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mooishbeam · 7 months

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『♡』 Treasures of the Fraud

♡ featuring: pantalone x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been forever since you've seen your friend, and as the hero of liyue, a new interruption has arisen. you pursue it, only to find memories awaiting you. wc: 9.1k+ (D:)

♡ cw/tw: long lonnggg fic, obsession, mentions of murder, mention of suicide, mentions of blood, manipulation, toxic pantalone, mean pantalone, possessive, spanking, degradation, mild praise, fingering, thigh riding, missionary, overstim, begging, edging, comeshot, pet names (darling, slut)

notes: helloooo!! ive been slow to get stuff out college is kicking my ass rn so sorry. not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes. I can't wait to have more time :) art by yion_yi on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

12 years ago

“Come get me!”

The boy with inky curls spiraling down his back dips through trees, ducking under low hanging branches embellished with vibrant autumn foliage. Messy blends of pink and purple melt across the slowly bleeding sun carried into the night. His silhouette resembles that of a malevolent spirit peeking behind the boughs, leaping over tangled twigs and shallow ditches. His excited screeches signal you to chase after the leading direction. You’re both screaming and laughing down the undoubtedly dangerous shortcuts. If your mother knew about the adventurous risks you were taking at 13, you’d never leave the house again. Tag is a troubling game—despite the thousands of times you’ve played with him, you regularly end up being “it”. You don’t care about losing, though; having someone to call a friend is enough.

You turn into a clearing with columns of trees overseeing your small presence, hundreds of them. The colder night is rising, not a celestial body to shield. In this deep blue void, the leaves seem to be aggrieved at your interruption of some secret meeting, angry and smiling faces crumpling in the whispering wind. You spin around frantically, looking for signs or laughter, but neither reveal themself. It’s quiet besides the downy linger of grass. Your shoulders are snatched back and shaken to a rattling shock. You scream, and he laughs.

“Rahhh! Did I get you?” he jests. Your eyebrows narrow, and you push him lightly to a stumble.

“You scared me!”

“Hah, that’s the point. C’mon, it’s late. Let’s go.” He's scared too, swiftly grabbing your hand as you both brave the darkness back to the village.

“We should’ve been home a while ago” you say quietly. You feel the chill in your bones and press yourself closer to him.

“Yea.” He holds your hand tighter at the sound of a small rock bouncing down a steep hill.

“I had fun today. Let’s do this again tomorrow.”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m moving in the morning” he states. It was nonchalant, but your stomach turns a churning sickness. One you can’t understand yet, it makes you uneasy.

“Oh. Okay, then.” It isn't okay, not in the slightest. But it had to be. Your best friend of 8 years looks at you, aiming to register the gravity of the situation. You both say nothing, but tears start to brim in your eyes in the silence. You wipe them with your arm.

“Will you miss me?” he asks.

“A lot.”

“I’ll miss you too. Lots and lots.” He sways your interlocking hands. You pass by vacant homes tattered and aged by abandonment, overgrown with invading ivy. Homeless reside, caring each other to warmth from the freezing draft. You were lucky to have a home in this little forgotten sector of Liyue. It's a small, unfortunate room, with holes in the roof that drips when it rains and bags over the windows to keep the heat in. The stove never works, and you share a bed with your mother, but every birthday she makes sure to save just enough for a slice of cake with one candle. There isn’t more you could ask for. Everyone in the village suffered from poverty but they made it work, sharing crops and dairy to persevere until the next year. That’s how you met him, sitting on a rock as your mother collected rations. You perform two pebbles in your hands, mumbling sea shanties while imagining voyage on a grueling journey—he sat next to you.

“Those aren’t dolls. They’re rocks.”

“You’re a rock” you retorted.

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you want to be a rock?”

“...That’d be kinda cool.” You gave him a pile of pebbles, and he joined the trip.

You’re getting closer to the village, still processing who you’ll play with once he’s gone. You glance at him, he’s spaced out in a faraway stare. You crave the power to read minds.

“Can we talk about something? I’m getting sad” you sniffle.

“What should be talk about?”

“What are you going to do after you move?”

“I’m gonna be super rich” he assures, looking up at the starless sky as if a meteor would shoot across and grant his wish. “What about you?”

“I’m going to save the world” you proclaim.

“Cool. I hope you do.”

“Me too.”

You arrive at your makeshift door drawn together with scraps of wood and twisted rope for hinges. A dim candle glimmers inside, most likely your vexed mother waiting for your tardily return. He makes space for your entry, and you undo your hands for the last time. Before you go, he snatches your wrist. His eyes are foggy, cheeks an anxious tinge of pink. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, but the strings in his heart are tense. His mouth shapes to say something, but nothing returns.

“Yeah?”

“...I... I’ll really miss you a lot” he whispers with a lump in his throat.

“Then don’t forget me, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?” you say and raise your pinky towards him. He curls around it. “I promise.”

“Good. By the way, you’re it now.”

“I’ll get you back when I see you again!” he chuckles. You bid your goodbyes, unaware that it would mark the unforeseen conclusion.

Leaves crunch under your feet as you make your leisurely traverse to Liyue Harbor. It’s just before sunrise and you finished helping the elderly in Qingce Village carry copious amounts of heavy produce to their homes. The thankful candies from seniors' jingle in your pocket as you stretch your weary arms. Your mom offered to cook, but you're determined to locate the best commissions Katheryne had before afternoon. “Maybe I’ll pick up some rice buns” you think out loud at the rumble of your growing appetite. You still had a long way to go before you got to the harbor.

This was your new normal. After your thundering battle with Ningguang and Keqing against Osial, you became an example of Liyue’s triumph. You also became more aware of Fatui tactics, wiping out their swarms with the raging fury of your pneuma and swinging vision. Days of grueling bloodshed resulted in your victory, cementing you as the lionheart of Liyue. Beat up and bruised, the only request you made after your fight was a hot meal and a place for your mom to retire. They delivered both, and you used your recent hero status to provide help to the villagers where needed, be it casual favors or ruthless assault on Fatui agents. You were neither rich nor poor, and lived off the land and kindness of the Liyue Qixing. They often suggested you focus on less mundane tasks, but to you, the most vulnerable age groups warranted priority. There was something about the lighthearted innocent squeals of children and mellow grandparents rocking in their wooden chairs that made you protective to an almost volatile extent.

Bustling interactions of trade and commerce carry through the wind as you enter the harbor—a sound that’s brought you peace for years. The smell of food vendors has you drooling instantly. As you devour the complimentary rice bun, you feel the yank of a little hand on your skirt. You look down and a boy with brown hair searches for familiarity in your face. You recognize him, babysitting him numerous times. You kneel and pat his head, but he doesn’t react or move.

“Hey, what’s up? Where are your parents?” you question, briefly scanning your immediate area for his family. He’s hesitant to speak, as if he can’t find the panicked words, and rushes into your arms. You hug him instinctively and let him sniffle into your shoulder. You pick him up in your grasp and raise his head with your other hand so that he’ll hopefully be open to your compassion.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” The boy wipes his chubby tomato-red face. “Grandma is on the floor, what do I do?” You quell your rising nerves to suppress his alarm and speak calmly.

“Where is she?”

Speed walking towards the destination, the commotion of a small crowd surrounds a kneeling woman in the distance. She’s on her sun-spotted hands and knees, wailing for some bygone Archon. “Grandma!” he yells and jumps out of your arms. You run after him, relieved that the worst case scenario hadn’t occurred. You push through the group and get eye level with her, forehead pressed to the ground spouting religious scripture.

“Are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Wise sunken eyes wrinkled with age and torn by tragedy stick to your heart. Her feeble hands encapsulate yours, and tears stream down her cheeks. “They took my baby!” she rasps, rocking back and forth. “Who did?” you ask, and she weeps harder. “They took her memory...my baby, my daughter!” You support her weight and lift her hunched figure off the pavement. “What did they look like, ma’am?”

“A black hood...red mask” she recalls shakily. Instantly miscellaneous chatter ensues. They whisper nervously in each other's ears, he who shall not be named steals their voices. “Fatui probably got ‘er” you hear the mumble of one. Fatui. Your blood boils at the word, and you direct your view to the shrinking man with hands in his pockets. “‘He’ got all of us” he scoffs. “Did they hurt you guys, too?” you ask, and they stare. They’re pained but accepting.

“500,000 mora.”

“194,000 for me.”

They list off their debt one by one, and you’re horrified at the accumulating number. They seem to endure, however; no longer phased by the incurable tally haunting their lives. “H-how are you paying any of this?”

“We can’t. It adds up. Interest, late payments, it always does. So, we give everything, and ‘he’ takes everything, until we have nothing left. We die poor without a possession to our name” a woman sighs. As a child, you heard of the loan sharks that purposely fed false promises to the poor, and once they were reeled in, charged insurmountable payments to blackmail—it was the origin story of most people in your birthplace. Your soul aches for them, but is there anything you can do?

“...I’ll help you, all of you. I’m sure I can-”

Ningguang arrives. She's a nurturing figure to you, the kind that asks if you’ve been eating well and politely scolds you. “What happened?” You lead the tired elder to the Jade Chamber, and she tells her story through choked sobs. You didn’t expect Keqing to already be there, arms folded and turned away from the situation. Ningguang can barely glance at the woman.

“They stormed my home and took my jewelry and belongings. They took the pendant my daughter gave me; it had her face in it. Archons give me strength, my baby! I can’t afford it; I have nothing!” she quakes. You rub her back and Ningguang nods, listening—you can’t help but notice the anxiety blooming on her abstracted face. They take her through the process and once she leaves, Ningguang and Keqing look at each other with a silent understanding. The room is eerily quiet, and Ningguang paces back and forth in front of the intel wall contemplating an uncertain danger. You fumble with your thumbs.

“What are we going to do about this?” you wonder. Keqing clears her throat loudly, attracting the attention of Ningguang. She looks at you, and sighs deeply. “We already know about this issue.”

Your ears perk up. “Great, so how can I help?”

“By doing nothing, (Y/N)” Keqing says.

“...What?”

“I have eyes everywhere; I’ve known for a long time. The Fatui are not people to be taken lightly, especially the harbingers. A few of their skirmishers were caught trading exotic goods and taxing medicine at high prices, on top of extorting the impoverished regions.” Ningguang points to one of the many Fatui exclusive headquarters on the wall. “Pantalone is the richest man in Teyvat, he has more political influence than anyone can imagine, and they answer to him. We can’t risk getting involved with this. They’ve brought this upon themselves, and unfortunately, they must deal with the consequences.”

You can’t accept this response. How can they just desert them? It doesn’t comprehend in your naïvity—you scold yourself for not spotting the signs sooner, furrowing your brows and looking at them with distaste. “I expected this. You shouldn’t have said anything” Keqing chides. “...Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped before-”

“You’re the last person I wanted to know about this” Ningguang interrupts. Your anger feels misplaced, and you bite your lip in restraint. She sits next to you and offers fleeting comfort with a graceful hand on yours. “You’re quite the reactionary type. In due time, this will be sorted. But right now, I need you to calm down, and trust me.” It sounds desperate, you know you shouldn’t go looking for answers, but a snagging thread pulls at the back of your consciousness, all too convincing. You bounce your leg. “You should want revenge just as much as me. Where we came from, where they end up, it isn’t fair.”

“You know I do, more than anything. But we must handle this with care, before too many people get hurt. I’m doing this for the betterment of Liyue as a whole. It’s not easy to make these decisions.”

“We can’t just go around serving justice, there’s laws we have to act with” Keqing adds. You don’t reply and stand up abruptly to leave. The worried Tianquan grabs your wrist one last time. “Promise me you won’t make a mistake, (Y/N). I’m trying to protect you” she pleads.

“I promise. Thank you.” You flash a half genuine smile, already planning to rebel against her wishes.

Who exactly is ‘he’—Pantalone. You don’t even know where to start looking. Too many headquarters, infinite possibilities. The best way you have to find him is through Fatui agents.

You start taking up odd jobs late in the evening, scouring for the possibility that a fatui agent might fall into your hands. Though you considered playing the part of an impoverished villager taking out a loan at Northland Bank, it didn’t guarantee that you’d meet Pantalone in the flesh—it’s more likely that would raise unnecessary suspicion in the process. It’s awkward at first, seeing the hero of Liyue fish on the dock for petty change throughout the night. As you do, the malicious fire in your eyes burns bright at the occasional voice in chill silence. Your vision glows as you toss the hunting knife between your nimble digits. Listening closely to conversations, hoping that one might be unguarded enough to slip up, but nothing of the sort appears—not even the boldness of Fatui skirmishers enables them to divulge secrets under the baleful existence of Celestia.

The moon illuminates sweetly on the tranquil waters lulling you to drowse. You hadn’t heard much since the start of your escapade. A fishing pole is weak in your resistless hold, and you’ve evidently given up on the idea of portraying the hardworking fisherman tonight. You vowed to help the people of Liyue, but justice was seemingly unfeasible. Maybe a direct approach? Should I ambush their headquarters? More so a suicide mission, you’d have no luck achieving that. Just as you’re about to leave, the crunch of withering grass straightens your posture. You make yourself hidden with a burst of energy and slouch behind the bushes as a Fatui pyro agent charges along the route. Through the glutted leaves obstructing your vision, you can just make out the heavy bag on his shoulder and jagged blade waiting restlessly on the other. His stride points towards Qingce Village. You hold your breath disguising yourself with the scenery and allow him to take a few feet between you before you begin following him. He’s rather shifty, those veiled eyes darting back and forth at the lightest noise. You’re careful to glide behind trees, moving with the heartbeat of the wind and taking advantage of the various melody's nature offers. You suck in a breath and duck behind a boulder a few inches too close, and his head snaps in your direction. The feeling of being watched besets him, but with no way to prove it and time running out, he secures his knife for the hypothetical ambush, and makes haste towards the target. Turning a tree, you watch as the pyro wielder knocks on the house of a small worn cottage. A short stocky man appears, shading half his body behind the door.

“H-hello...” you hear faintly. The Fatui keeps his hand firm on the door, one boot propped under the hinge. He presents the flaming knife loosely as he towers over the man. “We’ve given you time.” You were sure now that he's working for Pantalone.

“I don’t have it. P-please, if you could just give me some more-” He slams his fist against the wood, a resounding thump shakes the home. The man cowers. “Give me everything you have. The Regrator won’t wait any long-”

A small rock flies past his mask, skidding on the ground until it comes to a stop. He glares in the direction of the tree you’re hiding behind. You have no plan, nothing but the distracting impulse to stop the assailant from attacking. “Stay here” he commands, and stalks towards you. His slow footsteps get increasingly louder, playful stomps toying with your obvious whereabouts. He twirls the razor-sharp knife, and as he sharply peeks around the corner, you’re nowhere to be found. “Here, kitty kitty” he taunts, spinning towards the lake, then the village grounds for footprints. He severs the air aimlessly in mirth, believing some amateur fighter came to challenge him. As he monitors the tracks under you, you drop down from the wiry branches. Legs wrap tight around his neck, and you catch hold of his hood trying to pull his mask off. He gags but he’s too quick, throwing off your steadiness as he slams your spine on the grass. He whips around to take a stab at your chest, but you roll away guarding the vital arteries. You kick him in the crotch, and he recoils giving you ample time to stand.

You can’t feel the wet laceration dripping down your abdomen as you take a slash at his throat with your weapon, infused with elemental energy. He leans back and meets your strike. You trade blows, the strength of your smite bursting sparks of light above the scratches and bruises. Your wrist burns with the unmoving knives stumbling you. He begins to manifest blazing knives circling his figure, and you jump back from the singing cut melting the cloth. You wipe the dried blood from your mouth, and in the blink of an eye, he disappears. Suddenly, red auras similar to the pyro agent surround you. One by one, the clones charge at you, and you parry their overhead onslaught. Something is different about the last clone, your vision revealing a brighter outline than the others. When the next clone attacks, as you counter you pretend to fall for his trick. With your eyes on the other, he immediately passes through the black fog to deal the killing blow. You’re quicker this time and heave a heavy tear into his chest. Crimson splatters the grass, it shatters his element and rips open the robe. You tackle him on the dirt and wrestle until you kick his weapon away. Your knee digs into his back, and he can barely breathe with his arm locked behind him and knife rigid against his neck. He ttempts to swing at you, but you wrench his arm tighter and slice into his skin just enough to draw blood.

“Fuck. Okay!” he wheezes. “Where is Pantalone?”

“I don’t know what you’re- shit!” You’ve lost patience long ago and twist his arm to dislocate the shoulder. He lets out a blood curdling scream thrashing in pain—you tug hard and focus him. “Shut up and answer my question. Where is Pantalone?” you demand. He hisses in pain and coughs up phlegm mixing with reddening soil. “Kill me.”

“Just tell me and I’ll let you go.”

“I’m a dead man, either way.” he rasps and hangs his head waiting for the execution. You grit your teeth; a drop of guilt leaves a bad taste as you thwack the pressure point on his neck that forces him unconscious. You glance at the bag he left and limp over to rummage through the contents. Useless papers crumple under stolen items, but one note catches your eye. Presumably a to-do list, you read to the bottom. A list of homes, goods on standby exchanges—at the bottom of those, a rendezvous point:

Report back- Yilong Bank, Liyue

You rest in a plot of prickly bushes and leave in the morning after patching yourself up. You couldn’t stop now, not when you were this close to facing him. You soothe your body from the twigs prodding you all night, and check the wound suppressed by gauze. It’s a light scar now, apparent after bathing in the warm water on the outskirts of Qingce. You contemplated telling Ningguang about what occurred, but imagining the look on her face once she knew kept you moving.

Tucking your vision where it can’t be viewed, you take a waverider to Yilong Port into the afternoon. You concoct a half-baked scheme, one that relies on every scenario being perfect to a tee. Unreliable, but probably your only chance. The plan amounts to scaling the building and breaking in through the office window, snatching everything owned by the villagers and breaking out before anyone notices. Easy in your capabilities, but you have no idea what the building looks like, nor do you know where the office is. The man driving wears all black, an outfit that stands out from the rest of the region. He stares at you blankly, and once you’re aware, you meet eyes. His smile is uncanny, stretching across his face with an abnormal friendliness.

“Is this your first time at the port?” he asks, finger tapping the wheel. Be it sleep deprivation or ignorance; you don’t recognize red flags in his behavior. You smile at the courteous face. “Yeah, the weather’s beautiful out here.”

“Mhm, hot weather up here. On vacation?”

“Nah, I have business here.” The minuscule edge of your vision catches in the light. He homes in on the passing twinkle. You wonder why his eyes widen momentarily, and his finger starts to tap methodically, as if memorizing a coded pattern.

“Business...what kind?”

“Oh...I have some items to trade.” You close off your answers feeling that you’ve said too much. He subsides with a stale expression. “If you’re looking to trade, you might find luck at Yilong Bank” he utters monotonously.

“And where is that?” You feign disinterest, but victory is too loud on your tongue.

“Up the mountain.” The waverider halts at the harbor, and he turns his head away from you unusually cold, akin to a mechanical bot shutting down. “Welcome to Yilong Port.”

You make yourself invisible in the crowd and wait for nightfall. People still roam the port along with Fatui monitoring the front of the bank, which gives you leeway to blend in as you find passage around the back of the mountain. It’s a steep, dark incline jutted with irregular jagged stones. The imposing size of the climb tangles knots in your stomach, and you wipe the persistent sweat on your top. In one huge leap, you latch onto a craggy indent, and begin your ascension.

Your legs feel like jelly with each contact of the unforgiving breeze. You sway alongside the spirit of anemo and swallow your anxiety before leaping to the next rock. Shoes plant into rock and nails excavate fresh cobble on the next jump. By the time you’ve realized, you’re already up most of the mountain. You tug yourself even with the land as a barreling gust of wind goads your glance to the ground, kilometers beneath you. Your breath stills, and for a second dizziness overtakes your nerves at the thought of slipping. I could die, one mistake and I’m dead. You focus, and spring to the next piece. Without warning, rock gives way into pebbles at the weight of your foot. You nearly plunge, but anchor onto the small bump out with one hand. You’re dangling off the edge, playing with death while you fortify your body. Hyperventilation makes your heartbeat thrum incessantly and stress palpitates tired muscles; If you didn't have your vision, you would’ve fainted to your demise. You bite the bullet, push your heels in and persevere through the hurdles. The next thing you clutch is malleable in your palm. You vault over the cliff, the smell of dew is overwhelming. The back of the bank—the end goal—is visible.

One Fatui member remains in the front. You scale up the building effortlessly, nothing compared to the hell you just went through. Shifting window to window, your eyes land on the pitch-black darkness of the room at the top of the building. An ideal glow casts on the fraction of precious gold resting on a coffee table. This has to be it. You slink through the window soundlessly, and land on the balls of your feet. Analyzing the dish, you don’t discern the pendant. You can faintly identify some bookshelves near the dish, and tiptoe further inside. You creep around luxury sofas, and squint at the embellished glass case next to the door, containing all manner of jewelry and valuable possessions. You won; this was it. You scurry to it, moving with abrupt carelessness. One more step.

Click

The fireplace you didn’t heed is set aflame. It flickers sneering shadows on the opposite wall and brightens the case. You pause and hope. There’s a confining silence stirring in the room, like someone is with you. The case is visible now, and so is the key to opening it.

You fell into a trap.

“Looks like I have a little thief on my hands.”

A bittersweet voice in the sable, reminiscent of rich dark chocolate, rolls off the room. He steps out obscurity behind his desk and your eyes adjust, revealing the tight black turtleneck compressing his willowy torso and gloves adorned with silver rings. You can’t see the upper part of his face, but the chains of his glasses hang in front of that duping smile. You expected the Fatui harbinger to be on the stronger side, physically intimidating. It’s not physical, but you feel a certain fear boiling in your body. He’s not terrifying, but you tremble. His presence makes your hair stand and sends waves of goosebumps up your arms. You can’t find the will to move your wobbly legs. His charmed laugh rings in your ears and causes you to hold your breath. He has no vision; you shouldn’t be afraid. You could take him on easily, why can’t you fight?

“Hello, honored hero of Liyue” the headless man taunts. It makes it worse that he knows who you are. How long had he known you were coming? Was your plan doomed from the beginning? Your feet are stuck in molasses as your fight or flight shuts down at the man before you.

“Now, tell me. What is the little thief doing, barging into my office to take the possessions I worked so hard for? Not very heroic of you, If I may say.” There’s power in his stature—you forget how to speak. He holds his palm out to you. Tangled between his fingers, is the ornate golden pendant you’d been searching for, a woman’s face in the frame. Your eyes widen, and the sweet familiar curve of his lips stretches in amusement.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” The plod of low-heeled boots accompanies unveiled darkness, and you can observe his entirety. Amethyst eyes drunk with an orchid hue pool into your being. Lazy curls brush against his glasses and kiss his porcelain skin. He’s beautiful, a calm enticing rip current that sweeps you with immeasurable pressure before you can pull yourself out. He leans on the desk, observing the chain halfheartedly. If you weren’t careful, you’d mistake the look on his face for genuine kindness; you’d drown, just like he craved. Nonetheless, you can’t shake the emotion his smile grants.

“Yes. That’s all I need, and I won’t bother you again” you whisper meekly, hoping that he’d let you go with the pendant in a spur of forgiveness. The jest in his eyes says something different.

“Come get it.”

Come get it. Your mind begins to piece the man into a stage of your life you’d forgotten. It can’t be him. Memory tells intrusive truth in short flashes. Inky curls spiraling in front of you as you chase. He was consistently miles ahead of you. It was irrelevant how far apart you were; he’d always find you. That big, curving smile for every match he won. Purple eyes glancing back at yours; the same ones that withheld tears when you said goodbye.

“Come get me!”

Tears stream down your eyes for the friend you thought you’d never see again. Childhood laughter bleeds into his current cat-like conniving snicker, and you gaze at his face.

“I... remember you” you choke. He looks up without a smile, perceiving an unexpected thought, and meets your eyes. There’s a hint of affection in the warm smile beaming on his face. “My my, (Y/N). You have quite the memory.”

You’re motionless, full of something that catches in your lungs. This isn’t the triumph you wanted, and now that you’re face to face you feel powerless. He must’ve known the entire time. Watching you fight and work alone, sending Fatui to roam in Liyue, all done to toy with you. Your lip quivers, swelling in your already deafening heartbeat.

“How long...” you utter. He inquires with the tilt of his head.

“How long have you been messing with me?” Your eyes adhere to the floor, pride that won’t permit you to shed misery for Pantalone. He drinks in your resistant frame, the kind he desires to break; perhaps this game of cat and mouse isn’t done, after all.

“This hurts me too, (Y/N). I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t so…persistent.” Your confusion spills over in shaky, weak huffs. You can’t maintain your composure, and make yourself first to oppose the authoritative man on his own territory.

“How could you do this to anyone? We grew up poor!” You shout with balling fists.

“It’s inefficient to dwell on the past” he replies with gentle cadence and languid grace unrepresentative of his cruel tactics. You nearly regret raising your voice.

“These people are at their wits end and you’re taking advantage of them” you chide. He slowly paces towards you. Pantalone looks down on you from height disparity, but the royal glower pities you, judges worth you can’t see.

“Driven by emotions, are you that simple? You presumed that if you stormed in here, and professed a touching story, that I would suddenly see the error in my methods?” You’re not sure what you’re here for anymore or why you haven’t left yet. Subconscious urges can't determine if they should slap or hug the man inching towards you. “I simply enforce contracts and exchanges. No one can be swindled by a debt accreted on their own.”

“No one asks to be poor either” you interject. Pantalone’s a foot away from you now, analyzing your reactions to his personal entertainment. He recalls the blurry past—the pranks you pulled together that ultimately failed from your loud hurried sneakiness tripping to alert the farmers, helping out for loose change so that you’d split a snack between each other that wasn’t big enough to share, gazing at the twinkling night imagining a distant future—you changed and stayed the same, but he keeps wanting more.

“Weigh the odds. They either die impoverished or live by passage of loans. I merely provide a service. Does that make me so cruel?” You can’t find an answer.

“You’ll always be my friend, but I need it back. It can’t be much to forgive someone’s debt” you plead.

“You still consider me a friend?”

“I think…you’re hurt. And you’re trying to heal. We all are. I know I’ve dealt with a lot as I’ve gotten older and I think you have, too. Power corrupts even the best people in this world, so maybe you’re not a bad person. But you’re doing bad things, and this isn’t the right way to get better.”

Pantalone is quiet for a few long moments. His hands web his face, but you can clearly see the pearly fangs in his open-mouthed smirk. Then he laughs—dulcet and mocking, it lingers for too long as he throws his head back and relishes the obtuse notion. He gazes with insulting compassion and stalks towards you.

“Incredibly…. gullible. Mora is the pathway to all endeavors. Devoid of gnosis or divine knowledge, wealth has rendered me impervious to control. Suffering and destitution only manifest if I will it. I am the guise of a false god, an emblem of achievement.” It’s borderline delusional the way he regards himself, arms moving in theatric grandeur, the star of his own opera.

“Does that make you feel good? Stepping on the backs of the community that raised you, and abandoning them because they chose not to be influenced by greed?” Pantalone towers over you. His fingers brush light against your sensitive ears, trail to your clenched jaw, and finally cup your frustrated cheeks with the cradle of a long-lost lover.

“It does, in fact. I’m not easily swayed by ridiculous optimism, that’s why I’m at the top. You’ve devoted your blood and tears to a region that will succumb to adversity in your absence. Is that not a pointless feat?”

“So what? That doesn’t mean we just don’t help people. You have nothing without the Fatui, you’re a pawn just like the others” you retort. He brings his lips close to the shell of your ear, and his breath hot on the untouched skin drags a tingle up your spine.

“And what do you know about the Fatui?” he whispers.

“I know enough. You’re all disgusting.” He huffs out his nose.

“Disgusting isn’t the right word. I’d say...opportunists.” Pantalone backs up, sliding his hand up your chin and tilting your attention to the intense glint. “But you’re clever, I’ll give you that. If only you were clever enough to know your place.” You'd forgotten you were acting out of line. You refocus your mindset to negotiation.

“I’ll do anything you ask for the debt. Please, just give it back.” The word “anything” evokes a malicious yearning—so forthcoming without understanding the implications of “anything”, of eternity. He caresses your cheek.

“Anything, hm? Even if I said to give up being a hero for good? Would you still call yourself a heroic traveler if you weren’t allowed to travel or adventure as you please?” he teases. Your mouth opens to refute, but you bite your bottom lip instead. Pantalone walks back to his desk and leans while dangling the golden chain. Now that he’s far, the invading space between you two shows how insignificant you are in this luxury palace.

“Your resolve moves me. Consider this; make an exchange with me, and I’ll guarantee not only her debt, but the debt of all residents in Liyue forgiven” Your face instantly lights up, ready to accept it without thinking.

“What is it?” you ask.

“In exchange for regional loan forgiveness, I want you.”

“...What?”

“I want everything you have. It’s the fairest exchange I can make. Your obedience, your loyalty, and your body.”

The choice turns in your frontal lobe. You can’t fathom giving yourself to a man, let alone a Fatui harbinger. It’s unbecoming of a hero to lie with the enemy.

“Absolutely not” you assure.

“Alright. Then allow their village to be reduced to nothing.” No, wait. “You may leave. However, if you do, you’ll cause great misfortune to that woman and her struggling family” You play into his covet so smoothly as you stand in the center of the room, reluctant to leave.

“I’m not a complete monster, so I’ll give you 5 seconds to make a choice.” He sways the pendant in his hand like the transient time of an hourglass. 5 seconds, all you have to sign your life away.

“4.”

What if no one ever sees you again? What’s the point of sacrificing your happiness and freedom, are the people of Liyue truly worth it?

“3.”

You could threaten him, take him hostage so that a harbinger might bow to your demands. That, or they kill you, and the village suffers anyway.

“2.”

You think of your graying mom, the sweet boy with his chubby red face who cries over the smallest things, the grateful elders that give you candy after every good deed, Ningguang and Keqing stressing over the next financial impact.

“1.”

“I’ll do it.”

Pantalone swings the chain into his palm, an undefeated smug overbearing as he sets it on the desk. There was never a point in resisting; he always got what he wanted, no matter how long it took to achieve it. He waited months—no, years—to get you in this exact moment. There’s a daunting beguiling charm in the way he closes the gap between you two. You glare at him; a temper common people would dread shooting. He assesses the pending punishment and lowers himself eye-level. He grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I can see the defiance in your eyes. Do you want to talk back? Go ahead, challenge me.” You don’t test this scenario and turn your head. “Don’t patronize me. Get it over with, ‘Pantalone’.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and pliable flesh strains your teeth as your face is gripped rough by satiny leather. You’re twisted sharply to the calm expression—it humbles you.

“That’s not how you address your superior. What should you call me?” You don’t answer promptly to his liking, and he tightens his grip. “Answer me properly, darling.”

“...Sir.” Pantalone plants a sickly sugary kiss on your forehead, the kind that makes you forget how petrifying he can be, and lets you go.

“Good.” He walks back to the desk and sits in the onyx chair embellished with silver jewels fit for a king. His chin rests on bridging hands. “Strip.”

You don’t move, your heart hammers in your chest at the request and you stir uncomfortably. You have no experience with sexual gratification, let alone exposing yourself to an old friend.

“(Y/N). Don’t make me say it again.” Keen agitation in his voice serves as a final warning. He eats you with his eyes, homed in on your hands clumsily snaking the top over your head. A glimpse of the scar you received during your fight with the Fatui captures him. He takes a mental entry, for an explanation that might justify why the agent suddenly goes missing. You were generally too busy to look in the mirror or analyze your assets, and pleasure was a removed afterthought—so the hungry fervor warming your skin and permeating the room clamped your thighs shut. You’re visibly flustered and nervous fumbling with the clasps on your bra while stabilizing your anxiety, and he delights in every second of the accidental strip tease. It feels like fresh meat introduced to a savage animal, and the instant your bra omes off, a new vulnerability coils in your gut. You move to your bottoms; the sheen of sweat polishes your plush thighs to wiggle out of them. You’re left in nothing but tantalizing panties hugging you in the right places. His eyes undress and redress you, tracing up and down the perk of your nipples, tempting fullness of your thighs, each unseen curve and perfect imperfect mark on your glistening body. He lets out a deep breath to stop himself from jumping over the table and taking you right there.

“The underwear. Take it off” he says, an undertone of lust. You shimmy the fabric off and fully expose yourself. You impulsively cover your intimate parts and avert your eyes, but you can still feel Pantalone on you, ravaging you. He doesn’t bother telling you to put your arms at your sides, your bashfulness combined with an attempt at stoicism is comical.

“Ah, the little thief is trying to act tough. That's cute” Pantalone teases and leans back in the chair. Manspreading, he pats his thigh. “Crawl.”

He’s hellbent on shaming the defiance out of you. It’s a vile command, but you begrudgingly drop to your hands and knees. You drag your chaffed knees on wood, balancing like a newborn fawn adjusting to its legs. It’s humiliating and downright degrading; the cold floor fails at cooling your burning fever. You’re on the verge of tears, but Pantalone can’t help but smile. You get around the desk and look up at him, waiting for the next horrible thing he’ll have you do. “Unfortunately, the stunt you pulled impeded my paperwork. Be a good thing and sit on my lap until I’m done.” A “thing”—that’s all you were now, a shiny trophy meant to be ogled at but never taken seriously, used and thrown away. You stand off your scraped raw knees and straddle his thigh, hands balancing the leg so you don’t fall.

And Pantalone starts to work. Working as if you’re not there, filling in the spaces on his documents. For some reason, it’s more demeaning this way, you truly are just a prize. One hand dances beautiful penmanship in masterful motions on embossed paper, the other fondles and explores your being. The gloves brush down your delicate spine, nonsensical shapes drawn on your lower back that make you shiver and pool heat in places you’ve never thought of. You’ve never been touched like this, it’s needles light on your skin. They move to your stomach, pleasant circles above the pelvis that threaten to go lower. He’s careful to trail his hand up your cleavage and behind your neck, neglect your hardening nipples and repeat the process over and over. He’s painstakingly slow, savoring the dazed arch of your back, massaging your inner thighs and dragging the sleek material over your rear.

Middle and index sweep across your lips, pulling your bottom lip to reveal teeth, and prods your mouth. Pantalone’s fingers are invasive, they exploit your gums and twirl around the squishy tongue molding to his appetite. He plays with the pink mass, and it fills you like a kiss. He’s everywhere and he hasn’t looked at you once. You hate it, the kind elegance and refinement of his technique that makes every calculated word and action reek of opulence. Yet, arousal pools on the surface, sticking to your labia and clouding your drowsy mind. It’s an extreme ache that doesn’t go away from cold showers or shrugging off like you usually would. You can’t remember what you did today, yesterday, or the day before that. The sensation of him consumes you and persists in spots he left. He smells of expensive cologne, hints of heady wood and sage. You’re lucky his fingers are in your mouth, or piteous moans would spill out of you. Flat on his thigh, the subtle jolts of his leg rub against your hypersensitive clit and set your nerves on fire. Throbbing swells in your core, and you struggle to stay stiff as your hips stutter.

Pantalone knows exactly what he’s doing. Your labored pants sound like saintly melody while you writhe on his lap. The fabric goads your pulsing pussy, and you hang your head in embarrassment of the juices soaking your thighs and his. He’s surprised you have strength left to withstand the itch. You do your best to hover above it, trailing thick strings of slick. “There’s no need to pretend you don’t like this. Just give yourself to me” he whispers. And it’s so enticing, an invitation that might let you come if you ask. However, remnants of pride cling to your melting resolve, you can’t give in yet. He takes the fingers out and presses on your nipple, flicking the bud. You can’t hold the mewl, and he snickers.

“So indignant for the hero of Liyue, to be on a harbingers lap, reduced to a pretty pet.” Your ears tune out the insults. The damp gloves pull and pinch your puffy nipples, then knead to soothe the pain. He does the same to the other, switching between both as he feels you squirm.

He works on the last few pages. Piles upon piles of reports and records—they detail the deaths, or “suicides”, of clients who’d disappeared mysteriously after extended absence of payments for millions of mora, people who dared go against the Regrator. Unruly, uncooperative clients that take advantage of fair exchange, and pay the price for it.

Your arms get tired, and you settle on him again. Pantalone starts to softly bounce his leg, enough for you to notice the friction on your clit. It’s too much, you can’t take it anymore, and start to rut your hips on his thigh. You look messy, smearing your essence on those overpriced slacks and biting back your moans. Pleasure flows in your veins, and you give up. His cock throbs nonstop, print stealing space in his pants. “Did you believe I wouldn’t catch you? You’re not sneaky enough. You’re not good enough," he taunts from the corner of his eye. You hump his leg like a desperate bunny, chasing the addictive high.

“Nasty slut, fucking your hips on a man you barely remember.” He moves his hands to your clit and replaces the slacks with slippery leather. You grind on it harder and hold your moans. More, more, more. He coats it in the mess and finally diverts his attention to you. He teases your entrance gliding vertically on your vulva before pushing one finger in. It hurts at first, but your walls hug him eagerly, pulling it deeper. He coaxes it to take another and starts scissoring your gushy walls.

“I’ll devour you. I’ll inscribe my name upon every surface of your physique until it adorns your lips, and I’m the only thing that remains.” Pantalone starts pumping rhythmically, tormenting, poking everywhere but your g-spot. Gloss drips down his knuckles and glazes his rings.

“S-sir please, s’too much” you whimper, mustering up an ineffective stable voice. “Hmm? Can you hear the lewd sounds you’re making?” Loud squelches sing from him fucking your insides. Each time you try to speak, he elicits another moan.

“M-my sto-mach hurtss” you whine. He holds your waist in place with the other hand and continues the assault. “I know, it hurts? Would you like me to alleviate the pain?” he coos. You nod fast.

“Hold it in. You ask for permission every time you’re close, do you understand?” You don’t reply and try to angle your body to get more contact. You make the mistake of guiding yourself to your clit and earn a harsh stinging slap on your hand. “Don’t touch what’s mine” he orders. You’re frustrated and he’s doing it on purpose, it’s entirely too hot where pleasure and pain blur. “N-not yours” you stammer, and he stops. He pulls out your warmth and you whine from loss of pressure. Looking at him, there's no smile, and the irritation on his face makes your heart drop. You're really in for it.

Without delay, your stomach flies over one of the chair arms, and you hold onto it for dear life. It presses firm on your ribs, and he slants your ass to the air. “You have courage, speaking back to me” he says. He pulls his gloves off and hurls them. They’re lovely, the silken soft hands of a man who hadn't lifted a finger through combat a day in his life. They sink into your sex, and you moan out for him. The other winds back, and you feel the palm hit brutally on your unsuspecting backside. Crack. It echoes in the room, and you almost fly forward.

“Disrespectful.” Crack. He keeps pumping through it, and tears collect in your lashes.

“Disobedient.” Crack. There’s blood rushing to your head, and violent smacks make your pussy flutter and ass ripple; his control won’t give you adequate touch.

“Little.” Crack. Every time he feels you getting there, he pauses. A masochistic pleasure whirls innermost.

“Brat.” Crack. Both cheeks are a sore fiery color and beginning to welt, but he resumes. You’re drenching his palm, sobbing from prolonged edging and Pantalone laughs. “Pfft, you’re crying? Too embarrassed to beg? Perhaps I’ll give you what you want, if you grovel hard enough, darling.” An incoherent orchestra of please’s mesh with broken moans. “Sir m’sorry. Wan’ it so bad, p-please!” you mumble. There’s no dignity on your lips, no residue of the hero you once were. Drunken ardor floods your short-circuiting brain.

“Oh, what do you say? You want it? Is that it? I'll let you have it... but only if you say it loud and clear for me” he croons. He winds his fingers in a come-hither gesture that licks your core.

“Please...I won’t misbehave again!” He spreads your ass apart and watches your hole pucker from lining the brink.

“I’m not sure I want to give it to you now. It's a lot more enjoyable watching you squirm and beg.”

“’M yours, sir. Please give it to me. I’ll be s’good, promise!” you mewl. You’re so pathetic, it’s endearing. He simpers and maneuvers impossibly fast while gyrating your clit. “How humiliating. You’ve satisfied me.” Your eyes roll back, and you dissolve in pure euphoria. There’s black dots in your vision, and it doesn’t stop as he starts torturing your overstimulated clit with the pad of his thumb. Your tears only encourage him. You jerk and spasm, but he moves where you move with insistent skill. “T-too m-”

“Aww, what’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted, where are your manners?” Pantalone pulls out and delivers staggering mean swats to your pussy, and you recoil. “Say thank you” he demands.

“Thank you, sir.” He hums and picks you up in his arms. Before color can return to your numb cells, he lays you on the desk. You watch him pull his shirt up to his pecs with haste and uncover the lean skinny midsection. Unzipping his pants, he unsheathes his leaking thumping erection. Even his dick is pretty, it curves upwards and shades a starving dusty pink past the thin strip of tissue on the underside of his bulbous tip. Composure thinning, a bead of pre come runs down his tip at the sight of provocation sluicing your ass and thighs. His glasses plunge down his neck, body blushed wildly, but he doesn’t care. Pantalone slides between your labia and groans at the sound. Engulfing the tip in awaiting velvet warmth, “You’re so good for me, hm?” he sighs. You embrace him, delicious searing stretch of your walls forming to his cock. Your orgasm builds just from your body accommodating the size. He places your hands on your calves and holds them at your sides. He slips out, and in one swoop, drives into you. His heavy balls smack against your ass as he thrusts frenetically in the gooey grip he’d been waiting for, stalking and spying for. He digs crescent shapes in your waist and uses you to his abundance. The desk base creaks and grinds on abrading wood and obituaries float to the floor with overturned calligraphy ink from the unrelenting momentum. You throw your head back and indulge the carnal lust washing over you both.

“You’ll never see anyone ever again. Fuck- you’re mine, and mine alone. You’re nothing but a come dump, your purpose is to please me, hah, until I say it’s over” his voice is unexpectedly deprived and weighty with vulgar whimpers. Pantalone eyes your neck and encapsulates it in his slender hand. He clenches tight and releases in sporadic bursts that have you seizing around him. For a split second there’s the image of you—exorbitant pearled collar wrapped around your throat, with “Pantalone” inscribed in bedazzled letters—and he loses it. He swipes your clit rapidly and feeds you deep strokes; you’ll definitely die. You speak, but it’s unintelligible rambling.

“Use your words” he lilts, squeezing your airflow taut. “C-can I, sir, please?”

“You’ll do it on my command.” Pantalone thrusts frenetically, you can feel him bucking, twitching and quickly approaching his climax. His hips sputter, chanting some mixture of your name and curses under his breath. “You’re so obedient for me, aren’t you? F-fuck, darling, go ahead. Come on my cock.” You permit yourself to surrender, white noise streams in and time slows as you come down his shaft. A creamy ring forms at the hilt of his slaps. You recite “thank you” through wails with the semblance of a follower at the altar of their savior. Then he grabs your face and goes in for a kiss.

It’s sloppy and misses half your lip, but its doughy attachment mellows your blissed out head. His lips taste like the bitter excess of green tea, and you crane for a better sample. His tongue does things his fingers couldn’t, and swirls around yours in a passionate bruising waltz. Pantalone breaks away, a string of saliva when he frees himself. “Mm, coming. Gonna claim you everywhere” he whimpers. Sweat on his lustered abdomen, he pumps his tender cock before spurting thick hot ropes across your tits and stomach. He paints your vulva with the rest and plunges the tip in your entry so as to not waste the endless globs of white. He tremors inside you until soft, and when some dribbles out he fingers it back inside.

Afterwards, Pantalone opens one of the drawers on the desk and takes out an embossed loan dismissal form. You can’t read the finer details through hazy eyesight. “It’s already signed, so don’t worry. I won’t deceive you.” He caresses your face in his normal sing-song attitude. “We depart in the morning.” You don’t have a clue where you’re going or how you’ll get there as you drift unconscious. Once you’re asleep, Pantalone shuffles in a different locked drawer. He twiddles the stunning purple geode in his hand, a crystal lined mineral you gave to him years prior. He looks at you, then the druse, and cackles.

“Mine. Always.”

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin au #pantalone smut #pantalone #pantalone headcanons #headcanon #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #pantalone x y/n #genshin impact pantalone

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lycheedr3ams · 9 months

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Okay. I just had to tell you that the emotionally unavailable König piece stays on my mf*ing mind. I don't know how but you managed to stir a dragon or corrupt me, I don't know, I need therapy I know but I feel so addicted to that drabble. I've read it over and over again.

Like, the little details how he treats you purely professionally when you're not fucking, how he wraps himself with that condom every single time and doesn't even feel bothered, how he chooses solitude (or someone else who knows) over you whenever he wants, how he doesn't seem to even feel much of anything besides the occasional lust?! It's DEVASTATING and I'm frothing at the mouth. I need help haha

Oh and even the pic at the top, that lonely ethereal unseen message "I dream about kissing you often". Wtf dude. Jesus Christ.

Brilliant. I'm just. Out of words. That drabble is art, thank you for sharing ❤️❤️‍🩹❤️ (Also please wish me a speedy recovery)

i think you have just melted my heart❤️❤️❤️

it is a huge compliment for me when people say they reread my fics. this ask has given me inspiration to do a drabble of the situation from könig's perspective.

warning: this may break your heart too...

part 2 of Relapse

part 3

TW: mentions of NSFW below the cut, self-hatred, könig being kinda toxic, brief brief mention of self harm, mentions of canon-typical violence, obsessive!könig, MDNI and just block me atp

the moment könig laid eyes on you, the task force's incredibly skilled - and beautiful - sniper, he hated you. or rather, he hated how much he was obsessed with you. he wasn't stupid; he knew how all the men on base would stare at you, the way they'd talk about you as you walked by, not even realizing how good your ass and hips looked in your uniform cargo pants. but unlike most guys on base, he saw more than just your curves and feminine charm: he saw a soldier who gave her all to get to where she was, a soldier who dedicated her entire being to her profession and was damn good at it.

unlike him, you never so much as moved a muscle when you lay prone with your sniper rifle. you never fumbled while you reloaded or looked around anxiously, fiddling with a knife so your hands never felt empty. you interacted with others with ease, never seeming to second-guess your words or demeanor. you were the best shot on the task force (don't tell ghost, though), you had the best concentration, and you were irreplaceable. sure, könig was irreplaceable too: no one had his aura, his physical prowess, or his intensity that made enemies flee the moment he saw them. but to könig, that didn't matter: you were everything he could never be.

he knew - thought - that he had no chance with you. you were secretly desired by almost every man on base, so why would you choose him? the jittery and intense newest addition who was just a little too tall, who fidgeted a little too much, and whose accent, he thought, was a little too thick to be alluring. but he also just hated you. hated to see a little woman like yourself literally living his dream of being a sniper. he was usually assigned to guard you when you lay prone while sniping on a mission, and when könig was sure you weren't paying attention, he would glare angrily at you, staring daggers into the back of your head. his eyes would lazily take in your body, but not in a lustful way. könig hated how still you could lay, how you could just concentrate simply on what was through your scope rather than what was in your mind.

but könig couldn't deny the part of himself that just simply wanted to take you. despite how much he hated your skill, he couldn't deny your soft curves, your pretty smile, or how you always wore your favorite perfume when off duty. many nights when könig lay alone in his room on base, he would furiously jerk off the thought of you while clenching his teeth in self-hate, absolutely disgusted with himself for desiring the person who was everything he could never be. könig also hated the way he would come so hard to the thought of forcing you on your knees, making you take all of his throbbing cock in your mouth, fucking into your throat roughly, punishing you for being the soldier he could never be. he loved to imagine the tears that would spring in your eyes at the burn of his thick cock stretching your throat. but worst of all, könig hated himself for wanting to ruin such a pretty little thing like you.

that was, until you began talking to him. the first time you approached könig, you said you were curious about his knives. he froze, thankful that his sniper hood hid his almost blushing cheeks and agape mouth. but könig couldn't help the excitement of your question. someone was interested in something he liked? with quiet, jittery movements, he quickly took out one of his favorite knives from a pants pocket and shoved it almost right in your hands, talking about it wildly in german before you looked up at him with a confused smile. he blushed under his hood and began to speak calmly and quietly in english about his favorite knife that you now held in your small, soft hands. even when you handed the knife back to him after learning all about it, the warmth from your skin lingered on its cold hilt. könig's eyes widened slightly when he felt just how warm it was, and he couldn't help but wonder what other parts of your body were just as warm, or even warmer.

könig began to grow more and more at ease the more you approached him. the night that your conversation ended up with you naked on his bed, he truly thought he was living a dream. the way your soft, feminine curves lay on his bed in his room, how you looked like an absolute goddess surrounded by his knives and guns lying around, was mesmerizing to him. his hatred of you be damned, könig needed you. so he took you just like you wanted and craved.

but even though you had willingly spread your soft, wet folds for him, könig could never bring himself to voice his desires for you. so the next time he saw you in the hallway, his eyes widened as he slowly approached your form, unaware that he was behind you. könig tried to open his mouth to say something - anything - but his mouth went dry and his throat tightened. so instead, he decided to gently cup your waist as you walked past, and went right towards his room. you smiled to yourself and followed him. könig was grateful that no words were needed between you two.

but despite how much he loved being able to be so close to you, to touch you, to be inside you, he could never allow himself to get too close. könig would've rather slit his own wrist than kiss your glossy, warm lips. you were a succubus, he was convinced. if his lips touched yours, he would have been yours forever. and that was something he could not have, no, not with how his hatred for you still lingered in the back of his mind. but the way you'd look sad about his lips never touching yours would make his heart twitch, just a little. some nights könig was so desperate to feel your skin on his tongue that he would gently lick your neck or your breasts, just to get a taste. but könig was used to living without the things he wanted.

there were many nights when könig was too deep within his darkness to reach out to you. he couldn't bring you down into his self-loathing spiral, or show you his weaknesses. on the nights he walked by you without even acknowledging your existence, he simply couldn't bring himself to look at you. if he did, he knew he would budge instantly and gently touch your waist once again so he could take solace in your warm, soft walls. but no, he would rather drown himself in the abyss of his heart than bring you down with him. you had things to live for: friends, family, incredible skill. but könig only had his guns, knives, and a large hand to wrap around his aching length. he never slept with another woman on base. but you were not to know that.

even more so, könig took to the box of condoms like a lifeline. if he kissed you, you'd have his soul. but if he allowed his cock to be fully surrounded by your warm, wet walls? no, no. you would've tied him to you for eternity. that was something that könig could not have, no matter how much he wanted it. he always made sure that condom was on perfectly, making sure that not a single inch of the skin of his cock ever completely touched your walls. even when he would tease the tip of his cock on your clit, there was a layer of thin plastic separating you. (he just loved the way you would gasp and blush when he did that). könig would never allow himself to truly take absolute pleasure in you, no matter how badly he just wanted to fill your womb entirely with him when your legs were pried open perfectly against his broad shoulders, with his sweaty forehead pressing into the mattress.

but as your relationship - if it could be called that - went on, könig realized that he never hated you. he only hated himself for never being able to be the person he wanted to be. you were everything, and he was nothing. you were caring, friendly, warm. but he saw himself as distant, cold, and aloof. sunshine could never reach the deepest, darkest caves under the earth, he thought. what could könig even say to you now, after you two had been with each other time and time again? what could he possibly say to the woman who unknowingly ripped apart old wounds he thought he had stitched? what could he say to the woman who achieved everything he could not? what could he say to the only woman who had ever shown him kindness, the only woman to have ever let him touch her, hold her, fuck her? so, könig opted to only ever say things to you that were necessary to work with you. he could never treat you poorly, not after the way you unknowingly healed the very wounds you created for him, not after the way you welcomed him into your body like he was an extension of yourself.

it was easier for könig to pretend that you weren't somewhat emotionally dependent on him. he could never pluck the flower whose roots were shallow. he was a monster enough as it is, but to just trample and rip up an innocent and beautiful thing? even he couldn't bring himself to do that. so, könig tried to water you in the only way he knew how, but he guarded his life-giving waters from your fertile womb, and only ever teased you with the nutrients you needed. it was enough to make you come back for more whenever he asked for it, but he couldn't allow himself to take advantage of you, too much. könig wanted to see you grow and blossom, not to be the one to dry you out and wither you.

so könig chose to edge you with his affection whenever he chose, and hoped that you would understand. he hoped that you wouldn't grow tired of the balm he offered you on the nights that he was able to crawl out of himself; the balm that was covered in blood and semen and tears.

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jessamine-rose · 9 months

Text

☀︎⋆˖⋆⁺₊⋆꒰ Sunset ꒱⋆₊⁺⋆˖⋆☀︎

One of these days, I’m going to beat Miguel O’Hara with a stick for continuing to torment me with brainrot. For now, I’ll hurt him with his Canon Event trauma. This fic can be read as either a standalone piece or as a prologue to my yandere fic The Spider and the Fly <3

Special thanks to @diodellet for beta-reading this and @bweoo for inspiring me with their art!! This piece is not as dark as my usual works, but that just means more tears feels~

Tw:: YANDERE, manipulation, blood, mention of death, self-deprecation, oh no it’s the moral consequences of Miguel’s actions

Note:: Female reader, ATSV spoilers, features Gabriel and Gabriella

♡ 3k words under the cut ♡

Your husband acts like a different person these days.

Over the weeks, you’ve noticed a change in Miguel. The cause is unknown.

He is more serious. His exhaustion is more prominent. He’s more preoccupied with work, to the point that he often comes home late or gets called in at random hours—and he becomes evasive whenever you ask about it.

He is still cheerful around Gabriella, but he treats you differently. Not to say that he is no longer fond of you, but he acts more…guarded. Distant. When he looks at you, it feels like he is taking you in with new eyes.

He still calls you by your special nickname. So why does it feel like there is more weight to his affection? Why do you feel uncomfortable in his embrace?

Why do you get the impression that something has gone horribly wrong?

꒰♡꒱

The first instance is the morning after your movie night with Gabriella.

When you wake up, Miguel is already out of bed. He is reading something on his laptop, and the desk is cluttered with old photo albums. His side of the bed is cold.

“Good morning,” you mumble. “Why are you up so early?”

He turns around quickly, screen paused at a family photo. “I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“All right.”

Yawning, you open your closet and select your outfit for the day. A mint green dress, a belt with silver designs, a purple coat to drape over your shoulders…

“Miguel, can you please get my heart stud earrings? And my sun necklace?”

“Sure.” He reaches for the earring stand and easily finds the correct pair. Then he moves on to the jewelry box.

He opens the wrong drawer.

The top drawer holds your bracelets. He quickly closes it, only to open the drawer for your hair accessories. Then the one for your regular necklaces.

By the time you’re fully dressed, he is still searching.

“Just a minute,” he mumbles. He is staring at the contents of the last drawer, as though your sun necklace could be hidden among the colorful ribbons.

You walk over to him and open the hidden compartment.

“Here.” You take out the necklace, along with your pearl ring. “Right where I left them.”

How could he forget? That’s where you always keep them.

“Oh, right.” He closes the compartment and returns to his laptop. “Sorry, my brain was on autopilot. I think I need more sleep.”

Now that you think about it, he didn’t sleep well last night. You were the one to initiate cuddles, and his arms felt stiff around you.

You give him a sympathetic smile. “I’ll prepare extra coffee for you.”

There is something silver on his wrist, covered by his long sleeves. A new watch?

“Thanks.” He gives you a grateful look. “I’ll wake up Gabriella.”

With that, he leaves the room.

You open the hidden compartment again.

Where is his favorite watch?

Did it break? The leather strap is already discolored, but you’ve never seen Miguel without it. It was an anniversary gift from you.

Never mind, there is no harm in replacing it. Metal is more durable.

You continue getting dressed.

Your necklace is the same. Shiny beads, your favorite colors, a sun-shaped pendant—the prettiest thing in your collection. It was made by Miguel and Gabriella.

Lastly, you put on your wedding ring.

As always, it is a perfect fit.

꒰♡꒱

While Gabriella is at a friend’s sleepover, you plan another movie night.

Miguel works overtime again but other than that, he acts normal. He gives you the same forehead kiss, the same mi sol spoken with affection, the same cuddles on the sofa.

…You do realize that his body feels unfamiliar. Stronger. Has he been working out?

“I think I just found my new favorite film!” You turn off the TV, eagerly facing Miguel. “The costume design, the actors, that ending—it was all perfect! It’s a cinematic masterpiece.”

He smiles at you, amused by your reaction. “It was all right.”

“Are you kidding? We need to watch it again with Gabriella. She—”

Your leg hits the coffee table. Your glass tips over, and he catches it before it spills.

“Oh, sorry!” You sit back down as he returns the glass of water.

Did he always have fast reflexes? “It’s fine. Are you hurt?”

“No.” Your smile returns as a memory resurfaces. “At least it isn’t iced coffee this time.”

He gives you a blank look. “What do you mean?”

“You know, iced coffee.”

“Oh, right. That.” His eyes light up, followed by an awkward laugh.

Your smile falters.

How could he forget the cause of your first meeting? It’s practically a bedtime story for Gabriella, the story of how her parents met through a series of coincidences.

A sunny afternoon. A trip to an unfamiliar cafe near Alchemax. A crowded street which led you to bump into a stranger. A poorly-sealed cup which spilled iced coffee all over his jacket, resulting in apologies, reassurances, and a promise to meet up again for the laundry bill.

You don’t understand your sudden nostalgia. “It’s funny, isn’t it? It was so…messy. Unromantic. But had anything been different, I never would’ve met you.”

“It’s true.” He regards you with a contemplative gaze. “It’s in the fine details.”

“I mean, think about it! If my coffee cup was properly sealed, if I wasn’t left alone with the shy intern who recommended the cafe, if you didn’t finish work early to visit Gabriel, if the rain didn’t stop earlier…Alchemax is researching the multiverse theory, right? It’s almost scary to imagine countless other worlds where I don’t have you and Gabriella.”

Or did the chain reaction begin with your first taste of coffee? With your first breakup? With your job application to your dream company, despite your family’s disapproval?

“It’s true,” he sighs. “The probability of our first meeting must be less than 0.001%. It would’ve been impossible for me to find you elsewhere, mi sol.”

There is something sad about the way he says it.

You take his hand and intertwine your fingers, offering a soft smile.

“Then we’re really lucky to live in this universe, aren’t we?”

꒰♡꒱

Gabriella’s birthday gift is the right choice.

You sit on the bleachers, watching her and Miguel try out her new soccer ball. They look happy in every video you take.

You wish the same can be said for you.

Earlier, you asked Gabriella if she noticed anything different about her dad, but she said no. To her, Miguel is the same parent who coaches her in soccer and makes more time for her and looks at her with the warmest of smiles. He’s always been better at this.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join them?”

Your brother-in-law returns with the tray of cupcakes. You shake your head, gesturing to the colorful bandages on your leg.

“Not today. I don’t want to ruin her special day with a repeat of our last game.”

Your accident wasn’t that bad, thankfully. Gabriella let you pick your favorite Band-Aid designs, the same thing you do when treating her injuries. And it earned you a walk back to the car in Miguel’s arms; you could really swear that he’s gained more muscle. Why, though?

“Hey, Gabriel, have you noticed anything off about your brother lately?”

“Miguel?” He shakes his head. “He’s the same as ever. Did something happen?”

If even his own family hasn’t noticed anything, what could it be?

You twist your ring around your finger. “It’s nothing. I probably imagined it.”

“Are you sure? I can talk to him if you want.”

In that case, is Miguel only acting differently around you?

Could you have done something wrong?

“No, everything is fine.”

“Mom!” Gabriella runs over to you, all smiles. “I won the game!”

“That’s great, Gabby!” You wipe off her sweat with a towel before fixing her headband. “How many victories does that make against Dad?”

Miguel is next. He’s still wearing the blue ribbon you attached to her gift, and there is a bit of grass on his sleeve.

Is he still wearing that new watch? Where did he get it?

He gives you a concerned look. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, love.” You put on a perfect smile, mindful of your daughter and Gabriel. “I’m just a bit tired. I was so excited for the party that I could barely rest.”

You can’t make a mistake with him, not in front of Gabriella. She deserves better.

“Gabriel, can you take a photo for us?”

꒰♡꒱

Miguel’s office is dark.

You idle outside the room. Looking at the gap under the door, you can tell that a dim yellow light is on. Even at home, your husband is busy with work.

Or is Alchemax really to blame?

Your stress ball already has marks from your nails. Try as you might, you can’t muster the courage to knock.

It’s not pathetic to worry about this.

If you know Miguel as well as you think you still do, then you’re definitely overreacting. He is the same person who fell for you all those years ago.

Who knows, the worst-case scenario may be better than expected! There’s always therapy. Surely, it can bridge the distance between the two of you. Or help you work through your old issues again; they’re probably clouding your judgment.

At least Gabriella is asleep. When you checked her room, Miguel was reading her a bedtime story. The two of them looked so close. So happy, your precious family.

Loving Miguel was never a mistake. How could you say that after all he’s given you?

You knock on the door. “Hey, can I speak to you?”

The yellow light turns off, replaced with the bright glow of the ceiling lights.

Miguel gives you a tired look as he opens the door. “Is it important?”

But since when has his work been more important than you?

It’s difficult to refrain from yelling.

“Miguel…are you cheating on me?”

“What?”

The surprise on his face is unmistakable. But it only relieves a fraction of your anxieties.

You glare at him. “You’ve been acting so strange around me.”

“That’s because I’ve been busy—”

“With ‘work,’ which you refuse to explain to me! You don’t even wear your anniversary gift these days. Does it still mean anything to you?!”

Now he looks alarmed. “Mi sol, I—”

You enter the office and close the door. Here, you can worry less about waking up Gabriella.

“Did…Did I do something wrong? Either I’ve done something to upset you or you’ve found someone else. I can’t recognize you these days—what other logical explanation is there?!”

Oddly enough, you don’t feel any urge to cry. You throw your useless stress ball on the floor, but the action does little to calm you.

It takes a few seconds for Miguel to respond.

“The watch is broken.”

Immediately, you look up. “What?”

In the bright light, you can discern your husband’s expression. He looks…guilty? But not in the way you’d expect. He reaches into his pocket and takes out his favorite watch.

It isn’t just the red dots on the strap. The timepiece is cracked, dials frozen in place.

“What happened to it?”

He averts his gaze. “That night, before we watched that animation with Gabriella, I got…attacked. That’s why it took so long for me to buy the movie snacks.”

You grip his wrist. “What? Did you get hurt?! There’s blood on—”

“I’m fine,” he says quickly. He puts his hand on your shoulder. “It was just a random thief, and I scared him off. I knew it would upset you, so I decided not to mention it.”

“That…you didn’t have to,” you mutter. You carefully pick up the watch, inspecting the time. “Can it be fixed? The strap needs to be changed, but that’s a given.”

“It can’t.”

He looks so dejected by that fact. But then again, it is a gift from you. It’s just like your husband to cherish it and worry about your feelings.

“It’ll stay in my jewelry box, then.” You keep it in your pocket, crossing your arms. “But I’m not done with you. Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Right.” He glances at his laptop; there is no yellow light coming from it. “About work, there have been ethical issues within Alchemax. That’s why I’ve been held up at the office.”

You frown at him. “What do you mean?”

He chooses his words carefully. “Illegal projects. I’m working to put a stop to them.”

“Are you serious?!” Now you grip him by the shoulders, eyes wide. “Is it safe? Do the higher-ups know what you’re doing?! Is…is there any way I can help you?”

Of course. He’s always been a good guy, so he would never turn a blind eye to something like this.

“Stay out of it. It’s classified information, and they will do everything to keep it that way. I’m not putting you and Gabriella in danger.”

His glare leaves no room for objection. Did his eyes just flash red—no, it’s probably a trick of the light.

You nod reluctantly. “I’ll trust you. You’re amazing, you know that? Smart, righteous, reliable…everything, really.”

How could you possibly say that you made the wrong choice with someone like that?

“Can I have a hug?”

“Sure.” He doesn’t hesitate this time.

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” you mumble, leaning into his touch, “but promise me that there will be no more secrets. Don’t give me something new to worry about.”

“I promise.” He holds you tightly, voice hushed to a soft whisper. “And I’m sorry.”

“Now let me see your new watch.”

Without a second to spare, you draw back and pull up his sleeve.

“Wait.” His eyes widen, and he quickly seizes your wrists. “Don’t touch it!”

“...Is this seriously it?”

The replacement is barely impressive. It looks like an ordinary gizmo, with a triangular orange face and red details. If his reaction is anything to go by, it must be delicate.

Nonetheless, you give him a bright smile. No wonder he didn’t want you to see it.

“As always, you have horrible taste.”

꒰♡꒱

The office is quiet.

You frown at the empty desks. How long until your coworkers come back? The cafe must have a long line; hopefully, they don’t forget to include your order.

They haven’t read your messages, either, but you did receive a few videos from Miguel. He is spending his day off with Gabriella; they’re playing soccer again.

You smile and adjust the new Band-Aid on your hand. The past days have been the happiest time of your life. More family outings, more time with Gabriella, more love from Miguel.

A phone call interrupts the video. You read the Caller ID and promptly press Decline.

Mother.

What the hell does your family want with you? After all those failed reconciliations? As if you’ll try again after everything they said about Miguel and Gabriella.

The phone rings again. It’s Gabriel this time, and you answer it.

“Hello?”

Static.

You raise the volume, frowning. It’s a weird sound, less grainy and more…digital? Like a computer glitch, chaotic and distorted. In the background, you can make out fragmented voices.

“Gabriel? Can you hear me?”

You end the call and try calling him, only for the phone to say that he can’t be reached.

Bad reception, maybe. Hopefully, he can get to you later.

“______?” Aisa, one of the graphic designers, approaches your desk.

“Yes?”

“The outline for the Moirai Photoshoot has been updated. What are your initial thoughts?”

“Let me see…” You check your email and open the attachment.

The file shows concept sketches for the next magazine issue. The featured fashion collection is inspired by the Banksy-esque installations which have been appearing all over Nueva York. Various colors, geometric shapes, mismatched articles of clothing, replicas of street objects, maximalism at its finest.

“It looks good at first glance,” you reply. You zoom in on the images, taking in the details. “The dynamic poses are suitable—I’ll leave that to the photography team—and these are the best outfits from Moirai’s selection. But I have an issue with the background.”

Aisa takes out her tablet. “You too?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

The background is dark with a pattern of bright red lines.

You continue speaking. “Those red lines are too much. A plain light background is better, to highlight the different colors and silhouettes of the outfits.”

“That’s exactly what I said in my comments,” she agrees. “I think those lines are based on the red threads that sometimes appear near the art installations.”

You leave your comments on the file.

Change background. See Aisa’s comments.

The design reminds me of spiderwebs. It makes the models appear trapped, which clashes with the poses and Moirai’s designer statement.

Don’t forget, an unnecessary addition is all it takes to ruin the image.

Your gaze drifts to the family photo on your desk. It won’t be long before you can go home. You already have the perfect movie in mind, one with a promised happy ending.

…Is another art installation in progress? It looks like images are being projected on the nearby buildings; the special effects are impressive. Even the sky is changing color.

You move closer to the window, only to stop as Aisa hands you her tablet.

“Here, I tried to cut out the lines. What do you think?”

The sketches are the same, but the lines have been edited out.

You focus on the images. Only after hearing Aisa’s terrified screams do you notice the colorful glitches spreading over the office, crawling towards you.

“We’re right. It looks prettier without them.”

꒰♡꒱

NAME: ______ O’Hara

STATUS: Dead Disintegrated

*Zero traces of DNA detected in Earth-█████*

“LYLA, commence replay.”

♡

The Spider and the Fly ๑ Related Story

Stay tuned for the epilogue to The Spider and the Fly, entitled Moonrise!!

Ngl even I surprised myself with how quickly I finished this fic. For those who first read The Spider and the Fly, I hope you liked the insight into Variant! Darling's backstory and how it also affected Wife! Darling, despite the latter making better life choices and becoming a happier version of her. It was fun to illustrate their differences and insecurities <3

Also, it was a delight to write about Miguel's chara angst, and I sincerely hope that Sunset was a painful experience for all of you. Let me know how you feel after reading ( ◠‿◠ )

Tag a Miguel O’Hara enjoyer!! @yanmaresu @yandere-romanticaa @yandere-wishes @kocherry @oofasleep @h2o2-and-baking-soda @curesi @weebsinstash @literaree @handsomeunderwear-art @pumpkin-toffee @mari-thesimp @miggyyyyohara @abyssalrot @letskidaddle @iamfakeu

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copias-sewer-rat · 6 months

Text

COPIA'S SEWER RAT RECOMMENDATIONS PT.1

This has been a long time comming! I wanted to take the time to create a long post not only with fic recommendations but also other stuff. The Ghost community is so talented that I needed time to gather all of the amazing projects and ideas that flutter around.

(This even took longer than anticipated because just when it was almost ready some of the authors in this list posted some freaking MASTERPIECES and I needed to add them as well, obviously.)

I plan to do a post like this from time to time with new discoveries, so please if you don't follow/know these creators, please check them out. Furthermore, if there is someone you think I have missed or that you would like for me to check out, please, let me know. I am always eager to know more amazing creators.

(please be aware that some of the fics and artists I will be talking about write some very nasty, yet amazing, stories/art so please always check their tags and tws before diving in).

next part | my masterpost

📝WRITING

Let's start with one of the backbones of this amazing community: @da-rulah and her gorgeous and deliciously nasty fics. Please go read Rituale Septem and Confessional if you haven't already. Her hcs and drabbles are also so so good, you should read everything she has written, you won't be dissapointed.

Now, the wonderful, amazing writer that is @her-satanic-wiles. I have become her personal and most ardent supporter this October (if you could not tell by how much I have reblogged and liked her stuff smh). Her Kinktober challenge this year has been an absolute delight so I leave you with her mastrerlist so you can check her out on your own.

Now, my beloved, the amazing writer that is @writingjourney with my favourite fic to date I Knew Nothing but Shadows. I honestly get such joy when she posts, it is pure perfection. She puts such detail in her writing that it always makes me so incredibly happy to read her stuff. I also leave you with her masterlist, please check her out! UPDATE: SHE JUST POSTED THE MOST PERFECT VAMPIRE SECONDO FIC, you must read it: Friday Nights at the Vinothek.

The great @bupia is next!!!! I honestly adore everything they write. My personal favs are Barista Preferita, Love Letter, Bloodlust, their kinktober series and their new work is Serendipity. I am always in awe with how they write honestly. I want to be y/n so much with their fics (lol, cringe). Please read everything of theirs!

How can I not mention the absolute, amazingly talented, cowboy lover that is @ramblingoak ??? Her whole universe of cowboys (I love cowboys like yeehaw all day you know?) is honestly one of my favs, AND THE WAY SHE WRITES, let me tell you, the DETAILS, the EMOTIONAL backstories, THE ROMANCE, THE DRAMA?! Please go read The Cardinal's Bride and the other stories of the same au if you haven't done so already. You are missing out on one of the best AUs this fandom has to offer. UPDATE: A NEW FIC?! SKATING COPIA?! TIGHT SUITS?! Need I say anything else? Go read her new series: Copia on ICE!

Then, @molly-ghuleh !! I just started reading her stuff and now I cannot stop?! Camellia is SO GOOD you must read it!! It deserves much more attention!!! THE DETAILS?? The love at first sight trope leaving me in shambles???!!! I am seriously invested and I cannot recommend her more! GO! NOW!

Next, my lovely ghestie @discountdemonwarehouse/@eyeslikelilith who is so funny and so so nasty😈💜! Please go follow her here and on Ao3 for her amazing fics (I love her WWDITSxGhost fic What We Do In The Ministry the most hehehehe iykyk)

@leezlelatch and her amazing drabbles bring me so much joy, please go check her out and read everthing she posts, it is wonderful and insanely entertaining. (I cannot choose only one recommendation help, read everything!!!)

What can I say about @earthry other that she is amazing and I that I am obsessed with her drabbles and asks? I have read Watermelon Kisses so many times that you could lock me up.

Go check @zombie-rott out in general! Her stories are very comforting and nice!!! AND THE WAY SHE WRITES??? I love love love it. I highly recomend reading Pawprints, it is adorable, you should ckeck it out.

Please go read @bethbruttenholm's Seduce Me... I fell in love with this fic, so so good, and her writing is *chef's kiss*.

@anamelessfool in general is a master, like, her Omega3 fics are so nice *wink*, extra kudos for Reciprocity muhahahaha (it is delicious)

AAAAAA @gravehags and her curator!reader x copia series??? I AM ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED? THE HALLOWEEN CHAPTER? I WAS GRINNING LIKE A MADWOMAN ALL THE TIME. She also writes a lot about the Ghouls and Ghoulettes and it is SO SO NICE!

@the-curator1 In The Darkness of your Dreams ??? AN ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE oh my Satan, I LOVE LOVE IT!!!

🎨ART

This list is going to be long and I don't want to sound like a broken record or make this post eternal (because I could talk about all of them for ages if you let me) so I will make only a big recommendation for the following artists:

@vogelfreyh

@piaart

@vanmec

@comfysanda

@nocterish/@nocturnal-birb

@sirlsplayland

@risunsky

@blanchebees

@mardyart

@meowsaidmissy

@forgelokid

@novaiisk

@nekronyancer

@delulluart

@yollur

@quaildoodle

@oranpo

@doodleshrimps

@kabukiaku

@thew0man

@blackbird5154

Please, check all of them. They deserve all the recognition they can get. I adore how much love and effort they put in their art, WIPS or whaterver they decide to make. Every single one of them inspires me so much, I cannot explain with words how proud I feel to be able to look at their creations and share a community or even an interest with such talented creators.

👻OTHERS

This is the one that needs more creators. I need to find projects, creators that do other things such as theorising, gifs, big projects, whatever. Please, give me your suggestions and I will check them out and add them in following entries.

For now, I leave you with a couple of amazing people that deserve all the praise:

@stressghoul I honestly follow her EVERYWHERE. I love her tiktoks so much, she is so funny. The Brittany Brosky of the Ghost community you could say.

@slavghoul If you need any questions solved about our dear Satanic papas, go follow Slav. I have never seen a more dedicated person with such an amazing brain, it is honestly so inpiring to see what they have to say every single time. By the way, also check their videos on all the little isolated parts from Ghost songs, does not fail on lifting my feet from the ground as if possessed, every-single-time. You can check all the videos here.

@kabukiaku again??? YES! WHY?! BECAUSE I ADORE HER PAPA PLUSHIES I THINK THEY ARE THE CUTTEST!!!!

Lastly, I wanted to mention a YouTube creator that is making orchestral versions of Ghost songs. I found an orchrestral version of DATHOML on Tiktok and I had to find the whole song. Please check them out because they are doing more and it is amazing. Jamie Turton.

#gonst #the band ghost #ghost #the band ghost bc #ghost bc band #recommendation post #sewer rat recommends #amazing creators #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #ghost bc #ghost band #papa emeritus iii #papa terzo #papa secondo

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wowowwild · 8 days

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Ace's All Time Best Fic Rec List (AATBFRL) April 2024: Ace Attorney

It's been a 6 months since my last list so here we go again! (I specified Ace Attorney in case I start doing this for other fandoms.) I originally planned to have all the old recs here as well but the list was too long so here's a link to the previous list. These aren't necessarily in any particular order, but if you can think of a good way for me to organize them, please let me know for future lists!

P.S. Anything rated over T mentions that immediately for your browsing convenience.

Doing more self promotion this year, so check out my pinned post or fic tag (desktop only)!

London, 2021- 7 yg Wrightworth hint of Krisnix. Phoenix is presently in London with Edgeworth. Phoenix is presently knowing that he knows about Kristoph but doesn't want to acknowledge it bc Kristoph has been really good to him and Trucy. But that doesn't matter right now bc they're going to the theatre.

if you leave the light on- 7yg Wrightworth. Nothing can happen until it's over but something Keeps happening. Miles will wait as long as it takes and Trucy decides he's part of the family.

In The Dead Of Night- During the 7yg Edgeworth invites the Wrights to Europe. Trucy has a nightmare and 'Uncle Miles' comforts her.

Phoenix's List- After getting his badge back, Phoenix has some regrets and sets about fixing what he can.

Perfect- I actually found this on another fic rec list and I can see why it was their favorite. Set towards the end of the trial of Bridge to Turnabout. TW if you have memory issues, it might be a little hard to get through parts bc of all the mindfuckery. I have to be really vague here so as not to spoil it. (Wrightworth)

Eo Nomine- Klapollo fake marriage turned real marriage but ig that's what happen when you get fake married while being real in love.

the best you'll never have- Rated M for sex reasons. I love the tagline: "Someone else's wedding is something that can actually be so personal". It's a Blackmadhi complicated relationship, what relationship, they weren't actually dating but also...

Apollo and the Artist (1975 - Oil paint, wax crayon, pencil, collage)- Rated M for mentioned sex reasons. Apollo is not an art person. But to Klavier he is art... and also a person. They've known each other for 8 years and it's probably been coming for just as long. It was a long time coming.

darling i'd wait for you (even if you didn't ask me to)- Wrightworth fake date bc Edgeworth needs a plus one to a wedding for some guy, it's not really important. But the cake sucks.

A Knight in a Loud Red Suit- oh my god oh my god oh my god Klavier gets shot and Apollo stabs a guy. And also love confessions at the hospital. They could have me also if they wanted.

Written- Rated E for sex reasons. Edgeworth moonlights as a Steel Samurai fic writer, and due to it being an obvious coping mechanism for his life and feeling Maya finds out... and accidentally sends a fic to Phoenix who... finds out. Half of the smut is Edgeworth's own fanfic, so we get like... fanfic-ception. That doesn't really work with more than one syllable words, huh...

Lover Be Good to Me- Rated M for implied sex reasons. 5+1 klapollo wooing each other.

Love Love Love- Rated M for implied sex reasons. klapollo is messy in a good way and takes wayyyy too long to call themselves boyfriends. Set from middle of aa4 to past aa6.

delicate- Rated M for sex reasons. klapollo is messy in a bad way (long distance is hard) and they break up but it works out, I prommy. If you don't like angst you'll want to skip this one, though.

(i was) enchanted to meet you- klavquill! I love them, I need to read more fics with them. They meet at the Prosecutor gala for the first time and sparks fly. Actually, they were fireworks, but that's not important.

Process of Elimination- Rated M for sex reasons. One day I will read a fic where Blackmadhi is not complicated as hell. Can they ever talk about their feelings? Apparently I like this, though, bc I keep reading and recc'ing them. Um, Nahyuta is looking for a fuck buddy and by 'process of elimination' ends up deciding on Blackquill but whoops! Feelings.

feel your skin- Rated M for one boner. Klavier is infuriating AND wearing lipgloss and Apollo can't take it. Cue making out in the janitor's closet.

moribund- I keep thinking about this one so I need everyone else to read and think about it with me. Pre Gant busting, POV Lana has to help clean up his messes. This a comedy, mostly of errors.

chronophobia- StarrSkye (AngelxLana) Be forewarned, you are going to cry. Lana has done her time and is trying to find a way to reconnect with the most important people from her past.

Crash! Landing- Junithena, fantastic traumatized autistic representation, if I do say so myself as a traumatized autistic person. It is very sweet and Juniper is a real one. I need me one of those.

In Pursuit of Justice- This one is not yet complete, but I preemptively j'adore'd it. It's a klapollo. Sebastian is great. He says Apollo looks like a frog (accurate).

Witcheln Woes- Secret Santa klapollo and they are cute and Clay is alive and it is sooooo fluffy.

Samurai Swear- Maya making besties with Edgeworth! Maya and Phoenix being besties also! Dash of mutual pining wrigthworth.

Missing You/Missing Time- Ok, hear me out, yes, the mystical bullshit tag is accurate, and de-aging is a weird concept, but !!! It actually serves this story very well! It is a fanfic that feels like a fanfic, but sometimes you want that, you know? Not every fanfic needs to feel like Little Women. Established klapollo first I love yous.

#aatbfrl #ace attorney #klapollo #wrightworth #narumitsu #blackmadhi #junithena #starrskye #klavquill #ace attoney #krisnix #i'm not listing individual characters but there are other things in here besides ship fics

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r3dmooon · 1 year

Text

Someone to Take Care of — Wally Darling x gn! reader

summery: Reader gets injured! Don't worry, Wally's there to help you feel better.

tw: Getting hit (by a ball)

a/n: First Welcome Home fic. I feel pretty good about this one! Didn't really knew how to end it tho so oops.

wc: 0.9k

Master List

Sitting on my porch, I crocheted a blanket I’ve been meaning to make for awhile now. It was a beautiful sunny day, bright blue sky and fluffy white clouds rolled overhead. How could I not sit outside? I’d look up from time to time, spotting a fluttering butterfly or bumbling bee. Taking a deep breath, the smell of freshly cut grass filled my lungs. I could hear the faint sounds of Julie laughing and Frank grumbling. A nice day indeed.

“Well howdy, neighbor,” A familiar voice greeted me. I looked up in surprise, not having heard Wally walk up to me. I met his half lidded gaze with a small smile. He adorned his usual white button up and blue cardigan, and not to mention his iconic rainbow pants.

“Hey, Wally,” I greeted back, resting my unfinished blanket in my lap. A warm breeze swept through and I felt myself relax at the feeling. “How are you doing?”

“Doing better now that I’m with you,” He replied smoothly, his lazy grin seeming to grow a bit. “How about you?”

“Doing great,” I replied, drawing my gaze over his shoulder, the immense eyecontact making me feel a bit uncomfortable. His head tilted a tiny bit, but he didn’t change his expression.

“That’s good to hear,” He hummed, his monotonous voice somewhat comforting. “I see you’re working on something, mind if I join you?” I met his gaze once more, and noticed that he seemed to be carrying his art supplies.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, feeling a bit dumb for not noticing sooner. “Of course! It’s nice to have some company.”

Wally hummed in agreement and sat on my other porch chair. He set up his easel and supplies and I continued on my blanket. The content feeling I had before only grew as now I was in the company of a friend. It was refreshing. It was like that for a while, a comfortable silence settled over us, only the humming of bugs and laughter of friends nearby breaking it. Though for some reason, the feeling of someone watching me made me tense a bit. I glanced over at Wally from the corner of my eye. He seemed to be in his own world, painting whatever it was on his canvas. I couldn’t help but feel curious.

“(Y/n)!” I snapped my gaze up at Julie as she yelled. She had a worried look and waved her arms erratically. “Watch out!”

I didn’t realize what was wrong until it was too late. I cried out in pain as a ball hit the side of my head. In reflex, I held my head, squeezing my eyes shut. Ow, it hurt real bad, but I’ve been hurt worse. The sound of rushing feet surrounded me as I heard the worried voices of my friends.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n),” Julie cried, sniffling slightly.

“Are you alright?” The low voice of Barnaby asked.

“I told you to be careful,” Frank scolded, what I’m assuming was Julie and Barnaby.

“Now now,” The calm voice of Wally spoke up. “Let’s not crowd them. Don’t worry everyone, I’ll make sure they’re okay.”

I opened my eyes, rubbing at the spot I was hit. My heart crumbled at Julie’s teary eyed expression. Barnaby still looked worried and I could see Frank seemed slightly worried as well.

“I’ll be fine,” I forcibly smiled, trying to ease their feelings. “Just need some ice and I’ll be right as rain.”

Julie gave me a quick hug, and I hugged her back. They all waved as they walked off, ball laying forgotten at the bottom of my porch. I’ll have to return that at a later time.

“C’mon neighbor,” Wally coaxed, hand out towards me. “Let’s get you some ice and a treat for being so brave.”

“I’m not a kid, Wally,” I replied with a small smile, accepting his hand and allowing him to pull me up from my seat. “...but a cookie does sound good right now…”

“Ha ha ha,” Wally laughed, his somewhat unnerving but oddly endearing laugh. “I’m sure Poppy would love to give you some as a get well soon gift.”

Wally led me into my house, and I was hyper aware of the fact that he hasn’t let go of my hand yet. Having me sit on my couch, Wally leaned down and pressed his mouth to my forehead, his way of giving me a forehead kiss. I felt my stomach flutter as he slowly let go of my hand and made his way into my kitchen. I stared down at my hands in my lap, many feelings overwhelming me. I could still feel the imprint of where his mouth once laid. Do I like him…more than a friend? No, no I couldn’t. Wally’s just being a good friend and taking care of me after I got hurt. I’m just not used to being taken care of. That’s all. That’s what these weird feelings are.

Wally quickly re-entered the living room, pressing the ice pack gently where I was hit. I still felt a bit shy, glancing up at him from time to time in the corner of my eye. Whenever our eyes met, I felt myself fluster and looked back down at my lap.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Wally asked.

I nodded the best I could with the ice pack pressed to my head, “I’m just not used to being taken care of.”

Wally’s gaze seemed to soften, a seemingly lovesick expression if I didn’t know any better, “It’s nice to know that people care. I care about you, neighbor.”

I felt my chest tighten, the moment seeming more intimate. I wasn’t sure how to reply. I tried to bite down the smile threatening to overtake me but I didn’t do too well in that effort.

“I care about you too,” I reflect. Wally only smiled, and I smiled back. I suppose getting hurt isn’t so bad if this is the outcome.

#welcome home x reader #wally darling x reader #wally darling #x reader #julie joyful #barnaby #frank frankly #welcome home

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atinylittlepain · 6 months

Text

Chapter One

90s!steve harrington x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He got out, hopped one state over, and planned on continuing an anonymous existence of cold beds and numbers scribbled on forearms. One small problem in that plan, or maybe one big problem.

warnings | 18+ smut, angst, columbus OH deserves a TW in and of itself (i love it so)

a/n | I am so excited to be sharing the first chapter of this series. A very special thanks must be given to @pr0ximamidnight who lets me scream about these characters all the time, and who also made the absolutely amazing artwork for this fic! As always, I'd love to hear what you think of this one, drop me a line :)

......................................

“You coming tonight?”

“Who’s playing?”

“Up and coming, you haven’t heard of them.”

“Oh, so they’re shit then?”

“Don’t be a snob, Steven. Even your beloved Elliott Smith started out as a nobody. Hell, he still is a nobody.”

“You told Art that I’d cover the front tonight, didn’t you?” The silence is enough of an answer. Steve sighs.

“Eddie.”

“Come on, Steve. Money is money, I don’t see why you’re complaining when I was gracious enough to get you a little more of it.” His so very gracious roommate is already halfway out the door, a grin and shrug that tells Steve there will be no squirming out of this. Great.

It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy a trip to the Newport Club, especially not when it’s free and all he has to do is check tickets and let girls feel him up a little on the way into the music hall. But it’s Wednesday, and he has work tomorrow, and he’s feeling a little more pitiful than usual since their AC unit busted out and has yet to be fixed. Their landlord told them he would be getting to it about two weeks ago, and Steve is starting to wilt around the edges in the close grip of the heat and humidity. So no, he’s not really feeling a gig at the moment. But yes, money is money, and he doesn’t have much time to whine to himself about it when he’s already running late to his shift at Katzinger’s.

Columbus has been good to him, something he is reminded of every morning when he bikes across town to get to the deli. Urban enough to be anonymous, but still cheap enough for him to pay rent with the patchwork jobs he does. And not Hawkins, so it’s already miles ahead just because of that.

“I got lox no schmear for Tiffany. There you go, sweetheart, have a nice day.” Tiffany left her phone number at the bottom of her receipt for him, a little heart too. Yet another way Columbus has treated him well, the bevy of OSU students that seem to like what Steve has going on. Eddie calls it his “soft-prozac look,” whatever the hell that means. Certainly different from his polo shirts and varsity jacket days, but a whole lot else has changed since then.

Things are easy, simple, and he likes it that way. Making sandwiches and smiling at coeds until three, a new Tiffany every week, no strings, no stress. And the music scene at the fringes of campus. While his roommate prefers a sound with a little more edge, Steve prefers the softer, sadder stuff, and there’s plenty of it getting passed around on burned CDs and in the dim, dank bars downtown. That’s how he first started picking up gigs at the Newport Club. Art took one look at him, the remnant strength from the days of the king, and stuck him out front with a scowl and a folded wad of cash. Not to mention the perk that once the crowd is packed in, he gets to lean in the doorway and turn his good ear to the music.

…

She’s running late. Actually, she was running late twenty minutes ago. Now it’s just laughable. And somewhere in the slow slump of afternoon into evening, it has started raining. So there’s that, the hem of her skirt sticking and sweating around her ankles, skin turned tacky in the humid air. But she’s a little too focused on digging her ticket out of the bottom of her bag as she does a sort of jump-walk toward the club.

Who was it again? A friend of a friend’s boyfriend who had an extra ticket to this new band’s gig. She can’t even remember the name. Probably something precious and pretentious like toaster aneurysm.

Shit, not good, not even the remnants of a crowd still waiting outside the venue, just some guy with his arms folded over his chest, leaning in the doorway with one doc marten crossed over the other. His eyebrow cocks, a crack of his gum rolled with his jaw when she approaches. She can hear the dull thrum of a bass coming from inside, already started.

“Hi, I’m here for the show, here’s my–”

“The show started fifteen minutes ago, sweetheart.” It’s a little stunning, not snappy, but entirely bored in the way he says it, sighing and slumping back against the wall, a flick of his chin to toss his thick flop of hair out of his eyes.

“Okay, so? Just take my ticket and let me in.” Not in the mood, not that she ever is, for this bullshit tough guy act. Said tough guy squints at her, tongue poking in his cheek like really, this is a grave inconvenience to him, when he could have already taken her ticket and let her in and gotten back to his brooding hunch.

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“I’m Steve.”

“Good for you, Steve.” Great, he thought that was funny, a huff of a laugh and half a smile, perfect teeth and frustratingly perfect dimple. She was going for bitchy, actually. When he finally uncrosses his arms from over his chest, hooking his knuckles into the pockets of his pants, she gets a better look at his t-shirt. He must have shrunk it in the wash, or maybe it’s intentional, the way it fits so snug that the muscles in his arms bulge over the sleeves, the I heart metal logo stretched to burst across his chest. Elliott Smith fan, so at least he’s got that going for him.

“Are you really not gonna let me in?”

“Are you really not gonna tell me your name?”

“It’s Ruth, okay?

“That’s an old-fashioned name.”

“So is Steve.” By now, the band has already gotten through two more songs since she got here, and she’s starting to think she’s going to have to resign herself to listening to scraps through the propped open door. For his part, Steve seems perfectly content with the situation, his chin tilted toward the sound as he pulls a menthol out of his back pocket and lights it up. For her part, Ruth is just annoyed enough to reach out and swipe the cigarette from his fingers before it makes it to his mouth, taking a smug inhale as he lets out a petulant whine of hey.

“If you’re gonna keep me out here, the least you can do is offer some refreshments.” To be fair, the more she hears of the music dripping out from the club, the less interested she is in joining the crowd, some kind of post-punk shoegaze dirge-fest from the sound of it. And no, it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the long line of his throat when he lets smoke seep out in a hiss, head tilted back to keep his exhale from washing over her face. No, nothing to do with that, and nothing to do with the way the tendons in his forearms jump, all spilled shadow when he offers her back the cigarette. No, definitely nothing to do with that either.

“Are you a student?”

“No, are you?”

“No, so what do you do then?”

“I work at the library.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Hmm. What about you?”

“I work at Katz, you know? Over in german village?”

“Yeah, everyone knows Katz. I like Brown Bag better though, they’ve got that tofu cream cheese.”

“Who the hell likes tofu cream cheese? Are you vegan or something?” Rapid fire, somewhere in the volley she has mirrored his posture, her shoulder brushing against his as she rests back against the wall, fingers flickering back and forth, trying to sip down the last few drags of their shared cigarette.

“No, I just like the taste better. Regular cream cheese gives me the heebies.” He hums, the dip and bob of his throat catching the warm shock of the streetlights. She lets herself watch him for a beat, the quick flit of her eyes away from his when he looks right back at her. Back and forth like that, she collects up every freckle she can find, the two on the side of his neck, on his cheek. Pretty boy at rest. The music is mere afterthought.

…

He’s glad he decided to be difficult tonight. The truth is, he really isn’t supposed to let people in after the set starts, something about code violations and fire hazards. But usually, he’ll nod along a few stragglers hurrying into the club, no big deal. Chalk it up to the heat, to no AC, to whatever, Steve was not feeling so generous tonight, and he’s never been so grateful for his snappy streak as he is right now.

“What size shoe did you say you are?” He’s not entirely sure how things unraveled to this. Him, with his shoeless, socked foot hovering just above the sidewalk, and her, holding her sneaker in one hand, with his doc marten on her foot, giving a few experimental shuffles in it, the hem of her skirt swirling around her shins with it.

“Men’s twelve, probably too big for you, honey.” Her nose scrunches, mouth screwing to the side like she can’t possibly stand being called that. He tucks that away in his mind through the constant din of the concert going on inside.

“Hmm, I think I could make it work if I doubled up my socks.”

“You gonna steal my shoes, is that your angle?”

“Well, I do need a refund for my ticket since someone wouldn’t let me in.” He scoffs, dipping his chin to hide behind his hair, just a little, buying time to think of something clever to say back to her.

“Judging by that noise, I think I did you a favor actually.” Ruth grins, and as if on cue, a particularly discordant warble of guitar whines through the door, both of them wincing at it.

“Maybe you’re right. How much longer you think they got?” She wobbles to the side as she toes out of his boot, and Steve moves before he can think, one hand to her waist, one cupping her elbow. Up close like this, he can see the way her eyeliner has smudged at the edges, a stray speck of it on the arc of her cheek. But it’s catch and release, a laugh light in her chest as she pulls away to put her own shoe back on.

“I’d say they’re wrapping up. We could, you know, get out of here if you wanted to.” Fun, right? That’s what this is. The flirt and flair of it, a game they both seem to be intent on.

“Where are we going, Steve?” She tilts her head, sing-songing his name.

Steve is good at this, the logistics of it all. Hers or his. His, they decide, because hers is further away. And mercy, Eddie has been shacking up with the produce stocker from the natural grocery store over in Bexley, so they don’t have to worry about being quiet when they stumble through the door to his apartment.

Graceless, groaning into her mouth when his hip hits the corner of the kitchen counter, and then a different noise entirely skittering up the back of his throat when Ruth’s palm finds the hurt and rubs it out with quick heat up under the hem of his t-shirt.

Here’s the thing, most of the time, he prefers to keep his shirt on. It’s not that anyone has been rude or repulsed by the scars that splay over his skin. Something much worse. A pitying thing, a pitiful thing. The drop of their brow and a pulled frown and oh my gosh, what happened to you? Yeah, he’d prefer to keep his shirt on most of the time. But right now, he wants a little more. A little more sense, a little more touch, a little more of her palms on bare skin. So it’s more feel than thought when he tugs his shirt off over his head, shivering down with it when she noses down his neck to drop her lips to the top of his shoulder. Bruise-colored kisses, he doesn’t resist the urge to thumb away the smear of her dark lipstick in the corner of her mouth. She chases after his touch, a kiss to the pad of his thumb before her grin turns sharp with the nick of her teeth.

…

Pretty boy is pretty all over. Freckles all over, she maps them with her mouth, a slow sneak down his stomach to the waist band of his briefs. And he’s got a bedframe too, bonus. Yeah, pretty all over, flushed-pink tip when she slides his briefs down his thighs, just enough for the thick weight of him to smear pearling pleasure over the coarse hair trailing down his clenched stomach. She’s no better though, thighs clenching together in useless friction where she’s kneeling between his legs, cotton underwear that used to say Wednesday on the front and a bra that’s just as old. She really hadn’t been expecting something like this, though Steve doesn’t seem to mind, lips parted in a ghost of a swollen smile, eyes hazy with want.

“Can I?”

“You can do whatever you want, honey, fuck.” She has to temper her grin when she takes him into her mouth, pleasant pain and pressure in the hinge of her jaw because Steve certainly has something to brag about. Impossible to take all of him, she settles for laving her tongue over the vein running the underside of his cock, spit-slick palm curling around the rest. Pretty boy pretty all over making pretty sounds too. Huffs of breath that turn into groans when she swallows around him, muscle jumping under her palm that’s pressed over his stomach, her nails grazing in an implicit command. Take what you are given, pretty boy. And he does, perfectly, preening under her touch, little pants of fuck, s’good, really good that shiver straight down her spine and into her pelvis. She only realizes that her hand that isn’t working the base of him has dipped down into her panties when Steve lets out a ragged shit, that’s hot, lashes dropped down to his cheeks with the way he’s staring at her. And then it’s all quiet c’mere, c’mere, honey, insistent hand at her jaw coaxing her up, clashing teeth when they both misjudge the first kiss, and then a sigh when they get the second one right.

“You have condoms, right?”

“Yeah, I got it, just let me–” She doesn’t exactly make it easy, mouthing at his neck as he leans over to rifle through his nightstand, jostling her in his lap with a frustrated huff that she doesn’t like the sound of.

“Fuck.”

“Are you, like, out?” He settles back against his headboard with a sigh, an answer in and of itself.

“I bet my roommate has some though. Gimme a sec, I’ll be right back.” Quite the show, his bare ass shuffling out of his room. She lays back on the mattress, maybe wishful thinking in taking off the rest of her clothes, though Steve is quick to return with a grin and a foil packet pinched between two fingers.

“You sitting pretty like that for me, honey?” A little wolfish, animal and annoying in how smug he smiles as he climbs onto the end of the bed, catching her knee before she can close her legs, palm smoothing down the inside of her thigh.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, Steven.”

“Steven, huh?” He tilts his head, almost absent-minded, his eyes hooded and heavy, dropped to the crux of her hips. She can’t help her quiet gasp when he drags his thumb through her swollen cunt, pad of his finger notching at her entrance, teasing, testing, before smearing back up to her clit in a lazy arc.

“Fuck, that’s pretty. Are you ready for me?” Cocky, but also clear care. She leans up on an elbow, puling him down by his nape before her stupid heart can kick up too much at the sentiment. His hair tickles against her sternum, forehead pressed there so he can look down at his fumbling with the condom wrapper, clearly distracted, maybe by the way she’s trailing her foot up and down the back of his leg, dark nail polish against tan skin.

It’s a stretch, of course. Perfect ache in her hips, all she can manage is an uh-huh high in her throat when he asks her if she’s alright. And then deeper, taking more of him, all of him until it’s Steve letting out the pathetic sounds, something like a whimper that she laps up, tongue flickering behind his teeth.

The rest is a slow, spiraling, slump. It’s obscenely warm in his room, humid too, so pretty soon sweat starts to pearl and pool. In clavicles, in dips and bend of muscle, skin sticking to skin with salt and sighs, almost smothering with how Steve drapes over her. He moves good, smooth and strong like he knows what he’s doing, though it eventually devolves into a deep grind more than anything else, both of them chasing down pleasure. He smells like that clove gum he was chewing, the menthol too, and like he spent the day out sweltering in the midsummer heat. She can’t help but dip her nose down into the center of his sternum, breathing him in as her nails dig and slip against his shoulder blades. Though soon he’s coaxing her, lemme see, honey, there you are, pretty eyes.

Embarrassing really, that’s what snaps and snarls her into and over the edge. His eyes, blown out black, steady and certain on her. She comes so hard that she starts to shiver in the heat.

…

“Mmf.” It isn’t enough to rouse him, still slumped on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow. But it does feel good, light scratches across his shoulder blades, then trailing up the nape of his neck and into his hair. He sighs, content in his tangle of sheets.

“I know you’re awake.” He can’t help it, smile spreading, one eye squinting open to find Ruth looking right at him, kneeling alongside the bed.

“Why’re you dressed?”

“I need to go home before my shift. I smell like a swamp.”

“Sorry, AC is busted.”

“Yeah, I guessed as much.” He squints sitting up, washed down in the early morning light, already missing the feel of her hand tangled in his hair.

“Can I get your number?” For once, he’d like to do this again. Ruth smiles, settling into her hip as she looks down at him.

“You got a pen?” He does, tucked into a notebook that he keeps in the bottom drawer of his nightstand, not even worried about how uncool he looks fumbling for it and a scrap of paper to give to her. Purple nail polish, he notes, so dark the color is only a suggestion. He watches the flicker of it as she passes back the pen and paper to him.

“Thanks for a nice night, pretty boy.” Still sleep-shaken, but with it enough for her words to send a flush of heat up his neck.

“Yeah, Ruth, I had a good time too. So I’ll call you?” Already halfway out his bedroom door, she still smiles over her shoulder.

“Uh-huh, you do that.”

It’s early enough that he can linger in the scent of her in his sheets, pressing his face hard into the mattress before finally willing himself to get up. By the time he shuffles out into the living room with one and a half boots on, Eddie is back and crunching through a burnt piece of toast in front of the microwave.

“Hey, who was that spooky-looking chick that slinked– slunk? Whatever, left earlier this morning?”

“Her name is Ruth.” All that he offers up, pointedly focusing on pouring himself a cup of coffee. Eddie scoffs, crumbs scattering.

“Okay, and? Flavor of the week, or what?”

“Mmm.”

“No, you’re telling me Morticia is gonna turn an honest man out of you?” Steve’s turn to scoff this time, choosing to take a long pull of coffee rather than indulging Eddie with a real answer.

“You get her number?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna call her?”

“Jesus, Ed, yes, lay off.”

“Oh, now I know you really like this one. You’re only bitchy about the ones you really like.”

“Fuck off. How’s Herb, or whatever his name is.”

“Don’t be so gauche, Steven, and for the record, his name is Leif.”

“Right.”

“Anyways, Harrington Doctrine, yeah?”

“Yeah, man, exactly.”

Now normally, according to the Harrington Doctrine, Steve should wait a full forty-eight hours, minimum, before even thinking about calling her. He does not follow the Harrington Doctrine. In fact, he barely makes it through the rest of the day without picking up a phone. When he gets home from his shift at the deli, however, he paces himself. Takes a shower first, checks the answering machine, willing away a little more time, anything to temper his apparent want. But when he does finally dial up the number on the scrap of paper he kept tucked in his notebook, he is sorely disappointed by the answer he gets on the other end.

“Brown Bag deli, how may I help you?” First, shock, reasoning to himself that he must have punched it in wrong. He tries again, careful in each button pressed.

“Brown Bag deli, how may I help–” He slams the phone back into its receiver this time, just as Eddie walks through the front door, home from his shift at the tattoo shop where he apprentices.

“Damn, tell that phone how you really feel.”

“She gave me a fake number.”

“What? Who?”

“Mort– Ruth. I can’t believe this, she seriously gave me a fake number.” With all the tact that he usually has, Eddie plucks the scrap of paper from Steve’s hand, a grumbled lemme see as he dials the number. At first, a lift off of hope in his chest when Eddie stays on the line, brow furrowed.

“Hi, yeah, do you guys still do that portobello melt thing? Can I get that without tomatoes? Yeah, to– hey.” Steve only half pays attention to Eddie’s protest when he takes the phone and clicks it back in the receiver, something heavy settling sick in his stomach.

“She really gave me a fake number. What the fuck?”

“Sorry, man, I guess no Addam’s Family Values for you.”

…

He doesn’t usually get like this. Lord knows, Steve has taken his fair share of rejection. So why this one is stinging harder, lingering longer, especially when he barely knew the girl, is beyond him.

Maybe the boldness of her rejection. A brazen, brash no. The humiliation of unassuming hope, small flames are so quick to be smothered. Or maybe the way he feels like a fool, plain and simple, for thinking there was something more happening when there so apparently wasn’t. Fun, he tells himself. She had been in it for fun. And she got her fun, and got out. And is that not one of his favorite moves in the book? Plenty of fun of his own, after all.

But what is maybe the worst part, he can’t stop thinking about it, about her. Nearly filled up the rest of his notebook with what he can remember, nearly a whole month’s worth of remembering now. Piecemeal, by this point, the line of her nose, the curve of her brow, half a smile. What he can always recall clearly, the patterned print of flowers that was on her skirt. He scribbles it everywhere, in the margins of old receipts, in sharpie on parchment paper, slow days at the deli getting passed somewhere hazy in his mind.

He has a headache by the time he gets back to his apartment most afternoons, opting for a few advil and closed blinds over any of the phone numbers that continue to get tucked into his hands.

“How much longer are you gonna do this?”

“Mmm.”

“Steve.”

“What?” He doesn’t have to look to know exactly how Eddie is standing right now. In the doorway to his bedroom with his arms crossed and his hip cocked to the side, his version of concern.

“It’s been a fucking month, man. Greener pastures, fish in the sea, et cetera et cetera. You haven’t even gone to any shows since the double-M, for Christ’s sake.”

“Double-M?”

“Morticia meltdown.” Steve sighs, more interested in another swatch of flowers that he’s filling a blank page in his notebook with. Mercy, before Eddie can continue to needle him, the phone rings. He only catches scraps of what is said, but his ears prick when he hears Eddie let out a quiet oh.

“Steven, my liege, my lad, it’s for you!” Great, probably Art calling to find out where the hell he’s been. Still, he gets up, only paying an ounce of attention to Eddie’s shit-eating grin when he takes the phone from him.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Steve?” Still only half-way paying attention, snapping his fingers in Eddie’s direction when he starts rifling through a box of cereal that Steve bought, looking for the dinky plastic toy inside, no doubt.

“Uh, yeah, who is this?” He snaps his fingers again when Eddie keeps digging through the cereal box, mouthing the words stop it when his roommate still persists in his hunt. Steve’s going to have to buy new cereal.

“It’s— it’s Ruth? Um, from the Newport, remember?” It’s a strange feeling, first his stomach sinking, a tight fist in his throat too, and most embarrassingly of all, that flip in his chest, that kick of hope, even now, stupid.

“Oh, oh, yeah, I remember. How did– how’d you get this number?”

“I asked Art for it, figured he’d have your info. Listen, Steve, I need to apologize for what I did. That was just– fucking childish of me, and I hope you know that it had way more to do with my own fucked-upness than it did with anything about you.”

“Yeah, it’s okay, you know, but it was pretty fucked up.” Stupid, how that hope floats to the top of his throat, because maybe apology means trying again. Maybe he’d like to try again.

“There’s something else I have to tell you.”

“Okay?” She sighs, a crackled sound over the line that makes his brow pinch.

“Look, there’s no nice way to say this, so I’m just gonna spit it out.” At this point, Eddie has crept closer, hand still buried in the cereal box, eyes wide and rapt at what is probably a stricken expression on Steve’s face.

“I’m pregnant, Steve.” What does hope turn into? A dizzying feeling, dumb and dull and done. His ears ring with it.

“I– you’re– you– what?”

“I’m pregnant. And before you do that guy thing of asking if it’s yours, I’m pretty damn sure that it is.” Somewhere in the slow unraveling of this, he has pressed one palm to the wall, whole body slumping toward it, head dropped between his shoulder blades to try to make as much of everything else quiet so he can focus on this.

“Okay, um, okay. Do you wanna– you know– because it’s your body and if you wanna— you should–”

“I’ve decided I’m keeping it.” The way his heart seizes, stops for a beat, and then trips back over itself into rhythm scares him, palm finding his chest like he could rub that feeling out and away.

“Right, that’s– yeah. Do you, like, need help, or–”

“No, I don’t need your help. I just– it seemed like the right thing to do to tell you, so that’s what I’m doing. But, yeah, I don’t, like, expect anything from you.” Steve scrunches his eyes shut, hard, trying to tamp down the heat starting to rise behind them, a foreign feeling, a falling feeling.

“Yeah, okay, thank you for telling me, Ruth.” Because what else could he say? It’s like he hears the words coming out of his mouth from somewhere just over his shoulder. And there’s more that he’d like to say, the right things to say, but Ruth is already beating him to it.

“So, yeah, I guess that’s all. Take care of yourself, Steve.” Already hanging up, and that sounds permanent. That sounds like no intention of ever seeing him again. The phone hangs by its chord, swinging limp a few inches above the ground.

“Steve, what the fuck was that?” One long exhale for him, shitshitshitshit. Eddie sets down the cereal box and takes him by the shoulders, squared off and trying to catch his vacant, glazed stare.

“I– we– she–”

“Did you use protection?” He blinks, nods, relieved that Eddie has already gotten explanation enough from eavesdropping on the call.

“Yeah, fuck, yes. I took a condom from your stash, it was a brand new box.” Something strange passes over Eddie’s expression, blanching and jaw slackening.

“Steve, which box of condoms did you open?”

“What do you mean which box? The one in your closet, on the top shelf.” Eddie’s hands drop from his shoulders, brows shot straight up his forehead.

“Oh jesus christ.”

“Jesus christ? What– Ed, what the fuck does that mean?” Steve gets no reply, Eddie already scuttling into his room, followed by the distant sound of rummaging, and then a low curse.

“So here’s the thing, Stevie, these condoms–” Eddie comes back out of his room brandishing said box of condoms, the box that Steve had opened that night with Ruth. He has a smile that slants sheepish on his face, and Steve is already starting to feel sick.

“Yeah, these condoms are from eighty-nine.”

“As in– as in nineteen-eighty-nine?”

“That would be correct, yes.” Eddie has already taken a few tentative steps backward, putting the kitchen counter between him and Steve. But Steve is too struck dumb to even consider anything like vengeance on his roommate, dragging both his hands through his hair and tugging hard until it hurts.

“Who– why– what the fuck are you doing with five-year-old condoms?”

“Ha, well, you see, I figured after a decade or two maybe they’d be worth something, you know? Like a collector’s item.” Wordless, Steve shuffles over to Eddie and takes the box of condoms from his hands, something like a laugh that sounds so sharp Eddie winces at the sound.

“Ed, a signed poster is a collector’s item. This is a box of condoms– this is– this is junk.”

“Well it’s junk now, Steven, since someone opened it.”

“Oh no, uh-uh, you don’t get to be pissy about this, not when there’s literally a girl who’s pregnant because you’re such a fucking hoarder.”

“Uh, excuse me, I’m not the one who didn’t check the expiration date when they went fumbling around for a condom.”

“I didn’t think I needed to worry about five-year-old condoms, fuck!” The volume of his voice surprises even him, silence falling heavy and hard in the echo of it. Steve rests his hands on the counter, letting his shoulders shrug up to his ears, slumping down into his bones. Eddie rests a cautious hand on his arm.

“What’re you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Ed. I really don’t know.”

#steve harrington fluff #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington angst #steve harrington au

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aftgficrec · 5 months

Note

omg it’s finally open!!! so i’ve been looking for these two fics FOREVER, and i can’t find them anywhere :(

the first one was called “the way young lovers do” i think, and it was aaron and katelyn helping neil and andrew set up their new house, and it ended with neil and andrew dancing to the song in their yard. it was very cute and i can’t find it no matter where I look

and the second one was aaron meeting katelyns parents for the first time, and they are super conservative and hate aaron, so they invite neil and andrew to be there to take the heat off of aaron. i remember neil saying andrew bought him a cartier bracelet and he wanted the one in a different colour, and just being a brat in general?

also if you have any similar fics with the four of them bonding, i would love them!

thank you guys sooooo much for this blog! happy holidays <3

OK, so what we have for you is a collaboration where S instantly remembers every fic she’s ever read BY NAME, and A makes random connections you may or may not want.

The first fic you’re looking for is fluffy, fun, post-canon andreil: ‘We Sat on Our Own Star and Dreamed,’ by fuzzballsheltiepants. The author has locked this fic since its original publication, so you have to be logged in to AO3 to find it. If you’ve ever wondered why some works are locked, check out this article from techcrunch.com.

The second fic you mentioned is ‘the roads I traveled with you,’ which is part 9 of a delicious post-canon series by Ominous that digs deep into the relationships between andreil, andreil + aaron, the twins, and katelyn/aaron, and the stitched-together family they become. I just checked, and part one of this series has nearly 5,000 kudos! -A

also see

the latest roundup of this group bonding (and not!) is our Neil & Aaron: quests, situations, friendship & slash ask here

‘awkward Twinyard/ katelyn & Neil double date,’ and ‘wholesome twinyard hurt/comfort’ here

‘The societies we despise’ here

‘I'll Come Back To You’ here

We Sat on Our Own Star and Dreamed by fuzzballsheltiepants [Rated T, 3815 Words, Complete 2020, Locked]

Aaron & Katelyn have been too busy with their internships at the hospital to visit anyone, but Andrew and Neil just bought a house and they took a few days off to help them move. Fluff and introspection ensue.

tw: implied/referenced abuse

NB: if you love the relationship vibes in this fic, here are other asks where we suggested it:

more like ‘something in return’ here

new Katelyn/Aaron here

post canon long domestic andreil here

post canon andreil fluff + snark here

cute and happy andreil here

canon divergent low angst twinyards here

twinyards relationship focus here

progress comes in small steps series by Ominous [Rated T/E, Series, Complete, 2020], featured here and here

Before Andrew & Neil and Aaron & Katelyn, there was Andrew & Aaron. This series tracks the ups and downs of healing a relationship that was broken from the word go.

Part 9: the roads I traveled with you [Rated T, 35542 Words, Complete, AFTG Big Bang 2020] When his brother gets engaged, Aaron doesn't expect it to send his head spinning as much as it does. Marriage has always felt like a dream, or a nightmare, one he never thought either of them would be able to achieve. In that moment, Aaron remembers what he's always known, what keeps his head above water. He wants to be with Katelyn forever. That's never been a question. But marriage hadn't been brought up. For so long it was this abstract concept, a fantasy. He'd always reasoned with himself that it would happen, rationally of course it would, but now... Now Andrew has made the idea a reality, and Aaron has to confront his own wants for his future.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced addiction, tw: homophobia

NB: find art by @autumnalpalmetto here, and below are other asks where we’ve featured this series:

favourite new fics 2020 roundup here

domestic fluff w/twinyards bonding, Neil & Aaron friendship here

Katelyn & Neil friendship here

let’s focus on Katelyn here

Katelyn-centric hurt/comfort here

Andrew & Katelyn rapprochement here

Aaron & Neil rapprochement here

angsty aaron fics here

Aaron accepting andreil here

fluffiest long post canon college fics here

best post canon fics w/happy ending here

staff fave post canon andreil here

canon divergent low angst twinyards here

healthy sibling rivalry here

twinyards relationship focus here

Andrew & Aaron’s therapy sessions here

Andrew's pov of meeting Neil here

Neil's sophomore year and beyond here

romantic andreil/growing together here

andreil first time sex here and here

Andrew says no here

andreil getting married here

fics like 'only you' here

more like 'room 308' here

authors like willow_bird here

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chemical-killjoy · 8 months

Text

✨MASTERLIST✨

Greetings Dear Reader! Right now the majority of the fics on my masterlist are from my old blogs, @immrbrightsideeee and @remingtonisleithal, so most links will take you to that, any and all notes on those posts I am not likely to see for a bloody long time, so please message me or send an ask or something if you really liked the fics/want a sequel or are anything! Also if you like my writing, check out @smiling-girl and @fandomfoodiedancer, they're amazing <33

Requests are OPEN

(and encouraged lol)

I write for a whole bunch of fandoms, but here's the ones I can think of: arcane, black veil brides, maneskin, marvel, motionless in white, my chemical romance, palaye royale, pierce the veil, the artful dodger, the raven cycle (books), and supernatural :)

If you like my writing, here's the link to join my taglist (It's very important you guys fill this out if you wanna join my taglist as I do write some serious, dark topics sometimes) and here's a link to buy me a coffee

updated: 15/12/23

Damiano David:

*A night to remember 1/2

smut. Damiano is attracted to reader singing iwbys

Movie and a kiss

the reader had a fight with their family and Damiano looks after them

Fast Car (trigger warning)

Honestly this is just angst and emotional and if you don’t cry I have failed as a writer. But it’s got a happy ending!!

Vic de Angelis:

Knight in Shining Armour

Vic saves the reader from a creep at a bar

Remington Leith:

*Caught in the Storm

reader and remington share a bed in a storm. What ever will happen?

Feel better

comfort fic, remington takes the reader on an adventure to feel better

*Only one answer (part two of Feel Better)

I will find you

mesmerized by someone in the crowd, remington has to find the reader

Something beautiful (part 2 of I will find you)

I Just Need Some Air*

young!Remington and the reader are at a party and after confessing their feelings things get heated.

Better Than Nutella

Remington is hooked on his new friend’s cooking, and smile.

Movie Night

Remington and Y/N have a movie night

Morning Light: (this is a collab with @cursivetalk)

vampire Remington, based on the tonight is the night I die video. Series, currently being written.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Emerson Barrett:

Teach me

emerson teaches the reader the drums

Andy Biersack:

Don’t go (trigger warning) (there is comfort)

I Don’t Wanna Be Alone (trigger warning) (with comfort)

Love isn’t always fair *

After a concert Andy reveals his love for his best friend

Mortician’s Daughter (trigger warning)

Thomas Raggi:

Moonlight’s Curse (part 1)

werewolf!thomas, a series being written :)

Mistakes and Misunderstandings

Ronnie Radke:

*untitled

pwp really, Ronnie meets Y/N in a bar and things happen

Vic Fuentes:

Hell Over Me (trigger warning) (happy ending)

Frank Iero:

Not A Kid *

TW brief mention of abuse, age gap. Y/N works for MCR and it turns out Frank likes her just as much as she likes him

Gerard Way:

Cemetery Drive

TW for suicide and self harm. Y/N visits her ex’s grave, and is surprised to find him there

Hang Em High

Cemetery drive part 2

Demolition Lovers

Part 3 and final chapter of Cemetery Drive

Kisses and Coffee

Coffee shop and accidental kiss AU

Dean Winchester:

Life In (Rose) Pink

Dean is a romantic cliche trying his hardest

Chris Motionless:

Eternally Yours *

Based on the music video

Jinx:

You Decide

Reader has a breakdown and Jinx helps them

Jack Dawkins/Dodger:

Healing Kiss *

Reader is in hospital, but Dr. Dawkins is there to heal her. TW for self harm, suicide and mentions of abuse.

54 notes · View notes

haitaniapologist · 11 months

Text

you drew stars around my scars ( kaveh x fem!reader )

tws — alcoholism, d*pression, s*icide mention, a lot of daddy issues, angst (with comfort). this fic contains sensivite subjects regarding those trigger warnings, so be careful when reading. no proofread.

as a child, you never understand why you needed to smell all the other bottles of your house before drinking it. nor why your father would take hours on the tavern before coming home with the delicious dinner he promised you before leaving — you were just happy to have him at home, even though he and your mother would always argue about the smallest things. maybe it was just how married couples were, your child conscience would think, too unaware of the way he'd reek of wine or how sometimes he needed help to walk because his legs were too wobbly.

your father's problems with alcohol started as soon as you were born, and you couldn't tell what were traits of his personality or the alcohol speaking and the thought of not knowing who your father truly was always plagued you.

but, with kaveh, you could.

you could tell that when he was flirtier than usual, or more touchy, it was the alcohol on him speaking — sober kaveh was more of romantic gestures than flirty ones — or when he looked too cheerful and his smiles didn't made his eyelids close with happiness, or when his eyes were too unfocused on the person he was supposed to pay attention to. they were subtle changes, but changes you knew deep in your heart.

drunk kaveh wasn't the kaveh you fell in love with, the kshahrewar student who you left in awe after one of your dance performances in the grand bazaar — your love story was supposed to rival mondstadt's greatest bard's songs, something that was supposed to be forbidden due to the nature of yours and his environments, but the love that blossomed inside two younger hearts was too strong to let the relationship end just because of what the akademiya thought about the arts.

but such love wasn't strong enough to endure when you saw him going in the same path as your father, even with the many warnings and sincere conversations you had with him.

you've made the promise of not being like your mother on the day your father died due to his addiction, and you decided to honor your teenage self — leaving kaveh and ending your relationship was the most difficult decision you ever made, a decision that, in the middle of uncharacteristic cold nights, you still had doubts if it was the best thing. however, you didn't want to be there to watch him going further and further down in a path you knew which the ending was, without caring for your experiences or feelings. he knew how much you were affected by your father actions, but still decided to close his eyes to what could happen when relying on alcohol to feel something good could happen.

a broken heart to break a cycle was a fair thing to pay, you thought — even though it hurt more than anything you ever felt. kaveh managed to make a way for him inside your bones and soul, and your flesh screamed for him. to feel his touch, to taste his kisses once more.

just like the wine he so dearly loved, he managed to be as sweet and additive as it.

but life needed to go on, and work called you, like a salvation. becoming a member of zubayr theater and rising to the position of one of their stars alongside nilou was what kept you sane through your grief, and you couldn't be more grateful for them — and, surprisingly, for alhaitham too. kaveh's friend and roommate took your side in everything that happened, and you knew it was because of his worry for his housemate, but a strong friendship blossomed between you and the scribe after the break up.

“he has stopped drinking, you know.” alhaitham said, casually, over his coffee break with you, as if what he was saying was about some old guy in birmastan instead of your ex boyfriend.

you almost spilled your tea over him, or choked on what was inside your mouth. it had been some months since you last heart about kaveh, grateful that he respected your wishes when you said you didn't want to see him ever again — words you screamed at his face after he arrived in your house reeking of wine and triggering the most horrible feelings your heart had locked up ever since you were fourteen — but you never thought alhaitham would be the one to bring him up, so casually, inside the puspa cafe. taking your silence as his permission to talk, the scribe continued. “i've never seen him so determined before, not even when he's working on a project.” it wasn't common for alhaitham to praise kaveh, so what he was doing was probably something so exceptional that made the scribe want to say good things about his roommate. “the breakup changed him, i suppose.”

you smiled weakly at him. was he trying to put him in good graces with you again? did kaveh make him schedule a meeting with you so alhaitham could talk about your ex-boyfriend to you? you wouldn't be fooled. you were no scholar, but you weren't stupid. “i wish he had changed when we were still together, as it is easy to change when one is no longer around. now, i suppose it doesn't matter anymore for me.” it pained to say such words because it did matter for you, and you hoped alhaitham couldn't see the tears glossing your vision.

did you mean so little to kaveh that he decided to change only when you weren't in the picture anymore?

—

kaveh sighed in frustration.

he had hoped that when alhaitham brought him up in his conversation with you, you would've a better reaction. though it hurt, he expected such words coming from your mouth — but words could be lies, and he wished he was there to watch your body language, as he could read it like the palm of his hand.

unlike alhaitham, who read people as if they were a rock.

however, that didn't matter. kaveh now knew when your next performance in the grand bazaar would be, and that was what he needed. he was sure you'd never agree to meet him in private, and maybe approaching you in a public setting would be best for him to show how much he had changed and how willing to fight to have you back he was.

he hoped the bouquet of sumeru roses would be enough to soften your heart, so he could talk how difficult it was to stop drinking, but he did it for you and for himself, too — the scars on his fists were enough reminder of how destructive alcohol made his thoughts to be, and, if it wasn't for alhaitham, he doubted he would've survived such spiral he went down on that fateful day. drinking had been a great distraction for all the pain he had inside his chest, for his father and mother and for you too, but it was also his biggest enemy. everything was much better now that wine wasn't his best friend.

in the end, you had been right, and kaveh was a fool for not listening to you — and he hoped he wasn't too late now. surely seven months wouldn't be enough to erase the love you had for him, right?

he sighed again, a soft smile on his face watching you spinning and dancing, rehearsing for your next performance. it pained him to watch from the shadows something he used to watch first hand, but he didn't want to disturb you. he had already waited for so long, a few days wouldn't be compared to the months of anguish since you broek up with him.

—

sometimes you felt like you were being watched from the shadows, a figure following every step you took, but you wouldn't let yourself be paranoid about something that was just in your head. maybe you were just anxious about your next performance in the grand bazaar, as sharing the stage with nilou always awoken such feelings in your heart — as her senior in both the theater and in the art of dancing, though sharing the same teacher, you always wanted to give her and the audience the performance of your life.

however, you were restless for some other reasons — alhaitham's words about kaveh were still resonating inside your head, of how he stopped drinking after your break up. it was selfish and even naïve to think that he'd try to mend the relationship you both had now that he was sober, but you still could imagine him coming to your house and you both getting over your differences. he was haunting all of your what-ifs, making you look for him in shadows inside the places you two used to go together, and that infuriated you. deep inside, you wished he'd attend the performance in the grand bazaar, only for you to see if he was doing alright.

but the fear of seeing him with someone else was too much, too.

what if his sober mind noticed that he didn't love you, and his feelings were just products of the wine he'd drink before reaching your house and making your body his home? what if he noticed he was just trying to find who'd draw stars on his scars, whisper sweet nothings on his skin whenever the pain and guilt about his father's death would take control of his body? what if you were just what his drunk self needed, but not his sober one?

you wondered if that were the thoughts of your mother, while enduring a loveless marriage with your father. was she holding the hope of him becoming the man she fell in love with for all those years, while peeling the shell of a monster, trying to find your father beneath it?

she'd found love again, but you wondered if those thoughts still plagued her, like your thoughts about kaveh were doing with you. you just wished he could go away and leave you alone, even though he wasn't there.

a knock on the door took you out from your thoughts, and, groaning, you got up from the chair you were sitting, ready to start another performance by nilou's side. the cataclysm was a play very popular within the kids and those who didn't study in the akademiya, and the clothes of the electro archon were almost like a second skin to you, the armor you needed to shield yourself from your own thoughts — though, however, such armor came to ashes as soon as noticed a pair of red eyes on the crowd.

—

kaveh hugged the bouquet of sumeru's roses a bit closer to his heart, after hearing mr. zubayr saying that you have already left for your house.

he didn't expect you to wait for him, if you did notice him in the crowd, but it still hurt a little. you danced so beautiful, portraying the fierce and unstoppable electro archon fighting against monsters alongside the lord of geo. he was your biggest supporter and admirer, even though you always had dozen of them lined up to greet you after a performance — always saying to kaveh that none could compare to him when he'd get too pouty, wanting to have you all for himself when seeing the attention you gave your admirers.

now, perhaps, he was the one who couldn't compare to them.

but he knew your favorite flowers were the sumeru roses, unlike many of your admirers, and he was willing to give you millions of them if you so desired — the birmastan would be in loss of one of their medicinal herbs, as they'd be sitting on your house as a testimony of his compromise to you.

kaveh knew like the back of his hand the way of your house, familiar with all the wild flowers and rocks of the way. his architectural mind always had ideas of how to make your street more beautiful, to suit having you living there, ideas that would make you stay awake during the night hearing him saying everything that was in his mind — more flowers, more trees, a new design for the buildings. you two were like water and oil, but mixed perfectly until you didn't.

almost reaching the place he'd call a second home, he heard noises that always made him disgusted and angry — fighting sounds, skin against skin in punches and kicks, cries and whines. but he ran, because he knew from whose mouth such sounds were coming from.

he would make whoever ambushed you pay with the most painful punishment.

“hey, what's happening here?” he demanded, voice full of authority of a member of the kshahrewar darshan — especially because those who were cornering you were his juniors, and he wondered what was wrong in their minds. they stopped as soon as kaveh opened a way between them to put his body in front of you, not sparing a glance to your wounded body. if he saw the extent of your injuries before making them leave, perhaps he'd be expelled from the akademiya. “did you all lose your minds? she's a weaponless woman!”

they seemed ashamed, but only because their senior caught them in the act. kaveh heard you sighing in relief behind him, and such a reaction made the red clouds on his vision dissipate — you felt safe with him still.

“she's a dancer.” the boldest one of them replied, and kaveh recognized him as the one who punched your face slightly before he made them stop. “a scum. you shouldn't protect her, she's staining sumeru's reputation.”

if it wasn't for the flowers on his hand, kaveh would've done to him the same he was doing to you. “and she's still a weaponless woman.” he knew that trying to argue with them wouldn't lead anywhere, and he needed to make sure you were fine. “just leave, the three of you, before i treat you like you were treating her.” he threatened, watching as they went away before turning to you.

with an open lip and some open wounds on your arms and neck, kaveh almost blurted how beautiful you were — but he knew it wasn't time for it. “are you alright?” you nodded and, as much as he wanted to hear your voice speaking to him, he would give you time. he knew some people were hostile to you and your colleagues of the zubayr theater, but he never thought scholars would be bold enough to ambush a defenseless artist. it made this blood boil, but he wasn't there to avenge you yet. “th… these are for you.” he almost shoved the bouquet in your face, closing his eyes when he felt his cheeks warming up, missing the way your eyes sparkled and your lips curled in a small smile.

he only opened them again when he felt you taking over the flowers, eyes closed and face close to the petals, nose smelling the comforting scent of the flowers — and he shouldn't be jealous of inanimate things, but oh, how much he desired to be in their position. “thank you.” you whispered, and kaveh felt his heart melting with the sweetness of your voice.

an awkward silence followed the sweet interaction, with both you and kaveh lost in your thoughts and the words you wanted to say to each other locked up on throats that wanted nothing more than to proffer the undying love for each other of their owners.

“may i escort you to your house, y/n?” your name wasn't foreign to his tongue, but it had been ages since he professed those syllables — it has a new taste on his mouth, far more sweet than it used to be. “so i can prevent those scumbags from bothering you again.” kaveh quickly added, afraid that you would see such a suggestion as something else. it was something else, a way for him to be around you once again, and you probably knew that, but he hoped you would accept it.

he was surprised that you didn't seem to think twice before answering. “yes, of course. lead the way, kaveh.”

—

it was a nice and short walk, but before you knew it, kaveh was inside your house and between your legs, his fingers cleaning your facial wounds with a delicacy only reserved to those who were lovers of the art — and his hands were stable, you noticed. not trembling because of the alcohol.

you didn't remember how you managed to ask him to get inside or how he managed to get you to agree with him doing such an intimate act on your body, but it used to be the other way around. you would be the one cleaning wounds on his face and body from fighting against monsters in the forest, and not him doing it because some men thought it would be a wise decision to abuse you just because of your career choice. your mother would always say that you were like a bird, one that wasn't caged, and that your wings would take you to the most beautiful places and she wasn't wrong. it took you to the zubayr theater, to kaveh.

he wasn't saying anything even though you wanted him to, but you couldn't be able to break the silence. it wasn't awkward, but it was heavy and you hoped he couldn't hear or feel how quickly your heart was bearing — but, as soon as you noticed bandages around his wrists, you knew you needed to ask.

“what happened?” you asked, holding his wrists together and near your face, making him unable to do his work on your skin. everything was clean now, you could feel it.

kaveh contemplated if he should lie to you or not. those were scars he was ashamed of, scars that weren't known by you. but you could read him like an open book and, judging by the tears making your eyes shine with sadness, you knew what was the action that inflicted them on his skin. “it was a long night.” he whispered, feeling the way your fingers traced the twin scars under the bandages. “it was the first death anniversary of my father after our break up and i just… i just wanted the pain and guilt to stop.” he watched as you nodded, trying so hard to not let the tears fall down your eyes. “i had drank more than normal and smashed a bottle on the wall and… the glass was too appealing for me.”

“i'm sorry.”

“it's not your fault." kaveh whispered back, taken aback by how sad you sounded. it never had been your fault — his decisions and acts were his burdens to carry. “it was on that day that i noticed how bad the alcohol was for me and that i needed help. if it wasn't for alhaitham…” he sighed, dropping his eyes at where your hands held his wrists together — your touch burned his skin, and he hoped it would leave a scar so he could always remember this moment.

though, however, he never expected you to slowly untie his bandages.

neither did you know what got over you, but you needed him to know how much you still loved him, how much you were willing to make things work between you two again. you needed kaveh in your life like a flower needed water, like the moon needed the sun to shine. you brought the skin of his wrists to your lips, kissing the scarred skin softly — and your lips felt like an oasis after days spent in the desert.

“d-don’t.” he whispered, and you could tell his eyes were filled with tears despite not looking at me. “don’t give me hope that you still love me.” he felt as small as he did on the day his mother left sumeru to fontaine, to the day his father left to participate in that damn tournament. and it was that kid that was whispering such words, afraid of being left again by someone he loved.

but as much as that child was speaking for kaveh, your own child self was the one making your decisions — a child that once was afraid to open her heart and be hurt, a child that the biggest nightmare was to be loved wrong like her father once did with her. but kaveh showed that his love for you wasn’t wrong, and you couldn’t let him slip away from your grasp again. it was difficult to let him go in the first place, but you now knew that both of you needed time to grow and heal and to be away from each other while doing so.

“but i do.” you whispered so softly, afraid that he would fly away like a dandelion if you spoke louder. “leaving you was the hardest decision i ever took, kaveh.” you confessed, putting his right hand over your chest. “my heart never stopped being yours.”

kaveh smiled, albeit more sadder than you were expecting too. “as mine never stopped being yours too, my muse.” the pet name always made your cheeks redden, and now it wasn’t different. “and i need to thank you.” the hands that were being held by yours made their way to cup your face, bringing your forehead to rest on his. kaveh was beautiful from any angle, but being this close to him made you notice how enchanting he was. “the hardest decision of your life was what i needed to clear my head and mind.” you both breathed the same air, as if you were the same being, but it wasn’t enough — yours and kaveh’s souls needed to be one once more, and you could feel them mixing once more, finally finding the comfort and ease they were deprived of while you were away. “and be ready to love you as you deserve.”

but relief, too. relief to know that their feelings didn’t change, but only grew and grew stronger than before, to know that they were still made for each other despite everything.

your ways would always lead you to kaveh, as his would lead him to you.

he didn’t hesitate to claim your lips once more, caressing your face as if you were the most beautiful piece of artwork he ever saw. you would never grow tired of kaveh’s kisses and you only noticed how much you missed them —but it seemed different somehow, without the smell of wine and sluggish words. they were stable and assertive, only to show you how much kaveh was willing to change to worship you and your body.

the ghost who was haunting all of your what ifs was back to his rightful place: between your arms, and to stay until the end of his days.

not me coming back after months of just reblogging hal's fics to post one of my own lmao im sorry! i'll try to write more now okay!

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #kaveh #kaveh x reader #tw alcoholism #tw depression #tw suicide

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eveandtheturtles · 9 months

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Twisted Turtles Scenarios

Hello! So I was talking with @tinkabelle19 and somehow my brain spawned these absolutely Murphy's Law scenario. So here are these Bayverse What If situations where things don't go well for the turtles. You can use these scenarios for fics or art just tag me as the creator of the idea ;)

Tagging: @m1dnyt3-w0lf @thelaundrybitch @raphsmuneca @madammuffins @sharpwindow @pheradream-15 @leosgirl82 @kikithedreamerwriter @fyreball66 @dilucsflame33

General TW: Character Deaths in many different ways. Enjoy!

Raph - Fallen Protector

After Splinter dies defeated by Shredder Raph and April were too late to save Leo, Donnie and Mikey from Sacks. Enraged by that with the help of the humans Raph barely manages to have his revenge. He takes down Shredder but he can't stop the virus' spread. To make up for his failure, he gives April some of his blood so that the antidote can still be made.

Unfortunately, New York takes the hardest hit from Sack's virus, turning the city into a war zone with resources being scarce. Raph tries to fight the good fight, following his father's teachings but he's no Splinter nor Leo. He can't patch himself or fix things like Donnie with his tech, nor does he have the optimistic nature of Mikey. April and Vern eventually die on duty. Raph is alone. Abandoning the way of ninja Raph joins an underground fighting ring, occassionally doubling as a bodyguard for shady 'business men'.

"What's the point of protecting if there's no one left to protect..."

Mikey - Driven By Guilt

Splinter dies in the attack. Raph stands his ground against Shredder and falls. And when time came to test Mikey the rope slipped right through his hands on that snowy cliff and Leo, Verne and April plummeted to the ground below.

He and Donnie still got to the Sacks Tower. Sacks makes his antidote but the virus is stopped thanks to Donnie. The two barely stop Shredder thanks to Donnie's quick thinking and Mikey's luck and skill. Unfortunately, Donnie takes great damage from the fight. His ninja days are over and eventually transfers his mind to a computer.

Guilt drives Mikey to push himself but he can't stop hearing the voices of Leo, Splinter and Raph in his head, often blaming him for their deaths. For his blunders and mistakes.

Donnie tries to help, support his little brother but there's not much he can do now as merely a program.

Mikey gets more and more violent, sometimes his mind more stuck in the past than present, no matter how much Donnie tries. That light and glue that once held the family together has dimmed and inevitable is falling apart.

"I will never let go, not again..."

Donnie - Mad Genius

tw. substance abuse mention and torture. sorta.

Shredder didn't leave Raph behind. Sacks was smarter. The turtles were going to be kept by the billionaire as permanent guinea pigs to be their infinite mutagene supply. Leo and Raph were too prideful for that, they tried to escape but the escape plan failed, costing them their lives. Mikey, depressed with the two elder brothers' death and their treatment from humans slowly but surely faded away. He wasn't strong enough to stand all the chemical substances pumped into their bodies 24/7 nor the frequent operations.

But Donnie... Donnie had his mind and will. He knew if he waited long enough there would be an opportunity. While he bid his time, his grief and slowly building up hatered for humans were splintering and twisting his brilliant mind.

After the assault on the turtle lair, April survived, but no one would believe her and Sacks had money - the ultimate power in the human world, making her persona non grata anywhere she went. But she persisted. She managed to somehow get in contact with Donnie and plan an escape for him, although it hit her hard to hear the other three didn't make it.

During the escape something went wrong, or so April thought watching the entire Sacks facility explode but she didn't miss the twisted satisfaction on Donnie's face. Afterwards Donnie retreated underground.

She tried to reach out and comfort him but Donnie didn't reciprocate. His fevered mind was now addicted to two things - revenge and various chemical compounds his body got dependant on in Sack's captivity. He shut her down and cut all contact.

A while later, in utter shock April could watch on the TV screen the newest villain tearing the city apart like Shredder never could.

"I may be mad but who's fault is that."

Leo - Failed Leader

The mission in Brazil went as bad as it could. Leo shouldn't have jumped after Donnie, he should have waited for Raph. The fight with Rocksteady and Bebop went so wrong. He still could see Donnie getting hit with that missle from the tank. He barely saved Mikey.

They both got stuck in the jungle. Adapting was difficult, he had no doubt April would try to reach them only they had no tech... Mikey tried to cheer him up. Follow whatever he said, clinging to his eldest brother after losing the other two but eventually Leo's control became too much. After an argument Mikey went on his own.

It was a damn lucky poacher who got his shot in before Leo got there. Too late. Burying his youngest brother Leo decided the world didn't need him. He was alone. He failed.

Just how much he learned soon enough after the Technodrome hovered over the Southern America.

".....there's nothing left to say..."

#tmnt fanfiction #tmnt scenarios #tmnt leonardo #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #bayverse turtles #tmnt 2016 #tmnt bayverse #eve scribbles #tmnt 2014 #tmnt #bayverse donnie #bayverse raph #bayverse leo #bayverse mikey

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cyber-celeste · 2 years

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Idia Shroud x reader NSFW HCs

A/N: I’m a virgin so don’t expect me to know a bunch about sex. I also am having extreme Idia brainrot so I might make a follow up NSFW fic

Tw// slight Idia slander, Nsfw obviously, dom and sub idia, AFAB reader(its only really mentioned once though) , mentions of e-sex and online porn, mentions of hentai, sex toys, shibari (bondage basically), overstim and edging, pegging, maybe more :)

!!THIS IS NOT MY ART ITS @_LYNUNE ON TWT ART!!

Uhh where do I start…

He’s just a little silly, and a little stupid just like me :)

He’s probs had e-sex before

Okay okay I’ll be serious now… maybe…

I think his dick is like long and skinny maybe like 7, 7.5 inches?? And he does not know how to use it

Okay he might be good at sex a little bit from the copious amounts of hentai he’s watched but he extremely embarrassed by even the thought of sex

I would love to believe he hasn’t started an nsfw twt but I bet he has

He will delete it as soon as you guys start dating though

He is very good at dirty talk but will never say it in real life due to him thinking its unbelievably embarrassing

Your guys first time is very awkward unless you want to take control

If you don’t take control he’ll only have feather light touches on you, he’ll try to be slow and soft but he messes up so much

If you do have control he will not stop you, this is exactly how he’d like it to go, how you take it if your personal decision but the most he does is grip your hips and whimper under you

Once your relationship’s sex life has started he’ll definitely like send nudes or just plain out say things he’d do to you through text (he might go through with them but probably won’t)

If you are more submissive it doesn’t really matter to him but you just get to see a more sadistic side of him, he goes with how you feel comfortable instead of his wants most the time

If you are comfortable with him using toys on you he’ll almost die, he loves seeing your face and reactions of you in pleasure so him being able to see it without being distracted by his own is amazing

He’d edge and overstimulate you for hours until your crying while he just sit under you whispering small praises to you as he thrusts toys in you, rubbing your clit and kissing your legs, leaving small hickeys.

He’d totally would be into shibari for himself and you, if you let him tie you up and use toys on you he’d seriously be in heaven

He’d absolutely mark you everywhere just to be a little possessive silently hoping people would know your his

Despite popular belief I don’t think Idia has degradation kink i think he’d instead have a praise kink

If you are more dominant he wants you to destroy him seriously.

Like you can use him whenever

Also he’d love for you to use toys on him too, he’d love anything from a little vibrator rubbing on his head to you full on pegging him

Like just lay him down on his stomach and go in

He has the cutest whimpers ever and no one can tell me otherwise

Get underneath his chair while he’a gaming and he’ll get pissed but also would love it

Now going back to sub bc I want to

He has the cutest petnames for you, and they aren’t cringey ones (in my opinion) like “my player two” or something he’ll just call you a simply one or shorten your name (if it can be shortened)

Him actually fucking you is the best thing ever, he only goes for your pleasure and he can go from soft sex to railing the shit out of you

He has gamer hands that he barely knows how to use

He (once he gets the hang of it) will make you cum in seconds

He has a fun fixation on breasts no mattee the size he loves them same with thighs tbh

#twisted wonderland #idia shroud #idia x y/n #idia x mc #idia smut #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud smut #i love idia

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dianadeadwing · 4 months

Text

After the amazing and fun art storm of roudiseweek here’s a sappy courtship Boblin drabble fic I wrote back when I was really in the boblin feels.

Warning for fragmentary sentence construction.

Word count: 2,147

Tw: vague mentions of Bob’s mom’s death / fear of losing loved ones

He doesn't tell his Dad. He doesn't want to hear about all the things that could go wrong. All the things that he did wrong. Right now meeting Linda sits like this perfect little crystalline moment in his head. Almost as if he'd watched it in a movie and everything that had happened had just enfolded completely separate from any action Bob could have taken.

Not for the first time Bob thinks about how significant days start the same as any other. It's not like the movies with a sense of overwhelming dread and dramatic dips in the music. The day starts with tooth brushing and burnt coffee and too bright incandescent lighting. It starts feeling normal and just...

Once when he was twelve sitting on the bench after school. He remembered thinking that his dad was late. Later than usual. Because he was often late. There was so much going on. Mom in the hospital, and Dad trying to balance that and the restaurant. Sometimes Bob just thought it'd be better if he walked home to make it easier on both of them. But his Dad always showed up eventually, stubbornly, pretending everything was normal.

So he waited.

And waited.

This time until dark.

---

"So Bobby," Linda chirps, her soft fingers trailing along the hair on his arm. And Bob thinks about how no one has really called him that since--

"I--" It comes out his mouth without warning. Stupid. Stupid. "Do you really mean--? Do you really want--" And, God, he wishes he could be confident and assured but this has to be a mistake.

Linda, vibrant, firework, sparkler, Linda can't be looking at him with eyes all lidded and that smile and she can't why would she--

"Want to buy me a drink?" Linda answers in all the confidence he lacks. Her eyes glitter in the dimly lit bar, eyelashes lowered looking at him like he matters at least a little bit. "I definitely, want you to buy me a drink."

And her smile is wow. Wow. Wow. wow.

"Um," He must have been staring for a moment too long. Linda doesn't seem to mind the attention but her friend giggles lightly into her own beverage. "What would you like?"

He's helpless, stupid, starstruck by her.

"Mmm..." Linda pretends to think and there's so much mirth behind her eyes as they meet his own, "Something this big," She moves her hands about a foot apart, winking one eye to make really sure of the distance, "And full of alcohol!"

"Yeah," He says immediately and turns to flag down a waiter. He can't think of a single drink that exists on the planet so he just tells the waiter to keep it coming on him. Linda giggles.

"So Bobby," she starts, and he's too caught up in her to notice the large glittering engagement ring on her finger, "What is it you do for a living?"

And that, that he can answer, so with a big smile, a true honest to god smile he meets her eyes and says, "I cook."

And miracle of miracle he sees her again. and again. And again. Every time he thinks this surely must be the end. Someone like her so full of life and laughter must be fed up with someone like him. But she isn't she keeps coming back. She keeps laughing at his dumb jokes. And he tells her about all of the things he hopes for and all of the things he's afraid of and he swears she listens.

It hits him one day. They are sitting in a drive in snuggled up close movie theater watching something about robots and Linda hums under her breath while periodically kissing him under his ear before turning away pretending she hadn't done a thing.

He never asks her what she wants out of life. He's talked at length about his own dreams of starting a restaurant. Of making all of these interesting and flavorful burgers. Of washing his own dishes and locking the door with his own key. He's never asked her what she wants. What she dreams about her life looking like. And that's important if they are doing to be-- If they will be-- If all this is to keep going forward.

"Lin," He starts. But Linda is a firework, glittering and explosive so she derails him.

"What, Bobby? Can't focus on the movie?" Linda laughs and her eyes are lit up from from explosion on the screen he definitely hadn't been paying attention to.

"I--" Bring it back, this is important he tells himself, "Linda? What do you want? I mean? In the future? I want my restaurant but what..." He gestures vaguely, "What's your dream."

And Linda just smiles at him big and bright, like he's being a little bit dumb and he probably is, he usually is, but he can't really think of why this time.

"It's not a thing." She says still smiling like she's in on a joke he's not even close to getting, "I just want to be happy."

---

Happy.

He can't remember the last time he was really and truly happy. And then there she is. And he can't help but feel every piece of himself light up every time she so much as looks in his direction. He's working as a grill cook at some random dive to pay the rent and singing at the top of his lungs. So much when he finally quiets down there's actually applause. Wolf whistles.

At the end of his shift a coworker whispers "Must be some girl you've got."

And Bob can't help the sappy smile on his face, "She is."

---

And the first time she stays over at his little studio apartment he spends way too much time cleaning and trying to make everything perfect. He lights candles. He plays music really low and even gets her flowers. He has to make everything perfect. He has to convince her to see past every little glaring flaw and stay with him regardless.

Bob feels selfish and arrogant but he can't help it. He's somehow tricked her into being with him this long if he can just keep it going possibly forever then he never has to go back.

It's funny how before didn't feel so bad but the thought of going back to life before Linda makes him feel like death now. There is no going back. He can't. He knows what it's like to love someone.

---

And of course, she's bright and funny and a million miles ahead of him. The moment she enters his apartment and sees all the silly little candles she blows one out. Makes a little wish under her breath and turns to him with a big smile.

"I love you," She says before he can even say hello.

And instead of being cool and composed and acting like he's been there before he wraps her up in his arms to keep her from seeing how close to crying he is.

"I love you too," He whispers into her shoulder and hopes she can hear him over the sappy jazz he is playing.

---

And he just can't. Every day feels like he's getting closer and closer to the sun. He feels its warmth deeper and deeper in his skin, his bones, his soul. And he can't lose her. He can't.

But he could.

---

"Pop," Bob says. He's picking at a little crusted-on stain on the countertop of his father's diner. He can't look at him for this. He doesn't want to see what's there. He's afraid of it.

"What?" His father responds tersely, "You've been wound up since you got here. Just spit it out."

To his credit, Bob doesn't even bristle at his tone. He's too in his head.

"I want you to meet someone." And it's surprising how easily the words come out of his mouth. It's the truth but it's also. It's something else.

"Oh," His father responds. And it's uncharacteristically silent in the once bustling diner. It's after closing usually there's the sound of dishes hitting together rags on counter tops. But now nothing.

"Linda." And in spite of his own nerves, he looks up to see his father. He thought he'd be embarrassed or ashamed or something but all he is... "I-- she's my girlfriend," He smiles without meaning to, " I care about her a lot."

He didn't know what he expected but the smile on his father's face is big and genuine and not even a little bit bitter.

"I'd love to meet her." He says.

---

And they get along like. Well, people that get along really well. Linda's very good at stuff like that. Walking into a room and making everyone comfortable and at ease.

The first time she meets Big Bob she wraps him up in a hug that leaves little Bob and his father surprised.

"How are you, Big Bob," She says, laughter in her voice acting like old friends, "Hah, love the mustache. I see where Bobby gets his lip wig from."

How can she do that? Enter a room of strangers and be totally at ease? Bob had been so nervous to have Linda meet his father. He'd been so nervous about so many things and then comes Linda showing him that he had nothing to be nervous about after all.

Bob finds himself elated to see the smile lit up on his father's face.

–

Linda gets them drink for drink into the night. There may have been some singing and dancing on tables. He doesn't even notice when his father leaves them to their own devices.

"Linda's a great girl." Big Bob says the next morning over coffee.

"I love her," Bob says in return and he hadn't intended to say anything of the sort it just comes spilling out of him unwilling to be unheard.

Neither of them says anything after that. It's just morning sounds of doors opening and garbage trucks. But Bob can see the sad little smile on his father's face.

"I was twelve," Bob tells her one night, they are half naked snuggled up in bed together in that sweet place between sleep and wakefulness, "When she died."

"Your mom," Linda says calmly, because she's good at these things but he feels the ways her shoulders square up under his bare fingers.

"Yeah," It squeaks out, "And um, Dad was never the same. I was never..."

Linda props her chin up on his chest and Bob feels himself drawn into her as he always is. Her eyes are always laughing but with something else brewing beneath. "Tell me about her."

And he can't help but laugh. Like, it's so easy. Like it's not daggers. Like it's not a reminder of all he lost.

But still, "She was happy. We were happy." he leaves out and then we weren't.

---

Linda has sort of moved into his apartment. From the moment he met her honestly. She's terrible at keeping track of her things. Something of hers is always lingering around his apartment. At least he assumed she always was forgetting things but maybe she was just always leaving open a reason to come back.

He realizes after what had to have been a least a month that she hasn't left. Every morning she's giggling at him over coffee, wiping leftover food from his mustache kissing his cheeks, nose, and eyebrows before he heads off to work, straightening the collar on his shirt.

Every night he lays in a bed that smells like her. Hears her chattering away in another room or grinning at him while talking on the phone. She's so beautiful it hurts. And he can't go back to before. He absolutely cannot imagine being without her. He doesn't know who he even used to be.

It's not a big affair. He wishes he'd thought about it more. Been able to plan things and give her something special. But they are just ending the day together wrapped in each other's arms on the couch. Linda is telling some good-natured story about something that happened at her day job. her whole face lighting up and bearing down in anger at the appropriate moment. And he kisses her before she finishes a sentence.

"Bobby," she snorts undignified and he loves he loves her so much he's shaking with it, "Were you even listening?"

"No." He blurts of and she gives him a half-hearted little slap feigning offense.

"Last time I--"

"Marry me." Bob blurts out. Pulls back, "I mean, will you--"

And she's just laughing so hard there are little tears in her reddened eyes, "Absolutely."

And then Bob can't stop laughing with her.

And it's like hitting rewind on a cassette tape, a VHS. Back to the start, one, two, three. Only this time he hopes for a better ending.

#bob's burgers #boblin #bob belcher #linda belcher #txt #fanfiction #I wrote this in the middle of the night #high and listening to ceilings on repeat #there’s some inconsistencies with canon I think #bobs living arrangements and such #but it’s supposed to be about the vibes #drabble fic

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