#GIVE ME ALL THE ANGST I AM A MASOCHIST

[minkdelovely]

The quiet crackle of the fire mingled with the faint sounds of your lips meeting his. He pulled back slightly, just enough for your breaths to mingle, and his eyes caught yours. The red of his irises glowed softly, the colour unfamiliar yet achingly fitting for him. It was a shade you had never seen in Heaven, and yet it felt as though it had always belonged to him. 

OH MY HEART!! I knew this one was gonna be special, and it still exceeded my expectations! Vexi, this was so lovely and bittersweet. A perfect marriage of affection and pain, so tender and sobering all at once — haunting, even, in the best way. You had me so immersed that I teared up at the end, which isn’t an easy feat, I assure you 😭♥️ thank you so much for creating and sharing this — it’s an instant classic in the Mink archive!

A/N: Kit, how dare you issue a challenge? I'mma come over and cough all over.... your keyboard! That's right! Biological warfare baby! Jks. I can't get out of my bed, lol.

SUMMARY: Every year on Christmas Eve, you meet Lucifer, your mentor. He regales you with tales from down below, and despite the passing years, you realize that your love for him has never faded.

TAGS/WARNINGS:  f!reader, soft sex, p in v, angel!reader, naive!reader, virgin!reader, first time reader, touchstarved!lucifer, cunnilingus, fingering

Laughter drifted like silken ribbons through the crisp evening air, weaving its way seamlessly into the chorus of crackling firewood and the quiet hum of the night. Above, the stars gleamed with a fractured beauty, like shattered jewels scattered across the inky sky. Each flicker was a ghost of light from stars long gone, their brilliance enduring even after their death—a poignant reminder of their fragility and their fleeting splendour of existence. 

The fire before you burned steady, casting warm golden halos against the encroaching chill. The scent of smoke mingled with the earthy aroma of wood, laced faintly with a sweetness that teased the edges of memory. Enveloped in the soft cocoon of your snowy white wings, you dared a glance at the figure across from you. 

Lucifer. 

He was once your mentor, your guide into the delicate art of creation—the delicate skill of weaving light, life, and beauty into existence. Even now, after his fall, he sat there with the same ethereal glow, though tarnished in the eyes of Heaven. His rosy cheeks, flushed as though kissed by frost, and his gentle smile felt like the warmth of a distant sun. 

Yet, the whispers of his past lingered like shadows. The Seraphs spoke in riddles, never fully divulging the sin that led to his fall. He had become the emblem of rebellion, the cautionary tale told to every fledgling angel. To humanity and the choir of angels, he was the harbinger of evil and sin. 

But to you? 

He was still him. 

“Want a s’more?” His voice broke the spell of your thoughts, warm and smooth, carrying a hint of playful curiosity. He held out the human treat, the graham crackers precariously balanced between fingers that had once wielded the glory of celestial creation. 

You nodded, reaching eagerly for the offering. At the first bite, a delightful medley of flavours melted onto your tongue—the silk of chocolate, the airy sweetness of marshmallow, and the crisp crunch of graham crackers. Your eyes lit up with unabashed delight. 

“Mmm!” you hummed, your grin radiant as you turned to him. 

Lucifer chuckled, his laughter low and rich, like a song from a time you thought you’d forgotten. He leaned back, busying himself with crafting another treat, his motions unhurried and precise. Around you, colourful lights danced on strings, their cheerful glow a stark contrast to the quiet of the winter night. 

You hadn’t planned to see him again after that fateful chance encounter in the human realm. Yet here you were, meeting him each year on Christmas Eve, reliving fragments of a bond that time had refused to sever. 

Your gaze drifted to his profile, illuminated by the soft amber light. There was something mesmerizing about the way his hair caught the glow, the way his sharp features softened in the firelight. 

The chill of the night was no match for the flush warming your cheeks. You didn’t mean to feel this way, to let your thoughts spiral into forbidden territory. 

He was your mentor. 

Your guide.

Your… 

But the space between respect and yearning had blurred, year after year, as comfort gave way to an ache you couldn’t ignore. You told yourself it was admiration. 

That it had to be. 

“So,” Lucifer’s voice stirred you from your reverie, casual yet tinged with something unreadable. “How are things up there?” His words held an edge of hesitance, his unnatural crimson eyes flitting to meet yours briefly before darting away. 

Your breath caught as your gaze fell to the faint glint of a golden band on his fourth finger. A thousand questions stirred in your chest, each one more painful than the last. 

And yet, you smiled. 

You always smiled for him. 

Blinking back the twisting discomfort in your stomach, you forced a bright smile to your lips, wide enough to mask the unease threatening to spill over. “Oh, you know, same old, same old,” you sighed theatrically, shrugging your shoulders in an exaggerated gesture. “It’s been ages since anyone’s come up with anything truly inspired. No creativity, no innovation… just endless routine.” 

Your gaze flickered nervously to Lucifer, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw his face light up—golden hues flushing his cheeks, a grin spreading wide and utterly unguarded across his face. 

“Well, isn’t that just typical!” he exclaimed, effortlessly crossing his legs and setting the fourth s’more neatly on the plate beside him. His movements were so quick and precise you barely caught them. “Those old coots upstairs wouldn’t recognize genius if it smacked them right in their self-righteous halos!” 

A giggle slipped from you, muffled only slightly by the hand you pressed to your mouth. It was still enough to escape, carrying the sound of bubbling joy across the air. His audacity—speaking so brazenly about the elders of Heaven—never failed to amuse you. But wasn’t that just one of the reasons why you… why you… 

Your chest tightened, a bittersweet ache swelling inside you. You didn’t want this moment to end. You longed for the days when you could see him whenever you pleased, like you had in those ancient, untarnished eons. 

Your wings puffed up instinctively, a reflexive motion that startled Lucifer enough to make him flinch. “Oh! S-sorry!” you stammered, cringing at the sudden disruption. “I just… remembered something!” 

With a renewed determination, you reached into your pocket, your fingers brushing against smooth rubber. When you pulled it free, your smile grew brighter, almost trembling with anticipation. You held it out to him with both hands. 

Lucifer’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. He blinked once, then again, his gaze drifting from the object in your hands to your face. His lips, usually quick to curve into a grin, remained frozen in place. 

A flicker of nervousness gnawed at your resolve, but you clung to your bright expression, even as it faltered just slightly. “I-I heard that tomorrow is a day when people exchange gifts and spend time together,” you began hesitantly, heat crawling up your neck to bloom across your cheeks. “And, well… you once mentioned you liked ducks, so… I made this for you.” 

The small object in your hands was a pink rubber duck, its shimmering ruby eyes catching the firelight. Tiny white wings adorned its back, delicately crafted and fluffy to the touch. It wasn’t much, but it was something you’d poured your heart into—something that reminded you of the first time Lucifer had taught you the joy of creating. You still remembered the wooden duck he had given you all those years ago, a keepsake of simpler times. 

“If you squeeze it here,” you demonstrated, giving the duck a gentle press. The tiny beak opened, letting out a soft, endearing quack, and the little wings began to flap, the duck hovering just slightly above your palm. 

Your heart pounded as you looked up at him, hope filling your eyes. Surely, he’d see how much this meant. 

For a moment, Lucifer’s expression was unreadable, his blank stare heavy and unnerving. But then, his lips curved into a wide, mischievous grin. “Oh, wow!” he drawled, plucking the duck from your hands and turning it over to examine it closely. “You’ve really improved! Your craftsmanship is getting impressive.” 

His words washed over you, sending a pleasant warmth trickling down your spine. “Y-you think so?” you asked, your voice tinged with shy pride as you leaned in slightly, desperate to bask in the glow of his approval. 

He glanced at you then, and for a moment, his eyes softened, their sharp edges melting into something infinitely more tender. His vibrant red eyes felt foreign, a reminder of all he had become, yet there was a piece of the mentor you once knew. No matter how he had changed, Lucifer still held an unshakable place in your heart. 

And in this quiet moment, you realized… perhaps he always would. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low, threaded with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. His eyes softened, a flicker of vulnerability shimmering within their depths like the faintest ember of a long-forgotten fire. His hand hovered, trembling slightly, mere inches from your cheek, as if he yearned to touch you but couldn’t bring himself to close the distance. “You don’t have to indulge this old fool every year, you know.” 

Your head tilted slightly, confusion knitting your brows. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment. 

Lucifer sighed deeply, the sound heavy with unspoken words. His hand dropped back into his lap, his fingers curling protectively around the small gift you had made for him. His gaze followed, falling to the duck in his hand as if it held all the answers he couldn’t find. 

“I…” He hesitated, his lips pressing together before he let out a quiet, frustrated breath. His eyes darted to the side, then back to the fire, searching for the courage to continue. “I’ve been reminiscing. About my past—about our past. And it’s been wonderful to share it with you again, but—” 

Your chest tightened painfully, the weight of his unfinished words squeezing the air from your lungs. You didn’t want to hear it. Whatever he was about to say, it would break something inside you, something you weren’t ready to lose. 

Before you could think better of it, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. 

His shoulders jerked, startled, and his head whipped toward you, wide-eyed and unguarded. Your lips quirked into a nervous smile, and with a forced, breathless giggle, you tried to brush it off. “I took my gift from you, Lucifer!” you declared, your tone falsely cheerful. Your hands wrung together in your lap, betraying the storm of nerves churning inside you, and your heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the crackle of the fire. 

“A k-kiss,” you stammered, heat flooding your cheeks. “That’s… what I wanted.” 

It was innocent enough, wasn’t it? You had seen Seraphim offer kisses to their students in gestures of affection and encouragement. Surely, this wasn’t so different. 

Right? 

Lucifer blinked, slowly, as if processing your words. Then, a quiet “oh” escaped his lips, soft and unsure. He glanced at your face, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat that stretched into eternity. 

“I can do that,” he said at last, his voice a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. 

He carefully placed the duck aside, tucking it safely into his pocket before leaning closer. When his lips met yours, it was gentle at first, barely a touch, but the softness of his mouth stole the air from your lungs. Your skin tingled where he brushed against you, sparking sensations that raced through your body like wildfire. 

The kiss deepened, and your hands instinctively rose, pressing against the lapels of his coat as you leaned into him. Your eyes fluttered shut, the world around you dissolving into the warmth of him, the faint scent of smoke and something earthy mingling with his own intoxicating presence. 

The quiet crackle of the fire mingled with the faint sounds of your lips meeting his. He pulled back slightly, just enough for your breaths to mingle, and his eyes caught yours. The red of his irises glowed softly, the colour unfamiliar yet achingly fitting for him. It was a shade you had never seen in Heaven, and yet it felt as though it had always belonged to him. 

“I miss these wings,” Lucifer murmured, his lips brushing against yours with every word. 

Before you could respond, his hand moved behind you, fingers grazing the base of your wings where they met your back. His touch was light, reverent, but the sensation that followed was anything but gentle. 

“Ah!” you gasped, a sharp cry escaping your lips as a surge of pleasure coursed through you, so intense it left you trembling. Your body gave out, collapsing against his chest as heat flooded your veins, setting every nerve alight. 

The sensations rippled through you in waves, overwhelming and indescribable. You buried your face against him, your breath ragged as you tried to steady yourself. It felt so good—too good, almost, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. 

“Lucifer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but his name on your lips felt like a sinful plea.

The moment your gaze met his, Lucifer claimed your lips again, his kiss deeper, more fervent than before. His tongue brushed against your lips, coaxing them apart with a temptation as sweet as it was forbidden. Each movement of his mouth sent shivers down your spine, and the heat pooling low in your belly intensified, an ache that demanded more. His hands roamed over you, skilled and deliberate, igniting sparks that left you breathless. Shame prickled at the edge of your thoughts, but it was drowned out by the wet, warm sensation pooling between your thighs. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with the rustle of fabric and the faint crackle of the fire. His movements were fluid yet insistent as he guided you down onto the soft blanket beneath you. Lucifer hovered above, his arms caging you in, as if shielding you from the judgmental eyes of the Heavens above. 

In the firelight, his golden hair glowed, its brilliance rivalling the stars you had spent so many nights admiring. It was brighter than the sun, and yet infinitely more inviting. 

“My sweet angel,” he murmured, his voice trembling as though the words pained him. The nickname, long forgotten in the years since his fall, struck something deep within you, a chord of bittersweet memory. “Tell me to stop,” he pleaded, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath warm and unsteady against your skin. “We should… stop.” 

The word echoed in your mind—stop. But it felt so foreign, so wrong. You didn’t want to stop. You didn’t want to push him away, not now, not ever. His touch, his presence, the way he made you feel—it was all-consuming. You craved more. 

Your lips parted, and instead of telling him to stop, a soft plea escaped, barely audible yet filled with undeniable longing. A bashful smile curled at the corners of your lips, a silent answer to his hesitation. 

Lucifer shivered, his resolve faltering as his gaze searched yours. Then, he surrendered, dipping low to capture your lips once more. His hands moved over you, exploring with a reverence that made your heart ache. His touch ventured to places no one else had ever dared, yet there was no fear, no hesitation. With him, it felt right. 

Piece by piece, your clothes fell away, and his followed suit, each article shed like a layer of pretense until nothing remained but bare skin and shared warmth. The movements were slow, deliberate, almost ritualistic—a dance of devotion. The firelight caressed his form, and you found yourself mesmerized by the sight of him, by the way he looked at you as though you were the only thing that mattered in the universe. 

His lips trailed along your cheekbone, leaving a path of warmth in their wake, before finding the delicate curve of your neck. He pressed a kiss there, soft and lingering, and you felt him shudder, his breath trembling against your skin. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hold on you tightening, as though he feared you might vanish. 

Your chest pressed against his, your bodies aligned, and a new sensation bloomed within you—a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement. The hard length of him throbbed against your core, every twitch synchronized with the rapid beat of his heart. The tip was warm, slick with your shared desire, a physical manifestation of the connection drawing you both closer. 

Your heart raced, not with fear, but with happiness—a profound joy that your first time sharing this sacred act would be with him. This was no mere moment of passion; it was something deeper, something eternal. An act of unity, of bonding, of love. Wasn’t it? You wondered, heart fluttering, if this meant he saw you as his equal, his soulmate. 

Did he love you? 

Lucifer’s voice broke the silence, hoarse and laden with conflict. “We should stop,” he murmured, his words catching as though they pained him to say. “I’m tainted… and you’re not. We should stop.” 

Yet even as he spoke, his arms clung to you with a desperation that belied his words. He held you as though you were his salvation, the one thing anchoring him in a world of chaos. His resolve was crumbling, his need laid bare before you. 

And you… you could not let him go. 

Not now.

Not ever.

Lucifer's voice was raw, tinged with a pain that gripped your heart. Though you couldn’t fully understand the depths of his torment, the need to soothe him overwhelmed you. Your fingers trailed tenderly through his golden hair, soft and warm under your touch. His muscles, taut with tension, gradually loosened, melting as he surrendered to your embrace. A sigh escaped his lips, quiet and vulnerable, followed by a low moan as his mouth pressed delicate, lingering kisses to your neck. Each touch sent shivers coursing through your body, his lips igniting sparks wherever they met your skin. 

It hit you then—why you returned to him, year after year, unable to stay away. This feeling, which had begun as a fragile seed, had blossomed into something wild and untamable. It was no longer just admiration or fondness—it was something much deeper. 

You loved him. 

The realization unfurled within you like a sunrise, pure and all-encompassing. Love, the most beautiful and sacred of emotions, a gift from the heavens themselves. It was love that had drawn you to Lucifer, time and again. Love that refused to let you abandon him, even in his fall. He had taught you about creation, about beauty, and now, he had taught you the most profound truth of all—the overwhelming power of love. 

Emboldened by the thought, you cupped his face, tilting his head upward. Your lips found his in small, feather-light kisses, each accompanied by a soft giggle of uncontainable joy. His torment, etched so deeply into his features, began to fade, replaced by a quiet resignation. His lips curled into a gentle smile, one that reached his eyes for the first time in eons. 

Then he kissed you again, deeply, a kiss that stole the air from your lungs and set your body alight. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart, and you let him in, surrendering to the heat of his passion. His moan vibrated through you, a sound so primal and raw it sent a shiver down your spine. 

His body pressed against yours, his arousal hot and throbbing against your core. The tip of him pressed gently, insistently, against your entrance, the weight of his desire palpable. You widened your thighs instinctively, your breath hitching as anticipation gripped you. 

"I'll be gentle," he whispered, his voice a low promise that resonated through every fibre of your being. 

You nodded, your trust in him absolute, your heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and excitement. Slowly, he began to press into you, the sensation foreign yet electrifying. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as he stretched you, your body adjusting to the slow, deliberate intrusion. 

“Ah,” you moaned, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he rolled his hips, pulling back before pressing forward again. Each thrust brought him deeper, filling you inch by inch. The rhythm was deliberate, reverent, as though he sought to worship every part of you. The sounds of your bodies meeting—the wet, slick noise of his movements, the ragged breaths, the whispered gasps—filled the air, a melody of intimacy. 

"That's right," he murmured, his voice thick with praise and desire. "You're doing so well, my sweet angel." 

Lucifer groaned as he buried himself deeper, his brows knitting together in concentration. You felt the burn of his entry give way to a blossoming pleasure, waves of heat radiating from where your bodies were joined. 

“Ah, my angel,” he groaned, his voice trembling. “So tight... so perfect.” 

He thrust deeper still, his pace steady and unrelenting. The fullness was overwhelming, every nerve alight with sensation. His hand slid around your back, fingers finding the base of your wings. When he touched you there, a jolt of pleasure shot through you, your walls tightening around him involuntarily. 

The sensation built and built, pain dissolving into pure, unadulterated bliss as he moved within you. Each roll of his hips brought you closer to something transcendent, a feeling so overwhelming it consumed you completely. And at that moment, with Lucifer holding you, filling you, there was no fall, no sin—only love.

Lucifer’s moan was low and guttural as he sank fully into you, his hips pressing flush against yours. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of heat and fullness that left your body trembling as it tried to accommodate him. 

“Ah… ah… L-Luci,” you whimpered, your voice catching on every gasp as you clenched tightly around him. Your walls fluttered, struggling to adjust to his size, the stretch both foreign and intoxicating. Above you, Lucifer’s torso rose, his head tilted back as he groaned, savouring the tightness of your untouched core. 

“I’m going to move,” he murmured, his voice soft and trembling, laced with restraint. His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had slipped free. The tenderness in his gaze made your chest ache, grounding you amidst the swirling chaos of sensation. “Tell me if it’s too much, alright?” 

You nodded, your smile wobbly but trusting. 

Slowly, he began to withdraw, and a sharp whimper escaped your lips as the loss of him left you achingly empty. But then, he pressed forward again, filling you completely, his heat and presence igniting something raw within you. His movements were careful, deliberate, as he set a rhythm, his cock throbbing against your walls as if revelling in your embrace. 

Each glide of him inside you was smoother, more certain, and his pace gradually quickened. Your breaths intertwined, the quiet space filled with the sounds of your union—ragged gasps, soft moans, and the rhythmic sound of your bodies meeting. 

“You’re so beautiful, my sweet angel,” he whispered, his voice a reverent murmur that made your heart flutter. His hips rolled in slow, indulgent circles, eliciting a cry of pleasure as he drove deeper into you. “You feel incredible,” he sighed, his words like a balm to your overwhelmed senses. 

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a fervent kiss. His tongue explored you with unrestrained hunger, mapping every corner of your mouth and drawing out muffled moans with every stroke. His lips left trails of fire on your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. 

“I’m close,” he rasped against your lips, his thrusts becoming erratic, his control fraying as he chased his release. 

You could barely form words, your body spiralling higher with every movement. “I want you to… feel good… Luci,” you managed, your voice breaking on a high-pitched keen as the coil in your core wound tighter and tighter, ready to snap. 

Your whispered plea undid him. With a final thrust, his body tensed, and a deep groan escaped him as he spilled into you. The warmth of his release filled you, each pulse of him deep within making you shudder. He moaned softly, his hips rocking gently as he pressed as far as he could, emptying every drop into you. 

As he stilled, his breaths uneven, he opened his eyes to meet yours. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew, and a shiver ran through you as his warmth began to escape. But before you could mourn the loss, his fingers slid inside, filling you once more. 

“Ah!” you cried out, your back arching as the sudden intrusion sent a jolt of pleasure through you. His fingers curled, seeking and finding a spot deep within that made your vision blur. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, your body surrendering completely to the unexpected waves of ecstasy crashing over you. 

“Good,” Lucifer murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watched you unravel beneath him, your pleasure becoming his own reward. 

"That's right, let go, my dear," Lucifer murmured, his voice a velvet caress against your senses. The wet, lewd sounds of his fingers delving into your heat filled the space between you, the mixture of his release and your arousal slicking every motion. His fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made you see stars, and your body clenched around him, desperate for more. 

“Ah… ah, Luci!” you cried, your voice trembling with raw need as the coil in your core wound tighter, ready to snap. The tension in your body built with every stroke of his fingers, every graze of his touch, until a sudden, warm pressure pressed against your sensitive nub. The contact sent a jolt of pure, searing pleasure through you, pulling a broken cry from your lips. 

Lucifer’s lips found your clit, his tongue flicking against the swollen bundle of nerves before he drew it into his mouth, suckling gently. The sensation was electric, each stroke of his fingers inside you timed perfectly with the pull of his lips. The sound of him—wet, desperate, and unrelenting—filled your ears, and the world around you blurred into nothing but him. 

Your body arched off the blanket, a keening moan escaping you as your hips pushed forward, seeking more. You were helpless against the onslaught of sensations, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to drive you higher and higher until you shattered completely. 

White-hot pleasure surged through you, a blinding wave of ecstasy that left you breathless. Your walls clamped around his fingers, spasming with the force of your orgasm as your cries filled the air. Lucifer didn’t stop—his fingers moved slowly, deliberately, while his tongue lavished your oversensitive clit with gentle, teasing licks, drawing out every last tremor of bliss. 

When the pleasure finally ebbed, leaving you trembling and spent, you collapsed back onto the blanket, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Your cheeks flushed, your lips parted in a dazed smile as you looked down at him. 

Lucifer raised his head, his lips glistening, and a small smile graced his face. But something in his eyes gave you pause—a shadow of sadness that dulled the light you adored. His gaze lingered on you, tender yet heavy, as though he was holding back something you couldn’t see. 

You reached for him, brushing your fingers along his cheek, your smile faltering as you whispered, “Luci… what’s wrong?” 

Lucifer gathered you close, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that belied his strength. His fingers threaded through your hair, stroking it gently, while his lips pressed soft, reverent kisses to your temple, your forehead, the crown of your head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, the weight of those words sinking deep into your chest. 

Your eyelids fluttered, the haze of exhaustion clouding your mind. “What for?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You nestled against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing, relishing in the warmth that seeped into your skin. 

“For not being enough,” he began, his lips brushing against your hair. “For falling,” another kiss, this time on your temple. “For leaving you,” his voice cracked, and he kissed you again, a lingering touch on your cheek. “For disappointing everyone.” His lips trembled as they grazed your forehead once more. “For…” 

The words faltered, and you tilted your head, looking up at him. The pain etched into his features pierced your heart, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Did you know?” you began softly, the words coming from a place of vulnerability. “I look forward to seeing you every year. I look forward to hearing the stories about your daughter, to just… being with you.” 

To you. 

He was enough. 

Always. 

His arms tightened around you, his body trembling slightly as though your words unravelled something deep within him. You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of what you wanted to say, the unspoken truth that had been blooming in your heart. “I… I—” 

But the words caught in your throat, your courage faltering. Did he feel the same? Angels didn’t share this kind of intimacy lightly; it was an act of deep love, wasn’t it? Surely, Lucifer felt it too. 

He leaned back slightly, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “We should rest tonight, my sweet angel,” he said gently, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. 

You hesitated but nodded, allowing him to conjure a tent with a wave of his hand. The interior was illuminated by strings of delicate fairy lights, their warm glow casting a soft, ethereal ambience. 

“It’s like our own personal stars!” you exclaimed, the childlike wonder in your voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere. 

But Lucifer said nothing, his silence wrapping around the space between you like a fragile thread. You told yourself he was tired, that the weight of the day had worn him down. Still, a small, nagging fear nestled in your chest. 

However, later in the dead of night, you stirred faintly when you felt a hand resting lightly on your head. You kept your eyes shut, your breathing steady as you waited, your heart pounding. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice cracking as though the words themselves were too heavy to bear. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, like a prayer seeking forgiveness. “You belong in Heaven, with the stars, not entangled with a devil like me.” 

Your breath hitched, but you remained still, every fibre of your being straining to hear more. You wanted to open your eyes, to reach out and tell him he was wrong, that you didn’t care, but something held you back. Deep down, you already knew, didn’t you? 

You were the one who clung to hope, who had dared to declare love where it was forbidden. You were the one who dreamed of a union that defied the heavens and the depths. And yet, now, all you could do was lie there, caught between the truth you feared and the love you couldn’t bear to lose. 

You closed your eyes, sealing them shut like you had sealed away every truth you didn’t want to face. The truth that Lucifer had fallen, that his place was no longer beside you, and that a future together was a dream as fleeting as stardust. You closed your eyes against the inevitable, against the knowledge that this fragile connection had always been temporary. 

You closed your eyes because as an angel, hope was all you had—and even that, you realized now, had been a fool's solace. 

Tears threatened but did not fall, held at bay by sheer will as you lay there, motionless. You heard the soft rustle of the tent flaps, the faint sound of him leaving, and then the crushing silence as his presence disappeared. The space he left behind felt cavernous, the absence of his warmth like an icy void. 

You didn’t know how long you remained there, curled beneath the blanket that still faintly carried his scent. The false stars above twinkled on, uncaring, mocking. Slowly, you sat up, the first tear slipping down your cheek like a crack in the dam. Then another, and another, until the flood of grief began to escape in earnest. 

You crawled out of the tent, the night’s chill biting at your skin as you wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself. The fire outside had dimmed to embers, its light no longer warm, its joy snuffed out. On the plate lay the discarded remains of s’mores, cold and abandoned, their sweetness wasted. 

You turned your gaze to the sky, to the real stars. Another tear slipped down as you stared at their brilliance. 

You weren’t going to see Lucifer next year. 

Or the year after. 

You weren’t going to see him ever again. He wouldn’t meet you, wouldn’t look at you with that half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. The realization cuts you deep like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. 

More tears welled, spilling freely now as your throat tightened and your chest heaved. The stars blurred in your vision, but you kept looking, unable to tear your gaze away. They shone so brightly, their light a lingering echo of something long gone. A memory of existence clinging to the present, deceiving the dreamers and the hopeful into believing they were still there. 

A breath escaped you, shaky and shallow, followed by a sob that tore free like a scream trapped too long. 

Lucifer had been your mentor. He had shown you the wonder of creation, the beauty of ingenuity, the power of unrestrained possibility. 

But love? 

Perhaps he hadn’t taught you that after all. 

How could it have been love when you never truly had it to begin with? 

Your hands clutched the blanket tighter, your tears falling silently into the earth beneath you. The stars above continued their eternal dance, indifferent to your pain, as you sat there mourning the light you had lost—and the darkness it left behind. 

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[alexiethymia]

Boiling Hot Iron vs Lukewarm Water

Maomao's Way of Affection Part 2

[LN 12 spoilers]

I AM ACTUALLY FOAMING AT THE MOUTH. I mean I read it somewhere, but apparently yes, Maomao does initiate the kiss in the light novel. Even if she did accept his feelings, I always thought that it might have been too fast the way she was ready for a night visit already, but I always chalked it up to her upbringing in the pleasure district and her being fifty-fifty that Jinshi wouldn't actually try anything. But the fact that she is the one to actually instigate a kiss, and quite a sweet one at that, while Jinshi was sleeping. This scene in LN 12 really is in contrast to the scene in LN 5 where it was Jinshi who forced the kiss, and even to later on when Maomao ends up falling asleep and Jinshi restrains himself to a kiss on the forehead for replenishment.

It's hard to be coherent with my ramblings but one of the reasons why I love this series is the slow burn on Maomao's part which is really fulfilling, and the slight angst we get because of that, and not just on Jinshi's part.

Below is a translation from the Spanish translation of LN 12:

She just doesn't get it. He wants to step down from his position near the top of the country for a purpose. If that purpose was MaoMao himself, he would definitely have gone mad.

It's as hot as cast iron.

Maomao is not interested in such blazing heat. The only thing she can give back is a warm temperature.

Slowly puts his hand on Mr. Jinshi's cheek and feels his body temperature, which is the same as warm water. Her cheek was slightly colder. His eyelids were completely closed and he rubbed his cheek against my hand like a kitten to be pet. Looks like he sleeps, like he feels safe.

Maomao seems to struggle with the inequality of Jinshi's feelings and hers. She compares Jinshi's feelings to hot cast iron, and hers to warm water. And no wonder, to her, Jinshi willing to give up everything, including his position, for her, seems to be such a passionate love. As much as she snarks and would rather say that she could just do without all of Jinshi's gestures (*cough branding himself for example, this damn masochist cough*), she recognizes how much Jinshi has given up and is willing to give up for her, not to mention all that he has in fact given her.

She even goes to say, "I don't even have anything in return for you." When she says this line, I think that she isn't just referring to being unable to return the depth of Jinshi's feelings, but even their difference in position. As Suiren observes, despite Maomao's forthrightness, perhaps because of the environment they're in, she is very much aware of her station.

It's such a melancholic line coming from her. It seems to me as if she really is afraid of hurting Jinshi. She already doesn't like the thought of Jinshi being hurt like Luomen, but now she also doesn't want to be the one to hurt him. On top of that, for the normally aloof Maomao, it may be that she's starting to feel unconfident precisely because of the difference in position.

Maomao strikes me as a person who wants to be used. Even when she wasn't in love with Jinshi yet, she always seemed to want to be praised for doing a good job. So for her to think that it's just her who keeps receiving and receiving, while not being able to give anything back, the inequality (this time going in the reverse direction) must bother her a lot. She never used to care so for her to feel different from how she usually does because of Jinshi - caring about him, being unsure of herself because of him - oh she must hate how that feels so no wonder she wants to remove herself from the equation. But alas, it's too late.

Unlike Maomao though, I don't think that there's such a disparity between her feelings and Jinshi's despite that she describes his feelings as boiling hot and hers as warm. Yes definitely I feel that Jinshi's feelings may be stronger, but I feel that Maomao's is actually closer to his than she thinks. I think it may be because the nature of their feelings may be strongly influenced by their past.

Jinshi has always had the things he's loved taken from him. He wasn't allowed to prioritize a single thing or a single person because of the responsibilities he's had to assume from such a young age. Sure he's childish now but that may be because he had to grow up fast. Of course he would be desperate and slightly bit manic when it comes finally falling in love. He'll always feel that Maomao will be taken away from him unless he does something about it with his own hands.

Meanwhile, because of Maomao's complicated past with her birth parents, it's no wonder that Jinshi's passion unnerves her. Remember it was that same passion that caused her mother to hurt her. No wonder she doesn't want it. But when it comes to that feeling called love, that's the only version she recognizes because that's what she's been surrounded with in the pleasure district and even in the rear palace - lust imitating love, or even if it was love, a passionate and all-consuming love that destroys everything in its path.

But what does Jinshi make her feel? Trust. Safety. Even if her rational mind tells her that people's feelings change, Jinshi's constant proclamations that he will make everything be ok so that the both of them can be together may in fact actually reassure her. Heck, perhaps that was why Maomao goaded him to make that verbal confession a while back, precisely so she could have that assurance. She doesn't recognize it because she's never seen or had it, but perhaps this stability is something she's wanted her whole life. And I would say her feelings for Jinshi are nearly as strong as his for her, precisely because she feels for him the same way he makes her feel. Nothing passionate but also uncertain. But rather something warm and can be relied on. It's a feeling that pushes her to want to see him safe and healthy. It's a comforting and homey feeling that allows her to relax. And for Maomao who's always considered herself frigid, for her frozen heart to feel that warmth is also a tiny miracle in a way.

Jinshi is childish. Maomao is weird. But apart from their extremes, they're actually a lot alike - engrossed in their work, willful, but ultimately just. Apart from anything else, they're at ease when they can talk to each other. It's actually interesting for me to see how those emotions develop from Maomao's side since Jinshi is giving her space to take things at her own pace, another slow burn in a way. But while Jinshi's love is loud, Maomao's love is quiet. Even before this admission, it was always there, in the soft touches to the hair or cheeks, in being a refuge for rest and sleep, in her worry when he was overworking himself. The moment I would pinpoint that Maomao had actually already fallen in love with Jinshi was when she was contemplating Enen and Yao's relationship. She thinks to herself, "the more you cared for someone, the more you wanted a say in how they behaved - especially if that behavior involved hurting themselves." Now doesn't that sound familiar?

*Note - because I loved it and I'm impatient I'll share the translations for that particular scene in LN 12 in the comments section. One is translated from the Spanish version, while the other is translated from the Korean version. I got all of this from facebook. I'm quite interested to see how it'll come out in the English version.

[egoistrin]

letters from the past

DILUC RAGVINDR X FEM!READER

[🐰] angst. female reader. use of the word y/n. hurt no comfort. mentions of diluc's past/lore. may contain typos and grammatical errors. this is cross-posted on my ao3 account. likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!

Dear Diluc,

I heard from the knights that you had left Mondstadt and went on your way to pursue people who had given your father the delusion. I assume you are on your way to Snezhnaya? The Fatui are mighty and I hope you know that but I know I cannot change your mind as you are as stubborn as ever. You are doing this to give justice to your father's death, Mr. Crepus was a good man and he didn't deserve to be disrespected by Mr. Eroch. I truly understand your decision. However, these are just my thoughts as a knight. I hope you do not mind me babbling about my feelings as someone who holds you dear to my heart.

I cannot accept the news that you had left Mondstadt. I hate it as it was the first thing that I heard in the morning. You know me well enough to know that I do not want to hear this information. So, why? I could always help you, Diluc. Why did not you consult me? I thought you trusted me? We have gone through so many talks about this already. Did you not promise me? I understand your grieving but I do not understand your rash decisions to leave the city and go risk your life hunting the Fatuis. It will not go well as Snezhnaya has the most powerful military in all of Teyvat. Why do you have to be stubborn? Why can you not just let Grand Master Varka and Jean handle the situation? At the end of the day, Mr. Crepus is already dead. A mere person like me cannot change the hard-headed Diluc Ragnvindr. If this letter finds you, you are not obligated to reply. Safe travels, Diluc.

From, Y/n

No matter how many times Diluc had read this letter, he always felt the twinge of pain in his chest. He finds himself thinking of the answers he can give Y/n in her letter but he chose to be quiet. It is better this way. He is not sure if his answer would suffice to cover all her questions or not. He would rather feel miserable than face her again.

After all, is it not a bit scandalous to talk to a married woman in his manor?

Diluc puts the letter down and his eyes roam at the table. He was about to organize the papers when he saw the other letter written by Y/n. Compared to the first letter, this one appears the latest and less crumpled than the other one. He took a deep breath before opening the letter, preparing himself not to breakdown as he already knows the content of the letter like the back of his hand.

Diluc finds himself questioning if he is a masochist or not. I mean, why would you even read the letter your ex-girlfriend sent you? Finally, he opened the paper, and beautiful handwriting greets Diluc's eyes.

To Diluc Ragnvindr,

I hope you are having a good day Mr. Diluc. I have heard from Lisa that you came back from your adventure yesterday. I am disappointed as I cannot greet you in person as I was busy dealing with work. It has been four years since you left Mondstadt. I assume you had your questions answered now? I assume yes, 4 years' worth of traveling and not even a single clue? Impossible, you are a well-capable man, Mr. Diluc. Kaeya told me you left your vision.... I do not know what to say, I deduced that you used your father's delusion to survive. That is dangerous but never mind, the fact that you are home now puts my mind at ease.

This is probably not the right time to say this but I am now married. My parents decided to put me into an arranged marriage as they could not stand the sight of me waiting for a man whose return is unknown. I tried to oppose them, insisting on waiting for you but as time goes by I can no longer hold on. This is not your fault Diluc, I have come to accept my fate. I am just a mere woman compared to your father. I understand that you would choose to avenge your father's death than fulfill a stupid promise to marry me. I hope that one day, you can let go of your past and decide to move on from all of the things that happened. In that way, you can find your happiness and find someone you love. I have faith in you, I will forever cherish you and our memories together.

From, Y/n L/n

Words cannot describe how Diluc wants to hold you in his arms and apologize for being away from you the whole time. Yes, he needs to search for clues behind his father's death but he cannot stand letting you go. He finds himself wishing for another chance to makeup the time that he missed with you, a chance to redo his mistake, and a chance to spend time with his family again. He cannot help thinking that this is all his fault, from his father's death, his and Kaeya's fight, and to your marriage to another man. But alas, he cannot turn back time. Yet he still holds that prayer tight, If Barbatos is listening to him right now he just hopes that He will give Diluc a chance to live his life again.

He holds your letter tight to his chest as tears sprung down from his eyes. Someone walking on him crying is not his concern right now, he can easily order them to forget what they saw.

Who would have expected that Diluc Ragnvindr can cry from just a single letter? But Diluc has always been emotional, he just tries his best not to show any emotion as he claims himself not the same anymore. Most people see Diluc as grumpy but he is not. He is just reserved, a fragile person, that is. A single letter from his past is sufficient for Diluc to show emotions.

[🐰]. i miss diluc so much for real 😭 i need more of his lore !!! hoyoverse give us more diluc crumbs !!! i miss my man !!! i still remember the time that i rlly wanted diluc so much... sighsss... good times fr. reblogs guys plss!

[cottoncandyswisherz]

mine.

this is for @l0akkzz because she said do angst

exbf!chris x trackstar!reader

warnings: angst, kissing, swearing, very very suggestive/damn near smut

lil background info because i dont feel like writing all that: theyre in college and y/n runs track. y/n and chris used to date but they broke up bc chris cheated and y/n started dating chris' teammate but shes miserable. they hooked up a week before the story takes place and the chris told y/n to break up with said ex. savannah is y/ns friend thats trynna get with chris.

-

"why i'm still with him is none of your business. i am none of your fucking business, chris. what happened that night was because we were wasted. you said i could blame you, so this is me blaming you and telling you to leave me the hell alone. "

"but i don't want to. "

"are you a fucking masochist?"

"not usually, no. in fact, some might say i'm the exact opposite, but i'm ready for you to come to your senses."

"have you heard a word i've said? i want nothing to do with you."

"say that again and try to mean it this time." my mouth gets close to hers. i can smell the notes of coconut oil drifting from her hair. i can smell the mint rushing from her lips in fractured breaths. "unless... you can't?"

she glares up at me and there's so much heat beneath that honey in her eyes, but she doesn't push me. not even once.

y/n might lash out, but my mere nearness is causing her a shortness of breath. her chest rises and falls in a quick rhythm.

so i press my chest to hers. firm nipples glue to mine and the thud of her heartbeat slams and mixes with my own.

what the fuck is this girl doing to me?

why on earth can't i keep my hands off her? does she have witch blood? is she made of fucking drugs?

i reach my hand out and grip her throat lightly. barely any pressure. but enough to let her know who's in control.

"you're a fucking nightmare." she mutters, her throat working beneath my fingers.

"your nightmare." "i hate you." "i don't." "you're fucking crazy."

"about you." i whisper against her lips and claim them with a guttural moan.

she doesn't push away. she certainly does not turn her face or look like she's uncomfortable with the attention.

in fact, the exact opposite happens.

her lashes flutter over her cheeks as she groans, and i eat that sound teh fuck up. i eat her the fuck up.

i swallow her whole. teeth clashing, tongues swirling and lips chasing.

god fucking damn it.

i've been fantasizing about his last since last week. every morning, noon, and night. every goddamn second of every fucking day, all i wanted was to have a taste again.

but i didn't want to freak her out or send her running for the hills. i sure as hell don't give two flying fucks about that possibility right now, though.

i soak her all in, exploring, feasting absolutely drowning in her fucking mouth.

she tastes of honey, mint and pending fucking addiction.

i twirl my tongue against hers and i'm rewarded with her hard nips. babydoll kisses me as thoroughly as i kiss her, her fingers tugging on the bottom of my hoodie to keep me glued to her naked torso.

i roll her bottom lips between my teeth and nibble on the skin until she's whimpering, shuddering and fucking shaking against me,

give me more.

more.

fucking more.

i shove my raging erection against her and i can practically feel the heat radiating from her pussy.

she's hot. for me.

again.

"you're so fucking turned on for someone who claims she wants nothing to do with me." i speak against her perfect lips. " you're not drunk now either."

"don't mock me...." she breathes out even as her mouth seems to chase mine. "i would've gotten this way for anyone. it's called a physical reaction."

this fucking- i swear she's asking to be torn apart.

i slide my tongue down her neck and bite her collar bone, hard, then suck just as savagely, giving her back the hickey she hid for a whole week.

"stop it..." she grunts, shoving her hand against my chest.

only, she put not actual strength behind it.

i trail a path of bites to where her collarbone meets her chest. i pull her bra off, then i scrape my my teeth of her nipples.

she spits out the most erotic moan i've ever heard, and i jam two of my fingers down in her mouth then spread them against his tongue.

i need her to stop fucking talking and ruining every moment with her damn mouth.

my tongue swirls around her brown areola, then i tug the nipple between my teeth, sucking and biting until all i hear are the muffled noises spilling from her stuffed mouth.

"you like this don't you?" i move to the other nipple, sucking the skin around it, leaving a huge hickey before i bite down on the little bud. "you look perfect marked by me. my own piece of fucking art."

one of her hands is on my shoulder, pushing me away, but the other is in my hair, pulling me close.

she's a fucking conundrum, my babydoll, and i can't wait to break her into fucking pieces.

her body is stiff against me, but her tongue swirls around my fingers, and her teeth bite down whenever i nibble on her nipple.

i'm so drunk on her and her taste. so addicted to how responsive she is.

i can't fucking get enough.

not after one lick or two or a thousand. i want to throw her down and feast on her properly. i want to watch her shudder and whine and moan as i kiss every inch of her gorgeous skin.

i doubt she'd be thrilled with that idea, so i'll take what i can get.

my mouth leaves bites and marks all over her chest before i slide my tongue back to her jaw.

"you taste like my new favorite addiction baby."

she whines against my fingers and i remove them, so i can hear her intoxicating voice.

"you infuriate me." she tries to push against me, but i slam my hands against the locker on either side of her head, once again shoving my chest against hers. i'm so close. i can see that fire burning in her eyes.

more.

i smirk, staring down at her puffed out lips. "someone's mad."

"fuck you."

"baby, you know i love it when you talk dirty to me."

she grabs me by the throat, her nails digging ruthlessly into the sides. "you need to stay the hell away from me."

"no." i try to step closer and she tightens her grip until i can barely breathe. my lungs burn, and i can feel the veins in my neck bulging.

"i'm going to fucking kill you."

"mmm. i love it when you get rough."

"you think i'm joking?" her short acrylics sink into my skin.

"tell me more. your mouth makes me so fucking hard." i roll my hips and slam them against her again,

and fuck.

fuck me.

"i can feel your pussy though your shorts. you're wet babydoll. if i touch you, will i find you dripping for me?"

"you fucking-" she cuts her own self off and her fingers compress so hard they shake.

she's shaking. my babydoll, losing her precious control one layer at a time.

and what do i do?

trap her between my teeth and never let go. of course.

"you can fight me, can choke the life out of me, but that won't stop you from wanting me," i strain and wrap my hand around her throat on the hickey that's beginning to re-form. "you came here to stop me from fucking savannah. you weren't mad for her, you were mad at her. you didn't like the way she touched me, right?"

"shut up."

"you're pissed off at me because i let her touch me?"

that beautiful rage shines behind her eyes. but then she says the exact opposite of what she's thinking. "why would i care what you do?"

"always playing a role, doll. hiding, pretending. you broke up with him tonight? why didn't you tell me that?"

"how..?"

"he told me he was going through a breakup and was looking to forget during practice this morning." i try to get my head closer but she keeps me in place with her unyielding hold. "you did it for me, didn't you? you lost him because i told you to. no. you did it because you wanted to be with me. because you know i'm the only one who can give you what you need."

"stop dreaming."

"stop fucking pretending." i remove the band-aid on her thigh, revealing only tattoo she only kept hidden. my fucking name in black cursive letters. "stop hiding."

she shakes her head, but her fingers loosen around my throat. y/n isn't weak. sure, i'm bigger, but she has strength. the reason she let me touch her pervious times isn't because she couldn't stop me. it's because she chose not to stop me.

like right now.

her war for control breaks like ice beneath her feet.

i'm the lake waiting to swallow her.

my fingers spread on her sharp jaw, my lips an inch from hers.

"dont...." she whispers and it's shaky, breathless.

she clearly wants me. she's burning for it. her body language gives her away. eyes darkening, nostrils flaring, and fingers holding my neck so lovingly (though she'd argue otherwise).

but she's still fighting tooth and nail, still refusing to admit the inevitable.

"wanna blame me again?" i murmur against her skin.

a puff of air leaves her mouth and she nods once.

"then blame me all you want, baby."

i slam my lips to hers, taking what's mine.

because she is.

mine.

niyah speaks i hate this.

taglist: @mattslolita @mattssluttygf @muwapsturniolo @zniyadgaf

[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi

𝓣𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓮. | Homesick

He's not sure what's worse- the fact that he now knows what's wrong, or the fact that he now knows he can't do anything to help you.

Tags/Warnings: Spin off, Doctor!Yoongi, Cat Hybrid!Reader, mentions of hospitals, Mentions of a coma, major angst, slight fluff?, a lot of hurt, it's your daily dose of angst you masochists

Length: Drabble

There is no taglist for this fic

-> Masterlist

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

There's not much Yoongi truly regrets. After all, he's a firm believer that even the bad things in life happen for a reason- it's all somewhat connected. It all leads you to the next step in life.

But if that's the case, then why did the world gift him you, just to have you taken away like this?

He knows it's only a matter of time until your body gives up. It's already happening, after all- your breathing has become less regulated, blood pressure steadily declining. He knows it's unrealistic to think that you'll forever stay in this state. You won't.

Even if you wake up now, you won't be the same. You'll probably have to fight the aftereffects and impact on your brain for months if not years. And that's a very optimistic prognosis.

The more realistic one would be to assume that you'll be a case of permanent full on care. If you ever wake up.

He dreads the question soon to be asked. What does he want to do?

Can he let you go?

In times like these, when being at home makes him homesick to the point of nausea, he tends to visit you, no matter how late. It's how he finds himself at your bedside again, steady tune of your bpm monitor reassuring him that for now, you're still here.

No matter how much of you.

Watching you sleep like this makes it hard to really comprehend that there's not much to do here at all. There's nothing he can do to help you recover because, at the end of the day, the diagnosis is still being studied.

He can't help. He can only hope.

Holding your hand has begun to feel odd now. Like a tune not played quite right, it feels off to just cling to your body like this, when your soul might've very well already left you long ago. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do.." he mumbles to himself, mostly.

Or maybe he's just at the end of his hope.

Maybe he's the one losing this battle now.

"I know I have to let you go, but I don't want to." He shakes his head. "I didn't even get to experience anything with you." He sighs to himself. "Fuck.." the doctor wipes his face with his free hand.

He sighs again, and gets up to leave-

But your fingers cling to his own, holding a lot more tightly than usual. Maybe a simple muscle memory response- nothing to be excited about. He's learned to keep those feelings in check by now, after having been disappointed time and time again.

So he gently pulls your fingers away from his hand.

And you.. whine?

Your bpm is rising a little, machine complaining with a chime about the change in tempo, and he looks at you a bit more focused, noticing the way your breathing doesn't seem as calm as it usually is.

"No, you're not-!" He curses, turning the lights of the room back on. "You're not fucking taking her from me yet-!" He argues to no one.

When your fingers wrap around his wrist where his hand is pushing down on the hospital bed to gain better leverage to look at your monitor.

"No way.." he breathes out, leaning closer to you as he watches the tears run down your cheeks. It's not new that you're able to cry- you've randomly done that in the past, but during post comatose wakefulness, that's not unusual.

But he hopes. He wants to hope.

"Do you want me to stay?" He asks. "Is that it? Come on, you know how it works, give me an answer-" he begs in a whispered tone,

But nothing happens.

"God dammit what am I supposed to do?!" He breaks down, falling back into the chair next to your bed, finally breaking as he cries into the sheets.

And your hand is suddenly moving around again, as if searching for something, before it settles in his hair, on his head.

And as he lifts it to look at you, your eyes are open. But not just open- because that's what they've done for weeks now, time and time again, hurting him with every empty gaze.

Because this time, albeit a bit tearful-

They're not just open.

They're looking at him.

You're looking at him.

You're back.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — JT COMPHER x reader (main); TYSON JOST x reader (side); COMPHER x JOST (brief) wc — 14k synopsis — what's a reunion without some groveling?

note — this takes place a few of years after part one, go out with a bang (post-college/college au — tyson and kate are now out-going seniors!) sorry not sorry for the length of this behemoth, i got carried away per usual <3 there are more parts to come, and i would absolutely love to hear any theories/predictions if yall have any!

specific content warnings listed below the cut.

cw — cameos on cameos on cameos, we're at a party so drinking and mention of dr*gs + yacking (no description), drinking games, sorority terms/processes, me getting too invested in multiple subplots and potential background ships, soft!service!dom!JT makes my peabrain go brrrrr, everybodies a bit masochistic because i, registered heathen, am masochistic, reader’s wearing a short skirt for plot reasons, slight compher x josty, oral (reader receiving 2x), unprotected piv (i know, i know, i know i need help), me letting my brat self take the kink reins, praise baby praise, angst AND IM NOT SORRY, + happy fluffy bits... possible cliffhanger??? 

Staring up at the Alpha Chi house is like stepping back in time. 

Like trying on an old pair of shoes you found while deep-cleaning your closet only to find their once-perfect fit gone. Growth is funny that way; you never realize just how far you’ve come until it pinches you.

You’ve outgrown this place, though not from a lack of love or any great tragedy. It occupies a different place in your mind, just as you’re a different person than you were three years ago. 

Your younger self would balk at this development, wouldn’t believe it’d one day feel too small. You can’t fault her for that near-sightedness. In college, your whole world existed on one street. You had everything you needed then between two stop signs.

But your world is bigger now, and your needs are different too. 

Still, it feels good to try on your past for the night. Even if it's a tad ill-fitting. 

The drive between your new life and your old one hadn’t been too bad, but that’s probably because you didn’t do much of said driving. JT got the engine going before you could even make a grab for the keys and, despite spending the last year in the literal trenches of clinical rotations and shelf exams, refused to switch at the halfway mark. Yet, your boyfriend is practically vibrating with excitement as you cross the all-too-familiar threshold hand-in-hand. 

“This is so weird,” JT remarks, his lips low to your ear. His musky cologne, warm and woody, does its best to soothe your nerves.

As you survey the crowd, you nod. 

He didn’t need to elaborate further for you to understand because you were already thinking the very same thing. Watching students, the vast majority as unfamiliar to you as you are to them, milling around your old haunt stirs an odd, uncanny feeling akin to a surreal dream. You’re well-acquainted with the setting, almost to an uncomfortable degree, and you don’t think you’re all that different, but everything still feels foreign.

All the right pieces are there, and you’re sure you’ve put them in their proper places, but the image won’t behave.

You quickly realize the only thing that’s misplaced is you. Grief hangs from your back like a wet blanket. 

“Look what the cat dragged in, boys!”

A burst of riotous laughter shakes much of the gloom from your system.

Gabe Landeskog barrels into your boyfriend like an overgrown puppy. Gray-blue eyes twinkling under the rainbow of LEDs, he embraces you both in a warm hug, not minding that the spontaneous act of affection has just cost him an entire Solo cup.

“Compher and the missus,” the blonde addresses you both with a wide grin and a big palm to a cheek each; he gives JT’s a quick pat but merely cups yours. 

His breath still smells of spearmint and something spicy, an imposing combination your eighteen-year-old self could never find comforting. Just another thing that's different now. If you could package the scent for all the little moments of nostalgia, you would. 

“I was starting to think we’d have to drag you from the city kicking and screaming, but alas! You've left the cozy, vanilla bubble of your own volition for a weekend of debauchery with your favorite degenerates.”

JT’s affectionate eye-roll is big and dramatic even in your periphery. The levity brings a smile to your face. It grows wider and wider, enduring until your cheeks burn. If anyone deserves some light-heartedness, it's your sleep-deprived, perpetually-stressed boyfriend.

“A night, Landy. We’ve got to be back by tomorrow night to relieve the dog sitter,” your boyfriend amends with a pat to Gabe’s flushed cheek, returning the favor. 

The older man groans like the overgrown boy he is and will always be. “Look at you, Mr. Responsible. All domestic and shit. With a fur-baby and everything. I bet it’s as well-trained as your firstborn.”

Your eyes follow the line drawn by Gabe’s strong chin past the entryway through to the room used for table-top drinking games.

Half-kneeling on the rickety table you helped customize a few years back is Tyson Jost, head tilted to the sky as he guzzles down the center cup. More beer spills down his chest than into his mouth, effectively turning his white tee sheer. The crowd is comprised mostly of giddy sorority girls who don't mind a bit. 

Free booze and a free show—lucky them!

Once the plastic cup is empty, he crushes it in his palm before sinking the balled plastic into the basketball hoop on the adjacent wall. The converted dining room swells with hoots and hollers so quickly you would’ve thought Tyson emerged from some mythic quagmire, blood-soaked and victorious. But there are no winners in Rage Cage; everybody loses.

Tyson’s loopy grin falters when he registers you and JT on either side of Gabe.

You would like to say nothing’s changed between the three of you over the past couple of years. That you’re just as close as you’d been in college, that distance hadn’t done as much damage as it has.

You'd be lying if you did. 

You tried your best to keep him in the loop; you really did, but that didn’t end up mattering much.

JT hardly had time to socialize with you most of the time, and you’ve practically lived together since graduation. He, like you, tried, but at some point, his bandwidth could no longer accommodate Tyson’s sporadic texts and calls. Many of which came in the dead of night, when your boyfriend’s head was either buried in a textbook or in the pillow beside yours.

Whenever you could, you invited the forward to spend the weekend in the city with the two of you. You even went so far as to offer to put him up in a hotel between your and JT’s respective apartments, knowing your adult salary could stretch further than the Atomic tips he was splitting with Tyler. He always had something conflicting going on, and it didn't feel like your place to question the authenticity of his reasons, so you just kept extending the invitation, hoping things would align eventually.

After finally taking the leap and signing a lease together, you decorated the guest room with Tyson in mind. He’s yet to see it, still.

Your little Kate, on the other hand, needs a frequent flyer program.

A small part of you felt this shift was inevitable once JT went from best friend-slash-unrequited crush to full-blown, live-in boyfriend. Despite Tyson’s insistence on you finally hooking up and “putting everyone out of their misery,” his smile didn’t meet his eyes when JT broke the news that it wasn’t a one-night thing.

Maybe his “little crush” hadn’t been so little after all. 

If that’s the case, you can't blame him for avoiding your slice of grown-up love like the plague. It just would've been nice if he hadn't left you in the dark, wondering where and how you fucked up enough to get iced out.

Tyson responded to every third or so text of yours, so you mostly kept up with him and his life through Kate, who briefly dated him between ill-fated Gunnar stints, and social media. You weren’t sure how often he spoke to JT; after several attempts that ended with your boyfriend clammed up and irritated, you stopped asking.

Judging by how tense he is beside you right now, you have a pretty good guess.

“Yikes,” Gabe drawls. “Trouble in paradise?”

You remain carefully quiet, allowing your boyfriend to decide what, if anything, to share. This—whatever it is —feels like it's more so between them two than Tyson and yourself.

JT clears his throat so hard it cuts through the music blaring through the packed house—some remix you don’t remember learning the words to. “Trouble? Nah, Josty’d have to give us the time of day for that.” 

Gabe laughs, but you know JT isn’t trying to be funny. You can taste the undercurrent of bitter resentment. It’s impossible not to without an artificial buzz.

There’s no time to dwell because a flurry of red hair darts through the crowd dispersing out of the dining room and straight into your arms. A fresh, but faintly-candied scent tickles your nose as the cool metal of a bracelet digs into your neck. 

Kate.

“Fuckin finally!” The almost-grad squeals directly into your ear.

Definitely drunk. Or high—or both. 

“Don’t look at me,” you say, beaming when she pulls back. “I wasn’t driving.”

Kate swats JT’s chest with her open palm. “And this is why we don’t let you drive anywhere, Grandpa.”

The playful jab makes your smile deepen. His driving made her tardy to a ZBZ charity gala one time over a year ago when she made the mistake of hitching a ride with you, and she’s probably brought it up a million times since. Kate pretends to hold a grudge, JT pretends to find it aggravating, and you get to sit back, enjoying the warm camaraderie overfilling your cup.

The pair have been friends almost as long as you've been friends with either of them, but since your graduation, they’ve settled into something more serious and more genuine. Where your connection to Tyson wilted outside the conveniences of college, your relationship with Kate matured and flourished. She’s more than just your chapter-appointed Little Sister to JT now, having become more of a true sister than anything else. Hence the juvenile teasing.

“Well, we’re here now. Alive.”

Your little snatches your hand in hers, tugging you away from JT, who feigns offense.

“And now I’m stealing your girlfriend in retribution for making me wait. Go do… whatever it is you two heathens used to do at parties. We have a pong title to defend.”

“Excellent idea, Madame President,” Gabe declares, hands roughly massaging the male ginger’s shoulders. He tosses a wink in Kate’s direction.

Before the other ginger can drag you away for good, your boyfriend catches your free wrist, pulling you back to him so his lips can find your ear. Breath hot, he drops his voice an octave, “President’s bathroom. One hour. Nod if you understand.”

Your chin dips, quick and subtle confirmation.

“Good girl.”

As your respective keepers separate you, JT shoots you a wink of his own. Then, you lose him in the crowd.

Kate leads you through the sea of party-goers to the living room, her grip on you tight and comforting. Her thumb rubs small circles on the inside of your wrist as you approach the table, almost as if privy to your worry. Kate is incredibly perceptive; she can read someone’s mind without even looking at them. With you, her Spidey senses transcend county lines, so it’s no real surprise she deduced your current condition from no more than your erratic pulse thumping against her palm. 

When you reach the bustling folding table commandeered for the BP tournament, Kate does all the talking.

It’s not too hard to get on the bracket despite the late entry with two newly-minted Alpha Chi brothers manning the post. The absolute last thing they want to do is get on the bad side of the president of their sister chapter (Kate) and the girlfriend of a legendary former chapter president (you). The pairs for the current game are only a couple of throws in, so it’s going to be at least ten minutes before it's your turn.

“You, my dear, look thirsty,” Kate declares through a mischievous grin.

You let her pull you towards the kitchen across the hall but have more difficulty than you expect actually getting there. Every few steps, someone stops either you or Kate. Mostly the latter, but she’s quick to show you off to whoever’s trying to seize her attention. Apparently, Kate’s been building quite the mythos of your time on campus, and it’s very… dizzying, to say the least.

“Kit-Kat!”

Kate abandons the poor freshman boy shooting his shot (and missing fantastically) in favor of the feminine voice sliding into the conversation.

In the blue-ish hue washing over the small space, you’re having a hard time placing her, but she seems very keen on making your acquaintance.

“Blake Meyers,” the newcomer announces, extending her hand with a smile.

You take it, giving her your name and a matching expression in return. The flattened vowels are distinct and recognizable, as is the last name. 

“Meyers?” you ask, attempting to work it out.

“Ava’s younger sister,” Kate interjects. “And one of our best steals this past recruitment.”

Blake blushes so brightly her freckles disappear.

You remember that feeling. What it was like to have an older member, especially someone as established and accomplished as an outgoing ZBZ president, go out of their way to make you feel special. You have zero doubt Blake will be walking on air for the foreseeable future, any of the common little doubts about whether or not she made the right choice vanishing.

“I was really hoping I’d get to meet you tonight,” the freshman tells you bashfully. “Kate gave the most beautiful speech about you and your legacy on Preference Night, and when she told me you might be coming with your boyfriend, I had to put a face to the name. And Jenny was the one who pref-ed me, so it seemed like—I don’t know, a non-negotiable?”

Jenny is one of the twins Kate took her junior year, and she couldn’t have picked better. It gave you peace of mind knowing your Kate would have good people around her once you couldn’t physically be there for her.

You won’t be surprised if Jenny takes Blake as her little. Kate pref-ed her, and before that, you pref-ed Kate. It’s basically a family tradition.

Not long after you thank Kate for her generous words and Blake for her kindness, Thomas, one of the new initiates in charge of the beer pong table, flags you down for your game. Not ready to end your conversation, invigorated by the breezy, jovial chatter your new life lacks, you tug Blake along with you.

Between exceptionally beautiful throws (if you do say so yourself), you learn more about Blake and her roommate and fellow ZBZ spring initiate, Emory. They pepper you with questions: about your first-year college experience, advice on getting the best room possible on the sophomore floor for mandatory live-in, whether or not you got anything particularly valuable in the various leadership positions you held, and what fraternities to steer clear of. You’re more than happy to answer them all. Kate sprinkles in comments and jokes occasionally, but she mostly defers to you so she can celebrate the end of a smooth second term as president.

Once Kate and you have successfully defended your title, you pass the torch to the future of your chapter. Blake and Emory make quick work of the first challengers and are close to a similar sweep with the second pair when your little remembers her earlier mission: refreshments.

This time, you both keep your heads ducked as you speed through the dancing bodies and make a beeline for the dinged-up lockers propped against the wall. You can’t help but smile when you see her reach for the lock—your old lock.

Every upperclassman (and a few select friends of the chapter, like Alpha Chi Sweethearts such as Kate and, once upon a time, yourself) is assigned a secure, personal locker in the oversized kitchen for quick access to personal items. During parties, they essentially become personal coolers. At your very last formal chapter meeting, you will-ed the hunk of metal down to Kate, along with the more sentimentally valuable items you wanted to leave behind with her.

“Wait, can you even drink?” Kate asks you from where she’s kneeling. Sarcasm scrunches her brows together.

“Hilarious,” you reply with a playful glare. “And before you loudly ask about the non-existent fetus like the devious bitch you love being, don’t. Unless you want to give JT an aneurysm."

Kate fishes out two slim, chilled cans as she grumbles about how boring you two have become in your “old age.” She shoves a ratty sweatshirt—an old favorite of Tyson’s—back into the small locker, quickly refastens the lock, and scrambles the dial. Then, she returns to her full height beside you.

“So, do you want to tell me what that wink from Gabe was about?” you ask, brow cocked.

“Do you want to tell me what your horndog of a boyfriend whispered in your ear?” Kate counters.

“Touché.”

Kate cracks open a Spindrift Spiked and slots it into your waiting palm. She taps the rim with her own, then sighs back against the cluttered kitchen island. She’s going to crack, you know it. Kate, even when she has a secret she wants to keep, never stays quiet for long. Especially not when you’re the one doing the asking.

“Okay, so, d’you remember how Tyson was, like, completely apathetic after we broke up right before Heaven & Hell last Halloween?”

You nod, recalling how irritated she was over FaceTime while you helped her pick a costume out of your box of hand-me-downs. You did your best not to laugh because Kate was clearly distressed, but it was kind of hard not to when she was buried in a heap of red and white feathers, wearing a too-small tutu dotted with rhinestones.

Kate takes a sip of the spiked strawberry lemonade before elaborating, “Well, I was understandably pissed—Don’t give me that look, okay? I know I broke up with him, but he shouldn’t have been that blasé that soon—so, I hatched a plan.”

You shake your head, laughing. Kate and her schemes.

“I wasn’t planning on taking Gabe as my date, but when I ran into him at Atomic the day before… I don’t know; I just couldn’t resist. I mean, Tyson worships the man. If anyone’s getting a reaction, it’s Landy. I had to.”

“And?” you prod. 

“And…” she stalls, eyes darting around the kitchen in search of pesky eavesdroppers, cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree. “…we might’ve done it in the backseat of his truck.”

“I’m scared to ask where.”

She buries her face in your shoulder. “The venue’s parking lot.”

Your eyes bulge so hard you, for a split-second, worry they’ll pop out of your head onto the sticky hardwood and land amongst the discarded cans.

“And I didn’t tell you because I was so scared you and JT would hate me,” Kate moans into your skin. She shifts to peer up at you, hesitant. “You don’t, right?”

“I don’t think I’m even capable of hating you, Katie-Kat, let alone for something as silly as banging a hot blonde,” you giggle, and she’s quick to join you. Lowering your voice, “Especially the hottest of hot blondes.”

“I’m so telling JT you said that,” she teases, pulling away.

You shrug and take your first sip. “Go ahead. He’ll agree.”

“And this is why you’re my favorite couple,” she says, bumping her hip against yours. “The worst part is Tyson didn’t even care about that either! At the post-game, when he saw my lipstick smeared all over Gabe’s neck, he high-fived him. Tyson fucking high-fived him for screwing me. His ex-girlfriend! How supremely demented is that?”

“I wish I had an explanation for you, but I don’t. I’m starting to think I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

Kate takes hold of your unoccupied hand and squeezes it three times.

“I’m guessing things haven’t gotten any better?”

You shake your head, eyes downcast like there’s something super interesting between the floorboards. “I know he’s busy, and we’re busy, but he’s acting like our friendship meant nothing.”

“Not to start a therapy session in the middle of a rager, but did you... did you ever actually talk about That Night? I know you said JT whispered, but how positive are you that Josty didn't hear him?"

A few months after That Night, your guilt was on the brink of hemorrhaging. It was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped; you broke down in the middle of Talladega Nights. Fucking Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. All fat tears and snotty, incoherent spiraling, your chest heaved as JT rubbed your back. He was quiet, more concerned than confused, until you calmed down enough to explain what’d been weighing on your conscience. 

Then, your boyfriend looked clueless—because he was. JT didn’t remember his heat-of-the-moment pseudo-promise to taint Josty’s image of you.

After a scene or two, you broached the subject you’d both been avoiding since getting together. You wanted to apologize, and not that you needed JT’s permission, but you felt it wasn’t entirely your amends to make. He agreed but was adamantly opposed to operating on assumption alone. If Tyson was truly upset by the pillow talk he overheard, JT reasoned, he was old enough to be frank about it.

You found yourself agreeing, but also not? On the one hand, you could see this being an instance of your anxious mind making a mountain out of a molehill, finding fault where there’s none. But you knew Tyson, and you knew how sensitive he could be. 

Something shifted that night. You’d known then, too, even in the hazy afterglow. His despondency wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t uncommon for his dejected expression—his forced smile dipped in feigned nonchalance—to visit you in therapy sessions or in your nightmares.

But every time you typed and re-typed one remorseful novel after another, every time your gun-shy thumb hovered over his contact, every time you nearly drove out to your alma mater to track him down… You couldn’t get yourself to see it through. 

At first, it was the nerves, the fear of hearing his pain and seeing his anger. Then, it was your own temper, stoked by indignation, that rose with every sign of withdrawal. Now, it’s just plain, garden-variety sadness.

It was—is disappointing how cleanly he severed ties. There one day and gone the next, no blow-out fight or melancholic hear-to-heart. Tyson was there; he was within reach, but at the same time, not at all. The casual dismissal is worse than outright rejection; the door ajar but wholly uninviting.

"In the moment, I was certain he didn’t. Now? Fuck, the percentage drops every time I replay it in my head,” you murmur, remorse bogging down your confession. "I know you made a point not to bring it up when you were together, but did he ever, I don’t know, say anything?"

Kate shakes her head. "No, sorry. But it's not like we actually did much talking anyway."

You snort despite your woes.

“Alright, that’s enough doom and gloom for one night. How’s my nephew?” Kate asks, bright smile chasing the blues away with all its might.

It’s a distraction and a good one, too. She listens intently as you prattle on about the bi-weekly training sessions you’re starting next month to help with the leash pulling and the ridiculous pet parents you’ve met at the dog park near your apartment. She inquires about the fluffy lamb she brought over the last time she stayed with you—it lasted all of a day in his over-excited grip—then gushes over another variation she saw last week while getting litter for Salem, her diabolical tuxedo cat.

By the time Kate has your phone in her hand, swiping through the designated album and asking more questions than each picture really warranted, you’re feeling a bit better.

Noticing the clock, you stumble through a totally-not-suspicious excuse to venture upstairs—alone. Kate shoots you a knowing look but doesn’t give you a hard time. To be honest, she’s just glad you came tonight. Instead of a witty jab or half-hearted guilt trip, she slips a gold foil square into your unsuspecting palm and sends you on your way with a supportive swat to the rear.

Access to the second floor during parties is typically mediated by two to three gatekeepers, depending on the scale and projected rowdiness of each gathering. Three’s the magic number tonight: two up-and-coming juniors and an outgoing senior. They grant you passage with little more than a nod of acknowledgment.

“What? No riddle this time?” you tease over your shoulder.

The senior, an engineering major with a penchant for brain teasers, answers with a hoot. Cale Makar shakes his head, both amused and flattered you remembered his signature move. His puppy crush on you is an open secret. “I was given strict instructions to ‘keep the shenanigans’ to a minimum with you, Your Majesty.”

“JT?” you venture a guess, hand paused on the paint-chipped banister. He’s the only one who still sprinkles in the silly nickname these days.

“Landy, actually.”

Well, close enough.

You shouldn’t be surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time the former chapter president enlisted Cale, his little, to assist in your and JT’s more salacious antics.

As soon as Gabe had the defenseman under his wing, he was putting him to work. Not that the younger blonde particularly minded, as his affinity for creative, slightly devious schemes rivaled that of Kate’s. It was Cale, you later found out, who ran interference during Semi Formal… while you were defiled on the balcony.

“Still doing his bidding, I see.”

He counters with that lopsided “Get Out of Jail Free” grin. “What can I say? The man puts up a mean bribe.”

As if cued, Cale’s companions, who you now recognize as Alex Newhook and Bowen Byram, step into view. In Alex’s raised grip is a case of Labatt Blue, and in each of Bowen’s, a bottle of bottom-shelf cabernet. You doubt the trio would notice or mind the subpar quality, though. Between their happy heads, Cale fists a bottle of champagne you know he’ll misplace before he can polish it off.

“Jesus, how drunk is he?” you tease, the follow-up to an exaggerated gasp.

Sure, the quality’s shit, but their haul is far more valuable than your appraisal of their job; it’s a frat house, not Buckingham Palace.

“Not drunk enough to not see you here with us.” Cale’s voice tapers off, his pale eyes tracking someone stalking down the hall before nervously flicking up to the ceiling, “…and not up there with JTC.”

JTC — Talk about a blast from the past.

An anticipatory tingling erupts between your inner thighs just knowing he’s up there right now waiting for you. This is the part of your “homecoming” that excited you most and had been since the moment your boyfriend pinned the invite from the alumni association onto the fridge.

As blissfully domestic as your life together has become, it lacks the spontaneity your college life had been brimming with. Your sex life could never be categorized as mundane or clinical, but you’re finding it difficult to replicate the adrenaline rush stealing secret moments inherently provided.

Sometimes, in your more (admittedly) desperate moments, you’ve caught your fingers moving beneath the sheets to mindlessly chase the thrill of those fleeting intimacies, despite how awful the constant wondering and wallowing felt then or, maybe because of it, pain and pleasure are uniquely human indulgences sought in equal measure. When intertwined, they’ve been known to satiate masochistic cravings the way a sad movie or a sprawling, high-speed rollercoaster might.

However, this time, your risk-spurned euphoria will be at your own hand. The newfound agency—the ability to choose when, how, or if any risk is involved—has you darting up the stairs with a fire under your soles.

Before you round the corner and disappear down the hall, you make sure to call out, “Thank you for your service!” accompanied by a two-finger mock salute. You don’t stick around to catch their responses, though.

As you make your way down the dim corridor, you run smack into a very giggly Sarah Jones, just shy of your destination. Eyes distant and wide, she attempts to apologize for something—Something about sabotaging the Big-Little pairings your senior spring?—but it’s more bubbles than actual words. You nod along, still not quite sure what you’re accepting an apology for but too antsy to forge ahead to play detective. Your purposeful strides went unnoticed in her cloud of intoxication and nostalgia, but Erik Johnson, who’d been JT’s vice president, mercifully ushers his inebriated fiancé out of your path by the shoulders.

You offer him a faint smile of gratitude as they head in the opposite direction.

Over the music, you faintly hear Sarah begin chattering on about something unrelated, your reunion long forgotten already. You can’t help but chuckle a little on behalf of your younger self, who would’ve gawked at snobbish Sarah Jones drunk and voluntarily slumming it in a ramshackle house on Greek Row. And sporting a rock from a Degenerate on Ice (her nickname for your brother fraternity, not yours), too? That would’ve been the icing. But, the older, more mature, once-weekly-therapy iteration of yourself is happy she’s happy.

Thoroughly amused but happy nevertheless.

As you reach for the tarnished doorknob of the president’s suite, the rickety door flings open to reveal your boyfriend, all flushed cheeks and frenzied eyes.

JT pulls you inside, lips easily taking possession of yours, the heel of his lived-in/loved-on sneaker nudging the door shut. The hinges groan in protest to the rough treatment. Still fussy as ever. This house is a goddamn time capsule, you muse. Neither of you has the patience for benevolence. If it jams, it jams. That’s a future-self problem. Diligence now would only slow you down.

And would a prolonged stay on memory lane really be all that bad?

Your boyfriend cages you so close that when he manages more than panted praise between hot-and-heavy touches, the words barely fit in the gap between your mouths. “I was beginning to think you stood me up, sweetheart.”

The light-hearted accusation is semi-whispered, somewhat hoarse, in the way his voice always sounded when he came home from a long shift at the hospital downtown or post-game at the height of his collegiate career. JT isn’t a hard person to read—downright wolfish when he’s homing in on a target—but the low, raspy tone makes his intent glaring.

Your body thrums with anticipation.

“Never,” you croon back. A breathy moan sweetens your voice, courtesy of the calloused hand inching up the back of your bare thigh, bypassing the hem of your skirt with no effort or resistance. Arms looping around his neck, you make an inquiry: “Is there a reason we’re in your old bedroom instead of, I don’t know, the king-sized bed in the honeymoon suite you insisted we spring for?”

Tufts of faint copper tickle your cheek. Your boyfriend lands a kiss on your crowd-warmed forearm. Then, much to your displeasure, he steps out of the tight embrace.

“Y’know, I remembered something earlier when I was downstairs,” JT supplies in an apparent non-answer.

He guides you, as understanding rises in your mental periphery, through the barely-lit space toward the Jack-and-Jill bathroom between this room and the next. Then, he flicks on the secondary light, the dimmer of the two, before tugging you over yet another threshold. His fingers twitch at his sides, lascivious.

You stare back at him expectantly, vision tunneling as you wait, wait, wait.

The latch might as well have been a starting pistol; the subtle click ringing in your eardrums like the sonic crack of a live round; his breath a plume of smoke from a charged muzzle well beyond its flash point. Pent-up, needy tension burns hot and burns brighter. Residue from the night prior aflame; you, a moth seduced.

JT drives forward. Stalking, like a cat on a bird, until he’s pinned you to the door. His dash was easy, made short and hasty by the starting block eagerness in your dilated eyes.

Mouth descending on your sensitive neck, hips grinding his want into your squirming form, harsh belt buckle nudging just right with each sharp rut.

“There’s still one thing left on my college bucket list.”

He sinks the candor in with his incisors. Not hard enough to break the skin, but that was never his intention. The sting is a reminder. Of your shared past, of his unwavering desire—of who is in charge.

Message received. Loud and clear.

JT leans away to admire his handiwork. One big hand poised at your jaw, and the other braced beside your head, keeping your shyness from blocking the perfect view; you’ve never been able to hide from him and never will.

His curious thumb deviates from the original objective to caress the skin, now splotched violet and angry. Softly, at first, like he’s committing the damage to memory. Then, emboldened by a sudden piercing hiss forcing itself from your throat, JT pushes down on the tender spot. The cruel, unexpected pressure pulls pitiful bleating cries from your undulating chest.

This is no longer an expedition to gather intel; it’s a primal instinct.

For a few moments, he just holds you like this. A cloistered existence made worthwhile by him occasionally digging deeper into the column of your throat, the pressure taking on a raptorial quality. Your boyfriend wears his herald grin at a rakish angle. It unfurls with refined delicacy, an effective diversion for his next endeavor. Breathe like a precision instrument; the sharp phantom-edge fans across the sucked-raw skin with unhurried ease.

There isn’t enough alcohol in your system to dull the twinge — and you’re glad for it. It’d be a crime to dilute a burn this good, this all-consuming. You crumble between him and the door, your world only this big. His name tumbles out with a pulled-candy moan, completely devoid of dignity.

JT’s chest rumbles beneath your clammy palms. “You gonna be a good girl and help me tie up loose ends?”

His strawberry-blonde crown dips to nuzzle your cheek. Hot tongue tracing an experimental line, JT groaning as it does. The muscle trawls for tears you didn’t realize you shed, humming through the pursuit. The low-pitched moan sends a chill straight down your spine right to your toes.

The hand gripping your jaw lowers so his fingers are able to coil themselves around somewhere more advantageous — your neck. Your eyelids flutter, woozy. His firm squeeze, just enough to make everything spin and keep you still, has become blissfully familiar over time, but your breath still hitches like it’s the first.

“Hm, sweetheart? Don’t be rude. I asked you a question.”

Your lips part, a barbed retort to his condescension on your tongue, but all you can push out is the strangled yelp of a wounded animal.

The hand by your temple no longer rests against the door. In the fog, it snuck up under your skirt; JT never meant to get an answer out of you; he just likes to watch you squirm. Likes to have something to reprimand you for.

His nimble fingers dance over the thin, sodden material pulled taut over your heat. Less touching, more hovering. Small, lazy movements that betray how well he can play your body. They float above the tingling bundle of nerves, further movement pending, contingent upon your obedience.

“P-please,” comes your pouted whimper.

“Focus for me, pretty baby. Tell me what I want to hear. Come on, let me make things easy for you. I can feel how badly you want to — and you aren’t in a position to be difficult, are you?”

You give in, and though the words you babble are largely unintelligible, JT’s ultimately satisfied.

“Such a good listener I’ve got myself. But you’re always to eager to please, aren’t you? You might throw stones from behind that tough girl act, but it’s just that: an act. I have a puddle in my hand to prove it.”

His frankness sears your face.

You’ve acquired a tolerance for his raunchy silver tongue through months of close proximity, but the mechanism is shoddy at best. Stalls and misfires galore. Against all odds (said “odds” being his fingertips toying with the edges of fabric between your thighs), you summon up a tawdry retort from the growing arsenal. “Don’t l-let it go to waste, Compher.”

It's not your best work, but much better than the slurred gurgle that preceded it.

He loves how you manage to be any sort of cheeky with him, even with your head swimming, stuttering and all.

“I don’t think it matters, sweetheart. I know there’s no shortage. Plenty more where it came from.”

With your knee, you nudge his hard-on and supply some honey-tongued snark of your own. “Is that your ego, or are you just excited to see me?”

Your boyfriend chokes out short-lived mirth. Then, with an accompanying smile, his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek. Amused, but by the sting of the remark’s undeniable truth, not your cleverness. The protrusion moves just below his bottom lip as he swipes the muscle over his teeth, a half-second sardonic gesture. It calls attention to your impudence without dignifying it with a verbal reply.

His brow lifts to negate any confusion, feigned or otherwise. “Are you going to keep being a brat, or are you going to let me fuck you with my fingers?”

You gulp down your ready-mixed wisecracks.

“Nothing to say now?” JT taunts. “Funny how that works.”

Fuckin’ wisenheimer. His voice is so haughty you have to bite your lip to keep your foot out of your mouth, unwilling to jeopardize your impending pleasure for short-term gratification.

Your boyfriend’s smugness—and your subsequent annoyance—becomes irrelevant when your panties are roughly pushed to the side, and his thick finger slips past your taut entrance. Tip to knuckle in one succinct trust; your startled gasp drowns out the noise rising up through the floorboards.

Hips bucking forward—you just can’t help yourself—you're in search of some friction to marry with the blinding stretch. He’s made the tensile opening accommodate far more in length and thickness, but not like this. Rarely does he create space where there is barely any, having forgone tenderness. Slowly widening a gap with gentle pressure, not demanding room like it’s already his to occupy.

Your surprise drips down his hand.

The bliss—the relief, is palpable. Your head dips into the crook of his neck, and the gravity of the situation felt for the first time.

Before, you didn’t see any substance in a tipsy frat bathroom hook-up. The older you got, the more pointless it seemed, especially with an established, long-term partner. The novelty wasn’t lost on you, of course, but that’s all you’d written it off as.

Countless collegiate nights were spent imagining one like this one. A moment where your inescapable feelings for him would be matched outright. When the pressure of his stifled emotions would build too fast to keep them from boiling over, too mighty in stature. Suddenly overcome by unrequited feelings of his own, unable to uphold all the ridiculous unspoken platonic conventions with the same authority he commands now.

This is important. For your past and present selves. The significance of this overdone, soapy teen drama scenario cannot be overlooked because it underscores the progress you’ve made together. Years of dancing around one another, the unconventional catalyst and nontraditional timeline, every hushed conversation in the wee hours before responsibilities wake, the sleepless nights and the snooze-filled afternoons—this ostensibly clichéd moment is an amalgamation of it all.

One thought rises above the frenzied rest: Was this here all along?

Is this what was waiting on the other side of the aimless pining and the confusion and the hurt?

The journey might’ve been fucking hell, but the view from here is pretty damn heavenly.

Overwhelmed by your epiphany and his dexterous motions, you moan into his skin far louder than your pride would’ve otherwise allowed outside your shared apartment.

His arrogant laughter grates before it really registers. Venom secretes from your salivary glands when it does, but the melted retribution never makes it past your lips. His second finger robs it of the opportunity, and the third sends all thoughts out your ears. The light circles over your clit cloud your vision, nails digging into his jersey-clad back—I’m feeling nostalgic, he’d said. In more ways than one, apparently.

“S’good—wanted this for so long, Compher—k-kept wishing it was you that night, not Miles.”

JT seethes at the admission, curling his fingers until your knees buckle and you’re entirely reliant on him to keep you off the floor. Even as your mind slips further and further away, your hips manage to move in time with his hand. Meeting each stroke with equal hustle and vigor, a clear end goal on the horizon.

Then his thumb drops away, his hand coming to a halt, and he steps back. 

Away.

Frustration pushes the amassed tears waiting in the wings down your cheeks. Emotion runs down your face; a heavy spill indeed.

“I don’t ever want to hear another man’s name outta your mouth when it’s my fingers buried in your pussy.” His jealousy is well-polished. Manicure-smooth, like he’s been maintaining its luster in preparation for this very occasion. "—'specially not the motherfucker that made sure I heard all your pretty sounds through the walls.”

You’d grin if you weren’t so miserable.

That’d been your intention. It wasn’t anything Miles had or did that made him different from the rest of the chapter (who all, at one point or another, tried their luck with JTC’s hot best friend), just simply when he decided to shoot his shot. The only reason you’d been out in the first place was because you reached your breaking point, no longer able to stomach what you felt for JT, and you made sure Miles knew this before you let him call an Uber.

Despite playing for the same team, the pair shared a touch-and-go rivalry. You never knew if the intensity would result in a sweeping victory or an in-house, all-out brawl. If they ever saw eye to eye, you’d of never known. Miles needed no convincing to push JT’s buttons.

There was some heavy petting, nothing more. The only time Miles saw you undress was to change into the pajamas he lent you before knocking out on his futon, leaving you to take the bed. But JT didn’t know that. If sitting in their chapter house’s kitchen at 5 o’clock the next morning didn’t raise suspicion, the non-Compher borrowed t-shirt and ruffled hair certainly did.

Back then, he refused to ask. Even though you could see how badly he wanted to pry. Miles didn’t have anything he worth sharing, so JT was left to fill in the blanks.

You’d tell him the truth later, but right now, you wanted to see what milking his assumptions could get you.

“Did you like what you heard?”

His jaw ticks. Your hips push against his with a knowing simper.

You lean forward, closing the space he forced, lips barely brushing his ear, “Did you get off on it? Fuck your hand picturing yourself in his place… wishing it was my pussy instead?”

You hear the thud before you feel your head against the door or his hand back around your throat, his fingers deep between your walls again. The everywhere-throb makes you laugh. Giggle, really.

He squeezes until you’re no longer capable of mockery. His pace hastens, leveling out only once your thighs have started shaking around his wrist, knees cutting off his circulation elbow-down. Somehow, he keeps going despite the icy tingle. His determination overrides physical discomfort, knowing how close you’re getting. Feeling it in the distinct fluttering around his digits, seeing it in your trembling, swollen bottom lip.

“You’re so full of shit.” His mouth twitches at your throaty moan. A defiant hint of levity circles his pupils; he never stays riled up for long when it’s you yanking his chain. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You kiss him then, messy and crude, love-drunk. He tastes like your chapstick and gin, with a biting citric aftertaste —Grapefruit, maybe?—and you suck it in like you haven’t had a drop of water in days. And, in turn, he drinks down every choked sob and nonsensical half-thought you babble, every drop shooting straight to his loins.

He drives into you with fervor, humming as his tongue slips against yours, iron bulge omnipresent. The hand around your neck loosens but never leaves its post, thumb stroking your pulse point. I know everything about you, his movements whisper. Over and over, in and out. He, just as much as you, gets lost in the repetition.

“Don’t want him, never wanted him. Jus’ you—Always you.” It comes out slurred, mushy like your head, like your heart.

JT’s cock isn’t immune to affirmation and twitches through his too-tight jeans. Groaning, “Go on, sweetheart. Scream my name. I want every single person in this house to know exactly who’s fucking you this good.”

You do just that, writhing on his hand, eventually burying your face into his warm neck when it gets to be too much. He continues fucking you, and you continue crying for him, the pathetic little whimpers muffled now by his body.

JT guides you through the rest of your orgasm, as he always does. He watches your face carefully on the comedown, searching for any sign of regret or discomfort. When he finds none, he cradles your shaking form against his solid chest, the hand that, only moments ago, tore you apart, soothing you back down to earth. Once you’ve settled, he walks you back and away from the door.

A startled yelp falls from your lips when you feel the chilly edge of the countertop. You pull away from your boyfriend, brows furrowing with confusion.

His hand taps the outside of your thigh. "Up."

You’re having a hard time keeping your eyes open, let alone stringing thoughts together, so the command is met with inaction. Impatient as ever, JT wordlessly hoists you where he wants you and sinks down to his knees, big hands cupping yours.

“What’re you doing?” Strained, barely above a whisper.

He stares up at you with dopey, lovestruck eyes. “Come on, Compher. You can gimmie another one, can’t you?”

You aren’t an idiot. Often sleep deprived beyond belief and, more often than not, fucked-out on JT’s… Well, anything—but definitely not an idiot. You knew exactly what that loaded gun of a pet name implied the moment he used it. It first slipped out during a frantic supply closet rendezvous midway through your company’s holiday party, then a few more times in the months after.

It hasn’t lost its sparkle. It does make you more and more impatient each time he flashes it, though.

Fuckin’ tease.

Your fingers burrow in his hair, tugging from the root until his eyelids flutter prettily. “As long as you let me return the favor after—need to taste you so bad.”

“Deal,” he mumbles into your skin a half-second later.

His hands push your already-short skirt up, bunching it atop your hips and out of the way. Your boyfriend takes the time to remove the fabric barrier this time, and you don’t miss the way he tries to slip them into his back pocket without you noticing. Likely because it’d normally be a tease-able offense.

But not tonight, not right now.

Instead, you let a shiver speak for itself. The risqué gesture reminds you of the pair he used as a pocket square when his parents took you two to a celebratory dinner following his white coat ceremony. The rumble of his chuckle tells you his mind went there, too.

JT leans in, big eyes never moving from yours, his warm exhale fanning over your swollen folds. The tooth-marked bruise forming on the side of your throat pricks in tandem response. The action, a repeat of your boyfriend’s earlier antics, naturally yields similar enough results. He catches on, inching forward to—

Something bangs against the door.

His face falls; your heart seizes.

“Occupied!” your boyfriend barks, hands paused but gripping you tightly. He looks like he’s on the verge of exploding.

A full, lilting sound barrels into the door—too-good-to-be-true laughter. His breathy timbre is an unsteady balance of cocksure and skittish; a preference for one side or the other is blurred by the wood in its way. “It’s me, dickhead.”

Then, the curtain is lifted. A pocket of silence ushers in a stillness that cracks like a bolt from the blue.

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover how you feel right now. You most definitely suffered a concussion somewhere in all JT’s reprimanding; you’re hallucinating right now. That, or the singular seltzer in your system magically turned psychotropic after consumption.

Waiting in the threshold is Tyson Jost. A quarter-drunk fifth of Jack in one hand and that goofy, irrepressible smile plastered on his face. Almost frozen in time—good-humored, untouched. As if nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed. Suave, and standing there like he hasn’t ignored you for months on end, like your and JT’s absence in his life wasn’t felt the way the Tyson-sized void in yours was.

Idle and morose, his eyes are the only defectors to his blasé demeanor. Timid and downturned, akin to a kicked puppy, they beg you and your boyfriend to assuage his guilt. An olive branch, a white flag in the wind. Amid their vulnerability, they still manage to cut into you in a way that feels too intimate, too honest—too much.

The worst part of this charged maelstrom is knowing Tyson isn’t capable of being cruel on purpose, then or now. It's bittersweet.

Careless or callous, it hurts all the same. It’s difficult to sift through the muck and decide which feelings should guide your actions when there’s no easy place to lay blame.

A gnarly, muddy morass of emotion climbs out of your gut and fills your throat, threatening to make an appearance each time you dare to exhale. You’re nervous and confused, elated and optimistic, angry and reproachful. The burn of betrayal rushes up your neck and across the bridge of your nose, but all the words you’ve stockpiled for this rainy day stick to your tongue like tar. Dark, thick, and flammable—your silence is probably for the best.

Bronze eyes, somber beneath the fan of flaxen lashes, adopt a strange aloofness that doesn’t suit his face. Lacquered just so as to protect the gooey softness beneath, the finish does nothing to obstruct or disguise his desirous longing or a brand of blues you’ve never seen in him before.

The intensity of your braided gazes is sanguine at best, duplicitous at worst, but disorienting all the same.

Anxiously, you chew on time; you’re trying your best not to swallow minutes and hours in big gulps. Your attempts to savor their confounding guilty-pleasure flavor are as futile as hoping the animosity would dissipate on its own. Or wishing the distance was just a nightmare you were on the verge of waking up from.

JT’s pulse races against your skin. He’s just as affected, just better at hiding it.

“Took you long enough,” is what JT says in greeting from the floor, dry words flung over his shoulder to curb the growing tension. Blithesome and biting and far more hospitable than you imagined.

All you can do is blink, slack-jawed; there are pieces you’re missing.

JT chuckles at your expression. He pecks your inner thigh to regain your attention. “Fuck now, talk later. Sound good?”

His words crack any and all inhibitions. Like opening the door to a cage, his reassurance grants your mind and heart the permission to succumb to the wave of emotions—lust overtaking the pack with ease.

Eyes still stuck on the ghost in the doorway, you nod your head in agreement. It’s as if you’re afraid your voice might rupture the bubble.

“Figured you’d be a little parched, baby.” Tyson, voice becoming jocular as ever, wags the bottle as he shuts the door behind himself. His tone might be light-hearted, but his gaze is anything but. Starved is the only way you can think to aptly describe the shadow. “And we can’t have that, now can we?”

You barely register JT vacating the prime real estate to accommodate his best friend, and subconsciously, you scoot closer to the edge. You knew you missed him, but you underestimated how needy you’d become if he ever stood before you again.

Both men notice.

Grinning, Tyson takes hold of your jaw. His hand emits a small tremor of unease, hesitant where JT had been demanding. The accidental brush of his fingertips over your boyfriend’s trailed claim rattles free a melancholic whimper. Your eyes glaze over, watering as your neck cranes up at him. He gently tilts your face to the side to assess the damage. You can feel his eyes raking over the marred skin, a sensation akin to your boyfriend’s weaponized breath. Goosebumps rise in their wake.

In reference to the Neanderthal surveying you over his shoulder, Tyson sniggers. “Filthy bastard.”

Charming as ever.

“She deserved it.” JT’s nonchalant shrug is more dismissive than his verbal nod.

Wicked eyes twinkle. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

You pinch his side, offended. Nevertheless, you purr at the certitude dripping from his husky vibrato.

He yelps and bats your hand away. “Got you good, didn’t he?”

You nod.

The baby talk-adjacent voice is demeaning, but with your only shield burning a hole in your boyfriend’s back pocket, lying about the effect it's having would be pointless.

Propriety is becoming increasingly moot, as this conversation circling around you carves space for new possibilities.

“Poor thing,” Josty hums, his thumb coasting back and forth over your jaw. His breath is smokey-sweet, honeyed. “M'gonna make it all better. Open up, baby.”

It’s something straight out of an early aughts raunchy teen comedy, the way he holds your mouth open to pour whiskey straight down, doing so without the lip ever touching either one of yours. The thin stream drags slightly as it goes down, but you’d never know watching the pillowy spirit disappear into you. You’re too eager to impress them both to give in and react—to the burn in your throat or the circumstances of this affair. You guzzle the oaky vanilla-clove flavor, smiling dumbly at the toasted aftertaste, all too happy to take anything and everything you’re given.

Still, either by virtue of Tyson’s lingering tipsiness or your inattention, some of the amber liquid escapes over your bottom lip, dribbling over your chin and down in between your cleavage. There isn’t enough time to consider wiping it off; Josty’s mouth is sucking you clean before the bottle even hits the counter beside you.

“Would be a shame…” Tyson starts, briefly interrupting himself with a succession of wet, open-mouthed pecks he’s decided to spoil your décolletage with, “…to let it go to waste.”

JT’s begrudged scoff cuts through the trance. “Jesus, kid. Where’d you learn that? What the fuck have you been doing? Or should I be asking ‘who' you've been doing?"

Tyson flinches at the coarse overtone the questions carry. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of reaction only you’re close enough to feel. He just laughs into your neck rather than humoring JT or feeding into whatever he’s implying.

You’re too woozy to toss in your two cents in favor of either side.

Cold countertop lapping up your wetness, the burning palm cupping your face to aid the pursuit of sugary lips, the memory of his tongue gliding over your sticky skin—your boyfriend a few paces away, watching. That’s more potent than any liquor, mixed or straight. It doesn’t take long for you to pull away, in a there-but-not state of mind, to slouch against Tyson’s chest. Head heavy, warmed and spinning.

Happy.

“Somethin’ special, aren’t you?” Tyson muses as he kneads the tender spot where your hairline meets your neck. You peck his forearm.

“As sweet as this reunion’s been, you came up here for a reason. Get to it; we don’t have all night. I imagine La Tornade will be wanting his bathroom back eventually.”

You whimper at the sharp edge of his voice, even though you weren’t the intended target.

JT’s dark drawl was laden with protective affection for you, his devotion hardened by a hue of discontent reminiscent of a paternal chide. An outsider looking in might not see beyond the mediator-in-shining-armor ruse, mistakenly pruning away JT’s thorny pain and rotted grief, but you know better. The situation and him. While genuine, his defense of your bruised feelings is a trojan horse for his own. He’s conveying his rage how he can: under the guise of selflessness.

Tyson gulps, eyes downcasted, then nods. He understands as well as you do. When he finally looks up, the shadow’s fallen over his face once more, cloud drooped low overhead.

“You’re scaring me, Josty.”

This makes him laugh, his mood brightening a tad. “If anyone should be scared, it’s me.”

In your periphery, you catch JT urging him to continue with a stiff glare.

“I-I’ve been such an ass. I—I just care so damn much. About you. About Compher, and our friendship. When you graduated, m-my whole world changed. Like someone gutted my life, scooped out all the good, comfortable stuff and left me with the shell. I felt like I lost my people. Like I was left behind. And then I had to watch you two get closer than ever—without me. It fucking sucked, and I didn’t cope well. Didn’t cope at all, really. Kate’ll tell you, she took the brunt of my tailspin.”

You can’t help but snort despite the thick emotion welling up behind your eyes. The boys smile, too. Things look up.

Tyson takes your hand in a tight squeeze; his pulse jumps into your palm. “But that’s no excuse for what I did—didn’t do. How I treated you. You were trying so hard, and all I did was punish you for it. For constantly reminding me you guys are there and not here. For moving on with your life like you’re supposed to.”

He claims JT’s old spot knelt between your parted knees. “And I’m sorry. So deeply sorry, baby. Please let me make it up to you—let me apologize properly.”

Tears of his own shine up at you from his flushed cheeks. Gently, you take his face in your hands, rubbing away the spilled emotion with the soft pads of your thumbs.

A silent pardon.

The walls throw back the echo of his low, audible content—of relief.

“Is this okay?” His voice is barely a whisper, dwindling to a hush as the question tapers off.

Too determined to quiet his audible fear of rejection—and to have his mouth on you as fast as humanly possible—to bother with words, you nod immediately.

“With how much she’s been dripping onto the counter since you walked in, what do you think?” JT interjects, mood vastly improved.

Your cheeks and neck heat just as he intended.

The younger forward chuckles, hands massaging up and down your sensitive thighs, gripping them as if holding himself back from lunging too soon.

A predator lurking in the brush, lying in wait.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything. Didn’t want to embarrass her.” He winks up at you, confidence rising to the surface once more. You have to fight to maintain eye contact; he’s that stupidly attractive. “ —was try t’be a gentleman.”

You’re a flurry of butterflies, a whimpering mess.

Tyson wants to tease your body; it’s in his nature. But he won’t. Namely, because he can’t. No matter how good some old-fashioned edging would eventually make you feel, he’s already on JT’s shit list as is.

Besides, he’s only been fiending for a taste since you introduced yourself to him. And there's no time like the present...

Your guttural scream—an appropriate, albeit mortifying reaction to his baby pink lips enveloping your swollen clit—pumps his chest full with pride. Tongue flat, he charts the length of your heat with a gentleness you hadn’t thought your collective excitement would allow for. His hands coast over your legs, syncing with his mouth, until he physically cannot wait any longer. One final pass, one so agonizingly slow your greedy hips thoughtlessly vie for more of anything, brings his wistful, fidgeting digits to rest at the apex of your thighs.

“Pause.”

JT’s clipped command is a bucket of ice water.

Your vocal annoyance is matched by Tyson’s, but you both know how delicate a game you’re playing.

With his thumb still lazily swirling to your clit, Tyson’s inquisitive head begins to turn around. Before he gets anywhere worthwhile, it’s swiftly spun back into place by your boyfriend’s firm hand.

You can’t even convey how hot you find JT’s fingers casually twisting in his friend’s curly mop—just the way you love; all you manage is a warbled, mostly airy cry. Your distressed state worsens watching the show unfold between your lax, parted knees: reluctant, fluttery lashes over neon cheeks; a rosy, glistening bottom lip sacrificed to cage mousy whimpers, his ragged breathing betraying all effort toward feigning indifference to JT’s self-assured manhandling.

Your boyfriend snickers at your expression, a fish lingering open-mouthed for a surface sip, an ill-attempt to supplement a natural mode gone inadequate. No matter how much oxygen your widened jaw draws in, it never feels sufficient. A bottomless pit, a balloon with a fatal puncture wound. Gone before your depleted brain could make use of it.

“Have to make sure he does it right, don’t I, sweetheart?” JT’s voice is smooth and low, charring by the second; he’s enjoying the view as much as you are.

Tyson rolls his tawny eyes. Half-hearted annoyance. “Controlling much?”

“I know what my woman needs.”

The look you share with your friend is unequivocally feral.

And the growl JT hurls back, a low-pitched rumble permeating the tight space with little effort on his part, is just plain mean.

His attitude could not be more arrogant. The cavalier persona makes you shiver, and Tyson’s breath hitch. Humming, your boyfriend tugs on his curls until the two’s eyes are locked. Inescapable. The brunette gasps as he tries desperately to hold his eyes open, waiting with bated breath.

JT licks his lips, triumphant. “Open her up for me, will ya?” Mischief catches in the light as quickly as it falls into your boyfriend’s lap. His grip tightens, and Tyson whimpers like a naughty puppy caught red-handed. “Don’t screw around, ‘kay? She needs all the help her tight pussy can get, and we don’t have all night.”

Panting, his nod is the only affirmative he can muster up. And the only one his limited range of motion will allow for. Smug and pleased enough, JT all but throws his friend into your fire, his nose bumping where you’re most sensitive. 

You actually yelp.

Holding your torrid gaze, Tyson dips his marriage and middle into you. You groan out what you meant to be his name—But who knows? And who fucking cares?—unable to control yourself while he’s finally touching you like this. Finally back.

Tyson finger-fucks you at an even pace, steadily pushing you up the hill. His satisfaction is tangible when he pulls out and away, so very delighted by your wonton hiss of annoyance. Even more so when the volume hikes up in response to the slippery pads of his fingers circling your clit. Your lewd whines harmonize with your audible arousal as he works it back into your fragile skin, playing with your wetness, utterly fascinated.

“What d’ya think, baby? Think you’re wet enough to take another finger?” JT’s tone is as cocky as his stupid rhetorical question. He, however, made no move to conceal his growing impatience.

“Mhmm,” you murmur, head like a rubber ball hitting the pavement. Still, you remember your manners. “Please—c-can I? Can I have another?”

His smile is pure adoration, dreamlike.

JT’s reverent eyes stay with you, but his words pour down over the eager man on the floor as he coaxes you halfway to heaven. “You heard her, kid. Give the lady what she deserves.”

Kid—Tyson hates when people call him that, but he especially loathes JT's usage. There’s barely an age difference, but with the way everyone acts, it might as well be decades. It seems like no matter what he does to prove himself, he’s still the baby. Every additional candle is like an annual slap in the face, a mockery that won’t end.

He can feel anger and frustration curdling low in his stomach just thinking about all the attempts that fell flat, and he decides to put the grumbling to good use. The vibration is red-hot and deliberate against your responsive, slick center, irritation like lighter fluid.

He gives you more than just three fingers. He splays all three—wide. Even as they stroke your soft inner walls, Tyson keeps you stretched so as to leave no slack. Your boyfriend wants you open? Tyson will fucking tear you apart, happily. (Yes, spite is a factor.)

Highly sensitive and spread to the limit, you ascend far quicker than usual. Fisting a bushel of golden-brown curls, nails digging rapt half-moons, you guide his willing face to the necessary places to see yourself through. Every slight adjustment has your entire body jerking haphazardly as it struggles to process the rocketing shockwaves.

JT’s hand retreats—only slightly—to make way for yours, to give you more leverage to fuck yourself through it. Less than a foot away, your boyfriend’s chest heaves in time with yours, his eyes pits of lust you dive into with clumsy enthusiasm.

During one particular, delicious pass, the tip of Tyson’s tongue catches your strained entrance, and when you unexpectedly gush against his mouth in response, he begins lapping over and around your carnal connection.

“Holy shit — Ty, I-I’m — I’m — “

The denouement of your climax is nothing short of glorious, as rude of a sentence interruptor as it was. Half-mewls and purred praise rain down from your loosened lips, eyes screwed shut.

Tyson melts over the way you take control of your orgasm, so unabashed and authoritative. You go after what you want; he respects that majorly. And getting to feel and taste what makes you tick doesn’t hurt either.

Neither do you and your pretty, throbbing walls cutting off blood flow while your boyfriend tugs his hair from behind.

“Just like that, keep fucking her through it. Did so good—doin’ so good for us.”

JT’s praise sends the brunette’s unoccupied hand right to his bulge.

This is the best he’s felt in months.

There’s the mythical balance of bliss-to-tension to key up his senses, shooting white-hot tingles of want from his head to his feet and flaming between his ribs, affection for you. You forgive him, JT forgives him, and, most importantly, he forgives himself.

He feels buoyant with his face coated in your climax, so much so that it runs down from his chin to his neck, staining the collar of his beer-soaked tee; he hopes you might return his favor later.

Josty’s guilty hand is knocked away by a firm toe.

“Y’haven’t earned it, bud,” his mentor chides.

The delinquent appendage flops lamely at his side for a split second, then lifts beside his nose to join its partner at your slick core. As if remembering there’s work to be done, a goal to attain. Beneath this new asset, your achy, spent clit pulses, egging him on with every thump, thump, thump.

Tempting him to do something, to take it further…

He thinks about it. Fuck, does he think about it—you can see the tape winding in his eyes.

JT can read Tyson’s mind through his skull, apparently. “Don’t even think about it, kid. Her last one’s mine, but you’re more than welcome to watch from right here.” —Your boyfriend points to the remaining space between the sinks, knowing it’ll be close quarters for you both— “Just remember: I only said watch. This is groveling, not a treat.”

And Tyson does. Without question or complaint, he’s just fine sitting next to you, sitting pretty.

He’s always been the perfect teammate. Always willing to do whatever it takes, regardless of the role. The only difference is he no longer wants his anxiety to be the sole motivator behind said selflessness.

Finally ready to play fearless.

JT helps you down; Tyson hops up.

Immediately, your attention fractures. Split between messy brown curls and lust-blown pupils and your own disheveled appearance: smudged makeup, knotted hair, mauled neck, and spit-stained, bruised lips. Thank fuck you’re graduated and gone. Otherwise, you’d never live this down—Kate might treat you to a taste of would-be campus humiliation later if she’s feeling particularly charitable, though.

Your boyfriend’s grip is heavy on your hips. Happy to have you back. You feel one hand coast over your lower back and down to grope your ass as if trying to keep you in the palm of his hand. White-knuckle hold withstanding, JT presses his chest flush to your backside and uses his free hand to yank every remaining hindrance to your navel.

He wants you on display.

Your gasp is rivaled only by Tyson’s pitiful whimper and twitching, touch-happy fingers.

The ginger’s chuckle is molten and deep, mouth barely a breath from your ear, his eyes pinning Tyson still.

Your mind rewound back to when he made this proposition, wondering how the hell you got from there to here.

“Bend over, sweetheart. Arch that back nice and pretty so we can show Josty what a good girl he’s been missing out on—what a filthy thing you’ve turned into.”

As soon as you’ve done just that, your boyfriend drives home. It’s fast and dirty; primal. He knows there’s no need, but JT marks his territory anyway.

You watch Josty’s mouth part like he’s about to ask you something. Staring through his eyes as if ducking into his pesky daydreams and up-too-late musings, all specifics watery and indistinct.

Ultimately, you wind up disappointed by silence. But, with the slow return of your boyfriend’s bare cock between your soft inner walls, it dawns on you; JT had used a condom last time. Even made Tyson retrieve it for him. The depth of your relationship is sinking in; that’s what you’re now watching. He’s mulling over the information, caught somewhere between wanting to swallow his guilt one go and choking on his own assumptions.

JT follows your charged concern, performs a similar triage, and then gives you a concise nod through the fogged-up mirror.

I’ll handle it.

At that, your walls noticeably ease, and he shudders, groaning as even more of him sinks deeper to occupy the newfound space. He gets a few strokes out before Josty slots his body between your palms to lean in. Here, he does something that collapses the simple but effective status quo. 

“Fuck, kid. K-Keep doing that.”

Keep rubbing your clit.

Keep playing with you.

Keep being an accessory to his pleasure. To yours.

Be present.

Be here.

“Such a fucking mess, baby. Don’t know how Compher gets anything done with you there, sweet and ripe for the taking.”

The two halves of Tyson’s demeanor are antithetical, and infuriatingly so, a saccharine smile split open by filth. It paints a sordid picture that must stand for itself, as you find it impossible to pluck out of thin air any coherent thoughts.

Be that as it may, your friend did not set out for a reply. At least not one other than the befuddled stuttering you’re doing.

A familiar palm shoots to your raw neck—tender, inside and out—lightning quick. You're yanked up before you can blink. JT mercilessly nips at the gaps in between his tight grip, hips pushed just as firm against the swell of your backside.

Still, he furthers their madcap banter. “I dunno either, Josty. And, believe me, the little vixen sure as hell doesn’t make it any easier. Sometimes I think she’s tryna milk me dry for good.”

If Tyson Jost were ever going to cream his pants—post-pubescence, it would be now.

Like, right fucking now.

The proclamation of your third orgasm is wondrous. Proud. Grateful. One of your hands flies back to catch the nape of JT’s neck to steady yourself as he continues pistoning in and out of you. Tyson's generous touch stays, too.

Your back arches this go around, head rolling against your boyfriend's shoulder before slipping back down towards the counter, free palm absorbing the impact of the abrupt sway. Too much, too much—it’s all too much for your tender muscles and soupy brain to handle. You surrender to the plethora of sensations, each more overwhelming than the last—half-collapsed back against into your boyfriend, half-crumbled forward into his best friend’s damp, tented lap.

“Not gonna last, sweetheart—y’feel too damn good, s’tight and warm, always strangling my cock—know you’re close, too. Gonna give me what you promised, Compher? Please, pretty girl—need to feel your perfect pussy squeezin’ me dry.”

It's refractory; your world goes from washed-out to vivid and back, over and over, as though impatiently flipping between channels.

You’re a tangle of sticky limbs and physical reverie, blanketed by a warm afterglow and cleared air. Body scaffolded by muscular forms on either side, your mind gives your body permission to slacken at last. JT’s arm winds around your midsection when it becomes clear the all-consuming exhaustion is giving way to the relaxation that eluded you for so many months. Tyson massages your arms, your hands still cemented to his knees. Your head drops to his shoulder, too heavy for your bruised neck.

For a long while, no one says a thing. Not intentionally or for fear of disturbing the peace; there’s simply no need. No words exist to shoulder that much weight, none able to capture precisely what emotions swirl between you. Silence says enough—silence says it all.

Banging cuts through your sex-drunk stupor. Again. The abrupt sounds function like metaphorical smelling salts, restoring consciousness and rousing decorum laid dormant. Your mutual, unadulterated bliss circles the drain in the absence of a psychological plug, ripped free, half-baked.

JT reluctantly leaves you empty and dripping, tucks himself away, and cracks open the door—only as wide as is necessary. Behind his imposing physique, you remain hunched over Tyson, waiting for your boyfriend to make the problem go away; you’re too tired to take any initiative.

Golden hair and familiar grey-blue eyes fill the gap, shining in your periphery. Barely a sliver, that’s how much of this your boyfriend’s willing to share with the world. You like that, and judging by his lopsided grin, so does Tyson.

“Paging Mrs. Compher!” Gabe hollers over JT’s head. “Clean up on aisle ‘Kate.’”

Just hearing her name puts you back in action. Damn you, maternal instincts.

You scramble to right twisted fabric and smeared makeup to a soundtrack of expletives. It’s pointless, though, because nothing settles how it should. No amount of smoothing, brushing, or tucking seems to help. Hazy vision and the legs of a newborn fawn don’t exactly lend themselves to effective primping.

And it’s not like you’ve got a hickey-remover magic wand stashed in your purse, either. 

Accept your fate, you acquiesce with a sigh.

Tyson does a piss-poor job muffling his laughter, which lands him a crisp swat to the chest.

As you stumble over, you catch the end of your boyfriend’s irritation. “—and you’re sure there isn’t anyone else to hold her hair back? Why can’t you do it?”

The gears in Gabe’s skull clank so loud you can hear them over the audible chaos seeping into your haven—he’s intoxicated, not stupid.

“CupKate wants her mommy.” The blonde winks at you over JT’s shoulder. His tongue gives a knowing click of approval at Tyson’s equally disheveled state. “And what do you care, Compher? Smells like you three already made your express trip to Pound-town, USA. How was it? I hear the weather’s hot and steamy this time of year.”

“Real mature, Landy, real mature,” JT scoffs.

The sound just revs him up. “Says the fucker who’s locked in a frat house bathroom with his girlfriend and his best friend. One of whom, might I add, looks like they got mauled by a hormonal freshman after a high school dance.”

“Can you two go measure your dicks, I don’t know, anywhere but in the way? I have a child to tend to.” 

You almost have to laugh. At the situation and at the words coming out of your mouth. At Kate, sick to her stomach like a kid who ate too many sweets on a holiday. 

Years have passed, but you’re all still the same.

“Me-yeoh!” Gabe sing-songs while miming what you assume are claws scratching at nothing.

Again, his drink is the sole casualty of his jubilation. A golden wave sloshes over the rim and onto the floor. The spray makes JT’s jaw tick.

The former winger offers a sheepish grin in repentance. “Whoops?”

Your boyfriend steals a glance to check that you’re decent, then side-steps out of your way with an exasperated sigh. His dilated gaze flits over your ruffled appearance, shamelessly drinking in the state of your throat but tripping over the questions dancing in your eyes.

He juts his head in Landy’s direction with a sardonic eye-roll. “Go on. Save your damsel, Mother Hen. I’ll fill you in on in the Uber back to the hotel.”

“Meet you out front?” You ask, and he nods.

You dart back to Tyson, plant a chaste peck on his flushed cheek, and then repeat the gesture with JT and his peeved lips. It’s faint, but they instantly soften for you.

Before they know it, you’re slipping out the door. Gabe gets an affectionate pat on the shoulder as you squeeze by him before you disappear in the direction of the Girls Only bathroom; no significant differences, only marginally cleaner and occasionally stocked with helpful accouterment—chivalry isn’t dead!

Lingering in the wake of your departure, Gabe sways like an inflatable man on the curb of a car dealership. A smirk twists his lips. “Nicely done, boys. Nicely done. Can’t say I thought we’d see the day—or that either of you had it in ya—but I feel like a proud father.” He wipes a phantom tear, the final straw. “Makes you wish you listened to Daddy Landy sooner, huh? Think of all the lost ti—”

JT slams the door in his face. Through the wood, Gabe cackles.

The two men slip back into sync as they wordlessly scrape themselves back together with the time and privacy you were not afforded. 

As JT yanks his jeans back into place, his belt clanking around like a bell’s hourly chime, a black velvet box tumbles to the floor, and Tyson’s stomach along with it.

The air shouldn’t, but it turns on a dime. Their progress is seemingly more fragile than expected.

“If—uh, wow.” A crunchy, anxious bark of a laugh cuts his thought in half.

JT doesn’t interrupt; he holds space for the blossoming discomfort.

Tyson rubs the tense knots along the back of his neck as his eyes drill into the floor. “If I’d known this would be our swan song, I would’ve tried to enjoy it more. I don’t know—savored it, I guess?”

“This,” JT says, scooping up the dud he hopes isn’t hanging fire. “— is what I wanted to talk to you about earlier.”

Before they got into it in the garage, before they’d been forcibly separated by Erik and Nate. Before they, punch-drunk and drunk-drunk, teetered between tears and anger in the shadowy, too-quiet backyard.

They spun in circles until they had nowhere to move but on. To make amends, to stumble through chary half-apologies that mean more than they say.

JT’s alleviation was short-lived; his calm trepidation squashed before it could fly. Tyson now understands why.

Tyson balks. “Me?”

Your boyfriend sighs through his nose, pinching the bridge. He’s bidding time. Digging for the right words but knowing there are none.

“I love her—and I know you do, too. I’m not upset; she makes it hard not to fall for her.”

Tyson’s head hangs lower, chagrined.

JT continues, “I’m going to ask her to marry me, but I didn’t want to do it without talking to you. Without making sure you’d be okay. Eventually. The last thing I wanted was for you to be blindsided or to feel even more left out.”

Tyson can’t help but snort at the sheer absurdity. “Left out… God, how pathetic am I? Getting all butt-hurt over a relationship that isn’t even mine.”

“Pathetic was going AWOL.”

Josty winces. He doesn’t argue because he has zero ground to stand on.

“But feeling something? Far from it.”

“I didn't—don’t want to take her from you. You have to know that, Compher.” The hurt’s been hammered from his voice. Left behind is softened sincerity.

JT’s smile is just as downy. “I do, and you’d be wasting time by trying.”

Josty chokes on an unforeseen bubble of laughter.

You love JT Compher so openly and ardently it might as well be a neon sign plastered to your forehead. He’s always been it for you. There’s never been any competition, Tyson Jost included.

“Thank god we got this ironed out before the wedding,” the older forward chuckles as he leans back against the counter.

They’re side-by-side, as they should be.

“Why’s that?”

JT digs into his other pocket and pushes something into the palm of his best friend, whose cheeks flame tout de suite in response. With a bump of his shoulder, your boyfriend tacks on, “Something to remember tonight by.”

Tyson shoves the memento into his own pocket, then raises a quizzical brow.

Your boyfriend grins.

“The best man pining over the bride while giving the groom the cold shoulder would make for an awkward wedding, don’t you think?”

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[gabessquishytum]

I saw the School teacher Hob/Mob boss Dream ask and immediately thought make it angstier.

What if Hob did try to contact Dream? Hob's a charming guy, never tried to rat someone out and has even been known to share a drink after a good throwdown. He tried official channels first. They didn't work. Fine. He wasn't expecting much, not with Dream being so important now. It hurt though, that he wasn't worth even a middle manager.

He tried unofficial channels next, tapping any people he knew that might be willing to pass on a message. The hurt grew more when all he got was silence. Was Dream ignoring him? Was something going down somewhere to keep Dream from answering? Hob waited.

Months later and nothing, no word or sign nor scrap of rumor. Hob's heart felt like it was going to break in two. There was one last option he could take. It wasn't something he wanted to do, but he knew a few sketchy dungeons Cori liked to visit. He knew he fit Cori's type. He could barter his body for a delivered message.

A few weeks more of silence and Hob decided it was worth the pain. Cori's sadism surpassed Hob's mild masochistic streak, but he knew that would work in his favour. He wouldn't enjoy himself but he knew Cori always kept his word.

Cori had always been envious of how close Dream and Hob were. The chance to fuck and hurt Hob wasn't something he was going to pass up, not when Hob was volunteering. To bad Dream was never going to get that heartfelt message, not now that Cori was Dream's most trusted lieutenant.

Hob waited. And waited. And waited.

Dream never came.

Dream had promised!

They had promised. I'll always have your back.

Hob's heart shattered. He didn't need Dream. He could survive without his heart.

Eventually, he fell in with Johanna. She helped him piece together enough of himself to do more than survive. He never should have followed her into that party. Now he was finally face to face with Dream and he could feel the still scattered pieces of his heart being ground into dust.

Dozens of messages and Dream finally deigned to show due to a stupid lie? Well, if he was fucked not matter what, he had some questions he wanted answered.

Hob laughed, hysterically. "You couldn't be bothered to give me the time of day when I got out of prison and called you for help! Why the fuck am I important now?"

Ooo yes, this is continuation for this particular mob!Dream and teacher!Hob post. I love the way youve spiced it up even more with some angst!!!

Of course Dream says something like "what messages? what calls?" And Hob laughs even harder because Dream is really bothering to lie to him? This is all too much. And perhaps Dream finally admits that he did get some of Hob’s messages initially, but he didn't want to have Hob dragged back into the mob lifestyle. He saw it as a chance for Hob to have a fresh start, and when the messages stopped coming through he assumed that Hob had taken the chance and moved on. Little did he know Hob was still trying to get in touch - particularly via Cori, who needless to say didn't pass any messages along and actively forbid the anyone lower down the chain from mentioning Hob at all. Hence Dream heard absolutely nothing about Hob until this rumour started spreading after the party.

Hob still doesn't believe him. Not until Dream orders Cori to be brought to the parking lot, and brought to his knees. Where he admits that he withheld information from Dream. Repeatedly. And took advantage of Hob’s trust in order to use him sexually.

It's a relief to know that Dream wasn't totally responsible, but Hob still feels betrayed and hurt. And now Dream is talking about rebuilding trust between them... is it even possible? Maybe. It seems like Dream is pretty much willing to do anything to get Hob back....

[alexandraisyes]

joining in on ranting in you're ask box part- uh- idk 3?? 4??? I dont even know anymore

Anyway, *cough* i think still have some of these left (edit: I just finished typing this all out and think is defiently an understatement-)

SolarNexus: Solar just goes off on Moon for how much he hates Nexus. Thats all I have for that. I'm sorry im this close to forcing myself to start writing fanfiction again just to write this. Also for my true loves kiss saves Nexus idea- and just to write about Nexus finding who he is instead of who he's supposed to be. .... can you tell i think about these two a lot? (Edit: I prove later that I think about them even more, and Eclipse)

BloodySun: I'm like feral for these two- just, like- Bloodmoon giving dead birds and stuff to Sun and he's absolutley digusted but trying not to hurt their feelings- i- ansusnhas

Servant Sun x Servant Eclipse: I've seen like 1 ship fic with these two but I dont care. I'm obsessed. They need to hold hands and heal and go to therapy together. Obviously Eclipse would defiently be able to help Sun more (cause lord Eclipse), but Sun could defiently help Eclipse too. (Is Eclipse faking losing his memories/being reset or some shit canon? I've read too much fanfiction- im going to assume it is for this) he can also help Eclipse learn that he doesn't have to be fake all the time and thatd be cute

Nexus x Dark Sun: I dont even have thoughts about this. Like I have feelings but I dont have thoughts. I cant even reason why I like this, I just like the toxic yaoi. I just like the concept of Dark Sun not even liking Nexus but manipulating him- like- Moon turned bad x biggest moon hater. I also just like hurting Nexus so other characters can help him heal. Only thing turning me off from this ship is that its an alternate universe of his ex-brother who would most likely be his brother again if he had a redemption arc. Like- I love seeing the ship and I like the concept just it gives me the ick, but thats okay cause I dong have to rot over every ship. Actually, I'm glad I'm not obsessed with this ship I dont need more angst living in my brain. ... I am obsessed with it in a platonic sense tho so I guess the angst is in my brain anyway

Nexus x Eclipse but its when they were looking for who made Eclipse: Nexus abolutley collared him. Im sorry. .. no im not, im right. Like, what is with Nexus and treating others like dogs??? Like first v4 Eclipse, and now Ruin??? Nexus is there anything you want to tell us??? Okay pet play- also doing that to the masochist is crazy, like if you're going to treat anyone like a dog why would it be Ruin that feels like setting yourself up for disaster. Even if he isn't actually a masochist he sure is known for pretending to be one

Nexus x any Eclipse ever: listen, im just saying I think he has a thing for Eclipse's (which is funny cause Moon fucking hates them) Treating Eclipse and Ruin like his dogs. Solar being his best friend. Even Dark Sun, who's a really smart Evil Sun who absorbed the knowledge of his Moon, so im counting him. Like I think Nexus would like being thrown around by Lord Eclipse, or helping to fix up Servant Eclipse. I'm just saying-

Eclipse ² x Nexus (gets its own section i rot about these three): them just reassuring the other's that they're loved and cared for- im sorry you can't tell me that these three don't all have some form of attachment issues- Eclipse being so used to people hating him that he kind of just instinctively pushes people away. Similar with Solar, but he does it more so emotionally while also feeling like he has to earn his place and do things for people. And Nexus also feels like he has to prove himself, and that he isn't good enough.

And they just reassure each other and then the others use their words against him (/pos) and they realize how stupid it sounds and anisnsusnsns <3<3 like- nexus being like "you don't have to prove yourself for anyone, Solar. We love you, you don't need to overwork yourself for us." And, like- solar saying it to him back- and Nexus is just like ".. okay listen-" and similar things happening with the other two and ensunsjss-

also they're the three worst at interaction (other than old Moon he takes the cake for worst at it, but its okay i love it)- like they're all pretty bad at it. Eclipse is Eclipse(aka memories as a villain, and is a sarcastic little shit), Nexus is just kind of awkward, and cmon Solar didn't really ever have any interaction after his split than his Moon and probaly kids, we know he can't talk to people easily. Honestly tho Solar is the best at it (he was able to start up a conversation with Moon easier than Moon could with him) and I imagine he's the one who orders at restaurants

And Moon hates both of Solar's boyfriends and Moon and Solar are friends and I think that's just kind of funny. Like Moon likes Solar so he doesn't stop being friends with him even though he's dating the two, but he's bitter about it (though honestly if Nexus had a redemption arc and it was proved he had a virus, I feel like Moon would hate him a little less. But he'd probaly still be insecure about Nexus probaly taking his place and everyone not really liking Moon again so he'd probaly still be an ass to him.)

Anyway they cuddle. Doesn't even have to be romantic, those three deserve to be in love (also the potential from forbidden love Eclipse² is Nausnsusnsn)

... I- shipping dynamics are neat

I apologize for making this so long, I expected it to be short and then I remembered I started to like new ships 😔

ALSO were being brave and doing this off anon (also id like you to know I genuinely just stared at my phone for a moment when I saw youd followed me lmao. I was so suprised [and delighted, you're neat]- plus it was like 4 am and I hadn't slept yet. I thought it was a dream the next day because I was that tired- I had to check cause i get very vivid dreams-)

All of these are so canon bro.

Solar saves Nexus with true loves kiss real? Real. I saw it with my own two eyes. It happened chat.

BLOODYSUN!!! They love their sunny and try to show that in the best way they know how, dead birds included. Sun is so grossed out by the blood and feathers and ough that's a dead bird ewww but he just forces a smile and nods and feeds it to his cats when Bloodmoon isn't looking. Then drowns his hands with soap and shampoos the carpet.

I feel like I've seen that fic too but my poor brain- Also yes, the pretending to be reset is canon. And that's so cute I'm-

Platonic ships are just as valid as romantic ones! And I really like the angst potential too heheheheh

Ayo 👀 Mmm I have thoughts about that but I must refrain.

Objectively correct. Nexus is an eclipsephile. He loves himself some eclipse.

POLY POLY POLY 🎉🎉🎉

THANK YOU FOR SHARING ALL OF YOUR THOUGHTS THESE ARE SO TASTY OH MY GOD ROLLING THESE AROUND IN MY BRAIN

Also awww ur so sweet. I love ur art! It's very cute! Of course I followed!

Ask Game

[tomtenadia]

Detours to you - 24

hello all,

as promised here we are with ch 24 and a lot of fluff... there is just a very very smidge of angst but it gets resolved quickly.

MASTERLIST

A month had elapsed and February had eventually arrived bringing with it more of the usual snow.

Rowan had slowly improved and with the help of physio he had worked hard to get better to his old form as fast as possible. He could now move around with two crutches but was still off work. Although he was much better the doctor had not cleared him for work, even if it was just desk duty. His deputy was covering for him at the moment and he hated that he was not allowed to do his job. During his recovery the mayor had eventually requested a visit and he Aelin and Maya had driven to city hall and the mayor had appointed him with the medal of valour that he had been promised. Rowan had been reticent and had explained that it was just his job, but the mayor believed that he deserved the accolade.

Maya had been super smug at the fact that her dad was a hero and had been telling all of her friends at school about him. His mum was still at their place and Eiddwen had been a great help while he was recovering and she had become an integral part of their family. Evalin and Eiddwen had quicly become as thick as thieves and both Aelin and Rowan were positive that their mothers were secretly planning something that concerned them. 

*

Rowan was bored at home. He was not used to being idle and was driving his mother crazy because he constantly wanted to help in the house. On top of that, Maya was at school so he had asked, no begged, Aelin to join her at the shop. 

Aelin had agreed and now he was happily sitting at the counter and his job was to take payments from customers. It was a brand new world to him. He knew how to deal with raging fires other type of catastrophes. He was not good with people. Rowan had almost strangled a woman who wanted to order a book but had no idea of the title or the author, but only knew that it had been released six months before and had a blue cover. He had explained to her that he needed a title and that blue was not a searching parameter but the woman was not listening to him. All of a sudden he had a total new respect for Aelin’s job.

Elide walked at his side “How are you coping?”

“Give me a five alarm fire, I can deal with it. Needy customers?” He shook his head “How do you ladies survive this?”

Elide laughed “we love this job.”

Rowan chuckled “Does Lorcan know you are a masochist?”

Lysandra and Aelin joined them a moment later and Aelin kissed his cheek “how’s our chief?

“Better now,” he sneaked an arm around her.

In that instant a tall blonde woman walked towards him “Hi,” she said in a very sensual way “I heard you give a good recommendation to another woman,” her hand moved on his on the counter “I am looking for a good book too.”

Rowan pulled the hand back “My colleagues here have far better knowledge than me.” He added while pulling Lys forward. 

Dejection fell on the woman’s face and Lysandra grabbed the woman, taking her away.

“Oh Rowan, you broke the woman’s heart,” joked Elide.

“Well, Lysandra knows more than me, it was only logical.”

Aelin hugged him again and hummed in his arms “I need to buy you a t-shirt reading property of Aelin Galathynius.”

Rowan looked Aelin in her blue eyes with a stare that said I am yours.

They were about to go back to their job when Eiddwen entered the shop and Rowan got ready. Because of the injury he sustained and the trauma he went through, the department had requested that he’d go through therapy. It was one of the conditions to allow him back to work.

“Hi Ro, ready for your appointment?”

He stood and grabbed his crutches. Aelin walked to him “are you coming back here then?”

“Yes, this is fun, albeit a bit scary.”

Aelin kissed him “Go,” a caress on his face “I will see you later.”

Rowan was in the car with his mum and was silent while driving.

“Ro, are you okay? Have you been sleeping?” She asked out of the blue.

He hadn’t. Rowan had a few bad nights when he woke up with the sensation of burning or suffocation. He then would roll around and hold Aelin in his arms. That would usually help him, her scent and the feeling of her body against his would always calm his soul. And if Maya joined in as well, he usually had the most blissful night. His girls were better than any medicine or therapy session. 

“I had a few bad nights.”

Her hand grabbed his “Mum, hand back on the wheel, please.”

“Is therapy working?”

“I think so. I just…” he paused “Mum, I almost left Aelin and Maya alone. I just found them again and I almost lost them. And it scared me, even more than the fire.” He explained “I know fire, but this fear, it hurts.”

“Maybe you should change job?” She asked.

“No mum, I was not meant to go inside. I did it because I knew the factory and it was the only way to save those people.” He told her “I usually stay outside and ran the fires, I can help change things. I love my job.”

“Talk to Aelin then, tell her how you feel.”

He was silent.

“Rowan, I know what not talking does to you.” Eiddwen was silent for an instant and let it sink in  “I had a panic attack one evening while I was at the supermarket. The police had to call uncle Ellys to come and get me. I kept saying that I was fine. I lied to myself until I broke down.”

Rowan grabbed his mother’s hand on the wheel and they both remained silent until they reached the building.

Eiddwen helped her son get out of the car and slowly walked to the office “I am running some errands in the meantime. I will see you in an hour.” Rowan nodded and followed the therapist inside the room. Therapy had been strange to him. He was not the greatest person to talk about his feelings and the first few days he had struggled to open up but slowly with the help of his therapist he had managed to finally unlock his emotions. They had covered about everything, not just his job.

“Welcome back, Rowan,” said Yrene while offering him to sit down “how are you you?”

A deep sigh “I love being back at home with my girls but I hate being stuck and not being allowed back to work. I am not good at feeling useless. I can work at a desk. This is nonsense.”

The woman nodded “you do know is department regulations?”

He groaned “Yes, I went through a serious accident and blah blah blah so now I have to wait for a shrink to tell me that I am fit to do my job.”     

“Rowan, you almost died and you have admitted that you have been struggling to sleep. That is not a good sign.”

“Of course, it friggin PTSD. I am working on it.”

“How?”

He looked outside of the window where the snow was falling heavily “Aelin and Maya, it’s all for them.”

The woman scribbled something down “what about you? Do you do it for yourself too?”

He snorted “of course, but they are my priority.”

“How is it going with them?”

Silence “I love my daughter. She is funny and intelligent and a little tornado. I adore teaching her things and discover almost every day new aspect of her personality.” He paused “I love Aelin and I want to be with her,” he nervously played with his hands “my mum gave me her engagement ring and wants me to give it to Aelin.”

“And how do you feel about it?”

He chuckled “I would have married her a long time ago. Now…”  a deep sigh “I love her madly but a part of me, a very small one, still resents her for lying and it’s affecting my full trust in her and driving me insane at the same time,” his hand raked through his longer hair “I love her so much and I really want to call her my wife. What’s wrong with me?”

“Have you talked to her? Have you voiced this problem to her?”

He shook his head “We have finally stopped fighting and Maya is thriving I cannot mess it up.”

Yrene wrote down a few more notes “that is a great progress, but this is something you have to discuss with Aelin or you risk that your relationship can never blossom properly,” she explained “She is also key in helping you deal with the job trauma. You need to talk to her.”

He nodded.

“What about sleeping? You mentioned in your last session your recurrent nightmares.”

A nod “Always the same. Burning, suffocation, the unyielding fear of being trapped. I usually wake up gasping for air.” His hand gently shook in his lap. 

“How have you been coping? Do you take the sleeping tablets the doctor prescribed?”

Rowan shook his head “Holding Aelin in my arms helps, and some night Maya jumps in bed too. Their presence keeps the bad dreams away and I can actually sleep.”

“Does it mean that without her you can’t sleep?”

“No, I can but it’s not as relaxed. I toss and turn a lot more.” A pause “It has always been like that. Aelin always managed to calm my soul.”  

The woman nodded. 

When the hour was up he said goodbye to Yrene and walked out of the office where his mother was waiting for him, reading a book. She looked up and closed the book “Ready to go?”

He nodded and slowly they made their way back to the car and the shop.

Later on that night, Rowan was already in bed, his back against the headboard and a book in his hands while Aelin was getting ready for the night. When they were dating she used to wear scandalous nightwear that would drive him insane with need and lust, now her nightwear was more modest and mostly consisted of his t-shirts that looked gigantic on her. A habit that apparently she had not lost. 

“That book seems interesting,” her voice reached him and he closed the book and placed it on the nightstand. Aelin smiled, it was a fantasy that she had recommended earlier on while at work.

“Oh yeah, this annoying bookseller badgered me all afternoon and convinced me to buy it.”

Aelin climbed in bed and crawled at his side “Well, she has great taste.”

Rowan looked at her and was about to kiss her but then he remembered he wanted to have a chat “So, therapy today was good.”

Aelin sat at his side and snuggled against his chest.

“We talked about us,” he looked down at her.

“I thought it was just about your job.”

He nodded “but Yrene is a wizard and we did some digging and we ended up talking about our relationship. She thinks it’s key to my recovery too.”

Aelin grinned proudly.

He was silent for a moment trying to find the best way to tell her his feelings without hurting her “she thinks that I need to reach closure before you and I can properly move to the next stage.”

Aelin turned to him “Closure?” Hurt in her voice “I thought we went over this.”

Rowan paused and folded his hands on his lap “Yes, but I think a part of me still resents you and I can’t shake it off.”

“Haven’t I apologised enough? What do you want me to do?” She growled irritated.

“I am working on it, it’s my issue, Aelin.”

Frustrated, Aelin got off the bed and started pacing the room “Is this an excuse to dump me once and for all?”

“No, Aelin. Yrene told me to express my feelings to you too and that’s what I am doing.”

“And blaming me in the process as usual.”

Rowan let out a frustrated growl “Fuck Aelin, I love you.”

“No you don’t.” She shouted back “If you did, you would finally trust me. How can we build a life together like this?”

She turned her back to him and sat at the bottom of the bed “I am tired of apologising, Rowan.” Her voice betrayed the sobs that had started to break through her “I don’t think we can do this if you continue in your crusade of hate towards me.”

He sighed and leaned back in the pillow “Aelin, I was ready to go to battle in court and I decided not to because I wanted to give our family a better chance,” he explained, looking away from her “but every time I find out something about Maya that happened a long time ago, I get so angry. I missed five years of my daughter’s life and it hurts, Aelin. It makes me feel like an incompetent father and it sting so much.” he paused “A while ago at hockey practice the other fathers had started talking about their kids and ended up chatting about their first day at school. I was silent, because I have no idea. I felt like a part time dad.”

Aelin finally turned and looked at his pained expression. On that he was right, he could have unleashed lawyers on her and instead of living together, they could have been in the middle of a destructive custody battle. He had backed down and given them a chance and for that she was grateful. Slowly she climbed back to him and her hand caressed his face tenderly “All the other kids were crying, but Maya wore her backpack and walked proudly inside the school and before leaving she told me that she was a big girl.” His arm sneaked behind her back pulling her closer and Aelin basked against his strong body.

He chuckled “Sounds like her.”

“I was almost offended when I picked her up and she told me she did not miss me.”

Aelin looked up at him and saw a hint of sadness on his features. She knew that having missed that part of their daughter’s life still upset him, but he was back and they had so much more to look forward to. She snuggled closer, letting him cage her completely against his chest “Ro, I know you missed a lot, but you still have so much to experience,” a kiss on his pecs “Aren’t you looking forward to her teenage phase? The first boyfriend or girlfriend?”

Rowan chuckled “Oh yes, the scary milestones.”

Her face turned upwards to look him into his eyes  “In your position, I’d be pissed too.”

Rowan’s nose landed on her head, buried in her mane of blonde hair “I am sorry, but I swear I am working on it.”

She kissed his cheek “I believe you, chief.”

Rowan pulled her down and let Aelin be the big spoon, her arms enveloping him, her face nestled in the crook of his neck “You are such a cuddler, aren’t you worried about your street cred?”

He hummed happily “Just with you and Maya. I am happy to keep my grumpy status with the rest of the world, but you two make me happy.”

Aelin smiled “good because we are not planning on leaving. We love your house too much.”

Rowan turned to face her and pulled her tight against him “To whatever end, fireheart.” A kiss.

“To whatever end.” She replied, then a smirk appeared on her face and pushed Rowan on his back and straddled him “Now, let’s see what can we do to make you sleep a bit better.” She removed her jersey and stood bared in front of him. She leaned closer for a kiss “I believe someone requested a sexy nurse.”

Rowan laughed and pillowed his arms behind his head.

“Let me take care of you, chief.” She added, while pulling of his briefs.

That night, with the love of his life in his arms, Rowan slept peacefully and dreamed of a future with the two most important people in his life.

taglist

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn  @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127 @mariaofdoranelle

[imaginespazzi]

Want to start by saying I have not actively book clubbed in a long time but I have been reading every single chapter and loving (sometimes hating but that’s the angst not ur writing) every minute of it.

Azzi feeling guilty about everything when she’s just trying her best is so sad like yes she did make some bad choices but their just reactions 

Paige being considered family right before the heartbreaking news I can’t 

Stephie having the same bipolar reaction of do I wanna beg for her to stay or hate her for her wanting to leave as azzi but stephie just letting it out shows so much about their connecting personalities 

Lowkey forgot drew was even there ngl 

No No No ICE you failed me Ik ur nosey asf you should’ve so known atleast something was going on with Paige why would you set our girl up like that 

Honestly the way Stephie was created makes sense but also what happened to her just appearing 

Them both admitting that they just want each other guys that is enough no body needs to move or do anything insane

Ain’t nobody gonna be doing anymore heart breaking please you guys gotta understand and give it a real chance also drew catch me outside for planting these insecure seeds in Paige’s head 

“Heartbreak is inevitable with me” NO ITS NOT 

Paige do not go playing around with those 3 crucial words rn absolutely not 

Them not being able to even go to sleep without each other I feel like says enough about the decision Paige needs to make

But overall I feel like this added so much to azzis development bc she’s not young and someone who can run around for love anymore she has stephie and she may love Paige but stephie comes first no matter what and she will not allow them to hurt her daughter no matter how much it make hurt her 

So excited when I read this and even though it put me through it was v good 

-💜💜 anon 

Aww lovie that is so okay, like y'all should never feel obligated to live-react and I will be happy with whenever you do and am always just glad that y'all are just enjoying the fic.

Azzi really went through it this chapter like girl really has the burden of the world her shoulders

My poor little Stephie-bean; she deserves a less masochistic author fr fr

LMAO Ice really did set Azzi up huh? All that encouragement only for Azzi to get the shock of her live.

Hahahaha listen feel free to ignore the existence of a man and just pretend Stephie just appeared one day like that's completely valid

Omg #protectDrewfromyou

In theory, yes I think it's quite simple outside looking in and I think to a degree Paige also know that she wants Azzi and Azzi wants her and that should be it. But she's got some lingering issues she's let fester.

Yes! Azzi has to think for two people and I think seeing Stephie break down really put it in perspective for her that she and Paige can't fall into old ways and they have to do what's right for Stephie above everything.

[psychospore]

Valentine Blues

Another entry for @muddyorbsblr 14 Days of Valentines Community Project.

If you want to read some more Loki and Adam OLLA fics, feel free to check my Masterlist

Summary: You go all your way to make Valentine's day special for the people around you, but will you get the same treatment in return?

Word count: 1042

Pairing: Loki x F!reader

Warnings: fluff, bit of angst

Despite being single for so long with no one to celebrate Valentine's with, it didn't stop you from making all the effort to make the day enjoyable for everyone. You are not sure if you're that masochistic, knowing full well all the couples you come across get to enjoy Valentine's throughout the day and you end up downing a bottle of wine in loneliness at night knowing you have no one to celebrate it with - but you know this year will be different.

After almost a year as an Avenger, Stark gave you his permission to re-decorate the tower, even extending your holiday spirit with SHIELD Agents.

A month before you've already sorted out sending fancy dinner invitations for two for all the married and in-relationship couples in SHIELD, you've also made sure the single ones don't get left out - you have arranged to have bouquets of flowers sent to their desk on the 14th for the ladies and spa day vouchers for the men. You didn't leave the Avengers out too, carefully curating their individual interest so you know what to give them.

By February 1st, you've started setting out decorations in the office and started blasting love songs. This got Loki's attention when he saw you decorating the railing of the stairs with red ribbons and flowers.

Loki has been aloof to almost everyone but your constant banter with him made you feel closer to each other. He walked up to you, about to start a conversation.

"Hello, pet - why do you take such lengths to celebrate a mundane Midgardian event?" He asked.

You looked at him, sweat beads on your brows, "It's a lovely time to celebrate love, Loki but I don't think that's up your alley so I don't think you'd understand," you smirked in response.

His brow was raised quizzingly, "Despite you being single?"

"Much more when I'm single - I enjoy seeing these people enjoy my work, less time for them to think about it on the day and just enjoy it instead with their loved ones," you cross your arms and nod with pride.

"Does it hurt you? Even a bit, that you won't have the chance to do it yourself?" He looks at you a bit concerned.

" I would be lying if I said it didn't hurt. It gets lonely sometimes - I love myself and take time to enjoy my own company but sometimes I just want someone to take care of me, you know. Anyway, I have much to do so I think I'll have to leave you for now," you tried to avoid the conversation altogether as a tight knot starts to form in your stomach.

It was Valentine's night, everyone enjoyed the surprise they got that day thanks to your efforts and everyone is busy having dates and dinners but you were on top of the helipad of the Avenger's tower, looking up at the gloomy sky - all alone with your thoughts. It was about to rain - you were chugging down a bottle of wine, Valentine's blues you thought. It's always like that.

It started to rain heavily, but you didn't bother to move from where you were standing as tears flowed down your cheeks, mixing with the falling rain.

You did not notice the footsteps of Loki approaching with an umbrella in one hand.

"What on Earth are you doing here?" His voice was muffled by the strong rain and wind.

Your eyes were red from the tears as you looked at him, faking a smile and lying through your teeth, "I am enjoying Valentine's day in my own way" your voice cracked.

He dropped the umbrella and caught you in his arms. Your muffled sobs vibrated against his chest. You don't want to see him see you in that state.

"Hush now, love" as he rubs your back. "You did a great job for everyone and you deserve so much more than you credit yourself for" he moves your wet hair away from you so he can see you better, cupping your cheek as he plants a warm and passionate kiss on your plump lips.

When you finally broke the kiss to gasp for air, you asked, "why are you doing all of this?"

"I have been interested in you since I first laid eyes on you, and I knew I was in love when you went all your way for the people around you - the people you love. I wish to do the same for you if you'd let me," his sincere voice echoed through your mind at Loki's sudden confession.

"I... love you too, Loki" you meekly responded.

His eyes beamed up at your response, "can you say it again for me, love?"

" I said, I love you too" your usual self coming back as you say those words louder.

He took you in for a tighter hug and kissed you again. A genuine smile crept up your face as the rain started to die down.

You looked at him straight to ask, "what's brewing in your mischievous mind now, Loki?"

"Well, we can't go if we're this drenched, darling. I suggest you change your clothes into something fancy and see for yourself," he playfully said.

After one hour of getting ready, Loki picked you up from your room.

"You look rather ravishing tonight, darling" he cooed as he hands you a bouquet of your favorite flowers and offers his arms to walk with you. You had a nice dinner with Loki in one of Stark's private restaurants and you are most delighted to know that Loki, despite his initial disdain for the celebration, would go out of his way to celebrate it with you.

After the dinner, you went back to the tower, alighting from the fancy limo that Loki prepared before. But it wasn't the end of the surprise yet.

As the doors opened, you saw lots of people waiting inside. You were extremely surprised to see the agents and their partners, as well as the single ones clapping and cheering you on. Stark announced that they're holding an after-party in your honor, for all your valiant efforts for everyone.

You thank Loki for making that day special for you - your first proper Valentine's Day celebration.

[igotanidea]

Lost: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x reader

Summary: Red Hood make a mess and leaves Jason to deal with aftermath. Requested by angst lover.

Dick Grayson (Nightwing) version of this plot is here.

A/N: reader is older than Jason, member of the old Titans, Jason's only ally when he was still Robin. There;s no romantic relationship between them, more like an older sister - younger brother vibe.

„Jason?”

„Yn?” former hero, now self-appointed Red Hood stopped and turned around to the voice of the only person who could made him do it. “what are you doing here?” he put the gun down and took a step towards the girl.

“I could ask you the same question, Jay. Or should I say Red Hood? Because that is what you are now, huh? A villain? How does it feel?”

“Yn, listen to me….”

“No, I won’t. I’m done with all the bullshit and playing around. Just because you had a fight with Bruce or Dick or whoever, I don’t care. It does not give you any ground to terrorize Gotham. Do you even see yourself? What happened?”

“Titans happened! You all are the very same! Always making me look like an outcast! I was done with it! Being put aside!”

“I never put you aside!”

“Didn’t you?” he smirked mischievously “really? You go round listening to Grayson like a lost puppy you are. Never had an opinion of your own.”

“Jason…..”

“Look at me and tell me I’m lying. You let him pull all the strings, order you around and you blindly follows. Wasn’t it like that during the old Titans days as well? I wonder why is that?”

“Don’t you dare…..”

“oh, wait…. “ he titled his head and tapped his chin in fake reverie “it’s because you are soooo in love with him, isn’t it?”

“Shut the fuck up!” she was angered like never before. And all because Jason Todd was right. He saw right through her, exposing all her insecurities and worries. Always had this effect on her since, whether they both liked it or not, they were a lot alike. She might have been older than him, but she saw a lot of herself in the boy taken by batman as a replacement. He was right about the old Titans. It was a team but she never felt like she truly belonged. Doing all she could to get respect and acknowledgment but being left behind on everything. It always felt like she wasn’t good enough despite all her skills and abilities. And Dick…. Well, better not to talk about it.

“Oh, you poor thing” he mocked “always put in the second place. Tell me, how was it like to watch him date Barbs? And Dawn? And now, that he clearly takes interest in Starfire? How was it like when he was constantly putting you aside. And still does, doesn’t he?” he shrugged knowing well enough what effect this words would have on her.

“That is enough!!” she jumped forward trying to tackle him to the ground but he was just too fast. Red Hood grabbed her arm and twisted it, making her gasp in pain of a broken bone.

“You are pathetic.” He hissed towering over her, while she winced on the ground “full of fear. Look at me, I finally got rid of that! I’m invincible, everyone’s at my mercy! I even got you, the famous H/N down.”

“Are you proud of yourself then?”

“What?”

“Like you said, you used to be an underdog, so how does it fell to raise to the top of the world?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he squinted “don’t turn this thing around.”

“I am not. You used to have family, maybe a bit broken and messed up, but still. What do you have now, hm? Mr. fearless?”

“Don’t you have enough pain for once?” in a blink of an eye he was crouching next to her grabbing her chin in an iron-clad grasp “you are clearly masochistic playing with me like that.” He put more force into the it, making sure to leave a bruise.

“You turned into a monster” she hissed, not able to hold her tongue and not caring about the pain. “Face the facts and ….”

“Will you shut up!?” he lifted her up by a throat making her choke and fight for air “this is bullshit! This city! This fucking town! They need someone to put order to it!”

“And…. And…. You think…. That is ….. what you are doing?” she panted, her legs dangling above the ground in futile attempt to get some footing.

“YES! The fuck yes!”

“Well …. Maybe…. “ it was getting impossible to get any air into the lungs “ look around you…..” she was seconds away from passing out.

“Why can’t you see it?!” he yelled “they will abandon you as well! You mean nothing to them! You hear me?! Nothing! You never did!”

“That is not true….” She whispered, her face pale like never before. It was even more terrifying given the fact she was illuminated by the blue neon light, reminding him of the dead people he saw while fighting alongside Batman. That memory slowly crept inside his mind making him realize what he was doing but before he could react a voice from behind made Jason drop the girl and release her from the grasp.  

“JASON!” an escrima stick flew in his direction making him loose balance. Nightwing and Conner came for the rescue and were prepared for the fight but Red Hood just looked at them, then turned around and focused his gaze on the girl, who was now clutching on her throat breathing heavily and  without taking any further action run from the place.

“ You’ll see…..” he interposed towards the girl “you’ll see it soon….”

*** A few hours later YN woke up in one of the many rooms in Wayne manor. Memories of what happened and harsh words of her former friend still fresh and painful in her mind. She could not clearly say when Jason became so violent. Maybe it was after his fall? After the failed mission he was so dead set on succeeding in? Anyway, it did not give him any right to turn this anger and pain as a weapon aimed at her. The thing was, she was always on his side. Sometimes, standing against the rest of the team. Even when Hank, Dawn and Donna got mad at her for defending him. Even when Dick called her crazy and irresponsible for protecting Jason. And now, he was a villain in the story. The worst part, he was hurting not only her, not only Gotham but also himself. He just didn’t realize yet, how destructive burning the bridges was.

“Yn? Are you all right?” Conner stood up from the nearby chair.

“Besides a broken bone and a few mental bruises I am fine. I will be fine. Thanks for coming to the rescue, Superboy.” She smiled lightly and the younger boy reciprocated, looking at the ground sheepishly.

“It’s nothing, really. I’m just glad I could do something good”. Conner was with the Titans for a while now, but he was still worried about his darker part, coming from Lex Luthor, so every time he did something positive it made him shy.

“You are a good person, Conner. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

“Thank you, YN. Do you…. “ he hesitated scratching his head

“What, Conner?”

“do you want to talk about what happened? I don’t really know this Jason guy, but wasn’t he a part of the team? Isn’t it a hero turned villain situation?” there was almost invisible glance of fear in his eyes.

“It won’t happen to you.” she simply said squeezing his hand reassuringly “Jason…. got lost. I feel like it was partially my fault. I think I let him get lost and ….”

“It’s not your fault….” Third voice came into the discussion and Connor and YN turned their gaze towards Dick who walked into the room “I pushed him away too far, should have listened to you when you warned me about the consequences…”

“Not the first time, right? Guess you will never learn to listen to the smarter people” she smirked

“Good to see your injury did nothing to your sense of humor. Conner, can you give us a minute please. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Sure. I will wait outside, but. …. I’d really like to talk to you more, YN.”

“Won’t leave you hanging” she smiled and the boy left “he’s worried he might turn into a villain too” she sighed looking at Dick. “we can’t let it happen. We mustn’t repeat that mistake.”

“We won’t. But speaking of villain…..”

“What happened?” she propped herself up on the healthy arm, getting nervous.

“Jason wants to meet you.”

“When?”

“You cannot be serious YN” Dick scoffed “after everything he did you still considering going?”

“Where?” she turned deaf ear toward his words

“YN!” Nightwing was appalled by her words “You are not going anywhere!”

“You won’t tell me what I can and cannot do!” she spat, remembering Jason’s words “sorry…” she mumbled soon after

“Is that how you feel? Really? Like I’m ordering you? Yn…. I’m just worried about you.”

“I know, I know… I’m sorry.”

“What did he tell you?” Dick became suspicious “was he trying to play with your mind? YN, you know you are an important member of the team, right? It would not be the same without you….”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes not feeling in her best capacity to deal with this matter now “we can discuss this later, we have more urgent things to take care of. Tell me the details.”

“You really want to go? You are hurt, you need rest and healing.”

“Dick.” She warned him.

“Fine. But you can’t go alone. I will go with you. Or you can take Gar, he is the second person after you to have any faith in Jason left. “

“Dick. It’s my problem to solve, all right? I appreciate your effort, but I’m going by myself. Hoping for the best.”

“You have always been too stubborn for your own good.”

“Details, please, Nightwing.”

*** Of course Jason picked the abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere for a secret meeting in the middle of the night. Darkness, quietness and remoteness of the place fitting well with his new imagine of Red Hood. There was not a soul around and even her quiet footsteps echoed through the entire building. It made her even more vary of the surroundings. He could be hiding anywhere and despite her high hopes she was prepared for everything, for any potential danger from his side.

“Jason!” she stopped in the middle of the space looking around “I’m here.  I’m alone. Stop playing hide and seek and come out.”

“You came…” a dark figure emerged from the shadows in front of her “wasn’t sure if you will, after what I said. “

“What you said?” she scoffed “I don’t care about the words…” that was a lie on her part “but all you did…..”

“For what it’s worth I am sorry. For everything. Mostly for hurting you…. I.. I don’t know what’s happening to me….”

“Is that what you said to Hank before bombing him?” the memory made the boy freeze. “is that what you are going to do to me?”

“YN….” He took his helmet off and she saw tears and pain in his eyes “you know I would never….”

“I don’t know a thing anymore, Jason. I don’t know if you are telling the truth or playing  a part in Crane game. How can I tell the difference?”

“I need your help, YN. You are the only one who…..”

“Right, now you see it.” She shook her head “why didn’t you notice it earlier? We could have prevented so much damage, Jason.”

“I’m sorry….” He looked straight at her “please….”

“Jason….” she sighed

“Please, YN. I want out…. Can you forgive me?”

“I don’t know. Not now, but maybe in the future…..”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. We still got damage control to do.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Of course you will, you have no other option. And there’s one condition.”

“What?”

“You will stay down.  Titans won’t know about you helping”

“So, I’m a dirty secret now. Grayson will figure it out in no time.”

“I don’t care. It’s not about him. I’m making my own choices. Look, Jay, I want to help you and even if you will never be a titan again….” she shook her head again and sighed deeply “I still feel like I owe you this much. So are you game?”

“You’re the only person who could make me, so yes, let’s safe this fucking city.” @pinksirensong @somest1

[i-write-things]

What your favorite form of fanfic says about you:

(This is a joke and probably not 100% accurate, but I'm going to phsycho-analyze every aspect anyway. I am NOT a liscensed therapist, just the therapist friend of the group, and also pretty good at reading people and figuring them out. But if this is all true about y'all, please, talk to someone!)

Hurt/comfort-

Who hurt you? (your parents) Because someone did, and you're seeking the comfort/apology you should have gotten, but never received. As someone whose favorite genre is hurt/comfort, I might be projecting just a teensy weeny bit. but still, that doesn't take away from the fact that I know the majority of y'all have been hurt, phsycially and/or emotionally, by someone who was supposed to protect you. So you probably have daddy and/or mommy issues. Probably some relationship issues, too. Sorry if this is a triggering realization, just what I think. Anyways, my message to you would be STOP. 👏 LETTING. 👏 PEOPLE. 👏 WALK. 👏 ALL. 👏 OVER. 👏 YOU! 👏 I know you're either a people pleaser deep down, or it's very obvious and surface level, and I know this is hypocritical but whatever. Know your worth! Please!

Fluff-

This could either mean 1 of 3 things:

You sweet summer child, you. You've never met a day of violence and was trapped in a safety bubble all your life, and you can't even look at something awful happening in real life. Those ASPCA commercials have a target audience, and that is YOU. And does it work? Absolutely.

You've been neglected in your childhood or past relationships, so you're clinging to every bit of a sweet moment that you never got. This probably also bleeds into your relationships, so you're either super clingy, or push everyone away because you don't want to be hurt if you get neglected first. (If that is you, STOP DOING THAT! You are beautiful, loved, worth people's time, and not everyone is going to neglect you! And if they do find someone who won't. And not someone who isn't real. I know I write fanfics, but still.)

You just read the most heart wrenching, gut kicking angst of your life and you need some tooth rotting fluff to heal you because that hurted. (Why do you do this to yourself? I think it's unhealthy at this point...)

Angst/Hurt no comfort

No. Nuh uh. I don't fuck with y'all. there is some serious shit going on in that brain I'm not sure I wanna unload, but all I know is you need to seek a deeper therapy than me. I'll try to figure out what's going on, but this is gonna sound made up, and that's because I'm winging it at this point with little evidence other than a loose theory.

Ahem. You, and don't get mad at me, crave drama. And not because your a bitch who likes to see others suffer, (which you might be, but I'll just give you benefit of the doubt) and say that, once again, it leads back to your upbringing and past relationships trauma. Basically, I think that during your childhood/past relationships, there was so much drama(and trauma) going on that you can't move on, so now this hurt is normal to you, and your clinging to what is familiar. My message to you? No. NUH UH. Stop that. If your going to cling to what is familiar, try all the positive things, and not the shit that kills you inside.

Either that, or you're a masochist. JK! don't kill me!

(Bug me for part II)

-Pen, out!

[apollodarling-writes]

Could I have worshipper Levi Ackerman hcs with a unrequited love interest? Like she rejected him and usually he is kinda cold but he cried. He wanted- needed her. Can I have like a description of him begging to be with us and us rejecting him but trying to be nice until we are just like “Stop it get up you look pathetic captain” but he actually likes it….

After Levi’s confession, I will write the rest of the scene out.

cw: no real tws, just angst and levi being a degradee/masochist in this drabble. 

For Levi's entire life, people have thrown themselves at him, but as soon as he falls in love, its unrequited.

Must be karma for all those times he harshly rejected his admirers.

When Levi confesses to you, he initially planned it out in his head, but it went out the window when he looked at you.

Levi asked you to come to his office to speak to you during dinner.

It was mostly silent because Levi was shaking in his boots and couldn't keep eye contact with you, and didn't want to be undesirable if he were to stumble over his words.

When he finally confessed, it was very heartfelt.

He had to write it down on paper so he didn't lose his thoughts.

His hands were shaking when he read it.

After he finished his confession, it was silent for a moment before you spoke up. 

“Captain Levi, I’m not interested. I admire your strength and I value our time together, but you’re just a friend to me. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m sorry.”

It hurt you to do this to your best friend. He had slithered his way into your heart, into your life, but you had to be like this to get the message across. Maybe if you were harsh enough, he could heal from this faster. With each word you spoke, you could feel the grip of guilt and remorse tighten around your lungs.

In all honesty, had a feeling that this would happen. Levi played favorites with you and it was obvious to everyone around. He invited you to dinner every night, gave you extra training sessions, went easy on you when you didn’t clean an area to his liking- in fact, he gave you tips and even cleaned that area with you. He wasn’t slick, but you hated that you had to reject him. 

If you didn’t reject him immediately, he would still compete for your love. Not that you were interested in anyone else, of course. He didn’t have any competition. You just didn’t have time to be attracted to someone romantically, or even sexually, with the line of work you were in. You’d likely die young, leaving your parents, friends, and loved ones to grieve the remnants of your shredded corpse and the bright memories you shared.

“[N-Name]? What do you- you don’t?- I thought-”

“No, Captain. I don’t harbor any romantic attraction to you.” You heaved a sigh, exasperated. Placing your cutlery on your plate, you begin to gather the remnants of your dinner. “I think it would be best if we didn’t spend as much time together. It would be the quickest way for you to get over me and heal from this.”

Picking up your plate, you spin on your heels making to leave. The sudden tumble of a chair, clanking of a knife on ceramic, and tug on your arm had you turning around. Your plate clatters to the floor, shattering into pieces, and what was left of your baked potato falls to the stone flooring with a splat!

“Levi, what the fuck?!” Your glare softens slightly when you see Levi’s teary eyes. 

“P-Please, [Name]. Just- Just give me a chance.” Levi sucks in a breath, trying to ease the ache in his chest. “I-I love you! I love you so fucking much. I-It hurts, [Name]...”

Those eyes of his, once pleasant late night rain-showers, were drowning in an ocean of hurt and desperation. You could feel the air leave your lungs, heart breaking for your best friend. 

“Please...” Levi whines, intertwining your fingers with his. “I don’t- I just- Why don’t you love me the way I love you? Am I- am I not enough? Am I not good enough for you? Am I too harsh on you? Too mean? I can- I can change.” 

His bottom lips quivers, tears falling at a faster pace now. Through the open window, you can see the storm clouds rolling in. You pry your fingers from his grasp, whispering, “Levi, that’s enough. You don’t need to change.”

“Then why? Why can’t I... Why-” A broken sob erupts from his chest, his shoulders shaking as his postures caves, knees giving out as he drops to the floor. Levi’s fingers grip the stone, crystalline droplets creating a mosaic of hurt as he hangs his head. 

“I’m...I’m sorry, Levi. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

Levi doesn’t respond. His breathing becomes faster, heavier; his free hand clutching his chest as he chokes out broken syllables, slowly rolling onto his side. You’re quiet; simply observing with wide eyes at the state of the man. Levi was always put together, stoic, and cold to everyone around him. But a rejection is what makes him become a sniveling mess? Not losing his comrades. Not losing his mother. Certainly not the constant harassment and hate he gets from the Higher Ups or the other branches of the military. 

While you were lost in a train of stupefied thoughts, Levi had crawled towards you, latching onto your pant leg, whimpering a, “Please, please, please, please... I love you. Let me try. Please. Is it the Titans? I’ll protect you, I promise.”

Something in you snaps. Harshly pushing the Captain of the Survey Corps off of your leg, you press your heel into his chest, digging the bottom of your military issued boots directly onto his sternum. Levi gazes up at you with shocked, bloodshot eyes.

“Shut the fuck up, Levi. Pull yourself together. You are the Captain of our goddamn team and you have the gall to lay on the floor of your office, crying over a fucking rejection? Get the fuck up.” Your hands fly to his collar, lifting him off of the stone, causing the man to stifle a yelp. “Wipe your face. You look fucking pathetic. We’re going on an expedition outside the walls tomorrow morning.” 

You push him back into his chair, the man stumbling over his feet and watching as you storm off. Just before you leave, you glance back at him, hardened [color] eyes reaching a small, confined corner of his mind. 

“Clean this shit up. You better be fucking presentable and on your best behavior tomorrow or so help me god.”

With that, you slam the door to his office, the impact rattling the cups in his Chinacase. But, that isnt what Levi was concerned with at the moment. He was more focused on the strain in his jeans...

[fnaftalexreader]

Current lore can be found in his Doc or on my main blog @glitterdragonthegreatprotector

Currently accepting headcanon requests for my devils, angels, Humanity, and the Endodorians. I'm willing to do NSFW headcanons, but they will be tagged accordingly. I don't care what you request, as long as I can worldbuild.

Technically these "headcanons" are straight up canon, since this AU is my creation.

If I'm up for it, I'll maybe even write mini reader x character fics if anyone is interested.

If I don't get to your request, beat me over the head on my main blog, bc this is my 49th side blog- (yes I counted, I have 50 blogs total, as of current- bite me.)

Rules:

No pedophilia/MAP stuff. That should be a given. Incest is a no go too

Do not spam me on this blog. If i don't see your request, it will get buried. Spam me on my main, or hit my DM if I don't see your request.

Don't be afraid to ask for tags. Fnaftale is EXTREMELY dark, so some headcanons might not be for the faint of heart (especially with all the angst I beat the demons over the head with.) If I write something unsettling, and don't tag it properly, I would appreciate it if you tell me.

Put a year with your request. There are many eras in my AU, as the timeline stretches for billions of years (I'm masochistic when it comes to world building, apparently.) If you don't give me a year, I will give headcanons for whatever era i feel like in the moment.

Currently taking requests for:

Endodorians! These are any fnaf animatronics 1-ffps, along with nightguards. If you do not specify the endodorian, I will give you a general headcanon for their species as a whole. (If you want headcanons for a nonspecific character, tell me species and job.) There are 4 eras for the Endodorians that will effect headcanons.

The entertainment era (1970s to 2021)

Underground era (2022 to 12021 early)

Era of grief (late 12021 to 12026)

Era of the Endodorian Empire (12041 throughout the rest of the timeline)

Demons! They have more of their lore written on my lore doc, so if you're interested in learning more about them, check it out! It's not finished (yet), so you may get more lore from here than there. I'll do headcanons for whatever demons have their lore sheet filled out and random demons (specify their sin/s if they are a hellborn, or if they're a sinner or a fallen angel. This will affect the headcanons.) Will probably mainly do the 7 main devils + Lilith. Lucifer, Leviathan, Satan, Beelzebub, Belphegor, Asmodeus, and Mammon are up for headcanon requests. Like with the Endodorians, they have Eras that will affect the headcanons. Will not put years 'cause FUCK immortality, you can look at the timeline in the doc if you want specific years.

Before the Fall

Time in Hell

After Ascension

Angels! They currently have pretty much no written lore yet, and their names are on my main blog in art posts. I'm most likely to write for Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Sandalphon/Angela Dervana, Metatron, Ariel, Haniel, Azrael, and Chamuel. But that's only because these are the angels I know off the top of my head. If you request an angel from my art I have not mentioned, I will gladly write for them too. (I will also take requests for Jesus and Jehovah, as yes. They are cannon and important. If you feel as unhinged as me, you can request any Bible characters as well. I am just as surprised as you are that the Bible is canon-)

Before heaven's schism

Bible times

Modern times

Era of freedom

Any groups not on here, mentioned, or implied in canon can be requested. Like humanity, or the mananites. The groups listed as of now are just one ones I'll mainly focus on.

Crossover headcanons are HEAVILY welcomed. I love writing crossovers.

If headcanons aren't enough, @ask-underfazverse is for direct questions to my characters, or roleplay.

[caliburn-the-sword]

winter chapters 25-33

figured out how to include and vaguely format photos which i'm including for my favourite passages. tumblr butchered the photos tho so rip it's blurry lol

OMGGGG I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THE WHOLE HUNTSMAN PLOT FSKDJFHSDFH THIS IS THE EXACT KIND OF DRAMA AND ANGST I LOVE

jacin's low key a gentleman for just wordlessly giving cress the cot and taking the floor instead in his OWN home

HELP THE THOUGHT OF THE RAMPION CREW BEING THE "SEVEN DWARFS" FSFHSDKFJSDHFS (i haven't reread the original fairy tale for a time so forgive me if that's actually just a disneywashed thing)

omg cress is stepping up into her role and being the hero she always wished she was <3 i love her development so much. zero to hero type beat

love to see jacin overcoming being a selfish bitch and promising to protect cress <3 positive development for him too

FINALLY CHAPTER 27 SCARLET I MISSED HER AND HER POV everything scarlet does is literally so slayed. yes girl!! break that bitch's nose!!!

HELP WHY DID I NEVER REGISTER WITH GENETIC ENGINEERING THAT WOLF WOULD ACTUALLY. BE RELATED TO A LITERAL FLESH AND BLOOD WOLF. this is in fact wilder than anything the ouat family tree was ever capable of (and i would know, because i studied that damn thing like the bible)

marissa meyer DON'T DO THIS TO ME. i will always go apeshit over a character being nicknamed "sunshine" ESPECIALLY when he's the furthest thing from a ray of sunshine ever LMAO

love how winter seems to think that the menagerie in front of scarlet's cage is the most romantic spot for jacin to admit his feelings for her. a bit silly goofy

ngl it's literally HEARTBREAKING that winter could think, even for a moment, that jacin would actually follow levana's orders and kill her (note: it was in fact a LOT of moments which makes it more painful)

NO NOT RYU. OMG I NEVER WOULD HAVE THOUGHT RYU WAS THE DEER

damn cress is like a guardian angel <3 she's always been the rampion's guardian angel

"the docks. With the mushrooms" ik that this is just winter's delulu ramblings and trust me i have been painstakingly restraining myself from going "omg alice in wonderland reference" because there's nothing more obnoxious than picking a mentally ill character and defining them by alice in wonderland but in this case,,,,

"Down, down, down we go" look i KNOW i'm reaching here because ANYONE can repeat the word down three times but direct word for word lewis caroll's alice in wonderland "Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end?"

jacin clay is so incredibly fucked. the paper trail leading back to him helping the princess in her escape is such a mountable pile of evidence (note: he is in fact not fucked and the queen fell for it)

OMG THE MAN IS WOLF YAYAYAY SCARLET AND WOLF ARE REUNITING I'M SO HAPPY I'M GONNA THROW UP

living for the "Devoured her." metaphor/pun. like yes. that's so little red riding hood fksdfsdkf

wolflet are cancelled for being instalove (jk it says STARTED TO for a reason)

WHAT DID I SAY CRESS???? LITERALLY THE PEAK OF ALL ROMANCE (i used to be hesitant to ship scarlet and winter because of how their relationship started but honestly with the confirmation THAT scene was when she started falling for wolf. i think scarlet is just INTO all that life or death shit. a bit of a masochist in my opinion)

"Are we running a boardinghouse for misplaced royalty around here, or what?" thorne that is SO real LMAO. someone reunite them all with kai asap

speaking of kai he literally CAN'T go ONE damn book without being SEPARATED from everyone. someone stop this before my heart explodes and breaks into a million tiny little pieces

girls girl scarlet makes a comeback

CINDER AND WINTER REUNITED CINDER AND WINTER REUNITED. am going apeshit. what a great note to end tonight's read on (note: was 11pm when i finished chapter 3)

@eddisfargo @francforever @winterrhayle @winterpinetrees @shellyseashell @luna-maximoff-22