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pedgito · 1 month ago

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ORBIT YOU ⋆⭒˚.⋆ CHAPTER THREE: MERCURY

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summary — summer break begins and you end up crashing on joel's couch, luckily he's more than willing to accommodate.

author's note — this one make me want to SCREAM, i'm sorry in advance lmfao.

content warning — 18+ MDNI, dbf!joel, virgin!reader, age gap (20s/40s), birthday parties, plenty of miller family time, sweet ol' tommy, age jokes, ellie being a little shit, the daddy issues are big in this one, pussy worship, copious amounts of oral, inappropriate use of alcohol, joel isn't wasting his damn beer (is this safe idk, i also don't care), little angst and mostly fluff

word count — 5.5k

He forgot, again.

Your father wasn’t even home, either.

Your bags had slumped to your feet as you stared into your room.

It was full of boxes, labeled and unlabeled—there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that some of these belongings were your mother’s that she had left behind, but also an amalgamation of mindless junk and collectables your father wasn’t willing to part with.

Piles and piles of boxes, dirtying your white sheets and collecting a thick layer of dust.

It was clear that it had been this way for a while.

And even after the handful of reminder texts, he hadn’t bothered to put an ounce of effort into allowing you to feel comfortable in a place you once used to call home when you weren’t fleeing to the Miller’s.

He’s a ghost, nowhere to be found, but you remember his old Nissan in the driveway and Joel’s truck parked on his own across the street, suspecting that if wasn’t here, he would be there.

The last time you spoke to Joel was a couple days prior—he was busy with a new client and more short with conversation than usual, you couldn’t blame him, but it made you antsy for the conversation to follow now that you wouldn’t be divulging your passions behind a screen, if he wasn’t geared to push you away again.

You were almost expecting it.

You drag your bags back outside and heave them onto your closed trunk before walking across the street to Joel’s house, noticing the passing shadows behind the curtain that led to his living room—one of them definitely Joel, but the other unlikely to be Tommy.

And they’re arguing about sports.

Football, to be precise.

Fucking football.

He was invested enough to have a passionate conversation about men throwing around a ball but he couldn’t remember when you were supposed to arrive in town despite your numerous reminders.

It seemed Joel had finally gotten over the hump of avoiding your father for his own moral ambiguity.

They hadn’t even noticed you walk in and loudly close the front door, too warped by the conversation until you’re clearing your throat with a defiant cross of your arms.

“Hey,” you interject, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace, crumbling beneath the weight of disappointment that pressed down on your chest. The familiar scent of Joel’s house—the mix of warm wood and something sweet, like vanilla—should have brought comfort, but in this moment, it didn’t.

“Oh, hon’,” your father replies with a genuine look of shock, “you’re early!”

Your lips pull together in a thin line and you shake your head slow, “Mmm—nope,” you begin to clarify, briefly looking over at Joel, “I said Saturday…today is Saturday,”

“I thought you said you were drivin’ down on the seventeenth,” your dad replies and Joel can see your irritation stretching thin, the slightest twitch in your jaw giving him a clue.

“It is,” Joel tells him, “....it’s the seventeenth,”

Joel can see the way you’re eyeing your escape, wanting to flee, so he saves you.

“Oh, kiddo, I almost forget—Ellie left a gift behind a couple weeks ago to give to you,” Joel explains, snapping his fingers as he points at you, “she wasn’t sure if she’d catch you, but uh, I can show ‘ya real quick,”

You eyed him suspiciously but obliged with a determination to escape your father’s gaze, still remaining utterly confused that he had mixed up his days.

You trail Joel quietly, watching him glance back over his shoulder before he disappears into Ellie’s bedroom at the end of the hall, beckoning you inside with a gentle gesture of his window before closing the door when you were both inside.

“What’s botherin’ you?” Joel asks immediately, voice quiet but serious, “I mean, other than the obvious—”

“My room is packed with shit,” you gripe, “old boxes, shit that has been sitting in the garage for months and suddenly my room has become a personal storage,”

Joel shifts uncomfortably, a slight frown creasing his brow as he leans against the door. “I get it, really,” he murmurs, glancing at the floor where the scattered remnants of childhood linger, old drawings that his girl had scribbled taped on the wall of Ellie’s bedroom, “But I’m guessin’ maybe it’s not just about your room.”

You scoff, folding your arms tighter, trying to find some semblance of control over your rush of emotions—it felt ridiculous, miniscule in your mind as you spoke, but Joel was listening intently, like he always had, “I’m trying, you know? I always think coming back home will magically fix whatever I’ve done to make him so dismissive or that shit would begin to feel semi-normal again.”

Joel nods slowly, careful to not interrupt and let you breathe, looking up at him sadly, eyes averting briefly to wrangle your emotions back, “All I see are reminders of what I wanted to escape from. I can’t even breathe in that place anymore, Joel.”

“You’ve always got a place here,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice that suggests he’s hesitant, knowing how dependent your connection had grown and in turn, his own, unwilling to admit it, “Ain’t much, but our couch is pretty comfortable.”

“That’s an entire summer in your house, Joel,” you remind him, “I feel like you can’t stand to look at me for more than a few hours, like I’m getting under your skin.”

“You are,” Joel admits candidly, but it was laced with intention and it makes your breath catch, “did you break my rule?”

There it was.

“Maybe,” you decide to offer and Joel isn’t believing it, “does it matter?”

Truthfully, you had listened. There wasn’t a moment within that span of time where you thought about touching yourself, driven by the motivation to please him.

It feels pathetic, but it was true.

You watch as the corner of Joel’s mouth twitches, a mix of intrigue and mischief dancing in his eyes, narrowing as he sees straight through your lies.

“Fine,” you sigh finally, “no—I didn’t.”

You’re both interrupted by the shout of Joel’s name by your father, snapping you both back to reality as Joel had begun to let his eyes roam, curious what your definition of no touching consisted of, wondering what loopholes you had created to bypass him.

Though, he would come up empty.

When you both resurface to the living room, your father is jutting his finger toward the door, expecting you to follow with his arm lingering on the open screen door as he holds it open, but you remain stilled in place.

“I think I’m gonna crash on Joel’s couch for a bit,” you admit, “all the boxes in my room don’t leave me much choice, anyways,” it takes a moment, silence blanketing the conversation before the realization stuns your father into thinking, cursing to himself.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, too late for sincerity in your mind, “I wasn’t even thinking, reorganizing the garage and all, tryin’ to throw out some of the stuff your mother had left behind,” but it didn’t explain the mountain of her belongings he had stowed away, for whatever reasons, he presence lingering in the house like an oppressive shadow, “give me a couple hours, I’ll get it all cleaned up so you can keep outta Joel’s hair,”

“She’s alright,” Joel assures, “Sarah and Ellie are supposed to be comin’ soon to visit, I think they’ll be overjoyed havin’ her ‘round—ain’t gotta be long term, but—”

“Yeah, don’t….rush or anything,” you tell him, “and don’t worry, I’ll mind my manners.”

“If she gives you any trouble, Joel…” your father adds and Joel nods with a smile that turns down the corners of his mouth, getting the gist of what your father was implying.

“She’s a good girl,” Joel offers, the admission making your head snap to look at him, “always has been, she’ll be alright,”

Your father doesn’t put up much fight beyond that, leaving you in Joel’s hands.

The moment the door clicked shut behind your father, a charged silence settled between you and Joel.

“Are you really okay with it?” you asked straightforwardly, “Me crashing here?”

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you, his breath warm against your skin, like an entirely different man—though one you had come to recognize—now that it was only you, “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t,” he murmured, his voice low, wrapping around you like a warm hug, “You won’t give me any problems, right?”

“I am such a good girl afterall,” you reply with a faux sweetness that is quickly broken by your inability to believe his words to your father, “—the fuck was that about?”

“Well, you listened—” he offers plainly as your gaze trails toward your bags still resting on the trunk of your car, eager to grab them before night crept it, unwilling to face the sweltering Texas humidity beyond evening hours, but as to grab your attention he adds, “and I think you like it, being told what to do—‘least, by me, anyways.”

You scoff weakly and shake your head, “So, what is my reward then?”

Joel chuckles to himself and touches you for the first time since the camping trip months prior, though it felt like eons ago now, a simple swipe of his thumb over your chin as he tilts your head up.

A shiver raced down your spine at the contact, a familiar warmth spreading through you.

His eyes darkened as they lingered on your lips, your heart beginning to race, each beat echoing the unspoken tension that had grown between you since then.

“Reward?” he echoed, voice low and soft like velvet, “Who said anything about a reward?” His thumb swept across your bottom lip again, and just like that, any irritation you had been holding in from earlier dissipated in seconds.

You found yourself leaning closer, instinctively drawn to him like a moth to a hot flame.

“Joel…” you breathed, barely able to form coherent words as he’d pressed himself closer, inevitably backing you up against the front door your father had closed minutes ago, taken aback by Joel’s sudden willingness to confront you with both physicality and his words, underestimating how strong of an effect he had on you.

“Be patient,” Joel responds, it doesn’t satisfy you at all, but Joel’s expression left little room for argument, if anything, “I’ll grab your bags, getcha set up here, alright?”

You nod slowly, eyes locked on him as he finally stepped away, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding until he was gone.

Joel had plenty of tricks up his sleeve it seemed.

–

The reward does come, but it isn’t until the weekend of your birthday.

And it wasn’t the arrival of Joel’s daughters, despite how much instant joy it brings you to see their faces again, thankful they weren't addressing the giant elephant in the room of why you were crashing on Joel’s couch.

Admittedly, your dad had cleaned up the mess in your old room, but it took longer than a few hours and the peacefulness that staying away from the house had brought was far more valuable than a space that had become your panic room.

While Sarah gushes over her photography major and the classes she had taken, Ellie seeks you out in the quiet of chaos in the house, reluctantly watching Joel and Tommy prepare for a small party to celebrate your birthday.

Ellie shared a similar love for the celestial life, heading toward an Astronomy major with little doubt in her mind and an end goal to earn an internship at NASA—she had big dreams but the confidence to match and it was heartwarming.

The sound of laughter bounced through the house, wrapping around you like a cozy blanket, watching as they all seemed to move in tandem, carrying on conversation amongst their work, refusing to let you help as you sat restless on the couch, leaving over the back as your senses were invaded with the smell of freshly grilled food.

You watched as Ellie and Sarah teamed up, shuffling in and out of the kitchen.

Their excitement was palpable as they prepared decorations. Streamers hung from the ceiling, and balloons bobbed playfully against the walls, fussing over the cake as they showed two candles into the center to read out 21.

Tommy cracks a joke about how stupid he had been at that age and the egregious amount of times that Joel had to bail him out of bad situations, but reminiscing fondly on the time.

“Okay, grandpa,” Ellie interjects, “you’re like triple that now,”

“I’m fourty, the fuck are you tryin’ to say?” Tommy asks his niece accusatory as he snapped a stray rubber band in her direction, watching her dodge it with precision before promptly flipping him off.

“Well, dad is only five years off from a senior discount,” Ellie points out and you can see the instant Joel’s expression turns sour, looking at you for a brief second that lingers before he slips outside, amiss to the ongoing conversation between Tommy and Ellie as you watch him silently, face pensive and emotionless.

“You’re a shithead,” Tommy teases Ellie with a vague fondness as he nods over his shoulders, “and now you hurt his feelings,”

You refuse to sit around much longer, slipping through the kitchen and into the backyard as you pull the glass door shut behind you—it was mostly the same; the same furniture they had for years, a grill they had gotten a lot of use out of, and an old tire swing that definitely should have snapped by now.

“Should be inside,” Joel tells you, “unless I need to go and tie ‘ya down,”

“Easy old man,” you tease him gently, crossing your arms as you step closer and watch him place the layers of meat onto the hot grill, “I might be into that,”

Joel pauses for a moment, looking up but not at you, staring out into the expanse of his backyard with a subtle smirk that bubbles into laughter before he quickly steels himself.

“You heard from him?” Joel asks curiously, though his tone is more hushed as Tommy brings Joel another bowl of food to grill.

“He’s been working,” you remind him, “but knowing him, he probably forgot anyway.”

“Come on, kiddo,” Joel supplies, trying to urge some sympathy even though he isn’t sure how much your father deserves, “I’m sure he’ll say something,”

“It’s fine,” you shrug, “I’d bet you money he doesn’t even know how old I am—he thought it was my fifteenth birthday for a couple years,” you sigh, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear as you lean in closer, feigning looking over the grill, “I’d rather be here celebrating with you, anyways.”

Joel looks at you briefly, something indecipherable in his gaze but he quickly snaps out of it as Sarah joins you both, pulling his daughter in for a hug before she dove for you.

Everything was so much easier like this, with them.

“I’m telling you, he forgot,” you argue to Joel who’s holding a chunk of your birthday cake and a leftover plate of food, attempting to prove a valuable point to break through your stubbornness, “last time, it was over a month before he realized.”

“Give it a chance, kiddo,” Joel tries to argue in a casual manner, standing on the final defense he had for your father, praying he wouldn’t disappoint you again—not now, not today.

You knock against the door with a heavy hand, shifting quietly from foot to foot, aware of Joel’s worrisome look when your father finally answers the door almost a full minute later, rubbing at tired eyes and still dressed in his work uniform, aware of the distinct stench of alcohol that you had become familiar with.

Your eyes drag to Joel immediately, a frown growing.

“Shit,” your dad exclaims lazily, “it ain’t my birthday but I appreciate it.”

Joel’s eyes narrow, almost in disbelief.

He’d grown close to your father over time, knowing he had his faults but unwilling to see how far he had deteriorated after the split from your mother, attempting to put on a valiant front that fell from time to time—Joel had hoped for you, it wasn’t this bad.

But, it was.

“Yeah, uh,” you interject with a softer, level tone that disguised whatever emotion was building in your chest, “because it’s mine—Joel was going to invite you but you were working,”

“Whaddya mean?” your father inquired, taking the plate Joel offered, “Your birthday ain’t until August—”

He was confusing you with your mother—it doesn’t even shock you anymore.

“No, that’s mom,” you tell almost dismissively before you turn to Joel and throw an arm up in defeat, “can we go?”

Unfortunately, you don’t wait for Joel’s response.

You’re already at his front door before the short conversation between Joel and your father commences, unwilling to give him any leeway for an excuse, quickly putting on a half-efforted smile as Ellie and Sarah are shoving their gifts into your hands.

Joel arrives soon thereafter, garnering the tailend of your reaction to the small planet shaped keychain Ellie had gifted you and a shirt brandishing your favorite band from Sarah, feeling a faint swell to your heart as Tommy watches with a smile.

“I figure we could all enjoy a night out,” Tommy suggests, “they’re doing a Curtis and Viper rerelease that Ellie won’t shut her trap about—I know you girls loved those movies,” Joel’s footsteps are quiet as he moves into the kitchen, silently cleaning up,

“I’m, uh, a little tired,” you admit, but Tommy wasn’t clueless—something was bothering you, but to what extent he didn’t have a clue, though Joel did—but he didn’t push or pry.

“Oh, well, we can always try next weekend,” Sarah decides and Ellie looks only slightly disappointed, but nods nonetheless.

“No, seriously, go enjoy it,” you assure her, “I’ll survive–plus, I can drag Tommy to take me and see it next weekend if he feels guilty enough,”

“Sure can,” he relents with a chuckle before moving in for a hug that allows everything to fade away for a brief moment, rubbing his hand over your arm in a comforting gesture, “keep an eye out for the old man, alright?”

You nod quietly before moving to join Joel in the kitchen as the rest of them depart, cleaning up beside him as you chew at the inside of your cheek, stacking plates up to carry them to the sink, setting them down gently before you feel Joel’s hand wrap around your bicep and you freeze, looking down at his hand,

“Sit down,” Joel orders, nodding toward the couch—he should have expected some defiance, but you do listen, just not in the way he expects—instead, you push yourself up onto the clear side of the counter and watch in silence as he cleans the kitchen.

“I get it,” Joel admits after a while, the house having gone silent and his hands curled over the edge of an empty sink, “—didn’t think it was that bad, but I’m startin’ to understand.”

“Joel…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, the weight of unsaid emotions hanging thickly in the air. “I really don’t want to feel this way, not today.”

He turned to face you, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding, stepping closer until he was almost within arm's reach, but not touching. You could feel the heat radiating off him and drawing you in.

“S’alright, sweetheart,” he replied gently, eyes steady on yours. “this shit ain’t easy to let go,” His gaze flickered briefly down to your lips before returning to your eyes, and you could feel your heart race in response.

“I just need a distraction,” you suggested with a sad, soft smile.

Joel extends his hand quietly and you eye it cautiously, like it was a live wire.

“I spent the last few weeks following your stupid rule,” you remind him, “if you touch me, you’re breaking it on your own, not me—”

“Grab my damn hand,” Joel demands, “and stop bein’ a smartass.”

You hesitate for just a beat, but something in his tone pulls you closer. Your hand slides into his, and the warmth of his palm against yours brings an immediate comfort.

“Good girl, she can listen,” he murmurs, the praise igniting a thrill in your chest as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, coaxing you off the counter. He steps back, creating a slight space between your bodies as he swipes his half drank beer off the counter before tugging you down the hall, pointedly turning toward his own room.

“Alright,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes as he moves you through the open door before he’s closing it shut “how ‘bout we find a way to keep your mind off things?”

You’ve never been here before, inside a space so personal to Joel.

His bed is haphazardly made and his dresser is covered in clutter, but somehow it still seemed put together, thriving in chaos. You take a slow seat at the edge of his bed, feeling your heart race in your chest at how real this had become.

There wasn’t a screen to divide you or reluctance to keep your distance.

Joel stepped closer, and instinctively you tilted your chin up to meet his gaze—a smirk danced on his lips as he took in your expression. “Is this my reward?” you ask.

“Can be,” Joel offers, “or your birthday gift, whichever works.”

His thumb splits your lips apart and you suck in a soft breath as his thumb curls over your bottom lip and teeth, into your mouth to press against your tongue. Without asking, your lips curl around his finger, sucking the digit inside and you can see the subtle twitch in Joel’s lip, staring at you in a mix of amusement and disbelief.

His breath hitches, the sound barely a whisper as he watches you, his eyes darkening with something primal.

“Always under my goddamn skin,” he murmurs, pulling his finger from your mouth before it curls around the back of your neck and guides you back, face pushing up as you gasp at the slight sting of his grip, “I’m gonna take care of ‘ya, alright?”

You nod jerkily, watching as he gestured for you to lay back on the bed, scooting further until you reach his pillows, thighs spreading instinctively as he pulled off your shoes and toed off his own, beer still cautiously in hand as he moved toward you on his knees.

He takes a slow sip as he reaches around the thin, malleable band of your flowy shorts and tugs them down and off, panties caught alongside them as he tosses them aside, leaving you exposed as his hand immediately presses against your thigh to keep them spread open.

Joel's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, laid out before him, exposed and shivering with anticipation, his gaze looked as he lewdly stared at your wet folds, glistening in the dim light.

He wanted you so badly he thought he could combust at the mere thought, but he was patient, he had been, much more so than he ever gave himself credit for. He had set the same rule for himself, having controlled himself over the thought of this happening in his eventual future and you peering up at him so wantonly.

You had never been a burden, truthfully, and Joel could list about ten things morally wrong with what was happening here, but you had broken him and he needed you to put him back together, too.

“Hold this for me,” Joel hands his beer over before spreading out on his stomach, immediately latching his mouth on the inside of your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you balance the cold bottle against your pelvic bone as Joel shoved your thigh higher, kissing around your cunt in an effort to work you up.

He places a gentle kiss against your mound as you glance down at him when the ceiling wasn’t spinning overhead with a pleasure that made you dizzy, “So pretty,” Joel speaks to you—but not at you, whispering compliments against your pussy in a way that makes you squirm, gasping as his tongue licks between your folds without warning.

Your legs trembled with anticipation as Joel continued to explore your folds with his tongue, tossing aside every ounce of restraint you both had built up over the past few months.

His words were like a caress on your frayed nerves, broken moans escaping your lips, as he deftly traced the edges of your entrance with his tongue, dipping his tongue inside testingly, "Fuck," you gasped, arching your hips upwards in an effort to get closer to him.

Joel chuckles, proud of himself, his tongue dragging up to flick over your clit, teasingly circling it before taking it into his mouth as he hummed, the vibration of his mouth sending a shock up your core.

"This alright with you?" Joel asks, feeling the vibrations of his tone against your cunt, nodding quickly in response.

Your moans echoed in the room, vibrating through your chest as you arched your back, surprised at how swiftly your body had gone from warm to hot, hand gripping the glass bottle tight as your opposite hand squeezed the sheets tight, embarrassed at how eager your body was to fulfill his desire.

And he doesn’t stop, not even as your body jerks with the sudden wave of your orgasm, feeling the gush of sweetness hit his tongue as he drank you in, working you gently through your aftershocks with his mouth and calculated touches, coming up briefly to nod toward the beer in your hand and you can’t help but laugh through your euphoric haze, tipping the bottle to his lips as he takes in an a small amount of liquid.

You lean up on one arm, staring at him with a curious expression before he looks you directly in the eye and dribbles the beer down the center of your cunt, quickly gathering up the liquid before it wet the sheets, slurping lewdly as your eyes had begun to roll back at how oversensitive you had become, your breath quickening as he hand pressed over your stomach, attempting to keep you still.

“Came too fast,” you say breathlessly, “your—fuck, your fault,”

Joel makes a show of his tongue dipping the center of your folds and dragging pointedly over your clit, “It’s cute,” Joel admits, “couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“Feels—” you sigh breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut as your head falls back, “feels too good—oh, mmph—” you muffle your words as your teeth bite into your bottom lip to silence your sudden cry, legs shaking at Joel’s attempt to coax you into a second orgasm.

“She’s so damn sensitive,” Joel notes, pausing for a moment as his fingers curl around your inner thigh and hold your legs apart, watching the way you pussy spasms around nothing but the cold air he blows against you, earning a soft slap to his arm.

“Stop it,” you warn through gritted teeth, breath catching at the introduction of his fingers—thick fucking fingers that did nothing to soothe the growing ache, your cunt squeezing the digit in greedily.

“What? Didn’t it feel good?” Joel inquires with a cockiness in his tone, watching enraptured at how your body reacts so well to his touch, “You want more?”

You gasp at how his finger curls inside of you, beer almost spilling over your stomach before he catches your grip as it slips, “No one’s touched me like this,” you admit, “you know—fingers and st—stuff, fuck—”

The admittance makes something in Joel snap, his entire goal now to wipe your mind of any other thought than him, “Look at me,” he demands, waiting until you respond as you lean up, your fucked out expression driving him into near madness, “you still thinkin’ about earlier?”

“A little,” you shrug, watching his fingers curl around the hand that was holding the bottle of beer as he nods, actively listening but attempting to distract you.

“Never asked you if you liked the cake,” Joel remembers, “spent an hour stressin’ over which one to get for you,” it was a sincere admittance that drove something home within you, curious why someone would take the time for such a thing, but it was Joel.

He slowly tips the bottle until the liquid begins to trickle out, “It was g—good,” you stutter, gasping softly at the cold liquid as it trails toward Joel’s waiting tongue, finally releasing your hand as you continued to pour the remaining liquid, “you know, m—moist, sof—soft, and uh,”

His eyes drag up to look at you, the bottle emptying as he tosses it aside with a deft thump, his nose bumping against your clit as his tongue pressed inside of you, using the friction to your advantage as you selfishly grind against his nose, “and uh—real s—sweet,” you continue, voice cracking toward the end.

“Yeah?” Joel asks, muffled against your cunt as your body curls up, hand fisting into his hair, “Does it feel good?”

You nod immediately, lips parting as you stare down at him with a half-lidded, lust filled gaze, “So good,” you admit and Joel smirks into your cunt.

“What’re you thinkin’ about now?” Joel asks after a moment, pausing his actions briefly as you recollect the question before he’s diving back in, dialing up his efforts immensely.

You couldn’t even string together words as he ravishes you, words coming out jumbled and incoherent, “I—I’m, uh—huh, I’m—” is all you manage before you orgasm makes your body go hot, a momentary blackout as you cry out suddenly, hearing Joel grunt as your hand twists into his hair harshly, riding out your orgasm against his face as your cunt rocks against his tongue.

Joel gives you the proper time to rest, his touching comforting despite your drifting consciousness, body lying limp against his sheets as his hand searches for your own, intertwining your fingers quietly as he slumps his head against your thigh, his other hand trailing mindlessly up your shirt, your fingers curling around his wrist to keep you anchored to reality, wondering how he had managed to scramble your mind so effectively.

“You still in there?” he asks jokingly and you force out a weak laugh.

“I don’t know,” you answer indecisively and Joel grins, pressing a kiss against your thigh.

“Happy birthday,” he says, as if he hadn’t told you it a handful of times earlier in the day, but this one held weight.

“Thank you,” you reply earnestly, “do…you think we could still make the movie with them?”

Joel glances at his watch, squinting before he gives up and crawls up the bed to reach for his glasses, pushing them onto his face to see clearer, “Probably not,” he decides, “you know—we’ve got the discs here, both of ‘em, if you wanna watch,”

“Could we?” you ask, perking up slightly.

“'Course, sweetheart,” Joel answers, pushing himself off the bed slowly as you watch him palm at the front of his jeans, adjusting his erection under the denim and he can see the way your eyes track the movement, tongue wetting your bottom lip as you instantly lean and begin to crawl forward.

A spark of mischief ignited within you as your fingers grazed the front of his jeans, feeling the solid outline of his cock, imagining it in his hands in front of you instead of over a video call. Joel looked down at you, surprise flickering in his eyes before it settled into something darker, more fervent.

“Easy now,” he warned playfully

“What?” you challenged, your pulse racing as you grinned up at him. “It’s my birthday.”

He grabbed your wrist lightly, but it was enough to send a thrill through you.

“You’ve been doin’ good,” Joel compliments, “I don’t need you worryin’ about me when this day should be about you, you got that?”

You frown slightly and nod, feeling his grip on your wrist loosen.

“Do you wanna know my wish?” you ask suddenly, a mischievous grin on your face as Joel hands you the discarded clothes with a look of confusion, “Like, when I blew out my candles—”

Joel senses your energy and agrees with caution, slipping your shorts back on with a snap of the band as you press into his space, face mere inches from his own.

“A mind-blowing orgasm,” you offer genuinely.

Joel had delivered, clearly.

“And here I was thinkin’ you had wished for good health or some shit,” Joel jokes.

You shrug, “Same thing, good for the body and mind or whatever, right?”

“Sure,” Joel agrees easily, grinning slightly at your obvious change in emotion from earlier in the day.

“Oh,” you say suddenly, tapping your palm against the center of his chest to stop him as he turns, “are we gonna talk about the beer?”

“I ain’t wasteful,” Joel explains easily, “—besides, I think you enjoyed it a little more than I did,” he finishes, a playful smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

He’d caught you red-handed.

You smile with a faint hint of embarrassment before you quickly move past him, escaping from the bedroom and his pointed gaze.

“I’ll grab the popcorn, you start up the movie,” you voice trails.

Joel couldn’t deny how easily he followed your direction.

The hold you had over him was enchanting.

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zvaigzdelasas · 11 months ago

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[CNN is US Private Media]

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu lambasted his Defense Minister Yoav Gallant on Monday and accused him of adopting an “anti-Israel narrative,” revealing a deep rupture at the top of the Israeli government as the Middle East risks spiraling into a full-scale regional conflict.

Israeli media reported this week that Gallant, speaking to lawmakers in a private security briefing, had dismissed Netanyahu’s war aim of achieving “absolute victory” over Hamas as “gibberish,” branding those who say this is achievable as “heroes with war drums.”[...]

“When Gallant adopts the anti-Israel narrative, he harms the chances of reaching a hostage deal,” the prime minister’s office said in a statement. It said Gallant was obligated to pursue the twin goals of Israel’s war in Gaza: Eliminating Hamas and the release of the hostages seized by Hamas in the October 7 attacks.[...]

On Monday, the European Union’s top diplomat Josep Borrell told CNN he would put forward a proposal at the EU to sanction far-right Israeli ministers Bezalel Smotrich and Itamar Ben Gvir.

Borrell had called for sanctions against Smotrich and Ben Gvir in a post on X, days after Smotrich said it would be “moral” to starve two million Gazans until Israeli hostages are freed.[...]

In his leaked comments, Gallant also claimed he had in October proposed a pre-emptive attack on Hezbollah in Lebanon, but that Netanyahu had not supported the strike and had missed the opportunity.

“The conditions today for a Lebanon war are the opposite of what they were at the beginning of the war,” Gallant reportedly told lawmakers.[...]

Gallant joins a number of senior Israeli officials to have questioned Netanyahu’s aim of destroying Hamas. In June, top military spokesman Rear Adm. Daniel Hagari said the idea that Israel could “make Hamas vanish” is “throwing sand in the eyes of the public.”

CNN recently reported that nearly half of Hamas’ military battalions in northern and central Gaza have rebuilt some of their fighting capabilities, despite Israel’s unrelenting [genocidal war of extermination], according to a joint analysis with the American Enterprise Institute’s Critical Threats Project and the Institute for the Study of War.

Crumbling failed apartheid state [13 Aug 24]

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solxamber · 9 months ago

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Hey there! This is just a request but could you please do an unhinged reader x Leona(romantic)? Like, menace to society, 0 self preservation skills with questionable morals that just keeps bugging Leona out of boredom.

I guess the genre would be crack and you can basically choose the details.

Thank you❤️

Leona Kingscholar x unhinged Reader

thank you for this, I had so much fun writing this <3

Leona wasn’t sure why the universe had cursed him like this. Of all the people in the world, why you? Why had you, a walking disaster with all the survival instincts of a toddler with scissors, decided to latch onto him? And why did he fall for you?

And it wasn’t even in a cute, lovesick-puppy way. No, you were like a chaotic gremlin that had crawled out of some alternate dimension just to make his life worse.

“Leona, watch this!” You stood precariously on the edge of a crumbling wall, grinning like you were about to unveil the world’s greatest invention.

Leona didn’t even bother lifting his head from his nap spot under the tree. He’d learned that reacting only made you more encouraged. “If you fall, I’m not catching you.”

“That’s fine, I’ll just bounce!” you chirped back.

Leona opened one eye, an eyebrow twitching in disbelief. “You’re not a ball.”

“Not with that attitude,” you shot back, then proceeded to leap from the wall like you had just discovered flight. Spoiler alert: you had not. Gravity, however, was very familiar with you.

You crashed to the ground in a flurry of limbs and dust, groaning dramatically.

Leona sighed and got up with the enthusiasm of a sloth being asked to run a marathon. “You good, or should I call someone with a stretcher?”

You waved him off from your spot on the ground, laughing despite the fact that you were very clearly in pain. “No worries! Just testing my limits. Next time, I’ll stick the landing.”

“There better not be a next time.” Leona rubbed his temples, wondering how his life had come to this. “You’ve got the brain of a rock, y’know that?”

“Rocks are strong!” you shot back, scrambling to your feet, dusting yourself off like you hadn’t just risked spinal damage for absolutely no reason.

Leona turned to walk away, muttering, “Great. I’m babysitting a suicidal pebble.”

But, of course, you followed him. You always followed him. It was like you’d made it your life’s mission to annoy him into an early grave. He wasn’t sure if it was boredom, insanity, or both.

“Where are we going?” you asked, bounding beside him like some overexcited puppy.

“We’re not going anywhere. I’m going somewhere. You’re going away.”

“But that’s boring,” you whined, clearly oblivious to any and all social cues. “You’re so lazy! Don’t you ever want to do something exciting?”

Leona stopped dead in his tracks and turned to glare at you. “I don’t want to do anything exciting. Ever. I want to nap in peace, without you pulling some stupid stunt every five minutes.”

You shrugged, unbothered. “Sounds like quitter talk. What if I found us something really fun to do?”

Leona gave you a deadpan look. “Fun by your standards means I’ll either end up in jail or hospitalized. No thanks.”

You grinned mischievously. “What if I told you I’ve got a plan to steal all of the fancy food from the Mostro Lounge? No one would even know it was us!”

Leona stared at you, trying to figure out how you’d come to this conclusion with a straight face. “We literally live in a dorm with a kitchen. If you want fancy food, just ask.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” You waggled your eyebrows. “Come on, live a little! You’re a lion, aren’t you supposed to be all fierce and stuff? You should be excited to commit some petty crime.”

Leona pinched the bridge of his nose. “First of all, lions don’t do crime sprees. Second, stealing isn’t a hobby. And third, if you try something stupid, don’t expect me to bail you out.”

“Oh please,” you waved him off, smirking. “You’d totally bail me out. You love me.”

Leona narrowed his eyes at you, opening his mouth to argue, but then closed it. Damn it, you had a point. He would bail you out. Probably. Begrudgingly.

But he wasn’t going to admit that.

“I tolerate you,” he corrected, turning on his heel and continuing to walk away.

“Aww, that’s practically a love confession coming from you!” You sprinted after him, making ridiculous heart gestures in the air. “Leona Kingscholar, prince of sarcasm and naps, tolerates me. I’m honored.”

Leona groaned. He’d tried ignoring you, scaring you off, threatening you with bodily harm (all of which you’d laughed off). And somehow, despite his best efforts, you were still here. Still determined to bring chaos into his otherwise peaceful life.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed one day,” Leona muttered as you fell into step beside him again. “And I’m not dragging your body out of trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” You waved him off, clearly not listening. “So, what’s for dinner? And can I challenge Ruggie to a spoon duel?”

Leona sighed heavily. Why were you like this? And why, despite every instinct telling him to ditch you in the Savanna, did he kind of, sort of… not hate it?

Great. Now you were rotting his brain with your nonsense. Just what he needed.

At least life wasn’t boring anymore.

Masterlist

#leona kingscholar x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #leona x reader #leona x you #leona #leona kingscholar #twst leona

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muletia · 6 months ago

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the mention of Obsessed! Predaking in one of your posts about Shockwave has been rotating in my head like a rotisserie chicken,,,, his breeding kink would be to big it could compete with Megatron's my golly god,,,,

[𝐭𝐟𝐩] 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝!𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

headcanons

cw: obsession, possessiveness, jealousy, valveplug/sexual content, mention of body harm (marking you), manipulation (you manipulate predaking), breeding king, dub-con (not nsfw)

word count: 800

an: was freestyling the whole thing and it probably shows but y'all don't understand how much I crave feral characters

He is not a thoughtless, barbaric beast. Has proven time and time again that he transcends such measures, that he is more complex and multidimensional. His ambitions surpass primitive instincts; he is made up of many different facets. Before he met you, he made every effort to present himself to others as proud, powerful, and cut from the same fabric as the rest of the Cybertronians. Yet his pride crumbles in an instant when he forms a deeper bond with you, revealing primitive, predatory needs. He succumbs to them easily, and they quickly become his entire world, haunting him whether you are near or far. To feel, to experience, smell and touch. His body craves you at every hour of the solar cycle, and then his processor is left battered, defiled by desire, consumed by the need for physical closeness that claws at him from within, demanding release. All he lacks is patience and restraint; once he has had a taste, no force in the universe can take you from him.

Predaking might maintain honor among the Decepticons, but when you come into view, insatiability displaces dignity. Jealous of every living being, he refuses to let anyone get close to you. Like an agitated dog, his optics constantly scan the surroundings for potential threats—or worse, rivals. His primitive, wild side emerges, and in his need to protect his chosen mate, he does not forgive even a lingering glance, paranoid about every gesture and word. The simplest conversation becomes a challenge for you, as it sets off growling, smoke escaping his mouth, and ultimately ends with him nibbling at your neck, biting your skin to leave an unmistakable mark of his emotional state. Your autonomy has come at the cost of your untouchability.

By unofficially naming you Predaqueen, he intends to show everyone that you are taken. That you already belong. Your body becomes a canvas for bite marks, pinched skin from fangs that could so easily kill you, pierce too deeply, and sever an artery. Yet despite his wildness, he can show tenderness, never torturing you for too long or too harshly. When blood appears, he meticulously licks the wound, purring apologies that reveal his hidden morality and gentleness, though they are not entirely trustworthy.

He clings to you without respite, demanding physical contact. He rests his head on your back to share warmth, further enhanced by the flame that escapes his throat on command. He knows he is crushing you, pinning you down to the point where you struggle to breathe freely, but he wants you to stay with him. For your familiar scent to always surround him, calming him when he needs it, keeping him grounded. Soft, delicate skin caresses hard metal, stroking him after he impresses you; equally fascinated by his biology as he is by yours. It’s easy to lose yourself then, letting your thoughts drift into dangerous, erotic waters. They are deceptive but enticing, and Predaking does not deny himself pleasure within the bounds of morality.

+18 content / valveplug

Interfacing perfectly reflects his nature. It is wild and sharp, focused on pleasure, but reproduction is at the forefront. The primitive need, well-known to both humans and him, becomes undeniable when you first let him in, letting him feel how soft and slick a human can be. Something clicks in his processor. He is extraordinarily fortunate that the first valve he has ever tasted belongs to you, for he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Compatibility on such an intimate level raises the question of extending the species. Is it possible? Were you really so similar? Overwhelmed by your scent, your softness, and the bliss he experiences, he concludes that if his spike so effortlessly slides into your core, it couldn’t be otherwise.

Knowing his needs, you can easily control him. Convincing him that if he wants offspring, he must follow your commands; otherwise, nothing will come of it. You hold the leash on a wild, unpredictable creature so fixated on you that he is willing to submit, to please you, even as his processor drowns in his own needs. To adapt to you, to the pace you set, to the position you choose.

However, there are certain actions he undertakes reluctantly. He won’t refuse, but he will make it clear that he is focused on one thing: breeding. He’ll give you pleasure, savoring the taste of human ecstasy or letting you explore him, popping a cherry in his valve. But the end is always the same: he strives for a sparkling, naively believing it is possible, that it can be done. And perhaps it’s better that he believes. For when he hugs you to his chassis and shares his warmth, babbling about what a wonderful mate you are, the entire charade feels worth it.

#transformers x reader #predaking x reader #obsessed!predaking

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brittle-doughie · 2 months ago

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If I had nickel for every time I saw a demon butler in media I watch, I would have three nickles. (1. Peppermint Butler. 2. Sebastian (Black Butler) 3. Barbatos (Obey me))

So i decided to create my own for y/n cookie.

If you see a house that was emitting an ominously shining crimson light, stay away from it, as it belongs to the evil witch that created Crimson Berry Cookie. From the moment he was born, he developed an interest towards dark magic, maybe due to fact that he was baked with half of dark magic and half of enchanted berries. After he was taken under Evil Witch's teaching, that interest seems to be intensified as he learned more and more dark secrets of magic. But after Evil Witch was gone, he was ready to leave behind the house he was born in and follow his own dark path. But which this path leads to? What exactly is his goals and motives?

Crimson Berry Cookie is often portrays calm, professional, but sometimes a mischievous and carefree behavior. He is Y/N Cookie's devoted servant and mostly seen helping Y/N cookie with deeds in the castle or around kingdom, to most cookies he is a trusted member of cookie kingdom, but to more perceptive ones, there is more to him than meets the eye.

From the moment he met them, he wanted to get close to them somehow, so he found a way by becoming their butler. He won't let other cookies to hurt them, even those above him, as even most powerful ones have a weak spots.

Due to growing up under evil witch, his sense of morality is rather questionable and warped. He is capable of getting close to someone and appreciates loyalty above all else, but he also won't hesitate taking his loved ones' souls and be with them forever, (If Y/N cookie would crumble or something else) but he would be alright to serve Y/N cookie for eternity if they were immortal. Not only that, but he is rather experienced and knowledgeable about magic and supernatural, thanks to that, he is very capable of protecting kingdom from numerous threats.

Despite his questionable activities, he is genuinely devoted to y/n cookie and their kingdom, using his powers and knowledge for the sake of kingdom's protection and y/n Cookie's.

He is actually a fan of Dark Enchantress Cookie, but he won't join Cookies of Darkness due to already devoting himself to y/n cookie, he would've joined them if he met them first though. But... If y/n cookie is part of cod or joined them, he would've became cookie of darkness as well.

Yeah, with that tapping into the darkness side of him, he may not be all that trusted around the entourage Cookies. As depicted above, with Dumpling being the most off-put by him.

#brittle answers #cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #cr x reader #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader

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kenzdolls · 2 months ago

Text

MEETING THE LEAGUE . 4.2k

𖤐 synopsis: after six months of dating, dabi introduces you to the league 𖤐 pairing: dabi (toya todoroki) x gn! reader

𖤐 sent in by: anonymous

𖤐 trigger warnings: mentions of past domestic abuse, threats of violence, implied violence, morally gray themes.

your heart hammered against your ribcage as dabi's warm hand clasped yours, leading you through the dimly lit alleyways of kamino ward. the occasional streetlight cast his scarred face in harsh shadows, the staples along his cheeks and neck glinting with each step. you'd been dating for nearly six months now, keeping your relationship largely private – not just because of his status as a wanted villain, but because dabi himself was intensely protective of his personal life.

"having second thoughts?" he asked, his deep voice cutting through the silence. there was a hint of rare vulnerability beneath his usual detached tone.

you squeezed his hand reassuringly. "not a chance. just nervous."

a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, the damaged skin around it crinkling slightly. "don't be. they're all idiots, but they won't hurt you. not if they want to keep breathing."

the casual threat should have disturbed you more than it did, but after months of falling for this complicated man, you'd come to understand the duality of dabi. ruthless and calculating with enemies, yet possessing an unexpected gentleness that he revealed only to you in private moments.

"it's not about being hurt," you admitted. "i just… want them to not hate me. they're important to you, whether you admit it or not."

dabi scoffed, but didn't contradict you. "just be yourself. the version that somehow puts up with me." his thumb stroked across your knuckles in a rare display of public affection. "that's more than enough."

the walk continued in comfortable silence until dabi stopped abruptly before what appeared to be an abandoned building. the windows were boarded up, graffiti marking the crumbling exterior walls.

"charming headquarters," you murmured with a nervous laugh.

"it's temporary. we move around a lot," dabi explained, leading you toward a nondescript side door. "shigaraki has been paranoid since our last location was compromised."

he paused before opening the door, turning to face you fully. the blue flames that usually danced in his eyes had softened to embers. "one last chance to back out. once they know about you, there's no going back."

you reached up, gently tracing the edge of a staple along his jaw – a gesture you knew he secretly enjoyed. "i've known that since the night i didn't turn you in when i found you bleeding in my apartment. i made my choice a long time ago, dabi."

something flickered in his expression – perhaps surprise, even after all this time, that you continued to choose him despite knowing exactly who and what he was.

"suit yourself," he said, but the slight curve of his lips betrayed his relief. his hand moved to the small of your back as he pushed open the door. "let's get this over with."

——

the interior of the hideout was surprisingly well-maintained compared to its exterior. you followed dabi through a narrow hallway that opened into what appeared to be a communal living space. a worn couch faced a modest television, and mismatched chairs were scattered around a large table covered in playing cards and empty glasses.

the room fell silent as you entered. five pairs of eyes immediately turned to stare at you – some curious, others suspicious, all surprised.

"well, well," drawled a man lounging on the couch. his face was partially covered by a disembodied hand, but you could see his cracked lips stretching into what might have been a smile. "dabi actually brought his pet home."

blue flames flickered briefly around dabi's free hand. "watch it, shigaraki."

so this was the league's leader. you'd seen him on wanted posters and news reports, but nothing prepared you for the unsettling aura he exuded in person.

a blonde girl who had been sprawled across an armchair suddenly bounded up, her eyes wide with manic excitement. "oh my god, is this why you've been disappearing so much? you've been playing house?" she skipped closer, circling you with undisguised interest. "she's cute! can i cut her just a little? please?"

"toga," dabi warned, his arm shifting slightly to place himself between you and the girl.

you recognized himiko toga from dabi's descriptions – obsessed with blood and dangerously unpredictable. despite his protective stance, you stepped forward with a steady smile.

"it's nice to finally meet you, toga. dabi's told me about you."

the blonde blinked in surprise before breaking into a delighted giggle. "ooooh, i like her! she's not even shaking!" she twirled away, collapsing back into her chair. "keep this one, dabi-kun! your others were so boring they made me sleepy."

"others?" you whispered, raising an eyebrow at dabi.

"ignore her," he muttered. "toga thinks anyone i don't immediately incinerate is someone i'm dating."

from the far corner, a man in a tailored waistcoat approached with elegant strides. his face was hidden behind a metallic mask, but his voice was cultured and smooth. "how uncouth of my colleagues. please excuse their manners." he extended a gloved hand toward you. "mr. compress, at your service."

you took his hand, only to gasp in surprise when he twisted his wrist and produced a small blue rose from thin air, offering it to you with a theatrical bow.

"a small token for the brave soul who has apparently tamed our resident pyromaniac."

"tamed is a strong word," you replied with a small smile, accepting the flower. "more like reached a mutual non-aggression pact."

mr. compress chuckled appreciatively. "witty, too. how refreshing."

dabi rolled his eyes but seemed less tense than moments before. he guided you further into the room, where a massive figure hunched over what appeared to be a gaming console looked up. the mask covering his face resembled that of a killer from a horror film, but his voice was unexpectedly childlike.

"is she going to play with us? we need a fourth for mario kart." the villain you recognized as twice suddenly slapped himself. "no newcomers! she'll steal our stuff!" another self-slap. "sorry about that! i'm jin! welcome to our happy family!"

"maybe later," you offered, earning what seemed to be an enthusiastic nod from the split-personality villain.

the only person who hadn't acknowledged your presence was a reptilian man with green scales covering his body, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. his eyes, narrowed and calculating, hadn't left you since you entered.

"that's dabi's girlfriend? doesn't look like much," he finally grunted. "what's she doing with our kind anyway? she doesn't have a quirk, does she?"

dabi's posture stiffened. "not everyone needs a quirk to be useful, spinner," he replied coldly. "and her business is her business."

you squeezed dabi's hand to calm him. "i'm a nurse," you stated plainly. "at musutafu general."

this revelation seemed to surprise everyone in the room, including shigaraki, who finally removed the hand from his face to stare at you properly. his red eyes were intense and searching.

"a nurse?" spinner repeated incredulously. "you're dating someone who works in healthcare? you, who's burned down three hospitals in the past year?"

dabi's jaw tightened. "four, actually."

an uncomfortable silence fell over the room until shigaraki broke it with a dry, raspy laugh. "now that's irony. the arsonist and the healer." he leaned forward, fingers drumming against his knee, deliberately keeping his pinky raised. "tell me, nurse, how does it feel knowing your boyfriend has probably created patients for you?"

you met his gaze evenly, despite the chill that ran down your spine. "the same way it feels knowing i've probably treated heroes who've hunted him. life isn't black and white, shigaraki-san. not for any of us."

for a tense moment, no one moved. then shigaraki's lips curled into what might have been genuine amusement. "interesting. very interesting." he stood abruptly. "kurogiri!"

a swirling mass of dark mist materialized from an adjoining room, gradually forming into a humanoid shape with bright yellow eyes. "yes, shigaraki tomura?"

"bring drinks. it seems we're having a welcome party." shigaraki reclined back into the couch, replacing the hand on his face. "after all, it's not every day dabi decides to share his toys."

——

the next hour passed in a blur of introductions and increasingly personal questions, primarily from toga, who had decided you were her new favorite person after learning you had access to blood bags at the hospital. dabi remained close by your side, his body heat more pronounced than usual – a sign of his heightened alertness that you'd learned to recognize.

"so how did you two meet?" mr. compress asked during a lull in conversation, swirling amber liquid in a crystal glass. "i imagine it's quite the tale."

before you could answer, dabi cut in. "it doesn't matter."

"oh come on!" toga whined, bouncing in her seat. "was it romantic? did he save you from something? or—oh! did you save him? that would be so cute!"

you exchanged a glance with dabi, silently asking permission. when he gave an almost imperceptible nod, you turned back to the group.

"i found him bleeding out in my apartment about six months ago," you said simply. "he'd broken in to hide from some pro heroes after a job went sideways."

"and you didn't call the police?" magne asked skeptically.

you shrugged. "i took an oath to help people in need. he qualified."

"she's lying!" twice shouted, before immediately contradicting himself. "so noble! a true angel of mercy!"

"then what?" toga pressed eagerly. "did you fall in love while nursing him back to health? was it like those romance movies where—"

"no," dabi interrupted flatly. "i threatened to burn her apartment down if she told anyone. then i left when i could walk again."

"but he came back a week later," you added with a small smile. "said he needed his stitches checked."

mr. compress chuckled knowingly. "ah, the old 'medical follow-up' excuse. a classic."

"they didn't need checking," you continued, ignoring dabi's warning glance. "i did excellent work the first time. but i let him in anyway."

"and then you fell in love!" toga clasped her hands together dreamily.

"and then we came to an arrangement," dabi corrected. "medical assistance when needed, in exchange for protection."

you bit back a smile at his clinical description of what had actually been a far more complicated evolution from reluctant patient and caregiver to something neither of you had anticipated. those early days had been a delicate dance of mistrust and curiosity, punctuated by late-night conversations that gradually revealed the man beneath the villain's facade.

"protection from what?" kurogiri inquired, his misty form shifting slightly.

you hesitated, and dabi answered for you. "her ex. pro hero in training with a strengthening quirk and anger issues." his tone was casual, but you didn't miss the dangerous edge to it. "not an issue anymore."

shigaraki, who had been quietly observing, leaned forward. "you took care of a hero for her?" there was undisguised interest in his voice now. "how… uncharacteristically chivalrous."

"i didn't kill him," dabi clarified, though his expression suggested he'd considered it. "just made sure he understood some boundaries. permanently."

the look shigaraki gave you now was reassessing, as if seeing you in a new light. "so you're not just tolerating our lifestyle. you've benefited from it."

you met his gaze steadily. "i don't agree with everything the league does, and dabi knows that. but yes, i understand the system isn't as just as it pretends to be." you thought about the numerous patients you'd treated – civilian casualties of hero-villain conflicts, people whose homes and livelihoods had been destroyed in the crossfire of spectacular battles that made headlines and boosted hero rankings. "sometimes, what's legal isn't what's right."

an approving murmur rippled through the room, and even spinner seemed less hostile.

"well said," mr. compress raised his glass in your direction. "to our newest… sympathizer."

"to fresh blood!" toga giggled.

"to infiltrators and spies!" twice declared, before slapping himself again. "to new friends!"

as the impromptu toast continued, dabi's hand found yours beneath the table, his thumb tracing slow circles against your palm – his private way of saying "thank you" without words. the tension that had been coiled in his shoulders since you arrived had finally begun to ease.

——

hours later, the gathering had evolved into something resembling normalcy – if anything involving the league of villains could be called normal. twice and toga were engaged in a heated mario kart battle, with mr. compress offering theatrical commentary. spinner had disappeared to another room, while kurogiri methodically cleaned glasses behind a small bar setup. shigaraki had retreated to a corner with his handheld gaming console, though you occasionally caught him watching you over the screen.

"come on," dabi murmured against your ear. "i'll show you the rest of this dump."

you followed him down a narrow hallway lined with doors. "this is where we crash when we need to lie low," he explained, gesturing vaguely. "nothing fancy."

"which one is yours?" you asked.

he stopped at the end of the corridor, pushing open a door to reveal a spartanly furnished room – just a bed, a desk with a lamp, and a worn armchair by the window. the walls were bare except for what appeared to be newspaper clippings pinned haphazardly near the desk.

"home sweet home," he said sarcastically, but you didn't miss the slight hesitation as he let you enter his private space – a threshold few, if any, had ever crossed.

you stepped inside, immediately drawn to the clippings. most were articles about hero endeavor's accomplishments, with certain phrases aggressively circled in red. a few showed grainy surveillance photos of a white-haired teen with a distinctive red scar.

"todoroki shouto," you said softly, recognizing the ua student from news coverage of the sports festival and subsequent villain attacks. you'd pieced together enough from dabi's rare, cryptic comments about his past to suspect a connection, but he'd never confirmed your theories.

dabi moved to stand beside you, his gaze fixed on the photos. "some mysteries for another time," he said quietly. "not tonight."

you nodded, respecting his boundaries. turning away from the wall, you took in the rest of the sparse room. "it's very… you."

"meaning?"

"minimalist. practical." you smiled. "no unnecessary attachments."

he made a noncommittal sound, watching as you sat on the edge of his bed. the mattress was surprisingly comfortable.

"so," you ventured after a moment, "did i pass the test?"

dabi leaned against the desk, arms crossed. in the dim light of the single lamp, the contrast between his scarred purple skin and the untouched portions was stark yet beautiful in its own haunting way.

"there was no test."

"yes, there was," you countered gently. "you were watching everyone's reactions. measuring their threat levels."

a faint smile tugged at his lips. "perceptive as always." he pushed off from the desk and came to sit beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. "they didn't hate you, if that's what you're asking."

"high praise from the league of villains," you teased, leaning against his shoulder.

"toga's already planning sleepovers, god help us." there was exasperation in his voice, but also something lighter – relief, perhaps, that two separate parts of his complicated existence could coexist without catastrophe.

you turned to face him properly. "thank you. for trusting me enough to bring me here."

his scarred hand came up to cup your cheek, surprisingly gentle for someone who could create infernos with a thought. "don't make me regret it."

"never," you promised, leaning into his touch.

for a long moment, he simply looked at you, as if memorizing your features or perhaps still marveling that you were here at all – in this hidden corner of his dangerous world, unafraid and unwavering. then he closed the distance between you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened with an intensity that made your head spin.

when you finally broke apart, slightly breathless, he pressed his forehead against yours. "we should get back before toga comes looking. she has no concept of privacy."

you nodded reluctantly, knowing he was right but unwilling to break the moment just yet. "five more minutes?"

his rare, genuine smile was answer enough as he pulled you closer, his arms encircling you in a warmth that had nothing to do with his quirk. in this stolen moment, in this unlikely sanctuary nestled within a villain hideout, you found yourself thinking that sometimes, the most dangerous choices led to the most unexpected forms of peace.

"five minutes," he agreed, his deep voice rumbling against your ear. "then back to the circus."

you smiled against his chest, knowing that while the path ahead would never be easy, tonight had been a significant step forward. you'd been accepted – cautiously, conditionally perhaps – but accepted nonetheless into this strange, dangerous family that dabi had found for himself.

and that, for now, was enough.

taglist: [open]

mutuals: @https-bakugo @haikyuubby @va-3 @lotusstarr @tulippanes @gh0st-g1rll @luvseraphh

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ch0llies · 4 months ago

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REVIVAL | CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO

A story in which a messy breakup lands you in your best friend's Boston apartment a year after high school, and you find yourself face-to-face again with Christopher Sturniolo-your first love. As your paths cross again, the bitterness of how you left him still lingers, fueling every hated glance. But with your best friend dating his brother, you know is there's no escaping Chris- or the tension that refuses to die. Is this revival destined to reignite, or will it crumble under the weight of your unresolved past?

story warning: this story includes very toxic and abusive behavior. none of the actions or words in this series are justified and are written exclusively for entertainment purposes only. under no circumstances are they personally associated with chris other than just using him as the main character. read at your own discretion. now that that is cleared up, there will be filthy smut, angst, swearing, underage drinking, underage drug use, abusive behavior, morally skewed choices, toxic relationships, and overall mature themes. if any of this upsets you... don't read!

word count: 6k

CHAPTER EIGHT:

The next morning, sunlight filtered through your blinds, casting a warm glow over your room. You blinked slowly, your body still heavy with sleep, your mind groggy from the events of the night before.

Nothing really happened.

Chris had followed you upstairs like he owned the place, stripped down to his boxers, and crawled into bed beside you like it was normal. And despite everything -despite all the fighting, the manipulation, the pure toxicity- you had let him.

You had let him wrap an arm around your waist, let him press his body against yours, let him bury his face in the crook of your neck while you lay there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore how right it felt.

You had let him win.

But that was last night. And now-

You shifted slightly, your body stiff from sleeping in the same position for hours. Chris’s arm was still draped over your chest, his grip lazy but there, like even in sleep, he needed to hold onto you.

You carefully peeled his hand off of you, shifting out from under him. He grumbled something in his sleep but didn’t wake, his fingers twitching slightly before curling back into the sheets.

You exhaled, rubbing your face as you slid out of bed, grabbed a hoodie from your chair, and tiptoed out of your room.

You walked downstairs, still feeling the weight of last night pressing into your chest. Your limbs felt heavy, your mind clouded with exhaustion, confusion, and the lingering presence of Chris still in your bed upstairs.

As soon as you stepped into the kitchen, Ava’s eyes flicked up to you. She didn’t say anything at first- just looked at you, scanning your face, your posture, like she was reading you.

Then, she turned to Matt, who was leaning against the counter, sipping from a coffee mug like it was just another normal morning.

“Go upstairs,” she said, her voice calm but firm.

Matt raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “You sure?”

“Go,” Ava repeated, not taking her eyes off you.

Matt exhaled, running a hand through his hair before setting his coffee down and heading toward the stairs. He didn’t argue, didn’t press, just gave you a knowing look before disappearing upstairs.

The second he was gone, Ava crossed her arms, her expression unreadable.

“So,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

You sighed, rubbing a hand down your face as you leaned against the counter, trying to gather your thoughts. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Ava’s expression didn’t change. She just raised an eyebrow, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Really?” she said flatly. “Because it seems like it’s worse behind closed doors, judging by the fact that you think yesterday was tame.”

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Ava, come on. It wasn’t-”

“Wasn’t what, Y/N?” she snapped, taking a step closer. “Wasn’t insane? Wasn’t toxic as fuck? Wasn’t one of the worst things I’ve ever fucking witnessed? And I’m just gonna pretend like I didn’t see the bandage on his knuckles and pretend it’s not exactly what I think it is.”

“No. It’s not. I promise.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “It wasn’t like that.”

Ava scoffed, shaking her head right back at you. “It wasn’t like that?” she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief. “So, what, I just imagined Chris dragging you out of the fucking apartment and pulling out of the lot like a fucking lunatic? And let me guess, I hallucinated the fact that you chose him over Matt when he grabbed you last night?”

You clenched your jaw. “I didn’t choose him.”

“You did, Y/N,” Ava said, her voice sharper now, her hands gesturing wildly. “You fucking did. He had his hands on you, and Matt hit him, and you- ” She let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “You ran to Chris.”

You swallowed hard, your chest aching under the weight of her words. “I was shocked-”

“No, you weren’t,” Ava cut in, her voice almost pained now. “You were conditioned.”

Your breath hitched. “That’s not-”

“That’s exactly what it is,” she snapped. “You’re standing here, right now, trying to fucking justify him, trying to explain him. And you don’t even realize how fucked up that is.”

“I’m not justifying him,” you shot back, your voice rising. “I’m just trying to explain-”

“Explain what?!” Ava yelled, throwing her arms up. “That he has some redeeming qualities? That you see something in him? That maybe he’s just damaged or complicated or not as bad as people think?”

You blinked at her, your throat closing up.

She shook her head, taking another step forward. “Because I don’t give a fuck, Y/N. I don’t care what version of him you think you see. I don’t care what he was in high school or what he says when you’re alone. I don’t care how good he makes you feel sometimes-”

You flinched.

Ava caught it.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Because that’s what he’s doing, right?” she said, her voice quieter now, almost dangerous. “He gets you high, and then he rips you apart. And you just keep coming back.”

You turned your face away, your stomach twisting violently.

Ava exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I love you, Y/N,” she said, her voice raw. “But I’m not gonna stand here and watch you let that piece of shit sink his claws into you.”

Your hands clenched at your sides, your nails digging into your palms. “You don’t understand-”

“I understand perfectly,” Ava said, cutting you off again. “I understand that he knows exactly what he’s doing. I understand that he’s testing you, breaking you down so he can build you back up the way he wants.”

Your stomach churned, your chest feeling tight, suffocating.

Ava stepped back, exhaling as she looked at you, her face unreadable now. “And as much as it sucks, I understand that you’re gonna have to figure that out for yourself.”

You blinked, your throat tightening as she turned away from you, her jaw set, her body tense.

You took a deep breath, your chest still tight from the weight of her words, from the truth she was throwing at you like knives. But you couldn’t let this spiral out of control. You had to make her understand- at least a little.

“Ava,” you said, your voice softer now, less defensive. “This is just how we are.”

Ava scoffed, shaking her head. “That’s not how you were in high school.”

“Exactly.” You took a step closer, trying to find the right words. “We’re not in high school anymore. Things are different now. We’re different now.”

Ava’s jaw clenched, her arms still crossed tight over her chest.

“This is just… how it’s been the past couple of months,” you continued, carefully, making sure your tone didn’t waver. “And I promise you- it’s not as bad as it looks. I swear to you. We just… are like this.”

Ava’s eyes narrowed, but you could tell she was listening.

You swallowed hard, pressing your luck. “He’s still hurt about what I did in high school.”

At that, Ava’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God,” she said, exasperated. “There’s no way he’s still caught up on that.”

You bit your lip, shifting under her stare. “I mean… it’s not crazy, right? I just left, Ava. I didn’t even say goodbye. I can’t blame him for holding onto it.”

Ava ran a hand through her hair, letting out a deep, exhausted sigh. “I love Chris,” she said, her voice firm. “He’s my boyfriend’s brother, and if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have met Matt. But Y/N-”

She turned to face you fully, her expression serious.

“If you ever, even for a second, hesitate to say something to him or do something because you’re scared of how he’ll react-” she took a deep breath, her eyes locking onto yours, “-that’s abuse. That’s manipulation.”

Your stomach flipped.

Ava stepped closer, lowering her voice slightly. “And I know because I grew up with it. My parents were the same way. The push and pull. The highs and lows. The feeling like you can’t leave because this time he means it. This time he’s gonna change.”

Your throat felt like it was closing.

“That’s how I recognized it so fast,” she murmured, her gaze searching yours. “Because I’ve seen it before. And it fucking terrifies me to see that in you and him.”

You clenched your jaw, your body screaming at you to say something, to argue, to deny it-

But you couldn’t. Because, for the first time, you weren’t sure if she was wrong.

Ava exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair before glancing toward the stairs. “I’m gonna talk to Chris.”

Your stomach tightened. “Ava-”

“Not threatening,” she cut in, already walking toward the steps. “Just talking.” She turned back to you, her eyes steady. “Is he up in your room?”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah.”

Ava didn’t say anything else. She just turned and made her way upstairs, her footsteps disappearing into the hallway as Matt descended down the stairs and sat next you to, throwing on a random show.

About an hour later, you were still sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV, your mind too cluttered to focus on whatever was playing.

Then, the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs pulled you from your daze. Ava emerged from the hallway, her expression unreadable as she walked into the kitchen. She didn’t even look at you at first- just grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and took a slow sip before turning to Matt.

“Take him home,” she said simply, her voice steady, firm.

Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair before standing. “You sure?”

Ava shot him a look, her jaw set. “Yes.”

Matt didn’t argue. He just nodded, stretching his arms before heading upstairs. You could hear some muffled conversation- Matt probably waking Chris up, telling him to get his ass up- but you didn’t move. You just sat there, your fingers tangled in the fabric of your hoodie, waiting.

Eventually, the front door opened, then closed, and the apartment fell silent.

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your hands over your face before looking at Ava. “What did you say to him?”

Ava didn’t answer right away. She just leaned against the counter, arms crossed, looking at you like she was thinking about it. Then, finally, she sighed.

“I told him he needs to stop.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

“And,” she continued, her voice a little sharper now, “that I know the kind of people both of you are. And yeah, you love each other, and yeah, you hurt each other, but if you do love each other, you need to figure out how to work through that shit. Together. Because if either of you think for one second that I’m gonna sit back and watch you two kill each other the way you’re going right now?” She shook her head, her eyes dark. “You’re fucking wrong. I will make sure you two crash and burn from my wrath before you do it to each other.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sheer weight of her words.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple. “I told him he’s better than this. That he knows you didn’t mean it like that when you left in high school. And I told him that if he ever- ” she paused, looking at you carefully, “-if he ever puts his hands on you again like that, I will make sure he regrets it.”

Your throat tightened, something heavy settling in your chest. You weren’t sure what you had expected her to say, but this- this was different. She wasn’t just mad at Chris. She was disappointed. She was looking at the both of you and seeing what you refused to.

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. “What did he say?”

Ava’s lips pressed into a tight line. “He didn’t say shit. Just sat there and listened.”

You frowned, shifting slightly. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she confirmed. “Because for once in his fucking life, he needed to hear it.”

Your head fell back against the couch, your mind racing.

Chris had listened.

Not argued. Not fought back.

He had listened.

And that? That scared you more than anything.

Ava cleared her throat and got more comfortable on the couch next to you, exhaling dramatically as she stretched her legs out and moved on to the next topic of conversation. “Okay, so you know how the boys have been blowing up on YouTube lately?” she said, shaking her head. “Like, they’re already at 40k followers, and I’ve gained, like, 5,000 followers in the past week and a half just from being tagged in their shit.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Yeah, it’s overwhelming. Crazy, honestly. They’re actually getting famous.”

“I know,” Ava said, wide-eyed. “And at first, I was like, ‘oh, cute, Matt and the boys are getting attention, whatever.’” She sat up straighter, looking at you seriously. “But then, earlier today, Matt and I were going through his Instagram reels, just scrolling, and a notification popped up- a DM request.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, scoffing. “It was from some random bitch saying, and I quote, ‘Hey baby, saw you and wanted a taste of that. Why don’t you pull up and get some?’”

Your mouth fell open. “You’re fucking lying.”

“I wish I was,” Ava groaned, running a hand through her hair. “I looked at him like, ‘who the fuck is that?’ and you know what Matt said?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Lemme guess- ‘I don’t know.’”

Ava pointed at you. “Exactly!” She threw her hands up. “And of course, I freaked out-”

You smirked, cutting her off. “Oh yeah, I’m sure you handled that super well.”

“Oh, amazing,” Ava said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “And obviously, I unlocked his phone right then and there, and I went through all his DMs.”

You snorted. “Of course you did.”

“And let me tell you, Y/N,” she said, leaning in. “There were so many bitches. So many desperate, thirsty, slutty whores in his messages just dying for a chance to breathe the same air as him. It was sickening.”

You let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I know Matt’s heart is mine,” Ava continued, her eyes narrowing. “I know he wouldn’t even turn his head for one of those HOOKERS, but still. It makes me so fucking mad seeing other people thirsting over what isn’t theirs. Like, am I crazy for that?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Good, because I was starting to feel insane. Like, am I delusional for getting mad over something that isn’t even his fault?”

“No, because I literally just went through something similar,” you admitted, shifting on the couch. “Me and Chris were driving the other day-”

Ava’s head snapped toward you so fast you thought she’d give herself whiplash. “The other day?” she repeated, her voice flat. “As in yesterday?”

You hesitated. “…Yeah.”

She scoffed, her jaw tightening, but she just cleared her throat and motioned for you to continue.

“Anyway,” you said, shifting uncomfortably, “we were driving, and I went on his phone -actually, to block your location for you, ironically enough- and I saw the amount of whores in his comments, DMs, and messages, and it was fucking sickening.”

Ava exhaled sharply. “I bet.”

“No, like, you don’t understand,” you said, shaking your head. “And you know what the worst part was?”

Ava narrowed her eyes, leaning in slightly. “Oh God, I can’t even imagine- but knowing him now?” She paused, letting out a small laugh. “Actually, I can.”

“Yeah, well, whatever you’re thinking, multiply it by ten,” you muttered. “He was sending the most rancid, vulgar, disgusting messages and pictures and voice memos- just entertaining these women, fully indulging them. And half of them were fans.”

Ava’s mouth dropped open. “That is so fucking sick.”

“Right?” you said, throwing your hands up. “And you know what pisses me off the most?”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“The fact that he literally dragged me out of a fucking party just because I kissed another guy and he thinks it’s ok to act like that… like what?”

Ava let out the loudest scoff. “EXACTLY!” She gestured wildly, her expression pure disbelief. “So he gets to act like your body is his property but he’s out here entertaining every single bitch who throws herself at him? The audacity!”

You flailed your arms, your frustration boiling over. “WHAT GIVES HIM THE RIGHT?!”

“He’s a man,” Ava deadpanned. “And he’s a whore.”

You let out a frustrated groan, falling back against the couch. “It’s so fucking unfair.”

Ava nodded, pursing her lips. “It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting. But, like, also… what kind of girls are we talking about? Are they even cute?”

You scoffed. “No, that’s the craziest part! Like, it’s not even like they’re hot! It’s just thirsty, desperate, ugly bitches trying so hard.”

Ava laughed, shaking her head. “Oh my God, that makes it even worse.”

“I know!” you groaned. “Like, at least if I’m getting cheated on, let it be by someone who makes sense!”

Ava rolled her eyes. “He’s so fucking typical. Like, of course, he’s the kind of guy to let his ego get stroked by some nobodies in his DMs. They’re probably like, ‘oh my God, Chris, I love your videos, please step on me,’ and he’s eating that shit up.”

You let out a laugh, despite yourself. “Exactly!”

Ava leaned back, sipping from her water bottle. “You need to start cheating back.”

You snorted. “I literally haven’t even been dating him. We just like sleep together, I guess.”

Ava’s eyes lit up. “Sex. Details. Now.”

Later that night you were curled up on the couch with Ava and Matt, a casual movie playing in the background while the three of you sipped on drinks. It was one of those rare, normal nights- one where things felt easy, where you weren’t caught up in the constant whirlwind that had become your life with Chris.

That was, until your phone buzzed in your lap.

You glanced down and saw his name on your screen.

chris: wyd baby

You stared at it for a second, your stomach doing something- whether it was irritation or excitement, you weren’t sure.

You nudged Ava with your elbow, tilting your screen toward her. She barely glanced at it before rolling her eyes and taking another sip of her drink. “Of course,” she muttered.

You hesitated, biting your lip. “…Can I invite him over?”

Ava sighed, setting her drink down before looking at you properly. “Fine,” she said, but then she pointed at you. “Tell him this is his redemption arc.”

You smirked, typing out exactly that.

you: Ava said this is your redemption arc. Don’t fuck it up.

Chris responded almost immediately.

chris: lol ok baby, need me to pick anything up on the way?

You turned to Ava, holding your phone out to her. “You answer.”

Ava’s lips curled into a smirk as she snatched your phone and started typing. You leaned over, watching as she wrote:

you: Yeah. Bring an apology, some humility, and a six-pack.

You snorted as she handed the phone back to you. A second later, Chris responded.

chris: well hi ava. idk about the first two but I got you on the beer ;)

You shook your head, locking your phone and exhaling. “He’s on his way.”

Ava just hummed, picking up her drink again. “Let’s see if he can actually behave himself.”

Matt just chuckled. “Doubt it.”

About forty minutes later, a knock sounded at the door.

You stood up, smoothing your oversized sweats and his red boxers poking through the top -the exact ones Chris had definitely left in your room a few weeks ago- and padded over to open it.

Chris stood there, wearing that outfit. The one he knew you loved. Hood up, vest layered over, camo pants slung low on his hips, and those ridiculous puffy ass moon boots. He looked good, and he knew it.

His eyes scanned you as soon as you pulled the door open.

And then, without a single greeting, he reached out and ran his hands over your body, his fingers skating along your waist, dipping slightly under the hem of your cropped tank top. “You look so good baby,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly.

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach flipped. “Thanks.”

His fingers toyed with the waistband of your boxers, smirking when he tugged them slightly. “Are these… my boxers? And my sweatpants?”

You smirked, not giving him an answer. “Did you bring the beer?”

Chris clicked his tongue, his hands still resting on your hips. “Of course. But I think I deserve an answer first.”

“You deserve nothing,” you shot back, taking the six-pack from his other hand and stepping aside to let him in.

He chuckled, stepping past you, his fingers lingering against your hip as he did. “We’ll see about that.”

Matt stood up from the couch, a knowing smirk on his face as he walked over. “Look who decided to show his humble ass up,” he said, holding out a hand.

Chris just laughed, shaking his head before dapping Matt up. “You already know, man.”

Matt clapped a hand on his shoulder before stepping back, watching as Chris turned to Ava.

Chris sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Ava, I was a dick to her.” He gestures to you. “I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

Ava, still sitting on the couch, crossed her arms and stared at him. She didn’t say anything, just let the silence drag out long enough that even you felt awkward.

Chris, to his credit, didn’t back down. He held her gaze, his expression unusually genuine. “Seriously.”

Ava exhaled sharply, then finally stood up, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him in a very slow, very reluctant hug.

Chris hugged her back immediately, squeezing her slightly before she could even think about pulling away.

She sighed against his shoulder. “Get me a beer.”

Chris laughed, pulling back with a smirk. “Yes, ma’am.”

Matt snickered, already grabbing one out of the six-pack as Chris flopped onto the couch like he lived there.

“You’re still on thin ice, though,” Ava added, cracking the can open. “So don’t get too comfortable.”

Chris just grinned, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. “Oh, I never get comfortable around you, Ava.”

Ava took a sip of her beer, nodding. “Good.”

You rolled your eyes, sitting back down next to him. “You deserve it.”

Chris smirked, turning his head slightly to look at you. “I deserve a lot of things, baby.”

You scoffed. “Not from me.”

“Not yet,” he corrected, leaning in slightly, just enough that his breath brushed your ear. “But I’ll earn it.”

Ava groaned. “Oh my God, get a fucking room.”

Chris just smirked, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “Nah, I like it here.”

“So,” Ava started, glancing at you before turning to Matt. “We actually did something productive today.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “That’s shocking.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging Ava. “Tell him.”

Ava smirked, sitting up straighter. “We applied for some last-minute college scholarships for the fall.”

Matt blinked, his eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, what?”

You shrugged. “There was an extension deadline for students who took gap years or deferred their acceptances. Apparently, some schools keep applications open for select scholarships in August for people who are late as hell like us.”

Matt grinned, his eyes lighting up. “No way.”

Ava beamed. “Way.”

Matt reached over and pulled her into a tight hug, squeezing her so hard she squealed. “I knew my girl was a genius,” he said proudly, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “And you,” he said, pointing at you. “I told you this would be the year you got your shit together.”

You scoffed, taking a sip of your drink. “Relax, we just applied. It’s not like we got accepted yet.”

“You will,” Matt said firmly. “And even if you don’t, I’m proud of you for even trying.”

Chris, however, hadn’t said a word.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way his jaw was slightly clenched, his fingers tapping absentmindedly against the back of the couch. His eyes were on you, intense in a way that made your stomach tighten.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Chris tilted his head slightly. “Where?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Where are you applying?” he clarified, his voice calm, but there was something off about it.

You exchanged a glance with Ava before answering. “A couple schools around here, obviously,” you said. “But, like… we also sent some apps out of state. Just to see.”

Chris’s fingers stopped tapping.

Matt nodded approvingly. “That’s smart.”

Chris’s eyes didn’t leave yours. “Would you still live here?”

You hesitated. “I mean… it depends.”

Chris frowned. “Depends on what?”

Ava huffed. “On where we get in, duh.”

Chris ignored her. “So you don’t know where you’ll be in a month?”

You exhaled, setting your drink down. “Chris, it’s not that deep.”

He just stared at you for a second, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Then, in a voice that was a little too casual, he muttered, “I don’t like it.”

Ava let out a dramatic groan, throwing her head back. “Oh my God, Christopher.”

Chris ignored her, leaning in closer to you. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

You scoffed. “Because it’s my life?”

Chris’s tongue swiped over his bottom lip, his jaw tensing slightly. “And if you leave?”

You raised an eyebrow. “If I leave, then I leave.”

Chris’s hand twitched, like he wanted to grab you, like he needed you to stay still, but he didn’t move.

Matt let out a breath, clearly trying to keep the mood from shifting. “Bro, they’re not shipping off tomorrow. They’re just applying.”

Chris ignored him, his eyes still locked onto yours. “Are you gonna go?”

You swallowed. “I don’t know yet.”

Chris exhaled, leaning back slightly, but his fingers curled against the couch like he was restraining himself.

Ava rolled her eyes. “Dude, relax.”

Chris didn’t answer.

He just looked at you, really looked at you, and you could tell this was not a conversation that was over.

Chris didn’t say much after that, but his body language spoke volumes.

One second, you were sitting next to him, and the next, he was pulling you onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arms wrapped securely around your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your tank, his fingers warm on your waist.

You gave him a look, raising an eyebrow, but he just smirked, chin resting against your shoulder like he belonged there. “What?” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. “You were getting too far.”

Ava was already deep in her rant, gesturing wildly with her beer in hand while Matt listened with way too much enthusiasm.

“So you know Sav, right?” Ava started, her voice already filled with rage.

You smirked. “Oh, this is about to be good.”

Matt leaned forward, already annoyed. “Wait- Sav as in your Sav?”

Ava groaned. “Not my Sav anymore.”

Chris chuckled against your shoulder, his fingers moving just slightly further up.

Ava sighed dramatically. “So tell me why this bitch keeps trying to get with Gabe?”

You blinked. “Gabe? As in, your ex?”

Ava nodded aggressively. “YES. My ex. The one I broke up with sophomore year before Matt who I dated through all of middle school. The one she swore up and down was ‘so gross’ and ‘not even cute.’ The one she literally helped me get over?”

Matt’s jaw dropped. “Oh, that’s so dirty.”

Chris hummed, his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear as he replied to Ava. “You gonna let that slide?”

She huffed, taking another sip of her drink. “I wasn’t gonna say shit, but then I saw the messages.”

You gasped. “Wait, she actually texted him?”

Ava whipped her phone out, scrolling furiously. “Hold on, I screenshotted it because I knew you’d need proof.”

“I love receipts.” Matt scooted closer to her, their faces cheek to cheek as Ava scrolled through her camera roll to find the photos.

She held the screen out, and sure enough- paragraphs of desperate texts from Sav filled the screen.

sav: gabe, I know this is probably weird, but like… I feel like we never really got to know each other the way we should’ve. And I know you were Ava’s but like… people move on, right? It’s been four years.

You gagged. “NOT ‘you were Ava’s’….”

Matt winced. “Yeah that’s fucked.”

Ava nodded furiously. “RIGHT? Like, ‘you were Ava’s’??? Like I’m fucking dead?!”

Chris just laughed, his hand tightening around your waist. You felt his fingertips brush your bare stomach, and you had to force yourself not to react.

Matt shook his head. “Didn’t you tell me she said he was built like a divorced middle school gym teacher? And now she wants him?”

Ava snorted, shaking her head. “Right? Like, at least stick to the hate.”

Chris hummed. “So what’d he say?”

Ava grinned. “Oh, he dubbed the shit out of her.”

She scrolled and showed the next message.

Gabe: LMAO nah I’m good

Chris wheezed into your shoulder.

Matt laughed. “Damn right.”

You clutched Ava’s arm. “Oh my God, you won.”

Ava beamed, taking another sip. “I know. But wait, it gets better.”

Matt’s eyes lit up. Ava nodded, flipping to another screenshot.

Sav: Why are you acting like this? You were never even in love with Ava.

Your mouth dropped open. “SHE SAID THAT?!”

Matt sat up. “Put it on god-”

Ava grinned, showing the next message.

Gabe: Well I wasn’t in love with you either. Now get out my phone.

Chris howled, his grip tightening on you as he laughed.

Matt fell back onto the couch. “Oh my god. I have second hand embarrassment.”

You gasped for air. “She’s never coming back from that.”

Ava smirked. “She better not.”

Chris finally spoke, his voice low against your ear. “If you ever humiliate yourself like that over a guy, I’ll put you down myself.”

You rolled your eyes. “As if I’d ever be that desperate.”

Chris’s fingers trailed even lower, his touch deliberate, teasing the waistband of your sweats. “Mhmm,” he teased. “Only for me, right?”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “What the fuck is going on over there?”

Chris just smirked, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Nothing. Just enjoying the story.”

Matt snorted. “You’re fucking stupid.”

Ava sighed dramatically, finishing her drink. “You know what? I need another beer before I send this bitch a personalized message telling her to never look in my direction again.”

Matt grinned. “And that is why I’m in love with you.”

Chris smirked against your shoulder. “Same.”

You froze for half a second, but before you could even process it, he just leaned back again, grinning like he hadn’t said a damn thing.

You took a long sip of your drink, exhaling before setting it down with a thud. “Okay, but if we’re on the topic of delusional bitches, I need to tell you about Sophie.”

Ava groaned immediately. “Oh God, what now?”

Matt started, grinning. “Wait, is this the one that-?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, rolling your eyes. “The one who swore up and down that I was fat-shaming her because I said we weren’t the same size.”

Chris snorted, his grip tightening around your waist. “What?”

Ava cackled. “Oh my God, yes. You literally just told her your jeans probably wouldn’t fit her, which is just a fact.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up. “She asked to borrow your jeans?”

You nodded. “Yes! And I nicely said, ‘Oh, I don’t think they’d fit, sorry,’ because, like… they wouldn’t.”

Ava gasped dramatically. “HOW DARE YOU.”

Chris was grinning, shaking his head. “Nah, that’s insane.”

Matt let out a low whistle. “Did she just expect them to fit?”

You threw your hands up. “I guess? I don’t know, but she went around telling everyone that I was a horrible bitch and making fun of her body when I literally just stated the obvious.”

Chris smirked. “Maybe she should try hitting the gym. Then she’d fit into your jeans and stop running her mouth.”

Matt howled with laughter, clapping his hands together. “Nah, that’s so bad-”

“But so true,” Ava added, sipping her drink.

Chris just shrugged, running his hands along your waist again, fingers pressing into your sides. “I mean, if she’s that mad, she could just go buy her own jeans instead of trying to force herself into yours.”

Matt was fully invested now. He always was. The way he got into gossip with you and Ava was so funny. He had been dating Ava for four years, of course he was going to gossip.

“What did she think was gonna happen? Was she just gonna hope for the best?” Matt asked.

Ava rolled her eyes. “She probably thought it was gonna be some kind of Cinderella moment, like the denim would just magically expand to fit her.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I swear, some people just look for reasons to be offended.”

Ava clinked her drink against yours. “And that is why we talk shit.”

Chris chuckled, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “See, this is why I like sitting in on these little gossip sessions. Quality entertainment.”

Matt smirked. “Right?.”

Chris grinned. “No matt, you’re one of them too.”

Ava laughed and leaned over to kiss him. “That’s why I love you, Matty.”

Chris’s grip on your waist tightened as he leaned in, his voice nothing but a low murmur against your ear.

“You know,” he whispered, his fingers tracing slow circles against your skin. “You talking like this… all worked up, all mean and shit… really fucking turns me on.”

You smirked, finally turning your head slightly to look at him. “Oh, does it?” you mused, your tone saccharine, teasing. “Should I start talking down to you then? You want me to degrade you, Christopher?”

Chris’s eyes darkened, his smirk widening as his fingers dipped just under the waistband of your boxers.

“Ohhh,” you drawled, your voice dripping with amusement as you try to ignore him moving fingers. “So that’s what you want? You could’ve just asked, baby.”

Chris licked his lips, his gaze flickering over your face before he tilted his head slightly. “Nah,” he admitted, his voice still low. “I just love the fight.”

Your stomach flipped, but you kept your expression neutral. “Yeah?”

Chris nodded slowly, his fingers still teasing against your skin. “Every time you yell at me, it turns me on,” he murmured, his voice almost thoughtful. “Every time I see you angry, it turns me on.”

Your breath hitched, but Chris just grinned, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Makes me wanna start a fight with you,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower, “just to fuck the fight out of you.”

You inhaled sharply, your thighs clenching instinctively, but you recovered fast.

You tilted your head, giving him an innocent look. “Oh, so you admit it then?” you teased, your lips curling. “You like pissing me off.”

Chris smirked, his fingers dragging over your waistline again. “Nah, I love it.”

You hummed, pretending to consider it. “Well, good to know,” you murmured, shifting just slightly in his lap, feeling the way his fingers tightened against you.

Chris exhaled sharply, his grip locking you in place. “You keep moving like that, and I’m gonna ruin you right here, baby.”

You smirked. “Oh, really?”

Chris nodded, his lips barely an inch from yours. “Mmm. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You tilted your head, dragging a single finger down his chest. “I don’t know,” you mused. “You talk such a big game, Christopher. But you never do anything about it.”

Chris’s smirk widened. “Careful, baby. You’re gonna manifest something you can’t handle. Remember last time?”

“No, actually I don’t. Didn’t make it memorable enough I suppose.” You grinned, dragging your fingers up his neck, over his jaw. “Then prove it.”

Chris inhaled sharply, his fingers digging into your waist.

But before he could say anything else, Ava’s voice snapped through the moment.

“What the fuck are you two whispering about?”

Chris just grinned, leaning back against the couch like nothing happened. “Just a little healthy debate.”

Ava squinted. “I don’t believe you.”

Chris stretched dramatically, his fingers pressing firmly into your waist as he sighed. “Well,” he said, glancing at the time on his phone. “It’s late.”

Ava squinted. “It’s literally not.”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, it’s barely midnight.”

Chris ignored them, tightening his grip on you. “We should probably head to bed, huh baby?”

You blinked, caught slightly off guard, but Chris was already standing up, pulling you up with him, keeping you pressed against him.

Ava smirked immediately. “Ohhh, is that right?”

Matt grinned, sipping his drink. “Hate to see ‘em go, love to watch ‘em leave.”

Ava cackled. “You two are so fucking predictable.”

Chris just grinned, his fingers firm on your hip as he started backing toward the stairs, pulling you along with him. “Jealous?”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Yeah, so jealous of the toxic sex marathon you two are about to have.”

You groaned, shoving at Chris’s chest. “Could you at least be subtle about it?”

Chris laughed, spinning you slightly so that his hand rested against the small of your back, his other trailing down your arm. “Oh, so now you wanna pretend?”

Ava smirked. “I’ll give them fifteen minutes before something gets broken.”

Matt huffed a laugh, raising his beer. “I’ll give ‘em ten.”

Chris just grinned, leaning down to press a slow, teasing kiss against your jaw before whispering, “Let’s prove them wrong, yeah?”

You rolled your eyes but let him pull you upstairs anyway.

Because, as much as you hated to admit it- Ava and Matt weren’t wrong.

MASTERLIST

tags: @mattsobvimyfav @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @violetstxrniolo777 @urfungi @ixst-Ixving-bxt-wxerd @chrispycremedonut @ranwaOy @princesspinkkk23 @madisonnxtdoor22 @sturniolohohoho @theboredknightcat-blog @hi-people-who-are-alive @middlepartmatt @yomama2224 @jaybirdie34 @sarahbrown234533

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eunseoksimp · 3 months ago

Text

vice — l.dh

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ex boyfriend donghyuck, toxic relationship, manipulation, slight smut towards the end, tension, bad boy hyuck, fboy!hyuck, fem!reader

synopsis: entangled in the slow, suffocating pull of desire, you find yourself crawling back to donghyuck—a man who drags you to the edge just to watch you beg for solid ground. he’s relentless, dripping in sin and satisfaction, the flick of a lighter against gasoline you swore you’d stop playing with. wonbin is the calm that tries to piece you together, but donghyuck is the ruin you ache to return to—the hand gripping your throat, the smirk that cuts deeper than the words he doesn’t need to say. some fires aren’t meant to die out. and donghyuck? he’s the one you never learned to extinguish.

WARNINGS: hyuck being your shitty ex boyfriend, manipulation, toxic relationship, wonbin being too good for both of them, a little bit of smut towards the end, implied infidelity, extremely questionable morals

a/n: writing fics for shitty ex boyfriend hyuck is becoming one of my favourite past times :) if you pull up to my funeral and i'm not creating yet another toxic ex boyfriend hyuck fic, just know i'm really dead. i'm also just ignoring the way my drafts are piling up so enjoy a little bit of brainrot.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

the night was a velvet shroud, cold and oppressive, the kind of darkness that pressed against your skin and settled deep in your bones. the faint hum of streetlights buzzed in the distance, their dim glow doing little to dispel the shadows.

in this suffocating darkness donghyuck stood before you, leaning against the brick wall with all the casual arrogance of someone who knew exactly the effect he had on you. he leaned against the wall like he belonged there—like the bricks beneath his shoulder bent to his will. the angles of his body were deliberate, the kind of practiced ease that came with knowing exactly how to pull attention without asking for it.

the faint scent of smoke clung to him like a second skin, mingling with the sharp winter air, a cruel reminder of the nights you’d spent tangled in his orbit. it drifted from between his fingers, curling lazily into the cold air, and despite yourself, your eyes followed it, as if drawn by muscle memory. you used to breathe him in like it was the only oxygen you needed—and part of you hates how the memory still quickens your pulse.

that scent was something you thought you’d buried—tucked away behind locked doors and half-hearted promises—but it clung to him now, threading through the distance like an echo of the nights you tried too hard to forget.

he exhaled slowly, his breath curling into the frigid air, his lips parted just enough to reveal the faintest hint of a smirk. his eyes, dark and unrelenting, locked onto yours and refused to let go, pinning you in place as if he held you by invisible threads, breath shallow and uneven. there was something infuriating in the way he watched you, like he was waiting for you to crumble, for the hesitation in your eyes to slip past the wall you kept rebuilding.

“let me know when you’re ready to be with a real man again,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, each word slipping past his lips like honey laced with venom.

his tone dripped with the kind of arrogance that should have pushed you away, but instead, it curled around you like the smoke—unshakable, sinking beneath your skin and spreading warmth where there should have been cold. each syllable felt deliberate, like he was speaking directly to the parts of you that you tried to keep hidden, the ones you didn’t want to admit were still his.

the words hit like a dagger, sharp and precise, and you shivered, unsure if it was the piercing cold seeping into your skin or the undeniable weight of his voice that left you trembling. you wrapped your arms around yourself, a futile attempt to hold yourself together under the intensity of his gaze.

“donghyuck…”

his name slipped from your lips, barely louder than the whisper of wind curling around the corner, fragile and weightless, as if saying it out loud might shatter whatever thin thread of resolve you were clinging to. the rest of the sentence never found its way out, swallowed whole by the quiet tension that stretched between you, thick and palpable, wrapping around your lungs and stealing the air from them.

his eyes stayed locked on yours—steady, sharp, unrelenting—pinning you beneath the weight of his attention, like he was daring you to break the gaze, to crack under the unbearable heat smoldering just beneath the surface. your heart pounded erratically, each beat echoing in your ears like a war drum, and you bit down on your bottom lip, desperate to keep yourself from saying something you couldn’t take back.

but he knew you too well. he always had.

“you know what i mean, princess,” he murmured, and the nickname twisted something in your stomach, his voice softer now but still carrying that unmistakable weight.

a quiet storm, low and distant but impossible to ignore.

he shifted closer—just enough that the space between you barely existed anymore, his breath spilling across your cheek, warm despite the cold pressing in from every direction. it was intentional, the nearness, the way his presence blurred the line between proximity and possession.

“you can’t possibly tell me he makes you feel better than i do.”

his words coiled in the space between you, settling like smoke in your lungs—thick, inescapable, impossible to ignore. they weren’t just a challenge; they were a reminder. a quiet, unshakable truth that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed until you felt it in every breath you tried to take.

the involuntary press of your thighs betrayed you before you could stop it, a flicker of movement so slight it might have been nothing—except donghyuck caught it. his gaze dragged downward for half a second, and when it lifted, the slow curl of his lips deepened into something that felt like victory.

he didn’t say anything. he didn’t have to. the weight of his smirk alone told you he’d already won whatever game you hadn’t realized you were playing. he straightened slightly, his confidence a palpable thing, as if your silence was all the confirmation he needed.

“he does. he treats me better than you do. fucks me better too,” the words tumbled out before you could think twice, thin and tight around the edges, as if saying them fast enough might make them true.

they sounded small, barely more than a breath, and you hated the way they felt coming off your tongue—like a deflection, a distraction that didn’t even convince you.

donghyuck’s eyes didn’t waver. if anything, they darkened with quiet amusement. you weren’t answering the question he had asked, and you both knew it.

“i bet he does,” donghyuck replied, his voice low and dripping with amusement, just enough to drag across your skin, rough in all the right places.

he moved then, slow and deliberate, closing the distance between you one step at a time, the low thud of his boots against the pavement somehow louder than the rush of your pulse.

“bet he lets you pout those pretty little lips of yours and get away with murder.”

his words sent a shiver down your spine, his tone teetering between teasing and something darker, something that made your pulse flutter in a way that infuriated you. the air between you crackled, laced with the kind of tension that felt impossible to break, and you swore you could feel the heat of him, even though he hadn’t touched you.

he leaned in again, his face so close now that you could see the faint glint of mischief in his eyes, your stomach twisting. his gaze dropped to your mouth, lingering just long enough to make you draw in a sharp breath, the slight curl of his smirk as he let his next words land with a weight that left you breathless.

“but i believe brats deserve to be punished,” he said, his voice dipping into a dangerously low hum that settled somewhere in the pit of your stomach, “not rewarded or encouraged.”

the world around you seemed to shrink until there was nothing but him—the scent of smoke, the warmth of his breath, the unshakable pull of his presence. the faint echoes of the party behind you felt distant, muffled, as though you’d stepped out of reality and into something that existed solely between the two of you—a place you thought you’d abandoned long ago.

you opened your mouth to respond, to push back, to regain some semblance of control, but nothing came out, the words dissolving the second they surfaced—fragile and weightless against the wall of silence pressing in around you.

his head tilted, eyes catching the soft glow of the streetlights as they dragged over you with the kind of interest that made your skin prickle. that maddening smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if he was already knew you wouldn’t be able to say no.

and maybe he was right.

the space between you felt electric, the air charged with an unbearable tension that neither of you seemed willing to break. every fiber of your being screamed for you to walk away, to retreat into the safety of the party behind you, into the arms of your sweet and loving boyfriend, but your feet remained rooted to the ground.

donghyuck’s gaze was razor-sharp, slicing through the carefully constructed walls you thought would protect you. there was nothing left to hide behind, nothing left to offer him except the ache blooming in your chest, but more importantly your legs. the one he hadn’t earned the right to pull from you—but did anyway.

“cat got your tongue?” he murmured, his tone laced with mockery, though the rasp of his voice sent a tremor rippling through you. “or is it mine you’re wishing for instead?”

the worst part wasn’t the cockiness laced in every word—it was the way it dragged over your skin, slow and suffocating, settling between your legs before you could stop it. his confidence was maddening, his arrogance almost suffocating, and yet you found yourself drawn to it—drawn to him.

your jaw tightened as you fought the urge to lash out, to respond with something sharp enough to cut through his composure the way he always did to yours. you wanted to say something—anything—to wipe the smirk off his face the way he so effortlessly dismantled you.

but even as you tried to summon the words, your heart betrayed you, its erratic rhythm pounding in your chest like a drum, loud enough that you were sure he could hear it.

“don’t flatter yourself,” you bit out, finally managing to force the words past the knot in your throat.

but your voice cracked at the edges, trembling just enough to betray the war waging inside you.

the smirk tugging at his lips only deepened, his eyes flashing with something dark—satisfaction laced with the kind of hunger that made your stomach twist, your weak protest only emboldening him. he stepped forward without hesitation, closing what little space lingered between you. the tip of his boot brushed against your heel clad feet and the heat radiating from him burned in sharp contrast to the icy air biting at your skin.

you felt yourself sway ever so slightly toward him, like a moth helpless against the pull of a flame.

“i don’t need to flatter myself,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur, rich and dangerous, like a secret that could only exist between the two of you

“not when I can see the way you’re looking at me right now.”

you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat impossible to ignore as his words sank in. the way you were looking at him? you wanted to deny it, to insist he was wrong, but the truth of it burned in your cheeks, your gaze flickering to his lips for a moment too long before darting away.

he caught it. donghyuck always caught it, knew you better than anyone else.

“see?” he said, coaxing he confession from you without demanding a single word. “you don’t even have to say it, princess. your body already told me everything i need to know.”

your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling in shallow pants as you fought to steady yourself, but his words were like a tether, wrapping around your resolve and tugging until it unraveled entirely.

“you’re insufferable,” you hissed, your voice trembling, though whether from anger or something else entirely, you couldn’t say.

“maybe,” he admitted, his smirk returning, though his gaze remained locked on yours, unwavering.

“but you still want me, don’t you?”

the question landed like a blow, and you flinched as though he’d struck a nerve. the answer was too complicated, too tangled in the web of your shared history, the pull of your toxic connection, the undeniable chemistry that neither of you could seem to escape.

donghyuck didn’t give you room to breathe. he leaned in, close enough that the faintest brush of his lips skimmed the shell of your ear, and it felt less like a whisper and more like a claim

“you can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me.”

the warmth of his breath slipped down your neck, pooling low in your stomach as a violent shiver tore through you, traitorous and unrelenting, ripping apart the thin seams holding your resolve together. your fists clenched, nails biting into your palms as you grasped for any anchor, anything to stop the slow, steady unravel that came with the sound of his voice so close.

“i’m not lying,” you managed to say, though even as the words escaped, they hung limp between you, empty and unconvincing.

he chuckled—soft, low, the sound vibrating through your skin like a slow descent into something inevitable.

“hmm,” he hummed, the faintest brush of his fingertips skimmed your waist, light enough to feel accidental, but deliberate in the way it left fire trailing behind.

“then prove it. walk away. right now. go back inside to him.”

the challenge in his voice was unmistakable, a gauntlet thrown at your feet. you hated him for it, hated the way he always knew exactly how to twist the knife just enough to keep you hanging on the edge. but most of all, you hated how much you didn’t want to move. how much you wanted to stay right where you were, caught in the magnetic pull of him, in the tension that buzzed between you like a live wire.

you should have. you should have spun around, shoved him aside, and disappeared back into the warmth of the party, into wonbin’s steady touch, into safety.

donghyuck pulled back just enough to look at you again, his gaze burning with something that felt too intense to name.

“what’s it gonna be, princess?” he asked, his voice soft but insistent, the faintest hint of a smirk still playing at his lips.

the door creaks open with a slow, grating protest, splitting the hush of the night like a sudden crack of thunder. you swear the cold air seems to slither through that gap, brushing over your cheeks and burrowing down to your bones. it’s sharp enough to sting, and for a moment, you feel more awake than you’ve been all night—like your nerves are strung too tight, and every breath tastes like electricity..

wonbin stands in the doorway, bathed in a thin halo of light that spills out from the party behind him. the music inside thrums low, muffled, a heartbeat just out of reach. he looks at you and then at donghyuck, his eyes snagging on the tiny space between your bodies. there’s a flicker in his gaze—part desperate, part wary— betraying the litter of emotions beneath his practiced calm, as though he’s stumbled onto something forbidden, something dangerous, and he’s not sure whether to drag you away or confront the threat head-on.

“you should come inside,” he says, voice taut, every syllable trembling with unspoken emotion. “it’s freezing, and you don’t have a coat.”

donghyuck doesn’t move, doesn’t even acknowledge him at first. he stays exactly where he is. you feel the heat of his presence despite the icy air, and you can almost smell the faint trace of cologne that clings to him, his eyes never leaving yours.

there was no urgency, no guilt, just that lingering smirk curling at the corners of his lips, as though this interruption was nothing more than an inconvenience in a game that donghyuck dominates.

when he finally did turn his head, it was deliberate. slow. a calculated shift, like he was taking his time to let the moment stretch, letting the weight of wonbin’s presence settle over him without bothering to hide his amusement.

“ah,” donghyuck drawled, the mockery in his voice palpable.

“here comes prince charming himself,” each word rolling off his tongue with a casual malice that makes your pulse kick in your throat.

wonbin’s fists clench at his sides, knuckles turning pale in the meager light, but he holds his position, that turbulent mix of hurt, anger, and doubt churning just beneath the surface. you sense the precarious balance in the air—one wrong word and the tension could splinter into something far more destructive.

donghyuck, however, seems to bask in it, a low chuckle escaping his throat, reverberating like a low note struck in a tense lull as he pushes himself off of the wall with a lazy grace that somehow made him seem even more imposing.

“let me guess,” he continued, his tone light but cruel, “you’re here to whisk her away with some sweet little speech, right? something about how it’s too cold for her delicate self to be out here, and how you’ll take such good care of her inside?”

the cold presses in harder, as if summoned by his words. you shiver, unsure if it’s the chill or the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. you think of all the times you told yourself you’d never let donghyuck get this close again, never let him unravel your composure with a single well-placed whisper.

but here you are, breath hitching at every syllable he spits.

“yeah,” donghyuck muses, eyes narrowing as he studies wonbin’s tightening jaw. “you’re that kind of guy, aren’t you?” donghyuck continues, eyes hooded, voice dripping scorn. “the kind who’d offer her his coat and tuck her under his arm like she’s made out of porcelain.”

wonbin’s jaw flexes; you can practically hear the grinding of his teeth. he still doesn’t speak—maybe he’s afraid that once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. there’s a storm brewing in his stare, but donghyuck feeds on that tension, seems to draw strength from his silence.

“stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling. you can’t tell which one of them you’re speaking to, or if the plea is more for yourself. “donghyuck, just stop.”

he ignores you, barely tossing you a glance. instead, he steps closer, gravel crunching beneath his shoes that sound like gunshots in the still air. his gaze locks onto wonbin, piercing and unrelenting, cornering him in a silent dare.

“ how… sweet,” donghyuck said, dragging out the word like it tasted sour in his mouth, like it physically disgusted him. his dark eyes flicked back to wonbin, his gaze piercing.

“but she doesn’t need someone who’ll bow down every time she breathe,” donghyuck says, his voice a low rumble that thrums against your nerves. “she’s not a pretty ornament you lock in a glass case.”

“she doesn’t want to be treated like she’s fragile. she likes it rough and needs someone who can handle her attitude and put her in her place.”

“shut. up.” wonbin’s voice cracks at the edges as his composure slips, the fury in his eyes trembling on the brink of explosion, something he doesn’t quite know how to unleash. you glance at him—see his fists trembling at his sides, see the heartbreak etched into the tight line of his mouth. he’s desperate to be your shield, but it’s like watching someone hold up a thin sheet of paper against a raging inferno.

donghyuck arches an eyebrow, the corner of his lips curving into a slow, lethal smile. “see that?” he murmurs, almost reverent. “there’s a spark in you, boy scout. but it’s not enough to keep her warm.”

there’s a silence that nearly screams between them. it pounds against your eardrums, your heart thrashing in your chest. the wind whips around you, and you inhale the sharp scent of frost and regret. you wish someone would break the stalemate—wish you’d find the strength to walk away, or that wonbin would finally challenge donghyuck with more than just trembling fists.

donghyuck, though, shows no sign of easing the tension. you can almost feel his smugness radiating, like a dark cloud gathering above him, ready to split the sky with lightning at any moment.

“but let’s be honest. even if you tried, what could you really do? you think standing there with your fists clenched makes you a man? because from where I’m standing, it just makes you look pathetic,” he lets the words drag, taunting him.

“donghyuck, that’s enough,” you said, your voice stronger this time, stepping between them, your pulse hammering so hard you feel it in your fingertips.

but he wasn’t finished, not yet. his eyes narrowed—dangerously, mockingly—as he addresses you now, voice dropping to a near-whisper that still somehow drags across your nerves like a velvet blade

“tell me something. when’s the last time prince charming here made your heart pound so hard it felt like you were floating? when’s the last time a single look made you forget how to breathe?”

your stomach twisted at his words, heat rising in your cheeks as you felt wonbin’s gaze also shift to you, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. there was no accusation in his eyes—only quiet, painful doubt. the kind that asked a question he wasn’t ready to hear the answer to.

“you don’t have to answer,” donghyuck intercepted the moment between you two, his smirk widening as he stepped back, arrogance dripping from every syllable.

“i already know.”

the silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint crackle of the music drifting from inside. you’re trapped between the raw hurt in wonbin’s eyes and the magnetic pull of donghyuck’s presence, an invisible chain that keeps dragging you back even when you know you should run.

but donghyuck was right—he wouldn’t do anything. couldn’t do anything.

“let’s go,” wonbin says at last, voice raw and trembling like a frayed guitar string. his hand is outstretched, and you notice the slight tremor in his fingertips, a fragile quiver that betrays his careful calm.

your body shifted, legs moving before your mind could catch up. but even as you stepped toward wonbin, the weight of donghyuck’s words lingered, a dark and inescapable shadow that refused to let you go. they pressed into you like a brand—hot and unforgiving, refusing to loosen its hold.

you’re greeted by a wall of humid air, thick with sweat, spilled alcohol, and the pulsing beat of bass-heavy music. the room seems to close in around you, every body too hot, every breath too shallow, but you can’t shake the chill that’s settled in your bones. wonbin didn’t stop, threading through the crowd with a gentle insistence, guiding you around stumbling dancers and half-shouted conversations. it’s the same tenderness he’s shown you a hundred times before—quiet, thoughtful, almost too soft.

he mutters a few rushed goodnights without turning around, his fingers circling your wrist in a way that feels protective. almost desperately so, like if he can just get you far enough away, maybe he can erase the echoes of donghyuck’s voice and wipe the smirk off his face that’s burned into your mind. but as you pass through the throng of people, your gaze drifts—seeking out the one person you shouldn’t look for.

and there he is, exactly where you feared he’d be: donghyuck, half in shadow, leaning against a wall with that insufferable grin painted across his face, you feel the press of his gaze like a hand on your throat—lazy, confident, and infuriatingly assured of his own power. he watches as wonbin pulled you through the crowd like some fragile thing he had to protect, like you were made of glass that might shatter if he wasn’t careful.

his gaze lingered, sharp and heavy with amusement, as if he’d already won—and you hated how right he looked.

the door that wonbin held open for you clicked shut behind you, sealing the two of you in the hushed quiet of his car, but the silence felt different this time—weighted, thick, like the space between you was holding its breath, like it’s brimming with all the things neither of you will say.

despite the crackling tension, wonbin says nothing about what happened out there. no demand to know why donghyuck was so close or what was said. no fists tightened in fury. no voice raised in accusation, not even a flicker of anger in his gaze.

instead, as the traffic lights bleed from green to red, he risks a glance at you with a faint smile, his eyes soft with concern.

“are you cold?” he asked, his voice gentle, almost tender. without waiting for a response, he shrugged off his jacket with one hand, his movements practiced and precise.

“here,” he said, draping it over your shoulders, the fabric warm and soft from his body heat. “you didn’t bring one, and i don’t want you catching a cold angel.”

you tugged the jacket tighter around you, more out of politeness than need unable to bring yourself to meet his eyes as you murmur a quiet “thanks.”

wonbin’s hands drifted to for the temperature controls next, turning the dial a fraction warmer, evidence of how he’s always trying to make you feel comfortable.

“is that okay?” he asked, his voice full of concern. “too hot? too cold?”

“it’s fine,” you repeated, your voice strained as you fixed your eyes on the blurred city lights streaking past the window. but it wasn’t fine. none of it was.

you bit the inside of your cheek as the words donghyuck had whispered to you echoed in your mind, taunting you. “she doesn’t want perfect… she wants someone who knows how to handle her.”

it stings because a piece of you hates that there’s some truth buried there—hates the way it sparks heat low in your belly, a throbbing reminder of how messed up your own desires might be. you hated that it was sticking with you, hated that it was affecting you at all, but then you looked at wonbin—his hands gripping the wheel at ten and two, his brow furrowed ever so slightly as he focused on the road, his expression calm and composed—and something inside you cracked.

why wasn’t he angry? why wasn’t he gripping the wheel so tightly it creaked under his fingers, his jaw clenched in a barely contained rage as he demanded to know what donghyuck had said to you? why wasn’t he jealous? why wasn’t he fighting for you?

instead, he kept fussing over you, like his kindness would be enough to erase the memory of donghyuck’s words seared into your skin. but softness wasn’t enough to erase the fingerprints donghyuck had left behind. his entire presence radiating the kind of quiet, unwavering stability that should have been enough to ease the ache in your chest, but it didn’t.

“you sure you’re okay?” wonbin asked again, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he observed the way your body language had changed.

you let out a slow sigh, the weight of it pressing against your chest, feeling guilty that your own boyfriend was starting to annoy you.

“i’m fine,” you lied, though the word felt sour on your tongue, the word hollow before it even left your mouth.

wonbin gave you a small, reassuring smile, the kind of smile that should have melted your heart but only made it ache instead. he reached over briefly, his hand brushing against your knee before retreating to the wheel.

“we’ll be home soon. you can rest, okay?”

you stared at him, at the way he was always so thoughtful, so careful, so safe. it should have been enough—it was enough, wasn’t it? but even as you tried to convince yourself, you could feel the memory of donghyuck burning in the back of your mind, his smirk sharp and knowing, his words a dagger that had struck far deeper than you wanted to admit.

“he’s sweet. nice. safe. but when’s the last time he made your heart race?”

you swallowed hard and shifted in your seat, as if the tension pooling between your thighs could somehow be willed away—pressed down, buried beneath the weight of your own restraint. but it didn’t fade. it lingered, heavy and uncomfortable, the ghost of donghyuck’s voice tracing patterns beneath your skin.

the rest of the drive passed in strained silence, wonbin humming softly under his breath as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t just witnessed you standing too close to your ex, caught in a moment too intimate to explain away. he didn’t ask. he didn’t accuse. he didn’t even bring it up.

and that, more than anything, left you hollow.

the silence that stretched between you and wonbin didn’t just remind you of what was missing, it screamed it. it forced you to remember the way donghyuck’s jealousy never lingered quietly in the background. how he tore into you the night he caught you wrapped up in what he called a “more than friendly embrace” with a male friend.

his hands had been on you before you could even explain, his grip bruising, his breath hot against your skin as he pinned you down. he didn’t stop until you were boneless beneath him—your thighs quivering, skin flushed and damp, the weight of his possessive grip lingering long after the heat between you had faded.

he fucked you like he had something to prove, his hips snapping against yours with a force that left you breathless and trembling, jolting forwards with each thrust. your head bucked against the pillows, your neck arched back in a desperate plea for freedom, but he had you trapped, pinned beneath him like a captive.

his palms dug painful marks into your hips, leaving bruises that mirrored the ache building inside you, as he used you with a raw, unbridled hunger that was almost animalistic, his eyes ablaze with lust, lips pulled back into a snarl.

"don't even think about it, baby. take it. fucking take every inch of me,” he growled, each word punctuated by the way he drove his dick impossibly deeper into you.

sweat dripped from his brows from his efforts of pulling orgasm out of orgasm from you, not out of love, but punishment. even as the world blurred, your nerves igniting as you trembled under the weight of sensation that had grown too big to hold, the shameful knot in your stomach only seemed to tighten.

his chest was slick against yours, and you could feel the pulsing beat of his cock, a drumbeat of desire that drove him to the edge. he was lost in the moment, so lost that it was dizzying, and yet he was in control, his body moving with a ruthless precision that leaves you gasping.

"like that," he panted, his voice torn apart by ragged breaths, his eyes locked to the spot where your bodies met.

"you’re mine, princess. my cock drunk whore,” he coaxed cries from your throat as he whispered against your ear. “made only for this cock.”

you mind was blank, floating somewhere soft and far away, the only thing anchoring you was the weight of donghyuck above you, his voice distant, reduced to a quiet hum as he filled your every senses. your pulse raced like a wild animal, breath short and sharp as you clawed weakly at his chest, trying to gasp out a word that only got lodged in your throat.

“this body is all mine. all mine. and you know i hate sharing, princess,” he growled, voice rough and low like gravel dragged across silk, his hand tightening just enough around your throat to make your pulse stutter beneath his grip, his breath hot against your skin, lips brushing against your ears as he spoke.

his eyes-- dark, lust-filled-- never left yours, pinning you in place, devouring every flick of surrender. your skin prickled beneath the weight of him, heat blooming wherever his fingers pressed, where he claimed, where his dominance wrapped around you like a vice.

he used you until you were nothing more than a trembling offering beneath him, flesh slick with sweat, limbs twitching, your breath a broken melody against the dark. your skin always glowed with the aftershocks of him, burning as every nerve humming like a wire stretched too tight. your eyes were glassy and half-lidded, held with that fevered gleam, ruin dressed as reverence as devotion etched into your bones, and he carved it in deeper with every thrust, until you knew nothing but him.

you’re dragged out of the filth of your sinful daydreams with the pressing of your thighs together, shifting in your seat as you force yourself to calm down, the familiar sight of your apartment complex snapping you out of things.

wonbin turned off the engine, the faint hum fading into the heavy quiet between you. he turned toward you with another small, practiced smile—the kind that had always been gentle, warm, and yet never quite enough to fill the void clawing at your chest. his hand lifted, tugging at the edges of his jacket still draped over your shoulders, adjusting it carefully as if that would somehow shield you from the storm stirring just beneath your skin.

“take care of yourself, okay?” he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face, yet his brow creased faintly, his lips parting as if to speak again, but after a beat, he only shook his head, as if deciding against it.

instead, he forced another small, easy smile—the kind you’d seen a hundred times, the one meant to reassure you even when it didn’t reach his eyes. his hand slid to your cheek, thumb grazing your skin with featherlight care before he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

it was soft, sweet, and everything it should have been.but the tenderness of it twisted something inside you, sharp and bitter, because it wasn’t enough to quiet the ache left behind by someone else’s touch. .

you forced a smile, mumbling another thanks as you stepped out of the car, pressing a haste kiss to his lips. he waited until you were safely inside the building before driving off, and the sight of his taillights disappearing into the night left you standing there, empty and restless.

by the time you reached your apartment, the night coiled around you like a serpent, heavy and suffocating in its darkness.

it clings to your skin even after you’ve closed the door behind you, even after you’ve shed wonbin’s jacket, letting it slip from your shoulders in a forlorn heap on the couch. you stand there, breathing too loud in the silence, staring at the soft folds of fabric as though they might anchor you—but they’re too light, too safe, too far from the storm still raging beneath your ribs.

when you finally sank down beside it, the weight of the evening folded over you like wet silk, clinging to every inch of exposed thought. the apartment felt cavernous—each breath echoing too loudly in the empty space, the quiet pressing down until it left an ache in your chest.

for months, wonbin’s gentle presence had been your remedy, his steady affection easing the sting donghyuck’s recklessness left behind. he was patient where donghyuck was merciless, tender where he was cruel, offering you stability, a quiet kind of love that asked for nothing but your presence.

and yet, in a single night, donghyuck had torn down every wall you’d built. one look, one whispered taunt, and the careful walls you had so meticulously constructed buckled beneath the weight of his voice, reminding you of a version of yourself you thought you’d buried beneath wonbin’s steady affection, stirred.

but she had never left.

your phone buzzed on the table, breaking the silence and you froze—fingers curling into your palms as the sound lingered, vibrating in your bones long after the screen stilled. you didn’t need to look. you already knew.

donghyuck didn’t need to see the way you shifted in your seat as wonbin drove, thighs pressing together in a vain attempt to quiet the phantom weight of his hands. he didn’t need to hear your heart stumble every time his name crossed your mind.

he felt it.

the pull of him still hummed in your veins, restless and electric, like static before a storm. and now, as you sat there in the quiet hum of your apartment, the weight of his message coiled tightly around your throat, squeezing just enough to remind you that escape was never truly an option.

the screen goes dark, but the weight of his message coils around your throat all the same, tightening until your pulse skitters in a panicked rush.

donghyuck: i’ll leave the door unlocked.

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lych33dragoncookie · 8 months ago

Text

Continuing on from my last post;

Right, so about that certain someone. After we see Burning Spice FUCKING MURDER SOMEONE, we get on to their rematch. And-

... Hm. Not normal. You're enjoying this a bit too much

During the fight, we get to see something interesting; Spice's own followers ditching him and Nutmeg Tiger, despite orders to go after Smoked Cheese. Not out of some sudden rush of conscience, no; but the realization that, no matter how hard they try, how closely they follow him, how much they embody everything he stands for, in the end, following him can only result in their own destruction. That they're better off escaping than dying for the sake of someone who couldn't care less what their fate is.

On top of that, we get to see one of my favorite tropes! A protagonist refuting the ideals of a "hero", admitting that they fight for reasons that on the surface could be seen as selfish and short-sighted, but that are born from a massive amount of care and emotion, loyalty, and a desire to protect what matters to them, rather than stopping a great evil, sticking to a rigid moral compass, or any sort of other pretentious ideals.

And we get to see, visibly, undeniably, just how far she's willing to go to protect that which she cares for. We get to see her closer to death than absolutely anyone else we've ever seen before, with visible damage, about to crumble into pieces. And, despite that, despite her state, she never stops fighting. Not for a second. No matter how close she is to death's door.

Alongside this, Smoked Cheese, at the end of an exhausting fight, has some words about his queen.

At the end of it all, her love is what makes her powerful. It's what will lead her to greatness, no matter what. Her bountiful nature is the gift she has to give to those around her, and what keeps her going. It's not logical, it's not rational, something which drives Smoked Cheese off the fucking wall, but even he has to admit that it doesn't have to be. That it's what got here where she is in the first place.

You'd think that this would be setup for something that happens later on, specially with the line "Sycophants, charlatans... even willful traitors... All of them have a place among her treasures. She embraced them all... with open arms.", instead of just being there so that Smoked Cheese can tell Nutmeg Tiger that her ruler sucks complete ass and his' doesn't, but... Well, we'll get to that later.

Anyways, back to the freak.

Again with this? I don't say this in an exasperated tone, I just think there's something severely wrong with him. He's just trying to get her to go feral like him for fun. Weirdo. Also, as I mentioned before, holy hell this is the most visceral it's ever gotten. We've never seen any other character this physically damaged, so close to actually crumbling. This entire arc continues to be unexpectedly brutal in every way it possibly could be, and honestly for what it's going for, it just works.

Also, I'm stuffing the below line into my pocket for later. You'll see why.

After this, Golden Cheese refutes every bit of Burning Spice's own mentality in much the same way I did the last post, and it gets under his skin. Really, really badly. To the point where he basically just ends the fight outright, more or less. ... Until Golden Cheese gets her obligatory powerup. It's cool as hell, and it works with the very same base that I mentioned earlier, of her care & love for everything she holds dear and her strong undying urge to protect it all until her last breath, an urge to protect her treasures, everyone who's filled her life with joy up to this point, and it's all strong enough to draw forth her soul jam and awaken her true power and all that other power of friendship stuff. Not anything too mind-blowing considering we've seen it before with Dark Cacao, but it certainly hits a bit harder because Golden Cheese is just a deeply lovable character who does not hesitate to wear her heart on her sleeve, a really warm presence who you want to see succeed simply because of how much her love and desire to give to others shape her every action.

As is to be expected; there is no third act breakdown from Burning Spice here. In fact, he's having the time of his life!

... And then. He. Just.

Gets hit once. And it's over.

...

Y. You. You j. HUH? HUH???

HUH??????????

WHAT. WHAT. WHAT. THE FUCK. ARE. YOU. DOING. THAT'S THE ENDING? THAT'S FUCKING IT? HE JUST GETS HIT ONCE AFTER GOLDEN CHEESE TRANSFORMS, GETS BURIED UNDER SOME RUBBLE, AND THEN YOU NOT ONLY HAVE GOLDEN CHEESE OUTRIGHT SAY THAT HE PROBABLY LIVED THAT BUT ALSO TEASE HIM BEING ALIVE AT THE END???

THAT'S IT? THAT'S THE FUCKING ENDING? THAT'S THE ENDING YOU GIVE TO WHAT WOULD HAVE OTHERWISE BEEN ONE OF OUR BEST STORIES YET?!?!??

WHAT. THE. FUCK. ARE. YOU. DOING. ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME POP A BLOOD VESSEL

THIS SUCKS! THIS ACTUALLY FUCKING SUCKS! THIS IS NOTHING! THIS MEANS NOTHING! YEAH YEAH YEAH GOOD CONQUERED EVIL WHATEVER IT'S NOT ONLY A GENERIC VILLAIN DEFEAT BUT A COMPLETELY UNCEREMONIOUS ONE FOR A CHARACTER WHO IS RIDICULOUSLY WELL WRITTEN AND WHO DESERVED MORE THAN JUST GETTING ONE-SHOT AFTER A SERIES OF REALLY WELL PACED CUTSCENES.

IT WAS ALL. SO. FUCKING. GOOD. ALL THE WAY THROUGH TO THE PART WHERE HE'S LAUGHING MANIACALLY AT HIS INCOMING DEMISE. IT WAS ALL SO GOOD. WE WERE SO CLOSE. AND THEN WHAT DO YOU DO? WHAT DO YOU FUCKING DO? NOT ONLY IS HE JUST OUT LIKE THAT, WITH EVERYONE WELL AWARE HE'S NOT DEAD, YOU HAVE NUTMEG TIGER COME BACK TO HIM, MEANING NEITHER OF THEM HAVE PROGRESSED IN ANY WAY WHATSOEVER, SMOKED CHEESE'S CONVERSATION WITH NUTMEG TIGER WAS ALMOST ENTIRELY POINTLESS, AND THIS WHOLE THING WAS RENDERED UTTERLY MEANINGLESS FUCKIGIIGNFRJGH GHRHRARAHGHRHGHEEJGHJSDG

Okay. Okay. Tantrum aside.

There are so many better ways of doing this. Like. So, so much better. Ways that not only hold more narrative weight, but don't set up a half-assed villain return later on that won't hit anywhere near as hard. Because, seriously, giving Spice another arc as a villain is a horrendous idea. Both from a gameplay and story perspective. The framing here was perfect, everything had gone off really well from start to finish all the way up until that last tiny bit of the story, and you're not going to get this sort of opportunity again. They fumbled. Really. Really hard.

For one...

Hey. Golden Cheese. Remember when you said this?

JUST TAKE HIS FUCKING SOUL JAM

ALL THE BEASTS CAN DO IT WITHOUT ANY EXPLANATION, WHY CAN'T SHE?? WHY ISN'T SHE, SOMEONE WHO IS FULLY OK WITH STEALING FROM SOMEONE SO LONG AS THEY DESERVE IT, SOMEONE WHO EARLIER SAID BURNING SPICE ISN'T DESERVING OF HIS POSITION AS A GOD, SOMEONE WHO WOULD BE MORE THAN WILLING TO THROW IT INTO HER TREASURE PILE, COMPLETELY UNABLE TO TAKE IT, EVEN AFTER BEATING HIM?!?!??!

It would genuinely be that! Fucking! Easy! And guess what? Guess fucking what? IT OPENS UP SO MANY WRITING OPPORTUNITIES! SO, SO MANY! Nutmeg Tiger no longer has a god to worship, the power that gave Spice a hold over his army is now gone, he has to live out as a commoner, not a god, because he never deserved to be a god, not in the slightest. Have GC say something like "you are not a god, you're an impulsive, reckless fool. you do not deserve the power of a god. you're a commoner. nothing less, nothing more." and then take away his soul jam and you're good!!

HELL, IT COULD SET UP A GOOD, BELIEVABLE REDEMPTION ARC, "Sycophants, charlatans... even willful traitors... All of them have a place among her treasures. She embraced them all... with open arms.", IT'S SO EASY, IT HAS ACTUAL SETUP, YOU COULD HAVE SPICE BE A COMMON MORTAL COOKIE THAT HAS TO FEND FOR HIMSELF, EVENTUALLY BEING FORCED INTO A POSITION WHERE HE HAS TO FIND A ROOF TO PUT OVER HIS HEAD IF HE WANTS TO SURVIVE, AND HAVING GOLDEN CHEESE BE THE FIRST PERSON TO OFFER THAT, WHETHER OR NOT SPICE IS WILLING TO IMMEDIATELY ACCEPT IT. YOU'D HAVE A PROPER THIRD ACT BREAKDOWN WHEN HIS SOUL JAM IS TAKEN AWAY WITH SPICE BEING ACTIVELY REFUSED A WARRIOR'S DEATH, BEING GIVEN AN ANTI-CLIMAX, NOT A GLORIOUS DEFEAT BUT A LOSS OF POWER AND A REFUSAL TO END THE FIGHT ON HIS TERMS, COMPLETELY REFUSING TO STOOP TO HIS LEVEL AND FORCING HIM OUT OF A POSITION OF POWER WHILE YOU'RE AT IT

ALL THIS. ALL THESE WRITING OPPORTUNITIES. AND MORE THAT THE COMMUNITY HAS LIKELY ALREADY COME UP WITH. WASTED. COMPLETELY. NOTHING. ALL FOR A QUICK, GENERIC, BLAND, FLACCID, DEVOID-OF-IMPACT VILLAIN DEFEAT.

Ooooohhh my god I am so worked up about this. We were this close. we were this fucking close to peak fiction. We could have had it all. But they fumbled right at the end.

I... I think I'm just going to completely ignore this ending's existence. If they do anything else with Spice from this point onwards? It doesn't exist to me. I'm not looking. Because whatever they do, it won't wash away the bitter taste of the complete fumble they just pulled. In my heart, he got his soul jam taken away, had to find a way to survive on his own, and ended up living in the Golden Cheese Kingdom (out of a lack of any other options and ideas of a potential soul jam recovery from the inside that would eventually be all forgotten about) where he was given a chance to return to normalcy and heal and be free of the burden of immortality.

I'm gonna go tear a hole in a wall with my bare teeth now. See you all.

#jester ramblings #update analysis #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #golden cheese cookie #burning spice cookie #smoked cheese cookie #nutmeg tiger cookie

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diodellet · 8 months ago

Text

try wishing for it: magical girl au (scarabia x gn!reader)

inspired by @ceruleancattail's magical girl au and @yan-lorkai's yandere genie fic. note: i also imagine scarabia's mascot form to look like this. title is ripped from tohma's magical girl eudaemonics. content warnings: -yandere (if you squint, since scarabia's taking the role of kyubey in this fic. references of manipulation and general moral grayness.) -fic uses "magical girl" but means it in a gender-neutral sense (reader is referred to with they/them pronouns) word count: 2.7k words

Being a magical girl means gaining the power to do virtually anything you can dream of.

The first time you defeat a wraith, you stare in awe at your hands, breathing heavily from sheer excitement rather than exertion. With one final roar, the beast falls to the ground, before dissolving into black smoke.

“Woah, you did it! You really took it down!” Kalim barrels into you, gushing praise after praise. “See, Jamil? I told you they were going to be powerful!”

Jamil is more mindful of you, instead floating over to land on your other shoulder. “Nice job.”

“You’re a natural!” Kalim’s bouncing with joy in your palm, waving his little stubby arms. “You probably won’t even need to use your three wishes!”

Right, there was that. In the case that you were against an overwhelmingly powerful foe, you could draw on your familiars’ magic—a ‘wish,’ they called it.

“Don’t jinx them, Kalim.”

“...What happens if I asked for more wishes?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” The stitches of Jamil’s plush smile don’t change, but there’s a note of something foreboding in his words. “Though, you don’t seem like the type to squander them. Don’t worry about it too much.” Despite their cartoonish appearance, your familiars’ words and warnings carried a grave weight

Your gaze drifts to the slain wraith. All that remains is the tarnished metal collar that hung around its neck, until it too crumbles into dust.

There’s something hauntingly beautiful in that faint shimmer of gold as it gets blown away by the wind.

Being a magical girl means toting around two innocuous round plushies of your familiars to class.

With your new double life, you get two new companions following you around. It means bearing Kalim’s excited chattering as you take notes, dealing with Jamil’s snide teasing as your classmates point out your new bag charms.

What you don’t expect is to see the two of them sitting in your living room the next morning, clad in your school’s uniform.

“Good mor—oof!” Your book bag collides with Kalim’s chest and you use the momentum to drag him and Jamil by the elbow out of your house, ignoring your dad’s concerned calls with a loud “I’m heading out!”

You didn’t get the memo that being able to transform was part of their repertoire as magical familiars, but you should’ve expected this. Between Kalim’s thousand-kilowatt smile and Jamil’s calculating gaze, you very much prefer them as small round plushies.

(It’s strange that your schoolmates and teachers don’t question the two new additions to the class, but you appreciate that your cover wasn’t blown with this curveball. You suspect it might have to do with the red glow in Jamil’s eyes. You decide to question them at the end of the class day.)

“It’d be better if one of you stayed as a plushie.”

“Then that means it would be Jamil since he’s better at keeping attention off of us.”

“By that logic, they’re talking about you, Kalim.” Is it you or is that a hint of a smile on Jamil’s lips?

“Oh.” Kalim’s expression falls into a pout. “But I like attending classes with you!”

He probably wouldn’t like it as much during exams week. “I wouldn’t be able to keep a low profile if people noticed you…guys following me around.”

“Aw, I guess so…Thanks for treating us to ice cream, though!”

You offer to buy them another one, just to make their one and only day at school special. You start heading towards another freezer, there’s a special lottery on these soda popsicles.

Jamil’s attention turns toward the counter. He’d been eyeing the person at the cashier. “Wait, something seems—”

And that’s all the warning he can give before a group of wraiths crashes through the convenience store wall. Ending up in a sprawled mess of tangled limbs was not ideal. It’s settled, you definitely preferred them in their plushie forms.

Being a magical girl means getting woken up by Kalim in the middle of the night to patrol the city.

As a hand-sized plush ball, he’s already pretty strong. But under the cover of night, he can shed his disguise and drag accompany you around to see you deliver justice to evildoers.

Your drowsiness fades away as you leap from rooftop to rooftop, dispatching fledgeling wraiths hiding in narrow alleyways, stopping drunken confrontations, watching over lone pedestrians traversing through seedier parts of the city.

“There’s another one, it’s a low-ranking wraith!”

“I’ve got it!” Magic gathers around your weapon, bathing it in golden light as you swing and cleave the monster into two.

It didn’t even get a fighting chance to writhe or fight back. All it can do is dissipate into nothing.

Which is for the best.

“That was so quick!” Kalim bounds over to you as your weapon fades out of view. “You’re getting better and better at fighting!”

“Well, you did say it was a weak one…” You tug at the collar of your outfit. His praise feels like staring into the glare of the sun, straight on. “I’m probably not that much better than those other magical girls before me.”

“Still! It doesn’t make you any less amazing—Are you hurt anywhere?” Kalim starts looking you over for any injuries that he might have missed.

Too close. “Not a scratch. Come on, let’s head home.”

Though you should’ve expected things would go sideways at some point, that the night would bring untold horrors instead of passing peacefully. In a mix of your carelessness and Kalim’s overexcitement, an avian-like wraith appears and catches you both offguard, talons closing around his midsection and carrying him into the sky, each powerful beat of its wings taking him farther and farther away from you.

Adrenaline surges through you and the asphalt of the sidewalk cracks underneath your soles as you leap to the sky in pursuit. “Kalim!” Just before you can close the distance, he screams at you to get back, making you falter. A long shadow whips through the air—a prehensile tail of sorts—preventing you from approaching.

Switching tactics, you aim for its wings. Better to bring it to the ground.

(Miraculously, Kalim got the cue to turn into his plushie form to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. You manage to catch him before the both of you crash. Though, Kalim’s awed gushing was probably going to give you a sunburn.)

Being a magical girl means Jamil takes your healthcare into his own hands, sometimes.

“It’s the sleep deprivation.”

“No, it’s not.” A coughing fit strikes you at that moment, betraying the extent of your sickness.

“It’s because you’re overexerting yourself with your ‘nightly escapades.’”

“Fine—so what if I am? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? To protect helpless people day and night?”

“Obviously, not at the cost of your own wellbeing!”

You didn’t think you would ever end up in this kind of situation, being yelled at by a floating plush ball while confined to your bed of messy blankets and used tissues.

The angry heat in your face is making your headache worse, makes you see gray for a moment before you could fire back.

“...I’m sorry,” you spit without an ounce of penance.

Jamil sighs. “Well. There’s no use in pressing the matter any further.” Just before he disappears, he tells you to get some rest.

Easier said than done.

The minutes inch by agonizingly slow. Your room is so silent, magnifying the buzz of your own thoughts. Up until this point, your life became a whirlwind of academics, extracurriculars, and fighting evil monsters. But at this moment of standstill, you can’t help but come to the realization that he was right. With your rashness, you basically incapacitated yourself. Sure, your familiars were also capable magic users. Sure, they could hold off wraiths from doing any major damage, but the thought that this entire situation could have been avoided, that this was entirely your fault—

A tear slips down your cheek, then more and more, until you’re quietly sobbing, frustrated, into your palms.

The mattress of your bed dips with the added weight of another person. “Mom—”

Jamil shushes you. “Drink this first.” You hear the rustle of plastic—did he go to the pharmacy?—and feel him press two tablets into your hand. As you swallow them, he hands you a glass of water. His other hand rests against your sweat-covered back, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

(It is a stark contrast to his rough words from earlier.)

“I thought you…” They probably had other magical fighters to watch over, didn’t they?

It’s probably the fever messing with your senses, but there’s an uncharacteristic softness in Jamil’s voice. “Shh. No more of that, now.”

“...then why?” Were you really the only one?

“Just focus on getting better.”

“But—”

“Your mom’s making soup for dinner, she will come to check on you in an hour. I’ll stay with you until then. Rest.”

His words are not enough to placate your worries fully, but there’s a soft glow of red in his irises that makes you acquiesce and close your eyes, all while clutching onto Jamil’s wrist.

Being a magical girl means thinking up new ways to explain your many conversations “to yourself.”

Your parents are easy, it’s just the angst of youth. But your siblings are a little more difficult to convince. In addition to your moments of listlessness, they can hear your frantic back and forth pacing and the thump of you throwing your plushies against the paper-thin walls of your room. It can only mean one thing—

“Get out! I’m not having romance issues!” You slam the door behind your sibling’s cackles.

Your familiars remain still, seated on your bed until the sound of footsteps is sufficiently out of earshot.

“Are you really seeing someone?” Kalim pipes up.

“No!” You bury your face into your hands. “I—How would I have the time for that?”

“Besides,” Jamil chimes in, “we’re the only ones who’ve been accompanying them. Unless—”

Your body moves of its own accord, snatching Jamil with both hands and giving him a threatening squeeze, an unspoken ‘don’t you dare finish that sentence’ left hanging in mid-air.

When he stays quiet, your death grip lightens up. Just a little bit. A heavy exhale leaves your frame. “Look, for all that we’ve gone through—”

(A part of you is hesitant to admit it but, having gained them as new companions made your journey as a magical girl feel less daunting. You felt safe knowing that you could rely on them to watch your back, in spite of the close calls you’ve had.

As for whether or not you’d started looking at them differently, well, you’d need more time to think on it. There. End of conversation.)

“I guess… I’m glad I met you. The both of you,” you finished lamely.

The silence that followed was deafening. For once, you’d wished their plushie forms could emote more instead of giving you that placid smile.

With a pop! and shower of golden sparks, Kalim’s arms close around you in a tight hug. A bright grin splitting his cheeks. “I’m happy we’re friends too!”

“Stop squeezing me!” Jamil grits out.

Being a magical girl means double checking your word choice, especially for any quips and retorts.

The first time you transformed, you commented offhandedly about your footwear and Jamil made a little adjustment to your attire.

With a snap of his fingers, a golden bangle clasps around your ankle. Lightweight, no doubt it would look beautiful when the light hits it at the right angle, but—

A frown pulls at your lips.

“Would you like another one? Just for some…symmetry,” Jamil suggests.

You decide better against responding to that.

“Think of it as a gift from me and Kalim.”

Was this something they bestowed to every magical fighter they took under their wing? “...Some gift this is.”

“Relax, you still have three wishes left. I won’t trick you into wasting them.”

Well, that diminished most of your initial doubt. “How can I be sure of that?” you question.

Jamil’s head tilts to the side, appraising you with an eerily-observant gaze. “All you have to do is ask. Anything that your heart desires, anything your mind can conceive.”

You don’t like how his eyes are trained on you, making you feel small. You pick at an imaginary speck of dirt on your top, straighten out the already-impeccable fabric.

A thick silence falls over the both of you.

“...Will you—will you both ask me if I’m sure, before granting my wish?” It’s such a stupid thing to worry about, to fuss over the intricacies of your arrangement as Magical Girl and Familiar.

“Of course.” Jamil gives you a smile. “Shall we head to where Kalim is?”

“Yeah.” Your weapon appears in your hand with a flash of gold. “Let’s destroy that wraith’s nest.”

(More than desires you want fulfilled, there are anxieties you want quelled, fears you want silenced. Miracles to the myriad of unfortunate catastrophes that plagued your home—the flawed world that you lived in. So what if you contained untold power at your fingertips? You were only one person tasked with the protection of hundreds. At the peak of your distress—in the midst of sirens and flashing lights—you call for Jamil and utter your first wish through choked sobs.)

Being a magical girl means not relying on your powers, sometimes.

The trapped kitten gives another pitiful wail, thrashing against your grip as you clamber down the tree. In holding onto it tightly, you earn a set of angry-red scratch marks along the backs of your hands before reaching solid ground. The kitten bounds away with a final hiss.

“Why didn’t you transform?” Kalim asks.

You shrug, running a finger over one of the scratches. “I guess it’s ’cause I didn’t wanna mess up the outfit.”

“What do you mean?”

Bashful, your gaze ducks to your shoes, worn from years of use but sturdily hanging on. “It’s just, lately, the wraiths have been getting more and more powerful. And I…” Feel weak? Pressured? Alright, maybe you were still hung up over leaving a little crater at a major intersection, but it was either that or letting the ursine wraith lay waste to the nearby shopping center. There wasn’t any time to dwell on those shortcomings.

(But your mind liked to circle back to it. Was there any more you could do? Why couldn’t you do more?)

They warned you about this, that at some point, you would end up facing more destructive wraiths. That you would have to choose among innocents.

He takes your injured hands. “You can always make a wish.” Kalim’s healing magic washes over you, cool and gentle, like a stream of water. You watch the scratches slowly close up until they become nothing more than a set of faint white lines. “That’s what me and Jamil are for.”

“That’s true…”

“Anything you want.” Kalim repeats. “I’ll make it happen.”

It’s those simple words— and the sight of him cradling your hands in his palms—that grant you the courage to speak your next words, your second wish.

Being a magical girl means weighing your soul against the lives of people, friends and strangers alike.

“Come on, you have to get up.” Tears are streaming down Kalim’s cheeks, his hands hover by your prone and bloodied form, unsure of which wounds to heal.

Wearily, you gaze cranes upwards as if every bit of movement caused pain throughout your body.

Jamil has witnessed this scenario a thousand times. He keeps a stoic face. “Are you just going to let them destroy everything?”

“...I can’t let them…”

“You’re hurting yourself! Jamil, you have to do something!”

“It’s not my choice to make.”

When in the face of an unstoppable threat—a horde of chimeran wraiths that will lay waste to your home, will you make that final third wish and trust in them?

Jamil knows how you’ll answer. Rather than using them as quick and easy schemes, your first two wishes were—in some way—made for the good of others around you. For someone who won’t even know or care about that small bit of kindness. At the core of every human is a desperate self-preservation instinct that pushes them to make a final wish. And like clockwork, you will follow like the rest of the magical girls that they created. It’s a strategy that has benefited him and Kalim. And he has been fervently waiting for this moment, for a powerful one like you to—

“I’m...not giving up…!”

Or not?

His lips curl into a smile. “Then give them hell.”

They can wait this out. Compared to their infinite lifespan, your emotional fortitude was only a drop in the ocean.

a/n: aaaa thanks @jessamine-rose for betaing this fic with ur fresh eyes. this au rlly gave me brainworms of the feral variety, i think i liked leaving most of the details ambiguous and free to interpretation, but i might come up with a separate author's note post about worldbuilding bits i couldnt fit in? eh we'll see! i hope yall enjoyed reading this! edit: author's note can be found here! tagging some jamilnatics: @viperwhispered @twstgo @just-a-little-silly @mama-m1na @crystallizsch @sillystr1ngs (lmk if you wanna join the taglist for jamil writing in the replies)

#dellet-writings #jamil viper x reader #kalim al asim x reader #scarabia x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #jamil viper #kalim al asim #gn!reader #yandere kalim al asim #yandere jamil viper

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brights-place · 7 months ago

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[Spiderman] Miles 42 x Reader

1K 5 Part Special: 1 (You are here) , 2 , 3 ,4,5 Warnings: Mafia AU, Cursing, fluff, blood

A/N: 5 POSTS OF FIVE DIFFERENT FANDOMS TO FEED I WILL NOT BE LIMITED BECAUSE IMMA MAKE YALL BE FED anyways thank you all so much for 1K im so happy !! TY SO MUCH

Summary: A mafia au ATSV type or idk something similar to mafia au but the reader being Miles' personal bodyguard after they took all their anger out on their parents for being abusive despite being young and later got found by someone Miles' family who took them in and trained them then as the reader spent more time with Miles 42 they fall in love and super possessive since they would give their life protecting Miles and get jealous very easily if someone flirts with their partner, that they would glare at the person threaten to kill them if they didn't back off sorry if it's short I've been having writers block more then usual

The sound of rough heaving echoed as a silhouette was gripping its side The small boy, with deep/light e/c eyes, tilts his head as he gazes over the old floors. Each slab of wood was old and beginning to rot, defunct seeds fostered by mold. That's why the gentleman in front of the small boy seemed far too out of place he was clean and tidy unlike the boys state.

Like water and oil, he simply did not fit in with his surroundings yet a hand was held out infront of him as the h/cnette looked up to see a guy staring down at him as your hand stared at the hand afraid as you looked back to the furrowed brows and eyes of a man who spoke harshly "You wanna be left here to die?" you stared shakily taking his hands as he spoke "so you are... (Full Name) right?" you looked down "(Nickname) sir..." he stared at you and spoke "Aaron... Morales" You stared at him. You had heard the about the awful rumors and secrets of this city. How drunk driving accidents are the norm, small businesses getting robbed at gunpoint was just a regular day especially the arson and deaths with the mafia around yet you wouldn't expect one of the biggest underground crime groups to be holding a hand out to you yet you couldn't help but take it ignoring the bleeding hand under the debris twitching and the famillar eyes through a gap in the crumbled areas that surrounded them the same e/c eyes that they had of their own that had always stared at you with hatred. You couldn't help but turn back to the man who started to guide you away with a blank face. A/N: HEADCANNON TIME BABY OML I'm so tired Im trying my best to upload more since holidays started so Im planning on writing books more on my wattpad, writing also on tumblr for ramble babbles and drawing more so uhh YEAH!

- You were trained by Aaron or known as 'Uncle aaron' by a boy that was around your agel. Aaron would have taught you things that you shouldn't know for someone your age, being tasked to help him with his dirty work before - You had devoted your life to Uncle Aaron after saving you and even if you were tasked to start protecting miles which was easy blending in with him at his highschool even though he'd tell you to fuck off - He claims he's babysitting you because now you're in his care more like He's in your care where he pretends to be all tough shit when your the one cutting someones tongue out for spouting lies and talking to the pigs - Miles always fights his own battles so you doing this pissed him off yet he slowly started to get used to it - You both would practice fighting together hell you cleaned up his prowler mask and costume for when he and uncle aaron went off on missions - The amount of blood that was already on his hands disgusted you but you couldn't talk when you'd come back after getting information out of a guy with bloodied knuckles or a small trash bag being dragged through the room dripping a crimson drop onto the floor - You both falling for each other was a weakness something that shouldn't have happened but it did

- You sometimes think it's foolish for someone like miles to love you but then you remember this man has murdered and stole for good reasons even if he's apart of the mafia. He doesn't take shit from anyone. People follow him like obedient dogs out of fear and admiration because they know he's the right hand to Uncle aaron. - Orders or Not people would take a bullet without a second of hesitation and you were one of them being well Miles is personal body guard protecting him and threatening lives of those who speak ill of him and aaron. - You have certain things that you enjoy outside of battle doing things to relax you as Miles would be in the same room as you doing his own thing as you both were filled with the familiar relaxation. - Everytime your sent out on a mission you'd stare down at your gun loading it just wanting to get back to miles since he needs his right hand - One moment though when on a mission hiding behind a crate when another underground group is leader was shooting with his man you were gripping onto your gun only having one thought before the slaughter this man would not make you lose your life to let miles suffer once more.

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

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rottenpumpkin13 · 10 months ago

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A lovely group of people encouraged me to post this so fuck it !!

This is going to be a long post, bear with me, but I have a lot to get off my chest about Angeal. I’m starting with how people’s vitriol towards his character completely glosses over the trauma he endured within the game alone.

I understand that Crisis Core is a flawed game where characters like Genesis, Angeal, and even Zack didn’t translate on screen as well as they could have due to areas of weak writing and the context lost during localization into English. But at the same time, there are aspects of the game—background details—that shed light on why characters act the way they do and this is especially true in Angeal’s case.

Angeal is a character shaped not only by his upbringing in poverty, but also by the heavy emotional burden of depression and the disillusionment that follows his discovery of his origins. His actions might seem erratic or morally ambiguous on the surface, but they’re rooted in his mentality shaped by poverty, the ideals he built to survive it, and the eventual crumbling of those ideals.

When someone is raised poor—in Angeal's case, poor enough where it's implied that they didn't have enough to eat—they grow up with a scarcity mindset that comes with a sense of hyper-responsibility veered towards survival.

We know his father passed from exhaustion, working hard to pay off the Buster Sword, so we get the sense that him witnessing his parents work hard made him internalize the notion that he must work hard both to survive and to uphold honor at any cost.

Angeal’s preoccupation with the concept of honor is a direct reflection of his upbringing. Based on Gillian telling Zack in Banora that the Buster Sword represents their family’s honor, we understand that Angeal grew up being taught to value it. Without material wealth or privilege, Angeal built his identity around his ideals. He frequently reminds Zack that honor is the defining trait of a SOLDIER, showing how he clings to this concept to give his life meaning beyond his origins.

Growing up poor not only teaches you that you are undeserving of basic necessities, but it would teach Angeal to value stability and resources, no matter the moral compromises required to secure them.

The opportunity to join SOLDIER and work for Shinra would've represented a way out of poverty. Shinra offered him a stable future and the means to provide for his mother (maybe even his father, though as I'm writing this, when Angeal's father died hasn't been revealed in the canon timeline. It's very possible that he also saw it as a way to provide and care for his sick father).

Using SOLDIER as a means to escape poverty—despite Hollander’s probable influence, let's be honest—likely became an underlying reason why Angeal didn’t abandon Shinra outright. In his mind, letting go of SOLDIER would mean letting things fall apart—losing resources, security, and a sense of control, which he was already losing with the desertion, the Genesis war, and the degradation.

This mindset also explains Angeal’s relationship with the sword his father gave him, as the Buster Sword represents the culmination of his ideals: hard work, honor, and the tools necessary for survival. But Angeal refuses to use the Buster Sword for fear of causing wear, tear, and rust.

Seeing his father lose his life over the sword, he resolved not to use it unless absolutely necessary, saving his resources until truly needed. It’s not that he’s stingy or nonsensical—this is textbook behavior for someone raised in poverty. He doesn’t want to waste or use up what’s valuable, especially knowing that his father died for it.

He's hyper-aware of his role in supporting others, and we can see this by his deep sense of responsibility toward Zack, like how he saved him in Wutai using the Buster Sword. When he says "You’re a little more important than my sword" I like to think that he means that, above all, he values the people he cares about.

However, the same ideals create tension within him the moment they crumble following his desertion. Not only his sense of honor, but as he learns the truth, his sense of self-worth begins to deteriorate and thus begins the downward spiral of not knowing how to reconcile his nature as a "monster" in his words, with being SOLDIER.

Angeal’s depression is evident throughout Crisis Core, and the degradation of the Jenova cells mirrors the psychological and emotional degradation he experiences (literal implications aside).

The closer he gets to losing his body, the more he loses his sense of purpose and identity, not to mention how the honor he had built his life around was spoiled the minute the people who taught him that were his father, who turned out not to be his biological father at all, and his mother, who lied to him. His entire life. He starved for nothing and lost his father twice.

The depression Angeal experiences is compounded by the trauma of discovering the truth about his birth. Learning that he was created as part of Shinra's experiments, that his mother was complicit in these experiments, and that he is no more than a weapon for corporate interests leaves him rightfully betrayed. In fact, his reaction was tame in comparison to Genesis and Sephiroth.

His mother’s suicide further deepens his trauma and gives us the first major evidence of his suicidal ideation and severely unwell mental state: "My mother did not deserve to live, and neither does her son," which he says instead of explaining what happened/defending himself after Zack assumed he killed her.

This belief that he is unworthy of life stems directly from the revelation that his life was never truly his own but an engineered existence meant to serve Shinra's greed. This statement epitomizes his suicidal ideation, a declaration that he too is undeserving of life, both because of the role he played in perpetuating Shinra’s horrors and the labelling himself as a monster undeserving of life, an unnatural thing that needs to be purged from existence.

I can’t even begin to describe the magnitude of the revelation that the man whose ideals he built his life around, whom he believed was his father, isn’t his father at all but instead Hollander is, who his mother worked with to orchestrate everything that’s happening to him now

Mothers are a central theme in FF7’s world, with Jenova/Lucrecia being at the center of that and their actions’ influence over Sephiroth, but there’s also Cloud grieving his mother’s death at the hands of Sephiroth, Tifa believing that she would see her mother again if she climbed Mt. Nibel, Aerith watching Ifalna die and then being adopted by Elmyra, and so on.

Gillian, from what we can tell, was loving and raised Angeal with care. She likely kissed him to bed each night, comforted and nurtured him in the way a devoted mother would. But the revelation of her involvement in the Jenova Project shattered everything Angeal believed about her. In Angeal's words, her "shame" became unbearable, and he saw her once nurturing presence as a facade hiding deeper lies. Her decision to take her own life after he confronted her about it added to Angeal’s trauma, reinforcing the belief that everything he held dear was built on deception.

I like to think that there was a part of Angeal that carried the guilt of Genesis’ degradation. Maybe he thought that if he hadn’t come between them in the training room, Genesis would’ve been fine—(which I don’t think so. I think there’s a high chance Genesis would’ve gotten hurt either way and that would’ve triggered the degradation).

This is a topic for another time, but I don't think any singular person was to blame for the incident in the training room. They're all equally to blame without it being their fault, because none of them asked to be a part of the Jenova Project. It's ultimately Shinra's fault.

Angeal probably struggled with depression even before the events of Crisis Core. Poverty itself is a destructive force that can cause lasting psychological damage. It has a significant impact on mental health, just like how growing up under Hojo’s abuse and being controlled by Shinra had its effects on Sephiroth. It can and does lead to depression due to the mental, emotional, and often physical (hello, Angeal's father) exhaustion it causes. Even when someone escapes the instability, it still stays with you because by then, you've learned to live in a world that taught you that you didn't deserve to live in it unless you work hard.

And now Angeal doesn't want to live in it for other reasons.

Another thing @ilminnestrone pointed out to me (who, btw, huge shout out for beta’ing this post <3 ), is how his mental state was influenced by the culture of toxic masculinity within the military/ SOLDIER. Just like in the real world, the military environment at Shinra likely placed a heavy emphasis on masculinity, strength, stoicism, and left little to no room for vulnerability lest the operative in question was deemed weak and not at all befitting of the shallow profile of a hero Shinra capitalized on.

In environments like these, Angeal is expected to always be in control, to suppress any emotional or mental struggles, and to uphold an image of unshakable resilience, especially when he was canonically considered to be the spiritual leader of SOLDIER.

This expectation of constant strength absolutely exacerbated whatever pre-existing struggle he had going on—circling back to how being raised in poverty has long lasting effects on mental health. Rather than being able to openly process his feelings about his degradation, his mother’s betrayal, Hollander being his real father, or where he fit in this new reality of his, he was still trapped in a role that demanded he shoulder everything in silence.

Keep in mind that in a culture where admitting weakness is often seen as failure, Angeal’s (and Genesis’) deterioration would’ve been magnified tenfold by the toxic expectation that they maintain an appearance of unwavering strength.

This combined with the rigid ideals Angeal built around honor and the nature of his job must’ve weighed on him for years. The mutation only exacerbated potential doubts that were already there.

Angeal's actions in the narrative are not those of a clear-cut hero or villain. Instead he occupies an in-between space where his moral compass, traumatic experiences and actions inspired by his headspace constantly clash, which is what leads to his label as a hypocrite.

His decision to defect from Shinra and join Genesis is not a simple act of betrayal but rather the result of his overwhelming internal conflict. On the one hand, he wants to get through to Genesis and help him, he's aware that Shinra has betrayed them, but on the other hand, his ingrained sense of duty and loyalty makes it difficult for him to fully break away from the organization and responsibilities he has like, for example, Zack.

He wants to do good but knows that his conception was not a product of good intentions. In his mind he's a monster being pulled in different directions at once. If anything, this is most realistic reaction to what he’s going through in the game.

His behavior becomes erratic as he oscillates between opposing forces—one where he remains loyal to the values he once cherished, and another where he acknowledges the harsh truth�� struggling to reconcile his identity as an honorable SOLDIER with a science experiment.

This moral ambivalence is a symptom of his deeper trauma, as he tries to cling to the remnants of his previous beliefs, which is why he’s still enforcing having dreams and honor despite his actions.

Some dialogue from the game where Angeal acknowledges his headspace:

Angeal: I need your help

Zack: Do you?

Angeal:

Zack: Honestly, what are you thinking Angeal?

Angeal: I'm not really sure myself. At times I feel as if my mind is mired in fog.

The scene where he sprouts his wing and jokes about being after world domination is another key glimpse into his mindset. At this point, the joke isn’t entirely a joke—it’s a reflection of his resignation to the role the degradation has cast him in. The line about a monster’s objective being world domination is a bitter acceptance of the fact that, in his mind, he has no choice but to fulfill the destiny that was engineered for him.

He feels trapped. And yet when Zack compares him to an angel, his response is: "Then what should an angel fight for Zack? What do angels dream of?! Angels dream of one thing... To be human."

He wants the cure and the normalcy so badly, but in his mind, the "monstrosity" is something that sets him apart from humanity and a reminder that he is different, degraded, and no longer the man he once believed himself to be.

Angeal's ultimate decision to force Zack to kill him is the culmination of his depression and his struggle to reconcile his identity. He believes that his continued existence is something that needs to be purged, something that poses a danger to those around him, something that shouldn't have existed in the first place.

He wants to pass on the ideals of honor that he once held so dear, even if he feels unworthy of them himself. In his mind, the only way to regain some form of dignity is to die by the hand of someone who still embodies the values he once believed in.

Zack as his student represents the purity of those ideals—untainted by the knowledge of Shinra's experiments and degradation. By having Zack end his life, Angeal seeks not only an escape from his torment but also a way to pass on his legacy to Zack.

His final words: "Protect your honor, always."

Angeal made his dreams clear earlier when he said that an angel's dream is to be human. When he dies, passing the Buster Sword to Zack is not only a way to protect his honor but also a fulfillment of that dream. At that moment, there's nothing more human than dying at the hands of someone else, rather than succumbing to degradation.

This act, while devastating (and yes, extremely traumatic for Zack), is consistent with the psychological profile of someone who has suffered long-term trauma, depression, and suicidal ideation.

Might be controversial but at this point in the rant fuck it: Condemning Angeal’s choices shifts all the sympathy onto others while entirely overlooking the immense suffering he was enduring. People often focus on how his actions impact those around him—Zack, Sephiroth, and others—without ever considering what Angeal himself is going through. All the above mentioned, the shame, the suicidal thoughts brought on by the degradation and his subsequent actions to purge himself from existence, they’re all pushed aside in favor of examining how others are affected. Everyone was affected, yes, and Zack deserves all the sympathy in the world for what he was made to endure in Crisis Core.

But I feel like this erases Angeal’s pain and frames his ultimate decision as a betrayal rather than a desperate act of self-sacrifice driven by his own emotional struggles.

"Oh, but Angeal was a terrible friend, Angeal was a bad mentor, Angeal was a hypocrite." Here’s the thing: If you’re someone who sympathizes with Sephiroth for having a traumatic past that led to a mental breakdown and burning Nibelheim, if you understand Genesis’ destructive actions as a response to degradation, then you can sympathize with Angeal for his turmoil and his position in Crisis Core.

Angeal’s spiral is rooted in a lifetime of hardship—from growing up in poverty to confronting the existential dread of his degradation. He wasn’t just a man falling apart. He was someone trying to uphold the honor he cherished, even as his world and his sense of self crumbled around him and forced that honor he held so dear became hollow.

His actions make sense within the context of his mental state.

I'll end this by saying that this isn't a rant to defend his actions, but rather to defend the mental health aspect that may go overlooked when discussing Angeal, which is such an integral part of his character.

#ok ok back to my usual stuff #i just want you all to know that I'm terrified of posting this fffffff #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #angeal hewley #final fantasy vii #crisis core

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knoepfl · 6 months ago

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Could you do platonic! Tomura Shigaraki x child! reader where he discovers a young girl (a bit younger than Eri) who has the power of Collector (she permanently gains and becomes immune to any Quirk she comes into contact with, for example when she came into contact with Shigaraki's Decay, she now also has Decay and it won't work on her)?

Hey there! I really loved this idea ngl had something fun writing it! I hope you like it^^

A New Chance

Characters:

• Tomura Shigaraki A cold and volatile villain with a destructive Quirk and a deep hatred for heroes. Beneath his violent exterior lies a man scarred by a traumatic past. His unexpected connection with Lila forces him to confront feelings of responsibility and protectiveness he didn’t think he was capable of.

• Lila (OC) A five-year-old orphan with a tragic past. She is sweet, curious, and emotionally fragile but possesses an unexplained resilience that draws Tomura in. Lila’s innocence and trust challenge the hardened villain’s worldview, creating a bond that neither expected.

• League of Villains (Dabi, Toga, Spinner, and others) A chaotic and dangerous group of criminals who reluctantly accommodate Lila. Their interactions with her range from amused fascination (Toga) to wary indifference (Dabi), adding tension to her new life among them.

Trigger Warnings:

• Child endangerment: Portrayal of a young child in precarious situations with dangerous individuals (L.O.V.).

• Death and grief: Discussion of the loss of Lila’s parents and her processing of the trauma. (And a bit of Shigaraki's Trauma ig)

• Violence and destruction: Depictions of the aftermath of violent battles and the dangerous nature of Tomura’s Quirk.

• Emotional vulnerability: Exploration of trauma, loneliness, and the fragile connection between Lila and Tomura.

• Morally ambiguous relationships: The dynamic between a villain and a child raises questions of ethics and safety.

Masterlist

Words: 1048

---

Tomura Shigaraki hated detours. He hated wasted time, especially after the disaster that today had been. The heroes had interfered with their plans again, and his irritation bubbled under the surface as he trudged through the ruins of a crumbled neighborhood. The cold night air bit at his skin, making him pull his hoodie tighter over his head.

It wasn’t the first time he’d walked through the wreckage left behind by so-called heroes, and he doubted it would be the last. Still, something about this place felt… different.

He stopped abruptly when a soft sound caught his attention—a hiccup, maybe, or a sniffle. His crimson eyes narrowed as he scanned the rubble.

Nestled between two large pieces of collapsed concrete was a small figure. A child.

The girl couldn’t have been more than five years old. Her tiny frame was engulfed in an oversized, torn sweater that hung limply off her shoulders. Her face was smudged with dirt, and her big, tear-filled eyes peeked out from beneath a curtain of messy hair. She clutched a stuffed rabbit to her chest, its fur matted and one ear missing.

Tomura frowned, his fingers twitching at his sides. “What are you doing here, kid?” he asked, his voice harsher than he intended.

The girl flinched, her grip on the rabbit tightening. “Hiding,” she mumbled, her voice trembling.

“Hiding from what?”

She sniffled and pointed at the collapsed building behind her. “The bad people… and the fire.”

Tomura followed her gaze, his sharp eyes taking in the charred remains of what was once a home. The building had collapsed completely, leaving nothing but rubble and ash. He didn’t need to ask what had happened—heroes had probably been too late, as they so often were.

“What happened?” he asked, crouching down to her level despite himself.

She hesitated, her small hands gripping the rabbit tightly. “Mama and Papa… they didn’t get out,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “The big man said the heroes would save us, but… they didn’t.”

Her words cut deeper than Tomura expected. He stared at her, trying to ignore the strange, uncomfortable feeling creeping into his chest.

“What’s your name?” he asked after a moment.

“Lila,” she said softly. “Who are you?”

“Tomura Shigaraki.”

Her little brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you a hero?”

The question made him bark out a bitter laugh. “Not even close.”

She tilted her head, studying him carefully. “But… you’re not yelling at me. And you’re not leaving.”

Tomura stared at her, unsure how to respond. He should leave. She wasn’t his problem. And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to turn away.

“Do you have a Quirk?” he asked, changing the subject.

Lila blinked, confused. “I dunno. Mama said I didn’t have one yet.”

His frown deepened. Something about her was… off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Come on,” he said abruptly, standing up.

“Where?” she asked, her voice small and hesitant.

“With me,” he said. “Unless you want to stay here and wait for the bad people to find you.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry again. But instead, she scrambled to her feet, clutching her rabbit tightly. “Okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She reached for his hand, her tiny fingers curling around his. Tomura stiffened, his instinct to pull away overridden by the realization that his Decay hadn’t activated. He glanced down at her, his mind racing.

When they arrived at the League’s hideout, Lila was practically glued to Tomura’s side. Her small hand refused to let go of his, and she trailed after him like a shadow, her wide eyes darting around nervously.

“What the hell, Shigaraki?” Dabi drawled, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the wall. “Didn’t know we were running a daycare now.”

“She’s staying,” Tomura said curtly, not bothering to explain.

Toga’s eyes lit up as she bounded over to Lila with a wide grin. “Oh my gosh, she’s adorable!” she squealed. “Can I keep her?”

“No,” Tomura snapped, pulling Lila closer.

The girl buried her face in his leg, clutching his pant leg tightly.

Spinner frowned. “And why exactly are we babysitting?”

Tomura shot him a glare. “Because I said so.”

Lila peeked out from behind Tomura, her voice muffled as she whispered, “Is this your house?”

Toga giggled. “Something like that, sweetie.”

“Do you have food?” Lila asked, her stomach growling audibly.

Tomura sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Spinner, get her something to eat.”

Over the next few days, Lila clung to Tomura like a lifeline. She followed him everywhere, her small hand always reaching for his whenever he moved. If he sat down, she was immediately in his lap, her rabbit nestled between them.

At first, it annoyed him. He wasn’t used to having someone so close all the time. But gradually, he found himself… tolerating her.

“Why do you scratch your neck all the time?” she asked one day, looking up at him with curious eyes.

Tomura froze mid-scratch, glaring at her. “None of your business.”

She tilted her head, unfazed by his sharp tone. “Does it hurt?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “No,” he muttered.

“Good,” she said simply, leaning her head against his arm.

One evening, as she sat in his lap drawing on a scrap of paper, Lila looked up at him with a serious expression.

“Why didn’t the heroes save Mama and Papa?” she asked softly.

Tomura’s chest tightened. He didn’t have an answer—at least, not one she would understand.

“They’re not as good as they want you to think,” he said finally.

She nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “I don’t like them,” she said. “They’re liars.”

For the first time in years, Tomura felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth in his chest.

“Don’t worry, kid,” he said, his voice low but firm. “They won't be there for long, i'll make sure of that.”

Lila smiled, reaching up to pat his face with her tiny hand. "Thank you. You’re a bit scary, but you’re not bad.”

Tomura stared at her, the weight of her words settling over him. She didn’t know it yet, but she was far more dangerous than he could ever be. And he would make sure no one took advantage of that.

---

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sundriedworm · 2 months ago

Text

‘A cliche story about the end of the world.’

Demo TBA

[Content warning]: This IF is intended for 18+ readers due to themes of depression, self-harm, violence, death, and potentially more as the story developes. Please read with care and take care of yourself above all!

It started with a wish…

Up above the rocky hills, the roaring oceans, deafening cities and isolated hills, a star shining in a brilliant white glow.

Growing up in the small town of Glass, you realized early on that the world tends to loop. Days blurring together, the same acts after the same acts that’d leave the years melting into one big glass of boredom. Add a dash of sugar and you get the small town experience.

Glasses of lemonade on hot days in the field, rough hands and scraped knees…

You play as a 22 year old, just released from a psych ward. Brittle and recovering just in time to go home to a father who you have a love/hate relationship with-you had hoped for a story of healing and reconnection.

That’s not the one you’re given…

You come home, leaving the safety of white walls and set schedules, leaving to face the chaos of the world-politics and disasters, and a newly discovered star that people claim is heading towards earth…a star that people claim is the first sign of the end of the world.

And for once in your long and hazy existence, do you see…feel…the evidence that times are indeed changing.

Stagnancy coming to an end…

With a bright bursting light and a taste of impossibility.

• Decide who you are; appearance, sexuality, hobbies, favorite color, star sign, and the chosen you made, that led to who you now are…

• Fall in love-or don’t, the choice is yours. Five romancable or befriendable characters.

• Create bonds that last (for whatever amount of time is left) whether that means friendships or animal friends, or yourself-that’s up to you…

•Deal with your grief in a multitude of ways; Bad humor, anger, or maybe just shrivel up into a ball and stay there.

• Learn to live again, and learn to love it

• Watch the world change

• Watch it crash…

• Watch it burn…

• And watch it end.

Sydney Moore; The Bleeding Heart.

Sydney was never one to make big plans, most of her life she hopped along, dragging all hopes and dreams with her. So it was no surprise that when her grandad called, she dropped everything in the city to move back to Glass. Caught up in the middle of the end, watching buildings crumble and humans turn to despair, Sydney grips the edges and holds them together, even if it threatens to be her undoing.

Diego Montoya; The Sunflower.

Diego hates Glass, in fact it’s the last place on earth he’d like to be. Not that he’d ever tell his father that, his dad’s pride is his own, and he is well aware that the farm he grew up on is like his father’s second child. Diego dreams of escape, but his roots keep him held down, and Diego is more than ready to face the burn of the sun-if it means keeping his dad happy. The event of the star bursting sends hope radiating through him, for once in his life he stares at the sun, his eyes shining just as bright…

Isaiah Locke: The Camellia

Isaiah bows his head every night, clenching fingers together, praying for forgiveness. For what? Perhaps just for being alive…because despite the polite exterior, the purity of clean clothes and a pearly white smile, Isaiah carries a darkness that the lord can’t merely ‘fix’. As his parents pride and joy, a miracle created by God’s hands himself, Isaiah has a certain standard, and he’s yet to see himself or any other meet it…When things grow messy, despair runs rampant, Isaiah feels himself being torn between reveling in it and searching for his savior..

Abigail Fox: The Forget-Me-Not.

Abigail never mastered the gesture of false smiles, her own always too sharp, too fake-even with pretty red lips. The drawl of sweet honey sounding more trapping than kind and hands that always were a bit too sharp. Being the image of perfection is no simple thing, and morality isn’t either-if given the chance, Abbey would let the world burn if it meant tasting the brief taste of freedom and recognization. Lost in a world no longer centered around her, she’s stumbling with the weight of responsibility, not even her bright eyes can guide her now…

???: The Ghost Pipe

To be at home, is the greatest wish…

I am not a professional writer! I’m often stumped on punctuation, I try to hard to be poetical (didn’t do too well in English class either). I’m writing this purely because I have far too many thoughts and far too much time on my hands.

(Also…I struggle with coding-so getting the demo out will not be easy 💀.)

I hope at least some of you are interested in what you see. If you could offer any (gentle) critique, I’d welcome it with open arms.

Thank you in advance <3

#interactive fiction #interactive story #demo #interest check #if game #if wip #is this how you do this?

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deliajackson · 3 days ago

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Snippet of a fic I will never write

"I... I've thought a lot about what you said," Apollo finally spoke after standing at that door in silence for quite some time.

Rhea lifted her eyes from the kitchen counter of her house, where she’d been toying with an orange—the cabin her father, Poseidon, had remodeled to look like a summer home.

"...And?"

"You know… for someone who was terrible at all my domains, you sure have a poetic way of saying you love me, Rhea. I’m flattered, by the way." The joke was weak. Rhea’s hand squeezed the orange so hard she felt the juice press against the peel.

"...Apollo..." Rhea began.

"I'm not a good man," Apollo interrupted. He rarely sounded solemn in all the time she’d known him, but now he did. "I’m not even a man, to begin with. Even if my father somehow made me… 'human.' I'm not really. This—this flesh?" Apollo gestured to himself, running a hand down his arm. "It’s clay he molded and confined me in, stripping me of who—what—I am."

"...I know that..."

"I know you do." Apollo interjected firmly. "You're smarter than people give you credit for, you always have been, and I’m not going to treat you like you’re not." Rhea bit her lip. He was one of the first to ever say that. Annabeth had always treated her like she was an idiot, and often, too many people agreed with her.

"I'm made of essence, Rhea. I was born and have existed for millennia. I was there when the first humans crawled from the mud. I was there when the Hellenes raised their first cities. I was there when Troy fell, when Alexander raised his army and invaded Hellas, when Plato twisted us into moral models, and when Socrates died. I saw the birth of Rome—and its fall. I saw Christ’s crucifixion and watched our temples crumble and fall when Christianity began its crusades. I saw humans cross the seas to the land you now call America. I saw Napoleon conquer Europe—and part of Egypt. I stood in the hall when he declared himself emperor. I witnessed the birth of the British Empire, the two Great Wars, and everything up to today. I have my hands on every page of history. As the God of Civilization, I was there—for better or for worse."

"What's the point you're trying to make, Apollo?"

When people say the worst someone can say is no, they’re lying.

"I'm saying I’ve done unspeakable things, Rhea. Some because I had to, yes—to keep the balance of the Cosmos, which is my duty—but many others? I did them because I was bored. Some out of pure sadism. Others just because I could."

"I know. I know the myths—not all, but enough..."

"The myths aren’t entirely true. And they’re only the tip of the iceberg. Many were lost because they were never recorded." Apollo shook his head. "And you might know them, but you didn’t live them. I’m not insulting your intelligence, Rhea. Just stating that the full weight of their cruelty escapes you." He gave a self-deprecating smile. "And out of selfishness, I hope it stays that way. Because despite your frankly terrible temper," he added with a soft snort, "you are a good person."

"I'm not..."

"You are." He repeated, his blue eyes softening as he stepped closer. "I don’t say this lightly. Most people... they aren’t good or bad. They have moments of empathy, of cruelty, and pettiness. But at the end of the day, they’re neutral. That’s humanity. But you, Rhea, you are inherently good. A few moments of cruelty don’t erase the rest of the whole."

"You could’ve just said you weren’t interested, you know?" she muttered, annoyed. Apollo blinked, then let out a small laugh. A tiny tsunami stirred in Rhea’s chest, her hands clenching into fists.

"That’s not funny! I..."

"Rhea." He interrupted, placing a hand over her closed fist, finally exhaling. His face was flushed from laughing, half disbelieving. "I was willing to stay mortal for you."

Her anger vanished as fast as it came, and her eyes widened like two coins.

"W-What?" Apollo exhaled softly, stepping closer, his other hand brushing her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn’t noticed falling.

"I was willing to give up my divinity," he repeated slowly, almost amused by the absurdity. "To live and grow... old." He snorted. "with you."

"...I... I..." Rhea was speechless. Apollo loved being a god. He loved it. It was who he was.

"I’d never ask that of you… You are who you are." she whispered.

"That’s exactly why I’d do it for you," he replied gently, brushing a loose strand behind her ear. "Do you remember the first time I saw you?"

"...On the train? Fred?"

"No." Apollo chuckled softly. "On Hephaestus’ TV. The Tunnel of Love."

Rhea grimaced.

"That?" she muttered.

"I was intensely curious. Among my many domains, prophecy was always… one of my favorites, you could say." He shrugged. "When I heard Poseidon had a forbidden child, I immediately wanted to know who. The Great Prophecy swirled around you. I remember seeing you and Annabeth in that ride, thinking you might die there. That the prophecy would shift to someone else. Another child." He snorted. "Then you screamed at her to jump. From a speeding cart. And you both survived."

"Funny how those were the simpler times."

"Being accused of stealing from the King of the Gods was... more peaceful, certainly." Apollo seemed terribly amused with irony. "And then I really saw you, when you entered Olympus."

"I didn’t see you that day." Apollo didn’t seem impressed with her statement.

"Of course you didn’t. You were all running around like lunatics, not paying attention to anything. But you were small then, and your fate lines were... foggy. I was fascinated. It’s why I sent you on ridiculous quest after ridiculous quest" — he echoed her words from a week ago, sounding genuinely amused — "all throughout your middle and high school. You were fun. Especially when I watched you biting your tongue, furious, trying not to curse me out like an especially grumpy kitten."

Rhea narrowed her eyes. Not impressed. But biting her tongue again. Apollo laughed softly. She probably had the same grumpy kitten face he liked so much. Gods, why did he fall for him again?

"Ha ha."

"Sorry about that."

"You're not sorry."

"I’m sorry for putting you in danger. But not for annoying you." Apollo declared with a huff. Then, more softly: "Rhea. What I’m saying is... I’ll do everything I can to heal you."

"...Apollo."

"Listen to me." Apollo said. "I’ll do everything. I’m the God of Healing, Rhea. There’s practically nothing I can’t fix. Even if souls aren’t my specialty, I’ll find a way once I get my divinity back."

Rhea looked away, but Apollo gently turned her face, not letting her eyes escape his. His gaze was so intense, so determined.

"And if you can’t?" she asked softly, hating how fragile her voice sounded. "What if it’s too late?"

"...Then I’ll never forget you," he declared, solemn and final. "Not that I think forgetting you is possible. Even if I hadn’t fallen in love with you—you’re still a living legend, my love. But according to our culture—my culture..." he corrected himself, "you’ll live on as long as someone remembers you. And I will remember you, for all my days, until every star in the sky burns out. I’ll remember you."

"...Apollo..." Rhea tried. Their foreheads were touching now, his arm around her waist. The orange had long been forgotten on the counter. Her hands rested on his chest, feeling that false heart pumping ink-like blood beneath her fingers. Ba-thump, ba-thump.

"You��ll never be forgotten, Rhea. I’ll carve you in stone and ink. Your legend will outlast millennia. They’ll know the warrior you were, how your heart was strong and kind. The leader and the strategist. How power flowed through your veins like a river. Your victories and feats."

His hand rose to her cheek, eyes never leaving hers — soul to soul.

"But not just that. They’ll know your love for blue cookies, your kindness and your compassion. They’ll know you baked to deal with stress. That you love skating and horseback riding. That you took time to help dryads, naiads, and sea animals caught in nets. They’ll remember how you struggle to go from E to A in any instrument you try to play."

Tears welled in Rhea’s eyes.

"They’ll know how your eyes shine and the dimple that appears when your smile is real. They’ll know how you put others first, and how I love and hate that about you." Apollo continued softly. "I will remember you, and I will make the world remember you. As long as your memory remains—you will never truly die. I swear to you, on the Styx. On my ichor. On all my domains. I will remember you."

Tears streamed down Rhea’s cheeks like little rivers as they shared the same breath. It was instinct that pulled her closer—hands rising to his neck, then his hair, before their lips met in a desperate dance.

His arm tightened around her, the hand on her cheek moved to her nape.

It wasn’t enough to express what she felt, but words wouldn’t do justice either. After a moment that felt far too short, they pulled apart, sharing the same breath, the same heartbeat—green eyes locked with blue, a moment that felt like eternity, before Rhea rested her head beneath Apollo’s chin.

"...Now I finally get where the title ‘God of Poetry’ came from." she joked, trying to hide the vulnerability.

Apollo let out a soft laugh into her hair.

#perpollo #pjo apollo #rhea #fem!percy jackson #female percy jackson #basically the idea here is that “trying to mend something that breaks in your soul haves consequences”#when apollo was turned into lester he gets closer of fem!percy and he learns that she is dying after what happend in tartarus #rhea here is dying because her divinity is burning her soul from inside out #as she is still too much human this is slowly killing her #pjo #Definitely gonna delete this post later since i am feeling very insecure about #anti annabeth chase #for that one line

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