#i should have shown her what my tone really could have been

[crescenthistory]

you are my favourite silence

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Reader

Summary: Jessica's lecture and the eventual nightmare-catalysed-reunion, from Paul's tortured, yearning perspective. Based on "in the silence, there is an us".

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: not proofread, angst, hurt/comfort, references to nightmares, intense yearning, descriptions of anxiety and panic, feeling like the world is demanding too much of you, being super in love but not able to say it out loud, cuddling, lady jessica being a c*ckblock/heartbreaker

***

In the face of change, of being pushed into the final phase of growing up, Paul wanted to cling to you like a lifeline. To the gentle rhythm that once existed between him and you, the one he felt becoming more and more unbalanced as the world around dumped expectations on you both. He almost had not noticed it happening at first. You had grown up beside him, a constant presence, and yet now, each time he glanced your way, he was increasingly aware of what could be taken from him. He was only just beginning to grasp how much he cared for you, and the idea that you might feel like you did not belong here, or worse, being shown you do not, made something twist deep inside him.

Sitting beside you in the library, Paul could hear his mother’s words – sharp and pointed, even as he believed they were meant to guide. His whole body felt tense, not because of Jessica’s talk of duty, or the future he would soon shoulder, but because of you. Because he knew what her gaze did to you, how it picked at the part of you that never felt enough. When Jessica moved on to discuss personal relationships, the weight of her underlying meaning came pressing down, and Paul could barely keep his attention on her. His eyes flicked toward you, searching for any sign that her words were cutting too deep. Even when scolded himself, all he could think about is how it would affect you.

He hated this. Hated the way his mother’s eyes would linger on you, as though you were being measured and found wanting. It wasn’t true, but he knew you felt it. He could see it in the way you lowered your head, trying to hide from the sharpness of her tone. His jaw clenched. You were not some distraction, you were his best friend, and that should count for something. You were the reason he could breathe when it all felt either too small or too big.

When the speech was finally over and Jessica left them alone, Paul let out a breath, half-realising he did not listen to a word she said towards the end. The silence between the two of you felt heavy, thicker than it should have been. You should have been able to laugh it off together, snicker at his mother’s dramatics, but he knew you would not do that anymore. He risked a glance at you. His heart sinking at the way you avoided looking back. 

“She didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice low, unsure how else to cut through the tension. When you didn’t respond, he moved closer, needing to bridge the growing distance. “She’s just worried. That’s all. My mother –”

“Your mother is always worried,” you cut in sharply, and Paul flinched. The tone in your voice was one you rarely ever used on him, only in your worst moments. He knew what it meant. You were pulling away, not just from the conversation, but from him. He could feel it. He wanted to stop it, wanted to reach out and pull you back to where you belonged, beside him. “Maybe she has a point. I’ve been distracting you. I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t keep coming to you.”

No.

Paul’s chest tightened as you began to move, began to slip from his grasp. Before he could even think, his hands moved on their own, gently but firmly gripping yours, desperate to ground you. “No,” he said aloud, his voice more forceful than he intended. “You haven’t been distracting me. You’ve... you’ve been keeping me sane. It’s not the same thing.”

He didn’t have the words. Not really. Not for what he was trying to say. All he needed was for you to understand, to know how important you were to him, but no words were worthy in the moment. His mother could never see it the way he did, she was too caught up in her visions for his future to realise when the only future he cared about was right in front of his nose. She didn’t understand how all the qualities that could make him a good duke were the ones you brought out of him.

He could see your brows twitch in the way they do when you are holding back tears. “But your mother thinks –”

“I don’t care what my mother thinks.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and for a brief moment, Paul felt a surge of panic. He blinked, startled by his own admission that he had not realised rang so true for him, but he didn’t let go of your hands. His grip tightened slightly, and he looked at you, willing you to understand all he could not say. “I don’t care what she thinks about the time we spend together,” he continued, trying to keep his voice level. “She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning, like the world’s pressing in from every side, and you’re just. Alone.”

She doesn’t know you’re the lifeboat. 

“Whenever I’m with you, it’s the only time I don’t feel that way,” he confessed, his voice raw. He was laying it all out, unsure if he was saying the right things or making things worse, but he couldn’t stop himself. It felt like he was pleading a case. “You’re not a distraction. You’re the only thing that keeps me steady.”

He saw the way your eyes briefly squeezed shut, the blush still remaining in your cheeks, the slightly quivering curve of your mouth, all that internal struggle on your beautiful face. It tore him apart. You wanted to argue, he could see that, but something held you back. Paul wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. He felt you giving up instead of giving in, as you softly said, “We just need to be more careful.”

Careful. That word grated against his every instinct. Paul didn’t want careful. He wanted you, the way you had always been – close, inseparable. 

But then you said, “We can’t keep hiding away in each other’s rooms. We can’t... we can’t keep acting like kids.”

Paul’s heart sank, his body sagging slightly as he was giving up, too. Not on you, on himself, on his situation. He rubbed at his face, trying to shake the helplessness threatening to take over. You were right, but it felt painfully wrong.

“But we’re not acting like kids,” he muttered, trying to keep you from slipping too far away. 

“Aren’t we?” you whispered, your voice filled with something that sounded like heartbreak. “We’re literally sneaking into each other’s beds in the middle of the night, Paul. We’re still pretending like nothing’s changed.”

Paul didn’t have a response. Not immediately, too caught up with the ache in his chest as his disturbance turned existential. Why must sharing a close connection with someone, being tethered by someone, be a thing of only childhood? He felt he needed it more and more the older he got. Yet, he knew better than anyone all he had to do and all he had to be, and that it was time to step up to the challenge. But that didn’t mean he wanted to lose this, lose you, at least this part of you it felt he had always possessed. The idea that things had to change, that you couldn’t be the way you had always been – it was unbearable.

“Nothing has changed though,” he finally said, aiming for conviction. “Not between us.”

Deep down, Paul knew you were right. Everything had changed, just not in the way you were currently discussing, and he didn’t know what to do with it. He was not ready to face it. 

When you stood up to leave, the panic flared again in his chest. He wanted to reach for you, to stop you, to pull you back down beside him. Show you why you had to stay. He did anything but, he could only watch as you walked away, leaving him behind with the oppressive atmosphere of the library. His finger tips lingered on your seat as he clung to your promise: I will see you tomorrow. Even that small promise felt like a lifeline made of plastic.

Paul stared at the spot where you left, the weight of the future settling heavily on his shoulders. 

The following weeks, Paul did everything in his power to bury the gnawing unease that twisted inside him. He cherry-picked from his continuing lectures from his mother, trying to keep only the positives and leave out all the doom everyone seemed to hand him these days. The tension that hung between you only worsened in the silence of the castle’s long nights. You had always shared a restlessness after dark, a sort of curse that made sleep seem impossible unless you were together. But after his mother’s warnings about appearances and responsibilities, Paul felt obligated to put distance between you, to keep his emotions in check. At least for as long as you claimed that was what you wanted, too.

God, he hated it.

At first, he tried to do everything right, tried to focus more on his studies, his duties, his pretenses. He could not afford to slip up, not when he was being watched so closely, not when he was meant to prove himself a future Duke. But the more he tried to be the person he was expected to be, the more he felt himself, Paul, not the future duke of House Atreides, unraveling. 

Every moment spent apart from you gnawed at him, like a thread slowly being pulled loose from the fabric of his mind. His concentration splintered; during meetings, his eyes trailed to the door, wondering if you would ever walk in, during training, his movements felt sluggish, his mind always wandering to whether you were okay, whether you missed him too.

The longer you kept your distance, the harder it became to focus on anything but you and the looming elephant that was your friendship.

He soaked up every interaction you had like a parched man trying to survive in the desert. Even something as simple as sitting beside you during meals or brushing past you in the hallways felt like a lifeline. He clung to those moments, storing them away like precious memories, replaying them in his mind when he found himself alone. He knew you still saw each other a relatively normal amount, the amount usual friends dedicate to each other – but it was far from enough.

During it all you kept up your facade too well for Paul’s state. It was like you practiced it all when you could not sleep at night, you were polite, composed, like nothing had changed between you. Paul knew you better, of course. He could see through it, see the cracks forming beneath the surface. The bags forming under your eyes, the strain on your smiles, the flickering of your gaze when met by any member of the Atreides family now. You were just as affected by this distance as he was, but you were better at hiding it from everyone but him. It only made him want to reach out more, to break through that wall, to remind you that you didn’t have to carry this alone.

Paul sat beside you at the long wooden table in the dining hall, trying to act as though nothing had changed. The usual hum of formalities and business between his tutors, his mother, and the few remaining nobles blurred into a background buzz. All of it felt irrelevant compared to the tension sitting between you and him. He tried to tell himself the change was not that large, out of all the seats in the room, you were still sat together. 

He sneaked a glance at you from the corner of his eye. You were sitting perfectly still, your posture as composed and graceful as you had been trained to be, eyes downcast as you picked at the meal in front of you. On the surface, you looked calm, indifferent even, but Paul could see it so easily. The way your fingers gripped your knife a little too tight, the way your shoulders tensed as if trying to make yourself smaller, invisible. It’s not the same.

Despite his appetite having long since vanished, Paul tried to take a bite of his food. Beside him, you sipped your water, eyes flicking up just once to meet his before darting away again. The briefest connection, but it hit him like a shockwave. He was desperate for more of you, the real you, not this version that was carefully packaged to meet the standards of the room.

A thought ran through his head and before he could compose himself, Paul’s foot nudged yours lightly under the table. A small, almost childlike gesture. His heart raced, wondering if you would acknowledge it, if you would look at him like you used to. When you glanced his way, a flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, a sign that you were still there, but it withered away fast.

You straightened in your seat, breaking eye contact, your attention turning back to your plate. A clear signal that you couldn’t do this, not here. Not now.

Paul’s stomach twisted, and he gripped his fork tighter, his knuckles white against the silver. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. There had been no distance between you before. You used to laugh together, share inside jokes over dinners like this. You used to sneak glances that said everything without needing words. Now, there was just this unbearable restraint. The longer it stretched on, the more suffocating it became.

He wanted so desperately to just be your best friend again, like when you were younger, when things were simple. When sharing a bed was not plagued by conventions or the expectations of his mother. Back then, it had been about adventure and laughter. Now it was about survival for poor Paul, it was all he needed to secure him. He wanted you to know how much he cared, how much he needed you. 

He remained silent.

When night fell, it became unbearable. Alone in his room, Paul felt the weight of everything pressing down on him—the responsibilities, the expectations, the growing distance between the two of you. Sleep evaded him. Each night felt longer than the last, and the silence of the castle, once comforting, now felt suffocating. 

He thought of you constantly. 

He wondered if you were having nightmares, the way you always did when there were no storms to distract you. You never reacted well to the stillness of nights like this, and Paul knew it. He knew you too well. 

Should I go to her? 

The thought flickered in his mind more than once, the worry gnawing at him more than usual, but something held him back. His mother’s words still lingered in the air between you, but more importantly your words. You asked for space, even if the reasons felt as tragic to him as they did. He could not risk making things worse, could not risk losing you completely by overstepping. Nevertheless, the longer he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the more unbearable the thought of doing nothing became.

The hours drifted on, whisking away into the night air streaming in through his cracked open window. He had zeroed in on the sound in hopes it could form a lullaby, but to no avail. In the silence of his room, he heard footsteps in the hallway.

Before he could finish thinking, he was up and out of bed, hand on the door. He was fully expecting to open the door and be met with a wall of nothingness, forced to face how truly delerious he was becoming, but the possibility of any other outcome made him throw the door open without hesitation. 

His pounding heart all but lit up as he saw you standing in the doorway, almost hidden in the darkness. Surprise was etched onto your features and your hand was half-raised, presumably to knock on the door. A relieved smile made it onto your lips, and Paul briefly wondered whether you were aware, or if it was instinct. He breathed your name as a silent thank you to whatever forces brought you back to his doorstep.

In the half-shadows, you looked haunted, and he immediately stepped to the side to make room for you to step back into his world. He had been waiting for you. Hoping, somehow, that you would come to him, that you still needed him the way he needed you. 

You slipped inside quietly, and Paul closed the door behind you, sealing the two of you away from everything – his mother, the expectations, the fear that had been building between you for weeks. His chest tightened as he watched you, taking in the way your shoulders tensed, the way your eyes flicked to his like you weren’t sure if you should be here.

Paul had never been more certain of anything. He needed you here. 

As if your muscle memory controlled your actions, you moved toward the bed, and Paul followed hot on your heels, not willing to let you get too far away from him. There were no words, but there didn’t need to be. You both knew what this was. 

As he watched you climb into his bed, Paul felt something settle in his chest, something that had been fraying ever since the distance had started growing between you. He slid in beside you, immediately wrapping his arm as tightly around your waist as viable and pulling you close.

The quiet of his room that had just felt so suffocating now felt like a refuge. You were his anchor, his constant. For the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside didn’t feel so heavy. 

He heard your breathing slow as you nestled against him, your head resting on his chest. Without any real thought behind the action, he buried his nose in your hair and breathed you in, feeling every part of his body that was touching yours. He could feel the tremors in your body start to fade, and with them, the knot of worry that had been coiling tighter and tighter inside him began to loosen.

“Are you okay?” Paul whispered, his voice soft, almost afraid of shattering the moment.

You nodded against him, but Paul could feel the weakness in the movement, could feel the words you did not say. In response he held you tighter, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles on your arm, offering comfort in the only way he knew how.

“I’m glad you came,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it almost didn’t reach his own ears. He had not realized how much he needed to say it until the words were out. “I wanted to come to you, but—” He trailed off, guilt wracking his mind while trying to somehow silence yours. His hand began to trace up and down your bare arm, needing to feel the warmth of your skin to remind himself that you were real, that this moment was real.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice hoarse with emotion. “I wanted to come sooner.”

Paul didn’t say anything, but his heart ached at the truth in your words. You had wanted to come sooner, but something had kept you back. The same thing that had kept him pacing his room, wondering if he should break the unspoken rules and go to you. Although he had always known, being told that the distance was killing you too felt oddly good.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence between you now felt different, like the quiet after a storm, when the air is charged but peaceful. Paul’s hand drifted up to gently stroke your hair, the motion instinctual, as his other hand held your waist. It was one of the most intimate embraces you had had, and it felt so right, to the point where he did not even question it. He wanted to offer you more than comfort, more than just a place to escape your nightmares. He wanted to give you the world, guaranteed safety. Not just a reprieve or a shelter, but a true home, a good life. But the words weren’t there yet. He didn’t know how to say the way he cared for you, that it was more than just… caring. That you were the only person who had ever made him feel like everything might be okay.

Instead, he whispered, “I’ll always be here. I swear it.” It was close enough for now.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his in the dim candlelight, burning low. For a moment, Paul’s breath caught in his throat. He saw everything in that look – your fear, your doubt, your hope. Your care. He craved to kiss you, to close the distance that still felt like it hung between you. Instead, he pressed his lips to the top of your head, a tender, quiet gesture that said everything he couldn’t yet.

Neither of you spoke after that. You simply held each other, the world outside disappearing as you both drifted into a peaceful sleep. Paul finally felt safe.

[lovelyisadora]

love love love when wheelchair assistance at the airport is so fucked it makes you miss your flight, and the gate agent tells you to go fuck yourself as she looks you right in the eye and closes the flight in front of you 🙃

[vettelsvee]

THE "JOURNALIST" | Max Verstappen

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | instagram

max verstappen x journalist student!reader

summary: y/n is "scared" to interview max, and max is sick of journalists, especially newbies. however the sex appeal between them is more than obvious.

word count: 992

warnings: none of it really! just sexual tension between y/n and max. use of y/n

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback, as well as comments and reblogs, are truly appreciated!

You were in the broadcast booth ready to report the results of the latest Formula 1 qualifying session. With your notebook and microphone in hand, you were poised to inform the audience about the exciting session results.

"Welcome back to our live broadcast from Silverstone!" you exclaimed cheerfully as you looked into the camera. "I think we should start discussing the results of the qualifying session for tomorrow's Sunday race as soon as possible."

With great enthusiasm and ensuring you had your notes in hand to avoid any mistakes, you began to list the names of the drivers and their positions on the starting grid:

"In first position, with an impressive fast lap, we have Lewis Hamilton, who has once again demonstrated his incredible skills on the track. In second place we have Max Verstappen, who is hot on the heels of the British in the championship standings. And in third position, but no less important, we have Charles Leclerc, whose improvement this season has been phenomenal, something he is quite proud of, as his partner exclusively shared with us."

You continued to read out the names of the drivers and their respective positions. However, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to Max Verstappen, the Dutch driver who she found quite attractive and, at the same time, respected due to his evident disdain towards the media.

"And in the last position, we have our dear Checo Pérez, who is having a fantastic season with Red Bull Racing but, due to an engine failure, was eliminated in Q3. It will undoubtedly be very exciting to see how these men fight for the podium in tomorrow's race!"

You continued to describe the results and the performance the drivers had shown in the qualifying session, highlighting their achievements and the challenges they would face the following day.

When it came time to talk about Max Verstappen, your voice tone changed slightly:

"As for Verstappen, the prodigal son of this new era in the world of motorsport, he has once again demonstrated his incredible talent," you said with as much seriousness as she could muster, "although it was not enough to surpass Hamilton this time."

You tried to stay focused on your speech despite the glances Verstappen was casting from the paddock while responding to other journalists. Without a doubt, Verstappen commanded a lot of respect from you: the fact that he disregarded the work of his future colleagues in the profession caused your considerable disdain, and at times, he could be quite disrespectful. You didn't want to imagine how he would treat you, being just a newbie.

Although it must be noted that you found yourself quite attracted to him.

After finally finishing the live broadcast and interviewing several drivers, with whom she had felt quite comfortable despite her nerves, it was your turn to face Max Verstappen.

"Hello, Max," you greeted the Dutchman. "First of all, I want to congratulate you on your second position in the qualifying."

"It's not the one my team and I were looking for."

You tried to ignore his response, moving on to a different but related question:

"Even though your result isn't what you desired, how do you feel about being in that position?" despite your fear, you dared to continue with the question, "Do you think you'll be able to beat Lewis?"

"I'm here to win," Max replied flippantly, "not to settle for second place."

"I understand, Max," you said, changing the subject, "with the aim of overtaking Hamilton, could you tell us what strategies both you and Red Bull Racing have in mind?"

You didn't need to see the poker face Max had directed at you to know you had overstepped by asking about strategies.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

Without even looking at you or saying goodbye, he turned around seemingly intending to leave the scene.

But Max Verstappen wasn't one to let anyone get the better of him, not even a mere student who didn't know how she was going to earn her degree because, without a doubt, she didn't know how to do her job properly.

"And what about you," he addressed you directly, shocking you in that moment. "What strategy would you propose to me to win the race?"

You had endured situations of underestimation in other newsrooms where you had interned, with quite nasty comments that had made you feel pretty bad. However, the sarcasm from the blue-eyed driver only drew her more to him.

"Maybe he's an asshole," you thought to yourself, "but he's a pretty hot asshole."

"Well…" you began. "Maybe instead of doing good broadcasts or getting top marks, I'll fuck one of you and, besides, gain fame."

Verstappen let out a sardonic laugh as he approached you. There was no doubt that he had not only surprised, but also pleased by what you had said.

"Really?" Max answered, a little excited, "Who would you take right now?"

"You seem like a complete asshole," you told him, "but I have to admit that I find it extremely difficult to ignore you."

"Why's that? Do you like what you see?"

The tension between both of you was more than evident.

You knew you couldn't continue this conversation, at least not in front of journalists, team bosses, and other people.

"If you want to set aside our personal relationship," the driver whispered to you as he lightly brushed your arm, "and get to know me better, prepare a good strategy for tonight."

"Verstappen," you replied, looking him directly in the eyes. "If you win tomorrow's race, don't hesitate to invite me to the private party you're going to throw, and I'll give you a night to make you feel special."

"Alright, Miss I-don't-know-your-name. A victory for one night."

If Max felt motivated to come in first tomorrow to beat Hamilton, now he felt even more so knowing he could have a girl begging for him.

[eclipzee3]

˗ˏˋ 𝓑𝓮𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓻 𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓾𝓮𝓼 ˎˊ˗

𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ˚ʚ 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 ɞ˚

•°`` ``°•

➵ rough price, oral fixation, oral sex, pnv, age gap too!

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ reader is 18 or older, a college student.

John is her dad's best friend. Dbf, so please don't read if that makes you uncomfortable. Age gap as well!!!!

Hide this post if you don't like it.

READ THE WARNINGS!!!!

You weren't exactly known to be well behaved according to your father's friends. John had heard about how you were a brat, how you had so much attitude and other shit. He really didn't care though. Not that he should, wasn't his place to. Until he was made to basically babysit you.

You were old enough to take care of yourself, and you thought your father knew that when your dad and mom went out on vacation. You were asked to take care of the house, and he, for some reason, contacted one of his buddies to watch over you. John knew you for your rep between his friend circle. He didn't gossip or anything. He was an old man, he really had no enemies, but he did find himself questioning where his respect for women was when he saw you.

To be fair, you had shown up in quite the outfit. Little baby top with a tiny bow and a jean skirt that was just oh so short. You hadn't been expecting him, so when you walked up to your parents' house, you didn't expect the door to be opened for you. "Hey, sweetheart." He smiled, his rough voice making you even more confused. You didn't know John. Not at all, so why was he in your parents' house? "Who are you?" You said, completely ignoring his sweet greeting. You met him with a confused look, and he returned the same one.

Your father must not have told you. That old fucker. Curse him for putting him in this situation with the hottest girl ever. He felt like he was back in high school. "I'm your father's friend, john. He asked me to help watch over the house with ya'." He said with that same baritone voice. "Oh.. alright." You said flatly. You didn't like you dad's friends at all. You knew they talked about you, you knew most of them probably had been jerking it to your Instagram photos. You hoped John wasn't like that, but you doubted it.

Soon you got situated in the house after making a few trips to your car to retrieve stuff. John had offered to help multiple times, but each time you refused. John was starting to understand the whole attitude thing with you. Where you could have just been wanting to be nice and do things yourself, later on he was making dinner as he should. But one thing threw him off. He had made two servings of the food for you to have some, but you refused to eat it. And you instead made Ramen noodles instead of perfect pasta?

To say John was a little angry was an understatement. He sat across from you as you ate your 30 fucking cent Ramen instead of his perfectly good pasta? His pasta was delicious. You were just a defiant little brat.

You pulled out your phone, not wanting to start conversation as you slurped on the noodles, going on social media and what not.

"No phones. Put it away." Johns voices broke the silence painfully. You looked up before looking back at your phone. "Why? You're not my dad. We aren't even talking." Your voice had a defiant little edge to it. John knew exactly what you were doing, and he wasn't having it. "No. Put it away. I don't have to be your father to tell you what to do. Put the damn phone away." John's voice had more authority now. It had more of a 'test me' type of tone. But, you didn't want to listen. Why should you? You laughed softly, glancing up from your phone. "Make me."

John would infact make you. He stood up, the chair screeching against the wood flooring as he snatched your phone, putting it on the other side of the table in order for you not to get it. He glared down at you, pulling the Ramen bowl away as well. "You fucking listen to me, princess. You won't get away with this with me. If I have to make you suck my fuckin' cock I'll make you. Whatever it takes to shut that little mouth of yours and obey." He growled out. Staring daggers into you. The atmosphere changed. You weren't scared. Infact you thought it was kinda funny he wanted you to submit to him. To let him boss you around?? No way.

"Really?" You smirked, chuckling, clearly finding it funny. "Oh yeah. I'll show you, baby." A threatening tone clung to his voice as he pulled out your chair with ease, slight fear setting in. John was a large man. A large, fit, strong man. You weren't exactly strong. At all. You could hardly pick up that stuff from earlier. You couldn't defend yourself.

Suddenly, a hand grasped the back of your hair, pulling it painfully.. and dragging you out of your chair. You hit the floor on your knees, whimpering audibly as you were forced to look up at him. You hadn't payed any attention before.. but he was packing quite the large package too. With a big bulge in your face and a large man dominating you, you felt yourself begin to like it. "You'll see, sweetheart." He growled, undoing his belt with his free hand.. keeping you under him. "Maybe next time someone will listen.. yeah?" He said, tugging down his boxers as his belt clung against the flooring, his erect cock bouncing and grazing your face as you felt your mouth drool.

His cock was so thick and veiny.. long too. It almost sagged from its weight it looked like. He guided his cock over your lips, slapping it against them as a command for you to open your mouth. You did so obediently.. melting into his rough touch. He immediately pushed his cock in your hot wet pocket and stuffed it full while you hummed... unable to speak.

"Such a pretty little brat huh? Love this cock don't you, princess?" He smiled shoving your head farther on him as you gagged profusely.. your nose hitting his pubes as you looked up at him with those big eyes. You began to suck his cock, earning a groan and a moan from him as his tip abused the back of your throat.

He didn't stop. He didn't plan on stopping either. He kept fucking your throat for a solid 20 minutes and most before he finally stopped, pulling out and stroking himself quickly, groaning as he looked at your little grin, your mouth opening.. your tongue peeking out. He came right then, his cum spurting out onto your face and tongue, the bitter taste making you wince. Once he finished on your face, his fingers wiped it from your skin and onto your tongue. He forced you to taste his gross cum, making you suck on his fingers til all of it was gone.. until there was nothing to taste anymore.

He finally allowed you to get up. Before bending you over on the table. "I'm not done just yet, baby." He said, his hand immediately tugging down your skirt and panties, hands kneading your perfect ass. He groaned, already feeling himself hard again. You had to admit, he made you drip. Your pussy was soaked in your sweet nectar.. prepped for his big cock. Ready.

His hand came down quickly, swatting your ass with a little yelp from you as your ass stung. "Fuck. Please... please." You moaned, looking over your shoulder as he pumped his cock, the tip guiding to your folds. "Please what?" He said, eyes full of lust as he watched your pretty lips move. "Please fuck me.." you whined, and he quickly got on your request. His cock plunged inside you, stretching you significantly and painfully as you moaned, hands making fists as you tried to take it the best you could. "Oh my god...!" You cried. You squeezed him so tightly. Your little pussy practically dragged him right back in when he went in and out. It was addicting. How tight you were.. how perfect your pussy was. He couldn't get enough. Never..

Before he knew it he was ripping you apart. Respect had left a long time ago. He was too focused on coming he didn't even realize he was still inside you when he hit your spot repeatedly.. milking him of the cum he had to give. You moaned out, your legs shaking a bit from how hard he'd fucked you.. but oh how you loved it. You'd disobey any chance you got if this is the 'punishment.' For being such a...

"Fuckin' brat.." he groaned, pulling his cock out as his cum dripped out of you.. leaving you stuffed.

Thanks for reading! Sorry if it's short I'm horrible at writing long stuff. This is my first fic. Please be kind if you don't mind!!!ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Pls be nice. I understand if this isn't your thing, I understand if you don't like it, I understand if this disgusts you. Instead of being mean and hateful block me.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Less Talk | Part III

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: mild angst, Hangman being a dick aka Hangman being himself, unresolved sexual tension, swearing, drinking

Part I | Part II | Masterlist

You’re watching Jake so grimly that he almost wants to give you a hug. But, the next moment, you let out a heated sigh and shake your head irritably. “God, Jake, nothing happened,” you say, as if he’s the one who’s shown up at your doorstep unannounced in the dead of night.

He gives you a stony look that, unfortunately, you don’t see because you’re no longer watching him, so his efforts go completely unnoticed. “If nothing happened, then why are you here? Past midnight. Crying.” To his chagrin, the tone of his voice is far too vexed to emulate the indifferent attitude he means to preserve.

You lick your lips and sniffle. “We had a fight,” you say.

Jake stares at you impatiently, waiting for you to look back up. When you don’t, he says, “You fight with everybody.”

This makes you look. He’s dreadfully satisfied with peeving you – the only satisfaction you’ll likely ever give him. “It was a big one, obviously.”

Jake studies the expression on your face, trying to gauge whether or not you’re hiding something. “Where is he?” he asks, feeling like he needs to punch something. And soon.

You take a long time to respond – so long that Jake almost poses the question for a second time. “I don’t know,” you finally say.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?”

You shrug, your lips beginning to tremble anew. “He just left.”

What Jake experiences at the sight of the fresh tears filling your eyes is abhorrent. The simultaneous desire to alleviate your pain and beat the living shit out of Mustang offsets his entire world in a way that puts your well-being at the top of his priority list. Hell, he doesn’t even have a priority list. You are it. And with this absurd notion weighing on the ever-growing vortex of his newly discovered emotions, he resolves to tell you just what he thinks of your idiotic boyfriend. “Well, he’s obviously a moron,” he says curtly.

You glance up at him again, less angry than before. “He’s a lot like you in that respect,” you say with a hint of a smile.

Jake scoffs and, before he can stop himself, says, “I would never walk out on you.”

You stare at him for a moment before lowering your gaze awkwardly.

Jake cringes, realizing that he could have said just about anything else and it would have been better. Moreover, in his attempt to rectify the situation, he blurts out this obnoxious tidbit: “You’d never let me hear the end of it.”

You roll your eyes but then you bite into your bottom lip and your eyebrows lift inward. You glance up at him woefully and say, “I’m not that bad, am I?”

Jake watches you carefully, wondering why you’d care what he might have to say on the matter. He tries to determine what his response might be before deciding if he’s going to be honest. On the one hand, you are that bad. On the other, when it comes to you, bad takes on an entirely different connotation. “You could be worse,” he responds vaguely.

You stare at him miserably. “You can’t stand me,” you remind him.

Jake nearly laughs; that’s how absurd he finds your statement. “Well, that’s more or less mutual, is it not?”

You nod slowly.

“In any case, it’s hardly relevant since I’m not your boyfriend.”

“But what does that say about me?” you ask. “I piss off everyone around me. You said it yourself, I just can’t shut up.”

“Why should you?” he says, his anger flaring despite his every effort to control it. His response seems to catch you off-guard because you blink up at him sharply. “I just mean, who cares if you piss someone off? That’s not a you problem,” he reasons, although he’s painfully aware of just how much he’s contradicting his every complaint where you’ve been concerned.

“Well, it’s kind of my problem if my boyfriend hates me,” you say, your mouth finally relaxing into the beginnings of a smile.

Jake cocks his head to the side and purses his lips. “I don’t know,” he says. “Sounds like you just need a new boyfriend.”

You scoff and turn away. The moment your back is to him, Jake shuts his eyes and passes a hand over his face with a silent sigh. He watches you travel the length of his living room and unplug a fan that isn’t turned on. “You shouldn’t keep your electric appliances plugged in when they aren’t in use,” you mutter absently. “You’re wasting energy.”

Jake rolls his eyes despite the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How much energy does a table fan waste when it isn’t even on?”

You shrug, glancing over your shoulder. “How many electrical devices do you currently have plugged in that aren’t ‘even on’?” you ask, using air quotes to emphasize the final two words. “It adds up, thereby increasing your carbon footprint. Imagine everybody lived as carelessly as you do?”

Jake grins broadly. “The horror.”

You nod without the tiniest bit of amusement. “My thoughts exactly.”

Jake watches you resignedly, not at all surprised that you’ve found yet another reason to reproach him. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

You eye him suspiciously, as if you don’t quite trust that he won’t poison your food.

“We’ve got some leftovers,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen through the corridor. “Have you eaten?” You consider his offer at length as though he’s proposed a shotgun wedding rather than a pot roast. “Come on,” he says, waving you over as he makes his way into the hallway. “I can’t wait to hear what you have to say about my cooking.”

…

“This is surprisingly good,” you comment as Jake pours you a glass of wine.

Jake chuckles. “That might be the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You lick your lips and smile up at him as he takes a seat across from you at the table, popping the cap off a beer. “Your turn,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

Jake sneers and then guzzles half his bottle in one gulp. He sets the beer down to find you watching him expectantly.

“You can’t think of anything?” you ask incredulously.

Jake runs a hand across his chin, watching your smile widen at the thought of him having nothing decent to say about you. Ironically, he can’t think of a single thing that isn’t nice, which is truly agitating him. He racks his brain trying to come up with at least one negative quality because something about you drives him absolutely crazy.

You sigh, returning your attention to your plate. “It’s fine, Seresin,” you say. “Don’t think so hard, I know you aren’t accustomed to it.”

“That,” Jake says, leaning into the table as he points a finger in your direction. “That sharp sense of humor.”

You raise your eyebrows with a laugh. “Oh, you think I’m joking?” You tilt your head sympathetically, but your smile remains.

Jake meets your gaze with an affectionate smirk, silently listing off every other ‘nice’ thing about you, including, but not limited to, the sound of your laughter. He swallows uncomfortably when you don’t look away, unsettled by the unrest in the pit of his stomach that churns every time your eyes meet. He tries to regulate his breathing before it becomes apparent that you’re actively rattling him.

The creak of the front door interrupts the obscenely prolonged period of mutual eye fucking contact. You glance toward the corridor while Jake disconcertedly rubs his eyes.

“Y/N?” Bradley says, walking into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh.” You sigh, setting down your fork and reverting to your previously dejected state.

“Don’t tell me you guys had another fight,” Bradley says jadedly. He glances over at Jake with a grave expression which Jake means to completely ignore.

“He stormed out,” you say, sighing into your half-eaten plate. “I think I really ticked him off this time.”

Jake gives Bradley an unimpressed look when the latter starts thrusting his head around to indicate that Jake should add something to the conversation. Jake takes another gulp of his beer.

“He shouldn’t be taking off,” Bradley says when Jake remains silent. “I don’t care how angry he is.” He looks to Jake for approval.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Why are we still talking about this dumbass?”

Bradley eyes him pointedly. “Didn’t realize you’ve already discussed him,” he says, glancing between you and Jake.

You pick your fork back up and start stabbing at the meat on your plate.

“How was the rest of your evening, Rooster?” Jake asks, avoiding looking directly at him.

“Pretty good,” Bradley responds, and Jake can hear the glee in his tone without even seeing his ridiculous grin. “Yours?”

Jake aims a disdainful scowl in his direction. “Bradshaw,” he says. “You look tired.”

Bradley holds back a laugh and then turns to you. “Y/N, do you want to talk?”

You look up at your best friend with a weary smile. Your gaze slips to briefly glance at Jake before you shake your head at Bradley. “I think I’m good. Thanks.”

Bradley gives you a hug and heads for the stairs, pausing momentarily to throw Jake a final, cautionary look before heading to bed.

“I should go,” you say once Bradley leaves.

“You sure?” Jake asks. “You haven’t criticized my dishwashing skills yet. I bet I use too much water.”

You give him an amused look as you rise from your chair. “Recognizing the problem is the first step.”

He recognizes the problem alright; it’s standing right before him. “What’s the next step?”

“Well,” you say musingly. “In this case, I would say action.”

Jake nods, getting out of his seat. “I could use some of that, for sure.”

Your gaze lingers on him as you let out a soft laugh. You’re an entire table length away and yet he can feel the force of your presence as though you were pressed up against him.

“You could stick around,” he offers casually. “We could watch a movie or something.”

You continue studying him brazenly. “I’d probably ruin it for you.”

He laughs. “We could watch something I already don’t like.”

You smile back at him. “Haven’t you done that enough for one evening?”

Jake doesn’t altogether know how to respond without making it painfully obvious just how much he doesn’t not like you. “Yeah,” he says finally. “So, what’s another couple of hours?”

You’re watching him thoughtfully which makes him almost hopeful that you might agree to stay, but then you respond with, “Maybe another time.”

He nods, keeping his eyes trained on yours. “Another time,” he agrees. But as you head for the door, he decides to try another tactic. “Should you be driving after having that wine?” he asks.

You give him a flat look. “I had half a glass. If that.”

Jake shrugs slightly. “It was a big glass.”

You roll your eyes. “It’ll be fine, Seresin.” You reach for the doorknob.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if, for once, he came home, and you weren’t there?” he asks.

You look at him sharply. “He won’t be home for hours.”

Jake gestures at the open living room. “We have several fine couches. Take your pick.”

You sigh, evaluating his pitch. “No,” you say finally. “He’s already so mad at me. If I stay here, that’ll be the end of our relationship.”

This outcome sounds just dandy to Jake, but he can see the worry in your expression, so he pulls on the door and holds it open for you, following you out onto the porch to walk you to your car.

“Drive carefully,” he says once you’re seated, leaning down to peer into the car as you buckle your seatbelt.

You nod. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Thanks for the company,” he responds.

You chuckle. “Yeah, about that… sorry I imposed on your evening.”

“Yeah,” Jake agrees with a smirk. “That was kind of rude of you.” When you laugh, he adds. “No, but really, I don’t mind. Come over anytime.”

You gasp at him to simulate shock. “And subject you to my numerous opinions?”

Jake’s grin widens. “I’m getting used to tuning you out.”

“So, what exactly is it that you gain out of my company?” you ask with raised eyebrows as you start your engine.

Jake raps on the hood of your car a couple of times before responding. “I just don’t want to deprive you of my company.”

You snort. “That would be a tragedy.”

Jake lets himself admire your laugh for several seconds before straightening his back. “Have a good night, Y/N,” he says, and then he shuts your door.

You pull out of the driveway and stop your car on the side of the road. Jake watches curiously as you step out of the car. He approaches you slowly, his eyes drifting up and down your figure involuntarily. He blinks to reorient himself, exhaling sharply as he comes to stand before you. He slips his hands into his pockets to avoid the temptation of using them to pin you to your car and then running them along the curves of your body. You’re looking up at him with a sheepish expression, completely unaware of the turmoil he’s up against in this very moment. “What’s up?” he says sternly; employing exaggerated masculinity to help assuage his crippling desire to kiss you.

Instead of responding, however, you stretch up onto your tiptoes and wrap your arms around his neck. In his shock, it takes a second for Jake to loosen his rigid stance; to remember that his hands are still safely tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He draws them out slowly, holding them cautiously on either side of your body, wondering just how catastrophic it would be if he were to reciprocate the hug. “You really helped me tonight,” you say softly, your breath warming the crook of his neck.

He lets out a weak chuckle that dies the second it leaves his lips because, at that moment, you press your cheek into his shoulder. His hands close gingerly around you. He’s barely holding on, but you feel just right in his embrace. Like the dip in your waist belongs between the palms of his hands. “Glad to be of service,” he mutters, his voice a little rough as he attempts to process this turn of events.

You detach yourself from his grasp and give him a friendly smile. So friendly, it nearly kills him. “Maybe I can return the favor someday,” you say.

Jake stares at you, trying to come up with at least one favor you could do for him that isn’t sexual in nature and drawing a complete blank. “Maybe,” he says uneasily.

“Anyway,” you say. “Sleep well.”

You flash him one last smile before climbing back into your car while Jake takes several steps back, wondering how the fuck he’s going to sleep at all after having experienced that.

Read Part 4

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[hughes86-43]

Congratulations on 150<333

Could I request “I can never get back what you took from me,” from your prompt list for Jack Hughes ❤️

“I can’t ever get back what you took from me,”

thank you!!

150-Celly! ⭐️

you had been sitting at the bar most of the night. it was a summer evening in Michigan, and you had followed your best friend and his friends to this quaint bar. honestly, you needed somewhere, anywhere to drown your feelings.

since you two became friends, you always loved Jack more than a friend. however, he never seemed to get the hint. those feelings for him were getting stronger throughout this summer. everybody could tell that you had feelings for him, everybody but him. his brothers always brought it up to you that you should tell him.

tonight was going to be the night that you were just going to get it over with, because it was consuming you entirely. so you stood up from the bar, where you were waiting for your drink, and made your way to Jack in the far back corner, but as soon as you made your way to him, he was busy kissing a girl. your heart shattered.

trying to regain your composure, you attempted to turn around. however, you made eye contact with him as soon as some guy bumped into you and spilled his drink on you.

“Ugh!” You say to the guy.

“I’m sorry, that was on me!”

you knew that Jack had made eye contact with you so you wanted to get out of there. “It’s okay, honest mistake,” you reply to the guy to get him to go away, and he took the hint to leave you alone.

you spin on your heels as you see Jack get up from the booth. “Y/N! Wait up! Are you okay?” You hear from behind you, but your focused on getting out the doors. You spot Luke a few feet away, and he seems to move his lips to say something, but you just shake your head and keep moving.

Making it out the doors, you’re suddenly stopped by someone grabbing your wrist causing you to spin around. “Hey, are you okay?” Jack asks.

“Peachy, just fine actually!”, you yell out.

He lets go of your wrist at your tone. “Woah, I just wanted to make sure you were okay!”

“And I said I was fine! Now if you’ll let me go on my way,” you reply trying to move away from him.

“Wait, before that all happened, it looked like you were on a mission to find me.” Of course, he would sense that.

“I was… until I saw your little date back there.” You mumble out. The hurt in your heart still there.

“Oh, I just met her, she seems nice. What did you want to say?”

“Nothing, nothing! Just forget it, and go back to your date!” You wish he would just go back in there so you could cry. However, you hold it together for right now.

“No! Tell me what you wanted to tell me!” Jack says, moving closer to you.

“Fine, you wanna know what I was going to say! I was finally going to tell you how I really feel, how much I actually love you. But seeing you in there with her, makes me realize no matter how I feel, you’ll never feel the same. You have never once shown you like me more than a friend, when everybody seems to know how much I have shown that I like you more than a friend!”

“Y/N-”

“No! I put so much into our friendship to try and get you to like me more than that. I’ve given you so much comfort and care! I’ve given you so much love over the years! And you haven’t noticed!” You yell out, so frustrated that you don’t even care there is people noticing. “And you know what, jack? I can’t ever get back what you took from me! You’ve taken so much of my love and energy and have given nothing back!”

Jack tries to reach out to you again, but you move away shaking your head. He manages to grab your wrist while you say, “I’m okay, go back inside to your date, and I’ll go home.” You slip your hand out of his grasp and turn to walk away from him, and you don’t turn around when he keeps calling out your name.

[wordsofelie]

Chapter 8

🔥Phoenix and Ashes

Suna Rintarou x f!reader

Summary: “It’s funny how nobody believed that we could make it work.” - “Well-maybe they were right.”

Meeting Suna Rintarou wasn’t part of your plan. Dating him, either. Getting your heart smashed into the palms of his hand, even less.

Content Warnings: Timeskip, Manga Spoilers, Alcohol Consumption, Mention of 1 OC, yn is lost & confused

Word count: 4.5k

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 9

184.

That’s the number of days that have passed since you last saw Suna or heard from him. 184 full days, mornings and evenings, without hearing his voice or touching his skin. You can't sleep a wink the night before the twins’ birthday party. You squirm in bed and watch the hours pass.

So many questions run through your mind.

What will happen when you see him? Will he talk to you; look at you? If you have the opportunity to hold him again—will you?

It’s raining outside. You hear the raindrops brushing the trees before crashing against your window. The moon is shining bright and high in the sky, at times, clouds hide it. It’s a typical autumn night, heavy and nostalgic. Just like your heart.

Around 3 a.m. you decide to text Umi.

“I’m scared to see Rintarou,” you admit.

It doesn’t take her long to reply, “I can come if you want.”

Osamu has invited your best friend to the party. Not only because he had known her for years but also because he would feel better if you had her by your side.

“D’ya mind?” He asked his brother.

“Do whatever ya want,” Atsumu said, he tried to look unbothered, but Osamu knew him all too well. Umi and Atsumu haven’t seen each other since high school and their friendship did not end up on good terms. The boy was still holding a grudge towards her. But if he admitted it, he knew his brother would make fun of him for acting like a child. So, he played it tough, pretending that seeing her again after years would be fine (but anyway, that’s another story).

“You should sleep,” you text.

“Says you haha”, followed by “but really, just tell me and I’ll come.”

You stare down at your phone, unsure of what you should do. Since Osamu told her about the party, she has been asking you if you wanted her to come, but you brushed her off each time. However, now that it is only a matter of hours before you see your ex-boyfriend again, you start to freak out.

“If you have nothing planned why not.”

“I don’t! see you tomorrow then, try to have a good night!”

The sound of the rain covers your heartbeat, the caress of the wind against your window masks the trembling of your hands.

It’s going to be okay, you repeat and repeat.

You arrive at the Miya’s apartment before anyone else. You tell Osamu you want to help them (or, rather, him) prepare.

Atsumu comes out of the bathroom when you put the beers you have bought in the fridge.

“Oya, oya dear Mademoiselle.”

You share a surprised look with Osamu—one tinged with mockery and pity. It takes you a lot of self-control not to burst into laughter.

“Ya speak French now? And don’t walk around shirtless.” Osamu sighs.

“Yer my mom or what?” Atsumy says while getting closer to you. “My abs deserve to be shown to the world.”

Your eyes immediately fall on his toned chest and belly. And you must admit that yes, Atsumu’s muscles are indeed well-shaped and nothing compared to his high school days. Despite his childish attitude, he is a man now.

“See, she agrees with me.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder and smiles teasingly.

“I never agree-”

“I’ll grab a beer.�� The setter cuts you off and opens the fridge.

Osamu strides forward and takes the beer from his brother’s hand, “Calm down ya moron, it’s for tonight.”

“The night is young little bro.”

“Huh?” Osamu frowns, “Never call me that again.”

Atsumu mumbles something back and the argument escalates as always. The starting point of the fight is soon to be completely set aside.

You laugh so hard, that you almost forget the knot in your stomach. Atsumu decides to go back to his room, insults resonating in the whole apartment.

“Why do you guys live together?” You ask, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye.

“Gosh, I don’t know. He pisses me off.” He grumbles.

“But?” You put your hands on your waist and look at him, waiting for your question to be answered—honestly.

“But…” He hesitates then mutters with a shy voice, “Am just used to bein' with him all the time, ya know. It’s -” he clears his throat, “comfortin'.”

The vulnerability in his eyes soothes your heart, you tilt your head and smile. Osamu sees your nose wrikling. He turns around, “Shut up.”

You lift your hands in defence, “I haven't said anything yet”

“But I know exactly what yer thinkin’”

“Can you read my mind, Miya Osamu?”

“I’d rather not.” He glances at you, his back still facing you.

His left profile really is his best, you tell yourself.

You only chuckle after that and stop the conversation here. After all, he is not wrong. Why would he want to read your mind when it’s full of Suna? Paced with the memories of what you shared and tortured by the regret of what could have been. Maybe this incessant ache in your heart and in your thoughts is a reminder of how guilty you should feel for letting your relationship down, for not showing him enough support. Maybe you have been too hard to love and he is happier with someone else.

Or maybe, you truly deserved better?

Maybe he is the one who let you down? Who didn’t fight for you?

Maybe you should be happier with someone else—could you be happy again; loved again?

You open your mouth. Anyone who would see you might think you have seen a ghost. The questions make you feel dizzy so you decide to push them away. You feel the tension of your face ease a little and when Osamu calls you to help him cut avocados to prepare some guacamole, you take a deep breath and join him.

It’s time for the guests to arrive.

Since Kita has some last-minute inconvenience at his farm, Ginjima is the first to arrive. Half an hour passes and the place is almost full.

You stay with Osamu in the kitchen, even if “ya should go talk with everyone”, he tells you. “I like to be with you.” You reassure him—how can he argue with you after that? But your gaze travels to the living room, moves through the clock hanging in the entrance, and stops at the door. And it keeps going there, again and again.

There is a weird combination inside your heart—fear mixed with hope. And each time someone knocks at the door, it hits you like a firework against a dark night; it’s noisy and overwhelming, but it’s also colourful and exciting.

Osamu pours you a glass of lemonade (he bought your favourite) when Suna enters his apartment. You see the discomfort in your friend’s eyes and turn to the direction he is glaring at.

Your body freezes. Your vision follows every single one of his moves—he shakes Atsumu’s hand, smirks when Aran fist-bumps him, takes off his jacket, runs his hands through his hair. Everything is going so fast, or so slow. You don’t know. You start panicking when his footsteps get closer to where you and Osamu are. You look down at the floor, the light reflecting on it is suddenly replaced by Osamu’s shadow. He stands before you, his broad back and shoulders almost hide your ex-boyfriend.

They greet each other while you restrain the tears from falling down your eyes.

“Hey,” you believe you end up saying. He says something back before turning his attention to Osamu.

“Happy birthday man.”

“Thanks bro, it’s nice to see ya.”

You think Osamu is sincere. They are friends after all and you never wished for them to grow apart because of you.

You finally decide to look at Suna—or maybe it’s just instinct, a force stronger than you, which pulls you to do so. It’s the closest you have been to him in months.

His face is perfect, and the shapes of his body outstanding.

You do not meet his eyes though and your heart breaks. You feel stupid, why would he look at you? Why would he want to have a conversation with you? Why would he care about someone as insignificant as y-

“Yer lemonade,” Osamu gives you your drink and smiles, “Want somethin’ to drink?” he proposes to Suna, pointing at the fridge.

“Sure.” The other boy says.

You bite your lips and think, the evening is going to be long and lonely.

If not for the twins you would storm out of this room, run to your parents’ house and muffle your sobs in your pillow.

Atsumu is drunk.

“It’s not even midnight,” Aran says nonchalantly.

Kita lets out a faint sigh, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer to Atsumu. “Atsumu,” he begins, his voice soft but firm enough to catch the setter’s attention. “D’ya want some water?”

“Captain!” Atsumu spins around abruptly, “Am so happy yer here!”

The boy often gives a slap on the back to his friends or teammates, you figured it’s his way of being friendly. It never looks like it hurts (well, it would probably hurt you since Atsumu is a 6’ tall and full-of-muscle athlete, but nobody was ever injured, so he must know how to control his strength). However, with three beers and six shots of sake in his blood, he loses all sense of control.

The slap he gives Kita makes the former captain trip. Suna, who is standing next to Atsumu, steadies him.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kita apologises.

Suna doesn’t understand him at first, Atsumu is the one who acted like an idiot. But then, he starts feeling something stinging on his chest. He realises Kita’s drink has been spilled on his t-shirt (white, of course).

“Sunarin!” Atsumu shouts in Rintarou’s hear, it startles him, “Shit, yer shirt is fucked.”

“It’s fine,” Suna sighs, clearly exasperated.

“’Samu!” Atsumu yells, his voice booming through the apartment.

“Atsumu, stop screaming,” Suna pleads, rubbing his temple as if trying to ward off an impending headache.

But Atsumu ignores him, “go get Sunarin one of yer shirts.”

Osamu, who had been sitting on the couch with you, raises an eyebrow in confusion. “Huh?”

Even in his drunken state, Atsumu seems to pick up on the bothered tone of his brother. “Yer such a shithead,” he mutters, though he probably meant to whisper. He pulls off his own shirt, revealing his toned torso (again), and hands it to Suna. “Wear that.”

Suna hesitates for a moment, but he eventually complies, pulling off his wet shirt.

“Fuck, Sunarin, yer girl is savage!” Atsumu suddenly blurts out, his loud voice cutting through the room like a knife.

You are following the scene from the corner of your eyes. You try as much as possible to not look at your ex-boyfriend, especially not when you see him starting to get shirtless. But when the blond twin screams and an awkward silence follows it, you can’t help but turn to the boys.

If you weren’t sat on the couch, vision perfectly directed to Suna’s back, you wouldn’t have understood what Atsumu meant. But you are sat on the couch and despite the dim light you see the scratches on his back.

“Yer a beast or what?” he continues, giggling like a teenager.

“Atsumu, stop.”

Umi interjects with frustration, but it feels distant, almost surreal to you. She gets up and steps closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him down. But Atsumu’s too far gone and he continues to tease the middle blocker. The tension in the room thickens.

Umi tries again, her voice firmer this time, “Atsumu, that’s enough.”

“Oh, so ya know my name, huh? I thought you had nothin’ to do with me.” His slams her hand away and looks down at her, eyes filled with anger.

Osamu sighs and decides to take care of the situation.

As soon as you are left alone on the couch, you slip away from the living room, quietly making your way to the kitchen. The cool air is a relief, but it does little to soothe the turmoil brewing inside you. The tension in the room was suffocating, and you needed to get away from it all—the memories, the stinging pain, the sight of Suna's marked back.

As you lean against the counter, trying to steady your breath, you hear footsteps behind you. You turn to see Osamu, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Yer okay?” he asks, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You nod quickly, not trusting yourself to speak without your voice cracking. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you manage to say, forcing a smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes.

Osamu isn’t convinced. He takes a step closer, his gaze searching your face for any sign that you might need him to stay. But you shake your head, more forcefully this time. “Really, Osamu. I’m okay. I just need a moment.” Leave me alone, you beg him in silence.

He hesitates for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on you. Finally, he nods and gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning to leave.

The moment he’s gone, you feel the weight of everything you’ve been holding back crash down on you. You glance around the kitchen, your eyes landing on a bottle of something strong on the counter. If Atsumu can act so freely with alcohol in his system, then why shouldn’t you? Maybe it will numb the ache in your chest, even if just for a little while.

You grab the bottle and pour yourself a generous amount, the liquid burning as it slides down your throat. You don’t care. All you want is to forget, to drown out the thoughts that have been plaguing you since Suna walked out of your life.

With the drink in hand, you head back to the living room. The scene has shifted slightly. Atsumu and Umi are nowhere to be found, and everything seems to be back to normal. You watch Gin and Kosaku play some cards game with a detached interest, but your eyes keep straying to where Suna is sitting. The pain deepens.

Osamu catches your eye from across the room. He must see something in your face because after a moment, he looks away, as if giving up on trying to figure out what you’re feeling. The drink in your hand is half-gone, and the room starts to blur slightly around the edges. You down the rest in one go.

An hour passes, and you’re in a drunken haze. The sounds around you—laughter, music, chatter—melt into an indistinguishable sound. As you stumble towards the bathroom, you nearly collide with the door, your mind spinning. But before you can push it open, you see Suna standing there, his tall frame blocking your path.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and familiar, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Hi,” you answer.

He is about to get out of the way to let you through, but a voice urges you to make him stay. You need to say something; anything. And suddenly, the words tumble out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered. “I still love you.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of something—regret, maybe—in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he says after what feels like an eternity, but his voice is distant, like he’s trying to put space between you even if he stands right in front of you.

You take a step closer, “I never stopped thinking about you, you know. I'm so fucking in love with you, Rin...”

He hesitates, his eyes searching your face as if he’s trying to decide whether you’re being serious or if it’s just the alcohol talking. “Are you drunk?” he asks.

Before you can respond, he reaches out and gently takes the drink from your hand. “I’m gonna go find Umi,” he says, as if that will fix everything, as if walking away again is the solution.

But the panic starts to rise in you, sharp and unyielding. You can’t breathe; the walls feel like they’re closing on you. You need to get out—now. Without thinking, you turn and rush out of the apartment.

You’re almost outside when someone catches up to you at the stairs, grabbing your arm firmly to stop you.

Osamu.

“Hey, where're ya goin'?” he asks worried.

“I need to leave,” you choke out, barely able to get the words past the tightness in your throat. “I can’t stay here, Osamu. I just can’t.”

“Okay,” he says softly. “Let’s go to the restaurant.”

The ride is silent. When you arrive at the restaurant, Osamu parks the car and helps you out, guiding you inside. He leads you to a seat and disappears into the back, returning moments later with a glass of water.

“Drink this,” he says gently, pressing the glass into your hands.

You take a sip, the cool water soothing your parched throat. It feels good. But it does nothing to ease the void in your chest. The alcohol is starting to wear off.

Osamu sits down across from you, watching you closely. He doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you almost break down right there in front of him, but you force yourself to keep it together. You’ve already shown too much tonight.

“You’re always so kind to me…” You look down at your drink, fingers grabbing the glass tighter.

“We’re friends.” He simply says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I don’t deserve it.” You’re ashamed to look at him.

He says your name firmly, “Don’t say that.”

But you cut him off, “I’m a mess.”

He gets up to get closer to you, you hear the chair squeak against the floor, and he grabs your shoulder to make you look at him. He’s so close, you think he can hear your heartbeats.

“Yer hurt. Ya haven’t seen him in months, it’s normal to feel like that. But yer not a mess,” he hesitates and smiles a little, “and even if ya were, I’ll be there for ya. That’s what friends do.”

You study each feature of his face; his eyebrows; his eyes; his nose and an inch further down…

Your lips end up on his.

You grab the back of his head to tank him down, his hands brush your skin all the way from your shoulder to your free fingertips where he intertwines them with his.

You’re kissing Osamu.

You’re kissing Osamu.

You push him quickly, “Oh my god I’m sorry.” You suddenly get up, panic invading you, “I didn’t mean to - oh my god… I must look so desperate right now.”

“Kissing me makes ya look desperate? Gosh Champion, that hurts.” He lets out a small laugh and his kindness makes you want to cry. You're too drunk to decipher how he really feels.

You finally explode. Tears flow like a waterfall. You friend pulls you against him, you feel the warmth of his shirt against your cheek, and you grab his back with strength, afraid that if he steps away, you’ll crumble.

You don’t remember what happened after that. What you know is that you fell asleep at some point and Osamu stayed by your side.

When you wake up, the sun has barely risen. Your back hurts, your head is pounding, your throat is dry. You take a look at your surroundings; you’re lying down on some bench in Osamu’s workplace. It’s calm, way too calm. You try to remember last night, but your headache makes it hard to think straight.

“Mornin’, should I take ya home?”

Osamu’s voice surprises you, you gulp and nod, unable to come out with a coherent answer. His jacket is covering your body like a blanket, you’re about to give it to him but he interjects quickly, “put it on. It’s cold outside.”

“Thanks,” you answer with a broken voice. You don’t even have the strength to argue with him.

Osamu tells you it’s Sunday and 7am as if he sees how disoriented you are. The neighbourhood is quiet, it reminds you of the day Suna broke up with you. The calm before the storm.

Speaking of storm, Suna is standing in front of your house, hands in his pocket, back lean against the wall.

You get out of the car with Osamu, confused.

Suna clears his throat and when he decides to speak, there’s hesitation in his voice, “Can we talk?”

Osamu is standing between him and you, but somehow, he feels invisible. The way you look at Suna like he is the centre of your solar system is threatening. He will always be your first choice; what did Osamu think? His body moves on instinct, and he takes a step back towards his car.

“I…” he starts, “’Tsumu probably made a mess, I’ll go check on the apartment.”

You agree but avoid his gaze.

A moment passes and you’re alone with Suna. It’s been so long you think you forgot how to be with him. How are you supposed to talk to him? Call him? 

“I was worried yesterday. I went looking for Umi, but you had disappeared.”

“Were you really?” You ask, there’s poison in your voice. You feel the blood in your veins rushing through your whole body.

He takes the time before responding, “Of course.”

“Rin… You're telling me you're worried about me because I disappeared one evening, when you didn’t ask me how I was even once in the past six months? That’s nonsense.”

“I get that you’re angry, but I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

He seems honest and it kills you. You clench your fists. How are you supposed to react to that?

Your mind goes through all sort of emotions, incomprehension, anger, frustration. You finally speak again, “Why?”

“Why?”, he echoes, puzzled.

“Why did you break up with me? And don’t lie to me.”

His lips open and close a few times. His hands come in and out of his pockets awkwardly. “I… I was stupid. I guess I got tired of our relationship. Hiroshima, the club, my friends, everything was new, and it was exciting. And when we were together, it felt like it was holding me back.”

He looks at you and quickly explains more, “But I was wrong and stupid. You’ve been my pillar for all those years, ever since we broke up, I feel lost and I keep doing shitty things.”

“We did not break up Rin, you dumped me, like I was nothing.” You remind him. You can almost feel your nails rip off the skin of your palms from clenching too hard.

“I’m sorry…” He looks down at the floor. He looks so pitiful but even so, he is still beautiful.

You hate yourself for wanting to pull him against you. He is vulnerable right now, almost weak which puts you in a position of power, and yet, deep down, he has you wrapped around his fingers, still he has your heart caged in his hands. How unfair, how unfair.

“What do you want?” You ask him, trying to sound suspicious.

“I was hoping we…we could start over.”

“Loving you ruined my life Rin, how am I supposed to trust you again?”

Of course, you would ask him that. Suna is far from stupid—he knows exactly what he’s done. Until yesterday, he wasn’t even sure if you still loved him. Why would you, after everything? But perhaps, there is a tiny flicker of hope. So, he tries.

“Let me show you that it can be worth it.”

“Where-where does that come from? You barely looked at me once last night, I told you I still loved you and you said nothing back.” Your voice trembles.

“I did look at you, I swear, more than I thought I would. I didn’t expect to feel like that when I saw you, but something was weird in my heart and when you told me you loved me, I panicked. I acted like a jerk, you have all the right in the world to hate me,”

You cut him off, “I could never. You know that.” Your fists relax. 

There’s hope, there’s hope, he hangs on to the thought.

“So… Please let me make it up to you.”

“Did you have sex with her?”

He squints as if the accusation bothers him, but you have to know the truth.

“Rin.”

He doesn’t ask who you are talking and simply answers with a shy “yes.”

You deserve better,

You will find someone else,

Let go of him.

Your heart sings and the words give you the courage to walk past him.

“Wait.”

He says your name and grabs your arm.

One touch. It’s all it takes for you to melt, for your heart to forget all the pain it has been enduring for months.

You hesitate but your hand finds his cheek and you brush a strand of hair. How soft, you think. He closes his eyes, and his forehead leans against yours.

“Please,” the murmur sinks into your body.

“Let’s try.” You give up. You have been waiting for him to come back to you for so long, you have dreamed about those words so many nights. You don't have any other choice but to trust him now.

A comfortable silence settles between you, it almost makes you believe you’re in a dream. You decide to take a step back, but Rin doesn’t let go of your arm.

“I forgot my phone at the boys’ apartment.”

“I’ll come with you.” He hurries to say, afraid you would runaway if he doesn’t follow you.

“‘Tsumu is still sleepin’, Umi left an hour ago.” Osamu explains with a quiet voice once you’re back in the apartment. He hands you your phone.

“O-okay.”

You look around you. The living room is a mess, more than what you remember from last night.

Last night.

Your heart skips a beat.

“Hey, Osamu?” you start carefully, he waits for you to go on, “is everything okay, I mean between us?”

“Sure.”

“Sorry about last night.” You feel extremely guilty. You might have gotten the boy you love back but you can’t bear to lose one of your best friends.

“Last night? What happened last night?” He smiles. You’re relieved; your secret will be safe with him (he is so precious, you tell yourself). You’re about to answer but he lifts his eyes from your face, and you turn to see what has caught his attention.

Suna.

“We should go.” You say.

Osamu thinks you’re talking to him but when he sees you facing your ex-boyfriend he is confused. Suna’s answer confirms his doubts. Something is going on between you two.

“Yeah.” He takes your hand, “thanks for last night Osamu. I have a game in Osaka next month, I'll text you.”

Osamu is unable to answer.

“I'll see you tomorrow at the restaurant," you conclude with a soft smile.

“Hmm, see ya.”

You're afraid to see disappointment on your friend's face so you don't turn back. Everything will be perfect from now on, just like it was before the break up. You are going to be happy and loved and cherished.

The knot in your stomach is normal, you try to convince yourself, there is nothing to worry about.

Absolutely nothing.

author notes: i won't get mad if you want to scream at me :)

Elie

taglist: @wolffmaiden, @obibiwan, @teyvatsunsets, @sugacor3, @hanadulsetaad

[melminli]

I Hate To Love You

pairing: young coriolanus snow x fem. reader

summery - coriolanus can't quite admit to himself what kind of feelings are actually hiding behind his strong hatred towards you.

word count: 2k+

contains: kinda enemies to lovers vibes, coriolanus having crazy thoughts, a bit misogyny/slutshaming, fruity reader, suggestive themes, obsessive/sassy coryo

part II

Coriolanus Snow was very aware of how charming he was - or of how charming he could be. He was well aware that he was perceived as very attractive by others, or rather that he was, and this made his rather shitty life a little bit better. At least as long as he could use it to his own advantage by distracting people with his pretty words and even prettier face from how depraved his actual thoughts were.

So, he would be a hypocrite if he said that this was the reason why you got on his nerves so incredibly. Although he didn't even care how it sounded by now, he loathed seeing you with your seductive nature - how you made others feel like they were special, unique - just because you enjoyed playing silly little games and your curiosity about what it would lead to was insatiable. Coriolanus was sure that you had some kind of gambling addiction. The way you played with other people's feelings for your own amusement, to observe their reactions and actions and to see if they would react the way you expected them to. You seemed to like it more when they didn't, which he couldn't really figure out why because what kind of gambler liked to lose? A looser, perhaps.

He, on the contrary, liked to read other people to know who they really were so he could better assess them and their actions. However, the problem with you was that he only knew that you were unpredictable.

His teeth clenched a little when he saw you at the outer gate of the academy. You were talking to some girl whose back was leaning against a pillar while she giggled and coyly wrapped a strand of hair around her finger. The way you snuggled up to her let him know what kind of words would come out of your mouth. Her parents must be really proud of her behavior. He finally decided to move from his spot and walk towards you, the girl noticing him sooner than you did as she was pulled from her reverie and looked up at him a little disappointed.

Realizing that her attention was no longer entirely on you, you also looked up at the person who interrupted you, only to be pleasantly surprised. "Oh. It's you, Snowy. Can I help you with anything?" You asked with a smile.

He had to restrain himself from correcting you about the stupid nickname. You really knew how to push his buttons, but he didn't want to come off as dainty by correcting you about it. Even if it bothered him immensely. "I need to talk to you about Highbottom's assignment." He addressed the first thing that popped into his head, as he had, in fact, shown up for no reason. You were put in a group together for that, so it should seem legitimate enough, even if the timing of bringing it up might be a little weird. His eyes glanced briefly at the girl you had been dealing with earlier. "In private." He then added.

A feigned sadness crossed your features. "I'm so sorry, Amelija. I hope you don't mind if we continue talking tomorrow. My friend here seems to need a little help." You said to her while holding her hand. Even with your apologetic tone, her disappointment remained. You leaned a little closer to her, even as she stubbornly avoided your gaze. "Or maybe I'll come over to your place tonight, huh? How does that sound?"

That seemed to cheer her up a bit again, and she said goodbye to you somewhat playfully, while Coriolanus, on the other hand, just got a sour look from her. He could live with that. He hadn't even memorized her name.

He spoke up again when you were both alone. "No wonder you haven't finished your share if you'd rather give your attention to some random girl." He accused you, trying to keep his distaste for your activities subtle.

You laughed lightly. This was the Coriolanus you knew and loved. "Would you prefer it if I gave my attention to - let's see - some random boy?" You replied as your fingers brushed against the collar of his uniform. You didn't wait for his answer and took your hand back as you took a step closer to him and looked him straight in the eyes. "I don't think so. You'd prefer it if my attention was on you, wouldn't you? And you are no random boy."

He grunted and rolled his eyes. "Don't be absurd. I don't care what you do in your spare time." He spoke out, lying to you as well as himself. As if he didn't like hearing you say that he was, in fact, not just a random boy. "It would just be well-intentioned advice from me if maybe you spent your time doing something more useful."

He was going to say at first that maybe you should focus more on school, but your family certainly had enough money to buy you your degree if it was necessary.

"Right. Thank you for thinking of my well-being so much, Snowy." You said, and Coriolanus felt like you were making fun of him. "I'll finish my share today, and you can read it tomorrow. I promise." You assured him, and a few seconds of silence passed as Coriolanus just watched you with slightly puckered eyes. He didn't seem to realize that it was his turn to say something. "Is there anything else?" You finally said, snapping him out of his rattling train of thought.

"Oh." He had to collect himself for a moment. I asked her about the assignment. This is about the assignment. "No. That was all." He said, annoyed with himself that he wasn't quick-witted enough.

You should stifle your grin, but you just couldn't help yourself, as usual. "Okay, then I'll slowly make my way home." You announced and couldn't help but let out a few last words to say goodbye, which is why you turned back to him after taking a few steps. "And next time you just feel like talking to me, just say so, I won't mind. Goodbye, Snowy!"

He ignored what you said. He had better things to do than talk to the bed partner of half the school. "Bye..."

You got on his nerves more than Sejanus sometimes. I hate her so much.

It was common knowledge to everyone that Coriolanus was not only the best in class but also the best student in the academy. Others were jealous of this because it was unfair that he was handsome, charming, and on top of that, an acedemic ace. What others didn't know, of course, was his material situation, but that would soon change, so it was better if everyone assumed that he was also lucky in terms of money.

There was only one subject where he was not considered the best, and that was philosophy. If it was up to Coriolanus, it was because their teacher was a piece of shit who, in his opinion, had the same value as a rebel with the topics he presented in class. He wouldn't even listen to anything the teacher said if it didn't affect his school career because he just didn't see the point in adding anything to his stupidly designed lessons where, for example, they were discussing the differences between a Capitol citizen and a District citizen. It was a stupid question to begin with since the answer was as clear as day. There was nothing to discuss.

As for the latter, you seemed to disagree with him. Because he was also lucky that his worst subject belonged to your area of expertise. According to Coriolanu's observations, you only made an effort in the subjects that could arouse your interest - which in his favor at least only applied to philosophy, as he had fortunately chosen music instead of art - and it made him a little angry at himself that this fact relieved him a little if he was being honest with himself. Because that would mean that he would see you as a potential threat, and you and him were definitely not on the same level.

"So, who really read the text I gave you as homework?" The philosophy teacher asked his class. Mr. Maximus was aware that his subject wasn't one of the most popular, but that wasn't really his problem. He rubbed his eyes in slight frustration as he had been listening to completely misinterpreted statements for half an hour. When he asked, all but two or three arms went up. Maximus asked again. "Okay. Who thinks they have understood what the text says?"

As expected, the number of hands in the air decreased drastically. After most of the students had already been told that they were wrong, most could conclude that they were wrong as well. Only three pairs of hands remained up, those of Coriolanus, Sejanus, and Clemensia. The former was surprised at your silent performance today, as you usually had so much to say. You were sitting further ahead to his right, which gave him a good view of your figure. He could see from the corner of his eye how you didn't seem to be fully present, even if you physically were.

Maximus was also not very pleased about your participation today. Between the students who were still willing to contribute to the topic, he didn't really feel that any of the three really understood the meaning of it. He would say that after a few years, he could judge his students quite well on the rightness of their answers. Snow and Plinth are two different poles, each far too convinced of their own position to consider the other. Dovecote is probably the closest, but she's more interested in getting good grades than the text, so I doubt that she actually understands. She's probably just gonna repeat what is written down in a fancy way.

His eyes turned to you as he straightened his glasses slightly and called your name. "What's with you? You read the text as well, didn't you?" He asked, taking the easy way out rather than dealing with any more false statements. He just wanted to get it over with instead of chewing on the same gum.

You were a little offended that you were suddenly standing in the spotlight, and for the first time, Coriolanus agreed with you - albeit inwardly - on something. He had raised his hand, and yet you were favored. He just couldn't believe it. It was like a slap in the face - he would have actually preferred that to this public humiliation.

"Yeah, I mean sort of." You finally said, as you only had the energy to look at the text half asleep yesterday. You adjusted your posture a little before returning to his question. "I think the author just wants to say that the difference between District and Capitol people lies solely in their upbringing and circumstances." You began and continued when you were not interrupted. "The biological disadvantage of District people is a myth and stems from the fact that District people are actually much weaker on average than those from the Capitol, but this is only because they also have a less varied diet on average, if they get enough to eat at all." You finished and then drew your conclusion. "So the Dark Days are proof that Capitol people also perform worse under other circumstances, let's say on the health scale, for example. You could say the difference is down to luck."

With that, Mr. Maximus ended the lesson by saying that hopefully everyone had listened carefully to what you said because you would be taking a test on it next week. Coriolanus had to swallow his pride as he looked at the notes he had taken when he heard your answer. I really have to stop caring about what she does. It's really not worth it. He thought to himself and looked up at you, who was talking to a group of other classmates. She's just another girl from my class who I just happened to loathe. Not that special at all.

But maybe that was the problem. Normally, he liked some people and disliked others. But at the end of the day, he didn't think about them if he didn't have to. They didn't cross his mind when he was getting a little hotter than usual alone in his room at night, in a state where his thoughts were the most clouded and he was only acting out of the urge to feel good. It wasn't any of them who he imagined, so it was these moments where it was the most obvious to him that his hatred for you were also strong feelings that could be considered something else as well.

I guess you could also say that the line between hate and love is on the same page for some - because sometimes there is no difference at all.

[dr-spectre]

Talking about Side Order and... Marina. (SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!)

You know, i really enjoyed Side Order, like it wasn't perfect or anything but i had such a blast with it and if they continue to expand on it we could have something REALLY amazing. My reaction to the GOD DAMN TUTORIAL BOSS GOT ME HYPERVENTILATING! IM NOT JOKING! IT WAS SO EXCITING AND SHOCKING!!! THE FINAL BOSS WAS INCREDIBLE TOO! I was singing along to Spectrum Obligato and WHEN THEY BROUGHT IN THE STUFF FROM THE LIVE CONCERT VERSION OF EBB AND FLOW MY JAW DROPPED!!!

However i gotta admit, the story could have been better, what was the deal with the Octoling engineers Marina was talking about? That goes completely nowhere and i thought it was gonna build to something with the repeat playthroughs of the final boss.

And of course, the biggest missed opportunity in my opinion, Marina Agitando.

Now look, i wanna say right off the bat, the design is excellent, it was so smart to bring back her Order outfit and make her into a giant abomination that moves in such a weird way that makes you feel uncomfortable. When i saw her for the very first time when you enter the room, i stood there for at least a solid minute in complete disbelief and shock seeing a giant Marina in some octopus tentacle heart thingy that beats and pumps with the music. The song that plays too "Unconscience" is such a BANGER and honestly it rivals Octo Callie's Bomb Rush Blush remix in my opinion.

The build up for this was pretty good too, seeing Marina say "help me" before she was knocked unconscious and then possessed by Overlorder BROKE ME! I was like "OH NO! ITS HAPPENING AGAIN! NOT MARINA!!" The build up to the 10th floor was so anxiety inducing because you know in the back of your mind that Marina is gonna fight you but you don't know what it's gonna look like, if you were there since Splatoon 2 and have watched Pearl and Marina since the beginning then this build up is even more anxiety inducing and its pretty damn good. And once you free Marina she feels so sorry about what happened and helps you out to put things right, heck she goes through a small character arc of embracing chaos.... but... i have to say...

It is unfortunately not executed that well or with any depth in my opinion because they repeated the whole thing of "oh no a character we know is evil because of (quote on quote) mind control!!!! oh noooo!!" Which is a tired trope in this series that needs to stop or else I'm gonna get REALLYYYYYY pissed off.

I've done enough ranting about Callie's villain arc and how that has been misinterpreted and stuff, but for Marina, i really wish they didn't do the whole "oh no a character is evil because of an evil character oh nooo!! we gotta save them!!" thing again and i wish Marina was more of a villain with a sad motivation for her actions. As much as its cute to see Pearl and Marina act all flirty with each other in Side Order, it kinda ruins the mysterious and dark tone of the story that was teased from the trailers and the tutorial in my opinion. Everything is also explained so quickly early on which really sucks. I really wish Marina was actually conscious throughout her time as Marina Agitando and most of it should have been her fault. She does blame herself for creating Overlorder but it's kinda brushed aside quickly and Marina ends up being totally fine and free of guilt. There isn't enough depth to it which is so lame and a missed opportunity.

Marina is flawed, she makes mistakes and acts emotional and angry sometimes. We have seen a side of Marina where she snaps at Pearl when she loses Splatfests and has shown signs that she still hasn't recovered from her time before she met Pearl.

She picked team Order because she was genuinely scared that her new life would fall apart and she doesn't wanna lose the people (especially Pearl) that she's met and grown to love. Marina is also heavily theorized to be on the autism spectrum and as someone who is autistic, i can see myself in Marina, they could have really explored Marina's psyche and mental health in Side Order but they just... didn't. Instead she's put to sleep and controlled by her ai child and all of the focus is put on stopping it like a traditional "oh no we gotta stop an evil ai!! oh noo!!" story... ugh... I mean Smollusk is cute i guess but there's not a ton to them and they come off as yet another "evil ai that wants order and control!! roarrr!!!"

From reading the most recent interview on Side Order and seeing the concept art, they said that they wanted to tell a story about Marina losing herself to a machine that she created. Could you imagine how tragic it would have been to learn more about Marina and how she's so wrapped up in anxiety that she decides to make this replica of Inkopolis Square and make the Memverse? Maybe at first she makes it to help Sanitized Octolings just like in the dlc, but then maybe due to overwork and burnout (which Pearl mentions in the tutorial by the way), her emotions and anxiety become so strong that she becomes consumed by it, this obsession of order and trying to achieve happiness takes over her and then she gets the idea to spread this order to the real world, where her friends can be "happy" and "safe." Maybe Overlorder is still there but they just whisper to Marina, manipulate and point her in the right direction to continue to her mission of order instead of just fucking knocking her out and using her as a meat puppet for 5 minutes.

Could you imagine how much better the build up would have been to not see Marina until you get to the 30th floor for the first time and you got to unlock her diary entries beforehand? Seeing her thought process and her slow descent into becoming an antagonist. I'm not sure how they would have changed the permanent upgrades but they could have thought of something man. I get that they wanted to subvert expectations but, i think they should have gone WAY further with Marina Agitando.

I was waiting for Pearl and Marina to have their "Tidal Rush" moment where it's this emotional battle between the two, could you imagine how DEVISTATING a remix of Ebb and Flow would have been if it had gotten that "Tidal Rush" type of remix? Pearl singing her parts in this chaotic and emotional way, on the brink of tears trying to get Marina back and calm her down, and Marina trying to fight back against her words, not wanting to believe her because she's so wrapped up trying to make them both happy in her way. She's so caught up in order that she has forgotten what Pearl wants, that Pearl wants to be with her and go against any obstacle that stands in their way together. God i would have cried seeing that I'm not gonna lie. Maybe once Marina starts to think rationally, she breaks free from the machine and then leaps into Pearl's arms, and then we have to go back up the 30 floors to fight Overlorder and we slowly see Marina learn to embrace chaos throughout the floors instead of it just being at the final boss.

I really do feel like Splatoon has this issue of trying to appeal way too hard to kids and being really scared to dive into the flaws of these characters. They are so avoidant of being more serious and they hide it away in optional collectables and obscure posts on social media that creates misinformation and stories that feel way too undeveloped. They just say "oh this character has been brainwashed!!" which is such a lazy and bullshit trope they slap on these characters to avoid getting into their flaws for some stupid reason. (Hell that word has lost all meaning to me now to be honest. Like no, Callie wasn't "brainwashed" per say, hypnosis is not brainwashing or mind control I've said that a trillion times in other blog posts but whatever. Agent 3 was knocked out and had no clue on what was happening. They weren't "brainwashed" they were used as a puppet from a fucking goopy telephone for five minutes while they were asleep. Maybe its poor translation i don't know.)

I know that Splatoon is made for all ages and primarily for children but, i find that to be a stupid excuse for bad storytelling, a good story with depth that's explored and set up properly can be applied to all kinds of age groups not just adults. And the adults that say that shit too, why do you think like that? Why do you wish to dismiss that sort of thing in media? So what if it's made for kids? Adults write these stories and plant themes and arcs into them. Why do you think people cried over the Rosalina storybook in Mario Galaxy and think its the best part of that game? You don't want that kind of stuff in games because "they are made for kids"? Why do you think there are so many adults in the Splatoon community hmm?

I am so worried for Deep Cut in the next game because i really don't want this to happen again, i want an actual proper villain arc for either Frye or Shiver. No hypnosis, no brainwashing, no mind control. Just a pure fucking villain arc caused by the flaws of the characters and without the involvement of a third party. Please, i wanna see growth in these characters that is explored way more clearly and better. Or maybe don't do a villain arc again and just have Deep Cut be fully happy with each other and develop their relationship more with lore and backstory. PLEASE!

Anyways ramble over, thank you for reading!

[ibijau]

Sins of the fathers pt6 / On AO3

Jin Guangshan took a second to look up from the papers on his desk when the door opened, but smiled warmly when he saw that Jin Ling was there. 

“Come in, my boy,” Jin Guangshan said. ”And close the door behind you, won't you?”

Jin Ling quickly obeyed and walked up to the desk, trying not to gawk at the unfamiliar room. It was rare for his grandfather to use his office, and rarer still for him to allow anyone inside. Jin Guangyao was a frequent visitor, Jin Ling had noticed, but aside from that, the only people ever called to the sect leader's office were disciples who had gotten themselves in trouble. 

“You have asked to see me, zongzhu?” Jin Ling asked with a polite bow. 

“Zongzhu? Since when are you so distant, Rulan?” Jin Guangshan protested, looking so sincerely wounded Jin ling almost believed it.

“I only meant to be respectful, grandfather,” Jin Ling said with another bow. “You always say youngsters should be more respectful of their elders.”

“It is only the two of us, there's no need for that,” Jin Guangshan assured him, his tone too warm to be trusted. “Sit down, my boy, and let's take a moment to talk. It has been a long while since we've had a chat, hasn't it?”

Jin Ling nodded as he sat. It had been a while since he'd spent time alone with his grandfather, that much was true. They used to have a good enough relationship, but being forced to marry a stranger had helped Jin Ling see what sort of a man his grandfather was, and now his company was repulsive. Of course if Jin Guangshan had demanded that they spend time together since that falling out, Jin Ling could not have easily refused in spite of his disgust. However his grandfather had shown little interest in him since the wedding. 

Until that morning. 

“Is there anything in particular you want to talk about, grandfather?” Jin Ling asked, as if he couldn't guess why he was there. 

“With so much going on in your life these days, I wouldn't know where to start,” Jin Guangshan replied with a huff, sounding so much like the man he was in Jin Ling's better memories. “Your marital life, perhaps? But maybe that is not the right topic. We've had some disagreement regarding that, haven't we?”

He chuckled, as if Jin Ling’s rage and despair had been some amusing little incident, something they could now all laugh about. Maybe he even sincerely believed that. Or at least, as much as he was capable of any sincerity.

“I understand that grandfather had his reasons for doing the things he did,” Jin Ling flatly said, clenching his fists over his knees, where the desk would hide them. “It was not my place to judge your decision.”

“No, it was not,” his grandfather sharply agreed, before quickly softening again. “But I think my decision was not so unpleasant to you in the end. You get along well with that wife of yours, don't you?” 

“We are making the best of things,” Jin Ling said. 

An understatement, really. 

Wen Yuan’s lessons were going tolerably well. It was a surprise, as Jin Ling had half expected his husband would complain to his mother about his temper after the first lesson, and that would have been the end of that experiment. Instead, Wen Yuan had apparently expressed gratitude to his mother-in-law for organising this, and promised her to work hard to be worthy of the praises he’d received from Jin Ling.

The following lessons had still been tense, but by the middle of the second week they’d found a balance and things were… not bad. Wen Yuan knew to ignore Jin Ling’s outbursts most of the time. And Jin Ling was starting to accept that his husband was genuine when he thanked him or complimented something he did. They weren’t friends or anything, and maybe they’d never be, but at least they could get along, and that was more than Jin Ling had dared to hope since the moment his engagement was revealed to him.

“It must not be easy for you,” Jin Guangshan lamented. “Considering his father’s reputation, and that cold temper he's shown so far… I do hope your wife has not used his knowledge of his father’s methods to make you feel uneasy inside your own home?”

So that was the reason for this meeting, Jin Ling realised. He was grateful for his mother’s warnings, which had given him time to prepare something to say.

“Wen Yuan never mentions his old life,” Jin Ling replied. “He is very dedicated to learning the ways of the Jin sect and making them his, like a good wife should.”

That remark earned him a frustrated glare from his grandfather. Jin Ling knew it was a source of tension in his grandparents’ marriage that his grandmother still preferred to use the cultivation path that she’d learned from her parents, even after a lifetime in Lanling. Everyone knew that. It ought to make it harder for Jin Guangshan to openly complain that Wen Yuan wasn’t using demonic cultivation.

“It is a wife's duty to mould herself to the new family’s expectations,” Jin Guangshan agreed. “But a good husband should also show interest in his wife. If that Wei boy doesn't talk about his family, it might be because you do not inspire enough trust in him yet. If so, it is regrettable. I would have thought you had taken after your father.”

Jin Ling lowered his gaze, his eyes burning with rageful tears he couldn't afford to spill. 

He really wished people would stop only comparing him to his father when they wished to insult his temper. When his father did it, it was usually because he found Jin Ling too quick to anger, or too unsociable. When his grandfather said it, he meant that Jin Ling was weak for not realising rules and morality only applied to lesser people. Jin Zixuan was a well loved man, why couldn't anyone ever see his qualities in his eldest son?

“I'm doing my best, grandfather,” he said between clenched teeth. 

“Then maybe your best needs to be better, boy. Do you understand what I mean?” 

Jin Ling understood too well, but shook his head. 

“Grandfather will have to be more clear. I only want to please you, of course. But I can only do that if I know what you want from me. Does grandfather have certain expectations regarding my marriage to Wen Yuan, maybe? Grandfather should have said so from the start, then, instead of expecting me to guess things.”

As soon as he said that, Jin Ling regretted it. His grandfather tolerated few things, and insolence least of all.

“You know, it is up to me to choose my heir,” Jin Guangshan casually remarked. “Tradition would prefer it be my son, or my eldest grandson, but I could pick someone else. I have other grandsons after all, and a nephew who has a child of his own. If these options appear better for the future of my sect, I will not hesitate to make tough decisions.”

Jin Ling clenched his fists. He didn't care about being sect leader, it was a stupid job, full of dealing with stupid people. But that didn't mean he didn't recognise a threat directed at him, at his family, and that pissed him off. 

If it had been anyone else talking to him like that, Jin Ling would have let his anger explode. Or else he'd have laughed in their face, because in what world were Jin Zixun and Jin Chan better options than him to someday lead the sect? They were just stupid bullies and… 

And so was Jin Guangshan. So maybe they were better candidates, from his point of view. They were all pawns to him anyway. Jin Ling knew it too well, after going from favourite grandchild to someone who could be sacrificed to an unpleasant match. Nobody in this family mattered when compared to his grandfather and his ambitions. And still Jin Ling had been lucky, because Wen Yuan was a good person. If he hadn't been, would Jin Guangshan have cared to protect his grandson from a demonic cultivator? Or would he have allowed his new spouse to torment him, as long as he could get his hands on someone who could help him in that war against the Nie he wanted?

Jin Ling smiled.

“Of course, Jin zongzhu should be free to decide the future of his sect,” he said, imitating the placid tone Jin Guangyao used on very unpleasant people. “It makes sense. What does this have to do with our conversation, though?”

“Nothing at all,” Jin Guangshan pleasantly agreed. “It was just a thought that crossed my mind. Well, boy, I fear I'm already running out of time to talk to you. I have other business to attend, so you may go. But do think about what I've said, regarding your wife and gaining his trust. Otherwise he might find someone else to confide in, and we wouldn't want that, would we?”

Again, Jin Ling just smiled, the only safe answer against that man he'd grown to hate. He then bowed politely and left the room as quickly as politeness allowed. Once outside, he slowly walked away, willing himself to look calm under the watchful gaze of his grandfather's disciples, knowing any of them could betray him if he didn't hide how much that meeting upset him. 

More than once, he'd heard his uncle Jiang call the Jin sect a nest of vipers. Jin Ling disagreed. He didn't believe even animals would turn so viciously on their own kind.

It felt like an eternity before Jin Ling finally reached his home, the only place where nobody could spy on him. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Jin Ling let out a frustrated cry, and kicked the wall. 

“Is something wrong?” Wen Yuan asked, running to the door. 

On top of being angry, Jin Ling was immediately overcome with shame. He hadn't thought his husband would be home, since Wen Yuan usually spent mornings with his in-laws. It was one thing for Jin Ling to let his anger explode like that, and quite another to let anyone see it. Jin Ling opened his mouth to apologise, only to realise there was something more urgent to discuss. 

“Wen Yuan, has anyone approached you to befriend you since you’ve arrived in Carp Tower?” Jin Ling asked

The odd question puzzled his husband, but Wen Yuan soon shook his head. 

“No, no one except your siblings. Others find me… unsettling, I think.”

“Good, perfect even!” Jin Ling exclaimed at this confirmation his grandfather hadn't already started other schemes against his husband. “The less friends you make here, the better.”

Wen Yuan threw him a wounded look, but Jin Ling was too distracted to see it.

“Is that an order, husband?” Wen Yuan stiffly asked.

“You know, it just might be,” Jin Ling pondered. “It’s better for everyone that way.”

After all, there was nobody trustworthy in the entire sect. Which wasn’t to say there wasn’t anyone nice. Lanling Jin was a large sect, and not everyone in it was as awful as Jin Chan. In fact, most disciples were probably pleasant to chat with, charming even. But it didn’t matter how nice they were, because this was a sect where bullies were in charge, and they knew how to make nice people do awful things.

“Are you worried that I’ll betray you if I get close to others, husband?” Wen Yuan asked, his tone so icy that at last Jin Ling had to notice it.

“It’s not like that!” Jin Ling exclaimed. “I don’t care if you sleep with someone!” he winced, realising that probably sounded worse. “No, I do care! I just… don’t care who you… what you… I just care…”

He bit his lip to silence himself, expecting his husband to get angrier, but Wen Yuan only looked at him curiously.

“Are you trying to say you’re not ordering this out of jealousy?” he helpfully suggested.

“Yes, that’s what I meant!” Jin Ling agreed, relieved that his husband was getting used to his manners. “If it were just about making friends, you could be friendly with anyone, it’d be fine.”

“I see. Then why is it you don’t want me to have friends?”

“Only within our sect!” Jin Ling protested. “You shouldn’t have friends within our sect. Or within sects that are too closely linked to ours either, I guess,” he added after a moment of reflection. “If you happen to meet Jiang disciples and you hit it off, it’s fine. Or Lans, I guess, even though I can’t imagine why anyone would be friends with them.”

Of course the closest thing that Jin Ling had to a friend his own age was a Lan, Lan Jingyi, but that acquaintance only proved that the Lans were annoying. Lan Jingyi and him argued every time they met, and only sometimes hung out together because nobody else would put up with them.

“Any other sects I’m allowed to be friendly with?” Wen Yuan asked, smiling.

Jin Ling considered it, and shrugged.

“Just about anyone who doesn't lick my grandfather's boots. Well, maybe avoid the Nie, we’re not on good terms with them. But I doubt any Nie disciple would want to talk to you. They’re… they’re not very happy that you’ve entered our sect. For obvious reasons.”

Wen Yuan frowned at first, as if this remark too had hurt him, but his expression quickly shifted into something that was nearly a smile.

“You mean Wei zonghzu,” Wen Yuan said, sounding almost amused by the effort needed to decipher what Jin Ling meant.

“Him, yes. And he’s also why you need to be careful around Jin disciples. I probably shouldn’t tell you…”

Jin Ling bit his lip, but one look at Wen Yuan's handsome, honest face was enough to convince him. Wen Yuan not only deserved to know what was going on, but he also needed to. Anyway, hadn't his grandfather told him there should be trust in a married couple? 

“The thing is, Jin zongzhu is very interested in demonic cultivation,” Jin Ling explained. “He thinks it’d be the best way to protect ourselves from our enemies. And he also thinks that you can use demonic cultivation, but you’re withholding it from us.”

“But I’m not,” Wen Yuan protested, offended. “I’ve never learned!’

“I know,” Jin Ling replied. “I'm pretty sure it would have left marks on you, on your qi. I’d probably have noticed it from the moment we had our first lessons. But my grandfather is… when he’s decided that something is a certain way, nobody can convince him otherwise. And he thinks that you’re refusing to share your knowledge with us.”

“I'm not,” Wen Yuan insisted. “You can tell him that, I really have nothing to share on that topic.”

Strangely enough, it was a relief to hear that. Jin Ling couldn't deny that he'd been worried concerning the possibility of demonic cultivation. It was easy to say he would have noticed it immediately, but in truth considering Wei Wuxian's skill, he may well have come up with ways to hide the effect of his heretical paths on the body and mind. Of course there was the possibility that Wen Yuan was just lying, but Jin Ling didn't think that was the case. His husband hid many things, but so far none of the few words he'd said had ever been lies.

“Whether you know your father's craft or not, I'd encourage you to keep it secret,” Jin Ling advised. “Don't tell anyone, not even me, or my siblings, or even my mother. We've all lied to my grandfather before, but it's easier for everyone if we don't have to.”

Wen Yuan shot him a curious look, and shook his head. 

“I appreciate that, husband. But I am not lying. I really don't know anything at all. Wei zongzhu was always very firm on that, he’d scold me terribly if I showed too much interest in his methods. He knows too well how dangerous it is. He... he didn't want that for me.”

“Don't let anyone know that either,” Jin Ling said after a moment of reflection. “If my grandfather knows you can never fulfil the purpose he has in mind for you, he might try to get rid of you. It's better to keep an air of mystery about this.”

Wen Yuan tilted his head to the side. 

“I thought… Don't you also want to be rid of me?”

The question took Jin Ling by surprise. Not so long ago, he would have agreed that this marriage was the very worst thing that had ever happened to him. He wasn't so sure about that anymore. Wen Yuan was not unpleasant to have around, and their daily lessons were... nice. There was nothing particularly romantic about their marriage, but there was nothing awful either.

“You're not the worst spouse grandfather could have found for me,” Jin Ling replied. “If you were gone, I might just end up with someone worse, if my grandfather thinks it's his interest. He might try to marry me to Nie Huaisang for all I know! Do you know how annoying he can be when he's unhappy? Or… Or to one of Yao zongzhu's kids, and they're all duller than dirt, I've never heard them say something that wasn't boring. Or he'd find me someone ugly, which is just as bad as being boring. Anyway, I'm used to you now. It'd be a bother, having to deal with someone new, especially when they wouldn't be as good as you. And… And I wouldn't enjoy regaining my freedom, if it meant you had to suffer for it! Which you would. Grandfather is… not a kind man.”

Jin Ling blushed, all too aware that he was saying things in the worst possible way, once again. And yet Wen Yuan didn't take offence. If anything, he looked a little pleased by his husband's rambles. Truly, Jin Ling did not understand his husband in the least.

“I am grateful that my husband feels this way,” Wen Yuan said, fighting a smile. “I will try hard to be worthy of the praise.”

Without thinking, Jin Ling nodded.

He couldn't say it, because it would sound wrong and mean again if he tried to express it, but at that moment he actually felt very happy with the husband fate had chosen for him, that odd boy who had just enough patience to unravel the mess of words that often spilled out of his mouth.

[the-broken-pen]

As another request, maybe the villain and hero are fighting , and the villain notices that the hero reacts suspiciously numb to his attacks. And when he taunts him about it, the hero sisimply says something to the effect of being used to it. And the villain is suspicious by the tone so he follow the hero and find out he’s abused by family . Cue villain saving the hero, comforting him and showering him with the love he never got

The villain should have known something was wrong the first time he hit the hero, and he simply braced, pain flickering along the muscles of his jaw, before hitting back. Face blank, a mask stronger than concrete. As if pain played no part, and it was just the give and return of kinetic energy, and nothing more.

He should have known when he said something so cruel it felt like graveyard dirt upon his tongue, and the hero merely stuttered for half a second, everything within him freezing, before he continued like nothing had happened. Nothing cruel in return, nothing biting in his face. Just–complete nothing.

“You never flinch,” the villain said, and it wasn’t a sudden realization, but it was close. Again, that momentary pause, like the hero had been grabbed and stopped by some otherworldly being on a molecular level. It allowed the villain to catch the next hit the hero threw at them.

“What?”

The hero, to his credit, didn’t sound upset, and in this line of work the villain was especially good at noticing the tiny pieces of that kind of thing. He just sounded confused, maybe.

“When I hit you. You don’t flinch,” the villain clarified. The hero just stared at them.

“You only really flinch if you aren’t used to it,” the hero said finally.

“Used to it?”

“You heard me,” the hero replied, and this time, there was irritation behind his words.

The villain tossed the hero’s fist down, and the hero stumbled back.

“And you didn’t answer my question.”

“I wasn’t aware there was one.”

“Are you intentionally being annoying, or is it just natural for you?”

The hero’s breath shuddered.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry–you–I don’t want an apology,” the villain sputtered. This conversation felt above his pay grade; and he wasn't entirely sure why, either, which irked him, itching under his skin.

“So–” the hero snapped his jaw shut around the rest of the word, and it looked like he was doing everything in his power to stop himself from finishing it.

Before the villain could prod further–about the flinching, or any other confusing aspect of it–the hero blew out a breath, and said, “I’m done here.”

The villain blinked.

“You can’t just decide when a fight is over.”

“Watch me,” the hero said, but his voice didn’t have the heat that usually went along with that phrase.

“You’re a hero, isn’t this kind of your entire job? Finishing fights, not walking away from them?”

“I said, I’m done,” the hero snarled, and it was the first hint of emotion he had shown the entire day, explosive and aimed entirely at the villain. The villain was taken aback for a moment.

The hero turned and left before the villain could even think of a response. He didn’t look over his shoulder.

Of course, the villain followed him home.

The fact that he had been able to at all was something to be worried about.

He watched as the hero entered, shutting the door behind him. Heard the sound of his bag hitting the floor, his jacket being hung up. Normal, quiet little things. Shuffling through the kitchen, making a cup of tea. A quiet conversation with his mother.

The villain was about to leave when he heard the slap.

He was through the door before he realized he was moving, leaving the handle to slam into the wall.

He caught the barest edge of a conversation as he rounded the corner–a curse word, then a vile sort of thing that was somehow worse than anything the villain had managed to say in his entire life–and slotted himself neatly between the hero and his mother.

The villain caught her wrist before it could touch any part of the hero. His grip was too tight to be anything but painful.

The hero’s mother gaped at them.

A bruise was beginning to bloom across the hero’s cheek.

The hero was shaking, slightly, face tense and drawn as he stared at the villain. Like the villain was the unnerving thing in this situation, and the hand his mother still had raised was the normality.

A rage, raw and unfathomable, ravenous within him, descending down so deep into the white hot of fury that it passed anything that had a name, uncurled itself along his bones.

“Touch him again,” the villain seethed, voice shaking with all that feral untamed mess within himself, “and you lose the hand.”

“Villain,” the hero said quietly, and the villain had never heard him so meek.

How long did it take for a person to learn that kind of quiet?

“Villain, leave it.”

The villain didn’t release the hero’s mother’s–no. The woman in front of him wasn’t a mother. She was something twisted, and broken, and cruel, upper lip curled with displeasure. Not that the villain was within her kitchen; but that he had stopped her from hitting her child.

The villain wanted nothing more than to vomit on her spotless white tiles.

Maybe in another life she would have been the kind of person the hero, with his kind heart, would have saved before it got to this point.

Maybe in another life the villain would have let the hero try.

But that was not this life.

And there was a bruise blooming on his hero’s cheek.

“You have no right–”

“Did I not make myself clear?” He said, and it was black and poisonous in the air.

The woman in front of him swallowed, and for the first time, fear flickered across her face.

Good.

“Villain,” the hero said, voice strangled, and the villain turned to look at him.

“She’s hurt you before,” the villain said, and it wasn’t a question. The hero looked at him wide-eyed, and he wondered how many times the hero had walked into a fight with him with pre-existing injuries. Injuries he would pretend later that the villain had given him.

The hero swallowed, hard.

“Yes,” he whispered, and that was all the villain needed. He turned back around.

“The only reason you are alive right now is because I think killing you would upset him,” he informed her, and he watched her face pale. “That, and getting blood out of shoes is a bitch. Isn’t it, hero? See, you wouldn’t know. Nobody’s ever made you bleed, I’d wager, because if they had, you would understand it isn’t the kind of thing you do to someone you love.”

He grinned, feral.

“You’re going to leave,” he continued. “Matter of fact, you’re going to vanish. And you’re going to do it so well that if he wants, he’ll never have to think of you again. The only way you’ll ever see him again will be because he wants it to happen, do you understand me? If you don’t, we’ll make you vanish my way.”

The hero made a choked noise behind him. “I don’t think you’ll like that very much,” the villain confided in a whisper.

He wasn’t sure the woman in front of him was breathing.

“Hero,” he said after a long minute. He was going to leave bruises on her wrist. She was shaking, and it soothed some of the yawning rage within him. “Pack a bag.”

The hero vanished into the halls of the house.

The villain didn’t say anything, just stared at the woman in front of him, as if he looked long enough he would be able to see the rotten core inside of her that had made her this way. Turned her into something violent. Or perhaps, the thing that had been inside her since birth, broken and seething. Inevitable.

He didn’t like to believe people could be born evil.

He would make an exception.

The hero appeared back behind him as silent as a wraith, far faster than the villain had expected, duffel bag in one hand.

He wondered how long the hero had had a bag tucked away, packed and ready to run if it got too bad.

He wondered what the hero considered ‘bad enough’ and his jaw clenched hard enough he could hear the bones creak.

“That all you need?”

The hero nodded, mutely, and the villain finally dropped the woman’s hand. She pulled back, hissing as she rubbed her arm, but she had the sense to not glare at the villain.

He tipped his head towards the door.

“Let’s go,” he said, as gently as he had ever heard himself.

The hero followed him out, and they didn’t say anything until the villain’s apartment door locked behind the both of them.

The villain blew out a shuddering breath.

The hero looked like he wasn’t entirely there, eyes glassy.

“Hero,” he said softly, and the hero’s gaze snapped to his face. He stopped himself from reaching for him, a helpless effort to do something, to fix it. “Can I touch you?”

He made sure it didn’t sound like a demand, because if the hero said no, the villain would die before crossing that line, no matter how much it stung. A moment later, to his relief, the hero gave a jerky nod.

He moved slowly, a gentle palm on the hero’s jaw to tip it up, inspecting the bruise with pursed lips. He brushed away the tear that slipped down the hero’s cheek with his thumb, and left it there.

“It could be worse,” the hero offered quietly.

“The fact that it exists at all is worse enough,” the villain murmured, tipping the hero’s head back down. “I’m so sorry.”

The hero blinked, brow furrowing. “For what?”

The villain shrugged one shoulder. “That it happened. That it has been happening. That I didn’t notice.”

“I’m good at hiding it,” the hero said, like it was supposed to make the villain feel better.

“You shouldn’t have had to learn how to do that at all,” the villain said, and the hero’s lip wobbled.

The hero wavered slightly, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He carried himself like the entirety of his body was an open wound, every second spent breathing a second spent in agony.

The villain couldn’t pretend he knew what this felt like, but he could do his best to soothe it as much as possible.

“Come here,” he said softly, and the hero melted into him, shaking as he tried to cry quietly and failed. He tucked the hero against his chest, and hand coming to curl into the hero’s hair as he let out a desperate keening noise.

He rested his chin on the top of the hero’s head. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “It’s not right now, but it will be, I promise. Even if it takes a while.”

The hero shuddered against him, then nodded, just once.

It wasn’t okay, but it would be.

The villain had promised.

And he never broke a promise.

[albertasunrise]

Seeing Things - Oops Baby

Masterlist

Summary: Being best friends with Frankie meant movie nights, drinks with the guys and a shoulder to cry on when you got your hear broken. He is head over heels for you but you don’t feel the same… yet a drunken mistake will tie your lives together forever!

Relationships: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+ (So... I am trying to update my other pics but the reaction I getting from this ones really giving me the motivation to continue it... so thank you and I hope you enjoy this update! ♥️ It's not a super long one but everything gonna become clear I promise!)

Series Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

In the weeks that followed, the sightings of you only increased. You seemed to be everywhere he looked, asking him the same thing over and over again. 

Come back to me

He wished he knew what you wanted. Surely you didn't want him to leave little Esme? You would never have wanted him to hurt himself so why did you ask him to go back to him? You were dead!

"I brought you your favourites." He stated plainly as he pulled out the old bouquet of flowers Ben had brought you the week before. He poured out the stagnant water and replenished it with some from the bottle of water he'd stashed in his pack. Then, just as you had shown him on one of the many evenings you'd spent together, he arranged them carefully, sure to make sure they were just how you would have liked them. 

"I'm sorry I haven't visited sooner." He said as he got to his feet and rubbed the back of his neck nervously "Things have been busy with the baby and work... Don't want to bore you with the details but ya know... It's been hard." He let out a long sigh as he scraped his hand over his face to wipe away the traitorous tears that tracked down his cheeks "Esme's getting so big so fast." He continued "You should see her Titch, the spitting image of you! With the addition of my hair and eyes." He chuckled. 

His eyes traced over the words carved into your headstone. 

The words Here Lies carved in an elegant font followed by your first name and last name, 'Titch' at the end by request of Ben

Friend and Mother 

Forever loved

Never forgotten

Ben had selected the words. Frankie hadn't been able to bring himself to do it so the younger Miller had stepped up. Taking the 'anything I can do to help' statement he'd made to Fish when you'd died so literally. 

"Seeing you everywhere is killing me Titch." Frankie said after a short pause "Is this what you meant? Come to me, did you mean this? Because I am wracking my brains baby, trying to understand what it is you want from me." He sobbed "The guys all think I'm losing the plot but I know you're there. Just out of eyeshot or something and I know you're trying to tell me something so please... help me understand Titch." 

He paused, his eyes locked on the headstone as he let out a shaky breath before pleading one last time. 

"Please..." 

"Frankie." Your voice made him just and his head shot up, scanning the surroundings for you. 

"Frankie please..." You pleaded "Please don't leave me." 

No matter where he looked he couldn't see you. But he could hear you like you were right beside him. 

"What do you mean?" He begged, tears openly spilling down his cheeks "I'm here Titch... Baby I'm here!" 

"Please don't leave me, Frankie." You repeat, your tone breaking his heart as he desperately looked for you among the headstones "I can't do this without you." 

This statement let Frank's brows draw together. What did you mean by that? He was the one who'd been left behind. Your pleads disappeared like smoke on the wind and Frankie was left with the sound of his own breathing and the rattling of branches. He pressed his palms firmly against his eyes as he tried to slow his breathing, his pounding heart hammering against his ribs. 

"I can't do this." He whispered to no one in particular, allowing the dam to break "Fuck I can't... I can't cope with this." 

You didn't say anything else and Frankie audibly groaned before pushing himself to his feet. He didn't understand why you were doing this. Torturing him. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. 

...

"Well, ain't that better Lil' Titch?" Ben said as he finished fastening her babygrow "Uncle Ben's not so bad at this huh?" 

Esme smiled in reply, her legs kicking and arms waving in visible excitement before he scooped her into his arms and planted a big kiss on her cheek. She settled quickly on his shoulder and he smiled as she let out a little sigh and closed her eyes, falling asleep almost instantly. 

"Shit Titch... I wish you could see how perfect she is." He whispered as he placed a kiss on the infant's brow.

"Hands off... she's mine." Frank teased as he walked into the lounge, grinning as his best friend cuddled his daughter so closely.

"You gotta share the baby Fish!." Ben chuckled as he gently gingerly sat on the couch. 

“Yeah, yeah...” Frank grumbled as he waved off his friend, traipsing to the kitchen to fetch a beer. 

“How’d it go?” Ben asked when the older man reappeared, giving him a sympathetic smile as he watched him sit on the armchair across from him. 

“How’d what go?”

“Seeing Titch!” 

“Was fine.” Frankie shrugged, fooling no one once again. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Ben pushed and Frankie groaned. 

“Ben…”

“You gotta talk about this shit man!” Ben pushed, pleading with his eyes for his friend to just open up to him. 

“You won’t believe me!” 

“Why would you-“

“I heard Titch again.” Frank snapped, keeping his voice low so he didn’t wake his baby. 

“What do you mean you heard her?” 

“I keep hearing her talking to me. Sometimes I see her and she always says the same thing!”

“Which is?” 

"To go back to her." Frank replied, scraping a shaky hand over his face. 

"Go back to her?"

"Yes, Ben!" He snarled "And today she was begging me not to leave her!" He choked "But she left me Ben!... I loved her and she left me all alone..." He trailed off as he broke down into tears, head in his hands. 

Ben got up and placed Esme in her Moses basket with practised ease before sitting on the arm of the chair Frank was sitting in and pulling him close. 

"I can't do this..." He sobbed and Ben sighed "I don't know what she wants from me." 

"Fish... this is just your brain's way of holding onto her." Ben sighed "We all deal with grief in different ways... Shit, I keep listening to the last voicemail she left me over and over again just so I don't forget her voice!" 

"No!" Frank all but shrieked "That's not what this is Ben! It's her I know it is!" 

"You can't seriously believe Titch is haunting you, man!" Ben sighed as he stood up to check on Esme as she started to fuss. 

"I don't know how else to explain it, Ben!" He growled "I keep seeing her everywhere and she keeps repeating the same thing over and over!" 

"Fish-" 

"But then today she said something different." Frankie interrupted " She begged me not to leave her... Told me she couldn't do this without me..." He trailed off whilst nervously pacing his lounge "What does that even mean? She can't do this without me... She can't be dead without me? Doesn't make any fucking sense!" 

"Fish... Man, you need to calm down!" Ben pleaded, noting how breathless the pilot has suddenly become "This won't be doing your heart any good man!" 

"My heart's fine!" The older man grumbled.

"You say that but this can't be good for you!" Ben warned "Just take a breath man... I believe you, okay! I believe you saw her." 

"You're just saying that." Fish scoffed, rolling his eyes when Ben frantically shook his head. 

"I'm really not okay!" The younger man pleaded "Just... Just please." 

Frankie sighed as he ran a shaky hand through his mussed hair. His eyes then drifted to Esme who was staring over at him with her large, teary eyes. His heart ached and he was quick to scoop her up into his arms and lay a soothing kiss on the crown of her head. 

"I'm sorry baby girl." He whispered as he bounced her gently in his arms "I just miss your mummy so much." 

"We all do brother." Ben said as he placed a comforting hand on Frankie's back "I'm not trying to say that I even remotely understand the pain you're feeling brother but know that I miss her so much it hurts... And that I am here! Whatever you need..." 

Frankie nodded, giving his friend a weak smile before resting his cheek on the top of Esme's head. 

"I know Ben." He said softly "Thanks." 

"Any time." Ben replied, giving his friend a friendly wink before grabbing his stuff to leave "See you tomorrow for dinner yeah?" 

"Sure." The pilot replied softly "See you then." 

...

"Why the fuck did you pick a restaurant that didn't have a parking lot asshole!" Ben grumbled as he pushed Esme's pram along the pavement, the steep hill making it a little harder. 

"It had good reviews okay!" Will grumbled, "It's not that bad!" 

"You're not the one pushing a pram up a 90-degree hill!" Ben grumbled, pulling a smirk from Frankie. 

"You offered brother!" Frank pointed out, sniggering at the groan that he received in reply "I can take her if you're struggling."

"I am not struggling!" Ben argued and Fish threw his hands up in surrender.

"We're nearly there!" Will piped up "Just across the street."

The three of them reached the crossing, breathing a small sigh of relief when the restaurant came into view. Will crossed first with Ben following closely behind him. Something had distracted Frankie, leading him to step out a few steps behind his friends but your voice calling his name stopped him in his tracks and he looked to his left, your figure illuminated by a bright white light. 

"Come back to me." You pleaded as you always did and Frankie froze. Tears sprouted as he looked at you smiling back at him as you held your hand out to him "Come back to me." 

You disappeared as quickly as you appeared, a horn sounding before Ben screamed his name. Then suddenly he was flying for a brief moment before his body connected with something solid and he rolled over it before hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. 

"FISH!!" Ben screamed as he ran to the pilot's side, hands shaking as he took in his friend's condition "Fish stay with me." He choked as he saw how bent and broken the older man looked.

Frankie winced as he turned his head, noting how Will was standing with the pram as he frantically spoke to who he assumed was the emergency service on his phone. He also noted that the driver who had hit him was nowhere to be seen. 

Hit and run. 

"Ben." He coughed after he spoke, blood filling his throat at an alarming rate. 

"Shhhh." He hushed the man and stroked his hair, desperately trying to keep himself together "Just keep breathing for my Fishsticks!" He pleaded 'Please don't leave me..."

His last statement blended into yours. He could hear you again, pleading not to leave you and he only felt more confused. He was dying... it was clear that he was so surely he was going back to you. 

Surely you should be happy?

"Please, Frankie... Please don't leave me." 

You pleaded... your voice shaky. 

"I'm coming Titch." He whispered. His eyes fell shut as darkness took him. 

"What's happening?" You sobbed as hands moved you from the room.

"He's crashing!" Stated someone in the room and you shook your head as you were pushed into the hallway, still able to see everything through the glass walls of Frankie's room. 

"Please, Frankie... Please don't leave me." You sobbed "Please..." 

Another set of hands pulled you away but not before you witnessed them shock the man you loved, desperately trying to restart the heart that was supposed to save him. You were placed in a room where you had spent more time than you cared to remember in the past month and a half. Hours sat waiting for news on whether Frankie was going to pull through. 

He'd gotten the heart he so desperately needed yet for close to two months he'd been in a coma, fighting battle after battle. This was just the latest in a long list of complications he'd suffered. 

Kidney Failure... Infection... His body had even rejected the donor heart but that was something they had managed to detect early. It seemed his body just refused to get better, even if his mind wasn't willing to let go. 

"What's happening?" Asked Ben as he stepped into the room after being directed here by a nurse, his brows tightly drawn in concern. 

"He crashed." You sobbed as you threw your head into your hands.

"What?... What caused it?" 

"I don't know." You replied, shaking your head "They dragged me in here as they tried to bring him back... I haven't heard anything yet." 

Ben nodded solemnly as he sat down beside you, handing you Esme when you held your arms out to receive her. You needed to hold your baby. 

"Why won't he get better Ben?" You sobbed as your eyes locked with his.

"He's really poorly." He replied softly "He needs time to get better." 

"But that's just it... He's not getting better!" 

"He will, Titch." Ben assured you and you sighed. 

"How do you know that?" 

"Because he's got something to fight for." He stated plainly. 

The two of you then sat in that room for what felt like hours, glad of Esme to keep you somewhat distracted from what the outcome of this latest setback might be. The doctor appeared sometime later. His expression was difficult to read. 

"How is he Doc?" Ben asked, holding your free hand tightly in his. 

"We managed to bring him back." The doctor announced, "He's weak and we have had to up his anti-rejection meds." 

"He's rejecting the heart again?" 

"He never technically stopped." The doctor stated "We have been able to keep it under control with medication. He seems to be responding well though and we're hopeful." 

You both breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief, glad that finally, something was going right. 

"There's something else though." The doctor stated and both you and Ben shared a grim glance before looking at the doctor again. 

"What is it?" You asked, your voice shaking slightly. 

"He's awake." 

Next

For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

[crooked-wasteland]

Hazbin Hotel LiveBlog: Scrambled Eggs

So I’m watching Hazbin with my partner who has already seen the entire series. It took us 5 minutes just to get this episode to play from the beginning because it would just skip to episode 4 while the credits where playing before i could pause or rewind. That has nothing to do with the show, it just made me unbelievably enraged, so we ain’t going into this episode happy.

What is with the cat?

It’s been a week since the last episode and every ounce of progress Sir Pentious made last episode is just thrown out as an excuse to introduce yet another character in Carmella. Was there not another way to do this? Like I get Sir Pentious wouldn’t be reformed, but just having him be suddenly paranoid with no reason isn’t founded. Even just a background detail of Angel Dust watching him from a doorway would have been enough to found that suspicion. Especially when Pentious wasn’t shown to be paranoid as a trait. I get this is narrative utilitarianism, but it’s just weak and changing one character’s personality to establish a new one is poor writing.

Sir Pentious to his eggs just feels like fandom

“That’s a lot less hot” That feels out of character

So Trust exercises to tone down the sudden change in Sir Pentious’ character and also to give Vaggie a leading role. Got it. Very utilitarian, very disjointed from the previous episode.

Sidebar, I googled who wrote this episode and it wasn’t Vivienne, however I never would have known because the last episode was equally full of contradictions that it also felt like someone else wrote it. Now maybe that was because Adam had a hand in thing, but The fact I have to google this stuff to know for sure is a joke kin its own right.

I am so conflicted about Niffty. She feels less childlike here and I like find her demented fun, but last episode she was literally written as being child-like so the pain fetish going on is repulsive, despite it not being this writer’s fault. If I want to enjoy anything about this show, I really have to just see every episode as one singular complete entity without calling back on previous ones, however this is a series and thus needs to expand itself through subsequent episodes. To not do so is a failure of concept because this series is very serialized. So in a bubble I really enjoy Niffty. In the series she is a very uncomfortable character to give violent fetishes to and make them so overt. Vivienne ruined that for you all, don’t blame me. Someone should have said how this should have been scrapped before we got this far.

Zestial is suggesting that Alastor may have died at Heaven’s hand. Alastor looks away while laughing. So there is a connection between Heaven and Alastor.

Egg Bois are cute.

Carmella has a bad case of Character Design does not match vocal performance.

Velvette, please never speak again.

Velvette is now 5 inches tall

The yellow blood looks like piss

Can someone tell Lilli Cooper that a lot of British singers don’t have such strong accents when singing. Just please, it’s a great time top drop that bad accent.

James, hi, your singing voice lost the character

The kink shaming be real.

Even Charlie infantalizes Niffty. Geez

This scene in the Turf war was peak Angel Dust. I laughed.

I have to ask, was the music written before or after the singing, because for one, Carmella sounds like she is trying to be heard over it, and second the beat of the music is either lacking or there was an issue with the audio mixing because it just sounds wrong. Like there are melodies and harmonies to a score and one of those is missing. OR, the music is just out of sync entirely with the performer.

Again, just don’t have Vaggie sing. You directed the actor to perform out of her vocal range for her modal voice. Don’t do this to her.

They are not at all harmonized, this is the worst duet I ever heard. Don’t you usually have singers record duets together so they can harmonize their voices? Why didn’t that happen here.

So this big conflict for Vaggie was never a conflict. Best resolution ever.

I like Carmella’s concept. Her character design is kinda trash and the songs were terrible. There was a good idea somewhere in this episode, but from beginning to end every aspect was contrived to just make the story work for the greater plot, the dynamics between the characters be damned. There is a sense of someone wanting to have fun with it while Medrano’s stood behind them with a chokehold on the narrative. It’s disappointing and I feel the writing suffers from Medrano’s obsessive and frantic need for control. This writing feels so insecure and I can only imagine that comes from having a very narrow box to fill.

2/10

I’m taking a break.

[writingintheshadowsforever]

Imagine Namor and Queen Ramonda forgiving each other on your behalf

The crashing waves, the whistling of a passing breeze, the chirping crickets, and the rustling of trees were the only sounds to fill the air. For the longest as Namor and Queen Ramonda simply stared each other down. Waiting for the other to cave and look away. Nakia had to be the one to break the silence.

"Neither of you came here tonight to have a staring contest. You're here to make peace with each other, so this alliance starts feeling more real on both sides. And not the result of a forced marriage" she reminded them. Her voice holding a tone of authority.

"I did not force your princess to marry me." Namor protested turning his attention to Nakia with a frown.

"Well its not like I left her with many other choices now did you?" Queen Ramonda shot back with a glare.

Just like that his attention was back on her, and he took a menacing step forward.

Nakia placed herself between both of them. "Careful Namor your wife will not be happy if any harm befalls either of us."

Namor looked away feeling a little ashamed at letting his anger get the best of him so easily. He was supposed to making peace, and here he was arguing with the Queen like a child. You would be disappointed in him if you were present.

"Where is my daughter right now?" Queen Ramonda asked him over Nakia's shoulder. She refused to move even if it did seem like he was no longer a threat.

Namor looked up to catch her eyes with his own, and saw something he wasn't use to with other people. Vulnerability.

You were her daughter and for the past three days she had been unable to contact or see you. Not to mention you were located in another nation not totally inaccessible to her, but not somewhere she could reach in a moment’s notice. Of course she was worried for your well-being.

"She is located in the underwater caves for now, and was sleeping when I left. Your daughter is safe and perfectly fine Queen" Namor reassured her. He tried to sound as if he really didn't care but the undertone was there.

"The Talokanil woman that I killed when I infuriated your home. I'm truly for her death" Nakia spoke up. She decided that someone had to apologize first. Why not her especially when it was her actions that led to the invasion on Wakanda.

Namor tilted his head to the side as he studied her trying to see if she was sincere. Nakia held his gaze.

Ten long seconds went by before he finally let out a sigh. "I sent my soldiers to ambush the Princess and the General in America on purpose. You just responded to my actions, and then I acted hastily nearly destroying the alliance I wanted to build so badly. I'm sorry for that." His gaze flickered back to the Queen whose eyes shone with disbelief. "I'm sorry for the lives your country lost during my attack, and I'm sorry for nearly taking yours."

"Why should I believe you?" The Queen asked.

"Queen mother" Nakia hissed.

"What this could be some ploy to earn our trust" she exclaimed in anger. It was obvious she wasn't ready to forgive the King of Talokan yet.

Namor nodded in understanding. "I told both of your daughters I have no love for the surface world, and it is true. Even now as I stand before you trying to fix my relationship with you so our kingdoms can be united in peace. My hatred for mankind has always stemmed from their hatred of people like me. The surface love has never shown me or my people any love."

"What about the ones on the island?" Nakia insisted.

"They worship me as a God that is different. I'm civil to them but only because most of them haven't truly conformed to the way of the world. I brought all of my wrath down on Wakanda out of fear and paranoia. Humans have nearly discovered our existence in the past so many times. We had to relocate to stay safe for the past couple of decades. Talokan has remained safe where it is now, but all that changed when your son revealed your resources to the entire world. None of you had any intention on sharing with the other nations, but knew they would come looking-"

"We weren't aware of your exis-" The Queen tried to remind him, but he cut her off with a roar.

"It doesn't matter you put my people and home in jeopardy. I was blinded and was willing to do anything to protect my people. I didn't think it was possible for a human to be accepted in Talokan, but your daughter has proved me wrong. That is why I'm here now apologizing because I realize maybe if I had approached the situation differently all of this could’ve been avoided." Namor brought his voice back down to quieter level as he reached the end.

Ramonda closed her eyes and took a deep breath. While there was a part of her that wanted to hold onto the grudge. She knew it was time to let it go, if Namor could find it in him to admit his mistakes and apologize. So could she.

"I accept you apology Namor, and I am truly sorry for how my country’s action have affected your own nations." She said stepping around Nakia to face him directly.

Namor gave her a nod.

A silent agreement passed through both of them as they looked at each other. This was a new beginning for Wakanda and Talokan.

Namor turned around to make his way back into the ocean. He did what he set out to do, there was no reason for him to stick around any longer. But he paused right as his body entered the water too look back at both of them. They were still standing in the same spot watching him leave. "I will take care of your daughter Queen Ramonda her well-being is not something you need to concern yourself with. I promise if it makes you feel any better the marriage is on hold till we learn to truly love each other."

Ramonda let out a sigh unable to hold back the small smile taking form on her face. As relief flooded through her body she didn't know why, but his words brought her some much needed comfort. Knowing you weren't whisked away into some underwater marriage ceremony the day you left made her feel better. "Namor wait take this with you." She called out to him pulling something from her sleeves.

It was a gold chain with a large purplish black ring on it. He tilted his head to the side as he walked back out of the ocean to go get it. "What is it?"

"Its T'Challa's ring her brother I want her to have it promise me she gets it" Queen Ramonda told him.

He observed the ring closely like it was a secret weapon.

"Its just a ring Namor it belonged to their own father. Its just something to make her feel more connected to Wakanda this isn't some trap" Nakia reassured him exasperated with his hesitation.

He glanced in her direction with a raised eyebrow, but still reached out to gently take the chain from the Queen. "I will give it to her." With those words he turned back around and descended back into the ocean. There were no goodbyes exchanged between the two, but progress had been made.

Next Morning

You were stretched out in the hammock on your stomach sleeping peacefully. Your face pressed into a pillow that Namor had put under your head when he got back. Your body was still cocooned in his robe despite the blanket at the bottom. It was still folded neatly, and was nestled under your feet. He wondered if he was going to get the robe back from you.

He was leaned back into a sofa positioned right across from the hammock. Namor had it built specifically for you wanting to make this cave as close to your home as it could get. The platform for the sofa was made out rock material from the ocean itself. Which they were able to mold perfectly as well as the more than comfortable soft cushioning.

Namor had been watching you sleep for about an hour so far. Once he returned from his meeting with the queen. He retired for the night to his own sleeping chambers in the cave. Sleep didn't come easily too him considering it wasn't something he did very often. Unlike his people and you his body last way longer without a sufficient amount of rest. So he only rested whenever the need arose, and although he felt drained a little mentally. Last night physically he was fine and felt as if he could go another two days or so. But he slept anyway with nothing else to worry about.

You started to shift around letting out a soft groan. Your eyes squeezed themselves tightly as you frowned. Consciousness had come to way too early for your liking, and the material wrapped around your body coupled with the cloud you were sleeping in. Made you want to go back under, but for some reason you couldn't go back. You opened your eyes pulling the robe up to cover your face slightly to block out any light. And that was when it hit you no need to try and dim the morning sunlight. Even the glow worms plastered all over the cave ceiling lit up the cave. The light wasn't overwhelming for your fresh morning eyes.

"Maybe sticking with this hammock isn't such a bad idea" You murmured sitting up.

"I'm happy you found your sleeping arrangements accommodating" Namor spoke up.

You let out a small yelp jumping a bit with your head whipping in the direction of his voice. He was sitting on a sofa leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees. His hands were clasped together as he regarded with a proud look on his face.

"Were you watching me sleep?" You asked.

"Only for a while in yakunaj" He replied softly.

You raised an eyebrow trying to figure what he had just called you. It probably wasn't anything bad, but it was a bit annoying not being to understand his language sometimes. "Are you ever going to tell me what that means?" He had used that term more than once.

"No its fun trying to see you figure it out" Namor said with a teasing smile.

You threw your head with a chuckle not use to this side of him. It was the first time Namor had joked with you. Then something sitting on the small table between the hammock and sofa caught your attention. You threw your legs up and over standing up in one fluid motion, and walked over to the table. Tears formed in your eyes as you let out a little gasp in shock. It was T'Challa's ring resting on a gold chain. The one that passed down in your family for generations. You had decided that after his death the ring would go to Shuri, so how was it here now. Your gaze moved from the ring to Namor who's face had soften even more now.

"Your mother asked that I give that to you" He told you.

"My mother but how?" You asked in confusion.

"You asked me to make peace so I made peace my Queen" Namor answered getting to his feet.

Your eyes widened in surprised as you were taken back that he had actually done it. Honestly you didn't think he would nor did you think your mother would be willing to forgive him so soon. You picked the chain up to place it around your neck, and overcome with emotion. You threw yourself at Namor wrapping your arms around his neck placing your chin on his shoulder.

Namor didn't respond right away caught off guard with the physical show of affection from you. It wasn't something he was use to so for at first he just stood there frozen. Until finally he constricted his own arms around your waist pulling your body closer to his own.

"Thank you Namor" You whispered into his ear.

"You're welcome" He replied back.

You pulled your face back to look him in the eyes. "Should we go check on the city?"

Namor gave you a small nod knowing right then you had his heart. Nothing in the world could stop him from falling in love with you right now. He might have went about getting your hand in marriage the wrong way, but from here on out Namor made a promise that. He was going to do everything else right.

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[idontplaytrack]

Running through my brain

Janis ‘Imi’ike x fem! reader (+older sister Regina)

Warnings: some coarse language, fluff, mention of a family member’s passing & divorce.

First date! Read part one here / part three

(Pictures used are from Pinterest & Auli’i’s IG)

“Remind me…is she picking you up or do I have to drop you off?” Regina asks, knowingly. Wanting to poke fun at you and see you get flustered at the thought of Janis.

“She’s picking me up, stop that.”

“Getting to see you so happy? Never stopping this.” Regina chuckles over her words.

“I’m nervous.”

“And that’s fine!” Regina assured, “As long as you don’t puke on her.”

You looked at her absolutely horrified at the possibility, it did happen once in first grade for an entirely different reason— but it happened, you’d puked in class due to nerves or stress, or both.

“Stoooop.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll shut up.” Regina threw her hands up in mock surrender. “Just have fun today, okay. It’s pretty clear to me she feels the same way or is at least interested in getting to know you better. You have plenty of time.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t even realise you’d been holding, “Guess so, thanks, Reg.”

At this moment, you got a text from Janis saying that she’d arrived so you gave Regina a quick hug goodbye and left the house. “Hi!” Janis exclaimed while you walked closer to her car.

“Hey.” You replied, smiling slightly while you opened the door and got into the front seat with her. The drive was silent for awhile, but Janis didn’t seem to mind that you weren’t talking. While she was comfortable with it, you felt that the lack of a conversation was tense.

“So…have you decided what we should have for lunch yet?” You decided to break the silence.

“Well, there’s this new Mexican place at the mall. Along the promenade…heard it’s pretty good. You wanna try?”

You knew which establishment she was referring to. You saw it two weeks ago when you were at the mall with Regina. There was a bit of a line, so you guys didn’t get to try it then since the hunger got the best of you both and you decided to go somewhere else without a wait time.

“Okay, though there was a bit of a line when I passed by that place two weeks ago. So hopefully the hype’s died down a bit.”

Janis nods, “We’ll go check it out, if the line’s still too long we’ll eat somewhere else.”

“Oh, you didn’t tell—”

Janis says, biting back a laugh, “Oh, no, I don’t have to tell him everything. He’s already annoying you now, imagine what it would be like if I had told him? He would probably have shown up just to see how things are going.”

You chuckled, “He’s um…very supportive.”

“More like annoying. I need some peace and quiet sometimes…the last thing I need while spending time with you is his excited yapping.” Janis continues.

You heart skipped a beat hearing her say those words, gripping tightly onto your fork, you ate another mouthful of the food while your eyes stayed focused on her as she spoke.

“As if I don’t have enough worries running through my brain thinking about how to talk to you without seeming like a weirdo.” She murmurs. You could barely hear any of what she’d just said.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” She brushes it off, “Not important.”

“Oh.” You exhaled, reaching for your drink. “Okay.”

“So…where do you wanna go after this?” She asked, back to her previous excitement in tone.

“Uh, probably just walk around here for a bit?”

“Sounds good.” Janis shrugs, checking her phone that just buzzed in her hand, “Did…your sister just follow me on Instagram?”

You took a peek at the screen, “Oh, yeah. That’s her.”

“Why? Does she not trust me? I mean— of course, but come on!” She bursts into a bit of laughter at the end. You couldn’t help it but laugh as well, “I dunno. I never really know what she’s thinking anyway. She seems to keep all her problems to herself and still has to help me with mine.”

Janis sighs softly, “I uh, I heard about your mom and dad getting divorced. And I’m sorry, that’s got to be really difficult.”

Woah, now. The conversations took a very non-lighthearted turn. “Um…” You began, “It- it was. But now after some time, I’ve just became a very angry person honestly. They were both at fault, though to me, my Dad was worse. But our relationship with mom is still pretty bad. After our Dad left, she literally just left me under Regina’s care most of the time while she’s off somewhere to ‘clear her mind’.”

“I shouldn’t have talked about that, I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, “I’m not sad, I’m just angry honestly. I don’t have a problem talking about it.”

Janis nodded solemnly, “Well, for me, my Mom died when I was in second grade. Along with my baby sister. She went to the hospital to have my sister and she just never came home. I couldn’t understand, but I knew she was gone and I was crying for like, days.”

“Oh.”

Shit.

“What are we doing? We came out to have a good time and now we’re making ourselves upset.” Janis breathes out heavily, you saw her gulp, looking up to fan the forming tears away.

‘Don’t cry, y/n.’

‘Don’t cry.’

‘Don’t cry. You can’t cry.’

Your memory of her Mom was so vague because of how young you were, and you and Regina were rarely at her place too. Janis always came over to yours. You felt bad for not being able to remember much, if at all. But more so because she was crying.

“I’m okay.” She looked at you, noticing how worried you looked. “y/n.” She chuckles, “I’m fine, I’ll always miss her and I’ll always get a little teary eyed, because she’s my Mom, but— I promise you, I’m okay.”

She reaches out to put her hand on yours, giving it a squeeze. “Look at me. I’m good, okay?”

“Okay.” You muttered, squeezing her hand back. She smiles, making you do the same thing.

————

“You wanna go on the ferris wheel?” She asks.

“The—” You looked up, pointing at it.

“Yeah.” Janis nodded eagerly, “Come on, it’ll be fun. I’m right here with you, you’ll be fine.”

Heights. You had a fear of heights.

Yet, you pushed that aside and trusted that you would be okay as long as she was with you. And that you would keep your eyes anywhere but look outside. You really liked her that much, huh.

She breaks into a little smile when she caught you staring at her, but right now it was more of you being scared shitless about looking outside and possibly downwards. “Having fun there?” She teased.

“No.” You admitted, “Not really. I may have a fear of heights,”

“Damn.” She says, beside you, “And you chose to come on here instead of rejecting the idea?”

“I dunno, I’m stupid.” You stared at the floor. Then you feel her arm go around your waist, “Well…I don’t think you’re stupid. I think it was pretty sweet that you chose to face your fear. And so brave.”

You eased up a little bit feeling her touch. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know?”

“I’m not lying.” She says, earnest.

You only shrug, leaning onto her more now. “You’re okay. I won’t let anything happen to you. I don’t want your sister to kill me, you know?”

You giggled, resting your head on her shoulder as you recalled what happened so far today. She doesn’t move away, so you two stayed like that for a good part of the ride back down to the ground.

After the ferris wheel, you dragged her to go play a game. And though she was reluctant at first, she eventually gave in and just played the game so she could win you a prize. You told her it was fine after three failed rounds, but then she just got so determined to win you something that she said she didn’t want to leave until she had one of those stuffed animals in her hands.

“Janis, it’s okay! Let’s just go get something to eat.” You spoke over the commotion.

“Nope! You want something, you’re gonna get something.” She disagrees.

Twenty dollars later, Janis left satisfied, handing the plush over to you. “Now we can go grab a snack.”

“Alright then.” You say, impressed, “Thanks, Jan.”

“You’re welcome.” She grins, arm finding its way over your shoulders.

Does this mean anything? Should I tell her I like her? Is it too soon? Is she doing this because she feels the same way? Or is this just a friend thing?

Those thoughts came back to irritate you again, you shook your head as though to get rid of them while you walked towards a food stall with Janis. You two got deep fried oreos to share, then sat down at a bench to rest your feet. It was quite crowded, so you guys were lucky a group of people just finished their food and left the bench.

“Are you okay?” Janis asks, mouth filled with the snack, “Tired?”

“A little. But yeah, I’m alright.”

“Eh, we’ll get going after this. You want anything else?” She chuckles over her words. You could feel her still watching you closely.

You guys have been out almost all day.

“Hey. What’s on your bucket list?”

“Never really had one, to be honest. I mean, the only thing I’ve really been wanting to do was to go back home. Like— to Hawai’i. I haven’t been able to go back there, not because me and my Dad can’t afford it, fortunately. But because I cannot muster up enough courage to go back to where I lost— you know what? Never mind I don’t want to bring that up again and upset us both. I don’t want to end the night on such a heavy note.”

“You don’t have to say it. I get it, and I hope one day, you’ll be able to go back there and see your home again because I get how it feels to have a home and not be able to go home to it, not being to go home to it and have it feel like home, but something else so…painful.”

“You’re so sweet.” Janis smiles to herself, handing you a fork with a fried oreo on it. You took it from her silently. “What about you? What’s on your bucket list?”

“To visit all the Disney parks in the world? I don’t know, okay? It just sounds so trivial after what you told me.” You tried not to laugh at yourself.

“Hey, it’s your bucket list.” She points out, “Don’t feel bad about it.”

Tossing the takeout box into a trash can, Janis walks back to her car with. She unlocks the doors with her keys and you got in, buckling up and holding the slightly oversized Squishmallow on your lap. You nodded off for a part of the drive, and when she was just a few minutes away from your house, you woke up.

Again, you could feel eyes on you. So you turned your head and snuck a glance at her. She didn’t even look away, “Hey.”

You gave her a sleepy smile and nodded off again while hugging the toy in your lap. She laughs to herself, “Very comfy, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” You mumbled.

Janis had to wake you up after pulling up to the front of your house. “Come on!” She tugs on your arm dramatically, “Your bed’s right upstairs~”

You woke up and sulked.

“Don’t act cute with me.” She pursed her lips together to hide the smile. “Come on, go up, go to bed.”

“Can you spend the night?” You asked without thinking twice.

Woah?

“No, I don’t think Regina would like that.”

“I would like that.” You got out of the car.

“I’ll come by tomorrow?” She suggests.

You gave in, “Okay.”

“Okay.” She confirmed, engulfing you in a hug before you fully left the front yard. “Good night, silly.”

“Silly.” You giggled to yourself, hugging her back.

“Wow, you really need to get some sleep.” She mumbles, “Okay, sleep tight. I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.”

“Bye, Jan.” You told her happily, turning around and walking up the porch, unlocking the front door.

“How was your date?” You hear Regina the second you stepped inside the house. Cady was beside her.

“Great.” You answered with no hesitation, too tired to even have a filter on your words. With that, you went right upstairs to your room to wash up and got dressed in pajamas for bed. Plopping face down onto the very comfortable Squishmallow, you were just about to go fall asleep once again when your phone went off.

Janis decides to take the leap and make a little bit of a move, though now a little more anxious than she liked to be while awaiting a response from you.

She had expected you to be asleep already so when she saw the typing indicator pop up, her sleepiness went away immediately. You on the other hand, was feeling as calm as you could be. But absolutely bursting with excitement and joy. Perhaps you just needed to be sleepy enough to let your guard down and stop worrying. Chuckling to yourself, you typed a reply for her and sent it.

The typing indicator disappears from Janis’ screen and then, this pops up for her.

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

💭A/N:

Part 2!!

(Peep the contact name changes😗)

[ofdragonsdeep]

2: Horizon

Where the sky and sea meet.

(technically spoilers for the very very first quest of Dawntrail)

Preparations for the trip had taken a long time.

Ships did not often sail to Tural, even though they were tentatively more open to trade than before. On top of that, the unusual nature of their party made negotiating fare a difficult prospect.

Krile had very patiently dealt with a number of ship captains who were not, despite their assurances, ready for the bulk of Stoh Oosh. While she was quite content to fly when the sun was up, the night demanded a place to rest, and the decks of many of the little merchant vessels simply couldn't hold her. That was the line for many of the captains, but after that, Krile also had to ensure they could get Haurchefant and his wheelchair up on to the deck, despite his assurances that he would be able to manage.

Ar'telan, who knew very little about money and the price such services might demand, had steered well clear of the whole thing. All he knew was that, by the time they boarded the ship, Krile was already exhausted, and Wuk Lamat was incredibly antsy to be off.

It was a little strong to say that Ar'telan hated ships, but he was not overly fond of them. Ever since his first ill-fated trip from Meracydia, it seemed that every boat he set foot on wanted to take him into one terrible situation or another. He could count on one hand the normal boat rides he had taken - and even then, on some of them he had been subject to some very unorthodox visits.

He sat on the deck, back to one of the masts, trying to keep his distance from the footfall of the sailors working on the rigging. He looked out to sea, and fancied he could feel the air get a little warmer. He hadn't been anywhere with a climate close to Meracydia's - even the South Sea Isles only came close. The bottom of Tural, if the maps he had been shown were accurate, would be similar, but they were headed to the middle for the start of Wuk Lamat's succession bid.

He did not want to be here.

"The morose look doesn't suit you, Ar'telan."

Mitron sat beside him, not even asking if he could. That was fairly normal for him, to be fair, so Ar'telan did not protest.

"I have things on my mind, that's all."

Mitron followed his gaze out, the sea stretching on. There was nothing to see, of course - they were far past land by now, and it would be some days yet before they approached Tural. Mitron, of course, had not come to help Wuk Lamat with her problem. He had come for the fishing, and the incredibly important job of moral support.

"You don't do well when they give you breaks, do you?" he said, an amused tone in his voice. "It'll be fine." He glanced over to Wuk Lamat, who was leaning over the side of the boat and completely failing to hide the nausea. "Probably." Ar'telan grimaced.

"It's not about that. I don't really know enough to worry about that yet, to be honest," he confessed. "I'm just… homesick." Mitron made a thoughtful noise under his breath at that.

"I don't think anyone would complain if you went home, you know," he said. Ar'telan shook his head.

"It's… complicated. It feels too final."

Mitron's eyes travelled from the sky to the dragons. Stoh Oosh was rippling through the water below them, but Orn Mahr and Moh Rhei were both at the prow of the ship, enjoying the winds.

"Yeah. I can imagine."

There was a silence between them then, but it wasn't strained. The sound of the wind and the shouts of the sailors at work rang out on either side, and Ar'telan let himself think.

Meracydia would not hate him for what he had been party to. Tiamat knew. Midgardsormr knew. Vrtra knew. The layers of pain that made up what had become of Nidhogg were complex, and he could not articulate it to his fellow mortals well enough for them to forgive the crime. But the dragons did, even if he didn't think they should have.

Perhaps that was it. He didn't think they should have.

It had been so long ago now that the pain had faded, but it had been so hard. He had heard the judgement in Hraesvelgr's voice, the fact that it was the fault of mortals that Nidhogg had to be stopped at all. That even though Midgardsormr had seen it for what it was, it still hurt.

He had wrung a promise from Estinien that he would not kill Nidhogg, and in the end, it had been false. Ysayle had fallen into a despair that matched Hraesvelgr's for so long that he had worried she would never rouse from it. He had eked ilm by painful ilm across the war-scarred fields of Coerthas so desperately never harming a dragon, and then they had faced Tioman on the mount.

It is like Tempering, they had said.

But it was not.

And even if the dragons had forgiven him, he had never forgiven himself.

All of his life he had held in his heart that there was nothing more sacrosanct than the life of a dragon. It was the epitome of Allag's evil - to kill Bahamut, to drive the others to desperate summoning, to damn all but a few to the Tempering. To trap his twisted idol in perpetual agony. He had all but wept when he had found the engine of prayer in the heart of Dalamud's workings. And there he was, on what had once been Allagan soil, commiting once more the sins of Allag.

To go home with it weighing on him felt like a betrayal of his people. And even if he could make peace with it, Meracydia would not feel the same as it had when he had left. He had changed too much now. He had been a fire keeper, a potwatch, the one who wrangled unruly kits. And now he was a godslayer.

He hadn't wanted any of it. But nobody in his position had ever asked for it.

"You know, I think it'll be good for everyone here," Mitron remarked. "A real adventure, you know? I'm not sure any of your little team have had the chance for one in a while." Ar'telan considered the statement.

"It would be nice to explore without the fate of the world on my head," he agreed. Mitron smiled at that, eyes on the sea once more.

"It'll do that stuffy elf- elezen, sorry, still got the First in my head - some good to see new places," he added. Ar'telan made an amused noise.

"Of all the elezen to call that, I'm not sure Haurchefant is the one you want," he replied. "But you're right. Maybe I'll call it an adventure."

"Just don't forget to call me if the fishing is good," Mitron said, a cheeky grin on his face.

"I would never forget."