her package. “if anyone tries to give you trouble, you just let me know. I’ve got ways of dealing with those kinds of problems.”

Adam let out a small laugh, despite the weight still pressing on him. “Thanks, Rosie. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Rosie tipped her hat and turned to leave, her dress floating behind her like smoke. “Take care now, pumpkin. And remember—don’t let anyone, not even Lucifer, make you feel like you’re less than you are.”

With that, she disappeared into the night, leaving Adam standing there, the shop feeling emptier but a little less suffocating.

It took Adam a long moment before realising Rosie knew he was talking about Lucifer. Adam bummed, glancing back at the closed door in awe.

Was he that obvious?

Rosie had a way about her, a strange, unsettling charm that somehow always managed to lift Adam's spirits. Her voice, though pitched in that almost-too-sweet tone, could cut through the thickest fog of his mood like a knife. After her visit, Adam had felt lighter—more focused, more himself. Her teasing words still echoed in his mind, "Pumpkin, with a face this handsome, no one should dare frown!" It worked, somehow. His hands moved with renewed energy, and the orders he had been dreading seemed to disappear as quickly as they arrived.

For days, he immersed himself in his work. Each stitch, each thread pulled taut with care and precision. His fingers danced over the wool, coaxing life into the fabric. He was no longer muttering under his breath about Lucifer, no longer grinding his teeth with resentment. Instead, a strange calm had settled in, and for the first time in weeks, Adam felt... proud. Proud of his craft. He'd completed more orders in that stretch of time than he had in months.

Days blurred together until, one afternoon, the familiar chime of his computer snapped him back to reality. A new order.

Humming the catchy, macabre tune of "Hell's Forever," Adam turned to his screen. But as soon as his eyes settled on the name of the sender, the lightness in his chest collapsed like a house of cards.

The Hazbin Hotel.

Adam’s frown deepened into something almost cartoonishly exaggerated, his brow furrowing so hard it could’ve cracked marble. He rubbed his eyes, convinced he was seeing things—some glitch in the system. But when his vision cleared, the reality remained, staring him dead in the face like a slap.

There it was, all neatly typed out with a message attached.

"Hi Adam, I’m so, so sorry for how everything turned out! Please come back to the hotel. You don’t have to stay, but we’d really love to talk. – Charlie"

Adam’s lip curled in disdain. Of course it’s Charlie, he thought bitterly. He quickly scanned the rest of the order. She hadn’t just ordered a couple of sweaters; she’d tripled the amount of money offered, the sum flashing on his screen was enough to make most Sinners lose their damn minds.

But Adam wasn’t most Sinners. He wasn’t just anyone. He was Adam—the First Man—and he didn’t give a shit anymore.

With one swift movement, Adam canceled the order. No hesitation. He shut the laptop with a decisive click, the sound echoing in the silence of his dimly lit workshop. "Fuck them," he muttered darkly, running a hand through his wild hair. "Fuck them."

As he trudged upstairs to his bedroom, his thoughts swirled in a storm of anger and exhaustion. "Maybe tomorrow will be better," he whispered to himself, pulling the covers over his head. But a bitter voice in the back of his mind scoffed at the idea. Nothing in Hell ever got better.

And, as expected, tomorrow wasn’t better.

The day after that, another order from the Hazbin Hotel. He canceled it. The day after that, same thing. Canceled. And the next day. And the next.

For a full month, Charlie kept sending orders, each one with a desperate little note attached. The amounts of money offered became increasingly ludicrous. At first, it doubled. Then it tripled again. Until, one day, Adam opened his computer to see they were offering him one million Hellbucks.

It was insanity. Complete, unbelievable madness. The kind of money that would make anyone else in Pentagram City salivate.

But Adam wasn’t just anyone.

Without blinking, he canceled the order again. And this time, he went a step further—he blacklisted the Hazbin Hotel, blocking them from placing any future orders. That’s it, he thought. That should finally shut them up.

He leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk creeping across his face as he folded his arms behind his head. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he was finally in control again. That was the end of it. Had to be.

But deep down, a shadow of doubt lingered.

In Hell, nothing was ever that simple.

The next day, Adam stood behind the full-length mirrors in his shop, working meticulously on his latest creation—a new dress for Rosie. It had been his most challenging project yet, every stitch and fold demanding the utmost attention to detail. Adam knelt beside her, carefully hemming the skirt, the copper-red fabric gleaming under the dim light of the shop. The color had been her special request, matching her signature look, and it wasn’t just any shade of red. Adam had made sure it was the exact tint that would blend perfectly with the bloodstains from her rather grisly meals.

Rosie admired herself in the mirror, her sharp grin reflecting back at Adam. She let out a delighted chuckle, her voice high-pitched and dripping with that old-timey charm that always made Adam smirk.

“Oh sugar!” she cooed, her black, pupil-less eyes gleaming with mischief. “It’s positively delightful!”

Adam couldn’t help but beam as he stood, brushing off his hands with pride. “I made it that copper-red just so the bloodstains will blend in,” he said with a wink, his voice carrying a mix of dark humor and satisfaction.

Rosie giggled, her laugh sounding like the sharp tinkle of broken glass. “Oh, darling! You’re so talented! You really do know how to treat a girl, don’t you?”

Before Adam could respond, the familiar sound of the door chime echoed through the shop. He tilted his head, expecting to see the usual—a loyal customer, maybe even that pretty white-haired succubus who frequented the place. But as he looked toward the entrance, his stomach dropped.

Standing in the doorway was something far worse. Something unexpected. Something... horrifying.

Charlie.

Adam squinted his eyes in disdain, a deep frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. Of course, it’s her, he thought bitterly, his golden eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of Hell’s naive princess. She stood there awkwardly, her fingers nervously twitching at her sides as she glanced around the shop.

Rosie, who had been admiring her new dress, turned slowly toward the door. A dramatic, high-pitched gasp escaped her lips as she spotted the newcomer.

“Oh, Charlie!” she exclaimed with mock enthusiasm, her grin wide and sharp. “If it isn’t the little pumpkin princess herself!” Her voice was sugary-sweet, but it dripped with a venomous undertone that made Adam’s sneer grow.

Charlie glanced nervously at Rosie before letting her gaze sweep over the shop. Her expression shifted from weary caution to something more innocent, almost childlike wonder, as she took in the sight of Adam’s work. Sweaters, scarves, and dresses adorned the walls like intricate pieces of art, each one meticulously crafted with a sinister elegance that only Adam could pull off. Slowly, her eyes brightened, and soon enough, she was smiling that same wide, hopeful grin.

“Rosie!” she squealed, her voice full of relief upon seeing the cannibal. She took a few steps forward, but her eyes were drawn back to the clothes surrounding her, the admiration plain on her face.

“This... this is amazing!” she said, her gaze flickering to Adam, though she seemed hesitant to meet his eyes directly.

Adam’s stomach churned with irritation. He hadn’t blocked the Hazbin Hotel from his shop just to have Charlie stroll in here like nothing had happened. The sheer audacity of it grated on him.

Rosie tilted her head, watching the scene unfold with amusement, her sharp teeth peeking out as she grinned at Adam.

“Well, sugar, seems like the princess has come to grovel. Isn’t that sweet?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, but there was an edge to it that hinted at a dark kind of curiosity.

Adam’s fists clenched by his sides, his knuckles turning white. He had half a mind to throw her out right there, but something held him back. Maybe it was the way she looked at his work with such genuine appreciation, or maybe it was the memory of how things had been before the Hotel incident. Either way, it didn’t stop the flood of anger bubbling inside him.

Charlie, however, seemed to steel herself, her expression softening but determined as she stepped forward. “Adam,” she started, her voice softer now, almost pleading. “I... I’m so sorry about everything that happened. I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care,” Adam cut her off sharply, his voice cold. He crossed his arms, glaring at her like she was nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing in his shop. “If you’re here for another order, you can turn right around and get the hell out.”

Charlie flinched but held her ground, her smile faltering. “I didn’t come here to place an order,” she said quickly, her eyes flicking toward Rosie, who was still watching with that ever-present, predatory grin.

“I just... I wanted to talk. To explain.”

“Explain?” Adam’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Explain what, exactly? How you and your pompous ass of a father tried to humiliate me? How you keep sending me orders like I’m some fucking charity case? Please, enlighten me.”

Charlie winced again, but this time, her gaze hardened slightly, just enough for Adam to notice. “I’m not trying to make you feel like that. I just—look, I didn’t know how else to reach you.”

Adam let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You could’ve left me the fuck alone. That would’ve been a great start.”

Silence hung heavy in the room, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Rosie looked between the two, her grin growing wider as if she were enjoying every second of the standoff.

Finally, Charlie sighed, the weight of her frustration and regret evident in the slump of her shoulders.

“Please,” she whispered, “just... give me a chance to explain.”

Adam stared at her for a long moment, his jaw tight, his heart pounding in his chest. Every instinct told him to throw her out, to slam the door in her face like he had done with her orders. But there was something in her voice, something that made him hesitate.

Rosie, sensing the shift in Adam’s demeanor, leaned closer, her voice a low, teasing whisper. “Well, pumpkin, what’s it gonna be? Are we keeping the princess, or tossing her to the wolves?”

Adam’s golden eyes flicked to Rosie, then back to Charlie. He exhaled through his nose, frustrated beyond belief.

“Fine,” he muttered. “You’ve got five minutes. Say what you need to say. But after that, I want you gone.”

The tension in the room thickened, an uncomfortable silence enveloping them. Charlie shifted on her feet, fidgeting with her hands as if trying to find comfort in the motion. Her wide eyes, full of nervous energy, darted to Adam’s face, then away, unable to hold his intense, unwavering stare. Adam, standing tall, his arms crossed over his chest, broke the silence first.

“So,” he began, his voice low and biting, “where’s your bodyguard? No way you came to a place like this by yourself. Vaggie wouldn’t let you step foot in my ‘shady little business’ without her breathing down your neck.”

Charlie gave a weak, half-hearted laugh, the sound fragile, almost broken.

“Vaggie doesn’t know I’m here,” she admitted, her words falling flat, and Adam scoffed, a bitter smirk twisting his lips.

“Of course not,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as if the situation was almost too ridiculous to believe. His golden eyes flickered with something dark, like a fire barely restrained.

Charlie swallowed, her throat tightening as she glanced back up at him. “Adam, I’m... I’m so sorry for how I acted... for how we acted,” she stammered, her voice soft but filled with guilt. “I should’ve... I should’ve controlled the situation better. I just—”

She paused, the words catching in her throat. “This hotel... it’s mine. It’s my responsibility. No one decides who stays or who gets thrown out but me. And you... you shouldn’t have been treated like that. If you needed help, I would’ve helped you.”

Adam snorted derisively, but didn’t respond. He just stared at her, his arms still crossed, his gaze as hard as stone. The silence that followed was deafening, and Charlie visibly winced. She took a deep breath, clearly struggling to keep her composure.

“My hotel... it’s about giving people second chances,” she whispered, her voice faltering. “It’s about helping others, giving them a chance to change...”

Adam’s snort turned into a dry, bitter chuckle, but he still didn’t speak. He just let the weight of her words hang in the air like a dead thing. Charlie shifted again, her hands trembling as she tried to continue.

“But Adam, you... you hurt a lot of people...”

Before she could finish, Adam cut her off, his voice sharp as a knife. “I don’t care.”

Charlie’s eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth opening slightly as if she had been physically struck.

“You... you don’t care?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, her face painted with shock. “How can you say that?”

For a long moment, Adam said nothing, his jaw clenched tight. The two just stared at each other, locked in a silent battle, neither one willing to back down. Finally, Adam spoke, his voice low and filled with a quiet, simmering rage.

“Do you have any idea,” he began slowly, his words deliberate and measured, “what it’s like to have your entire life decided for you the moment you’re born?”

His eyes bore into hers, sharp and unyielding. “Do you?”

Charlie blinked, her lips parting as if she was about to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, she looked away, her expression growing more and more uncertain.

“Of course you had a choice,” she finally said, her voice weak, unconvincing. “Everyone has a choice.”

Adam shook his head, his jaw tightening even further.

“No,” he said firmly, his tone dark and unwavering. “I never had a choice. Never.”

Charlie’s brow furrowed, her confusion evident, but she stayed silent as Adam continued, his voice cold and bitter, like a man recounting a life of suffering.

“I was born in Eden,” he said, his eyes distant as though looking through time. “And from the moment I opened my eyes, I was told what I had to do. I had to name all the animals, tend to the fruits. I had to care for Eve, make sure she survived after we were cast out. I worked my ass off to make sure my children didn’t die from some illness or a bad wound.”

His words grew harsher, more guttural, as memories of ancient pains and burdens he had carried for millennia clawed at the surface. “And when I finally made it to Heaven,” he said, his voice darkening, “do you know what I was told? That humanity was my responsibility. That because too many of my descendants had sinned and ended up in Hell, it was somehow my fault. And I had to ‘deal’ with them.”

Charlie’s breath hitched as she listened, her eyes growing wide with dawning horror.

“They made me their fucking executioner, Charlie,” Adam spat, his voice a razor-sharp whisper. “I didn’t get to decide whether there’d be an extermination or not—that was already decided by Heaven. But I was the one who had to swing the blade, to kill them. And when I didn’t want to, when I so much as thought about refusing, I was punished. I was hurt.”

The room seemed to grow darker as Adam’s words sank in, the weight of centuries of anguish pressing down on the air around them. Charlie stood there, frozen, unsure of what to say, her own guilt and confusion written across her face.

Adam’s gaze darkened as he looked her in the eyes, his voice dropping to a near growl. “Do you know who my first children were?”

Charlie blinked, stunned into silence, her mind racing to catch up. After a long pause, she nodded slowly, her voice barely audible.

“Cain and Abel...”

Adam rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“Cain and Abel, sure. But I had more. Many more. Seth, Alimica, Miriam, Rachel... the list goes on. But they’re not around anymore.” His voice dropped lower, filled with a haunting sadness that carried the weight of endless grief. “Do you know why?”

Charlie’s mouth clamped shut, her heart sinking as she felt the answer lingering just beyond her understanding.

Adam’s voice grew dark, almost venomous. “Every time I tried to stray from Heaven’s rules, they eliminated one of my children’s souls. Cain and Abel might be the last of them, but I have no fucking clue where they are now. And that might be for the best because if Heaven finds them, if she finds them, she’ll erase them too.”

Charlie’s face paled, her hands trembling as the full weight of Adam’s words fell upon her. She couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t deny the pain in his voice, the absolute conviction in his stare.

“So don’t you dare talk to me about hurting others,” Adam said, his voice barely more than a dangerous whisper, “when the so-called ��sinners’ you’re trying to protect are the same reason Heaven wiped out my children.”

Silence fell like a hammer, the air thick with the gravity of Adam’s confession. Charlie stood there, speechless, her world shaken to its core as she struggled to process the depth of the suffering that Adam had been forced to endure for so long.

“did as what I was told because I had nothing less.” Adam said blankly. “All I have left now is this shop. Something I built myself, there’s no shadiness behind it, no scheme to hurt hell or your sinners…”

“I just want to live happily and peacefully.” Adam whispered. “Please let me do that.”

Charlie opened and shut her mouth, trying to speak and failing. Her eyes watered and she gave a sharp nod, bowing deeply.

“I’m so sorry Adam! Of course you can live here happily and peacefully!” She let out with a sob. “I’ll make sure nobody will bother you!”

Adam nodded. Charlie’s breath hitched and she turned around, leaving the shop without another word. Adam felt guilty for making her cry but he was so tired. Tired of being blamed.

Adam stared at the door after Charlie had left, her sobs still echoing faintly in the shop like the remnants of a storm. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken words and shattered promises. He clenched his jaw, blinking away the faint sting of guilt that crept into his chest. He didn’t want to hurt her, but what choice did he have? He’d been carrying centuries of other people’s burdens, their sins, their mistakes—and for what? For this endless cycle of blame and expectation that never seemed to let him go.

"I did what I was told because I had nothing left," Adam murmured, his voice hollow, echoing in the dim light of the shop. "All I have now is this place... my own space. Something I built with my own hands, something that’s mine."

He looked around, his gaze tracing the sweaters and scarves he had crafted, each stitch a small rebellion against a fate he never asked for. "There’s no shadiness behind it, no scheme to hurt Hell or anyone else."

His voice lowered into a whisper, as if he was speaking more to himself than anyone else. "I just want to live happily and peacefully. That’s all I want... just some peace."

Rosie, who had remained silent until now, slid her hand onto his shoulder, her touch light but grounding. Adam didn’t flinch, but he didn’t look at her either. His eyes remained fixed on the door, the silence in the room broken only by the occasional creak of the old wooden floor beneath their feet.

Behind him, Rosie’s soft chuckle broke the tension. "Sugar, you did good," she said gently, her voice laced with approval. "You stood up for yourself. That's what matters."

Adam finally shifted his gaze to her, his brow furrowing. "But I don’t feel good," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Rosie tilted her head, her sharp smile softened by a rare look of understanding.

“It’s never easy, standing up for what you need," she said quietly.

“Sometimes it feels like crap. But give it time." She squeezed his shoulder lightly. "It’ll get better. It always does."

Adam nodded slowly, though he wasn’t sure he believed her. The tiredness in his bones ran deeper than anything he could articulate. It was the kind of exhaustion that didn’t fade with sleep or rest. It was the weight of centuries of being told who he had to be, of being molded into something he didn’t recognize anymore.

Rosie gave him one last reassuring pat before turning to the mirror, admiring the dress he had crafted for her.

"Gotta say, sugar, this copper-red is divine. Almost makes me feel like a new woman," she cooed, twirling with a grin that was both wicked and playful. "And you know what? It hides the bloodstains perfectly."

Adam managed a small smile at that, the smallest flicker of warmth creeping back into him. At least some things could be predictable. Rosie’s dark humor had a way of anchoring him when everything else felt uncertain.

As he stood there, watching Rosie twirl and tease, the faint sounds of the bustling street outside began to seep into the shop. The world kept turning, Hell kept moving, and Adam... Adam was just trying to find his place in it.

Maybe Rosie was right. Maybe things would get better.

But for now, all Adam could do was keep stitching, keep working, and hope that somewhere down the line, peace—true peace—would finally find him.

~#~

A full month had crept by since Charlie had stumbled upon Adam’s tiny, unassuming knitting and stitching shop. Each day that followed was a silent vigil, tense with the dread of her return, perhaps with her little bodyguard in tow this time. Adam’s heart had pounded with each chime of the bell above the door, every creak of the floorboards outside, bracing himself for the worst. But no one from that cursed place came. By the fourth week, the heavy knot of anxiety in his chest began to loosen.

He could breathe again. Maybe, just maybe, it was truly over. The quiet promise of peace settled over him like a fragile veil.

With his fears momentarily silenced, Adam threw himself deeper into his craft, pouring every shred of himself into fulfilling the requests of his customers. The rhythmic click of needles and the gentle swish of fabric under his hands became a kind of sanctuary. It wasn’t just about making scarves, sweaters, coats, or mittens anymore—it was about creating something that soothed his soul.

Happiness, real and pure, flickered within him as he lost himself in the intricate patterns and soft textures. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt truly at peace, the fear of judgment slowly dissolving like mist in the morning light. And as the days stretched on, the gnawing worry that had once haunted him receded into the background, leaving him to bask in the quiet joy his craft brought him.

The door to Adam's shop danced and chimed, a playful melody signaling the arrival of a new customer. He paused mid-weaving, his fingers frozen in a delicate dance of yarn and needle, and turned expectantly toward the entrance. But there was nothing—only the dimly lit street beyond, empty and quiet. Frowning, he shrugged off the strange chill that crept up his spine and returned to the sturdy boots he was meticulously crafting, trying to ignore the unsettling sensation that settled over him.

The soft chime of the bell rang out again, echoing through the stillness. Adam glanced up, his heart racing, but once more, the doorway was void of life. This peculiar game continued, the bell announcing an invisible presence at least five more times before frustration bubbled over. With a growl, he leaped to his feet, his heart pounding like a war drum, and stomped toward the door, flinging it open with a dramatic flourish.

His golden eyes flared dangerously as they locked onto a figure standing just beyond the threshold—Lucifer. The king's crimson and gold gaze flickered with surprise, as if he hadn’t anticipated being caught so easily. Adam's face twisted into a fierce sneer, a mix of anger and disbelief flooding his veins.

“Stop fucking around! If you want to talk to me, fucking man up and come the fuck in! God knows nothing’s ever stopped you from taking what you want before. There’s no point in being considerate now!”

Lucifer blinked owlishly, momentarily taken aback, but before he could retort, Adam turned sharply, storming back into his sanctuary, leaving the king to navigate the storm of his own thoughts. The air grew heavy as Lucifer hesitated, shoulders sagging under an unseen weight. He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the alleyway as if expecting some lurking shadow to leap out and drag him back into the darkness.

With a measured breath, he finally crossed the threshold, closing the door delicately behind him. The small bell above chimed softly, a quaint reminder of the world outside. As he turned to survey the interior of the shop, his eyes widened in awe, absorbing the myriad of colors and textures, the treasures Adam had poured his heart and soul into.

“Welcome to my shady little shop, where I’m definitely scheming something!” Adam announced with a mock flourish, thrusting his arms out wide, the words dripping with sarcasm.

Lucifer flinched at the proclamation, guilt and shame etching lines on his otherwise handsome face. The air crackled between them, thick with unspoken tension, as the vibrant chaos of the shop contrasted sharply with the solemnity of their uninvited meeting. The king seemed to shrink under Adam’s gaze, as if he were a mere boy caught in a web of his own mischief.

Lucifer swallowed hard, a nervous gulp that echoed in the tense silence of the shop. He stepped further inside, moving cautiously toward Adam, his expression a kaleidoscope of emotions—fear, uncertainty, and something that flickered like a fragile flame of hope. It was a mess of feelings that left Adam bewildered, unable to decipher the depths of the fallen angel’s intentions.

“What do you want, Lucifer?” he finally demanded, crossing his arms defensively. “If you’re not here to attack me again, then what do you want?”

Lucifer opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, he fell silent, his brow furrowing as he began to fidget with the sleeves of his sweater. It was then that Adam's gaze snagged on the garment itself, and his breath caught in his throat. The sight of it—the sweater he had crafted with such care—stunned him.

“You’re wearing my sweater?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucifer nodded shyly, pulling at the hem of the fabric as if it were a lifeline.

“Yeah, it’s made really well…” He hesitated, then added earnestly, “you are very talented.”

Adam scoffed, a wry smile curling his lips. “Shocking, right?”

But the playful tone fell flat when he noticed the way Lucifer’s face fell, guilt shadowing his features as he bowed his head.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he murmured, the sincerity in his voice palpable. “It’s amazing. You are really impressive to have been able to make all of this.”

The honesty struck Adam like a bolt of lightning, leaving him momentarily speechless. He blinked in surprise, grappling with the unexpected compliment. After a moment of stunned silence, he managed a soft, “Thanks,” his voice barely above a whisper. He looked away shyly, taken aback by the warmth of the moment. Lucifer had never had a nice thing to say to him before, and the unexpected praise felt almost disorienting.

But the pull of curiosity tugged at him, and despite his instinct to look away, Adam found himself glancing back at Lucifer. His heart raced as he took in the sight of the sweater more fully. It was a cheerful golden hue, adorned with playful black and white highlights—a duck-themed creation that radiated an innocent charm.

Adam turned away quickly, a flush creeping up his cheeks as he remarked, “That sweater suits you.”

Lucifer's face lit up with a genuine smile, his eyes sparkling as he glanced down at the garment.

“I really like it,” he admitted, his voice softening. “It’s become one of my favorites.”

Adam nodded slowly, a sense of warmth blooming in his chest, even amidst the simmering tension between them. The world outside faded into the background, and in that small, cluttered shop filled with the scent of yarn and the echoes of unspoken words, something inexplicable began to shift in the air

Finally, the silence fractured as Lucifer took a deep breath, his golden eyes shifting under the weight of the moment.

“I’m really sorry,” he began, the words spilling forth like a dam breaking. “I was an ass towards you. I was out of line to talk to you like that.”

Adam remained silent, his heart pounding in his chest as he let Lucifer's apology hang in the air, heavy with unspoken histories and hurt. He could see the turmoil swirling within the fallen angel, but it only served to deepen the chasm between them.

“You’ve never been on my side before,” Adam interjected, his voice low and edged with pain. “Even in Eden, you thought the worst of me.”

Lucifer opened his mouth to deny it, but Adam pressed harder, fueled by a mix of anger and hurt. “You were assigned as my guardian angel, but you never liked me. You treated me like a pet, a dog you didn’t mind babysitting. But the moment you got bored, you disappeared and never looked back.”

The accusation hung between them, taut and crackling with tension.

“Do you even know what it’s like to adore somebody to the high heavens?” Adam continued, his voice rising with passion. “To treat them like they mean the world to you? To think they’re your best friend while that person sees you as nothing but scum? A pet?”

Lucifer tried once more to claim that wasn’t true, his brow furrowing with distress, but Adam shook his head vehemently. “You were so quick to believe Lilith’s lies about me, so quick to abandon me, and then you ask why? Why I don’t give you the time of day? Why I won’t listen to you?”

Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills igniting the space between them.

“Hell,” Adam challenged, his voice steady, “I never raised my voice to Lilith. I never yelled at her, never raised a hand, never so much as touched her. Yes, I told her what to eat, but I guess she never told you why, right?”

Lucifer fell silent, the realization creeping into his features as he slowly nodded.

Adam huffed in disbelief, the anger boiling beneath his skin. “Well, there you go! She didn’t tell you she wasn’t given the ability to see what fruits and vegetables she could consume. I was made for Eden; nothing in Eden would make me sick or die. But for Lilith, it was the opposite. If I left her to her own devices, she’d kill herself by accident! I had to tell her what would be poisonous to her and what wouldn’t!”

Adam’s voice rose, punctuated by a mixture of desperation and indignation. “Unless you would have preferred me to just, you know, let her figure it out herself?”

The air crackled with the weight of Adam’s words, echoing off the walls of the cozy shop that felt more like a battleground than a sanctuary. The unspoken truths loomed like specters, and the silence that followed was heavy with the acknowledgment of past failures and missed opportunities.

Adam let out a long, weary sigh, the weight of the moment settling heavily on his shoulders.

“It’s fine,” he said finally, his voice softer than before. “I’ll accept your apology because honestly, I’m so tired. I’m exhausted from just…being miserable all the time. From being depressed and angry at how my life has been dictated.”

Lucifer’s lips curled into a weak pout, and he sniffed, his expression reflecting a vulnerability that Adam had never seen before.

“I’m tired too,” he admitted, the admission hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

Adam forced a pained smile, a flicker of understanding passing between them.

“Then let’s just agree to tolerate each other,” he suggested, his voice steady despite the tremor in his heart. “I’m not asking for your help. I’m not asking you to do anything for me. I just…like doing this stuff. There’s nothing sinister behind it.”

Lucifer met Adam’s gaze, and in that moment, something shifted. The fallen angel seemed to relax, his tension easing as he gazed around at the colorful array of items Adam had created.

“I believe you,” he said, a hint of admiration in his voice. “I can do that. I won’t get in the way of your business.”

“Thanks,” Adam replied, a genuine warmth flooding through him.

In that instant, a true smile blossomed between them, tentative yet brightening the shadowy corners of the shop. They might not be friends, and they might never have been, but it was okay. They were both much too old and tired to keep beefing with one another.

But the moment of peace shattered when Lucifer suddenly asked, his tone serious, “What if I want to help you?”

Adam’s heart skipped a beat, his brow knitting together in suspicion.

“What do you mean?” he asked, the tension in the room thickening once more.

Lucifer fell silent, his golden eyes flickering with thought as he wrestled with the implications of his words. After a few seconds that stretched like an eternity, he finally spoke.

“I want to work here.”

The declaration stunned Adam into silence, the words echoing in his mind like the chime of the bell above the door. The thought of Lucifer—a being of power and mystery—working alongside him in his small, humble shop was almost surreal. “What?” Adam managed, his disbelief evident.

Lucifer’s expression was earnest, stripped of its usual bravado. “I mean it,” he pressed, stepping closer, the tension between them morphing into something tangible and electric. “I want to be here, to help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Adam’s mind raced, thoughts swirling like the yarn around his fingers. This was a proposition he hadn’t anticipated. “But why?” he asked, searching Lucifer’s eyes for the truth behind his sudden desire to join him in this mundane world of crafts and colors.

“Because,” Lucifer replied, the weight of his words lingering in the air, “I want to understand you. I want to learn what it means to care for something outside of myself. I want to be part of something real.”

The vulnerability in Lucifer’s voice caught Adam off guard, piercing through the tension like a ray of light. Adam’s heart thudded loudly in his chest as he processed the gravity of what was being offered—an unlikely partnership, perhaps even a strange sort of friendship, forged in the crucible of their shared history.

“I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Adam finally said, his voice a whisper. “You’re not just some ordinary guy. You’re Lucifer.”

“And you’re Adam,” Lucifer replied, his gaze steady. “Maybe it’s time we stopped letting our pasts dictate our futures.”

Adam felt the stirrings of something new and unexpected—a flicker of hope intertwined with doubt. But the allure of this strange alliance was undeniable, pulling at the threads of his heart. He had spent too long being miserable; perhaps it was time to embrace the unknown.

[aryxchse]

I just read your Percy Jackson x daughter of Persephone fic and I really would like to read one for daughter of Hekate.

I mean you still have me questioning my Cabin but for the sake of all those years that I was daughter of Hekate, I would love to read Percy Jackson x daughter of Hekate from you.

casted a spell on me / percy jackson x daughter of hecate! reader.

a / n : my wife y'all 👆🏻

warnings : cursing

- percy wanted to gift hazel a special crystal for her birthday

- but he never really understood the girl, nor the crystal things

- so which cabin everyone visits when stuff like this happens?

- the hecate cabin.

- you were the only one left in cabin when percy barged in

- while you were cleansing (?) your room

- "hello?"

- "i am so sorry- should i leave? am i intrupting something?"

- you shrugged him off with a laugh, saying that it's not important enough for him to leave

- and he happily stayed

- "you.. know hazel right?"

- "duh, she's my ride or die."

- and everything began like this

- there was 2 weeks until hazel's birthday and percy decided to use that time wisely

- and he was kinda glad that he started working early

- because, he get to spend time with you

- man he's already whipped, look at you doing magical stuff and casting a spell on the boy

- the last part was percy's own delusion but yeah, you could turn him into a pig and he would be thankful

- "you could gift her tarot cards as a bonus, she's interested in those."

- "...show me."

- this boy knows NOTHING

- and when you read his cards he was gasping like a little girl

- hes so amazed by you omg

- you could make up something for the uno cards and he would scream 'this girl fucking rocks!!'

- did i said hes whipped? do i have to??

- anyways back on hazel's birthday gift mission

- since you ran out from hazel's favorite crystals, somehow, you both got the chance to shop outside in the mortal world!!!!

- it was a perfect first date in percy's head

- he's asking you personal questions like which crystal is best for your aura or smth

- sneaky bastard

- you guys shopped together until night and lost your dessert for the week

- but who cares? it was the best date

- people saw percy leave with a different crystal each time after visiting your cabin

- you got this boy wear crystals for lucky charm

- he joked that he only needed you for luck but anyways-

- the mission was complete eventually

- but percy didn't left your side even after hazel's birthday

- you guys are ment to be together now okay?? it says that on your birth chart

- your zodiacs are matching too

- shut up you made him a manifest queen

- he lets you draw symbols on his arms for some reasons you came up with

- hes scared you're really making him obsessed with you, because of the amount of times you're in his head, is embarresing

- and he needed to make you his

- like immediatly

- or else he'll go crazy from his love

- maybe you did cast a spell-

- "i think i learned how to read your cards."

- when he said that in one of his regular visits, you couldn't help but get curious

- did he actually learned that fast?

- so you gave him your cards and picked a few, he started looking at them like he knew something

- it said that something will happen good this week

- but instead, percy said

- "you're in love with a raven haired boy aren't you?"

- you tried so hard not to laugh

- and it was true, so you let him play his game

- "oh my gods! how did you know?"

- he literally smirked

- "i'm a natural pretty."

- he started to look more, and told you to pick two more cards

- you could already see what it meant, but you were curious what he will say

- "hmm, this guy has gorgeous sea green eyes, man you have taste!"

- a snort left your lips but you quickly gathered yourself

- "can you see any initials??"

- "oh totally! the lovers card is upside down so it means p and j."

- you were turning red from holding your laugh at this point, and he started to get a feeling that you figured what he was doing

- no shit sherlock

- "how weird, doesn't that ring any bells to you too? or is it just me?"

- "maybe it's that hot dude called percy jackson?"

- "OHHHH yes!! i knew i remembered that initials from somewhere!!"

- you both burst into laughters

- "my dear student, i see you payed attention to my classes!"

- he laughed at your tease until he finally managed to answer

- "being in love with you helped."

- smooth, jackson. smooth.

[vukovich]

24K9

A daily(?) kinktober Tumblr fic. Will post to AO3 on American Thanksgiving, 2023.

Harry is a K9 unit Auror. Draco is the Ministry Kennelmaster. How could that possibly lead to anything?

Tags: collaring, top Draco, sensual pet play, touch starved Harry, bathing, shaving, rescue dog feels, other tags TBA, maybe dark draco ending?, maybe werewolves?, definitely coming untouched though, just blasting rope man

--

Chapter One

“I assure you, Auror Potter,” drawled the Patronus, speaking even before it found its full form, “there is nothing wrong with your partner.”

Malfoy’s tone was patronising, as though he were telling Harry that the monsters under his bed weren’t real, and to go back to sleep.

Next to Harry’s desk, his ‘partner’ had managed to catch his tail and was currently gnawing on it with nothing short of ardour.  K9 Auror Wurst, aka RottWurst, clamped down on his fluffy tail so hard, Harry swore he heard a crunch.

The bright fog condensed into a direwolf the size of a modest pony.  It was the perfect symbol for Draco Malfoy.  A pale, leggy, sharp-toothed relic of another time.

“And I assure you,” Harry spat, “Kennelmaster Malfoy, that this mutt’s fucking touched in the head.”

The mutt in question was eighty-plus pounds of Rottweiler-poodle abomination.  He looked like a St Bernard had dug into an avalanche, missed the humans, and hit a thousand-volt power line instead.  The curly white fur on his belly was caked with mud, and his brown muzzle still had bits of grass clippings on it.  The rest of him was black, save his brown eyebrows and speckled ears.

“He keeps alerting to sex magic, not dark magic.  It’s fucking embarrassing.  Dragged me across Hyde Park.  I had to use a Confundus on him to get him back to the office.”

The direwolf was so still that Harry blinked twice to make sure the shape wasn’t burned into his retinas.  It was a bloody showboat of a Patronus.

It was so bright that it brought out the dinginess of Harry’s office.  The yellow carpet had a pale brown trail between the door and Harry’s desk chair.  The corners of the ceiling had cobwebs, and the baseboards held an unhealthy amount of dust.

The fresh dog piss on the floor didn’t help things.

“I mean, he’s not worthless,” Harry added.  “But Robards said he can’t reassign him to Vice.  That he doesn’t have that authority.  So it must be you who has to do it.”

It was a little risky to bypass Robards the way he had, contacting Malfoy directly.  He probably should have made an appointment with his assistant or something.

But he’d been angry, so he’d pulled an interdepartmental priority Howler out of his desk and sent it.

There was probably a DMLE protocol for contacting a member of the Wizengamot.  There was a DMLE protocol for everything but wiping his arse.  Actually, they probably had one for that, too.

Harry blinked again.  His eyes were dry.  He was on hour seven of a twelve-hour shift.  After this, he’d get another coffee.

The direwolf shifted its weight, then leaned back, hindquarters high, in a deep stretch.  Its paws spread out in front of it.

Harry wondered if Malfoy was actually stretching.  And what that might look like.

It’d been years since he’d seen Malfoy in person.  Just in the papers, and only in the background of Wizengamot photos.  He’d been called to his Wizengamot seat the day after his thirtieth birthday, having met the minimum age.  They hadn’t called Hermione to hers until she was thirty-two.  She’d die mad about that.

The direwolf laid down, then yawned.

Harry yawned.

Wurst yawned.  Then farted.

Harry thought to check the time.  2:30 AM, according to his wristwatch.  He’d been on the clock for fourteen hours.  Not seven.

“Shit,” Harry said.

He’d woken a member of the Wizengamot at 2:30 AM.  And an important one.  

The direwolf sighed and tucked its muzzle under its paw.  Harry held his breath.  Maybe Malfoy would fall asleep.

Maybe he’d doze off, and he’d think he dreamt he got a Howler in the middle of the night from a burnout beat cop at least six rungs below him.  Maybe.

The direwolf sighed again, then drifted away like will-o'-the-wisps on the wind.

Maybe Malfoy wouldn’t report this.

Maybe.

Maybe Robards wouldn’t kill him.

He drummed his fingers on his desk.  If he did get written up, it’d be his sixth this year.  Two of them were for failing to meet dress code, but the shaving regulations were stupid, and the hygiene one was just weird.

Still.  

Wurst looked at him.  He looked at Wurst.

Nothing would happen.  His talk with Malfoy had only lasted a few seconds.  He’d think it was a dream.

It would be fine.

“It’ll be fine,” Harry told Wurst, ignoring the sweat on his palms.

Wurst’s nostrils flared, and then an ivory envelope slid under the door.  It sat on the grimy carpet for a moment, then folded itself into a swan.  With a few wingbeats, it landed on Harry’s desk and unfolded itself.

Inside was a business card.

Draco L Malfoy Wizengamot Member, Kennelmaster Warminster BA13 4SH UK

“Shit,” Harry said.

He flipped the card over.  On the back was an appointment date and time.  Tomorrow.

“Fuck.”

Robards was going to kill him.

--