#Man the borders we cross every day...

[imjustli]

So anyways here's a mildly related article I read recently and will be haunted by forever

thinking about those swing doors with no handles and no locks that open both ways and how they're really the Idea of a door more than anything. they're purely symbolic. anyone can walk in and anyone can walk out at any time but you still have to cross the threshold. you still have to make the choice. it still means something even if nothing could have stopped you. because there's a door there.

[stargrillzz]

Beauty and the Freak

summary: For every teenager at Hawkins High School, it was inexplicable why someone like you would approach a weirdo like Munson. Maybe he's threatening you.

note: I think I speak for everyone when I say that we will never get over Eddie. Not only is he hot, but he was so cute. God, I really hope he somehow magically returns in season 5. this is a lil long and smutty (no so much) and also, idk if this is trashy or not, but tonight I'm doing part 2 xoxo

"Okay, girls! It was a great practice. Don't forget to bring some ideas for a great finale. I'm open to hearing anything. Bye!" Cheerleading practice had ended, and it had gone better than you'd expected. A very important game was approaching, and everything had to go perfectly.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I know you hate talking about it, but Jason's already mad because Kaleb won't stop talking about you," Chrissy tells you. You let out the biggest sigh. "He's so annoying! I told him no 13 times…" You indignantly comment to your friend. "13 times! I counted! He's bordering on stalker." The two of you finish grabbing your bags and head out into the hallway. "This has to be a joke," you said, fed up. "It even looks like we summoned him. It's creepy," your friend looked at you with pity. Jason and Kaleb walked toward you. "I love how that uniform looks on you, baby," Jason said to Chrissy. You quickly fixed your cold gaze on the other boy; you really couldn't get rid of him. "Keep your comments to yourself, thanks." You put on a fake smile and continued walking. "Why are you acting like this? All I'm doing is trying to get you to even look at me." You stopped walking and turned around, ready to argue. There was no way he was going to come across as the victim here. "That's not my problem, I told you. You seemed super sweet the first few times, and I was even flattered," you said, widening your eyes. "But you're crossing a line. You don't accept rejection and you won't leave me alone. I don't like you! Go away!" And with that, you set off in search of your locker.

❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀

After so long, the moment you'd been waiting for arrived. The bell signaling the end of the school day. Excited, you ran to the exit and quickly headed to the back of the school. "Munson?" The newly minted man turned around and looked around, his face puzzled. He didn't understand what the cheerleading captain was doing looking for him, and even worse, how did she even know his last name? "Are you talking to me?" he asked. You simply nodded with a smile on your face. "Yeah, sorry to bother you, but… I was wondering, do you have something… you know?" His face changed, fully understanding what was happening. "Um, not really. Normally they have to let me know beforehand, I don't do that right away." "Oh, sure, I understand," you laughed nervously. "Sorry, this is my first time, I don't know how this works." He smiled tenderly. "Don't worry." You both shared glances, him smiling at your innocence and you at your nerves. Finally, he came around and pointed to his van behind him. "I have, you know, the green stuff at my house… if you want, you can come with me…" "Wow, you're fast, Munson," you laughed a little. "I-I'm not sorry, sorry, that's not what I meant, forget it." Eddie grew nervous at how strange his proposal had sounded. Although your answer sounded stranger to him. "I'll come," you said confidently, and headed to the passenger seat of the van. "What? Really?" He turned to look at you. "Yeah, why not?"

After processing what was happening for a few seconds, he simply climbed in next to you and started the van. "Don't worry, we'll get out the back." You looked at him, confused. You weren't exchanging anything, it wasn't anything unusual. "Oh, come on, the cheerleader, the most popular, the most beautiful girl in town. You don't want to be seen with me," he let out a sarcastic laugh, looking straight ahead. You were still smiling, but at the same time, you were frowning. "I couldn't care less. They're all idiots I'll never see again once school's out. I really don't care." You looked at the trees through the window. Eddie really couldn't believe it.

❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀

"So… this is my castle. I'm sorry it's so clean and tidy. I…" They both looked at each other and laughed. "It's cozy. At least you know someone lives here. In my house, there's rarely anyone with me. The decor is too simple, the rooms are too big, therefore, too cold, everything is too clean and perfect… it's sad." "Yeah… fuck it all," he sighed, looking up from the floor. "Fuck it all," you laughed. He led you to his room, which led to a roughly 40-minute conversation based on your questions about the guitar posters and him explaining each story in great detail. Until he finally gave you the thing you were really in his RV for. "Well, that's it, what you were looking for," he smiled at you. "Thank you so much," you put it in your bag. You weren't going to lie to yourself. You were really having a good time, you didn't want to leave. And it seems the universe heard your prayers. "I, uhm, n-don't want to sound weird or anything, just, I don't know if you want to stay and hang out, only if you want to, obviously…" "Yes!" you interrupted his nervous stuttering. "Of course."

You both sat down on the bed, and the conversation flowed so naturally that it seemed like you'd known each other your whole life. You both turned out to have very similar tastes and interests, similar personalities. You'd never have thought that two polar opposites could have so much in common. "Can you believe it? God, I really couldn't look a dog in the eye for a whole week!" you said indignantly. You were both lying side by side on the bed staring at the ceiling. "You just accidentally stepped on his paw. It's not that big of a deal," he laughed, turning his face toward yours. "Of course it is! He's a small dog, and his paw must have hurt a lot," you turned your head as well. You were both very close, so close that you could feel each other's breathing. You stared at each other for a few seconds, inevitably smiling. "You have a very beautiful smile," you whispered, looking into his eyes. "You are insanely beautiful, inside and out." Your smile faded; no one had ever said anything so beautiful to you. It was always about popularity, appearances, money, and how important mommy and daddy are on the social ladder. No one really cared about the other person. "Did I say something wrong? I… I'm sorry-" You interrupted, closing the space between you for just a few seconds before quickly pulling away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" Now you were the one interrupted. Eddie's hand rested warmly on your cheek, his lips moving slowly with yours, completely in sync, as if you'd done this a thousand times. It felt so fucking good. The kisses lasted for a few minutes, their lips moving together, and a few shy but mischievous smiles at the same time. "God," he said, taking a deep breath, "that was…" "Incredible," you smiled, looking at his mouth, flushed from the recent session. You didn't even think about it for a second and threw yourself on top of him, now kissing him much more passionately, as he allowed you to do whatever you wanted with him. You both adjusted your position; he sat against the backrest and you straddled him, slowly rubbing yourself against him, getting even wetter with each of his little moans and murmurs. "Wait," you said, pulling away slightly. His face showed concern; he really didn't want to screw up. "I don't know about you, but I really want you to fuck me right now." You placed wet kisses on his neck. "I really don't think there's anything I wouldn't want to do with you. The thing is… I've never, you know." "You barely had any contact with women?" He looked at you, surprised. "I want to say no, but there's no need to say it like that. It seems like I'm a…" "A freak? Honey, you are a freak," you kissed him slowly, biting his lip. "But that's what drives me the most crazy." You took his hands and directed them to your breasts. "That and the fact that you've never touched a woman before." He smiled mischievously. "I bet you're just as freakish as I am." "You have no idea." You began to rub yourself against him more intensely while he watched, hypnotized by the movement of your breasts, touching them as if they were gold, although, to him, they were. "Do you want to fuck me in my cheerleader uniform?" You asked provocatively in his ear. He could only nod, unable to form a single word.

In the midst of all the wet kisses you were giving each other, you unbuttoned his pants while he lifted up your miniskirt, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. "Are you sure you want this?" you asked him one last time, just in case. "I've never been so sure about anything in my entire life," he looked you straight in the eyes. "Please." And that was all it took. Slowly and provocatively, you scattered kisses until you reached his pelvis. Seeing how big it was, you couldn't hold it back any longer; you took it all in your mouth. You had never felt so turned on as you looked at Eddie's face at that point, throwing his head back in a pleasurable sigh. "God," he said. "Fuck yeah, I don't know what's hotter, the sensation or watching you choke on my dick."

You stayed down there for a few minutes, but you were convinced you weren't going to let him finish right then. "I-I think I'm about to cum, fuck, keep going." His face paled as you quickly pulled out of your mouth and quickly straddled him again. Looking into his eyes the whole time, you took his big, hard dick in your hand and very gently began to slide down. "Oh my god, Eddie, you're so big, fuck," you moaned loudly, biting your mouth. He impulsively grabbed your hips tightly, squeezing you as if that would serve as catharsis. "It's so tight," he brought his face closer to your breasts. "Jump on me, baby, bounce hard on my dick. I know you love it, don't you?" he said between moans and sighs. Damn, you thought, where did he get such confidence out of nowhere? But the truth was that, inevitably, seeing you and hearing you moan about how big his cock was made him feel good. "Tell me you love it." "I love it-" You simply couldn't; with him thrusting in and out so hard, it was impossible. You were at it for about 10 minutes, five of which were spent with him fucking you on all fours. He thrust into you with a force you didn't know he had, moaning as loudly as you could and even biting the sheets and pillows to contain some of your noises. When you both came, you spent a few minutes lying in bed, breathing and trying to recover all your lost energy. "Did you like it?" you asked curiously. "That was the best experience of my entire life." You couldn't help but laugh slightly at his astonished face. "Well, I'm very glad-" "EDDIE!" a man's shout came from the entrance of the house. You both quickly get up and get dressed. "Who is it?" you ask worriedly. "That's my uncle," he whispers, approaching you. Without you being able to do anything else, and with Eddie still buttoning his pants, the door suddenly opens. "Damn, man, don't you know how to play?" the freak asks. "Oh shit, sorry, I wanted to know if it was you with all that noise…" Eddie quickly pushed his uncle out of the room and walked out into the small hallway with him.

You were red-faced with embarrassment, and inwardly grateful that he'd gotten his uncle out of the room. "How much did you hear?" the young man asks, concerned. Wayne sighs in disgust. "Things I wish I could erase from my memory." Eddie immediately squeezed his eyes shut, and was about to apologize. "Don't bother, just make sure I'm not home from work." He turns to leave, but something stops him in his tracks. "How did you do it?" "What do you mean?" "A cheerleader? Seriously, you? And a cheerleader?" he asks incredulously. Eddie looks at him, offended, and quickly gives him the finger. "Fuck off."

❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀

Leaving the cute weirdo's house was easy. Thank goodness his uncle was in bed, and you didn't have to say hello. How embarrassing. It was already the next day. Eddie was a little disappointed. He really didn't expect you to talk to him again unless you needed something illegal. And he clearly knew you weren't going to speak to him at school, which made him sad. He'd really had a great time, way beyond the sex. But he didn't know anything. It was lunchtime. The cafeteria, as always, was perfectly divided into its specific social groups. The black-haired man was with his group of friends, the social outcasts, the freaks, but he really wasn't paying attention to anything his friends were talking about. "Eddie," Dustin called, "what's wrong? Aren't you listening?" "Sorry, what were you saying?" But he didn't hear him either. He was too busy watching you sitting about two tables away, how beautiful your smile was, your long chocolate-brown hair, and your excellent figure… as if he were telepathically calling you. You turned around and both of you locked eyes. Although you smiled slightly at him, you quickly turned your head back to your friends. His disappointed gaze lowered to the table. "Shit," he whispered. He knew this would happen; you're super popular, but maybe, even though he doesn't want to admit it, he still had some hope… "Hey, Eddie," your soft voice sounded behind him. There was such a silence at the weirdo table that you could hear a bishop fall. Everyone stared at you, not understanding what was happening. How could you be at his table, and how do you even know the name of his friend, the freak king? Eddie slowly turned his head in disbelief. "Hey," he sighed, quickly standing up from the table to face you. "What are you doing here?" "What do you mean, I wanted to say hi, does that bother you?" "No, no, of course not," he quickly answered. "It's just that I didn't think you'd approach me at school, much less in the cafeteria," he laughed awkwardly. All his friends were still staring at them in disbelief; there was no way in this universe that what they were experiencing could be explained. "I already told you I don't care," you said tiredly. "I know, I just… it's just that I didn't think…" You had gotten that far; you couldn't listen to him anymore. You would do anything to make him understand that you didn't care what people said. And you did. Your arms quickly slid around his neck and your mouth connected with his, leaving all the boys at the table and some of your friends in the distance with their mouths on the floor. It was a tender kiss, immediately reciprocated by Eddie, who didn't even remember that he, the weird kid who plays monster games, was kissing the most beautiful girl in town, the friend of everyone at school, the girl everyone wanted to be with. "Please understand," you said between kisses. "I like you." Another kiss. "A lot." And the world stopped spinning for him. "Are you sure about what you're saying?" he said, unable to believe it. "Of course," you smiled, the two of you still sharing a beautiful closeness. "I'll expect you at my house today at 4 p.m. Bring plenty of clothes. I don't plan on letting you go for at least a week." With one last playful smile and one last kiss on those soft lips you loved so much, you walked away again. "Bye guys!" you greeted his friends as if it were an everyday occurrence. "What the fuck?" was all you heard from them.

[aangelinakii]

SOME TIME FOR HIMSELF.

— of course he's grateful, but...

summary : of course damian likes that you get on well with his family, he just wishes that maybe they'd let him actually pull you away from them.

note : i always feel like my damian fics are on a whole other level 💀💀 they're so poetic

the first time damian introduced you to his family, inviting you to dinner one night, he had high hopes that you would be a crowd favourite — and he was never wrong about that.

his father had welcomed you into their abode with a tight smile, kind, of course, but rather wary as to what your intentions may be with his son; by dessert (alfred's star tiramisu) bruce was laughing at every joke and grinning at every story.

his brothers — dick, jason, tim and duke — introduced themselves with their most intimidating glares, thick arms crossed over their chests, emphasising their size, and just how much damage they could do if any came to their youngest kin; as alfred's tiramisu was settling happily in stomachs, they found themselves squabbling over who deserved to get you on their team for eight-ball pool. duke won.

that night damian found himself falling asleep quickly, a soft smile plastered to his lips, images of your smile, so comfortable, as you chatted easily with steph as you awaited your turn with the cue. you'd even managed to crack cass out of her shell a little — and it was only tonight that damian realised how big of a family he had.

even alfred had good things to say when damian purposely stayed back to help him load up the dishwasher once dessert was finished.

he couldn't help that warm pride fizzing in his chest.

but that was four months ago, and damian thinks he sees more of your avatar on wii sports than he actually sees of you.

any time you come round his, you're always whisked away by tim wanting to show you the newest issue of a comic you both gushed over a month ago, or steph dragging you up to her room to update you on some gossip she told you about that time you were here last week. sometimes even ace can't help himself wanting your attention.

he doesn't necessarily want to border you from his family, but when you live in a family so big, no one understands the definition of "personal space."

it gives damian the chances to take you out on dates, go out of his own comfort zone; the arcade, the cinema, paintballing, mini-golf. when money doesn't want to be spent, you two can go on walks, or spend your time together at the library getting studying done.

but sometimes chilling at home is nice, too.

sometimes he wants to play wii sports with you, not sit back on the couch, forced to watch you play tennis against jason; sometimes he wants to play one-on-one eight-ball against you, not stand against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for the game to finish.

so today he's going to be sneaky.

it'll be difficult, sneaking around a family of detectives and vigilantes and alfred, but damian thinks he can do it.

as he creaks open the mansion's front door, the alarm disarmed by one alfred pennyworth — the only person damian had told in advance about your being there, as he realised there was nothing you could hide from that man, even if you tried — damian scans the foyer for any bystanders. once he's sure there's no movement, he looks back at you and smiles, pushing the door wider for you to step past him.

"i say let's get some food and take it upstairs, so we have steady rations for the day," damian suggests, taking this slightly more seriously than you expected; the crease in his brow reminding you of an army general checking the bunker's inventory for the week.

with a soft chuckle, you allow damian's soft palm to take yours, his nimble fingers closing around the back of your hand, tight like he hasn't been able to hold it in a long time — and he has, he's just being dramatic.

feet careful against the marble floor when the plush carpet disappears, damian leads you into the kitchen, where a softly whistling alfred is standing with his white sleeves rolled to his elbows before the sink, drying up glass cups with a cloth.

he barely sends you a glance, though the corner of his mouth curls slightly, and his whistling ceases for a moment.

"i had to tell alfred you were coming," damian explains, his voice an undertone in efforts to not attract any adopted siblings or billionaire fathers. he heads to a cupboard and opens it, pulling out a few crackly packets of crisps and other shared-favourite snacks he claims to have gone out and bought just for today. "he knows too well when i am lying, even though i hadn't lied about anything yet — i was just scared he would find out if i had."

back from the sink, alfred's whistling stops, though the squeaking of polished glass continues. "wise decision, master damian, i'm glad i taught you early on."

now he glances back. "i would go quickly now, last i saw, master dick and master jason were on their way up from the gym. if you want to avoid them, as you say, i wouldn't dawdle."

"dawdle? we are not—"

"master damian," alfred's tone lilts pointedly.

"right." and, with that, some snacks in your grip, some in damian's, he shifts the weight of them to one arm, which seems slightly uncomfortable, and carefully takes your elbow to lead you through a passage behind the fridge.

flickering flames crackle as you ascend the winding steps to the second floor.

"i get you want to have one-on-one time, damian, but you know i really like your family," you find yourself saying halfway up. "it's not that you think i dislike them, is it?"

"no," damian's quick to respond, glancing back at you. "it is that i am beginning to dislike them. they disturb our time together. every time."

you're about to reply, saying something about how maybe time together is turning into time with them, which is okay, but a cluster of voices mutters past the suit of armour concealing you in the shadows of the passageway, and damian presses a finger to his lips.

it's certainly steph, being a girl's voice, chipper, unlike cassandra's, and a boy's voice, either dick's or tim's — but there's people there, and damian doesn't want to be found. more so, you to be found.

after a few silent beats, the voices recede, as well as footsteps atop carpet, and damian leads you out from behind the suit of armour.

just as you're coming out from thr passage, your shoulder clings against the metal elbow of the knight, having misjudged the tightness of the gap between him and the wall, and a metallic twang rings out.

in a manor filled with junior detectives, nothing of the sort goes unnoticed or unchecked, and a door opens before damian can even take your hand.

"(name)!" a voice gasps cheerfully — three guesses who — and another one groans, who you know by now is your boyfriend's.

chest torn between wanting to go along with what damian had planned, and responding to steph as she emerges from her room, your instincts respond. "steph! hey!"

"i didn't know you were coming round today," she smiles, absently taking a pack of crisps from the bundle in your arms and opening it up for herself.

behind you, damian scowls, not taking it upon himself to hide it at all. "that was the point."

stephanie doesn't seem to notice damian's tone, or, seemingly, damian's presence at all, and she places a hand on your shoulder. "you'll never guess what happened the other day," she begins, guiding you back towards her room.

"more already?" you laugh, both intrigued, yet glancing back wistfully towards damian, who's been left alone in the hallway.

"like you wouldn't believe!"

just as she's about to close the door, damian appears, hand on the wood, holding it open, the food dropped somewhere back in the corridor, thick eyebrows knitted together like a sweater. "hey!"

"oh, hey, dames," stephanie takes a break in her gossip update as she sits down at the pink swivel chair at her cluttered desk. "just stealing your partner for a sec, i hope that's okay?"

"it's not," he replies before stephanie can turn back to you and continue.

the stone in his tone is abrasive, gritty, something usually unheard of. stephanie could ignore it, but she finds herself mouth open, blonde eyebrows upturned.

"oh, i'm sorry, i—"

"no, you're not sorry," damian cuts her off again, stomping towards you and takes some of the load off your shoulders, taking a few of the snacks from your arms. "you always do this. whenever (name) comes round, you and everybody else in this house take them away from me. they're here to see me, not you. not you, not dick, not tim, not father."

"hey, that's not fair—" stephanie shoots you a guilty look as her sentence is cut off once more by your emotional boyfriend.

"what's not fair is that the time i want to spend with them is diminished by my siblings, who are not even my real siblings, who insist on being utterly... utterly stupid!"

damian storms off in a huff, off into the hallway and into his bedroom, where the door slams, causing you and stephanie to flinch.

by now she's abandoned her open crisp packet, her appetite suddenly gone, and you don't feel too normal sitting on the edge of her bed with a strange array of snacks in your arms. you want to apologise, but now you understand why damian was so intent on having a day just the two of you.

the words are on the tip of your tongue, and you want to meet steph's gaze, but you can't really bring yourself to.

"i... sorry, i..."

"it's okay, i should be the one who's sorry," stephanie dismisses your apology with a small shake of the head, not watching you either. "i think you should go check on him."

you release the bundle of snacks onto stephanie's duvet, which you don't think she minds, and get to your feet.

when you pass through stephanie's doorway into the corridor, a few heads are peeking out of doors, including duke a few rooms down holding an airpod in hand, having plucked it out to eavesdrop. you offer a smile, and he shares it, putting his airpod back in and retreating to the safety of his room.

outside damian's room, you knock lightly and let yourself in, knowing he won't respond, but also knowing no one else would be knocking on his door after something like that.

he's lying face-first on his bed, fists clutching the sheets so tight his knuckles are turning white.

the mattress sinks slightly beside him as you lower yourself down, placing a careful hand on his shoulder blade.

"damian?" you try, voice just as soft as your touch. "i'm sorry i bumped into the armour, it was an accident. i didn't mean to get steph's attention, and i didn't realise how important it was to you that we got to spend time together."

though muffled, damian's voice comes from within his navy, star-speckled duvet. "it's not your apology to give, you did nothing wrong."

he shifts and you can see half his face, eyebrows still screwed towards each other. "it's everyone else. they can be too much. they always ruin our time together."

"i don't think they realise they're ruining it," you suggest softly. "i think they think they're doing good by you, by getting to know me and having a positive relationship with me. have you ever told them it bothers you?"

the gap between your question and damian's reply is long and lengthy, stretching longer and longer, and you already know the answer, that by the time it comes you're not surprised.

"no."

your hand smoothes circles over damian's upper back. "damian..." you sigh. "how can you expect them to know what you want if you don't tell them?"

mouth squishing out in a pout, damian's shoulders shrug up beneath your touch.

"i know it's difficult, and sometimes you feel like some people should know better, but i think you should tell them."

with a sigh, damian pushes himself up to a seated position, eyebrows less tense on his forehead. "i know, you're right."

improving from that pout, damian's lips pull into a small, minute smile, and he leans forward to engulf you in a hug. "i'm sorry for overreacting," he huffs into the crook of your neck.

at the affection, you feel your lips curl in tandem with his, and one of your arms comes around his back to reciprocate. "it's okay, damian, and besides, it's not me you should be apologising to. we can go together, okay? and then you can tell steph how you feel."

damian's body soaks up into yours, and he lets out a content breath through his nostrils. he doesn't respond verbally, but you can feel him nod his head against your shoulder, and your stomach drops in relief.

[satyricplotter]

you have the red hood on speed dial. for information, you know? you're not part of any shady deals, but it pays to have an ear out in crime alley. not that you do your job. it's the third time this month jason has swung by your apartment to find you've called him over not to report on suspicious gang activity or some funny guy encroaching on his territory, but to... repair something. last week was your pipes. today's your AC.

"tell me something," he says, scrubbing at the filters over your sink. his sleeves are rolled up, forearms covered in suds. you pulled over a chair. to watch, mind you, not help. not that you could help much in this tiny ass kitchen. he's bent over the single sink, forehead perilously close to the perpetually slightly open cabinet. he wonders when you're gonna call him over to tighten your screws.

"something," you say, quite seriously.

jason exercises patience and throws some suds at you. you shriek like he'd held you at gunpoint anyway. "you got any yellow pages around? they still sell them. heard they've even moved to the internet. you know the internet? i know you have access to it because you asked me to rewire your modem three weeks ago."

"thank you for that, by the way." you smile bright and sweet at him. "it goes so much faster now. every single one of my freeloaders has come up to me to show me a different minecraft build since you did that. i can only hope that will translate to me getting a high rise penthouse when they all become architects."

he snorts. your freeloaders are the three children in the apartments on your floor that you've shared your wifi password with. jason had significantly improved on the system you'd been working with the minute he found out--it keeps the kids off the streets, you know? part of his responsibilities. nothing more.

"stop fucking deflecting," he says. this stain won't go out. is there mold here? he glances at the ceiling. hm. he should check next time.

you cross your leg the other way around. you're wearing shorts. it's a hot day out in gotham. summer. no AC. your skin sticks together at the thighs. he can hear it. he can almost feel it. a drop of sweat runs down his back, the phantom caress of a finger.

it's a hot day out in gotham.

he turns back to the filters.

"i just don't know what you're getting at, mr. hood," you sigh.

jason rolls his eyes. so needlessly evasive. and for what? just to keep him there.

"what i'm getting at," he says, "is why you don't call a plumber. or an electrician. or... whoever does this fucking job. some guy out there must be making their living scrubbing these things. call him, why won't you?"

"then what will you do?" you wonder curiously.

jason snaps his head towards you. looks at his helmet on your dinner table. then at you. helmet. you. his face must tell you everything he can't quite put politely, because you laugh uproariously. he shakes his head like an old man lamenting the state of the youth, even though you're probably older than him. he wonders if you know that.

"i could be out there doing serious stuff," he grumbles, just to say.

"like severing heads?" you pipe up, wagging your eyebrows.

jason huffs. "that was one time."

snickering, you stand up. "hey, don't sweat it, big man," you say, clapping his shoulder. your hand lingers there, and when you retract it, so does the heat of it. jason can almost feel its imprint. you smile up at him, hip leaning against the counter right next to him. jason thinks he might stay here forever. the grease on these filters won't give.

"i thought it was a grand entrance," you continue. "scared us all big time. made everyone put their guard up. i didn't see hide nor hair of skittish george for a week after!"

jason tongues at the inside of his mouth, trying not to seem surly and failing miserably. "i wasn't trying to scare you."

"it's 'cuz we didn't know," you explain, a smile bordering on shy dancing in your mouth. jason feels inexplicably wound up, like his body's picked up on something his mind hasn't. "hadn't met you yet."

when you move behind him, slowly, wrap your arms around his waist, jason cannot say he didn't see it coming. but it does catch him off guard. everything you do seems like it catches him off guard. the most vapid, inconsequential shit in the world suddenly has weight. a clogged pipe. a broken light switch. an empty gas canister. his presence in your life.

you press your forehead between his shoulder blades. the wet heat of your sigh sinks into his bones. he glances down at your hands hooked together by the ring and pinky fingers. do you always do this? he wants to know. he's filled with hunger.

"you're good people, hood," you mutter, cheek to his back.

jason swallows down at the water. "you don't know that."

"i know," you say. sound sure of it. the smile that unfurls against him has him squeezing the soap out of the sponge. "you fix all of my shit."

he sets everything aside. fuck these filters. you barely even move when he tries to turn around, caging him immediately against the sink with a bright grin. he should've seen this coming. you don't even care that his hands are cold and wet when he sets them above your hips, just shiver a little against him. he settles against the sink and you follow, rest your chin on his chest. jason just observes you for a moment, your bright, open face. he smooths a hand over your temple, leaves it resting on your nape. you receive the touch with eagerness that sends sparks down his spine, but he has to say the words before anything else goes down. it's just proper form. mom did say that.

in an apartment just like this, in fact.

"i don't do that because i'm good, though," he says.

you raise your eyebrows. "oh?" playful smile. he wants to eat it. he will. "why then?"

jason snorts. pinches at your eyebrow just to throw you off your game. you squeak and flail, chiding him for ruining the moment, and he takes the opportunity to grab your face in his hands and bring it close to his. you shut up mid-word, and the face you make is a little funny. he wants to keep seeing it. he will.

he speaks the next words against your mouth. "i do it because i like you."

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ beneath her tongue, there is a poem, and i find it every time.

knight!paige x princess!azzi. men & minors dni.

synopsis: in the gilded halls of the house of fudd, knight paige bueckers is assigned to guard princess azzi—a woman whose intellect cuts deeper than any blade and whose beauty feels like both salvation and damnation. what begins as duty transforms into something far more intimate than either anticipated.

cw: explicit sexual content (fingering, semi-public), power dynamics, knight/princess dynamic, class differences, dom!paige, sub!azzi, possessiveness, hunting/chase kink, mild degradation, praise kink, emotional vulnerability as intimacy, duty vs. desire, implied forbidden relationship bc this is not even close to what the king and queen hired paige for, devotion as obsession, attempted assassination, violence, the inherent eroticism of a woman with a sword, choosing love over duty/marriage, we are playing fast and loose with historical accuracy.

notes: this was supposed to be only 6k. I'm not completely happy with this, but i hope you still enjoy. please let me know what you think. i love you.

when paige first met her, she was swaddled up to the cheek and down to the bone. she stood rigid in her thick furs, the pelts a brown so dark it almost looked as if the night itself had come to settle around her. they were spotted, possibly an exotic leopard or lynx, and a matching pill-box hat sat upon the thick swell of her curls. still, there was something sweet about her as she looked out across the drawbridge to where paige gleamed in her armor.

perhaps it was her parted mouth, open like two rose petals teetering precariously against one another, neither strong enough to stand alone. or maybe it was her teeth, the two peeking out just slightly like a rabbit's, white and square and sitting neatly behind the vermilion of her lips.

when the captain of the guard had briefed her, he'd called her princess azzi of the house of fudd with the sort of reverence reserved for delicate things. looking at her now, paige thought the man might have been blind.

it wouldn’t surprise her. most men were incapable of seeing beyond what they were given at face value.

she stood still, the winter breeze blowing brashly against her skin until the light brown was tinged a fervent pink that bordered on red. her arms were crossed, her body unyielding. she did not want to be guarded, but paige had yet to meet a charge of hers that did.

besides, why would a princess want to forfeit any form of her sovereignty?

paige was unsure of how they would begin.

on her first day, she woke right as dawn began to brush against the night-bruised sky. it was always heavy, her sleep, and she sat on the edge of her bed for several moments, blinking herself into the real world. her head swung down, blonde hair lush and falling around her like wheat sewn into a doll's head.

with a sigh, paige rose to her feet and reached behind herself. she gathered the thick body of her hair into a great, golden bulk and then secured it in a loose bun that sat sweetly at the base of her neck. her body ached, her bones still unnerved from her trek to the fudd lands.

after a brief sink into the wooden bath just to the side of her bedroom, she dressed in her leather and mail, and made her way through the castle's winding corridors, her boots echoing softly against the stone. the fudd castle was grander than any paige had served in before. tapestries lined the walls, depicting hunting scenes and court life, animals slain in feverish color, and human faces rendered so realistically that it made paige almost feel ashamed to be looking upon them. 

even the servants' quarters boasted carved woodwork that would be considered luxury elsewhere. ducks with vivid beaks, elk and deer with antlers so painfully sculpted that they seemed to strain out of the wall with a silent wish for life, and the ripe buds of flowers on the cusp of blooming into their true state.

it took a moment before paige realized she was standing still, her head craned upward to trace the religious murals on the ceiling as if she were a child. embarrassment whispered across her cheeks in a red haze, and she roused herself back into her journey to her charge’s chambers.

the hall seemed an endless anabasis, but eventually she arrived at azzi’s door. the doorknob, she noticed, was inlaid with gold and crystal. she paused outside, raising her hand to knock, when she heard movement within. the heavy oak door, adorned with the princess’s personalized fudd family crest—two swans on the outskirts of an elegant ‘a’ and ‘f’, the calligraphy limbs of the letters braided together in pale blue and silver—stood slightly ajar.

“your highness?” paige called softly, pushing the door open just enough to peer inside.

azzi's chambers were a study in excess and beauty.

the walls were paneled in cream and gold, adorned with delicate painted medallions depicting cherubs and archangels engaged in various pastoral scenes. ornate furniture filled the space: chairs upholstered in sage-colored silk, a writing desk inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and dominating it all, a bed that looked fit for an empress. 

the headboard rose nearly to the ceiling, carved with elaborate scrollwork and draped with a rich fabric canopy dyed deep emerald, teal, and gold. beyond it was a mural of a forest, the trees grey and skeletal and rising in spindly lines toward the ceiling as if seeking light. paige thought it revealed more of azzi than anything else in the chamber.

atop it all, sunlight streamed through floor-length windows, casting everything in a warm, honeyed glow. it stopped just short of making the room feel sickly or stuck in a memory.

despite the sheer opulence, it wasn’t the room that gave paige pause. it was azzi herself.

the princess sat at her vanity, and her hair—god, her hair—fell in dark, copious ringlets down her back, nearly reaching her waist. it moved like water, without reason or restraint, as she tilted her head and ran a thick, silver brush through the length of it with practiced strokes. 

she wore only a thin chemise, the morning light making the white fabric seem translucent against her skin. parts of her almost seemed completely bare, a trick of the light that paige made a conscious choice to ignore to the best of her ability.

paige had guarded noblewomen before, had seen them in various states of undress and vulnerability. but something about this moment, the intimacy of it. the way azzi's hair caught the light, the soft concentration on her face, made her feel like an intruder.

“princess,” she said, her voice rougher than intended.

azzi turned, and when she did, that cascade of hair shifted and settled around her shoulders like a dark cloak. her eyes met paige's in the mirror's reflection, cavernous and the color of flame-kissed wood, and there was something almost knowing in her gaze.

“azzi,” she corrected, and paige blinked. 

the other woman turned then, her chin tucked coyly on the ridge of her shoulder, and gave paige a pale smile.

“we’re to be together for quite some time. i’d like it if you’d call me by name.”

“i—yes, your—” azzi cast her a look. again, paige’s mouth twitched. “as you wish, azzi.”

azzi turned back to her vanity, drawing her hairbrush through the remaining ringlets until they were more waves than anything else. paige wished she wouldn’t. her hands itched, as if urging her to take hold of the brush and finish the job, but she only clutched them around the hilt of her sword instead.

“so,” azzi said, breaking the silence. she rose, sidestepping the vanity chair and approaching the short chaise at the foot of her bed. “what is to be your jurisdiction?”

“what?” paige asked, and almost at once she felt stupid for saying it. 

she watched as azzi wrapped herself in a thick, dove-grey, woolen robe. her eyes caught upon the way azzi lifted the mass of her hair from its collar, the descent of it almost hypnotic. azzi sat, tucking a foot underneath herself as she reached to the side where a plate swollen with pastries rested on a small wooden table. she ignored paige for a moment, seemingly looking for something, before letting out an endearing “ahah!” and conjuring two plates and a small knife out of thin air. 

paige truly needed to begin paying attention. this was not the first time she had taken watch over a beautiful woman, but azzi appeared more beautiful than most in a multitude of ways. her beauty was so—so visceral that it stung paige like bees, and her only thought was to unhinge her jaw so that she might swallow and become its hive.   

the breakfast spread was elaborate as expected: manchet bread, made fresh from sifted wheat flour and still warm from the ovens, with a golden crust that crackled when broken. sweet rolls studded with candied fruits and spices, their scent heady with cinnamon and nutmeg. a slew of delicate wafers and thin biscuits meant to dissolve right on the tongue were tucked alongside cold-roasted capons carved into neat slices, their skin still glistening with fat and herbs.

there was thick cream for pouring and honey languishing in a carved wooden pot, amber and fragrant. next to them, preserves made from fresh fruit: strawberry, apricot, and quince. so jewel-bright in their small silver dishes.

paige prayed her stomach wouldn’t rumble, her blue eyes alighting on the small glasses of ale and spiced wine warmed with honey and cinnamon. she watched, curious, as azzi bypassed it all for the fresh milk just behind them. 

“what i meant before was, what is the exact detail of your assignment to me? are we to only be together when i take a walk and attend to my social responsibilities? will you be there when i bathe?" azzi asked.

paige's mouth quirked upward before she could stop it.

“no, my lady,” she answered, noting the way azzi shivered at the rasp of her voice. her next words fell unbidden from her mouth. “unless you are at great risk of drowning.”

the princess paused, and paige resisted the urge to flee in horror at her lack of respect. then azzi’s face collapsed into a bright smile, before she tipped her head back and laughed. 

“i can assure you that i swim rather well,” she shot back, and paige fully smiled then. 

“come,” azzi gestured. “eat with me. take what you’d like, and then i’ll ring the servants to take the rest of it to my family.”

paige shuffled closer, sitting gingerly in a chair on the opposing side of the table. “do you always take your first meal alone?”

azzi looked up from where she was lavishing the surface of a biscuit with blackberry preserves. her eyes were luminous this close, a solar system of their own. she tucked her lower lip underneath her top teeth before letting it go.

she shrugged and replied, “i used to. now, i’ll only take them with you.”

it was two weeks of this before azzi made her next move.

paige arrived at her door, knocking gently before pushing her way in. azzi looked up from where she was perched on the floor, her skirts pooled around her. upon seeing paige dressed more casually, still with her sword to her hip, she smiled. she rose, brushing her palms along the waist of her daydress. 

azzi was dressed in deep indigo silk that made her skin look radiant. the gown was fitted through the bodice with a square neckline that framed her collarbones, the sleeves long and elegant. her dark hair was swept up and back, revealing the graceful line of her neck and the delicate shell of her ears. a few tendrils had been left to curl against her temples, softening the severity of the style.

“good morning, you. we'll have a walk this morning,” she announced, as if it had always been their custom. “after we eat.”

paige, who had been reaching for a delicate cut of white bread, paused. “walk where, my lady?”

“azzi,” came the gentle correction, followed by a smile that made paige's chest tighten. “and wherever we please. the gardens, the grounds. i find that breakfast sits better after movement.”

there was something in her tone that brooked no argument, though paige sensed this was less about digestion and more about establishing their own routine, separate from the rigid structure of court life.

an hour later, they made their way through the castle's corridors and out into the crisp morning air. azzi had tucked a leather-bound volume beneath her arm, and paige found herself curious about what the princess chose to read.

“you carry a book everywhere?” paige asked as they descended the stone steps leading to the gardens.

“nearly everywhere,” azzi replied, her fingers unconsciously protective over the volume. “i find most company rather predictable. books, at least, surprise me.”

they walked past carefully maintained flower beds bursting with a kaleidoscope of greenery, and topiary shaped into elegant spirals and arches. if paige squinted, she was almost positive one was meant to look like a bird. the morning light caught the dewdrops still clinging to the rose bushes, reminding paige of the thin sugar-dusted petals atop their vanilla cakes this morning. somewhere nearby, a fountain trickled steadily. 

but paige found herself more interested in the way azzi moved, the way her dress swayed with her steps, and how she occasionally glanced at paige as if measuring her reactions. she seemed to be waiting for paige to give in to something, and so paige did.

“what are you reading?” she asked, finally breaking their brief silence.

azzi's step slowed, and she pulled the book from beneath her arm. the leather binding was worn smooth from handling, and paige could make out gilt lettering on the spine.

“niccolò machiavelli,” azzi said, watching paige's face carefully. “you know of him? read the prince?”

paige's blonde brows rose despite herself. “i—yes. during my training.” 

she didn't mention that most knights weren't expected to read such works, that she'd sought it out herself during long winter evenings or even longer campaigns.

“and?” azzi's voice carried genuine curiosity, a gentle prodding differing from the usual testing tone paige expected from nobility.

“i found it…illuminating,” paige said carefully. “though i'm not certain i agreed with all of his conclusions.”

they had reached a fork in the path, and azzi chose the route that led away from the formal gardens toward a more natural landscape of ancient oaks and meadows almost suffocated with pastel wildflowers. paige found herself endeared just slightly toward her charge, her throat tickling with the suppression of a laugh at the way azzi simply decided, and she, herself, simply followed.

“which conclusions?” azzi pressed, and paige realized this was no idle conversation.

“his assertion that it's better to be feared than loved, for one.” paige adjusted her stride to match azzi's unhurried pace. “i think he wrote for princes who rule through force alone. but true loyalty is earned through respect, not fear.”

azzi paused. her smile was slow, pleased. “mmm, i’m inclined to agree. fear is the easier option. respect is far more difficult to inspire on a large scale.”

paige hummed in agreement, and azzi resumed walking. 

“most would say a princess has no business reading about the nature of power.”

“most would be wrong,” paige replied without thinking, then immediately wondered if she'd overstepped.

but again, azzi only laughed at her honest opinion, a sound like bells in the morning air. “you continue to surprise me, paige. i hope you always do.”

paige was silent for a moment, scrambling for an appropriate response before giving up altogether. “i cannot promise that i will, but i can promise to give you my best attempts.”

azzi looked up at her, forcing paige to acknowledge the few inches difference in their heights. “i wouldn’t ask for anything else.”

paige's ears grew red.

they walked in comfortable silence for a while, the path winding between stands of birch and elm. eventually, they emerged into a clearing where a small lake stretched before them, its surface mirror-smooth and reflecting the pale sky. time felt slower, as if they had slipped into a crack of the world meant only for them.

“this is where i come to think,” azzi said, settling herself on a fallen log near the water's edge. she arranged her skirts carefully, the indigo fabric pooling around her like spilled ink. “i told you i was a good swimmer.”

paige remained standing for a moment, uncertain, until azzi patted the space beside her. “sit. please. we're quite alone here.”

paige settled beside her, acutely aware of how close they were. the log wasn't particularly wide, and azzi's shoulder brushed against hers as she opened the book.

“machiavelli speaks of power as if it exists in a vacuum,” azzi said, her fingers tracing the text. “as if the ruler's relationship to their subjects is the only dynamic that matters. but what of those who possess influence without authority? those who must navigate power structures that they cannot openly challenge?”

the question hung in the air between them, and paige understood they were no longer discussing political theory in the abstract.

“someone in such a position would need to be strategic,” paige said slowly. “to understand the motivations of those around them. to build alliances carefully.”

“yes.” azzi's voice was soft, almost wondering. “and they would need advisors they could trust completely. people who see them as more than just their title or their usefulness.”

their shoulders were pressed together now, and paige could smell azzi, the whole of her. some of it she recognized: gardenia, lilac, vanilla, plum. some eluded her, and she just attributed it to azzi’s natural, inescapable magnetism. when azzi turned to look at her, their faces were close enough that paige could count the gold flecks along her irises. she tried not to betray herself, but the way that azzi’s pupils gently dilated made her stomach fall, and in between her legs grew warm like it had been kissed with flame.

“i think,” paige said, her voice more strained than she intended, “that such a person would be fortunate to have found someone who sees their true worth.”

something shifted in azzi's expression, a softening around her eyes. she tilted her head. paige could’ve sworn she moved closer.

“and i think,” azzi replied, “that tomorrow morning, we should walk to the eastern gardens. i hear the lavender is particularly beautiful this time of year.”

it was a promise, paige realized. of more mornings, more conversations, more moments like this one where the careful distance between princess and guard dissolved into something far more intimate.

“as you wish,” paige said, and meant it in ways that had nothing to do with duty.

azzi settled backward, her mouth twisting into something triumphant. 

“just a minute more,” she said, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the watery shine of the sun, “and then we can return to the castle.”

“of course, my lady.”

“azzi.” the correction came swiftly, and paige smiled to herself.

“do you dislike the title?” paige asked, her tone deceptively light. “if you truly hate it, i will cease using it immediately.”

azzi opened her eyes and turned, studying the planes of paige’s face. again, her pupils dilated. “i…”

“yes?” paige said, her voice husking around the question.

“i do not—i do not dislike it,” azzi said, and paige nodded.

“i’m glad to hear of it, my lady.”

silence came between them, and neither one of them dispelled it again. paige closed her own eyes and thought how sweet it was to unbalance azzi, even if only for a moment.

for a while, paige thought this was all it would be. 

breakfast and walks along the grounds, sometimes broken by attending court or dinners meant to honor political guests the kingdom hoped to rope into an alliance. maybe it was all she wished it would be.

but the world had a way of resetting things, reminding one of one's true purpose. paige’s reminder came in the form of an ear-shattering scream in the dead of night. 

one that she knew only belonged to azzi. 

at once, paige became a blur of movement, stumbling from slumber into the hall with her sword hanging loosely from her hand. her bare feet slapped against the cold stone as she ran, her nightgown billowing behind her like a ghost given form. the corridors that had seemed so grand in daylight now felt vast and menacing, shadows stretching long and strange in the flickering torchlight.

azzi’s scream echoed like a wolf’s call, her throat straining as she keened. paige could not tell if it was in pain or rage, but she prayed to god that azzi would keep screaming. for as long as she screamed, she was alive, and she was calling out to paige, who latched onto this proof of life like a dog to an animal’s scent.

panic began to claw at paige’s throat, tightening her breath and acting as a final sign that she had grown too attached to this blue-blooded woman. it felt as though paige could not see anything in front of her, her anxiety rising and rendering her nearly blind. azzi’s scream keened out again, a ragged bird’s song, and paige turned wretchedly, tumbling around a corner and almost falling to her knees.

it was as if something was keeping her out, keeping her back. still, she fought. 

another sound reached her. a crash, the splintering of wood, then silence so complete it made her lungs seize. paige's grip tightened around her sword's hilt as she rounded the final corner, her shoulder slamming against the doorframe of azzi's chambers.

the door hung askew on its hinges, the beautiful carved swans now cracked and listing. inside, furniture was overturned: the delicate writing desk on its side, papers scattered like fallen leaves, and the sage-colored chair knocked backward. the sweet scent of spilled wine mixed with something metallic made paige's stomach lurch. 

she turned wildly, hair whipping like a snare of light. she stepped on something, stumbling as the pain lanced through her, and when she glanced down, she saw and mixture of brambles and earth wet with something she hoped to be rain. she looked up, fear clenching her lungs in a vise grip, and then there. 

there, in the center of it all, was azzi.

she stood over a still form dressed in rough clothing, a pearl-handled dagger glinting in between those beautiful, trembling fingers. paige took a moment to register the blade and realized azzi must’ve been sleeping with it underneath her pillow. 

she had been prepared. how long had she known she wasn’t safe? why hadn’t she said anything?

her white nightgown was torn at the shoulder, dark stains trailing across the fabric like ink dropped in water. there was a perfect bloom of the deepest red across where her heart was hidden under miles of bone and muscle, and paige’s chest seized, a sound escaping her before she could suppress it. 

azzi took no notice of her. her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, and her eyes were wide and unseeing, focused on something far beyond the present moment. she swayed on her feet, her free hand pressed against the bedpost for support. blood sprayed across her cheek from where she had slashed at her assailant and caught his throat, and more smeared along her palm where she'd gripped the blade too tightly in her desperation.

paige slowed her own breathing, recognizing the signs of shock setting upon the princess. when her voice felt steady enough, she released it from the tower of her throat, moving inch by inch until she could better see her lady’s face.

“azzi,” paige breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. the princess turned toward the sound, her movements jerky and unsteady, like a marionette with tangled strings.

when azzi saw her, truly saw her, something crumpled in her expression. her hand flew to her mouth, barely obscuring the sob that escaped it, and fresh blood from her palm streaked across her lips and chin from the grip. the dagger clattered to the floor as her knees buckled.

paige surged forward, dropping her sword to better move, guilt clawing at her chest like a living thing. she should have been here, should have heard the struggle sooner, should have prevented this entirely. but those thoughts scattered as azzi stumbled forward with her arms out like a child, her legs giving way.

“i've got you,” paige said, catching azzi before she could fall. she pressed her cheek to the top of azzi’s head, blue eyes surveying every crevice of the bedchamber. “i've got you. i’m right here. you're safe now.”

azzi's body shook against hers, violent tremors that had nothing to do with the cold. her breathing came in short, sharp gasps that bordered on hyperventilation. paige's eyes swept the room once more. the intruder's body lay motionless, no immediate threat, the windows secure. 

they were alone. she looked back down to where azzi had stilled, her head lolling with the sudden vanishing of her adrenaline. paige adjusted her so that they were pressed closer together, rubbing a large hand down the ridges of her spine.

“good girl,” she murmured, tucking azzi into the pale of her neck. the princess kept silent, and paige didn’t push her. “you did well, azzi. so well.” 

the tip of azzi’s nose was cold with her cooling sweat, and paige could smell the tepid bitterness of urine, most likely released in fear, but she was uncaring of the state of azzi’s body. she gathered her closer, shifting them so that they were further from the body and pressed against the legs of the chaise that stood tall against the end of the bed. 

there was a minute of silence, an unnerving stretch of nothingness, and then paige heard a soft ‘scritch’ just to the right of her. slowly, she turned her head only to meet the gaze of a crudely masked man—his face partially obscured by a thick band of black. his eyes peeked out, gleaming green and mean. 

they stared at each other: paige with azzi practically crawling inside of her, and him with his bloodlust practically licking at his teeth. only another minute passed before they both leaped into action.

it was like a brutal ballet, only there was no stage and a very real threat to both women’s lives. paige lurched upward, dragging azzi with her. the latter lifted her head blearily from where it had been slick against the blonde’s neck, and paige felt the moment she realized there was another assailant. azzi’s entire body went to stone, her limbs leaden as fear consumed her.

paige knew azzi would not be able to kill again.

with a great deal more strength than she intended, paige pushed azzi behind her onto the full body of her bed and rushed the assassin with the full brace of her body. they collided with brutal force, spinning off-kilter in a tangle of limbs and emotion.

paige slammed into azzi’s vanity, her nightgown too thin to defend her against the shards of glass that flowered from the looking glass’s destruction. she and azzi let out a high cry at the same time—paige of pain, azzi of paige’s name.

the assassin grinned, his teeth crooked and black, and paige grunted as he slid a tough hand around her neck. he began to squeeze, and her vision sparked, but she got a hand up high enough to gouge her nails into his eye. he let out a near-girlish yelp of agony and released her. she twisted away with dizzied breath, feet carrying her unsteadily to where her sword lay.

just as she got her hand around it, azzi called out a warning to her, her eyes blown out with fear. paige felt the body heat of the man just behind her, and she ducked into a low crouch, her hips swiveling so that she could somewhat face him.

he towered over her, his top lip dark with the blood that dripped from his mangled eye, and paige knew that he wanted more than ever to kill her.

she refused to die.

there was no more time to waste, so she pushed up on the balls of her feet and carried her sword arm with her. the blade flashed in the moonlight, the steel clean and beautiful as it arced up in a graceful half circle.

the edge met his neck, and she watched as it cut through. there was a horrible, wet gurgle, and then his throat yawned open as his head toppled clean from his shoulders. as the head fell, paige didn’t feel triumph. only the echo of azzi’s scream still caught in her chest, and the warm splash of blood across her feet. 

she had killed before. she had never needed it like this.

for a moment, it spun, like a stocky, flesh-made coin before rolling off into a corner already bruised with drying blood. she heaved out a breath of relief, her body faltering as her wounds caught up with her. her throat burned, and she clutched it, eyes smarting as every bit of pain found a place to flood her.

behind her, azzi scrambled off the bed and to her side. her hand was firm as it encircled paige’s wrist, and she dragged her bodily to her wardrobe. hurriedly, the princess tucked both of them inside and lifted paige’s sword with a low grunt. she managed to slide the blade into the loops of the door's inner-facing handles, preventing those outside from easily getting it to open.

the wardrobe was stifling, the wood groaning under their weight. paige’s knees pressed into something sharp, a forgotten brooch, maybe, but she didn’t dare move. the iron tang of her recent kill clung to the roof of her mouth. paige sat on the floor, reaching a hand out to bring azzi between her thighs. 

azzi was trembling against her, both of them pressed so close paige could feel her breath stutter over her collarbone. she pushed at her hips until azzi turned so that her back was to paige’s chest. it was slick with fear against her skin, but paige clutched azzi to her like a lifeline. 

they stayed like that, blinking silently with their hands laced tightly together, until dawn broke and the main guard found them.

paige slept in the same room as her after that. the only reason she hadn't done so before was that azzi was determined not to have an invasion into every bit of her life.

azzi's bedchambers had been repaired in less than three days, but the same could not be said for the princess. paige had to coax her into a short walk, but azzi refused to go further than the garden. not even to her clearing from before.

she barely spoke anymore, her voice reduced to clipped responses and hollow pleasantries. at breakfast, she picked at her food with the mechanical precision of someone going through motions, her eyes distant and glassy. her fingers, once fastidiously kept, were chewed raw at the cuticles, one nail cracked to the quick. she didn’t seem to notice the blood welling there, only smeared it across her napkin with the same dazed indifference.

the woman who had debated machiavelli with passionate intelligence seemed to have retreated so far inside herself that paige wondered if she'd ever find her way back out.

it had been two weeks of this careful, muted existence when paige finally reached her breaking point.

“we're going for a walk,” she announced that morning, her tone leaving no room for argument.

azzi looked up from where she was methodically tearing a piece of bread into smaller and smaller fragments. even their breakfasts had grown bland.

she sighed, the sound long and tired. “you’re free to go, paige. i’m sorry, but i don't wish to—”

“i wasn't asking.” paige's voice was sharper than she intended, but she was tired of watching the woman she'd come to care for disappear piece by piece. “get up. get dressed. preferably, something you can move in.”

for a moment, azzi's eyes flashed with something like her old spirit. annoyance, perhaps even anger. but it died as quickly as it had risen, replaced by that terrible, empty compliance. paige watched as she slipped into an emerald dress, the fabric limp without the structure of her pannier beneath it. she cinched the corset tightly, her chest rising until paige had to force herself to look away lest the heat in her belly consume her.

they walked in silence through corridors paige now knew by heart, past the lavish tapestries that no longer seemed quite so magnificent. when they reached the gardens, azzi moved to take their usual path, but paige caught her wrist.

“no.”

she led them deeper into the grounds, past the manicured flora and topiary, toward a part of the grounds azzi had yet to show her. the more they walked, the more the hedge maze rose before them, its walls thick and a blackish-green and nearly twice paige's height. ancient yew trees had been shaped and trained into an intricate labyrinth that stretched out in geometric perfection.

“paige, i don't understand—”

“you're going to run,” paige said, turning to face her. azzi's eyes widened, the first real expression paige had seen from her in days. “and i'm going to hunt you.”

“i'm sorry?” the words came out breathless, shocked.

“you heard me. i won’t repeat myself.” paige stepped closer, and azzi instinctively stepped back. “i'm going to give you a head start, and then i'm coming after you. you're going to have to think, azzi. you're going to have to be clever and quick and remember who you are."

“i refuse. i don't want to.”

“i don't care what you want right now, my lady,” paige said, and the harshness in her own voice surprised her. “what you want is to disappear, and i won't let you. it’s pathetic. the woman i know wouldn't run from a challenge. she'd find a way to win.”

something flickered across azzi's face. it looked closest to hurt, but could’ve just as easily been the ghost of indignation. either way, it was the most alive she'd looked in weeks.

“this is absurd,” azzi whispered.

“quite.”

“you have lost your mind.”

“yes,” paige agreed. “now run.”

for a heartbeat, they stared at each other. paige casually took a step forward, letting her face harden with her determination. azzi’s face twitched.

“i said run, azzi.”

finally, azzi turned and fled into the maze, her skirts lifted in her hands as she disappeared around the first corner.

paige counted to thirty, then followed.

the maze was much older than she'd expected, the paths worn smooth by generations of feet. she could hear azzi ahead of her: the rustle of fabric, the soft sound of footsteps on earth, the sharp little gasp she gave as she almost fell. still, the hedges muffled everything, making it impossible to tell how far away she was or which direction she'd gone.

“i can hear you,” paige called softly, her voice carrying through the green walls. “you'll have to do better than that.”

she thought she heard azzi's breathing quicken, footsteps moving faster. good. fear would sharpen her mind, force her to think strategically instead of simply existing.

paige took the left path, moving with practiced quiet. she'd hunted men through forests darker and more treacherous than this. but this wasn't about catching prey; this was about making azzi remember she was more than what had happened to her. paige wouldn’t dare ask her to forget it, but she did have to find a way through it before it ate at her potential.

minutes passed. the maze was larger than it had appeared from the outside, with false paths and dead ends that would frustrate anyone trying to navigate it quickly. paige began to wonder if perhaps she'd underestimated the challenge when she heard it. 

a small sound, almost like laughter.

she froze, listening intently. there it was again. not laughter exactly, but something breathless and almost delighted.

paige’s lips curved into a smile. there you are, she thought.

“come on, my lady,” she called out. “make it fun for me, will you?”

she turned down another path, following her instincts more than any particular sound. the hedges here were particularly thick, ancient growth that created deep shadows even in the afternoon light. she was scanning the path ahead when something solid and surprisingly fierce slammed into her from behind.

the impact sent them both tumbling to the ground, azzi's arms wrapped around paige's waist in a tackle that was equal parts desperate and determined. they rolled once before paige's training kicked in, and she used their momentum to flip them, pinning azzi beneath her.

for a moment, they were both breathing hard, staring at each other in shock. azzi's hair had come loose from its pins, spreading dark and wild across the earth. her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with something paige hadn't seen in weeks: triumph, mischief, life.

“there you are,” paige breathed, and her voice came out a triumphant rasp. her hair fell all around her, shrouding them as it broke free of her bun.

something cracked in azzi's expression as they were shielded with the haze of paige’s tresses. her eyes filled with tears, but she was smiling for the first time since that horrid night.

“i went through the hedge,” she whispered, a wet laugh slipping through her teeth. “like a child. it wasn’t fair, but i thought—i thought you'd never expect—”

“i didn’t ask you to play fair. you thought right," paige said softly. “you were brilliant.”

they were close, so close that paige could count the lashes fanning azzi's doe eyes, could feel the warm puff of her breath. azzi's hands came to rest against paige's shoulders, and there was something electric in the space between them, something that had nothing to do with the hunt and everything to do with the way they were looking at each other.

“paige,” azzi said, and it sounded like a question.

the expulsion of her name came from somewhere deep in azzi’s chest, and the effort pushed azzi’s breasts high, almost to her throat. paige made a sound so low and animalistic—one that azzi answered with a near soundless parting of her mouth—as she lowered her head, her lips crushing against azzi’s as if to draw juice from them. azzi's hands fisted in the fabric of paige's tunic, pulling her closer, and paige fell further into her. she tasted salty, of sweat and strain.

time seemed to slow and quicken at once. paige kissed her harder, all thought fleeing from her mind. her hand found the hem of azzi's dress, fingers trailing along the soft skin of her outer thigh. higher she went, climbing until she could graze her nails against the tenderness of azzi’s inner thigh. azzi gasped against her mouth and arched beneath her. the sound broke something loose in paige's chest, a want so fierce it bordered on pain.

she felt azzi’s body twist, felt it pulse as they became hooked on the same rhythm. azzi broke their kiss, her lips inflamed with the force of paige’s affection. paige let her breathe, dipping down to press kiss after kiss against azzi’s neck. her mouth found its way to azzi’s chest, sucking a soft ripe mark atop the fullness of one. 

she was just setting her teeth upon the other when she heard voices. 

paige raised her head, senses returning to their sharpest state. the conversation was distant but growing closer. gardeners, perhaps, or other members of the court, taking their own afternoon walks.

the women pushed apart as if burned, both breathing heavily. paige rolled away, putting distance between them even as every instinct screamed at her to stay close, to shield azzi from the world and all its expectations.

“we should—” paige started, then stopped, because what should they do? pretend this hadn't happened? go back to careful distance and formal propriety?

azzi sat up slowly, her fingers moving to her lips as if she could still feel the kiss there. when she looked at paige, her eyes were clearer than they'd been in weeks. something dark pricked at the edge of her gaze, and she looked away before she spoke.

“we should go back,” azzi said finally, but she made no move to stand.

“yes,” paige agreed, but she didn't move either.

azzi clutched two fistfuls of her skirts tightly, and paige resigned herself to pretending they could go back to the way things were before. but then, azzi spoke again.

“my room,” she murmured. 

“what?” paige said, turning her full attention from the group approaching the maze to the princess beside her.

“we should go back to my room,” azzi clarified. her tone was firm, her eyes even firmer.

paige’s mouth fell open, and she sat there, hair askew and mind blanking. azzi sighed and climbed to her feet.

“paige,” she admonished, extending a hand to help the blonde to her feet. “do keep up.”

they didn’t speak on the way back. azzi led, skirts muddied and breath ragged, and she urged paige to follow behind her from a distance like a soldier in retreat. she felt as much; glorious in azzi’s defeat of her, winded by victory.

they weaved through the castle until they were sequestered inside azzi’s chambers, the door shutting with a deep finality. it was as if everyone knew it would always end up here. 

the moment it latched, azzi turned. her eyes were fever-bright, chin lifted with a hard edge as if she was readying herself to batter paige into submission. paige didn’t even have time to catch her breath before azzi was on her again, backing her further and further into the room until paige tripped against their beloved breakfast table and fell onto the chaise’s open body. 

azzi left no room for anything other than what she desired, climbing onto paige’s lap with the momentum of someone who’d made her decision hours ago and was only now cashing in the ache.

they both rose in the same moment, tongue and teeth clicking awkwardly with their desperation. it did nothing to break through the spell. paige gripped azzi’s hips tightly, squeezing so hard that she wasn’t sure if the sound she next heard was azzi whimpering or the creak of her bones. her hands kept roving, kept finding new palmfuls of flesh to grip and tease. azzi’s fingers curled in the rough collar of paige’s tunic as she did so, dragging it open with impatience. her palms grazed the plane of paige’s chest like she was verifying solidity, like she needed to touch muscle to remind herself this was real.

she moaned into paige’s mouth as the knight’s hands pushed up the skirt of her dress, her calloused palms finding the shapely curve of her ass and using it to drag her against the rough fabric of her breeches. paige broke their kiss gently, trailing her mouth down until she was back to azzi’s tits, her teeth nipping more dark patches into the soft, golden skin before soothing them with the flat of her tongue. azzi hummed with pleasure, her head falling back to reveal the delicate column of her throat.

she began to roll her hips, using paige’s thigh as a means of friction against her clit. paige let her. how could she not? she had dreamt of being held like this, of holding azzi like this, of fucking someone like they were a fortress she wanted to lay siege to.

azzi dragged her head up by the chin, pulling her back into a dizzying kiss as her hips bucked faster. she broke the kiss only to press her forehead against paige’s. 

“you don’t understand,” she whispered. “i’ve tried to stop wanting you. it’s practically made me ill.”

and paige, paige could’ve slid off the bench and dropped to her knees right then, her whole world trembling around that confession. 

“tell me what you want,” she managed instead, voice hoarse.

azzi didn’t tell her.

she took paige’s hand instead, tough from years of battle, the pads of her fingers still scented faintly with crushed hedge, and guided it beneath her skirts. no ceremony. no flourish. just raw need and the wet heat between her thighs.

paige swore lowly, fingers easily slipping past azzi’s folds and into the hot clutch of her cunt. azzi's head fell back slightly as she pressed herself into paige’s palm, working her hips until she sat at the knuckles of the two fingers inside of her. 

“mmm. yes, like that,” she breathed, and paige felt it echo down her spine. “don’t stop. don’t—”

paige wouldn’t. couldn’t. her other arm wrapped tight around azzi’s waist to keep her upright as she began to move her fingers, slow at first, then deeper as azzi rocked against her hand. it was obscene how easily she parted. how greedily she accepted.

“princess,” paige choked. “god, you—fuck.”

azzi shuddered at the term of address, fucking herself down harder. 

“i need more,” she gasped, her nails digging crescents into paige’s shoulder. “deeper. more. just give it to me.”

something about the way she said it made paige slow. azzi blinked, dazed, and looked at her.

“azzi, did we lock the door? is it—someone could come in.”

azzi’s hair fell around her as she leaned forward, bracing her hands fully on paige’s broad shoulders. she laughed lightly as she began to ride paige’s fingers, stopping only to urge paige to tuck a third one into the sticky, tight press of her cunt.

“i don’t care. i want them to know that it's you inside of me. i want them to know i’m yours.”

paige didn’t think of anything else after that. she gave everything. fingers stroking into her princess with measured force, knuckles catching on slick velvet. her mouth found azzi’s throat, sucked and kissed and grazed her teeth just below the hinge of her jaw. azzi sobbed out her name, legs shaking.

“i’d give you anything,” paige murmured into her skin, voice wrecked. “my name, my sword, my soul, if you’d only fucking ask. i don’t know why you don’t. i know how smart you are, i know you’ve known how badly i’ve wanted to have you. how much i’ve wanted to make you cry.”

azzi’s mouth popped open, and paige wanted to laugh a bit at how easy she was when you got past everything. she felt azzi tighten around her and pressed a hand to her stomach.

“no,” she murmured. “not like this.”

she removed her hand from azzi, fingers sliding out with an obscene ‘schleck’, and it took every bit of strength she had left to ignore how azzi groaned as if she wounded her with the removal. instead, paige lifted azzi so that she was on her knees on that massive bed, dragging the heavy fabric of her dress up to the middle of her back so that her ass was bared.

with one hand, paige spread her legs apart, climbing up behind her so that she could drape the weight of her body over azzi’s back. her breasts hung free where azzi had ripped her shirt—paige had never been one for undergarments—and her nipples were so sensitive that their graze against the laces of azzi’s gown made her moan high from behind her teeth.

paige regained her focus, pressing down so that azzi arched before sliding three fingers back into her. azzi had run out of sound now, her hips twitching as paige brought her free hand under her stomach to rub at her swollen clit. 

“work for it,” she muttered, voice smoky with her thin self-restraint. when azzi didn’t abide by the command, she pinched her clit and relished in the way azzi fell forward with the pain. “i gave you a command. heed it. fuck yourself, azzi. it’s the only way you’ll finish.”

azzi gave a strangled, little cry and began to fuck back against paige’s hand. she gave it her all, hips swiveling as she ground down to the root of the other woman’s fingers. 

“good girl,” paige cooed. “there you go. take what’s yours.”

she could feel the way azzi was dripping down her wrist, her cunt as hungry as paige felt. there was a tight contraction as azzi’s orgasm approached, and paige let her forehead drop to azzi’s sweat-glazed shoulder.

“come on. please. please, my lady, please. give it to me. please. this is all i’m asking. this is—this is all i want.” azzi’s body gave a great heave, but paige held her up. 

she nudged azzi’s legs open further, fucked deeper into her until she was sure she’d discovered some deeper part of her body that had never been touched before.  the change in position made it so that azzi was practically squatting, her bottom lip now dragged between her teeth as she chased her high. 

“azzi, please. i can feel you. i swear i can feel it. just let go. cum for me, azzi. finish for me, princess.”

azzi’s climax came like a storm breaking over both of them: hot, shaking, with a cry strangled against her bedsheets as she slumped into them. paige held her through it, fingers still deep, her heart a cathedral to the holy ruin she’d just witnessed.

when she finally collapsed atop azzi, panting and spent, they just lay there, anchoring one another. the knight and her charge. the sinner and her altar. 

paige with her princess, her lady, her future queen. 

she laughed, the sound half-cracked with disbelief. then, slow as ritual, she raised her fingers to her mouth and lapped up every syrupy drip of cum from them. her tongue buzzed with the sticky lash of azzi’s orgasm against it. it was still warm, still fresh and sweet from her body.

azzi was quiet for a long time. she watched paige eat of her. it wasn’t simply watching. it was a measuring of something she clearly had been considering, but might not have dared name before this moment.

“i think,” she declared, voice hoarse, “that i will never marry.”

“have you always been this decided?” paige asked, a smile tugging at her mouth despite herself.

her head listed to the side so that she could see the satisfied cut of azzi’s face. 

“no,” azzi said. “i only knew when you walked into my room that first morning.”

paige’s breath caught. something old and fatal curled inside her.

“princess—” she started.

“azzi.” again, the familiar correction. 

“azzi—” she began again.

“no one,” azzi cut her off, “could ever inspire in me the affection i feel for you. there is nothing more perfect than when my hips are a bowl for your head to rest.”

paige could think of nothing to say. then, “i’d rather drink from your hips if they are to be a bowl for me. i can lie in your lap.”

azzi giggled this time, pleased by paige’s crude joke, and it was then that paige knew she could never give her up. she would be cruel in that way, always keeping azzi to herself through any means she could think of. 

and still laughing, azzi reached down, carded her fingers through paige’s hair, and gently cupped the back of her head. she held her there, against the softness of her stomach, against the flush-warm skin between her thighs. as if paige were not just wanted but necessary.

azzi shifted so that she could lie on her back, her hands coming to clasp over her stomach. their bodies were beginning to cool. azzi’s curls clung to her neck. paige’s shirt hung in tatters. but the air between them was still molten, almost war-touched.

“you’ll stay with me,” she said, low, fierce. not a question.

paige realized azzi wasn’t looking at her because she was scared of her answer. she reached up, turned azzi by the chin so that their gazes met.

her reply was immediate.

“until death.”

© hcneymooners.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT ─── cillian murphy ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I am turned inside out by the ache in your voice, the taste of your tongue." — ‘Afternoon Masala: Poems’, Vandana Khanna

pairing. cillian murphy x actor!reader

summary. you and your co-star, cillian, are having a hard time performing a sex scene for your movie. they do say, however, practice makes perfect.

warnings. swearing, thigh-riding, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, mentioned/implied age gap, probably inaccurate depictions of actor-life, mirror sex, slight breeding kink, kinda innocent reader(?), AU cillian murphy (not married/no kids), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is not in any way meant to disrespect cillians wife😭 i js made this a not married AU to be convenient!

i.

“Cut - cut, cut!” The director repeated, his increasing irritation colouring his voice completely. “Now, I said it earlier, but—“

You scrubbed your face with a sigh, getting up off of Cillian and the desk, who was propping himself up by the elbows. “It’s not passionate enough,” you finished flatly for your director, who nodded earnestly. 

“I promise, this is as tiring for me as it is for you. Remember,” the director continued, the script half curled in his hands and making a thin flapping noise, “it’s the culmination of six months of pining. Six months of taboo, unrelenting, electric tension. Nothing more than stares in class and brief touches- you are supposed to be bordering feral for one another.”

You, and your co-star, Cillian, were currently filming the first sex scene of a movie portraying the forbidden, toxic love affair between a barely 18 teenage student and her much older teacher. Well, not exactly filming- you weren’t getting far with the scene, for the two of you just couldn’t get it right. Or, as the director liked to say, passionate enough. 

The role was already incredibly taxing, even without the added stress of the sex scene: it was 20 hour work days, living on set in a trailer far from home, having to devote at least half of those hours to filming this very sex scene, and had a perfectionist director like yours. 

The problem was that it was long, and the director wanted it done in one take. Brilliant man, he was, and had a love for this project you wished every director had for theirs, but he was adamant on it being done perfectly. He said it was intended to be the “primary and most iconic” scene of the entire film, for it was the crux of the story; the point of no return for the characters. 

“With all due respect, I’ve never imagined such a scenario, much less had experience. Just how can you expect me to portray a student-teacher romance accurately?“

“That’s your job: to imagine and perform.” The director demanded, obviously up to his ears in frustration.

Just before you retorted irately, Cillian cut in smoothly. “I think what she means,” he said, watching the veins in the director’s forehead nearly burst, “is that it’s hard to perform because it’s not common. S’easy to act in love because there’s love all around, yeah? We don’t have much to go off of, visually.”

The director’s gaze rapidly flitted between you and Cillian for a moment, before letting go of his anger and sighing wearily. “You’ve never even thought about a superior that way? Someone older than you?” he pressed, obviously joking and trying to lighten the set’s mood. 

You paused, and tried not to look at Cillian, your blatantly gorgeous forty-something co-star who was chosen for this role firstly, because of his stellar acting and secondly, because of how fucking attractive he was. 

His character was a total fucking creep, and you knew casting Cillian had been a calculated choice; all in the name of making the audience’s guard come down to be smacked in the face by his immorality later. He was meant to be charming, handsome, and terribly, totally, off-limits: the object of completely forbidden desire, the line your character was desperate to cross. 

It seemed the same in real life, too: the young inexperienced actress wanting to ignore those societal niceties and pine wholeheartedly over the middle-aged actor with decades of knowledge under his belt. 

You weren’t, like, in love or anything, but you certainly reveled in his presence: he was patient, kind, and completely understanding of your lack of experience, always guiding you through all the steps an actor takes during filming like when to take off hair and makeup, what best to say to family and friends prying for details- all the things, he said, he wished someone told him when he was first starting out. 

You were afraid you two had unknowingly fallen into a mentor-mentee dynamic, but there were always those spare moments, between hearty fits of laughter and silly conversation that you’d never expected to come from such an intimidating man as Cillian, where his rough hands would brush past your waist, gaze dragging up and down your body, sounding sensual and provocative despite nothing dirty leaving his mouth at all. 

He made your insides pulse, especially when your more intimate scenes came about, and you could only have a lusting woman’s pipedream that he felt the same. 

You still remember the first sequence you’d done with him: in the movie, your characters met after-class to make up for a missed exam, and it was the start of their corrupt attraction. Cillian had been pressed against your back, leaning over you to pressuringly peer at the test, large hand gripping your shoulder. The air felt steamy then, his body warm, low voice making you feel lightheaded as he recited his lines. 

You shivered at the remembrance of the moment, coming back to reality, and you answered the director’s question with a vehement shake of the head. 

The director let out a (strained) laugh, and smacked his palm lightly with the script, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Okay, we’ll - we’ll break for today. Take this extra time to imagine, research, anything- just practice the scene, alright? Practice makes perfect.” 

You and Cillian nodded simultaneously, giving eachother a look that just screamed “he’s ridiculous” before tearing away from each other's stare to return to your trailers. 

Later, you were getting ready to go to bed, peeling your freshly showered hair out of a small towel, when there was a knock at your trailer door. 

“One second,” you called out, pulling on your silk sleep shorts. You vaguely registered how awkward it might be to be seen in your pajamas if the director or one of your fellow actors came about, but you were way too tired to care. 

You did care, however, self-consciously crossing your arms and covering your thinly-clothed chest, when you opened the door and there on the steps stood your co-star, Cillian.

Before speaking, he looked you up and down, icy blue eyes gleaming behind an unfamiliar pair of tortoise shell frames. “You goin’ to bed?” he finally asked, tone husky. 

His gaze lingered on the bare skin of your legs for a few seconds longer and you shifted uncomfortably, crossing your ankles together in a poor attempt to hide yourself. 

“What do you need?” you asked briskly, more sharp than you meant it to be. 

“Sorry,” he corrected himself, shaking his head and finally looking you in the eye. “I meant’a come by earlier… got caught up. I know this, ah, sex scene is tripping us up, so…” he trailed off, lifting up the white script he’d been holding behind his back. “Y’up for some practice?”

You blinked rapidly at the simple, innocent request. Mere rehearsal, not some lecherous late-night escapade you’d been dreaming up in your mind. “Oh… yes, of course,” you nodded numbly, moving out of the way to let him step in. 

Only moments later, when he’d perched onto the edge of your vanity — looking uniquely casual in what you assumed was his version of pajamas: baggy gray sweatpants and a fitted, well-worn black t-shirt — did you realize the connotations of rehearsing your sex scene. 

Sure, it was all pre-determined, every word you’d say and every action you’d perform, but still. Saying- and doing, such suggestive things after-hours? That was beyond your dirtiest fantasies.

However, you shook yourself internally: Cillian had come to rehearse the scene with professional intentions. Honestly, he’d probably done so because he was tired of you messing up the scene. He could do his own part masterfully, and you knew that if it’d been a better, more experienced actress by his side, filming would’ve moved on ages ago. 

You took shaky, tentative steps near him, settling on your bed, watching him flip through the script— when he looked up and frowned. 

“What’re you doing? Come here,” he gestured for you to come closer, almost a command. “We don’t have a desk, so we can use your vanity.”

You nodded, biting your lip and nervously complying with his words. “So, we’ll start from the beginning?” you asked, your voice -- and legs -- suddenly feeling terribly weak.

His eyes were still trained on the paper as he answered. “Not necessarily. The sex part s’really the only thing we’re having trouble with, yeah?” 

You gulped, throat dry. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

With that, he chanced one last look at the script, before diving into the scene. His actions were ones you were extremely familiar with, having attempted this scene everyday for at least a week now. 

His body turned to yours, hands coming up to your jaw, and pressing your back onto the table slightly. He held you tightly, and made you look at him, while delivering his lines softly, memorable Irish accent replaced by his character’s generic American one.

Jiltedly, you did the same, poorly remembering what you needed to say and dragging through it like some amateur. “Fuck, sorry,” you cursed suddenly, tearing away from his touch and sighing. 

He gave you a small, careful smile, immediately breaking out of character and taking a step away from the vanity. “No need t’be nervous. Practice makes perfect, right?” 

You snorted at his quoting of the director. “I just… I don’t know what he means by passionate. I’m trying to be professional about this but - but I’ve seriously never been in some steamy love-affair.”

“Can’t really expect that of you, can we? You’re too young, too much’ve a good girl for that kinda ‘ting.” He said, hand coming up to your shoulder, the one where your silk tanktop’s spaghetti strap had slipped off, rubbing it soothingly. 

You practically melted into a puddle at both the pet name and how the rough pads of his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin. You were so entranced you almost whined when he stopped and pulled up your fallen strap, but instead you wordlessly snatched the script that was dropped onto the table and found one of the lines, inhaling sharply and readying yourself. 

Your hand came up to tug on the sleeve of Cillian’s shirt, as dictated by the script. “Sir, please,” you whispered out in your character’s high pitched voice, “I - I… want you to touch me.”

“This is -- wrong. I’m your teacher, and I…” Cillian responded, swiftly back in character, the back of his palm grazing your cheek. “I gotta break your heart, darling.”

You looked up at Cillian, summoning crocodile tears to fill your gaze. “Please. I need you.” Then, one of your clammy hands ran down Cillian’s chest as you spoke, like it did back on set. “I think of you, at night. I soaked through my shorts the day you scolded me.”

You heard Cillian’s breath hitch- his character, you reminded yourself. “Fucking hell… I think of you in class, sweetheart,” he growled out perfectly. 

So far, so good, you thought. It wasn’t awkward, and was already miles better than the lackluster performances you’d given previously. You continued by leaning into Cillian’s touch, making him sit on the vanity— the part of the scene you’d gotten to this morning, before the director called cut.

This time, however, Cillian’s actions differed from the ones he was supposed to perform: instead of petting the crown of your head, his fingers trailed down your hips, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ll be good for you, sir,” you recited, face growing hot as his hand inched closer to the curve of your ass. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Cillian’s gaze had darkened now, flitting over your features. He didn’t say his line - or, had at least missed the timing, and you removed your hands from his body worriedly. “Are you alright—“

Before you could finish your sentence, Cillian had grabbed you by the ass, switching your places and setting you down on the edge of the vanity. 

“Cillian!“ you squeaked out, the only thing you could really say as you processed what exactly just happened. Your mind was swimming with confusion — and anticipation — as he stood before you, legs pressing on either side of your knees and trapping you on the vanity. 

“Improv,” he promised quietly in his telltale Irish accent, a sly wink appearing on his sharp features. 

You bit your lip, nodded, and repeated your line. You trusted him to guide you — and the rehearsal — because, as mentioned before, he did these kinds of things often. If he thought you’d act better if you sat on the vanity, you’d sit on the vanity. 

His hand then pet your hair, the other hand coming up to your chin and making you look up at him. “Whatever I want?” he murmured, back on track with the script. 

You bat your lashes at him. “Everything. I’m yours.”

Now, this is where you thought Cillian would stop— because after your line came the kissing and the touching and the heavy petting: all things you thus far hadn’t filmed at all, because you couldn’t even get the dialogue out right. 

Instead, he leaned down and began to press hungry kisses down your neck, making you gasp.

“What are you—“

“Shh,” he demanded softly, “it's all part of the scene, remember?”

You blinked dumbly, mouth opening and closing, unable to register a coherent thought or word. He said it was part of the scene but you’d read that script, and his teeth nipping lightly at your skin was not written anywhere within it.

But, you gulped down your thoughts, and belted out several more of your lines in tandem to his own. With his other hand gripping your thigh so tight you thought it might bruise, you were starting to think that maybe this was one of those lecherous late-night escapades you were dreaming of. 

All you’d been doing was acting, like he’d asked, but still, you could see clear as day how that’d affect him— how easily it could be to succumb. After all, you were just barely restraining yourself from jumping his bones: how could you not, with his gorgeous face just inches away from yours?

Well, acting or not, you’d enjoy every minute of this.

When one of his hands began playing with the waistband of your shorts as he suckled on your pulse, that just right spot on your neck, you couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth. 

However, the noise seemed to startle him; jumpshock him back to reality, and your suspicions became completely confirmed when he pulled away from you roughly. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ a pained grimace washed over his features, looking you up and down like he just realized what he’d been doing. “I don’t know what came over me, I— shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

You stared at him, body disappointed at the lack of touch, watching him press his pink lips into a conflicted white line. “What - what d’you mean?”

His gaze coursed over your every feature, so intently you thought he was admiring your face. “I can’t— we can’t happen. Y’too young, you’re, you’re too…”

“Then we can stop. If that’s what you want,” you murmured coyly, hand coming up to pick a piece of thread off his thin shirt. “But only if you ask. C’mon, say it: I don’t want you and I want this to stop.”

He groaned, biting his lip. “Don’t do that. I can’t do that.”

“Do what?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Tease. Because you know I won’t tell you to stop. ‘Cause I won’t be able to fucking control m’self,” he grumbled, before pressing a desperate, deep kiss to your lips, pulling you off the vanity and continuing down your chest.

“Then don’t. Take me for everything I have,” you whined, following his every move and manhandling touch. 

He breathed heavily between kisses. “Saying those kinds’a words with that pretty voice of yours… fuck, you’re doing things to me.” 

Your hands were trailing all over his body, and then you tugged his shirt off, desperate to feel him. He had similar thoughts, fingers dipping into your silk shorts and petting your hot mound. 

“Need you,” you panted, and, at your words, he suddenly tore off your silk shorts and panties in one clean go, making you shiver.

He then sat down on your vanity chair and roughly grabbed you by the hips to place yourself onto one of his thighs. The thick fabric of his sweatpants, taking in your wetness like a sponge, made you wince.

“Go on then,” he demanded darkly, “get y’self off on my fucking thigh. Show me how bad you need me.”

You bit your lip, face burning with shame at the order. But there was an aching need in your gut, and the way he crossed his arms, watching and waiting for you to get the hell on with it, had you clenching around his thigh.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, and you began slowly rutting against him, the soft fabric of his pants doing poor work for pleasuring your core. You pressed your face into his shoulder, screwed up at the lack of friction. 

“Can’t do it,” you whined, “Please.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You said you needed me. You’ve got me,” he gestured to his thigh, “so get to work.” Then, he suddenly flexed, making an unwarranted mewl leave your mouth.

You wanted nothing more than his fucking cock, but here you were, pathetically pleasuring yourself on his thigh until he allowed otherwise. You nodded resignedly, and dug your fingernails into his shoulders, starting to set a steady pace of grinding down on him, slowly building up the heat within your insides. 

You were moaning now, vigorously dragging your hips against him harder, needier, feeling the pressure in your cunt grow hotter and more rampant. 

“Y’hear that?” He asked, one of his fingers tilting your chin back up to face him. “D’you even realize how fucking delicious you sound, all needy f’me?”

You nodded, but weren’t really paying attention: you were closer than ever, just moments away from falling off the edge— when Cillian stopped you. 

“Stop,” he spoke, voice filled with sheer lust, and you whimpered at the abrupt loss of momentum. Then, he got up, holding you against him by the waist, looking down at his sweatpants. “You made such a mess… soaked all over m’pants.”

You didn’t — no, couldn’t respond to his musings, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to return friction to your needy pussy, biting down on your lip to muffle your breathy pants. 

He noticed this, however, smirking and quickly pressing you stomach down onto the vanity. You caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time since your shower, and you flushed with shame: your eyes were heavy-lidded and dilated, lips pink and slick with drool, your brows in a perpetual knit.

You looked fucking filthy, and when you felt Cillian press his thick head to your entrance, something you hadn’t noticed he’d pulled out, too enraptured in your dirty expression, you shut your eyes. 

You were suddenly so much more aware of the situation: you’d fucked yourself silly on your co-stars thigh, the co-star who was twice your age. He now knew you weren’t a talented aspiring actress, no, you were just a desperate little thing begging to be fucked. 

“Hey, hey,” He tutted in mock-disappointment, “open your eyes, and fucking watch yourself. It’ll be good for our scene.”

You whimpered helplessly, obeying him and fluttering your eyes open, as he pushed his cock past your dripping folds inch by inch. 

“Oh my god,” you cried out when he finally pressed all the way in. You felt so full, stretched to the brim with his hardened cock, so deep his balls touched your sticky clit.

“So fucking wet,” he commented, chuckling darkly behind you. You were totally slick, helping him enter you faster, but his cock was still a foreign intrusion to your inexperienced cunt: you were young, and had never been the type to “get around” — at least not with the intentions of getting fucked so much you could take any length of dick easily. 

You clenched around him, a groan leaving his mouth at the increased pressure around his cock, and he snapped into you, making you bounce forward as your lips parted with a sweet moan. 

You’d been focussed on his face, in the mirror, but Cillian’s hand suddenly tangled through your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and lifting your head to face yourself. “I told you to fucking watch yourself,” he spat, gripping your hair tightly. “you’re the reason we can’t wrap up, so do your job and fuckin’ practice.”

With that, Cillian started pounding into you, digging the rough pads of his fingers into your hip, and you would’ve protested such a fast progression — having been given barely any time to get used to his long cock — but your expression was even worse than before, if that was even possible. 

Your mouth was open, tongue out and panting like a fucking dog, your lustfully sticky spit spilling down your chin to your chest, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head with each hearty thrust Cillian delivered you. The sounds you were making weren’t helping your embarrassment either, all unintelligible mewls and needy whines for his cock. 

“You’ve wanted me for so long, haven’t you? I always knew what a filthy desperate girl you were, pressing up against me during shooting… those naughty hands on my thighs,” he snickered. 

“Needed you in me so bad,” you whimpered, nodding enthusiastically, barely able to register what you were doing now with the pleasure washing over you and clouding your senses. Your back was arching into him, sucking in his cock and never wanting him to leave despite the mind-breaking ecstasy that was coming from his pounding. 

“Just look at your dirty fuckin’ face… so pathetic.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek; sweet and lovely, a stark juxtaposition to his unrelenting rutting and degrading words. 

You whined at his words, but you knew they were true: you’d never seen yourself get fucked, always too busy with, well, getting fucked, but seeing yourself in the mirror like this had you unexpectedly hotter than before. There was just something about it, your face unabashedly contorting around the pleasure, Cillian’s hands snaking up your body as he rammed into you in the background. 

Kind of like your own personal porno, you thought offhandedly, and you wondered how it’d affect you if you filmed yourself. Hopefully, with Cillian. 

His other hand then came up to your folds, spreading them apart so he could see himself disappear into your hole. “Fuck, your cunt’s so perfect,” he growled, his head falling back, losing himself in the pleasure. 

The orgasm building in your gut wasn’t like the one when you’d been grinding down on his thick thigh, no, it came faster, making you sweat and your knees shake. You wanted more, and you gasped out “faster,” and “harder,” to Cillian, needing him in the stick spongy spot deep in your cunt. 

“Please,” you begged without any expectation of a real answer or action, “please, Cillian, please.”

He did go faster, though, to your apparent shock, both hands coming to your thighs to steady himself. “So needy,” he grumbled, pushing himself deeper and more swiftly into you, feeling how deliciously your fleshy walls tightened around his new pace. 

With that, your high came just as quick, hitting you like a fucking freight train and making you scream out his name. Your orgasm wrecked you, made your vision go white and your thoughts stutter to a complete halt, and you vaguely made out Cillian’s proud hum, whispering “Good girl,” in your ear. 

When you came to, your head was hanging low, your eyes blown out, lips puffy. Cillian was still thrusting into your worn-out pussy, but it was more jilted, shaky and needy. 

“Come in me,” you pleaded suddenly, gripping the vanity to keep your trembling legs up, “fill me up, please, make your come spill out of me.”

“Good god, girl,” he groaned, pounding one last thrust into you before letting go, his cock pulsing around your wet core. He was pressed up to you so deep you could feel him shoot his load right into your cervix, and you grinned weakly, a sweet image of you: knocked up with his kid, your cunt so young and fertile you’d get pregnant from just about anything from him, entering your mind. 

After a moment, he slipped his softening cock out of your filthy cunt and picked you up by the waist to set you down on the vanity and keep you from falling onto the floor. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. You then bit your lip, feeling his thick load of creamy come ooze out of your used hole onto your vanity. 

He noticed too, letting out a satisfied groan, spreading your legs lightly, before collecting himself on his finger and pushing his come back into your cunt. “Such a good girl,” he reiterated, going back to being sweet and petting your hair, doting on your weak form, looking deep into your eyes. 

You swooned at his delicate actions. “Is this a good time to say I like you?” 

He laughed, all adoringly. “It’s as good a time as any. I like you, too, if it’s any consolation.” 

“But you, y’know… you said I was too young,” you reminded him, frowning slightly. 

He sighed, gaze drifting away nervously for a moment before coming back to you. “That I did, but, well… if you wanna take this old man for a ride before I keel over,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help the laugh that belted out of you, his words so ridiculous and completely not based in reality. “Oh, sure,” you said, shaking your head, lips still in an amused tilt, “you’re mine, old man.”

Before he could speak, probably say another stupid joke, your hands wrapped around his neck and you pulled him toward you, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips. 

“I like you like you, okay?” You whispered, sounding incredibly juvenile but twice as heartfelt, your tone wavering and self-conscious. You were bearing your heart on your sleeve here, okay, acknowledging feelings you thought should never come to light. 

His hands came up to your face, gently holding you. “Good thing I like you like you, too.”

ii.

“Cut!” The director called, and you swore you felt your heart drop to the floor. Fuck, you thought, mind racing, what went wrong this time? Was it the kissing, or the hands in the hair?

However, the director came up to you and Cillian and let out an uncharacteristic shriek of delight. “Perfection,” he said simply, bordering on catatonic with how content he was. 

Your shoulders slumped with relief, and you leaned into Cillian, who was subtly dancing his fingers across your thigh. “It’s finished?” you asked, breathless with excitement.

The director nodded. “That was electric, needy, tense, delicious, passionate, so, so passionate,” he continued with a gasp, hands clasping together tightly.  “You are two of the most amazing actors I have ever worked with— you are incredibly talented, so convincing I’d have thought you did sleep together.” 

You preened at his praise, but not without looking up at Cillian, meeting his gaze and barely keeping your expression happy and neutral and not at all warm at the thought of the other night's events. 

As the director went off rambling about the utter masterpiece the movie was to be, Cillian trailed behind you off the set, murmuring lowly in your ear, “I guess practice does make perfect.”

[aphroditesmoon]

smoke signals (part ii)

lighthouse keeper!sevika x selkie!reader

summary: sevika is content with her life, the loneliness that comes with her job is inevitable. but then one day, as she reaches the peak of mundanity, almost turning into insanity, you appeared. cold, quiet, clueless, sea-sent you, like a wish fulfilment for her.

warnings: selkie!reader, reader has selective mutism in beginning.

a/n: thank you for the love on part 1!!! i love selkies and seals! and i think we all meed some softness and love in this trying times.

taglist: @lilredbird101 , @djstinkyfartz

wc: 2.4k

PART1 PART 3

---

To find simple kindness in life isn't as easy as people make it out to be. To give out kindness after receiving none of it is even harder. 

You know what it was like to have your innocence ripped off from your hands since you were young. To have to force yourself to stand up tall against the fragile sand breaking in between your toes and keep walking anyways, despite knowing that there's nothing waiting for you at the other end of the world.

Losing your mother at a young age meant having to be comfortable in your own presence. All selkies were seals, but not all seals are selkies. And on nights where you're swimming under the moonlight with your friends, crossing borders after borders, it felt like everything is going as it's meant to be. Even if the feeling never lasted. 

You're a runner, or swimmer, technically. You needed to constantly be moving to fill that emptiness in you. You'd find a place with new kinds of entertainment to satiate the deep curiosity you have for the man-folk, and then leave before you can get attached, that was your game. 

But lately the thrill was disappearing. There was this feeling you just couldn't shake, the feeling that you were truly and completely alone even in a room full of people. 

There was a longing for true connection, but no one to connect to. No one made sense to you. Except her. 

You've been hanging around her for months now, even when she doesn't notice you, while shes doing work, getting on and off the boats with the big man and hia daughters, when she's enjoying the cold wind under moonlight while the sea is calm.

She confuses you, a woman with so much freedom, and yet she chooses to stay here instead, all alone. Why deprive yourself from real connections when you can easily obtain it? Do the other humans not satisfy her?

And so maybe your new curiosity is taking shape in this weirdly lonely and awkward woman. 

You don't really know what you want, self discovery as half sea creature /half man isn't easy. But all you knew that for some reason, the waves of your heart is insistent in going her way, and so you follow in hopes that it would help you feel any other other than aching desperation to be understood.

When she picked you up and carried you inside last night, you had managed to acknowledge a few things about her. The first thing is, she's a man of action. If plan A doesn't work, she's going straight to Plan B. She didn't force you out of your silence and instead worked through it. 

The second thing you learned was that she's less scarier than she looks. And the third is that you were wrong about her purposely depriving herself of human connection. 

With how quickly she went for aiding you is one thing, but you could see the same kind of craving for another person in her eyes, when she caught you out of bed and rummaging through her belongings, there was more of confusion than irritation, but most importantly, there was a need to comprehend your existence.

You couldn't find your coat. It's a few hours before dawn, and she's somehow managed to fall asleep by the rocking chair downstairs. You had used the extra time you had before its time for her to wake up to quietly tiptoe around the tall tower, exploring every level and getting yourself familiar with the place. 

This place is as old as it looks. The paint is peeling off the walls, and the lights flicker every few seconds, giving the tower a sense of melancholy and nostalgia. 

It was just the kind of place you liked, historic but also monotonous. 

Once you reached the level she was at, you silently watched over her, observing her sleeping manner as she remained unconscious. You didn't want to accidentally wake her up, so you only looked around from wher eyou stood to see if you could find your coat, but when you couldn't, you decided to go back to bed, all out of options. 

What was your motive, truly? You weren't sure. You've decided that you're staying, but what angle are you going with?

You've had your fair share of experiences around humans, and in each time, you made sure to have a certain role or goal you're going in with, it saves time, and it's necessary for your own safety. The last thing you needed was some dirty sailor or pirate, locking you up against your will.

But this time, nothing is clear, not even your intentions. You see this situation as a process of trying to understand yourself through understanding her. So the end goal, should probably be some feeling of clarity, right?

It sounds silly, trying to find  pieces of yourself in another woman's puzzle, but sometimes, things fit even in places they dont belong in.

—

Sevika woke up 5 minutes later than usual with a sense of urgency in her chest, which technically meant that she was still early, but that wasn't the point. Something was different today, compared to all the other repetitive and mundane days she's had.

Usually, she'd berate herself for the clumsiness as she'd have nothing else to do. But today, as soon as she woke up, you were the first thing that crossed her mind.

The peculiar girl that somehow survived the antagonising waves of the sea. 

She pulled herself out of her chair and was about to make her way up to the bedroom until she saw you standing outside from the window, leaning against the railing, basking in the calm air as the sun slowly rose up.

You were checked out if reality, enjoying the morning glow as the wind blew through your hair, turning your cool skin even colder. It was a sight to behold, Sevika thought. There was no one who seemed more in her element than you at this moment.

As you seemed blind to her presence, she decided to take advantage of it and get started on breakfast. omelettes would do, at least for now. She even added an extra effort by drawing a smily face on it using soy sauce. 

You entered back in while she was still preparing the food and went up to her from behind, taking a peek at Sevika's neck twisted to meet your face. "Good morning.” Sevika greeted as she placed the plates on the table.

She then beckons you to take a seat with her,  and you don't hesitate to do so.

How did you sleep? She wanted to ask, but she doubted that you would answer. The speaking barrier is stressing her out. There are still some things she actually needed to figure out, were you mute or foreign. Because if you were simply unable to speak, at least she'd be relieved to know that you could understand her.

She sits opposite you and watches you ravage the omelette without a single care for her and the world, not that she'd blame you, if you've been up earlier than her. you must be starving.

You appreciate each bite like it's be your last, and Sevika views you with both awe and frustration, not knowing what to do in this situation. 

It's quite a silly thought process actually, she already knew that there was nothing she could do and that you'd be stuck with her for a while, but how does she tell you that? Or do you already know and that's why you're weirdly chill? Why are you so chill? Were you still in shock?

And why is she having more trouble processing this than you were? Sure its jarring to spend months alone and then suddenly be having breakfast with a stranger who steals her bed, but Sevika has always been a rational and calculated person, so what was the issue now?

Sevika groaned, wiping a hand over her face,  causing you to look up from your plate.

She caught your eye and straightened her back. "I- we need to talk." She forced the words out, not breaking eye contact.

Your eyes never strayed from hers as you feed a spoonful into your mouth. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" She asks slowly. No response.

Sevika didn't want to show her disappointment, so she decided to start with something easier. Pointing her finger to herself, she repeated her own name in a show of introducing herself. "Sevika." She repeated, still pointing to her chest.

You nodded then, shyly but surely. Sevika couldn't help but beam at you, smiling ear to ear. "Yeah? You understand me?" You nodded again.

"And you?" She asks. "Your name?" You're unresponsive again, simply staring blankly at her. Sevika tries again, pointing to herself and saying her own name. "I am Sevika." She says, then begins pointing towards herself, "You?"

She thought that you must be completely lost in your head again as your eyes squint in confusion, but then after a minute or two passed, you shook your head at her.

"No?" What does that mean? The imaginary brick wall between the two of you that she thought had been removed, has just returned.

"I'm Sevika." She repeated herself for the fourth time. "And your name is?" You shook your head at her again. 

"No name?" Sevika is grasping at the end of the straws here. "You have no name, or you can't remember your name?" You went static again. Sevika sighed.

"Well, I need to call you something." She muttered under her breath. "How about this, I'll say a few names, and you nod your head at which one you like, how bout that?" Unresponsive, of course.

Here goes nothing, she thought. "Lily, Kate, Alia, Nadia, Tella, Belle-" Sevika went over a bunch of names in her head until she paused at a particular one when she saw something flashed in your eyes.

She said the name aloud and noticed your eyes widening slightly. "Is that your name?" You didn't quite agree, but you tilted your head to you and gave her a look that said "It'll do." And so for now, It'll do.

---

The phone isn't working, she had known it wouldn't. The line here have always been problematic. Sevika anxiously paces back and fourth after hanging it up, rubbing her temples in a manner that distinctly shows her frustrations. 

"Well there's no safe way to send you out." She says, turning to look at you, who's comfortably  on her rocking chair, playing with a strand of your hair.

"But that isn't something we don't already know." She finishes her sentence.

She halts all of her movement all of the sudden, reminded of something she'd almost forgotten to bring up. Sevika reaches further into the backroom by the kitchen and comes up with a familiar piece of clothing.

You all but jumped out of the chair, striding towards her. This was the first time you've ever reacted this strongly towards anything for all the time you've been here.

"I guess this is yours?" She asks, waving your white coat up. You nodded and extended  your hand to take it from her, but just before she could, you pulled your hand back and frowned.

"What?" Sevika asks. "You don't want it?"

She watches you open your mouth briefly, as if about to say something, but the. closing it back and taking a step back.

"I'll admit, " Sevika starts. "It is quite a useless coat, very inefficient." She teases as she walks forward, taking note of how you keep moving backwards. 

"What's wrong?" She asks again, genuinely worried. "You're not suddenly gaining consciousness about the realities of your condition and stranger danger, are you?"

You laughed at that, a choked, short laugh. But a laugh nonetheless. Sevika smiled despite herself. 

"So you do understand me."

You sat back down at the rocking chair, leaning back and closing your eyes, completely ignoring her and the coat. Sevika confusedly hung the coat on the chair by the window, and dragged it infront of you before taking a seat.

"In all seriousness, you did understand what I've been telling you, yes?" You opened your eyes, and stared into her dark orbs.

"You're going to be stuck with me for a while, until I can find someone to help me get you back to where you came from." You responded with a single nod.

"And you do know where you come from?" You gave it a moment before nodding again. Sevika's eyes brightened. "That's good. Great, even. " She reached for a long folded paper that's pushed to the side by the closet on your right and rolled it open in front of you.

It's a map. "This is a map." She stated. You raised a brow at her, an expression that translated; "I know what a map is."

"It would give me instant relief if you could just circle where you're from, just so we can get some things clear.

She passed you a pencil and moved to give you some space, patiently waiting for you to point towards your home.

You looked through the foreign words you've somehow mastered as you travelled and found yourself in a state of hesitancy for the first time in your life.

You never knew where you were born. From the first time you opened your eyes, you had found yourself in dry land, an infant who had stuck  by her mother's side, and before your mother had passed, the both of you returned into the deep blue sea, swimming through unnamed waters.

You can feel her expectancy as you raised the pencil in your arm, drawing it closer to the map. And so in the end, you dotted a big circle over the whole map, and passed it back to her in satisfaction.

"You gotta be fuckin with me." Sevika groaned, making you smile.

"You are..." A pain in the ass, you thought she'd say, "-an enigma." 

Sevika rolled and dropped the map to where she got it and began walking upstairs, leaving you behind. "I got some checking to do on the lights, call me if you need me. Or don't."

Your eyes stays on her back until she disappears before they turn to your coat that's already dried up and safely hanging over the chair. 

You're gonna leave it there for now, you decided. After all, you'll be here for quite some time.

[hellishjoel]

float

521 words // joel miller x f!reader

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word: lake

warnings/information: post-outbreak, canon-typical aspects of tlou

a/n: my banners are by @saradika-graphics. shoutout to @berryispunk and @lady-bess for putting this together on @fanfictionoverload!

It’s been days of walking under the hot Tennessee sun, attempting a cross-country trek to find refuge.

After your and Joel’s hideaway was raided and trashed, you decided it was time to find the whispered safe haven community that you heard through old radio chatter during your stay at the Atlanta QZ. 

The summer was cruel, the temperatures skyrocketing easily into the 100s and making your clothes stick to your body. Your map signals that you’re in a national forest close to the border of Kentucky. It’s been hours since you last looked, just heading North in the same general direction.

Exhaustion is evident in your steps, each one labored and dragging. If it weren’t for Joel, you wouldn’t have the will to continue. But you both made a lot of promises together, one being that where one goes, the other follows. Always. 

Joel aggressively smacks his neck, a groan of annoyance leaving his throat. “Fuckin’... bloodsuckers.” He mutters, wiping away an insect and then the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. 

Out of habit, you reach for your water bottle, only to curse to yourself a moment later, knowing it was dry. “We need water, Joel.”

He sighs and extends his hand to help you down a steep slope. “I’know, baby.” 

You worry about Joel. He can survive fights against armed raiders and rabid infected, but no one can survive without water. 

Another pesky mosquito takes a nip at your arm, and you’re quick to slap your hand to end the prickle of annoyance. “Christ, why are there so many mosquitos?”

Joel pauses, eyes darting from left to right before he pulls his map from his backpack. “Mosquitos means water.” He trails his finger along the estimate of where you are before tugging you North, the sounds of the ecosystem growing louder as you approach a large blue lake just beyond the hill between the thicket of trees and bushes. 

“Joel, water! Miles of it!” You gasp in shock, seeing the blue in the distance, and it quickens your eager pace. “Joel, water! Miles of it!” 

At the grassy shore, you unclip your pack and kick off your boots. Peeling off your shirt and cargo pants, you glance at Joel, who is pushing down his jeans and smiling widely at you. 

The lake is cold at first touch, but once submerged, you feel like all the nerves in your body go lax. Your mind clears, and in this moment, you feel like this isn’t the end of the world. You aren’t trying to survive every minute of every hour of every day. You aren’t a burden on Joel’s back. You aren’t scared to think about tomorrow and what it may bring. 

You float. Joel floats beside you, a protective man keeping you at no more than arm’s length as he wades in the water. 

Joel’s husky voice breaks the serenity. “We’ll camp here, maybe try to catch some fish or squirrels.” 

Shaking your head, the water ripples. You close your eyes as the sun makes the water droplets on your face sparkle. “Just a little bit longer, Joel… float with me.”

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[sherewrytes]

Gang member Eren x Introvert black reader

Summary: In a dangerous urban landscape, y/n, an introverted Criminal Law student, finds herself drawn into the violent world of the Sixx Gang through her protective cousin, Onyankopon. When she locks eyes with Eren Yeager, a hot-headed gang member, a twisted game of desire and danger begins.

As Eren becomes obsessed with y/n, he threatens to unravel the fragile balance Ony has maintained to shield her from their brutal lifestyle. With loyalty tested and violence lurking at every turn, the lines between love and danger blur, leading to a dark climax where the heart proves just as lethal as a gun.

Genre: Dark Romance/Crime Modern au

Warnings: Graphic violence, drug use, smut, obsession

Taglist: @topshotdivaa @prettypink-princesss @burpzz @niaizzy1623

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Chapter: Unwelcome Intrusion(Y/N’s POV)

It had been a week since that strange encounter. A week since I locked eyes with him—Eren Yeager. There was something about him that was impossible to shake, like a shadow that lingered even after you’d left the light. I’d seen him around the neighborhood before, always keeping my distance. He wasn’t like the others. He felt… different. Darker.

But that day, sitting on the steps of my family’s house with a gun in his lap, was the first time we’d ever been so close. And something about him drew me in, even though I knew I should’ve looked away. There was a pull, a magnetic force that made me feel uneasy and… excited.

Still, I did my best to shove those thoughts to the back of my mind, focusing on school. I had a Criminal Law exam coming up, and I couldn’t afford to slip. Not now. Not when I’d worked so hard to get to this point. I needed out of this life, away from the streets, away from the violence. And the only way out was through that degree.

But then today happened.

I was walking out of class with Annie and Mikasa, still chatting about the lecture on criminal defenses. Professor Miles had really laid it on thick today, and we were all just relieved it was finally over.

“Think he’s trying to scare us into dropping out,” Annie said, rolling her eyes as she adjusted her backpack.

Mikasa chuckled. “Or he’s just bored and likes seeing us squirm.”

I laughed along with them, the tension of school slowly melting away as we stepped into the bright afternoon sun. It was one of those rare moments where I could just breathe, surrounded by normalcy, pretending for just a minute that my life was like everyone else’s.

But then I saw it—the blood-red SRT parked right in front of campus. The car stood out like a bad omen, drawing attention like a flame in the dark. The windows were tinted black, the rims shining under the sun, and something about it sent a chill down my spine.

For a moment, I couldn’t place why it seemed familiar. Then it hit me. I had seen that car before.

My breath hitched.

Eren.

Just as the thought crossed my mind, the driver’s door opened, and there he was, stepping out as if he owned the world. He moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, a blunt hanging loosely from his lips. His brown hair was tied back, and those cold, piercing eyes scanned the campus like he was searching for someone—searching for me.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I froze. Annie and Mikasa were still talking, oblivious to the sudden change in the air. I wanted to say something, to warn them, but my throat had gone dry. All I could do was stare as Eren’s gaze locked onto mine, a slow smirk spreading across his lips.

He didn’t care about the students around him or the professors walking by. He didn’t care that he was standing in front of a university in broad daylight, a blunt hanging from his mouth like it was nothing. He was here for one reason—and it terrified me.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Mikasa’s voice snapped me out of my trance. She followed my gaze, her brows furrowing when she saw the red SRT and the man standing beside it.

“Who is that?” she asked, her tone cautious.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. “Just… someone I know from the neighborhood.”

Annie shot me a sideways glance. “Doesn’t look like someone you should be hanging around.”

I nodded slightly, but my eyes never left Eren. He took a slow drag from the blunt, blowing the smoke into the air, his smirk never wavering. I could feel the heat of his gaze even from this distance, like a hunter locking onto his prey.

“Y/n!” Mikasa’s voice was sharper this time, her hand gripping my arm. “Come on, we should go.”

But before I could move, Eren started walking toward us, the smirk on his face turning darker, more dangerous with each step. It was like the world had narrowed down to just the two of us. The noise of campus faded into the background, and all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Annie stepped in front of me, her body tense. “You know this guy?” she asked, her voice low and wary.

I didn’t have time to answer before Eren reached us. He stopped just a few feet away, his eyes flicking from Mikasa to Annie before settling on me. “Y/n,” he drawled, his voice low and smooth, like he was savoring the taste of my name. “Didn’t think I’d catch you here.”

He flicked the blunt away, his smirk widening. “Why don’t you come take a ride with me? I’ll get you back to your crib safe. Promise.”

My stomach twisted, my heart racing. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to go with him. I knew better than to get involved with someone like Eren, but the pull was still there, stronger than ever.

Annie was the first to speak up, her tone sharp. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

Mikasa stepped forward too, her arms crossed. “You need to leave.”

Eren didn’t even blink. He kept his eyes locked on mine, like my friends weren’t even there. “You gonna let them talk for you, Y/n? Thought you were stronger than that.”

Something about the way he said it—challenging, taunting—set my nerves on edge. I wanted to prove him wrong, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t let him drag me into whatever twisted game he was playing.

“Eren…” I finally found my voice, though it was shaky. “I—I’m not coming with you.”

His smirk faltered for just a second before it returned, sharper than before. “Alright then,” he said, stepping back. “Suit yourself. But this ain’t over.”

With that, he turned and walked back to the SRT, not sparing my friends a second glance. He got into the car, the engine roaring to life with a growl that seemed to vibrate through my bones. He gave me one last look, his eyes full of dark promises, before he sped off, leaving the smell of burnt rubber and smoke behind.

Annie turned to me, her eyes wide. “Y/n, who the hell was that?”

I shook my head, still trying to catch my breath. “Someone I need to stay away from.”

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t going to be that simple.

The rumble of Eren's car echoed long after he’d disappeared down the road, but my mind was still trapped in the intensity of his gaze. It felt like he’d left a part of himself behind—a shadow that clung to me, feeding on my fear and… something else I was scared to name. Mikasa and Annie looked at me, their expressions a mixture of worry and confusion, but I couldn't bring myself to speak.

“Y/n, what was that about?” Mikasa's voice was gentle but firm, her eyes searching my face for answers.

I forced a small smile, brushing off the encounter. “Nothing. He’s just some guy who… doesn’t understand boundaries.” The lie tasted bitter, but I knew that admitting the truth would only pull my friends deeper into a darkness they didn’t belong in.

Annie looked unconvinced; her gaze still fixed on the spot where Eren's car had vanished. “Well, if that guy shows up again, you call us. No way are you dealing with him alone.”

I nodded, grateful for their concern, even if it couldn’t change anything. Eren wasn’t the type to back off because he’d been told no. I could feel it, that pull dragging me deeper into his world, and I didn’t know how to stop it. Or if I even wanted to.

Later that night, after my friends had gone home and the city had settled into a hushed quiet, I sat at my desk, textbooks open but ignored. My thoughts were still circling back to Eren—his cold, taunting voice, his boldness, the way he’d looked at me like he knew exactly who I was, maybe even better than I did.

A knock on the window shattered the silence, and my heart dropped. I stood up slowly, peering cautiously through the blinds. And there he was, leaning against the side of my house with that same devilish smirk. I felt the sting of fear and adrenaline kick in, my mind racing with every worst-case scenario.

Taking a deep breath, I slid open the window. "What are you doing here, Eren?”

He shrugged, unbothered, like he hadn’t just crossed another line. “Wanted to check on you, see if you got home safe.” He let out a low chuckle. “Guess I wanted to see you too.”

“You can’t just… show up like this,” I whispered, voice barely audible, afraid that someone might hear. “People will notice.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Funny, ‘cause it seems like you’re the one afraid of being seen. What, you don’t want anyone knowing you’re friends with me?”

“We’re not friends,” I said, more to convince myself than him. “And you don’t belong here, Eren.”

He stared at you then began moving closer until his face was just inches from mine, only the windowsill separating us. “You keep saying that, but here I am,” he whispered, voice low, and something dangerous flashed in his eyes. “And something tells me you’re not about to make me leave.”

I hated how right he was.

There was a beat of silence, a fragile moment hanging between us that felt heavier than the night itself. Finally, Eren broke it with a mocking smile. “Goodnight, Y/n. Sweet dreams.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving me alone with the sinking realization that I was in way over my head.

The night felt colder after Eren slipped away, his presence lingering in the shadows like a phantom. I shut the window, my heart pounding so hard it hurt, but I couldn’t tear myself away from the sight of him disappearing into the dark.

I turned back to my room, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked just as shaken as I felt, my hands trembling. I’d spent so long trying to stay out of trouble, trying to keep my life clean and simple, so what was I doing letting someone like Eren pull me into his world? A world I’d sworn I’d escape from.

But there was something magnetic about him. Dangerous. It was a force that defied reason, like a car crash you couldn’t look away from, even if you knew the destruction that would follow. And I hated myself for being drawn to it, to him.

The next day,

I did my best to bury myself in schoolwork, but it was impossible to focus. Eren’s smirk, his piercing stare, kept invading my thoughts. It was unsettling, a darkness that clung to me, reminding me of how close I’d come to slipping into something I couldn’t control.

By the time classes were over, I was exhausted. Annie and Mikasa walked with me to the bus stop, their conversation a dull hum in the background. I barely registered their words, too lost in my own head. All I wanted was to get home, lock myself in my room, and drown out the memory of him.

Then, I saw it—the blood-red SRT again, parked across the street. My heart stopped.

Annie followed my gaze and frowned. “Is that the same guy from yesterday?”

“Don’t tell me he’s stalking you,” Mikasa added, glancing between me and the car.

I forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow. “No, it’s probably just a coincidence.”

But even I didn’t believe that. The car idled for a moment, and then, as if he sensed my stare, Eren leaned forward, his hand resting on the steering wheel, and looked straight at me through the window. A small, dark smile curved on his lips, his eyes never breaking from mine.

Annie shook her head. “Y/n, seriously, this isn’t normal. You need to tell someone.”

Tell someone? And what would I say? That a guy from my neighborhood, who just happened to be a gang member, was showing up near campus? What could anyone do? Eren was everywhere, and no one could stop him. No one wanted to get in his way.

Hours later, after dinner and a weak attempt at studying, I was lying in bed when my phone buzzed. I picked it up, heart pounding, and saw a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: “You always look so serious. A smile would look good on you.”

A chill ran through me. My fingers shook as I typed a reply.

Y/n: “Who is this?”

Unknown: “Take a guess ;)”

I didn’t need to guess. I knew.

Y/n: “Stop texting me.”

There was a pause, and then another message came through.

Unknown: “Come outside.”

I sat up, my mind racing. Was he outside my house again? My heart thudded as I slid out of bed and made my way to the window. I looked down, and there he was—Eren, leaning against his car, arms crossed, that smug smirk firmly in place.

I cracked the window open, careful not to wake anyone else in the house. “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

He shrugged, looking infuriatingly casual. “You didn’t think you could just ignore me, did you?”

“This has to stop, Eren. I don’t want any part of this… of you.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “Is that so? Because it looked to me like you couldn’t keep your eyes off me yesterday.”

I clenched my fists, anger simmering beneath the surface. “Get over yourself.”

His laughter was soft, almost dangerous. “See, that’s what I like about you, Y/n. You don’t pretend. You say what you mean, even when you’re afraid.” He stepped closer, hands resting on the window ledge, his voice dropping to a murmur. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

I hesitated, the weight of his words settling over me. “I know what people like you do, Eren. And I don’t want to be dragged into it.”

He looked at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Dragged into it?” He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Maybe you’re already in too deep.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. “Leave, Eren. Now.”

But he didn’t move. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against mine, cold and electric. “One of these days, you’re going to realize we’re not so different, you and me. You might think you’re running from the darkness, but maybe it’s already a part of you.”

With that, he pulled back, stepping into the shadows until he disappeared from view, leaving me alone in the cold night, haunted by his words.

Days passed, and I told myself I was free of him, that he’d finally given up. But I knew deep down that I was only lying to myself. Eren was a storm, relentless and consuming, and I was the one caught in its eye.

It was late one night when my phone buzzed again.

Unknown: “Meet me. Midnight. The bridge.”

I stared at the message, torn between fear and curiosity, the memory of his touch still lingering. I should have ignored it, should have let it fade into nothing. But something inside me burned, that same darkness he’d seen, the part of me that was tired of running, tired of hiding. I wanted answers, and maybe, in some twisted way, I wanted him.

I took a deep breath and typed a single word in response.

Y/n: “Okay.”

I glanced at the clock—10:00 p.m. I had an hour, an hour to get there and figure out what Eren wanted, and an hour to come up with a lie good enough to keep Ony off my trail. My mind raced as I tossed around ideas. Maybe I could tell him I was studying with Annie and Mikasa, but Ony had already shown he wouldn’t hesitate to check up on me. And if he went to Annie’s place to find out I wasn’t there…

I couldn’t afford to mess this up.

I picked up my phone and typed a quick message to Ony.

Y/n: “Staying with Mikasa and Annie tonight to study for our big exam. Professor Miles is gonna kill us if we don’t pass.”

I hit send and waited, hoping he wouldn’t question it. The lie wasn’t bulletproof, and Ony knew me well enough to tell if I was holding back. I grabbed my bag and quickly changed into a hoodie and jeans, trying to keep my nerves in check. My mind was tangled with curiosity and dread, two emotions twisting tighter the closer it got to midnight.

Just as I slipped on my shoes, my phone buzzed. I opened it and felt my stomach drop.

Ony: “Where y’all studying at? I’ll swing by after work, bring you girls some food.”

Panic set in. There was no way I could risk him showing up there, and I’d barely have time to get back before he could catch on. My hands shook as I tapped out a reply, my mind racing to think of a way out.

Y/n: “Actually, I’m just meeting them at the library. We’ll probably be here for a few hours.”

I held my breath, waiting for his response, my heart pounding as I checked the time—10:15 p.m. I’d have to leave soon if I was going to make it to the bridge, and I still wasn’t sure what I’d say if Ony called my bluff. I stared at the phone, willing him to accept the excuse and not push it further.

Finally, his response came through.

Ony: “Library, huh? Alright, just don’t stay out too late. Let me know when you’re headed home.”

Relief washed over me, though it was far from comforting. I knew I was playing with fire, lying to someone like Ony, but the need to know what Eren wanted from me had taken root, and I couldn’t shake it.

By the time I reached the bridge, the air had cooled, a thick fog settling around the dimly lit street. Midnight was still fifteen minutes away, and the silence was almost unsettling. Shadows stretched across the street as I walked, my footsteps echoing softly, and I wondered if Eren was already watching, hidden somewhere close.

I stopped in the center of the bridge, gripping the railing and looking out over the water, trying to steady myself. Just being here, sneaking around like this, felt like I was betraying a part of myself. But curiosity was a stronger force, and some part of me, however small, felt a thrill at the thought of meeting him here. That same part that couldn’t forget his touch, his words, that couldn’t resist the magnetic pull of danger.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” His voice, low and teasing, sent a chill up my spine.

I turned, and there he was, leaning against the railing with that familiar smirk. His dark green eyes caught the light just enough to glint, a predatory look in them that made my skin prickle.

“Why did you call me here?” I asked, my voice steady even though my heart was anything but.

Eren shrugged, taking a few steps closer, hands shoved in his pockets. “Because I knew you’d come.”

I narrowed my eyes, his words striking a nerve. “You think you know me that well?”

“Better than you know yourself, maybe,” he replied, and there was a strange intensity in his gaze, like he could see something hidden beneath the surface, something even I didn’t fully understand. “I can see it, Y/n. The way you pretend to be one thing, but you’re dying to be something else. Something darker. More… free.”

I felt my pulse quicken, my mind reeling. Eren’s words cut through my carefully crafted defenses, and for a moment, I couldn’t think of anything to say.

He stepped even closer, close enough that I could see the shadow of a bruise on his jaw, the faint smell of smoke and leather hanging around him. “You’re curious about me, aren’t you?” His voice was soft, coaxing, like he was letting me in on a secret.

“That doesn’t mean I want anything to do with you,” I replied, forcing steel into my voice.

He chuckled, leaning down until our faces were only inches apart. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Eren’s hand reached up, his fingers brushing against my jaw, sending a spark of warmth that clashed with the cool night air. “I could show you things, Y/n. Things you’d never forget,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.

I shivered, fighting the instinct to pull away—and losing. His words, his touch, the thrill of this forbidden meeting—it was everything I’d fought so hard to avoid. But in that moment, under the dim light and shadow, all my reasons seemed to fade, leaving nothing but raw, unfiltered desire.

“Just say the word,” he continued, his hand lingering just above my pulse. “And I’ll walk away. You’ll never have to see me again.”

I swallowed hard, the choice hanging between us like a live wire. All I had to do was say yes, turn and walk away, and this would be over. But a part of me, that hidden, desperate part, wanted something else. Something darker. Something I’d never allow myself to say aloud.

Instead, I looked up into his eyes, holding his gaze for a moment before finally replying. “I… don’t know,” I whispered, the words barely leaving my lips.

Eren’s smirk widened, his fingers slipping under my chin, tilting my face up. “Guess that’s not a ‘no’ then.”

Before I could respond, his lips crashed into mine, stealing my breath and igniting a fire that had smoldered for too long. His kiss was rough, unyielding, laced with that same dangerous intensity that had always drawn me to him. And despite the alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind, I found myself leaning into it, letting the darkness consume me—if only for this one moment.

Eren's pov

The night was cold, the kind of cold that got under your skin and made you feel alive. Leaning against the railing of the bridge, I watched her walk up, her eyes cautious but curious, and that alone brought a smirk to my face. I’d known she’d come.

Y/n looked different in the moonlight. The shadows softened her features, her guard dropped just enough that I could see something more vulnerable beneath it. I could almost read her thoughts, could feel the conflict warring inside her. Part of her wanted to turn around and run, to stay on the straight and narrow, be the good girl. But another part—one she tried so hard to bury—was already mine.

When she asked, “Why did you call me here?” I could tell her heart wasn’t in the question. She already knew. I stepped closer, watching her stiffen but holding her ground, a small victory for her—if only she knew. She was already caught, already right where I wanted her, and all I had to do was pull her in.

Because the truth was, I’d seen her a thousand times, seen her pretending to be something that she wasn’t. And I wasn’t sure what it was about her—maybe it was the innocence, maybe it was that spark of rebellion she tried so hard to hide. But whatever it was, I wasn’t letting it go. She didn’t know it yet, but she’d already chosen me.

“Better than you know yourself, maybe,” I told her, my voice low and coaxing, watching the way her expression shifted. It was such a strange thing to see someone wrestle with wanting something they couldn’t have, wanting something they knew would burn them. And maybe that’s why I enjoyed this so much. There was something so pure about her, something I’d never get tired of tainting.

When I brushed my fingers along her jaw, felt the warmth of her skin, I saw the flash of fear and… something else in her eyes. She was fighting it, still trying to pretend she wasn’t just as drawn to this darkness as I was. I leaned closer, giving her every chance to tell me to stop, to tell me to walk away.

But she didn’t.

“Just say the word,” I murmured, close enough to feel her breath against my lips. “And I’ll walk away. You’ll never have to see me again.”

I could see her throat bob as she swallowed, her gaze flickering over my face like she was searching for an answer, searching for a way out of whatever it was she’d gotten herself into with me. I held her gaze, waiting, daring her to make a choice. All she had to do was say it, and I’d walk away. Leave her to her safe little life. And I almost wanted her to, just to see if she could resist.

But then her lips parted, barely, and she whispered, “I… don’t know.”

And that was all I needed.

I didn’t even think twice. My lips were on hers before she could say anything else, capturing that hesitation, that vulnerability. She tensed, her hands gripping my jacket like she was holding onto a lifeline, but I didn’t stop. I deepened the kiss, felt the spark between us catch and burn hotter, darker, like something forbidden and alive.

In that moment, I felt her resistance crumble. The walls she’d tried so hard to build around herself, that fake sense of control she clung to—all of it fell away. I felt her give in, just for a moment, and that was enough. Enough to make me want more, to make me want to take her completely, to unravel her until she didn’t know where I ended and she began.

But as quickly as it started, I pulled back, leaving her breathless and staring up at me with wide, dazed eyes. For a second, I thought she’d pull away, regain that composure she hid behind. But she didn’t. She just stood there, lips parted, cheeks flushed, looking at me like I’d taken something from her she didn’t know she’d given.

And maybe I had.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” I asked, my voice rough. I needed her to say it, to admit what she was too afraid to face.

She blinked, looking away, her silence betraying her.

A pang of something hit me, unexpected and sharp. I knew better than to get close, to let anyone in, but standing here, watching her try to put herself back together, it almost felt… wrong. Maybe even cruel.

“Eren,” she finally said, her voice shaking, a hint of anger in her eyes now. “You can’t just… you can’t do this to me.”

I raised a brow, my smirk falling. “Do what? Show you what you really want?”

Her jaw clenched, her fists tightening, and I knew she was fighting herself, trying to convince herself that this wasn’t what she wanted, that she didn’t feel the same pull I did. But it was a lie, and we both knew it. She just didn’t want to admit it. Not yet.

I stepped back, shoving my hands in my pockets, giving her the space she seemed to need. “Go ahead,” I told her, my tone softer than I intended. “Go back to your safe little life. Pretend like this never happened. Pretend like you’re not dying to give in.”

She didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the ground, her shoulders tense.

Turning, I started to walk away, half hoping she’d call me back, half hoping she’d let me go. I told myself I was done with this, with her, but deep down, I knew I’d be back. This wasn’t over. It would never be over.

Because I’d already tasted her darkness, and it was as much a part of her as it was a part of me.

As I walked away, I heard her voice cut through the night, soft but firm. “Stop.”

I paused, a smirk creeping onto my face, but I didn’t turn around. I could feel her hesitation, the tug-of-war playing out in her head. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, letting the silence build between us. I’d been waiting for this moment since I first saw her, waiting for her to finally admit the truth that she’d been fighting so damn hard to bury.

With my back still to her, I let out a low chuckle, barely audible over the quiet hum of the city around us. “Knew you’d come around,” I muttered to myself, savoring the victory, the thrill of knowing I’d finally broken through.

Taking a moment to school my expression, I turned to face her, keeping the smile tucked away, knowing that any sign of arrogance might push her over the edge. She stood there, her eyes wide but determined, her lips pressed into a tight line. Her gaze bore into mine, a mixture of defiance and something else, something raw and unspoken.

“What do you want, Y/n?” I asked, voice low and coaxing, making her come to me, making her admit what we both already knew.

She hesitated, crossing her arms defensively, her gaze shifting to the ground. “This… this isn’t right,” she said, her tone wavering. “Whatever it is you’re trying to do here, Eren… it’s not going to work.”

“Oh, really?” I took a slow, deliberate step forward, watching as she tried to hold her ground, as if her own stubbornness could keep me at a distance. “Because you’re here. And you didn’t have to be.”

Her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing, but she didn’t deny it. She couldn’t. “Maybe I just wanted to tell you to stay away, face to face.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah? And does it feel like that to you?” I watched her, letting my words sink in, letting the silence do the rest. I saw the conflict flashing in her eyes, the struggle between what she thought she should do and what she actually wanted. That was the thing about Y/n—she wore her heart on her sleeve, even when she tried to hide it.

She took a shaky breath, finally looking away, her voice soft. “I can’t keep doing this, Eren.”

Hearing her say that, I should have felt something close to remorse, a pang of regret for dragging her into my world, for getting her so tangled up in something dark and twisted. But instead, it only made me want her more. There was something so intoxicating about the way she tried to fight me, fight herself, only to lose every single time.

I stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel her warmth, see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “Tell me to leave, then,” I whispered, my breath grazing her ear. “Tell me to walk away, and I will.”

For a moment, it looked like she might. Her lips parted, her gaze flickering to mine, a storm of emotions swirling in her eyes. But then, just as quickly, her expression hardened. She wanted to be strong, wanted to put up walls, but I could see the cracks forming, see the way her resolve faltered as I closed in.

“You’re… impossible,” she finally said, barely above a whisper, the frustration clear in her voice. But even then, she didn’t pull away. She stood there, close enough that I could feel her warmth, smell the faint hint of lavender in her hair.

“Impossible, maybe,” I murmured, my fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. “But you want this. You want me.”

A sharp exhale escaped her, her gaze hardening again. “You’re so damn sure of yourself, Eren. But I know what you are. And I know you’ll only bring me down with you.”

That stung, just a little. But it only fueled me more, the challenge in her words like a dare, pushing me to prove her wrong. I leaned in closer, my eyes boring into hers. “Then stop me,” I whispered, voice barely audible. “Walk away.”

She stayed frozen, and I knew, right then and there, that I had her. No matter how much she tried to deny it, no matter how much she wanted to pretend she was above all this, above me, I could feel it. I was in her head, in her heart, twisting her up in ways she’d never felt before. And no amount of self-control was going to change that.

“Thought so,” I said, finally stepping back, giving her space she didn’t even realize she needed.

She looked at me, her expression torn, a glimmer of something close to fear flickering across her face. But I knew it wasn’t me she was afraid of—it was herself. And in that moment, I felt something strange twist in my chest, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Why me, Eren?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

I paused, considering her question. I could’ve given her a hundred different answers, told her it was just a game, just another conquest, but that wasn’t it. Not entirely. There was something about her, something real and raw that drew me in like nothing else. And for once, I didn’t want to run from it.

“Because,” I finally said, my gaze steady, voice low. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted that I wasn’t supposed to have.”

The words hung between us, heavy and thick, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. But I could see the way her walls crumbled, see the way her resolve melted under the weight of the truth. She didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to give in, but deep down, she already had.

I took a step back, the smirk returning as I watched her struggle to find words, to find a way to respond. She didn’t need to, though. Because I already knew.

Turning, I walked away, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the stillness of the night. She’d come around. I didn’t need to look back to know it.

I fucking got her.

I walked away, the chill of the night wrapping around me like a cloak, but I didn’t let the cold touch my thoughts. I could feel her eyes on my back, burning a hole through the night air, and I relished it. The game was on, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like I was finally playing for keeps.

With every step, I could still feel the lingering tension between us, the way her pulse had quickened when I got close, the way her breath hitched when I challenged her. I knew I had planted a seed of doubt, a flicker of curiosity that would gnaw at her until she couldn't ignore it anymore.

But as I reached my car, the crimson paint glinting under the moonlight, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just a game for me. The thrill of pursuing her, of pushing her boundaries, was intoxicating, but it was something deeper—something darker—that kept drawing me in.

I got in and cranked the engine, the growl of the exhaust filling the silence of the night. I could still picture her standing on that bridge, her expression torn between desire and resistance. It was a sight that would haunt me, a memory that would linger longer than I wanted it to.

I drove through the dimly lit streets, listening to runnin by 21 savage while taking a smoke, all that was on my mind was Y/n. The way her eyes sparkled with fire and frustration, and exhilarating all at once.

The following days dragged on.

I couldn’t focus, my mind always drifting back to that bridge, that moment where I felt the world shift beneath us. I couldn’t get enough of how she’d looked at me, the way she held her ground, and yet the vulnerability hidden beneath her tough exterior.

I found myself skirting around the usual haunts, places I’d once frequented without a second thought, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. I knew I shouldn’t be obsessed. I knew I should let her go, that I was better off without the complications she brought into my life. But the truth was, she haunted me.

As night fell again, the pull was too strong to resist. I drove back to that bridge, the moonlight casting an eerie glow over the water. My heart raced as I approached the familiar spot, anticipation bubbling beneath my skin.

And there she was, leaning against the railing, the wind tugging at her hair. It was as if she had been waiting for me, the tension between us thickening the air. I stepped out of the car, the sound of the engine dying echoing in the stillness.

She turned at the sound, her expression shifting from surprise to something deeper, something almost inviting. “You’re back,” she said, her voice low and steady, but I could hear the tremor beneath.

“Couldn’t stay away,” I replied, a smirk pulling at my lips as I approached her. “Guess I’m just a glutton for punishment.”

“Or a masochist,” she shot back, but there was a spark in her eyes that betrayed her tough exterior.

I took a step closer, closing the distance between us. “You’re the one who keeps showing up, Y/n. I think that makes you just as guilty.”

Her gaze flickered to the ground, her defiance wavering under the weight of my words. “I told you, I shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Then why are you?” I challenged, tilting my head slightly to catch her gaze. “Why do you keep coming back?”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words faltered. I could see the internal battle playing out in her eyes, the part of her that wanted to fight me, to deny this connection, clashing with the undeniable truth that brought her here time and time again.

“Maybe I’m just curious,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper, but I caught it. The truth dripped from her words, intoxicating and dangerous.

“Curiosity can be dangerous,” I replied, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating from her body. “Especially when it comes to me.”

Her breath hitched again, and I could see the conflicting emotions swirling within her—fear, desire, and that insatiable curiosity. She was a puzzle, and I was determined to piece her together, to unravel the mystery that surrounded her.

“What are you doing, Eren?” she asked, voice trembling slightly as I invaded her space.

“Just figuring you out,” I murmured, my voice low and rough, watching as she struggled to maintain her composure. I leaned in, just close enough that our breaths mingled, my eyes never leaving hers. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

She searched my gaze, looking for the truth behind my words, and for a moment, I thought she might actually do it. But then, something shifted, a flicker of defiance sparking to life, and she whispered, “No.”

The word hung in the air, a silent admission that ignited something primal within me. I closed the distance completely, my lips just inches from hers, the heat between us palpable. “Then let’s find out how dangerous it can get.”

In that instant, everything fell away—the doubts, the fears, the worlds we came from—and all that mattered was the undeniable chemistry that crackled in the air. I was ready to dive deeper into the chaos, ready to drag her with me into the darkness we both craved.

But in the back of my mind, a warning bell echoed—a reminder that once we crossed this line, there would be no turning back. And I was more than ready to take that risk.

Next

Author's notes.

I may turn this into a full fic I'm not to sure how many chapters but I am enjoying writing this.

Also any questions on the fic you can feel free to drop an ask or comment :) thanks for reading

[yesihaveaobsession]

Imagine: Being Alastor's hot wife and everyone wonders how Alastor managed to pull you into marriage.

It was just an ordinary day in Hell, always bustling with activity. But somehow, the usual chatter seemed different today. People were whispering and nudging each other, casting curious glances toward the hotel lobby doors. Even Charlie, the princess, couldn't help but peek, her eyes wide with awe.

It wasn’t every day that you made an appearance at the hotel—Alastor's darling wife. Your presence was the stuff of legends. Everyone had heard of you, but you were rarely seen. The descriptions of your beauty bordered on the fantastical, with even the most seasoned sinners and overlords stopping in their tracks when you passed by. Today, everyone was reminded just how stunning you truly were.

The doors creaked open, and you walked in. Heads turned instantly. You wore a sleek, elegant dress that hugged your figure perfectly, and your confident stride made you even more alluring. Your heels clicked on the floor as your hair cascaded over your shoulders, and your eyes sparkled with sharp wit. Everything about you screamed power and beauty. Honestly, you could have been a model. A slight smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and it was enough to send half the room into a fluster.

“How on Earth...?” Charlie muttered under her breath, blinking in disbelief. She had always wondered—how had Alastor, of all people, managed to marry someone like you?

"That’s Alastor’s wife?" Husk asked, barely lifting his head from his drink. Even his eyes widened when he finally looked at you. "I’ll be damned."

Vaggie crossed her arms, shaking her head in disbelief. “I still don’t get it. How did he, of all people…?”

Angel Dust let out a low whistle, tilting his sunglasses for a better look. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! How did Radio Boy manage to snag her?” He smirked but couldn’t hide the awe in his voice. “She’s smoking hot.”

As if on cue, the man of the hour appeared from a nearby hallway, his wide grin growing brighter at the sight of you. “Ah, my darling!” he greeted with a gleam in his eyes, striding over with his signature pep in his step.

Without hesitation, he took your hand and kissed your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. “Fashionably late as always, but still the most radiant creature in the room,” he said, his voice smooth, dripping with affection and pride.

You laughed softly. “I can’t let you steal all the attention, now can I?”

Alastor’s grin widened, but there was something possessive in his gaze as he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. It was clear to anyone watching that he adored you, and despite his usual self-assured, theatrical demeanor, there was an unmistakable warmth in his eyes when he looked at you. Normally, he would care about public displays of affection, but this time, he didn’t seem to mind.

You smiled at him, a soft smile that spoke of trust and understanding, making it clear that whatever magic existed between the two of you was real.

“Well,” Angel Dust muttered, leaning closer to Vaggie, “I guess opposites do attract.”

Vaggie rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her curiosity. “I still don’t get it.”

Charlie, watching the two of you, couldn’t help but smile, though she still shared everyone’s surprise. She had seen you two together before, but it never got any less astonishing. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “maybe it’s because he sees something in her that none of us can understand. Something deeper.”

“Or maybe,” Husk grunted, “he’s just one hell of a lucky bastard.”

Alastor, seemingly unaware—or completely unbothered by—the attention, led you further into the hotel, his fingers laced with yours. As you passed by the crowd, you offered a kind smile to them, but your focus remained on him.

“Shall we, my dear?” Alastor asked, his voice low and teasing as you both approached the lounge.

“Lead the way,” you replied, your gaze lingering on him with affection, making it clear that whatever anyone else thought, you wouldn’t have chosen anyone else.

[michaelsfavgirl]

freaky friday

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!actress!reader

Synopsis: One ordinary night, you and Michael unexpectedly switch bodies, forcing him to navigate life as you. With no choice, he has to go on set and do his best to act like you.

Tags: switching bodies, established relationship, bit of fluff, jealousy.

Word Count: 9.1k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: hey...*crickets*

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

The clock on the wall ticks loudly, but it’s barely audible over Quentin Tarantino’s voice as he rambles on about some minute detail in the script, his words now a constant, steady stream of sound that filters through your ears but doesn't quite register. You've been in this room for hours, long enough for the sunlight streaming through the blinds to fade into the amber hue of early evening. You sit in a chair at the head of a large wooden table, posture more relaxed now, legs crossed, fingers lazily spinning a pen between them. Across from you, Quentin is pacing back and forth, script in hand, gesturing wildly as he talks. His energy seems endless, as if he could do this for days, while you feel the weight of exhaustion creeping in after such a long day.

“…and in this scene, I really want the tension to build, you know? Like, build, build, build, until it just explodes!” Quentin exclaims, throwing his hands up dramatically, making you wonder how his arms don't tire from all the gesturing. His face lights up with an excitement that borders on obsessive, eyes wide, pacing faster now. His energy is contagious in some moments, but tonight, it’s hard to keep up.

You nod absently, eyes drifting from him to the shelf behind his head. It’s cluttered, filled with mementos from over the years: awards, photographs, and odd little trinkets from his film sets. Your gaze lands on a photo, one you’ve seen many times before but somehow always pulls you in. It’s a candid shot taken at the Oscars last year. You and Quentin are at the center, surrounded by other actors, all of you dressed to the nines. You’d won your second Best Actress Oscar that night, a moment forever immortalized in that photo.

But what you remember more than the cheers or the weight of the golden statue in your hand is the way Michael, your husband, had looked at you from the audience. You can still picture his face, glowing with pride, those deep brown eyes locked on you with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. He had been your plus one, and even in the crowd of Hollywood’s finest, no one else had mattered in that moment. The applause, the cameras, the stage, it had all blurred into the background as you looked down at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude. 

“…and then we cut to the next shot. It’s gotta be quick, right? We don’t wanna linger too long. Keep the pace moving. Keep the audience on their toes.”

Quentin’s voice cuts through the haze of your memories, pulling you back into the present. You blink, refocusing on him. He’s still pacing, still talking a mile a minute, but you can’t help but feel the fatigue in your bones. The weariness of running through this script for what feels like the hundredth time today. 

You shift in your seat, fighting the urge to yawn, and give him a small nod as if you’ve been following every word. He’s grumbling now, something about the studio and time limits, and you watch as his expression darkens, his tone becoming more irritated.

"Those bastards are putting a time limit on this film," he growls, finally stopping his pacing to look at you directly, expecting some kind of outrage or agreement.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Quentin and his disdain for anything that constrains his creative process is almost comical at this point. The man would make a ten-hour film if he could, and still call it concise.

“Oh, how cruel,” you tease lightly, your voice dripping with faux concern. “Three hours is basically a short film.”

His eyes narrow into a glare, though you know it’s all in good fun. He pauses for a moment, mouth twitching as if he’s holding back a retort, but the glare softens just slightly. You’ve spent enough time with him over the years to know how to push his buttons in just the right way, and he enjoys the back-and-forth.

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his lips as you stretch your arms over your head, standing up slowly, letting out a sigh. You glance at the clock—half past seven—and wonder how the hell you’re still here. The set’s calling your name, and tomorrow you’ll be there, in the thick of it, channeling everything into the role that’s consumed your life for the last few months. But tonight? Tonight you need to rest, to recharge, to find your center again.

You look back at Quentin, who’s still watching you, waiting, expecting something more. He’s always pushing, always wanting to squeeze out every last drop of energy you have for his vision. But not tonight.

“I think we should wrap this up, tin tin,” you say, voice firm but gentle. You meet his gaze, your expression softening just enough to let him know you appreciate his drive, but you’re done for the night. “We’ve been through this a hundred times. I need to get home.”

He bristles, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “But what about-”

You cut him off, taking a step toward the door, grabbing your coat from the back of the chair as you do. “Do you want me to give a perfect performance tomorrow?” you ask, your voice filled with a knowing tone. The words linger in the air, the challenge in your voice unmistakable.

He hesitates, blinking at you, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He knows where this is going. Of course he wants a perfect performance—he demands nothing less. But he’s also not one to let go easily, not when he’s on a roll. You give him a small, raised eyebrow, waiting for him to catch up.

“Obviously,” he mutters, crossing his arms, a faint pout forming on his lips like a petulant child who didn’t get his way. 

“Then I need to rest in order to do that,” you say, pulling your coat around your shoulders and moving toward the door. There’s a finality to your tone, one that brooks no argument, and Quentin, despite his tenacity, knows when to concede. 

He opens his mouth, but you’re already one step ahead. You flash him a playful smile as your hand grips the door handle. 

“Arrivederci,” you say with a dramatic flair, throwing the goodbye over your shoulder like it’s the end of one of his own films. And before he can utter a single word in response, you pull the door open and step through, closing it firmly behind you.

With a soft chuckle, you adjust your coat and make your way toward the exit. Your thoughts drift back to Michael, to the way his eyes had sparkled that night at the Oscars, and you find yourself eager to get home. To slip into the warmth of his embrace, to hear his voice, to recharge in the comfort of your shared life before the madness of filming begins again tomorrow.

The gravel crunches softly under your feet as you walk along the familiar path that winds through Neverland Ranch. The late afternoon sun bathes everything in a golden glow, casting long shadows across the sprawling landscape. It’s peaceful here, a serene retreat away from the chaos of your everyday life. You smile at the sight of the gardeners, working diligently as always, their hands tending to the earth with precision and pride. You wave hello, receiving a warm smile in return, and for a moment, everything feels right with the world.

Without hesitation, you reach the front door and let yourself in. You’ve long since stopped ringing the bell; this is your home too, after all. The door clicks shut behind you, and as soon as you step inside, you’re greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of dinner. The rich smell of herbs and spices fills the air, making your stomach rumble in anticipation. You know immediately that Michael has been in the kitchen, cooking up something special for the two of you. 

You follow the scent like a trail of breadcrumbs. The light in the house is soft and warm, casting everything in a cozy glow. It feels like home—safe, welcoming, and full of love.

In the kitchen, you see the spread he’s prepared—a feast for the senses. Without thinking, you grab a fork and take a bite of the nearest plate, the mouth watering taste hitting your tongue in a perfect combination. You close your eyes for a second, savoring the flavor.

But before you can take a second bite, you feel his presence behind you. His arms snake around your waist, his chest pressing gently into your back. You stiffen slightly in surprise, not having heard him approach. Startled, you almost drop the fork, and in your jolt, you nearly knock him off balance. His chuckle, low and soft, vibrates against you as his grip tightens, steadying you both.

“Easy, easy there, sweet girl,” he coos in your ear, his voice a soothing whisper, filled with amusement and affection. His breath is warm against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but laugh at your reaction. 

You turn in his arms, your body relaxing as you face him. Michael’s eyes sparkle with mischief, that familiar boyish grin tugging at his lips, and before you can say anything, he bends his head down, placing a series of slow, deliberate kisses along your neck. The sensation is electric, and you feel your muscles go lax as his lips trail up and down your skin, his kisses gentle, unhurried, as if he’s savoring every inch of you. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt for support as you melt into his embrace. 

“Hmm,” you hum softly, leaning into him, your body pressing closer to his lean frame, completely at ease in his arms. His touch has always had that effect on you—grounding you, making the world disappear until it’s just the two of you.

“Tired, baby?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a quiet, tender note of concern. His lips brush the curve of your jaw, and you hum again, the sound barely more than a sleepy sigh. You don’t have the energy to answer in full sentences, the weight of the day’s exhaustion catching up with you now that you’re in his arms.

Noticing how you’re practically sagging against him, he chuckles softly and shifts his hold on you. One arm slides around your back while the other scoops under your knees, and before you know it, he’s lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

“Let’s get you into something more comfortable,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You don’t protest, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling you into a peaceful haze. 

He carries you through the wide hallways to your shared bedroom. Michael sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at your waist as he kneels in front of you, looking up with those dark, expressive eyes that always seem to see straight into your soul. He starts to help you out of your clothes, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your blouse, moving with slow, deliberate care.

“You were amazing today,” he says softly as he slides the fabric off your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your skin in the process. “I know it.” His praise is sincere, his voice filled with admiration. Even though he wasn’t there with you at the meeting, he always knows how to make you feel like you’ve conquered the world.

His hands move down to your shoes next, gently removing them one by one as he continues his soft praise. “You’ve been working so hard. You deserve to rest. Let me take care of you, okay?”

You smile down at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude for this man who knows you so well, who always seems to know exactly what you need, even when you don’t say it out loud. He’s careful, meticulous as he helps you into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, all the while whispering sweet words of encouragement, each touch and each word meant to soothe you into complete relaxation.

Once you’re dressed, he stands and pulls you back into his arms for a moment, his hand running up and down your back in long, gentle strokes. “There,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now you’re ready to eat.”

Back in the dining room, you settle at the table, the delicious meal spread out before you like a banquet. Michael sits across from you, and the two of you dig in, the quiet comfort of home surrounding you as you enjoy the meal together.

“So,” he begins after a few bites, leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you with a soft smile. “How was the meeting with Quentin?”

You roll your eyes playfully as you swallow your food, already anticipating the subtle interrogation that’s about to follow. “It was long,” you say with a sigh. “We went over the script again for what felt like the hundredth time. But it went well. We’re ready to start shooting tomorrow.”

Michael nods thoughtfully, taking another bite of his food. There’s a pause, just a beat too long, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s never been great at hiding his feelings, and you can sense the question coming before he even asks it.

“And… How's André?” he asks casually, too casually, as if he’s just making conversation. But the slight raise of his eyebrow, the way his eyes flicker with something more than curiosity, gives him away. 

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and teasing as you set your fork down and meet his gaze with an amused look. “Michael,” you say, your tone playful but firm. “Are you really asking about him?”

He shrugs, trying to maintain his nonchalant air, but there’s a spark of jealousy in his eyes that he can’t quite hide. “Just… curious. You know, he’s your co-star. You two have some pretty… close scenes together.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms as you study him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “You’re never good at hiding your jealousy.”

He chuckles, looking down at his plate for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I’m not jealous,” he says, but there’s a playful lilt in his voice, and you know he’s not being entirely truthful. “I just… want to make sure everything’s professional. That’s all.”

You reach across the table, placing your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to worry about André. He’s a professional, and so am I. It’s just acting, Michael.”

He nods, but you can still see the way his jaw tenses slightly, the protective edge that always seems to come out when he talks about your work, especially when it involves other men. It’s endearing, in a way—his fierce devotion to you, the way he always wants to make sure you’re safe, loved, and protected. 

“Besides,” you add, your voice softening as you meet his gaze. “There’s only one person I’m coming home to at the end of the day.” 

The tension in his face melts away at that, and his smile returns, warm and genuine. He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I know,” he says quietly, his eyes filled with love. “I just can’t help it sometimes.”

You smile back at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I know. And I love you for it.” The rest of dinner passes in comfortable conversation, the two of you talking about everything and nothing all at once. 

The ticking of the clock grows softer, fading into the background as the night deepens. It’s close to midnight, and the exhaustion of the day is catching up to you both. After a long, relaxing dinner and some quiet moments together, there’s only one thing left to do before you can finally collapse into bed: shower.

You two move in sync, heading to the spacious, marbled bathroom that’s become a familiar haven. The cool air in the room brushes against your skin, but the anticipation of the warm water about to cascade over you is enough to chase away the chill. Michael moves ahead of you, twisting the faucet, adjusting the temperature until steam starts to rise, filling the room with warmth. He steps inside first, and as the water begins to rain down over his lean frame, you can’t help but stare.

Droplets of water cling to his skin, gliding down his body, tracing the contours of his muscles. His curls loosen under the stream, sticking to his forehead. You stand frozen for a moment, captivated by the sight of him. There’s something about seeing him like this, vulnerable and intimate, that makes your breath hitch.

He looks at you, a teasing grin on his face. “You planning to stand there all night or are you getting in?”

You blink, snapping out of your daze, and laugh softly. “Just admiring the view.”

His grin widens, and he steps aside to make room for you. You join him under the shower’s warm spray, feeling the water wash away the day’s tension, soothing your sore muscles. The heat envelopes you both, the glass walls fogging up quickly.

He smiles softly, knowing exactly what you need without you having to say a word. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, and you let out a contented sigh as you rest your head against his chest. The feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of his embrace, it all feels so right. You stay like that for a while, just letting the water wash over you, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment.

After a while, you both step out, toweling off and heading to bed. The sheets are cool against your skin as you settle into the plush pillows, and the comforting hum of the TV in the background lulls you into a sense of peace. Michael curls up beside you, the two of you cuddling close as the “The Nanny” plays softly in the background. You’re not really paying attention to the show anymore, too focused on the steady rhythm of Michael’s hand rubbing your back.

His touch is gentle, soothing in its familiarity, but when he stops, you immediately feel the absence. You whine softly, the sound barely a murmur, but enough to get his attention.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Alright. alright” he teases, his voice low and affectionate.

You pout in response, pressing closer to him. “Don’t stop…”

With a soft laugh, he resumes, his warm palm sliding across your back, fingers moving in slow, gentle strokes. His touch is everything—comforting, grounding, a constant reminder of his presence beside you. You shift slightly, settling deeper into the sheets.

“A little to the left,” you mumble sleepily, eyes closed as you surrender to the growing drowsiness.

Obligingly, he scratches your back to the left, his fingers grazing the spot that has been bothering you all day. His touch feels heavenly, chasing away any lingering tension in your body. 

“And a little lower…” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as sleep begins to pull you under.

He complies, his smile audible in his voice as he says, “Anything else, your majesty?”

You hum softly, too tired to respond, already halfway asleep. His hand moves in slow, soothing circles, the warmth of his body against yours lulling you further into unconsciousness. With a contented sigh, you let yourself drift, the comfort of the moment enveloping you completely. This has been such an ordinary day, right? Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary—just another day in your life with Michael. Right?

Little do you know, something extraordinary is about to happen.

Morning comes too soon, and the first thing you hear is the blaring sound of your alarm. Groggily, you reach over to your nightstand to turn it off, but your hand meets… nothing. Your brow furrows in confusion, and you fumble around blindly, your eyes still half-closed, trying to find the alarm. When your fingers finally close around the clock, it’s on Michael’s side of the bed. 

Why is it over there?

The thought is slow to form in your sleepy brain, but something feels off. You groan softly, not yet opening your eyes as you roll onto your back, rubbing your face to try to shake off the remnants of sleep. But the moment your hands touch your face, you freeze.

Your eyes snap open, and what you see makes your heart skip a beat. The hands in front of you… they’re not yours. They’re larger, rougher, with long fingers and a noticeable strength to them. Panic rises in your chest as you stare at them, and in a desperate move, you sit up and look down at your body.

Oh. Shit.

The body you’re looking at—it’s not yours. It’s Michael’s. Your breath catches in your throat, and your mind races, trying to process what the hell is going on. 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening. 

You whip your head to the side, your heart pounding in your chest, and that’s when you see yourself—your actual body—sleeping peacefully beside you. Your chest tightens as you take in the sight of your own face, eyes closed, looking as serene as ever. But it’s not you. It’s not your consciousness inside that body. 

You’re in Michael’s body.

Your hand instinctively goes to your chest, and the moment your palm flattens against the unfamiliar, muscular plane of your torso, a wave of shock hits you. “What the fuck,” you whisper under your breath, your voice sounding completely foreign to your ears. Deep. Michael’s voice. 

Your eyes widen, and you glance down, your hands trembling slightly as they hover over the sheets. Curiosity, mixed with utter disbelief, gets the better of you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand slips under the covers, and you feel…it. 

You jerk your hand back immediately, your cheeks flushing with heat. “Oh my God,” you mutter, suddenly feeling like you’ve invaded his privacy in the most intimate way possible. Your mind is spinning, unable to wrap itself around what’s happening. You’re in his body. This can’t be real.

You leap out of bed, your heart racing as you start pacing back and forth, your hands running through Michael’s hair as you try to make sense of this bizarre situation. “I have to be dreaming,” you mutter to yourself. “This isn’t possible.”

But it feels real. Too real. The floor under your feet is solid, the cool air hitting your skin feels normal, and every move you make is controlled by Michael’s body. You glance back at the bed, at your body, still sleeping peacefully. How did this happen? How is this even possible?

Your alarm blares again, and you freeze. Set. The set! You have to be on set today.

“Oh god,” you groan, rubbing your face. You have to be on set in a few hours, and you’re stuck in Michael’s body. How are you supposed to shoot your scenes when you’re like this? 

Michael’s voice comes out in a groggy mumble as he snuggles his face into the pillow. “What’s all the fuss about?” he grumbles, clearly still half-asleep, his voice soft and pitched higher than usual. He shifts slightly, his hand lazily reaching out for the blanket, but then he freezes. The sound of his own voice – or rather, the sound of your voice – pulls him out of the last remnants of sleep. His eyes snap open in confusion.

He lifts his head slowly, blinking against the morning light, and when he finally looks over at you, his jaw drops. He stares at your(his) body, standing there looking every bit as stunned as he feels. His eyes widen in disbelief, and for a few seconds, it’s like his brain can’t catch up to the reality of what’s happening. He looks down at himself, or rather, at your body, and back up at you, back and forth in stunned silence.

“The hell…” he whispers, his voice coming out higher, more pitched. It sounds completely foreign to him, like someone else is speaking through his mouth.

You’re already pacing, hands running through his hair. Your body language is full of anxious energy, and he can tell right away you’re freaking out. Michael takes a deep breath and forces himself to move. Slowly, as calmly as possible, he slides out of the bed, every movement cautious like he’s trying not to break something.

Once on his feet, he takes a few shaky steps toward you. It feels weird and when he looks up at you he has to tilt his head to meet your eyes. The shift in perspective is jarring. He’s never realized how much taller he is than you until now. Is this what it’s like for you every day, looking up at him like this?

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath, still trying to keep calm. “Is this what I look like to you?”

You glance at him, still pacing in his body, and for a split second, your stress breaks. You can’t help but giggle. “How does it feel to be the short one now?”

He shoots you a look, your own sharp stare coming right back at you. “Not the time,” he says, his tone clipped. 

The giggle dies on your lips, and you nod, understanding this is serious. Michael begins pacing now, mirroring the frantic energy you had just moments before. Watching your own body pace back and forth is surreal. You’ve never seen yourself like this, and there’s something bizarre about seeing your body from an outsider’s perspective, especially when you’re inside someone else.

He rubs his hands over his face, feeling your softer skin, the shape of your cheeks, and the delicate jawline he knows so well, just not from this angle. He takes a deep breath, then another, as if trying to ground himself.

“It’s fine,” he says, more to himself than to you. “It’s all fine. We can figure this out.” He’s pacing faster now, his arms moving in that exaggerated way that always happens when he’s nervous. “We’ll just… call Deepak.” His voice is quiet, more like he’s thinking out loud. “He knows about this kind of stuff, right? Spirituality, body…switching?” His voice falters at the end, and you can tell he’s grasping for something, anything to make sense of this.

“Mike,” you say, stepping forward in his body, trying to stop his pacing. But he keeps going, muttering under his breath about having all day to figure this out, that everything will be okay by tonight. You watch him, knowing he’s doing that thing where he tries to rationalize everything, even when things are wildly out of control.

You step forward and place your—no, his—strong hands on his shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. The contrast between your hand’s size and the feel of your own body beneath them is striking, and it gives you a moment of pause, but you quickly focus on the situation at hand.

“Michael,” you say again, a little more firmly this time. “We don’t have all day.”

He frowns, still confused. “What do you mean?”

“I have to be on set in two hours.”

That’s when the realization hits. His eyes widen, which is weird to see on your own face. “Oh shit,” he mutters, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands drop into his lap, and he stares blankly ahead, his mind obviously racing as he processes what you just said.

You sit down next to him, the bed dipping under your combined weight. For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The silence stretches, heavy with the weight of what this means. You have to be on set today. He has to be on set today. In your body. And as that thought fully settles in, you can see the dawning horror on his face.

He’s going to have to act.

Trying to break the tension, you give him a small, teasing smile. “Maybe now’s your time to finally become an actor.”

“Not funny sweetheart.” He groans, flopping back onto the bed in exasperation, your arm flinging dramatically over his face. “This isn’t happening,” he mutters, his voice muffled. “I can’t do this.”

You chuckle softly and nudge him with your elbow. “Come on, there’s no way around it. You already know the words from helping me rehearse. You’ve practically memorized the whole script.”

He peeks at you from under his arm, his expression somewhere between resigned and panicked. “Memorizing the lines is one thing. Actually being you on set in front of Quentin and the whole crew is… insane.”

You sigh, knowing he’s right. This is insane. But there’s no other option. “Look, we don’t have a choice. And you know how I behave. Just… do what I do.”

He groans again but sits up, running a hand through your hair, which looks bizarre from this perspective. He finally seems to accept that there’s no way out of this. With a deep breath, he stands up and squares his—your—shoulders.

“Okay,” he says, exhaling slowly. “I got this. I just have to act like you.”

You smile, relieved that he’s getting on board with the plan. “Yeah. Easy.”

He nods, his expression determined as he heads toward the bathroom. But then, as you watch him go, you notice the way he’s walking—his usual confident, masculine stride. It looks completely out of place in your body, and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing. Watching your body walk like that, like a man, is almost too much.

Shaking your head, you flop back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe not so easy,” you mutter to yourself, a wry smile playing on your lips.

Michael disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the water running as he splashes his face, probably trying to snap himself out of the weirdness of the situation. Meanwhile, you lay there, your mind spinning with everything that’s about to happen.

You can’t help but wonder how this day is going to play out. You’re stuck in Michael’s body, and he’s stuck in yours, and somehow you’re both going to have to survive the day without anyone figuring out what’s happened. 

—

Michael steps out of the walk-in closet, fidgeting slightly as he tugs on the sleeves of the outfit he’s just put together. It’s a far cry from what you’d usually wear, but he’s trying his best to look like you, or at the very least, like a version of you that could exist on a casual day. He looks down at himself, feeling awkward as the clothes hang a little differently on your body than he imagined.

As soon as he steps into the bedroom, you take one look at him and blurt out, “What is that outfit?” 

His brow furrows, clearly a little offended. He glances down at the clothes he’s chosen and frowns. “What’s wrong with it?” he asks, arms spreading out as if to showcase the full look.

You fold your arms across your chest, tilting your head with an exasperated sigh. “Michael, you can’t go on set looking like that. No way. Come on, I’ll get you dressed.”

He huffs in protest, standing his ground. “I think it looks fine. It’s your stuff. What’s wrong with it?”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you move forward and start rifling through the closet, your movements confident and sure, despite being in his body. “Trust me, now’s not the time to argue about this. You’ve got less than an hour before you’re supposed to be on set, and you can’t be out there looking like…” You trail off, gesturing at his body. “…like that. Just—come on, let me fix it.”

Reluctantly, Michael steps back as you start throwing together an outfit—something that actually looks like you. As he watches you, he mutters under his breath, “So, what? Were you lying every time you complimented my outfits?” he grumbles as you sift through the hangers, picking out clothes that feel more like you.

Rolling your eyes, you toss a shirt at him. “I wasn’t lying. I like your outfits… on you. But right now, you’re supposed to look like me, remember?”

Michael grumbles but complies, changing into the outfit you’ve picked out with a few more muttered complaints. Once he’s dressed, he gives you a reluctant nod, clearly not thrilled but knowing better than to argue further. The clothes fit better, at least, and when he checks his reflection in the mirror, he has to admit that he looks more like you now than he did before.

With a deep breath, he finally heads out, ready, or as ready as he’ll ever be, to tackle the day ahead.

—

At your shared home, you're reclining on a deck chair, trying to relax despite the nagging feeling of unease that’s settled in your stomach. The ranch is gorgeous as always, the sun filtering through the trees and casting a warm glow over the rolling hills. But even with the idyllic setting, you can’t fully relax. Michael’s on set, in your body, about to spend the day pretending to be you. 

You trust him, of course. But still… it’s your job, your reputation on the line. What if something goes wrong? What if he messes up? What if-

You shake your head, trying to push the worries aside. There’s nothing you can do about it now. All you can do is wait.

—

Michael arrives on set, and the moment he steps out of the car, he can feel his heart rate spike. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it’s hard when everything around him feels so foreign. He’s been to set with you a million times before, but never like this, never as you.

You make this look so effortless—walking onto set, greeting everyone with that natural charm, slipping into character like it’s second nature. But for him, it’s like stepping into a battlefield without any armor.

As he heads toward the dressing rooms, he mentally rehearses what little he knows. Smile. Be friendly. Act like nothing’s wrong. He can do that. Right?

Walking into the building, he forces a bright smile and greets the crew, trying to channel your energy. “Morning everyone.” The words feel awkward, but no one seems to notice.

He’s ushered into the makeup chair almost immediately, and the team starts fussing over him, brushing his hair, applying your makeup. Michael watches himself in the mirror, seeing your face reflected back at him. It’s a bizarre feeling, being on the other side of this.

The real test comes when he steps out of makeup and catches sight of Quentin across the set. His heart lurches. Oh no. Quentin’s eyes lock onto him, and Michael turns on his heel, hoping to slip away unnoticed. But before he can make his escape, Quentin’s voice booms across the room.

“Hey! There she is!” Quentin’s excitement is palpable, and Michael has no choice but to turn back, plastering a smile on his face.

“Hi, Quentin!” he calls, trying to mimic your usual enthusiasm. Inside, he’s screaming.

Quentin strides over, grinning widely. “We’re starting with the scene we worked on yesterday. Got everything prepped?”

Michael’s mind races. The scene we worked on yesterday? You hadn’t mentioned anything specific about yesterday’s rehearsals. He nods, playing along, though he has no clue what Quentin is talking about. “Yeah, of course. All good.”

Quentin gives him a thumbs-up and turns to the crew, calling for everyone to quiet down. “All right, everyone! Let’s get ready for the first shot!”

As the set falls into hushed activity, Michael makes his way toward the stage, scanning the room for any sign of what’s coming next. And then he spots Andre. Great. Michael narrows his eyes. If there’s any silver lining to this ridiculous situation, it’s that he finally gets to see firsthand if Andre has a thing for you.

Andre is already in position, lounging casually in a chair, his charming smile aimed right at you. As Michael approaches, Andre stands and strides over with a relaxed confidence. “Hey, you,” Andre says, flashing that charming smile. He goes in for a hug, pulling Michael in close. Does he always hug you like this? 

Michael stiffens, his mind spinning. He’s so lost in the flood of jealousy that he doesn’t even notice Andre’s hand reach up to adjust the collar of your shirt. It’s only when he feels fingers brush his neck that he snaps out of it, stepping back abruptly.

“What are you doing?” Michael blurts out, his tone more accusatory than he intended.

Andre chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Forgot what scene we’re shooting today?”

Michael’s stomach drops. “No, I- of course I remember. We’re shooting the… uh…” He trails off, hoping for some miraculous divine intervention. None comes.

Andre gives him a knowing look, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “The confession scene.”

Michael’s throat tightens. Oh, that scene. How wonderful.

“Right. That one,” he mutters, trying to keep his composure.

Andre mumbles under his breath, just enough to be heard but not enough to draw attention. “The kiss scene.”

Michael’s mind reels. The kiss?! He didn’t know about this. But before he can respond, Quentin’s voice shouts, “Action!”

The scene begins, and Michael’s instincts kick in. He’s watched you act a thousand times; he’s even helped you rehearse your lines. But now, actually performing? It’s a whole different ballgame. He tries to remember how you carry yourself, how you deliver lines with that natural charisma.

Andre begins, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I can’t keep this inside anymore. Every time I see you, it’s like… like I’m drowning in everything I feel for you.” His eyes are locked on Michael, stepping closer with every word. “It’s not just want. It’s need. You have me enchanted.”

Michael tries to respond, his voice trembling slightly. “I… I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Don’t lie. You always knew,” Andre says, his tone softening. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment we met. And now, I can’t wait anymore. I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this.”

Andre leans in, his hand brushing against Michael’s arm, and Michael feels his body tense. Oh God. The kiss.

Panicking, Michael stumbles back a step, and in the process, his elbow knocks into a vase on a nearby table. It tips and crashes to the ground, shattering into a million pieces.

“Cut!” Quentin’s voice roars across the set, filled with frustration. The entire crew freezes, staring at the broken vase, then at Michael.

Michael’s heart is pounding in his chest as he tries to breathe. He feels a surge of embarrassment flood through him, but before he can explain, Quentin marches over, rubbing his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Quentin asks, exasperated but not yet furious. “You were doing fine, and then…” He gestures to the broken vase. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Michael stammers, “I just… got distracted for a second.”

Andre smirks, clearly enjoying this far more than he should be. “You good, babe? You’re not usually this jumpy.”

Babe?! Who the hell is this bitch calling babe?

Michael clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. He forces a smile, trying to keep it together. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… got a little too into it, I guess.”

Quentin waves it off, already moving back to his director’s chair. “All right, let’s reset and go again.”

As the crew rushes to clean up the broken vase and reset the scene, Michael takes a deep breath, feeling the pressure mounting. He glances at Andre, who’s watching him with an unreadable expression. The kiss. It’s coming, and there’s no way around it.

Michael glances around, trying to steady his breathing as he walks back to his mark. He’s dreading this moment. Out of all the scenes in the script, why did they have to start with this one? It’s the first time André’s character confesses his feelings for yours, and of course, it culminates in a passionate kiss. Michael grits his teeth. He’s already feeling defensive just thinking about it.

André, ever the professional, strolls over, adjusting his shirt as he gets into position. He gives Michael a quick smile, one that seems way too charming for Michael’s liking.

“Ready?” André asks, flashing that same disarming grin that Michael now finds infuriating. He’s been watching this man flirt with you for days, and now he’s got to endure him up close—way too close.

Michael forces a nod, doing his best to look calm. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.”

Quentin’s voice cuts through the air. “And… action!”

The scene begins, and Michael tries to focus on the lines he’s practiced, mentally repeating them as he watches André deliver his dialogue with intense emotion. André’s character is pouring his heart out, stepping closer and closer with each sentence. Michael can feel the weight of the scene, but it’s hard to concentrate when he knows what’s coming.

And then it happens. André leans in, his face just inches away from Michael’s. Their lips touch, and Michael fights the urge to pull back. He tries to stay in character, tries to be professional. He can feel André’s hands sliding over your body, gently caressing your arms and then moving lower, fingertips grazing your waist. This definitely wasn’t in the script.

What the fuck? Michael thinks, his mind racing. He swears you told him this kiss was just supposed to be a brief peck, but here he is, locked in what feels like a full-on makeout session. André’s lips press harder against yours, the kiss deepening as if the two characters are consumed by the moment. Michael is struggling to keep it together. He stiffens, resisting the instinct to shove André away.

From the corner of his eye, Michael sees Quentin nodding approvingly, almost entranced by the scene. He’s probably thinking it’s going better than planned. But Michael is ready to crawl out of his own skin.

“Cut!” Quentin finally calls, his voice filled with satisfaction. “That was great! Really great!”

The moment Quentin’s voice echoes across the set, Michael pulls away, nearly stumbling as he breaks free from André’s hold. He wipes at his mouth instinctively, a grimace twisting his features as he meets André’s eyes.

André, seemingly unfazed, just smirks. “Nice job,” he says, his voice dripping with allure.

Michael shoots him a look that would’ve melted steel, but before he can say anything, Quentin announces, “Alright, five-minute break, everyone.”

Michael turns on his heel without a word, heading straight for your dressing room. He’s barely able to keep it together, anger simmering beneath the surface. His phone is in his hand before he even realizes it, and he’s dialing your number. The moment you pick up, he doesn’t wait for you to speak.

“You didn’t tell me I’d have to do the kissing scene today!” he says sharply, his voice laced with sass.

On the other end, you try to suppress a laugh, but Michael can hear the amusement in your tone when you respond, “Well, I didn’t want to stress you out more than you already were.”

He rolls his eyes, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “That’s real considerate of you,” he mutters sarcastically. “But can we talk about that mo-... him? Why is he so touchy-feely with you?”

You sigh, and Michael can picture you rolling your eyes in return. “Michael, that’s just the way he is. He’s an actor, he’s in the moment. No need to worry about it.”

“No need to worry?” Michael huffs. “He’s clearly into you. The way he was all over me—well, you—just now? That wasn’t acting.”

You groan on the other end of the line, clearly over this conversation. “Michael, please. We’ll talk about this nonsense when you get home, okay?”

“Nonsense?” He starts to protest, but you cut him off with a quick, “Love you,” and then the line goes dead.

Michael stares at the phone, groaning as he leans back against the wall of your dressing room. He lets out a long breath, staring into the mirror. There’s your face looking back at him, but it doesn’t feel like you. It feels alien, like he’s wearing a mask that’s too tight. He tries to calm down, closing his eyes for a second before pulling himself back together. He can’t afford to lose it now, not when he’s still got a full day of shooting ahead.

With another deep breath, he heads back to the set.

—

The shooting continues, and Michael does his best to stay in character, though it’s hard. He makes a few minor mistakes—forgetting to tilt his head just right, not delivering lines with the same nuance you do—but nothing too disastrous. Quentin doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he’s not calling Michael out on it. Still, every time Michael stumbles over a line or misses a cue, his stomach clenches. He feels like he’s walking a tightrope, balancing between passing as you and being found out.

But what bothers him more than the minor acting slip-ups is André. The guy is infuriating. Every time they reset the scene, André finds some excuse to get close to you, whether it’s fixing your wardrobe, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, or even offering casual compliments about how well you’re doing. To anyone else, it might look like André is just being friendly, but Michael knows better.

There’s an intensity in his eyes when he looks at you—an intensity that Michael’s certain he’s aimed at you a hundred times before. It makes his blood boil.

At one point, when they’re setting up for another scene, André sidles up to Michael, standing just a little too close for comfort. “You’re doing so well today,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “I knew you were talented, but this… this is something else.”

Michael grits his teeth, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Thanks,” he mutters, not wanting to engage more than necessary.

André leans in slightly, lowering his voice even more. “You know, I’ve always admired your dedication. It’s… inspiring.” His face is so close to yours that Michael feels his warm breath against his neck.

Michael glances at him out of the corner of his eye, his jaw tightening. He wants to say something, wants to tell André to back off, to stop being so damn flirty, but he knows he can’t afford to blow up here. Not in front of the crew. So instead, he forces a tight smile and steps away, pretending to check something on his phone.

André watches him for a moment, that same charming smile still on his face, before finally walking off to talk to one of the crew members.

Michael exhales, his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. If André pulls something like that again, he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold back.

As the day drags on, Michael somehow manages to get through the rest of the scenes without any major disasters. He stumbles a few more times, forgetting small details you’d usually nail without thinking, but overall, he manages to hold his own. The crew seems satisfied, and even Quentin gives him a few nods of approval.

But throughout it all, Michael’s focus is split. Half of his mind is on the task at hand—delivering lines, hitting marks, staying in character—but the other half is constantly tuned in to André. Every time the other actor gets too close, every time he touches Michael or says something with that smooth, flirtatious tone, Michael feels his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

By the time Quentin finally calls a wrap on the day’s shoot, Michael is more than ready to get the hell out of there. As soon as he hears those magical words, “That’s a wrap!” He practically bolts for your dressing room, eager to escape André’s lingering presence.

He pulls out his phone, sending you a quick text: Coming home. 

He doesn’t wait for a reply before grabbing his things and heading for the car. Today has been exhausting in more ways than one, and all he wants to do is get back to the ranch, collapse into bed, and forget this whole bizarre day ever happened.

—

As you lounge on the plush couch in the living room you stretch your legs, sinking deeper into the luxurious cushions, savoring the calmness that comes with being home. Thank god he had a day off today. 

The door swings open gently, and Michael walks in. His steps are a little heavier than usual, his shoulders slightly hunched in that familiar way he gets when he’s both tired and annoyed.

You raise your eyebrow, sensing his mood before he even says a word. “How did it go?” you ask, your voice laced with curiosity and a bit of playful teasing.

Michael doesn’t respond immediately, just sighs deeply, making his way over to the couch. He collapses next to you, laying his head against your chest, burying his face in what is now his own body. You chuckle softly at the sight—it’s still bizarre seeing him in your body, his movements awkward and slightly off, but endearing all the same.

“I think I didn’t do too bad,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin. His arm drapes lazily over your waist, and you stroke his hair gently.

You nod, encouraging him to continue, but something tells you there’s more. His expression gives it away, the way his brows are furrowed and his jaw is tight. He’s holding something back.

And then, as expected, he brings up André.

You let out a soft breath, your lips twitching into a smirk. You knew this was coming. “What about him?” you ask casually, trying to hide your amusement as Michael continues his jealous rant.

“He just—ugh, he’s so obvious! He keeps finding reasons to get close to you. Like, during the scene, he had his hands all over me, and I’m pretty damn sure it wasn’t in the script!” Michael grumbles, his head still resting on your chest. “It’s like he doesn’t even care that you’re married. He’s got no respect.”

You can’t help it, you breathe out a chuckle, the corner of your mouth lifting as you watch him get more worked up. His jealousy is kind of adorable, and you’ve always known he’s been protective of you, but seeing him like this—seeing him experience it firsthand—is on another level.

Interrupting his tangent, you sigh, your voice soft but knowing. “I know,” you say.

Michael’s head jerks up suddenly, his eyes wide as he looks at you in shock. “Wait, what? You know?”

You nod, giving him a shrug. “Yeah, I’m not blind, Michael. I know he likes me. It’s pretty obvious.”

He stares at you, looking like he’s just had the rug pulled out from under him. “You knew? And you didn’t say anything?”

You smile, brushing your hand through his hair. “What was I supposed to say? It’s not like I pay him any mind.”

He sits up now, fully engaged in the conversation, eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t?” he asks, and you can hear the underlying tension in his voice.

You tilt your head, smirking a little. “Of course not. Yeah, he’s cute—” you can see the slight shock flash across Michael’s face at that admission, “—but he doesn’t compare to you.”

Michael’s expression softens slightly at that, his shoulders relaxing a little as the words sink in. For a second, his jealousy seems to ease, and you can see the corners of his lips twitch, though he tries to hide it.

“So, he’s cute now, huh?” he mutters, but there’s no real bite to his words anymore, just a little playful teasing.

You laugh softly, giving his arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry, doo doo head. He’s not the one I’m married to,” you say with a wink. And that seems to settle him down, his head leaning back against the couch as he sighs, though his eyes still flicker with traces of that protective spark.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you break it with a new topic. “By the way, I called Deepak.”

Michael glances at you, now intrigued. “Yeah? What did he say?”

“He’ll be here in an hour or two,” you explain, your tone casual. “Says he can help us figure this out and hopefully get us back into our own bodies.”

Michael nods, seeming relieved. “Good. This whole thing is starting to really mess with my head.”

You let out a small sigh, leaning back into the cushions, and the silence stretches for a moment. Then, feeling a sudden mischievous urge, you turn to him with a grin and ask, “So… you gonna let me fuck you?”

Michael’s eyes widen in pure shock, his mouth dropping open as he stares at you, clearly taken aback. “What? No!” he blurts out, his voice shooting up an octave.

You pout playfully, leaning closer to him. “Come on,” you tease, your voice lilting with amusement. “I wanna know how I looks when you fuck me.”

His face heats up, and he shakes his head vigorously, his body tensing at the mere suggestion. “No. Absolutely not.”

You let out a groan of disappointment, falling back against the couch dramatically. “You’re no fun,” you grumble, casting him a playful glance out of the corner of your eye.

Michael finally lets out a chuckle, the tension easing as he watches you with that familiar smile of his. “I can’t believe you even suggested that,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief, though his laughter betrays his amusement.

“What? It was just an idea!” you defend, giggling as you nudge him with your shoulder.

He rolls his eyes, but his smile remains, and the tension from the day seems to melt away, replaced by the familiar comfort of being with you, his wife, even if you’re in his body for now.

The clock ticks softly in the background as the two of you settle into a comfortable silence, waiting for Deepak to arrive, but for now, content to just be here, together, even if things are a little upside down.

© michaelsfavgirl 2024

Taglist: @theladyinmoscow @yeriminist @yeaiamme2 @helloaugustmoon @cinnamoncunt @theladyofmylife @minekarina @kionaaa @theskinniestjackson-denny @leociinta @graciegizmo3184 @theasexual-jackson @mrsmikaelsxn @fallinlovewithevil @armasbw @b3rk1ey @sirusxx @maybe7tommorow @falllovesomemichealjackson @virgomjj @michaels-nonbinary-child @veavixen @elthoughtzos @kingayanna

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Meeting Royalty {Blurb}

Remus Lupin x Dutchess!Reader

English Love Affair 5sos

Masterlist

Summary: Meet cute but make it royalty}

wc-1326

If the phrase, ‘Money is no object.” Was a person, it would be {Y/N} {L/N}.

The {L/N}s were known for many things, the most significant being they were dukes and duchesses of Whales. True royalty in their simplest forms. All of the perks and notaries, no true rules and regulations. 

Your father was a tart man with more concerns about the latest lacrosse then what you were up to. It never bothered you, you could snap your fingers and have anything you ever wanted. People doted on you left and right, you were able to enjoy London to the fullest, and you had more money then you knew what to do with.

People had a habit of sucking up to you, you had never known trial in your life. 

Until you met them.

Four boys, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. You spent every day of your life memorizing and familiarizing yourself with the locals, especially the ones your age. You were a high society socialite, it was in your blood. Their faces were certainly new no doubt about it.

One in particular caught your eye and kept it like a promise. 

“Are you reading this?”

You were outside your favorite library in upper Kensington, a stack of books by your side. They were varieties of fantasy, but the long tanned finger in front of yours was gesturing to the one you just finished, ancient myth and mythos of Werewolves. 

Now, you had never been approached so casually before. People your age were a bit bold, but no bolder than longer glances your way, muttering a bit too loud, even occasionally copying your coffee order from the cashier.

Then again, they tended to know who you were.

“Ma'am?”

His voice snapped you out of your trance. You lowered your sunglasses and looked up at him, eyes trailing his arm before you were met with a breathtaking sight. Tanned skin broken across with pale white scars, bordering on fleshy pinks. His eyes were rich with a creamy warmth, mint chocolate. He was giving you a curious look, before he slowly curled a corner of his lips into a smirk.

Oh god, how do you breathe again? Your throat was closed up and you forgot how to release it.

Slowly, you pulled down your glasses and began to chew idle on one of the ends. You were smirking at his sudden shyness, missing his smirk. Who speaks to royalty and shys away? You looked over his outfit, pressed shirt, steamed and starched trousers- was he 70? 

A cozy brown corduroy sweater you could totally picture yourself in, early morning, with that dazzling smile looking at you. His large hands over your bare lower back littered in love bites-

“Your grace? Is this intended company?” One of your chaperones called over, making Remus look up like a startled bird.

“Intended? No, but very welcomed.” You called back before looking back up at the scarred boy. He seemed distressed. “So, do you have a name, Mint Chocolate?”

“Mint Chocolate?” He muttered, a bit confused.

“Like your eyes.” You mused and leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table and crossing your legs. 

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, completely stunned by not only your forwardness, but the fact he wasn't being dragged off the patio by your company. Your grace? You were royalty. He just came up to royalty and asked for your book. Your book on werewolves. 

He must look like a complete imbecile.

“Still with me, handsome?” 

Oh and you were flirting with him. 

“Y-yeah, sorry I wasn't aware-”

“Moony! The hell are you doing? We are done waiting for you!” A voice called out to him. It was deep, thick, and a bit playful. You looked right past your current fascination and smirked at the black haired boy. He looked startled, slowing his step towards you as your two chaperones began to step forward, like dressed up bodyguards.

“Woah, Moony, what did you get yourself into?” He whistled low, looking you over a few times before he smirked. He was handsome, and he seemed ready to flirt, but you were already over it, looking back up at Remus with a flutter of your eyelashes. 

“My my moony, what have you gotten yourself into?” You hummed, and his jaw went slack. You grabbed the book he gestured to. It was a rather old one, supposedly donated to the library years ago. It cost a pretty penny to take it home. You looked it over before pressing the top to your chin, framing your face for him. 

Sirius glanced down at the book they had been looking for, for the past hour, and then back to Remus who looked as flustered as a school boy. He slowly smirked and put his hand up to James’s chest to stop him from walking over, shushing him in a smooth motion, like it was second nature.

Not that you noticed much other than those glossy spectacles in his head. “I'll tell you what.” 

You stood up and leaned forward, into his space. He didn't seem to have any problems with this, maybe there was a bit of fight behind his embarrassment? 

“I did just buy this, it cost me quite a bit.” You started and his jaw dropped. Who just casually buys an artifact like this? “But, I'll let you borrow it.” You mused and held it out to him.

He slowly took it, cautious before his eyes darted from the worn leather cover, back to you. “Is there.. a catch?”

“Smart boy.” You praised and he couldn't find it in himself to be offended. You sat back on the table and bit your lip. “I want to know how to reach you. To get my book back, of course.”

“I uhm-” He took a deep breath and began to feel around his pockets for a pen. Pulling out a sharpie you extended your arm to him.

“Ma'am, your skin-” You waved off your chaperone’s concerns. 

“Go ahead, sign it, Moony.” You teased in a song like voice and his breathing picked up a moment. He looked down and carefully took your elbow. Like you were fragile china. 

The pen glided across your skin so featherlite you prayed he'd have to write it again, just to feel the pen tip against your soft flesh, spelling his lovely name. You licked your lips at him and he almost choked. Running your fingertips along your forearm, tracing the new name, like a claim on your skin. 

“Remus?” You breathed and he closed the pen, putting it in his pocket. 

“Remus Lupin.” He seemed just as effected by the little intimate action. 

“{Y/N} {L/N}, Dutchess of Whales.” You offered your hand and he took it, kissing the back and shooting you a look. It was your turn to be flustered. Oh there was so much more beyond his initial embarrassment. 

You wanted all of it.

“I'll return this soon.” 

“Please. Very soon.” You whispered and he pulled back, biting his cheek before nodding.

“Your highness.”

“Call me by my first name, please.”

His eyebrows raised before he nodded. “Goodbye, {Y/N}.”

“See you soon, Moony.” 

You watched him leave, his friends patting him on his back and laughing at the poor boy's state. 

You could faintly hear the one you didn't hear shout. “You flirted with royalty!?” 

You gave a laugh and stared where he stood. Suddenly realizing you just gave a book worth a few thousand quid to an absolute stranger. You couldn't care less- the idea of seeing him again was enough.

Eventually, it was time to brave the ride home. The England rain came out of nowhere, leaving you and your sundress soaked when you came home.

But the only thing you seemed to care about, was how his damned number had melted off your arm. Leaving just his morphed signature in its place.

[womshame]

Female Cult Leader Reader x Male Yandere

Summary: When a cult leader's most devoted follower turns obsession into violence, Y/N must confront the dark side of worship — and the power of a love that refuses to let go.

Trigger/Content Warnings: Yandere behavior / obsessive love, Psychological manipulation, Implied/referenced murder, Religious cult dynamics, Emotional coercion, Mental instability, Power imbalance in relationships, Implied captivity, Violence (non-graphic), Dark romantic themes.

Word count: 6,450

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting elongated shadows over the dense forest. The air was thick with humidity, and the distant hoot of an owl echoed through the trees. A solitary figure, Y/N, stood at the edge of a clearing, eyes scanning the encampment that lay ahead.

The compound was a collection of rustic cabins arranged in a semi-circle around a central bonfire pit. Beyond the cabins, a modest chapel stood, its wooden cross silhouetted against the twilight sky. The scent of burning incense wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest.

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead. As the newly appointed leader of the "Children of the New Dawn," she bore the weight of guiding lost souls toward enlightenment. The cult had been founded on principles of unity, spiritual awakening, and the rejection of modern societal constraints.

As Y/N approached the central gathering area, a group of followers emerged from the cabins, their faces alight with reverence.

"Welcome, Seeker," intoned Elias, a tall man with piercing blue eyes and a voice that commanded attention. "We have awaited your arrival."

Y/N nodded, acknowledging the greeting. "Thank you, Elias. It's time we begin our evening meditation."

The followers formed a circle around the bonfire pit, sitting cross-legged on the ground. Y/N took her place at the center, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows on her face.

"Close your eyes," Y/N instructed, their voice calm and soothing. "Breathe in the energy of the earth, and let go of your worldly burdens."

As the group settled into meditation, Y/N couldn't help but notice a young man seated at the edge of the circle. His eyes remained open, fixed intently on Y/N. His name was Adrian, a recent addition to the cult, and his gaze held an intensity that bordered on unsettling.

Nights in the compound were unnaturally silent.

Y/N often walked the grounds alone after the group meditations, reflecting on the day's teachings and the growing number of followers who had been trickling in from nearby towns. Word of the cult had spread faster than expected, and what had begun as a spiritual refuge was becoming something else entirely.

From the moment they arrived, Adrian had stood out. It wasn’t just the way he lingered near the periphery of every group. It wasn’t just the way his gaze never wavered when it met Y/N’s. It was something deeper — like a current running just beneath the surface. Controlled, quiet… and dangerous.

Y/N noticed it most during the meditations. While everyone else surrendered to the quiet rhythm of breath and chant, Adrian watched. He never closed his eyes. He studied Y/N like someone who had found a secret too sacred to look away from.

And lately, it was getting worse.

A week after the first encounter, Y/N called a private meeting with Elias in the chapel.

Elias was among the first converts — devoted, intelligent, and utterly loyal. Y/N had come to rely on his insight.

“He’s always watching,” Y/N said, voice low. “I can feel him behind me even when I know he’s not there.”

Elias nodded solemnly. “Adrian. I’ve noticed, too. He never sleeps when the others do. I caught him outside your cabin two nights ago.”

That stopped Y/N cold. “What was he doing?”

“Just… standing. Looking at your window. When I confronted him, he smiled and said he was ‘listening for the divine voice.’” Elias paused. “He believes you speak directly to something greater. That you are something greater.”

Y/N ran a hand through her hair. “He’s misinterpreting everything. I’m not a prophet. I never claimed to be.”

“But you let them believe,” Elias said softly.

The words stung. It was true — the teachings had become more abstract over time, and Y/N had allowed that ambiguity to grow. Now it was turning on her.

Y/N stood and paced. “Keep an eye on him. But don’t confront him directly. If we exile him, he might lash out. I don’t want a scene.”

Elias nodded. “I’ll be subtle.”

But Adrian was never far.

That night, Y/N sat alone in her cabin, writing. A soft knock at the door broke the silence.

She hesitated. It was past curfew — none of the followers should be out of their cabins.

“Who is it?” Y/N called, standing.

“It's me,” came Adrian’s voice, muffled but unmistakable. “Please. I... I just need a moment of your time.”

Y/N opened the door a crack.

Adrian stood in the shadows, hands clasped in front of him, like a sinner at confession. His dark eyes seemed even deeper in the moonlight, black pools that refused to let go.

“I shouldn’t be speaking with you right now,” Y/N said.

“I know. But I can’t sleep. Not without... your voice.”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

Adrian stepped closer, and Y/N noticed something in his hands — a small wooden carving. He held it out, reverently.

“I made this for you. I carved it from the trees near the chapel. It’s... it’s how I see you.”

Y/N took the object. It was a figure — not a god, not a saint. It was unmistakably her. The facial features, the long robes, even the posture during meditation.

“You made an idol,” Y/N said slowly, stunned. “Of me.”

Adrian’s smile was radiant — and entirely unhinged. “You are the vessel. The voice of the New Dawn. I see what others are too blind to understand.”

Y/N’s stomach turned. “Adrian… this isn’t what we teach.”

“You say that,” he said, tilting his head, “but when you speak, it’s like the universe leans in to listen. You shine when you close your eyes, Y/N. I see it. And I know... I know I was chosen to protect you.”

Y/N stepped back. “That’s not your role here.”

Adrian’s smile dropped.

“Then what am I to you?” he asked, almost whispering.

Y/N didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

“I see.” His voice was cold now, distant. “They’ve poisoned you. Elias… he makes you doubt your divinity.”

Y/N opened the door wider. “Go back to your cabin, Adrian. That’s an order.”

Adrian stared at her for a long moment, his jaw clenched. Then he turned and walked off into the dark.

The next morning, Elias was gone.

Vanished. No note. No witnesses.

Only his boots were found near the chapel, half-buried in mud and surrounded by strange, spiraling symbols etched into the ground.

The compound was on edge. Y/N tried to keep order, to hold the group together — but Adrian’s smile grew wider by the day.

As if he knew something they didn’t.

As if he was waiting for something.

Or someone.

Three days had passed since Elias vanished, and his absence clung to the compound like damp air before a storm.

Y/N had done her best to keep the routines intact — the meditations, the fasts, the communal chores — but unease was spreading like mold. Each morning brought new signs that something was terribly wrong.

Dead birds left at the altar.

Scratch marks on Y/N’s cabin door.

Spiral-shaped messages written in burnt charcoal into the dirt, always circling inward: You Are Chosen. You Belong to Us.

And Adrian... Adrian was never far.

Unlike the others, who whispered fears about Elias or wild animals in the forest, Adrian seemed strangely calm. Serene, even. Y/N noticed he’d begun spending more time with other followers — murmuring things during chores, leading hushed talks by the firepit, sharing “lessons” Y/N had never taught.

And then one night, after an unusually quiet meditation, Y/N saw Adrian slipping into the forest with three others — including Jonah, the shy eighteen-year-old recruit who had barely spoken since arriving.

Y/N followed them.

The woods were alive with nighttime sounds — insects, cracking branches, the whisper of movement through brush. Y/N moved like a shadow, dark robe blending into the trees.

In a secluded clearing, Adrian had already lit a small fire. The others knelt around it, eyes closed, hands on their thighs. Adrian stood before them, preaching.

“Y/N saved us,” he said, voice soft but firm. “She pulled us from the filth of the world. But she still don’t see her own divinity. She still believe she just... like us.”

One follower opened his eyes, uncertain. “Didn’t she say we’re all equals?”

Adrian smiled with gentle, terrifying patience.

“She say that. But I feel the truth when she speak. I see it — the glow behind her eyes when she meditate. You’ve seen it, too. Haven’t you?”

The others nodded slowly. Jonah hesitated, then nodded last.

Adrian knelt in front of him, pulling something from his cloak — a small ceremonial dagger, carved from stone. Meant for rituals of harvest or cutting herbs.

Not for this.

“Devotion requires sacrifice,” Adrian whispered. “Are you ready?”

Jonah bit his lip. “What kind of sacrifice?”

“Just a small cut. Your blood, offered as a vow.”

Jonah, mesmerized, reached for the blade.

Y/N stepped into the clearing.

“Adrian. Put it down.”

All three followers jumped. Adrian simply smiled.

“I knew you’d come,” he said, rising to his feet. “I knew you’d hear the truth calling.”

Y/N crossed the clearing and gently took the dagger from Jonah’s hand. The cut was shallow, but it was never about the blood.

It was about the symbol. The act.

“This is not what we teach,” Y/N said, firm. “This is not the way. We don’t ask for pain. Only clarity.”

Adrian tilted his head, eyes glittering with something that wasn’t madness, but something colder. Deeper.

“You say that… but you surround yourself with the sacred. You are our axis, Y/N. Why pretend otherwise?”

“Because faith must be free. Not forced.”

He stepped forward, so close now that Y/N could feel the warmth of the fire reflected in his breath.

“Then look me in the eye,” Adrian said. “Tell me you don’t feel it. That you don’t see in me what I see in you.”

Y/N said nothing for a moment.

The truth was… there was something there. Not affection. Not spiritual connection. Something more primal. Mirror-like. A sharp edge.

“No,” Y/N said at last. “What I see is a man twisting belief into obsession.”

Adrian smiled — a soft, broken thing. A smile of disappointment and hunger.

“Then if I can’t have you through devotion…” he whispered, “...maybe I’ll take you through fear.”

Suddenly, he pulled a smoldering coal from the fire and tossed it in. Smoke billowed upward, thick and choking. Y/N coughed, grabbing Jonah’s arm to pull him back — but when the smoke cleared...

Adrian was gone.

By morning, three cabins stood empty.

Adrian’s. Jonah’s. And the two others who had followed him.

But they left something behind.

Inside each cabin, carved into the walls, were spirals. Hundreds of them. Scratched deep into wood.

And above each bed, written in blood:

THE OFFERING HAS BEGUN

Y/N stood in the middle of the temple, hands clasped behind their back, eyes on the flickering candlelight. Followers whispered in corners. Some had begun to fast more than they should. Others sat in stillness for hours, staring into fire, waiting for signs.

Adrian had vanished into the woods. But his influence hadn't.

Every night, more of his spirals appeared.

One was carved into the floor of Y/N’s cabin, though the doors had been locked.

Another burned into the back of the altar cloth — carefully, reverently.

And then Jonah’s bracelet was found, tangled in a tree branch near the forest’s edge, coated in dried blood.

Y/N knew what had to be done.

She packed lightly: a blade, a cloth, a canteen. She said nothing to the others.

But when she stepped into the woods, someone was already waiting.

It was Luca, a quiet follower who had once been one of Elias’s closest friends.

“I’m coming with you,” he said. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

Y/N hesitated. “This isn’t a journey meant for more than one.”

“I don’t care,” he said. “If he took Jonah, he could take more of us. I’m not letting him take you too.”

Y/N didn’t argue. She simply nodded.

And together, they followed the path of spirals carved into trees, painted on stones, drawn in dirt.

It took them until dusk to reach it — a clearing deep in the forgotten part of the forest, where even birds refused to sing.

There stood a structure, new but built in the old way: logs, twine, blood. A crude shrine of worship made by fevered hands.

At the center, bound by vines, was Jonah — pale, trembling, alive.

Luca rushed forward, but Y/N stopped him.

“Wait.”

From the shadows behind the shrine stepped Adrian.

His eyes glowed, wild and ecstatic.

“You came,” he breathed. “Just as it was foretold.”

“Let him go,” Y/N said coldly.

Adrian tilted his head.

“He offered himself. For you. For all of us.”

“He’s a boy, Adrian. He was scared. You manipulated him.”

“He believes. As I do.”

Y/N stepped closer. “You don’t believe in me. You believe in owning me.”

Something flickered behind Adrian’s smile — rage, sadness, obsession.

“I’ve seen your visions,” he said. “The dreams you hide. I saw them in Elias before he disappeared. He doubted you. I took that doubt away.”

Luca’s breath caught.

“You— you killed him.”

Adrian didn’t deny it.

“I freed him. The way I’ll free Jonah. The way I’ll free you, Y/N.”

He pulled a blade — not stone, this time, but steel. Clean. Precise.

Y/N didn’t flinch.

“You think death will bring me closer to you?”

Adrian stepped forward, slowly, like approaching something sacred.

“No. Not death. Transformation.”

He reached out — but Luca moved faster.

In a blur of motion, he tackled Adrian to the ground. The blade clattered across the shrine floor.

Y/N didn’t waste a second.

She ran to Jonah, cutting the vines with their own knife, pulling the boy free as his body slumped into their arms, sobbing.

Behind them, Adrian and Luca struggled — the fanatic’s strength against raw fury.

It didn’t last long.

A crack echoed through the trees — and then silence.

Luca stood, breathing hard. Adrian lay still, blood trickling from a wound at his temple, unconscious.

Y/N stared at him, heart pounding.

He had nearly turned everything they’d built into a prison of worship and blood.

“Let’s end this,” Y/N said.

Together, they burned the shrine.

It took hours. Smoke billowed into the sky, thick and black. The spiral carvings hissed as they burned. Jonah sat curled against a tree, eyes wide, watching flames consume the place where his innocence had almost died.

Y/N stayed silent, staring into the fire, until the final beam cracked and fell.

Back at the compound, Adrian was locked away in an empty cabin, guarded constantly. Some followers wept. Some cheered. Most were confused.

Y/N gathered everyone that night.

They stood beneath the stars, no torches, no altar. Just silence.

“I failed you,” Y/N said. “Not because I doubted, but because I allowed faith to go unchecked. I allowed obsession to wear the face of belief. That will never happen again.”

No one spoke.

Y/N looked at them — at their eyes, their hunger for meaning, for truth. And they knew the path forward would be slow, but possible.

Together, they could begin again.

Days passed. Adrian remained silent in his cabin, eyes hollow. Luca kept watch. Jonah began to smile again, little by little. And at night, Y/N sat outside, looking into the trees, listening to the silence.

One evening, Luca sat beside them.

“You saved us,” he said quietly.

Y/N shook their head. “I nearly destroyed us.”

“No,” he said. “He tried to destroy you. And we followed him. But in the end… we came back.”

Y/N looked at him — truly looked.

And saw loyalty without blindness. Care without worship.

“I’m glad you were there,” she said softly.

Luca smiled. “I always will be.”

For the first time in weeks, Y/N felt something close to peace.

The forest remained dark. The spirals might return. But now, they would face them together.

And devotion, if it returned, would never again demand blood.

[mwolf0epsilon]

I got bored waiting for my brother's therapy session to end, so here's a vague description of every TTTE Movie premise in order of release:

Thomas and the Magic Railroad - Sugar, Spice and a lot of Crack Cocaine gives us the most whimsical nonsensical Thomas adjacent adventure.

Calling All Engines - Love thy neighbours, or suffer the most horrific existential nightmares ever (no seriously).

The Great Discovery - Thomas gets ostracised because he's a jealous self-saboutaging little shit, and other repeating little blue tank engine motifs.

Hero of the Rails - In which yet another engine puts into question the existing timeline, oh and Spencer hates old people for petty reasons...

Misty Island Rescue - Thomas does not, in fact, make good decisions.

Day of the Diesels - Neglect causes needless problems for everyone involved, especially if they're not the fat controller...

Blue Mountain Mystery - Communication is key to problem resolution, but hiding in a cave for several years is much easier I guess!

King of the Railway - Old man spotted! Very exciting news for the Old Man Appreciation Brigade!

Tale of the Brave - James woke up and chose violence, and it becomes everyone else's problem. Also something about fossils or whatever...

The Adventure Begins - What if we re-did the entire first season, changed a few things, and made it a nicely animated movie? 10/10.

Legend of the Lost Treasure - No one ever taught Thomas about Stranger Danger, also his jealous self-saboutaging ways get him in trouble yet again.

The Great Race - Thomas nearly causes an international scandal because of one-sided beef, also Gordon almost dies. The Flying Scotsman is in this one tho, so all good!

Journey Beyond Sodor - James chose violence 2, electric boogaloo. Oh and can someone teach Thomas about Stranger Danger already? Next thing you know he'll follow some race car on an ill-conceived trip around the wor--

Big World Big Adventure - Australian Lightning McQueen breaks several traffic laws, Thomas's crew is probably wanted internationally for crossing borders without papers, and a homeless tank engine from Kenya decides a British island is the perfect place to move to...

[lordprettyflackotara]

WhoGoesThere? || Eyeless Jack || Part two

tw: the tiniest bit of blood

Jack hadn’t seen you for a few days.

He tried to casually stalk the area you two had met, hoping you’d come back. Sometimes he’d even sleep in the trees, hoping that you’d wake him up. Yet that hadn’t happened, until tonight.

He could smell the liquor from a mile away, a mixture of your scent flooding his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, his ears twitching as he focused on the sounds of the forest. He could hear it. Your heartbeat. It sounded oddly slowed, but your blood sounded like it was working harder than usual to pump through your heart.

Jack ran towards it, not caring about how far away he was straying from his usual path. The deeper he sprinted away from Slender’s forest, the less protection he’d have. But he could hear you. He could smell you. The liquor. Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Jack feared the worst as he sprinted in your direction. Were you hurt and attending to a wound? He didn’t doubt your ability to heal yourself, but Jack had years of practice on the proxies. Who were literal people to practice on. He reached a different part of the forest, one he hadn’t been to before. The sun had freshly set, the moon just coming into view in the sky. His gaze landed on you, your small figure leaning against a tree for support. Jack rushed over to you, helping you stand upright.

“Hey? Are you alright?” He asked, his words rushed. Your mascara was smudged, your eyes glazed with a fresh layer of tears, and in your hand sat a bottle of vodka. “Jack..? What are you doing here?” You slurred. Jack curiously looked behind you, noticing what he assumed to be your college dorm was less than fifty feet away. Your small black dress was riding up your thighs, revealing cuts that covered your left hand and upper legs. “What happened to you?” He questioned. You practically fell onto him when you tried to stand up on your own. He grabbed you, his large hand cupping your waist. He ignored how flustered it made him feel, looking over his shoulder.

“Those fuckers made me drop my pink vodka. Now i’m left with this cheap shit,” You say bitterly. Jack noticed a few of the partiers were looking into the woods. Jack couldn’t risk being seen, nor could he risk you returning to a party in your condition. He hoped the shadows of the trees and nightfall had concealed him enough. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Jack said calmly. You turned around, flipping off the party still in full swing. “Yeah! You hear that fuckers?! Jacks a real man!” You yelled. Jack could feel heat rushing to his cheeks. You were stumbling as he attempted to help you. He sighed, picking you up bridal style instead. You squirmed at first, the bottle of alcohol slipping out of your grasp.

“Hey! Thats mine!” You fussed. Your squirming didn’t affect Jacks grip on you at all. He continued to walk into the forest, concluding that bottle was the very last thing you needed. “We’ll come back for it later. We need to get you cleaned up,” He said softly. You drunkenly crossed your arms, sighing. “I’m gonna be a doctor I can take care of myself,” You muttered. Jack would’ve rolled his eyes if he had them. He continued to take you deeper into the woods, knowing the journey was going to be long. He needed to make it into Slender’s forest, a safe cabin planted right along the border.

It was designed as protection from The Rake, but was mostly used current day for creeps who needed somewhere to crash without questions. “Where are you taking me?” You murmured. Jack was thankful for his acute hearing, your words running together as you spoke. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere where you can’t trip over your own two feet,” Jack explained. You stuck out your legs, pointing at your heels. “I’ll have you know that these are Ralph Lauren heels! They’re worth every trip I take,” You argued. You were feeling groggy, your drunkenness weighing on your shoulders. “I stole them from my roommate, since I know you’re wondering how I could afford them,” You explained. That was in fact, not what Jack was thinking at all, but he decided not to intervene with your train of thought.

“Do you enjoy partaking in substances?” Jack asked. He stepped over an overgrown root of a tree, careful to not disturb you. “Doesnt every college student?” You said, your tone argumentative. Your eyebrows raised as you looked up at your masked friend. “How old are you anyways?” You questioned. Jack tried to not tense, swallowing as he trudged forward. The correct answer was unknown. Physically Jack had stopped aging at twenty five. The better question was, how long had Jack been twenty five? He had lost count of the years, the cycle of his routine repeating mercilessly without intervention. That was of course, until he met you.

“Isn’t it rude to ask someone their age?” Jack mused. He had heard that before, when Ben decided to ask Jane how old she was. “That only works on women bozo. As long as you aren’t like fifty this is fine,” You mumbled. Jack was puzzled. Something he thought he knew about human culture was wrong. Huh. He had a lot to learn from you. “I’m not fifty,” Jack chuckled. He wasn’t physically, anyways. He was the oldest of the creeps he had met. And they weren’t even demons. Only Slenderman was older than him. Jack sighed in relief as the cabin came into sight. “Good. I have daddy issues but not that bad,” You grumbled.

Jack couldn’t help but wonder about you and your life. Intoxication made you more honest and talkative. Maybe beyond a certain point of appropriateness, considering he had met you less than a week ago. But you didn’t care about any social construct of what you could or couldn’t discuss early on in a friendship. Jack liked that. He kicked open the old cabin door, noting the amount of dust. He brought you over to the kitchen counter, setting you down on the cool marble. “Where are you going?” You asked, confused. Jack made sure you could sit upfront before taking a step back. “I’m just grabbing a first aid kit,” He replied. He knew exactly where it was, having planted it there himself.

He was back in a flash, kneeling in front of you. He tried his hardest to ignore how short your dress was. “I could do this myself you know,” You protested weakly. Jack shook his head, forcing himself to look at the little cuts that stained your otherwise perfect skin. Jack didn’t know which was harder, ignoring the fresh blood that was prickling from your wounds or the fact your cunt was inches away from his face. Even with his mask on he could smell how delicious your scent was. Especially your blood. He grabbed a rubbing alcohol wipe, tearing the package open. “This may sting. You may want to grab onto something,” Jack advised cautiously. He was surprised when you leaned forward, putting your hand on his shoulder.

You grabbed a handful of his hoodie, your eyes screwed shut as if you feared the worst. He knew it was best to avert your attention from his work as he patched you up. “So, did you know anyone at that party?” He asked. He wiped the small cuts, a hiss escaping your lips. Jack held your leg still, wiping off the dirt and grim as well. “Sort of. I only went because of Ryan. He’s this fourth year psychics major,” You admitted. Jack set the dirty wipe aside, grabbing a clean one. “What’s Ryan to you?” Jack asked curiously. You flinched as Jack wiped your other leg, noticing a piece of glass peaking out of your skin. “A cute guy,” You answered honestly.

Cautiously Jack set the wipe aside, grabbing the tweezers. He had to word his next questions carefully, his blunt way of talking going to make you uneasy. “How is your pursuit going?” He asked. He firmly held your leg into place, grabbing the edge of the glass. He knew if he warned you that you’d freak out, especially with the alcohol clouding your senses. Instead he yanked it out steadily but quickly, causing you to yelp. “Fuck! What the fuck!” You screeched. Jack was sure The Rake might’ve been able to hear you with how loud your scream was. He set the piece of glass aside, bringing a damp towel to your now oozing wound.

“I’m sorry. You had glass stuck in there,” Jack apologized. You took deep breaths, your vision getting spotty. Jack could see the paleness in your face, your lips turning white along with it. He brought his hand to yours, giving it a squeeze. “Hey. Stay with me. How’s the pursuit of Ryan?” Jack asked, trying to keep you conscious. You swallowed, your mouth dry. “Terrible. It’s nerve racking every time I like a guy,” You admitted. Jack applied pressure to your wound, trying to ignore the smell of metal invading his nostrils. “Whys that?” He asked. He went to remove his hand, your small one pawing at his to stay in place.

“Because i’m a virgin,” You confessed. Jack was sure if it were possible he was blushing. The mere confession made him flustered, his eye sockets widening. “Don’t make it so obvious you’re judging me,” You grumbled. Jack cleared his throat, pulling his hand away and removing the damp towel. “Not judging, just surprised,” He admitted. You peeled open your eyes, looking down at him. You wished you could see his facial expression under his mask. “Whys that?” You asked. Jack could hear your heart slowing down. You weren’t losing too much blood, but you were definitely minutes away from being unconscious. “Here let’s get you laid down,” Jack suggested. He picked you up, laying you down on the kitchen floor. He pulled down your dress, adamant to not let his lust curve his intentions of taking care of you.

“Answer me. Why are you surprised?” You asked. Jack grabbed a few bandages, putting the first one on. “Because you’re absolutely beautiful. Any guy who doesn’t see that is blind,” Jack answered honestly. You felt your face flush pink, your eyes looking around the cabin to avoid looking at him. It was then you sat up, your vision getting spotty again. “I have an idea!” You announced. Jack went to guide you to lay down, his hands on your shoulders. You grabbed his wrist, giving him a big smile. “I really think you should lay down,” Jack insisted. You shook your head. “Wait wait. Hear me out. Why don’t I have sex with you?” You asked. Jacks heart skipped a beat, heat rushing to his cock.

He tried to ignore it, swallowing and focusing on the thumping of your heart. “Why me?” He asked. You felt yourself getting nervous, your eyes avoiding his gaze. “It saves me from losing my v card to some bozo. Besides, i’m sure you can teach me all sorts of things, right?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. Jack had an attractive aura, as odd as that sounded. His voice was deep and his hands were aesthetically pleasing. He carried you like you were as light as a feather. It only made you wonder how he could throw you around in the bedroom. “You’re drunk,” Jack said simply. He couldn’t believe you wanted that. Wanted him.

“Jackkkk i’m serious,” You protested. Jack wrapped your final wound, before picking you up once more. “So am I. If you remember this conversation we’ll discuss it tomorrow,” Jack said. He was trying his hardest to remain composed as he laid you down on the bed. He unzipped your heels, sliding them off of you and allowing them to fall to the floor. He helped you under the blanket, trying his hardest to ignore your dress riding up your thighs again. He went to stand and leave, turning his back to you. Your meek voice stopped him dead in his tracks, “Where are you going? Please don’t go.”

Jack felt pity, swallowing as he turned around. He grabbed a dusty old rocking chair, pulling up to the side of your bed. “It’s okay. Close your eyes. I’ll be here in the morning,” Jack said. You then allowed your head to fall against the foreign pillow, your eyes fluttering shut. Jack didn’t know what to make of you. Your life. Your confession. Your request. He didn’t know what to do with you. Yet you pulled at his heart strings, ones he didn’t even know existed. He shifted in his seat, watching you peacefully drift off to unconsciousness. Once he was sure your heart beat had slowed enough, he slid off his mask. He inhaled the cool night air deeply, the oxygen flowing much better through his system when his mask was lifted.

Jack inhaled deeply once more, making himself comfortable in his chair. He knew he’d be there for a while.

[soulfulazrael]

Revelation has struck me! Shipping wars are more complex than you realized!

Now you may be put off by what you just heard, but I think something grand just revealed itself to me. It does contain spoilers for Chapters 3 and 4 so be aware.

Shipping wars are in fact class wars! The fights of belief! Every single main one that is carried in Deltarune fanbase carries a certain scent! A certain set of beliefs and values that all of us want to stand behind!

Take for instance Krusie. Some say it is doomed. Some say there is hope! There are signs it can work and you have to dig through the game, into it's deepest parts to find evidence of it like a true working man! Like the secret scene where you attack Susie with Pixel Kris! Or piano!!! Obviously Krusie is Communism! It is not about being handed answers and solutions to you on a silver platter! It's about working towards a greater goal that is greater than any of us! It is reflected in Kris and their own strife for freedom and general poverty of parties involved.

Suselle is the Capitalism! It is the one handed to you. It is the easy one to get into. It is one that seemingly the world resolves around, BUT YOU CAN STOP IT IF YOU ARE WILLING TO! If you have your own desires you can get out of that safe system where only few can succeed like Noelle's family. You do not choose. You fall in line!

Now to be a liberal (Dios Mio *makes cross sign*) is to be Suseil ship. It is not one with many sets of evidence, but you see it as your right to pursue it. It is not a popular path, not one you can back up fully, but it is one you are on anyway.

Now boring centrism that pushes for no change is obviously Krilsei. This is the one that falls in line and anyone can back up because of the cute fluffy boy. But it is also one that doesn't push any greater idea. It is safe and cute and boring. For you. Probably perfect.

Now as for Kriselle... There was something better there at one point and maybe there still is... But it is most definitely... anarcho capitalism. And it is strange, scary and dangerous. Maybe there are some who still believe in wholesomeness, but probably those are more naive than any other and will be consumed by cold of Snowgrave! But maybe their belief one day will pay off... But it probably wont. We have to pray for them! That scene in chapter 4 changes so much, but it wont change the tragedy either way. A rose, a drop of blood or a broken glass. All the same pain.

Now I know I left Berdly ships so far, but what can you say about them? Those are filled with nutjobs, unlike you and me they are crazy! Cults that fester on the borders of our society! They spout their beliefs like a strange sermon and you don't know if they will stay in their little areas or one day you will hear an explosion and that is scary about them. Especially Kredly. Brrr...

But not as much as the full Anarchism that is Berdelle. This is not just a cult. It is full anarchy. No laws. No regulations. It is simple chaos. It is for those who already gave up on coherency and simple pursue shitpost above anything else. You understand?

Other ones like Susie and Toby Dog are what I think is another set of cults, but more harmless. They know they are wrong, but they keep up for the memes. I like them for it. They do no harm. Just have fun. Hard to do in such wars...

Do you understand?

Ralsei?

Detective. I don't believe that game is good for your mental health. It's nice you are so passionate about it, but please focus on the case. And my name is Kim if you forgot. Also please stop trying to pet me. It is not unwelcome, but very unprofessional in the working hours.

Right... Now hear me out! Rudy is the Knight!!

I see... *pulls out his notebook*