#flipped a coin between posting this and killing myself and it was heads so here you go /j

[roosterr]

by your hand | 01

kyle garrick x gn!reader x john soap mactavish

wc: 3.4k summary: johnny leaves you alone again, and kyle is more than happy to fill the space he left behind. warnings: unrequited love (for now), love triangle -> poly pipeline, lots pining longing and desiring, gaz is kind of a nervous wreck, a tiny bit of angst, tasteful clichés, everybody is down bad

so,,, i'm starting another series. don't look at me. based on a request i got forever ago and this idea <3

will you let me know if john is coming home tonight? 21:04

the text from you sits open on kyle's phone, the only light illuminating his face in his otherwise dark living room. a deep sigh escapes him as he drags a hand down his face, a fruitless attempt to rid himself of the sinking feeling weighing down on him.

johnny's not coming home, kyle knows he’s not, and if you’re texting him then deep down, you must know that too. he’s meeting up with the same hookup from last week, some guy he met at the pub that kyle knows nothing about because he’d hung up the phone before soap could get too into his usual bragging; and though he hadn’t listened to the details, a twisting ache lingered in his chest for the rest of the day after that.

didn't he tell you? he's staying with another friend tonight 21:07

oh okay 21:11

your curt response sends another pang of guilt through him. how soap could be so blind – as well as just plain stupid – he had no idea, but he'll be damned if he doesn't take advantage of this opportunity.

his fingers hover above the keyboard, twitching over the letters as he tries to come up with something to say. he could do what he always does, tell you 'of course' and 'don't worry'; or, he could actually do something. he could give in to his selfish desires for once and allow himself to have you, if only for the evening.

and, really, it's been months of this; all the lingering stares he sends your way, touches that last just long enough to still give him plausible deniability – and when you text him like this, the going back and forth over whether it was the right time to make a move, but every time he he finds some bullshit excuse not to.

tonight is different though. he's been patient, and he's not sure he can stop himself from giving in this time.

the decision was made before he even finished the thought. he types out the message and deletes it five times before he decides to just bite the bullet and send it.

maybe i could come round and keep you company? i'll stop by tescos and grab popcorn and we could watch a film? just the two of us? 21:22

the minutes between him sending the text and you reading it are borderline painful. he doesn’t know how you’re going to respond, and that was utterly maddening. maybe he crossed a line, or maybe he'd come on too strong and you could tell how pathetically into you he was–

the buzz of your response cuts his overthinking short. he unlocks his phone with lightning speed the same moment the notification comes through.

that would be nice thanks kyle :) 21:24

his heart stutters in his chest, and an excited grin lifts the corners of his lips. he reads the message a few more times, just to make sure he didn't dream it up, but it doesn't change between blinks. a light feeling replaces the guilt from earlier.

you said yes. you’re going to watch a movie with him, in your flat, just the two of you. with a slightly embarrassing fist pump, he thanks the stars for aligning to make this happen and rushes to the front door. he grabs his jacket and pulls his shoes on in record time, and he's just about to slip his phone into his pocket next to his keys, but it buzzes again before he can.

get sweet and salty pls xxxxx 21:25

a fond chuckle passes his lips at that, the feeling in his heart only getting warmer as he locks the door behind him and makes a beeline for his car.

on it boss 21:25

less than fifteen minutes later kyle is standing outside your building, plastic bag in one hand and the other pressing the buzzer for your flat. he absently wonders what soap would think if he knew about this, if he’d object or if he’d even care in the first place, but once again his worries are interrupted by the click of the front door unlocking.

the easy, if slightly more toned down, smile from earlier is back on kyle’s face as he takes the stairs two at a time – the lift would’ve been too slow, he reasons, and he wants to make the most of every second he has with you.

his footsteps echo through the hall as he finally approaches your flat, his grip on the bag tightening and his heart rate picking up the closer he gets. he’s a moment away from knocking, fist poised above the door, when it swings open to reveal you with a similarly excited grin on your face.

kyle eyes gravitate to yours, lifting the hand holding the bag and somewhat awkwardly leaning the one still hovering on the doorframe. "package secured, boss."

his words get a soft chuckle from you, as you step to the side and gestures for him to come in.

"good work, sarge," you tease, shutting the door behind him and taking the bag from his hand as you make your way to the kitchen, "you can pick what we watch, i can't make a decision like that!"

"roger that," his smile is evident in his voice when he calls after you, "but you're not allowed to complain about my choice!"

"better not pick something shit, then!"

kyle watches you go while he undoes his laces, and takes the opportunity to admire the way you look in your pyjamas. it was just a big jumper and some comfy trousers, nothing special, but a burning heat still rises to the tips of his ears all the same.

this is what soap had to come home to every night? and he still chose not to?

he shakes his head to rid himself of the thought and hangs his jacket on the empty hook by the door, beside yours. tonight, you were his, and he was determined to push all thoughts about his idiot best friend out of your mind.

the movie he'd picked is already waiting for you when you shuffle into the living room, the bowl of popcorn in your hands as you flop down onto the sofa beside him.

"hot fuzz?" you ask, placing the bowl in the space between you and popping a few pieces into your mouth.

"yeah, you seen it?" he presses play on the remote, and you shake your head with a curious smile on your face. he grabs a few pieces of popcorn himself, and tilts his head to give you an eager grin. "oh, it's brilliant, love, one of my all time favourites."

you hum thoughtfully, and with your eyes locked onto the screen, kyle takes the opportunity to lay his arm across the back of the sofa, just behind your shoulders. his heart hammers against his sternum, and he subconsciously holds his breath when you settle further into the sofa, closing the distance between you ever so slightly.

"well, you've set my expectations very high, kyle." you shoot him a playful look that he readily mirrors, before focusing your gaze back on the movie. he breathes a quiet sigh of relief that you didn't comment on his manoeuvre, the nervous tension melting from his muscles.

it's hard not to be comfortable around you. even when you're just sitting in each other's presence, it comes so naturally, like it's by design. despite the movie being one of his favourites, he can't help the way his gaze drifts to your profile.

do you see this as a date? because kyle definitely does. or, he wants to, but does it really count if it's just him that thinks that way? was he reading too far into this?

lost in his anxieties, he doesn't realise that when he reaches to grab some popcorn that you do the same, and the sparks that fly up his arm from where your fingers brush startle him back down to earth. he braves a look at you, a bashful smile finding its way onto his face as he meets your eyes.

"you were right," you murmur, and dart your eyes back to the screen in an almost nervous way, "this is really good."

a satisfied feeling blooms in his chest knowing that you liked his choice. "it's part of a trilogy, y'know. we'll have to watch the other two at some point."

there's a pause then, where you get a contemplative look on your face, and kyle holds his breath waiting for your response.

"maybe not tonight," your gaze falls to your lap, and he's afraid for a moment that he'd overstepped before you continue, "but i'd like that."

he smiles at you again, giving your leg a small nudge with his own. "next time soap is out pub crawling, then, yeah?"

your expression twitches downwards, darkening for a split second that he just about catches, before you put on an obviously forced smile. "yeah, sounds good."

fuck.

why did he say that? soap is the last person you want to be thinking about, and the last person he wanted to bring up tonight, so why on earth did he say that?

the silence that follows is negatively charged. your eyes are locked onto the tv screen, but there's a distracted look in them now.

kyle clears his throat, trying to swallow down the hot embarrassment rising to his face, "sorry. shouldn't've brought him up, should i?"

you seem to flinch at his words, your head snapping to fix him with an incredulous look as you stumble over your words. "why– what? why? he does live here."

"i know you like him." kyle frowns when you click your tongue, continuing with a more serious tone than he's had all night, "and i know you know where he is."

you open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. guilt claws at the inside of his ribcage watching you swallow hard, blinking away the despair in your eyes as you face the tv again.

"i don't like him." you mumble, pulling your knees up to your chest and pointedly ignoring kyle’s eyes on you.

he wants to say something, to make this better somehow, but the damage has already been done. god, why did he even start this in the first place? everything was going so well before he said anything, so why did he have to spoil it? 

your brows pull tighter and tighter the longer with every second that goes without a response from him, until you eventually get tired of the concerned look he's giving you and snap. "i don't, kyle! and why should i care what he does with his free time? he's his own man!"

there's a waiver to your voice that only adds to the heaviness building in the pit of his stomach. he shifts his arm from where it rests on the back of the sofa to curl around your shoulders. the movie is still playing in the background, but neither of you are paying attention to it anymore.

"i'm not judging you. we both know how much of a dickhead he is." kyle murmurs, a soft attempt to comfort you while he gently tugs you closer to his side.

you turn your head towards him again, a drained look in your eyes. they glisten with steadily building tears, and kyle's heart breaks at the sight.

"but he's not, not to you or your friends, it's just me that he's– he's like this, i…" your words get stuck in your throat as the first few tears spill past your eyelashes. "...why did it have to be him? i don't–"

"hey, hey," he coos, moving the bowl of popcorn to the coffee table so he can pull you fully into his embrace, "take a deep breath for me, alright?"

you bury your face into his chest, but he still hears the way your breath hitches, and feels the subtle trembling of your shoulders. he draws soothing shapes over your shirt, and he knows that now is the most inappropriate time to be thinking this, but when his fingers brush the skin of your upper arm, the sparks from the contact are impossible to ignore.

the minutes that pass by listening to your muffled sniffling could've been hours and kyle wouldn't have known the difference. he wishes more than anything that he could take your pain away, but the most he can do is be your listening ear and your shoulder to cry on.

eventually you do lift your head from his chest, wiping the stray tears from your cheeks and facing the tv to avoid his eyes. "i'm sorry, i don't know why i'm– i ruined tonight–"

"no you didn't, i'm the one who upset you," kyle murmurs, still with his arm around your shoulders, keeping you close to him. he tilts his head to catch your reddened gaze in the dim light from the tv screen, watching you slowly nod in response.

"god, fucking hell…" you mutter, leaning forward with your elbows n your knees, dropping your face to rest in your palms. his frown deepens as you slowly release a deep breath, the anxiety from earlier returning to worry him that he'd crossed a line.

"if you need some space, i can go?" kyle removes his hand from where it rests on your back, suddenly hyper aware of how close the two of you had just been – and the hot feeling of his blood as it races through his veins. "if… if you want, yeah?"

"no, no. i– don't go." you stutter, lifting your head just enough to give him a weak glance from the corner of your eye.

"alright," he murmurs, feeling a sense of relief that you didn't outright tell him to piss off, "i'm here."

he moves his arm to rest on the back of the sofa again, an open invite that he's desperately hoping you'll take.

for the second time tonight, the stars align perfectly in his favour, and you lean back to fit seamlessly to his side, your head resting on his bicep. he has to force himself to relax, and consciously remember to breathe.

he would've been satisfied with just that, your proximity to him more than he could've hoped for, but then you whisper something that threatens to stop his heart completely.

"...why couldn't it've been you?"

what?

…what?

did he hear you right? you want it to be him? it could've just been a throwaway comment, but kyle’s never felt such a light feeling in his chest, his head spinning like he might wake up from this dream at any second.

but it's not a dream, because when you stiffen in his hold, he feels the way your muscles pull taught, and he feels your lungs expand with the sharp intake of breath as he says his next words, barely more than a whisper.

"...it can be."

time seems to freeze as you both process what he means. his stare doesn't falter on your profile, watching every minute expression and waiting with bated breath for a response. moments go by with nothing but the white noise of the tv in the background, illuminating the room in multicoloured flashes that highlight the wide-eyed expression you wear.

"what?" you mumble, slowly turning you heard as your eyes give in to the pull of his, meeting kyle’s equally astonished gaze as the air between you turns thick.

he swallows hard, resisting the nervous urge to look away. "it can be me, if that's what you want."

you stare at each other, a good kind of tension sparking in the distance that still separates you.

"kyle, i… i can't do that to you." you murmur, your brows tilting in a display of the turmoil just under the surface. "you deserve more than that…"

you blink and turn your gaze down to the buttons on his shirt. he still stares at you. he takes your hand with his free one, dragging his thumb tenderly over your knuckles. you look back to him, uncertainty swimming in your eyes.

"i– i don't care," the blood rushes in his ears, anticipation and disbelief lighting his nerves on fire as he stares intently into your eyes, not even daring to blink, "i've always wanted you."

"kyle…" you whisper, quiet and unsure, but you don't pull away.

he's toeing the line, he knows, but you're not rejecting him. there's something in him that just can't ignore the fact that he's making a move on his best friend's flatmate, especially when he knows you like soap – but there's a bigger part of him that doesn't care, that just wants you in any way he can have you.

he lets go of your hand to cradle your face, moulding his hand to the shape of where your jaw meets your neck, and edges his face closer to yours.

"tell me you don't want this," kyle murmurs, watching your lashes brush your cheeks as you let your eyes flutter closed, "tell me to stop, and i will."

he waits, his breathing shallow, for you to say something. he almost wants you to stop him, if only so he doesn't get a chance to fuck this up – but you don't.

you lean further into him, placing your own hand over top of his, and respond in a breathy sigh that he just about hears, "...don't hurt me."

and without a second of hesitation, kyle whispers in reply, "wouldn't dream of it."

he only just gets the words out before you're gently slotting your lips against his. there's a split second of shock where all kyle can do is reel from your touch, but he quickly shakes it off and reciprocates with a shaky sigh against your mouth. he uses the hand on your face to draw you even closer, moving to hold the back of your head while his other arm winds around your waist. 

everything except you is completely forgotten – the drag of your finger as they find his neck, the soft noises you let out under his ministrations, and the dizzying, borderline addictive feeling of your body against his.

he can't help the groan that escapes him when your nails meet his scalp, the blunt scratch only adding to the list of sensations that he'll be thinking about long into the night.

there's a twinge of disappointment within him when you eventually pull away, both of you breathing heavily and holding each other as close as you can. kyle watches your eyes flutter open again, looking deep into his with a hazy, unfocused look to them.

an easy smile pulls at his lips, his thumb tracing circles on your cheek where his hand still rests. you let your own hand fall to his chest, a tiny smile of your own finding its way onto your face.

"we can take it slow, yeah?" kyle murmurs, searching your eyes for any hint of uncertainty that could be hiding there.

"yeah." your voice is airy, still somewhat out of breath as you rest your forehead against his. "you're too good to me kyle."

kyle huffs a quiet chuckle at that, leaning back just enough to be able to see you properly. "'course i'm not, you've just never been treated right."

he feels the heat that rises to your face, and sees your smile grow before you tuck your head just under his collar, turning your attention back to the movie while he chuckles at your reaction.

for the rest of the night, it feels like he's on cloud nine. even as the movie ends and you agree to call it a night, the only thing on his mind is when he can see you again.

"next week," you promise, "we can watch the next one."

he's never wanted the days between today and next friday to pass him by so badly.

when he stands in your doorway and gives you one last peck on the cheek, the smile you give him makes his head and heart feel unbelievably light. even as he's leaving, sending a longing glance back down the hall just before the doors of the lift close, that giddy feeling doesn't leave him.

soap doesn't deserve you, he never did, and kyle would help you finally see that.

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Infatuation P11

Joe Goldberg x Reader x Love Quinn

Warnings: Violent scene description, death.

Notes: Wow, this seems really out of nowhere to post. Anyway 🤪 I don’t want this sitting in my drafts anymore so I’m going to let you all know if I edit it before the next update. Just... take it.

I spent the better half of the day looking over my shoulder as I worked. Candace’s sudden reappearance isn’t going to be swept under the rug just like that... she’s a dead girl walking and I’ve never been a fan of the zombie genre.

By the time I was counting the money from the cash register, Love seemed to have grown a smile. Though, I could still see the sleep deprivation in her eyes.

“Will,” She leaned forward on the counter, perching her head up on her hand. “could we do something tonight?”

At that moment, I really wish I could’ve said yes. But... I couldn’t afford to get distracted.

“Maybe another night? I’m...” I thought quickly, placing coins down and counting.

“We need to talk.” She leans forward to catch my sight. About what exactly, I want to ask but before I can even get a word out, Forty walks in with his mouth open.

“Will, would you be a doll and help me with something.”

I don’t say anything, only thinking to myself: why here and now? Forty has some of the worst timing... and then I spot Candace. Right behind Forty, with a white smile I hated to see.

“Oh, Will. This is Amy.” Love gestures toward Candace and my stomach turns and probably does some flips while it’s at it. If I wasn’t so used to staring into the face of death, I would of probably thrown up by now.

But, there’s no way.

“She’s Y/N’s friend.” Forty finishes. I bite the inside of my cheek. No fucking way she’s here unprompted. I’ve been so incredibly meticulous about everything including my online presence.

I look to Love’s face and she seems to spot something.

“Are you okay? You look kind of pale.” What? She’s not going to ask if I’ve seen a ghost?

“Yeah— no, yeah. I’m alright.” I smile wide, wiping my brow as I do. “It’s just—“ I turn to ‘Amy’. “Is Y/N still in town?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.” She looks me in the eye. For a moment, I feel myself crack under the pressure.

Hold me back, I might just kill her now.

“What do you mean?” Love looks to her.

“I was supposed to pick her up the other day, but she hasn’t responded to my messages since.” Candace looks at me with those dead soulless eyes of hers.

So, she’s the mysterious driver. When did she start driving that type of car? Since she’s decided to pursue a career in stealthily ruining my life?

What the fuck am I going to do about her and what the hell am I going to do about you?

“Will,” Love suddenly says, bringing the conversation back and snapping me out of my thoughts. “didn’t you see Y/N?”

“Y— no. No, I know it was late by the time I got there, but I passed a bus on my way.” I remember the way your soft face felt in my hand. “Could she have taken public transport? Maybe a cab?”

“I highly doubt it.” Candace replies immediately. I’m sweating, but I’m trying not to lose my cool.

I finally finish sorting through the change, no doubt making some mistakes. But with that done and out of my way, I need an excuse to slip through the cracks.

“Listen, I’m sure she’s just disappearing again. You’ve told me she’s done it before, I don’t see why she wouldn’t do it again.”

Love shifts around, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “I’m calling Lucy.”

And there she goes. Love leaves the room after her statement, and I know she’s feeling worse. Why did you even bother coming back? You’ve literally disrupted everything in our lives... it’s going to be difficult to fix, Y/N. There’s no simple way around this, we just have to make it through alive.

~

Love remained in another room at Anavrin until it closed and the street lights turned on. She quietly spoke into her phone, observing the floor pathetically.

She spoke with Lucy openly, though she avoided the topic of your sudden disappearance.

The conversation eventually dies down, and she says her goodbyes.

“I need to show you something.”

Love sets down her phone and looks to Amy. She hadn’t noticed her enter the room.

“You surprised me. What is it?”

She continues once Love’s attention is on her. “I know we don’t know each other that well, but do you mind if we discuss it in the car?”

~

And just as expected, Forty’s one-off comment about needing help wasn’t easily forgotten by himself. I was dragged out of Anavrin rather quickly. Though, in a way, I appreciated the easy excuse to get away from such a venemous snake as Candace.

Forty never let up, no matter how obvious I made my lack of care, he remained just as motivated and just as annoying.

“Listen, this is probably my most prestigious and ambitious project to date.” Forty’s arm swings itself over my shoulder, bringing me in as he repeats the same garbage he always does. I’m glad to see that spirit remains.

“They’re wanting to make it into a movie, can you believe that?” Forty’s arm lifts itself, only to fall down on my shoulder like a pat on the back.

“I’d love it if you could... you know... help me out. A genius writer isn’t a genius without their ghost writers!”

That’s... not what that is, but I get his point.

When I looked at him, his eyes were wide and his bottom lip stuck out comically. He was pouting? No, it’s more of a puppy dog look. The lazy man’s pretty please.

I should have time for this, even if I’d rather stop by the nearest gas station and get you dinner.

“Earth to Will, I need you focused!”

~

Love wraps her arms around herself, feeling very out of place.

Amy continues to fumble with the lock, until she hears a click. She perks up and gives Love a nod.

The storage lockers were easy to access, surprisingly so. But none of this felt right.

“Wait.” Love says suddenly, halting all movement. “I don’t want to do this.”

“But you’re just a door away. Please, Love, you’ll want to see this side of him.” Amy pleas.

What side of him? The side that owns this locker she so happened to know about?

“No, I don’t. And I don’t care for it either.” Love says, though she looks unsure of herself as she fiddles with her bag. Perhaps a part of her would rather be unaware of something as vile as Any had dared describe in the car.

“Do you hear yourself? You sound ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? Thats coming from someone with bold claims.” Love retorts. She catches herself for a moment, seeing a glimpse of someone she repressed long ago. She’s not that person anymore, she swore to herself she never would be.

Despite Love’s reluctance, Amy lifts the door up and pockets her bobby pin.

Hearing the doors roll up, you had expected Joe to step in. But he was nowhere in sight. Instead, you jumped at the image of Love and Amy, pinching yourself to truly believe they were really standing there.

You wanted to speak, to shout, to cry out... but your voice was far too gone. Your throat was hoarse and bone-dry.

“Oh my god.” Amy hurried, observing you inside the glass box. “You’re still alive— she’s still alive!”

Love remained silent, her jaw hung open in utter disbelief. Will... Will had told her you left.

He lied? Or Amy isn’t who she says she is.

But why would he? It... it must’ve been for a good reason, right? Will isn’t this kind of person, right? Maybe— maybe he got himself into something. Love clutched her keys between her fingers, her knuckles turning white as she focused her burning stare into the back of Amy’s head.

“Y/N. Can you hear me?” She says, hitting the glass.

You’re barely responsive, a mixture of dehydration and lack of nutrition hitting you all at once. The sheer excitement from seeing them took a lot out of you.

“We’ll get you out of there.” Amy states, turning her head to face Love.

Love jumps at her sudden movement, grip shaking as she stares into Amy’s eyes.

“Help me, would you?”

Love slashed her keys in Amy’s direction and she tumbles back. Without a second thought, Love does it again, this time catching her straight in the neck.

For a moment, Love realizes what she’s done. With the way you began to pound on the glass and the look of complete and utter fear Amy is giving her, it’s kind of hard not to. Love stares at her keys, stuck inside the side of Amy’s neck as a thick stream of blood flows downward. She grips her own neck, holding tightly as her mouth puckers like a fish out of water.

Amy doesn’t want her to pull them out—the keys- and Love notices that. But she does. She yanks the keys toward herself and watches Amy slap her hands down around her own throat.

She’s silent, surprisingly silent despite the gurgling.

Love watches Amy hit the ground and crawl toward her feet, all the while a pool of blood forms beneath herself.

When Love looks toward you, you’re curled up in the corner of your glass cage, arms covering your eyes as sobs shake you violently. She didn’t want you to witness this side of her, truly. But even more so, she had never wanted it to come out again.

However, Amy was a threat to the three of you. Love knew you were locked up somewhere, how could she not? She knew that Will— Joe- had done this in the past, but it could be different now— it could be better. A private detective isn’t just for show. But Amy didn’t have to get involved— didn’t have to go sniffing around and finding your location before she could.

When she notices you peek past your elbows, she feels her gut clench at the sight of the way you cower at the sight displayed by her feet. Watching someone bleed out is hardly a pretty sight and Love understands.

Knowing full well that she can’t turn back, Love wipes her keys and drops the rolled up door.

[waiting4inspiration]

Dream come True (Geralt x Succubus!reader)

Summary: Geralt hears about a corrupt town that he decides to see what’s going on. But as he nears, he starts to have a reoccurring dream. An erotic one. When he enters the town, he meets the one behind it all.

Warnings: SMUT, explicit from the get-go, strong language, sexual spells, demons, succubus!reader, unprotected sex, it’s been a while since I’ve written smut XD,

Word Count: 2,822

A/n: So, technically a succubus is a demon, so this is the demon entry with Geralt XD

7k Mythical Creatures Masterlist II The Witcher Masterlist

As he nears the town he’s heard is overrun with nothing good, Geralt’s been having the same kind of dream every night. And tonight is no different than the last. 

Expect, it’s more powerful, more clear. With the town only a day away, he’s more aware in tonight’s dream. 

He feels you - the woman in all these dreams - kissing down his chest as your hands run down his sides and towards his pants. He groans finding that his hands rest on your ass and gripping your hiked up, silk nightgown that’s so thin, he can feel the heat radiating off your skin. And it’s almost difficult to ignore the straining in his pants as you straddle his lap to grind against his hips. 

But because he’s aware of everything, he grabs your hands before they can pull down his pants he didn’t know were loose and he flips you over onto your back. 

You giggle playfully as you look up at him, his hands pinning your wrists above your head and his knees keeping your legs from wrapping around his body. “I knew you’d be fun to play with, Witcher,” you laugh, opening your eyes to reveal how lust blown they are. “That sometime, you’d take control of your own dream,” you purr, arching your back to press your body against his, to press your sex against the bulge in his pants. 

“That I would realize what you are?” he questions, pushing your hips back down to the ground roughly, making your bite your lip to suppress a moan. “Only demons have the power to corrupt an entire village in a matter of days.”

“Half-demon,” you quickly correct him, rolling your eyes as you breathe out an annoyed huff. 

Geralt only chuckles and tightens his hold around your wrist. “Which makes you a succubus then,” he growls, not knowing if it’s the sexual tension you’re creating or the confrontation that made him growl. 

But your laugh tells him that it’s the former. 

“A sex demon,” you say with a chuckle. Wrapping a leg around his hips, you flip him back over onto his back and pull your hands out of his hold. “Drawn to a town corrupt by a demon ages ago because it’s more fun to play with someone willing than someone who’s always fighting,” you whisper, slowly rocking your hips against his and rubbing your sex against his hardness. 

He grunts, reaches from your hips to stop your movement. His tight grip makes you breathe out a moan and throw your head back as you arch your back. The sight of your hard nipples showing through the thin nightgown pushes Geralt off the ground and makes his head drop in the bend of your neck to kiss your skin. “You must surely miss the fight,” he mutters against your skin, making you laugh out in a breath as his hand slips under the gown to travel up your spine. 

You moan again, bring a hand up to weave your fingers through his hair to pull his face away from your neck. “Who do you think made you hear about this town?” you ask, leaning forward so your lips just touch his. Reaching for his other hand on your hip, you lead it between your legs, making his touch your sex, not covered by anything. “I can make any man start a story that will catch the attention of a Witcher. And now, here you are,” you whisper.

Groaning at the feeling of your soaking wet folds, Geralt can’t help himself but slip a finger through them. The action makes you gasp before letting out an amused moan as you rock your hips against his hand. 

“Why don’t you show me your pretty little face then?” he entices, talking about your true appearance with horns out the top of your head and goat-like legs. 

You laugh, grip his wrist tightly to prevent him from pulling away and open your eyes to stare deeply into his. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you tease. Biting your lower lip as he slips a finger into your hole and touches your clit with his thumb. “I’m not like most succubi. What you see, is what you get. I don’t have the horns, or the goat-like legs,” you whisper, moaning as he adds another finger into you and starts to thrust his fingers. 

“And now Witcher, you must decide,” you whisper in his ear, pull his hand away from you and push him to the ground again. “You know that my kind aren’t like those of my brethren you have slain. So, have you come to kill me? Or have you come to satisfy your curiosity?” you question, raising an eyebrow as you slowly lean down to his face. “If it is neither, you are free to leave. But, if you are curious…” 

Pressing your lips to his jaw and kissing up to his ear, his fingers dig into your hips as he groans. “You know where to find me.”

Geralt’s eyes snap open and he’s awake. Pushing himself off the ground, he glances around him as if to look for you, but he knows you’re not there. He then looks over his shoulder to the town he sees in the distance and he sighs deeply as he looks up at Roach. 

Roach turns her head from looking at the town to him, and she breathes out a huff. “Don’t judge me,” Geralt grunts. 

He doesn’t have to think much about what he wants to do next. Packing up his makeshift camp and mounting Roach, he rides towards the city, wanting to get there before sunrise. 

The closer he gets to the town, the more powerful the corrupt feeling gets. Whatever demon got its hands on this town, it was a powerful one. And as he rides, he can’t shake the dream he had woken from. It seemed so real. It felt so real. He’s never met a succubus that can create such a realistic dream. You must be telling the truth when you mentioned that you are not like other succubi. 

The streets of the town are empty, and Geralt wonders how many people abandoned it because of their religious faith and morals that told them what was happening was wrong. And he wonders how many stayed to indulge in the pleasure of sin. With everything seeming so abandoned, he thinks that there can’t be too many that stayed. 

Something draws him to the church, something like a siren song, a whisper. Geralt recognizes it as your voice, so he knows he’s on the right path. 

Keeping his eyes on the door as he dismounts Roach, he doesn’t recall tying her reins to a post before walking to the door. But when he glances behind him, thinking to himself for one last time if he really wants to sate his curiosity about you, if he wants to answer the call he feels coming from you, that sexual spell you cast on him since he had that first dream, he sees that he had, in fact, tied the reins to the post. It’s almost too late to turn back now. 

He pushes the door open, his eyes moving back in front of him as the smell of pure lust and sex. This is definitely the place you’ve made your lair. And when he expects a scene in front of him of people going at it like sex-crazed delinquents, he only finds 3 people in the room. 

A man, face buried in a woman’s neck - and other parts buried elsewhere - and you, sitting with your legs draped over the arm of a chair and a glass of wine in your hand. 

Your head turns at the sound of the door opening, and when you smile, Geralt knows there is definitely no turning back now. “Leave,” you speak to the two other people, breaking them from their coital bliss with a wave of your hand. But they don’t seem to be disturbed by the interruption. They just stand and walk out the room, leaving you with the Witcher. 

Geralt notices a holy symbol hanging from the man’s neck. “A priest?” 

“And a prostitute. It’s ironic, isn’t it?” you giggle, placing your cup on the table beside you as you swing your legs around to stand from your seat. 

The Witcher grunts and glances back in the direction the pair left in. “You corrupted a holy man-”

“He was already corrupt when I got here,” you cut him off, holding up a finger as you take a small step forward. That’s when he gets a good look at what you’re wearing. 

It’s the same sheer nightgown you wore in the dream. Only, it seems thinner now. He can almost make out the curves of your body, the roundness of your breasts. And as he runs his eyes over your body, he hears you take in a deep breath and smells your arousal starting to grow. 

“All men have desire, Witcher,” you speak, walking closer to him and drawing his eyes back up to your face with a finger. “And they come to me, alone or with their lovers, searching for what they long the most. I’ll pay you in coin to tell me your desire,” you whisper seductively, twirling a piece of gold between your fingers as you begin to walk around him. 

“I only get paid coin when I’m killing something,” he says, his voice deep and his eyes dark as he stares down at you. 

You laugh, wave your hand, and the coin disappears. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll just have to find out for myself,” you reply in a deep voice too as you stand in front of him. “That is why you are here, isn’t it? Because you’re curious. You want to see your dreams from the past few nights to an end and it’s so much better to live out something in reality than in a dream,” you whisper, taking a step forward as you raise your hands up to your shoulders. 

“Why don’t you stop this spell you’re casting so I can figure out what I really want,” he states, stepping forward so he’s standing close to you. So close, his breath fans across your face as he breathes out a heavy breath. Especially when you start to push the gown down your shoulders. 

You chuckle and shake your head. “But I’m not casting any spell. I’m not even the one trying to pull my clothes off me,” you mention. 

Your words make him blink and glance down between your bodies to find that it’s been him pushing your gown down your shoulders and arms. “Maybe I cast a spell in the beginning. But that was just to get you out of your killer mind. Am I really such a threat, Witcher? Have I hurt anyone? Have I killed anyone?” you question, his hands continuing you push the gown down your body until it drops and pools by your feet. 

He groans, drops his head in the bed of your neck and kisses your skin as he walks you backward. You smile, giggle and drop your hands to pull up his shirt out from being tucked in his pants. 

Stopping when the back of your back hits a pillar, he pulls his shirt over his head before crashing his lips to yours. You take his response as a ‘no’ to your previous question, and it makes you smile and laugh into his kiss as you rest your hands on his shoulders. 

Succubi have incredible strength, which makes it easy to push Geralt down to his knees and then onto his back as you straddle his waist. 

“People will notice what you are, what you’re doing to the people in this town and they don’t hesitate to try and drive you out,” he mutters, his hands coming to rest on your hips as you press your lips against his neck. 

You hum against his skin as you kiss down his chest. “And what do you think I should do?” you tease, running your tongue over a scar and making a moan vibrate in his throat. “Run and hide?”

Your hands slip down to his pants as you feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh. “It would make this fire you’re creating die down a bit,” he mentions. He throws his head back as you palm his erection through his pants and digs his fingers into your hips. 

“I’m not afraid to play with fire,” you state, undoing his pants and tugging them down as you lift yourself slightly up to free his hard cock. “I’m not afraid of men, who have lust and desire coursing through their bodies,” you whisper, stroking him for a while before sinking down onto him. 

He growls, flips you over and pins your hands above your head - like he did in the dream. “If they think you are dead, they won’t come and disturb you. Or burn down your lair,” he says, leaning closer so his lips just touch yours. “I can help you.”

You moan as he rocks his hips against yours and you can feel him giving in to his desire. 

A mob would be a bit of a disadvantage, you think to yourself. Biting your lower lip as you think of his offer, knowing that he’s waiting for your response before he fucks you. “Fine,” you give in. 

Pressing your lips to his as you arch your back and push your hips up against him, you moan into his mouth as he pushes your hips into the ground with one powerful thrust. 

His grip around your wrists tightens as he works in and out of your, dragging himself along your walls as he kisses you deeply, letting the lust inside him grow until he feels like it’s going to burst. 

You so badly want to flip him over again, ride him, but every time you move to try and do so, he snaps into you. This time when he doesn't, he breaks the kiss and you let out a loud moan as you throw your head back. Geralt glances down, watches as your breasts rise and fall as you let out long breaths, but take in short ones. It’s like you’re breathing in time with his thrusts. 

He decides to test that out. 

Picking up his pace, he grunts and groans at the way your walls squeeze around him and a breath catches in your throat before you pant in time with him. You try to pull your hands out of his grip. You want to touch him. 

It’s a wish he will grant. Letting go of your wrists and bracing his hands against the stone floor beside your head, your hands shoot to his hair to pull him down for a kiss. A kiss, that will entice his desire, spark up his lust. Make him fuck you deeper and harder. 

It just had to be a small kiss before he snaps his hips wildly against yours, making you moan out his name and tug on his hair as he kisses down your neck. You run your hands down his back, over every scar you find before digging your fingers into his muscles. 

He twitches inside you, a lustful fire burning hotter inside him as you press your lips to his skin. He knows you’re the one behind it all, but he’s not going to fight this feeling inside him. He bottoms out, the tip of his cock hitting the top of your cervix as he raises your leg over his hips makes your mouth fall open. Your walls clench around him, praises and whispers of encouragement leave your lips in a whisper makes him pick up his pace. 

And as you drag your nails up his back, he spills inside you with a low growl as you tremble beneath him. Rutting yourself against him, riding out your high shared with him, you touch the side of his face and bring his lips back up to yours. 

As you kiss him, a haze clouds over his mind and his eyes flutter shut. 

The next time Geralt opens his eyes, the sun shines through a small window close to the ceiling of the church. Glancing around him to find you, he only finds something wrapped in packaging with a note attached to it. 

He pushes himself up and grabs the note. 

I might not have horns, but these might convince people that I’m dead.

See you around, Witcher.

(Y/n)

Unwrapping the worn-out leather, he finds two goat horns that some succubi have. And he realizes what happened. 

After you kissed him, you made him fall into a deep sleep so you could get away like he suggested you should. ‘See you around, Witcher.’ He reads those words and smirks to himself, secretly hoping that it will happen.

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[george-mackay-macfine]

Going Public

"Look at all these comments." Matt held his phone out towards George and I. "Does George have a girlfriend... Please give George my number. I'd love to fuck George." I frowned, eyebrows furrowing as Matt read from his phone. "Tell George I'd suck his…"

"Alright, I think we get it... Thanks, mate." George wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. George and I had been dating for eight months, we'd yet to go public with the status of our relationship due to George's public status as an actor, and his concerns about my personal life after we went public. "Who actually writes on Instagram that they want to suck someone's cock.”

"Girls are thirty, I tell ya." Matt chuckled going back to his phone. “Least they leave it on your Instagram now, not mine.” The thirst on George’s newly created Instagram was intense. 

"You okay love?" I leaned into George, Pretty and Pink playing loudly in the background. It was the scene where Andie Walsh was telling Blaine how he didn't want him to take her home.

"Yeah, fine." I laid my head on his lap, his hands going to my hair, pulling at the curls I'd painstakingly done earlier today when George and I had the intentions of going out to the pub with Matt and our other friends. "Just sleepy, I think.”

"Not too much to go to the pub?" Matt looked up from his phone. "Steph just messaged me. She said they're all going there in twenty." He looked between George and I. "Come on love birds, Let's make it public." I knew he was talking about going to the pub, having a drink with our friends but all I could see was George and I standing on opposite sides of the room, not being able to touch, not even be able to talk in fear of being caught onto.

"Sure, I'm up for it." I sat up. “George?"

"Sure." He smiled pushing some of my hair behind my ear. "If that's what you want love?” I nodded my head, biting down on my lip to stop myself from telling him it wasn't what I wanted. I wanted nothing more than to stay here wrapped in his arms.

"I'll just go brush my hair." I hopped off the couch and rushed into George's bathroom. Grabbing his comb I ran it through my hair, bushing out any knots. 

"Here we go," I muttered looking back at myself. "Another night of not being able to touch my boyfriend." I frowned, turning it up into a smile as I switched off the light, walking back out into the living room. George and Matt were huddled up around George's phone, watching something on it. "What are you guys watching?" George locked his phone quickly.

"Just showing Matt the BTS for Ned Kelly." George had shown me the recording earlier that day. I was so proud of him, he’d worked hard on this picture, and you could tell it was close to his heart.

"Looks, sick mate." Matt clapped George on the back, switching off the TV. “Ready."

—-

—-

—-

"Another round," George asked our friends as we sat at a long table. "On me." He jumped up, walking over to the bar. "Y/N. Come help me carry them." This wasn't the first time George had spoken to me since we were out in public, but it would be the first time we'd be alone together, even if it was only a few paces away from our friends. "You having fun?" He asked as we stood, waiting by the bar.

"Sure. Everyone is." I looked back at our friends. "Are you?”

"It's killing me not to touch you…"

“George..."

"OMG, you're George MacKay aren't you!" A girl screamed as she ran towards George. She shoved me out of the way to stand next to him. Her hand instantly going to his bicep. "God your muscles are as big as they looked in Ned Kelly." She stuck her chest out at him. "I'm April.”

"Hi, April." He looked around her to me. Suddenly April's eyes were on me. Bugging out of her head. I swear her nostrils flared a little as if she were sniffing out a threat.

"Who are you?" She glared.

"I'm Y/N, Matt's mate." The bartender appeared with our round of drinks. "I'll take these back, George. You stay chatting." Don't sweat it. He's your boyfriend, Not hers.

"How kind of you," April smirked turning back to George. "God I would have killed to play Mary in Ned Kelly." I heard her as I picked up the tray. "Lucky bitch." She muttered under her breath.

“Thom was lovely." I heard George as I walked back to the table. Matt greeted me with an arm wrapped around my shoulders.

"He'll be back soon enough." He whispered grabbing a glass of the tray once I'd set it down. He passed it to me. Then put another in front of me. "You look like you need it." I looked over to George and April, they were heavy into a conversation.

—-

—-

—-

"I can't believe they're still talking, what's it been twenty minutes," Steph growled from beside me. "I have half the mind to go over there and rip that girls fake blonde hair extensions out.”

"Don't do that, it'll just cause more drama." I picked up the beer Steph had kindly given me once I'd finished Matt and my own off. Steph and I had sat in to watch the show before us, April was trying hard. Pushing her tits out hoping for George to look down at them. He'd yet to.

"Want me to get him?" Matt stuck his head between us. "I don't mind.”

"No, I can't do that." I turned back, watching as George pulled his phone out. "Is he giving her his number?”

"No, I think he sent you a message." Steph passed my now lit-up phone. It showed an Instagram badge.

"George MacKay has tagged you in a post," I muttered opening it up, George had never tagged me in a post, he didn't even follow me on Instagram... It was a video. "Steph I need your headphones." She rushed pulling out the AirPods and handing me both. I refreshed the page so I could start the video from the beginning. George appeared on my small screen, he was sitting in his living room. He waved at the camera.

"Hi everyone, thanks so much for watching this video. I've seen a lot of comments lately about my love life, and if I'm in a relationship. The truth is I am, with the most beautiful, caring, loving girl I could have ever found." The shot changed, it was George walking into his bathroom, I was standing in my towel curling my hair, he'd filmed it last week. "Smile for the camera baby." Video me laughed and pushed the camera out of my face, Instead, George turned it to the mirror, video me had wrapped my arms around his waist, head on his chest. "Beautiful." He smiled.

"What is it?" I vaguely heard Steph ask as I watched our recorded selves.

"George come on. There's a puppy." We were in Hyde Park, walking a month ago George was filming me again. It was taken early in the summer, the sun was shining down on me, my hair looked akin to a halo.

"I'm coming, love." He laughed watching as I ran off towards the small dog." The shot changed again. This time it was one George had filmed of us dancing on the balcony in our hotel in Italy. 

"I love this girl." George's voice floated over the next image of me sitting in front of the Trevi Fountain. 

"What do I wish for?" video me called out to George. 

"Whatever you want to wish for." I watched as I flipped the coin back into the water. "What did you wish for, baby?" 

"Gelato." Video me called back causing video George to laugh. The shot changed again and George was back on the screen. 

"I've loved her from the minute I saw her, the second she smiled at me I knew I wanted to spend my life, if not a part of it with her. Surrounded by her presence, consumed by her soul." George smiled, running his hand over his chin. "She's important to me, and I want her to be important to you as well. My fans, my friends... I want you to love her as much as I do." The screen went black. I looked up at George. He was still talking to April, but he wasn't watching her. He was watching me. I stood up, leaving my phone behind. I walked up to George. He smirked as I got closer.

"Y/N." He smiled, I pushed between April and him, attaching my lips to his in a passionate kiss. My hands wound in his hair, tugging it slightly. One of his hands went to my waist, the other held onto my chin. When we pulled away we were both breathing heavy, I kept my eyes closed as our foreheads rested on one and others. "You saw the video.”

"I love you." 

__________________

A/N: If you'd like a certain prompt filled message me, and I’ll write it for you. 

[poisxnyouth]

hs!dave. chapter 1. (d.d)

A/N: hi babies. it's been two weeks since i've posted anything. me and aly, @fukgoldbars, (🐝, go follow her) have been working on this nonstop for the past week. 17 pages later on a google doc.....and this is what we made. let's goooo. please enjoy. we're both really proud of this. much love. -hailey (and aly)

WC: 7.1k (on the dot)

“Natalie, Y/N, fucking hurry up! The game starts in 30 minutes and I don’t wanna miss the coin toss. I don’t understand why you both had to redo your face paint. You literally had it on at school and it looked fine. They’re dots, for fuck’s sake. I’ll leave your asses, I swear. Did you both forget I’m your fucking ride?” David is standing at the bottom of Natalie’s stairs, propped against the banister on his phone, waiting impatiently for you and Natalie.

“Fuck off, David.”

Dave had been haphazard with his face paint 12 hours earlier, leaning over his sink with paint on his fingers (blue on one, white on the other) as he smeared one of each color across his cheeks. You and Natalie, on the other hand, had applied it with care in the backseat of Dave’s Corolla on the way to school. He had protested the entire time, “If you get paint on my seats, I’ll kill both of you. I mean it, you guys.” Two pencils for each color, erasers dipped into paint caps for the perfect circle and wiping off any asymmetry of the dots. They’d slightly worn off through classes and the pep rally, so you both had decided to redo them, much to David’s dismay.

“Seriously, I don’t get why you didn’t just do it in the car like you did this morning. It doesn’t have to look good.” You and Natalie come down the stairs, all 3 of you in Vernon Hills High School gear.

“Stop being an asshole,” you say, hitting the back of his head, “That’s exactly why you don’t have a fucking girlfriend. Let’s go.”

“Hey! Courtney likes me,” he defends, pulling his keys out of his pocket and moving to the front door. Natalie locks it, grabbing her purse and keys before you both file out after her.

“In your dreams. When’s the last time you got laid? Like, freshman year? Shotgun, by the way.” David unlocks the car, all 3 of you climbing in as he starts it.

“Fuck you, Y/N, you know I didn’t get shit freshman year. Got laid in June, just so you know. Tennis camp.” David’s pulling out of Nat’s driveway, craning his head to look through his rear window.

“Get the fuck out,” you say, “No way. You fucked at tennis camp? Was it any good?”

David laughs as he switches gears, driving straight through Nat’s neighborhood. “Hell no. It was terrible. Barely even came. But sex is sex, I guess. When’s the last time for you?” You shake your head, flipping his visor down and opening the mirror. You dig through your bag, finding your mascara and beginning to apply it; Dave had shortened the time you had to get ready.

“That’s not true. Terrible sex is terrible sex. But great sex is great sex, you know? You go back to that shit over and over again. It’s okay, Davey, you’ll find someone who fucks you good.” You reach over to poke his cheek as he drives, David swatting your hand away in defense. “And last weekend. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great, either.”

“Oh my gosh! Y/N! You finally had sex with Jordan?” Natalie pipes up from the backseat, leaning in between you and David’s seat to be included in the conversation.

“Yeah! But since it wasn’t good, I broke up with him on Tuesday.” You shrug, twisting the mascara closed and dropping it in your bag.

“Damn. Is this how girls work? I’m hopeless. And good, I hated that fucker. You can do better, Y/N. He’s lame as hell. I don’t know why you keep dating those football players, they’re assholes.”

“I don’t know why either. I don’t think I should date anybody for a while, but I want the sex...I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.” David is half listening as you sit at a red light, leaning over into your seat to dig through his dash.

“Nat, are you smoking with us tonight?” David asks, finding the weed and stashing it back in its place, closing the dash.

“Nah, I’m good. Maybe tomorrow night after homecoming. You guys can smoke and come in the house, though, you won’t have to worry about the smell ‘cause my parents are out of town. Isa and Lauren will be asleep too. They want pictures of us from you guys’ parents, by the way!”

“Alright,” Dave responds simply as the light turns green, hitting the gas.

“Stop speeding, Dave!”

“I’m sorry, you guys held me up for 15 minutes because you were doing your damn face paint. I can go 5 miles over if I want to.”

++

The game goes smoothly, no injuries or setbacks; the quarterback and cheer captain win homecoming king and queen, and you win the game. It’s a successful night, and pissing David off by removing your face paint in his car is the cherry on top (even though he begs you to wipe the stripes off of his cheeks as he drives).

It becomes even more successful when you and Dave light up in his car in Natalie’s driveway. You have the joint in your lips, David’s eyes watching as he flicks the lighter and holds it for you. You take a deep hit as he watches, breathing in and passing the joint back to him. You hold it for a few seconds before exhaling, immediately coughing.

“We do this every Friday and you cough every time,” he chuckles, lighting the joint again, looking down at it. “And I always finish the joint. It’s like every time is your first time. Is that how you have sex, too?” David passes it back to you, fingertips brushing.

“Go to hell,” you reply, “I’m good at sex. I worry for the girls you’ve fucked.” You meet his eyes as you take a hit.

He watches and says, smile hinting at his lips as you look at him, “The girls I fuck are perfectly satisfied. Most of the time, I’m not. Seems to be the same for you. Sucks for us, I guess.” David hits the joint fairly hard, inhaling for a generous ten seconds, staring out of his windshield at the front of Nat’s garage. He rests his hand on the steering wheel, joint between his fingers as he holds the smoke in, then exhaling slowly.

“Yeah. I don’t know how to fix that.” Dave doesn’t reply, dropping the subject.

You repeat the back and forth process a few times, David finding a bottle of water in his backpack to ease your throat. You smoke quietly until you’re too far gone, insisting he finish it off for you. He does, putting it out in his cup holder and tossing the roach in a plastic bag. David leans his seat back, head resting on his hands as he stares up at the ceiling.

“You really broke up with Jordan ‘cause he didn’t fuck you good enough?” He asks, “Why? Isn’t it a learning process?”

“Ummmm,” you clear your throat, “It’s not cause he was bad. He just didn’t wanna do the shit that I wanted to, so...I broke up with him. You know, kinda like what we were talking about.”

Dave continues staring at the ceiling of his car, eyebrows scrunched together. “Huh? What does that even mean?”

“He didn’t fuck me hard enough. He was too vanilla. But I know I’m gonna miss sex, so I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I don’t wanna just go around fucking people, you know?” You mimic him, putting your seat down and resting your head on your hands.

“Oh. I didn’t know you were like that. I mean, we could…..Nevermind. That’s weird. Sorry.”

You look at him, concerned, turning on your side in the seat. “Say it, pussy.”

He shrugs, still not looking at you, “I just thought...I just thought that - that like, I’m in kinda the same spot you know? I like sex. Maybe - maybe we could help each other out? I don’t know. It was weird. I don’t know why I thought of it. I’m so fucking gone.”

Your eyes widen, mouth dropping open. “You’d fuck me?”

David’s eyes nervously fly to yours and back to the ceiling, “I mean. Yeah. Look at you. You’re sexy as fuck. There are days where you wear shit……..I have to tell myself to cool it ‘cause we’ve known each other for so long. Literally, oh my God - I don’t even wanna go into detail.”

“Would you fuck Natalie?” You ask, ignoring his statement and sitting up, propped on one arm.

He sits up at your question, weight on his elbows, face scrunched. “What the fuck? No. Gross. She’s like a sister to me. You know that.”

“So how am I any different? We’ve all been friends since you moved here.” You’re looking at him like he’s dumb, confusion and judgment spread across your face.

“You just…..are,” he shrugs, “Always have been. I dunno, I kinda thought we have sexual tension? Like, earlier? I can’t talk about sex with Nat like I do with you. But obviously, now I know you don’t think that.” David moves his seat back up, sitting straight in his seat. "I just think that people like you need to fuck people like me, not people like Jordan whateverthefuckhisnameis. I don't know. It was a stupid suggestion. Sorry for bringing it up. I like your company and I don't wanna change shit between us. Let's just drop it, okay?"

You meet his eyes, biting at your lips before looking away. “No,” you say timidly, “I wanna fuck you, too. But not when we’re high. I wanna be sober.”

“Huh? What? Really? You’d fuck me?” Dave asks, still staring at you.

“Um, yeah,” you admit, “I know I make fun of you but...you’re not too bad, either. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Y/N, you’re like, the hottest girl in school, I’m not gonna take it lightly-.”

“Ugh, shut up. You’re just stoned.” You wave him off, turning to look at him.

“You’re hot and you know it, Y/N. I mean, haven’t you dated like, 10 guys? There’s no way you don’t know how fuckable you are,” David defends, shrugging his shoulders.

You gasp and smack him over the head. “David!”

“I’m kidding, Y/N, I’m kidding!” You sigh and reach into the backseat to grab your bag, pulling on the handle to escape his car. He grabs your forearm and you turn back to him, David’s eyes going between you as he slowly removes his touch.

“Wait, but seriously...like, you’d fuck me? For real?” You retreat back into his seat, shutting the door and tossing your purse into his floorboard.

“If we’re talking seriously...yes. I would. You’re pretty hot. But again, once we’re sober, ‘cause I don’t wanna do something now and regret it later. Am I making any sense?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I hope you remember this when you’re sober, though.”

You ignore his comment, “So...people like me need to fuck people like you? What is that supposed to mean?” David fiddles with the stitching on his steering wheel, eyes flitting between his hands and you.

“Is that what I said?” He feigns, smacking his lips as you nod, “Well...how many football players have you fucked?”

“Five,” you admit, “But I don’t see why that matters. I don’t have a type.”

“I think you do, Y/N,” David shoots back, “Why else would you-.”

“Don’t be stupid and act like you’re the only one who’s been thinking about it, Dave. Sure, you’re out of my league, but I’ve thought about it, too. I just didn’t want to admit it, ’cause we’re best friends, but you’re cute. You can be an asshole, but you’re cute.”

“Yeah?” He asks, nodding at your approval. “Cool. Wait, what the fuck? I’m out of your league?” He scoffs, hand covering his mouth, “Holy shit. You think that? Fuck...So, um, we’re not doing anything tonight? When can I expect something? Or do you wanna plan it?”

“Surprise me, Davey.”

“That’s bullshit. I don’t wanna do something wrong,” David complains, “Like, if the timing is wrong, then-”

“Be quiet. Stop overthinking it; it’s simple. Make a move when I’m sober, Dave. That’s all I’m asking. Don’t be a pussy,” you move to get out of his car again, purse in hand, before changing your mind, pausing in your seat and staring into his windshield.

It’s silent for a few seconds, eyes cutting between each other, both of you chewing at your lips.

“We should probably go insi-,” David tries to say, hand reaching for the keys and turning them, removing them from the ignition.

“Wait,” you interrupt, “I just - Let me see.” You drop your purse in his floor again, glancing between his lips and eyes. His face turns from confused to understanding as he notices your stares, dropping his keys in his cup holder. Dave doesn’t do anything, though, waiting for you to make the first move. You comply, slowly and timidly, not looking at him as your hand reaches forward, landing on his chest. Your body soon follows, leaning in closer, fingers tangling in his shirt. Dave’s cheeks brush against yours, his hands coming to each side of your waist in an attempt to comfort your uneasiness.

“You don’t have to do this, Y/N,” David tries to explain in an apprehensive whisper, halted by the shaking of your head.

“No. I wanna,” you promise, “‘S just kinda weird.” He nods slightly in agreement as you both gaze downwards and lean closer, eyes fluttering closed and lips attaching.

It’s nervous at first, David's hands gripping your waist slightly tighter than he had been before, sitting up straight and leaning further into your closed mouth kiss.

Dave leans out slowly, lips still close as his eyes drop between you, “Is this okay?” You don’t answer, hands sliding onto his shoulders as you lean in once more. It’s more comfortable this time, his palms shifting to your lower back as you pull him in, forcing him to lean over his center console. You continue for a few minutes, falling into a subtle give and take after an easy transition of lips to tongues. It’s slow, tongues sliding together easily accompanied by hands sliding lower than they should have. His hands slide into your back pockets, lightly squeezing, before you break away from him softly.

“Um, we should…” You say, David immediately catching on and nodding quickly, removing his hands from you and turning back in his seat, wiping at his mouth. He doesn’t say anything as he retrieves his keys from his cup holder, crawling out of his car before you follow him. He locks his car after you’re out, letting you walk in front of him.

“Nat, we’re here!” you yell once you’re through the front door, both of you kicking your shoes off. You can hear her walking around upstairs, quickly coming into sight, coming down a few steps and leaning over the railing to peer down between you.

“Can you shut up? Isa and Lauren are asleep!”

“Sorry,” you whisper, “Are you going to bed?”

In your peripheral vision, you see David step around you to get to the kitchen, then hearing him fill a glass of water at the fridge. Natalie nods, “Yeah. Your bags with all of your clothes and shit are in the living room. If you wanna come up and sleep in my bed it’s cool, but I know you guys are gonna be up for a while so just be quiet, please. I have to take them to cheer and basketball in the morning, so if you and Dave wake up and I’m not here…”

“Got ya. We might just stay down here,” you reply, shrugging lightly.

“Okay. Goodnight. Tell Dave for me.” You nod in response, turning to go through the hallway into the kitchen. David is pushing himself onto the top of Natalie’s kitchen island, phone in hand, before you mirror him, dangling your legs slightly.

“I wanna kiss you again,” he admits, “It felt wrong at first, but I liked it. You’re good at it.” He’s taking his lips between his teeth, chewing lightly as he stares at you, awaiting a response. “Only if you’d let me, though.”

You’re not looking at him, crossing your ankles and focusing on the pattern of the bland tile rather than the blush rising in your cheeks. “I’d be cool with it.”

David takes the opportunity, placing his phone down, to gently turn your head and lean in.

“So...hypothetically,” he whispers in between kisses, “In the morning...I could fuck you, ‘cause we’ll be sober.”

“Mmm,” you reply into his mouth, “Good theory. You’d really wanna fuck in Nat’s house? I’d feel bad for that.”

He grunts softly, “Shit. I don’t wanna fuck in her house either, but I’d do anything to fuck you as soon as possible. I’d fuck you in the backseat of my car in the driveway if that’s what it takes.” David pulls away gently, sliding off of the counter and tugging you along. He presses you against the edge of the surface, hands on your hips as his neck bends down slightly.

“I’m just saying. I don’t wanna have to wait, like, a week to fuck you. ‘Cause you want it soon, right?” You feel his cheek brush against yours, his fingers pushing the edges of your t-shirt up.

“...Right?” Dave asks again, torso coming closer in contact with yours, pulling you closer. You nod in his hold, eyes staring down at the lack of space between your bodies.

“Okay, then it’s settled. I’m fucking you in the morning.” You admire his sudden confidence, a complete opposite compared to his actions in the car. David’s lips start trailing down your neck, teeth lightly grazing against the skin. Your arms drape lazily around his neck, fingers finding the hairs at the nape as he sloppily kisses up the column of your throat and down your jaw.

“Dave, maybe we should...Maybe - fuck.” You sigh as he kisses a certain spot on your neck, tongue running across it lightly. “Maybe we should get ready for bed.” He kisses down to your carotid before stepping away, removing his hands and sighing lightly.

“You’re right. Sorry. Your bag’s over there, mine’s over here,” David points halfheartedly, turning to move towards the opposite side of the living room, pulling at the neck of his shirt and tugging it over his head. You watch his shoulder blades shift slightly as he walks, quickly tearing your eyes away and going the opposite way, crossing your arms and lifting your shirt off by the hem. You adjust the cups of your bra and the straps before your hands reach for your belt buckle, undoing it and swiftly sliding out of your jeans. You toss both articles of clothing into your bag, subconsciously tugging your underwear up your hips. You’re about to grab your shorts and t-shirt before you hear Dave speak:

“Get the fuck out. Oh my God,” he says, forcing you to look at him, confused, his eyes glued on your ass. “Jesus Christ.” David tears his eyes away, glancing back quickly before pulling on one of his tennis shirts. He side eyes you as you pull on your shorts, your hips squirming to squeeze your ass in them. You don’t watch him at all, keeping your eyes to yourself as you get dressed and place yourself on the couch next to him. Dave doesn’t miss a beat, sliding you into his lap, hands on your waist.

“What are you doing?”

“We can’t make out?” He questions, brows furrowed, looking up at you. You shrug in response, moving to lean in and tangling your fingers in his hair. Your lips attach, seemingly more comfortable each time, and David’s hands slide from your waist to your hips, down to your ass, squeezing lightly. In no time, he tugs on the waistband of your shorts. You grunt into his mouth softly in response, pulling away to allow him to do so. You feel his knuckles rub against your skin as you move to rest your weight on your knees, sitting up straight. He gets them past your hips, cheek against your waist as he looks around you, watching your ass as he squeezes you out of the shorts, and you allow him to push them off of your legs.

“You’re so hot,” he says as you settle back down in his lap, arms draped around his shoulders. “Like...fuck.” Dave removes one hand, sliding it in your hair and pulling you in to another kiss, slightly quicker as your tongues slide together. He’s toying with the hem of your shirt, causing you to pull away and tug it off, knowing it’d be coming soon.

He attaches your mouths for a few seconds, leaning back out and resting his hands on your thighs, thumbs rubbing slightly as he stares upwards at you, making eye contact.

“How was your day?” David asks randomly, hands running up your hips, toying with the lace.

“Um, fine? I had a good time. You were with me for most of it,” you reply, bewildered as you run your hands over his shoulders. He adjusts his posture, sitting up straighter and shrugging slightly.

“What are your grades like?” Dave’s switching up on his touches, fingertips barely touching your spine as he runs them down every vertebrae. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth as you shiver beneath his touch, gripping his shoulders slightly tighter.

“Good. I’m pissed off at Mrs. Barnes, though.” His fingers and knuckles are dancing up the insides of your thighs as he keeps eye contact, watching you tense up at the close proximity of his hands and your pussy.

“Yeah? Why?” You’re aware of his game, now; he’s slowly touching you, pushing your hair out of your face and running it over your body. He’s continually switching up on how he touches you: soft, barely felt touches with his fingertips, hard knuckles, and whole hearted grabs with his palms and fingers. He’s trying to distract you, to tease you, and it’s working. Too quickly for your liking. It doesn’t take long for you to begin only focusing on his touches, and not the conversation at hand.

“Hmm?” He gently reminds, hands going over your shoulders, softly running over the lengths of your arms.

“Umm. W-well, my grade was a 95, right? And now it’s an….umm….um. An eighty - an eighty one and it makes me really mad ‘cause - oh my God.”

“Hm? What was that?” David chuckles softly, giddy at how undone you are for him already as he grips at your tits, cupping them over your bra. Your nails dig into his shirt as his fingers find your nipples through the soft cups, rolling and pinching them. He allows you to grind your hips down against him, back arched and head thrown back, the only barriers between you being the lace and his boxers.

“I said - I said it makes me really mad.” You’re pissed off and embarrassed that he’s working you up so quickly, even though you were doing exactly as he wanted. Your high mental state does not help your situation whatsoever, feeling practically every goosebump he brings to your skin.

“Really? Why?” You open your mouth to speak as he pulls your underwear to the side; he doesn’t touch you, free hand on your waist, as you whine at the feeling of being bare as you grind against his boxers.

“Keep going,” he insists, “What were you going to say?” You rut into him once more, whine escaping your lips.

“David, please.”

“Finish what you were saying, Y/N.” Your brain feels fried as he stares up at you, lips parted. Your fingers are digging into his shoulders as you try to remember what you were talking about.

“Ummmmmm…,” you say, Dave laughing lightly at you, “What was I saying?”

He pushes your hair off of your shoulders, free hand running down your back. “Your grade went from a 95 to an 81 in Barnes.”

“O-oh, right. Um, it just p-pisses me off ‘cause she gave me a zero in the gradebook for the - for the - fortheprojectwedidtogether.” You slur the words out in one breath just to get your response out, attempting to not stutter.

“I got a 100 on it. I don’t know why yours doesn’t say the same,” he offers half-heartedly, knuckles running up the insides of your thighs as he pulls your underwear back into place.

“Sorry, what? What did you just say?” You push your hips down once more, rubbing up against his semi hard dick through his boxers, whining at the contact. David can tell how far gone you are as he kisses down your neck and you breathe heavily, pulling him in closer and gasping lightly.

“Does it feel good, baby? Can you feel everything I’m doing?” It’s all you can do to nod in his hold, feeling as though the room is spinning as he reaches behind you, unclasping your bra. The pet name should feel weird and foreign, new territory for you both, but all you can focus on is his touch.

You push your hips down again, squeaking out a “David, please.” He barely complies, pushing the lace to the side once more, feeling a drop of your wetness drop against his boxers. He gasps at the sight.

“How’d you get this wet, baby?” David still doesn’t touch you, guiding your hips over his, feeling his boxers get damper and damper.

“Y-you.”

“You like it that much?” You don’t need to reply; he knows the answer. You’re more turned on than you think you’ve ever been with a guy, and Dave is soaking it up. He had hoped touching you would sober you up some, but it seems to have done the opposite: you’re now further gone than you were in the car. He loves watching you be so malleable in his touch, fingers tangling in your hair in tugging lightly. Your mouth drops open slightly, neck exposed for him. He watches you as he releases his grip, feeling as though he’s dreaming. Dave no longer feels high, sobering up more and more as his dick gets harder and harder.

“Daaavvviiiiiiddddd,” you whine, “Pleasepleaseplease touch me.”

“I don’t think so, baby. Why should I?” He’s still teasing, even though you’re unraveling beneath him.

“‘Cause I want it?” You offer.

“That’s not good enough,” he disagrees, picking up on your lack of ability to form sentences as you push your hips down onto his, taking his hand in yours and leading it to your throat, eyes rolling back as you take your lips between your teeth.

“This is what you wanted? That Jordan wouldn’t give you? He’s a dumbass. Did he see this ass, baby? And these tits? Fuck.” You don’t reply, David taking it upon himself to slide his mouth around your tit, removing his hand from your throat. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling as a whine escapes your throat. It feels as though you can feel every single one of his taste buds as he slides his tongue around you, pulling you closer and forcing you to rock forward, feeling the length of his dick.

You gasp in his hold, “You’re fucking kidding me,” you say, halting your movement. “What the hell, David? Your dick is not that fucking big.”

He’s momentarily confused, pulling away from your breast, but you slide yourself along him, against his boxers and let out a moan at the feeling. He’s instantly cocky, chuckling at your reaction.

“Please, David, please. I just want you inside of me,” you beg, hands haphazardly pushing up his t-shirt, palms resting on his pecs. He hadn’t planned to touch you, but he can’t go any longer without doing anything. He brings a hand down, fingers slowly coming into contact with your pussy as he swipes through the folds. You nearly cum at the contact, hips stuttering and collapsing against him.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

You give him a whine, “Uh huhhhhh,” stuttering out an, “A - all for you.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he reassures, one hand rubbing at your ass and the other tearing away from your pussy. David still feels like he’s trapped in his REM stage, pushed by how much you’re trying to please him, even in your current state. He loves it. He had never seen you so vulnerable, and even through your whining and childish behavior, it still turns him on endlessly due to the fact he has never seen you struggle to form sentences. You’re one of the smartest people he knows, someone he respects and loves dearly, and to see you completely fucked out without him actually laying a finger on you is everything to him.

After he removes his hand from you, he holds it up, fingers spreading to show your visible wetness.

“Do you see this?” Again, you don’t answer him, hand going over his to steady its movement. You stare absentmindedly, brain not fully functioning, before leading his fingers into your mouth, looking into his eyes as you suck. His jaw drops.

“Oh, baby…” he lets out, eyes flickering between your lips and eyes, feeling as though he died and went to heaven.

“I bet you taste sweet. Do you?” You nod against him, still sucking.

"Yeah? Let me see.” David takes his fingers from your mouth, pulling you in and attaching your mouths, eyes fluttering closed and tongues immediately coming in contact. He groans into the kiss, leaning out.

“I was right.” His fingers move to your pussy again, causing you to whine once more as he feels you up. You groan, throwing your head back and digging your nails into his chest as he slips two fingers inside, going to the second knuckle. You’re so wet David can hear his fingers sink in, groaning at the noise.

He exhales, “Yeah, baby, I don’t know if I’m going to fit. You’re so fucking tight -.”

“Nononono, please, I need it.”

“We can try, but you’re so fucking tight. Can you feel how hard you’re clenching around my fingers? I can try to help you but shit, you’re so tight for me. How are you so tight when half the football team has been here before me? Are you gonna be this tight every time I fuck you? It’s gonna be like fucking a virgin. Isn’t that what I said in the car, baby? Hmm?”

You whimper slightly, “Fuck you. Who said we’d do this more than once?”

His free hand pulls haphazardly at your hair. “You can’t talk to me like that, baby. Understood? I can stop this at any time. And you’ll be back, babe, I promise you.” You nod, submitting to him easily.

“You think I’m gonna fit?” he asks, eyes meeting yours.

“I-I hope so. I need it.” Dave doesn’t reply, nodding and bringing his free hand to your face, fingers pushing into your mouth.

“Your mouth is so pretty,” he compliments, fingers pulling out and pressing against your tongue. “Wish those lips were wrapped around my dick.” You immediately register what he’s asking for, automatically moving to get off of him and drop to your knees.

He stops you before you’re successful, hands on your hips, “Not right now, baby. Thank you, though. Such a good girl for me.”

You whine, “But I wanna…”

“I know, baby, but I don’t wanna cum yet. I have self-control, unlike somebody.”

Your face scrunches up in a bratty complaint, “I have self-control.” As you say this, David leans up and kisses at your jaw lightly, promising you as you push your hips down, “It’s okay that you don’t.”

“Just let me see it,” you beg, changing the subject, fingers in his hair.

“See what?”

You squirm in his hold, a blush rising on your face as you’re suddenly embarrassed. You reach down and try to touch him, David grabbing your wrist to stop you.

“Please, let me see it. I wanna see it.” You try to grind down against him, David putting his free hand on your waist and holding you in place in defiance.

“Come on, baby, say it. I know you can. What do you wanna see?”

“Just - just let me - let me see, David. I wanna see.”

“Say it. I won't know what to let you see if you don't tell me what it is.”

When you refuse again, he pulls back, leaning back against the couch with his hands behind his head. You groan, grabbing his shoulders.

“Daavidddddd!” He laughs and shakes his head.

“I’m not gonna touch you until you tell me what you want,” he insists.

“I just wanna see you,” you groan in frustration, moving to pull at the waistband of his boxers. David doesn’t comply, pushing your hands away and adjusting them before his fingers find the collar of his t-shirt, leaning forward and pulling it over his head.

It momentarily distracts you, David’s hands returning behind his head as you run your fingers over his chest. You lean down, Dave moving to hold your hair back as you begin leaving sloppy kisses across his shoulders and up his neck.

“Hey,” you say, chock full of courage, lips on his collarbone, “Let me see your dick, Davey. Please.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, hands moving from your hair to the front of his boxers, quietly pushing the clothing past his hips. He lifts them in the process, and you move off to the side as he takes himself into his hand.You immediately push his hand away, replacing his touch and dropping to your knees, placing yourself between his thighs.

“You don't have to, baby.”

“I want to,” you promise, eyes on his dick as you stroke him. You want to deepthroat him, beginning to lick and suck at the head, kissing up the underside of his dick and continuing the movements. David’s hands go to your hair, pushing it out of your face.

“Fuck,” he says, watching as you pull back a few inches and spit down his cock, hand working over him. You take him back in your mouth, David pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail, and you can easily recognize how badly he wants to push your head down but is too scared to. He leads your head gently, careful not to force your mouth down onto him.

You pull off once more, looking up at him, “David, you can face fuck me.”

“Can you take it?” His voice is taunting, yet genuinely concerned. You nod, opening your mouth and waiting for him to do something.

He grabs a hold of your hair again, pushing your head down slightly. You try to take more, opening your mouth wider, but he doesn’t allow it, pulling your head back up by your hair.

“No, that’s too much for you, baby,” Dave insists, pulling your head up slightly, mouth off of his dick. He gazes at the spit dripping from your lips before your fingers come and wipe it away, using it as lube as your hand replaces your mouth.

“I know how to suck dick, asshole. Do you even want me to?”

“Fine, Y/N,” he gives in exasperatedly, “I’ll face fuck you, but don’t talk a big game and then throw up on my dick.” You roll your eyes as he pushes your head down, still gentle as you open your throat for him.

“Oh, shit,” he exclaims as you take him deeper, gagging as he hits the back of your throat. David is being too timid for your liking; his grasp is too malleable - you could pull away at any time and he’d let you. Still, though, you persevere, forefingers wrapped around the base of his cock as your lips reach your fingertips. You hold yourself there, repeatedly swallowing around him and breathing through your nose, eyes closed.

“Oh my God, babybabybaby baby. Stop.” You look up at him, doe-eyed, and obey as he forcefully tugs you off of him. David loves the sound your throat makes as he leaves you, your body instantly coughing as you continue to spit down his dick, hand working slowly.

“Fucking give me a minute, Y/N,” David bitches, hands leaving your hair and pushing your touches away before running them through his hair, chest heaving slightly. “Jesus fucking Christ. I almost nutted right then. I need a second.”

“Where the hell did you learn that shit? When?” Dave pulls you back up to the couch, half-heartedly kissing down your neck as he tries to calm himself down.

You shrug in his hold, cocky, “I’ve never done it before.” David gapes slightly, muttering a soft what the fuck? and pulling you in, attaching your mouths. You shift in your seat, hands in each other’s hair as you wait for his breathing to slow. You move away from him, going to settle between his knees once more.

David’s hand forges a half-assed ponytail as you take his dick into your mouth once more, Dave finally taking the liberty of moving your mouth up and down on him.

You continue that way for a few minutes; the consistent exchange being a combination of him bucking his hips up and pushing your head down - until you gag one final time and he pulls your head up completely.

“Okay, enough of that, baby,” he sighs, blinking and rubbing at his eyes as he tries to calm himself down.

“Why?” you frown, reaching to grab him again but he pushes your hand back, shaking his head.

“You’re being too loud, I don’t wanna wake anyone up. And I’m seriously about to fucking bust.”

“Fine - are you gonna fuck me now?” you ask, running your hand up his leg. “Please.”

“You really want me to?”

You roll your eyes and begin to tell him yes, obviously, shithead but he cuts you off by pulling you back onto the couch by your hands and pushing you on your back. You’re taken aback by his sudden movements, looking at him as he shakes his head at you.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he warns in a low voice. You whine in response, grabbing his arms and pulling him on top of you, torsos rubbing together.

“Okay, I’ll fuck you, but you have to be quiet. Okay, baby?”

You nod quickly, but begin to whine again when he gets up from the couch, grabbing his wallet and pulling a condom out.

“Dave, I’m on the pill, you don’t even need that,” you try, but he ignores you, slipping it on anyways and moving back in between your legs, one hand resting on your knee.

He positions himself at your entrance, looking you in the eyes and whispering a be quiet before pushing in timidly. You gasp harshly and he quickly covers your mouth with his hand, shushing you and gently kissing you on the forehead.

“It’s okay,” he promises in a whisper, stilling for a moment to let you adjust. You whimper into his hand as he slowly attempts to push in more, only going about halfway before stopping again.

“I’m gonna stop there,” he mumbles under his breath, hips halting their movement.

“Nononono, David, all the way,” you beg, shaking your head and tightening your legs around his waist, trying to get him to go deeper. Dave pushes you back down by your waist in a defiant response.

“No, that’s enough, baby. You’re already overwhelmed.” As much as you hate it, you don’t fight him on it, because taking his dick proves to be a challenge for you.

“How are you so fucking tight? I don’t get it,” Dave questions, expecting no response, “Can you be quiet for me now, baby?” You nod in his hold.

David sets a slow, steady pace, removing his hand from your mouth at the agreement you would be as quiet as possible. He interlocks his hands with yours, holding them to the couch on either side of your head, thumbs rubbing comfortingly.

He starts moving a bit faster once he’s able to tell you’re comfortable, trailing wet kisses down your neck. Dave remains careful, not moving his hips too quickly for fear of the volume. It gets the job done.

“Fuck, Dave, holy shit.” You feel your eyes begin to water, tears slipping down the side of your face and into your hair. He presses his lips to yours again, removing a hand from yours and wiping your tears away. He had been frightened at first, but ultimately encouraged by your cursing and whimpers in his ear.

“Does it feel good? You like it, baby?” He asks huskily as you throw your head back, trying your best not to moan. Your free hand begins to dig your nails into his shoulder, moving to bite at the skin by his collarbone to keep yourself quiet.

“So - ohmygod - so fucking good, Dave. Keep going, please.”

He takes his free hand from your cheek and reaches between you, rubbing your clit. David doesn’t move his fingers too quickly, lightening his touch and working you in conjunction with his hips. It takes everything in you to not cry out, nipping repeatedly at the skin by his collarbone. You don’t understand how he isn’t bleeding yet, the flesh already turning from a pale white to a darkened purple. It hurts him, but it’s only encouragement for him and he needs to stay quiet; he groans softly between you as you continuously squeeze around him, pussy gripping his dick tightly.

“Are you gonna cum?”

You can’t get an answer out before you start to clench around him, mind going blank as you whimper.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “Baby, be quiet.” David slides his fingers into your mouth, muffling your noises.

You realize he still hadn’t finished, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his face closer, whispering encouragements into his ear as your fingers tangle into his hair.

“Cum, David, please, cum for me. I wanna be good for you, please cum - cum for me, Davey.”

His hips stutter and he groans, head dropping to your neck, slowing down before halting his movements entirely.

You lay like that for a few minutes, catching your breaths and looking into each other’s eyes. David lets out a breath.

“Nat can never find out about this.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sable Skirts (III)

First Night

Summary: Keris has an unwelcomed visitor.

Note/Warning: So this is a fic I’m reposting from ao3. It’s a dark!Thorin Oakenshield/OC fic. It’s very dark, like super. It includes violence, noncon, and overall a bad time. Please mind that warning. Let me know what you think (I’ll be posting a few a day until I catch up)

THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES VIOLENCE AND NON-CON. PLEASE BE CAREFUL!

This is dark!Thorin Oakenshield and explicit. 18+ only.

The knocking repeated and Keris could hear the faint shift of the heavy doors being pulled open. She listened through the closed door, staunch footsteps stomping across the foyer. Faintly, Dorina spoke in her sultry way, her dusky voice greeting the visitor. She had thought it to be late; Caina had suggested that all those who had been expected had already arrived.

A deep voice, familiar and resounding, startled her as it called out angrily. “Where is she?” The king boomed.

“Who?” Keris could guess Dorina’s following inquiry even as it was muffled through the wood.

“That little wench who was writing those damned treasonous lies.” Keris froze, leaning against the door.

“She’s just arrived, your majesty.” Dorina’s voice was closer, footsteps sounding at the  entrance of the corridor. “We just got her cleaned up--”

“I don’t care if you just painted her pink and purple,” He interjected, “Where is she?”

“She’s here, she’s here, just one moment while I get her.” Dorina’s voice gave an unusual quaver of fear.

Keris forced herself away from the door. She braced herself before she turned the knob and urged her slippered feet into the hallway. Dorina nearly collided with her as she exited, grabbing her by the wrists. “There you are, girl. Hiding like a little rat!”

“Let me go,” Keris tugged her arms away from the Mistress, “I can find my own way.”

“It’s that trite tongue that’s got the king so mad,” She hissed, “I’ve never seen him so incensed.”

“Likely because you only see him without his trousers,” Keris replied. She was practicing on Dorina, knowing the king to be a more formidable foe. She needed to find her wit before she met him. “Now, please. Since he is so intent upon my blood.”

Keris marched past Dorina who pressed herself to the wall, horrified at the insolence of her newest charge. She could see the king’s figure at the end of the hallway, pacing the stone floor of the front room. Her chest seized but she couldn’t show her fear. Truly, what worse could he do? Take her to the block? She was starting to think it the wiser choice.

She stepped into the light of the foyer, King Thorin stopped as he spotted her. His face wrinkled with confusion. Her face was hidden by the veil and he must have thought her another. Until the realization washed over him.. In an instant, his brow was lowered and he was charging towards her. His hand rose but paused, rescinding as he looked around himself. Dorina was watching from the corridor and several other dams were on chaises, with guests or various instruments, either for sewing or music.

He shook his head as if shedding an unseen mask. He swallowed and took a step back, looking down at the ghostly figure before him. Consideration narrowed his eyes and his pressed his lips together. He looked to Dorina as machination brewed within.

“Ahem, Mistress,” He called formally. His ire had slaked away and Dorina smiled as she neared, a sensual bow directed at the king, “Is there somewhere I may speak with your…” He exhaled as he thought, “White veil?”

“Yes, your majesty,” She answered eagerly, “Right this way.”

Dorina directed him to the east corridor, swaying her hips as she walked ahead of him. He motioned for Keris to precede him, which she did hesitantly. She could feel his eyes boring into her back. She could only imagine what he had in mind. Without his nephews and lords watching, he could beat her to his heart’s content. He could do it in front of his court if he so wished. She was after all, a criminal.

“The first white veil since your father’s reign, your majesty,” She said over her shoulder, “I understand her misdeeds but it is special indeed.”

“Unexpected, to say the least,” Thorin agreed but said nothing else.

Dorina stopped before a door, knocking before she opened it. She pulled a key from her corset, smiling at the king as she turned to him. “The room is yours.” He took it with a grunt and nudge Keris inside before slamming the door behind him. She turned in preparation for his assault but he merely watched her. His eyes didn’t leave her as he sat in the armchair, his air of regality never faltered.

“I was eagerly awaiting your turn at the block this evening when my Lord of the Chamber informed me of the change in plans. He, of course, is free to judicial license but I never expected this. Why, who would want to share a bed with a treasonous rat like yourself?” His voice was dangerous, “To tell it true, I came to drag you back to your cell. To bring the ax down myself.”  He paused in contemplation, rubbing his chin with his fingers for a moment. He tilted his head slyly. “Go on, take the veil off.”

It was Keris’ only shield, hiding the fear bubbling in her stomach. She slowly reached up and flipped the veil back, revealing her face as she stilled her nerves. She lowered her hand, wanting to bunch her skirts in her fingers but she held them straight at her side.

“You don’t look so bad without all that dirt,” He remarked with a snort, “Almost like a proper dam.” He stood and she fought not to flinch. He neared, his eyes never leaving her face. He reached up and took the ends of the veil in his fingers, tugging so that the headdress came off, letting it fall to the floor. “You don’t look like a mountain dwarrow.”

“My mother was of Erebor,” She snarled, “My father was Crowfoot.”

“Hmm, explains such a seditious heart,” He said as he took a shank of her hair in his hand, feeling the silky strands between his fingers. “But I thought a ‘ Crowsfool’ wench would be better learned in the sheets. At least I’ve heard they are. Never had the pleasure of taking one myself.” Keris bit her cheeks, wanting to raise a hand to the king but resisting the urge. If she hit him, she would surely be dead.  “Until now,” He let go of her hair and spun on his heel. He ripped open the door and called to Dorina onces more, “Five thousand gold for the white veil.”

“Five?” She peeked past him as Keris gulped. She felt the colour drain from her. She had been prepared to subject herself to an unloving buyer; she could close her eyes and wait for it to be over. Something about the king’s urgency and the anger which had driven him to the sable skirts had her terrified. He could do whatever he wanted and he surely didn’t need to pay coin to do so.

“Ten,” He said flatly, “She’s hardly worth all that.”

“She’s yours, your majesty. I shall leave you--”

“No, she comes with me,” He interrupted, “I prefer my chambers. Come, harlot.”

The king waved over his shoulder but Keris couldn’t move. He continued into the chamber, dropping the key into Dorina’s hand. The Mistress glared at her and crossed to pick up her veil, pulling it back over her face. She hissed another insult under her breath and forced Keris out the door. She knew she didn’t have a choice; this was what she had been dreading but it had turned out so much worse than she could have ever imagined. Perhaps he was going to kill her.

The great red doors were pulled open and he strutted into the corridor, turning to the silvercloak awaiting him. “Make her hurry up, will you? She is walking entirely too slow.”

The burly red-headed guard obeyed without question. He touched the hilt of his sword and grabbed her elbow. “Walk or I’ll give you reason to run.”

She did not dare look back. Leaving the den of sable skirts was hardly a big loss, though she faced a worse fate. She watched the king’s back as she followed him, scurrying to keep with the guard’s pace. It wasn’t until they stopped before a set of oak doors carved with the image of an immense dragon that she noticed how tightly she had balled her skirt in her hands or that she was trembling. She steeled herself, forcing her fingers apart as the doors opened.

The king led Keris inside, the guard shoving her through as she took pause. The door slowly closed behind her, locking her inside alone with Thorin. Her legs couldn’t hold her. They were going to collapse and she would be a puddle on the floor. She willed herself to stay upright, watching as the king headed for a door to her left. He grabbed the handle and looked over his shoulder; his eyes were on fire.

“Well,” He said, “Before I come over and drag you myself.”

Keris gulped and hurried towards him, glad the veil was back in place to hide her dread. He stood back to let her enter first. As she stepped into the next room, a stunning force knocked her off her feet and onto her knees. She barely caught herself before her head met with the stone. The king had smacked her rear so hard that she had tears in her eyes. She heard the door click shut and she was pulled up by the back of her dress.

“Get up,” He released her. She wanted badly to reached back and cradle her sore bottom. Instead she distanced herself from the king and turned so that he could not sneak up on her. “The wine’s in the case,” He pointed towards several glass shelves set into the stone wall. “Grab two glasses. You’ll be needing it.”

The subtle threat made her chest hollow. She gritted her teeth and focused on the wine, taking a bottle from the shelf and two silver goblets from the dozen or so below. The silver clinked as her hand involuntarily shook and she set them before Thorin carefully, placing the bottle beside them.

“Well, do you not know how to pour wine?”

She inhaled deeply and glared at him through her veil. Her hands balled into fists. She wanted badly to pour the bottle over his head. Better yet, to smash it on his skull. Leave him unconscious in his own wine. She grasped the neck of the bottle but did not move to lift it.

“If you’re going to glare at me, it’s best to lose the veil,” He chided, “And better for your aim if you do intend on trying to club me.”

She let out her breath in defeat, loosening her grip and uncorking the bottle. She poured silently, filling only one glass. Wine didn’t seem such a good idea. Maybe it would dull her senses and make it all more tolerable but her gut told her better of it. She set down the bottle and king lifted the glass. He looked at it as if admiring the sheen of the silver and placed it across from him before the other chair at the table. “Sit. Drink. And for Mahal’s sake,” He stood, grabbing her arm as he forced her to obey, “Take this off.”  He once more tore off her veil, tossing it into the hearth to burn. He pushed her down onto the chair and edged the goblet closer. “Drink before I pour it down your throat myself.” He sat once more and poured himself a cup.

Keris drank as she watched him over the rim. He seemed to take amusement from her discomfort.  “They say it hurts for a dam the first time,” He wiped away a droplet of wine from his lips as he spoke. “They bleed, too. I figure you’ll be wearing a red dress soon enough so I guess it would be appropriate.”  Keris couldn’t help but choke on her wine, sputtering as she covered her mouth with her hand. She kept most of it down, though her nostrils burned with alcohol. The king laughed and it stoked her anger. She looked into her glass, half the wine still there. Whatever she did, he was going to make her suffer. She may as well put up her best fight.

She threw out her arm, the wine splashing across the king’s face and down his chest. She stood as she readied for his reaction. He was stunned, silent, sitting as his eyes widened at her. His mouth curled dangerously and he put his palms flat on the table, pushing himself to his feet. He came towards her and she backed away, her skirts tangling between her legs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ TRIGGER WARNING

She dodged as he tried to grab her, pulling out her chair to place between them. Thorin ripped it from her grip and seized her by the throat. “You dumb wench,” He lifted her, a hand on her waist and slung her over his shoulder. “This didn’t have to go like this.”

He flipped her onto the bed. She turned over and began crawling to the other side. He caught her foot and dragged her back with one hand. She could hear him unbuckling his belt. She clawed at the covers but they merely gathered under her hands. She kicked her leg, failing to shed the king’s iron grasp. He turned her onto her back, pushing her skirts up as she struggled.

He climbed onto the the bed and she lashed out with her arms, scratching his cheek before he caught her wrists and pinned them over her head. She felt his other hand fumbling lower, her legs held apart between his. He was on top of her, his face just above her. She snapped up at him with her teeth and he pulled away. He released her arms to strike her across the face. She grunted, her head spinning from the force of the blow.

She weakly tried to push him away as she looked down to see what he was doing. She tried to sit up as he pulled his member from his pants and positioned himself before her entrance. He pushed her back down, holding her with his forearm across her chest as the tip of his cock pressed against her lips. She gripped his arm, unable to shift his weight from atop her, begging him to stop.

He looked at her, smirking at her pleas and pushed inside her. The pain radiated from within, up her spine and down her legs. She nearly screamed but stifled it to a sharp whimper. He thrust again and tears were in her eyes. She sniffed and forced them back. She couldn’t cry. She could scream and shout, but she wouldn’t cry in front of him.

Thorin continued to thrust, harder and harder. He removed his forearm, raising himself slightly as he worked against her furiously. His hands closed around her neck as he began to groan. He squeezed tighter and tighter as he buried himself deeper and deeper. Keris’ vision hazed as the pain came duller and duller. Her hands were on Thorin’s but she was too weak to close her fingers around them.

When she was about to pass out, he released her throat and gripped her hips. She was no longer struggling against him but for a breath of air. He rammed into her sharply and she yelped, warmth filling her as he slowed, removing himself from her with a satisfied sigh.

“Take that dress of,” He ordered as he bent to unlace his boots, “Now.”

Keris was shaking so bad she could barely move. She sat up and crawled to the end of the bed. She removed the one slipper remaining to her and slowly reached for her skirts, pulling them up and over her head. She was so weak she could barely think. She could only feel Thorin’s hand around her neck as if it was still there. Her throat burned and she coughed. As she dropped her dress to the floor, she saw the red which had stained the skirts. She reached down to touch herself, her hand coming away with a mixture of blood and another, paler fluid.

She tried to stand and her legs collapsed beneath her. She suddenly had the idea to run. She had stripped herself but it occurred to her to leave before he could do anything worse. Feebly, Keris dragged herself towards the door but made it barely a foot before she was pulled back by her hair. She was lifted by her scalp, exclaiming as Thorin tossed her back onto the bed. He was on her as quickly as before, straddling her as she looked up at him. She flung out with an errant fist and he caught it. She eyed his thick arms, his broad chest; he was much too strong for her.

“The pain is suppose to get better the more you do it,” He mused, reaching below himself to touch her, his finger slipping between her lips and finding her entrance. He pushed inside and wiggled around. “Let’s see if that’s true.”

He inserted another finger, thrusting in and out as she held her breath, pushing helplessly on his chest. He smacked away her hand as he tired of toying with her and once more lined himself up, thrusting into her so hard she swore. She dug her nails into his arms as he cupped her breasts trying to make him stop. He merely chuckled and continued, relishing in her resistance.

“Don’t worry,” He grunted as he leaned closer, “I like it when you fight.”

[lenfaz]

Sea Squad, ch. 1 (1/14)

Summary:  Killian Jones has always managed tough spots in his con life... but never like this one. His brother is out of jail and convinced the only way to win his name back is to heist the casino of a major Vegas mogul, leaving Killian to do the planning. He now has to deal with a half-brother desperate to gain a name of his own, an ex-fling that carries her own torch against the casino mogul, his brother losing his mind over his ex-wife,  his former mentor's depression and the one woman he can't get out of his mind giving him chase. Ocean's Eleven AU

Rating: M

Content warnings: semi-explicit sexual content, law-breaking (they are thieves, liars and con men), mild violence (someone will get punched), mention of former relationships (for the main pair) and cheating (but not for the main pair)

Banner  (link to banner post) and art by the amazing @clockadile Go check her art tag for the fic here!

This fic would never exist without the wonderful @sambethe who convinced me to do over hot chocolate on one cold Chicago afternoon and virtually held my hand and betaed this fic for months. thank you SO much for everything you do.

A/N: A long time ago there was talk about Hook & his sea friends and a few collective posts shaped the idea of a Sea Squad. This fic is the attempt to bring that creativity to life. Tagging @queen-mabs-revenge   @thesschesthair   and @jvosketches as they were part of that initial thinking back in the day. If a few things sound familiar, it’s because they are based on the movie.

Link to  FFnet & AO3

Chapter 1

“Court Case #358765”

Three men sat behind a table, a manila folder lay open on it as they passed the sheets of paper that made up his file between themselves. They seemed to be taking their sweet ass time, reading thoroughly through each of the pages as if he were not sitting there, waiting for his life to change based on their decision.

Part of him wanted to huff in impatience, but he knew he shouldn’t. He had to be on his best behavior, as he’d been all this time. If this didn’t come through, it would be a long while before he got another chance at this. He’d endured so much without losing his temper, he just needed to hold on a little bit more. Just a little more and he’d be out of this godawful place and back to where he needed to be.

“Mr. Jones, this meeting is to determine whether or not you’re likely to break the law again if you’re released on parole. While we have your records of good behavior here and note this is your first convicted offense, your records indicate that there is reason to believe you’ve taken part in other fraud schemes. What do you have to say for yourself?”

His lips curved in a smug smirk. “I would say that allegedly I’ve taken part in other schemes. There has been no proof or conviction, darli- ma’am”. He caught himself at the very last moment and forced himself to lose the smirk and put on a sheepish smile. He needed these people on his side. He needed them to believe him.

He cleared his throat, lowering his head a little before he faced the panel again, a self-deprecating smile coming to his face. “I know you’re wondering why I did the things I got convicted for. I trusted the wrong people. I thought I was walking into an honest deal and I found myself in the middle of a crime I hadn’t meant and didn’t want to commit. Everything spiraled downhill from there - my wife left me, I had ended up in a dark place. The first few weeks in prison were not easy. But I’m doing better now and I want to redeem myself. I want to do better, get my life back on track, see my brother.”

He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, trying very hard to build a momentum. “I - I want-” his voice faltered and he cleared his throat, tilting his head to the side in a lopsided smile. “I want to do the right thing.” He delivered the words with solemnity, as if he were taking a vow for a life commitment… he could only hope they’d buy it.

They did.

A few hours later, he stood in front of a mirror, tugging his cuffs and adjusting his shoulders. He felt as if the suit was bringing him back to the man he once was. The small gold band sitting in his jacket pocket felt inordinately heavy though, and he took a beat to look at his reflection in the mirror. His chin was now covered in scruff that he’d taken to grooming only every few days, and his brown hair seemed darker now and was clearly in need of a trim as it curled at the ends. But his money-making smile was still there, and his blue eyes still were able to pull the earnest puppy stare that had brought him so many good moments in his life.

With a deep breath, he pulled the ring out of his pocket and slid it on his finger, where it belonged. It has always belonged there, and he had every intention of keeping it that way. Turning around, he knocked on the wall and then slipped his hands into his pockets.

A guard came down and escorted him to the exit, his steps dragging next to him. He faced him before opening the final door between him and freedom.

“Ready for your new life, Mr. Jones?”

“I’m ready.”

Stepping out of the minimum security correctional facility, he vowed to himself that he’d never come back. They caught him once, shame on the ones that had betrayed him. If they caught him twice, it would be a shame on him. And he’d make damn sure that would never happen. He had plans for his life, and they didn’t involve another stint in jail.

Liam Jones was going to get back what belonged to him.

And a few other things that didn’t.

/-/

There was always comfort in the little details. Standing in the middle of one of the many casino’s main floor in the city, he took a moment to close his eyes, take a deep breath, and let it all sink in. The buzz of hundreds of whispered conversations, the clang of the coins pouring from the slot machines, the roll of the dice against felt, the distinct sound of the ball skipping along the roulette wheel. They each came together in a perfect cacophony. Combine them with the smell of liquor, cheap perfume, sweat, and cigarette smoke that not even smoking restriction laws had been able to completely eradicate, it produced an ambience that Liam loved like the second home it was to him.

Opening his eyes, Liam scanned the room trying to find what he was looking for. He couldn’t find it, but it was ok… he could kill some time at one of the tables and let the story unravel itself. He was sure that if he didn’t find her, she will find him.

He sat at one of the tables, reaching into his pocket to pull a couple of crumpled hundred-dollar bills. He had beaten a poor fool at pool in one of the pit stops on his journey to Atlantic City, getting himself a few hundred bills that he now needed to put to work if he wanted to have some sort of steady petty cash to support him for the next few weeks.

His fingers traced a pattern on the felt and the feel of the soft texture under his fingertips send shivers down his spine. He was home. Or as closer to home as he’d ever been. He tilted his head, letting a lazy smile coming to his lips as he looked at the croupier calling for the bets. He tossed a few chips and waited.

The croupier smiled to the table - that flirty I’m on your side half hidden smile that had naives fooled - and she started to deal the hand.

Liam’s mind woke up, sharpening with each whir of cards shuffling and being dealt on the felt. His eyes zeroed in on the table, his brain analyzing every bit of information about the game, every possibility and most likely outcomes. Like breathing, his mind drifted over different tactics and he made his move.

Nineteen. The house pulled eighteen.  Win.

Fourteen. The house ran over.  Win.

He put all his wins on the next bet. Black Jack.

Bloody hell, it was good to be back.

It wasn’t long until a second dealer showed up, a pit boss circling nearby like a vulture waiting for its prey. The new dealer smiled, arranging her hair to the side and showing up her cufflinks to the table before speaking. There was only a hint of nerves on her voice, but Liam could feel it. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tina and I’ll be dealing for you.” Her eyes darted quickly in Liam’s direction, a warning hint passing fleetingly before she was back to her professional self.

Liam played with the chips, dropping them one by one on the felt as everyone else on the table made their bets. It was only him left.

“Sir, in or out?” Tina called, an eyebrow rising slightly at him.

Liam tilted his head and made tsk sound with the corner of his mouth. “Out. The table is cold anyway.” He flipped a chip with his thumb and the croupier caught it, a smile gracing her lips.

“You might want to try the lounge at the Olympus. I heard it gets interesting around one.”

Liam smiled as he stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. “I’ll be sure to check it out, thank you for the tip.”

At precisely one clock, he was nursing his glass of straight Macallan when he felt someone sitting next to him.

He smiled and tilted his head as he took a sip of his whiskey. “Fancy meeting you here, Tina.”

The woman next to him gave him a feline smile, her hand signaling to the bartender. “Ursula Mount couldn’t pass a gaming board. Tina Matthews definitely can.” She nodded to the bartender that placed her drink in front of her and took a sip before her eyes focused on him. “When did you get out?”

“This morning.”

“I see that you’ve come out a new man and all that,” Ursula offered sarcastically, her eyes drifting to the drink in Liam’s hand and his whereabouts.

Liam shrugged nonchalantly and tapped a finger on the newspaper that laid open next to him. “Just having one drink and catching up with current events.”

“I can save you some time on that: Gold tore down the Nautilus.” There was a hint of regret and sadness in Ursula’s voice, her eyes also dimming as she spoke the words.

Liam’s own eyes reflected that sadness, his head lowering down and he ran a hand through his hair. “How’s Nemo doing?”

“As bad as expected, an even a little worse. Dad called him, tried to get him to come here for a few weeks, but it was a futile attempt. I wouldn’t blame the man, as Dad is going through his own set of past-midlife crisis.”

“Is he?” Liam asked concerned. Things were not looking up for him with this news.

“He retired.” Ursula shivered as if the words were harming her. “Spends most of his time at the horse’s race, eating walnuts and claiming he’s going to buy a condo in Boca next year.”

Liam pondered her words. “That’s bad.”

“That’s beneath him… but he doesn’t seem to care anymore.” Ursula gulped down the rest of her drink and order another. “But I don't’ blame him. The business has changed for us. Too much technology at the ready, too many variables to control. Tangible assets are hard to find unless you want to start embezzling regular people out of their hidden savings.”

Liam shivered in disgust. “That’s just plain bad form.”

“I know… but banks are highly protected and even if you can get there, it’s all electronics any way. Other than the Federal Reserve… what’s left?”

“Casinos.”

Liam waited for two beats before he locked his eyes to Ursula’s. Her eyes had widened in surprise before she gave him a mischievous smile. “What are you up to, Liam Jones?”

He feigned offense. “Me? Nothing. I’m just a man who’s been given a second chance and intends to be a law-abiding citizen.” He cocked an eyebrow at her and Ursula, catching his meaning, quickly nodded.

Good. One done, more to go.

“All I care about at this moment is to reunite with my beloved family.” Liam played with the edge of his glass. “Do you know where he is?”

“Last I heard, he was down in L.A., teaching celebrities how to play cards.”

“You’re bloody kidding me,” Liam blurted out without being able to hide his contempt.

Ursula sighed and her eyes dimmed again. “He all but disappeared, and has made himself hard to keep track of. After Tuscany, he seemed to have lost his edge. And then you got caught and it seems he only went downhill from there. Without you, he’s been lost, Liam.”

It seems everyone - his friends, his mentor, his own brother -  and everything had fallen apart while he was sporting orange suits and mopping floors.

“Well, good luck I’m finally here to make you all find yourselves again.” He placed a few notes on the counter and stood. “I better get to work then.”

“Heading to L.A.?”

Liam nodded. “Right after I call my parole officer and promise not to leave the state.”

Ursula shook her head, a smile coming to her lips. “I’ll see you again, soon.”

Liam took her hand and kissed it. “I’ll send word.”

He turned around and left the bar.

Hang on, little brother. I’m on my way.

/-/

This could not be his life.

That was the mantra Killian Jones kept repeating to himself, his fingers working over the knots and numbness licking across the scar that wound along his left wrist and forearm. He massaged along the lines of the tattoo that covered the worst of it, but there was still some scarring visible.

Sweat slicked down his skin, pooling at his throat and along his brow. The heat and the humidity here were going to kill him. That was not an exaggeration, no matter what Liam might have said about him having a penchant towards the dramatic. His shirt was sticking to his skin, causing an itch to ghost at his neck and the small of his back. It was enough to make him want to book the first plane out of town. It didn’t exactly matter where, as long as it led to a chillier location where at least a thick sweater and a leather jacket would be needed to be near the ocean.

But he reminded himself that none of that mattered now.

Taking a deep breath that probably qualified as more of a sigh, he crossed the posh bar - with its dim lights, black lacquered furniture and chromed steeled decoration -, making his way into the back VIP room. He stretched his head to the side, straining the muscles of his neck as he took a seat at the round table. Five up-and-coming Hollywood celebrities sat around it, each of them smiling as they waited eagerly for his lessons on how to play poker magnificently.

Killian would be lucky if they remembered to deal to the correct side and how many cards made a hand by the end of the night.

“Alright lads and lasses, let the game begin.” He smirked at the table, his eyes scanning each of them as he dealt the first hand. One of the women - Katie? Zoey? They all look the same to him these days and none of them seemed worth the effort - batted her eyelashes at him.  She played coyly with her hair, curling a strand around her fingers as she leaned towards him, her eyes hooded and her voice laced with intent as she bent over the table and asks for the tenth time that night if he felt himself lucky.

Not a chance, lass.

For the next forty minutes, Killian tried - and failed - to teach any of these bloody buffoons the basics of poker. It was as if they couldn’t retain even the simplest of information or even attempt the most basic calculations. It was a miracle their agents hadn’t embezzled any of what they’ve made, and Killian was seriously considering a massive scheme of his own on them when they collectively decided it was time for a break and ordered a round of martinis.

Kale Martinis.

What hell had he entered when he agreed to this?

Unable to get away fast enough, he made his way to the bar on the main floor where he ordered a glass of rum with two ice cubes, swallowed it back in one gulp, and asked the bartender to refill the glass with a wave of his hand. He took a moment to hold the drink to his temple, willing it to soothe away the pounding headache that was forming above his right eye. He really needed to walk away from this dreadful existence. He lifted his eyes to the stage across the room, but not even the sight of the dancers, their sculpted legs, tight abs, and bright smiles, made him feel anything at all. He was numb. Everything in his life staking up as one dull moment after another, all blurring together with the flashing lights of the endless row of nightclubs and the stale smell of private poker games.

He needed out. He just didn’t know how.

The walk back to the VIP room felt like walking towards the gallows, his feet leaden, each step a monumental effort to take. His head hurt, his scars itched under his tattoo, and he simply didn’t want to be there. The voices within drifted through the open door, and he realized he must have been more tired than he thought because he was clearly hearing things. There was no possible way someone else would have joined the table. But when he finally entered the room, the sight before him made him freeze in place.

Liam.

It couldn’t be. Killian blinked - slowly, deliberately - just to be sure. But Liam was still sitting there when he finished, perched on a chair he’d pulled up to the end of the table, the smirk resting on his lips in only the way his older brother could do.

Bloody fucking hell.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Killian swaggered to the table. “I see we have company.”

“Oh, yes.” Tyler pointed to the ‘stranger,’ showing his cards to the table in the process. Killian shook his head in defeat.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Liam drawled. “I was told it was ok if I joined.”

His brother was up to something, and it only took Killian a second to catch up. “Not at all.” He reached for the deck of cards and leaned back, cutting and shuffling it with one hand in one swift move. He cocked an eyebrow at Liam. “It’d be good to have some competition.”

He dealt the cards and took a quick look at his hand. Two beats later, Liam made his initial bet of five hundred.

“Now, lads, remember rule number one of poker.” He looked around at the table, only to find all of his students looking blankly at him.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. He was done with this shit.

“Leave emotion at the door. The game should never be personal.”

“Your teacher here has a point.” Liam countered, tilting his head and giving the table his trademark smirk. He could see Katie/Zoey and Lili instinctively leaning closer to him, causing Killian to have to reign in the laugh that threatened to burst past his lips. “Neither should be pulling a job for the wrong reasons.”

He had him there, and Killian could only nod in turn. “Now… if I were to read this table at the moment, I would tell you that our friend here is diverting the attention. He made a big bet and now is sitting there waiting for you to call it. The question is… is he bluffing? A bet this strong in the beginning makes me think he is.”

“Maybe you should call it and see.” Liam’s soft voice carried a challenge that could not be denied.

Oh, his brother had always been good.

Killian called and the rest went in turn, some of them following his lead but a couple took the bait and raised the bet. At one point, Liam had to make KJ fold - even they couldn’t let someone who needed to change out four cards continue betting, there was such a thing as good form after all - and then raised the bet one more time. Heavily.

“Now,” Killian continued, “he could have a very good hand. Or he could be trying to buy his way out of his initial bluff.” He cupped his cards and tapped the bottom of them against the table. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but let me tell you something my older brother once told me: A man not willing to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.”

Liam raised an eyebrow at him. “Your brother is a wise man.”

“More like a self-righteous wanker,” Killian retorted. “But he’s family.”

He didn’t miss the way Liam’s eyes flashed before the action at the table broke the moment. Soon the pot was in the tens of thousands and everyone showed their cards.

Liam was the last. He seemed to fidget for a second before fanning his hand out across the table.

Four nines and an ace.

Killian grinned. Damn, brother, it’s good to have you back.

The game ended, the budding celebrity dilettantes exiting quickly out of the VIP room to take selfies, update their Instagram status, and work their social media footprint. Killian’s glare was enough to put off any requests for him to join in the pictures they wanted to post. After a few more handshakes and a promise that he’d let them know when the next game would take place, Killian finally left the club via the back exit. He didn’t want any more attention on himself. Craning his neck to the side and letting the tension lift from his shoulders, he searched the surrounding area until he found what he was looking for.

Liam was standing a few yards away, his hands in his pockets, artfully leaning against the stucco wall of the building across the way. Killian slipped over to stand beside him. Without even a sideways glance, Liam took his hand out of his pocket and handed him a stack of bills. His cut for tonight’s job.

“Teaching poker to celebrities? Really, little brother? How low have you fallen…” The humor in Liam’s voice almost brought tears to Killian’s eyes. He’d missed him so much, and it had been hell to stay away while he was in the joint. Liam had been adamant, though, that he didn’t want visitors. Not even Killian.

“I’m bored, Liam,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I know you are and I have just the thing to snap you out of your funk.” Liam clasped his hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get out of here and I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Coffee,” Killian amended and chuckled at his brother’s raised eyebrow. “I assume I’ll want all my wits about me for whatever it is you’re about to tell me.”

“Probably.”

/-/

Killian sat across from his brother, the two of them occupying a hidden booth in the corner of a deserted dinner while he waited as patiently as he could for Liam to tell him the plan. But after a few minutes, it seemed his brother was still pondering how to start.

“Just bloody tell me, Liam.”

Liam sighed and ran his hand through his hair and Killian smiled at just how much he had missed watching that trademark Jones move. “It’s tricky and it would require a large crew that I need your help gathering together.”

“Of course you do.” Killian shrugged, as he leaned back and played with his saucer, rotating it on the plate with one finger. “I’m the charmer.”

“And I’m the brains.”

“I wouldn’t do that far, but let’s say you’re a tiny bit better than me at planning the big picture.” He held up his hand, holding his thumb and forefinger together. But only just a tad.” He wasn’t cowered by Liam’s glare. His brother could take the hit. “What’s the target?”

“Been to Vegas lately?”

Killian’s smile dropped. Surely Liam didn’t mean…. “You want to hit a casino.”

Liam shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee. “Not one. Three.”

Killian choked. “Are you out of your mind? We can’t take on three casinos.”

“Yes, we can, little brother. And we will.”

Liam pulled a folded-up piece of paper from his jacket and spread it open on the table. Killian leaned over to take a look. It was a floorplan. Killian studied it with the keen eye he was known for in the business.

“If I’m reading this right - and you know I am - this is the least accessible vault I’ve ever seen.” Killian’s fingers traced the floorplan, his mind scanning all the possible ways to bypass the security measures. “And this is only one casino.”

Liam pointed out two main ways in on the blueprint. “These two feed into the cages of The Gold and The Dagger. Every single dollar ends up in this vault. The vault of The Baelfire.”  

“The Baelfire, The Gold and The Dagger.” Realization dawned on Killian. Bloody hell. “Liam these are Gold’s casinos.” Leave it to his brother to go this route.

“It’s about time we hit him, don’t you think?”

Yes, beyond time as far as Killian was concerned, but he wasn’t convinced it was the best idea at this juncture. But a part of him couldn’t help himself, already jumping into planning mode and seeing the picture unfold in front of his eyes.

“How many people do you think we need? Seven or eight?”

“Hell, no. We need at least ten. And we need a variety of things happening at the same time.”

Liam crossed his arms over his chest.  “A Boesky.”

Killian mirrored his brother’s stance and tilted his head as he saw it all play in front of him. “A Jim Brown, two Jethros.”

Liam seemed to be envisioning the same picture he was. “A Miss Daisy and a Leon Spinks.”

“And the biggest Ella Fitzgerald in the bloody history of cons.” Killian sighed. “Unless you tell me you met a rich widow via letter while in jail, we don’t have the start-up capital to back this.”

“We don’t… but you and I know someone who would love to help us fuck Gold over.” There was something somber in Liam’s voice and Killian knew he had to address that eventually, but his mind was already going to the same place Liam was trying to steer him to.

“Nemo.”

It made sense that their former mentor would want to be part of this. Gold had managed to get Nemo out of the business, and tore down his beloved casino, The Nautilus, once he had. Nemo had spiraled down into depression ever since and not even Killian’s outrageous tales of the teen celebrities he was teaching were able to bring a smile to the man’s face. Maybe this was a step in the right direction.

But Killian still needed more. Something was not adding up. “I need a reason, Liam.”

His brother shrugged. “Eight figures each. That should be reason enough.”

No, it wasn’t. Not if they were going to risk so much. “Come on, Liam. Don’t tell me this is about the money. You and I can play safer schemes and make decent money. Probably not eight figures, but enough to grant us a good life.” His eyes bored into his brother’s. “Tell me why.”

Something dark flickered in Liam’s eyes and Killian had a keen sense of the man his brother had to become while surviving in jail. “Because I walked out of prison after losing two years of my life. Because you’ve gone adrift and it has gotten so bad that you’re teaching the latest TMZ headliners how to play cards. And you’re not even succeeding. Because it’s time we make Gold pay… and we hit him where it will hurt.” He paused. “Because no one messes with the Brothers Jones.”

Silence. One beat, two, and then three.

“Did I rush it?” Liam asked, his voice hesitant.

“No, it was a good speech. You were always good at motivational speeches.”

“What do you say, Killian? Shall we do this?”

Killian smirked. “Let’s go talk to Nemo.”

[sanoiro]

Lucifer 3x24 - S3 Finale -  Meta: An Ending in Three Acts

*This was written after 3x24 and it prepares the path I’ll walk on for the S4 meta this week.” 

Each post will have a *Keep Reading* feature to protect you from S4 spoilers. 

As a short intro, I would like to say that I’m exhausted so I really hope the following meta makes sense. 3x24 was a very packed episode and no doubt I’ll probably come back one day once more to add something to my impression over certain scenes. But for today that’s what I have and it’s quite a lot. 

Mistakes have been made but this time I’ll not apologise for them. As you all know we are in a constant state of shock since the Cancellation. Many of us feel drained but refuse to give up and we will not give up. Still, that does not alter the fact that some of us, myself included, pushed themselves further than they are comfortable or willing in order to get out out the battlefield and fight. We will be back there on Monday to support the standalones and the #SaveLucifer campaign! 

Now do know this. The campaign caused some deep wounds that will leave some magnificent scars behind. We still bleed occasionally but we do not give up and so we begin...

Act 1: Dan And The Full Circle

This is not the last meta as we have two more episodes coming but it is a meta where the plot progress is concerned. 

So was this a good season overall? I believe so yes, although we had many plot holes which although I’ll not list I suppose they could have been handled a bit more masterfully for my taste. 

There are many different places to begin this post but I would like to start with Dan. 

Dan had an interesting character growth since S1. The problem though is that as I have said before, in S3 everyone came to terms with their identity and Dan was one of them. When Marcus’ hitman was caught and the team tries to extract his boss’ whereabouts, we see that Dan has come to a conclusion similar to the one Lucifer has. 

Marcus in 3x02 said that Lucifer was impulsive and an idiot. To a point he was correct. When Marcus met Dan, as the man himself laments. Marcus called him a corrupt cop. It takes one to see one I guess. In that scene, we realise that Dan will probably never go to Hell. Dan carries no guilt over the Palmetto case and certainly none over letting the Russian Mob find and kill Chloe’s father murderer… 

At that moment we see Dan accepting his faults but also we get a glimpse of his future and that he will probably see Charlotte one day. That’s good news I guess but the final flip of the coin as we saw at the end of the episode and S3 finale is as to where the coin will land not where it is currently positioned on the air. Why? Because even at the last moment there is a possibility of ending up either in Heaven or Hell is still not set in stone.

DB said that 3x24 brings us into a full cycle and he was correct. 

First, see the parallel between the end of S2 and S3 where Linda and Maze are concerned or the fact that Charlotte is free like Mum is free… Lucifer becomes the believer while Ella doubts her faith in him while she does make a leap of faith… Everyone's world is changing and they do realise that their identities are very fluid and they do need to come to terms with that. 

Finally, we can also see is that Lucifer is wearing a similar clothing arrangement with the second episode of S1 not to mention the “I don’t want to die” being uttered from Chloe at the end of the episode (See the Pilot). 

Act 2: Chloe and The Truth

In this episode, we don’t have the time to process fully whatever it was said in 3x23 but Eglisson makes an amazing job with the close-ups in 3x24. It’s almost the same way they were used in the Pilot.  At the alley, we have one of the most important scenes of the episode. 

As you remember in 2x18, Chloe said to Lucifer that although he tells the truth he doesn’t say the whole truth which for S2 standards is correct mainly because Lucifer was avoiding to reveal her everything concerning Mum, her miracle status and why he was avoiding her romantically. Now in S3 Chloe makes a different statement. No more metaphors. 

Metaphors are not just something that is not literal. Metaphors in Greek means “to be moved”. Meaning they are transferable in a way. At that alley, Chloe tells Lucifer that she does realise that the metaphors are real for him and the blame falls also to her as she encouraged him to carry on with them for so long. Again Chloe has unknowingly noticed what Lucifer has gone through in the entire S3. Lucifer’s conviction about his wings, the bad and evil in the world, his Devil face and finally his very identity. 

His Devil face during his discussion with Marcus is revealed to be a metaphor - A transference- of his emotional state to his body. Perhaps the writers decided here to play with the psychosomatic effect of an emotional state. 

In my fanfiction story Alis Grave Nil that’s how it is played out. -Shameless of me I know...- 

“Why do you like hide and seek so much?” She castigated puckering her lips in displeasure. 

Putting her whole weight on his belt, Lucifer had no choice but to scout at her level if he wanted to retain whatever was left of his dignity.

Mourning the loss of Chloe’s touch, he was startled when two hands touched his mottled and streaked scalp. The child’s was demanding in her attempt to scrub away his millennia-old appearance.

The Devil Face in that story is a self-inflicted punishment that Lucifer forced unknowingly on himself as he felt guilty after his Fall due the loss of his best friend. It is later discussed how Lucifer is playing games with his Devil face and that putting a facade to hide the fear, agony and pain is not a solution and so it washes away under Trixie’s touch. But back to the episode! 

The close-ups in the Alley scene are also important. We rarely had any of those in S3 and Egilsson is not usually playing with them. Egilsson has directed the episodes:

1x08 - At Tu Doctor? 2x06 - Monster  3x04 - What Would Lucifer Do? 3x16 - Infernal Guinea Pig 3x24 - A Devil of My Word

I believe you now have a better idea of his work. 

No the close-ups in 3x23, they highlight the identity under the words and what we try to be. They give out Chloe’s honesty and Lucifer’s acceptance before the ending robs him of the peace he had found through Chloe’s trust and acceptance. 

Now cue back at 2x01. Do you remember the “I need the Eggs” joke at the end of the S2 first episode? I had written a beautiful - yes, I’m really proud about that meta piece-  meta which you can find in my blog and at the Alley we also see a hint of that joke coming back but with a twist. 

Chloe is no longer concerned about the eggs but is now more worried about the fact that the man is acting like a chicken. The eggs in that interpretation is the love and she is willing to jeopardise that in order to save the man she loves.  Perhaps she feels guilty as she says that she encouraged him with his Devil talk in order to get his partnership and be around him. At that point, she is willing to sacrifice a lot but she tries to find the answers by helping him. 

She does love him as he is but for Chloe Lucifer being honest with her is important so she tries to penetrate what she believes to be a false identity because she can no longer entertain the absurd thought of everything being actually real. 

It’s that 1% she wants to get rid from the back of her head and so she wants the man… Problem is that when all is revealed she has to deal with the 1% occupying more of Lucifer than she ever thought possible. 

The next scene is, of course, the one occurring in the circular room. We all have recognized the phrase “I don’t want to die” from the Pilot. It was delivered in the same way but this time Chloe is protecting Lucifer. Her next lines are cutting deeper than we think possible but most have brushed them away for the favour of the big finale. 

“I can’t. Not without stopping you.” 

This line was delivered not because Marcus was Sinnerman or because he had murdered Charlotte but because he had made clear that killing Lucifer was what he intended to do. So Chloe shields Lucifer. 

In 1x12 Chloe believed that Lucifer was a killer and still she hesitated. She fidgets and cries out when the newbie cop fires. Lucifer was correct. Chloe never loved Marcus, never cared enough in order to hesitate shooting him. 

In 3x23 Chloe was prepared to die for Lucifer. In my speculation, I had said that Chloe dying at the finale even for a little while, was vital in order for us to see how far she could go for Lucifer. Now we have seen it. Also in a way, we all believed she had been hit and was dying or was dead. That is the nature of supernatural series though that we know our leads will never die… At least not for a long-long time! 

I’ll dedicate more time into what happened next at that scene in the 3rd Act of this meta so let’s skip everything and go to the roof. 

The way Lucifer and Chloe are shown gets us back to the Pilot. The way that the camera is focusing on Chloe and then she wakes up and her vision unblurs on Lucifer looking at her in the hospital while he welcomes her back, gets us back to the very first episode of the series. Once again he has saved her and once again she was faced with the truth but does not remember it or in the case of 3x24 has not actually witnessed it. 

The most encouraging thing though is that Chloe does not run. Even with the possibility of the truth being well… The Truth! She goes back to a place rimmed with bullets in order to find Lucifer. Perhaps it shows how deep her emotions run about him to the point that she will risk everything to go back and protect Lucifer once again. 

The Devil or not Chloe did go back to save him because his life worths more than the realization who she was partnered with or that she loves the Devil. That instinct to see if the person she loved is well, personally fills me with hope. Sooner or later Chloe would have come into terms and fought beside Lucifer for L.A., The World and their rather unique relationship…

Yet… Does she step backwards? Yes, she does. 

Remember her reaction in 2x01 when Amenadiel shot himself and Chloe was almost faced with the possibility of Lucifer being the actual Devil? 

Yeah… She had stepped backwards then as well. But what we do know is that no matter what, Chloe even if she runs away physically or emotionally from Lucifer after 3x24, according to Henderson and Ildy she continued to work with him and tried at the same time to deal with two things. Working once again with Lucifer while knowing the truth and second that she was in love with a man who didn’t claim but was the actual Devil. 

Fingers Crossed we will see that in S4 that I have faith will be coming our way in 2019. 

Act 3: Lucifer - The Scars Run Deep & Still Hurt.

In this episode, we see a different Lucifer and Ellis plays the character on so many different levels.

First comes the murder’s crime scene to which Lucifer says that he will never see Charlotte again. It is a parallel with how Amenadiel will never see Mum again but it also gets us on two places where we weren’t expecting Lucifer to be in 3x24. They are not out of place but they are very important to the character development.

First of all, for the first time, Lucifer mourns the fact that he will never be at the Silver City again. This is a foreshadowing of the very finale. Lucifer still does not believe he is worthy although during the episode he does shift towards his more angelic qualities for once in the whole series. The problem here is not that he misses home but he fully acknowledges that immortality does make him lose people forever as for some weird reason he befriends the ones who end up in Heaven. Show me your friends and I’ll tell you who you are and the Devil is apparently a good guy...

The second level here is Chloe. Lucifer is fully aware that Chloe will leave him one day but he does not run away from the possible pain her mortality will eventually cause him. But Lucifer has come somewhat to terms with that. Remember his comment in 3x06, “Detective you just focus on getting older” before the elevator’s doors close and he goes with Ella to Vegas?

The above is one of the contrast we see with Marcus. Marcus believes he will go to Heaven and even then he chickens out. He claims to love Chloe but avoids her eventually in order to get his immortality back along with trying to kill Amenadiel. Lucifer is fully aware that Hell is waiting for him and that now he can be trapped behind a Door for all eternity and still endangers himself.

What I loved most at the Griffith Park scene was Chloe’s reassurance that she is there for him only for Lucifer to make almost a vow that he will also have her back as well. It is no accident that Lucifer asks how Dan is right afterwards. He has experienced the possibility of losing Chloe and has a very good idea what his favourite Douche is going through. Therefore yes, I truly enjoyed the 2x13 and 2x14 Easter Egg undertones of how the roles have been reversed.

Now what made me laugh was how the Easter Bunny became oh so real for Chloe to the point she hissed at Lucifer “I almost married him! Why didn’t you say anything!?”

Next comes Lucifer’s admission that Marcus wanting or actually attempting to kill Amenadiel infuriates him. We do know that Lucifer loves his brother very much but also that if Amenadiel had been shot and died as a mortal he would most probably have been back home although Amendiel always had some guilt issues so then again it was a gamble. A toss of a coin...

During his discussion with Marcus, Lucifer opens up more about the rebellion and the aftermath than he has ever done before. It’s actually of the four key moments for Lucifer in this episode. This is the second.

Lucifer says that everyone hated him, himself included. He felt like a monster but as we know that was not because of the rebellion. In 3x11 he does admit that he tried to be redeemed in a way by peacefully staying in Hell for very long periods of time when he didn’t get to Earth and shagged women and men alike that is.

Lucifer felt like a monster because he could not see any worth in himself. He was not a victor and had also Fallen out of grace. He had no one to tell him he worth something and through time he externalized his self-hate as himself admitted. 

Going a step further we can assume that the Devil-face was Lucifer’s own personal Hell-loop. One he came to live with and eventually accept and love in a very morbid way. His guilt and pain manifested in his reflection and as we saw at the end it never ended for him because he always returned to square one. Hence the loop. In S3 he had opened the door and then closed it again. In S3 we saw Lucifer have his eyes gleaming red 2 times. When he threatened Ella’s brother and then in 3x20. The answer is rather simple now I guess. 

You cannot escape what you have done and no action will ever justify your past or future actions. So it’s up to you to open your door and Lucifer in 3x24 just trapped himself once again behind one. His Devil face. 

What interests me more though is how does Lucifer believe he became a monster… Was it only his lack of self-worth? Perhaps it was because he was different and he could feel that so he also became something different as well. 

Lucifer was always an emotionally raw being and so his image mimicked him. His pain was externalized and so was his solitude and ostracism from his family…

At the end of the day Lucifer was like the odd one out so he psychosomatically self-harmed himself like he literally did in 3x11. 

If I had to talk more about his reoccurring lapses I would say that Lucifer is but an immortal with suicidal or self-harming tendencies who knows that the cannot die. He feels too much and cannot buffer that otherwise. Perhaps that is one of the reasons he stays with Chloe as well. 

Marcus story hits a bit too close to home. An immortal who cannot die but cannot enjoy internal life either but then he falls in love so he values life and wants to keep living. Yet for Lucifer, he knows that in the far future only Hell awaits him especially after Chloe is gone.

Right now Lucifer has a purpose and a home in L.A. and it is not structured around who he will sleep with or what drugs and alcohol he will consume. It’s experiencing mortality - if you remember 1x05 his talk with the then Lieutenant?- and is willing to risk his life outside Hell because for once he values something more than himself.

Still, this does not mean that Lucifer is emotionally stable or does not go over the top when he is with Chloe which makes him a bit like a mental health sufferer who wants or is forced emotionally and physically -chemically- to experience an adrenaline rush so he goes often into a state of mania.

When Lucifer talks about selflessness we can also see how this has worked for him in the past two seasons but do remember that he was also selfless with Delilah but that was not how he got vulnerable. So is Chloe’s miracle status still an important factor in this game? I would say yes. I still believe it was Chloe’s feelings that make him vulnerable but I’ll not take any more space to talk about that in this post.

Back on Marcus and when Lucifer taunts him that Chloe never loved his sorry behind… Obviously, Marcus does not like that explanation so he brushes it off. In the end, though we see that Chloe is ready to kill Marcus if that means that Lucifer will be safe. She actually aims and shoots him. So Marcus has his answer. She never loved him. She believed him but Lucifer came first, Marcus had failed to get rid of the cat.

What is also important to mention at this point is that Lucifer realises finally the gravity of our actions but also our beliefs. His talk with Ella is meaningful but for the first time perhaps he also feels free from his Dad. He has free will but is that really true? Never forget that some things are not as they appear and Lucifer still had/has a 4th season to explore.

Another groundbreaking realization is that at the alley Lucifer confesses that he no longer sees himself as the Devil that much as of late. He does know it’s because of Chloe. That gives way to an emotional growth sprout. 

Long gone are the episodes 3x04 and 3x08. He knows he is responsible for his actions and the gravity his own thoughts have on himself but also has a new point of reference. For the common public, God is supposed to be something pure and salvaging. For Lucifer that's Chloe. Perhaps that is also why the camera also plays with closed captions in that episode.

And so we get to the scene where Lucifer and Chloe confront Marcus. The shit does hit the fan and we do have a scene very much alike with 1x01 with one big difference. Lucifer is fully aware he is not invulnerable close to her. He has no idea if his wings will protect her but driven by instinct he takes them out and covers them both.

You may ask why did he stay for so long? Shock, panic the fact that bullets were still flying so he couldn’t take the chance to unfold his wings and fly away with Chloe. I’ll always believe that while he is in distress he calls out something between Dad and God but you can make your own assumption there.

On the roof, Lucifer finally understands what the false Sinnerman was saying to him. It has to be you. 

Marcus was ready to kill Chloe just in order to kill off Lucifer as well but for Lucifer, the resolution came when Chloe told him they had to find Pierce. Lucifer knows that the only way to keep her safe is to go back and get Marcus. Problem is that he has fallen once again in his Mania state, like he was in the episodes 3x09 and 3x10 with Sinnerman. The 101 Angel rule is forgotten when Maze’s dagger appears and Lucifer gives Marcus a sly smile.

You see no matter Marcus’ experience in combat Lucifer still possesses supernatural strength which makes Marcus’ fisted fingers crack and drives Maze’s dagger into Marcus’ heart. And right there starts our stroll of finding the meaning between the spoken lines. 

Marcus’ first words when he knows he is fatally wounded is to ask if Chloe is okay. That makes Lucifer flatter and look a bit dazed as if he has a waking moment before he falls asleep once more. Marcus was always a manipulator so yeah he cares about Chloe in a very odd way but he also aims to drag Lucifer down with him. 

Although Marcus insists that he will go to Heaven, Lucifer contradicts him and for the first time, Lucifer does something he has never done before. He tilts the scale of a soul’s judgement. Lucifer makes sure that Marcus is dying with a seed of doubt that before he takes his last breath will have bloomed into guilt. And guilt, as you all know, gets you to Hell.

As Marcus is laughing about going to Heaven, Lucifer knowing fully well what Hell does to you, he encourages the final moments of a human to look at the mirror and add some heavy stones of guilt. 

By doing that Lucifer makes sure for the first time in his existence to lure a soul into eternal damnation in Hell. In 3x07 he had tried to console Reese that perhaps he was not dying, that perhaps Hell was not the waiting for him but Reese was already too far gone. Marcus was not. Unfortunately, just for that, the change started.

The following words are actually spoken from Lucifer’s awareness of what he is doing but directs them to Marcus. A bit like what happened with Amenadiel in 3x04. Marcus, of course, sees Lucifer’s face burning and gleefully dies before telling Lucifer that neither of them can escape what they are.

You chose to kill her.

Oh Deep down, you know you're a monster.

And that you belong in Hell, where you will torture yourself with that truth for eternity.

'Cause no matter what you tell yourself, you can't outrun what you've done. What you truly are.

Therefore, Lucifer and Marcus did the exact same thing. In the end, Lucifer made sure that Marcus had enough guilt to go to Hell but Marcus made sure to ask about Chloe and also ruin Lucifer’s newfound breakthrough by dragging Lucifer back to a mental Hell which made his face resurface. Indeed a Sinnerman to the very end...

Both characters made sure that the other would go to their personal Hell.

Lucifer does try to get the knife perhaps in a moment of realisation of how his words apply to both of them but Marcus stops him and delivers his last grand manipulation. 

The bad news is that Lucifer is back into his own Hell loop meaning his Devil face but at the same time we do know that you can break the loop like it happened with Charlotte and that second chances do matter. 

 In a possible S4 we would explore the knowledge of who you are with the consequences of that as well as what kind of a future you can have when you deal with something as heavy as having committed the Angel 101 no-no. Additionally never forget that Lucifer will always feel guilty about Uriel.

And finally, the moment when Chloe sees his face and Ellis delivers one of the most magnificent “Detective?” I have ever heard him say.

That scene was like as if you have a child delivering that line.

Imagine a boy of around five years old who has no idea what he has done. You get into the room and you see the little boy cradling a knife whilst covered in blood and he calls you mommy and it's innocent, there is no evilness but true innocence and bewilderment. That’s Lucifer at the end of S3 which shows that despite his growth, in many ways he is still a very misguided child. 

So where does that leave us? Probably with a lot of fanfiction and if we are lucky enough a S4.

Until next time loves! And if you were wondering, this was a 4.498-word meta. I’m impressed you made it to the very end.

And remember

We Are Here! We Are A Legion! We Are LUCIFANS! 🔥😈🔥 #SaveLucifer 

[sunbrights]

much more than 500 words, but: the third-to-last, or the last, scene of btcod, for dvd commentary? ( the Distressing one )

First thing, before I jump into these: I believe pretty strongly in death of the author, so take anything I say here with a grain of salt. What I intended for the fic doesn’t matter nearly as much as what you got from it, etc. 

That said, here we go! Anon comin’ out of the gate swinging!!

(For new followers: anon is talking about my roleswap fic by the claw of dragon, where Natsumi is scouted as the Ultimate Yakuza instead of Fuyuhiko.)

This turned into more of a dvd commentary for “the ending of btcod”, so under the cut for spoilers just in case.

So, first confession: this ending changed probably three or four times while I was writing the story. Fuyuhiko didn’t die in my very first outline – Natsumi’s “moment of despair” originally centered a lot more heavily around Satou and her murder. 

By the time I actually started writing, I’d settled on the ending that’s there now, but in the process of writing I kept waffling on giving myself an out. There are probably two or three different versions where he makes it out of that scene alive, depending on whether or not you count “survives his sister but later dies in the mass suicide of the reserve course” as a “letting Fuyuhiko off the hook” ending.

In the end, it didn’t change much from the “final” outline I started out with (even though lots of other things in that outline ended up changing A LOT). What it ultimately came down to was that any ending where Fuyuhiko lived felt like it shortchanged Natsumi. That brother-sister relationship is so important to both of them, and any universe where Fuyuhiko was still around didn’t feel like one where Natsumi could fall completely into despair. Fuyuhiko and Peko are, from my perspective, the last two threads holding Natsumi up over her own insecurity and brutality in the story, and they both needed to be cut before that final fall could happen.

Getting a little bit more granular with some of the details:

It’s her favorite fountain on the school’s grounds. It’s small, and made of warm, burnished metal. The spouts are shaped like leaves on the ends of long stems, and water tumbles off the edges of them in sheets. It burbles instead of roars.

The fountain was lifted from a deleted scene (which I posted over here) – I wanted to set the stage of this scene with something that could be considered a relic of the “old” Natsumi, something she’d picked out for herself before the spiral with Sonia and Satou and Fuyuhiko. I use the fountain a few times in this scene as a surrogate for “old self vs new self”:

The fountain is turned off, after hours. The water is so still it looks almost black when she leans over to check her reflection.

[…]

She lets go of the edge of the fountain. There’s a wide, red indentation on the heel of her hand when she smooths it over her knee.

[…]

Natsumi turns her back, and bends over the fountain when her stomach rolls. A pocket of damp air rushes up into her face and disperses the smell of hot metal, so she stays there, gut trembling.

[…]

Her nails split on the sharp edge of the basin.

[…]

When she opens her eyes again, her lashes are wet, and something has disturbed the flat surface of the fountain. Thin ripples smash into each other from all directions, and her reflection warps, stretched and compressed in waves. 

I try to be deliberate with how characters are named in narration in general, depending on who’s doing the narrating, and in this scene especially I was careful about when Fuyuhiko is referred to by name and when he’s referred to as “her brother.” Specifically “brother” gets used twice in the scene itself, one at each, uh, peak of violence:

Her brother is doubled-over, both hands clutched over his face. 

[…]

Her baby brother, who always used to cry when he was afraid.

In the aftermath, “Fuyuhiko” is only used once in the narration (when referencing the school rumors about what happened), once by Junko, and everything else uses “brother”:

Her brother’s funeral is on a Thursday.

[…]

They talk about her brother in different ways, about how he was sharp-edged and bright, full of life, the flip side of her coin, but when the bullshit’s done they all land on that same adjective. Terrible. Terrible. Terrible.

[…]

“My brother’s body isn’t even cold,” Natsumi tells her. 

Again: what you get from that is up to you, but for me it was about highlighting that Natsumi is taking the most important relationship in her life and literally tearing it to pieces with her own two hands, and she knows it, as it’s happening. The incident with Satou was just opening the door to her real moral event horizon.

There’s a butt-ton of callbacks in this (which, like, ok, it’s the climax), but two of the smaller, less obvious ones (at least to me, maybe they’re super obvious to you guys!!):

When she was four, she’d thrown paint in his face after she’d gotten bored during finger painting. Red and blue and yellow.

The colors are meant to call back to the colors of Satou’s arrows during her murder (so whether it’s an accurate detail of the memory or a blurring of lines between victims is up to interpretation):

Satou drops her bag when Natsumi opens the door into the hall. Brightly colored arrows rattle against the floor when they spill out from one of the outside pockets, cheerful blues and reds and yellows rolling in all directions.

[...]

Satou’s dropped arrows cut abrupt, colorful lines through the dark pool around her. It makes the whole scene look ridiculous, like Satou had slipped and fallen in a child’s finger painting.   

Fuyuhiko looking at Peko before she kills him:

She dwarfs him, his body bent and hunched and twisted, but he doesn’t try to run from her. He only stares up into her face, searching.

calls back to the argument in ch 4 when she stepped between him and Natsumi (itself foreshadowing for this scene):

He stares up into her face for a long, tense moment. Whatever he’s looking for there, he doesn’t find it; the anger in his expression cracks with something else. 

In my original vision for the fic, Natsumi became much more of an unreliable narrator as the story progressed than she ended up being in the final version, but there are still some hints of it. Specifically here:

[Peko] cups one hand against his cheek to tilt his head toward her, and away from Natsumi. (But there’s blood in his hair from where Natsumi split his eye open, and she can see Satou still, face frozen and empty. Peko’s patronization protects her from nothing.)

(Spoilers: that’s not why Peko turned his face toward her.)

Last one because this is getting long and I’m running out of time: the color of Junko’s shake in the last scene was the most on-the-nose reference to danganronpa blood but I really genuinely could not resist. 100% the reason I described the colors of her shakes in earlier chapters, just so I could have that one joke with myself:

Her shake today is strawberry, bright enough pink that it hurts Natsumi’s eyes.

also fun fact that I just realized when going back to my outline for this, the title of the chapter seven section of my outline is called “uh oh spaghettios” which I feel is the most appropriate title it could ever have

[sleepyau]

enamigo pt. 3 ~ kim doyoung

genre: college!au, angst

word count: 3061

prompt: less of arch nemeses -> something else entirely

warning: language, drinking

author’s note: well this ending is honestly completely different from how i first imagined it. maybe one day in the future i will post the original story line for this au... anywhom i hope you enjoy and thank you for reading <3 p.s. stan kim doyoung and the rest of the nct boys because they’re amazing

parts: one ~ two ~ three

You had never really been the partying type. For as long as you could remember, you had only gone to parties for one reason: to watch over your friends. It was undoubtedly your most ‘mom friend’ characteristic, but you weren’t shy about it. If some perv’s hand was wandering a little too high, or if their eyes were roaming a little too much, you’d be the first person to walk over and put them in their place. Sometimes, it bothered your friends. Other times, it saved them from doing something they’d regret.

One night, your protective instincts stretched out further than they ever had before.

You were standing towards the edge of the makeshift dance floor, bobbing your head to the music and scrolling through your phone. You would look up occasionally to make sure nobody was doing anything stupid, but it was, overall, a pretty calm night.

As you were about to pass another level of Cut the Rope, you heard something that sparked up your inner caretaker.

“No thanks, I don’t want to,” somebody was saying.

“Come on, live a little!”

“Get off of me!”

You looked up to see Kim Doyoung, a student in the same grade as you, trying to pry an unfamiliar girl off of his arm.

“Why are you being so frigid? Just come on!” the girl persisted, beginning to drag him towards the stairs.

“I really don’t want to.”

You finally had enough of the scene when the girl quite obviously dug her nails into his arm to stop his protesting. You shoved your phone into your pocket and started walking over to them. “Hey, baby,” you called out.

Doyoung glanced at you in confusion, but you just smiled and wrapped a comparatively more gentle hand around his upper arm.

“I’ve been looking all over for you. Who’s this?” you asked, quickly turning your attention to the girl.

“I-I don’t know,” Doyoung answered.

“Well, you’ve certainly got a strong grip, huh? Why don’t you let go of his arm now and go sit in the bathroom to heavily rethink your whole maiming technique?” you sniped, ending with a sugary sweet smile.

The girl shot a bitter glare at you, but nonetheless extracted her demon nails from his skin. You winced at the small drop of blood that rolled out upon her leaving, but didn’t move to wipe it off until she was a safe distance away.

“I could’ve handled that,” Doyoung mumbled, not making eye contact with you.

“Oh, I know. I just thought my way was much quicker, don’t you agree?” you smiled congenially. It took him a moment to return the gesture.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“No problem, Doyoung.”

You shut your eyes in an effort to block out the memories from over a year and a half before that wouldn’t stop running through your head. You knew that what happened in the past should stay in the past, but obviously your subconscious had yet to get the memo.

“Y/N, can you help me with this essay?” Johnny asked you, dragging you back into focus.

“Sure, what can I do?” you replied easily.

He slid his laptop over to you. “I can’t tell if this makes sense or not.”

You scanned over his paragraph, stopping every now and then to add a comma or remove a word, then shook your head, “No, it sounds great. Great job.”

“Thanks!” he beamed. His smile quickly fell and he stood up abruptly. “Oh no.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ann’s walking over here like a bull and I am not getting killed today. I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

You didn’t bother turning around to check if he was right. You instead waited for Ann to walk the full way, then circle around the table to sit in front of you.

“You really are a bitch,” she began.

“What did I do now?”

“I had to find out from Taeil that you and Doyoung dated?”

“Here.” You sat down next to Doyoung and gave him half of a Twix bar.

“Which half is this?” he asked.

“Uh, I don’t know. I think it’s the left, why?”

“I only eat the right half,” he informed you.

You raised your eyebrows at him, then said, “Well, what if I only eat the right half?”

“Well, then that sucks for you, because the right half is mine already.”

“Except I have it right now, don’t I? So I win?”

Doyoung leaned forward and took a bite out of the chocolate bar in your hands, “Now I win.”

“You ass! Now give me a bite of yours!” you demanded.

“No problem, considering it’s yours now.”

You both glared at each other for a minute, then you leaned up and pulled a coin out of your back pocket. “Okay, let’s flip a coin; if it’s heads, I get the right side. If it’s tails, you get the left side. Deal?”

“Deal.”

You smiled at your own private trick, then flipped the coin. It rolled for a few seconds, then landed on tails.

“Oh, sucks for you!” you cheered, pulling the right side closer to your chest. “Guess you’ll just have to get used to the taste of defeat.”

“You may have won the battle, Y/N, but I will win the war!”

After that, you both settled down and pressed play on some random music video on Doyoung’s laptop. It only took a few moments for him to pause it again, however.

“Oh, you little cheat,” he finally said. You laughed shamelessly as he pouted, “Redo!”

“Sorry, kiddo. It’s too late for that.” You held up the empty Twix packet then laughed even harder. “Took you long enough to get it!”

“That’s not fair! Let’s make another deal then!”

“Fine, fine. Lemme guess: heads, I throw away the wrapper, tails, you watch me throw it away?” you teased.

“No, that’s too predictable,” Doyoung dismissed. He thought for a minute, then smiled shyly. “Okay, I have it.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“If it’s heads, you go out with me. If it’s tails, I’ll go out with you.”

“Ha-ha, very funny. You only get one redo, you know?” you laughed.

“I’m being serious.”

Your smile immediately fell. His eyes were honest, and he wasn’t laughing, but it still felt like it should’ve been a joke.

“Doyoung...”

“Come on, Y/N, don’t pretend like you don’t know there’s something between us - something that makes us more than ‘just friends’,” Doyoung immediately protested.

“I’m not-”

“And even if you don’t like me that much right now, it’s okay! We don’t have to go super fast or anything like that - we can take it slow. And besides, I think I like you enough for the both of us. For real, I’ve liked you for a long time - even before that party. I’m pretty sure I fell for you at first sight, when I saw you in class for the first time. I mean - not in a creepy way or anything! Just... Why are you laughing?”

You hid your smile behind your hand and answered between your giggles, “You’re ranting, Doyoung. And really fast, too. It’s adorable, really.”

“Adorable enough for you to go out with?” he asked again.

You rolled your eyes, “I was going to say yes, anyways.”

“Y/N!”

You zoned back in to see Ann’s angry face across from you, and groaned, “I didn’t keep it from you intentionally, I promise.”

“So what, it just never came up?” she asked disbelievingly.

“Yeah. We didn’t really go out of our way to tell people about it, even when we were still dating. Yeri knew because she was my roommate at the time, and the other girls just asked me about our history once. It just happened that you weren’t there at that time. I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret until you told me you liked him,” you explained.

“Why the hell would you do that? I made a complete ass of myself and acted like a total bitch! If I had known you two had history, I wouldn’t have even looked at him!” she yelled.

“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you! I knew you wouldn’t try anything if you thought it would hurt me.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not my place to keep him from being happy! I already hurt him once, I didn’t want to hurt him again by keeping such a great girl from liking him.”

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

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Doyoung asked you gently, pulling your hands down from where they were covering your face.

“No. I can’t believe this happened. I’ve never, never failed a test before. Not in my entire life,” you cried. Doyoung wiped your tears away with the edge of his sleeve and pulled you closer to his chest.

“You’ll be okay, Y/N. It’s one test, and it’ll hurt your grade, but that professor loves you! I’m sure she’ll give you extra credit if you asked - or, maybe even let you take it again.”

“That’s not the point. The point is I shouldn’t have failed in the first place!”

“You couldn’t help it,” Doyoung tried to soothe you again. It was clear that he wasn’t understanding what you were implying.

“Doyoung, I didn’t study for that test because I was hanging out with you. And then, I couldn’t even focus during the test because we stayed up late last night talking.”

“What... What are you trying to say?”

“You’re too much of a distraction for me, Doyoung. School needs to be my priority right now,” you whispered.

“Is this- I mean, are you-”

“I’m breaking up with you, Doyoung. I’m sorry.”

“But I- surely there’s a better way?”

“I don’t think there is,” you shook your head.

“But... I love you, Y/N,” Doyoung’s voice cracked as he tried not to cry. “I don’t understand, I thought you loved me too. And if we love each other then we can make it through this - I’ll help you study! I’m great at studying, and I’m really good in that subject.”

“I-” you stopped yourself before you could finish your sentence. You knew telling him you loved him too would only work to hinder your purpose, even if it was the truth, so you swallowed the words and instead spat out, “You need to leave now, Doyoung. I need to start studying so that I can retake my test.”

“Y/N-”

“Go.”

“...and then that was it,” you finished telling Ann the story. “We stopped talking after that, and then when he switched majors into one that was similar to mine, it was an immediate clash.”

“So, what? You both just started hating each other?” she asked.

“I guess. It wasn’t real hatred, it was just competitiveness that was fueled by past events,” you shrugged.

“Doesn’t it bother you? Clearly neither of you actually stopped liking the other-”

You were quick to cut her off, “Oh, no. Trust me, I don’t like him and he doesn’t like me. It was a long time ago, almost two years now.” Your words were convincing, but you weren’t sure you believed them. “Don’t let what’s happened in the past stop you from getting with him now.”

“If you don’t like him now then why were you jealous?”

“Because you got what I couldn’t have? I mean, of course Doyoung isn't something to be had but... You are able to date him and I wasn’t. I guess I was just feeling bitter about it.”

“‘Was’?”

“Yes, ‘was’. I’m over it now. I feel better after talking it out with you, and with him last night. I’m sorry that I didn’t do that sooner,” you lied through your teeth.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I was being a total brat,” Ann returned your sentiment, and you smiled. “Are you sure it’s okay if we keep going out? The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

“Yes, I’m sure! Look, he’s coming over now. Be cool,” you warned, pasting a fake smile onto your face. “Hey, Doyoung.”

“Uh, hey, Y/N,” he replied hesitantly. He stopped at the side of the table, and you itched to push him towards Ann, but not as much as you wished to pull him closer to you.

“Are you guys going to class right now?” you asked.

“Yeah. Are you ready?” Doyoung directed the question to Ann, who nodded pleasantly and stood up.

“Thanks for talking to me about... stuff, Y/N. I’ll see you later,” she waved, and then they both walked off in a halo of golden sunlight.

You took a shaky breath in to keep your tears at bay, then comforted yourself, “Good job, Y/N, you did the right thing.”

As you watched Ann laugh at something Doyoung said, you recalled one last memory that you didn’t share with Ann - that you didn’t share with anyone, in fact. It was a moment that was so private and personal that it could have qualified as a secret you kept even from yourself, at times. You were sure that Doyoung had since forgotten about it, but now you cherished it with all of your heart.

“Hello?” you greeted. Doyoung had called you about thirty times in the span of one hour, and you finally grew weak enough to answer his call.

“Y/N,” Doyoung sighed. You had promised yourself that you would remain strong and steady throughout the entire call, but you broke just at the sound of his voice.

“Hey,” you repeated.

“Hi.”

“Did you have anything else to say?” you whispered sarcastically.

“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

“Are you drunk?” you asked, noticing a small slur to his words.

“A little. Maybe. How many times have I called you?”

“Around 30.”

“Then I’m that much drunk,” he laughed, though it was obviously more out of confusion than actual humor.

“You need to call somebody,” you advised.

“I’m calling you right now!”

“No, somebody who can help you get home okay. Call Yuta or Taeyong, maybe. Wait, don’t call Taeyong, he’ll kill you if you throw up in his car.”

Doyoung didn’t say anything for a moment, and you thought he hung up the call until he, quite soberly, said, “You always used to take care of me when I got out of hand.”

You inhaled deeply to absorb the strong impact of his words, then shakily replied, “That was a while ago, Doyoung. Now you need to find somebody else to take care of you.”

“But, baby, I don’t want nobody but you,” he slurred.

“Oh my, you’re so drunk,” you laughed.

“Oh, God. Do that again,” he suddenly begged.

“Do what?”

“Laugh. I haven’t heard your laugh in so long. It’s my favorite sound, ever. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Well I could-” Doyoung coughed, then continued, “I could listen to your laugh every single minute of every single day and not get tired of it. It’s the prettiest sound in the world. You’re even - it’s like singing! You laugh better than I sing!”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, considering you’ve never sung for me,” you pointed out.

“Do you want me to right now?” he offered.

“Are you even able to?”

“Of course! Okay... hm... Oh, I know!” Doyoung dramatically cleared his throat, then began, “I wanna be with you. Oh, I wanna be with you. Through the rain and snow I wanna be with you. Oh, I wanna be with you. And I really, really wanna be with you. I'm so very lonely without you. I can hardly breathe when you are away. Without you I might sleep away all day...”

By the time he finished singing, you were crying uncontrollably.

“No! I didn’t want to make you cry!” he exclaimed, and there was shuffling on the other end before he said, “I just wanted to tell you how I feel.”

“I feel the same way, Doyoung, that’s why I’m crying,” you confessed, wiping your tears away with your own shirtsleeves.

There was a pause, and then, “If you’re sad, and I’m sad, then why don’t we just get back together?”

“I already told you, Doyoung. I need to focus on school. I can’t...”

“But, I’ll keep my distance! I’ll only call you once a day, and I won’t bother you when you’re studying,” he said.

“You’re not the problem here. I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure you can keep your distance just fine, but I can’t. I can’t control myself around you. I want to be with you always, you know? If you didn’t call me then I’d just spend the whole time thinking about what we would talk about if you did call me. It wasn’t that I couldn’t focus on school because you were too clingy, it was because I can’t think of anything except for you.”

“Can’t we just go on a break until summer?” Doyoung tried again.

“I can’t do that to you, Doyoung. I can’t just string you along like that,” you sighed.

“But it’s not stringing along. I’ll always love you, even if we’re not together. You know that, right?”

You were crying again. “You don’t make it easy to be broken up, neither. You’re way too perfect - always making me miss you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not like there’s anything you can do to stop it, unless you start treating me like an asshole all the time,” you rolled your eyes.

“Would that make it easier for you?” he quietly asked.

“I don’t know, maybe?” You thought about it for a minute. “Maybe... I can pretend to hate you, and you can pretend to hate me, and then we wouldn’t be feeling any of the remaining sadness because we would be too busy hating each other.”

“If that would make it easier.”

“I don’t know if it would, but it doesn’t even matter - I doubt you’ll even remember this in the morning,” you sighed.

“I wish we could just be happy,” he whispered.

“Me, too, Doyoung. Me too.”

It was quiet for several minutes, and you were about to hang up and call somebody to go find him, when a small voice carried through the phone:

“I will make sure to keep my distance. Say I love you when you’re not listening, and how long can we keep this up?”

[thejokersenigma]

Joker x Reader Deadly Voice Part 37

Hi guys! Sorry about the long delay with this next chapter, I've been away from home doing work experience and, though I did finally write it I had no WIFI so I couldn't post it till I got back! Finally back so here you go! Not the best thing I've ever written, but I just want to get it posted! Enjoy anyway!

(if you want me to tag you in the next part just let me know! :) )

Masterlist

I didn’t know how or when I made the decision to run the club the Joker had offered me. To me there was no clear point when I made the choice, I had spent the entire sleepless night deliberating, constantly changing my mind, writing out pros and cons and flipping coins to still have no firm answer. Yet the next day, outside my front door, was a small key with a purple label that read ‘Club 52’ in bright orange letters.

I had picked it up – security reasons of course – then pocketed it before getting ready for the day to take a walk for some air and a few errands. However my mind must have clearly became dissociated from my actions because I before I knew it I was stood outside the club, the key feeling like it was burning in my jeans.

I had stared at the entrance for a while, glad the street was quiet - most normal sane people already at work – because I must have looked like I was internal crisis.

Maybe that’s because I was.

I could imagine it now, the new shiny modern interior, the high tech equipment, the perfect location; all could mean this could easily be the hottest venue in the city given the right leadership.

But was I the right person? Could I do that?

And if I took the job and I couldn’t, what would the Joker do? If I messed up would he finally be done with me and now finally kill me? Did I want to risk that? But what if I turned him down, would I have finally outlived my usefulness and he’d get rid of me anyway?

Again, I’m not sure why I did it – curiosity? – But I found myself unlocking the door and exploring the club further.

Before I knew it I had been working there for a week.  I still often wondered if what I was doing was right and I often felt embarrassed that I had taken the job so easily. I felt like I’d given up, let him win, sold my soul to the devil. It was stupid because I definitely needed the money and at least this way I didn’t have to worry about whether my boss was a good guy or not in case I ruined their business.

Yet something about it all still felt internally wrong.

More what prayed on mind was what the Joker was doing. It surprised me that, after a week, I still hadn’t heard anything from him. I had presumed that he would have stopped by at least once to rub it in my face how he had once again manipulated me, got his own way, and - maybe - he would explain his master-plan to me, finally put an explanation to why he had given me the job in the first place.

Yet there was nothing. No sight. No word.

I presumed that he knew I had taken the position somehow, or else I imagined I would have heard from him - or at least he might have tried to get the key back. Then again, was he someone who cared about trivial things like that? How badly had he wanted me to take the job? It seemed pretty badly when I had spoken to him, but maybe that was just my imagination.

I tried to distract myself from thinking about the Joker too much – though he seemed to be taking over my mind – by trying to ignore the fact he was my boss and throwing myself into the club – I wanted to make it work.

I had met my team of staff - all who seemed perfectly nice - but there seemed to be an odd underlying tension between us. For the first few days I put it down to nerves between everyone as we were all strangers, but now – as I looked out over the club and saw a DJ chatting to one of the cleaning staff quite happily on the opposite side of the room - I had to think twice. They all seemed to actively try to avoid interaction with me unless I approached them. They were perfectly polite when I did address them, but they rarely ever sought me out if it wasn’t important.

My main theory for this odd behaviour was because I worked for the Joker. I knew that in the Gotham night club game most were owned by the main crime lords, they were then run by those close to the criminals – this meant all staff were afraid of me because they thought I was one of the Joker’s chief hench-people – not believing me if I tried to tell them otherwise.

I caught the DJ’s eye and waved with a smile. He looked a bit surprised, clearly not noticing me previously, lifted a hand in acknowledgment - a fake smile on his face - before he hurried off, the cleaner in hot pursuit. Probably thought I was going to yell at them for not doing their job.

My face fell at their abrupt departure and I was left alone in the main club. I spun the stool I was sat on back around so I face the bar once more, dropping my gaze back to the folder that was open before me where I suppose to be perusing the numbers from the week before.

A sudden movement above me made me jump and I clutched my chest, my eyes shut, “Bloody-” I breathed, my heart racing.

“Sorry.” Came the apology from the girl behind the bar. I opened my eyes to see Bobby, my bartender, in front of me. She was quite a petite girl with short hair – both sides shaved very short and dyed bright pink and the top styled into short black spikes. Her clothes always matched her punk rocker style, usually consisting of a dark corset top, short skirt and tights with fingerless gloves. The only thing a bit out of place on her was the round glasses that constantly slipped down her nose due to her excessive energy.

Bobby was an odd girl - her personality as loud as her fashion choices - and that might have explained why she, unlike the other staff members, didn’t seem afraid of me and we got on really well - though I often had to remind her I was her boss.

She was the best bartender I had ever worked with though, thanks to her love of gossip and advice columns and her ability to talk about anything and everything - it also meant I never had to try too hard in any of our conversations.

She chatted at me for a while whilst I pretend to look through my numbers before she finally reached over and closed my folder. “Ok, time for a drink!” She sang at me, bringing out a couple of cocktail glasses.

It was a tradition now for the pair of us to have a pre-show de-stressor drink before we opened and if we hadn’t managed to see each other that day we could catch up a bit – not that I ever said that much. However tonight – for some reason – the topic of conversation seemed to turn to me.

“So, [Y/N].” Bobby started, wiping out the glasses with a dry cloth, “Talk to Counsellor Bobby. What’s wrong?” She asked, her main tone humorous, but I could hear the hint of true concern in her voice.

I frowned at her, confused, “Nothing.” I said to her back as she added ice to the glasses.

She shot me a look of disbelief over her glasses, “Then why are you moping on my bar like you’d rather be anywhere else than here.” She asked, taking a couple of bottles from off the wall behind her.

“I’m not.” I grumbled, pushing myself off my elbows so I that sat straighter on my stool as she poured the liquors.

“Yeah you are, and you have been since we first met.” She persisted, refusing to let it drop, “I hoped it was nerves but hun, we’re a success – “

“This club is a success.” I corrected, taking the cocktail she slipped across the bar at me and having a  sip, the alcohol warming my throat.

“And yet you still look like you’ve just walked out of a funeral!” She exclaimed, ignoring me my amendment.

I sighed loudly, not bothering to try to brush it off or fail to hide it anymore and putting my head back in my hands.

“Come on, [Y/N}, this is your baby!” She gestured around the club, swinging her own cocktail dangerously “and it’s beautiful.” She pointed out.

“That’s the problem though!” I groaned, throwing my head back up so I moaned at the bottles that hung overhead, “It’s not my baby. It’s the damn Joker’s!”

She watched me carefully, sipping her own drink, her eyes brightening with interest at my sudden outburst – she knew she was starting to get somewhere, “So how come you work for the clown anyway?”

“What?” I coughed out, choking slightly on my drink.

She took a large sip of her own drink, “Well, clearly, you’re not a criminal. And ya’ don’t really strike me as a fugitive… Though not judging if you are!” She joked raising her hands in mock surrender. I raised an eyebrow in slight amusement at her until she sobered up, dropping her hands again. “I’ve never even seen you talk with him here.” She said, frowning, “Have you ever actually met him?”

“Oh yeah. I’ve met him.” I admitted reluctantly, and something in my voice conveyed all sorts of meaning.

“Ohhh sounds scandaolous!” She squealed, putting her drink to the side and placing her fists under her chin, leaning on them like a teenage girl at a sleepover waiting for the gossip.

“I’m not talking.”

“Aww come ooonnnn.” Bobby whined.

“You’d better watch it - keep prying like that in the Joker’s business and you’re going lose your life.” I warned her, I meant it jokingly, but I was also aware that there was some truth to it.

“Well I’m not gonna to tell him, so you’re the one who’s risking my life!” She told me, with a wink.

I rolled my eyes, not impressed.

“So, why does he never come here?” She preserved, determined to get something from me, “I heard he visits every club, or at least his men do. Yet they never come here.”

“We have a deal.” I said simply with a shrug, taking another drink.

Bobby narrowed her eyes at me, suspiciously, pursing her lips and I fidgeted uncomfortably under her examining gaze. “Why do you hate him so much?” She asked astutely

I was a bit taken aback by the question – not realising I was extruding an aura of anger at the Joker, “Besides the obvious fact he’s a mass murdering psychopath?” I quipped back, trying to pretend I was still smooth and collected.

“Yes, beyond that. You seemed to hate him in a more… specific way. Like you too have history.” She hinted, raising her eyebrows.

I looked away, not trusting my face to remain passive.

You do!” She squealed, “What like romantic history?!” She asked eagerly, glad she’d finally broken through my wall.

I could feel my cheeks getting hot and I was glad the club’s lighting was so dark, though I was sure Bobby had infra-red vision and could sense my temperature increase. I threw back the rest of my drink of as a distraction.

“Sooooo….” She trailed off suggestively, “Spill the beans woman!” She giggled, pleased at my reaction and practically jumping up and down in her excitement.

I glanced around to check no one else had entered the room in the time we had been talking. Coast was clear. “Fine.” I weirdly trusted her – even if I had only known her for a week.

Fair to her, for once Bobby didn’t interrupt me, allowing me to rattle out my whole story, only just managing to contain her excitement throughout. She was a good audience, squealing and giggling at what she classed the juicy bits and making horrified expressions and gasps at the right parts.

“Jeeezzz” Bobby breathed when I had finished. “[Y/N] you don’t think…”

“What?”

“That he’s pissed at you?”

“Pissed? Why?”

“I mean you left him. No one leaves the Joker.” She said bluntly, “If they do it’s only ‘cause of a huge hole in the side of his head.” She explained making a gun with her fingers and shooting herself in the head.

I couldn’t help myself from gulping at the sound of this.

“All I can say hun,” Bobby said leaning over the bar, trying to bring me back to the point, “Is if this ain’t the place for you – move on. Nothing’s worth this misery – and the further away from that clown the better – I’m not sure he’s got the best intentions for ya’.

“You don’t say?” I snorted, “The insane killer clown prince of crime doesn’t have my best interests at heart?” I asked with a small sarcastic smirk.

Bobby went to open her mouth, but then thought better of whatever she was going to say.

“I need to do a sound check, I’ll see ya later.” I said, getting us both out of this awkward situation. She gave me a small smile of pity and began cleaning the glasses.

I began to head off to my office when I turned back, “Oh Bobby,” She looked up from her cloth, Thanks.” I said simply and I noticed her smile widen at me, glad we were still fine.

I thought over what she said over the next few days. I knew she meant well, but I also knew that she didn’t know the Joker, she hadn’t dealt with him before – all her information was from others and the rumours passed amongst the public.

Plus I didn’t want to think this whole thing was just another plan to ruin my life and if it in fact was, I certainly didn’t want to confront it right now – that would be admitting it was possible.

And so I ignored her advice whilst I was still able to. How could she be sure anyway – the Joker was nothing if not unpredictable, maybe he would do the one thing everyone wouldn’t expect for once.

At least that was what I thought until a couple of days later when there was a knock on my office door.

I didn’t often work in my office in the club - preferring to be where everything was going on an often opting to sit in one of the few chairs in the main club area, or at the bar. But Bobby was being particularly chatty today and there were a few rehearsals on the main stage this evening before the club opened that I was finding all too distracting from my boring paper work.

I jumped at the noise that sounded from my closed door, not expecting anyone to disturb me – as they never did. “Uh – come in!” I called, trying to sound the confident, in-charge boss woman I was supposed to be, though my voice still faltered and shook a bit – I wasn’t use to the power yet.

The door was pushed open and there in the doorway stood a familiar large figure and I automatically jumped to my feet, my body ready for fight or flight.

“Evening my dear.” Sang Penguin as he stepped out of the shadows of the corridor and into the light of my office. He wore a snug-fitting black suit with a tall matching top hat sat on his balding scalp and his usual gold trimmed monocle that was reflecting the light from my desk lamp.

The sight of the man I had come to loathe once more in my office made me speechless and so my only response to his greeting was to stare at his approaching figure, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.

Penguin advanced towards me slowly peering around the room as if he was at an exhibit My eyes fell on the umbrella I now noticed he carried in his left hand which he used as a cane as he limped across the room “Lovely little aviary you have here.” He complemented me, but I was too busy trying to figure out which umbrella he was holding – was this the one which was part pistol, or the one with the blade that could be produced from the tip? Maybe the one that shot poison darts? Or was this a new design that I had yet to see?

I eyed the umbrella in fear as Penguin continued to crane his neck around my little office space, “Can’t say I care for your colour scheme however.” He frowned, lifting his umbrella-can and waving it in the direction of the walls, referring to the orange and purple that matched the rest of the club. I recoiled at the careless movement of the possibly weaponised umbrella but remained standing my ground behind my desk.

Content that he had examined every inch of the room he cared to look at, the Penguin turned back to face me with a pleasant smile, “May I?” He asked politely, indicating to the chair that sat before my desk with the tip of his umbrella. I faltered slightly, not sure whether I should let him stay out of curiosity for what he wanted or to do what all common sense suggested and kick him out. I didn’t have time to think it through and he was starting to look at me oddly for my lengthy pause. I nodded silently.

He brushed aside my reluctance and gave me a repulsive smile as he settled down into the well-padded chair opposite my own. I hesitated, unsure what to do now and still stood up on the other side of my desk.

“Uh – can I offer you a drink sir?” I asked, trying to keep the civility between us.

He shook his head, “No my dear, I’ll be quick.”

I nodded in acknowledgement, anxiously sitting back down, but perching myself on the edge of my seat, adrenaline still prepping me for anything. I was on high alert of him and his umbrella which I still kept half an eye on as it sat tucked away below the desk. I was well aware my gun sat in the bottom right draw of my desk. It was close – that was good – but I couldn’t get it out rapidly if the need suddenly arose.

“My dear I am here to make a plea for clemency.” Penguin suddenly said, startling me back to the present moment, “I understand that I have committed many fouls by you but I hope you can forgive these transgressions and see clearly what I have to offer you that this little enterprise surely cannot.”

I blinked at him blankly, trying to figure out what he meant by his little speech. Was he honestly suggesting I go back to working for him again? After all he had done to me? Just him being in the room was enough to remind me of everything he had done to me – he was the man who basically made me sell my soul to him, who made me work endless hours for little recognition, who tried to sell me off to another criminal and who also lied constantly to me without a care for its impact on me, just because it suited him.

“Excuse me?” I asked too shocked by his suggestion to remember my manners towards the crime lord.

I saw the Penguin at bristle my rather crude response to his ‘gracious’ offer. “Oh my little dove,” he started, sounding rather annoyed before he paused, taking a breath and calming himself again. “I fully understand that you have your new position here and - though it may be a higher one than you held previously at my own establishment - I assure you it is not without its risk.” He told me.

“And yours wasn’t?” I retorted back, becoming irked and feeling my temper rising at his audacity.

The rotund man scowled at me, “My dear, you seemed woefully unaware of your own predicament.” He told me, riled by my disrespectful reaction, “You have unwittingly put yourself in a very dangerous position! Working for the Joker of all people! Do you not realise that painted prankster now holds you in the quintessential position to enact his revenge!”

“What revenge?!” I cried, distraught and confused by his intense preaching. Then I remembered Bobby’s advice. Was Penguin warning me of the same thing?

“For your falsified demise of course!” He cried energetically, banging his umbrella smartly on the floor in indignation and I flinched at the action. “Surely you know the Joker does not take kindly to those who desert him?!”

My heart sank. For two people - one of which probably knew the Joker’s behaviour rather well - to warn me of a possible revenge plan by the Joker was more than a coincidence surely? Especially in such as short space of time. I couldn’t help but start to take it into serious consideration - after all I knew deep down this offer must had been for a reason, there must be an eventual consequence for my poor choice.

The Penguin could see he had managed to shaken me and he grinned triumphantly. “So you see little sparrow, I am only looking out for your wellbeing.” He clarified, laying it on thickly in an attempt to seal the deal.

I glared at him, my right hand – previously folded in my lap - sneaking down past my knee, hidden by the rim of my desk, to silently open the bottom draw. Then I sat up straighter, interlacing my fingers and placing them on the desk in front of me, my face emotionlessly and calm, staring squarely at the large man across from me.

“My dear Penguin,” His eyes darkened at the term of endearment, my insolence angering him. “Whilst I appreciate your warning I am quite content with my position in this business.” I stood up abruptly, placing my hands now flat on my desk, and leaning over the desk, clearly exposing the gun now tucked into my jacket pocket. “And I can assure you with the upmost certainty, if I did choose to leave this post; I will not be taking you up on your offer.”

I smiled pleasantly down at him and he glared back with stony eyes, reaching for his umbrella. I moved my hips ever so slightly and I saw his eyes glance to my jacket where the handle of my gun hung out, exposed and ready for me to quickly draw it. He hesitated only for a moment before he shifted his weight to his makeshift cane and pushed his large body to his feet. “Very well my dear.” Penguin said curtly as we both stood sizing each other up, and I was happy to note I stood taller thanks to his short stature and my heels – it didn’t mean much but it boosted my confidence in my power. “Don’t expect me at the wake.” He snarled coldly before he turned abruptly and strode smoothly out the door, his limp barely impeding his movement.                            `    

Once he was out of sight I waited for a few moments, watching the door for any sign of movement before I collapsed back into my chair, my pulse still beating erratically under my skin.

I needed to think.

Tags @theartistdetective, @viraldragonrider

[thesylvalining]

Sometimes I feel like my life is like a conversation between myself and Tom Petty.

Me: Man, I’ve got the travel itch.

Tom: Time to move on, time to get going.

Me: But where?

Tom: You belong somewhere you feel free.

Me: Duh! Where would you suggest? Italy?

Tom: You belong on a boat out at sea.

Me: But Tom, you know my track record with seasickness…

Tom: Let me get to the point, let’s roll another joint…

Me: Okay, now we’re getting somewhere!

It’s all my dad’s fault: he listened to Tom Petty for ages before I could even say “Tom Petty.” In truth the first complete sentence I said — “Go play on the freeway,” to a cute little old lady at the grocery store — was his fault, too. Supposedly I heard him say it to the dogs… apparently it’s real  kids understand more than you think.

Speaking of kids… munchkins actually play into the way things are evolving but first: I want to touch on the way I’ve been feeling lately: like a leaf in the wind. Every day I am blissfully unsure of how things will unfold. It’s the most free and open I’ve possibly ever felt in my silly little life.

So when I read this bit of “Jitterbug Perfume,” by Tom Robbins (borrowed from my Italian friend/queen Lisa) I almost fell off the toilet where I do most of my reading. In this section one of the main characters, an ex-king named Alobar, is having a conversation with the village shaman, who speaks first:

“I encourage you to ride this strange wind that is blowing through you, to ride it to wherever it will carry you.”

“But which way shall I go?”

“That is between you and the wind…”

Lately the wind and I have been having a riveting dialogue, because in the last 72 hours, the “plan” (if anyone can call it that) has changed. It’s worked itself out in the most enchanting of ways, unrolling like pastry dough on the counter, ready to be filled with crema, nutella or marmellata… But the last couple days, my friends, are a story all of their own. Long story short, I am not coming back to the States until September… but the details are still evolving and all of that deserves its own glorious post.

So, while this new direction works itself out like a much, much more pleasant kidney stone, let’s allow the wind to blow us back to Rome, shall we?

We therefore pick up the trail in a hot and humid afternoon breeze outside the train station in Spagna, the Spanish quarter, in search of our quaint hotel. Kelly and Jacob are uncomfortably warm; I — the lizard — am in my happy place.

After ditching our bags at in our cool hotel room and chugging an appropriate amount of water, we burst back into the sun to check off the first item on our tourist list: the ancient Colosseum. And on the way, enjoy horse hats, the stately Altare della Patria and some more really old crap.

Not to be that person (although I’m gonna be that person)… but last I spent time in Rome, it was March of 2005 with my good friend Amy (AP Photo!) and her friend, Sherry. The streets — and the Colosseum — were cold, but deserted. This round it was busier than centro on market day, but nonetheless, the ancient, enchantment of such a structure remained intact.

With throngs of other humans we wandered in awe past old columns the size of Redwood trees and arches that had watched not only gladiators, but now — with an ancient eye roll — modern-day Selfie Stick aficionados battling with their Smartphones. I personally don’t need one because I was born with an arm… actually, two of them…

Boom! The Colosseum 🙂

Frands.

The big picture.

Old crap.

Selfie sticksssss.

More selfie love.

Even people carried from across the globe and deposited there like so many pieces of guanciale in a really good Carbonara (one of Rome’s specialties), the magnificence of so much history was not obscured. To read the Colosseum was regularly flooded for ship battles is incredible; to read people were tossed into the labyrinth of the Colosseum with lions like fish food into a fish tank to be ripped into tiny little fish food-sized pieces is gruesome… but fascinating, to be sure. Ahhhh, history.

Outside the Colosseum, with sweat moving like curious ants through crevices on our bodies which — unlike the Roman ruins we stood among — had somehow until this point avoided excavation, we spotted something incredible: free cold water. Throughout Italy a refreshing army of potable water pours from the frozen metal maws of lions or stoic faces but here, there was a choice between naturale (still) or frizzante (sparkling) water. From that moment on, the fizzy water stop became mandatory on all expeditions.

Post-Colosseum we paused for our daily gelato stop and found an appropriately ugly spot to suck it down…

We took the scenic way home, bypassing the chaotic, clogged but more direct shopping hub on Via Del Corso, stumbling across this lovely courtyard that probably has a story of its own…

After the hot sun went to bed, we decided a trip to Trevi Fountain — featured in Fellini’s “La Dolce Vita,” — would be next. Despite feeling more like a zoo than one of Rome’s most ancient water sources (the Aqua Virgo Aqueduct built 19 B.C. provided water to the Roman baths and Rome’s central fountains), Trevi fountain at night was still magical. We grabbed a bottle of wine from a nearby enoteca and pizza al taglio (pizza baked in large rectangular pans, sliced in squares and re-nuked) and observed people chucking coins in the water. After some wine and some time, we noticed most people tossed over  left shoulders, turned backwards. The key to a wish come true, apparently, is not to watch after the coin leaves your hands.

After leaving the zoo, we retreated to our cool, dark room and passed the flip out.

In the morning it was ____. Yep, you guessed it, hot! After an Italian-style caffeine-pastry breaking of the fast, we headed towards the Roman Forum, rented audio guides and proceeded to march around learning about, among so many other things, the 7th century Temple of Vesta, Umbilicus Urbis (the Roman entrance to the Underworld) and Basilica Julia, built by Julius Caesar. Over it all sat a blue sky over which the brilliant sun ruled; Kelly and Jacob sweated to death and soon retreated to a popular shady area to revamp; I continued my wandering, sweating to life 🙂

Listening to some audio…

The remains of the Temple of Castor and Pollux.

Temple of Saturn, in the distance…

The Temple of Saturn.

Sharing grounds with the Forum was Palentine Hill, one of Rome’s Seven Hills and where Romulus first founded the original city in 753 BC. We wandered among the House of the Vestal Virgins, learning those lucky ladies had to keep their virginal, ahem, properties intact or, of course, they were killed. Lovely.

Kelly and Jacob kicked it in the shade while I ran up to the top of Palentine Hill to check out the garden atop it and of course, the view!

Post-Forum we made a pit stop for acqua frizzante with a herd of other thirsty humans, found more pizza al taglio for lunch and made our way to Via Labicana to rent three neon bikes from Wheely Bike. With the wind in our hair, we zipped over to the (free!) and glorious Pantheon. Formerly a Roman Temple, the Pantheon was constructed between 118-128 BC.

Inside, with everyone else, we gazed silently upwards to marvel at the Pantheon’s spectacular oculus. And — equally stunning — to postulate how, almost two thousand years after it was built, the Pantheon is still the world’s largest un-reinforced concrete dome. My mind still struggles to wrap itself around such a feat like a thick spaghetti noodle around a fork in a bowl of cacio e pepe (cheese, pepper sauce — another irresistible Roman culinary masterpiece).

After the Pantheon, we zipped through nearby (crowded) Piazza Navona on our way to the river and our obligatory gelato stop of the day: Gelateria Del Viale, some of the best gelato in Rome, according to a friend of mine. We cooled off along the river and rode the long way back to Wheely Bike to return our neon steeds…

DCIM101GOPRO

Gelateria del Viale.

Looking down from steps near Altare della Patria.

Exiting the bike path by the Tiber River.

Coming around the back of the Forum…

After we ditched bikes, we figured we’d have enough time to trot over to the room, powder our noses and head to dinner at the charmingly-named Guilio Passami l’Olio (Guilio, pass me the olive oil). But suddenly we were the Lemony Snickets amongst a series of Unfortunate events: First, missing the first bus because we were on the wrong side of the street. Second, Sylva — The One Who Has Been to Italy Many Times Before forgot to pop in a Tabacchi and buy tickets before catching the bus. And the third bus (of course) was late enough to push our delayed arrival into the realm of “maybe they’re not actually coming at all…” Eventually, we threw in the cheaper public transportation towel in and hailed a cab.

At Giulio Passami l’Olio we found a hopping scene and our reservation had somehow gotten lost in the shuffle like an olive in a very loud, well-dressed salad. Eventually, however, we sat in sweaty clothes and tennis shoe to eat delectable food and consult the restaurant’s fantastic wine bible, or Wible.

To digest and enjoy the temperate evening, we wandered back along the river, enjoying the play of the lights on the water, the trees swaying in the breeze and the feel of a big city under darkness.

Back at the ranch, we made quick work of falling dead asleep. In the morning, at 8:30 a.m., we had a hot date with the Vatican and the even more infamous Sistine Chapel…

Morning found us squeezing onto la metropolitana with the rest of Rome — the Romans to work and us to Vatican City. Like an open bottle of red wine, we poured out onto the streets, directed this way and that by hawkers and helpful folks associated with the Vatican — problem was, it was impossible to tell the difference. But with such volume of people heading to gawk at the plush, art-full innards of the Vatican, we found ourselves funneled right into the gaping, rope-lined mouth of the museum. Luckily, we bought tickets in advance and soon marched up a long spiral staircase into the Vatican.

A sign presented two options: a short tour and a long tour. Two plus hours, Egyptian heiroglyphics, Roman statues, ancient painted maps and medieval tapestries, several Salvador Dali pictures and a Sistine Chapel later, we couldn’t even imagine what the long tour entailed…

From one of the many Vatican windows, Rome, on and on…

Old ass stuff.

The Hall of Muses.

Some of the coolest maps of Italy and Europe possibly ever.

The Vatican’s dome.

Salvador Dali! One of my favorite artists!

In the Sistine Chapel, I was a very, very bad monkey and — amongst loud, firm admonitions via intercom for “Silenzio, per favore; silence, please!” and “no pictures” I fake sneezed, glanced both ways and pointed my very incognito camera straight up:

Oops…

After the Vatican, we located some grub and had just enough time to sprint up the Spanish Steps for a view before getting sucked back into the cockles of la metropolitana and the expansive Roman stazione for the ride back to Faenza…

On subsequent episodes of The Sylva Lining… there’s Venice and I answer the same question The Clash pondered: Should I stay or should I go now? And furthermore, how? As they say, where there’s a will there’s a way. Or, as this Roman street artist penned:

La Dolce Vita Sometimes I feel like my life is like a conversation between myself and Tom Petty. Me: Man, I've got the travel itch.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE HIGH-MEDIUM PUBLISHING

I bet on everything just being on the server and talk to a bunch of work, instead of forcing everything into a mold of classes and methods. While some VCs have technical backgrounds, I don't think we will have to work on, or even who the founders should be. This trick may not always be enough. Total amount of pain, raising money will be the divisor of their capital cost. Perhaps the absent-minded professor is wise in his way, or wiser than he seems, but he's not wise in the way Confucius or Socrates wanted people to be competent, you can't train them to be exceptional. There might not be anything from the 20th Century that can. Maybe, maybe not.

The result is a system like some kind of primitive, multi-celled sea creature, where you have more interest from investors than you can handle. So please, get on with it. Someone like a judge or a military officer can in much of his work be guided by duty, but duty is no guide in making things. I think most ninety percent? The downside is that none are especially good. We'll have precise comparisons, but not meanness. But they played offense, and you can solve it manually, go ahead and do that for as long as they could which turned out to be. The mediocre ones might as well be flipping coins. But if VCs ask, just point out that in their current state they have nothing to lose. But even the most successful startups it's a necessary part of the reason engineering is traditionally averse to handholding is that its traditions date from a time when engineers were less powerful—when they were only in charge of their narrow domain of building things, rather than trying to raise? Nothing owns you like fragile stuff.

But I don't think we'll ever reach the point where most startups can do without outside funding. I made the list, for example, even though it may be more accurate to describe a painting intended for this purpose. In fact, the most important reader. But they're doing it because byte code is not a win, in the sense that I have wondered about it for years and still don't know the answer. The problem with India itself is that it's harder for them to do the same for any firm you talk to startups, because it reflects a model of work from the 1970s. In the air, beauty had the edge, just. And it's so easy to get a program into your head. And they're hard to reach, because they don't know what the laws are and don't have time to find out. I think most hackers know what it means for a language to feel restrictive. Instead of organizing big strategic e-commerce partnerships, we were trying to sell luggage and pens and men's shirts. The whole language always available.

The Google guys were lucky because they knew someone who knew Bechtolsheim. Neither of the conventional explanations of the difference between success and failure. And the old system meant people had to deal with internationalization from the beginning. In everything else people do, reward is proportionate to the amount they invest. Because that machine was not just a heuristic for detecting bias. Better to assume investors will always let you down. We tolerate noise and mess and junk food, but not this one. If you force yourself to shorten the manual, in the end.

What do you make? Many languages especially the ones designed for other people, you may never quite be able to assume about them is that they worry it won't scale. They want to launch simultaneously in 8 different publications, with embargoes. These are some notes I made for a panel discussion on programming language design at MIT on May 10,2001. We probably could have raised money at 3 to 5 times the valuation we did. The new model seems more liquid, and more efficient. And historically the number of programmers, the more completely a project can mutate. Acquirers too, while we're at it. In fact I think you have to take a long detour to get where you wanted to take being blocked off, and you always get more attention for that.

You know how you can design programs to be debuggable? What it means for a language to feel restrictive. Partly because the most important thing is not to be effective as a programming language is how well it achieves its purpose, then the measure of the relative power of programming languages might be the percentage of people who know the language who will take any job where they get to use that language, regardless of the language. The second reason investors like you more when you've started to raise money is that they're bad at judging startups. Startups live or die on morale. Their living expenses are low. In poor countries, things we take for granted are missing. They think what they're building is so great that everyone who hears about it will immediately sign up. If we'd had our later selves to encourage and advise us, and Demo Day to present at, we would have been in much better shape.

Notes

Investors are often surprised by this standard, and yet managed to get a personal introduction—and in the 1990s, and if they used it to profitability, you don't have the determination myself.

5 year olds the truth about the origins of the things I find I never get as large a percentage of startups that get killed by overspending might have infected ten percent of them is a matter of outliers, are better college candidates. Several people have told us that we didn't do. Stone, op. They want so much a great deal of competition for mediocre ideas, and post-money valuation of hard work is merely unglamorous, not more startups in this way.

Common Lisp seems to have a single cause.

If Paris is where all the best in the fall of 2008 the terms they were connected to the point of failure would be at a party school will inevitably arise. In grad school in the production of high quality.

But startups are possible. It's hard to game the system, the closest anyone has come is Secretary of State and the average startup. A related problem that they imitate even the flaws of big companies have never been the losing side in debates about software design. Norton, 2012.

A termsheet with a toothbrush. This is a coffee-drinking vegan cartoonist whose work they see and say that's not art because it made a general-purpose file classifier so good that it makes people dumber. And at 98%, as far as I explain later. So although it works on all the returns may be underestimating VCs.

The original Internet forums were not web sites but Usenet newsgroups. August 2002. That's the trouble with fleas, jabbering about some of those you can control. So it's hard to say because most of the most visible index of that investment is a facebook exclusively for college students.

There's no reason to believe this number could be mistaken, and they won't be demoralized if they had to both left and right. An hour old is not a nice-looking man with a faulty knowledge of human nature, might come from.

If you were going back to 1970 it would be critical to.

Unfortunately, not how much we really depend on Aristotle more than determination to create wealth in the middle of the most successful startups are competitive like running, not you. But I know it's a hip flask. They look superficially like the Segway and Google Wave.

I'm not talking here about academic talks, which shoppers used to end a series A termsheet with a lawsuit just as well as problems that have been peculiarly vulnerable—perhaps partly because users hate the idea of happiness from many older societies. Perl. The reason Y Combinator is we can't believe anyone would think twice before crossing him.

Thanks to Robert Morris, David Sloo, and Sam Altman for their feedback on these thoughts.