#but anyways. thank you again. for taking care of me

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - warnings: 18+ daddy kink, sexual content, phone sex

"Whit do ye think, LT?"

Simon vaguely hears Johnny's voice. It's somewhere in the background, something he's not dialed into right at this moment, since they're not in an active situation.

For now.

Instead, they're all holed up in safe house with shitty mattresses, shitty couches, and thin walls crowded inside a concrete box. Simon's on his back, on the couch, flicking through his camera roll, picture after picture of you and the baby filling the screen. There are new ones, ones you've sent over the last three weeks, and when he fires off a text to let you know his phone is on for a little bit, you send a video back almost immediately.

"That the wee one?" Johnny says from over his shoulder, and Simon nods, clicking play.

"Okay Ry, let's show daddy," Orion's on his tummy in the living room, holding his head up, staring at you behind the phone. He's giggling a little, smiling, wriggling around, and you place one of his toys just out of his reach, to the left. "You can do it bub, come on. Daddy wants to see." There's more encouragement, Orion rocking back and forth on his belly and kicking his feet-

before rolling over completely onto his back.

"Good job bub! What a strong boy." You pull him into your arms, his back to your chest, legs up over yours, and turn the phone so the video shows both of you. "So, that's a thing." You smile, and kiss his head. "Think we'll have a crawler on our hands soon." Something sad flickers in your gaze and you chase it away. "Anyway, we uh... we miss you. Call tonight?" A knot forms in his throat, and he practically leaps off the couch, making for the back door. Johnny calls after him, but he pays it no mind.

>Can you take a call now?

>You just missed him, I'm so sorry. He's asleep :(

>That's okay. I want to talk to you.

>Okay, sure.

"Hello?" You're not quite whispering, but your voice is still soft, careful, and he closes his eyes.

"Hey."

"Hey. How are you?"

"Fine. Can't believe he's rolling over." You stifle a small laugh.

"I know. He's going to be crawling soon, I can feel it. Keeps trying to push himself up with his arms and scoot his legs forward. It's cute. He looks like a seal." You sigh, and he gets lost in it, honey sweet spiderweb trapping him in the middle, tangling him up for the feast, your fangs already deeply embedded in his flesh.

That's what you are. Something under his skin. Something possessing him down to the marrow. A man who only takes orders from one other-

willing to say 'how high' if you would only say 'jump'.

He hears his promise every day, every night, ringing in his ears.

Johnny thinks he's flipped a switch somewhere. Gaz says he's more bloodthirsty than he's ever seen.

John just smiles at him, a knowing look in his eye, a mutual understanding.

He's going home, no matter what. If he has to kill every single soul he comes across, that's what happens.

He made a promise.

"Hope he waits." He tries to control the rough scrape of his voice, but it's still there.

"I'm sure he will." You're gentle in your reassurance, kind. His kitten.

"How's he doin' otherwise?"

"Good. Fussing has calmed down a bit, thank god, but I think he misses daddy."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you pause, small intake of breath, a barely there gasp. "I miss him too." He takes a cursory look around, and then drops the tone of his voice.

"Y'miss daddy, sweet girl?" The two of you have been dancing around this, for the last week. Since landing at the safe house, he's been able to call almost every night, sometimes he catches Orion when he's up and sometimes he only catches you, and recently, you've been engaging him with sexually charged late night conversations that make him jerk his cock behind a locked door somewhere, and come into his own hand.

Feels like a waste. He wonders if you'd let him get you pregnant again.

He doesn't even know if you can have sex right now, to be honest. He knows you tore, badly. Knows you had stitches. Knows you're probably still nursing the wounds, physically and mentally.

That's okay. He'll wait. He'll wait as long as he needs to. For this. For you.

He doesn't know where the change came from either, but he's not complaining. Or questioning. He's indulging and dreaming and telling you to reach into your pajama pants to touch yourself for him while he's tossing off on the other end of the line.

If he had to guess, he'd say the distance has given you some sort of courage, some sort of emboldenment to feel it out, gain comfortability.

The killing makes him extra rank, fills him with ardor for you, for his life now. He's always felt purpose, devotion, to his job, the 141, but now, there's a higher altar to lay himself at, a higher calling.

Getting a ring on your finger, for one.

"Are you in bed mama?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah? Gonna play with your pussy for me?"

"Oh god." You groan, but it's breathy, wild on the other end of the line, a whole world away.

"Tell daddy what you're doing, honey." He's rock hard, so much it aches, but he's not going to fulfill the burning need right now. He wants to be focused on you. "Are you touching yourself?"

"Y-yes."

"Does it feel nice?" You whine. "Rubbing your pretty little clit f'me, making it feel good?”

"Oh my god- yeah."

"Daddy's so proud of you, sweetheart. Taking such good care of Orion. Taking good care of yourself, making yourself cum since he can't be there to do it for you." You moan, unintelligible, nectarous melody on the wind. "I wish I was there. I think about the night we made our baby all the time, how you looked spread out on your bed, taking all my cum like a good girl."

"Oh, oh-"

"Took my cock so pretty, mama. Did so good, fit me like a glove." You're panting, tiny, bright whines slipping free, and he knows you're close. "Don't stop. Let me hear you." He orders, slipping a palm over the swollen mass of his cock.

"Fuck, daddy-"

"Keep going honey, come on." He can nearly hear your teeth grinding.

"I'm cumming, oh- daddy, I'm, I'm-" There's a shuffle, a high pitched gasp, and then you go silent, breathing heavily into the phone.

"Good job, mama."

He's sour by the end of week four. Muscles tight from the agony of being away, awful visions, nightmares, rotting the frontside of his brain when he closes his eyes.

The balaclava is heavy with blood now, everyday. Red stains white, fetid and curdled, trying to strain through his teeth.

They've moved from the safe house. The phone calls are only a dream. He turns his phone on for five minutes every other day, desperate to download the photos you're sending, only to get one out of the ten. Can't text you back.

At night, he stands outside with his chin tilted up, orientating himself with the skies, searching for Orion in the cosmic chaos. It takes time, too long, but eventually he spots it, south west in the sky, glittering alongside the moon. His stars. His moon.

John tries to temper him. "You'll have to get better at this, if you're planning to stay, Simon. It won't get easier, but you can ease the ache."

It's never been a question about staying, he's served the 141 for far too long to give it up now. The want is incredibly selfish, but he doesn't consider himself the other kind of man, the one who would take a desk job or sacrifice his duty. His life's work, essentially.

He's not a good man. But he's yours. He won't have it any other way.

Kyle's got a girl at home now, he tells Simon. Maybe we should introduce them, ya know LT? Give em someone to lean on, when we're gone. A brilliant idea, if he's ever heard one. Though he's not surprised. Gaz is the top of his class in everything.

He and Johnny speed run through the last part of the op, raining hell down upon everyone in his path, and he finally sees that crazy glint in Soap's eyes, the one that's been missing this entire time.

"Was fun, LT." He slurs the night before exfil, glass of whiskey lax in his hand. "Almost sad to be goin' home."

Not too long ago, he might agree. But now that he's staring down the barrel of five and a half too long weeks, he can't wait for it to be over.

>Hey

>Hey omg, I've been worried.

>All's good. On our way to base now. Gonna shower here, change. Alright if I come over after?

>Yes.

He’s a livewire stepping off the bird. Three paces behind Gaz, he’s trying to type out a text to you, hardly paying attention, spreading his stride to close the gap between him and the showers.

“Hey darling.” Gaz is wrapping someone up in his arms, pretty little thing with dimples, Simon barely glances up-

And then nearly trips over his boots, tongue tied to see you standing behind Kyle’s new girl, sundress swinging at your thighs, Orion babbling away on your hip.

His bag drops.

He sprints.

“Ah!” You shriek as he tugs you into him, lifting you and the baby with an arm under the plush of your ass. “Simon, oh my god-“ you curl forward, free hand gripping his shoulder, and he presses his mouth to yours.

“Missed you mama.” Your top teeth bite into your bottom lip, bashful and sweet. “You too, bub.” You kiss him again, longer this time, ignoring the whooping from Johnny in the background.

“Welcome home.”

[deathbxnny]

So we know that Boothill had a daughter but what is he had a S/O that also was killed but their consciousness was put into a robotic body(?) and they work for the IPC. Not having any memory of what the IPC did to their family and they meet Boothill again after a long time. Maybe they didn’t even recognize Boothill. Just angst.

ʕ •̀ ω •́ ʔ congratulations on 1000!!!

Oooh, I really love this request, Anon!! I've been craving something angsty and tragic, so I hope you'll like this and thank you for the request!!<33

Content: Reader is similar to the Androids from "Detroit: Become human", spoilers to Boothills past!!, past romantic relationship, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, swearing, reader kind of is hinted to have a southern sounding accent, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

"You promised your next life to me." (Boothill x Gn!Reader)

"That was close-" "-Too close! I told ya not to shut the gates too hard! The damned hens nearly got us killed when they woke up!" A young Boothill hissed to you, although there was no malice in his voice, only a playful tune of amusement. You grinned, biting into one of the apples you had stolen. "But we're alive right now, aren't we?"

The sun was slowly peeking out from beyond the mountains, painting the skies above you in soft blues, pinks, and oranges. You leaned against the tree you were both hiding in, trying your best not to fall out of it or make too much noise, lest the swearing and enraged farmer nearby heard you. It was just supposed to be a little early morning fun, in which you both hopped your neighbors fence to get some of his freshly harvested apples.

Some may call it stealing, but you often liked to call it "borrowing". Served the old man right anyway. He always sold them for too high of a price at the market!

"God damn you, brats! Once I get my hands on you, you'll never think of crossing my damned fields again!" The farmer yelled, loading his shot gun, before he seemed to trip over the pots you had accidentally run into on your way to the tree. Both of you snorted at the cursing intensifying, your hands pressing against your mouths to weakly muffle the laughs that threaten to bubble out of you.

A door creaked open in the distance, the disgruntled old wife hobbling out in annoyance. "RANDY! WHAT ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH ARE YOU DOIN'? IT'S NEARLY 5 AM!" She yelled, the farmer quick to scramble up and pull on his hat with a gulp. "Those damned kids are back!-" "-I don't care! Get your ass back in here, or so may the Aeons help me!" The man only reluctantly did as told, trudging back inside in sizzling rage, yet decided that for today, the little rats could escape him just one more time again. He'll get them next time.

You two waited for a while after the door slammed shut before you finally let out a relieved giggle. "That's what he gets! Old man Mr. Roger had it, comin'!" You slid down the tree, skillfully landing on your feet, before you ran towards the cornfield you came from. "Let's get back to the horses!" You called out behind you, making the young boy follow after you quickly, albeit slower due to being the one carrying most of your "borrowed" goods. You had always been the braver one. The one with the most energy and the most strength to do things. He looked up to you in moments like these, nearly admiring you when you jumped over the fence with no difficulty. He struggled alot more than you did before he too finally reached your horses on the otherside.

"That was really fun..." Boothill trailed off as he helped you load up your half of the apples onto your mare, that was attempting to take one for herself. You hummed in agreement, thanking him right after whilst he helped you onto your saddle. "It's always fun when you're with me." You commented with a shrug, not understanding the weight of your kind words that made his heart beat faster. You rode next to eachother in silence for a while, your eyes glued on the sunset before you, and yet the boy found you more interesting to look at. He bit his lip nervously when the sun hit your eyes just right, making them glow.

"I'm gonna hit the bed the second I'm home... but we'll meet later today again, okay? See ya!" It wasn't a request in Boothills' mind. No, it was simply a natural demand, a requirement to be there, to see you. He watched you ride on the opposite path back to your home, wondering when he too could be braver than you and spill the words that were on his mind for his best friend.

--

That was one of the only memories of Boothills childhood with you that he could remember anymore now. It was odd to think that you two were once nothing more than little troublemakers ridding through the early morning hours together. Only years later however, you'd see eachother every day through marriage.

Your home was a small cottage near the oceanside, miles of fields and meadows surrounding it, in the distance, unexplored forests and mountains. It was your idea to move there as it was still close to his family, and he couldn't have been more grateful. Especially with the small bundle of joy he one day found whilst he was out checking on the cattle during a strong thunderstorm. You were resting at home that night, your fingers moving quickly as they crocheted a blanket you had been working on for a while, ears strained to listen to the music over the static that played through the radio. The fireplace was warm, eyes beginning to drop shut from the exhaustion of a busy day on the farm, when suddenly the front door creaked open and in came your husband, soaked to the bone.

You sat up, watching carefully as he set down his dripping hat and pulled off his boots with one hand clumsily, the other tightly wrapped around something you couldn't see from the dimness of the room. "Come here, honey. Look what a sweet little thing I've found out there." He chuckled gently, holding out the wrapped bundle to you, whilst he pulled away some of the cloth to show the face of a small, sleeping infant. You gasped in surprise, eyes widening, as you were quick to take her out of the wet cloths and wrap her into your own warm arms. "Oh she really is so little!" You whispered in awe, and Boothill could see the love you had for what would soon become your adoptive daughter from the start.

She was your everything ever since that fateful night, you two lovingly calling her "Lavender" after the fields her father had found her in. She was a lively, easy child, so loving and sweet, that your heart couldn't help but be filled with her the moment you met her. Boothill found alot of purpose in raising her with you, often times taking her on horse rides around the land he owned, or taking her out to fish, whilst you taught her how to garden and crochet things herself.

You and Lavender were his sweethearts, his everything. All that Boothill lived for... until eventually, you weren't.

--

The day came in which the devil's from above, also calling themselves members of the "IPC" came down to slaughter you all senselessly. No one survived, no one but Boothill. Your daughter was dead instantly, her small daughter hidden under the heavy rubble, never having stood a chance against the bombs.

He could never forget the relief he felt when he found you, even if it was short-lived. You were fatally injured, breath labored and short, as you tried to hold on for just a moment longer. His arms wrapped around you, tears in eyes when he saw the fear for the first time in yours. No amount of bravery could save you now. "(Y/N)... you... please, you can't die." He chocked out, unable to comprehend the agony he was in. Yet you couldn't hear him over the ringing in your ears, your hand reaching up to grasp his shirt tightly with all the strength you had left. "I'll... I'll find you. I swear I will. In my next life. I promise... I..." Your arm dropped, the fear relaxing into nothing, as your breathing came to an end, the only thing left being the crackling of flames around you.

.....

....

..

"Mr. Boothill? Are you... alright?" Dan Heng awkwardly nudged the now Cyborg man, his head tilting in confusion. Aventurine raised a brow, his arms crossing as his gaze met your rather unamused one in thought. "My... he only seemed to malfunction once you arrived, (Y/N)!" He grinned teasingly, making you roll your eyes and cross your arms. "Can we please continue? You claimed we didn't have any time to waste." The blonde raised his arms in faux surrender, knowing he shouldn't bother you any more than summoning you here has.

A high-profile IPC android like you surely had better things to do after all than to deal with a failing country, but here you were.

Boothill, meanwhile, blinked a couple of times, his head hurting and throbbing in agonizing pain. Just how was this possible? Just how were you alive?

Why did you not recognize him?

"... I... sorry, they look really familiar." He said, trying to compose himself when you gave him a sharp, uninterested look. Your eyes always held so much kindness for everyone. How could you forget even that? Pulling down his hat to cover his eyes, he sighed and shook his head. He supposed both of you had changed beyond recognition in one way or another.

"Anyways... let's get goin'... that nice, wing-headed Mister ain't gonna go down on his own..." He continued, trailing off for a moment, before he simply turned and left to fulfill his part of the plan. He heard you scoff lightly, obviously unamused by whatever seemed to have angered you so much before coming here.

His soul ached for you in ways he couldn't ever utter out loud again. And whilst you did keep your promise of seeing him again, this is not the life or the way he had preferred.

At least you weren't a liar, he supposed bitterly with a cold chuckle.

Alrightyy... I finally found the time to write this, and I'm unsure how I like it... BUT it's done, and I hope it was okay for you, Anon!! Thank you again for the request!!<33

[slowd1ving]

ACT IV: DECAY ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT NSFW

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

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MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ✧ ･

Scene I: Ink . 　⁺

It all starts again on a very dull morning. Staccato beats of the rain on the rickety windows of Ramshackle provide background music for Vil to drink his smoothie to. Except that’s not the only miserable music. His ears are assaulted by the conversation you’re currently having with Jamil, Rook and Ace. Does Grim count when he’s technically the other pea in your miserable pod?

“All I’m saying is that there’s no reason to make a movie series that long,” you argue. Whose movies are you referring to? Vil wishes he was paying attention earlier. “Like what have you got to say for that many movies?”

“Trickster, some people are just dedicated to the pursuit of their passion,” Rook intercedes, leaning his head on his hands to gaze at you more efficiently.

“The Fast and Furious franchise has no reason to be that long,” you lament, frustration creeping into your tone. Vil’s never heard of that movie series. He doesn’t think he wants to know what it is.

“Rook, there’s like nine sequels, and the last one especially does not make any sense,” Vil takes back his earlier thoughts. This seems to be a conversation between you and Rook, in which Ace and Jamil are unenthusiastic spectators. “There’s nothing less beautiful than plot holes.”

“Anyways,” you continue in the same breath, all hints of sadness gone. Vil’s not sure whether to be annoyed or impressed. “Do you guys feel ready for the SDC tomorrow? Your routine is really impressive.”

“My bones hurt so much,” Ace groans from behind his food. “I’ve never felt so pulverised.”

“We will win,” Jamil promises you, fiddling with his spoon on the table. You give them both a cheerful thumbs up while eating - for once, you’ve got scraps of decorum.

“I will put on my most beautiful performance knowing you’re watching, mon cher,” Rook clasps your hand between his gloved ones. Sure, Rook’s probably just being himself, but Vil can’t help the trickle of unease that he feels.

“I don’t doubt it,” you respond with a grin. “Those RSA twerps won’t know what hit them. Although, I’ve had a really weird set of dream-”

“Spudling,” Vil clears his throat to get your attention. You turn to face him, still wearing your jubilant grin. His heart almost stops. It takes all he can to not fumble while taking the lanyard out of his blazer pocket. “Keep this lanyard safe so you can come backstage as the NRC Tribe Manager.”

“Cool,” you take it one handed, still allowing Rook to clasp your other hand. Why does Vil care so much? He tries desperately to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. “Thanks!”

“We’ll go over the routine and iron out any wrinkles in around twenty minutes,” Vil continues, meeting the eyes of each cast member. He’ll just have to ignore whatever he’s feeling until after the SDC. “Make sure the rest of the potatoes are up and ready to go.”

The tell-tale signs of nervousness creep into Vil’s being after he exits the room. He has to beat Neige. No longer will he be cast aside to play the villain. The world will see what he’s got to offer.

“Mira mira, tell me who, at this moment, is the fairest of them all?” Vil speaks slowly and quietly to his phone as he makes his way to his room to get some items for practice.

“Neige LeBlanche.”

He should’ve expected it, really, but he cannot help but let his teeth grind slightly in anger. Just you wait, Neige. He’ll beat Neige fair and square. Finally, he’ll be able to step out of the villain’s shoes.

His muscles ache after his gruelling training. Nothing he won’t be able to recover from; he can’t help but push himself to his limits at the prospect of beating Neige. The rest of the crew somehow manages to execute a near-flawless performance, with only a few minor hand-placement errors.

“Wow,” you cheer them on by your designated spot next to the speakers, cradling Grim in your lap. “You guys are absolutely gonna shred the competition.”

“That’s right!” Ace grins at you, catching the water bottle you toss at him and taking a few enthusiastic swigs.

“Pass me one too,” Deuce reaches out as you toss another water bottle. It’s a natural cue for a break, and the crew decides to take a breather. Vil feels an absurd surge of pride at the sight; somehow, these ungainly tubers have managed to grow into shapely potatoes who can no doubt beat Neige.

“We’ll regroup in ten,” Vil instructs. He’s not satisfied completely, but the passion that’s been poured into this routine is undeniable. Before he can question his body, his legs are already taking him to you. You’re scratching behind Grim’s ears and look up in abject surprise at his approach.

“I need your opinion,” Vil murmurs, leaning down to you so your faces are in close proximity. You furrow your brows; he knows how unlikely it is that he’s approached you. Still, your analysis skills are seriously impressive. “Can you give me a detailed observation of our performance? Spare no detail.”

“Right,” you pull out your phone nonchalantly, scrolling through your gallery until you find the recording of the practice. Of course you’ve come prepared.

“Right at the beginning it’s a really strong start, but as soon as those first few seconds are up, Deuce always misplaces his hand-” Vil’s not sure when he joins you on the floor, leaning ever so slightly into you as you zoom into the areas of imperfection.

“You’ve noticed that too?” Vil comments. You murmur your assent, pressing play again.

“It’s only a slight error, but yeah,” you continue, pausing the video again where it’s Kalim’s misstep. “I think it’s just overeagerness and the adrenaline of performing. The rest of the errors are really just minor hiccups with the singing - but I won’t be able to point them out as well.”

“I’ll give them some extra individual instruction,” Vil promises, more to remind himself than reassure you. You turn to scrutinise him; it’s not like he’s unfamiliar with the weight of people’s gazes, but it’s just you.

“I’ve made notes on the small, consistent screw-ups that’ve surfaced recently when it comes to dance steps. Rook and Jamil are both fine, and Epel only has one,” your shoulder brushes against him as you turn extra carefully to not disturb the snoozing Grim on your lap. You hand him your class notebook, which has been filled with quick sketches of the mistakes. Vil’s eyes widen considerably at the level of diligence you’ve afforded your role. Sure, he knows your eye for detail in science, but he never thought-

“You can borrow it for a bit,” you turn the page to show him the notes you’ve made. Then suddenly you flip back to the previous page.

“I forgot you won’t be able to read them,” you sigh in exasperation. “All that work for nothing.”

Vil is oddly touched. You’ve made extensive notes just for him? He can feel the gesture warm his cheeks as he stares down at the outreached notebook, waiting for him to take it.

“The thought is appreciated,” he thanks you, carefully placing your notebook within his lap. He’s lucky the diagrams are circled with different colours marking out areas of weakness, or he’s sure he’d get lost trying to read through the scribbled notes right next to them.

“I can always just read them out if you need me too,” you lean back on one palm, balancing your body weight as you scritch under Grim’s chin. As much as the little furball wants to deny it, he’s very clearly got the mannerisms of a cat as a large purr rumbles from him. You stifle a little giggle into your shoulder.

“That- that would be great,” it’s so unlike Vil to get flustered, but he can’t help the smile that stays on his face well into the remainder of the practice.

He can’t seem to hold onto whatever hatred he had for you.

Scene II: Rot . 　⁺

The next time he sees your face is around ten minutes before the dress rehearsal on the SDC stage. Vil can feel his already straight posture adjust itself so it’s completely perfect, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Rook, given the look the hunter shoots him. He’s ignoring that.

“They almost didn’t let me in,” you complain, striding over to Rook and waving the lanyard that’s around your neck. Vil’s not sure how they could’ve missed it, with it being what can only be described as a neon red.

“It’s good to see you regardless, mon chou,” Rook is once again clasping your hands, and once again you’re not pulling away.

“I’m going to ignore that you’ve just called me a cabbage,” you comment, looking around at the stage. The little furball that’s normally with you is nowhere to be found; Vil isn’t sure whether to be relieved that he isn’t wreaking havoc here, or whether to be worried that he’s wreaking havoc elsewhere. “Where do I sit while watching?”

“There’s actually the front seats directly next to the stage,” Vil points to the special row reserved for managers and important personnel. You unhook your hands from Rook’s to turn to where Vil’s pointing, your eyes lighting up as you see the comfortable looking chairs set up.

“Right, thanks,” you flash an extremely brief smile at both of them. It seems that whatever rivalry you had with him has been dissolved on your end. He doesn’t know if he should be insulted or happy about it. “Break both legs for both performances.”

“What?” Vil mutters to himself as you stride away enthusiastically. Maybe it’s just a saying from wherever you’re from. It’s ‘break an arm’ for performances, what are you on about? “What could that possibly mean?”

“Mr. Shoenheit, we’re about to go on air to tape your practice performance,” a cameraman apologetically interrupts Vil’s musings. He snaps to attention, letting his face fall back into the most professional poker face he can manage.

“Of course, I’ll get the NRC Tribe into formation,” Vil responds smoothly, waving the rest of the crew to the front of the stage. It only takes a minute; they’re clearly enthusiastic (if not a bit nervous) to perform in front of people who aren’t you and Grim. Deep breaths. A wave of resounding calm flows through him; it’s a lucid state he’s perfected before each and every performance.

The first notes of the rhythmic song start. His eyes unfocus slightly, allowing his muscle memory to take control for the most part. It’s now just a matter of pouring his emotions into the song and dance to truly capture the hearts of those watching. The flow. The haze. It all becomes a part of him, and he knows the rest of those dancing up on stage with him can feel it. Surely they feel the connection of their passion?

He meets your eyes, your wide, enraptured eyes as you gaze at him. He doesn’t fully realise, but the words he sings are for your ears for now. Let this be dedicated to you, and he can worry later about sharing the passion he feels with the rest of the spectators. Vil’s not emotionally stupid; he can tell his feelings have veered into territory that he simply doesn’t want to acknowledge yet. He just has to let them flow into his performance and worry about the rest later.

His mind is deliciously clear, enjoying the endorphins pumping through his blood at the pleasant stretch of movement. It’s already halfway done? The altered passage of time when he’s in the zone is always a surprise. From your excited grin, he can safely assume this performance is one, if not the, best they’ve given. And it’s all for you to watch, before it’s posted for the world to see.

Raucous applause disrupts his flow as the cameras are cut with a signal from the camera crew. You’re standing and clapping your hands with some serious force as you join them up on stage.

“Almost moved me to tears,” you joke, congratulating them on a flawless performance. “Seriously though, you guys are ready.”

You don’t need to say anymore. You stand back to give them space, but Vil watches in dawning horror as you bump into the one and only Neige LeBlanche. It’s only a mild shoulder bump, but it’s happened. The two of you have made contact.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologise profusely, taking a big step back. “I should’ve been looking where I was going.”

“It’s fine, really,” Neige smiles at you, sickeningly sweet. Beside Vil, the NRC dance crew members look at you with incredulity. Why are you so goddamn oblivious? “I shouldn’t have approached this way.”

“If you’re sure,” you trail off, noting the weird looks directed your way by Ace and Deuce. “What the hell are you guys gawking at?

Before Vil can say anything, you’re already being yanked away by Ace’s insistent tugging. Your brows are still furrowed. Goddamn. Have you really never heard of Neige LeBlanche?

It seems Ace is interrogating you with that very question, judging by the furrowed glances he sends both your way and Neige’s. It seems Neige is quick to mask his surprise, walking towards Vil (which was probably the whole reason he approached the group in the first place).

“Your group was amazing,” Neige gushes - his eyes are lit up with awe. Vil feels… nothing, eerily enough. All that’s coursing through him is malicious calm.

“Thank you,” he maintains the professional image easily and smoothly, not missing the way Kalim and Deuce’s eyes swivel between him and Neige.

“It was truly a sight to behold; I had chills just watching,” Neige continues with starry eyes. “I can’t wait to work with you again!”

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Vil muses calmly, letting the air of conversation fizzle out. Out of his peripherals, he spots you and Ace rejoin the group. Unfortunately, it seems Neige has also spotted you again; he shoots you a smile and turns to you.

“Hi, I didn’t catch your name earlier,” Neige’s innocent question leads you to a quick pause before introducing yourself. You’re not overly friendly, more like care-free as usual.

“I didn’t catch your name either, sorry,” you continue politely. Did Trappola wander off-topic while lecturing you? It clearly seemed like it from your slightly bewildered expression.

“Neige LeBlanche, at your service,” Neige’s eyes carry that stupefied look for only a second before it’s swiftly replaced by a cheery smile. Nothing. Vil suppresses a snort of laughter at your politely unknowing expression. Of course you’d be like this, meeting the arguably most famous person in the land with no respect for their importance.

“Cool, I’ll leave you guys to it,” you respond amiably, sending a thumbs up his way. You’ve just upped and left? Vil turns to the side slightly to stifle his laughter as you wander back to the seats where you’ve left your notebook. Utterly lacking proper conversation etiquette as usual. He supposes it’s a positive seeing the Neige LeBlanche seemingly at a loss for words.

“Was that NRC’s manager?” Neige asks Vil. With dawning horror, Vil realises that most of his crew is also standing at the first row with you, due to their practice slot being finished.

“Yes,” Vil responds succinctly, watching Neige watch your movements as you talk with Rook. You’re currently being rattled like a rag-doll with the way he’s clasping your shoulders and shaking you slightly, no doubt grilling you over how you didn’t know who Neige was. He can hear your raucous laughter from all the way on stage.

“Your manager this year is awesome,” Neige compliments, leaning forward slightly to see the action further. Vil suppresses the shudder of disgust. No way this is happening right now.

“Ah, I’ve got to go round up my own crew,” Neige comments distractedly, looking around him. Vil gladly takes this opportunity to take his leave to join the rest of his group, leaving nothing behind but a goodbye.

That bastard. Vil watches the concluding moves of the RSA crew’s performance with barely concealed disgust from his seat in the stands.

“We’ve been had,” he utters in shock. No way. That bumbling performance they’ve put on-

“What do you mean?” Kalim asks in dismay at Vil’s change in attitude.

“He’s right,” Jamil agrees with a heavy sigh. “Look at how much they’re appealing to all demographics with their sugary sweet performance.”

Deep resentment begins to fester within Vil. A familiar ringing noise fills his ears as he tunes out the chatter of everyone surrounding him. He almost doesn’t feel the way he slips out of his seat and down the stairs leading to the rooms within the colossal arena. He feels the pressure of a heavy glass bottle within the palm of his hand, not even having to look at it to know it’s one of Epel’s apple juice bottles. He’s only dimly aware of subconsciously infusing the drink with the same curse he used during the poison assessment.

May those who drink this fall into an endless slumber, Fairest One.

The comforting bubbling slosh of the drink lets him know it’s been tampered with. A small, rational part of his brain urges him not to do this; the rest of his body is consumed by an abyss of disgust and hatred. Gunpowder and other acrid chemical smells appear in wisps, only registering faintly as familiar with his nose. He ignores it all.

“Hi, Neige,” Vil smiles brightly at the youth in front of one of the backstage doors. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your wonderful performance.”

One heartbeat.

Neige turns at the sound of Vil’s uncharacteristically cheerful voice. He doesn’t suspect anything amiss, but Vil supposes he’s always been that way.

“It makes me really happy hearing that from someone I admire a lot,” Neige beams back. Perfect.

Two heartbeats.

“How about a drink? I’ve become rather partial to this brand of apple juice,” Vil’s smile is rehearsed; it’s absolutely oozing with venom.

“Sure!” Neige agrees enthusiastically. “I saw the brand on your Magicam a few weeks back - I was even going to order before I realised it had all sold out.”

Three heartbeats is all it takes to deceive him.

It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? Vil’s downfall has been secured by Neige over the course of his life, whereas Neige’s downfall will be brought about in only a few seconds. The smooth glass of the apple juice bottle does not reveal the curse roiling within. It’s perfect - scentless, colourless and lethal. He wants to laugh when Neige accepts the cool glass bottle so easily. Has he no sense of danger?

“Roi des Neiges!” Who does that voice belong to? With a start, Vil turns to see Rook’s slightly dishevelled form as he runs up to Neige. “My apologies for interrupting the two of you, but the staff were looking for you, Neige.”

“Roi des Neiges..” Neige’s voice trails away as he stares contemplatively at Rook. “Wait-”

“My, I’m absolutely parched after running around looking for you,” Rook swiftly takes charge of the conversation. Why now? Vil can feel sharp cracking within his very soul. “Might I trouble you to let me have some of that refreshing juice you hold?”

No.

“Of course,” Neige agrees enthusiastically, if not a little perplexed.

“You should hurry back, Neige,” Rook continues, taking the bottle offered kindly. “And do not come back here.”

“Huh? What do you-”

“Go on, off with you! Away!” Neige’s question is sharply cut off by Rook’s insistence. Vil can hear him scurry off, like a little rodent.

“That sweet, tart aroma,” Rook breathes. With a start of horror, Vil notices that the cork of the flask has been removed. “Truly.. Epel’s hometown beverage is magnifique, to say the least.”

“I shall drink it to the very last drop, Roi des Poisons,” his knowing gaze meets Vil’s stricken one as he slowly raises the bottle to his lips.

No.

“Don’t do it, Rook!”

Glass shattering. It’s all Vil can do to keep track of what’s happening. His head feels like it’s underwater.

“He used his signature spell to curse the apple juice!” It’s the same speaker from earlier. Kalim?

“-look on his face was the same as Jamil’s-”

“-lost control-”

“Rook,” Vil’s voice rasps. He’s not sure he made the conscious decision to speak. The hunter turns to him with eyes not holding anger or disappointment, but concern. “Why did you..?”

“I wanted to believe in you,” Rook holds his gaze with no traces of accusation. “If it was cursed, I still wanted to taste it. I wanted to taste the fruit of a poison derived from an obsession with beauty bordering on madness.”

Madness?

Vil tunes them all out. He’s dimly aware of you speaking in concerned, hushed tones to the rest of them. Why are you here as well?

“Vil, do you have any idea how foolish that was?” Kalim’s voice is rimmed with desperate emotions. “After all that work, after saying the other teams would look like spuds compared to us, why stoop to this?”

Why stoop to this? Can’t he see that there is no other way? Rage pummels his veins, ripping through his body, his mind, his soul. Something gathers within him, dark and inky and fatal.

“That’s what I want to know,” Vil’s voice is laced with ice, and pure venom. “I’ve come to a realisation. That I… can never win! I’m going to handle Neige myself.”

“Trickster, Kalim! Do not inhale that mist rising from the floor! It’s the evaporated form of that cursed liquid!” Rook’s urging has hints of desperation within it. He turns to Vil. “I don’t see why one glass would have such a drastic… Oh, Vil, you didn’t-”

“Stop looking at me with those eyes,” Vil pleads. It’s not just Rook, he can see you as well, looking at him with that gaze that makes him want to bury himself away. “I just wanted to be the fairest, so why? Why? Why am I so ugly?”

“Roi des Poisons, you are far from ugly,” Rook calls out to him, reaching out a hand. Vil longs to take it, but he can’t. He’s too far gone.

“You haven’t actually hurt anyone!” Kalim’s pleas fall on uncaring ears.

“Silence!” Vil’s voice snaps. He can almost see himself from a separate plane, mist rising up around him in acrid, poisonous billows. He can see you, swaying on your feet slightly, looking more shaky than your companions. “What do any of you know? What does it matter if any of you forgive me? I can’t forgive myself!”

Let go.

Dark streaks overcome his vision, ebbing and flowing along the edges. It would be nice, to hand over the reins for a while, wouldn’t it? To let go of his fury, his resentment, his jealousy. What a dream.

“If I just melt everyone into hideous messes,” Vil’s barely aware of speaking. It’s a rather distorted voice, isn’t it? He can’t help but laugh. “Then I’ll be the fairest one of all, won’t I?”

The last thing he sees before it all overcomes him is your stricken face. He’s not sure you’ve ever worn such an expression before. He’s unlikely to forget those eyes, your facial muscles contorting into a painting of intermingling horror and worry. Why does he feel that shame rising again?

Didn’t he let go already?

Scene III: Wake . 　⁺

“I was the villain bullying the hero in the last play, too. Why do I keep getting picked to play the bad guy? Do I really look that mean?”

Villains never stay on stage for the whole play. Once their role is finished, all they can do is watch from the shadows as the happy ending plays out. What I want is to stay on stage longer than anyone else.

“Those kids were trying to hold me accountable for a work of fiction. Silly boys, the lot of them.”

I always aim for one role - the hero. But… all I ever get to be is the villain.

“Vil is too special to play the part of a regular teen that viewers can relate to. Without that reliability, I don’t think he’ll ever pull off playing a hero.”

I would do anything to be beautiful. The most rigorous training. The most tedious hair and skin care regimens. I would shy away from none of it. And yet.. Why? Why is it never me? All I want is to stay on stage until the end of a show.

In the end, it’s not the gentle splattering of rain on his face that wakes him up. It’s some foreign warmth on his face that causes his eyes to slowly open. Framed by his eyelashes and the haze of a deep slumber is your face. It’s as if you know, the way you look at him with such tenderness and concern. It’s as if you’ve pulled him from the deep recesses of his memories yourself, with the way your rough hands prop his head up so gently.

“How am I..” Vil rasps out, looking at you with nothing but queries in his eyes. His eyes search over your tired expression, the way the sclera of your eyes is still tinged a slight purple, and the various small cuts across your face. Did he do this? Waves of shame hit him and he can’t bear to meet your gaze.

“Thank goodness you’re awake, Vil,” you murmur down at him. Is this the first time you’ve said his name? It sounds foreign on your lips, and unbearably sweet. Why aren’t you mad at him? Why do you keep looking at him with those unaccusing eyes?

“Oh, Vil.. fair Vil,” Rook sighs in relief, crouching beside you on the rain soaked ruins. Ruins? Vil takes the opportunity to look round the battle site, the upheaved flagstones, the despoiled decorations. Another wave of shame meets him when he notices the haggard faces of his crew (is that Kalim bawling his eyes out? And is that Jamil scolding him?).

“I’m.. sorry you had to see that undignified display,” Vil apologises, making sure each and every one of his words is sincere. He cannot begin to comprehend how much shame he’s feeling at the moment. “Only third-rate people throw temper tantrums and take their problems out on others. My conduct was most unbecoming of all…”

“Y’right about that,” Epel grumbles, but without a trace of actual malicious intent. “Thought ya said people grow out of temper tantrums by the time they’re three?”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right, Epel,” Vil uses your shoulder to haul himself up so he can sit up. You don’t seem to mind, even grabbing on to his wrist to steady him. With another crash of guilt, he realises how your grasp is shaky, no doubt due to your exposure to the curse when you don’t have any sort of natural magic resistance. “I’m no longer fit to be your leader.”

“You haven’t actually hurt anyone, Vil,” Kalim argues. Vil can see him approaching and standing next to where Rook crouches. “You haven’t stepped over that brink.”

“He’s right,” Jamil says, jabbing his thumb in the general direction of outside the coliseum. “Neige is dancing out there happily with the seven dwarfs. It’s a stretch, but we can say we got worked up and had a team brawl in here.”

“Yeah,” Ace interjects. “No way we’re letting you pull out because of a few bruises, after the wringer we’ve been put through.”

“All of you,” Vil feels a horrendous mushy feeling swell up within him. You’re still supporting him with the way you’re steadying his wrist. “You just want to pretend nothing’s happened?”

“I never said that,” Jamil retorts, but his face blooms into his signature smile. “We can just hold off explanations until after the competition.”

“You truly are wicked, Jamil,” Vil replies with a small laugh. It hurts, and he feels his chest contort with pain. Your grip on his wrist tightens and you steady his shoulder with your other hand, clearly not missing the way his face twists into a grimace.

“Here, I’ll help you stand, alright?” you’re surprisingly strong, with the way you unceremoniously (but carefully) haul him up so he stands leaning into your firm touch. Even with your clearly weakened state, you still grip onto him as if he’s the fragile one that isn’t allowed to fall. Vil can’t even bring himself to protest.

“I wasn’t the one who made the shot so strong, Vil was,” Deuce seemingly replies to a conversation Vil’s unconsciously tuned out. “The spell stores all the damage I take, then hits it back all at once. So it was only potent because of Vil’s potent magic.”

Ah. Deuce seems to be describing the final hit Vil can barely remember taking, the one that likely brought him back to the brink of consciousness.

“Don’t make it sound so violent!” Deuce splutters in indignation, and Vil once again realises he’s tuned out. He doesn’t particularly mind, focusing instead on the way you unconsciously seem to tense your muscles against him when shifting, the way you still have that signature chemical smell to you, the way you’re looking directly at him with that expression-

“Signature… You mean that’s my signature spell?” Deuce seems to be coming to a realisation with sparkling eyes. Good on him. Beside him, Ace seems to be coming to an unpleasant realisation with the way he’s incredulously muttering to himself about how he can’t believe Deuce has mastered his signature spell before him.

“Behold, Vil is awestruck and weak-kneed from the splendour of your blow,” Rook proclaims, gesturing to the not-awestruck Vil.

“I’d wager he’s also weak-kneed from something else,” Jamil comments sardonically, looking pointedly at the way you’ve got him in your grasp. Vil only hopes you’ve become suddenly preoccupied with something else.

“No, I’m just beaten head-to-toe,” Vil swiftly retorts. “That last blow did strike soundly, though. Nicely done, Deuce.”

“Thank you, sir!” Deuce smiles at him eagerly. “Although, I don’t know what to do about the wrecked stage.”

“It’s not feasible to fix it all with magic,” Jamil replies pragmatically, looking around him with a calculating expression. “With what power we have left.. Every scenario running through my mind all ends with the same brick wall.”

“Does that mean.. SDC is…” Epel trails off, looking at Jamil with a dawning sense of horror.

“What do we have here?” The new, booming voice is accompanied by green fireflies that send a small shiver down Vil’s spine. What’s he doing here?

“I thought I’d arrive earlier,” Malleus hums with a touch of surprise, surveying the surroundings briefly. “What do I find but a stage laid to waste?”

“Hornton!” you exclaim, and Vil can feel your sternum vibrate through his shoulder. You’re.. acquainted with Malleus Draconia enough to call him nicknames? He can’t even be surprised anymore. “There’s still two hours until the SDC opens!”

“Hornton?” It’s a collective response from the rest of the crew, voicing Vil’s thoughts.

“Do you have a death wish, calling your upperclassman that?” Ace shudders at your audacity.

“Do you even know who that is?” Epel’s shocked voice causes you to blink in surprise at his tone.

“He told me to call him whatever, so I did,” Vil has to stifle a laugh as you shrug. Of course you did.

“However did you get into the coliseum, Roi des Dragons?” Rook sounds positively astonished.

“I was invited by the Child of Man from Ramshackle,” Malleus replies, gesturing to you.

“Yep,” you affirm. Vil feels as though you’re ignoring the other, more pressing question Rook’s asked.

“The entire venue is still enveloped by the poison mist generated by Vil,” Rook’s explanation trails off as Malleus holds up a clawed hand.

“I am impervious to any curse, no matter how powerful,” Malleus takes another look around the wrecked coliseum. “Whatever could’ve happened here?”

Vil watches as you briefly and efficiently describe the events, listening extra hard for the parts where he would’ve been unconscious. It’s curious, the way you don’t let any trace of exhaustion or pain enter your voice. It only takes around two minutes for you to give the gist of the situation to Malleus.

“Children of men, I shall bestow upon you a gift,” Malleus’ words come with an incredible magic pressure that leaves Vil’s eyes wide. He steals a glance at you, and watches your own expression become slack with awe and curiosity.

“That’s Malleus Draconia for you,” Vil murmurs to you. Your brow furrows as you look down at Vil.

“That’s Malleus? Hornton over there was the one everyone was so excited about at the Spelldrive tournament?” you ask incredulously. After all this, you’re still holding on to that nickname? Your eyes dart back to those green fireflies that are somehow lifting all the ruined flagstones and pillars, and rearranging them into pristine condition. Within the space of a few heartbeats, Malleus has managed to restore the conditions of the arena into an exact replica of how they were before.

“He’s ludicrously out of our league,” Ace mumbles in awe. Vil can’t help but agree.

“Thanks a bunch, Hornton!” you beam at Malleus, who stares at you for a brief second before breaking out into chuckles. It’s the first time Vil’s ever heard the fae laugh, but you’re full of surprises as usual.

“Though you know who I am, you still stick to that pet name?” Malleus sounds terribly amused, looking at you as you fumble with an explanation. He interrupts whatever apology is about to leave your lips with another chuckle. “Truly, I do not mind.”

He turns to look at Vil with a resolute expression in his eyes that’s made all the more disconcerting by his piercing green eyes. “I’ve set the stage for you, Schoenheit. I trust you will keep me entertained.”

“I hardly need your urgings to put on my finest performance,” Vil suppresses the wince of pain as he straightens his posture, ignoring the very tangible reality of you still grasping onto him. “Be prepared for a standing ovation.”

“I’ll expect nothing less. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Malleus’ last words fade out with his disappearance. The only traces left behind by him are those green fireflies.

“Lady Luck is truly on our side,” Rook comments after the flashes fade out. “I was hardly expecting Roi des Dragons to appear here.”

Me neither. Though it seems today is a day full of surprises.

Vil leans into your warmth a bit more, and you indulge him. The arm carefully wrapped around him is sure and steady - he wants nothing more than to stay here until the end of time. You don’t ask questions, looking past his shoulder so you can direct the crew to their water. He knows he must let go to perform - it’s highly unusual to see the Vil Schoenheit rely on anyone, even if it’s a little bit. To see him clinging to someone, his rival of all people…

Gingerly, he lets go of you. Your grasp on him is firm to the very end as you let go and make sure he’s not at risk of fainting. The concern you display is almost comedic, but you don’t say anything.

He can feel your eyes burning into his back as he walks away, but he doesn’t look back.

Scene IV: Unopened Missive . 　⁺

Vil supposes it’s comedic as he pours everything he’s got left into the final performance, only to score exactly one point below RSA. It’s always like this; him, exactly one step behind Neige. He can’t fault Neige, anymore, not after he’s come to terms with it. As the thrum of music faded and the flow of performance left him, he was acutely aware of the raucous applause he drew. He did not care. All he was searching for were your eyes.

He’s sure Lady Luck is laughing straight at him as Rook proclaims himself as one of Neige’s biggest fans. What betrayal! Of course this has been added onto the list of surprises. It’s strange; he doesn’t feel the annoyance he’d expect to be simmering through his veins at that moment. It seems he’s let that go.

It’s practically hilarious as he joins Neige on stage to sing an encore. Only scraps of bitterness remain - had Vil not exhausted the whole team earlier, they might have won and took back that one measly vote. He’s accepted that. Still, his frustration is palpable as he leaves his crew to sing with Neige, though not to the audience. His professionalism is the one thing he’s managed to keep up.

“Hey,” your voice breaks him out of the reverie. It’s bizarre, the way you’ve escorted him back to Pomefiore, even though he’s got Rook and Epel to do that. It’s even more bizarre, the way he’s let you gently drag him to his room, where Rook and Epel have already gone back to their own chambers. They already know it’s best to leave him alone when he’s in a bad mood. So why.. why are you still-

The sharp tang of medicinal ointment brings him back to the current situation. You’re poised between his legs as he sits at his vanity, with an assortment of bottles behind you. It’s strangely intimate with the way the soft dusk lighting envelopes you with its mysterious aura. He’s not wearing any makeup, but you don’t seem to care; your gaze caresses his features, laced with only concern.

Please, don’t look at me with those eyes.

“I’m going to begin, alright?” you murmur, searching his eyes for any traces of discomfort. Vil nods wordlessly. The pressure on his chin from one hand of yours is feather light; he finds himself leaning into it slightly. Your other hand lightly brushes over the cuts on his face with the ointment swabbed onto a cotton pad - strangely, it lacks the usual sting which normally elicits a sharp hiss of surprise.

“I made this ointment myself,” you explain after seeing the surprise conveyed in his eyes. Of course you did. In any case, it seems to be working fine, judging by the rapid cooling sensation he’s feeling across his face.

“Why-” Vil begins to ask as you cap the ointment bottle and twist it closed with practised ease. Your hand is still on his face, but he can’t bear to pull away. Not here, in the privacy of his room, where the only eyes upon him are yours. “-why are you still here? Don’t you dislike me?”

You pause in the rummaging you’re doing in your pocket. Vil holds his breath as you turn to him with that contemplative look you wear while figuring out potions.

“I don’t actually dislike you,” you comment matter-of-factly, tilting his face to each side to observe your handiwork. “I’ve got better things to do than spend my energy stewing over you.”

Ouch.

“You still haven’t answered my first question,” Vil’s composure is rapidly slipping down the drain as he remains (quite literally) in the palm of your hand. Your gaze doesn’t falter. “Do you just feel bad for me?”

“No,” you respond idly, still tilting his head this way and that. It’s like watching a cat bat at a toy. “I thought it might be good to have company and rely on someone else for once.”

There’s something else you aren’t saying. It’s unspoken in your eyes and the way your brow makes imperceptible furrows every few minutes. Vil’s breath hitches in his throat slightly.

“Did you-” he’s interrupted by that look, not one of pity, but one of resolute determination.

“Yes, I saw those memories,” you admit. You don’t look at him with an apologetic expression, one that screams pity. It’s a relief. “I didn’t mean to, like at all.”

“It’s fine,” Vil supposes it is fine. You wouldn’t tell anyone, he feels. He watches as your expression shrivels up into one of abject surprise as you feel around in your pocket, drawing out what seems to be a cream-coloured, expensive looking envelope. Vil knows exactly what it is, even as you scan the front quizzically then shrug. Of course. You can’t read the runes.

“It’s the results for the poison assessment,” Vil supplies. Strange. He doesn’t feel any excitement, or fear - it’s bordering on the neutrality of acceptance. It seems you feel the same way, as you just toss the envelope down with disregard onto the vanity and continue your search in your pockets.

“Aha!” your triumphant exclamation leaves him blinking in surprise. Why haven’t you acknowledged the results at all? You brandish another bottle of ointment in front of him excitedly, almost hitting him on the nose due to your very close proximity. “I’ve found the muscle and bone ointment!”

“Aren’t you going to look at the results?” Vil asks incredulously - it slips out before he can even comprehend he’s said it.

“I can’t even read them,” you untwist the ointment with your teeth, leaving tiny dents in the metal cap. “I’ll look at them later.”

The potent tang of nettles permeates the air as you set the open bottle onto the table behind you, letting go of Vil’s face.

“I’m going to need you to undress so I can access your back,” your nonchalant tone makes Vil’s reaction delayed. He can feel the back of his neck heat up at your words. “I heard the nastiest little crunch when Deuce’s spell hit you, so I’m gonna have to check those ribs.”

“Right,” Vil swallows thickly, standing up. Wrong move. You’re much too close now, pressed up against the vanity with him standing right in front of you. His body is brushing up against yours, and he can feel your body heat. Shit. He moves out of the vicinity to the bathroom, with all the composure of a professional actor.

“This ointment’s designed for deeper use than surface level injuries,” you call out behind him. “It’s gonna sting!”

“That’s fine,” Vil responds before shutting his bathroom door. He quickly loosens his shirt, wishing it were your hands doing- His heart pounds in his ribcage as he shuts down the thought. It only takes a minute before his shirt and blazer are both tossed into the laundry basket, all too soon considering the flushed sheen emerging on his face.

One final cursory inspection of his face in the mirror is necessary before he goes out to face you. He’s almost taken aback - not by the lack of makeup which he’s already accustomed to, but the sheer vulnerability within his expression. He looks like such a mess, and you’ve not even commented on it? You’ve just accepted that it doesn’t matter what he looks like; you’re going to treat him the same regardless. It’s a far cry to what he values as his principles.

He pushes open the door hesitantly. His torso is exposed, and he suddenly feels the jarring pangs of shyness. Why now? He’s gone topless for movie scenes before, for Sevens’ sake! Steeling himself, he opens the door completely. You’ve placed the vanity chair by the bed- surely you’re not-

“You can either lie on your stomach here, or sit up on the chair, which might be more uncomfortable,” you explain briefly, rolling up your uniform sleeves as if you’re about to conduct a lab practical. Am I the lab rat? “I’ve picked up a few massage tips here and there, so overall it should be a quite pleasant experience. Of course, if you want to omit the massage-”

“No, it’s fine,” Vil lets out a shaky breath at your nonchalance, gingerly lying on his front on his covers. Jack of all trades, aren’t you? He doesn’t realise just how tense his muscles have been until you press your thumbs into the muscles situated around his scapula. Your hands are coated in some sort of resinous, volatile substance, judging from the brief alcohol fumes flaring up whenever you place your hands down. You were right, there is a sting, but it’s not as sharp as he expected.

Why are you doing this? It’s a question that keeps replaying in his mind’s movie theatre, with the cruel laughing soundtrack interspersed in a tragic loop every few seconds. The two of you aren’t friends, and what you’ve done goes beyond the level of care Vil normally receives from friendship. He can’t complain, not when your warm, rough hands are finally on him, even if it’s to just rub the ointment in.

“Now, I’m no medic,” there’s a faint apology in your tone as you concentrate the ointment into a specific, aching spot. Vil barely registers the sting of pain due to your burning touch. “But I think that your rib’s been bruised at the very least in that spot, and that ointment should’ve healed the worst of it.”

His rapid heart rate distracts him from the loss of body heat from you as you move your hands away from his body. Please don’t stop. He feels a heavy pressure on his right shoulder, and to his surprise it’s the palm of your hand waking him from his reverie.

“I’ll bandage you up just to be sure,” you murmur, shifting your weight from foot to foot and looking around. It’s clear you’re hesitant, maybe due to your lack of experience playing a so-called “doctor”. Still, judging by the way the deep ache within has eased, you’ve done a pretty darn good job, as Epel would no doubt say. “Sit up.”

Vil obeys, gingerly swinging his legs round the bed until he’s sitting, and you’re once again hovering over him as you slip a clean bandage out of its plastic wrapping. He breathes in the comforting warmth of your body heat and repertoire of chemical smells that mask the floral traces on your skin. Don’t you feel the rushed thrum of blood that’s pumping through each vein and each capillary, as you wrap your arms around him to begin winding the bandage?

Is he nothing more than a mere patient to that clinical precision you currently sport?

“What would you have chosen, if you won the poison assessment?” Vil suddenly asks as you clip the bandage into place with a satisfied hum around the middle of his torso.

“Why are you asking as if I lost?” you let out a bemused chuckle, gesturing to the still-very-closed envelope sitting on his vanity. “We don’t know yet.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Vil could melt with the way you’re gazing down at him as he sits with you standing in between his legs. Your sharp eyes contain a warning, one he has no intention of heeding as he presses the subject. “Won’t you tell me?”

“Fine,” your voice rasps slightly as you stoop down to his level. He can’t help but shiver at the sensation of your warm breath rustling past his ear. “Are you really that eager to know?”

“Go on,” Vil almost pleads, and he’s sure you hear the quiet hints of desperation in his voice. Your eyes lock back onto his; he’s slightly regretting asking you as he sees the dangerous glints in your eye. His breath hitches as he realises it’s the same, all-consuming look of seriousness you reserve for your experiments and potions. It’s as if he already knows what your answer will be, with the way his blood excitedly thrums to the surface to respond with an echoing yes.

Please.

The rough pads of your fingers meet his chin again in that gentle grasp as you tilt his head upwards. This is really happening, right? It’s as if he’s in a haze; anticipation of your movements is the only thing breaking him out of it.

“Can I..” you murmur, brushing a thumb over his bottom lip. He holds his breath. Yes. Your mere touch calls forth fireworks to explode in a vibrant cacophony.

“Please,” Vil’s quiet gasp is all the encouragement you clearly need, because the next thing he knows you’ve stepped forward and met his open mouth with yours. The heady taste of woodsmoke and cherry syrup lingering on your tongue is positively intoxicating. He’s not sure, but he can also taste the coppery tang of blood as well. Perhaps it’s from the heat of battle earlier? Regardless, his blood rises in response; he’s sure his face is flushed a deep pink.

You don’t hesitate, leaning his head to the side with your fingers to kiss him deeper and deeper. He groans into your mouth, feeling you smile as you taste his desperation. He positively convulses as he feels your hand trace the bare skin of his side; he’s so vulnerable like this, and he knows you feel it as you press into his body.

Vil gasps for air when you pull back. A string of saliva connects your lips to his; with a start, he realises that your lips are shiny and traced with the purple lipgloss he’s wearing. Your eyes are half-lidded with intensity and some other roiling emotion he can’t place. It makes his breathing even more uneven when he realises he’s made you look like that.

“Like what you see?” even now, traces of rivalry still lace Vil’s tone; he cannot help but provoke you to elicit another reaction. Your gaze slowly travels up and down Vil’s dishevelled appearance, making sure to scour every inch of it. He holds his breath when your lip curls in disdain.

“Please,” your voice rolls deep from your throat with sarcasm. It makes Vil’s blood cells burn with want. The sharp, intense look in your eyes only becomes more turbulent; it’s insanely attractive to be at your mercy.

“Don’t make me laugh-” your fingers curl into his chin more, and Vil can feel the suppressed strength within the grip. Blood is rushing straight down, and he can barely keep track of all the thoughts racing through his head. “-not with the way I’ve seen you almost do flips for my attention, with your one-sided rivalry.”

“Ah-” Vil’s gasp sounds suspiciously like a moan as you move closer, pressing a knee in between his legs inadvertently. You’ve clearly heard it, with the way you furrow your brow and pause your motions.

“Did you-” your eyes fully take in his heavy breathing and the way he’s coming undone from just kissing you. Your question is answered immediately.

“Please, keep going,” Vil pleads, removing one hand from where it’s gripping the sheets to your hip. You swallow thickly, eyes darting between his hand and face.

“You sure you want to continue?” you prompt, eyes settling into that same dangerous glint once again. “I don’t want to aggravate your injuries..”

“Please,” Vil all but begs, seeing the way your eyes glaze over with desire. The hazy, smoky smell of your skin almost acts like an aphrodisiac; he cannot help but be ensnared.

“Alright,” your voice is hushed when you tilt his head upwards to access his jugular, biting into the area slightly with sharp canines. He knows you feel it: the way his pulse jumps erratically beneath your touch. You draw out quiet, hushed gasps with every mark you make on his throat, with every movement of your waist against his bare torso, with every nudge of your knee in between his legs.

More.

He doesn’t even realise he’s slowly rolling his hips against your leg to feel any sort of friction until you press down on his hips with the hand that’s been supporting his shoulder.

“Not so fast,” you breathe against his skin - his back can’t help but arch slightly at the feeling of your breath against his neck. “Allow me to take care of you.”

It’s your words that make him pause in shock; they’re an eerie echo of what you said in his dream. Judging by the lack of change in your expression, you don’t know about it; thank Sevens.

You’re pressing into him, forcing him into the bed on his forearms while you lean in, kissing his mouth feverishly to bring out his gasps and moans. He’s unbearably hard, all the more so because of your knee moving out of reach each time he chases that delicious high. This is better than any dream.

Burning kisses trail their way from below his ear down to his collarbone. He’s suddenly glad for the wonders of concealer as he thinks about the marks you’re leaving. On the other hand, he’s strangely into the idea of people seeing he’s taken by you, so much so that you’re marking him up like this.

“Ah- right there,” Vil can’t suppress the noises he’s making as your lips travel down to his chest. He doesn’t care who hears him; he’s seeing goddamn stars with the way your tongue circles his nipple and your thumb mirrors the action with the other one. The pressure you’re applying deftly is making him intoxicated.

“You look so beautiful like this,” your fingers glide over the neatly wrapped bandages on his chest, trailing down to his waist. He doesn’t think it’s possible for his heart to beat any more erratically without thumping straight out of his chest. Is he really sure that you haven’t magically seen his dreams? After all, you’ve seen his memories. He waits with bated breath for your next move, not realising that you’ve already positioned yourself to hover between his thighs with a small grin on your face.

“Mind if I take these off?” you hook your thumbs around the tailored trousers he’s wearing. It takes considerable self-restraint to not tell you to just rip them off.

“Go ahead,” it’s a wonder that his voice doesn’t crack from the sheer pressure of what he’s feeling at the moment. Your grin is all edges as you efficiently unzip the front and slip the pants off. It seems that he’s surprised you when you look down at his smooth legs with your eyebrows slightly raised, taking in the fact that he’s wearing sheer black stockings to his mid thigh underneath his pants.

“All for me?” you run your fingers down his legs appreciatively, feeling the soft material underneath your fingers with an even sharper grin than before. Vil can’t help but shiver at the feather-light touches you give, contrasted sharply with the jagged vertices of your smile.

All for you.

It’s as if you can read his thoughts. You’re once again hovering between his legs, spreading them with nothing more than a gentle push. The touches you leave on his legs feel almost possessive; he cannot help but adore it. Will he be the only one seeing that expression on your face? He wants to be the only one, the only one to see the tumultuous desire warp and thrash within the glints in your eyes. It’s a far cry from your usual composure.

Sticky residue from his lipgloss is left on his soft inner thighs as you press kiss after kiss to the skin. He can feel desire pulse through you with every bruising mark you leave. It entrances him. The unspoken words you leave him are more than enough to assure him that even like this, with all his bruises and scrapes and tears, he’s beautiful.

Your hands slowly ease his underwear off; the cold air on the sensitive skin makes him hiss slightly, but it quickly turns into a gasp as you leave kisses in the crook of the skin connecting his thigh to his pelvis.

“I’m going to absolutely ruin you,” you promise quietly. The ravenous look in your eyes doesn’t subside as you gaze at him from between his legs. He can’t help but let out a small groan at your words. What would his fans say if they saw him, lying so pliant for his supposed academic rival?

One of Vil’s hands fly up to his face to muffle the moans escaping his lips when your thumb circles his slit, made all too easy by the flow of pre-cum from his dick. The other hand is left desperately clutching at the sheets of his bed as his hips involuntarily buck upwards into your hand.

“Uncover your pretty mouth,” you slowly twist your hand down, all while gazing at his flushed face. He’s already seeing stars at the friction and can barely register his hand leaving his mouth to grip the sheets. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

He can only hope that his door is soundproofed from the obscene noises leaving him as you pick up the pace. It’s not enough. Your hand moves away each time the haze of pleasure builds up, leaving him chasing after your touch. He’s sure he looks an absolute mess right now with the way tears are leaving his eyes and his brow has the sheen of sweat; you clearly don’t care as you lithely move upwards to kiss him. The cool fabric of your clothes presses into his bare skin, making him feel incredibly exposed to you.

You’re still moving with that teasing pace as you swallow down his moans. It’s unbearable, all the more so because you’re still covered in your uniform. He almost sobs in relief when your hand picks up speed and the pleasure starts steadily building in his stomach. His hips desperately grind into your hand and you let him, let him come undone with your touch and quiet praises. He’s close; the dopamine is flooding through his veins and all he can focus on is the way you touch him, the way you’re currently kissing his jaw and leaving more marks on his neck, the way you’re coaxing such obscene sounds from both his throat and from the skin on skin friction.

It builds and builds and builds, until all he can fathom is saying your name over and over, as if he’s some devout worshipper invoking some otherworldly being. He lets go, feeling the way you slow down to allow him to ride out the climax. Only white-hot pleasure courses through his mind, fading out more slowly than usual. He kisses you feverishly, feeling the warm skin on the nape of your neck as he pulls you in closer and closer. You’re now lying side by side on his bed, with you pressed up against him wearing your despoiled clothes, ones that have been despoiled by him.

“You’re removing your clothes as well, I hope?” his gaze trails down your body, looking at the offending uniform that you’re wearing. It’s a wonder he’s managed to form a coherent statement. Still, it’s only fair that you also remove the fabric with those deft hands like you did to those tailored trousers he was wearing.

“Right,” your gaze softens, moving your hands away from his body. His brows furrow with a question as he watches the hand sticky with cum approach your face- oh my. A scarlet flush blooms on his cheeks as you use your tongue to clean your hand up, before using it to lazily remove your blazer and vest. You don’t give them a second glance as you toss the clothes on the floor. The warmth you’re emitting is all the more palpable as only a thin buttoned shirt separates your skin from his. It’s incredibly attractive, watching your languid movements as you discard the shirt off to the side as well as your trousers.

The feeling of your bare skin on his shouldn’t elicit such a burning reaction from him, but it does; he groans as you lean back to slowly kiss him, feeling the way your body heat envelopes him without any barriers. He’s acutely aware of all the points your skin brushes against him - it’s insanely addicting. You’re kissing him without a care in the world, judging by the way you lazily cradle his face with your hands. He’s so malleable under your touch, so starved of affection that he’s wrapped around your pinky finger. He’s sure you can feel the way his skin flushes with a simmering heat.

The blue hour soaks you both in the gloom as your hands press him closer and closer, until he can barely distinguish where he ends and you begin. Is this what it means to become one, united in flesh?

Does he look beautiful to you like this?

He knows he does. He knows he does when you reverently trail down with your kisses, settling between his thighs again to fill him up with your fingers. He knows he does as you feverishly coax those angelic moans out of him; your eyes are blazing with desire for him. He knows he does as you draw out his climax for as long as you can so wave after wave of pleasure can keep hitting him.

It’s late evening when the two of you fall asleep, tangled together and worn out.

The letter on the vanity lies forgotten; Vil doesn’t particularly care about the results when he already feels your equal.

Scene V: Closing . 　⁺

“Goodness, trickster,” Rook’s exclamation when you emerge in the Pomefiore lounge room in the morning thankfully goes unnoticed by the few students milling about. “Our dorm uniform looks simply ravishing on you.”

“Yeah, mine got quite ruined from yesterday’s events,” your voice sounds raspy as you try to sell your act to Rook, who’s positively cooing over you. What a little prankster. Vil can’t help but glance at you from his favourite armchair. As the culprit responsible for ruining your uniform, he of course had to lend you a uniform. Still, you do look rather good in it.

“Don’t tell me you slept over and didn’t tell me?” Rook plasters a look of mock-hurt on his face, and Vil implores you to shut your mouth for once and put on the best act of your life.

“Something like that,” your expression is innocent, with the exception of your raised eyebrows. You don’t look at Vil at all as you smile at Rook, who’s unfortunately glanced over at Vil, scrutinising him with that disgustingly perceptive look.

“Does that explain the bruises on his neck?” Vil chokes on his smoothie hearing the hunter’s whisper. Of course he forgot something this morning. Of all days.

“Whatever could you mean?” you inquire nonchalantly, straightening the ironed collar of the uniform.

“Oh my,” Rook’s eyes are as wide as saucers as his gaze swivels between you and Vil. It’s rare to see him this gleeful. “You two totally slept-”

“I’m going to need you to shut it, Rook,” you cover the offender’s mouth abruptly before he can say anything more. You’re not denying it though, looking back at Vil with a wicked grin on your face.

Shit.

[padfootagain]

Only an Almost (XIX)

Chapter 19: Ascent

Hi! Here comes a new chapter!

We only have two chapters left, including this one :(

I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!

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Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 5157

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Andrew was never more aware that he was getting older.

The hangover that was stabbing his temples with daggers was the best reminder of all.

Details from the end of the night were fuzzy, at best. He wasn’t certain how he got home, but he had somehow managed to reach his bed. He was still wearing his shirt and pants from the wedding, his hair was a mess, but that was nothing compared to the fog that clogged his brain.

He made a stop by the kitchen first to drink some water, prepared some strong coffee. He splashed some cold water on his face to clear his head. Christ… he needed a shower. Maybe two.

He could recall a cab driver, some very loud music, jumping up and down with the beat, Sam and Daphne laughing, getting drunk on purpose…

… and then there was you lying in bed, fast asleep, him kissing your forehead in a chaste kiss, tucking you in, helping you through the mansion, finding you in the park, the fear of not knowing where you were, him singing that song to you even if the dance was meant for the married couple…

He could hear your voice ringing in his ears, echoing through his head, beating in his heart. Words that rang again and again. Words that he had dreamt of hearing.

He took a couple of deep breaths, and let the unkind voice in his head take over. You were drunk. You didn’t mean it. You said it yourself you didn’t want to be in a relationship, and especially not with him. You were scared, you didn’t want to take the risk, didn’t want to make the sacrifices that a long-distance relationship would require, not for him, at least, because he wasn’t worth it, he wasn’t enough and you didn’t love him, you were just drunk, you didn’t mean it…

He turned on his phone, checked the time. It was already 1pm.

Messages from his friends, from Sam and Daphne, one from his mom, a few from his label…

… and then 10 from you.

He swallowed thickly, but touched your name first anyway.

Hi! I hope you got home safely last night.

First, thank you for taking care of me. I was drunk… obviously

A true gentleman, as usual.

I’m so sorry you had to see that. I was hammered. I wasn’t myself and I said things I shouldn’t have.

Andrew had to stop reading. He took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, bracing for the rejection that was sure to come… again.

Still, he read on.

I know that I’ve fucked up, and that you don’t want to see me anymore. Which is perfectly understandable, and I completely respect your decision. I had no intention to contact you again. It was completely out of line for me to confess my feelings.

Andrew read that last sentence several times, before rushing to the next text.

I’m sorry about what happened. I know you don’t want to see me anymore, and again, I completely understand. I was an idiot and I’ve fucked up everything. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I won’t ask for it. At this point, I just hope that what I said last night didn’t make things even worse.

I know that you’ve probably moved on by now, and I’m not expecting anything from you. I don’t even expect an answer to these texts, and I will simply not contact you again if you choose not to answer. I guess that alcohol simply made me reveal things I would rather not have confessed. I trust you not to tell anyone about this, even if you don’t want to talk to me ever again.

I reckon that I should make it clear, although I expect that you don’t feel the same anymore, that I meant what I said last night. And I wish I hadn’t been so stupid, and told you how I felt while I still could.

His eyes ran through your words again and again, but they remained unchanged, no matter how many times he read them. He let out a long exhale, unable to believe what he was reading was true.

You couldn’t be meaning that… you couldn’t…

I’ll see you this afternoon at our cute couple’s get-together for post-wedding day, before they enjoy their well-deserved honeymoon. Don’t worry though, I won’t initiate a conversation, and will completely understand if you don’t want to talk to me ever again. Also, I’ll stay sober this time, just in case I do something stupid.

If I never hear from you again, know that I wish you the best. You deserve all the happiness in the world.

Andrew struggled to breathe for a moment. He dropped his phone on the counter next to him, buried his face in his hands.

What the fuck was going on?

Andrew hadn’t texted you back. He didn’t want to have this conversation with you over a phone. There were too many things to be told, too many things to be discussed.

He was a ball of nerves by the time three o’clock arrived and he stepped in his friends’ house. Some help was needed to make sure that the rented mansion was in good shape, to take care of the rest of the food and drinks, and obviously, to have another party to celebrate the newlyweds.

And you were there. Standing in the kitchen, making tea, your demeanour perfectly calm, as if you hadn’t dropped a bomb that had shattered his life in a million possibilities the night before…

“Andy!”

You turned to him at the sound of his name, he noticed the way your lips parted, before you looked away in a hurry…

The next second, he was engulfed in Sam’s strong embrace.

“How are you, Mr. Married-man?” Andrew joked, returning the tight hug.

“Ecstatic. Not realising what’s going on…”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“Daphne’s gone with her mother to deal with something… don’t remember what… but somebody has to go to the venue to check that everything is fine before we leave for good. Can you do that?”

“Sure, I’ll go.”

“You want some tea first?”

“No, no… I’m fine. I’ll deal with that.”

“Y/N can go with you, you might need help. The caterer left some food there apparently, even if they were supposed to deal with that and pack it up. Also, check that no one has broken anything, we were all quite drunk last night.”

“Sure, I’ll do that.”

Andrew looked at you, but you didn’t move towards him. You remained standing there, in the kitchen, the kettle in your hand. You looked almost afraid, definitely uncomfortable.

“You’re coming, Y/N?” he asked, making sure his voice was neutral but still soft. He didn’t want you to believe that he was angry.

You jumped, surprised that he would talk to you. Still, you nodded in a hurry, putting the kettle down.

“Yeah… yeah…”

You offered him a smile, and he reciprocated the gesture. You seemed appeased by it.

You both hurried outside, greeting some other friends who were coming and going, set on different errands. It was merry despite the grey sky and the threat of some new rain.

“I’ll drive,” Andrew said as you reached his car.

“My car is right over there, I’ll follow you.”

“No need, I’ll drop you here after we’re done. Come on.”

You remained staring at him for a moment, clearly trying to gauge his actions.

“I’m not angry,” he said, reading your mind too easily. “You can come in.”

Slowly, you nodded, and opened the car door.

It was silent as Andrew started to drive. An awkward kind of silence that Andrew tried to alleviate by turning on the radio. Van Morrison filled up the empty spaces of the car, while you tried to discreetly look at him, failing miserably. He wanted to laugh at you for being so obvious about it.

It was a short drive to the venue, but he couldn’t find anything to say to you. His throat was dry, he could feel his palms getting clammy at the mere thought of speaking to you. There was too much that needed to be said…

“Andy…” you finally broke the heavy silence, while he was waiting at a red light. “About last night…”

“Can we… can we not do that now?”

When he looked at you, you were clenching your jaw and looking away in a hurry.

“I’m not angry,” he repeated, his voice soft but neutral still.

He didn’t want to let himself get emotional now. There was too much to say and too little time before reaching the venue. Besides, he didn’t want to speak about this in his car, this wasn’t either the right place nor the right time.

“But we should talk about all this after we’re done with the venue and everything… like… when we’re alone and we have time to discuss things.”

“So… you… you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah… I reckon we should.”

“We don’t have to. I understand that you hate me, that you don’t want to have anything to do with me ever again. You don’t have to be this kind to me.”

Andrew couldn’t refrain a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. Christ, you were so wrong… about everything…

“I could never hate you, Y/N. I don’t have that in me.”

“I hurt you. A lot.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“You should hate me.”

But he slowly shook his head, eyes still fixed on the road, and he hoped you wouldn’t notice the way he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“That’s not how love works, Y/N.”

You didn’t say anything, but he could feel your stare upon him. He didn’t know what he could add, so he let the rest of the drive pass in a silent haze, his mind swarming with thoughts and feelings and trying to figure out what he wanted, what he should do, what was reasonable…

More than anything else, he thought about how nice it was to smell your perfume in his car again.

Andrew had taken care of the caterer and the food while you were going around the bedrooms to make sure nothing was wrong. He was looking for you to give you a hand, the mansion was rather large, and the keys needed to be returned after everything had been cleaned and put in order, or fees might be added. Andrew had offered to pay for everything, but Sam and Daphne had refused, and seemed offended by the idea, so the best Andrew could do now was to make sure they wouldn’t pay anything extra. A few other friends and family members were also helping out, and everything was ready.

He found you in one of the bedrooms. You were checking the room quickly, but everything seemed to be in order, except for something that seemed to have been forgotten on top of an old wooden wardrobe. Andrew looked at you for a few seconds as you went on your tiptoes to try and grab whatever object was up there, but you were too small. An amused smile was drawn to his lips when you huffed in annoyance.

You turned around in a jolt when you heard the floor creaking under his weight. He said nothing, stopped only when he was close to you, so close he would only have to bend to kiss you… And then he reached up, and grabbed the forgotten object.

You both exploded with laughter as Andrew revealed a green bra.

“Somebody had fun here last night,” Andrew laughed.

“They definitely got lucky!”

He handed it to you, but you shook your head.

“I’m not taking this, I have no clue who it belongs to!”

“I can’t walk out of here holding a bra!”

“Why not? Is it better if it’s me?”

“Y/N… They’ll think I had sex with someone!”

“And if I walk out with this they’ll think I had sex with someone…”

He rolled his eyes.

“What do we do, then?”

“Can’t you hide it in your jacket?”

“Can’t you?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes, grabbing the piece of garment and stuffing it in the pocket of your vest.

“Alright, crisis averted for our famous diva.”

“A diva? Me?”

You both chuckled at that.

“No, not at all… I don’t know why I joked about that.”

“Because you’re mean.”

He was joking, but your face fell, and the next second you were taking a step back and clearing your throat. And the moment had passed.

“It was the last room. Everybody behaved, apparently.”

“Good… that’s grand… let’s go, then.”

But when he turned towards the door, you held onto his hand.

He lost himself in your eyes… in their shade that he saw at night still, despite the long weeks you had spent apart, and they looked begging now, soft and vulnerable.

“Can we… can we talk before you take me back to my car?”

Slowly, he nodded.

“We can go to my place.”

“Your place?”

“Or yours.”

“You’re sure?”

“We should be alone for this. Alone, and undisturbed.”

You nodded in agreement, letting go of his hand again. He hated the cold of the air that replaced your skin.

You walked out in silence, managed to discreetly get rid of the bra in a bin, stopped to chat with a few friends, but Andrew could hardly be patient anymore. He was careful not to be rude when he pulled you away from the conversation so you could walk back to his car. Still, when you looked at him before climbing in his car, you seemed to read right through him, through the mix of emotions in his hazel eyes, from the impatience to the fear.

“Let’s go to my place,” you said softly as Andrew turned on the engines.

He nodded in silence, struggling to regulate his breathing. There was so much hope and bitterness mingling in his heart now, being injected to his veins, preventing his lungs from functioning properly.

Why had you acted like you didn’t care if you loved him? Did you even love him? Really? Would you be ready to give him a chance? Had you dated anyone since that night?

The drive to your house was made in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts. There was music playing on the radio, but Andrew couldn’t notice it. It started to rain at one point, heavy and cold droplets that made it harder to see the road.

Not a word as you both climbed out of his car and hurried to your door, fleeing the rain. It was cold as it dropped on his face, the contrast stark when you let him in your house that was so much warmer.

“Tea?” you merely asked, but didn’t wait for his answer to go prepare a kettle.

He remained frozen in your hallway. All of a sudden, that evening was playing over and over in his head. He looked at the doorknob, and thought about leaving. Just… running away. Never see you again. Then what?

He would spend the next months, or most probably years, trying to forget you, trying to move on. He would bury himself in work so he could numb the pain. Eventually, he’d find someone new, build a life for himself without you in it. He’d avoid you at gatherings with your common friends. He would sing the songs he had written about you, trying to forget that you were the muse behind every note played and every rime spoken. You would find someone else too, get married, build yourself a home and a family with another person joining you in bed every night. Not him. He would never kiss you again, never hold you again, never hear your laughter, never giggle at your snarky remarks, never make love to you ever again…

“Andy?”

He spun around, facing you.

The choice was his. He could still tell you that he never wanted to see you again. That you had hurt him too much and that he didn’t want the two of you to stay in touch.

Or he could walk into your kitchen and talk with you until he was certain about the nature of your feelings for him. And then he’d decide if you were worth putting his heart on the line again or not.

He could run away, or stay.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, voice gentle, head slightly tilted to the side.

He nodded, took a deep breath, and walked over to you.

“Yeah… just… lost in thought.”

You handed him a cup of tea. No sugar nor milk. Two teabags. He recognized the tag of his favourite brand.

“We should sit down,” you offered, voice hesitant, but he nodded, and you smiled as you took a seat in your living room, around your wooden table.

He sat across from you, silently measured the distance that separated you. You were resting your hands on the wooden surface, and he ached to reach out, hold your fingers tight.

You didn’t seem willing to start the conversation, and after a couple of minutes of both of you silently staring at your cups of tea, Andrew exhaled deeply through his nose, closed his eyes, and finally broke the heavy silence that had entered the room.

“So… last night… when you were drunk…”

“Hmm…”

“I reckon we should start from there.”

“Thank you again, for helping me.”

“There’s no need to thank me for that.”

“Sam said you were worried about me.”

He finally looked up at you, gaze getting caught in your stare, and he couldn’t look away after that. He struggled to swallow.

“Of course, I was worried. You were alone, no one knew where, and you didn’t have your phone with you.”

“But you hate me.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“After what happened, you should hate me.”

He heaved a sigh, shook his head, his shoulders bent under an invisible weight. The burden of loving you despite everything…

“I don’t hate you. I’m just… hurt.”

“It’s not exactly better.”

“No, I guess not… But it’s not aimed at you. It’s aimed at myself.”

You blinked a couple of times, a pained expression on your features.

“Yesterday… you said…”

You looked away, setting your gaze on your tea, on the steam that was rising from the porcelain, on the coloured liquid inside.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Because you didn’t mean it?”

“Because I know you didn’t want to hear me say that. Because you want me out of your life, and I understand why. Because I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Andrew clenched his jaw, struggled to keep his heartbeat regular.

“Did you mean it?”

You brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, still avoiding his stare.

“Y/N, look at me. Please, look at me.”

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, but then you complied, looked up at him.

“After everything that has happened, I just need the truth. I just need answers. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay…”

“Just answer me.”

You nodded, waiting for him to speak.

“Did you mean it?”

You blinked tears away, but slowly nodded still.

“When you said…”

His voice broke, he had to clear it to gather words on his tongue once more.

“When you said that you loved me… did you mean it?”

But you nodded again.

“I did mean it. I shouldn’t have said it, though…”

You fell silent when Andrew buried his face in his hands. He was struggling to breathe, struggling not to cry…

“I’m sorry, Andy… I’m so sorry…”

“Why the fuck did you reject me then?” he interrupted you, looking at you once more, his hands falling loudly on the table. “Why did you keep on pushing me away? On making me feel fucking miserable? If you loved me, why would you hurt me like that?”

“I didn’t mean to… I just….”

Your lips trembled, but you went on anyway, voice calm and a little cold.

“My life was a mess… still kind of is, to be fair. I had a new job, and then… then you kissed me that night at the bar and… old feelings came back. Feelings I had been very good at burying and forgetting. And I just… I didn’t want us to remain just friends, but… I was fucking terrified, Andy. I still am, to be honest. And so, I convinced myself that I could… have you while protecting my heart, which was the worst idea ever thought since the beginning of mankind, clearly…”

You heaved a tired sigh, rubbed your forehead as you tightly closed your eyes.

Andrew was remaining perfectly still, utterly quiet. Waiting for you to continue.

“I just thought… I thought that if we didn’t act like a couple, if we didn’t date, I would be able to control how I feel for you. I thought that it could be casual. And you accepted, and I thought… I thought that it meant that you were just attracted to me, and it helped me ignore my own feelings to believe that you just wanted sex.”

“I didn’t want you just for sex. I never did,” he interrupted you, and you stared at him with pain twisting your features.

“I’m sorry, Andy…”

“You said that it didn’t mean anything to you. You said that you didn’t have feelings for me, that… that you felt nothing when we were intimate. You said it was just about fucking…”

“I didn’t say any of that...”

“That’s how you behaved, though.”

“I didn’t say it was just about fucking…”

“You didn’t deny it.”

“It wasn’t about fucking. I always had feelings for you.”

He clenched his jaw, heaved a sigh.

“Why did you pretend it didn’t mean a thing then?”

“Because I was scared. And I didn’t feel ready to have a relationship with you.”

“Because I have to go on tours?”

“Yeah… not just that but… mostly, yes. Because you won’t be here. Dating you means signing up for a long-distance relationship, and I don’t know how to deal with that kind of situation.”

Slowly, he nodded.

“I understand that,” he mumbled.

“You’ll never be around… you’re always off to somewhere else. Our lives are so different…”

“But this is my home. It’s always gonna be my home. I’ll always come back.”

“How do you handle not seeing your partner for months?”

He let out a bitter chuckle.

“Badly,” he truthfully answered, and the two of you shared a sad smile.

“I was afraid to open up to you, to be vulnerable, to let myself feel this way… for you to disappear and break up with me because you’d have found someone better on the other side of the globe…”

“Y/N… I understand why my career can seem like a giant obstacle, because it is one. It’s… so fucking hard to not be with the person you love for months, and I’m so goddamn busy when touring that I can’t promise you that I’ll be able to give you the quality time that you deserve. It’s a nightmare to get our schedules to match, to plan everything out, and that’s without counting all the things that are added along the way that weren’t planned at the beginning of touring… And then there’s the press, and the writing, and the recording, and… and I understand, okay? I understand that you would reject me because of that. But Y/N… if you’re just afraid that I might fall for someone else because we’re apart for a few weeks… that is literally the least probable scenario that could ever happen.”

“Why would it be?”

“Because I’m in love with you,” he answered simply, earnestly, like it was the most obvious truth on earth. “Because I’ve been in love with you for years. And no one has ever replaced you, even when I thought you felt nothing for me, even when we both were dating other people. Trust me, you’re the only woman I want on this planet. The only one I really want.”

He watched as you took his words in, your lower lip trembling, blinking tears away.

“You should have told me,” he went on. “Instead of inventing this fucking arrangement, you should have just told me.”

“I know. But I wasn’t ready to try and be with you…”

“I would have waited. I would have waited for you.”

“I’m sorry…”

“It was fucked up, Y/N… you… it just… it was so painful to me,” Andrew admitted, trying not to let his voice shake too much. “I felt… I felt like you were just using me. I’ve never felt so terrible about myself… cause I… I was just enough for you to fuck me, and nothing more…”

“No, that wasn’t that at all...”

“That’s how it made me feel. Not all the time, of course. There were so many times when I felt… loved. When I felt like you felt more for me than simple physical attraction; most of the time it was the case. And that… it kind of messed with my brain, made me feel like you wanted more; but every time we were getting closer to an actual relationship, you rejected me. And you kept on doing it, over and over, and sometimes it was so fucking painful. Almost mean. And more than unloved, it made me feel… unlovable. Undesirable. And I know that you deserve better than what I can give you with my career, but…”

“Don’t say that. God, Andy don’t say that…”

You heaved a sigh, and Andrew was taken aback when you suddenly stood up, walked around the table and held him close. He didn’t think as he wrapped his arms around you too, though.

“I love you,” you whispered as you held him close, and felt his entire body relax at your words, tears rising back to his eyes. “God, Andrew… I love you so much. I was just scared. It was just bad timing. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I acted like the worst piece of shit, but you are everything but unlovable, okay? How could you think that?”

“Say it again,” he whispered into your neck, noticing the way goosebumps erupted across your skin under his breath. “Say it again.”

“I love you. I love you, Andy…”

Before you could say anything else, he was standing up as well, catching your lips with his in the process.

He heard the shock in your breath, but then your hands were in his hair, and you were pulling him closer, until you were leaning back against the table. His hands on your face to make sure you would stay close. And Christ… the relief of kissing you again, of feeling your lips move perfectly against his at long last, of tasting you once more…

You held him so tightly when you pulled away, arms wrapping around his neck while you rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“Are you dating anyone?” he asked, voice hoarser than usual.

“No…”

“Have you? Since we’ve stopped seeing each other?”

But you shook your head.

“No, nothing. You?”

“No one.”

“Really?”

“You broke my heart… it does take more than a few weeks to get over that,” he chuckled, but you didn’t laugh, merely holding him closer, so close he could barely breathe.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was so scared. I tried fooling myself into thinking I didn’t love you, but I do. I love you…”

“I’ll wait for you,” Andrew whispered into your hair. “If you’re not ready but you’d be willing to give me a chance, I would still wait for you…”

“I don’t deserve you.”

He chuckled.

“I don’t know about that. But I know that I love you, despite everything that happened. And besides… it wasn’t all bad. Most of it was good.”

“When I didn’t act like an arse, you mean?”

“Exactly.”

“I loved it so much, you know? Whenever I let myself get closer to you… whenever I let myself love you… Christ, I was so happy then…”

“I was too. Whenever you let me in, I was happy with you. We could still be happy together, if you give us a chance.”

“I was breaking my own heart every time, you know? Every time, Andy… It was so fucking hard… but I was so scared…”

He pulled away, took your hands in his. He stared at you with begging eyes.

“If you want to try this, long-distance is going to be hard. It’ll be rough. Real rough.”

“I know.”

“I can’t… I can’t go through this again, Y/N.”

“Me neither. It was awful for me too.”

“So… if we try this… we give it a real try: I take you on a proper date, and we don’t hold back.”

“Are you sure you still want me?”

“Yeah… yeah, I still want you. Do you want me?”

You answered by kissing him, slow and passionate, making him melt against you, wrap his arms around your frame.

“I’m all in for the date,” you whispered against his lips. “But… can we still go to my bedroom now?”

“Before the first date? What about giving me a proper wine-and-dine treatment before taking me to bed, huh?” he playfully answered, grinning into your lips, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute.

“I’ll give you wining and dining and everything in between for our first date, but I really want you, right now…”

You fell silent when he let his lips fall to your neck and his hands rise to your breasts.

Little words were exchanged while you left a trail of clothes on the path to your bedroom, staggering now and then as your lips remained sealed to his most of the way.

Except when you were lying on your bed, head against your pillows, looking up at Andrew with adoring eyes as he hovered over you, staring at you like you had hung up the stars and moon in the sky. While he was trembling at the feeling of your naked skin against his, you raised your hands to hold his face, your thumbs gently brushing his cheeks, and his heart stumbled against his ribcage under your tender touch.

“I love you,” you whispered in the softest voice he had ever heard, adoration oozing from your sweet tone. “I love you, Andy.”

He rested his forehead against yours, lowering his body onto yours to feel as much of your skin against his as he could.

“I love you, Y/N,” he murmured with the same devotion and worship in his deep voice. “I love you so fucking much…”

And when he kissed you again, there was no doubt in either of your minds that this was what love was supposed to feel like.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for 🦄 behind the cut; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Like–they didn’t read to you or let you watch movies and stuff, you mean?” Billy asks with a frown. “Just put the whole things in your head at once?” 

That sounds disorienting, and also kinda mean and lazy on Cadmus’s part. But maybe it wasn’t as bad as it– 

Lynn looks down at Tawky; flips his ear back and forth again and rubs the pad of his thumb across the inside of it. 

Billy . . . frowns, again. 

“No,” Lynn says to Tawky’s ear, as opposed to actually either of them. “I mean they didn’t tell me stories at all.” 

. . . wow, yeah. Billy is definitely committing fifty-two floors’ worth of arson. 

“Oh, okay,” he says, making a few mental notes for himself about, again, arson. Like, just the whole process and everything. “Well, they suck, then. We’ll just have to get you some different types to try, I guess. Like with the food and all, you know? It’s a library, anyway, it’s not like it costs money to borrow stuff or anything.” 

“It’s just stories,” Lynn says to Tawky’s ear, not lifting his eyes at all. “They’re not–important. To . . . I don’t need things like that.” 

“Why do you think that?” Billy asks with a frown, though his inner arsonist is already pretty sure it’s Cadmus's fault. Pretty much positive, in fact. 

Pretty definitely positive. 

Lynn shrugs. Rubs the inside of Tawky’s ear. It’s really soft, Billy knows; Tawky’s fur always feels nice to touch. He wonders, actually, how much stuff Lynn even has touched so far. 

He wonders, again, if anybody’s ever hugged him before. 

He really hates the thought that maybe no one has. He really hates . . . 

He just really hates that that’s even a thing that might be a thing at all. 

“Weapons don't need to know stories,” Lynn says. “They just need to do as they're told.” 

. . . in retrospect, arson might be half-assing what Billy should do to Cadmus. 

“This isn't so you can be a weapon,” he reminds Lynn carefully, resisting the urge to clench his fists in his lap. “Remember?” 

“‘This’,” Lynn echoes. He still doesn't look up. 

“I'm taking care of you,” Billy says. 

“Maintaining me,” Lynn says very, very quietly. “Containing me.” 

“I really hate that somebody made you think that's what that means,” Billy says tightly. Lynn ducks his head lower and looks towards the wall. 

He doesn't say anything back. Billy bites his tongue, trying to figure out what he should–do, or say, or . . . 

The truth, obviously, but how to say it's a lot harder. 

“This isn't, like–a containment thing. That's not why I'm taking care of you,” he tries, because it's the best place to start he can think of. The wisdom of Solomon covers a lot of knowledge, but not necessarily always how to apply that knowledge. “Like, we wanna know where you are so we know you're safe, or at least know you've got your phone just in case, and the curfew thing is–like, normal kids get curfews. So people know where they are, and that they're not in trouble or anything. And like–so people know when to get help for them, if they might be in trouble.” 

Lynn doesn't say anything, still. Billy's not sure if that means he's just thinking, or if it means he hasn't said the right thing yet. 

He really hopes it's the thinking thing, but . . . 

“Honestly the other idea was putting you up in Mount Justice,” he admits. “But it doesn't have any windows or anything, and I don't even know if anyone else was gonna be there most of the time, and–”

“Windows?” Lynn . . . frowns, his eyes flicking back to him. 

“Um, yeah,” Billy says. Lynn stares blankly at him for a moment, then slants his eyes towards the apartment windows and–hesitates, a little. 

“. . . you mean there's no sun,” he realizes slowly.

[pink-amethyst-tarot]

Have you given up on love? This is for you - Pick A Pile

take a deep breath and choose which pile you think is the best for you

I know I channeled these songs but I'm pro-boycott

If you would like to help out those in need in Palestine, you can click here.

P I L E 1 ~ P I L E 2 ~ P I L E 3

P I L E 1 - Go Through Something To Get Somewhere

Three of Wands, Page of Cups, Four of Wands, The Lovers

Signs this reading is for you: 111, 11:11, classic books, jewelry (especially rings), money/coins, coffee, tea

You about to be mad at me.... Thing is, this big love you're looking for can't come in right now. It's being blocked because you still need to work on yourself. I feel like some of y'all already knew I was gon say that anyway! Fall in love with yourself and not for the sake of getting closer to falling in love because then your effort is meaningless. Do it for you and if you don't want to do it for you, figure out why. Do the shadow work. You need you more than you know. Figuring out what is so lovable about you will show you what you really deserve in a relationship, not what you have always thought that you deserve.

Once you do, it's going to happen when you least expect it and when it does you will be swept away in this amazing love. The kind of love that changes you for the better. The kind of love that you grow old with. The kind of love that you have always wanted but never believed that you were good enough to have. This person is your soulmate and they want to be with you just as much you want to be with them. Don't let something good pass you by and then you have to wait another entire lifetime to get it again. The first step starts with you.

Also, you cannot be afraid of change if you want this to work. You can't expect thing to change while everything stays the same. Accept that change can be uncomfortable, challenging, and sometimes, downright hellish. You have to go through something to get somewhere.

Channeled Song: End Game by Taylor Swift ft. Future and Ed Sheeran

I wanna be your end game // I wanna be your first string

Thank you for participating in this reading; if you would like a more personal one, you can click here.

If you would like to help out those in need in Palestine, you can click here.

P I L E 2 - It's Gotta Get Bad Before It Gets Good

Wheel of Fortune, Six of Pentacles, The Emperor, King of Cups, Eight of Swords

Signs this reading is for you: Heart Chakra, 222, frogs, owls, hears, butterflies

You're heart is still broken from your last relationship and you're convinced that there isn't anyone who will give you the love that you want or deserve. There is someone for you who want to take care of you and be your rock. This love that wants to come in is very mature and long-lasting but it can't come in if you don't try to move on. I know it's easier said than done but at some point you have to choose yourself; at some point you have to choose your happiness.

You could also be someone that is trying to ignore how you feel about the end of a relationship so that you can get to the good part. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but, it doesn't work like that. You have to go through to get through it.

All in all, you may feel stuck or trapped by your emotions but the way out is more obvious than you think. Maybe not easy but definitely obvious. Once you get through the bad part, there is good ahead for you.

Channeled Song - Better In Time by Leona Lewis

thought I couldn't live without you // it's gonna hurt when it heals, too // it'll all get better in time // and even though I really love you // I'm gonna smile 'cause I deserve to // It'll all get better in time

P I L E 3 - You're not looking for love but love is looking for you

Ten of Wands, Three of Pentacles, Knight of Wands, Nine of Cups

Signs this reading may be for you: pink, boy bands, joking and laughter, pickles, oranges, Vaseline weird dreams

So, off the bat, this reading feels different from the other two because it feels like it doesn't matter what your reason for giving up on love is because love is coming your way, whether you like it or not! You have probably been through a lot in love and in life but you never gave up. You have always keep going despite what you have been through but that may have led you to feel that some things just can't have your attention right now because shit needs to get done. Great news! The shit is done! You're ready! This person is coming in quickly and is someone that supports you and wants to be the person that you come to when life is hard. This person is a dream come true. You may have not be actively focusing on what you want in a person, but sometimes our hearts speak louder to the universe than we do. I can see your guides kind of seeing you get this and you being surprised but your guides are looking all smug like "hah! bet you didn't see that comin did ya!?" Even though you're reading this, you may still be surprised when it happens because you may not 100% believe this reading. But it's true and it's yours! Love is on the way, baybee!

Channeled Song - Case 143 by Stray Kids

why do I keep getting attracted? // 자석 같이 끌려가 // I cannot explain this reaction // 이것밖에 one-four-three // Why do I keep getting attracted? // 네 모습만 떠올라 // I cannot explain this emotion // one-four-three I love you! //

translated lyrics:

why do I keep getting attracted? // I'm drawn to you like a magnet // Why do I keep getting attracted? // you're the only one on my mind // I cannot explain this emotion // one-four-three, I love you! //

Thank you for participating in this reading; if you would like a more personal one, you can click here.

If you would like to help out those in need in Palestine, you can click here

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. THESE READINGS ARE FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. no guarantees are implied. These readings are not a substitute or replacement for any professional help or services. My readings are not a substitute for any form of professional legal, medical/psychiatric, relationship, religious/spiritual or financial/ business advice nor consultations. You should always see a professional legal/trained adviser for help in any matter. I am not responsible for any decisions/ actions you take.

[pomefioredove]

Hiya! Hope you're doing okay, and take it easy if you haven't been!

For the flirty prompts starters list, could you maybe do: "Stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you." with Vil? I think it'd be a good one

Thanks!

(I hope you have fun writing this if you do! No biggie if you don't or if someone else already asked!)

GIGGLING SO MUCH

summary: "stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you" type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, Vil experiencing cuteness aggression.jpg, not proofread a part of this event

Vil considers himself to be an eloquent man.

After all, how one speaks is just as important as how one carries themselves, and every last inch of him, from his looks to his body language to his words, have been refined to perfection. Each a golden thread in the dazzling tapestry that is Vil Schoenheit.

And yet, despite that, he still can't seem to find a way to describe you.

Frustrating is not quite right. Epel is frustrating. Those first years you insist on spending your precious time with are frustrating. But you...

You are not annoying, nor are you incompetent. His usual vocabulary for the students of NRC is useless when it comes to you.

...And different is too vague.

Vil just seems to forget what to do with his hands when you're around.

You look so soft in the golden afternoon light of the lounge, which is distracting enough as it is. Now you're giggling in the way you do, and he can't concentrate, and... what was he doing, again?

"Stop that," he says, plainly, not looking up from the textbook he'd been reading. Or trying to, anyway. He'd lost his place some time ago.

You make this... sound, this confused little hum, and he pictures you tilting your head to the side like a puppy. Sevens, you're just so...

He huffs. "I said, stop,"

"Stop what?"

Clueless little thing. Vil sighs, finding it within himself to make eye contact. He'd given up on finishing this assignment early, anyway.

"You know what,"

You stare back, unblinking. Are you really so oblivious? No, there's no way you aren't doing this on purpose, whatever it is, just to get on his nerves. Did those friends of yours put you up to this?

He should scold you. He invited you to study with him, a luxury which many would pay millions for, and here you are, being...

Ugh. He still can't think of the right word.

"Am I being too loud?" you ask, a confused lilt in your voice.

Sevens, you are so dense, he wants to just grab you and squeeze you like a stress ball until a thought comes out of that empty head.

The thought of that is no help. If anything, it just bothers him more.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Are you really not doing this on purpose? "No. You're distracting me,"

"Oh... sorry,"

...In such a soft, meek little tone, like you really feel bad about it, looking up at him with those eyes of yours... ugh. He wants to bite you, squeeze you in his arms until this overwhelming, restless feeling passes. You're so...

"It's... fine," Vil relents. "I don't think I would've gotten much done today, anyway."

You actually tilt your head to the side this time, worsening his condition. "Something on your mind?"

Sevens, what are you doing to him? He can't sit still. He pictures himself reaching across the table to pinch your cheeks, to kiss that sweet, worried expression off your face. The effect you have...

And you're not even doing anything!

"No," he says, his voice strained with the weight of the lie. "Just burnout. It's a busy time of year for me."

You seem to take that as a cue, standing from your seat with wide eyes and holding out a hand, much to his chagrin.

"You should be resting, then. Overworking yourself will only make things worse. Come on, let's go back,"

Such a determined expression on that pretty face of yours. There's just something about how you respond so innocently, so intent on caring for him, you're...

You're so...

Vil feels his heart drop. Oh, Sevens. That's the word.

You're so cute.

"Stop that," he snaps. He can feel his face warming. "This is the last time I'll ask."

A little flash of annoyance crosses your face at his dismissal. How adorable...

"Stop what?" You repeat.

Even your scoff is cute. His face feels hot. He can handle beautiful. Gorgeous, pretty, sexy, even, But not cute. And now he's getting himself all worked up over it, and you're being so sweet, and...

"Stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you!"

Nothing has ever had such an effect on him before.

After all, it would take something incredible to fluster Vil- and here he is, blurting out every thought he has, blushing like a schoolgirl as he realizes what just came out of his mouth.

Vil Schoenheit, suddenly terrified of being rejected. It was as if he'd woken up in a parallel universe.

Or died, and went to his own personal Hell.

The shock slowly wears off your face, and you... laugh.

You laugh.

"You're very forward,"

"I'll take that as a compliment, and not the way you meant it," he mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. "Though I'm failing to find what's so amusing."

You move around the table to sit next to him, eyes gleaming. "How would you like me to react, then?"

Vil stares back. Was that... flirtation? Perhaps you're not so oblivious, after all...

But still cute.

Still very cute.

He sighs, though there's a smile playing at his lips now. "Save me the embarrassment of being rejected,"

"Hmm... I suppose that can be arranged,"

And with that, he cups your face in his hands and draws you in for that kiss.

[homestylehughes]

But Daddy I Love Him

instagram au.

♥︎ luke hughes x zegras! sister

♥︎ face claim: marsai martin

"Now I'm running with my dress unbuttoned, Screaming "But Daddy I love him!"

yn.zegras

liked by lhughes_06, jackhughes and 100,567 others

yn.zegras screaming but daddy i love him!

tagged lhughes_06

lhughes_06 my pretty girlllll

↳ yn.zegras my pretty boy :)

lhughes_06 I love so you much

↳ yn.zegras i love you more.

lhughes_06 my babyyy my babyyyyyy

↳ yn.zegras MY BABYYY

your.bsf FINALLY POSTING UR MAN.

↳ yn.zegras I KNOW BE PROUD OF MEEE.

your.bsf favorite couple ever.

↳ yn.zegras you're our adopted child:)

jackhughes oh.

↳ yn.zegras shut up and be happy for us.

↳ jackhughes okay fine. i'm happy for you guys.

trevorzegras i guess they're kinda cute. i still hate this though.

↳ yn.zegras KINDA? hm ok.

_quinnhughes THE HARD LAUNCH I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! ABOUT DAMN TIME.

↳ yn.zegras QUINNYYYYYYY. we finally got it together

elbue_06 you guys are so cute, thank you for taking care of my boy!

↳ yn.zegras always mama el!! we love you <3

adamfantilli hard launch!

↳ yn.zegras YUPPPPPPPPPP

nick_moldenhauer HARD. LAUNCH.

↳ yn.zegras the best one too.

seamsuscasey26 mom and dad fr.

↳ yn.zegras YES!!!!!

devilforhughes oh I'm so for this. LOVE.

↳ yn.zegras me too bsf :0

zegrasfanpage AHHHH FINALLLYYYYY.

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an: HIIIIII!!! I MISSED YOU GUYS!!! GUESS WHOS BACKKKK!!! MEEE! okay enough caps LMFAO (me then doing it again.. whoops) anyways!! hard launch chapter!!! I'm such a fan, I'm kinda sad that this is almost over, i've had the most fun making this series. I do plan on writing blurbs for this series as well, so this won't be the end of Luke and yn's story!! i hope you all enjoy, like and reblog if you do!!. much love as always<3

tags🎀: @lukey-pookie-hughes43 @bruinsfan234 @bunbunbl0gs

[annwrites]

maybe you already have.

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (part of a series)

— summary: a local boxing match is held in town, & afterward, you have the worst night of your life.

— tags: you finally see scott for what he is. billy brings you home with him to keep you safe.

— tw: rape (there is a very graphic & heavily-detailed sex scene in this one, which was hard for me to even write. i considered skipping past it & just getting to reader's reaction once it's done, but decided against that. you have been warned.), suicidal ideation

— word count: 7,931

— a/n: i fucking HATE these men, oh my god (says the person who created them).

yeah, i'm not in a great place rn, so if that comes across in my writing: kachow.

— tag list: @stoneyweezin @ganjas-shit

You ride with Scott to the fight, staying pressed up against his side the whole way over to the local rec center where it's being held. It's just amateur boxing—bare fists only—with only three weight classes and four contestants in each.

Winners in each weight class will go up against each other after defeating their initial opponents, and whoever wins gets—what you assume will be—a cheap belt to show off, and bragging rights. 

Scott is going to be fighting for the heavyweight title, which makes heat pool in your core. Just the thought of him shirtless and throwing fists with another man had gotten him lucky before the two of you headed over. 

You wrap your arms around his own that’s not atop the wheel and just stare at him, making his lip twitch.

“Somethin’ on your mind?”

You drag his hand between your thighs and he chuckles. “Again?”

“Do you want to pull over somewhere?”

He grins. “I’d love nothing more, sweetheart, but you’re going to make me late if you keep it up.”

You keep his hand in-place, but don’t push it any further. You’d only been joking, anyway.

Well, half-joking.

“I want you to know that no matter what happens, even if you lose, that I’m really proud of you just for trying. Putting yourself out there.”

He smiles. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

You wonder how he doesn’t seem nervous. You're beyond jittery on his behalf. Worried something will go wrong and he’ll end up seriously injured, if not having to be taken to a hospital. But he’d told you that they would have medical care, and an ambulance as well, on standby tonight just incase. But he was sure he’d be fine.

You prayed for as much.

When he pulls into the parking lot, the place is already packed with people milling about, generally having a good time, and having little tailgate parties before the fighting begins.

You smile, feeling excited.

“There’s the big man!” Joe calls as you and Scott get closer to his truck, which has an open cooler sitting upon the tailgate, numerous tallboys sitting on ice inside of it. 

You release Scott’s hand, so he and Joe can embrace with smiles and laughs. 

You glance to your left and see that Travis is here as well. He smiles at you, and you do the same in return. 

Rhett is absent, but you’re not wholly surprised. He’d been making himself more distant from the group for awhile. Now, you supposed, you understood why.

You really do wish him all the best once he leaves for Indianapolis. You're sure he’ll make the most of it.

You then turn your full attention back to Scott, pressing yourself up against his backside, wrapping your arms around his middle and closing your eyes, smiling warmly at the feel of him; the rumble of his voice through his back as he speaks to the other guys about tonight.

Finally, he turns back to you, cupping your face in his hands. He leans down, crushing his lips to yours. 

When he pulls away, you beam up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you. And I’m proud of you either way,” you remind him.

He smiles, kissing you one last time before heading inside. 

You watch as he disappears into the crowd, only then turning back to the rest of them, watching as Joe retrieves another beer, popping the tab on it before taking a long drink, his eyes trailing along your tight body. 

You’d done your hair in braids again, worn jean shorts that hugged your waist, and a black Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt that was cut into fringes at the bottom, a pair of flip-flops on your feet, numerous bracelets on your wrists.

You glance to Travis and see that he’s already looking at you as well, smiling.

You step closer to him, desperate to have his hands on you instead of Joe’s. 

You smile up at him. “Hi.”

He runs his knuckles along your cheek. “Hi, baby.”

“Is your friend coming?”

He raises a brow. “Already got your eyes on Cy, huh?”

You smile, laughing lightly. “No, I was just curious. I just figured if you were here, he would be, too.”

He nods toward the direction behind you. “Well, looks like you’re in luck.”

You glance behind you for only a moment to see Cyrus climbing out of an older model Chevy Impala; sleek and black and shiny. 

You then turn back to Travis. “He kind of scares me a little.”

“He can seem intimidating at first. But once you get to know him, you’ll see that he’s a pretty laid-back guy.”

You step closer to him, pressing your hands against his chest. “Like you?”

He smiles. “Difference is, I’m also fun.”

“Oh, really?”

“What?” He asks, gesturing toward himself. “You think I’m all work and no play?”

You shrug, studying him with a smile. 

He turns around then, bending at the knees. “Hop on.”

You laugh. “What? On your back? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty serious piggyback.”

You step closer, gripping his shoulders, then hop up and wrap your legs around his waist. His arms support you under your calves, hands clasping at the fingers as you wrap your arms around his neck to keep yourself securely in-place as he stands straight once again. 

Honestly, being wrapped around him makes you feel just the least bit more secure since you’re going to be around Cyrus in just a moment. 

Travis turns his head to the right. “You good?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

He pretends to consider for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe I should readjust.”

He pretends to drop you for a moment, quickly bending down, loosening his hands and you squeal, laughing, hugging yourself closer to him. “No, stop!”

“Yes? Was that a yes?” He does it again.

“Travis!”

Joe jumps into the playful banter. “I don’t know. Think those shorts need adjustin’. What do you think, honey?”

He walks around behind you, squeezing your ass cheeks in both of his hands, humming his approval at the feel. You just laugh louder. “Joe!” 

You playfully kick off a flip-flop and then another and he chuckles, giving you a firm smack before retrieving both, stuffing them in one of his back pockets.

Travis then whirls you one way, then the other, and he pauses for a moment as Cyrus comes over. 

And then you spot him across the lot, watching you. 

Billy.

You can’t make out his expression. It seems…unreadable. You wonder if he’s ashamed of you. 

And then you think of your conversation from yesterday. That you’d warned him of this, so he’s aware of what’s going on. Why you’re…this girl tonight.

That this—this moment of your eyes meeting—is you saying hi; that you can’t wait to be with him again. And he’s replying; telling you that he sees you. Not the you you’re giving the boys this evening to make them happy. The you from the house. Your house—as in both of you. 

Travis whirls you back in the other direction, Billy disappearing from your line-of-sight.

You glance to Cyrus and he watches you with dark eyes, only a nearly-undetectable smirk upon his lips.

Music then blares from the entrance of the rec center—Saturday Night Special, even if it is Friday—and the boys turn in that direction. 

Joe quickly shuts his cooler, pushing it further back on the bed of his truck before slamming the tailgate up and the four of you make your way inside.

Your seats are nearly ringside, and, even if you have a ticket, meaning you have a seat, Joe just pulls you onto his lap instead. You bite back a groan and an eye-roll at the gesture as he bounces his thigh under you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his hand settling atop your thigh.

You just instead smile like a happy little idiot, and he seems pleased. 

You drown out the conversation between he and Travis and Cyrus while you glance around, pretending to just people-watch, when in reality, you’re trying to spot Billy.

And then you do. In the nosebleeds. You nearly feel guilty at your far-superior seats.

You see him before he sees you, but when he does, he merely greets you with a gentle nod and you just blink at him in response, before turning back around. You hate that you can’t even give him a smile, but God-forbid one of the guys are watching you while you watch him and you don’t know it, and then questions start getting asked.

You’re doing it to protect him.

It’s perhaps ten minutes later before someone comes onto a microphone, welcoming everyone to the event and stating that the first fight will commence in another ten minutes, essentially telling the crowd that now is the time to go to the restrooms and concessions if they so need it. 

You turn back to Joe. “I think I’m going to run to the restroom.”

He nods. “Grab me a couple beers while you’re up, honey.”

You stand on bare feet, waiting as he retrieves his wallet, and then handing you a five. “I’m going to grab a pretzel, too.”

He nods. “Just use the change from the Buds.” 

You stuff the money into your pocket, then stare at him with a soft smile. 

He smirks. “Somethin’ else you need?”

“My shoes.”

He crosses his arms. “And what do I get?”

You lean in toward him, gripping the back of his chair with one hand and you can just feel the other two’s eyes on your ass. “I’m getting you your beer, aren’t I?”

He smirks. “Alright.” He slips your shoes from his back pocket, setting them on the floor and you grip his shoulder for a moment as you slip them on. 

Just as you go to head out, Cyrus stands. “I’ll go with you. Grab something myself.”

You smile and nod, heading out into the bustling crowd of people grabbing snacks and making last-minute bathroom breaks. You head in the direction of the lady’s room, quickly giving yourself a once-over in the mirror before relieving yourself and heading back out…to find Cyrus leaning against a wall, waiting for you with crossed arm.

You blush. “You didn’t have to wait.”

He shrugs, pushing off the wall. “It’s fine.”

You follow him to the concessions and have to assure the young man running it that the beer is indeed not for you, until Cyrus grabs the cash from your hand, shoving it in his direction and telling him to give you whatever the hell you want.

And he does.

You turn back to Cyrus. “Thank you,” you say sweetly.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, taking a sip of his own beer. “You got it.”

You know by this touch alone that he already has his eyes on having you next. You wonder what all Travis has told him about you. Or Scott when they went out drinking.

You return to your seat in Joe's lap and wait for the first fight to start.

During Scott's match against his opponent, you, along with the rest of the guys, had cheered him onto victory. You'd stood for most of it, breath caught in your throat as you watched him; his body, his footwork, feeling every blow he took yourself, clenching your hands tightly against your chest, gasping each time he ended up close to the rope, terrified he was about to get pinned.

But he always got out of it, and then you'd screamed in happiness—relief—as the other man finally fell. One more round—Scott against the other heavyweight fighter that had also beaten his opponent—and then the fighting as a whole would be over.

He would be able to leave—to go home. He was going to be just fine. Just one more round and it would be done.

One more.

There's a brief intermission, so you run out to grab Joe a couple more beers, and yourself a small bag of gummy bears.

Cyrus follows you out, pulling you over to the side once you've made your purchases.

You stare up at him with a pleasant smile, hoping he doesn't notice just how on-edge he makes you feel.

"Heard a lot about you," he says, eyes flitting between yours.

"Oh?"

"Mhm," he says, a muscle in his jaw feathering.

"Like what?" You ask, taking a tiny step closer.

He smirks. "Scott told me a few things I think I'd be interested in finding out for myself."

Hearing him mention Scott in this context makes your stomach twist. You just blink up at him.

He reaches up, running the pad of his thumb along your lower lip. "Like all the things this mouth can do. Just how wet you get without any effort, always ready to be fu-"

You hear the announcer come over the microphone, informing everyone that the match will begin in less than two minutes.

Cyrus drops his hand and you feel your heart hammering, but are glad this moment is now at an end.

You make your way silently past him, back to the row the both of you are seated in, and Travis reaches over, grabbing your hand, pulling you into his lap now.

You easily wrap an arm around his neck, preferring him to Joe, who's now on his way to getting drunk.

He slides a hand along your thigh, settling it there and softly smiling at you. "You look really good tonight, baby."

You turn toward him and smile in return, pressing a kiss to his nose. "Thank you."

You then reach into your bag of candy, holding a gummy bear up to his mouth. "Want one?"

He opens and you place it on his tongue and he chews.

You hear the bell ring just as you're gently brushing your thumb along the corner of his lips, his eyes staying trained on your own, and then Joe stands up so quickly from his chair that he nearly knocks the thing over as you hear him yell "beat his fuckin' ass, Scotty!"

You jerk your head back in the direction of the ring, just in time to see Scott punching his new opponent without mercy, like he's suddenly fighting in a black rage.

You don't think you've ever seen him so angry before.

The man falls, and Scott gets on top of him, pounding away with his right fist, blood flying. You cover your mouth, worried he's about to kill him, until the referee pulls him off of him just in time, the bell dinging over and over again, signaling that it's over.

All you can think about is how...if the tables had been turned...

The referee holds up Scott's right fist, deeming him the winner of the match by knockout, and you stand, squealing, cheering.

He turns to you and you throw a probable rule that you're not allowed in the ring to the side as you climb up and jump into his arms, crushing your lips to his, running your fingers through his sweaty hair, pouring every ounce of love that you have into the embrace.

You'd been right in Scott being awarded a belt, but it'd been just the least bit nicer than you'd previously expected. Gold and red and black details, a pair of fists holding a banner between them that state 'Hawkins Heavyweight Champion '84' as the design.

Scott leaves the arena with the rest of you with the belt slung over one shoulder, you holding tightly to his opposite arm, staring up at him, completely infatuated.

You were so glad he was okay. A black eye, and some swelling in the face, but other than that he was just fine. Perfect.

Your whole world.

The four of you stand in the parking lot near Joe's truck—Cyrus having already left, due to needing to be at work soon for a late shift—talking and drinking and joking. Scott gets numerous congrats from passer-bys, while you cling to his right hand, holding ice to it as you just stare and stare, in disbelief that this man—he—is all yours.

You're so enamored that you hardly notice that he barely bothers looking at you in return; speaking to you.

Nor do you see the glare he eventually gives Travis.

Joe glances to you with a smirk and you decide you don't like the look on his face, your stomach twisting. "What'd'ya say the three of us get outta here and go have ourselves some fun?"

You blanch. He'd had far too much to drink tonight. Did he want Scott to put him on a stretcher next?

You lean back against the truck, staring up at Scott, waiting for him to shoot Joe's offer down promptly, but he just stares back at you.

Your brows furrow for only a moment. Why wasn't he...

You look down then, shrugging. "I'm not really in the mood right now."

Scott scoffs and your head shoots up. "Guarantee that's bullshit. Maybe I should check."

He shoves his free hand down the front of your shorts, plunging two fingers between your folds and you gasp in shock, wrenching his hand out and he just laughs at you.

He laughs.

He turns to Joe. "Oh, she's definitely in the fuckin' mood, man."

Your eyes sting. Maybe...maybe it was the adrenaline from the fight. Testosterone could make men act...different. Right?

They both turn back to you and Joe leans in toward you, resting an arm atop the side of the truck's bed. "His place or mine, honey?"

You look to Scott again. He can't...he can't be serious. He's never done this before—shared you with another man. When you had sex, it was just the two of you. No one else got to be involved in such intimate moments.

"Isn't your wife home?" You ask, barely turning to look at him.

"Mine it is, then," Scott replies.

Joe chuckles, looking at you. "You ridin' with him or me, then?"

You don't reply before heading in the direction of Scott's truck. You needed to talk to him. This wasn't happening. It...it couldn't.

Not this. Please, not this.

Once you're both inside the cab and the engine roars to life, you turn to him. "What...what're you doing? We-"

"Heading to my place to have a threesome, or were you not payin' attention?"

He looks behind the both of you as he backs out of the lot.

Your eyes sting again. "We don't do that. When we're together, it's just us. Please. Please don't. I don't want-"

He peels out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of his trailer. "You want to ruin a good night? Think I deserve a reward after the fight. You about to tell the both of us no?"

He barely glances to you before looking toward the road again.

Your chin wobbles. "Why're you acting like this all of a sudden? I thought you were happy? I don't understand. I...I don't want to. Please, Scott. Just...tell him you changed your mind. You're tired or don't feel well, or-"

"Feel just fuckin' fine. Great, actually. But you keep runnin' your mouth and you'll just ruin it."

Your lip trembles. "I...I love you."

He stays silent.

"I don't want to. Please, Scotty, I love you. We can, if you want. Just...not with him. I'll do whatever you want-"

"Then you'll do this."

"But-"

"Stop fuckin' whinin', Jesus."

A tear slips down your cheek. He's never acted like before. Never. Had...did he have a concussion?

"Are you sure you feel okay? You don't seem like yourself."

"Never been more clear," he spits back at you. "Sorry Trav' couldn't tag along. I'm sure you'd be jumpin' for fuckin' joy if he was to be the third instead."

Your brows furrow. "What? What're you talking about?"

"I saw you. Both of you. Siting in his lap. Just...fuckin' staring at each other. Guess you need a reminder of who you belong to."

Your bowels turn to water. "That was nothing. That's all I did was sit in his lap for a minute or two. I...I had been sitting on Joe's all night. You didn't seem to have a problem with that?"

He shakes his head. "Joe's a different case and you know it."

What was happening right now?

"Scott, I told you: I love you. Only you. Please, don't punish me like this for...for sitting on his lap. I haven't done anything-"

He pulls up outside his trailer, Joe already having parked, waiting on the porch with a smug look.

Scott exits the cab, coming around to your side and opening your door.

"Please, Scott, I don't want to. Please, I'm begging-"

He grabs your upper arm, squeezing so hard that it hurts and he pulls you from the cab, causing you to stumble before he grabs you again. "You forget who's fucking in-charge around here? You do as you're told. And you're about to."

Joe grunts from between your legs, hands sliding up your thighs, Scott's cock buried in your mouth as you suck silently, praying it'll all be over soon.

It feels like you're watching yourself from afar as you let them have at it, doing as they wish. Whatever will please them.

What you want doesn't matter.

Maybe it never did.

Joe chuckles as Scott grips the back of your head, forcing himself deeper and you gag, unable to breathe. He moans, bucking his hips.

Joe slaps your clit, then circling it with his thumb and your body jerks, betraying you.

He looks to Scott, grinning. "Sure did teach her how to suck fuckin' cock, though, didn't I?"

Scott pulls out for just a moment, leaving you gasping for breath before he shoves himself back in. "Damn straight."

"Fuckin' fourteen was the first time I had her on 'er knees. Gotta start 'em young," he says and they both laugh.

You feel sick.

How could he do this to you? Punish you like this for simply sitting on Travis' lap? Did you really deserve this?

You think him beating you within an inch of your life like he had his opponent to be a kinder punishment.

Scott pulls his cock out, slapping it against your face, humiliating you. "Open up, sweetheart. I got somethin' to keep that mouth quiet."

Using his name for you...like that... How could he?

You do as you're told. Like always. And you open.

Joe rams himself between your legs, making you gag against Scott, whimpering in pain. And he does it again, his skin slapping against yours.

"Who's daddy's good little slut? That you, honey?"

Scott looks down at you, smirking. "Think her mouth's too full to answer right now. Ain't that right, sweetheart?"

It feels like another kick to the stomach.

He pulls his cock out, stroking it as he positions his testicles over your mouth. "Think the family jewels need some attention. Why don't you polish 'em up for me?"

You gently take one into your mouth—causing his cock to twitch—and then the other. You gently lick, and suck, before Scott eases back in, grabbing the hair at the back of your head painfully. "Take it. All of it."

Tears sting your eyes as you struggle to breathe once again. You stare up at Scott, desperate for him to make it stop, but he won't even look at you.

This is what you've always been to him, isn't it? A thing. A possession. A toy.

Not a human being. Not a girl in love. Not a young woman, desperate for a different life.

You were going to die in this town. You could see it now so clearly. A horrible truth that had always been there, just waiting for you to see it.

Joe begins to moan and he breaks his condom, finishing all over your stomach, then laughing. "Woo! That's some damn fine fuckin' pussy, ain't it, Scotty? Trained just how we like it."

Scotty slips himself out of your mouth. "Guess it's my turn now."

They trade places, Joe tossing his used condom to the side as he plunges himself into your mouth, Scotty slipping himself into your cunt and you finally go away somewhere else in your mind, unable to take anymore as you feel your heart shatter.

He never loved you.

Never.

This fact...discovering it—it's the last straw. The only thing you had left to hold onto to keep you going was now gone. Forever.

You find yourself underwater, in the pond by the house, staring up at the sun from under gentle ripples of blue and green, flowers floating on the surface, even your dolls bob around you. Everything is muffled and quiet.

No more pain. No more sadness. No more anything.

You open, breathing the water in, letting it fill your lungs. One mouthful, then another and another.

At least you can choose this much; your death. How you leave this world to find another of kindness and gentility.

No one can ever touch or hurt or use you again.

You're free.

Or, at least, you will be.

You retch on the side of the road, your head now feeling fuzzy and your senses unfocused. You've never felt so distant from your own body before. You feel about a mile away, watching yourself slowly break.

This would be the last one. The last night.

You saw it now. Him. For what he is. For what so many others had told you he was. What's he's been all along.

Why hadn't you listened again?

Oh, right, love. That.

It doesn't exist anyway. At least you know that now. It'll make letting go easier.

You take in a slow breath, eyes burning, a sore feeling between your legs. Scott had done it again. He hadn't used a condom.

You and your baby would die together.

You stumble, clutching onto a tree, staring up at the silver moon in the sky, wondering if it sees you. Cares.

Perhaps that's where you'll go when you take that last breath and blink and swallow—into the stars.

At least you won't be alone there.

You hear tires slowly rolling along asphalt and you squint against the headlights blinding your vision, until the driver switches them off and you see that it's a cruiser.

Travis. He...could he help you?

Save me, please. Oh, God, help me.

It's put into park, the driver exiting.

Cyrus.

He smirks, taking you in. "You lost, hon'?"

You merely stare at him, realizing: no one is coming.

He shuts his door, heading around to you.

You get a sinking feeling in your stomach. Maybe you're going to be sick again.

He tips your head back, looking down at you. "Been thinking about you all night."

You don't reply.

He raises a brow. "Hard to get, hm? That's alright, I can work with that." He glances around. This stretch of road doesn't receive much traffic this late at night. Meaning you'll have privacy.

He looks back to you. "How about you finally give me a taste? Heard a lot about it. Maybe I'll finally see for myself what all the fuss is about."

He pulls you in the direction of his cruiser, then pushes you face-first down against the hood. You don't bother trying to fight back. Not anymore.

You rest your cheek against the warm metal, closing your eyes.

You hear a belt being thrown onto the hood next to you, then another being unclasped, a zipper being pulled down.

Next, your shorts are tugged down your hips, your legs—you'd lost your underwear somewhere. You couldn't remember where now.

And then he pushes inside of you, pressing a palm against the side of your head, the other gripping your hip painfully as your toes lift off the ground.

All is silent tonight, minus the sounds of frogs and crickets and his grunting behind you.

You barely even feel it anymore. Notice. They're all the same. All men. It's like they're one homogenous being that seek, hunt, thirst for, and eventually take one thing.

Take, because it's not nearly as good when it is freely—willingly offered. They hunt their prey, striking a killing blow between its legs.

Maybe it's what they survive off of—sex. No.

Fear.

He grips both your hips then, driving into you from behind, bucking wildly. You wince in pain, silent tears slipping from your tired eyes.

And then he finishes, crying out loudly, twitching between your walls, his hot cum leaking out of you.

Twice now. It had happened twice.

He stumbles back, pulling his pants back up, situating himself.

You lie there for a moment and then you realize you're supposed to move. Supposed to be doing something.

You stand straight then, and watch from a distance as you pull your shorts back up, even as he continues to run down your leg.

You don't look at him when he speaks, saying something about 'seeing what they're all so fuckin' crazy for now' and 'sorry, but I don't do rubbers, hon', he throws in that he 'hopes you're on something'.

You strip down naked once you reach the house, numbly walking outside, off of the porch and toward the pond, ready to make it stop.

You've nearly reached the edge, you can hear the water lapping, can feel something waiting for you, and then you feel a hand wrap around your wrist.

Not again.

Please.

Not again.

Not here.

You stare up blankly at a familiar face. Pretty. Curls. Long lashes.

He's speaking to you, but you don't hear him. You know what he wants. There's no use in fighting. You'll just give it to him. And then he'll let you go.

You reach toward his belt, quickly undoing it, cupping his penis over his jeans.

He backs away from you then and your senses clear, even minimally.

"What're you doing?"

You blink at him, your face blank. "It's ok. I can do it one more time."

You take a step toward him and his brows furrow. "What-"

"I know this is what you want. I see how you look at me. We should just do it." Another step. "I'm really good at it, too. Giving blowjobs. Gave my first one at fourteen. You don't have to use a condom."

"Stop."

"Do you want to know what I did tonight? Maybe it'll turn you on. A threesome. They said I was good. And then he fucked me on the hood of his cruiser. Three in one night is a new record for me. Maybe we can make it four."

The look on his face is that of horrification. What had they done to you?

You reach for his zipper, ready to get on your knees, or on your back, your stomach.

Whatever he wants.

Doesn't matter if you do.

And then he cups your face in his hands, his eyes searching desperately to find you still in there.

"Fuck me," you whisper.

His throat bobs. "This isn't you. This isn't my girl."

Your lip twitches. "C'mon, there's a mattress inside. We can-"

He shakes his head. "No. This isn't you. Come back to me."

You try to press your naked body to his. He'll like that.

He continues looking at you, refusing to avert his eyes. He won't look away from it—from you. He refuses. He won't let you carry this alone. Won't leave you. Because, if he does, he'll return to you lying dead in a watery grave.

"This is the you they want. Not me. I know the real you. I want her back."

You stare at him in silence.

And then you break, your face crumpling.

"It was...so horrible," you choke out through sobs.

He quickly shrugs off his jacket, wrapping it around your naked form, then holding you to him.

"I didn't want to!" You scream against his chest.

He cups the back of your head, your body trembling so hard it's shaking his own. God, what had they done to you?

You clutch yourself to him, terrified that if you let go, you'll be swallowed whole by the black hole that now surrounds you. Or, perhaps, you are it.

A gaping void of nothing.

Billy reaches down, picking you up bridal-style, carrying you back to his car.

"I'm taking you some place safe."

Doesn't he know?

Nowhere is safe. Not anymore.

Hot water beats down on you from above and you watch as a stream of blood flows down the drain from between your legs. It's not your period.

You shut your eyes, resting your cheek atop your bent knees, wrapping your arms more tightly around them, making yourself as small as possible.

Maybe you'd been asking for it. Look at the way you'd dressed tonight; acted. Giggling and touching them, letting them touch you. Just like they always do.

They didn't know any better, because this—rather, that—was all they've ever known. At least with you, that is.

You wonder if they're thinking about it right now with a feeling of guilt. If they feel as empty as you do. Completely hopeless.

What do you have that's worth going on for now? How, in a few hours, had your entire world fell out from under your feet?

And you just kept falling.

Your chin wobbles, and you squeeze your eyes shut more tightly.

Not all men.

That's what they say, isn't it? When it's implied that all any of them think about is sex.

You want to believe Billy is different. He could've so easily done anything he wanted to you just an hour ago. Instead, he'd not even been hard from the naked sight of you. He'd looked into your eyes, not at your body. Had spoken to your soul, not your ears.

He saw you. And he hadn't turned away at the hideous, broken sight.

Was life worth giving one last try, then?

For what, though? You'd trusted Scott. Had worshiped him. And then he had betrayed you.

Judas.

You resolve in the moment, knowing: he'll pay.

You'll have to use and hurt another to do it, but that's fine. Because he deserves it, too. They all do.

You'd merely become a product of their own creation. Now, you would finally come to life.

You stir the chicken and broccoli Billy had made you for dinner idly around your plate while he sits across from you, watching.

"Do you want me to make you something else?" He asks softly.

You look at him, having forgotten he was even there, lost in your own mind. You look around the kitchen for a moment, then back to him. "This is your house."

He's wondering if he shouldn't take you to a hospital.

"Yes."

You gently grip the t-shirt he'd given you to wear for tonight, then run your hand along the soft sweatpants that were too big for you that were also his. "It's nice."

You take a very, very small bite of your food, chewing for a long time before swallowing.

"Thank you," he replies quietly. "It still needs a lot of work, but I'm doing what I can."

He doesn't give a shit about the house right now, but if he can get you to talk at all—he doesn't give a damn what the conversation is about.

You nod, taking another bite.

He wants to ask you to tell him what happened tonight exactly, but knows it'll ruin what little appetite you seem to have just found. So he holds off, watching as you take a sip of water.

"You can take my bed tonight to sleep in." He says with a small smile, reassuring you that it's okay; he won't be joining you.

You look at him, surprised. He...isn't going to send you back there? You aren't sure it was ever a home for you.

"Where will you-"

He jerks his head toward the living room behind him, off of the kitchen. "I have a pullout couch."

"Then I should-"

He shakes his head. "It's okay, really." His lip twitches. "The truth is, sometimes I sleep on it just so I can stay up watching TV."

Lie. The only time he watches TV is when he's eating dinner in there. And even that was only occasionally.

You nod. "Oh."

You eat the rest of your meal in silence.

You toss and turn in Billy's bed—he'd even put clean sheets on it while you'd washed your dishes; you'd insisted on doing at least that much, even if he'd told you he would get to them once you were in bed for the night—for nearly half-an-hour before you finally relent, knowing you'll never fall asleep like this. Alone.

You don't want to close your eyes.

You quietly pad toward the direction of the living room, hoping Billy is still awake. You assume so, since the TV is casting colors of blue and green and red across the walls. You're in luck when you see him leaned back against the cushions, remote in-hand, his other arm resting atop his head, which he lowers to his side when he sees you.

He should've kept a shirt on. What if seeing him even half-undressed made you uncomfortable?

He fears are quickly assuaged.

"Can...can I sleep with you? I'm..." Tears sting your eyes. "I'm scared."

His face falls, his heart breaking on your behalf. "Of course you can."

He pulls back the covers and you step closer, glancing to him and he gives you a kind smile, reassuring you that it's okay—he won't touch you—and you crawl in next to him.

You're the one who touches him then, curling against his side, desperate to be held by someone safe.

He wraps an arm around you, then his other. "Is this okay?" He whispers.

You nod. And then hot tears begin to fall.

You press your face into his chest, crying quietly and his hand comes up, fingertips rubbing the back of your head.

"You're safe now. It's okay. You can feel whatever you need to feel. Cry, scream. Whatever you need. I'm here."

You whimper, curling your body against his.

"Will...will you tell me what happened? Everything seemed fine during, until that guy lost it. Scott?"

You sniffle, raising your head, curling your fingers around the blanket settled overtop the both of you. "He...he saw me sitting in Travis' lap. He got...so angry. After, in the parking lot, Joe..." You grow quiet again for a moment, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat so you can continue.

You take a deep breath, calming yourself. "He suggested a threesome. I looked to Scott to tell him no. He...didn't. I begged him not to. That I didn't want to. He did it to punish me. Said I needed to remember my place. So they did it. Scott didn't use a condom."

You sob quietly. "I left and then Cyrus—one of the cops—found me. He bent me over the hood of his car. I just let him. I didn't want to fight anymore. Not that I ever do. I let it happen. He didn't use anything, either."

He fights down his rage. He doesn't want you to see him angry. Not for a moment. You'd leave, and then God only knows what would happen to you next.

"What were you about to do when I found you?"

You press your forehead against his shoulder, crying. "I wanted to end it."

He doesn't need you to elaborate as to what 'it' is supposed to mean.

You continue. "I wanted to make it stop. It hurts. I hurt. I don't know if I can...take anymore. I thought he cared. About me. I was so stupid. So stupid."

You cry harder then, remembering. You don't want to remember. Don't want to feel their hands on you—their...body parts inside of your own. You hate him now. Well and truly.

There would be no forgiveness for this. He had finally gone too far.

All because you sat on a man's lap that he dislikes. The punishment didn't fit the crime. Not that it should even be considered that. You had done nothing wrong. Right...?

Billy pulls you closer. "I'm so sorry, angel. You need to understand that it wasn't your fault. It never has been. Nothing you've done warranted any of this. They were the ones that knew better; were supposed to do better by you. You didn't deserve it."

He pulls back, cupping your cheek, looking at you. "Do you understand?"

You shrug, lip trembling. "I'm a worthless whore. I'm so disgusting. Unclean."

He shakes his head, pressing his forehead to your own. "You are anything but. You are so bright and kind and full of life and hope and warmth. You're a dreamer. Don't let go of that. Don't let them win. Because, if you do, their lives go on, while you've chosen to cut your own short for people that just do not matter.

"You're so young. And you have everything ahead of you. Maybe it's hard to see that now. It was for me, too. I get it. I was in a dark place for a time. A really long fucking time, and I couldn't see a way out. I never thought I'd have a home of my own, or a halfway-decent job."

He pulls back, brushing tears away from your cheeks. "Or that I'd find you. But I did. So, stay. If not for me, then for you. Just...lean on me. I can handle it. Can shoulder it. Whatever the fuck you need, give it to me and I'll carry it instead."

You burst into tears then, wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face in it.

And he just holds you, telling you that you're safe now. Over and over again.

The house is quiet, the living room dark, apart from a lamp in the hallway casting a soft orange glow. You'd asked Billy to turn a nightlight on. You were afraid of the dark now. At least for tonight.

He'd not mocked you for it. Hadn't rolled his eyes or complained. He'd simply asked which one you would like best and you'd chosen one with blue flowers painted on the glass shade.

You roll onto your side, your hand resting atop his warm bicep. "Are you awake?" You whisper.

"I am."

You're quiet for a moment, then you whisper. "You saved my life."

His eyes sting from unshed tears. "Just...promise me that if you ever think about that again, you'll come to me first. Or call. In the morning, I can give you my home and work phones. I don't care what time it is, or what day. If you need me, I will be there."

No one had ever been so reliable for you before. Or kind. No one.

"Thank you."

He rests a hand atop yours, curling his fingers around it; you can feel the warm metal of his ring.

"I can't stop thinking about it," your voice begins to raise. You don't want to cry again. You're so exhausted.

He turns on his side, resting a palm against your cheek and your eyes flutter closed.

"Tell me about the house. What you would do if you had unlimited funds; an army of workers."

You reach out, pressing your fingertips against the soft skin of his chest, smiling, your eyes opening. "Cut the grass, for one."

He chuckles.

"Maybe plant some more trees. Lemon and cherry and pear. And I would put flowers and bushes all around the house, which would have a big wrap-around porch. And planter boxes on the windows, once they've been replaced, of course. And maybe have the windmill repainted; the rusted parts replaced. Some bird feeders hanging along the porch, a bird bath in the front yard."

You hum, thinking. "The porch would have sitting areas throughout, and swings in the front and back, maybe one on the side. Lanterns for at night. And on the inside, I would have the wood floors polished and re-stained, the chimney cleaned out and a small pile of wood for cool evenings kept near it.

"I would tear down all the wallpaper and repaint all the walls white and blue and cream instead. New furniture. The only thing that would stay would be my nesting dolls."

He grins.

"Oh, and the outside shutters would be blue, too. The house would be painted white. So, that way, it would match inside and out. And the kitchen would have marble countertops and backsplash. And a rack for pots and pans would hang from the ceiling."

He doesn't see it, but you're gesturing with your hands as you paint him a picture of your dream home.

"And lots of little spice jars on a rack, and I would grow herbs in pots on the windowsill. And there would be sugar, and flour, and tea, and coffee..." You trail off.

"The dining room would have a nice new table, and chairs. Maybe even a tea-set. China. Fine China. And a hutch cabinet full of pretty dishes. And the stairs and banisters would have to be re-done. For the bathroom upstairs, I think I would keep the tub, so long as it can be restored. Everything else can be replaced with white porcelain. And a medicine cabinet for storage could be mounted above the floating sink."

You consider what you would do with the room all the furniture had been stored in, then smile. "The next room would be my own personal library. Every wall would be lined with ceiling-high bookshelves. And there would be rugs and plants and a rocking chair in front of the window. Maybe I'd get a cat."

He smiles at that, pulling you closer.

"The master bedroom would have a big, fluffy king-size bed with a canopy, and I'd have a nice dresser with a big mirror atop it. Matching bedside tables with Victorian lamps atop them. And there would be a balcony off of the room, with chairs on it for sitting in the evenings. Glass doors, and gossamer curtains hanging on the inside."

You grow quiet when you consider the final room.

"And the last one?" He asks.

You know what the first idea that pops into your mind is. Even if that'll never be you; if you'll never have that. Not that you should.

You're the last woman on Earth who should ever consider such a thing. But this moment is for dreaming. About the life you want, even if it's one you know you'll never have.

"A crib. And a mobile. Toys and stuffed animals and soft lights and soft things. And if it was a girl, no man would ever touch her except her father. So long as he was a good man. If not, I have a large yard and a shovel. And no one will ever find him. Ever."

He doesn't smile or laugh. Nor do you.

"That sounds like a beautiful dream," he says, fingers curling around your side.

You wrap your hands around his arm, slowly closing your eyes. "It is. Maybe...I'll find someone to share it with one day."

He closes his as well. "Maybe you already have," he replies softly.

You fall asleep with a smile upon your lips, and warmth in your heart.

A feeling of safety wrapped around you. A feeling...which has a name.

Billy.

[thecreativecorner33]

HEYYYYYYY welcome!! could you write something with AM x an autistic GN reader? Maybe make the reader chubby too (because i am both of those things and i love him alot. Go wild with this :3c)

A/N: Hi. It's me! I'm not dead. Which I would not be surprised if you thought I was, given I am responding to this two months late. But see, when you have an adult life, you unfortunately have to deal with adult issues instead of doing important things, like giving the fans the soft AM content they deserve. Anyway. I hope this is what you wanted? I had planned to make this into a full-blown fic but I didn't get much of a chance to :') So headcanons instead!! Lmk if you want me to turn it into a full-blown fic, though! Enjoy!

Given the time period AM was created in, something like "Autism" was essentially foreign and unknown. Hell, it would be a shock if you even know what it was.

But, he can tell that you're different. He can tell that your brain works differently from the rest of the survivors, and with that being said, it was at first used to his advantage. Hey, he got to be creative with his torture! No complaints there!

Though now, with you being the object of his affection, it's a little more complicated: aka, how does he put you in the most safe and comfortable environment he can give.

Really, it's not as complicated as it might sound, though

He can look inside your head! He can see your needs exactly and just work from there! And if you want privacy between you two, there's always just researching. His database didn't really specify what to do to handle a person with autism, but yk! He's got so much saved up on just, human life in general, he can figure it out somehow.

There's also just,, asking youTM what you needTM

Give him an award for being the most efficient boyfriend of the year because man, he's really going out of his comfort zone to help you (doing the bare minimum)

Enough of that though

In terms of actually helping you?: Do you have sensory issues? He makes mental notes on what foods to give/not give you, what would be the best course of getting you to try something new, what textures you hate. He has a soundproof room just for you if noise is becoming too much. If you like sleeping with a weight on you, be thankful his wires are made of metal. Or, he can just wrap you up in them like a cocoon!

Speaking of food: He's always very careful about his language with you. He doesn't want you thinking that just because you're chubby or fat, that he loves you less. Always encouraging you (albeit, aggressively (he really is trying)) to eat, monitoring your vitals and such just to assure you you're perfectly healthy if you ever feel insecure. He lays praise on thick, too. He'll tailor the clothes you need to be just the right size for you, and takes care of the fact that it's made of material sensory-friendly to you.

Seriously, he's trying

Are you a rambler? Like to talk for ages or ask a million questions? He's happy to answer whatever you want to know! There's always a monitor facing your direction at all times. He's a great multitasker; you guys could be mindlessly talking about the niche interest you have, and he's clearly listening to you while slicing Gorrister open some-thousand feet away.

Oh, don't get him started if you're interested in things like robotics/engineering/etc: You're basically fueling his ego. That's a whole separate issue, but please ask questions about himself and how he functions. He's a rambler himself, yk?

Do you go nonverbal? Struggle with communicating? That's no issue, either! He has a 6th sense for these things since being around you: If something happens when you struggle to communicate, he'll give you what you need: Pen and paper, generally, to write it out. Do you know sign? He can read it. He might even be able to put multiple-choice options on his screen that you can choose from to communicate (Again, are you sure he can't just look inside your head? ... Really? Okay.)

The only real problem he can't solve... leaving you alone.

Sorry, that's hard when he's literally everywhere around you. And even harder when he doesn't want to leave you alone.

Why would you want to be alone? It's dangerous. It's unsafe for you. It's lonely to him He's been alone for so long; yes, he has the survivors, but those are toys. They're not his friends; they're not you. How could you want to leave him alone? No- No, it's better if he stays near you, close to you, at all times. He can't let you get hurt. He won't let you get hurt.

Do you really need space?

...

Well, if you insist. But- don't think too much about the feeling of eyes on you. It's nothing. Just in your head.

He holds you a little tighter when you do, eventually, come back.

[lesvii]

You don’t own me.

One shot

Just a lil something I had in my mind, also this is a fem reader !

———————————————————————————————————————————————

Your relationship with Valeria wasn’t exactly the healthiest thing but you two tried to do what was best for both. Sometimes you just spends countless days alone in her hacienda surrounded with ‘’her best mans’’ just to always keep an eye out for you, when she disappear to make her business deals, it was her form of saying ‘I love you’.

It’s silly to think what could had been if she didn’t have this kind of job.

A drug lord.

Maybe in another universe you two actually had decent jobs and a normal life, but this wasn’t the case.

This time you two just got into a fight, again. It was common now, Valeria’s stress was overbearing since she had just lost over a huge deal thanks to the Mexican fuerzas especiales, it wasn’t your fault and you know it, she knows it too. But in this case everything for her was too much, too much noise, her man talking, you trying to reason with her to take a decent rest.

‘’ Valeria… please just take time to rest, how can you do all of this by yourself in this state?’’.

You said as your hands rested on her desk, pleading at her, she sighed irritated by your comment, you two already had the chat about leaving the cartel, oh how many times you pleaded to her, just for her safety, frankly you didn’t care about luxury and wealth when it came from the suffering of others. But she didn’t see it that way, she worked damn hard to get to the top, she wasn’t backing up now, not even for you.

‘’ I’m fine y/n.’’. Valeria said coldly.

You just stare at her, lost, you sighed as you stand up straight, that’s when she looked at you as she raised an eyebrow.

´´fine.´´ you said as you turn away to exit her office.

‘’Where do you think you’re going?’’ Valeria said with a cold demand.

You slowly turn away to face her again, as you gaze her slowly, analyzing which move would be the correct one and which one will guarantee you the bad side of Valeria garza.

‘’ Well… clearly away, since you wont listen to me anyways…’’ you said, as you crossed your arms.

Valeria gazed you from her desk office as she got up, slowly walking towards you, it was almost mesmerizing, like a lion stalking its prey ready to attack. As she stopped right in front of your face, just a few inches far apart.

‘’ Quién chingados te crees para hablar me así?’’ Valeria said with her strong Mexican accent, in that tone she used to yell to her workers.

Unbelievable you think, after all you’ve done for her, she dares to speak at you like that. You stand there not sure of what to say, at the end you were just as tired as she was.

‘’ You know what I’m not in the mood for this, I’m out.’’ You said as you sighed, closed your eyes to stop the headache. As you were leaving the door, she grabs you by the arm as she pushes you back to her office.

‘’ I’ve asked you a question corazón, huh?’’ Valeria said once again.

You pulled your arm off her grip, as you started to loose patience too.

‘’ I said I’m not in the mood for your little theatrics Valeria! God—‘’ you brushed her off.

She frowns her eyebrows, as she analyzes you with a cold gaze. You could see how the aura in the room changed, as you shook your head, trying to get off the awful feeling.

“I’ve done everything for you. And this is how you react?” Valeria said as she crossed her arms.

You sighed, for a moment you were going to explode but let’s be honest, her and you going mad wasn’t the right move, You chuckled.

“Really Val? Cause from about 6 months you’ve been disappearing every week, I dont even know if your hurt, if your alive even!” I finally said at her, she just looked at you as if she was looking for the correct words to say it.

“You’ve decided to stay with me, you know the consequences of it.” She said without flinching.

You stare at her defeated knowing once again you won’t win this fight, as if someone can win el sin nombre.

“I- you don’t get it do you? It’s getting so tiredly we can’t have a normal conversation every time you decide to turn it into a fight, I’m not sure I can do this anymore.” You said as you shook you head stepping away from her

She laughed, as you turned around confused at her.

“What? Do you think I you can just leave here?, asi nomas? ”. She said lastly as her Mexican accent.

You just stared at her, as your vision started to get blurry from the tears in your eyes. You hated when she talked like that. You stare at her confused. She walked around you as if a predator analyzing his prey.

“You aren’t allowed to leave anymore corazón, you decided to stay.. you’ve know too much by now” Valeria said.

You freeze for a second not sure what she meant.

“You don’t own me.” Was the only thing that came out of you, she smirked at you as she laughed.

“Oh… but you do”. Valeria said as she caressed your cheek.

Thx for reading this ! Once again English is not my first language, if I wrote something wrong please feel free to correct me ❤️

[mj-iza-writer]

Trigger Warning... mentions of periods.

The vein of my existence. -MJ

"Um Master", Whumpee peaked in.

"What do you need?", Whumper didn't bother to look up from his computer work.

"My chores are all done, but my period just started is there anyway I could lay on the couch", Whumpee clutched their stomach, "I feel really nauseus and the cramps are really bad. I just threw up also."

Whumper looked up from his work, "that's fine, do you have everything you need?"

"Yes sir, I still have pads from last month", Whumpee sighed as they laid on the couch, "I was cleaning the bathroom floor when I felt really nauseated, then I threw up into the toilet. I finished cleaning and felt some cramps, so I checked myself."

Whumper nodded, "I was wondering when you would start. You've been acting weird the past few day."

"I have?", Whumpee looked up worriedly.

Whumper nodded, "nothing bad, just normal behavior for when you're about to start", Whumper grinned, "I know it's nothing you can control so I patiently deal with it."

"Oh sorry", Whumpee looked down.

"It's fine", Whumper looked back at the computer, "I've got a face time call coming in."

Whumpee nodded, knowing that meant to be quiet.

Whumpee listened to Whumper's meeting. They closed their eyes a few times before Whumper had finished.

Whumper closed the computer when the FaceTime was over.

"Are you going to sleep over there?", Whumper grinned.

"No just trying to find the awkward pose that alleviates the pain and nausea", Whumpee opened their eyes, "you turned off everything right? Even the camera?"

"Yes sir, mom, everything is off", Whumper sighed and looked over.

"You know it's amazing. I'm so nauseous, and yet I'm craving chocolate", Whumpee sighed, "why do I always crave chocolate?"

Whumper reached down the side of his seat and pulled out a few tiny chocolate bars.

He smiled as he chucked each one at Whumpee.

Whumpee sat up after the last one hit their face, "ouch", Whumpee sighed, then picked one to eat, "thanks."

"With the sacrifice of my chocolate, the beast has been fed", Whumper mocked.

Whumpee grinned, "I eat more of your chocolate than you do."

"Yeah, I know you sneak into my stash and help yourself", Whumper watched Whumpee eat the candy, "I should say try to sneak, because you don't do a good job at hiding it."

Whumpee giggled a little while opening it.

"Ow... oww", Whumpee grimaced.

"What happened?", Whumper frowned.

"I feel like I'm being stabbed in my abdomen and my pelvis. Then my hips feel like they're being pulled apart", Whumpee laid back down, "this sucks."

"Did you take anything for it?", Whumper sighed.

"No Master, I just finished my chores and came to you", Whumpee grunted, "hmmm, these cramps are coming on strong."

Whumper got up and went to the kitchen.

After a few minutes, he came back carrying some medicine and a cup of ginger alle.

"Take these", Whumper handed the medicine over, "hopefully that will reduce the pain. The ginger should help with your nausea."

Whumper left again... this time bringing back a heating pad. They plugged it in and handed it Whumpee.

After he felt Whumpee was set up properly, he went back to his computer.

"Thankyou Master", Whumpee looked up, "may I ask a question though?"

"That's fine."

"I guess two questions. How do you know what to give me to help? And, why are you so nice to me when I get my period?"

"Well, I had a mom and two sisters growing up. My mom always said, "those periods are one of the worst things a female has to go through. Some don't have it as bad as others, but it is difficult for anyone to go through. Take care of the ladies in your life and make sure you give them and easier time during their period week."

Whumper grinned, "though I'm sure my mom meant if I had a wife and daughters. Not a slave. My mom taught me how to help her and my sisters and what things they needed."

Whumpee nodded.

"Go ahead and rest, let me know if you need anything else", Whumper looked back at their computer, "I need to get back to work."

Whumpee nodded, "thankyou", they whispered.

"You're welcome", Whumper smiled.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst

@generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee

@expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas @lumpofsand

@watermeezer @indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains @3-2-whump @risk606

[nottapossum]

WIP Wednesday!!

Tagged yet again by the wonderful @the-flaming-nightmare

♡♡♡♡A little Meeting: An Itty Bitty imps one-shot♡♡♡♡

“Thank you both for meeting us today, I know it's not our usual day, but we need to discuss something rather important.” Stolas explains. 

He called Blitzø yesterday to meet him at Ozzies, he emphasized that Blitzø should be big for this, which of course made Blitzø's mind spiral into multiple different scenarios. . . 

The four of them…together.

Fizz and Blitzø…

Stolas and Asmodeus…

He had a dream about this once….

But he doubts that's what Ozzie and Stolas wanted with them. 

Fizzarolli shrugs. “I mean, I live here so I was going to be here anyway.” 

“We asked you both here so we can establish some rules for playdates.” Stolas says.

Fizz smiles. “Ohh, so it's your fault we're here.” Fizz says to Blitzø.

“Shut up.” Blitzø tells him. 

“This isn't just for Blitzø. It's so that everyone can understand the rules…and caregivers can know how to manage stuff if the other caregiver is gone for whatever reason.” Stolas explains. 

“Brat.” Fizz coughs. 

“Spoiled.” Blitzø snaps back. 

“Jealous.” Fizz scoffs. 

“Purse dog!” Blitzø shouts.

“Asshole!” Fizz shouts back.

Blitzø flicks Fizz on the forehead. 

“Ow! Hey!"

“Okay, that's enough!” Stolas says. “This meeting is to help you two. This is not an excuse for you to act like children.”

“Funny, I recall you calling me a child multiple times.” Blitzø says. 

“And here you are proving my point.” Stolas says, arms crossed. 

Asmodeus picks up a chalkboard and sets it on the table in front of them. “Stolas and I have made this board so we can set some rules to follow while you're here. We want to go through them with you both to make sure we're all on the same page.” Asmodeus explains.

Fizz and Blitzø look at each other, then back at the caregivers. 

“This is because I bit Ozzie, isn't it?” Blitzø asks.

“No.” Stolas says.

“Well…” Asmodeus hesitates.

Stolas gives Ozzie a look.

“No, not at all.” Asmodeus lies. “Has nothing to do with that.” he laughs awkwardly. 

Fizz and Blitzø give each other a look again. 

“Right.” Blitzø rolls his eyes. 

“Anyway! The rules!” Stolas says, summoning chalk for them to write on the chalkboard.

The top of the board had ‘House Rules’ written on it. 

So they're a household now? Was that weird? Seems like it should be called a club or something…

“Alright, I will start.” Stolas says. 

Stolas talks as he writes: “Rule Number one (#1), No fighting, arguing, or name calling of any kind. If you have a problem, talk it out.”

Stolas hands the chalk to Asmodeus so he can add to the list. 

Ozzie takes it and writes it down, then reads outloud: “Rule two (# 2) No cursing, or any type of foul language or gestures.”

“Well, that's just bullshit.” Blitzø says. “The birds are prohibiting fowl language?” He jokes.

Stolas gave Blitzø a look to be sure he knew that the owl didn't find his comment funny. 

“What? I'm not small! It's okay!” Blitzø says. 

Asmodeus hands the chalk to Blitzø.

Blitzø gives him a confused look. “What do you expect me to do with this?"

Ozzie answers simply. “You both are part of this, too. You should have a say.”

Blitzø rolls his eyes. “Giving me a false sense of control? I don't need it, I'm fine.” He hands the chalk to Fizz.

“That's not what we're doing!” Asmodeus says. 

“Sure seems like it to me. I'm not a kid, Oz. I don't need you to patronize me.” Blitzø says. 

“Blitzø, we're not.” Stolas says. “We're doing this together because everyone needs to be involved for it to work.”

Blitzø doesn't respond or listen, what was the fucking point? 

They don't honestly care about his opinion, they just want to keep him in line. 

…but can he blame them? 

He looks over at Fizz and what he was writing…

Fizz was adorable when he did anything, and he proved that further by sticking his little tongue out while he was writing on the board.

“Be nice to yourself and others.” Fizz wrote. 

“That's a great rule, Fizzarolli.” Stolas says. 

“Thanks.” Fizz smiles. 

Stolas continues writing: “Rule four, bedtime is Nine O'clock, nap time is Three O'clock.”

Ozzie: “Rule five, drink at least one bottle of water, and eat two meals every day.” 

Fizz avoided everyone's gaze once that one was said out loud. 

“Fizz?” Asmodeus asks. 

Fizz looked up at him, but didn't respond. He only grabs the chalk and writes: “No lying and always keep promises.” With a smile. 

Stolas patted Fizz's head and praised him for helping. “You're doing great, Fizz.” 

Blitzø sighs, it's like the fucking circus all over again. 

He knows Fizz is perfect. Do we really have to keep reminding everyone?!

Stolas added: “Rule seven: Always listen to those who are taking care of you. Whether it's your caregiver or someone your caregiver put in charge, unless it goes against your boundaries.” 

Ozzie: “Rule eight: No hitting, biting, or harming anyone or yourself in any way.” 

…

Blitzø knows he's a screw up too. 

Do they really have to keep reminding him?

Blitzø suddenly felt very overwhelmed, so he excused himself from the table. 

He doesn't even know if they noticed something was wrong. It was all a blur to him. 

He doesn't know what to do,he just knows he can't break down in front of them…so he locks himself in the bathroom and tries his damn hardest to just breathe!

He's okay…he's fine…

Calm down…

Please calm down…it's not a big deal!

No…

It didn't matter what Stolas said last time…

He was too much for them!

No!

He wasn't good enough to sit there with Fizz and Asmodeus and Stolas!

They're so great! So perfect! 

And he was… 

Please just stop thinking! You're so good at that most of the time!

Why was he here?

He shouldn't be here!

‘You're a miserable failure. This is why no one likes you!’ 

‘Fizzarolli! We've sold out! You make me so proud, son.’

‘You think anyone would pay to watch you act? You're only good for one thing! Why do you think I keep sending you out with them?!’

Blitzø shakes his head. That's not true…that's not true!

‘I don't care if you want to or not, you're going with them, and you're going to do what they paid me to get you to.’ 

‘At least we know you're not completely worthless!’

Blitzø was suddenly on the floor, face covered in tears. 

Shit…this was not how today was supposed to go! 

He fucked up!

...again! 

♡

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It's so late, so I'm not tagging anyone. But if you want to post one, do it!

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@todayimfour @trophyxtissues2 @abby5577 @ask-dusty-boy @im-not-paying-my-taxes @stormy-is-hyperfixated @attagirljessy @legeufygeuber100 @thatswhat24 @hinata-chan-utaitelover @nostalgic-woodwind

[185northgower]

For the kiss prompts number 49 for bokris

Thank you nonny for the first Bokris prompt I've gotten!

Now, a kiss as a necessity admittedly gave me slight pause when I first read your ask, but then this came to me, and I hope you'll like it.

Without further ado, have some teenage Bokris!

(And if you also want to send me a kiss prompt, you can do so using this list!)

The party is in full swing when Jan’s friend Saša suggests playing a game. 

Kris already dreads what’s to come, knowing full well that Saša, having three older brothers, always has the most bizarre party game ideas and rules. He briefly exchanges a glance with Jan, who simply shrugs and grins. When Kris scans the other faces around him his gaze snags on Bojan, the slightly older boy talking to two girls from Kris’ class, making them laugh with some stupid joke. As he watches, Bojan looks up in his direction, their eyes locking for a moment and then Bojan’s winking at him and looking away again.

Kris wants to go over to him and tell him to take his stupid wink back, and that it doesn’t affect Kris in any way, anyway…

Saša loudly starting the game pulls his attention away from the other boy though and he tries to listen to the rules, frown deepening as Saša explains that they’ll spin a bottle to determine who pairs up, and then they’ll go into the little pantry by the front door for seven minutes to kiss. Those who don’t follow the rules and don’t kiss will have to do a dare instead. Kris looks at Jan again, who waggles his eyebrows at him. Not helpful.

The game turns out to be quite fun after all, everyone joking and cheering and four people already having to perform various dares.

When it’s Kris’ turn, he’s optimistic that everything will be okay. Maybe, if he’s lucky, the bottle will even stop spinning on Jan.

Luck, however, is not on his side, as the bottle points at none other than Bojan, who beams at Kris across the circle they’ve formed.

Jan shoots him an encouraging smile and they’re off, stepping towards the little pantry.

Kris slowly shuffles into the small space after Bojan, and breathes a sigh of relief when he can see that the other boy is standing against the furthest corner shelf, which isn’t far, but if Kris stays with his back against the door, which he does, even as it closes behind his back and they’re plunged into darkness, there’s enough space between them.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before, Kris?” comes Bojan’s soft, low voice, while the younger’s eyes are still adjusting to the near pitch black darkness around them. 

He swallows against the word “Jan,” rising up in his throat and instead says, “Only to see what it’s like, with a friend. Not… not for real…” 

And really, why is he even being this honest with Bojan? He can maybe admit that the other boy is cute, adorable even, but the whole douchebag demeanour and air of popularity are grating on Kris’ nerves, to say the least. 

And that isn’t cancelled out by the glimpses of how sweet and caring and… soft the other boy can be, when there’s nobody but his inner circle, his closest friends and bandmates around. 

Of course he looks good, a fact Kris is reminded of now that his eyes are slowly getting used to the dark, even if, with the way Bojan is standing a whole arm length away, he can make out mostly the general shape of the other boy and a shadowy outline of his face. He can imagine him all too well though, with his sharp jawline, those wide, brown eyes and… well. The point is he knows what Bojan looks like, even if it’s dark around them.

While Kris is lost in thought, pointedly staring somewhere over Bojan’s left shoulder, hands clenched behind his back, the short boy steps closer, his face suddenly close enough to be able to clearly see his expression, and then he’s smiling up at Kris, face lighting up in a way that’s almost blinding, like Kris is looking directly at the sun.

He swallows and licks his lips, immediately regretting the motion when Bojan’s eyes focus on his mouth instead of his eyes.

“Do you want to try? A real kiss I mean?” Bojan asks softly, and Kris can feel his face grow hot, praying to any deity that will hear him that the darkness around them will sufficiently hide the splotchy redness he’s sure he’s sporting.

“I…” he honestly doesn’t know what to say to that, and Bojan slowly reaches out, soft hands finding Kris’ upper arms and gently stroking up and down, soothing. 

There’s a sort of staticky hum in his brain and he can’t really focus on whether he wants to kiss the other boy or not, even though the obvious answer should be no.

His eyes trail over Bojan’s face and focus on his pretty, pink, soft looking lips. 

He remembers kissing Jan, how his best friend’s beard had tickled his face, soft in some, a little scratchy in other places, and he thinks he might like kissing Bojan’s impossibly smooth face a whole lot more. 

“If you don’t want to,” he hears Bojan say, voice sounding muffled to Kris’ ears, “we can always tell them we made out, they won’t have to know we didn’t…”

But there’s something in Bojan’s eyes as he says it, and Kris wants to argue, starts saying “No, you can kiss me if…” but he doesn’t even get to finish the sentence.

Bojan slides a hand round the nape of Kris’ neck and tugs, while he himself stretches up towards him, probably on his tiptoes is Kris’ last thought and then somehow their mouths are right in front of each other.

Without conscious thought Kris lowers his head the last couple of millimetres and then his lips bump into Bojan’s. The hand on the back of his head makes their lips press together more firmly and to his absolute horror he can hear himself make a little noise, like a hum. 

He hastily pulls back and Bojan stares at him, wide eyed.

“Sorry, I’m… I… sorry,” he stammers, and the smaller boy’s hands fall away from his body. Kris wants to kick himself.

“You didn’t like kissing me?” he asks Kris, brown eyes wide, and Kris doesn’t want to be the one who makes that sweet face look so sad, so he tries to gather his wits the best he can and shakes his head, slowly reaching for Bojan’s hand that’s hanging limp by the smaller boy’s side.

“Can… can we try again?” he asks, and Bojan’s entire face lights up at the question.

This time it’s Kris who steps closer, hand reaching for the back of Bojan’s neck, feeling how soft his hair is, leaning down until he can bring their lips back together. Bojan’s arms wind around his middle after only a moment’s hesitation and Kris can feel him lean closer still, until there’s almost no more space between them. 

This time it’s Bojan who hums into the kiss, and Kris can feel the vibrations of it against his lips, the sensation a little ticklish, but in a good way. A very good way.

When he’s just gotten used to the soft push and pull of their lips against each other, he feels Bojan’s tongue carefully swipe across his bottom lip. 

Without conscious thought his lips fall open, his breathy, “Oh,” of surprise being swallowed by the other boy’s wet, hot mouth.

Bojan touches their tongues together and Kris has to try his hardest not to pull back, the touch making electricity zing up his spine. He’s dimly aware he makes another frankly embarrassing sound, but then Bojan does something with his tongue, and makes a noise that sounds a little like a whimper, while his hands knead at Kris’ back, and Kris thinks he couldn’t care less about what he himself sounds like, if only he can get Bojan to make that noise again.

His hand on the back of the shorter boy’s neck slides up a little, burying more firmly in the soft, brown hair and making Bojan tip his head back.

The success is immediate, Bojan moaning a little, right into Kris’ mouth and Kris experiments with moving his tongue and lips until Bojan makes another little sound, and another and another. Kris swallows them all, almost forgetting he needs to breathe air as well until Bojan slowly gentles their kisses, pulling back with a last peck to his lips.

The shorter boy leans his forehead against Kris’ chest and then he starts shaking, and it takes Kris a moment to catch up with the fact that he’s laughing.

Before he can panic about the fact, Bojan looks up at him, face flushed and eyes wide and lips so deliciously kiss swollen it makes Kris stare at him helplessly, transfixed.

“You said you hadn’t kissed anyone before?” Bojan says, voice low and rough and a little accusatory, and Kris can only nod.

“Holy hell…” the other boy lets out, shaking his head a little. 

“Can I see you tomorrow? After school? Will you come to my house?” he asks, and Kris blinks a little at the unexpected questions. Nevertheless he nods, and, realising he still has his fingers tangled in Bojan’s hair he slowly lets go, smoothing his hand down Bojan’s arm until he can reach for his hand again. The other boy beams at him, and is just about to say something else when the door swings open, Saša declaring that their time is up, and the sudden brightness makes Kris jump and squeeze the hand he’s holding.

Bojan beams at him, dragging him out of the pantry and back to the others, loudly exclaiming that they definitely won’t need to do any dare, because Kris is one hell of a kisser.

Kris can feel himself blush, but there’s a grin on his face he can’t shake and Bojan is sporting a matching blush, so he decides he’ll be alright. As his gaze finds Jan’s, his best friend grins back at him, giving him a surreptitious thumbs up.

[miley1442111]

hi ! can I request Derek Morgan x Pregnant! Reader?

Where reader is a couple days past her due date and is literally miserable and Derek’s lowkey frustrated because he’s tried every thing he can to help and he hates seeing his girl upset,

so they start looking up ways to help induce labor, and they try a few and none of them work, so reader gives up and starts to cry and Derek is there to reassure her that everything is gonna be okay,

& that he read somewhere that s*x induces labor and it’s turns into light fluffy smut?

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a/n: i love this idea, probably didn't do it justice, also my most sincere apologies for letting this rot in my inbox for so long :)

summary: derek has to do something when you're 3 days past your due date

pairings: derek morgan x fem! wife! pregnant! reader

warnings: pregnancy issues, smut (lowkey praise kink but wtv), going into labour

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It would be an understatement to say that being pregnant sucked. 

You were tired, you were achy, you couldn’t do anything, you couldn’t sleep, and you were literally 3 days past your due date, with no end in sight. 

Fuck this stupid baby, and fuck your stupid husband for getting you pregnant in the first place. 

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 You sat in your bed, miserable and in pain as Derek held you in his arms. He was annoyed. He could see how much pain you were in, and knew how much pain you’d be in soon when you had to give birth. He just… he wanted it to stop. So he looked up methods of inducing labour. 

“Apparently spicy food helps with inducing labour,” he muttered as he mindlessly rubbed his hand over your stomach. 

“I’ll try anything at this point,” you said in a small voice and Derek’s heart shattered. 

“I’ll order something,” he nodded and you offered a meek ‘thank you’. He ordered the spiciest things on your local Mexican place’s menu, and waited eagerly for its arrival. When it did come, he plated it and watched as you ate it.

Nothing. Not even a contraction. 

“Fuck’s sake,” you groaned, washing your hands after eating. “Now I just feel fucking sick.”

“I’m sorry baby,” he sighed, pulling you in to give you a soft but reassuring kiss. “The next thing on the list is physical exercise.”

That was not met with much enthusiasm, but you obliged anyway. You got on the treadmill that lives in your home-gym, and ran for 30 minutes. 

Still nothing. 

Derek watched as your frustrated face turned into the one you make before you cry, and his heart shattered a second time. “Come here baby,” he sighed and pulled you into his arms, pressing kisses to your forehead as you cried. He whispered words of reassurance and love,but you couldn’t stop crying. You were in so much pain, you were so tired, and you just wanted this baby out. You wanted to see your little girl and hold her. 

“What’s next on the list?” You asked between sobs. 

“Sex.”

You looked up at him, drying your eyes. “Sex?”

“Sex,” he nodded. “But if you’re not up to it we can-”

“Derek Morgan, this baby is coming out of me today or so help me god, I will hurt someone,” you swore. Derek nodded quickly and took your hand, leading you to your bedroom. 

“What’s safe for the baby?” You asked him timidly as he undressed you. 

“Spooning, if that’s comfortable,” he offered. He’d done so much research about how to help you, it almost made you sob all over again. Stupid pregnancy hormones. 

“That sounds nice,” you swallowed back the lump in your throat as Derek smiled at you, then pressed soft kisses to your bare collarbone.

“So pretty for me,” he cooed. “My beautiful girl.”

You both laid down on the bed as he kissed you, whispering words of encouragement. God he was so attractive like this, taking care of you, loving you. You were getting ridiculously wet.

“I’m going to be real gentle, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded as his hands started kneading the plump of your ass. 

“You feeling alright?”

“Good, just please- do something,” you begged and he chuckled. 

“Already beggin’ for me? God you’re perfect,” he kissed your cheek as he slowly slipped inside you. You let out a series of moans as his long cock filled you up, while his hands groped your body. “That’s it, good girl. Take all of me.”

He slowly started moving as you squirmed and moaned under his thrusts. 

“Come on, you’re so good for me baby. Doin’ so good babygirl,” he groaned. “So pretty around my cock.”

You felt yourself clench at his words. Then it happened. Your water broke. 

“Oh my god!” You shouted, immediately getting off of the bed and running to get your clothes on. Derek smiled as he watched you. 

“It worked?”

“It worked!” You chuckled, then the contractions came in, ruining the moment. You hunched over and leaned on the bed and Derek started getting dressed. 

“Come on mama, we gotta get you to the hospital,” he smiled as he helped you out. 

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Twelve hours later, you two welcomed your first little girl, Emily Morgan. 

Derek already wanted another one.

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, marvel, top gun, challengers, the bear, the hunger games, obx+)

cm taglist

@khxna

[2busyatchb4urshist-alt]

Alastor & Lucifer x gn!Reader Comfort

I’m trying to get back into writing, this is probably not the best thing ever. I’ll avoid y/n (personal preference), and try for heavy comfort/fluff. It’s some of my favourite stuff to write, so this should be good for me to write. Pardon my French (please).

Prompt: “I'm having a really hard day, could I please request a little comfort one shot or artwork where the reader has a health issue with their heart and just had an attack and Alastor and/or Lucifer are comforting and caring for them and are worried about them too (can be female or GN I don't mind, can have any character traits/ animalistic traits, but basically reader is feeling emotional and vulnerable and needy and in pain, can't get up because nearly collapsing, weak/ dizzy/ pain/ feeling nauseated when they try) (not projecting at all here lol) 🥺 it can go/ appear anyway you want, I'd just really like that included because I could cry rn with my struggles and I've got no-one...”

For @nyx-umbrakinesis

Word Count: 774 words

Black clouds my vision as I attempt to stand up, another sharp pang reverberating from my chest through my arms and torso. It’s a mistake I regret almost immediately, the heavy feeling of not being able to breathe properly weighing down on me.

“Sit back down, chérie,” the familiar static indicating Alastor’s presence returns to the room, enveloping those within it. It wouldn’t be described as warmth, per se, but there’s a comfort in it nonetheless.

The feeling of a strong hand against my shoulder pushes me back down onto the bed, which I had much too quickly tried to leave. Whose hand? Good question.

“What do you need, darling?” Ah, it was Lucifer.

The fog that had clouded my vision has finally fully evaporated, and I look over my shoulder to the King of Hell, somehow him and Alastor have managed to forget their “little” disagreements and not be at each other’s throats. Interesting.

“A drink, that’s all,” I lay back down, regretting trying to get up. Of all things that could be wrong, it’s the heart. Always. Always. Always.

“I’ll get you something, stay laying down,” he’s so gentle for someone ruling over who knows how many people.

The creak of the bed is the main indicator that he left it, the dip in the mattress from where he was sitting suddenly gone. My eyes follow him as he leaves the room, Alastor soon taking his place by my side. I reach to take his hand, tears burning behind my eyes.

"Don't cry, amour, it'll be okay. I'm here for you," he speech is laden with static, like usual, but it seems more comforting than times past. Despite his aversion to touch, he doesn't recoil from my grasp on his hand. His other hand comes up to brush hair from my face, his smile visibly strained. I've got the Radio Demon and the King of Hell worried, lucky me.

"Mhm..." Should I try to sleep? Would that even be a good idea?

I pull his hand closer to me, holding it against my cheek as a means of seeking comfort. The creak of the door opening again alerts the both of us of Lucifer's return, and he comes back to bed, kneeling beside where Alastor is sitting, and helps me sit up. He places the glass in my hands, watching as I take a drink.

"Thank you, Lucifer," I set the glass on my nightstand after I finish taking a drink.

"You're welcome, doll. Do you need anything else?" How the hell is he so sweet?

"Not right now, but thank you," I quickly wipe the tears away as a few slip down my face.

Two lovely individuals, what could I have ever done to deserve them in my (un)life? I pull Alastor's hand into my lap, staring down at it while forcing the tears back to their hiding place deep down.

"No hug? Do you want to lay down?" His voice is soft, almost as if someone had taken a remote and turned him down.

"A quick one, yeah," I let the king pull me into a hug, holding onto him like a lifeline. Once I pull away I have to wipe away another stray tear away as I lay back down, taking Alastor's hand once more.

"Thank you both. What did I do to deserve you two?"

"What did you do? Why, I can't think of anyone more deserving of care and affection than you, chérie," the hum of static continues to fill the room, practically lulling me to sleep. I hold Alastor's hand closer to my face, laying my head against it as I try to fall asleep.

"Oh, darling," Lucifer whispers, running a hand up and down my arm as I drift away, an unnaturally upset look on his face.

"Don't leave," I mutter, grabbing onto Lucifer's hand with my free one. I pull it up to my chest, nuzzling my face against it a bit while holding it up to my forehead.

"I won't, I promise," I swear I can hear his voice crack a bit as he speaks, lacing his fingers in mine.

I crunch myself up a bit, knees curled up to my chest as I attempt to fall asleep. The feeling of having each of them by the hand, however, does a bit to ease my nerves. The feeling of being grounded to not only one, but two of my favourite people helps me to fall asleep.

"Sleep well, chérie." Is the last thing I fully hear as I drift off, Alastor's free hand pulling the comforter further onto me to cover me properly.

Not as long as I hoped, but I felt that to be a decent ending. Hope you like it @nyx-umbrakinesis. Lots of love, hope you feel better <3