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cryptidghostgirl · 2 months

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Are your requests still open? I was hoping for a request for a Lucifer x sinner reader where she was once in love with someone when she was alive but they betrayed her leading to her death causing her to be afraid of letting others in. She's been a resident of the hotel since the pilot, but doesn't really talk much about her feelings or past life but is convinced by Charlie who says singing helps her when she needs to get out her own emotions. So when she thinks everyone is gone for the day on one of Charlie's bonding field trips, she uses the piano in the main area to sing her heart out, not realizing Lucifer decided to stay. The song I'm thinking of is "Perfect Doesn't Last" by Beth Crowley. So when she sings it and he overhears listening and watching her he's reminded of Lilith and feels for the reader understanding her more than when they first met during his first visit to the hotel (ep 5). I'm not sure of how to end it, so if you want to add anything to it I'm totally up for it. I just thought this song would match him so well.

A/N this is my first time writing for this man. Also,, i think it’s so funny that everyone is just like “short king” even tho alastor is canonically at least seven feet tall and charlie is at least like six feet tall. that’s so silly of us.

Encore (Lucifer x Reader)

Paring: Lucifer x Reader

Warnings: Domestic abuse briefly mentioned.

Word Count: 2,169

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Lucifer had just wanted to visit Charlie. With their relationship on the up and up, he was eager to not give up his chance to fix things with his favorite and only daughter. However, when he arrived at the hotel, throwing the doors open in unadulterated excitement, it was to find the normally busy lobby area empty.

The door fell shut behind him and his smile slipped from his face. Carefully, he ran his eyes over every inch of the room. There really was no one to be found.

"Maybe they're just all in their rooms, yeah." he said aloud to himself, "Charlie is probably... in her office! It must take a lot of work to run a place like this. Yeah, that's what it is."

Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor had asked her to come with them to the movies. It was supposed to be a reward, for how hard they had all been working. They had really tried their best to convince Y/n to join them but, as always was the case when activities that took them out of the hotel were not required, Y/n had declined the offer.

Y/n was still getting used to Hell in all its big scary wonder, she still hurt. Everything was so complicated and while spending time with her thoughts didn't make her feel good per-say, spending time with others had been making her feel even worse. Besides, Charlie had given her some advice a few days ago she wanted to test out and she didn't exactly feel comfortable doing that while the hotel was crawling with people.

Y/n trusted Charlie. She was the first person to have extended a kind hand in her direction since her arrival in Hell. When Charlie had found out Y/n had been a concert pianist in the living world, she was elated.

"That's perfect!" she had said, leaning across the desk towards her, "We have a piano in the Hotel's auditorium!"

"I... I don't know if I really can... perform, right now. If that's alright." Y/n had replied, wringing her hands and unable to keep eyecontact.

"What? Oh no! That's not what I meant at all. It just seems... well if you did it for a living, you must have loved it. And it seems like you always have a lot on your mind, lots of stuff to process, and I know you don't like talking to people about it and, well, music always makes me feel better. It feels freeing, like I'm getting everything bottled up inside me out when I sing."

"I... I don't think I've ever really thought about it that way." she had admitted in response, "It was just something I had always done. I started lessons when I was three."

"Well, you should try it some time." Charlie had smiled back, "Maybe it will help."

Once she was sure everyone was gone and the hotel was hers alone, Y/n had slipped quietly from the confinement of her room. It had taken her a bit to find the auditorium. When she finally did and saw the piano it held, her breath caught in her throat.

It was a beautiful old baby grand made out of a warm cherry wood that matched the hotel's theming well. The lid had creaked when she had opened it, the keys had been dusty to the touch.

It had been a long time since she'd played. With mild joy, she let her fingers run the usual scales and arpeggios, finding a comfort in the familiarity of it all. Once satisfied her fingers were all warmed up and ready to play something real, she posed them over the keys.

Lucifer had lost himself in the depths of the labyrinthine hotel. The twists and turns of the hallways were unfamiliar to him despite the tour Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor had lead him on. His hope at finding his daughter and spending some time with her had long since flickered out. He was on the verge of going home, his hand half raised to open a portal, when he heard it.

A faint echo of music flooded the hallway and Lucifer froze. It was haunting and distant, it drew him in. His sights set on a new sort of entertainment for the afternoon, he listened carefully and began to follow the sound.

As he got closer to its source, Lucifer realized that who ever was making the music was not just playing the piano but singing. Their voice was soft and lovely, nearly ethereal in its sheer humanity and anguish.

I would have bet on us

We were untouchable, you and I

I couldn't get enough

It was a fairytale come to life

Lucifer at last reached the half open door to the room the music appeared to be coming from. Not wanting to disturb the artist just yet, he transformed into a snake and slithered his way silently into the room. There, sitting at the piano on the stage, was Y/n.

I had your heart

At least that's what I thought

Now I'm second guessing every moment

Wondering where we went so wrong

He didn't really know much about Y/n except that she was new to Hell. Charlie had mentioned off hand that she had died in an incident of domestic abuse. Lucifer had no idea why she had ended up in Hell or what she was really like. When he had visited the hotel the first time, Y/n had been quiet and reserved. She had stood to the side and watched, barley even introducing herself to him.

At first, he had thought it to be disrespect. Not every demon in Hell was his biggest fan after all and while he was used to it, it still stung that even one of his daughters would be reformed sinners would be blatantly rude to him. He had quickly realized however from her flittering eyes and the way she clutched at herself that it wasn't disrespect at all. Y/n had been nervous.

Of course, Lucifer had made an attempt to make her feel more comfortable but, when he had extended his metaphorical hand, Y/n had just closed herself off even further. According to Charlie and Angel Dust, that was just what the demoness was like. She was shy.

You got inside my head

Taking up every inch of space

'Til there was no room left

Her hands flew across the keys with a practiced grace. Lucifer felt she knew he was there, watching. He felt that she just might be performing for him.

So many parts of me erased

You had my heart

And tossed it in the dirt

As he listened to the words she sung, they resonated with him. For a split second, he could have sworn it was Lilith sitting there at the piano, not Y/n. He shut his eyes, shaking his head slightly. He was oddly grateful when he opened them again to find it had just been his imagination.

Now that was a first. Since Lilith had disappeared seven years ago, Lucifer had been a mess. Lucifer was always a mess but, Lilith leaving like that really did him in. She had been his rock, his guiding light, his everything. He had risked everything for her and he had lost. At least, back in the old days, he had gained something out of the chaos. A daughter, a wife, a world to try and shape. One after another, they were all taken from him. Even now, even with their relationship improving the way it was, he felt Charlie slipping away again.

Now I'm second guessing every moment

Wondering where we went so wrong

I just keep asking

Would this have been worth it if I knew the ending all along.

Without really thinking about it, Lucifer retook his normal form and sat down in one of the auditorium's front row seats. Thankfully, Y/n was too wrapped up in her own world to notice and she just continued to play.

What started so perfect was over too fast

I should have seen the warning signs

'Cause perfect doesn't last

Perfect doesn't last

Light shined off her face, that was how Lucifer had realized she was crying. Despite the tears, her voice never wavered. A performer at her core, just like him.

I would have bet on us

We were untouchable, you and I

As the last lingering notes echoed through the room, he began to clap. Y/n jumped at the noise, turning to face him with wide eyes and cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Lucifer was undeterred and, getting to his feet, gave her a standing ovation. After a few moments, he ceased in his applause.

"That was beautiful." he said, breaking the new silence that had fallen between them.

"Um, I'm sorry." Y/n's gaze fell back to the piano.

"No! No no no!" Lucifer exclaimed, jumping up onto the stage.

He kneeled before her, lifting her hands from her lap and taking them in his own. She turned to him, surprise drawing out the features of her face once again.

"Don't apologize for taking up space."

"I... I just didn't mean to disturb you is all. If you're looking for Charlie, she's out at the movies with everyone else."

"I was but, I can talk to her later, when she gets back. You didn't disturb me at all, Y/n. As I said, it was beautiful. It was..."

He trailed off, the smile slipping from his face.

"Oh fuck!" Y/n exclaimed, "I didn't mean to upset you! I'm really sorry, what can I do to make it better?"

"You didn't upset me." Lucifer shook his head, "You just... somehow managed to put words to the very things I've been struggling with the past couple years."

A smaller, much kinder and more genuine smile made its way onto his face.

"If you'd like to play more, I'd love to hear it."

Y/n's cheeks flushed red again.

"Theres no pressure." Lucifer shrugged, "Just giving you the option."

"An audience of one... well, it's a little intimidating." she admitted bashfully, "I'm used to the faceless mob of the crowd."

"I can see why. You have an undeniable gift."

"I guess... I don't know. Charlie just said it might help me process stuff. To play again, I mean."

"Was she right?"

Y/n paused in thought for a moment before nodding slowly.

"I think she might have been. My chest does feel a little lighter now."

"Then play."

"Um, mister... king of Hell? Sir?"

Lucifer laughed.

"You can just call me by my name. No formalities necessary. 'Mister king of Hell sir' was my fathers name."

Y/n laughed lightly at his terrible joke. The sound sparked a sudden joy in Lucifer's chest, one he hadn't felt in quite a long time.

"Well, Lucifer." she began again, stumbling a bit over his name.

"Yes?"

"I'll... um, I'll need my hands back. If I'm to keep playing."

"Wh..."

He looked down and his eyes widened. Lucifer hadn't realized he had still held her hands in his. Immediately he dropped them, getting to his feet and looking away in mild embarrassment.

"Sorry, about that."

"Don't apologize for existing." Y/n parroted his earlier words.

When he turned back to her, it was to find she was smiling slightly.

"How bad would it be if I said sorry again right now?"

"You'd be sounding like me."

"Lets make a deal then: no sorries unless something is actually wrong."

"What if I can't tell if your mad at me or not?"

Lucifer looked down at the seated demon. In not one of his wildest dreams could he ever imagine being mad at her but, that wasn't exactly something he could say.

"Then you can always ask."

"And you promise you wont lie to me?"

"I promise."

"Promise promise?"

"Yes!"

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment before nodding her head. Turning back to the piano, her hands found their place on the keys once again. She hesitated.

"I..." Y/n shot Lucifer a look over her shoulder, "Thank you."

"Thank you. There is some solace in knowing someone else out there feels the same way I do, if for different reasons."

"Yeah. There is, isn't there? Maybe part of our deal can be helping each other figure that all out too."

The suggestion had been half thought out. Y/n hadn't really meant to give it a voice, it had escaped her locked lips. She quickly turned back to the piano.

"Sorry. That was dumb."

"What did we just say about sorries!" Lucifer exclaimed, "No apologizing for existing. I think that suggestion sounds rather nice."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay. I... I'm actually going to play now. Is that okay?"

With a snap of his fingers, Lucifer reappeared in the seat he had previously inhabited. He crossed his legs, resting his hands on his knee.

"Whenever your ready."

----

Song is Perfect Doesn't Last by Beth Crowley as requested :)

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togrowoldinv · 8 months

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It Is Well

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

You’re the choir director at Wanda’s church. One afternoon after church, your relationship with her changes

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Reader has a penis but no pronouns are used, kissing, cursing, sex in a church oops, oral (W receiving), blowjob, Wanda being a milf

Note: I have no explanation, just love for milf Wanda. Enjoy!

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

There are a lot of reasons that you love your new job. One is that you get to live out your passion for singing and help others in the process. The second reason is that it pays well. The church was desperate for a new choir director, so they were willing to pay you pretty much whatever you wanted.

But the reason that you love your job the most is that you’ve met Wanda Maximoff.

Wanda is your favorite choir member by far. She is always punctual, she sings beautifully, and she flirts with you.

At least, you think she’s flirting with you. She is always making an excuse to touch your arm as she walks by you, or she’ll stay late to help you work on arrangements.

“Hey there!” Wanda says as she enters the choir suite today.

“Wanda, how are you?” You ask.

“I’m doing mighty fine. And you?”

“Honestly, I could use some help,” you admit.

Wanda nods seriously and sets her purse down. She sits next to you at the piano. You try not to notice how good she looks in her button up shirt.

“How can I help, darlin’?” She asks.

“I’m trying to make this transition sound right, but I just can’t.”

“Play it for me,” Wanda says.

You begin to play the song and Wanda sings along quietly. Her voice floats through the room like a sweet songbird. When you get to the transition, you stop. It still hasn’t come to you.

Wanda touches your hand and places your fingers on a few different keys than the ones you’ve been trying.

“It is well,” she begins singing. She nods for you to continue playing. “It is well with my soul.”

It’s the perfect transition.

“Wanda Maximoff you are a genius!” You say. Wanda hugs you tightly and smiles. “We’re ready for the service now.”

“I’ll get my robe on,” Wanda says.

She stands up from the piano and takes her robe out of the closet. Somehow, she looks even better in it than in her regular clothes.

“Looking very nice, ma’am,” you compliment Wanda.

“Thank you,” Wanda replies. She walks closer to you. “Can I admit something to you?”

“Yeah- of course.”

Wanda is just inches from you. You smell her perfume.

“I’ve always thought these robes were kind of silly, but then I saw you in one,” Wanda says. “And now I think they are very flattering.”

Wanda grins before she steps back and leaves the suite. You stand there stunned by her words. She was definitely flirting with you this time.

You try to shake it off and go lead the choir during service. It goes without a hitch. The only time you almost miss a cue is when Wanda smiles at you. It’s really that easy for her to make you fold.

After the service, you go back to the choir suite. No one else is in there when you walk in, but soon Wanda comes in and shuts the door behind her.

“You should leave that on,” Wanda says, gesturing to your robe.

“Are they calling for an encore out there?” You joke.

Wanda crosses the room quickly. She places a hand on your forearm and the other comes to rest on your cheek. Your breath hitches at her movements.

“I’m very attracted to you,” Wanda says. “Are you attracted to me?”

“Wanda, I- um- it’s not that simple,” you say. Of course, your answer is yes.

“I think it’s simple. You’re absolutely stunning,” Wanda says.

“You’re beautiful, Wanda. But we can’t.”

Wanda pouts her perfect lips. You fight the urge to lean forward and kiss them.

“Would you really deny me this pleasure, sweetheart?” She asks.

“No,” you mumble.

“What was that?”

“No ma’am.”

She grins wickedly and places her lips on yours in a long, slow kiss. Her hand on your face slips into your hair as she deepens the kiss. Her other hand takes yours and places it over one of her breasts. Even through the robe and her clothing, you can feel the breast.

You kiss until neither of you can breathe. And then you drop to your knees in front of Wanda. She lifts her robe up over her hips. Taking your time, you take off her skirt and let her panties fall to the floor.

“Make me feel good, baby,” Wanda says.

You place kisses against her creamy thighs. She shivers with every touch, and you know her husband doesn’t touch her like this. Wanda moans when you lick through her folds, gathering her wetness with your tongue.

“I’ve thought about this for so long,” Wanda says. “About you on your knees worshipping me in this church.”

“Fuck,” you mumble against her.

Wanda’s hand comes to your hair to encourage you to continue. You never want to stop. You take her clit in your mouth and her hips stutter. In a few more moments, Wanda falls apart at your touch. She has to reach for the nearest chair to regain her balance.

“Holy fuck, Wanda,” you say when you emerge from between her legs.

“Mmm, come here,” she says. She lifts you up by your shoulders and you kiss her.

Wanda lets out the softest moans at the taste of herself on your tongue. She wants more. You let her take control, pushing you down to the ground again.

This time she lifts your robe up your body to reveal your hips and something she didn’t expect. Your cock is hard, and Wanda immediately takes it into her mouth. She sucks until you’re coming into her mouth.

“Oh fuck, y/n,” Wanda says. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Ride my cock, baby?” You ask her.

Wanda nods and settles herself over you. She aligns her center with your cock, slipping onto it with ease. She is so wet from getting you off. The woman rides your cock as she moves her hands over your abdomen. You can see yourself slipping in and out of her even with your choir robe bunched up at your chest.

“Fuck, Wanda, I’m going to come,” you say as you feel yourself getting close.

“Me too,” she groans out. Her eyes are closed with pleasure. She shouts as she comes, and you spill into her.

Wanda lets you stay inside her until she’s come down from her high. You kiss her when she slips off of you and lays on the ground next to you.

“We should’ve done that months ago,” you say.

“Agreed,” Wanda says. She chuckles. “Can you go again?”

You look down at yourself. It’s unlikely but you’re willing to try.

“Maybe if we kissed for a while first? Or you let me get you off first?”

“By all means, go ahead,” Wanda says.

You laugh and turn over to kiss Wanda again. Lifting her robe off this time, you pay close attention to her breasts. And you bring her pleasure again. She does the same for you.

Wanda is definitely why you love your job, especially now.

#wanda maximoff x reader #milf!wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff #I just think that Wanda in a choir robe

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kotias · 1 month

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Ineffable Rockstars

Time to properly become creatively feral about the Ineffable Rockstars project with @vavoom-sorted-art, @searchingforakeythatdoesntexist , @daneecastle, @moonyinpisces and Stitcherydoo!

Summary of the story: human!AU, Crowley and Aziraphale are rockstars in their respective groups, Celestial Harmonies and Hell's Rebuke. Word is out that those two groups have bad history together, and therefore the two of them, while shamelessly talking to each other any festival they get to meet at, do have to be careful about being seen together by their own bands.

Summary of this excerpt: Aziraphale explains the story of the two bands to Crowley, who has arrived after everything went down and was kept in the dark by his mates.

Lyrics: written for the purpose of this fic.

Word count of the excerpt: 872 words

Excerpt:

Crowley sat down next to Aziraphale, whose eyes laid probably a second too long on those long fingers, on this chest showing so proudly from behind his open shirt- He coughed and drank a large gulp from the flute, clutching at the glass like a lifeline.

“It’s- it’s alright. Are you feeling comfortable? How was the concert?”

“Hah, acting like I didn’t see you in the audience, are ya?” Crowley asked with a smirk, and Aziraphale looked away, feeling the heat building up on his face.

“Well, we do need to keep it silent, don’t we?” he answered nonetheless with a coy smile, sipping on his drink.

“Why, though? It’s completely beyond me; Bee recruited me right after the split between Celestial Harmonies and Hell’s Rebuke, but there’s always been… you know, a feeling that it didn’t happen for no reason.”

“They haven’t explained it to you?” Crowley shook his head, and Aziraphale sighed. “No wonder you’re lost. Well, to put it simply… Hell’s Rebuke’s members were part of Celestial Harmonies, a few years ago.”

“Yes, I know that-”

“Let me talk, please; I would like to make sure we work with the same information.”

As he began explaining the official history of the two bands, he was cut by a thunder of clapping as the concert was coming to an end, and he and his counterpart felt compelled to stand up and join the applause.

When you reached Summer,

You lost sight of the star lights,

Questions died in your throat,

Cursing a future that is naught

And the night falling upon you

Left you laying awake with open eyes.

After two encore songs and enough clapping to make their hands and wrists sore, Crowley and Aziraphale walked towards another scene and stayed in relative distance, ensuring that they would hear each other. “So, you were saying, Hell’s Rebuke and Celestial Harmonies.”

“Ah! Yes; so, this is fairly public knowledge.” Crowley nodded impatiently. “At least, it is not something that we are actively hiding, neither of the two groups; somebody who knows how to Google us would be able to find this information.” Aziraphale frowned, crossing his arms. “Honestly, that is why it concerns me a little that you have not been informed of this; it is a fairly common question that people are trying out on us, asking about the other group to see how we react. Anyways-”

The vendors just a few metres from them had started cooking a few crepes, and Crowley did not miss the eyes darting towards them. “Want some? C’me on, it’s my treat,” he insisted as Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised -and it was obvious that he wasn’t going to refuse such an offer.

“Well, if you insist,” he answered, the corners of his lips curling up and his eyelashes fluttering; Crowley’s heart missed a beat, his fingers pressed against his flute, and he barely managed to keep a groan from reaching out of his mouth.

“You do have to tell me more, though; ‘specially if you think my ignorance could bite me in the ass.”

“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale’s voice dropped as they reached the line, keeping it to the level of a private conversation. “Bee and Gabriel were… an item.”

“Oh, excellent start. If that’s only the beginning, I might have to stock up on popcorn with that crepe of yours.”

“Heh, well, it might be one of the more interesting aspects of this entire story, so do not keep your expectations too high.”

“No, no, don't kill my hopes, now. Go on, tell me everything, I’m sure it will be full of riveting details, Bee’s never been good at keeping things tidy anyways.”

Aziraphale groaned. “Oh, you should see Gabriel when he gets involved… Ah- one crepe with sugar, thank you,” he said with a bright smile to the vendor. “Alright, so- long story short, the band was originally founded by the two of them; excellent musicians those two are, and the band did have quite the promising future before it. We started having a fairly good reputation.”

“Black coffee and a serving of fries. The name’s been around for a while now, that’s right- I remember seeing it ten years ago on some festival announcements in my city. Cash, thanks.”

“We have, yes. We were very local for a long while, but…”

“What changed?”

“Gabriel and the others were wishing to go professional; Bee and who are now Hell’s Rebuke were not willing to do that.”

“Ah, I see. Well, they didn't change much in that aspect,” Crowley mumbled sourly, extending his arms to grab the crepe and coffee. He gave the dessert over, then took his serving of fries, and they left the vendor’s stand. “Wait, where did you stand? You stayed with Celestial Harmonies, after all.”

“Hm, well…”

That did not sound like somebody who was fully happy to have stayed, Crowley thought, and he crept closer to Aziraphale, nudging him with his elbow. “Come on, spill the beans! Honestly, I’m looking to go in that direction, if there’s anything I should be aware of…”

“Being professional was, and still is, something that I hold dear,” Aziraphale explained, his slow speech feeling heavy, like he was choosing every word carefully.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable rockstars #human AU #fanfiction

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multifandomimagin3s · 1 year

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Singer!Reader - 141, Los Vaqueros + Konig

Requested by Anon

Summary: Reader has to go undercover for a mission - and the guys find out that they have an amazing singing voice.

The song I had in mind whilst writing this was Doin' Time - Lana Del Rey ~

"Remember - eyes open, watch your six, Sergeant," Price's gruff voice spoke through your ear piece," The target is front and centre."

"Copy, Sir," You replied lowly.

Undercover missions were nothing you hadn't done before - in fact before your transfer to the 141 Taskforce they were your bread and butter. Usually your role was that of the other members of the squad - watch for the target, and then get them quickly and discretely as possible. This time? Well, Laswell had decided it would be best to put one of your other skills to use; before joining the army, you had a passion for music and singing, something that you didn't really get a chance to indulge in after climbing the ranks.

The mission itself was simple enough - you were to be onstage, singing to distract those in the room, namely the target, while the rest of the squad got into position - at which point, it was 'capture or kill' (as Ghost had put it).

You took a calming breath in through your noise and out through your mouth. Laswell would definitely owe you for this one...

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Had no idea that you could sing - when your melodic voice reaches his ears, it catches him off guard for a second, before he shakes his head slightly. Focus, he tells himself.

His eyes remain glued to the target, but he's internally fighting with himself not to stare at you.

Especially since you're dressed so nicely - he thinks you look good in anything you wear, even when in sweaty camo gear.

The target seems to ogle you just as adoringly - and it sets a fire in his belly.

When Price gives the signal to move in, he's taking the lead - and to his delight when the target resists, he gets to throw a punch at his stupid face.

After the mission, he voices his appreciation - well, as best as Ghost usually does:

"Not bad, Sergeant."

Definitely wants to hear you sing again, and might ask for an encore in private...

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

He's staring at you with this adorable look of pure awe - it takes a nudge and disgruntled look from Ghost for him to remember why he was there in the first place.

Johnny also had no idea that you could sing, which was made more obvious by his reaction.

He sings your praises as soon as the mission is over, eyes practically sparkling with barely contained excitement; he has to reel himself back a bit given he was around his superiors.

"Aw that wis absolutely class*, (Y/N/N) - got the voice of an angel ~" [wis = was] [class = amazing, brilliant, great ].

Congratulations - you're now going to be his partner for drunk karaoke.

((I can absolutely see Soap getting piss drunk and belting out 'Sweet Caroline' in a pub after a mission - it gives Ghost a migraine every time he does it))

Captain John Price

He knew you could sing, he's seen your file - but he didn't know you could sing like that.

When Laswell had suggested her plan to him to use you as a distraction, he was a bit sceptical - to be honest, he'd rather have just captured the target either before he got to the venue or when he was leaving. But he trusted her judgement.

And he's glad that he did.

He praises you like a typical Dad;

"You did good there, (Y/L/N)," As he pats your back.

When Soap drags you up on stage with him for drunk karaoke, he's slightly less annoyed - at least your sweet voice might help cancel out Soap's :))

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Sweet boy is trying to stay composed for the mission - but try as he might, he can't control his facial expressions.

He's not as overtly expressive as Soap, but his eyebrows do almost meet his hairline, mouth parted slightly in surprise.

See, I reckon Kyle probably knew because you told him one night about how you used to sing a lot before joining the army - he's easy to talk to and a good listener, so you didn't mind him knowing.

Still, he's still amazed that you were this good.

I can also see him joining in on you and Soap's drunk karaoke session after a few drinks - and he's not a bad singer either.

Alejandro Vargas

Oh, he's your number one fan.

Stays composed for the sake of the mission but he can't help but crack a smile.

You probably met him during the Hassan mission, so he hasn't known you for too long - and you're full of surprises.

After the mission, he asks you questions - how long have you been singing? did you have lessons? He's just curious.

Probably would ask if you knew any Spanish songs - and if not, he's happy to teach you :)

Rudy Parra

He's naturally quite a quiet guy so he doesn't say much - his face says more than words could.

Like Alejandro, he hasn't known you very long but being able to learn more about you - and your skills off the field - is interesting.

He's a man of few words so he'd probably just give you a compliment which is short and concise;

"Tu voz es hermosa." ["Your voice is beautiful."]

Definitely would love to hear you sing again, and silently hopes that he will in future.

Develops a little crush on you then and there.

Konig

He knew you could sing - he's heard you singing in the showers back on base.

Being the shy guy that he is, he didn't say anything to you - he wasn't trying to be creepy but he was walking by on route to his room, and he heard you. Yeah, that sounded a bit sus.

But to hear you on stage, your voice crystal clear and so beautiful, had the little crush he had on you tripling in size.

He probably wouldn't say anything to you after the mission - he's naturally quiet and shy, plus he likes you, and you both were around the team so his anxiety said no.

However, when you're back on base and he gets a moment alone with you, he gets his words out;

"Sie haben eine erstaunliche stimme, Sergeant." ["You have an amazing voice, Sergeant."

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malleux · 7 months

Text

performance anxiety.

-> lyney x fem!famous singer!reader

-> warnings: mentions of past bad relationship, anxiety, no use of y/n

-> words: 3.4k

[a/n]: this was not supposed to be this long but. not proofread, idk what universe this is in where all of these characters are friends but shut up. i just started writing, gun to my head i could not tell you what happens in this story

Applause. Roses. Adoration. Entertainment.

You craved the effervescence of the spotlight. The thrill of being on stage. Millions of eyes are on you and you alone– coming together for the sole purpose of viewing you.

It seemed a bit voyeuristic, but you couldn’t care less as the final notes of your song rang out across stages all over the country and applause replaced the roaring in your ears. People stood as they clapped, whooping and hollering. All for you.

You stood before them night after night, baring the roughest edges of yourself on the stage for them all to judge. You were vulnerable to every attack possible– verbal, physical, emotional. Yet none occurred, save for the dozens of flowers that showered you every night as you completed a performance flawlessly once again.

It was only after you made it backstage to your dressing room that you finally took a breath. A very shaky, very exhausted breath. Stagehands ran back and forth, putting up props and fixing light fixtures for someone else’s performance the next night, but they reassured you that nobody could possibly outshine you after you had christened the Opera Epiclese.

Your first performance in Fontaine. In your hometown.

“That was amazing!” Your manager burst through the door, a cup of water in her hands. She passes it to you. “One of your best performances yet– not that the others were bad! Quite the opposite, actually–”

“I get it. Thank you.” You chewed on your lip, gazing at yourself in the mirror. You looked frazzled up close with the stage makeup slightly smeared across your face. Not enough for the audience to notice, though. No, to them, you were perfection. “I hope they thought the same.”

“Are you kidding? You were amazing. I bet you made at least ten men think about leaving their wives for you tonight.” You cut your eyes at her, and she backtracked immediately. “I-I mean! Oh, that was such a bad analogy, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

It really wasn’t fine, but you weren’t going to make your friend-turned-manager feel any worse than she already does for bringing up the past. You weren’t married– Archons, no– but you lived a fast life that not many were equipped to handle, especially if they were staying home while you traveled Teyvat on a tour.

Your ex couldn’t handle you and your lifestyle, so he handled others in bed instead.

It didn’t sting as bad as you would have expected it to. You couldn’t take the time to grieve, not when there was a performance in Natlan the night you found out. Other performers and those who lived a more nomadic lifestyle had warned you about failed relationships and friendships with those who did not stay close or did not understand the busyness of traveling. You truly believed you were the exception, and now you realize that such relationships are impossible. You chose this life, thus giving up the idea of a simple love. Your friends were your manager and the crew that traveled with you, and that was that. You didn’t stay anywhere long enough to culminate true, meaningful connections with anyone.

“Are you ready for the encore?”

You swiped another layer of lipstick on and fluffed your hair in the mirror before turning back to your manager.

“Born ready.”

—---

Lyney sat on the edge of his seat for the past hour and a half and continues to do so, staring at the dark stage.

His sister keeps a hand near his chair, just in case he somehow leans too far forward and falls out of it completely. She’ll never understand his infatuation with such a famous singer– it’s not like he had a shot with you anyway. Nevertheless, she made sure to surprise him with front-row tickets the minute she learned of your performance at Fontaine’s beloved Opera Epiclese.

Lyney nearly cried in happiness and he’s nearly crying now, praying to every Archon above that you’re going to come out for an encore and that this isn’t the end of your show. The tears almost fall as the spotlight graces the stage once more and music fills the room.

Everyone in Fontaine tried to get tickets for your performance and the most influential of citizens were sure to attend. Furina sat in the VIP box, leaning on her hand as she watched you step back onstage. She was quiet for once, enraptured by your voice. Clorinde was at her side. Neuvillette sat near the twins, seated but smiling. Charlotte and Navia were a bit further back, Charlotte furiously scribbling on her notepad to review the performance. She stopped writing halfway through, though, unable to stop herself from just enjoying the performance. Wriothesley and Sigewinne showed their faces from outside of the Fortress, the former succumbing to the latter’s pleas for tickets. Even Freminet was there, on the other side of Lyney, just happy to see his brother so happy.

And yet there he was, sitting in the middle of the row, front and center. A perfect view. And there you were, in that jaw-dropping dress that sparkled perfectly in the lights, reflecting the same way the stars in the sky shined. Lyney was positive there were also stars in his eyes, but he couldn’t help it.

And when the performance was over, Lyney finally sat back in his seat and exhaled a deep breath– one he had been holding since the minute you appeared onstage.

Lynette looked him over as if to make sure he was okay and happy. She didn’t need any words to tell that he was over the moon. “Are you ready to go?”

“Just– just give me one minute.”

—---

“How long will you be in Fontaine?”

“Probably a week or two, at most.” You hummed, finally eating a snack left for you by the Hydro Archon herself. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been home. I’d like to stay a bit longer.”

“Hmm,” Furina’s finger tapped her chin– a clear sign that she was thinking. About what, nobody could tell. “How about another performance before you leave? Many people didn’t get tickets to this first show. You’ve had so many supporters from here since you started. Why not give them a special thanks? Especially me, since I’ve supported you and been your friend for all these years?”

You squinted at her for a moment, trying to decipher what she could be devising in her head. You weren’t a mind reader, and Furina didn’t necessarily all have it going on in her head, so you opted to just ask her outright. “What could you possibly gain from that?”

She reeled back, feigning offense. “Nothing! It’s-it’s just that it’s great for business. And we’re having special visitors soon who may want to see. Totally not because I want to watch it again– heh.”

“What special visitors?”

“Why, the Traveler and Paimon, of course!” Furina clapped, “Yes, yes. They’d love to see your performance.”

“Hm.” You continued staring at her, unconvinced that the legendary Traveler wanted to see your performance. But, you did get to perform again and get a part of the profits. You didn’t see why not. “Fine.”

The squeal that came out of Furina’s mouth was enough to almost break your glass of water– a feat many singers trained to do for years and could not accomplish. Yet, your friend was close to doing it without even trying out of sheer excitement.

She grabbed your hand once you were done changing clothes and dragged you out of the dressing room. You had no choice but to follow as she led you into the main room, where the audience sat. It looked much different from before with the lights on and the chairs empty.

Except for two chairs, three people still present in the opera house.

At the sound of her voice, the three turned around. There was a pair of twins and a younger blonde boy. The twin boy made eye contact with you and seemed to shoot straight up, becoming entranced as he saw you. This was typically a normal reaction for fans, but there was one difference this time.

You were entranced too.

Furina looked at the three and huffed. “Isn’t it time for you to go home?”

“Sorry, Lady Furina,” The youngest boy spoke and motioned to the other boy, whose face was bright red. “Lyney just needed to sit for a minute.”

“Is he okay?” You tilted your head, gently shaking free of Furina and walking to them. Furina gasped and crossed her arms, almost angry that she didn’t have your attention anymore as your self-titled “best friend”. “Your face is hot.”

The twin girl hid her mouth with her hand. “He’ll be okay eventually. I think he got overheated or something. Got all nauseous and dizzy.”

“Oh my Gods, I’m so sorry!” You felt awful– you had told someone that you felt the air was a bit too hot in the audience, but you were brushed off. This just proved that you were right. “You all come with me, there’s fresh water and everything in the guest house I’m staying in tonight.”

You ushered everyone out of Opera Epiclese and into the small building next to it. It was the guesthouse, built solely for performers without a place to stay as they traveled. You were given it for your time in Fontaine and couldn’t be more grateful, especially at a time like this when someone is in need.

Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet– as you learned their names were– followed you and a pouting Furina into the house. You offered them all a seat on the couches and chairs before running to the kitchen and grabbing a bowl of cool water and a rag. You sat next to Lyney, who was silent the entire time, and neared his face as you put the rag on his forehead. You were a bit confused at Lynette and Furina’s snickering behind you, but you could only worry about the boy in front of you whose face turned even redder at your closeness.

“Say,” Furina spoke up, “Lyney and Lynette here are performing at the Opera Epiclese tomorrow. Fancy a show?”

“Really?” You looked into Lyney’s eyes, “What do you do?”

He swallowed, and you wondered if he needed a glass of water. “Magic.”

“You’re magicians? No way!” You grinned, “I’ve always wanted to see a magic show live! Furina, I think we should go. I’d love to see more of these two.”

“I do too.” Lynette joined, “We can get you on the reservation list for front and center… unless you’d like to sit VIP with Furina?”

“We’ll both sit front row. Neuvillette can have front row if he wishes to attend.” Furina grinned at Lynette, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing out of something as you cared for Lyney.

“Wonderful.” Lynette stands up, followed by Freminet. “I think Lyney just needs rest now, but we don’t live far in the Court of Fontaine. We probably need to head out before it gets too late.”

You nod and hold your hand out to Lyney, who takes a second of staring before taking your hand and hoisting himself up. You both definitely hold on a bit too long to be typical for someone you just met, but exceptions could always be made.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Lynette.” You glance back at the boy at your side. “Lyney.”

“Y-yes.” He speaks. You like his voice. “Tomorrow evening. I’d love to see you there.”

After the three left, Furina stayed on your couch and stared.

You sat across from her, staring back with a puzzled expression.

This was the longest you’d ever heard her be quiet and it was incredibly unnerving. You couldn’t take much more of this.

“What?”

Another beat of silence. “What do you mean ‘what’?”

“What do you mean ‘what do you mean’? What did I do?”

“You’ve never done that before.”

“Done what, Furina? I don’t have time for this–”

“Gotten all flustered like that. You don’t even dote on me like that and I’m your best friend.”

“Lynette said that he got overheated during the performance.” You defended, “I had to help him, I felt bad. I told the crew that it was too hot in there but they didn’t listen–”

“You’re stupid.” Before you could retort in offense, Furina leaned forward. “You haven’t been that open and nice since…”

You’re glad she doesn’t finish that sentence– doesn’t let his name leave her mouth. Furina is right and you know it, but you definitely don’t want to admit that. Especially not to her.

“I just felt bad.” She doesn’t believe you and you know it. “Fur, you know I can’t. People can’t keep up with my life. He’s cute, but I’m better off alone.”

Furina looks away for a moment as if to think about what she’s going to say next for the first time ever. “He’s different.”

“You don’t know that.”

“First, I know him better than you do. I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with that crew, and I’m the Hydro Archon. I know everyone in Fontaine.” She twirls a finger around her hair– a telltale sign that she’s desperate for someone to listen to her. You want to oblige, but your mind won’t let you. “Lyney understands the life of a performer. Has he traveled? No. But I bet he’d be more than willing to travel with you as like– an opening act or something!” She snaps her fingers as if this is some sort of life-changing revelation.

Your anxiety says otherwise.

“What about Lynette and Freminet?”

“They can go with you!” She says as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Lynette is Lyney’s assistant, so she has to go. Freminet would be good with helping with finances or something. Or if you happen to drop your wedding ring in the ocean, he can get it.”

“Wedding ring?”

“Yeah, for when you marry–”

A knock on the door interrupts her and you’ve never been happier. You give each other confused looks before you get up and open the door a crack. Behind it is a face all-too-familiar, and you open it wider.

“I-uh, forgot my hat here.” Lyney, cheeks still rosy, rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“O-oh, of course!” You stammer out, leaving him at the door and finding his hat in one of the other chairs. Furina stares him down in a way that makes him feel like he’s intruding on a very important conversation, but he tries to brush it off as one of her theatrics.

Lyney’s smile returns when you appear again, his hat in your hands, and tries to ignore the jump of his heart as his fingers accidentally brush yours when he takes it. “Thank you so much.” You watch as his figure begins to retreat from the guesthouse, but he quickly turns around and waves. “And I do hope to see you tomorrow.”

—---

Lyney does, in fact, get to see you tomorrow.

Peeking through the curtain, he sees you front and center, sitting in the same exact seat that he was in the night before. Furina is at your side, chatting with you happily and ignoring the questioning whispers of her citizens as they question why she’s on the floor instead of in her box. Their questions cease when they see you.

A bit of jealousy hits him as he sees some citizens ask for your autograph or come up to talk to you, but he can’t dwell on it long before Lynette is behind him.

“Is she here?”

“Yes.” He lets out a nervous breath. “Everything has to be perfect tonight.”

“It will be.” She reassures, “And don’t worry about anything else. I have it all covered. She’s come to see you and you alone, so you just focus on being the best you can be.”

Lyney has never been more grateful for his sister than he is at that moment. Sure, it was one thing when she accepted his schoolgirl crush on a famous singer, but when she was actually here, at their show, watching him, she was the best wingman in Teyvat.

He peeked out of the curtain once more, his breath catching in his throat when he sees you looking directly at him. You wave and send him a soft smile and Lyney can feel his entire body heat up. He’s determined and ready for this show to start.

And with a short countdown, it does.

In most performances, Lyney keeps his eyes above the crowd. It’s an illusion many performers learn– don’t look directly at anyone specifically, it’s easier to quell the anxiety of thousands of eyes being on you, judging your every move. He knows you do this tactic as well, getting to witness it firsthand last night as you wowed the crowd from the very stage he was on tonight. He wondered how he could possibly be equal to such a wonderful performance and his mind gets a bit louder as doubts start plaguing him. As quickly as they come, however, they disappear.

Lyney looks at you.

You’re dressed beautifully, hair and makeup done simply as if to bare the real you. Oh, how Lyney longs to know the real you.

You think it’s a funny coincidence when the first rose comes to you. Just a chance that a draft happened to send it directly into your lap after Lyney throws it into the crowd. Same with the second rose, that he passed off to you personally as he walked by after doing his switch trick with the box. You realize it’s not just some happenstance when the performance ends and you are left with a bouquet of roses in your hands, your face hot as Furina teases you.

“Rainbow roses have special meaning in Fontaine, you know.” She grinned. You swatted her away.

“I know.” You huff, “He probably uses those in every show to make the little lucky audience girl feel special.”

Furina opens her mouth to speak, but a voice from behind speaks up before she can. “I normally use Romaritime Flowers, and only pull one out of my hat, but I thought tonight I could do something a little different.”

Lyney prays you aren’t uncomfortable when you turn around– the adrenaline of the show is the only thing driving him to speak to you steadily right now, and he didn’t know what he’d do if he got rejected. He’s pleasantly surprised when you do turn around and your mouth is slightly agape, your cheeks darker than usual. He did his job.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“Keep them, they’re yours.” Lyney places his hands on yours to push them back when you go to give him back the bouquet, but he doesn’t remove them when you clutch the flowers to your chest. “This is my official offer– let me treat you to dinner.”

You turn your head to give Furina a look, but she’s long gone. You make a note to curse her out later.

“Lyney, I want to accept your offer. So badly. But I just know it won’t work.”

Seeing Lyney’s face fall almost makes you want to take it back, but you can’t. You can’t get hurt again.

“Please,” His voice has gone soft, “How do you know that?”

“It’s happened before. I’m just protecting you. I’m going to be gone soon and you can forget about this little infatuation–”

“No!” Lyney blurts out but quickly composes himself. “You’re not protecting me, you’re protecting yourself. I’m not whatever man hurt you in the past. I’m a performer too, I can handle all the things that entails.”

“Lyn… This is only my third country on my tour. I have so many more left, I’ll be gone for a very long time. It’s not fair to ask you to wait for me.”

“I think I get to decide what’s fair for me.” You don’t respond, looking away. Lyney takes your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. “And I think that me waiting for you is a fair trade if it means you come back to me in the end. Please, ma chérie. Consider it.”

You took a breath, weighing the options as seriously as the Oratrice. You think back to your conversations– the ones with your manager, the ones with Furina. Finally, you meet his eyes fully. Lyney hasn’t looked away, a softness in his eyes that you were not expecting.

“Let’s go to dinner. I’ve been thinking of hiring an opening act for the rest of the tour anyways. How do you feel about that?”

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gorboble · 2 months

Text

So, Meta Flowey. Encore Flowey. whatever you wanna call it. I wanna discuss it rq

I believe I have a pretty solid explanation for the specimens (intentional by the devs or not,) and I've come to one conclusion: They're based on childhood fears. Let me explain each one.

Clay

This one is a bit obvious, at least to me. I think it's based on how kids will see claymation and get scared of it, you know? Like Mabel in that one episode of Gravity Falls. Might have something to do with Uncanny Valley.

Polygonal

Another obvious one. This is based on late 90's games when 3d was becoming a thing. The kind that is mostly good fun until one moment when the scariest enemy known to man comes out and has you quit the game for 6 months. Like Majora's Mask! Every kid was scared of that game, weren't they?

Patchwork

Creepy dolls, and such. Maybe just the slight discomfort you feel when you go into a room in grandma's house, the one where she sews blankets and toys. I always had a slightly unnerving feeling when it came to stuff like that. This one might be a little more personal, but it's valid.

Now, these next ones weren't so obvious. I had to do a little reaching for them.

Mechanical

It just wasn't quite obvious to me at first. This one is based on how heavy machinery may scare children and make them nervous. It's unknown and foreign to them. They don't know anything about it, but they have a feeling that they'll get hurt if they aren't careful with it (and they're right! machinery will kill you if you're not careful!)

Also guns. Guns can be scary to kids. I hope.

Organic

Now, I would say this one is the fear of doctor visits. But... it's gotta be more than that. You hear the beeping and see blood cells and such. You probably won't see that at a check-up. I think it's a bit deeper than that.

I think this is the fear of going to hospitals in general. A bit more serious than the doctor's office. It could be for a serious, painful disease the child has contracted, or... it could be visiting a loved one while they're in medical care, maybe after a horrible accident, or a terminal illness. The song supports this sort of dread regarding the inevitable loss of family. And the beeping at the end... yeah. This one is pretty grim.

Paper

specimen paper was the hardest phase to think about. Mostly because... who the hell out there is afraid of paper? I know there's a phobia for it, but it's rare.

So, I looked further into it. Paper airplanes and paper balls are flying around as attacks. And in the music? Laughter and talking.

I think this is bullying. It doesn't play into the... paper flowey, but I couldn't find any other fitting explanation. At least for this theory. Because, again, paper isn't exactly a common childhood fear that people have. Neither is bullying... but it's a huge issue in schools and is a lot more scarring than something you might find scary as a 6-year-old.

Also, note how Flowey doesn't move in this phase. Along with the organic phase. They feel really empty compared to the others, in a good way. It paints the picture of darker memories than just a scary enemy you encountered in SM64. It could also bring up some questions about Clover's past..

remember this post was entirely theoretical and probably not intended by the devs. i just wanted to write this lol. anyways i think im done. i wanted to make this post for a while now but i just now got to it at like midnight on a Friday ok byeeeee

#uty #undertale yellow #flowey #flowey the flower #flowey undertale #flowey uty #meta flowey #clover uty #clover undertale yellow #uty neutral route spoilers #uty spoilers #uty neutral route

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ataraxiaspainting · 5 months

Text

Hier Encore IV.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore III.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), unhealthy relationships, manipulation o’clock, body transformation (not on the reader), references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 5.9k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

iv. “I must be cruel, only to be kind.”

“Greetings.”

One emotion comes after another on Sebastian's face: confusion, fear, distrust, and many more.

“Hello.” His voice is tight. “Do you need something?” He asks, putting his hands on the doorframe as a precaution.

“I have just come to ask you a few questions.” Chrollo answers, his voice as calm and collected as always. He isn’t even looking at Sebaste, his focus is placed on the inside of the cottage. He knows that you are here.

“Like what?” Sebaste asks, his body tensing up.

“My dear, come out.” He calls out to you, his voice as soft as it usually is.

“I’m sorry?” Sebaste questions, his shoulders strained upwards. “I’m right here.”

Chrollo pays him no mind, instead still looking over Sebastian's shoulder. He hums, looking at one object in the living room at a time. The black sofa by the television was old with the bottom left corner of it torn, white stuffing no longer being covered there in that spot. The carpet below Sebastian’s feet, the colors fading because of age. The creaky poplar floorboards. The pots of plants where the kitchen’s checkered tiles and the living room’s wooden planks meet, where you are hiding. Your eyes meet and his eyes are as empty as ever, perhaps even emptier, like black holes in the ground that aim to swallow you whole.

“Come out, my love.” He repeats himself, his tone sickeningly sweet to the point of mockery.

“Excuse me?” Sebaste asks, his voice slightly cracking.

“Dearest.” His gaze is still on you. It is intense and you feel a pressure on your neck like you are being strangled by him. You can’t breathe.

“I’m here.” Sebaste moves his hands downwards on the doorframe. “I’m right here.” His eyebrows furrow. “I’m right here. Don’t ignore me.” He’s upset.

“Hmm.” He leans in slightly. “She hasn’t told you anything, has she?”

You can see Sebastian's feet through the leaves of the tall plants take a step or two back at Chrollo’s question. “What?”

He still is not making eye contact with Sebaste. “Honestly, I expected that you would have left her by now, or at the very least be on your knees begging for mercy from me. Little liar.” Once more, a gentle hum escapes his lips as he leans in, drawing himself nearer. “But that is alright.”

Sebastian's feet move backward yet again. “What?” He knows. “Hello? What are you talking about?”

Remaining composed, Chrollo gradually advances towards Sebaste. “My dear, aren’t you going to greet me? I missed you.”

As an innate response to his words, your muscles contract, causing your entire body to become rigid.

“Come on out,” Chrollo continues, his smile getting wider. “We haven’t seen each other for more than a year. It feels like a millennia since I saw you last. My heart still beats for you, though, and always will.”

“Leave,” You finally say, your voice almost as shaky as you are. “Go away.”

Sebaste and Chrollo are now both looking at you, but their gazes are different. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a slain doe or rabbit they are about to eat, while Sebaste looks at you with confusion and fear, for he knows what you are; a liar. “Come closer. Let me see you.”

You shake your head from side to side until your neck cramps and you feel slightly dizzy. “Leave, go away.” You repeat, your voice still shuddering.

“I would take you more seriously if your voice was not quivering, beloved.” You can perceive the mocking tone in his voice. “I want to see your beautiful face not covered by the foliage of a dying plant.” His smile is getting bigger and bigger by the second, you swear to yourself. “Come on now.”

Once more, you vigorously shake your head, refusing to comply. “Leave.”

Sebaste continues to call out, desperately trying to catch his attention, but he remains unfazed, humming to himself. Fear is evident in his expression and the urgency of his voice. Concern grips you, for both Sebaste and yourself.

“Come closer, please. Come greet me.”

You squirm behind the tall plant. “No, go away, leave.”

“I won’t.” His smile fades as he looks down at Sebastian's arms still holding onto the doorframe like it was their lifeline. It is actually, you realize.

Sebastian's face contorts into a frown, while he straightens his posture even further, assuming a defensive stance. “If all you are going to do is bother my girlfriend and not talk to me, you have to leave.”

“No.” Sebaste is finally acknowledged by him, but this time his voice lacks warmth, sounding firm and icy. “Step aside.”

The urge to run engulfs you. You want to run into the forest. You want to run until your feet bleed and your ankles are twisted and bruised.

“Why would I do that?” Sebaste hisses angrily. “Leave. All you are doing is being a creep to my girlfriend. Leave or I’ll call the police. Now.”

Chrollo simply leans in closer to Sebastian's ear. “Step aside. Please.”

Sebaste scowls. “Leave. Now.”

Run, run, run. Despite your determination to hold your ground, you start to relent under Chrollo's unrelenting gaze, eventually taking a step forward as instructed. “Ah, that’s better. Good.” As Chrollo's stare intensifies, you find yourself averting your gaze towards the ground, towards your bare feet. “Look at you, my poor thing. You have nothing more to say, don’t you?” He coos like a parent watching their baby take their first steps.

“I’m calling the police.”

Sebaste delves into the depths of his hoodie pocket, where his phone resides, leaving a portion of the doorway unguarded by his arm. The urge to plead with Sebaste, to convey the futility of it all, arises within you. However, you find yourself incapable of doing so.

In one swift motion, Chrollo grabs the cell phone away from Sebastian’s hand and throws it on the ground, a loud smashing sound reaching your ears. It’s only more pronounced by a boot stomping and crushing it like it was some sort of bug.

“Come closer, dearest.” He says, and your feet move, your mind compliant. You move closer and closer, until you are a few feet behind Sebaste, who looks both fearful and confused.

“Call the police,” Sebaste tells you, the stress in his voice is more than obvious.

You just stare, emptily. There is no point in running over to the kitchen to grab your phone, because Chrollo is quick and thus would run quicker, quicker than you ever could. You, poor you, would fall in vain in the Spider’s hunt for the fly that made it out of the web alive.

“Call the police. [First], call the police.” You would love to appear as a saint, but bright crimson stains your hands and eats at your very being. The floorboards creak and crack beneath you as you walk closer and you hope that the planks will simply break and let you fall into an infinite void where you will never be sentenced for your crimes.

“My lady of sorrows, as beautiful as ever.”

You should have hidden your tracks better.

“Call the police, [First].” You should have watched out for any targets on your back.

You should have watched out more for the eyes looking at you in the night because you only caught one pair. “Your love is like a warm summer’s day, and it will always be mine, all mine.”

You wanted a normal human life. You wanted a normal human death.

But you are caught in the Spider’s web and encased in silk yet again, so you can’t have either of those things. Now, all that you can have that you want is to cry.

“Call the police.” Sebastian's trembling voice echoes once more, filled with fear. Desperate to find solace, he reaches out for your hand, only to be met with the unexpected rejection of a slap.

You’re so stupid. So, so stupid. Your brain feels numb like it is rotting away inside of you, slowly but surely.

“Call the police. [First]. Go get your phone and call the police.”

“All I want is to hold you in my arms and know that you are mine.” You hold everything Chrollo has ever said to you inside of you where your heart used to be. It weighs you down more than a broken heart ever would.

“[First]. Call the police. What’s wrong?”

The world is now monochrome once more. You feel the place where warmth used to be within you. But now all there is is ashes. There is nothing but ashes. Your lungs hurt from all the filth.

“Stop it.” Disgusting, you are disgusting, Chrollo is disgusting.

You wanted to see the whole world. But you are now back to being trapped in the spider’s web and you cannot do any of those things now. A butterfly with a hole in its wing caught in its web.

“What’s wrong? Call the police. Go. Now.” Disgusting. “[First]?” Disgusting. “[First], why aren’t you doing anything?”

“Stop it.” Your voice cracks like how you wanted the floorboards to. “Just stop it.”

“Go get your phone.” Sebaste continues, deaf to what you are trying to tell him. “Go. Now. Go.”

Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. You want your pajamas on. You want to sleep. You wish you never ran away because now hell will be unleashed on Sebaste and you as punishment. You wish you would have just made a pit stop in this town and continued being on the move. You wish you were more tactical. You wish you had never been born at all. Disgusting. You’re so disgusting and stupid and tired.

You find yourself uttering every part of it, stammering through the words, pausing to catch your breath, pleading for Sebastian's survival, hoping to just return to whatever luxurious penthouse or hotel room Chrollo is currently staying at, imploring to have a private conversation with Chrollo about this matter in his car, away from Sebaste.

As soon as you finish begging for Sebastian's life and open your eyes, you see the book in Chrollo’s hand. With the realization of what is about to happen, tears finally fall from your eyes onto your bare feet.

The cry that escapes your lips is a unique one, unlike any other. It is choked, desperate, animalistic, raw, and undeniably genuine.

“Don’t! Please! Wait! Chrollo!”

Chrollo looks at you and you immediately shut up.

“What are you doing?” Sebaste asks, stepping away, his entire body shaking. “Answer me. What are you doing?”

Chrollo's gaze turns towards him, bearing a facial expression that ranks among the most dreadful you've ever witnessed.

He doesn’t respond with anything more than a hum and a quick turn of the pages.

You’re too afraid to speak.

You look at the floor and close your eyes again as you continue to cry.

You hate the book. He has never used it on you, but you know what it can do. Perhaps if Chrollo is in a good mood at the moment, Sebaste will merely have a curse placed upon him and he will go out the door with poor, wailing you, his grip on your wrist strong enough to almost break it.

A foolish thought, you remind yourself.

Chrollo wasn’t known for his mercy, after all.

Sebaste is as good as dead.

Perhaps he is even worse than dead.

He could be tortured. Starved, eaten alive, poisoned, or has all of his bones broken bit by bit.

You are scared to open your eyes. But you are also scared to have them remain closed.

As you look at what is in front of you and ignore the noises around you, you deprive yourself of any mercy.

It is what you deserve.

“[First]?”

“Don’t.”

“[First], what is happening?” Sebaste points to Chrollo with a look of pure fear, his eyes looking like they are about to burst from their sockets. “What is he talking about?”

“I said don’t. Just stop.”

Sebaste stops in his place, his body shaking so much it looks like he is about to fall. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” It is a genuine apology. “But speaking will only make the pain worse for both of us.”

Chrollo hums again and nods at you, still flipping through the pages. Engaging in acts of rebellion will only exacerbate the situation.

The book stops turning and Chrollo points to a page. “I found it.”

His words are barely audible, drowned out by the piercing cries of anguish. Flashing lights; magenta, red, teal, and black.

Sable scales are sprouting from Sebastian's alabaster skin, each one covered in blood and pierced flesh.

His scleras are a shade of light coral. His eyelids are getting smaller and smaller by the second.

His irises get darker, almost to the hue of ink, matching the scales that are all over his body covered in little bits of torn skin. His knees collapse on themselves as you stand still, looking with both disgust and fear. His elbows fold as his arms lessen in length, his hands bonding with his clavicles.

He is still screaming.

You want to tell him to stop, that there was no point. It’s already too late for either of you.

But you can’t.

You refuse to look at Chrollo, who is no doubt smiling at the horrifying tragedy unfolding in front of you two.

You just look at Sebaste with pitying, guilty eyes.

He does not look at you.

You deserve it, and he deserves to at least have that choice in the matter.

Whatever Chrollo is doing to him, there is no doubt in your mind that you deserve at least twice as bad of a fate.

But you don’t fear death. Not anymore. You know Chrollo does not plan to kill you, that death is not in the cards he is holding. He would never let go of his favorite toy. So, you fear the unknown. You fear whatever harrowing methods Chrollo is going to use on you. There is no doubt that they will be far more psychological than physical.

You sit and stay, like a good dog does, even though every fiber of your being is telling you to run out the back door and into the forest. So, you wait. You wait until he is done. You won’t speak or move unless you are told to. You give up all control and pretend to want to be dragged by a leash instead. You hide your true feelings behind a mask and not overplay your hand. That is how you become a dog.

Good girl.

Chrollo takes out a few Polaroid photographs from his suit pocket and lays them out on the table. One of them is the gore-stained walls of James’ apartment, his lower half the only part that is still whole. The second is Victor’s collapsed, untouched body on the wooden floorboards. The third is of your stalker’s rotting corpse in your abandoned shed, his head lowered and his partially gouged eyes swinging in the cool breeze. You can’t pretend to be better anymore. You can’t hide what you have done anymore. He knows.

You reach for the photos, grabbing them off the table then crumble them into balls, tearing them apart into shreds and watching them fall onto the ground.

Chrollo doesn’t stop you. He simply stares at the torn pieces that lay at your bare feet. He hums. It’s the most horrific sound you have ever heard. It is a mix of hilarity and hunger. When he smiles, his teeth look like a shark's. They are razorlike and look sharp enough to cut flesh, though they appear the same as yours. Although his appearance may deceive others into perceiving him as angelic, you are aware that he is anything but, just like yourself.

He knows. He knows.

Chrollo takes a step forward toward you but stops abruptly. He hums again. He looks upward towards your face and you make eye contact. Your brain starts screaming signals to run.

He knows of the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face. He knows of your sticky, sticky red hands, stained with crimson sin. He knows of the devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart. He knows that no exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. He knows that it will stay inside you until your last breath. He knows of the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.

He knows everything. He knows what you have done.

The stars twinkle no more. The moon has lost its luster. The night sky has broken apart. You cannot hide your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun. Your skin burns. Everything hurts.

He knows.

He looks down at you like he is a king. Arrogant. Tenacious. He is not even a star to you. He is less than the small pieces of meteorites floating in the vast Milky Way, fading away more and more by the second. This life was too good to be true. You have failed and as a result, you have lost everything.

You cover your head with your arms and run, tackling Chrollo to the ground. He falls onto the kitchen floor with a hard thump. You punch him, but your knuckle hurts as you do so, Chrollo’s face like an iron wall. You yelp in pain and withdraw your fist, using your other hand to pull out the knife from your sweatpants. You haven’t even made a dent into him, did he even feel anything?

Chrollo's laughter resonates as if he finds your actions incredibly amusing. He proceeds to articulate the harsh reality, a truth that is both unpleasant and acrid. “So, you were the one that committed those murders. As expected.”

No. No. No. No.

As you falter, Chrollo’s hands firmly grab the upper parts of your arms and push you off, the amount of power used being nearly enough to throw you against the glass cupboards of dishware and decorations. Instead, the back of your head collides with the wall next to the wooden back door, the paring knife flying out of your hand and landing a few inches away. A pained cry escapes your lips as your vision blurs for a second. He’s on top of you in an instant, his eyes dark and predatory, and your positions suddenly reversed.

The blade, you have to get it back.

As you try to reach out for it, Chrollo grabs your wrist with an abnormal amount of strength. “I wouldn’t pick that up if I were you. It would only prove a point for me.”

Run. Run. Run. You have to run, like a small child running up the stairs when the lights are off, fearing what could be lurking in the dark.

Life. Death. Free. Cage. Run.

No, this can’t be happening, this is just a bad dream.

“Struggle all you like, we both know how this will end.”

“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere–”

“You are. You will stay wherever I place you because I am not falling for your tricks a second time, my little witch.”

No. This is just a bad dream. You close your eyes and try to wake up, shaking your head and begging for Chrollo to be just a figment of your imagination. You try and try, but you can still feel the crushing feeling of Chrollo’s grip on your bruised wrist and the weight of his body on top of yours. This is real, and this is happening.

Your mind goes blank as you open your eyes, your body being directed by raw, pure fear. Your forehead crashes into Chrollo’s, making him back up a few centimeters and let go of your wrist. Your torso crawls toward the blade like an animal whose legs are caught under a boulder or a bear trap. Your elbows bend and you try to move forward. You are just about to grab the knife when there is a yanking of your hair backward. You holler out as your spine is twisted peculiarly, your upper body facing downwards towards the knife while your lower body is facing upwards towards Chrollo.

“Let go!”

“You certainly are stubborn.”

Your fist smacks him square in the jaw and he lets go. Your hand grips the knife, and you start swinging it around, blinded by emotion. You manage to cut into his right cheek as he spits out some blood from your punch. You try to gouge out one of his eyes, but his dexterity causes his head to duck just in time. Your body shakes with a mix of alarm and hate. You try to aim for the space between his eyes, but he grabs your wrist with one hand and your tricep with the other and starts twisting them in two different directions, making you wail. There is a sudden snap that is louder than your cries. You scream as you drop the knife and caress your broken arm. Chrollo grabs the blade and throws it far across the room.

Chrollo’s body seems to relax a little, so you kick him in the face and try to clamber away from him. His nose bleeds, but it does not look broken. You are as desperate as a doe trying to escape the bullets of a hunter’s shotgun.

Run. Run. Run.

“You’re not being good. You’re not being good at all.”

Run. Run.

With the last bits of strength you have, you withstand the agonizing pain in your arm and kick Chrollo in the stomach with both of your legs, so hard that even you wince. He backs up as he chokes on his saliva. Some of the blood from his nose jumps onto your face and you can taste the flavor of metal. He falls backward and hugs his abdomen. He is off of you at long last. For the quick moment he is in pain, you stand up quickly, clutching your unusable limb. You run as fast as you can towards the paring knife. You bend down and grab it in a rush of panic.

Run, rabbit. Run.

Chrollo pushes you down onto your stomach, your back facing him. He grabs your broken arm and pulls it, his foot on your spine to keep you there. It bends like rubber or bubblegum. You start to flail around like a fish out of water. You gasp for air as you cry out in pain. His other hand grabs the back of your head, raising it slightly before pushing it down hard onto the wooden planks. The life you have built for yourself, everything you have worked towards, the colorful, sweet world you have made, all shatters into splinters before your very eyes.

Picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods, cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan, learning to love someone for the first time.

It was all for nothing. It was all for nothing because Chrollo found you. Chrollo found you and enacted his revenge. You wail a strangled, desperate breath. A raw and real breath.

You stop struggling at long last, like a toy that has run out of power from its battery. All that fighting and you have hardly made him use his true strength.

You are weak. You cannot go anywhere. You are a rabbit with nowhere to run. Murder. Death. Theft. Crime. Manipulation. Love. Chrollo’s blood is still in your mouth and it’s bitter and dry, like you had just eaten sand in a desert or oceanless beach. It chokes you, both physically and mentally.

No.

The fish that used to be Sebaste looks up at the ceiling, lying on its side. An unblinking, wide eye. Dull. Cloudy. Empty. Unforgiving. Confused. Weak. Its corpse lays before you two and starts to stink like the back of a butcher’s shop.

I hate you.

That is what its eye tells you.

Traitor. Fool. Devil. Maneater. Tainted. Killer. Freak.

This is all your fault. Why did I have to die? Why are you still alive? You lied to me. You said you loved me. Liar.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Pathetic.

Your feet are still cold.

If only you could have died too. If only you could have died beside him. You don’t want to die in whatever hotel room or penthouse Chrollo will shove you in, within four suffocating walls and soft sheets that cost more than your monthly rent. You don’t want to die there, you want to die anywhere else. You are not ready to die. Tunnel vision overtakes you, with only one objective in mind.

Just stay alive.

That is your one wish to the stars above.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

You are being burned alive by your desire to both live and die.

...

You don’t think before you do it.

You don’t try to stop yourself before, without any hesitation, your legs propel you forward, forcefully thrusting the backdoor open with your functioning arm. Anguish, fury, remorse, and sorrow engage in a fierce battle for dominance over your every move. As you dart deeper into the dark and densely packed forest behind your cottage, the only sounds you could hear are your own ragged breaths and pounding heart. It was as if the forest was trying to swallow you up, closing in with every passing step. No moonlight or stars pierced the thick layers of leaves and branches overhead.

The darkness is like a thick fog, blurring your sight and limiting your visibility. You could not see Chrollo behind you, but your instincts told you that he was. There was no hint of a breeze to take some of the edge off, with even the birds and chipmunks being completely silent.

The pain was excruciating. With every jostling step, your broken arm jolted around like a wooden toy, threatening to send you down to the ground any second as it kept getting caught in vines and hitting tree trunks. You could not afford to stop running.

You don’t see anyone following you.

Your feet are starting to bleed and leave a few red drops of blood with every rushed step you take. You don’t care about it because instinct has taken over your mind.

You trip over a large root on the ground and fall sideways right on your broken arm, making you scream from the intense pain shooting up. As you try to get up and caress your broken arm, you stumble downhill into a pile of dead leaves.

Your mouth is full of them, making you hardly able to breathe as you spit them out.

If it were any other time, you would have considered it funny.

But not now.

As you rise from the ground, your hand instinctively shields your mouth, preventing any inadvertent sound that may invite unwanted attention. The pursuit of Chrollo, if not already initiated, has undoubtedly commenced.

He’s after you. You know this. He came back into your newly rebuilt life and destroyed it right in front of your very eyes.

You know he can hear you, but you cannot hear him. You never know of his presence until he is too close, that is how it always has been. That is how it is now. Chrollo has forever possessed superior speed, strength, intelligence, attractiveness, and wealth, making it impossible for anyone to ever match his prowess, even if they desired to do so.

You hate him.

You hate him, and he’s here for you again.

No.

How did he even find you?

Hisoka promised.

He promised you that your location would be undiscovered.

He lied to you, didn’t he?

Maybe lying isn’t the exact word.

Maybe he technically did keep his promise, because the Troupe didn’t show up in a matter of a few hours.

Chrollo showed up in a matter of nearly twenty four.

Your gasps for air and silenced cries are paired with a call of your name.

“Oh, you poor thing. Scared half to death.”

His words are as soft as they are cruel.

“Mater Dolorosa.”

You force yourself onto your feet again to run, sensing the voice behind you up the hill getting louder and louder. But when you move to run, you wince in pain and look down at your swollen red ankle.

It is so dark that you can’t see anything aside from yourself, the world around you being painted monochrome by the black night sky’s palette.

There is nowhere to run, is there?

You have used up all of your luck getting this far, and have to pay the price.

You are out of time. You cannot dream of sweet escape anymore.

“Do you remember my touch? I touched you so sweetly. My darling girl.”

You would turn if you could, but the pain shooting out from your ankle prevents you doing so and almost makes you fall into the leaves again instead. “You took me away.”

Moving in a circular motion, Chrollo gradually positions himself in your line of sight, his imposing figure standing tall before you. “It is a thief’s nature. I could not resist the temptation to steal you.”

Chrollo is a prime illustration of the extreme measures some individuals are willing to take in order to have you in their embrace.

Your beauty has captivated every person you have encountered, evoking reverence from all. It is both a blessing and a curse, a double edged sword, both the thing that worships you and tortures you.

Your sweatpants are covered in dirt stains and pieces of dried grass and leaves, your hoodie in a similarly horrible condition. Your hair had come undone, cascading in delicate wisps that obscured your vision, reminiscent of a spider's delicate web. There is nowhere to hide.

“Oh, how I love you.” Chrollo smiles and the way it reaches his eyes makes you squirm more. “Shall I enumerate the reasons why?”

…

The car ride was silent for a while. You would have preferred it if it stayed that way. But Chrollo could never stay quiet for long, even if you asked nicely, so he turned the dial of the radio and began humming along. In all the months you were with him, the only constant presence in your otherwise bleak, depressing life.

The song he chose felt like yet another kick to the stomach. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me. Of course he would play that.

As much as you hate doing so, you focus on the way your heart beats with each turn and bump along the road. He was calm, still so calm, even after this two year long escape. You are certain that this is the calm before the storm, and it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down on you. More than what already had fallen.

To claim that you were on edge would be an understatement.

“Do you know what will happen now?”

With your heart pounding and mind consumed, you can't help but startle at his words, despite your readiness.

“...No.”

He lets out a small laugh, reducing the music's volume to a slightly muffled level.

It only makes you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest.

“You do, don’t you? You have always been a smart one.”

Your broken arm aches under the slight pressure of the seatbelt pressing against it, your ankle being only slightly cushioned by the insulated carpet beneath.

Chrollo has never hurt you before, aside from restraining you in the early days of your capture. Though, you know if you had blamed your ankle on him and told him, he would tell you it was your fault for running barefoot in the dark.

He hopefully will give you a brace or pillow for it when you both arrive back to wherever your temporary location is.

“My freedoms will be taken away.”

As he nods, a smile plays at the corners of his mouth, revealing a slightly sinister undertone that would easily deceive any unfamiliar observer.

“That is a start. But,” Pausing momentarily, he directs his gaze towards you, only to swiftly return his attention to the path that lies ahead. “What particularly? Give me an example, please.”

He is definitely planning something. Maybe you'll inquire about the source of his inquiry, or perhaps you'll force a trembling grin and pretend his question is nonsensical, aware that he's already aware of the freedoms you've gained during your time in confinement. Yet, he would persist then, and repeat his query. You could respond by acknowledging his authority to strip away any privilege he deems appropriate, a fact that both of you know to be true, but deep down, you understand that he desires a real, logical answer.

Whether this is a genuine question or something that will be used to mock you in a moment or two, you have no idea.

“A freedom like…” Your answer will probably be spawned into existence, making you wary of how to respond to his question, but you know you have to because you have no choice in this hell. “Like being able to move freely around.”

He only taps his fingers on the steering wheel in a melody unlike the one playing from the car’s speakers. “How so?” Welcome once again to the realm of eternal damnation.

You contemplate turning away from him and looking out the window instead. But that would cause you more physical pain from your arm moving against the car seat and more mental pain from you knowing you will not be able to go outside again for at least a while. That is, if you are ever allowed to go outside again. If you can ever escape again. He wants another answer. He is not satisfied. But, then again, when is he ever?

You don’t dare look away from him as he stares at you, not at the road, at you. You practically feel like your stomach is dropping out of your body and onto the insulated carpet, staining parts of it crimson red from the blood and a discolored version of its once licorice color from the stomach acid.

“Go on,” You could imagine the feeling of his fingers and yours intertwining and starting to squeeze your throat.

Thum, thum, thum. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun.

“...Restraints.” You wish you could just dissolve like seafoam in the sea. “I’m not sure which ones you want to use. The metal ones or silk ones most likely.” The sensation of suffocation creeps in, as if the air itself has turned putrid and malevolent, weighing heavily on your chest. Your vocal cords are raspy, resembling the aftermath of regurgitating and subjecting them to the corrosive effects of gastric acid. “Maybe gag me or tie my legs together too. Or both, it depends on if you are in a good mood right now or not, right?”

He nods slowly, never taking his eyes off of you. His gaze feels unsettling, for there is no trace of anger in his eyes, yet you can sense his fury.

“That is one, yes. What else do you think will happen when we get back, my dear?”

The road is empty. There are no deer or geese or ducks crossing, only you and Chrollo. Animals have always had better judgment of human character, after all.

You hope that the place you are going to at least has a nice view.

“Tell me.”

107 notes · View notes

oneforthemunny · 1 year

Text

shot through the heart |bouncer!eddie munson x bartender!reader|

prompt: eddie and you make a bet playing darts one night at the hideout. loser gives the other head.

contains: sexual themes 18+ MINORS DNI. oral male rec, a little fem rec at the end. overall filth.

Eddie sat at the bar, still in black but not in his usual work attire. Joey had agreed to let Corroded Coffin play tonight, a Thursday night slot, but the crowd was bigger than the usual Tuesday. Drunk teenagers with their fakes screaming and dancing over pitchers of beer, to drunk middle aged couples dancing on the sticky dance floor- Eddie wasn't quite sure why they were two stepping to his metal music, but he was fine with it. At least they were engaged and having fun, no pity claps or eye rolls like the Tuesday crowd gave him.

And the best part? There behind the wooden half circle bar, slinging beers, peanuts, collecting tips and taking orders, stood you. In your hair pulled back to he could see your pretty face. He could see you blush when he pointed at you, singing a vulgar, suggestive lyric into the mic. He'd be lying if he said his song writing skills hadn't gotten better since being with you, you were the main inspiration for the crowd favorite original song 'Super Soaker'.

Joey had given them the stage until midnight, when all the shows ended and the bar started to settle until last call. Eddie finished twenty minutes after, an encore from the middle aged woman who kept shoveling tips in jar and screaming out more requests. How could Eddie deny her?

He packed his things in the van, joining his band mates at the bar, where you had pulled up high chairs to the end, just for them. "VIP section, right this way, rockstar." You purred, a dazzling smile that had Eddie weak at his knees, when you pointed to the end.

You brought them rounds of beers and celebratory shots, talent was always on the house. "You guys did so good!" You cheered, setting down the shots of Jameson in front of them.

"Thanks, baby," Eddie grinned. "Couldn't have done it without my main muse." He winked, the guys snickering around him.

You rolled your eyes despite the blush that heated your cheeks. "Well, let me know if I can get you anything, ok? I'll make sure my service is up to your superstar standards." You quipped, brow raising teasingly,

Eddie's eyes trailed on the sway of your hips, dick jumping at the thought. He felt electrified, buzzing and jittery with post show adrenaline. The last time he'd played, he'd told you to go on your break, fucking you outside on the back wall, leaving you to go back to work on shaky legs, panties filled with his release for the rest of your shift.

The boys recounted their night, desperate girls crowding them, eyes wide and sugary sweet compliments that had Jeff nervous laughing, flustered and melting at the attention.

Not Eddie, he was too busy watching you, thinking about all the ways he'd have you when you got off. "For song inspiration, of course, baby." He'd always say, like he had to convince you anyways. You'd do anything he wanted.

The bar died down before last call around two, everyone drunk and tired, fumbling out to hook up or pass out. Eddie looked over, Gareth and Jeff had moved into the corner booth with two girls, desperately trying to woo them. Eddie scoffed, shaking his head, pressing the bottle to his lips.

You wiped down the bar, smiling and thanking a leaving customer with your perfect, polite tone. No wonder the Hideout thought you were their golden girl, you were. You were Eddie's too, the closest he'd get to a garden of Eden he was sure.

"Can I get you anything else, rockstar?" You grinned, elbows pressing against the bar, leaning across the sticky wood towards him. His eyes trailed down to your low cut Hideout shirt, a t-shirt you'd cut to make sexier- better for tips.

Eddie snorted, shaking his head. "Hey, Ellen," He called to the manager behind the bar, picking up receipts. "Can I borrow this one for a sec?"

Ellen shrugged, looking at Valerie, the other bartender. Valerie smiled at you, waving her hand. "I got it," She reassured, motioning to the two stragglers at the bar, hunched over their booze and dazing off.

You thanked her, pushing through the low side door of the bar. "Just call for me if you need anything, Val." You said, looking at Eddie expectantly. "How can I be of service?" You asked playfully, low, batting your eyes up at him.

Eddie's cock lurched, tight and uncomfortable against his ripped jeans. He smirked, tongue rolling over the inside of his cheek.

Eddie nodded over to the dart board. "You played before?" He asked, but he knew the answer.

Of course you'd played before, you and him rotated from the pool tables to the dart boards on slow nights when it was just the two of you.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. "No, never," You said sarcastically, bumping your hip to his. "Will you show me?" You flirted.

Eddie grit his teeth, salacious grin looking down at you. "C'mon," He slipped his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, smirking at your squeal. "Let's play a few rounds."

The two of you took turns throwing the arrows towards the worn and battered bullseye. You extended your arm, lining it up down the top fin, just like Eddie taught you. His chest swelled with pride when he watched you, nose scrunched in concentration, one eye shut before sending it sailing, flying towards the center.

Eddie clapped, smiling at you. "Good throw," He said, picking up his own darts. He was red, you were green; always.

"Wanna make this more interesting?" Eddie asked, looking around carefully, his voice dropping as he lined up his own shot.

You smirked, leaning against the table with already stacked chairs. "Yeah?"

"Let's make a little wager, how's that sound?" Eddie asked smugly, sending his own dart sailing and sticking against the black outer ring of the bullseye. "You up for a little challenge?"

You scoffed, air blowing out your nose with a shake of your head. "What're you thinking? Gonna bet all my tips or something?" You teased.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Like I would ever." He muttered, sending another dart sailing, then eyes locking with you. "Just a little bet to make things interesting, hm?"

You lifted a brow, waiting for his proposition. Eddie took a step closer to you, crowding you. "Three rounds. Loser gives the other head." His eyes were dark, shining in a way that had a cold tingle spilling up your spine, thighs clenching.

Your lips twisted, biting back a grin, but you knew he saw it anyways. "Hm, I guess I could afford to bet that much." You matched his playful banter. You picked up your green darts, the tips brown and rusted. "You first?"

Eddie shook his head, bowing dramatically in front of the worn and faded black duct tape 'x' on the ground. "Never. Ladies first."

You stepped on the mark, right foot forward, shifting your weight from your back leg to your front as you lined up your shot, sending it flying, landing on the cushiony material of the target on the second ring, the black slice under the 'twelve'.

You grinned smugly, spinning and stepping out of the way to record your score on the napkin while Eddie lined up his own. Round after round went by, you won the first one with ease- Eddie blamed the shots you'd given him. Eddie won the second by just a few points, grinning smugly.

Ellen and Valerie had gathered by you two, leaning over the rail and watching you intently play. The bar had cleared out before last call, just the sound of the buzzing equipment and the soft playing of the jukebox.

"Oh!" Valerie and Ellen cheered when you landed on the outer ring of the bullseye, dangerously close to the center.

"Wow, not looking good Munson." Ellen joked with a grin. "Hope you didn't wager anything too big."

Eddie's eyes flashed to your knowingly, your skin blistering under his gaze. "Nah, nothing too bad." He smirked, lining up his own shot, heavy boots on the mark.

You drooled as his shirt rode up, showing his inked tummy, hips, the outline of his boxers. He'd discarded his leather jacket, torn and covered in badges, earlier into the game. He knew you liked watching his muscles flex, veins protruding in his forearms under the sketched skin

His tongue poked out in concentration, looking down the slope of his nose before the dart went sailing, landing on the board with a solid 'thud!' and sinking into the worn foam. Eddie turned, smug smile on his face that he was trying to hide, twisting his lips to the side, but you saw how his eyes lit up. Your eyes flickering from his back to the board, red marked dart right in the middle; bullseye.

"Motherfucker..." You muttered, hands on your hips as Valerie and Ellen howled in laughter, clapping and cheering.

"Oh! That was too good!" Valerie cackled. "Time to pay up, girl. Hope it wasn't all your tips from tonight." She winked at Eddie.

You pouted playfully, exaggeratedly to Eddie. "I don't know how but you cheated." You pointed a finger at him.

Eddie laughed. "How?" He shook his head, curly tendrils bouncing with the movement. "Don't be a sore-loser, baby. You lost." He grabbed your waist, making you whine and squirm against his fingers, desperate to hide your smile and keep up your pouty facade.

"Don't you know you're supposed to let the pretty girls beat you, Munson?" Ellen shook her head playfully.

Eddie scoffed. "Where's the fun in that?" He grinned, smacking a kiss to the side of your head. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I won't count my winnings here. We can settle up back at home." He winked at you, leaving you throbbing and dizzy with what's to come.

Eddie stayed to walk the three of you out, opening the door to his van, smacking your ass playfully when you passed him to climb in. Eddie ducked in, kissing you hard, sloppy and needy. You could taste the whiskey on his breath still.

Eddie started the van, hand on your headrest when he pulled out, snaking his hand down to squeeze your cheeks together. "You ready to pay up when we get home?" Eddie smirked.

You blushed, turning your head to hide how flustered he made you, but he didn't miss the way your thighs squeezed shut at his words. "I still think you cheated." You jested, eyes rolling over to him.

Eddie scoffed, hand on your thigh, running his hand up the soft denim of your jeans, pinky trailing dangerously close to your core, leaving you shivering. "Psh, I won fair and square, sweetheart." He looked at you knowingly.

Twenty minutes later you were on your knees at Eddie's trailer, scratchy, green carpet rubbing uncomfortably against your knees. Eddie stripped you the second you walked in, clothes scattered and thrown in all directions, until you were naked, bare in front of him.

He sat on the couch, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, thick thighs spread with his cock angry and flushed against his belly, tip leaking and smearing onto his happy trail.

"Pay up, baby." Eddie grinned, taking a rather long exhale, embers crackling and falling from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving yours, stroking himself lazily.

He reached out for your hand, spitting a fat glob onto your palm, before leaning back, nodding towards his throbbing cock. You pumped him slow at first, squeezing his shaft with just the right amount of pressure, spreading his spit all over his cock. Thumb spreading and rubbing small circles over his head, gathering the leaking release to spread down his cock with every flick of your wrist.

Eddie watched you through heavy, half lidded eyes, flicking his ash into the tray, free hand reaching to wrap around your ponytail, falling and messy from your shift. You looked at him when you shimmied forward, eyes locking with him while you licked a strip on the underside of his cock, swirling your little tongue around his head.

Eddie swallowed hard, trapped moan in his throat, clenching his thighs and hips to keep from bucking at the sensation, especially when you cupped his sac, squeezing it just right, his cock throbbing and lurching when you swallowed him.

Your eyes stayed on him, trained to his face- just like he taught you. How he liked it. Eddie wanted to kiss you, cover you in sweet kisses and praises, and he would've if you weren't making him feel so good. He would later, when he worked you open with his tongue until you cried, pathetic and whiny at his mercy.

"Fuck, baby, yes, just like that," Eddie rasped, bumming the cigarette into the tray. His free hand cupped your hollowed cheek, eyes lust blown and meeting yours. "Good girl. Such a good girl f'me, aren't you?"

You moaned at his praise, vibrations sending electricity through his cock straight to his tummy where the pleasure had been building. Eddie sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, jaw gritting to keep from thrusting into the back of your throat.

"Go a little further. Yeah, sit up just a little higher, and- oh!" Eddie groaned, loud and head falling back. The kind of moans that you only heard in the X-rated films he'd rent and the two of you would watch together. Exaggerated, deep, and encouraging, leaving you blushing and determined. You wanted to hear that again, and again, and again for the rest of your life; make him feel good for the rest of your life.

You could feel your slick spreading between your thighs, achy and desperate for relief, to be touched. You clenched, shifting the heel of your foot as best as you could towards your throbbing center, rubbing and rocking on it for some relief.

Normally, Eddie would reprimand you for such a thing, but he was too wrapped up in the way your mouth felt around him. Your free hand squeezing and flicking your wrist up his shaft, tongue swirling and giving kitten licks to his head, other hand squeezing his balls.

You rocked lightly, eye lids fluttering when your heel brushed against your clit, Eddie's hand wrapping around your ponytail while you bobbed up and down, drool dribbling down the corners of your mouth and leaving strings attached to his cock.

You could feel his abs clench, finger tightening around your hair, scalp tingling and burning with the pull. You felt his balls tighten, pulling up, cock twitching in your mouth. You looked back up at him, eyes round, awaiting his instructions.

Eddie's eyes were fluttered close, head tilted back, hips raising while his broken, breathy moans filled the room. Your jaw ached but you continued to suck him, squeezing his shaft harder and suckling against the head until hot spurts fell onto your tongue, gathering and filling with every shuddering breath he took.

Eddie's chest heaved, looking down at you through glazed eyes, shadowed by his thick, dark lashes. "Fuck, baby, s'good. Was s'good." He rasped, hands tightening out of your hair, feather light touch traveling down to your jaw, tilting your chin up to him.

"You didn't swallow did you?" You shook your head obediently, and Eddie beamed. "Good girl. Open up, show me."

You opened slowly, filling his thick, creamy release slide back your throat, lifting your tongue to stop it. Eddie grinned, mouth full of him, slobbering and dribbling down your chin. He nodded. "Swallow. Good girl. Very good." He purred, watching your gulp him down before his lips were on yours.

You shifted up into his kiss, hands on his hair thigh, pressed do closely to him as you could, dizzy with his praises and the way his mouth was exploring yours. He could tase himself, salty and bitter on your tongue. It made his limp cock lurch, hot pleasure still pulsating in his lower belly.

Eddie pulled you up gently by the back of your neck, his lips still on yours, hands on your waist, walking you in a clumsy sort of waltz back to his room. You fell on the bed with a small sigh, Eddie's hands strong and gripping your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed.

He kept his eyes on yours, pushing his hair behind his ear before kneeling down onto the mattress, your knees by his ears over his shoulders, body raised off the bed steadied by his hands that gripped your hips and held you in place.

Eddie was salivating, licking his lips as he looked at your puffy lips, glistening and already coating the inside of your thighs with your arousal. Eddie placed a kiss to your mound, right above your clit. You shimmied your hips closer, whining and mewling for more, uncomfortable with the angle he had you in, but you wouldn't dare complain. Not when he was about to use his tongue on you.

"I think it's only fair that I show good sportsmanship, don't you?" Eddie teased wickedly, his breath tickling your sopping folds, sending shivers down your spine.

"Your turn, baby." He grinned salaciously, eyes narrowed and dark on you before his tongue was working you open, sucking and licking you until you were screaming, crying, and begging for more.

#bouncer!eddie munson #bouncer!eddie #bouncer!Eddie munson x bartender!reader #oneforthemunny #munnytalks #funsonmunson #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson au #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic

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a-bang-for-your-bucky · 2 years

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Adrenaline Rush

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: Eddie uses the adrenaline rush he gets from being on stage in all the right ways.

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI) Smut (Unprotected PinV sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, come eating, oral F!receiving) Explicit language

A/N: Well hello new hyperfixation. Thanks to @acrossthesestars, I have fallen deeply for this doe-eyed fool. This was written as a coping mechanism.

Corroded Coffin sold out regularly.

They were one of the last real rock bands left. Or, at least, that’s what Eddie tells you. It's what he'd told you since you'd started dating years ago. You had been there when they still practiced in a garage, doing local shows for nothing but free beer. And now they had studio appointments and packed concerts.

You were in the dressing room with him as he prepared for the show, watching him go through his routine from your perch on the speaker box. He wrapped a bandana around his head to hold back his unruly curls and the jeans he tugged over his slim hips were ripped in all the right places, tight as hell, and made his ass look amazing. He had on his old D&D shirt, ‘Hellfire’ printed across his chest, under a red flannel that you knew he’d lose as soon as he finished the first song. His feet were clad in black Doc Martens and to top off the look, his black leather jacket was strung across the back of his chair.

He was absolutely fucking beautiful.

A knock at the door startled you out of your staring, a frazzled PA peeking their head in and telling Eddie he had five minutes before show time. He thanked the guy, sending him on his way before reaching for you. His rough hand in yours sent a familiar chill up your spine. “You okay, pretty girl?” He asked, his big doe eyes full of concern.

You gave him a sweet smile, lifting up on your tiptoes to place a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’m great, Munson.” Trapping your bottom lip between your teeth, you looked up at him from under your lashes, knowing it drove him crazy.

“A tease of the worst kind,” he laughed, his hands drifting down to your leather skirt clad ass, pulling you into him. “How are you gonna get me all worked up before a show?” He pouted, grinding against you, fingers drifting up to dig into the meat of your waist.

A bang on the door said his time was up. He groaned, releasing you reluctantly.

“I’ll be in my spot waiting for you, rockstar.” The words were barely out before he was crashing his mouth to yours, slipping his tongue between your lips to tangle with yours.

You could already feel the heat gathering between your thighs. It didn’t take much. Eddie could easily turn you on with a look and he knew it. Show nights were different though, there was always something electric in the air that made him feral, wild and primal in a way that he normally wasn't.

He stepped away from you, even though all he wanted was to ruck up your skirt and have his way with you. Leaning forward, his lips connected with the shell of your ear. “Be ready for me when the show is over. The only way I want to unwind is between your thighs.”

He left you dripping wet in the middle of the room, your thighs pressed together to ease the ache, and threw you a wink as he walked out the door.

The band was on fire, playing hit after hit. Screams from the crowd could be heard miles away. You watched from the side stage as Eddie lived out his dream, the way he was always meant to. You always knew he’d make it, even when everyone else told him it was a lost cause. You believed in him, you would never stop believing in him.

Bidding the crowd good night after the third encore, Eddie made a beeline straight toward you. He grasped your wrist roughly and kept walking, his dark eyes staring ahead. His dressing room appeared in front of you and he shoved you inside, slamming the door behind him. It was a small room without any real furniture. It didn’t stop him from backing you up against an old speaker.

“Do you know how hard it was to perform when all I could think about was you?” He growled in your ear, and you shivered. His rough hands clawed up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher until it rested just above your ass. “Should have known a girl like you wouldn’t be wearing much of anything underneath. You just wanted me to fuck you, didn’t you?”

You whimpered, nodding your head, clinging to him.

“Tsk. Tsk. Need to hear the words, pretty girl. How else will I know I’m doing you right?” You could hear the teasing in his voice and it drove you crazy, made you desperate. Eddie slipped a hand between your thighs, running a finger through your slick, spreading it and making a mess if you. “You’re so wet. Is all this for me?” He asked as he removed his finger, bringing it to his lips and sucking it clean as you stood there watching him.

“Eddie, please.” You murmures, squeezing your thighs together. He hummed in response, watching you writhe. “Fuck me. Eddie, please.”

That was all he needed. He scrambled to undo his belt, flicking open his jeans and pushing them down just far enough to free his aching cock. He was hard, thick and throbbing, as he lifted your leg, wrapping it around his hip. He reached to pull your red lace panties to the side and notched himself at your entrance.

Once more, Eddie looked into your eyes, silently asking for your permission. You nodded, bucking your hips forward and pushing him just a fraction of an inch. He groaned loudly as your warm, wet walls surrounded him. You found purchase on his shoulders, nails digging in, knowing this wasn’t going to be a gentle ride.

“Fuuuuck.” He drew out slowly once he was fully seated inside of you. He lifted your other leg, so that you were wrapped around his waist and held you tightly by the back of your thighs, pressing you harder into the speaker.

“Need you to move, Munson.” You mewled at him, trying to grind down. He took the hint, and started at a slow pace, before picking up force and slamming into you.

Eddie was lost. He had left this world behind and was in a place all his own, a place that was just you and him and the way it felt to be inside you, to own you. You weren’t even sure he knew what he was saying. "God damn, so tight. Bet you couldn’t wait for me to get off stage to fuck you. Yeah, you knew it was coming. You were fucking ready for me. Pussy was fucking made for me. All mine. Mine. Mine."

Eddie wasnt normally a possessive person, but when it came to fucking you, you were his and his only, and it wrecked you when he reminded you of that fact. You were so close, listening to the dirty words spilling from his mouth, lost to the way his cock seemed to hit the right spot with every thrust. “Fuck, Eddie,” You whined, your cunt clenching down on him as he hit a particularly deep place within you.

He moaned, all low and raspy, burying his face into your neck, before sucking hard on your pulse point. The action shocked you and you buried a hand into his luscious curls, crying out. You tugged hard, making him bite down. His thrusts faltered, and you knew he was close.

“Shit, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna come. Please, Ple– oh, fuck.” His words were jumbled, you could barely make them out, but you couldn’t miss the heat that bloomed where the two of you were connected, as he fucked his spend deeper into you.

When his soul returned to his body, Eddie knew it was only fair that it was your turn. Without a word, he lowered your feet to the floor before dropping to his knees in front of you. He snaked his tongue between your dripping folds, his fingers digging into your trembling thighs. He didn’t care that he could taste his own cum, because he could taste you too, and that combination was fucking addicting.

You gasped as he attached his lips to your clit, your hips lurching forward. He ran his large hands down your thighs before slipping two fingers into your cunt, sucking harshly on the sensitive bud. “Eddie, shit, please," you moaned, tangling your hands in his curls once more.

Eddie smirked into your core. “What do you need, pretty girl?” He teased, pulling away from you, pulling a needy whine from your lips. “Use your words, baby.”

You looked down at him, his dark eyes staring back up at you. You were amazed at how a man could be so fucking pretty. And Eddie was just that, fucking pretty. With his mouth covered in a mixture of his cum and your slick, he was god damn gorgeous. “Eddie, please. Need to come, wanna come. For you, all for you.”

Eddie didn’t need to hear anything else as he dove back into you, eating you like a man starved. You couldn’t help but to grind your hips down onto his slender fingers as he showered your clit with attention. Your orgasm hit you hard and fast, making you clench down around his hand. “That’s a fucking good girl.” He mumbled, as he slowly retracted his fingers from you, moving to stick them into his mouth. You stopped him by the wrist as you leaned down to take them into your own.

He cursed under his breath watching you suck his fingers clean of the mess. “You really were made just for me.” The words were quiet, but you heard them. Eddie stood, finding a towel to clean you up with before he tucked himself back into his pants. You straightened out your skirt, opting to take your ruined panties off, sticking them into his jacket pocket to find later.

He turned to you, a goofy grin covering his face. “So, round two at the hotel right?”

Anyone want a rockstar!Eddie series of sorts? Just a compiled list of having sex with Eddie in different places.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson #stranger things smut #smut #kat writes

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baekdaedream · 1 year

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Within the next year.. really hoping to go to EXO, CBX, NCT Dream, and WayV concerts which is like. A lot.. but WayV’s concert tour will probably be 2024 even if it starts 2023 after the fanmeet tour ? EXO’s concert and Dream’s encore are probably this year though! But CBX I’m guessing earliest 2024 too.. because it’ll probably be like, EXO comeback + concert then Baekhyun comeback + concert ? then CBX comeback and concert? I’d love to go to Baekhyun’s concert too but okay we’ll see what happens..

#personal #is this hoping for the best? maybe #and also ignoring whatever may happen because of the current mess sm is in ? yes #I need things to look forward to and I need things to happen #gosh me thinking of concert trips while my kitten's sitting across the room from me..#it's been a bit over six months since I got back from korea I think he'll be okay next time I go on a trip #okay the plans are first exo concert (at least two days) and dream encore (also at least two days)#wayv can be any overseas stop of the tour but I'd like to go somewhere new thinking taiwan or thailand #cbx japan tour please I'll do any city the global package opens up for #hm there's also the possibility of jongdae's solo concert too right.. don't think minseok has enough songs for one though but #I think this order of cbx involved exo concerts could be the way it happens? though there could be a jongdae concert before cbx too

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lemongrablothbrok · 8 months

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Led Zeppelin - Whole Lotta Love - Earl's Court 05-24-1975 Part 17

youtube

Okay, listen up people, Zep-heads, Jimbert shippers especially, because this video is un-fucking-believable in so many ways, and all of them good ways and I have a lot to say about it, mmkay? To start out, we have the boys coming out to do an encore, and Robert just...reclines on the platform thingy like the decadent demigod he is and eats whatever he's eating while Bonzo, the most laddish member of the group, in a fluffy robe, no less, declares that he finds football to be "a load of bollocks". Robert, almost certainly the most effeminate member of the group (I guess one might be able to argue that Jimmy - with his delicate features and willowy physique and soft speaking voice - might be a little more effeminate, but that's neither here nor there, the point still stands, and that point is that Robert is a pretty pretty princess), stands right up to defend the sport that he's so passionate about (side note: anyone know why he says "soccer" and not "football"? Because I can't think of another British person who calls it that. The first few times I heard him use it, it was during interviews with American interviewers and/or for American TV shows or publications, so I thought it was just for clarity so they know he's not talking about American football, but this is a concert in Britain with, I'm assuming, a mostly British audience. Anyone know why he calls it that?).

The song kicks off with Robert and Jimmy doing, as I referred to a few days ago on a post featuring a gif from this performance, "backwards humping", or, "the bisexual secret handshake". They are so shameless in their weird ass public courtship display that you might just miss seeing Jonesy's beautiful smile in the background (and if you do, take that video back a few seconds and freaking look at that gorgeous smile. You'll thank me later).

When we get to the first chorus, Robert freaking throws one arm around Jimmy's shoulder, pulling him close to share the microphone, and I shit you not, Jimmy's foot pops. And if that weren't enough, Robert pulls away for a second just to look at Jimmy's face and smile, only to pull him in closer again. Get a room, you dorks. Then when the second chorus comes around, they have the stupidest lovesick smiles on their faces, which are so close together they can probably taste each other's breath. Then Jimmy sort of pushes off with this shoulder nudge and one of them (Jimmy, I think? I sounds like Robert, but Robert's already in the middle of a drawn out vocal, so I think it's Jimmy) gives this soft little grunt/sigh/suspiciously sexual sounding noise. They spend a moment doing a short rendition of (I think?) James Brown's "sex machine" (worth noting/remembering here that Led Zeppelin have their own tribute to James Brown in "The Crunge", a song that gives off all the bisexual energy that's considered safe for human consumption), and then...then...

...we get to the theremin segment. The motherfucking theremin segment. The climax, if you will, of this entire performance. The part where Jimmy and Robert have hardcore sex right there on stage, right there in front of their audience, at least half of whom is probably male, and the vast majority of whom at least claim to be heterosexual, since this is the 1970s and there's very real consequences in store if you're a dude who goes around telling people out loud that one of the main reasons you go to Led Zeppelin concerts is to see and hear obscenely beautiful men fuck each other's brains out. Or even admit that you're aware that's just what's going on on that stage. Yes, this is the part where Jimmy does incredible things with his hands and long slender little fingers that make Robert moan and scream like a particularly horny banshee. Look, there's no getting around it. Even before I shipped it, I had to acknowledge (if in kind of a jokey-jokey way) that, wow, Jimmy is really dedicated to seeing how much and how hard he can make Robert cum. And Robert, in turn, is doing everything he can to let Jimmy know just how much and how hard he's cumming. Which is very much, and very hard. Some things to note are the way Robert not only mimics the sounds that the theremin is making, but also some of Jimmy's gestures, like when Jimmy puts both hands up in the air and then we see Robert doing the same. Meanwhile, the rhythm section are doing their thing, John Paul Jones' bassline providing the sort of bow-chicka-wow-wow type soundtrack to this auditory gay porn. Also, around 5:45, you can hear the bass do something that sounds an awful lot like "Achilles' Last Stand", which at this point hasn't been written yet, but that particular riff has been and will be used in concerts for quite a while before ending up in said homoerotic epic.

What really, really gets me about this performance, though, is what happens at around the six minute point, when Jimmy goes to grab his guitar back from offstage and Robert just has this look on his face. He's saying "ooh, ooh," slowly sauntering in Jimmy's direction, looking straight at him, his eyes filled with what can only be described as pure lust. This part isn't for the audience. Most of the audience can't see Robert's face with the direction he's facing, and those that can are too far away to be able to see it. He's not faking this. He's not pretending to be horny or desperate to be provocative, not in the look he's giving Jimmy, anyway. I'm not sure if the look in his eyes here is one that can be faked. Oh no. He feels it.

And then Robert gets back to singing, "Feel a little lonely, in the middle of the night. I need you darlin', to make things alright." And who is he looking directly at as he sings this? Just take a wild guess.

tl;dr: Robert and Jimmy are about as subtle as a rainbow fireworks display spelling out "WE'RE BISEXUAL DISASTERS IN LOVE"

#Youtube #led zeppelin #robert plant #jimmy page #john bonham #john paul jones #i have thoughts about stuff #just a couple weeks ago i didn't ship it and now i can't not see/hear it everywhere. go figure.#jimbert

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definitelynotshouting · 7 months

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so a while ago i had planned to rewrite my fic everything i loved and feared for stylistic purposes, but ended up deciding to leave it as is and never went through with that beyond the first scene. Since i dont plan on doing anything else with this, here is the scene i did rewrite!! Hope you guys like it :]

CWs: graphic violence, graphic injury, suicide, temporary major character death

Love, Scar finds, is the exact shade of blood in the water.

A thin line of it beads from his shoulder down to his wrist, clouding as it sluices past the surface tension of the pond he stands in. Inky ribbons trail from each drop; they ripple outward to form a slinking barrier between him and the honed edge of Grian's sword, coiling thin and wispy around their ankles. Love is what saturates the smears of that diamond blade, the tattered edges of Grian's sweater, the final life pulsing bright and sacred in Scar's chest; love is the heady fog billowing through his veins as he kneels, one bare knee sinking into the silt, and bows his head to the oncoming storm.

But Grian's scarlet eyes, scorching and incensed, eclipse it all.

They pulse with the brazen fire of a solar prominence; the color has molded to his irises, slotting into place with such clean precision that it hemorrhages over Scar's memories, staining the echo-impression of Grian's gaze. Gorgeous is too pale a word to raise against the righteous, trembling fury he vibrates with now. The urge to reach past that diamond line, reel Grian in by the collar, and kiss him until nothing remains of them except one tangled corpse is a siren's song that howls inside Scar's chest.

Here, lying in the fractures of his calculated betrayal, the die is cast, and Scar comes out smiling.

"You can kill me," he says. The syllables tangle in his throat, too disjointed with the rolling, frothing tension boiling inside him. "Grian. You can kill me.”

Above him, an avenging angel falters. Grian's sword, still streaked with the proof of Scar's adoration, lowers by a single fraction. "What? No—"

“For everything you did to me,” Scar continues past him, lungs shivering with the cost of this victory, “to keep me alive this long— you may slay me, and take the enchanter.”

Gold flakes splay across the surface of the pond, scintillating outward as Scar bends at the waist; water brushes his forehead in cool benediction, in cruel, unrelenting curse. This baptism is Scar's holy scourge: Grian will win. It is both the most and least Scar can do for him.

When Grian speaks, his voice is small. “No— no, I can’t. I literally can’t. Scar—”

"Do it," Scar urges into the water. Between scattered refractions his own face peers back at him, a wavering mirror to manic triumph— all the love in the world has led to this crescendoing melody in his gut: the braying war horns, the bark of crashing cymbals, the bellow of ancient pipes. Strung at the seams within this orchestra, he teeters with bated breath on the edge of one final encore.

Instead, all that reigns around them is miserable silence.

A sharp inhale, cracking through the clearing with firework-precision. "I'm not—" Grian starts, and chokes on it, the words stumbling to an abrupt halt in his throat. Scar's neck snaps up; Grian's sword-grip has loosened, fingers lax around the hilt as his free hand flinches to one temple. It hovers there, pale and trembling, his eyes trained on the middle-distance.

A beat. Clarity is a stark, cold glow unspooling in Grian's pupils. “The spectators want a fight,” he says. His voice rings hollow.

Scar gentles his in turn, snaking it around Grian's shoulders with careful, insistent pressure. “It’s okay, G," he breathes. "You can kill me. You can be the winner.”

Grian's expression is a severed nerve, flayed open to the rising sun. Around them, liquid honey dribbles between boughs, landing dizzy and sincere at their feet. They brush the tips of Grian's hair, set fire to the thin, damp strands curling around his ears. Checkmate is the process of capturing your opponent's king with no hope of escape; shadowed in Grian's glowing silhouette, Scar bows, and offers his defeat with both hands self-shackled.

Check, and mate.

Slow— so slow he can track each individual movement— Grian shakes his head. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Scar, they want blood." New waves bloom out from his shaking stance; adrenaline has retracted its claws, leaving nothing but the thin garrote between passion, violence, and mourning.

Scar is shaking as well. Even in this, they are together.

Grian's lips twist in an abrupt, fragile smile. "Scar," he says, sword once again rising in its clean, prismatic arc. Scar tracks the way light sparkles off it, throwing pale blue echoes against the trunks of nearby trees. "No matter what happens, we can claim this as a double victory. Right?”

The words are a cool balm against fevered skin. Scar sinks into them, eyes drifting shut; even now, through the mounting, cacophonic thrum in his veins, past the shivering gooseflesh of soaked skin, to look Grian in the eyes when he kills him would be blasphemy. "Yeah," he breathes, bracing for the blow, the diamond cut against his carotid. "We're good."

Air whistles with the surge of a starving blade—

— and the sharp, heavy schlck of pierced flesh not his own reverberates through the clearing instead. Grian's choked-off cry ends in an ugly, gurgling yelp; Scar's eyes fly open just in time for Grian's knees to meet the water, scattering a thousand, dazzling droplets in every direction.

Between Grian's hands is the glittering diamond of his own sword, buried inches at an upward angle into the soft meat above his belly. Rivulets of blood bubble from cuts in his palms where they clench halfway up that razor edge; even as dark stains spread to saturate his sweater, Grian's lips peel back in a feral snarl, and he shoves the wobbling blade in deeper.

"You—" Grian's gasps are ragged, hands slipping along the edges as the sword sinks another wet, squelching inch— "win, Scar. You win."

And with the same, ponderous sway of a toppling tower, Grian collapses into the bloody water.

Hazy exultation cleaves itself from Scar's mind in one savage swoop, submerging his entire body in ice. If he screams, the sound fails to breach his ears– one moment he's kneeling, dumb and shell-shocked, and the next he's scrabbling forward on hands and knees through the shallows between them, catching Grian by the arm before his head can plunge below water.

Scar hauls him sideways into his arms. A strangled noise punches out of Grian in response— the high, staticked whine of a wounded animal, shivering through Scar's chest. The blade buried in his gut jars with the motion, carving another, ragged line into the pallid flesh beneath. Fresh copper blooms in a cloud around them, swelling in Scar's nose.

“Grian— Grian, no." Scar's hand stretches of its own volition, hovering over the keen edges of Grian's sword. Halts just shy of ripping it back out— that will only kill him faster. "Wait, wait, wait— no. No, no, no, no, no. Grian.”

This isn't right— the bright, earnest rays of the sun have missed their mark, slipping past Scar's death to gild Grian in stunning, flagrant gold. “What are you doing?” he chokes, heart a helpless stutter in the back of his throat.

Grian was meant to win. Not this.

Never this.

“They never said what kind of blood,” Grian rasps, lips wobbling. Each breath is a bubbling wheeze as he struggles for air. “I can’t— I couldn’t, Scar. I couldn’t kill you.” When he coughs, his stomach convulses; Grian's voice cuts off into a breathless scream before falling back into muted pants. Eyes squeezed shut, Grian grits out: "Sorry."

Scar's fingers catch in the soaked strands of Grian's hair, petting it down with clumsy, panicked motions. “No you’re not,” he whispers. Beneath his chest an abscessed, answering wound unravels, howling in tune to Grian's shallow gasps. “You did that on purpose. Grian, you were supposed to win.”

Every card had been folded for this. Each die weighed in the well of his palm, every trick tugged out from beneath his sleeve; a barren world with no one in it isn't a world Scar can survive, and he'd pieced that together between sheets and shared pulses, windswept sky and sunburnt sand. Maybe it had been selfish… but Scar is selfish— with the last, grasping selfishness of a man devoted, his loyalty a warm, gushing sacrifice caught between grit teeth.

“You weren’t supposed to die,” Scar wails, shifting until his spine bows, forehead brushing Grian's. Stocky fingers spasm under his own; Grian's short breaths puff against the chapped skin of his lips, fanning over his cheeks. “Grian— how could you?”

Beneath him, Grian's lips twist in a wry grin. This close, Scar can make out the faded remnants of freckles marching across his face; counting them had always been a fantasy. Now he'll never have the chance. “Guess I’m just not cut out to be a winner,” Grian murmurs, winces, and drags one bloodied hand up to rest against Scar's jaw.

He doesn't bother saying I love you. Instead, he guides Scar to close the gap between them, fingers fumbling at the nape of Scar's neck. Grian's lips are bitten raw, trembling as he capture Scar's own, and for a moment they are two jagged breaths; the slide of salt on Scar's tongue; copper-stained fingers falling limp–

Scar bolts upright, choking on his own anguished scream.

#scarian #goodtimeswithscar #grian #3rd life #trafficshipping #traffic series #mcyt #shouting speaks #WEEEE ALL 1.5K OF IT #gods. fun fact grian was aiming for his inferior vena cava here and missed #fuckin. christ <- has medical adjacent work background #hope u guys enjoy this. i should write more death scenes i think it would fix me (make me worse)#txt

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