#it’s just crazy. how things fall apart for you and everyone else is still living their fullest and best life.

[gutrotpoem]

Yeah. Cool.

[deansapplepie]

Everything with you, everything from you

Summary: Daryl and you always loved each other, neither of you acting on your feelings and him always scaring all the men that had interest on you. That is until you can’t take it anymore.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

Era: Commonwealth

Genre: Smut, Romance

Warnings: NSFW, smut (there’s a small plot), sex, oral (male receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do it kids), creampie, Subish Daryl, Subish Reader, Sweet Dirty Talk, Swearing, Age Gap (everybody is of age, but Daryl’s concerned somehow. Reader is on her 30s and Daryl on his 50s). 18+ Minors, please do not interact.

Word count: 5,505

A/N: English is not my first language so it may contain errors, even though I proofread it. It’s lightly implied reader is plus size, but everyone can read because it’s just small hints of it.

Masterlist

You were infuriated.

He infuriated you in the same amount he made your heart beat faster because of him.

It had been years of the damn apocalypse, years that you met him, years that your mom died and let you alone. It had been years since he became your best friend, protector and trainer. He taught you many things. He taught you how to fight, hunt and track. He also taught you about love, but he didn’t know it or he fakes he didn’t make you fall in love with him all those years ago.

It first started as a silly crush, when the world ended you were so young… you were in your first years of college when it all happened. You and your mom had become close with the Dixons at the quarry, Merle was a dick, but your mom made him respect both of you, as much as he could. Daryl… was Daryl, he was quiet and grumpy, but he was gentle and caring on his own way. Your mom’s origins wasn’t very different from the two rednecks, so she was able to understand them and where they came from, you were lucky that her and your dad could give you a better life. When the quarry was attacked by walkers and you mom got bitten and died, he was everything you had.

Still today, even with your big found family, you and him were like a package, you even shared an apartment at the Commonwealth and raised Judith and RJ together while Michonne and Rick were away. But your package… this package never included a relationship with him. You were on your 30s already, no boyfriend, no relationship and you couldn’t even blame yourself, guys did come to you and wanted to flirt with you, make plans with you… but he… he always ruined everything. He’d scare the men or make it impossible for you to go out with any of them. In the beginning, you thought it was ok, he was just worried, you were young and you were all still careful about people outside of your small circle. Then you started to think he also felt something for you and it made your heart beat fast and butterflies fly on your stomach. He never acted, he never did anything, and honestly you were tired of waiting for him, you were tired of being alone, you wanted to live just like everyone else. Have someone to hold hands, cuddle, have some physical contact and make plans for your crazy uncertain future.

You entered your shared apartment after him and knowing the kids were on a slumber party at Aaron’s, you closed the door with all the strength you had.

“Wha’ was that for?!” He stopped on his tracks and turned to you. He knew what it was for, He was just playing dumb.

“What was that for?” You sarcastically repeated his question. “Why do you have to ruin all my chances of going on a date with someone?”

“That guy’s a prick.” He leaned on the counter of the kitchen.

“Funny, ‘cause every guy that has some interest on me is a prick for you.” You took some cold water from the fridge, maybe it was going to help you calming down.

“Not my problem you’ve got a bad taste in man.” He picked an apple from the tray and started eating it nonchalantly.

You looked at him, more specifically at the back of his head that you could see from where you were at the kitchen, he felt that soon your stare was going to make a hole on his head, but he tried to fake normalcy. “Yeah, I think I really got a bad taste in man. But apparently that’s your problem since you can’t let any of them get close to me.”

“Why do you keep doing that, Daryl?” You asked, honestly, and he turned to look at you.

“Tomorrow, we have family game night. It’s important.” He said, and that was what he had just said to Jake the guy from your work that asked you to go out on Saturday.

“And I can’t miss it one week?” He was full of bullshit when he wanted to. “What about Sunday? Why did you say I couldn’t on Sunday?”

“Because… I don’t like him.” You rolled your eyes. You walked to the other side of the counter, one hand on it and the other on your waist.

“You don’t need to, I’m the one that has to like him.” You blurted out. You were tired incredibly tired of that sick silly game of his.

“I…” you didn’t let him finish.

“I don’t want to be alone, Daryl. Nobody comes close to me because of you. If you feel anything for me, grow some balls and do something about it, or stop getting on my way.”

The following seconds were a blur, in one moment you were feet apart and in the next you were being lifted to sit on the counter, Daryl between your legs and his lips crushing against yours. A hot messy hungry kiss on your lips, for a brief moment you were surprised, but then you closed your eyes and just let yourself enjoy the moment, take this once in a lifetime opportunity that you have been waiting for years. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your hands tangled and tugging on his hair. You kissed him back with the same enthusiasm and eagerness, you had dreamed about this for so long. His left hand was on your lower back and the right one was holding a handful of your thighs, your thick delicious thighs that he wanted for so long. You tugged a little harsher on his hair eliciting a groan from him, he pulled you against his body and you could feel his hard on, knowing it was all for you. He gave open mouthed kisses on your jaw and descended to your neck, making you grind yourself against him and a loud moan come from you.

And he stopped.

He simply stopped and pushed himself away from you.

“Fuck.” He said as reality hit him, or what felt like reality for him. “I shouldn’t have done this I…”

“Funny, ‘cause your hard dick says otherwise.” You said still sitting on the counter, cheeks blushed, lips plump and all the tension that had gone threatening to come back. “I’m not complaining Daryl, actually it’s the opposite. So why would it be a mistake?”

“This isn’t right. Ya’re younger than me. Shit… ya could be my daughter.” He said, hand on his forehead, the other on his face.

“Unless you fucked my mom, and I don’t know. There are zero chances of you being my dad.” You tried reasoning with him, was it what he was thinking all this time and not acting on it?

“Ya understand what I said. Ya’re way younger. I’m on my 50s and you on your 30s it’s… it’s not…”

“Right?” You asked. “Is it wrong that 2 consenting adults want each other? I’m not a kid anymore, you just said I’m on my thirties. When we met each other maybe it could have been messed up, I mean I was young and naïve, but still of age. But now? You really want to put the age gap talking on me?”

“Didn’t say ya’re a kid.” He retorted trying to not look at you since your flustered image wouldn’t help him controlling himself.

“If you don’t, it doesn’t make any sense thinking that what happened right now was a mistake.” You jumped from the counter and put yourself in front of him. “What is it? Are you attracted to me but is ashamed of me? Am I not beautiful enough? Not thin enough?”

“I ain’t this shallow, Y/N.” He looked at you, and it broke him seeing hurt and self doubt all over you. “I made a promise to your mother, before she died that night in the quarry. I promised I’d protect you…”

“And you did. I don’t need your protection anymore, you taught me how to defend myself. I don’t even need you to eat, I can hunt my own food if needed. So you’re free you from this burden, I should have never been your responsibility.” You were so angry at that moment tears on your eyes threatening to fall down, his promise should have nothing to do with it. “Well. Fuck. So here’s the thing, if you’re not taking me, acting on your feelings or whatever, Stop hindering other people to do so! I’m not gonna wait on you my whole life and be unhappy just because you’re so close minded.” The words left your mouth like the water flowing from a broken dam. You took your bag again and headed to the door.

“Where are ya going?” He asked before you could leave.

“I don’t know. Gonna decide once I leave. Don’t wait for me. I’m not coming back for game night, tell the kids I’m sorry.” You opened the door and left, no looking back.

He stayed there for a moment staring at the door, he had just let you go. He had you on his arms, just like he dreamed many times and he threw it away, he didn’t do all the things he wanted to do to you. He didn’t showed you how much you meant to him, he just pushed you away and probably lost you, not only on the ways he wanted to have you, but probably also as a friend. He was stuck, desperate and helpless, he didn’t know what to do now that you were gone.

When you left the apartment, you didn’t know where exactly you were going. Now, you had two possibilities. You could go to Carol’s she was your friend, but she was also his friend and he would want to go to her and you would lose your moment with her. So instead, you decided going to Rosita’s, they worked together, but he would not look for her to vent about everything and he knew Rosita would kick his ass if he went there looking for you, or at least you thought so. A plus was, you could also use Coco cuteness to calm and warm your heart, since your kids were not around.

When you knocked at Rosita’s door she wasn’t expecting to see you, and right when she saw you she brought you inside and put you on a tight hug. You had watery eyes and when your friend embraced you so kindly you couldn’t control the tears anymore and let them roll.

“What happened babe?” She asked sitting on the sofa with you and holding your hands. “Who hurt you? Was it Daryl? Want me to kick his ass?”

“He ruined my chances to go on a date, again. We fought at home. We kissed and…” Rosita didn’t let you finish given the new information that was something you never said before when you complained about the archer.

“Wow, slow down. What? You kissed? So why are you here crying?” She truly needed to understand, she knew there was probably more to it, but she couldn’t hold herself when you mentioned kissing.

“Yes, and it was the best kiss of my life. But it doesn’t matter, he ruined everything. When it was getting heated, he simply pushed away from me and said everything was a mistake.” You said, the angry feeling about all the happenings coming again to your mind.

“Oh, he didn’t!”

“Yes, he did. He says I’m too young for him. He’s…ridiculous!” You wanted to pull out your hair, he was making you crazy. “I hate him!”

“You don’t hun…” Rosita pulled you for another hug and you just rested your head on her shoulders.

“I… I think I’m giving up Rosi… I can’t keep losing time like that.” You had already lost so much, not that he ever made it easy for you to know other people and find someone, but maybe you should have imposed yourself many years ago and things wouldn’t have gotten so bad like now.

Daryl couldn’t stay at home. The silence there without you were deafening, he left the apartment and went to the only place he knew he could find some solace if it wasn’t with you. He knocked on the door and waited for the answer. He wasn’t expecting for this person to get the door.

“Hey, Daryl! Is everything, ok? You look terrible.” Ezekiel told the hunter while holding the door.

“I… I didn’t know ya were here. I’m sorry, dun wanna to spoil yer moment.” Daryl scratched his neck nervously.

“Nah, you’re not disturbing. Come in, Carol and I were just having dinner and talking.” The former king invited him in.

He entered the apartment and ended at the table opening his heart to Carol and Ezekiel about everything that happened. Carol listened to everything in silence, but she already knew everything she needed to know.

“You know she’s right, don’t you?” Carol said when Daryl stopped telling them everything.

“I dunno if she’s right.” He stubbornly answered.

“You’ve liked her since when? The farm? And she also liked you for a long time and you already knew that.” Carol told the obvious, but at the moment she felt like she needed to draw for the observant and smart archer.

“Since the quarry.” He mumbled.

“Ok, since the quarry. Whatever. Even earlier and you still act like you shouldn’t be together because of your 20 years difference or something.” Sincerely she thought both of you would have it sorted out a long time ago. “She’s not a little girl and you’re also not a little boy, so stop acting like one.”

“Daryl, love’s something so rare in the world we live in. You shouldn’t let some prejudice like this prevent you from being happy with the person you love.” Ezekiel spoke for the first time, he was careful with his words.

“I ruined everything already.” He took a deep breath. Damn. The way you looked at him, he felt like the biggest asshole in the world, keeping you away from happiness but also didn’t acting on both of your feelings.

“You can still do things right. You just need to quit this nonsense about age. She’s a good heart, and I know she’ll forgive you if you talk to her.” Carol felt like she needed to grab both of your hands and guide you through this like two kids, or you would stay in this cycle forever. “She forgave when you left with Merle, all the times you lied to keep her safe and I’m pretty sure she forgave you for all the years you stayed out there coming and going to look for Rick, and you ended up with Leah, you and Y/N weren’t anything other than friends, but don’t you think it hurt her while she loved and couldn’t have you? She wouldn’t be around if she didn’t forgive you.”

He didn’t say anything, he looked down and started to chew on his thumb, an old habit of his when he was anxious.

“Now, I know it will sound cliché and cheesy, but forget all this shit and follow your heart. Go find her.” She gave a small squeeze on the archer’s hand and have him an encouraging smile.

“Do you have any idea where she could be?” Ezekiel asked.

“Maybe. I hope she’s there and not going after that fucking prick.” He answered, jealous rising when he remembered your colleague asking you out earlier. “Thanks, gonna see if I find her. If not I’ll just need to wait for her.” He got up and was ready to leave.

“Go get her pookie! If you need some extra time I don’t mind taking the kids and having game night with them here.” Carol said taking Daryl to the door. “If you both don’t solve this, I’m going to kick both of your dumb asses.” She completed.

He walked on the corridors of the old building following the path he already knew by heart, whenever he’d not find you, he knew you would be there. He was nervous, it could go all kinds of wrong, but he needed to try if he still had a chance. He stopped in front of the door and took some breaths before knocking on it.

You were at Rosita’s kitchen preparing some pasta for both of you to eat when Coco started to cry and she had go look after the baby. In that specific moment you heard a knock on the door. “Can you answer it, Y/N? It’s probably Eugene or Gabe.” Rosita said already with Coco in her arms.

“Yes, of course.” You lowered the fire you were using to cook the sauce and went to the door, opening it without even looking who it was. When you opened you met the last and first person you wanted to see at the moment, damn your lovesickness for him. You were just going to shut the door right at his face, even though the house wasn’t yours, but he was faster and held the door. “What do you want? I told you to not wait for me.” You tried to sound monotone, but you were pretty sure you sounded angry.

“Ya didn’t say anything about coming after ya. I want ya, that’s what I want. I’ve always wanted ya, and I’ve been an idiot trying to deny it. We’re both adults and I was being stubborn and dumb about it. I love you and…” he stopped to catch a breath since he hadn’t breathed since he started talking. “…I’m incredibly sorry. Please forgive me, and come home with me.”

“Daryl, I love you too. You know I love you. If you go back on your words…” you started to say, your voice shaken with emotion, but was interrupted.

“I won’t. I promise.” He took your hand in his and looked at your eyes. “Let’s get home and make things right.”

“Go girlie! Grab your man!” Rosita shouted from behind and you had almost forgot she was there. Daryl had ignored it completely just now being aware of opening his heart to you in front of Rosita, and Coco.

“I’m going er… Can you just wait a minute? I’m finishing dinner for Rosi. As you can see, she’s a little busy with Coco.” You said going back to the stove and checking if the sauce was good.

While you finished the dinner for Rosita he sat on the sofa near Rosita and the baby, and they talked about something you couldn’t hear from the kitchen. You considered you must be dreaming, this moment couldn’t be real, but you just burnt your pinkie on the pan and it hurt like a bitch, so you were definitely not sleeping.

When you finished you told Rosita it was ready, you gave her a warm hug and you kissed Coco goodbye. You left the apartment with Daryl following you and soon his hand engulfed yours and you could swear you were in heaven, you felt all flustered. Daryl was no different, he was a blushing mess from his cheeks to his ears. His mouth a thin line, his lips pressed against each other trying to contain the smile that wanted to come out.

Once you got home you opened the door and entered first, you waited for Daryl to lock the door and when he turned to you… You attacked him, you crushed your lips and body against him pressing him against the door. Daryl wasn’t going to lie that he didn’t want that to happen, he wanted that a lot, but he wasn’t expecting you’d like to engage in such activities so soon. He had imagined maybe cuddling with you on sofa or bed, talking about you or making dinner together. But he wasn’t going to sign a complaint, he was more than fine with your choice for your first night as a couple.

He quickly kissed you back, his hands coming to your back sliding on it and ending on your butt which he grabbed and pulled your body against his. You gasped in surprise and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, your hands were on his nape and on his hair tugging at it and scratching his scalp. You felt his erection against your belly and you couldn’t resist but slip your hand down his body and touch it, earning a groan from him. It was so hard and by the outline you could see it was thick too. You just couldn’t wait to feel and taste his cock, you unbuckled his belt and worked on the zipper opening his pants.

You shoved your hand inside of his pants now groping his dick with only the thin layer of his boxers separating your hand from touching it skin to skin. He threw his head back leaning on the door, groans and grunts escaping his lips.

“Do you like it Daryl?” You asked your eyes on his face registering all of his reactions on your memory.

“Yeah, a lot… ugh…” The way he was at your mercy was so delicious that you couldn’t contain yourself into teasing him.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” Your hand went up a little, your thumb holding on his waistband.

“Yeah, ‘m gonna be good. All for ya… Anything for ya…” he answered, his eyes closed his mouth agape and a little sweat on his temple.

“Good, so I’m gonna take good care of you. Ok?” You said while you pushed his boxers down with his trousers letting his dick spring free from it looking deliciously glorious. You took it in your hand, pumping it, playing with it… gods… your mouth was watering. “It’s this hard for me baby?”

“Yeah, always this hard fer ya.” He nodded, a groan escaping his lips at each different touch on him.

You got to your knees and he wasn’t expecting this, this wasn’t like he imagined your first time together to be, but again, he wasn’t complaining, he’d take everything you wanted to give him and you’d have more time to do it in all the ways you could and wanted.

You pumped his cock a little bit more and before giving it all of your attention you gave a delicate kiss on his balls. “Oh, fuck…” he hissed, goddamn how did you come so boldly like this? You licked them, your hand never stopping pumping his shaft and your eyes never living his face. Now he looked at you he wanted to watch you with the face of an angel work sinfully with your mouth. You started sucking on his balls making him moan and god, it was delicious hearing him moaning. You sucked both sides of it and just by doing it you had already a pool in your panties. Not that you wanted any other man, but after this you’d want to only suck his dick.

Your mouth left his balls and went to the base of his cock, giving open mouth kisses while your hand would wipe its head. You put both of your hands on his firm thighs and licked all along his shaft. “Damn! How can ya do it so well, angel?” He hissed, hands flattened on the door and the wall.

“You cockblocked me all those years, but at least I had some fun before the world ended.” You said before kissing the tip of his dick, just to put it in your mouth and swirl your tongue on it.

He wanted to throw a sassy remark at you, but at this point his brain couldn’t formulate anything coherent so he decided to just appreciate what you were giving him. One of his hands went to your head massaging your scalp while the other continued supporting him on the wall, it was so good that he felt like he would fall. You’d take little by little, more and more of him while you hummed on it at how it tasted deliciously like Daryl and his pre cum. You started bobbing your head up and down, going further and further, his moans and his hand on your head encouraging you to continue and when he alerted he was about to cum you slowed a bit, you wanted it on the top of your tongue, you wanted to fully taste and savor him. You touched his balls while sucking him and soon he was shooting his seed inside your mouth while he grunted and moaned your name. You swallowed every drop of it, not wasting anything.

“Tasty…” You wiped your mouth and he brought you from your knees to stand up.

His lips crashed immediately on yours, changing positions and pressing you against the wall. His taste on your lips and on your tongue making him taste himself on your mouth. He kicked his pants and boxers like he could without breaking your kiss, still wearing his boots, but now his legs were free to move. He lifted you from the floor and you got the cue to put your legs around his waist, her urged you to take your shirt off and took a moment to kiss your neck, shoulders and collar bones.

He started to walk, taking you to his room and you couldn’t care less as you took this time to kiss, nibble and suck on his neck. He threw you on his bed and took his boots off frantically, you were on your elbows observing him as he took your shoes off and threw them anywhere in the room. You observed him only using a black sweater, bare legs and his cock that you had sucked the life of a few minutes ago was already standing proudly. You licked your lips and he didn’t let it pass, having a smirk on his face.

He came back to you hovering you on the bed in between your legs, taking your lips one more time while his hand travelled down your body palming your covered bra. His hand went to your back and how he was able to open it so easily was a mystery to both of you. He massaged your breasts with both hands giving slight pinches on your erected nipples taking moans from you. His mouth came to your left breast while his hand took care of the other and his other hand descended to work on opening your jeans.

Once your pants were open he pulled them from your body taking your panties too. God, there was too many layers he needed to have you. He came back with his mouth to give the same attention to your right breast while his hand covered your wet covered pussy.

“Is this by just sucking my cock?” He took his mouth from your breast spit slipping from his mouth. “I barely played with ya.”

His fingers slipped between your folds making you whimper. “Princess, I made ya a question. Don’t ya wanna be a good girl and answer?” He watched you, observing every reaction you had. His thumb touching your clit and circling it, a cry leaving your lips.

“Yeah… it’s because of your cock.” You replied breathlessly. “It’s so delicious… ugh…” One finger slid inside your cunt.

“Are ya my good girl?” Husky voice, his finger pumping in and out of you.

“Yeah…” A second finger went inside of you. “Ugh… Dar…”

“And who d’ya belong to?” He asked finger fucking you, a lick to your neck savoring you and sweat.

“You… I’m yours…” Your hips bucked onto his fingers. He started scissoring, his thumb pressed on your clit.

“Whose pussy is this, hugh?” You were a trembling moaning mess, your cunt clenching around his fingers.

Damn. You were close. “Daryl’s! It’s yours…” His fingers going in and out of you, playing with your button till you burst out in your orgasm clenching and spasming on his fingers. His name being moaned again and again.

“Fuck. Ya’re so good fer me.” He kissed you passionately, fingers pumping you slowly, till he broke your kiss, just to have a taste of you from his fingers and slipping them in your mouth so you could suck and taste it too. “Such a good girl… what should be yer reward?”

“You know what I want… but first…” you tugged at this black sweater that he was still wearing, fuck, you wanted to feel his body against yours, skin to skin, the mix of your scents with sweat and the smell of sex.

He took out his shirt throwing it on the floor and coming back to you, looking at your eyes, his hands caressing your head scratching your scalp. “Now, tell whatcha want sunshine…”

“I want your dick, full inside of me. Please…” You pleaded your hands wandering on his chest, going down on his abdomen.

“Ya ask so nicely, I could give ya the world.” He kissed you, deeply, slowly and sensually, this time wasn’t like all the others despaired and craving for the other, it had more. It was as if this kiss could mean everything, all the years pinning for each other, all the feelings that were hidden, the lonely nights thinking about each other, the inability to be satisfied never having the other…

He aligned himself to your pussy and he pushed inside. You gasped, it had been so long… and you’ve been wanting this for so many years, that none of your fantasies or attempts to reproduce the feeling with your fingers could compare to having him inside you. He slowly bottomed out and started to move once you were comfortable. His hips trusting onto yours rhythmically and yours doing the same unable to contain your moves and the need for the man between your legs.

“Fuck, ya’re so delicious. I should’ve had give in to yer temptation earlier.” He groaned nibbling and sucking on your neck.

“Dar… ya do it so well…” Your arms around him holding on his shoulders. “Hhgmmm…”

A thought crossed his mind for a single second and he didn’t think twice. He rolled both of you so you’d be on top, his hand moved to your hips. “Ride me, I wanna see ya riding me…” you sat on top of him, he still inside of you. You looked at him and… Daryl has always been handsome but fuck… were he gorgeous right at that moment.

You moved your hips, both hands on his stomach, going up and down right on your rhythm, rolling on top of him. “You feel amazing…” You closed your eyes, throwing your head back, your hair down framing your face… in Daryl’s mind he was being fucked by a goddess., you glowed in all your glory. You felt you were close, that so familiar feeling inside of you telling you’d explode at any moment, you quickened your pace searching for your breaking point. You could feel by the way Daryl’s dick was twitching he was close too.

“Y/N… love… I need to pull out I’m…” you interrupted him, going faster by every second.

“I dun mind. I wanna everything with you, everything from you…” If he didn’t mind of course, but you didn’t had the time to say it, hearing your words were the ignition he need to erupt inside of you, filling you with his cum and bringing you to the edge as soon as you felt his warm seed inside of you. “Daryl, fuck…”

Your body collapsed on top of him, your head laying on his chest hearing to his quick heartbeat and heavy breathing, both of you calming down and relaxing on each other’s arms. He rolled you again, so now you were resting on the bed he was on top of you. He looked at you, his hand on your face admiring you.

“I love ya, I always have.” He confessed.

“I love you too.” You said teary eyes, you were so happy you weren’t able to control.

“Shush… dun cry, I’m not pushing you away ever again.” He said thumb caressing your cheek.

“I’m so happy.” You said trying to control your happy tears and failing.

He pulled out of you, your mixed fluids coming out and spreading on the bed. He took a clean humid cloth cleaning you and the bed the better he could. Then he joined you in bed again, holding you, your head on his chest, a blanket over both of you. You talked about nothing and everything, imagining how the future would be and imagining how the kids would react once they knew you were finally together.

In the middle of talking you fell asleep, while Daryl stayed awake a little more thinking on how long he deprived himself from happiness and how lucky he was that you never gave up on him, until he fell asleep. Little did he know that you also thought you were the luckiest woman for having him by your side all those years and finally being able pour your love on each other.

Final notes: Hope you guys enjoy it, it took me some time, but I’m happy with it.

Wanna be add to my tag list? Let me know. (Please tell me if you want to be tagged on everything or just specific series)

Everything Taglist: @lilyevanstan1325

[storiesoflilies]

cherry cola, cigarette kisses

pairing: guitarist!toji fushiguro x singer!reader

warnings: slight age gap (reader is 25, toji is 30), mentions of drugs and alcohol, smoking, swearing.

a/n: a little drabble for the ‘jujutsu journal’ collab by @ayyy-pee. dividers by @/benkeibear. toji drabble collection here.

people came to see the band live really just to catch a glimpse of the two of them in person.

of her, with her cream linen summer dresses, lips painted red like the cans of cherry cola she drank on stage between sets, dainty gold rings adorning her fingers, silk red ribbons tied in pretty big bows on her wrists, and matching platform heels. her with a voice so cool and suave, like ice, that it made all the boys go crazy for her.

and of him, toji fushiguro. with his cigarette smoke voice, all husk and fire, and veiny hands that held his guitar with practiced finesse. with his guitar solos that made you want to throw your head back in ecstasy, and his rolled-up sleeves to expose his corded forearms, driving the girls wild with desire.

people came to see them play and see the way they moved together.

when she sang, toji would close his eyes and tilt his head back, lost in the ecstasy that was the privilege of listening to her art. plucking the strings of his electric guitar along to play a tune to support her voice, like a flowing stream carrying along a floating feather. he let the vibrations of the bass through the speakers and reverberate into his bones, feeling the thrum of the crowd with their phone lights flashing and swaying, and inhaling the scent of sweat and dreams in the air.

god, his girlfriend was so fucking cool, and they all didn’t even know the half of it.

they didn’t know how pretty she looked when she danced naked in the dark in front of their penthouse views of the city lights below. with red wine swirling in her glass amidst a smokey haze, he’d exhale a big fume of his joint, and think to himself that he was so goddamn lucky to have picked up that crumpled, wet ‘guitarist wanted’ flyer all those years ago.

of course, the world didn’t know just how lucky toji was just yet.

she’d sing such pretty words, especially about the world thinking you were too young to understand the things you felt. words about everyone telling you that you couldn’t possibly grasp the way things were supposed to work, when in fact, you actually did – perhaps better than everyone else did. toji had been one of those things for her before. their bandmates had been adamantly against the older man pursuing her when they first met four years ago. she was their sweet little cherry, and they didn’t want the ash of him and his cigarettes falling on and ruining her delicate skin.

“she’s too young,” they’d all said. “too dumb to know what you are, fushiguro.”

toji had let their words get to him, the indignant and prideful fire within razing everything to the ground, and disappeared into his studio apartment with only his bong for company. he’d been there for a long time, refusing to answer any of her or the band’s calls, until she showed up knocking at his door in the middle of the night. her makeup was smeared and her vanilla scented perfume still lingered, while he was lost halfway in a dream of minefields, complex labyrinths, and booby traps.

“don’t leave me too,” she’d begged, a tumbling mess of tears, and practically collapsed as she gripped his arms for all she was worth. “not you, please.”

he melted into her right there and then.

toji shushed her softly, holding her close as they lay there in a tangled heap on the floor. he watched as his tears landed on her hair, feeling his high crashing down. “but i’m no good for you, babygirl.”

“nobody is good for each other, toji. love is fucking awful and tears your heart apart, but i still want to do it with you.”

and that was that.

but nobody else knew about them.

they’d been a secret for two years now, and toji had decided that this was it – she was it. his best girl, no other woman would ever compare to her. but she was so nervous, always so good, about what their bandmates and the fans would think. she didn’t want to break anybody’s heart, but toji didn’t care about that anymore.

they belonged to each other, and fuck, the whole world needed to know it. and if they didn’t like it? well, they could go and choke on it.

she swayed back and forth, staring at toji with heart eyes, and and teasingly stuck her tongue out to the side. that was his cue, and the fans knew it too, for him to take control of the music with his fingers and let himself and his guitar run wild. of course, it was to put on a good show, but he knew it was really because she loved his guitar solos more than anyone else did.

“i want you to play guitar for me all the time,” she said one time, teeth stained gray from the wine, twirling in lazy circles as toji strummed his acoustic guitar. “especially when i die, so i can hear the sound of heaven before i go.”

toji abruptly stopped playing and frowned, “don’t even talk about something like that. i’m supposed to go before you anyways, y’know i’m the old one.

“shut up, i can’t live without you.”

he stared at her as he played, never taking his eyes off how she danced and swayed. he watched as she went over to their drummer and pressed a kiss to their cheek. a hot flare of jealousy coursed through his blood, and toji picked up the pace, forcing their drummer to focus and step it up a notch to keep up with him. sweat dripped from his forehead, his dark hair sticking to it in stringy strands, and he licked his lips, tasting salt.

“yeah,” toji thought. “it’s do or die now.”

she took a swig of cherry cola, lipstick stains on the rim, as toji coaxed his solo into an earth-shattering crescendo, sending the crowd into a frenzy of whoops and cheers. still, he never took his eyes off her, following her every movement as he stopped the music suddenly in a dramatic conclusion.

the crowd clapped for the end of the song, and toji lit a cigarette to settle his buzzing nerves, his chest heaving with exertion. she floated over to him, smiling softly, red lipstick slightly faded from the cola, licking her lips as she tilted her head at him. he knew she could read him like a book; she knew something was wrong.

“what is it?” she whispered, being careful not to face the crowd directly.

“let’s do it, babygirl,” toji rasped, taking another long drag from his cigarette.

her eyebrows shot up, and she gaped. “now, toji? right now?”

“yeah, c’mon. let’s drive ‘em all crazy,” he chuckled, blowing his smoke away from her face.

“you mean it, toji?” she frowned, her pretty little heart so goddamn nervous about everyone else’s feelings but her own.

toji flicked his cigarette, adjusted his guitar to his side, and smiled. “let’s not think anymore, let’s just do.”

with that, he pulled her in by the waist and planted a kiss right onto her plush lips. bitter cigarette and sweet cherry flavors mixed intoxicatingly as their mouths danced together, eliciting shocked gasps followed by an almost deathly silence.

and then, it exploded.

the camera flashes went astronomically wild, accompanied cheering that bordered on plain screaming and raving, as a thousand hearts broke and millions swooned. she relaxed into him, putting her hands onto his broad, sweaty chest, flushed from the heat of the moment and the thrill of performing. they pulled apart, his lips swollen and hers tingly, and it was just the two of them amidst the eyes of thousands. she giggled, a nervous bark at the revelation of how their lives were going to change now, and toji beamed.

“you’re trouble, toji fushiguro,” she breathed out, chin on his chest as she gazed up at him in adoration.

toji chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead and mumbled, “i’m your trouble.”

general taglist: @tadabzzzbee

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light in |One-shot [1]|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader | Dewey Riley and Fem!Reader

One-shot: A Classic Whodunit

Summary: Moving to Woodsborro was certainly not your willing decision. Change has always been hard for you, so what better way to cope than to make everyone else's life almost as miserable as yours?

Warning(s): Swearing, & mentioned family issues (?)

Notes: Finally got around to re-writing this and I definitely prefer this version. There's more Tara x Reader stuff and a little more details regarding R's past. Still based off this scene from Gilmore Girls and takes place when R just moved to town. This'll still be the last thing I'm able to post for one my stories for a bit, but I'm glad it's still something

Masterlist

The fall breeze hits you as you walk out of the school building. You continued reading from your book as you walked with your head hung low paying no mind to your surroundings, too engrossed with the words you read. That was until you caught a glimpse of a familiar figure in the corner of your eye, your brief suspicions immediately being confirmed when the person spoke. 

Dewey—who was previously leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed—began to follow you, uncrossing his arms. “Hey,” he nodded at you and you didn’t reciprocate, only turning your head to look at him briefly before turning your attention ahead of you while putting your book in your back pocket. “How was school?” Dewey immediately followed with. 

“Great,” you couldn’t help the blatant disinterest in your tone. 

“Learn anything good?” You could already tell he was amping up to something. There was a certain eagerness in his voice. An eagerness to segway into what he truly wanted to talk about. 

“Oh yeah, tons of things. I got gold stars plastered all of my forehead,” you remarked with as much sarcasm you could muster at the moment. 

“I got an interesting call today. Wanna know who it was from?” He asked and you couldn’t care less. 

“Not really,” you answered honestly, your tone still showing anything but amusement.

“So Mr. Collier—you know he owns the local market?”

“If you say so.” 

“Said you came in today.”

“He did?” You rhetorically asked; you looked both ways before you and Dewey now walked alongside a road. 

“And he said you took some money out of a little donation cup to help repair the roads. I told him he was crazy, you wouldn’t do that, you weren’t a thief, that he was just trying to start trouble and then I hung up on him.” Most of what Dewey was saying was going in one ear and out the other. You’ve grown good at tuning people out, intentional or not. Still Dewey continued. “Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoy hanging up on Mr. Collier. The guy’s nothing but a jerk—and he is crazy. But I was just wondering, if maybe, any of the other things were true.”

“What do you think?” You questioned with annoyance at the edge of your voice. You were starting to grow more and more impatient as he continued to yammer on. 

“I think if you tell me that what he’s saying is not true then I’m going to believe it’s not true,” he elaborated.

“Okay. It’s not true.” 

“That doesn’t sound very convincing—”

The two of you were now on a dirt path as you stopped in your tracks and finally turned to face Dewey. While one hand moved as you spoke, the other one was clenched into a fist to your side. “—Look, what exactly do you want from me? First I get forced to move here, now I’m stuck with you most of the time. I’m put in this place—now in a school that has us doing the pledge of allegiance in six-different-languages! I’m supposed to be this happy-go-lucky person after being taken away from my home, my friends—and now you want what from me?!” 

You didn’t need this. You were fine living in a crappy apartment. You were fine knowing the city you lived in like the back of your hand. You were fine having your best friend within walking distance. 

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Your father had no right to ship you off just because he couldn’t take his precious image being ruined. He was on the verge of sending you to military school before your mom stepped in. Their marriage had been falling apart for some time but this was definitely the nail in the coffin. 

“I’m just trying to help you,” Dewey sighed as his own patience was beginning to grow thin. Dewey knew about your complicated relationship with your father. He knew what led to you ending up in Woodsborro. He knew things about you before you even knew them. He just wanted to protect you, shield you from harm. Even if he knows where that has gotten him in the past.

“Well stop trying. Stop talking to me, stop following me, and stop asking me questions! Just stop!” You waved your hands in aggravation as you spoke, your temper and annoyance taking over you with each second. You were pissed and upset with every aspect of your life. Unfortunately, Dewey found himself being on the receiving end of your frustration. 

“That’s what you want?”

“Yes!”

“That’s what you really want?” He wasn’t yelling but his voice grew louder with his second question to match your own tone.

“Yes,” you spoke with more conviction. 

“Fine. You got it, kid!” Dewey said as he threw his hands up.

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!”

You both continued walking, both of you walking tensely as you stepped onto the bridge that went over the lake that was not far from where you two were previously standing. You each refused to look at the other as you walked along the bridge. When you were halfway on the bridge, you suddenly felt yourself being shoved. In a blink of an eye, you go from standing on the bridge to standing in the lake soaking wet. You pushed your hair back to look at Dewey who was still walking with his back facing you. He didn’t pay the person he just shoved into a lake any mind. 

Great.

By the time you successfully lifted yourself up and got back on to the bridge, Dewey was gone. Nobody liked soggy socks but maybe you deserved it. Maybe. Even if you were far too stubborn to admit it. 

—

The next day people were crowded around Mr. Collier’s store. He was ranting about something with his hands going up and down as he spoke angrily. When Tara walked closer she finally saw what all the ruckus was about. 

Apparently someone had drawn the outline of a body right outside of his store and put up caution tape. It was obviously just a prank.  If there was actually a murder, the police wouldn’t let it hit daylight. Let alone bring attention to it by drawing an outline of the body with white chalk. They weren’t living in the interwar period. But Mr. Collier refused to see this as he argued with Sheriff Hicks, eyes flickering back and forth from the sheriff and the outline as he yelled. 

“What am I supposed to do?! I have a dead body right in front of my store!” 

“No. You have a chalk outline of a dead body in front of your store,” she said as a matter of fact. “One of my guys is doing a headcount to see if anyone is missing. Until then just sit tight? This is probably just some prank done by one of the highschoolers.” She sighed before walking away from the dramatic man. 

Tara couldn’t help but laugh as she looked over at the outline again. Nothing good ever happened in Woodsborro. Other than the fact that a few murders from the 90’s are practically a part of their school curricula, it was a boring ass town. So one should never take entertainment like this for granted. 

Sheriff Hicks came back just a few minutes later and informed everyone—mainly Mr. Collier—that everyone had been accounted for and it really was just a prank. 

“But it looks so real! Where’d they get the police tape?” The man was still in disbelief if his tone was anything to go by.

“Kids have their ways,” Hicks shrugged, resting a hand on her hips. She had gone through ghostface before and even her ptsd wasn't flaring up from what was in front of her. The man needed to relax.

“Who would be depraved enough to pull a stupid prank like this?!” 

As if on cue, Tara’s eyes found you leaning against a light pole across the street as you wore a devilish smirk. It shifted into a small smile when you met her eyes. You looked away for a moment then back at her before you walked away. 

Of course it was you. This had your name plastered all over it. You might as well have been posing at the scene of the crime. She should have known better. You have been wreaking havoc from the moment you stepped into town. Nothing good ever came from that stupid smirk she’s become all too familiar with. Everything about you annoyed her to no end. There was just something she couldn't put her finger on. It was driving her insane. You were going to drive her insane. 

—

The next day, Tara returned to the market so she could fulfill her duties as the snacks retriever for tonight’s movie marathon with the others. After seeing that everything—your mess—was cleaned up and Mr. Collier was less frantic, she made her way inside the market. While inside, she bumped into Wes. They talked for a few minutes as she continued shopping. Wes was nice, but romance wise? Tara didn’t know how to feel. Wes is kind, good looking, a gentleman—what was stopping Tara from going out with him?

“I’m going to ring these up but I’ll meet you outside?” Tara said to Wes and he nodded with a smile. Tara returned it before checking out the things she bought and waited outside the store for Wes with her plastic bags full of snacks in hand. She suddenly felt a light tap on back before she turned around and saw you.

“Should you be standing around here all alone? I heard this is a pretty dangerous corner,” you teased while emphasizing the word ‘pretty’ by motioning with your hands. Tara looked at you then immediately looked away as she crossed her arms.

“I’m fine,” she said—trying in a nonchalant tone.

“Feeling succinct today?” You looked her up and down, noticing her tense demeanor.

“Pretty much.” She refused to give you anymore than that. She was not going to buckle. She was not going to fall for your witty remarks or snide comments.

“Hm,” you said while lightly nodding. “Did I do something to offend you?”

“Me? No.” Now she was finally looking at you, meeting your eyes.

“Good.” 

“You might wanna ask that same question to Dewey though.”

“Meaning?” You raised your eyebrows as if you didn’t have a single clue.

From your facial expressions to your tone—how were you so unbothered? How could you be so clueless? So dense? Fuck it. Maybe she was going to buckle and fall but you were just too irritating to resist the temptation. “You’ve got this whole town coming down on him,” Tara’s voice became more defensive.

“Reeeally? How’d I do that?” You feigned a look of surprise and concern, matching your conceited tone

She was going to punch you.

“You know how you did that,” she replied because you couldn’t be that dull. You just couldn’t. 

“I’m quite familiar with the bluebook laws in this town so you’re talking about a lot of things. Dropping a gum wrapper, strolling arm and arm with a member of the opposite sex on a Sunday,” you satirized with that vexing voice of yours.

Maybe you were that dull. Tara pointed down with both her arms at the chalk you both stood on. They were able to clean up the police tape no problem, but the chalk was going to take more elbow grease. 

You looked to where she was pointing before saying, “Ah.” You moved your feet off of the outline before continuing, “What about it?”

“You did it,” Tara said. “Everyone knows you did it. They had a meeting about it.”

“You actually go to those bizzaro town meetings?” You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. You shook your head, “God those things are so To Kill A Mockingbird.” 

“My friend’s mom is a sheriff, so she’s the one who went. And Dewey went. When he got there everyone ganged up on him. They all want you gone,” Tara told you with no remorse.

“Wow. Bummer.”

“And he’s standing there, yelling at everyone, and defending you—now he’s a pariah for the shit you’ve caused in just a month of being here.” You looked down to the side, processing what you were just told. You wore a look Tara wasn’t able to read. “Of course you don’t care about any of this,” she rolled eyes.

“I didn’t say that,” you said. 

“Go away. I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” she waved you away with her hands, shooing you, before looking away.

“Fine…” You started to walk away but Tara’s frustration got the best of her and you stopped and turned back around when you heard her speak again. 

“You’re an asshole!” 

“Got a second wind, huh?” You tried to hide the displeasure you suddenly felt.

“You’re making his life hard. And for what? For your own amusement? You’re sadistic.” You could tell she had been holding that in. You also wouldn’t comment on how you found the pout she was wearing a little cute. “Second wind over.”

“I didn’t realize they were coming down so hard on him…”

“Funny, I never pegged you as clueless,” Tara remarked, annoyance still evident in her voice.

“I get it…” She gave you a look. “No no no, I do, I get it,” you lightly nodded at her. Contrary to your previous tone, your voice now held interest and understanding—and so did the look you gave her. Your eyes flickered between her and the chalk outline before asking the question that’s been in the back of your mind, “Did you at least think it was funny?”

Tara tried to fight the smile on her face as she rolled her eyes, but this time rolling them in a more playful manner. “That is so not the point!” She hoped you didn’t hear the laugh that threatened to come out. 

“Yeah… you thought it was funny,” you said proudly. 

“Shut up.” She could no longer meet your eyes, now looking back at the ground.

Before either of you could say anything else, the door to the market opened and Wes walked out with a few bags of his own. “I got the—oh hey,” Wes cut himself off to greet you.

He didn’t know you personally, just that you already had a few run-ins with his mom in just a month of being here. Did that make him weary of you? Sure. But you weren’t the first kid at his school to have run-ins with his mom. Your reasons were just more… creative. 

“This is Wes,” Tara introduced the two of you. Looking between you both as you two made eye contact.

“Boyfriend?” You asked without looking away from Wes.

“No! I mean,” she cleared her throat. “No. Not boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

“Right,” was all you said as a reply while you continued to stare him down. “How you doin’?” 

“Good. Yeah I’m good,” Wes responded with a tightlipped smile. 

“Okay see you around,” Tara quickly cut in before this awkward interaction could go any further. 

You finally turned your attention back on Tara, looking at her. “Seems to turn out that way. Doesn’t it?” Your tone was underlined with something Tara couldn’t place. Before she could respond, you turned around and walked away to who knows where.

You were truly something. 

—

You let Tara’s words sink in as you made a detour to Dewey’s trailer. Deep down you knew Dewey didn’t deserve the way you were coming down on him. Especially when you could probably say he’s done more shit for you than your father has. 

Moving to Woodsborro was definitely not at all ideal. You hated change and everything that came with it. All it did was bring more anxiety into your life. So when your mother informed you you would be leaving Brooklyn to move to some town in California, you didn’t handle the news well. You still weren’t handling it well. There were a few reasons as to why you moved, your father being the root of each one. But although you understood part of it, what you didn’t understand is why you had to move so far away. Maybe that’s part of why you’re so hard on Dewey. If your mom was moving and starting fresh, it makes sense she would want to start it surrounded by close friends. But did she have to pick one that lived so far away?

You didn’t know a bunch about her dynamic with Dewey other than the fact that they met in 1998 during the ghostface attacks. They eventually got close and became friends. They must have been great friends considering she made him your Godfather. 

You also knew Dewey was a former Sheriff. A former Sheriff that’s aware of your trip of a track record. He always made sure to keep an eye on you and it was extremely annoying. A nunsense really. It’s like you couldn’t breathe for five seconds without him hovering over you.

Your mom was a nurse, you didn’t get to see much of her. She always took as many shifts as she could, more shifts meant more money. More money is definitely something your family could use. Since your mom was always working, you often found yourself stuck with Dewey. You quickly grew sick and tired of him. But now here you were, making your way to Dewey’s trailer as you went over everything in your head. You knew you were the asshole in all this. Dewey was just trying to help you. He didn’t need you making it harder for him than it already was.

You knew what you had to do, even if it meant forcing out the words. Apologizing was not one of your specialties. You went over the exact words you wanted to say, sighing, before knocking on the door to Dewey’s trailer. 

Dewey answered the door, already knowing who it was. “Hey, kid,” he greeted just a second after he opened the door for you.

“Hey. Mind if I…?” You pointed to the inside of his trailer with raised eyebrows and he nodded before letting you inside. “So uh…” You shoved your hands in your pockets as you looked around as if you have never been in his trailer before. As if you hadn’t already spent most of your nights sleeping on the beat up mattress that was now leaned up against the wall. Dewey looked at you with his arms crossed and expression warm. You felt like he always wore a warm expression no matter what. “Hey,” you finally said once you realized you lost your train of thought.

He chuckled a bit before saying, “You already said that.”

“Right, well I wanted to…. Apologize,” you said while looking at the ground, playing with the fabric of your pockets.

“Okay. I’m listening,” Dewey replied as he took a seat on his futon.

“Oh, that was actually the apology.”

He hummed before inquiring, “For…?” You didn’t need to look at him to know he was enjoying this. 

You exhale, tilting your head back as you look at the ceiling. You finally looked back at him before saying, “I’m sorry for making things harder than it needs to be.”

“Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate that,” he looked at you with a soft expression. You didn’t get a lot of those.

“No problem,” you give a brief smile before you begin to turn around. But before you’re able to leave Dewey’s trailer, you hear his voice again. 

“Why don’t you stay for dinner? I know your mom’s working tonight and Stephen’s off at a friend’s house. What do you say?” His offer caught you off guard. You certainly weren’t expecting that after all that you’ve put him through. But you also didn’t feel prone to declining it like you usually would be. 

“Uh, yeah. That sounds nice, actually,” there was still a bit of reluctance in your voice but it still held honesty. You were feeling something indescribable. You don't think you have ever felt it before, or maybe you just never felt it often. Dewey cared about you. He wanted to be there for you. It was a strange feeling, but not a dreadful one. 

You spent the remainder of your night in Dewey’s trailer; you talked and joked with one another as you ate leftover pizza with the television playing in the background. You always ate dinner alone. No one was ever around to eat with you and it didn’t take long for you to get used to it. It was different eating dinner with Dewey. To have someone to share a meal with. It was just a matter of whether it was a good or bad difference. 

Maybe for once you shouldn’t dread on your spiraling thoughts and enjoy the moment.

The next morning, you woke up to Dewey cursing at his toaster. You lazily pushed yourself up by your elbows, leaning forward and rubbing your eyes with one of your hands. “Damn toaster!” You heard Dewey curse before you heard something clattering. You pushed your blanket off of you before rolling off of the mattress and onto the floor then got up to see what was going on. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He asked once he saw you before continuing to whack his toaster. 

“No. You’re good,” you yawned. “But—uh, why are you assaulting your toaster?” You looked between him and the toaster with raised eyebrows.

“I’ve had this hunk of junk for ten years and suddenly it just stops working,” he answered with a huff as he continued to hit the toaster's side. 

“I don’t know if ten years is suddenly.”

He waved his hands up in the air, purposely dropping the screwdriver he had on to the counter in the process. He let out a defeated sigh as he said, “Forget it,” pushing the toaster away from him. “I have to grab a few things. Are you going to be fine here or do you want me to drop you off?” 

You looked at the toaster as you thought to yourself. “I”ll be fine,” you said and he patted your shoulder as he made his way towards his keys. 

“Breakfast is on the table—I shouldn’t be out long!” He called out before leaving through the trailer door.  As soon as he left, you went for his tool box. You remembered seeing it the first time you came over. After grabbing the tool box, you grabbed the toaster and got to work. It actually wasn’t that bad. There was just some tightening and cleaning that had to be done. By the time you finished, you had a little over ten minutes to spare before Dewey was home. It wasn’t until later that night he noticed something was different about his toaster.

“My toaster works,” he said with shock. This toaster was complete garbage just a few hours ago. What happened? He looked over to see you with your nose in your book, not paying him any mind. Then it dawned on him and he couldn't help the smile that grazed his face as he looked at you. “Thanks, kid.” 

“Didn’t do anything,” you simply replied before getting up from your mattress and grabbing your light jacket. “I’m going for a walk,” you reached for the handle before pausing. “I'll be back in a few,” you then added before leaving.

Dewey was still admiring his toaster when you returned.

-----------

A/N: tara and r are both sarcastic little shits in different fonts

Taglist: @t-wylia @lesbianpepsi @jennasfav @alyciaddict @justafoolinlove @steffido1993 @niqmandu @severelyuniquereview @darklron @ravenousinferno @smut-religiously777 @beautifulmongerbanditsalad @vanatalye @alexkolax@andsoigotabutterfly @ajortga @rroyale-109 @alliecavell

[blades-edge]

False God | Chapter 1

Chapter Summary: Cooper tries to fill the hole in his heart by drowning himself in you.

Pairing: Pre-War!Cooper Howard x f!escort!reader

Chapter warnings: mentions of depression, angst, joking about cowboys in a sexy way ig??, thigh touching, alcohol consumption, brief allusions to masturbation (m)

Words: 3k

A/N: Welcome to the first chapter of my Cooper fic! I am so excited I was finally able to finish it and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing this <3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 Link

Cooper had grown used to the emptiness of his apartment. It was significantly smaller than his mansion in Los Angeles. He missed his garden and being able to spend hot summer days in the sun, enjoying a drink while he watched Janey play with Roosevelt. 

The divorce wasn’t kind to him. When the entire process had first started, he had been trying to play it cool. Keep his composure, go on with his life as if nothing had happened – but that just didn’t work for him. His job used to be his anchor, but even that was a thing of the past now, considering that barely any studio wanted to affiliate themselves with a Vault-Tec sympathiser. None of them knew what he did after all. He didn’t even want to know what would happen if he brought the things he knew – or at least assumed about Vault-Tec – to the press and therefore to the public. Maybe everyone would call him crazy on top of it all.  

But he couldn’t really risk his own life and more importantly Barb and Janey’s just to maybe have a chance at bringing an evil company down. If anything Barb had told him about the Vaults were true then he hoped that she and Janey would be safe when the bombs will fall. It wasn’t a question of ‘What iff’ for him anymore. He knew it would happen sooner or later. Somehow, he seemed to know it in his bones. And the political situation wasn’t really making him feel more positive about the whole ordeal.

In all the sitcoms and movies, they never seemed to talk about the emptiness one could feel after a divorce. His new apartment seemed empty despite the new furniture. The only beacon of hope he had was Roosevelt, but even the food from his fridge didn’t seem to taste the same. Cooper hadn’t been heartbroken since he finished High School. He never had the time for it and his marriage had eventually been just as he had always dreamed as a child. Barb and him rarely argued. Until it all slowly came to an end. Coop didn’t know how to live on his own anymore. 

He was surviving off a few small gigs at parties, always donning his iconic cowboy outfit. Of course, he wasn’t oblivious to the whispers behind his back. 

‘Look what he has to resort to now..’

‘That is Cooper Howard?’

Cooper tried to shut all their voices out of his head. He had enough to worry about already. Paying his aliments to Barb, paying his rent, trying to stay afloat – somehow. 

If his days were lonely, all of his nights spent alone seemed to be even worse. That’s where he had time to think and he didn’t want to think about everything that was going on around him. His cigarettes and the whiskey stored in his fridge quickly became his best friends during all those lonely nights. But they still didn’t fill the gaping hole he seemed to carry in his chest. Everything felt meaningless. Life was only a combination of small moments anymore. 

All the good moments he had were the days with his daughter, but there was nothing else that could really make Cooper feel happy or fulfilled. 

He craved the feeling of waking up next to a woman again. To feel her kiss him in the morning and to touch her body. This almost reminded him of how he felt as a green teenager, when he had only dreamed about having someone at his side. 

It wasn’t really a surprise to him that his hand didn’t feel the same as a woman’s touch did. Gosh, he even rummaged through a few boxes to pull up old pornographic holo-tapes, but even those didn’t really do it for him anymore. At least now how they used to in the past. 

His next decision was really a manifestation of his desperation. 

Coop stared at the newspaper on his kitchen counter. There were several ads on the page and one of them was able to offer just what he wanted. He took a deep breath, staring at the phone on his wall and then turning his gaze back to the number on the paper. 

His last gig had paid rather well and he thought that calling a sex worker might fill the hole in his chest for just a few hours. A few years ago, he could have never imagined going this far, but… he was lonely – and desperate in a way. Sex would take his mind off things and give him enough of an illusion for one night. More than the whiskey could. 

“It’s worth a try...” He mumbled to himself and then started to type the number into his phone. 

Business had been quiet the last few days. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint why that might be, but you were glad when a call came in eventually. Sex work wasn’t really something society seemed to be proud of, but you knew the numbers of lonely men that called your and other women’s numbers were significantly higher than most people would expect. 

It wasn’t just you working here. Multiple women operated under the “Sweet Nights” brand. You were just a small part in the great scheme of things. 

Your work certainly paid enough for you to entertain a decent, but not overly luxurious life in Los Angeles. Your small apartment was nothing compared to the big mansions up in Beverly Hills. Yet it was enough. 

The red lipstick stood in contrast to your black dress, correcting its straps around your shoulders as soon as Jimmy, the manager of “Sweet Nights”, informed you of your next client. This would be the first and the last for your day, considering that it had been a pretty quiet week night for everyone. On the weekend, calls were more much frequent and you could sometimes do three clients in one day. 

Every girl here had different prices. You were somewhere in the middle. Most middle-class men were able to book you, but sometimes, a man wanted to take you out for more than just sex for which you were able to demand a higher price. If you were honest, you preferred that to the simple act of offering sex and then leaving again. You certainly didn’t want to turn down a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant which was probably the best part your job had to offer. 

“Is Alan going to drive me?” You asked. Alan was the driver you had worked with the most so far. He was always in a good mood and often enough, he even lifted yours as well. You would share a cigarette or two before or after a client and he’d sometimes even drive you bring some food for you to enjoy after work. Alan was probably your best friend in this business, if you thought about all the people you’ve encountered so far. You got along well with some other women in here as well, but you couldn’t call those intimate friendships. 

Sustaining a relationship was also not an easy task given the nature of your job. So far, you hadn’t really been that lucky to find a man accepting of your situation, but you were of the firm belief that you could never know what was going to happen in the future. 

“I think so. You still have half an hour, so take it slow.” Jimmy was always kind to you as well, but he did have the attitude of a businessman. Nothing made him more happy than seeing the cash flow in and while you were always on time and working hard, you had seen him treat other women differently – especially the ones that weren’t on time and not bringing in a lot of money. 

You had been working at the “Sweet Nights” establishment for multiple years, so you had generated a few regular clients with time. For a man like Jimmy, there was rarely anything better. It meant a steady cash flow and for you, it meant being able to spend time with people you already knew in a way and they usually didn’t make you uncomfortable at all. However, getting attached was strictly forbidden. You didn’t want to breach the border between your professional life and your private one. 

Jimmy took his leave rather quickly then, leaving you to your preparations. You made sure to take your birth control before you were heading out, not wanting to risk forgetting it on accident if you were to stay the night at the client’s. 

Alan was already waiting for you at the door when you made your way to the car. “Hello, beautiful,” he greeted you, placing a small kiss on the back of your hand before he helped you into the passenger seat of the black car. 

Soft jazz music was playing through the radio as you drove to the client’s apartment. It wasn’t too far away from the “Sweet Nights” establishment as you were able to arrive there in under ten minutes. The apartment block in front of you looked simple and it made you quite certain that your client was probably part of the middle class. You had been to fancier homes, but it felt good to be able to ring a bell without going through two security checks on your way inside. 

Alan always took his time to wait until you were safely inside. There had been a few times where a client didn’t open the door and your friend drove you home instead. 

But this wouldn’t be one of those nights. 

When you pushed against the door, it opened for you. You turned around briefly to wave goodbye at your driver, before heading up the stairs to the apartment on the second floor. The sound of your high heels echoed off the beige walls and as you looked up the staircase, you could already see a man waiting by the apartment door. 

You always tried to meet your clients without any specific expectations towards them, but when the man came fully into view, you could feel your heart skip a beat. This wasn’t just any man. This was Cooper Howard. 

Ex-Movie Star and a new favourite topic in every local gossip magazine. You had read about his divorce as it was almost impossible to avoid the matter these days. Additionally, you were pretty sure you had seen just about every movie he had ever starred in. 

“Good evening,” you greeted him, the smile coming to you quite easily as you thought of the fond memories you had from watching his movies. Cooper extended his hand to you almost immediately, shaking it in a gentle manner. “Good evening to you too. Feel free to come inside.” His smile was a polite one as he stepped to the side and let you in. 

His apartment clearly wasn’t anything you expected from America’s most famous cowboy, but you knew times were probably a bit rougher for him now. There were a few paintings along the hallway wall, but the interior was nothing fancy. It wasn’t cheap either, but your job had brought you to many Hollywood mansions before and this apartment didn’t have even the slightest resemblance to any of them. 

Cooper walked past you slowly. After so many years of working as an escort, you could tell that this was his first time. He looked a little lost, shy even. You were not here to judge about it though, you were here to make him feel good. 

“Would you like something to drink? Wine perhaps?” You followed him into the kitchen, watching him as he let his hands restlessly move over the edge of the kitchen island. His face was still displaying the same smile he had greeted you with, but there was clearly a nervousness to his eyes. They were frantically moving from the counter to you and back again. 

“Wine is good. I don’t really have a preference,” you assured him with a smile, leaning against the other side of the counter. He gave you a quick nod before he looked for two wine glasses and searched through a small cupboard to retrieve a new bottle for you both. 

When the two glasses were filled, you leaned forward a little, supporting yourself against the counter as you looked at the man with a smirk. Cooper pushed your glass over to you, pointing at the living room next door then. “How about you… join me on the couch?”

His voice sounded strained and his hold around the glass seemed a little concerning for its fragility, but you didn’t hesitate to give the movie star an approving nod. “I would love to, Mr Howard.”

You could tell he tensed up a little at the mention of his name, so you quietly took note of that. 

“Call me Cooper,” he offered, leading you into the small living room. While he sat down on the far left end of the couch, you didn’t bother to sit down on the opposite end. Instead, you got comfortable right next to him, a quick invitation that he could touch you if he wanted. 

And Cooper did want to. But his mind was clouded with many things. This experience was completely new to him, but you were absolutely gorgeous in that black dress and he was very curious to see what was underneath it. He was only a man too after all, but–

You clinked your wine glass against his and he was pulled back into the reality of things. His eyes drifted over your body, a hint of longing appearing in them and you could feel yourself smile a little more at that. Cooper wasn’t showing you disinterest, but you could feel the insecurity inside him. 

This job brought you close to many different people and you would be a fool to assume that Cooper wasn’t struggling with the divorce. This wasn’t a rare scenario at all – many men were asking for your services when they wanted to fill the hole left behind by their beloved wives.  

While you took the first sip from your wine, you made sure to keep eye contact up with Cooper. It was enough to send a cold shiver down his spine and let his free hand claw at the arm rest of the couch. 

He took a sip from his drink as well, before placing the glass down on the small table in front of him. 

His lips parted for a moment, ready to form words, but you were quick to place a hand on his arm. Just a gentle touch. Not too much if he didn’t want it yet. “I know this is your first time. I can tell. And… we can do it all in whatever pace you’d prefer.” 

For a moment, the man seemed a little surprised by your words, but his expression quickly changed to a softer one. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I’m–”

What was he even trying to say? Cooper didn’t want to come across as an inexperienced teenager or the like, but he also didn’t want to seem too desperate. Even though he was. His body was clearly desperate. 

“It’s alright.” Maybe a little bit of light conversation might help him, so you took the time to let your eyes wander over his appearance. His brown hair was brushed back neatly and it definitely looked like he had shaved this morning. There was a simple, but beautiful ring adorning his finger, but you were sure it was not his former wedding band. His beige pants and the dark blue sweater were a lot more casual than your own outfit, but you had always been sure that Cooper Howard would look good in anything. 

Would his movies be a good topic to start with? Tell him that you were a fan? 

“I’ve loved your movies for years, you know?”

The look in his eyes changed. His curiosity seemed to give way to disappointment and hurt. Probably the wrong topic. Too sensitive or too personal. 

Your throat seemed to tighten and you were ready to apologise when Cooper interrupted you. 

“Isn’t it a strange thought that… I’m now asking you to have sex with me in a way?” His eyebrows were pushed together in confusion and you didn’t know how to answer at first. 

Of course, it wasn’t what you had expected, but saying you were displeased with the idea would be a lie. 

“No. It’s exciting, actually. Maybe cowboys have always been my thing.”

Cooper’s laugh was quite infectious. He had a big smile, a beautiful one too. His shoulders seemed to relax a little and he eventually put an his arm on the couch behind you. 

“What’s the saying? Save a horse, ride a cowboy?” His voice had grown a little deeper and while you were still able to watch his right hand hold tightly onto the arm rest next to him, a little bit of doubt had probably left him. 

You decided to weigh in on that. 

“I would never say no to a man like you, of course. Definitely worth saving that horse.” 

Another laugh. 

For the first time in a while, the harmless banter seemed to clear his mind off a few worries. Yes, it was a sensitive topic, but you approached it with enough ease that it didn’t seem all that awful anymore to Cooper. 

His left hand eventually moved down to your thigh, gently holding onto it as he searched for your eyes again. 

And before you could really think a lot about it, you kissed the former movie star, maybe a little too eager. 

Yet he was all for it. Your lips felt like a relief he hadn’t experienced in a long time and as he leaned in for more, he was certain that if nothing else could drown out the worries in his mind, your lips would surely be able to quiet his thoughts – even if it was just temporary. 

[saltwatergirl6]

EVERYTHING YOU SEE IS A PART OF YOUR IMAGINATION, EVERYTHING YOU SEE IS A LIE.

jason grace x f!neptune!reader

warning: jason is kinda a bop in this, reader is referred to as a blonde

a/n: wrote this at 4am so it’s probably really stupid, but i was thinking of writing hcs for a part 2? idk would y’all read that?

growing up at camp jupiter meant being a soldier, a warrior with no life outside of their duties, a disciplined demigod with no mistakes ever made. this mindset messed up a lot of the kids’ mind, awarding them with different mental illnesses that they wouldn’t be experiencing if their lives were just, normal.

normal could mean a lot of things, but jason grace lost the touch of it a long time ago.

what was normal? being a mortal in high school or spending his everyday life in camp jupiter?

none of these options were available to him, because in the middle of his quest to save the queen of the heavens, he felt more confused than ever, his memories slowly coming back, but in little snippets, unnecessary things were being brought back to him, such as a certain scent that reminded him of… he didn’t remember who. he was surely going crazy.

and the blurred face of a girl he saw every time he ever got the chance to fall into hypnos’ domain certainly did not help the situation. maybe he did something so terrible in the past that he didn’t even get the chance of sleeping undisturbed, but what did he do? he didn’t even remember.

the question that bore into the mind of a mere reader would’ve been, 'what did he even remember?’ an oblivion, absolute nothingness.

and his two apparent friends, leo and piper.

while piper seemed to not be much of a friend, she still kept her patience.

jason, being the selfless soul he was, always managed to put everyone else before himself, he was worried that he was breaking piper’s heart by his amnesia, which, by the way, was not his fault either, but who else was there to blame? truthfully, no one.

while the quest was ongoing, he managed to get used to being apart of the trio, managing to fall more and more in love with the mystery that was piper mclean, or so he thought.

piper was absolutely gorgeous, in her own unique way, she was something to be looked at, to be admired and treated with care and love, but the world that they got exposed into, certainly was not up to the standard jason wanted piper to be put at.

she was also a total knockout, pretty, smart and really unique, what more could a guy want?

right?

then why did the ocean breeze randomly flow through his nostrils when jason was not anywhere near an ocean? what about the blonde soft wavy hair he always saw in his dreams, or the laugh he heard during one of those dreams. something about the girl in his dreams made jason’s life way more complicated, he could not get her out of his head, but how could he? it’s like the gods above truly did not want anything to be remotely normal in his life.

was it all just a set-up, was he cursed? or was he simply going insane over a woman he had never met? it had to end.

apparently the blonde from his dreams did not even exist, he described her to a lot of people, but not one person in camp half-blood knew anything, so he gave up.

the argo II had to be built and they had to fight mother earth, gaea, along with quite a lot of giants, girl problems could wait.

while keeping himself busy, he found his sweet escape to be piper, maybe what was between them was real, it wasn’t just venus having “fun” for a bit and making him insane? he still got dreams from time to time, but they didn’t corrupt his whole time.

but a few months passed, his and piper’s relationship was going well, they were just days away from going to camp jupiter, while going there to find the rest of the eight demigods from the great prophecy was the goal, maybe he could find her there?

and just like that, thoughts and dreams about the mysterious ocean girl slowly came back.

until the day they finally landed in camp jupiter. pieces of jason’s memory came back to him, but not all of it, but everything seemed to click the second he got the chance to actually look around the (not-so) familiar territory.

his hand intertwined with piper’s, he entered camp jupiter, he noticed annabeth running off to a black haired boy, who he assumed to be percy jackson, since that was the guy everyone seemed to be looking for ever since his arrival.

but right next to percy, stood a girl, but not just any pretty girl, her.

the girl from his imagination.

she quickly noticed jason, running over to him and pulling him into a hug, he noticed slight tears in her eyes that weren’t willing to spill.

jason was stunned, his hand was still holding piper’s, until it wasn’t, he felt it let go.

but jason had your arms around him, which felt better than anyone elses.

“i missed you, jase.” you said quietly, in a tone barely above a whisper.

“i-i’m sorry, i don’t remember.”

“percy told me it was a possibility, i just never thought you’d forget me, after all that we’ve been through. he remembered things about annabeth, did you really forget all about me?” a single stray tear managed to escape your eyes, raised in camp jupiter, crying was not something you were used to, but given the circumstances, what else were you supposed to do? sit around and smile like nothing happened, like you didn’t just realise that the love of your life forgot about you? “no, i’m sorry, it’s not your fault, i can’t blame that on you.” you quickly added, noticing how much pressure you put on the boy you loved.

“jason, what’s going on?” that was the voice of the girl jason came back with, sweet as honey. did he find a replacement? have you commited a sin so unforgivable that the gods had to punish you this way? he held her hand, they came in happily, you weren’t needed.

“i don’t know, look, let’s just go and find annabeth, she’ll know what to do.” jason simply shrugged away from your uncounter, living the girl of his dreams in tears, standing there, empty.

and it certainly did not help that jason and his newfound girlfriend were on the ship too, so you couldn’t really be miserable all the time.

you had to put in the effort.

that same night, as you were about to go to bed in your cabin, percy came in to check on you and you suddenly got the urge to tell him about all of your emotions and thoughts, since he was a great listener and also probably the only person who could cheer you up.

so you told him, if you couldn’t trust your brother, who could you trust? you told him some details he didn’t already know about your and jason’s complicated relationship and about him and his new girlfriend.

jason’s cabin was the one opposing yours, so he got a bit confused and almost opened the door to your cabin, but he heard your voice, and his name a few times too, so he did something absolutely irresistible, eavesdropping.

“it was complicated for so many years, and when we finally confessed, 3 months later he just disappeared one morning, i count every minute he was a way, and he came back with a new girlfriend, what did i do to venus so horrible? she gave me a hair comb once after a quest, she doesn’t like hate me or something, right? or does that mean my hair is really messy?” you kept on rambling.

“shh, i don’t know about jason, but if he’s willing to break your heart like that, i’m not gonna be okay with it, goodnight, y/n.” percy kissed your forehead.

“night, perce.”

just as percy walked out of the cabin, he saw jason standing by the door.

“hope you heard all that, buddy.” he mumbled.

if jason thought he was going insane months ago, he for sure knows he’s insane by now.

around a week has passed since that night, jason admired you from far away, getting reminded of why he fell in love with you all those years ago.

it was a quiet evening, some calm and peace, the typical calm before the storm vibes were around.

and it sure ended up being a storm that night for jason grace. he had been thinking about ending things with piper, since remembering things were making him all confused, all of the fake memories were faded too, so their relationship was hanging by a thread, which piper tore that night.

“we need to talk.” piper exclaimed, her tone sounded serious, not the usual cheery and soft.

“is everything okay?” jason asked, knowing that in fact nothing was okay, but he could only use a filler sentence, he didn’t have much of a heart to say anything else.

“what’s going on with you and y/n? i know you two dated, but i see the way you act around each other, you’re not over it, neither of you, and whatever this is going on with us is simply not satisfying neither me or you, so, are you cool with staying friends?” piper stated casually, without much worry on her face.

“i’m sorry pipes, it wasn’t fair to you.” jason tried apologising, but got interrupted.

“it’s fine, but she loves you, i can tell, go talk to her before it’s too late.” that was it, the awakening point, jason immediately stormed into her cabin.

“i fucked up, i’m really in love with you.” he exclaimed, and boy, did that sentence change everything.

it did.

[ghostlymarauder]

MONSTER HIGH G3 IS NOT AS INCLUSIVE AS MONSTER HIGH G1

EDIT: THIS IS JUST A RANT, DON'T TAKE IT SO SERIOUSLY LOL

Maybe that sounds crazy. Maybe it's been said a million times. Anyway, I'm just ranting about my 3 am thoughts.

I know in G3 we have non-binary Frankie (who also has a prosthetic leg), and the Draculaura doll is more curvy. But as far as I'm concerned, they took everything else that made Monster High inclusive.

For starters, and I know it was never actually confirmed, but still, Clawdeen is lesbian (bisexual at best). Once again, it was never confirmed, but in my opinion is a theory popular enough for the Monster High management to hear about it.

If they really wanted to make it more inclusive, why did they not confirm Clawdeen sexuality and give her a female romantic interest?

No, they had to break up one of their best couples. This leads me to my next point, what the fuck are Cleo and Deuce doing being separated?

The first G1 dolls literally came as a package. If you got one, you got the other. That's how much of an obvious couple they were. And not only that, in the Boo York movie, they broke up for like five minutes before realizing they didn't want to be without each other.

Which, in my opinion, it's so fucking cute because they come from completely different worlds. Cleo is royalty, Deuce is just a normal guy. Cleo is a little too superficial, and Deuce looks like he never showers. But they love each other and that's enough.

And you know who else loved each other and that was enough? Clawd and Draculaura. What do you even mean with "Clawd likes Cleo"? That man was in love with Draculaura, that man would've done anything for her, and you're telling me they also broke them apart?

Especially since they made Draculaura curvy, it would've been beautiful to see them together. Because it would've been a great plot point to have jock, almost-bully Clawd evolve into falling in love with curvy, smart, witchy Draculaura. But no, they just separated them.

On a completely different note. What the fuck is Gil doing without his tank? Do I even have to explain why this is taking inclusivity out of the Monster High concept? He couldn't live without his tank outside the water. Ergo, he was limited without his tank. If you ask me, this is Monster High equivalent to something like hearing aids (and this is just an example, there are many other things you could compare Gil's tank to)

Also, Ghoulia talking bothers me a lot. First of all, she was the smartest of the group, but we couldn't understand what she was saying, which added a lot of comedy since us, the spectators, were only pretending to know what the fuck Ghoulia's plan was. And I repeat, she was the smartest of the group.

The smartest of the group couldn't communicate like everyone else. I won't even explain why that is fascinating in itself, because it just is and it added so much depth to whole story. And to add more to my problem with G3 Ghoulia, why is she standing straight and walking at a regular speed?

Ghoulia standing like a zombie was, again, to me, a form of inclusivity to all the kids out there who had some walking impediment, or, in general, had any chronic illness that stopped them from moving around. And her walking slow as fuck was just straight-up funny (especially that one web episode where she got a motorcycle).

There's a lot of things I do like about G3, as I think it improves the brand in wonderful ways, but they definitely took some of the most essential things that made Monster High what it was.

[puhpandas]

I like that a lot of the tragedy about new fnaf is about how everyone lived, in contrast to the tragedy of old fnaf where everyone died

like gregory vanessa cassie the animatronics everyone had their lives ripped away from them because of the same source, but they didnt end after that.

the animatronics 'lived', but it was in an abandoned falling apart building while they're broken themselves and slowly losing their sanity. gregory survived the mimic and ggy and the streets but he'll never get back those years of childhood he lost or his parents or friends or old life and he has to live with that and the trauma from everything forever

vanessa lost her life and her free will right as she would have been free from her dad for good and was still put down and hated even as her alter ego. she was forced to leave her little support systems and drag other people into the same boat as her and kill people and after she gets freed abruptly she just has to. get back on her feet. and get a job and take care of Gregory and Freddy and somehow keep living a life as normal as anyone else but things are so different and she doesnt get a chance to sit and process everything

cassie doesnt die in the elevator crash and instead goes on to be trapped underground with something getting in her head. she gets taken over all alone by herself thinking that vanny was a friend and getting 'betrayed' again. once again someone's life is ripped away from them as they're forced to serve this virus, and its made a hundred times worse because no matter what it happened to cassie because Gregory wasnt fast enough. and theres so much tragedy in Gregory failing to stop what happened to him from happening to someone else let alone his best friend

and the tragedy that none of them will ever be free despite how they live on unless they kill the mimic and vanny for good, but theyve always just been too scared to do it. "the family missed the greatest opportunity of their lives" "the woman would kill the witch in the morning" they didnt kill them both when they could have and now other people are getting hurt along with themselves having to deal with it again after thinking they were okay.

and theres also tragedy in the glamrocks and how they lived in the pizzaplex. no matter how you view their sentience theyll always be seen as characters and machines and not real people despite how theyre literally alive and living. and alongside that in canon they push the idea of the animatronics not wanting to fit themselves into the character box (freddy) or not feeling like they deserve to be who they're supposed to (roxy) or not even trying to fit the bill because they're so overtaken with anger at it all (monty) or their programming making them crazy and obsessed with their characters gimmick so they're always trapped no matter what (chica). and how fronnie loved eachother but not only would the brand not have allowed it but bonnie gets decommissioned and Fazbear entertainment doesn't see it as worth it to keep him in the character roster so they just. dont. and Freddy has to deal with how unfair that is.

I just love SW era fnaf and how they do tragedy it's very interesting and cool

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

hiya! so I was thinking about Peter Quill with an artistic reader (in the form of headcanons) bc omg i think that'd be absolutely adorable and ive been going in a spiral for him lately

Just a thought! You dont need to do it if youre busy, have a great week!

hii! omg yes I love it. and don’t worry me you and everyone else feels the same way😭 ive been defending him in comment sections for years so im glad he’s finally getting recognition he deserves. big up quill. I also did this first, as it was a fun sorta break in between other writing. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌 have a great weekend also. xo

headcanons/ imagines (2)

Peter Quill x reader (gn)

warnings || none

masterlist + rules

taglist

- he doesn’t always have the best attention span, but when it comes to you he could watch you paint/ draw for hours. it’s something that keeps him entertained

- he likes to ask questions/ communicate while you work “that’s cool, what does that do?” or “how did you do that?” feel like he’d be mesmerised watching the canvas come to life

- you both listen to his music while you do anything artsy, the combination is the best of both worlds

- but if he’s not watching you/ hanging around at the same time, you like to listen to his music so it feels like he’s still there. he’s silently caught you a few times and it makes him feel special that his music means so much to you

- he definitely brags to the other guardians about how talented you are (like tony and thor talking about their girls in age of ultron)

- I feel like he can be a great helper- if you’re at the easel, he stands next to you holding the things you need so you don’t have to keep bending/ reaching etc. or if you need a brush cleaned, he’d do it for you

- if you wanted to do pottery, he’d get rocket to make you a pottery wheel, whatever you needed, rocket will make

- if you live with him in his apartment on knowhere, he’s moved his things about so that you could paint by the window/ designated a space/ area for you to work at (he remembers watching bob ross a couple times when he was a kid, so he used the tips he learned and put them into practice for you)

- if and when he sees any kind of art materials on other planets, he definitely brings them back for you. over a while you’ve acquired quite a diverse set of tools that’s broadened the quality of your art

- I feel like he’d kind of pimp you out- would put your name out there to get more people to commission work from you

- you’re now the go-to that people come to when they want new things for their houses. a majority of people on knowhere have probably bought work from you

- you’ve made pieces for every guardian, something specific and detailed that has meaning to each individual (kind of like the holiday special) you’d be very creative and intricate in tailoring the work to the person

- mantis absolutely adores what you made. nebula was apprehensive at first but you caught her smiling when she thought you weren’t paying attention. drax goes into great detail when he describes what he loves about it, always using crazy big adjectives. rocket said he doesn’t care for art, but the way it’s displayed in his apartment tells you otherwise. and groot was super happy to have something made by you

- quill has treasured everything you’ve ever made him, he can be very sentimental so all the work you made is something he deeply appreciates. something minuscule you made at the beginning of the relationship, is kept in one of his memory boxes (like a flower made of tissue)

- maybe you’ve made things to honour his parents, using stories he’s told you into creating something beautiful (two separate pieces- one of meredith and one of yondu) they are something he has hung up and displayed in his apartment. I feel like it’s helped him deal with his grief- and over time he’s been able to look at the artwork without feeling sad. now he can smile when he sees their faces

- its definitely made him fall harder for you

[jqmalikhsgib]

wedding bells: mini series

“…ceremony set for june…”

god you were so fucking beautiful. standing there in the sun as he watched you twirl in your dress. you were everything. he was gonna marry you he swore it.

the moment he laid eyes on you he knew you were the one. he even rushed to call his mom to let her know he met the woman of his dreams.

at first she thought he was crazy. you didn’t even have your first date yet. but he just knew. his heart knew. you were gonna be his wife. and now three years in he was ready. ready to tell you that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

and he knew you were ready too. the hints you’ve given him over and over again. he knew you were ready to spend the rest of your lives together.

and when he finally asked you that was the best time of your life. you two were more in love than before. everyone just knew that you were soulmates. but something changed.

harry started to focus more on his career. it was lifting off quickly. he was starting to be known as just harry styles. no longer harry styles from one direction.

so happy for your love you still cheered him on. but your own career was being overshadowed by harry’s career. being known as harry styles fiancé wasn’t what you wanted to be remembered by.

so you continue to work. make sure the world knew you for your accomplishments. and for awhile it worked. your acting career took off. but with that came whispers.

whispers harry was starting to believe.

‘she’s using you for fame mate.’

‘she doesn’t really love you.’

‘look at her. she’s using your name for clout. trust me. a girl like her is just gonna dump you the second she doesn’t need your name anymore.’

this only caused arguments between the two of you. yelling and cursing. every night you cried yourself to sleep. you didn’t understand where this was coming from. it broke your heart that harry would think of you in that light.

you finally had enough. packing your bags after another night of him disappearing. you knew he was drinking and most likely hooking up with some model. you weren’t stupid.

you left him a letter and the ring he gave you before leaving. and that was the last you were around harry.

two years later you moved on. you can’t lie and say you haven’t kept up with him. listening to his second album. you knew it was about you. you never meant to break him this bad but the harry you fell for was gone.

now you were happier. you were newly engaged again. this time the wedding was happening. you loved charlie. at least that what you told yourself. charlie was safe. he had his own business and kept to himself.

being with him felt good. no drama, no one trying to break you two up, no celebrity drama, and no cheating. just the two of you in love.

and though things were safe. you knew that the media would have a field day. you knew you’d have to tell harry personally. you owed it to him.

so meeting him after two years of not seeing one another was hard. but maybe he would have moved on. maybe he was happier now. at least you had hoped he was happier.

when he sat next to you your heart skipped a beat. he was still as beautiful as ever. his smile still made you fall apart.

“yn.”

“harry.”

the first words you’ve said to one another. fuck this was harder than either of you thought. but you knew it was good.

the two of you had small talk. just discussing your careers. trying to catch up on what’s happened the past year. that’s when he noticed it. the ring on your finger.

his heart broke. you couldn’t be getting married. no. you were his everything. you were his soulmate. how could you be seeing someone else? how could you be with someone who wasn’t him? he could never move on. how could you?

“are you—are you engaged?”

you looked down at your hand. looking down for a quick moment before looking him in the eyes. the hurt in them nearly broke your heart.

“um—yeah. that’s what i wanted to tell you. charles—charlie proposed to me. we’re getting married in june. i thought you should be the first to know before it’s all over the web.”

harry felt like his heart was ripping out of his chest. but it was his fault. he ruined the two of you. he shouldn’t have listened to others. god, he shouldn’t have listened to others.

the day he came back home to your shared home he saw the ring first. that was the moment that he knew he fucked up. hoping that maybe it just slipped off your finger. maybe you just wanted it clean. but when he grabbed the note was when he knew. you were gone and probably never coming back.

and reading that you knew he was cheating. that made him realize the solo fame he was getting has got to his head. he cried for weeks. he tried to call you. but you had already changed your number. he tried to contact anyone you knew. but they all knew what he had done.

he wasn’t giving up on you though. he would go to every award show, every event, anything to maybe see you. apologize and hopefully get you back. but his luck had ran out.

so harry did the one thing he knew how to do. he packed his bags, took off to a private location, and wrote music. hoping you’d hear them and maybe hear how sorry he was. maybe see that he was working on himself. be the man that you fell for.

and here you are. right in front of him. maybe he thought this was the moment where he’d forgive you. the moment where you’d give him another chance. but this is the moment you tell him you were getting married in just three weeks.

“june? why so early?”

“i love him harry.”

but he didn’t believe that. he didn’t believe you truly loved this charlie guy. he knew you better than anybody.

“look, i just, i came to let you know. i just thought it was a curtesy for you to know before the wedding. goodbye harry.”

and once again you walked out of his life. and he allowed you to once again.

part 1/3

[breezybeej]

so Faith huh

Loses her family, loses her watcher, loses everything. moves to Sunnydale, falls in love with Buffy starts making friends again but her past trauma and growing sense of self-defeat cause it to fall apart. She sees the world through the lens of death. Her role as the Slayer is to slay things and so she does, both literally and metaphorically. in this, she gains a father in The Mayor which gives her a sense of fulfillment but the cost is her humanity and she betrays her role as a Slayer (allegedly protecting humanity). and guess what! she fails him and loses him as well. and she doesn't even die about it. She does not get to complete her role as a Slayer and die in battle.

she spends 8 months in a coma experiencing shared prophecy dream space with the person who foiled all of her plans, getting killed by her over and over. she watches her father figure die again. she wakes up from this hell and receives the will of the mayor. The only man we ever saw her look up to tells her that her life is over, everything sucks, you might as well go out with a bang, babe.

so she tries to do that. this crazy plan of swapping bodies with Buffy and upending Buffy's entire life just like her own. Make her lose everything. but even as she tries this she becomes Buffy she sees what it's like to have friends who care about her, a guy who actually loves her beyond the physical, she finds meaning and purpose in the act of slaying, she answers her calling the way she was always meant to.

and then she loses it all again

she becomes actively suicidal and tries to goad Angel into killing her. Instead, he shows her that there is meaning and purpose to be found in repenting for your past crimes. The same way that he's been doing for All of the bad shit that happened without his soul. just like he said to her in season 3, "we are very similar."

This is the same shit happening to Buffy now. she is losing her friends. Xander has a 9 to 5 job and he's getting married so he just won't have time for her anymore. Willow is falling deeper and deeper into this hole of scary magic she might not come back from. Giles doesn't even know if he wants to be in Sunnydale anymore. Buffy is still grappling with how her job as a slayer is an existential threat to her friends. she lost her mom, she almost lost her sister but she died in the line of duty as a Slayer and was rewarded with paradise. however it was taken away from her. she is living in hell now and is a hair's breadth away from being suicidal like faith was because everything is overwhelming and she's failing repeatedly and she has no greater purpose. she can't even go back to college which was her aspiration before all of this happened. she can't even die properly, The one reward for saving the world from demons and all of your burdens being lifted from you as you spend eternity in heaven.

it was already obvious The first time around that faith was always lying when she said she was 5x5. it is so much harder now knowing that she was doing the same thing Buffy is now. lying through her teeth to the people that she supposedly loves just so they won't approach her and get close to her vulnerabilities. and it's causing her to crack under this immense pressure of being alone. she is isolating herself because she thinks she's no good for anybody.

We even have the similarities that the brunette Slayer is working with the brunette vampire to help herself and the blonde Slayer is working with the blonde vampire to help herself. I will be shocked if Spike is not the one person who's able to prevent her from going over the edge this season. I mean it's almost obvious because she's isolated herself from everyone else and no one knows how bad it is because she will not let them in.

I already know it's too much to hope that there's any mention of faith in this season. just as much as faith became Buffy when she was open to the Scoobies and Riley and a fulfilling slayer role, Buffy is becoming faith as she pushes those things away. she even brutalized a demon she had already killed in her basement the way Faith did in one of the early times we saw her slay something.

Whateva. It's fine. I'm fine about it. none of this matters because The Three musketeers of dork ass nerds Make me so mad that I can't think straight so I have to get these ideas out before I watch any more of the show.

[thestarkerisobvious]

What No One Tells You About The End Of The World

What No One Tells You About The End Of The World 

Is

…you still have to eat once in a while.  You still have to shit.  You still have to lay down and sleep and then, eventually, you have to get up the next day.  You think you will just stay in bed forever - but I promise you can't.  You will have to get up.  You’ll get bored.  You’ll realize you haven’t bathed in a while.  And eventually, you’ll have to eat.

At least he has something to eat.  Peter reminds himself, sometimes, that he still has electricity and hot and cold running water.  He may live completely alone in a world where the human race has forgotten his name, but at least he has something to eat, and someone to eat with.  Not everyone does.

And Peter does have someone to eat with.  And someone who, on occasions, asks him if he’s eaten today.  Asked if he was getting enough rest.  “Not that I’m one to judge,” that someone would joke mildly, and then some conversation about night-owls and insomnia would follow, but still.  It was nice to be asked.  Such a tiny little kindness that really hit home when the whole planet has magically forgotten your existence.  

Although his older lover might be amused if Peter ever described him as “kind.”  “Infuriating” would be more accurate.  “Maddening.”  Both by day and by night.  Maddening by day (that ego was NOT an act, and sometimes difficult to live with behind closed doors.)  Maddening by night (that scrape of beard on the back of his neck, making Peter crazy…)

What no one tells you about the end of the world is that you will still wake up with morning wood. And that maybe… even though you are sure you don’t deserve it… maybe you still get to feel good.  Sometimes.

(And sometimes… maybe  more than just good.  Maybe a lot more than good.  Like when he strongarms you to face the wall and presses it in inch by inch, forcing you to take it slow, forcing you to wait.  You’re stronger than him, obviously, it’s not like he’s wearing all his fancy clothes right now but how are you going to fight him?  Not when your cock is in his expert hand and the scrape of that damn beard against your neck is making you insane…)

He apologizes for being an asshole sometimes.

Which… kind of hurts.  Because he never apologizes to the world for being himself… he just is.  That’s what Peter admires about him.  He is completely and utterly himself… doesn’t seem to doubt himself.  Not like Peter at all…

(Also, he never referred to himself as an asshole until they went to bed together.)

Not that Peter can complain.  Having this older man for a lover… this older, arrogant, infuriating man… well…

It gets lonely at the end of the world.  Especially when you’re surrounded by people walking past you, walking to and from work every day and every night, not knowing that your world just ended.  You think you won’t need companionship after your whole world falls apart but, oddly, you do.  Existence has ended, but you’re still human.  Apocalypse is now and passed, but it’s still good to have a conversation about that crazy thing you saw on the street today.

And if you have that conversation while laying side by side in this ridiculous bed, letting the sweat dry off your bodies as you catch your breath and marvel at what you’ve just created together, well…

…who knew you could still laugh after the world has ended?

Laugh, or chuckle, or maybe roll your eyes or maybe even growl a little in frustration at the one man in the world who knows your name.  Maybe even fight a little… maybe even quarrel.  You think you don’t care about anything any more… what else is there to care about at the end of the world?  But you are still a human being.  You still have edges.  And sometimes yours bark up against his and you feel yourself bristling…

…but all of that melts away at when Peter finds himself melting in that man’s iron arms.

His lover is an older man  - he never lets Peter forget it - and he loves to point out that, as an older man he is just not as interested in his own climax as he is in other things.  Peter’s lover is a scientist at heart.  And he is often at night he seems more interested in certain scientific experiments on Peter’s willing body than he is anything else. 

How many times can Peter come in one evening?  How long can he wait, held gaping there on that silver razor edge, waiting for release?  

Who knew, here at the end of the world, that you could still be surprised?

And so Peter does just that.  Gets up in the morning.  Eats.  Shaves.  Shits.  Teases his lover gently about how long he spends looking in the mirror every morning, meticulously plucking his face to maintain that signature facial hair.  There’s more and more gray appearing in that hair now than ever before, but Peter just uses the term “silver fox” and kisses his lover before going out into the world.  Out into the world to try to find some kind of meaningful thing to do.  Then comes home (he gets to think of it as “home” now - that is such a relief) and lets his older lover take control again.

And you might as well.  Let him take your jaw in an iron grip and turn your head back for a demanding kiss as he slowly moves inside you… holding your breath in hopes to hear those tiny sounds that he makes, those noises that mean he can’t hold back much longer.  No matter how much he brags about not caring about his own climax.  There, on the edge, if you can keep from keening and begging, you can hear him too.  Those sounds he makes when he’s no longer able to remain dignified…

And that's when you realize the hard ugly truth - the world has ended, but you are still alive.  And you DO have a few blessings to count.  You have a place to sleep.  You have hot and cold running water, electricity, and food to get out of bed for.

And someone to go to bed with.

Someone you are actually starting to care about.

And that is the problem.

Because, much to your surprise, here at the end of the world, you are not alone.  And now you’re almost feeling like you might want to get up in the morning?   like you might want to go out into the world and see what’s in it? because you know when you get home at the end of the day, there will be someone to… to talk to about it?

And yes, okay, that someone is a little hard to live with… yes okay maybe he is the best in his field and maybe it isn’t pride if you know you are the best but still…

But maybe… maybe that man is being a little different now.  Maybe he’s making a lot more references to things that happened “before you were born” or even “long before you were born”  which you KNOW is a subtle way of reminding you that the gulf between your ages is huge, and it won't exactly get smaller over time.   

But there’s no point in thinking about the future.  Why think about the future when the world has already ended?

And maybe that's the key to it all.  There is no future.  There is no past…

…okay there is a past.  There is a whole hell of a lot of past… but now days it feels, to Peter, like it all happened to someone else.  Some other kid, someone he had been close to.   Someone who also had lego sets and also had one close friend that shared his obsession.  Some other kid who got the quiet anti-social girl to become his best friend and share a million crazy life experiences, including that first kiss, with each other.  Some other person that saved the  world alongside Tony Stark.  

Some other person that watched him die.

That other kid would never have… well he certainly would have dared to go to 177A Bleecker Street and demand to talk to Stephen Strange.  He would have done that.  When he just couldn’t take it any more.  Couldn’t stand to live in a world that had no idea who he was.  That kid would have dared to explain it all to Stephen Strange.  That other kid might have even accepted the apology, and offer of accommodation, from Steven Strange.  

But would that other kid have gone to bed with Stephen Strange??  Would he have even taken that risk?

But he did.  THIS Peter Parker did.  This Peter Parker had taken that risk because, let's face it, what else did he have left to lose?  

And now, whatever else Peter had, he had another man to talk about the End Of The World With.  Another man who, kind of, understood.

Another man who just might have some good advice.

“Look out there, kid,” he said one evening, bringing Peter, clad only in his boxers, to that large ornate archaic window at the far end of Stephen’s large ornate archaic bedroom.  The window of the Sanctum Sanctorum  was currently looking out over the street of Hong Kong, not Greenwich Village, but still, Peter got the point.

“The world ended out there, too.  I guarantee you - someone out there on that street is watching the people walk by hating them.  How can they keep walking, how can they keep going back and forth, how can they keep going to work?  Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?  I guarantee you’re looking down on the end of the world right now.

“The world ends for people every single day…” Stephen was murmuring now.  He was standing close behind Peter, his strong hands on Peter’s hips.  Peter resisted the urge to close the distance between them, to press his ass against Stephen’s erection, to distract him and end this conversation.  It wouldn’t be the first time, certainly.  Sometimes a cold part of Peter complained that he wanted Stephen Strange for distraction, NOT for advice.

“But you, you keep going out there.  You  KEEP going out there and you KEEP helping other people.  Because you know the truth.

“What no one tells you about the end of the world is that - enhanced or not - magic or not - special or not - 

“You are still human.”

“And humans keep going.”

   amazing moodboards by @mrstarksbaby

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

This has been a #MrStarksBabyIsObvious production. Follow the tag #MrStarksBabyIsObvious Production to see what else we've cooked up together.

[road2nf]

I thought this story was worth sharing, and whether it is read by none or one or twenty five, I’m glad I wrote it down, and I’m glad my brother read DFTBA from a bumper sticker on the highway. I hope someone smiles at the words on this page, before they are swallowed by the deluge of love and care sent by people all over the world with stories just like my own.

To be up front about it, your videos saved my relationship with my brother, Donovan.

He was my absolute best friend growing up, the person that everyone else had to live up to in order to be even considered a decent person.

He was my hero.

He’s three years older than me, and he was a protector as I went through the struggles that “high potential” kids have which aren’t always understood by those in authority positions.

All my teachers wanted to move me up a grade, which ruined the friendships I had cherished as ten-year-olds do. Fast forward six years, and my brother and I grew apart pretty quickly.

I was president of a couple of clubs at school and he was off to Vanderbilt that fall. We stopped telling each other everything, and I didn’t know what to do to keep talking.

We were driving to visit our grandmother who lived an hour away, and it was getting late.

We were keeping each other awake, blaring music and singing at the top of our lungs.

It was one of the best memories I had with him, and then it got better.

As a car passed us on the highway, my brother (pointing, reading a bumper sticker) yelled, “DFTBA!” And looked at me expectantly. I thought he was crazy, and he just kept repeating,

“Don’t forget to be awesome!...Vlogbrothers...John... Hank...none of this rings a bell?”

When I still didn’t understand, he just told me to go on YouTube on my phone and search “John Green pennies” because he couldn’t remember any specific title.

That was it.

Three minutes and fifty seven seconds, and I was hooked. We sat in my grandma’s living room until past 2:30 that morning watching any video that came up.

The most popular, related to the current one playing, and all of Hank’s songs. Since that day, we would run into each other’s room and talk about the videos for hours.

I also have a (totally healthy) obsession with Jane Austen, and watching all the Pemberly Digital projects with him has been second only to reading them in the first place.

We have read John’s novels together, and cried for hours.

This Christmas, my brother made a donation in my name for the P4A and it was the most amazing thing anyone could have ever done for me.

Without ever watching a video, our parents soon picked up on who we were speaking about when ‘John and Hank’ were mentioned, which is astonishing when they can’t even remember the names of our closest friends. I could list off one hundred other things about being a Nerdfighter, but most importantly is saying thank you.

Thank you for doing this and putting yourself out there which is so difficult to do.

Thank you for leaving your children something to be proud of when so many are left with nothing.

Thank you for turning Nerdfighters into Nerdfighters by decreasing world-suck.

And thank you to your wives and families who support you as you change lives on a daily basis.

Thank you for inspiring me personally, and showing me how easy it is to be passionate about writing and words. I thought this story was worth sharing, and whether it is read by none or one or twenty five, I’m glad I wrote it down, and I’m glad my brother read DFTBA from a bumper sticker on the highway.

I hope someone smiles at the words on this page, before they are swallowed by the deluge of love and care sent by people all over the world with stories just like my own.

Many good wishes and blessings.

-Kate Elizabeth

[youreirrelevant]

I'd Love To Take You Down And Leave You There

pairing: kendall roy/reader

summary: You feel kind of stupid for asking him to coach you, cause, like. Who doesn’t know how to do this? Still, he sounds pretty while he does, voice deep, enunciating and hitting the consonants in this really satisfying way. And, unbeknownst to you, he’s getting a very sick feeling of glee talking you through it. Heart hammering against his chest, too excited to see what you’ll do.

“Then you just inhale. Quickly.”

words: 9506

tags: EXPLICIT, angst and a little fluff? weird power play stuff, coerced drug use, and therefore dubcon, choking, slapping, hair-pulling, manhandling in general, SUPER unhealthy relationship, emotional manipulation, friends to lovers ig, unprotected sex, drug and alcohol use, suicide and death mentions, degradation, corruption kink?? sadism and masochism and also sadomasochism, spitting in someone's mouth, references to sexual acts like shining a shoe with your tongue, face-fucking, and water breathplay, non-negotiated kink

a/n: idk i watched prague and saw how Kendall could be a manipulative sadist (along with his established masochistic tendencies) and decided to go with it.

35 Hudson Yards. Limestone and glass; eight sleek tiers. Wealth, abundance. An eighth of an ounce. Crazy. Some things slotted into place so easily for Kendall Roy, and others, not so much.

You have to tip your head back to look up at it. So far back your mouth has to fall open.

-------

You’d been to the old apartment, or at least, the old building. Dragged to Greg’s party, though if it was even his to begin with was debatable. He seemed worn out about halfway through, slumped above his guests. You felt deep empathy for him then-all the people and the noise, it was exhausting. And if it had been where you lived, well, you’d probably be a little more than tired. Angry, really. The friend who had brought you there had gone off somewhere, with someone, else, and you felt practically paralyzed by the intensity of it. Flush with one of the pillars between the windows, trying not to look as overwhelmed as you felt. The lively atmosphere had been fun at first, but now you’re alone among a bunch of bodies-people you don’t know, a place far out of your reach.

The edge of your phone hit against your palm in a slow, steady tempo, your other hand swinging it, needing something to fidget with. You could’ve looked at it, scrolled through Twitter or something to pass the time, but you felt the need to watch, see where everyone was and what they were doing. Hypervigilant. Which is how you saw him, headed your way from your left. His eyes looked dark in the low lighting, lingering on some of the faces he passed, some of their bodies. But he kept moving forward, seemingly your way, so, your eyes didn’t leave him.

A woman passed him as he emerged into your little bubble by the windows, and his head swiveled to check her out, too. Your eyes swept over his profile quickly, pouty lips and prominent nose, thick lashes and the gentle slope of the back of his head. Baby hairs neat at the nape of his neck. A little rush of heat ran over your skin, and you bit the very inside of your bottom lip. Your hand had stilled, phone heavy where it lay. Finally, he looked at you, first his head and then his eyes soon after, gave you what seemed to be the required once over as he sipped some drink from a can. Like something you’d see at a frat party, juxtaposed against the high ceilings of the apartment, and the dark sweater he wore that just looked expensive.

“Hey, you, uh, tweaking over here? Take something too strong?”

Words slurred on a deep voice, and he sounded more curious than concerned. Did you look that nervous? There was an urge to try and hide your phone out of embarrassment, still poised as it had been when you had checked him out yourself, but you instead clung on to it tighter. You must’ve taken too long to answer, because he took another sip, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

“Uh, no. I’m just… not big on parties,” as if to illustrate, or to make sure that’s actually where you were, you glanced to the crowd. Your stomach turned at the sight of it, at the knowledge that there was so much space and it was all filled up.

“Uh-huh,” he sounded condescending, dismissive. His eyes scraped down your body, slower this time, and you couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw or was judging you deeply. You tried not to squirm under the scrutiny, only allowing yourself to press the toe of your right shoe into the top of your left. There was just a small gap between his eyelids, the length of those lashes almost touching his cheeks, and you hated how you were annoyed with him but felt a weird, compelling force drawing you toward him. Gravity.

Somehow, over the music and voices, you heard him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if he’d made up his mind. Not that you could tell what his decision was from it.

“So,” he looked back up to you, put his free hand in his pocket, and you saw him sway a bit on his feet, “did you come here with someone?”

You rotated your phone in your grasp, the screen now pressed into your left palm, fingers and thumb wrapped around the edges.

“Yeah, just my friend. She ran off with someone earlier.” To do who knows what.

He stepped closer to you, narrowed his eyes a bit like he was trying to remember, see if he knew you. How he wouldn’t know by then-

“What’s your name?” You felt like you were being interrogated, like you weren’t allowed to be there or something. Brows pinched and rose in the middle, imploringly, lips pursed just a bit. Still, you gave it to him, with what you hoped was a normal and not at all suspicious amount of hesitation.

Dude didn’t even have the decency to give his back.

“Do you have her number- your, uh, friend? Like, could you text her to tell her where you are?”

Okay, you were really confused. She already knew where you were-

“You know, if you wanted to leave? With me?” There was an edge of annoyance, like you should’ve known that’s what he was getting at, where all the questions were headed. And maybe you should’ve? You looked off into the middle distance, frustrated and looking for answers. Pressed your fingertips into the bridge of your nose.

“You’re kind of rude. I’m clearly anxious and you come over here and ask me a million questions, and you don’t even give me your name, and aren’t you drunk?”

His face split in a big, toothy grin, filled with way too much mirth and incredulity. Corners of his eyes crinkled up prettily, and despite your glaring you’re charmed by it.

“I’m Kendall,” he says it like its so fucking obvious. How would you not know? Your eyes flickered around again, as if you were searching your brain for actual clues. He stood there, watching, and you felt stupid.

Wait…

“Oh.” He nods his head exaggeratedly at your realization, eyes closed, eyebrows raised again in a superior way that pissed you off but made your stomach flip. It was surprising. Flattering, in a way, that he’d shown interest in you. It wasn’t supposed to be, as if he deigned you, a mere peasant, worthy of his time. (And he probably knew you were one, too, with that heavy appraisal he had given you earlier. Just from the material of your clothes, the way you held yourself.) You tried to put aside the other reasons that it was flattering-that you found him attractive. And charming. Somehow.

“So?”

“You’re drunk,” you reiterated.

Kendall smiled again, like he knew something he shouldn’t. Then, he sighed, through his nose.

“One more question. It’s the last one. Promise,” you gave him the benefit of the doubt, thinking he meant to cross over his heart, but instead he crossed his fingers. Drunk.

“Sure,” the disbelief in your tone was clear.

“Can I at least get your number?”

Surprised again, written all over your face in the way it slackened, eyes widened. You really thought he’d just move on, (and he would, afterwards, for the night.) Blinking it away-unaware of the way his sluggish mind tried to figure out the length of your lashes as you did it-you moved your phone into your back pocket, and held your hand out for his.

“Yeah, sure,” pressed your lips together to stop from smiling bashfully, your mood turning on a dime from the question.

Kendall handed it over-you wondered if he had more than one, if he carried them both? Or all? With him everywhere, and what he used for his business phone, since this was an iPhone-and you entered your number and name into his contacts. He watched as you did it, noted the way you didn’t give yourself a cute little nickname, or use emojis. It’s your full, government name. He also watched the way you went into the notes section, and stop-started several, embarrassing times, on putting in where you both met. The implication-that he’s so drunk he wouldn’t remember-made you reconsider, but the fact that he actually might not had you eventually doing it.

You gave it back with a nervous smile, and his index finger brushed yours as he took it. It was so, so stupid how you had to stop yourself from reacting, like this was Pride & Prejudice or something.

“Well, I’ll… see you around.”

“Uh, yeah,” hopefully.

When Kendall turned from you, you made the decision to find the friend who dragged you here in the first place.

And he, well. He could feel all that weight settled on his shoulders again, on his chest. Seemed like it could pull him through the floor, through all of them, and down into the molten earth where he belonged. Where he’d burst into a cloud of red steam, the pressure finally released.

Until then, a little thought kept him above, like a bobber on the water, half submerged-

You were really easy.

----

It’s dark out; a little late. A chill in the air, a little more than what one would expect for an April night. You’re trying your damnedest to see the top of this building, where he is. Like you would see him looking down, down the length of his nose, and almost all 92 stories of this thing, to your minuscule-insignificant- form at the bottom. The idea makes you tingle all over.

You run the pad of your thumb over the freshly filed-short edge of your nail, the one on your index finger. It wasn’t for him-your irregular, at-home manicure just happened to have… happened, the day before. He messaged today, a few hours ago. At dusk, the shadows long outside your apartment window. Asking you to come over, very nonchalant. Said he hasn’t seen you in a while, which is true. You didn’t get to see him often before, but after his press conference, you were lucky to get even a text. Not that you expected it, thought that he would- or wanted him- to prioritize you. He had kids and a divorce and this legal battle and his family.

No, definitely didn’t feel that pull in your chest, that need to see whatever he felt you deserved to. Cracking him open, like a door pulled apart by a crowbar. When you relaxed, the shards would almost fall right back into place.

Walking through the lobby, up to a desk, (that you found out was for the hotel in the building,) asking where the elevator for the penthouse was, (there were four,) you feel so out of place. Worried that you’re somehow going to put chips or scratches in the marble floor as you move across it. The elevator itself is spacious and luxurious, which you’re thankful for because it’s a long ride. Polished, mirror finish walls, so you can watch yourself anxiously pick at the sleeve of your jacket. Watch the numbers climb as you did, a sleek digital readout above the doors.

You’d heard he was unraveling. Confident and self-assured before, but now he’s backsliding. It made sense; there were awful, shameful, things being said, that hurt his credibility. Some of them by his own sister. (And you felt so fucking ridiculous, because this stuff would come out and you’d cringe, but you still felt bad for him. Remembered that vacant gaze that threatened to suck your very heart from your chest; a black hole.)

A crisp, modern ‘ding!’ and the doors slide open. You knew it would open right into his apartment, but it was still weird. Like you were intruding. You step into it, look down at the dark wood floors-those are definitely actual wood, not the cheap laminate (duh!)-and decide to take off your shoes. Straight off the elevators is a hallway, to the right. It opens up to a massive… living room? That feels insufficient, but you can’t think of the proper word for it.

Everything is cream, gray-blue, pops of dark wood. It’s not as sterile as other places, but it still doesn’t feel much like a home. The room is divided into four: a couple seating areas, a bar. A dining room, hidden by an obnoxiously large fireplace. You find him in on the L-shaped couch. Hunched over a round, glass-top coffee table from his seat on it. (It was clearly dragged closer, rug bunched up beneath it.) A scene from a movie; a rolled bill, a vehicle to bring the coke from the table into his nose. The hand on the opposite side is plugging that nostril, pushing the outside against his septum with his index finger. Kendall audibly sniffs, his brows furrowing a little bit as he does it.

You’re frozen in place. Mesmerized by it, by the way he sits up straight and looks up to the ceiling, savoring however it's making him feel. Intruding- you shouldn’t be here. You’ve come around after the drugs have been done, when he’s already chatty and touchy, pupils eating pretty hazel eyes. But it's on the table, and he cut the lines himself, and he’s wiping away whatever fell to his philtrum with his knuckle. It feels way too intimate, and you feel like you should leave, but another part of you wants to see more.

Kendall’s dragging the proximal section of his index finger under his nose, all of his fingers curling as his hand tilts back, and he looks at you without an ounce of surprise. If anything, he looks at you like you’re doing exactly what he wanted, standing just at the entrance of some room that was too damn big, holding your shoes in one hand, not sure where to put them. You look sweet, like you always do. Unfamiliar with it all, the skyscrapers and the money and the people.

And, of course, the drugs.

If you had to guess, you’d say there’s fourteen feet between you. He doesn’t stand to greet you, and you don’t move, either.

“Hey. How was the, uh, the ride here?” Perfunctory; he asked that every time you met him somewhere, every time he sent a car for you. Sometimes he seemed to care more than others. The words jumped off his tongue, rushed, for him. But it felt more like he was just trying to get it out of the way.

You bring your shoes over to rest in front of your thighs, laying them lengthwise, slipping as many fingers of your right hand into the collars as will fit beside your left. You try not to spend too long studying him, try not to find weird patterns in it all. He’s wearing all black, a thick sweater with the sleeves pulled halfway up his forearms, (lean and spotted with the occasional mole or freckle,) slacks that pull taut over his thighs, and hang perfectly creased from his knees. Dressed dark, like when you first met. Big hands hang loosely between his parted legs, and you make it a point to not linger there, eyes darting back up to his.

“Yeah, it was… okay. Y’know. Pretty normal.”

He’s looking up at you from where he’s still perched on the edge of the couch, the only real giveaway that he’d just done something being the way he taps his finger against the back of the opposite hand. Incessant, maybe a little faster than he meant to. That- as you thought of it, privately, stupid, not at all attractive- pinky ring he wears sometimes feels heavy and cool on his skin.

“So, did I, like, come here too early, or…?”

There’s that smile again, a mischievous little v. A secret.

“No, you, uh, got here right on time, actually.”

Kendall always said some shit that sent you reeling. Something weird. He either thought very hard about what he was going to say, or not at all. You scratch the skin just behind your right ear, leaning your head into it, eyes narrowed as you think.

“O-kay?”

He moves to cut the cocaine into smaller, shorter lines, and you watch, mouth falling open, arm relaxing to allow your hand to curl into a loose fist in front of your throat. The cogs were turning, and you didn’t like how the teeth were fitting together.

“I want you to try this.”

A little tug, not even a full rotation on the handle of the fishing reel.

“The coke?”

Stops dead in his tracks, the heavy, metal card coming to a halt midway through dividing the aforementioned drug. He looks at you like you’re fucking stupid, a nasty habit of his, and you scoff, looking at him like he’s fucking insane.

“Kendall-“ you never call him Ken, not even when you’re being soft with him. You’d never admit to it, but it was deferential. And he’d never admit to it, but it hurt.

“What? I know you want to,” he’s being playful about it, singing the words, like he’s asking you to do something benign, like fucking- Skinny dipping. Smoking weed. Drinking some liquor out of a parents’ cabinet. You try to ignore the almost tactile, magnetic feeling, bringing you toward him. Toward what he’s asking of you. Toward what you sadly want.

“No, you don’t know, actually.”

He rotates slightly to face you better. His eyes are hard. Knowing.

“Yes, I do. Come on. Fucking, get over here and snort this. I wanna see how big your pupils get.”

What?

Butterflies, heat seeping downward, you tuck your bottom lip beneath your teeth. Skimming just beneath the water's surface; trembling with the effort to stay submerged. To say no.

“They’re small lines. It’ll be fine. I promise.”

He promises. You guessed he would know, how much was too much, when to stop. He could be a dick, but he’d never let you get hurt. (Right?) Rationalizing it; just once would be fine. Lots of people did it casually. It might be fun. It could be a bonding experience. You might understand him more. It might impress him. You’re gripping your shoes so tight that the fabric squeaks. Looking everywhere but him, brows furrowed in thought, knowing that the only thing that would sway you is the way he looks.

Fuck. It's painful. It literally hurts. The curiosity is pulling at your chest. Despite yourself, you look to him, like he could give you the answer, (though it really wasn’t a question.) You see the way he’s still watching you, his breathing a little heavy from the way his heart is surely racing, chest rising and falling, pressing against the confines of his shirt just enough to be seen.

It all crumbles. Your resolve, your posture, literally slumping in defeat.

“Fine.”

You move to close the distance, and it feels so much wider than it looked. Kendall looks downright victorious, eyes glittering with pride and excitement. Sitting next to him, placing your shoes on the floor and flexing your hand from its tense hold, and trying not to touch his knee with yours. As if all your thoughts would transfer through diffusion, and he’d jump away. Really know.

Nervously, you wipe your hands on your thighs, attempting to still the shaking. The proximity lets you smell him; a spicy, woodsy cologne, the crispness of his soap, the sweetness of cigarette smoke. Familiar, and sorely missed.

“So, uh-“ a breathless, stunted laugh, “how do I-“

Long fingers reach out to pick up the rolled bill-you see the familiar orange and blue of the 100- holding it delicately as he hands it to you. Looking to him with an anxious little smile, and he gives you a patronizing one back. It’s almost soothing.

“You just hold one end up to your nose,” you lean forward over the table, thick clear glass, that reflects the image of the powder back at you. “Its easier if you plug the other nostril,” he supplies, and you feel kind of stupid for asking him to coach you, cause, like. Who doesn’t know how to do this? Still, he sounds pretty while he does, voice deep, enunciating and hitting the consonants in this really satisfying way. And, unbeknownst to you, he’s getting a very sick feeling of glee talking you through it. Heart hammering against his chest, too excited to see what you’ll do.

“Then you just inhale. Quickly.”

Nodding, trying to look confident, but your hearts going so fast you wonder if any amount would kill you. You bring the hundred up to your right nostril, plug the left, line up- then pull away, sitting up straight. Roll your shoulders back, take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“Okay. Yeah, okay.”

Like jumping straight into the pool to get the shock of the cold over with, you do it. Fast. And then recoil, face scrunching up at the sting, a floral scent leaking through the pain. Kendall claps you on the back, like you’re bros or something, says something to the effect of ‘atta girl,’ but you’re just trying to right yourself. Wondering why your heart is still racing, when you did the thing that scared you.

Duh. Fucking, duh. That’s how it's supposed to feel, dumbass.

In a way similar to what he did earlier, you look at the ceiling, eyes fluttering as they make their way. Not out of appreciation, though. Just trying to feel it. His hand rubs over your upper back in wide swipes, and the touch is searing. You definitely got what you wanted, ‘cause he is impressed. Beaming, eyes all over you, taking in the way you shake, the quickening of your breathing, the way you wet your lips and swallow hard.

Up in the air, dangling on his hook.

You practically toss the money onto the coffee table, needing to get your jacket off. Now. Fastened with big metal buttons that feel like ice against your fingertips. He watches you fumble with them, and without a thought reaches out to help, scoffing, like you fucking asked. Like he doesn’t know the way it cuts through the drugs to almost stop your heart. Your hands just sort of hang in the air as he does it, as you watch him, fingers nimble as they break each button’s hold. Nauseous, self-conscious at your ragged breathing when he makes quick work of the fastenings over your chest, holding your breath so you might not push into him.

“You don’t have to- you don’t have to fucking-“

But you don’t move to stop him, and he grabs the fabric under your bust, bunching it up to lift the hem away from your hips so his hands don’t have to be in the junction of your thighs to undo the last one.

Oh. Okay.

Mercifully, he doesn’t push it off your shoulders, too. You do it yourself, feeling infantilized, letting it pool on the cushion behind you. You realize you still have a sweater on beneath it, an itchy wool mix, and you feel a little flash of anger. Short nails scratch deep through the material on your arm, and you turn a bit to face him better.

“Well? How does it feel?”

It's like everything bubbles to the surface when you see his face up close, the lights catching his eyes in this perfect way that makes the golden brown and flecks of green shine in a thin line around his pupils. Unabashed, your own pupils like saucers, letting in more light, more him. Sweeping over the straight line of his nose, the five o’clock shadow, and where it's darker above his upper lip. Pink lips, (pinker than normal, surely flushed from the drugs,) that look absurdly soft and plush, that you’ve seen stick together just a bit when he goes to speak.

“Uh, it, uh, it feels-“

Those very lips pull upward smugly, and your eyes flit to his, caught. But he doesn’t seem phased, just makes sure you’re still watching, turns his head, and wets the tip of his finger before dipping it in one of the lines, making a little crater in the soft powder. You squeeze your wrist tightly, and try not to think of the way his tongue glistened, how soft it’d feel. Or how firm it could.

Fingers then curl around your chin, pulling down softly, and you hesitate, but offer little resistance as he tugs a little harder, tells you to open your mouth, his voice low and raspy.

His finger slips under your upper lip, the delicate skin catching on it, lifting to reveal your teeth, and presses against the hard ridge of your gums. Warm and slimy beneath the broad, squared pad of his fingertip. Kendall rubs the coke in, tingly numbness left in his wake. You’re looking at each other so intently, his eyes half-lidded as he watches what he’s doing, thick lashes creating a dark band. You lean into his touch, eager for more, for something else, fingers inside other places, wetter and more forgiving.

The air is humid between you as he pulls his finger from your mouth, and you can’t help but look down at it, see the shine of spit. Literally biting your tongue, to stop yourself from asking him to force as many digits into you as he can. He takes in your pensive face, wonders what you’re keeping from him. He has ideas, obviously. Suggestions, even.

"Do you want more?”

Didn’t you just have more? You chew on your lip, take stock of how you feel. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth; you can barely feel your teeth where they dig into soft skin. Everything else is still very much there, the heat and thrum of your heart all over. The anxiety. This itchy need.

And want. Greediness, for him, and more. Just to see. Seeking knowledge.

“Is that… safe?”

One of Kendall’s broad hands rests on your arm, a firm and reassuring press. You look up at him with big, glossy eyes, and he feels his own need that he needs to scratch. The other side of the coin from yours.

“If you do just a, fucking, little bit, then, yeah.”

He drops his hand so he can turn away, towards the coffee table, and you miss his touch and full attention so much you could cry. The credit card clacks against the polished surface, and you lock your fingers to stop from touching him. You wished you had no inhibitions. You wished you could cross the threshold that he had, touch him in ways friends shouldn’t. That’s what this was supposed to be, getting over whatever childish bullshit kept you from honesty. Get it out, get it over with. Maybe the drugs will smooth it over, mixed with water into a paste to fill the cracks.

Kendall cuts bigger lines, and smaller. Thinks of the weight of that, what it means. What he was doing to you. What you were letting him do. A touch, a look, a change in tone. He’d sat at the water's edge, hook beneath the surface. A novice; everyone else’s coolers were full. Plenty of fish to be eaten, but he was about to starve. Weeks since a catch. The sun was low on the horizon, glittering red and orange against the water between the shadows of the trees.

A fish on the end of his line, hungry for the bait. A fight so weak the pole barely bows. Then, he has you, the tiniest, saddest, most-insignificant little thing he’d ever seen.

Gasping and wriggling in his palm. He has all the power, to let you have the water. To eat you.

Learned behaviors.

He inhales a long line for himself, thinking too damn much. Burns throughout his nose and sinuses, but he doesn’t do much to show it, just scrunches his nose, licks along his upper incisors. He feels hot and reckless again, heart racing against his breastbone to propel him forward, into action. Pushes his sleeves back up around his elbows, and you watch, see the way his fingers grip the fabric, the way muscles tense under tanned skin. He unrolls the hundred deftly, folds it over lengthwise to try and stop it rolling back in on itself. Then, he scoops some of the cocaine up in the valley created by the crease. Turns to you again, and you bring your knee up on the couch to face him better. With his left hand he makes a loose fist, thumb resting on top of his index finger, creating a nice flat surface to sprinkle some of the drug onto.

“Here.”

You’re looking at him with those fucking eyes again. He’s almost overcome with jealousy; the boldness of it.

“Um, off your-“

“Uh-huh,” drawn out, a little impatient, wondering why you were acting weird when his finger had just been in your mouth.

No big deal. Totally normal. What was snorting some coke off each other’s hands between friends? You lean down a little, maintaining eye contact to see if he’s joking. Kendall raises his hand a bit to make it easier, thinks thoughts that are only natural when you’re high, and him. The upper ridge of your cupid's bow touches the back of his hand, first, and you jump back, readjusting the angle. He wonders if you’ll reach out and grab his arm, maneuver it down so you can be above a little more, but instead you just sit a little straighter, and he knows then that you aren’t high enough to be fucking honest with him. (Maybe after this you would be.) The hard tip of your nose presses into that delicate skin, right next to where the webbing between his thumb and index finger begins. Like last time, you do it fast; your lips brush his wrist, you don’t get it all.

It hurts worse this time. It's all worse. Your ears ring, your heart beats so fast you wondered if there was any equation in the world that could calculate just how fast. Your hand reaches out to grasp his upper arm, holding on tight in an attempt to bring you back to earth. Eyes squeezed shut, feeling like you can’t breathe for a second before the heavy, panting breaths come. When you’re finally convinced you won’t die, you open your eyes and look at him again. Take him in as a whole, from widow’s peak to slightly dimpled chin. Freckles, shine on his face. Nothing in the way; the wall is gone.

You kiss him so hard your noses crush. It hurts, and you pull away with a huff of laughter before going back in. Hand cradling his jaw, index finger resting over his ear. Rain after a long and humid day; it felt like a release. Relieving to do it, and to know that he wants it, too. Kissing you back just as feverishly, hand sliding along the side of your neck to slip his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull. Gripping tight, pulling your lips from his just long enough for you to gasp in excitement, repositioning you so that he has control. Little puffs of air from your nose against his cheek, while he slips his tongue into your mouth.

Every sensation is intensified, brand new. Sends a fresh bolt of anticipation through you. The taste of his mouth and breath, pulling back just to feel each other’s lips again. Wanting to savor it but wanting to go forward and see more. His nose is tucked into your cheek; he can smell your skin, feel the warmth of your flush. It's messy and sloppy but it feels a little sweet to him, because it's you. An air of tenderness, a care that he did not deserve.

Kendall pulls you by your hair to lay you back on the couch cushions, torso following yours, lips still pressed together, perfect pressure. Legs are pulled up to be level with bodies. One of his thighs slips between yours, and the barest amount of friction makes you sigh. You’re so wet, the muscle of his leg pushes sticky cool fabric against your cunt. You don’t miss how hard he is against your hip, and the further confirmation of reciprocation makes you feel weak, makes your heart flutter even more. Somehow.

It feels too cute. Too virginal- innocent. Like the heavy breathing and hurried pulses are from nerves, from inexperience. You feel empty. You want everything he can possibly give you. You want him to take his shirt off so you can see the chest that will sometimes strain against buttons on crisp white dress shirts; you want him to keep it on so it feels even more hurried. You want him to touch your clit, with his fingers or his tongue or his fucking nose. You want him to slap you, your face, your pussy. You want him to say something so fucking mean it makes you cry.

He slips a hand under your sweater, presses against the soft skin of your stomach just enough for it to dimple. It's hot; he can feel your pulse against his palm, rapid and hard. The little gap created by his wrist lets cool air in, and it feels so fucking good. You arch your back just enough to push against his hand, pulling your hand away so you can grab his. Kendall’s eyebrows raise in surprise as your fingers dig into his wrist, as you use the grip to rotate his hand and push his fingertips below the waist of your jeans.

And he doesn’t move. Let’s it rest, pulls his head back so he can look down at you with a restrained smile. That was audacious, honest, real.

“Kendall, fucking-“

He applies pressure to that sensitive portion of lower stomach, letting his closed-mouth grin spread across his face. Playful; Duchenne. Boyish.

“Come on. Please?”

Using both hands to unbutton, unzip, just to be faster. Because, despite the teasing, he really did want you wrapped around him. Wondered just how wet you’d be, how tight you’d be, how soft. Once his hand is beneath the soft fabric (not expensive or lacy or mesh; he’s kind of shocked at the idea that you didn’t wear anything special on the off chance something might happen,) he doesn’t mess around. Sinks his middle finger between your lips to press against your clit.

There isn’t much room, between his thigh and the jeans, so you scoot away a bit, part your legs to make some. His hand follows, uses the spread to press his index and ring fingers into your vulva on either side of his middle finger. Swirls them; they glide so easily you feel a little pang of embarrassment. It’s already so much, senses heightened. Feels like he’d been doing it for a while, halfway there. He presses harder, and you let out a startled little moan.

Then, he’s slipping lower. His inclination is to tease, to dip his fingertip in and see how you react. But he sees the way you’re getting so excited at just the prospect, lip bitten white, eyes looking down to see whatever you can of his hand in your pants, willing him to do it. So, he does. Two fingers, all at once, until his knuckles are flush with your skin. You make a shocked sound, like a scoff, wiggling your hips at the stretch. He seeks out, and finds too fast, that rough spot inside you. Curls his fingers and presses deep against it, so precise that your knees wobble, you groan.

He starts to fuck you with them, slow but rough. Exacting. Your head tips back; it’s perfect. You wanted this so bad, for so long. Thought about it all the time. Stared at his hands and studied the width of his fingers and tried to imagine just how much it’d ache.

“I still can’t believe you actually fucking did that.”

Dragging your eyes up to his, trying not to think of the fact that the oft-mentioned coil is already beginning to tighten.

Right. The coke.

Another breathless chuckle. Anxiety surges in your chest. He sees it- quickens his pace to make your eyes flutter.

“Um, well-“

“But you would do anything I told you to.”

It was like you were trying to hide behind a piece of straw. Of fucking course he could see you, see through you. He pressed a little and you gave. He pulled, and you followed, on a leash. Anything, he could say anything and you’d do it. Let him fuck your face. Polish his shoes with your tongue. See how long you could hold your breath underwater, (because he’s holding you there.) If he gave an ounce of affection in return, that’s all you would need. This, well this was almost too generous.

Slower now, more sensual, long drags against your g-spot that made you whimper. You kinda hope his sleeve will fall down his arm, and rub your pubic mound raw.

“Is it too much?” It’s not sweet by any means. Either way, he plans on giving more.

“N-no. It’s-“ He doesn’t even let you finish, just starts fingering you almost viciously, digits hooking over and over to pull and pull it out of you. Kendall couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to make someone cum this much. He thought that, maybe, if he gave you something, if he gave you a few things, it’d make up for all the taking.

“God.”

You’re so close- he can tell. Your hips jump up to try and meet his fingers, and he has to pin them down so he can be more precise. It practically makes you melt- the manhandling. Every ounce of heat, all the buzzing, itching want, pooled in one spot, ready to pop. Quick bursts of moans, every exhale, thighs shaking and hands grasping. At his shoulder, feeling the flex of his trapezius as he holds you down.

You get so tense you forget the need for air, big pauses between these tiny breaths.

“Breathe,” honey? Baby? Girl? Just a little something, to bridge the gap.

He sounds strained, like he’s fighting against you. It tightens more, impossibly. Then finally, finally, clamps down and holds, and as it lets go-

“Fuck!”

Slides into pulsing, almost gripping so tight he can’t move his fingers. Frantic breaths, patchy moans. Kendall feels you soften further around his digits, thinks about how perfect you’d feel around his cock. And Christ, do you want it. You hadn’t even fully come down from your orgasm before you were thinking of the next, of cumming around something more substantial. It’d be so easy, too- always so quick to after the first one, and even quicker after the next. A dam breaking. Raining harder.

His fingers slip from you, watery strings of wetness between them. And before you can tell him not to, tell him to wipe it on you so it could be dirty and messy and dry down flaky on your skin, he’s sucking it off them. Inhaling deeply. Groaning a little. Really enjoying it. It makes your mouth water; it makes you want to reciprocate. Some other time, hopefully.

You sit up a bit, reach forward and grab the waistband of his slacks, pulling him forward. They feel crisp and starched (do they starch them?) He almost wants to stop you. Is this too far? Is this unfair? You were both high, but there was a clear imbalance here. And he was afraid, that if they kept going, he might lean into it. He’s sat up on his knees above you, and you straighten further, slipping your fingers deeper into his pants to get a better grip on them, nails smooth and scorching against his skin. They slide to meet in the center, grab the flaps of the fly, and you look up at him through your lashes. Eyes dark. Demanding.

“Fuck me?”

Looking down his nose, a strange mix of emotions. You’re too good for him; he shouldn’t even be bothering with you. He knows what you want, and he always has. Pushing each other, but he does a little harder and you fall back. Scramble to be at his feet, and stay there. It feels good to do it. To see a flash of hurt across your face, and the knowledge that your blood runs hot from it is incidental.

He grabs your face, pinky ring digging into the ridge of your jaw, unforgiving. His index finger and thumb press deep into your cheeks; he can feel the upward sweep of your cheekbones. His palm squishes your lips back against your teeth. Your eyelids droop a bit, savoring the pressure. Slowly, you work the button through the hole, testing him.

Kendall slaps you. Really fucking hard. No build-up to it or anything. It’s loud, the metal on his finger feels like it burst blood vessels. He kept his fingers spread a bit, messily, for extra coverage. A thick thumb hits your nose so hard your septum aches. He follows through, too, doesn’t let his hand bounce back once it makes contact. It's a miracle you don't moan.

Just as you’re about turn your head to face him again, working your jaw, his fingers are digging into your cheeks again, so much rougher than last time. Pushing your head back, eliciting a pained noise from you.

“Lay back, if you want me so fucking bad.”

He shoves so hard your neck hurts from the force. You blink up at him, but do as he says, hands pulling away and moving to the place where the cushions meet, tucking your fingers in nervously.

“No,” grabbing a wrist roughly, jerking upward. Awash with shame, hurting for the pride you inspired in him earlier.

“Take your pants off.”

Nodding hurriedly, hands shaking and unstable like they were before. But this time he doesn’t help, backs off the couch so he can do the same. He can feel your eyes all over him; you wanted to do it, but he looks pretty doing it himself. Trying to take it all in, in case this was it. A drug-fueled fuck. You’re distracted, going slow, and he glances your way reproachfully, from where his head is tucked down to watch himself. So, you rush, finally getting the zipper down, hooking your thumbs beneath everything, jeans and underwear. Pushing it down your thighs, watching as he does the same, takes himself into his hand.

You could die. You could burst into flames right then and would be no hotter. Surface of the sun; lightning, even. Paradoxically, you’re frozen, fabric around your knees. Your mouth hung open slightly as he strokes himself a couple times. Remembering the shitty estimates of the size of his hands, and trying to figure out how big he is. Not huge; he didn’t look impossible. But it’d be tight.

The utter lack you felt, (inside, physically,) had you returning to the task at hand, even more eager. Pushing your clothes off your feet, tossing them maybe a little dramatically. Kendall is stepping out of his own to move toward you, and he does hear where the fabric hits the floor a little too far away. And it softens him a little, endears you to him, hurts his heart knowing that you want him that bad. (He, also, feels a little cocky about it.)

Part of him wants to take his time, get a good look at you. Use his fingers to spread you, see parts of you he knows you never thought he would. It was only a matter of time. Galaxies on a collision course; irrevocable changes. Parts of you sent careening into outer space. Was there anyone in the andromeda galaxy to know it would happen? He barely even has to nudge your legs apart, hand just sort of resting atop your thigh as you do it yourself.

He leans over you, and yeah, it’s on a couch, and there are stimulants coursing through both of your veins, but it’s missionary. It’s too intimate, you’re looking up at him with so much want and affection, as if you can’t see what’s wrong with him. That he’s an addict, a fuck-up. That he hurts everyone around him. That he killed someone. He was so sure, that anyone could look into his eyes and read his thoughts and know.

Things keep moving, despite it. He reaches down with a hand to line himself up. He can’t see, but his head just happens to press against your clit in a way that makes you jump. You feel like you’re too excited, and it was probably a mixture of the coke and months of nursing a pathetic crush on him. So hurt by his cruelty, but so enamored with his praise.

Finally, he’s pressing into you, and the stretch makes you whimper, makes your legs part further, hands moving to clutch at his sides. (And your hands are met with fabric, again, and you feel that same anger go through you, slipping away just as fast as it had come on.) His hand rests at the juncture of your hip and thigh, gripping tight, trying to steady himself because it’s always a lot when you’re high like this.

Hips meet, and your head falls back at the feeling, letting out a groan of relief. His lower stomach presses against your clit in a way that makes your skin buzz. You can feel him in your chest; it almost makes you anxious. It’s so much. You open your eyes up to look at him, and his lips are flattened together slightly, he’s almost glaring at you. It feels like your heart is inflating in your chest. He sees you capitulating and it pisses him off.

His hand presses against your sternum to push you further into the couch. Uses his other hand to tilt your hips up, gets up on his knees to rest your ass against the tops of his thighs. No preamble, no easing into it. A rough, unrelenting pace, that has you wincing and gasping in surprise.

The noises you make are almost shameful. Choked sounds of impact, moaning like you’ve been deprived of it for years. You’ll keep realizing what you’re doing, and biting your lip to stifle some of them. You look up to him and see the way his face is pinched in concentration, his eyes watching where your hips meet, the way his mouth will fall open and his brows will wobble like he’s restraining himself, and you feel the need to, too. Clapping your hand over your mouth, hurried breaths making noise over your fingers. And it kind of does it for you. Makes it feel wrong. (As if it wasn’t already.)

Kendall glances up to see you doing it, and he gets a fistful of hair at the scalp, pulls so hard you yelp.

“You were so fucking desperate, and now you’re, what? Embarrassed?”

Your hand is gripping the back of the couch. You want to touch him to appease him, but feel like you aren’t allowed.

“No, I-“ You really are trying to sound serious, but it just sounds breathless and needy.

“Not getting what you want? Am I not being mean enough for you?”

God. You really were transparent. Glass, with all your thoughts printed out in neat script and pressed between the panes. Him knowing hurt; him indulging it made you want him forever.

“N-no.”

He’s stunned, honestly. That you would want more. Less, so, that he did too. Wanted to see how far until you’d break. If you even would. What all you would give to him. His hand slides up your chest, wraps around your throat, and you sigh like it’s perfect. Your knees shake and you clench around him. He makes his own muffled sound, lets out a huff of air, and it makes you ache for him.

“Why do you want me so bad, huh? Is it the money? Need someone powerful to put you in your place?”

So heavy. A whirlwind of emotions; you want to kiss him, you want to tell him he’s so pretty and perceptive and smart, but he’s wrong. That he’s everything. You don’t want him to stop.

“Kendall-“

“You’d let me do anything,” like you needed reminded, “let me drag you down, let me ruin your life. Because you’re so fucking needy.”

Jesus. You wanted to look away; he was right, being proven so every second. Because you were right there, shaking and electric and scorched. It was wrong. He needed you, and you were being selfish. Taking.

“Please?”

Jam-packed with so much emotion it filled him, made him sick with it. Needing him to be nicer to himself, but meaner to you. Like that made any fucking sense. He needs you to cum, to see, to give it to you. The world served up on a platter, if he could get it off his fucking back.

Your lips are already parted, so it’s easy enough for him to slip his fingers inside, press your tongue down. It’s the hand that was in you earlier, and there’s still a lingering taste of yourself, of his spit, the salt of his skin. You do reach out to touch him, then, hand slipping underneath the hem of his sweater. Fingers resting in the groove of his spine. His skin is so soft, hot. Maybe you’re asking too much. Maybe you’re hurting him. He had rubbed your back earlier, in this casual way, like it was nothing. He probably didn’t have some stupid epiphany, then, like you were now. Didn’t feel the life thrumming in your body, and realize that you were just a person.

He spits in your mouth, so disdainfully, and it’s almost tragic how fast you come apart. Clenching over him, so tight he can’t help but groan, (which makes it more intense, makes it all so much worse,) fingers digging into his back, crying out with each wave. Feeling the electricity spark along your nerves.

And as it goes, it feels like something’s pulling behind your ribs. Tugging on your heart, or poking at a bubble, trying to puncture it. Behind your closed eyelids, your eyes sting. Your throat feels tight. He pulls his fingers from your mouth just as it pops, too much. Every sense too alive, brain too wired, emotions too high. Tears slip over your cheeks, your lip wobbles as you let out this pathetic noise, mouth now closed to try and muffle it.

Kendall sees it. There’s no mistaking the way your face falls. He rests his hand on your cheek, goes to stop, and you huff wetly.

“Don’t.”

It was petulant. Okay? He complies, regains a steady, (but slower,) pace.

You slump into the couch. Liquefying, pooling into the creases of the fabric, slipping between the cushions, dripping onto the floor. Still so sensitive, crying out like you’re right there again, but softer, milder. He’s not sure what to think. He finds you so pretty like this it’s unbearable. The beginnings of a bruise along your jaw, from his ring. Lashes stuck together and glossy. Skin flushed. Pink and wet. So pliant. Completely vulnerable.

And honest. Giving him everything.

“I love you,” painfully heartfelt.

Water over him. God. He didn’t deserve it. He should have to die of thirst. Of hunger. In the desert, vultures circling overhead. Should’ve never been able to sit down by the water and wait.

Your hands are on him, cradling his face, pulling him down to kiss you. It should be slow, it should be tender and gentle. But he won’t let it be. Like you were, earlier. Forceful, desperate. As if, if he pulled away, took a breath, you’d rescind. You’d take it all back. Selfish. If you were going to give it to him, he wanted it all.

Now he’s losing his composure. Brow crumpled, moaning behind his lips. Slipping his hand beneath that stupid shitty cheap sweater to work its way under your (stupid, shitty, cheap,) bra, to feel your pebbled nipple, to see how soft the skin of your breast was. You jolt and arch into the touch, and he bites your lip. He’s getting close; he kind of wants you to cum again. It’d probably be easy, it doesn’t seem like you ever went back down to the base of the hill. Moves his hand down to find your clit so swollen, and you jump at that, too, trying to clutch at the short hair on the back of his head. You cried from the last one and he’s still giving you more.

Kendall’s right. It doesn’t take much, he could probably (probably,) count on both hands how many times he circled his fingers before you were falling again. So sweet, fingers slipping down the back of his neck, molding to him, yielding. You look up to him with so much heat in your eyes it burns. It could go on forever.

It can’t, really. It really is a lot. He looks down where his hips press to yours again. Sees himself disappear; sees you take him. A hand finds your waist, trying to steady himself. You still want him so badly. It’s like each time you see him is the first. He’s shaking; you’re flattered. Grinning like an idiot, and hoping he doesn’t notice. Watching the way his chest heaves, the way his bottom lip hangs to reveal his teeth. Eyes closed, hips going slower like he really wants it to last. You can’t help but tighten around him at the sight, and he gasps, spits out a startled ‘fuck,’ before he’s pulling you down over him, fucking you so harshly you’re stunned.

“Jesus,” it comes out of you so shakily, you almost laugh.

Clutching the armrest behind you, riding it out. Eyes glued to him cause you just have to see. His scrape over you, taking in every inch of you, too, the way you’re still breathing heavily. Can hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears, the way you’re still making eager, hurried sounds. Your eyes meet and his immediately fall closed. Finished. The heel of his hand presses into your lower ribs. Black sleeves have fallen down his arms, and you miss the sight of all his scattered moles. Slow again, moaning softly, and you’re practically giddy that he’s doing it. His hips stutter, press against yours in ways that make you see stars. And then, he stops.

“God. Fuck.” Weak, low, broken. He feels light-headed, all the air from his lungs.

It’s bittersweet. He lays his head on your chest and almost forgets. What he’s done, what he did to you. Drugs, dragging people down. Metaphorically. Literally. He doesn’t say a word, lies there motionless. Listens to your heartbeat, slower than it was before. Studies the fibers in the couch. He can’t say it back. He wants to so badly and he can’t.

You can feel it. The mood shift. It’s a mix for you, too. You know that what Kendall did was wrong. But, you feel fulfilled. (Encompassed; eaten.) You kind of don’t regret it. Know you should, at least the cocaine, but you don’t. It was fun. You did bond with him. Understanding him, though? Another good yank, almost making a hole in the door. (In a house, engulfed in flames; you’re trying to get a door open to go deeper.)

“That was, uh. That was a lot,” it’s a little playful, but he doesn’t laugh.

“Uh-huh.”

Muffled. You can hear how his cheek is pressed against your clothes. It hurts and warms your heart all at once.

“I think the coke was too much.”

“Mhmm.”

It’s not dismissive. Just distant. He almost sounds sleepy, if you didn’t know any better. You run your fingers through his hair, and he can hear the way your heart races a little at it. He huffs through his nose, the corners of his lips turn up a bit, just enough for him to feel.

You press your lips to the top of his head, not kissing, just resting there. Breathe deeply, smell the powdery, masculine scent of his hair product.

“I’m not naïve, you know.”

He tenses, not sure what you’re getting at.

“You don’t have to tell me everything, but I do want to help you.”

Murmured into his hair- he feels your breath against his scalp. He wants to melt. Downward, swallowed into the earth, every part of him recycled.

“I don’t think you can.”

Beneath them was an art structure, 150 feet tall, closed from the public because too many people jumped off of it. Sometimes, Kendall would stand in the elevator, on the way up to his penthouse, and think that someone should close that off, too.

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

a/n: and here is chapter 2. there was a lot of fun that went into writing this chapter and it’s great to finally have it out to be read. enjoy any references you can spot because i had fun inserting them. we are all the reader and we are clearly on our willow park vibe. i was late to add it to the masterlist but irnbtv can also be read on AO3.

Taglist (send an ask to be added or removed); @etherisy, @crowbird​, @junephantom21​, @tanspostsblog​, @yaesflorist​, @d4y-dr3am3r​, @liesatemyocean, @masayanausuario, @xiaorby001​, @ghostlysyntaxed​, @personified-smol​, @jasontoddisfantastical​, @kurawooooooo, @yuii-v​, @joeyxsnow​, @levisbebe, @lemonlimesocks​, @celestialsiren​ , @ainescribe​,

Bold couldn’t be tagged.

chapter ii; finding your roots masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Dear Master Diluc,

Fuck offー

Dear Master Diluc,

We get on like water and oil; that is to say, Pyro and Dendro. Fire and Plants. You clearly represent the fire. Which, if you ever took the time of day to get to know me you’d know I fuckingー

Dear Master Diluc, 

What if we just broke off the engagement? 

No one would blame you for it. After all, to everyone else I’m just the Mad Dog of the [Surname] Duchy and a Crazy Bitch. I don’t want to just pull the misogyny card out all willy nilly but this world finds fault in a woman even if she isn’t 100% to blame in a relationship falling apart. Because I’m not.

You failed this relationship by willfully leading me on like I’m some sort of dog that you can give the carrot and stick treatment and I am tired ofー

Dear Master Diluc,

How else can I say it? 

You’re being let go. 

Your department’s being downsized. 

You’re part of an outplacement. 

We’re going in a different direction. 

I’m not picking up your optionー

Dear Master Diluc,

While it would be best to say this in person, I feel like it would be best done through the written word. 

Simply put, I don’t love you anymore. 

Firstly, you do not love me. You weren’t obligated to return any feelings I had for you and I do apologize if my actions ever made you uncomfortable. But it would have been easier discerning you only considered our engagement a political one and had no love for me you two-timing, ginger piece ofー

Okay. Me. I know we hate him, but we need to do this in a way that won’t get me killed afterwards. You had no clue if it was possible for Diluc to kill you directly in Hard Mode; you never made it that far, unfortunately. Still, it wasn’t worth the risk when his favorability was at -10% to start with. Even if he didn’t attack you directly, some sort of ridiculous event could transpire with you dying in the process whether by fork or broken neck. And we can’t mention him cheating, he hasn’t done it. Yet.

You grimaced, looking at your most recent attempts at trying to script a sound and reasonable breakup letter.

To the compost they went.

You had plenty of time to come up with something more amicable before you officially split from the main cast of Seraphim’s characters. As it turned out, avoiding them was quite easy when you were at rock bottom status and most didn’t want to invite you to social affairs because of it.

You always found it strange how the parents of characters such as these rarely cared about the things that went on in their lives but you were thankful the negligent parent trope applied even now. As long as you didn’t do anything too outrageous, the Duke saw it fit to leave you be. So you had wasted no time in shopping after the idea struck you that you were in serious need of test supplies.

Now it had been nearly a month since the luncheon and things were going well all things considered. Perhaps too well, hence why you didn’t let yourself rest completely. For the time being, avoiding the main cast was your priority. Even if you weren’t fearfully fighting for your life because of Hard Mode, you read plenty of villainess manhwa to know where things would go if you interacted with them.

All I’d do is accidentally seduce someone and end up in a harem a la Catarina Claes, you reasonably concluded your first night of constructing a plan to leave the kingdom. Therefore, like Zombieland’s Columbus, you had your own internalized set of rules for surviving the situation you landed yourself in.

No writing things down. Carnelia Easter thought she was safe because she was writing in Korean but then that hot evil dude decoded everything and figured out how she knew everything that was happening.

Speaking of Carnelia, I don’t know what type of villainess isekai trope I’m in so avoid the love interests and if they can’t be, be as platonic as possible. This’ll either go the usual accidental harem route or in the Carnelia route of everything I do being seen as shitty and evil for the longest and ending up in me dying because of misunderstandings. I should probably avoid banging anyone in the first place even if they aren’t a love interest. It’s giving ‘Fantasy Game set in the Slut Shaming Era’ in Teyvat.

No rescuing any beggars or injured animals. That trope is as plain as day and old as hell. They always end up being some hot dude with way more baggage than originally intended when the protag first brings them in.

If I somehow end up being a lucky Raeliana where some really high level priest wants to adopt me and take me away on a pilgrimage, take it. It’ll get me out of here faster, but… knowing my luck that definitely isn’t going to happen.

In the case of this being a situation where Lumine is some other reincarnated girl from my world who isn’t a girl’s girl, forget any plan I already have set in motion and abandon ship immediately. It will not be worth any trouble I get. She can have whatever love interest she is obsessed with and I’ll gladly skedaddle.

In the case I catch feelings for someone or the horny gets too strong, I guess it’s fine later down the line if I do end up meeting a nice person. Just as long as it isn’t a love interest. And after I’ve left this place. Fucking hell, where’s MY Caesar? Not the Villainess Divorce Caesar, the one that dies in JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure. Rest in Peace, my hunky beloved.

Excessive as they were, you knew these rules would keep you alive and on track. If only this was something like, I Reincarnated into the Heroine of My Favorite Otome Game and Seduced the Villainess. [First] I would have treated you right. With a sigh you stood up; you wasted enough of your paper trying to write a breakup letter and imagining being Lumine wouldn’t help your progress. Back to work I go.

The staff either thought you lost your mind or that perhaps you were returning to ‘your’ commoner roots, either way field cultivation was where you decided to direct the bulk of your attention.

Field one was for testing the extent of amplifying growth with Dendro.

Field two was for testing how long you could keep plants alive with Dendro.

Then there was field three, the Dendro-less control group.

Wherever you went, if you were going to make use of your newfound abilities to support yourself, you needed to know what all you could do. After all, you had plenty of questions and your endless supply of knowledge on Light and Abyssal magic from Normal Mode wasn’t going to help you answer them.

Maybe I should go to the Akademiya. The various books Lumine found in Normal Mode always proved themselves useful in the hidden gems Seraphim had to offer. Her research had always been geared towards her own magic, however, so most of the in-game books you read had to do with the topic. And I should really get some fertilizer for field three… Maybe I can get some at Pardis Dhyai? I could always go there to get herbs for potions but there’s bound to be other things there to purchase too.

But for now, the progress you were making was something to be satisfied with. Or maybe it wasn’t. You couldn’t find yourself caring considering you still had this high for the past month. I can do magic! 

A large portion of you is sure that any of the magic types of Seraphim would have been satisfactory for you.

Geo would have meant you were an earthbender like Toph.

You remembered your moody teenage days of being annoyed by the constant loop of Let It Go but it was too easy to imagine yourself belting out the lyrics and attempting to see if you could make icy-themed outfits like Elsa if you could use Cryo.

And the idea of literal lightning being at the beck and call of your fingertips gave you a power surge that made you shudder with cackles.

Yet there was something wholly satisfying with Dendro being the magic your transmigrated self was stuck with.

Lumine described Light magic like a warmth in her chest. A faint glow that became blinding light behind her eyelids until it burst forth. That light was pure and feathery, an energy silky to the touch.

For you, Dendro felt like life itself. Behind your eyelids was a forest of tall trees and grass unkempt but beautiful and your fingertips felt like blooms were sprouting from them. 

The easiest thing to make, you found, were leaves and grass. It was practically Dendro 101. A quick wave of your hand and a spray of leaves would strike in the direction you aimed in. When you first began experimenting with field one, you found that weeds seem to grow faster than your seeds did.

Specific plants required more specific mana instructions.

Roses felt like they were cloaked in perfume, earthy elegance exuding from them in waves.

Dandelions depended on the stage of life they were in; the flowers felt like they peppered your hands with its energy. Meanwhile seedheads felt light and wispy, ready to drift at a moment's notice.

Sunflowers were like the sun, bursting with inexplicable warmth. A humble leader.

Fruits were sweet and fluid, flexible in a way you couldn’t explain. Vegetables had a similar nuance, but the sweet was lacking.

You chalked these discoveries as simply needing to gather as much information as you could before you left. Yet not even you could deny that these discoveries were more so dependent on the child-like glee you had at the fact you were, in your own right, a mixture of Cornelia Hale, Winx Club’s Flora, Shiemi Moriyama and Willow Park. Oh my gosh this is so cool! Sorry Haylin, Sorry Irma, I’m all Team Plant right now.

You were giggling as you weeded your fields for your compost.

This magical stupid hierarchy doesn’t know what it’s talking about, you look at your work proudly. This is way cooler than anything else I could have been given. (You ignored the minute part of you that wanted to debate how this thought would have been the same regardless of your element.)

You wouldn’t let yourself get too distracted by magical antics; you still had many questions that needed to be answered.

The amplification of growth was easy enough once you began realizing the patterns. As for testing the durability your magic gave plants, that was still a work-in-progress. 

You look at your second field with your lips pursed. It was hard to tell if your magic was actually doing anything. So I definitely need to ask someone about that if I can’t get any direct answers from the books. You considered asking Alhaitham himself before pushing that idea aside entirely. Alhaitham isn’t even an Amurta researcher though, pretty sure he is in Haravatat. As such, he confided in Lumine that his magic didn’t serve any use for him in terms of research and was more so a benefit in physical altercations. And I should just avoid the Love Interests for now unless I actually have to interact with them.

It doesn’t help that you don’t think Alhaitham would enjoy talking to you in the slightest anyway. And I forgot that he’s a total recluse, he never shows up to things if he can avoid it. You glance to your third field, recalling your need for fertilizer. 

Tighnari would be safe to ask then, I think. 

He wasn’t a Love Interest, nor was he someone who had been exposed to the deplorable reputation you were the proud owner of.

You stood up, dusting your dirt-covered gloves on your trousers. A trip scheduled to Pardis Dhyai was just the thing then.

next chapter; ? masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

[seal-writes-stuff]

is

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: graphic violence, kidnapping, one mention of frequent hospital visits, vague allusions to The Victory Project and everything that comes with it, Trauma

Summary: Alice Warren is a lot of things and you happen to love every single one. After she mysteriously disappears one day, it’s the only thing that keeps your rage and fear laser-focused.

A/N: Dear followers, today I offer you headcanons that nobody requested with a weird poetry vibe. Tomorrow? Who knows. Also I might’ve taken some liberties with how the simulation works, but hey. Hope you enjoy!

Alice is compassionate.

The first time you meet her, you aren’t looking for it – you aren’t looking for anything at all. Weeks after weeks of hospital visits have exhausted you completely, worn you down to the bone. You’re sitting in a cheap plastic chair in a long, bright corridor, not a single thought in your head; all you want is just to curl up in your bed and sleep for fifty years straight. Maybe you’d still wake up tired.

That’s when you hear her sweet, concerned voice, asking you if you’re okay.

You’d assume a surgeon working a long shift wouldn’t be the one to chat, but surprisingly, you’d be wrong. She really wants to know if something’s the matter. People rarely come here for some happy reasons, she tells you. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay.

You cry in her arms for what feels like hours – in the arms of a complete stranger who keeps reassuring you, never once noticing how you stain her work clothes with tears.

Alice is a good friend.

It’s been a few months. You can’t remember the time when she wasn’t your friend, can’t imagine a life that wouldn’t include her. You meet as often as you can, talking about nothing and everything, sharing the things you wouldn’t share with anyone else. It’s like you’re on the same wavelength all the time; you simply get each other.

You keep reminding Alice that she doesn’t have to see you every other day. After all, it’s hard to imagine a job more demanding than hers – you’d understand. And every time Alice tells you that it’s fine. That she loves what she does and she loves spending time with you.

“I’d go crazy sitting at home all day,” she laughs.

Alice is loveable.

You collect the moments you share like you’d collect rare flowers, saving them between the book pages for later. Alice pulling you in a dance in her living room, giggling as you end it with a twirl. Alice showing you her new sundress, asking for your opinion about it with casual intimacy. Alice clinking glasses with you, stars in her eyes.

You think your friend is beautiful. You don’t allow your thoughts to go further than that.

Alice is valuable.

The last time you see her, Alice is venting about her boyfriend – all valid things, you must say, you’d be venting too. Your advice to dump him becomes less and less humorous every time you repeat it. Anyone can fall on hard times - not everyone turns into an entitled leech over that. She tells you it’s okay. Deep down he’s a really good guy, and fights happen. That’s just a part of life.

You think that “deep down” must be quite deep indeed, but you don’t voice it. She clearly loves him, and if she chooses to give him that love then he must deserve it on some level. Either way, it’s not for you to decide.

That night, Alice is wearing her favorite skirt and a big striped sweater. A description burned into your mind as you have to repeat it over and over later.

Alice is gone.

It happens overnight – nobody knows where she went and nobody knows what might’ve happened.

No, she didn’t have any enemies.

No, she wasn’t acting any differently than she normally would.

No. Yes. No. Thank you, that means a lot.

You put up posters with her face every day and cry yourself to sleep every night.

Her boyfriend is standoffish. He’s never liked you and sees no need to pretend otherwise now. You’ve always hated him, didn’t you? You never believed in him. All you wanted is to see them, true star-crossed lovers, apart.

Time and time again, you try to mend that bridge just so you can have the hope of ever finding your friend, but her boyfriend isn’t having any of that. You chalk it up to his wounded pride at first, never denying him the right to resent you. Yet something bothers you about it nevertheless.

Something is off. That’s all you can say and that’s all that you really need

Alice is nearby.

It takes time. It takes effort. It takes an ungodly amount of unimaginably awful podcasts, but you finally get the full picture. It’s terrifying, it’s impossible and it doesn’t make any sense, but it’s the only option.

After a few days of rehearsing the whole things in your head, you follow Jack – you’ve finally managed to learn his name – to what used to be his and Alice’s shared apartment. For someone trying to conceal a brand new human right violation, this man is incredibly careless. He’s so assured in his invincibility that he doesn’t even bother with varying his routes.

You know what you’re doing is illegal, but it doesn’t matter at this point. Doubt is a luxury you can’t afford, not anymore. The law has failed Alice and her boyfriend has failed her too; you aren’t about to do the same.

The door has three locks, yet they’re so shitty that you manage to bypass them all with a few tweaks here and there – you’re lucky today. Jack must’ve gotten sloppier with time. Or maybe he never cared in the first place. Who knows.

Doesn’t matter.

You pass through the hallway and enter the bedroom.

Alice

is

right

there.

It’s a first time you’re seeing the device in action and, for a moment, you forget how to breathe. Gasping, you will yourself to look away from her, from what this despicable stain on humanity has done to her, and stare at Jack instead. He hasn’t entered the simulation yet, but he’s about to do it.

For just a moment, he stares back with fear and confusion in his eyes, and that gives you more than enough time to lunge for his throat.

You fly into a blind rage – one that you’ve never felt before and will never feel after. He tries to fight back, tries to crawl away, tries to plead, cry, scream; you can’t hear any of that. It’s all just noise, buzz in the air. You tear into his flesh with your bare hands, pulling it apart like a rabid animal. His hair is a perfect length to be wrapped around your fist.

You drive him face-first into the floor a few times before his body goes limp. You then do it some more.

You haven’t fought anyone since kindergarten.

You sit up and press your back to the bed frame, gasping for air. Your face burns and you can taste the metal – he must’ve landed some blows. Could be better, could be worse. You’ll live.

Alice.

With the shaking hands, you – gently, ever so gently – you take off her bounds and tie Jack up, just for good measure. It’s okay. They aren’t a part of the device anyway, not really. Those things that keep her eyes open, however, sure are.

What would happen if you just took them off? Would it hurt Alice? Would she survive? Would it cause some type of horrible, irreparable damage to her you can’t even imagine right now? You don’t know. Frank was careful to keep the details away from the general public – the only thing he, unfortunately, was kind of right about. His followers never questioned the inner workings of it all either.

So no way out but through.

Without hesitation, you put the second pair of these nightmarish goggles on, you stare at the changing pattern on the ceiling, you feel your mind go numb. It suddenly occurs to you that, as much as you’ve planned ahead, you really have no idea what you’re doing right now. You aren’t even sure if you’ll keep your memories or come out of this alive.

But there’s no point in wondering. Knowing the answers wouldn’t change anything. You’d try to save her anyway.

“Alice!”

She stands in the middle of a little-too-clean vintage living room, eyes wide, staring at you in numb horror. You realize that you must still be covered in blood – or maybe you aren’t, you’re so agitated that there’s no way to tell. Maybe you look perfectly normal right now. Maybe she’s simply scared of you because you’re a stranger in her perfect house, a stranger who snatched her perfect husband away.

You’ve thought that your tears have dried out completely months ago. For the first time tonight, you’re proven wrong.

“Do you… Remember me?” you ask in a shaking voice, stepping closer carefully. Alice is frozen in place, a weirdly vacant expression on her face. “Do you remember me at all?”

No response. You have no way of knowing what she’s thinking about, but at least she’s there. You’re grasping at straws, trying to come up with something, anything to say. Something that would convince her to let you help.

“Let’s get out of there. Please,” you plead. “If- When we get out of there, you won’t have to speak to me ever again. But please, let’s just-”

You don’t get to finish. Alice wraps you in a tight hug and you start sobbing into the crook her neck.

In a minute you’ll find out that Alice knows a way out – she’s had her own investigation while you had yours. In two minutes you’ll find out that at least one other woman here knows what’s really going on, always did. In five, you’ll leave this awful place behind, chased by a squad of things you aren’t sure are even human.

But right now, this very moment, is just for the two of you.

Alice is safe.

Time crawls at a snail’s pace, but after one day inevitably comes another. Both of you start therapy. Jack gets arrested – for some miraculous reason, you don’t kill him that night after all. The Victory Project comes under investigation; the details are kept under wraps, partly for “the benefit of the survivors’ mental and physical well-being”. You’re sure as hell there isn’t a thing in the world that can damage your mental and physical well-being even further, but there’s nothing left in you to fight this decision. This isn’t even an argument. It’s better to let it go.

You spend every night with Alice and she spends every night with you. You pour your hearts out to each other like never before. In a way, your friendship has changed fundamentally; in a much deeper way, however, it stayed the same. You cook Alice dinner when she comes home after a long day and she lets you sleep in on weekends. For a long time after the whole thing is over, she resents anything resembling housework. You can’t hold it against her.

One night, when you’re watching some endless TV-show - you’ve carefully curated your watchlist to avoid anything 50s-themed - Alice asks you point-blank if you regret it. The violence, the pain, the fear. If you regret hearing about him so much before everything went down, hearing Alice defend him as he was planning to take her life away.

Of course you know the answer. You’ve always known it: no, you don’t regret it at all. You’d go through it all a hundred more times if it meant setting her free. You’d search for months and years and decades if it meant finding her in the end. You’d beat this pathetic excuse of a man again and again, until there was nothing left of him anymore, if it meant letting her choose her own path.

And it’s not her fault that a person she gave all her love to never appreciated it. That’s on him. And Alice deserves none of his shame.

“But what if I left you?” she whispers, some unspoken urgency coloring her tone. “After… Then what?”

You look at Alice and she looks at you, her face illuminated by the TV. There’s a familiar, heartbreaking fear in her eyes that she can’t quite shake; worst of all, a completely understandable fear. You take her hands in yours.

“I’ve meant every word,” you whisper, brushing her knuckles with your thumb. “If we never spoke again, I wouldn’t do anything differently. I mean, I’d live a way sadder life, but that would be my problem.”

Just as the last word leaves your mouth, she kisses you as a promise to stay, to commit to you freely and without force. And you kiss her back, fervently, with endless yearning – as a promise to always find her, to always be there. To love and be loved generously, to love on purpose and to stay by choice.

And after what feels like forever, finally, Alice is home.