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isuckatwritingsobenice · 8 months

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Infernal Shadows 02

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: HAUSER - Adagio (Albinoni)

A/N: I’m so glad part one did well! I really liked this idea and hoped other people would too. As always comment if you want to be tagged and I will tag you in the next post! I wanted this to be three parts, but depending on how much I can fit in this chapter and the next one, I’ll see if I need to make four parts. The song at the beginning of this chapter is meant to be played when the line “ The music picked up” Is read. Skip to 5:35 for it to play smoothly, or as smoothly as possible.

Word count: 3.k or something over that idk I got too lazy to count :(

Taglist: @dollops-of-delusion @nebusokuxp @scrunchss @rosedasy @valluvz @chesstras @pishybowl @iaaeav @forgotten-blues @22carolina08 @roboticsuccubus83 @doflamingadonquixote

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part One. // Part three.

Within, the grand foyer unveiled itself, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail in stark contrast against a black and white color scheme. Crystal chandeliers, dangling from lofty black ceilings, cast their brilliance upon white walls adorned with ornate mirrors. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich black and white fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, establishing cozy settings for guests to assemble and engage in enriching conversations. Each room murmured tales of a past era – intricately patterned black and white wallpaper, frames gilded in black to showcase classical art, and a subtle aroma of aged wood and lavender lingering in the air, harmonizing with the monochromatic elegance. The guests walking in all marveled at the details of the mansion.

Charlotte and Vagatha both stepped in, Charlotte in awe of the detailing. A shadow figure bent down slightly to offer her a drink, to which she happily took.

“Vaggie this is all so beautiful. I hope I can make a good impression.” Charlotte said, turning to her partner to ease her nerves. Vagatha just smiled, a hand on her shoulder lovingly.

“You’re gonna do great babe, besides, there’s so many people here, if one likes it I’m sure other people will get on board too.” Vagatha said.

“Or they can laugh at you if one person points out how ridiculous it is.” Husk said, chugging his drink before placing it back on the servers tray.

“Thanks for the kind words Husk.” Vagatha said sarcastically. He just shrugged, looking towards the bar area which was practically calling him over.

Upstairs in your room, you stared at yourself in the mirror as your shadows made the finishing touches on your outfit. Draped in a long, elegant black gown that gracefully embraced your commanding figure, the fabric cascaded like shadows. Delicate chain motifs intertwine with the dress, creating an alluring dance of darkness. A chain belt cinches your waist, a subtle nod to your captivating ability to ensnare and command over your shadows. Completing the regalia, silver chain cuffs adorn your wrists, reflecting both power and refinement.

“Madame, the guests are all in the lobby awaiting your arrival.” One of the shadows said. You nodded, stepping down from your showcase, winking to yourself in the mirror before chuckling to yourself. A shadow approaches you, bowing in respect before holding out a tray with your drink, a contrast to your dark colors. You take the glass in your hand, another shadow lightly putting a thermometer in your drink so it’s the perfect temperature for you, fifteen point five degrees Celsius. The liquid is a light yellow-ish green, Lafite-Rothschild, an expensive French wine you tried in 1906 when you were alive. Lifting it to your lips, you take a long sip and sigh, the spicy and earth notes, mixed with a hint of tobacco and red Barrie’s dance on your tongue like a performance of Gavotte. You pull back with a sigh, setting the glass down, a perfect Ridel Vinum Bordeaux, personally crafted for you as the bottom of the glass is a Smokey black, fading into clear glass towards the top.

“Let’s get this Gala started shall we~?”

In the lobby, guests were socializing amongst themselves. Velvet, Vox and Valentino had split for a short while. After the incident outside, the two overlords wouldn’t stop tantalizing the picture box about his fit of frustration dealing with the Radio Demon. From the lobby, there were large crystal doors revealing the back exterior of the house. The greenery was just perfect, with cobblestone flooring revealing another bloody fountain. Vox stood with his drink, speaking to some sinner he couldn’t remember the name of, about how well his business was going.

“You ever get,” Vox asked, eyeing one of the shadows who stood in a corner, white eyes soulless as they held out drinks to guests. “Creeped out by those, things?” Vox asked, turning back to the sinner. He just scoffed.

“Please, they’re always around and as far as I know, harmless.” The sinner said. At that, a shadow appeared between the two, taking their empty glasses and replacing it with new, full ones. Vox tried his hardest not to seem alarmed at this, and took the glass silently, sipping his drink slowly as it floated away. It was then he took in the shadows appearance. They all looked the same. Tall figures, Smokey outlines, but no feel or hands, just a faded end to their limbs. Their eyes were white and soulless, almost as it they were vacant, a shell of what they used to be. There were no facial features, just two white circles and a thin white line for their mouth. Each one however, had a light Smokey chain around their chest, wrapped in the shape of an X.

“What are the chains for then? They’re pretty much smoke, what do they need chains forever?” Vox asked. The associate laughed, but before he could answer, another overlord stepped in.

“They have chains because they’re claimed souls.” Fredrick Von Eldritch says, his sister Bethesda in toe. The two grin, a shadow following behind them with a tray of their drinks. “If you get invited to the gala long enough, you get a personal one.” He said with a wink, gesturing to the shadow behind the two.

“They’re quite cute once you get used to them.” Bethesda said with a smile, cooing at the shadow lightly. Yet, it still remained expressionless.

“Actually, now that you say that.” The sinner says, looking around for a moment. “It’s been awfully quiet with a laugh track being played.” He says, referring to Alastor. Vox just rolls his eyes.

“Who gives a shit about where that old timey freak is?” Vox asks. Fredrick and Bethesda snicker to each other, catching Vox’s attention.

“Probably hunting for his dear Madame.” Bethesda said dramatically, laying her head on her brothers shoulder and batting her lashes playfully. Fredrick and the sinner laughed at his sisters antics, but Vox grew serious.

“What does that mean? He knows her?” Vox asked, to which Fredrick scoffed, finishing his drink before reaching for another off the shadows server tray.

“Of course he does. She died before him, and they’re the closest overlords in time period. Well, aside from Zestial and her.” Fredrick explained. Vox didn’t say anything else, instead looking to the red ‘moon’ of hell, before glancing at the blood fountain. He had heard rumors about being at the Madame’s table, and how she gave the inside to all her projects and plans before the next extermination. Apparently, this year was supposed to be ‘different’ as people had been talking.

“When does this dinner start anyway? We’ve been standing out here for two hours.” Vox said annoyed.

“In a few minutes, Madame will make her grand entrance. She will socialize with the guests as it is polite to have one on one time with them. Then she will spend the rest of the time while the orchestra gets together deciding on contenders to sit at her table.” A shadow walking by said, stopping to stare at Vox. “Madame is always watching.” It then said, turning to serve other guests. Vox said nothing, instead turning on his heel and making his way inside the mansion. How could someone feel suffocated outside? Fredrick and Bethesda said nothing, watching him go, but sharing a glance between each other before making their leave too, leaving the sinner all by his lonesome.

Inside, Charlotte and Vagatha conversed about how she could get people behind her project.

“Maybe if I sing-“

“Please no. These people are too…” Vagatha said, glancing around the room. Everyone seemed too, fake. Vagatha knew Charlotte being herself around these people would do absolutely no good to the hotel, and though she hated telling Charlotte these things, she knew her kindness would be frowned upon, and made fun of. “Serious for that kind of thing.” Vagatha finished, taking a sip of her champagne. She settled for champagne in a flute while Charlotte drank water, wanting to hydrate herself in hopes to calm her nerves.

“I heard that Madame might be making her entrance soon.” Charlotte said nervously, looking around. She half expected her parents to show up, but knew how they rarely liked getting involved in overlord affairs. She’d be surprised if they showed up.

“Then when she does you can try to pitch your idea to her.” Vagatha said supportively. Charlotte just smiled and nodded, hoping someone would listen to her. She had tried practicing on two sinners moments ago, to which they both laughed and called her delusional. The defeat was beginning to get to her, and she hadn’t even started yet.

With Velvet, she began studying the interior of the old-styled mansion. She was trying her hardest to not be too rude about it, but of course she had her comments, but ultimately kept them to herself. Cramoisie, your fashion line, was the top fashion brand in hell, everyone wanted a piece of it. Velvet had never had an article for herself, despite trying her hardest to get something, anything, even a sample. But people feigned for it like drugs. Velvets line was successful sure, but with your validation and guidance, she could become perfection, the same way you were. Everyone in hell looked up to you, shit, you had even gotten Lilith’s praise as she was photographed wearing a custom piece you designed for her. Your work was art in its purist form, and Velvet kept a close eye on her other colleagues to make sure they didn’t fuck your chance up. Velvet had her assistant hold samples and sketches of designs Velvet had been working on, wanting to show you her best work in hopes of winning you over. She could brag about having you support her line, and her fans would die of excitement. Maybe, she could get you to design her a custom piece, or Velvet could design one for you. The possibilities were limitless, if you agreed to meet with her of course. But that was all the more reason why she needed to make sure she had a seat at your table tonight. She needed to get close to you.

“Are you fucking high?” Velvet whispered to Valentino, who just chuckled softly at her.

“What’s the matter hermosa? Just enjoy the Gala, we’re here to have fun right?” He asked with a giggle. Velvet huffed, deciding to find Vox, hoping he could straighten Valentino out. Valentino would not fuck up her chance tonight.

Near the large staircase in the middle of the room, Alastor stood, glass of whiskey in his clawed hands. He smiles, humming to himself while quietly back up into a wall, careful to scan the room quickly before he disappears into the shadows. Then, moments later, appears in a room separate from the gala. It’s a study, your study. Alastor takes a step forward and quickly the shadows in the room seemed to deepen, casting larger, more dramatic silhouettes that seemed to dance on the walls. The interplay of darkness and light only heightened the mysterious allure of the study. In the midst of this chiaroscuro ambiance, Alastor found himself surrounded by an atmosphere that mirrored the complex nature of the figure depicted in the portrait hanging above the fireplace, which was in the far back wall of the study. It was the only light source in the room. Black wooden shelves lined against the tall walls, showcasing famous pieces of literature, all hand picked and to your liking. The fire place, crafted with dark marble, commanded his attention. Above the mantel, a striking portrait of Madame hung, capturing his focus, like a trance. The image portrayed a being universally admired, yet equally feared; someone who elicited both admiration and intimidation all at once, you.

“Hm, hiding now are we?” Alastor asks with a grin, tutting lightly. “That’s not very proper of you Madame~” He says, calling out to you. Seconds later, a dark shadow appears in the corner of the room, taking up the entire corner, before a shadowy figure steps out. Similar to the servant’s out in the lobby, Alastor’s eye twitch’s slightly.

“Oh don’t be so pissy. You know no one gets to see me before my entrance.” You say, the shadow expressionless, but Alastor can hear your tone through the figure, taunting him. He sighs, setting his staff on a slant along his foot.

“And here I thought I could connect with an old friend.” Alastor said with a chuckle, staring down the shadowy figure, hoping his gaze would ease you to show yourself to him. But alas, stuck in your ways, you didn’t show yourself, instead laughing, though the figure did not open its mouth, making your ‘shadow a-presence’ all the more eerie.

“If you really want to speak with me it can wait until my entrance. I should be done soon.” You say, before Alastor just smiles, tossing his staff from hand to hand.

“Well if you’re really going to make me wait, mind you speed the process up a bit? You know it doesn’t take much to make you look breath-taking.” Alastor compliments, but earns a scoff from you.

“Oh please, don’t start with me ‘Radio Demon.’” You mock, before the shadow figure begins to step back.

“Wait, a moment before you go.” Alastor says, standing his staff on the floor. The shadow figure stops, before you speak again.

“Make it quick. You know how much energy it takes to keep this up.” You say.

“So, about this hotel business. I know she’s planning to talk to you about it.”

“Yes the idea you tell me so much about.” You say sarcastically. Alastor had told you bits and pieces about the princess’s project, but didn’t tell you what it was for exactly, leaving you to wonder how important it really was if even he wouldn’t speak on it.

“Well you know how much I crave entertainment. Is it possible to make a request for the seating arraignment tonight?” Alastor asks. You laugh, figure still unmoving.

“Humorous to think you even have a seat. You’ve been gone for what? Seven years?” You say with a scoff.

“You’ve been gone decades my dear, you didn’t even show up to your last twenty gala’s, having your pity shadows do it for you. I doubt you should be speaking on the matter.”

At that, you chuckle to yourself before the shadow begins to back into the corner, black smoke enveloping the corner like a cloud. “I presume you would be correct. Well, I’m off now. Don’t sneak into my quarters again.” You say finally before disappearing. Alastor just grins, stepping into his own shadow, joining the other guests.

The shadows had slowly but, eventually ushered the guests into the lobby, everyone gathering around the staircase as the shadows lined up against the railings, the orchestra playing the music you had specifically requested. You were about to make your grand entrance, something you hadn’t done in centuries. Everyone stood around, awaiting your arrival, the shadows momentarily disappearing to give the guests more space to crowd around. Candles lit along the walls, as well as floating lights appearing going up the staircase. There, the shadows took their place, two on each step on opposite sides, facing each other. The music picked up, the lights focusing at the top of the stairs. Black smoke began to roll down the steps slowly, the anticipation for your arrival growing. The music gets calm for a moment, a larger shadow figure standing at the top of the staircase. It’s larger than any of the other shadows in the room, standing at fifteen feet tall. It speaks in a monotone voice, but loud and commanding.

“Thank you all for your attendance tonight. The Crimson Gala is held once every year to start the new year with all those who survived the extermination. This being said, Madame would like to say her personal congratulations for not being apart of the bloodshed this year. While the past years she has used me to say that she will unfortunately not be in attendance, I am pleased to say that tonight, along with all the new guests, she will make her grand entrance. Presenting to you, the prowess of darkness and queen of shadows, Madame.”

The lights shine bright, and the shadow vanishes quickly. Velvet shushes Vox and Valentino, eyes practically bulging out of her skull to see you. Alastor just stares, waiting in anticipation. Charlie claps her hands quietly to herself while Vaggie just smiles. Rosie sips her glass, eyes waiting to see what outfit you’ve put together this time. At the top of the staircase, a large black smokey circle opens at the bottom of the floor, smoke swirling upwards slowly in a tornado form, smoke getting quicker as it swirls around itself. It gets larger, and guests closer to the stairs have to back up a bit as the wind picks up. Carmilla turns her face to the side, not wanting the wind to mess up her hair too much. Finally, the music picks up again, the peak point in the song, which lasts eight seconds, before the smoke falls to the side in one swoop, leaving you in the midst, now on display for all guests to see. The music continues, the chains against your dress glistening under the light. The music continues the play as you take steps down, looking at the guests. There’s a serious expression on your face, but somehow neutral all the same. Your shadows had added last minute black lace gloves, which went up to your forearm. The bottom of your dress had a lace trimming, as well as the bodice being laced with trim along the bust area. The jewelry was a simple black diamond crystal on a metal chain around your neck, paired with black diamond earrings. The cuff links on your hand remained all the same though. Finally reaching the end of the steps, everyone clapped, now finally being graced with your presence.

Velvet was in awe, staring at you with wide eyes like a child being gifted the most precious thing. Her excitement grew enormously, watching you shake hands and socialize with guests. She had never seen you before, after you had gone ghost for centuries, hardly anyone had photos of you. Hell she didn’t even know what you sounded like.

Charlie was so excited to meet you. She hadn’t seen you in, forever, and was now finally excited to be seen as your equal. Well, that was what she had hoped at least. Having seen a portrait of you in her parents' home when she was younger, she learned of the close relationship between Lilith and you. The anticipation had built over the years, and now, finally, she looked forward to being seen as your equal. Her hope was to hopefully get your support for the hotel, aiming to elevate her standing in the eyes of others. With your backing, she believed people would take both her and the redemption project more seriously, fostering a genuine desire for redemption. Maybe it would even work.

Husk smiled as he watched you socialize with guests. He was glad to finally see you back out again. He never knew why you went into hiding of course, but he never had the balls to ask, so he just stood quiet. When you disappeared, it was after a particularly rough extermination, and he knew something had happened, he just didn’t know what. Since then, the world only had glimpses of you to go on. Some sinners were starting to think you were a myth, since you never showed your face at the Crimson Gala, especially since you were the host.

Vox was taken aback, a sense of confusion and unease settling within him. Your presence had caught him off guard; he had anticipated something different, perhaps an older figure. The unexpected impact left him feeling uneasy, realizing the gravity of your influence. It dawned on him why Velvet had stressed the importance of making a favorable impression. Apart from Zestial and the twins, you stood as one of the strongest and most enduring overlords. In Vox's mind, securing your alliance was imperative for the success of his company. Your potential support would make his endeavors foolproof. Everything had to be flawless – not for any personal reasons, of course, but solely for the sake of his company. He needed you.

Making your rounds to guests, you began to get closer to your colleagues. With a wave to Stolas, and a nod to Zeezie, you run into the Radio Demon himself, Alastor. He grins, sharp teeth getting you. He smiles and nods his head, and you nod back. Alastor takes in your stoic expression, before carefully taking in your outfit.

“My, my, Madame, you’ve truly outdone yourself tonight. Your choice in attire is as captivating as ever – a perfect blend of elegance and sensibility. Quite the spectacle for the grand event, don’t you think?” He asked, holding his arm out to you. You take it, and the two of you walk around the lobby together, conversing.

“Well you don’t look to bad for yourself. Maybe going into hibernation was perfect for you.” You say back, and he grins.

“You’re too kind darling.” He says, dead heart quickening. He puts a hand to his chest, mocking fragility. “Your words leave me breathless my dear.” He says with false dramatics. You roll your eyes and smack his arm playfully.

“Oh please, your ego is quite large enough already, yes?” You ask. He doesn’t say much else, but instead, gently moves you to the side while you look at your shadows, now waltzing around in the middle of the lobby, putting on a performance.

“Did you plan that?” Alastor asks. You shake your head.

“No, but the music is perfect for it, so I let them be. They’re already trapped with me, I might as well make them useful.” You say, and Alastor just hums, a laugh track playing. However, as the two of you walk, his track screeches to a halt upon seeing Vox approach the two of you.

“Madame.” Vox says, nodding his head. His expression is serious, and though you’ve heard of him, you’ve never seen him.

“Ah hello. Vox I presume?” You ask, free hand reaching forward to shake his own outstretched hand. The two of you shake hands, and Alastor can’t ignore the way he fights to keep his smile. Why he could just shove his staff right into that flace faced fuckers scree-

“Alastor, I suppose you’ve met Mr.Vox before, correct?” You ask. Alastor nods with a smile, and you notice the way it stretches almost painfully across his face. It makes you uneasy, but you ignore the feeling. He’d surely tell about what this is about later on in the night you supposed.

“Why yes we have! I’ve made him loose his signal quite a few times.” Alastor says with a laugh, his laugh track playing. Vox doesnt say anything, though he doesnt have too as his eye twitching had given enough away. The two clearly did not like each other. Than again, you had felt the same way about Alastor when you first met him, so the feeling was understandable.

“Madame, a dance?” Vox asked, turning his attention back to you. You thought for a moment, before untangling your arm from Alastors and nodding to Vox, taking his outstretched hand to you and leading you to the dance floor, which now had a couple other sinners dancing as well. Alastor held onto his staff tight, but relaxed as you discreetly slid him a card. In white with black lettering, cursive font. Seat number five. He was invited to your table. Guaranteed a seat. That was enough to have him back in light spirits, now searching out his dear friend Rosie to share the good news.

Velvet had been looking for you all over, her assistant close in toe. She had tried her hardest to get to you when you initially made your enterance, but alas you had been too overcrowded with people for her to get to you. She had heard rumors about how you hated rudeness and disrespect. That meant no interruptions, and no loud speaking, or vulgar language. She was sure to keep herself in check, and that meant her colleagues too. So, naturally, you could imagine her shock upon seeing Vox dancing with you on the dance floor, black dress twirling at your feet. You looked so regal, so elegant, flawless. She wanted to be just like you. She waited patiently on the sidelines, waiting for the dance to end. She could see the two of you having a conversation, but couldn’t pinpoint what about.

“So, I presume you’re one of the, newer overlords?” You asked as the two of you danced. Vox chuckled, leading you slowly.

“New? Well, maybe to you I would be. I heard you haven’t really left your own head for quite some time.” Vox says lowly. You nod, letting him dip you.

“Yes that would be correct. So what are you supposed to be exactly?” You ask, quite unsure of his purpose. Overlords are meant to have a strong leading purpose in hell, so what was his?

“Well, you’re looking at the head of Vox Tech. A software company.” He says, and you hum in understanding.

“So modern technology.” You confirm, and he nods, pearly whites shining brightly back at you.

“You’re looking at the future Madame.” Vox says, spinning you quickly, before bringing you close by your hip.

“Interesting. So, what’s your social influence?” You ask. Vox thinks for a moment, before laughing to himself.

“People have televisions in all their homes. Any piece of modern technology comes strictly from me. With a little mind control, there isn’t any influence I don’t have.” Vox says, noticing a sinner walk by with a smart watch, to which he holds a finger up to you, sending himself through it, and then to another sinner with their smartphone, making his way around the room in seconds before he’s back in front of you, stepping in time for the next number. “See? Nothing I can’t do.” He says with a wink. You nod slowly, looking around the room. Being back out in the spotlight after being gone for so long makes you feel a bit, behind. But with an overlord like this in your circle, maybe this could be a way for you to keep up with the current world, get you back up to pace. The dance finally comes to a close, and the two of you bow to one another, before you summon a card, handing it to Vox. Seat number nine. Vox grinned at you, giving you a nod. You nod back, before looking at another sinner who’s asked to speak with you. With that, you leave Vox at the dance floor, white card in hand. His spot at your table was secured. But, this made his emotions churn even more. What was this feeling he had? He was happy yes, but for the companies sake. But, maybe for once, he could mix just a little business with pleasure.

Charlotte had lost her partner at the bar and had been looking for her for quite some time. However, instead of finding Vagatha, she found you instead. You had seemed to be finishing a conversation with Vox, and though she disliked him, she took her chance the moment she saw you walking away.

“Excuse me, Madame- Miss- Um.” Charlotte said quickly, causing you to stop in your tracks. She got closer to you, now a few inches away. It was then she realized how tall you were compared to her. You were easily around seven feet, or just under that. With your heels that was. You looking down at her made her feel intimidated, small, like the child. But, feeling her nerves rise, she began to ramble again. “I know you probably have a lot to do tonight and I don’t want to take up your time, I just want you to hear me out, if that’s okay with you of course.” Charlotte said quickly, pausing to inhale. You narrowed your eyes at her, snapping your fingers and causing a shadow to appear next to you, singular glass on the tray. It was the same tall shadow from earlier, with the same drink. Again, using testing the temperature of the drink, before nodding to you so you could take it. You lifted the glass to your lips, maintaining eye contact with Charlotte as you drank the wine in one go, putting it down on the tray with a sigh.

“Go on.” You replied, now intrigued. You knew who she was. “You’re the girl with the hotel? Lucifer and Lilith’s child, correct?” You asked. Charlotte smiled, stars appearing in her eyes as she gushed.

“You know who I am?” She asked surprised. You nodded, cracking a small smile for the first time tonight, causing many eyes to stare in shock. You hardly ever smiled. In fact, there were three counts ever of you smiling in hell. Once, when you first got to hell, killing and claiming territory, and smiling once you finally settled down. The second being after World War One, when so many souls came to you seeking ‘help’ yet only being met with contracts. Third, being just before the extermination you disappeared after. You had gone through your belongings from Earth that managed to get brought to you from the surface, and was looking at family photos with one other overlord. Zestial. Now, at the gala, here was Lucifer’s brat, as some would call, making you crack a grin at her giddiness.

“Of course I know who you are. Do you forget I know your mother? You’re practically a niece of mine at this point.” You say, motioning at Charlotte to walk with you. “Now, what is this hotel I’ve heard about?” You ask. She beams at this and follows excitedly.

“OkaysobasicallyIhavethishotelandit’scalledthe’HazbinHotel’whichisforsinnerswhowantobebetterandredeemthemselvestotryand-“ You stopped her, allowing her to take a breath of air after rambling for so long. You lead her outside, finding a nearby bench to sit on. With how quickly she spoke, she needed all the ‘fresh’ air she could get right?

“Why are you speaking so quickly? Also, sinners who want to better themselves? Where would you find those?” You ask with a laugh, the same tall shadow appearing with a glass for you. Again, you sip on your drink as Charlotte collects herself together.

“Usually if I explain slowly people cut me off and I never get to finish, so I’ve gotten used to just saying everything as quickly as possible so they don’t cut me off and actually listen to what I have to say.” Charlotte says, again rather quickly. “Like I was saying; the Hazbin Hotel is a place for sinners who want to better themselves to possibly try to get into heaven through redemption, and I know what you’re thinking, we’ve all died and got sent here, but I believe people can change and that everyone deserves second chances.” Charlotte explained. She saw the look of confusion on your face, and began to speak again. “We already have two residents, who are making strides to be better people every day with group activities and I believe it’s working. If I could just get other people on board, people like you on board who actually believe in my cause, then we can get rid of extermination and maybe save some people here.” Charlotte explained. You thought for a moment, and the fact you hadn’t laughed in her face yet gave her some hope that maybe she had gotten through to you. You stood up, setting your empty glass on the tray before the shadow disappeared.

“Honestly,” You said with a sigh, looking around, your eyes landing on your shadows serving other guests. “The entire project sounds delusional.” You said sharply. Charlotte looked down at this, defeated, before standing as well.

“Well, thank you for hearing me out I guess. You’re the only other person who has aside from Alastor. So, thank you for your time.” Charlotte said, turning to walk back inside the gala, head hanging low with tears brimming her eyes. Maybe it was the connection to her mother, maybe it was because she reminded you of her mother. But, something had to change.

“I didn’t say we were done speaking Charlotte.” You said sharply again. She stopped and tensed up at that, before turning around, wiping a tear that slipped down her cheek.

“W-what?” She asked. You stepped forward to her, putting your hands flat together before smoke encased them. Then seconds later it was gone, and in your hands was a white card. You handed it to her with a nod.

“It sounds delusional. But, maybe someone will like that about you.” You said. She read the card, face dropping once she realized what it meant.

“So, so I can sit with you tonight? I can pitch my idea?” She asked excitedly. You nodded, patting her shoulder.

“Yes you may. I’ll allow you to have your time. You get thirty minutes, there will be overlords and royalty there, I’m sure someone is bound to take an interest in it.” You say. Charlotte squeals excitedly before jumping up and down, clapping her hands.

“Oh my goodness! Thank you so so so much!! You won’t regret this I swear!” Charlotte said, and you just nodded.

“Of course I won’t. I don’t make mistakes.” You say, before walking past her. “Oh, and thank Alastor for that. He was insistent you be present at my table tonight.” You say to her. She’s left standing outside in shock, watching as you walk back into the lobby to socialize with other guests.

It seemed Velvet had finally caught you, rushing her assistant to follow you as she made her way over to you.

“Madame, you look absolutely breathtaking tonight! Your presence here is like a beacon of individuality and charisma,” she exclaims, eyes sparkling. You look her up and down for a moment, stopping in your tracks to listen to her. Something feels, odd about this one. “I’ve been ardently following your unique style for ages, and it’s truly an honor to be in your presence. The way you effortlessly blend boldness with subtlety, it’s unparalleled, truly outstanding. Now, I’ve ventured into a daring new fashion brand, and I can’t help but envision you as the unrivaled star in my collection. Picture it: the illustrious Madame, gracing the world with a revolutionary expression of style. This would be the perfect way to make your way back into the public eye, and of course you would look ravishing doing so.” Velvet said, her assistant handing you sketches of Velvets designs, and photographs of some of her work on her models. “So, what do you say Madame? Will you be the luminary of a new era in Hell’s fashion?” Velvet says. You grow quiet for a moment. Aside from Rosie, you’ve had no other overlord come into the fashion realm, and Rosie is only partially in it as a side hustle, but everyone knows it’s your thing. The designs are things you would never wear, bold and odd colors together, like a child’s clothing line.

“Is this for children?” You ask. Velvet nearly chokes and her assistant tenses up.

“No Madame. It’s modern fashion.” Velvet says cautiously. She knows what she’s doing. Correcting you. No one ever does that. You don’t need to be corrected because you know what you’re looking at. A sad fashion designer who wants you to slap your name on her sloppy work so if it goes up in flames it’s your reputation taking the fall, not her’s.

“So all your models look like they came from a whore house? Correct?” You ask. Velvet’s jaw drops and her assistant hides a laugh. Velvet, inhaling softly, tries her hardest not to cry on the spot. You’re her idol. She can’t fuck this up.

“No Madame! Not at all!” She says, showing you a design she had made personally for you. Based on your other collections, she knows your favorite color is black, so that’s a plus. All she had to do was add a bit more, of her flair to it. It was a black jumpsuit, with a fur coat that dropped down to the knees, black with white fur around the edges of the coat and the cuffs. The sketch wasn’t half bad, and quite frankly better than the others. Maybe it was the forgiving mood Charlotte had put you in. Velvet hands you the design and you skim over it, taking in the details, the hair and eye makeup, the shoes and jewelry notes written on the side. The sketches aren’t bad, but modern fashion isn’t your fashion.

“I’ll consider it. Do you mind if I keep these?” You ask. Velvet shakes her head, handing you the folder from her assistants hands.

“Please, take whatever you’d like Madame!” Velvet says. You nod, flipping through the pages.

“You’ll hear from me soon. In the meantime, I want new sketches of these designs. Modern fashion is fast fashion. Nothing stays memorable that way. You want to be good?” You ask her, and she nods quickly. “Then be better. Modesty and elegance are what people strive for. It radiates power, and everyone is greedy for that. If you can sell that through an item, you won’t ever go out of style.” You say, handing her back the folder, keeping the sketch she’d done for you. Well, at least you liked something. Vevelt nodded her head and watched you walk away, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Um, miss?” Her assistant asked.

“What?” Velvet asked annoyingly.

“She left a card on the folder.”

At that , Velvets eyes snapped down at the folder, before she screamed in excitement. Seat number six. She was invited to your table. Mission accomplished. Now, with only six seats left to fill, you were off to talk to your other guests. The night had proved to be interesting, and you knew your encore would not disappoint.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin vaggie #hazbin demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere vox #yandere vox x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #isuckatwritingsobenice #isuckatwritingsobenice infernal shadows

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 7 months

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It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 19] || [Chapter 21]

Rating: E Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost x Soap || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 2.1K~ cw: SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, protected sex, ejaculation, voyeurism (in person and digital). Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: he's their (under)boss for a reason.

My dumbass was in such a hurry I forgot to tag my lovely @mothymunson who encouraged me to write this when I was lost where to fit it + gave me extra ideas for the dynamic! 🫶

Chapter 20: Control

It’s been two weeks since that lazy Sunday you spent with Johnny. He had to leave in a hurry, departing on a mission, unable to tell you where he’d be going or when he’d be back…

Simon and Kyle were already on a mission of their own by Sunday so… You’ve spent these last two weeks alone.

It’s been quiet without them… And frankly… a bit lonely.

You used to like having time to yourself after the break-up… But now?

You’ve been with Leah and Mia for dinner a couple times… And although you love your girlfriends, and enjoyed yourself greatly while gossiping with them (and my, my, did you gossip) you find yourself missing Simon, Kyle and Johnny.

It’s 5:30 P.M. on Wednesday and you’re in your kitchen, making something quick for dinner, when there’s a knock on your door.

Eyes squinting in surprise at the lack of expected guests, you immediately think the worst. It’s Ethan. It’s Ethan and he’s pissed that Johnny and Simon fucked him up and he’s here for revenge and you’re alone and-

“Sweetheart, it’s me.” Simon’s voice from the other side of the door relaxes you and you rush across the sitting room and pull open the door.

“Bloody hell, you spooked me!” You say softly as you look up at him. He’s still in full gear and slightly out of breath, as if he ran over to your house the moment he landed on base.

“Hi!” You greet as he pulls off his mask and wraps his arms around you. He steps inside, making you step back with him as he spins you and kisses you, closing the door behind him.

You feel him guide you over to the living room couch and lower you onto it, making you squeal and giggle in surprise. “Simon!” You’re able to murmur as he lowers himself atop of you.

“Missed you… missed you…” He grumbles as he kisses you again, one of his hands on your hip, the other supporting his weight on the throw pillows by your head.

“Missed you too…” You admit, causing him to groan under his breath. His fingers find the straps that hold his vest in place and he quickly undoes them and takes it off, dropping it haphazardly on the floor next to you.

“Simon…” You whisper before he captures your mouth with his again, his tongue finding yours and making you moan. Oh, how you’ve missed him… Your hands trail down his chest and arms, unzipping his fleece jacket and he allows you to take it off him, leaving him in a black t-shirt underneath.

Your hands trail down lower, finding the utility belt at his waist. Your fingers just barely graze the thick, hard bulge in his cargo pants as you try to undo his belt, but one of his hand sharply stops you by gripping your wrist with three fingers.

You pull back from the kiss, the two of you out of breath. Your eyebrows are lowered in concern and your eyes softened. “What?” You asked him softly.

“I’m not-” He trailed off for a moment and huffed before burying his face in your neck. “Not ready for that.” He told you softly. “My body isn’t… I don’t want you to…”

“Oh…” You said, a bit surprised. You had noticed his reaction had been the same he used to have whenever you touched his mask in the past… And if back then you didn’t probe, you certainly wouldn’t now. “Okay.” You told him.

“Can we just…” He trailed off and slowly grabbed your waist with his hand, grinding his crotch lightly against yours. It jostled you a bit and you bit your lip.

“Yeah… we can dry-hump, Simon…” You told him in a reassuring tone, which only made him groan again and hump against you once more.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulder and neck as he fixed his grip on you and rubbed his bulge against your body in the thin lounge pants you had changed into after work.

Just as you’re just starting to kiss again, with Simon murmuring more sweet nothings of how much he missed you, there’s a new knocking on the door. Simon groaned in complaint and buried his face in your neck again.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell… He’s fast.” Simon grumbled and pushed up to his feet, sliding off you and helping you sit up.

“Who…?” You asked, a bit light-headed from the intense make-out session.

“Kyle.” He complained as he fixed his bulge in his pants with his hand, while waddling his way over to the door and throwing it open.

“You sneaky bastard.” Kyle said to Simon and pointed a finger at him while coming into the flat.

“Hi, Kyle…” You said softly, receiving a ‘Hi, lovie’ in response as he took off his shoes.

Kyle’s also out of breath but, unlike Simon, he’s changed clothes. “Guess what, Simon here waited until I got in the shower before he ran off to come see you. Left me stranded back at base!”

You can’t help but giggle as Simon’s scarred mouth morphs into a smug, proud-of-himself smirk. “Oops.” He said.

Kyle gave the two of a you a once over. “Ah… I see. Someone was… eager, huh?” He teases and uses his chin to point at the obvious bulge in Simon’s pants.

The younger man moves over to the couch and stands behind it before kissing you on the lips just as hard as Simon did, taking your breath away and making your shoulders sag as you sigh in delight at the feeling of his warm mouth on yours.

Pulling back, Kyle licks his lips and winks at you. “Good thing I got here when I did, hm?” He teases and looks at Simon before returning his gaze to you. “Now we can really get the party started…” He adds.

“Oh… Oh, fuck…” You whine at the top of your lungs, your eyes rolling back with each thrust inside of you.

Kyle’s lying on the bed under you, his thighs spread as he has you in a full nelson. His hands hold you behind your neck, fingers intertwined, your knees hooked up on his forearms to keep you spread open.

Kyle’s big. Really big. More than you expected. Considering the only points of comparison you’ve got are John and Ethan… It’s not like either of them was exactly small, but Kyle’s constantly bottoming out inside you without having to throw his whole weight into it. He’s also perfect shaved, not an inch of hair on him… anywhere. Other than his face, of course.

Your bodies are slick with sweat and your moans and his grunts and groans echo in the bedroom. You can barely keep your eyes open and if it weren’t the fact Simon in your field of view, you’d have given up altogether.

Simon’s sitting across from you and Kyle, having cleared your clothes’ chair and taken a seat in it, watching you and Kyle with keen eyes… His large, rough hand is wrapped around his own cock, a long one, the tip red and angry. He strokes it slowly, almost lazily, as he watches you get properly fucked by Kyle.

Unlike John (and Johnny, as you found out during your bath), Simon and Kyle are both cut… And Simon has something that you didn’t expect. Piercings. A Jacob’s ladder, you’re pretty sure it’s called. Four barbells stacked on the underside of his shaft, which he only leaves visible for a few seconds every time his fingers uncover it.

Considering Kyle’s stayed quiet about it, you’re pretty sure he hasn’t spotted them, either from having his own eyes closed, or because you’re in the way. Either way, you don’t mind it, at all, that you get the view all to yourself, even for just a second.

The sight of Simon sat there, legs spread, his cock on display, his big hands and strong arms moving slowly as he watches you and Kyle is an amazing one… And hearing Kyle losing his mind behind you, too into the moment to succeed at any amount of dirty talk or at saying anything coherent just makes it better.

“Fuck… Yeah… Fuck… You feel… Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell…” Kyle grunts behind you as he keeps rocking his hips against your ass, making sure to plunge hard and deep inside you, not giving you time to breath before he’s bottoming out again, the pace unforgivingly fast.

You watch closely as Simon stops for a moment and shifts around on the chair he’s sitting on before pulling out his phone. He lets out a chuckle as he looks at the screen, then, he fidgets around with it for a moment, texting someone.

It’s barely a minute later when you hear the signature sound of a FaceTime call blasting from the phone’s speakers. Simon accepts it and aims the back camera at you and Kyle.

“Say hi to Johnny, sweetheart.” Simon demands, his tone surprisingly bossy, as he goes back to stroking his large cock.

“H-Hi, Johnny…!” You whine aloud, just barely able to speak without melting, your mind slowly emptying of all thoughts beside the feeling of Kyle inside you and Simon masturbating across from you.

Your breath is ragged as Kyle speeds up his thrusts even more, his grip on the back of your neck tightening and tensing up, his hips moving so erratically that it makes you squeal louder. “Kyle! OH FUCK!” You whine, eyes rolling back and your face wincing lightly from desperation.

“Slow down, Kyle.” Simon demands. “Slow and deep.” He adds. You hear Kyle grunt and he murmurs something incomprehensible in response as he does what he’s told. His motions slow and become more paced and calm as Kyle himself tenses up underneath you.

You notice how Kyle’s thighs tense up, his veins bulging and throbbing as he controls himself not to squirm, clearly trying his best not to lose it and to obey what Simon says.

“Mmm… that’s it… That’s it…” Simon praises, his eyes going back and forth between the sight of you and Kyle, and Johnny on his phone. “Nice and slow, Kyle…” He continues saying.

Kyle quakes underneath you, his breath getting a bit more ragged and you swear you hear him gulp down as he tries to be good for Simon and for you.

“Johnny’s enjoying it, aren’t you, Johnny?” He speaks to the phone. You can’t hear the reply from the Scot, but considering how Simon’s chuckling, the answer seems to be a yes.

“Simon… Fuck…” Kyle grunts. “This is… t-torture!” He’s able to get out, his thighs twitching and his arms tightening their hold on the back of your legs. “I’m going to- Fuck!” He grunts.

“Go on, pretty boy.” Simon teases. Something about the look in his eye, the little mischievous smirk on his lips… God, for someone who’s afraid of being touched, he sure knows what the fuck he’s doing… It’s almost intoxicating, the way he’s exerting control on everyone in the room and even Johnny over the phone.

You can feel the knot in your stomach tightening more and more as you experience all these feelings at once, your mind steadily clearing of any thoughts other than the prickling of stars in the corner of your eyes and the heat increasing more and more.

“Aaah-” Kyle hisses as he keeps moving slowly and deeply, gritting his teeth behind your back and huffing through his nose with barely restricted euphoria. “Fuck… Fuck…” He grunts.

“F-FUCK!” His voice shouting as he loses his composure and buries himself to the hilt inside you with a sharp motion of his hips… and another… and another… Completely disregarding Simon’s commands to go slow… And it makes your eyes roll as your orgasm hits, causing you to shudder and twitch…

But, instead of moaning his name, you find yourself moaning Simon’s, your head unable to dip back due to Kyle’s grip on it, and forcing you to stare right at Simon as you fall over the edge of your climax.

Behind you, Kyle is losing his own mind, spilling his come in the confines of the condom… And you watch through a lidded, barely-aware gaze, as after a few more strokes, Simon’s cock throbs and twitches… before a few ropes of cum shoot in quick succession all over his lower stomach, which he had the presence of mind to lift his t-shirt out of.

The bedroom falls into complete silence as Kyle pulls out and slowly lets go of you, carefully helping get you out of the strained position that’ll likely leave your legs and joints sore the next few days.

“Good job...” Simon breaks the silence as he tries to catch his breath, his head dipped back against the wall behind him, his eyes lazily trailing the sight of you and Kyle on the bed, and then back to Johnny on the phone.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell…” You can finally hear Johnny speak through the speakers now that the room is silent. “You lot better repeat that when I’m not overseas and can join in…!” He quips, drawing laughter out of all of you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #soap x reader #cod smut

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nolita-fairytale · 2 months

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something will happen | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter one

summary: you and luca embark on another a big new adventure together: one of second dreams and second chances. the long-awaited sequel to 'burn your life down.' titled inspired by something will happen - berlioz.

warnings: fluff, light angst, grief, death, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, off-canon connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: it's really happening! i can't promise i'll be updating frequently, but season 3 got me inspired and i've really missed this world. this feels more like an intro than a chapter but here we are anyway. all italicized scenes are a part of the same conversation. i just wanted to play with something new so i hope it makes sense. lmk if you'd like to be tagged.

masterlist | chapter two

Late Spring

“Well? What do you think?” Luca asks you, the anticipation in the silence between the two of you palpable.

“I don’t know!” you practically exclaim, all giddy at the mere idea of it. You chew on your lower lip as you wait for him to say something next.

“I’m just saying. It’s not a half-bad idea and ehm… well, I’ve been thinking about it. A lot, actually,” he reasons with a shrug. He sends a loving glance your way because you look so damn cute wrapped in your twin-sized duvet that makes up one half of the bed you share.

“For how long?” you ask, cautiously.

“Dunno,” Luca shrugs. “Ever since Marcus mentioned it, I suppose.”

He’s almost too casual about this—as if he hasn’t been stuck on the idea for the last month or so since his friend had returned to the States.

This is most certainly not a lazy Saturday morning with breakfast in bed kind of conversation.

This is a paperwork and really nice pens kind of conversation

A big step.

Huge, even.

You’ve already agreed to live with the man.

And now this?

“Luca…” you struggle to get out on an exhale. “I just. It’s not that I don’t want to. I just-.” You pause, collecting your thoughts as you shake off all your nerves before choosing to pivot.

“What if we just-.” you begin again, taking a breath as you brace yourself to jump over this specific cliff. “Total fantasy. No limitations, no logistics, then sure. Okay. We could talk about it.”

“Alright,” Luca accepts with a nod, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes like he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. He sits up straight, pushing himself off of where he leans against the headboard, shifting so that he’s closer to you. The smile that spreads across his lips begins to grow as repeats your words back to you. “Then, my love, total fantasy. No limitations. No logistics. What’s the dream?”

—---------------------------------------

Summer

The dream was only supposed to be this—one where you’d begin living with your very sexy and very sweet pastry chef of a boyfriend—and yet, months later, as you move your things into Luca’s Vesterbro flat, your thoughts are consumed by ‘what ifs.’

What if you did it?

What if you opened the restaurant of your shared dreams?

What if your dreams came true with the love of your life by your side?

Opening Kokuore had been different. It was your first step towards your next chapter, one where you had moved to Copenhagen in search of a new beginning. But this would be… a proclamation: that you were here to stay, that you and Luca could be something permanent, that you could be more than just romantic partners.

Proof of a life well-lived and a life well-loved.

Kokuore had been your dream, your first, your baby. Sure, there’d been talk of expansion—maybe a bigger space, or something along the lines of that—but you hadn’t thought too deeply about a second.

You hadn’t thought about what would come next.

And then he did.

Luca.

“Need any help, love?” Luca offers, watching you scoop two stacked boxes up into your arms, ready to be hauled into the bedroom.

“Nope!” you heave with a sigh. “Not with these. But if you could grab the other three I’ll meet you in the closet, babe.”

He smirks, calling after you with a:

“And what do you suppose we should do there?”

You chuckle in response, your voice sounding further away as you shout back, “Let’s just unpack a few of my clothes, love, before we start taking them off.”

—---------------------------------------

“Then, my love, total fantasy. No limitations. No logistics. What’s the dream?”

You sigh, like you too haven’t been thinking about it since Marcus brought it up in the first place.

“Okay, I’m not ready yet,” you preface, cautiously. “But. If we were, hypothetically speaking, talking about opening a restaurant together… I kinda love the idea of a brunch spot.” “Like Marcus said.” “Exactly.”

“Slash bakery.” “Right.”

“Hypothetically speaking.” “Of course.”

For a moment, your mind gets away from you, running wild with the fantasy that’s beginning to unfold before your eyes.

“I think I really like the idea of it being a bakery during the weekdays when we’re open,” you admit, an excitement beginning to bubble underneath the surface of all your reasons why you shouldn’t. “Maybe we do Wednesday, Thursday all grab-and-go sort of breakfast stuff in addition to the bakery.”

“Kind of like a NY-style bodega,” Luca adds, building on your idea. “You know. With a little extra finesse.”

“Yes! Then… Friday, maybe, we pivot to full breakfast/brunch till the end of Saturday,” you reply, building off what Luca’s just said.

“Think Wednesday – Saturday service would work?” he asks curiously, knowing that most places are closed on Sundays in Copenhagen.

“We could try it out. Extend our hours to Sunday down the line IF it feels right,” you reason with enough ease to worry you a little. You begin to back pedal, your mind flooded with doubt. “But-, I don’t know, honey. Don’t you think Copenhagen has enough bakeries?”

“Not ours! Copenhagen doesn’t have ours yet,” Luca protests, as soon he begins to recognize what’s going on in your head. His excitement and passion alone might convince you to do this as he sits up on his knees, his body language expressing just how fully IN he is on this idea.

His face changes—he’s only just a little more serious this time—his tone light and voice gentle as he warns you with a:

“And I’m not letting you talk to yourself out of this.” He crosses his arms over his chest almost as if it’s a challenge. “So tell me more about this bakery-slash-brunch spot you’ve got in mind.”

“Luca Davies! I don’t know where you get off thinking you can sweet talk me into this,” you scold him teasingly.

He’s even faster to reply.

“Oh I think I can.”

And this time, you know it’s a challenge.

“Fine,” you concede to him, meeting him right in the middle of his challenge. “But I don’t want this to be all about my ideas. Besides, aren’t you the one who’s been thinking about it for months now?”

—---------------------------------------

Fall

Over fresh ink that’s barely had a chance to dry, you and Mathilde clink glasses in celebration of the very big step you’ve just taken together. The contract had barely been drawn up before she charged into now-your Vesterbro home, opened a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, ready to sign on the dotted line.

A promotion, chef du cuisine, and a bigger percentage in ownership of Kokuore—a piece of your heart—now shared between the woman who helped you create your masterpiece.

“I can’t believe we’re really fucking doing this!” Mathilde practically squeals, bursting at the seams with excitement as she rests her arms against your kitchen island. The two of you sit side by side on twin bar stools, facing each other to the best of the chair’s swivel-ability.

“I know. It’s unreal and yet it feels like the right thing, yeah?” you agree, half in shock. Shifting gears, your back to business as you continue with an explanation of the ownership plan that you’ve thought long and hard about. “It’s important to me to stay involved, but most of my focus will go towards the new space for at least the next year. We’ll have weekly check-ins and Mathilde, I want you to at least consider some kind of ownership eventually in the hospitality group should we go in that direction.”

“I forgot you went to business school. It’s very sexy,” she teases, but the prospect of a hospitality group feels even more exciting.

There’s a feeling of familiarity between you and your friend as you begin to break down some of the nitty gritty details of the contract. With Luca out for a jog, it reminds you of the days when it was just you, her, and Jesper, exploring your shared wildest dreams. The nostalgia wells in your chest as you take another sip from your champagne flute.

You were really doing this and you’re so lucky you get to do it with your favorite people.

Well, with your favorite people again.

Who would’ve thought that moving to Copenhagen would bring you this grand of an adventure?

—---------------------------------------

“Fine,” Luca agrees, knowing that the way he looks at you only stokes the flames you feel for him. He’s got plenty of ideas, spent maybe too much time thinking about breakfast menus and laminated pastry doughs folded with all kinds of experimental ingredients. He hasn’t felt this creative in… well… since he met you.

“I love the idea of breakfast/brunch. And I’m already feeling really inspired by the prospect of getting to create a menu with you, darling,” Luca begins, ready to build off of your previous idea. “I guess my first question is… who will lead it?”

He’s not expecting the elated, “You, silly!” that escapes your lips without hesitation.

It’s not that he has doubts about himself, but you are the one with the business degree. You’re also the one that’s opened a restaurant before, so he'd be more than happy to let you take reins.

“Not that I’m going to totally love being on opposite schedules but…” you continue, this hypothetical conversation feeling less and less hypothetical. “...maybe I turn Kokuore over to Mathilde… spend a little more time developing this next concept with you. But. Without question, my love, I think you should lead it.”

It’s his turn to be surprised, your unwavering belief in him felt so deeply it practically takes his breath away. The only response he can get out is:

“I love you.”

“I love you,” you giggle in response.

“I guess my question for you,” you shift cautiously, as it begins to dawn on you that this is something you just might want as much as he does. “...is… is this something you want to do? I mean, I know it’s going to be a really big pivot from fine dining and-.”

“God yes!” Luca exclaims, relieved at the thought. “I’ve been dying to get away from the fine dining stuff. I-. It’ll be an adjustment, sure. But yes. Yes, it’s what I want.”

You nod as you process, listening to the conviction in your lover’s voice.

He wants this. He really wants this.

And he’s so sure.

You let out a sigh of relief as you realize you don’t have to have to suppress the feeling any longer.

“Fuck it!” you declare, as if you’re inhaling for the first time. “Fuck ‘hypothetical.’ We should totally do this, babe.”

“Yeah?” “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

A beat.

“So…” Luca trails off, the wave of excitement beginning to wash over him.

“What do we call it?”

The baritone in his voice catches your attention, and as you look at him, you can practically see it all. In Luca you’ve found your second chapter, your second great love, and now your second restaurant. The word falls out of your mouth as if it were destiny:

“Seconds. I think… we should call it Seconds.”

“I love it,” he grins back at you.

And now, you’re just as certain about a second restaurant, because you get to do it with him. Luca chuckles, catching your gaze once more, almost as if he’s about to say ‘I told you so,’ as he utters a cheeky:

“Well, love. Looks like we gotta call Marcus and let him know he’s about to own 10% of a restaurant.”

#chef luca #will poulter #luca the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear headcanon #luca x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #chef luca x reader #pastry chef luca #burn your life down #something will happen #berlioz #the bear season 3

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chuuyascumsock · 1 year

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Hop On That Delulu Train Bestie || Minors DNI

Summary: HOOOLY S H I T. WHY. DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF? May you all find peace one day and cure your chronic horniness and delusions for men who would never want you irl <3 (Just like me fr). Anyways, this has been sitting and gathering cobwebs for weeks now, but I’ve decided to finish it in honor of chapter 109. Keep being delulu babe.

Tags: Dazai Osamu/Reader, Afab reader, Soft Dom Dazai, Fingering, Cunnilingus (Why Is That Such A Silly Word), Pussy IS Therapy Ig, He Just Seems Like An Avid Pussy Eater Idk, Would Definitely Use Your Thighs As Earmuffs, Sorry Y’all Don’t Get The Dick <3, I Was Too Lazy To Turn This Into A Full Smut.

The quiet hum of a low light lamp buzzes through your ears as your eyes flicker over the words to the page mindlessly. Reading was boring, watching television was boring, everything was boring.

You look over to the clock on your nightstand and let out a loud sigh. Nearly midnight and he had still yet to walk through the door as he usually does and smother you with sweet nothings and soft kisses. Your gaze falls back onto your book, the romance novel glaring back with the most dull descriptions and irritating plot. You shut the book, tossing it aside as you groan and knock your head back against the headboard of your bed.

Picking up your phone that sits on the nightstand dresser, you note the empty screen with no obnoxious texts from a certain brunette. It was almost worrying not seeing his name on your lock screen with a bunch of random emojis spammed next to it. Unlocking your phone, you re-read your last text sent to him nearly two hours ago— asking when he’d be home.

You start to wonder if he’s late because of another failed suicide attempt, but you quickly let the thought pass when you finally hear the front door open. It closes almost silently, muffled footsteps growing closer to your room. Your eyes focus on your door frame as Dazai finally steps in, his clothes disheveled and hair messy.

“ ‘Samu…” You murmur, slightly taken aback at his appearance.

His warm brown eyes travel over to the bed where you lay and a small smile curls onto his lips as he shuffles over and climbs onto your side of the bed, his face and upper body planting atop of your legs. He heavily inhales before exhaling, his hot breath blowing against the skin of your thighs. Subconsciously, one of your hands makes its way into his hair and begins to comb through his tangled tresses. His arms wrap around under your legs and lock them in place.

“My love…” He whispers back, his body relaxing on you as his feet hang over the bottom edge of the bed. He kicks his shoes off and allows them to thump to the ground.

“You didn’t answer my text, something happen?” Your brows scrunch together in concern.

Dazai sighs, pressing a light kiss against your thigh, “My phone was in my pocket during a shoot out and it was sadly destroyed.”

You wait for him to make a joke about wishing the bullet went through his skull instead, but it never comes to your surprise. “Oh… Well, I guess we can go look for a new one tomorrow then.” You finish unknotting his hair with your fingers as a moment of silence settles over the both of you before you add, “I’m guessing today was rough then?”

He hums in return, enjoying the way your hand runs through his hair affectionately. “Kunikida made me do my paperwork,” He pouts, his chin coming to rest on your thighs to look up at you.

You briefly laugh, patting his head before speaking with a mock-sympathetic tone, “Aw, my poor baby…”

He huffs, burying his face back into the plush of your thighs, “You don’t sound very genuine, that’s very mean you know… He’s always bullying me around.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, knowing full well that whatever shit Kunikida gives Dazai— he deserves every bit of it for his shenanigans. You’ve only met him a few times as well as Dazai’s other co-workers, but it was safe to say that if anyone was being bullied— it was that poor bastard, Kunikida. “Oh, really? And you don’t bother the hell out of him until he loses his shit?” You stop running your hand through his hair.

Dazai gasps, overdramatically, of course, “I would never! Kunikida is my respectable co-worker who I value and treat with the utmost—“

“Then why do I get calls from him begging me: “For the love of God, please come get your terrorizing bastard of a boyfriend, I can’t do it anymore.” Huh?”

Cue another gasp, “You’re talking to other men?! Kunikida no less!?”

You roll your eyes, “It was originally because he called me to come get you every time you decided to take a dip in the canal, now it’s a complaint hotline for you.” You poke an index finger against his forehead firmly.

“Owie…” He brings a hand up to rub his forehead, bottom lip jutting out.

“You’re a handful, you know that?” You grumble, staring down at him, “I deserve a medal for putting up with your shenanigans.”

“Isn’t my love enough?” Dazai whines, making puppy eyes at you.

A sigh leaves your lips, “Yeah… You’re lucky you’re cute.”

His lips quirk up back into a smile and he nuzzles his face back against your skin, placing small kisses to your thighs.You don’t really keep count, but it takes a few pecks until he gently nips at your thigh.

“Hey—“ You squeak, pushing at his head which causes him to chuckle, “You’re doing that on purpose.”

The kisses on your thighs grow sloppy before he moves his arms from around your legs to nudge them apart, his body fitting between your legs. He quickly maneuvers your thighs until the backs of your thighs press against the tops of his shoulders, arms wrapping around your legs to keep you against him. “What? I’m just getting comfortable, my love.” He plays off innocently, his cheek squishing against one of your thighs as he looks up at you.

Your brows furrow, heat crawling up your neck as you glare back suspiciously, “I know what you’re doing.”

“And is it a bad thing?” He chimes back, going back to kissing your thighs.

You shiver, feeling his wet lips leave a trail of saliva to air along the insides of your thighs, “You know I’m—“

“Sensitive? Yeah,” He trails off with a noise that sounds like a groan mixed with a hum.

At this point, you feel a tingle crawl up your spine and warmth spread across your face. A fuzziness begins to form in your mind as his lips grow closer to the edge of your sleep shorts.

He pauses when he gets to your shorts, his face pulling away and his hands coming to tug at the hem of your shorts. “Want these off,” He mumbles, pulling at them.

You’re quick to lift your hips and slip your shorts down your legs, Dazai’s hands fumbling along yours to throw them to the side. He buries his face between your legs once more to press his lips along your inner thighs until he reaches your underwear. His face pushes forward until his lips press against your cunt and nose nudges your clit through the thin fabric.

A strangled moan passes your lips as he meets your flustered gaze, and although you can’t see his mouth with it pressed against you— you can tell he’s smirking through his eyes.

He softly breathes in before placing a searing kiss against your clothed pussy, causing your thigh to slightly twitch in his grasp. “I missed this pretty little pussy— haven’t tasted it in days,” He groans before bringing a finger to pull your underwear aside and reveal your glossy folds to him. His gaze is greedy as he parts your folds with two fingers, mouth watering at your slicked insides.

“Don’t stare…”

“Awe, but I can’t help it— looks so good,” Dazai breathes out before leaning forward to slip his tongue flat between your spread folds, licking up to your clit to collect your taste on his tongue. “Tastes good too…” He groans, lapping his tongue through for a second time, “I could spend the whole day eating this pussy out until you’re quivering and begging for me to stop.”

A strung-out whimper escapes your throat as you watch him. Heat burns the nape of your neck, the dizzy feeling hitting you twice as hard as your eyelids lull.

Dazai is shameless in his sucking and slurping of lips and tongue against your dripping cunt as loudly as possible. He doesn’t hold back any of his needy groans and muffled whimpers as he tastes every drop of arousal you have to offer. He strains painfully against the confines of his pants as he holds back the urge to fold you in half and fuck you on his cock until your drooling cunt is filled to the brim with his cum.

His tongue delves into your tight hole, the warm muscle wriggling against your clenching walls before sliding out. After repeating the process a few times, he moves to suck at your throbbing clit, sighing at the way it pulses against his tongue. There’s a small ‘pop’ when he pulls away reluctantly to replace his mouth with his lengthy, thin fingers.

“I love the way you squirm under my touch— drives me crazy— you know that?” Dazai grins before sinking a finger into your wet hole.

An airy gasp leaves your lips as you try to move away from him in surprise, only to have his grip tighten around your thigh with his free hand. “ ‘Samu, I—“ Your fingers clench into the sheets on the bed.

“I know, my love— feel good?” He borderline coos, eyes glued to the way you sucked his finger back in with every pump. “I bet it does, your fingers just don’t reach like mine, do they?” He adds a second finger, his digits curving into your gummy sweet spot.

Your hips involuntarily buck in to meet his thrusting fingers, your pussy squelching around his lithe digits. He leers at the obscene image of your sweet cunt swallowing his fingers down to the knuckle with a lewd moan.

“Good girl, keep fucking yourself on my fingers like that,” He croons, leaning forward to suck at your puffy clit again.

Surges of pleasure rampage within you as you clamp your shaking thighs around his head, grinding your aching pussy against his mouth and fingers. “M’gonna come, s’too much—“ You whimper.

“Come on my tongue— wanna feel that pussy clench around my fingers,” Dazai muffles a groan against your sensitive clit which has you coming undone and vehemently shivering from the feeling of your climax.

Dazai slides his fingers out of your pulsing hole and presses his tongue against your drenched pussy as you ride out your orgasm— his tongue not missing a single drip of arousal. He sighs quietly when he’s finished and pulls away, your bare sex covered in merely his spit now.

With your chest heaving from the aftermath, your head weakly shifts to watch Dazai sit up on his knees and hover over. “ ‘S-Samu…”

“Shh, I know, my love,” He laughs softly— and you think he’s going to redress you before cuddling into you like he usually does, but he doesn’t. Instead, his hand trails down to unzip his pants, the tip of his pre-cum leaking cock peeking out of his waistband. He pushes both his pants and boxers to his mid thighs before stroking his hard cock.

“You’re tired, so why don’t you just lay back and let me fuck that pretty pussy to sleep, hm?”

#dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #dazai smut #bsd smut #devious dambi smuts

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jasntodds · 3 months

Text

Penance [3]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 10,943

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, a little bit of angst, some fluff, mentions of death, mentions of injuries, the case jason is working is a reference to red hood: lost days

Summary:❝Thesus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. Thesus: Stain them. I don’t care.❞

It’s been a month and a half since Crane’s reign of terror was stopped, leaving Gotham to finally return to normal. But, what is normal? After everything Jason and you have been through, it seems normal might be some unobtainable dream state. But that’s not going to stop either of you from trying and maybe, you’ll get lucky in the end. At the end of it, the two of you have suffered enough, right?

Right?

A/N: I'm so sorry for the late chapter!! I had family from out of town here that I haven't seen in like 15 years lol and then I was sick lol You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

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You head home, the smile not leaving your face. Despite your thing for running, you've been doing better. You got better about it before Jason died. And you're choosing tonight, to not run from it. A part of you thought maybe you would because Jason deserves better. But your heart beats to the sound of his name. And there is nothing you’ll ever be able to do about it. He has ruined you for anyone else and you can’t even be mad because you only ever want him anyway. Even if that means friends. So, instead of running and punishing yourself tonight, you let the smile plaster itself over your face and you let your heart beat wildly while your stomach spins with butterflies.

Molly’s attention is pulled to the door as you lean against it, closing it.

“Hey.” Moly chimes. “How’d it go?” She asks, seeing the lazy smile across your face, gathering hope for her friends.

“Good.” You push off the door before you kick off your shoes. “Tim suspects nothing. I’m sure he will at some point and we’re gonna start tomorrow.” You explain, noticing the laptop open in front of Molly but seeing Goodreads open instead of anything of importance, immediately telling you Molly's been waiting for you.

“Oh, we’re?" Molly beams with a teasing grin. "So you guys talked?” Molly's eyes track you as you walk over to the sink.

“Yes.” You answer and the smile doesn't budge. “We train Tim tomorrow.” You state casually as you grab a small bag of Cheetos from the cabinet beside the sink.

Molly eyes you as you jump onto the counter, sitting to face Molly before opening your bag of Cheetos. You offer no other explanation. No part of Molly should even be surprised because of course, you aren't going to give her any detail unless she asks specific questions.

“You haven’t spoken to him in a month and a half. You’ve been asking about him at least every other day. And that’s it?”

You sway your feet, not quite letting your heels touch the cabinet below you as you shrug. “It’s kind of weird. I don’t know.” You shake your head before eating a Cheeto. “It was really nice to see him though.” Your voice is soft as you divert your eyes to the bag in your hands, a tender smile on your lips.

Molly's chest warms with your response. It's not that you've been miserable or even all too unhappy over the last month. It's just that it's very clear something is missing. It's clear that it's been hard for you and some of that is your own doing to yourself. Tonight, you seem calm, not as on edge as you usually are. Before tonight, it was as if you were just anticipating something horrible to happen at any second but now you're sitting peacefully on the counter, your face clear of any worry lines and your brows aren't tugged together in thought. It's a bit of a relief from where Molly is sitting.

“Are you done punishing yourself?” Molly asks.

You snap your attention back to Molly before you scoff. “What?”

“You’re punishing yourself for what happened." Molly states simply. You won't explain hardly anything about your own blame. Molly isn't sure if it's just the death of Jason or if it's the whole fallout after, maybe both. But, Molly does know you and she knows you've been punishing yourself, regardless on if you'll ever talk about it. "Are you done? Now that you got to talk to him. I told you, he’s doing okay.”

“You always said you’re worried.” You point a Cheeto at Molly, intentionally avoiding the question.

“There will never be a point in time I’m not worried about him. He's Jason. Red Hood, Robin, just Jason. He’s always up to something.” Molly states with a soft laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, he is.” You let out a sigh. “I just…I really didn’t think he wanted to talk.” You shrug your shoulders. “I didn’t want to intrude on his space and ruin something for him, ya know? I mean…he died and he was really getting help and trying to get better, I didn’t wanna call and ruin that for him.” You shake your head as you chew the inside of your cheek.

That is not the full reason but it is the reason you're willing to say. You know if you tell Molly everything, Molly will tell you that it’s ridiculous. She’ll say it’s been forgiven. She’ll tell Jason and Jason will feel guilty, probably. Jason will bring it up so it doesn’t eat you alive. It's not something you want at all right now. So, you stick with half the story.

“I get it.” Molly nods her head. “At least you guys are talking now.” Molly smiles softly. "I could have told you he wanted to talk though if that was all you needed to know."

"Did he say something?" You question almost a little too quickly, making Molly laugh.

"No." Molly shakes her head. "But he always asked about you. He was asking Gar, too." Molly explains simply as she watches your brows furrow. "He wouldn't have if he didn't want to talk. You two have got to learn how to communicate."

"You're talking to Gar?" You ask, bypassing the entire point of Molly's explanation.

"Yeah?" Molly questions easily but she takes a page from your book and offers no other explanation. "Don't change the subject."

You let out a chortle. "Pretty sure all of our problems would be solved if we communicated." You scrunch your nose before finishing off your Cheetos.

"Okay, so we're in agreement. So, tomorrow, you're gonna see him and tell him that you still think about him all the time and this time a part was a huge waste of time?" Molly gives you a cheeky grin.

You nod quickly before flipping her off with the raise of your brows, making Molly just laugh in response. “I’m gonna shower and head to bed though. I will update you when there is something to be updated on with the Jason front.”

“Thank you.” Molly beams with sarcasm.

Meanwhile, Jason is with Tim. Tim has a lot of questions, that’s for sure. You said he was insistent but Jason had no idea. Tim has been asking questions ever since you left and it’s not even annoying. He just wants to know things about Robin and Batman, being a vigilante, stuff about Jason. Jason finds it a bit funny because it's very reminiscent of his early days as Robin, filled with questions and hope. Tim wants to know about Red Hood but he avoids asking about his death. It’s mostly what he’s doing now and how it all works. He asks about his Robin days. Jason doesn’t talk a lot about them but he tries to offer something that isn’t bitter or sad or discouraging for Tim.

“Think I’ll find Venta?” Tim asks, changing up his line of questioning for a minute.

“Don’t know.” Jason shrugs before he takes a squig of his beer. “If y/n can’t figure it out with you, might not even be in the city.” Jason lies with ease.

“What do I do then?” Tim is desperate for this mission to go smoothly. It's his first time as Robin and he doesn't want to let Dick down.

“Go back to Metropolis.” Jason states.

“Yeah, I guess.” Tim lets out a defeated sigh.

If anyone knows what it's like to not want to disappoint someone like Dick, it's Jason. It's hard and he doesn't fault Dick for this plan. Jason will give it to him, it makes sense, it's a good idea. But, Tim isn't going to find Venta and Jason feels for him.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Jason changes the subject in hopes of taking Tim's mind off of Venta for at least a second.

“Uh, yeah.” Tim nods his head, shifting in his seat. “Bernard.” Tim's heart weighs heavy in his chest.

Jason nods once. “How long has he been in the coma?”

“A while.” Tim says sadly.

Jason watches Tim fiddling with his half-empty water bottle in front of him. All things considered, Jason thinks Tim is handling everything well, at least on the outside. Jason is certain if you were the one in the coma, Dick wouldn't get him to leave under any circumstance. He'd be fighting tooth and nail until you were out of the coma, even if that maybe would not be the smartest or best route.

Usually, Jason is really good at compartmentalizing, partially through training with Bruce and partially due to trauma. But, anytime it ever came to you, it got a little muddied. He could still be Robin, no problem but in a situation like Tim is in, Jason isn't so sure he'd be able to work anything else until he knew you were okay. Tim seems to be able to put his emotions, his anger and care for others, aside for what must be done. Dick still isn't always the best at it.

Jason thinks this might make Tim a better Robin.

“Hey, the Titans will figure out. Always do.” Jason assures him.

"Yeah." Tim lets out a sigh with a soft nod, hoping he's right. “Can I ask you something?”

“You’ve been asking me shit.” Jason quips back.

“How’d you do it?” Tim asks bluntly. “Y/n said she’s been hurt a lot. Doing this. How’d you deal with it?”

Being here is not as easy as Tim is making it seem. The excitement of this is definitely helping but Bernard is still in the back of his head. Every time Gar or Dick or Conner text him, he almost has a panic attack, terrified it'll be bad news about Bernard. He feels like he's not helping and if anyone should be helping his boyfriend, it should absolutely be him. But, Dick is the leader and he can't just go against him. Tim still needs to prove that he can be a good Robin. It's as if he's being torn in two and maybe Jason isn't the best person to ask given everything but Jason is at least very honest.

“Cuts and bruises are different than a coma." Jason states, unsure how else he's supposed to answer.

"You know what I mean, man." Tim almost groans with a plea.

Jason pauses for a few seconds, knowing he doesn't exactly have an answer. The person he should be asking is you because if you can get up and continue this after everything, anyone can. For Jason, it's always been that he has no choice. It's always been about survival, it's still about survival. He can't just sit around and hope for the best. Jason's never been sit around and wait person anyway. Something has to be done. Unfortunately for Tim, that's about all the advice Jason is going to be able to give him.

“Just do it.” Jason answers. “Moping about it isn’t going to help. You get up and do something.”

“I’m here.” Tim states.

“Because Dick needed you to do something. That’s still doing something, right?” Jason raises though he does understand Tim's argument.

“Yeah, but shouldn't I be there to help?” Tim asks. “This is great, ya know? On my own, being Robin! It’s like the coolest thing ever. But, why couldn't this wait?” Tim shakes his head with a soft scoff.

“I’m sure he’s got his reasons.” Jason assures him. "Look, man, Dick's doing what's best for you to be Robin and you know they're trying to figure it out. This is still helping." Jason tries to offer some reason to Tim before he gets to his feet. “Come on. I’ll show you your room.” Jason jerks his head towards the door. “Don’t sweat it, alright? Dick’s got it handled.” Jason states and it’s still a little weird having a little faith in Dick but given all of the events that happened, Dick hasn’t given Jason too hard of a time when they’ve talked.

Jason shows Tim to a room. It’s not much. A TV and a couch, that’s mostly it but it’ll do. Tim won’t be in Gotham long anyway. Jason fetches him a blanket and tells him he has free reign of the place, just don’t break anything and then he’s off to his own room.

He’s switched rooms since the last time you were here. The mattresses is sat up against the north wall but he has an ensuite bathroom. The door to the ensuite is a few feet from the mattress, the head of the mattress and the doorframe on the same wall. Two dressers stand on the wall opposite. He has a turn table and some vinyls. A bookshelf stands tall, loaded with books right next to the bedroom door. It is not much, especially compared to the Manor and the Tower but it’s his. And it’s the things he likes.

Jason heads for the shower, expecting to get it done and over with before trying to get some sleep. But, despite feeling fine all day, something starts feeling wrong. He thought he felt fine, all things considered, but as he tugs his hoodie and shirt over his head, his hands start to shake. They’re practically vibrating right off on his wrists and his heart starts to thunder in his chest. Something in his body feels wrong, like something is going to melt out of his ears. It gets harder to breathe and his head gets dizzy. There's a feeling like maybe his eyesight might start to go next while his hands grip the edge of the sink to stabilize himself. Every muscle in his legs starts to feel numb and weak while the shaking has moved up to his elbows. His arms feel like cinderblocks so he slams his eyes shut and tries to breathe.

He doesn’t know what this is. It doesn’t feel quite like a panic attack. Those always felt explosive. They are loud in comparison. But this? This feels quiet and it feels sharp, deafening. It creeps on him and then hits him in full force when he’s not looking. It always passes but it scares the shit out of him that this might not just be a bad panic attack. What if the Pit is calling him back? He hates the thought but he knows it has to, right? Because being alive doesn’t feel quite right either. Nothing feels quite right anymore.

The feeling starts to pass in a few minutes while Jason looks to the mirror. He hates that white streak. Dick didn’t even get it. Jason gets dunked in the Pit and Jason comes back a monster with a white streak of hair, feeling like he’s going to be ripped back to his own grave in a matter of time. Dick on the other hand seems fine and his hair is fucking normal. What the fuck is even up with that?

There aren’t any bruises decorating his face and he can’t help but think you might have been relieved. You always were. But, you don’t see the y scar staring back at him in the mirror or the red and black bruises over his torso from the other night. He is thankful for that. They hurt. Jason doesn’t waste much more time on it before he gets in the shower. He has to get up early, an appointment with Leslie and all.

By the time the next day rolls around, you pick up Tim from Jason's, Jason nowhere to be found. All you got was that he had left early and he said he'd be back later. Very Jason not to give out any form of detail. And maybe you're a little disappointed you missed him. But, you don't show it as you and Tim head off to Harbor, Tim hoping to find Venta while you're just playing along. Mostly, you want to see how he interrogates people, see if he's any good at it. Tim has never seemed the violent type but you're thinking him as Robin might surprise you since he's so dedicated to the cause.

So, the two of you go and you spend a few hours doing this. You take a backseat, watching as Tim tries to get answers. You give out pointers whenever he lets someone go because he's not the best at it. He's not bad but you feel like he can do better. He can figure out anything, he just needs to get better at threatening people even though you know these people are in fact innocent so you're not actually inciting violence this time. Innocent people don't need to get hurt just so Tim can learn how to be Robin.

After a few hours, you suggest you head back, clearly you aren't going to find anything out. And you're hungry. Tim reluctantly agrees, mostly because you suggested you visit his parents really quick, grab some food, and head back. So, you do, making casual conversations on the way.

By the time you get back, you find Jason in his own training room, the room you were in last night. He's at the monitors working on something but spins around in a chair once you and Tim walk in, Tim holding a take-out bag.

"Got you food." Tim states, digging in the bag for Jason's.

Jason's eyes dart to you as you take your mask off and offer him a soft smile. "I'm gonna change. Don't touch my food..." Your eyes narrow at Jason. "Jason."

"I don't eat your food." Jason snarks back as he takes the container from Tim.

"The fuck you do." You quip back before you spin on your heels, heading to the bathroom down the hall.

You change quickly, ready to just eat your lunch. You still go to Excellent Gotham a few times a week and you're still not bored of it. Once you're in your street clothes, you head back to the room to find the boys practically scarfing down their food with Jason still sat by the monitors and Tim at the small table.

"Where were you this morning?" You ask as you take a seat beside Tim.

"Busy." Jason answers, mouth full of food. "Something for Babs." Jason lies, keeping it casual.

It's not that he cares if you know he's going to see Leslie again or that he cares much if Tim knows. It's that he doesn't want to get into it. There's still a lot of work to be done and it's his work to be done so he keeps it close to his chest.

"Right." You nod your head, eying him carefully before you open your own take-out container.

"She's got you working something, right?" Jason asks, careful not to make it seem like he's brushing you off entirely.

"Yeah, seems like it's just the one guy running shit but there might be more to it." You explain as you eat.

"So you guys just work with the commissioner?" Tim asks as he looks between the two of them.

You and Jason glance between each other before you both shrug your shoulders.

"Kind of." You answer.

"Basically." Jason answers. "There's some shit the GCPD can't do because of red tape or legal reasons so she sends us."

"We have to make money somehow." Sam says sarcastically.

Tim shakes his head. "Do you ever get used to it? I mean this has been awesome over the past few weeks."

Jason looks down at his food. He would not say someone just gets used to it, not really. There is always some form of excitement that takes over when he puts a suit on and he goes out. There's always some form of excitement facing off with people who can kill him and who want to kill him. That part is slightly different now, he almost feels just the tint of anxiety. Death became a reality and he is not invincible but he goes out. It's still something he genuinely feels good about. It's different and there isn't this huge sense of pride with it anymore but he still likes it. It's not so much that someone just gets used to it.

"Not really." Jason answers softly.

You don't think you'll ever be used to it. It's a routine, sure. That part of the job you're used to but everything else? Not so much. You still absolutely love doing it but it's different than before. It almost felt somewhat of an obligation then, living with the Titans and then Batman and Robin. But now, it's entirely your choice. This is your choice to do this and that is cathartic in a way. You're taking control of your life but that doesn't mean you're used to going out and willingly putting yourself in front of gunfire and a bunch of people who want to kill you. You aren't used to the pain that comes with it. Maybe going out every night to protect people is something someone gets used to but possibly dying for other people with such violence is not. Losing people to this life is not.

"I don't think so." You answer honestly.

The three of you continue your meals, Tim finishing first. He's back on his feet as soon as he's done, rushing to throw away his takeout dish as Jason and you watch him. He's still got the suit on and he doesn't look like he's going to change. Something about it makes you think this is probably how Jason was when he first got the suit. He probably slept in it.

"I'm gonna go back out there." Tim declares to the room.

Jason looks to you and you look to Jason. Are either of you supposed to stop him? He looks pretty determined. Stopping him might seem suspicious. Stopping him might be worse off for his training.

"You think you'll find anything out?" Jason questions.

"I have to. It's my job." Tim states and that's when you know you should let him go alone.

"Call if you need anything. Keep your phone on and I'll have Molly track it in case you get into any trouble like you did last night." You offer a simple smile.

"Right...yeah okay, thanks." Tim gives you a sheepish smile before he darts right out of the room, the bo staff in hand.

"He's gonna get his ass kicked." Jason mutters.

"Definitely." You nod your head.

"Why'd you let him go then?" Jason nearly chortles as he takes another bite.

"Why didn't you stop him?" You chortle right back. Tim is also Jason's job. "He has a job to do and we'll never be able to train him in any of this if he actually thinks he can do it. I get Dick is building confidence or whatever but Tim's detective skills will only get him so far." You state.

"That's why I didn't stop him." Jason laughs with the shake of his head.

The room falls silent as you both continue your food. You text Molly letting her know about Tim and just to keep an ear out in case something hits the fan and you and Jason need to go help him. Tim is only supposed to be asking questions, he should be fine until he gets back so you aren't too worried and neither is Jason.

"Still the Shimmer case?" You ask as you toss your takeout away.

"Uh, yeah and another one." Jason states, turning back to the monitors, pulling up a few missing posters for kids.

"More missing kids?" You question as you take a seat beside him.

"Nope." Jason starts, shaking his head in annoyance. "We know where most of them are which is the problem." Jason huffs.

"Do I even want to know?" You ask cautiously with a grimace.

"They've got them spread out across the city but anytime anyone gets close, they move. I think it's someone in the department running it." Jason explains, glancing to you. "Made a whole fucking business of selling kids."

"Fucking gross." You grimace as you tug your sleeves over your hands. "Are they keeping them in Gotham though?"

"These ones." Jasn pulls up about ten posters as he gestures to the screen. "We haven't gotten a sighting or word about in about two weeks so I don't think so. But the others we've seen here and there or heard something. Babs wants me to be careful, track who I can until I find the one running it. Then let her take it from there." Jason lets out a bitter scoff, still hellbent on fighting Babs tooth and nail over this one.

"Right, but you're Jason Todd who doesn't do that. So what are you actually going to do about it?" You ask with hope Jason will take it into his own hands. Anyone who's willing to just sell kids for who knows what, shouldn't be able to get locked away and then let free to do it all over again in a different city.

"Scare him out into the open and then kill him. Selling fucking kids. No one gets to just go through the fucking justice system that'll let them out to do it all over again. Babs is gonna be pissed but I don't fucking care." Jason huffs, determination written over every line of his face.

"Good, fuck that guy." You scoff and you'd be lying if you didn't want in. "Need any help?" You ask, keeping your eyes on the screen to not seem too eager about offering help.

Jason laughs softly. "I thought you didn't team?" Jason quips, looking back at you with the raise of his brows. It's the same look he always gave you when he just wanted to watch you squirm, the question at hand not even being a real question.

Your heart starts to thunder in your chest again and maybe sitting so close to him was just your subconscious because you swear you didn't do it on purpose. It's the way he grins back at you just as he always did whenever he was trying to fuck with you. Before, before things got all messy and real, he'd scoot closer to you and wiggle his brows. But, he doesn't. He keeps his signature smirk as your eyes are locked on his. You forgot how much you love the color green.

"That wasn't a no and I thought you didn't team anymore." You quip back, leaning your elbow on the table, resting your head on your hand as your brows raise at him.

He'd always team with you if you asked.

"Could make an exception." Jason raises back.

"Aw, just for me?" You scrunch your nose at him.

"Could be fun." Jason teases as his heart erupts into pooling lava.

"Could be." You nod your head, chewing the inside of your cheek. "Loser."

Jason lets out a laugh. "Actually, yeah, I think you can help." Jason cuts it short pulling a mug shot of a woman you helped last week. "Know her right?"

"Yeah, she was one of the women I got out of the ring I'm working. She flipped." You state.

"Rumor has it, she was working with my guy first." Jason explains.

"Right, and he got bored as they do, recruit someone else." You state.

"Think you could talk to her?"Jason asks. "She'll know, at least, who he is, could fucking help."

"She wouldn't give us any names." You shrug before your brows furrow. "You said you guys think he's working for the department?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, she bypassed the whole system and clearance Babs set up. She's not in the program either. I checked. Babs said it was some sort of glitch or something but I don't think she believes it." You explain.

"Well, what about her friends? We can try to find her but until then, what about her friends?" Jason asks, knowing someone had to slip at some point. The more people involved, the harder it is to keep secrets. People love telling secrets.

"Yeah, yeah, uh...we have a few we're watching and one in our program. I can try." You offer with a simple nod.

"Thank you." Jason offers a subtle, closed-mouth smile.

"Of course, happy to help." You offer the same smile back.

The room falls silent between you while you watch Jason look over his monitors. He really has the whole setup now. Scans over the city, security system, alerts. It reminds you a little of the Batcave and Titans tower. You and Molly don't have quite the extensive system Jason does but it works for you. You're happy he's got it all laid out though. It makes her feel like he might be being a little safe out there, maybe taking a little extra caution for his life.

Jason glances at you and he wonders how this would be different if so much time hadn't passed, if things were different between you. He wonders if you'd be more of a team, working these missions together. He wonders if you'd be here with him or if you'd still live with Molly. Would you still take up a different part of the city? That actually would make more sense. Three vigilantes spread out can cover more ground but he thinks about it anyway. Would you be training together still? Would you meet up halfway through patrol for a quick snack by his favorite gargoyle or the roof near the wolf enclosure at the zoo? Too much time passed and he really wishes it wouldn't have.

It's for the best, he tells himself over and over to try and convince himself it is. He wants you so bad still that it is killing him but he can't let you down like he did before. That is not fair and he's worried he's not ready. And this is the second time you've spoken in a month and a half. That doesn't seem fair to even spring it on you. But you should know, right? Jason wonders if you should or maybe too much time has passed there, too. Maybe you think his feelings have changed with the lack of contact.

They haven't. They never could.

He just wants you to be happy even if it's not with him.

Jason clears his throat. "How have you been anyways?" Jason answers, trying to ease his own thoughts. "Molly and Gar said you're okay." Jason says softly and he says it on purpose, testing the waters.

Your brows pull together, watching as the corner of his mouth pulls up just slightly. The honesty of him asking your friends is new. "You asking about me, Jay?" The sarcasm isn't as strong as it normally is as if you're genuinely surprised he's being blunt about it but you aren't mad. Molly mentioned it last night but you didn't press, thinking it didn't mean much but with Jason stating it, it has to.

Jason shrugs. "I know you ask about me." Jason quips back grinning back at you, taking a shot in the dark with his assumption. If he's been asking, he's hoping you were, too.

Of course, you do but you want to know how he knows that. And then you remember. Jason Todd knows every single thing about you, inside and out. Even in his worst mental health days, somewhere deep inside his guarded heart, he knows you always loved him. Of course, you've asked about him. You have to. You don't want to live in a world where you don't check on him. It would be a dull and grey world and that's just not one you want to live in.

You suck your teeth, an uncontrollable smile coming to your face. "I always have to check on you." You say quietly, looking to the screens. Jason wants to combust. "I, uh, yeah, I've been okay." You pull in a breath, not letting your words linger in the air for too long. "Living with Molly is different but it's nice." You nod your head quickly. "How are you?"

"Good." Jason answers. "Yeah, it's uh, it's cool being away from Bruce and being able to do my own thing." Jason nods his head.

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes. "Why are they worried about you then?" You question carefully.

"They're always worried, like you." Jason quips.

"Because you always give us reason to be worried." You widen your eyes at him.

"I don't fucking know, honestly. Think they just are." Jason clears his throat again, desperately wishing people didn't worry so much about him. It makes the guilt heavier. "After everything."

"Yeah, that's, uh, yeah, t-that makes sense." Your face falls as Jason watches the sadness rip itself across your features.

"What about you? They're worried about you, too." Jason nods his head up at you.

You pull in a breath. "Uh...yeah it's just...I don't know." You shake your head. "Same reason maybe and uh, just...being out there." You nod your head, omitting the parts about some nightmares and some reckless tendencies that were not there a few months ago.

"You sure you're alright?" Jason asks as his eyes narrow slightly as if he has some sort of sixth sense always telling when something's going on with you.

There's a single second where you almost bear it all to him. You almost tell him why you picked a fight last night and why you never called. You almost tell him why you patrol more than he does -- according to Molly. There's a part of you that almost wants to tell him because you would have before. But that was before, this is now. It's different now. He doesn't have to carry it for you anymore. It's not fair to him.

You nod. "Yeah, are you sure?" You point a finger to your head.

"Yeah, yeah, uh I've been seeing Leslie." Jason admits despite him wanting to keep it close to his chest. He can always tell when something is picking at you, he considers this an olive branch, an offering of acknowledgment that he's still here. He watches you take a breath, relief almost washing over your face. "It's helping a little." Jason nods his head. "Maybe you and Bruce were right about it." Jason lets out a soft chuckle.

"I'm usually right about most things." You smirk right back at him. "I'm glad you're going and that it's helping." You smile softly at him, genuinely relieved he decided to go back. "You look really good, Jay."

"So do you." Jason whispers softly.

The words "I miss you" choke through Jason's throat, shredding the flesh into pieces. They get stuck and seep into the open wounds, reabsorbing themselves right into his flesh as the blood drowns them from ever coming to the surface. Before, you always told each other you missed each other but something about the words now feel too weighted. There's too much emotion tied to them. There are too many feelings tugged onto every single letter. The words will never be simply platonic again because how can they be?

He misses the way your hand would run through his hair after he's had a nightmare. And the way you'd kiss his head lazily before you'd eventually fall asleep. He misses the way you'd tell him you love him as if it's the only words you'd ever known and how even when they were said lazily and with sleep still in your eyes, they all weighed the same. It always meant the same. He misses being able to tell you everything and being able to expose his worst parts to you without ever being judged. And how your hand fit perfectly in his and the way you'd warm up her hands with her powers before rubbing out the knots in his back. He misses how you'd kiss him and immediately start smiling as if it is the one thing that would make you happy even on your worst day.

He misses the way you were allowed to love each other.

You almost pick up your hand and run it through the white streak of hair just to mess with it. You almost do but catch yourself. Maybe if you were still friends who had talked over the last month, you would have but not now. You don't want to invade his personal space. Jason has always been a bit skittish. You remember some of the first times you stepped into his space, touched him in ways he didn't seem to expect. He'd freeze, his entire body would tense as if you were going to hurt him even if all you did was rest your hand on his cheek. Over time, he'd relax but you remember that and it breaks your heart. You wonder if he'd freeze like that again or if he'd relax eventually.

"So," You pull in a breath. "This is officially your new place?" You ask as you look around the room.

"Yeah," Jason chuckles, his eyes still locked on you. "Did ya want a tour?" Jason offers.

"Yeah, actually that'd be cool." You laugh softly as Jason stands up.

He shakes his head and then offers you his hand on purpose. "Come on." Jason jerks his head.

You look at his hand and then back his eyes. Your hand goes into his as you get up. He drives you crazy and maybe this isn't the cat-and-mouse game you always played but you offer it anyway, for old times' sake.

"Shithead." You mutter once you're to your feet and your hand is back at your side.

Jason laughs this soft laugh that feels the way the first 'I love you' does. "Babe." Jason says back, for old times' sake.

The two of you start the tour. It's not a house. It's an orphanage that closed down years ago. You find it a bit ironic this is one of the places he picked but you keep it quiet. So, Jason leads you around, showing you some of the rooms and explains some of the things he wants to do. He wants one of them to be a library because of course he does. Another room he wants to dedicate solely to a kitchen and another to a training room, weight room, monitor room like the Batcave. There's another one he wants just for a shooting range to keep it all contained. You swear he has it all figured out. And then you get to his bedroom, last on the tour because it was furthest away from where you started.

You nod your head, looking at the bookcase. "Makes sense." You point to it. "I'm glad you don't have to hide it." You nod your head at him with a soft smile, the scrapbook page you made him for his birthday does not go unnoticed on top of the bookshelf.

Jason looks to the floor, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, it's nice." Jason looks around with a subtle smile.

"I really like it, Jay." You say honestly. "Do you like it?"

Jason looks around some more feeling a sense of warmth and and pride in his chest. "Yeah, I do." Jason nods. "It's not the manor or anything."

"You always said the manor wasn't the real you anyway. This the real you?" You ask.

Jason pulls in a breath, his eyes still scanning around the room. He isn't sure if it's all him, really. It's hard to tell these days what's really him and what's leftover from his previous life. It's hard to tell if those two things can bleed into one or if the past him died with the crowbar. He likes to think this will be the real him. Better. But, you always knew him better than anyone, sometimes better than he knew himself.

"You tell me." Jason shrugs softly as his eyes land back on you.

"I think so." You give him a tender smile. "Simple, repurposing something left to rot. Making it into something good. I think it's very you. And I do not think it is a coincidence that there are empty rooms." You offer him a cheeky smirk with a soft laugh. "Expecting guests at some point."

Jason chuckles as his cheeks start to burn. "Shut the fuck up." Jason glances to the floor and then back to you before he gestures a hand out. "You planning on needing a place to stay?" Jason quips.

"If you're offering." You quip back and you watch him shift his weight to his right leg before rolling his shoulders.

Jason's heart skips a beat right into his throat. "What? Bored of Molly already?"

"Nah, just fun to fuck wit you, still." You tease him with a toothy grin.

"Right." Jason scoffs but a smile is on his face, maybe his heart sinks a little even if he knew it was a joke to begin with.

The room falls silent and something about this doesn't feel right. It's weird not living together with no thought of ever living together again. You've always been just fine on your own and you love living with Molly but it's always Jason you wish were there when you get home. Missing him has become routine but not in a way you ever get used to. Missing him is just there, all the time. It's exhausting missing him.

"Might have to take up the offer though when I get hurt." You clear your throat, tugging your sleeves down. Jason's brows furrow at you. "Molly fusses over it."

"You planning on getting hurt anytime soon?" Jason asks as concern washes over his face.

"No." You scoff. "I just mean...ya know?" You shrug your shoulders.

Molly isn't squeamish. She never has been, not from what you remember prior to your mom dying. But, you got hurt your first week living with Molly and it really wasn't anything. It was just a long cut, not too deep, won't even scar. But, Molly fussed over it and there was a lot of blood. You aren't too oblivious to know why Molly suddenly fusses over blood. You just can't tell Jason that, it's not fair to him.

"It's Molly, she worries." You brush it off.

Jason nods his head with understanding, sensing there's something more but he chooses not to dig. "You're always welcome to stay." Jason pulls in a soft breath with a subtle smile.

"Thanks, Jay." You give him a small and shy smile.

"Of course." Jason says softly and he decides to leave it there. "Wanna keep waiting for Tim? Check on him?"

"We should. If something happens, Dick will kill us." You laugh softly.

"Yeah, we aren't fighting for once, don't wanna get back there." Jason chuckles as the two of you head back to his current training room.

The two of you take your seats beside each other. You get a text from Molly letting you know everything with Tim seems okay from where she's sitting. So, the two of you wait on the monitors, figuring he'll be fine. Nothing too bad has been going down around Harbor anyway.

A few hours later, Tim comes back looking quite a bit defeated. He greets the two of you before he heads off to change. Jason and you actually feel bad for him. He has so much hope of getting this done when there isn't anything to get done. You both entirely understand why Dick sent him on a fake mission. It makes perfect sense and in a way, it's teaching him he is not perfect. He won't win all of them and he can ask for help. That's when you both realize that is likely Dck's real point. You both can step it up.

Tim walks back in a few minutes later still looking a little defeated. The case is in one hand and his bo staff is in the other. He puts the case down against the wall and takes a place on the mat in the middle of the room. You let out a soft laugh. Apparently, part of being a vigilante is needing to train in order to work out frustration.

"Follow my lead." Jason whispers to you right before he gets up and heads over to the fridge while Tim is moving his staff through the air and between his hands.

"I asked everybody down on Harbor about this guy, Venta. And nobody's heard of him." Tim states in frustration, watching as Jason grabs a beer from the fridge.

"Must be in deep cover." Jason states, popping the cap from the beer, the cap clanking on the floor. You get up from your seat, moving to lean against the table that sits off to the side but in between the boys. "Or dead." Jason suggests before taking a sip from the bottle. Tim offers a simple glare to him, not liking the answer as he continues with his Bo staff. "You like that thing?" Jason asks, closing some of the distance between the boys. "Can you actually use it?" Jason stops about two feet in front of Tim.

Tim holds the staff over his right shoulder, facing Jason. This is his chance. "Why don't we go a few rounds and I'll show you?" Tim asks, almost seeming confident in his ask.

Jason looks to the floor, eying his beer and then he looks to you, a smirk on his face. Jason knows without a second thought that this is going to be fun for him, not so much for Tim. He raises his brows quickly before taking another sip on his way over to the table to put the beer down.

"You're going to regret asking that." You quip and you'd be lying if you said you didn't admit his confidence, even if unwarranted.

"What?" Tim asks, trying to conceal his sudden concern.

"You'll see." You laugh softly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Jason walks back over, the boys locking eyes on each other the whole time. You can't tell if Tim asked because Jason was Robin and he thinks it'll be fun and cool. Or if he asked for some training and now is regretting it because Jason was Robin and now Red Hood and he knows this will only end in pain.

Jason nods up at Tim. "One round." Jason states.

Tim takes up the challenge, taking a step back as he points the end of the Bo staff as Jason's chest. There's a very small and subtle smile trying to make its way onto Tim's face. Jason gives it a few seconds before smacking the bo staff right out of Tim's hands, sending it to the ground. Tim lets out a breath with a sudden jolt, almost defeat and even a little embarrassment covers his face.

Jason grins more to himself than anything. "Maybe two rounds." Jason states before looking over to you. "You wanna try?"

You push off the table, switching places with Jason while Tim picks up his staff. "Cool?" You ask Tim.

Tim nods a few times, trying to hide his excitement of getting to train with the both of you. "Yeah, we're good."

Tim takes a step back and this time, he holds the staff closer to himself, his grip tighter. His feet are planted better on the ground but you know he doesn't stand a chance. Tim doesn't expect sparring to be mean. But you trained with Jason who would kick someone while they were down just to make sure they're prepared for everything.

The staff is pointed at you and then Tim pulls it to the side quickly, about to use it to smack you with it in order to make the first move to not make the same mistake as last time. But you grab the end of the staff before it can even come close and in a quick and fluid motion, you yank it right from his hands, flipping the staff in your hands and pointing it right at his head.

"Alright." Tim lets out a sigh as you hand the staff back over.

"You need some help." Jason states, walking back over to you and Tim. "You're never gonna get this Venta guy if you can't even last a few seconds between us."

"There hasn't been a lot of time to train." Tim almost groans with the shake of his head.

"Yeah, I heard." You nod your head. "Gar told me. Well, you're here." You shrug your shoulders.

"Been a while since I sparred with anyone." Jason looks between you and Tim, something menacing behind his eyes.

"What'd you say, Tim?" You ask with a taunting grin.

"Wait, really?" Tim asks as his eyes go wide. "You guys will help?"

"Well, I don't want you to get killed." You state.

"Yeah, we're not trying to watch you sign your death certificate while you're here."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks." Tim beams with a large smile.

"I'm gonna change real quick, warm him up." Jason nods at you before he walks to the door.

"You guys are gonna help me?" Tim asks. "This is really cool. Thank you."

"You're a dork." You state, watching Tim chew his cheek. "It was so cool being trained by Robin though." You gush.

"He's not gonna go easy on me, is he?" Tim asks as he nods his head, realizing who he just signed up to train with.

You let out a cackle. "Fuck no. Jason doesn't go easy on anyone." You let out a laugh as you sit on the floor and start stretching.

Tim joins you and starts stretching. "How is this going to work with your combat thing?" Tim asks.

"I try to ignore it. It's actually a little easier to ignore now, like sparring with people I trust."

"You can ignore it?" Tim's brows furrow at you. "How's that work?"

"Eh, kind of it. It's not really ignoring it as just pretending like it isn't there. It's kind of hard to explain. I just noticed, even back at the Tower, it just wasn't as strong training with everyone. I don't know." You shrug softly.

Jason comes back a few minutes later, going to the back room where there's a jukebox. While Jason gets some music going, you and Tim get to your feet. Tim grabs his bo staff, moving it around again as if he's preparing. You watch over your shoulder at Jason.

He's gained a bit more muscle over the last month and a half. The shirt he's wearing fits him well, cutting just below his waist. The sleeves hug his biceps that you swear are bigger and it's tighter around his chest. Your eyes trail down to his sweatpants. There's no difference there but there was something about Jason in sweatpants that you found to be the most attractive.

Jason turns back around, catching you staring. Heat runs over his cheeks as he smirks back at you. It's cheeky and arrogant, just as it always is. You roll your eyes, turning back around. Jason walks over to you and Tim gets ready.

"Okay, give me what you got." Tim says with confidence, swinging the bo staff around fluidly.

Jason doesn't even let him finish the sentence before he yanks the bo staff from Tim with almost no effort and then smacks Tim on the side of the head, making him fall to the ground. You burst out laughing as Tim looks up at Jason with surprise.

"You rely too much on your toys." Jason states sternly. Tim gets back to his feet, holding his head. "Okay." Jason says calmly and he's starting to feel in his element again. "On three, I'm gonna attack. You ready?" Jason asks.

Tim gets his stance ready, a little wobbly on his feet. "Ready."

"One." Jason says and then immediately goes to smack Tim again but this time Tim blocks his arm only for Jason to kick Tim in the back of the knee, sending him right back to the ground.

"What the fuck." Tim says, quickly getting back on his feet. "You said three!"

"Yeah! The Riddler's not gonna count." Jason strikes right back.

Tim looks to you for help. This is completely different than how he's been training with Conner and Gar. With Gar, they count off and spar, Gar definitely seems to go easy on him with TIm's lack of experience. And to be fair, a lot of the training with Conner is Tim just hitting him with no effect at all. But, Jason really isn't going to play fair. Tim's only hope is that you will.

"No one out there is going to tell you when they're going to attack. You just have to know." You state, not willing to help. "You're a Titan today and we're here but you're gonna be on your own. You're going to be helpless one day. Learn today never to be helpless." You nod your head, taking your turn with him.

The two of you get into your stances. You know you won't be nearly as ruthless as Jason. You only have a few days to get Tim in shape to fight a demon but that doesn't mean you and Jason both have to be completely ruthless the whole time. You'll cut Tim some slack. He can take it anyway. He'll be fine.

You go to take a single step forward, making Tim try to attack and block first. But, you never finish the step. Instead, it only makes Tim come closer to you which makes you grab his arm and spin the two of you around, pinning his arm behind his back. Tim lets out a yell and you let go, going back to your stance.

"Ow." Tim groans at you.

"You're fine. It'll feel better in a minute." You smile back at him. "Come at me."

Tim does as told, trying to land a hit to your head but you block him before he ever gets close and then you kick him in the knee, just hard enough to send him to the ground. You look to Jason. Oh, Tim needs help.

"You told me to come at you." Tim groans. "I thought you were just gonna block."

"Yeah, no." You laughs softly. "Not happening."

"Because the Riddler's not gonna block." Tim almost mocks Jason.

"None of them are going to just block." You correct him. "Your turn, Jay."

Jason takes over again while you grab a Gatorade from the fridge, pulling out one for the boys, too. Jason actually starts teaching now, showing Tim how to properly block and when. He shows him different ways and the best ways. Tim does know some of the blocks, he's just not used to them quite yet which is a relief.

Once Tim seems steady there, you switch with Jason and instead, you block Tim. You show Tim how you do it and how quick it is for you. The thought behind it is that you're not the only one with this. If Tim runs into someone with this power, he needs to know how he's supposed to land a hit. So, that's his job. Watch you, and learn how you block and find a weakness in order to hit. That's what Jason did. Tim only gets somewhat close a few times before Jason and you switch again.

This time, Jason starts teaching Tim how to make contact. Again, Dick has shown Tim some defense which is a help but he hasn't had much time to practice. So, the boys work on that for a few minutes before Jason shows him a few more things. After a few minutes, you switch with Jason. You and Tim go back and forth for a few minutes before Jason decides to up more. You only have a few days to get Tim ready. Now, it's two against one.

"Come on, me against you two?" Tim groans.

You and Jason look between each other and you both shrug as if sharing the same brain.

"No." You both say.

"We're all against each other." Jason answers casually.

"You have to watch what we're both doing not only against each other but when we come for you. No teams. Every man for himself." You state.

The three of you take your positions before Jason gives the go-ahead. The three of you lunge for each other. You hit Jason first, knowing Jason would likely go for Tim first. Is it going a little easy on Tim? Sure. But, you know going all out isn't going to help him, not right now. So, you kick the back of Jason's leg first, giving Tim the opportunity to get one hit to his head. Jason is quick to fight right back, knocking Tim in the face before he turns around, nearly kicking you before you jump out of the way and land a second hit to Tim's chest.

The three of you keep this up for the next half hour. You and Jason try to divide your time between each other and Tim, making sure he's getting plenty of chances to not only try to take you both down but also block the both of you. You're both being careful not to go too hard but make sure you aren't going too easy either. The more you all go, Tim gets tired but he never gives up. About halfway through, Tim gets into his own rhythm, able to block more of you and Jason. He lands a hit to you once while you hit Jason and he hands just a handful of hits to Jason. It builds his confidence anytime he lands anything and blocks one of you.

After a half hour of sparring, the three of you take seats on the floor, bottles of Gatorade right beside all of you as your chests heave. Jason's eyes land on you with your messy hair and the bruise of your eye fading. You have the Gatorade to your lips and he sees the silver chain peaking out from the collar of your t-shirt. There's a bruise on your right bicep, that's more recent but it's not bad. And he watches as you smile and then laugh at Tim as Tim lays back, complaining that he might be dying. There's been something about your smile and your laugh that could make Jason smile even on his worst days. Maybe you are doing better. He really hopes you are. You look so happy.

You get up, Jason unable to peel his eyes away from you. He always loved the way you looked in sweatpants. You have on black joggers that hug your thighs just a little bit and pinch right at your ankles. Your t-shirt is shorter, cutting right at your waist and Jason can't stop staring. He swears you're fucking stunning.

You grab all of you a few of Jason's granola bars and when you turn around, Jason is staring at you. So, you look at the granola bars and then at Jason before you throw one right at his head. It bonks him, causing Tim to burst out into a fit of laughter.

"Something about needing to block or something?" Tim quips, barely finishing his sentence before you and Jason throw a granola bar at him. Tim flails trying to block them unsuccessfully.

You grab a few more before you take your seat back beside Jason, giving him a few granola bars, keeping some for yourself while Tim snacks on the ones the two of you threw at him. It's nice being able to get a little bit of a break. Jason is actually really enjoying this. It feels like old times and he's actually helping. Dick is trusting him to work with you and help make sure Tim is prepared to fight this big bad. That's a big compliment as far as Jason is concerned. And Tim seems to be enjoying himself even if you both are going hard on him. Jason always liked helping train the others and this is throwing him right back but in a good way where he's not bitter about it. He's just glad to help. He feels needed.

And it doesn't hurt that you're here and you're getting along. It feels different than it did before. But, it's really nice. You're both still laughing and you still think the same way. You're still on the same page with everything. It's just nice to be able to spend some time with you and check in on you. Jason has missed you more than words could ever describe and he wonders if you'll be able to keep this going once Tim leaves. He really hopes you can. And he watches you toss another bar at Tim with a smile and he decides, he will try. He'll try to keep this up after Tim leaves.

Just because Tim will leave, doesn't mean you and Jason have to go back to not talking. The not talking was the hard part but now that you are, it feels easy again. It feels like you don't have to give each other space the size of half the damn city. You can do this without having to sacrifice having each other in your lives. Jason decides as he watches you laugh, he's going to keep trying to have you in his life and he hopes you'll have him, too.

The three of them spar for another half hour before Jason teaches Tim more about his staff. Dick was the one who liked the bo staff and Jason wasn't much to rely on it but Bruce made him learn. Jason always thought it was because of Dick but he's realizing it was just preparation to be able to use anything and everything as a weapon just in case. So, you sit back and watch the two of them go back and forth.

Once they're done, Jason sends Tim off to shower first. Jason plops down in the chair beside you as you give him a soft laugh. He's been thinking through this whole training session that maybe you both can step up your game. Tim is going to need to experience based on what Jason has heard about Brother Blood.

"So," Jason clears his throat. "Penguin has a shipment of guns coming in tomorrow night." Jason states.

Your eyes narrow slightly, knowing Jason has an idea of some sort. "Does he?"

Jason nods his head as casually as he can. "Shouldn't be too hard. In and out kind of thing. Grab and leave."

"Uh, huh." You nod, turning to face him with a teasing grin. "Where ya going with this, Jay?"

"Could take Tim." Jason offers, casually before a smirk crosses over his lips as he crosses his arms. His eyes lock on yours. "Wanna?"

"You want us to take Tim on a mission to steal Penguin's guns?" You ask but you think it's a great idea. What better training than an actual mission of some sort?

"Good training. We can watch him and he can watch us. See how it's really done. Especially if he's going to be Robin." Jason offers with ease but he's thinking he really doesn't need to convince you.

A crooked smile creeps on your face. "You know I'd never turn down an opportunity like this." You laugh softly.

"Yeah?" Jason asks, hope in his voice.

"Hell yeah. It'll be fun anyway. I helped you and Bruce with Penguin a couple of times and like once it got a bit dicey. We'll be fine." You beam at him. "I miss fucking with Penguin."

"You would." Jason tilts his head back with a booming laugh and the void in his chest starts to not feel as hollow.

Your smile turns soft and warm with his laugh. You remember back at the tower and how he was treated. There was a lot going on that was bigger than him, bigger than you. But, you think about that and the general disdain everyone had for him at the time and you're watching him laugh now. You always wondered how anyone could feel anything but love for him. How could someone not be completely in love with him? Because you're sitting here feeling just as you always did around him.

You read once that studies suggest it takes three to six months to get over someone, which sounds a little miserable. It has not been even three months but it's been a month and a half and it feels like nothing even wavered in your feelings for him. You're just as in love with him today as you were sitting on the floor of the training room in San Fransisco and maybe that doesn't have to be a bad thing.

"You're having fun, aren't you?" You ask.

Jason grins back over at you. "It's not horrible."

"Uh-huh." You laugh as you shake your head. "Well, you look like you're having a good time." You shrug your shoulders at him as you chew the inside of your cheek. "And thanks to you, Tim will be great."

"Stroking my ego?" Jason quips back. "You get hit in the head too hard?"

"Shut up." You groan as you give him a gentle shove.

"Thank you." Jason laughs softly. "He'll be great because of you, too though, ya know?" Jason questions.

"Awww, now look who's being nice." You tease with the scrunch of your nose.

"I can be nice." Jason smirks right back at you.

"Yeah..." You let out a soft sigh. "You have your moments." You laugh softly as you check your phone. "Hey, uh.." Your brows furrow. "If we were done for the day, I was gonna head out." You pull in a breath, not really wanting to leave quite yet. "There are some people I wanna check up on before patrol tonight." You explain.

"Yeah, of course." Jason feels the disappointment cloud his chest. "I'll, uh, I'll call you if something goes down and text you the time." Jason nods, careful to let his disappointment show.

"Okay." You smile softly, ready to get the rest of the day over with so you can see him tomorrow. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jay."

"See you tomorrow." Jason smiles softly before you leave the room, allowing Jason to himself for the night.

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goodmorgan · 1 year

Text

Perfect Strangers

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

Summary: When a stranger appears at your homestead to steal from you, you set out to help him instead.

Word Count: 6.1k

Tags: NSFW. 18+. Smut, Porn With Plot, Mentions of Starvation, Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Touch-Starved Arthur Morgan, Mutual Pining, Infidelity

AO3 Link

A/N: This will be a fic consisting of multiple chapters.

Chapter 1: A Man in Need

"Who the hell are you?" you shout as you emerge from your doorstep, pointing your shotgun at his head.

He turns slowly from the apple tree in your front yard, hands now raised to his sides. He swallows nervously like a schoolboy caught in the act as the apple he was holding lands swiftly on the ground. He's tall enough to reach the highest branches with ease, the only ones you've yet to pick clean as you're too lazy to get the ladder.

"I'm... I'm sorry, ma'am." He looks at you pleading with his eyes, one of them almost as black as his boots. His exposed hands and forearms are bruised but healing, you reckon the fight he was in must have been a few days ago. His shirt and pants look like they've been slept in for days, the dirt and the grass staining them worse than the sweat. He is wearing an old leather hat, which frames his chiseled face perfectly, tilted enough so you can see his piercing blue eyes. They might be telling you he is a kind man if it were not for the fact that you've caught him stealing.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You try to pretend you're not frightened by the hooligan now standing in your property. You hope your voice is as demanding as his presence.

"Please don't shoot, ma'am. I'm... I'm sorry. I just..."

"You what?" You cock the shotgun with authority.

"I'm- I'm just... I'm so... hungry." His voice quivers as he utters the last word, barely audible. He looks embarrassed to admit it but hopes his honesty is enough to save him from an early grave. He holds still as a sign of cooperation. His manner seems genuine to you, his confession matching his appearance.

You hold your position as you ponder what to do next. The both of you are still enough that you can hear the fire in your hearth inside. You have just finished peeling the potatoes so you can add them to the stew you're making. You were hoping to have enough leftovers for tomorrow, but you guess there's enough dinner for two.

"Do you have any weapons?" You don't lower your voice or your shotgun.

"Just a pocketknife, ma'am." The man seems truthful.

"Throw it." He obeys and the knife lands by your feet on the porch. You pick it up and pocket it next to yours.

"You have anything else?"

"No, ma'am. Just some cigarettes." He reaches for one of his pant pockets and retrieves them, dropping them on the floor. He shows you the other pocket is empty before being quick to remove his boots, showing you he has nothing to hide. His hands return to his sides once he's finished.

"Would you like some food?"

He takes a breath and swallows air at the mention of it. "Yes... Yes, ma'am. Very much so." The threat of the stranger subsides as you now realize you are standing in front of a famished man. You slowly lower your shotgun from your dinner guest. His hands remain upright as he waits for instructions.

"Put your boots on. I need to get inside to finish dinner."

"Yes, ma'am." He is quick to stand in front of you, waiting for permission to climb the stairs. Even with you standing on the porch, he's almost as tall as you. Up close, he's even more handsome than you had realized.

"What's your name?"

"Morgan. Arthur Morgan, ma'am." He tips his hat awkwardly. His gaze is weary but pleading for compassion.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morgan. My name is Y/N. Please come in. I reckon there's enough food for the both of us." As he climbs the stairs he looks at you like he's being invited to a Saint Dennis' banquet. "Now, don't go thinking it's anything fancy. I don't have much."

"Anything you can give me I'll be grateful till the day I die." He seems just as obedient without a shotgun pointed at him, even though he towers over you. He carries himself with an undeniable raw magnetism, slightly undercut by a sensible restraint, a quiet but powerful virility. You are not immune to its immediate effects.

"Well, don't die just yet. Don't need any dead bodies on my property." He tries to pretend to be amused but he can only muster an exhale, looking down at you, staring, mouth agape. You're now so close you swear you can smell the whole forest on him. You start to map out the details of his features like constellations in the night sky. You almost reach out your hand to touch them.

You turn around to enter your cottage just as the idea overtakes you. You realize, under the right circumstances, you might be as obedient to him as he's been to you.

"Would you like some water?" you say as you head straight for the kitchen, already reaching for a glass to serve him. His "yes, ma'am" is barely out before he downs the whole glass, letting out slurping noises of urgency and relief. You serve him a few more times before his chugs quiet down and his thirst is quenched. He removes his hat to reveal his sweaty temple and his luscious caramel hair.

"There is a vanity inside if you'd like to wash up while I finish dinner."

"Thank you." He heads towards your bedroom while you put down your shotgun and get the potatoes. Your two-room cottage is quite small, so you can hear him wash while stirring the stew. Water sloshes in the bowl for sometime before it stops. He struggles with something for a while before you hear the brief unzipping of his pants, the quick fastening of his buckle.

He takes his time but he emerges clean, his skin glowing bright by the light of the fire. He has groomed and rearranged his clothes to appear more presentable, his sleeves buttoned and his collar smoothed. He has tucked in his shirt, doing his best to hide the noticeable blood stains. His hair is swept back, you can tell he spent some time trying to comb it with his fingers. He holds his hat in his hands, fidgeting with the brim, patiently waiting for your command, looming over you as you cook. By the attentive way he's looking at you, you wonder if your attraction is reciprocated.

"Nearly done, Mr. Morgan." You raise from the fire to cool yourself as the room heats up with his presence. "I'll just set the table. Take a seat." He watches as you place some of your finest dishes and cutlery, arranging it all as well as you can to impress your guest. You soon pour the meaty stew onto your plates.

He stares at the food on the table for a little while, his mouth salivating at the sight. You figure he hasn't eaten anything for days now, surviving on whatever the forest gifted him. Whatever it was, surely not enough for a man of his stature. He moans after he takes his first bites, each one louder than the last. He tries to eat slowly but soon gives it up, ditching any pretense of civility in favor of sustenance. He holds the spoon for the stew in one hand while holding bread in the other, fetching for more of the other as he eats either one.

You try to eat your own meal as you become enraptured by the spectacle. His animalistic mannerisms are oddly captivating and leave little to the imagination. His piercing blue eyes raise from the food to eye you from time to time, ravishing you as he does his meal.

Arthur is on his fourth plate of stew before he begins to slow down. All the bread you had is gone, much to your regret. After you serve yourself a second helping, you drop the ladle and hear it echo in the nearly empty pot. You finish your meal by you reaching for some fruit for dessert, the last of the apples you were able to reach. You place one in front of Arthur just as he finishes scooping up the last of the liquid on his plate.

"I'm sorry I stole from you." He hangs his head in regret.

"Well, you didn't eat it. So I guess you didn't steal it." The peel of your apple lands as a perfect spiral on your plate.

"You're very kind for feeding me."

"I'd like to think that if the situation were reversed, you'd feed me too."

"I'd be honored if you'd let me repay you, ma'am." You know he means it.

You reach inside your pocket and take out Arthur's pocketknife before you hand it to him. "I'll have to think of something." He grabs the knife and begins to peel the apple as you did. "For now, I think I'll just hear your story."

You're on your second whiskey when you pour Arthur his third, relieved you opened the least expensive bottle. It'll be some time before Arthur gets tipsy given what he's eaten. You, however, have reached your limit.

He's been telling you about how he was ambushed on the road a few days back. O'Driscolls, he says. A group took him into the forest to beat him and left him to die with just some cigarettes in his pocket, no matches. The hunger wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't left him without a coat to keep him from the cold. He was losing hope when he stumbled onto your homestead and saw your apples.

You tell him little about yourself and he doesn't inquire much, thinking it's best not to pry. But he keeps staring at you with those hungry eyes of his and you wonder if he can see there's hunger in you too.

When the conversation dies, he rises from his chair to squat by the fire, reaching for a burning twig to light one of his cigarettes. You stare at his broad back, barely covered by his thinly stretched shirt. You wonder how your hands compare to it in size. Perhaps he has constellations on his back that you can map out too. You'd work your way upward, tracing lines with your fingers between his freckles and scars all the way up to his neck, finishing by feeling his big shoulders under your small hands. You'd be interrupted by him swinging you around so he can face to kiss you, passionately and without remorse. He would plant his own large hands on your small shoulders as you feel the weight of his full desire bearing down on you. You'd grab his shoulders again as he enters you.

He rises back to his chair, interrupting your fantasy. "You saved a man from death today, miss. I'm very grateful."

"Well, you just make sure you get some rest tonight. There's plenty of fire to keep warm. And more whiskey too." You lift the bottle to pour him more but he declines. "In the morning, you can take my horse into town. See if you can get in touch with your folks."

"Oh, I can't take more of your generosity, miss."

"Why not? I insist! I won't need the horse for a few days. I might have some money I can lend—"

"I can't possibly accept that, miss." The idea almost offends him.

"Fine, I won't lend you the money. So you'll take the horse then?" You smile as you trick him into charity.

He sighs. "Well, I guess I will." He looks rather defeated.

"Ok, good." You get up. "Now, you stay where you are while I go get linens to make your bed." You rush to your bedroom before he has a chance to object.

You haven't noticed how dark it has gotten until you see the moonlight illuminating your room, bright enough that you can see your way to your dresser. You light the lamp above it and notice the water in the vanity, muddied with dirt and old blood. The towel he used is neatly folded and placed on the dresser, the act of a thoughtful guest. You pick it up to place it with your dirty laundry and you catch a sniff of his smell in it. A mist of wood, grass, and sweat. Without a thought, you linger on it.

You look at your made-up bed and imagine what it would be like to have it drenched with his smell, his sweat staining the sheets after his vigorousness. You wonder if he'd be as loud as he was during dinner or if he would grow quiet, intensely concentrating on his pleasure. Or maybe he'd focus on yours, his lips seducing yours, first above your waistline and then below. Either way, you'd wrap your legs around him, savoring the feeling. You'd grab his shoulders once he'd surface, the two of you connected at the hips, colliding into each other. Afterward, you'd rest in his arms, his broad back taking up most of your mattress. You'd wash the dirty sheets in the morning but they'd still have traces of him. Just like you.

You wake from your stupor when you remember Arthur is outside, waiting for his actual bed to be made. You take from the armoire a blanket and a spare pillow and you wonder if he'll be able to fit in your old davenport. He most certainly will not. He could always take your bed.

You find him standing by the door as if he's leaving. Not courageous enough to leave without a goodbye. He jolts when he sees you emerge from the bedroom.

"Where are you going?"

"Look, miss, maybe it's best if I be on my way. I can walk from here. I'll come back to repay you for your trouble." He looks at you like he's scared of what will happen if you let him stay. You suspect that his head is filled with impure thoughts too, now that the hunger in his eyes is deeper.

"But it's already nighttime. There's no point in leaving now." Please don't leave, you think. You could make it worth his while.

"It ain't proper to bother you no more. Especially a woman by herself."

"It's no bother. Or improper, to help a man in need. Besides, I told you you can borrow my horse in the morning."

"I can't accept that."

"Seriously, Mr. Morgan, take what you need." You go to place the linens on the davenport, which is definitely too small for him.

“I think I've taken enough from you, ma’am.”

When you turn around you see Arthur has already opened the door and is on his way out. You rush to him and without thinking you grab his forearm and force him to turn, his figure filling your doorway, illuminated by the moonlight. He looks down at you, surprised by your boldness, his eyes burning with lust. You feel his heartbeat quicken in your hand.

You're brave enough to caress him with your thumb. "Don't go, Arthur."

He doesn't recoil and looks down at you, clearly wanting to accept your proposition. "It's been a while," he admits. He seems so timid yet so needy.

"Me too."

He hesitates for a few seconds before he finally reaches down to kiss you. His plump lips land on yours, softer than any kiss you could imagine him giving. It's powerful enough to titillate every part of you. You catch the smell of your soap on his skin as he presses closer to you. After a moment, he withdraws, still unsure of himself.

You reassure him again. "Take what you need."

You lose grasp of his wrist and feel both his hands reaching to the sides of your neck. He kisses you deeply now, pushing your lips apart to make room for his. You taste the cheap whiskey you served him when the tip of his tongue reaches yours. You grab onto his shoulders, trying to steady yourself as the pleasure intensifies. They're bigger than you imagined.

You lose yourself in his passion, malleable to his sudden force as he begins to overpower you, wrapping his arms around you while his tongue wraps around yours. He finally starts to take what he needs. You receive what you need, too.

Once he eases on you for a moment, you take the chance to lead him to your bedroom, anxious to enact the dirty daydream you just had in there. He follows your trail while kissing and caressing you, getting more confident as he escalates, gradually lowering his hands, from your face to your shoulders, then to your waist, and to your hips, ecstatically enveloping you. You're by the bed when you feel yourself vibrating with lust for the man that's touching you, getting wetter by the minute.

When your back hits the armoire, his pelvis runs into you and you feel his length already hard against you. You lean into him, savoring the sensation, and you guide his hands to your ass, which he grabs greedily, making you sway closer to him. Both of you exchange gasps in each other's mouths. Like at dinner, he sounds louder with every bite.

As much as it pains you, you slightly push Arthur back to start speeding things along. He watches as you begin to work your blouse, opening the buttons you fastened this morning. If you had known how aroused you'd be tonight, you would never have picked the blouse with so many buttons. You were hoping to strip for him, but your fingers are now clammy from the excitement, so you need an extra hand.

"Help me out, would you?"

He reaches for the button you're trying to undo, the one right between your breasts. Once he has access inside, he gets distracted by the visible part of your tits, already peeking through your chemise. He moves his fingertips over them, touching them delicately. The sensation feels like lightning to you and you let out small whispers of delight. You get louder once you feel his whole hand reaching under the chemise, softly cupping a whole breast, his palm now stimulating your nipple.

The sensation makes you melt under his touch. In return, you lower your hand to reach the growing erection under his pants, making him draw out a loud groan of satisfaction. You watch as Arthur closes his eyes as you continue to massage him, fully riveted by the sensation. The big size on your hand leaves you no less breathless.

It evidently becomes too overwhelming for him and he abruptly stops you and removes his hand. In a strangled voice, he leans into your ear to whisper. “I think I need another whiskey.”

He goes out the door and you watch as he heads to the table, pours himself a drink and downs it with a frustrated grunt. He pours another, trying to settle his nerves, concentrating on avoiding a premature release. You figure it must be a long while since he's been touched by a woman. His erection must be painfully throbbing by now. He probably has no idea how arousing this is.

You go back in the room to open the drawer of your dresser. You cut the rest of the buttons of your blouse with your scissors, you can always saw them back later. You're finally free to undo the rest of your blouse and remove your skirt and chemise, finally naked and free. You return to your bedroom door to tell Arthur the good news.

You find him staring at the fire as it dies down, the drink still on the table nearby. His shirt has now been removed and so has his modesty, it seems. You watch as he unbuckles his pants and frees himself, at last holding his stiffness in his hand. He takes a moment before he starts pumping, languidly stroking his length while letting out small sounds of relief.

You marvel at the sight of the cowboy letting loose, so you decide not to disturb him. You get wetter at the realization that he's touching an arousal you helped build. Unable to contain yourself, you reach for your own sex, trying to find some much-needed relief. For a few moments, you both touch each other to the same lazy rhythm.

“I can help with that, you know?” You come out of the bedroom once you reach your limit, desperate for his touch.

Arthur freezes in place when he sees you standing there, now fully naked with your hair down. You could swear his cock shifts in his hand at your sight. You join him by the fire and, without permission, you resume his handiwork on your own fist while he lets out his audible approval. He huffs louder when you reach for his tip.

When he seems to unfreeze, he cups one of your breasts, as if to steady himself. He lightly massages your nipple with his thumb as you continue to work on his length.

You continue pumping him, fastening the pace as you feel him panting under you and see him close his eyes. You stop before things get out of control, which brings him back to the room.

"Let's get to bed," you suggest.

You lead him inside until you sit on the edge of the bed. It's now your turn to wait for instructions. But you pick up on some of his earlier hesitation, a man worried about unloading himself on you.

“Take me.” Your tone is almost a pleading one. "Take me, Arthur."

The sound of his name on your lips is enough to rouse him. What follows next is utterly exhilarating as he makes you lie fully on the bed, his hands pushing your shoulders down while his cock presses on your stomach. Once he rises, he instructs you. "Spread your legs for me, girl." You do as your told, trembling at his sudden domineering voice.

You watch as he stands looming over you, his cock fully erect and twitching with need, an erotic image you won't soon forget. He takes a moment to look at you, spread out with your legs hanging, your core exposed. He's surely saving a picture for himself too.

"Mmm so pretty for me." He reaches down and parts your folds. "So wet for me, too." He drags his index up and down, watching as you writhe under the sensation. You wish that he would linger further on your clit but instead he grabs your hip with one hand and puts the other on his length, aligning the head at your entrance, wetting it with your slick. It's both completely thrilling and not enough at the same time.

"You gonna take me good, girl?" He grips your hip more forcefully. You nod for him as you prepare yourself for what's coming. You hold your arms to the side, just like he did when you were pointing the shotgun at him. Just like him, you surrender.

He enters you messily as he hurries inside, clearly impatient to start. He groans loudly and sloppily, almost like a teenager. You cling to the sheets beside you as you take him, adapting to the feeling of being completely filled. Once he's inside, he takes a second to adjust, clearly savoring being inside another woman again.

"Mmm, so good and tight, girl. Fuck. Fuuuck!"

Once he's fully buried in you, he loses no time and begins to thrust, starting off faster than you expect. He looks at you with unapologetic lust. It takes you some getting used to his rhythm and size, but something about his hungry demeanor arouses you enough to dissipate any discomfort. You soon begin to experience a type of pleasure you haven't felt in a long while.

You can't help but let out whatever moan comes out of you, as your senses surrender to to the hooligan now overpowering you. You have quenched his thirst, relieved his hunger and now you're satisfying his most carnal need. Each time he has repaid you with the most obscene noises and lascivious stares. You hope you're repaying him back in the same way.

His thrusts become erratic, a man in desperate need of release. You try to do your best to please him further, but there's not much you can do once he controls both your hips with his hands, allowing him to bury himself as deep within you as possible. When he further angles down on you, you feel more pressure on your clit, wrapping your knees around him, pressing for more.

His pacing is now reckless as he tries to satisfy his hunger, dripping with sweat over you. You're completely enthralled as this complete stranger fucks you so greedily under the cover of night. You feel yourself getting closer to some edge you barely even knew existed.

By the manner he fucks you, you figure his long-held repression will not make him last long, so you're dismayed but not surprised when you feel him approaching his climax. You haven't reached yours yet, even though you know you're very close. You wish he holds on a little longer, but it's too late once you hear him huff with even less discretion and you feel his muscles tensing around you.

Arthur pulls out of you before he comes, spilling white ropes all over your stomach, stroking his own cock to finish. It's a long and deep orgasm, one he's been needing for sometime. He remains in his position, still holding his cock, mouth opened and eyes closed as he comes down from his high. He goes limp, landing next to you with a thud, exhausted and with his eyes closed, unable to move.

Arthur's climax is no doubt the most erotic one you've ever witnessed and the arousal it creates in you is only a burden once you realize you still haven't orgasmed yourself. You get up to fetch a clean towel, cleaning his spill off of yourself and you watch as he lays there, eyes still closed. His chest begins to settle as his breathing calms.

You get back in bed and kneel beside him, your eyes surveying every part of his incredible physique, his cock now semi-hard after being inside you. You rub two of your fingers in your wetness before you place them on your clit and move them in circles to find your pleasure again. You're still very aroused and it's not long before you feel the beginning of your climax again. You keep staring at Arthur, his body reason enough to titillate you further. You look at his length, already missing having it inside you, so you slip a couple of fingers in you. They're not even close to replacing him but they provide enough pressure to continue building your peak.

You keep watching him and keep thinking of him thrusting into you when you start to let out sharp whimpers, panting as you inch closer to release. They're loud enough to make Arthur wake from his exhaustion and you watch as he props himself up on his elbows, enjoying the view of your self-gratification. But just watching isn't enough for him.

"Let me."

He places his fingers on top of yours, which are now circling your clit at a fast pace. You let him learn the rhythm of the motion and then you remove your hand, squirming as you feel him directly pleasuring you. It happens just in time as it's only a moment until you finally come, erupting wildly under his unyielding touch. He works you through your orgasm until you finally collapse next to him, unconsciously searching for his chest and placing your semi-lucid head there.

You feel him wrap you in his arms, caressing your back as your breathing eases. "That was beautiful, girl."

When you open your eyes after a while, you notice the lamp in your room has gone out and the both of you are now bathing in the moonlight, only accompanied by the sounds of the surrounding forest. You soon notice Arthur's deep breathing under you and you realize he must have fallen fast asleep, exhausted from the ordeal of the past few days, enjoying the safety of your bed. A man now fed, fucked and sheltered.

Although you don't want to, you slowly remove yourself from him. You cover him with your quilt but not before gazing at his full body again, already missing it on top of you. You move to the side of the bed he doesn't occupy, small enough to have you lay on your side by his side. You fall asleep to the sound of his deep loud breathing. Two perfect strangers satiated in the moonlight.

—

It's a regular morning for you, waking up alone in your bed, eyes opened and staring at the wooden ceiling. But this time you feel your insides a little sore, a welcomed reminder of last night. You turn to look at Arthur's place, now empty but his outline still visible on the sheets. You map it with your fingers as you wonder where he is, still burning with the memory of him inside you.

You get up and dress in clean clothes you pick from your dresser, a simple blouse and skirt with fewer buttons, pretty enough that he might like. You tie up your hair in your usual practical bun. You douse some expensive perfume on your neck, a small strand running between your breasts.

You guess it is about seven by the morning's light outside. You step into the porch as you watch Arthur next to the apple tree, in the same spot where you found him yesterday. He's picking the remaining apples on the top and placing them on a basket. The sight of his chiseled body under his clothes is enough to flare the arousal you thought you'd extinguished last night.

He sees you when he retrieves the last apple, perched over a lower branch. He brings you a full basket with a small grin on his face, a man whose basic needs seem to have been entirely fulfilled.

You can't help but smile too. "You stealing from me again, are you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, miss. Thought I'd finish what I started and get them down for you." He sets the basket at your feet, like an ancient priest offering it to a deity. "Now no one can try to steal them again."

"Wouldn't want any competition, huh?" You tease him as he approaches you, his hands on his hips, sweat running down his brow.

He licks his lips before answering. "No, ma'am. Wouldn't dream of it."

"You hungry?"

"I'm still full after last night."

You giggle slightly at his insinuation before you lead him back into your kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Arthur helps make coffee while you prepare the bacon, eggs and sausages. The meal feels a little off without some bread, but you barely notice in the presence of your company.

Arthur is telling you an amusing story involving a donkey on his passing through Armadillo, letting you peek inside his previous life before he made it to New Haven. It pleases you that he is a traveling man, besides clearly being a resourceful one. He grows quiet when you ask him what he does for a living. You busy yourself with the dishes to dispel the tension brought on by the vague answer he gives.

He gets up to help you clear the rest of the dishes on the table. "I best get going if I'm gonna make it to Valentine before noon."

The mention of him leaving stings you. "You can go get Amber. She's on the stable out back. She's real friendly."

"May I?" Arthur points to the basket of apples and when you nod he grabs two of them, taking a big bite out of one. You see him drool a little before he walks out the door.

You busy yourself with the dishes before he comes back. All the while you feel a pang in your stomach as you think about him leaving, wishing you could spend the night together again. Flashes of last night burst into your consciousness, making you relieve it deliciously. You feel yourself filled with lust again before it's even eight in the morning.

When you catch Arthur leading Amber to your yard, you realize that if he's a man of his word he'll have to come back to return her safely back to you. Maybe you'll cook dinner for him again. Maybe he'll take you once again. You head out for the yard with your mind made up to ask him to come back.

"It's a nice trotter you got here. Well fed too." He pets her neck, much to her delight, and he feeds her the other apple he grabbed. "That's a good girl." His wording sounds like an echo from last night.

"She like carrots too. I've put some inside, some beans and corn for you too. Don't want you going hungry again." You hand him a satchel you've prepared for his journey into town.

"Much obliged." He nods in thanks and places it on his shoulder, which barely shifts at the weight of it. He steps forward as he begins his goodbye, halting just as he hovers above you.

"I'm very grateful to you, miss. For everything." He whispers the last part as a dirty little secret that only you two share.

"Well, I'm glad I could be of help." You fidget with your fingers, too afraid to ask him to stay, too cowardly to say goodbye.

"I'll come back to bring Amber. And to repay you. I promise." He emphasizes the last part like it's a sacred vow.

Arthur lingers over you and you wait for his next move. It looks like he's going kiss you goodbye but instead he takes a few steps back and mounts Amber instead. He gives you one last look and one last nod before he urges her to trot and you watch as he gallops out of view. His absence leaves you cold and sullen, mended only by the promise of his return.

You decide not to spend the day wallowing, instead being grateful for the night of passion you just experienced. You set out to do the remainder of your chores before you resume your knitting. When you finish with the kitchen, you tidy up the rest of the living room. You put away the nearly empty bottle of whiskey. You relight the fire in the hearth. You put away the linens on the sofa that have been sitting there all night, unused.

You turn around in your bedroom to find the bed still unmade, his outline still traceable. You go to remove the quilt from the bed when it hits you. You catch a whiff of his smell again, this time all over your sheets, right where he had you. You catch a few stains of dried sweat where both of you laid, asleep and awake. Traces of his spend and your slick. It's his pillow that most delights you as it smells so intensely of him, it's almost like he's there again.

Like he's there again, pushing you downward, telling you to spread, filling you whole. So pretty for me. Taking you, over and over. So good and tight, girl. Fuck. The memory is too strong for you to resist it, so you lay down again, right where he had you. You use your fingers to try to mimic his movements and vigor. You cannot match them, but they are enough to make you come again, this time while he's still inside you, and you repeat his name out loud as you do it. You lay your head on his pillow as you come down to earth again. That was beautiful, girl. You remember his promise to come back, the possibility of him taking you again surely enough to power you until his return.

It's midmorning when you decide to get up and finally change the sheets, as much as it pains you to lose his scent. You decide to leave his pillow untouched, a souvenir of your unexpected affair, now lying atop the fresh bed linens.

You set out to do the laundry, hoping it dries with the afternoon sun. You wash the sheets first, then your clothes and undergarments, followed by the towels. You take a second to look at the embroidery you stitched on the hand towel you used to clean Arthur's seed off of you.

It's only when you see his initials that you think of your husband.

A/N: Already working on chapter 2! Feedback is welcomed!

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fanfiction #goodmorgan

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kiragghar · 5 months

Text

You're My Boy Now

Pairing: - Kir's notes: I read that Kaiser's mom is a lead actress in his dad's movie after I wrote this, but I'm too lazy to change it. I think that he will help you pick a suitable partner for you. A continuation of this Tags: spoilers from chapter 260, parent-son bonding, movie night, 12y.o Kaiser, the reader is gender-neutral Word count: 600

During weekends you would let Michael pick a movie to watch (anything without gore/+18 in it of course) and today he chose a cutesy warm high school romance movie that you remember watching when you were his age.

In the middle of watching you remember that one thought lingering from the day you met him, he looks familiar, yet you can’t recall. You look at him, he looks so engrossed in that movie. It reminds you of the times you would watch it 2 to 3 times a day without getting bored of it. Then this one scene comes along, and you see the main character’s mother, and realization hits. You remember now, she looks like Michael, and not to mention you remembered a rumor from when you were a teen about her cheating on her husband with a richer man. You waited until her scene was over and paused the movie. You looked to the boy who looked at you, confused. “Are you okay? Do you want to continue?” you asked in worry. “It’s fine… Why?” he confirmed and asked back. “Ah, nothing,” you replied and hit the play button on the remote.

You’re glad that he’s okay, but is he really okay? But thankfully that’s the first and last of her appearance. An hour later the credits rolled in and you saw the name of the filmmaker, last name Kaiser. “I… I need to go to bed, good night,” Michael said as he stood up from the couch and walked to his room, formerly the guest room. “Good night…” you replied. He looks a bit scared, wait. You remember it now, you were such a fan of that movie until you became a fan of the filmmaker. That was his last movie before went ‘poof’ from the internet’s surface (apparently). And then the rumor popped up a few months after that.

You decided to check on him in his room. You tip-toed your way to the front of his room, knocked on his door, and pushed the door a bit. You heard his sniffles as he hid under the blanket. “Michael? Are you okay?” you asked as you near him, sitting on his bed corner. No answer. “Michael?” you asked again as you uncovered him a bit. He’s still curled up like a ball, with tears forming, threatening to fall. “Hey, it’s fine… You can tell me if you want,” you assure him as you pat his head.

~•~•~

“M-my dad…” he said, tears falling out of his eyes. You knew it. “My dad made that… Movie…” he continued, his cries a bit louder than before. “There there…” You try calming him down. It took around 45 minutes to calm him down. “It’s a bummer that he made that movie, that was my favorite movie when I was your age,” you stated. You feel guilt over your heart, how can teen you be a fan of a child abuser? He nods in response. “I’ll sell the CD to the thrift store okay?” you ask him, and he nods. “Just remember you’re my boy now okay, you’re safe here, and I’m here for you,” you reassure him as you kiss him on the forehead, say good night to him, and leave his room.

Bonus: after that, you checked the CD case one by one, separating the ones made by that ass of a father and the ones made by other filmmakers that don’t suck. And after work, you go to the thrift store with Michael to sell the CDs and might as well buy the things that he wants.

#bllk x reader #blue lock #bllk michael kaiser #michael kaiser #bllk x gender neutral reader #bllk #blue lock michael kaiser

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kingofbodyrolls · 1 year

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Friendcation (m) | myg | teaser one

| s.masterlist | m.masterlist | Chapter one →

Summary: Going camping with your best friends seemed like a brilliant idea when you initially made the plans. But when you harbor secret feelings for one of them, what will become of you being close confined for three months? Trouble, that’s what.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female, “Y/N”)

Other characters: Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin.

Genre/AU: best friends to lovers, non idol!au, camping!au, roadtrip!au, mechanic!Yoongi, humor, smut and fluff

Rating: mature/explicit/R18

Word count: 11,9K

Warnings/tags: will be tagged for each individual chapter. But for chapter 1 it's; pent up sexual frustration, vulgar language, a lame game of 'never have I ever', mentions of past sexual encounters, fluff.

Author’s note: I’m only finished with the first chapter, but I’m too excited about this, so I’m posting it as a teaser. Don’t expect me to post at a regular time, because as I said, I’m still writing it (though I have planned most of it out already 😉).

Teaser is under the cut ⬇️

Snippet:

“Nice tits,” Yoongi's mischievous comment hung in the air, punctuated by a chuckle that echoed with playful admiration. Heat rushed to your cheeks, turning them beet red as you instinctively glanced down your body, realizing with a sinking feeling that your white shirt had become transparent when it clung to your soaking body. Panic surged through you.

In a hurry, you covered your breasts with your hands, the wet fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Your heart raced, and your body felt hot, a combination of embarrassment and an unexpected wave of arousal coursing through you.

Why the fuck is he still looking? you thought with a mixture of irritation and intrigue. His gaze bore into you with a lazy smirk, and your skin prickled with a blend of vulnerability and desire.

“Stop looking!” you hissed, your voice trembling with a mixture of need and frustration. The tension between you was palpable, an unspoken connection simmering beneath the surface as the world around you faded into the background.

In an angry, trembling tone, you hissed at him, “And don't you dare say a fucking word!” Your hands remained firmly pressed against your breasts, your skin still tingling from the electric encounter. With a mix of indignation and vulnerability, you turned on your heel and hurriedly retreated, the path back to the van stretching out before you, each step echoing the tumultuous feelings churning inside. You retraced your steps in stifling silence, the tension between you and Yoongi lingering in the air like an unspoken secret.

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lucky-clover-gazette · 2 months

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kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 9

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

The next morning, they had to sit next to each other.

me when i’m a high school junior and had a huge falling out with my best friend who i’m totally not in love with last night but we still have to coexist in ap english class

The joint thrones today were under a silk awning, raised to protect Laurent’s milkmaid skin from the sun.

BRUTAL

Lady Vannes murmuring into the ear of a new female pet

oooooh what happened to the old one? drama alert!!

A part of Damen acknowledged, a little guiltily, that Laurent probably hadn’t deserved to get thrown around the training arena as a result.

laurent would disagree

Nikandros said, without looking next to him, ‘Your uncle has wiped out half of our army with two hundred men.’ ‘And a belt,’ said Laurent.

nikandros private twitter vent #11. incoherent violent stick figure jpegs

Damen said, ‘At least someone else has a chance to win at javelin.’

i understand that people like sports and it’s a fun thing to add to a pretty serious story but i am the buzzkill here and ugh. sports

In the stands, slaves rhythmically raised and lowered fans and brought shallow cups of wine that everyone drank except Laurent.

me getting ginger beer at the bar yesterday while the dude i was with drank an espresso martini and two whiskeys

He came forward naked, as was the custom in Akielos.

i feel like violent dangerous sports are a really good occasion to wear MORE clothing, but go off i guess

The two men scooped oil from the receptacle brought to them by the stewards, anointed their bodies with it, then they slung their arms around one another’s shoulders, and, on the signal, heaved. The crowd cheered, the men grappled, their bodies straining against each other in slippery hold after slippery hold, until Pallas finally had Elon panting, on the grass, the sounds an eruption from the crowd.

this is like the not-evil twin of the veretian court wrestling

Damen rose from the throne, and put his hand to the gold brooch at his shoulder. His garment dropped and the crowd roared its approval.

you know, damen’s lack of freaking out about some of the indignities of the veretian court make more sense now

‘Good fight,’ he said, taking his place again on the throne beside Laurent. He waved over some wine. ‘What is it?’ ‘Nothing,’ said Laurent, and found somewhere else to put his eyes.

hang in there buddy

‘What can we expect next? I really feel,’ said Vannes, ‘it might be anything.’

i love the slight disdain here

‘Who did this to you?’ ‘I did,’ Laurent said. Damen turned. Laurent stood in the entryway of the tent. He was arranged with elegant grace and his lazy, blue-eyed attention was all on Nikandros. Laurent said, ‘I meant to kill him, but my uncle wouldn’t let me.’ Nikandros took an impotent step forward but Damen already had a restraining hand on his arm. Nikandros’s hand had gone to the hilt of his sword. His eyes were on Laurent furiously. Laurent said, ‘He sucked my cock too.’ Nikandros said, ‘Exalted, I beg permission to challenge the Prince of Vere to a duel of honour for the insult that he has done to you.’ ‘Denied,’ said Damen. ‘You see?’ said Laurent. ‘He has forgiven me for the small matter of the whip. I have forgiven him for the small matter of killing my brother. All praise the alliance.’ ‘You flayed the skin from his back.’ ‘Not personally. I just watched while I had my man do it.’ Laurent said it with a fronded, long-lashed gaze. Nikandros looked physically sick with the effort of repressing his anger. ‘How many lashes was it? Fifty? One hundred? He might have died!’ Laurent said, ‘Yes, that was the idea.’

LAMEN HR COMPLAINT #8

god i FUCKING love this little confrontation. i appreciate how we can start easing into some more comedy with these specific characters, because nobody here is like actively enslaved or abused. they’re all on even footing, so shots can be fired for fun, and can be read as such. the analysis here, in short, is that damen and laurent are both insane about each other and nikandros just has to deal with it. laurent thinks it’s amusing to mess with nikandros, and to a lesser degree damen. and damen tolerates it because he knows laurent behind his performative cruelty, but can’t possibly explain that to nikandros. regardless, laurent has immunity from damen, which means he also has immunity from nikandros.

this is also a good way to show how both damen and laurent have started “settling” the matters of damen killing auguste and laurent punishing him in vere, since the last scene where both subjects were heavily referenced.

Angry as he was, Nikandros wouldn’t disobey a direct order. His training was too deeply ingrained.

i like this subtle moment. damen grew up in the same culture, yet one of his main Things in this series has always been disobeying orders he disagrees with. built different!

‘Why would you do that? He’ll defect.’ ‘He’s not going to defect. He is your most loyal servant.’ ‘So you push him to breaking point?’ ‘Should I have told him I didn’t enjoy it?’ said Laurent. ‘But I did enjoy it. I liked it most near the end, when you broke down.’

laurent calculated and performative cruelty to protect himself from being vulnerable, you know the drill by now

‘You didn’t have to come here. You could have sent a messenger.’ In the pause that followed, Laurent’s gaze shifted involuntarily sideways. A strange prickling passing over his skin, Damen realised that Laurent was looking at the polished mirror behind him at the reflection of his scars. Their eyes met again. Laurent wasn’t often caught out, but a single glance had betrayed him. They both knew it. Damen felt the hard ache of it. ‘Admiring your handiwork?’

damen: i know you came here on purpose to spend time with me alone when you totally didn’t have to laurent: [very obviously checks out damen’s bare back, and not just for the symbolism reasons] damen: you want to look at me so bad (because you have an emotional attachment to the marks and you want to torture us both about it, and also because you think i’m hot. in both cases you’re the desperate one here, i win)

‘I’ll join you after I’ve dressed. Unless you want to step closer. You can help stick in the pin.’ ‘Do it yourself,’ said Laurent.

this sounds like their prince’s gambit-era antagonistic, vaguely horny, reluctantly fond banter. we’re getting somewhere!

The fever pitch of the crowd was bloodthirsty. The okton brought that out in them, the danger, the threat of maiming. The second of two targets was hammered onto its struts, and the attendants gave the all clear. In the heat of the day, anticipation was an insect buzz, rising to a commotion on the south-western side of the field.

this is such a fucking terrible idea you are in a WAR. damen you are going to be KING. why are you risking your life to play a sports right now. it would be like if the person about to cure a disease decided to play a game of bowling with a 80% survival rate right before they finished the vaccine

Damen heard the reaction of those around him. The Veretian Prince was, at a glance, Damen’s athletic inferior. Certainly, he avoided the training fields. No Akielon had ever seen him fight, or take exercise. He had not participated in any of today’s contests. He had done nothing more than sit, elegant and relaxed, as now. ‘Veretians do not train in the okton,’ said Damen. ‘In Akielos, the okton is known as the sport of kings,’ said Makedon. ‘Our own King will take the field. Does the Prince of Vere lack the courage to ride against him?’

makedon wants that twink obliterated

Damen waited for Laurent to sidestep, to evade, to find, somehow, the words to extricate himself from the situation. The flags fluttered loudly. The stands were silent, to a man. ‘Why not?’ said Laurent.

FSIUFHSDIUFHSDF i love laurent so much it’s unreal. this is the same response you’d give if a friend asked if you wanted to get takeout on a thursday night. “yeah, why not?” mr. “probably” laurent strikes again

Mounted, Damen faced the course, holding his horse ready at the starting line. His mount shifted, fractious, eager for the horn that would signal his start. Two horses down from his own, he could see Laurent’s bright head.

their horses who are canonically in love with each other get to do homoerotic sports too!!

But the true challenge of the okton was this: if you missed, your spear might kill your opponent. If your opponent missed, you were dead.

i was going to say “thankfully there are no real-life sports that sacrifice the physical well-being and possibly lives of eager-to-impress youths looking for glory and compensation” but then i remembered american college football exists

Laurent could also throw a spear. Probably.

probably.

But all of that meant nothing in the face of the okton. Men died during the okton. Men fell, men suffered permanent injury—from a spear; from hooves after a fall. Out of the corner of his eye, Damen could see the physicians, including Paschal, who waited on the sidelines, ready to patch and sew. There was a great deal at stake for the lives of the physicians, with royalty from two countries on the field. There was a great deal at stake for everyone.

not beating the american college football allegations

Damen could not aid Laurent in the contest.

he’ll kill one of his own people by throwing a sword across a clearing to save his captor in book 2, but he won’t use his kingly authority to say “hey guys maybe let’s not put both of the army’s leaders, one of whom is the love of my life and also my divorced husband, in the hunger games right now”

There was something intellectual in the way he assessed the field, and it set him apart from the other riders. For Laurent, physical pursuits were not instinctive, and for the first time it occurred to Damen to wonder if Laurent even enjoyed them. Laurent had been bookish as a boy, before he had re-formed himself.

“he should be at the (afterschool dungeons and dragons) club”

Laurent dealt with the danger of the okton by simply behaving as though it did not exist.

that tracks externally, but i also think that inside laurent’s brain he does acknowledge it, he just has a precise threshold of acceptable risk

Instinct reacted before thought. The spear was driving towards his chest; Damen caught it out of the air, his hand closing hard around the shaft, the momentum of it wrenching his shoulder back. He absorbed it, tightening his grip with his thighs to keep himself in the saddle.

this would be even more impressive if it was not the solution to a dangerous situation you ACTIVELY MADE HAPPEN

All his attention was on the other spear, flying towards Laurent. His heart jammed in his throat. On the other side of the course, Pallas was frozen. In that stricken moment of choice, Pallas could only decide whether to dodge and risk his cowardice killing a prince, or stand his ground and receive a spear to the throat. His fate was tied to Laurent’s, and unlike Damen, he had no recourse for what to do. Laurent knew it. Like Damen, Laurent had seen it early—had seen the strut collapse, had judged the outcome. In the handful of extra seconds that this afforded him, Laurent acted without hesitation. He released his reins—and as Damen watched, as the spear flew right for him—he jumped, not out of the way, but into the path of the spear, leaping from his horse to Pallas’s, dragging them both to the left. Pallas swayed, shocked, and Laurent bodily kept him down low in the saddle. The spear sailed past them and landed in the tufted grass like a javelin.

an akielion wouldn’t think to do THAT, would they!!

(also, love the little parallel to prince’s gambit, with damen ripping the grate out of the wall and laurent’s meticulous scheming. here it’s not as much a competition as it is a mutual/cooperative victory, with damen stopping the javelin mid-air and laurent intelligently evading the other one headed towards him)

The crowd went wild. Laurent ignored it. Laurent reached down and neatly filched Pallas’s last spear for himself. And, keeping Pallas’s horse at a gallop—as the sounds of the crowd swelled to a crescendo—he threw it, sending it flying right into the centre of the final target. Completing the okton one spear ahead of Pallas and of Damen, Laurent drew his horse up in a little circle, and met Damen’s gaze, his pale brows rising, as if to say, ‘Well?’ Damen grinned. He hefted the spear he had caught, and from where he was on the far side of the course, threw; let it go sailing over the full, impossible length of the field, to thunk into the target alongside Laurent’s spear, where it rested, quivering. Pandemonium.

they are both That Bitch. perfect for each other, and now everyone knows it (kinda) <3

After, they crowned each other with laurels.

cute

There was a warmth in his chest whenever he looked at Laurent. He didn’t look often for that reason.

Their men would ride out unified, and if there was a crack down the centre, no one knew about it. He and Laurent were good at pretending.

no they’re not. they’re just becoming more entertaining and endearing than annoying and frustrating, so people are more likely to listen to them

Laurent took his place on one of the lounging couches like he was born to it. Damen sat alongside him.

and all was right with the universe

The whole room went silent. Makedon and Laurent faced one another. The silence stretched out. ‘You have the mind of a snake,’ Makedon said. ‘You have the mind of an old bull,’ said Laurent. They stared at one another. After a long moment, Makedon waved at the slave, who came forward with a fat-bellied bottle of Akielon spirits and two shallow cups. ‘I will drink with you,’ said Makedon.

i love this unlikely friendship. laurent is being socialized like a feral kitten

Laurent glanced at the wine that the slave had poured, and Damen knew with absolute certainty that if it was wine, Laurent wasn’t going to drink. Damen braced himself for the moment when every scrap of goodwill that Laurent had garnered for himself was thrown away—as every tenet of Akielon hospitality was insulted, and Makedon swept forever out of the hall. Laurent picked up the cup in front of him, drained it, then returned it to the table. Makedon gave a slow nod of approval, lifted his own cup, downed it. And said, ‘Again.’

extremely loud airhorn goes off SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS

Later, when a great many overturned cups scattered the low table, Makedon leaned forward and told Laurent he must try griva, the drink from his own region, and Laurent downed it and said it tasted like swill, and Makedon said, ‘Ha, ha, true!’ Later, Makedon told the story of his first games, when Ephagin won the okton, and the bannermen grew misty-eyed, and everyone had another drink. Later, everyone roared when Laurent was able to balance three empty cups on top of each other, while Makedon’s cups fell over.

is this just what frat parties are like?

Laurent maintained a scrupulous posture until they were all gone, his eyes dilated, his cheeks slightly flushed. Damen spread his arm over the back of his own seat and waited. After a long moment, Laurent said, ‘I’m going to need some help standing up.’

i love that damen just Waited. he knew. he wanted laurent to admit it. they’re so funny

He wasn’t expecting to receive Laurent’s full weight, but he did, a warm arm slung around his neck, and he was suddenly breathless with the feeling of Laurent in his arms. His hands came up to steady Laurent’s waist, his heart behaving strangely. It was sweetly, impossibly illicit. He felt the ache in his chest. Damen said, ‘The Prince and I are retiring,’ and waved the lingering slaves out. ‘It’s this way,’ said Laurent. ‘Probably.’

‘Is today the first time you’ve been beaten in an okton?’ ‘Technically, it was a draw,’ said Damen. ‘Technically. I told you I was quite good at riding. I used to beat Auguste all the time when we raced at Chastillon. It took me until I was nine to realise he was letting me win. I just thought I had a very fast pony. You’re smiling.’ He was smiling.

drunk laurent happily telling damen about auguste :’) also the “you’re smiling” is so adorable, i love how we’re getting some dorky soft laurent finally. he contains multitudes. this, like, “suddenly aware that he’s being cute and appreciated for it, slightly indignant but also allowing it because it’s damen who thinks he’s cute” thing is wonderful and tbh i hope i can someday allow myself to be like that too :)

‘Am I talking too much? I can’t hold alcohol at all.’ ‘I can see that.’ ‘It’s my fault. I never drink. I should have realised I’d need to, with men like these, and made an effort to . . . build up some sort of tolerance . . .’ He was serious. ‘Is that how your mind works?’ said Damen. ‘And what do you mean, you never drink?

drunk laurent is so funny. and i love how damen is amused, endeared, and absolutely fascinated by the inner workings of this man. me too.

also, it's insane that laurent would ever ask if he's talking too much. taking too much is like his entire thing

side note: this is 100% how i am when i use any kind of mind-altering substances, like a sedative before a root canal. i remember detailing how i felt in my notes app at the time and then reading it later and being both impressed by the determination to remain incoherent and amused by the inserted notes of “why am i laughing” “why is everything funny”

You were drunk the first night I met you.’ ‘I made an exception,’ said Laurent, ‘that night. Two and a half bottles. I had to force myself to get it down. I thought it would be easier drunk.’ ‘You thought what would be easier?’ said Damen. ‘“What”?’ said Laurent. ‘You.’ Damen felt the hairs rise over his whole body. Laurent said it softly, and as though it was obvious, his blue eyes a little hazy, his arm still around Damen’s neck. They were gazing at one another, halted in the half-light of the passage. ‘My Akielon bed slave,’ said Laurent, ‘named for the man who killed my brother.’

“no shit, i got drunk”

It wasn’t unusual for two young men to wander the halls together, swaying, after a revel—even among princes—and Damen could pretend for a moment that they were what they seemed to be: brothers in arms. Friends.

you guys got publicly married-divorced and laurent told an entire army that you fucked each other multiple times. you wear matching arm cuffs. even your horses are in love. be so serious rn

The guards on either side of the entrance were too well trained to react to the presence of royalty leaning all over each other.

They Pretend They Do Not See It (not an HR complain bc they’re not really bothering anyone or breaking rules)

‘No one is to enter,’ Damen ordered the guards. He was aware of the implication—Damianos entering a bedchamber with a young man in his arms and ordering everyone out—and he ignored it. If Isander suddenly had a startling reason why the frigid Prince of Vere had foregone his services, so be it.

oh nooooo what a shame if isander backed off from your man, what an unintended and unfortunate consequence, oh nooooooo

Laurent, intensely private, would not want his household present while he dealt with the effects of a night’s worth of drinking.

just got a vision of laurent as heather chandler in the hangover/death scene. wearing that cunty little robe and talking shit

Laurent was going to wake with a blinding headache fuelling his corrosive tongue, and pity anyone who ran into him then. As for Damen, he was going to give Laurent a push in the small of his back and send him staggering the four steps to the bed. Damen unlooped Laurent’s arm from his neck, disengaged himself. Laurent took a step under his own power, and lifted a hand to his jacket, blinking. ‘Attend me,’ Laurent said, unthinkingly. ‘For old time’s sake?’ said Damen. It was a mistake to say that. He stepped forward and put his hands on the ties of Laurent’s jacket. He began to draw the ties from their moorings. He felt the curve of Laurent’s ribcage as the tie threaded through its eye. The jacket tangled at Laurent’s wrist. It took some effort to get it off, disordering Laurent’s shirt. Damen stopped, his hands still inside the jacket.

Under the fine fabric of Laurent’s shirt, Paschal had bound Laurent’s shoulder to strengthen it. He saw it with a pang. It was something Laurent would not have let him see sober, a keen breach of privacy. He thought of sixteen spears thrown, with a constant effort of arm and shoulder, after rough exertion the day before.

fuck, that’s right. damn laurent

Damen took a step back, said: ‘Now you can say you were served by the King of Akielos.’ ‘I could say that anyway.’

he may be white girl wasted but he’s still our laurent

Lamp-lit, the room was filled with orange light, revealing its simple furnishings, the low chairs, the wall table with its bowl of fresh-picked fruit.

this time, the fruit basket guy just showed the kitchen staff a bunch of ao3 fics tagged “in vino veritas” and told them to make it work

Laurent was a different presence in his white undershirt.

makes him sound like a cryptid. blonde man jumpscare

They were gazing at each other.

we know.

‘I miss you,’ said Laurent. ‘I miss our conversations.’

he would not have admitted this under torture

(also, i really like how he misses their conversations first and foremost. laurent really does love damen for his mind and heart, more than anything else. damen is the same, but he's a lot more vocally into the other parts of laurent too)

It was too much. He remembered being strapped to the post and half killed; sober, Laurent had made the line very clear, and he was aware that he had crossed it, they both had.

damen is still afraid to potentially take advantage of laurent, especially because of what happened the first time laurent interpreted his advances in such a light (ow)

‘You’re drunk,’ said Damen. ‘You’re not yourself.’ He said, ‘I should take you to bed.’ ‘Then, take me,’ said Laurent.

Laurent lay where Damen put him, on his back in a half-open shirt, his hair tumbled, his expression unguarded. His knee was pushed out to the side, his breathing was slow as one in sleep, the thin fabric of his shirt lay against his skin, rising and falling with it. ‘You don’t like me like this?’

first thing, good for him. second thing, not good for him, because trauma, and the fact that he sees himself as a sexual object (i went a lot more into this during the chapter 7 re-analysis)

‘You’re really . . . not yourself.’ ‘Aren’t I?’

i do think damen means this as a “you could punish me for taking advantage,” but i also think there is the fact that damen doesn’t want a version of laurent who isn’t in his right mind (like slaves, who aren’t given the ability to have minds of their own). this calls back to the whole “you like it simple” thing in chapter 7, and it’s pretty satisfying to see damen prove laurent wrong!

‘I tried to kill you. I can’t seem to go through with it. You keep overturning all my plans.’

said with hearts in his eyes <3

Damen found a water pitcher and poured water into a shallow cup that he brought to the low table by Laurent’s bed. Then he emptied the fruit bowl of fruit and put it on the floor alongside, to be used as a drunk soldier might use an empty helmet.

THEY WORKED HARD ON THAT THEMATICALLY RELEVANT FRUIT BASKET >:( although perhaps this is its true thematic relevance? a means of damen helping laurent care for himself in recovery?

‘Laurent. Sleep it off. In the morning, you can punish us both. Or forget this ever happened. Or pretend to.’ He did all of this quite adeptly,

at least he’s getting more self-aware about his own blind spots, or at least his ability to have them

Laurent, falling through scattered thoughts into sleep, said, ‘Yes, uncle.’

i think this line honestly might have been a step too far. not necessarily because it’s a bad thing for laurent to say, i get that it makes sense for him to associate this kind of vulnerability with [redacted], and it’s even possible that laurent doesn’t drink now because the regent got him drunk before he [redacted].

why i think it miiiiiiight not work, is the fact that damen doesn’t oh fuck wait i JUST made note of a line where damen acknowledges how he can “quite adeptly” ignore things, literally a few sentences ago. i can’t even say he would have noticed, or made note of it, because that is his character. and the irony is like right there on the page. it’s frustrating to read, but it’s an intentional choice. well played as usual!

#we are so fucking back #sam reads capri #capri #captive prince #kings rising #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #lamen

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mellybouboulove · 4 months

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My guardian angel🤍𓆩♡𓆪☁️

Chapter 3

Plot summary: Drug Dealer Ellie Williams X OFC slowburn fic, out of universe and takes place in college, set in the 2000s. Smut content to come.

previous: Chapter 2, next: Chapter 4,

Tags: #wlw #sapphic #drugdealer!ellie #modern!ellie #tlou #slowburn #smut #fluff #tlouau #au #modernau #drugs

Chapter 3

The morning after, I woke up on the couch covered with a blanket. The light was shining through the blinds and the birds were singing, that was my first night of real sleep since a week. Lana who was sleeping on my lap started meowing to make me feed her. I finally got the energy to open my eyes and stand up to give food to my cat. Suddenly I looked around realizing she wasn't here anymore.

A wave of emptiness submerged me. My house is still a mess because I was still too lazy to do anything about it. I took a shower, my head full of questions : Why did she leave without telling anything? Did she even care at all? Am I just another stupid drug addict to her? I guess I'll never know. Anyway, it's not my problem anymore. I have more important things to think about like where to find my opiates. Right now I'm feeling better but I know I couldn't handle another day sober.

I put on another pyjama after getting out of the shower when I heard the door opening. I quickly left the bathroom and ran to the leaving room full of joy. Here she was ; she had 2 bags of groceries in her hands and a big backpack; could this be what I was thinking about ? No, she’s too busy to do this. She probably came to say goodbye.

-Ok so, I saw that the fridge was empty, I bought you eggs, pastas… She started to enumerate what she bought for me and explained that she wanted to stay with me for the weekend. I was right, she was about to stay here for a while. -Thank you so much I don't know what to say Ellie that’s so kind of you, how much do I own you? And why do you want to stay here? I’m not at my best you know.. -Nothing, she said, it’s my pleasure if I can help you. I’m gonna stay here for the week-end and yeah I saw that you’re not at your best. I don’t want to be a passive watcher of your fall, that's also why I want to stay with you.

I was so happy to hear this, I don't know if she would be able to do anything to help me heal but her attention was already enough to make me feel better. She installed her clothes then we talked about my situation while eating. I explained to her how I was feeling about what happened.

-I'm gonna give you some meds. If I see that you’re about to vomit or you’re shaking or about to faint I’ll give you something. If you’re feeling bad and start thinking too much about it just talk to me. I listened carefully to her instructions and she continued. -Do you think you'd be able to clean your place with me?

All alone I could never clean all that, I couldn’t even find the motivation to eat but now she’s here I dont know why but it seems effortless. She got up, turned on MTV and dragged me by the arm to the kitchen. I did the dishes as she was throwing out my spoiled groceries that were still in my fridge and placed the new ones she just bought. Then we picked up all the clothes that were around my house then she did a machine while vacuuming and cleaning the dust everywhere. We changed my bedsheets, cleaned the bathroom and even gave a bath to Lana.

Later, we both felt hungry so we decided to bake pancakes. It was really fun, though we first argued on the measurements of the sugar, she gave up and let me add an extra amount of sugar to make them sweet enough. She was eating the leftovers of dough stuck in the spoons and bowls and as she wanted to give me a taste, she unintentionally put some dough on my face which led to a little -very cliché romcom like- fight of trying to put dough on the other’s face. We were running around the kitchen aisle when she finally caught me and we started to calm down. She wiped the dough I had on my cheeks and forehead with her thumb then we went back to baking. The dough was ready, it was time to bake them on the pan. She was making them flip in the air like a pro which I strangely found very attractive of her. She tried teaching me but I made the pancake fall and the dough that was not cooked yet spilled everywhere. She decided to not let me have control of the pan again for the rest of the recipe and I, instead, took charge of setting the table and doing the dishes we just dirtied.

We enjoyed our pancakes in front of SpongeBob Squarepants.

-You were right, the more the sugar, the better. She said. -Told ya.. -Are you feeling tired or do you wanna go out now ? -No I’m feeling good, what do you have in mind? In reality my head was hurting but I needed to stay occupied. -I was thinking we could go to the fair maybe? -Ohh yes sounds good for me, let me get ready first.

I took another shower after sweating like a pig with all this cleaning, I got dressed in a skirt, a tight top and my platform boots, put some makeup on then did my hair. In the meantime, Ellie took a shower and got ready too. We got into her car on the way to the fair. The smell of the popcorn, cotton candy and churros filled my nostrils, the sky was dark, the stars and lights from the attractions were lighting us. We decided to go for a ride on the big wheel, we sat next to each other, her arm behind my neck, as we enjoyed the beautiful view from the top. I spotted a thrilling roller coaster. I begged Ellie to go for a ride with me until I had to drag her by her hand. We had a lot of fun, I felt like a kid.

Then, she decided to play a shooting game that could earn us a big teddy bear. After 3 shots, she finally managed to get the target; we were handed a big green dinosaur plushie. I felt so excited, it kinda looked like a date. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, violently turning me around; I was a little shaken up and turned with furrowed eyebrows to see the person who was assaulting me when I ended up face to face with Emily. My heartbeat immediately increased, my throat felt as tight as a bow.

-How dare you step foot at any party, how dare you pretend like nothing happened ? You’re such a pathetic selfish bitch. Do you ever even think about what you did and how much it impacted me ? Going on cute little dates with your stupid girlfriend while Jonathan is dying at the hospital ?? How can you even handle looking at yourself in the mirror?

I was left speechless, tears started to fill my eyes, my hands were shaky. She was right; I’m so selfish. I’m thinking about this day on repeat all day long but I didn’t even really try to check up on them. After my treatment started to make me feel crazy, I couldn’t focus on anything else than drugs. I guess it was easier than facing my responsibilities and the horrible consequences my actions had on my friends’ lives. I was just looking for something to focus on other than this. Emily has lost her scholarship after not being able to stay in the soccer team due to her injuries. Jonathan was still in a coma, his parents are visiting and praying for him everyday. I’ve been the luckiest out of us three yet I can only think about MY problems, MY addiction, MY guilt.

After what felt like forever of just standing there, Ellie took me apart in a more quiet area. She handed me a glass of water to try to calm me down. She pulled me into a hug and I let myself cry into her arms. We agreed it was time to go back home. Yet again we were driving to my house, making ourselves comfy on the couch while she reassured and took care of me. The day after we spent a while talking about everything and I understood focusing on drugs was selfish, I need to take action and try to fix what I can; Ellie said she’ll help me with everything and will stay with me all along but once the weekend was over, I quickly came back to reality.

#wlw #lgbt #lesbian #sapphic #tlou #ellie tlou #modern ellie #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #the last of us #fluff #smut #drugs cw #slow burn #trauma

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siampie · 1 month

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Get Off the Highway || Chapter 8

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 1.9 k

Warnings/tags: Enemies to lovers trope, angst, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome

A/N: Events take place between Pac-Man Fever (8.20) and The Great Escapist (8.21) continues into the next chapter.

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

“Garth, call me back please,” you said on the phone. “I need to know that you’re okay. Just call me, okay?”

You shut your trunk after dropping your duffel bag in. You were starting to get worried about Garth. You received a call from a hunter, two towns over, he couldn’t reach Garth but the latter had given him your number a few months ago just in case.

The last you’d heard of him or even spoken to him, was during that werewolf case, outside of Portland. And ever since, he went radio silent. You had no other way to reach him. You reached out to the Winchesters, questioning them about Garth. But they hadn’t heard from him, either.

Unfortunately, you had to put your worries regarding Garth at the back of your mind. The job never stopped.

“Anybody home?” You called, walking down the stairs that led you into the underground bunker.

“Hey, what brings you to our necks of the woods, Princess?” Dean greeted you at the foot of the stairs.

“I just finished up a hunt two towns over,” you explained. “Thought I’d make a quick stop. If that’s okay with you?”

“And if it’s not?”

“Too bad, I’m already here.” You moved past him as he rolled his eyes, stepping into the war room. “Woah. You look a little worse for wear,” you commented when you saw Sam.

He looked sickly sitting at the table, with a blanket around his shoulders, “good to see you too.” He let out a low ghost of a laugh.

You gave him a quick hug, “you got a terrible fever, my dude.” You placed your hand on his forehead, and brushed his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Sam assured you. But you weren’t convinced.

“Yeah, well, you need to take something for that fever,” you stepped around him towards the bedrooms area. “Like some paracetamol or something.”

“Hey, you’ve heard anything from Garth?” Dean followed you.

You shook your head, “nothing. I keep trying but he’s not returning my calls.” You stepped into your assigned bedroom, with Dean on your heels, “and my contacts haven’t heard of him either. I don’t like that.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it, anyway,” he retorted, you dropped your bag on the bed.

“I know—but I’m worried. I know he’s capable and all, but—he’s off the grid. And no one’s go off the grid unless—you know.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But it’s Garth. He’s a tough one.”

“Yeah,” you crossed your arms over your chest, letting out a deep breath. “I guess I’m just worried about him.”

“Yeah,” he turned around to leave your room.

“Hey, is everything okay with Sam?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he told you. “I’m handling it.”

And without a word, he walked out, pulling the door behind him.

“Noted.”

Although, you and Dean had grown somewhat friendly within the last few months. He was still guarded around you. Certain subjects, such as his brother’s conditions, were topics he’d rather not discuss with you. You were a little miffed about it. It was a little unfair, you thought, that he would shut you down. Not that you were much of an open book either.

Barefooted, dressed in dark spandex and tie dye crop top, you made your way into the kitchen. You dropped the empty laundry basket on the kitchen table. It was a lazy day at the bunker for you, the brothers were working on their own thing. You didn’t pry but you were curious, wondering whether or not it had anything to do with Sam’s declining health. Dean had made it clear that it wasn’t any of your business.

“Someone’s getting comfortable around here,” Dean quipped from behind you, startling you.

“How do you keep on doing this?” You hissed, clutching your chest. You looked down at his boots, “it’s not like you’re really quiet.”

“You should get your ears checked,” Dean walked up to the fridge.

“You’re right, I might have hearing problems,” you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. “At least, it would explain all the nonsense coming out of your mouth.”

He scoffed, opening his beer bottle. Sam stumbled into the kitchen, looking worse than he had the morning you arrived. Dark circles under his eyes, pale skin, clammy with sweat because of his high fever.

“Can I get you anything, Sam?” You asked gently.

“No, I’m good,” Sam shook his head, with a strained smile. “Thanks,” he poured himself a glass of water.

The tension grew instantly when your eyes caught Dean’s while Sam walked out of the kitchen.

“Not so fast, Bucko,” you rushed to step in front of him, blocking his exit out of the kitchen. “I’ve been here a total of three days and he’s not getting better. So, what’s really going on?”

“That’s crazy,” you commented. “Shutting the gates of hell for good that sounds—unreal.”

“Locking away those sons of bitches, halve our workload,” Dean agreed. “Promised Land.”

“Just forgot to read the fine print, that’s all,” you said sardonically. “He’s gonna be okay, you know that, right?”

Dean’s eyes locked onto yours, “yeah, Sam’s a tough son of a bitch but I don’t know, man. Those trials are messing with him in ways even Cass can’t heal.”

“I still can’t believe you have an Angel on speed dial,” you shook your head.

“He’s not answering much these days,” he said dryly.

“So, there’s one trial left, right? And you haven’t figured out what it is, yet?”

“Still working on that,” Dean leaned against the wall.

You didn’t know exactly what to answer to that. So, you remained quiet. Frankly, you were trying to wrap your mind around the fact that the Winchesters were friends with an Angel of the Lord. Also, that prophets were real. This was a lot to take in.

And yes, the prospect of demons no longer being able to roam the earth was amazing. Was it worth the sacrifice? Sam and Dean thought it was and took on the challenge, still, this seemed unreal and unfeasible.

“You know he’ll pull through, right?” You tried, “you said it yourself; he’s a tough nut to crack. He’ll make it through.”

“Should’ve been me,” he said, his expression hardening to stone.

“Maybe it worked out this way because Sam needs to go through the trials more than you do?” You suggested very tentatively.

“I don’t want to hear that,” he growled, pushing away from the wall.

You watched as he stalked away from you, coming to the realization that the thought had probably crossed his mind already. The trials were messing with Sam in a very bad way, and Dean couldn’t fix it. It must be frustrating for him to see his little brother be in pain and not be able to do anything about it. And as a big sister, yourself, you understood the feeling more than he knew.

“Hey, stupid!” You greeted your brother, folding your clean and dry clothes, in your bedroom.

“Hey,” your brother, Matt, greeted back. “Are you on a hunt, right now?”

“Nah, having some R&R here in Kansas, why?” You asked curiously, pausing the folding.

“I think there’s a case here for you,” he breathed out.

“A case? How do you mean?”

“Well, some weird stuff had been happening lately at my workplace,” Matt started to explain, you could hear people talking in the distance, behind him.

“Weird how?”

“Look, a few weeks ago, one of my good buddy completely lost it and walked right into traffic,” he explained.

“And is he okay?”

“He’ll survive but it’s gonna take a while for him to recover fully,” Matt sighed. “There’s more.”

“Tell me,” you encouraged him to continue.

“A few days after that, another coworker thought drinking hot boiling water was a good idea.”

“What the hell?” You stood up from your bed, fishing for clothes. “Did something weird happen before it all started?”

“That’s the thing. Nothing changed,” your brother told you. “Does that sound like your kind of weird?”

“Yeah, it does,” you agreed. “I’m gonna hit the road as soon as I can. Do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Don’t touch anything until I get there.”

Once you changed into fresh clothes, you walked into the war room, clutching your duffel bag in one hand.

“You’re leaving already?” Dean questioned; his bows scrunched up.

Your eyebrows went up, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound pretty sad that I’m leaving.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, princess,” he rolled his eyes. “Just curious.”

“Whatever you say, bucko,” you snorted. “And to answer your question, yes, I’m leaving. My brother found me a case back home. I’m gonna go check it out.”

“I thought he wasn’t a hunter?” Sam asked you.

“He isn’t,” you shook your head. “It’s just that some weird things have been happening and he thought I could do something about it.”

“What kind of weird things?” Dean questioned.

“One colleague of his walked directly into traffic. And another one drank boiling water. I was thinking along the lines of cursed object or maybe some sort of mind control. But I’ll know more when I get there,” you shrugged.

“Do you want help?” Sam offered.

“I’m sure you guys have bigger fish to fry,” you shook your head quickly. Ready to bolt out of there. “I’ll call if I need anything.”

“Afraid of us meeting your family or something?” Dean stood up and walked up to you.

You glared up at him, “look, if you just want to come with, you can just say it.”

His lips tugged up at the corner, “come on, Sammy, grab your stuff.”

You puffed out a deep breath, “this ought to be fun.”

The impala parked next to your beat-up truck; you fished out your keys as you made your way to your building. Sam and Dean walked up behind you. You were still annoyed at their being there with you. It wasn’t so much; you didn’t want them to meet your brother. But more of your not wanting your brother to be part of the hunting world. It was your way of protection him. Sure, Matt had met Andy and Garth but no one else. And now, you were bringing the Winchesters to your door. You weren’t sure, it was a great idea.

You unlocked your door, Dean and Sam followed you inside. You dropped the keys on the table near the door, and you moved to your brother’s side. He was sleeping on your couch. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam took a look around your apartment. Up on your wall, next to your television, was a picture of four kids. Three out of four kids were sitting down, while the one he recognized as you, stood behind all three, with your arms around their shoulders. Looked like a school picture.

Your apartment looked lived in, it was neat, with some green plants here and there. There was a bookshelf in the small space near the couch, with some collectibles placed on it. A real nerd. He shook his head, turning back to you, your brother sitting up, slightly coming back to the land of the living.

“Go wash up your face, stupid,” you slapped his leg. “I’ll get some coffee ready for you.”

“Who are the lumberjacks?” Matt yawned.

“I’m Sam,” Sam was the first to introduce himself. “And that’s my brother, Dean. We’re friends of your sister.”

“Barely,” Dean mumbled, and you glared at him.

“So, you weren’t lying, you do have friends.” Matt teased you.

You stood up, before slapping his shoulder, “get going already.”

“So, we’re friends, now?” Dean said with a smug smile on his lips.

“Shut up.”

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#dean winchester fic #dean winchester x plus size!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 7 months

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It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 4 ] || [ Chapter 6 ]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.3K~ tags: a little bit of angst in this one, mentions of infidelity, also, Price is divorced. Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 5: GET LAID?

[The scolding Price gives is fully inspired by Captain Holt from B99]

“YOU. DID. WHAT?!” Price’s voice was so loud it bounced off the walls and Soap could swear the door was rattling.

The environment inside of Price’s tiny little office was beyond tense. Gaz sat across from Price on the arm chair, with his hands clasped over his lap. Soap stood beside him, hands on the back of the other chair, constantly shuffling and readjusting. And Ghost was all the way in the back of the room, arms crossed and one foot scuffing up the wall he was leaning against.

They looked like a group of kids at the headmaster’s office, getting the reaming of a century and waiting for their parents to come get them, only to get reamed out some more by them. Except they’re grown adults and Price is, in a way, both the headmaster and their father.

Granted, they probably should’ve waited until tomorrow morning when they’re not all a bit buzzed from one too many beers… It seemed tonight was just one of those nights where they have little to no restraint… and are incapable to be reasoned with.

“If it’s any consolation, I told them you wouldn’t be too keen on 'em buttin' in your life.” Ghost spoke up while dipping his head to the side in a lazy shrug.

This earned him a sharp look from Price, who swivelled on his executive chair, turning a bit to properly face Ghost. The man looked seconds away from blowing up, eyes widened and wild.

“And yet you still HELPED 'EM?!” The Captain scolded him, to which Simon replied with a full shrug.

“They made a compelling case. You’ve been insufferable, boss.” He remarked, causing Price to sputter a bit.

“I didn’t wanna say anything, but it’s true, Captain. You need to get laid.” Soap jumped in.

His hackles raised and he stood up, slamming his hands on the desk, causing a rattling in the white mug he used as a pen holder. Gaz couldn’t help but wonder if the Captain didn’t hurt his palms.

“GET LAID?!” Price shouted in a tone almost akin to panic. “MY LOVE LIFE IS NONE OF YOUR CONCERN!” Price scolded them all, rausing a hand and pointing his finger at no one in particular.

“AND I WOULDN’T BE SO INSUFFERABLE IF YOU LOT DID YOUR JOBS. BUT NO, I’M HAVING TO FIX YOUR MESSES AND DEAL WITH ALL THIS BULLSHIT!” He shouted as he ran his hand over a pile of documents on the edge of his desk, sending them all flying to the floor.

None of the lads shook in the face of the Captain’s shouts. They were all used to it, having heard enough of them from other C.O.s in their careers and, especially, more than enough from John in the last year.

Price huffed through his nose and hung his head for a moment. Then, he tossed himself back in his chair, leaning it back and grumbling under his breath.

He sat with his legs parted, left arm over the desk top, the right one hanging limply over his lap. He grumbled under his breath, his mustache scrunching a bit as he raised his right hand to rub his eyes.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell…” Price grumbled and swiveled his chair back toward the desk, inadvertently toward Soap and Gaz as well, setting his elbows on either side of the black desk mat.

He held his head up with both hands, his blue eyes sliding downward to the phone they had set in front of him when explaining what they did, which now sat between his elbows.

In it was the Tinder profile they had created, the gimmicky, silly little shite that includes grainy photos of him and a bio written in the 3rd person. What impressed him was the fact that somehow, despite only having been active for an hour, according to them, the account had already seen about 35 likes and a handful of DMs from people.

Most of them were curious about the bio, some of them asking a variation of ‘Does John know you made this account?’, etc.

However, it bothered him that they did this behind his back, never once stopping to ask if he needed or wanted their help (AND HE DIDN’T). “You need to delete this.” He ended up saying after a moment of silence.

He grabbed the phone and set it on the edge of his desk to be taken by either Gaz or Soap, with a bit more aggression than he meant to. “Deactivate it, whatever.” He added.

“But, sir-” Soap tried to say, being shushed by Price raising a hand to signal him to quiet down.

“No buts.” He said directly as he raised his head and glared right at Soap. “And you need to tell that person that you already promised a date to that I’m not interested and APOLOGIZE for leading them on.” He ordered.

“Boss… C’mon.” Ghost called for him from his corner, causing John’s head to slowly turn to face him, eyebrows scrunched when he noticed the gaze Simon was sending him.

Cursed be Simon Riley, the only tosser in the entire SAS other than MacMillan, who can read John like the open book that he prides himself in not being.

But of course Simon knows why he’s so reluctant. He was there 5 years ago… when Price called him from his car in a side road somewhere, so drunk that his words were more so obscene slurs than words themselves, spewing mentions of loss and betrayal and a visceral need to cave a man’s face in, of emptying magazine after magazine on his wife’s lover’s body.

Simon went to get him, took the man home to his own shitty little flat, let him sleep off the inebriation in his bed, looked after him just in case he’d choke on his own drunken vomit, and the next afternoon, when Price was more himself, he drove Price to his marital home and helped him pack his bags.

Price stayed at his apartment for almost 6 months before getting his own place. Not that Ghost minded. Returning to the barracks was embarrassing for the Captain… And getting his own place required time and patience, which Price was lacking.

Eventually, Price signed the divorce papers, the matter was settled, and Price went on leave. Ghost took his as well and helped him settle into a flat, helped him assemble furniture, brought him meals.

Then started Price’s fuckboy era. Which is how Gaz and Soap heard of his proclivity to hook up with people. Gender didn’t matter, so much as getting momentary satisfaction and some of the shadows out of his bones.

Then, Graves and Shepherd happened… And Price cut it cold turkey. He was pent up. Point blank. Went from getting regular satisfaction to getting nothing and burying himself in his work. Blaming himself for not noticing the signs earlier.

Sometimes Ghost wondered if the man was going through a mid-life crisis.

“You could use it, boss.” Ghost added as he looked Price right in the eyes. “What’s one night, huh? Just going for a drink with them?”

“Simon-” Price tried arguing.

“Please, sir. We promise you’ll like ‘em.” Gaz pleaded.

“Yeah, sir, we all talked with ‘em and they’re a right laugh.” Soap added.

Taking a deep breath, John leaned back on his chair again and threw his hands in the air again.

“Alright.” He conceded. “BUT!” He interrupted them before they got too giddy. “None of this… Tinder shite.” He gestured vaguely to the phone at the edge of the desk.

“You set up a meet-up this Friday at a pub nearby. No more after that.” He ordered.

“On it!” Gaz said as he snatched the phone from the desk to dm you.

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak , @wittleespur , @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago

#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader

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skelly-words · 26 days

Text

ChosoXloser!Reader

revisiting this bc I'm approaching the age of the MC. i wrote two chapters on ao3 then forgot abt it, so i'm trying to finish a third to get it to a stopping point.

October Birds: Chapter 1

tags- fem!reader, roommate!shoko, yuuji and choso are brothers, college au, fluff, eventual smut, idk it's pretty chill

wc- 2k

Rain splatters on the cafe window, dripping lazily down the glass. Your breath fogs up the pane, losing yourself in the misty morning as you ignore your homework and the busyness of the morning rush. The lab report leers at you from your open laptop, not that you care, too enraptured in the pretty cinnamon and swirl of steamed milk in your pumpkin spice latte. The foam traces an arc over your upper lip as you sip the drink, headphones in your ears, staring out the window of the warm cafe.

The line of people and buzz of lazy college students on a Sunday morning smear across your peripheral vision. You’d usually sit in a corner booth- as withdrawn as possible- but the cafe is packed. The only empty tables are in the middle of the lobby, mingling in the throng of people, a community table for half-empty cups. You grabbed the only empty booth, but it’s right next to the door. A chime rings every time a patron enters, making any hope for productivity completely futile.

Ding

There it is again, that irritating ring of yet another stressed our bio major on their way to get an americano with enough caffeine in it to fuel the next mission to space. You aren’t like them. You got a latte. As much as you hate the awful announcement of every idle individual, it snaps you out of your fogginess, lacing resentment into your blank document as your homework regains your attention.

At least you start typing. Even if the lines of text are C work at best, anything above 60% on an assignment is a blessing. Your TA for organic chemistry is particularly critical of any assignments done for lab. Needless to say, this requires your best effort. You turn down your music, just a little, letting it blend enough with the outside world to create white noise, nothing but a dull hum. You sip your latte and chip away at this week’s workload. The crowd of people in the cafe never thins, even as morning rush teases at noon, if anything, all the late risers roll in to join the rest of the procrastinators in the cafe to do homework.

“Excuse me?”

Your steady workflow is interrupted. When you sigh you hope it’s audible.

“Yeah?” You pull your right earbud out of your ear, not bothering to look up as you scroll through your work to look busy.

“Do you mind if I sit here? Sorry, it’s just the other tables…”

You pass a glance around the cafe. Every table and booth is occupied by at least two people. You nod in understanding, but he takes it as a cue to sit down on the bench across from you.

“I promise to not bother you.”

You force a smile over the screen of your laptop, fully looking at your guest for the first time. A bold black line traces its way over his nose. The color matches his hair, which hangs loose, spilling down his shoulders and curling around his neck. His eyes are a warm brown, crinkling at the corners as he smiles back at you.

“I get it. This place isn’t usually so busy.”

He hums in agreement, bending to pull his laptop from his bag. “Thank you, though. If you want another latte, I’m buying.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I know.” He shrugs, opening his laptop and tapping on the keyboard. “But I want to.”

He doesn't say anything else, too engrossed in his own studies, and probably just as stressed by them as you. You sip your latte and put your earbud back in. The familiar rhythm of work, music, and coffee forms back into focus.

The lab report becomes easy, the words flow onto the paper as you reference your notes and translate them into the mechanical syntax of academic jargon.

Music, coffee, and work. Your playlist is just random enough to not become boring. A few transitions shock you, something somber and melancholy followed by upbeat hip-hop, but for the most part, Spotify treats you well. It’s when you hear a song repeat that you realize it’s time to go home. You’re tired and the sun is threatening to point west, tipping past what could be called morning.

You shut your laptop quietly, not wanting to disturb the person across from you. He’s still quietly working. How he’s maintained focus for this long is a complete mystery. A work ethic you can only dream of. The laptop, lab notes, and other various clutter are shoved into your bag, hoping to slink back to your apartment for a caffeine-addled nap.

“Leaving?”

You pause. You could just ignore him, playing it off as his sparse question being drowned out in the general noise of the cafe, but now you’ve paused too long.

“Yeah. I’ve been at it for a while. It’s time for a break.” You wouldn’t have said goodbye if he hadn’t stopped you.

“I still owe you coffee.” He tilts his head as he looks at you, frowning at your empty mug.

“No, really. It’s fine. If anything I should thank you for the company.” You don’t know why you’re declining. Another pumpkin spice latte would be nice for the drizzly walk home. “I haven’t eaten yet. My roommate will kill me if I don’t get some breakfast.”

He hums noncommittally. The screen of his laptop closes as he slides from the booth. “What do you want from the cafe?”

He’s committed to repaying his favor, and you’re really in no rush to leave. Though, you don’t lack apprehension. The motley blend of people is dizzying, overwhelming you whenever you chance a glance at your surroundings.

“A blueberry muffin?”

“Sure. Anything else.” He places his forearms on the tabletop, leaning in to hear you better in the cacophony.

“No thanks.”

He smells nice, like citrus and cigarette smoke. The scent is soft, almost nonexistent in the overwhelming smell of coffee that smothers the store. There’s something nostalgic about it that you can’t put your finger on, but whatever the burnt orange reminds you of is pleasant. You miss it as he stands fully and walks away.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he tosses over his shoulder, so sure and relaxed.

You watch him until his tall frame gets lost in the line to the register. You use the time to text your roommate, letting her know that you’ll be out longer than planned.

Your roommate, Shoko, keeps in touch with you about your plans. Since she’s a few years older than you, and a senior, Shoko likes to play the protective older sister: checking in on you when you leave the house, making sure you eat, and asking about your personal life or lack thereof.

You and Shoko met the year prior in some stupid general ed class that neither of you had any interest in. Shoko had put off taking the class until junior year, and you decided to get it over with as a freshman. After bonding over a shared major, the friendship had stuck. And while you aren’t an unlikeable person, finding people you like enough to have long-term relationships with can be rare.

Shoko replies to your text almost immediately. She congratulates you on staying out past the few hours she suggested you study for, and requests that you grab her some food on the way home. You put your phone away after that, not wanting to appear rude as your companion returns.

He sets the muffin on the table in front of you. It’s in a clear, plastic to-go container. You can see the sweet, blue bruises that mottle the appearance of the pastry. Blueberry muffins have to be the ugliest dessert, but that doesn’t stop your mouth from watering at the sight of it.

“I wasn't sure if you wanted to stay and eat with me or not, so I figured I’d leave it up to you.” He sets a sleeved, paper coffee cup next to the muffin. “And here’s a latte for you too.”

“Thank you,” you say. You bring the cup up to your lips, smelling that it’s pumpkin spice before the coffee hits your tongue. “I’ll stay and eat here if you don’t have more homework.”

“Eh- I need to take a break and eat too, so homework can wait.” That’s when you notice that he’s purchased himself a pastry as well, something French and buttery. “So, stay?”

You pop open the lid of your plastic container. “Yeah.”

The first bite of your muffin is amazing, and the second is heavenly. You get lost in the easy silence. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were. Coffee and the stress of homework had kept your appetite away all morning. It returned tenfold when you took your first bite of food, reminding you of the morning essential you had been missing. The closest thing you’ve had for breakfast is the bite of oatmeal Shoko had made for herself before waving you out the door.

“I just realized, I never asked for your name.”

You glance across the table, taken aback by the break in silence. Caught off guard, you mumble the syllables disjointedly. You’re not sure if he hears you until he repeats them back, humming in satisfaction at the sounds.

“Pretty name,” he says, “it suits you.”

You flush, feeling your face heat. “And I never asked for yours.”

“Choso Kamo. English major.” And he extends his hand across the table.

“Genetics major.”

Choso smiles when you shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” When his hand recedes, he tucks it beneath his chin. “I figured you were into stem. I noticed the intelligently stressed look on your face when I sat down.”

“Are you sure you’re not a psych major?”

His lips quirk upwards. A soft puff of air escaped his lips at your dry humor. “Almost, but I decided that I wanted the mind to remain a mystery to me.”

“So, why English instead?”

“I want to teach it, eventually. English is where I can impact kids the most.”

“Teaching? That’s admirable.” You take the last few bites of your muffin, washing it down with coffee. “Why?”

“I want to be a better teacher than the ones I had growing up.” Choso tenses, voice shifting into something pensive. “I want to make a difference where it matters.”

“That’s sweet,” you say.

“Sweet?” Pink dusts his nose and cheeks, trying to obscure itself behind his tattoo.

“Yeah.” Something about Choso makes you feel at ease, enough so to be- at the very least- honest.

“Thanks. I like hearing that from you.”

“Why?”

“You ask that a lot,” but he’s not accusatory, pointing it out to show you he noticed. “I get that a lot, not many actually mean it though.”

“What makes you think I mean it?”

Choso shrugs. “Would I still feel this nice if you didn’t?”

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out whenever I lie to you.”

“Hopefully we never find out then.”

Your lips press together. Lost for what to say, you glance out the window. “The rain’s finally let up, I should walk home while it’s clear.”

Choso nods, nibbling at his bottom lip. “Well, it was nice sitting with you. See you around?”

“I hope so.” A small smile creeps across your face. “Maybe we do this again sometime?”

“Yeah. Let me give you my number.” His hand extends across the table.

You feel your face warm in embarrassment as you fumble with the apps on your phone, searching for the seldom-used contacts. “Here,” when you finally manage to find it.

The exchange is quick enough not to make your exit awkward. You could take the time to think about what you’ll say when you first text him, but you’re too caught up in the idea of a next time.

Choso hands your phone back to you and waves lazily at you as you stand. You pick up your backpack and trash, checking that you didn’t forget anything before you leave.

“Thanks, again, and good luck with the rest of your homework.” You feel like you’re repeating yourself too often, but it can’t be helped.

“Enjoy the rest of your rainy Sunday.”

You wave your goodbyes as you open the door. The bell is just as annoying when it announces your departure, and the rain is still pooling on the sidewalk as you walk home, but the day feels lighter than before.

a/n- i'll post chapter 2 when i'm closer to having chapter 3 done

hope you had a really nice day: drank all your water, ate something delicious, had something funny happen, etc. luv y'all <3<3<3

#jjk #choso #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso x reader #choso fanfiction

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rreeaahh · 1 year

Text

We are both filthy now | R. A. B.

Third chapter of "One way ticket" | Ch. 1 / Ch. 2

READ THE AUTHOR NOTE, THANK YOU.

taglist> @my-beloved-fandoms

pair> regulus black x lestrange! reader (slytherin)

summary> a birthday party means, for most people, a way to celebrate your existence - for purebloods, however, is a good way to spent time together with their master. regulus and y/n are not fond of the event, but no matter the traumatic experience they both go trough, they are still enemies - and y/n should've know that.

word count> 4.5k (wtf)

warnings> some type of angst; slow burn af; family toxicity; female discrimination; description of getting the dark mark; regulus hitting reader's hand; not proofread!

a/n> hi m'loves<3 do not forget that the tag list is open, feel free to ask to be added! im sorry for the long wait, it was one tricky chapter to write and from now on im gonna stop hunting the perfection, ill just enjoy writing. im more than happy to see all the notification from you on this series, and im beyond grateful - ill love to read your reaction, it makes me incredibly happy and helps me write. any comment is more than welcomed<3 any reblog helps this series to get to more people and it only takes a minute to do so. thank u for reading, ily all<3

Dear Y/N,

I hope my letter finds you well – your cousin’s pathetic owl is one lazy bird, let me tell you, but Rodolphus seems to be quite fond of it, and won’t let me get a new one.

Anyway, I write to you in hope that you’ll make me the pleasure to attend my birthday next weekend – I already spoke with Rodolphus and your father and they assured me you’ll come, but I still think it’s better to write to you personally.

We’ll also have a little meeting, besides the party itself, so I’m sure you’ll find it rather educative than a silly simple ball – do not worry, I know you tend to get anxious when surrounded by people you don’t know that well, but my cousin Regulus is coming too! I’m sure you two young purebloods will have all the fun you need.

Don’t worry writing me back, just come along with Regulus back from Hogwarts. Your presence if the only gift I need.

Lots of hugs,

Bellatrix L.

Y/N puts the letter on her desk and grabs the other envelope – this one also has her family’s wax seal, the L and the raven on top of it sending her chills on her spine.

Y/N,

Don’t even think of not attending Bellatrix’ party. You cannot let this family down. Your cousin, Rabastan, will wait for you on the Platform 9 ¾, since me and Rodolphus have a lot of work to do for the meeting. Saturday morning, no later than 10 A.M. The meeting will be at our house.

Don’t disappoint me.

Cyrus Lestrange

She scoffs and lets the paper fall from her fingers. She was only a child when her cousin, Rodolphus, married Bellatrix, Regulus’ cousin. They were the youngest at that party so all the adults expected them to spent time together. Truth is, however, that Regulus was shy and quiet and only stayed by her side, listening to all of her questions and never responding back. After the wedding, when her father seemed to be so pleased with little Regulus, with his manners and his obedient nature, Y/N decided that she hated Regulus Black. He was just a little prick, and she decided that she’ll be better than him – always.

As her roommates are deep asleep, Y/N stays at her desk and watches the two letters. She grabs again the one from her father and watches how the flame of the candle on her desk dances on it, the paper getting warmer and warmer, until it’s lit on fire. She hates to keep her father’s letters – it’s like she’d want to ever see them again.

With the burning paper still between her fingers, she gets out of her dorm and walk on the dark corridor of the Slytherin Girls’ Wing and goes to the Common Room, where the fire seems to be burning with green flames. The Black Lake is silent behind the large windows, only the water’s movement being heard. She throws the letter in the chimney and smiles at the sight of the fire eating up her father’s words. It’s like she’s watching him get eaten up by the flames.

“It’s late, Lestrange.”

Y/N jumps on her feet and gets a grip of her night robes. The light green material covers her body now that she’s tugging her fingers into it. From the dark green sofa, Regulus Black watches her with a bored expression. He was reading a book and in front of him, on the small black table, is a cup filled with tea, she could guess.

“Always staying in the shadows, like a rat,” Y/N mutters and walks to him, staying on the couch in front of him. While she sits down, she lets the robe fall from her shoulder, exposing the skin. She’s dressed in a dark purple pajama set, made out of silk, and the little string of her tank top falls with the robe. Regulus seems to notice the bare skin just exposed and he gets his eyes to look at her face fast, before she could sense his gaze. He feels… disgusted.

“Always speaking like you own the whole place,” he talks back and smirks, “when we both know it’s nothing like that.” His voice is flat – no matter his facial expressions, Regulus Black always had a boring voice when he’d talk to her.

Y/N just watches him for a second. He’s still in his Quidditch equipment, even if the Slytherin team came back from practice a few hours ago. His hair is messy, his eyes are circled by a dark color, in comparison with his light skin, and he looks tired.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” she lets the question escape her lips without even thinking.

“I could ask you the same thing, if I really cared,” he says and grabs his cup, drinking slowly from it.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Black,” Y/N laughs and puts her hands over her chest. Regulus notices that, too. “I’m sure you got an owl from Bellatrix.”

“Yes, Bella wrote me about her birthday. Unfortunately, if you’re telling me about it, it means she wrote to you, too,” he says in a quiet voice, letting out the air in his lungs.

“She’s part of my family, too, Black,” Y/N says and surprises herself – she never gave that much importance to the family relations. She only had herself, at the end of the day, no matter how much her father would scold her for being an absent member of the House of Lestrange.

Her father never really showed her love – he was meant to be her father, but he was just a kind of legal tutor who raised her and was responsible for her well-being, and her cousins looked down on her – she was just a silly girl, meant only to bear children and get more powerful connections for her family. Her uncle and her aunt were distant, and maybe that was better than giving her reasons to hate them, like the rest did.

“Please, do not remind me – I still can’t get over that.” Regulus seems annoyed, bored, tired of her presence. And, yet, he stands there, face to face with her, watching each other – studying each other with such attention like they’re looking for a weak point.

“Why are you such a hypocrite, Regulus?” Y/N suddenly asks. He just smiles in the corner of his mouth, grabs his cup of tea and gets up from the sofa.

She feels him getting closer to her and in a second his breathing is hitting her face. “Don’t act like I’m the only one putting an act on, Miss Little Perfect,” he says amused.

Her brows drop. The skin on her forehead wrinkles and her eyes watch his, wanting to see behind them – they are empty. “I know you look up to me, Regulus, but there’s no need to remind me,” now she’s the one to smirk, and he’s the one to frown.

“Please,” he scoffs, “I wouldn’t look up to a pathetic orphan even if you’d be hanging out from the ceiling,” he mutters and gets back up on his feet, looking down to her. Regulus is not the tallest boy Y/N knows, but that position gives him a more decent posture.

“That orphan is better than you,” she whispers. “That’s why your momma always prays the ground I walk on, right?” she laughs and she can sense his body getting alarmed by her words. “My dad just wanted an heir, someone to get his name far – but Walburga wants more than that, right? Now that Sirius, your disappointment of a brother, left, she only has you, but she doesn’t seem to be fulfilled,” the air leaves her lungs when Regulus drops the cup of tea and gets on top of her. The liquid spills on the stone floor.

His hands grab her bare shoulders, his leg is between her hips and he presses her body into the couch. Her back is arched into the plush material of the sofa and her eyes widen at the proximity. His jaw is tightened and his breathing is deep while Regulus watches her face with a spark into his eyes. “Do not, ever again in your filthy, pathetic, good for nothing life, talk about my family,” he mumbles and his grip only gets tighter – his nails digs into the skin of her shoulders like he wants to rip it off.

Y/N shoves him away and quickly gets up from the couch. Regulus is on the floor, right into the tea puddle he made, and he seems to be caught with his guard off. “Do not, ever again in your pathetic, sad, good for nothing life, call me an orphan – I have a family, Black. The blood in my veins is just as pure as yours, and my name is just as important as yours.”

And she leaves him there, into the Common Room, to take a bath into his own mess. She needs to go back to sleep – tomorrow she has to go back home and get ready for a birthday party.

The whole night she tried to forget Regulus’ hands onto her skin – her shoulders felt like burning, like they got marked by his touch. She tried not to think about the anger in her soul the whole ride back to London, when she was forced to be in the same wagon with Regulus – apparently, they both wanted to travel into the Prefects’ cabin. At least, they both kept their mouths shut and didn’t even looked at each other.

She didn’t have to have a very warm welcoming back home – Rabastan waited for her at the station and kept his eyes on the road the whole time. He only asked about other Slytherin kids in her year and some older ones – he wanted to know if she was behaving well enough towards them. Once she got to enter the big mansion she called ‘home’, there was chaos – all the house elves were running left and right with platters, candles, flowers in their hands and all of them stopped to look at her and welcome her mechanically. She just got up to her room and closed the door behind her. When she dropped on her bed, there was silence – there was no longer Regulus Black, or Cyrus Lestrange or any other dumb man who made her angry.

Once she woke up, she started to get ready for the gathering she was forced to attempt. She got dressed in a dark grey dress, elegant enough not to make her father a fool and yet, simple enough not to make Bellatrix feel left out – it was her birthday, after all.

“There you are,” says her father as she gets out of her bedroom. “I thought you’re still asleep.”

“I was getting ready.”

Cyrus looks her up and down in a judgmental way – he points to her neck. “Make sure the chain is visible, nothing else.”

Y/N forces a smile and a hand travels to the gold flower at her neck. “Yes, father.” He gives her his elbow and the two of them go down, where the elves decorated the whole floor with black and purple roses and white candles. There’s a long table near a wall, right at the fireplace, where are plates with food and glasses of expensive champagne.

“Here,” Cyrus whispers and gives Y/N a red box, and before she could question his action Bellatrix is right in front of her, laughing happily.

“Y/N! I’m so glad to see you, how are you?”

Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black, is a very… bipolar witch. Once, she’s loud, smiley, in a good mood, and then she acts like the Devil himself. Y/N could never figure out why her cousin, Rodolphus, wanted to marry her – there were plenty of purebloods who wished to be married to him, but all his attention was on Bellatrix ever since they were in school together, despite the fact that she didn’t show any kind of interest in him during those years. Now, Rodolphus would do anything Bellatrix asks without blinking twice.

“Happy birthday, Bellatrix,” Y/N smiles and hugs her in a soft manner. While giving her the small box, she can see her cousin behind his wife, watching them carefully.

“I told you there was no need for gifts,” Bellatrix says and gives Rodolphus the box to take care of it. “I assume you just got down here,” she continues and grabs her hand, getting her away from her father – he doesn’t seem concerned about that. Cyrus always said that Bellatrix was a good wife and that Y/N had a lot to learn from her. What he did not know is that Y/N really wanted to learn a lot from Bellatrix – she wanted to know more about the power a witch could hold.

“Yes,” she said and looked around her own house. It was full of wizards, all of them being purebloods and talking to each other with a clear superiority in their voice. “I hope I’m not late to the party.”

Bellatrix scoffs. “The true party begins only when he gets here,” she smirks and Y/N freezes, knowing who she’s talking about. Tom Riddle was certainly not her favorite person, no matter how much he convinced her father that she will be a good daughter for him.

“Wonderful,” she manages to say and walks beside Bellatrix to greet her guests. She smiles and greets Bellatrix’ parents and gets a deep breath when her aunt and uncle come to wish her a happy birthday.

“Y/N, how are you, dear?” Walburga asks and kisses her both cheeks. Bellatrix seems busy talking to her uncle about the upcoming meeting, while Regulus sits behind them and only listen. “How is school?”

“It’s good, wonderful, even,” she smiles and Walburga laughs happily. “I’m working on some essays for Potions and Transfiguration, maybe they’ll be published after I finish school.”

“Did you hear, Regulus? Y/N plans to publish some essays after graduation,” she scolds her son and now his attention is on them. He only smiles to his mother and she goes on with the talking. Neither of them seems to be truly focused on what she’s saying – they look at each other like they’d snap each other’s neck if they could.

“Regulus, why don’t you invite Y/N to dance?” Bellatrix pops between them and her aunt claps her hands satisfied with her proposal. “You know how much joy it brings me to see you two together, Reggie,” she continues and puts her arm around his shoulders. He looks at his cousin with doubt in his gaze – she made them dance together at her wedding, too, like they were some monkeys to entertain the adults.

With a silent scoff, he forced a smile in his cousin’s direction and looked shortly to his mother, who only seemed to tell him the same thing with her eyes. “Shall we dance together, Y/N?” he asks and gives her his pale hand.

No matter how much she’d like to hit it, getting it away from her, she grabs it lightly and smiles. “With pleasure,” she mutters and the adults all clap their hands and smile in their direction as they go to the center of the room, where other people are dancing slowly.

Bellatrix flicks her wand and the room is now filled with a more vibrant music – they smile to each other and Y/N’s skin is burning under her dress where Regulus’ hands touch her. He cups her hand into his and the other one rests on her back, bringing her closer to his body. She has a hand on his shoulder and they both move synchronically to the rhythm.

“You disgust me,” he whispers into her ear, sending shivers all over her spine.

A big smile appears on her rosy lips and she looks behind him, where her father is beside Orion and Cygnus Black – they all had firewhiskey glasses in hand and talked with serious expressions on their faces.

“The feeling is mutual, my dear Regulus,” she mumbles and steps on his foot, careful to put the heel right into his toe.

“Then, you could’ve save us both and deny Bellatrix’ stupid wish.”

“On her birthday?” she scoffs. “Yeah, right, you tell her no, I like to be alive.”

Regulus lets a small chuckle out and before she could look at him, he spins her away for a second. When her body is back into his arms, her vision is blurry. “You better keep your mouth shut during the meeting,” he says in a cold tone.

“Why, Reggie?” she mocks the tone Bellatrix used. “Scared the Dark Lord will see more potential in me than in you?” She’s joking. On Merlin’s beard, she’s only trying to piss him off.

“Tonight is my night and you better not do anything to steal it from me,” he spits the words into her ear. Her skin becomes ice cold and all her blood runs faster into her veins because of the way he presses his fingers into her back. “I warn you, Y/N, stay in your place,” he mumbles and when the music changes, he lets go of her and smiles, before going away.

After some hours, the chaos in her house begins to cool down – the guests start leaving until there are only the usual people. They all sit at the long table, talking about some things that happened in the Muggleworld and how unacceptable they were – for someone who said they despised the muggles, they sure talked a lot about them. The conversation dies when the chair at the end of the table is occupied by the tall, dark haired wizard. They all rise from their sits and greet him with joy.

“It’s good to see you too, my dear friends,” Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort says and he shakes her father’s hand. Her lungs take the air in with great difficult, given the fact that there’s only a sit between the dark wizard and her. “I assume I need to apologize to Bellatrix,” he speaks and looks to his left, where the witch smiles from one ear to another. “I did not bring any gift with me, Bella,” he explains.

“You are my greatest gift, My Lord,” she says and from her left, Rodolphus and Rabastan just nod their heads. “Your presence gives us hope for a better future for us, the right titled wizards,” she continues and everyone agrees.

Bellatrix is one of the most loyal followers the Dark Lord has besides Cyrus Lestrange and the rest of his friends from when they were in Hogwarts. He saw the potential in her, just like he saw it in Y/N.

“Then tell me, which is the reason of this meeting?” Voldemort asks and looks at every face at the table.

It was not Y/N’s greatest pleasure to sit at that table from time to time – her father thought it was good for her future to assist those meetings, but they were incredibly boring. There were many parents of her housemates and from other kids from school, but not even a single person her age – that until Bellatrix brought Regulus to join her. Apparently, he was quite a fan of that man because of his cousin’s stories.

“We think it’s the time to welcome another wizard between us, as an official member, my Lord,” Lucius Malfoy speaks and his voice is just as annoying as ever.

“Oh, really?” Voldemort smiles. “And who might that be, Lucius?”

“My cousin, my Lord,” Bellatrix says and points to Regulus. “Regulus is one of the most dedicated wizards to your plans,” she continues and the air leaves Y/N’s lungs.

Looking over the table to Regulus, she could see Walburga smiling proudly while he just looks to Tom Riddle. “My Lord,” he says, “I swear I’ll serve you with every power I have.”

“Then come closer, young Regulus,” the dark wizard says and plays with his wand between his fingers. The boy gets up on his feet. From his right, Cyrus Lestrange clears his throat. “Yes, Cyrus?”

“My Lord,” he begins, “I was not aware that the Death Eaters were open to new members.”

“We always have free spots for the one who wish to serve our believes,” comes his explanation.

“In that case, I’m sure you’ll agree with me that Y/N is just as worthy of getting the mark as young Regulus is.”

Her heart stops beating. What did he just say?

“Right, Y/N?” his father touches her back, forcing her to look at him. His eyes are desperate. There is no way, in his opinion, that his only child will not be recognized as a worthy follower of Lord Voldemort.

All eyes are on her. She can feel them. However, she does not care about them – the only ones that matter are her father’s, and the one from across the table who looked down at her.

“Yes, My Lord,” she says that quietly that she barely hears her own voice. Her father pats her back and goes back to Voldemort. Y/N can’t gather the courage to look at Regulus.

“You said she was worthy from the first day you saw her, My Lord,” Cyrus says. “You said she will be a powerful witch, with a great future – how is she supposed to be powerful if not under your command?”

Voldemort smiles pleased. “You’re right, my old friend. Come, child, let me get a better look of you.” Her father looks at her and orders her to do as asked just with his eyes. Do not disappoint me, hesays with his burning gaze.

Mechanically, Y/N is on her feet and walks behind her father, in front of the sick looking wizard. His hands are cold, like he’s dead, when he touches her jaw. He looks at her like she’s some kind of animal that needs to be inspected.

“Are you willing to follow my orders, whenever you are needed, child?”

There’s a knot in her stomach. She wants to say no. She wants to leave that house and never come back. She’s scared.

“Yes,” is the only answer she can give in return.

“Very well,” Tom Riddle smirks satisfied and gestures to Regulus to come closer too. They are now next to each other. She can hear his breathing from her left and her knees are about to go numb. “Who wants to go first?”

Before she can say anything, Regulus already has his shirt lifted from his left arm and brings it closer to the man. Y/N can hear the soft scoff of his father.

“You need to swear to always serve me, boy,” Voldemort demands, the tip of his wand pressed into Regulus’ arm.

“I swear, My Lord. Whenever you’ll call for me, I’ll be there, ready to do everything I’m capable of for you,” Regulus speaks.

With a big grin on his face, Voldemort begins to press the wand deeper into the skin, until Regulus grabs his arm with his free hand. From under his skin is visible a dark smoke that lingers there, running like it’s chasing his blood. His nose is twitching from the possible pain, but besides that, his expression is blank. When the wand is lifted, the Dark Mark is on his white skin. There is silence, like the rest would wait for him to scream. His parents have a proud expression on their faces as Regulus watches the crowd with a blank, serious stare.

“Your turn, Y/N” Voldemort says after a few seconds and puts his hand out there to grab her arm. She lifts the sleeve of her dress and looks at her father – Cyrus Lestrange watches her with a demanding manner, like he’s forcing her to go closer to Voldemort. Which she does.

“I always knew you’d be a great witch, child,” he says with a proud tone in his voice. He wanted her to be his weapon. “Say you’ll serve me without question, Y/N. Let the others know that from today, you’ll become one of the most powerful followers of mine.”

“I do, My Lord,” is the only thing she says like she’s hypnotized – her body doesn’t listen to her commands, it acts on its own.

The wand is cold against her skin, but as soon as Voldemort presses it harder into her arm, a burning sensation hits her entire being – she needs to grab her arm in order not to get it away from the unspoken spell. The black smoke feels like venom and she wants to scream from the bottom of her soul. Instead, she just bites the flesh inside her mouth, the taste of blood blooming from her cheek. When the wand is lifted and the mark is done on her arm, too, there’s silence again – and when there’s no screaming, all the Death Eaters gets up and start to applause them, to congratulate them.

“That’s the best birthday ever!” Bellatrix laughs maniacal and jumps from a foot to another.

She still has her left arm in her right hand, looking at the black drawing on her skin. She’s too afraid to touch it, like it could burn her fingers. Two arms wrap around her in the noise and she’s hugged by her father. Cyrus Lestrange hugs his daughter, and a single tear rolls down on her cheek.

“Good job, Y/N,” he says in her ear. “Now you’ll show everyone what you’re made of.”

She gets slightly away from him and she can feel the vomit sensation grow in her stomach. While everyone clink glasses of champagne and laughs with joy, she excuses herself and leave the dining hall.

She could not see Regulus in the crowd. She needs to see him to be sure it was all real. And she finds him on the corridor near the bathroom, at a balcony with a view to her garden. His shoulders are moving up and down and his breathing is accelerated. If she didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t guess he was… crying. She stepped closer to him slowly and put her hand on his back.

“Regulus…” she said softly and tears started to form into her eyes, too. What have they done?

“You couldn’t contain yourself, right?” he screams and turns around to face her. “You got to be the center of the attention tonight, too,” his voice is full of hate, which she ignores when she sees his wet blood-shot eyes. Her hand tries to touch his shoulder, wishing to show him… empathy?

“Regulus…” she mumbles again and her voice is hurt. Maybe they are in this together; she just needs to explain everything.

“Don’t put your filthy hands on me!” he says and slaps her hand away.

Y/N doesn’t know what hurt more – the slap, the burning feeling in her arm or the fact that she thought that maybe, just maybe, Regulus was willing to show her kindness then, when it was clear that neither of them was feeling good with their actions.

She looks at his hand – the one he slapped hers with – and at his arm. His left arm.

“We are both filthy now,” she says with despair and turns around, leaving him alone.

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