#so i guess i should include some content warnings

[thevioletcaptain]

So I've been quiet on here a lot longer than planned.

The reasons are many. The reasons are varied.

The reasons are mostly fucking horrible.

Under a cut because it's long. Check tags for content warnings.

First was the expected absence: my parents came to visit me in Los Angeles over my birthday, so I spent the first half of October showing them around whenever I wasn't working a shift at my shitty department store day-job, or in class at UCLA.

Then, almost immediately after they went back to Australia, I got a second job working as a personal assistant for a composer. This was (and is) an extremely fun and rewarding job, but meant having one more thing on my weekly schedule, which was an adjustment.

Given that until halfway through last year, I'd been out of work since I immigrated in 2019, it took a while for me to get used to having so many concurrent responsibilities, and I'd just started to get a handle on things when I got sick right before the holidays. I took many covid tests -- all negative -- and eventually determined that it was just last year's strain of flu, which I hadn't managed to find time to get the shot for due to the aforementioned super busy schedule. I'm almost positive it was thanks to a particular customer at the aforementioned shitty department store job who coughed hard enough in my direction for their germs to get through my n95.

Anyway, last year's flu was a monster, and I spent a week in bed with a fever, then several more weeks being utterly drained and with a horrendous cough to match. It took a full month for me to recover, and then in mid-January, almost as soon as I started to catch up on all the things that had fallen behind while I was sick, things got bad, then good, then worse, then better, then much, much, much worse.

Basically, it starts with my dad being diagnosed with prostate cancer. He'd told me in October when they came to see me, but the surgery was scheduled for the tail end of January.

The surgery happened on a Monday, and it was a complete success. They got it all in one go. No chemo or radiation or further treatment needed at all. I spoke to him on the phone after he woke up, and he was in good spirits. Happy to have been given the all clear by his doctors.

I told him to watch Star Trek: Strange New Worlds & Evil while he rested up at home, because I'm writing specs for both this year and wanted him to be able to read them and know what was going on. He's the one who got me into sci-fi and horror, after all.

He went home.

He was home for two days.

He started feeling a bit rough on the Thursday. Short of breath. No appetite. Mum took him back to the hospital, just to be safe.

Turns out he'd had a mild heart attack. They couldn't figure out why. The echocardiogram didn't show any issues with his heart.

Then over the next couple of days, his breathing got worse. They took a scan of his lungs, and found that they were extremely inflamed. They'd given him covid tests but they came back negative. We told them about a work accident he had about 20 years ago, where a switchboard he'd been working on exploded in his face, and he'd suffered from inhalation burns among other things.

They thought that maybe something during the prostate surgery had caused irritation in his already damaged lungs, which put stress on his heart and caused the mild heart attack. He's never had any issues with his lungs since that accident, but they thought that maybe he'd just adapted to the damage over the years without realizing.

They kept trying different treatments to help his lungs heal. Nothing seemed to work. His breathing kept getting worse. They had him on as much oxygen as possible without intubating him, but it wasn't enough, so over that weekend they decided that they'd need to move him to another hospital with a more specialized lung unit.

When they were preparing to do that on the Monday night, he crashed. Another heart attack. Bigger, this time. They intubated him. Sedated him. Called my mum and told her to come in right away because things looked so bad.

But then he rallied. By the morning, though he was still sedated and intubated, the doctors were confident that with the right treatment at the specialized lung unit at the other hospital, he'd be okay. He was still in a rough condition, but stable. They transferred him to the other hospital.

He was given another covid test. This one came back positive.

My mum and brother called me once it was a reasonable time in Los Angeles to let me know what was going on, and the next day my brother booked me a flight back to Australia. I had to leave for the airport about five hours after my ticket was booked.

I got to Melbourne on February 1st.

For the next two weeks, dad was intubated, sedated, and in an isolation room. Every few days, they scanned his lungs again, and they were slowly improving.

Finally, he stopped testing positive, and was moved to a regular room in the ICU. Then he healed enough for them to extubate him and wake him up.

On February 13th, he was conscious enough to squeeze my hand when we went in to see him. On February 14th, he was conscious and capable of talking enough to ask a nurse in his ward to bring him his phone, and called mum first thing in the morning to wish her a happy Valentines Day.

Two days later, on Friday 16th, his lungs looked good enough on scans that they felt it was safe to do an angiogram, which they wanted to do just to double check that there weren't any issues with his heart that they missed with the echo.

They did the test. They found massive blockages. 90% blockage in one artery; significant blockages in two others.

Even though he'd barely recovered from covid, the blockages were bad enough that they scheduled him for open heart surgery on Monday 19th. They said without surgery there was a 100% chance that the blockages would cause another massive heart attack that he would not survive. They said there was about a 20% chance that he'd have complications, but only about 4% that they'd be serious/life threatening.

Like before, the surgery went well. Triple bypass, in the end. We got a call late on Monday afternoon to say that he was in recovery and looking good. His heart was functioning perfectly. They'd bring him out of sedation that night. Keep him in the ICU one or two days just as the standard post-op procedure. He'd spend a week or so in a cardiac ward after that, then head to a physical rehab ward for a couple of weeks until he could build back the muscle mass he'd lost while sedated.

We went in to see him the next day. Tuesday 20th. His 66th birthday.

He was tired, but looked good. Color in his cheeks. He made a couple of jokes. We left after about 45 minutes because he was pretty worn out, and we wanted to let him get some rest.

But then after, that his breathing started to get bad again. By Wednesday morning, they'd switched out the oxygen prongs in his nose for a big, high-pressure mask again. They called to let us know they were going to intubate him again so he could rest while his lungs recovered a bit more.

They struggled to get the tube in.

His lungs were deteriorating badly. He kept getting worse. We couldn't go in to see him because they were working on him all day.

At 9pm we got a call to say that he was just getting worse. They had him on 100% oxygen. He just wasn't absorbing it. His entire body was under massive strain. They were doing everything they could, but he just wasn't improving.

They said we should go in right away.

We got there by 10pm. My brother and his wife arrived about the same time. We went in to see him. He didn't look good. He looked pale. But he was warm, and he'd come back from the brink before, and we were sure he could do it again. We stayed with him for about an hour, and left not long after 11pm. Went back to my brother's place because they live closer to the hospital.

We were there about half an hour before they called us again. Just after midnight. He was gone.

That was about a week and a half ago, now. It still doesn't feel real. He was only 66. He hadn't even retired yet. He was working full time up until the week before Christmas, and had planned on going back to work a few days a week after he'd recovered from surgery. He never had any heart trouble, or lung trouble. He was active. He was fine.

My wife Zel and her mom flew in a couple of days after it happened. I barely remember anything from the past two weeks. Everything just feels fake.

I've been trying to write something to say at the funeral, which we've finally been able to arrange for next week -- it was delayed because we had to wait for dad to be released by the coroner. I don't think I'll be able to do it.

Anyway. That's where I've been.

It'll probably be a little while longer before I'm around here much, let alone posting with any regularity, because I'll be in Australia helping my mum & and my brother sort everything out. I have no idea how long I'll be dealing with stuff, or when I'll be able to make words cooperate enough to post anything, but I'll be back eventually.

I'm trying to keep an eye on Discord (I'm violetmatter over there) so you can find me there if you want. But yeah, I just wanted to let you guys know why I've been so quiet.

#cass says things #this is a very long #and heavy post #so i guess i should include some content warnings #uh #christ what do i even tag this with #cw: hospital #cw: health #cw: death #cw: parent death

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Feelings Thawed

Character; Cater Diamond

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, pining, ice skating (to various degrees of success)

Word Count; 650+

Author's Note; This is a present/thank you to my mutual @i-like-forgs. I hope you enjoy this ice skating scene with Cater, and that you get to skate soon!

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

The brisk wind bit at your nose, and you pulled up your scarf, trying to keep away the offending wind. Around you it was a winter wonderland, all made possible in the temperate conditions thanks to Cater, who was filming you skating around on the frozen pond’s surface.

“You know,” you hollered, making sure that you caught his attention, “you should join me! It’s fun!” You came to a stop by the pond’s edge, where Cater was standing with a large thermos.

Cater just shot you a wink, handing you the thermos. “This is for you though, silly!” 

He was deflecting, you could tell; behind that bright and cheery smile that he always seemed to wear around others, you knew when there was something off with Cater. You accepted the thermos though, and took a sip of the spicy apple cider, still piping hot.

You gave him a look and pulled lightly on his coat sleeve. “Yes, but it’s more fun with others, come on Cater!” You stepped back onto the ice, and slowly skated near him, waiting with an eager smile.

He looked at you, and then back at the ice, but he stayed standing in the light snow, shooting you that smile. “But I can’t take photos if I’m out there with you!” He scratched at the back of his neck.

Liar. “Cater,” you looped back around and stepped onto the bank, balancing on your skates, “do you not know how to skate?”

Cater’s smile turned sheepish, and his ‘ahahaha, looks like my gig is up’ chuckle made its appearance. He had been found out. “Never got the chance to,” he hid his face slightly in his scarf, either to keep the cold at bay or to hide that his cheeks were turning pink. “So I’d just slow ya down.”

You took his hand into yours, “Well, I could teach you if you wanted. Just a warning though, you’re gonna fall on your butt a lot, might get a few bruises.”

Cater looked down at your entwined hands. Mittens and gloves separated your skin from touching one another, but Cater could swear that he could feel the sensation nonetheless through the layers of fabric.

“You would? Even if I pull you down with me?” 

The last question wasn’t just about the ice skating; Cater didn’t want to force you to do anything that you didn’t want to… and that included being his friend. His heart seemed to whisper stronger emotions though, but he didn’t want to ruin what the two of you had.

You walked him out to the ice, and the both of you swiftly fell down on the ice, hard. But you just laughed and got right back up again, “Well, we did just fall. There isn’t anything scary about falling down; yes it stings and might leave a gnarly bruise, but in order to move forward we have to fall and get back up. So yes, is what I guess I’m saying.”

Cater looked up at you, the sun illuminating you and the snow glittered behind you. You were holding your hand out again, waiting for him. And Cater took your hand. 

It took him a while to get the hang of it, and he fell down quite a bit, but every time he fell down you helped him back up. And by the time that the sun was setting in the west, the both of you were cold, and both were going to wake up tomorrow with some bruises. It was fun though, which is all that mattered… but that whisper in Cater’s heart was by now singing, and maybe he would listen to it, but for now, he was happy with how the way things were, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, especially with how much you had smiled today. Your smile and knowing that you had fun with him was enough.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tags; @eynnwwyjth, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @silvers-numberonefan, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

#twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #cater diamon #cater diamond x reader #cater diamond x gn reader #i decided to let you decide how reader feels about cater since it allows for various possibilities #also decided to go with cater since i only had the dorm headcanons with him; and he deserved his own drabble #i hope you like this when you get the chance to read it ryo ^v^ #thank you for your support; even if it does give me a mini stroke when you break my tumblr notifications #decided for spicy apple cider as its something i can see cater liking (not super sweet but still warm to keep you warm in the cold) #this is also a thank you for crashing a mutuals wedding and stopping a union; i used my writing as enticement to stop it <3 #let's see how the cater simps react to this; hoping you guys enjoy!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet One 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“So, what do you think?” Lloyd asks as he turns to you, outstretching his arms as he gestures to the endless hangers. “All yours. You got your pick.” 

You stand just inside the door of the walk-in closet. The space would take up at least half your apartment alone. You cross your arms as you glance along the rows of coloured fabric hung from the walls, organized in a perfect ombre effect of shades. On the far wall, there are shelves full of shoes and accessories, along with a vanity in the centre. 

“I know you’re a simple gal,” he grins, “but you don’t have to be anymore. Whatever you want, ain’t no mountain high enough and all that.” 

You nod and blow out between your lips. It all still feel surreal like a nightmare. You swallow and tamp down your discomfort. You didn’t hate the life you had. Your small apartment, manageable and tame. You prefer predictability, even if some might say it’s boring. 

“Erm, I dunno,” you slowly trail over to the other side of the closet. 

“Well, you could pick some shoes first. That might inspire you,” he suggests as he approaches you, “you don’t need to be too fancy, you know, you always look nice.” 

“Mm,” you nod,” thanks that’s...” 

You let the sentence hang. This is really freaking you out. Your chest feels tight and your head is buzzing. You shudder out a breath. 

“What... what am I choosing for?” You croak. 

“I told you, jellybean,” he puts his arm around you and pulls you against his side, “it’s a surprise.”  

He reaches to grab a hanger and holds it out at arm’s length. A blush-coloured satin dress with a bit of frill at the bottom of the skirt. It’s nothing you would choose yourself. 

“Sure, that’s nice,” you say, just to appease him. What else can you do? 

“Hm,” he hums, “you don’t like it?” 

“I didn’t say...” 

“You don’t sound very excited,” he pouts as he turns to you, his hand lingering on your hip, “none of it? I got it all for you.” 

“I’ll wear it,” you sniff, “I’m sorry, I’m just... I’m... adjusting.” 

You don’t know how else to explain it.  

He pushes his lower lip out and narrows his eyes, “sure, sure, makes sense.” He drags his hand off your hip and steps back, keeping the dress up as he angles it before you, as if he’s imagining you in it. “This is gonna look so hot, baby.” 

You do your best to stay placid. It’s harder as you heart pounds furiously. You can’t even begin to guess what he has planned but with everything he’s done and said, you know exactly what his intent is.  

“You should get washed up, huh? Then get dolled up. Like I said, won’t need much of that,” he winks, “you could walk in ass-naked and I’m sure you’d stun.” 

You can’t help how your mouth slants at his remark. 

“Alright, jellybean, let’s get you in the tub,” he lays the dress over the velvet bench and spins back, startling you as he grabs both hips and jerks you towards him with a growl, “can I watch? I promise, I’ll try not to touch. Yet.” 

You clasp onto his wrists with a yelp. He curls his lips eagerly and you repress your horror. You don’t want to antagonise. You don’t want him to get any worse than he is. 

“Um, did you want... to?” You murmur. 

“Fucking of course,” he urges you against him, “the things I want to do...” he smirks, “I’m quaking in my boots.” 

He bows to smother you with a kiss. His mustache pokes at your uper lip and up your nose as he hums and slides his tongue across your lips. You squeeze your mouth tightly shut but he pokes through, nearly choking you as he invades. You press your hands to his chest as he locks you into his embrace. 

Finally, he part and you gasp for breath. He snickers as you puff against him. Your skin is crawling as you wriggle in his hold. 

“Yum,” he purrs. 

He lets his arms fall away and quickly snags your hand. You let him drag you around to the door, your feet hollow as they move without a thought. Resistance is plainly not a choice. 

He takes you back into the adjoining bedroom, the one you awoke in, and through another door way against the perpendicular wall. He steps to the side as he tugs you forward and releases you. Your take in the sleek black walls and black tub, the silver shower head in a monochrome booth, and the ebon marble veined with sparkling white. 

“I get it, it’s going to take a lot of getting used to,” he boasts, “this is our home, sweet cheeks. Remember that. You treat it like your very own... it is. Just like me, all yours.” 

You pad slowly inside, if only to keep a distance from your captor. You won’t forget what he is. He can give you all the luxurious things but you remember the days of starvation, of terror. He can’t see himself for what he is but you do. 

“Face masks, body scrub, bath bomb, shower gel, bonnet, robe,” he points at the fluffy purple robe still around you, “slippers,” he flicks his finger towards the mat beside the door, “lotions, creams, everything you can dream of. Oh damn, I can call a nail tech if you want a fresh mani--” 

“Uh, no thanks,” ball up your fists, hiding your short-trimmed nails, “that’s not... that’s okay.” 

“Only the best for you, kitty cat,” he says. 

He strides forward and you flinch out of his way. He goes to the tub and cranks it on, water splashing out from the high faucet. He flips the silver lever to put the stopper in place and backs up. 

“Voila, all for you,” he declares, “I’ll just...” he looks around and backs up to sit on the fluffy cushioned stools near the wall, “sit and watch. If you need help getting your back, I got you.” 

He wiggles his fingers and gives a lecherous grin. You withhold a shudder and face the basin, the water battering the bottom. You step forward and peer down into the shallows. You clutch the front of the robe and peek over in his direction but not at him. 

He waits, silently. You sway, squeezing the fluffy fabric as you peer back at the water. You don’t know if you can do it. Not with him right there. 

“Whatsa matter, baby, you need help?” He shifts and you jolt.  

“N-no, I just...” you look down at yourself and frown. 

“Ah, you’re shy. I totally get it,” he coos, “you don’t gotta be though. Your beautiful, so you should be proud. Show it off, honey.” He clucks and shakes his head, “you know that’s the thing these days, all you girls, you’re so insecure, but you trust me, sweet lips, you got nothing to be insecure about.” 

Your stomach flips. You feel hazy. You try to shrug it off and drop your hands to the belt of the rob. You untie it. You’re really going to do this. Why? 

Because you’re afraid? Weak? Yep. 

You shed the rob and look around. You hang it on the hook behind the door and return to the tub. It’s getting deeper and deeper. You touch the bottom of your shirt and scrunch it up in your fists. Just do it quickly and get in. He can only see so much from over there. 

You pull your shirt off, nothing underneath. You push your pants down quickly, your underwear rolling down inside. The skin feels cooler then and tingles across your naked skin as you latch onto the tub and swing yourself over the edge. You barely get a foot under you before you submerge your body in the water. 

You sit up, legs bent, stiff on the porcelain as the water continues to rise. It’s not quite at your chest yet. If you let it fill all the way, it might touch your chin. As you watch the depth climb, you don’t notice him until he closes. You slide to the back of the tub as Lloyd cranks off the faucet. 

You notice how his eyes stray to you. Your legs stay bent in front of you, blocking most of everything. You shrink down, hunching your shoulders as he searches through the ripples. He tilts his head and cracks his neck as he exhales and backs away. 

“Take your time, baby,” he purrs as he rubs his chest. 

He sits again and you lower your head. You’ve never been this bare in front of anyone, rarely even yourself. You’re just not comfortable without some short of shield around you. Your eyes tinge with the threat of tears. You feel like you’ve been hit across the face. This is real. Really real. 

Your eyes flick up and you reach for the purple scrubby on the little black shelf. You just have to get through it. That’s what you’ve always done. 

👄

You stare into the open case. You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the concept of make-up. When you were a teen, you had a phase, and you’ve been to enough job interviews to wield a mascara wand. Still, the amount seems excess. 

There’s almost every sort of product in every shade. Some sort of tap you don’t know what to do with, highlighter, and finishing spray. It’s too much. Your look is either a bare face or nothing at all. More often the former. 

You fidget with a tube of lipstick, clicking the lid up and down. This is all so strange. What are you getting ready for? And why? This isn’t your home, this isn’t your life, and yet it’s all so perfectly planned. 

“Honey bunnnnnn,” Lloyd’s timbre has you dropping the stick. He strides in, flustered, holding up two ties. He’s half dressed. A pair of red velvet pants and amber satin button up. It’s not a look you would go for. “What do ya think? Which tie? Paisley or the stripes?” 

You shrug and shake your head. 

He clicks his tongue, “genius, baby, genius. No tie. You’re right. Just the jacket.” 

Your mouth falls open and you nod, “sure, yeah.” 

You look back at the vanity and huff. Your face is untouched. You sit in your robe in the walk-in closet, mulling over your misery. Self-pity is as inescapable as these walls. 

“What’s up, cheeks?” He asks, “you need some help? I’m thinking you could give a bit more colour to lips but keep the rest very subtle.” 

He crosses the floor and hovers behind you. You stir around in the case and take out two bottles of foundation. You’ve never really used that either but the shades are pretty close. He lays the ties down on the vanity, brushing your back as he does, and pulls back to grip your shoulders. 

“I tried to guess as best I could. Don’t know much about all that but the lady in the store was a blessing,” he massages your shoulders as he talks. You’re tense as steel. “But you know, you got perfect skin so...” 

“Mm,” you put the foundation back and peruse the little shelf alongside the mirror. You reach for the moisturizer. Your skin feels raw.  

“I like it, au natural. Touch of cream, little lash...” 

“I’ll figure it out,” you grumble. He’s kind of annoying. No, he’s really annoying. All of this is annoying. 

“Right, yep, I will get out of your way,” he bends and kisses the crown of your head, “lots of time.” 

He strolls out and you scowl at the mirror. Something about him is getting to you. You’re not an angry person. You’re a nice person. You don’t go out of your way to be around others but when you are, you strive to be pleasant. Or at least, out of the way. 

You spread the cream over your face, watching your reflection as if it’s someone else. Where did he come from? Why? This is some cruel trick because you only ever wanted to mind your business. 

You cap the bottle and put the moisturizer back. You fish out a mascara stick and brush it on your lashes then find a neutral lip colour to put on. Nothing special, just like you. Hopefully he sees that soon enough. 

You pack away the case and push it to the back of the vanity. You get up and go to the velvet bench where the dress lays. He’s plucked out a few things to go with it. A gold necklace with small diamonds speckled along it and a pair of beige heels.  

You peek at the door before you untie the robe. You shiver as your fingers brush your stomach. You close your eyes as you recall how he wrapped you up in a towel after your bath. His touches were more than deliberate but his intrusive gaze made you squirm more. 

You pull on the lingerie tucked under the dress. A thong. You’ve never worn one of those, and a satin and lace bra with no padding. Even as you pull the dress up your figure, you feel like you’re on display. You reach back, bending your arm until your elbow throbs as you push the zipper up. 

“Need some help?” Lloyd’s voice makes you wince. 

You sniff, “sure.” 

You hold up the bodice as he approaches. You refuse to look back at him as he nears. He tickles along your spine with a single finger before he tugs on the zipper. He pulls it up little by little, until the fabric is snug around you. His fingertips drift down your back and he spreads his hands across your ass. You gasp. 

Before you can step away, his hands glide around and he grabs you by the hips. He pulls you against him and rocks with you. He inhales your scent from above and sighs. 

“Jellybean...” he almost sings, “are you...untouched?” 

You lock up and grab at his hands, trying to free yourself. 

“Is that why you’re so shy?” He snickers and spins you around, hands going to your waits, “I’m honoured to be your first.” 

You gape at him, horrified. His intent hasn’t been hard to guess but said aloud, it is all too imminent. 

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #the gray man #the quiet ones

[thatdeadaquarius]

it's almost 4am i can't get this out of my head holy shit.

reader whose original body is a literal eldritch forest deity and speaks in hymns (bonus points: after we isekai into said og body, we mix slang into it).

the acolytes have to break their fucking necks just to talk to you eye-to-eye, and the only thing they can make out of what you say is something equal to tablets bajillion years old already.

or that reader is constantly cussing and the acolytes just nod along not understanding whatever this 15ft tall eldritch horror is saying.

-🫀

ELDRITCH HORROR READER. I LIVEEE, NONE OF U UNDERSTAND, THIS IS SO DEEPLY AHHHHHH

I LITERALLY JUST SHIMMY STIM IN MY SEAT WHEN I THINK ABT THIS TOO LONG LMAO

i LIVE AND BREATHE for when we look like eldritch horrors but are just people lmao

IF I HAVEN’T RUN U OFF, 🫀 MY HEART, MI CORAZON <3

U HAVE A BEAUTIFUL MIND DESPITE BEING A BLOODY HEART

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them only), Eldritch!Reader

Planet: Misc. Genshin AUs

Orbit: some headcanons, tiny scenario

Stars: a little bit of Zhongli, Xiao, Ganyu, Ningguang, Keqing, and the adepti

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Light Description of Body Modifications/Body Horror-esque, Light Description of Eldritch Horror Creature, Reader has a Non-Human Body,

& Trigger Warnings: Eldritch Monster, Light Body Horror, Non-Con Body Modifications (Wake up as a monster, described as positive).

FUCKING LOVE THIS GIF, AND THIS SONG AND ARTISTTT

hey so here’s a song to listen I was listening to while writing this, chose the instrumental bc it was less distracting!

👉👈 hope u like :)

you just come into Teyvat from either Enkanomiya, the straight up Abyss/Dark Realm or even Celestia/Light Realmunder that glowing mushrooms tree in the Chasm, or like, ooo even by the upside down Barbatos statue 👀

and its great bc ur like- “omg Teyvat ooooo, ahhhh”

meanwhile the animals/magical creatures/beings nearby like shakin in their boots

literally no matter what land type their in, water, air, etc. they’re all bowing (despite the hooves, the paws, the flippers, the wings,) hell, even the bugs?? Might be bowing???

and you were slow to wake up wherever you were, so it took you a second to really process-

plus it just felt so weirdly, natural?

Not like walking on 2 legs no, but more like, how swimming feels but without the act of doing it?

you realize you’re… hovering.

wow, guess you can do that now,

your pretty much crowned with every flower from the regions of Teyvat, and a few from other Realms like Celestia, Abyss, and Enkanomiya, etc.

you have extra limbs, you feel them shift like you’ve had them all your life, even tho you do smack urself a few times with them lmao (new hand-eye coordination is hard)

and you realize u can see elemental traces/elements of beings, even plants, all the time now?

It isn’t until you look into a pretty still pond that you see what you look like,

you’ve got more eyes

I mean u thought you’d just be one of the twins, or ur own person if somebody asked u what youd look like isekaied to Genshin Impact, not what looks like the elemental god of the fucking continent

but you don’t look bad! actually you think you look kinda neat!

You’ve got like this coat of many draping vines and plantlife, glowing coral poking out near the top that’s around your throat, and- is that- tiny waterfalls?? Running down your nature cape too??

the many gemstones and ore of this planet form your legs, strong and taller than even regular human guys back on Earth, you’re like what? Eight? Nine feet? (about 245cm, or 2.5 meters)

You’re head… it’s like a dragons skull?? You’ve got these black horns flowing out from the top too that fade to a golden glow, like a crown nearly, theyre draped with what looks like strings of primogems??

oh and your extra eyes are symmetrical that’s good!

tho it does seem like you got this handy hood included into your cape of much nature to flop onto your head

where your heart should be, there’s two bursting stars circling one another, one of pink, purples and light blues, the other of gold and blue, oh hey, the wishing stars for standard and character banners!

and if you like mushrooms, at least one of every kind in Teyvat’s countries/regions is looking cool on ur cape, and if you like bugs, the cool ones like the rhino beetles from inazuma are being cute little buddies on ur stuff too

and like in the gif, every step you take overfills with life, except it stays and doesn’t wither like above, and it also does that glow bit that some places in Sumeru do/Enkanomiya

You CANNOT be missed no matter where you walk, and your sort of constantly feeling like you’ve drank 3 energy + 5 espresso shots of coffee

but in a way that makes you sort of full? like full on life… and like you could be even bigger, and taller, if you willed it

♤

k but the adepti felt ur presence coming in hot from literal mountains away

Cloud Retainter, and Guizhong, had set up inventions long ago to sense the Original of Teyvat, just in case, because some signs of prophecy of your return had begun to show in their lands

Zhongli especially knew you were close to come after another major sign was met, the corruption after the Archon War, and the ravaging of the land by the fall of Khaenri’ah’s “metal beasts”

So when you finally walk your way into Jueyun Karst, the adepti are already waiting, Xiao, Ganyu, and Zhongli as well,

Luckily Ganyu, with Zhongli’s help or advice, convinced the adepti to share this meeting with the Qixing as well like Keqing, and the Tianquan herself

It was a momentous occasion after all, but you were just now feeling the need to maybe nap a little after nearly, what was it, 2 weeks worth of constant walking?

wow this new body had literal stamina for days

you arrived late into the night, around midnight, under a full moon, and they’re relieved all the signs are being met

◇

honestly the only reason you headed to Liyue was bc you knew it was the closest (the map of Teyvat was both familiar in the way it had been in game, but also on a deeper level, like walking around your house in the dark)

and u rlly wanted to be able to talk to somebody, bc u had no idea?? wtf you were??

honestly you thought the adepti/Zhongli would be a good bet bc they’d maybe tell u what creature u ended up as,

u did suspect maybe you’d ended up as some kind of god, but like?? none of the other gods looked like this???

and u see them all! up ahead in Jueyun Karst! Oh no! You really, really, really, hope they don’t think you’re a walking talking evil tree dragon thing-

…maybe you should wave?

◇

As you get closer,

Xiao’s back straigtens, Ganyu nervously looks at the ground, Keqing is trying to figure out where to look bc ur so tall, Ningguang has her hands respectfully folded in front of her and her facial muscles looks tensed for a fight almost, the adepti are shuffling nervously bc they’re not used to being the magically weaker/younger creatures in the area, and Zhongli-

Zhongli is no longer the mortal Zhongli.

Amber horns curl up from his head, long brunette hair with glowing gold tips flowing and loose, claws on display, as he stands in his finest and oldest lóng páo, black with gold detailing embroidered throughout, it details his deeds as Rex Lapis and Morax, the spears of his vanquishing gods across the front and back, he looks like a living painting

and although he looks as serene as if he’s about to sit down for some tea, the adepti can see the tremoring hands, the same he used to hide in his sleeves when he was genuinely intimidated by another god, usually the older ones he’d had to fight

but for the first time since the archon war, this was one he was going to welcome with open arms, and utmost respect, despite his position as archon forfeited

there’s a strange music in the air of the night as the animals and the bugs and creatures of the realm subtly make the beat, the god’s feet (of ore Rex Lapis hasn’t seen since he was a child, it was so rare to find) shake the earth of his land with each step, a deep quiet booming like a drum of war as they get closer

The God of All stops some distance away from them

…and the Huangdi of All, just waves. 💀👋

at Zhongli, the adepti, Xiao, the Tianquan, and the Qixing.

A long black limb with a rainbow shine like a crow’s wing raises, gives an ironically tiny wave of their clawed black hand,

and tilts their head, though a sort of greenery hood covering it

and speaks,

“ ˙˙˙ʎzɐɹɔ sı ʇıɥs sıɥʇ ¿ʍou ʇɥƃıɹ ɯɐ ı ʞɔnɟ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʍ ʍouʞ sʎnƃ noʎ op uɯɐp”

your voice is like singing, deep, high, like a choir trying to sing all at once to them

Xiao cringes a little in surprise, he was braced for your older speech just in case but it still caught him off guard, and unfortunatly, he gives a quick glance to Lord Rex Lapis,

he can’t understand any of that, and Ganyu and Keqing are in the same boat, but while the Yaksha’s only done passive studying in hopes of understanding you, the Lord of Geo had gone much further back in trying to make sure he could understand your words, should the day come, his library, even now living as a mortal, is extensive

the other adepti and Ningguang catch a few words, but it’s too,, simple really, to understand

the words have no context, they need more, but such is the ancients, they’re meanings simple and all-encompassing

Lord Rex Lapis bows deeply,

“We welcome you with open arms, our Huangdi. Please, feast your eyes upon the land with which I have wrought with mine own talons, for all is ever truly yours.”

the adepti announces for them all, voice giving away no nerves, Xiao can still understand him luckily, though he has greatly simplified himself for the sake of being understood by the ancient god of creation,

“ ˙˙˙ʞɔıʇs ɐ uo ʇsıɹɥɔ snsǝɾ ¡¿ılƃuoɥz noʎ uǝʌǝ ¿noʎ oʇ poƃ ɟo puıʞ ǝɯos ɯ,ı 'ǝʇnuıɯ uɯɐp ɐ ʇıɐʍ”

your voice is an energy through the air, and makes the trees nearby lean in to hear you better, the creeks and ponds of the area leave their beds a little to get closer, geo crystalflys emerge and begin to swirl around your natural body, perching on your horns, making it look even more like a crown

Xiao gulps.

Rex Lapis’ and Ningguang’s spines straighten further if they even can from the impeccable posture they were before, They share a quick glance…

…neither of them caught that one, only a few words, and Ganyu feels her shoulders drop as she gives up trying to hear you and understand as well,

you make a strange sound, a high humming, a deep confusion with some worry, the crystalflys buzz around you a little faster,

then point to yourself

...and make a peace sign. ✌️

it was going to be a long night.

☆

idk if this made any sense, and I sincerely hope that you at least liked what I wrote a little bit, sorry about the over description 😭 I just felt like it was very important but then I realized I hadn’t even talked about the language yet… anyway here u go LMAO

I hope it was alright, and I seriously love your idea, even if I didn’t take it in the direction you wanted/as cool as you meant!! :/

Thanks for the badass idea, i fucking love eldritch shit <3

☆

Safe Travels,

💀 ♒

♡my beloved♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk

#this is a mess to sort on the masterlist #like language barrier au? #but also kinda blunt? #but also misc. bc ur an eldritch being?? #fuck it #its goin in 2 spots like some of the others that got confusing #genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin imagines #genshin isekai #my asks #gender neutral reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact self aware #genshin impact sagau language barrier au #genshin sagau language barrier au #sagau language barrier au #sagau eldritch reader #eldritch reader #genshin impact x reader #sagau x reader

[happiest-hotch]

i think you did one of there with spencer and it was cute so i was wondering if you'd write one for aaron, a full fic or blurb where Aaron guesses she (his gf) is pregnant before she guesses? thanks in advance

i'm glad you liked it !! it's the type of scene i love writing

Summary: basically as above, but they are married

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader (Fluff)

Content Warning: pregnancy (obviously)

Word Count: 1.5k

It's a quiet day at the BAU, and you and Aaron are in his office, having lunch together on the rare occasion you're not out on a case, there aren't any urgent consults, and he doesn't have a meeting.

He starts smirking when you complain about there not being enough pickles in your burger.

"What?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at his sudden change in demeanor.

He leans back in his chair, his hands clasping behind his head. "I don't know, honey. You've been acting kind of strange lately. Do you think it's possible that you're pregnant?"

You roll your eyes, playfully kicking him under the desk. "Haha, very funny, Aaron. You better watch your mouth." You say jokingly.

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'm teasing, but if I'd take a bet on it. Seriously, you've been craving some weird foods lately, and if I was dumber, I'd say you were having some mood swings. Maybe you should take a test, just in case."

You shake your head, laughing at his persistence. "I highly doubt it. You know, with the birth control and all that? And you know it's a bad idea to offer me a bet." It might have been why he did it because you're both insanely competitive.

"Why don't we up the stakes?" He offers, the signature smirk that only you're privileged to lighting up his face.

You grin mischievously at him. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, you know how the team bet on if we were dating?" He asks and you nod. "Let's include them. Only if you're comfortable." He's only joking, and you're so sure he's off the mark.

"A chance to show to prove your profiling skills wrong?" You ask with a giggle. "Derek would kill me if I didn't take it."

"You're on," Aaron says, holding out a hand to shake yours and make it official. "But when I'm right, you owe me."

You chuckle again. "Yeah? What will I owe you?"

He grins, his nose scrunching adorably as he thinks. "I'll get back to you about that."

You notice the team walking back in from lunch. "Let's do it."

Aaron and you walk out onto the landing, and he makes his announcement. "Conference room, everyone."

They look at you both with a high level of concern written on their faces, scurrying like something urgent has happened which, due to the nature of your jobs, is reasonable. "Don't use your Unit Chief voice." You scold, hitting him on the shoulder. "And don't even think about bullying anyone into agreeing with you."

"Deal, but you can't make it seem offensive for them to bet against you." He instructs.

"I won't." He assures you, placing a hand on your lower back and guiding you to the boardroom.

Penelope's jumpy when you two walk in and stand in front of the screen, not doing as well as everyone else to hide her worry. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." You tell them all quickly, but it's a message to Aaron as well: that although you're sure he's wrong, it wouldn't be a bad thing.

"Y/n's pregnant," Aaron announces.

You hit him on the shoulder, quickly speaking before everyone jumps up to hug you and offer congratulations. "That's just what he thinks." You say.

Even Spencer had a puzzled look, but Derek verbalizes their thoughts. "What?"

"We're betting," Aaron explains. "I think she's pregnant, she thinks she's not, so like you all bet on whether we were dating or not, we thought you might like to bet on this."

For everyone who has known him longer than you have, it's astonishing to see Aaron so open with his personal life, but you bring the playful side out in him.

The bets are in, more in favor of you, although the doctor of the team bets against you which is a little worrying. Of course, Spencer isn't a medical doctor, but he knows more about pregnancy than even JJ, who has been pregnant.

"So when do we get the results?" Derek wonders.

"Right now?" You offer. "Well as soon as I go get a test."

Aaron shakes his head beside you. "No, no way. I want it to be just us because it's going to be a special moment."

You roll your eyes at him. "Okay, but you're not coming in the bathroom while I pee on a stick." You inform him.

"We'll see." He settles, looking at you fondly before dropping the smile reserved for you when he looks back at the team. "Let's get back to work."

Aaron stops at a drug store on the way home, determined and cemented in his position as he buys three boxes of pregnancy tests.

"I don't have enough pee for all of these." You inform him when you're getting ready for bed that night.

He opens each of the boxes, handing you one of each. "Get your cute butt in there." He directs.

"I'm not taking this for you." You remind him with a smirk. "I'm taking it to prove you wrong."

"So, for me then?" He jokes, chuckling at you.

You're not really sure why you are taking the test. Of course, it's gotten to be a bigger idea with the team's involvement, but now that you're doing it, you're kind of hoping you lose. The excitement engulfing you is a shock, but it's so unlikely that you don't want to give in to the delusion.

"Are you okay?" Aaron taps on the door after you've been in there more than a reasonable amount of time.

You open the door, trying to keep a calm facade, and welcome him in, handing over the capped tests and sitting on the counter.

"You actually want this, don't you?" He profiles within a second.

It's an annoying trait of his when it shows up in your personal life, but sometimes you are glad since you're feeling like you don't have all the words. "It just threw me." You admit. "I didn't realize that I do feel ready until today."

His face drops in an instant, guilt sinking in. "I'm sorry I pushed so hard." He says very apologetically, a hand going to his forehead. "And I got the team involved."

"It's alright." You soothe, taking his hand in yours. "It's not like we can't just make a baby once we know."

Aaron nods, a cheeky smile taking over his face. "I'll give you a baby if that's the prize you want for winning the bet."

"Did you figure out what you want?" You wonder. "If you're right."

He thinks about it for another moment. "Baby or not, I can't think of anything else I need in life." His hand rests on your thigh delicately. "Ready to look?"

You shake your head, the nerves overwhelming you. "Let's not bother. We can go not knowing."

Aaron chuckles, shaking his head. "We both know we can't." He doesn't give you much more of a choice, figuratively tearing the bandaid off as he flips over the test. He's usually so good at keeping his face neutral, having had years of practice, but he doesn't. Not in your tender moment where his eyes go glassy, and he grins broadly. "Mrs. Hotchner, congratulations, you're pregnant."

"Oh, my god." Your hand clamps over your mouth in shock, but you quickly tear it away to take the test from him, needing to see it to believe it. "We're going to have a baby?"

"Yes, we are." He answers.

"I can't believe you realized before I did." You chuckle. Without a doubt, it's going to become a story that frequently gets retold.

Aaron leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His warm hand rests on your lower stomach, and it suddenly feels very real. "I know you that well." He reminds you. "But I will still be collecting my betting money."

You giggle at him. "I would."

It's probably clear to the team when you and Aaron are late for work, the team likely assuming you're at the doctor's office. The team is already waiting in the conference room, Rossi waving you two in.

"So, who won?" JJ wonders, struggling to curb her enthusiasm.

You share a quick smile with your husband that no one can decipher if you're gloating about winning. "Fortunately... Aaron." You inform them.

Penelope grabs you in a hug first, and you're sure she's crying. Then you're passed around the team for more hugs, sharing delighted looks with Aaron between receiving congratulations.

He's the last person to wrap you in a hug, holding you tightly to his chest. "You're so incredible." He whispers to you. "And I was thinking we could get lobster rolls with my prize money for dinner."

You quickly pull back, shaking your head. "That thought makes me feel nauseous."

His mouth drops before he quickly recovers. "Alright, pickles it is."

You're in your own little world with him until Derek gets your attention. "So, when do we get to bet if it's a boy or girl?"

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds family #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner angst

[serasvictoria]

Title: The Boy Is Mine (Mar’s edition)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: A romantic night in doesn’t go exactly as Eddie had planned.

Word Count: 3.312

Warnings: Established relationship. Insecure Eddie. Hurt/comfort.

Notes: Written for @carolmunson’s The Boy Is Mine Writing Challenge (you can find the rules here). Super late entry and it feels like I’ve been working on this for months, but it’s only been about two and a half weeks. Anyway. Here it is.

At least I can finally read the other entries now so that’s the rest of my weekend sorted.

Not beta-read so if you find any mistakes… those are all mine.

“I’ll take care of everything,” Eddie promised you the night before. “You can just put your feet up, or on me if you want, and I’ll obey your every command. I am but your humble servant.”

It had been one month since you had moved in together and Eddie had insisted on doing this for you since he felt that he had been difficult to live with. Naturally you had disagreed with that assessment, but he had been adamant.

Every time that you walked into the bathroom and he had left the toilet seat up, he would apologize like it was the worst thing in the world. It didn’t matter that you kept telling him that you didn’t mind and that it was no trouble at all, he’d still apologize and dart around you to right the wrong.

Same thing happened when you found the odd sock in a place that wasn’t the laundry basket. Or when Eddie hadn’t used a coaster.

Ridiculous and tiny things that were easily overlooked and ignored. Nothing that would be able to ruin your day so you never called him out on these things, because you genuinely didn’t mind. It didn’t stop him from insisting that he was an awful boyfriend and promising to do better though.

Sure, living with Eddie provided some challenges, which was more down to this still being very new to both of you, but nowhere near as many as he himself seemed to think.

For now, you were eager to find out what he had in store for you. Eddie had been incredibly secretive about it and had offered up no clues whatsoever. The only things that he had said were that it was going to be cheesily romantic and that he would surprise you.

You had been looking forward to it the entire day and were positively buzzing as you parked your car next to his van. Work had been hectic this past week and you had been fast asleep at around eight every single evening.

Thankfully today had been relatively quiet so you had been able to leave early. Maybe you should have called to let him know, but you had completely forgotten in your excitement.

When you got out of the car, you could already hear Eddie swearing inside the trailer. The volume only increased the closer that you got and you could only silently apologize to your poor neighbors.

It made you giggle to hear him swear like a docker on the other side of the door. You could only guess as to why it was, but still tried to keep your face as passive as possible when you finally opened the door to see what lay within.

Nothing could prepare you for what was on the other side however.

The kitchen looked like a bomb had exploded in it and Eddie was standing right in the middle of the chaos with a pink flowery apron that had once belonged to your grandmother over his usual black outfit. It looked both ridiculous and endearing.

There were eggshells on the counter and the contents of said eggs were dripping down it. There were white footprints on the floor, because your boyfriend must have stepped in what you assumed (and hoped) was flour. And then there were the white globs of something that looked like frosting that were everywhere, including in his hair.

“Eddie?” Upon hearing your voice, he turned around with a horrified expression on his face since you had caught him in the act. The spoon that was in his hand clattered to the floor loudly. Whatever was on it spattered onto the floor and also left debris on his socks and his jeans. You covered your mouth with your hand to stifle a laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Oh fuck.” Eddie rubbed his hands on the apron, leaving white smudges in its wake. “I thought I had another hour at least.”

Very calmly, you took off your shoes and hung your coat and bag on a peg near the door before walking closer to survey the mess that your boyfriend had made. Somehow it was even worse up close and that was saying something.

There was a mixing bowl on the counter, which seemed to be the source of the mess, with a hand mixer next to it. You could picture him using the highest setting only to have the contents end up all over the place.

“I got to hand it to you, I’m definitely surprised,” you eventually managed to get out whilst desperately trying to suppress your giggles.

“But not exactly in the right way,” he admitted as he rubbed the back of his neck. “In my head, you would come home after I cleaned everything, with the table set all fancy, so many lit candles that it would be a fire hazard and with some sappy record playing.”

“That does sound nice.” There were paper molds with batter in them right behind Eddie, which he was unsuccessfully trying to block from view. “Shame that I got home a bit earlier.”

“You could always leave and pretend that you’ve never seen this.” That’s what finally makes you laugh and since you had been holding back for a while, it didn’t take long for your eyes to well up with happy tears. It made him crack a smile, too. “Which you’re obviously not going to do.”

“Course not,” you replied as you wiped your eyes. “And honestly, as much as I appreciate this,” you gestured around the messy kitchen and then at Eddie himself, “you need to take a shower.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna-“

“No,” you interjected simply and when it looked like Eddie was going to argue, you simply pressed your pointer finger on his lips to ensure that he kept silent. “No.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he mumbled against your finger. “This was supposed to be about you.”

“And I love it.” You pressed a kiss to his frosting stained cheek and could taste the vanilla. When you pulled away, his thumb wiped over your lips to clear the residue that was stuck to it away before sticking it into his mouth. “But I also like you clean and you are, and I’m sorry for saying this, a mess right now.”

“Thought you liked that,” he retorted with an accompanying wiggle of his eyebrows.

“I do yeah, but not when you’re covered in raw eggs, flour, cake batter and frosting.”

“Okay, okay, point taken,” he sighed deeply as he held his hands up to indicate that he was going to let it go. For now. “But I could always leave some of the edible bits on so you could lick them off later though,” he added with a wide and naughty grin.

“Absolutely not.” You pushed him out of the kitchen and in the direction of the bathroom. “If you want me to eat stuff off you, buy some Cool Whip.”

“Kinky!” Eddie laughed when your hand came down on his ass to give it a firm squeeze before he rounded the corner. “I’m not forgetting about that by the way,” he called out before closing the door behind him.

“Didn’t think you would,” you answered.

Part of you already knew that he’d run out to buy some the next morning and that at one point during the day you would end up finding him in the bedroom with the stuff lathered all over himself. You made a mental note to remember to put either a towel or a box of tissues in the bedroom tomorrow just in case, because you had a feeling that things could get messy.

But that was a problem for later. You had to deal with something else right now.

The kitchen was such a mess that you barely even knew where to begin, but the first thing that your eye fell on was a small notebook, one that Eddie always had on him, folded open to a page with a recipe that was written in handwriting that was much nicer than Eddie’s was, not to mention legible.

Chocolate cupcakes with vanilla buttercream frosting.

His little notebook was a closely guarded secret, something that your mortal eyes would not be able to comprehend (his words right before he had shielded it from you by holding a throw pillow in front of it). He used it to jot down notes for D&D campaigns, ideas that he got for lyrics, or whatever else that came to mind that he judged important enough to write down, so the fact that he used it for a recipe that he had procured for you was pretty meaningful.

This was quite possibly the sweetest thing that he had ever done, going through all this trouble for you by doing something that was completely alien to him, since he didn’t think that he was much of a cook. It wasn’t that he didn’t do it, it’s just that his repertoire seemed to be limited to heating up canned foods.

Lost in thought, you had barely even scratched the surface in concerns of the mess that Eddie had made, only managing to put several things in the sink and getting rid of the eggshells, when he reappeared again in a pair of black sweatpants with an old Iron Maiden shirt. If it wasn't for his wet hair, which was soaking the fabric of his shirt, you might have been inclined to think that he hadn’t washed himself at all.

“Did you just stick your head under the tap?”

“No. I took a shower, just like you asked.” He stepped in close enough so that you could smell the soap on his skin. “I just didn’t want you to clean my mess.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You always say that,” he groaned with obvious frustration. “Just let me do it.”

“We can do it together.” You held out a wet cloth to him, which he was eying reluctantly, simply because he felt that you weren’t supposed to help clean up the mess that he had made. “Is that a good compromise?”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’ for emphasis. “I insist.”

“So I basically have no choice.”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay, whatever.” Seeing that he had lost the discussion, he admitted defeat and finally took the cloth from your hands. “Help me clean then.”

Cleaning together was a lot faster than if he had gone at it alone and before you knew it, all the surfaces were wiped clean, the dishes had been done and were drying in the dish rack, and most importantly of all, the cupcakes were finally in the oven.

“See? That didn’t take too long, now did it?”

“You weren’t supposed to help though.”

That much was kind of made clear to you while the two of you were cleaning. There were little looks that Eddie threw in your direction, whenever he seemed to think that you weren’t looking, that seemed to indicate that he was less than pleased with your help. His expressions were also somewhat… pained at times? It didn’t make a lot of sense and only made you think about why he was even acting like this to begin with.

“I genuinely don’t mind. I wasn’t going to sit and watch you clean, you know that.” You took his hand, pulled him along in the direction of the couch and gestured at him to sit. “Now. What’s this about anyway?”

“What do you mean?” Eddie immediately started fidgeting, even more so than usual, and his leg started bouncing anxiously. “I was trying to do something nice for you.”

Something was obviously bothering him. It’s not that you didn’t appreciate that he had done all this, because you really really did but there was a reason behind this and you’d keep picking at him all night if you had to.

“Excellent deflecting. I’ll get it out of you somehow,” you replied with certainty.

Leaving him on the couch, you stepped back into the kitchen to check the oven and to get something to drink. Eddie had even splurged on the soda by buying something that wasn’t store brand and therefore cheaper. It was amazing how he had managed to plan all of this without giving anything away.

“We appear to have run out of nice cups.” Instead you held up a red plastic cup that you found earlier in one of the cupboards. “So is this okay?”

“We don’t have any nice cups,” he replied without missing a beat.

“How dare you,” you clutched at your chest, pretending to be aghast at his statement. “That Star Wars cup is the best thing that we own.”

“Oh yeah, of course it is.” He rolled his eyes when you mentioned your favorite cup. You were always waving it in his face whenever you needed a quick laugh. “You’re just saying that because you have a thing for Han Solo.”

“You’re just jealous that they didn’t have one with Leia on it.” You handed him his drink and settled in next to him on the couch. Nudging your shoulder into him, you asked, “Now, tell me, why did you do all this?”

“Is it a crime to want to do something nice for you?”

“No, of course it’s n-”

“So why are you interrogating me?”

“Because I know you.” 

Eddie avoided your gaze and ran a hand down his face, because of course you’d be able to tell. He knew that he should have thought up some convincing excuse beforehand, but it was too late for that now and the chances that he’d successfully make up something on the fly were practically nonexistent.

Silence fell and for a second there, you thought that he wouldn’t tell you at all, that he would end up brushing it off, as if he was embarrassed to tell you the real reason, which was simply ridiculous. So what was it?

“I wanted to impress you,” he finally admitted softly and pulled you out of your train of thought. “Just once.”

His confession bewildered you and you genuinely didn’t know what to say. You had no idea that he had even felt this way, but you obviously needed to mend this situation since your actions seemed to have inadvertently caused this.

You liked taking care of Eddie, perhaps a little bit too much, and it seemed to have caused him to think that you didn’t need his help at all, which couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

“Eddie, that’s not- hey, look at me.” You cupped his face with your hands until his sad eyes, which were usually filled with so much warmth, finally focused back on you. “I’m already impressed.”

“You’re always looking after me, but I don’t do much,” he sighed dejectedly. “And I’m like the worst cook ever.”

"Aw, don't be like that. That’s not even true," you declared. “Your cooking is fine.”

“Don’t lie.”

“No one can make SpaghettiOs better than you can.”

“Ha, ha.” He tried to sound annoyed, but missed the mark completely when he (accidentally) laughed in earnest. It made him clear his throat in a very poor attempt to hide it. “Very funny.”

“Still made you laugh.” You poked a finger into one of his dimples until he jerked his head away with an even bigger grin than before. “I always like it when you make me breakfast.”

“That’s nothing special,” he shrugged. “Just buttered toast and fruit juice.”

“So? I like it just fine.” Seeing him act so dejectedly over feeling inadequate was breaking your heart and you felt like an idiot for never noticing it before. “Just take the compliment, please. You do enough. Trust me.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“You want me to give examples? Okay, how about when my car broke down and you dropped everything to come pick me up.” It was the first example that came to mind and you could see a spark of amusement in his eyes when you reminded him. “Dustin wouldn’t talk to me for about a week because I ruined your D&D night.”

“The little shit only forgave you when I threatened to kill off his bard,” he laughed. “As if I was going to leave my girl at some seedy gas station in the middle of the night.”

“It was nine, still light out, and mister Jenkins was fine with me hanging out with him until the tow truck showed up.”

“Of course he was fine with it. Have you seen you?” His hand came down on your thigh, giving you a soft squeeze, since the sheer memory of that night ignited a spark of possessiveness inside him. “I don’t trust him.”

“The man’s at least seventy, Eddie!”

“So?” He said very matter of factly, as if it made perfect sense for Eddie to act so territorial around someone that posed no threat whatsoever. “He’s still a guy and I didn’t like how he was looking at you when I got there.”

“Oh yeah? You’d beat up an old man to defend my honor?”

“Babe, I would beat anyone up to defend your honor.”

“And that’s how you take care of me,” you replied resolutely, because he had just proven your point. “You’d take on the whole world for me.”

“I have to. You’re my girl.” Hearing those words were enough to make your heart swell about three sizes in your chest and you managed to catch him off guard when you pressed your lips against his for a quick kiss. “What was that for?”

“For being you,” you sighed contentedly as you rested your head against his shoulder. “That’s why I love you.”

“I love you too.” He put his arm around you and attempted to pull you even closer into his side. “Let me try this again. How about a romantic evening with me, your loving boyfriend, while I fully intend to feed you the cupcakes that I made all by myself, and maybe then we can watch a movie?”

“What movie?”

He pressed his lips into your hairline, suddenly embarrassed, and mumbled, “A Room with a View.”

“Really?” It made you pull away from him, wide eyed and excited, so you could see his face and found that he was dead serious. “You didn’t!” you exclaimed in surprise. 

“I did,” he confirmed. “You should have seen Harrington’s face.”

“It’s not really your kind of movie.” Eddie’s taste in movies was fairly unique to put it mildly. He had a penchant for loving the ones that were unbelievably bad. “You must have really shocked him for not renting something shittier.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with Hard Rock Zombies.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned when you remembered that particular movie. “Or Slumber Party Massacre, which you called an ‘underrated classic’ if I recall correctly?”

“It is! My tastes are just too high end for you and I accepted that shortcoming in you years ago-“

“Hey!”

“Let me finish.” It was his turn to place his index finger over your lips to ensure your silence this time around. “So yeah, I could have rented one of those masterpieces, but I didn’t because this is your night and this one came highly recommended by Robin. So, babe, would you do me the honor of watching this movie with me?”

“I would love to.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said with a self satisfied smile. “So just sit here and look pretty while I get everything ready, okay?”

“I shall eagerly await your return.” Eddie took your hand, kissed the back of it and let it slip from his grasp as he went back to the kitchen. “You’re such a dork.”

“Your dork,” he corrected. “And don’t you forget it.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t,” you confirmed.

And you wouldn’t. He was your guy after all.

#the boy is mine #stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #mar writes

[ofstardustanddreaming]

when jealousy happens

headcanon summary: jealousy ensues from astarion and gale in your party, and there's some banter that happens when they both want you.

content warnings: none

fandom: baldur's gate 3

character: astarion x reader, gale x reader

male reader

anon request

you weren't sure when the banter may have truly started to happen, but you definitely remember the first time you were privy to their more public displays of dispute. it happened in camp, when astarion threatened gale with a dagger in his hand, and gale giving threats back with magic from his hands.

you were curious and worried about this potential fight, as was the rest of the camp. but laughter and snide remarks soon erupted from many, including you, when you heard the taunts between the two of them and what clued you all in to what they were fighting about.

they were arguing over you. which, while you did feel flustered over the potential attention that you weren't used to, you thought it was cute. to certain extents at least, because while it was cute at some times, you found that it could be frustrating to deal with in other areas, such as fights. like when astarion would make a snarky remark towards gale when stabbing an enemy; "i'm a much better fighter, it proves i would be a much better protector," and gale retorts with, "i'm a much better defensive attacker, which proves i'm just as good at that position. but who says that he needs a protector, when he does just fine on his own."

it causes strife at times, but it is endearing to have two people fight for your affections. at camp, everyone snickers as gale and astarion fight their way over to you to sleep near you, each taking one side next to you. each one wants to have a last snarky remark before you head to bed, and you groan from under your pillow as you try to get some sleep. you end up having to snap at the both of them to be quiet before you're able to get some sleep, but not before one of them has something to say about the other annoying you. you have to roll your eyes at their goofiness, wondering if you should say something at some point .

because, you are led to wonder when at some point you'll have to make a decision if that's expected. you are worried at some point their arguing would lead to actual bloodshed, wanting to prove themselves to you and trying to outdo each other in their competition. astarion's louder pride compared to gale's more quiet, but still seething pride might not be able to make it out of their banter in one piece. someone was bound to take actual swings at the other if you weren't going to say something soon. shadowheart, karlach, and wyll are the ones you turn to in terms of advice one night.

"i'm just not sure. i have to tell them to quit their bickering soon, right? i'm not wrong in the guess that someone is going to end up murdering the other over me." you tell them, hoping for some sort of wisdom.

"how lucky you are, having two men racing after your heart. how funny it's also been." karlach snickers, with some laughter from the other two as well. "but, i would have to agree. you'll have to make a decision soon, lest one of them really does make a remark that the other can't ignore."

"talk with them at least, give them some terms of things like how long you need to make a decision, so that way banter doesn't eventually lead to something happening." wyll continues off of karlach's opinion, with shadowheart agreeing. karlach eventually nods, clearly thinking about the slight amusement that comes from a potential scuffle.

"is blood what we're talking about? because, if you chose me, you wouldn't have to worry about me feeding from you when you least expect it. this vampire thought he'd be able to steal a quick snack from me, who knows if he'd be able to do it with you?" gale says, overhearing the conversation and coming in to say this to you.

"and he eats magic, it's all really the same, isn't it? and he's eavesdropping." astarion pipes in, with gale glaring his way, proving points that astarion was doing the same thing.

you could only sigh, dragging the two of them to a more secluded area in the woods to give them an earful of what your terms were, wanting to have the time to make a decision in your perilous journey to baldur's gate. (who knows, maybe you'd be able to romance them both, if that's something everyone was open too. if a poly relationship was to be reached, you'd hear more banter than you thought was possible.)

#astarion x reader #astarion x male reader #astarion headcanon #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 headcanon #gale #gale x reader #gale x male reader #gale headcanon #gale dekarios headcanon #gale dekarios #gale dekarios x reader #gale dekarios x male reader #bg3 #bg3 headcanon #male reader headcanon #male reader

[koinotame]

boob windows. that's it that's the fic

word count: 1.1K content warnings: this is meant to be yandere au and sagau/self aware au so uh. hint of that, but mostly just crack. nothing Super Nsfw but the whole thing is raunchy and suggestive humour

characters included: mostly ei, but childe, kaeya and briefly zhongli also make an appearance with some others mentioned

a/n: this is a repost (slightly edited)! this was on my to-edit-&-repost list for a while now and this seemed like a good day to do so lol. alas this was originally written before the sumeru release so while editing there wasn't really an opportunity for me to add in wriothesley apparently out-butting zhongli or lyney's tigh high garters and i only just realised kaveh could technically also count here so uh. forgive me. i'll write something for them some day

"is… is everything alright, your grace?"

you loudly suck up another boba pearl, not moving your gaze from where it’s been lodged the past several minutes. "mm, everything’s fine."

ei fidgets in front of you, the cup held tightly in her hands still almost full. she looks unsure, but decides that she knows better than to question you. "if you say so."

it’s clear this isn’t what she had in mind when she personally came to see you instead of sending the raiden shōgun to greet and attend to you. the one time she comes out of her plane, all you’re seemingly doing is ignoring all table manners and gawking at her chest.

yes, that’s right, you’re ogling her chest. or, more accurately, you’re ogling her tiddy window.

between her and kaeya, she’s showing off much more chest. but then kaeya knows what he’s doing, while ei just seems to have it there for convenience over aesthetic…

you squint at her while you get lost in thoughts, and ei’s fidgeting intensifies.

ah shit. you forgot about itto. he wins in terms of who shows off their chest the most, you guess. he’s even wearing that… you’re not sure what to call it but tit belt fits well enough. anyway, the tit belt accentuates his pecs very, very nicely, although they do hide his nips from sight. alas.

you suppose gorou and cyno also exist, but they don’t have the same appeal. oh, and navia and la signora, but both of them are just wearing a sleeveless, collarless dress, so you’re not sure that counts either.

but then by that argument, does itto count? he’s not even wearing a shirt. cyno isn’t wearing a shirt either. and what gorou has is more of a tummy window than anything… but he does have that little window?

between gorou and childe, gorou is definitely winning though. you’d apologise for slandering your poor ajax but between the little triangle he shows off and gorou’s entire tummy out… you’re not sorry. though… there’s something to be said about a small slither of skin inviting you to stick your hands into that gorou having his whole tummy out doesn’t have.

wait, wait. you just had a genius idea. actually, two.

first of all, zhongli with a tiddy window… you are considering. then again, you guess his biggest asset is his bubble butt.

second, and way bigger: an idol group with some of your characters… but they all have tiddy windows.

"…your grace?"

you’re brought out of your stupor by ei, who is gazing in concern at you. you blink at her.

she struggles to find words. "are… are you sure everything is alright? is something not to your liking?"

it’s then that you realise you’ve started drooling at some point. shit.

you hurriedly wipe at it and clear your throat. "yeah, I’m sure. sorry, were you saying anything?"

she looks taken aback. "no, please don’t apologise. I should be the one to… I shouldn’t have interrupted your thinking."

it’s then that childe happens to walk by, and, like the attention hog he is, tries to get a foot into the conversation. you stay mostly unresponsive while the two chat (which seems to be mostly childe trying to hold a conversation with you while ei admonishes him), your eyes drifting back to ei’s tiddy window.

you really could stare at that for the rest of your life.

childe then follows your line of sight and chokes.

…though more because of him trying to laugh while choking on the dango he was eating than embarrassment at having caught onto your very appropriate thoughts.

ei looks confused but makes no move to help him other than pushing his head away from the table so he doesn’t make a mess. you honestly can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed.

he finally manages to swallow properly (you almost want to pat him on the back and praise him for swallowing like a good boy) before turning to you.

"do you want me to strip? my chest looks much nicer, I assure you."

you and ei stare at him.

he raises his eyebrows, pointing at her. "her skin looks way too soft and pampered." she looks almost offended. "mine’s covered in scars and I have actual muscles, doesn’t that feel much better for fondling?"

"what if…" you lean closer to him mischievously, like you’re about to tell him some big secret. "I prefer soft chests?"

he deflates. ei flushes, ducking her head into her still-near-full cup of bubble tea. "well, if that’s what you prefer… I can’t get rid of the scars, but I can stop working out. hmm…" he looks like he’s starting to make serious plans.

"no, I honestly don’t really care. all tiddy is good tiddy." you clap your hands. "anyway! it’s more about the boob window. you already have a (sad) tummy window, so it wouldn’t work."

"why not? wouldn’t that be double the sexy?"

"no, it cancels out."

you’re going to ignore whatever gorou has going on, because that works pretty well.

ei looks unfathomably lost.

"and anyway, if we’re talking about tummy windows, gorou wins."

he deflates further.

then he perks up.

"what about…" he brings his fingers to his face. you think it’s an attempt at looking cool. "butt window?"

you deadpan. "have fun getting arrested for public indecency."

he winks at you. "I wouldn’t mind getting arrested if you’re the one punishing me."

you have to physically hold the electro archon back.

"why, I wasn’t expecting to run into any of you here. what are you three up to?" kaeya’s voice cuts through ei’s snarls all of a sudden. he seems amused, but there’s an edge in the way he eyes childe.

"I am definitely sexier than any archon or soldier," childe says at the exact same time that you say "we’re discussing tiddy windows."

kaeya lets out something between a snort and a chuckle. it’s a pretty sound, but you can’t let yourself be distracted by him. he knows what he’s doing.

"oh? in that department, don’t I win?"

you stare intently at his.

"do you want to touch?"

you move your stare to his face. "am I allowed to?"

he smiles, mirth in his eye. "you needn’t ask. all of me belongs to you, and that includes my chest."

you seriously consider it and childe takes the opportunity to shove himself between the two of you.

"wait, wait! I offered first! ignore him, I’m right here!" "your grace," ei cuts in, "if you’d like to, I don’t mind you touching any part of me."

"ugh, fine, fine! I’ll just sample all of you then. if you’re sure you’re okay with it."

zhongli, somehow, picks the absolute worst moment to walk in.

the look on his face is priceless (you can’t tell if he looks offended or jealous), but even that doesn’t compare to the feeling of soft tiddy in your hands.

you were right, tiddy windows really are the best.

#yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #self aware au #self aware genshin #not sfw #lime #realistically ei probably WOULD have muscles (if not more than him) but. 1. none of the nonhuman characters in this game look like #they have an appropriate amount of muscle #and 2. the shogun is a puppet that presumably doesn't have actual muscles in the same sense as humans do in the first place. so. #i THINK this was supposed to take place in your teapot (hence why everyone is there despite logistics) but imagine whatever you want

[violetsiren90]

Evergreen | Bang Chan/Reader

Pairing: wolf hybrid!Bang Chan x human!f!Reader

(A Nothing But You universe fic)

Genre: hybrid AU; one-shot; established relationship; domestic fluff; slice of life; mountain living; pregnancy

Word Count: 1689

Summary: Seasons change, life moves on - but some things stay the same.

Content Warning: PG-13 for themes but my page and all its content are 18+ (minors, dni); wolf hybrid rut; mentions of knotting and marking; mentions of rut symptoms that include insomnia and lack of appetite; deep emotions; the use of "your" and "belonging" in the sense of committed love NOT ownership; pregnancy; mentions of different states of undress; domesticity and shared domestic responsibility; homesteading; Chris being the sweetest and most caring 😭💕; Chris chopping wood 😳; mentions of food and eating; implications of sexual intimacy, parenthood

Author's Note: I guess I went and fell in love with these two. This is a companion one-shot to Nothing But You. This one-shot is a different flavor, not as soft and cozy all the way through - there are more notes here, I think. Some sweeter, some sharper, but in the end, it's still them. I wanted to peek into their lives and see how they lived and loved. 🥰

If no one has told you yet today, please know that you are so loved, and so worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

~January~

Snow burdens the branches of the pines, the bitter North wind whistling between the trees, through the darkness, and over the blanket of fresh powder shrouding the forest floor. The mountains are sleeping, but your wolf is awake.

He nearly collapses, sinking to his knees as he shuts the cabin door. You spring up from your place by the fire to rush to him, but he holds up a hand, a growl rumbling low in his chest. You freeze. Panting, he slowly raises his face. Snowflakes cling to his lashes and dust over his head and shoulders. The dusky circles under his brown eyes speak of weariness, yet their expression is dark and wild. His nose is flushed from the chill. Beads of sweat quiver on his brow.

The fever still hasn't broken.

It appeared two days ago, with other sudden changes. Christopher has grown restless and short-tempered, and won't sleep in your bed. He smells intoxicatingly of cedar wood and amber.

You've been through it all before, his annual rut at the end of winter - four days of watching him endure the throes of primal agony. He would steal away at night, to hunt, your proximity far too overwhelming for his heightened senses and desires. Unchecked he would fail to stop himself. He would take you, mark you, knot you.

He hadn't in the four years you'd shared a bed and the comfort of the other's flesh. You'd spoken of the mating rites, but he always held off, afraid to break you. So protective of you always, and without a second a thought to himself.

You respected his space, his wishes, attempting to help him navigate the torment of his natural longings as best you could.

But this year it had taken him like a wild fire. The fever wouldn't break. He wouldn't sleep or eat. And now, here he was, half frozen and shivering on the floor.

No more.

You slowly cross to pull him up against his weak protesting. You peel away his frost-damp clothes and drag his heavy frame to rest upon the bed. With his last strength he tries to push you away, but you slip under the blankets beside him, pulling him into your arms.

His eyes flutter shut as he curls against you and nuzzles into your neck, whimpering that when he wakes it will be too hard for him to hold back.

You tell him not to try.

You tell him that you need him, want him - all of him. This part too, with all the others.
You assure him softly that you're not afraid, nor should he fear to make you his...you already belong to one another, after all.

You whisper that you love him.

Christopher exhales, tears trickling down his cheeks to mingle with the sweat and melted snow. You hold him to your breast, brushing soft kisses into his hair.

Cedar wood and amber.

~April~

You shake out a flannel shirt, crinkled and bunched from wringing to hang it on the line that stretches from the side of the cabin to a young yellow birch within the clearing. You smile as you fasten it with clips. He had worn it on the first day he visited the diner. It was faded then, and it has grown more timeworn still. But the fabric is thick, the seams hand-sewn, and if the dye has begun to abandon the thread it is only ever the softer. 

Strong and soft, like him.

The warblers are singing in the branches of the white pines as they busily fashion their nests. You stroke a hand down over the little bump of your belly, musing over the nesting that has started to change the trappings of your own little home. There's still plenty of time, but Christopher's excitement has poured forth in the form of hard work, and you're certain that when your time comes he'll have stored by enough for the next three winters yet.

You hear the rumbling of his truck a ways off. He left in the wee hours, the bed loaded down with wares to sell to suppliers in town. By the time you've strung up the last piece of washing he's already at the mouth of the trail, his arms laden with flowers and parcels wrapped in brown paper. The light wash of his denim shirt brings out the early kisses of the spring sunshine on his honeyed skin.

You follow him into the house where he puts your wildflowers into a vase and insists that you sit while he tends to lunch. Unwrapping the brown paper packages you find a set of pretty maternity pajamas, a box of chocolates, and the goat's milk soap you like. 

He's already eaten half his sandwich when he sets yours down, and you tug his wrist, pulling him into a chair to prevent him from setting out to work yet again. 

When the dishes are cleared you won't let him leave. He'd work every second of every day and well into many nights if you let him. But today you want him to rest. It's a mild and lovely afternoon and the chores are done. Other things can wait.

You sit across his lap on the porch swing he built two summers before. Your arms encircle one of his as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

His lips brush your forehead as his thumb caresses the little curved scar where the slope of your shoulder meets your neck. The one that means you belong to him and no one else.

The birds sing and the swing creaks.


~July~

He calls you from around the other side of the house. You draw an arm over your dripping brow and struggle up from where you're crouched to spread a batch of plump, ripe blackberries between the screens of the drying rack. There are still so many. Some you'll turn into jam. Christopher will eat the rest. He loves them. You rest the colander still half-full with berries against the full swell of your belly, wrapping an arm about the rim to keep it in place. 

You're hot and uncomfortable these days. But, when the morning's work is through, you'll go down to the lake together to shed the day's heat in the cool, still waters. You'd been every afternoon that week. Christopher was a strong swimmer, and would stay in far longer while you sat on the shady bank with a book. When he finally quit the water yesterday, he'd never found his clothes - instead he'd pressed you back into the lush green grass and made you sigh his name. 

As you round the far side of the cabin your eyes catch his form. He stands under the sweltering sun, stripped down to pair of fitted khaki work pants and thick suede boots. His muscular chest is slicked with sweat and he stands, panting, with his weight pressed into his right hip. He holds an axe in his hand.

His mouth pulls up at the corner and his tail swishes at the site of you. You tuck yourself against him wrapping your free arm around his damp waist. Oh how you want to swim. To hold his strong body in the dark water.

He gestures with the axe at what he's fitted together with stripped pieces of soft pine. A little cradle. He nudges it with his foot, setting it to rock. You bring a blackberry to his lips and he accepts it.

You kiss him.

Salty skin and summer fruit.


~October~

Your eyes flutter open to the sound of little cries. You sit up and stretch, blinking in the softness of the early autumn light.

You inhale deeply. Cinnamon and hickory smoke.

Outside the air is growing crisp and the leaves of the deciduous trees are blushing and abandoning their hosts, covering the floor of the wood in their pageantry. Fruit and game have begun to grow scarce as the forest prepares to enter the long slumber of the colder months. Nights require fires more often than not.

There is a small fire crackling now. A little black cauldron hangs over the flames, and you can smell the porridge simmering within. The man you love sits in a rocking chair near the warmth, a little bundle in his arms. He looks up at you as you rise and he smiles. He's been all smiles lately. In fact, you don't think the little dimple has left his cheek since he met the tiny she-wolf in his arms two weeks ago.

He says she looks like you, but all you see in her beautiful little features is Christopher. She has two tiny fuzzy ears and a darling little tale.

You reach down to stroke her fat cheek and your heart aches.

It aches from love, so much of it.

When the doctor placed her in your arms a part of your heart that you hadn't known existed burst to beating. You thought you loved the man who had knitted her inside you as much as you were able, but you had been ignorant in that respect as well. When he took your daughter in his arms and looked down on her face you thought that there wasn't room in your chest for things so vast, so deep.

You named her Hannah, for the sister her father had lost. It meant "grace".

So fitting, you think.

You move your fingers into Christopher's curls and he looks up at you. His brown eyes are soft and warm. The lovely eyes you saw that first day at the general store - the same through every changing season.

The maple and the birch will wax and wane, but not the cedar, not the pine.

Some things will remain.

And he is evergreen.
 

-Fin-

#skz x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fanfic #skz fantasy au #hybrid #hybrid au #wolf chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x female reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids fan fic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids au #bang chan oneshot #skz oneshots #stray kids oneshot

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 4: The House Of Glass]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, koi fish, smoking, drinking, drugs, kids, parenthood, Willis Warning, impractical architecture, angst, Adventures With Aegon, historical topics including war and discrimination, let's all give a nice warm welcome to Christabel! 🥳

Word Count: 7.4k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! 🥰🧁

It’s dawn, but you’ve already been up for hours. The sky turns from indigo to embers to flames to a cool, cloudless blue; mourning doves coo, goldfinches chirp, swamp rabbits gnaw on blades of grass glittering with dewdrops like diamonds. As the vanilla bean cake bakes in the oven, you go to Cadi’s room, sit on the edge of her bed, lay a hand lightly on the indistinct knoll that is your daughter curled up beneath her Rambo-themed blanket.

You murmur as she stirs awake: “Bonjour, ma cherie.”

Cadi rolls over, blinking groggily. You don’t call her this often. It’s something you picked up from Willis when you were married. You have a vision—sudden, jarring, though not entirely unwelcome—of him pacing back and forth with Cadi in his arms, one month old, 1 a.m., Willis humming some Cajun folk song to lull her to sleep. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I called Cascade Stables, there’s a spot reserved for you.”

“What? Really?!” Her face glows, Christmas lights, the Fourth of July. “But you said…how…?”

You can’t take the credit. You won’t give it to Willis if it’s unearned. “Actually, Aemond offered to pay. So you don’t need to worry about anything. The house is fine, the car is fine. No need to sacrifice your birthday presents.”

Cadi sits upright and ponders you, enigmatic childish confusion. “Mom…is Aemond your boyfriend?”

Well, honey, at first he was just some stranger from a kinky personal ad and then he was a delicious distraction and now I fear I might be starting to want more from him, something not so temporary, something forbidden. But I don’t know who he is. “I don’t think it’s quite that serious yet,” you say instead. “Would you like for him to be around more?”

She shrugs, and you recognize it not as true reluctance but rather as feigned, self-preserving indifference. “Yeah. I mean, I guess so. He’s okay.” Then she adds: “What happened to his face?”

“I honestly don’t know. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Maybe he was in a war,” Cadi says, glancing down at her Rambo blanket, Sylvester Stallone armed and stern and shirtless.

“Um, yeah, maybe.”

“Can I have cake for breakfast?”

“No, you cannot,” you say, smiling. “But you can have some of Amir’s leftover jambalaya that’s still in the fridge.”

“Fine.”

“Get up. Get ready. Amir should be here soon, once he can watch the cakes I’ll drive you to school.”

“If you let me stay home, I could help you bake.”

“You definitely wouldn’t help. You’d just spend eight hours playing that Nintendo.”

Cadi grins. “Probably.” Then she rolls out of bed and shuffles towards the kitchen over the creaking, sinking floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh, what the fuck,” you hiss to yourself as you park behind Willis’ sheriff’s vehicle—a Plymouth Gran Fury—which just so happens to be towing a 20-foot jon boat. You step outside into glaring 90-degree sunshine, slam the door of your Chevy Celebrity, and jog into the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office. You are carrying a white bakery box full of cherry cobbler muffins.

“Hey sugar,” Willis drawls when he sees you. The holding cells are empty; the electric fans are whirring. Heather Locklear is simpering from where her poster is taped to the wall.

You throw the bakery box down onto his paper-strewn desk. “What the hell is that outside?”

“My new boat,” Willis says proudly. “Picked it up first thing this morning.”

“So you can get a new boat, but Cadi can’t go to horse camp?”

He throws his arms wide, exasperated. Men love to make a habit out of being exasperated by things that should be obvious. “She’s gonna get way more outta that boat than from spendin’ a week brushin’ horses! We’ll be fishin’ in it together ‘til she starts poppin’ out her own babies. If Lake Verret ain’t a puddle of oil by then. You know I’ve had three deputies resign in the past ten days? Three! I’m bleeding manpower. I can’t compete. With overtime, they can make twice as much workin’ security on the rigs.”

“I thought you voted for Reagan and his energy independence.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want them drillin’ in my neighborhood.” He flips open the box, grabs a muffin, and takes a huge, messy bite. Crumbs go flying everywhere.

“Well, Cadi is going to get to brush those horses after all,” you tell Willis. “She’ll be gone from June 24th to July 1st. Just so you know.”

His forehead crinkles as he chews. “Where’d you dig up a spare $300?”

He gave me $400, actually. “A friend offered to pay. Kind of embarrassing that they stepped up instead of you.”

Willis ignores this jab. It is uncharacteristically combative of you; but you’re hot, you’re exhausted, you have a splitting headache, you still have four cakes to finish before noon tomorrow. Sweat rolls in beads down the slope of your neck, the curve of your back. It will evaporate once you’re back outside again, once the sun bakes it off you like nightmares fade in daylight. “A friend, huh?” Willis is more fascinated than annoyed. He gnaws on his muffin, contemplating you. “The only friend I know of is Amir the Queer, and he ain’t got nothin’.”

He does; he’s just squirreling it all away for San Franscisco. “Don’t call him that. Don’t be a neanderthal.”

Willis’ thoughts are elsewhere. If not Amir, then who? Who? He asks, smirking: “You got a petit ami, sugar?”

A boyfriend, he means, a beau, a lover, a partner, a suitor. Do I? “No,” you decide. “No, he’s just a regular friend. Really.”

Willis chomps on his cherry cobbler muffin. His smirk stretches into a grin. “Sure he is.”

“Okay. You called and asked for muffins, and the muffins have been delivered. Now I gotta go. I have a hell of an order to finish for tomorrow. Which reminds me…” You take the folded piece of yellow legal pad paper out of your shorts pocket and open it to read the address of the Targaryen residence. “Where is 1066 Loch Raven Terrace? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Oh, that’s in a brand new development, real highfalutin, mansions and all. That’s where the Jade Dragon folks are livin’. You gotta go way down 401 towards Lake Verret. Turn onto Owlet, then Egret, then Loch Raven.”

You snatch a blue pen out of the mug on his desk—World’s Best Cop, it says—to scribble the directions down on your paper. “Great. Thanks. Why’d they name it that? We don’t even have ravens in Louisiana.”

“Maybe they got ‘em back in England and the Rockefellers want to feel right at home.”

You nod. This makes sense; this is a sufficiently egotistical explanation. You check the clock on the wall; it’s almost time to get Cadi from school. “You’re picking up Cadi tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah. ‘Round 8:00, as usual.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

Willis asks longingly, looking nowhere in particular: “Remember when we were gonna go to Mexico for our anniversary?”

“Yeah. And I remember when we didn’t.”

He shrugs, perhaps regretful, mourning some hypothetical versions of yourselves. “I got busy. I got lazy.”

“We would have ended up in the same place, Willis. It just might have taken longer.”

“Sure,” he mutters, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it. He’s reaching for his second muffin as you push through the glass door and step out into the sweltering afternoon sunlight.

Twenty minutes later, you’re rolling into your driveway: windows down, cicadas screeching, a flock of pelicans flapping by overhead, Cadi singing along to Jump by Van Halen. But when you cut the engine, you catch a glimpse of something strange in your rearview mirror. You have a visitor. He’s coasting down the driveway in his red Audi Quattro, displacing a grey wave of gravel. You and Cadi climb out of your Celebrity to greet him.

“Aemond?” you say, hands on your hips, a growing involuntary smile. You weren’t supposed to see him until Saturday night, until your talk about the future, a future you both disavowed before starting to get a taste for it. “What are you doing here?!”

“I only have a minute.” When he emerges from the Quattro, he’s dragging his neon teal duffle bag.

Cadi gasps. “More Nintendo games?!”

Aemond chuckles and shakes his head. “Sorry, not quite.”

Cadi groans dramatically and sprints off into the house, probably to devour an ungodly amount of baked goods.

“Don’t eat the Cap’n Crunch Treats!” you shout after her. “They’re for a customer!”

Aemond strolls over to you, wearing jeans, a white tank top, and his Adidas sneakers. His ever-present Marlboro jacket has been forgotten. His hair is a mess, he’s touching his chin restlessly; he really does look like he’s in a rush. “Hey,” he says softly, returning your smile.

You point to his duffle bag. “So you’re not here to tie me up.”

“Regrettably, no.”

“Cadi was really, really happy this morning to learn that you paid for horse camp.”

“I’m glad. Please don’t mention it again.” Aemond glances to his right and spies the alligator sunbathing a few yards away, a deep swampy green and fast asleep. “Oh, fuck!” He grabs your arm, pulls you to him, walks with you briskly towards the house. “You need to get that thing turned into a purse or shoes or something.”

You laugh. “She won’t go after you. She knows you’re bigger than she is.”

“I’m not going to take your word for it.”

In the living room, Aemond tosses his duffle bag on the couch, unzips it, and lifts out a Nikon F3 digital camera. Amir peeks out of the kitchen, flour and powdered sugar dusting his palms, his forearms, his cheeks. “What the…?”

“I need a white wall,” Aemond says distractedly, peering around. The living room walls are pink, the kitchen is mint green, Cadi’s room is yellow, the bathroom is a pale blue. Cadi watches as he darts around the small house, sitting at the kitchen counter and chomping on a ginger molasses cookie. Then Aemond snaps his fingers, remembering. He turns to you. “Your bedroom has white walls.”

“And of course he knows all about your bedroom,” Amir says.

“Come with me,” Aemond orders you.

“Okay…?”

“Cadi too.”

You and Cadi follow Aemond into the bedroom, Amir trotting close behind to satisfy his curiosity. Aemond shows Cadi where to stand against the wall, in a spot where the lighting is good, no shadows, no cracks in the paint, no paintings or photographs. He raises the Nikon and gazes through the viewfinder with his right eye.

“Alright, here we go…just from the shoulders up…yeah, look at me straight-on, just like that…big smile, one two three!” He takes a picture; you can hear the click. “Beautiful! You’re Cindy Crawford! Naomi Campbell! Linda Evangelista! Let’s go again…”

Cadi giggles as she poses: a few respectable smiles, a few silly faces, a few where Aemond asks her to act serious. Cadi says, with an exaggerated grimace: “Look, I’m Mom when Daddy tries to talk to her.” Amir guffaws from the doorway.

“Your turn,” Aemond tells you, waving you over. Aemond directs you like he’s looking for excuses to touch your shoulders, your waist, your face, making minute adjustments that can’t really matter. You’re good at the serious faces, but he’s not satisfied with your smile. “No, a real one. A real smile!”

“I am really smiling!” you protest.

Aemond lowers the camera and raises an eyebrow at you. “You can do better. I’ve seen it.”

And suddenly, effortlessly, you’re beaming.

“There you go,” Aemond says in approval, and snaps a few frames. “Done.”

“What do you need pictures of us for?”

“Just a little project I’m working on,” Aemond says, evasive. He ventures back to the living room without further explanation.

As Aemond zips the Nikon into his duffle bag, you go to the kitchen to see how far Amir has gotten with the Targaryens’ engagement party order. In a dozen different icing colors, he’s painted wildflowers—your favorite since you were Cadi’s age—all over the white buttercream frosting of the vanilla bean cake. You wrap an arm around his waist, rest your head against his chest. “You’re Picasso.”

“I’m a sad, single, four-eyes twink who lives with his Grandma.”

“You’re the love of my life.”

He laughs and smacks a noisy kiss onto your cheek. Aemond watches, amused, thoughtful. He has that same look he had when he walked in on Cadi and Amir dancing to Kyrie, like someone studying a work of art in a museum, something beautiful but arcane, crafted by a foreign stranger who’s been dead for centuries. You start chopping pecans for the hummingbird cake.

“Okay,” Aemond announces with a heavy sigh. “I gotta run.”

“Already?” Cadi says, more disappointed than she’s trying to let on.

“He’s a very busy man,” you tell her. “He’s an engineer. And a historian, too.”

“Just an engineer,” Aemond says, startled.

“Only a historian would think to quiz me about Napoleon to see if I was worthy of his time.”

“You should know something about the man your town was named after.” Aemond leans in close—smoke and cologne, sun and salt—and growls into your ear: “Bye, Cupcake. Taste you later.”

“Bye.” And you watch him leave with his neon teal duffle bag slung over one shoulder, so preoccupied you completely forget about the pecans. Your knife rests on the cutting board, your thoughts are tangled up in what you and Aemond need to talk about tomorrow. I want more than something casual. I do, I really do.

Amir whips you with a dishtowel. “Ho, we’ve got cakes to bake! Let’s go, let’s go!” And then he asks more sympathetically as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose: “How’s your headache?”

“Oh,” you say, only realizing it when he asked. “It’s gone now.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The driveway is long and meandering, brand new but meant to look old, cobblestones lined with meticulously manicured hedges and beasts carved out of marble: bears, dolphins, horses, dragons. On the shores of Lake Verret, out of sight of the rigs and surrounded by towering gnarled southern live oaks older than the United States, you find the Targaryen family residence—manor? estate? chateau?—and park your Chevy Celebrity amidst a sea of Lexuses, Audis, Porsches, Cadillacs, and Alfa Romeos. There are willowy whooping cranes tiptoeing their way across the lawn. A blue merle Great Dane, gigantic and glaring menacingly, lurks behind the white columns of the wraparound front porch.

“That is not a house,” Amir says, gazing up at it through the windshield. “That is a castle.”

“That is where we’re going to make a lot of money if we can impress the Rockefellers.”

“Whoo hoo!” he cheers, climbing out of the car. “San Fran, I hope you’re ready for me!”

You’re dragging the coolers out of the back seat when you are descended upon by a herd of servants, dressed in black so as not to distract from the festivities, so they can fade into the backdrop, so they can become invisible. You and Amir have missed the memo. Your sundress is from Kmart: white with pink zinnias, a cheap and unextraordinary flower for an undistinguished woman from an anonymous town in one of the most impoverished states in the nation. Amir is wearing neon orange shorts and a (very tight) t-shirt from Queen’s Magic Tour that he found at a yard sale.

“These are the cakes?” the head butler asks impatiently, a grim-faced man with salt and pepper hair and spotless white gloves.

“Yeah, that box has the coconut cake, and that one has the key lime, and there are the Cap’n Crunch Treats, and…hey! Wait!” You watch helplessly as the fleet of servants ferry the boxes up the porch steps and into the house. You and Amir stare at each other as you stand abandoned on the cobblestones. “What do we do now?”

“Do we just…leave…?!”

“You made it!” Alicent cries, sailing out of the doorway and swathed in a flowing cream-colored gown. Her large dark eyes are bright and ever-shifting, almost manic; sunlight shimmers on her auburn hair. There is music pouring out behind her, thudding but indistinct, rumbling bass, heady guitar strums. “Come inside. You simply must come in.”

“Oh, we couldn’t impose!” Amir says, already inching towards the house.

“I’ll hear no more of that. You rescued me in my hour of need and I shall not forget it.” Alicent beckons you closer. Her smile is broad and radiant but tight, like she’s having to remember to keep it that way, like her muscles are beginning to ache. “Enjoy some hors d’oeuvres, at least. We have shrimp cocktail, miniature quiches, vol-au-vents, clams casino, Swedish meatballs, little smokies, deviled eggs with paprika, and lots of champagne! Quickly now. There are some people I’d like you to meet.”

Amir glances back at you as you follow him up the porch steps. “People, huh?”

The Great Dane stalks over to you, sniffs, growls deep and low. You freeze, not wanting to provoke it. Its eyes—muddy greenish-brown and swimming with a cunning hostility—remind you of an alligator’s, not the five-footer that idles on your lawn but one of the true monsters of the bayou, old and grizzled and always hungry.

“Vhagar, no!” Alicent scolds, pushing the beast’s massive muzzle away. You imagine it chomping on her hand until it’s gone: one bite, two bites, nothing left but gristle and blood. “No! Bad dog! Go away, go!” The Great Dane reluctantly retreats, glowering from behind a column. “I’m so sorry about that. I’m utterly mortified. She’s terribly unfriendly, but she doesn’t bite. Usually.”

“It’s fine!” you say, heart still racing.

“She belongs to my son. My children…their obsessions confound me. But as mothers, we’re powerless to stop them, aren’t we?”

“I suppose so,” you reply, thinking of Cadi’s wildness, willfulness; though trying to change her would feel wrong.

“Now I certainly owe you a glass of champagne,” Alicent says, billowing like a cloud into the house, her gold heels clicking on the marble floor.

You pass through the doorway and into a vast, crowded foyer, all white and gold: a massive crystalline chandelier, oriental vases and sculptures of men you don’t recognize, paintings on the wall, servants flitting around with trays of hors d’oeuvres. On one table is a tower of champagne glasses, each with a single red cherry marooned inside. Guests mingle in their sport coats and suits and taffeta and sequins, and oddly, none of them are talking about the couple whose engagement is being celebrated. They talk instead about ski trips, polo matches, oil futures, the Soviets, the Saudis, the godawful humidity in this misfortunate corner of the world that they can’t wait to leave. There are stained glass windows everywhere, scenes of suns, stars, sunflowers, dragonflies, lemon trees, sand on beaches. It’s cold, extremely cold, frigid drafts gushing from the air conditioning vents. A Dire Straits song pours not from a Panasonic boombox but from a stereo system with a pair of speakers as tall as you are, Sultans Of Swing. There is a baffling dual chorus clanging around in your skull: Nobody needs this. I’ll never be able to give my daughter anything like this.

Amir whistles as he peers around, eyes wide behind his tortoiseshell glasses. “This place must cost a fortune to cool.”

“I Teleftaia Epithymia.” Alicent struggles with the pronunciation; she speaks slowly, effortfully. “It’s what my husband named the house. What we named the house, I mean. It’s Greek for The Last Desire. As in, no one could possibly want anything more than what this home can offer. Isn’t that poetic? I’ve fallen quite in love with it.” Still, there is that slight nervousness to everything she does, that over-eagerness to please, that restless rushing fidgeting. She wears large gold teardrop earrings that she keeps touching. “We knew we’d have to build something here for the new project on the lake. My son is overseeing it, and he’ll have to spend the next year here, at least. It’s a big step for him. It’s the first drilling operation he’s been given command of. And he—”

“Alicent!” A man comes striding through the crowd. He has shoulder-length pale blonde hair and is wearing a black pinstripe suit, a business suit, authoritative but not joyful. He doesn’t notice you or Amir. You don’t exist to him yet. “Where the hell is the ice sculpture? You said there would be an ice sculpture.”

“It’s on its way, darling. I already called.”

“It should be here now!”

“Viserys, please.” Alicent’s voice is low, embarrassed. “The driver got lost, you know our address is new. They stopped at a payphone and rang us and I straightened it out. They’ll arrive any minute.”

“They better,” the man grumbles. “It’s her family’s crest, for Christ’s sake. We need that ice dragon.”

“This is my husband,” Alicent tells you and Amir, forced smile, pleading eyes, trying to pivot. “Viserys, do you remember the wonderful people I told you about? From Hummingbird Bakery?”

“Bakery?” He seems to have only a vague recollection and even less interest. His gaze is already wandering to other guests. He flashes a grin and waves at a few middle-aged men in grey suits.

“They saved me. They were able to bake us six beautiful cakes with only two days’ notice.”

“And Cap’n Crunch Treats,” Amir adds.

Now Viserys Targaryen does turn his attention to you, and his forehead knits into perturbed wrinkles. His cool blue eyes skate over your Kmart dress, your forearms still dotted with flour and frosting, your cheap pink flats with bows on the front. “It’s a pleasure.” Then he looks to Amir—orange shorts, too-tight shirt that stops at his navel, dogwood flower in his hair—and seems to startle a little. “Alicent, you didn’t mention…uh…he’s…oh well. Too late now. It can’t be helped.”

You and Amir share a glance, polite smiles pasted on your faces. Alicent is abjectly horrified. “Viserys, he’s extremely professional.”

“There are the Lannisters. I must be off.” And the Targaryen family patriarch unceremoniously departs. You and Amir pretend to admire the stained glass windows. Alicent picks at the beds of her fingernails, her rings jangling against each other, her eyes misty.

Criston appears out of nowhere, wearing a white suit with a zebra print shirt underneath. Today his single earring is silver to match. He glides a hand around Alicent’s waist and leans in so close that his nose brushes her fiery hair. “What? What do you need?”

“The ice sculpture people—”

“I’ll wait outside for them,” Criston says, and departs as swiftly as he arrived.

“Please allow me to give you a quick tour of the house,” Alicent says, recovering somewhat. “I’m so grateful for your help. And things keep happening that only make me feel more indebted.” Then she hands each of you a flute of champagne, spins on her heels, and leads you out of the foyer.

Each room is a different color. The living room is red, furniture of lush velvet and Italian leather, bookshelves tall enough to need ladders, a brick fireplace that they’ll never use. Through a pair of French doors you can glimpse a garden and a pool with a water slide. The dining room is a cheerful butter yellow. The kitchen is teal, and like all the rest of the house has stained glass windows to match; these are shaped like a cathedral’s and run all the way up to the ceiling. Servants have arrayed your cakes on the counter, each with a label handwritten in cursive and a set of knives to cut it with. A plate of Cap’n Crunch Treats has been tucked away back by the stove like something they’re a little ashamed of.

Everywhere she goes, Alicent introduces you and Amir to the guests she crosses paths with. “Have you met these heavenly people from Hummingbird Bakery yet? Yes, they’re local, true Louisianans! I see you’ve already helped yourself to a slice of the key lime cake. Isn’t it just fantastic?! And a gorgeous shade of green! It’s so peculiar, you won’t believe what this sweetheart has living in her yard, a real-life alligator…”

You whisper to Amir: “Are we her pet poor people?”

“You might be. I’m proudly undomesticated.”

“Christabel!” Alicent shouts jubilantly as the girl scrolls into the kitchen. “There you are, dear! Come see your cakes.”

Christabel complies, shy but agreeable, peeking out from under a shock of feathery blonde bangs. She wears gleaming diamond earrings and a very bridal white one-shoulder dress, showing quite a bit of skin; you notice that some of the other guests milling about the kitchen cast her judgmental smirks. Christabel asks Alicent, as if she’s afraid of the answer: “He’s not here yet?”

“You know how busy he’s been,” Alicent says, apologetic. You think, remembering the drunk man from the holding cell: Yeah, busy committing misdemeanors. “Those rigs…the S&P 500…anyway, he’ll be home before you know it. In the meantime, let me get you a piece of cake. You’re disappearing, love.”

Christabel skims a palm down the front of her dress self-consciously. “Alright. Just a tiny one.” Then she acknowledges you and Amir. “You must be the masterminds then. Alicent told me all about you.”

Amir says: “About our excellent service and reasonable prices?”

“Yes.” Christabel isn’t skittish like Alicent, but there’s a sort of pensiveness to her, an impression that she is eternally woolgathering. Now she looks at you in particular with a small, warm smile. “And about how beautiful you are.”

Amir laughs at your stunned expression. Me? Beautiful? And the only other person to call you that in years has been Aemond, tangled up with you on your bed in your falling-down house, and you aren’t sure if that counts. “Oh, um, thank you,” you manage. “I really like your dress.”

“Really? I fear people think it’s too…revealing. I liked it fine this morning when I put it on. I didn’t have any notion it might not be suitable. Now I’m feeling like an idiot.”

“No, it’s so nice!” you say, pained for her, one misfit recognizing another. “I never would have thought there was anything wrong with it.”

Alicent gets a plate from the pile on the counter. “What flavor would you like, Christabel?”

“Whatever this one is.” She points to the vanilla bean cake, adorned with Amir’s frosting flowers. “Isn’t it stunning, with all the colors?”

“Amir is the artist,” you say. “I love wildflowers.”

Alicent asks: “Did you have them at your wedding?”

No one bothered. No one remembered. “I wanted to.”

“Wouldn’t that be lovely, Christabel?” Alicent passes her a slice of vanilla bean cake. “Wildflowers? It would be different. Everyone has roses or lilies or something. But wildflowers? I can’t recall ever going to a wedding with wildflowers. Especially if you’re going to get married here. It would fit with the scenery. This place is so exotic, so untamed!”

Christabel nods, taking nibbles of her cake. “Wow, this is delicious! Yes, wildflowers. We could use them for the bouquet, and the corsages…”

“Now we just need a venue.” Alicent sighs. “We’ve had such a terrible time trying to find a good place. Somewhere historic, but not rundown or unsavory. I mean, you can’t get married on an old plantation or something. Bloody hell. How tone-deaf would that be?”

“Very tone-deaf,” Amir concurs.

“There’s a church across the lake in Belle River that you might like,” you say. “The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens. It’s a historic site, I believe. It’s not very big, but it would make for nice pictures.”

“There’s an idea!” Alicent chirps, then she is stricken as a woman walks into the kitchen. Her fair hair is tied up in a messy bun. She wears a white t-shirt stained with dirt, denim overalls, and Converse Chucks. There is a bluish-green chameleon perched on her shoulder, goggling at everyone with its rotating, conical eyes. “Helaena, put your dress on.”

“Dreamfyre doesn’t like the silk. She won’t sit on my shoulder if I’m wearing it.”

“Helaena, it’s a lizard.” Alicent is exasperated. “Go upstairs, stick it back in its cage, and put your dress on, now.”

“Fine,” Helaena mumbles before wandering off.

“Oh, is that the ice sculpture?!” Alicent cries, peeking out into the foyer through the kitchen doorway. “At last! If you’ll excuse me…” She scurries off to attend to it, Christabel trailing her like a shadow.

You put your empty champagne flute in the sink. “I need to go find a bathroom.”

“I need some shrimp cocktail,” Amir replies. “Do you think I should try to explain the evils of gentrification to people?”

You giggle. “Yeah, definitely. Start with Viserys.” You part ways, Amir headed towards the foyer, you journeying down a mysterious hallway that adjoins the kitchen. The walls are flame orange and decorated with portraits of grave blonde people, each with an outlandish name etched into the plaque beneath its likeness: Baelon, Alyssa, Jaehaerys, Alysanne, Aenys, another Alyssa, Aegon, Rhaenys, Visenya. “This family is so fucking weird,” you mutter to yourself as you continue down the hall.

You find a bathroom, but there’s already a hoard of glamorous, ornamented women waiting outside of it. They’re chattering about which is the superior place to take a holiday, the Canary Islands or the south of France. They stare at you like you’re vermin, a nutria or a raccoon. You keep moving.

At the top of a spiral staircase, you find another hallway. The first door you try is a home movie theater complete with a popcorn machine, neon signage, several rows of seating and a plethora of bean bag chairs. Behind the second door is a bedroom, but it’s not unoccupied. You are greeted by the sight of the man who must be the groom. He looks much like he did when he was detained in a holding cell of the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office: slicked-back hair, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, flushed cheeks, tiny shorts, flip flops. He’s hunched over a desk with three lines of white powder on it. There’s an HP computer—something you’ve never seen in person before—in one corner of the room, a television and collection of hundreds of VHS tapes in the other. His walls are black and cluttered with posters of punk rock bands, the Ramones, the Clash, the Misfits, Minor Threat, Social Distortion, Bad Religion. His Akai stereo is blaring Fight For Your Right by the Beastie Boys.

“What?” the man says agitatedly. There’s powder on his fingers and his nose. “What? What? Who are you? What do you want?”

“Um, sorry, I was just…uh…” There’s some kind of rodent running around on his unmade bed. Its fur is a sandy yellow color, its body freakishly long and four legs stumpy. What the fuck. “I was looking for a bathroom.”

He blinks, muddled recollection. “You’re the cake lady.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Delivering cakes.”

“Oh. Right.” He points directly across the hall. “There’s a bathroom.”

“Okay, great, thanks.” He starts snorting another line before you’ve even shut the door.

You spend a minute or two in the Targaryens’ lilac-colored bathroom, paintings of the night sky hung on the walls—comets, moons, stars, galaxies—and amethyst geodes on the sink, a stained glass window with a scene of a lavender field. By the time you navigate back down to the kitchen, the man is there. He’s eating a Cap’n Crunch Treat, cocaine still streaked across his pink face and caught in his wisp of a mustache.

“You did this,” he says. “I know you did. It’s too good to be anyone but you.”

With his hand that’s not holding the Cap’n Crunch Treat, he’s cradling the lean rodent against his bare chest like an infant. “What is that? A weasel?”

“It’s a ferret. His name is Sunfyre.” The man nods to a photograph pinned to the refrigerator with magnets shaped like miniature oil rigs. There are two people in the frame, a woman and a girl, their cheeks squished together as they laugh on a pink sand beach of some topical island you’ll never visit. “That’s my dad’s first wife.”

“He’s divorced?”

“Widowed. She died in a car accident.” He taps on the girl in the picture, perhaps Cadi’s age. “That’s my half-sister Rhaenyra. She’s an Olympic fencer. She lives in the Lake District and fucks our uncle.”

You shake your head. You must have misheard him. “She what?”

“Yeah, I know how it sounds. I’m not kidding. She lives in a castle and fucks our uncle and has kids with him. Fucking sick, man. And I’m the screwup? Because I like coke and strippers? I’m supposed to feel bad about that? Bite me, Viserys.” He grabs a second Cap’n Crunch Treat and gestures for you to follow him into the foyer. “Come on. You need some champagne.”

You chuckle. Mental or not, there’s something likeable about him…though you can’t say you envy Christabel. To be married to someone like this man must be hellish. Now, to be married to someone like Aemond… “I’ve already had a glass.”

“Okay, well I need some champagne, and I don’t want to go out there alone.” His flip flops slap noisily against the marble floor as he plods out of the kitchen. He looks back to see if you’re following, and then you hurry after him. The heir to the Jade Dragon fortune weaves through the crowd, ignoring everyone and being ignored in return. In the packed foyer, he plucks a flute of champagne from the tower and chugs it. He eats the cherry and holds up the stem. “You know how to tie these with your tongue?”

“No, I definitely do not.”

“I do,” he announces proudly. He shoves the stem in his mouth, wiggles it around for a while, accidentally swallows it and has to hack it back up. He spits the cherry stem onto the pristine white floor, attracting a few grimaces. “Wait. Wait. Let me try again.” He reaches for another glass of champagne. The opening notes of Asia’s Heat Of The Moment boom from the speakers.

You give him a sympathetic smile. “Pre-wedding jitters?”

He snorts. “I’m not the one getting married.”

“Wait, you’re not?”

He cackles, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “I already have a wife. Stephanie, she’s a princess from Monaco. Right now she’s in Ibiza or something. I haven’t seen her since New Year’s. This New Year’s? Last New Year’s? I’m not sure. Maybe it was the Grand Prix. I remember a lot of confetti.”

You gape at him. “So who’s getting married?”

“My brother Aemond.”

“Who?!”

He points with his Cap’n Crunch Treat. Across the foyer by the front door, Aemond is grinning and accepting congratulations from a gaggle of men in suits: black, grey, navy, tan. Aemond himself is wearing emerald green, dark and luxurious and striking and expensive, because he’s a Targaryen who’s marrying a noblewoman and he’s an oil tycoon and a millionaire and he is most certainly not single and not looking to change that.

“You fucking liar,” you hiss.

The man with the coke in his mustache peers over at you. “Huh?”

You can’t tear your eyes away from Aemond. You feel scarlet rage soaking into you drip by drip, you feel the blood turning hot beneath your skin. You shouldn’t be this upset over a man you barely know, you don’t understand why you are. Except part of you does, and it’s heartbreaking, and it’s humiliating beyond words. Of course he’s marrying someone like Christabel. Of course he’d never choose me.

Aemond bids farewell to his well-wishers, and as he turns away from them his right eye catches on you. From across the room, his face shifts from disbelief to astonishment to horror. His jaw drops open. The flute of champagne he’d been clasping shatters against the marble floor. Immediately, a flock of servants materialize to clean up the mess. You flee from the foyer to the living room, through the French doors, into the garden. It’s midday and hot as hell, humid, swampy, suffocating to the British aristocrats that fill the house. You don’t see anyone else outside. You run past the swimming pool and through cobblestone trails bordered by blue cardinal flowers, orange coneflowers, coral honeysuckle, resurrection ferns, maypops, white sage, firewheels, magnolias, cinnamon ferns. You stop at the edge of a fish pond larger than your kitchen and glare down into the water, trying not to let tears blur your vision as glimmers of scales—red, orange, black, white, gold—dart beneath the transparent rippling water.

I have to go back inside. I can’t leave without Amir. I can’t leave without formally saying goodbye to Alicent and thanking her for her hospitality and licking the boots of these people so they’ll throw just enough cash at me to keep a roof over my daughter’s head.

You hear hurried footsteps; Aemond appears on the cobblestones. He’s found you, but that’s as far ahead as he’s planned. He holds his hands open, not knowing what to say.

“You told me you didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“She’s your fiancée, that’s worse, don’t you get how that’s worse?!”

“Okay, this looks bad, but it’s not what you think—”

“You’re marrying her, right?” you demand, and he hesitates. “Right?!”

“Yes,” Aemond admits, and it feels like knuckles to your stomach.

“Then you’re a liar and a cheater.”

“It’s not…it’s…” He gestures frantically, not knowing how to explain, how to translate it into words you’ll understand. “There’s not an expectation of fidelity.”

“Does Christabel know that?”

“That’s the thing, that’s what you don’t get, it’s not like that between us. We don’t discuss it, we’re not…” More vague, frenzied gestures. “We’re not…um…” He groans, rubbing his scarred forehead. “We’re not fucking. At all. Nothing close to it. It’s not a physical relationship yet.”

“But she doesn’t know about me.”

“No, God no, of course not.”

“So she thinks you’re…abstinent…?”

He sighs, defeated. “I don’t know. I don’t really care, honestly.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping with her?”

“Because we can’t until we’re married.”

“I’m sorry, are you Pilgrims?! Are you time travelers from the 1400s?!”

“It’s her family’s standards,” Aemond says. “It’s not uncommon for women of her…status.”

“Girl,” you pitch at him. “She’s a girl. How old is she? Eighteen?”

“Nineteen.”

You’re furious that she exists; you’re furious on her behalf. “And she’s planning her fairytale wedding while you collect local women to act out your kinky fantasies with.”

“One woman,” Aemond says softly.

“What?”

“There’s one woman currently. Just you.”

You shake your head, swiping enraged tears from your cheeks. “Why are you marrying her?”

“It’s sort of an…arranged thing.”

You stare at him. “Someone set you up?”

“My father knows her father. They think it’s a good match. Her family needs money, my father wants ties to the nobility. She’s one of probably five people on this planet that he would approve of. And she seems enthusiastic about it, so it’s happening.”

“Aemond, that is an insanely bad idea.”

“I have to do it.”

“You’re marrying her because your dad told you to?!” You explode. “Are you serious?! Everyone with the sole exception of Amir told me to stay with Willis, my friends, my family, my neighbors, my bakery customers, the checkout ladies at the Piggly Wiggly, my goddamn mailman, my father was in the hospital dying of lung cancer saying that his last wish was for me to never get divorced, and I still went through with it because I knew it was the right thing to do and no one was going to stop me!”

“I don’t want to talk about Willis,” Aemond snaps.

“Well, he’s kind of an inescapable aspect of my existence, so if I can get over it I’m sure you can too.”

“I hate that guy,” Aemond seethes, and you have no idea how to respond. You gaze down into the pond and watch scales and fins and tails fly like bullets beneath the surface.

“Those are the biggest goldfish I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“They’re koi,” Aemond scoffs.

“Oh, is that what they teach people about at Imperial College in London? Fancy fucking fish?”

“Don’t be a bitch to me, just…just give me a second, I didn’t think I was going to have this conversation until tonight, this is not how I wanted it to go.”

You say quietly, betrayed: “You’re a robber baron.”

“What? Like Vanderbilt or Rockefeller, that kind of robber baron, that’s who you think I am?!”

“That’s who you are! You hoard and exploit and use and pollute and destroy! I don’t destroy things, I create them!”

“You bake cupcakes!”

“And I don’t hurt anyone by doing it!”

“You are so goddamn delusional, you are completely insane—”

You start counting out crimes on your fingers. “I don’t kill people, I don’t endanger the Earth, I didn’t irrevocably screw up Ketchikan, Alaska—”

“So I’m terrible because I want to bring jobs to your pathetic, dead-end town?! Because I want there to be a few less pregnant teenagers and more high school diplomas? That makes me a war criminal, that puts me right up there with Jaruzelski or Pinochet?!” He realizes what he’s said when he sees the wounded fury unfold on your face. “Oh fuck. Come on, I didn’t mean you.”

“No, you just meant people who are exactly like me in every way.”

“You know what? I take it back,” Aemond says, knife-sharp, wrathful. “I did mean you. Because you are wasting your life here, and you’re too stubborn or too scared or too much of both to recognize an opportunity to have something more. Don’t you think you deserve better? Don’t you think your kid deserves better?”

“I built something here, I made a future for myself and my daughter here, and you’re going to work our people to death and poison the lake and then pack up and leave when it all goes wrong because that’s what oil tycoons do! The opportunity is for you, not us! More mansions, more champagne, more coke, more demented pets!”

“Then leave! Get in your car and drive back to your sad, structurally unsound house and live happily ever after with whatever braindead barbarian you marry next.”

“I will,” you pitch back. “Enjoy being married to your marquess.”

“She’s not a marquess. Her dad is the marquess. She won’t inherit the title until he dies.”

“Enjoy being married to your future marquess, you pretentious prick.”

“Women can’t be marquesses. They can only be marchionesses.”

“Yeah, you’re so smart. I’m really impressed. At least I don’t have to tie people to beds to delude myself into thinking I have some semblance of control over my life.”

You storm through the garden and back into the house as Aemond watches you, violently disappointed. You yank open one of the French doors and slip into the midst of the festivities. Illustrious guests are still mingling, toasting, boasting, scrutinizing you skeptically when they notice you at all. In the archway between the living room and the foyer, Amir joins you, sipping a flute of champagne.

“Hey, ho! Did you get lost? Did you find the cellar where they keep the bodies of their political enemies?” He has eaten so many hors d’oeuvres he’s basically waddling. “You look stressed. How about a nice shrimp cocktail?” He follows your eyeline to where Aemond is trying to sneak covertly into the living room through the French doors. Christabel intercepts him, relieved that he’s finally arrived, beaming, sparkling, entirely unaware of any conflict. Aemond conjures up a smile, fond yet guarded. She doesn’t touch him, and he doesn’t touch her either. He clasps his hands behind his back instead. “Is that…?!”

“Yeah.”

“And he’s…?!”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Amir says. “Oh.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his dark eyes wide and shellshocked. “We should have made him buy all of us Nintendos and a week at horse camp.”

“I want to go home.”

“You got it, let me just grab a few more of those Swedish meatballs—”

“Amir,” you say, tears brimming in your eyes. “I really want to go home.”

“Okay, okay.” He slings an arm around your shoulder, smacks a kiss against your temple, walks with you towards the front door. “Then let’s go home.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [9/…]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“And I know no one will save me, I just need someone to kiss.

Give me one good honest kiss and I’ll be alright.”

— Mitski, “Nobody”

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  In which there is lost affections, mentions of the past, and re-bonding over a bath. Unshared thoughts and feelings of regret return from years of negligence, and whereas some aspects remain buried, others have a chance to resurface from the depths.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, mentions of violence and blood, dual-pov (though primarily Buggy's), Buggy being a simp, implications of Buggy being a horny simp

A/N: AND HERE WE ARE! FINALLY, AFTER SO MANY WEEKS, THE NEW CHAPTER IS UP! Seriously, I want to thank you all for your immense patience and support. As I mentioned in a previous post, work has been hectic as hell and I know I wrote that this chapter would hopefully be finished last week, but life took its toll. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter, though I myself have mixed feelings about it.

INCLUDES SOME SELF-MADE SKETCHES AT THE BOTTOM, so you’re warned

The sun warms your face as you breathe in the fresh scent of the sea. You’re lounging on deck, hands folded behind your head and feet hanging over the railings in a rather peculiar position, but you’re perfectly content.

Luffy benched you for the rest of the voyage to Arlong Park, a decision you initially found insulting to no short degree. Well, maybe benched is not the right term to use, but more like “I don’t want you to die, and I think you need to relax this once”.

You had argued that no, you’re fine and the love bites Arlong left you are nothing compared to the marks Mihawk left on Zoro, and he’s still up and about as usual.

But Luffy is firm about his decision, and what the Captain says goes.

So, here you are, enjoying some quiet all while letting your wounds heal, and it seems that nothing can hope to put an end to this ambiance that is—

“HEY! THERE ‘YA ARE!”

…. You spoke too soon. Way too soon.

A shadow falls over your face like a curtain and blocks the view of the sun. A shadow belonging to - you make a lucky guess - a severed head that’s been talking for way longer than a severed head typically should, in your experience.

You open one lazy eye to pinpoint the exact perpetrator and see a bright red dot staring down at you from Usopp’s grip.

Buggy winks at you, making those mildly irritating clink-clink noises.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Usopp grumbles. “You take him! He’s annoying and keeps telling me my nose is too long!”

“Because it is, you shidiot!”

“It’s average!”

“That’s what your mom said!”

“You keep my mom’s name out of your mouth, you psychotic, fucking—!”

“Be quiet.”

Both the clown and the slingshot simultaneously shut their mouths before things have a chance to escalate on a non-verbal scale, and you take this as a sign that your break is officially over and buried ten feet under.

Stretching your arms out loud enough to pop a few vertebrae, you shift to lean your back against the railing and give both boys an unimpressed look-over, like a disappointed mother having caught both of her children in the act of something. “It’s too early for you to be making a ruckus.”

“It’s 11 am,” Usopp points out.

“Still too early.” Deciding that you’d rather not deal with this with more effort than you’re willing to spend, you return to your previous position. “Leave the head, or don’t. Just let me rest.”

“Fine by me.”

With a thud and an “OW FUCK!”, Usopp unceremoniously drops the clown and forgoes his Buggy-sitting duties to do whatever he wants to do, leaving you to pick up the slack.

A string of curses flow from Buggy’s mouth, which you only vaguely pay attention to. There was something along the lines of “Long-nosed asshat,” and “Right on the nose”, but you abandon all interest in favor of feeling the sun on your cheek.

“So…” you hear him jump a little closer. “Alone at last.”

You don’t answer.

“What? Don’t give me that! I thought we were good!”

You remain selectively mute.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me! I don’t like it!”

“You survived it for twenty years. I’m sure you can stand it for a few more minutes.”

“…. Seriously?”

“Mhmm.”

You don’t know what possesses him, but he keeps quiet for most of the next thirty minutes, and you take the time to continue basking in the sun. 

It’s a luxury you can rarely afford, and you’ll be damned if it gets ruined now or all time, least of all by him. You’re not going to even open the can of worms that is last night’s events, so you lock it in a chest to be dug up for another day. 

Not now. It won't be that long until you reach Arlong Park, and shit will go down. This might be the only chance you get to replenish your strength and gods do you need it now more than ever.

"… Hey?” Buggy starts.

You let him decide whether to perceive your silence as an opening or a locked door.

“I’m bored.”

“Tough.”

“Can’t we do something else?”

“We could fish. Your head might serve as a good bait.” Despite yourself, your lip tugs a little in what is supposed to be a halfway smirk. The image of Buggy dangling above the shark-infested waters from a hook to his bandana would be an entertaining sight to behold.

He swallows audibly. “Was that a joke?”

“Keep bothering me and we’ll find out soon enough.”

“C’mon! Don’t be like that! Seriously, I’m bored! Ain’t much you can do when you’re just a head… except to give one, but that’s beside the point.”

Too much detailing, you think. He wants entertainment of any kind; you want peace and quiet. What to do and how to kill two birds with one stone? You open one eye and let it drift over to Buggy, who in turn is staring intently at you. 

In the sun, you make out every detail of his rugged face. His make-up’s almost wiped completely off the skin, with only remnants of the red lipstick and blue diamonds vaguely in place. His stubbles have grown slightly, given the lack of access to a barber, and if you get close enough, he probably stinks of—

A lightbulb goes off in your head. A devious one, blinking to every corner of your brain. 

Despite what anyone thinks, you’re not above being petty.

With a push, you sit up and glance over at him. “Anything?” 

Buggy raises his eyebrows and nods desperately. “Yeah! Anything! As long as I ain’t got to sit here doing naught-shit, I’m game!”

You turn to him, put each of your hands to the edges of his jaw, and lift him a little closer to you. Whether from the sun or just him alone, he’s warm and soft under your digits.

“Alright,” is all you say.

Buggy beams much like the bulb in your head, and a loud bark of laughter erupts from his mouth. You almost pity him, pity him for being oblivious to what’s to come.

But it needs to be done.

There’s no other way around it and he’s had it coming. He deserves this, you tell yourself. He deserves every inch of ruthlessness you can offer, and you’ll deliver.

————

Buggy blanches, lips wobbling in horror as he slowly glances up at you. Betrayal fills his bright-blue eyes and, for the first time since Orange Town, he sees you as the beast you both know you are. 

He’s afraid.

He’s afraid of you.

He knows you can be vindictive; he knows you can be brutal, but in all the time he’s known you, he’s never perceived you as cruel.

Maybe it’s time for him to reassess that thought.

“No,” he whispers softly. “No, please.”

Your face is blank, and cold, and he doesn’t know if it’s a trick of the light or not, but there’s a shadow across your face that darkens everything but your eyes. Those bright eyes he used to hold in such high regard.

“You want my forgiveness,” you state calmly as you gradually lower him to his demise. “You have to earn it.

“Please, anything but this. I’ll do anything other than this!”

But his pleas earn no mercy from you. He wiggles in your grasp like a fish out of water, and as much as he tries to beg and move and free himself, your hold is iron incarnate.

Buggy lets out an ear-curdling scream the moment he feels the water under his neck.

“NOOOOO!”

————

Honestly, how childish, you think as you begin to soak him in the basin you procured from the kitchens. He hisses like a cat as you pour the water over his head, rinsing his hair. Try as he might, he cannot escape your grasp. 

It’s not even deep enough to reach his chin, and still, he acts like it’s acid he’s been thrown into.

But you’re determined, this has to be done.

“Oh, quit whining” you chastise, getting drops of water your way with all his scuttling. “You need this.”

“You’re gonna drown me!” he accuses.

“It’s soap and water, and it’s not even that deep.”

“You say that now, sure! But the moment you let go, plop! Oh, there goes Buggy the Clown! Taken from this world too early!”

You roll your eyes. “I’m holding you up, you’re not going to drown. Now, stop acting like a child.”

Buggy is restless and continues to thrash around for a good ten seconds more before finally relenting, a look of sour disapproval on his face. It’s so caricatured and animated that it threatens to make a suppressed chuckle leave your throat.

He still looks the same when he’s mad.

Now that he’s finally calm, you lower him so that the edge of his neck finally stands on the bottom of the basin. Then, you soak a rag and raise it towards his face.

Buggy flinches. “Can you …. Eh… leave the face?”

“There’s hardly anything there anymore, and it’ll irritate your skin if you leave it on for too long.”

“I think I can tell you what irritates me or not, like this bird bath for instance, thank you very much.” He scowls and edges further away from the wet rag. “Seriously, just leave it.”

“I’ll reapply the make-up.”

“… What?”

When you first boarded the Merry, you happened to find some leftover make-up hidden away in one of the shelves. It was strange, considering how the boat was freshly built, and imagined that one of the builders had taken some personal liberty in the large space before the project was finished.

For whatever reason, you didn’t throw it out, though you didn’t use it yourself.

If it can get him to accept the fact that he needs a wash, you’re willing to do it.

“I’ll put on your make-up if I can wash off what you currently have,” you clarify. “Deal?”

Buggy goes quiet, and his eyes widen slightly, but not out of horror or dread. It’s more like … when you catch the sight of something unexpected; a delayed reaction that stirs feelings you have yet to decipher. 

Finally, after some internal debates with himself, Buggy nods. “Fuckin’ fine then,” he utters, and despite the crudeness of his words, they’re lenient.

Content, you gently place your free hand to his left to keep him stable and use the other one to carefully drag the rag across his stained cheek. 

Buggy watches you intently through the process, never taking his eyes off you unless you’re wiping off the painted diamonds on his eyes. Your hands, for once, are soft to the touch. They’re soft for him, as though a single misplaced touch might shatter him like glass.

He used to be acquainted with the soft touches long before the cold and brutal ones. Soft fingers that pinched his cheeks as you helped apply the paint over his face. 

Soft touches against his arm when he was feeling particular for some reason, whether it was good or bad.

Your fingers intertwined with his’ as you came to terms with your captain’s death, sitting by the edge of the docks as the rain poured from above. It was cold, he was freezing, and too close to the waters for his comfort, but he wanted nothing more than to sit in the rain with you and share the heat from your fingers.

Even after everything, you’re still capable of reserving those touches for him.

After wiping the makeup completely off him, you raise the cup and fill it with water. “Close your eyes.”

He doesn’t want to, but he does and feels the water rushing down like the rain on those docks.

When he’s finally finished, you fish him up from the basin and put him down atop a soft towel on the table. Like a cat, he instinctively shakes off the residue of water, only to find you already raising a new towel towards him.

He stops moving, and you takes this as your cue to continue. You’re attentive, he notices. You wipe his face first, then his ears, then his hair. You dry it and scratch his scalp at the same time through the fabric, and he instinctively leans against your touch.

This is … nice.

“When did you cut your hair?” You ask out of the blue as you continue to dry him, making sure to leave no spot too humid.

He almost failed to catch onto your words with how at ease he is. “Hmmm?”

“You used to have long hair before,” you elaborate. “Why did you cut it?”

“…. Too much of a hassle to maintain,” he answers after some thought. “It’s hard to find the time to take care of it.”

“… I see.”

The truth is, he cut it right after he left. Not particularly clean either. You know that feeling you get when you feel like you’re losing control, and ridding yourself of any additional weight seems to relieve it? 

Well, that’s what Buggy did.

He cut it with a pair of rusty scissors, severing chunks at a time — some bigger than others — until all he was left with was pieces sticking out to each side like a madman.

It didn’t help though. It didn’t make him feel any lighter from the weight on his chest. From that gnawing feeling.

Still, he maintained the habit and got better with practice. It became more of a practical thing with time; he was a busy man, and he could do well with fewer things to get in his eyes, but it never eased the pain.

But feeling the tips of your fingers lightly graze his hair, however, he feels more relieved than he’s done in the last twenty years.

After a few minutes, you remove the towel and give him a neutral one-over. It’s the first time you’ve seen him as an adult without any of that makeup, and you’re reminded of just how much he’s changed, but also how he’s not.

Even after all this time, it’s still Buggy.

Buggy sees you watching him, and he can’t help but feel slightly self-conscious now that your eyes are on him without his usual armor.

But you don’t comment on it, nor show any surprise in any sense of the word. There are times when he hates your face, not because of anything superficial, but because you make it so damn challenging for him to figure out what goes in that brain of yours. He’s reminded of how you were when you were younger, how lifeless you used to be, and it feels like you’ve regressed to that state.

Another thing to add to the shitlist of things he’s regretful about.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something when the door suddenly bursts open. Buggy jumps whereas you merely look over your shoulder to spot Zoro standing there, his eyes narrowed between you and the clown.

Buggy frowns.

“Zoro,” you speak plainly, as if you failed to notice his annoyance towards the spectacle presented before him. “Is there anything?”

“The hell is this?” His eyes flicker between you and Buggy like it’s the worst show on earth. “What’s going on?”

“He reeked,” you explain. “I have merely been rectifying it for the sake of our noses.”

Buggy wants to argue with the statement that No, he fucking doesn’t, but he suppresses it for the sake of figuring out where this conversation’s headed.

“Since when do we make it a habit of bathing prisoners?” Zoro asks, his hand resting on the handle of his sword.

“Since when have we had prisoners?” You counter.

The swordsman scoffs. “The clown’s needed upstairs in ten.”

“Sure.”

“I’m right here, you know?”

Zoro gives him a nasty look and nothing more before heading back out the door, shutting it with a forceful thud.

“Why do you even stick around with these nobodies?!” Buggy questions. “They can’t navigate for shit, they have no sense of preservation, and they suck at fighting!”

You shift back to raise a knowing eyebrow at him. “They defeated you, didn’t they?”

“That’s—! … I was outnumbered, it wasn’t a fair fight!”

“No fights are fair in the life of piracy,” you point out. 

He bites the inside of his cheek. “All I’m saying is, you’re too powerful to be with these losers. You could join my crew! Think about it! We’d be unstoppable!”

“You mean, join the same people who locked me up and whose asses I subsequently kicked?” 

“Exactly! Don’t worry, they’ll get over it! Once they see how awesome you are, they’ll accept you with open ar—!”

“I decline.”

Buggy pauses, his enthusiasm promptly vanishing and getting replaced with bitter disappointment. “You’re not even going to consider it?”

“Why would I?” You wipe away a descending drop from his right eye. “I have no interest in joining another crew.”

“You say that, and yet here you are with these losers.”

“I was never going to stay permanently.” 

He pauses. “You weren’t?”

“I’m here for Luffy, and once I’ve decided that he can hold his own weight above the waters, I’ll leave.”

“… Where will you go? After, then?”

It takes you a moment to answer, like you don’t know the answer yourself quite yet. Your hand stills for a moment before resuming with the task at hand.

“Who knows?” You shrug. “The sea is my home. I’ve missed it, so I will remain where the waves pull me.”

That won’t do on its own. Stay with me. Buggy wants to ask, and if he had knees, he’d ask on them. Come with me. Be with me. You won’t have to be an official member of his crew; you don’t have to bend to him. You just have to stay. 

Stay with him.

That’s all he’ll ask.

Stay with him until he has the opportunity to figure out a way to make it up to you. 

Stay with him so he can compensate for the twenty years you suffered in each other’s absences.

Just stay.

“Hey.” He’s surprised by his own initiative. “Why’d you even leave your crew and stick your feet on land if you love the sea so much?”

You raise an eyebrow in question.

“I mean, you were Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, for crying out loud! You used to be legendary!” He proclaims, almost saddened by your apparent dismissal of your previous title. “You had fame, berries, a reputation that preceded everyone! Everyone feared you! Why’d you ditch all of that? Because of that rubbery prick? Because of Shanks?”

“Is that really what you want to ask me?”

“Yeah!”

You sigh through your nose and put the towel down to recline in your chair. “I didn’t become a Captain because that’s what I wanted. I became a Captain because it provided an outlet.”

“An outlet? For fucking what?”

It takes you a few seconds to finally reach a suitable response. 

“Anger,” you admit calmly, your arms crossing over your chest as the words stir on your tongue. They must taste bitter. “I was angry, and it festered every day, churning into a poisonous substance in my body. Being a captain with a crew, I could take it out on whoever I wanted. Pirate, marine, unruly crew member, it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.”

It makes sense now, he thinks, the reputation you’ve garnered over the years. Beware the Beast in the East, people would chant in passing towns and harbors, like you were a ghost story. Her eyes were like swords, and her hands were twice as sharp.

There wasn’t a single place where blood didn’t paint your steps.

He never met you while you were a captain; he didn’t want to, couldn’t find it in himself to pop by even once. Still, he kept your poster hidden in the dark depths of the chest in his quarters, if only for acrimonious reminiscence. He would spend some drunken nights doing nothing but staring at it, and it was like he could feel your rage seep through the ink on the page and scorch his fingers. A reminder of what he did.

Now, looking at you and comparing you to the poster, he fails to see the resemblance. He doubts he could’ve spotted it had you reunited earlier on. Captain Cross-Hairs was sharp around the edges, with pecks of blood on her cheeks and fresh scars on her face.

He licks his lips in deliberation. “You were pissed… because of what?”

Because of me?

“I don’t know.” He watches your chest expand with your breath, mesmerized simply by watching you commit to living. There used to be a time when you didn’t. “I didn’t care about money or power. I didn’t care for much of anything, except to purge that rage from my body. I fought, and I killed. It helped, for a time; I felt satisfied, but after a while, you grow bored of eating the same meal.”

When he looked at you when you were younger, he imagined he saw the scorching sun. Burning and bright and enlightening. 

You were … everything, but he never imagined that the same fire that used to mesmerize him would burn a thousand ships in his absence. 

But he was a boy back then. He’s older now, more experienced in the ways of life, he knows better.

He knows enough.

"But the boy," you say with a certain gentleness in your voice that does not evade his notice. "He's good."

"He's weak," Buggy scoffs, feeling his belly fill with sour smoke. He recognizes the feeling. It's the feeling he got when he watched Shanks talk to you that night by the fire. The same feeling he got when he watched you stay with Shanks that day. 

"He's defeated every opponent he's come across."

"Didn't beat Arlong, though." Buggy points out with a smidgen of childish pride and smirks. "Got his ass handed to him real good if I remember correctly."

You look back at him in that narrow way you usually reserve for him when he's crossed a line, and he can already tell he fucked up.

"I watched him grow, Buggy.” You say firmly. “I was there for all of it. I watched him learn, I watched him fight, I watched him leave land. He’s not like us — he doesn’t waste time on regret. He’ll become better than we ever were.”

Buggy glowers but doesn’t say anything else, insisting on letting your words simmer in his brain until he can find the will to let them go.

You procure something from the drawers and it’s only when he looks down that he realizes it’s the make-up. With gentle hands, you lift him and place him in your lap, the brush already blue and ready.

“I’m not here to talk about what used to be,” you say. “Now hold still.”

The diamonds across his eyes come first, the brushing makes his face tickle and it’s only by sheer willpower alone that he manages to refrain from staring at you. 

“Takes us back,” he whispers and closes his eyes so that you can finish. “Doesn’t it?”

He hears something akin to a chortle that doesn’t quite reach your throat, but he considers it a small win.

“You looked a mess,” you answer. “A child could’ve done a better job than I did.”

“Wasn’t bad for your first try, though.”

Except that it was. It was pretty bad. Your hands were shaking, and you held your breath like you were afraid of making a mistake. By the time you were finished, he looked like a canvas painted by a child, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you that.

He used to think that it was strange. You were skilled at nearly everything you committed yourself to, without even trying. 

When he thinks back on it, maybe it wasn’t skill; maybe it was just an ingrained fear of failure that drove you to become the best at what you did.

Then again, your worst could never be the worst in his eyes.

You finish his eyes, and when he looks up at you, he sees the same determination and focus in your eyes as he did that day. It’s the same look you have when you’re targeting something, be it an enemy or a point of interest. It’s always the same.

And he can’t look away.

You move onto the crossbones next, and he’s happy he won’t have to close his eyes for this one. He’s not certain you can pull off his iconic look, but he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.

After all, you strive for perfection. He doubts this will be an exception.

Get it? Perfection and except— You know what? Nevermind.

He can feel your attention in every stroke of the brush, feel the white paint glisten on his skin before it dries. Your warmth lingers like burning embers, he feels like getting too close will burn him, yet he wants nothing more than blisters upon his skin.

He looks at you, looks into your focused eyes, and he feels … something tightening, back where his body is. It could be his stomach, his head… other places, but he can’t tell. Arlong’s been busy abusing his body long enough that he can’t differentiate between a kick or a punch anymore.

But this isn’t Arlong.

It’s you.

He can handle a tight body if it’s because of you.

When he was young, and his body began to work in the way of a man, he would sometimes wake up and feel sweaty and … stiff. He knew enough to know what it was, to know what caused it, but he didn’t know how to approach the situation.

He knew the source of his frustrations. He knew how to alleviate them, but he didn’t. He respected you far too much to ever dare cross the threshold. He figured that simply talking to you, simply holding your hand, and being at your side would be enough. He would be content with just that.

But he watched you … develop. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time, but he couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He imagined feeling your flesh under his digits. The softness across your chest and hips. The warm skin. 

He looks at you now, sees the scars peeking from under your shirt, on your face, and he wants to feel the rough edges. 

Buggy gulps and he’s rather happy now that the rest of his body is not attached to him. He’s lost enough dignity as it is.

“And now, the mouth.”

Yes, he wants to touch that t—

You take the lipstick, and in a straight line, smear it across his mouth in a way that snaps him out of his thoughts. He can feel the warmth emitting from your thumb as you finish his face, and it takes him half a mind not to—

“Done.”

Disappointment lingers in the clown’s visage, and even when you present him a mirror and see the identical likeness to his wanted posters, it does not alleviate the feeling. For what it's worth, he's impressed with how far your make-up-applying skills have reached since last time. 

It's perfect.

But it means you’re done, and the nobodies require his flashy expertise to get Miss Ginger back. 

You dump the discolored water out and put the rest of the equipment away, and he feels his head weigh another ten pounds at so. He somewhat hopes it would; maybe it would be heavy enough that you wouldn’t bother carrying him up the deck?

… Oh, who is he kidding? It’s you. You won’t have any trouble in that department even if he were to weigh as much as a boulder. Ten boulders, even.

To his surprise, instead of reaching for him, you lounge back into your seat and nonchalantly cross your arms and ankles. He’s confused. Weren’t you going to go up with him already?

“If Zoro needs you, he can get you himself.”

That’s what you’ll leave it be like. He, freshly washed, dried, and painted. You, just casually sitting like you have no urgency to get back to the world.

“He’ll be pissed at you,” Buggy warns. “And probably threaten to throw you into the sea.”

You shrug, your eyes already closed, giving him no indication whatsoever that you’re particularly concerned with the veryscary swordsman. He grins with all his teeth on show.

Unfortunately, the green-haired asshole turns up not even five minutes later. All but ripping the clown by the roots of his hair and taking him away like a sack of flour. Buggy spews curses and threats, but they all fall on deaf ears.

It’s only when he’s positioned on deck that he’s finally free of his torment, if only for an hour or two. He begrudgingly instructs the long-nosed slingshot where to sail, adding a few creative insults along the way. Hey, it’s not Buggy’s fault they’re too easy to rile up.

“Is that long nose compensating for something?”

To which he earned a slap to the back of his head. From whom, he doesn’t know, but he’ll take his victories in whatever light weight they come in.

After a while, he shifts his head to eject another insult to the slingshot when he sees that you’re standing a few feet away, your arms crossed while leaning against the railing; eyes closed but face focused and attentive.

He cuts his verbal daggers down a notch.

It gets late, the sky darkens, and one after another, the crew members resign to their chambers save for the slingshot, who still insists on going for a while longer. Him, and you, surprisingly enough. 

You stay, for all of it; neither complaining nor muttering a sound. 

You're stoically positioned on the sidelines, hardly moving at all. He would've died if he'd been standing in the same position for more than one hour, but you endured a total of six without a shiver or a strain. Like a soldier in the rain. A monk in a temple of thorns. 

A beast in an empty forest, lonesome in its hunger, yet content with what content remains buried in its stomach for the time being.

Long-nosed slingshot finally calls it a night and withdraws from the steering wheel with his hands outreached for the head. Before his dirty fingers can hope to graze the magnificent head that is Buggy's, you stretch your arm out like a shield between them.

"I'll take him."

Slingshot snorts. "Really? You want to?"

"Do you want to?"

With his hands raised in mock surrender, Slingshot relents. "... Fine, be my guest."

With a nod, you take the head and retire back to your chamber on the ship. Buggy yawns in your arms, tired, but satisfied with the warmth embracing him. Your steps feel like waves with each one you take, nudging him further and further toward the edge of sleep. Only unadulterated stubbornness keeps him awake.

It darkens for a moment. When he rouses back, he feels softness underneath him. A pillow of sorts, not comforting enough to offer him sleep, but enough to keep him relaxed.

He nudges around, like a fish in a small bowl, only to find that he's not on the table, nor in a barrel, nor a bag. The surface beneath him is made of fabric, and swings with his movements. 

He's in a hammock.

More precisely, your hammock.

“Sleep.” He hears your command. 

He finally locates you, seated by the window of your cabin with your palm under your chin, staring out into the darkened ocean.

He turns, voice diluted with drowsiness. “You too…”

“Soon.”

“Now," he almost whines.

The look you give him is not any different from the kind you usually provide, but it lacks the usual undertone of annoyance. He can tell you're tired, even if you're refusing to show it. The shadows under your eyes stand out more prominently, even in the dimmed candlelight. 

With an inaudible sigh, you stand and while he expects you to move towards the hammock, he's disappointed to see you aiming towards the door instead.

"H-Hey, where are you going?"

"The kitchens," you respond. "You can sleep here for the night; I'll take the couch."

"That's not necessary!" He wiggles so that he can look at you from over the edge of the hammock, careful as not to fall from the height. A thought dawns over him, one that makes his cheeks feel warm. "We- We can share! I don't take a lot of space!"

"You still take up too much of it."

"Are you calling me fat?!"

He's almost insulted when you don't answer to contradict his assumption, yet despite the innate urge to defend his honor and spew shit at you, he decides to let it slide.

"C'mon! I promise I'll behave," he tries again. "You'll hardly notice me. Those couches suck balls anyway, so why not?"

He watches you give it some thought for probably a good two minutes. He expects you'll decline his proposition, finding that your own pride weighs more than the need for decent sleep. 

Then, you lower your shoulders in defeat and make your way over to the hammock. "Scoot over."

He obliges rather excitedly, and when he wiggles back a bit too much to make space, he can feel gravity threaten to drop him on the other side of the hammock. Before it gets to that point, you grab him by the side of his face and hold him until you can lift yourself and lay down. 

Only then do you lay him down, on the right side of your abdomen. He's mindful of the wounds that have yet to heal there, so he tries not to invade too much. Still, he can't deny, he's quite comfortable. Very comfortable. 

He's the most comfortable he's been in a long time - twenty years.

He surpasses the urge to push closer to you, share your warmth, and elects to look up at the ceiling instead.

"Hope you don't snore," he jokes, only to have a yawn follow promptly behind.

"I don't snore," you answer, deadpan. "Now go to sleep."

He's not convinced, but he doesn't comment on it. This peace hangs by a thread, and he'll be damned if it's cut short now of all times. He shuts his eyes, and in his dreams, he's presented with the sun on the blue skies above.

He feels warm all over.

----

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat, @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @fanshavegottensotoxic, @fluffybunnyu, @sirenmelody23

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(Additionally, some sketches of how I imagine Cross-Hairs to look like while I’m writing.)

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy the clown x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #buggy one piece #buggy x you #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x female reader #DMTMYHB #didn’t mean to make your heart blue

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stand behind the counter, ready to serve the next customer that comes through the door. If you thought the rush was bad, the lulls are worse. The time drags by as the clock seems to taunt you. You sigh again as you hear Bre clattering around in the back room. You’d rather be back there folding up empty boxes and scouring trays.

You yawn and waver on your feet. The small local cafe doesn’t have the consistent traffic of the franchised kiosk just down the block but there are still hectic rushes. The mornings just after nine, then at noon when the office workers run out for a refresh espresso or a lunchtime sweet, but the afternoons usually deliver no more than the errant college student on their laptop or a few friends in between visits to boutiques.

The door opens and you glance over at the man who walks through the door. He strikes you as out-of-place as he struts across the cafe, hitting a table with his thigh, and sneering at it as if it insulted his mother. He’s tall with broad shoulders, and his hair is slicked back while the sides of his head are buzzed. He wears a black turtle neck under and open jacket and a pair of matching slacks that show off his ankles. His loafers are a rippling grey and black snakeskin print with a shining silver buckle.

You grip the sides of the till as he approaches but he doesn’t look at you. You stare, a little put off by his lack of acknowledgement as he peers up at the menu. He steps forward, tapping his fingers on the counter as he blows out between his lips. A golden signet ring flashes on his pinkie. You’re still not sure he’s in the right place.

“Hello, sir, can I get you--”

“Shh,” he hisses and holds up his finger. You snap your mouth shut and blink. He squints at the menu. He hums, clucking as he gives a thoughtful look to the hand-painted letters. Alright?

You wiggle your foot impatiently, biting your tongue. You’re not an inherently rude person but some customers make you wish you were. You watch him and he finally lowers his chin.

“Oat latte. Half blonde espresso, half regular, with the toffee nut syrup and a sprinkle of cinnamon.”

You nod as you punch in his order. It’s quite the drink. Sometimes you think people just pile on to see how far they can push service workers. They can’t just have a simple drink. Some even request the temperature to the digit.

“Alright, got it, it’s fifty cents for the syrup, is that okay?”

“Fifty cents?” He echoes haughtily, “no, that’s not okay.”

“Um, okay, well, it’s uh, on the menu,” you crane to look behind you, “fifty cents for a flavour shot, twenty-five for whipped cream.”

“I didn’t ask about goddamn whipped cream. They don't charge me here, doll. Get me the goddamn drink,” he demands.

You reel. Admittedly, you’re new. You’re learning but your first lesson was simple; customers are awful.

“I can just take the syrup off, I guess,” you hit the x and the whole order disappears.

“Didn’t you hear me? No charge, honey. It’s on the house.”

You purse your lips and look at him. You raise a brow. Alright, this is a new one.

“Um, if you’d just hold on, I think... uh, I should ask--”

“Yeah, you better fucking ask,” he sneers as swipes at a stack of paper cups and sends them flying. You flinch out of the way and spin to burst through the door to the kitchen.

“Uh, Bre,” you say, “there’s a really angry dude out there and he wants a free latte so uh, what do I do about that?”

She looks over at you as she puts a tray of cookies on a cooling rack. She frowns and her forehead stitches. She pulls of her oven mitt and checks her fitbit.

“Shit, it’s Thursday,” she mutters as if it’s the end of time.

“Yeah, it is, so uh--”

She waves away your words with the mitt and tosses both on the counter as she hurries past you. Confused, you turn to follow her through the swinging door. You stay behind her as she goes to the till.

“Mr. Hansen, so lovely to see you, what were we getting today?” She chimes, more lively than you’ve ever heard you. At any other time, she’s dulcet, almost monotone, completely over the cafe lifestyle.

He scoffs and his eyes drift from her to you. He pokes his tongue into his cheek, “oat, toffee nut, half blond, half regular, cinnamon on top,” he notes each element tersely, “and how about you teach this one some goddamn manners.”

He glares at you and you give a wide-eyed look. You shrug at Bre as she glances over at you. She shakes her head subtly. You take a step back.

You grab a cup and she quickly takes it out of your hands, “I got it, stay out of the way.”

You put your hands up and back away. You don’t know what you did wrong. Who is this man? He smirks and hovers on the other side of the counter as he crosses his arms over his puffed chest. Bre brews a fresh espresso and steams the oat milk.

“I’m waiting, sweet lips,” he cups a hand to his ear, his other arm still over his chest.

You look back and forth.

“Apologise,” he demands.

Bre clears her throat and you glance over, your mouth falling open dumbly.

“Oh, uh,” you face the man again, “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know--”

“Well, now you fucking do,” he sneers as Bre places a cup down before him and a paper bag.

“Mr. Hansen, there’s a cinnamon bun for you too. We just took em out of the oven.”

“You’re such a dear, Bre Bear,” he cooes, sending you a venomous snarl.

You cringe as he spins and strides out with his fare. You watch after him, still thoroughly perplexed. Bre wipes the counter with a cloth.

“The next time he comes in, give him whatever he wants,” she says quietly.

“Oh, I didn’t... who is he?” You garble.

“Better you don’t know. Just think of him as the boss,” she sends you a desperate look, her eyes gleaming, “if you know what’s good for you, you’ll smile and listen.”

She brushes you with her shoulder as she goes back into the kitchen. You furrow your brow and glance towards the door. The man’s just outside the windowed walls, watching you. He winks before he disappears beyond the next facade

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #series #drabble #the man #mob!au #au

[tojiscumdumpster]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ vii. reader

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⭑๋࣭ summary page

please refresh your memory of the content warnings that's mentioned on the summary page. this chapter will include vi0lence.

 For some reason the takeout I ordered is taking longer than usual, which is strange for a Tuesday night. I was told a forty-five minute delivery time, but they’re fifteen minutes over. 

 Now that I think about it, they did sound pretty busy over the phone, so I guess a couple of minutes won’t be too bad. Hopefully they hurry because I am dozing off a bit, and I’d like to take advantage of my weariness since Toji isn’t here to comfort me before bed. 

 Just being without Toji for three days puts me on edge, however, he reassures me that Naoya is on standby if I need anything or if I feel unsafe. Not like I can while being in our home. Living in a penthouse has its perks. Great security. Code required entry. I think I should be fine. And after the party a few weeks ago, I don’t think I’ll ever see Suguru again. 

 I curse myself everyday for succumbing to the temporary pleasure he provided me those two times we had sex. Honestly, I feel embarrassed. I knew Suguru was a bit clingy but I didn’t think about it at the time because I wanted attention. The desire. The chemistry. The mind blowing sex and how he practically worshiped my body. All of it felt good. Now, I feel disgusted.

 It’s been almost two months since I met Suguru, and a month since I told Toji about my infidelity. He has admitted how much it hurt him that I stepped out on our marriage, but decided to work on forgiving me and move past it. I can’t say our marriage is perfect. We still have our small arguments, especially about me cheating, and I give him the space to express how he feels. I mean, there’s nothing I can say. I cheated. 

 Quite frankly, I’m surprised Toji and I are still together. Maybe something in me thought when I told him I cheated that he was going to use that as a way to finally divorce me. Because again, I thought he didn’t love me anymore. However, Toji made it clear that our love for each other should never be questioned.

 I know that now.

 A yawn escapes my mouth and I begin to wonder where the delivery driver is. I grabbed my phone to call the restaurant but before I was able to, a message from an unknown number came through:

Hi. This is your delivery driver. What is the access code?

  Finally .

Hi, it’s 02315.

I go to the bedroom to grab some cash from our safe and hear the doorbell ring. I just know as soon as I eat a good amount of food, I’m going straight to bed. Tomorrow I have to meet with Teresa to do some nursery shopping (maybe clothes and shoes, too) and I need all the energy for our early morning. 

 Although I know it’s the delivery driver at the door, paranoia causes me to look through the peephole and I see the delivery guy from the restaurant, in uniform, waiting for me. But the moment I open the door, my heart nearly sinks to my stomach seeing the delivery guy coughing up blood and behind him is Suguru, pulling a knife out of his lower back. 

 He falls forward, food spilling everywhere along with broken glass from the pop that I ordered. He’s… he’s dead. 

 Suguru killed him. 

 I gasp, and numbness finds its way to my knees that feels like they’re giving up on me but manages to give me enough strength to put distance between us. How he slowly locks the door behind him while giving me a sardonic smile fills nausea in my stomach. 

 Suguru’s purple irises darken to the color of midnight as he looks over my body. I feel violated. Disgusted. I’m trying to control my mind to prevent me from thinking about throwing up, but the more he ogles me, repulsion flares in my gut. 

 A man, that I had sex with, that doesn’t know what no means, is now standing in the middle of my home with a bloody knife and an intent of I don’t know what. I turn on my heels to run toward my phone, however, he breaks the distance in three long strides to grab me by my coils and pull me to him, causing me to yelp from the sharp pain I felt. 

 My breaths softly burst in and out, and salty tears trickle down my cheeks just thinking about what’s going to happen to me. 

 Will Suguru kidnap me? Kill me? The possibilities are endless as they spiral in my mind, but really all I can think about is Toji. 

 “Shh, don’t cry, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing the shell of my ear that causes the slightest hint of vomit to rise up my throat. “I won’t hurt you. I would never do that.”

 “You’re hurting me now.”

 Suguru lets out a breathy chuckle, almost as if he’s mocking me. “Funny. I don’t remember you having an issue with me pulling your hair when my cock was inside of you.” 

  What was I thinking? 

 “What do you want?” I ask, trembling. 

 “I just want to talk, baby.”

 There’s one of two things. I can play along and listen to what Suguru has to say to give me time to think of what I could do. Or, find a way to get to my bedroom to get the gun out of the safe. 

 The former is my best bet for now.

 “Okay,” I answered. “We can talk. Just let go of me.”

 “Will you run if I do?” I shook my head, and although Suguru hesitated, he released my hair.  “I miss you, Y/N.”

 “You have a weird way of showing it.” I move to the other end of the couch to create a greater distance than before. Suguru attempts to come closer, but I put my hand up to reassure him. “Give me space.”

 He nods. “Anything for my pretty girl.”

 There was a time when hearing him call me his pretty girl made my stomach flutter.

 I loathe it now. 

 “How the fuck do you know where I live?”

 “Hm, coincidence. But be more careful giving out your code, angel. It’s dangerous.”

 “Are you sick in the head?” The question was rhetorical, but Suguru felt the need to answer. 

 “Love can make you do crazy things, Y/N.”

 I scoff. “ Love? Do you… think that I love you? That you love me?”

 “I do love, angel-”

 “We fucked, Suguru!” I yell at him, anger ripping through my throat and breaking past my tears. “I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.”

 He shakes his head, eyes softening. “That’s where you’re wrong, Y/N. I do know you.” He slowly walked toward me and I began stepping backwards. “I know your favorite bakery. I know that makeup store that you love going to every Saturday. I know how much you love reading. How much you love ordering from this takeout place. Oh, and don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll order you some more.”

 “Why? So you can fucking kill the next delivery driver?” I retorted. 

 “In my defense, he wouldn’t cooperate with giving me your order. I told him I was your boyfriend and the fucker didn’t believe me.” Suguru laughs menacingly while pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the blood off his blade. “Says he knows your husband. Your fucking husband that’s a pain in my ass.” 

 Clingy wasn’t the word to describe Suguru. Crazy. A complete psychopath. He’s fucking delusional. For all this time I’ve known him for, the very little that I know, he’s been building this illusion in his mind that we’re meant to be. That we’re in love. 

 Where did he get this from after sex and a few conversations about sex? 

 On the outside, it seems like I calmed down, but inside? Fear gnaws me. If Suguru claims he’s not going to hurt me, why is still holding the blade in his hand after he wiped it clean? 

 I need to find a way to get past him. Think, Y/N. Think. 

 “There’s other ways to show me that you love me, Suguru.” Reassuring him to make it seem like I’m interested in building a relationship is worth a try. “You don’t have to kill to prove that you love me. I feel it. I know you do. I’m sorry for doubting you before.”

 His brows raise in relief. “You do?”

 “I do, Suguru. I do,” I say softly. “You were there to make me feel special when Toji wasn’t.”

 “Don’t say his name, angel. He doesn’t deserve your breath.” Suguru comes closer to me and reaches for my hand. To keep the act that I’m on his side, I allow him to touch me. If I make it out alive, I remind myself to scrub my body hard next time I shower. 

 A slight shiver races through my spine as he caresses my face and sniffs the scent of my hair. Behind me there’s a bottle of wine I planned on drinking with my meal, and while Suguru takes his time embracing me, I grab the bottle and smash it against his head. 

 I don’t wait to see his reaction. My legs move on their own to where my phone is and I rush upstairs to my bedroom, but before I could make it to the fourth step, Suguru pulls me by my leg. And you would think he would be furious, boiling because of my betrayal, his anger is masked with a sadistic smile. 

 “You lied to me, princess. Why. Did. You. Lie. To. Me?” He asks me through gritted teeth. 

 I kick at him, hitting his chest and face to let me go, but he doesn’t budge. “Let go of me you fucking psycho!” 

 Suguru slices the back of my leg with the knife, deep enough to inflict damage, to which I scream in pain. But I know the pain is temporary. 

 While I continue to kick him, I throw my phone up the stairs and yell out to the digital assistant installed in my phone to call Naoya. I’m not near to know if it worked, but after hearing calling Naoya out loud, it’s dialing. 

 I managed to stand up on one leg despite Suguru still having my other in his grip, kicking him in his eye socket where it’s still bruised from Toji’s beating. Every bit of my power is used to jab my heel into his eye until he winces in pain and eventually releases me. 

 My steps are wide when running up the stairs, two at a time, to reach for my phone and rush into my bedroom. Naoya is still on the phone and I want to let out a breath of relief, but I can’t. Not with this fear rushing through me. 

 “Naoya? Naoya?” I call for him frantically, tears returning to my eyes. 

 “ Y/N, what the hell is going on? ”

 “Please come. He’s here, he’s-” I yelp and my body flinches from the abrupt banging on my door. 

 “Angel, come outside. Don’t make this harder for us. You know I don’t like scaring you.”

 “ I’m on my way now, Y/N. Go get the gun ,” Naoya orders.

  The gun. Right.  

 I ignore the excessive banging on the door and head to the walk-in closet, going deep back to where the safe is. My hands tremble when putting in the code, but I was able to get it open. I hate using the gun, let alone holding it, but it’s the only chance that I have at defense until Naoya comes. 

 “ Y/N, talk to me. What’s going on? ” I almost forgot that he was on the phone. 

 “I have it.”

 “ Okay, I’m fifteen minutes away, I’ll try to get there in five ,” he tells me. “ Just stay in the room. ”

 When I’m back in the middle of my bedroom, it’s quiet. I no longer hear the excessive force on the door nor him yelling. Something doesn’t feel right. Nothing in my mind will lead me to believe that Suguru just gave up, but what is he doing? 

 Is he thinking that the silence will bait me? That he left? He returned downstairs? No. The quietness is making me uneasy.  It’s too loud. Loud enough for me to hear how shallow my breaths are, and the thumping of my heart. 

 “Naoya…” I cautioned. 

 “ What happen- ”

  The balcony.  

 We live on the highest floor alone, so there was never any reason to lock the doors. My head whips to the window to find Suguru with a sinister smile on his face, waving at me with the hand that carries his knife, like everything is peaches and cream between us. 

 I drop my phone and hear Naoya repeatedly calling my name, however, I tune him out. Shooting through the window is useless when they’re bulletproof, so I cock back the gun and wait until Suguru steps inside. 

 “Stay right fucking there,” I demanded. 

 “Don’t you think this is some pretty intense foreplay, angel face?” 

 “What I think is that you’re a disgusting piece of shit that deserves to die.”

 He sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s a nice thing to say. We shouldn’t be hurting each other, princess.”

 “Stop fucking calling me that!” He steps closer but halts his steps from seeing me apply pressure to the trigger. “I swear on my life I will put a bullet through your head if you keep fucking with me.” 

 “You don’t mean that,” he says, solemnly. 

 “Want to try me?”

 He looks up in thought and I feel mocked for him actually considering taking a chance to step toward me. I can no longer be surprised by the extent Suguru will go just to prove he’s worthy to me, even if it potentially costs his life. 

 My reaction wasn’t quick enough to shoot him in the head when he charged at me, but I managed to get a shot in his right shoulder, causing him to drop the blade. It’s like Suguru is a beast and I am his prey, ignoring the pain that I inflicted on him to smack the gun out of my hand and pin me to the ground. 

 I try to fight him off of me, but my strength against him is no use. 

 “You’re being a bad girl, Y/N,” he rasps. “A very fucking bad girl. Why do you have to act this way, huh?”

 “Get off of me, Suguru!”

 “No! Why can’t you understand that I love you? I’m better than he is, sweetheart.” He lowers his face against my neck and breathes my scent in, whispering,  “Ask me. Do you need me to kill him? Is he in the way? Just tell me, angel. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

 At this moment, I fear for my life. I think of all the stupid decisions I’ve made throughout my life and hooking up with Suguru at the bar two months ago is my biggest mistake. As I cry out hysterically, I call for Toji like if I continue to do so, he’ll appear. 

 And for the minute I am hallucinating, thinking it’s Toji that’s calling back to me, it’s Naoya still on the line. I didn’t get a chance to respond to him before Suguru grabbed my phone. 

 “I’m sorry. Y/N isn’t available to speak right now,” he says, throwing my phone against the wall, which breaks. He then returns his attention to me. “Anyway, princess. Where were we?”

 Hell. . . That’s exactly where I’m at. 

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#jjk x black reader #jjk x reader #anime x black!reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru x black reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #geto x black reader #geto x reader #toji fushigro x reader #toji x black reader

[romana-after-dark]

Rooms on Fire: I Will Run To You

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: Madonna learns more about her role and the dynamics of the household.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

Extra warnings for chapter: Mentions of medical malpractice, death in childbirth, mentions of male sexual assault via power dynamics, lots of complex feelings.

A/n: next chapter things ramp up.

3.1k words

A/N I gotta apologize y'all. this was meant to include so much more but I guess this chapter is getting split bc I just put so much Jonah lore. I hope y'all are formal about liking him. We finally get some backstory on the uprising, Tom, and Madonna's dad, who BTW, had a name change. JACK IS NOW MARCUS more info after the story!

Support writers! Reblog and leave comments!

One so young, so changed Should not be left alone Two in love should confess And not be left alone And I will run to you Down whatever road you choose Yes, I will follow you down I will run to you ~I Will Run to You, Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty

“You paint a lot of fire”

Jonah’s voice startled you, making you turn around but you relax when you see it’s just him. Reyansh was watching you outside your studio, and Jonah coming meant you must be summoned somewhere. 

You were painting a picture of a burning house, something you saw in a dream last night. Ben and Will treated you normally, fucking you but also spending time together. You supposed Francisco’s behavior was normal too, considering that he continued to treat you like you only existed to fuck when he had to fullfill his duty. He never touched you alone. In the week since you got your period Santi was ignoring you. He’d call you to his room, fuck you with your face pressed into the mattress, and then toss you out. Last night he shoved you into the hall with your dress still bundled up in your arms.

“I paint what I dream.” You mumble, tired and not totally there. You were terrified to sleep, and after a second visit from the succubus it was getting worse, forcing yourself to stay up later and later. Lack of sleep was making it difficult to be alert, and little noises make you jump.

Jonah approached where you stood, keeping a respectful distance. He’d been distant as well since the night you saw him, and you still were unsure what you did wrong and why Iris was so upset with you.

“You dream of houses burning?” His voice was gentle but curious.

You take a deep breath, too tired to fight off any questioning. It’s best not to lie, anyway. “Ever since I was a child, I dreamed of fire. I dreamed I was dancing in front of it. I dreamed I caused it, and it was out of my control and now I must dance in the smoke and watch as the flames consumed things that I loved.” A pause, tears beginning to burn behind your eyes. “Sometimes, he stood inside them.”

“He?”

“My father.”

Jonah drew in a sharp breath and you worried he thought you were sympathetic to his traitorous cause. You weren’t, you had remembered how betrayed you’d felt that he’d thrown everything away to follow Deacon Davis, the judas who had killed the Divine Mother. As per tradition, when someone is sentenced to death, they burn at the stake and the unmarried women are expected to dance. The closer you are to the individual, the closer you are to the fire. You had been Marcus’s only family, him and your mom having adopted you as an infant. He died in front of you as you danced, embers blowing in the wind and singeing your white dress and sensitive skin. You were only 12, but you knew right from wrong, and your father was wrong. Sometimes you woke up still smelling his burning corpse. You had danced longer than anyone, keeping all the energy your child body could give you until you passed out.

You turn to Jonah with tears in your eyes, “I hold no mercy in my heart for him, please know that. I am loyal to the Divine Mother, I am loyal to my husbands above all else! I don’t know why I didn’t get pregnant but know I’d die for them happily should it came to that!” Crying now, you desperately plead to him but it’s not Jonah you are speaking to, truely. You know Pope is questioning you right now, and you cannot bear the thought that he doubts you.

“Honey” Jonah’s voice is strained, pain anguishing him. “How much do you know about the uprising…”

Your face is wet with tears, almost shaking in fear and frustration. You didn’t know how you’d messed this up so badly so soon. You just wanted to be held, you don’t remember the last time you’d been held without sexual desire… it was probably your father, may he be damned.

“Deacon Davis… he was an advisor to the Divine Mother, a friend to my husbands… he and Deliliah conspired against the Divine Mother and her family. Dad- um, Marcus, was a part of the traitors and he allowed Deacon Davis into Divine Mother’s quarters where he murdered her. Deliliah was Will’s betrothed before. She had seduced him for information and, and betrayed her husband! I would never do that, Jonah!” You realize now why he was questioning you, he thought a traitorous blood ran in your veins. Had Pope sent him? Had Francisco seen the evil in your heart, the evil that was inviting a demon?? Or had Jonah simply seen you for what you were. “I would rather die than betray them! You have to believe me!” You sob, closing your eyes as you are no longer able to look into his in shame. Strong arms wrap around you, practically holding your body up. 

Jonah held you tightly and you cried into his shirt, so tired, so sleepy… You just wanted to feel peace again. Jonah allowed you your release, wetting his shirt with your tears until your breathing slowed. It occurred to you that you were hugging and being held by a man who was not your husband, so you take a step back looking down.

“I- I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, I haven't slept well-”

“It’s okay, honey.” His voice gently reassures you. “It’s okay to cry sometimes.”

You shake your head. “No… no I’m happy, I should be happy here, happy with my husbands, I am!” You’d shown weakness, surely Jonah would tell Pope that you were unhappy, that this was proof of your doubt, of unworthiness… Instead, Jonah pulled a sleeve down on his hand, stepping up to you once more. He ran the sleeve carefully under your eyes wiping the tears.

“There is nothing wrong with feeling what you feel. Your husbands are blessed with a kind, beautiful, artistic wife and they should be so lucky you sit at their table, nonetheless someone who cooks them dinners and paint them pictures. It is they who are unworthy, not you.”

You gasp at the blasphemy. “Jonah! No, no they are-”

“Gods, I know.” He wipes snot from your running nose. “But you… you’re like a daughter to me, and a father is allowed to place his children above Gods. Marcus may not… he may not have made the right choices, but he wanted nothing but good for you, just like I do. So please, for me, show him and yourself a little grace.”

With a little sniffle, you nod. “Thank you, Jonah.”

He gave you a smile, the bright one you like that made his eyes squint. “Good girl. Now, I got a surprise for you that I think will brighten your day.”

*

Jonah watched as you practically skipped down the hallway. When he told you Frankie wanted to take you out for a picnic, you perked up so fast it was like you hadn’t even been sobbing in his arms a moment ago. He wished he could be honest with you, he wished he could tell you the truth about Tom, Delilah, and most importantly, Marcus… but you were so brainwashed, there was no way for him to break through to you. He couldn’t simple tell you everything you’d know and believed whole heartedly, your religion, your life, the very thing that you chose above your father was a lie… not yet anyway. Maybe one day you’d doubt, you’d question, and the first people you’d go to would be Iris or him, maybe even Reyansh. Rey played the part well of a good soldier boy, he wasn’t as overt as Iris was but he knew you trusted him.

Despite being late already with the crying, you insisted on stoping in your room to grab a ribbon for your heart. Jonah’s heart hurt watching you put so much effort into this.

Will treated you well. Despite Jonah and Will’s… past, he couldn’t deny Will  was a good husband. He took care of you.

Ben was a little shithead and was absolutely going behind your back with women still he just couldn’t figure out who. Ben had to be more sneaky now. This didn’t stop him from very loud late night fucks with Frankie that it seemed only you and Santi weren’t aware of. Still, he gave you affection and spent time outside of sex with you.

Santiago, he expected nothing less. Santiago’s moods were unpredictable, they had been ever since he was a child. Jonah had known Santiago and Beatriz since he was young, when all this was fairly new and traction was growing more and more. Jonah didn’t exactly believe, but his wife Jess did. Maybe he did for a while, it was hard to not with the things he saw… Beatriz had taken an interest in him and thus, despite being married, he spent a lot of time at the mansion with her. Jonah felt like a hooker, like his body was a commodity and up for grabs from anyone, and the worst part was how okay Jessica was with it. She fucking encouraged it. “Its an honor!” It wasn’t such an honor when she died giving birth to Iris and was denied medical treatment. Doctor said it wouldn’t have helped. Jonah knew Beatriz had something to do with it. He was luck Irish lived. She was his only reason for living sometimes.

It was Frank he was surprised about. Jonah had known all four men for most of the 3 decades of their life, and next to Santi, he knew Frank the longest. Frankie was raised with Santiago, practically as brother. Beatriz couldn’t adopt him, because something something divine blood, but that didn’t matter when Santi pissed her off enough. Jonah had witnessed the lashings and beatings he had taken, but what seemed to hurt the teen the most was when Beatriz would hang his godhood over his head, saying that it should be Frankie who was the savior, not him. After Jess’s death, Jonah was moved into the mansion and promoted to captain of the guard. It was just an excuse for Beatriz to demand sex even more.

Frankie was a good kid, but he always followed Santi like a lost puppy. Santi became obsessed with Frankie, forcing Frankie to become more and more withdrawn. Still, the nice young man was in there somewhere, and Jonah would bring it out. After the girl came to his room crying about Frankie not loving her, Jonah spoke to him and said he needed to do better by her hence the picnic.

Rey was out at the stables by the time Jonah got there, preparing the three horses. He was there a lot, knowing a lot about horses. If he has any choice, Jonah was certain he’d have been a vet. Another life, he supposed. Jonah and Rey would accompany them since they were going out a ways.

“Hello, Francisco.” She spoke softly, but enthusiastic. For all he and Santi hurt her, she loved him.

Frank gave a small smile. “Hi, Madonna. I thought maybe we could take a picnic. Get away from… everything else.” He brushed the mane of the horse.

Everyone else, Jonah thought.

“That sounds wonderful!” You walk over to him. “What’s his name?”

“This is Cielo. And those two,” He points to the other horses being settled. “Are Estrella and Flora.”

“Will we be riding Cielo?” You ask, but Frank turns away.

“I’ll be riding alone.”

You look dejected again, so Jonah steps up, frustrated with Frankie. “C’mon, you can ride with me.” Jonah puts a put in a stirrup, launching a leg over the saddle and onto Flora, his favorite horse.

“Actually” Frankie interjects. “I think she should ride with Rey.”

Of course. 10 years later and everyone was still suspicious of him. Frankie climbed onto Cielo, and Jonah rode up to him, whispering. “Compliment her ribbon. She picked green just for you.”

*

Reyansh pulled you up and onto the saddle, allowing you to ride the side saddle to protect your modesty in the dress. If you knew you’d be riding a horse, you’d have worn pants. It wasn’t the most comfortable, and you feared falling, but Reynash’s arm was strong around you. He was careful to keep his hands at appropriate places, which you were thankful for. 

“How is your painting going?” He asks, as since Jonah leads the group and Francisco is in the middle still not keen on talking to you. Still, this was a step forward.

“It’s good, thank you. It’s nice and peaceful. I miss-” You stop yourself. What you missed was when Santi used to sit and watch you paint, drinking his wine and intent eyes on you. It had been a comfortable silence. “I do miss having company sometimes…” You missed your husband, you missed his laugh, his smile, his praise.

“Hey, I’d love to sit in on a session!” You could tell by the tone of his voice he was smiling. “I’d love to see a real artist at work!”

You laugh just a bit, “I’m not an artist, but if you’d like to watch, I'd like that.”

“Deal.”

*

You sat against a tree, legs bent modestly in your skirt and eating the sandwich Iris packed. She also packed apple juice, which you loved.

Francisco was silent. He’d thanked you for your help setting up the blanket and spoken as he served his food, but now he simply sat there. He looked sad, but even then he was handsome. Francosco sported a mustache, which had remained consistent the whole time you’d known him. Santiago was growing out his hair and beard, which was making your heart ache even more that you couldn’t kiss and touch him like you wanted to. Still, the silence wasn’t awkward. You had begun to wonder if he was just… quiet.

“Thank you for taking me out.” You say, speaking quietly. Jonah and Reynash were circling the parameter and you felt… watched. “I hadn’t realized how much time I spent inside until now.” Had you even left the house at all since your wedding? When was the last time you felt sunshine before today?

To your delight, while still looking down, he smiled. “I’m glad. Don’t like seeing you cooped up in that house all day.”

Your heart warmed at his concern for you. Feeling emboldened, you scooch close to him.

“It’s not cooped up with the men I love.”

This makes his eyes flick up to you. He narrows them suspiciously, but not angry “You… love… me?”

Your heart nearly shatters at the question, and you can’t help but find him so endearing. “But of course I do!!!” Careful, you place a hand on his face and feel the patchy bit of stubble. “You’re my beloved husband!”

“But… you had to marry me.”

You shake your head. “No, Francisco I chose you, I chose all of you and I love all of you. Is that why you’ve been distant? Is that why you’ve been so cold to me?”

“I-” He stutters over his words. “I don’t think this is good for you… I don’t think I’m good for you…”

If there were ever words you hadn’t expected from him, it wasn’t that. Francisco was a God, he was holy, good and righteous, how could he not be good for you. It didn’t matter. Clearly he was hurting, and as his wife, it was your duty to make him happy again. “Francisco Morales, you are my husband, you are the foster child of the Divine Mother, and the love of my life. I chose you before, I choose you now, and I will choose you in heaven, Divine Mother willing.” You bring your face closer to his. “I adore you, in all your God and human.” Feeling brave, you bring your mouth to him and tenderly take his pouty lower lip into your mouth, making him whimper. You liked that sound.

“You choose me?” He whispers, slowly kissing back. “Out in the open, no secrets?” His voice is slightly higher now, almost whining as he begins to chase your mouth. 

“Always” The desperation growing, you give him everything you have. You don’t care that it’s an open field surrounded by trees, you don’t care that Reyansh and Jonah could ride up at any point, and you don’t care who might see you. You were divine and if you wanted to make love to the god of nature in his own fucking land you will. You had Francisco Morales, demi-God, whimpering for your touch. You had HIM, finally had him and you weren’t going to waste it for one second. He wanted thing sout in the open, you would show him you weren’t ashamed to be seen getting filled by his seed. Before you, your husbands were not celibant, that much was known. The sex parties were stuff of rumors and you couldn’t decipher the truth from fact. However, it was clear that public sex was not off the table. Shame is a punishment for the sins of Adam and Eve, and for men born without original sin, there was no shame in sex. “I choose you, always.”

Frankie entangles his fingers into your hair, feeling the green tie in your locks. His other hand slides up to cup your breast.

“I love this ribbon, it suits you.”

*

“Whatcha think’n, old man.” Rey asks as he rides up to Jonah. Both are perched up on top of a hill overlooking the field you lay on and he watches you kiss Frankie. 

“I’m thinking,” Jonah turns to Rey, nodding his head back home. “That I got it here, and since the others are out, you should run back and try and sneak some time with Iris.”

Rey smiled at that, but hesitated. “You sure? Morales didn’t seem like he wanted her with either of you.” 

Jonah rolled his eyes, but it was good natured nonetheless. He liked Reynash, loved him even. He was a good kid. Iris was put in the position she was in, not any older than the girl was now, because of his shortcomings, his weaknesses. She was punished to punish him. She deserved all the good she could get, and Reyansh Saha was about the only bit off good left in this world, beside Iris and now Marcus’s kid he was looking after. He reminded Jonah of Delilah in a lot of ways. Always smiling. Always kind.

“Look at ‘em.” Jonah referenced the pair kissing below. “She’s going home on his lap.”

Rey laughed brightly, turning his horse. “Oh yeah, you’re quite the matchmaker!” And he road off, long dark hair wild behind him. Handsome devil.

The words matchmaker hung in the air. Was Jonah giving her false hope he wondered? Or was he giving her the time she had left and filling it with better memories. He wasn’t sure. Maybe he was delaying the inevitable. It was always going to end one way for her. There was no way to live up to what Santiago wanted.

Because what Santiago wanted was Frankie with a womb.

SO MUCH JONAH HAPPENING!!!!!!!!

And poor madonna bc Jonah christ smelling your dad burn is a lot

So Marcus's face claim is David Habour, this came out of some chats with. @umnitsa in my romanaverse discord server. He is now your adopted father to keep things inclusive, but this is important as he has background info and ties in a lot. Think hopper in stranger things. Also May is already shipping him and Jonah so that ship name is Jonus lmfaooooo

If you are an active participant in one or more of my universes and have a discord (this means commenting or comment Reblogging, im looking for people who want to theorize and chit chat) dm me for a link! This is primarily focused on giving you extra content and sneak peaks but a lot of cool people are there too and you can share your work!

Please consider joining me in in donating to humanitarian aid in Rafah through Doctors Without Borders

LOVE YOU ALL!

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[christopher-bangnaldoskzz]

Soft Dom Bangchan x Female Reader Sub!

Genre: 🌶️🌶️🌶️

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Oral sex (Male receiving), Hand job. sexual content included I am going to say this is strictly 18+ MDNI fan fiction.

Summary:A sub needs a dom, a dom wants a sub but what happens when feelings overlap with contracts and love creeps in? Will a contract remain only a contract? Or are emotions like love too hard to keep in check?

A/N: would also like to dedicate this story to @daceydeath​ , thank you for always putting up with my deluluness, also thank you for putting up with my drama fill life honestly. I wouldn’t be still writing if it wasn’t for you encouraging me. Also thank you so much for writing my summary xx

You find yourself pulling Chan over to the couch. He flops onto the couch as you walk to the pantry. “Where are you going to stay?….or do you need to return to your schedule?” 

As you picked up the fruit roll-ups, Chan said, "I should probably get going...the boys will wonder where I am." 

“That’s a shame because I was hoping to answer your question about what these are for,” you say with a cheeky grin. Chan checks his watch and raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sure they can do without me for a couple more minutes." You feel excited inside your stomach as you unwrap the roll-up and rip it in two.

You grin as you place yourself on his lap and tuck one end into your mouth. "Here, half." 

He takes the other end in his mouth and meets yours as his kiss becomes hungry for more “What about the other half?" he asks, pulling away.

You shimmy off his lap and pull his black shorts down slightly, wrapping the roll around his shaft. 

Circling his shaft with your tongue before bobbing your head up and down his dick. The roll-up makes your mouth salivate as you pump the end of his shaft while sucking on his head. You feel the pleasure wash over him as you increase the intensity, and he holds onto your head as you drive him wild.

“Oh, this couch is so coming back to mine”, he moans as he combs your hair out of your face. 

“Oh, you like this couch?" you say briefly before devouring his dick, pushing your head further down his shaft.

“I fucking love this couch”, he grunts as he bucks his hips.

“Am I doing well?" you ask as you come up for air.

“Oh, you are doing so well, baby girl”, he moans as his body sinks further into the couch.

The roll-up has dissolved, but the flavour still remains as Chan’s dick hits the back of your throat. You take your time, enjoying the sensation of giving him a blow job. His hands massage your scalp, and he pulls you closer as you take him deeper. It's a thrilling feeling; you can tell he's getting as much pleasure as you.

“Ahhhh”, he growls as his hot liquid flows down your throat; he holds you in place as his body shudders with pleasure and anticipation.

“Shit,” he says, pulling you up for air. 

“You look so sexy like this," he says, brushing your swollen lips with his thumb. Chan pulls you in, combing loose hair from your face while caressing your cheeks. 

“I really need to get back to work," you pout as you sit back on your knees while Chan pulls his shorts up. “Hey….don’t look at me like that…..how about I come here this weekend?" he smiles, lifting your chin up to him. 

“But you have come back….and, besides, I have to help Noah pack the shop up”, Chan grins before leaning down to kiss you again. 

“And I only have one bed”, you continue. 

“Well, I guess we are just going to have to sleep together….besides you are closer to the company anyway." That statement is not true; you were further than Chan, but you couldn’t help but smile at his attempt to keep you happy.

“Okay, it’s settled then…tomorrow night after our comeback stage, I’ll come over” Chan helps you up off the floor before grabbing his laptop case. 

“Get some rest, baby girl…..I’ll see you tomorrow.”

CHAN pov 

I am seriously fighting the urge to stay with her tonight; if it wasn’t for the boys needing me, I would have stayed and shown her how much I appreciate her. 

I felt horrible for just pumping and dumping on her, but I wasn’t planning on being there that long. 

ting 

Changbin

“Bro, where are you? It’s been an hour.” 

Chan

“On my way back.” 

I get my head back into the workspace the closer I get to JYPE. As I walk in the doors of the building, I see division two’s manager Hana. 

“Hana”, I shout as I jog towards her. 

“There you are." She had a big smile on her face. “I was just looking for you….I spoke to the team, and I’d like to offer your friend a job as part of your team." This was great news.

“Really….she’ll be so happy….I’ll get back to you when she can start." I could feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. “I have to go…but I’ll get Y/n to contact you…..thanks, Hana.” 

……

FRIDAY 

TING

Y/N 

“Guess who’s coming to your comeback tonight? 😁” 

Chan

“Who?” 

Y/N 

“Booo, you didn’t even guess." 

Chan 

“😑🙄 is it Ryan Reynolds?” 

Y/N 

“No, silly."

“Even better."

“It’s me.” 

“Hana said she wanted to meet me at the comeback tonight.” 

My nerves suddenly got worse; knowing Y/N would watch me on TV was one thing, but actually having her backstage was another thing. 

Chan

“Oh, that’s great news. 😳😳 I’m not suddenly more nervous.” 

Y/N 

“Don’t be nervous, sir…you will do great….but what did you tell her about our relationship was so I can act accordingly tonight?" 

Chan 

“What do you mean? 😂🤣” 

Y/N 

“Are we friends….lovers…sub and dom?” 

Chan

“Huh….lovers?” 

Y/n 

“🙄🙄🙄 I take it you told her I was a friend.”

Chan

“You want to be my lover, aye😉”

Y/N 

“Okay, I’m going with a friend.” 

Chan 

“Good plan, baby 😉” 

…….

Friday

“Why are my palms so sweaty?" Could this be the most significant moment of my life? Or is it because Y/N is in the ordnance? I’ve never had my ummm partner come to one of these before. 

“Why are you so nervous, Hyung?" Minho rests his hand on my shoulder. 

“Oh, haha….I’m not sure” I smiled at him, hoping he would leave it at that, thank God he did and continued to annoy Han until we heard the call to go out on stage. 

“Okay, boys, huddle up”, I yell as we all come together for our pre-stage chat. The crowd is there to see us...let's go out there and have some fun, yeah." They all nod in agreement, "Yay!" "Stray kids on three....one...two...three" we all yell in the sink "stray kids" before we go on stage. 

I walk on stage and take my passion. “Where is she?” I mumble as my eyes search the crowd for Y/N. Just when I was about to give up, she was fourth row to the far left, in one hand. She had a light stick in the other one of our photo sticks. “Is that my face?" I mumbled. My cheeks were red as I felt a smile form. It was like my ear narrowed in her scream as she waved both the items in the air. 

I quickly divert my eyes from her; the sight of her fan girling over me sends blood rushing straight to my dick. I find myself grinning as I look at the group trying to bring myself back to reality. Pulling myself together just in time to hear the music. 

….

Coming off stage, I have to fight the urge to run and find Y/N; all I want is her attention. I want to see her and fuck her senseless for how adorable she looks tonight. 

Walking back towards the music room, I hear “Chan” I immediately turn to see Hana and Y/N walking towards me. 

“Hi, ladies”, I smile as Y/N has a big grin. 

“That was amazing,” Hana said, but my eyes never left y/n; what I want to do to this girl right now. 

“Thank you. How did you like it, Y/N?" I wanted to involve her in the conversation for selfish reasons.

“Oh, uh, it was brilliant,” she said nervously; good to know she felt the energy between us, too, tonight. 

“Amazing… well, I’ll let you ladies carry on with it….I’ll uh catch you later” fucking idiot, is that all you could say? “Carry on”, I think to myself as I walk away, hoping Y/N doesn’t hear me. 

…..

Y/N POV 

You finally got home after what felt like the longest ride of your life; your heels were hurting your feet, and the clothes you had worn felt so uncomfortable. 

“Finally”, you grow as you lean against the wall to remove your shoes. 

Ting

Chan

“I’ll just shower, then come over.” 

Y/N 

“Why don’t you shower here?" 

Chan

“Oh ummm…okay, I’ll just shower at yours 😅” 

Why is he acting so weird? What’s his problem tonight? You thought it was your first date all over again. You thought the awkwardness would have disappeared after he saw you naked for the first time. However, it turns out it’s only made him more nervous around you.

Chan

“On my way then.” 

10 minutes later, Chan knocks on the door. “Hold up, I’ll be in 2 seconds.”

You try to find the key that’s usually in your fruit bowl. "Shit, where are my keys?" you whisper, hoping he won't hear you. 

“Uh, Y/N, do you think you could hurry up….I’m freezing out here.” 

After a few more seconds, you find them “yes”, you say, proud of yourself.

“Coming” you yell as you run to the door to let him in; he’s still in his makeup and his hair is curly. You can’t help but admire how attractive he is for a moment. 

“Are you intending to invite me in" he asks with a smile.

You move to the side as he brings his duffle bag, placing it on the ground. 

“Good, you haven’t showered yet either”, he says, checking your body out. 

“I just got home,” you said, closing the door. Chan walked closer to you, pinning your back to the door. 

“Did you like the comeback?" You could tell he had been waiting to ask you since he saw you with Hana? 

“You were fucking amazing,” you said, combing your fingers through his hair. 

“I saw you”, he chuckled. “Are you secretly a Sasaeng?” You roll your eyes; you know he’s only joking, but you can't help but respond sarcastically. 

“Let’s not get it twisted, sir….I think you’re more obsessed with me than I am with you." That statement was completely wrong. 

“You know....you're probably right….I’m totally obsessed with you,” he says, lifting you up and carrying you down your hallway and into your ensuite. 

“Really?” You giggled. “Why?” This was an honest question. You never saw yourself as someone who held enough power to make a man let alone a man like Christopher Bang openly admit that he was obsessed with you. 

His eyes burned with an intensity you'd never seen as he placed you on the vanity. “Because you have something I can't resist.” He whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. You could feel your heart racing in your chest. His hands moved to your waist, and he pulled you closer to him. 

You could feel the heat radiating from his body and thought yourself melting in his embrace. You were so close you could feel his breath on your skin.

His lips found yours, and the kiss was like electricity, igniting a fire inside you. You felt yourself being consumed by the intensity of the moment, and you never wanted it to end.

“Let’s take a shower and get ready for bed”, he said, placing his forehead on yours while breathless.

“Let me help you get undressed," he says, slowly undoing your blouse buttons. As he kisses you sucking up the moan with his mouth. He removes your shirt, his eyes fixated on your bra straps; he sticks his finger under the strap and pulls them to the side, kissing you from your collarbone to your shoulder. 

His hands move to the back of you and unclasp your bra's hook. He slides the straps off your shoulders and peels the fabric off your body. His lips find their way to your neck, kissing and licking as they move down. His hands trace the curves of your body as he pulls you closer. He pulls back and looks into your eyes, a smirk on his lips.

He begins to kiss down your body, leaving a trail of light kisses and gentle caresses down your torso. His lips linger as they move lower and lower, exploring every inch. His hands move in sync with his lips, tracing your body's curves as they slowly make their way down.

His lips finally reach your most sensitive area, and he pauses, letting his hands take over the exploration, sending waves of pleasure through your body. 

He proceeds to make his way back up your body, his hand resting just below your breasts, leaning in to kiss you again. You feel his thumb brush over your nipples, causing you to moan into his mouth. 

He sucks the moan up as he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss attempting to pull your pants down. In the process, you lean back so he can slide your work pants down your legs, revealing your black lace thong. 

Chan pulls your underwear off. “How did I not know you had these” he smiles, holding your thong on his index finger.

You giggle as he places them besides you, now caging you in his arms. “You like them? I bought them for you”, a grin formed on your face. 

Chan gulps as you begin to lean in to kiss him. “I fucking love them”, he says softly before closing the gap. As you tug at the bottom of his shirt, his tongue slides along your lips. You feel a jolt of electricity shoot through your body as you deepen the kiss. His hands are in your hair and you can smell the musky scent of his cologne. You can feel his heart racing as his breath quickens. 

Chan brakes the kiss to pull his shirt off quickly, followed by his pants. 

Turning on the hot water, you hopped off the bench and joined Chan by the shower. You stepped inside and felt the water's warmth hit your skin. You embraced Chan tightly and kissed him passionately, letting the hot water fill the room with steam. You both were lost in the moment, completely absorbed in each other and the pleasure of being together.

You rubbed Chan's back and slowly moved your hands to his waist. You began to massage his hips and then moved your hands lower and lower until you reached his member. You felt a sudden rush of heat as your hands grazed his skin. His body trembled with anticipation as you continued to explore. He moaned softly as you stroked him with gentle pressure. You felt your desire rising as you moved your other hand up his body. Pulling him in closer by the back of his neck. He let out a deep sigh as you continued to pump his cock. His body relaxed as he surrendered to your touch. He let out a deep groan of pleasure as you increased the intensity of your strokes. You could feel his body tense with pleasure as he reached his climax. He let out a satisfied sigh as you slowly stopped pleasing him.

"Fuck" was all he could say breathlessly.

You grin as he presses his forehead against yours. 

Chan pov 

How could I let this happen? I surrender too easily with her as I walk into her bedroom. Her bed was all made up of what looked like fresh sheets. 

“Are you sure you okay to stay….I know you don’t like sleeping with anyone” That statement she made was wrong; I would very much like to sleep with her. 

“I’ll be fine…” 

I remember thinking to myself that I might finally get some good rest. In past relationships, my sub has always wanted to sleep in my room; I grew to like this as I often found it hard to sleep alone after leaving the dorms. Watching her get dressed in an oversized t-shirt made the blood rush back down to my dick. How does this keep happening? It’s like I’m never fully satisfied when it comes to her. 

“What side do you sleep on?” I say

“Oh, the left mostly, “she says, pointing to the side closest to the window. 

“Perfect...because I like the right” I pulled back the sheets to the bed. I jumped into the bed and sank into the soft mattress. The pillow was the perfect height. I snuggled deeper into the sheets, enjoying the warmth and comfort. I was ready to enjoy a good night's rest. 

Y/N slides in beside me, her back facing me; I lightly place my hand over her hip bone, and her body stops momentarily before she wiggles back slightly, inching closer towards me. 

I bite the bullet and close the gap between us, my nose in the crock of her neck as I inhale her sweet scent. I lift myself up and move her hair to the side, leaving a trail of kisses down the side of her neck. 

“Goodnight, baby girl”, I said before I got comfortable sliding my hand along her stomach, causing her to wiggle further into my body. 

“Goodnight, sir," she hummed. 

Taglist: @bellamuerte1987 @9900z @armystay89 @dreamstarsandskz @raven-skz95 @fosfopirite @neyangi @princesspanda16 @krishastumblernow @agnes-king @bangtanmix73 @djeniryuu @calicanbeevil @khemrose @fawnpeaks @missrobyn81 @dreambelieveinme @umbreonwolfy @jisungiexx @scarletrosesposts @choisoorin @izzathequeen @binnies-minsung-fanclub​ @jetblackbelle​ @bunnyxoxodarling​ @berryberrytan​ @fawnpeaks​ @sky-outta​  @zerefdragn33l​ @shiningnono​ @tinys0ftie​ @goblin-waifu​ @zinnichong​ @tuggybug​  @nokacchan​ @amaranth-writing​ @seungbinis​ @jisunglover3409​ @kimseungminsprincess​

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[malice-ov-mercy]

Music, Love, and Sex

Summary: Lillian is filming a music video for a new single. Only problem is, it’s the duet, which means Will is also present for filming. Having him in the track was already horrible enough, now he has to be in the video too?

Song & Video: The Promise - In This Moment

Playlist for further vibes

Pairing: Will Ramos x OFC (Lillian)

Content Warnings: 18+!, smut, unprotected (p in v) sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), alcohol consumption, angst

A/N: Remember when I said something about a Will hatefuck fic??? Well…… here. The “hate” part of the hatefuck kinda got lost I think, but that’s okay I guess???? This shit fought me so hard. I want this to be a series, but with how fucking much I struggled with just this, I don’t know if I can manage. also totally unrelated, but y’all don’t know how BADLY I want a version of that song with Will. And Noah. AND Corey Taylor.

Word Count: 6.7k

Tag list: @circle-with-me @xxrainstorm @foliosriot @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @reader13000 @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @concretenoah @witchyweeb34 @agravemisstake @an-insane-day @lyschko666 @calisto-thoughts @agravemisstake @emzandthevoid @shroomfairy24

If you would like to be added, please let me know for who! If you tell me everyone/everything, just know that includes anything I may write for Bad Omens AND/OR Lorna Shore.

Will Ramos Masterlist

Warmth filled my mouth then throat, the hot tea and honey soothing the soreness and scratchiness I’d been dealing with for the past few days. Admittedly, I’d not been taking the best care of my voice lately, and it was starting to show. I’d been pushing myself far beyond my limits, blatantly ignoring my body telling me to stop. The strain every time I screamed or forced myself to hit notes I knew I struggled with came to a head this morning during my warm ups.

A million tiny little needles poked and scraped along my esophagus every time I spoke. My voice was all rasp and sounded like I’d been chain smoking for thirty years. Everyone asked if I was sick, but I wasn’t. Filming was almost done and I didn’t want to drag it out any longer. I could power through the final day and worry about the repercussions of pushing myself later.

“You know,”

I heaved a sigh and reluctantly looked at the man whose voice grated against my ears.

I leered at Will, pure disdain plastered on my face. His smug fucking smile sparked a fire under my skin. He hadn’t even bothered to try with his appearance, sporting his usual incredibly distressed and torn jeans and black hoodie. The director thought it was a nice contrast to my dress, stating that it further enhanced the story the video and song were trying to convey. I disagreed, but my protesting fell on deaf ears.

“I could offer you some tips to take care of your voice so you don’t ruin it.” He finished, stopping directly in front of me.

Overconfidence and prideful spite coursed in my blood, festering throughout my body. I had nothing to prove to anyone, I knew my ability and talent. The audacity of this man to think I needed his help with anything was insulting. I’d gotten this far on my own, and I damn sure wasn’t going to take advice from someone whose crowning moment was making dumb animal noises.

“If I wanted your help, I would’ve asked.” I spat.

The light chuckle he let out only angered me more.

“What’s with the hostility, Lilli?” Will said.

He placed both of his hands on the arm rests of my chair, effectively caging me in. I narrowed my eyes as he leaned down. His face was much too close to mine. The soothing, comforting spiced warmth of his cologne invaded my nostrils, casting a cloud around my head and enveloping me.

Will’s eyes deliberately landed on my lips.

“You should wear red lipstick.” His voice was low, a touch of seduction behind his tone. “I think it’d look good smeared on my face.”

He parted his lips and leaned in ever so slightly, fixing his eyes on mine. A smirk spread on his face as I stiffened.

“Try not to catch feelings.” Will whispered.

His warm breath fanned over my lips. An overwhelming urge to spit in his face came over me, but I was a grown ass adult. I couldn’t resort to that—as much as I would have loved to see the look on his face.

“I’d rather eat my own shit.”

Neither of us moved. We stayed locked in our stare down. I refused to give him the satisfaction of letting him win. The shit eating grin on his face boiled my blood. A deep scowl embedded itself on my face.

Will shifted, slotting himself even closer to me. I had to angle my neck to keep eye contact with him.

“I’d hate to see that pretty face of yours get stuck like that, petal.”

As I was about to reach up and slap the taste from his mouth, Austin’s voice cut through the tension.

“What’s going on here? You two getting in some practice?” He joked, either ignoring or not picking up the clear and utter rage seeping from me.

“Get him away from me Austin, before you guys have to find another vocalist.” The threat tumbled from my mouth. It didn’t sound as dangerous as I intended.

Will licked his lips, tongue dangerously close to grazing mine. He studied me a moment longer then scoffed, stealing a portion of my breath as he stepped back. He turned on his heel and walked away, keeping his focus in front of him.

My head pounded in time with my heart. I kept my eyes on him until he disappeared somewhere on set.

“That was a little fucked up Lillian.” Austin scolded me.

He handed me a bag of throat lozenges, a disapproving expression on his face.

“I’ll apologize to you, but he can kiss my ass.” I rolled my eyes and tossed a lozenge in my mouth. “He’s done nothing but get under my skin since meeting him. He shouldn’t even be here anyway. He wasn’t my choice for the song.”

I could feel the annoyance and irritation radiating off of Austin. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. I knew it bothered him how much I disliked Will, but their bond wasn’t important to me. I only cared about mine and Austin’s. Will was nothing but a thorn in my side.

“It’s not Will’s fault the shit with Noah fell through.” He reminded me.

“I know that.”

Austin fixed his eyes on me. His scrutinizing stare made me squirm.

“I’m gonna tell you this again,” he raised his brows, wagging his finger at me while he spoke. “It was a blessing in disguise. Will fits the song better, whether you want to admit it or not Lillian.”

If I rolled my eyes any harder, they’d be stuck in the back of my head—but Austin was right.

What little I managed to work on with Noah sounded good, it just didn’t have the vibe I was hoping for. After that first session together, he and the rest of his band unexpectedly became incredibly busy. We couldn’t make the time to finish the song and eventually it fell apart, leaving me panicked and scrambling to find a replacement.

Austin being the wonderful, supportive, best friend he is, suggested Will. On paper, it looked great. His band and myself were gaining traction like crazy. It would give everyone exposure to our differing fanbases. I would’ve been an idiot to decline, but I still tried to find someone else before eventually agreeing.

Everything started off great and promising. We were polite and friendly, excited to be working together. However, Will and I quickly began to butt heads, resulting in heated arguments and having to stand my ground more than I would’ve liked. It’s a miracle we managed to work together at all, let alone actually finish the song.

“I don’t appreciate the lecture you’re trying to give me.” I turned my attention back to my now lukewarm tea. “Thank you for the lozenges, though.”

Austin heaved a sigh. “I’m not trying to lecture you Lilli. Honest.”

I ignored him, focusing intensely on my cup and the lingering flavor of the honey lemon lozenge. He waited a few beats before giving up and scrubbing his hands over his face.

“Okay. Well, we’re going out after wrapping up. You should come.”

“I have things I need to do.” I lied. Literally anything else sounded better than spending even more time with Will.

Austin wrapped an arm above my chest and hugged me. I gave his arm a few quick pats.

“Adam’s gonna be there.”

My heart jumped.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

I felt the smirk on his lips as he pressed a quick kiss to the side of my head.

“I’ll shoot a text with the details. Have fun with Will.”

Austin squeezed me one last time before disappearing in the same direction after Will.

I did everything in my power to wear anything but red lipstick. Various different shades of pink, nudes—even black, but unfortunately for me, the director insisted on the red.

“It looks better with the dress and it’ll make the pay off for the kiss even better.” I quietly mocked.

The kiss. The big scene. The thing I’ve been dreading all morning. I thought about eating copious amounts of garlic and onion beforehand, but Austin scolded the hell outta me. He knew I’d flip my lid if Will did that to me. Instead, I made sure to pop a mint before taking my place. I just hoped he didn’t like spearmint.

Pins and needles pricked my hands and fingers. I rubbed them together hoping to ease the tingling, only to be met with more stinging pain. I grimaced and shook out my hands.

Deep breaths, Lillian. You’re almost done.

I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing.

It’s just a stupid kiss. It’s part of the job. Just… Think of anyone else.

Hands settled themselves on my shoulders, startling me out of my head.

“Relax, petal, it’s just me.” Will whispered in my ear.

The warmth of his touch and the gentleness of his hands caressing my arms soothed my anxiety and nerves a smidge—not that I would ever let him know that. Or how soft his hands were. Or that the infuriatingly sweet sound of the pet name made me blush.

“Okay! Last scene! Let’s make it a good one!” The director yelled out. “Will, Lillian, make it believable!”

He pressed his forehead to the back of my head as the track kicked on again. I instantly threw out the creeping thoughts of Will.

“My promise is I will hurt you.”

Will’s breath was light and warm on my neck as he sang. He slid his hand down and up my arm. I turned around in his embrace, his hand slipping to my waist. He pulled me closer and I clutched his side. I tried to ignore the deafening thud of my heart in my ears.

“My promise is I will hurt you.”

His other hand caressed the back of my neck. My lips parted slightly as he tipped my head back. He softly tugged my bottom lip with his thumb. Lust billowed from his eyes, like smoke from a raging fire, surrounding me and making it difficult to breathe. I found myself being dragged under his spell and I couldn’t stop it.

“My promise is I will hurt you.”

Our voices blended together, the sound hauntingly beautiful.

As the last few notes of the song played, Will’s eyes flicked to my crimson painted lips, his own parting in anticipation. I leaned in. My tongue delicately licked his bottom lip, capturing it in a sensual, hot kiss. Will’s hand at my neck flexed, gently tightening his grasp and pulling me closer. His tongue slipped in my mouth, a small, content sigh escaping him as ours met and tangled together.

His lips were soft and slotted perfectly with mine. Every breath I took, he stole. I felt detached from myself, lost in the moment and sensation of him. Will teasingly nipped my bottom lip. A tiny smirk tugged the corners of his mouth at the quiet, involuntary moan I made.

Will slipped his hand from my neck, trailing it slowly down to the top of my chest, thumb resting at my pulse. My heart pounded behind my rib cage like it was trying to escape its confines. There was no way he didn’t feel it.

Delicately, he pressed his fingers into my neck, not enough to choke, but enough to make me short circuit and cling to him. My head felt empty, but so full of air. He moved to cradle the back of my skull, his fingers gripping strands of my hair with a gentle roughness. His arm wrapped entirely around my waist.

With a barely there breath, I broke our passionate kiss. My lungs burned from the lack of oxygen. Will nuzzled his nose to my cheek. He kissed the corner of my mouth. His hand slipped from my hair, moving it back to my neck. He pressed his thumb firmly to my pulse.

“Your heart’s racing, Lilli.” He whispered, low and sultry.

I dared a glance at him. Bright crimson was smeared all over his mouth and kiss swollen lips. Will’s eyes burned fiercely with a deep carnal desire so intense, it my stomach flip. He looked at me as if he wanted to devour me whole, like he hadn’t had a meal in days and I was the only thing that could satisfy his voracious appetite. A wave of goosebumps prickled over my skin. The fervency in his gaze stirred something inside me. I craved more.

A chorus of applause and whistling erupted, popping the bubble around me and Will. I quickly pushed myself out of his grasp and hurried off set. I needed out of here and away from this place—especially Will. Without even looking back, I knew he was watching me. I coud feel his scorching eyes on my back.

My face burned like hot coals and the thoughts clambering in my head were giving me a headache. His uncanny ability to claw his way under my skin and twist me around was infuriating.

How could I have let him trap me like that? How could I have let myself enjoy kissing him?

The rest of my day was spent trying to forget the video shoot. No amount of scrubbing or cold water helped me shake the lingering sensation of Will’s lips. It spread like a poison through my body. Every time my eyes closed, the scene replayed on the back of my lids. His soft touch, the warmth and glossed over look in his eyes. My lungs still felt empty.

BZZT! BZZT!

My phone lit up with a text from Austin. I gave the message a quick read, happy to see that the bar was within walking distance of my apartment and one that I frequented often enough to have become a regular. They were all already there and waiting for me. I hadn’t told Austin if I planned to join them because truthfully I was still deciding. It wouldn’t take me long to get ready. I really just did not want to be near Will again.

Another message came through and I sighed, making my way to my closet to find the little black dress that hugged my curves in all the right ways.

“Just an hour,” I muttered to myself, stripping out of the sweats I was wearing. “I’m only staying for an hour. That’s all I have.”

I stared at the dress on the hanger, deciding to forego wearing underwear. Panty lines were something I didn’t want to subconsciously worry about tonight.

Damn Adam and my schoolgirl crush.

Loud music and a barrage of voices greeted me as I entered the bar. Glancing around, I spotted a small group of people far in the back laughing, instantly recognizing Austin’s figure. As if he felt me staring, he looked my direction. His brows raised as he took in my appearance and smirked. I saw him subtly nudge Adam’s foot with his own. Quickly, I turned away and walked towards the bar, taking the first seat I saw.

I gestured to the bartender who nodded in my direction. A searing gaze heated my skin. I glanced over my shoulder, immediately catching Will’s eyes boring into me. He stared a moment longer before hastily excusing himself and disappearing somewhere. I shifted in my seat to try and shake the lingering warmth.

A body blocked my view. I glanced up, a big smile spreading across my face.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked.

Standing up, I wrapped my arms around Adam’s neck, hugging him closely. His arms wrapped low around my waist.

“Of course not.” I sat down. “I’d be more offended if you didn’t sit.”

His chuckle and bright grin made my heart flutter.

“What’re you drinking?”

I brushed my hair away from my neck, gathering it all on my shoulder opposite of Adam. His eyes followed my movements like a hawk, not caring at all for subtly. Smoothing my hands over my thighs, I smiled coyly and pretended I didn’t notice his lingering gaze on my chest.

“I haven’t started yet.” I answered. Adam fixed his pretty blue eyes on mine.

The bartender came around and placed two lemon drop shots on the counter. I handed them my card then slid one of the shots to Adam.

“I can’t stay for long, so make it worth my while?”

Adam smiled again, a flirty glint in his eye. Grabbing the shot, he tipped it towards me.

“I can do that.”

We clinked our glasses together, tapping them on the counter before tossing them back. The sour sweetness of lemon hit harder than I expected. My whole body shivered. Adam grimaced slightly.

“So, tell me about the album.”

My evening with Adam would have been more enjoyable if Will didn’t spend his blatantly staring at me from across the bar. Every time I glanced up, his eyes were burning into me. Each look was more heated than the last. My body felt red hot, either from the alcohol or Will practically eye fucking me, I couldn’t tell. I definitely stayed longer than intended. The hour I allotted turned into three.

“I think I’ve hit my limit.” Adam said with a slur.

I pouted, batting my lashes. “One more shot? For me?”

Adam squinted. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Maybe.”

His scrunched face cracked into a smile. “You’ve convinced me, but this is the last one.”

He signaled for the bartender again while I sensed a familiar gaze on me. Despite the annoyance and anger bubbling in my stomach, I ignored it. I looked Will’s way every time, but I’ve had it with him. If he was trying to get under my skin, it worked.

The bartender returned with our shots. Before Adam could toss it back, I stopped him by hooking my arm around his. He looked stunned by our sudden closeness. In my periphery, I noticed Will stiffen.

“Last one. Might as well make it count, right?” I said, low and sultry.

Adam’s eyes flicked to my lips then back to me.

“Absolutely.”

I felt the rumble in his voice deep in my bones—and pussy. Our eyes and arms stayed locked together as we struggled to take our shots through our giggles. We spilled more than half of them on ourselves, but neither of us cared. Being so close to Adam was far more intoxicating than the booze flowing in my blood. His lips were so close I could almost taste them.

“You have really pretty eyes.” Adam leaned in closer. “They’re like sapphires.”

My cheeks flushed. Our faces were mere inches apart. It wouldn’t take much to close the distance. Adam’s large hand delicately landed on my knee. A set of brown daggers bore into the side of my face.

“Your card, Lillian.” The bartender’s voice broke through mine and Adam’s atmosphere.

Adam retracted his hand. Coldness quickly replaced the warmth he left. All the alcohol I consumed rushed to my head. I thanked them and shoved the card back in my purse.

“I, uh, should probably head home.” I forced a polite smile. “I stayed way too late.”

He mimicked my smile though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sure. You have a ride home?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

I wanted to tell him I was walking home, ask him if he’d walk me there, but that felt juvenile. Instead, I hugged him as tightly as I could and left him alone at the bar.

The temperature dropped quite a bit since I arrived. I shivered as I sat down on the bench, silently cursing myself for wearing such a short dress. It may have been black and long sleeved, but it damn near exposed my entire ass and certainly didn’t leave much to the imagination.

I ran my hands over my thighs in a poor attempt to warm them. The sound of the bar door opening caught my attention. I looked towards the sound, hoping to see Adam, only to be severely let down by Will’s unwelcome presence.

I didn’t even try to make the irritated groan I let out.

“Lilli—“

“Go away, Will.”

He walked over towards me and stopped. I refused to look at him. My head was already fuzzy and jumbled enough. I didn’t need his warm eyes or gentle expression fucking me up further.

Running a hand over his face, he sighed heavily.

“I’m not letting you sit out here drunk and alone.” Will said, sitting on the opposite side of the bench. “I was raised better than that.”

He draped an arm across the top of the bench and crossed his legs. There was a hint of malice behind that ‘I’, and it seemed like he was trying to imply something.

I scoffed. “I don’t need you to babysit me.”

Stifling tension grew between us. Even out here, his damn eyes warmed my skin. It infuriated me. I was sick of him staring at me.

I jumped off the bench and stormed off in the direction of my apartment.

“Lilli? Lilli!” He called after me. I hurried my pace when I heard him get up.

“Where are you going?! Lillian!”

The use of my full name stopped me dead in my tracks. I reeled around, momentarily startled by how close he was.

“Home!” My body trembled with the volume I shouted. “And more importantly: away from you!”

Will looked stunned at my sudden outburst. I hoped he felt the anger radiating from me.

Huffing another frustrated breath, I turned and continued stomping along the pavement. A shiver spread through my body. My blood was boiling but not enough to keep me warm. I hastily rummaged through my purse in search of my keys. A second set of footsteps started following a few paces behind me. Any fight or argument I had in me died when I felt something pleasantly warm settle on my shoulders

I turned my head just enough to see Will’s jacket draped over my shoulders, his spiced cologne swarming my nose.

“You’re shivering.” He said flatly.

Deciding it would be a waste of breath to argue, I let Will follow me home. He left plenty of space between us. His jacket was as close as I wanted him. The rest of the walk was uncomfortably quiet. Drunken exhaustion tugged heavily at my bones with every step. My bed had never been so enticing before. I was beyond ready to sleep this day away.

My building came into view and I sighed, feeling relieved. Will hurried to stand by my side. I punched in the code and the door unlocked.

“You can leave now, you annoying prick.” I yanked the door open.

“Not until I know you’re in your apartment.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re literally worse than a stray fucking puppy.”

My words seemed to have struck a nerve. He grabbed my wrist as I stepped through the door.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He tried pulling me back to him, but I ripped out of his grasp. Ignoring his angry yells after me, I took the steps two at a time. All the rage festering in my blood was on the verge of bursting open my skin. I don’t know how much more clear I could be with Will.

My fingers trembled as I desperately tried to unlock my door before Will followed.

“Sonuvabitch!” I spat, dropping my keys.

“LILLIAN!”

Will emerged from the stairwell. The neighbors were about to be very rudely awoken.

“FUCK OFF WILL!”

Finally, I got the door unlocked. Unfortunately, I couldn’t close it fast enough. Will snaked his way through, narrowly avoiding being crushed between the door frame and door.

“What the fuck is your problem, Lillian?!”

“YOU!” I shoved him against the door, causing it to slam shut. “You’ve done nothing but piss me off and get under my skin all day!”

I kicked off my shoes and forcefully shrugged off Will’s jacket, no longer finding the gesture kind or nice. He took a step towards me as I threw my purse down. I was seething. If looks could kill, Will would be dead where he stood. I closed the short distance between us and glared up defiantly at him. His own anger was evident on his face.

“You weren’t even my first choice for the song to begin with! You were hardly my second! I was too fucking nice to tell Austin no when he suggested you!”

Will scoffed. “You should be thanking him and me! If it wasn’t for me, you’re fucking song wouldn’t have taken off the way it did!”

Skin on skin echoed off the walls of my small apartment. My hand stung from the smack, but the red mark on Will’s face certainly helped ease the pain. Will licked his lips. His jaw tensed as he glared at me.

“How fucking dare you?” My voice shook with rage.

I raised my hand to slap him again, but he caught my wrist mid swing. He looked like he wanted to say something else. Will yanked me close to him, leaving whatever he wanted to say unspoken as he crashed our lips together. My tongue instantly slipped between his teeth, desperately seeking to tangle with his. His hands grabbed at my waist, needy and rough.

There was no tenderness in the kiss. Could it be passionate if it was fueled by hate and rage?

Will walked us backwards, pushing me against the nearest wall he could. He broke the kiss with a loud gasp, then kissed every millimeter of my jaw, trailing them down to my neck.

“You’re so hot when you act like you hate me.” Will husked, his breath searing my neck and covering the sensitive skin in playful, quick nips.

“It’s not an act.” My voice was breathless, almost needy.

His lips curved into a small smirk. “If you hated me, you wouldn’t be letting me kiss you.”

I muttered a quiet swear. He teasingly brushed his lips across my throat to get to the other side of my neck, taking great care to cover it just as thoroughly with soft bites.

Will inhaled deeply, pressing his body closer to mine. “You smell so good.”

His mouth attached to my neck again, licking a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses everywhere he could reach. I clutched his sides with a breathless sigh. Will softly rutted his hips into me. My head spun feeling the erection confined in his jeans. I arched my back in a silent plea, one he was more than happy to answer.

Will detached from me briefly and wrapped his arms around me, lifting me off the ground. I threaded my fingers in his hair, panting heavily.

“Where?” He asked in between a series of kisses.

I hooked my legs behind him as he walked over to my sofa. “Couch.”

Gently, Will set me on the plush cushions. My dress slid up, fully exposing my pussy. He planted a hand on the back of the couch and straddled my lap, caging me in.

His lustful eyes sliced into me. For the second time today, I found myself under his spell. I was frozen, hypnotized. My heart pounded against my ribs, the thudding deafening my ears. Will dipped his head and parted his lips, his warm breath fanning over mine. His free hand slipped between our bodies.

“I’d ask why you’re not wearing panties, but I don’t care.” His voice was low, drenched in desire. “Easier for me to get to.”

“Sure you don’t wanna make a snide remark? Don’t wanna call me me slut? Maybe a whore?”

He chuckled lightly against my neck. “Only if you’re into that, petal.”

Long, slender fingers delicately caressed my center. My eyes fluttered shut and my head fell back, giving Will total and complete access to my neck.

The urgency he had earlier waned. He explored the canvas of my throat, softly painting my skin with his tongue. A breathless moan ghosted past my lips as he nipped just above my collarbone. His middle fingers teasingly ran along my slit, then dipped into my wetness.

Will groaned quietly, becoming more aggressive with his bites as he collected my arousal. He teased my entrance, barely slipping inside, but enough to make me whine softly. The noise I made prompted him to insert his finger. I rewarded him with another moan, louder and more needy this time. The gentleness of his intimate touch and his roughness of teeth overwhelmed me. Every movement was purposeful and deliberate, working to figure out what made me tick. It didn’t take him long to find perfection.

“Shit,” I gasped, feeling a second finger slip inside.

“Lilli,” the sound of my name in Will’s sultry tone nearly broke me.

All I offered was a “hm?”

“I can’t help but wonder,” he curled his fingers, finding my sweet spot with such ease, it’s like he’d done it a thousand and one times, “Do you taste as good as you feel?”

Will smirked devilishly in the crook of my neck when he felt me throb.

“I’m pretty good with my tongue.”

“Put your money where your mouth is then.” I challenged him.

His lips curved then he harshly bit my neck.

“With fucking pleasure, petal.”

Will pulled his fingers from me and quickly sank to his knees. He spread my thighs open, eyes fixed on the dripping mess he helped make.

“What a pretty pussy.” He whispered to himself.

His lips connected to my thigh, warm breath fanning over the sensitive skin. He split his time, making sure to give each thigh adequate attention. Will followed the trail of bite marks, kissing every one of them so softly, I would have missed it if I wasn’t watching him.

I gasped quietly when his mouth ghosted over my outer lips. My eyes fluttered shut. He blessed my pussy with light, gentle kisses before licking a long stripe and spreading me open.

“God I fucking hate you,” I moaned, arching my back.

Will groaned between my legs, licking my pussy like a man starved. His experienced tongue worked in ways I don’t think even sober me could comprehend. The noises he pulled from me were loud and shameful. Every whimper I made fueled him. He pushed my thighs further open and back. I glanced down at him, instantly finding his lustful stare. I ignored the fluttering in my chest.

An inhuman grunt sounded from Will, almost resembling a snarl. The noise vibrated through me, causing me to buck my hips and toss my head back.

“Fuck.”

His nose brushed my clit as he lapped desperately. The obscene, feral snarling was insanely hot and arousing. The starving man was gone and had been replaced with a rabid, unhinged animal. He couldn’t devour me fast enough. I grabbed a fistful of his wild curls, tugging the locks roughly at the root. Will grunted as I guided his head where I wanted him. He sucked my clit between his lips, and flattened his tongue, firmly pressing his tongue against the sensitive bud.

My eyes rolled back, a tense knot forming in my gut. I gripped his hair tighter. Will noticed the change in my breathing. His fingers dug into my thighs. He submissively let me grind his face against me, going where I moved him.

His name set heavily on the tip of my tongue, but I managed to swallow it down before the knot loosened, giving way to my climax. Stars plastered the back of my eyelids. An erotic, depraved cacophony filled my apartment. My chest heaved with a blend of loud and whisper quiet moans. Will didn’t stop until my wailing did.

He softly brought my legs down, peppering my pussy and inner thighs with more kisses peered up at me. The tip of his nose to the bottom of his chin glistening. He looked great down on his knees.

Something overcame me. In a quick motion, I reached for Will’s face, bringing his lips back to mine. I’d tasted myself plenty, but something about Will made the taste better. Carnal desire buzzed under my skin. I never needed anyone as badly as I needed Will right now

I broke the kiss and leaned away from Will so I could look in his eyes. He followed after me trying to chase my lips. The absolute pure, unadulterated lust in his eyes washed over me, saturating me entirely. An unfamiliar emotion swelled in my chest.

“I need you.” I whispered, scared I would break through the world we created.

“You can have me, Lillian.” Will breathed against my lips then connected them once more.

My hands left Will’s face and went for his jeans. I palmed his bulge, relishing in the small noise he made. He rutted into my hand, his own desperation giving way. I unbuttoned and unzipped him then tugged at the waistbands of his pants and underwear, freeing him slightly.

With a gentle touch, I wrapped my hand around his hard cock. We both moaned, me at his size and Will at my firm grip. I swiped my thumb over his leaking tip. Will gasped softly, gripping the back of the couch. His quiet whimpers as I touched him, jerking slow and methodical, greatly turned me on. I brought my other hand to my pussy, not at all surprised to find myself soaked.

Will’s eyes were scrunched tight. I ran my slick covered fingers over the head of his cock, and he whined. The needy, outright pathetic sound shot straight to my core. He started thrusting as I continued to stroke him. Seeing him melt into a mess at just my hands almost made me forget how desperately I needed him inside me.

“Lillian,” he whined, lost in his own pleasure.

“What is it, pretty boy?” I brushed our lips together, a small smirk on my face. His dick twitched ever so slightly.

Without warning, Will ripped my hands away from him. Momentarily confused, I watched as he hastily removed his shoes and shoved his bottoms down past his knees, his cock springing free. I hurriedly shifted so I was laying on my back. I spread my legs as wide as could, giving him plenty of access. Will came back to me, hovering over my body and staring deep into the depths of my being.

He grabbed his dick and slid the tip up and down my slit.

“For someone who says they hate me, you sure are wet.”

I squirmed under him as he rubbed my clit with his tip.

“Believe me, I do fucking hate you.”

Will huffed a laugh. He leaned down, pressing his lips to my ear and cock to my entrance.

“I’m gonna enjoy fucking that attitude out of you.”

His voice was dark and seedy, a complete and utter contrast to everything else I’ve known from him. The words sent a delightful shudder through my bones.

My retort died in my throat as Will slammed into me, making me cry out. He pulled out, leaving just his tip inside, then pounded me again, bottoming out. His cock stretched me, filling me entirely. My walls clenched, molding around his size. His thrusts were deep and long. It didn’t take me long to be rendered speechless.

“Fuck, you feel so. Fucking. Good,” Will grunted, accentuating his words with powerful thrusts.

One of his hands roughly grabbed my breast. His teeth grazed along my jaw. My hands slipped under his shirt and I pressed my fingertips into his taut abs. His skin was so warm and soft.

“I wish I could feel more of your skin.” He husked.

A shrill moan erupted from me. I dug my nails into his waist. The tip of Will’s cock hit the sensitive spongy spot inside. My mouth fell open, a string of incoherent babbling and salacious moans escaping me with every strained breath I took, unable to think of anything but the immense pleasure as he kept his pace.

“You sound so fucking pretty falling apart, petal,” Will rasped into my neck. “I need you to sing louder for me.”

And I did. I cried out every sound he wanted to hear, his own pleasure filled sounds drowned out by mine.

“That’s it,” his breath was blindingly hot on my mouth, “Sing for me, my little songbird.”

A second orgasm barreled through me. I clutched shamelessly and desperately to Will. I pulled his chest flush to mine and wrapped my legs around him, keeping him buried inside as my walls clenched around his dick. He murmured something, but I was lost to ecstasy.

Will licked my bottom lip into his mouth then unloaded, his strained whimper getting caught in our sloppy, desperate mashing of lips and tongues. He thrust with each spasm of his cock, fucking his cum inside me slow and deep, making sure my cunt received every last drop.

The fire between us dwindled as exhaustion pulled at our muscles. Our kiss became lazy, turning to simple soft pecks then to merely ghosting together. He tenderly pressed his forehead to mine, breath heavy on my lips. Gently, I placed my hand on his cheek. Will lifted his head enough to look me in my eyes. The heat I felt all night from his stare washed over me once again, only this time it was calmer, more like a comforting warmth of a fireplace on a snowy winter’s night.

Will kept his intense gaze fixed on mine and kissed the inside of my wrist. My heart skipped and I wondered if he felt it. I craned my neck and brought our lips together again, overcome with the desire for him to steal every breath I had remaining in my lungs.

For that moment, I forgot all about how much I despised Will.

WILL’S POV

I could have left her to sleep on the couch. I didn’t need to carry her to bed, but she looked so uncomfortable curled up on the couch. Soft snores fluttered past her lips. She looked ethereal in the moonlight, a soft silver glow illuminating her figure. Her chest and neck was littered in tiny little bruises from my teeth. She would be furious when she saw them, I’m sure of it. I brushed strands of her onyx colored hair from her angelic face. My heart lurched. Fuck she was gorgeous.

I leaned down and softly kissed her plump lips. A small whine left her. I chuckled lightly and kissed her again, this time her lips curved in a tiny smile, one I would have missed if I wasn’t already focused on her mouth. Lillian shifted in her sleep and turned her body away from me.

With a defeated sigh, I pulled myself away from her. I doubt she would want me here in the morning, so I decided I should probably leave. I exited her room and walked towards the kitchen. Quietly, I looked through her cabinets for cups. Once I found them, I grabbed one and filled it with water. Next I went to her bathroom in search of ibuprofen. It felt like an invasion of privacy to rummage through her medicine cabinet, but leaving her water and medication was the least I could do.

My reflection grabbed my attention. Faintly, I could see color on my cheek from her smack. It still stung—and stirred something inside me that I would need to unpacked later—but it was rightfully deserved. Her song was great with or without me. She had immense talent. I don’t know why I said such a cruel thing.

I set the water and meds on her bedside table. I allowed myself to admire her one last time before placing one final kiss on her cheek.

Shutting the bedroom door behind me, I glanced around the living room for my jacket. It laid in a crumpled pile at the front door. I stared at it, internally debating if I should leave it or not.

If I take it, I have no reason to come back, but if I leave it, there’s a chance I do.

I scoffed at myself.

“‘I fucking hate you.’” I repeated her words. “Yeah, I wish that was a mutual feeling.”

I turned the handle, leaving my jacket on the floor as I left her apartment.

The irony of me telling her to not catch feelings only to fall victim to my own warning.

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