#Slowly and slowly the Bad Memory could worn out.

[lesmisscraper]

Cosette's accustoming to the convent school life.

Clips from <Il cuore di Cosette>.

[tremendouscreationperson]

Logan x Reader pt.3

Listen here folks, I remember a lot from the movie however most of those memories are Hugh Jackman's abs

I hope this is alright, I added a few bits and obviously there will be dialogue that I have forgotten but I really hope it's semi-good, I know a lot of you have wanted a third part so hopefully it lives up to your standards 🫶

There be "violence" in this one

<< Part 2 Part 4 >> Masterlist

Logan had spent the journey drinking Gambit's booze and watching you sleep. You looked younger when you slept, less worn. He used to love taking you to your room when you fell asleep grading his pupil's papers or even just watching TV in the sitting room. He'd scoop you up in his arms and secure you safely in your room, then eventually he'd settle you in his. 

You had said the word husband yesterday, that wasn't lost on him. You'd been married to your version of Wolverine. One that wasn't too ‘macho’ to ask. One that loved you freely. He was a fucking idiot for being scared to take that leap. He and you had settled into a fuck-buddy-but-there-were-feelings-involved situation. 

He could've had more with you. 

Maybe if he was with you he wouldn't have been at a bar when the humans attacked.

He was lost without his friends but he was truly wrecked without you. When he found your body amongst the pile of mutants something inside him snapped. He couldn't stop hurting people. It began with the bad, then the semi-bad, then the not bad and eventually he killed innocents. He killed people that didn't deserve it. He made a bad name for the mutants and the X-Men. He killed the X-Men by tarnishing the memory. 

He couldn't be without you again. He'd bring you with him, take you to wherever Deadpool was taking him.

Surely he could convince you.

“You'll have to wake her soon.” Laura's voice pulled him from his thoughts. She was staring intensely but not in an intimidating way. He didn't think she could stare without the intensity behind her eyes. She was born with it, through him. 

“I will.” He agreed. 

“You want some?” She raised an open cereal box. He didn't know why but he didn't want to insult her any more. He accepted some and thanked her. It was chalky but tasted vaguely like chocolate. Laura still just watched Logan, every stretch of his jaw as he chewed and eventually swallowed and then she still gazed into his soul  “You love her.” 

Logan didn't think it was a question but responded. He couldn't disagree if he wanted to. “Yes.” 

“I do, too.” She flicked her eyes to your face and then turned her head, repositioning herself on Blade's shoulder. 

Logan stayed still for another few minutes but the silhouette of the giant, Wade called Paul Rudd, became visible in the distance. It was time to wake you. 

He delicately shook your shoulder and you frowned, grumbling and burrowing higher into his neck.

“Baby.” Logan shook you again, and you let out a huff, squinting open one eye. “We'll be there soon.” 

You raised your head and slowly sat up, eyes sleepy and letting out a small yawn. Logan gave you a soft smile as he flattened a piece of hair that had stuck out, his hand slid down to caress your cheek. 

“You could come with us.” 

“With you?” Your brain was still mush. “I can't leave them.” 

“No.” He lied. “You should be up there in the skull with ‘Pool and me. It would be a better vantage point for you.” 

The plan was to have Laura, Elektra, Blade, and Gambit on the offence whilst you were their defence. You always were the protector, the shield of the group. Wade and Logan were going to distract and then use Juggernaut’s helm to bargain with Cassandra Nova. 

You took a moment to consider with your slow brain but then agreed. “Yeah, that's probably a good idea.” 

You continued to wake yourself up, preparing for a fight. It wasn't hard to, everyday in this wasteland was a fight. Everyone seemed to work for this Cassandra lady which meant that they wanted to kill you for not. 

In your peripheral you saw Blade open the sunroof, before rummaging in his bag.

Gambit spoke over the radio, “so, ami, ‘e gonna be ‘lastin’ a way through those’re hands.” 

“What he means to ask is how are we going to get through? I feel like that was an integral part of this plan and I have miss-” Wade cut himself off when he felt movement behind him. Blade had stood and freed the rocket launcher, hoisting it over his shoulder and aiming. “Oh my god, where did you get that?” 

El glanced through the rearview mirror and answered, “Punisher.” slamming her foot down on the gas.

“What one there's been like five?” 

You couldn't hear the end of his question as Blade fired the shot, it landed right in the centre breaking the fingers. 

“Hold on!” El ordered as she expertly spun the car to the left. 

Smoke plumed as you all were quick to exit. Elektra, Wade and Blade were to the left side. Logan, yourself and Laura to the right, Gambit was in the middle shuffling his deck. 

The others: mutants, supes, enhanced, all crowded you, waiting for the order to kill. There were familiar faces such as Lady Deathstrike, Toad, Juggernaut and Blob. There were others that you were fairly sure you recognised through their distinctive features despite them having different faces, like Azazel and Pyro. 

There were a good fifty more circling you, Laura smirked putting her sunglasses on. Blade spun his weapons then tapped one on Elektra's sais in a ‘cheers’ motion. Wade had his katanas out and your Wolverines both extended their claws. You and Gambit, the only ones with ‘magic’ powers stayed fairly still, well, as still as he could be. 

Cassandra was standing above you all in the skull of an Ant-Man, you remembered when he got there. She was quick to free him of skin and then organs. Positioning him in this horrid way, using his body as a base. It made you sick when you thought of the palaces and the buildings that came through the portals in abundance. 

“You came back.” She spoke. Her accent was posh but her tone was clipped. Clearly annoyed. 

“You have to send us back!” Wade shouted. 

She gave you a smirk and retreated into the right eye socket. 

Here's where the fun begins. 

“Let's fucking go!” Deadpool yelled. You all let out a war cry, Gambit's being “Allons!” as you all depart at the same time, each of you taking a side and going for it. Blade went toe to toe with Toad, Elektra fought Lady Deathstrike, Logan fought a very large man you didn't recognize, Wade fought a Doc Ock, Gambit took on a group of four, and Laura went for the big guy himself. Juggernaut. 

You were paired with Azazel. The man zapping about, striking you and vanishing before you could catch him. It took his tail tripping you for you to land on your back and actually be in a good-visibility position. Quickly you trapped him in a forcefield. It was an intense battle of power. The field had been a bubble but you wrapped it around his appendages and forced him to stay in one spot. Forced him still. But he struggled. He fought against you, red mist seeping from the forcefield as he thrashed about. 

You had trapped him but couldn’t do anything to dispose of him. If you flung him away he would just reappear and it was getting noticed that you were distracted. Quickly you rose to your feet, arms still extended, shaking with brute force and out of the corner of your eye you could see her. She ran towards you and you dropped on hand flinging a force field in the shape of a disc - you had so eloquently named a forcedisc - at her. It sliced through her side but she didn't stop. 

“El!” You yelled, barely dodging the acid she spat. Your arms stayed extended in the same position but you managed to kick her in the chest as she took a deep breath. She spluttered, acid dripping down her face and landing on her shirt. Her skin was immune but the fabric burned. 

Elektra spun to your call and nodded, having fought with you before she understood what was needed. 

You moved Azazel over to her and Elektra stabbed him, your forcefield opening just as the sai made contact. 

As you focused on the exact millisecond to release your palms, ‘acidgirl’ was able to choke you from behind. You conjured a muzzle over her mouth and held it there. Quickly plucking your knife out. 

Killing wasn't exactly new to you but it always felt bad, no matter if the feeling got smaller and smaller each time. You still felt guilty as you thrust behind and stabbed her stomach. 

Once you released the field her acid fell upon your shoulder. The suit fizzled and you were quick to pull the fabric from your skin. It still burned through but you pushed on. 

“Oit L/N!” Wade shouted over spinning cartoonishly across Logan's back to stab someone. 

You hadn't realised how isolated you were compared to the others, you were right at the back of the group, by the car. You threw out some forcediscs holding them stationary and jumped on them, over the heads of those trying to kill you. You ran, ascending up, towards the skull, flinging a couple out for Wade and Logan. They were quick to follow your cue and you made sure they and you got to each eye socket. 

They entered the right as you perched in the left, finding yourself at a much better position strategically.

Their plan was distraction. Yours was protection. You could do yours in your sleep. Quickly stopping a hammer landing on Elektra and misplacing a punch to Gambit. 

You had gotten more powerful being here. You had to. Your forcefields were no longer merely for protection, they could now be used as a force. Similar to Jean’s telekinesis except you were still using the forcefields, only they were now differently shaped, i.e. the ball that had knocked into the man's fist when he aimed for Gambit's face. 

A gate fell to the floor, landing on the Honda, and a creature stalked out of it, dark claws crushing the car as though it was tissue paper. 

You were quick to try and halt the thing. It was a humongous wolf? You couldn't be sure as it had two sets of eyes and three tails. It was clearly not from your version of earth. 

“Let it go!” Blade yelled up, smiling wide. “I got this!” 

You obeyed his order and focused your energy on Laura. Who had just decapitated Juggernaut. That's my girl. 

Quickly you flung multiple discs for her to jump onto, she was efficient as always and leapt towards the right eye socket when Toad yanked her back.

“Laura!” You screamed, instinctively opening a field around his head and closing your fist, crushing it - you'd never even thought to do that, never once occurred to use your power that way - just in time your baby tossed her backpack into the eye socket and it skidded across the marble floor and straight into Deadpool's awaiting hand.

You hadn't even noticed what was going on behind you. There was talking and now nothing. Sneaking a glance you saw Logan on his knees with Cassandra holding his cheeks. Her fingers disappeared into his skin, he was twitching slightly but she looked peaceful. 

Wade quickly revealed the helm and tiptoed behind her. 

“BOOM!” Gambit’s voice could be heard and then a series of much larger explosions than you were used to detonated. 

You were brought back to the battle at hand and decided that maybe crushing heads was the way to go when you saved El, who had been cornered by two men. 

Blade, having been fighting the beast, was currently sat on top of it and plunged a knife into its head. Downing the creature. 

There actually wasn't an awful lot of enemies left to fight and you were feeling good about the outcome when you saw it.

Alioth. 

The celestial dragon had its gaze set upon you. “Guys!” You called down. “Alioth is coming!” 

Realistically there wasn't anything you could do. You couldn't shield them from this. But perhaps Cassandra could? Did she save people from the dragon? Surely she didn't offer them up, right?

“Get inside!” You ordered and quickly turned to find Wade holding her firmly with Juggernaut’s helmet forced upon her. 

Logan was talking to her and you jogged over. 

“Alioth is coming.” You informed. 

“I can't save you with this on my head.” She taunted. 

“You won't save us anyway!” Wade countered, “Logan, you want me to off her?” His fingers twitched near her neck. 

“No.” Logan shook his head. 

“You sure? I'm right here.” 

“It's not what-Charles wouldn't want that. If he knew about you, my Charles, he would stop at nothing to come find you. To save you. He would've loved you.” 

You had known Cassandra for her reputation. She was the big cheese, she called the shots, she had an immense power and used it to do whatever she wanted. Everyone else were her playthings. But here, with the helm on, she looked small. She was tiny and thin and her eyes glossed over at Logan's words. 

“Mine, too.” You knew you didn't have to speak but you wanted her to know. That was the X-Man in you. Charles’ influence. Everyone deserves help. 

She looked at you and you felt as though she was looking into your very soul. Her eyes, even powerless, were weighty. 

“We can't release her, she'll kill us.” Wade reminded you. He wasn't wrong. What could you do? What should you do? 

You didn't have the time to think of a plan. “We need to hurry up, that monster is on its way.” 

A gunshot echoed through the skull as well as your own. You quickly forced a shield up, covering the four of you. 

Pyro was behind it, pointing the weapon at Cassandra. Your eyes followed the angle to see she was beginning to bleed heavily from her stomach. 

“I am tired of being her errand boy! 'Do this, get that', well no more!” He sauntered towards you all, the gun lowered to his side, you slowly eased the shield back as he spoke. “When is it my turn? First Magneto, then Apocalypse, Scarlet Witch and now Cassandra Nova!” 

When he was within range Logan silenced him with an efficient right hook. You know it hurt, because that man was heavy. 

“Not everyone gets a speech.” 

Blood splurged from Cassandra’s mouth as she coughed. “Shit!”  

“Wade, you have to take her helmet off.” 

“She, again, will. Kill. Us.” He tightened his hold. “You missed it, she said she'd ‘rub herself silly watching’ a second ago!”

“She's dying.” You argued. 

Logan agreed, “she needs her powers to help us, we're stuck here if she dies.” 

Wade let out a frustrated yell before he conceded and yanked the helmet off her. Her body fell to the floor as he let go and you were quick to help her. 

“It's okay, can you hea-” She was already up and standing, leaving you kneeling on the floor. “Oh.” 

You stood to your full height and watched as she kicked Pyro’s body before addressing you. “A wizard came through here. He died and I got this.” She revealed a fancy ring. Causing Wade to gasp and say ‘strange’. “You saved me and I am curious to how this will play out...so I suppose I can get you back, but you better hurry. As your friend mentioned, Alioth is coming.” 

Cassandra raised her arms and spun a circle, forming a physical one as she did. It crackled and sparked and in the centre was a street. There were cars and houses and people. It was home. Or a version of a home. 

It was civilisation. 

After all this time you could smell it. 

“Go on.” She nodded towards the ‘portal’. 

Logan grasped your hand and you were tempted. By god you were. 

But Gambit, Elektra, Blade and Laura. Your Laura who you had to help with her periods and hygiene; Laura who came into your room when she had a bad dream; Laura who had offered once to help feed Blade - in a similar fashion that Logan did - because she ‘healed’ and didn't want you guys to suffer. 

You pulled free from him. “I can't leave her.”  

“Y/N.” Logan tried again. “This is your chance to escape!” 

“I won't leave her.” You clarified.��

“I-” 

“Guys, chop chop!” Wade accentuated the words with a clap. 

“Save the world and come back for me.” You offered lamely. It was a very long shot. But what else could you say? You knew he was here to save Deadpool's world, if it worked maybe you could all live there?

“I can't lea-” 

You pushed him away. “Go. I'll be here.” 

.

.

Part 4

[allfearstofallto]

Ok so, I've been having this taught of reader falling into a coma and not remembering anything from what happened before waking up. Which yandere do you think would take advantage and which would feel bad about doing so?

And why is it Diluc?

You were told you told a nasty fall. Right down the stairs at that. You're quite the clutz, one of your maids joked to you, but it's not like you'd remember. Everything about yourself, other than your name was blurry. Your name and something else. Red hair. Long red hair flowing down his back. Other than that, your mind was empty of memories, like you'd been reset with nothing.

"Master Diluc will be here shortly," the maid said with a smile as she used a wet cloth to dab the knot on your forehead. Swollen and painful, you could see the water in her bowl turning red from the dried blood, but she still smiled. Almost as if she enjoyed tending to you, "He's been dying to see you. You've had him worried sick, my lady,"

"Diluc...?" You repeated his name back, it felt foreign on your tongue, yet all too familiar at the same time. You forced yourself to think on that name as you'd done your own and nothing came up. Just empty, hollow, and blank.

She chuckled at your response, "Your husband! My boss. Master Diluc?" She tested these words while staring into your eyes, waiting for any sign of familiarity, but that flicker never lit in your eyes, and you grew more and more confused as she spoke. She watched your face change and in turn, hers did as well. You recognized the expression she was making. A look of worry and fear, that she tried to mask.

"I-i...have a husband?" You asked. The idea sounded crazy even to you. You'd gotten married and completely forgotten the person, forgotten the wedding, forgotten yourself.

Her little bowl was sat to the side and she dusted her hands on her apron. Moving quickly, she gave you a weak, worried smile as she marchd to the door, "I'll go get master Diluc." She said hurriedly, and she was gone. Leaving you in an unfamiliar room, with a strangely comforting ticking of a clock.

It wasn't long before the door opened again and he stepped in. He looked serious, almost scary, but also strangely remorseful. His eyes danced over to your forehead, where the bump was, then back to your face. His lip quivered as he knelt down at your bed side, reaching out to take your hand and being surprised that you allowed it. But his touch was gentle, he traced his thumb up and down the back of your hand, testing words on his tongue before he finally asked, "What do you remember?"

A weak smile formed on your lips. How could you tell him nothing? Or that all you had were bits and pieces of memories and even then, they weren't anything to go by. Yet that little shy smile was more than enough to tell him what you were thinking. He grimaced a bit before taking your hand and squeezing it, his touch was warm, borderline hot against the back of your hand.

"I'm your husband, Diluc Radnvindr and you're my wife. We've been married for two years," he spoke slowly, as if he were explaining this all to a child who wouldn't understand, "We live just a little bit outside of Mondstadt, I own a winery and the surrounding land as well."

At his mention of marriage, you looked down at your hands. Bare. Not even the indent of a ring on your finger.

"We don't have rings?" You questioned curiously, but sure enough, when you looked at his hand, he was wearing his wedding band dutifully. A plain gold band that wrapped around his finger.

Diluc's face tensed when you asked the question. It was an odd expression, not the type to face you expected your husband to make. But he still reached into a table at your side, opening a velvet box and showing you a similar gold band, only this one sparked with jewels and gems. It looked practically brand new. Not even a scratch or fingerprint on it. Almost like it'd never been worn.

"You always told me you weren't too fond of rings," he muttered, but his face looked sorrowful, "I couldn't force you to wear it so you never did."

You looked at that ring and you saw pure beauty. It looked like it was forged with love. You couldn't imagine why you didn't wear it, it was to pretty to not be seen. When you slipped the ring out of the box and onto the finger, Diluc made a face that was a mixture of surprise and horror. You gave him a questioning glance, but only was met with a stiff, but reassuring smile.

Days went by with you being a doting wife to Diluc, but the back of your mind something always felt wrong, like you were doing everything wrong. When you questioned why Diluc always ate his meals in his office, he did sit and eat with you at the table, but the maids looked confused at the sight of him. When you mentioned that it was strange that you and Diluc had supposedly been married so long, but didn't share a room, he allowed you into his bed. But even seemed uncomfortable by your presence.

Your dreams were restless that particular night. You dreamt of memories that you'd forgotten like you were living through them again. It was pouring rain and your heart was pounding. As you ran through the gardens, your feet bare and filthy with mud, all you could think was that you had to get away. But away from what?

Your heart thumping in your ears seemed even louder than the rainfall, your clothes soaked, fear being the only thing that pushed you further. When your wrist was grabbed, you screamed. Screamed harder than you had in your entire life. You expected to see a stranger when you turned, but instead you were met with familiar red hair, and angrier red eyes. Diluc.

He struck you. Hard across your cheek. It was a stinging slap, only calmed by the cold rain water hitting your face. Before you could even get the chance to fight, Diluc was dragging you back the way you came. Towards the manor. Towards your prison. You dug your feet into the mud, but you didn't stand a chance against his superior strength.

When you awoke in a cold sweat, chest heaving and eyes threatening to cry, his arm over your waist felt more like a restraint than a comfort. He slept peacefully right next to you as your mind tried to make sense of your dream, your memory. A pit formed in your stomach, a feeling of fear and worry as you thought about every strange thing about your marriage. About the strange way the maids looked at you. About how Diluc himself seemed almost surprised by what you assumed was typical martial affection. You swallowed hard as faint memories came flooding back. And the sudden realization of the fact that you were being lied to. And the liar, the cause of all of it, was nuzzling his face into you side.

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter three )

18+ 7.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, assault (not perpetrated by HL), violence, smol murder, manipulation/gaslighting, hurt/comfort. nebulously takes place post s1. part 3/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander will do whatever it takes to convince you that he's the hero you need.

It’s shortly after one o’clock when Homelander knocks a whimsical melody against your office door, deciding he shouldn’t be precisely on time, lest he look as eager as he feels. He can already smell your perfume wafting through the doorway–the same scent he feverishly pumped his cock to the night before–as a teaser of what’s to come.

“Come in,” you call from the other side.

Homelander takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He screws his eyes shut, pinching his expression in a tight squeeze before he replaces it with a flashy grin, squaring away his anticipation in favor of his showman persona.

“Goooooood afternoon,” he drawls, strolling in with the same feigned level of confidence he’s entered every other moment of your life since stumbling across you, whether you knew it or not. He’s taken aback almost immediately, slowing in how he closes the door behind him.

You look nicer than usual. Your hair is styled with more conscious effort, and he’s been in show business long enough to recognize the makeup on your face. The shine of your blouse is a quality silk blend, and he can’t hear the scrape of cheap cotton underneath it anymore. No, you’re wearing something nice below, too. His lips slowly spread into a self-satisfied smile. 

You dressed up for him. 

Homelander takes the seat set across from you, sweeping his cape to the side with a flourish. He watches you tuck an empty container–your lunch, presumably–into a side drawer of your desk. His eyes closely track the way you lift your thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipe residue from it, sucking the mess from your digit. A distinct pang of arousal hits him just watching your cheeks hollow.

Imagine what she could do with that mouth.

“And good afternoon to you, Homelander,” you respond, straightening up in your seat. His gaze briefly dips to the swell of your breasts as you adjust yourself, casually dusting away any remnants of your lunch. Saliva gathers on his tongue at the instant memory of you scantily clad in your sleep wear, nothing but a thin sheet of worn fabric between you and his hunger. His eyes snap back up before you can take notice of how they wandered.

Lucky for him, you’re busy splaying out the folder he brought you the day before, scanning over the list of bullet points he’d slapped together for the sake of having enough talking points.

“I wanted to start with your concerns regarding the marketing for your upcoming miniseries,” you say, glancing up at him.

He clicks his tongue. “Wow, alright. Straight to business then,” he says, absently rolling his palms over the ends of the armrests on either side of him.

“I’m very bad at small talk,” you say. Probably to diffuse any notion that you were being rude on purpose.

“Ch’yeah, I’ll say,” he says, smiling thinly. “Lucky that you’re good at your job.”

“Shockingly, I was actually a personality hire. I don’t know what any of this means,” you say, matching his thinly veiled snark while gesturing to the spread of documents in front of you. He snorts softly. You have a knack for using that sharp wit to diffuse, but he doesn’t feel manipulated. You actually are funny. “I was hoping you’d explain your concerns.”

Smooth segue, he thinks, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. He’s worked enough interviews to know when he’s being led, but he takes the bait anyways, widening his smile.

“Sounds great.”

Homelander knows that you’re sharp, good at your job, but he needs to needle you into giving him what he wants. He wants to understand you, and the stack of his films he found hidden in your apartment. What he gets in the meantime is ample taste of your silver tongue, parrying his every jab with an equally sharp counter.

He can’t keep the smile from his face.

Gradually a level of familiarity slips into the air between you. He can see some of that tension in your shoulders easing. He’s steadily wearing down the walls you’ve managed to construct.

“I still think audiences will be confused,” he says, feigning a profound concern, stretching out the time of your little appointment.

“Well, audiences are a lot like celebrities,” you say, the hard candied shell of your professional exterior thinning with every back and forth, poised to crack at any second.  “They’re smarter than we think they are.”

“Oohh, ouch,” he purrs. “Nice backhand you got there.”

A twitch at the corner of your mouth. He knows you’re fighting a smile of your own, and pride blooms warmly in his chest. He likes sparring with you, but he likes pleasing you even more.

“I disagree about market confusion. Your diehard audience will already be up to speed, your broader target audience will show up for anything with your face on it, and anyone more casual than that likely won’t have seen the miniseries anyways, so there’s nothing to confuse it with,” you say, scanning down through one of the pages of the document he gave you.

Perfect opening.

“And which audience is it you fall into, exactly?” He asks, cocking his head a degree. “I mean, given your position, I have to imagine you’ve seen my range of film and television.”

“I’ve done my due diligence,” you say vaguely. You’re good at answering without answering. Normally it would irritate him, but your forced aloofness combined with your closely guarded–and inexplicably secret–veneration of him makes it into tantalizing bait begging for the sharp sink of his teeth.

“So you’ve seen all my movies, then?” He extrapolates, setting a line of his own.

You chuckle, gaze flickering to him before back down to the pages. Too brief a glance to even come close to satisfying his hunger. “I didn’t say that.”

He scoffs lightly. “But you’re a fan of mine?”

“I definitely didn’t say that.” He can sense he’s hit a vein, and like any good predator would, he’s eager to bite into it.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he continues to prod, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

You inhale a breath that you barely prevent from sounding too obviously irritated. His grin remains untarnished by the scrutiny of your unwavering stare. There it is, that’s what he wants. The weight of your gaze upon him, evaluating, taking him in fully. He doesn’t care how he gets it, he just knows he wants it.

“You are shy,” he accuses, knowing you aren’t.

“I’m not shy, I’m a professional,” you say curtly, the scratch of your pen scathing while you write notations on the document.

Good, he thinks. More likely to slip up now.

“Jeeze,” he laughs. “You’re wound up tighter than my fictional manager in Darkest Day.”

“You didn’t have a manager in Darkest Day, that was Origins,” you correct. After a beat, your hand stills.

Homelander’s gaze slowly slides to meet yours. He watches your face fall and clicks his tongue. He positively relishes how your mask of indifference slips into subtle dismay at your misstep. Such a simple bit of trivia, and yet it spoke volumes.

Got’cha.

“You do watch my movies,” he said, tone dropping to a near whisper. He revels in the quiet way you groan, leaning back in your chair. 

“Only the ones I was paid to,” you say, straightening up in your chair, but he can hear the defeat in your voice.

“Liar,” he says through his perpetual grin. “Don’t be embarrassed. How long have you been a fan?”

“Stop,” you say, burying your face in your hands. Oh, this is good. Was he your first crush? Your favorite hero? He must be still, judging by the flush of heat moving through you. All that pretense, all that haughty glowering, and beneath it all you’re a fan girl. He almost laughs at the thought of the face you’d make if he called you that. 

“Which was your favorite?” He asks, burying the knife deeper, eager to cut through flesh and muscle and bone to get to the heart of truth beneath. “Bright World? Rise of a Hero? Justice Dawning?”

“I despise you,” you say melodramatically, digging your thumbs into your temples. “Also, Justice Dawning was cheesy, I’m offended you’d even offer it.” You try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that secret little smile sneaks onto your lips it brightens Homelander’s eyes, reflecting your amusement back to you. Not just that, but amplifying it.

“You’ll learn to love me,” he tells you with confidence. You drop your hands, looking at him with subtle surprise. He holds your gaze. The earnestness of his words seems to dispel your mortification and replaces it with something more difficult to define, but he likes the shine it brings to your eyes.

The taste of your defeat is sumptuous. He’d prefer licking it straight from your tongue, but he’ll settle for this for the time being. An easiness settles into the air between you, deeper even than before your hackles rose with the lurking reality of your hidden opinion of him. It’s like a bubble has popped, dissipating uncomfortable tension, replacing it with something warmer.

He has every intention of turning up the heat even further.

The meeting moves forward. You work your way through his folder, and during a natural lull in conversation, he finally broaches the topic that’s been plaguing him since he stepped into your office.

“So,” he begins, interlacing his gloved fingers in his lap. “Gonna tell me what you’re all dressed up for?” He asks, wearing the same smile and speaking in the same tone he had when he baited you into admitting your secret love affair with his cinema.

He wants to hear you say that it’s for him, but he’ll settle for a flustered deflection. They’re as good as the same.

“Oh,” you huff with an airy little laugh, the sound like silver bells chiming. “I have a date tonight.”

You say something else, but Homelander doesn’t hear it over the tidal-like rush in his ears. He watches your pretty lips form words that he can’t understand. Everything falls out of focus as he tightly reins in the white hot rush of furious jealousy that floods his gut and erupts up the back of his throat like bile. He swallows the burn of it, jaw tight, and manages a tense smile.

“Great,” he barks, not realizing–or perhaps not caring–that he interrupted you. “First date?”

“First date,” you confirm, your tone less conversational than it had been a beat ago. The walls are going back up, but he’s too fixated on what feels like a stabbing betrayal.

“Exciting,” he says, adjusting his tone and mannerisms until they once more resemble something genuine. Something civil, despite the hostility in his gut. “Someone you know? Going anywhere special?”

“No, and not really,” you say evasively. He loathes how withdrawn you’ve become. You should be pleased he’s put off. Gloating even. It’s proof he cares, isn’t it? “It was his suggestion.” His. The leather of Homelander’s glove creaks subtly in the fist he makes. “I forget the name of the place,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

His right cheek tics. Liar, liar, pants on fire. People always underestimate his ability to read them.

You’ll learn not to lie to him.

“But you have an out if you need it, don’t you? Someone to bail you out in case he turns out to be some kind of freak,” he says, huffing the word with a lick of venom. It takes significant effort to keep the disdain from his face to imagine you as you are now sitting across from some nobody schmuck, lit by candlelight and smiling sweetly for them instead of for him.

“I always do,” you say, smiling thinly. He curates his own tone often enough to hear it in yours, and it pierces his ears like a thistle. He taps his fingers on his thigh, scrounging for something, anything else to needle you for, but your responses don’t give him much to work with.

“Well. If you did need someone–”

“I’m a big girl,” you interrupt, surprising him. He’s rarely interrupted. “I can take care of myself.”

At that, a thought strikes him. The slack line of his lips curls into a thin smile, and his hands relax on the armrests of the chair.

“I’m sure you can.”

Shaking off the aftermath of your one-on-one with Homelander proves to be more difficult than you’d anticipated. You replay it nearly moment for moment in your mind while freshening up after work. 

Homelander has an uncanny knack for moving through demeanors as though he’s trying hats, determining which one best suits the situation. One moment he’s a slick carnivore licking his chops in anticipation of his meal to come, and the next he’s every ounce the hero they market him as. He’d been relentlessly charming during the meeting, his charismatic smile becoming one you’d wanted to earn again and again. 

Then came the news of your date, and all at once Homelander possessed the ominous calm of a sentient statue. The moment still sends an eerie chill down your spine, even in recollection. How radically his appearance can change with mood or thought alone. You’d hate to ever see him truly angry.

“Get a hold of yourself,” you say to the bathroom mirror. You have a date tonight, and the last thing you need is to bring this kind of nervous energy to it. Powers or not, the commonality of man is easy to rely on, and you’ve developed the tactical mindset of an aloof cat. Never beg for what can be given freely. Never give more than you get. Never settle. “Be the cat,” you tell yourself affirmatively. 

A directive which, unfortunately, winds up being exceedingly easy to follow through the course of your date. James, bless his heart, struggles to wring more than the occasional piteous chuckle from you. Conversation with him is akin to drinking seltzer water–he is neither offensive nor particularly exciting, being only a step above plain water.

Perhaps James’ blandness isn’t entirely his own fault, but rather the basis of comparison he is subjected to. Throughout the night, you find yourself critical of the way he looks at you–or rather, the way he fails to look at you. Your thoughts keep drifting back to your meeting with Homelander and the way he looks at you. The intense ocean-blue caress of his eyes summons a blush to your cheeks even in hindsight.

He looks at you in a way that no one else does. It's as if he's trying to memorize the smallest details in your skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind your guarded gaze. He has a stare determined to lay you entirely bare to him.

James’ wine dulled ogling could hardly hold a candle to that. Looking into his eyes, you see only the planning for whatever dullard comment he was going to make next.

Still, it’s not until the end of your date–an exceptionally long two and a half hours thanks to a mishap with your order–that James displays a behavior unsavory enough to elicit a truly unpleasant feeling in you. He’s quite clingy after a few too many glasses of wine. He walks you out of the restaurant with an arm around your waist, and more than once you have to bat his hand away from the seam where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

“You in the parking garage or the back lot?” He asks, smiling in a way he must mean to be salacious, eyes half-lidded like he’s lost control of them.

“The back lot.” Parking was a nightmare with how late you arrived after work. “Is that where you are?” You ask, hoping it isn’t.

“No, no, I actually took an Uber in,” he says, and you know immediately by the way he starts tapping your hip with his index finger why he chose to do that.

“Want me to wait for you here until your Uber arrives, then?” You ask, turning out of his grasp to stand face to face with him outside of the restaurant. It’s late enough now that the streets have calmed some, at least by New York’s standards.

James’ expression falters, but he tries for a recovery with a hopeful smile. “Well, you know, I was sort of hoping we might continue this elsewhere,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Is he trying to look suave?

“Oh, no,” you say, putting forth your very best sympathetic head tilt, matched with a well placed brow furrow. “No thank you.”

This time his expression doesn’t recover. His hands lift from his pocket and he makes a helpless gesture with them, very nearly pleading. “Really? I thought we were having a nice time.”

“And I’m so glad for that,” you say, and even you can hear the corporate edge sliding into your tone, which doesn’t seem to soothe him any. “But it’s for the best that we part ways here, James. Thanks for your time.”

“But–” Your inarguable dismissal staggers him. He gropes for recourse. “I paid,” he blurts out, which proves to be his final mistake.

Your polite facade drops. “For what?“ His booze addled panic shifts into confusion. “F��For dinner, but I didn’t mean–”

“And that entitles you to fuck me?” No sense in mincing words now.

His expression morphs again, this time into mortification. “No! No, but–”

“You thought this would be a transaction? God, and here I was thinking your gravest flaw would be how mind-numbingly boring you are. But to be boring and stupid?” You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “Goodnight, James,” you say, the kindest dismissal you can muster. You turn on your heel before he can sour the evening any further, and luckily for him, he doesn’t pursue you further.

Unbelievable. As if you hadn’t offered to split the check. As if he expected it to be a transaction that he cashed in your bed. As if the cost of dinner was worth anything more than a polite smile from you. As if.

New York doesn’t sleep, but it does grow very, very dark. You’re on a narrow street, not an alley exactly, but not a main road, either. Still riled up, you bring up the parking app on your phone as you walk, swiping through to get ready to pay for your crummy back lot space. A clatter brings your attention up, and that’s when you see them—two men. One wearing a black leather jacket, the other with a kerchief slung around his throat. 

You stop walking, caught between turning around, which would mean putting your back to the men up ahead, or continuing forward, which would mean passing within arm’s reach. They haven’t noticed you yet, or at least they’re pretending not to, but now they look right at you and smile.

The men don’t look dangerous, not like they do in the movies, but you know that means nothing—plenty of the worst people in the world looked safe. Yet the longer you stay put, the more you sense the ill intent wafting off of them like cheap cologne. “Hey, baby,” says one of them, moving toward you. “You lost?”

“No,” you say curtly, taking a step back. “Not lost. Excuse me.”

“You sure? We’re real good with directions,” says the second man, leering. Your eyes snap between them, phone clutched tight in your hand. “Y’look like you could use some.”

“No,” you say again, louder. How loud would you need to be for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the streets? Panic swells in your throat.

You don’t know how they got so close so quickly, but as you turn to run, a hand catches your collar. The guy in the leather jacket wrenches you back against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your phone clatters to the ground. 

“Hey now, what’s the rush?” He asks, yanking you backwards. “Get off me,” you snarl, but he’s squeezing you tightly across the chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe. You struggle until you feel something hard dig into your hip. A knife? No. You realize coldly that it’s a gun, the handle of it jutting out from his waistband and digging into you. In a desperate bid, you twist in his grip, trying to grab it.

“Careful,” says the other one, moving in front of you, closing in. “She’s got spirit.”

You kick out at the other guy but he jumps back, laughing at you. They’re both laughing, relishing in your fear. Your fingers skim the gun, but you can’t quite get it.

The first man’s breath is hot and sour on your cheek. “Come on, now, let’s have some fun.” You slam your head back into his nose—or try to, but you only manage to clip his chin. Still, you hit bone, hear the crack of a tooth, and just like that you’re free, stumbling to your hands and knees as the man reels. You hit the ground hard, the shock of landing lancing pain through your arms and legs. The gun tumbles from his waistband. Without thinking twice you lunge for it, fingers successfully closing around the grip right before one of the men grabs your ankle and pulls.

The street bites into your elbows and scrapes your knee bloody as you twist around and raise the gun, barrel leveled at the man’s heart. “LET GO!” You scream, heart hammering against your chest. “Oh shit,” says the man in the kerchief, eyes wide at seeing you armed, but the other one sneers at you, blood spilling from his mouth. There’s fury in his eyes, and the unmistakable intent to hurt you. “You ever held a gun that big, baby?”

“Let go,” you say again, voice firmer than the tremble of your hands. Your finger flexes on the trigger.

“You even know how to use it?” He asks, using his grip on your ankle to pull himself over you, his other hand falling to your thigh. He gives a pointed squeeze as he lifts himself up to tower above you. He reaches to take hold of you again, but you won’t let him. Can’t let him.

“Yes.” You squeeze the trigger as you say it, bracing for the recoil, the bang. It’s always so loud in the movies.

Nothing happens. You panic, looking at the weapon in your hands in dull shock. The safety isn’t on. You pull the trigger again, but the chamber rings hollow. It isn’t loaded. You look up at the man as his shadow falls over you. He bares his teeth at you, painted an ugly dark red with the blood spilling from his mouth. The man laughs, a short barking sound, and knocks the gun from your hands with a harsh slap. It goes skidding away.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, raising his boot as if you were an oversized bug, something to crush. You close your eyes and scream as he brings it down hard.

Or at least, he started to, but his leg locks up halfway, and then he topples, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. Your eyes open just in time to see his body hit the ground, a smoldering wound smoking from his chest. An instant later, the second man falls. This time you see the flash of crimson light that drops him.

Homelander’s cape billows in the wind with all the majesty of the flag it’s designed after as he descends from the sky. He lands in front of you, backlit by the distant street lights that give him an artificial glow. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel delivered straight from some market tested Heaven.

“Hey, you hurt?” He asks, reaching for you.

Awestruck, all you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. Tears well in your eyes. Shock is setting in the aftermath of all that adrenaline in your veins crashing your system. Through the blur of your tears, Homelander’s expression shifts from concern to that of determination.

“It’s alright, I’m here now. They can’t hurt you,” he says, bringing your arm around his neck while he slips his own around your waist, effortlessly lifting you from the ground. Before your gaze can drift to the corpses–whose burning flesh you can smell mingling with the acrid city air–Homelander rotates, taking them from your line of sight. 

With a flourish, he unhitches his cape from his shoulders and swings the fabric over yours. It settles on you heavier than you expected it to be, and impossibly warm. Moving back in, Homelader readily takes you back into his arms. He cradles you in his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other drawing lines up and down your back.

You try to choke out a sound, to ask him, how? How did he find you? How did he know you needed him? But none of the noises you make form any actual words. Your throat is too tight, and your tongue feels too big for your mouth, gnarled silent by panic. Everything is just too much. Your breaths only grow sharper as tears burn hot streaks down your face.

“Sssshhhhhhh,” he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take the weight of your body from you. His hold is compressive, but not oppressive. It takes everything you have left to lift your other arm around his neck while the sobs overtake you. He continues to hush you, whispering a menagerie of honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.

I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

You cry harder, coiling your arms tighter around his neck. He lets you cling to him, lets you sob away your makeup and soak the collar of his suit with the mess of it.

You don’t know how much time passes in your addled state of panic, but eventually your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder. Your body isn’t convinced that the danger has vanished yet, eager to turn to flight now that your fight has gone.

“That’s it, just like that,” Homelander praises. “Breathe. Breathe. Good… Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly,” he tells you. The weightlessness you feel in his arms helps the idea, helps you to feel like you aren’t being crushed by the terrible weight of such a moment of horror. That’s all it had been, a moment–two at most–and yet the torment of it had felt hours long. Exhaustion falls over you in the wake of adrenaline, and you’re glad for Homelander’s arms around you. You doubt you’d be standing without them.

“Home,” you manage to croak. “Please.” You can still smell the man’s sour breath, the memory even more powerful than the stench of reality.

“I can take you home,” he coos, maintaining that same soothing tone of comfort. “Is that what you want?”

You nod, focusing instead on the vetiver fresh smell of him. You’ve never been near enough to him before to notice it, but now you fixate on it. Anything to drown out the stink of the alley. He smells so much cleaner, like fresh linen drying over green grass in the summer sun.

His arms flex around you before he adjusts them, lifting you smoothly into his arms. Your stomach flips the way it does when you go down a hill in the backseat of a car, gravity loosening its hold on you. You can feel the motion all around you, the wind ghosting over you, but Homelander himself feels motionless against you.

Flying. He’s flying. And so are you.

His cape shields you from the night air bite, pulled snug around you and secured where your bodies are pressed together. You haven’t felt like this since you were a child, cradled with such care and strength that feels beyond your comprehension. Homelander serves as both place and person–somewhere safe, someone kind–and you tuck yourself closer into the sanctuary of his arms, hands fisted in the protective fabric of his cape.

“I’ve got’cha,” he assures you, voice warm in your ear. 

Without a shadow of a doubt, you believe him.

Homelander doesn’t need to ask where you live. It’s an easy detail to brush off if you question him. He doubts you will with the way you’re clinging to him, though. You feel good in his arms, settling so naturally against the contours of them he might convince himself you belong here. He doesn’t mind your weeping when it comes with your arms around him, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

A small shiver rolls down his spine.

Of all the ways Homelander expected the evening to unfold, he hadn’t properly anticipated you. While he cradles you, he replays again and again the moment you were snatched. You fought without hesitation. You wrenched the gun free. The fierceness in your eyes as you aimed it had been exquisite. The resolve in your gaze as you fired it even more so.

He’d known you were confident, but that kind of clawing survival can only be learned of a person in action. He’s known many supposedly strong people–supe and human alike–who walk as stone giants, but shatter like glass when faced with any real danger.

You couldn’t have known that you weren’t in any real danger. You couldn’t have known that he’d told those thugs to scare you, but not hurt you. You couldn’t have known he’d ensured the gun wasn’t loaded. You fought as though it was for your life, and it enthralled him.

He hadn’t planned on killing them in front of you. They would have been loose ends to tie up after his heroic rescue, but somewhere along the line that stupid bastard lost the thread. He hurt you, bloodied those pretty knees of yours, and he moved to strike you. To grind you beneath his heel as if you were the vermin instead of him. For that–and for so flagrantly going against Homelander’s own direct order–you witnessed his downfall.

As far as he’s concerned now, everything happened precisely as it needed to. You’re in his arms now, and he’s still half hard from witnessing you choose fight when your instincts kicked in. You’re too fragile to choose it so readily. Your bones feel bird-like compared to the scope of his strength. Hollow and brittle. You would make for a hell of a supe, though.

Still, he won’t break you. He’s spent his entire life learning what it takes to snap bones like party favors, and more crucially, what it takes not to. Yours are safe from him. In fact, you’re the safest person in the whole world now.

Homelander glides down to a soft landing on your driveway. Your car will be an issue for another time. For now, he walks you to your front door before gently placing you on your feet.

“Believe this is you, young lady,” he says, leaving space for plausible deniability. If it occurs to you to interrogate him about it, it doesn’t show on your face. With hands still softly trembling, you fish your keys out of your purse. He watches you fumble with them for only a moment before he steps in behind you, one hand gripping your upper arm to steady and pause you while the other covers your shaking hand, helping you to slide the key into the lock and turn it.

Your hand fits nicely in his.

“Thanks,” you whisper. It’s the first thing you’ve said since asking him to take you home. He takes the liberty of opening the door for you while he’s at it, swinging it wide to allow you in. You grab his forearm, and he thinks you’re only balancing yourself, but when you don’t let go he steps with you, letting you lean on him as you guide him into your home. He closes the door behind the two of you, smiling to himself.

He may not need an invitation to enter, but it’s charming to have one.

Your movements are stiff, a slight limp to your gait. You fell hard, and the delicate flesh of your knee had ripped apart against the concrete when you were dragged. You hesitate at the stairs, but Homelander doesn’t. You inhale sharply  when he scoops you back up into his arms with ease and starts up the stairs. He keeps his gaze ahead, but he can feel yours on him.

“Thanks,” you say again, the word barely more than a hiccup, adjusting his cape over yourself like a blanket.

“It’s what heroes are for.” He smiles. It’s a party line, one he’s said a hundred thousand times before, but you make him mean it. This is what heroes are for. To be worshiped and loved, understood deeper than pop stars and false idols like them. There’s a reverence in your stare that transcends the vapid starstruck way most people look at him. You understand now. You know how much more he is.

He brings you to your bedroom and sets you on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cape back up over your shoulders. You’ve scarcely let go of it since he wrapped you in it. Will you sleep with it tonight? He bets you will. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through him. 

“Alright, let’s get a look at those knees,” he says, crouching in front of you. There’s blood running down your left shin. He lifts the edge of your skirt hem just enough to catch a glimpse of shredded skin. It looks rough, dirty and embedded with bits of debris. He blows out a breath. “Got a first aid kit?”

You nod numbly. “Under the bathroom sink.”

It’s odd to see you so subdued. He forgets sometimes that you humans can be as emotionally fragile as you are physically. Surely the death of two measly thugs isn’t enough to break you.

Rising, he moves to your bathroom. He feels slightly unbalanced without the sway of his cape behind him, the garment as integral to his physicality as any limb. He rummages through until his hand lands on a bright red fabric pack with a zipper. He gives it a little toss and catches it, bringing it back to you, alongside a wetted towel. He gives the pack a victorious little shake.

“H’okay, down to business.” Homelander kneels before you, splaying open the kit and placing it on your lap. He’s never used one of these before, but he’s pretended to do it on set. How different can it be? He cups your leg, thumb absently smoothing back and forth on your skin while he uses the towel to gently wipe up the blood, dirt and debris from your shin and knee.

You flinch, tense a moment before you relax. “Homelander, you really don’t have to–”

“Am I doing a bad job?” He asks, glancing up at you through his lashes. There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, the smallest hint of exasperation in your voice. He’s pleased to hear it. Perhaps you’re less wilted from the encounter than he thought. “I just mean that I can–”

“I know you can,” he says, and this time he definitely sees a flare of annoyance. You don’t like being interrupted any more than he does, but you don’t protest further. He smiles, triumphant, and focuses back on the task at hand, petting you the same way one might soothe a wild animal.

There’s a novelty in doing this for real that he hadn’t anticipated. It’s entirely unlike wiping away congealed red corn syrup from an actor. Your skin is sweeter, softer. He suddenly resents his gloves for the barrier they provide, despite his usual reliance for that very thing. He’s meticulous in flicking out the little stones embedded in your skin, spotting each one with ease.

Next, he tears open the alcohol wipes with his teeth and uses them to disinfect, rubbing at the sores. You flinch, sucking in a loud breath through your teeth. “Oopsy-daisy,” he says, switching to gently patting. He has no real concept of what you’re feeling right now. He’s never had a scraped knee before. The scientists at Vought had to get much more creative in order to gauge his capacity for healing.

He imagines they were disappointed to realize that, once damaged, he healed as slowly as a human.

“How’d you find me?” You ask, snapping him out of his unpleasant reminiscence. Your shock seems to have worn off entirely. You look more present, alert to his every move.

“Heard you scream,” he answers simply, unraveling a roll of gauze. That much is true.

“But how? How did you know where I was?” You push, watching him wind the white material around your knee.

“I didn’t,” he lies smoothly. He’s followed enough scripts in his life to do so very well. “If I’d known exactly where you were, I would have been there sooner. I was minding my business on 5th Avenue when I heard you. Familiar voices can…” He makes a vague gesture. “Cut through the din. Voices I want to hear.” 

He thinks he catches you flush at that. Just a touch. He bites back a smirk, pleased with himself. Does it matter if it’s true when it makes you look at him like that?

“I didn’t know your hearing worked like that,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of his cape.

His gaze flickers up every so often to watch your finger pick at the seam, inexplicably charmed by it. “Well, there’s some things not even a super fan can glean,” he teases, securing the gauze with tape. He expects to see a familiar indignation in your expression, but when he looks up, he’s caught off guard by the unmistakable fondness in your eyes.

“I was over the moon when I got my job at Vought,” you say quietly, like you’re whispering in a confessional. “I always wanted to work with heroes.”

“With me?” He pushes, lifting his brows.

Very slightly, you smile. “Yeah. With you.”

“Busted,” he says, his own voice equally soft.

You give him a little nudge with your foot. “Gauze won’t stay by itself. Need to use a roll of self-adhesive wrap,” you say, plucking the beige roll from the kit. He likes the shy warmth in your voice. He would have done much worse to see this side of you. Have the intimacy of your pain, fear and relief all to himself. This glowing affection you’re so full of. He feels drunk on the cocktail of it all.

“Right, obviously,” he says, taking the wrapping from you. “I knew that.”

“Probably should have put a gauze pad under it, too,” you continue, eyes heavily lidded, expression soft.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he laments, affixing the textured bandage around the gauze. You laugh, and the sound of it feels like a space he could belong in.

He checks your other knee, your elbows and your palms, but nowhere else on you calls for anything more than some antiseptic and a few bandaids. With the wrappings secure, he shuffles the mess of supplies haphazardly back into the kit, zipping it up much more bulging and misshapen a state than he found it in. He pushes it under the bed with the towel atop it, standing.

“Good as new. Or close to it,” he says, making a small show of dusting off his hands for a job well done. 

You stand, letting his cape slide off of your shoulders for the first time since he put it on you, the fabric pooling on the bed. You step forward, and of all the things he expects in this moment, you blow them out of the water by suddenly wrapping your arms around him, the soft curves of your body slotting against his in a way that trips something primal and needy in him. He puts his arms around you the second the shock wears off, holding you with the barest fraction of his strength.

Tension drains from your body. Were you nervous he wouldn’t reciprocate? It’s an endearing thought. He gives a deeper, brief squeeze. He can’t remember the last time someone held him.

“Thank you,” you say after a long beat, drawing back. He reluctantly loosens his grip, but not by much. He’s loath to relinquish you so soon after he’s gotten hold of you. “It’s not enough, but I don’t know what could ever be.”

I could make a few suggestions, he thinks, but he doesn’t give voice to the lewd thoughts that follow.

“I’ll never forget what you did for me tonight,” you say. Your face is so near to his, it makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the curve of your lips as you speak.

Instead of responding, Homelander leans in, eyes falling shut.

“Oh,” you say sharply, your soft body suddenly going tense in his arms, stopping him in his tracks. Both of your hands are braced against his chest now, creating a distance that feels craterous. 

He blinks, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?” 

“I’m really tired,” you say, tone shifting to mild diffusion. It reminds him of the way you spoke to James, and his ego stings with both the rejection and the comparison. He’d laughed listening to you reject that pathetic, simpering man. It seems less funny now. 

He scoffs an incredulous little huff. But I saved you, he thinks, indignant panic flaring in his chest. To his dismay, however, the thought doesn’t sound like his own voice. It sounds like James’.

But I paid!

Repulsed, Homelander swallows the thought like bile. If the comparison comes so readily to his own mind, there’s no way you won’t make the connection yourself. He feels his skin prickle like there are fire ants crawling beneath his suit. The memory of James’ pathetic begging is the only thing that keeps his composure together.

“Of course you are,” he says tightly. His smile is forced, slightly too wide. “You should sleep. Rest up. Take the day off tomorrow,” he says stiffly, rattling off lines like they’re pre-recorded. Only then does he surrender his hold on you, hands moving to his hips instead. You take a step back, and he stands straighter to disguise the sting of rejection.

“Thank you,” you say, tone indecipherable. It’s full to the brim with something, but nothing Homelander can parse in his current state. “I–”

“No need,” he dismisses, jumping on the opportunity to end the conversation on his terms. “Really. Just doing my job,” he says, tossing you a little two-finger salute off of his brow, already moving towards your balcony door. You don’t move, watching him from the foot of your bed, arms wrapped around yourself.

“Catch you at the office,” he says. He knows he’s speaking too quickly, but it’s all he can do to keep himself in check. Anger and misery broil in him like vinegar and baking soda, the caustic brew threatening to erupt.

“Okay,” you say, which isn’t particularly what he wants to hear. He turns his back to you, and his smile drops, his ego violently stung. With a force that billows wind through your bedroom, he takes off into the night sky.

You just weren’t ready, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s easier to be angry than embarrassed. He wants to make as much distance between himself and your rejection, flying higher and higher until frost begins collecting on his lashes. He flies until there’s no sound, no oxygen, no life but his own. He flies until gravity releases him and he can finally relax, suspended by cold, vast space.

The earth glows beneath him, reflecting the light of the sun where it illuminates a distant portion of the globe.

Closing his eyes, he tips his head back.

He’ll fix this.

( chapter four )

[pumpkinbxtch]

sumn about dionysus’s daughter and percy being obsessed w each other irks be in so kind of way, can i req something about it???

I would come back from death for you .⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

— percy jackson x daughter of dionysus!reader

warnings: none, i think

a/n: ok, here comes my confession. I don't know if this is something that counts as "obsession" as such because there are different types of it. I wanted it to be a more tender or cute obsession. I don't know, maybe I'll explore more but with a darker side.

The emotion was devouring him from the inside out. He knew he would be leaving in a few days, and even though he'd rather fight Hades himself than give his life on a silver platter, Percy couldn't help struggle with the thought of not being in your arms again.

— I'll go with you — you said, even though you knew it wouldn't happen. — I don't mind dying with you if it's the only way to keep us together.

Really, he wouldn't mind too, but he knew he had to keep you safe. Dionysus would never forgive him if anything happened to you, and to be honest, neither would he. You'd stay; that was the right thing.

The best deal he could get for now was to be together as much as possible until the day came.

You didn't say it, but it had become an obsession for each other. barely at night could separate to go to your respective cabins, and of course, not counting those times when you or he would sneak away to spend more time together. Some campers watched, they knew what was going on but still turned a blind eye because who were they to judge? Besides, it suited them to maintain the discretion or Dionysus would truly be in a bad mood, as having Percy Jackson as a son-in-law was enough for him.

That night, you had already turned off the lights, only the moonlight accompanied you, and you let out a deep grunt that turned into a gasp when you heard a knock on your door, you squinted your eyes and then heard two more knocks, three in total.

Obviously it was Percy, and you quickly got up before anyone could see him in front of your cabin. As soon as you opened, he slipped in between the door and closed it by pressing his heel. When you smelled the worn sunscreen on the curve of his neck, you let out a sigh; it was as if during the time you hadn't been together, you had been slowly holding your breath, suffocating without him.

— I missed you — he murmured, squeezing your body a little tighter. He placed a kiss on your shoulder and leaned back to look at you.

— It's only been an hour since dinner, Pers — you said, and he smiled at the nickname taking your hand to walk with you towards your bed. in the end, you were the only one to sit on the edge of it because percy stayed watching your bedside things, fiddling with and looking at your makeup.

— I'm leaving tomorrow — he said, still with his back to you as he struggled to read the label of a lipgloss, the one that suited you so well and that he never feared smudging when he kissed you.

Your heart raced. —Tomorrow? But...

— Things have changed, Chiron told me — Sadness and anger evident in his voice. Percy wanted to set the world on fire with Leo's help just because he hadn't had a couple more days with you. Instead, he took your perfume in his hands and brought it to his nose to smell it. Trying to imprint it in his memory, at least, until he returned and could smell it from your own body where it mixed with thousands of other scents resulting in your characteristic one. The one that drove him crazy.

That idea made him laugh, in fact you were the daughter of the man who could made men crazy with a snap of his fingers, so Percy believed you had done something similar to him, the only difference was that he was happy with it. He would jump blindfolded out of the grand canyon for you if you asked him to.

After a minute, he understood that your silence wasn't exactly a good thing, and he ran his fingers over the other beauty items on your wooden dresser, before turning towards you putting his weight on the dresser.

— Everything will be fine — he was convinced, but the tears threatening to fall from your eyes brought him to his knees before you, so quickly that you held back a sob seeing him on the floor raising his hands to caress your cheeks as if you were something religious that he was worshiping. Her turquoise eyes shone in the moonlight with empathy and they let you know that you had never felt that kind of religious love for which you would die until you had him.

Ugh, you were so in love with each other that it was ruthless to separate you even for just a little while.

You bent down to kiss him, and he stretched his neck to reach your lips desperately, without wanting to lose any piece of you.

—It will take much more than death to keep me from coming back to you— he whispered inches away from your lips, and you smiled because you knew he was serious about that.

With time on your shoulders, you settled on the bed, and he cuddled with you until you fell asleep while he stroked your hair and kissed you on the cheek; you had never felt so safe in someone's arms.

And it was in the morning, just after their last kiss, that your body began to ache for him and his absence. You returned to your cabin, cranky and teary-eyed, looking at the mess he had left on your dresser last night and smiled, recognizing your boyfriend's quirks, but little did you know that all Percy was doing was looking for things he could carry with him during his quest. Things that were yours and reminded him of what he had to fight for.

—Nice hair claw, Percy— Piper joked with a pink spark in her eyes, and he smiled proudly.

Leo dramatically put his hand on his chest and sighed loudly. — Better no one get in HIS – our – way because someone's waiting for him.

“Yeah, better not” he thought.

[inazumass]

TAGS: Laios x Reader, Fluff, Comfort, Morning After, Canon Adjacent, Neurodivergent Laios Implied, Trust Issues, Mild Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reader is a Beastman, Gender Neutral Reader, Second Person POV, It's Sweet I promise ;-;

While there was no doubt in your mind that you had crossed a boundary with Laios, it wasn’t like you could turn back now.

Part II to Animal Attraction Word Count: 8.8k

Morning came with little fanfare. 

This deep below the surface, there was neither the sun to rise nor any birds to sing their early morning songs. If it weren’t for the party keeping track of time, you wouldn’t have been able to tell if it were night or day based on your surroundings alone. Hours passed without the help of the sun to guide you through the day; morning slipped into evening without notice. Days passed on the surface, lives went on, and the clock in your bedroom still ticked onward without anyone to watch its hands creeping across its face. 

The lack of sunlight was disorienting in the early days of adventuring, but curiosity ultimately won out, and you’d pressed on and learned to live with it.

As you began to stir beneath the sleeping bags, it was the chill in the room that hit you first. 

Beneath the covers, it was nice and warm, but your cheeks stung, rosy from the crisp air filtering in from outside the worn building. Shivering slightly, you snuggled in closer to the warmth behind you. Scruffy ears lay closer to your head, aching from the cold already. Though it had settled down some since last night, it was that sort of bleak, damp cold that had a way of working itself into your bones. It would have been enough to make your fur stand on end if it weren't for the heat surrounding the rest of your body.

While your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, you could feel the soreness creeping into your muscles from last night. The realisation that it hadn’t been a dream came rushing in, along with the dull ache in your muscles. Heat crept into your cheeks when the memories of last night began to flood your mind. The images of your little rendezvous were still so clear and fresh—every whispered word, every tender touch; the way he looked with his head thrown back against the pillows… every little sound he’d made that had butterflies swirling in your stomach.

It would be a lie to say that the thought of an intimate night with your party’s leader hadn’t crossed your mind before, but sitting here in bed the morning after, you still found it hard to believe. The weight of the realisation settled over you slowly, mingling in with the comforting warmth of the man next to you. His strong arm was still wrapped around your torso, holding you close even as he slept. It was gentle, innocent in comparison to the shameless images that whirled in your mind’s eye.

While there was no doubt in your mind that you had crossed a boundary with Laios, it wasn’t like you could turn back now. His breaths came steady against the back of your neck, oblivious to your inner turmoil as he slept soundly next to you. The subtle rise and fall of his sturdy chest was a steady rhythm against your back. 

You were careful not to wake him up as you turned your head toward him, gently shifting your body so you could catch a glimpse of his face. 

The adventurer’s cropped hair was a mess atop his head, the short, fluffy blond strands sticking up every which way against the pillows. He looked so sweet like this: content and peaceful. Soft pink lips parted slightly as he breathed, eyes closed, as he rested beside you beneath the worn sleeping bags. Pink cheeks and soft lips—under different circumstances, you weren’t sure you’d be able to resist kissing him awake.

Your stomach twisted. A big part of you worried about how he might react when he woke up.

You knew Laios was notoriously bad at reading social situations, and this was certainly a complicated one. This was new territory for both of you, and there was no telling what he might think of you now. Or what the others might think of you should they find out, for that matter. 

Then again, you knew him well enough to know his kindness. Even in the short time you’d been with their party, it was clear that he cared deeply about everyone on his team, yourself included. Whatever happened next, you would find a way to face it with as much grace as you could muster.

He’d always done his best to ensure the safety of his friends. He knew your strengths, your weaknesses, the best of your abilities, how to utilise them properly when it came down to it, and the areas where you could all improve if you just practised a little more. 

Laios knew what he could and couldn’t handle too, for the most part. But what if this one slip-up was enough to offset the delicate balance they’d all spent so long maintaining? What if this was beyond his limits? There was no telling what he might say after the fog of desire had lifted, when the dust settled and it was just the two of you laying naked together with everything out in the open.

The mixture of emotions was nigh on overwhelming. In another situation, you may have been poised to run already, to slip away into the morning sun and forget this ever happened, no matter how badly you wanted to stay. A walk of shame felt easier than facing the fact that it was more than just physical on your part. You had to take a deep breath to calm yourself down. Eyes closed, four seconds in, four seconds out. 

At very least, the rest of the party seemed to still be asleep. 

As hard as it was to hear through the stone walls of the old inn, you were certain that, with your sensitive hearing, you’d at least know if someone else happened to be awake already. There was no stirring yet. If anyone else were up by now, then you would have heard it. You would have heard Marcille trying to wake Izutsumi, the scrape of Senshi’s pan scraping across the wooden floorboards, or perhaps Chillchuck’s distant grumbling… but there was nothing.

The cavern outside was quiet, save for the distant dripping of water echoing through the tunnels—most likely the snow already beginning to melt. You’d have to remember to put on your warmer clothes when you got up to brave the day. 

You shifted slightly, trying to stretch your sore muscles without disturbing Laios. As you moved, his arm instinctively tightened around you. He could feel the warmth of your body against his, and it made him reluctant to break the peaceful silence that enveloped the room. Finally, he found his voice, still heavy with sleep, and murmured, "Good morning.”  

When he finally broke the stillness in the room, you could feel the way his voice rumbled up from deep within his chest. His voice was low and intimate in a way that made your heart twist in your chest. That lazy morning drawl you were rarely fortunate enough to hear. When he blinked himself awake, you were met with a tired version of his signature puppy dog gaze. The way he looked at you was as if he were taking everything in for the first time.

"Morning," you replied breathlessly, your heart skipping a beat as he opened his eyes. 

He felt your body tense slightly in response, a subtle movement that made his heart ache. 

Golden and warm, his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as he offered you a lopsided smile. The expression was familiar and unfamiliar all in the same moment; that soft look had your breath catching in your throat. But there was something new within them—something different in the way he looked at you now—that strange something that comforted you and set you on edge in the same moment. 

The feeling of the tallman’s thick bicep curled against your waist was like a lifeline, keeping you tethered to this moment before you slipped too far into the whirlwind of self-doubt that threatened to overtake you. That gentle embrace which kept you pinned against the firm muscle and soft fat of his chest so comfortably. 

His musky scent flooded your nostrils, dizzying you in a way you couldn’t describe. You could feel the firmness of his muscles and the softness of his chest and stomach against your body. You wanted nothing more than to nuzzle back into him and fall back asleep right then and there, to deal with the aftermath of last night’s activities some other time. 

There was no running away now.

There was a small voice in the back of your mind that nagged at you, begging you to just up and ask. Would your little slip-up change anything between the two of you? A tiny piece of you hoped that it would, but knowing that the others could wake up at any moment, you thought better of asking. Better to keep your mouth shut for the time being.

You couldn’t help but look away from him then, finding the worn sleeping bags covering your still-naked bodies much less polarising than the thoughts racing through your mind. Some of the threads were frayed, sticking out at odd angles to show just how well loved the equipment was. 

The discomfort must have been obvious on your face because Laios's expression quickly shifted from drowsiness to a mixture of confusion and concern as he came to fully. "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.

He could see the mixture of emotions in your eyes—comfort, affection, and a hint of uncertainty. It mirrored his own feelings—that strange blend of comfort and anxiety, teetering on the brink of something wonderful and terrifying all at the same time.

Laios felt the gentle weight of your hand resting against his chest lift. His arm lay against your waist, palm flat against your hip as he held you close. To him it was your touch that was like a lifeline, keeping him tethered to this peaceful moment, to you. But when he realised something was off his arm loosened around your body before he moved to sit up in bed and ultimately, let you go completely.

"I'm fine," you reassured him with an awkward smile, making no move to pull away from him. The words felt wrong on your tongue, nearly catching in your throat before you had a chance to spit them out. Lying to him didn’t come easy, nevermind the fact that he could see right through you.

As much as you wanted to address the so-called elephant in the room, perhaps the two of you were right the night before. 

Maybe it would be better to pretend none of it ever happened, or maybe you were just fooling yourself. Perhaps it would be easier to rebuild that wall. Less heartache in the long run. 

"Just a bit sore." You added, it was a half truth.

His brow furrowed with worry immediately, realising something was off but unable to put his finger on what exactly. His thoughts began to race as he replayed the events of last night in his mind, nearly wincing at the thought of your halfhearted protests. "Did I hurt you?" 

Despite the stubborn thoughts from some frightened corner of your mind, you couldn’t help but soften at the way he looked at you. His drowsy eyes now widened against his hard features, his big hands flexing against the bed sheets as he tried to decide whether to reach out to you again or to stay still and give you your space. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he’d hurt you, even if it were by accident in the heat of the moment.

His eyes searched yours for a second, looking for any further signs of distress, but there was something there that he couldn’t quite read. By the time he caught it, you’d already ripped your gaze away again, looking down at the bed.

You shook your head quickly and sat up on your elbows, careful to cover whatever was left of your modesty with the bedding. 

“I’m okay,” You repeated, “Really. I…” You paused as your thought trailed off, the words getting caught in your throat this time as you looked up at him again.

You placed your hand over one of his on the bed, squeezing it lightly. 

Who were you kidding? When he looked at you like that, it was impossible not to tell him what was on your mind. After your heart-to-heart and all the little conversations you’d shared over the journey thus far, it would be wrong not to offer him that same trust in return. Perhaps some walls weren’t so easily rebuilt.

Deep breaths again. You looked away from him for the third time this morning. It was easier to get the words out when you couldn’t feel the burn of his eyes against your skin. 

“I’m just not really used to… uh… this?... y’know?” 

The words hadn’t quite come out right, if not a little awkward, but at least he was pretty sure he understood the gist of what you were alluding to. It was enough to get your point across, enough to ease the tension in his shoulders as his thumb rubbed against the back of your hand.

You didn’t know what to call the situation at hand, but putting it at face value, you weren’t exactly prone to sleeping with your coworkers. Sure, there was a little crush here and there, but that was natural.  Certainly, before him, you’d never even considered sleeping with one of your bosses , especially not on a job this important. 

Yet here you were, hand in hand, wondering where the hell to go from here.

Laios nodded slowly, the tension in his face easing a little. Although he couldn’t see in the dark as well as you could, he could see the way you cowered slightly as you said the words. He could see the way that you seemed to want to curl in on yourself again. He recognized that look from last night’s conversation—vulnerability wasn’t something that seemed to come easy to you.

Perhaps the others didn’t give him enough credit when it came to being able to read those he was close to, or maybe it was your more animalistic tendencies that were more familiar to him that made it easier. He wasn’t sure.

There was something in the way your fuzzy little ears flattened against your head—that sheepish, downcast gaze—that stirred something behind his sternum. With a stance like that, he’d be willing to bet you’d have had your tail between your legs in any other position, ready to bolt. He paused for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts, before he offered up a soft admission.

“Me either.” 

It may not have seemed like much, but it was honest. He was looking away from you now too, his fingers slowly threading themselves through yours on the bed as he tried to find the courage to continue. 

For once, the quiet was getting to him; he wanted to hear your voice. That gentle tone you had in the early hours of the day threatened to lull him back to sleep. He’d always had trouble pulling his stare away from you when things were calm, though you and everyone else had simply chalked it up to his fascination with monsters and beasts. 

Lightly, you brushed a thumb over the back of his hand in return. It was an unconscious gesture, but that small show of comfort was enough contact to ease him into what he had to say. After all, it stands to reason that you’d already gone this far. He figured, what’s one more confession?

“I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with… this sort of thing either.” The blond admitted, nervously running his free hand through his tousled hair. It came to rest on the back of his neck for a moment, rubbing his muscles before he dropped it back down to his lap and picked at the fraying strings on the covers. 

He needed something to occupy his hands and keep him calm. Something to distract him from the way your attention settled over him now.

Sure, he wasn’t entirely clueless. He had been engaged at one point, after all.

It was completely different, though, probably not something he could compare this situation to even if he wanted to. It had been so long ago that it felt like another life, a blip on the timeline. Something that had been done to appease his parents for the time being. Something to keep the peace—if you could even call it that. 

It wasn’t as if he’d had any sort of long term relationship aside from that—hell, he hadn’t wanted one.

Still avoiding your stare, he forced himself to swallow the lump forming in his throat at the thought of what he was about to say to you. 

"About last night…”

You tensed beneath his grip, your blood practically running cold at those words. 

Nothing good ever followed a start like that, and you knew it. Though you weren’t particularly well versed in the way of one night stands, or romance for that matter, you had read that line countless times in novels before. You knew that nothing good ever came next. 

Even when you felt your throat tighten up, you swore to yourself that you would not permit the tears to sting your eyes. Not today, not now. 

You’d told yourself that if rejection came, you would find it within to accept it with grace, you could feign indifference. Stick to the plan and put on a brave face for the sake of all that you’d built with the group in your short journey alongside them. For the sake of the mission and your safe return to the surface.

Laios cleared his throat quietly, still trying to force the words up out of himself. 

“I want you to know that I care about you.” He added, and you looked away from him again. 

His eyes were soft. Pity , you thought. You couldn’t stand it, the thought threatening to have bile rising in your oesophagus. He must have felt sorry for you. Part of you wanted to scoff at him and tear your hand away, but you remained still. 

With grace, you reminded yourself.

“I know,” you replied quietly, hesitant to reciprocate his sentiment in fear of what came next.

Those words were sharp against his chest. Not exactly callous, not quite cold, but not what he’d expected either. The edge to your words cut deeper than he expected, leaving him questioning everything.

They sent a million different calculations running through his mind in an instant. Did he misunderstand your intentions somehow? Was he reading too much into all of this? Again, he found himself searching for the answers in your form. However, you had turned away a little bit more, your gaze hardening as you stared at the wall opposite the bed. 

He couldn't read your face now. It was as if you were poised to run away for real this time. Though you hadn’t yet let go of his hand, it felt like a physical barrier had been erected between you. Laios couldn’t read your expression anymore, and the uncertainty was maddening. It was like you’d shut down before he’d even begun. He was terrified he’d pushed you too far. Was he fucking this up entirely? 

“No, I don’t think you do.” He said it softly, struggling to keep his tone light. 

It wasn’t an accusation, but merely a fact.

There was a new edge to his voice, though, bitterness seeping across his tongue when he spoke despite his best efforts to keep it at bay. Laios didn’t snap often, but the idea that the one person who seemed to understand him the most in his current party could brush him off like that—especially in a moment of vulnerability—had his resolve weakening. 

His words held no malice that you could detect. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, you might think he sounded… hurt? 

Oh.

You looked back at him then, brows knit together with concern as you looked up at his face. His expression was somewhere between sadness and confusion, fingers twitching against yours while he considered whether or not he should let your hand go for good this time. 

But you squeezed his hand back, keeping the warmth of his palm against yours. You’d opened your mouth to speak, but you couldn’t find the words.

“I mean, I care about you.” His voice was quiet, and even now, as he calmed himself, his eyes squeezed shut. He needed to say this, no matter how hard it was.

It was easier for him too when he didn’t have to feel the intensity of your gaze against his exposed flesh. Vulnerability in this manner was a skill he had yet to learn, but for the sake of salvaging this he would do his damn best. Laios focussed on the warmth of your palm against his own. He spoke in hushed tones, as if he might scare you off if he talked too loud. 

Or perhaps because, despite the fact that you were alone in the room, these words were meant for you and you alone. 

“I care about you more than I can explain. I care about you because... because you mean something to me. More than just a party member, more than just a friend.” He continued, his thumb absentmindedly tracing patterns into the back of your hand to keep himself grounded.

He felt a lump in his throat as he spoke, the raw honesty of his words making him feel exposed. He searched your face for any sign of understanding, any indication that you might feel the same way.

“It… probably wasn’t a good idea.” He admitted with a sad smile.

He wasn’t wrong. Chilchuck’s lectures and rants about professionalism and intraparty relationships hadn’t been for naught. Laios had seen it for himself once or twice, and he was no stranger to being taken advantage of. Despite the way your heart sank further at what he’d said, you knew that workplace relationships could easily spell disaster. 

Lives and careers could be ruined in an instant if just one person made the wrong move. If someone or something else got in the way, it could cause irreparable damage to a relationship. And that was on the surface. Down here, where the sunlight never reached you, surrounded by monsters and isolated from polite society, it should have been obvious that things could be much, much worse. If not deadly.

Yet, selfishly, you wouldn’t take it back. Not even if you could.

“But it wasn’t a mistake to me.” He said it firmly as he opened his eyes and finally looked back at you. 

You couldn’t help but feel hopeful at those words. There was a faint glimmer of it in your eyes, peeking through the cracks in the metaphorical walls you had yet to fully tear down. Those same walls he’d done his best to help you demolish in the short time he’d known you. His gaze had flickered back up to your face, his eyes teeming with sincerity as he spoke. They were warm as sunlight, captivating like a summer storm when he held you in his stare. He did his best to gauge your reaction before he said anything else.

His mind raced, each thought vying for attention. Was he saying too much? Not enough? The fear of rejection clawed at him, but he pushed it aside, determined to make you understand. The vulnerability was almost unbearable, but he knew it was necessary. If he didn’t open up now, he might lose you before he even had a chance to try.

He watched you closely, searching for any sign of what you were thinking. Your hesitation cut him deeper than he expected, but he tried to remain patient. He squeezed your hand gently once more.

That look of hope in your eyes was so faint, he almost convinced himself he’d imagined it. Still, he was nothing if not a brave man. He held you in his gentle gaze as he waited for a response, golden eyes almost pleading.

It was hard not to smile when he looked at you like that.

“I don’t regret it,” you admitted at last. 

Your heart fluttered in your chest again, whether it was from the nerves or the way he regarded you with such kindness, you weren’t sure. 

“And I care about you too.” 

Though it seemed obvious enough, you felt like you owed it to him to say it out loud. While it may have been wise to figure this out under different circumstances, it was entirely possible that there may not be another time to sort through this. 

There had already been so many close calls on this journey as it was right now. The thought had crossed your mind in a flash, bubbling up before you’d even had the time to process it in full. 

Would you be alright if something happened to one of you, knowing you had your chance and had thrown it away because you were afraid of something real? Something human?

He finished your thought for you. “I know last night was… unexpected.” Though not unwelcome. “and I got carried away but… it meant something to me.” 

This wasn’t how he wanted to do this. It was unconventional, but it was better to be honest than to push it aside. 

“I...I don’t want it to just be a one-time affair.” 

It was obvious that he was struggling to get the words out; he was not used to speaking so candidly in uncharted territory. He knew monsters like the back of his hand; he knew the dangers that came with his job, and he revered them for what they were. But human nature was not so kind; the hidden dangers and buried subtext that he often struggled to detect– it was all but alien to him. 

You swallowed hard, looking back down at the way his hand seemed to hold onto yours like a tether. As if it were the only thing keeping him anchored here in this room, as if you might fade away if he let go. 

The silence stretched on for seconds, but it might as well have been hours with the way the tension hung heavy in the air between you. 

"You... don't have to answer me right now." Laios added quickly, afraid that he may have crossed some unseen boundary. Pressuring you into something you didn’t want was the furthest thing from his mind right now. Not only would that stress be entirely unnecessary for the both of you but-

“No, I want to- I just…” You stammered, watching the way his other hand continued to unwind the fraying strings at the edges of the bedding. “That’s not what I was expecting you to say, I guess.” 

A shy smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Laios was usually the one to be straightforward, whereas others might tend to beat around the bush a little more. Seeing him wrestling with himself to confess his feelings was such a stark contrast to the leader you knew outside of closed doors. 

While you were a force to be reckoned with as well, all bite and no bark when it came to urgent situations, this was so far out of bounds in terms of what you’d grown accustomed to. Beastmen were not treated so delicately or with such tenderness and respect. You were meant to be a tool, a commodity. 

In some sick way, maybe that felt safer.

But you enjoyed this, having him so close to you. Your fingers were still laced together loosely against the bed sheets as you considered what to say next. The intimacy was welcome—strange, but welcomed wholeheartedly. Something unrecognisable was bubbling up within you now, something you couldn’t quite place. It was that warm feeling in the middle of your chest—feelings that you had long abandoned, fantasies of comfort that you’d banished into some forgotten corner of your psyche that were threatening to leak back out now.

You took a deep breath before responding, your other hand lightly brushing along his forearm as you sat together. "It doesn't have to be." You muttered nervously, "I mean... I.. don't want it to be uh... a one time thing.”

Finally, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate. Laios looked back down at where your hands were connected, a small smile playing on his lips. He shifted slightly, moving closer, until his forehead rested gently against yours. The warmth of his breath in the crisp air mingled with yours, creating a cocoon of shared space and warmth that tickled your skin. It was safe, it was exhilarating.

"I’m glad," he admitted quietly. "It meant a lot to me."

He’d hardly had time to grapple with the fact that there was more to his fascination with you before you’d crept into his dreams each night. The curve of your back when you would bend and stretch in the morning before pulling the straps on your leather armour tight against your body. The way he would have to force himself to rip his gaze away, feeling ashamed and embarrassed for staring so long. Wondering why it was that he couldn’t get you out of his head and knowing it was something more than pure curiosity.

In that moment, you took it upon yourself to close the distance between you, leaning into him and pressing your lips to his. The covers slipped, but you didn’t care. His arms slinked around you, pulling you closer until you were chest-to-chest again. 

There was a strange sense of relief that had washed over you both, mixing in with the excitement of new possibilities. This time it was him who pulled back, a dopey grin on his face as he looked down at you.

A hand reached up to brush stray strands of your hair from your face. 

“We should get dressed.” He said, though he made no move to let you go.

“Yeah…” You agreed, although you didn’t seem to be in a hurry to pull away from him either.

Time was precious, although one could argue that allowing your team to sleep in and rest a little more might have been better in the long run.

You rested your cheek against his shoulder for just a moment longer, giving him a light squeeze before pulling away to find your forgotten articles of clothing. Even with your night vision, it was rather difficult to pick out the darker fabrics of your clothing against the dimly lit room. Your body shifted slightly in bed, hands roaming against the sheets carefully so as not to disturb the stillness. Laios followed suit, finding his discarded boxers along with your undergarments hanging haphazardly off the side of the bed. 

He passed them to you immediately, watching as you slid the fabric up over your legs before walking across the cold wooden floor to your bag. He couldn’t quite make out what you were doing, but he heard rustling as he stood up and pulled the rough linen of his trousers back up over his hips.

You’d pulled out your lantern from your bag, deciding that you could spare the oil so long as it meant not having to walk out in mismatched or backwards clothing. The match hissed as you struck it, leaning it down to kiss the wick. 

The room was illuminated in an instant, the dim orange glow casting long shadows across the floor. You picked up your bag and set it on the empty bed, rummaging through it for a moment before you looked back up at the tallman across the room.

His honeyed eyes were transfixed on your body, a deep blush on his cheeks as he watched you getting ready for the day. The sight of you, even in this mundane act, brought another soft smile to his face. Your body was drenched in the soft orange glow of the flames, illuminating every fold, curve, muscle, and patch of soft fur he could get his hungry eyes on. The tail behind you swung lazily with every movement.

Laios couldn’t fathom how he’d been so lucky to know you in the first place, let alone to know you so intimately. His heart leapt back up into his throat as he drank in the sight of you.

From Laios' perspective, every detail was captivating. The gentle sway of your tail, the way the light played across your skin, the grace in your every movement—it all left him breathless. He could feel a warmth spreading through his chest—a mix of admiration and awe, you really were perfect to him.

He remembered the first time he saw you, how different you had seemed from anyone he had ever known, not just your form but the little things you did. The way you laughed and stretched after being brought back from the brink of death like it was nothing. It made him want to know more. Now, as he watched you, he realised just how precious all those little moments were. There was something about the way you carried yourself— a blend of open mindedness and witty charm— that resonated with him on a level he hadn’t fully understood until now.

Laios felt a surge of emotion, a blend of gratitude and longing. He wanted to reach out, to pull you close and hold you, to express everything he felt in a single embrace. But for now, he simply watched, content to admire the person who had become so important to him in such a short time.

Finally, you looked up and met his gaze. His blush deepened, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he let his smile grow, hoping you could see the depth of his feelings in his eyes.

“You’re staring again,” you huffed, stating the obvious. A hand rested on your hip, shifting your weight to one leg as you felt the familiar sting of anxiety creeping back under your skin. It felt silly, especially after last night, but some insecurities weren’t so easily quelled.

“S-sorry.” He stuttered, quickly turning away and grabbing his shirt.

You felt like a hypocrite the second you laid eyes on him, your eyes widening as you caught sight of the long, rosy scratch marks across the pale flesh of his back. The way his thick muscles shifted beneath his skin with every motion, his shirt stretching over his broad shoulders as he moved to pull his shirt over his head. 

You’d had an idea of it before now, but gods above, everything about him was thick. Even for a tallman he was large, it was no wonder he’d made such a great guard before now.

“Laios,” you breathed out softly, reaching a hand out to brush your fingers against the reddened skin in a mixture of awe and embarrassment.

He shivered under your touch, the gentle sting a reminder of last night’s intensity. 

“Oh, yeah.. Those,” he replied with a soft chuckle, “I guess we did get a little carried away last night, huh?”

“I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be,” he cut you off with a smile, tugging his shirt down over his torso before turning to face you fully. “I wouldn't trade it for anything.” 

It was a reminder of the night the two of you had shared. While guilt and pride mixed within your chest, he found himself giddy at the idea of being marked by you. He pulled your hand away gently, holding it in both of his for a moment. He cherished how soft they were in comparison to his, calloused from years of hard labour and training. Fingers brushed against your claws in admiration before he brought your knuckles to his lips in a soft kiss.

Despite his brute strength you knew that this softness came naturally to him. His lips grazed gently across your knuckles, and you couldn’t help but take a step closer. So hopelessly lost in his orbit, your cheeks burning at the gesture.

“I didn’t realise…”

“That I get to wear those marks as a reminder of what happened?” Laios asked, his voice low. “I’m not sorry for that.” It was obvious in his smile that he meant what he said.

Your heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his voice impossible to miss. You leaned into him, resting your forehead against his chest as his arms encircled you.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt.

In this line of duty you knew it was impossible, but you could dream. At very least you could go without contributing to his injuries.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and against yours. “I can handle a few scratches,” he reassured you. “Besides, it’s worth it if it means being with you.”

“I guess so.” You smiled.

"Good." Laios murmured, his arm tightening minutely around you in a light squeeze before the hand on your hip slid back through your hair, scratching at the base of your ears teasingly before returning to hold your face. 

He adored looking at you, and he prayed to whatever higher power would listen that someday you’d grow fond of the way he liked to stare.

Something told you he liked being marked a little more than he let on. You’d have to note that for next time, if you were fortunate enough to have another encounter with him before this journey inevitably came to a close. He pulled your smaller frame into him, then wrapped his arms around you in a soft hug.

Laios held you close, savouring the heat and comfort of your embrace. The steady beat of his heart under your ear was soothing.

The moment was intimate and sweet, with a quiet understanding passing between the two of you before you eventually broke away, knowing that you needed to get ready for what might lie ahead. 

The chill in the room had lessened since last night, but it still made the fur at the base of your tail bristle and stand on end. You both finished dressing in a comfortable silence before you sat back down on the edge of the bed to finish packing up your bedrolls.

Shadows danced across the decaying furniture and cracked wooden floorboards, your lantern flickering and dancing in the cool air of the dungeon. Your comrade sat down beside you, tightening the leather straps on his bag as you got ready. The silence stretched on for a while before his thoughts broke through, and he found himself musing aloud.

"...I've never wanted to be in a... relationship before, but…” He trailed off, his eyes widening as he realised that he’d spoken out loud by mistake. Though his voice was barely above a whisper, he knew you’d heard it from the way you stopped mid motion to stare at him.

“But what?” You asked, your voice gentle despite the gnawing curiosity. You tried to hide your hope for what he might say next but it would have been futile if he’d had the courage to spare a glance in your direction.

Laios simply shrugged it off, the corners of his lips pulling up into a little smile as he looked down at his hands. The memory of your fingers threading through his made him feel all warm inside. He’d hold them all day if he could. 

“But with you it feels different,” he said timidly. “There’s something about you that makes me wanna try.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at those words, your heart pounding as you scooted closer to him on the bed. The soft glow from the lantern cast an almost ethereal glow on his face, strong features softened by the caress of the warm firelight. He was a work of art in his own right, but if he had been a living painting you were sure you could spend forever in his masterpiece.

“I feel the same way,” you admitted, reaching out to gently squeeze his larger hand in your own. “Being with you, it feels… right?”

He turned his head to face you then, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of surprise and relief. “I was worried it might just be me,” he confessed, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. Nothing had ever felt as easy as spending time alone with you did. 

“I’ve never been good at this.” Despite having said it already, he couldn’t help but remind himself too. 

You smiled reassuringly. “Neither have I, but maybe we can figure it out together.”

“Right,” he replied, still a little flustered by your gentleness with him.

It felt silly considering everything that had transpired between the two of you in the past twenty-four hours or so, but it wasn’t unpleasant in the slightest. If anything, he felt strangely hopeful, but he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. “I may not be good at this whole…” people thing, reading emotions, understanding the nuances of intimacy—his mind scrambled to find the right words for a moment before he finally settled on: “relationship thing…”

“But I wanna try.” For you, for him… to be able to introduce you to Falin and to see the two of you hit it off like he knew you would. “I want to be by your side.” 

His palm came to rest on your cheek, his thumb grazing across your cheekbone delicately. It was a strange feeling for him. Finally acknowledging that the pull he’d felt toward you was something more than simple envy or curiosity had been a huge step, to admit it out loud had been like pulling teeth. Sure, those were a part of it too, but the way you had just shown up and accepted him for what he was– eccentricities and all –had his heart warming from day one. You’d had your walls before now, but Laios was completely defenceless when it came to you.

“I want to take care of you too… Please bear with me?”

It was more of a plea than it should have been, but the thought of fucking this up somehow had crossed his mind countless times already since he’d woken up. It scared him, especially after the confrontation with Toshiro. He knew he had a lot to learn when it came to interpersonal relationships, he’d had to confront that head on in the days following. But he was trying . 

The connection Laios had with you felt like a fragile yet precious thing, something worth nurturing, worth exploring. You tightened your grip on his hand again, your thumb gently caressing his soft skin.

“It’ll be my pleasure.” You replied with an easy smile, leaning across the space between the two of you to press a kiss against his cheek. 

“Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, okay? I told you, I don’t really know how to do this kind of thing either." You murmured, pulling him into a hug in an attempt to ease his concerns. 

Sure you weren’t completely clueless, but before now any sort of romance like this had been completely out of the question for a multitude of reasons. People on the surface weren’t kind to things out of the ordinary, yourself included.

“I already like spending time with you just the way you are.” You added, your lips pressing against his collarbone. 

He could feel the way your tail brushed against his arm through his shirt, the cosy warmth of your body pressed against his as he hugged you back. 

Laios let out a soft sigh, the sensations making his face flush again as he squeezed you a little tighter. “Yeah… me too.” He muttered, resting his chin on your head. It was a little embarrassing, but he couldn’t help but smile at the praise and the careful way you handled him.

Your lips trailed softly against the smooth expanse of his flushed skin, kisses littering the surface while you cuddled into him. “Just let me know if it’s ever too much, okay?”

"Mhm." Laios hummed softly, content with the way you showered him with affection. He wasn’t used to it either, not yet, but he definitely wouldn’t mind getting more accustomed to the sweet touches. "...I will." He replied softly, though he couldn’t imagine ever having too many of your comforting touches.

"Thank you." You replied, offering a soft smile in response. You pressed a gentle kiss against the sharp curve of his jaw, then ran a hand through his ash-blond hair.

The bond between you felt stronger now, more real, as if the events of the previous night had awakened something deep within you both. 

Despite the awkward start to the morning, it was only cemented by the conversation you’d had. For a brief, precious moment, everything else faded away—the dungeon, the stress of this mission, the uncertainties. All that existed were the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms.

“We should probably get ready,” you finally said, breaking the silence but not the connection. “The others will be up soon.”

Laios nodded, his smile lingering as he reluctantly pulled away.

He didn't want to admit it, but he was already addicted to you, body and soul. It’d only been a night, but he already couldn’t get the taste of your lips out of his mind. He could only imagine-

Just then, a knock on the door broke through his thoughts as if on cue. "Are you two awake? We're getting ready to move out." Marcille called from the other side of the door.

Laios glanced at you, then back to the door. "We'll be right there," he called back. “Just putting on some extra layers.”

“Sounds good, I think Senshi’s about to start on breakfast.” Marcille added, not sounding overly excited at the prospect of choking down more monster food. No matter how good Senshi’s cooking skills were, she couldn’t shake the sense of dread that came upon her at the idea of eating those creatures . Her footsteps faded down the hall and back toward the others.

You couldn't help but smile back at Laios, suppressing a laugh at the way he’d frozen in place when he heard her outside.

“We probably shouldn’t tell the others yet, though.” He suggested with a sigh as he leaned down to tug his boots back on. 

It wouldn’t be a good idea, both for the fact that it would absolutely make things harder to navigate if it were out in the open already and also for the fact that Marcille was a sucker for anything involving romance. There might not be any stopping her if she found out about your ‘forbidden love’. After seeing the way she’d gush about it anytime she’d inquired about her friends’ love lives, you could already hear the comments and questions ringing in your ears.

“Definitely not.” You agreed with a shudder.

As you both got up and started to prepare for the day's journey, you felt the weight of last night's decisions begin to lift. There would be time to figure everything out.

Soon enough, the two of you made your way out into the hall, and you padded over toward the room where everyone else had already gathered. The two of you slipped in to join the group seamlessly. Cooking utensils were already clattering together as Senshi began to explain to Laios what he was doing and how he could assist in making the morning meal. 

Izutsumi yawned and stretched, groaning at having to be awake and on the move again. 

For someone who swore she’d be able to brave the dungeon faster on her own, she really does love to sleep in , you thought to yourself as you tugged your jacket a little closer around yourself. You couldn’t blame her though. After all, she was still growing and being constantly on the move was exhausting on the best of days.

The cat girl scowled when she caught you looking at her, and you couldn’t help but smile back at the grouchy teen before Marcille quickly stole you away from the others. 

Long, delicate fingers pressed against the sides of your face, squishing your cheeks as she began inspecting you with concern evident in her wide green eyes.

“Uh… gwuh mernin’?” You inquired, your voice muffled by the way she pressed her hands against you.

“You’re okay right? He didn’t ask you any weird questions or make you uncomfortable-” 

“‘m fine,” You chuckled, cutting her off as you lightly pulled her hands away from you. 

“You could have shared a bed with me or Izutsumi, y’know?” The blonde reminded you of the sweet whine of her voice undercut by the Eastern girl’s protests almost immediately. 

“Dogs sleep outside.” Izutsumi grumbled, shooting a glare in your general direction.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her remark, shaking your head and offering her a semi sarcastic “Good morning to you too” before resuming your conversation with the mage.

With a yawn and a smile, “I actually got the best sleep I’ve had in a while,” you replied earnestly, shrugging off her coddling.

It was hard not to feel guilty about hiding something from the group that had been so kind to take you in, especially so late into their journey. They could have easily sent you away, and yet they were generous enough to share their limited resources with, as Izutsumi put it, some random stray . 

You knew she meant well, but sometimes Marcille’s concerns were more unsettling than the questioning you received from others in the past. At least those types tended to keep their distance more. 

It was true that longer-lived races tended to see others as much younger than them, so you chalked it up to that whenever she’d baby you. A little part of you did appreciate it in some strange way though. Being cared for like this was a precious thing, and she loved with her whole heart and nothing less.

If it had really been that much of an issue, you’d have made it known.

Marcille gave you one last scrutinising look before finally sighing and releasing your face. 

“Alright, alright. Just making sure you’re okay,” she said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us, so I’m glad you got a good rest in. It felt good to finally sleep in a bed again after so long.” The blonde sighed.

“ Really?” Chilchuck cut in, regarding Laios with a suspicious look, “Because I couldn’t sleep for a while last night.” 

While his gaze wasn’t set on you, you felt a shiver run down your spine at the implications of what he’d said. 

Shit. 

You’d forgotten about the half-foot member of your party for the better part of the night. 

They weren’t common where you’d grown up, but you’d heard tales of them and their heightened senses. Especially their heightened sense of hearing. In fact, to say that his rivalled your own would be an understatement. Thinking more clearly now, you quickly recalled all the times he’d been able to hear enemies approaching well before you could. 

The thought made your stomach twist with unease.

Laios, seemingly having the same realisation you did, froze for a moment before trying to play it off with a nervous laugh. He casually stepped behind Senshi, as if the much shorter dwarf might be able to shield him from the half-foot’s wrath. He continued on with prepping the harpy eggs, stirring them in a bowl as he spoke. 

“Me too; it got pretty cold last night, huh?” He replied with an awkward laugh.

Yeah, you didn’t want any part of whatever this might entail. 

As much as you wanted to try and cover for him, you knew that there was no way of getting out of this. It's probably best to stay out of it. Panicking slightly, you reached out to Marcille for support with a wobbly smile on your face. 

She was still busy getting herself ready for the day, brushing her long blonde locks as she stepped away from the others.

“Hey Marcille, do you mind showing me how you braid your hair? I’ve always been curious.” You asked, doing a piss poor job of hiding your anxiety. “No one ever taught me.”

The elf either didn’t notice or was too excited at the prospect of sharing her knowledge with someone else because she happily stole you away to another part of the room. She’d grabbed your wrist and tugged you along to sit beside her on the nearby bed, a bright smile on her face. 

“I’m so glad you asked! Hair is a magic user’s life force, so it’s like an extension of that. It’s also really important to practise good hygiene and self care, especially when you’re underground like this because-” 

You listened to her with a smile on your face, half interested and half happy to be out of Chilchuck’s line of fire for the time being. 

Unfortunately, your previously fearless leader wasn’t so lucky.

“ Laios , can I talk to you for a second?”

[invisible-lint]

Not Quite Soulmates

AzrielxReader

Summary: Azriel introduces you to his family when your mating bond snaps... Just not with him

Warnings: light angst?

Word Count: 1.1k

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, trying to decide if you liked this dress better than the last one. You had been seeing Azriel for the better part of six months, and tonight you were going to meet his family for the first time. You smile, thinking back to when you had first met the Shadowsinger. 

You had been at work, shelving books on the top shelf, when suddenly the ladder you were standing on broke and you fell. You had expected to hit the ground, only to be caught by Azriels strong arms instead. Despite that being like something out of a romance book, it had taken Azriel some time to get you to go on a date with him. It wasn't that you hadn't been attracted to him, you absolutely were. But you had been unlucky in love, and convinced yourself you were destined to be alone. 

He would come into the store and ask for recommendations and then come back to talk about the book with you before asking for another recommendation. This went on for months before eventually you had asked him out when one of your coworkers had said she would if you didn't. 

And now, six months later, you were so glad that you had. You couldn't imagine your life without him in it. 

You're drawn out of your thoughts by arms wrapping around your waist and a kiss pressed to your shoulder. 

"You look beautiful." 

"Yeah? I wasn't sure if I should wear this dress or the purple one." He presses more kisses across your shoulder and up your neck. You smile, tilting your head to the side as he does. 

"Definitely this one. I have a... Very fond memory of this dress." You laugh, knowing exactly what very fond memory he was thinking of. You had worn this dress to dinner before taking him to your bed for the first time. 

"Keep it in your pants Azzie. We'll have plenty of time for that later tonight, after dinner." 

He takes a step back, sighing, holding his hand out for you. You take it with a smile, and he leads you out the door.

It's a nice late summer evening, so the two of you walk to the River House. He stops you just outside the door, eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's not too late to back out, we can always head back home and I can come up with an excuse." 

You shake your head, laughing. "You have been putting this off for far too long already. Either you're nervous, or you're trying to get me naked." 

"A bit of both." He admits. 

"Well too bad, because we're going in. And you're going to have to deal with all of your favorite people ganging up to tease you." He laughs, shaking his head and leads you inside. The two of you head for the sitting room where everyone is mingling before dinner. 

Azriel leads you around the room, introducing you to everyone as he does. You make eye contact with the long haired Illyrian you assume is Cassian, the brother Azriel has told you so much about. Azriel starts to lead you over to him and you freeze, eyes widening. A mating bond has snapped into place, but not with your boyfriend. No, it snapped into place with his brother. And going off the look on his face, it snapped for him too. You both curse at the same time, drawing attention from the rest of the room. Azriel looks at you, his expression asking what's wrong. You have two options. You can tell them what just happened, or you can run. You choose the latter, running out of the sitting room and down the hall, out the front door. You follow the Sidra, paying no attention to where you’re going. 

You run until you trip over a rock, tumbling to the soggy ground next to the river. You lay there, looking at the stars, slowly starting to dance across the sky. Perhaps you could move courts, because you certainly couldn't continue to date Azriel. Not without rejecting the mating bond. And you can't stand the idea of living so close to your mate and not being with him. Yes. You'll move courts. As you lay on the river bank, imagining which court you'll move to and your new life there, Azriel lands nearby, calling out your name. You sit up and look at him, biting your lip. “Azzie… I…”

“I know. Cassian told us everything.” He sits next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and you lean against him. 

“I guess this means we have to break up…” 

“Because you want to be with him?” 

“Because I would have to reject the bond to be with you. And you could never look at me the same way again knowing I'm the reason he's in so much pain.” 

“And you want to be with him.” 

“Why do you keep saying that?” 

“Every single romance book you recommend was about mates. Even the ones that weren't romances, if they happened to have a relationship, they were mates. You want a mating bond.” 

“I don't want to hurt you.”

“It will take some time, but I'll be okay.”

You lean away so you can look up at him, but his face is blank, unreadable. You frown, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. You hate when he does this, shoves all signs of emotion away, leaving you unable to tell what he's feeling. 

“I don't want to lose you.”

“I don't want to lose you either. I'd rather have you in my life as a friend than not at all. Take some time to wrap your head around it if you need to, but you should get to know him before you make a decision.” 

You nod. “I suppose I won't run away to the Summer Court then.”

“What?” 

“Before you got here I was debating leaving for another court. I was thinking about the Summer Court.” 

Azriel shakes his head. “Rhys and I had to talk Cass out of running away to Windhaven. The two of you are ridiculous.” 

You stick your tongue out at him. “I think it's a perfectly reasonable reaction to the situation.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, standing and helping you up. “I'm taking you back before you can convince yourself running away is the best option again.” He picks you up, holding you in tight as he takes off, flying back to the River House, back to your mate, breaking his own heart.

A/N: I have plans for what's essentially a happier part 2 with Cassian and also I'm sorry I love Azriel and I want him to be happy but I haven't written anything happy for him yet oops. Feel free to send in requests! I won't be posting this week, but I will still be writing!

[ohwaitimthewriter]

The Memory Keeper

Chapter 3: Frame

Pairing : Noa x human reader

Warning : grieving, otherwise, none!

Summarize (please I'm so bad at writing these!): A woman, allowed to live as long as the virus keeps running through her body, living on autopilot for 260 years, is going to see her life takes a new turn, finding hope in something that might come to put an end to her wandering.

Words : 3k+

A/N : Well, well, well, chapter 3 is out! Enjoy your reading 😁

The Memory Keeper masterlist.

You watched as the flame devoured the kindling and gnawed at the petals you'd carefully placed in their usual circle. It progressed slowly, longing to consume every piece of wood and petal it found in its path. Knees braced against your chest, one arm wrapped around your legs in a vain attempt to maintain the cracks you felt growing deep inside your ribcage.

Why was it getting so complicated?

A tear fell onto the frame you held, fingers shaking, above your knees. You quickly wiped it away, not wanting the moisture to stain the glass that protected the picture from the long years gone by.

Why was it so complicated? You repeated to yourself once more, wiping your nose on the sleeve of your top. You noted that you still hadn't changed for the night. You had to take a deep breath, it always helped… supposedly, it always helped, but the shaky breathing that was supposed to be helpful only allowed more tears to fall down your cheeks.

But why? Why couldn't you calm down? Why did your eyes seem to drown despite your best efforts? Why, over the past three days, had it become so difficult to even breathe normally? Why was it so difficult to keep your heart beating regularly, so regularly that you sometimes forgot you even had one?

Usually, it was easy. One or two slow, deep breaths. Your hand removing the tear drop from your skin, preventing others from joining it. Sometimes you'd close your eyes to focus on this task, and when you'd open them again, indifference would quietly resonate deep inside you.

So why tonight, for the third time, did you feel this organ so vital to your body crumbling, shattering, giving up on you a little more with each beat? Your eyes blurred, making it difficult to see the photo in the frame. No matter how much you blinked to clear your vision, it remained stubbornly blurred. But you wanted to see it… no, you had to see it, but the more you forced yourself to wipe away those tears, the more they rushed in to tangle and alter your vision. You clenched your fist around the frame as the other desperately tried to restore your sight. You had to look at him. Every night, you had to remember. You had to remember him, the features of his face, the color of his fur, the way he carried himself. You couldn't not look at him.

Unwittingly, your knuckles turned white and the pressure on the already worn wood increased. If you didn't look at him, you'd forget. You'd forget, just as you'd forgotten the words to that song you'd hummed every night as the petals turned to ash. You would forget, just as you had forgotten the faces of your parents, and of those whose existence you could only remember by their first names. You weren't allowed to forget, just as you weren't allowed to forget how to speak. So you had to look at him, you had no right to forget him.

Maybe if they had never come to your clearing, maybe you wouldn't be in this state, only three days after their arrival, three days since you seemed to be having great difficulty keeping a steady gaze. How stupid to bring them fish for three days so they could eat, so they could feel welcomed as you would have welcomed two friends back in a very distant past. How stupid of you to remember that a human, to remain human, had to give a proper welcome to his guests, whether they showed up unexpectedly or not. How stupid not to be able to keep things in perspective. How stupid. And you rubbed your eyes again and again until you felt like ripping the skin off your face, when suddenly…

A crack.

Your breathing stopped in a flash. All your muscles froze. You were no longer shaking, your heartbeat had almost stopped its frantic race and your eyes were now wide open, your tears frozen in the fear of having to look down.

The broken pieces of wood threatened to fall to the floor, and the only thing holding them together was your hand crushing the frame against your skin. The bark of the crumbling wood stuck to your hand like hundreds of grains of sand, and it was only as you loosened your fingers around the frame that your hand began to shiver again.

No.

No no no. This couldn't be happening.

The tears had become dry, allowing you to see the foolishness you'd just done. The wood of the frame had broken under the pressure, no longer able to hold the protective glass in place. The picture would end up in the open air, exposed to external aggression, exposed to moisture, exposed to time that just kept flying by without waiting for you to be ready to watch it roll by.

The picture would be damaged, the colors would fade, the events it had frozen in time would disappear along with the last image of the ape you called, with a sinking heart, your friend. And for as long as you could, you would cling to a mental image of him that would inevitably end in oblivion. You were going to forget. Of course you were going to forget. Maybe not in 1 year, 5 years or even 10. It might take you a lifetime as an uninfected human to forget, but it was going to happen. It was the only fatality of your condition, your body didn't age, but on the other hand you couldn't keep your memory intact, you had to give up part of your memories in exchange for a long life. One that was too long.

For the first time, as you firmly held the broken pieces of wood in the vain hope they would glue back together, you realized how tired you were.

In your turmoil, you'd shifted to a more cross-legged position, with the shaky frame gently placed in front of you. You had taken care to arrange the pieces of shattered wood so that they formed the frame around the glass, now detached from the frame.

With your gaze locked on Caesar, your quivering fingers rested on the glass in a gentle stroke.

“P... please forgive me, Caesar,” you whispered, your voice hoarse, almost desperate for forgiveness that would never be able to come.

You breathed in as best you could when all of a sudden, the cool wind touched your skin. The wood of the old floor creaked and you abruptly wiped away the last of the tears that had found their ways onto your cheeks.

Clearing your throat.

Rubbing your eyes. Your cheeks. Your whole face.

Brand-new you.

You looked back to where the sound had come from and your stony eyes fell on the two apes. You remembered very well having told them that it was going to rain during the night and that if, only if, they had no other choice, you would allow them, to a certain extent and with a few precautions, to enter.

How silly.

The apes weren't usually the type to fear the rain, but when you offered, almost against your will, to spend the night in your home until the rain stopped, they seized the opportunity to talk to you. To talk to you and convince you to let them keep your horse.

You could see them walking cautiously inside your house. Their eyes were everywhere, curious and careful, as if they didn't want to glance at an object, a piece of furniture, a corner of the large room that would be off-limits to them.

Noa immediately noticed your nest, which was a bit unusual; he couldn't quite work out what it was made of, certainly not branches or down, and the blanket covering it wasn't the fur of any animal you'd caught either. But he knew from the intensity of your scent on the fabric that this was where you slept. He looked away quickly. This was your nest, and if you had allowed them in, checking out your nest and judging it would be seen as disrespectful by his people. He at least wish it was comfortable for you.

It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You were sitting cross-legged, and it was hard to know whether you'd changed your mind about allowing them into your home. With your blank stare, you showed them nothing, happy? Surprised? Angry? Annoyed? None of these things were apparent, and it was beginning to drive him mad. He wanted to shake you, to bare his fangs and at least provoke a reaction, even one of fear, which he would accept, because this impassive face was making him ask questions he wished he'd never had to ask.

Emotions and facial expressions were the key to communication for apes. So how could echoes communicate if they all had the same blank face? How could they respond appropriately to each other's words and behavior? How do you build trust? Bonding? Did all the echoes really have that lifeless face? How could he know that his behavior wasn't offensive to you? How could he know that he was doing the right thing for you to simply agree to communicate with him?

And it had only taken him three days to get used to this inexpressive face. He was so used to getting no emotional response from you that he didn't immediately notice that behind the cloudy veil of your eyes, something had changed.

Noa had to look twice, and even then, he still wasn't quite sure what he'd just seen appear in a corner, somewhere well hidden, deep in your eyes. Noa had always been good at reading other apes' thoughts and feelings. You'd given him a hard time not showing anything, but he finally saw it. A little sparkle, as delicate and transparent as it was, as shy and barely recognizable, he had finally found what could look like sadn… And you lowered your eyes, ending this exchange in which he'd never thought he could lose himself in such an involved way. Had you figured out that he'd seen it?

Had he noticed? A pang of anxiety deepened in your stomach. You couldn't stand his stare any longer. Nor were you in any shape to have your soul probed by a chimpanzee you'd met three days ago and didn't even know the name of. Yet you knew it was important to them. Caesar had taught you well, explained it well: apes are observant, they communicate mainly through their eyes, and not allowing them to look at you could mean that you didn't trust them, or rather, that you didn't want to trust them. And not wanting to trust an ape could just as easily mean that they couldn't trust you either.

Was it why you'd allowed him to dip his green eyes into yours? To tell him silently that he could trust you? Or rather… that you trusted him?

After what seemed like an eternity, you finally stood up, heading for your chest. If they were staying the night, you could at least lend them a blanket. You rummaged in your chest, and under the 3-4 items of clothing, you grabbed two old blankets that you used in turn with the one on your armchair to sleep on.

You approached them silently before handing them the blankets.

“For… the night.”

You felt compelled to clarify what you meant in front of their inquiring eyes, and just as you were about to return to where they'd found you on arrival, Raka's husky voice caught your attention.

“Do you have a name?”

It was true that after three days, you hadn't taken the time to make any introductions. It wasn't very humanly polite, you thought to yourself, nonetheless pondering on answering him. Of course you had a name, but it had been so long since you'd been asked that it took you a split second to remember it… (Name). But was it really necessary to give it to them? As you were slow to answer, the orangutan went on:

“If you don't have one, we could call you… Nova?”

Nova. You knew that name. Somewhere deep in your memory, you could recall a girl. A little girl whose name was Nova. But that couldn’t be, it was way too long ago. Therefore you chose not to dwell on it. The chimp beside Raka gave him a quizzical stare as well and you managed to decipher the sign language Raka was giving him as a respond, being "will explain further later".

"I’m (Name)." Was all you could say.

Though your eyes lingered on the chimp and Noa swears he saw you sign a "you?" but it could only be his mind playing tricks on him.

To tell the truth, he hadn't been imagining it. You couldn't consciously bring yourself to ask his name, so your subconscious did it for you. After a few seconds of silence, you thought maybe he hadn't noticed your request or maybe he didn't want to answer this silent question, which, on reflection, wasn't such a bad thing: it was easier to forget without knowing names.

But he had finally decided otherwise.

“Noa.”

You nodded silently. Noa and Raka. Two names you'd surely remember for a long time.

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

You'd taken your seat in front of the fireplace again, the only difference being that you'd taken the blanket that had been lying on your armchair with you. You had wrapped yourself up inside it to protect yourself from the fresh air of the night, and your fingers had mindlessly begun to skim the outline of the frame that was still on the floor. You were almost desperate. No matter how hard you thought about the best way to repair the frame and protect the precious treasure inside, your brain couldn't come up with a solution.

As focused as you were, you didn't even notice when Noa pointed to the wall above your head where your lists were lined up and arranged in columns.

“Do you know what these are?” Noa signed to Raka, who answered with a “no” nod. “Maybe… ask her?” Raka signed back.

But would you answer him? Until now, you'd never really exchanged more than two words apart from the first day when you'd caught them wanting to take your horse. Maybe you wouldn't accept his question, and maybe you might even take it the wrong way if he ventured to ask you a question that… concerned you too much? He'd kept in the back of his mind your reaction when Raka had wanted to help you pick up the rose petals.

“Not a good idea.” Noa signed again. “She gave fish, and the blankets.”

Raka shrugged as if that were enough to justify the fact Noa could ask you a question without batting an eyelid and you were kind enough, in spite of everything, to answer him.

“If you want her horse, you have to speak.” Raka prompted.

Noa huffed quietly, resigned. He had to talk to you.

You jumped when the wooden floor creaked beside you. Your eyes immediately went to Noa, who was taking a closer look at the lists on your wall. His voice buzzed in his ribcage and your gaze followed the movement of his hand, pressing down on one of your lists.

“What… is this?”

Silence.

Noa lowered his eyes to yours, feeling the need to perceive an answer from you, even though he already suspected he'd find nothing in your veiled gaze.

Perhaps if he looked harder, he'd be able to see again that melancholy glint he'd seen earlier, but you'd obviously managed to hide it even deeper. He wasn't going to get you twice in a row.

Unable to find what he was looking for, and frustrated by your silence, he was drawn to what your fingers were fiddling with on the floor.

Noa didn't understand the object at your feet. He had no idea what it was and out of curiosity, he crouched down, trying to get a little closer to the shape to understand its use. He could feel your puzzled gaze, almost on alert for the next move he might take, but he decided that as long as you didn't push him away, then he was allowed to continue his inspection. You had most certainly hovered your hand over the transparent plate on purpose to prevent him from seeing more precisely what it was, but whatever it might be, there was only one possible conclusion.

“Broken?” he asked.

Noa sought your gaze again, and the answer he found completely baffled him. He hadn't said much. One word. Just one word. And yet, the glimmer he had glimpsed with difficulty when he first entered your hut had just leapt into his face like the solution to a question that had been left unanswered for too long.

Sadness.

He could see it clearly, clearer than the water in the river. Echo's eyes were sad. This sudden emotion you were offering him as if on a platter of berries, this emotion he'd been searching for in you for three days, wondering if you were really capable of such a natural thing, this emotion, he suddenly didn't know what to do with it.

If the rose petals you'd picked up were important, this, this object you were shielding from his eyes with your hands, was certainly far more important. So important that it triggered an emotion in you capable of being expressed and given as a gift.

You closed your eyes. Maybe you'd given him too much. You closed your eyes and Noa noticed the long sigh that made your chest expand and contract.

And then, nothing.

Like the sun reaching the last horizon before fading behind it, there was nothing left in your eyes.

He watched you lay the blanket on the broken wood before getting up and leaving your house. Noa abruptly sought comfort from Raka, who gave him only one sentence in return.

“What have you done this time?”

-----------

Tags list: @callsignwidow / @youdontknowe / @katzykat / @koshi-sama / @violet-19999 / @queen-luna-007 / @sciencewithottsnpotts / @sparks0918

(I hope everyone is tagged properly!)

[emswritingsstuff]

Reminiscing (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

Summary: Beth notices something about Daryl, which leads to memories being brought up. Angst moment

WC: 0.5k

—

The buzz of the moonshine had long worn off, a seemingly comfortable silence falling over Daryl and Beth as they sat outside. Daryl had felt regret for what he had done to Beth earlier that day. But he was even more confused when it seemed it never bothered her. He saw she was scared in the moment, and now she's acting like he did nothing wrong.

She was smiling softly, looking content as ever. Somehow looking so happy in such a shitty situation. She had reminded him of someone from long ago.

You.

It had felt longer for him than it actually was. He’d lost you in the beginning when everything was still so new. And he missed you every damn day, he vowed that everything he did was going to be for you. But right now he wasn’t so sure.

He had caught himself looking down at his left hand, golden band around his ring finger. Beth caught on and looked at him with a curious glance.

“Had a partner?” Daryl broke his trance with the ring and looked up at Beth. Daryl just nodded sadly and looked off into the distance. He heard Beth take in a breath and before she could speak he stopped her.

“Met ‘em before all this. Wasn’t keen on ‘em at first, was just angry at the world. Thought everyone hated me because I’ma Dixon, they didn’t.” Beth listened to every word, happy she finally got him to open up to her.

“They seem sweet,” Beth smiled. Daryl returning the smile back he nodded. “The sweetest. Best damn thing to happen to me, didn’ think I deserved it. They made me feel like I did,” tears slowly feel down his face at the memories.

Daryl had barely shared any mention or stories about you to the Greene’s, or anyone for that matter. It felt nice to finally do it. He had begun to share stories about you to Beth, just reminiscing on the good times.

He told her everything he could remember. All the times he came to your apartment when things got bad at home. When you both would go into the woods when Daryl had to hunt, just keeping him company. All the small dates he took you on. None of them were much, but he still loved doing little things for you. Most of all, telling her no matter how hard things got for him, you had never given up on him. You loved him unconditionally and he loved you the same.

Beth reached her arm out to rub his back, he didn’t move or budge. He let her comfort him. “How’d they go? If you don’t mind me askin’,” Beth had spoken softly, almost to not startle or scare him.

“Got bit. We were on the road, herd showed up. We tried to outsmart ‘em and when they went to take out a walker it got ‘em,” Daryl paused to take in a shaky breath before continuing.

“Took ‘em into the woods, asked me to, and just stayed there awhile. They were still themself. Happy, cracking jokes, I was a mess. Kept tryin’ to tell myself they’d be okay but they had accepted what happened. Asked me to not let them turn, one of the worst things I had to do.” Pausing again, Daryl wiped the tears off his face and taking in broken breaths.

“Don’ use that knife anymore.”

—

this was purely written on my phone so sorry if its bad lol. i also wrote this like, 2 days ago

[angelickisscs]

wants vs needs ~ blurb‧₊˚

୨ ୧ ˚₊ pairing ~ trent alexander arnold x reader

summary: a breakup leads to sleepless nights and texts from your ex !

THE DIGITAL CLOCK placed next to you boldly boasted it’s numbers, the time making you grown harshly into your pillow. Sleep was all you wanted and yet it was the one thing not your body refused to give to you at this moment in time.

Rolling over into the cold sheets beside you, you repelled back slightly. The low temperature was a shock to your system, no matter how much you had been trying to familiarise yourself to it over the past weeks. The sheets only were getting worse.

You had soon lost count of the number of times you had shoved them angrily into the washing machine, putting it onto the longest cycle you could paired cruelly with the highest temperature as you attempted to wash the lingering scent of him off.

But it soldiered onwards.

Fabrics wore the strong bite of his aftershave, in each strand of cotton or even each crack in the wooden legs, each surface in your apartment was sure to carry the sultry scent that he bathed himself in.

You had always wondered how long it would linger for. Hoping and praying every time he went away for a game that it could stick with you for a couple extra days and yet it never did. Each day it would slowly decay until not a note of it joined your side.

The one time you wanted nothing but for it to leave you however, it found a new way to fail you. It persisted in the way that you could only dread, leaving you no choice but to scroll for replacements for your innocent sofa throughout the empty days. Though at this point, not even that seemed like a helpful enough option.

Every new jumper you had brought to replace his picked it up within a matter of hours, the scent sticking to each hair on your arms as you dragged them over your head.

Slamming down your fist onto the emptiness beside you, nothing was able to replace him. No inanimate object caring for you in the same way he used to. No number of blankets could seem to produce the same amount of warmth as his arms as they wrapped around you, dragging you as close to his body as humanly possible. The memories taunted your mind with no remorse, giving you no break despite your pleads.

1:56

The clock next to you read in mockery, mere minutes having passed since you last checked. You brought your hands up to your head, gripping softly at the strands of hair that you could. Not even the plain white ceiling gave you a well needed break. Far too many times had you lead in the exact same position after an argument with him. Wishing the same thing as you were right in that moment. For him to come back to you.

It was an irresponsible thought, trailing off and away from all the others about the same man. Rouge even. Yet it plagued you every night, screaming at you from afar.

Rain pattered against the window in desolation, that same emotion looming throughout the dense atmosphere around you. It was a flannel, forced to empty out everything it had to a sink that would not accept it. A jumper having been washed one too many times, all softness disintegrating, yet you failed to throw it out, the memories that it held with it being far too important.

Maybe you had gone on your first date with it or even the last. Maybe it was the one you had worn when you snuggled down onto the sofa together for the first time, bickering like two children over what movie to wear.

Though he was quick to give in, claiming a disinterest in the romcom you had opted for. But the questions that tumbled over his lips in annoyance when the male main character screwed up told you a much different story.

The good memories outweighed the bad by far too much. So much so, it left you feeling lost when he sat you down only two rooms away to inform you of the decision he had made. A decision he had made for the both of you but somewhere along the way, he had forgotten to involve you in it.

Your phone buzzing beside you brought you out of your scrambled mind, the unexpected noise giving you quite the fight. Slowly, you reached your hand behind your head, tapping around on the wooden surface as you searched for the object without the usage of your eyes.

It took you a minute, but it was soon in your hands, the bright light taking you a second to get past as it shone luminously in your eyes. Tapping onto the notification without a second thought, it took you a while to process the contact at which you were staring at. The same contact that only this morning you had blocked and unblocked at least five times.

A cascade of swear words fell from your lips once you had read his message. You dragged your bottom lip into your lips, biting down harshly as you thought through your options.

Your mind was telling you not to respond, reasoning with you through the hundreds of movies and tv shows you had watched with the same plotline.

It never ended well.

But it was only a simple you up? text, it probably would go nowhere.

With short, regretful taps, you typed in the first answer that came to mind. why?

Putting your phone back onto the soft duvet you were wrapped in, you slapped yourself on the head in utter disappointment at the little hesitation you felt.

It was a couple minutes later when your phone once again was buzzing beside you. Slowly, you moved your hand from atop of your face, sliding downwards until you felt the texture of your phone case meet with your hand. You flipped over in bed, turning your head into the pillow as you squeezed your eyes closed, your hand retreating so it could join your head.

A scream escaped from your throat, the sound falling flat into the plush object that had to put up with your tears so many times, it was most likely unbothered by this new action added into your streak of dramatics.

When the third buzz in that hour vibrated throughout your body, you had nothing left in you to ignore it. The ideas that filled your mind in what he could say at this hour leaving you no other choice.

I need to see you.

please

“Oh, Trent.” You whispered under your breath, reading the five words repeatedly. To the point where you had engraved them into your brain, the same one that you had betrayed by answering.

Multiple texts, each with a different array of words, filled the bar at the bottom corner of your screen. Yet none got you closer to what you wanted to say. You knew what you wanted; you knew it the minute the first text had appeared on your phone screen. It was not what you needed. You knew that just as well.

The bright light began to burn into your eyes, the tears that were forming from mixing such bright light with the darkness you had plunged yourself into for so many hours, pushing you from an answer even further.

Come over then.

2:31

[threepandas]

Bad End: Cultivation

The rope creaked softly, suffering under the weight it was not meant to bear, as it stretched out, seemlingly endless into the mist. This had once been a bridge. The entrance to this lonely place. Humble as it was, the simple rope bridge had once stood for time immemorial. A path of safety above Soul Eater mists below.

Terrible creatures and unspeakable monsters dwelled down there. Things that devoured. Even the mists themselves, were said to drive men mad. Cause hallucinations and aggression. Qi draining in nature. It was like a living thing that digested you slowly.

Unless, of course, you could escape.

Or, it was said, if you were like the legendary immortal who had founded this temple. HE had apparently just walked. Refused the mist's their hold on him. Then climbed the cliff face to this mountain top. I somewhat doubted that tale. But then again, staring down at the rolling mists... it seemed impossible that ANYONE could have ever survived them.

The bridge creaked on, in the soft breeze. There were days it's groans sounded like the cries of a beast in pain. Tortured. When the wind rattled and dragged at what remained of its form. Trying to pull it from it's post. Down, down, down to it's final end.

There was a boot print. Terrible and damning. Cracked, IMPRINTED, deep into the base of the pillar that once held up one side. Far away, the bridge must surely still be stable. Both pillars standing tall, like gaurds. Like brothers. But here?

One powerful kick.

And the bridge had disappeared out from underneath all those that stood upon it.

Everyday... every day I come. Every day I look upon this bridge. Upon the boot, a terrible sin imprinted into stone, and I tell myself I do not recognize the size of it. That my suspicions are wrong. My instincts surely lying. Because... because if I do not?

What can I do? What could I POSSIBLY hope to do? If my suspicions WERE correct? If in this place, lives a monster? I am not stronger them him. Without him, I would be utterly alone. He has insured I am all but dependant on him. Not teaching me how to cook nor clean, farm nor fight. All practical skills are lessons for another day. Forever another day.

Yet...

Yet, I MUST know.

I torture myself with this. The wondering. The questions I do not not ask, for fear he will not even bother hiding behind lies. I stare at the old, long dried blood that stains where the bridge once ended. The shimmering heavenly gold. Somehow... some horrified, gut wrenched, SCREAMING instinct... knows it to be the blood of Tree Fruit.

It is the blood of the unborn. Those that will never get the chance, now. They... they were not even apart of anyone's body. Were wholly seperate, dependent and their protectors for survival. Were FRUIT for God's sake. Just as I had been. Souls reborn, not from flesh, but clean and new, from a Divine Tree. Ascendant from some other place.

I don't know WHY they were taken from the Tree. Why I was. My memory is spotty. It was too soon. I had not forgotten yet. Was not READY yet. It should have been safest to stay there. Be born into the world. Yet... they were on this bridge, instead. Attacked. The blood of infants stains the stones and will never wash clean. I can not... I was still FRUIT, then.

I can not REMEMBER.

And so I come. Again and again, before this rope. That stretchs out into the mists. Above far more terrible things. And try to recall. Make sense of it this terrible thing before me. This bridge. A long, worn, straining rope. With old, well-worn wooden planks, weathered by the ages, that... that hang like bodies.

Strung up in an endless row.

That whisper as they clack and groan with suffering in the wind, "A crime. A crime. Great evil was committed here!"

I tell myself... like a child hiding from monsters they KNOW are real. Trembling and blood soaked, terrified, as they crawl as far back into some small dark place as they can... I... I do not want to compare the boot print in that stone to Lei's. That they would be different sizes, even if I did.

I do not convince myself.

I never do.

"Shimei, this disciple wonderd where you were..." calls out a familiar voice. Deep in the way dangerous waters are deep. Smooth and placid at the surface. With something deadly I can not see, far, far below. "This one has found you at the bridge again. What captivates you so? You missed your morning snack. Should be on your way to early morning meditations."

My smile is more of a grimace, as I turn.

There are days... when forgetting is easy. When the tranquility of this place seeps itself into my bones. The comfort he deliberately arranges for me. The scheduled repetition. It is... trance-like.

Sitting with tea and snacks. Watching the early morning's sunlight dance off the distant mist. As birds wake and dew settles. The world hushed. Cup warm in my hand. Coat dropped over my shoulders. It is beautiful. The meditation garden is beautiful. EVERYTHING here is beautiful.

It is the fact that it is... empty, that bothers me.

This was not a temple built for two people. Remote as it must be in the world. The sect built this place for a reason. And each day that passes? I am more convinced that reason was to have a place to fall back too. The temple is lovely... but more then that? It is a FORTRESS.

Difficulty getting here is not even a fraction of the defens it holds.

So WHY?

WHY are there only two people here?

I nod, stepping towards my "shixong" as he insists I call him, dispite there being just the two of us. His hand reaching out to take my arm, guide me. I no longer need help navigating these halls. But he does not stop. Clings to his excuses to coddle and touch. It is a fight I can not win. I pick my battles. But, before his hand reaches my sleeve. Knife!

A throwing knife, shrieks near silent through the air as it cuts between us. Nearly removing Lei's fingers as it does. I jerk away, startled. He whips around towards the bridge.

"GET AWAY FROM THAT CHILD!"

The voice that roars that command has the distinct rasp of old age. Sure enough, a figure in flowing robes surges forward from the mist, running light as a feather across the single rope that remains of the bridge. Long white hair and beard. A wrinkled face, more accustomed to smiling, now turned into a fierce and determined scowl. The robes of a Grand Master.

There are a handful of warriors following him.

But the one that I can not look away from... it's... it's like looking through the lense of a half forgotten dream. Blurred by angles all wrong. But oh... oh how could I forget that face? The one that stares at me with such fierce and fearful determination?

...Shijie?

More then an older sister, less then a mother. Whisperd promises, muffled by liquid, from long ago. I know that face. KNEW it. It once smiled down at me, as I grew upon my branch, and promised we would be family. Loved me. Beautiful and patient, as she whispered about all the wonders of world.

I was...

Oh.

I was supposed to go with HER.

Be raised by HER. A little sister, a daughter, someone she could guide and grow with. My memories struggle to come together, but faced with familiar faces? They TRY. Especially as power begins to surge around me. Terrible and familiar. The beginnings of a fight.

Someone on my branch. Not my sister. Pale as morning mist and just as untouchable. He seemed lonely. I was lonely. Far from other Fruit, an awkward thing, high up, and on an old twisting branch. That had missed all nipping and cultivation by being accidentally hidden by the leaves surrounding it. The fruit was supposed to grow lower to the ground, where it could be watched. Safe.

But I happened anyway.

And I was alone.

No others to spend my time with. No disciples to come and care for me, day to day. So when the mist man came? I clumsily... reached out. Pat pat. There, there. I'm here, "dude". (I... can not remember what that word meant. But I know I knew it. It was friendly, I think.)

He was surprised to find me, up there.

I don't not think he told anyone.

I...I think he was supposed too?

But it did not matter in the end. Someone else found his hiding spot. Found me. There was much shouting and alarm. Elders, I think. Doctors, to insure I was well. Great relief, that I was a hardly little thing, developing as I should. After that? I had constant visitors. None that seemed very interesting... until... until my Shijie.

They were looking, I think, through interested parties for a match. Who would adopt me. Then there was softness. Sweet, golden days. The mist man visited. Anger from him? Not at me. Displeased. Covetous? I did not understand. Something wrong was growing but I was unborn... did not have a name yet for the sensation.

Just that is was...Dark.

Then it was night time. A beautiful moon through the branches. Smoke, black and terrifying. Screaming and the clash of swords. Unbearable heat, climbing and climbing. Lights blinking out. Dying? Were... were they dying? The great Tree, divine and holy, groaning in agony. Wood popping from heat. Splintering from blows.

Feet upon my branch. Running, running, running. Falling too their knees. Swordsman's hands. Bloody, wrong, not my shijie. Where is my shijie? Sister! SISTER?! I am being pulled. No. No, it is not time. It is too soon. The Fruit is not ready.

The hands do not care.

I am torn out by the roots.

Where the Tree should be... is nothing. I SCREAM. It hurts! A void. The ocean of life gone, gone, GONE! Already I am starving. Destabilizing. Dying again. Scared! Please! I am-!

A hand wraps around the raw nerves of my roots. They are wrong. I know them, but they are WRONG. Where is shijie? Sister... SISTER! Please!! Energy floods back in, as though it never stopped. But... but it is not clean. Like brackish water after so long in clear springs, I choke as I try to adjust.

Moving.

Running.

Where is the Divine Tree? I want to go home.

Others join. Burned. Bleeding. They have Fruit too. I have never been so close to others. They sound nervous too. Scared. But they have their family. Why do I not? There is some plan. A bridge that goes on and on. Below us are terrible things. They are talking? The end in sight.

"-viously you can't... -ep her, she's not your child. Y.. -eat thing protecting her th.. -ll be so relieved you have her child. N.. -all we have to... -ait out this..."

Something ugly is rising. Danger. DANGER. No, no, NO. STOP. Run! Bad thing is coming! I don't-! I can't-! Covetous, terrible, tar-like WRONG! Seeping up like festering! Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!!

The sound of a sword being drawn.

I am tucked close. Cradled like something precious. As a blade sings destruction through the air. A shocked and betrayed cry. Confusion. I can see horror on faces, feel terror from the other Fruit. Two of them are dead. CRUNCH. The bridge violently lists to the side, weight no longer equally supported.

Time seems to slow... as ancient metal slides free of stone.

Half those on the bridge are gone in an instant, as the floor swings out from below them like a trapdoor. Those that remain? Are the souls fast enough to grab the rail that still remains. The boards, as they fall. They hang above certain death, as their friends fall screaming in primal fear, to horrific death below.

How long can they hold on?

Especially with only one hand?

A few already lost their grip on their Fruit in the sudden shift. Can only stare in numb and mind blank horror, soul deep agony, as the bright little lights fall... and fall... and fall...

Inside my Fruit I SCREAM.

I do not remember after that. Only being born. It is a blur of trauma my mind must have refused to keep. D..Damn it. DAMN IT! I jerk away from Lei. I had known. I hadn't WANTED to know... but I had KNOWN.

The Grand Master attacks. His blade crashing like the might of a wrathful god against Lei's. Sending him sliding back. The master pressing his advantage, warriors rushing to fan out between the fighters and me.

Arms. Soft yet unimaginably powerful, the scent of tea and the medicinal flowers she proudly grew for the sect, I was pulled into an embrace. My head tucked against her neck. Arms bordering on too tight. As though I would disappear at any moment.

"Shimei.." my shijie whispered, a wounded sound. "This sister has you. We have come to rescue you. The traitor will never hurt you again. Come!"

This felt right. I nod. Follow her towards the bridge.

"Thief."

Lei's snarls. Never has there been an uglier, more venomous sound. One of the warriors, acting as a shield, dies preventing my sister from being speared through the heart from behind. Desperately, she scoops me up. Breaking into a sprint.

"Do you truely think you can take this one's Disciple from him? His WORLD!?" An unhinged laugh echoed along side the clash on blades. "There is NOWHERE you can hide her, that I will not find! She is MINE! Belongs with ME! You can run but there is NO WHERE you can hide!"

I cling to my sister as she jumps up on the rope, racing away from the gilded cage that was my only home. Over her shoulder, Lei is locked in combat. The ugly something I had always known was there, finally out in the air between us. Demonic energy spilled from him like radiation. Sickening and every bit as caustic. His eyes wild as they lock onto me.

"I'm going to BURN everything that gets in my way, my disciple." He croons, the grin spreading across his face a thing that will haunt me. "Just like before. NOTHING will keep you away from me. Nothing! I am going to hunt you down, drag you to ascension, then spend the rest of time making you MINE."

"And nothing will stop me, child. Not even you. Why?"

"Because I LOVE You."

[lesmisscraper]

Cosette's accustoming to the convent school life.

Clips from <Il cuore di Cosette>.

[roguishcat]

Augustarion Day 15 - Shirt that goes hard

A/N: Yes, I know what 'shirt that goes hard' means.😁 But what if the shirt literally went hard? Enjoy this little bit of whimsy courtesy of me getting no sleep for two days straight and thus having time to write. This is just for giggles and not meant to be taken seriously.

Comments, likes and reblogs always appreciated!❤️

Pairing: female reader (You) x Astarion

Day 1 - 🍓, Day 2 - 🌊, Day 4 - Mythologies, Day 6 - Cream, Day 7 - Underwear, Day 14 - Protective

You stared at it in horror. Astarion’s favourite shirt. You couldn’t believe that the thing you were holding in your hands was his favourite shirt. Or rather, something that once was his favourite shirt and now resembled a flat, stiff piece of wood.

And how did this happen? Well, it started when Astarion complained that being on the road meant not being able to deal with the annoying wrinkles and creases. And he so hated not looking well put together!

So, what did you do? Oh, just looked up a spell that, apparently, was used by the servants in the city to make sure their masters’ clothes stayed perfect at any time, even fresh after a battle or a quick romp. Or at least until the items got washed and the spell had to be reapplied.

Except something went wrong. Horribly, terribly wrong. Halfway through the spell, you sneezed violently. Which apparently affected the incantation. And instead of becoming wrinkle-free, the shirt has become as stiff as a board.

 You tried everything. Getting it wet. Trying to reverse the spell. Setting it on fire. Enlisting Gale’s help. Nothing worked! The damn thing remained rigid.

You felt like crying. Oh, what were you to do? What would Astarion say? Two hundred damn years! Two hundred years he kept the shirt impeccable, mended it lovingly and meticulously. And perhaps the fabric was looking a tiny bit threadbare and worn in some places, but otherwise the state of it was near perfect.

And then your stupid ass came along and ruined it! How long did it take you to destroy it? About five minutes.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” you whispered, putting the shirt down with a dull thump.

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Wyll lied with a wince.

No, it wasn’t bad. It was terrible! There was no way to sugarcoat it. Astarion would see it and immediately hate you and he would be right to do so.

“Are you sure that you can’t think of any spell that might reverse… whatever it was that I did?” you asked weakly, looking up at Gale with hope.

“Believe me, my friend, I did everything I could. I may no longer have Mystra’s favour, but my memory would not fail me. I am sorry,” he replied in a grave voice.

You knew that Gale did his best. It was you who was the idiot that started this in the first place. You did screw up rather spectacularly from time to time, which both annoyed and amused others, but this was the first time that you were quite sure that Astarion would genuinely be hurt by it.

You heard Astarion before you saw him. He and Lae’zel were out scouting earlier this afternoon and they seemed to be back with some good news.

“Dearest!” Astarion greeted you from across the camp, “You would not believe the day that I’ve had! And- oh. What’s this?”

You turned around slowly, your back ramrod straight, holding the shirt in front of you.

“Um… So, you see… Wow, this will be real difficult to explain,” you clutched the damn thing so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

“Darling, what is this that you are holding in your hands?” Astarion took a step towards you, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Um… I tried a thing and- and this happened.”

“What exactly happened? And what is this?” he motioned to whatever it was that you were holding, realizing that the item in your hands looked vaguely familiar.

“It’s your shirt,” you mumbled in a small voice. “I tried a spell and something went wrong and here we are.”

Astarion took the shirt from your hands with an unreadable expression, fingers clutching at the harder-than-stone fabric.

“I am so sorry!’ you wailed, “I shouldn’t have done it! I wanted to surprise you-”

“You certainly did,” he said, turning the shirt sideways with a frown.

“I mean, you always complained about the fabric creasing and not being able to do anything about it. And I thought I had the solution and- I tried a spell.”

“Well, it will certainly not crease now,” he said, rapping his knuckles against the surface. “Excuse me,” Astarion turned around and made for his tent without another word.

This was a disaster. He hated you. The one reminder of his life before he was turned, the one thing that Cazador did not take from him, the one item that stayed with him and you ruined it.

The only thing that kept you from bawling like a toddler was the need to keep up appearances. Because you were still supposed to be the leader of a formidable group of heroes defending the city from the ultimate evil and- oh hells! You could feel the tears coming and took a deep breath to calm down. And then another, until you felt that you got your errant emotions under control. It seemed to work well enough, although you were now acutely aware that the others were watching the scene with barely concealed interest. One of the downsides of travelling with a group of friends. You could never have a slither of privacy. You were already embarrassed about your screw up, and having so many witnesses really did nothing to improve your foul mood.

You knew you probably should be giving Astarion space right now, but you just couldn’t. So, you squared your shoulders and went after your vampire. Though you were not entirely sure if he would want to be yours after this incident.

“Astarion?” you pulled the tent flap aside a little, “Can I come in?”

“I will not stop you if you do, if that is what you mean,” he said without looking in your direction.

Okay, ouch. But you deserved much worse right now. So silently, you came in and sat on a cushion.

Astarion was looking at his shirt, his face void of any emotion. He didn’t seem to be looking at the disaster of a gift, but rather through it. Lost in thought.

Five minutes passed, then five more. You tried not to fidget, but the silent treatment was making you nervous. Astarion still did not give you any attention and it didn’t seem that he would be in the mood to do so any time soon. So, you decided to speak up. Because sitting like this and waiting for him to say something was torture.

“I-,” you began weakly and cleared your throat, “I will just take my things and won’t disturb you anymore.”

“I’m sorry?” he blinked, finally turning towards you.

“Or, perhaps I could come back for them some other time.”

“Darling, why would you take your things at all?”  Astarion cocked his head to a side, not sure where you were going with this.

“Because I ruined your shirt.”

“And you are afraid that I might retaliate and ruin your clothes, is that it?”

He noticed your hunched shoulders and dejected look and realised that you may have misinterpreted his silence.

“Or is it something even more ridiculous, such as you getting it into your lovely head that I might break up with you over something so trivial?” Astarion leaned closer to you, brushing an errant lock aside to get a better look at your face.

Okay, ouch again. But you supposed that you deserved that too.

“You sweet fool,” he sighed, pulling you down to sit in his lap, “you saved me countless times. Saved me from Cazador, from myself. What is a shirt in a grand scale of things?”

You felt him put his arms around you and finally relaxed into his touch, enjoying the way he ran his fingers through your hair.

“I mean, I understand why you are upset. I did look amazing in it. But then again, I’d look amazing in anything," he went on. "Besides, I am sure that we can pick out something gorgeous when we get to the city. And for now, you will just have to try and resist me in my half-naked glory,” Astarion flicked his curls back and gave you a sultry look.

“I can’t resist you even when you are fully dressed,” you played along, reaching for his ear with your lips and placing a tender, lingering kiss to the tip, making him purr.

“Well, then we have no choice but to take an evening to ourselves, don’t we?” Astarion conceded playfully, submitting to your searching hands as you fumbled for the ties of his armour.

The next day Lae’zel and Karlach tested out Astarion’s shirt in action and found that it made quite a formidable weapon. When thrown, it sliced through opponents like a knife through butter. When used to strike, the bludgeoning damage was off the charts! It was fireproof, waterproof, gave the holder the ability to ignore many offensive spells and was near indestructible!

Gale begged you to remember which syllable you sneezed on so he could try to replicate the spell and try to make another weapon of the type. But no matter what you did, the spell did exactly as advertised. Got clothes to stay wrinkle-free.

“It appears that this shirt is truly one-of-a-kind,” Wyll laughed, balancing it on the palm of his hand. “Weighs so little too!”

“Well, everything about me is extraordinary. Makes perfect sense for my shirt to have unique properties too,” Astarion looked at it in a way that a proud parent would regard an overachieving child. “Shame that you didn’t cast that spell earlier, darling. I would have quite enjoying smashing Cazador’s head in with it. Would have been ironic that he beat being perfect into me, only for me to come back and beat him perfectly with the shirt.”

“Still plenty of bad guys out there, Fangs! I might just borrow this from you to teach Gortash a lesson,” Karlach cracked her knuckles.

“You would have to fight Lae’zel for it first, I’m afraid,” you lifted your shield as you got ready to move out. “She said that such a formidable weapon can only be wielded by the most experienced warrior.”

“I’m experienced enough!”

“Chk! By the standards of this realm, you fight well. But only the githyanki are taught to be experts with any weapon. I will be the one to carry it,” she insisted, ignoring the protests of others. As far as Lae’zel was concerned, the matter was settled.

And so your ragtag group set off on yet another adventure feeling that the odds were decisively in your favour as of late. You and Astarion walked side by side, hands brushing as you listened to Karlach and Lae’zel bicker. Seeing as the others were preoccupied, Astarion snaked his arm round your middle and pulled you flush against him.

“Do warn me next time you want to experiment, my dear. You claim this to be an accident, but I suspect you have an ulterior motive. One might even say that it is your subconsciousness guiding your hand when it comes to destroying my clothes.”

Astarion’s smile widened as you flushed a beautiful shade of red, claiming your lips in a way that communicated quite clearly that he was down for whatever else your delightful brain would come up with.

Tag list:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale, @clazberryk

@anukulee, @preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck

[sunflowersandsapphires]

You will become it

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader

summary: When Frank lets the stress of the holidays get to him, he accidentally pushes you away.

Based on the prompt that @hellskitchenswhore posted about: Thanksgiving or Christmas Day with either Matt or Frank, inspired by the quote "If you’re raised with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house. You will find him even when he is not there"

warnings: swearing, descriptions of anxiety, allusions to past trauma

a/n: Ugh I could write a MILLION of these because it's so relatable. I hope that this brings you all some comfort this holiday season.

w/c: 3.1k

To no one’s surprise, Frank fucking hated the holidays. After losing Maria and the kids, it was just a horrible time of year filled with bitterness over the gap in his life and the fact he’d never have a normal winter again. 

He tended to throw himself into his vigilante work, bringing the most permanent form of justice to assholes all over the city. Thanksgiving and Christmas were spent alone, unless you considered his guns valuable company, eating bland food and steeling himself against the shitty weather because he was too stubborn to buy a thicker coat. 

But then he’d met you. 

Karen had introduced you over the past summer, sort of. He’d stumbled onto the blonde’s fire escape in the middle of the night—startling the two of you who were having some kind of girls’ night after a tough week. And once Frank had collapsed, unconscious, onto the metal grates he stood on, Karen was forced into an explanation to prevent you from calling the cops. 

You’d adjusted to the knowledge that your best friend was willingly helping a fugitive faster than anyone expected—immediately jumping in with wide eyes and assisting Karen as she cleaned and dressed Frank’s numerous wounds. 

When he came to, he was settled on Karen’s couch, blankets draped over his lap. Across the room, you sipped from a wine glass as you flipped through the pages of a book. He’d hoarsely asked what you were reading and, after the initial shock from him speaking to you had worn off, you’d smiled and asked if he wanted to read with you. 

Frank was eternally smitten by your thoughtful nature. You were an angel on earth and, for some fucking reason, you were determined to brighten Frank’s life with your company, though he repeatedly reminded you that he didn’t deserve you. Despite his bumbling compliments and gruff personality, you’d eagerly agreed when he’d asked you out to dinner a week after meeting you—and you’d been together ever since. 

You hadn’t been dating long, your relationship still fresh enough to count the months spent together on one of his rough hands, but his perpetual grouchiness was slowly being chipped away by your adorable smile and apparent need to spend the majority of your time tucked against his side. 

Frank had fallen head over heels for you at the speed of light, so saying “no” to your sparkling doe eyes when you batted your lashes at him was damn near impossible. Which was how he found himself in his current predicament. 

While out at a bar with you and your colleagues at Nelson, Murdock, and Page, Red—always the antagonist—had smugly asked him if he intended to spend the holidays with you. It wasn’t a secret amongst your circle that you weren’t overly close with your family. One too many bad memories had resulted in a quieter holiday season without said family, a preferred alternative to the hours of manipulation and abuse you’d previously endured during the winter months. 

Frank was aware that you didn’t have family plans for Christmas, perfectly comfortable welcoming you into his house for an intimate few days complete with fantastic food (that the two of you would cook together) and cuddling in front of the fireplace as you nodded off. You agreed that it had been the perfect way to spend Thanksgiving, so Frank had assumed you’d be alright having a similar Christmas celebration. 

And maybe you would have, had Karen not suggested that Frank host a Christmas celebration at his place for a larger group. 

“Frank, you’ve been bragging about the turkey you cooked for a week. It’s honestly rude of you to withhold that from us.” She remarked, smirking at his resulting scowl. 

“And on the holiest day of the year too.” Murdock shook his head, shit-eating grin spreading across his face as Frank scoffed. 

“Fuck you, Red. We don’t wanna host your sleazy ass for Christmas. Right, sweetheart?” Frank’s confidence had vanished when he saw your bashful shrug. 

Avoiding his gaze, you picked at the label on your beer bottle. “I dunno, Frankie. I don’t think I’d mind a few more people…” Your voice was quiet, hesitant, but there was a hopeful edge to it that he couldn’t ignore. 

It took him all of 3 seconds to cave to your apprehensively optimistic gaze, his heart melting as you bit your lip nervously. “Sure, darlin’. What the hell?” 

He was regretting his hasty agreement now, though. 

Standing in his kitchen, surrounded by Karen, Matt, Curtis, and—thankfully—you on December 23rd, trying desperately to get the cheese sauce for his mac and cheese to combine properly as the four of you drank beer and laughed boisterously around him. As always, you were more helpful than anyone else, offering soft praises and sweet smiles as you cooked side by side, but Frank’s irritation was steadily building and even you couldn’t stop it. 

It didn’t help that he hadn’t slept well all week, familiar nightmares viciously overtaking his subconscious as soon as he closed his eyes. And the lack of sleep, combined with the way his head was pounding as he worried over the pot on the stove, meant his patience was thinner than a fishing line. 

“For fucks sake, thought y’all were here for a goddamn reason. Is this a social event now?” Frank groused, whirling around to face the four people in his kitchen as yet ANOTHER cheese sauce failed to form smoothly. 

You all fell silent, though everyone but you rolled their eyes at his grumpy tone. Not used to this side of Frank, your face fell—eyes widening as your partner barked orders, creating a much different atmosphere than the peaceful one that had surrounded your perfect Thanksgiving. Shuffling backwards a step, you stood rigid as a statue as Frank scowled. 

“Karen, wash the China I took out. Curt, chop those veggies. Murdock, peel those potatoes.” He pointed to each of them in turn before turning to you. “And clearly I can’t make this shit to save my life so you figure it out while I iron the table cloth.” 

Nodding dutifully, you removed the pot behind his hips from the heat, scraping the lumpy bechamel into the trash before making another roux. You knew Frank didn’t mean to snap at you, he was just on edge about hosting the gathering. No one else was concerned about his demeanor, so why should you be? Trying to quell the churning anxiety in your chest, you diligently completed every task you were given, silently whipping up a number of sides as the sun began to set. 

Eventually, the five of you had prepped everything but the turkey, including the decorations and table set up. Waving farewell to the other three sous chefs, you lingered by the door as you closed it behind them. 

You and Frank had previously agreed that you’d stay over for a few nights to watch Christmas movies and bake cookies, your two favorite traditions that you hadn’t shared with anyone for a few years. However, after witnessing his clear frustration, you were apprehensive. Did he still want you to stay? 

Because of your history with men taking their anger out on you, Frank’s discontent had brought out a side of you that you never wished to experience again. You were still pretty sure he hadn’t meant it, but your certainty was fading by the minute. 

Stepping back into the kitchen, you began scrubbing at the pots in the sink as quietly as possible, hoping that if you handled the rest of the work in silence, Frank wouldn’t have any reason to be upset with you anymore. Unfortunately for your nervous heart, Frank’s mood wasn’t quite over. 

“The fuck are you doin’,” Came a harsh voice from behind you. 

Willing yourself not to startle, you stayed facing the sink, your back to your raging boyfriend. “Just cleaning up, love.” Your voice was meek, but it luckily didn’t waver. 

“And I ain’t capable of doin’ that myself?” His stern response hit you like a brick. Shutting off the faucet, you wiped your hands on a towel and turned to face him, brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Of course I think you’re capable. I wanted to help you, I—“

“It’s funny, really. Y’all wanted me to host this goddamn thing and you don’t think I can do my own fuckin’ dishes?” Frank looked at you, incredulously. He never asked for your pity. 

“Frankie—“

“I don’t need your help. Get out.” He said, jerking his head to shoo you out of the room. 

Choking on an inhale, your eyes stung with unshed tears. “O-ok, Frankie.”

As he restarted the stream of scalding water, you gathered your things and headed out into the night. 

Turning off the tap, Frank dried his hands before surveying his kitchen with a satisfied nod. Banishing you from the kitchen was rude—he knew that—but, ultimately, it had allowed him to unwind while efficiently tidying up the sprawling mess that had manifested during a day of cooking. Exhaling forcefully, Frank felt a pang of guilt in his gut as he remembered how abrasively he'd treated you today. Ready to beg for your forgiveness, and offer a few ways he might be able to make it up to you, he strode over to the couch where he figured you were laying. 

“Sorry for kickin’ ya out of the room, sweetheart. Guess I needed a minute to calm down. Did ya still wanna watch a movie?” Rounding the arm of the couch to kneel before you, Frank was hit with a wave of dread as he was met with the sight of empty cushions. Treading into the bedroom, his bed was similarly bare, and his bathroom was dark and vacant. 

Heart rate spiking, he spun around in the main room of his apartment, looking for any sign of your whereabouts. Your purse and coat were gone. You’d left, but why?

Suddenly, a chilling thought occurred to him as he replayed your previous conversation. 

“I don’t need your help. Get out.”

He hadn’t clarified that he still wanted you here. You thought he had demanded that you leave the apartment altogether, not the kitchen while he worked. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

Scrambling for his phone, he snatched his keys and flew down the stairs as he dialed your number. The phone rang endlessly as he sprinted to his truck down the block. Eventually, he received your voicemail. FUCK. 

Turning his keys in the ignition, he called again. “C’mon, darlin’. Please pick up.” 

Getting your voicemail again, Frank growled in frustration, before his screen lit up with a text. 

You: Hey, bubba. I can’t talk at the moment. Is something wrong? Are you alright?

Closing his eyes in relief, and gritting his teeth as he was smacked with another wave of guilt, he cursed himself. “Of course I’m not alright,” He thought to himself, “I sent you away, sweetheart.” 

Flicking open his phone, he hastily typed out a question. 

Frank: Are you at your place?

You: Yes, love. 

Frank: I’ll be there soon. 

Speeding down the city streets, Frank couldn’t help but wish he’d realized his mistake earlier. Maybe a flower shop would've been open then. 

Chewing absently at your thumbnail, a new rush of tears rolled down your cheeks. God, you were such a coward. You’d avoided Frank’s call because you simply couldn’t handle him yelling at you for whatever you’d done to upset him. Instead, you’d texted him, hoping to hide behind a wall of messages as he explained your mistake. But it hadn’t worked that way, he was coming here. To scold you. Maybe even break up with you. 

The thought of Frank leaving you because of something you’d unknowingly done to offend him forced the air from your lungs with a sob. Desperately trying to get your emotions under control, you threw back the wine in your glass as you stared blankly towards the door. 

The footsteps in the hall were deafening, each one sending a chill down your spine as you willed your aching legs to hold you upright. A key scratched in your lock and the door slid open, the large shadow of your boyfriend extending into your apartment. Huffing out a breath as he addressed you, Frank frowned at your tear-streaked face. 

“You cannot just leave like that,” He explained, shutting the door with a loud bang that made you jump. “Did you walk home? It’s dark out!” 

Frank stepped forward, reaching his arms toward you and ice flooded your veins as you responded to the familiar motion. 

Stumbling backwards, you curled in on yourself. “I’m sorry, Frank. I’m so sorry. So sorry.” Tears splattered on the floor beneath your downcast face. You were trembling, terrified of being screamed at, or worse. 

That was when it all clicked for Frank. Your wide eyes as he bossed you around. The way your jaw remained clenched for hours as you cooked. The lack of your giggles and quips and smiles for the majority of the day. You were afraid. He’d made you afraid. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice broke as you sobbed, just out of his reach. Each of your choked inhales broke off another piece of his shattered heart. “Oh, honey, no. Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Crouching in front of you, keeping enough distance to hopefully not spook you further, Frank brought his hands into a placating gesture. As he exposed his palms to you, you looked at him with glassy eyes. “Darlin’ I’m not upset with you. I ain’t ever been upset with ya, not once. I was grouchier than normal today and I didn’t realize I was being too cruel. I ain’t mad, sweet girl. Could never be mad at my sweetheart.” 

You nodded, but didn’t seem to be registering his words. Crumbling to the floor in front of him, you were practically hyperventilating at this point, stuttering through apologies between shallow breaths. 

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna choke. Let’s sit on the couch for a minute.” Supporting your weight as you collapsed into his chest, Frank scooped you up and carried you over to the couch. He settled down, sitting your shaking body in his lap. Shushing you gently, he tucked your head under his chin, running a broad hand along your spine. “Breathe, sweet girl. Can’t have my baby suffocatin’ because of my dumb ass.” 

Breathing deeply to demonstrate the action for you, Frank eventually felt your body still, your inhales evening out. 

“‘M so sorry, Frankie.” You whispered hoarsely against his neck. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, my beautiful girl. You were just tryin’ to help. I’m sorry for bein’ such an ass.” Pulling back from you to study your face, Frank brought a hand up to cradle your jaw as he swiped away the remaining tears from your damp cheeks. “I didn’t mean to send ya home, darlin’. I just wanted you to sit on the couch while I cleaned up.” Continuing quickly as he watched your lips part with another apology, he added, “That ain’t your fault either. It definitely seemed like I was kickin’ ya out. That’s also on me.”

Nodding hesitantly, you leaned into him with a tired sigh. “Ok.”

“Did ya want me to leave, sweetheart? I know I scared you,” 

“No!” Your hand came up to grasp his jacket, clinging to him fearfully. “Don’t leave me, Frankie, please.” 

“Hey, hey, I ain’t leavin’ unless you want me to, darlin’.” Frank promised, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’m here as long as you’ll put up with me.” 

“I don’t want you to leave.” You murmured, tracing a finger over the folds in his lapel. 

“Then I’ll be here.” He assured you, stroking a hand over your back once again as he reclined, tugging you on top of him and covering you both with a blanket from the back of your couch. “Right here. Always.”

 The pair of you sat in silence for a spell, focusing on getting your breathing back under control. Eventually, Frank pressed another kiss to your head before offering an explanation. “I shouldn’t have snapped atcha, sweet girl. I was tired, and irritated, and I let it out on all of you. That ain’t fair and I’ll try to keep my cool next time.” 

Nodding gratefully against him, you mumbled a quivering “Thank you.” 

“Of course, doll. I scared ya when I kicked ya out?” He asked, hoping you’d clarify so he could prevent this panic in the future. 

“Mmhmm.” You confirmed. “I, um, I don’t do well when people raise their voices. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be sensitive.” 

“Hey now,” Frank admonished as gently as he could. “I like my sensitive girl. I’ll try not to yell. I didn’t know it would bother you so much, darlin’.” 

You shrugged. “People got angry with me a lot when I was a kid. Especially the men in my family. Maybe I was an easy target, I don’t know. But I jump to conclusions now because of it.” 

“That makes sense, honey. That’s your brain tryin’ to protect you from big scary guys like me.” Frank joked, but you poked his chest. 

“You’re not scary,” You chided. “Just big.” 

He chuckled at that. “Well, I’ll try to keep bein’ ‘not scary’ and promise to listen whenever you choose to warn me about this stuff, ok?” 

“Ok.” You agreed, lips twitching into a faint smile as he brushed his nose into your hair. Turning your face to his, your lips met in a sweet kiss. 

“Have I done anythin’ else that bothers ya?” Frank asked, fear sparking in his chest. 

Shaking your head vehemently, you snuggled into him. “No. You’re wonderful.” 

“Ok. Just tell me, darlin’. I never want ya to be afraid of me.”  

“‘M not afraid of you, Frankie. Promise.” 

“Ok, sweetheart. Did ya wanna go to bed, or stay here for a bit?” 

“Could we go to your place?” You asked timidly. 

“Of course, love. But only if you let me carry you out to the car. My poor girl has had a rough day and it’s my job to make that up to her.” 

You giggled. “Mmm kay.” 

Frank spoke quietly to you as you traveled back to his apartment, talking about the book he was reading and what he was excited about for the holiday. You remained quiet, the exhaustion of your panic attack weighing on you, but you were filled with a pleasant warmth as Frank shared more of himself with you. 

Once he’d carried you into his home and tucked you into bed, you were barely awake. 

“Sleep well, sweetheart. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” Comforted by Frank’s rumbling promise, you drifted off, dreaming only of his smiling face. 

[infinite-hearts-333]

Within The Conference Room

Starring North Heat ( @north-heats-stronghold )

Au Belongs to @onyxonline

Thank you to all the people that lent me your captains! I hope you find them within the fic :)

——————————————————————————

North Heat was exhausted.

What was meant to be a simple one day activity plus putting Oura Thorn into some form of therapy had turned into a horrific accident. It had been weeks, nearly a month, and Thorn was still comatose, and North was now fighting against the other captains and outrageous rumours that pinned Thorn at being thrown out.

Or worse.

North’s horns throbbed slightly. What had been ten minutes of danger, and North..

So much went wrong.

Too much, went wrong.

It was North Heat’s fault. Thorn had been stressing about this very thing, and now, too late, North knew why.

Because Oura Thorns power was a lot bigger, and a lot more dangerous than any of them were ready for.

North’s grip tightened around his file, crinkling the paper as he took a slow, chilly breath.

He was hurt- Sunny and Zelda, got hurt, and Thorn- he winced a little, tilting his head as the painful memory of his last visit flashed through his mind. The Beast, coiled in on itself, almost grasping its tail in its maw. The scientist and nurses, constantly flickering around it, monitoring, and the head nurse, muttering to her coworkers, that there was a chance that it may never awaken.

North swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes closed to settle himself. He caused all this damage. He would fix it, no matter what. He needed to go through with all this, no matter how tough. It was the least he could do for being so unprepared, and putting not only his own crew, but a close friend of his in danger and in harm’s way.

Sighing, he tilted his head to the small crowd standing in the hallway with him. It hadn’t taken long for the rumours and stories to reach Ludwig, to which he sent out a message to the captains that a meeting was required for such an issue. All the captains, here, because of this.

There was a faint chime, and North lifted his head, before shifting off the wall and into the meeting room.

Oura Thorn’s fate would be decided here.

And North would fight everyone in the room to ensure nothing bad happened to them.

The captains all took their seats, silent beside quiet murmuring. North stood at one of the heads of the tables, since he was the only one who knew Thorn enough to represent them. North smiled a little as Dogday took a stand next to him, giving North a slight grin and encouraging thumbs up.

At least someone is definitely on my side..

On the other end of the table a hologram flickered to life, and the last murmurs went silent as Ludwig appeared. He was old, almost worn, with a face that had gained dimples and lines from smiling. North let out a soft breath, smiling.

Ludwig was a good man. He would do what was good for all of them- North Heat was sure of it.

“Captains.” Ludwig greeted, smiling at the critters surrounding the table. A couple murmurs echoed around, between hellos and soft waves.

“I thank you for taking time away from your missions to talk about this. This type of situation doesn’t happen often, and I felt that with your level of expertise, your advice would be of use,”

North straightened his back, inhaling slowly.

Ludwig gently gestured forward, a smaller hologram flickering to life. Several more murmurs went around the table at the sight of the Beast, frozen mid roar.

“As I’m sure many of you are aware, we had a problem with a critter on board, and their powers. It had caused a lot of damage, as well as injuries. I’m going to have North here,” Ludwig smiled, his eyes creasing as he waved a hand to North, “talk to you all about the Critter in question.”

Here we go.

North dipped his head to Ludwig, ignoring the stares of all the other captains, turning to look at him. “Thank you Ludwig,”

North spread his wings a little, putting the files flat on the table. He didn’t need the notes to talk about a friend. “Their name is Ouřa Thorn. I have known them for over three months now- and most of this problem… is my own fault. Thorn isn’t a space rider- they work in an abundance of jobs on the base, not limited to the foodaries, maintenance and cleaning.”

“I was one of the critters, to also get injured,” North added, frowning. “Thorn had been stressing over something, to the point that my crew and I were starting to worry for their health. I and two of my crew members decided to confront Thorn over the subject.”

North faintly closed his eyes. “We weren’t prepared for Thorn’s power, and things spiralled out of control. But Thorn- Thorn would never hurt anyone. They spend so long suffering in silence, protecting us from this. And they wouldn’t have shared it if I hadn’t pushed.”

Opening the file, North smoothed out the papers of all the notes and information about Ouřa Thorns background he could dig up. Another thing that North had to bring up with the lizard- because there was barely any tabs on them- their planet wasn’t even listed.

“Ouřa Thorn has been here since they were 16. If they were out to hurt any of us, or were doing this for the cults, or something, they would have done it when they were younger- and had less self control.”

Fainter, more agreeing murmurs.

“I think we should get rid of them, while we can.” Came a sharper, rougher voice.

Ah. I forgot he was captain.

North took a deep breath, and glared at Dogbite from across the table.

The dog was half leaning on the table, arms crossed. “Their power is wild and out of control. They could kill someone and they have already nearly have! I say kick them out. Don’t let them slow us down with their out of control issues.”

Dogday frowned a little at his brother, rubbing his arms as the air around North slowly started to drop.

“I think that's a little extreme,” came a softer mumble, of a blue tinted dog from across the table. North hadn’t seen much of them- but if he remembered from different files, her name was Dogpressed. “If we were to throw out all and any Critters with powers that could harm- well.. there would be no Space Riders at all…”

Dogbite scoffed, rolling his eyes. “They aren't conscious when this happens there's no self control here!”

“Surveillance then?” Piped in Berry Boo, their large wings curling around themselves nervously. “Or maybe an assigned guard to watch them?”

“A guard would be useless,” North murmured. “The Beast is unpredictable. It shows up whenever, no matter the circumstances- and it gets mad just as fast. The only thing a guard would be able to do is notify surrounding Riders, but other then that, it’s not extremely useful.”

“I agree with Dogbite,” N said, ears flicking forward. “Is it really worth the risk to have such a dangerous asset roaming with nothing to stop them if they get a little mad? I think if we're gonna keep tabs on them, the last place they should be is here.”

Alan’s ears flicked a little, and the tabby grey cat sighed. “Everyone… mostly has a point. Thorn seems to be a double edge sword- how much harm will come to us protecting them and viscera?” He fiddled with his sleeves, frowning. “North is an excellent judge of character, so I trust that Thorn wouldn’t do anything to harm us. As… um..”

Alan squinted at Dogpressed, before just waving with a defeated huff. “She had a good point! We don’t know the limitations of this power. We're Space Riders, we’re meant to protect Critters. I think that we should do our best to help Thorn, then come back and discuss if things aren’t working out.”

“And if we do chuck them out, what about the Prototype?” Silly Billy mused, crossing his arms. “If Ouřa Thorn is already a problem, trying their best to protect us, how much of a problem will they be if the cults get them and abuse that power? Especially if we chuck them out without studying and understanding what their power is.”

Silence filled the table, other than soft mumbles of agreement.

Dogday stood up along side North, smiling at the other Captains. “I say we put them in a crew. Then if we can, we can tame the Beast, and monitor them. They’ll be around trained professionals who deal with issues like these 24/7. And then we do what Alan said- come back to discuss if it’s not working out.”

North smiled, thankful for the sunny dog. “If that's an option- I’ll be more than happy to take Ouřa Thorn into my crew.”

“Alright.” Ludwig spread out his arms, gaining all the Captain’s attention. “Raise your hand if you agree that putting Thorn into a crew to be monitored is a good idea,”

North felt the pressure of the guilt on his chest loosen and more than half of the table rose their hands.

Dogday’s ears twitched a little as the dog tilted his head to the door with a frown, blinking. “Hey, do you guys hear that-?”

BANG-

Thank god to a captain’s usually fast reflexes, as North managed to curl his wing in just in time for one of the two conference doors to be blown off its hinges and to smack into the meeting table, lodging itself there.

Starchild shrieked, having been startled, their feathers fluffing out before they snapped their beak shut.

North blinked, barely hearing the sounds of chaos behind him as he stared at the large, sandy yellow lizard in the doorway.

“Thorn,” North Heat half breathed, before grinning and feeling pricks of tears in the corner of his eyes. “THORN!”

The lizard half blinked the disorientation out of their eyes to see North jogging over to them, eyes widening. “North!!”

Taking the last couple strides Ouřa Thorn ignored North’s useless held out hands, having not knowing what to do with them during his shock- and promptly whisked the dragon off the floor into a slightly too tight hug.

“North- North- North-” Thorn babbled, tears wetting North’s shirt as the lizard held him close. “Your horn- what happened- everything went black and I remember screaming-”

North grabbed Thorn’s face, wheezing through his protesting ribs, “Put me down, Thorn,”

Ouřa Thorn instantly blushed and dropped North Heat back onto his feet, half curling up. It was by then that the Nurse burst in and started to yell angrily about concussions and dizziness, and North finally took note that Thorn was still in a medical gown.

Classic Thorn. North faintly thought. “You go rest up bud. I’ll come see you right after this okay? Ill explain everything,”

Thorn slowly nodded, and then a little faster, affectionately brushing their hand against North’s wings. “Okay.. um. See you soon then.”

“I'll bring Sunny!” North chimed as the Nurse, still scolding, led the lizard back out of the meeting room.

Turning back, North winced a little at the stares of all the other Captains.

“They seem like a nice lad,” Ludwig mused, before brightly chiming. “Alright, Thorn is now under The Ranger’s care. Thank you for your time Captains,”

North watched as the holograms flickered and vanished, smiling to himself.

I did promise I’d fix things.

[hoffmanxfurthermore]

The Drug In Me Is You

(Mark Hoffman/Peter Strahm X reader)

You and Mark break up for a while, during which you hook up with someone else. You two get back together, promising to keep no secrets. He asks if you were w anyone else, and you finally admit you hooked up with Peter Strahm. Mark leaves for a couple of hours, only to come back with Peter. This is a really bad clickbait intro, lol.

I've never written a three-way scene before, but I tried my best!!!

Content: rough sex, mmf, three-way, cussing, dominance, bondage, whatever, this is tumblr, you know what you're walking into.

Word count: 2.5k

Xxx

"No more secrets," Mark promises, holding your hand and looking into your eyes.

"No more secrets." You smile at him.

Secrets were what split you up. He had kept something huge and betrayed you. You didn't see each other for months. You didn't talk to each other. It was as if both of you had completely vanished from the others' lives.

You're both walking home from the bar, where you just randomly ran into him. All the memories came flooding back, so you just said Fuck it and approached him.

Suddenly, Mark stops, turning to face you.

"Were you with anyone... while we were apart?" Mark asks. A question you've been dreading. You feel your blood run cold as you look up at him. He can see it in your eyes. You weren't going to deny it, but your eyes said it all. Slowly nodding, you close your eyes in shame. No more secrets. That was the deal. No matter how painful it would be.

"Who was it?"

You slowly open your eyes and look at him, tears starting to well up.

"If I tell you... you'll hate me..." You say in a shaky whisper.

"Depending on who it is, I can't promise that I won't be mad. But I could never hate you, y/n," Mark reassures you, squeezing your hand.

You take a deep breath.

"Dont tell me yet. Not here. Let's wait till we're inside."

You nod, a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. His place is right down the street, and you're certain you'll never see it, or him, again after he finds out who. With each step, the knot in your stomach got tighter and tighter.

Once inside, you slowly sit on his couch. Your fingers nervously pull on the threads of the frayed fabric. Mark sits next to you.

"Please tell me, y/n, who was it?" Mark's voice is shaky, nervous. He's dreading your response just as much as you are dreading telling him.

"It was...." You keep your eyes closed, too ashamed to look at him, "it was... Peter..." You whisper.

"WHAT?!" He barks, jumping up from the couch. Your eyes snap open.

"I thought you hated him! How could you..." His voice is breaking as he paces the room, his hands in his hair.

"I do! I only did it to try to get over you, it didn't work!"

"Peter Strahm? Of all people?!"

"What do you want me to say, Mark?! That I fucked him to get back at you?"

"Did you?!"

"No!" You yell. "Well... maybe a little..." You confess, burying your face in your hands.

"I can't do this..." Mark rushes to put his coat on. He swings the front door open and storms out.

"Mark!" You scream as the door slams shut.

You quickly turn into a blubbering mess, curling up on the brown worn-out couch as you bawl your eyes out. This is the very thing you were afraid of happening.

You must have cried yourself to sleep because the next thing you know, Mark is pulling you off the couch and leading you to his room.

"Mark, what?" You ask groggy.

He doesn't say a word as he gently pushes you onto the bed. As you rub the sleep from your eyes, you gasp. Standing next to Mark is Peter strahm.

"Why is Peter here?" You ask.

The subtlest smirk rests upon Mark's face as he glances at you, then Peter.

"Did you like fucking him?" Mark asks.

"You told him?!" Peter demands.

"Yes... and yes..." You say, lowering your gaze to the floor.

Mark is standing behind Peter. He pushed Peter forward towards you.

"I want you to show me what you did with him."

"What?" You and Peter ask in unison.

You can't help but be a little excited. You know Mark thinks you're not going to be into this, but you are.

"I can tell you want to. Show me how he made you feel," Mark turns to Peter, "Show me how you make her feel."

You always thought Peter was attractive, but you're nervous, with Mark here. At the same time, though, you're biting your lip, looking up at the two men standing before you, imagining what's going to happen.

Peter quickly hops onto the bed, grabbing your hair and pressing his lips against yours, seemingly already forgetting that Mark is in the room. Before you know it, the making out is heavier as clothes are less on the both of you, and more on the floor. You catch a glimpse of Mark smiling as he leans against the wall.

Peter isn't as aggressively dominant as Mark is, but he's still a little bit dominant. You're both now wearing nothing but your skin as Peter pins your wrists to either side of your head, gently, but firmly. His knees push your legs apart and you wrap your legs around him as he slowly kisses your neck.

"Are you sure, with Mark here?"

You'd forgotten about him for a moment, but you glance at Mark, who nods, then back at Peter.

"Yes..." You whisper, already very turned on by what is happening. You can feel Peter's erection throbbing against your thigh as you bite your lip, begging for him. His tongue slowly travels around your lips as he slides inside you. It's not very thick, but it's long, you can feel it bumping against your cervix as he slowly moves inside you.

"Fuck... Peter..." You whine as you raise your hips to meet his thrusts.

"Oh god, y/n.." he gasps as his hand releases your wrist and travels to your right breast, playing with your nipple.

Mark bites his lip as his dick starts to get hard in his pants. He can't help but get super horny at the sight of you being fucked by another man.

You bite your lip and smile as you turn your head to face Mark, teasing him. Mark is licking his lips and loosening his tie, his jacket is already on the floor. You turn back to Peter.

"Fuck me, Peter, make him jealous..." You moan, looking into his eyes.

Peter grips your right tit hard as he slams into you, making you wail out in pleasure.

"I'll make him so fucking jealous," he growls in your ear, glancing back at Mark. You claw at his back with your free hand as your legs start to shake around him.

"Fuck..." You gasp, "peter, I'm gonna...."

Suddenly, Mark lurches forward, shoving Peter off of you roughly.

"Hey! What the fuck?!" Peter shouts, stumbling off the bed.

You look up at Mark, standing above you. You hadn't noticed that he'd stripped his clothes off. He grabs your hair, yanking your head back sharply.

"You don't get to cum for anyone except me, got it?"

"I wasn't done yet!" Peter yells, annoyed, covering himself with his hands.

"Sit your ass down. I'll show you how you really take care of her," Mark said in a low voice as he climbs onto the bed.

Peter crawls toward you, to which Mark responds by grabbing his hair and pulling him off the bed. He drags Peter to the floor, using his tie to bind Peter's hands behind his back.

"You're going to watch me fuck her, the right way. You're shit," Mark says in a stern voice, gripping Peter's chin, making him face him, his face mere inches away from Peter's. Peter watches as Mark gets onto the bed. You smile at Peter as Mark begins slowly kissing up your inner thigh, his eyes locked onto Peter's as he makes him watch. Licking your lips, a low moan escapes your throat as you lace your fingers into Mark's soft, dark hair.

"That's it, baby..." he mutters as his fingers trace over your already wet pussy.

"You really liked fucking him didn't you?"

After a second, his hand shoots up your body, gripping your throat tight as his body weight presses down on you.

"Didn't you?!" He demanded.

"Yes..." You choke.

"More than me?" His grip around your throat tightens as he shoves two fingers inside your dripping cunt.

"Fuck!" You gasp as he curls his fingers up, hitting that sweet spot.

"This is how you fucking take care of her," Mark says sharply, looking at Peter as he rapidly thrusts his fingers inside you.

Mark yanks his fingers out and grabs your hips, shoving you over on your stomach. He pulls your hips so your ass is up in the air facing Peter. One hand grabs at your ass cheeks while the other shoves three of his thick fingers inside you.

"Fucking watch this, Peter. Bet you've never done this before.."

Mark rapidly fucks you with his fingers, leaning down to kiss and nibble on your right cheek as his thumb massages your sensitive clit.

"Fuck.. mark...."

"Aww is someone gonna cum? Already?"

Before you can answer, you tighten around his fingers, yelling a string of cuss words as your whole body shakes, your eyes roll back in your head as you cum hard.

You catch a glimpse of Peter, a look of desperation in his eyes as he struggles against his restraints. Mark grips your hair, forcing you to look at him.

Peter bites his lip, still struggling against the tight tie around his wrists. He is trying to stand up but can't seem to.

Mark shoves you onto your side as you gasp, coming down from the orgasm. You watch as he climbs off the bed and walks towards Peter.

"Lick it off," he instructs, grabbing Peter's hair with one hand as he holds his fingers, slick with your juices, to Peter's face.

You watch as Peter eagerly licks Mark's fingers clean, savoring the taste, looking at you as he does it. You lick your lips as you watch him, turning to sit upright on the bed.

Once he's done, Mark reaches behind Peter and undoes the knot around his wrists.

"You're gonna suck his dick while I fuck you," Mark says to you. You gasp and bite your lip, you were not expecting this at all.

"Bend over like how you were before. You, get in front of her," he says to Peter, to which he quickly obliges. You lick your lips as Peter's hard dick stares you straight in the face, he gently pets your hair as you feel Mark enter you from behind.

"Fu--" You start but Peter quickly shoves his throbbing cock into your open mouth.

"That's it.. fuck..." Peter groans as he grabs your hair, slowly fucking your mouth as Mark wastes no time pounding into you from behind. The only thing stopping you from making noise.is Peter's cock jabbing into the back of your throat over and over again. This is a whole new experience for you, you're cock drunk off both of them as they use you.

You can barely focus on either of them as the other thrusts into you. You can do nothing but lie there as both men use you. You wrap your lips tightly around Peter, you can tell by his thrusts and his moans that he's getting close. You look up at him, begging with your eyes.

Mark's hips slam into you, pushing you forward, making you take Peter's throbbing length down your throat. Tears stream down your face as you gag on his dick. Peter thrusts into your mouth as you're pushed forward. So deep, his balls are slapping against your chin.

"That's it... take it all.... fuuuck," Peter groans, gripping your hair. Peter is trying as hard as he can to not cum, but the sight of you being pounded from behind as you suck him off is too much. In one quick motion, he yanks your head back, stroking his cock a few more times as he paints your face white. Mark withdraws from you, and you collapse on the bed, gasping for breath.

You know it's far from being over, Mark tends to last a long time. Both men look down at you, saying nothing as Mark rolls you onto your back. Peter wipes your face off with his shirt he retrieved from the floor.

"Now it's our turn to make you cum," Mark purrs as he positions himself between your legs.

Peter crawls next to you on your right side as Mark pushes into you. His dick isn't super long, but it's definitely thicker than average.

Peter's fingers make their way down your body as Mark fucks you slowly.

"God... fuck!" You yell as Peter's fingers rub slow circles on your clit, matching the other man's thrusts. His lips find their way to your nipple, gently nibbling and licking, eliciting more noises from you. Mark's hand makes its way to your left tit and squeezes, fucking into you faster, harder.

"Please... please... don't stop," you beg, squeezing your eyes shut, gasping for breath. In response, Peter bites down on your nipple. Not hard enough to break skin, but hard, making you scream.

Peter quickens his pace massaging your clit as Mark pounds into you at a steady pace, making your legs shake. You're getting close, you can feel it building up.

"Cum for us, baby," Peter whispers in your ear, his fingers massaging your sensitive spot in circles that feel so good. The second he says that, you become unraveled, your whole body shaking as Mark fucks you hard and deep.

"Fuck!" Mark gasps as he himself can't hold on any longer. He bites his lip and groans loudly as he releases inside you, filling you with his cum. You gasp for breath as you come down, Peter ever so lightly massaging your pulsating clit. Becoming too sensitive, you shove Peter's arm away as your breathing relaxes.

Mark pulls his dick out of you, both of your cum dripping off of it.

"Oh my god," Peter mutters, "that was... so hot."

You smile at him, then at Mark as he climbs onto the bed, to the side opposite of Peter. It's relaxing, and you feel content, having both of them on either side of you. Feeling worn out from the encounter, the three of you just lie there.

"I should go," Peter says suddenly, as he pulls himself to his feet and begins getting dressed. Mark stands, too, and pulls a blanket around his naked body.

"Listen, you don't tell anybody about this," he orders sternly, his sharp voice sending shivers down your spine. It's rare you hear him speak like this. Peter simply nods as he buttons up his white shirt, fixing his hair.

"Maybe we can do this again sometime?" You suggest shyly. Peter looks at you, then at Mark.

"Maybe, we'll see."

"I'd really like to," Peter adds.

Both men look at you, still naked on the bed. Finally, Mark nods.

"Fine. But we tell nobody."

"Understood," peter says calmly before leaving the room. You hear the front door open and shut and you turn to Mark.

"I was mad at first when you told me," Mark says, "but thinking about you with him was pretty hot after I got over being angry."

"I knew you would be, but I was not expecting this to happen. I had fun."

"Me too." He smiles at you.