#Self-cleaning Surfaces Glass

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The latest report on the Worldwide Self-cleaning Surfaces Glass Market Report is the more professional in-depth of this Industry is providers the status and forecast, categorizes

[rene-spade]

my man isn’t creepy! i | f1 grid

growing up leclerc au !

fem! leclerc! reader x f1 grid, leclerc family

part i: carlos sainz, daniel ricciardo, oscar piastri, pierre gasly & kika gomes

synopsis. when the youngest leclerc finds her partners’ ‘shrine’ of her, but she’s a leclerc so the red flags aren’t all that red

WARNING(s); i like em crazy y’all, obsessive/possessive behavior, implied stalking/shrines, unhealthy relationship dynamics, sexual implications but no smut

carlos sainz.

“What is it?” You asked, head tilted to the side as you look up at your boyfriend. The Spaniard melted, muttering a curse to himself and running his hands through his thick hair. He felt hot, nervous for what the outcome of this discussion could be.

“Dios mío, ángel, it’s— it is not what you think— nothing bad. I am just embarrassed is all.” He reassured, big hands gripping at your shoulders. But he knew it was a bit bad, even his enabling family members were worried he’d freak you out if you saw. His movements were made to comfort you, but you could tell they were more self-soothing. Arthur had a similar habit whenever you got upset with him, too.

You only frowned, but it fueled Carlos’ panic.

“Mi amor, I will do whatever you ask-! You know this. I will let you in when it’s cleaned, I swear it.” He pulled you into his chest, arms fully embracing you. But you squirmed out of his hold, making him respond with an unhappy attempt to coo you back into comfort.

“You’re hiding something in there, Carlos. This is the first time I’m staying with you in your home since we started dating, let me see.” And at the sight of your big, beautiful, angry eyes, how could he refuse an Angel? With a twitch of his fingers, Carlos unlocked the door without any movement to push it open.

With a short huff, you pushed yourself through the door, only pausing at seeing at the sheer amount of merchandise that covered every surface. It was all you-themed, from posters and cut-outs, down to a body-pillow and even an outfit you’d only worn once for a runway show. There was a glass shelf with your old perfumes, newer ones too, and photos everywhere.

“Carlos….” You began, covering your mouth with your fingers and stepping further in.

“I know—! But I liked you so much before we started seeing each other and I- I am just a passionate man is all, my whole family says so—!” You cut off his red-faced rambling with a beaming grin.

“Ouah! I didn’t know you were a super fan before we met!” You giggled, mumbling to yourself in French about the various things he’d collected. “maybe you are a bit extreme, but it’s kind of cute, no?”

“¿En serio? Sí, mi perla!” He breathed shakily before grinning, “I should have known you’d understand! Mis hermanas se burlaron de mí, ¿sabes? But it was all silly…” (You’re serious? Yes, my pearl! My sisters teased me, you know?)

“What are you saying? Your sisters… something? I’m still learning, mon chéri.” You pout at him, in a much better mood now that you knew what your boyfriend was hiding behind the door he seemed so desperate to keep you away from.

He shook his head, hair messy after having run his fingers through it many times due to stress, “We should have dinner with them tonight while we’re still in Spain, I said. Let’s go back downstairs?”

“Why? Got anything weird?”

“Don’t say things like that, amor!”

♤ ♤ ♤

daniel ricciardo.

“Danny…?”

“Shit-!” He jumped out of surprise, dropping the box he was reaching from the top shelf of the closet.

“Oh, I’m sorry, mon soleil!” You squeaked, jumping back as well. You hadn’t meant to scare him, but it wasn’t your fault he was so focused in the dead of night. You were just curious is all. The box he dropped was was rectangular in shape, but easily bigger than a shoebox. You shot him a sleepy grin, “What do you have there?”

He sighed, shaking his head, “Why are you up, sleepy girl? Get back to bed, I’ll be right there. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I’m up because you’re up.” You wrinkled your nose, inching closer to him with a small blanket in your arms. You tried to get a glimpse of what fell out of the box, but Daniel wrapped himself around you so you couldn’t see. He wrestled the blanket from your fingers, careful not to be rough with long nails, and threw it over your head with smile.

As you wrestled, your boyfriend only laughed and placed kisses on any part of you he could without being hit by your flying limbs, “Pretty things like you should be asleep. Your brothers would kill me if they knew I disturbed your beauty rest.”

“Are you trying to hide something from me?” You pulled the blanket off your head, hair a mess.

Daniel froze, jaw clenching as he tried to hold a toothy smile. But he didn’t have it in him to lie to you. The moment was completely still, before you finally broke eye contact and crept passed him to see the mess on the floor. You could hear Danny gulp as you plucked the first item from the ground; a pretty, navy blue set of lacy underwear. Yours, yes. But from ages ago, you swore you lost them. Then there were a few pieces of jewelry, a lipstick tube, a silk scrunchie, a press-on nail, a red heel, and two pieces of now-hardened chewing gum. All yours from various points of this past year.

“Daniel,” no, not the first name, he begged internally, squeezing his eyes shut, deciding to just wait for the inevitable disgust and rejection. You never called him by his full first name, only sweet ‘danny’s his way, sometimes ‘mon soleil’ or ‘sunshine’.

“You know you can just ask for my things, yes? You don’t have to take.” You were looking right up at him, navy colored panties still in your hand like you didn’t even mind that he took them. His reasoning couldn’t have been pure, you know that.

You hummed, pulling at his fingers so you can shove the underwear into his balled up fist, “lá.”

“Perfect girl.” He muttered, pulling you back into him and dragging you to bed, “give me the pair you have on then, yeah?”

♤ ♤ ♤

max verstappen.

It wasn’t always like this with you— you used to be just Charles “track terror” Leclerc’s pretty little sister, a little girl. But now it was years later and you’ve become something perfect and irresistible— something he can’t live without. He knows he’d resorted to some immoral, if not a little creepy, behaviors, but it’s not like he’s one of those guys that would ever hurt you. No, you’re a deity to him. He told his sister about his feelings at one point (even thought about showing her the shrine), but she told him— “This is all because you watched You!” The Netflix show that follows a stalker.

So he took down the shrine— moving most of it into his bedside drawer and the rest under his bed. But he realized he didn’t think it all the way through when he had you in his room for the first time; all pretty and perfect and curious.

“Good race, Maxie.” You hopped back onto the bed, your hair bouncing as you landed, “You’re so tense and for what, huh?”

Max had just a little bit of shame about the whole thing, but maybe not too much. I mean, his body definitely felt some kind of physical guilt or something if you’re judging him by the shaking and sweating— but his mind was happy. You were here with him in his home. In fact, the physical reaction might just be from seeing you curled up in his bed. But you’re close to finding out how… intense he was. (As his mother would say.)

“Sorry, lief, I’m just tired and you’re distracting me by being cute.” He smiled down at you as he began to change, “you need a shirt to wear?”

“Yes, s'il te plaît. Hey, can I put my bracelets in here—? oh!” He’d barely turned his back for a second, just long enough to remove his shirt, but that’s all it took for you to pull the drawer open and see the copious amount of photos of you (some edited to have him in them) and unsent love letters.

“It’s not a shrine— I’m not a creep! It’s just some things I made back before we got together—! You weren’t supposed to see them!” He was trying to shove some of the papers back in, but you were already skimming one of the letters.

“Mijn hart,” he winced at seeing the one you had— one of the more unhinged ones. The worst of it was in Dutch, so that worked out for him at least.

“Oh c’mon, Maxie! It’s kind of sweet! You had such a big crush on me! It’s a little hot, even.”

He grew even more red and fidgety at that, “Shit.”

You giggled at the words you could understand before he wrestled the page out of your grip. You grabbed him and pressed a kiss to his cheek before he could stray too far.

“From Max Verstappen-Leclerc, hm?”

♤ ♤ ♤

oscar piastri.

“Can’t I just grab a hoodie, Osc?” You questioned as he held you in place on the counter, from his spot between your legs, still in his race suit.

“You don’t need one, Lovey, it’s hot.” He pressed himself into you so he could feel you breathe better. You’d asked for a jacket the moment you’d entered his freezing trailer just after the race. He saw you go for the closet and quickly redirected you onto the counter.

“Non, you’re hot because you just raced in a little car for hours and now you’re all over me. I am normal temperature.”

“Cold?”

“Yes.”

“Then get closer, I’m hot.”

You huff obnoxiously like the pretty spoiled girl you are and Oscar can feel the rush of serotonin he got just from the sound. He knew this is the part where you’d get cute and pretend to pick a fight, his sweet thing. But bad timing— he’s desperate to hide his secret now.

“I can’t get any closer to you if I trieddd. What? You have a girl hiding in that closet? Hm?” He scoffed into your shoulder, but stiffened, knowing just what was behind that door.

You gasped dramatically, likely playing it up to get what you wanted (a tactic you used with your brothers, Oscar noticed), “You do! Irréelle!”

“I don’t!” His face shot up from your shoulder, brows furrowed, but he didn’t let you go, “You know I don’t like any other girls!”

“Then you need to show me so I can be sure! And I’m still cold.” You crossed your arms and pulled your knees together to get him to back up.

“I can’t.” He choked out. “There’s— it’s just— I have this thing—”

You hopped down and booked it across the trailer before he could reach out and stop you, yanking the door open to see what your new boyfriend was hiding.

You breathed out a dramatic sigh of relief at the sight, “Goodness, Osc.” Rather than finding a person, you instead found some sort of… collection? Collage of yourself and your things? Photos mostly, magazines, and lots of hearts drawn on articles about you.

Oscar grabbed you by the shoulders and quickly spun you around into him, slamming the door, “You saw?”

Looking up at him with big eyes, you nodded, “Yeah, why? You really like me that much?”

“What? Yes— yeah I do. You—? Okay.”

♤ ♤ ♤

pierre gasly. | kika gomes.

“I’m prepared to blame you for this if Charles finds it.” Pierre breathed, looking at the start of his girlfriend’s collection of your things. Kika scoffed, a smile playing at her lips as she re-organizes your makeup. Mostly lip balms, you’d let her borrow some of your things, not knowing she wasn’t going to give any of it back. Kika even managed to get a few skirts from you as well. The small framed photo of you sitting in her vanity was just a personal touch.

Pierre would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed, but he could say he wasn’t surprised. He and Kika were a good couple, a good duo in general, but especially when it came to drawing you in. Because Pierre was such a good friend to Charles, it came pretty easy; Charles was easier on him around you. Unfortunately, that grace didn’t extend to Kika just because they were dating. Charles had something of a sixth sense for when pretty girls liked his pretty sister; so he was on to Kika. Where at the beginning it was nothing to get you alone with them, it was now next to impossible.

“Pierre? Kika? Are you home?” Wow it’s like they could hear your pretty voice— oh wait they gave you a key. To their apartment. In Monaco, where you live and you can really just waltz in and see all of the things they took (—yes they, Pierre is a thief too—)

Like two naughty school children, the couple shot up to cover what they’d done before you could reach their bedroom. This was their fault naturally, none of yours at all, they were the ones who encouraged you to come over whenever physically possible.

“Grab everything and I’ll distract her!” Kika whispered, rushing to slip out of the room.

Before the ‘not fair-’ could slip from his lips, his girlfriend was off to catch you, brushing passed him and leaving the door cracked. He could hear your surprised greeting, a cute squeak escaping you, before Kika saying something like ‘Oh, Pierre is busy now’, then silence. Pulling the handle back just an inch, he peaked outside to see Kika’s lips not even a centimeter from your own, her hands gripping your jacket for dear life.

“Oh, pretty girls, ce n'est tout simplement pas juste.” Slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. Your eyes shot to his, but Kika’s remained trained on your face. After just a second, your gaze drifted to Kika’s vanity behind him.

The couple froze, you saw. Pierre pulled the door shut behind him as Kika’s mouth opened to form words.

“Oi! Get your hands off my little sister, huh? Démon impoli et pratique, seriously.” Charles slipped into the living room from the front hallway, having obviously accompanied his little sister in her visit.

“Non, Charlie, Kika helped me when I almost tripped.” You smiled at your brother, quickly covering for them, “I was just coming to see if I could get my jean skirt back?”

You looked up at her so sweet and she thinks you’re blushing—“Oh.” She squeaked, “yes, no problem. Pierre.”

“I’ll get it for her, mate.”

“surveille ta copine. je ne suis pas aveugle, mate.”

♤ ♤ ♤

Your man (s girlfriend) is definitely creepy, girl.

note; I made kika and pierres a lil longer bc they’re two ppl so yeah ft charles

thinking part ii with lando, mick (ft the schumachers), lewis, lance, alex & lily, george and carmen?

- ren

[greatstormcat]

A Reason To Go On - Part 1

Stalker!Ghost x f!reader

TW: MDNI 18+, stalking & obsessive behaviour, dub/con, mental health issues

Authors note: this came about following a series of drabbles which I’ve put links to below which may be useful to read beforehand. Written in one sitting and not edited!

Drab 1 Drab 2 Drab 3 Drab 4 Drab 5

AO3 version where everything has been merged

Series Masterlist

Simon sat looking across the kitchen table at Price, both nursing barely touched glasses of bourbon. The surface was immaculately clean, having never been used since it was bought a few months ago. Like much of the items and furniture in the little flat he now called home. Price was looking at him, waiting for him to speak, and the silence was eating up the last of the air in the room.

“Is it really that bad, Simon?” Price prompted him, his tone serious and maddeningly sympathetic. He was always Simon now, Ghost was gone, dead and buried the way he should have stayed all those years ago. He hadn’t even touched a balaclava since he left, using a black medical mask instead when he felt the need.

“No, not really,” Simon shrugged, turning the glass on the table idly. He didn’t look up at his Captain, no that was wrong, his ex-Captain. “Been keeping myself busy reading, exercise, you know,” he finished dismissively.

“You’ve kept up with that therapist?” Price asked, knowing the answer was most likely going to be a negative.

“Sure,” Simon lied. He hadn’t been to any appointments with a therapist since his medical discharge, and he would rather… No, can’t finish that thought as that’s what got him into this mess in the first place. Chucked out on civvy street with a fat pension and nothing to do, no purpose to serve after all these years. At least Price had arranged the pension so he didn’t have to worry about his name getting into circulation, not with his past. The flat was rented under a pseudonym and paid for by some shady forces protection scheme. He didn’t need that catching up with him now.

“Look, I’m settled in and getting myself sorted. You don’t need to come all the way here and check on me,” Simon grumbled, not bothering to hide how much he resented Price these days. He hadn’t fought for him, hadn’t tried to keep him on the Taskforce when that shrink had stamped his file as unfit for duty. Anger issues, poor impulse control, danger to self and others. Price huffed and knocked back his drink. These visits always ended the same, full of regret and bitterness.

“Okay, son,” he said, getting up and looking around the barely furnished flat one last time. “I’ll let you be, but I’ll be back when I can. Why not think about what I said though, try and get a hobby, something to focus on.”

Price left soon after and Simon finished his glass before heading towards the spare bedroom, his office as he liked to think of it. He’d found his left a purpose, no thanks to Price. He had a reason to carry on now, and it meant everything to him. Flicking on the lightswitch the rows and rows of photographs on the wall were illuminated, all showing images of you at various times since he had first seen you.

With a smile he relaxed into the chair by the desk, looking up at the photos. You were his life now, he was dedicated to taking care of you. Since that first day he’d seen you he had dealt with your worthless ex-boyfriend, making sure the little shit stain never bothered you again, scared off several unworthy bastards in the pub you met your friends in, and put some small security cameras in the downstairs areas of you house so he could check on you from his laptop.

You were the focus of his every waking moment, and even when he slept now he pictured you in his dreams and woke hard and throbbing. At the start of this he had sworn to himself he would keep his distance, not let you know he existed so he didn’t burden you with his problems. But it was getting harder and harder not to sit and imagine what the touch of your hand would be like, you were a brave and kind soul, would you turn him away if he spoke to you?

That was why he had answered the note on your coffee table. The chance to make a connection to you was too great a temptation, and he let himself slip and grab the chance. This would be a slippery slope.

As midnight nears he makes his nightly pilgrimage to your house, his motorbike left at the end of your road before he walks closer, not wanting to disturb you with the noise. The footholds he made in your garden wall months ago allow him to quickly and quietly scale the wall, and he fishes out the key he copied for your back door, letting himself into your kitchen. He cocks his head and listens carefully making sure you aren’t moving around upstairs, and he hears nothing.

By now, he knows to look at the notepad on the table in the living room. There’s always a small note written there since he’d replied to the message you’d left all those weeks ago. Tonight, however, the pad is missing and he feels a pang in his heart. Why haven’t you left a note tonight? Has your tolerance for him dried up now? He feels a creeping fear, another loss looming in his future that he isn’t ready to cope with, not when he has already lost so much in the past.

He moves up the stairs, having memorised where to step and where to avoid so no creaks come from the wood. Your bedroom is at the top, and he has spent many hours sat in the hallway outside your bedroom door just to listen to the steady sound of your breathing. More than once you’ve gone to the bathroom and walked right past him, never bothering with putting on lights at night. He looks through the open doorway, a thin beam of light shining through the gap in the curtains and across your form under the bed covers.

Tonight though, your breathing sounds different, and he realises you aren’t asleep in the darkness. When you sit up, he freezes.

“You’re there, aren’t you?” you say to the darkened bedroom, absolutely certain you can hear soft breathing in the shadows by the door. You’re still not sure who or what you’re talking to, but you know that there is someone listening to you.

Simon remains calm. It's the first time you’ve spoken directly to him and he can’t quite process the fact that the object of his desires has come this close to actually perceiving him. Both the last thing in the world he wanted, and the one thing he has needed more than anything in his entire life. For several heartbeats he wrestles with himself deciding wether to answer you or not.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he finally answers, deep voice carrying around the room easily. He watches you carefully in the thin slither of light, sees your tiny flinch as you hear him and the involuntary swallow in your throat, but you don’t panic.

“Will you tell me why you’re here?” You ask, unable to hide the slight tremble in your voice. You’re so brave, his heart swells with pride at how you handle waking up to a strange man in your house, your very bedroom. You’d have made an amazing soldier.

“Just checkin’ you’re okay. I check on you a lot,” he admits.

“How long have you been doing this?” He can see a frown on your features, you’re trying to piece this all together now.

“Few months,” he answers with a shrug of his shoulders which draws your attention. You see the movement and realise just how large the shape in the shadows is, your eyes going wider in shock. His frame fills the doorway in width and height, and a tiny voice in your head tells you that you should be terrified, but you aren’t. If this man meant you harm you’d be dead already, months ago apparently. Instead he was getting into your house and doing the stuff that, and you feel your brain stutter at this thought, a boyfriend would do.

“Okay, and you’ve been doing more than that haven’t you? You’ve been following me around and helping me out haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” he replies.

“Why?”

“Wanna keep you safe, and happy,” he grunts with a frown, not wanting to dwell on that question.

“You could do that without breaking into my house, without hiding yourself from me.”

“I didn’t really want to bother you, I don’t need anyone to take care of me and it’s just easier this way,” he tells you, hearing how hollow his own words sound to his ears.

“Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve been doing, but this isn’t… normal,” you say, hugging your knees to your chest now as you settle into this off situation. Again, you tell yourself you should be screaming and calling the police but there is a sadness about this man that you can’t ignore. “Why don’t you come and sit with me and we can talk?”

“Wait,” comes his brusque reply, and your eyebrows raise. He steps back from the doorway and down the stairs, not nothing to mask his footsteps now, and returns with a scarf that was hanging at the bottom of the stairs in one hand. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, holding the scarf in one hand where you can see it.

“A blindfold. Why? Are you ugly?” you tease, the words hitting him like a bullet between the eyes and a smile forming across his face.

“Quite the opposite,” he replies, feeling warmth spread through his chest at such a poignant exchange of words. It's almost as though you knew…

You close your eyes. Listening carefully as you hear him moving closer, the faint rustling of fabric is just audible. A blindfold settles over your eyes, thick and heavy, blotting out anything you might have been able to see even in the darkness.

Then, and only then, do you feel the mattress dipping down a long way as he sits on the edge of the bed. Tentatively you lift one hand and blindly reach out to touch him, after a moment or two he takes your hand in his, warm fingers and a calloused palm encapsulating your own. On a whim, you pull, urging him to move closer to you. At first he resists, the bed shifts and for a moment you worry he is going to get up and leave, but you hold onto his hand and tug again. He relents and leans over towards you, and warm face rests against your shoulder, hair tickling your cheek, and you wrap your arms around huge shoulders.

It’s as though a dam breaks inside Simon, the moment you put your arms around him he melts against you, gently pushing you back against the mattress as he lies down beside you. One of his legs hooks over yours over the covers and his arm drapes over your stomach, pinning you into place as his face rests against the exposed skin at the crook of your neck.

You feel a hot rush of air leave his lungs, heating your neck, and a tiny groan tinged with such sadness escapes him. The sound plucks at your heart and you rub your cheek against his hair, encouraging him to nuzzle into you even further, as though we would climb into your chest if it were an option.

“What should I call you, now that we are finally talking? You already know my name,” you murmur.

“Ghost,” he replies, his lips tickling your skin as he speaks and a shiver runs down your spine.

“I thought you were a ghost to start with, so that’s appropriate,” you reply.

He grunts and touches his lips to your neck again, feeling you shudder again as he is draped over you. He tried a small kiss, his control evaporating by the second as you respond to him to readily, and when you sigh softly it vanishes. He kisses you desperately, moans accompanying every movement of his lips until his mouth is on yours, hot and needy. From the darkness of the blindfold you kiss him back, hands framing the face you cannot see and the weight of his body shifting until you are crushed into the mattress below you.

The bed covers are pulled away from you, cool air reaching through the thin fabric of the T-shirt you are wearing until his warmth settles against you, pushing your knees apart so his clothed erection presses against your crotch. He humps you through his clothes, a frantic and needy action as his kisses continue to burn your mouth with their ferocity.

Little moans and whines escape you as you let him drink his fill of you, the amount of passion he has for you like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. You hands trace over his shoulders, tracing firm muscle as he lifts your T-shirt and kisses down you body, stopping to grope roughly at your breasts before he kisses across your stomach to your underwear.

His mouth moves across the fabric, hot and hungry, pressing into your folds and causing arousal to flood through you. The wetness is unmissable as he grinds his face into you, fingers digging into your thighs. You hear a zip being undone.

“No, wait,” you try to slow him down by putting your hands on his chest but he is too far gone now, muttering praises and words of adoration like he is reciting a memorised prayer. Your underwear is pulled down roughly, stinging your legs as he drags it down carelessly and the tip of his erection is pressed against your dripping cunt before you have time to think again.

Simon presses into you, his head hanging from his shoulders loosely as he focuses on the sensation of your heat enveloping his cock. He shudders and pauses when he is halfway in, looking to your face and wishing he could see your eyes, but that would be too much for him and he knows it. Your mouth gapes open, back arched and you whimper when he slowly thrusts forward again.

“Fuck… your perfect,” he whispers, watching his length disappearing inside of you. “So perfect for me.” When he hilts himself in your cunt he leans down and kisses your neck again, hands gripping your shoulders so you are totally surrounded by his body, entirely surrounded and filled by him. Your arms are trapped between your chest and his, leaving you no way to move with his weight on top of you. He pulls his hips back, almost completely pulling out before slowly pushing back in, sparking intense pleasure as you feel his thickness stretching you open. Every vein and ridge of his cock can be felt, and when he bottoms out again he presses against your cervix and you whine at the sensation.

“Its okay,” he whispers, kissing your neck and nipping at your skin as he holds you tightly, not letting you move as you lay in total blindness while he slowly fucks you. “Everythings fine, this is so good, you feel so good.” His hips begin to snap against yours as he picks up the pace, the pleasure from each thrust bleeding into the next as he speeds up until you’re riding a never ending wave of electricity. The sounds of his skin on yours mix with his grunts and praises, creating a filthy symphony of sounds around you.

The pressure against your clit spurs your impending orgasm, and you rock your hips to chase the release, coaxing him to thrust harder into your aching hole.

“Gonna cum,” he starts to moan, “gonna cum in you.” He repeats it over and over, his voice cracking as he speaks, and the words push you over the edge. Your cunt grips and clenches onto his cock as you cum, crying out his name and with a harsh groan he pours himself into you.

His head falls into the crook of your neck as he catches his breath and after a while carefully pulls his softening cock out of you, making you wince.

“Shit, did I hurt you?” He asks, going still as he hovers over you.

“No it’s okay. You just have… large equipment,” you say weakly, and feel a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t, you know, ask about that first,” he says, frowning at himself as he lowers himself beside you on the bed. He’s meant to be protecting you not taking advantage of you, but it felt so good. He feels wetness on his cheeks and wipe his face with the back of his hand.

“It was intense,” you say, “but it’s fine, don’t worry.” You turn and press yourself into him, this large and solid man that you don’t know, but trust for no good reason. He stays a while longer until you fall asleep, but when you wake up with your morning alarm he is gone. The scarf is neatly folded up on the bedside table, a scrap of paper with a phone number written on it ontop with the words ‘if you need me’ written under them.

When you go downstairs he has even put out a mug and teabag by the kettle for you, locking the door as he had left.

Taglist @ghosts-cyphera @katamari-possum @kkaaaagt @n1ght4ngel

[undercoverpena]

3. heather purple

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter three of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over IG. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used, you do wear a top and jeans tho. minor worrying/nervousness. no use of y/n. an: i love them i love them i love them

prev chapter | frankie's ig

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Nervous energy pulsates through you.

It first manifested as a rattle, an annoyance when your eyes opened this morning. Now, it had grown into moving things half an inch and constant tapping—on surfaces, on you, on walls. All restless, practically relentless—vibrating and thrumming.

Then, your teeth began lazily, grazing over your lower lip, eyes flicking to the clock—fingers adjusting your laptop on the counter for what feels like the tenth time in as many minutes.

With a catch of your thumb, your phone illuminates, another nervous-tic, another thing you've been doing for the last so many moments.

Even if you know he’s on his way, having told you as much.

Normally, you would find it easy to calm yourself through pacing, the flexing of your fingers, and deep, soothing breaths. But not this time.

This time, it lingers. A persistent knot in your stomach that refuses to unravel and instead attempts to bathe in giddiness—a sensation you’d never imagined, never mind expected.

Suddenly, with another fluttering jolt, you wish you could backtrack the messages you had sent. The ones that had invited him—jovially, before seriously.

Because despite spending several minutes leaning on your cool, kitchen counter, with a glass of water pressed to your neck, warmth is still radiating from your skin.

The thinnest layer of sweat still remains on the base of your spine, sticking; the same as it is around your head—no matter how often you dab it away.

Admittedly, it’s all self-inflicted. Caused by the fact you had tried on a thousand things within the last half an hour. All of the failures were discarded, shoved (all unceremoniously), at the bottom of your closet, the door shoved shut in frustration.

Nothing had felt right. Nothing had looked right.

A mess of worries and overthinking churning in your head, all caused by your friend's echoing voice as you stared at yourself in the mirror:

Do you think he’ll size up your new office and then size you up? Do you think this is a date? Do you think he’s expecting to see your bedroom? Because if you count the coffee, this is the third, which means—

At the time, it had been easy to laugh. Play it down—continue to wash your dishes and clean around the sink.

But, it’s when the goodbyes had been exchanged; when there were no more cups or plates to clean, and you found yourself alone with nothing but the sounds of suds swirling down the drain. That's when your mind began to wander. To weave patterns of concerns, begin concocting.

Do you think…Do you think?

Do you think?

Deep down, you know it doesn't matter. Less so as your hand brushes over your face, heavy sigh exhaled, because he'd be here soon.

In your home.

Frankie would be able to see the poor state of your “remodel” or “flip” or whatever term it is for when you buy a rundown thing and try and make it liveable. He'd be able to see exactly why you'd looked lost in the hardware store he works, because look at your home. The place where you rest, sleep and work.

You could come and see it for yourself, wouldn’t need to keep guessing what I’m dreaming up. Yeah? You sure? Well, it would be easier than me trying to explain the issues I’m faced with because until an hour ago I didn’t know what a wrench was called. What did you use to call it? Tightening-tighty. Fitting name. I thought so too—until your latest “helpful” video ruined it. At least you’re learning now how selfish I am. You are, but I’ll forgive you because you have a nice smile. Is the smile enough to upgrade me from DMs to a phone number? Oh, you are pushing it. Well, to keep on pushing and this is presumptuous, but I can come round tomorrow. After I’ve finished up at work. Luca is back with his mom. Yeah? Send me your address and I’ll be there, rainy. I’ll send you my number too, so you can call when you leave.

And you had.

Then, tomorrow had become today, and you’d found yourself trying to flood the worries from your half-a-job redecorating with cleaning.

Some of it alleviated by decluttering half-empty boxes from around the base of pale walls, but part of it added more issues to your plate because suddenly you wished you had more plants. More colour.

More anything.

Because it’s bare, a barren of nothing. There are marks on the floor not lifted from scrubbing and cracks in the wall that need filling.

Disappointment lands on your shoulders, weighed down with pinched regret—because you realise (once again, having lived in blissful ignorance) that there is so much to do.

Swallowing, you glance around, scents of wood polish and floor spray swirling. You glare at the many holes filled in by the previous owners. The ones not painted over just yet.

Because you hadn’t decided on a shade—no colour scheme having jumped out.

The place is all just pale, off-white or faded magnolia.

"Fuck."

The urge to crawl into a ball rises, a sickening feeling swirling.

Somehow, if the state of your home doesn’t scare him away, a small part of you knows it can find comfort that maybe your humour is enough to keep him around.

A thought that should relax you, but instead makes your stomach twist more. Because you're not actually sure you're that funny. A realisation that forces your palms to become tacky, the thinnest layer of sweat trying to appear there, as well as everywhere else.

Because you like him.

The knowledge of it pricking at you, making you bite the skin from your lip and pick at your nails; it makes you wiggle your toes inside your socks on the wooden floor and fight a smile at something funny he’d said last night.

And then you hear it.

Wheels. Tyres crunch gravel as a black pick-up pulls up outside your home. One you remember from outside the store, from parking several blocks down from yours.

He’s here.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s fucking here—

The thought rotating, spinning—like a whirlpool drenching you in more sweat and making your head dizzy all at once.

You can’t move, can’t unstick yourself from the floorboard you’re on. Watching. Transfixed. Both feeling joy that he has come (as he said he would) and filled with horror because it’s happening, it’s all fucking happening.

With each step he takes up your drive, you want to bolt from your place and hide in your bedroom. Pretend you’re not home. Pretend something came up.

But you can’t lie.

Guilt swallowing that immediate thought. Watching him get closer and closer, until his knuckles wrap on the door, the noise filling your barely-filled home.

Fuck.

You manage to move then. All quiet steps. Delicate in how you cross the room that’s become a poor attempt at a living room.

Wrapping your palm around the handle, you’re surprised at its sudden heaviness—all cold, so cool against your skin it almost makes you hiss. Almost slipping when you turn it, palm so slick with nervousness as your arm tries to vibrate in its socket.

Opening the door, you disguise it. Layer all your worries and unravelling under a mask. Smothering and burying it in a smile—practically instantaneously. As though it’s the easiest thing to do around him.

But then, it is.

Because even if the rest of your body is having some reaction to the idea he could be stepping inside, you find yourself unable to help but grin. Not able to help lighting up like fairy lights hanging in the darkest night.

And, in the milliseconds of the two of you standing there, you actually begin to feel better.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” you reply, grin growing, forcing your cheeks to hurt in a matter of beats.

And you know you should move, let him in. But, what does it mean if you do? That voice, the one growing louder, who speaks nothing but worse cases and negativity, begins to increase in pitch. Smothering the sound of birds and someone cutting their grass several houses down.

Because is he here to measure up, to give recommendations—or will he kiss you again like he did against your car? Will his mouth move to other places, hands busying themselves, peeling? Will he be disappointed by what lies underneath your comfortable t-shirt and—

“You gonna invite me in?”

Pausing, you lower your gaze to the floor, leaning against the door for a moment. Eyes catching spots of purple on his jeans, finding yourself staring, glancing at how they resemble petals scattered in a careless dance.

You know it likely was accidental, a mere mishap, but it looks pretty, intentional. Even if it's likely tarnished an overworn, maybe slightly beloved pair of jeans.

He says your name, forcing your head up. Speaking it all soft—so full of care and intention—it almost makes you swoon and crack. Almost makes you widen the door to let him inside.

“I’m embarrassed. It’s… it’s not even—“

“Hey, hey, look at me.” And you do, like nothing could be simpler. “I know you haven’t long moved in—and, you wouldn’t be askin’ for an opinion if it looked the best it ever could. Right?”

“Right.”

“So, let me in b… Rainy, please.”

You don’t miss it.

Even if you pretend you do.

It circling, playing. Imagination fuelled up and running the show now.

A thing which drowns the worries, holds its head under water as your brain begins to wonder what him calling you baby could sound like, be like.

Slowly, you lift your head from the door and step to the side to let him in.

Thankful you do, because you catch the scent of the hardware store—one you found you’ve actually really, really missed.

As though picking up on the thousand hints at how on edge you are, Frankie asks to see the dresser.

Makes a comment about needing to see if the paint covered, if butterscotch orange looked as good on wood as it did on walls.

You don’t argue, instead leading the way. Take him past your sofa and armchair right into the kitchen. As you do, he shares his day, weaves in bits on Harry—how he’s nothing but a torment, even if he says it with a grin.

“He asked about you.”

Thankful for the pot boiling, you pour him a cup of coffee, placing it down before clutching your own. Admiring the way he’s squatted down next to the dresser—fingers sliding over the edges.

“And, what did you tell him?”

Shrugging, Frankie looks over his shoulder—a smile there, evident, easily present. “Said I would ask when I saw you tonight—but, that I assumed you were good from how much you made me laugh last night.”

Heat burns your ears, almost making them match the temperature of your palms from being around the mug.

You think, search, and feel desperate for something to say, all aiming to fill the emptiness when you begin explaining what you’ve already done to your 'cheap find'.

Doing so with as many technical terms as you remember from videos—how you’d restored it, sanded it, etc, etc.

It’s only when he looks over his shoulder again, do you realise how not-weird this is. How it doesn’t feel wrong—relaxing at the realisation, the room and house following suit.

Resting the cup to your chest, you clear your throat, “You know, you’re the first person outside of my best friend that’s been here.”

Brows raising, lost under his hat and curls, his smile slides up further into one cheek. “That makes me special, right?”

“Oh, I think you know you’re special, Morales. I’ve read the comments under your videos.”

A bark of laughter leaves him, head shaking, attention turning back to the dresser as he runs his hand over the top.

“You’ve done good.”

Instantly, you grin. Folding your arms, remaining leaning against the side of the kitchen counter as you almost let a ‘yeah?’ escape, that you instead trade for: “You sound surprised.”

“You did imply you were hopeless.”

Shrugging, you watch him stand tall, fingers itching under the front of his hat as he leans against the wall.

“I am still hopeless.”

Shaking his head, he does nothing but grin—gifting you one full of warmth and sunshine. “I think you’ve just not had someone to show you, that’s all.”

“That going to be you?”

His tongue slides into his cheek, giving a half-shrug as he moves closer, pausing at the side of your kitchen counter. “If you want.”

“You don’t mind that I might have Pinterest boards?”

Chewing his cheek, he smirks as broad and as wide as his shoulders—as though it is difficult to contain. “You definitely have them. Wouldn’t believe you if you said you didn’t?”

Heat warms your cheek, and remains there—burning and pulsing as you avert your eyes briefly. “Maybe I have them.”

His laugh escapes quickly, almost loudly, booming and echoing like before. And you want him to do it again, needing to, as soon as it dies down to flood from him and land against the walls again.

But, instead, you take a large mouthful, placing the mug down. "Shall I show you my dream?"

Heading to show him the spare room, the one that you’re hoping to make into an office, his work boots sound out, echoing around the stripped-back hallway and bare flooring.

There's a comfortable quiet you don’t wish to allow to shift when you head down the hallway, beginning to explain. Hands moving, gesturing, sporadically glancing over your shoulder as he follows—finding his eyes don’t fall to the open boxes, but remain firmly on you.

It isn’t until you step inside the open doorway and he pauses at the do you (on command) continue talking. Slowly pointing to where you think you’d want things. Listing, nose-scrunching as you say how nice it would be to have floor-to-ceiling shelving, an armchair—a desk with space for work. A plant here, maybe one there.

How you want to move from your kitchen counter to in here for work—maybe put up a piece of art here, some nice curtains there. A real desk chair that’ll support your back.

You only stop when you look back and find him resting his forearm on the doorway, not looking anywhere around the room, just at you.

And it makes you pause. Mesmerised, by the way he rolls the pads of his fingers against his thumb, his forearm flexing and how the end of his t-shirt has slightly risen due to his leans. It undoes you, making you forget what room you're even standing in as your brain melts and you become rendered completely, fucking useless.

The spell doesn’t break until his arm drops, fingers push his hat up, eyes warming as he takes the space in. “You want to work near the window?”

Nodding, you move to the side, allowing him space, watching him as he takes his eyes off you, moves into the room and stares around. He sweeps his gaze, brows furrowing occasionally before he stops close to the window.

Sliding the pencil from the top of his ear, he pulls a pad of paper from his pocket. Jotting things down, sketching—eyes zig-zagging across the wall as he tries to mark whatever his thought is down. Mouth moving, occasionally hearing him working out numbers, before the sound is muffled by a scratch of the pencil.

You’re in awe. Just observing. Making no sense of what it is he’s drawing. Least of all what he’s thinking. But gosh, is he handsome when he does it.

More so, when that soft smile creeps back over his face at you watching him, and you worry (briefly) whether you’ve said it out loud.

“You’d have a nice view if your desk was here.”

“Got a nice one right now.”

Snorting, Frankie rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth ticking up into his cheek. “How much do you hate yourself for saying that?”

“Only a smidge,” you say, finger and thumb close together.

Holding his stare, you find the softness of his smile has spread to his eyes, and you can't help but roll your eyes. "Fine. Maybe a little more than a smidge," you amend, your own smile mirroring his.

His laughter fills the room once again, and you can't help but join in. The two of you standing there, and all you want to do is pinch yourself. Not sure how this could be real; how he could be, how all of this could be. How the grin on your face is really there and he’s really here—

“I’m thinking,” he begins. Voice clearing, eyes looking around. “We could build you a floor-to-ceiling set of shelves here like you want—maybe add some cupboards. Could be a nice backdrop if you’re sitting there. Can have it pre-built, or I can help you measure it, build it? Probably need—“

You should be listening. Maybe even making notes.

Not flicking your eyes to his lips, watching the way his face furrows or his lip curls in between listing things.

“How?"

"How, what?"

Swallowing, you exhale. "Did you get so good at that?”

His lips slide into his cheek. “At what?”

Tilting your head, you purse your lip, drop your arm from his shoulder, gesturing, finding the words. “I just watched you like—measure, with your head. I think I heard your brain... calculating?”

He pauses, mouth remaining open, a twinkle shimmering in his eye as he scratches at the curls hanging under his hat. “Oh, I… um. I used to fly. I was in the U.S. Army. Delta Force—guess I got good at measuring, doing calculations in my head, had to, you know?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that… that why you don't like to sit still either?”

Rolling his lips, he tucks the back behind his ear, nodding, a sheepish smile adorning his face.

“Well,” you say, “You’re good at it.”

Swallowing, he licks his lips, gaze not leaving you. “You not wanting to ask anything?”

“Should I?”

Shrugging, he licks his lip. Dragging it along slowly. “Some would.”

You shake your head, meeting his gaze. “I’m not some, am I?”

He considers it, your answer. Turns it over.

But his response isn’t verbal; it’s a gentle tug on the belt loop on your jeans, pulling you close. Out of instinct, your arm drapes over his shoulder. Silently thankful for the outfit choice, for choosing a nice top and jeans. Especially as you stand staring at him, eyes taking him in as he does the same.

Your heart pounds loudly in this definitive pause. A chance provided to cast your eyes away, to ask him what else he's thinking.

But that’s not what you want—not what you need.

Not as you close the small gap. Not as you watch his stare, all heavy and scorching, and how it drops to your lips, following a similar path you had taken on his face only a second prior.

Kiss me, you think.

But you realise as his lips slide into one cheek, dimple deepening, that the words had flowed out instead. Stretched out, laid a red carpet from yours to his.

And it’s inescapable, the pull you feel when your mouth marries itself to his, when your palm remains flush with his cheek, being greeted by the tickling of the wiry hairs on his jaw.

When he licks into your mouth, you’re gone—thrown off course and falling freely, all willingly, not wanting to ever land and not at all in fear of the descent as you grip him for stability. Neither of you stop when his hat falls from atop his head, landing with a crack on the floor.

Because it might be odd to have missed a mouth before, but you have.

Suddenly feeling all is right now it’s back against yours, where you write a story against his lips and taste the words he wishes to say in return. The room is empty, quiet—no backdrop this time compared to the street before—and so you can’t mask your whimpers, and you can’t mistake the sound of him groaning when you move him back so his back meets the walls.

Distantly aware of his hands gripping your waist, keeping you close, mouth chasing yours as you begin to grin, begin to feel him mirroring it.

And then he stops.

Pulls back.

A look on his face that’s unreadable and scrunched.

“I…”

Shame fires inside of you, like a key in an ignition, roaring itself to life. “I’m so sorry, Frankie—I thought, I mean—“

His hand comes around your wrist, stopping you, halting you in your desired path to move from him. “Stop, baby. Please.”

Baby.

It's there again. But this time, fully spoken, not held back.

“I just… I just want to do this right, is all. I’m… fuck, I’m here to help you. Meant to be a professional. Don’t… I don’t want you to think I tricked you into letting me in so I could… you know.”

Heat rises, billowing out across your cheek and neck. “I don’t… I don’t think that.”

“No?”

Shaking your head, you smile. “No.”

His chest fills before he lets out a loud exhale, thumb slowly drawing a circle on your wrist. “Good. ‘Cause…” he shakes his head as he bites his lower lip. “I want to take you out for dinner.” Index joining his thumb, both doing a pattern, as he whispers your name, forcing your eyes to meet his. “I want to treat you right. I… I don’t want to have come from work and—you know?”

Nodding you move a little closer, palm sliding over his cheek. “I know.”

He grins, sliding his palm down flush with yours, before he loops his fingers in between yours. “Good.”

“Good,” you whisper.

Tightening your hold on his, almost swinging it.

“Think you should kiss me again, though.”

Laughing, his eyes crinkle, dimple appearing briefly—but then he does.

Thank you for helping me move and assess the stability of my dresser.

No problem, glad to be of help.

I had a really nice time with you, Frankie.

How much did it pain you that you couldn’t work that into tease?

I’m wounded, bleeding out as we speak.

You need me to come back? Hold your hand.

Not sure that’s all I’d want you to do if you came back.

Not sure I’d keep my word about doing this right if I did either.

Because I’m an incredible kisser?

Because I didn’t want to leave you at all.

Wish you hadn’t, honestly.

Don’t tell me this, I’ll get back in my truck and come back.

Oh, the dreadfulness if you did.

Did you just use the word dreadfulness?

I did, and I stand by it.

What you doing on Friday at 7pm?

What do you want me to be doing on Friday at 7pm?

I want you to be sat opposite me at a place in town, candle in the middle.

Guess I can move things around to play footsie.

I’m eternally grateful.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Flu Season.

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader (HxH).

Word Count: 1.6k.

TW: Kidnapping, Mentions of Guns, and Imprisonment.

[I have a fever. Excuse the self-indulgence.]

It should’ve been enough that you’d just been kidnapped.

Dragged into the storage closet of an art gallery you could barely afford to visit, bound and gagged and blindfolded, the barrel of a gun shoved into the notch underneath your diaphragm as a man with slicked-back hair and a woman in a wine-red suit walked you out of an obscured backdoor and into a windowless van, already stocked with haphazardly packaged paintings and sculptures. It was just business as usual, the woman had explained, as if that would make you feel any better. They’d keep you as a hostage until attention died down, sell off the stolen artwork, and drop you off on the outskirts of the nearest city, alive and unharmed. As long as you didn’t put up a fight or get on anyone’s nerves, you’d walk away just fine.

Or, mostly fine, at least. Really, you had to be the unluckiest person in the world.

It wasn’t enough that you’d just been kidnapped by some shady, hyper-violent gang of thieves.

You had to get kidnapped, then come down with a cold.

Or the flu. It might’ve been the flu. You definitely had a fever. You couldn’t take your temperature, but you could feel those tell-tale chills, the splitting headaches, the constant pull of an exhaustion no amount of sleep would’ve been able to sedate. Your throat was raw from coughing, your head pounding and your tongue permanently dry, but you’d resigned yourself to nursing the lukewarm glass of stale water you’d gathered the strength to get for yourself more than a few hours ago. You barely had the energy to stand, but it wasn’t as if you could ask your kidnappers to wait on you. They seemed begrudgingly tolerant of your presence – vaguely amused at best, mildly annoyed at worst. It was safer not to draw any attention to yourself, even if that meant suffering alone for another few days.

Another sudden chill, another knot of ache in the back of your skull. You shuddered, pulling the small pile of blankets and quilts you’d amassed that much closer. The abandoned mansion they’d chosen as their temporary lair was an awful, drafty structure – all rotting wood and dirt-caked windows and thin walls that did nothing to keep out the winter air. You’d holed yourself up in one of the countless decaying bedrooms, but even the surprisingly clean king-sized mattress offered little consolation. That, paired with the holes in the walls, the layer of dust coated over every surface, didn’t make you feel very—

Your bleary thoughts were cut off by the sound of your bedroom door creaking open, of quiet footsteps approaching the spot where you laid. You shot up on reflex, but that immediately proved to be a mistake – a jolt of pure agony racing from the nape of your neck to your temples and settling in the space just behind your eyes. Cursing under your breath, you buried your face in your hands, doing your best to block out the light and soothe the sudden pain, but you didn’t have much time to console yourself. The intruder had already reached your bedside, the plush mattress dipping under their weight as they settled into your space. You spared them a withering glance, but once again, that only seemed to make things worse.

For whatever reason, the thieves’ leader himself – Chrollo, if memory served – had seen fit to pay you a visit.

And just when you thought your day couldn’t get any worse.

You stiffened, pressed your back into the dilapidated headboard, did what you could to make yourself look small and unremarkable without giving him the impression that you were meek enough to go down without a fight (despite the fact that, if worst came to worst, you probably would). For what it was worth, he didn’t seem hostile. If anything, the expression written across his face was one of pleasant neutrality – a slight smirk paired with a distant look in his eyes, like he had a million things to do and whatever he’d come to you for barely ranked on his list of concerns. When he noticed you were looking at him, he didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Rather, he only lifted the hand furthest from you, bringing a nondescript plastic bag into your line of sight and placing it in front of you gingerly, as if he was leaving a hunk of raw meat in front of some exotic beast.

It was only when you failed to react that he started to explain himself. “I heard you were sick.”

Fuck. And you thought you’d managed to fly under his radar.

“I… I think it’s just a cold.” Because colds were safer than flus, easier to recover from and only half as contagious. Because they were less likely to decide you weren’t worth the effort it’d take to keep you around if you just had a cold. “I should be alright in a couple of days, but if you think we’ll need to move before that—”

“Oh, no, it’ll be another week or so before we move on. You'll have plenty of time to recover.” He spoke casually, as if they weren’t wanted fugitives. As if you weren’t a bargaining chip for them to flaunt in front of the police if things went south. He gestured towards the bag, his grin growing just a little wider. “Let me know if I missed something. I tried for variety, but I can make a second trip if you find that your needs haven’t been met.”

Hesitantly, you took up the bag, dragging it into your lap and pulling it open. The contents consisted of what a friend might’ve brought over after you’d missed a morning lecture to a particularly bad hangover. Mineral water, tissues, brand-name painkillers and generic cough medicine. There were a few sporadic add-ons, too – chocolate bars, two bracelets with matching broken clasps and a silver wedding band, a miniature teddy bear that’d clearly been plucked off of a Valentine’s Day clearance rack, but you choose not to linger on those any longer than you had to. Honestly, you were just glad not to find any bullet casings or disembodied extremities. “One of nen’s many silver linings. Once your body surpasses a certain point, illness tends to be more of a peripheral hazard than a daily inconvenience,” he went on, as you rummaged through the bag. “I’m a little out of practice, but hopefully, this will suffice.”

You weren’t exactly sure what he was talking about, but you did your best to nod along, only letting a small portion of your confusion shine through. None of this made sense, none of this was anything you’d ever thought to prepare yourself for, but when he finished, you scrambled to respond, as eager to please as he seemed to be to soak in your praise. “Thank you. It’s perfect, I—” The air hitched in your throat, and anything you might’ve said broke down into a violent coughing fit, only somewhat stifled by the back of your hand. He was still staring at you, when you found the strength to look toward him again, still wearing that fucking smile. Something quirked inside of your chest, and you turned away from him sharply. “I appreciate it, I really do, b-but I’m not sure what’s going on, and I don’t want to disrespect the— your—”

“The Phantom Troupe,” he finished. “My Spiders.”

“Right. That. I don't know how to deal with that.” You shook your head, letting out a slight sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t really keep up with the world of high-class art theft.”

“Oh, we steal all sorts of things. Art, antiques, the occasional organ.” He paused, then seemed to brighten, his tone taking on a kind of childlike eagerness. “A few years ago, a buyer I’m closely acquainted with was interested in amassing a collection of teeth from notable living figures. It was a dull job, but it paid well enough, and my group made the most of it. We're very versatile.”

There was another chill, this time with a source other than your smoldering fever. You wrapped your arms over your chest, shrinking into yourself, but if Chrollo cared about how reflexively you pulled away from him, he didn’t seem to think of it as a mistake that couldn’t be corrected with a breath of a laugh, a slight tap to his knee. “Come here.”

It wasn’t a question, a request, but you considered refusing for one brief, delusional second before ignoring your better judgment and moving towards him – gradually, at first, as slowly as you were able to, until you’d gotten just a little too close and he was able to lash out, to snake an arm around your waist and pull you against his chest. There was a low chuckle, a hand brought to your cheek before it was used to brush the hair away from your face. He held you like that for a long moment – tucked against him, fingers tangled in your hair, his lips ghosting over your forehead – before his grip slackened and his hand fell back to your waist, his face soon buried in the crook of your neck. “Poor thing,” he muttered, his voice muffled by your skin. “You’re burning up.”

He let you go as quickly as he’d taken you up, unraveling himself from you and rising to his feet. There was a click of his tongue, a new lilt to his smile, and when he spoke, he did so with a certain lightness – as if he was playing a role he’d spent just a little too long preparing for. “I’ll make tea. Try to get some rest while I’m gone.”

You waited for him to leave, but he didn’t move, didn't look away from you. With no small amount of trepidation, you turned your back to him, lying on your side and drawing the tussled blankets over yourself.  That earned a hum of approval, but you didn’t let yourself so much as breathe until you heard his light footsteps, until the bedroom door groaned closed and you were left alone with only the impending knowledge that you wouldn’t be, for very long.

At least things couldn’t get any worse, right?

[sprout-fics]

Sprout-Fic's Call of Duty Masterlist

Snowblind (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F! Reader 'Fix')

Summary:

He's robbed the breath from your lungs, fissures extending ever outwards. They carve down into your bones, seep into the cracks of you where the gale of self doubt howls forsaken into the bitter wind. Yet there's warmth in his touch, one that melts away at the crystal heart of you suspended delicately like glass. It twinkles and glints in the darkness, shining outwards into the shadows of you both.

It's him. It's always been him.

Masterlist

Little Mouse (König x F! Reader 'Maus')

Summary: During a routine covert op, you and Gaz are attacked by an unknown assailant, one who takes your unconscious form and carries you away into the night.

"Hello, little Maus."

Masterlist (Here)

Consequences (Brat! Tamer Simon "Ghost" Riley x F! Reader) 18+

Summary:

It doesn’t take much to get a rise out of him, but he doesn’t let it show. The mask keeps his face hidden except for his eyes- calculating, cold. You’re the only one who can see the subtle indicators of his annoyance. His finger tapping on his weapon, the shift in his stance as he widens his legs to look bigger, the low, subtle warning bite in his voice that speaks of consequences.

18+ Series, Minors DNI

Masterlist (Here)

Completed

Rotes Madchen (Werewolf Konig x F!Reader)

Completed

Summary:

You thought the woods were safe.

You hear the rumors, of the strange creature lurking in the forest, the thing with dripping red claws and snarling fangs. Mammoth, dangerous, primordial. He could swallow you whole.

Yet the thing you find is not a monster but a man, injured and weak, surrendering to your soothing hands offered in aid. Yet things in the woods are not always as they seem, and soon you begin to uncover the differences between monsters, men, and the creatures that lurk in the waning light of the full moon.

(Masterlist)

Tag, You're It (TF141 x F!Reader) 18+

Summary:

The room goes still, the five of you lounging around the rec room table on base, where a collection of bottles and snacks litters the surface. The quiet solitude of evening hangs subtle between you all, and if you breathe in you can smell the lingering trace of shampoo, all of you scrubbed fresh and clean following your arrival back after a successful mission. Here, gathered together in mutual company, it’s you who lets the words fall out of your mouth to the surprise of the men around you.

“I want you all to chase me down and take turns on me.”

18+ Series, Minors DNI

Masterlist

Call of Duty Omegaverse AU (Poly TF141 x Omega F! Reader) (18+)

Summary:

You've concealed your presence as an omega for your entire military career, careening up the ranks, collecting accolades, and having the privilege to assist the notorious 141 Taskforce. Yet on a mission gone wrong, you find yourself in circumstances entirely out of your control, and the events that follow hurtle you into the path of a pack that finds out they will do anything to make you theirs.

(Masterlist)

Engravings (Makarov x F! Reader)

Darkfic tw

Summary:

Marionette, your callsign. A name he bestowed upon you, the one who holds the strings. You’re his blade, his weapon, the arrow in his bow. You fly in the direction of his enemies, cut them down with lethal precision, feel their heartbeats stutter and still in your hands. You’re used to the scent of blood by now, arrive back to him awash in red and let him kiss it from your lips, the taste of your murder on his tongue.

You know what the others say about you. You see them as they watch you walk with him, two steps back, by his right shoulder. A designated position. If someday he were to be betrayed, shot through his spine, you know the bullet would enter you first.

You know too that you’ve accepted this.

-----

You never had reason to doubt Makarov until you find yourself cornered by a mysterious man who stares at you with wide eyes and whispers a devastating revelation

"What did he do to you?"

(Masterlist)

Oh Muse, Tell me of the Things Done by Golden Aphrodite

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F! Reader)

Summary:

A sacrifice, they tell you. One to spare the fate of your city from the god of death's vengeful wrath. They lay you upon the sacrificial altar, where you weep and await your demise. Only to awaken in the palace of a God. (An Eros and Psyche inspired AU)

(Part 1)

Requests:

Sunshine (Simon Ghost Riley x Reader)

Jealous (Ghost x Reader x König)

Jealous (Part 2) (Ghost x Reader x König)

Drunk (Simon Ghost Riley x Reader)

Sick (Simon Ghost Riley x Reader)

Affliction. Affection. (Konig x GN Reader)

That One Motorcycle Bit (Simon Ghost Riley x F! Reader) (18+)

Oneshots:

Sunroom (John Price x F! Reader) (18+)

Afterburn (141/Los Vaqueros x F! Reader) (18+)

Speak Now (Gaz x Reader)

I'll Be Better in the Morning (Soap x Reader)

Goodnight Darling (John Price x GN Reader)

Unravel (Ghost x Reader)

Breaking and Entering (John Price x Wife! Reader) (2)

Adjustment (Dom! Price x GN! Reader) (18+)

Spitfire (Philip Graves x F!Reader) (18+)

Coyote Kiss (Phillip Graves x F!Reader)

Old Guard AU (TF141 & Reader)

Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Again. (Soap x Reader)

Danger Close (Captain John Soap MacTavish x F! Reader) (18+)

Mind the Drop (Dom Price x F! Sub Reader)

In the Softness (Nikolai x F! Reader) (18+)

Silver Fox (Nikolai x F! Reader) (18+)

Headcanons

NSFW Soap Headcanons (18+)

Valeria Garza Headcanons (18+)

Ghost and Gaz Headcanons

Poly 141 Headcanons (18+)

Soap Hugs

TF141 and Using a Safeword (18+)

TF141 and Dogs

TF141 + Los Vaqueros and Pegging (18+)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Trauma, and Kink (18+) SA TW

Hitman 141 AU

Sex with Simon

Captain MacTavish and Captain Price's wife (18+)

Neighbors Alpha Ghost (18+)

[fancyfeathers]

Rain and Dirt (Yandere Rex Lapis/Zhongli x Goddesses!Reader)

Chapter Five, Not All That Glitters is Gold

Sequel to The Moon Will Sing and Time Alone

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Summary: Stories are told of Rex Lapis the God of Contracts and his darling the Goddess of the Moonlight, but what people do not know is the truth of what their relationship really is. People think at Rex Lapis’s death that his wife would be the first to weep, but what if she is the first to smile.

When you were young, still a child in the standard of a god, you remember the feeling of the water going up to your ankles as your younger self reached into the waters to pick up shells, sand dollars, and sea glass. You help your skirt out to make a makeshift basket of the bits and bobs you found, but the sand that came with them would be a pain to clean up later. Your sister sat on the sand flying a kite and watching it soar up into the air, one of your older brothers at her side helping her guide it and keep it from flying off if she let go. The sun bore down on the island today, to mortals you suppose it would be far too hot but to you it was a perfect summer’s day.

You could hear the sound of your other older siblings chatting behind you, laughing and enjoying the day. It was rare the days you could see each other like this, most of your siblings had their own duties to tend to and even a few of them made their homes in other nations. You and your sister were still so young and you still had yet to figure out your places in the world, you were not like your siblings, not yet anyway.

“(Name), come here.” You heard the voice of your eldest brother call out to you from where he sat on the sand. You walked over and stood in front of your brother who was sitting by your other siblings. You felt him reach his hand up to brush some sand that you had gotten on your cheek. “Don’t want to get sand in your eyes, now do you?”

“No.” You shook your head and you felt his hand guide you to sit down in the sand, among your family. As you sat down your hand slipped from your skirt and all the hidden gems you found were laid out before you for all your siblings to see. You heard one of your older sisters laugh and grab you and picked you up and sat you on her lap, her hands coming to brush through your sandy hair with her delicate hands. 

“Oh dear, it seems like sand has ruined your hair as well and I spent so much time on it before we came out here.” You heard your older sister give a heavy sigh before it faded into a light laugh. “Well I suppose it can’t be helped.”

You heard your eldest brother hum in thought before he stood up, collecting all your treasures you collected from the sea in his arms. “Well, I think I know just the place to keep these safe and get that sand out of your hair so our dearest sister will stop throwing such a fit.”

“Osial!” She spoke with a gasp while the rest of your sibling laughed at his words and her reaction. Your brother held a hand down to you, his other arm cradling your treasures. You took his hand and he pulled you to your feet and he walked forward, guiding you to the ocean.

You dove down into the salty water of the sea, the refreshing wave of coolness hit your skin. It has been so long since you have roamed freely in Liyue Harbor, let alone the sea. Your husband always hated you stepping into open waters in “fear” that something would attack you or that you would drown, both were physically impossible for you but your husband somehow had the constant belief that you must have been made of glass. Or what you thought was really the case is that you would have attempted to run away. 

You swam to the depths of the sea, the wish coming to rub against your skin, almost like a cat seeking affection. You pushed away the seaweed and the algae that had grown here in your brother’s absence. You remember when your brother used to take you here, a temple hidden under the ocean’s surface. You and your sister used to use this place as your playground before you moved along to find your home, like baby birds leaving the nest, except you didn’t fly forever, your wings were clipped.

You pushed down that thought, he was dead now, he could not hold you down any longer. You swam into the ruins that were once a beautiful spectacle of art, now partially destroyed in your brother’s battle with your husband. You swam past rooms full of gems and gold of all sorts, your siblings’ treasures. Your childhood treasures took a different form, your little cove that your brother made for you was full of your seashells, sand dollars, and other precious little things you adored as a child. You dug through the piles of your treasures, looking for something, something you had left of your family that you had hidden away here as a child so as to not lose it, it was the last thing your father had given you before you and your sister came of age, and your parents disappeared. 

You felt your hand wrap around the hilt of a dagger, you pulled it out from the pile. In your hand was a beautiful dagger made of coral. It seems a silly thing to have, but if you knew what it could do, it was made by a god to kill other gods but you could remember your father’s voice telling you... 

“Be careful with this my dear, while this dagger is powerful it should only be a last resort for it can be used once. You must learn how to lean on your own power and learn how to hone it to protect yourself and others around you.”

It was something you wish you did not hide away because if you had it you might have avoided your fate. Having what you came for, you tucked the dagger away and began to swim back to the surface, trying to avoid looking at anything else, this was a graveyard of memories now, abandoned, forgotten. Some of them you heard stories about, being painted as villains in the history of Teyvat, but they were no such things. You knew who they really were, they were brother and sisters to you, husbands and wives to their spouses, sons and daughters to your parents, wherever they might be. They were your family, and because they did not win, they were painted as villains. That made you thin, you did not win, but Liyue adored you…

Wait…

You forgot…

History is written by the victors.

You returned to the harbor after changing out of your sopping wet dress, into a set of spare clothing you brought with. You heard Lumine and Paimon had returned from the abodes of the Adepti early yesterday but you have not seen them yet. After your encounter with Childe you discussed the terms of your deal with him, this dagger was the first of his requests but you had to remind him of the warning your father gave you, which he only nodded off. Under normal circumstances you would not have given such a thing to him but given recent events and Childe’s end of the deals, the risk was worth the rewards. 

You climbed the stairs of the builds of Liyue Harbor, heading towards the Northland Bank where Childe told you to meet you, but it was later than expected, the swim took far longer than you remembered but perhaps your memory has slipped you in these last few thousand years or perhaps the waters have changed with the appearance of Liyue Harbor and the ships that came with it, far different from your days when much of Teyvat was the wilds. 

As you approached the Northland Bank the attendant outside nodded and opened the door for you. The building of the interior of the back felt off putting as always, but this was something you could shrug off for the most part. You walked up to their counter and the woman behind it. “Excuse me, but is Childe here. I have an item he requested of me.”

“No, I’m afraid not but he did tell me to expect you, so I can give that to him upon his return.” The woman spoke to you politely, and based on her words it seems the Harbinger figured you may be late. “Unless you would like to give it to him personally in which case you may find him at Liuli Pavilion.”

“Oh no, that will not be necessary, just see to it that this gets delivered to him upon his return, and do be careful with it. Whatever you do, do not touch the blade.” You took out the dagger, the blade wrapped up in cloth and you handed it off to her which she seems to place in one of the compartments behind her with the most delicate movements. “Oh and do let Childe know when he wishes to speak with me again he may most likely find me at the docks, down by the water.”

“I will and do take care.” As you were about to give your farewell to her, you heard the door to the bank open and close. You glanced over your shoulder, just to catch a glimpse of who it was and you smiled when you saw who.

“Hello Lumine, Paimon.” You spoke to them so kindly but the moment they saw you, their smiles dropped. It took you a moment to piece together why but when you realized your smile faded as well. “I take it that you went to the place I spoke to you about?”

“…yes.” Lumine pressed her lips together, deep in thought of what to say to you next, and you could understand why. “…what was that place? Those chains?”

“Well…” you glanced over at the Fatui agent behind the counter and then back at Lumine. “Meet me at the docks when you are done with your business, I’ll explain everything to you there.”

“Alright.” Lumine gave you a nod and you turned to make your way outside, ready to spend the day to just relax. “Miss (Name)…”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

After what Lumine saw, it was the least she could say after seeing that…

—————————

Lumine and Paimon had just met with the two Adepti on Mount Hulao and Mount Aozang and were ready to head out to the Wangshu Inn to meet the last she was told about. She hiked through the tall grass of the karst. The grass tickled her legs as she traversed the landscape of Liyue. 

“The place Miss (Name) told us about should be around here somewhere.” Lumine’s floating companion spoke in her high pitched voice. Lumine ran her hand along the stone that formed the base of the mountain, feeling past the vines that hid the stone from their eyes. “It has to be- ahh! Lumine!”

Lumine’s hand that was tracing the stone found what they were looking for, her hand met no stone and she fell back, past the vines, finding the entrance of the cave. Lumine fell flat on her ass upon her surprise entry into the cave, her floating friend flying down to join her in the dark place. The cavern was completely deprived of natural sunlight, the only thing lighting the carver were the large crystals of cor lapis that lit up the place. Lumine led them deeper and deeper into the cave, looking around as she did so, being cautious of her surroundings.

“Paimon wonders why Miss (Name) would have us come here, seems creepy.” Paimon was holding onto Lumine’s scarf, almost scared to let go.

“I don’t know, but she wouldn’t send us here if it wasn’t important to see.” Lumine replied as they made their way down the tunnel. Soon they came to the main area of the cave, a massive empty chamber but unlike the rest of the cave there was no cor lapis to light the way, only the light in the distance from the tunnel. It also felt painfully dry in the cave, like all the moisture was being sucked away. The dryness and the dustiness of the cave nearly sent Lumine into a coughing fit, Paimon was a different story with the dust who could not stop coughing after breathing it in. “It’s so dry in here, are you alright Pai- huh what’s that?”

In the center of the cave Lumine spotted something glowing that was thrown on the ground in the center of the chamber. She got closer to it and soon began to make out what it was, chains…

“What is this?” Lumine spoke, looking down at them in confusion. She kneeled down to get a closer look, they were chains of cor lapis, made with shackles that were clearly intended for something or someone. She also noticed how the ends of the chains seemed to meld into the stone so that if someone was locked up in here escape would be impossible. When she reached down to touch them a large pulse of energy spread throughout her body, sending shockwaves that immediately knocked her back onto the ground, flat on her back. Lumine sat up, looking down at the chains with even more confusion, but then it clicked for her. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

You were kept here.

“Are you alright Miss Lumine?” Childe had set up this meeting at Liuili Pavilion with Lumine and “the one who could break this stalemate,” as Childe referred to him as. It was over food since that was apparently common for business meetings in Liyue. “You look quite pale, are you ill?”

“Hm?” Lumine was snapped out of her thoughts by the man’s question, she was thinking about what she saw in that cave. Was that truly for you? If so, what did you do to deserve it? You seemed so kind, so generous to her and Paimon. Was this what you were referring to when you said this place holds too many painful memories for you? Lumine picked up her tea cup, looking down at the hot liquid that reflected her face. “I’m alright, just lightheaded from my travels.”

“That is good, I am glad you have nothing serious.” The man took a sip of his drink, his golden eyes closing slightly as he blew over the sip he was about to take. 

“Yes I’m fine.” Lumine looked up at him and smiled before taking a sip of her own and setting the tea cup down on the table. “But thank you for asking, Mr. Zhongli.”

—————————

You sat at the docks once more, your feet dangling over the edge, your toes dipping into the water below. You hummed, folded your hands on your lap, and closed your eyes, enjoying the setting sunlight that hit your skin. You heard footsteps approaching you, but you recognized these. You opened your eyes and glanced over your shoulder at Lumine, she wore a smile but still looked frazzled probably after what she saw there. You patted the spot next to you, gesturing for her to sit. She sat down next to you but kept her legs pulled up so as to not get her shoes wet. 

“I am guessing you want to know the story of that place?” You asked, watching her expression and you saw her eyes narrow a bit on the waters before the two of you. She nodded but did not say a word, probably not knowing what to say. “Very well, our story begins in ancient Liyue. I had many siblings, but one twin sister and the two of us took to a village, becoming its protectors. We lived there for many years, taking care of it, and avoiding the other gods of Liyue by pure chance. We became forgotten gods but we were content with that. One night when I was looking over the village, I met a man and we talked and he told me that one day Liyue will know who I am even if I was a forgotten goddess. Then one day, my sister left to explore Teyvat and I did not go with her.”

“You told me about that before, so your sister was a goddess?” Lumine asked, politely cutting in.

“Yes, she was or rather is I hope, if she is still alive. I did not wish to leave but without my sister there was no way I could protect the village alone, so without thinking I prayed and asked the god of Liyue to help protect my people, without thinking on the consequences. Many days passed before that came into being, my home was attacked and when I was almost killed he appeared.”

“Rex Lapis?”

“Yes, he defended this village, making good on his side of the contract, then there was mine. He asked…” You paused on your words, asked was not the right word for what happened. “… he said it was my duty on my end of the contract, since I said I would do anything that night when I prayed, to enter a life long contract with him, marriage. I refused, but Rex Lapis once said ones who break their contracts shall suffer the Wrath of the Rock, and that is what happened to me.”

“So that cave…”

“I was there for hundreds of years, five hundred years alone, that was my punishment. I remember the pain of those chains everytime I moved, the pangs of hunger, I may be immortal but one of the downsides of taking a human form is that you can feel the pain you just cannot die from it, and then there was the dryness of the cave making a fitting prison for the goddess of rain and moonlight.” You looked at Lumine’s face to see it one of pure horror, she actually looked like she was going to be sick. “You asked me why I did not mourn him, and to that I say why would I? I will not play the grieving wife and lie saying that I miss him. People praise my marriage to him, saying how devoted w e are to one another, my devotion was out of fear. I did not sit at his side as his equal, I sat at his feet, the equivalent of a pet. The only difference is that I was called wife.” 

[actual-changeling]

this is some self-indulgent, directly post-divorce crowley angst, i am 100% responsible for any emotional damage this might (probably will) cause. enjoy.

CW for mild self harm mentions/descriptions, nothing graphic

-

His flat is dark when he returns.

It always was, and up until this very moment, it had never bothered him before; yet as he watches the door swing open, he feels a wave of apprehension. Even the metal underneath his fingertips has an unfamiliar chill to it. After driving for hours late into the night, his mind painfully numb, the Bentley eventually chose a well-known road and brought him back—well, 'home' is certainly one way of putting it.

It was never one to begin with, but now it is the only place he has left.

Some of the city's shine flows through the windows, but it is barely enough to move the shadows below them, let alone reach the hallway. Crowley presses his palm against the door frame and tries to remember how to breathe, grabbing his glasses with his free hand as he squeezes his eyes shut. When Shax took over, he had spent a week arguing with himself over whether or not to tell Aziraphale, slowly settling on a 'yes' with a growing spark of fearful excitement.

Until he remembered their conversation on the bench.

(I don't think my side would like that.)

Until he thought back to the bandstand, flicking through the years like a photo album and revisiting all the times he had asked for something, anything, and the answer he received.

(You go too fast for me, Crowley.)

No, it would have to come from Aziraphale, and maybe, he repeated to himself over and over whenever he decided to drop by, with just a little more time, he finally would. After saving the world, after escaping heaven and hell, after sitting in the Ritz for hours, Crowley dared to hope.

Four years later, he had long since realised his mistake.

(Nothing lasts forever.)

A crack rips him back to the present, dull pain attempting to separate the veil of numbness and failing, and he drops the crushed remains of glass and metal to the floor before stepping over it. The door quietly falls shut behind him, locks thoughtlessly click into place, and he distantly acknowledges the need for new security measures, not that he currently cares much about anything.

Let them come for him; he has nothing more to lose.

Sliding down the closest wall, he listens to the roughened surface scratching the fabric of his suit, finding that once he sits with his knees pulled against his chest, the physical place loses importance.

"Maybe it's not the dark," he whispers to himself, the thoughts thick and sluggish like honey in his mind. "Maybe it's not the dark, but the quiet."

His own words are haunting him, ringing in his ears and sticking to the back of his throat, and for a moment, he considers simply getting up and walking away. The earth is a graveyard of memories, London is a mass grave collapsing in on itself, and it's not like being anywhere else would change the fact that he was alone.

Alone.

The earth was empty, just like it had been when he sat in a burning bookshop.

Flames licking at his skin would be preferable to the ache underneath it, every cell remembering the fleeting press of warmth, of Aziraphale, his just for a handful of seconds. When he traces his lips with his fingertips, he catches a hint of copper, and it's ash and soot branding him despite his miraculously clean body, it's begging and asking and pleading, it's a mouth opening and the euphoric shiver that followed.

Love, fire, loss, the taste of blood lingering on his tongue no matter how much time passes, and if he weren't wrapping his arms around himself while curled up on the floor, he might have been able to tap back into his anger, the indignant rage Aziraphale's words woke within him.

The weight of the last week hits him all at once as the adrenaline in his body finally starts to fade, the pressure tightly constricting his lungs and forcing a choked gasp out of him. He rests his forehead on his knees, his palms seeking the grounding cold of the cement.

"No nightingales." Crowley scrapes his nails across the floor, the words barely audible even to himself. "Fucking idiot, I just had to hope again, didn't I? Too many fucking questions."

It's not the quiet either. It's not the dark or the empty halls, it's not a pristine, dusty bed or imperfect plants lining the windows. It's the fact that even now, he knows exactly what he will do, surrounded by everything he has after losing the one thing that actually mattered.

He will stay right here, and he hates himself for it, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip until salt explodes in his mouth, but it won't change.

Aziraphale has gone, so Crowley does what he always does—wait for him to come back.

[megharesearch]

Self-cleaning Surfaces Glass market research report aims to provide a comprehensive analysis of the market. Through a combination of quantitative data and qualitative insights, this report presents a clear overview of the current market landscape

[lavenderbexlatte]

day 3: mirror sex

stray kids 1.5k words gender neutral reader insert Reader x Bang Chan NSFW

🖤 warnings: undernegotiated kink, implied consent, themes of negative body image🖤

🎂 happy bang chan day~

kinktober masterlist

connect with me! / masterlist

Truly, these are the dangers of not pre-booking a place to stay.

Last-minute travel isn't usually your thing, but an unexpectedly long weekend means that there's finally time in your favorite guy's backbreaking schedule for a little getaway.

But last-minute travel, with no hotel booked, means love motels.

They're not as creepy as they sound, not usually dirty or weird. Inexpensive, yes, and usually a little older than the resorts and boutiques that most people prefer. They get a bad rap just because of the connotations, but like, people have sex in all kinds of hotels.

You think it's kind of cool, honestly. Homey, in a weird way.

The person at the front desk is a nice older lady, and she doesn't even blink as she asks if the two of you have any plans this weekend.

"Plans outside the room, I mean."

She winks. She's not subtle, but it's sweet.

And now, in the elevator, Chan is looking around in unmasked horror. Taking in the garish burgundy interior, the thinly-veiled adverts for sex workers taped to the walls.

"It's not that bad," you say.

"It'll be fine for two nights," Chan replies, sounding as if he doesn't believe that at all. "Anyway, we're only sleeping here. We'll have stuff to do."

"Oh, come on. We might as well put the place to its intended use."

Chan scoffs, as if the idea of using the sex motel for sex is ridiculous.

"As long as the room's clean, that's all I care about," you continue. "It's a hotel. Whatever."

"Whatever," Chan agrees tentatively.

He's still lying to himself, but he does relax a little.

When you get to your floor, things are extremely normal. Nondescript hotel decor, the faint smell of carpet cleaning solution and lemon furniture polish. Cleaner than other places you've stayed for far more money, honestly.

The room itself is at the end of the hall, which you like, for the privacy, even though there are only five or six rooms on the floor.

You let yourself into the room, and it's as clean and fresh as the rest of the hall. Again, about as good as it gets in terms of a cheap hotel.

"See?" you say.

Chan looks at you, clearly unimpressed.

"What? It's clean. I'll check for bedbugs, but other than that..."

He points upward.

There is a giant mirror stuck to the ceiling above the bed, but nowhere is perfect.

"Even that's clean," you joke.

The surface of the glass is spotless, no fingerprints and not even any dust that you can see from down here. Chan still looks unhappy. Cleanliness is obviously not his concern.

"Don't be a downer," you say.

"Why do people like that?" he grumbles.

You've set your bag down on the armchair in the corner of the room, rifling through it for your toiletries to set out in the bathroom, but you humor him without looking. "Like what?"

"The mirrors."

"In the room?" you glance at him. "Isn't that, like, the sex motel cliche? The heart shaped bed, the red lights, the mirrors?"

This room only has one of the above. Pretty tame.

"It just means you have to - I mean, you can already see your partner, why would you need-"

"You're really thinking about this," you interrupt.

He is. He really is, standing beside the bed and staring up at his own reflection pensively.

"It's so you can see yourself," you add, walking past with your armload of cosmetics.

From in the bathroom, you hear his answer, still pouty.

"Why would I wanna do that?"

Oh, here we go.

"Some people get off on it," you say.

He scoffs a laugh, humorless. You're being generous by not calling him out, here, because he's being self-deprecating. You hate that.

"I'm gonna terrify myself in the middle of the night," he says.

That might be true. He's a little bit of a scaredy-cat. But that's beside the point.

"That's not your actual problem, though," you reply, as you come back into the room proper.

He shrugs.

"Haven't you ever been curious?" you ask.

"About what I look like?" he shoots back, glancing back up at the mirror. "Done. Wow."

"I mean during."

Immediately, like flipping a switch, his ears flame pink. "Not really."

"No? Never?"

He looks at you pointedly. He knows what you're doing. You're not subtle, so that's fine.

"We should find out," you say, grinning.

It's a challenge, now.

Your gorgeous, gorgeous boy hates how he looks. That's common knowledge for anyone who's tried to get him to take a photo together, or shop for clothes, or compliment him on a new haircut. Most of your mutual friends just ignore it. But sometimes you just can't stand it.

He would never be the type to want to see himself in the mirror in the throes of passion, uninhibited. Which is exactly why he needs to give it a try.

"How easy do you think I am?" he accuses, correctly.

"I dunno." Instead of bothering him more, you flop down onto the bed yourself, feet still on the floor, staring up at your reflection. "You tell me."

The bait is laid, and like always, his insatiable ass can't help it. You two haven't had proper alone time in what feels like forever. He nudges between your knees, standing over you as you lay there on your back. You already like the look of the scene in the mirror, the way that his reflected form looms, the way it makes you look small.

"You know," Chan says, "We could put this place to its intended use."

You grin at your own words recycled. Great minds and all that.

"What an idea."

"Just an idea," he assures you.

He drops onto his knees, nudging you up the mattress to make room for himself.

You almost lose track of your own plan, once he kisses you. Hands roam, clothes are lost, the ease and comfort of something you've done so many times. For a while, it's just an encounter like all the others. His hands that know you, his warmth and presence and attention.

And then you remember, suddenly, once you're nude and he is too, and he's asking you how you want it.

"You on your back," you say, trying not to smile at your own ingeniousness and reveal the plan.

"You got it, baby."

He flips over, and he's settled fully into the pillows with you halfway onto his lap before he looks up. He looks up at the ceiling, and he realizes.

"Wait-"

"Gotcha," you smirk, settling fully on top of him.

He could very easily just knock you over and change things up, or he could ask you to stop, and of course, you would. But he doesn't. He just flushes, red again down his ears, his neck, and he covers his face with his hands.

"That's not gonna work," you say, peeling his fingers away from his eyes.

"I can't believe you tricked me," he says pitifully.

"I did no such thing," you reply. "But now that we're here, why don't we play a game?"

"Something tells me I won't like this game."

"Here's the rules," you say.

You pause long enough to rise onto your knees, to seek out his length - desperately hard, revealing that you haven't freaked him out too badly - and line him up.

"I'm gonna make us feel good. And you...have to look."

Chan pouts, putting his full lips to good use. "I'd rather look at you. Don't you want me to look at you?"

He punctuates it by running his hands up your back, hips to shoulder blades, soothing attention from gentle fingertips.

"I think you should look at yourself," you tell him.

"But-"

"Actually, no. I think you have to look at yourself," you decide.

He peeks upward. His flush deepens.

You're not sure why he doesn't like what he sees. From where you are, it's stunning. His slim body lines, the sharp cut of his face and his dark eyes against the bleached-white hotel sheets. Distractibly, biteably pink and embarrassed.

"If you don't look at yourself," you add, dropping your hips just enough so that he can feel you, "I'll stop."

He looks overdramatically betrayed, like a dog when you take their toy away to throw it. It's cute enough that you reach down to squeeze his face in your hand.

"That's the game," you say.

"Fine."

His voice is an embarrassed squeak, but that's consent, baby. You trust him enough to know that although he hates losing, he's not going to yes you to death if things are actually feeling uncool.

Permission granted, and his eyes dutifully trained on the ceiling, you ease yourself down onto his waiting length.

Curiously, once you're seated and he's swearing through his teeth, you tilt your head up to look at yourself, too. The angle isn't as good to see you, but you've got the gist of it. Your spread thighs, your arched back, the little bit of motion as you grind on top of him.

Nice.

"Don't we look good?" you ask, sweet as can be.

He nods against the pillow. "You look-"

"Not me," you tut. "You're not supposed to be looking at me."

Chan swears. You wait.

"I...I look..."

After a second, he swallows, and squeezes his eyes shut.

Pity.

You pull back up onto your knees. His wet cock slips free.

"I told you the rules. Keep looking at you."

[freesia-writes]

Chapter 4: A Shop Visit

Enjoy a warm and fuzzy tale of romance, suspense, adventure, and self-discovery as Hunter finds his path after the events of TBB. Banner/dividers by @pinkiemme ~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter

Chapter 4 - Word Count: 2.2k - FANART BY @nika6q!!

Hunter wiped his hands on the rag before tossing it on the counter, scrutinizing the rows of neatly-trimmed filets spread across the butcher block in front of him. It had been an oddly quiet day, aside from a very boisterous group of women from the school who had stopped by on their lunch break. Why they were in search of raw meat at an hour when most people would be eating prepared food, Hunter had no idea. But he had a sneaking suspicion, after recent conversations, that there was some sort of challenge going around the office that involved his attention, and their enthusiastic questions about his sausages only furthered his increasing need for caution. 

It was nearing time to close, although he wasn’t in any hurry to get home to the empty house. Omega would be home the following day, so he’d busied himself with extra hunting time as well as some organizational tasks around the butcher shop that he’d been putting off for a while. He found it strangely cathartic as he wiped the counters after putting everything away, enjoying the smoothness of the stone surface as his mind wandered across the various aspects of life on the island.

The gentle tinkle of the bell hanging inside the door caught his attention, and he ventured out from the back room. It was another one of the office ladies, the one he’d spoken to about the emergency beacon for Omega. She was wearing a long brown skirt with a plain blue shirt tucked into it, and her brown hair was tucked into a loose braid at the base of her neck. He wracked his memory for her name, surprised that he was coming up entirely blank, but was saved from speaking by her gentle greeting. 

“Hi,” she said, offering a halfhearted wave as she carefully closed the door behind her. Her eyebrows lifted slightly as her eyes flickered around the shop. “Man, I’ve never seen any place so clean,” she admitted with the faintest chuckle that was oddly endearing. Or perhaps it was just the most emotion he’d seen from her. “Also… We Meat Again? Did you come up with the name?” She was fighting to keep her face neutral.

“I lost a bet.” He grinned at the memory, shaking his head fondly.

“Ah, well… It’s fantastic. I’d like to open a cheese shop next door and call it… uh…” she faltered, clearly not having thought this far into her own joke. “Something cheesy…” She cringed, then continued, “Are you all wrapped up for the day?”

“Just about,” Hunter said, leaning on the counter opposite her. “But what were you looking for? I think your coworkers bought enough sausage to go around for quite a while…” 

“Yeah…” Her gaze found his face for a moment before returning to their leisurely perusal of the signs, glass cases, and other elements of the storefront. “They have a bit of a herd mentality sometimes.” Her tone was hard to discern, and Hunter tilted his head, assessing her body language. She seemed a little bit sheepish and a little unsure of herself, and he didn’t get the sense that she was part of the whole office debacle, which put him at ease a bit. “Anyway – I’ve been telling myself for weeks that I was going to stop by and check the place out, so… check,” she said with a small smile, moving her index finger in the shape of a check mark in the air. 

“Can I get you anything?” he pressed, rubbing his hands together slowly as if itching to make himself useful. 

“I don’t want to make you undo all your tidying,” she answered, eyeing the slabs of meat in the case.

“It’s alright; it’s a quick clean-up if you’re not asking me to butcher an entire caraboose,” Hunter said, smirking at the resulting shock on her face that quickly melted into mildly enthused humor.

“I’m not sure I’d want to see that,” she said with a smile, pointing toward the thinly-sliced fambaa fillets. “But if you wouldn’t mind wrapping up a pound of those bad boys… perhaps then my mouth will stop watering.” He nodded, a courteous grin of his own passing across his face as he moved into action. 

“They were bad boys,” he mused, laying out the butcher paper before fetching the steaks. “Took advantage of some nearby stampeding kod’yok to try to sneak up on me. Probably would have taken a decent chunk out of my leg if I didn’t have enha… If I hadn’t been paying attention.”

“You… uh… You hunt this all yourself?” she said, eyes widening slightly as he gave a curt nod. “That sounds intense. How do you do it?” 

Hunter shrugged, folding the thick brown paper in careful layers to create one neat little package, “I was trained from a young age… had lots of practice… And it seemed to address a need around here, so I’m glad to have a place to apply my… skills.” 

“You’ve been a butcher all your life?” she asked, shifting her weight to her other foot to pull her shoulder bag into reach, digging absently for her wallet. 

“Not entirely. Did some other stuff here and there. Whatever it took to get by at different stages of life,” he answered evenly, weighing the package and printing a small label. “How about you?” he continued, shifting the focus.

“I know how that goes,” she said, delicately placing the money into his hand and taking the package from him. “Um, I had a few different jobs on Coruscant. The last one was an administrative aide for a senator’s office. I thought it would be glamorous,” she admitted, again letting out that quiet chuckle as though laughing at herself, then turning somber. “Needless to say, it was decidedly not what I expected.” 

“So you came here?” Hunter asked, tucking the money into the drawer beneath the counter. 

“Yep,” she said. “The thrilling adventures of Lyra. Coming soon to a holoscreen near you.” He chuckled, running the towel across the counter again as he committed the name to memory. “But really… It’s wonderful here. So peaceful and quiet. It’s like closing a door on the chaos of the Core Worlds.”

“Been here long?” 

“Not really… Almost two years now. But long enough to feel pretty settled.”

“Hm. Any inside info I should know?” 

Lyra laughed again, almost nervously this time, shrugging as she looked at the counter, “About what?”

“The island. The planet. The comings and goings. We’ve been here for a number of months, but it seems to be almost too quiet. I guess I have a hard time believing that anywhere could be a perfect little safe place.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding slowly. “I know the feeling. But as far as I’ve seen, the Empire doesn’t seem to know nor care about anything out here, so that keeps most of the issues away. Not a lot of conflict otherwise. Haven’t even seen many pirates. There aren’t any valuable natural resources other than what sustains everyone on the planet itself, so it just doesn’t get much attention. It’s been a nice change of pace, for me at least.”

“Sounds like the sort of place the unsavory type might go to disappear…” he mused, brow furrowing slightly. Crosshair often accused him of seeing threats anywhere and everywhere, which was ironic coming from the snarky sniper, but the sense of responsibility that had rested heavily on Hunter’s shoulders for the entirety of his created life so far was hard to shake. He sensed an immediate wave of discomfort emanating from Lyra, and he turned to face her more fully. “Sorry,” he said, realizing what it may imply. “I just mean… You haven’t seen any shady types lurking around, have you?” 

“Just that tall, scowling, gray-haired man with the eye tattoo,” she said, keeping her face carefully neutral. The flashes of humor and wit were so fleeting that Hunter questioned whether they happened at all. She must have known who he was from the school’s initial orientation day, or from Omega’s enrollment paperwork, where all of her brothers had been listed as emergency contacts and trusted guardians.

“Mmm,” he agreed, tightening his lips to hold back a smirk. “Yeah, we should watch out for that one. Anyway… Sorry if that’s an odd thing to say. Just trying to get a feel for a new place, you know…”

“I get it,” she said, in the same gentle tone she’d used in her office when he’d asked her to keep the emergency beacon. He couldn’t tell what it was about her that created an air of compassion, understanding, and quiet assurance, but it had a settling effect that he appreciated. “It’s nice to feel safe,” she finished, simply and quietly. 

“It is.” 

They stood silently for a moment, pleasantly surprised by the sense of agreement and the notable lack of awkwardness, then Lyra took a step back, tucking her bag behind her shoulder and lifting her chin slightly to give Hunter another tiny smile. 

“Thank you so much for these,” she said, nodding toward her purchase. “I’m excited to try out a dry seasoning rub that I haven’t used in years.” 

“Sounds fancy,” Hunter commented, his interest piqued. “You like to cook?” 

“I do,” Lyra admitted, running an hand absently up and down the outside of one arm. “Maybe too much,” she laughed, a little self-conscious. “I love being home. I have a little garden with herbs and vegetables, way too many pots and pans, and a disproportionate love of food. So I enjoy coming up with new recipes and trying new things.”

“Well I’m sure your family members aren’t complaining. Or whoever gets to eat it,” Hunter corrected, realizing he still didn’t know much about her situation. 

“Just me,” she said with a small shrug. “Well, that’s not true – I take some meals to neighbors at times. But it’s just me and my cozy little cottage. And the critters in the garden, I suppose. I’m not very exciting.”

“Excitement isn’t always all that it’s cracked up to be.” 

“Very true,” Lyra agreed. “Well, if you ever need some fresh herbs for all your steak adventures that Omega talks about, I’m happy to share. I’ve got a trick or two up my sleeve in the thrilling realm of meat marinades.” Every word of hers felt somehow self-effacing and unapologetic at the same time, and Hunter found a small smile on his face. 

“And you said you weren’t exciting,” he said dryly, earning a little snicker from her. “Although, to be honest, I’ll take all the help I can get… As grateful and appreciative as Omega and Wrecker are, I think we’re all getting a little sick of the same three meals. I wasn’t really made for… domestic life.” His tone grew somewhat sad at the end, echoes of his creation and purpose surfacing above his efforts to find his way in a new stage of life. 

“I think we all find ourselves thrown into situations we’d never would have guessed, at some time or another in our lives,” Lyra mused, a nearly imperceptible ache in her own slightly husky voice. Her gaze grew distant for a moment, caught only by his sharp senses before she shook her head minutely and seemed to return to the present. “Feels like getting a new pair of shoes. Awkward and clunky at first, then you wear them in until they seem to fit perfectly. You know?” Hunter’s hum of agreement was lost in her words as she continued, “Unless they’re high heels. Those are just cruel and unrelenting.”

“Now that I definitely wouldn’t know about,” he said, ducking his head to run an idle hand over his hair, most of which was pulled back near the top of his head. 

“You’d be wise to keep it that way,” Lyra said with a smile, feeling the conversation coming to a close. “Anyway… Thanks again for this,” she said, patting her bag, “And I’ll see you next time!”

“See you,” Hunter echoed, watching her slip demurely out the door. He sighed, casting a glance around the shop and mulling over her words. The only shoes he’d ever known had been combat boots, made as much for him as he had been made for them. It had been simple, in a way… And then his singular, straightforward trajectory exploded like a firework into a million different paths, leaving him scrambling to try to choose the best one for him and his squad. It was hard to believe that now, after years of chaos and tumult, he could settle into something like a simple island life. 

He finished the few remaining clean-up tasks and turned the sign on the door before locking it behind him, taking a deep breath of the fresh air before starting his walk home. Part of him wanted that sense of autonomy and freedom that nat-borns took for granted, and yet part of him balked at the thought. Why? He had no idea. But he shrugged off the thoughts as much as he could, resolving to continue on, one step at a time… while remaining prepared for anything.

.

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[heyitsdoe]

Gurl I just got finished through all the hc nsfw and sfw on a03 and I have a little request mihawk nsfw alphabet cause I literally can't get enough of this man since the release of the OP live action, also I WANT TO GIVE YOU MORE KUDOS ON A03 YOUR TO GOOD

Eeee, thank you!! <3 I'm glad you enjoyed them all. Ask and ye shall receive, my love hehehe <3 As if I wouldn't do anything to/for this man already, how could I not give you what you desire?

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after the act?)

He's tender and thoughtful. Aftercare can be just as pleasurable as the sex itself, in his opinion, and he enjoys that slow and intimate routine of cleaning up afterwards like it's his nightly glass of wine. There's a whole lot of gentle body worship going on while he takes care of you, and he'd appreciate the same in kind.

B - Body Part (Favorite body part on you and them?)

On you, he's a sucker for a nice pair of legs. They're elegant, sturdy, and look magnificent in almost anything you might wear. It's so easy to tell if he's in the mood, because his eyes are tracing their length... On himself, he's quite fond of the tone of his chest. There's no wonder why he favors his long-flowing jacket and pants and nothing else. Why cover a part of himself he's so proud of?

C - Cum (Anything having to do with it.)

Mihawk prefers to stay neat and that reflects in how he approaches bodily fluids too. He'll get it on your back or stomach, but you'll find that he's quick to clean you of it. He's not into the nastier side of sex, at least anything that involves smearing his spend all over the luxurious sheets...just think of the clean up later. Hardly something he'd look forward to.

D - Dirty Secret (Self-explanitory.)

In his younger days, while traveling the world and defeating swordsman after swordsman in his pursuit of glory, Mihawk had been a bit of a...ahem, man-whore. He'd often unwind at whatever local tavern or inn that might be in the port town's center plaza. Back when he was young, cocky, and foolish, refusing the propositions of sex from the pretty ladies—and men, on occasion—had been the furthest thing from his mind. He doesn't like to think back on his past endeavors, or the many illegitimate children that may be running around in the world with his blood in their veins...

E - Experience (Do they know what they’re doing?)

This man fucks. He's got a world of experience under his belt, tried almost everything, and learned what he enjoys or dislikes. There's likely nothing you could ask him to do that he hasn't already attempted once or twice in the past.

F - Favorite Position (Example:)

He prefers positions that have the two of you with your faces close. Seeing your many expressions as he brings you to pleasure brings him no small amount of satisfaction. Or, whatever can give him the most leverage for the deepest penetration will do. When he takes you, he takes you. Examples: https://sexpositions.club/positions/115.html https://sexpositions.club/positions/356.html https://sexpositions.club/positions/316.html

G - Goofy (How serious are they?)

He's as serious as one might get during sex. It takes a lot to coax the sillier side of him to come out. Sure, he can be a tease, but unless you're the one taking control and urging him to break out of his stern shell, you're unlikely to get much of a laugh out of this man.

H - Hair (Grooming habits)

His hair is coarse and thick, making management of his pubic regions important. It can get unruly quickly if he doesn't address it, so he's kept trim and clean always. At least twice a week he'll trim it up just to be safe.

I - Intimacy (Romantic or rough and dirty?)

He can be both, lucky for you. If sweet and sensual intimacy is what you what, have no fear. You'll spend hours working up to your climaxes. A fast and rough fuck is what you're begging for? Brace yourself against the nearest hard surface, because he won't be stopping until he's satisfied you can't think anything but his name. His strength and endurance make sure of that.

J - Jack Off (Do they and how often?)

His weeks-long voyages around the seas are lonely and boring. So, of course, there are times when his needs arise and his significant other is not around to sate them. He does masturbate on occasion, but it's more a means to an end rather than something he pleasures in. It's more just to tide him over until he can return to his love and really savor the act of sex.

K - Kink (What do they like?)

Bondage of any sort is a thrill, and nothing gets him going quite like stockings or lace. He's been known to partake in somniphilia, and is encouraging to his partner to do so on him as well. He also enjoys the challenge involved with edging. It's a test of will, with a satisfying conclusion no matter how long him or his partner hold out.

L - Location (Where do they prefer?)

The bed is preferred. He is older and a comfortable place to get up to sexual shenanigans is helpful. But he's more than happy to fuck his partner against the kitchen counter, his favorite chair, on the rug in front of the fireplace...even on his little boat if you happen to be traveling together. The possibilities are endless.

M - Motivation (Turn-ons)

As mentioned before, lace and stockings instantly pique his interest. Touching his chest also gets his mind going, or dirty talk. The whispered kind, in the middle of something that he can't put to the side. A bit of distraction does him good, because then he suddenly can't stop thinking about the things he'd like to do to you...

N - No (Things they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

There's very little he won't try in the bedroom, though he's hesitant to engage in a threesome. Perhaps, given the right third person, he'd agree, but it would take a bit of convincing.

O - Oral (Receiving or giving and how skilled.)

He's happy to engage in both, though tends to prefer receiving it himself. If you enjoy a slow-building climax, he's a master. Though if you're looking for a quick get-off, well...maybe you won't feel so blessed. He takes his time on oral, so it's difficult to rush him.

P - Pace (Quick or sensual?)

It depends on the mood, and your own wishes. He's a patient person for the most part, defaulting to a slower, more sensual pace a majority of the time. But if you've riled him up, or if you're in a particularly frisky mood, he's more than happy to get you both off fast.

Q - Quickie (Do they prefer fast or drawn-out?)

They aren't his favorite. He definitely prefers drawn-out sex. More time for him to enjoy his partner.

R - Risk (Do they like taking risks?)

Given his experience, he's fine taking risks. They aren't what gets his blood going, but they can be thrilling, admittedly. With your consent, a risky place or a risky kink is something he won't deny you. That being said, he's not reckless about it. He'll take the time to prepare for anything that might be dangerous to you or him. Or, if in a public place as a risk, he'll have a back-up plan or way to shield you should the need arise.

S - Stamina (How long can they go?)

His average is 1 to 2 rounds, depending on their length. Sex with him is intense, regardless of its speed, and it can take a lot out of him to be so thorough.

T - Toys (Are they up for it?)

Definitely. Toys mix things up when he or his partner are in a sexual rut. Again, he's basically up for most things.

U - Unfair (How much do they tease?)

Mihawk is usually obliged to give you what you want without a fight. But if you've been particularly daring or teasing in return, he's happy to repay the kindness with an agonizingly long round of sex that has you begging to cum. He's been known to get you riles up only to announce that he's leaving on a quick voyage. He doesn't give a threat he won't follow through with, so keep that in mind.

V - Volume (How loud or quiet are they?)

His noises are only for your ears, so he sits more towards the quieter side of things. Low and breathy, groaning deep. It's hard to get him to make much noise, so each sound is earned and feels all the more rewarding.

W - Wildcard (Random hc?)

While it is rare, there are times when Mihawk can't find his own release during sex, either from his erection not quite making it to the finish line, or his own stamina gives out. He understands it's a natural thing, and especially for someone getting older in years, it's going to happen. He doesn't let this get in the way of having fun, however. Whenever it doe happen, it's easy enough to switch to simply watching you get-off on your own as you straddle his waist.

X - Xray (What have they got going on?)

He's longer than he is thick, with a veiny shaft. His tip is darker in color than the rest of him, and he keeps his balls trimmed neatly.

Y - Yearning (Drive level.)

While certainly not as high as it was in his younger years, Mihawk still feels that desire for sex pretty frequently. At least once a week, perhaps. And even if he's not in the mood, there are times you can convince him to get you off with his hands, rather than his cock.

Z - Zzz (Do they sleep after, and if so how quickly?)

Not typically. He prefers to clean up after sex, even cook you a meal after that if you're feeling peckish. Sex with him can happen at any point during the day, not just the evening, so sleeping right after isn't always prudent. When he does, however, it takes some time for him to fall asleep, as he closes his eyes and lets his mind wander with the feeling of his partner at his side.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

now we're partners in crime

Some more Huskerdust! I just wanted to write something fluffy and happy for them, huge thanks to @minky-for-short for being a wonderful beta!

Please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3! <3

-----------

Angel Dust is no stranger to the morning after. In fact, he's pretty much a professional.

And he has to admit, he's had worse in his life when he wakes up with a bitch of a hangover, in a random hotel and next to his boyfriend, Husker.

Though when he puts together the pieces of the night before, he realises they did something very, very stupid.

-----------

With all the things to dislike about living in actual fucking hell, the decor probably shouldn’t have been as high up on Angel Dust’s list as it was. But he’d argue there wasn’t a sin invented that deserved the punishment of opening aching eyes to a hotel room with a white and gold color scheme. 

Starting from his now burning eyes, Angel’s body parts checked in one by one, each one with its own minor disaster to report. His throat felt like sandpaper, his head throbbed like someone was playing the drums on the inside of his skull, his stomach turned over at the mere thought of moving. In short, he had a bitch of a hangover. 

“Fuck…” Angel groaned, screwing up his face and sinking below the surface of the blankets. 

His brain was a fog, making every thought a lurking, malformed danger. He was going to be late to the studio. He’d look a mess, the cameras would pick it up. He couldn’t remember any lines. Valentino would be furious, he’d smell the debauchery on his skin and know he hadn’t caused it, he’d try to drown it out with worse just to prove to Angel that he was the only person allowed to ruin him. He was in so much fucking trouble…

Something brushed his leg under the covers. Angel’s first impulse was to pull away from whatever loser his spiral of self destruction had landed him with, get dressed and get out before he even saw his face, like having it in his memory would be just another reason for Val to hurt him. 

But then that something wound its way around his leg and suddenly Angel remembered. The two years collapsed and he saw the panic rising for what it was, a bad memory. Like the two dimensional backdrop on a soundstage, as soon as he knew where to step he was past it and back in the real world. 

Angel ignored his churning stomach and rolled over, so he could see him. Really the snoring should have been his first clue, no one else Angel had ever shared a bed with snored like that, rattling and rumbling like a clapped out Chevy whose exhaust was barely hanging on. He looked as hungover as Angel felt, whiskers crushed against the pillow, smudges of lipstick in a very familiar color streaked across his face, somehow still wearing his suspenders even though he definitely wasn’t wearing trousers. His tail still looped around Angel’s leg, reaching out for him even while the rest of him slept. 

Husker. Still the loser Angel’s spiral of self destruction landed him with but also the one who’d pulled him out. 

He had a fantasy of leaning in close, smoothing down that wild bedhead and waking him with a kiss. Reality kicked in, however, before he’d gotten more than two seconds in, reminding him about his apocalyptic hangover. 

He took a screeching turn towards the bathroom instead, hoping his legs would get their shit together quick enough to get him there without falling on his face. Despite being clean for two years now, Angel hadn’t lost his touch, he made it in time to vomit what felt like the whole bottom shelf of a bar into the toilet. At least that meant his eyes were shut so he didn’t have to look at the equally tacky bathroom. 

“Fucking hell…” Angel groaned, once his organs had stopped trying to eject themselves from his body, slumping so his forehead rested on the seat.

“Okay, you remember where you are, that’s a good sign.”

Angel opened one eye, scoffing at Husk as he leaned in the doorway, somehow already holding a glass of water for him, “Funny…how the fuck are you able to stand up, I seem to remember you drinking as much as I did?”

“Vegas born and raised, baby,” Husk chuckled roughly, passing him the glass, “I promise, I feel like a corpse, I just know how to keep a poker face..”

Angel washed his mouth out, trying to follow that memory like a thread, figure out what most of last night had involved. It had been a while since he got this drunk, since he’d had a morning after not tinged with the clawing, hollowed out feeling of a come down or a heavy dose of shame. He found it was actually pretty pleasant when the hazy, disjointed memories you sifted through were full of good times with people you cared about. 

If you could ignore the whole feeling like death warmed up thing. 

“I remember drinking a lot,” he rasped, draining the rest of the glass and gaining a little ground on his hangover as he reward, “I remember dancing on tables. I remember karaoke…and not a lot else.”

Husk perched on the edge of the tub, wincing as he did, “Same here. So it sounds like we did exactly what Charlie told us to do, we enjoyed our weekend off. Right up until we woke up, anyway.”

Angel massaged his temples with a couple of hands, “Where even are we? I mean, I know we’re in a hotel but this place ain’t our Charlie’s particular brand of tacky. There’s no banners for a start.”

“We’re on Sinners Strip,” Husk answered without missing a beat, looking around like a detective surveying a crime scene, “Somewhere on the west end by the looks of it…The Fanged Flamingo, I think. You’d have to be fucking blackout drunk to wind up here.”

It was hard not to be impressed. Sinners weren’t allowed to hop from ring to ring, of course, but they brought their vices down to Hell with them, clinging to them like life rafts. The Pride ring they called home had ended up divided into neighborhoods, each an oversized shrine to whatever sin had bought their residents a ticket down below. Sinner’s Strip was the Greed ring in miniature and Las Vegas on crack so of course Husker knew every building along its length in intimate detail, enough to recognise what casino they were in through a blinding hangover. 

In fact, his territory had probably been here, back when he was an Overlord. 

Angel winced, feeling like an idiot as he realized too late that they’d woken up in Husk’s equivalent of Valentino’s studio, “Do you wanna go home? I can get my shit together real fast?”

Husk’s expression softened just at the asking, tapping his claws on the tub’s edge as he thought, “You know…I think I’m okay. Don’t get me wrong, I know there’s tables down there, I can hear them. I’d be lying if I said no part of me wants to go do something real stupid…but then the rest of me says well, if I did, I wouldn’t be here with my man, would I?”

“So instead you’re gonna do stupid things with me?” Angel tried to joke lightly, like that would hide how misty his eyes suddenly were. 

“That’s the plan,” Husk leaned in and kissed his forehead, grinning, “Sap.”

Once Angel Dust would have pulled him down, turned that soft gesture into something heated, something open mouthed and involving teeth. He would have been panicked by the adoring ache in his chest, he would have felt foolish that he couldn’t form it into words and instead turned it into the only language he knew how to speak back then, pushing himself at Husk and begging him to take his body as payment. 

But now he knew better. This wasn’t lust, it was love. And love could be something small and not mean any less. It would fit in any box, gentle gestures and few words. 

“I just love you,” Angel Dust grinned, “That’s all.”

“And I love you too,” Husk smiled, “So take as long as you want. Then we’ll go scrape the girls up, wherever they are, and hit this diner I remember a couple blocks from here. About a thirty percent chance of getting food poisoning but their breakfast sandwiches will have your hangover begging for mercy.”

“I like those odds,” Angel let himself be pulled up, just about managing not to barf again. 

For a moment, with his hands- all four- in Husk’s, standing there in the bathroom with his head spinning, Angel had a flash of a memory. He remembered spinning, lights blurring around them, Husk dipping him and kissing him in that way that drove him wild. He remembered joy bursting in his chest, that kind that was so strong it actually hurt, like his body was struggling to find room for it all. 

Whatever they’d been doing last night, it had been really fucking good. Angel had to smile, his mouth tasted faintly of vomit, his hair was a mess, his head still contained an amateur percussion band that needed a hell of a lot more practice but this morning after still cracked the top ten. 

The room might have been tacky but the bed was soft enough, especially when Angel Dust rolled to pillow his head on Husk’s chest, grinning when he felt him purr and a paw come up to stroke idly down his spine. A hand went searching for his phone, finally snagging it amongst the blankets, along with his panties from the night before, a lipstick that wasn’t even the shade he was wearing and a crumpled piece of paper he ignored. If it was a receipt, he didn’t want to know how much money he’d blown on the food he’d just hurled up.

Angel flicked the screen to life, reassured by a recent text from Charlie that looked like it was trying to say goodnight and that they were in a room on the floor below, once he read around the drunken spelling mistakes and emojis, “Come on then, detective, let’s investigate. What the fuck happened last night…”

Husk made a vague noise, already one foot back in sleep, his purrs starting to blur into snores. Angel rolled his eyes fondly, starting to thumb through the fuckton of unfamiliar photos that had appeared on his phone since yesterday. 

Things started how he remembered, how they usually did. Charlie gave them nights off pretty regularly but it was rare for her and Vaggie to join in. Angel had been wheedling and wearing Charlie down for months, insisting that it wasn’t a real bonding experience until everyone tagged along, that she worked as hard as anyone and deserved a break too. At first he’d been doing it because he’d suspected- and been proven correct- that she’d make a hilarious drunk. But eventually he had to admit it to himself, he just wanted to see her relax once in a while. He saw her literally taking the weight of other people’s souls on her shoulders, putting every sinner in hell ahead of herself. Angel knew he’d never be able to fix everything for her but a margarita and some karaoke every so often could at least take the edge off.

So for the first time, Charlie and Vaggie were there in his photos. They’d started at the Broken Halo, one of the safer nightclubs not too deep into the Debauchery District. Angel smiled as he saw their night in stages, watched him and his friends dissolve into sloppy grins and flushed cheeks. There was Cherri laughing at Charlie’s expression of post-shot disgust and panic, a photo of himself taking full advantage of the pole the bar had, nailing it even though Husk’s thumb was taking up a corner of the screen, a photo of Nifty crawling on the ceiling and somehow not spilling her drink.

As he kept going, the photos lined up with his hazy patchwork of memories, gaps getting filled as pieces of the puzzle slotted into place. Angel could remember the walks in between clubs, cold night air but a pleasant buzz to keep him warm, laughing so hard his ribs ached. And always, Husk’s claws curled around his fingers or his wings stretching out to cover him when he noticed him shivering, grinning when Angel caught him tapping his foot to the music. He could remember sinking gratefully into a blissful, loose limbed oblivion, not because it was his temporary escape but because he felt completely and wholly safe. Husk was his anchor, Husk would look after him. Husk was his way home, a home he actually wanted to go to.

One thing wasn’t adding up though, a tangle as he strung thread between these memories. With the clubs these photos seemed to be taken in- and Angel prided himself on intimate knowledge of every place in the Pride ring that would serve him a drink- they’d stuck to the fringes of the district, in spitting distance of the hotel. The garish hotel they were currently coming back to life in wasn’t even in the same district, they’d gone out of their way to come here and wince at tacky gold accent pieces. Angel just couldn’t figure out why, he didn’t see what had brought them over to the Fanged Flamingo. 

Until he flicked to the next photo. 

Angel sat bolt upright, eyes wide. His stomach would have protested if it was still there, it seemed to have dropped a few rings down. Husk did though, giving a grumpy trill as the spider demon jerked out of his embrace. 

“You gonna barf again?” he mumbled, eyes still closed, “Just stick your head over the side.”

“No,” Angel Dust groaned, though he couldn’t be a hundred percent certain on that, “Husk, we did something really, really stupid last night.”

“What else is new?” he did drag himself upright and force his eyes open, hearing something in Angel’s voice that spoke of more than just a mile long bar tab or joyriding. 

It took him a moment of wincing and groaning to be able to look at the bright phone screen suddenly pressed into his hand, though once Husk realized what he was looking at, his eyes widened, “Oh…oh shit…”

The photo was clear and properly lined up, so it must have been taken by Vaggie who’d stayed relatively sober the whole night. Angel and Husk certainly weren’t, their eyes were glazed, their smiles bright and faces creased with an unrestrained delight that only came when alcohol had dissolved the walls you were used to putting up. Angel was being carried the cat demon’s arms, in serious danger of being dropped but he clearly couldn’t give less of a shit, two of his arms wrapped loosely around Husk’s neck. And the other two holding a handful of limp flowers, probably purchased from a gas station they’d stumbled across, and a piece of paper. Fuck knew where he’d gotten the length of lace he was wearing as a veil (or the one knotted around his thigh), Cherri had probably swiped it from someone’s washing line. Husk was already dressed pretty appropriately, with his hat and bow tie, his smile so wide he looked like he belonged in Wonderland. 

Between that, the shower of ripped paper frozen in the air and the blaring neon sign that said ‘chapel’ behind them, it didn’t take someone who wasn’t hungover to work out what happened. 

Angel found it again, the piece of paper he’d tossed aside and thought nothing of. He smoothed out the folds and creases, unsurprised to find a certificate apparently from the Fanged Flamingo 24-7 Wedding Chapel, registered trademark. It didn’t look legally binding, Angel wasn’t sure legal documents used bright pink font or had a crude logo featuring two flamingos going at it. But the rubber stamp across the top said otherwise, proclaiming the two signatures across the bottom legally married. 

His heart gave a reflexive ache at the sight of his signature, making him think of the last time he’d scrawled Anthony on the dotted line, all the misery it had brought him since. This should have felt the same, a reckless decision he’d made when he wasn’t in his right mind, he should feel that familiar acrid burn of regret. 

But he didn’t. Angel looked at his name, at Husks, his own handwriting swooping and flamboyant, Husk’s scrawling and hurried, he looked at this silly, kitschy souvenir certificate and the promise it meant. And all he felt was that memory of joy, except this time he saw where it was supposed to fit and it joined him in the present. He remembered the kiss, how they’d had their first dance on the chapel steps to music that only they could hear, how Husk had swept him up into his arms just as Cherri had thrown a handful of torn up flashpaper as makeshift confetti, that moment now frozen on his phone. 

Angel Dust just felt like he’d come home. 

But a low, guttural moan from Husk poured cold water on his awed smile, “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Angel bit his lip, realizing the cat demon had his face in his hands and shoulders hunched. Where he’d been delighted, Husk looked absolutely devastated. 

Trying not to sound like a black hole was opening up in his chest, Angel tried an airy laugh, “Hey, baby, it’s okay…”

“No,” Husk pinched the bridge of his nose, ears lying flat, “It isn’t, shit…fucking cheap whiskey, always turns me into a goddamn fool.”

Angel swept a hand over his hair, using his years of experience in painting over his emotions and acting like he didn’t care, “Don’t get your tail in a twist, Whiskers, I’m sure we can walk it back. Pretty much everyone who gets hitched there has got to be blotto, they’ll have an impaired judgment clause or some shit. I ain’t gonna slap a ball and chain on you…I mean it’s ridiculous. The idea of me being someone’s missus, what a joke, right? I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Wait…” Husk’s head snapped towards him, bloodshot eyes wide, “You think I don’t wanna be married to you?”

“Well…you haven’t seemed so ecstatic since you found out…” Angel said warily, pulling his knees to his chest, “It’s fine, I get it. I’m not marriage material.”

One of the good things about having a boyfriend with ears and a tail was how Husk’s emotions were impossible to hide. Angel was good at reading people, it was part of his job and part of how he’d stayed alive in Hell, people’s faces were like books to him. And Husk was a picture book with those thick cardboard pages and twenty point font, as his ears shot up and his tail dropped in dismay. 

“I am the biggest idiot in the fucking seven rings,” Husk rasped, realisation stark on his face, the expression of someone who’d just realised they were about to drive off a cliff.

Angel couldn’t help a giggle, lifting an eyebrow, “Okay…I mean, I love you anyway…”

“I love you too,” Husk took a deep breath, like he was preparing for that plunge, finding as many of Angel’s hands as he could gather up in his own, “And, fuck, if we were human, if we were back up on the surface, I’d have been down on one knee the second I realised you’d actually have an old hag like me. I’m only…I’m only mad at myself because I didn’t want it to happen like this…”

Angel felt suddenly breathless, “You mean you’d thought about this before? About marrying me?”

It was hard to see under the dark fur but Angel was sure Husk’s cheeks were burning red, squeezing his hands, “Fuck, baby, of course I have. And you deserve a hell of a lot better than a goddamn Vegas wedding where I probably didn’t even propose right or say half the shit I’d wanna say. It just…it just ain’t gentlemanly.”

Angel felt laughter bubble in his chest, swallowing it down hard. It was all just so damn cute, he forgot sometimes that while he was from an earlier time, Husk had spent longer in the past, that he was more of an old fashioned romantic than he’d ever admit. 

“You don’t get treated right by so many assholes, Angel, and I can’t do a damn thing about it, I just…I always dreamed about doing this differently for you.” 

Angel Dust swallowed hard, feeling that ache again, trying to find a place to put the love he didn’t know he’d been built for. He drew Husk gently down, until they were lying nose to nose, limbs tangled comfortably together, finding a way to fit. 

“Well then,” Angel murmured, burying his fingers in soft fur, setting them to stroke delicate feathers, “Ask me.”

Husk finally met his eyes, uncharacteristically shy, “What?”

“Ask me the way you wanted to, say all the things you wanted to say. I’ll give you my answer here and now, Husker, and you’ll know I mean it,” Angel could feel how hard the cat demon’s heart began to beat, his own picking up to match. 

Husk opened and closed his mouth, the words struggling to come at first. Angel Dust understood how he felt, the fear that came with getting something you never even thought to want because it always seemed so out of reach.

But his Husker was braver than even he knew, his voice coming soft and raspy, “Anthony. After I died, I thought I’d finally found a way to be more than the loser nobody I was when I was alive, everything that made me a shitty human suddenly gave me the power and success I thought I’d always wanted. When I lost it all and had to sell my soul, the only way to keep my sanity was to tell myself I didn’t give a fuck anymore and just drink until I believed it. When I met you…I was fucking terrified. Because I wanted you. I wanted you bad, you were bright and brave and so damn strong. I never expected you to let me in but you did and I fell so hard for you, baby. You’re the first thing in hell, fuck, the first thing ever that made me want to be better. After the shit you’ve been through, I have no clue how you trust me when I say I love you and I’ll do right by you but I’ll never break that trust. And to prove it to you…will you marry me, Anthony?”

“Shit…well how the fuck am I supposed to follow that act?” Angel Dust managed to croak out after a long pause, all of his eyes streaming tears, “Feel like my teeth are gonna melt from all that sugar…”

“Shut up,” Husk’s smile was sudden and warm and brilliant, like the sun Angel remembered from up on the surface, tears making silvery tracks on his cheeks, “Just answer me.”

Feeling like words might not be enough, Angel cupped Husk’s face and kissed him deeply, left with barely any breath to whisper, “Yes. Fuck yes. I’m so glad we did it last night cos I wouldn’t want to wait another goddamn second to be your husband.”

“God, I love you…” Husk kissed him again, pressing him close like he couldn’t bear a spare inch of space between them, purring like a chainsaw. 

“I love you too,” Angel sighed contentedly, “Can’t believe I had to die to find the man of my dreams.”

“Even though our wedding was kinda trashy?”

“Oh, sorry, did you not know we were trashy? Hi, my name is Angel Dust, nice to meet you, can I suck your dick?”

He would have been happy to let the words fall away then, to say the rest with their shared laughter, with his tongue and his hands and whatever other parts they had time for. The way Husk was stirring under the blankets, he seemed to agree but there was one thing he wanted to do first. 

Angel found his phone again, flicking through the photos again, unable to resist another look. There were more past the first one too, shots of them dancing, of Husk dipping him in a deep kiss, of Angel throwing his gas station bouquet directly at Vaggie’s head in one of his less subtle moves. Photos of them, of their family, of one of the best nights of their lives. And, as he kept scrolling, ones showing how their hotel room had gotten so wrecked. 

“Woah,” Angel Dust grinned, “You’re definitely stuck with me, baby, annulments off the table for sure. We consummated the fuck out of this marriage.”

“Damn,” Husk purred, kissing his shoulder, “Didn’t know I could still bend that way…”

“And you will again,” Angel smirked, finally opening the camera, “In a minute…”

He held out the phone, pulling Husk into frame, smiling for the camera and smiling even wider when Husk kiss his cheek as he took the photo. As soon as he dropped it into the hotel group chat, along with the message good morning from the happy couple <3 he received a buzz of delighted messages from their friends, all thankfully alive. He’d save them all alongside the photos to look at again and again, over the breakfast they’d all share once they’d dragged themselves out of bed, the next time he had to go back to work and needed to lift his mood, whenever his addictions reared their ugly head. Whenever he needed to remember the best day of his his afterlife. 

There was a lot to dislike about living in literal fucking hell, tacky hotel rooms being one of them. But there was nowhere else Angel Dust would rather be.

[sailor-aviator]

Singing in the Sanctuary: Chapter Four

Singing in the Sanctuary: Chapter Four

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw is a simple man. Well, as simple as one can be while living a life of crime. The notorious outlaw of the western territories has never been interested in settling down and having a family, but will that all change when he meets a shy, new teacher who just moved into town?

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, Older sibling being harsh on the younger, Allusions to self-esteem problems, Mentions of drinking, Mentions of hangovers, Bradley flirting, One use of "y/n," Reader being a blushing mess. I think that's it, but please let me know if I've missed anything!

Word Count: 2.7k

Series Masterlist || DPU Masterlist || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Tag List

It had been exactly two weeks since your children had decided that they would be doing a play to help raise funds for the new schoolhouse, but still, they were no closer to figuring out what the play would actually be.

“It should be an adventure!” Grinned Billy Seresin.

“Nuh uh,” frowned Josie Carmichael, “it should be a romance.”

“What about a fairytale?”

“I want it to have a fight scene!”

And here you sat, slumped against the wooden counter of the bar, at your wit’s end and lamenting to your friends on what to do. Penny and Bunny kept their hands busy by cleaning the glasses behind the bar and Natasha sat to your left, patting your back sympathetically. You wished the ever practical Scout was around to assist you in your plight, but she and Jake Seresin had left for Baltimore the week prior and wouldn’t be back until after the New Year. Scout had worried what people might think about the two traveling on their own, and you had had to bite your tongue to keep from pointing out that the two of them were practically engaged as it was, but your words would have been met with a scowl and rant about the perils of gossip. Scout was known to have a bit of a temper, and you weren’t keen on being on the receiving end of it. So, you had smiled placatingly and reminded her that her brother had given his seal of approval, and that had been enough to ease her worries.

“What’s eatin’ at you?” Penny asked you, brow raised curiously. You sighed in defeat, tears springing to your eyes as you thought about your current predicament.

“The children are going to do a play to help raise money for the schoolhouse.”

“And that’s an issue because?” Bunny asked, eyes darting to Penny to see if she could shed some light on the situation. The older woman shrugged, frowning as she turned her attention back to you.

“Because,” you grumbled, “It took us an entire week to settle on doing a play. Now they can’t decide what play to do.”

“Ah,” Penny said, leaning against the bar top, “what are the suggestions?”

“Some want to do Cinderella, some want to do Snow White, and others want to do Sleeping Beauty,” you groaned, feeling your bottom lip tremble as you felt all the frustration from the past week rise up from deep inside of you and to the surface. You were good at shoving the negative feelings down inside of you. Your childhood had given you plenty of practice when it came to that, but now the emotions tended to come out all at once and at inopportune times, something your mother had often lamented about.

“Why don’t you just let them make their own play up?” Bunny asked thoughtfully. Your gaze darted to the girl in front of you, intrigue replacing the sorrow that was once there.

“Let them do their own play?” You asked her. Bunny seemed to hesitate for a moment before nodding, a tight smile on her face that came off more as a grimace on her pretty features.

“That way everyone can do something they like?” She said as more of a question than an answer. You felt the stirrings of excitement in your tummy as you mulled over her suggestion. It could work. If the children come up with their own play, then they can work together to make sure everyone has a say and no one would feel left out. It was perfect! Or, at least, that’s what you thought.

Your elder sister often admonished you growing up for being, what she believed, was too naïve.

“Get your head out of the clouds,” she’d snap, a scowl on her face as she looked you over. “The world isn’t all rainbows and butterflies, y/n. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”

She was right, but her words had stung nonetheless. You wanted to see the good in everybody and every situation. If that made you naïve or immature, then so be it.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Bunny!” Penny grinned, turning her gaze to you. You nodded enthusiastically, a grin splitting across your face as you looked back at the bar girl.

“It really is!” You exclaimed, leaning back and away from the bar. A smirk made its way onto your lips. “Have you ever thought of becoming a teacher?”

“Me?” Bunny scoffed, shaking her head. “No, I wouldn’t know what to do. Besides, I can’t even read.”

Your eyes widened. “You don’t?”

“No,” she said softly, looking down and away from you. She shifted on her feet, looking as if she was willing the ground to open up and swallow her whole. You supposed it wasn’t that uncommon for people to not know how to read, but Bunny always looked so put together, that it never occurred to you that the other girl wouldn’t have the skill set. You pursed your lips, wondering if your new thought would be too impertinent to suggest to the other girl. Bunny was someone who was quiet, yes, but she had an air of pride and confidence about her that you often found yourself admiring and wishing you had.

You knew you were a timid, little thing. You were the youngest of two girls, and your sister was the crown jewel of your family. She was beautiful, confident, and had a mind that could accomplish most anything. You wanted to be that way, but you knew deep down that you weren’t. A fact your parents often pointed out to you. Now, seeing the capable woman in front of you looking small at such a minor detail made you want to help.

“I can teach you,” you said finally.

“What?” She chuckled, sounding almost startled. Her gaze flickered back to you as her brow pinched in confusion. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Well,” you smiled, “it’s a good thing you won’t have to then. I’m volunteering!”

Bunny’s frown deepened, and you suddenly found yourself second guessing your decision.

“Unless you don’t want to learn?” You murmured, now feeling awkward as you sat at the bar.

“No, I,” she trailed off. She chewed on her bottom lip as she regarded you for a moment. With a heavy sigh, she continued, “I would actually really love that, Birdie. As long as it doesn’t take up too much of your time.”

“It won’t,” you chirped, hopping off the bar stool and making your way towards the exit. The evening crowd was slowly filing in after a long day’s work, and you weren’t keen on being around once the drinking started.

“Let’s start tomorrow, okay?” You called over your shoulder with a wave at the two women behind the counter. You didn’t wait for a response as you pushed through the growing crowd and out the door.

The next morning brought you some much needed free time. Saturday mornings were usually when the town market was in full swing, and you were determined to get there early enough to snag the best tomatoes for dinner that night. Penny insisted that you didn’t have to do much around the house, but you couldn’t imagine not doing anything. You refused to be a burden, no matter how much she assured you that you weren’t.

Of course, you weren’t planning on living in Penny and Maverick’s home for forever. No, once the school was built, you’d move into the new building until your own home was built. However, that was a ways off, and as far as you knew, construction hadn’t even started on the schoolhouse yet.

Lost in thought, you passed the old church, stopping when something caught your attention from the corner of your eye. Underneath the large tree, a figure lay slumped against the roots, a hat covering the face of whoever it was. Cautiously, you approached the figure, different scenarios racing through your mind. Did the heat get to him? Did he need a doctor? Perhaps some water? Or maybe he was hurt? Penny and Bunny told you about the bar fights that sometimes broke out at the saloon where the loser would slink off with a wound or two.

“Excuse me, sir?” You called out. The man didn’t move, and you looked around to see if anyone else was present. The street was deserted, most of the folks either getting ready for another cold snap or down at the market trying to secure the best produce before anyone else. You knew the dangers of approaching men while alone, but you didn’t think you could live with yourself if something awful happened and you had done nothing to help. You approached him quietly, setting your basket down by the entrance as you did so. As you got closer, you let out a relieved sigh once you saw his chest slowly rising and falling. He wasn’t dead, just asleep.

“Sir?” You called out again, this time a little louder. The man stirred, muttering something in his sleep. You were practically standing next to him now, worrying on your bottom lip as you debated how best to handle the situation.

“Sir?”

“What?” The man snapped, snatching his hat off of his face and fixing you with a glare. You blinked a couple of times at the man in front of you as your brain played catch up with what you were seeing. The man also seemed a little taken aback as he took you in, realization dawning in his brown eyes. “Birdie?”

“Bradley?”

Bradley blinked up at you before shuffling to a stand, and you backed up a few steps to allow him room. He smacked at his trousers, attempting to get as much dirt off of him as he could while giving you a sheepish smile.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, eyeing him wearily as he took a couple of short steps towards you. The stench of alcohol hit you almost instantly, and you wrinkled your nose at him as your gaze turned from confusion to mild disgust. “You smell like a distillery.”

“Yeah,” he winced, rubbing the back of his neck as he gave you an apologetic look. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Are you drunk?” You asked him, narrowing your eyes as you scanned him up and down. His clothes were wrinkled and smeared with dried dirt. The top couple of buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, and you cursed yourself for the heat that instantly rose to your cheeks as you took in the hard muscle that lay underneath. Bradley’s eyes followed your gaze, looking down at the state of himself, and then back at you with a smirk that suggested he knew where your thoughts were heading.

“‘M not drunk, little bird,” he drawled, leaning towards you. He winced when the sunlight his his face, scowling slightly as he leaned back into the shade. “Hungover as hell, maybe. But I’m not drunk anymore.”

“Why is it that you almost sound disappointed by that fact?” You grumbled, scowling at him. Bradley shifted on his feet before giving you a shrug.

“Beats being hungover, I guess.”

“You could just not drink so much,” you suggested, earning a bright grin from the man in front of you.

“Now where’s the fun in that, Birdie?” He chuckled. You pursed your lips, studying him once again. It wasn’t often that Bradley Bradshaw grinned. He smirked, yes, but his grins were few and far in between. They gave him a boyish quality that you found strangely endearing, and you found that you wanted to see him do it more. More so, you wanted to be the reason he smiled like that.

The grin faded from his face as you studied him, and a thoughtful look of his own crossed his features. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he pursed his lips and looked over towards the old church before glancing back at you.

“Do you want me to stop drinking?” He asked. You balked at his question. Why was he asking you that? What did your opinion matter? Bradley seemed like the type that didn’t much care for what anyone thought of him or what he did, that much was clear from his illegal activities.

“What I want shouldn’t matter,” you said carefully, clasping your hands in front of you and looking away. You felt his gaze linger on your face as you looked anywhere but at him. You weren’t used to being assertive. No, you were the type to make yourself smaller to please others, and you were fine with that. You didn’t need the attention on you, and you had always been fine with that. But standing there in front of Bradley, for the first time in your life, you found that you wanted the attention on you. More specifically, you wanted to hold Bradley’s attention. That thought scared you.

“It matters to me,” Bradley murmured, leaning towards you again. His eyes were intense as they took you in, sliding down the length of you, and you squirmed under his gaze. An unfamiliar heat pooled in your belly as you met his eyes, the heat becoming stronger as they bore into you, his look almost hungry.

“You should stop drinking because you want to,” you countered, cursing how breathless you sounded, “not because someone told you.”

Bradley regarded you for another moment, a twinkle in his eyes as he looked you over once more. Finally, he leaned back, smirking as he dug around in his pocket. You sighed, thanking whoever might be listening for the slight reprieve.

“I have something for you,” he said, and your eyes widened at the declaration.

“A gift?” You asked him. “Whatever for?”

“Just because I saw it and thought of you,” he replied, pulling out a light blue ribbon with white lace trim from out of his pocket. You gasped, excitement filling you at the small trinket.

“Oh Bradley,” you breathed, reaching your fingers out to touch the shiny fabric. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not much,” he said, suddenly looking shy. You noted how odd the expression looked on him, but your attention was pulled back to the ribbon as Bradley held it up.

“I thought you might like it.”

“I love it,” you smiled, looking up at him. A small smile crept onto his face at the sight of you, and he gestured for you to turn around.

“May I?” he asked.

“Oh, of course,” you giggled, turning so that he could replace the lilac bow in your hair with the new one. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they ran through your hair, and you found yourself wondering what it would be like to have his fingers somewhere else on your person. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you willed the salacious thoughts away. A good girl should not being having the thoughts you’re having.

Once the ribbon was secured in your hair, Bradley leaned forward.

“There,” he whispered, his breath fanning over your ear and across your cheek. You stiffened in front of him, shuddering as his fingertips danced over your neck. “All done.”

Slowly, you turned back to face him. You looked up at him through your lashes, a soft smile playing on your lips. Bradley returned it with one of his own, fingertips skimming over the soft skin of your cheek.

“Where are you headed?” He asked you, breaking the charged silence between the two of you.

“Oh,” you blinked, moving towards the gate where you had left your basket. “I was headed for the market to get things for dinner.”

Picking up the basket, you turned to find Bradley had followed you, already leaning against the gate as he smirked down at you. Plucking the basket from your hands, he placed his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, guiding you back onto the street.

“Let’s get going then,” he winked. You tried not to think about how warm his hand felt against you, and you tried not to think about the stares people gave you as the two of you walked onto the main street. You certainly tried not to think about the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach every time you caught him looking at you.

A/N: Haven't updated this one in a little bit! Friendly reminder that I have started redoing my tag lists, so if you weren't tagged in this and you would like to be, please make sure you have submitted a request in the form at the top of the post! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! I also post these updates on my AO3 account under sailor_aviator. If you enjoy my work, please consider leaving me a tip!

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[crepe-of-wrath]

insane levels of wish fulfillment (soft dom Aizawa x very insecure f reader scenario)

mdni; again this is just absolute wish fulfillment and not a how to/guide for anything; Reader has major esteem issues bc Reader grew up in an environment that heavily stressed conventional feminine beauty and attitudes toward aging and it left a mark; if you personally grew up in an environment that was more open about those things and so this Reader's insecurities don't vibe with you, I'm sorry--most of my other x Readers are not like this but I'm just kind of in a place rn i guess; in case it wasn't already obvious, reader is skirting even closer than usual to "author self insert;" consider this a continuation of THIS

It's your first time together with Aizawa since you and he officially agreed to your dynamic. When you two had been discussing things to see if you would be a good match, you had stressed the need for cuddling after sex, explaining you were scarred by an encounter where your lover had basically pumped and ran, leaving you cold and alone on the mattress.

At first you were elated when Aizawa explained that, for your first time together, all you were going to do was cuddle. Without thinking, you settled into his arms, nuzzling his neck, playing with the tendrils that cascaded down from his ponytail, shivering with delight as his fingers lightly danced over you.

But then doubt set in. "Are--are you sure, Sir?" you had asked, so timidly (one day you hoped to call him Master, but that seemed like such a big and scary and heavy step, so you had both agreed on Sir for now). "I--I don't want to be, you know..selfish, I guess? I mean...shouldn't I have to do something to earn affection like cuddles?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wrapping you up tight. His arms and chest were so muscular; he was so handsome--why had he chosen lowly you when there were so many younger and prettier subs who wanted him too?! You were about to spiral into self-doubt when his baritone voice reached down into the depths, caught you and pulled you back up to the surface, where you could breathe again.

"Angel," he explained, "what we've agreed to is a mutual exchange of service and protection that is supposed to make us feel extra special. Everyone"--here he smiled and stroked your cheek--"even little angels who have been too harshly treated by this world and don't value themselves like they should, fundamentally deserves affection. You never have to earn that--"

Whatever else he had to say was drowned out by your very, very loud sobs. They came out of nowhere--eruption, tsunami, tornado, no destructive metaphor seemed to quite suffice for how they simply overcame you, leaving you completely incapable of stopping them. The tears that flowed out of your eyes carried the sediment of literal decades of pain and loneliness and sorrow caused by your internalized belief that you just weren't pretty enough, weren't worthy of being cared for, were somehow even more wretched than you had been in your supposed bloom of youth now that you had reached your expiration date, and all other sorts of nasty things that part of you had always known weren't true, but that a more insidious part of you could never shake.

Aizawa just held you in those unwavering arms of his, murmuring little hums and nothings in that voice of his for heavens knows how long before you calmed down.

"Good girl," he said. "You're such a good girl. You lie here for just a second and I'm going to go get you some water. I think you'll need it." Exhausted, you let yourself fall into the comfortable mattress and pillow. You heard him pour something from the pitcher, and then you heard the faucet. He walked in with a glass and a towel draped on his shoulder. He handed you the water and began to gently clean up your face.

You felt so warm and fuzzy inside; being cherished, even a little, was more dizzying that even your wildest dreams. Without thinking, you said, "Thank you, Master." Then, you gasped a little, but not in a bad way. It had felt...exciting to call him that.

Aizawa drew you into his lap, and you put your arms around his neck. "Angel," he said, "I would be a liar if I didn't say that hearing you call me 'Master' is"--here he sighed again and you thought you felt something twitch in his lap--"extremely alluring. But, I also know that you had said you weren't 100% comfortable with that title yet. It's been an emotional evening and on nights like this sometimes good girls who just want to make their Sirs happy will push themselves too much and then be scared later because they want to take a step back. I promised to take care of you, sweetheart, so I don't want that to happen. So, you will call me 'Sir' for the next week--that's an order--and at the end of the week we'll have another discussion to see if you're truly comfortable with 'Master.'"

"I understand, Sir. And...thank you for taking care of me."

"I wouldn't be worthy of the honor of hearing 'Master' fall from your sweet lips if I did otherwise, Angel."

All you could do was beam at him and try to hold him as tightly as you could.

"You're so pretty," he said softly. "Why don't you give me a little kiss?"

You felt your face warm up and quietly said, "Yes, Sir," before giving him a peck on the lips.

[kaicubus]

Robbers | Rue Bennett

warnings ✩° : angst. literally so much angst, numbness, crying, saying things you don't mean, break up?, drug mentions, toxic relationship, no happy ending...unless?

pairing ✩° : rue bennett x fem!reader

premise ✩° : dating someone who doesn't want to be fixed is difficult on its own, so when you're faced with the opportunity to leave for your own good, you can’t decide.

word count ✩° : 3.7k

authors note ✩° : i actually...did not want to write this LOL bc it hurts me so much.  i’m getting back into the swing of things so forgive me if it’s a little rough. also i’m writing this as i’m listening to the song and crying so a bit of yummy raw feelings here!!

now playing : Robbers by the 1975

Rue had a face straight out a magazine. Hell, she could even be a model if she wanted to.That’s one thing you knew all too well about your girlfriend, she was perfect. In the past, you remember how you would tie back her curly hair and style it in high ponytails and buns, loving the feeling of those stringy locks pressing into your skin and wrapping around your fingers. Though the memory is well faded way now, there was not much of that Rue left at all. On the surface, Rue looked as if she were on the verge of death either from exhaustion or overdose, and past the surface it wasn't much different.  You had done everything in your power to keep your girlfriend afloat, holding her hand through life no matter how much she used you or wrung you out.

Everybody around you saw how much being in a relationship with someone who shouldn't even be in one was severely taking a toll on you, but you stood by Rue and defended her. For the longest time you've been irrevocably in love with her, but your rose colored glasses would soon come off mistake after mistake after each time Rue would find a way to neglect you and refuse your help. It was hard to swallow the fact all your calls were either declined or ignored, and that all your texts were left on delivered or opened, but you told yourself all you had to do was be patient. After all, throughout your relationship with Rue, that’s all it was : being patient. There was no winning with her, and it took you 5 years for it to click in your mind.

Well now that you've got your gun It's much harder now the police have come.

The silence is deafening. This whole time, you've been at war inside your head, one side screaming at you to leave Rue and the other trying to beg and convince yourself to stay. You didn't admit it, but you were losing the battle with your own self. Rue hadn't even noticed you zone out and had instead been dragging long, listless breaths from a joint Fezco had gave her to ‘help with her withdrawal’ which was bullshit at its finest. You knew it was just an act to think you had Rue under your radar when really she was way out of the boundaries. It infuriated you how your own girlfriend played you like a fool; it was insulting in every possible way you'd look at it. She treated you like you were stupid and oblivious to drug use and anything of the sort, however thanks to her and Fez you know everything about it.

Rue flicks her lighter open and the warm light floods the midnight air and heats up the cold air around you both. You check your phone, 12:09 pm, it’s late and you're slowly getting tired but you still have something to say before the feeling of emptiness growing larger and larger swallows you whole. You just don't know how to bring it up. Even thinking about it was similar to that of slowly prying each and every single one of your fingernails off, you didn't even want to think of it. Thing is, right now, Rue looks so peaceful. Maybe its because all of her attention is glued onto the tight joint, rolled between her fingers and getting a clean breath of smoke in. She looked perfect.

That’s when you decide to break the silence, as comforting as it was, the feeling of descending dread resting on your shoulders is too much to handle and you just have to get it off your chest.

“Rue...”  your voice catches her attention and she gives you a quick side glance as an answer. Disappointment curls your lip and you realize this conversation might not go the way you want, but then again, what option do you have? This was far more than a normal conversation and far more than you ever had to deal with.

Despite her lack of answer, you continue, “Can we talk?” Its cliche but there's no better way to bring it up.

She mumbles in response. You can tell she doesn't have a care in the world to listen to you talk, that's one of the many reasons why you feel not seen or heard.

“Please, Rue. Its important.”

She parts her lips carelessly, “Fuck, Y/n I’m listening, ok? Go on.”

You back into a defensive posture and roll your shoulders back just enough for her to see your eyes, to even get a glimpse of your guilt or your hurt. But her lax tells you all you need to know. She wasn't going to care, just like everything, she didn't care about you at all. Just like that time where you had gotten an A on a test you really studied your ass of for and she didn't show any trace of enthusiasm, or the time you got your drivers license and she barley bat an eye, or the time she ignored you all night just to pay attention to anime Ramona Flowers Jules. You couldn't even remember the last time she was genuinely happy for you or interested in what you had to say.

But if you just take off your mask, You'd find out everything's gone wrong.

“I want to break up.”

...

“What?” she asks, hardly taking you seriously, “Break up?”

Instead of dismissing her like you usually would do, you nod, “Yeah.” You cant even bring yourself to look at her. This is new territory for both of you, so each approach couldn’t be guaranteed a positive or negative reaction; like a leap of faith, you just had to seize the chance.

Your eyes flicker into hers and almost immediately your heart sinks deep past the rest of your organs harbored in your chest. Almost as if she had looked at you in slow motion, time had thickened and the look in her eyes lingered deep inside your soul with her down turned brows speaking volumes.

“What?” her voice hushes into the night sky and suddenly you see your eyes glisten in the reflection of her wide eyes.

“I…” you try and speak but your throat closes up, “I…We…Rue…”

The light of her joint dims and lights up again, casting a warm shadow on Rue’s cold finger tips.

“Have you noticed, we don’t fit like we used to?” You ask.

Rue brings her knees close to her chin and kisses the raggedy denim of her jeans, “How far back are you saying?”

“The very start.”

“Well, the very start was a while ago, I don’t even remember that far.” She pushes her lips out in thought and does everything in her power to avoid your burning gaze. All she can think about is just how fucked she knows this conversation will end up. There’s no way out.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this for a while. I don’t think there’s any good way to say it.” You let out a sigh and roll your head up to the starlit sky, “I want to break up with you.”

She stays silent and allows you to speak your mind, though you’d hope she’d interrupt and fight for her place as your girlfriend.

“These past few months have been really hard, and I don’t know what’s going on. You’re not talking to me and you’re not even answering my calls. I feel like a ghost, Rue. It’s like you don’t even care about me ever since Jules.”

That name alone made Rue shudder in disgust.

“I really wanted this to work. It’s been working so far. But, I cant even force myself to believe it’s working anymore. I feel like my whole life, I’ve been forced to look after you—like it was my identity.” you fidget your thumbs in circles, still hoping she’d interject to cut you off or something, “You’ve lied to me more times that I know, screamed bloody murder at me when I told you not to shove bottles of pills down your throat, you’ve even attempted to steal my own medication I need to get through my panic attacks to get high. But it didn’t matter because I loved you.” your eyes meet hers, “D-Did you even love me?”

She picks her head up from hiding in the safety of her kneecaps and looks at you, how your eyes are now well damp with tears sloshing over your waterline and how your lips are quivering in heartache.

“There wasn’t a moment in my life where I ever thought about not loving you, Y/n.”

“How?” you choke, “How can you say that and show me nothing to back yourself up with? What have you done for me besides make me hate myself? I thought I could help you get through your addiction but no matter what I tried, you pushed me away. Was I even good enough to be an outlet for you?”

Her legs fall back down to their original position and she uses her palms to push herself closer to you. Rue isn’t good at comforting people, she barley even knew how to comfort herself, but through the countless times you’ve done it, she wraps her arms around your shoulders and instinctively pulls you into a deep embrace.

Tears finally escape their confinement as the sudden force pushes you back just enough for them to spill out of your eyes. Just as suddenly, you find yourself crying; Sobbing, even. She doesn’t kiss you, though she wishes she could, maybe it would’ve soothed you, but hugging you is all she thinks to do.

Your choice was inevitable, the end of your relationship was bound to happen, but neither of you expected it to end the way that it does. Still. She hoped you’d give her one more time. Just one more fight.

“Why?” you mumble against her shoulder, “Why are you doing this? Why now?” grief clogs your throat and drowns your words in overwhelming dejection.

“I don’t know.” She says truthfully, “I don’t feel good about this either. I just, wanted you to stop crying.”

You sniffle and pull away, wiping your eyes, “Right. I’ve-Ive tried helping you Rue, you can’t say I haven’t.” silent tears glide down your cheeks.

“No, Y/n. You were always there, always.”

God only knows but you'll never leave her.

In an attempt to gather yourself, you rub the thin, red fabric of your sleeve across your eyes — smearing your cheap mascara you had put on haphazardly before you even came here with Rue. Clumps of black product feathers across your lashes and runs down your cheek that you hastily smear clean-ish.

“You’ve done more than anyone has.” she wipes her tears numbly, “I-I can’t even be mad at you right now because I seriously deserve this. I deserve to be punished after all the shit I put you through—I knew what I was doing and I knew you’d forgive me. But it all piled up and now, now its like--Fuck!” she sobs, “I’m sorry I’m crying, I can’t control it right now and if I could I wouldn't be because I want to have a normal conversation with you like a person but I —” she manages to choke on her own tears.

Your heart squeezes for her. All this time, Rue would only ever show her emotions to her bedroom ceiling; it was rare for you or even her sister Gia to see her most vulnerable side. But right in this very moment, seeing her shed her hard rock exterior, it baffles you that she could even be capable of such emotion. Whenever she was confronted about her behavior in her life, she reacted violently with rapid pacing and shoving, hitting and screaming. Maybe it was because of the weed, but when she looks at you with such soft eyes it reminds you of the Rue you've always known — the Rue who would never hurt you.

Anybody in a situation like yours would’ve given up, and one thing about that is true. For as long as you had struggled keeping your head afloat in the raging sea of Rue Bennett, your time had come and it was finally time to stop kicking and sink. As much as you didn’t want to, you couldn’t deny the weight of it all on your shoulders.

Her fingertips find her eye sockets and press into them as if she’s trying to dig out her tear ducts to stop them from crying and blurring her vision. “I’m sorry. ‘M sorry I’m such a bad girlfriend. I’ll try harder next time please — please let there be a next time, Y/n. I cant have this be like Jules.”

“This isn’t like Jules. Rue, what we have is NOT like what you had with her. Ok?” you gently rub her tears away and guide her hands into yours, “I love you, so fucking much. And you know how much it hurts me to see you so hurt over this…which is why I think we need this. You need this. I need this.”

Rue bites her lip and shakes her head, “No, please please please,” she sniffles, “Please, Y/n don’t leave me. I need you.”

You turn your head to the side, causing your tears to gloop to one side and slosh out, “I know you, Rue. You’re going to be fine.”

“Stay…” she says, finally able to slow down and catch her breath, “Stay, stay...”

“Rue…” you look down, “Can you promise me something?”

Rue’s tongue darts out to wet her lips and catch her tears free falling onto her cupid’s bow, “Y-Yeah?”

You stare directly at her and soften your eyes—as if they weren’t soft enough—and gently cup her cheek in the palm of your hand. The sensation was too familiar for Rue to ignore and suddenly she’s flashed back to the first time something like this happened. Back when everything was still new to the both of you. She had just finished screaming at you, and you had remained patient despite such horrible things being said, but you understood her feelings. She was like an open book to you back then. Rue had cried her eyes out and screamed her throat dry and once she was somewhat calm, you inched towards her slowly and held her face in your hands. Placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, you held her in your arms for what felt like hours and stayed still as still water after a storm. You were a tower of stability and light in the epicenter of the crashing waves of her ocean.

Now, as the tides pull in and push out, you’re faded and eroded by the salt water, but still holding on.

“Promise me you’ll keep on living.”

You give her a half crescent smile before sliding your hand off her face to the back of her head and hugging her face into your chest. Rue accepts the change and closes her eyes for a split moment.

You throat moves against her forehead as you attempt to swallow all the bubbling feelings in your chest. All you can think about is how you don’t want to leave, but you know this isn’t healthy for you or for her. The last thing you wanted to do in your relationship was be the bigger person and break up with her, but the circumstances were too much to shove aside. Not only were all your close friends telling you to break up with Rue, but you knew deep down that if she wasn’t able to change for not you but her, you couldn’t continue. There was only so much you could do, and you already drained yourself dry.

Rue hugs her arms around your waist slowly and rests her head against your stomach. She doesn’t know the next time she’ll be allowed to touch you like this again, so close and so tender. So she savors every bit of it. She revels in the silence and swims in the sounds of your heartbeat, embracing the softness of your clothes and silkiness of your skin. Rue found home whenever she hugged you. The nostalgic, sweet smell of your natural scent always soothed her no matter what but now that she knew you were going to leave her, it smelled so faint. Where did it go wrong? She couldn’t even remember a specific breaking point for you, and that’s exactly why, she realized. She’s always going to love you, she’s always going to wait. She just didn’t know if you were going to do the same thing. Even if you guys were miles apart, or right next to each other, the distance that was always between you will remain the same.

That’s when you comb your fingers through her frayed and knotted hair, brushing through the stiff parts. Something about the way you gently untangle her messy hair strikes her completely vulnerable and her shoulders fall to signal it. 

You pull away quickly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to —” you hesitate, “I mean...I...”

"I don’t know how I’m supposed to live without you,” she presses her damp lips against your arm, “I can’t think of something like that. I want to promise you that I’ll do it.”

“Hey,” you hold her face, “Hey, look at me.” the softness in your voice only makes her cry harder, “You don’t have to, not now.” Her eyes dart into yours, searching for something to get her to stop crying but she can’t. Her sobs fill the air and with each struggling breath they get louder and louder; not even when you attempt to cushion her cries with your chest does she let up.

You press your lips together and blow, hushing her and cradling her tightly in your arms.

“I just want everything to be ok. Tell me, Y/n. T-Tell me everything's going to fine.” She sobs, “Tell me you're staying, tell me you love me still, you can play with my hair again like we used to — you can even tie it up in pigtails this time and put those stupid butterfly clips in it like you always wanted.”

You shake your head softly. 

“Y/n please — tell me we’re going to be fine!”

“Rue...”

“I know I screwed up, I know that. I always screw up. But not with you.”

You pull away and take the time to wipe her tears away, clearing her red and puffy eyes of the overflowing amount of wetness clinging onto her pretty, now kind of dirty face. Her cheek hugs your palm and she closes her eyes, releasing more droplets of saltwater.

“Y/n...” She mumbles, “Fuck...I’m sorry. ‘M so sorry...”

She runs her hands through your hair and scrapes her fingertips into your scalp, pulling your body closer to hers and pressing her forehead up to your own. All you can do is bite your lip to prevent any more necessary cries from escaping your throat. You can feel the way her thumbs stroke your neck and the raggedy pattern of her breathing declines into a steady pace as it fans across your skin.

Each little touch made her head reel back and forth, and a part of her hated you for it. She hated how much she felt around you and how much she was able to feel like her actions as well as her words meant something; it meant that everything she had been working towards numbing her pain was all for nothing. She didn't enjoy it one bit. Especially now that you were choosing to leave her? How could she ever cope and recover? There’s no way.

Or maybe there was?

With her eyes quickly flickering into yours, you're almost shocked at the sudden tense and direct eye contact. Even though Rue had been avoiding your stare in fear she’d break more than she already is, it seemed like now she was peering directly into your soul and trying to reach within the depths of Y/n.

Rue knew what she had to do. So she spoke,

“What if I went back?”

You blink, “Back? Back where?” Even though the answer seemed obvious, you didn't even for once think shed ever reconsider going back,

“To rehab. Therapy. Everything. For you.”

“For me? W-Why for me? Rue if you're going back to rehab it NEEDS to be for you —”

Rue brushes a section of her hair back and rubs her palms against her face, wiping her face fully dry now, “I like who I am with you, Y/n. You're probably the only person in this world who makes me feel like I have a chance no matter how hard or how much I screw up,” her voice closes in once she realizes how serious she needs to be, “So I’m going to take a chance that will grant me more chances.”

“Rue,” you say, not even sure what’s going to happen next. Luckily, she cuts you off before you could even get the chance to speak again.

“I know this is going to take time, I know we weren't perfect. I know that. But, when I get out of rehab again things will be.”

You feel your heart race in thick surges of hope. Maybe you didn't know things were going to ever change from how they were before. Maybe you weren't sure if anything would come of her words that could very much be empty promises in the moment. Maybe your trust had been severely damaged by all the lies and deceptions over the years. But that all didn't matter right now. Because right now, there was hope for something you've longed to see for all your life : A Rue who’s happy. 

Could this give her happiness? Knowing that you'll be there waiting for her with the same warm arms you've always given her? Would that even be enough for her? Your thoughts ran rampant as you stare into her cavernous yet gleaming eyes. 

“Promise.” Rue swallows, holding up her pinkie finger.

Without thinking, you hold up your pinkie as well.

“I promise,” she sniffles between her words, “I promise you, I’m going to get better for you and keep on living.”