#FUCK MAN LIKE FAN FIC IT HAD SOME TRIGGERS IN IT FOR ME

[nzia-writes]

•{Speak life unto me}•

RATED SLUTTY 18+

Sums: Riri let’s you practice a majorette dance routine in her garage while she remodels her prototype.

I feel like Dom would channel Riri in this manner. It’s a sappy little something that’s heavy with dialogue. You have been warned. Enjoy.

Interact please and thank you

(tagging a couple folks I seen under riri fics: )

@donewit51life @mysticalmarss @shinsousliya @c0cac0laguns2 @mlmilani @melodykisses @doms-fav @verachii @luhreen @zayswriting

Riri Williams

You draw a breath, trying your hand at Coach’s complex combination once more. You fail with ten steps off count, ten seconds off beat, and ten milliseconds from freaking out.

This is the 100th time and disappointment has been the only result. Come on man. Seems as if fuck-ups is what you run into and a fuck-up is what you are. What else do you call someone allergic to consistency within performance in life and in art?

Coach is gon’ tell me that my efforts ain’t worth a damn again.

Skylar, the captain, gon’ call me all sorts of expletives again.

Maybe they are right. You are not the dancer you presumed yourself to be. You aren’t exhorting enough passion. You aren’t going to succeed with a dancing major. You aren’t going to dethrone Skylar from her rank as captain. Not with all of this lack. So much lack.

“Imma failure, man,” you grit.

The shrill of Riri’s hand-held power tool spurs the cacophony all the more. There is too much going on. There is too much not going on. Failure. Tears. Doom. It is an incessant thought.

You have had enough.

A reverberant scream rattles every solid item within the garage. “Fuck! Fuck Fuck!” Your vocal chords give a roiling wave of heat.

A startled RiRi flips up her welding helmet and lays her tool on the floor. By the time your hollering simmers down, your big brown eyes leak with the pressures of failure and your edges coil from sweat; a newly installed thirty-six-inch buss down gone with the speed of light.

“Y/N.”

A boisterous scream again.

Riri jumps in fright. Damn.

You labored pants follow thereafter.

“I keep on and keep on failing! Busting my ass day in and day out. Still coming up short!” You yell. You yank up your duffle, lodging your belongings inside as aggressive as your body allows. Surely it allowed just the right amount. It wasn’t offering much in many other departments. Useless, it was.

As she powers off her prototype, Riri hesitantly speaks. She’d be damned if she triggered more rage and hurt. Then there’s two bitches arguing and one leaving. “Sugg.”

“Uh uh I’m leaving. I can’t keep doing it, Ri.”

“And what you plan on doing after?”

“Ion know! Lord knows these folks don’t wanna see me win. Lord knows I ain’t got the talent in me to win!” You zip your duffle and turn to Ri, face stricken with defeat. “I’m just tired. I’m not cut fah this shit, ya heard meh?”

“Rest. You need some,” Riri says. She’s so calm, you have no other choice but to be.

“Rest? You think the world gon’ let a nigga like me rest?! Outta’ yo’ damn mind. I’m out.” You turn to go.

“You need cooling and I got it for you. Come talk to me real quick.”

“Ri…”

“Come here, boo. Please.” Her eyes plead beneath fanned out eyelashes.

She removes her welding helmet and places it on the table congested with her quantum technology and hammers. Once she shakes out her box braids, she waves you over. Maybe..just maybe..entertaining what she has to say will end with weights being lifted.

Your bag slumps to the floor and you make your way to Riri. She keeps herself true to her concern and wipes away your tears the moment you are in arm's reach. She reeks of oil and burnt metal but her aura is sweet enough to mute the most unpleasant fumes.

“I can’t stand seeing you like this..” She leans against her work table while you stand before her. Her hands work with caution to fix your disheveled appearance. “Worryin’. Stressin’. You too pretty for that.” She then laughs a bit inwardly. “Got yo’ minks lifting like they got something smart to say.” She simply peels them off and sets them aside.

You persist with a hardened mug, ever the one to cradle rage until everyone feels it.

“Come here,” she sighs, inviting your rigidness into all of her softness, raising on her tiptoes to wrap the parts of you in need of double love. “Let that shit out, sugg. You owe yourself that much.”

She is right. You do. Your rage has cracked a series of dams, but Riri’s love has cracked many more. You whimper and squeeze her small frame tight. “I love you, girl.” The words shake as you inhale. “I love you s-so much.” You squeeze tighter, rocking from side to side.

When the tough battles are fought, she’s the only man standing, willing to fight with you no matter who the enemy may be. She’s going to step about her Sugg.

“Imma always be here when everybody else ain’t, you understand me?”

“Yeah,” you exhale. She coaxes with back rubs and encouraging words until the sniffles are no more. You both soon separate to lean on the table side by side. Her fingers brush yours.

“Whatever rage you feelin’, you entitled to feel. Let it all out, much as you can.”

“Tell that to my mama. To coach. To that doghead bitch Skylar.”

Their hatred and high expectations have silenced your innermost parts. The Y/N you strive to be. And you keep silenced to keep safe, for life has become something that needs to be survived. Not lived.

Riri frowns. Your strength is admirable. You were forced to the bottom at such a young age, unheard and treated unfairly, yet here you stand with the dignity of a knight. She has sworn to sit for hours if it means you are being seen and heard and validated. She will be the change you need to see if no one else will.

“The only way out of this hurt is into it. You gotta face it.” As harsh a truth it is, life will not progress until it is experienced.

“Please… ion know the first thing about facing life. I’ve hid from most of it.”

“It ain’t something you know how to do, it’s something you learn to do. I’m here to help you find your way back. Always.” She slides her hand in yours. Squeezes softly.

“Thank you..so much.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to do. Now go ahead. Tell me how you feel. I wanna hear your heart.”

“I just got too many folks praying on my downfall. Especially back home where my mama swears my dance major ain’t worth it. No support from them unless it’s to flaunt their lavish lifestyle.”

That’s that shit right there, Riri thinks. Makes her want to disrespect your entire bloodline. But she holds back for your sake. You love them, after all. “Listen here.” She turns your face toward her, eyes locked.

“We are two young black women who made it out the slums with what we had. Talent and brains. Your ‘mama nem’ can’t take credit for that shit. You got out and did the work. That’s truth. Don’t let nobody tell you no different. Not even yourself.”

You nod. It is hard to believe, but is isn’t impossible to believe.

“Now as for the dancing. What’s up with that? Had you saying you not talented enough and whatnot. I don’t want you talking about my girl like that again, alright?”

You cheeks flush. “I don’t see nothing untruthful about it, Ri. I’m last…always. Coach and Skylar make sure of it. I’m trying for captain but… as you saw earlier I ain’t got it in me. I fuck up more than anything, ya’ know?”

Riri lets that process. She then gestures to her prototype. It’s a polished transformer looking thing. “From one creator to another, the best work is produced during our moments of strife. I’ve failed more times than I have succeeded, but that’s what makes a legend. You are a legend in the making. Don’t give up.”

“I ain’t say I was allat na’. I’m just dancing to somebody else’s shit, ya heard meh?”

“You are always so wrapped up in all you lack that you don’t take the time to see how blessed you truly are. Mama, you got it good. Real good. You shine bright and you have this remarkable essence. That shit changes people and I need you to see it for yourself.”

The more one disregards their gift the quicker it is lost on them.

Riri continues. “Hear me out..if you ain’t invited into somebody else’s circle, form your own. You were co-creator of some of the most viral dances in the loop. You got the smarts, the talent, the moves..” her eyes drink you in from toe to head “the body,” she smirks. “You can do it.”

You lick your lips and look away. Forming a dance team? Hell no. Impossible. There will be too many odds: people willing to sabotage, your own self-esteem, and the pressures of adulthood. It wouldn’t work.

“Nah I’m good on that. I’ve hid from the spotlight, cast as a shadow all my life. I’m fine where I’m at.”

“Did you hide in the back? Or were you forced to the back?”

“I um…”

You are sent on a voyage of memories that were to not be seen again. Now here they are demanding you see yourself for who you are. You have existed so long in this world as nobody. How would it feel to actually be somebody?

“Gotcha,” she laughs.

“You did,” you chuckle. “Look at you being a ghetto monk and shit.” You tug her to stand between your legs.

“And look at you flodgin’ like it ain’t making you feel something good inside. Let yourself feel it, boo. It’s what you deserve.” She flattens her palm on your abdomen, teasingly trailing it up your chest. She outlines the swirly ink sheathing your neck, acrylics lightly scraping brown skin as her hand curls around it.

“You think so?” You bite your lip, fighting the inner-princess.

“Mhm.” She knows it so. “You cool with the backseat?”

“But you all dirty and dusty.”

She tilts her head, braids falling to one side. “Under these clothes I ain’t.”

“I-“ Eyebrows raised. “Girl go head, hea’? Lemme get in this backseat.”

She laughs like the goddess she is and removes her fire-proof apron with the rest of her gear. “On your back for me too.”

“Yeah, mama.” The words melt off your tongue.

Yes, you feel as if you are gliding on your toes, carrying your heart with less strain. It is the Riri effect so it seems. You are truly grateful for a friend with a lethal mouth.

~¥~

The back of Riri’s car is humid and smells of sex. You lay across the seats, thighs forced back into their plushness, pussy spread open for her filthy onslaught. She is situated in a sniper's position with her small feet dangling out of the open car door. Her devious eyes bore into your own. This has surpassed casual sex long ago. This is love-making.

“Damn girl,” you gasp as she jerks your thighs open the moment they close in on her face. She hums against your bundle of nerves, wagging her head for a deeper dive into your oasis. You sweep her braids into a makeshift ponytail, gyrating lusciously. She eats it like she’s starving; so precise and sloppy.

“Riiii. Just like that.” You nearly force your face to become one with the seat cushion as she swiftly slides her favored fingers inside, stroking your gushy walls, twisting deliciously. She had made the quick decision to pop those acrylics off before the escapades began.

She comes up for a breath, licking her lips slathered in your nectar. “Come on, mama,” she whispers sweetly. “Don’t close up on me. I need you to take it for me, okay?”

“Okayyy. fuuu…uhhn.”

“There we go,” she whispers, glancing down. “Look at you.”

It takes all the strength in you to open your eyes to look down on command. “Shiiiit,” you whine. You didn’t feel yourself creaming.

“She’s creaming like this for me?” Riri bites her lip.

Your response sounds scrambled. You were sure it was a stammered, “all for you.”

“That’s my sweet girl.” She means that in a myriad of ways.

“My god,” you cry softly, “Baby.” You use two fingers to widen pretty brown folds, the back of your head sinking into the seat as she plunges her fingers deeper. Wet squelching noises and breathy moans surf the wind. Your brain is shoved into a mind-bending utopia, it feels so fucking good.

You glance down again to see a string of arousal dribbling down the valley of your ass only to be slurped up by the very lips milking you out. Fuck. The lick is long and ravenous, from the crack of dawn to the peak of your mountain, pouty lips suckling as if it were a dreamsicle in sticky heat.

The more speed she exerts the lower your moans drop. You are now whimpering and whispering incoherent babbles, trying your hardest to fuck back, but you consistently run up the length of the seat from Riri’s freak nastiness.

“That’s it, beautiful.” She hooks her fingers, submerges them to their deepest, and holds still. Her thumb flicks your nub deliciously. Your sharp inhale churns her brain in the best way there is, smooth skin prickling in awe of your slick muscular body and your contorted faces. So beautiful, she moans.

There is a pause in time. A hitched breath. A stuttering heart. Love. So much of it it spills over the both of you.

Riri transmutes it powerfully, keeping the pad of her fingers rubbing that raised sensitive spot inside. Your eyes cross and roll back. “Oh yes yes..” Your hand comes down to plunge her fingers in deeper so she can get in that. “Fuuck…..gonna cum. Cum…” You whine in melody, pushing out a river of glistening slick. It drizzles down Riri’s fingers just as promised. “Uhh my god.” You exhale deeply.

“There we go. Feels good to let go?”

You nod, moaning uncontrollably. She crawls up your body to enrich your lips with a salacious kiss. It’s a moaning mess clouded with a tenderness neither of you will choose to acknowledge until your hearts see fit. You spread your cheeks as she slides her fingers in and out of your creamy canal, white fluids oozing out as you clench and unclench.

“You so…” you hiss in pleasure as she slips her fingers out with care, gathering all of what you spilled with an idle circle of her fingers.

“Talk to me nice,” she hums. “Unless you want it again.”

“I can’t do it again,” you exhale, eyes heavy. You palm her cheeks, kissing her lips sweetly. Her long braids fall over your faces but you don’t care to move them.

She brings her fingers up and plunges them in your mouth. You leave not a drop leaking as she slides them out and leans in to suck it off your tongue. You both pull away to stare. You see it. She sees it. Feels it. Smells it. It’s there and it’s mighty.

“Thank you fah that, baby,” you grin. You pronounce it as beh-beh. That ‘nawlins’ never left.

“You know how deep my love runs for pussy. No need to thank me.”

“Mhm. Cute ass.” You press another fat kiss to her lips, running your hands down to her ass to grip her up. She bites her lip and breathes through her nose. She loves that shit.

“I need me a cold drink,” you chuckle.

“Guh you and me both,” Riri laughs.

End note: Imma eat every single time. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Fun fact: I write the smut quicker than the story itself.

#riri williams x black!fem!reader #riri wiliams x reader #riri williams x black!reader #riri williams x reader #shuri x riri #riri x shuri #riri williams black panther #riri x reader #riri imagine #riri smut #riri williams #wakanda forever fic #wlw love #wlw lesbian #wlw literature #smut minors do not engage

[satoru-is-the-way]

A/N: This is number three!! Also you all can @ me but I personally hated how Jimmy acted with Tenoch. It felt like Jimmy mocked him and correcting the way he talks since Tenoch is already self conscious about his English. Like I got triggered. Tenoch being cute and sweet but Jimmy is being a bit rude.

Tag: Tags: @shoxji @tian-monique @omgsuperstarg @angel-bi666 @sunfairyy @sunkissedebony97

{IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED IN FUTURE NAMOR/TENOCH FICS LET ME KNOW PLUS IF YOU DO OR DONT WANT TO BE TAGGED IN SMUT. MUST BE OVER 18+ FOR THOSE ANYWAYS.}

Summary: Tenoch and Reader are in a secret relationship but accidentally let's it out during the Jimmy Kimmel interview.

Warnings: Dirty Thoughts, Mentions of Smut 😳

"Please welcome (Y/F/N) and Tenoch Huerta!" Jimmy said followed by clapping and cheering from the audience. You walked out with Tenoch smiling and waving at all your adoring fans. You give Jimmy a quick hug before taking your place next to Tenoch who looked excited to be on the Jimmy Kimmel show. It was not your first time being here. "Welcome to the show. (Y/n) it's always a pleasure to see you." He smiled. The interview started off well. Mentioning your long Marvel history, how you frlt about being in Wakanda Forever. Then moved onto Tenoch and his experience. Of course he told the funny story of the zoom call freezing 5 minutes into the meeting. You laughed softly and leaned onto your hand watching Tenoch. How could you not be in love with this man?

It all started the moment you heard who had been chosen for Namor. You instantly looked up Tenoch Huerta remembering him from Narcos: Mexico you watched a while back. You felt yourself blushing at how attractive he was. Plus meeting him in person did not help. There was an instant connection with Tenoch. He was charming, sweet, adorable, kind, humble, silly, and the list could go on forever really. But nothing stood out more than his 'shame short', what he refers the skimpy outfits to. You both worked together for almost the entire shooting time. There had been very few weeks spent apart. Your character played a key role in the film being the Queen of Talokan.

"So (Y/n) how was working with Tenoch?" Jimmy asked breaking you out of the day dream.

"Ah he is an amazing man to work with."

It had not taken but a month of flirting before he asked you out and then fucked you that same day. Since then you two had been a couple. Yet decided it was not time for everyone else to know. You felt like two teenagers sneaking around. Stealing kisses, glances, dates, and rough sex. You two had a loving relationship and never had been happier.

"You two seem close. Almost every picture you two are side by side." Jimmy smirked.

"Ah, yes I mean we are close friends. Our character share many scenes together. Besides he is an amazing man to work with."

Tenoch looked over to you a slight flush in his face. "I never worked with anyone like her before to be honest. Most of my English lines I got scared. Some of my pronunciation is not perfect. (Y/n) really helped me with that. Calmed me and reassured me to just be myself." Tenoch looked toucher her knee in a trance. "That's why I love her." He adds not thinking about it.

The audience gasped at his slip up.

"Oh you love her?" Jimmy didn't miss a beat leaning toward the couple. Tenoch sighed deeply looking at you. You nod in response.

"We have been dating for a year now." He admits taking your hand.

"It's been such a happy time." You add and pulled him into a kiss the crowd cheering.

#marvel #mcu namor #namor #namor imagine #namor x reader #namor x you #tenoch huerta #tenoch huerta x reader

[candywife333]

My Little Saesang (Part 1)

chubby reader x idol jungkook

Summary: Y/N had been a super fan for a while. Some would say bordering on saesang or creep level. She didn't think she was one, till she experienced an incident that made her stop being a fan. She had never thought that Jungkook or any of BTS ever noticed her, as she was part of the masses of obsessive fans. But they had. Especially, one doe eyed idol in particular. He never thought he would miss his fan, or shall we say saesang. Yet, he couldn't help but notice her absence. And he didn't know when her presence started to matter to him so much.

Disclaimer: The Jungkook represented in this fic does not reflect the true actions or thoughts of the real life Jungkook. Please treat this fic as exactly what it is, fiction

Triggers: Critique of fandom culture and kpop as a whole, identity crisis, eventual smut

Note: Not proofread. Slated to be approximately 4 parts or less.

"Y/N, what the hell are you still doing in that cafe? Didn't we come over here to spy on Jungkook at his house before he heads off to M-CountDown for his performance? I don't remember scheduling a pit-stop for you to have a second lunch", Kim-Hee glared down at me through her thick framed black glasses that honestly sort of made her look like a sexy principal. Anger at being diverted from her goal of catching the tan pop-star in his sweaty excellence seemed to cloud her vision.

I retorted back with a snort, "You know me very well at this point, after being my fellow saesang comrade in arms for close to 2 years girl. I am digesting my food baby as we speak and will soon be ready for delivery in that nasty garbage ass smelling toilet. I have a date with the shits, so to speak. Don't you see that my jeans are popped open and the zip down ready to go. I don't got the energy to chase this man today. Our stunt at New York was bad enough, don't you think"? Shaking my head at her idiocy even after knowing me for so long, I exclaimed, "Feel free to chase him in time for his ending fairy if you feel like it though. I am just not feeling it today".

Kim Hee, my bestie, stared at me with squinted eyes, black tiny eyes glittering in the harsh sun, "Girl, you were the one who had this all scheduled out a month back? How could you not bloody commit at the crucial time!!!! Our fucking junior fans are counting on your stupid ass". I waved my right at her in dismissal, ramen sauce covering my lips like a new Fenty lipstick that I just could not afford right now with my measly ass job as janitor at KBS.

I snarled back in irritation, "Tell those kids to go and study in college, that's more important than following his dumb ass anyways. He won't remember them for their troubles. At max, he will remember a few fans from their initial debut days , get married to a rich ass plasticky actress, have beautiful spoiled kids, and die a rich philanthropist. Saesangs don't get paid if you catch my point. Honestly, if it paid as a job, I would consider it. But I think I may have to retire". I patted my distended stomach in contentment, satisfied with the first proper meal I had in 3 days, stalking JK with my team all over New York and then catching a flight to Korea for his album showcase.

My bestie stared at me now in shock, with wide eyes, hands waving in the air, clearly confused at my statements, "Didn't you just say a week ago that this was all worth it? That supporting our faves, especially BTS, and the lord and savior himself , Jungkook, was a noble passion to pursue? Why have you suddenly done a 180 on us and him like this"? I flinched visibly at her reminder of what I used to be and who I used to be. The person she described felt foreign to me now. Ever since I opened my eyes and saw what fans, especially super fans like us, who didn't have a life outside of BTS suffered, I was a reformed woman. A reformed woman who had decided as of now to save all my money for some botox and a dental appointment, some clothes for mom and dad, and a hot meal for my younger sister. I was going to go from being a crysallis to a butterfly. In essence, I was going to woman the fuck up. That's what the fuck I was about to do with my life.

With this aim in mind, I slammed my fist against the plastic table, startling Kim Hee. "Bestie, you never got close enough to JK to see how much he hated it, okay? He hated us in those moments that we invaded his privacy. Remember that one time I snuck up on the set of them filming "Black Swan" to give him a godiva chocolate my mom had brought back from Sweden?" Kim Hee nodded in assent, clearly knowing how much of big deal it was for me to part with food of any kind, for any reason, for anyone (Even my own family). I loved luxury chocolate and food in general. Nobody could rip it out of my hands , as evidenced by Kim Hee and all our friends in middle school when I slapped a guy stupid and hit him in the nuts for taking a ferrero rocher out of my hands---the motherfucker.

I continued ,"Well I gave it to his hands while he was waiting outside at the entrance of the set. Even normies like me are allowed on that area, it was not a restricted filming area. I just left the chocolate next to where he was sitting, with a red bow (his name engraved on it) wrapped around it. He legit stared at me in confusion, like he had not seen me for the past 9 years, sneered at me, disdain in his beady black eyes and threw the chocolate in the dustbin like it was as figment of his imagination". Kim Hee stared at me in dismay, clearly knowing that what I considered the foremost cardinal sin in life was throwing away food, particularly expensive food.

I wrung my hands in the air, holding in my tears, "Bestie, it was white chocolate, do you understand? It was limited christmas edition. I could never afford that chocolate in my dreams , if not for one of mom's colleagues gifting it to her. Chili ,(my sister) was yapping about it for days, salivating, thinking she could bite into it. And I sacrificed it to an undeserving multi millionaire". I sat back down on the bench, numbly, tears streaming down my face. I was so done with him and the entire group at this point. I understand that what we do, Saesangs, stalkers, whatever they like to call us, is not correct. We should not be so invasive. But I always told the kids who followed in my footsteps that we could support them, but just not to the point that we impinged on their personal lives. I had done some fucked up things as a newbie army, but two years into their debut, I understood that limits were required.

The most I had ever done since then, was to gift the members things as a fan. Whatever I could afford. Whether that was their favorite convenience store snack left by us on the set of one of their music video shoots. Or a pack of gum or their favorite desserts when we attended fan meets. I and the girls who followed me on these adventures, as I used to call them, never snuck into HYBE. We were of the more benign variety, not on par with the crazies who took the same flight as them (not that I could afford that), or collected saliva, sweat, and urine samples. For goodness sakes, we didn't even run after their vehicles, we just waved politely and jumped up and down like rabid dogs that had treats waved in their faces.

The moment I was compelled to stop following my fave, or I guess my former bias as of now, was simply when he casually looked at the chocolate I had left next to him as though it were poison, and tossed it in the trash without looking back. That was when I knew, I was worthless in his eyes, along with the rest of the fans who tried so hard.

We shelled out money saved up from little jobs and pocket money accumulated for months together, to buy expensive albums, merchandise, and anything else they put out. We forgo the little luxuries like nicer shoes and warmer coats in winter to buy tickets for outdoor showcases and shiver in the cold wind to just catch a glimpse of one of their half smiles. We stream their music that speaks of love that we do not comprehend, love whose face is so unfamiliar in our youth that we would pass it by as though it were a stranger. When we don't have anyone in our lives to hug us and hold us and kiss us, to wipe our tears and pat us on the back when we are down and to tell us that everything will be alright, we stare at them in the tabloids extrapolating who they could be in love with, fantasizing about a love that could never be ours. We live our lives, living for them, living around them as though we are satellites caught int he orbit of a bigger planet, and now, it does not make sense to me anymore.

It may just be a chocolate, stupid worthless and insignificant to him. It may be cheap, a show of cheap love that he wishes to spit on. But it wasn't cheap to me. My love wasn't cheap. Food isn't cheap, especially food bestowed with love. And I was done giving my love away for free, as though it meant nothing. As though it were a cheap cigarette to be smoked and discarded, ground under the foot of someone who had finished using it for a fleeting high. Cheap and dispensable and convenient, that's what we were, what I had become.

I cringed internally as my gaze redirected towards Kim Hee. I croaked out in determination while chewing on the remnants of soggy ramyun, "We are done babe. I am through with this horrible, parasitic relationship. I am going to figure out how to make myself rich or get rich through marriage. I am done being stupid, falling over myself for a guy or a group of guys who don't see or appreciate me. They get rich on my desperation, and I don't wish to give them that power anymore".

#jungkook x reader #bts x reader #chubby reader #monologue #dramatic #angst #comedy #jungkook x curvy reader #jungkook x plus size reader #jungkook x chubby reader #bts x curvy reader #bts x plus size reader #bts x chubby reader

[sneezingfetishftw-fics]

Insufferable (1/7)

My sick!Vox fic is finally up, or at least part 1 is! Decided to break into what I think will be 2 chapters. Featuring an insufferable bastard, plus caretaking from the Vees.

Next chapters: 2 3 4 5 6 7

Wavs: 1 3

———————————

“Why are the lights so fucking bright in here? Are you trying to give me a headache?” Vox was often a bit of an insufferable prick, but today he was far worse than usual. His interview for Voxtech Angelic Security was just an hour away and he’d already managed to insult pretty much everyone in the room. The lights dimmed, he returned to a previous complaint. “And why haven’t you turned the AC colder already? It’s like a sauna in here!”

“The AC is already as cold as it goes, sir.”

“Then fix it! God, what am I even paying you for?” He paused, then pulled out his cell phone. “Hey Val, are you free right now? I got an employee I’d like you to knock some sense into—or rip the limbs off of, whichever you prefer. I could do it myself, but I know how much you enjoy that thing.”The employee shuddered. “Great, thanks! See you soon.”

Vox looked around. “Where is my water bottle? There should be one on the interviewing desk. Is anyone around here doing their goddamn job?” Another employee rushed over with a water bottle. “Finally.” He took a sip and immediately grimaced. “Where did you get this? Normal water doesn’t scrape my throat like that! Disgusting.” He threw the water bottle aside, pausing only to make sure the lid was on first.

He took a deep breath, which immediately triggered a coughing fit, his voice crackling like a broken speaker. His screen went grey and fuzzy, static flaring with each cough. “Who did the last maintenance on the filtration system?” A sheepish woman stepped forward. “Fix it! Actually, no. Get out. You’re fired. The air is so thick in here I can hardly breathe.” She hung her head and wandered off. It wasn’t like she was the first to be fired on a whim, and at least Vox didn’t literally tear people apart. “I’ll take a look at it along with the AC, then, sir,” the employee from earlier offered.

“You’d better. But don’t think that’s enough to save you,” Vox said, standing so close the employee could hardly hear anything over the fan. “Val’s still on his way.” The employee gulped.

Valentino began shivering the moment he stepped in the door, but he ignored that and made a beeline for Vox. “Where’s the victim?” he asked with a grin.

Vox pointed to the man cowering in the corner. “He won’t fix the AC.” Val nodded, still shivering. “He says it’s already as cold as it can go, but I’m boiling here!” Val raised an eyebrow at that. A loud whirring started as Vox’s fans kicked in.

Val put a hand on Vox’s forehead, and jerked it away almost immediately. “Amorcito, you’re incredibly hot!”

“Save it for later, Val,” Vox chuckled.

“No, I mean it’s hard to believe how much you’re overheating. And in a freezing room, no less. I thought my hand was going to burn!” Vox crossed his arms and shook his head. “I mean it, Vox, you’re obviously running a fever!”

“Shut up. I’m fi… hi…” his screen flickered with each hitch. “Hi’tzzzcht! Fine.”

“Sir?” The employee raised a finger tentatively, regaining some boldness now that neither of them was ripping him apart. “One of the lights just broke.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me? Just fix it! Ugh, it’s a wonder anything gets done around here.” He gave a long sniff, trying to stave off the buzzing tickle. “And send a cleaning crew in. It’s way too du… huh… huh… hut’TZZZZSHT! Dusty in here.”

“We just cleaned yesterday…” the employee said weakly, trying not to look at the speaker that had just popped.

“I didn’t ask you when the last cleaning was, I asked you to clean the damn studio! Now get on with it before I change my mind and let Val rip your arms off.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The employee practically ran off to begin his tasks as Val gave a toothy grin, looking menacing despite the intense shivering.

“There you go. I’ll be back here for the sound check. And this place better be fucking spotless.”

Vox and Val walked out the door. “I’ll catch you at the penthouse,” Vox said, activating his teleportation powers. He only made it a few feet. “Hhh’dzzzzcht!” The hallway lights flickered.

“How about we walk together?” Val offered, wrapping his arm around Vox. Vox sighed, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. Repeatedly teleporting a few feet at a time sounded even more annoying than walking. While they walked, Val pulled out his phone with his free hand to text Velvette. “Meet at the penthouse ASAP.”

Velvette almost dropped her phone when she saw the pair of them walk through the door. “Walk” was actually a bit of an overstatement. Vox was practically staggering, leaning heavily on Val for support. His screen was dimmed, except for a bright spot in the center where his nose would be, if he had one. His fans were still whirring loudly. His normally immaculate suit was wrinkled, as if he’d crumpled in on himself repeatedly. The man was, quite obviously, a mess.

Velvette stared in silence for a moment. “Wow. He really does look awful, doesn’t he?”

Vox glared. “I’m fine. I’m just taking a quick break before the studio’s ready for my interview. Those morons still have a lot to set up.” The pair stared at him.

“Um, Vox? You sure now is the best time for an interview?” Velvette asked.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, his hypnotic eye swirling so slowly it might as well be a broken Ferris wheel.

“Right,” Velvette said, rolling her eyes as Vox’s screen flickered again. “Totally fine, and definitely not about to sneeze.”

“I’m not going to… hih’tzzzzch!” He opened his mouth to protest more, but no sound came out. Damn it, were his audio drivers glitching too? Or was it just his vocal cords? He smacked the side of his head with a grimace. “The interview has to be today. If I delay it, it’ll look like we’re hiding something.” Thank god that worked. Vox without his voice was… well, he really didn’t want to think about that.

Velvette raised an eyebrow. “You literally just smacked yourself in the head cause you couldn’t talk. You really think you’re in a good state to be giving an interview?”

Vox’s screen brightened for a moment. “I’m fine! It’s fixed now.” His screen dimmed again, then started flickering. “I’m perfectly heal… heh… hhh… healthy! Just let me go to the godda… ehh… ahh… hah’TZZZZSHT! The goddamn interview.” Valentino’s phone instantly shut off. Velvette, seeing this, clutched her phone tightly to her chest.

Val tried turning his phone back on, but it was unresponsive. “You broke my phone, Vox. You broke my fucking phone! What else are you gonna break if you go back in there?”

Vox frowned. Loath as he was to admit illness, it really was in his best interest to minimize property damage. Especially with a live audience.

“I’ll do the interview,” Velvette offered.

Vox gave a laugh that quickly turned into a coughing fit, his screen a sputtering mess of static again. “No offense, Velvette, but I’m pretty sure you’re not familiar with the ins and outs of the system.”

“And I’m pretty sure you’re not recognizing you don’t have a lot of options. Would you rather send Valentino?”

The other two recoiled at the suggestion. “God, no!” Vox replied. “Ugh, I guess if you really want to, go knock yourself out. My notes are on that tah… hhh… ahh… hah… hah’TDZZZCHT! Tablet.” Said tablet was now stuck in bluescreen. “Shit.” He rubbed his aching head, trying to think.

“Are the notes backed up like the rest of your files?” Vox nodded, not even trying to speak this time. “I can pull it up on my phone, then. I’ve got this. Backbone of the Vees, remember? You just stay here and get some rest,” she said, blowing a kiss as she left.

Velvette strutted out the door, taking with her the responsibility that had been keeping Vox together, and it was like a switch had been flipped. Vox immediately plopped himself down on the couch, limbs dangling limply. “Everything huuuurts, Val.”

“I know, Amorcito, that’s why I’m here.” He gently stroked Vox’s arm. “Now, is it really everything? Or can you be a bit more specific so I can actually help you?”

Vox’s mouth moved, but no words. A frown. A throat clearing sound. More mouth movement, still no words. A deeper frown. A self-inflicted smack on the side of the head. Still no words. The fans kicked into high gear as Vox was about to spit steam out of his head.

“Shh, gentle, Voxy. Let’s try not to blow out the power grid again, hm?” Val patted Vox’s screen. “I’ll get you something for your throat.” He searched through the fridge for some Gatorade. Electrolytes had to do something for an electric being, right? In the absence of any speech from Vox, the fans were even more noticeable. Better grab a cold compress from the freezer too, then. He placed the cold pack on Vox’s screen and handed him the bottle. Vox took a sip and shook his head. His voice still failing him, Vox made images appear on the screen. Val blinked, trying to figure out what he was looking at.

“Something wrong with the drink?” A nod. “Tastes bad?” Head shake. Val tried to think what could possibly be wrong with a drink. “Too liquidy?” Vox rolled his eyes. “Wrong color?” A facepalm. “Uh… too cold?” Vigorous nodding, and then a wince and a dizzy expression. “I got it. Just rest here, Vox. I’ll find you something.”

Val returned a few minutes later with a steaming mug of tea. Vox’s screen was dim and pale, the colors washed out. His weak fingers could barely grasp the handle of the mug. “Oh, Voxy, you poor thing,” Val said, his wings wrapping around Vox for support. The steam from the drink got into Vox’s vents and his screen started flickering. Val noticed immediately and set the mug on a nearby table, holding Vox through the buildup.

“Hhh… hhhh… hhh… hhht’dzchhht! Hhhh’zzzzch! Hhh’ZZZZZSHT! Htchh’RRRRGZZZZZZT! Ugh.” The demon clawed at his throat, then paused in realization. “Fucking hell that hurt!” He winced. “Talking hurts.” Still, better to have a functioning voice, he supposed. He gestured to the mug, and Valentino handed it to him. He took a sip, grimaced, and then finished the rest of the mug in one gulp. Val surveyed the room and realized that a few of the TV screens were out. “Let’s get you into bed, hm?” Vox raised an eyebrow. “Not like that! Unless you want to, of course…” he added, licking his lips. Vox shook his head, exhausted. Val led Vox to the bedroom, the TV clinging hard to the moth as he took a few shaky steps. Val paused, then nodded to himself. He hoisted Vox over his shoulder, ignoring the spluttering protests. “Amorcito, you can barely walk. Let me carry you for a bit.”

Vox huffed, and Val felt the static shock. “You could at least have the decency to carry me like your partner instead of, I don’t know, a corpse?”

Val chuckled. “Have you seen yourself, darling? You practically are a corpse at this point.” Still, he switched to bridal carry.

After what felt like an eternity, dragged out by Vox’s complaining that he was on death’s door, they finally reached the bed. Val laid Vox down and sat next to him. “Now then, does everything still hurt? What can I get you?”Vox’s lips moved silently, then rapidly into what Val assumed to be a string of curse words. Hard to tell without audio. Val sighed. “You really are feeling awful, aren’t you?” Vox nodded. Val stared at Vox for a while until the moth’s singular brain cell finally came up with an idea. He blew a puff of smoke in Vox’s face. Vox flinched, and his screen flickered rapidly. “Hhh… hih… hhhh’dzzzzzzcht! Hih’tzzzzsh! Hah’TZZZZZCHT! TZZZSH! Tzzzsch’TZZZZZST’dzTZZZZZSSHHT! What the fuck, Val?” He rubbed his throat. “Oh. Uh… thanks, I guess? I don’t know. That fucking sucked.”

“If you’d rather not repeat that, then I suggest you get your words out now before you lose your voice again.”

Vox scowled, but he knew it was a valid point. “I just… I’m sore all over. It’s not fair! What did I do to deserve this?” Val raised a finger. “Besides everything that got me into hell.” Val shrugged. “Ugh… my throat hurts, my head hurts, all my muscles ache, there’s this constant buzzing in the back of my head that won’t go away, everythig is blisterigly warmb whatever I try… oh for fugck’s sake, I get congestiod dnow too? Ughhhh…” He groaned and rolled over, faceplanting into the bed.

Val tutted sympathetically. “You never do anything half-assed, do you?” Vox nodded, dragging his screen across the blanket. “Vox, if you’re feeling so warm, why are you still wearing all those clothes?” A pause. Vox wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “There’s no image you need to keep up right now, Vox. Let’s get you comfortable.” Vox sat up and let Val get to work. The crumpled suit was set on a nearby chair. The sweater and shirt were pulled off and tossed to the same chair, Vox dropping his arms instantly the moment he no longer needed to put in the energy to keep them up. The shoes were removed and the pants taken off and folded up with care. As soon as it was done, Vox collapsed face down into the bed again, breathing heavily from the effort.

“You said you’re sore all over, would you like a massage, Amorcito?” A thumbs up. Val got up to find the massage bar. They’d found that using a more solid form helped avoid any accidents… they did NOT need a repeat of the time poor Vox got massage oil stuck in his vents. Val began massaging Vox’s arms, but paused when he felt Vox’s shoulders shudder.

“Hhhh’dzzzzzzchmp!” The sound was muffled into the bed. Vox slowly dragged himself up until he was facing Val. “Hit’chZZZZZZZCHT!” Sparks flew from Vox’s screen and landed on Val’s arm.

“Keep your sparks to yourself, Vox!” he said, wincing at the static shock. “Hmm… that might explain the electronics failures…”

“Sorry, Val.” He said, rubbing his screen. “Wasd’t expectig it to comb that fast.” He gave a long sniff. “Hhhhh’dZZZZZZT!” He pointed at the massage bar. “Can you put that away? I think the scent is too strong right now, my sensors must be acting up.”

Val switched to an unscented massage bar and resumed the massage. A few soft moans from Vox let Val know that his attempts were effective. Eventually the sound dropped off entirely, except for the occasional sneeze, which Val assumed meant the video demon’s voice had given out again. After a while, there was no sound at all except for congested breathing. Val gently turned Vox on his back, revealing closed eyes. Val breathed a sigh of relief. The man was much less exhausting when he was unconscious. Maybe now both of them could get some rest.

#my snezfic #snezbin hotel #srsly pls help me come up with a better title lmao #chapter 2 will have more of Velvette - a snippet of the interview and then some caretaking when she comes back after the interview #also I don’t care if it’s ooc to have Val be this caring you can pry caretaking tropes from my cold dead hands #man I love writing this tv demon there are so many fun things to play with

[barnesbabee]

[M]asochism || C.S

[ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴇɴᴄʏᴄʟᴏᴘᴇᴅɪᴀ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ M]

Summary: Dating an idol is hard, but according to San that still isn't an excuse to help yourself on your own.

Pairing: boyfriend!San x female!reader

Words: man I'm so hungry rn idk what to eat tho... probably grab some jello, I made some like, yesterday? I think? (end of the fic update) I did eat the jello. It was very good. I am full.

Genre: Smut; Angst; Fluff

⚠️ I don't give warnings because I want no spoilers so if you're sensitive, easily impressionable or easily triggered don't read, for your own sake. Or do, I don't care.⚠️

For the 5th day in a row you waited for San way past midnight, so you could have the movie night he had promised and scheduled long ago, and, for the 5th night in a row, you waited, the popcorn grew cold and mushy and the juice was watered down by the ice that had melted long ago.

You sat in the dark, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, waiting for San.

The digital clock in your living room told you the time, and it was 2:06 when the door opened, the dark outline of a broad-shouldered man coming into the house. San didn't turn the light on, as he assumed you were asleep in the bedroom and didn't want the light to shine through the open door.

"5 nights. You've made me wait for you all night for 5 nights in a row."

San jumped at the sound of your voice, and gasped slightly, not expecting any sounds to come from the dark.

Before he could speak you stood up and walked past him, bumping his shoulder on your own. The action made San furrow his brows, but he followed you nevertheless.

"I'm sorry princess, Yunho had us stay longer because he-"

"I did not ask." You said, cutting him off, as you changed into your pajamas.

"What?"

San was confused by your behavior, he was ready for an angry, disappointed Y/N, but this Y/N seemed... careless?

You turned around and looked him in the eye.

"I said, I do not care. I don't care what the excuse is, I don't care what you were doing, I don't care if the building was on fire and you had to save it by yourself."

"Woah, what's with the bitchy attitude!?"

You felt your face heat up and you could swear that if one more word left his lips you'd explode.

"I have waited entire nights for you because you promised we'd have some time alone together after the tour only for you to come home at ungodly hours. And I wouldn't even fucking mind staying awake if it meant spending time together but whenever you come home you just wanna sleep."

"What did you expect me to be all giddy and hyper at 2 in the morning after a whole day of working!?"

"No, I expect you to maybe be home some days and spend them with me."

"You knew what you were getting into when you started dating me."

Ah, there it was. The excuse for everything. Late for dates? You knew what you were getting into, dating an idol. Not being able to walk around with him unless he's covered from head to toe 'cause he's too afraid of fan reactions? You knew what you were getting into. Nights on end sleeping in a bed alone when you lived with your boyfriend? You knew what you were getting into. It got tiring. You did know what you were getting into in the beginning, but you thought that after a whole year of dating things would change, you thought he'd take the relationship more seriously.

"Oh yeah? Then when you're feeling sad go cry on the shoulders of your precious company, when you're feeling horny go dry hump the floor of the practice room, and when you want a homemade dinner ask the CEO to cook it."

You turned around just as he opened his mouth and began walking away. San gripped your wrist and pulled you toward him.

"Don't walk away when I'm talking."

San's eyes were dark and scary, not that he'd ever do anything to you, but the man was intimidating when he was angry. His whole body was tense and his breathing was heavy.

"Don't treat your company better than your girlfriend."

San's heart sank at your shaky voice and teary eyes, and he understood the issue, but his mind was too clouded by anger to think straight, and his pride was too fueled for him to have the balls to apologize.

"What am I supposed to do then!? You expect me to drop my job!?"

At this point you were full-on crying, looking at him with your fists balled up.

"I never asked you that! I've been patient, so patient with you!"

"It's not my choice to make!"

You held your hands up, in defeat.

"Fine, whatever, I don't give a shit. You have a long day tomorrow as well, I assume, we should just go to sleep."

Without another word, you turned off the lights and took your place in the bed, feeling frustrated and sad. Soon enough you felt the bed dip and you knew San had taken his place as well, and so you two laid there, backs facing each other with a significantly large space between your bodies.

After a couple minutes, you could hear San's light snores, but you still couldn't sleep. You'd always lay awake waiting for him, and you could only drift off to sleep when you felt his arms wrap around you and pull you closer, that way you knew he was safe. It became a routine San didn't know about, and it was hard when he was on tour, but now he laid next to you and you still couldn't sleep.

Your eyes were shut, trying to make up scenarios, like your own movies created by your mind, in attempts to fall asleep. The image of San's dark eyes flashed in your mind. Then, the way his body was tense during the fight, and finally his firm, deep voice calling your name, in a much, much better scenario.

You pressed your thighs together and felt something bottling up in the pit of your stomach.

Shit. You had just gotten in a relationship-threatening fight and you were horny. You needed therapy. However, your hand and a couple minutes in the bathroom would have to do for the night.

You slowly crawled out of bed and made your way to the bathroom, making sure to shut the door slowly, so the light wouldn't wake up sleeping beauty.

You removed your bottoms and sat on the toilet lid, hissing a little from the cold, and then hoisted up your leg, having your foot resting on the bidet beside you.

"Shit..." You whispered to yourself as you felt how wet you were just from imagining the things your boyfriend could do to you.

You placed a hand over your mouth to prevent any noise from coming out as you slowly inserted one finger, then two, then three. Enough fingers for you to feel satisfied and full. You pumped them in and out of you, listening to the squelching sounds your body made, and imagining San doing all sorts of things to you.

Suddenly, the door burst open, revealing an angry, disheveled Choi San. He had the same look in his eyes as before, but a different meaning behind them.

He walked toward you, seeming bigger than ever, and grabbed your jaw.

"You think this is the right thing to do, hm? You'd think just because we fought I'd let it go? Well, you were so," San paused and pressed a kiss below your ear before whispering in a low voice "so wrong, doll."

A breath was caught in your throat as San picked you up and threw you on the bed. He stripped down to his boxers and removed your shirt for you.

You watched as he grabbed the lights' remote and set a dim, red light in the room.

"I want you to see what I'm going to do to you."

You could hear drawers opening and closing, but you didn't dare look, as you knew a surprise would be best.

"On your knees, and turn around for me."

You obliged with no questions.

San grabbed your wrists and used his belt to tie them together behind your back, before gripping your hair and pushing your head into the pillow, with enough strength to establish dominance, yet soft enough so you could easily move your head to breathe.

"You know what happens to little whores who can't wait, don't you, princess?"

"Y-yes."

San's free hand slowly trailed up your thigh and caressed your ass.

"Well, what happens?"

"They get fucked."

San smirked and leaned closer so he could whisper in your ear.

"They get fucked dumb. And I will fuck the thoughts out of your brain, princess."

San slapped your ass. First softly, but as time passed the spanks became harder and harder until you could no longer contain your moans and whimpers. San spanked you until your ass was red, until he could see the outline of his palms on your ass.

Your boyfriend could see your glistening pussy, wet from barely anything.

San slowly slipped his middle finger inside of you.

"Since you seem to think fingers are enough, maybe that's all I'll fuck you with tonight, hm?" Your boyfriend teased, as he added another finger and sped up the pace.

"Please... Please no, I'm so sorry, it won't happen again."

He spanked your ass.

"I'm sure it won't, princess."

San grabbed his cock, removed it from the confinement of his underwear, and ran it across your folds to collect your wetness on his tip. The hardest part of having his sweet time with you was holding back and not fucking the breathing, living shit out of you. He wanted to play with you longer but it was also hard to contain himself.

Your boyfriend flipped you around and laid you on the bed facing up, before inspecting your face, for any signs of discomfort. When he saw nothing but pleasure and desperation he leaned down and kissed you in the filthiest manner possible. San continuously ran his tip between your folds to tease you, and as a protest, you whined and wiggled your thighs.

"If you want me to fuck you I suggest you behave." He said firmly, gripping your thighs.

You nodded as a reply.

"Good girl." San complimented and then moved you so you'd still be lying facing the ceiling, but your head was hanging on the edge of the bed.

You knew what was coming, it was the activity that took 2nd place on San's favorites list: throat fucking you.

He stroked his cock a few times before ordering you to open your mouth. San gripped your throat with his hand while he fucked it as he pleased. He was unpredictable, he'd pull out, insert himself back in, pick up the pace, slow down...

Your boyfriend could see you desperately trying to create some friction with your thighs, a hopeless attempt at some sort of satisfaction.

He pulled his cock out of your mouth, strings of saliva following along and dripping on your face. The man got on the bed and carefully pulled your head back on the bed.

You were practically salivating at the sight of his cock, fuck you had missed it. Before he told you to do anything, your legs were already spread for him, and he let a low chuckle as he examined your body with his dark, lustful eyes.

San settled between your legs and slapped your thigh.

"Such a well-trained whore... I'm proud, princess." San mockingly complimented before kissing you.

His fingers trailed down your body, squeezing your breasts in the process, and found their way into your core. He wasn't so patient this time and inserted three fingers. San fucked them into you at a pace that had you question how much stamina could one man have on his own.

"Are you gonna cum on my fingers? Is that what you want?"

Your thighs squeezed San and your hands gripped the sheets behind your back at the pain of containing the orgasm.

"Shit- no! Please, fuck me, please!"

San stopped, as tears brimmed in your eyes, and shoved his fingers in your mouth, so you could lick them clean.

"You behaved so well, you deserve a reward."

San's plan was to edge you as much as possible because he knew that once he slipped inside of you he wouldn't last long.

Your boyfriend slowly pushed inside of you, taking in the feeling of your pussy around his cock that he missed oh so much, and both of your moans and grunts mixed together in a pornographic melody.

"Shit- Fuck you feel so good, princess."

You couldn't even form coherent words, as you were too mesmerized by the way he looked, glistening under the red lights with his black hair stuck to his forehead, and by the way he fucked you.

San spanked whatever body parts he could reach, and your orgasm approached for the 3rd time that night.

He could feel your walls clenching around his cock, and so San took it as a sign to fuck you harder until you came with a loud cry for his name.

"Fuck can I cum in you?"

"Yes, yes do it."

As those words escaped past your lips, San buried his cock deep inside you with one last thrust and came inside of you.

He rested in place for a second, before slipping out of you and leaving the bedroom, only to come back with a glass of water and a towel.

"Oh shit, I forgot those." He dorkily said as he removed the belt from your wrists.

San caressed them and then cleaned all the spit on your face, as well as your sweat, before giving you the glass of water.

Once you were all set he pulled the covers on top of the both of you and wrapped his arms around you. As per usual, he pulled you close to him and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

But this time, you felt something warm running down your shoulder, and then you heard a sob.

"San? Sannie, are you okay?" You asked as you reached to caress his hair.

"I'm sorry. I love you, so much, and when you said that I knew you were right but I didn't know what to say because I can't just... stop."

You turned around in his embrace to face him and wiped his tears away.

"I'm here to stay, San, I just need you to spend some time with me, give me more attention... I can't be here simply for whenever you need me."

San pampered your face with kisses, making you giggle.

"I promise I will."

#san #san sunt #choi san #choi san smut #ateez #ateez smut #kpop #kpop smut #smut #kpop smut scenario #ateez smut scenario #ateez san smut #ateez choi san smut #ateez san #ateez choi san #ateez reader smut #ateez reader insert #choi san reader insert #choi san reader insert smut #choi san reader smut #san reader smnut #san reader insert #san reader insert smut

[itslottiehere]

even the sun gets clouded sometimes (h.s) —  part three

hello beautiful people! here we are, part three is all yours. this fic means so much to me, and this part is extremely autobiographic, and i just hope you don’t mind that lol. i just wanted to thank you again for the crazy support i received on this fic, it still doesn’t feel real. thank you, thank you, thank you. please, as always, read the trigger warnings. it’s a sensitive topic, and i don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable. as always, please leave your feedback in my asks on in the tags, it’s really important! without further ado, happy reading! love you all <3

> part one | part two

masterlist | leave your feedback or requests here

tw: angst, fluff, swearing, talk of self harm.

word count: 8.4k (grab a snack)

—

their movie nights became a regular thing. every week, one of them would text the other “movie night?” and in a half hour at most they were sitting on her couch, a take out of some sorts on the coffee table, deciding who could choose the movie that night. it usually happened after a hard day, like when harry’s car got totalled (and he got to sleep on her couch again. “double win this time”, he thought) or when she had back to back clients who were way too rude, and she just wanted to relax. if someone had asked her a month before if she thought about spending time with harry as “relaxing”, she would’ve laughed at their faces for 10 minutes straight. but it turned out that harry’s a great listener, a really good one. maybe not so much at giving advice.

“just tell him to fuck off.”

“harry, i can’t do that, he’s my boss!”

“and what? bosses can’t fuck off?” 

this went on for a few weeks, and in that time she got to know a little bit more of harry: his interests, his hobbies, the movies he liked best.

he was a real fan of romcoms, and the dichotomy was extremely funny: a tall, well-built man, who had a resting face that seemed to be of someone bothered 24/7, who teared up whenever he saw a cliché love story.

harry would argue all the time that he was definitely not crying, and she’d let it slide. it was kinda cute. 

she also learned that harry was a lover of cats, and wished he could get one but feared that they were going to get lonely, with him being out most of the time.

“it’d be nice to have someone around, you know? the apartment gets lonely sometimes.”

she nodded solemnly, understanding perfectly what he was saying. sometimes it was just nice to have someone there with you. not in a romantic way, not even in a friendly way, but just in.. an existing together kind of way. 

she felt the same often, and that’s why niall was frequently over at her place. he loved being at her’s — mostly for the couch and the beer she kept just for him in the fridge — and she liked the company.

harry actually found out a bit more about her. she didn’t share much — and he didn’t dare ask any personal questions this time, still embarrassed about what happened almost two months and a half before. but he learned what she did for a living, which was interesting.

“yeah, i work for a publishing company. that’s why i have a thousand books all over, i can’t seem to find a place for every one of them. but it’s okay, i love being surrounded by them.”

“but the others say that you’re on the night shift whenever you are not out with us, made me think you were a nurse?”

“oh well, they say that when i stay late at the office. i usually stay there till after 11pm, hence why they call it “the night shift”.”

“why do you stay so late?” harry inquired, putting his chin into his hand, leaning a bit forward.

“sometimes it’s because i have a deadline, or because i’m reading a draft that’s just too captivating and i didn’t even realise that time passed. i really enjoy my job, and even if sometimes i have to deal with not-so-nice clients or a crabby boss, i love it all the same.” 

“i see, that’s pretty great, actually. not many people get to say that about their job, you know?” she just nodded. “so, any new novels i should be on the lookout for?”

on friday night, harry texted her “movie night?”, even though they already had one on monday, but he was so tired from the week and just wanted to relax. and seeing her was what made him the most relaxed.

more times than not, he wouldn’t be able to finish the movie, nodding off about halfway. then he was waken up by soft — albeit, slightly cold — hands of a certain someone, who put a quilt that smelled so much like her on him and was picking up his legs, urging him to lay down and get in a more comfortable position.

she never woke him up telling him to go home, just offered him a place to stay. he really couldn’t put into words how much he appreciated that.

so, he was hoping to see her and perhaps get to sleep on that soft couch, surrounded by everything that reminded him of her. he didn’t know if it was weird, how much comfort she brought him. 

all his hopes were crushed when she texted him back.

“i’m so sorry, i’m on the night shift. rain check?” 

he stopped in his tracks. he was already on his way to pick up dinner, because she never said no. 

not even when she was on her period and wanted to just be swaddled in a soft blanket, away from the world. she told him that he could come over, but she had one simple condition.

“please bring over the greasiest burger you can think of. there’s an extra key under the doormat, i can’t stand up.” 

when he arrived, he did find the keys and he opened the door. he saw her all curled on the couch, and he could’ve just smothered her cheeks with kisses.

the thought scared him at first, but when he really thought of it, it was the same feeling he got whenever he saw a cute little kitten or puppy. like, a cute aggression kind of feeling. 

he saw her face light up as soon as he came in her line of sight.

“well, that’s a nice change.” he thought. perhaps her smile was directed to the burger sitting in the bag on the coffee table, but harry thought it was directed to him as well.

so, to hear her say she couldn’t make it to movie night, made him frown. he really, really wanted to see her. he was even going to let her choose the movie! 

but a change of plans was needed.

—

it was nearing 8pm, her stomach was rumbling and her eyes were about to close. all she wanted that night was go home, have a nice bath and get into some cozy pjs, preparing herself for the christmas shopping she had to do during the weekend. 

the thought of asking harry to come over for a movie night crossed her mind, but she didn’t want to bother him, he probably had better plans for a friday night. she was more of a homebody, so staying at home sounded like a dream, but harry told her he liked going out in clubs and such.

that’s why she was surprised when he texted her, and she hated telling him no, but she had too many things on the following monday, so she thought she would get ahead as much as she could.

which meant that she had to turn down movie night, and she just knew he had that cute pout on his lips, that he’d get once she’d won the third round of “rock, paper, scissors” for who could choose the movie that night.

around 8:15, there was a soft knock on her office door.

“oh sorry guys, i’ll get out right now but you can also not clean this room, i’m going home late!” she got up from her chair and started picking up her papers so she could get out of the cleaning crew’s hair.

but when a familiar mop of curly hair came through the door, she stopped cleaning up.

“harry? what are you doing here? is everything okay?”

“yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. i brought dinner.” he came through the door and walked into her office.

“but... why? a-and how do you know where i work?” she looked at him quizzically.

“i texted sarah and asked her for the address. and why? can’t i just want to see you?”

she couldn’t stop her cheeks from getting warm, as warm as the feeling she was feeling in her belly. he wanted to see her. 

“no no, of course.” she coughed a little. “please sit. and thank you so much, i’m so hungry.”

“yeah, i know, i could hear your stomach growling from the end of the hall.” he chuckled.

“hey!” she acted offended, but was smiling as wide as him.

they ate their dinner — well, she inhaled her food — and they chatted a bit.

“so, tell me more about your job. about you, in general. it feels like i’ve done all the talking these last couple of months.” he cleaned his hands on the paper towel, getting his fingers clean from the sticky sauce.

“uhm, i don’t have much to tell, i’m not that interesting to be honest.”

“i think i have to disagree.” he looked up at her, and she could feel herself swoon. “why are you here tonight?”

“oh, i just have back to back staff meetings on monday morning, and then i have meetings with clients in the afternoon and i’m not going to be done with everything in time if i don’t stay late tonight. i need to have the weekend free of work.” she confessed, clearing up her desk from their containers. 

“need a weekend away from everything?” he wondered. 

“i do, yeah.” she smiled. “but that’s not happening this weekend, unfortunately. i have to shop for christmas presents, i’m already late and i have to get them all at once, and it’s really overwhelming.” she sighed.

“you’re tired.” he noted.

“not all that nice to hear that for a woman, you know? it means i look bad.” 

“no, it’s not what i meant. i just can see your eyes halfway closed. you can’t work right now, you’re falling asleep.”

“but i need to, harry, i have to fin-“

“no, you don’t.” he interrupted her, his gaze piercing. “i’m getting you home. and i won’t take no for an answer.” 

“but harry, i-“

“nope. we’re going home.”

“but-“

“do i need to pick you up and carry you to the car? because i will do it if you keep fighting me on this.”

she looked at him, wondering how the hell they ended up there. 

harry just tilted his head to the side. “you ready?”

it felt like she had no other choice but to nod.

—

when she asked him to stay and watch a movie, harry couldn’t say no, finally getting what he wanted all along.

this time he knew he probably wasn’t going to be the one to fall asleep first, for once! as soon as she was asleep and in bed, he was going to go home. 

his plans slightly changed though, because a sleepyhead decided to rest her head on his lap, and he couldn’t move an inch. he wouldn’t.

and honestly? he really didn’t want to. 

it was like when a cat decides to rest its head on you. you are the chosen one, and you will not move till the cat moves first. 

now, instead of a cute ball of fur, there was a just as cute girl, curled up with her hand close to his knee, lightly fisting the fabric of his trousers. 

she didn’t fall asleep that way, but when harry saw the uncomfortable position in which she passed out, he had to do something to make her a little more comfortable. and that’s how they ended up here.

he saw her sleeping before — at adam’s cabin, especially — but never got to linger on her features.

he could see she had a slight furrow in her brows, and he just wanted to put the pad of his finger against her skin and smooth it out. was she having a bad dream? was she overthinking even when asleep? was she uncomfortable? 

then he focused on the curve of her nose, and lastly on her lips. they were slightly pouted, a bit open, and just looked so soft. so pretty, and pink, and soft.

harry couldn’t say this was the first time he thought something like that. he found himself often looking at her lips, especially since she told him she usually focuses on them when people talk.

“like, i don’t want to seem like a creep, but if i don’t watch a person’s mouth while they talk to me, it’s like 90% of the information doesn’t reach my ears.” 

and since then, he couldn’t stop himself from doing that. although, he often did that with her only. 

huh, weird.

and then he started watching her lips when she would eat, seeing how she kept them shut while she was chewing, because she couldn’t bear hearing people making noises with their mouths when they eat. harry got a pillow straight to his face one time, followed by the threat of her smashing his teeth in if he didn’t cut it out. a feisty one, she is.

and while he observed them in all of these occasions, he noticed how plump they were, how pink and just... pretty.

one night, when he was a bit tipsy, he was just about to tell her all of this, but thanks to his lucky starts sarah unknowingly came to his rescue, tearing her away from him and dragging her to the bathroom.

he thought that was for the best, she should never had to know the thoughts he had swirling through his mind. it mostly happened when he was unconscious, especially when he was staying over at her house.

“it’s just because you’re literally surrounded by her stuff. you are in her apartment, on her couch, with her quilt around you, her smell lingering. it’s fine.” he thought to himself, a pathetic way of shoving his dreams out of his mind.

when he first dreamt about kissing her, he was scared shitless. they had been friends for about a little over a month then, and he felt a bit weird dreaming about a friend that way. 

it wasn’t even something dirty, they were just having fun at the park, he was pushing her on the swings.

“higher, harry, higher!” 

“love, if i push you any higher you’re going to fall!” he said laughing.

“i don’t care, just do that, please!”

“no love, i can’t, you’re gonna get hurt.” 

she started slowing down once he stopped pushing her and when she was almost still, he came in front of her, stopping her for good when he placed his hands on her knees, crouching down a little to get to her face level.

when he caught the look she had on her face, he could’ve just melted. she was pouting, pouting, for pete’s sake.

“hey, what’s this all about?” he said, pointing at her lips.

“you didn’t push me higher.” she looked at him, trying her hardest to keep her pouting face, but he could see the smile that wanted to creep up on her face. 

“aw baby, want me to make it better?” he said sweetly, tilting his head to the side.

“yes, please. thank you.” she smiled a little, looking at him. 

and that’s when he leaned in, leaving a sweet kiss, taking her plush bottom lip between his. he could feel her crumble underneath his touch, even if he was seeing this from a third person point of view. he could feel the soft skin of her lips, tasting her cinnamon chapstick, and what he imagined — and was almost positive — she just tasted like: the sweetest nectarines of the best summer of your life.

when he pulled away, he saw her eyes were still closed, as if she was wanted to bask in the moment for just a second longer.

“made it better?” he told her, smirking at her still flushed face.

“mmh mmh, i think so.” she finally opened her eyes, and smiled back at him. “now, your turn!”

“love, how do you think you’re going to be able to push me!” 

“shut up, i’m strong.” he gave her a cut the bullshit look, and she was absolutely offended. “i’ll show you, c’mon! get on then!” 

he woke up gasping, looking around the room to understand where he was. when he realised he was at her apartment, he groaned a bit. of course he was. 

as said, he was scared. not just by the kiss itself, but by the sheer intimacy of it, because it clearly wasn’t the first they shared, anyone could’ve seen that. he also noticed how happy she was, how loud her laugh was, how comfortable she had to feel with him to show him her more childish side.

what scared him most, you ask?

the fact that he envied the dream version of him. 

ever since then, those kind of dreams came to his mind often, but he always pushed them aside, as games his mind was playing on him. he didn’t think about kissing her when he was awake, did he?

“no, i don’t”, he kept telling himself.

but seeing her all curled up against him, her lips looking so soft and plump made him think twice about his words. 

instead of just laying one on her — when she was unconscious, may he add — he decided to tuck the hair that fanned over her face behind her ear, with a touch so light he thought that he wasn’t even touching her. but he wanted this contact to last a little bit longer.

so, he lightly grazed his finger over her cheek. even her skin was soft as a pillow, what was wrong with her?

he run his thumb along her jaw, and when he felt her shift, he panicked.

“shit, shit, shit, don’t wake up, don’t wake up, please.” he murmured so quietly it was barely a whisper, putting his hands up as if she was going to go off like a bomb.

she didn’t wake up, but she did turn her head, from facing the tv to facing harry. she brought her hand again at — now — the top of his thighs, but instead of holding onto his trousers, she gripped his sweater, that was a bit baggy.

“thank fuck” he thought, because she would’ve grabbed his crotch if she didn’t find that sweater. 

—

after the movie was over — harry didn’t pay too much attention to it, after she fell asleep — he thought it was time to make her go to bed and rest properly. but he really didn’t want to wake her up.

so he tried to pry his sweater away from her fist, just so he could lay down her head on the couch and get up. he did just that, and once he was on his feet, he crouched down again, putting one arm under her knees and one under her back, picking her up. 

when she was finally in his arms, she curled up against him, tucking her head in his chest, a hand spread at the center of it. harry looked up to the ceiling, asking any god or ethereal being what the hell did he do to deserve this.

once they reached her bedroom door, he opened it with his foot and carried her to her bed. he tucked her in, and as he was about to leave when he felt someone gently take his wrist, and heard a soft voice, barely a whisper.

“stay over? don’t wanna wake up alone.”

and could he really say no to that? 

could he really say no to her? 

she was asleep before he could answer, so he just took her hand, squeezed it and told her under his breath. “of course, love.”

—

the following morning harry woke up before her, which was kind of unusual. she was usually the one who stirred him awake to have breakfast — she got better at cooking eggs and pancakes, so he didn’t have to lie anymore about just drinking coffee in the mornings. 

but last night she must’ve been spent, she probably wanted to sleep in a little more.

that gave him time to look around her living room, seeing how she decorated for christmas. there was a huge tree, probably almost three meters, with warm yellow fairy lights and red and gold adornments, a shiny star on the top.

then there were all kinds of trinkets all around, even little statues of mary, jesus and joseph, the whole nativity scene. he didn’t know she was a religious person. 

he thought it must’ve taken her so long to decorate all by herself, especially the tree. she probably climbed over something to put the star on top, risking to fall down and get hurt. couldn’t she have asked him to help her?

he decided to stop lurking and go into her kitchen to fetch some ingredients to make her breakfast, for a change. when breakfast was almost ready, he decided to go wake her up.

he walked into her bedroom as quietly as possible, not wanting to startle her awake. when harry reached her sleeping figure, he put his hand on her shoulder, shaking a little.

“good morning, sleepyhead. it’s time to wake up.”

she grunted in response.

“c’mon now, breakfast is almost ready.”

she grunted again, making him chuckle.

“not a morning person, are you?”

“just five more minutes, please.” she croaked. he muttered a low “alright”, and went to go back to the kitchen, but her fingers grabbed his wrist.

“stay here, i’m cold. heater must not be working properly.”

he couldn’t say if he was more happy or shocked by her request. smirking, he sat back down on the bed, close to her legs. but that wouldn’t cut it, clearly. 

“what are you doing all over there? get in here.” she moved the comforter and patted the bed underneath. when she noticed he wasn’t moving from his spot, she spoke up again. “hey, get in here quick, the heat is going to leave.”

he chuckled, and finally stood up and got into bed beside her. he wasn’t even in there for two seconds, that she was already wrapped around him, as if he was going to disappear.

“just five minutes, right?” he softly asked her, his arm going around her shoulders, hand on her bicep.

“yeah, five minutes.” her face was tucked in his neck, and he could feel her lips grazing the skin of his throat when she spoke.

she really was cold, and she had been the whole night. when he carried her to bed last night, she was half awake, and when she asked him to stay over, she imagined he was going to sleep with her in her bed. but then, he went back to the living room, and she was just too tired to call him back.

so, when harry came to wake her up, she tried putting it a little more plainly, and even then the man couldn’t take the hint. 

5 minutes soon turned into an half hour, and she can’t lie: she never felt so comfortable. who knew harry was so great at cuddling?

the both of them were in that sleepy state when you’re not really asleep but you’re not totally awake either, and if she didn’t have to run to the shops to buy christmas presents, then she would’ve stayed there for the whole day. 

harry could describe the feeling as heaven, nothing ever felt so right. how come they didn’t cuddle before? 

but other questions came to mind: what’s happening? why did he wish he could stay in this bed forever? why does her tracing patters on his chest make him feel like he’s on a rollercoaster? 

when they finally dragged themselves out of her bed — that was even more comfy than her couch, if possible — breakfast was indeed ruined and they decided to eat while they went out.

“wait, you want to go christmas shopping with me?”

“you’re the nut job who’s going shopping for presents five days before christmas. you need all the help you can get.”

and so, off to the shops they were.

but here’s the thing: how can you purchase a present for someone who’s right there with you? and what the hell would he like for a present? she had absolutely no clue what to get him.

maybe he wasn’t getting her a present, but she wouldn’t care, after all they started being friends only for a few months before, she wasn’t expecting anything from him. but hell was going to freeze over before she didn’t get him a present, that was for sure.

she got all the others presents, and harry went back to her apartment, looking like a porter with all the bags he had in hand.

“you sure you got everything? don’t you have a third grade cousin that needs something? or a remote uncle that you haven’t seen in 17 years?”

“my god, you should be a comedian.” she looked at him with a fake smile.

“i don’t even know how they are going to receive these if you bought them today.” he scoffed. “mind opening the door for me, darling?”

“i’m trying! you’re a pain in the ass, styles.” she grumbled. “and i’m going to spend tonight packing them, and then i’ll overnight them. i don’t know if they’ll get the presents in time for christmas, but it’s the thought that counts.”

she finally managed to open her apartment door, and let harry go in first: the man couldn’t wait to drop all the boxes and bags.

“and i wouldn’t have this problem if i went back home for the holidays, but i’m not, so here we are.” she said while closing the door.

“why aren’t you going home?” and why did she sound so upset about it?

“you know, work, life, stuff. i hope to see them a little later next year, but going back now was impossible for me.” she shrugged.

“i see. at least we’re going to spend it all together, though?”

“yeah, it’s going to be great, i bet.” she gave him a tight lipped smile, which didn’t sit right with him.

“what’s up?” he asked.

“nothing, what?”

“you’re not the only one who can read people. tell me what’s going on in your mind.” he looked at her pacing around the room, leaving the presents on the kitchen table.

“it’s nothing important, it’s probably going to sound so silly, you wouldn’t-“

“i wouldn’t have asked if i didn’t care. please, tell me.”

she took a deep breath and sat on the couch. “it’s just that christmas is my favourite holiday. i love the atmosphere and back home we really celebrate christmas: a table of no least than 20 people, all the aunts and uncles and cousins, people who i probably see once a year, at that very dinner.

and then we have all these traditions, little things that make me miss home. like, my mum used to wake up me and my sister with christmas music on christmas day, every single year, and she still does it every time we get back home for the holidays.

or like, on christmas eve, me, mum and my sister go to the church i used to go to when i was younger for the vigil, and we have this mass that it’s like two hours long but it’s just so beautiful. i wouldn’t consider myself a religious person, but being in that room just brings me so much comfort that i can’t even put into words.” she looked up at him, eyes a bit teary.

“then we used to come home, around 11am and we would watch “the grinch” while we waited for midnight to open our presents.” she sighed. “it’s such a special holiday for me, and when i think about the fact that there was a time when it didn’t feel like that, when i was away from them... i don’t know, it makes me sad.” she gave him a small smile, looking down at her shoes.

“hey.” he put his hand on her knee. “we don’t have to talk about this, any of this. i’m sorry i pushed you, i didn’t want to make you sad.”

“no, it’s okay.” she swallowed thickly. “i- uh.” he saw she was struggling to find the words.

“i think i’d like to speak about that, if you wanted to hear about it. i don’t want to force you to stay there and just... i don’t know, throw all my trauma at you.” 

“you wouldn’t. i would gladly listen, if you feel comfortable enough, though. niall is going to rip my head off if you aren’t.” the last part he murmured under his breath.

“what was that?” she inquired.

“nothing important, love. whenever you are ready.”

she took another deep breath, sitting crisscrossed on the couch, facing him but with her head looking towards her fingers, which she was basically tearing apart. 

“since i was a child, i used to feel things, emotions, very strongly. i would always say that they would feel amplified, and i absolutely loved that. i loved feeling everything so deeply, because it reminded me that i was alive and i was here and i could do anything i wanted to. but once i moved away, i don’t know what happened, but i just started feeling a little less, and a little less. till i was numb. 

i was desperate, i couldn’t recognise the person looking back at me in the mirror. i didn’t cry, i didn’t laugh, i was just... being, existing. i was younger, i was stupid and i did something even more stupid, just wishing that i would feel something, even if that something was pain.” her voice started wavering, she pulled her lips in her mouth in an attempt to stop her tears from falling.

harry was watching her, but didn’t dare utter a word. she was finally opening up — he doesn’t know if for the first time ever or not, but he didn’t dream of interrupting her, if she wanted to go on.

after a little while, when it seemed like she calmed down a bit, she resumed talking. 

“it went on for a while. it wasn’t just the physical aspect of it that was causing me problems, but also the mental state i was in. i cut everyone out of my life, didn’t go home for two years straight: i skipped christmas, birthday dinners, anniversaries. i felt like the worst person ever walking on earth, but i still couldn’t really feel anything. and that just made me spiral, because i was mourning the person i was before. i missed her. fuck, i missed her so much.” she sniffled. 

“but then, one day i just knew that it all was getting too much, that i couldn’t keep going like this or else the ending i was heading towards was going to be catastrophic. so i reached out and asked for help: i went to therapy, and i still go to this day. not exactly for the same reasons, but mostly to have a place where i can just let go, i guess.” she stopped and looked at harry, who was staring at her, his brows lightly furrowed, meaning he was listening to every word.

“and therapy really helped getting me out of that mental space. it was difficult, uncomfortable, i had my fair share of setbacks, but during one session my therapist told me something that i hold close to my heart to this day, ever since then.” she smiled to herself, eyes focused on the cushion she was sat on.

“she told me: ‘you know, even the sun gets clouded sometimes.’ even the happiest people — or what seem to be the happiest of people — have their dark days. and that’s fine. you just need to get through them.”

harry thought that no metaphor could ever be as perfect to describe her as this one was.

he was still silent, waiting to see if she had anything else to add. but she misinterpreted his silence for something bad. 

“oh god, i’m sorry if this was too much for you, you could’ve told me to stop but since you didn’t i went on and i didn’t even check-”

he couldn’t stop himself from grabbing her waist and make her straddle his lap, arms tightening in a hug that could’ve crushed her bones, but he didn’t care, he just wanted to have her close. his face tucked in her neck, inhaling her perfume, and he hoped she could understand from this hug everything he wanted to say, but couldn’t find the right words to say out loud.  

he didn’t need to say anything, all she had to know was expressed by the way he was hugging her. his face rested in her neck, her hand went straight to his hair, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

she doesn’t know for how long they stayed like that, but didn’t even care.

—

christmas was around the corner. on monday, she went to the post office, dropped off every present, went to work and had the full day she knew she was going to have, but she had just two more days of work before christmas eve, then she’d spend that beautiful following day with her friends. it wasn’t going to be like at home, but it was with another family she loved just as much. 

during these two days, she worked hard on harry’s present. she didn’t know if it was going to be as good as she wanted it to be, but she’d try her very best to make sure it was.

on christmas eve, she stayed home putting the finishing touches on the presents that she had to bring the following day at sarah’s, and checked on the food she had to prepare for their dinner. 

around 9pm, she sat down on the couch, looking at her decorated apartment.

the christmas tree she got was almost a carbon copy of the one her mum had at home: three meters tall, way too big for her living room; even the decorations were very similar. 

she was sad about not being able to go home that year, but she had to be back to work on the 27th and it wasn’t smart to make such a long trip for just one day, even if it was a special one. 

but there was something more that was making her sad, or well, worried: she hadn’t skipped christmas since those years. she wasn’t in that mental place anymore, she had been clean for years now, but you can never know what could trigger you and make you fall back in old habits. 

so she tried not to think about that, but of course she just couldn’t stop. she started feeling guilty for behaving the way she did, cutting everyone out of her life, lying to them and pretending she was alright. in her mind, she knows she wasn’t in a good mental state, but that didn’t take away any of the guilt she was feeling. 

her thoughts were interrupted by a knocking on the door. she thought that maybe it was the landlady coming by to wish a happy christmas — she was a lovely older lady who always gave her candy whenever she ran into her. 

but when she opened the door, she found someone a little bit younger than her 70-year-old landlady.

harry stood there with a bottle of red wine and a present in hand. 

“happy christmas eve. let me in?”

“and here i thought you were a caroller. you sure you don’t want to sing anything?”

“shut up and let me in, it’s freezing.” 

this was probably the first time harry came over unannounced. he always texted her first, or waited for her to text him for their movie nights, but since she told him about the traditions she had with her family back home, he knew he had to do something. 

it wasn’t hard to understand that this holiday season was hard for her, not only because she was far from her family, but because of what happened in the past when she was away from them.

harry could imagine the kind of thoughts that had been swimming in her head these last few days, and he couldn’t stand it. no one should have these kind of thoughts ever, especially not during the holidays. 

especially not her.

so, he decided to participate in one of the little traditions she told him about, and thought that maybe they could watch “the grinch” together and open their presents at midnight.

when he told her this, she had the prettiest smile on her face. she never smiled at him like this, and this time he was sure that it was for him. that made him smile just as wide.

they watched “the grinch” together and they both teared up at the part where he was picked on at school. 

harry was shocked when she told him that cindy lou was played by the same actress that played jenny humphrey in gossip girl.

“no fucking way that’s her! she looks so sweet here!” 

“people grow up, harry.” she laughed. “and hold on- you watched gossip girl? how have you never shared this with me?”

“didn’t think it was an interesting fact to share.”

“are you kidding me? it’s a very important piece of information! you can’t trust anyone these days.” she muttered ironically, but that didn’t stop harry from throwing a pillow at her. 

once the grinch was over, it was around 11:30, so they decided to make some hot chocolate and wait for midnight.

“alright, 11:59, one minute to go!”

“you know it’s christmas and not new year’s, do you?”

“yes, you ass, i do know. but i wanted to wish you merry christmas at exactly midnight.”

harry smiled at her, shaking his head lightly.

they looked at each other, until her screen showed 12:00am, making it officially christmas day.

“merry christmas, harry.” she said sweetly.

“merry christmas, love.” he answered back, looking at her fondly. 

“now, for the good part... presents! wait here, i have to get yours in my bedroom.”

“ooh, i like where this is going.” he said smirking, earning an eye roll from her.

“get your mind out of the gutter, styles. you little freak.” 

he shook his head, but he was getting a bit antsy. what if she didn’t like his present? what if he didn’t like her present and his poker face wasn’t good enough and he made her feel bad? he was sure she could’ve gifted him something straight out of the trash and he would’ve loved it, but you never know.

she came back into the living room, and he could see she was feeling the same way as him. she sat back down on the floor with him, near the tree, and had her presents in hand. 

wait, presents, plural. 

he was fucked, wasn’t he?

“they aren’t the greatest presents and i usually am great at gift giving, like insanely good. but i really did try my best and i hope i didn’t disappoint too much. go easy on me, please.” she said the last bit laughing, but he could feel the insecurity in her voice.

he wanted to let her know that she would never disappoint him, but no words were coming out of his mouth.

huh, so your smart mouth can talk shit all day but can’t pay her a compliment?

but it felt like she already knew.

“so, this one first.” it was in a tube, and he didn’t know what to think. so he was quick to open it, and he smiled widely when he saw what it was. 

“it’s a movie poster where you can scratch the movies you have seen. i bought the same one, i want to put it up the wall, so we can see those movies together and scratch them.” she said, looking down at her hands.

“i love this. this is so beautiful, thank you so much.” he said truthfully. it was such a sweet gesture, and of course she would think of such a thing.

“alright, then for the second present. i thought the first one wasn’t going to be enough-” he went to interrupt her but she wouldn’t let him. “no, you shush. i thought it didn’t convey how much i care about you, so i wanted to give you this.” 

she gave him the next gift, that resembled a book a lot. when he opened it, he smiled to himself: “the unbearable lightness of being”.

she told him a thousand times that this was her favourite book and that he just had to read it, because it changed her life. but when he opened the book and flipped through the pages, his breath hitched.

this was her own copy.

“i, uh. i annotated it for you. i know it’s a used copy, — and i’ve read it like 20 times i think, so it’s pretty used — but i felt like it was just right to use my own. it’s kind of like i’m giving a piece of me to you, and i wouldn’t want to give it to anyone else, to be honest.”

he heard what he said, but couldn't tear his eyes from the book in his hands.

inside the first page, there was a small inscription.

“thank you for being here even when it’s cloudy. merry christmas, H.”

he was staring at the words scribbled on the page, wondering how lucky he had to be to be there, with her.

“it’s okay, if you don’t like it, i can just-”

“please, stop with that. i love it, i’m just speechless, i don’t think a thank you is gonna cut it.” 

“a thank you is more than enough, harry. it’s nothing too special.” she shrugged. 

“it is to me. and i’ll hold onto this forever, i promise you.” he said looking deep into her eyes, making her soft.

“i’m glad you like it, then.” she smiled. “and you speechless? that can be my present, holy shit!” she tried to lighten the air a bit, given the seriousness of that moment.

“heyy! rude.” he scowled. “now, for your present.” 

he gave her a box, wrapped with a pretty bow and a note attached to it; she decided to read what he wrote before opening the present. 

she was so giddy, anxious and happy. she couldn’t believe she was actually here with harry, reliving a tradition she only had at home. and she couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that this was all harry’s idea, that he wanted to make her feel as if she was home. 

she was just so grateful for that mishap in the woods back in october, because it brought them here, and she wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

she opened the little envelope, and took out the note.

“with the hope you’ll find your eugene fitzherbert soon enough.”

she looked up at him quizzically, but he just tilted his chin forward, silently telling her to open the box and check for herself what his note was referring to.

when she finally opened it, she felt her jaw hitting the floor.

“it’s a first edition. you probably already know this, but rapunzel is a story by the grimm brothers. and i know there’s no eugene fitzherbert in this one, and i know you love him, but i couldn’t not buy this when-”

he couldn’t finish his sentence because she threw herself in his arms, tackling him to the ground with her on top.

“this is the best thing anyone has ever gotten me. you’re just the sweetest harry, i can’t believe you did this for me. i don’t deserve this, oh my god.” she whispered in his neck, her lips grazing the soft skin. he felt the small kiss she left right on his throat, and he hugged her tightly against him, as if he wanted for them to stick together. 

“you deserve this and more, love.”

they stayed on the ground for a little while, and when she was trying to pull away he just hugged her closer.

“just, uh. just one more minute, okay?” he said lowly.

“of course. whenever you want to let go.” 

he thought he never wanted to.

but when she tried to pull away again, he couldn’t stop her.

“now my presents look like shit, in comparison to yours.” she pouted, but it was soon replaced with a smile. “i can’t even think about how much you spent over it, my goodness. you’re nuts.”

harry just chuckled, and she started talking again, looking at him in a new way. 

“uh, can i do something? but you have to tell me if you’re not comfortable and if you want to stop right away, because i don’t want you to feel forced into anything and-”

harry quickly picked up where this was going, so he placed his hand on the back of her neck, sat up, went and shut her up for good. 

her lips felt as soft as they looked, as soft as they did when he’d dream about them. this was what heaven felt like, he was sure of it.

he lightly bit her lower lip, taking it between his front teeth, earning a small whimper from her. he was going to die, he was sure of it. but if this is the last thing he got to do, he’d pass away peacefully.

she had been waiting for this moment for so long, and now that it was happening it felt like she was walking on air. his lips felt like soft pillows against her own, and she could taste the hot chocolate on them and his tongue. she couldn’t get enough.

when he pulled her bottom lip with his front teeth — those bunny teeth she was lucky enough to see whenever he gifted her a toothy grin — she couldn’t help but whimper against him, melting even more when he sucked on it lightly, as if to make it better.

they kept kissing until they were out of breath, but it seemed like neither of them wanted to leave the other’s lips for even just a second, afraid that this perfect moment was going to disappear. 

but harry pulled away first, afraid of actually passing out if he kept going.

and god, he couldn’t believe the sight he had in front of him: her eyes still closed, as if she was wanted to bask in the moment for just a second longer.

exactly like he dreamt about.

when she fluttered her eyes open, he knew he was done for. that was it, the peak of his existence. how had she gotten him so wrapped around her little finger? he was absolutely whipped for her.

she looked into his eyes, those pools of green that had always drawn her in. eight months ago, they looked at her with something very close to disdain, but now? disdain was the furthest thing she could find in them.

and fuck, was she glad about it.

after they stared at each other for a while, she spoke up again. “i still feel like i need to pay you back somehow, that present was too much.”

“mmh, i think i have an idea.” he smirked, leaning in.

“oh really?” she said teasingly, leaning in as well.

“mmh mmh.”

and they kissed again. and again. and again. and a little more after that.

—

on christmas morning, she woke up snuggled in her comforter, with two arms wrapped around her midsection, keeping her close. she sighed with content.

could things get any better?

“‘morning, love.”

apparently they could. he felt his lips kiss her head, but she wanted more. she turned around to face him, and didn’t wait a second to smash her lips against his, hearing him hum against her lips.

“good morning, bub.” she smiled against his lips, leaving another quick kiss. “sorry, i didn’t even brush my teeth.” 

he shook his head, grinning at her. “don’t care, not even in the slightest. i’ve waited for way too long to do this, so please do whenever you want to.” to mark his words, he kissed her again.

“you did?” she looked up at him and he nodded. 

“waited a long while for you, darling. i don't mind having waited now, though.” 

“ah, you’re such a sap. no surprise you love romcoms.” she smacked his chest lightly, leaving her hand right above his heart.

“hey! don’t be rude now.” he scolded her with a smile on his lips.

“alright alright, you walmart version of ryan gosling.”

“oh, you’re going to regret this.”

—

harry had to go back to his place to get ready and pick up the gifts to bring to sarah’s. 

“can’t you come with me?” he pouted.

“i’m sorry, i have to shower, get dressed and stuff. i’ll see you in a little while, i promise.”

“you could just wear my stuff.”

that made her feel all gooey on the inside, but also made her chuckle. “don’t worry, i’ll steal all your hoodies in no time. i've already started, if you remember.” she smiled, leaving a small peck on his nose.

“good. they look better on you anyway.” he pecked her lips three times before kissing her for a little longer. 

“okay, now you have go or else we’re going to be late.” she said between kisses.

“mmh mmh, you’re right, should definitely go.” he said, but just went ahead and kissed her, before she pushed her hand against his chest.

“stop it, we really are going to be late. i’ll see you soon, i promise.” she smiled softly at him, lightly shoving him outside her door.

who thought harry could be such a softie? again, herself from 8 months ago would be laughing like a crazy person if she knew that harry was at her doorstep, pouting because he had to go home and couldn’t keep kissing her. 

a couple of hours later, she was dressed up and ready to go. she heard her phone ring, meaning she received a message. glancing at her phone, she couldn’t help the smile on her face.

“i’m on my way. you ready?”

“yes, i am, E.”

“don’t know if you thought this was another person you spent all day kissing, but my name starts with an H, love.” 

she didn’t bother telling him why she called him E, maybe he’d get it someday. 

—

here it is! it’s time to say goodbye to these two softies. this fic is probably the best thing i’ve ever written, and i’m incredibly proud of it. i hope you enjoyed it as well! thank you so much for your support, it’s been crazy. thank you!

tag list (for those tagged, do you want to be on the permanent tag list? let me know!):

@his-only-angel-1989 @sunshinemoonsposts @cherrysulewski @idgasb @feestyles @msolbesg @call1800coochie @a-strange-familiar @the-art-of-living-honestly @onlyangel-k @sushiirestaurant @annesauriol @longingtobewithu @jjharry @hes-club @fairyinpurple @harrysbigspoon

#my writing #harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles os #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles x y/n #harry x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic rec #harry styles smut

[xxavengingangelxx]

As the Rush Comes 1/1

Ya'll! I posted this fic a while ago. It was the post that took my Tumblr virginity. However, I was dumb back then and I'm still dumb now, honestly and I thought Tumblr had a low word limit so I removed some scenes like a director in a movie that's too long and I think that really took away from the quality of the story.

With Graves coming back, I figured now was as good a time as any to repost this. Although this time, I'm posting the whole thing. It came to me after a reading a fic by halfmothhalfman on AO3. Beginning is kinda boring but it sets things up for some good smut ;)

Summary: A female mercenary and Graves meet in a bar. @bellgraves because you asked for it ;)

Tags: Porn with plot, gun kink, hair pulling, borderline hate fucking, friends to enemies, blood and injury, shooting, top!Phillip Graves.

Tagline: You had 74 hits under your belt. A man named Phillip Graves would make 75.

TRIGGERS: Alleged/referenced child abuse, referenced suicide/self-harm, triggers for domestic violence, possible character death. MDNI, 18+ only.

-

I hate you.

That was the first sentence you said when you were 3 years old. You screamed it, shrieked it, to this towering man standing right in front of you. While you don’t remember exactly what had transpired, you know that you both were standing over your parents’ dead bodies and that your pajamas were sprayed red. The man in front of you did not know how to respond. It was almost as if he had never been around children so young.

You were perceptive like that even when you were 3 years old.

Sirens in the background seemed to pull the large man out of his reverie. You saw panic in his green eyes despite the fact that the rest of his face was covered in a black mask.

Then he took you.

***

And the rest is history. You learned from him later that he grabbed you because the police were on the way, you were clearly verbal, and you might make a good witness. He admitted later that he had not been around any children much less raised one. My childhood was a shithole, he would tell you.

He told you eventually that the initial plan was to avoid doing the ‘hit’ when you, a toddler, were in the home but that the timing had not given him any other alternative. He mentioned his boss told him that if the child, you, were in the home, to avoid doing it in front of you. But if shit hit the fan, then, hell, he said he had been given the green light to get rid of you, too.

He told you many times, sometimes when he was drunk, that there was no way he could kill any child, much less one that’s not even school age. So he did the only thing that came to him. He eliminated the witness without killing you. He couldn’t just throw you into foster care or abandon you because then you could be a witness. Plus he mentioned to you a lot that foster care was fucking awful. You learned that when you spent almost 6 months in foster care after he was accused of abuse. He’d burned your fingerprints off when you were 10 and the teachers were shocked when they tried to do a science project that involved fingerprints. You denied abuse, saying you were a disturbed child (you really were disturbed so it was half truth) who’d done it to herself. You were happy to be home with him however dysfunctional the home was.

He raised you. He raised you the only way he knew how. He actually never really abused you. Sure he’d beat the shit out of you if you acted up. You tried running away once and he almost put you in the hospital with the beatdown he gave you. He smacked you across the face if you got smart mouthed with him. You saw your first murder/hit when you were 10. But you didn’t consider that abuse. You considered it being put back in line. He raised you and taught you the only thing he knew.

Murder for hire.

He’d given you the name Raquel, after one of the avenging angels of heaven. You never knew your real name and to be honest you didn’t really give a fuck. You were apparently born in California and he hauled you all the way to the miserable, lonely town of International Falls, Minnesota to grow up. No one would bother looking in the nation’s ice box.

Businesswise, all you knew is that he was paid by someone else. He was hired by different people to do different hits. His own boss, your boss’s boss, ran a PMC on the side or so you heard. That was your goal: to be a PMC contractor. You’d been all over the world with your job with countless identities. But PMCs got to go to the really fun places. You’d sniped once or twice but wanted to do it more often.

So now you did what he did. Kinda. You’d have to work your way up the ranks. You’d been killing since you were 18. He was ‘nice’ enough to not make you kill before you were 18. Besides, you’d be fuckin’ sloppy anyway. At least when you both thought you were about 18. You did not know your actual birthday and neither did he. Neither of you gave a fuck. You had 74 hits under your belt, all done in the last 15 years. About 5 kills a year and the rest off to do whatever the hell you wanted whether that be party and get drunk (no drugs allowed or you risked getting a target put on your back) or whether it was nothing in a hotel room. You needed 100 hits to be considered for PMC.

A man named Phillip Graves would make 75.

You never asked the why. You never asked if they worked for him before and they had gone rogue. He made it a goal to not let his soldiers know about each other in case he had to order a hit on one of his own. The why was simply not important.

So, Phillip Graves. Someone above your boss had ordered the hit.

You were told to be careful, that he was the CEO of his own PMC. He was dangerous, you were told. You’d have to be on your toes.

I want to make your 75th special, he had told you. Try not to die. We could use a woman in the PMC. Ya’ll get to do stuff men can’t. And definitely do not let him recruit you. It’d be treason to me. Pays $50,000.

The hit was not ‘immediate’ which meant you needed to gather some basic information from him. When the final order came down for the hit to be carried out to “full term” you were to kill him. But not until then.

***

You initially met Phillip Graves in a bar.

You wore something revealing. A hot, tight black dress with thigh boots. Your hair curled over your shoulders and you had your fuck me makeup on. One of the ways you would attract your mark’s attention was to wear a black silicone wedding ring. And it worked this time, too.

“Your husband know you’re here?” A man with a Southern drawl called from behind you. Before you faced him your smirked to yourself.

“I’m not married,” you snapped, turning to face him.

“Coulda fooled me,” he shrugged and nodded towards the ring on your finger.

“Maybe I wear it to stop creeps like you from talking to me,”

“Ain’t gonna stop me, sweetheart,” he moved to sit on the stool next to you, removing dark aviator sunglasses. His blue eyes shone even in the low light of the bar. “Are you?” His cologne smelled intoxicating in a way. There was a slight smell of…gunpowder.

Hot motherfucker, ain’t he?

“Nope,” you replied.

“Name’s Phillip,”

“Ariel,” you lied.

“I’m just gonna ask, ma’am,” he started eyeing your body up and down without shame. “Are you for sale?”

You scoffed. In a way, you thought.

“What makes you think that?”

He huffed a laugh.

“Pardon my language but you’ve got fuck me written all over you.” His eyes focused on yours, looking for a reaction. “Hell several men in here are actively eye fucking you.”

“You mean that disgusting fuck in the corner?” you signaled to an overweight 50 year old eyeing you like you were prey. “Ugh,”

“He seems like the rapey type,” Graves added. “You can either hook up with him or me,”

“Or neither,” you rolled your eyes. “And no I’m not for sale, sir.”

“Sounds good to me because I don’t pay. If I see someone I like I get ‘em.” He paused. “Even if that means using force.”

You scoffed. The only reason you took him half seriously if because this is Phillip fucking Graves. “You come off a deployment or somethin’, man? You seem desperate.”

His blue eyes flashed anger and you could swear he was resisting the urge to smack you across the face. He seemed like the type that didn’t have a problem hitting women. Or killing them.

“It’s been longer than I’d like,” he admitted.

“Whatever,”

“Playin’ hard to get?” his blue eyes were dilated now. He liked the thrill of the chase.

“Start over,” you snapped.

You saw when he gritted his teeth. This man was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted to.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he smirked.

***

You led him back to your motel room.

You didn’t have to wait or ask for him to get things started.

He shoved you against the door, one of his hands tangling in your soft hair and the other gripping your ass in an almost bruising grip. He detangled his hands from your hair and your ass and then used them to tear your short dress from the bottom up.

“Asshole,” you breathed. “This was expensive, dick,”

He ignored you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hiking you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. One of his hands went back to your hair, gripping it tight and pulling hard, causing sharp pain and making you hiss.

His teeth grazed your throat. If wanted to he could’ve ripped your throat out with his teeth. You had a fleeting thought, wondering if he’d ever done that to someone. If he had ever ripped a man’s throat out. His mouth moved to your pulse point. You felt him grin when he felt your accelerating heartrate. He bit and sucked. You were sure he’d leave bruises.

“No marks,” you retorted. “I don’t belong to you,”

“No, you do tonight,” he breathed.

He continued biting, sucking. Your boss would call you a fucking whore with a smile on his face when he saw.

You had never been afraid to sleep with the men your killed. It was weird in a fucked up kind of way. Your boss, also known as your caregiver when you were growing up, had never laid a hand on you that way but he’d mentioned many a time that women can use their looks to bait when men usually could not. It was one of the reasons he wanted to accelerate you to your 100 kills…to get you into that PMC. You’d feel a rush when you finished off men as they slept off their tirade. You’d call it a rush coming and it released only when they were dead.

Graves wouldn’t die tonight, though. But he would eventually.

Flirt, fuck, repeat until the order came in to drop him.

You were tossed on the bed roughly, bringing your mind back to the present. He finished ripping your dress open, saying something you didn’t quite get because no sooner than he tossed you on the bed he had unclasped your bra and started biting and sucking your breasts, again leaving hickies and bruises. He got lower…lower…

And lower. He made quick work of your underwear, his hot breath hitting your sex and making you sigh.

“I said, you’re sure moaning like a whore,”

And with that you wanted to hear him beg.

You shoved him, shedded the rest of your clothing and walked towards him. You then knelt in front of him and he was clearly confused by the way you went from shortly dominating the situation to submission. You knew Graves…at least enough about him…to know he got off on being in control. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun.

Your trembling fingers unbuckled his military-style belt and that was when you noticed his sidearm. You were tempted to grab it and just fucking kill him then but not yet. You didn’t have the orders. You easily worked the belt off but he grabbed his sidearm out of your reach.

You got on your haunches, appearing even smaller before him. You look at him through your bangs, through your lashes (real lashes not that fake shit), and you feel your mascara and eyeliner running, initiated by your sweat and the rain outside. You parted your lips slightly and he sighed, his blue eyes barely visible because his pupils were so dilated.

“I don’t trust you, sweetheart,” he grabs his sidearm and yanks it from the holster. Shit…you might have to kill him tonight.

You pouted, attempting to manipulate him.

“You seem like you’re into dark shit,” he grumbled as he freed his cock, the tip of it leaking precum and standing inches from your lips.

“What’s that mean?” you whispered as you licked your lips.

He aimed the sidearm at your head. “You sure as hell know what to do,” he hissed, his other hand stroking himself. “Get to it. Now.”

“Sick fuck,” you mumbled. You took him into your mouth quickly, knowing no man would willingly shoot a woman giving him head in the head or anywhere else. Teeth could be deadly to a man in more ways than one.

“No sicker n’ you,” he moaned. He kept one hand on his sidearm against your head and one hand then tangled in your hair.

You felt as he got harder and harder in your mouth. You moaned around him and he hissed, the vibration apparently rubbing him the right way. It was fucking hot. Here you were sucking cock with a gun to your head. You didn’t mind. Phillip Graves was attractive unlike most of the men you’d handled.

His hand started loosening on his sidearm and you took that as you doing your damn job right. His hips were thrusting into your face and you felt him hitting the back of your throat. Tears escaped the sides of your eyes as you almost, almost gagged.

It was at that point that he tossed the sidearm on the bed to grasp your hair with both hands. He effectively started facefucking you. But that was where you drew the line. He still had his uniform pants halfway on and you gripped the thick fabric, preventing him from bruising your throat. You stopped it all…you stopped using your tongue, stopped using your tongue piercing to get him even harder.

“Beg,” you said after you pulled away from him. His cock was angry…red.

“Bitch, you don’t get to tell me—” he grasped your hair and threw you onto the bed again. “You dress like a whore, you get treated like one.” He climbed over you. You found it hot he was still in uniform and you were totally naked. Well except for your knee boots. Hell, he still had the vest under his shirt on. “I don’t treat a lady like this, but you…”

He settled between your legs, his hot cock rubbing your entrance. You moaned like a porn star because you’d started getting wet the moment you saw him. He was hot. And the fact that you were going to end his life not long from now got you hotter. So easy to manipulate men…

He didn’t even bother preparing you. He slammed in to the hilt, making you cry out.

“Whatever, slut,” he snapped. “Take it.”

He reached for your wrists holding you down as he rammed into you. His eyes looked down on you, focusing mostly on the way your breasts bounced as he fucked you…hard.

He was hitting that special spot inside of you. One few men knew to hit. He ground against you, rubbing your clit in between you both. You had never understood women who couldn’t cum from vaginal sex. How could you not?

You wanted to break your hands free from his iron grip. You were sure he’d leave bruises on your wrists, something else for boss to tease you about. You’re fucked up, he’d likely say. But he never complained because you always got the job done.

You felt that heat building up deep inside of you as he continued his relentless thrusts. He was thrusting faster, deeper, harder. When he leaned forward and bit your lip with his teeth (and drew blood) that pushed you over the edge.

You cried out in his mouth. You finally got your hands loose, tangling them in his short hair. You wrapped your legs around his waist, as you rode out your orgasm. You moved your hands to scratch his back but you felt only unform and Kevlar, no blood like you would have liked.

He broke loose from the kiss, moving to leave another mark just under your jaw.

He followed with his own climax shortly after. You felt him throbbing inside of you and it was at that moment that you realized ya’ll hadn’t even considered safe sex. Not that you cared. Hot men got a pass on that. Ugly ass men had to wear condoms.

His breath came in hurried gasps as he rode out his own orgasm, pulsing inside of you all the while.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned. He stilled his hips and hovered over you, his dirty blonde hair ticking your breasts.

You were both hot, both sweaty, and you had several marks all over you. Proof of his dominance. It was almost like he wanted to mark you so no one else would touch you. He wanted you all to himself.

“Motherfucker,” you hissed as he pulled out of you and collapsed next to you. “I said no marks.” You observed marks on your breasts and that the bony part of your wrist already had a light blue tint, promising a bruise.

He scoffed, rolling off the bed. All he had to do was pull his pants up and secure his belt. He secured his sidearm next.

“What’re you doing about…” he trailed off.

“About what?” You sat up, your body aching in protest. You felt his essence sliding out of you and onto the cheap motel bed.

He rubbed the back of his head, suddenly appearing shy. “You know what.”

“Pregnancy?”

“I’m actually looking to settle down and have a kid,”

His eyes widened and you saw panic in his blue eyes. His blue eyes had lost the indigo color they had when he had been fucking you. You wondered if that would be the same look in his eyes when you killed him. You weren’t sure yet if you’d use a gun or a knife but the orders said the mark has to be within arm’s reach so that meant no sniping.

“Kidding,” you laughed. “I don’t want no fucking kids.” You sighed before adding, “I’ll get Plan B but I have an IUD.”

He sighed in obvious relief.

“Leaving already?” you asked as he started for the door.

“You know what kinda relationship this is gonna be,” he replied, not even bothering to turn around. He opened the door. “See you next week?”

“Count on it,” you smirked.

***

It had been exactly 30 days since you met Phillip Graves when the ‘full-term’ order came through. You’d learned the basics about him. Some of his habits, that he was ex-military, that he owned his own company although he refused to tell you where he worked.

So you met him at another that Friday night. The Friday night. You met in different places, sometimes hundreds of miles apart. But all were close to a base. The bar was usually filled with uniformed men looking to have a good time and relax. It was colder then and so you wore tight jeans with knee boots. A beanie covered your normally cascading hair. It was sleeting outside. And it was about to turn into snow.

“Hey there,” he drawled.

“Graves,” you smirked.

”It’s gonna be hard to peel you out of those jeans,” he eyed you up and down. Little did he know you did not intend to take your clothes off for him this time.

You followed the typical schedule. Some drinks and then you both left to go to the nearby motel. It’s not like you had a home to take him back to. You’d lived in hotels and motels and extended stay inns since you were 18.

It had started to snow and you watched some of the small furry white snowflakes landed in your loose curls of hair.

“After you, ma’am,” he smirked, holding the motel room door open.

“Such a gentleman,” you purred.

“Not for long,” he sneered.

You had set an alarm on your phone. You’d timed it to go off right before he dragged you to the bed like he always did at least once a week.

“Ugh, my fucking boss,” you pretended to be annoyed.

“What’d you do?”

“None of your business,” you responded to his question about what you did for a living.

“Whore out apparently,” he laughed.

You glared.

“Let me text this asshole and then we’ll get down to business,” you smiled.

“I’m gonna take a piss then,” Graves said nonchalantly as he walked to the bathroom.

Perfect.

You heard as he took care of business, flushed and then went to wash his hands. His back was to you. Foolish move.

So you grabbed a 9mm you kept in your large purse. A 9mm had more recoil than you liked but it definitely got the job done. Especially at close range. You wanted to look in his eyes when you killed him. You didn’t know why he was on a hit list but he had apparently pissed someone off badly enough to want him killed at close range. You’d have to aim for the head because he had his heavy duty tactical vest on today. The one with the wires for communication, the antenna folded several times over. It had an American flag and a patch that read B-23. You suddenly regretted you hadn’t had him use zip ties with you in your month together.

He looked in the mirror and…the cat was out of the bag.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” he laughed. “You were too good to be true.” He turned and walked towards you.

You raised the 9mm.

“Don’t do that. Don’t. Do that,” he warned. He had a different look in his eyes this time. His hand brushed his own sidearm, almost as if he didn’t take your threat seriously, like he knew he’d kill you before you ever got the chance to even try to kill him.

You scoffed. He was a military man. He knew orders were orders.

“You work with a PMC? Or are you a hired slut with a gun?”

“None of your fucking business,” you said through gritted teeth.

“No one needs to get hurt here.”

“You know one of us has to get hurt.” You paused before you added, “mortally so.”

“Let’s not do this,” he said calmly. He knew that his heavy duty vest would catch almost any bullet you fired at his chest.

You shook your head.

“Why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of negotiation?” He demanded. “It’s not.”

“You’re right it’s not,” you stood strong. “I can’t fail. I’ve never failed. He always told me I don’t want to find out what will happen to me if I fail. He just said I’d wish I was dead.”

“Leave,” he snapped. “I like you but I will hurt you if you so much as try.”

You scoffed internally because none of the men you’d killed had put a fight.

You clicked the safety off and before your finger could go from straight to curled over the trigger, he lunged.

Suddenly you found yourself flat on your back with the back of your head hitting the thin, cheap, disgusting carpet with a thud. You saw black spots in your vision. You immediately came back to lucidity. Passing out would be certain death. Or Graves escaping.

“Get off me, you asshole!” you screamed. All the extra gear he had on made him heavier than he already was and some of the gear was digging into your ribs.

He didn’t respond. Instead Graves easily straddled you and pinned you down the same way he’d held your wrists down when he’d fucked you. He leaned forward, his dirty blond hair falling over his forehead. He easily peeled your fingers off the gun and tossed it out of reach.

You shouted, “Ugh, bastard!” before you wrapped your right leg around his waist, feeling bruises forming from his gear. It was usually a lot easier for you to wrap your legs around him but not tonight. Luckily your heels gave you extra height. You dropped your heel on the small of his back, where it was not covered by the vest.

Momentarily startled, he eased his grip on your wrists. You eased your right hand out of his grasp and punched him right in the face. He full on growled with fury as he fell sideways a bit and you shook your hand from the pain, knowing you’d broken something. He stumbled again so you put your right leg in between the two of you and kicked, pushing him off you.

He stumbled, falling sideways once more. “Bitch,” he growled lowly. This was a tone you had not heard from him before. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you. I’ll watch the light leave your eyes.”

You reached for a knife you kept in your boot and taking advantage of the fact that you were both still on your knees, you lunged and sliced.

Graves almost yelped. He pressed his gloved hand to the open cut on his face. On his right cheek. It was sure to scar. Not that it would matter since you’d be killing him tonight. You’d go to his funeral. You were actually going to miss him. If only you’d sliced lower than his right cheek you would have sliced his throat.

“Motherfucking bitch,” he snarled when his fingers came back with his own blood. “Walk away!” he roared. “Last fucking chance before I rip you to shreds.”

“I told you I cant,” You replied simply. “One of doesn’t get any older than tonight.” You reached for a small pink Beretta you kept in your leather jacket pocket. It was your go-to if things got too hot. And things were HOT right now. Not sexually so but dangerously so.

He got in front of you so fast you barely registered.

How did a man that large move so quickly?!

You felt him full on punch you with a closed fist across your face and you heard a sickening, nauseating crack as blood gushed from your nose. A choked sob escaped you despite your attempts to hide it because holy shit he hit you hard. Like he would hit a man. You were losing and losing badly. You stumbled but he then gripped your right arm in a hold.

Another second and he had broken your arm…easily.

You screamed because fuck it hurt and it forced you to drop the gun.

Your boss and caregiver had forced you to be ambidextrous with all your weapons and you silently thanked him for that now.

You reached for your second to last weapon. Another knife. You got it in your left hand and sliced towards him, almost catching his throat when he again attacked you, assaulted you, almost ripped you apart (like he said he would) again. It was so close you yelled out in anger, frustration. You’ve been close two fucking times now.

Two loud bangs and flashes threw you off.

Things blacked out for a second or to and…

You were back on the floor again, on your back, your head hitting it a second time. You immediately spat and coughed blood when you tried to take a breath. You felt a red mist fall on your face and chest. Your ears were ringing, painfully so and you vision had black edges.

What the hell had happened?! Your mind went into panic, something you’d never really experienced before. Your brain switched to a more primal state of survival.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” he repeated a line he’d said earlier. “You there?” he drawled as your hearing went in and out, all while painfully ringing. “That was a big mistake. It did not have to be like this.”

You barely heard him over the ringing in your ears. And…were your ears bleeding?

“Sunovabitch,” he muttered. He said you’d made a grave mistake and some dark part of your mind laughed insanely, because his last name is Graves.

“I don’t usually kill or punch women but you’re an exception to that,” he said cooly. “Fuckin’ idiot.”

You saw him blurrily but you still saw him as he picked up both your firearms and your knives. He then walked up to you. He was getting hurried in his movements. While this was a shady ass motel with gunshots all the time, he knew he couldn’t be found anywhere near there when the police eventually came.

He then grabbed your jacket and dragged you closer to the motel door. You left red streaks as he crudely hauled you. He tossed you into a corner. Probably so when he walked out you wouldn’t have a clear view on him.

“Sorry, soldier,” he commented. “Should’ve kept an eye on the 9 I made you drop earlier.” He laughed. The sadistic bastard laughed cruelly and he added, “Shot with your own sidearm.”

“Kinda a shame,” he continued, his eyes glinting as they caught the bright neon streetlight just outside your room. The blood on his face was now running down his neck, to his shoulder, staining his uniform and vest. It look bright red in places and dark red in others. “I mighta hired ya for some of my less challenging jobs.”

It was probably the first time in your adult life you started crying. You likely had a pleading look on your face. You felt tears of frustration, of pain, or red-hot anger fall from your eyes and slide down the sides of your face. They landed in your hair and they were tinged red from the coughed up blood on your face.

He slipped your Beretta into a pocket, saying, “souvenir,” as he grinned callously. You expected him to hold it to your head and finish you off. You were going to make him look at you when he killed you.

But he turned away.

“You’d better kill me,” you gasped. The effort sent you into a gasping and coughing fit and you were again covered in your own blood. You swore on your fucking life this man would die if you survived this.

He turned back towards you and easily grabbed your cellphone from your jacket pocket, kneeling beside you. He rested one of his knees on your ribs, making you really start crying. You couldn’t stop it…it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad.

“Unlock it,” he demanded of your phone. He held it just out of your reach, almost as if he wanted to see you suffer. “You put up a good fight but fight’s over.”

Cruel, merciless bastard.

You were dying tonight so what the hell. You used your left index finger to unlock the phone.

He creepily knew right where to go. His rust-red fingers danced over your screen, his blue eyes shining bright with the screen’s light. Your screen would likely be caked with your blood and his blood. At least you’d made the great Phillip Graves bleed.

That scar on his face would make sure he never forgot you. But then again if your survived, the scars that would litter your body (the gunshot wounds, the plates probably required to repair your arm) would make sure you didn’t forget him either.

He showed you the screen.

He had gone into your text messages and somehow found your boss’s number.

He had typed: Come get your girl’s body. -Graves

And he hit send.

“You’re very likely as good as dead,” he said before he clicked his tongue. “But if they get to you in time, stay the hell away from me.” He reached down, grasping your hair with a ferocity he had not before. He raised you off the floor and you were pretty sure you lost consciousness for more than a few seconds. But he waited for you to open your eyes again before he asked, “We clear?”

You nodded despite yourself. Hell no you intended to make him suffer if you survived.

“Good,” he drawled. “If you don’t die tonight, I’ll fucking slaughter you if I see you again.” It sounded like a promise. “I’ll have one last fuck and then I’ll paint the fucking walls with your brains.”

He got up and tossed you your cell phone on your chest. You’d seen that curiously enough, weirdly enough he had dialed 911. He stood back up. The movement of air as he stood resulted in scents of blood, sweat, cologne, and gunpowder being sent your way. Usually it was hot. Tonight it almost made you gag.

You tried to roll into the recovery position on your side and you screamed as it felt like your inside were on fire. The phone slid off your chest onto the floor.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

You ignored it. You looked for something, anything that could kill this son of a bitch. Like an attack dog you’d been conditioned since you were a child: Either finish the job or die trying. He had your Beretta and your 9mm and both knives. There was no way you could reach your last resort weapon. He was taking no chances and giving you nothing to strike back at him with. He knew you better than you gave him credit for.

Besides, he was gone.

The 911 operator kept trying to get in touch with you.

You tried to say you’d been shot but could only gasp for air, choking on your own blood. Being in the recovery position helped you not choke and gag as much but you were sure you had bad internal bleeding. You vomited the alcohol you’d recently drank, the liquid burning your inside wounds like lava. Something primal in your brain fought for survival and wanted you to reply to that 911 operator.

You set your head down on your left arm, cradling your broken right. You sniffled because fuck…fuck…FUCK. Phillip Graves had mopped the floor with you. He had beaten you within an inch of unconsciousness and then shot you. All in the span of less than 5 minutes. You’d been cocky, so sure you could manipulate him with sex and seduction. It had worked for all the other men.

But not Phillip Graves. Speak of the devil because you heard him start his pickup truck parked just outside the motel room window.

You opened your eyes again, not knowing how much time had passed. You then noticed something…your 9mm. You thought you were hallucinating so you tentatively reached out for it, choking back a sob of pain and misery. You’d been crying at this point so you gave up on trying to hold back tears. You gripped it with trembling, bloody, sticky fingers. So he hadn’t taken it. When did he drop it or set it down? You had no idea.

“I’m sending police and ambulance to your location,” the 911 operator’s voice echoed in your head and it seemed to reverberate forever.

You ignored her. You grasped the gun and pointed it to the left side of your head on your temple. You angled the gun downwards because you knew that made it more likely for the bullet to take out the basic part of your brain that controlled breathing and heartrate and blood pressure. You squeezed your eyes and pulled the trigger.

And nothing happened. You then saw that the son of a bitch had ejected the clip and the bullet from the chamber.

“Motherfucker,” you whimpered in a whisper.

Your phone dinged. A text message.

You better fucking explain yourself, Raq. What the hell kinda message was that? You lazily read the text message from your boss. Graves better be KIA. Another text bubble. Just because you grew up with me doesn’t mean I won’t beat your ass and put you back in line if you failed me. You couldn’t reply and didn’t want to. A phone call from your boss. Another text message as you wavered in and out of consciousness. You blinked through tears and saw him text again. Answer your fucking phone. Yet another text bubble. You’re pissing me off, Raq. Answer me. I need a sit rep.

Oh well. You were likely going to bleed out anyway.

A fucked up end to a fucked up life. If by some miracle you survived, you might have to go rogue. Missing in action because there would be a hit on you for the failed job. Phillip fuckin Graves would die if you survived. That much you promised yourself.

But you were dying. Fast.

At least it was looking like you wouldn’t find out what happened if you failed.

***

I honestly don't know if she's alive or dead ;)

#phillip graves #cod mw2 #cod mwii #phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #mw2 141

[impishtubist]

I'm just telling you that finding your blong and works cheered me up *so much*, as a fellow person who loved Sirius back in the 2000s. Finally some food to eat!! What happened??

Well, the character assassination that Ootp unreliable narrator and the wired choices made in Hbd and Dh, of course.

Sirius being tall is mentioned a LOT in the books. He is a big scary dude and a big scary dog, and i miss punk Sirius listening to the Crush and Sex Pistols. Brilliant and wild and with a healthy tendency to question and defy authority. He clashes so hard with conformist characters like Molly and authority-respecting characters like Hermione bc he learned that questioning what you are taught and the people teaching you is important. He isn't irresponsible. PTSD up the wazoo, probably constantly triggered by being, well, imprisoned back at the site of his childhood trauma and suffering constant verbal abuse from the portrait of his original abuser, but not irresponsible or erratic.

Also, ppl who blame an older sibling for escaping abuse, wtf. As someone who's sadly familiar with how it goes, IRL, that's usually the narrative pushed by the abusive parents to divide the kids and push away the responsibility. All children in abusive homes are children, and the adults are the responsible ones. That is so ugly, as a person who has been there to see the struggles siblings like that go through.

Bonus:

Remus is gay little piece of wet tissue paper with self-esteem issues. He's a pathetic man who is very affected by social pressure, a chronic people pleaser who's afraid of genuine connections. He thinks no one can ever love his authentic self, so he will do everything to not let ppl know him, and so afraid of rejection, he will preemptively cut ppl out. He makes bad choices and then uses the guilt he feels as proof of being right. And I loved him like that. I read the coded gay when POA came out, and I called pathetic gay man with thinly vailed HIV metaphor.

You know what? I don't care, I'm putting this in the Sirius Black tag. Starting 2024 with chaos!

This is the greatest ask I have ever received. Yes, you get it! That is Sirius, not whatever is being portrayed in art and fic and headcanons these days. That is an OC who I do not know. Same with Remus! Prior to HBP and DH, yes, he was absolutely coded as a gay man and also a HIV metaphor (the latter of which is extremely fucked, but others have written tons of meta on that so I will not touch on it). But then of course JKR had to retcon that real quick when she realized what fans were writing, so of course Sirius had to die and Remus had to end up with a woman.

My first anon of 2024 is also now my favorite one, I'm not sure how anyone is going to top this 😂

#imp speaks #chaos night #bi people exist but remus lupin is not one of them #let's talk about bi sirius though i am all about the bi sirius agenda #sirius black #kvetching is an art form #if i'm not complaining about something then i'm not having any fun

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

TW for mental illness. Mild self injury (not self harm) OCD...

Please tell me if you don't want things like this sent in I am just rambling.

Giving the boys some of my various Issues because they are traumatized and so am I. And it makes me feel better to project onto Fictional characters (man when I saw Iron Man have a panic attack on the big screen it helped me so much...)

Simon has dermotilamania and trichaltillamania (the skin-picking and hair-pulling disorders )

He is clean shaven bc he WILL methodically rip out any facial hair otherwise. Sometimes his eyebrows and eyelashes fall victim when he's really stressed. He's constantly covered in bandages because he rips at his skin. Around his nails, along his jaw, and arms are always covered in small wounds in various stages of healing. Sometimes when he wakes up feeling like he's being buried alive, he'll go to the bathroom and find bleeding gashes along his throat from trying to make it so he can "breathe"

Saw someone say Gaz has OCD once and I will always take an opportunity to shed light on such a terrible disorder. Living with it is hell. His anxieties probably revolve around missions going wrong. And since that is always a real possibility, it just feeds the OCD monster. Always has to knock on wood. Has to repeat mantras in his head. Double checks everything. Has to tap his fingers in a specific sequence. Once for every member of his team and his family or they will die and it'll be his fault. He knows it's irrational but fuck it's hard to resist compulsions...

-🔪

Thank you for tagging triggers at the top!

\tw: self injury (not self harm), mental illness, 09 Ghost's canon backstory. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

People always "toy" with the physical stuff more often than not (bullet wounds, Soap's knee injury, Ghost's scars) but the mental illness part is overlooked so often for anyone OUTSIDE of Ghost (bc torture).

But honestly, I'm all for making characters feel as real as possible. The boys would NOT be 100% sane after all they went through (I'm a big fan of making Simon Riley Suffer™️ /s)

I also hc 100% that the boys have certain mental illnesses (besides the physical stuff ofc) from service.

But I saw a fic where Soap had bipolar, another where Price turns to drugs (cocaine especially) to deal with all the shit he goes through on a daily basis, add to that disassociation/DID for Ghost and OCD for Gaz (also saw that hc for Gaz!!!)...

Those things are important to mention, ofc not everyone wants to write the angst and that's totally fine but when you LIKE that stuff (the ANGST!!! I mean), seeing it approach such topics that are SO realistic and expected??? It feels like a pay off for something you've always known you wanted to see.

#tw mental illness #tw self injury #asks #🔪 anon

[wetcatspellcaster]

“But instead I thought, 'hey, you know, I get it. Break ups are hard. There's obviously some anger there, and you've had no one to express it to. Maybe it’s ok you built a house instead of coming to help, despite being literally invulnerable’. So I talked to Wyll, and we started inviting him to things. We checked in on him, we offered to let him join us on missions - though he never came. We tried to make him feel... included.”

Karlach ran her fingers through her hair, “I invited him to my birthday party - can you imagine that man, the way he is now, with a bunch of my friends, at my birthday? My first proper party, in fucking years, never mind my first birthday since I was freed from Avernus for good? Astarion was… horrible. Angry. Prowling like an animal. All but spitting on everyone else there, just for the sin of being people, you know, with flaws, and with their mistakes and their lives. Someone said something silly, and he charmed them, right there in front of me. Asked them to admit they were an idiot. He only stopped because I asked him to, and I saw it - the moment in his eyes, when he remembered I was a person he was supposed to care about. It took him longer than it should. And it was like he didn’t even consider the rest of them to be real people, just extensions of me.”

“But… we kept trying. We made things smaller, so it was just us, like the good old days. But… he just got worse. Crueller. At first, he only hurt himself, hosting those big grand parties with every vice under the sun, that he clearly hated, and fucking everything that moved, just to prove he could. And then when, surprise! That didn’t make him any less fucking miserable! He just started lashing out at us. Made us meet him at the Caress. Told us all the terrible things he was doing, just so they had an audience beyond himself. The things he used to say to Wyll…”

Thank you for the ask! :D

So, as I said in the chapter endnotes, this was my first time writing Karlach properly (you will note that she now keeps coming up in An Honest Lie bc I awkwardly have to pretend she's always been there, and everything else I wrote was Early Access). I was super nervous when posting! 1. bc she's a new character and I found her voice difficult to get down. 2. bc she's the fan favourite and right out of the gate, I was making her suffer :-)

Saying all that, Karlach was a really fun POV for this fic and this chapter's development specifically bc while she is self-sacrificing, I also think she is not as much so as Wyll, or my Tav. She's been through too much shit in her life and been burned by trusting people like Gortash, so if a guy looks shady af and treats her like shit, I think she has absolutely has a cut-off point, no matter who that person is or was to her in her past. She isn't just going to suffer for the sake of it, she will call a bastard a bastard if she needs to... unlike the resident martyrs of the party.

So yeah. I had Astarion ruin a birthday party :') This is partly bc, for all that this fic deals with Astarion's villain era, I'm not a Dead Dove girlie, so I needed the evil things he does to have emotional impact without being gruesome or triggering. I figured ruining our Best Gal's birthday would be a pretty effective crime to add to the list.

Why was Astarion a bitch at this birthday? A number of reasons. The first is that it hurt to see Karlach and Wyll happy and free of infernal influence. The second is that... Astarion is just forgetting how it works to be around people. Manipulating people he's still got down, but just... being in a space? With people he cannot control and has no power over, who he just has to let slip up and fumble and be generally choatic around him? I imagine the inhuman monster isolated and frozen in time without his soul forgot that pretty quickly, after a year without anybody but those he bought to his side on his own terms.

It truly is as Karlach says: he got angry at others "just for the sin of being people". Astarion is no longer human/mortal, and he cannot relate to humans anymore. He also cannot stand seeing other people happy in ways that did not require any supernatural aid or sacrifice - a reminder that he could've done it that way, if he'd been brave enough to risk it - and he also doesn't like people who seem undeserving of that happiness - ie. people who just seem to be 'doing fine' without any seeming effort.

What did the person who was charmed say to trigger it? Well, I think they were maybe one of those type of people: an average guy who'd stumbled into something good that he didn't really deserve through circumstances that were not his doing. I imagined him as a pretty arrogant mercenary that would be in Karlach/Wyll's wider circle of friends (a guest of a guest, say, in the adventuring trade), who is bragging and peacocking and isn't really a good person? Just an alright one? But talking about himself like he's the dog's bollocks. And Astarion got bored of him talking and so he charmed him and humiliated him, bc he was frustrated with this random man's existence and also bored.

In regards to the final paragraph, I struggle to imagine Ascended!Astarion as someone who is crass enough to often resort to violence. I imagine his brand of cruelty as being a lot more psychologically driven. For all that game Astarion brags about loving to kill, his arsenal is, ultimately, emotional and sexual manipulation first and foremost. So in this 'descent into villainy' (again, the non-dead dove edition), I tried to make Astarion's evil manifest by making people physically and emotionally uncomfortable through his behaviour. Pushing them to see how far they'd break, or how far they'd compromise themselves and their morals to be around him. Especially people like Wyll and Karlach, who would care if he hurt himself or make up narratives about how it was a cry for help. I think partly, Ascended!Astarion loves to watch these characters twist themselves into knots trying to find excuses for his behaviour, striving to remain kind to him and remain his friend even as it gets harder and harder. And also, maybe, somewhere, it's a fun test for him - to prove that people still care, that he still has people who care for him, until they don't and they're gone.

DVD commentary ask

#wip: pieces still stuck in your teeth #asks #ask games #dvd commentary ask #ooooh boy you chose a heavy section to analyse! but i hope the answers were interesting xx

[oll13v3r]

Okay okay okay I'm working on a Spiderverse fic based on if I was in it because the hyperfixation is hitting very hard right now. I haven't figured out what the main plot will be yet but here's what I have come up with so far!! I think I'm going to post it on Wattpad and (maybe) on here chapter-by-chapter!!! Also. Hart is not my real last name. Also some of the ideas are contradictory, my brain thought of them in the order they are listed. There's still quite a few more complex ideas in my brain

HERE IT IS!!!!:

Oliver hart, the one and only spider man.

Started a band with Hobie and Gwen, being the singer and piano player.

Does not like Miguel in the slightest, but is still there to try and change everything, as well to have some control of what is going on in the situation. 

Had to overcome the freezing up aspect of his anxiety

Gets triggered frequently but is able to face through it by wearing the mask

The only ones who have seen him cry without his mask on are Hobie and Gwen.

Hobie and Gwen absolutely adore his art, and he thinks the both of them are the absolute shit.

Finds the disabled spider man really lovely (I don’t remember her line, but I found it really silly that she made the crutch joke because that’s shit I would do heheheh)

Thought that Gwen’s outfit was really cool with the trans colors

Thinks pavitr is fucking rad as hell

Stammers a lot, but is still really silly and good at thinking on the spot

It took him a while to get strong enough to sling himself around, but is not very good at slinging himself through tight spaces because he’s fat.

Compares himself to the other spiders a lot

Genuinely scared of Miguel because of how much he reminds him of his dad.

Definitely helped Hobie get parts for the watches, going out of his way to keep tabs on him because he’s terrified of his band mates getting hurt.

Thinks miles is so so cool from all he’s heard about him from gwen. LIKE, ANOTHER COOL ART DUDE??? WHOSE OUTFIT IS SO SO COOL??

Will not hesitate to complain about a bad texture

Him and Pavitr are in the hair exposed gang.

Oliver does have a hood for his hair, but he prefers not to use it when he can because it’s uncomfortable.

HIs headphones have spider webs from all his friends as a momento, as well as to stick to his head.

He got special gear to have a music player inside of his suit.

Likes to point out that he did not choose to be Spiderman, he just chose to help people because he always wanted to do that.

One of his drawings is on Hobie’s guitar, and Hobie signed his piano

The death of one of his uncles, who is a cop, he felt could have been avoided if he was only more nimble and slim, so that’s one of the big things he compares himself to the other spiders to. If only he could have been fast enough.

Hobie and Gwen both know that holding hands reduces Oliver’s anxiety tremendously

Oliver was in his room, recording a song for release before a portal from spider HQ appeared in his room.

 “WHAT IN THE EVER LIVING JESUS FUCKING-” He yelled.

So yeah that was Miguel’s first impression of him

He was very uncomfortable at hq for a while, until Hobie noticed the anarchy symbol on his shoes and they swiftly became friends.

He had already told his parents that he was spiderman because he actually trusts them and know they wont’ tell the public or anything.

HE immediately shot miguel in the face with his web shooter, apologizing profusely afterwards.

He initially found Miguel really goofy 

but once shit hit the fan he no longer found Miguel goofy. Oh me oh my

OH!! I FORGOT TO ADD!! HERE IS HIS DESIGN!!: (The first one is the most accurate design, but the purple one on on the right is also verysimilar to hsi final design.)

#atsv fanfic #across the spiderverse #astv fanfiction #spidersona #agst #tw: angst #tw: abuse #tw: cursing #cursing #tw: death #digital art #anarchy #hehehe anarchy...

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter III.

gif credit @azerytrobaz

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Things are always going to get worse before they get better.

WORD COUNT: 6k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: Mention of suicide, some grief and mourning, talks of religion, Javi going full on detective mode, homicide cop talk, a really hot wet dream, he's literally in his deputy sheriff uniform and i'm obsessed, dbf!Javier again because I have no self control, some other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.

A/N: While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized! There are mentions of suicide and murder in this chapter so reader discretion is advised. not arguing w a man that has big brown eyes. whatever u say beautiful !!!! i hope y'all enjoyed this chapter… especially that scene in the beginning bc hot damn was i fanning myself while writing it …. i need him so bad it's concerning !! anyways feel free to drop any type of feedback/support here or on ao3 where this fic is cross-posted!

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“ Oh Javi... ” Paloma moans out in pure bliss, head canting back and exposing the column of her throat to which he hungrily begins to attack with his lips. Kissing, licking, biting; his cock twitches as she clenches around him.

Her orgasm is quickly building to its peak. She’s wanted this for so long and it’s about to be over. Wishes to prolong it for as long as she can, but that’s nearly impossible since he’s making her feel so damn good and alive.

“ That’s right, hermosa, taking it so good… ” He mutters softly in her ear through clenched teeth, tip of his nose brushing against her jaw, hips still drilling against hers at a brutal pace.

Paloma knows she’s going to be feeling him for the next few days, the soreness from his length stretching her out and fucking her deliciously a reminder of their time together.

Her sundress is scrunched up at her waist, tits spilling out from the top that’s been lowered as Javier kisses down to her chest and his lips wrap around one of her stiffened nipples. This only encourages her to be more vocal, sounding sweeter yet filthier than any porn star he’s ever heard or prostitute he’s ever fucked.

One of his hands moves from her waist up to her neck, holding her firmly as he shifts her thighs higher around his waist, fucking her at a new angle that has her seeing stars. Her eyelids fall close at the overwhelming euphoria coursing through her.

“ No, princesa, open your eyes. Want you to look at me while you cum all over this dick. ” Her eyes snap open at his dirty talk, usual brown eyes now drowned in lust as he squeezes his grip around her throat.

Paloma’s never had sex like this, never been talked to in this manner either. It’s exhilarating.

“ Atta girl, so obedient, aren’t you? Desperate to cum all over me. You make the prettiest faces while I’m fucking you, cariño. ” He continues to coax her and she lets him do as he pleases, his words only pushing her closer to her release.

“ Oh god.. Javi I-I’m so closeeee…. ” She mewls out, her hands clawing at his wrists as she begins to feel overwhelmed by the intensity of her approaching orgasm. 

He places wet kisses against her jaw before messily slanting his lips against hers; his tongue licking the inside of her mouth and swallowing her moans as her walls flutter around his cock while she cums.

Paloma’s eyes open slowly, groaning at the sunlight that hits her face directly and the annoying sound of her morning alarm.

She feels the wetness between her thighs, reminding her of the very intense dream she had been pulled out from.

Javier giving her the best lay of her life. God , she wishes she could fall back asleep to finish it. If the dream version of him is that good; she can only imagine what the real thing must be like. 

She reaches over to shut the alarm off, then rolls onto her back to stare up the ceiling. It felt so real, the way he was holding her and kissing her. She bites down on her lower lip.

She wants him so bad.

One of her hands slowly begins to slither down to the elastic band of her sleep shorts. She’s too hot and needy to not finish herself off.

Slipping her fingers beneath her shorts, she teases herself by softly dragging her manicured nails along the skin of her inner thighs, trying to pick back up where she’d left off in her dream. Javier filling her up to the hilt, his cock pressed up against that one spot that made her cry out like a bitch in heat.

After she’s teased herself enough, fingers slowly trace her wet seam which has a soft moan pushing past her lips. She repeats the action a few more times before she spreads herself open, drenching her fingers in her own arousal then softly pushing two inside. 

She sighs heavily, slowly working them in and out of her; imagining it to be Javier’s more thicker and undoubtedly rougher touch.

“ No, princesa, open your eyes. Want you to look at me while you cum all over this dick. ” 

Dream Javi’s words overtake her and her mouth falls open at how good she’s currently pleasuring herself. He’s all up in her mind, making her feel so good even when he isn’t here.

Her free hand is now under her shirt, pinching and twisting at her nipple to aid her in reaching her orgasm.

Paloma's cunt clenches around her fingers, thumb rubbing the pearl of her clit. She’s so close to releasing; all while thinking of a man she’d just met.

“ Paloma, are you awake? ” Feverous movements immediately come to a halt as she hears her father’s voice then his knocking against her bedroom door; the doorknob shaking once he begins to turn it.

She scrambles to collect herself, pissed off that she had not only woken up from a magnificent wet dream, but also interrupted as she was trying to get herself off because of it.

“ Wait, I'm naked! ” Is the first thing she can think of to exclaim, pulling the blanket up to her chin despite having on sleepwear.

He halts and she lets out a relieved sigh as he doesn’t enter.

“ Get dressed. I need to speak with you… ” She hears the pinched expression in his statement and her brows furrow. Something’s wrong and she feels an uncomfortable stir in her stomach, no longer aroused.

“ Okay… I’ll be down in a second. ” There’s a brief moment of silence before she hears his footsteps descend down the hallway then the stairs.

Kicking the sheets off of her, she swings her legs over the edge of the bed and rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand. 

So much for starting the day off on a pleasurable note. She can still feel her wetness coating her thighs so she decides to wipe them clean in the bathroom before meeting her father downstairs.

After brushing her teeth and freshening up, she enters the kitchen to find Romeo staring out the large bay window that overlooks their backyard.

“ Good mornin’... everythin’ alright? ” She can't help but nervously ask, chewing the inside of her cheek and leaning against the doorframe.

He doesn’t respond right away, instead taking a deep breath and dropping his gaze to his boots.

“ Another girl was murdered. ”

Paloma sucks in a breath and that uncomfortable stir in her stomach from earlier returns at the news.

“ Body was found right here in town. She was one of us. ”

“ Who–– ”

“ Nina Thorton. ”

Now she feels like the wind has been knocked out of her entirely. She’s known Nina since they were kids; having gone to the same preschool and then graduating from high school together. She saw her at church every Sunday, Nina often frequented her shows and the two engaged in pleasant small talk when running into each other in town. 

It’s almost too surreal for Paloma to try and process, despite being aware of the recent crimes in the surrounding areas. It was only a matter of time before it happened directly here in Seminary. Now that it has, and so close to home at that, she’s terrified.

“ Oh my god… no… that can’t be–– I just saw her at the bank a few days ago. ” She stumbles over her words, her father finally turns to face her and sees how upset his daughter is. He crosses the room to envelop her in a comforting hug.

She rests her forehead against his chest, falling limp in his arms. He rubs soothing circles against her back and that helps her feel a little better. Some wetness from her cheek transfers to the front of his work shirt and Paloma just now realizes that she’s actually crying.

“ Shhh, it’s okay sweetheart. I know this is a lot and I contemplated even tellin’ you but… it’s for the best that you know… ‘specially comin’ from me. ” He pulls back, cupping her cheeks in his hands and wiping away her tears with his thumb.

She nods, taking some deep breaths to help calm her down. Another girl is gone and they’re nowhere near close to finding out who did it or why they did it. She now has a better understanding of the pressure her father and the rest of the department are under to put an end to this.

Hopefully they figure it out before he or she hurts someone again… but Paloma isn’t an idiot–– she knows things of this severity take time, and unfortunately, maybe more victims.

She cringes at the thought, another tear slipping down her cheek.

“ The funeral will be on Saturday and there’s a vigil Friday night. I’m about to head down to the station to get on top of things. Javier should be back from D.C. tomorrow. I probably won’t make it home for dinner. ” Paloma’s heart sinks at the fact that she’s going to be all alone navigating through this grief she didn’t even know she could have.

“ Are you going to be okay? ‘Cause I can work from home if–– ”

“ No, daddy, you never bring your work home and you’re not gonna start now. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. You have a job to do. ” She urges him softly, placing her hands over his that are still on her cheeks and flashing him the most genuine smile she can muster.

Romeo just looks at her, studying her face and she sees the way his tired eyes turn gentle.

“ You remind me so much of her. Especially now that you’re all grown up. ” There’s a tenderness to his words that has Paloma’s chest tightening as he compares her to her mother.

“ I miss her too. ” Is how she responds, knowing that it was the underlying message in his statement. They don’t usually talk about Abilene Leighton. When they do, it’s when her father gets drunk enough to dote on his dead wife. He’s told her many stories from when they were young; how they met and what life was like before they found out she was pregnant with Paloma. So endearing to hear how her father talks about his wife, but she knows that he still holds resentment towards her from the way that she left this world. His world.

– suicide mention tw

Abilene had taken her life in their bathtub when Paloma was thirteen. Romeo had been the one to find her and he did everything in his power to make sure that his daughter did not see her mother in that state. Thankfully, his efforts succeeded and Paloma was left locked out of her parent’s bathroom while her father called an ambulance and attempted to keep pressure on his wife’s wounds.

His efforts on that end, however, were useless since she had been dead long before he’d found her.

She lightly removes his hands from her cheeks and she leans in to hug him again, wrapping her arms around his torso and staying there for a few moments before peeling herself away.

“ Go on now, daddy. I’ll be fine; I promise. ”

–––––––––––––––––––

Javier steps out of the small airplane that had flown him from Houston to Seminary. He grunts as his back muscles spasm when he stretches in attempts to ease some of the uncomfortableness from the trip. He wouldn't consider his current age to be old but with all he had endured back in Colombia; he’s sure that shit aged him tenth fold. 

His meeting in D.C. had completely blindsided him. Javi was fully prepared to have his crimes be presented to him in great detail by the board and then rightfully suffer from the consequences of his actions.

Instead, he’d been approached by operations and asked about his knowledge of the Cali cartel. Apparently that was more valuable to them than his involvement with Los Pepes. He was reluctant to speak on it at first, knowing how the system works, but eventually he revealed every detail he could spare. Javier wanted to make sure that any and all information was relayed somehow, tired of keeping secrets.

Now whether said intel landed in the right hands or not was none of his concern.

The meeting concluded with Javier declining a DEA attaché position they offered in hopes of convincing him to help bring down the new cartel empire. Again, there was some hesitance at first, part of him yearning to be thrown back into the vicious land that was Colombia. 

Except this time, things wouldn’t go south like they had with Escobar.

He’d have the chance to do things right. By the book. See it all the way through.

It was tempting to accept, it really was, but ultimately Javier is worn down and ready to close that chapter of his life. The drug war is never ending, when one kingpin falls others rise up. How many times would he have to go through the ringer until he finally decided that enough was enough?

Was he going to have to die on the job in order to separate from it?

He’s dedicated too many years to the treacherous field and now he supposes his only priority is to live the rest of his life content in being… him . 

What ‘him’ looks like is a fucking mystery at the moment which is why he believes staying in Texas is his best option for the time being. For his peace. His sanity. It’s the least he could do for himself; even if he doesn't believe in being kind to himself.

Plus, there’s a certain singing brunette that may have persuaded him in his decision to stay…

The ride back into town is quiet; he turned down the radio to sit in his thoughts a little longer before arriving at the sheriff's department. The first thing he notices when he pulls into the lot is how many vehicles are there: a contrast to how barren it usually is.

His brows pull into a frown as he parks, making sure he doesn’t look as exhausted as he feels before exiting his truck and walking into the building.

It’s not packed, per say, but it is a crowd that he’s not accustomed to seeing. Lorraine, who is usually reading a book or gossip magazine, is currently in a deep phone conversation at her desk so he can’t even ask her what the fuck is going on.

He spots the sheriff speaking with one of the deputies on the other side of the room, so Javier crosses it to make his presence known.

Once Romeo spots him, Javier sees the man let out a heavy sigh right before dismissing the officer and beckoning Javi to follow him into his office.

“ What the hell did I miss? ” He inquires, shutting the door behind him as Romeo rounds his desk and hands him a file.

“ There was another murder. This time, local. Nina Thorton, twenty-six years old from Seminary. One of the guys found her body dumped by the swinging bridge. ” Well shit , that didn’t take long. As unfortunate as it is–– at least they have new facts and evidence to comb over to, hopefully, get a step closer to finding out who is responsible for all the deaths.

“ This our person? Same M.O.? ” Though his question is quickly answered as he reads the coroner’s report, then sees the official crime scene photos.

Multiple lacerations to her chest, blood covering the entirety of her torso and lower half of her face. Notes the environmental damage her body went through by the holes on her skin that had maggots and other grossly creatures inhabiting them. Not much different from the others, except this time…

“ They took her fucking leg? ” Javier can’t help how the words tumble past his lips, slowly sitting down in the chair across from Romeo’s desk as he continues to study the file in front of him. The photos are gruesome and disturbing. It takes a certain kind of evil to be able to pull this off.

He would know. Spent too much of his life chasing after evil.

“ Did it postmortem. What got her was the puncture through the heart, just like the others. ” That being the cause of death for all the victims has Javier thinking it’s intentional instead of it being a product of the stabbing frenzy this killer likes to indulge in.

“ It’s a clean cut. Doubt they used the same weapon they stabbed her with to do it. Says here she wasn’t killed on site which means he or she could have a secondary location where the actual crime is committed. They’re evolving. But why take the leg? ” He continues on, always been a better detective than DEA agent, pulling out the pen and pocket sized memo book he carries around with him in case he has to jot down important information.

Romeo, however, stays silent; staring at the framed picture of Paloma that he keeps on his desk.

“ Goin’ to tell the Thortons about their daughter was hell. Shoulda seen how devastated her mother was. Husband could barely pick her up due to his own shock. It was even worse when they had to come down here and identify the body. Imagine not bein’ able to explain why their daughter’s leg was sawed off. ” His attention doesn’t waver from the photo on his desk and he exhales heavily.

Javier keeps quiet, still writing things down and not wanting to interrupt. This specific victim seems to be hitting the sheriff harder than the others.

“ I keep thinkin’, what if it was Paloma instead of Nina? What would I do if it had been my daughter who was savagely murdered then dumped carelessly on the side of the road? ” Romeo’s fingers flex into a fist before he releases, reaching over to tap out two cigarettes from the pack. One for him and Javier.

Javier leans over to accept it, letting the man light it for him. He swallows thickly at the mental image of Paloma in the state that Nina was found. He takes a deep and long drag of the cigarette, allowing the gray smoke to cloud that thought from his memory.

“ Keep thinkin’ that way and you’re never gonna get shit done. ” Javier puts it plainly with a gruff which Romeo appreciates, and that’s when his gaze meets Javi’s.

“ Look, I know you’re here to help with the cases amongst other sheriff deputy duties but… ” Javier feels a request about to be made, closing the file as he awaits to hear what the sheriff wants from him.

“ I need someone to look after her. Things are only goin’ to get worse before they get better. I’m goin' to get wrapped up here more than before... honestly I’d stick one of the guys on her but she’s made it very clear that she hates that and between me and you… I don’t trust ‘em enough to look after her. Not how I trust you. ”

They’ve only known each other for what, a month , Javi thinks, and this man is already entrusting him with his daughter’s life?

“ You’ve got the experience. A decorated field agent. Trained up in Quantico. I’d feel a lot less worried if I knew you were the one keepin’ an eye on her. You’re free to tell me to fuck off and that babysittin’ a twenty-six your old ain’t part of your job but man, I would appreciate it more than you know. ”

Javier leans to ash the cig, thinking over his words. His mind wanders to Helena and how he’d promised to keep her safe then she ended up being traumatized in the worst way imaginable.

Too many innocent people have died or been hurt on his watch, and that has him reluctant to agree to the request.

However, this could be the opportunity to right his wrongs and turn over that new leaf he keeps reminding himself of. Plus, they weren’t in the warzone that was Colombia under Escobar’s influence.

They were in the middle of Texas. Granted, dealing with their own shit but just as how his father had put it: it was shit that is much more manageable than the alternative. 

So Javier nods, agreeing to look after Paloma for the sake of her father. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“ I’ll handle it. ”

–––––––––––––––––––

The funeral arrives with a swiftness that catches Paloma off guard, leaving her little time to gather herself for the somber occasion. Outside, the sky hangs heavy with clouds, casting a pall over the day as if nature itself mourns alongside her. In Seminary, where rain is a rare occurrence, the dreary, ominous atmosphere adds an extra layer of melancholy to the already grim proceedings, like the final cruel twist to an already bitter tale. Paloma can almost taste the impending rain in the air, a bittersweet reminder of the tears that will soon fall from the heavens.

Gazing into the mirror, she takes in her reflection, the calf-length, solid black dress she retrieved from the depths of her wardrobe clinging to her form with precision, yet somehow it feels stifling. Her choice of classic Mary Janes graces her feet, and she opts for minimal accessories. But as she stands there, memories of the last funeral she attended—the one for her mother—come flooding back, casting a shadow over her already somber mood.

The vigil held the night prior was painful. Hasn’t felt this much sadness amongst the community in a long, long time. 

Clearing her throat and returning to the present, she finishes getting ready but it’s a sluggish process. She can’t even bring herself to skip out on the event, that’d only make her feel worse. 

She makes her way downstairs to where her father is waiting at the foyer of their home. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and it’s probably because he hasn’t. Ever since breaking the news to her about Nina, he’s been at the station nonstop. She’d only seen him last night at the vigil and then heard him come home in the early dawn.

The car ride to the church is quiet and tense, neither member of the Leighton family knowing what to say.

“ Go find us a seat, I’ll be right in… ” Her father mutters, handing her the bouquet of white lilies they had purchased at the grocery store on the way here. She nods and he places a kiss to the top of her head then walks away to converse with Javier.

Her eyes follow him the whole way, gaze lingering on Javier. They shared a brief conversation at the vigil last night, and while it was just a fleeting moment it had relieved a tinge of her sadness.

“ Were you two close? ” Javier murmurs softly, the delicate paper lantern dangling from his hand swaying gently as he draws nearer, his concern evident in his tender expression.

Paloma can’t help but also lean in, shrugging her shoulders and she brushes against him slightly. “ Not really… she was always around though. Now she’s not. ” She admits, her voice tinged with sorrow as she gazes down at her lantern, her heart heavy.

“ M’sorry, sweetheart. ” His voice filled with empathy as he reaches out to gently touch her arm, offering a comforting gesture amidst the poignant moment.

Paloma turns on her heel to enter the building when she catches a glimpse of a familiar man rounding the corner towards the back of the church.

It was one of the guys who had been with Sloane that day they met in the library months ago. For some reason, she’s tempted to call out after him but she bites her tongue to keep from doing so… because why on earth would she do that? Shaking her head, she exhales in desperation and instead goes inside to find her and her father their seats.

–––––––––––––––––––

Javier doesn’t do funerals. It’s one thing he’s been adamant about for as long as he can remember. They made him feel uncomfortable and not because his own morality is put into question; but because of those that attend. 

The prolonged expression of grief is too much for him to bear. It ferociously digs at a vulnerable spot deep within his chest, surely a result of the post traumatic stress he suffers from. He hadn't attended a single one back in Colombia; not even Carrillo’s. Despite that being the death that shook him the most due to his friendship with the Colonel, Javier quite literally could not stomach the idea of going. 

He couldn’t do that here, not when his presence is pretty much required. The church is stuffy and smells like incense. He’s tugging at his collar to keep himself from asphyxiating. The mahogany pews are glossy with varnish, sunless light from outside softly peeking through the large glass stained windows. It has been far too long since he’s been inside one of these–– he’s surprised he didn’t combust into flames the second he stepped in.

Javier finds a spot at the back of the room, letting the people mourn in their own way and avoiding making eye contact. There’s soft murmurs that echo throughout the space, he can’t quite hear of the conversations nearby yet he’s more so focused on the body language of those in attendance; trying to spot any questionable reactions as he knows that a lot of murderers like to insert themselves into the events of their victims lives.

It’s why some even inject themselves directly into investigations, others going back to the murder or dump site. Anything to feel a slither of that high from committing their crime. Maybe the person they’re after now is similar in that regard, so Javier stays vigilant throughout the ceremony and continues to hang back as everyone files out to walk over to the cemetery where the burial will occur.

He spots Romeo and Paloma in the crowd, jaw tensing once he sees her tear stained face.

This is why he doesn’t do funerals.

Javi is on his way to follow behind the crowd after gathering nothing from the service, when he sees a guy around the same age as Nina lingering by the enlarged photo of her that is at the altar. Javier doesn’t make his presence known, instead watching the man with careful eyes.

He doesn’t do much, just stares at the photo for a good, long minute before he turns to exit through one of the side doors.

Huh… could that have been a boyfriend? Family member? Friend? Javi jots down a brief description of the man and his first initial questions before joining the others at the cemetery.

This part is as wearying as the service, but he plays his part diligently. He stays out of the way and observes all the others as Nina’s casket is lowered into the ground. The rain that’s been brewing all day begins to fall softly and he reaches for his umbrella (for once being proactive enough to have brought it along with him) opening it and shielding himself from the weather.

A few more words are said, Nina’s mother a complete wreck as her husband struggles to hold her in his arms.

Javier lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, looking away and his fingers itch to have a cigarette between them but he doesn’t indulge in the vice just yet, wanting to show some respect to the family.

The crowd begins to thin out as the rain comes down heavier and he’s all but ready to head home and work himself into a migraine that he’ll nurse with beer, coffee and cigarettes.

However, his intention to leave dissolves once he sees a lone figure standing in front of Nina’s grave.

It’s Paloma and she’s getting absolutely soaked by the heavy rain but it doesn’t seem to be bothering her.

His feet carry him over to her without him thinking about it, hovering his umbrella over the two of them as he walks up behind her.

“ You’re getting rained on, querida. ” His voice is soft, softer than it has been in a while but she doesn’t budge. Her stare is pointed at the hole in the ground that hasn’t been filled yet. Nina’s casket on full display.

“ C’mon, let me get you back to your dad. ”

“ It’s just so sad. ” Her own voice cracks and it sounds so meek; a complete contrast to how she usually is. “ And… and that psycho took her leg... ” She winces as she says this, wrapping her arms around her middle.

Javier feels like a fucking idiot, not knowing how to talk to her. It’s the same feeling he got when he saw her at the park where the vigil was held. “ I’m sorry, cariño . I know it fuckin’ sucks… ” He curses himself beneath his breath. That was worse than saying nothing at all.

This, somehow, gets a small laugh out of Paloma and it makes his heart swell.

“ It does fuckin’ suck. We weren’t even close friends but… but she was still a person. She didn’t deserve to die… not like this. ” She keeps her back turned to him, and Javier makes no effort to step out from behind her. He's well aware that the instant he meets her gaze, those sorrowful yet enchanting brown eyes, he'll find himself utterly undone.

“ A girl’s dead… a family has been torn apart and here I am… being selfish and missing my mom. ” The confession is another jab at that sore spot in his chest, the same spot that reminds him why he’s so apprehensive about funerals. A terrible thing to put someone who doesn’t know how to console around people who need to be consoled.

All Javier does is reach out and rest his free hand against her shoulder, feeling the wet material of her dress beneath his touch. Not a second later, she’s draping her own hand over his. A wordless exchange that seems to comfort the both of them.

–––––––––––––––––––

Paloma shelves some of the returned books into their original spots, humming to herself lightly as she pushes the cart down the aisle she’s currently in. It’s a peaceful afternoon, three weeks since Nina’s funeral and she feels like she can breathe again.

She’s grateful to be working inside a building with air conditioning now that summer is in full swing. Sure, it does have the tendency to go out every now and again but for the most part–– she’s kept cool. 

Paloma stops in her tracks once she’s at the front of the building, the book cart nearly empty but that isn't much of a feat considering she’s got multiple stacks waiting for her back at the circulation desk.

Her eyes sweep across the expansive, sunlit expanse of the library's main area, observing the scattered presence of a handful of patrons. Eventually, her attention is drawn to Javier, who’s doing a piss poor job of keeping his distance.

She still thinks of the kiss she’d left on his cheek all those nights ago after her show and the small moment they shared at the funeral. Paloma still thinks he’s hot, she still masturbates to him on occasion and she’s still pissed that he’s been ordered to watch her. 

How many times is she going to have to bitch to her father about how much she hates having his lap dogs follow her around? Even the hot ones?

Annoyance flickers across her features, evident in the subtle roll of her eyes as she maneuvers the cart down the carpeted ramp and toward the table where he sits. " So, he reads as well, " she murmurs, her tone laced with frustration. " Officer Peña, this is getting absurd. I'm trying to work, for heaven's sake, " she whispers once she's within close proximity, mindful not to disturb the others nearby.

Since the funeral, Javier has been shadowing her every move around town. Whether she's at work, enjoying a meal at the diner with Sloane, or simply catching up with friends at The Whiskey Fox to discuss her return to the stage, she can't shake the feeling of his presence. Through the window, she often spots him sitting in his cruiser across the street, a silent observer. And even when she steps outside, there he is, conveniently waiting with a cigarette in hand, ready to offer her a ride home.

Despite his dreamy appearance, Paloma consistently rebuffs his advances. However, that doesn't deter him from lingering in his cruiser afterward, seemingly undeterred by her refusals.

She hasn’t performed at the bar in the past few weeks, her inhibition low all things considered but she’s been feeling better as of late so she anticipates a return this weekend, hopefully.

All that to say that wherever she turns: he’s there. 

Javier lowers the book he's holding, peering at her over its edge with a smug grin, his eyes the only visible feature. “ Y’know I’m just doin’ my job, miss. ” he drawls, nonchalantly closing the book and placing it on the table. With a casual shrug, he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “ You can keep workin’. ” He adds, his tone dripping with self-assurance.

Paloma fucking hates the way her eyes drop down to his arms as he crosses them, the short sleeved, tight work shirt he wears is hugging him snug in all the right places. He looks divine in his casual clothing, that’s a no brainer, but something about him in uniform has her cunt clenching around nothing and that just irks her further.

Her hands rest on her hips, eyes narrowing. “ No, I can’t just ‘keep working’. Not when I’m bein’ surveillanced like a fuckin’ criminal. ” Accent is as thick as ever though she keeps her voice down to avoid other patrons hearing her cuss, “ Can’t you just… drive ‘round the block or somethin’? I promise you I’m just fine. Daddy’s just paranoid. ” While she understands that the murders are a big deal, especially in a town like Seminary, Paloma is more than capable of handling herself.

After all, her father had overseen all her self defense lessons growing up and she was a real good shot with whatever gun was put in the palm of her hand.

“ Miss Leighton, ” he begins with a patronizing tone, running his tongue over his teeth as he rakes his gaze up and down her body. His cut jaw works the gum in his mouth and each time it flexes, she can feel the pulse in her pussy.

It’s clear that her stance brings him some amusement since she’s trying to appear intimidating but failing miserably. The smug look on his face says it all.  “ Maybe you should tell your daddy he’s paranoid. ” He suggest with a mild shrug of his broad shoulders, “ I’d rather sit here in the cool air than drive around wastin’ gas. ”

Paloma snorts, running her fingers through her hair, “ Won’t do a damn thing if I tell him. All my complaints fall on deaf ears. ” She can’t help but complain and it’s true, her father is too prideful and hardheaded to change his mind about anything. Let alone anything that involves her.

“ Mmm, how unfortunate. ” He reaches for his book again, no intention of arguing with her any further, but Paloma stops him by placing her manicured hand on top of it, leaning in close enough to where she can smell the mint of his gum.

“ Y’know what I think, Officer? ” She tilts her head to the side, staring down at him. She notices the way his eyes begin to darken, emboldening her to press on, “ I reckon you fancy tailin' me 'round town. It's the highlight of an old man's day, ain't it? Keepin' tabs on a pretty girl like me, day in, day out. I see why you’re so eager to be a yes-man to my father. ” Now it’s her turn to patronize him, pursing her bottom lip out into a pout.

His gaze falls onto her lips then back up to meet hers before he speaks.

“ I told you, princesa, my job is to keep beautiful girls like you safe. You might not like the methods but there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it, cariño, so I’d suggest you get back to doing your job and leaving me to do mine. ” His large palm wraps around the wrist of the hand that’s on his book, moving it away and giving him access to pick it up again.

She’s left almost in shock by the swift action, and suddenly she’s thinking of how his hands would feel wrapped around both her wrists while he pins them over her head and fucks into her. 

A blush creeps up her neck and onto her cheeks, but she doesn’t say anything else. Instead, Paloma snatches her hand back and returns to her book cart, turning away to leave the smirking asshole to read his book.

#javier peña smut #javier peña fanfic #javier peña x ofc #javier peña narcos #pedro pascal character fanfic #javier peña fic #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos

[bisexualhomelander]

I’m greedy af, writer asks:

3, 12, 13, 14, 23, 26, 49.

Also 6 for the fic I don’t remember the title of and now it erased from ao3 😩- I’m talking about the one where HL is a permadepowered depressed wet mop of a man and Ryan is basically taking care of him.

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

Pwp? Lmao. No, I'd say things that are characteristic for my fics and not just for my The Boys shit, but also generally, are 1) very humanised characters despite them being very asshole-ish and 2) them experiencing normal everyday stuff they never do in the original. Domesticity brings me to my knees every time.

12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?

Answered that one, but here we go again: Het ships. Hehe.

13. Are there any tropes you used to like but don’t anymore?

Extreme angst. I was that author who killed off all their characters. Nowadays, I want to save them all. I think I have gone a bit soft with age. I'd like a happy ending for every character. Maybe not in the right fandom for this at the moment? But I will simply bend the plot to my will. I don't give a fuck. They will all be alive and happy.

14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer?

My particular brand of kink. I have two kinds of smut I read/write: kinky stuff I am not into in RL but sounds interesting. Kinky stuff I AM into. No. 1 I will consume from everyone. With No. 2, I am very picky. As many have probably already figured out by now, it's softdomming and age play stuff.

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

Many years ago, I had a quite large Hannibal Game of Thrones thing going on. I have it all figured out, gave all the characters their roles, but then never wrote it because it was a daunting thing. I'd still like to finish it. Alternately, Butchlander mpreg, but you have already got that covered, so thanks for that :D

I also have a fic centered around Mirrorlander that I ironically called "objects in mirror are closer than they appear" and is mostly a workplace comedy about Mirrorlander wanting to play a more central role in the Vought company and failing miserably by... not being used to controlling their shared body outside of high-stress situations. I will probably never finish this fic, mostly because I feel slightly guilty over abusing a trauma response for shits and laughs.

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

Okay, now this is actually funny because I start out every fic with only dialogue. I write my fics the way screenwriters write for episodes. The dialogue comes first, and the "stage direction" later. So all my fics begin with just spoken word.

Generally, I would like to write a fic with just dialogue. It sounds like an interesting task because you have to convey all emotions via dialogue, including the motions the characters go through, by indicating exhaustion or pain etc. Sounds fascinating. I think I might want to do that one day.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

I am working on one more PWP before I go back to finishing the Ryan fic you were mentioning. It's called "Good Press". It's mostly a oneshot about Billy maybe-perhaps filming a fuck session with Homelander and livestreaming it to his fans? But maybe not? It's about the thrill of humiliating a supe more than anything. Should be finished soon. And once that is out of my system, there will be more son boy.

Here's the starting lines:

Billy gave the guards in front of the door a shit-eating grin. "Mornin', gentlemen. Lemme have a talk with the boss real quick, would ya?" He could see their trigger fingers twitch in unison. That William Butcher was now a guest at the Tower annoyed them personally, but the only thing they were uneasy about more than him was crossing Homelander. So they stayed silent, staring stoically at the wall.

Homelander stood by the V-shaped desk, arms behind his back, frame lit by the light of day coming in through the windows. At some invisible sign, the sliding doors behind Billy closed.

"This place soundproof?" he asked as he looked around. Surprisingly enough, there were no cameras in the meeting room at all. Just the screens, and they were all turned off.

"It is, mostly. For humans."

"Any cameras? I mean, 'part from the ones I put there myself."

Homelander smiled at his words.

Also, the Ryan depowered dad story WILL be reposted, but I will repost it as a oneshot concept fic once I have all the chapters finished. As for in-universe info, there's not a lot I don't already mention apart from this little thing: I have no idea how anyone visualises Homelander in this fic, but he really just looks like scraggly bearded Antony Starr during his off-season. If anyone follows his socials, that one picture he shared with those smol doggos? That's the one. Yes, there is a bit of grey in HL's beard now. Yes, he is freaking out over it.

#ask game #thank you for the ask!!

[dat-town]

(i can only take you in) small doses

Characters: punk rock band singer!Yeonjun & female reader

Setting & genre: band au, angst with hopeful ending, possibility of friends to lovers

Summary: This is the story of  how Choi Yeonjun, front man of Basement Gig, the it boy of the generation, hit rock bottom. From the point of view of somebody who loves him.

Warnings: depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, drunk behavior and alcohol poisoning, profanities, smoking, mentions of one night stands and emotional manipulation, seemingly unrequited love

Words: 7.8k

Author’s note: this fic depicts the topic of depression but does not mean to romanticize it. things should not get out of hand for people to recognize the signs and i wish people experiencing the symptoms could reach out for help. if you find the topic triggering, please do not engage with this story!

title is from bebe rexha’s song.

@restlessmaknae i love you, sorry for the angst <3

⏩ NOW

It should have never been like this. This wasn't what you had imagined when you had made promises in a room with walls written all over and posters hanging from every inch. Suddenly you missed the cheap French fries dipped in strawberry shake, the late night talks and the naivety of your teenager self. The time when you hadn't known better how this industry worked. The time when you had at least known Yeonjun. He had been your best friend but now... now he was just a stranger.

"Look at yourself! What are you doing?" you clenched onto the boy's shirt desperately trying to shake some sense into him but he was too drunk to care. He pushed your hands off him as he stumbled towards the sofa in the living room, not caring about the broken glass pieces on the ground or the smell of alcohol burning in the air.

"Leave me alone," he grumbled, running a hand through his messy, dyed blonde locks. The roots were already black but he couldn’t care less to redo it before performances. The words he spat were slurred and rough, something the fans might have thought sexy on stage but at this point he would ruin even his vocal cords. He would ruin everything around him as if he didn’t care, as if his dream hadn’t turned into reality with this tour.

"And what? Who will collect your hangover ass tomorrow morning when it will be time to leave for the next stop? Do you think Wooyoung wants to deal with your shit after the stunt you pulled last time?" You crossed your arms in front of your chest and at least the groan that escaped Yeonjun signaled that he remembered what had gone down between him and the other guitarist of the band. They used to be friends too, almost brothers, now the only thing that made it possible for them to show up in the same room was the tour but if you wanted to be unapologetically honest with yourself, the whole band was hung by a single thread, threatening to fall apart.

"Stop fucking nagging me. You're not my mother," the front man cursed under his breath instead of answering your question as he laid onto the couch face first, head in the pillows of the hotel room.

"You're lucky I'm not, Choi Yeonjun. Your mother would be really sad if she saw you like this," you grimaced and didn't even want to imagine the reaction of the lovely lady if she found out what had become of her sweet son. Nobody would have guessed that the sensational ‘it boy’ of your rebellious generation would go down like this. It was only thanks to luck and your efforts as the band's manager that had kept his image intact and his scandals covered.

Yeonjun just grunted something into the soft material next to his face that you didn't wish to know. You turned your back onto him to get a towel to clean up the mess he had just made and dump it into the bin before he could have stepped into glass barefooted the next morning and caused even more problems for you. By the time you finished, he fell asleep based on the way his breathing got steady and you momentarily considered laying a blanket over him despite him still wearing his cigarette-scented leather jacket but then you shook your head. He was right: you weren't his mother. You weren't anything for him these days, nothing but a nagging manager. The title that had once filled you with so much excitement but left a bitter taste in your mouth now.

You searched for the singer's phone, unlocked it (his pin was still the band’s formation date) and set multiple alarms for the morning for which he would surely hate you but at this point you didn't care. You put the device alongside a plastic bottle of water and some painkillers on the coffee table not far from the boy's head before turning towards the door. However, before you could have left, Yeonjun's rough voice murmured something under his breath.

"I hate it," he mumbled, eyes still closed, his lashes casting a shadow over his pale cheeks. He gulped and you willed your legs to move again, to leave before he could have stopped you once again. Before he... "I just feel so fucking alone."

His voice was so resigned, so pained and it was ironic, really, because you had just dragged him away from a pretty girl he had flirted with in a nearby pub oh so shamelessly. Alone? He could find company whenever and wherever he wanted. He had his band mates there for him. He had you for god's sake. If only he considered you as a company at all.

You slammed the door behind you on your way out.

⏪ THEN

It was a small but familiar room. A bed pushed against the wall to make more space. A guitar leaning against the bedside table and papers scribbled with half-done lyrics all over the floor. Pizza boxes somewhere and forgotten cola patches in the carpet. You were lying in the middle of this mess, looking up at the familiar sight of glow stars on the ceiling. It held so many precious memories.

"... and then we would go on those tours around the country with a rented bus and have sold out shows. I don't even care about things like having albums on those top 100 Billboard lists, I just want people to come and listen to our music, you know," Yeonjun laughed, gleefully, still high from the adrenaline of his band's first ever real live gig. The first that wasn't school-related, so instead of those 'appropriate' song covers, they could finally perform their own songs, those raw, rebellious anthems of youth. The first where there were strangers clapping and whooping for them by the end of it.

You had known the boy since elementary school and you had known of his love for music since early teenage years. You had listened through his phrases in different music styles and his first attempts at playing the guitar at eleven-year-old. You had heard him sing at school shows, you had been there at the first band practice of their nameless band with his high school classmates, Wooyoung and Changbin, you had been the first one to listen to new lyrics, new song ideas, new melodies. But you had never seen him so alive, so radiant than in that little corner bar where you had gotten them the opportunity to play that Friday afternoon. Yeonjun was glowing on the little stage, his charisma shining through layers of nervousness and sweat. Each of them were great performers, their band dynamics was immaculate and they were talented for a band that had barely started out a year ago but Yeonjun… in your eyes he was made to be on stage, he was born to be a star.

"Yeah," you nodded along with a smile and turned your head to catch a glimpse at the boy. His smile was infectious and his dark hair had gotten long enough to get into his eyes when he turned to you, too. There were sparkles in his eyes, the whole damn galaxy. "I can see you do it all: albums, tours, gigs. You're going to be famous, Choi Yeonjun, I'm sure of it."

You said it with conviction of a believer, you had no reason to doubt but the boy's smile was so relieved and grateful as if there was ever a chance for you to act differently.

"And you'll be there. Promise me, you will be there with me," he looked at you seriously as he reached out with his pinky. The childish gesture made you giggle to yourself. You had never been a musician, you didn't understand a lot of the lingo he and the guys used but Yeonjun never wanted you to feel left out. You were his first confidante, his biggest supporter, his best friend after all.

You smiled and linked your pinky with his.

"Promise."

⏩ NOW

Three more stops to go. Then it was the end of it and it really felt like it. You had given up college, relationships, a peaceful, simple life for this and now everything was slipping through your fingers.

You could practically feel the tension in the air when you put the coffee cups down onto the backseat of the minivan. Changbin was pretending to sleep in the back, Wooyoung was tapping his leg on the floor with his headphones over his head, Chaeyoung was on the phone with her boyfriend, striding up and down on the sidewalk but the main singer was nowhere to be seen. You sighed.

"I'll go fetch Yeonjun," you exclaimed to nobody in particular and only the keyboard player girl shot you an emphatic glance.

You walked back to the hotel, asking the receptionist whether 212 had checked out already or not but as expected, the answer was no. Maybe it was for the better though because if he had disappeared without a trace it could have caused more trouble. You tried calling the boy but of course, he didn't answer, so you had to go up to his room, banging on the door for him to open it. You were trying to be nice about it since you could have gotten the receptionist to open it for you, all their rooms were under your name after all. You just wanted to give the singer a chance to show up decently instead of  whatever situation you could find him again.

Last chance, you thought. Bang bang. At this point, you should have given up on him already. Bang bang. Maybe there was no way back from here. Maybe fame indeed brought the worst out of him. Bang ba–

"Stop it. I'm ready," Yeonjun tore the door open, catching your wrist just in time before your fist could have collided with his chest instead of the wooden door. He wore a low neck tank top, tugged into torn jeans and threw a plaid shirt over it. At least he looked decent even with his tired eyes and messy hair. "Didn't you say we leave at 9?" The singer pushed his phone's screen into your face to show that he still had two minutes until said time.

You rolled your eyes at his smartass answer but didn't make any comments in order to not make it worse. He got ready after all, that was already more than you would have expected of him based on the last two times. You tilted your head towards the end of the corridor after you managed to suppress a sigh and started walking without waiting for the singer's reaction. Luckily, based on the sound of steps somewhat behind you, he was following you for once.

The check out went fine, the ride itself not so much. Ever since the whole conflict between Yeonjun and the others started, it was an unsaid agreement that he sat in the front with you while the others were in the back. Most of the time it was fine. Not ideal, not like it used to be with jokes, playing games, listening to mainstream music on the radio and dissing it, now sometimes the tension was too solid to cut.

"Can we stop there?" Yeonjun pointed at the sign of the nearest rest stop and while you tried your best to not pick fights, the others seemed to have had enough of the constant breaks.

"Did you catch something, dude? How many more times are we stopping 'til Daegu?" Chaeyoung sighed before burying her face behind her phone again.

"Or maybe he has an hourly limit of what he can take of our company," Changbin added with a scoff. You gulped hearing his words, full on expecting the guy beside you to get back at him with something nasty but only silence followed. You glanced sideways to catch a bit of Yeonjun's expression but he was looking out of the window and the moment you arrived at the parking lot, he got out, closing the car door behind him with a loud thud.

"Did you have to?" you turned to the back, looking straight at the drummer even though you knew he was only partly at fault. But you hoped that at least they could be a bit more cooperative, not making it worse whatever was pissing their frontman these last weeks... months.

"What? Are we supposed to just act along with his princess shit? I'm so tired of being constantly considerate of him, waiting for him to explode."

"Look, I know it's hasn't been... great working with him lately but he's under a lot of pressure and–"

"Like we aren't?" Wooyoung interrupted you as he pushed down the headphones to his neck to be involved in the conversation and the way all three of them looked at you it made you think that maybe they felt like you were biased because Yeonjun had been your best friend once before anyone. "We are in this together. Or at least we were supposed to be. Who the hell told him to act like our leader? Or to collaborate with other artists without us?"

You cast your eyes down because you could hear and understand the feeling of betrayal in the guitarist's voice. At first, you believed it was a good way to get more exposure for the band, so you agreed but Yeonjun was a charmer and the more offers he got, the more people started to mention him only and not Yeonjun of Basement Gig. And the saddest thing was that sometimes it seemed like he forgot he was a part of something bigger than himself, too.

"We all know who. That model chick hated us from the beginning," Chaeyoung piped in and you tasted bitter at the mention of the boy's ex. You didn't like blaming others but things had indeed started to go to shit when they had gotten together. Then they had broken up and instead of getting better, it all just got worse.

"Just... hang in there a bit more, okay? Let's get to the end of this tour and then I'll figure something out," you looked from one band member to another, hopeful and even though they didn't look happy about it, nobody protested. Wooyoung put the headphones back on just in time before Yeonjun had gotten back.

He smelled like nicotine and regret but you were too tired to call him out on his destructive actions. At least he was there, so you went on.

Next stop: Daegu, the turning point of it all.

⏪ THEN

What started out as a hobby project next to school with friends, slowly turned into something more serious. The more gigs the band got after graduation, the more they started thinking about diversifying their sound, that was when they started looking for an extra member, a keyboard player. Even though it felt weird at first to let a stranger into their friend group, with her sassy remarks and directness Chaeyoung fit right in. You had never felt like an outsider because you had been surrounded with boys in the friend group but it was nice to have another girl around.

You started your first year at university while the band had three or four practices a week as much as they could squeeze into their schedules besides part time jobs. You kept looking for gig opportunities for them, looking into studio rent options and prices for a proper album release and after one concert in a summer opening festival things really started to take off: the SoundCloud listening numbers, the YouTube views, the inquiring calls you got all started increasing and even entertainment companies reached out. It was the most exciting time, it was all finally coming together. It felt like a reward for all the hard work.

It took seven months, dozens of new songs and even more gigs for minimum pay to score a decent contract and the Basement Gig members decided to throw a little basking performance before celebration. You expected the drinks, the music, the dance, you didn't expect the cheesy cake with 'Be our manager?' written in the frosting.

"Woah, guys, what's all this?" You couldn't help but laugh at the gesture.

"We all know how hard you work for us next to your classes and the fact that we were able to get this deal is partly thanks to you, so we wanted to ask you to be our manager. Like officially," Yeonjun told you with a smile as wide as the ocean. You looked from his excitedly sparkling eyes to the others who seemed just as hopeful and the corners of your mouth started tugging upwards.

"So does that mean you'll pay me?" you raised a brow jokingly before saying yes, of course yes, and you were tackled in a group hug. You didn't care about the familiar sweaty bodies squeezing you, you were happy, you felt like you belonged, it was you and the band against the world. You were ready to take this adventure to the next level or so you thought.

A few hours into the celebration you felt buzzed on alcohol and high on sugar from the cake as you watched Yeonjun dance from the sidelines. Chaeyoung came up to you, nudging your arm with hers as she pushed a new drink into your hands before following your gaze to the dance floor where your best friend was having the time of his life.

"How long have you two been together? You deal with his fangirls really chill. I would be out for blood if they acted like that with my boyfriend," she giggled at her own jealousy but that wasn't the most surprising thing about her remark.

"You mean, me and Yeonjun? Gosh, no, we aren't together," you denied like a habit. It wasn't the first time people were mistaken, you had gotten used to it. It was just weird that someone who knew both of you so closely and for so long also thought that way. Was that really how your duo seemed from an outside point of view?

"Shit, sorry. I just assumed. You have always seemed really close and touchy," Chaeyoung explained with an awkward little laugh.

"We've been friends for a decade, so…" you shrugged and forced yourself to look away from the boy, swallowing down the acidic taste of jealousy burning up as you watched him whisper sweet little nothings into the ears of a random girl.

He had always been a charmer, you knew all too well. All more reason for you to not talk about those feelings you tried so hard to hide, so you wouldn't stand in the way of Yeonjun and his big dreams.

⏩ NOW

Daegu was hot in the summer, humid like most parts of Korea in the middle of a jungle of skyscrapers, just out of reach of the refreshing sea breeze. The concert venue was an old warehouse building and the owner greeted the band with excited smiles and two guys who helped carry the instruments from the van to the stage. You exchanged a few words about the evening, when the audience will be let in and such things. After that, all of you were accompanied to the artists' waiting room which was just a separated area behind the stage and honestly this was the part you were the most worried about: the waiting.

It was when usually things had gotten the most explosive but the atmosphere was already bad. You didn't want to leave the band alone but it wasn't like you were their babysitter, they should have gotten along fine for a bit until you arranged some paperwork, or got them snacks and drinks. You were worried when you left though, you couldn't help this uneasy feeling of leaving wild animals alone. It had never been like this before either, it should have never been like this with friends. One would have thought that since it was Yeonjun against the other three they would be able to handle it more maturely, at least one of them, but Yeonjun was like a bomb and the others were the detonator, so it was even more dangerous. Especially because it wouldn't have been the first time for him to storm out and disappear right before a gig. He had always showed up before it started, sometimes tipsy, sometimes in an even shittier mood than he had been before but you couldn't help but worry that one day he wouldn't be back. That he might mean his threats about leaving.

So fearing the worst, you tried to handle everything as quickly as you could. Getting the band members' usual drink orders and some honeyed water for Yeonjun because his voice had been sounding rough since the morning, you headed back to the venue and you could immediately tell that something was off. You got there in the middle of a tense conversation that sounded more like a power debate than anything else.

"You're breathing too loud," murmured the lead singer in a tired voice, not even looking up from where he was lying down.

"Then go sleep in the car," Changbin, the one who was the closest to him, minding his own business, watching something on his phone with earbuds knew that he was talking about him, so he snapped back.

"Why should I be the one going?"

"Because you're the one whining," the drummer pointed out and even though he didn't add it, there was the implication of Yeonjun doing that all the time.

"Because you keep annoying me even though I'm carrying this band on my back," the singer hissed, nonchalantly, paying no attention to the irrevocable, chaotic consequences of his words as he was too occupied texting someone or at least pretending to be busy on his phone.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Wooyoung shot up from where he was sitting, eyes full of rage and fire, ready to strike as he advanced towards Yeonjun. You knew he would never meant to hurt physically no matter how aggressive he seemed but it was scary, the implications of it, the way he grabbed the front of the other guy's shirt, wrinkling it in his fists, dragging him up from his chair, his phone falling onto the ground, adding more cracks to its existing collection on its screen.

For a moment you were frozen, watching it unfold, not being quick enough to stop it from happening and after that it was too late. Even if you ran up to the two musicians, you weren't strong enough to separate them or to get between them and when you looked at the others for help, they stayed idly close-by, watching. You understood, they must have been hurt by the claim as well, they thought that Wooyoung's anger was justified and a part of you knew they were right. Yeonjun shouldn't have said that.

"Guys..." you tried to ease their hot-headed nature, pulling them away from each other but they didn't budge. They were stronger than you and Yeonjun grabbed on his once friend's outfit with just as much fierce force as if challenging him.

"Tell me it's not true then. Tell me you could be anywhere without me," he spat, venomous, words intending to hurt.

"Yeonjun, stop," you pleaded, clawing at his forearm, trying to get his attention. He only spared you one glance after a long staring battle with Wooyoung. His eyes full of anger and disappointment, then he looked at you and there was something else too, the look of a man who was at his limit. Then he sighed, pushed the other away from him, grabbed his phone from the ground and left, leaving a storm in its wake behind.

⏪ THEN

After the contract was signed and the band was preparing for their first official album release, everything felt like a theme park ride that was going up, up, up... You didn't even have time to think about what would happen if the roller coaster would take a turn and it all went down. You were too busy handling interviews, festival invitations, photo shoots. You took a break from uni because you couldn't do the two together and there was no way you would have let anyone else handle the Basement Gig and because you didn't want to be left out. This way you felt being a part of it.

"Waaah, my favourite person!" Yeonjun shrieked the moment he had seen you with his usual coffee order and you smiled at the fondness and over exaggeration in his voice. You distributed the drinks, americanos and lattes among the members at the filming set of their first ever official music video and by the time you got to your best friend, he pulled you into his lap for a back hug as a token of his appreciation before taking the iced caffeinated drink from your hands carefully not to spill it.

"So I take it that the filming session went well?" you raised an eyebrow at him as you stretched your neck to be able to look at him better without moving from your place. At times like this you understood why Chaeyoung had once thought that you were together.

"Very. I even came up with a few lines with rhyme for that new song I was working on. I'll show you later," the boy promised with a blinding smile that made his eyes turn to crescents. You loved this look on him: happy, excited and lively.

"At this point, you will produce three albums worth of songs before we finish recording this one, dude," Wooyoung laughed as he laid down on the couch, resting his head in Chaeyoung's lap who only rolled her eyes at his antics. The girl had never been clingy with any of them but ever since she had started dating ('just casually talking') with one of the young, genius music producers at the entertainment agency, the boys enjoyed pushing her boundaries and playing with fire (as in Chaeyoung's anger since her 'not boyfriend' was way too timid) in hopes of Minhyung opening the door at them.

"If he didn't keep writing lyrics, he would have noticed that one of the models totally checked him out," Changbin mentioned and it was nothing new, Yeonjun getting appreciated by girls and boys alike. He was rarely interested though. Yet, now it seemed to pique his interest as he turned around, looking around in the set to search where the girls went for the break.

"Really? Which one?"

"The pretty redhead," Changbin answered with a smirk and the singer's hum resonated through your chest.

Soon enough the fifteen minutes break was up and they had to go back to filming which you had been watching from the sidelines. You couldn't help but look for the girl the drummer had just described and you had never seen Yeonjun flirt so openly before. He was giggly and charismatic around the girl who seemed just as enamoured. Were you like that too with him?

Needless to say, he didn't show you the lyrics he had come up with that night nor the upcoming ones. He started spending more and more time with the model girl who got him solo shoot opportunities and gave him exposure by bringing him along for fashion events. At first, it didn't bother you, at least not too much, but then Yeonjun started arriving late at practices, not showing up at movie night with your friend cycle, forgetting promises. Fame and the possibility of something more had gotten to his head.

"I don't like her," Wooyoung mumbled at the nth skipped dinner, mindlessly dipping his fries in ketchup.

"Well, if it eases your mind, I don't think she likes us very much either," you noted, honestly, but it was one thing to agree with the others and it was another to tell Yeonjun that his girlfriend was a bad influence. He didn't see it, not at first and it caused the first cracks in the band's friendship: the accusations of jealousy and envy were out there alongside the offenses of not taking it seriously. You all thought that things would get better when they broke up but Yeonjun had never been the same ever since.

⏩ NOW

You had loved the music of Basement Gig since the first time you had heard them. You liked their youthful, genuine sound, the lyrics that resonated with your thoughts, their bravery to voice all these out and you loved how they gave their all whenever they were on stage.

But when you looked at them now, at the stage of this Daegu warehouse, despite the cheers of the audience or how much their sound matured, they were just empty shells of themselves, the band you had once known. The ones who hadn't been following them for a while couldn't tell or notice the difference but someone like you who had been listening to their music for years could easily spot the contrast. It wasn't like their original sound was lost or they changed their musical direction, it was just their dynamics that were off. They didn't have that much interaction on the stage with each other nor the audience. Yeonjun and Wooyoung used to flirt with the people watching, now they were only trying to get through the concert as if it was a chore. Even if the music itself was good, it pained you to watch and listen to it.

You were nursing your drink for a while now, it had gotten lukewarm and all the ice cubes melted by the time Changbin came to find you after the performance. He wasn't in a better mood than before but it wasn't hard to say what the reason was. Yeonjun, like all the other times.

“Somebody came looking for him after the stage. I don't know why though, but he left with that woman,” he told you and you sighed heavily.

It wasn't the first time that the front man was seeked out without going through you first nor was it the first occasion when Yeonjun indulged in these extra jobs without ever contacting you, their manager who was supposed to take care of stuff like that. You didn't like it when he acted this way and not because you didn't trust him, although lately you found that harder and harder to do so too, but because it underburied your authority as their manager. No wonder so many people in the entertainment industry looked down on you if your own artist treated it like your words meant nothing. Maybe you weren't cut out for this profession, maybe you should have stayed in school instead.

“Thanks for telling me. I will try to get him back to the hotel before he could cause us any trouble,” you promised, looking at the musician with a forced smile and you pushed yourself upright, taking a deep breath. Changbin looked at you with distress but didn't say anything and you were glad he didn't. You left the venue, knowing that Yeonjun usually didn't wander far but this time it was surprisingly easy to find him in the alley right next door. He had his back to the brick wall and the smoke and smell of cigarettes around him.

“I said no,” he spoke up before you could have asked anything.

“No to what exactly?” you asked, curious, as you settled beside him, shoulders almost touching. For once he wasn't drunk, it was nice to talk like this for a change.

“Some publicity bullshit,” Yeonjun shrugged and he sounded tired. Ironic how in the beginning he loved all of it: the buzz of celebrity life, the events, the desperate people wanting him here and there. You had always thought that he was born for this, born to be a star. But maybe he was rather a burning supernova close to collision.

“Okay,” you noted, not complimenting nor scolding him. There was no need to.

For a few seconds, there was silence. You could practically taste something heavy, something irony hanging in the air around you but you didn't push. Lately, you had been treating Yeonjun so carefully as if he was a wounded animal… or a ticking time bomb.

"I don't wanna do this anymore," he whispered between two drags of smoke.

You looked at him, tilted your head sideways in surprise. It seemed to be his new usual mood after performances which was saddening because he was usually on adrenaline high after interacting with an audience. He used to look so alive even sweaty and exhausted but now he was just a shadow of himself.

“The tour?” you asked even though you had no intention of canceling it no matter what he said. You were so close to the end and the band needed the money to go on. The entertainment agency was already not too satisfied with the lack of promise of a new album after the tour. “There's only two more gigs left, then you can go on a hiatus, rest all you want–”

"All of it."

Yeonjun’s interruption froze the words onto the tips of your tongue. You stared at him, wishing to figure out what to do. You weren't sure if he was just being dramatic or meant it. He used to say he wanted to quit every time he got stuck with lyrics. Why would this have been different?

“Let's talk about it once we're back in Seoul,” you promised him but some things couldn't have waited so long and you had to learn the hard way. The signs were all there you were just too blind to see because when we look at our loved ones we think that no, something like that can’t happen with them, it can’t be. But bad things happen with good people, too.

⏪ THEN

I hate it.

It's trash. Worthless.

Not good enough.

There were numerous ways to belittle someone's work but it was the saddest when one had done it themselves. After the first album was released, not just online fans but actual music reporters and other respectable outlets started mentioning the Basement Gig, comparing them to the popular MOA, Men Of Anarchy, another young punk rock band in terms of their raw sound and open-minded ideas. They got nominations and crazy fangirls following them around, more important interviews and opportunities to perform at the biggest festivals. It seemed like everybody had high expectations for them now that the hype started building up and instead of enjoying it, Yeonjun was already afraid of getting buried under its wave.

“All my new songs are shit. I can't seem to write anything new. I haven't written anything half-decent in weeks,” the boy was mumbling, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, trying to keep the last of his pride intact. It was true that before he had never seemed so lost, he always had something to scribble on a paper, a line, a rhyme, an idea, anything. But now he tore, crinkled and threw every piece of paper towards the bin. You picked up one on random, reading the two-liner that didn't seem like garbage at all to you.

“You are being too hard on yourself,” you crouched down next to him and put a hand over his shoulder blades trying to soothe his nerves. Your touch used to help but now the singer-songwriter seemed to stay just as tense as he had been.

“I have to. If I'm not, who will be? The agency. Or worse, the fans. They will criticize if it's not better than what we have now,�� he sighed, resigned, as if it was the end of the world and maybe for him it was, you just couldn't understand it. From your point of view, he had gotten what he dreamed of: he could do music for a living with his friends and people knew his name, they loved his music. But fromYeonjun's side, he felt like nothing he wrote anymore was good and he felt responsibility over it, over that band. What if he lost it, his touch and talent? What if he was just a fifteen-minute-famous person? He couldn't live without music, he just couldn't.

“It's just a writing block, you will get over it, just be patient and don't push yourself so hard,” you tried to reassure him with encouraging words and caresses but Yeonjun brushed your hand away.

"You don't get it," he said, so cold it pierced right through your heart.

Maybe it was when it started for real, the drifting away, the spiral down. But the truth was you had no idea how to get out of the hole you were digging yourself because you had never been good at not letting Yeonjun have his way.

Even if it broke your heart.

⏩ NOW

The band still had two more gigs to go, one in Gangneung and the biggest one in Seoul at the end. Obviously a lot of money had gone into these already and you would have to pay more if you suddenly decided not to show up but seeing the Daegu concert and the way Yeonjun barely left his motel room bed the next day, you started pondering over what would have been the best for both him and the Basement Gig. If they didn't play well or something messed up, it would affect the band's reputation way worse than calling performances off last minute. But at the same time, you couldn't tell whether the lead singer was just being difficult or there was something seriously wrong. Yeonjun had been like this – passive aggressive, neglecting, cold – for a while now, it wasn't anything new. He had been pushing everyone away from him slowly too and he had voiced out that he had had enough multiple times already but he kept coming back, he kept going up onto the stage and sang his heart out. You had tried to be understanding in the beginning, you had tried to help but he answered no questions and turned his back on every helping hand. It was just hard to talk with him, as if he was suddenly a stranger and not someone you had grown up with. It was almost like you didn't even know him anymore and you felt lost, not knowing how to help.

"I was thinking that maybe we should cancel or at least postpone the last two concerts. You guys are tired and I don't wanna see you struggle. And then there's this thing with Yeonjun…" you sighed, quietly, during the dinner you decided to get with the others in a nearby BBQ place. Yeonjun had refused to leave his room, of course, so he didn't join but the rest of the band was there, carefully watching over you.

"Do you really think that's what he wants?" Chaeyoung asked, careful, but none of them denied that they were tired. Tired of fighting, of pretending, of playing music that had become soulless lately. She just watched you with curious, sharp eyes, her question voicing out something you didn't dare to.

"I don't know, I really don't. Sometimes I feel like the band is the only thing that keeps him going but sometimes it's almost like it's ruining him. I don't know what would be the right thing to do," you admitted because you were afraid. You were in the position to make decisions for the band but every decision regarding them would inevitably affect Yeonjun too and you were afraid of making a mistake. Because no matter how much he complained, you also knew how much he worked for this band, for their success, for them to be recognized. You would have never wanted him to feel like you didn't take those factors into account. That you ruined this for him.

"Talk to him," Wooyoung spoke up and looked up from his can of coke. "Honestly, you are the only one he still relatively listens to. If someone can talk to him properly then it's you."

There was a bitter confession in the words of a boy who had once been close as brothers with Yeonjun. For all the petty fights, the punches thrown, the screamed accusations, they all still cared for their band member because he had been a friend before all.

You had gotten one portion packed to-go and headed back to the motel where you were spending one more night before hitting the road again. You knocked on Yeonjun's door but as expected, there was no answer. You knew better than to let him shut you out like that, so you had already gotten the extra room key before. You were just trying to be considerate, giving him the option to actually open the door for you by himself. When it didn't happen, you slipped into the room nevertheless which must not have surprised the boy either seeing how at ease he was sitting by the sofa, his back leaning against the armrest, the content of the mini bar splattered around him on the floor  and the smell of nicotine strong in the air. Such a sad sight.

You didn't say anything, not at first. You just put the food container down, opened the window to let the fresh night breeze in and then collected the empty bottles and crumbled pages of a notebook and put them away, out of the way. Then you leaned down to pluck the cigarette out of the singer's hands and put it out.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked, quietly, not to stir the water too much after you sat down as well, shoulders brushing. It was nothing out of ordinary, the gentle intimacy of closeness or at least it was not used to be but lately you craved these little things even more, you missed these because Yeonjun rarely let you have these anymore.

"I can't write anymore if I'm sober," he said and his voice was so resigned, so sad it choked your heart whole. For him, music meant life, so you couldn't even imagine how it was for him to experience the thrill of writing music only in such an intoxicated state.

"And the cigarettes?"

"They make me feel less empty," the boy answered in the same monotone tone and you felt like crying. He was right there beside you, physically, but you felt like you could lose him any moment. He felt so far away but not like stars usually did.

"Do you want me to cancel the rest of the tour?"

It was a tentative question because you knew it could be oil on fire and slowly, as if he was swimming in a dream, Yeonjun looked up at you, eyes panicky. Yet, his laughter sounded bitter to your ears.

"Do they want me to? Do they want to go on without me?" he asked, accusing but before you could have protested that it had nothing to do with the others, the corner of his mouth trembled. "They would be better off without me. You, too. Fuck, I ruined your life."

"What? Yeonjun, no! You didn't. I'm here because I wanted to. It was my decision," you tried to convince him, not wanting him to blame himself. It was stupid, you had never known that he might have felt this way. He had always acted so confident in himself, you would have never thought that he felt so... lost and so guilty. Even for things that weren't his fault.

"I know you did it for me. For our promise," he insisted between two laboured breaths, looking into your eyes but it didn't seem like he saw you at all. His eyes were reddened and foggy as if he had cried recently and you wanted nothing more than to hold him and hug him close.

No, you wanted to say, soft and true like a confession, I did it because I love you.

But it wouldn't have helped, wouldn't have lessened the guilt and that was your number one priority then, not your own heart's matters.

"Nobody is blaming you, Yeonjun," you claimed but you weren't sure he heard it at all because the next moment he stumbled in sitting as if he had lost his balance and the moment he managed to find a bit of balance on the floor, he vomited all over the ugly rug. Instinctively you grabbed on his waist in case he couldn't keep himself up and the moment your hand brushed against his arm and felt how clammy and cold his skin was, panic ran through you. You kept repeating his name like a mantra, close to tears but he wasn't answering and he was blinking, breathing so slowly that it scared you even more.

With trembling fingers you dialed 119 and by the time the ambulance arrived, the rest of the band members were out of their own rooms, helping you keep Yeonjun awake and warm. Only one person could go into the hospital with the paramedics though and Chaeyoung shoved you into the car, promising that they would follow closely.

You felt like a failure, noticing the signs all too late but even the doctors in the hospital reassured you that you had called for help in time. They had to flush Yeonjun's stomach of toxins and put him on IV for proper fluid intake because apparently he hadn't eaten properly all day but he would be fine, physically.

You didn't leave the boy's side once you were allowed to stay with him in the ER ward and was holding his now warmer hand in yours even when he woke up. He looked slightly disoriented and the doctors had warned you that he might experience episodes of memory loss about the recent events but when Yeonjun looked at you, he seemed relieved.

"Can we go home?" he asked weakly through chapped lips and you knew immediately that he didn't mean right now or home as in back to the motel. No, home was meant for old beginnings and new ones. Your lips trembled.

It wasn't his first cry for help but it was the first one you actually heard and you were determined to get help. You were going to be there for him and he was going to get better, you will make sure of it.

"Yeah, we're going home," you smiled at him with tears pricking your eyes when the boy squeezed your hand.

Step by step, all of you will learn how to be happy once again.

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt angst #yeonjun angst #tomorrow x together angst #stories

[crowtrobotx]

Man, I know you shouldn’t do this. But I was staring with increasing bitterness at the kudos/hits on Chrysalis and sinking further and further into the whole “what even is the point” mindset I’m so prone to. Probably this was triggered by having come to expect a handful of kudos with each new chapter and this time I didn’t get… any.

I think Bri is probably the only person who knows how personal this fic is to me and how much of myself I’ve poured into it. And I don’t really want to divulge what that means to everyone - maybe one day - but just rest assured this fic isn’t just the manifestation of an irrational love of a video game character (which it is, of course) but it’s… somewhat healing for me. And a gift to myself. And it took a lot, and I mean A LOT, for me to even put it out there.

I’m not saying everyone needs to shower me with praise and affection at all times, or that I think I’m uniquely incredible at what I do, or that I need validation to keep going - I am much more motivated by spite anyway lol. And I for sure don’t want to minimize the folks who have been devotedly commenting on every chapter, have texted me outside of here/AO3 to talk about it, have made FAN ART (which is crazy!!!!), have reblogged every chapter and sent me asks. I appreciate it so so so much and it means more to me than I could ever verbalize.

But like, damn. Sometimes the sadness has hands and sometimes it’s the absence of folks you thought would be there that’s all you can see, y’know?

And then I decided to look at the other Heisenberg/OC fics, and the ones that are purely platonic, and basically anything that isn’t 2nd person w/smut or part of a popular canon x canon ship. I looked at ones that came out right around the game’s release, ones that came out last week.

And like, damn. Chrysalis has a staggering amount of engagement in comparison, especially when you consider I published it two years late. I didn’t have an AO3 account at all until fucking February 2023. And that makes me feel sort of good, but now I’m just mad again lmao. You should not have to jump into things at peak popularity or have an established following or include popular pairings/tropes to have your work get noticed. I mean, logically, I know this is just how media and art works to an extent - and I’m not saying people who do write/create in the popular fandoms for popular ships are doing something wrong - but it really shows how unwilling folks are to step outside their comfort zones and read things that they think they’re not interested in or won’t like.

There are platonic, x oc, rarepair etc fics that are so stunningly beautiful that it feels criminal for them to only have a handful of commenters and kudos. And honestly the people writing these are doing so with an insane amount of passion because you HAVE to in order to keep finding the strength to publish that next chapter when you know you’re explicitly going against what people insist they want. Again, this extends to more traditional art forms too - how many fucking brilliant books and paintings are out there gathering dust because the creator didn’t have the right connections or they didn’t make something that had mass appeal?

I always try to do the “what advice would I give to someone in my position” exercise with stuff like this. And of course I would reference the reality that if you have ONE person who is cheering you on, it’s a whole complex person you’ve made happy and that’s a miracle in and of itself. And some folks don’t WANT to be noticed - they are much happier with small circles and good for them! But also - I don’t think people are wrong when they start feeling crummy from seeing their work get steamrolled or comparatively ignored.

Idk. Idk where I’m going with this except to say I really wish people would expand their fic libraries (and their media/art consumption in general) to include more than just whatever the current hyperfixation is because it gives them serotonin. Take a chance on something different, within reason. (I know someone will try to respond with OH SO YOU’RE SAYING I SHOULD TRIGGER MYSELF or something like good god, no.)

There are some truly awesome popular works and creators out there. Please don’t interpret this as me being some bitter small platform blog ranting because I’m not being elected prom queen. All I’m doing is thinking out loud and sorting through my own spaghetti brain. I think I’m gonna spend part of this weekend sorting fics with the least engagement/popularity first and leaving some comments on them.

It’s a brave and beautiful thing to make and then share art, no matter the form it takes. People deserve to be reminded of that. Frequently.

#weird ramblings about fic and art under the cut. idk man. idk. feelin odd.

[sleepyone2three]

That whole last ending sequence in the final episode episode of Arlong Park really hits hard though 😭 This whole arc has absolutely wrecked me though. My standards are too high and I fear nothing will live up to it. Final Thoughts 👇and they're in no particular order/all over the place since I wrote them as I thought of them.

Fuck Arlong

The hat scene wrecked me

Again, the whole ending sequence from the note placement to that last pinwheel spin is so good I can't even put it into words

All of the meaning behind Nami's new tattoo down to the aesthetic. Such a simple yet elegant design too.

"I'LL always be YOUR friend, Nami!"

Luffy just took down the man the literally owned and made Nami miserable for the past eight years and is using the most non possessive verbage possible he's letting her know it's always her choice at the end of the day I can't with this boy 😭

We'Re NoT goNna hUrt HeR

With grease and meat all over his face and his mouth still stuffed

It was at that moment Genzo realized he had nothing to worry about

Nojiko getting the tattoo for Nami though! She's such an amazing big sister

Oh my goodness yes doctor man please tell Zoro off for not taking better care of himself because I will if you don't

Usopp's fight was honestly pretty funny and I enjoyed it

Oh my God I just remembered the sea monster cow and I felt for so bad for it, Sanji and Luffy were so mean

On that note, wtf is up with Luffy and hurting cute animals? First Shushu and now this? Someone call peta on this boy

I wasn't a huge fan of how obnoxious johnny and yosaku were but I loved that they were basically a stand in for the audience/riff on oc fan characters and self insert fics (which I totally don't write all the time whaaaaat why would you ask) and so self aware that I can't even be mad most of the time.

Nami stealing everyone's wallets is such a rad way to prove she's self sufficient and going to be okay out on her own

Also not letting anyone say thank you is such a mood

She does what she wants

Luffy you're the captain, you sweet stupid enabler

The pacing of the hat scene in so good of my gooooosh

Weirdly this arc has had some of the best edited recap intros so far

I honestly kinda wish we got to see Nami throw down in the final battle. She goes up ready to fight and then just doesn't, I'd have liked to see her at least beat up one fishman. But I also love how much the others go all out for her

I really liked the moment in Usopp's fight when he was going through all his lies and his tone gets more and more unsure and how it builds up to him declaring he'll never pretend to be a pirate again because he's going to be a pirate

Sanji trying summon good vibes? That's so dumb and cringe but I love it

Speaking of Sanji, I love that he thought to blow into the gills I was not expecting that kind of solution

Also, I love Sanji's character... as long as he isn't around women. Let him be a bitch to everyone, not just the guys.

And the the wounds opening up as the as Hachi is swimming? That was a great payoff

God the Mirabelle scenes hurt

Genzo's an amazing character and I really like him

Hajiko too, she's awesome

The little kid feels super tacked on tbh. He disappears for half the story and then comes back for a hamfisted monologue. Is this different in the manga? I sure hope so

I kinda love the Hawaiian shirt and bandages look on zoro, heavy trans masc vibes which I love

Yikes on the scene where Arlong rips off Zoro's bandages though dysphoria kinda triggered uhhg

I bought Sanji's cook book and there was no special orange sauce sauce recipe why did he not ask for crew contributions?

I'm honestly shocked the town had enough food for Luffy to gorge himself like that for three days, they're gonna need the money Nami left to recoup their losses

The ship flying and Luffy just having a blast the entire time had me wheezing

Stretching Luffy's head above water was such a brilliant and creative solution. Makes me wonder if the same could work for Buggy if he chop chopped his head off before sinking.

All in all, these dorks are so good for each other

#but then i found out #there's a buggy episode soon and got happy again #one piece #arlong park #spoilers #new to the fandom #watching one piece stoned oops