#I just didn’t know what else to title it yet somehow that was enough to be rude to my fucking face and even comment further to basically

[frederickkittens]

.

[damiansgoodgirll]

OK I found it! (No rush what’s so ever BUT!)

(During Roman’s tribal chief era.)

!Female Reader always had a crush on Roman, but was always too scared to ask him out.

One night during a match Kevin Owens costs her the match, (kinda like how Dom cost Raquel that one time) (you can pick between who ever is on the smackdown roster to have reader up against but it’s also not really required if you don’t want to.)

And basically the bloodline, mainly Roman goes to readers rescue, cause beef with Kevin.

(I know it’s not really…LIKE Roman to do something like that because he’s the tribal chief, but I feel like it would be a nice concept idea.)

Idk just fluff and adorable and what ever cause Roman… LMAO.

sorry it took me so long writing this but i’ve never written for roman and i had no idea on how to start 😭 i hope you like it + the timeline doesn’t really exist here lol

roman reigns x reader

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated

‼️nothing major, hurt/comfort, angry roman, some fluff too, kevin owens is mean here sorry

my weakness

everyone loved roman. yes, he played the big mean guy part and he was definitely good at it but deep down you knew that he cared. he cared for his family, his cousins, the fans, he even cared about his opponents while in the ring. deep down you knew he had a big heart and he was a kind person who pretended to be the bad one.

and maybe it was because of his big mean yet kind personality you caught feelings for him.

it’s not that you were big friends - you had a closer relationship with the usos and your shy personality made it harder for you to get to know him better.

but there were times when you and roman spent some time alone. at the gym, training before a big match or backstage, his presence was nice and even if you didn’t speak much, you enjoyed being around him even if the only present sound was the silence.

unbeknownst to you, roman always admired you. he adored your quite presence. when everyone was noisy around him, he found comfort in your silence. your presence was enough for him.

and his admiration for you didn’t go unnoticed backstage but everyone kept quiet, too scared the tribal chief would get mad if someone said something and they know better to not upset him.

all the locker room knew about that. the saw how roman was nice in your presence but mean with everyone else and even if it made you laugh, you never thought more about that.

even if you had no real beef with anymore backstage, somehow kevin picked you as a main target just to made roman even angrier.

it was going all good on friday night smackdown and you had a match against tiffany - if you won over her, you would get a title shot against nia and after being in the industry for over five years with little to no titles opportunities, you were ready to take it all.

it was your moment to shine, to prove everyone that you deserved to be the women’s champion.

what you didn’t see coming was kevin owen running towards the ring the moment you almost pinned tiffany. you almost had it. but you got distracted by him running and tiffany saw that as an opportunity to stand up and hit you in the back.

you were kinda surprised to see kevin there, why was he even there? he barely talked with you backstage and you pretty sure he wasn’t there to help tiffany as he had no business with her either.

feeling pain in your back, you tried to take back control inside the ring but when kevin got closer to the metal stairs, you and the blonde woman both turned your head towards him.

“what are you doing?” you almost screamed, definitely irritated that he was there to ruin your moment “get down kevin…”

but he stood there, watching the way you and tiffany kept fighting. for the second time that night you had the chance to pin tiffy down but you were too close to the cords and nonchalantly kevin put tiffany’s leg over them.

“what the heck! kevin!” you screamed, even angrier now. you were pretty sure you did him no harm so why was he ruining your moment like that?

at this point you were tired and in pain. kevin was trying to sabotage you and you didn’t know if you had the strength to pin tiffany down for a third time.

meanwhile backstage roman was getting ready for his interview later that night and he had no idea what was happening in the ring. he knew you had a match and he was dying to see it but jimmy forced him to repeat his lines for the interview and he was missing all of your match, until jey came to the tribal chief private locker room and asked him if he knew why was kevin ruining your moment.

roman scrunched his nose, trying to elaborate what his cousin just told him “what did you say?” his tone hard.

“kevin is costing y/n’s title opportunity man, i didn’t even know those two had beef” jey uso repeated.

his words making roman’s blood boil “they don’t” he simply said before he left his changing room.

you fought with every single bone in your body. your head was spinning, your back was killing you and you were tired but you wanted that title opportunity so you kept fighting and for the third time that night you had the chance to pin tiffany down, only for kevin to grab you by the leg and drag your body away from the blonde one.

you couldn’t understand. you really couldn’t.

was it in the script and no one told you?

was your career so pathetic that superiors wanted you out of any title opportunity and instead of telling you, they sent kevin?

your mind was spinning so fast and even faster when your teary eyes met kevin’s eyes. somehow you knew he felt guilty about what he was doing to you and yet he kept going on, dragging your body out of the ring.

you had no strength left so you laid there, hearing the bell ringing, letting tiffany win, and you lose, again.

the crowd erupted in boos, especially since everyone was waiting for your match and cheering for you.

you still laid there, trying to catch your breath again when you suddenly heard the crowd going apeshit.

a very mad roman reigns was running towards kevin owens and punched him right in the face. you quickly stood up, surprised he was even there.

you stood by the ring, a hand behind your back as you tried to catch your breath once again. jimmy and jey coming to your rescue as you all watched roman dragging kevin inside the ring “your beef is with me, now with her…you’re gonna pay for this” he whispered, almost as a promise before leaving the ring.

the crowd was cheering, thinking that it was all part of a script and some even thought that you were going to join the bloodline but you honestly had no idea what was happening.

you saw roman waking towards you, his eves never leaving your body “you okay?” he asked but you were too confused that didn’t even answer “let’s get you backstage…” and for the first time you saw the twins walking in front of him as. roman’s hand gently moved to your back as he helped you walking away from the scene.

medical staff checked you out and luckily you had nothing broken. you were just in a big uncomfortable pain.

roman brought you to his changing room, telling jey and jimmy to go somewhere else as he wanted to speak with you - alone.

“are you okay y/n?” he asked once you sat down on his couch.

“yeah, i think so…” your voice trembled. you definitely weren’t okay. you didn’t even know what happened in the last thirty minutes. your brain couldn’t comprehend it.

“you’re not okay…come here” he gently sat next to you and engulfed you in his big arms. you didn’t even realise you started crying. soft whimpers left your body as roman stroked his hand over your back “kevin is gonna pay for what he did” he said with stern voice.

you looked up at him, quickly wiping your tears away ���i don’t think i’ve ever been mean or rude to him, why would he cost me the only title opportunity i’ve been given in five years?” you said mostly to yourself.

“because of me…” roman didn’t want to confess. he didn’t want to ruin the little friendship you two had.

your look quite confused “you?”

“yeah me…” he took a deep breath “because the men in the locker room know…”

“they know what?” you couldn’t understand what he was trying to say.

“that you’re my weakness…” he tried to avoid your look as you watched him with big eyes “you’re my weakness, i never felt like this and they know it…they know i have feelings for you but no one ever said anything…except for kevin, who thought that ruining your moment was okay…he did it because of me, he probably feels like shit knowing that he fucked you up but he got my reaction, he pissed me off and that was his goal” he exhaled once he was finished.

you stayed there, trying to assemble what roman just told you. he liked you, kevin used you to piss roman off and roman defended you, because, again, he had feelings for you.

“you have feelings for me?” you whispered, fearing that if you said it out loud it would have been fake.

“yes…”

“you, the roman reigns, the tribal chief, you have feelings for me?” you whispered again, making roman chuckle this time “am i dreaming? that’s the only possible explanation, i am dreaming…”

his strong voice chuckled again “i promise you that you’re more than awake…”

“why didn’t you say anything about it? we could have avoided a lot of silence conversations…” you asked.

“because i didn’t know, i still don’t know what the outcome of my confession is…i didn’t want to lose you and in all honesty i loved being in your silent comforting presence” he smiled, making you smile back.

you looked at him, trying to find any sign that he was lying but when you find none, you moved closer to rest your lips upon his bigger ones. it was a soft kiss, the both of you testing the waters.

“this would have been the outcome if you told me earlier…” you whispered against his lips, making him laugh.

the title opportunity long forgotten when roman gently moved you over his lap and deepened the kiss.

“i can’t believe you like me…” you whispered, too stunned to believe what just happened.

“i’ve been liking you since you joined the roster…i should have said something earlier…” he said softly while his hand softly stroked your cheek “but i’m glad i did it now…” he kissed you back feeling you smile against his lips.

after a couple of minutes of softly making out, you both got distracted by the twins knocking on roman’s door.

“not now” he said, a stern voice while you tried not to laugh.

“we just wanted to remind you of the interview…” jimmy voice said and you felt romantic scoffing, clearly annoyed to be doing that interview.

“i’ll be out in five” he screamed back and began to kiss you again when he felt the twins walking away from his locker room.

“as much as i love this, you have work to do…” you reminded him, getting an annoyed look by him.

moving back to sitting on the couch, you let roman getting ready as you admired him. he smirked feeling your look on him, especially when you tried to look away.

“i promise you, you’ll get your title opportunity back and no one will interfere this time, you have the bloodline protection, that’s a promise” he said, promising you.

of course you believed him - you knew how important he was in the game and he knew that if he asked hunter for a little favour, he wouldn’t say no.

“once i’m done with my interview, i’ll come back here and then we’ll finish what we started, back at my hotel” he smirked again before leaving the room.

you watched him leave, not being able to answer back. your mouth agape at the idea of spending even more time with roman - maybe, after all, it wasn’t a bad night.

[edenmemes]

baldur's gate 3 starters (part 1)

part 1 / ? .

❝ a less trusting person might think this all sounds very suspicious. ❞ ❝ you say all the right words, but i’m not sure you mean the right things. ❞ ❝ i know somewhere quiet. somewhere intimate. somewhere we can…indulge in each other. ❞ ❝ eugh, don’t be nice to me. it makes me want to be nice back. ❞ ❝ we needn’t be enemies. there’s plenty of those to go around already. ❞ ❝ there’s a steeliness to you, an unwavering tenacity in the face of, to be frank, quite dire odds. ❞ ❝ even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will. ❞ ❝ i appreciate anyone that opens a conversation with threats of bodily harm. ❞ ❝ oh, you know me - ever the optimist. i’m trying to focus on the positives. ❞ ❝ i’m not easily impressed by people, but you’re stronger than i gave you credit for. ❞ ❝ there’s an air about you. something alien. ❞ ❝ loosen the grip on your pride for one blasted moment, won’t you? ❞ ❝ it’s been a long time since someone stuck their neck out for me like that. ❞ ❝ there’s something odd about this village. people skulk around like they’ve something to hide. ❞ ❝ you know, if you want to spend time with me, you only have to say so. ❞ ❝ i want to know what the world sees when it looks at me. what you see. ❞ ❝ what’s better than a devil you don’t know? a devil you do. ❞ ❝ you must know that you’re…that you’re very special to me. ❞ ❝ the gods are nothing if not vindictive in their vengeance. ❞ ❝ stay with me a while, will you? day will come all too soon. ❞ ❝ here’s my little treat with their cheeks all flushed. ❞ ❝ i am terrified. i will not claim otherwise. ❞ ❝ my apologies. i’m not quite myself yet. i had the strangest dream last night. ❞ ❝ we didn’t die today. tomorrow, perhaps. but not today. ❞ ❝ leader’s need to make tough decisions. we do what we must. ❞ ❝ i think that unknowable powers come with unknowable consequences. ❞ ❝ i’ve had a lifetime’s fill of watching little men puff themselves up with grand titles. ❞ ❝ in these times, all we can trust are the blades in our hands. ❞ ❝ it’s not easy to turn away from one you once loved. ❞ ❝ much has been promised to you, hasn’t it? but what has been taken from you? ❞ ❝ damn it all. i can do nothing right - not a damn thing. ❞ ❝ every instinct i have tells me that nothing’s changed. that i’m still just a means to an end. ❞ ❝ do not speak of a story you only know the half of. ❞ ❝ i dreamt every night that you’d come back to me. that somehow it was all a nightmare dawn would undo. ❞ ❝ when the time comes to strike, you must take it. for there may be only one chance. ❞ ❝ your eyes. there is pain, endless and deep. but also devotion - blazing like the sun. ❞ ❝ you’re adorable even when you’re teasing me. ❞ ❝ i don’t need your help, and i don’t need your pity. ❞ ❝ i’m more than what i was. and i’m not afraid of anything any more. ❞ ❝ i said exactly what i meant: i love you. you should never, never doubt that. ❞ ❝ this is all like some sort of terrible dream. but it’s real, isn’t it? ❞ ❝ there is no redemption. can’t you see? it is too late. ❞ ❝ i don’t know that it was brave. i just know that it was right. ❞ ❝ you took those bastards down like it was nothing. it…was amazing. ❞ ❝ they underestimated me. so they paid the price. ❞ ❝ we fight, we die, and we just hope that when our time comes, there is someone else to take our place. ❞ ❝ unfortunately for me, you’re my friend. rescuing you from mortal peril is my right. ❞ ❝ what did you think i was going to say? 'oh, come here, i'll kiss you better'? ❞ ❝ flowers are so overrated. they're bright, gaudy, and almost never make good poisons. ❞ ❝ i’ve been lied to, my whole life. and i was gullible enough to just believe it. ❞ ❝ you know, i never pictured myself as a hero. never thought i'd be the one they toast for saving so many lives. and now that i'm here…i hate it. ❞ ❝ you know, i feel a connection between us. like we're two souls walking the same path. ❞ ❝ the forgiving sort, are you? you should be careful. plenty would take advantage of that. ❞

❝ it’s as if god made you just to ruin me. ❞ ❝ perish the thought. every word i said was nothing less than true. ❞ ❝ you have a manner of irresistible desperation about you. i like it. ❞ ❝ i got my eye on you. you got the look of a troublemaker. ❞ ❝ i’m starting to think you’re my guardian angel. ❞ ❝ it seems you know me better than i know myself. ❞ ❝ you…you have no idea what you’ve done. ❞ ❝ they say madness and genius are separated by but a hair’s breadth. perhaps the same is true of madness and stupidity. ❞ ❝ oh, it’s you. don’t you get tired of telling people how to live their lives? ❞ ❝ good morning! thank you for not killing me the other night. ❞ ❝ when the time comes to strike, you must take it. for there may be only one chance. ❞ ❝ it is good to savour the moment of victory - but pace bg3 syourself. our fight is just beginning. ❞ ❝ i was too hasty to judge you. i thought you were witless, gutless, unimpressivably bland… ❞ ❝ yours is the first happy face i’ve seen in a good while. ❞ ❝ when hope has been whittled down to the very marrow of despair – that’s when you’ll come knocking on my door. ❞ ❝ thank you, my friend. maybe we’ll meet again, in another life. ❞ ❝ you’ll regret sticking your nose in my business. ❞

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Back to Here - No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03

Author's Note: One-shot request from the amazing @afroslacks! Title from Shade of Yellow by Griff

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary/Warnings: Takes place in Chapter 14. We once again face the horny fluff.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, fluff

When you’d told Ben you were okay with him touching you in front of everyone, your exact phrasing was as long as you’re not gross. You’re absolutely positive he’d heard you as well, because he’d rolled his eyes before kissing the words out of your mouth.

But the man doesn’t listen. On purpose. You know it’s on purpose, because usually he’ll grunt and grumble but do what you tell him, and right now he’s not even pretending to remember.

What’s annoying is that you’re not even that mad about it. What’s more annoying is that he knows you’re not mad about it, because he’s not even worried about you making him stop. Ben never pushes your lines to tries try see if he can make you budge, because he knows you won’t and he’ll get in trouble. But that also means he’s impossibly good at knowing what lines aren’t real. What things you tell him to do that you say because sometimes you just say stuff. Sometimes you’re just trying to pretend that you’re not always thirsty for him, don’t always want him at your side.

And the asshole has you figured out. He knows that when you say we’re going to team dinners every night you mean it, but when you say play nice with everyone you’re talking about everyone except Butcher. Ben knows that if you tell him clean up after yourself you’re serious, because that’s the start of it. Ben cleans up once and now, months later, you somehow trust him with your life and every part of you he’ll take. He also knows if you tell him we need to get out of bed he can just hold you tighter and you’ll immediately give in with a sigh.

He knows when you say not everything, not yet it’s important that he listens. That he can take everything else he wants except that, and he does. Ben touches you everywhere you’ll let him, but waits for you to give him the clear to take more.

He knows that when you said don’t be gross you just meant don’t make me visibly horny in front of everyone. Don’t make me grind into you or pin me on top of the table. 

And he is walking that line very precariously.

“Bloody fuckin hell,” Butcher mutters, and you can feel his glare from across the table. “You twats can’t keep it in your pants for one hour? Some of us are tryin to eat.”

“They are still in their pants,” Frenchie’s words are muffled from a mouthful of pasta. “And I am eating just fine.”

“That’s cause you’re a fuckin pervert, Mate.” Butcher snaps. “I didn’t come here to see two supes neckin like teenagers. I came here because Hughie gets all bloody puppy faced when I don’t.”

“You promised-“

Butcher cuts Hughie off with a scoff. “I’m here, ain’t I? And I would appreciate it if I could fuckin eat my shitty ass spaghetti without worryin that Soldier Boy’s gonna cum all over the table!”

A chorus of groans echoes through the room, and it’s almost enough to make you push Ben away.

Almost. But he drops his mouth to your neck, pulls you closer in his side, and you decide you can find a way to live with yourself.

You’re starting to worry that he can read your mind. Because before that brief hesitation even fades, Ben sucks the skin at the base of your throat once—sloppy and wet—and pulls away. You’re grateful, half because you can bury your flushed face in his shoulder as he gives Butcher a lazy grin, and half because you were getting dangerously close to climbing on top of him.

“It’s not our fault all you pussies have blue balls.” Ben drawls, and you kick him under the table, glaring up at his stupid, smug, handsome face.

Don’t be an ass.

He rolls his eyes. They’re being fucking prudes.

Benjamin.

“You two care to have this conversation out loud?” You turn to see MM looking at you with a bored expression. He’s never really pissed about this anymore, and you think he just gave up on being disgusted. He doesn’t like it, but he’s not mad. It’s honestly more than you could ask for.

“No.”

You whack Ben’s arm. ���Sorry. We’ll stop.”

Ben scoffs, and hunches over his plate. His arm over your shoulders drops down, tugging you into his side so you can only move your hands—everything past that trapped against his body—and you don’t care. He’s touching you, and he’s warm, and you can feel his annoyance but it’s nothing compared to his desire. It’s nothing compared to the affection you can feel rush through him when you give him a smile, even if he just grunts and glares at his pasta like it’s the one that cock-blocked him.

You know it’s a lie. You might not lie to Ben, but you lie a lot to your team. You lie to Hughie when you say you like certain Billy Joel songs because you don’t want him to gape at you and try to convince you otherwise. You lie to Frenchie when you say you’d love nothing more than to hear about his latest supe-killing weapon, because he gets really excited—it’s kind of adorable—and sometimes it’s actually pretty interesting. You lie to Annie when she picks you up for lunch and asks—every time without fail—what’s going on between you and Ben. You say it’s complicated, but it’s not. It’s actually really simple: You want Ben more than you’ve ever wanted anything and he wants you but not like that, just as a friend he can fuck. And that kills you a little, so you’re trapped in this limbo where Ben can almost make you moan at the dinner table—but you won’t let him just carry you back to your bed and make you scream and fall apart under him—and Annie can give her a look that tells you she knows. She knows you won’t stop doing this. There won’t be more tonight, because Butcher’s still glaring at you and Hughie’s whole face looks like a tomato, but tomorrow the exact same thing will almost certainly happen. Ben will kiss you once, innocently enough if you’d only seen it in passing, and you’ll taste him, you'll feel the want pounding in his chest, and immediately pull him closer. The absolute fucking asshole always anticipates you keeping yourself against him—he plans on it—and his arm will immediately move over your shoulders, hand reaching your jaw to angle your head where he wants it. And then he’ll go and go and go until someone coughs—Hughie or Annie—or makes a remark—Butcher or MM—and he finds whatever line you have for the day. Then he’ll pull back and you have to pretend you’re fine with it. Like your pouting is because he’s being cocky and annoying and not because you wish he would pick you up and lay you on the table. 

It’ll happen the after as well, then again after that, then every night until Butcher either shoots one of you or you figure out a way to just attach Ben to you forever. 

End Note: They really can make any situation horny. Also if you've noticed I'm re-using gifs, yeah :( I am. Please sign my petition to make Jensen Ackles just do stuff in character so we can have more gifs.

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles

[calirph]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃, 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄: 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

sentences in quotes and promps based on dancing, with key words like first time, tension, jealousy, lessons and more. you can change titles, locations, pronouns, however you see fit.

50 Dialogue Sentences About Dancing.

"You step on my toes again, and I might just walk away."

"No, like this—follow my lead and feel the rhythm."

"I’ve never been asked to dance before... why me?"

"Stop looking at your feet, look at me."

"Is it jealousy I see in your eyes, or do you just wish you were dancing with her?"

"You were watching me the entire night, but now you ask me to dance?"

"Let me show you how a real dance feels."

"You’re holding me too tightly. Relax, and let the music guide us."

"I didn’t think I’d get a partner tonight. Thanks for proving me wrong."

"I thought I’d dance alone all night, but here you are."

"Is this the part where you twirl me, or do you have another move in mind?"

"His eyes have been on us since we started. I wonder if he regrets not asking first."

"You can’t learn to dance in one night, but we’ll give it a try."

"I didn’t come here to dance with anyone, yet here I am, in your arms."

"You’re surprisingly good at this. Where’d you learn?"

"I didn’t think you’d notice me, let alone ask me to dance."

"I’ve watched them dance together all night. Why didn’t he choose me?"

"I won’t pretend I’m not jealous... but you look happy out there."

"Just follow the beat. It’s not about the steps, it’s about the connection."

"I’m not much of a dancer, but I’ll try anything if it’s with you."

"You came all this way just to ask me for one dance?"

"I’m teaching you how to dance, not how to step on my shoes."

"Careful now, or you’ll spin us both right off the floor."

"I thought you hated dancing."

"Why are you dancing with him? I thought we had a plan."

"You’ve been alone long enough. Let’s change that."

"There’s something electrifying about dancing with someone who knows exactly what they’re doing."

"Do you always make people wait so long before offering a dance?"

"I saw you sitting there, all alone, and I just knew I had to ask."

"The music’s about to end... but we could keep dancing anyway."

"Are you going to stare all night, or are you finally going to ask me to dance?"

"You think you can make me jealous by dancing with her?"

"Let’s make them all jealous and show them how it’s done."

"I didn’t come here to dance, but somehow, with you, it feels right."

"So, is this just a dance, or does it mean something more?"

"Don’t worry about everyone else. Just focus on us."

"You’ve been watching them dance all night. I bet you wish you were me now."

"Is this how you dance, or are you trying to make me trip?"

"I didn’t know you could move like that. What else have you been hiding?"

"Why didn’t you ask me to dance sooner? I've been waiting all night."

"You’re staring at them again. Are you really that jealous?"

"I saw the way you looked at her. Do you wish you were dancing with someone else?"

"I never thought I’d see you dance. You always said you hated it."

"Dancing with you makes me forget everyone else in the room."

"Can you feel the tension in the air, or is it just me?"

"There’s a rhythm between us that no one else can match."

"I thought you didn’t like me... and yet, you ask me to dance?"

"You lead, and I’ll follow. That’s how this works, right?"

"It’s just a dance, but it feels like so much more."

"Don’t think too hard. Just listen to the music and let it guide you."

40 Writing Prompts about Dancing

Write about a character learning to dance for the first time and the emotions it evokes.

Two rivals are forced to dance together at a formal event—how do they handle the tension?

A character watches their crush dance with someone else, battling jealousy and insecurity.

A dance teacher becomes frustrated with their star pupil’s lack of progress—how do they handle it?

Write a scene where a character is finally picked to dance after feeling like they’ve been overlooked.

A couple who hasn’t spoken in years shares a tense, emotion-filled dance at a reunion.

A character uses dance to express emotions they can’t put into words—what are they trying to say?

A dance competition turns personal as two characters try to outdo each other.

Write about a character teaching someone else how to dance, and what they learn about themselves in the process.

A shy character must find the courage to ask someone to dance at a party.

Two characters find themselves alone on the dance floor—what unspoken feelings come to the surface?

A character sees someone they care about dancing with another person, triggering unexpected emotions.

During a slow dance, a character’s feelings for their partner become too intense to hide—what do they do?

A character tries to teach themselves to dance in secret before a big event.

Write about the unspoken tension between two characters during a formal dance.

A character is jealous of another dancer’s skill—how do they cope with these feelings?

Two characters who are opposites are paired together in a dance class—how do they find common ground?

A character tries to impress someone by showing off their dance skills, only to mess up—how do they recover?

Write about a dance that takes place during a significant moment in history.

A character who hates dancing is forced to participate in a wedding dance—what happens?

Write about a character being chosen to dance after waiting alone for most of the night.

A dance is interrupted by unexpected news—how do the characters react?

Two characters who dislike each other have to share a dance to maintain appearances—how do they act?

A character has a secret talent for dancing that no one knows about—how do they reveal it?

Write a scene where a character uses dancing as a way to work through grief.

A dance floor accident brings two characters unexpectedly closer.

A character feels out of place at a dance event until someone unexpected asks them to dance.

Write about a character who dances for the last time before a major life change.

A competitive dancer struggles with injury—how does it affect their relationship with dance?

Two characters bond over their shared love of dancing, but one of them holds back—why?

Write about a dance where two characters communicate entirely without words.

A character uses dance as a way to express defiance or rebellion.

A character feels awkward and uncomfortable at a dance class but surprises themselves.

Write about two characters who are attracted to each other but hesitant, using a dance to test the waters.

A character is heartbroken but still attends a dance—what happens when someone asks them to join in?

A character dances alone in an empty room—what are they thinking?

Two characters who are close friends share a dance—how does it change their relationship?

Write about a character being swept off their feet by an unexpected dance partner.

A character attends a dance event in a place they never imagined—how do they adapt?

Write a scene where a character realizes their feelings for someone during a dance.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Clingy.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Wanderer x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Modern AU, Non/Con, Blood, Intimidation/Threats of Violence, Toxic Relationships, Emotional Abuse, Slight Financial Abuse, and Codependent Behavior.

[Part Two]

On your third date, your boyfriend-at-the-time demanded that you give him a spare key to your ‘shitty shoebox of an apartment’, despite refusing to so much as let you into the penthouse Ei had leased for him while going to a university a hundred or so miles away from the multi-story, marble sculpted, beachside mansion he’d reluctantly flown you out to when he got sick of listening to you ask why he still hadn't introduced you to his moms eight months into your relationship. That probably should’ve been your first red flag, but somehow, you’d persisted. He brought out your competitive side, like that.

He made you want to dig your nails in, plant your teeth in your neck, and refuse to let go. It wasn’t good for you, but nothing he did was good for anyone. That never stopped him from doing it, though.

You could only assume that this – Kunikuzushi, your boyfriend of eighteen months and your ex-boyfriend of one, splayed across the couch in your living room, the keys he’d never given back dangling from his ring finger and the phone you’d forgotten when you left for work that morning in the other – wasn’t going to be good for you, either.

You didn’t say anything at first. It was all you could do to groan, to shake your head, to pretend you didn’t see him or didn’t care long enough to throw your messenger bag onto the nearest chair and tear off your jacket. He’d clearly made himself at home. A textbook was open on your coffee table, a drink from the cheap, trendy café he’d always whined about having to take you to sitting half-empty next to it. He wasn’t looking at either, though, his attention entirely centered on your phone. You didn’t have the energy to pretend to be surprised. He used to like to go through your conversations and delete the contacts he ‘didn’t trust’ when you were together, too, but you’d been more willing to write it off as the cute-but-concerning tick of a jealous boyfriend, back then. You must’ve fallen out of practice after your breakup.

You opened your mouth, but he was ultimately the one to break the silence. “You know Ajax?”

You crossed your arms. “Why are you here?”

“I mean, I know you’re in the same microbiology course, but c’mon, him? The fucker couldn’t tell a proton from a nucleolus. Honestly, I’m surprised he hadn’t flunked out yet. Give it another semester - he’ll be gone by spring, I promise.”

“I didn’t say you could come over.”

“I texted you last night. Did you try to block me again?” You’d blocked him, then reported his number, then changed yours when he’d started using burner phones to drunk dial you in the small hours of the morning and leave disjointed, rambling voice mails about how well he was doing without you, how much time he had now that you weren’t pestering him, how many people he’d slept with since the last time you'd seen each other. All of it was bullshit, obviously, but it was his bullshit. Somehow, he always knew just how to get under your skin. “Scratch that – I’ll take care of it. I should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to get through a month without my help.”

You grit your teeth. Swallowing as much of your anger as you could, you stepped in front of him, snatching your phone out of his hands and retreating before he had a chance to take it back. You were tempted to look at what he’d been scrolling through, see which conversation had gotten him so upset, but you forced yourself to turn off your phone completely, to set it down on the far side of your coffee table and think about something else. It’d take hours to fix the damage he’d done, to unblock all the acquaintances he didn’t approve of and the apologize to all the friends he'd insulted under your name. You’d rather get rid of him first, then try to fix everything he'd already started to tear apart. “Get out.”

He scanned over you, his eyes lingering on the wrinkles in your button-up shirt, the cheap material of your dress pants. “Y'know, if we were still together, you wouldn’t have to put up with that shitty job. You could just quit and finally move in with me.”

Once, you’d let him buy you a new laptop when yours gave out in the middle of the semester and you didn’t think you’d be able to scrape enough up for another before you next exam. It’d been a used model, already a few years out of date, and you swore up and down that you’d pay him back when you had the money, but he’d held it over your head for months, smirked and gloated and taken every opportunity to remind you how grateful you should be to have a boyfriend so willing to spoil his oh-so-unfortunate partner. He hadn’t let you pay him back. He hadn’t let you pay for anything until he’d gotten tired of playing savior and went back to acting like a brat, too desperate for your attention to care if he was in-charge. You doubt he’d be any more bearable if you actually moved in with him, if you lived in his house and relied on his good-will. If you actually depended on him.

But, rather trying to say any of that in a way he’d understand, you sighed, clenching your eyes shut. “It’s an internship and I need it for my major. Get out.”

His scowl wavered. “When did you get so bossy? This isn’t going to work if you think you can tell me what to do.”

“I’m not bossy, you’re just a prick. Get out.”

He sat up, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Cut it out. I’m not going to want to get back together if you keep acting so immature.

“I don’t want to get back together with you.” And then, gesturing towards your door. “Get. Out.”

If nothing else, that seemed to shut him up.

It took a few seconds, but eventually, he responded. There was an airy laugh, a thin smile, a certain air of hurt disbelief as he sat up. “You really aren't kidding, are you?”

You didn’t indulge him with a reaction. Rather, you watched with a pressed scowl as he pushed himself to his feet and stepped toward you. He was in his usually ‘too cool to try, but too bored not to’ get-up – ripped jeans and long sleeves striped in black and violet, half a dozen rings and bolts pierced into the curve of each ear and a belt from a brand you couldn’t name, but knew you were supposed to tacked on to further feed into his ego. He must’ve been here all day. His short hair was more disheveled than he usually liked it to be, and you could see more irritation in his dark eyes than you were used to, paired with a certain type of frustration that only ever slipped out when you managed to keep him waiting. You hadn’t, technically (you couldn’t be late to meet someone who you didn’t want to see), but you didn’t bother trying to point that out.

“I thought it’d be nice to see you after… How long? Five weeks?” He glanced down, starting to toy with something in his back pocket. “I thought we could order lunch, talk for a while, maybe watch a movie or something. Then, I don’t know…” His smile took on an apologetic lull, almost pleading. “Kiss and make up? It’s not like any of this is new for us.”

He wasn’t wrong. You’d been together for a year and a half, and most of that had been spent caught up in ear-splitting, tear-inducing, world-ending fights. He’d burn the notes you borrowed from your classmate, and you'd refuse to talk to him for a week. You’d decide you were over his constant mood swings and go on a date with the cute guy from your calculus class, and he’d mail a slab of raw meat to your best friend because, in his own words, ‘you couldn’t come up with such a stupid idea by yourself’. It wasn’t balanced, you would never be able to give as much as he took, but still. When he started yelling, you did too, and when he showed up at your door a few days later, his eyes still bloodshot from crying, you always took him back. Because he was Kunikuzushi. Because you loved him.

Because you knew he’d make your life hell, if you didn’t.

Which was exactly why you couldn’t just… kiss and make up, this time. Not if it’d mean swallowing your pride and letting him get everything he wanted.

You sighed, but kept your arms crossed, your expression stern. “I’m tired, Kuni. I don’t want to do this anymore.” You paused, bit down on the side of your tongue. “It’s not good for either of us. We’re not good together. I don’t want to pretend that we are.”

His smile wavered, but didn’t fall. “What do you mean, babe?”

“I mean,” You braced yourself, shut your eyes. “I think you should leave.”

At least he seemed to hear that. You watched with as little sympathy as you could manage as his grin cracked and fell away, as his shoulders slumped downward, as he let out an airy chuckle that cracked halfway through. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“We broke up a month ago.” And he’s been insufferable ever since. “And we’re not getting back together.”

Parted lips, glassy eyes. He raked a hand through his bangs, doing what he could to blink away the tears slowly forming in the corners of his eyes. This wasn’t new, and yet, you still found yourself struggling not to break, not to embrace him and mutter soothing nothings while he sobbed quietly into your shirt and wrapped his arms around your waist and, inevitably, ended up on his knees, his face buried between your legs as he made you cum until you forgot why you’d been mad at him in the first place. “Fine. That’s fine. Honestly, that’s great. I don’t know why I’d ever want to be with such a heartless bit—” His voice broke before he could finish. He made a half-hearted effort to wipe at his eyes, but that only drew more attention to the tears starting to roll down his flushed cheeks, only made you more tempted to pull him into a kiss and act like this had never happened. “Fine. If you’re really that sick of me, I’ll go.”

He pushed past you, starting towards your door. That was what you wanted. Kunikuzushi gone, your apartment empty, your life just a little less fucked than it always seemed to be when he was a part of it. You should’ve let him go. You should’ve stood there until he was gone. You should’ve let him leave.

But you heard another hitched sob, a string of muttered swearing, and something in your chest broke open. With a shallow sigh, you dropped your arms to your sides, forcing yourself to speak through clenched teeth. “…do you want a hug before you leave?”

Kunikuzushi glanced over his shoulder. “A hug? What do you think I am, a toddler?”

“It's the only thing I'm putting on the table. Do you want it or—”

You never got the chance to finish. His arms were already around you, pinning your arms to your torso as he buried his face in your shirt. You choked back your protests, forced yourself to fight the instinct to push him away, and in a few excoriating seconds, his hold on you loosened, his back straightening, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder and his lips pressing into your neck. There was a lingering8 kiss laid onto your jugular, then another to the corner of your jaw, but you didn’t bother to try and push him away. Instead, you only shifted in his arms, nudging at his chest. You’d gotten yourself into this, called him back when he was a few steps away from leaving. You only had yourself to blame. “I didn’t say you could—”

“I knew you’d change your mind.” A hand fell to the small of your back, the heel of his palm pressing into the base of your spine. “You always do. You always make the right choice, in the end.”

You opened your mouth, ready to remind him that you weren’t taking him back, but you hesitated. He was always weird, just a little too hostile, just a little too desperate to keep you close to him, but you didn’t trust the levity in his voice, the way his smile pressed into your skin despite how close he’d come to crying a few minutes ago. “I think…” You trailed off, bit down on the side of your tongue. “I haven't changed my mind. You have to—”

Something flat and stiff pressed into your back – the blunt edge of a switchblade. His switchblade, you realized, dredging up hazy memories of bandages wrapped around thighs and hollow promises that he’d be more careful, next time. You heard his nails drum against smooth metal, felt something cold and sharp cut into the skin above your shoulder blade, and you froze, your mind instantly going blank.

He laughed, the noise cracking and airy. Warm breath fanned over the crook of your neck, and he melted into you, nuzzling into the curve of your throat. “I love you.” And then, pressing the blade into your flesh. “Say you love me too.”

Automatic, robotic. The only thing you could spit out through grit teeth. “I love you.”

Another laugh – more giddy, this time, more eager. If he noticed your reluctance, it clearly didn’t bother him. The switchblade was pulled up to the nape of your neck, then drawn in a loose arch to your collarbone, the tip never leaving your skin. “I mean, yeah, obviously. That’s why we get to stay together, even when we’re at each other’s throats.”

He paused, burrowed into you. In turn, you were dragged further into his chest, but pushed away just as quickly, allowed to get just far enough to make it possible for Kunikuzushi to raise his free hand to the collar of your shirt and drag you into a clumsy, rushed kiss – too rough and too forceful for anyone but him to enjoy. His teeth scraped against your lips, his tongue dragging over yours, but he pulled away with a breathy groan, his pale cheeks flushed and his eyes still glossed over. “…you didn’t get with anyone while I was gone, right? You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

How could you? He hadn’t given you room to breathe, let alone get past anything more than a first date with someone new. Even when you’d been together (actually together, not fighting or on a break), he’d been so suffocating, so possessive, you’d never been able to get any further than heavy petting, oral, his body on top of yours and your legs wrapped around his waist before he said something you couldn’t brush off and the night devolved into something... less romantic. It was hard to be with someone like Kunikuzushi, someone who acted like they’d rather give up the air in their lungs than a second of your time. Even after a year and a half, it was hard to let your guard down around him when he seemed so willing to give you every reason you ever could've needed to keep it up.

You guessed you should’ve expected this, looking back on it. He’d was bound to get tired of waiting for you to trust him eventually.

This was just his way of letting you know that he’d never really needed you to, in the first place.

Stiltedly, you shook your head, and he let out a relieved sigh. “Perfect. That’s why we’re supposed to be together.” He kissed the corner of your lips, then your forehead. “You’d never hurt me.”

He didn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he took you by the hand – his fingers intertwining with yours as he turned and tugged you forward, moving to lead you further into your apartment. The switchblade left your skin, falling momentarily to his side, and for a few brief seconds, you considered trying to get away, jerking yourself out of your hold and running as far away as you could get from him and his fucking issues. You made a passing effort, but Kunikuzushi’s grip turned crushing as soon as you began to shift, and you gave up before he could break something more vital than your heart. He was between you and the door, you and your phone. He had a knife, a weapon. He had you, and until he decided he was done, he wasn’t going to let you go without a fight.

With little ceremony, you were drawn out of your living room and into your cramped bedroom. Kunikuzushi let go of your hand, but you didn’t have time to run before you were being pushed onto your unmade bed, before he was straddling your waist and pinning you to the center of the mattress. The knife was brought back to your neck, but quickly plunged lower, slid beneath your uppermost button and used to separate thread from fabric. Somehow, annoyance managed to overshadow your panic, if only for as long as it took for one rational thought to be followed by another. This was your nicest shirt, one of a handful you’d splurged on for your internship, but it wasn’t like Kunikuzushi would ever understand anything like that. It wasn’t like he’d ever tried to, before.

The tip caught on the slight dip below your diaphragm and you winced, a few dots of red immediately seeping into white fabric. You winced, beginning to protest on reflex. “Kuni’, that—”

“I’ll take care of it.” Absentminded, only half conscious that he was speaking at all. He reached the hem, pulling his switchblade free and letting your dress shirt fall away from your chest and over your shoulders, as useless as it was embarrassing. “I’ll take care of everything when we’re done. Just sit pretty and keep your mouth shut for a while.”

Really, you could only wonder why you hadn’t dumped him sooner.

Your pants were next, slits carved into the material over your hips and ruined fabric torn away. He moved to cut off your boxers, too, but seemed to hesitate, to linger, to find the strength to pause just long enough to drag two fingers over your clothed slit and press the pad of his thumb into your clit. You hissed at the friction, but Kunikuzushi only smiled, dipping his head low enough for his lips to ghost over your collarbone, then the midline of your chest, then the tender spot just below your navel. The last was accompanied by a slight groan, throaty and deep. You did what you could to block it out. This would be better if you didn’t think about it, if you just imagined he was trying to win you back after a fight, that there was a wilting rose in his other hand and not a knife already stained with your blood.

It was almost a mercy when his hands finally slipped under the hem of your boxers, doing away with your last layer of protection with only a slight laugh and a lilting smile. You did what you could to relax, to lean back and close your eyes, but Kunikuzushi’s weight was an ever-present anchor to reality, only made worse as he shifted lower, as he pulled your legs apart and threw them over his shoulders. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into the inside of your thighs, his teeth ghosting over tender flesh as he sucked harsh bruises into whatever he could reach. This was his favorite part, by far. He’d always been clingy – possessive to the point of total, nail-biting, jaw-locking paranoia. At first, you’d been able to write it off as a sort of overeager enthusiasm that came with a new relationship, but he’d never stopped. He was always ready, always desperate to dig his teeth into your skin and leave as many marks as you’d let him – or rather, as many as he possibly could before you were able to pry him away. Even then, you’d tried to think of it as cute, just one of the quirks of your immature-but-loving boyfriend. Now, all you could do was hope it’d be over soon.

It took him full minutes to actually reach your cunt, for his tongue to lave over your slit. Instantly, you stiffened, clenching your eyes shut and attempting to ignore the heady sounds of his whimpering moans, the feeling of his tongue tracing patterns in your entrance. It was sloppy, messy, all drool and teeth and clutching hands, but warmth flooded into your core as the bridge of his nose ground into your clit, as his hands wrapped around your hips and dragged you that much closer to his mouth. Everything he did was dirty, but he knew you, knew your body, knew that you’d have to spread your legs as soon as his tongue thrust into you.

You arched your back as two fingers slid into your entrance alongside his tongue, scissoring you open while his attention shifted to your clit – his lips sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves while he sucked gently. If he hadn’t been so vocal, it might’ve been more bearable, but no, he couldn’t seem to stop whining into your cunt, to stop sending waves of those awful reverberations from your clit to your core every time he whimpered or grunted or moaned. Before you could stop yourself, your hips were rolling weakly against his mouth as he nursed you through your sudden climax. When you fell limp, his mouth fell away, but his hand still cupped your pussy, his fingers still curling and thrusting inside of you.

He didn’t slow down, didn’t let up, not until you were crying out and clenching around him, not until you could feel the slick running down your thighs, soaking into your sheets. He didn’t stop until you were babbling – spitting out incoherent pleas for him to slow down before the overstimulation turned from overwhelming to agonizing. You were forced to endure another kiss to the inside of your thigh, the wet sound of his tongue running over his fingers, but he pulled away in a few seconds, finally letting you have just enough space to breathe. Even that was temporary, cut short by his lips crashing into yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, as little as you wanted to. You could feel him panting against your lips, and it was all you could do not to scream.

He pulled away abruptly, grinning. “You’re a virgin.”

It wasn’t a question, but you found yourself shaking your head, denying it on instinct. “I never—"

“You didn’t have to.” There was a peck to the corner of your lips, another to your cheek. “I know everything about you. Your parents were too strict to let you date in high school, and none one’s ever lasted more than a couple of weeks with you before me. Since you wouldn’t so much as take off your shirt around me before our three-month anniversary, I’m going to assume you weren’t a total slut before we met.”

You narrowed your eyes, shoving gently at his chest. You just needed space. You just needed him to get away from you. “So?”

“So,” he leaned in, his smiling growing that much wider. “I’m going to ruin you.”

It was something about his tone, the dark glint in his eyes as he leered over you. Your heart dropped in your chest, and very distinctly, something very large and very sharp began to crawl up your throat.

You started to shake your head, but he was already edging jeans downward, already freeing his cock – the flushed tip leaking precum in fat, white pearls. His weight was enough to keep you pinned down as he aligned himself with your entrance, as he traced the head over the length of your slit, and his eyes never left your face, your expression painted with heavy strokes of horror and disbelief. He never wavered, never blinked, even as he thrust inside of you, bottoming out in a single uninterrupted motion. Even as you cried out, the sound more pained than anything else. Even as you felt a single, warm teardrop fall off of his cheek and onto yours. You hadn’t realized you’d shut your eyes, not until you forced yourself to open them, not until you found him cloudy-eyed and grinning above you.

He was crying, again.

Huh.

You thought he would’ve given up on that, by now.

He wasn’t gentle. He’d never been delicate with you, but right now, it felt like he was trying to be rough, to pin your legs against your chest and split you open every time he moved his hips, every time he found a way to hit something deeper and more sensitive inside of you. You tried to scream, but your voice caught in your throat, strangling itself into something more akin to a cracked whine and a few broken whimpers. The stretch, the pressure was more than you could take. You couldn’t stop yourself – going rigid underneath him, your eyes rolling back as your mouth fell open in a silent, agonized cry. Your reactions, however involuntary, only seemed to spur Kunikuzushi on, his pace growing more erratic and his breath now coming in quick, shallow pants. No matter what you did, it just made him worse.

You could hear him talking, distantly – little mumbled tangents forming between thrusts. “You’re just so—” He cut himself off with a long, wordless moan. “We’ll do this every day, until— until you know you don’t need anyone but me. Then, you’ll love me, and you’ll never have to—” He thrust deeper into you, letting out a fracturing laugh. “And then, I’ll rip out your tongue and cut off your legs if you try to leave. We’ll always be together. No one will ever, ever take you away from me again.”

You weren’t with him. You didn’t want to be with him. If it wasn’t for his immaturity, his manipulativeness, his fucking knife, this wouldn’t be—

His knife.

Both of his hands were on your thighs, his nails digging into your flesh, keeping your knees pressed into your chest. He wasn’t holding it. He couldn’t be.

Without daring to look away from him, you groped around the mattress blindly, your fingertips eventually brushing against something cold and metallic – his switchblade lying abandoned on the edge of the bed. You took it up before you could hesitate, gripping the handle tightly enough for the sharp corners to bite into your palm, for your hand to cramp and go numb by the time you found the strength to actually lift it up. You didn’t aim. You didn’t have time to, not unless you wanted to think about what you were doing, not unless you wanted to let Kunikuzushi win. Not unless you could—

The curved tip just barely made contact with the skin above his collarbone before you faltered, before he had time to catch your wrist in an iron-clad hold. You tried to let go of the switchblade reflexively, but his hand shifted to wrap around yours, to keep the blade pressed into his chest – applying just enough pressure to break the skin. “Do it.” Soft, drawn out, too eager to mean anything good. “I’d let you carve your name into me, if you wanted to. All you'd have to do is ask.”

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to. You didn't want any of this, but Kunikuzushi pressed the blade in his skin regardless, letting out muttered confessions of love and loyalty as a thin red line formed in his flesh, as blood dripped down his chest and disappeared behind the loose collar of his shirt, blotting against the dark fabric. He guided your blade to his lips, next, making a small nick in the corner of his mouth before taking the switchblade out of your hand and tossing it onto the floor, out of your reach. It would’ve hurt less if he’d tried to hurt you, too, taken the blade to your skin after his own. If would've hurt less if he’d acknowledged that you’d tried to do anything at all.

You didn’t have much time to linger on that thought, though. He was already moving again, already making up for time lost by fucking into you like a man crazed. With no preparation, no warning, he jerked forward, his chest pressing into yours as he kissed you, as he forced his tongue past your teeth and smeared his blood over your lips. It felt like you were drowning in nickel, being slowly suffocated by some nameless, slick, oppressive force. It felt like you were choking, despite being able to breathe, to think as clearly as you’d ever been able to around him. It felt like you were going to die.

But, you weren’t. He’d never be so kind, he’d never let you have that kind of comfort, not when he was still grinding into you, not when his cock was twitching against the walls of cunt and he was groaning into your mouth without reservation. You could feel your poor overstimulated pussy clenching around him, your vision burning white around the edges as, for lack of anything more stable to hold onto, you wrapped your arms around his neck and raked your nails over his back, clawing into whatever you could reach. If he noticed, if he cared, it only worked to drag him that much closer, to leave him as deep as he could possibly be when he finally finished, when you felt something warm and vile flood into you.

He stayed like that for a long moment, silent and unmoving, his chest pressed into yours and his lips trailing from your mouth to your throat, settling just above your jugular. It was a small mercy when he finally pulled away and straightened his back, easing himself out of you and wiping the blood off of his face, his neck. You watched from a distance as he fixed his clothes, before pushing himself to his feet, never sparing you so much as a second glance. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Pack your stuff, and make sure you’ve gotten your shit together by then. I’m not letting a mess like you into my apartment.” He paused, lingered long enough to smile. With no sense of visible urgency, he walked to the side of your bed, retrieving his switchblade and kissing your forehead softly, gingerly, with a kind of tenderness you could only wish he’d found a few hours earlier. “I love you, babe. Even when you act like a fucking idiot.”

His grin pressed into flesh, cutting and cruel.

“And I’m so, so glad you’ve realized that you love me too.”

[yourejinx]

Undeniable Bonds

  Azriel x F. Reader

Warnings: angst, as per usual. Violence, mentions of blood, mentions of death, curse words. Not proof read.

word count: 4k+.

Author’s note: I’m sorry I’m so late with this. I don’t even know what to say anymore, thank you for keeping up with me. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

“It’s alright, just breathe,”

There’s warmth against my forehead, and the words are a soft breath against my skin. I feel like every bone in my body has locked me into place, a prison, and I can’t move, I can’t breathe. 

The dark pit that has opened in my gut threatens to devour me whole and I recognise its numbness. It’s beckoning me to let go, to embrace it. A gentle, soothing  touch at my back it’s the only thing that’s keeping me anchored to reality, red and gold it’s all I’ve been staring at for what feels like an eternity. 

“Easy, dove.”

Cassian. Cassian is here. He’s enveloped me with his wings into a cocoon, a shelter against the world, his forehead is pressed against mine and he keeps rubbing circles between my shoulderblades. Some distant sense of self is returning to me, barely enough for me to turn my head and look at him. Dark hazel eyes stare back at me and the similarity to that other pair of eyes makes it almost unbearable to keep looking at them, my chest aches and I want to pull away. But Cass holds firm, strong hands holding my arms as he inhales deeply, motioning me to follow. 

I took one pathetic shuddering breath, two. My racing heart started to slow down and cool air flowed to my lungs. 

“There you go…” He hummed. 

Once I’m settled back into myself and my limbs don’t feel nearly as stiff as before, he slowly pulls away, allowing me to take in my surroundings. We’ve moved to the balcony outside one of the guest rooms, somehow. When did he even show up?

“Rhys called me, and told me what happened. How are you feeling?” His voice was so full of concern.

I shook my head, how could I put it into words? Was this what he felt every time Nesta slept with someone else? Was this what Rhys felt while Feyre was still with Tamlin? I knew Azriel fancied Elain, and I knew it was reciprocated. So why did it hurt so much to see it now? 

“Cass, he’s my—”

Mate. The word burned on my tongue. I couldn’t pronounce it. 

With each time I thought about it, the word lost a bit more of its meaning. I damned the Cauldron and the Mother for mating us; it was supposed to be something special, something that didn’t happen to most Fae, and if it did you were one lucky bastard. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard. But for me? It meant nothing. The bond only brought me pain and unrequited feelings, unwanted feelings. 

“I know, Rhys knows too,” he whispered.  

“How?” I asked, blinking away the dampness in my eyes. 

“It doesn’t matter now, dove, I need to know if you’re going to be ok” His eyes 

were so gentle, so understanding. 

I swallowed dry and nodded slowly. I remembered then that Lucien was looking for me and guilt tripped up my spine. How was I supposed to tell him what I saw?

“Cass, where is Lucien?” 

“I told him you weren’t feeling right and sent him home. He left something for you.” Cassian handed me a carefully wrapped package. For the looks of it, it was either a box or a book.  

“I have to talk to him.” 

I tore open the envelope, it was an old beautiful book, brown and gold and red. “Myths of the world” read the title, the author unknown. I hadn’t seen anything like this before.  It didn’t belong to Prythian, this book came from the mortal lands. 

Lucien saw this book during one of his journeys, and thought of me. My heart felt heavy in my chest  just thinking about the hurt I was going to cause him by speaking the truth about tonight.

“You can’t tell him anything, Y/N;”  Cassian’s tone was considerate yet firm. I frowned. 

“If it was the other way around he would tell me, Cass. He’s my friend…” 

“I’m your friend too, and I understand, but I’m asking you to wait. Please, let Rhys handle this or it can get really messy.” 

“Things are already too messy.”

With trembling fingers I dive between the first pages, it was a little worn around the edges but well kept, surely a loved book. One  particularly page caught my attention, it had dedicatory written in very polished handletter: 

“I don’t know if there’s proof of other worlds coexisting out there, but I hope you may find exciting ones within these stories.” 

More often than not, Lucien caught me late at night curled around the fireplace, a blanket thrown lazily over my legs and nose buried deep in some book about portals to other worlds, myths and legends, the old history and so and so. That sort of thing that has always called to me since I was a kid, more than curiosity I felt a pull towards it, as if I could feel the history of the universe in my veins. I never told anyone about it before, it seemed silly, I didn’t have proof of anything, it was more like a sense of the otherworldly. I felt ancient and new, vast and empty, all at the same time. The last time I experienced something like that Feyre had still been pregnant with Nyx, I remember feeling like my mind had been split for a moment, allowing me to experience reality both through my own person and through someone or something else’s eyes. I ended up throwing up that night, and Azriel had found me passed out on the floor of the living room. No one asked any questions, but Lucien had noticed. 

I sighed and closed the book, returning my attention to the worried-looking Illyrian in front of me.  “He’ll hate me if he finds out and I knew all along. I can’t have him hate me, Cass.” 

I can’t have him hate me too. 

“He won’t hate you dove, that’s just impossible”.

I shook my head, “Can you just take me home please?” 

“Of course,” He didn’t hesitate to scoop me up in his arms and take to the skies. 

The wind whipped through the night sky as Cassian soared gracefully, his wings beating rhythmically against the air currents. Beside him, I clung tightly to his muscular frame, my grip tightened unconsciously with each passing moment. The journey back to the House of Wind was filled with a heavy silence, as I wrestled with the weight of my thoughts and emotions.

Finally, the grand structure came into view, perched majestically atop the cliffs. Cassian gently landed, his powerful wings folding behind him as he turned to face me. His cobalt eyes searched mine, brimming with concern and curiosity. He paused, probably sensing the turmoil underneath, and waited patiently for me to find the courage to speak.

With a heavy sigh, I took a step back and looked up at the towering residence. "Cassian," I started, voice tinged with a mix of determination and sadness, "I’m leaving the court. I've made a decision... I'm going to accept Helion's offer."

Cassian's brow furrowed, a mixture of surprise and worry crossing his features. He reached out, his hand finding mine in a reassuring grip. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern. "You know the risks involved, the dangers that lie beyond our borders. The Night Court is your home, with friends who care for you."

My gaze followed the distant horizon, already feeling that curl of longing and uncertainty in my gut. "I understand the risks, Cass," I replied softly. "But I can't ignore the chance to make a difference, to find my own path and discover who I truly am, what I could do. I've always felt like I'm in the shadow of others, and maybe... maybe this is my opportunity to shine."

Cassian's grip on my hand tightened, his voice filled with earnestness. "You don't need to leave to find your purpose. You have friends here who believe in you, who will stand by your side no matter what. We can face the challenges together, as a family."

Tears welled in my eyes as conflicting emotions tugged at my heart. I wanted to believe in the strength of these bonds, in the safety and comfort of the Night Court. But a flicker of determination remained, whispering promises of self-discovery and growth. I looked back at Cassian, voice trembling but resolute. "I love you Cass, and I’m deeply grateful for everything the Night Court and all of you have given me, but I have to do this. Please understand."

Cassian's gaze softened, his thumb gently brushing away a tear that escaped my eye. He took a deep breath, his voice filled with unwavering support. "If this is truly what you want, then I won't stand in your way. But remember, you will always have a home in the Night Court, we will be here for you whenever you need us. And I can still kick Azriel’s ass for you."

He joked and a small smile broke through my lips despite the anguish. “I don’t want him to know, let’s just keep this between us for now, alright? I’ll tell Rhys tomorrow.” 

“Alright.” He whispered and brushed a kiss to my temple. 

We just stood there for a moment, embraced by the cool night breeze, letting all the events of the night sink in. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week later. 

The frozen landscape stretched endlessly before our eyes, a harsh and unforgiving terrain that mirrored the tensions between me and the Shadow Singer. The mission to track down the slavers had brought us to this desolate place, where the biting cold seemed to seep into our very souls. Yet, it was the icy atmosphere between us that threatened to shatter the fragile alliance.

We hadn’t spoken a word since last Solstice’s party, and I hadn’t seen him around either. I still couldn’t shake the weight of that awful look he gave me that night, it didn’t help that he looked on the verge of ripping my head off. I just didn’t understand, we were sort of alright at some point and then he just went back to hating me, as if some switch had gone off inside of him. 

As we trudged through the snow, our breath crystallizing in the frigid air, the silence grew heavy with unspoken accusations. I just couldn't bear the weight of Azriel's distrust any longer, it was making me anxious and angry. Whatever it was that got him so mad at me I didn’t deserve it, and we couldn’t keep working like that. 

With each step, the tension escalated, until it reached a breaking point. Finally, unable to contain my frustration, I turned to face him, my voice came out  laced with a mix of fury and hurt that I didn’t intend. "If you have something to say, just say it already and be done with this stupid silent treatment."

Azriel's expression hardened, his hazel eyes flashing with a mix of regret and stubbornness. "Why? so you can run and snitch to Rhys about it?"

My hands balled into fists, body trembling with indignation. "What the hell does that mean?” I hissed. 

“You know what it means. I seriously thought about giving you a chance, that I may have judged you wrong. Then I turn around and you pull the bullshit you did on Solstice. I didn’t think you could stood so low as to drag Elain into this mess.” 

“What bullshit? What are you even on about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, you called Rhys on us. Are you going to tell me that it was all a coincidence? That you just happened to walk right into the room I was in with Elain, and Rhysand followed you? I see the way you look at her, are you really that envious?”   

A humorless laugh escaped my lips, anger boiling in my veins. “Is this what got you so pissed? You are a bigger asshole than I thought. I didn’t even know you were in there, even less that you were with her. Do you think I give a fuck about who you’re fucking?You're always so quick to judge, to assume the worst of me. You know what? I'm done. Fuck you, Azriel!"

“You’re a cunning bitch, ever so observant, ready to pry into other people’s business; lying is like breathing for you, so why should I believe you? Why else would you happen to be there? Every time something goes wrong you’re in the middle of it!”

“Oh don’t try to blame me for your fuck ups, you dug that hole yourself. We were there because we were looking for you, because I wanted to give you this.” I shoved the little black box against his chest, hard. I had been carrying it with me since that night, its weight had been unbearable. “Happy Solstice, Azriel.” I spat with irony. 

He just stood there, shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping his anger at bay, eyes glued to the object now lying in his hands. 

Silence engulfed us once again as the bitter wind whistled through the barren landscape. Our breaths mingled with the frosty air, hanging between us like an unbridgeable chasm. 

“What is this?” he finally dared to ask, his voice cold and calm, distant but not nearly as angry as before. 

I cursed the slight tremor of vulnerability and turned away, already feeling a headache forming.  "You can throw it away if you want, I don’t care. I’m going to scout the land, don’t follow me. And keep your shadows to yourself."  My own voice came out barely above a whisper.

With that, I stormed off, leaving Azriel standing alone amidst the frozen wasteland. The ache of the fractured connection between us weighed heavily on my heart, mingling with the anguish of this mission and the bitter chill of the land. There was really no hope for us, to believe we could be friends again…that had been a foolish mistake. 

For a long while I walked and walked and walked, there had been no sign of any other living creature in hours. The night was starting to grow heavy and the cold unforgiving, I could barely see anything beyond the frozen forest, the small faelight I brought with me doing little to light up the path but I couldn’t risk giving away my position. It felt like I had been walking around in circles, never finding the exit to the forest. I could’ve sworn I passed the same twisted tree four times now, it looked like a giant claw tearing open the ground. Maybe I shouldn’t have left on my own. I had a bad feeling about this, it was all strangely silent. 

Just as I spotted a clearing, a familiar scent caught my attention. I haven’t felt that in nearly two centuries, but I remembered it like it was yesterday, sweet and strong and dangerous. My heart dropped to my stomach, and dread spread along my spine. It couldn’t be. He was dead. I had killed him.  

All my alarms went off almost immediately, I turned the faelight off and walked as slowly, as silent as a wrath towards the clearing. I had to squint my eyes to adjust to night vision, avoiding the branches and bigger patches of snow. A dim light appeared on the other side of the woods, floating beside a big shadow. As I came closer I could make the shape of wings, huge membranous wings. I wouldn’t mistake those wings in a thousand years. 

“Azriel?” I asked, low. Not entirely giving away my location still inside the forest’s safety. 

His back was turned to me, and he was standing predatorily still. A glimpse of metal flashed in the dim moonlight, Truth Teller was clutched tightly in his right hand, something dark and sticky dropping to the snow. Blood. The copper tang of it hit my nose a second later. It smelled like him. Was he hurt? 

I scanned the land beyond him, searching for the threat. If I had scented it earlier, probably he did too and found them sooner than I did. 

“Azriel was going on?” I tried again, walking closer. 

Past the shadows that engulfed him a figure lay on the ground, they were kneeling. There was so much more blood around them it was hard to tell if they were still alive. Whoever that was. 

I stepped beside him, my own blade in hand, ready to strike if needed be. But what struck me was the sight in front of me, Azriel was kneeling on the frozen ground, wings dropped and bloodied, a gag was pulled tight against his mouth and his eyes were wide, desperate. He grew wild when he saw me, thrashing against an invisible barrier. I turned around, confused and alarmed. The Shadow Singer stared back at me, a sinister smile tugging at his mouth and he launched forward, shoving the blade between my ribs. 

The Azriel on the ground tried to scream against the gag, eyes glazed over with rage. I wanted to reach him, free him from his restraints, but I couldn’t move. The male in front of me twisted the knife still inside my flesh and I let out a cry of pain. It burned like hell and I felt myself starting to get dizzy. Faebane, for sure. 

Hazel eyes turned darker than the night itself, and that pretty face morphed into something half beautiful, half monstrous. Brutal and scarred. I watched in horror as the male of my nightmares appeared in front of me. Demian, Kier’s first born son, alive and here. 

“Did you miss me, wife?” He purred into my ear. 

“RHYS! RHYS!” I tried to desperately call for the High Lord, but the mental channels between us felt distant, my voice sounded like an echo traveling through a never ending tunnel. 

I tried to take a step back but the world started to blur into darkness quickly. The last thing I saw was Demian’s monstrous face smiling down at me. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Azriel. 

The cavern was shrouded in darkness, its oppressive air thick with a sense of impending doom. The flickering light cast eerie shadows across the cold stone walls, as his eyes darted around, desperately searching for any means of escape. Azriel had been awake for a while now, heart pounding wildly against his ribcage at the scene in front of him; Y/N struggled against the coarse chains that bound her wrists, barely conscious due to the bloodlost. 

He had never felt more helpless and stupid. He should have said something, apologize, go after her, make her stay. Azriel still couldn’t believe he fell into  this motherfucker’s illusion, he should have known better. But it had been so real…the look of despair in her face, begging him to save her, as if Demian had known what she looked like, as if he had seen her like that before. Rage boiled in his veins.  Oh, once he got free of this invisible prison he was going to kill him, and he was going to take his sweet time doing so. 

"Azriel..." she whispered his name, her voice barely audible in the silence. The sound carried a mix of longing and worry, it made something crack inside his chest. 

The heavy stone doors groaned open, revealing two figures emerging from the depths of darkness. Demian, a malevolent presence wrapped in darkness, stepped forward with an insidious smile, his eyes glittering with a sinister delight.

Azriel’s shadows were frantic, desperately trying to leak beyond the barrier holding him and reach Y/N, but it was no use. Even his siphons couldn’t break the spell containing him, the strange marks painted on the ground around him seemed to absorb every futile attempt of his power to set him free. 

"Ah, Y/N, lovely to see you again", his voice dripping with malice. "We still have some unfinished business, darling."

Y/N narrowed her gaze, refusing to show her fear and spat on his face. “I don’t know how you’re still alive, but you’re as delusional as I remember.” 

Demian's laughter echoed through the cavern, chilling her to the bone. In his hand, he brandished a wickedly sharp blade, the metal gleaming with malicious intent.

"Perhaps," he sneered, his voice laced with contempt. "But this time I’ll succeed, you’ll pay for what you’ve done, you and your stupid High Lord. There’s no escaping your fate this time."

A weak groan managed to escape Azriel’s bloody lips, and Y/N's eyes filled with dread as she spotted him, chained to a wall, his body battered and bloodied. 

"Azriel!" she cried out, straining against her restraints. "Leave him alone!"

Demian's twisted grin widened, feeding off her anguish and desperation. "Oh, my dear," he taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "I plan to make him suffer just enough to ensure your compliance."

Tears welled up in her obsidian eyes as she watched Demian approach him, heart breaking at the sight of her mate's pain. Their connection, their bond, was just a whisper of strength and vulnerability.

"Do not yield, Y/N," Azriel's voice reached her, laced with pain but filled with unwavering resolve. "Don't let him break you."

“Enough!” The other presence in the room raised his voice as he approached the light. It was a dark haired male, tall and slim, a bit ungainly. His skin was a sickly grey-ish pale. Y/N’s eyes widened and tears started to flow freely down her cheeks at the sight of him. “Hello, sister. Long time no see.” He smiled wickedly at her as he anxiously played with the blade in his hands. 

Azriel could recognise its signature darkness capable of absorbing even the light of the sun anywhere. Truth Teller. The bastard was holding his blade. 

“Ajax…” she whispered, almost pleading. 

“We thought you had killed yourself. Imagine my surprise when I saw you at war with Hybern,” Ajax let out a humorless chuckle. “tch, father is so disappointed in you, you made mama cry and all for this?” He pointed at Azriel, still fighting to get free. There was something animalistic and ferocious in his eyes as he watched Damien twist the blade into the membrane of his wings. 

“Stop! Let him go. This is between me and you, he doesn’t have to be here.” 

“Let him go? So you can pull the bullshit you did on your wedding night? I don’t think so. But you wouldn’t dare to do so now, no, you wouldn’t risk hurting your precious Shadow Singer.” He smiled mockingly and slid the sharp edge of Truth Teller along her jaw. “Pitty. You would’ve made such a pretty bride… isn’t that right Demian?” 

Demian’s deformed mouth twisted upwards as he looked her up and down, something dangerous darkening his features. He grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him and ran a thumb over her lips. “You could have been my queen.”

She spat on his face again. “Go to hell.” 

Ajax slapped her face. “You’ve always been an ungrateful bitch.” 

Wiping his atrocious face clean, Demian stepped forward grabbing Truth Teller from Ajax hands. There was such hatred in their eyes. “Let’s get this over with.” He threw Azriel a wicked grin and slid the sharp edge across Y/N’s wrist. 

The Shadow Singer watched with a mix of fury and desperation as the blade cut into her flesh, eliciting a tortured cry from her lips. He felt it too, the pain, as if it was his own flesh being torn open. 

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Azriel’s threat echoed through the walls of the frozen cave. 

They both laughed as they carved similar markings to the ones holding him prisoner into her    skin. In her arms, her chest, her legs. She was just a playtoy for them to feed their morbidity. 

There was so much blood everywhere. Demian’s filthy mouth closed around one of the wounds, drinking from her. Her blood, her power, her very essence, while Ajax recited something in a tongue Azriel couldn’t understand. 

The Shadow Singer saw red. Something primal took over his senses, the urge to protect Y/N was stronger than anything, determination surged through his weakened body, and with every ounce of remaining energy, Azriel fought against his restraints. He summoned whatever hidden reserves of strength he possessed, his determination overriding the debilitating effects of the faebane. Sparks of raw power crackled around him as his unyielding rage fueled his desperate struggle for freedom. 

Ajax's full black eyes fell on him, sensing the upcoming battle that was about to be unleashed upon them and slit open Y/N’s other wrist. 

“Let’s go, we got what we need” He urged the blonde male beside him. 

They retreated, disappearing into the shadows, leaving Y/N and Azriel gasping for breath, their bodies battered and broken.

As Azriel's body trembled with exertion, his relentless efforts finally bore fruit. With a surge of sheer willpower, the invisible barrier shattered like fragile glass, freeing him from its confinements. Gasping for breath, his eyes blazed with a mix of determination and wrath as he surveyed the now empty space where the two males had stood. He would hunt them down, to the ends of the earth if needed, to make them pay for what they’ve done; but first he had to take Y/N to safety. 

He turned to face her; the anguish in her eyes mirrored his own, but their connection remained unbroken, he could still feel the sliver of hope amidst the darkness thrumming through that golden thread between their souls. 

She held tight onto that bit of sanity left and muttered the words “I’m sorry” over and over again as her body started to give out. 

Azriel’s whole body started shaking “No, no, no. Stay with me, I’ll get us out. I swear.” 

He rushed to her side, untying her arms and cradling her face. He didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t winnow and his wings were too damaged to fly. At this point they needed a miracle, he wasn’t a devoted believer in the gods but he would pray to all of them to save her. 

They lied there, in the ground, her face was drained of color and the unforgiving cold was not helping. 

As if in answer to his silent prayers, the stone doors burst open, revealing the High Lord and the General of the Night Court in a state of utter distress. Azriel didn’t know when he had started crying  but he let himself hold onto the tiny bit of hope that they might make it alive.  

"Where are they?" Rhysand's voice boomed with unwavering authority, his power shimmering around him.

The shadow singer shook his head, Y/N was slipping away as they talked. “Please save her” 

Rhysand rushed to their side, cradling her in his arms. Her heartbeat was too weak, her breathing labored. Azriel’s own consciousness was starting to flicker and he could feel the bond beginning to dim. Panic took over his senses, he started fighting against Cassian’s hold just to get to her.

“Az, it 's ok. We’ll meet them back at the House, she’s going to be fine.” Cassian assured him as he took to the skies. 

And he would have believed him if it wasn’t for the exchange of worried looks that transpired between his brothers.

taglist:

@cmay25   @brekkershadowsinger   @cosmic-whispers   @h0peless-r0m4ntic888    @esposadomd   @hannzoaks   @tysynn   @i-am-infinite @sevendeadlyshins-blog   @angelshadowsinger   @buckysimp101 @baebeepeach @starswholistenanddreamsanswered   @leeknows-wife   @k07-1313 @valeridarkness @fall-myriad   @goradgirl   @feiwelinchen   @katherine-2007 @colorfulwinnerneva-blog    @lillithathecat @j-pendragonx @ummmmmwat @eviepeo @thelov3lybookworm @emturtles @chillicrackers @bubybubsters @perseflowers @goldenmagnolias @littleshopofwhoress @galla-lotus @weirdo-fun @moonlwghts @t0uch-starved-h0e @wannabewolf @awkwardturtle365 @notbellasstuff @nastynesta  

@nohxmanity @yasminsznn @thesnugglingduck   @anniebannanie0315  @elsie-bells   @highlady-ofillyria   @kodokunarisu-blog @starksweasleymain

If I forgot about someone please let me know :) It won’t let me tag some of you I don’t know why :(

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.4

a/n: i have no posting or writing schedule fyi. but here we go, we're truckin through. EDIT: previously titled perfect date

Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: swearing, mentions of an autopsy, descriptions of a dead body (not graphic) Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

“Crackstone’s Crypt is overrated,” you groaned, throwing yourself onto Enid’s bed. “It’s gotta be somewhere else.”

“Nowhere else is creepy,” Enid said with a shrug. “That’s all we’ve got.”

“It’s not good enough,” you mumbled more to yourself than to her.

“Just go somewhere else,” Enid offered when you didn’t say anything else.

“I can’t,” you whined. “It has to be perfect.”

You pushed yourself off the bed and up onto your feet. With Wednesday out of the room, you had let your wings free and they shook as you started pacing. Enid had to admit, she rarely saw you this stressed out. You didn’t even freak out like this over finals, and everyone knew you should have been. And yet, somehow asking Wednesday Addams out on a date was going to drive you up the wall.

“It’s not supposed to be stressing you out this bad,” Enid said once you completed your fifth lap around the room.

“I’m not stressed, I’m devastated,” you said, stopping for just long enough to look at her. “I haven’t even asked her out yet and I’m already out of ideas.”

“Then we’ll brainstorm,” Enid said in as chipper of a voice as she could manage. She sat down cross-legged on her bed and started thinking. “What about visiting Nicky?”

“Out of the question,” you said with a shake of your head.

“Wednesday would love it-”

“-Nicky’s off limits.” Your hands shook as you lifted them to rub your face. There was a glassiness creeping over your eyes as you shook your head. “I’m not ready.”

“Okay,” Enid said softly; you knew she had meant no harm, but she still regretted the suggestion anyway. “Then what else would be enough for Wednesday Addams?”

You both looked at each other dejectedly. Enid had agreed that something creepy would have been an excellent idea. You both knew she enjoyed autopsies, torture, and the occasional murder. None of those, however, were legal, so they were off the table. Who knew this was going to be so difficult?

“Are you sure they’re not coming back soon?” You asked as you gestured to Wednesday’s side of the room.

“She and Thing are at a hummer’s meeting,” Enid said with a shrug. She hadn’t asked questions because, quite frankly, she didn’t really care.

“A meeting?” You asked, turning your head back to look at Enid with furrowed brows. “But I wasn’t invited.”

“Are you a hummer?” Enid asked.

“I thought I was,” you mumbled. “Well now that’s just rude.” You turned back to look at Wednesday’s bed with a frown. Your feathers ruffled with your frustration.

“Y/N, focus,” Enid said with a snap of her fingers. “Date ideas.”

“Oh yeah,” you said, “let’s see.” You spun on your heels and started pacing the floor once again. “Wednesday… black… spooky…” Enid smiled to herself as the gears continued turning in your head. “Gothic… Victorian… old…” You sighed loudly and shook your head. “Abandoned… decrepit- Gate’s Mansion!” You shouted, turning quickly and pointing your finger at Enid.

“Great word association,” Enid said with a tight-lipped smile, “but you might get arrested for trespassing.”

“I bet she’d love it,” you shrugged.

“I don’t have enough bail money for the both of you,” Enid said with a sigh.

“That’s okay! You bail out Wednesday.” You looked off into the distance. “I bet I can convince Principle Weems to bail me out.”

“Okay!” Enid said, causing you to flinch and look back at her. “Next step, how are you finding a body?” You can’t just make one.”

“No, that’ s murder.” You cocked one hip and lifted your left hand to your face, rubbing your chin as you thought. “But homicide-”

“-absolutely not.”

“Fine, we’ll just dig one up,” you said with a huff. “She likes gravedigging.”

“How do you even know that?” Enid asked.

“She told me during tutoring one night.”

“You know what, I’m not questioning it anymore,” Enid said with a shake of her head. The fact that you weren’t disturbed even a little bit by Wednesday’s… hobbies just further proved her belief that you two were perfect for each other.

“Then it’s settled,” you said with a nod to yourself. “We dig up a body, take it to the basement in Gates’ Mansion, she gets to perform her autopsy, and it turns into the best date she’s ever had. No murder involved.” You smiled to yourself. “Thanks for the help, Enid.” You made your way to the door, not even gracing her with a goodbye.

Wait.

“Or homicide,” Enid chimed in before you could finish stepping out of the door.

“You’re a killjoy, Sinclair,” you said as you leaned back in. “What about involuntary manslaughter-”

“-no!”

—---

You had asked her on a date. You hadn’t used that exact word, but that’s what you were asking. You’re going out with me tomorrow, you had said before walking off before she could even answer. Every nerve in your body had been on fire, you couldn’t have waited to see if she would say no. Pretty brave, you would say.

But now you were standing beside a now-open grave, getting soaked to the bone from the rain, and watching as Wednesday continued to dig deeper and deeper. She wasn’t smiling - because why would she? - but it was clear she was having the time of her life. Never had you seen her move so energetically.

“Found you,” Wednesday said. She lifted the lid of the coffin to stare into the fairly fresh body within. “Can you carry him?”

“It would be my pleasure,” you said as you hopped into the grave. Don't be a baby, you thought when your knee ached upon landing.

Even though you were more than happy to be there with Wednesday, you weren’t as big of a fan of dead bodies. Maybe it was the trauma. It’s common fucking sense, you moron, your inner voice argued. No, it was definitely the trauma.

Wednesday stood back and made room for you as you bent down to haul the body over your shoulder. She warned you to be careful with it so it didn’t stretch too much; your stomach rolled at the thought of it stretching in your hands. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat and held on to the body tightly, urging Wednesday out of the grave so she could help pull you up. Well, she tried to help pull you up; truthfully she was no help at all.

"Where to?" Wednesday asked, her eyes wide as she studied the body that you were desperately trying not to focus on.

"Short walk from here," you said and gestured your head in the direction of the mansion. God, the smell of this body was horrendous.

It was a silent walk; with Wednesday it normally was. The only true sound was the rain continuing to pour all around you. Your footsteps were drowned out by the squelching of mud, but it was almost comforting. Truthfully, it reminded you of home.

As soon as the Mansion was in sight, Wednesday's head snapped in your direction. There was a spark of joy in her dark eyes that wasn't unlike that of a child in a candy store. You kept your mouth shut but gestured toward the gates, and she practically ran over to pick the padlock while you trudged the rest of the way.

"Hurry up," you called out once you walked through the gate. "He's getting heavy."

She gave you that murderous stare that you liked so much, but led the way to the side of the house where a single door was located. It was locked; no surprise there. Your eyes trailed down to her boot when she bent down, taking something out of it and getting to work on a door.

“Do you always keep a lockpick with you?” You asked as she continued to work on the lock.

“Of course,” she answered. “You never know when you might need one.”

“Right, right.”

She pushed the door open after only a few more seconds of maneuvering. It was impressive, truly, the way her small lithe fingers could work a lock in less than a minute. But you didn’t stop to think about it before rushing inside to get out of the rain, lightening accentuating the atmosphere when Wednesday closed the door.

“Oh this is creepy,” you mumbled as you walked down the hallway.

You had no idea where anything was in this stupid house. When you had staked it out and brought everything, you had managed to slip through a small window to the basement. Not once had you actually surveyed the layout, so it could take ages before you found out where to go.

“Why do people live in places this big?” You asked when you looked into the fifth cobweb-filled room.

“The Addams mansion is bigger,” Wednesday mused, making you flinch when she silently appeared beside you.

“How do you remember where anything is?” You asked again. She started walking away and you followed behind her.

“Because it’s my home,” she answered.

Of course, you thought with a mocking shake of your head. The body on your shoulders shifted, sliding further down your back and pressing down painfully on your wings. With a grunt, you hoisted it up higher, easing as much pressure as you could and making the weight a little lighter on your legs. For a dead body, he was awfully heavy.

“Find the basement,” you said with a huff. “I’m about to drop him.”

Wednesday nodded at you once before using her sleuthing skills to find the stairs. Watching her work, even just to find something, truly amazed you. The slight tilt of her head when she was thinking, the movement of her eyes betraying her thoughts and emotions, the very methodical way she went through her thoughts. It was all enough to distract you from the burning muscles in your arms and legs.

“This way,” Wednesday called, and youfinally got moving.

Your legs protested, but you trudged your way to where she was standing. Looking down the stairs was probably your first mistake of the night. Digging up a body wasn’t? Your inner voice asked. It was pitch black down there and the stairs looked like they would break if a speck of dust landed on them. You had two bodies’ worth of weight, what if you fell through?

“I’ll go first,” Wednesday said after most likely noticing your hesitation.

“No, I got it,” you said quickly. No way in hell were you going to seem afraid in front of Wednesday Addams.

You took a deep breath in, then essentially fell onto the first step. It creaked, but stayed intact. With a few small nods to yourself, you continued moving. Your feet hit the wood hard with each step, your muscles telling you to stop or they would let you fall down the stairs. But you kept it up, focusing instead on Wednesday’s boots behind you.

When your feet hit the solid floor, you let out a sigh of relief. The hard part was done, and now the real fun could begin. At least, it would if you could find the lights…

The switch flipped and light flooded the room.

“What’s all this?” Wednesday asked, and you turned to face her with a smile as you could finally explain your plans.

“It’s an autopsy da- um.” You looked away. “Party.” Now that’s just stupid.

“For me?” Wednesday asked, looking up at you. Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted ever so slightly; she was surprised.

“Well, you took me birdwatching, so.” You shrugged. “And it’s not like I’d dig up a body for no good reason.”

You walked over to the metal table you had moved to the center of the room and finally, finally placed the body down on it. Even with the body off of your shoulders, you could still feel its weight. The decomposition had stained your shirt and you just knew you would never get it out. Dammit, you liked that shirt…

“Are you going to join?” Wednesday asked as she stood beside you, looking down at the body with a joy that you rarely if ever saw.

“I’ll just be your assistant,” you said with a nervous chuckle. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your experience.”

She turned to face you quickly, the smallest fraction of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. You inhaled sharply as your heart stuttered in your chest. She didn’t even truly smile at you and your heart felt like it was going to explode. You turned around quickly. If she kept looking at you like that, you were going to give her a fresh body to perform her autopsy on.

“Want some?” You asked as you held the Vick’s vaporub out to her.

“No need,” Wednesday said as she turned back to the body. “I enjoy the smell.”

“Well I’m using it,” you mumbled to yourself as you scooped out a generous amount and smeared it underneath your nose. It helped, but by no means did it erase the smell still clinging to your clothes.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Wednesday asked, that miniscule smile appearing on her lips again and a crack of thunder as added theatrics.

Oh, tonight was going to kill you.

—---

“Good night, Wednesday.”

Enid sat up as soon as she heard your voice from the other side of the door. Her phone read 11:29pm; you had both missed curfew. Did that mean the date had gone well? Wait, neither one of you had used the word. Did the outing go well? Surely it had, nothing was more tailormade for Wednesday than this.

“Good night.”

She didn’t even pretend to be asleep when Wednesday finally came back into the room. Her movements stuttered when she saw Enid sitting there, staring at her with enough excitement that she felt she was going to explode. This was going to be the best night ever.

“Did you have a nice night?” Enid asked immediately.

Any normal person would have thought it had gone bad. After all, Wednesday was soaked to the bone, coated in mud and grime and… other things, and smelled like a dead body. By Enid’s standards, it would have been the biggest disaster in the entire history of the world. But for Wednesday? 

“It was adequate,” she answered.

She immediately went to her closet and grabbed her pyjamas before heading to the bathroom to get cleaned up and ready for bed. But Enid saw the darkening of her cheeks and the small pull at the corner of her lips before she closed the bathroom door. Thing gestured to Wednesday, and Enid nodded in agreement.

“Our ship is sailing,” she said with a smile, giving Thing a fistbump.

Oh yeah. This was going to be amazing.

[mgnifique-tion]

— from the heart.

summary || ``the scientist, y/n l/n, finds the key to the god of mischief’s hardened heart.``

pairing: 2012!loki x gn!scientist!reader song recommendations: i’ll be your man - btob / covered by park jeup, choi suhwan, and kim seunghun (build-up) lowercase is intended… »» read part 1 here

— themes and warning/s: open-ended (yet again), very mild swearing, the enemies have turned to complicated lovers, religious/christian metaphors, angst, death of family member (mentioned), thor mentioned 🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🔥 (just a heads-up)

— a/n: entry for april! what the hell, y’all… how did i get so active writing about loki, i’m not even into the mcu that much anymore (idk, probably because he turned into a tree and that was sad?) anyway, this is the second part to “human reaction” so if you haven’t checked that out, just click the link on the title for some backstory. this has also turned out longer than earlier so wow, i think i’ve gone crazy for loki (thanks a lot, tom 👍) — edit: hello, so this was supposed to be up for april but i'm posting it now on july because, unfortunately, i have a very busy life with unexpected events taking place. enjoy reading!

[ total words: 2.5k ]

support me on ko-fi! ☕

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

it was past midnight and that self-proclaimed god had brought you to the top of a hill, telling you to wait for him as he’ll be taking some time to converse with his allies.

allies in ruling the world? yes.

“faen!” you heard him growl into the darkness, which startled you from the rock you were sitting on. but of course, that sudden shock died down due to how tired you already were; sleepless and alert from anything that could happen if you’d ever close your eyes. there was that fear that you may never open them again if you had left them closed shut even for just a little minute. 

there was a long pause until you decided that it’d be somewhat of a good idea to say something. a single word at least just to fill in the silence. “... so, did the meeting go well?–”

“oh, will you just not question it!?” loki grunted, startling you again. well, he did say he wouldn’t lay a finger on you so erupting like a volcano right at you wasn’t technically breaking any rule. “don’t you see? it’s obvious that nothing else had gone well, you imbecile! what else would i have to offer you in exchange for your eternal silence!?”

then, he proceeded to take in a deep breath, closing his eyes to collect himself and his emptied patience while you just stared at him. yes, of course, you hated his guts and the fact that you couldn’t really do anything against him but you never intended to offend him; that question was genuine.

in fact, every single response you’ve ever given him was genuine.

“sorry,” you blurted out, “i was just asking. i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or something... just wanted to know what went on.” the way your voice sounded so hazy and somehow breathy had given him the impression that you were already exhausted, not just mentally but rather physically. you couldn’t think of the words to respond anymore and maybe it would’ve been better if you had just said nothing.

but surprisingly, this was just another reason for loki to take interest toward your gift: humanity, as he’s said. “... did you just?–”

“yes… i did. i did apologize!” you didn’t even notice how your tone had changed; you’ve never raised your voice at him for the sake of him doing the same for you but you’ve had enough. you weren’t a friend, you weren’t even anything to him. you were just a total mortal stranger he spared, which does not give any reason for both of you to yell at each other but that rule has been broken.

after all, you’re just human and that is natural.

“i have never insulted after you’ve spared me,” you reminded him bitterly, getting up from that rock you’ve been sitting on ever since the past hour. you don’t even know why this god had brought you here and something about it was just familiar to you, just like the sacrifice of isaac. “i couldn’t sleep... i couldn’t eat... i couldn’t even ask you to stop whatever the fuck you’re doing to my world anymore but the moment i asked you about your stupid meeting, you just– you just blow up at me! is this what i get from saving you!?”

and that was the first time you’ve ever startled a god.

loki was stunned. slightly amused but completely out of words. just by staring at him, you’d know that he would start thinking of something with a smug smile but there was nothing on his face; he was fazed by you. 

“right,” he said with a low chuckle, “i must’ve forgotten you were human with feelings all over the place... natural... real.”

as the scepter started glowing again, panic rushed in your head and you damn knew that you had to run – just like the many times you’ve thought of that scenario but it just never took place. “you want a meal and an hour of sleep?”

“make it at least two–”

“four, it is.”

and despite the second peak of terror just occuring, that was also the second time he’s ever shown actual generosity. “you humans are too fragile,” loki commented with yet another chuckle as you huffed since that’s all you could do; you don’t trust his promises after all and you might never will. “... you really do need a proper leader. a god you can see, feel, and touch… not some written messiah.”

oh.

that statement must’ve crossed borders.

“... where do you want to eat?” he asked softly, almost as if he’s returning that genuine question he didn’t even bother to listen to. you were starting to wonder whether this was a symbol of your last meal. the last thing you’ll ever eat before your execution. 

who knows what else he could do with that scepter of his. “... well, in-n-out is open for twenty-four hours so…” you trailed off, looking away for a bit as your eyes scanned the area. every hill and path already turned into several landmarks in your mind as if you were the first person to discover it. “... would that be okay?”

once those uncertain words left your lips, the god of mischief smugly smirked back and nodded once. “i have one condition, however.” loki, of course, had to have some benefit from allowing you to take your basic needs as he stood before you, his hands clasped together and shown rather than his usual. “you’re not allowed to eat alone, therefore, once you purchase your cheap delicacies, we’ll come back here.”

so, a total bummer? of course, loki would know how to ruin your chances of escaping even if you hadn’t plotted against him… yet. “i wouldn’t want my apprentice to attempt freeing themselves, would i?” he knew what he was doing and you just had no choice; you needed to eat. you needed sleep. you needed to survive and in order to do so, you must abide by his rules.

he did spare you, didn’t he?

and as time passed by, you were now seated in the same mountain area, eating a take-out burger with a god. you didn’t know whether this was an early breakfast or a late dinner but nonetheless, you were somewhat grateful. “... are you not hungry?”

“gods don’t need to–”

“i bought you one, too.”

for some reason, loki just couldn’t say no to that as he continued to sit down next to you while your hands scrambled into the paper bag, searching for the other burger. at the moment, this was the only thing you could afford since he’s taken you under him once he’d given you that offer: wherein he or his blue-eyed minions couldn’t hurt you yet you still had to be somewhat his subject; a witness and a bystander.

after all, how could he lead humanity without being familiar with one?

“why aren’t you making attempts yet?” loki asked, “this is your perfect and only way of taking the hit and setting yourself free from my commands.”

“because i stick by my words,” you said back effortlessly, “i’ll be here until you let my co-workers– my friends go.”

he was silent again. in some way, he expected you to tell him that you were staying because you simply wanted to but a whiplash of reality quickly swept him away from his delusions. “so, you’re telling me that you’d wait until i let them go, huh? you’re willingly waiting for ages, then.”

the god hardened his heart and set aside any chances of letting your friends go as he chuckled before taking a bite from his burger. on the other hand, you just sat there, rethinking your choices; there’s no way nothing could convince him to let them go, right?

“yet i do admire your everlasting… hm… patience,” he pointed out, later letting out another low chuckle. “now that is something i don’t have… how do you do it?”

for the very least amount of times, he actually was genuine with that question. “well, i had a baby sister and she definitely trained me a lot with my patience.” you laughed, the delayed silence seeping in little by little, which made him cock his head to the side, curious about the matter.

“... had?” he just had to ask about it. “she passed away.” and you just had to tell him.

hearing your solemn, guilty answer was enough to make loki hooked to that story behind your younger sister’s passing. it wasn’t something you’d openly talk about but it surely was the only thing you endlessly blamed yourself for. 

“... oh,” loki uttered with a rather bitter tone, “i’m sorry for your loss… how old was she?”

“twelve.”

considering the fact that he was thousands of years old, his eyes widened after finding that out. “... that’s young,” he commented rather blankly but the look on his face was otherwise; you weren’t the only one terribly heartbroken about the incident. loki took the lives of eighty individuals in two days but never did he think of taking the life of a young child.

so, that was terrifying to think of. “and that happened because of?”

“... terminal disease.”

no matter how casual you sounded to him, your heart shattered. “well, actually, it could’ve been her twenty-second birthday last month if she made it… i’m a bit sappy now, aren’t i?” reality woke you up and told you to snap out of it; you weren’t talking to a friend, you were talking to a dictator. an alien. the god of mischief.

this story was not supposed to be and shouldn't be disclosed with him. “be sappy all you want,” he said, taking a sip from the straw of his cola. “after all, a god should be able to listen to his people’s messages, right?”

narcissistic? yes. but empathic? weirdly, that too.

“... that thing you used earlier,” you took a pause, letting out a sigh and then, a laugh. “it was supposed to be for her… well, for people like her at least.”

loki was giving it his best to not feel sorry – guilty for using the thing you’ve made but who knew that a sibling tragedy would soften his heart? he wouldn’t admit it, of course, but it was there. present at the moment and served as a reminder that he too had a sibling.

well, has.

“it was up for testing but of course, it was used for something else,” you said, eyeing him down as he managed to fake a chuckle; he couldn’t let himself show weakness after everybody else in his life made him feel like a nuisance – a tiny, little problem they’d have to deal with every day. not ever. never again. “... but i guess i still saved someone? and i still don’t know if i should be happy about that but it still provided its purpose.”

“oh, please.” he laughed, facing you more than he ever did before. “you saved me, your god and not anyone else… you should be celebrating this for your whole life.”

“you’re not the god i worship, loki.”

“well, i suggest you must. it’ll make this all easier for you.”

and he talked like a noble deity while eating a french fry. cheap and comical but it didn’t lower his status. “and, oh, if you do, there would be a lot of kneeling that’d occur.” that statement made you turn around and look at him with your brows either furrowed or raised; you had no idea how to react properly to it.

“... what–,” you were then stopped midway.

“i meant in praying.” he choked out.

this was one of your weirdest, most out of place conversations with the god so you just had to slowly turn away again and face the hills below both of you while munching on the burger in your hands. and then, he told you the truth you’ve kept deep in your chest, “... oh, i see it clearly now… you saved me because you want to prove yourself that you’re capable of keeping someone away from death. that you’re… worthy of things.”

it felt like time had stopped the moment you listened to him say that. for the first time, he was actually right with what he’d told you. he’d always claim the most bizarre things about humans and gods but this time, he was so close to the truth that he just blatantly told you what it was.

you were guilty because you couldn’t save her.

“i have a brother,” he added, “that’s why i… um… figured it out.”

“well, where is he, then? did you kill him?”

loki laughed at that. despite the hatred and fueling anger he had for his older brother, he wouldn’t end up killing him even though he’s close to it. the scars of the past made him into who he was now but the wound that his brother’s death would leave him absolutely destroyed. alone. all by himself. consumed by nothingness. just like what his old, so-called friends would tell him.

“he’s alive,” he said so soothingly, “and he’s living against what i had planned for this world.” those following words were much bitter, angrier than what he’s said before. it’s almost as if he’s relieved to see his brother again but upset enough to know that he wasn’t on his side.

“oh, you totally miss him.”

“... silence, peasant.”

and yet another unexpected scenario happened: sharing a laugh with the god of mischief who wants to rule over your world like a second hitler. “... but you can’t show that, can you?” you questioned and he nodded right away, politely letting you finish despite already expecting that you’d ask that. 

when the cold air and the rustling leaves collided, it was time for you to ask him the question that might just change the entire situation.

“is everything all from the heart?” you asked, pointing towards your chest as you stated him down. “... are you saying all of this from the heart?”

it took loki a while before he accepted it; he did speak about all of it from the heart. all of it. no lies were told for once and it was chilling for him. he didn’t even know that he was capable of opening the doors to the secrets he’s kept locked and buried in but that was the effect of the midgardian sitting next to him; the human who made him realize why thor loved jane.

the human he was willing to rule and to love. “... if i asked you now, would you kiss me?”

and for some reason unknown, your lips did brush against his, caressing them softly while you brought your hands to the back of his head, tangling your fingers around his waved locks. maybe you had been caught up by the moment but for him, this was real. this was the moment he understood why thor wanted to protect this world.

because humans spoke from the heart. 

but how could he take everything back when the damage had been done? when the chaos had taken over?

he pulled away and asked with teary, glistening eyes, “what have you done? why did you do it?”

one thing about him was that his need was also his one and only fear; it was love. 

you were startled once again, still keeping your hands behind his head. was it a trick? was it some test? you didn’t know anymore. you were bound to do whatever it took to save your friends and if a kiss that you’ve been longing for could do it, then what else could go wrong?

well, things may have not gone wrong for you but to loki, this was his one and only wake-up call.

wake up, loki.

you’ve fallen for the human.

[uyuartik]

I'm Starving, Darling (modern obi wan kenobi x reader)

tags: modern!obi wan, teeth rotting fluff, suggestive themes, mention of anakin and satine, this is basically my love letter to the perfection that is obi wan, yes i used a hozier title sue me, y'all are so lucky that this was before "too sweet"

summary: Obi Wan wakes you up from an unplanned nap.

a/n: back dated fic now on tumblr | link to ao3

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and let me know your thoughts in the comments!

enjoy!!!

word count: 1078

You wake up to the feeling of the bed dipping and you hear him, seeing him. “Time to wake up, love.”

Bed? When did you even go to bed? Have you fallen asleep? Why does everything look so bright and so orange?

His voice doesn’t help you to establish a sense of reality, prolonging your stay in the dreamland. It is so deep and rich, filled with sweetness, and so close to your ear. You can practically feel the words touching your skin.

Then again, the same sweetness pulls you back to the world, for how could you deny his wishes? Your eyes flutter at the warm rays that slither from the window, desperately fighting back to be closed. It must be sunset, your mind somehow gathers as the struggle continues. Hi, you want to say back, how long has it been.

It remains as a thought once you see his face, illuminated by the golden hour of the day.

Every word dies in the tip of your tongue as you get to see him properly, pupils adjusting to the light. How could you ask him anything, when he looked this angelic under the afternoon sky? A face straight out of paintings. The shadow of his beard only enhances the contours of his prominent cheekbones, and does nothing the hide his plush lips, the corners of it humorously twisted upwards. Even the unruly piece of hair that hangs right in front of his eyes takes nothing away from his perfect image, and above all, his brilliant blue eyes, gazing at you with all the adoration in the world. In older times, he would’ve been titled a prince, capturing every heart in the kingdom (and even beyond), and breaking it all, except one. Yet, here we were, hovering over you, dedicated to making his love known from the moment you wake up to the moment you go back to sleep. This is what heaven must be like, and nothing else, you conclude. How did you get so lucky?

Oh, and lucky you were indeed, and devastatingly patient. Not like you had any other choice, you knew from the moment you met him that he would be the one, and only one. His charm had worked too well on you, and every kind gesture, every mischievous one-liner amplified your crush, which had turned into pure love in no time. Yet, you never had to courage to confess your feelings. When you found it though, the predicament had transformed into a timing problem. You didn’t feel okay with bringing up this subject when he was dealing with heavy issues; Satine’s death, Anakin’s betrayal… You couldn’t leave him alone, and you couldn’t stay too close in fear of somehow feeding your selfish compulsions. You still remember how your hands shook as you texted back your reply to his proposal for a date. That was the last time you cried out of happiness, because Obi Wan took great care not to make you cry, even when he filled your soul with joy.

You blush as his hand removes stray hairs from your face, oh god, you must be an absolute mess right now, with puffy cheeks and a bird’s nest on top of your head, and turn red as his hand travels to your chin, kindly pushing your mouth close with a quiet laugh.

Great. You were literally ogling him with your jaw hanging wide.

You bite the inside of your lip, fighting hard not to hide behind your palms. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

His eyebrows furrow, finding your need for an apology nonsense. “You seemed like you needed it.”

It is your time to challenge his words, scrunching your face. You weren’t even tired, just lazy enough to pass out.

“Besides, you look so cute when you’re sleeping.”

This one actually has your head shaking side to side, yet his words find a way into the depths of your chest, like a thousand butterflies fly in your insides, their wings tickling your soul.

You look out of the window for a second, trying to gather your wits. “What time is it?”

He lowers himself further, resting his weight on his elbow. As your eyes meet again, he dips enough to let your lips touch, stealing a small kiss. Your hand is too slow to bury itself in his hair, but you continue to do so, caressing his soft strands. He releases a content hum, and answers. “19.00.”

Fuck. You two usually have dinners earlier than this hour, and you feel guilty about this unnecessary nap, knowing how much he loves to enjoy the meal with you. And not only the meal, the preparation process, and setting the table… It is the time you talk about your days, catching up on each other's lives and occasionally, gossiping.  Yes, he loved his tea, and you loved the subtle color on his cheeks whenever he got too self-aware while doing it. “Have you eaten?”

“No, I waited for you.”

“Obi Wan…” You whine, remorse settling in even more. “Aren’t you hungry?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but his stomach decides to take on the role, the grumble echoing in the silent room. You are horrified to hear that, yet his chuckle encompasses the atmosphere, his head thrown back, then landing in the crook of your neck, his battle to stay upright lost.

One hand tries to push him off of your body, the other landing against the sheets to pull yourself up to your feet. He defies all attempts as he keeps laughing. His arm envelops your waist, pressing your bodies closer. You can feel him vibrating, and his nose brushes up against your skin, calling the butterflies back when you hear him inhaling your scent.

“That’s why I am waking you up,” he wanted to say, before getting distracted by your sweet essence. “You smell so good.” He murmurs, the sound barely meaningful by the time it reaches your ears. You don’t know how to answer, and he continues to rub his face against your neck, the faint abrasion from his beard all but welcomed in your eyes. “And you are so warm.” He wraps his arm around you even tighter and places a kiss wherever he can reach, then another, then another, each one sultrier than the last.

“Come on, Obi Wan.” You usher, your voice shaky. “You are hungry.”

“Starving,” He corrects you. “Though, not for dinner.”

[python333]

task force 141 reacting to [reader] telling them corny jokes during a mission — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the title says, tf141 reacts to you telling them some corny dad jokes during a mission!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], bad jokes.

note ME AND MY 23 FOLLOWERS ARE STRAIGHT CHILLING RN. i love all of u. anyway gaz is in this one!! yippee!! i thought about ghost and his jokes in that one part of one of the cod games idk ive never played them i watch other people play it but you guys know what im talking about. i also just figured out that i should probably specify gender neutral reader for my fics?? so i'll start doing that! ANYWAY enjoy!! this is all fluff and has some classic tired parent & hyper toddler energy in the first part :}

JOHN “BRAVO SIX” PRICE

➥ insert exasperated sigh here.

➥ he will let you keep telling him jokes, however he will only respond to them with a simple, tired, “Uh huh. Good one. Very funny. Nice one.”

➥ tired dad energy.

➥ the first one you told was okay. he laughed at that one. the tenth one? please, god, just stop talking and put him out of his misery.

➥ he wonders how you know so many jokes, and then wonders if you got them all from ghost.

➥ if you did get them from ghost, trust that he will be telling the man himself all about how you constantly told him bad jokes over comms.

➥ if you just happen to know all of these, he won’t be surprised.

➥ he’ll put up with all of the jokes, for your sake, of course.

➥ the first time this happens, you’re both on a pretty insignificant mission compared to other ones you’ve done.

➥ you’re both talking over comms, just making sure you’re both okay.

➥ that’s when you started your attack.

—

“Captain?” You’d asked, listening as Price hummed in acknowledgment of you talking, “Wanna hear a joke?”

You could practically hear his hesitation, before he responded with a tentative, almost scared, “... Sure, [c/n].”

A delighted grin split across your face as you asked him, “How does dry skin affect you at work?”

He thought for a moment before asking, “How?”

“You don’t have any elbow grease to put into it.” You heard Price give a small chuckle, and decided to ask, “Wanna hear another one?”

Price’s second mistake of the evening, “Sure.”

“Where do boats go when they’re sick?” You asked, still keeping a lookout on your surroundings on your end while focusing on telling your Captain shitty jokes.

“Where?” Price asked.

“To the boat doc.” It took Price a moment, before he huffed out a small laugh and muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “Jesus, that’s terrible.”

Without warning, you tell him another one. He asks why, when, how, or what, whichever was appropriate for the joke you told, and slowly but surely his questioning tone became tired and exasperated. You don’t know why, but somehow his miserable tone made you even more motivated to tell him corny jokes.

“Do you just… memorize all of these?” Price asked in the middle of you telling a new joke, sounding almost astonished.

“Yes I do. Just for these missions, I do,” You answered confidently, smiling when Price sighed. You continued on with your joke, and even though Price didn’t respond verbally, you still told the punch line. You had repeated this for at least ten minutes, all of those minutes appallingly slow to Price, the poor man having to endure your bullshit for such a short yet such a long time. At the tenth minute, the only thing that stopped you from continuing was Gaz’s voice coming on over comms and interrupting you, telling everyone else on the mission that they could head back to the rendezvous point. Price, relieved at the interruption, gave a thankful sigh and you could hear him getting up from his spot before he muted himself.

You sighed as well, yours a direct opposite of Prices, full of disappointment, but you let it go. Besides, you’ll always have more opportunities to terrorize Price with your jokes on the ride back to base!

—

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

➥ he has the same reaction he had with ghost telling him corny jokes.

➥ he’ll call your jokes terrible, but will still laugh at them somehow.

➥ will 100% put up with your jokes, will laugh every time, even if his laughter slowly becomes more and more strained, he’ll laugh.

➥ tells you some jokes back, but after your 4th joke, he gives up and accepts his fate.

➥ he will suffer for your entertainment, guaranteed.

➥ he will be sure to remind you of how terrible your jokes are though!!

➥ he’s honestly impressed by how many jokes you’ve memorized.

➥ he’ll happily support you doing this to other people, no matter how much it damages his soul when you do it to him.

➥ the first time you do it to him, he starts getting deja vu from when ghost did it to him.

➥ “Oh, God, no’ ye too,” he’d groan playfully the moment you start telling him jokes, getting flashbacks.

➥ enjoys your jokes, even if he would do anything for you to shut up, he still enjoys them.

—

You and Soap were camping out in the same spot—atop a roof of a tall building that was just tall enough to give you a view of practically every other building in the area as well as the ground. It was cold up there, the air so cold that every time you’d exhaled, your breath turned to white condensation before fading into the clear sky.

It was fair to say that you and Soap were fairly bothered by the cold, so you really had no other option, you just had to start telling your jokes. How else could you warm the both of you up? Sure, it wouldn’t do anything physically, but mentally? It was sure to practically melt Soap’s brain.

“Soap?” Soap hummed and looked over at you, “Wanna hear a joke?”

Soap smiled, and decided to humor you, “Sure. Joke ‘way.”

“Why couldn’t the bike stand up by itself?” You asked, turning fully towards Soap. He didn’t bother to think before asking, “Why?”

“Because it was two-tired.” It took him a moment, but eventually he huffed out a small laugh and nodded.

“No’ bad,” He’d hummed, “Want me to say one?”

“Go ahead.”

“How did vikings communicate with one another?” Soap asked, turning fully towards you in turn.

“How?”

“By Norse code,” Soap had said with a grin on his face, clearly proud of the joke. You laughed quietly at it.

Without asking, you tell another joke. “Why did the bed wear a disguise?”

“Why?”

“It was undercover.”

Soap chuckled and turned back down to the ground, assuming you were done. But, oh boy, did he assume wrong. You told another one. He asked for the punchline. You delivered. You told another. He asked again. You delivered, again. Can you recall just how many jokes you told that fateful night? No. Does that make the memory any less funny to look back on? No.

Soap’s expression slowly turned to one of misery, his laughter becoming strained and slowly coming to a stop, the light in his eyes fading away as God himself seemed to appear behind you and reassure him that it would all be over soon. God, how he wished that were true.

Soon enough, you were both told over comms that you were able to safely make it back to the rendezvous point, and Soap couldn’t be happier.

He let you tell him more jokes during the walk over there, of course, and made sure to tell you how awful they were, but still endured them for your sake.

—

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

➥ it’s like he’s been preparing for this moment his whole life.

➥ he’ll put up with your jokes and will tell you a joke back every single time.

➥ at some point you guys will probably use a joke on each other that the other one told you.

➥ he actively enjoys the joke-telling.

➥ he probably tells the first joke and that’s what triggers you to tell him your own.

➥ he’s annoyed soap, gaz, price, and a few others with his jokes, yet you’re the first one to go back and forth with him.

➥ every time you tell him one he’ll make a mental note of it and remember it for annoying people on future missions.

➥ probably thinks some of the jokes are genuinely funny but still knows that it annoys people.

➥ if you tell him a corny joke related to ghosts, he’ll probably laugh more.

➥ i am aware that that is pretty corny in itself but look at the title man what did you expect.

➥ he’ll probably tell some jokes about your [c/n] to you back.

➥ he’ll know when you’re reusing a joke and calls you out on it.

➥ “Does this require more creativity than you expected, [c/n]?”

➥ [in a perfect imitation of matpat’s voice] i find his jokes delightful! [in regular voice, now whispering as if scared i’m going to get caught by ghost saying this] i’m lying. he’s my fictional father figure so i am very much obligated to enjoy his jokes.

—

”[c/n], how copy?” You heard Ghost’s voice crackle through over comms, and pushed the PTT button on your small ear piece to respond.

“Copy, doing just fine,” You responded, “Little bored, if I’m gonna be honest.”

“Oh really?” Ghost breathed out, sounding amused. You could hear some gunfire on his end, and the wind his his earpiece making the annoying whoosh noise you hated. Just a few moments later, Ghost spoke up again, “Y’wanna hear a joke to ease your boredom?”

“Sure,” You’d hummed, looking around to make sure you were still safe to just stay where you were and chat for a moment.

“What do you call a boomerang that doesn’t come back?” Ghost asked, his voice dry and sarcastic. You thought for a moment before shrugging—even though he couldn’t see you—and asking, “What?”

“A stick.” Ghost delivered. The stupid joke made you huff out a small laugh and mutter under your breath something about how good it was, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could practically hear Ghost’s self-satisfied smile.

“Another?” Ghost offered.

“How about I tell one?”

“Alright. Go ‘head.”

“How do ghosts stay in shape?” You asked, listening to Ghost’s amused huff on the other end of the line, like he knew where you were going with the joke but decided not to say the punch line for you.

“How?”

“They exorcize,” You responded, grinning, proud of yourself for thinking of that one.

“That’s not bad,” Ghost hummed, “Not bad at all.”

Ghost stayed quiet for another moment before asking, “Where do fish keep their money?”

“Where?”

“In a river bank,” Ghost said, his smile almost audible in his words.

“Nice one, L.t,” You breathed out, laughing quietly.

“We could do this all night,” Ghost mused, oddly happy at the sound of your quiet laughter, a little rustling audible on his end.

“Is that a challenge?” You asked in response to his musings, to which Ghost responds with a simple, affirmative hum. You think for a moment, before asking, “Why can’t a leopard hide?”

“Why?”

“Because he’s always spotted.”

Ghost hummed, mentally writing that one down before asking, “Why did the scarecrow get an award?”

“Why?”

“Because he was outstanding in his field,” Ghost delivered. With each joke you cringed more, and yet you kept responding with the same bullshit. The two of you went back and forth with the shitty jokes, eliciting responses from each other like, “That’s a good one,” or, “God, that’s awful.” It really had no in between, it was one or the other.

Eventually, and just in time because you were beginning to run out of jokes, Price’s voice crackled through over comms, letting you both know that everything was now under control and gave you both the coordinates for the rendezvous point. Before you get up from your spot, you can hear Ghost asking Price, “Wanna hear a joke?”, and Price’s quick response of, “I’m good”, the quick interaction making you laugh quietly.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” You muttered, voice full of amusement.

“Damn right he doesn’t,” Ghost huffed out, chuckling quietly when Price groaned and muted himself.

—

KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

➥ he just gives up and accepts his fate.

➥ i’m actually in full belief that he’ll just let you tell jokes and won’t even respond.

➥ if y’all are in the same spot, he’ll just stare at you in astonished silence, wondering how you know all of this and also wondering if he’ll make it out of this alive.

➥ i think he’s lovely, i also think that he would just let you do whatever.

➥ it’s like an older brother participating in his younger sibling’s tea party with their stuffed animals and bright pink plastic tea cups and fake tea.

➥ he considers taking out his earpiece but then realizes that that’s a bad idea so he just suffers through it.

➥ surprisingly, it’s easy to focus on his tasks even with your voice in the background.

➥ he’s only heard of ghost’s shitty jokes, and thinks that this might be worse, somehow.

➥ i mean, it’s not like he can’t ignore it, but he feels kind of bad that he does.

➥ he hums every now and then to remind you that he’s listening but he’s too caught up in pretending to listen to actually listen.

➥ when the mission’s over and you eventually stop telling your jokes he realizes how quiet it is without your voice in the background laughing at your own jokes.

—

“Why do bees have sticky hair?” You asked, this being about your twentieth joke of that evening. Gaz hummed in response, tone questioning, and you delivered the punch line, “Because they use a honeycomb.”

Gaz didn’t pay much attention to any of your punchlines, really just letting you get all of this out of your system, figuring that if you didn’t do it now it’d happen to some poor soul later. He accepted his fate early on, the moment you told your third dad joke, he knew it wouldn’t end. Call it a sixth sense of his, knowing when you’d be persistent in your quest to annoy every member of the 141, but he just knew.

“Where do surfers learn to surf?” You asked, giggling quietly at your own joke, despite the punchline being stupid. Gaz didn’t even respond, yet you still delivered, “At boarding school.”

Gaz considers taking his earpiece out for a moment, then thinks again and decides it’s probably better not to, knowing Price’s voice could crackle through into the earpiece and let you both know to head to the rendezvous point. Sighing quietly, he continued to look around him, scanning the area as he walked around, making sure no enemies were left alive. Your voice still hummed in the background, the sound becoming more normal to him and less distracting.

“Why did the tourists feel disappointed after seeing the Liberty Bell?” No response from Gaz. “Because it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

“What do rabbits need after getting caught in the rain?” A small, questioning hum. “A hare dryer.”

You continued to tell your jokes, and in the middle of one, Gaz interrupted.

“Y’know,” He started, “If you didn’t already have a call sign, we’d be calling you Jester.”

“I’d love to go by Jester,” You laughed quietly, lightly, “I feel like it’d be more fitting.”

“Probably, yeah,” Gaz chuckled quietly, about to say something else before Price’s voice came through over comms and let you both know to head over to the rendezvous point. After you stop telling your jokes and mute yourself, Gaz can’t help but notice how quiet it becomes.

He got a bit too used to your voice, it seems. He muted himself and sighed, pulling up the coordinates to the rendezvous point and heading over there.

[sheepiemc]

your touch (a craving)

part 2: arm (first)

You were on Diavolo’s mind again. 

This seemed to be happening more often than not these days, especially after that infamous bus ride a few weeks before. The warmth of your thigh on his still made him crazy whenever he thought about it. The strength of his willpower was astounding; how he didn’t end up just pulling you onto his lap because of that touch was beyond mortal comprehension. Such were dangerous thoughts for the future King of the Devildom.

Something you had said that day kept bringing him back to that conversation. Somehow, you got on the topic of Devildom flora and he mentioned the Flowers of the Abyss in the school garden would soon be in bloom. You said you hadn’t gotten to explore the gardens much, as it wasn’t a part of the very brief tour you got from Mammon that very first day. 

“We’ll need to rectify that immediately,” he remembered himself saying, leaning ever so closer - just as you did to him earlier on the bus. 

You tilted your head as if you were surprised by the prince's sudden boldness. “I would really appreciate that, Diavolo. Thank you.” 

The way your eyes brightened with your genuine smile made his heart soar; he'd been riding that high ever since. And he definitely clocked you dropping the honorific in his name. He had never been so excited to be disrespected (something to unpack at a later time). 

And so, it was time to fulfill his promise. 

He had finally cleared up his schedule and worked some magic behind the scenes to make sure you had the same time off. He texted you as soon as he was done to ask if you were available for the tour (even though he already knew the answer). You texted back almost immediately that yes, you were free and you would like to cash that rain check now. 

Diavolo looked out the window. It wasn't raining. 

You texted back, “I'll meet you at the garden gate.” 

He tried to control his excited gait as he made his way to the garden from the student council office, but if anyone saw how fast he was hustling through the halls, they would know something was up. 

Approaching the garden gate, he stopped when he saw you - close enough to observe but far enough away for you not to notice him yet. You were looking away from him, leaning against the fence that surrounded the perimeter of the garden. 

He admired the way your hair looked in the eternal Devildom starlight, though it made him wonder what it looked like in your natural environment. What did it look like in the sun? Did it feel as soft as it looked? 

You looked down at your phone and he could see your face in profile. He leaned against the fence now too, gently enough so as to not alert you to his presence. He wanted to memorize that profile, to become so familiar with it that he would be able to recognize you by its shadow. You smiled so fondly at whatever you found on your phone, and it made Diavolo's chest tighten. It was a stunning sight, to be sure - but he felt a sting of envy that he wasn't the reason for that smile.

“MC!” He waved and you looked at him, only a little bit startled.

“Hello, Lord Diavolo.” You put your phone away and turned to him, smiling wider.

He stopped short at the formality, leaving a respectable distance between you. Of course you would use his title here, in the hallowed halls of his very own institution, but that didn't make the blow land any softer. 

He schooled his features into his “jovial prince indulging another of his whims” mask and asked, “Are you ready for your first official tour of our gardens? I can't believe it took this long for you to get to see them. We'll have to fix that for the next group of exchange students we bring in.” 

“Yes, well,” your smile faltered infinitesimally, so minutely, anyone else might not have seen a difference. But Diavolo did. Demon that he was, he felt slightly vindicated but it didn't make him feel any better. In fact, it only reminded him that your stay here was temporary. “I'm glad you're the one that gets to show me, My Lord .” 

He was startled by the emphasis on his title. Could you really see right through him? He almost shuddered at the thought before fully turning away from you to open the gate, allowing you to walk inside. “It's a huge garden and we have much to see so let's get on then, shall we?” 

You walked past him, your smile ever so slightly morphing into a smirk. Diavolo released a breath he didn't realize he was holding and closed the gate behind him. 

You wound the serpentine trails of the garden at a decidedly uncomfortable distance. Diavolo kept you at more than arm's length, a distance he maintained every time you stepped a little bit closer. He named every interesting plant you pointed out because what else is a prince to do for millennia if not memorize every plant name in his domain? 

When you arrived at the section affectionately called “the flower fields”, you couldn't hold in your enthusiasm for all the strange, beautiful, and entirely unfamiliar flowers that populated this part of the garden. Your glittering expression softened Diavolo’s heart, reminding him why he chose to bring you here in the first place. 

“Those would be the Flowers of the Abyss.” He gestured to some flowers with dark purple petals with a black gradient and blood-red stamens, a combination you had certainly never seen on any flower on earth. 

“Can I touch them?” you asked. 

“Smart of you to ask,” he smiled. “If you wish.” 

He watched you, standing on the other side of the trail, as you tentatively reached out for the plant, rubbing its petal between your fingers. Your lips parted in a near-silent gasp. Diavolo gasped too, albeit involuntarily, his attention oscillating between your fingers and your face. 

“It's so soft,” you whispered reverently as you gently cupped the flower in both hands. You leaned in, bringing your face closer to the bloom. Diavolo swallowed hard. Was he really getting jealous of a flower? In trying to feel the petals against your cheek, you managed to get some pollen on the corner of your mouth. “And they smell delightful,” you sighed, standing up straight, and releasing the flower from your grasp. 

“MC, you have-” he couldn't finish the sentence, so he only vaguely gestured to his mouth, wishing he could get it off you himself. 

“Oh,” you wiped it off with your thumb and looked at it quickly before sticking your thumb in your mouth. “Mmm, sweet, too.” 

At that, Diavolo had to look away or else he might end up doing something he would certainly regret. That's when he noticed all the Hell Jasmine growing on his side of the trail. Stepping away from them, Diavolo cleared his throat, saying, “Yes, well, there is still more garden to get to so let's-” 

“Of course,” you interrupted, “I know you're very busy, you must have something more important to attend to today.” 

Anyone else listening to you might have taken that statement at face value, as someone being considerate of a prince’s schedule. But if you could read him, then he could read you just as well. 

He heard the subtle hurt. 

And it crushed him. 

“That's not-” he started. 

That's when time slowed down. As Diavolo approached you to try to assure you that you had his full attention, you stepped toward him as well. What you didn't see was the creeping vine that caught your foot as you stepped away. 

You were falling. 

You reached out for something - anything - to steady yourself, to catch yourself before you hit the ground. That something just happened to be Diavolo. His arm to be exact. The desperate grip short-circuited his brain and all he could think was please, don't let go. Long dormant synapses were firing in his brain and his eyes were only focused on where you two were touching. When you looked up at him, you realized just how close your faces were. You could've been standing there for an eternity, or only a few seconds - the Prince was absolutely transfixed.

You could've been standing there for an eternity, or only a few seconds. “You saved me, Diavolo. Thank you. I almost got your uniform dirty,” you joked in an attempt to snap him back to reality. 

He looked at you. 

You looked back at him. 

“Yes, well,” he said, his voice a little strained, “we couldn't have that now, could we?”

You nodded and straightened out, releasing his arm at the same time. He mirrored your posture and placed his hands behind his back, out of sight, so you could not see the vice grip he had on the arm you were just holding. “Shall we continue the tour? We haven't even seen the restricted part of the garden yet.” 

You smiled at him again, “I would love nothing more.” 

And you walked side by side with only a few inches between you.

(next)

A/N: Hell Jasmine is a pale blue, glowing flower with a sweet aroma. Breathing in its fumes makes demons extremely needy and affection-craving. (Obey Me Wiki)

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Full Moon~

i hope this counts? this is @inubaki's request! i hope you like it! it is also inspired by @things-arent-what-they-seem66's own version!

an omegaverse au where adam's mask conceals his scent. it cracks, and lucifer smells him! inubaki allowed me to put my own creative spin on it!

i hope you like it!

@adamsappleweek

The moon gleamed softly in the velvet sky, its silver light spilling over the garden, casting shadows that danced across the leaves of the Tree of Life. Lucifer sat beneath it, its ancient bark warm against his back, the soft rustle of the leaves above offering him a brief, but fragile, sense of comfort. The moon wasn't fully formed yet, not complete, much like himself. It still had time to grow, to take its final shape. But Lucifer? He wasn’t sure if time could change anything for him. The thought brought a bitter pang to his chest, a quiet ache he had become too familiar with.

His wings shimmered in the moonlight, catching the glow as they fanned out behind him, majestic and ethereal, yet still somehow... incomplete. Lucifer let out a long, weary sigh, tipping his head back to rest it against the bark of the tree. He watched the sky, but his mind was far away, lost in the complexity of his own existence.

He loved the humans—adored them, even. From the moment he first laid eyes on them, he had been captivated by their innocence, their capacity for love, and their potential to grow. Unlike his fellow angels, they felt real to him, tangible in ways his brothers and sisters never did. But the more time he spent among them, the more he realized the gaping chasm that lay between them. They didn’t know the burden of being classified, of being labeled by something they had no control over. They were just... human. Simple, free of the chains that bound him so tightly, so suffocatingly.

But Lucifer was no human. He could never be one, no matter how much he might long for that simplicity. He was something else—something set apart, always on the fringes, even here in this place he had thought he belonged. He was an omega, the only one of his kind in all of Heaven, in all of Creation. A rare, coveted thing in the eyes of the universe, yet it felt more like a curse than a blessing.

Among his siblings, the other angels, there was an unspoken rule: omegas were meant to be soft, sweet, and yielding, expected to submit to the will of the alphas. Alphas, like the rest of his kind, were aggressive, dominant, often naïve in their certainty of their own power. They commanded with force and arrogance, expecting everything to fall into place beneath their control. They were Heaven’s warriors, Heaven’s pride, and Lucifer—he was supposed to be Heaven’s beauty, its grace, a delicate thing meant only to follow, never to lead.

But Lucifer had never been delicate. He had never bowed to anyone’s will, never let them reduce him to just an "omega." His siblings had tried, over and over, to put him in his place, to make him submit as they believed he should. They flaunted their dominance, their superiority, but Lucifer never faltered. He refused. There was no one—no alpha, no brother or sister—who could make him bend. He wasn’t their "omega," not the way they wanted him to be.

And yet, that defiance made him an outsider. He wasn’t like them, not fully. But with the humans... oh, how they made him feel something different, something whole. They didn’t look at him and see an omega. They didn’t smell the faint hint of his pheromones and expect submission, obedience. To them, he wasn’t a title or a role. He was just Lucifer. He could be himself, unburdened by Heaven’s expectations, free of the weight that came with his nature. For the first time, he thought he had found his place.

But it wasn’t enough.

Lucifer’s heart clenched as he remembered the way the humans looked at each other—how they touched, how they loved without the constraints of secondary genders, without the invisible bonds that tied him down. They had no pheromones to tangle with, no alpha or omega to complicate their relationships. They were free to love as they chose, and it made him ache with a longing so deep, it was almost unbearable. He had accepted that they were different from him, and that was fine. He could live with that. But the more time he spent with them, the more he realized the bitter truth: he would always be different. No matter how close he got, no matter how much he loved them, he could never truly be one of them.

Heaven didn’t care about his feelings. Heaven wanted him to mate, to settle down, to fulfill the purpose of his kind. The pressure weighed on him every day, heavier than any sword or shield. Heaven wanted him to breed, to take an alpha and fall into the role they had always envisioned for him. But how could he? He couldn’t stomach the thought of it. The scent of alphas made his skin crawl, their presence suffocated him in ways that were becoming harder to ignore. The idea of submitting to one, of bonding, of giving himself over in that way—it made him feel sick, hollow.

Lucifer’s hands clenched in the soft earth beneath him, his eyes stinging as the cold reality set in deeper than before. He was alone. The humans, beautiful as they were, could never fill the void inside him. And the angels, his brothers and sisters—they would never see him as anything more than a pretty omega. He was trapped, lost between two worlds that neither truly understood nor accepted him.

Lucifer watched from a distance as Adam and Lilith sat together in the garden, their laughter carried on the soft breeze, mingling with the gentle rustle of the trees. His heart twisted in ways he didn’t fully understand yet, a slow-burning ache that seemed to hollow out his chest. He had adored Adam from the very moment the human had taken his first breath. Adam had been... perfect. The way his eyes, a deep, rich green, sparkled when he smiled—the softness in them when he spoke to Lucifer—was something that made the archangel’s heart flutter in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

But now, those eyes were focused elsewhere. On her. Lilith. Adam’s wife, chosen by God, formed from the same earth that had given Adam life. Lucifer watched, feeling that all-too-familiar sense of longing stir in his chest as Adam laughed at something Lilith said, his face lighting up in a way that Lucifer wanted so desperately to be the cause of.

It burned.

The jealousy was a sharp, cruel thing, gnawing at him from the inside, a bitterness that tasted of rejection. He tried to push it down, tried to convince himself it was nothing, just a passing feeling. After all, wasn’t Adam his closest friend? Didn’t they share something no one else could understand? It had always been the two of them, hadn’t it? Since the beginning, when Lucifer had taken Adam under his wing, guiding him, showing him the wonders of Heaven and Earth alike. Adam had looked at him like he was something more than just an omega, something more than the beautiful, delicate creature his brothers and sisters always wanted to mold him into. With Adam, he had been… seen.

But now Lilith was there, and Adam’s focus had shifted. She was his companion, his partner. She had taken the place that Lucifer had once held so dear. The realization hit Lucifer hard, like the crack of thunder in an empty sky. He wasn’t the one making Adam smile anymore. He wasn’t the one Adam turned to first, and that cut deeper than any wound ever could.

Lucifer leaned against the Tree of Life, his wings dimmed, his face shadowed in sorrow as he watched the two humans. Adam was supposed to be his. He had always been his. And yet, he felt Adam slipping away, the distance between them widening with each passing day. Lucifer told himself it was Lilith’s fault. She had stolen Adam’s attention, drawing him away from what truly mattered—from him. Lucifer was certain of it. Adam was destined for more than this; Adam was supposed to be with him, to see him, to cherish him. The bond between them had been so pure, so perfect, and now it was crumbling before Lucifer’s very eyes.

But the truth that Lucifer couldn’t admit—wouldn’t admit—was that it wasn’t Lilith herself. No, it was something far deeper. Adam had a purpose, a duty to fulfill, and that duty had nothing to do with Lucifer. Adam was the father of humanity, the one who would create life, who would populate the earth with beings made in his image. That was what mattered to Adam. His mission, his destiny given by God.

Lucifer was not part of that destiny. And that realization clawed at his soul with a fierceness he couldn’t ignore.

His brothers and sisters had seen it. They had noticed his growing obsession with Adam, the way his eyes followed the human wherever he went, the way his heart seemed to cling to every word Adam spoke. They warned him—warned him not to get too close. They told him it was foolish, that the humans were different, that they didn’t have the same bonds, the same needs as angels.

“You’re an omega, Lucifer,” they reminded him, over and over again. “Humans don’t have secondary genders. They don’t need you the way you want to be needed.”

But he hadn’t listened. He couldn’t. How could they understand the way his heart raced when Adam looked at him, the way his soul seemed to sing when Adam smiled at him? No one else made him feel that way. No one else ever could.

But now Lilith was there. She was Adam’s companion, fulfilling the role Lucifer had once imagined for himself. She was what Adam needed to fulfil his duty, to create the future of humanity. Lucifer’s hands clenched into fists, his wings trembling with suppressed emotion. He had never wanted to hurt anyone, but the sight of Adam with Lilith, the way Adam’s focus had shifted entirely to her... it tore him apart.

He couldn’t stand it.

Lucifer convinced himself it was only temporary. Adam would come back to him. He had to. Adam would realize, in time, that Lucifer was the one who truly understood him, who had always been there for him. He would see that Lilith was only a distraction, a fleeting thing compared to what they had.

And so, when the jealousy and pain became too much to bear, Lucifer made his decision. He would get rid of Lilith. He would remove the obstacle that stood between him and Adam. Adam would forgive him—how could he not? Lucifer was doing it for them, for the bond they shared, for the future they could still have together.

But things did not go as he had planned. When Lucifer approached Lilith, intending to persuade her to leave, to step aside and let him be the one in Adam’s life, it only made matters worse. Lilith, strong and defiant, refused to be subdued. She saw through Lucifer’s intentions, and their clash was inevitable. In the end, Lilith was cast out, but not in the way Lucifer had expected. She left, not because Lucifer had made her, but because she refused to submit to anyone.

And when Adam found out, when he learned what Lucifer had done—everything shattered.

Adam didn’t forgive him. He didn’t come back to Lucifer, didn’t smile at him the way he used to. Instead, there was only hurt in Adam’s eyes, a betrayal that cut deeper than anything Lucifer had ever imagined. The green eyes he loved so much no longer looked at him with warmth, but with cold distance, a silent condemnation that tore Lucifer apart from the inside.

It was then that the truth finally hit him.

Adam had never belonged to him. It was never about Lilith. It wasn’t about him being an omega, or even the nature of their bond. Adam’s heart, his mind, his very being—had always been devoted to something greater. To God. To the mission he was created for. He had a destiny that Lucifer could never be a part of. Adam was the father of humanity, destined to be the foundation of an entire race. And Lucifer…

Lucifer was meant to bring forth a new way of angels…

Lucifer was nothing but a dreamer, clinging to something that was never his.

The realization broke him. The ache in his heart turned to anger, to bitterness, to a rage that he couldn’t contain. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Adam had been given a purpose, a mission, while he had been left with nothing but his hollow existence as an omega, something Heaven expected to be docile, sweet, and beautiful. But Lucifer was not those things. He was fierce. He was burning. He was more than what Heaven wanted him to be.

And if Adam couldn’t see that—if Adam would never love him the way Lucifer had so desperately wanted—then maybe he didn’t deserve him at all.

It was in that moment, as Lucifer’s denial crumbled and the truth of his rejection sank in, that the first seeds of corruption took root. A darkness, slow and insidious, began to creep into his heart. He had tried to love, had given everything to Adam, and yet, in the end, he was left with nothing.

Because Lucifer was just an omega without his lover.

The moon shone above him, casting its usual light over the desolation of Hell. In Eden, the moon had been a soft, ethereal blue and white—a gentle, nurturing presence. Lucifer had always felt at peace beneath its glow, as if the moon cradled him in its light, offering him a refuge from the harshness of the world. Omegas, like him, were said to belong to the moon. It was their protector, their guardian. Alphas were children of the sun, fierce and dominant, burning with a fire that Lucifer could never relate to. That was how it had always been in Heaven—how he had believed it would always be. The moon was his sanctuary.

But now, here in the land of the damned, that same moon was nothing but a tormentor. When he had been cast out of Eden—cast out of Heaven—everything he had once known, everything he had once believed, had been torn away from him. Lucifer had fallen so far. His once-bright wings, radiant and proud, were now dim and dull, weighed down by the shame and sin of his actions.

It had all started with Adam. Adam, with his green eyes and his quiet smile, who had captured Lucifer's heart in ways he never could have predicted. Lucifer had loved him—wanted him. But Adam had chosen another. Lilith, and then later, Eve. The humans had always belonged to each other, and Lucifer was left on the outside, his heart shattered by the truth he refused to see. Adam had never been his. And so, when Lucifer’s love turned to jealousy, when the ache of being unwanted became too much, he had made a decision.

If he couldn’t have Adam, he would ruin him.

That was the thought that had driven him, consumed him. When Adam and Eve bit into the forbidden fruit, when they were cast from Eden just as Lucifer had been, a twisted sense of satisfaction had filled him. He had gotten his revenge. He had taken something from Adam—just as Adam had taken something from him. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

His Father, God, had seen through him. He had known what Lucifer had done, the spite that had driven him to lead humanity to its fall. And for that, Lucifer had been punished. Not with the cold distance he had once feared from Adam, but with something far worse. He was cast down, not just from Heaven, but from everything he had ever known.

Now, the moon that shone down upon Hell was not the comforting presence it had once been. It wasn’t blue and white like the one in Eden. It was red—deep, blood-red, and it burned him every time it rose. The light seared his skin, made his body tremble with a pain so unbearable it made him want to scream. It flared through him, making his heat worse, more excruciating than it had ever been in Heaven.

The nights when the red moon rose, once a month, were the worst. Lucifer’s body would burn with need, an uncontrollable ache that coursed through him, and all he could think about was Adam. Adam’s eyes, Adam’s voice, Adam’s warmth. He would sob, helpless and alone, crying out into the darkness for a man who would never forgive him. A man who would never come for him.

He was alone now, more alone than he had ever been in Heaven. And the moon—once his source of comfort—now only reminded him of what he had lost, of what he could never have. The red light made him feel like his very soul was being ripped apart, piece by piece, each time the moon’s light touched him.

Lucifer’s cries would echo through the caverns of Hell, a reminder of his fall, of his mistakes. He had loved too deeply, too selfishly. He had wanted Adam for himself, and now… he had nothing. The one being he had given everything for, the one he had ruined himself for, was lost to him forever.

The red moon hung heavy in the sky, casting its oppressive light over Lucifer as he lay curled on the cold floor of his castle, his wings limp and broken around him. He trembled, his breath coming in ragged sobs as the pain of his heat surged through him, relentless and unforgiving. And all he could do was whisper Adam’s name, over and over, as if somehow, by some miracle, Adam might hear him. Might come to him. Might save him.

Lucifer’s hand would be pushed between his thighs, his fingers bumping harshly inside him as the red glow of the moon forced his heat to rampage through his body.

He wanted Adam. He wanted Adam to come take care of him. To love him and be his mate.

But Adam never came.

Lucifer hated the red moon. It was a cruel, merciless thing, reminding him every month of his loneliness, his abandonment, and the unfulfilled need that gnawed at his very core. He hated it—but it only rose once a month. He could deal with that, he told himself. He could endure the pain, the longing. After all, he had survived this long, hadn’t he? Even if it tore him apart, even if it left him sobbing in the dark, he would survive. He had to. Because there was no one else who could save him now.

Only the moon, and the moon no longer cared.

A thousand years had passed since Lucifer’s fall, and Hell had become a place of eternal unrest. Flames burned high in the distance, the skies above Hell tainted with smoke and ash. Heaven's exterminations had become a constant, angels in their gleaming black and silver armor swarming through the kingdom that was once Lucifer’s domain. He typically paid no mind to the angels tearing through Hell’s landscape, their holy crusades on the damned. He had long ceased to care about the endless parade of sinners or their fates. They were beneath him—just like everything else in this forsaken realm.

But Charlie was different. His daughter, born of his magic, with her relentless optimism and foolish desire to save the unsalvageable. Charlie, his precious child, cared too much about the very souls he had discarded without thought. She had opened her hotel, a beacon of hope in the most hopeless place in existence, trying to offer redemption to the damned. It was her dream to change Hell, to make it a place where redemption was possible.

Lucifer knew better. He had seen the darkness that festered in the hearts of both angels and men. Redemption? It was a fairy tale—a lie. But Charlie believed in it, and in some part of him that still held onto the faintest echoes of love, Lucifer wanted her to succeed. He wanted to protect her, even if he couldn’t bring himself to share her hope.

He should have warned her. Opening that hotel was bound to ruffle Heaven’s feathers. Of course they would come for her. But Lucifer had been too ashamed, too broken to leave his castle on most days. The red moon, always watching, always burning him from the inside, had left him a shadow of the archangel he once was. He spent his nights whimpering in the darkness, his mind consumed by the memories of the one he had lost—the one who had never been his. The man he still loved.

Adam.

Lucifer had vowed never to let himself feel that way again. But as the angels descended on Charlie’s hotel, their righteous fury set to destroy everything she had built, something inside him stirred. Charlie could be killed. His daughter, his blood, his light—she was out there, defenseless against Heaven’s wrath. Lucifer’s shame, his endless grief, the weight of his failure… none of it mattered now. He couldn’t let her die. He wouldn’t.

He left his castle for the first time in centuries, his wings heavy and dragging behind him as he made his way to the hotel. As he approached, he could see the scene unfolding before him. Angels surrounded the building, their blades shimmering with holy fire, poised to tear apart anyone who dared oppose them. And there, in the center of it all, standing with an air of command and purpose, was him.

Adam.

Lucifer’s breath caught in his throat. His heart leapt inside his chest, pounding against his ribs like a caged bird. Adam’s presence was like a blade to his soul, sharp and unrelenting. After all these years, after everything that had happened, there he was, as glorious as ever, bathed in the divine light of Heaven. His armor gleamed under Hell’s burning sky, his posture strong, unyielding. But his face… his face was still the same. Still beautiful. Still Adam.

Lucifer’s body trembled, his wings twitching with the dark, undeniable urge to act. To take. Adam was in Hell—so close, close enough to touch. Lucifer could reach out, grab him, drag him away from Heaven, from everything. He could take Adam before anyone even realized he was there. No one would stop him. Lucifer had always been unnaturally powerful for an omega, a fact that had made his siblings uneasy, but he had never cared. That strength pulsed through him now, his hands trembling with the need to act. He could do it. He could have Adam again.

He should do it.

But as his gaze shifted to the scene unfolding before him, something stopped him cold. Adam wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t hurting Charlie. No, he was taunting her, his voice carrying an edge of cold authority, but his hands remained at his sides. He wasn’t striking her, wasn’t unleashing Heaven’s wrath upon her. He was just… scaring her. Toying with her, perhaps. Charlie’s wide eyes and frazzled expression showed that his words were working. She was frightened, unsure how to handle the situation, but Adam wasn’t causing her any real harm.

Lucifer’s mind raced, torn between the primal urge to seize Adam and the growing realization that something was wrong—terribly wrong. Adam, the man he had loved, the man he had once tried to ruin, was here, in Hell, and yet… he wasn’t acting like the Adam Lucifer remembered. The Adam who had been so focused on duty, so driven by the will of God. What was he doing here, taunting Lucifer’s daughter?

Something dark twisted inside Lucifer, something he had long buried beneath the weight of his grief and shame. He could feel it clawing at the edges of his mind, whispering in the back of his thoughts. He could take Adam now, drag him away before Heaven even noticed. He could have him, keep him close, keep him his. No one would ever know. No one would ever stop him.

His wings twitched again, trembling with the desire to act. The moon hung heavy in the sky, its blood-red glow intensifying the heat in Lucifer’s veins, urging him to move, to act on the twisted yearning that had plagued him for millennia.

But he hesitated.

Lucifer’s eyes locked onto Adam’s face, searching for something—anything—of the man he had once known. There was something different about him now. The gleam in his eyes was colder, more detached, as if Heaven had hardened him in ways Lucifer hadn’t anticipated. The warmth, the softness that Lucifer had loved so fiercely, seemed to be gone, replaced by a soldier’s discipline. And yet, deep down, Lucifer knew it was still Adam. The same Adam who had captivated his heart, the same Adam he had ruined everything for.

Lucifer’s body trembled, torn between the desire to take what he believed was his and the knowledge that no matter how powerful he was, no matter how close Adam stood, he would never truly have him. Not the way he wanted. Not the way he had once dreamed.

For now, all he could do was watch, ready to intervene if Adam’s taunts turned to violence. But the dark, twisted longing inside him refused to fade. He could take Adam. He should take Adam.

But the question that lingered, the one Lucifer couldn’t answer, was whether Adam would ever forgive him for it—whether Adam could ever be his again.

Lucifer’s breath hitched in his throat as he watched the scene unfold, his eyes locked on Adam’s masked figure. That monstrous face—twisted and grotesque—was the only thing separating him from the man he had loved so long ago. And yet, even behind the cruel armour, something inside Lucifer still stirred, that old, insidious desire pulling at him.

Adam was here. Close. Too close.

But then, something shifted. Adam’s commanding, cold voice cracked—breaking with sudden panic.

“Look out!” he yelled, his tone urgent, filled with something Lucifer had never expected to hear.

Fear. Desperation. For Charlie.

Charlie spun around at the sound of Adam’s warning, but it was too late. A gleaming angelic blade was already slicing through the air, aimed directly for her. The strike was lethal, poised to behead her in a single swift motion. Time seemed to slow as Lucifer’s heart slammed in his chest, the weight of helplessness crushing him.

But before Lucifer could even move, Adam did.

With a speed and ferocity that left the angels around him stunned, Adam lunged forward, his body a blur of dark robes and raw determination. He threw himself between Charlie and the oncoming blade, the force of his movement jarring as the blade crashed into his mask with a sickening crack. The sound echoed through the air, sharp and final, as the angelic weapon collided with Adam’s face, creating a jagged fissure down the middle of the monstrous mask.

The world seemed to stop.

Charlie’s eyes went wide in shock and disbelief, her body frozen as she stared at the man who had just saved her life. Adam had protected her. From his own army. The soldiers of Heaven who had come to cleanse Hell, to purge the damned. He had intervened—not to frighten her, not to hurt her—but to save her.

Lucifer’s body trembled violently. His wings twitched, his breath ragged as the red moon loomed higher in the sky, its bloodthirsty glow intensifying the heat that surged through his veins. Sweat slicked his skin as the familiar ache began to pulse deep inside him, a primal need clawing its way to the surface. Adam had saved Charlie. Adam wasn’t trying to harm her—he was protecting her.

A sharp pang of yearning twisted in Lucifer’s chest. His eyes remained fixed on Adam’s shattered mask, the jagged crack running down its centre revealing only fragments of the face hidden beneath. But it was enough. That small glimpse of vulnerability—the raw, unfiltered instinct to protect, to save—only made Lucifer’s longing burn hotter.

He wanted to go to Adam, to tear off that mask and see his face. He wanted to pull him away from the chaos, to hold him close, to keep him, just as he had always dreamed of doing. Adam had been his once, or so he had convinced himself, and now he was here, within reach.

But Lucifer could only stand there, trembling, his wings trembling with the need to act. The red moon’s effects were already beginning to set in—his body overheating, his mind clouded with the urge to possess, to claim. He panted, trying to keep control, but Adam’s proximity, his unexpected act of defiance against Heaven’s soldiers, was too much. The sight of him risking his life for Charlie only heightened the hunger gnawing at Lucifer’s insides.

Adam had always been obsessed with his duty, with fulfilling God’s plan. That had been why Lucifer had lost him—why Adam had chosen to walk a path that led them to this moment. But now… now Adam wasn’t following orders. He wasn’t carrying out God’s will. He was protecting Lucifer’s daughter—the one person in Hell who still believed in redemption, who still believed in something good.

Lucifer’s heart pounded, his gaze locked on the fractured mask. His body screamed for action, for release from the unbearable tension that gripped him. He could feel his heat building, the red moon’s pull tightening around his soul. And Adam was there—so close, so vulnerable.

Lucifer’s wings twitched again, the dark temptation coiling tighter around him. He could take Adam. He could drag him away from Heaven, from its grip, from the duty that had always come before them. He could make Adam his. The red moon, heavy and burning above, whispered in his mind, urging him to act, to seize what had been denied to him for so long.

But as Lucifer’s trembling hand reached out, the sound of Adam’s labored breathing caught his attention. Beneath the mask, there was a rawness, a fragility that Lucifer hadn’t heard in centuries. Adam was hurt. He had thrown himself in front of an attack meant for Charlie, risking everything—not for Heaven, not for his mission, but for her.

A soft whine escaped Lucifer’s lips, his body shaking with the weight of his conflicting desires. He wanted to take Adam, to have him, but at the same time, he knew—he knew—that Adam’s heart had never belonged to him. It had always been devoted to something higher, something beyond them. And yet… here Adam was, bleeding and battered, having saved his daughter.

Lucifer’s breath came in short, desperate gasps as the red moon’s glow intensified, filling him with the unbearable need to act. He could feel the pull between them, the undeniable connection that had haunted him for a thousand years. But this time, it wasn’t just about him. It wasn’t just about his desire or his longing.

It was about Charlie. And the fact that Adam, for reasons Lucifer couldn’t fully understand, had chosen to protect her.

“Adam…” Lucifer whispered, his voice barely audible as he watched the mask crack further, revealing the faintest glimpse of Adam’s face beneath.

Would Adam forgive him if he acted on his darkest desires? Could Adam ever be his again?

The answer, Lucifer knew deep down, was no. But it didn’t stop him from wanting it. From wanting him.

The red moon burned, and Lucifer trembled, caught between his hunger and the truth that would forever haunt him.

Lucifer’s breath quickened as he stared at Adam, a desperate hunger rising within him, one he had buried for centuries. The crack in Adam’s mask, jagged and raw, revealed more than just the broken visage of the angel—it revealed the intoxicating scent that Lucifer had nearly forgotten. A scent that stirred something ancient, something primal within him. It was a sweet, almost dangerous scent, so powerful that Lucifer’s knees almost buckled under its weight.

The air grew thick with tension, so much that it seemed to press down on everyone present.

Charlie, ever the kind-hearted and tender soul, fell to her knees beside Adam, her large, doe-like eyes filled with worry.

She reached out, hesitant but determined, her voice soft and trembling as she asked, "Are you okay? You're not here to hurt me, are you? You're trying to protect me."

Adam stiffened at her words, his gloved hand reaching for the cracked mask with a frustrated groan. He didn’t answer Charlie’s question directly, his discomfort evident as he grumbled under his breath, "Who the fuck wasn’t watching where they were throwing their angelic weapons?!"

One of his subordinates, a sheepish angel in silver armor, nervously raised her hand. “Sorry, sir. I was aiming for the princess! I’m just... overwhelmed with the freaks we’re fighting!”

Charlie frowned deeply at the angel’s words, her warmth quickly giving way to indignation as she glared up at the soldier. But before any further words could be exchanged, Lucifer decided to make his presence known. His voice, dripping with mock confidence, cut through the air like a blade.

“I’m—I'm..." He faltered.

His usual bravado slipping for a moment as something strange and unfamiliar invaded his senses. His eyes darted around, confusion creasing his brow. The scent—it was so new, so rich, like nothing he had ever encountered before. It was intoxicating, pulling him in like a magnet. Lucifer gulped, the arrogance he wore like armour fading into something more vulnerable.

“I mean... I’m the only one that matters…” Lucifer’s voice trailed off again.

His thoughts scattering as the scent consumed him. He hadn’t been exposed to something like this for eons. And Adam’s scent—it was nearly enough to knock him right out of the sky. It wasn’t just an ordinary scent; it was communion, something only alphas, omegas, and the occasional beta could experience. That deep, instinctual bond, the unsaid communication between pheromones, had been absent in Hell for so long, leaving Lucifer isolated in ways he hadn't even realized. But now... now he was feeling it again, and it was Adam.

Lucifer closed his eyes, trying to focus, but the sensations overwhelmed him. His body began to sweat, the effects of the red moon intensifying as his heat simmered beneath the surface. His wings twitched, his instincts screaming at him to act, to take, to claim.

He opened his eyes, and they darkened with hunger. He gazed at Adam with a new intensity, a dangerous, unrelenting desire building within him.

“You messed with my daughter,” Lucifer purred, his voice dripping with a dark, sensual edge. "And now, I’m going to fuck you."

The words echoed in the air, sharp and deliberate. Charlie gasped audibly, her jaw dropping as she stared at her father in disbelief. Never had she seen him react this way—never had she seen such raw, visceral emotion from the usually distant, unapproachable Lucifer. He was a beautiful creature, her father, and she had always known others—angels, demons, even mortals—desired him. But Lucifer had always shut them down, coldly, sometimes cruelly. He had never allowed anyone close, never let anyone in.

Charlie blinked, trying to process what she had just heard.

“Dad… it’s ‘fuck you up,’” she corrected cautiously, unsure whether he had simply misspoken or if this was something deeper. She watched him carefully, seeing something entirely new in his eyes.

Adam’s hand moved slowly to the crack in his mask, his body stiffening further as he cursed under his breath.

"Shit," he murmured, realizing the gravity of the situation.

The mask—his shield, his protection—was breaking. His true pheromones, the scent of his identity, were starting to seep into the air. And with it, came everything he had tried to bury.

Adam hadn’t always had a secondary gender. Humans were born without them—genderless until death. Adam, like every other mortal, had died human. But when he was welcomed into Heaven by Sera, everything changed. He remembered the moment vividly, the celestial gates opening for him, Heaven’s beautiful moon shining down on him like a promise of peace. But that peace was short-lived. The second his wings had unfurled beneath that moon; a horrifying transformation had begun. His body burned, his wings ached as they grew, and he was forced to become something more—something other. An angel with a secondary gender, a shift he could never undo.

"Charlie…" Lucifer’s voice dropped an octave, growing dark and dangerous. He breathed in deeply, his lips curving into a sharp, predatory grin. “I know what I said. I mean it.”

His gaze turned to Adam, and his expression changed—intense, wild, desperate. His wings flared behind him, casting a shadow over the scene as the red moon’s light bathed him in a demonic glow.

“I was naïve before. Clueless. I didn’t know how to handle my emotions back then, and I made terrible decisions because of it.” His voice grew stronger, more certain with each word. “But not this time. This time, I won’t make the same mistake.”

Adam swallowed hard, his entire body trembling as Lucifer's words sunk in. His heart pounded as he stared at the fallen archangel, the weight of Lucifer’s love—his obsession—crashing over him like a tidal wave.

“What do you mean?” Adam asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucifer’s grin widened, his sharp teeth gleaming in the red moonlight. The tension between them crackled, thick and almost suffocating as Lucifer’s eyes blazed with a dangerous promise.

“I love you, Adam,” Lucifer said, his voice low and full of possession. “I always have. And I’m so in love with you, there’s no way I can let you go. Not again.”

Adam’s eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth opening to speak, but no words came out. He was frozen, overwhelmed by the weight of Lucifer’s confession. The red moon gleamed brighter, its light piercing through the haze of battle, casting a hypnotic glow into Adam’s eyes.

And in that moment, everything else ceased to matter. Heaven, Hell, duty, morality—it all faded into the background as the primal force between them surged, undeniable and all-consuming. Lucifer wouldn’t let Adam go.

And for the first time in centuries, Adam wasn’t sure if he wanted him to.

Lucifer could sense it—Adam wouldn’t make this easy. He never did. But that was part of the charm, wasn’t it? Lucifer leaned back in his plush, sprawling nest, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he glanced at Adam. The angel sat on the far edge, arms crossed, a permanent scowl fixed on his face.

“Let me go, Lucifer,” Adam demanded, his voice sharp, his wings twitching with irritation.

Lucifer tilted his head innocently, blinking those large, bright eyes in mock confusion.

 “Go? I haven’t locked you up, darling. That’s such an awful word—kidnapping—you make it sound like I’m some sort of villain.” His voice was laced with an almost pouting sweetness, as if he were genuinely hurt by the accusation.

Adam groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You have locked me up! I can’t leave! You threw away the key, Lucifer.”

Lucifer waved a hand dismissively, his wings fluttering gently behind him.

“I didn’t throw it away. I simply misplaced it. Honestly, you’re being dramatic.” He clasped his hands together, his tone lilting, almost playful. “Besides, I wouldn’t call this locking you up. I prefer to think of it as... inviting you to stay with me. Isn’t that much nicer?”

Adam’s glare could’ve burned through stone. “I can’t leave! You are keeping me locked up!”

Lucifer sighed, a little exaggerated and innocent. “Adam, sweetheart, I’m not keeping you locked up... I’m pampering you.”

His voice was dripping with honeyed indulgence, as if the situation was something to be celebrated.

Adam’s groan grew louder, his fingers pulling at his hair in frustration.

“Lucifer,” he growled, “You cannot keep me locked in here forever.”

Lucifer’s smile widened, leaning forward slightly with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“I’m not locking you up,” he insisted again, his voice soft and playful. “I’m just making sure you’re comfortable. Pampered. Isn’t this nice? Look at how cozy the nest is, all soft and warm—perfect for you!”

Adam’s eyes darted around the luxurious nest Lucifer had created. It was indulgent—soft pillows, plush blankets, and rich silks strewn about in a perfect cocoon of comfort. Too perfect. Too tempting. And yet, it made Adam feel like a prisoner wrapped in velvet.

He huffed and sulked, sinking into the nest with a begrudging scowl, glaring at Lucifer from beneath his furrowed brows. Lucifer, ever the one to lean into theatrics, cooed at him softly, inching closer.

“Oh, come now, you look so handsome when you sulk.” He chuckled, reaching out to lightly brush his fingers against Adam’s stiff wings, making him tense even more.

“Charlie wants to visit,” Lucifer said sweetly, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Adam frowned deeply. “Why would she want to see me?”

Lucifer beamed, delighted by the question. “Because she wants to thank you, of course.”

“Thank me?!” Adam barked, his tone incredulous. “For what? I tried to kill her, remember?”

Lucifer snorted in amusement, waving his hand as though the idea was ridiculous. “No, you didn’t. You were trying to protect her. I know it, she knows it.”

He leaned in, tapping a finger to Adam’s forehead playfully. “We’re not stupid, darling. We can see things for what they really are.”

Adam opened his mouth to argue, to deny it, but Lucifer’s grin only grew wider, mischievous and knowing.

“And what exactly do you see, Lucifer?” Adam asked, a faint growl in his voice, challenging.

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed with a devilish sparkle as he leaned closer, crawling toward Adam with a slow, predatory grace. His voice was a low, teasing hum.

“I see that you care about us~” he purred, his tone dripping with amusement. “That you love us~”

He emphasized the words with a singsong lilt, his fingers ghosting over Adam’s arm as he practically preened into his personal space.

Adam spluttered, leaning back slightly, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. His skin prickled under Lucifer’s touch, and his heart raced despite himself. “I don’t—” he began, but his voice faltered, especially as Lucifer inched closer, lips almost brushing against his ear.

Lucifer’s voice dropped to a whisper, low and teasing. “It’s perfect, isn’t it? Because Charlie needs a mama too~”

Adam’s face twisted in shock, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Lucifer.

“Charlie’s 200 years old,” he snapped, his voice gruff. “She doesn’t need a mother.”

Lucifer chuckled, the sound rich and warm, completely unbothered by Adam’s annoyance.

“She’s still our baby girl,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against Adam’s hand in a gentle, coaxing way.

Adam huffed again, crossing his arms in defiance. “She’s not my baby girl.”

Lucifer’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in, his voice a breathy whisper.

“She will be,” he murmured, his words sending a shiver down Adam’s spine.

Adam could feel the heat rising in his chest, his wings stiffening as he struggled to maintain composure under Lucifer’s teasing.

“Lucifer,” he growled, his voice low with warning.

Lucifer only grinned wider, completely at ease in his role as tempter. He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently against Adam’s, their faces inches apart as he whispered with a playful lilt, “You’re staying, darling. With us. Forever.”

Adam’s heart raced, his breath catching as Lucifer’s words wrapped around him like a velvet chain. He wanted to deny it, to fight back, but the look in Lucifer’s eyes—the dangerous mix of love, desire, and possessiveness—made it impossible to pull away.

Lucifer grinned, his wings fluttering softly as he pressed a soft kiss to Adam’s temple, sealing his words with an intoxicating finality. “You’re ours now. And you’re not going anywhere.”

Lucifer, ever the embodiment of temptation and indulgence, buried his face into the curve of Adam's neck, inhaling deeply as Adam's scent enveloped him. A purr rumbled in Lucifer's chest, vibrating through his entire body as he basked in the intoxicating pheromones radiating from Adam’s trembling form.

"Mmm, how did you become an omega, my sweet?" he murmured, his breath hot against Adam’s skin.

Adam shuddered, every nerve ending alight with sensation as Lucifer held him, tight yet impossibly tender. It was overwhelming—this closeness, this intimacy that felt more like an entrapment than affection.

"Humans aren’t supposed to have a secondary gender," Lucifer added with a soft chuckle, his lips brushing teasingly against the sensitive skin of Adam's throat.

"I don’t," Adam growled, his voice taut with frustration, though the tremble in his tone betrayed him. He gritted his teeth, trying to resist the warm, unfamiliar pull of Lucifer’s body against his own.

Lucifer tilted his head, his mischievous gaze flickering with something darker, more playful. Slowly, he trailed his tongue over Adam’s untouched mating glands, savouring the reaction as Adam gasped, his entire body trembling involuntarily at the sensation.

Lucifer giggled, a sound that was both innocent and wicked, as if he were a child delighting in a newfound toy.

“You definitely look like you have a secondary gender to me,” he teased, his voice light and lilting as he licked again, sending another shiver down Adam’s spine.

Adam’s face flushed deep red, heat rising to his cheeks as Lucifer continued to kiss and lick at his mating glands, the sensations making his body betray him. He pushed Lucifer away, his hands firm but shaky.

“Stop that, you weirdo,” he grumbled, trying to regain his composure. “You’re behaving like a dog.”

Lucifer’s grin only widened, eyes glittering with amusement as he batted his eyelashes in mock innocence. “A dog? Me?”

“Come on, Addie~ how did you become an omega?” His voice was sing-song, almost taunting, but dripping with sweetness.

Adam stared back at Lucifer’s eyes—those luminous, knowing eyes—and sighed deeply. His body, tense and resisting just moments ago, slowly relaxed, sinking back into the plush pillows and cushions surrounding him. It was impossible to stay on guard with Lucifer’s warmth pressing in on him from every side, his pheromones gently mingling with his own in a way that was both comforting and disorienting.

As soon as Adam flopped back, Lucifer followed, crawling toward him like a cat, graceful and lazy, curling up around him possessively. Lucifer’s body pressed against Adam's, his touch soft but unmistakably firm, a silent promise that he wouldn’t be leaving Adam’s side anytime soon.

“Addie~” Lucifer cooed, his voice honeyed and thick with affection as he nuzzled into Adam’s neck, brushing his lips against the heated skin.

Adam sighed again, a deeper, more resigned sound this time.

"I didn’t have a secondary gender when I was alive," he muttered, his voice quieter now, edged with something almost like regret. "I only... I only had one when I died."

Lucifer hummed curiously, his chest still vibrating with that ever-present purr. His face rubbed against Adam's as if he were trying to imprint his scent into every inch of him, their pheromones mingling in the air, creating a heady, intoxicating blend.

"Must’ve been hard~ presenting all by yourself like that," Lucifer purred, his voice soft and coaxing, his hand gently tracing the line of Adam’s jaw.

Adam frowned, his lips pressed into a thin line as memories flashed in his mind—memories of Heaven’s blindingly beautiful moon, of his body undergoing the most terrifying and inexplicable changes.

"I didn’t have a choice," Adam admitted, his voice low and tight. “I saw Heaven’s moon, and my body... it just changed—I didn’t know how to stop it.”

Lucifer's eyes softened slightly, his teasing demeanour shifting as he listened closely, understanding flickering behind his gaze.

"Heaven’s moon?" he repeated, a soft hum in his throat. "How cruel... forcing you into a change you never wanted."

Adam swallowed thickly, his jaw clenched as he remembered the way his wings had burned, how his body had felt like it was being torn apart and rebuilt all at once.

"I didn’t want it," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t ask for it. But it happened. And now—"

Lucifer pressed his lips against Adam’s cheek, soft and tender, as if to soothe the old wounds that resurfaced with each word.

"Now you're mine," he whispered, his voice filled with a dark, possessive affection.

Adam’s breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away this time. Instead, he let Lucifer’s warmth envelop him, let the soothing scent of the fallen angel’s pheromones lull his mind into a strange calm. He could feel Lucifer’s heart beating against his chest, steady and reassuring, as if the devil himself was trying to tell him that he was safe here—even if he was trapped.

Lucifer purred softly, brushing his nose against Adam’s neck once more.

"I’ll take care of you," he whispered, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t have to go through this alone anymore.”

Adam closed his eyes, his body sinking deeper into the nest as he exhaled, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” he muttered half-heartedly, though he couldn’t deny the strange comfort Lucifer’s presence brought.

Lucifer chuckled softly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns across Adam’s chest.

"Of course you don’t," he said sweetly, his voice dripping with mischief. “But I’m going to do it anyway. Because you’re mine, Addie. And I take very good care of what's mine.”

A startled gasp escaped Adam; his eyes grow wide as Lucifer suddenly began to touch him between his legs. He arched his head, watching as Lucifer pushed his fingers up against his omega-gore, beginning to caress the sensitive flesh.

“Don’t worry Addie~ I’m going to make sure you feel really good for the rest of your life~”

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

Let's Talk Peter B

@iwasbored777 (Since you ask to be tagged)

Okay! I was on the fence about writing this post, but after doing this response and some encouragement, I decided that fuck it, let’s do this.

While I had seen multiple things about Gwen being a bad friend, a bad person, and other things I don’t want to say because I will start ranting- Peter B for the most part, has come out scotch free.

Don’t get me wrong, I had seen some people address his issues, but it has been a few posts in a sea of him with Mayday and people shipping with Miguel. Which hey, is okay with me, but when you see you a character you love be given the short end of the stick despite the circumstances yet another character that has much less to lose has their mistakes largely been ignored and basically be woobify.

Is not just Gwen, I had also seen people take beef with Jess as a mentor yet somehow leave Peter out of that conversation. Don’t get me wrong Jess is far from perfect (which is something I discussed before,) but again, Peter is far from perfect too.

Does this has to do with Peter being a beloved main character in the first movie? Yes. Does it also has to do with misogynoir and misogyny? Oh I don’t doubt it.

I don’t hate Peter B, far from it, I think he is a great adaptation of our spidey, and while I am not the biggest spiderman fan out there, I did grew up with Peter Parker in movies and cartoons so I do have love for this characters as well as his incarnation in Sony movies.

I will do my best to remain as unbiased and neutral as possible, but not gonna lie this entire thing is annoying me enough that I will say when I am aware of my own biases, as I always try to do.

But if you think liking a character stops me from calling them on their bullshit you are wrong.

I know this post is more about how Peter is with Miles and his role as a mentor, but I decided to address some other things I had seen people talk about because there is a reason I choose "Let's talk Peter B Parker" as a title.

Believe it or not, I am fine with this. Seriously.

Peter wasn’t here when Miles arrived, and considering they did a small tour and got an empanada on the way, I think wouldn’t be odd to say he wasn’t around when Miles arrived. My theory is that he was taking care of his own stuff, and once he knew that Miles was around, went to get Mayday to present her to Miles.

I think that’s pretty normal all things consider, he loves Miles and wouldn’t had fixed things with MJ and had his daughter without her, of course he would want the two of to met.

The enthusiasm is all things consider pretty sweet, and while I don’t approve of some things he does (like giving her a web shooter while being just a few months old?) Is one of those things that are part of superhero writing that has the children technically doing things that they shouldn’t be doing for their age, so I just let it slide because if I get hung up every time I see something like this, it would not end.

I’m the only one who is actually mad about this comment?

Yes, is a joke, I get that, and Peter is trying to take as much as steam off Miles by trying to frame him on the light that he messes up, but is just who he is.

It doesn’t make me any less annoyed.

For starters, I feel like I am rereading Percy Jackson again (No I will not explain that reference.) Because despite everyone more or less knowing what’s going on (Hobie said before he didn’t know what Miguel was hiding so how much he knows is unsure,) no one has attempted to explain the situation to Miles.

This is a trope I had seen enough (including WAY too many times in the books I mentioned,) and I really resent when characters act as if the protagonist or someone else is stupid just because they are unaware of something. ESPECIALLY if the characters saying so are aware they don’t know.

They are also letting him believe is a good thing he is in HQ, but that is actually not Peter’s fault. I am mad with Gwen on this one, but also Jessica, and Hobie well, he should have known enough to be able to tell him seeing Miguel is not good news. At least Hobie tries to warn him as subtly as possible.

Sure, Peter just got here, but the fact that he is already accusing Miles of just messing up with the universe carelessly is not something that doesn’t sit well with me. Either he knows that Miles doesn’t know and is making an insulting comment, or thinks Miles is aware of the situation and just acted recklessly. The second one is the best scenario, but I feel Peter is presuming way too much for someone that just came around and should have known better than believe Miles knew all of these details while Miguel basically has a giant banner of “Not Earth-1610 Anomalies allowed.”

Also, sidetrack but what exactly does Miles do that isn’t just your typical spidey behaviour? Yes he doesn’t always have full-formed plans before acting but you can say that about EVERYONE in the room at that moment.

“He wasn’t thinking, is not like he works!” My ass.

Want my two cents about this moment? Peter has zero business telling this to Miles.

When Miles asks Gwen about her dad, she is crestfallen, she doesn’t like to believe this more than he does; but unlike anyone else in this room, Gwen cannot return to her home dimension. The best case scenario is if she isn’t there, her dad may not die; but that’s the best case scenario, and that involves again, not stepping again in her home dimension ever again. Her best bet is never to see her home, or anyone she knows including her dad, because not only she may end up in prison, her presence may lead to the death of her dad.

And who knows, it may happen regardless; he may be dead already because he is a police officer and she couldn’t be there to give a hand or save him (As she said she did in Into the Spider-verse, by the way.)

Yet at least, she is coming to this with the idea that her life is going to have to SUCK for a few years, things happening or not happening depending on where she is but none of this is pretty or fair.

Peter? As far as we know, he is done.

Considering the age range of the Spidey-characters, chances are Peter already lived the canon events he needed to live, at best they don’t know what’s next, which means he can operate as he feels is the best course of action.

Miles asked him if he would have let his uncle die, but Peter lost his uncle over twenty years ago, he had enough time to grieve, to accept the outcome, and find happiness after it. And to top it all off, HE DIDN’T HAVE THAT MORAL DILEMMA PLACED IN FRONT OF HIM BEFORE IT HAPPENED.

I find Peter’s words hollow because unlike Miles, he was never asked to not intervene in a canon event, he hasn’t needed to deal with someone from his universe dying while he let it play out.

I am not saying he didn't suffer, he did, and a lot; yet he was unaware that this would happen, is way different having someone tell you “Oh those tragedies you lived? It’s the destiny that keeps everything together, it’s rough but it is what it is,” than someone telling you “Oh you are going to live a bunch of different personal tragedies, and you need to suffer with the burden of this knowledge because is this or everyone in every universe dies.”

(How much do you guys bet someone will use this as an example of the trolley problem in a philosophy class.)

Since we are going in kind of a chronological order, let’s go to something a tad lighter both because it deserves mention, and so I can cool down before I start ranting in Spanish (which is not going to be saying pretty things about B precisely.)

Yes, Peter recognizes this is bad parenting, which is good because it certainly isn’t good; I also have trouble believing he didn’t know AT LEAST ONE spider that could stay behind and watch Mayday while he went to the chase.

However, I do think the chase was never going to be dangerous, nor Peter thought it would be. He has been Spider-man for a quarter of a century, he has been swinging around for so long is second nature to him, I bet he has taken Mayday on “strolls” which is him swinging around.

There is also another screenshot that really encapsulates that Peter didn’t realize how dire the situation is, but that’s for later.

There is also the possibility that he asked Miguel to do this as a way to distract him, but considering this is the only time he does this and is going around him being obsessed with Mayday (Which I think is a bit too much, but I blame more the writers than Peter for that.) I am inclined to believe this is not the case.

(Sigh) I promise to try to be neutral, so I need to bring this up.

What they were talking about earlier can be lumped to a bit later on, and I decided to bring this instead of talking about it when Miles and Peter saw each other (which is I didn’t bring because what I could say would be the same as this.) Because this is something really beautiful that I didn’t want to leave out.

I think that’s what angers me the most about this, because in a vacuum? I love this.

I am a sucker for found family tropes, I love the idea that Miles would grow to see people like Peter B, Noir, and so forth as a family. I love how Peter says how much Miles means to him and meeting him changed his life for the better.

Peter B loves Miles, he said that in the last movie; I can’t just erase that.

However, is exactly because of this scene, that what happens next makes me so sad.

Oh, Miles.

I didn’t mention it in the previous image nor did I took detailed screenshots for the sake of my sanity and to not turn this way too long. (Though I may do it in another moment- Ok I need to focus.)

Miles was obviously affected by what Peter said to him, it obviously means a lot because Miles also loves Peter; of all the spiders in the gang he was the one who he spent the most time initially; he wouldn’t be the Spider-man he is today without him.

And it breaks my heart how Miles says this.

Look at the angle, at his posture; Miles can’t even turn to say this to Peter’s face because it hurts so much. He looks so small in that shot, trying to emphasize how he is just a teen, how he really loves them so much, and it breaks his heart to know that they could visit him, and they didn’t.

Let’s remember what he was doing at the beginning of the movie; he was trying to study physics. He is great at it, and he was since the first movie, however, this is clearly not his passion; he loves his art and even if he didn’t know what he wanted to do yet in the first movie, you can see how much he loves what he does.

And he was willing to leave all of that aside, just to see Gwen, Peter and the others again; because as far as he knew there wasn’t any other way. Remember, he was aiming at Princeton; he would need to bleed and work hard to get there, and even after, being in this field it was not going to be a walk in the park; getting to make the dimensional travel work (At least without seeing Miguel’s technology like Hobie seemed to do;) was also going to be hard.

Miles wanted to do all of that for them, and them? They didn’t.

Now; I don’t blame Gwen in this scenario.

I had said this much in this post before, and a bunch of others too. Gwen was stuck with the Spider Society; and yet she risked losing everything, from homelessness to prison, to spend an afternoon with Miles the second she had an excuse.

What is Peter’s excuse?

He couldn't, he couldn't.

That's what he had to say for himself.

Here is the thing: I am not sure I buy it.

Gwen makes sense to me, Miguel didn't want Gwen to be involved since the beginning and obviously doesn't trust her when is about Miles; Gwen wasn't exactly wrong to fear she would get kicked out if she acted out of line.

Peter? I have my doubts.

We don't know Miguel's and Peter B's relationship (I know some shippers have some ideas, not my cup of tea but I have no problem if people like it.) However, we know that Peter B was there when Miguel's dimension collapsed, later in the movie we saw what Miguel did to Gwen for what happened (believe me, we will get there.)

Even if that was the case; Peter’s situation is much less dire than Gwen’s. Even if Peter could be kicked out of the organization for disobeying Miguel; he would still have his wife, his house, his daughter. He would had been in the same spot he was at the end of the first movie, if not better because now he would had a chance to know both him and Miles would be okay.

I am getting ahead of the post here, but I honestly don’t know how much of Canon BS Peter believes; he clearly doesn’t think Miles is bad for being an anomaly, nor his daughter (technically because Peter wasn’t supposed to meet Miles, he wouldn’t have his daughter. Is certainly a NO in the comics.) Miguel is convinced that Miles’ presence is enough to create more holes in the multiverse; Gwen obviously doesn’t share that view. Peter? I don’t know if he thinks there is actually something to lose for visiting him.

One way or another, he doesn’t really give me a reason here; who knows, maybe when Beyond comes there would be enough information for me to admit Peter did the right thing. For now? No.

Here, we have Miles telling Peter he wanted to meet them so badly, and even if Peter doesn't have a clue of how literal Miles is; you can hear it in his voice, in his posture, how he still cannot look at Peter because to that point it hurts.

And what's Peter's response to this?

(Deep breath,) Boy at moments like this I really wish I didn't think so hard about media.

It hurts me, and it angers me, because it is a pretty sweet moment, but when you think hard about it, it just becomes messy.

I could make an entire discussion about how Peter literally ignored Miles’ feelings about not being there, about how he and others (Gwen not really, the others eehhh hard to say;) didn’t try too reach him, which obviously makes him feel like they don’t care about him as he does. And Peter decide to ignored it.

But! I will try to give him the benefit that this is a tense situation, there is hundreds of spiders looking for them, and there only have so much time. I am going to believe, Peter couldn’t address that at the moment because they had other issues.

Yet even if we omit that point, do you guys realize this is literally no different that his entire spiel about Uncle Ben, right?

Because that’s what he is trying to say, “Spider-man has to suffer, but hey sometimes good things can happen anyways.” This entire conversation is about trying to make Miles follow him, do whatever Miguel is trying to do to avoid having Miles go to his dimension (or at least stop him from saving his dad,) and basically let her dad die.

Look, there is nuance to this situation; Peter isn’t saying this to manipulate Miles, he believes this. He truly believes bad things had to happen to keep the universe from falling apart; I am convinced Miguel’s second universe didn’t fall for his Canon theory, yet Peter B was there, I can’t blame the guy for drinking the kool-aid a bit more than the others.

This doesn’t change the fact that this scene has Peter ignoring Miles’ pain, and try to tell him he needs to suffer some more because “is just how the universe works!”

(Sidenote but anyone can’t help to see this and think of a random Christian telling someone after they lived a personal tragedy “Is just G-d’s plan”? Because I saw that a lot.)

Now, I guess the next question someone may be wondering is, do I believe Peter was being honest with Miles here?

...I don’t know, I really, don’t know.

I had seen this scene multiple times, and I lost count how many times when I was in the theatre, seeing this scene, and thinking “he knew” just for the next moment thinking “he didn’t know.”

If you want my two cents, the part that keeps tripping me over is how he looks at his watch, then Miles, then the watch, it makes me wonder if he is screaming that he doesn’t have his location to Miguel, or to Miles.

I don’t want to believe Peter purposefully drive Miles away so he could get trapped, when he says to Miles “I didn’t know, I promise;” I want to believe him.

The thing is, the outcome he hoped wasn’t that much different, now was it?

He wanted it to be Miles decision, yet again, he was trying to get Miles to not just abandon his morals (as well as the ones every Spider-person should have,) but also try to tell him he needs to suffer for the good of the world.

(I am having SO many flashbacks to things I read about cults, I need to continue working on that post about the Spider Society ffs.)

This is a small detail, but I gotta say; Peter do you really have nothing on your defense?

Look, feel free to believe I am playing favourites, but unlike many people who had a problem with Gwen, I don't blame her for hiding this.

No, I don't think what she did was right. Let’s not get things twisted. I definitely think Gwen shouldn’t had hide this stuff, yet she in general NEVER, had a good idea of how much to say and how much to keep with anyone she talks to; from her dad to Jess to Miles. Once again this is an aspect I can’t get mad at her because she is sixteen and traumatized with a minimal support network and irresponsible guardians.

Now Peter, what’s YOUR excuse?

Not just for not telling something to Miles earlier, I could believe he would have done it if the situation has calmed down. No, Miles asked them about it, and even a bit later says “That’s why you guys never came to see me;” (Which I think is kind of BS but let’s not get ahead of myself on this one.) The thing is that when he has the teen he mentored being manhandled by his ‘friend,’ and said thing asks them to answer him; Peter just ducks.

Like he cannot even see Miles and admit he shouldn’t have done that.

Gwen’s excuse isn’t much better but at least she is answering and you can see in her face how much she knows she fucked up.

I am going to be honest, this little detail wouldn’t bother me as much if what has happened before and what’s yet to happened didn’t exist, yet it does.

There is a difference in “Well you did a little mistake but I can let slide” vs “There are so many things wrong here that I will call you out even for the tiny ones.” Granted Peter isn’t that bad, but is a nuance I think a lot of people don’t think of.

Could Peter haven't said anything because the scene is trying to focus on Miles and Gwen for this part? Yes; it doesn't stop me from getting annoying.

Okay, Miles says this, do I believe it? Ehh not sure.

Gwen definitely not the case, if she truly thought him being an anomaly was a problem, she wouldn't have gone to see him directly.

Peter? Again, I have no idea how much of the kool-aid he has been drinking, the fact that he speaks highly of him and his daughter as good things that has happened makes me inclined to believe he doesn't.

We don't have an answer either way, right?

Not that Peter does much to help him feel better here. Yes yes trying to keep focus on certain characters I know.

(Looks at the camera like is the office.) And now THIS is the time where I wish I wasn’t aware of how writing works.

Okay, I know what the purpose of Peter is, aside of being here as a mentor, he is here kind of as a comic relief. He doesn’t have the same narrative weight as he had in the last movie, and he is here to be cute with his baby for the most part. That’s his purpose at this moment.

It-doesn’t-change-anything.

He has this recurring joke on the third act about if he is or not a good mentor, and it kind of has to do with the last movie, specially this joke, since at the end he was also talking how he taught him something he definitely didn’t do. Last movie I found it cute, here? Not so much.

I am trying not to be hard here and why I would not address the “son of a mother” moment (which I honestly really hate,) because this is not even Peter B’s fault at this point; the writers were trying very hard to have a way to make the situation a tad lighter while also having an important character be in character. I can’t say is truly out of character, but I’m not appreciating it.

Especially having him insist on being a good mentor after letting down his protege MULTIPLE TIMES.

Don't you guys love when you see a grown-ass adult go apeshit on a teen, and his friends aren't doing anything to stop him?

Sorry, yeah I understand that for narrative purposes, they have to be stuck to the ground, but after someone pointed this out a few weeks ago, I can't stop thinking of this shot so I needed to bring it out.

(BIG sidenote but, Margo is the biggest MVP here; girl met Miles once and probably has little to no context, yet she is helping him out. Queen behavior.)

Now let's talk about some bullshit.

I know this is technically not about Peter, considering this is Miguel talking to Gwen, yet I find LAUGHABLE this response.

I will give this to the spider//dad shippers, I would also be inclined to believe Miguel has a thing for Peter B if between the guy who had the "fugitive" in close quarters for a few minutes yet did not attempt to trap him, vs the teen girl who tries to help out her mentor to catch the dude (even if she didn't try too hard,) you decide the teen girl is the problem.

Is funny because really all this scene needs is Miguel saying "If it wasn't for you, he wouldn't have come here, he wouldn't had know and the Spot wouldn't have escaped," at least that much couldn't have been said for Peter B.

I think the writers were trying to make Miguel just look less and less reasonable the more we saw on screen; which is why he would go with route.

It doesn't change the fact that Mighel accusing Gwen of not capturing him is laughable.

YOU 👏 ARE 👏 A 👏 TERRIBLE 👏 MENTOR.

(This moment could be addressed individually, but they are basically the same thing and this post is DEFINITELY too long; seriously I had written fics shorter than this wtf.)

Here is my problem with this: He just decides that oh well, what can he do.

SERIOUSLY?!

Forget the "Oh but he doesn't do this the story-" for a moment; are you seriously telling me that not only this guy knows Miles is in a PRETTY fucked up situation, but also that Gwen is in her home universe where she will be homeless (because there is no way in hell Peter B doesn't know what happened to her,) and you decide to just, go brooding in your dimension?

You know is absolutely amazing how I had heard people grill Miguel and Jess for their behavior with Gwen (which I agree with for the most part,) yet I haven't seen anyone say "Isn't it a bit fucked up that Peter B should have known what would happen to Gwen if she went home and didn't decide to help her?"

Miguel is on Earth 1610 and hellbent on finding Miles, you cannot tell me if Peter B left his daughter with his wife, and then went to fetch Gwen, Miguel would have noticed. At the very least Peter could had try to check on her.

Peter B has known Gwen for longer than Jess and Miguel, even if he couldn't be a proper guardian for her because he was busy with his life, he could have been more present. He definitely could have attempted to defend her better when Miguel was screaming at her, or to look after her when she was kicked to her universe.

Jess is determined to act as if Gwen is more of an employee than a teen, but Peter B should be known better.

But is not his idea to help Miles, is Gwen's; because right now he is too focused on his life and his duty as spiderman to think of the younger generations that are hurting. Just like Miguel and Jess.

Yet not the narrative, nor the fandom, truly recognizes that.

Let’s wrap this up, you guys have no idea the amount of hours I had spend on this and I would be surprised if someone got this far.

As a small detail, Peter is seen with Mayday, and this time I DO have a problem with it.

I honestly hope Peter isn’t with Mayday in Beyond, I will pretend Peter doesn’t have Mayday during the events on Beyond in my fics for as long as I can; because this is the moment where I feel the joke is being pushed too far.

They don’t know what would happen next, they don’t know in what type of situation they are in, they know whatever universe ended was one with no spiderman so it has to be dangerous; yet he brings the baby because that’s his recurring theme for this movie.

And truly, that’s really the problem with his character here: He was given a small role to do with very limited things to do.

I am not saying this is bad writing; I may not like Peter’s decisions in this movie, and I am really hoping beyond gives a big ass cup of “Adults need to start protecting the younger generations instead of insist they need to toughen up” to all of them. Because more than his role, I am annoyed that neither the movie nor the fandom is addressing the failings of Peter B.

He is not a bad character, I don’t even think he is a bad character in this movie. I like him, and even if writing all of this down made realize I am more bitter about it than I would had liked; I just don’t think is fair.

I want Peter to be better, as a mentor, as a father; and I am really hoping the next movie shows him grow that way too. I do believe the writers can pull it off.

Now, the fandom addressing that?...That I have MUCH less confidence. But not gonna lie this post was made mostly to get this out of my chest rather than expect a reaction out of it.

If anyone made this far, first of, wow; I know some people were interesting in reading this, but even I think I went for a while I put a lot of things that are small details but you guys now me, it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t do that.

Be thankful I don’t talk about micro-expressions in frames or this would truly would had ended up as a novelette.

Second, thank you for reading! Give a like and your opinion if you want; because I am pretty sure this post is doing to have fewer notes.

[ruinofchimera]

Hi, I'd like to know your opinion. Why do you think Peter betrayed the Marauders and blamed Sirius?

By the way, I hope you are very well.

Thank you for the perfect cue. Time to roll up my sleeves and dissect the bane of the Harry Potter fandom: Peter Pettigrew.

Why did he betray the Marauders? I like the phrasing. Because behind it, the real question to ponder is lurking. Did Peter ever betray his friends, or did he just betray the Marauders, the twisted idea of inclusion that he never really had? Oh, don’t get me wrong—there’s no denying that James and Sirius were practically the poster boys for friendship. No argument there. We’ve all heard that tear-jerking speech from Sirius: “I’d rather die than betray my friends.” And fair enough; Sirius had every reason to be an emotional wreck—he was talking about James, the only person he ever truly gave a damn about. Sure, we don’t know everything about their golden years, but what we do know makes it painfully clear: James and Sirius? They were a two-man act, a bond so tight it was as if they shared the same heartbeat.

But where on earth did this idea come from that someone else—anyone else—was ever part of that special bond? The books paint a pretty stark picture if you care to look. There was the alpha pair leading the charge, while the other two trailed behind, playing supporting roles. Look at how they chose Pettigrew to be Secret Keeper in the first place—not because they thought he was capable or smart, but because they figured no one would suspect him. Translation: “We don’t think you’re much good for anything, Peter, but hell, no one else does either, so maybe that’ll save our skins.” And yet somehow, fans cling to this rose-colored myth of brotherhood. Four souls, brought together by some unshakable bond of loyalty. Let’ get real here. There’s a very good chance that Peter didn’t even see James and the gang as friends. He was just along for the ride, hanging around like a dodgy uncle at a family reunion.

People love to reduce Peter’s Animagus form to a symbol of cowardice and betrayal, but they miss the real significance of what a rat actually represents—survival. And at his core, that’s exactly what Peter is—a survivor. Strip away all the noise, the grand ideals, and lofty heroics that everyone around him seemed so fond of, and what you’ve got left in Peter is raw instinct. He wasn’t guided by some deep-seated belief or conviction. No grand moral compass pulled him one way or another. He’s the embodiment of the quintessential “baby boy” trope—the “please take care of me” type. (Sorry, Regulus, but the Chalamet fancast isn’t enough to hold the title. Hand over the badge.)

What Peter craved more than anything was protection. It didn’t matter whether it came from James Potter or the Dark Lord himself. The man just wanted someone bigger, stronger, meaner to pat him on the head.

Pettigrew was already used to playing second fiddle to James and Sirius, who were so full of themselves they practically had their own gravitational pull. So when Voldemort strutted onto the scene, another powerful, arrogant tosser demanding followers, was it really such a massive shift for Peter? Hardly. It wasn’t life-changing. It was just a change of scenery. He did what he was best at: finding the biggest bully on the block and pledging his allegiance to survive. Sirius and James had been grooming him for it for years without even knowing.

It’s easy work, bashing Peter. Man’s got a face like a rodent and a spine to match—hardly the makings of a tragic anti-hero, is he? Sorry, Peter, but “pretty privilege” isn’t swooping in to save you like it did for Slytherin Skittles. If Pettigrew had even a hint of good looks, we’d have a library of fanworks trying to paint his redemption. But with a face like that? Not a chance. Instead, we get a convenient scapegoat for the fandom to rally against, letting the poster boys soak up all the angst. The sacred friendship betrayed! A tale for the ages, and people can boo-fucking-hoo about it for eternity.

As you can see from my lengthy ramblings, I’m doing just fine—so no worries in this department.

[hardly-an-escape]

Square: B2 - FREE SPACE

Title: "would you go along with someone like me?" (ch. 2)

Rating: T

Ship: Dream/Hob

Warnings: No archive warnings apply

Additional Tags: college AU, non-traditional college students, don’t worry they’re actual grownups, poet Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, history student Hob Gadling, referenced character death, rating will go up in later chapters, more tags to be added

Summary: Hob is a freshman history major and a first generation college student, while Morpheus is completing a graduate degree poetry. When they're crammed into a small room together due to a shortage of on-campus housing, it seems like an odd couple situation at best and a recipe for disaster at worst. But as the months go by, mutual respect turns into real friendship. And then... something happens that Hob never expected.

Link to AO3.

another @dreamlingbingo fill! I know it's been over a year since I posted the first chapter of this fic. I know. I'm sorry. I will try to make sure it takes less than a year to post chapter three.

October blew in, blustery and bright. The campus glowed with autumnal light. In the long, cool afternoons it would bounce between windows and gild granite columns. It even illuminated the study carrels in the fourth floor stacks of the undergraduate library, turning dim and dusty rooms into little pockets of brightness and learning and hope.

There were rainy days, too, but even they seemed apt and atmospheric; it wasn’t cold or dark enough yet for the grey days to be truly dismal, so the inclement weather was still more a novelty than anything else. A good excuse to spend the extra dollar on a hot mocha and wear one’s favorite cozy sweater.

Hob was either hugely elated or fantastically depressed, depending on – well, it could be anything. The weather, the grade on his latest paper, the relative freshness or staleness of the bagels in the history department, the phase of the bloody moon. On some level he knew it was just emotional whiplash from throwing himself into the deep end of academia after so many years spent in unacademic pursuits, but on his harder days he was beginning to think the hormonal soup of his young undergraduate classmates was rubbing off on him somehow.

On one such day, Hob returned to their tiny dorm room, dropped his bag on the floor, and faceplanted on his narrow bed with a heartfelt groan.

Morpheus was in his usual spot – perched on his desk chair and curled into a position that should not have been possible for his thirty-something spine and hips – and did not look up from his notebooks at Hob’s flop.

Hob groaned again.

“I imagine you want me to ask you what’s wrong,” Morpheus said, still not looking up.

“I am a fool,” Hob said dismally. “A fool and a buffoon. A nincompoop, even.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Sometimes I wonder what I’m even doing here, mate, I really do. I mean who am I kidding? I’m almost thirty two years old and I’m sitting in these fresher history lectures and fucking Stephanie is running rings around me. Have I told you about Stephanie? She’s nineteen. Nineteen, Morpheus. We have, like, three classes together, and she’s kicking my arse, she has her entire career planned out, all the way to a Ph-bloody-D, and I can’t remember whether ‘Ottoman’ has one T or two.”

“Two.”

“I know that, you insufferable git, I’m trying to have an existential crisis here.”

“Ah. And is that happening concurrently with your one-sided competition with a child? Or does one precede the other?”

Hob raised his head enough to stick his tongue out at Morpheus. Something he’d learned about his roommate over the past few weeks – something their dorm neighbors and many (if not most) of Morpheus’s classmates didn’t quite seem to understand – was that Morpheus could actually be screamingly funny at times. The problem was that his humor was so bone dry, his delivery so absolutely deadpan, that it was difficult to tell the difference between the times he was being funny by accident, the times he was being funny on purpose, and the times he was actually being deadly serious and would be incredibly offended if people misinterpreted his words as some kind of joke.

Hob had already been on the receiving end of his irritation more than once, usually through pure misunderstanding. He knew he had a puppylike tendency to assume that everyone was his best friend until proven otherwise; Morpheus clearly had a tendency to assume exactly the opposite. The very first time Hob, barely a week into their shared existence, had asked if the other man wanted to get lunch together some time and help each other study, Morpheus had bristled so severely that he looked like a porcupine and claimed that he had no interest in either food or company.

He’d never apologized, per se. But later than night, the sandwich Hob had smuggled back from the dining hall in his jacket pocket and left in their dorm-sized fridge, labeled with Morpheus’s name on a sticky note, had mysteriously disappeared.

Much worse had been the time Hob, in one of his occasional fits of organization and cleanliness, had dared to tidy Morpheus’s desk.

He’d been on a roll – had done his laundry (and put it away!), and changed his sheets, and swept, and tidied up the shoes and jackets in the tiny shared alcove that passed for their hall closet, and then he’d turned his attention to the built-in desk that spanned one full wall of their little room. Hob’s half was always a bit messy, with some piles of notes and one or two books left haphazardly open to key pages he was certain to return to at the right moment. But Morpheus’s side looked like a bomb had gone off. He always had at least four or five notebooks on the go, plus what might be described as a small mountain of poetry anthologies, chapbooks, and photocopied coursepacks. The corner where the desk met the wall contained a veritable snowdrift of various ephemera: scraps of paper, receipts, dried flowers, bottle caps inexplicably labeled with dates and locations, labels carefully peeled off of beer bottles, a scant handful of beads and other shiny bits and pieces, and a single earring that looked like some bright young thing had lost it on her way to the club.

And Hob wasn’t stupid. He knew Morpheus could be a little prickly about his space and his things. Protective might be a better word. He supposed it was a side effect of growing up with a bunch of siblings; though he was an only child himself, Eleanor had had an older sister, and had told many tales of epic battles over favorite shirts and library books and other such treasures. So hadn’t thrown anything away. He’d moved it all aside and dusted and wiped, and then shuffled the papers into a neat stack, set the books against the windowsill in a semblance of order, and collected the ephemera in a little plastic basket that had been in the share box in the common room. He thought, when he was done, that it had still looked pleasantly cluttered – just less like a tornado had gone through their little room.

He hadn’t been expecting praise. He already knew better than that. But he also hadn’t been expecting Morpheus to project a wall of furious silence for the several days.

It got so bad that he’d spent half an hour hunting through the “ethnic” aisle of the grocery store to see if he could find any English sweets with which to mollify his roommate. The closest he’d gotten was a Ritter Sport with whole hazelnuts and a packet of Canadian potato chips, both of which sat, unacknowledged and uneaten, on Morpheus’s side of the desk for nearly a full day before being shoved unceremoniously back over to Hob’s side while he was in a lecture.

Hob started to consider emailing Teleute (who had given him her business card before she’d flown back to London) on the fourth day, just to ask exactly what level of unforgivable sin he’d committed, and whether any penance could possibly absolve him of it.

He was, luckily, saved from the indignity of asking his roommate’s sister how to circumvent his little temper tantrum, and by none other than Morpheus himself.

He got home after a lecture one day to find Morpheus perched nervously on the edge of his bed, a bottle of Bass beer clutched nervously between his knees.

Hob shucked off his shoes and tossed his bag on his own bed before flopping down, legs akimbo. The room was so small that if he and Morpheus both stretched their legs out, their ankles would probably touch in the space between their narrow beds.

“Hello, Hob,” Morpheus said formally.

“Morpheus,” Hob said. “Talking to me again, then, are you?”

Morpheus, to his credit, flushed slightly. “I would. That is. I have… I would like to apologize.”

Hob made an expansive sort of go ahead gesture and leaned back, waiting.

“I was talking last night with my sister – not Tel, whom you met, but my youngest sister. I was…” He ducked his head. “To be frank, I was complaining about you. About how you had tidied my desk and how much it upset me. She pointed out, quite rightfully, that it sounded like you were trying to help; trying to do something kind. She also pointed out that there have been several occasions when she herself has made an awkward or unwelcome choice in an effort to do the right thing. I… cannot argue with her logic.”

“I really was just trying to help,” Hob said. “If I promise never to touch your side of the desk again, will you stop ignoring me?”

Morpheus flushed again. “Yes. And I would extract no such promise from you. It was. Thoughtful.” That seemed to be a hair too much genuine emotion for the man, who stood abruptly and shoved the bottle of beer at Hob. “I have brought you this. A peace offering.”

“Thanks, mate. I –” Hob began, but Morpheus was already throwing on his peacoat and out the door in a whirl of black. “Okay. What a fucking weirdo.”

The beer was good, though. A taste of home. Hob picked the label off and left it on Morpheus’s side of the desk.

read on AO3 >>>