#OR had he just had enough to drink that he was sociable and I happened to be there and there wasn't anyone better to talk to

[nicistrying]

I had a pleasant, dare I say almost fun time seeing my dad today and suddenly feel like I was just making up all the shit he's done lol

#childhood trauma is a real bitch #like yes im super super grateful we had a nice little chat and he actually took some interest in my life and the wedding #but also that doesnt undo the way he's treated me in the past #but also i don't hold it against him if he can make that tiny effort to speak to me when I go to see him #obvs I have to then do my part and go to see him more #but idk maybe possibly baby steps to having some sort of relationship with him #all the near death anaphalactic shocks making him want to have Feelings?? #OR had he just had enough to drink that he was sociable and I happened to be there and there wasn't anyone better to talk to #who knows i guess #daddy issues

[eddies-ashtray]

eddie is practically hanging off of you, his arms wrapped around you from behind, dangling over your shoulders. one of your hands is being held by both of his near the centre of your chest.

it wasn’t a big get-together: just you and eddie, most of the hellfire guys, steve, nancy, and robin. though you’re sure a larger crowd of people wouldn’t have deterred eddie from any PDA when he had alcohol in his system.

though you’re in the middle of a conversation with robin, eddie begins to smack loud, ardent kisses against your cheek until robin feels she has no choice but to cut herself off to acknowledge it.

“-totally disregard the closed sign on the door and bang on it until steve gives in and let’s them in! sometimes they’re just so-okay, i can’t pretend that’s not happening right now, what the hell is he doing?”

eddie didn’t drink like this often; he liked a beer or two, but weed was more his speed. it seemed to slow him down, whereas alcohol tended to speed him up. which, considering eddie’s typical excitable pace, he really didn’t need the alcohol to become more sociable or friendly.

but tonight he’d probably had one too many; having far too much fun challenging steve and gareth to shotgunning contests. you weren’t sure how he kept it down if you’re honest.

you smush your hand over eddie’s face to push him away gently, his nose squishing against your palm. he whines lightly against your hand, disgruntled that you’d interrupted his kisses.

“he’s just-”

eddie redirects his kisses to your hand now.

“-just a bit tipsy, is all.”

robin gives you a pointed look and then casts a glance at eddie who’s now kissing down your shoulder lazily.

robin looks back to you, quipping, “‘a bit’?”

“he gets like this when he’s drunk,” you explain.“touchy.”

when eddie suddenly bites into your shoulder playfully, robin says, “okay, well i’m gonna go get a soda from the kitchen while you deal with that.”

once robin leaves you and eddie in the living room, you question lightly, “eds, what’re you doing?”

eddie smushes his cheek against your shoulder, staring up at your face from a strange angle.

“just love you so much, wanted to”—he hiccups—“to kiss every square inch of you.”

you melt a little at that, though it was extremely sappy and not what you were asking.

“no, i meant-” you turn in his arms and eddie stays attached to you still, his hands coming down instead to rest on your waist. “rest” is a generous word though; really, he was grasping the flesh there like if he didn’t hold on to you tight enough you’d slip away. and if you’re honest, you think he might cry if you pulled away from him.

the second eddie’s glassy eyes are on yours, you continue gently, hoping that he’ll be better focused once you’re face-to-face, “i meant when you bit me, baby.”

“y’smell nice. like sooo nice. just wanted to take a bite,” he explains immediately like it’s simple (and it was to him), and then his eyes go almost comically wide as he asks, “is that okay?”

smiling softly at your completely wasted boyfriend, you brush the hair from his face, tucking curly strands behind his ear. eddie never takes his eyes off of you, staring into your face with so much love and admiration that you almost need to look away for a moment.

“that’s okay,” you reassure, kissing his red-tipped nose. he scrunches it at you in response.

and then, because you think that eddie biting you is probably a good indicator that it’s time to leave the function, you announce, “i think it’s time to go home though.”

eddie’s grip tightens on your waist as he gasps dramatically, goes, “don’t want you to go home yet. please stay longer, wanna be with you longer.”

you think he resembles a sad puppy.

smoothing out the crease between his brows with your thumb, you reassure, “i meant your trailer, puppy.”

he softens considerably at that, and asks quietly, as if in awe, “my trailer is ‘home’ for you?”

eddie is bursting with emotion, feels like sunshine somehow entered his chest to allow flowers to bloom in the spaces between his ribs.

he can only hug you tightly. you don’t tell him that anywhere he is is home to you because you’re sure he’d never let go of you again if you said so. though you’re not sure that would be such a bad thing. you hug him back just as tightly.

-

pt. 1

pt. 3

blurb m.list

#eddie munson #yay more drunk eddie! #eddie munson x gn reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson headcanons

[disneyprincemuke]

i quit drinking * cl16

you were never one to turn down alcohol. when you do, it causes a ruckus among your friends.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: um, heartbreak, i guess??!?!?!? mentions of alcohol, and breakups

notes: omg this one has a counterpart too, and i lOVE WRIting things like this i SWEAAAARRRR!!!1!!!11 but i'm ngl, it feels SOOOO poorly written so honestly i can only apologise for the lack of umph this fic has... i will make it up to you with the counterpart and a sequel pLSsSSS

(i quit drinking) // (to forget you) // (you called)

it had happened quietly - the breakup. none of your friends know that it had even happened, especially since you'd gone absolutely ghost mode since. everyone just thought you were in one of your moods where you weren't feeling very sociable. not one of them probed, simply because there was no reason to. until you very politely declined the glass of champagne carmen had offered you.

it's like the room fell silent when you shook your head.

"you don't feel like drinking?" george repeats your answer, confusion dripping with every word he speaks. he has a small scowl on his face as he stares down at you. "that's your excuse?"

you stare back at them as innocently as you can pass it off. but there's a lump forming in your throat, and you feel your chest feel slightly heavier. you feel your eyes start to sting.

you cough to clear your throat, standing slightly straighter. you look up at them with a polite smile. "yes. what's so wrong about that?"

but you know, more than anybody in this room, why it's such a shock that you don't feel like drinking.

"are you sure?" max slurs his words, pushing himself between george and carmen. he had been passing by when he heard your rejection, so here he is, invested in your relationship with alcohol. his eyes are narrowed into a glare as he interrogates you, clearly knowing more than he leads on. "you never turn down champagne."

max steps back almost immediately, throwing his head back. "maybe she doesn't like this champagne in particular!" he looks at you. "i've got better ones, if you want!"

you raise your eyebrows. "no, please! it's not the brand!"

"what is it, then?" george tilts his head, clearly confused.

your eyes linger on the champagne in carmen's hand. of course, you had considered accepting it just for show. clearly, if you'd known that your rejection would cause such a fuss, you would have just taken it to avoid this interrogation.

you're not even sure if charles had told them what happened.

"hey, what's wrong?" carmen's voice is gentle compared to the men probing about your life, so it makes you lift your head to finally look her in the eye.

you're hoping the couple of seconds of a stare-down with her is enough to let you off the hook.

much to your surprise, it does. because she starts to throw her hands in the air and push george and max in the opposite direction, preaching about how your rejection of alcohol is absolutely none of their business.

but she leaves the glass of champagne on the table next to you. and it's just starting to tempt you.

the cause of your breakup was uncontrollable, which is what made it even harder to deal with. one and a half months in, it proves difficult to be moving on from someone you weren't even with for that long.

you'd just simply grown apart, is what you told your family. the longer truth is that the spark that had once existed between you had just dissipated; there was nothing but an empty void.

the relationship started to feel different without the alcohol.

he paraded you everywhere on his arm. every race, you were there to celebrate the wins and a few heartbreaking losses. and with that came the drinking and the alcohol.

what you shared was so intense, more so with the alcohol that you consumed every couple of days. you can still taste his lips the last time you'd drank whiskey hours after the split, which is why you simply refuse to get a drop in your mouth.

all you could think of was being dizzy all morning after a night out, tangled in sheets and reeking of alcohol together. he would make you a cup of coffee and immediately crawl back into the sheets with you.

you hate waking up hungover, but he made it feel so good.

nowadays, you wake up with a clear head. the moment you open your eyes in the morning, you're ready to take on the day. with him, you always needed a couple of minutes to gather yourself from the night out.

the only downside to this is that you toss and turn in bed for hours at a time.

"drink it." carmen's voice slowly brings you out of your internal conflict. it's only then that you realise you are still staring at the champagne. your eyes slowly meet hers, your eyes filling up with tears when she picks up the glass and tilts it towards you. "i'm sorry you broke up. i wish you'd told me earlier."

you smile slightly. you know that if you take it from her, there is no chance that the night will end peacefully. you'd only end up dialling his phone number, begging him for another chance to talk and think about it all.

you scratch your arm. "i don't know..."

"you look like you need it," she says softly.

in her, you can see charles offering you a drink at one of his afterparties. you know it's unhealthy to still be seeing him in crowds, and everything that you do. but you just can't let it go.

there has to be another way out of this. but you take the glass into your grasp anyway. in one breath, the glass is already empty. you meet carmen's eyes once more, a slightly more genuine smile on her face.

you shouldn't even be drinking. but it feels so good, it's like you're back in your element.

your tighten your grip on your phone, checking it for notifications once more; notifications that will never come by.

you sigh heavily, taking the newly replenished glass of champagne from carmen's hand. the night only consisted of that - you never declined a shot anybody offered you.

you were about 5 glasses of champagne and 3 shots of tequila in when you finally forgot the way charles would look at you. you'd forgotten the way he would lazily drag his feet along the floor with two mugs of coffee, and the way his fingers felt grazing over your skin.

you couldn't remember the way you'd take on the dance floor together, hands in the air as he twirled you around. the way his hands would feel on your cheeks when you couldn't even feel them amidst all the alcohol.

you can't even dig your brain for the way he sounds; his accent, his voice, or his drunken slurs.

but you were then about 7 glasses of champagne, 5 shots of tequila, and a glass of margarita in when you found yourself alone in a quiet corner of max verstappen's crowded living room with your phone pressed up against your ear. the ringing of the line echoes in your head, and you're counting slowly in your head to keep yourself sane.

you can't even feel your face anymore. but there’s one thing for sure that you want. it’s the reason you’d avoided drinking all night.

then it goes silent for a moment. your heart drops when his voice comes through, "hello?"

#omg what even is this?? #ahhh so poorly written #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke f1 #charles leclerc

[kitorin]

misalignment (n).

/ˌmɪsəˈlʌɪnm(ə)nt/

the incorrect arrangement or position of something in relation to something else. "in which, mikage reo finds himself both asphyxiated and confined within the unfortunate circumstances of his first love."

contents. mikage reo x gn!reader, unrequited feelings, no happy ending, right person wrong time (i think), reader and reo borderline drunk / wasted, unproofread misery, tiny implication at gaslighting but nothing like that happens, never written unrequited love nor experienced it (can't get rejected if i never confess !!)

Despite the intelligence and academic prowess he had maintained throughout his entire lifetime, Mikage Reo is fundamentally a fool; one who unwisely but desperately deludes himself as a means to remain blind to the truth.

The 'wanna hang out tonight?' text was the flame to his moth, effortlessly attracting him whilst having the full capability to incinerate his very existence, to destroy every part of him.

If years of friendship accompanied by unreciprocated feelings could teach him anything, it was that, to spend time with you, lining up was a prerequisite for Reo.

Free time for you was defined by work's leniency (which seldom seems to happen, but at least you enjoyed it), and the occasional period where you weren't obsessing over a drama or book series.

After that section of the queue, was quite literally everyone else. An invitation from you meant that Yukimiya was too preoccupied with modelling, Rin's overseas, Nagi was too lazy to respond and left you on read, Isagi's busy training, Kunigami's at the gym, and Hiori didn't have the time to travel that far.

Finally there was Reo, back up plan Reo, the friend that you could go to when no one was available; the friend you liked enough to spend time with but not enough to prioritise.

He steals a glance at you as you keenly sip from your glass. Self-hatred chews at his conscience, but the livid, and tired part of him shoos it away.

It's not a very nice thing to accuse one of thinking of another so lowly, especially a close friend, however the explicit signs of him holding little significance in comparison to others seemed to validate it. You and he have been drinking for a while now, without much word other than the 'hello's and quiet greetings when you first saw each other.

It's normal, the silence. It's just how things worked between you and Reo. Neither of you were particularly social, words weren't necessary to enjoy time together, that was one of Reo's favourite things about you.

He's always tired of speaking, having to maintain flawless image, that included appearing as someone sociable and eager to speak with others.

But with you, that expectation was nowhere to be seen.

You're now adults, but this is nothing different from the quiet walks to the bus stop back in high school. The ones where he'd do his best to steal a glance of how you look, soaked within the sunlight while smiling.

Chatter permeates the bar's atmosphere gently a few clinks of glasses can be heard which followed hearty laughter and the occasional cheer.

You're first to talk. "How's university been?"

"Good." Was the workload horrendous? Yes, and so was adulthood in general. Reo knows he has it easy; he can afford it easily and could still live comfortably without working a day in his life. But he still yearns for the same feeling high school had. "Hakuho was fun though."

You place your drink down, swallowing. "I know right? Never thought I'd say this, but I miss high school. It sucked most of the time. But you and the others made it so much better.”

Reo nods, as he gulps down more alcohol. “I miss it too. How has studying been for you?”

You huff. “It’s a lot. I feel like I spend more time studying than doing anything else. But it’s good. I don’t mind since I’m actually studying something I’m passionate about, you know?”

“I’m glad, then.” Reo stares at his whisky, swirling the amber in his glass. “Proud of you. I really am. You’ve come so far, and I just know you’re going to do well.”

Growing from a clueless high schooler to a driven, impassioned, medical student. A lot has changed, years pass yet he remains unloved by you.

God there he goes again, lamenting on his paltriness. It must be a relative of masochism; he could be safe and secure at home with a good book and cup of tea, yet he’s here drinking with the source of his pain, while tethering on the border of being intoxicated with alcohol instead of heartbreak.

With each drink, a wave of euphoria swallows him up, licking up his misery as if it were sand on the shore. Rationality and emotion bicker like seagulls quarrelling over food.

You laugh at his sweet words. “You drunk? Thanks though.”

“Drunk or not, I mean it. Seriously.” Reo knows his limits, but doesn’t bother correcting you. His face feels hot, not because of the soju, but because of you.

You’ve always been pretty, to a ridiculous extent. But absurd how a few years changes you so much. Reo can’t even identify the changes, he just knows you’ve gotten prettier; that his heart races faster whenever he sees you.

“Seriously.” You echo, and nod, and smile. “I miss seeing you every day. School was so much fun with you around.”

Another hasty gulp of soju. Reo can’t stand hearing those words.

I hate you.

Is it directed to you, or himself? Not even Reo’s quite sure. He does his best to ignore your kindness, if it were true then he would’ve been addressed you with a smile in the same way you’d speak to anyone else; he would know how his name sounds off your tongue. He would mean more than a last option, and all those texts wouldn’t be left on read, viewed out of genuine care rather than basic manners.

Even though he can go on about unfair this feels, it’s ultimately his fault for still spending so much time with you. You’re supposed to cut off the people who don’t value you. You’re supposed to only care for the ones who’d do the same for you. Reo should’ve cut ties with you long ago, yet he clings onto your relationship as if it meant more than anything else.

I miss seeing you at school everyday. Your words echo, and he does his best not to choke on his drink.

Formalities, not affection. It's not love, it's your way of manners. If you truly did care you'd be spewing those sorts of words out constantly, like when you're with Chigiri, or Anri.

"Reo? You good?"

"Yeah. 'm fine." It's a reflex, he barely had time to register the words leaving his mouth. "Are you?"

"Yah. I'm not the drunk one here am I?" You chuckle to yourself, bringing the glass back to your lips, averting your gaze elsewhere. "Were you always a lightweight? Your face is so red."

"And yours is so pretty."

There he goes, ruining your night with something stupid.

"Yup. Definitely drunk. You're saying weird things now."

And with that, Reo commands, requests, pleads himself not to cry.

"You know." Another shot of soju is swallowed down by you, punctuated with a refreshed gasp. "The me a couple of years ago would've been overjoyed to hear that."

It feels as though every interaction with you accentuates his one-sided love and it stings; time with you is mere salt to the wound.

Neither of you say anything for a bit.

Reo can recall your confession, an awkward text sent after a couple of months the two of you actually spoke. There's an unspoken boundary between you two, to not being up the topic of each other's crushes or of your confession.

A fair rule, but it's harboured questions. Reo hasn't got a clue on your love life and crushes. He knows of your obsession with romantic dramas, always binging whatever's trending, screaming on social media about having to wait a full seven days for the next episode.

If only the two of you were a part of one. But even fiction would probably destine him for solitude woven of heartbreak.

"I think you're the drunk one. Why bring that up now?"

You've finally halted on drinking. "Dunno. That was my first confession."

And you're my first love—he wants to say it, it's at the tip of his tongue yet he can't muster it to say it aloud to himself or even to Nagi; let alone you.

"Well, it was an honour."

It wasn't. Because the thought always intrudes into his mind. What if you had confessed a couple of years later, or even at least two?

Or what if Reo hadn't taken his sweet time to fall in love with you, if he had told you he wanted to get to know you first instead of a simple rejection, would you be in his arms?

"Shut up. I was a stupid kid back then. I promise you, I have absolutely no feelings for you. Not anymore."

Reo scoffs, he can't even fantasise of the potential between you two. You liked Mikage you'd see in the hallways; rich and top of the school; not clingy old Reo who feels ever so slightly too much for everyone he cares for.

Whereas Reo couldn't care less about l/n that just transferred to his class, but would die for the y/n he discovered throughout the years.

"Yeah yeah, I know. Never thought you did." He knew you didn't.

It wouldn't've saved him from his doom of unrequited love, but the timing was terrible. The heavens should've made your infatuation and his adoration align, at the very least. Even if it meant Reo remaining unloved.

A hiccup follows a breathless giggle. "Who did you like in highschool? There had to be someone. Why didn't you ever tell me though? You had so many fans, you must've liked one of them."

Because it's you. "Because you never asked." Reo shrugs, almost impressed at his own feigned composure.

"Now I ammm." Now your words are beginning to slur. "Whooo?"

It's you. And still you. Reo could say it right here and now. You're essentially wasted and probably won't remember it. And if you did, he wouldn't mind crossing an ethical line and fibbing if it meant concealing his pathetic vulnerabilities.

Perhaps one day he'll tell you, if the uninterrupted storm ends, and the skies clear, if Mikage Reo's heart will one day stop aching for you.

"I'll tell ya some day. When I feel like it."

"What?! You're not allowed to add that much suspense—and not tell me in the end."

And perhaps in another universe, he and you can be of the same constellation, instead of being galaxies apart.

taglist (send ask to be added) : @yuzurins , @pokkomi , @chigirizzz

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

#hi i wrote this impulsively bc i'm sad #also needed a break from the 8k fic anyways #unproofread this is just i'm sad let me project #mikage reo #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk #angst #bllk angst #reo x reader #one shot #mikage #reo #reo mikage #reo x you #mikage reo x you #mikage reo x reader #mikage reo x y/n #bluelock #fanfic #bllk fanfic

[soultek]

Late To The Party - Roronoa Zoro x Female!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

💚As it's a certain someone's birthday today!💚

A/N: I feel literally late to the party myself with this - but there we are!

Also not the Zoro I ever expected to be writing for but I was just too inspired NOT to go for it!

100% inspired by 'Dance With Me?' by @alotofrandomfangirling. I read that fic, listened to this song and was like "Oh it's all fits nicely!" and then kinda ran with it! [BTW - you should OBVIOUSLY go and read her fic!]

Ahh... and also, for getting me through all this OPLA fangirling @alotofrandomfangirling this one is also 100% for you! 😁❤

Disclaimer: As usual, nothing except the reader character is mine (loosely based on my OG anime counterpart character Zoro!SO) I tried to keep him as close to his OPLA self as possible but I can't promise I didn't let a bit of his anime personality slip in but I have read this back so many times now I'm like 99.9% he's LA accurate!

Warnings etc: Drinking, mention of injury/scars, super mild cursing, established (secret?) relationship.

Premise: With a party happening in the port you happen to be calling in, you and the crew take the opportunity to be social. Zoro takes it as an opportunity to drink, but maybe that isn't the only reason he's going...

Words: 6325

Song Inspo: Late To The Party - Kasey Musgraves

---

By the time we get there Everybody will be drunk The chairs will be on tables And the band will be unplugged We're gonna look real good But we're gonna look real rude I'm sorry I'm not sorry that I'm Late to the party with you Let's promise when we get in That we'll try to get right out Fake a couple conversations Make the necessary rounds These kinda things just turn into Who's leaving here with who? But I just want 'em all to see me come in...

Late to the party with you Oh, who needs confetti? We're already falling into the groove And who needs a crowd When you're happy at a party for two? The world can wait 'Cause I'm never late to the party If I'm late to the party with you

---

Nothing was right. Every outfit you tried just ended up with a sighed 'No.', before being thrown in the corner. Everything else was done – hair and makeup went perfect; you were maybe even quick with those. But this... This was taking the time. Sure, you probably could throw on any old thing and get away with it - this wasn't some fancy dinner, or anything you had to look good for. Just a port with a party. But that was the point - it was a party. It was a chance to be sociable, dress up for a change. It was your thing. And you were late.

Snapping you from your thoughts with a jump, was a loud pounding on the door behind you. It was almost accompanied by a shriek, but luckily you saved yourself the embarrassment of that. Whipping around, you could feel your heart beating a million miles an hour - you didn't realise any of the crew were still here.

"Y/N! What the hell is taking you so long!?" Your eyes widened to the voice; now you were doubly glad you hadn't screamed. Opening the door ajar, you poked your head out and were faced with the unimpressed look of the crew’s resident green-haired swordsman. On second thought that was just his natural expression. You opened the door a little wider, halfway between asking a question and looking around to answer it yourself - was everyone else still here? Evidently, he wasn't done ridiculing you; "What the hell!? You're not even changed!? Even I got changed!" Your eyes focused back on him... Well, he wasn't wrong. He had changed his shirt. You indicated to the pile of clothes strewn on the floor, "Well I didn't know what to wear!" Now you were talking to Zoro, you might as well ask; "Wait, is everyone still here!?" His hands went to his pockets as he shuffled a little on his feet, eyes moving from yours, "No, but I said I wasn't leaving without you, now hurry up!" "…Hurry up!?" You folded your arms, eyes narrowed. You'd known him long enough to be able to read him pretty well, "Zoro, I bet you don’t even want to go!" He copied your crossed arm stance, "Maybe it's not my scene but if it’s a party, there’s alcohol." You couldn't help but roll your eyes, 'good lord.' Resisting shaking your head you turned your full attention back to him, glancing head to toe; "You’re going with your swords? Really?" Zoro was as defensive as you expected, "You never know what’ll happen." That seemed typically him. "Well…" You turned back to your clothes with a smile, finally deciding on something that would complement what he was wearing, "you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take mine." "Annnnnd that’s why I’m the better swordsman." You glanced back over your shoulder to shoot him a look. Despite how nonchalantly he'd declared it, the tiny smirk on his face said everything. “I am but a humble student, you’re supposed to be better than me.” He laughed, short, more like a bark; “Humble is the word you’d use, huh!? Interesting…” You turned your body fully back to him, hands on your hips. "Why would you even think I would debate-" You cut yourself short, realising that somehow Zoro was managing to stall time even more. So much for hurrying you up. "HEY! Will you get out of here and let me change!"

Sensing he was clearly enthusiastic; you gave him 15 more minutes before you headed back out on deck. He was standing with his hands in his pockets again, ankles crossed over each other as he leaned back on the railing. Glancing you up and down he gave a single simple nod. This was Zoro, so that was a complement and you would take it. There was silence between you for a moment, but the sound of a party was in the air. It was loud, it sounded busy. Exactly the kind of thing you liked. Exactly the reason it had taken you so long to get ready in the first place. And he knew that. The man in front of you however…

Zoro walked forward a couple of steps, slowly, looking around as if on high alert. He stopped not even a foot from you, brown eyes focusing back on yours. His voice was flat, but it was a distinct tease. "You know, a lookout not on deck is no good." You could have seen it coming from a mile off, but there was something about him that made you rise to it anyway. "Looking out for what?! We’re docked! You seem to believe you’re doing a better job, and you were still here.” He indicated to himself, "First mate. Lookout is not in my official job title." He was going to drive you insane. Your breath was deep but you held back the ‘my god, how did I end up with you!?' - for both ways he could take it and neither ending up in your favour. Instead, you cleared your throat and threw your hand in the direction of the port, “Can we just go please - if you’re so eager?! You did just rush me.” Zoro shuffled on his feet a bit more before he decided to respond with, “Fine.” That did not mean that he moved very fast at all, and you shook your head slowly, following him. Apparently, the draw of alcohol wasn't even doing it tonight. You did wonder sometimes, you really did…

Once you got down the gangplank, Zoro turned immediately left. You glanced to your right; exactly where all the light and sound was coming from. God help you now... You raised your eyes to the sky; 'idiot.' Instead of saying anything, you simply reached out and took his hand. Seemed like a natural enough thing to do... He was fine with it within the confines of a room training. Touch was okay there. But in public, you couldn't be sure. Not even on a currently deserted dock. But Zoro didn't jerk away, and even when he walked far enough for his arm to pull back when you weren’t moving, he didn't drop it. Turning back to you, standing rooted in place, staring at him. Your arm stretched as far as it would go with his doing the same, hands still together. You tipped your head in the opposite direction. Once again, not a word passed your lips. His eyes moved around you to the port, but he barely acknowledged it before walking back to you, and then in step. You let him dictate the pace - still super slow.

Zoro cleared his throat, deciding that he would comment on the situation. "I knew that, I was just taking the scenic route." You declined to comment that the scenic route was about to lead Zoro off the end of the pier. There was humour in your voice, “Every route with you is the scenic route…” You wouldn't say you struck a nerve, but there was something sharp in his voice. “What are you trying to insinuate?!” You opted to just shake your head again, amusement obvious on your features; even if it was clear, you were saying something. Zoro narrowed his eyes at you, keeping them on your face to wait for you to break. Unfortunately for you, it didn't take long to start giggling. Composing yourself a little, you came up with a decent excuse. “Hey, look, I just don’t want to lose you. It’s pretty busy.”

To your earlier point, the dock around you was dead, but the direction you were heading in seemed overly crowded. Zoro, still focused on the surrounding area, was halfway through raising an eyebrow to correct you - when he realised the joke. “HA. Lose.” Again, you said nothing, maintaining innocence. If that was the conclusion he wanted to jump to - correct or otherwise. For a minute or so you thought you'd get away with it, until you found your left hip bumped by not just one, but all three of his swords - which caught across your ankle for good measure, so his timing must have been impeccable. You paused your walk for a moment, looking across to him, clearly unimpressed. Rubbing your side with your free hand. Zoro merely shrugged, voice once again level. "Sorry." His first thought had really been to muss your hair or something, but that would have meant dropping your hand, and he really didn't want to let that go. It was also the perfect excuse when his swords were between you. In honesty you thought you probably did deserve some retaliation. "Maybe you should walk on the other side of me." "Not exactly my first thought, swordsman." Maybe you would have held his hand otherwise, but this had started practically... Now it was turning more romantic. Even if the words weren't. "If you had yours that wouldn't happen." "If I had mine things would be worse - probably for me." Considering you wore yours on your left hip you probably would have had to walk on his other side... "Yeah, that’s you up against me.” (It didn’t cross your mind he would be talking about anything except sword fighting until later.) “What!? I can’t believe you’d-” What did that have to do with anything!? “Name one time you’ve ever beaten me….” You remained silent. “Exactly.” Something within you felt determined to get him back for that comment - such had your friendship always been before it had become a relationship. “You know when I said that I bet what happened with Mihawk was awful for you and I was sorry you had to go through it?” Zoro almost smirked following your train of thought, “What? Not exactly feeling that right now?” The smile you gave him in response was crooked, “Yeaaah…”

So, his only option was to one up you, “Okay, well, next time how about I just put my sword through you instead of just barely grazing you. The AUDACITY!? This time he raised a gasp from you. You turned to retaliate, but funnily enough at the exact same time you gripped his hand a little tighter - this was play fighting. “Just barely—!? You call this just barely grazing!? I damn well needed stitches! It’s going to leave a mark!” Zoro listened, body half turned into yours, but he wasn't looking at you, continuing to stare in the direction you were walking. He simply indicated to his chest; 'really!?'. You knew you had no option but to drop it then - because fair enough. But there was still a deep cut across your left shoulder blade that he had left there. Instead, you sighed gently, turning back to the lights glittering off the water, everything was getting steadily louder as you got ever closer. You smiled again, “It’s okay. I know I’m the 5th wheel here…” Zoro frowned momentarily at your math; mentally counting the crew, before he realised you were talking about his swords. He shook his head in response, lacing his fingers with yours.

You weren’t quite sure how this had happened in the first place. It also wasn't meant to be like you were sneaking around behind the crew’s backs, you just weren't ready to be out in the open yet. You'd both been bounty hunters; Zoro mostly worked alone but very occasionally you had worked together. Had a couple of other good bounty hunting buddies too – and the four of you were a decent team. It hadn't taken long for you to develop a crush on him - and as a swordswoman yourself you were in awe of his skills. It was something you only ever strived to get better at. You'd pushed that crush back a long time ago in favour of friendship - after all, unless you were going to team up permanently (not his thing.) there was not much point in getting serious about it. Added to that, Zoro never at all seemed interested in romance. You had been content to just keep seeing him around. That was until rumours started flying around the community that the great Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro was now a pirate himself. Had joined a crew and everything. At first you had simply laughed it off as ridiculous. That must have been some other guy calling himself 'Roronoa Zoro' because there was no way in hell the man you knew was going to do that. How wrong you were, sufficiently curious to follow the rumours along until you both ended up on the same island. And sure enough there he was - with a crew calling themselves the Straw Hats. A crew you now found yourself a part of, having practically begged him to teach you after he'd kicked your ass yet again. (Like you weren't about to miss a bounty hunting opportunity - even if it was him.) Now you were, as you had pointed out to him earlier, a humble student.

The relationship element was new. You knew you weren't sure who or what started it, but it happened and it just felt like a good natural progression. Neither of you were really pushing that relationship aspect currently. You were close for sure, and you always kept close. ALL the time. (And if anyone on the crew was suspicious, they didn't call it out.) You held hands after training... When you were alone. It never progressed much further than that. Passed a confession and the agreement that you were, indeed, a couple.

Yet here you were, Zoro was not protesting holding your hand on the way to the party. And hadn't he just been the one to link your fingers in this way? That hadn't been you.

Stepping up from the dock onto the port side you were both bathed in light. It went from just the two of you to apparently everyone else in the world who had descended on the little town. You weren’t sure where to look – there was so much to take in. The bustle of the people – of all ages – was secondary to the bright colours all around. Shops, restaurants, bars, and their patrons spilled out onto the streets – covered in bright neon decorations and constantly glittering lights. In the central square ahead of you, music played from an elevated platform; even from here neither of you could tell if it was a live band playing or simply amplified through a sound system, only that the gathering of people around it were dancing. All down either street was a collection of booths selling various foods, drinks, wears and even offering games to play, each one looking as busy as the next and all dressed in the same bright colours as the permanent stores. Happy voices called out to each other: both friends and merchant alike. It was more like a festival than a party and you wondered quietly if that was actually what you had stumbled upon. There was so much to see and do, standing up on the street you almost weren’t sure what to give your attention to first: but you knew it was going to be a fun evening. Zoro could feel the energy from the party hit you instantly; if he didn’t know any better, he would say you were vibrating – you had an entirely different buzz about you than you had 2 seconds ago walking with him down here. He could feel it all through your connected hands, see it in the way your eyes were almost sparkling (though, that could have been the reflection of the lights). This was your domain; you were as in your element here as he was with three swords.

Zoro instinctively pulled you closer - if you didn't want to lose him in the crowd this was the only way. "You know where they are?" "In case you didn't notice - which you did - I wasn't the one looking out for them!" "Right... Stay close. Don't let go." He pulled you forward, and tonight you decided you would just trust him with directions. The 'don't let go' hit different though; if he was going to drop your hand at any point it would be now - not only in a very public place, but the chance of any of the crew happening upon you at any second. You almost wondered aloud if it might have been due to him spending his time waiting for you drinking; loosening up a bit. It would have made sense, but it didn't seem like it. Zoro was going to the party for alcohol. If he had it on him back at the ship, why would he bother? Unless...

You were snapped from that thought by suddenly being pulled in another direction. Finding yourself steered towards a building labelled 'Bar.' Figures he'd be able to find that with no issue. You continued scanning the crowds; the crew must have been around, but also at this point were long gone to you. And Zoro was clearly interested in drinking, pushing the door open with the most enthusiasm you'd seen out of him all night. But he wasn't just holding your hand for the sake of holding it. He knew men. You had dressed up for this because you had a social side. If he didn't clearly indicate who you were with, you were as likely to end up in trouble as anything. Another reason to keep those swords on hand; if anyone dared try anything he was sending clear signals. In the bar the crowds were even more dense, and you moved closer to him, free hand coming across your body to touch his arm; if you were going to hold his hand any tighter it might actually hurt. Still, Zoro couldn't help his little smile. You scanned the gathering more, swallowing hard at the realisation of how many eyes were suddenly on you. Drawn not just to yourselves, but also more closely to the points of connection between you and your entwined fingers. Your gaze flicked back to him, still solely focused on leading you to the bar - if Zoro had noticed this attention, he paid it no mind. You almost envied that. You were very aware of how gorgeous he was - you weren’t blind! You were unlikely to be the first or only girl to ever have fallen for this man. You were just the lucky one that had him…. Somehow! If you were any other girl in this room, you'd be jealous, too.

After what felt like an age, you finally made it to the edge of the bar. He brought your twined fingers up to it, unlinking your hands but keeping them close, leaning forward to try to find the barkeep. At this point the aged wood was littered with empty glasses and bottles. You hoped for the sake of your partner the whole bar wasn't already dry. Without even asking you were both presented with a beer, "Ahh! What can I get the lovely young couple then, eh? First one is on the house!" Zoro was clearly irked by the descriptor - but got straight to the point, "What have you got? Bottle of your best...?" He waited for the suggestion. "Well, uh, I'll have to see, sir! I would expect most things are out by now, but I'm sure I can find something." "Okay. Then," Zoro's sigh was deep, like he was trying not to think about it being the only reason he came down here. "I'll have a bottle of whatever you have left!" He turned to you, look pointed, "Clearly, we are late to the party."

You were about to commend him on just the one - realising suddenly you were going to quickly become the 6th wheel in this relationship to alcohol - when you were interrupted by the overly loud calls of your captain. "HEEEYYY!! ZORO! Y/N!!!" You barely had time to turn before Luffy was throwing his arms around you and pulling you together in a three-way hug, "Where did you go!? We were worried about you guys!" "Ah, blame her. She takes too long!" You punched Zoro's arm playfully, but you returned your hand to resting next to his on the bar. Luffy said nothing - likely oblivious as ever; but you could bet if one person in the crew didn't care, it would be him. Luffy grinned, "Well it doesn't matter! You're both here now! Ahh you gotta try the food, it's so good!" You turned back to the busy room, watching everyone else laughing and joking together. Luffy and Zoro followed your eyeline. Zoro's hand brushed against yours for your attention before he nudged you, "Go on." "W-what about you!?" You whipped back, a little too quick to protest. Luffy looked between you. "I'll be fine here. Besides, I can keep an eye on you from the bar. That's what you want to be here for, go have fun." Fun definitely didn't seem like the word Zoro would use, but this wasn't about him. It was about you. You looked to the bottle of beer you'd been given and pushed it towards him, "Here, just in case they can't find you anything else. I think you need it more than me!" Turning to Luffy you smiled sweetly, rubbing his shoulder, "Look after him for me!" "I will do!" Luffy grinned, Zoro just shook his head. But you knew he had everything he needed right there. You let your eyes linger on his and focused on that touch for just a moment longer, before you slipped from under the arm of your captain and went to make yourself sociable with the other crew and townsfolk. Surely Usopp, Nami and Sanji were in here somewhere... Glancing back over your shoulder you watched Luffy take your place, chatting excitedly to his first mate. He had Zoro's full attention; it made your laugh to yourself. You were going to end up so many wheels back you might as well have not been in this relationship...!

You were social, it was one of your greatest strengths. It was easy to make friends. It made it easy to get information. That was how you used to do your bounty hunting. You could talk to anyone and everyone easily. You liked listening to people's life stories - hearing about all the places they were visiting. The islands you’d landed on; about what there was to do in the area, even if you never went yourself. You liked talking about the tiny East Blue island you'd grown up on. You had enough stories from sailing across the East Blue yourself. And you could twist the crews’ stories into something a little less... Pirate-y. You always enjoyed it, you always had fun. If someone asked you to dance, you would. If someone wanted to drink with you, you were down. Tonight... Tonight you realised that even in your element, you were not having fun. Not as much fun as you wanted. Not alone.

You hadn't thought about it before. Hadn't considered when you were getting ready that it would ever be the case. You expected to have a good time with the crew - your relationship and anything that might happen with it tonight was an added bonus to something you loved doing. But in the middle of the conversation, you couldn't help realising how much you didn't want to be there. At least... Not in the company of these people.

You looked back over your shoulder to the bar, and were almost surprised to see not only was Zoro alone once more (you would have put money on either Luffy dragging him along, or Luffy dragging everyone else over to him), but he was staring at you. Clearly, he wasn't going to take his eyes off you tonight. When Zoro said he was keeping an eye on you he meant it. And maybe he’d never say it out loud, but with you looking like this, that wasn’t the only reason. The two bottles besides him were finished. But whatever the bar man had managed to find him was unopened. He turned slowly to it, before wrapping his fingers around the neck and dragging it off the bar. Gesturing with it towards you, before tipping his head back towards the ship. You smiled, and suddenly it was the happiest you had felt all evening. In that moment you knew exactly where you wanted to be. And tonight, where you would rather find yourself.

He met you by the door as you politely excused yourself from the conversation, this time taking his other hand and making sure to walk on his left. The knowing smile on Zoro's face indicated he knew you were learning. A tiny piece of your felt bad, as he opened the door back into the night air - the crowd was a little thinner, but the party was still in full swing. It felt like you were bailing, you'd been late and you were leaving almost immediately. But it wasn't as if people could say you hadn't turned up. Luffy at the very least had seen both of you there. But there was something inside you that stirred in excitement at the thought of sneaking back to the Merry with a bottle...

If you had gone at a snail’s pace to get here, you practically ran back. Or you would have thought you had, considering how giggly and breathless you were, despite not having drunk at all tonight. Yet. With the bottle in his hand that was clearly going to change. Zoro removed his sword belt, propping them up against the wooden railing of the ship, before blowing out a breath and settling beside them; back up against a pillar, he stretched his legs out in front of him, placing the bottle between them. You shook your head, sitting yourself down in front of him with a grin. At least out here it was quiet, the air was cooler. Zoro closed his eyes for a moment, tipping his head back; allowing you to trace the lines of his face. His jaw and down his neck, up over his broad shoulders and down his toned arms, to his fingers. You thought for a moment about the skilful way he could un- and re-sheath his swords. How any just-so movement with his fingers would move those blades to make perfect strikes. You hadn't been present for the fight with Mihawk that had made the scar across his chest. That was a little too much to think about, but the shirt you were coordinating with tonight exposed enough of his chest for a part of it to be visible... But you still couldn't imagine Zoro losing. Even when you could imagine just how incredible the 'World’s Greatest Swordsman' was.

You bit your lip, thinking about your earlier jab, and suddenly felt terrible. "Hey, Zoro..." "Mhm..." He initially kept his eyes closed and head tipped back, but when you didn't continue, he changed his position to look at you. With your eyes and expression a little guilt ridden; he couldn't help tipping his head in confusion. You took a breath, and although it seemed like you wanted to look away from him, you didn't: "What I said earlier about the Mihawk fight... You know I didn’t mean it, right?” Zoro almost chuckled - that was debatable. But he had known you was joking with him. "Y/N, you worry too much." "But I still-" "Of course, I do." It's what you wanted to hear - so he would satisfy that. You sat back on your hands with a smile, this time voice a little sweeter; "And what I said about being with you being scenic… you know I did mean it, right?” You had realised the hilarity of saying every route with him was the scenic one, and that depending on how you'd said it, how it could have been either a sarcastic tease on his sense of direction or a very smooth romantic flirt. Internally you'd kicked yourself for not realising sooner and now - despite it being obvious at the time which you were going for - you wondered which way he’d actually taken it… Zoro cracked a grin, clearly he'd noticed it too. “Oh. You mean I am the view.” Even though, by the look on his face, you knew Zoro understood you hadn’t meant it that way. Yet, you couldn't help but blush a little, “Glad we could agree.” “That would be a first…” You were compelled; you leaned forward and smacked his leg. It was likely always going to be a knee-jerk reaction to his teasing. That just made him chuckle, and he picked up the bottle again, cracking it open. "Should I get some glasses?" "Glasses?" Zoro scoffed, "Hell no. Now c'mere." He beckoned you forwards.

You couldn't help being intrigued, but as you moved to the side of him, Zoro grabbed your waist, pulling you to sit between his legs. For a minute you struggled, both shrieking and laughing, pushing against him enough that he had to physically hold you in place. You relented, giggles still rising in your chest as his arms wound around your waist. Head propped back against his chest you looked up at him. "Okay fine, you win!" "I'll just chalk yet another one up." "Ah, keep them, I'm never beating you." "Wow." He smirked again, "Did we just agree on two things? Careful, Y/N, we might be on a roll!" You nudged his face with your palm, "Hush!" Causing Zoro to grab your hand and interlink your fingers again. The movement caused his piercings to run together, making them chime softly. You focused on them dancing for a moment, unable to help yourself from reaching out and making the gold ring together again. Zoro simply shook his head at you, picking up the bottle he'd just opened (and somehow in all that hadn't spilled everywhere.) and taking a sip. "Whatever helps you amuse yourself." "One per sword?" "I'm not even answering that." "Hey, it's a valid question!" After all, you had a multitude of piercings in both your ears and didn't carry nearly that many weapons. He ignored you, holding the bottle out. You accepted it gratefully and read the label; "Any good?" "It's alcohol, even the bad stuff is good." "Yeah, no," you sighed, "that sounds like you." You took a drink and concluded that this one was indeed, pretty good. Taking another sip, he smacked the top of your thigh, "Hey! No drinking the whole bottle, I waited too long to get that one!" You almost choked, "And you won't get any if you make me spill the damn thing!" "You do that, I'll be throwing you overboard and telling the crew you elected to stay in town." "Thing is I wouldn't put it past you..." You handed the bottle back to Zoro, making yourself comfortable against his body, "I'm just saying a good boyfriend wouldn't do that." You heard Zoro huff a laugh as he lifted the bottle to his lips again, "Ah, I never promised to be one of those." "What? A good boyfriend?" "That's the one." "Well. A girl can dream." "That's all you'll be doing." You let out a laugh then, a full-blown belly laugh. "I know you're determined to ruin this, but you can't. It's not happening. This is exactly what I wanted." "Me?" But he left it there, fingers of the hand not holding the bottle finding yours again.

You sat in silence for a moment, the only sound your breathing and the back and forth of the liquid in the bottle every time he took a drink. Further back, the dull hum of the party, and the waves lapping at the side of the Merry. Inspecting the bottle once more Zoro realised it was nearly empty. Looking down at you in his arms he realised your eyes were closed. "Hey..." He tried softly, so not to wake you if you were asleep. "Mmm?" Your response let him know that even if you weren’t, you weren’t far off. "You want any more of this?" "Oh, no." You shuffled a little more, head moving to his shoulder, opening more of your body to the warmth of his, Zoro found himself pulling his legs in closer to aid you with this. "It's yours. You said it yourself; it was hard to come by. And I know it was the only reason you were going anywhere near the party." He stared at you for a moment, and then between you and the bottle. Your eyes were closed, so you didn't see his next soft smile. "Well, maybe it wasn't the only reason." You didn't respond, but he saw the smile on your face grow.

By the time he'd finished the drink you were asleep, and even when he moved himself to get a little more comfortable - careful with you still in his arms - you didn't wake. He'd have to be vigilant, glancing to his swords... Just in case anyone did think they were about to come on here and try to mess with you, or the ship. Come to think of it, where were yours...? ‘Ah forget it, I could handle it myself.’ He looked back down to you, peaceful. Pressed up against him, Zoro suddenly noticed how warm you were. How the air had a distinct chill to it the later into the night it became. (Heck, maybe it was early morning now. But there was no way of knowing - especially with none of your crewmates around.) Delicately he brushed some of your hair out of your face, before pressing his lips fleetingly to your forehead. Closing his eyes, he propped his head on top of yours, position of his body protective to your smaller form. He almost laughed to himself - when the hell did something like this happen? "Goodnight, Y/N..." * * *

It was not the scene the crew expected to return to, that was for sure. Looking between each other and trying to determine who might have had any indication that you were in any way a “thing.” Clearly, you and Zoro had been just that good at keeping it under wraps. Not that it mattered much now; nothing could have been more obvious! “What. The. Hell!?” Sanji was the first one to gain anything near composure enough to talk - although not composure in general. Nami and Usopp had to move quickly to hold him back; “I’m going to KILL that moss-head!” “Sanji! No! Wait!!”

Nami internally cursed herself for not being the first one on the ship. If she had been, she could have kept the rest of them away and would have had pretty good ammo for blackmailing you both for Berri. Ah well, no good thinking too much on that now. “I, for one, think it’s sweet.” Sanji scoffed. “Maybe she’ll lighten him up a little! God knows he needs that. Always so damn serious! And unsociable! I would welcome that change.” “Not with her though!” Sanji made another noise of discontent, making Nami sigh. As if Sanji would be fine with Zoro being with any other woman – on this crew or otherwise? She looked back to the scene; cuddled up together and sleeping soundly. It was late - maybe even early - and the air was much cooler than it had been before, rolling in from the sea. “Can one of you get a blanket? Last thing we need is either of them catching a cold!” Luffy - who had just been staring at you up until now, trying to add it all up in his head; it would explain how close you were at the bar but also… - suddenly sprang into life: “I’LL DO IT!” Nami grabbed him, clamping her hand over his mouth, “Stop yelling you idiot! You’ll wake them up!” Sanji actually thought that was a great idea - but he wasn’t exactly the person who was going to go against Nami’s wishes.

Luffy’s version of quiet was more of a shouted whisper, and he sounded out his words in their syllables for emphasis. “Sorry. I’ll get it!” Nami placed her hand against her forehead watching him walk off in big slow steps - she truly was surrounded by idiots. It was a good thing she loved them.

By the time he came back, she’d managed to successfully move Usopp and Sanji on. And once he handed her what she’d asked for, she began ushering Luffy away (which, considering him, ended up only being a few feet further back.) Rolling her eyes, Nami sighed again, unfurling the blanket, and throwing it carefully over you both. She tucked it as much as she thought she’d get away with before it woke you up and stood back admiring her handy work.

Luffy looked between you and her, “Soooo… will they be alright now?!” “I think so…” Nami turned to him, and pushed, “Now will you get out of here and give them some quiet!” “Well, what about you!?” “I’m leaving too! Honestly—!” “Okaaaaay….!!” He protested as if he wasn’t protesting and walked away.

But when Nami turned back, she almost jumped. Zoro’s eyes were open, and he was staring at her. From the expression on his face, she couldn’t tell if he was impressed or not. She decided she’d probably rather not enquire. After a little while of unnerving her on purpose, Zoro closed his eyes again. But he spoke, voice quiet. “Thanks, Nami.” She smirked, because this was her chance. He’d just left that door wide open and she wasn’t missing the opportunity. “You’re welcome. But you guys owe me!” He sighed - knew it! - this much more of discontent, “Of course.”

---

One swordsman down, two to go! 😁 💚🖤💛

#One of the nicest easiest writes and edits for a character ever - he was so kind to me! #OPLA Zoro #OPLA Zoro x Reader #Zoro x Reader #Zoro x Female Reader #Roronoa Zoro x Reader #Roronoa Zoro x Female Reader #You KNOW I got my Johnny and Yosaku reference in there! #A couple of her realisations are actually things I realised reading back where I was like /Aw damn. That was a good one!/ #So - that was fun! #Zoro said the title of the fic /roll credits!/ #Also I snuck in a Dustin Lynch song title reference! #I was like /there's not really a kiss in this?! Should I add one?/ and then i realised... there's an *indirect* kiss!! #Like... Diet Raleigh. Raleigh 2.0? #/psst/ you KNOW I had to mention the sword sheathing obviously. It's very much a hyperfixation point of Zoro for me. #Something so damn sexy about it that I can't explain? #Like UGH boy... PLEASE 😩

[misshoneyimhome]

It’s no fun to score without a goalie 

Summary; Auston Matthews always takes what he wants.

Tags: Auston Matthewsxreader; naughty!Auston; cheating;

Warnings: alcohol consumption, sexual behaviour; (18+);

A/N: I think my new favourite tag will be Naughty!Auston - It's got so much potential ;)

*

The music was loud as it throbbed through the night club, drowning out everything else. You were dancing with two of your friends, enjoying a night out, your hips swaying sensually and your hair swishing to the rhythm of the beat.

You were having a great time.

You were tipsy but not overly intoxicated. You'd had a couple of drinks at the pre-party and maybe a few shots after entering the club.

You were out with the significant others of the Toronto Maple Leafs ice hockey team, a group you'd been a part of for a little over a year now.

You had been invited to a couple of games and events by a friend of yours, who happened to be a second cousin or something like that to Morgan Reilly.

You enjoyed hanging out with the team very much. They were all very sociable and outgoing with a high level of energy.

And one person in particular had caught your eye: Auston Matthews, one of the best players on the team, if not in the entire NHL.

But he was simply a really good friend. Your intense energies seemed to match, and his sense of humour aligned perfectly with yours.

And everyone seemed to notice how well the two of you got along. Not many people could keep up with Auston's attitude, but you could. You could put him in his place when he was being a twit, and he could do the same to you.

But he never showed more interest in you. Besides, he's Auston Matthews—aka, way out of your league.

So, you settled for less: Trevor.

A lad from your childhood group of friends, but not a part of the Maple Leafs' group. He'd shown no interest in joining the world of hockey, as he was more of a "football fan" - as he put it.

And it's not like he was an unattractive person, but he was not in the same league as Auston. Trevor wasn’t as tall as Auston, and his features weren’t as Greek God, Adonis like – but he was attractive enough.  

In addition, he was the "I used to be popular in high school, so I'm still cool" kind of guy. His level of intelligence was limited, and he often seemed narrow-minded and careless.

However, he was sweet enough around you, and he was always there when you needed him. Well, most of the time.

But tonight, he wasn't there.

Tonight, you were out having a good time with your girlfriends and some guy friends.

And one of those guys was Auston.

He had been sitting in the booth, participating in the group's conversation, but he'd also kept an eye on you all night.

Though you were too occupied in dancing with your friends to notice, he ensured you were okay from a distance.

You looked amazing tonight.

You exuded confidence in your outfit, and your beautiful smile radiated nothing but happiness. Your hips moved seductively, and your little tight, black, lacy dress accentuated your curves.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn’t fair that you were looking so damn good, and you were dancing like that, when he was sitting nearby, being able to see you. Auston was mesmerised by your every move, and all he wanted to do was go and place his hands on you, sway his hips with yours, gently place kisses on the bare skin of your neck, and make you moan out softly, when you’d feel his member slowly growing hard for you.

The fact that someone was waiting for you at home was why Auston stayed put in his seat. That person made you feel carefree, so you could have fun without the pressure to impress or attract anyone.

And you were oblivious to it all. You had no idea just how much Auston yearned for you, how badly he wanted to feel your touch, and how he'd stand up to anyone who dared to flirt with you.

However, Auston wasn't entirely certain why his desire for you burned so fiercely; perhaps it was because you were off-limits to him, even though he could have had any other girl in the room.

He'd always found you incredibly attractive and sexy; it all started on that first day he met you at a somewhat wild off-season party. You were wearing a little black dress just like tonight and some striking red heels that had made him go feral.

Your confidence and occasionally over-energetic personality had always been something he loved. You were often the bright spot in even the gloomiest of days, and with your smile, you could probably light up Toronto after dark.

And you had made Auston desperate.

**

As the song came to an end, you let out a sigh and decided it was time for a break. You felt a bit warm and slightly sweaty from all the dancing, so you informed your friends that you were going to freshen up and catch your breath.

Making a brief stop at the bar for a refill, you headed straight for the ladies' room with a fresh drink in your hand.

As you gazed at yourself in the mirror, a smile crept onto your face. This night out was exactly what you had needed.

It was one of those nights where you didn't have to concern yourself with Trevor and his annoying friends. He wasn't around to dampen your spirits or lecture you about having one drink too many. Simultaneously, you weren't out to impress anyone or seek attention. Flirting and trying to catch someone's eye weren't even on your mind.

No, tonight was solely about you and having a blast with your friends.

That is until a soft knock on the door disrupted your revelry.

A little startled, you called out, "Someone's in here."

But the knocking persisted.

Feeling a bit tipsy and curious, you decided to open the door, and there he stood—Auston Matthews.

Your breath caught as he stared at you intensely with those deep, dark eyes, his tall frame dressed in a stylish yet relaxed suit. The scent of his captivating cologne hung in the air, and your bodies were closer than they'd ever been.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked casually, though there was a hint of determination in his tone. Before you could even gather your thoughts to reply, he used his size to gently push you back into the room and swiftly locked the door behind him.

Puzzled and a little startled, you allowed him to guide you, and before you knew it, you found yourself backed against the counter.

"What... what are you up to?" you stammered nervously as Auston continued to press his body against yours, his head lowering so you could feel his warm breath on your skin.

Usually, you wouldn't get this flustered around Auston, but this was uncharted territory.

"Just making a move," he said with a dark chuckle. His lips hovered dangerously close to yours, and it took all your willpower not to bridge the gap. "You were dancing pretty seductively - all for me?"

Words failed you. For the first time around him, you were rendered utterly speechless. And you couldn't deny that you were undeniably intrigued. Yet, you hesitated.

"Auston..." you almost whispered, your voice trembling, "I have a boyfriend."

"Mmm, I'm well aware," he replied, offering a cheeky smirk.

"Then- then why are you doing this?"

He'd had plenty of opportunities in the past year to make a move like this. Trevor had only entered the picture three months ago. Why now?

"Because it's no fun to score without a goalie," he simply replied with a dark, husky voice that sent a shiver running down your spine.

And with that, his lips were on yours in a fiercely battle. You were fighting for air as his tongue slipped into your mouth and dominated yours. His hands were all over your body, from your hips to your breasts and to cup your face.

You clutched the fabric of his shirt as you leaned more and more into the heated make-out session. But needing to catch your breath, you forced yourself to pull back.

"Auston, we can't..." you breathed out, though you didn't even sound like you believed your own words.

With his strong arms and without saying a word, he spun you around, making you face the mirror and place your hands on the counter. He moved your hair to one side of your head, then slowly began to place soft kisses on your neck.

You slightly tilted your head to one side, providing him better access, lightly closing your eyes as you were mesmerised by his touch.

"Can't what?" he spoke softly yet somewhat dominantly in between kisses. "This?"

His kisses increased, and he started to lightly bite down into your skin; he knew he was leaving marks, which worked according to plan.

"Yes..." you murmured - but your moans told a different story.

Auston moaned into your skin, as he slowly slid his hands up against your inner thigh, and lightly his fingers made their way between your legs and brushed against your core.

“Or this?” He smirked as you let out another, a little louder moan.

You knew it was wrong, yet I felt so right.

And you knew he had you completely under his spell.

#auston matthews imagine #auston matthews #nhl player imagine #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs fic #nhl hockey player

[vulpes-fennec]

Rita’s Shenanigans 🪩

Summary: Hoping to break the ice with her mate, Elain enlists her family’s help in setting up a night out at Rita’s. A post-ACOSF, Modern AU (with Fae lore).

A contribution to @elucienweekofficial and dedicated to @velidewrites who inspired this with her Rita’s moodboard!

Read on AO3

It wasn’t Elain’s first time at Rita’s, but it certainly felt different from all the other times she’d gamely tagged along with the Inner Circle, not wanting to be left out.

Her mate, Lucien Vanserra, was here. He trailed behind her, the tension between them as taut as the golden thread of fate that connected them. Lucien was close enough to touch, yet figuratively, he could not be farther away.

It had been difficult trying to start fresh with Lucien when she had a history of ignoring him. So Elain confided in Nesta that she needed help interacting with Lucien, which then led to Cassian inviting Lucien to join them for a night out at Rita’s. It was the perfect venue for a night of drinking, dancing, and chatting…plenty of opportunities to grow closer with him.

Elain just couldn’t believe her normally observant mate was not getting the message.

“I like your shoes,” she tried to tell him over the pounding music. They were following Mor, Nesta, and Cassian as the trio made their rounds on the ground floor, greeting the friends they so often saw when they visited Rita’s.

“Thanks,” Lucien replied shortly. He held Elain’s gaze for a full second, looked like he was going to say something, and then thought better of it. The attempt at conversation ended permanently when he looked away awkwardly.

“What kind of drink do you like?” Elain attempted five minutes later.

“I’ll drink just about anything.” Lucien didn’t bother leaning in, which was precisely what Elain had wanted him to do in the loud club. “...you?”

“I like fruit-based drinks.” But Lucien didn’t offer to buy her another drink. Didn’t ask if she wanted to try his non-fruity drink for a change. He simply nodded and went back to talking to Cassian.

Whatever happened to the natural progression of social interactions? Elain huffed internally.

It ground Elain’s gears when Lucien joined Mor in chatting avidly with strangers. Strangers that included other females. Elain told herself that Lucien wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was sociable without being flirtatious. He never put a hand on anyone. Yet Elain’s blood boiled hot when she caught him chuckling at something another female said, or when a female would lean in to hear what he was saying. Too close, she’d thought, clutching her drink so hard it could’ve shattered. Too close…step away from him please!

Perhaps Lucien was trying to give her a taste of her own medicine; payback for all the times she’d duly ignored him at Night Court functions.

Elain debated on chatting up a male or two, just to see if Lucien would be affected. There were certainly a few eyeing her with interest, but the thought of forcing out bland small talk with any of them had Elain grimacing. No. Her goal tonight was to get to know Lucien better, and she was not one to stray from what her mind decided.

When Mor, Cassian, and Nesta had finished saying hello to their friends, the group ascended to the second floor, where the Inner Circle’s regular booth overlooked the massive dance floor. “I’ll sit next to Cassian, Mor will sit next to me, which means you will sit next to Lucien,” Nesta had reviewed with Elain earlier. But when the time came, Lucien chose to squeeze in next to Cassian, which put him opposite of Elain instead of next to her.

Nesta shot Elain an apologetic grimace that bordered on pity. Elain only took a long, long sip of her strawberry daiquiri, head bowed in frustration. She checked her phone. It was only 11:14. I shouldn’t worry, she told herself, there are plenty more opportunities if the night is still young…

***Approximately one hour prior***

“Wait!” Feyre came running down the hall of the River House. “Here’s a touch of shimmer, for luck.” Elain held still as her younger sister, the High Lady, carefully dabbled ultra-glittery eyeshadow over her eyelids and cheekbones.

“How do I look?” Elain asked nervously.

“Absolutely stunning,” Mor said cheerfully as she breezed by. The blonde-haired female was just as stunning herself, with her glossy tresses and sharply-lined brown eyes. She wore a tight black corset that deeply contrasted the flowing ruffles of her classic red skirt. Mor tossed her hair behind her shoulder with flair. “Lucien won’t be able to resist you at all. And Cassian’s already waiting for us, so let’s go!”

Nesta and Elain took Mor’s outstretched hand in the River House foyer, a light breeze of caramel and sweet grapes enveloping them as Mor winnowed. The quiet of the River House was replaced by the vibrant hustle and bustle of Velaris.

They had arrived. Sure enough, Cassian was standing by Rita’s vibrant entrance, his membranous bat wings glowing amber in the faelight. Cassian’s face lit up when Nesta strode towards him in her thigh-high boots, swishing her hips in her slinky silver dress as she walked. The general swept Nesta into a deep kiss, a proud display of affection that passers-by hardly batted an eye at.

“You look gorgeous, Nes,” Elain could hear him rumble appreciatively as she tottered after Mor like a wobbling fawn, unused to the purple heels she’d borrowed from Feyre. Although Rhys had magicked them to fit her shoe size, the extra height had Elain feeling off-balance.

She’d worn the purple heels specifically to match her muted lavender dress. The garment’s semi-sweetheart neckline and spaghetti straps accented Elain’s smaller breasts and sun-kissed shoulders, and the soft fabric hugged her waist and hips before flaring out into a delicate skirt. As pretty as the dress was, Elain fought the urge to cross her arms across her chest, compensating for the lack of coverage. And she tugged at the dress’s hem every few seconds, making sure it hadn’t ridden up her butt.

“Damn it, we should have taken pictures before we left,” Mor sighed, pulling out her phone. She snapped several selfies, cycling through multiple photo-ready expressions in a matter of seconds. “The lighting is so shit in the dark.”

“Can you take a pic of us, Elain?” Cassian asked. “Just use flash.” Cassian and Nesta posed in front of Rita’s manicured hedges, both beaming widely. Nesta’s hand rested on Cassian’s broad chest, while Cassian’s hand wandered dangerously close to her ass. Elain’s cheeks were heating at their intimacy, but she dutifully took some pictures for the couple.

“Lucien!” Nesta suddenly called out, waving to someone behind them.

Oh fuck, Lucien is here. Elain’s heart rate accelerated, every hair on her body prickling with anticipation. She tried to appear blase as she turned around, but Mor still snickered at Elain’s doe eyes growing wider at the sight of Lucien.

He looks good. Elain blinked, trying to comprehend how a male could be so attractive. Oh, he looks really good.

Lucien was striding towards them, his full mouth quirked upwards in a wry grin at Nesta’s greeting and his shoulder-length red hair fluttering perfectly in the breeze. Though his shoulders and back were rolled back with impeccable posture, he still exuded a casual air by hooking a thumb through a belt loop and swinging his other hand lazily.

Lucien’s crisp white shirt had been tucked into a pair of straight brown slacks. And—dear gods—the first three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a triangle of warm brown skin. Elain knew her face was burning up even as she averted her gaze, before she could be caught ogling at Lucien’s chest.

“Good to see you, Nesta,” Lucien replied, his voice low and delicious to Elain’s ears. Unable to look him in the eye, Elain stared at Lucien’s feet. He was wearing mossy green sneakers—did he buy them recently? She hadn’t seen him wear those before, and had been meticulously observing him during all his visits to Velaris. “Thanks for the invite, Cassian. I don’t usually come to Rita’s.”

Cassian’s grin was completely natural, despite the artificial nature of their outing.

“Happy to have you here,” he replied, clapping Lucien on the back. “It’s on me tonight, so drink up!” He led the way into Rita’s, everybody else following suit. Elain lingered back a half step, wondering how she would proceed.

“Hey, Lucien,” Mor said as she passed him. “How’s it going?”

“It’s alright,” Lucien shrugged his broad shoulders. “Busy putting out fires, as usual.”

“Well, that’s your specialty, isn’t it?” Mor laughed.”Come on, let’s go inside.” Mor gave the bouncer a nod in greeting, her face easily recognizable having been Rita’s patron for hundreds of years. She slipped through the door quickly, leaving Elain and Lucien still standing outside.

What the hell am I supposed to say? Elain clutched the strap of her purse, feeling overwhelmed at the aroma of crisp leaves, apples, and sun-warmed skin. Lucien’s scent.

“Hi,” was all she could muster. Elain waved her hand shyly. Lucien inclined his head, a neutral expression on his face. This was not at all what she’d imagined when she was getting dolled up for the night. Elain’s heart sank. She had been hoping for an appreciative up-down glance, or even a spark of interest in his eyes.

“After you,” Lucien responded, holding open the door. He held himself stiffly, so unlike the casual grace from before.

“Thanks,” Elain mumbled, ducking her head and rushing through. She clutched her purse to her chest, feeling like such a fool. Of all the things I should’ve said, why the hell did I start off with a hi, she fretted internally. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

She barely had time to dwell on her mishap, though, for the pleasure hall immediately bombarded her senses with flashing red and magenta lights, and booming music. Friday night at Rita’s was well underway.

Tonight’s theme was pink, apparently, judging from the cotton candy glow that illuminated Rita’s cavernous interior. It smelled pink, too, like strawberry taffy and peonies, with a hint of citrus. And while groups of Fae were already dancing to the buoyant pop music, Elain made a beeline for the bar. She needed a drink—desperately.

***Just before midnight***

Cassian said something to Lucien, the music too loud for Elain’s Fae hearing to pick up. Her mate’s grin the corners of his eyes. Lucien leaned into Cassian as he said something back, his shoulder brushing Cassian’s and his mouth inches away from the general’s ear. Elain shifted restlessly in her seat, squeezing her thighs together. The thought didn’t normally cross her mind, but…gods. She wanted to be Cassian more than anything at that moment.

Elain was three drinks deep—she’d counted a strawberry daiquiri, a sangria, and a rum soda—hoping to muster the courage to make a move on Lucien. But instead of feeling brave, Elain was frustratingly horny.

It didn’t help that Lucien was strikingly beautiful. No male could ever look like him, with the jagged scars running down the left side of his face and the golden mechanical eye that mesmerized Elain with its whorls and etched runes. Lord of Foxes, Rhys had nicknamed him. Fitting, since Lucien’s countenance was sharp and pensive, as if he was always thinking. What’s passing through your mind, Elain wondered. What do you think of me?

Lucien himself had downed six drinks, most of them from a drinking game with Cassian. Since the games were based on wit, not luck, Elain half-wondered if Lucien was losing on purpose to get free drinks. She also wondered if the alcohol was going to his head.

Because after his fourth drink, Elain had sensed him watching her throat move as she tipped her head back, swallowing the last of her cocktail. After his fifth drink, Lucien had made eye contact with her multiple times over the fan of cards in his hand, his eyes burning with molten intensity.

If the alcohol was encouraging Lucien to send sizzling looks her way, it still wasn’t pulling enough weight when it came to initiating conversation.

Lucien brought his sixth drink—a mint mojito—to his lips. The slant of his mouth against the rim of the cocktail glass made Elain’s own lips tingle, for it was impossible not to imagine him doing the same to her mouth. The tilt of his sharp jaw and the half-lidded close of Lucien’s eyes had Elain holding her breath. This is the last time I’m going to stare at Lucien for the next five minutes, she promised herself, for she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of her attention. He probably already knew she had checked him out multiple times in the past hour. The last time—

As if he could sense her thoughts, Lucien’s russet eye—the one facing Elain—opened mid-sip. Lucien’s eye narrowed into a sly smirk, his lips still on his drink, sending Elain reeling from the heady sizzle of heat that seared through their bond.

But Elain maintained steady eye contact with Lucien as he set his glass down. If he thought she was a trembling fawn, she would show him otherwise tonight. Mates are equals, are they not? I should be able to match Lucien’s wily stare, no problem.

“Wait, I need to use the bathroom,” Mor said, getting up, breaking the tension between Elain and Lucien.

Mor had just left when a young waiter, likely a University of Velaris student, came by with a tray of shots. “Five shots for Cassian?” he asked, checking the tablet with the orders.

“That’s me, thanks,” Cassian took the small platter from him. He turned back to the table with a broad grin. “A shot for you, a shot for you—oh don’t look at me like that Elain, you’re getting one too—a shot for you…oh, and I guess I’ll take Mor’s.” Cassian doled out small glasses of clear liquid to Nesta, Elain, and Lucien.

“Cheers!” Nesta whooped, raising her shot glass. She and Cassian looped arms, taking their shots at the same time. Elain sniffed the glass and blanched. It smelled like liquid death, strong enough to make her eyes water. She looked towards her sister for help, but Nesta was now busy pouring a bit of sugary cocktail down Cassian’s open mouth.

“Cheers,” she said coolly to Lucien, clinking his glass.

“Cheers,” he repeated, his brows raised in faint amusement. Elain swallowed down three-fourths of the glass quickly, but coughed and sputtered at the last bit. The burning bitterness of the alcohol was too much. “You alright?” Lucien asked, his gold eye fixated on her, whirring and clicking.

Damn, was that all it took for him to say something? I should’ve gotten Cassian to start shots earlier.

“Yeah,” Elain replied, wiping the edge of her mouth, still cringing at the disgusting residue on her tongue.

“Aw, come on, I can’t believe you guys did shots without me!” Mor pouted, having returned. “But don’t worry, I just got us another round.” She pulled a little platter out from behind her back with a wink. There was also a small bowl of lime wedges and salt on the tray, to her confusion.

Lucien chuckled slightly at Elain’s pained expression.

“You want to lick the salt, take the shot, and then suck on the lime,” Lucien advised Elain, leaning across the table to sprinkle some onto the back of her hand. “It’ll help with the taste.”

Elain blushed at the words “lick” and “suck” coming from Lucien’s mouth, so she only nodded furiously. After a resounding “cheers!” and a bracing of her gag reflex, the alcohol ended up going down more smoothly, thanks to the numbing salt and tangy sour of the lime.

“Fuck yeah, Elain’s taking it like a champ!” Nesta shouted, as Elain slammed the glass down, looking directly at Lucien. Elain blushed extra hard, for her mouth puckered around the lime in the most undignified manner when Lucien glanced at her.

“Forget the card game, let’s dance!” Mor suggested, capitalizing on the moment. Elain got up first, resisting the urge to glance at her mate. “Everyone, including you, Lucien!”

Rita’s consisted of three levels: a dance floor, a second level of booths and tables for parties and cards, and a third level of private rooms. The upper two levels overlooked the first, giving patrons a view of the writhing bodies below. The group descended to the first level, where thin streams of faelight extended from the ceiling to the floor, creating an illusion of falling water.

Fae were congregated in little dance circles, bobbing their heads and throwing hands up in the air. Pink-tinged faelight pulsated in sync with the chest-vibrating beats, drinks flowed freely on the sidelines as Fae of all backgrounds mingled gregariously.

It was a particularly festive night at Rita’s. After years of turmoil—first Amarantha, then Hybern, then the Asteri and Koschei—peace was finally here. Instead of partying recklessly like the world was ending, the Fae smiled and laughed as they danced and chatted. Tonight, Rita’s atmosphere was marked relief and hope for Prythian’s new era.

Mor worked her way into the center of the dance floor, the rest of the group following close behind. Her joints and limbs were a bit awkward, but Elain gamely moved with the beat, buoyed by the room’s vibrant energy. Next to her, Cassian tucked in his wings, making use of the little room they had to expertly spin Nesta. Elain smiled. The general had been practicing his dance moves, it seemed.

Mor had taken to dancing on her own, rolling her body and side-stepping in her heels to song after song. She knew all the words, and was not above singing loudly when a personal favorite came on.

Lucien, who had put Mor between himself and Elain, was seemingly lost in the music. The gold earring on the tip of his pointed ear twinkled in the pink light and the pale scar cutting down his face was stark as he tilted his head up. His eyes were closed, chin nodding with the music.

Elain took full liberty to stare at Lucien’s sculpted chest and his strong, brown forearms—revealed thanks to his rolled-up sleeves. Desire, itching for an outlet, burned in her throat like residual alcohol.

She had been shyly bouncing on her toes for the first few songs, which was how Elain knew the drinks from earlier kicked in. Her movements suddenly became fluid like butter, more frivolous. She didn’t care if anyone was watching now, not even Lucien. All Elain’s body wanted to do was dance the night away.

Left leg, right leg, and a gyrate of the hips. Left leg, right leg, a flick of her honey-brown hair and shimmy of her shoulders. Hop, hop, hop to the beat. Left leg, right leg, swing to the side. Was this what Nesta and Mor felt when they commanded the ballroom floor during the Hewn City Solstice? This melting of notes, this frenzy of accelerating beats, this arcing melody that guided her body along the river of song?

Mist pumped onto the dance floor, muting the flashing lights in a dream-like haze. Elain threw her hands up and cheered with the rest of the crowd when the beat dropped, the floor vibrating as everybody jumped with frenzy. Being tipsy smoothed over any pain points in her feet and made her forget how clunky her heels were.

Elain wasn’t sure how much time had passed. She had made sure to stay within the confines of their little circle earlier, but now Elain could care less about the strangers’ bodies that kept bumping into hers. If Rita’s got more crowded during the last few minutes, she didn’t mind at all. The more people, the more fun to be had.

The circle of constellations on Rita’s high ceiling, with its painted animals and mythological Fae, swam in Elain’s vision. Her lips parted in breathless admiration: she was weightless in a sea of stars and pink, her body so dizzyingly spinning as if she would ascend to those heights any moment now. Elain’s ankle buckled when she landed a tad too hard.

“Steady there.” A voice Elain knew all too well murmured lowly by her ear. That voice was accompanied by a calloused hand she was less familiar with, the warm palm steadying her bare shoulder. Lucien. An electric shiver ran down Elain’s spine at her mate’s touch. He must’ve been with me this whole time, Elain realized.

“Hello.” She half-turned, suddenly aware of how close Lucien was. His scent, of sweet apples and sunlight, wreathed around her, drawing Elain in like a moth to a flame.

“Hey.” By the Cauldron, how could such a beautiful male be her mate? Elain was tempted to run her hands through that silky long hair. She longed to caress the high cheekbones and brutal scarred rivulets of skin, to memorize the shape of his face with her hand. She wanted to pull him down by the collar of his shirt, until she knew what those lips tasted like. She must have been staring open-mouthed at him like a fish, for Lucien’s handsome brow furrowed with concern. “Do you need to get back to the others?”

She could barely hear him, but Elain shook her head fervently. “No, I still want to dance.” Lucien’s eyes flickered, scanning her to make sure she was as alright as she claimed. “Will you stay here? With me?” Elain blurted out.

Gods, the alcohol…it certainly made her more expressive and less preoccupied with what others—including Lucien—might think. Her mate was so tall that the bobbing of his throat was at eye level when Lucien swallowed. Elain fixated on the little groove at the base of his neck, wondering what it would be like to kiss it. To mark it, with a juvenile hickey, so that the other females would know he was hers. Her instincts sharpened into something territorial, ready to snap at anyone who dared lay hands—or eyes—on her mate. Lucien was hers tonight.

“Yes, of course.”

Fuck, yes. Elain turned back around, unable to hide the victorious smile on her face. Did she know what she would do next? No, but it didn’t matter if Lucien was beside her. His simple presence was more than enough to light her up, renewing her energy to dance.

The song was faster now, crowd around them surging back and forth like the choppy sea, pushing her up against Lucien every few beats. Elain savored it every time it happened, leaning more into her mate and even wiggling her hips against him as a sign of encouragement.

Would Lucien take it?

Elain’s breath hitched with excitement when she felt broad hands rest lightly on her waist. Elain’s nerves sparked delightfully in response. “It’s just me,” Lucien reminded her, his breath tickling her ear.”

If she turned and tilted her head just so slightly, she would be kissing him. But even in her heady buzz, Elain held herself back. She leaned against Lucien instead and moved as the song demanded of her. Lucien kept his hands placed on her waist, but the thin fabric of her dress made it obvious whenever his fingers shifted against her hips.

A feeling of security settled deep in her bones as she swayed against Lucien. Her mate had a strong sense of rhythm, for he matched her steps and mirrored every roll and gyrate of her lithe body. They were well-matched on the dance floor, utterly perceptive to the changes each song elicited from each other.

“You’ve been such a tease,” Lucien hummed in her ear, his voice low and sultry. “I was wondering when you were going to drop your good girl act.”

Elain’s response was to bend forward slightly and grind her ass against Lucien. She didn’t really know what she was doing—she hadn’t done this before—but Lucien’s grip tightened on her hips. Pulling her flush against him.

Fuck…the growing erection she felt against her ass only made Elain’s head buzz even more. Her core clenched at the thought of Lucien’s cock sliding along her ass, between her thighs, through her—

“Shit, Elain,” Lucien groaned as she straightened back up. His russet eye was dark with blatant desire when she glanced back.

“What, didn’t think I had it in me?” she shouted over the loud music. Lucien’s grin was positively wicked as he pulled her hips towards him again.

“I always knew you had it in you. Like I said, I’ve just been waiting for you to show me.” Lucien splayed his palm against her lower belly, running it up her abdomen. More, more, I need more. Elain heaved a shaky breath when Lucien’s hand traveled up between the valley of her breasts to play with the gold necklace she was wearing, her mind wandering to all the things he could do with those dexterous fingers.

“Want me to show you again?” Elain asked slyly.

“Fuck, yes, Elain. What do you mean, want me to show you again?” Lucien’s tone was teasingly indignant. Elain was slightly more practiced this time, relishing the way Lucien’s body moved in sync with her hips. The air was musky with the scent of Lucien’s arousal, twining around Elain’s instincts and driving her urges up, up, up.

She turned to face Lucien fully when DJ transitioned from techno pop into one of her guilty-pleasure songs, making Elain even more giddy. The two bounced up and down, half-shouting half-singing the raunchy lyrics to each other. Somehow, Lucien knowing all the words made Elain want him even more. When Lucien tipped his head back and laughed, the look of pure, unfettered joy on his face induced a twinge in Elain’s heart.

Lucien’s hands returned to her body, gently stroking her waist and cradling her close with a hand on her back. Now that she was facing his chest, Elain couldn’t fight the urge to trace the edges of his open shirt, marveling at the hard lines and gleaming bronze of his skin.

“When I first saw you tonight,” Lucien said in her ear, leaning down. “I wondered if you had any idea just how beautiful you were.”

“Says the male who had no reaction when he saw me,” Elain replied, slightly indignant. Lucien’s hand grazed the small of her back, drifting closer to the curve of her ass. It was difficult decide whether she wanted to lean into his broad chest, or lean back until her ass filled his hand.

“An emissary always knows how to keep a poker face.” Lucien chuckled lowly, nipping the tip of her pointed ear delicately. Elain shivered from the bite of pressure, the pleasing sensation traveling down her spine. “I initially caught sight of you when Mor winnowed in, so I had a couple minutes to collect myself, actually.”

Elain blushed.

“If we’re going to reveal our tricks to each other…I actually asked Nesta and Cassian to help with setting something up between us,” she confessed.

“I know.” Lucien’s grin was teasing. “Cassian was being quite obvious.”

“Oh, Cauldron!” Elain cried, mortification rising. She buried her face against Lucien’s chest, inhaling his natural, crisp scent as well as his arousal.

“There’s a reason why he’s a general, not an emissary,” Lucien joked. He took one of Elain’s hands into his, spinning her around to break her embarrassment, and brought her back against him with ease. “Even then, I thought it was too good to be true. Elain Archeron, finally going out of her way to interact with little Lucien.”

Elain wrapped her arms around Lucien’s neck, pressing every available inch of herself against his body. There was nothing little about Lucien—especially if they were going to acknowledge the hardened length she felt against her stomach.

“Is that why you’ve been so standoffish?” Elain demanded.

“Partly,” Lucien admitted, still keeping them in sync with the beat by taking little steps forward, backwards, and side-to-side. Elain followed his lead, savoring Lucien’s fluid motions and his warm hands on her body. “I was waiting for you to take the lead.”

“Hmph,” Elain pouted, turning her doe brown eyes up. The glittery eyeshadow Feyre had dusted over her lids shimmered under the pink light, making her look particularly ethereal. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a passive male.”

“Oh, I’m not.” Lucien winked, a mischievous gesture that had Elain’s heart stuttering. “But this…our mating bond…I wanted to treat it with more care.” His large hand had migrated downwards, caressing the shape of her ass.

“Oh? And this is what you’re doing? Treating me with care?” Elain replied coyly, still obsessed with tracing Lucien’s chest through his open shirt. Lucien inhaled sharply at her feather-light touch, his russet eye darkening.

“I’m appreciating your ass,” he clarified, articulating the word ‘appreciating’ with an edge of sarcasm. “A respectable male like me would never deign to grab it—or smack it.”

Elain stretched up until her mouth was near her mate’s ear.

“But what if I want you to smack it?” Lucien threw his head back and laughed, a throaty, genuine sound.

“That’s the alcohol speaking for you, Elain. Let’s save the ass-slapping for later.” Later, he had said, Elain’s chest tightening with giddy anticipation. There’s going to be a later. At least Lucien’s hand inched further down, cupping her ass and kneading the soft flesh. Not quite a slap, but still offering some of the attention Elain was desperate for.

“Mmmm,” she hummed against his chest, eyes closed in bliss. Lucien kept his hand possessively on her rump, pressing her snugly against him. Elain sang her heart out, grabbing Lucien’s other hand and hoisting it into the air whenever the chorus played. She’d sobered up now, but Rita’s was still a sensory overload: loud music drowning out her everyday stresses, Lucien’s cloying scent and arousal, his devilishly perfect face and mismatched eyes being all she could see, the heat emanating from his body, and his hands all over her.

Lucien whistled loudly when Elain decided to shimmy down, running her hands along his body as she got low on bent knees.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, using two fingers to tilt her chin sensually as she came back up. Lucien’s expression of approval and hunger boosted Elain’s confidence through Rita’s lofty ceiling, her inner vixen purring at Lucien’s words.

She wasn’t sure how many more songs passed. Maybe it was because each one was more “danceable” than the last. Or maybe it was because she was with Lucien. Her mate’s energy was boundless: his feet were nimble, his shoulders were sharp, his claps were perfectly on beat.

He matched her moves perfectly. When Elain body-rolled against him, his hand was always on her lower back to steady her. When she leaned in, Lucien’s lips were poised at the tips of her ear or along her jaw, in a ghost of a kiss he would not bring to completion. When Elain sashayed forward, Lucien took the appropriate steps back, before returning the gesture with artful steps of his feet.

She may have hooked her fingers through his belt loops a couple times, yanking him closer whenever she felt he was getting a little too far away. There were moments when Lucien dipped his head low, heightening the delicious, stomach-tightening tension between them. Electricity practically crackled as Lucien’s golden eye shimmered and whirred, savoring the presence of his mate.

But at some point, Elain’s feet began to ache. And it dawned just then how dry her mouth was, before spiraling into a realization of how sweaty it was in the middle of the dance floor.

“I need to get a drink,” she shouted into Lucien’s ear. He nodded, and protectively led her out of the dancing masses. Elain squeezed her way back to the table upstairs, where Nesa, Cassian, and Mor had apparently been hanging out the entire time.

“Welcome back!” Cassian grinned smugly, holding out a hand for Lucien to clap as Mor scooted down the horseshoe-shaped booth, making room. Lucien sat down besides Elain and poured her a cup of crisp, icy water. It was absolutely delicious.

“How are you feeling?” Mor asked. The female’s brown eyes regarded Elain briefly, before shifting into a sly I-saw-you type of expression. Elain blushed vividly. Mor’s gift of truth likely meant she saw just how close and personal Elain got with Lucien—if she wasn’t already watching them from above.

“Sober,” Elain replied. Lucien, still talking to Nesta, distractedly moved Elain’s wavy hair behind her shoulder, smoothing the frizz down by running his fingers gently through it. The completely natural air of his gesture, made Elain melt a little at her mate’s attentiveness and care. “I’m a bit tired, though.”

“Oh, come on, Elain! We just started this card game!” whined Nesta. “We can’t leave yet!” Cassian flashed Elain a wink when Lucien was preoccupied with the chips and dip on the table.

Elain blinked.

“Oh….oh!” She flusteredly understood Cassian’s message.”I-I wouldn’t want to interrupt…perhaps Lucien can escort me home?”

Lucien nodded, taking one last swig of water. “Sure,” he replied, getting up from the table and offering his arm. Elain’s hand tingled when she placed it on his forearm. It was nice and solid, warm and safe. She hoped the pink faelight hid her blush when she recalled how that same forearm was previously wrapped around her stomach, pulling her back flush against his muscled body…

She clung more tightly to him once they stepped out into the chilly night air. Elain figured Lucien could have just winnowed them back to the River House, so she appreciated the fact that he was willing to walk. The main thoroughfares of Velaris were still well-lit, with night owls bustling and chatting. Stars twinkled in the velvet black sky, the moon glowed in its shapely crescent.

“Where are you going after?” Elain asked, hoping to prolong the time they could spend together.

“My apartment in Velaris,” Lucien replied, glancing down with a small smile. “It’s too late to winnow back to the human lands.”

Elain didn’t know how to respond to that. Did dancing sensually together bring them close enough for her to invite herself over? Still, the question ‘can I come over’ felt too forward to her. And saying ‘I’d like to see your place someday’ sounded awkward, since Lucien was hardly ever in Velaris. Part of her wished they were going home together, wherever “home” could be.

“Let’s give your feet a rest,” Lucien noted, steering them to a gurgling fountain in a small square. They had escaped the hubbub of central Velaris into a residential area, though a couple Fae were spotted walking their dogs on the street. Elain sat down on the fountain’s cool stone edge, the night air wicking away the remainder of her sweat. She was about to take off her shoes, when Lucien said, “allow me.”

He sat down beside her on the fountain, propping her leg onto his muscled thigh. Ever so gently, Lucien undid the strap of Elain’s chunky purple heel, massaging the reddened skin with firm fingers after he slipped the shoe off. That feels nice, Elain thought, resisting the urge to make satisfied noises that would sound too much like moans. I haven’t had someone take care of me like this in a while.

Lucien did the same to her other shoe, his focused expression making Elain soft. He seems witty and sarcastic all the time, but he’s kind and gentle underneath. He’s confident in his looks, but never overly cocky like other Fae males. I hate that I waited this long before trying to know him better, Elain thought, though she knew perfectly well that she had not been in the right headspace to consider a mate when she had been freshly Made Fae.

She swung her legs off his lap when Lucien finished. Her mate started to get up.

“Wait,” Elain said suddenly, gripping his wrist. She gulped nervously, heart beating faster than a rabbit’s at Lucien’s concerned expression. She’d grabbed him in a spur-of-the-moment impulse, and was suddenly left without any words to say. I don’t want the night to end, Elain thought. Please…stay with me a bit longer.

Elain’s earnest, doe-brown eyes glimmered and blinked up at her mate in the moonlight. They skimmed his exposed chest through his shirt and traveled up the strong column of his throat. They lingered on Lucien’s full lips and brushed over his high cheekbones, before settling on his eyes. She wanted him so badly, it almost hurt to breathe.

“Elain, are you alright—” Lucien tried to say, but Elain was already leaning in.

Her soft berry-colored lips grazed his, promptly shutting Lucien up.

Elain had severely misjudged her incoming angle, for she ended up kissing only half of Lucien’s mouth. Elain’s cheeks flaming as she pulled away. Holy shit, I’m probably worst kisser Lucien has ever had and I am his MATE. Embarrassment crowded out all other thoughts, including the very important thoughts that should have remembered how her first kiss with Lucien felt.

But Lucien had gone utterly still, his chiseled face a deep red. Even his golden eye had stopped whirring.

“I’m sorry,” Elain nearly whispered, her voice small. “I should’ve asked if…if you wanted a kiss.” Lucien shook himself out of his daze, blinking. Composing himself quickly, Lucien looked down at Elain with a sly smirk.

“Oh, come on, Elain. Give me a proper kiss, won’t you?”

“Wh-what?” Elain stuttered, not sure if she heard him right.

“Like this, silly.” Lucien leaned down, broad hand cupping the underside of Elain’s jaw as he slanted his mouth over hers. Warmth blossomed within Elain’s chest as the golden thread within her glowed with the light of the sun. Lucien’s kiss…it was so magical, so full, so sweet…it was simply perfect. Just the right amount of pressure, the perfect fit of his full lips against her rosebud lips.

They broke apart after several moments, though Elain petulantly felt it was altogether too short. Now that she kissed Lucien once, all she wanted to do was kiss him again. It looked like her mate was feeling the same way, for Lucien’s chest was heaving slightly, the warring disbelief and desire in his eyes a contrast to his suave demeanor.

“Again, please.” Elain hadn’t realized she’d uttered those words until Lucien kissed her again, more deeply this time.

So this is what kissing is supposed to feel like, Elain thought, just before she let the reins of self-control go. She didn’t care that they were making out in a public space. Didn’t stress if she was a bad kisser. She simply leaned into the moment, letting her body respond to the cues from his, savoring every kiss he bestowed upon her.

Elain stopped kissing Lucien to catch her breath, her cheeks flushed and brown eyes half-lidded with yearning under the moonlight. Lucien looked similarly disheveled, with the collar of his shirt askew and swollen mouth parted slightly.

His hand was still caressing her cheek, his touch stirring Elain’s instincts. She was burning with desire, too ready to jump out of her own skin and continue down the path of where they left off. But a public fountain was no place to be engaging in such lascivious activities.

“Would…would you like to come over?” Lucien asked, as if he was reading her thoughts.

“Fuck, yes, Lucien. What do you mean, would you like to come over?” Elain grinned as she invoked the same teasing indignation from earlier.

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucienweek2023

[hoosurdaddy]

Bleeding the Love.

Pairing: post covid!kenny McCormick x reader, post covid!stan marsh x reader.

Triggers: unrequited love (Kenny’s end), idk how to describe it but the reader thinks kenny is into boys. Idk after that. Reader is married to Stan. Angst?

Kenny didn’t want to feel this way.

The young scientists had gotten used to being around her. Watching her work, laughing with her whenever a joke was told. Watching her as she planned out her next move to success.

Kenny was utterly inlove with Y/N Marsh.. his best friends wife.

Kenny admired from afar. You were wearing a beautiful sundress and sandles. The sundress looked so beautiful on you. It hugged your body, flowing at your hips and pushing your breasts up. You looked amazing. As a friend and Stan’s wife, Kenny never knew how Stan managed to get someone like you. Kenny always felt guilty when it came to thinking badly about his friend, Stan, but it was something that always messed with his brain. You were kind, beautiful, and sociable, while Stan was.. Stan. But nonetheless, you were Stan’s wife, so he must of done something right?

From across the room at Denny’s where the high school reunion took place, Kenny watched as you laughed with Stan and Clyde probably about the crazy shit you all done in high school. You were a kind girl, much kinder than any of the other girls that attended South Park. Stan didn’t even care that people were coming up and talking to you both. You were beautiful for the two of them, Stan knew that. And he was proud that he had such a beautiful and loyal wife by his side.

“Do you want a drink, sweetie?” Stan asked, resting his hand on your lower back, like a husband would do. “Oh hey Kenny.”

“Just a glass of water please, m’love.” You answered as Stan honoured your request, while you continued to catch up with Clyde and Kenny over the last few decades, until Clyde excused himself to find Bebe. You were so happy that they got married.

Kenny cleared his throat awkwardly as it was just the two of you left. “Do you want to go to the smoking area? I could use a cigarette.” You nodded happily, signalling Stan that you were going to the smoking area with Kenny, who nodded while in conversation with Tolkien.

You followed Kenny out to the smoking area, where he took a seat. “Please sit.” He smiled as he rolled his cigarette tabacoo. You obliged your friends request, sitting beside him.

“I’m assuming something is troubling you, Ken.” You started, placing an innocent hand on his shoulder. “You haven’t been yourself since you got here, is everything okay?”

Gosh, maybe Kenny wasn’t playing it as cool as he thought he was. Shit.

“Y/N, um, what?” Kenny stuttered, lifting his head to look at you, but couldn’t directly look at you. “It’s just.. something happened, and I.. I can’t explain it.”

You quickly looked around to ensure no one was listening to this private conversation. “Ken, maybe we should this discuss this in a more private setting.”

Kenny shook his head, waving it off. “I wouldn’t worry too much about them assholes in there.” He spoke, lighting up his cigarette at last. “It’s not something I’ve done.. more like thoughts and feelings I’ve had.”

Immediately you raised your hand to stop him, and Kenny felt his heart shooting up his throat. “Let me stop you, Ken.” You smiled. “No matter what, I’m your friend. I love you and support you no matter what. I’m so proud you felt comfortable enough to tell me.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

You hushed Kenny, making him confused. “Ken it’s the year 2040. It’s okay to like men. It’s great actually, I’m so happy you told me.”

“Wait.” Kenny chuckled, a small smile forming on his face as he realised what you said. “You think I like guys?”

“Is that not why you brought me out?”

“No.” Kenny smiled, as he watched your face turn into a confused one. “But thank you.”

You took a deep breath in. “Regardless, it doesn’t matter who you love Ken. As your friend, I will support you no matter what. Through thick and thin.”

“Thanks Y/N.. that means a lot.” Kenny tried to hide his blush, he wished that he hadn’t grown out of his parka. Kenny knew that if you discovered his feelings for you, it would change your view on him. It would change Stan’s view on him. But hearing that you were always going to be there for him, meant a lot to Kenny. It meant even more when you hugged him. Kenny could die happily in your arms right now.

“Ken.” You spoke when you pulled away from the hug. “Don’t worry about this issue you’re having. We’ll get through it, together.” You planted a kiss upon Kenny’s cheek before Stan came out and got you, who told Kenny to meet you at your house for an after party with the old gang.

All Kenny could do his watch as you walked off in best friends arm, while his heart bleed.

His heart bleeding at every step you took out the door.

#post covid!stan marsh #post covid!kenny mccormick x reader #post covid!south park #post covid!stan marsh x reader #post covid!kenny mccormick #South Park #South Park x reader #Stan marsh #kenny mccormick #Stan marsh x reader #kenny mccormick x reader

[yacinthemorning]

Tailored to Your Liking

Chapter 6

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Summary: Tumble Town attracts all sorts of misfits looking for a fresh start on the frontier, but everyone still needs clothes. Be it extra limbs or high temperatures, Jimmy caters to every hybrid's needs.

Ships: Jimmy/Tango (slow burn romantic), Grian/Mumbo/Scar (romantic), Joel/Lizzie (romantic)

Warnings: Implied traumatic events, awkward flirting, burns, verbal fight, anxiety attack

The party was in only a few days. Jimmy had received his formal invitation, delivered just that morning. In the city someone like him would never be invited to such an event, but he supposed it would be quite a boring party if only Lizzie, Grian, Fwhip, and Beef were in attendance. With significant others included the numbers were slightly better, but certainly nothing worth making a big deal about.

That was not what really occupied his mind, though. He had asked Lizzie in advance while working on her dress just to be sure. Sure enough, the letter included an invitation to not just Jimmy.

He suspected Tango had caught on to things rather quickly when Jimmy began asking for measurements and adjustments. Now, though, he had the invitation in hand. Now he could ask, and with a formal invitation directly addressed to the man the hardest part was already done for him. Or so he thought.

“There was a letter for you.” He said, passing Tango his invitation. “One for each of us. Do you need me to read it?”

Tango took up the letter, unfolding it. He squinted at the text. “No, it’s trying me, but no.” As his eyes scrolled slowly, he formed the words on his breath, stumbling over some of Lizzie’s more verbose choices. The intent was clear, however, with the location and date attached. His eyes lit up. “Oh! The party? I’m invited?”

“Yes.” Jimmy said, stiff as a board as he watched Tango reread the letter. “Um-”

Tango looked up at him, and he froze. Come on, Jimmy, the hardest part is already done for you, he chastised himself. It made him no more able to move than he had been.

Concern began to ease into Tango’s expression. “What? What’s wrong? Did I- uh, did I miss something? Am I just going there to serve drinks or something?”

“No!” Jimmy latched onto Tango’s forearms. Red painted his face as he tried to force the words out. He took a deep breath and looked away. “I just- Um. Well, given that it is a very large party and since Lizzie was so kind as to invite us both, which is indeed very nice of her as it means that we are both able to attend this most lovely celebration individually on our own, I was nevertheless curious as to your plans for attendance, as I find in social events it is quite fashionable and advantageous to ones enjoyment if you are to be sociable in your attendance-”

“Uh, Jim? English would be nice.” Tango interrupted, a claw to his lip to prevent himself from laughing.

A wheeze escaped the avian in attempt to cool his head and clear his vision. “Would you like to go with me?” Finally escaped him, high pitched and ending almost a bit too early. “… To the party, that is.”

Perhaps he was so pathetic looking that Tango chose to take pity on Jimmy, as he managed to stop himself from nearly laughing to instead gaze fondly towards the avian. “Yeah, of course I would.”

It was as though all the air left Jimmy at once, deflating him until his wings collected dust off the floor, before he pulled himself back together. He went over to his desk and pulled from it a set of very carefully folded clothes. “Then, um, I suppose my next question is that- well, I understand if you wouldn’t want to but I happen to make this for you and would you perhaps like to wear it- them- uhm…” A high-pitched trill escaped him, trying to release the tension that was quickly rebuilding in his muscles.

To this, though, Tango frowned. He took a cautious step forward, hesitantly brushing a finger across the material. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Panic filled Jimmy. Had Tango already bought a suit like Impulse had? No, he only just found out he was going. Unless someone had let slip earlier and this was all a ruse and Grian and Scar were behind the curtains laughing to themselves at what a fool Jimmy was making of himself-

“I won’t- It looks expensive. Will they be okay? Should I even be going to party like this?” Tango mumbled, ears pinned back. His tail twitched behind him until it found his ankle and wrapped tight around it.

Right. Jimmy’s expression eased. “Of course they will be. How many pieces have I made for you? And you haven’t so much as singed a shirt yet.”

“But I will eventually-”

“Oh, yes, most certainly.” He waved off, even as Tango’s face fell. He went back to his work desk to the bag of clothing waiting there. “And Impulse will catch his trousers of his scales, Hermes will wear a hole into every knee patch no matter how thick the material, and Scott’s leather jacket will grow moldy from all the melted frost- eventually. You know what happens?” He patted the bag a bit harshly. “They come back here and I fix them! Or replace them, whichever is needed. Clothes are supposed to be worn, and quite frankly I’ve trimmed more burnt hems from Mumbo than you.”

“Yeah, but Mumbo pays you to fix them-”

Jimmy’s feathers flared. “I don’t do this to be paid, Tango. I make clothes for hybrids because everyone needs clothes. You deserve a shirt that fits you. And…”

There was a long pause where Tango waited for Jimmy to continue. “And?” He finally asked.

“And, well, they’re already made so there’s nothing you can much do about it, is there? You might as well wear them. Right now, in fact. I’d like to see how well they fit.” He insisted, patting his own pants nervously. It wasn’t quite what he’d intended to say, but Tango did not need to know that.

Luckily, it seemed that was good enough for Tango, who looked still a bit unsure but resigned to having lost this battle. “Alright.” He said as he went towards the curtains. Internally, Jimmy cheered. He went to work organizing his things for adjustments while he waited.

The curtains ruffled, and Jimmy eagerly shot his head up once more.

It felt, for the briefest moment, that this set of evening-wear had been everything Jimmy’s career had been for. Morning light cast onto the dark coat, lighting the burgundy threads of his vest that hugged comfortably to Tango’s waist. His trousers sat well on his hips, forming the silhouette with ease where they draped down to his shoes, and he brass buttons matched well to his hair. Jimmy had been unsure how well formal attire would take to Tango. Now, he wondered why he ever worried.

Tango fiddled with the sleeves, tail twitching behind him when he made eye contact with Jimmy. “So, um, what’s the diagnosis?” He tried to joke, though Jimmy could see him physically shrink into the clothing. 

Jimmy shook his head and approached, pulling at the hem of the coat in a test. “I feel as though I deserve a medal of some sort. I’ve managed to get you into an outfit nearly as handsome as yourself.” He said before he could think.

A toothy grin stretched to cover pink cheeks. “Really? Well, if it’s a reward you want-”

“A medal, I said a medal!” Jimmy spun around, hiding his own flushed face under his palm. It would be just his luck to put himself in this situation. Was there any other humiliation he could heap onto the situation? “Well, i-it appears I’ve managed to get the fitting done well enough the first time, for once. Try not to get it dirty before the party.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tango said, soon followed by the rattle of curtains once more.

Double checking over his shoulder that Tango was out of view, Jimmy let himself slump against the edge of his desk, running his hands down his face as he pulled his ruffled feathers in. “Void below, just swallow me whole.” He hissed to himself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” Jimmy shot up, and marched towards the stairs. “I’m going to prepare lunch.” Maybe it would keep him occupied from jumping into a well.

-

It was at last the evening of Lizzie’s party. Grian’s carriage rolled to stop after a ride that was far too long for Jimmy’s liking. His brother filed out first, Scar at his side while Mumbo stepped after them so Grian could shield him from the long sunset as he pulled up his parasol. Jimmy followed next, holding his hand out for Tango to take. The blazeborn almost missed it entirely, busy gaping at the opulent doorway into Lizzie’s mansion.

“Oh, you’ve made it!” A bearded man in an emerald suit called to them as they approached. Behind his leg was a small boy in an equally garish violet outfit, but Jimmy bravely restrained his critique.

Instead he bowed, “Sausage... Hermes.” The young bow ducked further behind his papa, fledgling wings tucked tight over his shoulders.

“And who is this?”

Tango’s tail twitched nervously as attention turned to him. His smile stretched into an awkward thing, bowing hesitantly. “This is Tango... of the Tek variety.” His voice was barely a whisper, breaking at his own surname. Or was it a title? Jimmy had never thought to ask before. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh, you’re the little house guest I’ve heard too much about!” Sausage giggled, to which Jimmy felt his ears become hot.

Tango shrugged. “I see my failures precede me.”

“Oh, shush, you have no such reputation!” Jimmy snapped, too embarrassed to have patience for his companion’s self-deprecation. Both Sausage and Tango jumped, eyes wide, before their expressions fell into amusement, Tango’s watered down by embarrassment. A look was exchanged between the two men in silence. “What?” Jimmy demanded.

“It’s nothing, dear, I’m glad you were both able to make it.” Sausage dodged entirely, moving on to greet the next arrivals while Tango ushered them towards the main party. At the first sight of the decorated venue Jimmy’s annoyance melted instantly. Redstone lamps dotted the garden like moons among the stars of candles and lanterns. Most of the guests, consisting of almost the entire town, already mulled among one another. Some had taken to dancing to the band’s lovely tune. Skirts and tails flared about, hugging to their wearers’ bodies as they stopped to spin the other way.

Jimmy spent a long extended moment enraptured by the simple dance they’d grouped to perform. He jumped as he was torn away from it by a touch to his arm. Tango looked up at him, lost and tail lashing. “So um, what do you do at a fancy person party?” He asked. A passing couple let out a small chuckle. Unrelated, as they had not even glanced Tango’s way, yet nevertheless caused Tango to shrink closer to Jimmy.

Jimmy softened, straightening the already ruffled collar of Tango’s coat before tilting his head towards a nearby servant carrying a tray of champagne, “How about we start by depressurizing you before you turn into diamond?” He teased, then guided his stunned companion over.

A few minutes later the band went quiet. Tango paused from emptying his second glass. Jimmy directed him towards the balcony, where Joel stood near the door. From the dim interior light Lizzie’s silhouette emerged until she stepped out into the torchlight. Her gown trailed like flowing water behind her, and Jimmy couldn’t help puff up his feathers at the few gasps and whispers among the crowd.

She raised her hands high. “Welcome, beloved citizens of Tumble Town, and thank you for being here! Food will be served at ten, and until then I hope we can all enjoy each other’s company.” The guessed muttered agreement, Lizzie giving them a moment before she continued. “Before we continue, however, I have some exciting news to share with you. I, your beautiful and humble mayor, have been coordinating with the Luxo Company with the aid of Mister Fwhip and Mister Goodtimes-”

A series of groans broke out among Scar’s victims. The man himself seemed oblivious, smiling widely in anticipation, while Grian had fluffed up defensively beside him. “- And starting this month they will begin the construction of the Tumble Town rail line, which will reach all the way next to our trading post. No longer will our quaint town be limited by a quarter day’s ride to the nearest station!”

Jimmy brightened up from the wariness Scar’s mention had brought. “Oh, it’s about time.” He chirped, turning to Tango, who seemed a bit perplexed. “Though, I’ll miss the quiet.”

“I suppose so.” Tango said, his gaze off in the distance. “It’ll be a lot easier to get your textiles.”

“It’ll be easier to get many things.” But the way Tango seemed distracted began to worry Jimmy. He gave the man a moment, only vaguely listening to the end of Lizzie’s speech. When it became clear Tango had no intention to speak his mind on his own he finally asked, “Are you alright?”

  “Hm? Oh!” Tango’s head swivelled, a wide assuring smile directed towards Jimmy. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Maybe isn’t all that assuring.”

“No, it’s- uh, hey! Would you like to dance?”

The shift had Jimmy’s mind reeling for a moment, and only a moment, before excitement took over. In his haste towards where the guests began to return to dancing, Jimmy forgot entirely of the odd interaction, or even to reply.

They didn’t get far. Tango awkwardly took up Jimmy’s hands in some approximation of the concept of a two person dance from someone who had never danced in their lives. Then, he froze, unsure what to do next.

No, not on Jimmy’s watch. If he was honest the dancing was his main incentive to show to these parties at all. He pushed Tango’s grip away and corrected it, guiding the blazeborn’s hand to his shoulder. Tango seemed more than happy to have the lead taken from him as they began. He stumbled along after Jimmy, eyes on his feet. It was Tango, though, after all, and quickly the little genius picked up the steps.

“That’s it, just a bit shorter a step.” Jimmy chirped, picking up their pace and pulling them into the whirlpool of dancing couples. Tango yelped as the hem of a woman’s gown brushed his tail like it burnt, though his tail was the one that crackled with a stray ember. It wove itself around his waist. A frown pulled at Jimmy’s lips. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Tango squeaked, straightening his back until he was pressed close and Jimmy had to make sure they did not trip over one another. “Ye-yeah, yeah, totally fine. Definitely fine, not combustificating at all!”

Ridiculous. Jimmy snorted. With one swift spin he corrected their stance and pulled the blazeborn further from the dense crowd. “You silly man.” He chastised while Tango recomposed, though with every ounce of affection that had spilled over his heart. “What did I do without you?”

Well, he certainly hadn’t meant to let that one slip out. Nor had Tango been expecting it either. Face beet red, he stuttered in his already unsteady steps. If not for Jimmy’s quick reaction they would have been down for the count. Not something Jimmy’s dignity would have been able to recover from any time soon. Instead Tango stumbled right into Jimmy, only held up by the avian’s grip around his waist. The world seemed to quiet, Tango staring up at him with wide eyes. Jimmy, too, was entranced in shock.

Then there was the subtle smell of burning fibre.

Both men snapped out of it to follow the scent to Jimmy’s arm, where Tango tightly held onto his sleeve. A sleeve which was currently smouldering.

Jimmy yelped, more in surprise than pain. He released Tango to smack down the flames. It had not spread, was hardly a fire to begin with, and was smothered in seconds. Tango had fully removed himself by then, hands tucked away and face twisted with guilt. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“I am.” He was quick to reply. There was a blackened patch and small hole on the sleeve of his coat. Painfully noticeable, but it was not what he was worried about. Tango shrunk further away when Jimmy reached out for him. Jimmy beckoned for him but it was no use. Blown out pupils were locked on the burnt patch. “Tango, it’s completely fine.”

“It’s not fine!” Tango’s hair flared, dancing erratically while his tail wrapped tight around his leg.

There was no convincing him right now, Jimmy knew. He searched the party, noticing a few concerned stares. Out beyond a table there was a pergola leading to the back exit of the garden. Unable to reach out, he tipped a wing towards it instead. “I’ll go get something to drink, why don’t you wait there?”

Tango seemed more than happy to have a shadowy corner to retreat into. While flagging down a waiter Jimmy caught Mumbo approaching from his own dreary corner. “Is everything alright, Jim?” He asked, His concerned expression for once not illuminated red by his parasol.

“Tango just singed my coat a bit and now has silly ideas.” He sighed, taking the chance to assess the damage more thoroughly.

“He’s quite prone to that, that seems.” Mused Mumbo. When Jimmy looked up the vampire was scratching his moustache. A dangerous sign.

“I’m sorry Mumbo, but I have enough to deal with already right now, please don’t make things more complicated.”

Mumbo sputtered, “Wh- well that’s a bit rude, first of all! Second of all, I wasn’t planning to make it any more complicated. I was simply going to ask if you wanted me to accompany you back over.”

Fair enough, Jimmy supposed. “I think it would only cause him more distress, but thank you.”

“If you’re sure.” The waiter returned, and Mumbo stepped out of the way. “But I would know a thing or two about living in an unfriendly world. Poor thing.”

Jimmy paused, gaping at Mumbo, but decided to keep quiet and leave with only a solemn nod.

Back at the pergola, Tango had not even allowed himself the comfort of sitting down on a wooden bench. He hardly looked up when Jimmy approached, taking the glass from him in silence. They waited there for too long. Tango’s hair had gone from crackling to slightly disturbed. It wasn’t a sign that he had calmed, Jimmy knew, but he was in control.

“Sorry for ruining your night.” He muttered.

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “You ought to apologize to yourself.”

“I didn’t burn myself.”

“You didn’t burn me, either.”

“But I could.”

His feathers raised. “But you wouldn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter if I would!” Tango snapped, flinching back at his own voice alongside Jimmy. He turned away, putting the glass down. Flicking his wrist towards the wooden bench, then the vine walls, then the crowds of guests twirling just out of earshot of their conversation. “I’m a bull in a china shop, Jim. The desert frontier sounded brilliant on paper, but all it really was is a box of dried kindling, ready and waiting for the first spark.”

“Tango...” Jimmy said, wanting to reach out. Tango made sure to keep a good couple feet between them.

“And what have I done since I came here, anyways? Nearly burn my coworkers alive? Almost blown up the town’s main source of income? Lose my job, become a leech, threaten your livelihood, make a scene at a party. Y’all do so much just so I can-” He huffed out smoke, turning towards the garden exit. “I shouldn’t be here...”

Jimmy lurched forward, snapping talons closed around Tango’s wrist. He scowled, startling the blazeborn enough to stop him in his tracks and allow Jimmy to yank him back away from the exit. “You stupid, stubborn fool! Would you get out of your own head long enough to actually listen for once!”

“I-”

“You think you’re unique? We live in the desert and our mayor is a fish! Do you know how much water we have to dig for? We never get less than a half-day of the harshest sunlight and Mumbo cannot take well enough care of his parasol to quite literally save his life! Cleo cannot look anyone here in the eye, and Scott might as well be an ice sculpture who can’t leave his shop until supper time! And Scar- Scar’s never made an honest copper in his life, on the rare occasion he does at all!”

Jimmy threw his hand out towards the crowd of dancers, laughing and twirling happily among each other. “If you don’t belong here, then who does? For goodness’ sake, your hair’s a ball of fire, no one is approaching you without knowing what they’re getting into. I- we want you here. We don’t care how useful or normal you are. What is so hard for you to wrap your head around that you’re allowed to exist?”

Tango gaped, red eyes wide and ears pinned back. Jimmy wasn’t leaving until he answered, whether Tango liked it or not. He glared, daring the man to say something ridiculous once more. “It-” Stuttered Tango like a machine lurching to life, trying to reconcile all its parts. “That’s just how it is. I’ve gone ‘round half the world and that’s how it always was.”

“And so what? Then it’s a good thing you’re here and not there!” Jimmy tried to soften his voice before he exploded and received the attention of the whole party, but it only caused it to crack. Maybe he’d been too harsh, maybe he shouldn’t have shouted. Under all the subsiding anger he could still feel his heart pounding, feathers still on end.

A sigh escaped him. “I’m still just a bother, here or anywhere.”

“I wish you would be more of one.” Jimmy’s voice was small. He reached out for Tango’s hand, snatching it up before he could react. “I wish you’d just let me take care of you.”

“There isn’t enough work here, Jim. You can barely take care of yourself.”

“It’ll grow soon! When more people come-”

“You can’t make more clothes than you already are.”

“I’ll increase the prices, then!”

Tango’s expression fell, “No, you won’t. You can barely stand charging people at all.”

“Tango, please,” Jimmy pulled Tango’s hand to his pounding heart. “Don’t leave.” The rim of his eyes felt hot. Why was he so pathetic?

“Oh, Jim.” Tango murmured, his tail curling around the avian’s ankle.

“At least wait- at least wait until your clothes are done. Please, at least that long.” Words poured out of his mouth from the mess made of his brain. “I just don’t understand. What’s wrong with this?”

No reply came for long while. Jimmy was beginning to panic – was even that too much to ask? - when Tango shook his hand free. For a moment Jimmy thought he was about to leave then and there right out the garden gate. He’s been so pathetic Tango couldn’t be bothered to wait another minute before running off to the next town. But Tango stayed put, and his hands went to his jacket pocket.

He pulled something out, something that glowed bright at even the smallest glance from the torches. “I’m not good with... Here.”

It was small, about the length of his thumb, shiny like gold though Jimmy wasn’t sure how it could be, in the shape of a songbird on a perch. Though clearly not made by a proper goldsmith, the delicate details were done with great care.

Jimmy’s head shot back up to Tango. His eyes were downcast, and Jimmy would have loved to say his red cheeks were from embarrassment or fondness, but the way his face was twisted it was more like shame. “This is-”

“It’s brass.” Tango intruded. “It should be gold, but I couldn’t... I was hoping it’d just be a prototype. Y’know, a stand in for the real thing once I could make it. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.” He finally looked up, miserable. “That’s me, Jimmy. I’m a waste of your time, I can’t even afford to court you.”

Everything clicked into place then. It was almost embarrassing for Jimmy to admit he’d entirely put out of his mind Tango being a blazeborn, from the nether. Why nothing he could say on this particular topic made it through his thick skull.

Perhaps Tango wasn’t the only one who forgot to appreciate how disparate the townsfolk all really were.

The dinner bell rang in the distance. Tango pulled himself together. “I’ll stay until I can pay you back.” He promised.

For once Jimmy kept his mouth shut. Any of the things that might come out if he did could only make things worse, he knew. He took a deep breath and tried his best to recompose himself, holding the little brass bird to his stomach. When he thought he could move, Jimmy tentatively held out his hand. Whatever expression his face was twisted in was not nearly as calm as he wished, desperate or pathetic in all likelihood. Tango took moment, staring at Jimmy’s hand like it might turn into a snake, or maybe like it might shatter. Maybe both. He settled on taking it either way, giving it the weakest squeeze that was far from assuring.

They made their way to the dining hall in silence. Lizzie’s old grandfather clock chimed ten as they passed.

#jimmy solidarity #tangotek #trafficshipping #solidaritek #team rancher #rancher duo #traffic series #hermitpires #fanfic #fanfiction #mcyt #hurt/comfort #alternate universe #western fantasy #sharing a slice of cake

[zuzuhasablog]

최연준 ♡

I don't want to be just another college memory...

YEONJUN ♡ GN!READER

♡ content : SLOW BURN ONESHOT, reader uses they/them pronouns, puppy love, party and drinking, mentions of suicide, suggestive themes, lowercase intended, NOT PROOF READ, 16+ recommended, idk why but featuring bang chan and changbin of SKZ, also hannah bahng is in here n she is dating taehyun

♡ summary : reader lives a completely different life from the mr. partyman popular jock who's smart and just perfect in general yeonjun, but they somehow stumble upon each other's lives. a typical romance story. (a little based on my real experience w/my boyfriend except for the suggestive parts)

“I got the part for... Ji-Sung.” you say silently.

“oh really?” the boy asks, you're not sure if it's sarcasm or genuine intrigue but there's a gentle smile on his pretty red lips. “i guess we'll be having a few scenes together. let's formally meet. I'm Choi Yeonjun.”

it's been a few weeks since the semester started and you're fitting in quite well— college wasn't really what you expected, it's so... adult. you didn't realize how pampered you were until now. most of your classmates are dormies and runaways and offered for you to host a drinking at your place—you live with your older brother, and... well, it's college life. you hung out mostly with the introvert group since the extrovert group of blockmates are a little intimidating you still haven't even memorized any of their names and you're just doing what you're doing.

you're the type of student who thinks classmates are just classmates and not friends since you're already content with the little life you have with your friend group, brother and the kpop groups you watch and obsess with in your free time... in secret.

literally nobody knows except your brother since everyone thinks its cringe for some reason, but you don't really understand, you're not the borderline obsessed psychopath fan everyone stereotypes with kpop—nobody is really, it's really rare, it's just like obsessing over a band, but kpop is different in every better way and— you just can't explain it.

the next day at school your super hot and young communications professor (who you've been secretly crushing on) mentions something about a stage play that the college is hosting that the arts program are collaborating in — theater arts, visual arts, media arts, etc, everyone was allowed to audition and he encouraged the class, the auditions were in a few days and you were a little interested.

after that class, a classmate, Hanna walked up to you and asked if you were interested in joining because she saw the way you perked up about it, and she brought up that she was really interested and practically begged you to go with her and... who were you to say no? an audition wouldn't hurt and if you got a part, then... hooray? you already knew the basics of theater anyways— a loud voice, don't hide your face, don't face your back to the audience— the whole upstage/downstage thing, you loved theater and being in one would be pretty cool.

walking down the hallway with Hanna towards the next class you had together, your shoulder brushed against someone's but you paid it no mind. it's a crowded school and it happens— but that person turned around to look at the cause of his slightest inconvenience before continuing to walk with his friends...

choi yeonjun. the semester just started but he's already the star with current students and seniors. it's a private college but they also take in high school students for their senior years and, well, he was here. not only was he smart enough to get a full paid scholarship, he comes from a decently rich family with a prestigious background—an only child with a doctor mother, firefighter father, and he's just super family oriented, sociable with a grest sense of humor, a handsome face and a large friend group and fanbase, plus, he's super kind!! it's impossible not to fall for his charms. 0 enemies since birth. literally the standard !!!

and you have never heard of him.

not everyone in the shool has heard of him or knows him, it's a huge campus, it's not the cliché “girls will kill his girlfriend if he gets one” and his “fanclub” is very respectful and they just admire him for how awesome he is. but he gets invited to every party to liven things up, he's just really fun to hang out with even for a second he'll give you the best impression and will leave you wanting more. yet he has such stable grades and does so well in basketball with 0 distractions. not one mistake in this man's life.

so when he turns back to see the one person who doesn't look bsck at him, he's, needless to say, a little interested.

the next few days, you're at the audition and you're watching everyone else try out on stage for a character named Trisha, who was an American activist... Hannah was up next for the same role and she was really nervous but you encouraged her, lifting up both your firsts. “fighting!!” you say and she does the same pose and says the same as she gets up and grabs the script, going on stage. as she reads her lines, another student goes to sit next to you and, again, you pay no mind as you want to witness your friend perform and you're afraid of social situations.

“is that your friend up there?” a voice asks, and you look over ever so slightly.

“huh? oh, yeah.” you say, and go back to watching her.

“are you also auditioning?” he asks and this time you fully look at the face trying to make small talk with you. you were never a fan of small talk, but damn... he's hot. he's most definitely a senior, probably graduating soon. you think to yourself.

“yeah, actually... Park Sol.” you reply, and he lifts a brow.

“same.” he chuckles and you smile a little bit.

“...well...may the best one... win?” you chuckle, and he smiles back.

“Thank you for that very endearing audition, Hannah Bahng.”

the results don't come until the next few days, a paper is posted on your block for the cast of the upcoming stage play “Spirited by Together” and when you see your name, you were shocked to see you got another part you didn't audition for: Hwang Ji-Sung... you vaguely remember he was one of the ghosts in the play—Park Sol's classmate and best friend who committed suicide. Yeah. Then you look to see who got Trisha's part... it wasn't Hannah, then you checked whoever got Park Sol's and it was some rando named 'choi yeonjun'. huh. could it be the dude from yesterday? not bad. you think to yourself.

“that's interesting.” the familiar voice walks up to you and you look up next to you to see him. of course. “i don't know your name but the one across park sol's surely isn't yours...” he muses.

“well, is it yours?” you ask back. not wanting to make assumptions that he just got the part and he just looks at you with a deadpan glare, one hand holding the strap of his backpack. the two of you make eye contact before staring back at the paper in complete silence. “I got the part for... Ji-Sung.” you say silently.

“oh really?” yeonjun asks, you're not sure if it's sarcasm or genuine intrigue but there's a gentle smile on his pretty red lips. “i guess we'll be having a few scenes together. let's formally meet. I'm Choi Yeonjun.” he turns to face you fully.

“...y/l/n... y/n.” you face him as well, then glance back at the paper then around the room. subtly avoiding eye contact, then you look back at him. “i have... a class soon. so.” you begin to walk away from him but he stops you.

"Is Hannah in that class?” he asks casually and you just slowly shake your head and he nods and waves goodbye. you're curious as to how he knows her yet not too interested to waste your time with it and head to your next class.

after your last class, it's almost nighttime and you're completely out of energy, your mind set and ready to just make some cup noodles and pass out on your bed, not expecting any social interaction after you stuff all your things in your locker and begin to walk out of campus when a loud, very loud, group of friends is also leaving at the same time—they came from the gymnasium as you're awsre there's a basketball club and their court is right next to your building, you don't even try to see it but you didn't expect to see a familiar head of pink hair in that group of people, you're awsre of how the basketball club is well known in the school so you're surprised he's not as popular as you expected him to be, especially with his looks.

his pretty red lips in his beautiful cheeky smile as he laughs at something his friend mentions and you can't help but feel a little energized at his presence. seeing him felt like a breath of fresh air, but you sigh, look away and continue on your own path, minding your business. your house it's a walkable distance from the college, but your brother mentioned this morning that he'd pick you up at the bus stop after class, so you sit at the bus stop and scroll through your phone out of boredom, and the familiar loud voices can be heard in the distance, though you try to tune it out, you hear two voices yelling out “bye's” and “take care's”.

“oh. y/n!” yeonjun goes to sit next to you, and your a bit shy and awkward so you just bow your head slightly and chuckle.

“hi.” he's with his friend so you didn't want to interrupt anything and continued on using your phone. he also didn't want to seem rude and make small talk again so he just continues talking with his friend. you can't help but eavesdrop and they're talking about you.

“how'd you meet them?” his friend asks. “they're cute...” and yeonjun just slaps his friend's arm and says that's inappropriate and his friend just shrugs and says it was a compliment. the bus comes over and the two of them get on. his friend goes in first and yeonjun follows, but before he enters, he waves at you with a soft smile and you wave back.

a few days pass by and you've had script readings and some rehearsals but that's it, not much interaction with the rest of the cast, esp. yeonjun but you don't wanna specify that... he just seems so nice you're so scared to talk to him. and he got close to everyone else so fast you almost wonder if they were friends since elementary school... but you shake your head. you're just a mere acquaintance to him ig and you stop your delulu mind from thinking everyone is in love with you because you're so cool.

you still hang out with Hannah during lunch and sometimes invite her to your house to drink some soju and watch kdrama—she's fine with your obsession btw and she also enjoys kdrama and the cheesiness accompanied with it. yeonjun starts to recognize you more in hallways and from afar but you're always, and i mean always with hannah and he begind to doubt your relationship with her (he knows her bc he's obsessed w music and she's such a good singer) and now he's kinda sad if u two are dating even tho he never admittedly had a crush on you yet.

after your preliminaries but a day before the stage play, you and your introvert group of friends visit the mall for a small celebration in a restaurant, then you go to the third floor to visit the arcades when you see two familiar faces—yeonjun and his friend. Hannah seems to know his friend and she walks up to him. “Taehyun?? What are you doing here?”

“You know me and yeonjun are basically attached to the hip.” he nonchalantly says and you just feel a little left out, and you glance at yeonjun and accidentally make eye contact, then you look at Hannah, pointing to the rest of your friend group who have entered the arcade already.

“see you. i guess.” hannah pointedly eyes Taehyun up and down like... judgmentally. she later mentions that they're church mates and Taehyun is their drummer, and she's the singer and you're like ohhhhh.

“you know me and yeonjun are in the play together” you innocently bring up and she just nods.

“uh, yeah, you brought him up like twice. everybody recognizes his name.”

“yeonjun? really?” you find that hard to believe since you only knew him through the play and you've never heard him anywhere else.

the next day... the stage play. it was to be performed twjce today and tomorrow held in a theater not too far from town. you were doing a dress rehearsal of the play on the big theater stage without equipment and after your final scene you're walking down the stairs to the backstage when you almost trip on your face, and another one of the actors catches you in his arms— “woah, you good?” you recognize him to be choi soobin who added you on your social media. you know he's a senior so you rarely hang out or talk with him but he's so admittedly attractive. you chuckle a little as you steady yourself and bow your head in apologies and he chuckles back.

“y/n in communications, right?” he asks as he fixes his necktie, he plays the principal of the school. you nod and chuckle as you play with your fingers.

“you're mr. soobin...” you mumble. and he just chuckles at how cute you are as he puts on his glasses for his next scene and climbs to the next scene, you don't miss the wink he gives you as he goes up the stairs and minds his own business. you're blushing so hard and as you turn on your heel and you see yeonjun loosening his necktie nonchalantly as if he didn't just witness you flirting with someone in the cast.

“i thought you had a girlfriend.” he blankly states as he unbuttons his dress shirt and you look away awkwardly as he changes into something more comfortable.

“excuse me?” you ask and he just shrugs as he dabs his sweaty face with a handkerchief and sprays a mist on his angekic features.

“you know, hannah?” he asks and you're just like... face palm.

“No?? LMAO, we're literally just friends. Besides, she's allowing Taehyun to court her.” You laugh as you test random shades of foundations you find on the makeup table backstage and yeonjun just nods understandingly as he fixes his hair in the mirror, and then soobin enters the backstage, and everyone else enters the backstage and it's no longer just you two.

later into the day, your performance is in two hours and everyone is preparing their wardrobe and props and you're having some prosthetics put on your face since your character is a ghost who committed suicide and had half of their face crushed on the fall, and as you're getting your prosthetics done, yeonjun is sitting next to you having his makeup done in silence when you calmly ask if he has any music on his phone since yours is dead and he just replies “knock yourself out.” and he places his phone on the table n your just like... ?? okay. as you grab it, literally nobody has been so chill with their phone like that. so casually, you mischievously sneakily change his wallpaper to a forehead selfie you just took with his phone and begin playing a random spotify playlist he has.

“lmao is this your playlist?” you ask as 'careless whisper' begins to play and he chuckles.

“no, that's my father's. he enjoys the whole old music thingy... cuz... he's old.”

“do you enjoy it?” you ask and he just shrugs.

“i listen to all kinds of music... they're all a bop as long as it has a good beat or message I'd listen to it.” and you nod at his response. makes sense.

“I like Hannah's music though.” Yeonjun casually brings up n ur like “??? does he like hannah??” but you just shake your head.

“yeah, she's a grest musician.” you agree and you pick his phone up again to skip the song. “you have any games?” you ask as you look through his phone and he chuckles.

“i have one basketball game. and bitlife.” he mumbles.

“Lord, just get a room you two.” your makeup artist just complains and you two giggle like a bunch of school children.

the play is over and, well, you two don't really keep in touch anymore. you're in completely different majors and blocks and live two completely different lives and honestly, there wasn't anything romantically strong with your interactions and you didn't stay acquainted afterward—especially since you were so distracted with somebody else who kept messaging you... soobin. your senior who seems really interested in you. and he's cute.

he's not super smart and honestly, very little personality, you were obsessed with his looks and voice and the fact that he was a senior and very obviously interested in you was driving you crazy, and you were mostly flirting back and forth... you never really flirted with anyone like this and, well, why not with someone who actually shows some interest in you..? it's sad, really, he eventually confesses that he likes you even though it was obvious, but you'd feel so awful if you rejected him now after 'leading him on' for a few months.

you didn't actually like him, you just smiled at his cute texts and was always really nice to him.. and he hsd an adorable pet hedgehog!! and... you didn't expect him to confess so soon. But you tell him to take you on a date first and you'll see how it goes. you post it on your story eventually. “first date with a cutie” or smth and yeonjun can't help but “jokingly” reply “don't go on that shit” n ur just like “okay 💀” but you go anyways.

the date was super fun and enjoyable, you first went to the park and took photos, but it was a little hot so you went the food park nearby to buy drinks, then went to the arcade and he attempted DDR which you were shocked when he was super talented in dancing and as the sun set, there was a christmss event at the same park so msny lights and then it started snowing... but as he walked you back to your house you realized it all felt so platonic to you... and you hugged him goodnight as you stopped at your doorstep at the promised curfew your brother gave you and said goodbye to your first date.

yeonjun really wants to ask for details but it's not his place, you two barely talk recently and he honestly doesn't know why he's so interested !! it's your life, you can do whatever the damn hell you want he thinks as he throws his phone against the mattress and begins to do his homework.

not too long after your first date a christmas party is being held at Hannah's house ofc ur invited and ofc taehyun is invited so OFC yeonjun is invited, also bang chan and ur brother are acquaintances so they're drinking together on the rooftop or smth as hannah manages the rest of the party. honestly, the first big party you've attended without your entire family and with poeple who are your age and not relatives so you were just a little shy when it came to everything. you were in the kitchen when 'perfect blues' started playing, you felt most comfortable there as you drank your 3rd alcoholic beverage of the night—unafraid of getting wasted since this is your bsf's house.

“how'd the first date go.” yeonjun smoothly walks up to you and you laugh.

“didn't work. i didn't feel romantically attracted to him. broke his heart.” you said coldly as you took a sip of your drink and he just sips in air and tilts his head.

“ooh, y/n is cold... who knew.” he teases and you just laugh.

“what can i say, i gave him a chance and it didn't work... maybe my heart just belongs to someone else.” you whisper near him before leaving your drink on the counter and heading toward the couch, sitting in between taehyun and hannah and taehyun is just like ??? so offended n ur like “Hannah can i bang someone in your house?” and she leans in so interested and taehyun looks less offended.

“PLEASE tell me it's...” he manifests, his hands together as he stares at the ceiling.

“It's yeonjun.”

“yes.” you hear taehyun whisper as he fist bumps hannah behind you.

“anywhere but mine and chan's bedroom, I hate to say this but taehyun lend them some of your condoms. Bang safe.” she winks.

“oh, yeonjun has a few with him at all times.” taehyun casually just spills and hannah and you shrug like what did you expect honestly.

now with permission ur looking around the house for the one and only, tipsy but conscious enough to know you want this and you've been wanting this—but not conscious enough to know the rational side of you would most definitely regret this, when you find him leaning against a wall talking with someone you just stare at them until they're done n he's like “hi??” and when you stay silent he's like... “You're drunk.” and you just shake your head.

“can we talk?” you ask and he's just like...

“okay sure.” and you lead him to one of the guest bedrooms and you both sit down on the bed and you're just like...

“so... I've never been one for college life. honestly, not even school life. i started late so i had to do this alternative learning system, then i took a placement test and all of a sudden I'm a senior in high school during quarantine. and now... quarantine is over, and all of a sudden I'm some sociable college dude and... i thought I'd just be... some silent student focusing on their studies and my personal life outside of school, and that all of my classmates would just be classmates and that was it but... then i met Hannah and we became closer than ever I'm convinced we're forever bff's, and, then...”

yeonjun urges you to continue and you just lay down on your back “and then i want on my first date. and then...” you look at him, making eye contact. “I guess I've always liked you... but I... my first date experience didn't end so romantically so I guess I felt a little scared... and I wanted to keep you as... I guess just some college memory of the first boy I actually really fell for.” you say with a raspy voice. the muffled club like music in the background—the guest bedroom designed to be sound proof so not only can sound not get out but it's protected from sounds outside as well because both chan and hannah make music, it's only natural for their guest room... but yeonjun sees this as an advantage and he just looks at you, thinking of every possibility right now.

he settles for going on top of you, both hands by your ears, and then he leans on his forearms to go closer to your face and you're so shocked by the sudden closeness... you've never been this close to anyone before. and i mean anyone and you're just so nervous you close your eyes. “how drunk are you?” yeonjun asks and you gently open your eyes a little bit half-lidded.

“drunk enough to know i want this, not too drunk that you'll be taking advantage of me. I can consciously say that I'll take responsibility for anything that'll happen tonight.” you reply and yeonjun immidiately, hungrily slams his lips onto yours. it's such a fiery, passionate kiss he's practically eating your lips. he bites your bottom lip and slips his tongue, the classic tactic, but nobody has ever done it to you and it's all moving so fast yku could barely process how super fucking hot it wss or the fact that his tongue is exploring your mouth right now and he's moaning against your mouth.

he sucks on your bottom lip once, twice then he kisses your jaw, then he goes up to the back of your ear. and marks you right there, and he stops for a moment to smell you. “I don't want to be just another college memory. God, y/n...” he whispers against your skin. you're so close to each other yet he wants more. you turn to look at him and you make eye contact for the first time in awhile and you cup his cheek and he leans into it, eyes closed and you place a soft kiss on his plump, red, wet lips and he lets out such a cheeky smile as he stares into your beautiful eyes.

“You're so beautiful like this.” he whispers, alcohol breath intoxicating your senses and you close your eyes.

“You're way more beautiful.. everyday, every time i see you in the hallway.” you confess and he smiles, kissing you on the lips again and again and you open your eyes.

“i was always jealous whenever I saw you hanging out with someone.” he confesses, and you kiss his lips.

“that's a little possessive.” you state and he chuckles.

“you want to see possessive?” you're not sure if he's flirting or joking, maybe both, you like it, and he leans over aks catches your mouth in a different kiss. it's passionate but kess fiery than earlier, more romantic and gentle and he pushes you over to change your position into a more comfortable one as he slowly makes out with you and you moan against his mouth and he just founds that so sexy. your hands are now exploring his back, then his neck to his fluffy punk hair and you start playing with it as he sucks on your tongue then your lips and he groans a little as his pants begin to feel a little restrained. and you grab his shoulder, the other hand moving to palm him through his pants.

and he has to stop for a moment to let out the softest moan as he attempts to unzip his pants and you put your hand down his underwear, stroking his length without even seeing it first and he just wants to cum right then and there so badly, the way you hold his dick is so adorable he judt wants to treasure this moment forever—but he knows from now on there are going to be many moments to treasure. he moves down to kiss you again—

click

the sound of the door opening shocks you both as yeonjun futilely attempts to zip his pants and you try to fix your hair when bang chan peaks his head in. “o-oh... hi...y/n... yeonjun... s-sorry! i really didn't mean to interrupt!” he shuts the door. “and use protection.” you hear him.

“woah, what was that, who was he with in there?” you hear changbins voice thru the door... he happens to be yeonjun's good friend and the two of you just sit there awkwardly. you're a little embarrassed and flustered but you're not ashamed—you got permission, found a room, and you take responsibility for whatever happens, but now you can't really continue, can you? you slowly turn to make eye contact with yeonjun and the two of you just kind of sit there and chuckle.

“maybe next time...” he sayd, a little breathless and you nod. “I can take you to dinner tomorrow though, if you can...” he asks and you nod, again, and you offer him a small, sweet smile and he smiles back, knowing he finally has you... not officially, but he knows he'll make you his in no time.

#yeonjun x reader #txt x reader #choi yeonjun #tomorrow by together #tomorrow by together x reader #choi yeonjun x reader #soobin x reader #skz #stray kids #gender neutral reader #txt x gn!reader #yeonjun x gn!reader #hannah bahng #yeonjun x reader slow burn #slowburn #non-idol!AU

[luwritesomething]

Mickey Altieri x Reader: obnoxiousmas.

Words: 1095

Warnings: probably swearing and a carrie joke, idk i wrote this a long time ago.

Summary: it's almost christmas and you hate crowds, but you have to go gift-shopping with your friends and mickey.

Author's note: this was extremely self-indulgent since i'm christmas #1 hater. what can i say, i don't remember anything that happens in here, but i think it can be read as established relationship. reqs are open !!! request for mickey, stu, billy... please?? OH, you can also read this in my aoc account, which is here.

Christmas was obnoxious, loud and annoying. But sure, it was also colorful, vibrant, jolly and fun; and that was what people decided to think about during the winter holidays. A time to forgive and have fun with your beloved ones, that was what was all about — and the presents and the food formed an important part of it, too.

People’s optimism about the holiday, however, didn’t make its negative aspects disappear, which the Windsor’s golden friend group proved on their first time buying presents together. You, Hallie, Randy and Mickey had decided to stay in Windsor for the holidays instead of going back to your hometowns — at the last minute, Sidney had dropped that plan in exchange of spending Christmas with Derek and his family back at his house. It had been a bummer, but you all had agreed to still make this Christmas worth remembering. What you would definitely not forget was the annoying crowd that was holding you back from moving through the streets.

You and Mickey had gone to get Randy’s presents — you actually needed Mickey’s help to choose a good videotape for him — while Hallie and Randy went to another store, and when you too came out of the shop you bumped into a ridiculously big amount of people. You could already feel the anxiety rushing through your veins.

“Oh, shit,” you murmured, throwing your head back in annoyance. You definitely weren’t a fan of big crowds with lots of people.

Mickey looked at you from the corner of his eyes. “You truly are the spirit of Christmas yourself, aren’t you?” 

“Whatever, Mickey.” You rolled your eyes, but a playful smile slid into your face. “This is just crazy. We won’t ever be able to get back to the dorms” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?” His eyes stared at the crowd once again before returning to yours. “I smell a challenge, my sweetie pie”

Your face immediately cringed. “What did you just call me, Altieri?” You couldn’t hold back a laugh because of the obnoxious pet names he gave you on the most unexpected moments. He was the master of annoyance.

“You don't like it?” Mickey faked a pout that made you laugh.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Without answering your question, Mickey searched for your hand. You had already gotten used to Mickey’s touchy love language, but it still gave you a rush of adrenaline every time his fingers locked with yours. 

Once Mickey made sure he was holding your hand firm enough, he started dodging the people, and making his way through the words. His strong hold made you not get lost in between the people, forcing them to move and let you pass too.

“Call Hallie and Randy,” said Mickey, turning his head to look at you. You smiled at him softly, and he returned your smile. “You know, so they don’t wait for us”

You nodded, and although you struggled to take your phone from your pocket, you did as he said. Having you been focused on calling one of them and not helping him get out of the busy street made things more difficult for Mickey, but he still kept trying to make people on your way move, mouthing words of forgiveness he didn’t really mean.

“Randy!” You exclaimed, once he finally picked up the phone, after the second call. 

“There’s a shit ton of people here, this almost looks like Carrie’s prom!” Randy’s voice came out as bothered as you had imagined him to be. He wasn’t the most sociable of people unless he had a drink first. “Let’s just hope nobody covers anybody with pig’s blood”

You rolled your eyes at the horror movie reference. “Yeah… I guess. Hey, listen, Mickey and I are going back to the dorms”

“What?” Randy was so loud that you had to move your phone from your ear. You opened your mouth to repeat yourself, but Randy had already started talking. “Fuck, we were already heading to the store you guys said”

“Don’t.” You glanced at Mickey to make sure he was doing okay. His determination to get out of there was almost cute. “See you at Hallie’s?”

“Yeah, sure”

You nodded, although he couldn’t see you, and after hanging up you returned the phone to its place in your pocket. Taking a look around, you realized there weren’t so many people anymore. The release of anxiety it caused made you squeeze Mickey’s hand softly, like a reward, which resulted in him turning his head to make sure you were okay. Mickey flashed his smile when he found you already looking at him.

“You made it,” you smiled, nudging him with your elbow.

“We made it.” Mickey corrected, chuckling quietly under his breath. He pulled you closer to him thanks to your joined hands, and he didn’t let go. “Although you’re probably right because I did most of the hard work, you know”

You scoffed, playfully rolling your eyes as you walked next to him. “Yeah, because it was such a hard job to walk past a group of people”

“How dare you? It was a very big group of people. In fact, it was a crowd.” Mickey did his best to put on an indignant face, although he totally cracked when you raised a defiant eyebrow at him. His hand pressed yours firmly, like he wasn’t planning on ever letting it go even though you had already gotten out of that crowd. It looked like a good plan for you, because you weren’t planning on letting go either. “Next time I won’t do it, I’m tellin’ ya. You’re getting out of there yourself, Y/N”

“Oh, poor, unfortunate little me.” You mocked, with a serious face on, although a giggle escaped your mouth when he nudged you with his elbow. By the smile on his face, he looked like he wanted to say something, but he remained mysteriously silent. “What?”

“Nothing,” he chuckled, swinging your hands together back and forth. He felt like a kid in Christmas, exactly like that

“M-Kay.” You murmured, still looking at him from the corner of your eyes. Mickey continued to smile widely. “You’re weird”

Mickey hummed in agreement, and he made no effort to try and debate about it. You two continued to walk towards the residence hall in silence and holding hands — and Mickey continued to smile, thinking about how much he liked you, although keeping it to himself because he liked the way your eyebrows twitched whenever you noticed him smiling at you for no evident reason.

#mickey altieri #mickey altieri fic #scream #scream 2 #scream 1997 #mickey altieri x reader #mickey altieri x reader fluff #my writing #writing #lu writer #requests are open #scream franchise #timothy olyphan #mickey is so FINEEE #oh mickey you're so fine! #lu writes

[fifteen-writes]

When heaven is at hand's reach

This is my piece for the collab with @kreideprinzessin, 7 Minutes in Heaven! I took the longest time ever to write because life has been moving forward a lot this last year lmao. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Xiao doesn’t understand mortal traditions that well. Even after almost a year working with you, being a bit more sociable and trying his best to participate in certain events with you, it’s still hard for him to get accustomed to some things: why festivals are so noisy? Why there are so many people at parties? Does the city really need to be this bright at night?

But still, Xiao tries, because he could do anything to see you happy. It’s been a while now that the both of you are starting to enjoy your presence more and more, working together in commissions feels almost natural and there’s been multiple nights where the Yaksha didn’t make any comments of you staying with him stargazing at night (he said he was keeping watch, but you could clearly see him looking up to the sky).

So, when the Traveler told you and Xiao that there would be a small party in the Wangshuu Inn, you immediately said yes, but you could see Xiao hesitate a bit. He wasn’t used to multitudes still.

“It won’t be many people.” Aether was quick to note. “Just Xinyan, Xingqiu, Chongyun and Xiangling. They wanted to celebrate Xinyan’s successful concert las week, and they thought the Inn would be a perfect place!”

“I will be with you, so you don’t get overwhelmed, okay?” You told Xiao, and knowing you would be there too, the Adeptus nodded, a bit bashed. You ignored the look Paimon gave you two, and Aether took her away before she did any comment out of place.

The night of the party arrived a week later, and just as Aether told, it was small and intimate, celebrating Xinyan’s last concert and how well it went. The happiness of the rocker girl was infectious, and soon enough everyone was laughing along with her while the food and drink kept filling their tables and their bellies.

At first, Xiao wasn’t there, and you didn’t mind. You knew he took time to warm up to other people. Around twenty minutes later the Yaksha joined, sitting beside you, and staying silent at first. He didn’t know exactly how to properly join conversations and he simply stood by your side, wherever you went. Eventually, Xiao was slowly opening himself up, getting some food to get a bit warmed up (you asked for Almond Tofu to be there), and he even took a sip of your osmanthus wine.

Maybe that was the tipping point that made Xiao a bit more talkative, and bit… softer. You could see him barely smile at you, he was definitely standing closer to you, and at one point, you could swear he brushed his hand against yours, making your heart skip a beat when your eyes met. And when you least expect it, they night had grown on all of you, keeping the celebration going up until late.

It was then when Xinyan decided to start her favorite part of parties: the games! At first, the rest didn’t really seem convinced, but some more prying from the rocker was enough to have all of you playing something she called “7 minutes in Heaven”.

“I picked the game up from someone from Mondstadt. Two people get chosen at random and they get thrown together in a small room. It’s pretty fun!”

“I don’t quite get it…” Chongyun asked slowly to which Xingqiu snickered smugly.

“Come on, Yun, it’s very easy! Obviously, you pick two people that have something going on between themselves and you see the magic happen!”

“Two people like whom here?” The young hair blushed all of the sudden at the follow up question, knowing full well Xinyan’s eyes were now on him. Quickly, he turned to you and Xiao, who were getting a bit cuddly together in one of the sofas and pointed at the two of you.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious?” “What.” Xiao asked bluntly, snaping back to reality when he understood the situation.

It didn’t matter how much you tried to avoid it, Xiangling and Xinyan practically pushed you into one of the empty rooms in the inn, and before you knew it, now Xiao and you were alone together. You sighed, a bit annoyed. Xingqiu would definitely pay for this. But as for now, you and the Yaksha had 7 minutes… and the first thing he did was getting close to you, cheeks all rosy because of the alcohol.

“So… Are we supposed to just… stay here?”

“Well… yeah, that’s kind of it. Because they think we had something going on, apparently.”

“What does that mean?” Oh, you weren’t used to this. Normally, Xiao would have probably scoffed at your “stupid mortal traditions”, but now that he was trying to get more integrated into mortal things with you and the wine… You blushed, trying to find the words.

“O-oh, well, you- you know, it’s when… Two people have, uh… A thing going on! They… They like each other, and…” Your voice trailed off as Xiao came even closer to you, falling into silence when his golden eyes locked with yours. There was good 5 seconds of silence, as you tried to decipher his stare before he talked again.

“I think… they might be right, then.” Your heart started to race in your chest, pumping so hard you were sure Xiao was hearing it. “If that’s what it means, then I have… a thing going on. For you.” He paused for a second. “Is that how you say it?”

How could you not laugh at such a cute moment? It was a soft and hearty laugh as you got closer to Xiao, almost face to face now. His arms wrapped around your waist, and yours around his neck, it felt only natural as his lips curved into a smile – the cutest smile in all of Liyue.

“What’s so funny, hm…?” His voice softly hummed in your ear as his lips found your cheek, and then they found yours. How such a powerful warrior was able to kiss like that, you would never find the answer. It was soft and loving, caring, like he was holding the most valuable treasure of Teyvat. Xiao had the hands of a soldier, calloused and worn, but they gracefully caressed your skin almost like feathers when his embrace deepened, holding you closer. Maybe the entirety of the seven minutes went away in the kiss, and then you slowly separated, your eyes locking again in a mutual stare full of love and beautiful feelings. Your voice was barely a whisper against his breath.

“Yeah… That’s how you say it.”

#drabble #fluff #Xiao #Xiao - Genshin Impact #Genshin Impact #gn!reader #xiao x reader #genshin x reader #took the longest fucking time holy shit #literally updating the last day because man has my life went places

[mariamariquinha]

exile (retired!Javier Peña x f!reader) - one shot

Summary: Things didn't work out in the past, but Javier got a second chance.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: None, I guess. There’s a bunch of angst, though, and not a lot of dialogues. Fluffy ending!

Author’s Note: I was in a sad moment when I decided to wrote this. It’s small, just a random idea I’ve had so... Yeah. And the gif is just to represent how I think he was at the canon of this story, I know it’s Joel Miller. 

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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

Javier could remember exactly how you were, not just physically. As time passed, between his return to Colombia and how your life got a lot more difficult when the nightmares started to appear, he felt older, homesick, nostalgic. And you were there, in his mind, like the buzz of a mosquito on a hot night.

With the appearance of gray hairs and specific pain in the joints, Chucho even went so far as to say that it was just like that, that every memory of that distant past in which girls were more attracted and life was simpler, would become just that: a memory.

You were gone. Austin, as far as he knew, and there was no goodbye. If there was any appearance of you in Laredo, it would be short enough that he couldn't see it, but deep down he preferred it that way. Hurts could go on for a long time and even if you weren't the most spiteful of people, it would be fair if you still wanted to punch him in the face - you were a tomboy, that could really happen.

But then you showed up again; it was a hot day and there were festivities at the ranch next door, something about someone's birthday party. Javier was never very sociable unless absolutely necessary, but Chucho was gone, and people made an effort to include him in his late father's social life. It would be the first time he'd left the ranch that wasn't to drink alone in a tavern with little credibility.

First, between his attempts to find a spot in the shade of an apple tree right there in the backyard, he saw a commotion in the distance. Someone said it was a bet or something; no, a scavenger hunt. That's when he discovered that, unlike him, certain things didn't change, because you came running like a girl in the middle of the pasture, holding a box under your arm with your body soaking wet.

You didn't see him when you started celebrating the victory, mocking your competitor who seemed far more skilled and eager to win whatever it was. Heavens, you were still beautiful. At the age he was when things went wrong, and it was as if fate was giving him a second chance to see you like this, more mature, even if with the same nature. Here he was no longer confident in casting his charms (the ego had long since been forgotten), so all he could do was enjoy the view from afar.

That day you did not speak to him. In the days that followed, neither did. He could go to town or stay at the ranch, but everything about this new version of you felt like a dream, a mirage that was eventually created by his tired mind. Javier almost believed it could be someone else who looked a lot like you, and that made him consider consulting a specialist on the issue, but maybe there was no science that could explain what had happened: he still loved you enough to hold you longingly in his heart.

That feeling made him wait. Like the day it all ended, he'd sit on the ranch's front porch, have a beer or two, face the night and then the road. He hoped the cool breeze would catch a glimpse of you again, riding a horse, babbling about your parents' fence or how Chucho could go back on his decision to cross a brown mare with your black sorrel. This never happened. Huh, that never had time to happen. During the first few years of your move to Austin, he even considered offering the opportunity for that to happen, only to see your father frown and the news that that sorrel was sold, as well as the ranch soon after.

Until one day you showed up, as if you read his mind or shared the same feeling. He'd chosen the porch steps as a seat and was on his third beer, ready to head back inside. In the distance, he could see the dust of a horse on the horizon, trotting with some speed towards him, and Javier knew it was you because few people there rode so late at night.

“Is there any chance I can leave her there for the night? ”

It was the first thing you asked, dusting off your pants after getting off your mare masterfully. For the night, he thought, already getting up from his spot with a grunt. Of course you didn't want to say anything more than that, the mare would probably only stay until the end of the conversation you two would have, and considering you didn't say anything else, Javier decided not to test his luck.

He quietly gestured to the stable, turned on the lights for you to put the animal in an empty room, and stood away, watching you so familiar with the place - because he never dared to change a straw.

But then you closed the gate and held it with steady hands, your gaze fixed on your fingers and your head down, as if it was your first chance to breathe properly. It lasted for a few seconds, only silence covering the two of you in a singular way, and it took a while for Javier to move a little closer, at least enough to see your profile in the light of the place.

You seemed to have improvised that visit; your clothes were too clean to have been worn during the day, as if you'd just put them on, and you were barefoot. The blouse had a delicate, satin-like material, and he assumed it was a part of a pajama. He didn't want to notice, but you were shivering from the cold, your shirt doing a poor job of hiding your nipples. Javier called your name with a whisper. You closed your eyes, then abruptly turned to him for a hug.

Heavens, how long he hasn't felt you this close, flesh and blood, occupying all his senses. Your hands tightened on the fabric of his blouse, and he didn't hesitate to hold you firmly against his body, allowing himself the luxury of closing his eyes and understanding that this was real, that you were there and you were hugging him as if your life depended on it. Maybe, just maybe, his too, but that wasn't something to talk about at that moment.

“I thought you weren't here anymore.” Your muffled voice woke him from his trance and he pulled back to see your gaze intently, your hands gripping his waist. “After… After what happened with Chucho.”

Javier was no longer frowning at the mention of his father and probably a shadow of sadness probed him, because you used one hand to cup his face.

“My poor love… I wanted to be here for you.”

“... Love?” He asked. “I no longer deserve to be called that by you, mi vida. I don't even know if apologies will be enough to make up for what I did to you.”

“You didn't do anything that wasn't necessary, Javi. We needed to distance ourselves so that we would have the chance to meet, the chance to… make everything right.”

This felt like more than he could ever wish for in his life. It was a second, maybe third chance that life was giving him. He still wanted to say that he was already old, with more flaws than virtues, but you wouldn't listen. You never listened. And staring at the way your eyes still glowed at him, he knew that was something you already knew but didn’t care.

“Then stay with me here. I’ll make you mine for as long as you’ll let me.”

“You know I'll wait for the proposal, don't you?” The teasing made him smile before leaning in to touch your lips in a long kiss. As it should. As it was.

“You've waited too long, don't you think?”

There was a subtlety to the fact that you didn't require him to kneel right there on the floor, but that was never necessary either. He pressed his forehead to yours, intertwined your fingers and asked like a secret.

“Will you marry me?”

#javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena fic #narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #pedro pascal

[rottendollface]

Like Home.

Character: Strade.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+; female student reader is a naive person with unnamed mental distress, reader is collecting books, OOC, my own headcanons, panic attacks, stressful itching, family abuse, stalking, strong language, killer in love, femininity sexualization, misogyny, sexual violence, CNC, humiliation, eating from a dog bowl, physical violence (including various tortures), description of vomiting, psychological abuse > physical abuse, kidnapping, romanticization, keeping hostage, unprotected sex, painful virginity loss, oral sex (reader giving and receiving), rimming (reader receiving), 69 pose, blood drinking; mentions of: red rooms, cannibalism, necrophilia; Neon Demon spoilers; reader is the first victim kept alive, and Ren doesn't exist here; Easter egg with Celia (The Price of Flesh).

Word count: ~17,500.

A/N: I don't speak German, but I used plenty of words from it here. If you find any mistakes, feel free to correct me ♡.

Strade was watching you through the window of his car: how you looked around before you went down the stairs, then put earphones on your head to muffle the noise of the streets and searched for a needed playlist, while keeping your free hand on your bag, which you had put over your shoulder, as usual. After you found a song, you hid your phone in a pocket before going to the bus stop: looking straight on the ground, you didn't care what was happening around, as you were immersed in your thoughts and worries. It was windy and cloudy, almost raining today, and you hugged yourself, when another cold breeze had blown over you; wind ruffled your hair, so you checked on a green butterfly pin, afraid that it could fall from your head, then you moved your hand to a cheap heart locket, before hugging yourself again; knitted black blouse with long sleeves and low neckline, light green midi skirt with flower print of darker shade and classic black Mary Jane shoes (his mother (or grandma even) would like this style) weren't suitable for a weather like this. For Strade it was amusing to see a young college student dressing up in such outmoded style, but he was honest with himself — your fashion made him notice you. At first he didn't plan anything serious on you and just chuckled to himself: a girl in old-fashioned clothes and with a haunted look in her beautiful, pleading eyes — probably another victim of bullying. Something made him give a better look at you, and he found you attractive, magnetic even, which made his interest light up.

It wasn't in Strade's style to stalk someone, but with you he couldn't suppress such a strange whim of his. You weren't a sociable person: Strade could hardly remember you talking to someone more than a couple of minutes outside your college. During the conversation you were touching your locket constantly: twisting it in your fingers, or adjusting it on your neck. After a few days of observing you, he could tell that you were a neurotic with no social life. You lived in a small rented apartment in a bad neighborhood, which meant that you didn't have a lot of money and that your parents (if you had them) didn't care about you — no parent in their right mind would let their daughter live in the neighborhood with three most disgusting bars in the area. Creeps of all sorts were coming here at night, and who knows what could happen to an elegant girl who lived here all alone. At least you were smart enough not to show up on the streets after dark.

Your flat was small and resembled a doghouse, not a normal apartment. It was easy for Strade to get inside while you were in college. When Strade came in, he bumped into a stack of books that were staying near the front door's wall. Dozens of books fell on the floor, showing him a collection in art, astrology and alchemy, magic and history. Strade looked over your room and found many more stacks of the same type; another noticeable detail was a bright poster in blue tones of the Neon Demon movie. He cursed softly, mostly from surprise. Strade put all the fallen books back in their place and went to look at other stacks to understand what genres you were collecting so obsessively. He had seen you coming into a bookstore a couple of times, but he didn't expect you to be a pack rat, who was spending all her money on her addiction. The flat was clean and left the smell of your perfume — as it should be in all the women's apartments, Strade believed. It was poorly furnished: you didn't even have a table or a bookcase; a small wardrobe was full of clothes: dresses, blouses, skirts, two pairs of jeans. Strade couldn't fight a sudden desire to sniff your clothes. He chose a blouse that you were wearing yesterday and buried his nose in it, inhaling perfume and the sweetness of your sweat. 

The bathroom was so confined it was hard to breathe in here; the air was damp and still hot and scented after your morning shower; it smelled with lemon and basil and turned out to be your shower gel. He gave a careful look at the products you were using: rather expensive, not suitable for an apartment like this. You had plenty of body creams and oils, all of them with floral fragrance. Strade also found four bottles of perfume, again, indecently pricey for a crumbling apartment you were renting. Those mismatches and the quirk of yours made him interested in your persona even more — he wanted to know everything about you until the smallest details. 

Mulberry, bergamot, bitter almond and blackberry — it was the fragrance you cared on your body today. Strade wished to feel it on your skin mixed with your natural smell. He didn't have fun for a while, so Strade made big plans for you. Hunting you down this way had its pros: he became better in stalking and picking locks; your plainess and restlessness amused him too — every time someone started talking to you, your first reaction was fear: you gained some self control, but his allerted eyes could easily see how you were losing your composure with your eyes round and brows curved, corners of your lips looking down. Strade laughed every time he saw you having a conversation with some poor soul: you were nodding slowly, imitating interest, but your eyes were looking sideways and you were pursing your lips, chewing on them, then letting them free, only to repeat this ritual later — if it was Strade talking to you, he would certainly give you a nice punch in your face for such an inappropriate behavior.

Your naivety was outstanding: you didn't even notice the same car was following your route for a few days straight. Maybe if you had more interest in what was happening right under your nose you wouldn't be stuck in a situation like this. Strade could bet you didn't notice that someone had visited your apartment. He was alien to this small world of perfection and neatness, even his own smell was too strong, too outstanding from the sweet mix. Before leaving your home, Strade looked at the books again: all of them were in a good state, which meant you weren't using them. Textbooks about chemistry, one about physics and math; medicine, geography and taxidermy — he tried to find some logic in your collection, but failed: Strade was gaining information on you to find the right topics that would make your tongue loosen, but he certainly didn't want to talk about science. He also noticed black digital radio box on your bed and a pair of on-ear headphones near it, which made him think you were collecting audio books as well. 

Usually Strade hated to build up plans and strategies: Strade was proud of his charisma and ability to improvise easily in dialogue. He didn't need any special preparations to find his victims, but not in your case — he couldn't let you go so easily, but he couldn't get you as well, and it was pissing him off. Strade was simple in his actions and met plenty of his victims in bars and nightclubs, but you were avoiding all of his favorite places like a plague. You weren't his type, however you became his obsession — unreachable and so desired. He wanted to force you to open this sweet mouth of yours and scream for him, plead for him. Strade was sure you wouldn't last for long, probably you wouldn't survive even the first round: girls like you had a very weak heart and died from fright mostly, just like canaries. It would be… such a waste. Strade was surprised at his own regret, tried to chase you away from his thoughts, but you were staying here with him, making him see your silhouette in a dance of cigarette's smoke. He couldn't forget your face: charming and always sad, with unspoken grief, that gave you an air of a heroine of a tragic novel. It would be nice to see you smiling at least once. 

You reminded him of a mermaid: your always glistening eyes, delicate blush on your cheeks and vibrant pink lips, the rare, divine charm. Your steps were fast, but careful, as if you were walking on the sharpest of knives. The beauty of your face and loveliness of your pose were bewitching Strade, leaving him fantasizing about you and dying in anger from the impossibility to touch you, feel the warmth of your body against his.

The next morning Strade was following your route again, but today he left his car not far away from your house and was ready to ride the bus with you. Suddenly you walked past the bus stop and headed straight to the subway. You were in a hurry and kept looking around sharply. It made Strade think you finally noticed that something wasn't right, but your unexpected move made him nervous as well. He was waiting for this day to become closer to you, and now you trampled on his plans roughly — you would pay for it later. Strade almost managed to elbow his way into a full subway car; his wandering gaze found you in a crowd, and he made an effort to reach you. Finally he was staying not far away from you and could see your worried face. With every stop new people came into the subway, leaving less space in the train. You clawed into a handhold in front of you, your knuckles turned white from the tension and power you had put in your grip. 

The air in the train was stale. Sweaty bodies were pressing him and you from everywhere, making it harder to breathe and restraining any moves — it was rush hour, everyone was coming home after a long working day and no one cared about someone else's comfort. Strade noticed changes in your emotions: you were breathing hard, stared at the floor without blinking. Tears stored in the corners of your eyes. He could understand your feelings, but it all was your fault: you made him suffer this hell on the earth, and you won't get away with it. 

You were smothered in awful smells of cheap perfume, bad breath, sweat and dust; dozens of irritating sounds were buzzing in your ears, and the man's body behind you, pressing on yours with heavy weight, was driving you crazy slowly. Your knees were shaking but you kept staying, leaning on your tired hand. You were praying for this to end, but couldn't hear the names of stations as you were concentrating on your physical senses.

You didn't sleep well for the whole week and had no stress relief, which led to overeating and itch in your limbs. Right after you remembered about it, you felt your forearms itching. Fresh cuts from your nails were burning from your own sweat. You needed to scratch it — your hand shuddered, then started shaking from annoying tingling. 

You started feeling nauseous and dizzy. You were afraid to come back home on your normal route: someone got into your apartment but didn't take anything from here. Not a thing was touched, as if your apartment was a museum someone decided to visit out of boredom. You didn't have any proof of it, but you could feel something was wrong when you entered your flat. You just knew something wasn't right — but you weren't sure of the reality of your guess. Your parents told you many times that you got a good imagination for your own bad: it wasn't the first time you felt like someone had visited your apartment while you were out. It was the reason you were changing apartments a lot. At first you ran away from your family house, then you changed five flats in different parts of the city. It was your sixth apartment, and you already were thinking about leaving it.

You knew something was wrong with you, but you couldn't help it. It started not so long ago but already turned you into an antisocial shadow of yourself. You were missing the old you, the one who liked to chat with people and walk in the park, who didn't skip meetings in her club of interest, and could visit her friends freely, without a fear that something would happen. 

You weren't a fatalist and didn't believe in signs of destiny, but you were sure that something was about to happen with you. It was haunting you for a year already, turning your life into a nightmare: every time you came home you locked the door on all the locks, then checked on it for the rest of the day and before going to sleep; you could come back from the college just because you forgot to check if you closed a bathroom faucet. You had to write all your check ups down in your notes and reread it during the day, but you didn't trust it — you were always thinking you forgot about something. You didn't know exactly what would happen to you. Maybe it would be something good or neutral. You made yourself nervous by causing depressive thoughts, and you knew you were wrong, but you couldn't stop the process. 

Book collecting was your stress relief method. The amount of money you had spent on your strange hobby was enough to rent the best apartment for the whole year, but you were ready to live in the worst neighborhood until the rent was low and you had free money on the books. You wanted to store the human's knowledge and wisdom and spent all your free time hunting for another book. You hadn't read even a half of your collection, but you couldn't stop yourself from getting a new copy. It was some sort of a mania of yours, maybe a disorder even.

Now, staying in a subway, full of people, you were about to pass out. You had already regretted your decision to deceive the fictitious stalker with an unplanned change of your way home, and you were fed up with yourself as well. All your life was torture, and it couldn't go like this any longer or you would lose your sanity. You were choking from the lack of air slowly and turned your head back to the open doors. You tried to leave but couldn't squeeze through a crowd until someone caught you by your hand and helped you to get out. You felt them pulling you to the exit and didn't resist. You gasped for fresh cold air, leaning to the nearest wall in an attempt to calm down and catch your breath. A drop of rain fell on your face from heavy black clouds, and you hurried to wipe it.

'Hey, are you okay?' The person asked anxiously. You looked at the man and smiled at him, but your smile was twisted and pitiful.

'I feel much better now. I could swear, I thought I would suffocate in this cursed subway. I don't even know how to thank you enough for your help,' You didn't want to say all of this, but suddenly the words were coming up your throat and you couldn't stop yourself from speaking. The man in front of you looked fine and kind, and he seemed to worry about you sincerely. Something about him made you feel strange: he was just a normal, inconspicuous man, rather handsome than ugly, as his face had no outstanding or especially beautiful features that could fascinate a woman. Massive thick eyebrows with sharp ends, big round eyes with a frisky sparkle, high cheekbones, somewhat heavy lower jaw and nice thin lips.

'No need to be so formal,' he smiled and then laughed: he closed his eyes and his shoulders twitched, as he let out a soft chuckle. His laughter was warm and friendly, caring even. All his posture was relaxed and confident. 'My name is Strade.'

He was speaking with an accent, pronouncing "r" as a roaring throat sound and replacing the "d" at the end of the words on a "t". You told him your name and he made a compliment to it. This small conversation helped you feel better almost immediately — it even gave you hope that your paranoia was disappearing.

'You want to thank me right? Then what about us going to a bar tomorrow, how do you like that?' Strade gave you a big friendly smile and stared at you, waiting for your answer. His accent became stronger, and you understood that he was speaking in a German manner. You wanted to decline the invitation, but agreed, as you were embarrassed by his stare and his self confidence. 

You had to ask Strade for help one more time, as you looked around and realized that you didn't know where you were. You weren't familiar with the city despite moving around regularly, so you had no idea how to get back home. The situation worsened with a falling dark — during night hours you were as helpless as blind kitten. Strade gladly agreed to walk you to your neighborhood and didn't stop chatting with you for a minute. You had to admit that you felt safe with him, so you were chattering willingly, without any dredging thoughts crippling into your head. Strade picked up the place and time for your next meeting, and as you headed home you didn't forget to wave your hand to him as a goodbye. 

Strade's smile disappeared right after he left your area. The day was stressful and brought him painful arousal mixed with excitement and a sheer impossibility of your abduction right away, in this God-forsaken part of the city, where you and him only got off. You turned out to be a horrible chatterbox: you were talking so much he got a headache from your ringing voice. You fell for his fake compassion and told about your worries — Strade had always used this trick and it always worked. You were the type of person who liked to share their problems with unknown people, as you wanted to be heard and didn't need actual help. 

When Strade showed up in a bar you were already here, staying alone in a corner, far from everyone, and waiting for him nervously, like a dog that didn't meet its owner for a good time. You were holding your drink, but didn't make a sip of it even. This place wasn't for you as well as its visitors — men in their thirties and forties, bikers mostly. Rough, drunk and noisy, they were scaring you. 

'Hey there,' Strade got himself a beer and stopped next to you. You trembled, as you didn't notice him, but smiled immediately after it. You looked a little different today: green blouse with plunging neck and long sleeves, short black skirt that was fitting your round thighs, transparent black tight, leg warmers on your calves at the same color as your blouse, and Mary Jane shoes again. You were wearing pretty makeup with dark eyeshadow and painted your lips with a dark red lipstick. Strade couldn't help but smile: you wanted to look more attractive for him, dressed in an innocent but seductive manner. 'The weather is awful, I hope you didn't get cold. I wanted to buy you a drink, but I can see you are enjoying this evening already.'

'No, it's just soda. I don't drink alcohol.' You said in an embarrassed tone. 'My friends made fun of me because of this. Is it raining again?'

'Hell yes!' Strade ruffled his wet hair. 'Where are your friends now?' He asked, sipping his beer. 

'I lost contact with them. When all of this started I isolated myself from everyone. They tried to take me out, but gave up. I concentrated on my college and other stuff, trying to suppress my strange condition. I'm talking about myself only, I'm sorry.'

It was the first time you went to hang out, so you felt a little nervous and wanted to scratch your forearm. Today you weren't very brave and the conversation was dull. You tried to come up with some catchy topic, but you couldn't. 

'My hobby? Huh, good question!' Strade was taken aback when you switched the dialogue on him. 'I like mastering things and mechanisms.' 

'Wow…' his answer fascinated you. You knew almost nothing about this field and it seemed like pure witchcraft to you. 'It may sound silly, but I hope to see some of your creations one day.'

You smiled at Strade and gave him an innocent look, as you were speaking from your heart and was honest in your little wish. Cute dimples on your cheeks, the way you squint your glistening eyes and arched your brows just a little in a kind way melted his heart, causing him to bite on his lip not to guffaw at this picture in front of him. Strade was happy that he found you — he would have so much fun with you. You wished to see some of his creations — Strade appreciated it, so you would have an opportunity to test the best of his collection on yourself.

You couldn't even guess what was waiting for you at the end of the evening, and this mischievous trick gave Strade motivation for courting you more. Your cheeks were flushing pink as he was telling you the best of his compliments; you covered your mouth with your palm while laughing at his jokes and wiped tears of joy from your eyes with the knuckle of your index finger carefully so as not to ruin your makeup. Strade was telling you funny stories from his younger years and you found many moments that were similar with your experience, so you replied lively, happily even, as you found someone, who was understanding you easily. 

'Oh, I should go home already!' You exclaimed after dropping a look at the clock in your phone. 'It's almost midnight… Thank you for your company, Strade. I really appreciate it. Would you like to meet up again tomorrow?'

'Of course, Fröschli,' He was looking at you through half lowered eyelids and smiling cunningly, as if he was knowing something you didn't even suspect about. 'You will see me a lot.'

(Froggy)

You were confused by his reaction, but didn't show it. Instead, you scratched the back of your head and giggled. 'I should take some lessons in German to understand you better.' You remarked. You probably looked like an idiot, but you preferred this over awkward silence.

'I'll give you a ride back home.' Strade placed his hand over your shoulder and you yelped, never expecting him to do this. 'Is something wrong?'

'I just…' You looked sideways at his hand, then back at Strade, and found him staring at you with an attentive piercing gaze. You wanted to reply, but suddenly all the words were gone from your mouth and you were just staring back at him, batting your eyes. 'It is the first time a man is… uhm…' you swallowed nervously, not sure if you should tell such an information to the male you had known for two days. 

He hummed at your words. 'Use your tongue, Fröschli. The first time a man?..' Strade repeated your sentences for you.

'... is touching me.' Your cheeks turned pink from embarrassment and you looked away, not being able to handle Strade's gaze anymore.

Instinctively you reached your hand to your neck to touch your locket, but found nothing. You remembered that today you decided not to put it on, however Strade had already noticed you started acting nervous. 

'But what about your boyfriend, Fröschli? I won't believe you don't have one.' Strade was grinning mockingly, his hand on your shoulder felt heavy. 

'It's a long story,' you made a nervous chuckle. 'Not all girls are noticed by guys.' You didn't have an idea of how to explain Strade the phenomenon of your loneliness and you didn't want him to ask about it. You were beautiful and interesting as a person, but all the boys around you had seen you as their little sister. Even the one, that you fell in love with — you shared the same company and were studying together with him, so you were sure he would notice you. Unfortunately he was already taken, but wasn't happy, because his girlfriend wasn't interested in him, dating him only because he was cool and handsome. You were the one to whom he was usually complaining about another fight or disinterest from her side. He had never noticed the way you looked at him, never cared about your feelings, used you like a plush toy to calm himself, then went away, leaving you broken. He was your first love and you wanted him to be your first in everything, you still believed that things would work for you two. When you caught your paranoid distress, all your friends and he abandoned you as you became grumpy and depressed: you were annoying them with your constant bad mood, didn't want to take care of them and entertain them. They were talking with you in the college, more from obligation than from a personal interest.

'We should be leaving already,' Strade stated off the topic, ignoring everything you just said. 'Have you kissed at least?' He asked inappropriately, but you shook your head in dissent. 'So sweet. Well, it's not such a big deal, right?' Strade's tone was cheerful and cooing again. 'Get up, Fröschli.'

You were following Strade in a haste, as he was walking faster than you, and covering your head with your palms from rain. Despite the bad weather, you didn't expect the rain to start today's evening, so you left your umbrella at home. Strade didn't seem to be bothered by it, too. The chilly night air made your body cover in shivers, and you hugged yourself to save some warmth. You were surprised when you saw Strade's car: you didn't expect him to own a family style car of a new model. You expected to see something eye-catching, sporty even, the type of car that cool guys from your college were driving, but Strade's car was simple, average even. He opened the door to a front passenger seat for you, and you climbed inside. You were putting a seat belt on when your eyes suddenly fixed on the door and you noticed that it didn't have a handle, making it impossible to get out of the car from inside. You froze with a seat belt in your hands as you were slowly processing everything. 

'What's wrong?' You heard Strade's husky voice near your ear and shuddered. Your heart was beating like crazy, causing pain in your ribs, and your hands started itching badly, begging to be scratched. Strade was burning your nape with his gaze, his always friendly smile now was sinister and creepy: he was waiting for your reaction, as he had already known you realized that you wouldn't go home today.

'Everything is okay, Strade!' You turned your head to him and smiled. 'Can you fix it for me, please?' you waved your head at the seat belt. 'I can't pull it out for some reason. I don't want to mess it up accidentally.' You made a sad face, looking at him with puppy eyes. 

Strade cackled, then burst into laughter. You could use this moment to punch him, but you were sitting still and playing dumb. You were nothing against him, only one slap of his big palm on your face would be enough to knock you out. Adrenaline was rushing through your blood, distracting you from real understanding of the whole situation you ended up into. It was funny to you how you felt so composed while you should be panicking and screaming for help, but you knew one thing for sure: you wanted to survive. And for this, you believed, you had to behave respectfully and submissive. 

'I adore little idiots like you, Fröschli,' Strade took the belt out of your hands and put it in its place instead of fastening it. He rubbed your cheek with his fingers gently to see the hope in your watering eyes. In a second Strade grabbed your face hard and pressed his fingers on your cheeks, squeezing them roughly. 'Let me do something more for you.'

You missed the moment his hand clutched in your forehead and he bashed your head in a tinted window. You let out a shriek, then a low groan escaped your lips, as you were blacking out slowly. Your whole body felt numb and you went limp on the seat, leaving a bloody stain on the window. 

Strade chuckled at how easy he broke the skin on your nape, wondering if you got a concussion. He started the engine and remembered about your phone. Strade had to look for it, as he forgot that you had put it on your knees, when you got into the car. It fell off your body and was laying under your legs. He got a paper towel from the glove box and took your phone with it. The street was empty, so Strade threw your phone on the ground and then crushed it with his boots.

You woke up in the dark and cold room. You were lucky enough not to feel pain in your head; it seemed like you escaped the brain trauma as well. You tried to move your limbs: your arms were first and you found them tied behind your back and a steel pole. The wave of panic covered you, left you trembling, as you understood the whole horror of your situation. Your life couldn't end like this — you didn't deserve such an end. It wasn't fair. 

'Strade!' You started screaming his name because of feebleness. You had no one but him now, and you still were hoping that he would take pity on you. 'Strade!' You cried for him again, your high pitched and lingering plea filled the whole space of the basement and was noticed upstairs.

You heard his steps above yourself, then he came to the basement door, letting the light from the house into it.

'My-my, rise and shine, baby girl!' Strade looked at you with clear amusement. 'To tell the truth, I expected you to wake up in three hours at least, but you made it out in forty minutes! Going for a world record, huh?'

Strade was mocking you with his usual smile, that was glued to his face, you thought. His perky tone and his always happy personality insulted you, which was clearly shown on your face by the way you curled your lips and arched your brows, like a child. You were about to burst into hysterical tears, and your chest was already rising slowly.

'Oh, meine Süße,' Strade cooed, giving you disturbed look. 'You don't like when I'm making fun of you? I didn't even say anything! But I remember you told me about your problem with controlling emotions.' 

(My sweetie)

'What do you want from me?' You were stuttering as tears and fear were filling up your chest with a heavy and cold feeling of waiting: waiting for something gruesome coming for you. 'I'll do anything, just please don't…' you couldn't finish your sentence — you were afraid that your words would provoke him into doing the opposite things instead. 

'Hm? Don't do what?' Strade was staring at you, waiting for your response. Instead of answering you lowered your head, looking on a dusty ground with dull brownish stains from blood that soaked it a long time ago. 

Strade squatted and frowned at you. His fingers tugged in your hair, and he lifted your head, making you look at him. 'Lost your tongue, Fröschli?'

You shook your head. You tried to suppress fear or come up with anything else but this cursed plea of saving your life. Your sudden silence pissed Strade off. He cupped your cheek; his thumb was caressing your skin, smearing black trails of your tears. For a moment you even decided that he was trying to calm you, but when his palm left your face, Strade gave you a slap that would make you fall if you weren't tied to a pole.

'Please, don't kill me!' You screamed, breaking your voice. 

Strade stood up and came to the counter, started searching for something. 'I like your enthusiasm, meine Süße!' He picked up his favorite knife and returned to you. 'I did nothing, but you are already screaming your lungs out. Save your breath, okay?' He laughed at the way your eyes widened at the sight of the knife. 'Would you like to eat or drink something maybe? Just before we start. You have one chance.'

You shook your head, shuddering and sobbing.

'Well, no means no!' Strade giggled and squatted again to untie your hands. 'Someone told me she would do anything, am I right?'

'Yes…' You pressed your hands to your chest immediately after they were set free. Your wrists were burning, but you didn't care — your whole attention was concentrated on the knife. You weren't afraid of cuts or stubs — you were terrified at the thought that he could cut off your breasts or clit, stab your genitals until the bloody unrecognizable mess, or cut out your lips and eyes. You didn't know what to expect from him, how much pain he would cause to you happily. 

'Take off your clothes.' Strade's voice became serious. You started undressing yourself without delay. Was he going to rape you then set you free? You couldn't hope that everything would end so easily for you — you weren't a lucky one. You took off your blouse and put it next to you; your shaking fingers touched a bra hook, and you heard Strade chuckling. 'Wow, wow, lady! Aren't you a little too eager for me? I feel like I'm the one being kidnapped!'

Your cheeks turned red immediately, and he started guffawing with a loud and deep voice at his own witty remark and this stupid face expression of yours. New tears formed on your eyes, but you swallowed them, kept undressing, until you were sitting on the cold floor in your black lingerie only and covering your body with your hands from embarrassment. 

Strade gave you a slow appraising glance. You looked like an expensive porcelain doll, and his followers would certainly love you. The stream with your participation would gain a lot of money: messy hair and ruined makeup made the noble features of your face even prettier, your lovely lips looked more plumpy with smudged lipstick; fleshy body with delicious curves tempted Strade to lay his hand on it. He kept in mind that you didn't date anyone, so probably you were a virgin — his fans would bathe him in donations for deflowering on air, and he couldn't stop imagining the moment his length would pierce your tight unprepared cunt; probably you wouldn't be able to take all of him in one go, and this libidinous fantasy kept him enthralled. Strade felt his own body becoming hot: all of the thoughts about raping you on camera for other people to watch were enough to make him fully hard in his pants. 

'Hey, Fröschli,' Strade gave you an intimidating look and pressed the end of the knife under your chin, forcing you to lift your head. 'Eyes on me.' Then he passed the knife to you. 'Cut yourself.'

You took the knife, confused with his words, and pressed it on your forearm. Strade focused his eyes on the red scratches with a thin layer of dried blood that were covering both of your hands. 'I can see you had some fun before me, huh? Böses Mädchen.'

(Bad girl)

You swallowed nervously and drew the blade over your arm. The knife turned out to be unexpectedly sharp and the cut was deeper than you expected. A thick stream of blood started trickling from the wound, some of it was dropping on your thigh and other part was dripping up to your elbow. Strade's breathing became hard, his eyes were half lidded and his gaze was clouded with lubricious pleasure. 

'More,' Strade ordered with a husky voice, and you hesitated, searching for a better place on your body. You tried to be careful with the knife, but you weren't skillful at using it, so it was easy for you to put more force in your movements than you planned. You placed the blade on your thigh and left a cut, again, it was deeper than you expected it to be. You were whimpering silently, groans of pain left your lips rarely, as the pain you were causing to yourself didn't feel so striking. 

'More.' Strade repeated, his erection was pleading to be touched, as he was watching you, enchanted by how obedient you were. Strade decided to keep such a treasure for himself — he was a possessive and jealous person, so he didn't want to share this picture perfect sight with anybody else. You tried to leave another wound, but couldn't. Leftovers of your sanity were screaming for you to stop, or you would bleed out — you noticed that blood didn't stop leaking out fresh cuts. 

'I… I'm sorry I can't!' you shook your head helplessly, and gave the knife back to Strade. You started shivering uncontrollably again, realizing what had you just done.

'It's okay,' Strade caressed your skin with the flat side of the knife, then stubbed it into the soft flesh of your thigh, making you scream. His neck turned red from arousal, your heartbreaking shriek was the best aphrodisiac to him. 'I'll help you.'

Your vision blurred from tears and pain, you felt every move of the blade, that was tearing your fragile skin apart, and hot blood was scorching wounds like fire. From your thighs Strade moved to your torso, cutting obscure superficial ornaments on your tummy and under your chest. You were twitching unwittingly, making the process more painful and harmful. Your throat was sore already, but it was impossible not to howl and cry. 

'That's it, meine Liebe. Louder,' Strade put his knife out and pressed his hands on your thighs, groping the supple and slippery meat. He was smearing your blood on your skin and tracing holes of your wounds slowly, in a sexual manner, and penetrating them with his fingers lightly, getting physical satisfaction from it. While you tried to come round, you didn't notice how he pressed himself to your body, one of his hands was resting on your waist, caressing tender skin. Strade was sniffing your hair — it smelled sweet with a mix of perfume and shampoo, as always.

(My dear)

Strade knew he should patch you up before continuing this pleasant torture, but it was hard to keep himself cool while looking at your pathetic, frightened essence. He could kill you right now: stab you to death, or break your head on the floor, crash your neck, or burn you alive — you gave him the sense of unlimited power over you, but at the same time you also gave him your gratitude for keeping you alive for another minute. And he loved it. Strade liked obedience and politeness. He believed that the modern world lacked these two traits and he could rarely find someone, who would combine both of these in their character. 

Strade buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling your natural scent and it drove him crazy. You shivered as his hot breath tickled your skin, gasped when you felt his tongue licking your neck. He was stained in your blood; his shirt stuck to his chest from the amount of soaked blood in it. Strade didn't wait any longer and pulled your panties down, enjoying your surprised shout. You didn't even think about resisting him — you were preparing yourself for an upcoming pain, crying again. Strade spread your legs and placed his hands under your buttocks, holding you in a comfortable position for him to thrust, after he unzipped his pants, freeing the hardly erect member. You tried not to look at his dick, closed your eyes from embarrassment when you felt how Strade was trailing natural curls of your pubic hair and spreading your cunt with his thick fingers. He plunged them inside without warning, but with a great effort, and you screamed from acute pain in your lower stomach. 

'Look at yourself, meine Süße,' Strade laughed slowly, moving his fingers inside and spreading them to stretch your walls. Despite the tightness of your core, it was easy for him to slide inside. 'Secretly enjoying everything I do to you?' He pulled out and you had seen his fingers, fully covered in your viscous slick. 'Fühlt sich gut an, nicht wahr?'

(Feels good, doesn't it?)

Grudge and bitterness were tearing your heart apart, but you just closed your eyes to suppress them. At least you managed to get wet somehow, which meant you would bear the whole process better. Strade pressed his fingers on your clit, stimulating it with circling motions, nevertheless it didn't help — all you felt was just irritating pressure. A punch in your nose perked you up. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to recover, but Strade tugged in your hair and shook your head, until you looked at him.

'Eyes on me. Did you forget our small rule?' He grinned at you, and you nodded, fixing your eyes on him. A thin stream of blood had trickled out of your nose, falling on your lips. 'Das ist so geil…' He pressed his dick to your entrance, and you held your breath when you felt him plunging it in with one fast thrust. You screamed and arched your back, started bustling around to get out of his grip, but Strade just pressed you harder on his dick, pushing it deeper. This pain was even worse than the one from the knife, it felt like he was tearing you apart from inside, bruising every part of your body.

(This is so hot)

You were drowning in cries and tears, your wounds still were bleeding, staining everything around you. Coldness of the basement's floor, smell of the blood, emotional breakdown, tiredness and blood loss made your head feel dizzy — you were about to pass out in every second. Rhythmic poundings in your abused tired cunt made it even worse, so you didn't notice how you blacked out.

You woke up from your disturbing slumber because of the sound of Strade's footsteps. You slowly opened your eyes. Your whole body was aching, blood crusts were covering you and you felt cold slick under your buttocks and thighs, probably, it was your urine. You looked down and noticed that all your wounds were sewn up with rough stitches that would leave scars after healing.

'Morning, sleeping beauty.' Strade was looking at you with a satisfied smile. Instead of you, he probably had a lot of fun yesterday. 

'Fucker…' you thought, staring at him from under your brows. Strade burst out laughing.

'It's not my fault that you pissed yourself, okay? I almost had time to put it out before your attack!' He kept giggling. 'Need something? Or can we continue our rendezvous?'

'I want to bathe,' you wheezed. All you wanted was to get rid of this stench that was coming from you and from all this blood that was covering your body.

'Bathe?' Strade asked in surprise. 'Bathe… Well, that's possible.'

 You closed your eyes to take a breath. Strade was walking somewhere away from you, then he came back and you had seen a hosepipe in his hand.

'Here's your bath, Schatz!' Strade opened the handle and a powerful spurt of ice water hit you right in your chest, causing you to scream. 'Oops, wrong pressure!' He changed the pressure and started pouring you from head to toes, like a fanciful plant. Now you were cold and wet. 'Wow! Look at this little swamp I made. All for you, Fröschli! How do you feel, though?'

(Lovely)

The water and your blood made dirt on a dusty concrete floor. 

'Great!' You snapped. It was unusual for you to answer with such a tone, but you couldn't help it. You noticed that Strade's facial expression had changed and hurried to make up for your sudden outbreak of anger. 'Strade, please… Can you give me something to eat and drink? It would be very nice to have something. I… feel very dizzy. Please…' talking to him with a dying voice you were looking at Strade with puppy eyes, begging him to feed you. 

'So polite, I like it.' Strade patted your head in reward. He came to the fridge and opened it, tapped his chin, deciding what you deserved to eat. 'You had a fever for a couple of hours after passing out, so you can have a sandwich. We want you to have enough power for our next game, right?'

'R-right!' You gave him a wry smile. You wanted to take the sandwich from Strade's hand, but remembered that you were tied. 'Will you feed me?'

'Sure! Be a nice girl and say a-am!'

Strade took the food out of its container and held it to your lips. You did like he said, as you didn't want him to punch you. 'Here you go. Don't hurry, we have enough time.'

At least he was nice while feeding you, you decided. Your hungry stomach twitched in pain as you made the first bite. It was a simple product store chicken sandwich, terrible while cold and a little better while being warmed up. It seemed like Strade wasn't caring about what to eat and didn't bother himself with cooking. You finished it quickly and Strade opened a bottle of water for you. This simple action marveled you enough: you expected him to put the hose pipe in your mouth and turn it on high pressure.

'Thank you, Strade.' You felt much better now. You could never think that you had so much health and stamina to be able to talk and think straight after everything he had done to you. Maybe you still were under the effect of adrenaline, maybe Strade had given you some drugs while you were blacked out — it didn't matter. You had to survive one more day in his company, and you were sure that today would be much more cruel than yesterday. 

'No need, meine Süße, you make a cute face while eating,' Strade patted your head one more time, like you were a dog. 'You told me in the bar that you want to see my creations.'

You broke a cold sweat and you felt weakness in the pit of your stomach. Strade placed a black box in front of you. It was closed and looked like a tool box, but after Strade opened it, you had seen a phone handset inside and strange details. 

'That's a field telephone, Schatz. It was developed in the United States, then it was spread worldwide, and used in both World Wars, and many others. This model I made myself. Look here,' Strade pointed his finger at a small lever on the external part of the box. 'It's a dynamo, it creates electricity. And this,' he pointed at a prominent case inside the telephone, 'This is flame resistant. It is made of paper impregnated with a plasticized phenol formaldehyde resin. Did you understand at least a half of what I had said, Schatz?' 

Strade gave you an indulgent gaze and smiled, as if he was talking to a kid, while you were praying to be wrong at guessing the reason he decided to show you this cursed phone.

'Yes! It was very interesting to hear. Can you tell me more, please? How is it used without cables?' You stammered, feeling tremor in your hands. 

'I'll tell you later, Schatz. Now it's time for my reward. Don't be so egoistic.' Strade cut off the ropes. He took one of your hands and stretched it, then started to put wires on your fingers. 'We are gonna play a very interesting game! A guy who I was working with long ago had taught me this. Are you excited?' Strade waited for your nod. 'Great, Schatz. The rules are simple: I ask you questions, you answer them correctly. If not — I press the dynamo. Hast du kapiert?' 

(Do you understand?)

You nodded. It was easy to predict the rules of his game, but Strade kept explaining it to you.

'So, the first question. What is the biggest island in the world?' 

You were expecting to hear everything, but not this. You were confused and chuckled at this stupid question. Your laughter made Strade smile too, and you, tricked by a false tenderness, didn't notice how he pulled on the dynamo. In the next second your muscles contracted, piercing you with so much pain that you couldn't imagine even in your bravest thoughts. 

'I don't like to repeat myself, so you better remember what I asked you if you can, of course.' Now Strade was the one to laugh. You were laying on the floor with your eyes wide open and trying to catch your breath.

'Greenland…' you whispered, still shocked.

'Yes, correct! Well, I guess I shouldn't ask such questions to a girl who trashed her whole apartment with books.'

You almost jumped at his words, the puzzle in your head made a whole picture. All this time you weren't crazy. Your foreboding was right. 

'Let's ask you something personal then. Why did you leave your parents?' It was clear that for Strade the game wasn't funny at all: he didn't care about you, he enjoyed only pulling on the trigger. He didn't want to kill you yet, so he had to give you chances on saving yourself from another jolt by giving honest and correct answers. 

'Because of my paranoia. I was afraid to stay with them.' It wasn't the complete truth, but it wasn't a lie either. Despite it sounding so well and smooth from your mouth, Strade felt that you were hiding something. His hunter's instinct sensed clearly the little shaking of your voice and caught the moment you lowered your gaze to the floor. 

'So you left the warm and caring family house and started living in a shitty flats where murderings were committed, right? You think I'm an idiot, Schatz?' Strade pressed on the dynamo, laughing wickedly at your convulsions. 'You are kinda calm here. Not like others. They were screaming and shouting "Oh Strade please let me go! i won't tell anyone! please put your knife back"' And when they finally realized that I won't let them go, all of them started to curse me. While you are just waiting silently for me to return, not a noise coming from you while I'm gone. Sometimes I even think that you died here without me! Feels like home, Schatz?' 

You pursed your lips and looked away. It wasn't fair. He couldn't dare to open your old psychological wounds that you managed to heal with a great effort, but Strade was staring at you, his light brown eyes were burning you with an intent, waiting gaze. Strade's smile, that once made you feel better, now was making you feel nauseous.

'My mother abandoned me when I told her that I don't want to be a financial expert and won't send my documents to the college she had picked for me…' You bit on your lower lip. 'She is very strict and unforgiving. She forgot about me so fast, like I had never existed. I didn't want to move out, but she told me to. Thank God I had money saved on my account, and my grandpa gives me some every month. With a bursary from my college I had… I have enough to live.' 

'Poor baby,' Strade cooed and cupped your cheek, rubbing on your skin with his calloused thumb. 'I bet you wish she could see you right now. See everything you have to come through and regret what she has done to you. Want her to suffer, hate herself for cutting you off from your family, owe you care and love for the rest of her life.' 

'Why…' Your eyes widened at his words. 'Why would I?..'

'Because I know you well enough to understand it.' 

Strade smiled his satisfaction: it was amusing to see you doubting your own feelings. It was so easy to trick you. He loved your face at the moments like this: fine eyebrows raised, your doe-like eyes shining with a clear bewilderment, and your mouth slightly opened, as if you wanted to object, but didn't dare to. 

'You should be thankful you have me, Schatz. I will always be here for you to solve your problems.' 

You didn't believe your ears and gave Strade a confused, stupid look from your eyes. It couldn't be true. You probably were delirious. 

'I am, Strade.' You forced a smile on your bloodless lips. 

'Gutes Mädchen!' Strade was pleased enough with your answer and gave you another head pat. It was time for him to leave, but he didn't want to — his emotions about you were so complicated he chased them away, knowing perfectly one day he would have to live through them. You were his obsession — and he didn't want to admit it. Admit that he was bewitched by his own captive, admit that he was addicted to you and that his mood depended heavily on yours. Something beyond his understanding, something supernatural had linked you to him, caged Strade in a cage of his desires. You were the number one to him, you were the top priority, despite everything he was doing to humiliate and destroy you in a futile attempt to stifle his feelings. 

(Good girl! (for animals))

Maybe it wasn't too bad to fall in love with someone? The unique experience he had brought you through made you two really close by now, but could Strade trust you? It was a good question, and Strade needed to test you before actually letting you live with him. He left you without tying you back to the pole and didn't lock the basement's door. You were free to walk here and touch everything you wanted: you could even take his tools and have a fight with him! Strade was ready for your every move, but you were silent as usual, not a rustle even could be heard from the basement. He was expecting you to come out at night, but you didn't do it as well. 

You were waiting for Strade to come back nervously. It was obvious that he was testing you, so you did your best to behave. You had water and food there, but you didn't touch anything without his permission: you were afraid he would get mad at you. This irrational fear chained you to your place and didn't let you breathe freely, while he was gone. You were starving, your aching wounds needed painkillers and care, but you kept enduring the discomfort. You wanted to survive — and the thought of a reward for this test was giving you power and determination. 

Maybe Strade wasn't bad at all, you thought and got terrified from it. He was a sadist and a maniac, and you could only imagine how many people he had slaughtered before you, as well as how many would come to this damned basement after. Strade was a monster and a psychopath you should be aware of. He was a little more patient with you, but it didn't mean anything good for you — he would offset later, you were sure. There was a saw in the basement, nothing would stop him from sawing you in half, or decapitating you while being alive. You had too many fears: they were driving you crazy even worse than Strade. You were expecting everything from him: starting from pulling out your nails and peeling your skin and ending with bludgeoning you to death, until the unrecognizable meat blob. What if he would cut off the parts of your body and make you eat it? You shook your head, trying to free yourself from thoughts like this. You were behaving well and pleasing him enough. You would do even more for him if he let you go upstairs. You would never escape or say a bad word to him, would be obedient until he would decide to let you go by himself.

And then… you weren't sure what you would do after, but you were sure you wouldn't go to the police. You believed Strade wouldn't be arrested, and you didn't need his revenge. It was better to befriend a monster like him.

Strade came back to check on you the other day. He was pleasantly surprised to find you sleeping; he examined all his stuff to find out if you had stolen something, but nothing was touched. You either were fooling him or you were a real idiot. Strade wouldn't believe you didn't want to eat or drink, but the fridge was full of beer and various food. Were you waiting for him to hear his permission to eat? — it was outstanding. He had never met someone like you before. 

'I guess I should thank your parents, Schatz. For raising a stupid and obedient doll like you,' Strade whispered at your sleeping face. He took a knife from the ceiling and slightly pressed its end right under your eye and let it slide down, carefully, not to cut you but to leave a small red stripe that looked like a bloody tear. Your face was the most loveliest one he had ever seen, and he didn't want to leave scars on it — such a perfection of Nature should be delighting him in its original state. 

You woke up, but didn't shift — your inner senses had saved you. Terrified, you felt tears dropping from your eyes, the one repeated the way of Strade's knife, causing you pain.

'Hey girl,' Strade pressed his knife between your brows. 'You are very, very stupid. I know all your little manipulations. You're not the first to suck up to me.'

You lowered your face in shame, standing the ruin of your plan. Of course you knew that someone had certainly tried this way to survive before you, but you thought that you would do it better. Somehow you would make everything perfect and he would trust you. You were lost — you didn't even know were your emotions real or fake. In both ways you were shocked with yourself, at how calm you were despite everything that was happening. Maybe it was something wrong with you?

'Where is your smile now, Schatz?' Strade grabbed you by your hair and forced you to look at him. 'This martyrdom face of yours makes me sick.' He narrowed his eyes, their gaze showed clear disdain. Strade showed the tip of the knife to your lips, forcing you to open them, then pressed it to the corner of your mouth. 'Smile, or I will have to teach you how to do it.'

You smiled, smiled until the pain in your cheeks, while tears were streaming down your face. You were looking at Strade in panic, trying to catch every single change in his pose and emotions, mentally preparing yourself for stinging pain and blood loss. You were breathing rapidly, gasping for air deliberately and carefully not to move the blade accidentally. You were scared to death that Strade would execute his plan and tear the half of your face. 

'That's much better.' Strade became jolly, no sign of a sudden outbreak of anger and grumbling. You exhaled loudly when he put the knife out of your mouth, but your arms were still trembling. 'Poor baby. Suffering here and all because of me,' he started talking in a caring voice, then it became mocking. 'Say something already.'

'I have nothing to add.' You barely spoke, as you suddenly felt exhausted. Your eyes were closing, but you tried to keep them open. Your whole body was numb and sore, all the pain was withdrawn into the background and seemed alien to you. 'I'm sorry.'

You closed your eyes and fell asleep immediately. When you woke up, you were alone. You heeded, listening for Strade's steps, and heard nothing. Your stomach hurt with hunger, your limbs were stiff and your whole body felt cold — you didn't want to do anything with it; you were too tired to move, even breathing was hard for you. You heard a noise of falling drops of water, and its monotonous sound started to irritate you immediately, but you managed to come back to sleep, falling into the deep dreamless slumber that felt like suspended animation.

You didn't know how many days had left since you were captured in Strade's basement, but you were sure that your friends and teachers from the college had noticed your sudden disappearance. You were a good student and didn't skip even a day of lessons, so it was obvious that something had happened to you. Probably they had already visited the police and now the story about you was in the news report. You were steadfast in your statement, and it warmed your heart. You were sure you would be saved soon.

You woke up because of a spurt of cold water that was splashed in your face. You sat immediately and started coughing, but it was impossible due to the stream that was hitting you right in your face and filling your nostrils and mouth. You tried to protect your face with arms, but they were tied to the pole; you tried to dodge, but the stream was following your moves. When Strade decided that he had enough with you, he closed the handle and you got an opportunity to breathe and cough.

'Good way to know that you are still alive, Schatz.' He giggled at uncontrollable shaking of your body and your barking cough. 'You slept for two days straight, my dear! Didn't even wake up when I decided to play with you.'

You immediately started to look at your body to find the traces of his 'games', and you found them — small white dots of burned skin with a vivid pink edge, the one that appeared after a cigarette burn, were located on your shoulder. Then you felt that something was leaking out from your core, and you shuddered in disgust. How sick he was to use you while you were unconscious?

'When was the last time you ate?' Strade dropped the hose pipe carelessly and came to you to untie your hands. You let out a groan when you finally moved them, and heard an obnoxious crack of numb limbs. You looked at your wrists with two stripes of rope burns on each hand, bright red and aching. 

'When you fed me…' you tried to get up, stretch your body, but fell on your trembling knees and put your hands in front of you not to hurt your face, but they gave way under your body and you plopped on the ground. Both of your palms and knees were scratched and started itching badly, as well as rope burns and other wounds. 

'How pathetic. Was it worth it? I mean starving yourself to this state.' Strade clicked his tongue and leaned on the counter, watching your attempts to get up on your own. 'You know, you can always ask for help. Why do I have to remind you of such simple things? Vollidiot.'

(Idiot)

'Don't insult me, please, I want to do it myself.' You made another attempt, this time you were doing everything slowly, without putting too much effort not to open the old wounds and not to hurt the new one. You managed to rise on your legs and leaned to the pole, using it as a help. This simple action took all of your power, and you heard noise inside your head.

'No need for pole dancing, Schatz, feel sorry for me.' Strade giggled at his joke and a sigh you made.

'It's not funny.'

'No, it is!' In proof of his words he guffawed. 'You are very talkative today. Asked the Wizard of Oz for a bravery potion?'

Your body gave up much faster than you expected and you slowly sat on the floor, breathing rapidly and shaking both from cold and tiredness. Until now you didn't understand how dangerously cold your body was: your limbs could hardly move, and every manipulation you tried to perform was clumsy and slack. Your throat spasmed in a coughing fit; you started coughing with a loud dry cough that became worse instead of giving you a sort of relief. All the air in your lungs had ended fast enough to make you choke, forcing you to get on your hands and knees to ease the torturing cough. You inhaled sharply with a whistle, gulping your cough, then froze before another coughing fit broke you. Saliva was running down your lower lip and chin, dripping on the floor, but you ignored it, as your throat felt raw and sore.

'Don't you dare die like this, Hure.' Strade was watching you carefully, with a certain irritation. 'If you are acting like this to make me take you upstairs you will regret it. Why are you always bringing me troubles?'

(Whore)

You were lying on your stomach silently, waiting for Strade's final decision. You couldn't think: your head was empty, you felt fever slowly taking over you and muffling every other sound with a noise in your ears. Strade came to you and kicked you in the ribs with the toe of his boot to turn you over on your back.

'I guess I don't have a choice. I'll get you some medicine. For now, you can go upstairs, Schatz. See you here.' Strade smiled and left the basement, but didn't close the door. The light from the house was lighting up the dusty floor. It felt like a mock: he knew you wouldn't be able to go upstairs by yourself, still he left you. 

You started crawling to the stairs, ignoring muscle pain and the fact that you were dragging your hardly healed wounds on the sharp floor. You would do anything to escape the basement and stay another night upstairs, in warmth and comfort. Step after step you were slowly climbing up the stairs; your teeth were clenched, your bloodless lips stuck to each other. If Strade wanted you to die he would have just tortured you to death, but he wanted you alive — he gave you enough opportunities to recover after his visits. You just needed to hold out a little longer, and everything would end. 

It smelled nicely with food and your stomach made a loud rumbling, you felt it twisted from hunger. You heard music playing from the other room: calm and slow, with a man's vocal and pleasant melody. Surprisingly, the music made you feel better. Everything seemed to be alive and normal. 

'Here you are, Schatz! Go find a bathroom before going to the kitchen. I won't let you join the table while you look like a pig.' Strade stooped and patted your head. 'You will have to clean the mess you made later.'

'Yes, Strade…' you whispered, then you felt him picking you up on your legs suddenly. Your vision blurred and you immediately felt dizzy, leaned to the nearest wall, trying not to fall down again. 

'Save at least a little human dignity, Schatz, don't crawl here like some disgusting insect.' Strade grinned. 

Strade didn't stay for long: he told you how to find the bathroom and left. Taking a hot shower felt like a blessing, despite another wave of pain that you felt from water and shower gel. While showering you were heeding to hear the music again, to catch at least some noise. You didn't miss a chance to wash your underwear — you weren't sure if Strade had any lingerie. 

'I forgot to give you something, Schatz!' Right after you were thinking about him, Strade showed up in the bathroom without knocking or any warning. 'No need to cover up, I've already seen everything and even more.'

Out of instinct you covered your private parts with your hands, and his caustic remark made you feel sick. Strade gave a look at your body, rating his own work. To your own surprise you had found wounds you didn't know existed before — it seemed he had enough fun while you were blacked out. Scraped knees, deep blue bruises with purple droplets on your thighs and waist, small bruises in a form of his fingers on the inner part of your thighs, almost healed stubs and cuts (still with stitches) on the different parts of your body, cigarette and rope burns on your arms, small cut under your eye — another person wouldn't be able to look at you without tears, but you could swear Strade clicked his tongue in a criticizing manner — he, for sure, needed more to be pleased enough.

'Good, but not perfect,' he shook his head, and you sucked the air sharply at his words. You didn't want to he perfect, not for him. 

'I need to dress up.' You looked away to escape his stare. 

'So what? Go ahead.' Strade arched his brows. 'Oh, I guess the problem. You want some privacy, Schatz?'

You nodded carefully. 'If that's possible.'

'No, it's not!' Strade chuckled. 'I spoiled you, Schatz. You really need a behavior lesson. Why are you caring about privacy so much? Don't you like my company?'

'No! It's not what I meant!' You exclaimed and hurried to get out of the shower and start drying yourself. 'Can I use the towel?'

'Sure.'

Strade kept staring at you, watching your every move carefully. You tried to ignore it, convincing yourself that it was okay, but your heart was pounding heavily and your hands started shaking. You dried yourself and dressed up in a black longsleeve and simple domestic shorts. The clothes were bigger your size and obviously belonged to Strade — it still had the scent of his deodorant.

Your stomach had twisted in pain again and you felt the new wave of fatigue. All these events made you feel a little better but the effect was short and made you feel even worse than before. You covered your mouth with your palm, then yawned, both from sleepiness and lack of fresh cold air.

'Go to the kitchen, Schatz.' Strade smiled slyly. His face was strangely satisfied and a little smile never left his lips. You tensed up, praying for him not to scald or burn you in the kitchen.

You came to the kitchen on your tiptoes (you were afraid to step on the floor with your whole feet as if the sound of your steps could probably piss Strade off), and had seen the table with a plate of soup. Strade passed by you and took a seat, chuckled at your confused look.

'Come here, Schatz. I want a little company for lunch.' Strade pointed his arm on the dog bowl that was staying near his chair. You missed it when you were looking around. 

Did he want you to eat from the bowl? By the joyful expression of his face you understood — yes, he did. Tears filled your eyes, but you did as he told you to: sat on your knees and leaned to the bowl. It was filled with a simple chicken soup and smelled nice, making your stomach grumble loud enough for Strade to hear.

'Thank you…' You appreciated this act of care from his side, but tears dropped from your eyes into the soup. 

'Enjoy your food!' His tone was happy. 

Despite the humiliation and bitter anger in your heart, you started eating, lubberly licking the soup and catching meat and vegetables with your teeth. As a generous master, Strade tossed you a slice of bread, and his jest made you cry silently. It was disgusting, but you swallowed your resentment because you were terrified at the possible punishment for your protest.

You ate everything that was in your bowl, finally warmed up from inside. The result of a good lunch was clear: your body stopped shaking and your face got its delicate blush back. You were looking more vital, almost healthy.

Strade came from his seat and sat down on his knees in front of you. He touched your face, then wiped your mouth with a napkin.

'Gutes Mädchen. Healthy appetite is the key for a fast recovery.' Strade gave you another head pat, ruffling your dump hair. Confused, you freezed at his touch. It was… different. It wasn't a powerful, painful grip, it wasn't a domineering touch, it was something more intimate and gentle, appreciating. You were so thirsty and damaged, you couldn't help but lean to his hand, pressing your head to his palm and closing your eyes to catch this feeling fully. 'You like it when I'm touching you, Schatz, aren't you?' 

'Yes.' You opened your eyes and found him grinning eerily. 

It was the second part of the day, around two in the afternoon, you guessed. The weather was windy and rainy: the light from the window was cold and gray, putting the room into the dark. The sky was covered in heavy leaden clouds that were so thick they took the whole space, leaving a small expanse between the neighborhood and the sky. In this atmosphere Strade's smile had a special, terrifying meaning.

Strade gave you short instructions on what to do next, and you obeyed, immediately did his will. He wanted you to go to his room and rest: you found the master's bedroom easily and came inside, closing the door behind yourself. You hesitated for a moment, not sure if you should lay on the bed, but your tired body decided for you: joint pain, ache of your disturbed wounds and new wave of fever forced you to lay and cover up with the blanket. You didn't even give a quick look at the view in the window to get a better understanding of where you were staying. All the resources of your body were exhausted, and you fell asleep immediately on the soft mattress.

Strade found you sleeping and rolled his eyes in irritation — every time he was leaving you, you fell asleep the moment after. He was patient with this ability of yours only because of your current sickness and the fact that your body probably was fighting an infection by sending you to sleep. Despite the obvious cons, this method had its pros: at least you weren't annoying him with festering wounds and he didn't have to clean it, then cut off contaminated parts of your body after infection progressing, and the smell from you was way better than from others; you didn't die from blood loss or some heart issue, more to say, you were pretty strong and ready to endure everything he would put you through just to prolong your miserable life. What a praiseworthy enthusiasm! Also Strade wasn't as terrible as his victims portrayed him before their death. He was much more patient and merciful than his 'colleagues' and he kept his business clean: Strade had never promised things he wouldn't do, he gave all his victims a recovery period and hospitably fed everyone. He rarely got angry with anyone and had never touched youngsters and animals, had never blackmailed his victims' families with body parts or snuff videos of their darlings, no! Strade was a gentleman, as he used to call himself.

Strade opened the window to let the cold air inside the room, as he preferred chilly temperature inside his house. The moment after he went to bed he felt you pressing your body to his to find more warmth. It was already hot under the blanket, so Strade had just tugged you in it and hugged you with his arm, laughing to himself. You turned out to be a very affectionate and clingy person — and it added special fun to the game. Strade could easily tell that it wouldn't take too long from you to fall in love with him, especially while he would be staying in a good mood.

His unusual behavior that day was motivated by a new good deal with his old acquaintance, a business woman with plenty of rivals she wanted to get rid off. Her requests were an extra side job for Strade. She had never disappointed him: she gave him interesting cases of any complexity and paid well. Sometimes she even asked to make a certain person a new guest in his show for her to enjoy, and Strade couldn't resist her little wish. It wasn't hard for him to torture people for her, so the lady could sleep well for the rest of the next month or two. She was quarrelsome and somewhat hysterical, but it didn't bother Strade at all — he respected her as she did a great job to find him and convince him to work with her. Unlike others, she was an iron lady with a strong character and had enough contacts at the police and the local government to protect her own and Strade's reputation. Strade didn't need her protection, as he had his own connections saved from his previous job, but it was better for him to meet with new people not to make waves on their territory accidentally.

The world was a cruel place and you, little idiot, should be more grateful to him, Strade thought, looking at your calm sleepy face. You were a perfect type of victim: lone, timid, abandoned by her own family, and lived in the bad neighborhood and tended to rent cheap flats with an interesting background. For the landlords you were a dream came true: not a person with stable finances would ever rent a flat in which a murder or a robbery was done. Strade was surprised at how many apartments with a terrible backstory the city had — you were collecting them, Strade guessed. You were lucky to attract the attention of Strade: in your area there was another killer, who was more perverted (even Strade considered him sick) and plus to him, enough kidnappers and murderers were passing through the city in their cars, perfectly equipped for caring a body and getting rid of it somewhere in the woods or on a waste ground. Someone like you could never imagine how deep the web of crime was here: for you, as for every normal citizen, the city seemed to be peaceful, because police didn't know about the biggest part of disappearances.

You shifted in your dream, dropping off the blanket, and Strade felt the hectic warmth radiating from your body. Your breath became heavy and came in broken gasps, your cheeks reddened in an unhealthy way. You were in a fever, and Strade couldn't resist the desire to touch your skin, hot and sweaty. Despite the inner hotness, you were trembling from cold, and your nipples hardened from the temperature difference. It was easily seen through the longsleeve texture, seducing Strade. He could bet, you felt sort of neverending strange agony now, drowned in your torturing delusional slumber with psychedelic dreams worsened by aching pain in your joints, that made you tossing on the bed, trying to find the right position to ease your state. Using you and stuffing you full with his cum would be beyond cruel, and it aroused Strade even more. You looked vulnerable, even inviting, so Strade put your shorts off with a one motion and pulled his half erected cock out. Just pressing the tip against your soft smaller lips felt insanely good and Strade couldn't resist but thrust inside your cunt, bucking his hips into yours. You were too hot inside, almost scorched Strade with this unbearable warmth, like you were in heat actually. It was painful, but amazing, and in this both sadistic and masochistic pleasure Strade wasn't holding back, snapping up into you. Your face twitched in pain, but in this damned ill slumber you couldn't even realize what was real and what was fake. Strade pressed his fingers on the skin of your waist hard, squeezing it until a groan from your lips. You were suffering: he reduced you to nothing but an aching junk, the shell of a human — and it was just the beginning. 

You opened your eyes; your vision blurred, but a figure of Strade pounding into you could be guessed easily. You tried to shift, tensed your lower muscles, but made him feel better than before accidentally, as your spasming cunt hugged his dick tightly, sucking it deeper. Strade let out a moan, wicked smile showed on his lips. You blacked out, encouraging him to go rougher on you. Continuing in a brutal pace, Strade didn't care that you wouldn't be able to walk and sit for a few days after. He released himself inside your body with a low grunt, filling your still untrained cunt to the brim. Strade took out his now softening cock and put your shorts back, then covered you with a blanket again.

Day after day you were recovering slowly, and by the end of the week you finally were alright. You didn't have many things to do, so you were cleaning the house as best as you could in your state. Fortunately Strade liked to turn on the TV and leave for his duties, so you were always listening to a soft noise of it, never really caring about the shows that were running at the moment. You didn't need to understand what was on air  — you needed only a background noise that was calming you and making you feel less lonely here.

The neighborhood was fancy but deserted. It seemed that the biggest half of it just moved out, or, maybe, all of these rich men were having a nice vacation somewhere else. Strade didn't make an impression of someone, who could live in a neighborhood with such an expensive houses, but his house was nice (maybe less pretentious than the others on the street but still very well furnished and comfortable to be inside), making you wonder from where did he get so much money to buy it. You were free to walk everywhere inside, despite just the one room that was constantly locked by the key, which Strade was keeping with himself. You didn't need any adventures, so you weren't showing near it. 

Strade became a little nicer with you — he behaved more tender and didn't torture you for a while. You even started to forget how it feels to be restricted and cut, until you understood that Strade was planning something else for you — he was working at a body shop for the whole day and left it deep at night, ate the dinner made by you and went to sleep. You tried your best to behave, and Strade seemed to be pleased enough: he gave you head pats regularly, could even hug you, when he was in a good mood or had drunk three bottles of cheap beer. You decided to use it to your advantage and asked him to bring you the digital radio and some books from your apartment. Surprisingly, Strade agreed, and the first thing you got was your radio with headphones.

Later he invited you to go downstairs with him. Laughing at tears in your eyes and at your trembling legs, he was following you to the basement, blocking you the way out. Right after you stepped into the basement, Strade locked the heavy door after you and shouted that he would come later. Panicking, you started bumping at the door and pleading Strade to get you out, but he was gone already. 

In between hysterical tapping of your fists at the door you heard a noise downstairs. The noise was similar to a sigh, that changed to scream in a second. It belonged to a young woman — a terrifying shriek that made your heart slow down, before continuing in broken fast pace. You turned your head to her slowly, ignoring all the pleas for help. With your left eye twitching, you looked at her, but it was too dark for you to see and you only recognized the silhouette of her shaking body.

You came down as a shadow, settled in the nearest corner and sat on the floor, pressing your arms to your head. The girl didn't stop screaming, making it hard to ignore her. You wanted to help, you actually wanted to give this idea a try at least, but you knew Strade would come here soon and he would brutally punish you for what you did, so you chose to stay indifferent. You pressed your face to your knees, curling like an upset kid, and hugged your head as if you were protecting yourself. 

Finally the girl got tired from screaming and the basement went into silence. You didn't know how much time left before you heard Strade's steps above you, then the door cracked. You knew he needed to make ten heavy, leisure steps to come down. By habit you were counting them, and finally Strade turned the light on. 

'Doing yoga, buddy?' Strade giggled at your pose, his voice was sounding muffled, so you opened your eyes to see the reason for it. You froze in bewilderment when you noticed a professional camera on a tripod, a laptop on a table, and a tablet. By a miracle, you didn't get stuck in it in the dark, but it wasn't important for you. The most important things were a black mask with a print of the lower part of a human skull and the fact that the girl in front of you had the same type of appearance as you — from head to toes she looked just like you: being rather a sketch of yours, she remembered you as a whole, but after giving her a better look, the difference was clear. As if the whole situation was a homage to your first night with Strade, she was wearing black lingerie of the similar cut as you did. 'Well, sorry for interrupting you, but I need your assistance.'

'What is it?' You pointed on a tripod. 'What's going on?'

'That's a tripod, idiot. Never seen it? 'kay, it's a thing that holds the camera still at a needed level.' Strade turned the laptop on and started to set something up. 'You should stay behind the camera, buddy, and do what I said without delay. Understood?' Strade looked at you, and you nodded. The girl was watching you both with terrified eyes. 

'Strade, what are we going to do?..' Your scare was growing with every second. You almost shouted your words at him. 

'Some kind of dirty job that gives me money to keep you, wastrel.' 

You felt uneasy in your stomach. It was obvious now that Strade's job was hosting red rooms for perverts. You were close to fainting; you actually wanted to faint — just to escape this cruel reality you were forced to stay in.

'Why are you so gloomy, Schatz?' Strade came to you and lowered the mask to his chin. 'You are a big fan of the Neon Demon, I know. Probably, the bitch like you enjoys the scene in the morgue a lot. Wanna repeat it in real life after I finish the show?' Strade caught your chin and squeezed it with his thumb and index finger. 'I would like to see some girl on girl with you.' He put his tongue out and licked your lips, enjoying the way they turned pale from fear. Tracing your lower lip with the tip of his tongue, Strade forcefully pulled your chin down, opening your lips, and spat into your mouth. He whispered: 'Then you can eat her raw and bathe in her blood.'

The girl wanted to cry out, but she only broke into tears. You felt disgusting, so disgusting you wanted to kill yourself right now, disfigure your whole body to something gruesome and ugly like everything around you. Without any other preparations, the stream started.

It was going for thirty minutes already, and she didn't stop screaming even for a second. You didn't ask for more — just a fucking second of silence, without guttural screeching that was similar to the one that came from a slaughtered pigs on a butchery. Everything you could see was blood, so much blood you couldn't even imagine how you would clean it after. You were sitting on a chair in some kind of delusion. Every Strade's action you felt on yourself. Every shriek of this poor girl was yours, every knife, nail, chisel and blade she got, you took with her. 

'Hey, buddy,' Strade held out his hand, waiting for a new tool. 'Choose something for me. I trust your taste.'

You looked at all the tools in front of you and started shaking, feeling an urge to throw up. You just ran away as fast as you could without looking back. You barely made it to the toilet and almost had time to fall on your knees, before puking everything you ate. The red mash that still resembled human features was in your mind, torturing you worse than anything else.

Choose something for me…

You hardly stopped yourself from coughing, but Strade's words in your mind made you puke again and again, until there was only saliva and bile left in the vomit. Your forearms and thighs were itching badly, but you were breathless and tried to gasp for fresh air — the smell of the cleaning agent from the toilet was irritating your nostrils, making you feel nauseous again. He wanted you to kill her. He wanted you to participate in his vile plan but you escaped. Maybe you would better take something deadly to end her suffering… You finally touched your limbs with nails and started scratching it until blood, then moved to your face.

You needed to distract yourself, had to do something to forget about it, so you washed your mouth then started cleaning the toilet, but it wasn't enough. You were cleaning everything that was caught by your eyes. You needed a noise, something to talk in the background. You turned on the TV, found your radio, turned it on too and put earphones on your head, and continued what you were doing. Your hands were burning from chemicals, the skin became red and you felt as if it was melting — you didn't bother putting on a pair of protective gloves. 

'You are so fucking pathetic.'

You jumped from the surprise when your earphones had fallen down by a punch of Strade's palm, and his voice roared behind your back. When you wanted to turn around, you got punched in your face. You fell on the floor, pressing your arms to your bleeding nose. Strade kept beating you. His fists were tight and strong. Covering your body with blue bruises, he was punishing you for cowardice and disobedience. 

'When I give you an order,' Strade squatted and grabbed you by your hair. 'You behave.' He shook your head forcefully. 'Have problems with making a choice, buddy? I'll show you how you make it.'

Strade kept his fist tugged in your hair and dragged you on the floor back to the basement. You were screaming and shouting, trying to break out his iron grip: for the first time ever scratching his hand with your nails, grabbing the edges of furniture to slow him down. After he pushed you through the stairs you got on your knees and jostled him to make it upstairs. Strade kicked your ankle making you fall on your knees and left a smack on your cheek. The dead girl was lying here, so you grabbed him by his waist, piled on him with your weight to make Strade go down to your level. Your gaze caught what was left from the girl: her head was deformed, there were her teeth and fragments of her skull bones laying on the ground; one of her eyes was leaking, her throat was sliced wide open. You were terrified that the same fate was waiting for you.

He wanted to press his boot to your head, but you managed to dodge it. Drove by adrenaline, you attempted to hit him in his face, but Strade caught your hand and wrung it behind your back so hard your bones cracked. The brawl had ended. Strade started laughing manic and mocking; a kick under your knees, and you fell down. He made you turn on your back and sat on your hips. You pressed your damaged hand to your chest, your face twisted in pain. You were whimpering. You opened your eyes to see him; Strade was looking right in your face, greening wide. He spat in your face, giggling at your humiliated state.

'Someone likes to play dangerous games,' Strade pressed the knife to your neck. 'Hey, Schatz. Look at your colleague. She was beautiful, wasn't she? My followers had so much fun with her today. Wanna take her place next time? Buddies are dying to see me destroying the holes of some bitch before pulling her guts out.'

You kept silent. 

'I'm sorry…' it was all you could say. You felt indifferent. Maybe it was some kind of psychological protection, but suddenly all your feelings had disappeared. There was only pain left.

'No, you aren't.' From Strade's lips it sounded like a sentence. 'What's wrong with you today? I don't even want to punish you physically when you are so fucking lifeless.'

Strade was upset with you, but there was something tricky in the intonation of his voice. 'Get up, Schatz. Go and do whatever you were doing.'

The flame of hope lit on your face and Strade had roughly broken it by stabbing your shoulder. For the next hour or two he was forcing you to choose the tool he would torment you with. The dead girl was watching everything with her open dry eyes, and at the end of the lesson Strade had left you with her in the basement for the night.

A week after Strade got your books. With it, he brought your cosmetic bag and your lotions. Strade told you he liked you better with black eyeshadow on your eyes and reddish lips, so you had to put makeup on every morning and keep it until night. Every time you opened your bag, Strade appeared near you and watched your every move, observing how your face was changing depending on the shape of eyeshadow and depths of the color. Right after you put your lipstick on, Strade took your face by your chin and lifted it, making you look in his eyes. Usually, you were sitting on a chair, and he was standing above you, biting his own lip. The deep red color on your mouth looked like blood and kept Strade excited. He pressed his thumb to your lower lip, pulling it down and revealing your teeth, then showed it into your mouth, pressing on your tongue and encouraging you to show it. Starting from sucking on his fingers, you were preparing yourself for another blow job that would leave your throat aching and bruised. Strade didn't like to be teased, and it killed all the intimate moods that you got sometimes. Instead of slow and sensual foreplay he preferred rough and fast, almost animalistic fucking without any care for your pleasure. You didn't even need to try to imitate interest in the process: Strade just grabbed your hair and started pounding inside your mouth, pulling his dick down your throat until your nose met the bush of his hard pubic hair. He let you go right after he came and seemed to forget easily about what had just happened.

It was a miracle to catch him in a mood for non violent sex. It turned out he had a normal sexual interest in women in addition to his routine fetishes, and he could offer you almost a healthy experience. You hated yourself in moments like this: you were clinging to him like a dog, asking for attention and caress, and he gave you them before turning back into a monster. 

You hated yourself for screaming from pleasure and squirming for him, when Strade's tongue slid inside your cunt, while he was eating you out from behind, just to come even further and tickle your virgin asshole. Strade got even harder himself when he was pressing his lips to your other hole in a lewd kiss, and your tight muscles clenched around the tip of his tongue. Vibrations of your voice and trembling in your lips and jaws around his length sent him shivers — sixty-nine was Strade's favorite pose in sex, because it let the both of you be busy with working for each other's pleasure at the same time. Before sucking him fully, you traced your tongue along his length, giving more attention to the tip, kissing it and sucking on it in a teasing manner with your rapid and heated breaths, wetness and softness of your mouth sliding around his dick gradually and sucking in extra foreskin, while pumping him with your warm palm. After sixty-nine followed missionary: nothing busted Strade's lecherous nature more, than your submission. Strade felt unlimited power and control over your body, eagerly letting you cum if you begged him enough. It felt so strange to release from his cock thrusting into you brutally, your soft flesh took him too well for you to be ashamed of. Your body needed him more than your soul, the sexual tension between the both of you was too strong to resist. Even when he was raping you, you managed to find the way to enjoy yourself. 

For a while, everything was peaceful. Strade and you became closer: you spent most of the day chatting, he seemed to be more affectionate and gentle, but with it he started to take his anger out on you easily, could throw something in you — you had already got a cup, a magazine and pliers in your head. It was funny for him to cut you with a knife out of blue just to see your scared face. Your body got numerous scars; every time you looked at it in the mirror, you started crying.

Strade liked to tell you stories. He told you he was working as a security chief in a mental hospital, but was fired for abuse of authority. He told you, how this hospital was performing experiment on patients, how staff was raping them and how them were raping, murdering and fighting each other. How innocent people were sent here and had never come back, how many powerful connections all the directors had. Strade told you how many criminals were sent here, how they shared with him their dirty thoughts and deeds, how much they enjoyed everything they had done. Strade told you about all the forums where disgusting videos of humiliation, cannibalism, murdering, sexual violence, drugs and weapon making were posted. Strade showed you all the information about you on the internet that you didn't even know existed, and it made you terrified at the thought that someone could actually stalk you through it. Strade loved telling you about freaks who were seeking for their victims online and how they made their way from searching for information to actually killing the person — and he enjoyed combining it with pounding into your cunt, as it tightened around him painfully every time he started this topic.

Strade trained you to be grateful. He made you think that he was the only one who could protect you, that without him someone would assault you immediately, because for perverts and madmen you were a tidbit. By some subtle process he managed to imbue you the idea of your exclusivity. Everyone would want to own you, that's why you should be extra careful. Strade shared with you how other kidnappers were treating their victims, and you actually believed that Strade was the best. 

Whenever Strade didn't talk to you, you were listening to the radio. It was much easier to cope with your thoughts and compulsions while listening to the calming voice of a narrator or to music. You were falling in love with him, and you didn't like it. It was hard to fight your own feelings: you wanted to hug him, kiss him every second of your miserable life. The fact that your existence depended on his mercy started to thrill you in a good way: he had everything he wanted because there were no rules and no morals for him. 

With the leftovers of your sanity, you tried to find the reason why no one was searching for you. Strade liked to watch news reports every evening while seeping a beer, and you were watching it with him, dreaming of seeing your face on a channel, but it was never shown. Your sudden disappearance wasn't a surprise for your circle, as you didn't have anyone who really cared about you. Everyone you had known was expecting you to disappear one day because of your mental distress, and they were sure you would show up later, so they didn't bother themselves with your problems. Everyone around you was so busy with themselves that they even ignored the fact that everything you had left in the rented apartment was sold and that you were dismissed from the college for absenteeism.

You didn't notice how you explained everything to Strade about the conflict in your family. You opened your heart for him: you told him that your mother mistreated you since childhood and made up for her attitude with money. She had a habit of giving inappropriate reactions to the simplest things: today she reacted to it calmly, but the week after the same situation made her furious. You had to be grateful to have clothes, food, water, and a roof above your head. You needed to be quiet, and she raised you as an obedient girl: she hated you for bringing her troubles of any sort, so since childhood, you had to solve everything yourself. When you became older, she was jealous of you to your father: she had seen you as a harlot and thought that you were seducing her husband. She was just seeking a reason to kick you out of the house — and she found it. As for your father, he was henpecked, so he didn't really care about what was happening. You told Strade how you were bouncing from one messed-up apartment to another, about your disappointing first love, your unhealthy obsession with book collecting, and everything else. You even shared with him how badly your heart ached because no one was searching for you, your disappearance went unnoticed by everyone, even the renter didn't do at least something to know what had happened to you. And Strade was the first one to comfort you.

How wrong it felt to get compassion from your tormentor, but you took it gladly and with gratitude. Even if it was fake, you were ready to believe his lie until he was treating you as his best victim. He was the only one who really cared about you. You liked to be unique for him: when he was hammering a nail in your arm, stabbing you with a screwdriver, burning a cigarette off of your skin, or breaking your legs, you felt loved. When Strade made a deep cut on your shoulder and pressed his lips to it, sucking your blood from a fresh wound, circling its edges and penetrating it with his tongue, you felt appreciated. When he locked the shock collar on your neck and pressed the button every time you misbehaved, you felt cherished. With your forearms looking like raw meat because of all the cuts you left while itching, you experienced a blessing.

In this house, you felt like home.

#boyfriend to death #boyfriend to death strade #strade x reader #btd strade #btd #boyfriend to death 2

[the-journey-was-the-point]

Two Elves

Wrote a bunch of fics for my OC's and figured that this one was the best to post first since it gives a brief overview of the plot and characters!

Summary: A dissatisfied Tauriel ponders on her soon-to-be traveling companions. Or, the one where Tauriel mentally roasts my OC's then picks a fight with one of them.

----

Tauriel huffed, stacking another crate. Currently she, along with her soon-to-be traveling companions, were loading up supplies for their journey. 

She had to admit, Kíli was right. She truly was in low spirits ever since her banishment from the Woodland realm– her home she had lived in all her life. Sure, the now-residents of Dale welcomed her, and she appreciated every effort Kíli made to keep her loneliness at bay, but she was a wood elf and there was nothing like her home.

A home she could never return to thanks to its arrogant king. 

Even if she were allowed back, Tauriel decided, she couldn’t live there anymore and return to the king’s services, not after everything that happened between them. So she was angry and despondent and when Kili invited her on their small quest, suggesting being away for a while would do her some good, she had to agree. 

She was invited to a small, private, meeting with King Thorin, where Fíli, who would be leading their expedition, presented to him his intended companions for the journey. Tauriel entered with an open mind and left… feeling there was much to be desired.

First there was Calarphain, an elf from Lothlórien who apprenticed under Lady Galadriel. He would have been a great asset with his powerful magic, if he weren’t so sheltered. It was apparent from just one meeting with him that he had never seen battle, and despite his powers, Tauriel definitely considered him a civilian. Still, she was willing to make up the difference.

Then there was Linnéa, the apothecary from Laketown. She seemed unassuming and Tauriel wouldn’t have suspected anything… if she didn’t already know from Kíli that Linnéa was in fact a spy for Mirkwood who was just as skilled in making poison as she was with medicine. Apparently, Linnéa had already drugged and kidnapped Fíli once before, so his decision to include her in their quest was bewildering to say the least. Still, she could watch out for the snake in the grass. Really, the true subject of her ire right now was– 

“Blackberry ale! It’s not as strong as Dorwinion wine, but it can take you out if you drink enough.”

Callonduin. The elven warrior from Rivendell had stopped for a moment to chat with some dwarves about his escapades in the many taverns of Bree-land. He was sociable and easily charmed the dwarves with his fun-loving attitude. Tauriel also heard from several sources that Callonduin had great skill in battle with his glaive. 

However, as their aforementioned meeting revealed, this supposedly promising warrior, who was also Calarphain’s twin brother, was an untrustworthy, unreliable, mess. Tauriel learned during their meeting of his history of shirking his duties for a drunken night out, and of his reckless behavior in battle. Apparently, Callonduin had lied to his father about his whereabouts for the past few months, and even after promising him to return home, decided to continue his aimless wandering. It was easy to see in just one meeting that Callonduin was hedonistic, unprincipled, and had little regard for authority. 

It was bad enough she couldn’t rely on two of their companions, they wouldn’t be able to help Fíli and Kíli if they needed aid while she was occupied in battle. Callonduin would have been great to have along if not for his attitude, and Tauriel resented him for it. He was a trained elven warrior, just like her. So where was the discipline? The integrity? 

“I had a few pints one night, it was sweet so I just kept going. By the time we went on patrol, everything was fuzzy!” 

THUMP! Tauriel winced slightly at how hard she set the crate down. She was aggravated from listening to Callonduin recount his errant behavior to the dwarves. 

“You can bet I had a few bottles stashed away by the time I left Rivendell.”

“You mean deserted.” The words tumbled out of Tauriel’s mouth before she could help it. The group of dwarves immediately stopped their chattering and stared at her. Callonduin slowly turned to face her.

“You said you left,” she continued, “when you really abandoned your duties without leave and deserted.” 

Callonduin licked his lips for a moment before smiling, a wry, smug thing. “The elves of the Greenwood told me about you.” Tauriel faltered slightly at the mention of her people. “They said you were banished for defying the King’s orders. So, insubordination?” 

Tauriel dropped her load and strode towards the other Elf. “The King was willing to abandon other lands to darkness, I refused to let that happen!” she snapped. “I left to save lives. You left for no other reason than for your own enjoyment. Do not suggest that we are similar.” 

“Yet here we both are, with nowhere else to go, about to set out on a journey we have nothing to do with.” Then Callonduin huffed out a quick laugh and muttered,  “Your people probably think you’ve lost your mind.” 

At that, Tauriel’s hands twitched towards her blades, but she managed to stop herself in time. Callonduin though, noticed. His eyes lit up and his smirk grew into a wide grin. 

“Want to fight?” He stepped closer. There was a note of excitement in his voice. “Want to give these dwarves a show?” he said louder, enough for the surrounding dwarves to turn their heads. “Who will win?  The Rivendell misfit or the Mirkwood pariah!” 

At that moment, Fíli and Kíli rushed in to diffuse the situation. The pair quickly separated the two elves and dispersed the crowd. Kíli spoke comforting words to Tauriel. Tauriel did her best to simmer down. 

She spared a glance at Callonduin, who was now clapping Fíli’s shoulder and laughing. She shook her head and promised Kili that, yes, she wouldn’t pick a fight with him again. He told her he was concerned for her but she reassured him that she was fine and still intended to go on their journey. 

She already said she would, and she intended to keep her word. Clearly, Callonduin couldn’t be relied on to protect her friends, so she would have to.

#the hobbit #the hobbit oc's #tolkien oc's #tauriel #oc stuff #Callonduin (oc) #other oc's also mentioned lol #(grunkle stan voice) FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT #edited from first version #fics #my writing

[taanoir]

After a lot of crying, Nicole decided to head to the club.

She got dressed and took a cab downtown.

She spent her night dancing.

And drowning her hurt with juice.

She was feeling a bit more sociable after a few drinks.

She stayed on the dance floor until they brought up the house lights.

Nicole made her way home around 3 AM, the lights were still on.

Uncle Milo was still in the living room waiting for her.

She had a seat on the couch, her face stoic, she knew the lecture was coming. Milo cleared his throat and asked what happened, she knew better than to be out this late. Her face crumbled, "He broke up with me, he's moving to Henford and he's leaving me." The tears streamed down her cheeks.

Milo started over to sit with her but Nicole got up to walk out, she was angry and embarrassed. Milo stepped in her path, he needed to talk with her, he didn't want her going to bed like this. "I'm sorry sweetie. Break ups happen, and they suck. Blake is a nice kid, but he doesn't have any control over where his Mom moves them. Just like you he's still in school and not able to support himself."

Tears still streamed down her face, "It's not just Blake, I know he has to go with his Mom. Everyone leaves, every time I get close to someone they move away."

Gene sighed, this wasn't about Blake. "Your parents, had problems, that wasn't your fault. You didn't cause it, it wasn't because of you. Your Mom is doing what she thinks is best for you, she doesn't want to pull you out of school, or away from your friends. You'd be in the same situation as Blake. You're an amazing young lady, no one is leaving 'you'."

He cleared his throat and added "Your Uncle Gene and I have been here since day one and we're not going anywhere. We will always be here for you. If you want to move in with your mom, we'll be ok with that, we won't be mad. We all want the best for you, that's it."

Nicole softened, "Thank you Uncle Milo, I needed to hear that. I don't want to move in with her, she's right, my life is here. I want to be here with you, Uncle Gene, Tiffany and Jennifer. I just feel like I'm not enough sometimes".

Milo contemplated for a moment, "You are absolutely enough, don't let anyone tell you otherwise, including yourself. Things will get better, you're almost done with high school. There are so many amazing things to see and do. There's also a whole world of people out there to meet. You could go to college, travel, or not, your future is whatever you make of it. No matter what you're still going to be loved here."

Nicole smiled softly, the tears had slowed to a trickle, "Thank you." Milo returned her smile, "You're welcome sweetie, and speaking of school, you should get a nap before you have to go".

After Nicole went up, Milo sat and though about the exchange. Maybe Gene was right, maybe she does need to know. He still had no idea how to start that conversation.

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