#i tried to fit as much of her monologue as i could but there is just so much of it

[zevzevarainai]

video game challenge: [3/5] heartbreaking scenes/moments – Baldur's Gate 3 (2023), Karlach's Revenge On Gortash

All of it, so I could rot. Because the person I trusted the most gave me away to the devil...! It isn't fair. I don't want it like this. I would do anything to change it, but I just can't. You could try. Haven't you got a Wish spell in that pack of yours? *sobs* What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

[zara-renata]

Hello and good morning~ I was listening to RED by taylor swift while working and suddenly ALL I could think of was the Sylus series (and how MC thinks she was rejected). 💙❤️ Think this song fits them so well

I have been meaning to answer this ask since you sent it, but it gave me a little Scenario that I had to carry around in my head until I could figure out how to work it into a story. Your ask, in combination with a post by @leaderincrows about wanting to see Sylus collared and gasping pathetically, led to this story. I hope the result is enjoyable. Thanks so much for sending this ask, and I'm sorry it took 8 million years to answer!

Goodcat code, or how you learned to care for your catboy | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: Your crimelord boyfriend disappears for a week, you make yourself sad listening to breakup songs, you learn that he got turned into a catboy, you get assigned a mission on the worst cruise ship ever, undercover shenanigans ensue. Loosely based on the Sylus memory Goodcat Code.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, sylus x mc, second person POV, some Sylus POV MC is referred to by they/them pronouns, intended as a placeholder for your preferred pronouns. Established relationship, can be read as a standalone. This story contains: profanity, activities of a sexual nature, violence, probably too much internal monologue and not enough action, too many feelings and not enough sexual activity, inappropriate use of a tail, an argument with your boyfriend, a happy ending.

You wonder if it’s because you trounced him in kitty cards the last time you played.

The silence. 

For the past week, your phone has been pinging with constant notifications but none with My Sy listed as the sender. Just work, spam, Xavier asking if you want to go to the bookstore the next time you’re both free, Tara spamming you with pleas to go to some shitty club where her latest favorite indie EDM DJ is playing—why she thinks that her insistence that “He looks just like Skye, I promise!” is enough incentive for you to wade through loud, sweaty, touch-feely dancers as you can’t help constantly checking the exits, while simultaneously making sure a molly-rolling Tara doesn’t abscond to the bathroom with a mistake waiting to happen, while being subjected to mediocre beats from her artist-of-the week, is beyond you. “Skye” is gorgeous, yes, but you’d rather admire the real thing up close than squint through a fog-machine haze to look at a cheap knock-off.

Maybe Sylus’s snobbery is rubbing off on you.

Then again, Tara doesn’t know how up close you get to examine Skye on a regular basis, so perhaps you’re being unfair, because you’re in a terrible mood, because you haven’t heard from him for a week now.

Because maybe you won’t have the chance to see “Skye” up close ever again. Because all you have is a deafening silence from him, and it started the day after you wiped the floor with him at the kitty cafe playing kitty cards.

Could something so petty cause him to finally lose interest in you, the way you've feared ever since you allowed yourself to consider the possibility that Sylus may be romantically interested in you?

It’s not your fault that the longer you spend time with him, the more you have unraveled his mysteries. If he doesn’t want to be so easy to beat, he needs to try harder to be less predictable. You never would have thought, when you first met him, that you’d ever think the words “predictable” and “Sylus” in the same sentence, but the mercurial man is like clockwork when it comes to kitty cards.

He always, always offers you the chance to go first. Why on earth would you say no, and then lose the chance to play your inevitably shitty, low-value cards in the matching colored cups, just to prevent him from playing one of his inevitably high valued cards in the matching cup?

He grumbles, tries to give “helpful” advice about being patient and gambling on drawing a higher value card instead, all the while doing the exact same thing when it’s his turn and he has a shit hand. The condescending hypocrite. You stew a bit thinking about it.

And then, you’ve long since learned that the arrogant bastard is cheating while you play. He somehow marks the cards—you don’t know how. Something to do with his evol? He refuses to admit it outright, so you doubt you’ll ever know. But what you first thought was a generous habit of offering to give you two  of his cards for one of yours, actually turns out to be an opportunity for him to offload his low value cards and give himself a chance to poach your higher value cards. You refuse his offers now.

And lastly, you’ve figured out that for all of Sylus’s skill, brilliant brain, and talent at strategy, the man has a few weaknesses that you are ruthlessly willing to exploit to gain the upper hand to beat him despite all of his dirty tricks.

Namely, he’s easily distracted by a few very specific things.

Your mouth being one of them.

So last week, you went first, played your shit cards in the colored cups, refused his offers to trade, and ordered a strawberry shortcake with extra whipped cream to enjoy while you played.

He leaned back in his seat at the kitty cafe where he was sitting across from you, manspreading as usual, arms casually draped over the back of the booth, the picture of casual, smug confidence. The dictionary definition of winner. 

“Do you really have the luxury of splitting your focus between the game and your dessert, kitten? It looks like you need all of your concentration just to keep up, let alone win this round,” he drawled, secure in his five point lead over you. It was his turn, and yet he had time to taunt you.

You just shrugged, holding your cards fanned in one hand, dipping your finger in the whipped cream with your other. You brought it to your lips, pretending to think very hard about which card you’d play next when all of them were crap, and rubbed the cream over your bottom lip.

You heard a sharp inhale from the other side of the table, but ignored it. You “absentmindedly” flicked your tongue out, gathering the cream there before swallowing and biting your lip pensively.

“It’s good,” you murmured, not taking your eyes off your cards. “Not too sweet.”

Silence. It took all of your willpower not to look up to see what his face was doing.  But you heard him place a kitty in a cup, its cute little meow signaling the start of your turn.

You let your gaze flick back and forth between the board and your cards. Good. It was working. He played a low value card in a white cup instead of drawing a new card like he should have.

You put your crap sage card in the last sage-colored cup. Sylus tsked and drew a new card.

This time, you picked up one of the glazed strawberries adorning the shortcake and placed it between your lips, sucking on it gently as you “thought.”

The groan coming from across the table was so low that you almost didn’t hear it over the sounds of the cafe—other players chatting, the meows of the kitties, the clink of cutlery and tableware. But you heard it, even through your tinnitus.

You played another low value card in a matching cup—the last one. Unless he had a six, this round is yours.

You finally dared to look up and find Sylus glaring at you, all while petting a beautiful, tawny colored cafe cat that had apparently settled in his lap while you were busy trying to distract him and beat his ass at this ridiculous game.

“Sy, you know the rules of the cafe—no petting the cats unless we pay extra!” You looked around furtively, forgetting the game, worried that the staff were going to get mad and kick you both out for this breach of etiquette. You pay first, then pet!

“I can’t help it if, unlike some, this particular kitty is straightforward enough to ask for pets from me,” he said pointedly. “Who am I to deny its desires?” 

In response, you popped the strawberry fully into your mouth, closed your eyes, and bit down, letting out a genuine little sound of appreciation for the sweet fruit.

Suddenly there was a disgruntled mewl from across the table. You opened your eyes and saw Sylus with a death grip on the cat where he was previously petting it gently. The cat squirmed, trying to get off of his lap. He blinked and let go of the cat, which then bolted off of his lap like he had just yanked its tail—which he hadn’t, but Sylus’s grip was no joke. You would know.

He watched the cat, a rare apologetic look on his face, before turning to glare at you again. “If we get kicked out, it will be your fault,” he accused.

You just looked back at him innocently. “What on earth did I do?”

“Maybe I’ve been too soft with you, and you’ve gotten too comfortable with me—you grow more cunning by the day,” he said softly, almost like a threat, but he looked… pleased.

“Still have no idea what you’re talking about,” you hummed, taking a big forkful of the shortcake and shoving it in your mouth. 

Sylus just groaned again. He lost every game the two of you played the rest of the evening.

When you parted ways with him, heading back home to sleep while he was heading to a meeting, he pulled you into his arms as you stood by your motorcycle. He breathed in your hair and sighed, and then pulled away, turning on his heel, and walking away without a backwards glance.

And that’s the last you heard from him since that night.

You sit at your kitchen table, staring glumly out into the chill fall night. Your phone lights up, but it’s just Rafayel sending a photo of a little crab brandishing a plastic spork captioned Lol littering humans suck but at least this trash is useful for this lil guy he’s got a sword now

You often wonder why both Rafayel and Sylus sometimes refer to humans as if they themselves are not also human. You text back.

You: he just needs a shield. give him a bottle cap and he can fight wanderers with me 

Fried Shrimp: nope he’s my new bodyguard because you suck too and have been too busy lately to guard my body like you promised

You: you’re perfectly capable of guarding yourself you pyromaniac

Rafayel just responds with a poop emoji.

You consider his text. Rafayel may have a point for once—you have been spending every free moment that you're not working with Sylus lately.

Which is bad. You don’t want him to take over your life. You want to maintain a balanced, a healthy relationship with him, if possible. It would be so easy to let yourself be consumed by his charismatic, overwhelming presence in your life. But what happens when he disappears as quickly as he appeared?

You don’t want to think about it. But that point may have already arrived. You stare at your dark phone again.

You could… call him first. Or send a text. But you’re not to the point where you can bring yourself to contact him first. If he wants to talk to you, he isn’t shy about reaching out for your attention. He calls almost every day. To tell you that you need to expect a package. To complain about his bad luck at a poker game with business rivals. To pester you about when you’ll come visit him again. Mephisto hasn’t seen your face for two days, he’s starting to pout. The twins brought home ten different flavors of syrup for the espresso machine, look at what you’re doing to them, they’re going to get diabetes at this rate.

You don’t think you’re to the point of being able to handle being left on read by this man if you send a text first and he doesn’t answer.

It’s time to wallow. You reach for your phone, pull up your music app, and put Taylor Swift’s RED on repeat.

You’ll give it a few more days, and then you’ll put on Olivia Rodrigo. After another week, it will be Sabrina Carpenter, because you’ll probably have entered the anger stage of grief by then. After that, it will be Hozier, when you finally accept that Sylus will never be calling again and try to find the beauty in everything you’ve lost.

***

“Status report?” Sylus growls into the phone. 

“Boss, I really think that you should reconsider this course of action,” Kieran’s voice is just loud enough for Sylus to be able to hear over the absolute cacophony of the closed cat cafe, which is considerable, even with his double, hypersensitive hearing due to his current… condition.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, I asked for a status update,” Sylus hisses, and then clears his throat. He totally meant to hiss just then. His hissing has nothing to do with his current affliction.

“But I really must insist—” Kieran tries to argue, but he’s drowned out by the cat cafe’s OTTO.

“Caracal Butler! May I remind you that not only is your customer satisfaction rating in the negatives, but you are also not allowed to make personal phone calls on the kitties’ time!” The OTTO hovers menacingly in front of him.

“Oh, I’m so scared,” he responds, voice dripping with sarcasm. Even the robot should be able to discern his disdain.

“You should be,” it says, threateningly.

“Oh? And what are the kitties going to do that’s worse than what they’ve already done.” He flicks some cat hair off of his bespoke tuxedo. The fact that he’s going to have to get it de-haired and dry cleaned if he ever wants to wear it again just adds insult to injury, as he had been hoping to wear it with you to a Linkon City Symphony Orchestra’s performance soon. He had a matching outfit tailored for you at the same time he ordered this tux, so he has resigned himself to getting the damn thing cleaned when this... ordeal is over.

The OTTO jerks him out of his irritation with its nagging voice module. “It is protocol for this kitty cafe to act as a responsible caretaker for the kitties under our care. We require spaying and neutering of all kitties under this roof. You have not yet received such care.”

The threat in response to his sarcasm could not be clearer.

He narrows his eyes at the OTTO and feels his tail swish menacingly as his ears press flat to his hair.

“Come anywhere near my balls and I’ll fill this cat cafe with so many cat toys of the loud, exploding variety that there will be nothing left of either it, the cats, or you except a smoking crater.”

The OTTO flits backwards out of Sylus’s reach.

“Perhaps Caracal Butler may be allowed a limited number of private phone calls on the kitties’ time without repercussions,” it says, tone placating as it drifts quickly to the other side of the room.

“That’s what I thought,” Sylus growls again, and not because he’s been stripped of his evol and cursed with two fucking cat ears and a tail that betrays his emotions no matter how much self control he tries to exert, but because he meant to growl.

He returns his attention back to the phone as his patience wears ever thinner. “Status. Report.”

“Boss, I really must insist—” Kieran tries again, tone incredibly concerned, before being interrupted by Luke.

“Your hunter is listening to breakup songs and mopily staring at their phone every spare moment they get.”

Sylus’s ears swivel around to full attention and his tail thwacks a kitty climbing tower so hard it’s almost knocked off its base.

“Breakup songs? Why—”

“They obviously think you’ve ghosted them,” Luke continues. “Keep this up and you’re gonna lose them.”

Sylus tilts his head. Could you really believe that he’s capable of ever leaving your side before you tell him to leave and mean it? What an absolutely ridiculous notion. His tail swishes thoughtfully. He did not want you to see him like this—stripped of his power, kneeling to these demanding cats like a… well. Like a fucking catboy butler. He has his pride, after all. He was hoping that the curse would fade quickly and you’d be too busy with work and your social life to notice that he has been absent for a little while. And you hadn’t reached out to him either, during this time. He runs his gloved hand along his bottom lip before realizing that he’s been touching cats all day, makes a disgusted face, and taps his temple instead. Why hadn’t you reached out to him? His mind drifts over memories of all of your interactions with him when you are apart and he's been forced to make do with communicating to you via phone and text.

This is not the first time that it occurs to him that you have never, not once, reached out to him first. He is always the one calling you, texting you, sending you packages.

He stops, tail and ears still. He has noticed it, but he hasn't thought about it deeply. He's willing to chase you to the end of time, after all. But now, he wonders what he's missing. He is almost entirely sure that you miss him as much as he misses you when you’re apart. You always pick up the phone. You always respond to texts. As for sending packages, you've grumbled about not knowing what to gift a man who has everything, but he always reassures you that he already has everything he wants, as long as you’re there.

So why is it that you have never reached out to him first? He flicks his ears. It would be nice, if you reached out first, every once in a while. He doesn't require it. But it would be nice. He tucks that thought away for further analysis after the current problem is fixed.

Time to assess the damage, and then engage in damage control.

“What kind of breakup songs?” he asks.

“Currently listening to RED by Taylor Swift.”

Sylus considers. Taylor Swift isn’t as bad as Sabrina Carpenter, or Hozier. Once you start with Hozier, Sylus will really be worried.

“Are you gonna stop being a big scaredy-cat and contact your hunter now?” Luke demands, sounding absolutely done with his ridiculous boss and his equally ridiculous partner.

Sylus values the intel they just provided, so he lets the insubordination slide. This time.

“I will remedy the situation. You’re dismissed from hunter observation detail.”

All he hears are twinned sighs of relief and then the phone disconnecting. He stares at it. What impudent henchmen.

He turns and wades through the meandering cats to the OTTO.

“I’m leaving, but I will be back to fulfill my contract once a personal emergency has been resolved.”

The OTTO, with his previous threats clearly still fresh in its memory, meekly allows him to pass without any fuss.

He steps out into the cold winter evening, the street lights and bright advertisements of Linkon City temporarily blinding him. Normally he would just teleport along rooftops to get to you as quickly as possible in such an emergency, but with this fucking curse, he has to make his way to your home like a regular human. His lip curls in disgust, but then he schools his face into its customary blank, intimidating expression as he notices people passing by gawking at his swishing tail and his cat ears. He’s drawing enough attention to himself without looking threatening while doing it. He quickly strides to where he parked his motorcycle, jams his helmet on his head, and breaks six different traffic laws trying to get to your place as quickly as possible.

***

You’re trying to wallow, snuggled into your bedding with a tray of some sad soup heated up from a can and a chunk of stale bread, when your hunter watch pings. You flick through the new assignment. Some asshole smuggler in biologically modified wanderers code-named “Snowy Owl” apparently needs to be brought down. You slurp some soup while you try to formulate a plan of action for snaring this new target, who has in turn snared many innocent wanderers to then sell them to shady collectors with who knows what kind of intentions for them. 

This is just the sort of thing that you’ve all too easily grown accustomed to discussing with Sylus, due to his spiderweb of connections through the underworld. But isn’t that part of the problem? Where before you would rely on yourself and Association resources to arrange a mission of this kind, now you’re all too comfortable relying on Sylus for help. That sort of sloppiness is unacceptable, and the gaping absence he’s left behind in the last week only serves to drive that point home. You cannot let the blade of your skills dull because of reliance on your all-too-willing-to-help boyfriend. Maybe ex-boyfriend, you think miserably.

You sigh, leaning back, turning up the music that you had previously turned down to focus on the mission details. You’re trying to drown out all thoughts of the man who you need to get out of your head, only to find yourself yelping in surprise and flinging the tray with the soup at the tall intruder who has just silently appeared at the side of your bed—who you hadn’t heard at all, as if they had entered on padded cat paws.

Only to realize halfway through the soup’s trajectory that the intruder is Sylus and he’s wearing a very fancy suit.

All the previous times you have flung tableware containing hot liquid at him, Sylus has been able to dodge the container, if not its contents, because of his evol. But this time he’s struck square in the chest by both the soup and the soup bowl. It hits one big pec with a dull thud and then crashes to your floor. He stands there, dripping soup, looking down at his dress shoes.

“The fuck, Sylus,” you breathe, not because he appeared out of nowhere in your home, again, but because you can clearly see two twitching, incredibly real-looking cat ears—tawny, fuzzy on the insides, coming to a beautiful, regal black point at the top—swiveling through his gorgeous silver hair. As your eyes travel down his long, lovely body, they catch on a flicking cat-tail with the same coloring as his ears. Something about the fur strikes you as familiar, but you can’t quite figure out why.

“Darling. Dearest to my heart. My heart, in fact, beating within the safety of my ribcage. Could you, perhaps, in the future, try to refrain from assaulting me with molten liquid when I surprise you in your home.” His tail swishes, swishes, swishes behind him, and you’re utterly mesmerized. It takes a moment for it to sink in that Sylus is actually here. You want to scramble off the bed, climb him like a tree, the dripping soup be damned, and just hug him. Now that you’re seeing him in person for the first time in a whole week, you are able to actually feel how much you’ve missed him, instead of suppressing, repressing, pretending that the unending ache didn’t hurt so terribly much.

You’re about to launch yourself at him when you remember why you had been feeling this way all week. Where the hell has he been? And why does he have cat attributes now? Well, more than he already had to begin with, you snicker internally, until you remember that you’re still feeling heartbroken and wary of why he has shown up now after ghosting you all week. Are you being melodramatic? Are you being immature? Are you being unfair? Could you have called him to check in, when he didn’t? You eye his ears. His tail. Yes to all of the above, but it doesn’t change how you simply can’t bring yourself to go to him, and instead draw further back, away from him, on the bed.

He apparently doesn’t miss your movement, as his ears swivel forward as you move, and then flatten onto the top of his head as he assumes an aggressively bored expression on his face.

“Not going to answer me?” he growls. Actually growls, like a cat warning a naughty kitten.

You can’t help yourself. “Who’s actually the kitten now, Sylus?”

His tail flicks violently behind him.

“Careful, kitten. Perhaps you’ve forgotten in the past week that this cat has claws,” he says, low and menacing.

You just laugh at him.

“Mmmm, yes, your oh-so-so sharp claws, which are now covered in soup. What are you doing here?”

He narrows his eyes at your unimpressed reaction to his empty threat. “Do I need a reason to visit my heart?”

The more he acts like nothing has changed, as if he didn’t just disappear on you without a word for a week, the more wound up and jittery you feel. “What heart?” you ask, a little petulantly.

He lifts an eyebrow. “You know the answer to that question.”

“Do I? Not a very important organ, if you can survive a week without it,” you grumble.

His ears swivel forward, and his tail starts to… wag, but his facial expression doesn’t change.

You immediately regret revealing so much.

“Ah,” is all he says, but he sounds pleased. 

You look away, out the window. But all you see is Sylus in the reflection, and the dark night beyond. You’ve said too much already. 

“I’m going to change. And then we’re going to talk,” he announces, and it sounds like a purr.

You feel silly as you realize that Taylor Swift is still warbling loudly in your bedroom about loving him but losing him so suddenly, trying to stop when you’re already in free fall, loving him being like the colors in autumn, so bright, just before they lose it all. You flick off the music.

He’s here again. He’s here again, but for how long?

You hear water running in the bathroom as you go to the kitchen to grab some towels and return to your bedroom to mop up the soup, tidying your embarrassingly messy flat along the way. You return to bed and wait for him.

After a few minutes, Sylus emerges from your bathroom clad in one of the soft sweaters and silk sleep pants he keeps in your closet. You can’t help yourself again—you stare at where his tail emerges from under the sweater. The flexible waistband of the pants must have been pushed down a little over his ass to accommodate where his tail emerges. 

He strides to the bed and pauses next to it. “May I?” he asks, tail flicking, ears twitching.

You nod, and he prowls onto your duvet on his hands and knees. Before settling next to you, however, he turns in a circle, once, twice, three times, before sinking down and pulling you into his arms, your back to his chest, curling around you. You let him, feeling the flood of safety and sense of wholeness that you always get when Sylus is touching you. You sigh. All of your worries seem so trite now. Why didn’t you just text him first? Why did you wait for him to reach out first? Why are you like this?

As if reading your mind, Sylus says, “Were you worried this week?”

His arms are wrapped tightly around you, he has one leg shoved between yours, and you feel his tail curl around your bare ankle. Its fur is so, so soft.

You nod.

“Why didn’t you call me, then?”

You don’t want to tell him how afraid you are of him finally not answering. Of him finally losing interest. It sounds so pathetic to even think it, let alone say it out loud.

“I’m sorry about your fancy suit,” is all you can say.

He hums, and his tail wraps tighter around your ankle. “It’s a tuxedo. And it can be cleaned.”

“Fancy suit, tuxedo—pretentious, overpriced pieces of fabric,” you tease him.

“My heart is a heathen,” he sighs into your hair. “It’s a tux that matches pretentious, overpriced pieces of fabric that happen to fit your body perfectly.”

“What use do I have for such fabric?” you ask, turning in his arms, lulled by his familiar humor, his still-unexplained tail wrapped around your ankle. You lie on your side, facing him. His ears twitch in your direction.

“There's a ticket to the Linkon City Symphony Orchestra with your name on it. You should note the date in your agenda.”

“What if my agenda is already full? I haven’t heard from you for a week.”

His ears flatten in his hair. “You’d replace me in just a week?”

You hum a little, reaching up to run a finger along one cat ear. He makes a purring sound, deep in his throat, closing his lovely eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to replace you, even if I wanted to,” you murmur, lost in his presence again, feeling safe now that he’s here again. But the week was long, and you really were afraid he’d left for good, no matter how silly it seems now. “But maybe I thought you had replaced me,”  you admit, marveling at how soft the ear is, how good it feels to caress it between your forefinger and thumb. You want to kiss it, rub your face all over it. You lift your other hand and fondle his other ear.

His tail loosens on your ankle and begins drifting up your bare leg, the fur caressing your skin so gently, until it curls around one thigh and squeezes between your legs, right below where your thighs meet. You shiver at the sensation and forget to pet him for a moment.

“You should have more faith in your pet. Sometimes cats have business in the neighborhood that keeps them away for a few days, but they always come back home.”

“Did your ‘business’ have anything to do with your new accessories?”

He leans, shoving his head against your hands to remind you to keep petting him, and his tail drifts up, up, until it’s nudging between your legs. You gasp softly at the delicious pressure, but have enough presence of mind to keep massaging his ears.

“Yes,” he murmurs, a little breathless. “Like that.” You continue, and he continues teasing you with his tail. It’s not enough. You want more of him.

“How did you get the cat ears and tail, Sy?” you ask, trying to remain focused. 

The tail nudges you a little harder—you can’t help the jerk of your hips which sends you rocking into him, where you’re met with his hard dick under the fabric of his pants. The sensation of his hardness against your front and his tail at your back is almost overwhelming.

“Your fault, kitten. You and that fucking strawberry last week,” he growls again, flexes his hips into yours. “That cat I was petting was unhappy with how roughly I handled it while you cockteased me with your cake,” he gasps as you grind back into him, as you widen your legs to let his tail do whatever it wants, restricted only by your sleep shorts. “The evol kitties cursed me for petting without paying, and for roughing up the cat.”

You can’t help it. Even through the pleasure, you burst out laughing.

“They cursed you with a tail and ears, and that’s why you avoided me all week?” It’s absurd. All that worry, thinking that he’d finally grown bored with you, because he was too, what? Embarrassed? to reveal that he’d been given such adorable attributes. “You mean we could have been doing this all week?” you ask, incredulous, as his tail rubs against your sensitive spots through your shorts, as it nudges you again and again, as Sylus loudly purrs from the pleasure you rubbing his ears and the friction against his big dick is bringing him.

He opens his eyes, half-lidded, lips parted, panting. One of his hands drifts down your back and takes a handful of your ass, pulling, bringing your hips against his cock again. He grinds you on himself, leans forward, licks a swipe up the side of your face.

“The biological markers that were affected by the ears and tail are tied to my own evol—I don’t have my ability to manipulate energy so long as this curse lasts,” he says, breath hitching with the movement of your bodies.

You lean forward, press your forehead against his, share his panting breath. “What does that have to do with not calling me?” you manage, even though all you want to do is rip his pants down, shove down your own shorts, and impale yourself on him.

“Didn’t want you to see me as weak,” he admits. He opens his eyes, looks into yours. He then kisses you with his full lips, soft, slow, in contrast to his tail still nudging you through your shorts at a steady rhythm, teasing, teasing, teasing.

You pull back from his kiss, catch his gaze again. “Even without your evol, you’re still one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” you whisper.

He pauses, his ears flattening again. “Just ‘one of’ the strongest people you've met?”

You laugh. “I know a lot of strong people Sy. And your new bits are cute, just like you.” His tail firmly nudges you again, once, as if to warn you. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you tease him.

He just groans and kisses you again, his tongue slipping between your lips, his big hands moving to shove down your shorts. “I don’t make threats,” he says, low, smug. “I make promises.”

You roll your eyes, but neither of you talk any more after that.

***

Much, much later, after you’re thoroughly fucked out, muscles pleasantly sore, as Sylus purrs beside you in sleep, one arm flung over you, you lie awake thinking about his admission of worrying about being 'weak' in front of you. Of the vulnerability in his questions—why didn’t you call him if you were worried? Would you really replace him within a week? 

You’ve been so wrapped up in your own insecurities, so busy trying to protect yourself from what you think is the inevitable pain of being abandoned, that you’ve never stopped to consider what Sylus may worry about. What his insecurities may be. He has always seemed so larger than life to you, from the very beginning. Invincible. Solitary and strong. But as you’ve gotten to know him, you’ve also had glimpses of his own tender heart, the same tender heart he warns you about having—a liability in his vicious world. The care he shows the twins, who he insists are just his henchmen but clearly love him like family. His meticulous maintenance of Mephisto, whenever the bird needs parts switched out, cleaning, or upgrades. His habit of masking his true feelings by maintaining a look of boredom, as if revealing such feelings is a vulnerability that even those closest to him could exploit. Even his tendency to cheat at kitty cards—his luck is so bad, and he works so hard to compensate for it in the best way that his brutal life has taught him. In the end, Sylus is just a person, like anyone else. Complicated. Layered. Strong and vulnerable, cruel and kind. You’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about him as something you crave, something you adore, as well as something you fear, a threat to your heart. Not always as just a person, with feelings of his own.

Feelings that include feelings for you, specifically. He has never hidden his care for you, not since those first days of knowing him. Even if he looks indifferent, the words coming out of his mouth are always achingly straightforward, and sweet in a way that sounds sarcastic but you have learned is actually simply the unvarnished truth. His actions—his gifts, his texting, calling, physical clinginess when you’re with him—in the quiet dark, with Sylus’s soft snores next to you, his cat ears twitching even in sleep, you realize how utterly unfair you’ve been to him. How one-sided this relationship has been up until now in a lot of ways.

You’re suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to show him how much you care about him too. How safe he is with you, just as he makes you feel safe whenever you’re together. You recognize that you need to do some work on yourself. That it’s not normal to go through life terrified of being abandoned. That the past does not predict the future. You can’t spend the rest of your relationship with Sylus, no matter how long or short it lasts, punishing him for the pain others have caused you.

You roll over in the dark and pepper his face with soft kisses, each one a silent apology for not calling him this week, when he probably needed to be reassured that you still care for the version of him with ears and a tail and stripped of his god-like abilities. How worried must he still be, moving through the world without such abilities, without his customary armor against a hostile world that wants him caged or dead?

As you lean over him, trailing your lips along his skin, his arms snake around you and pull you closer.

“Tell me what I did to deserve this, so I can do it again,” he says, voice raspy from sleep. His tail wraps around your waist.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” you whisper between kisses.

“A hunter’s trade secret?” You can hear his smile in the dark.

“A lover’s inability to properly articulate that all you have to do is continue being you.”

His tail tightens around you, and its end wildly thwacks your back. “That sounded pretty articulate to me. Your words are honeyed—is there a catch?”

You kiss him on his soft lips. His hands run along your hair, down your back.

“Only one way to find out,” you tease.

“I see you’re done pouting. Do I get any other rewards for just being me?” he asks, sly.

“Only one way to find out,” you repeat, nudging his nose with yours.

“Oh, I like surprises.”

“I know,” you say, because you do know that. You know so much about this man already.

He pauses, catches your gaze. “Keep it a secret, okay?”

Yet again, he’s showing you his weakness. Reminding you that he’s taking a risk by being here with you at all, just like you are risking your heart, and everything else, by being here with him. “Your secrets are safe with me, Sy.”

He holds you tighter in response, and you fall asleep in his arms. You don’t dream about anything at all.

***

In the morning, after you’ve made him coffee, after you’ve eaten breakfast and you’ve lounged on the couch with him, watching something stupid on tv while he browses online auctions, you tell him about your Snowy Owl mission. He’s heard of this person, but they’re not colleagues or rivals, moving in different circles. But he knows where to locate them, and you form a plan, inspired by Snowy Owl’s interest in modified wanderers and humans, and Sylus’s twitching ears.

“You want me to act as your catboy butler.” He says it flatly. “Boring.”

You nod. “And I’ll be your owner, willing to sell you to the highest bidder.”

His ears flatten against his hair, despite his bored expression, and his tail whips back and forth, back and forth, slowly. He really hates the idea.

“Do you have a better plan?” you ask.

“Better than you selling me off to someone else? I can think of a few. A carefully placed bomb on the cruise ship, for one.” At your look of discomfort, he continues. “You don’t even have to come. Just check off the mission as accomplished on your little Association to-do list.”

You scowl at him. “I’m supposed to bring Snowy Owl in, not assassinate them.”

“Boring,” he repeats.

“I’m not actually selling you to anyone, Sy. I just need a small distraction, much smaller than a bomb,” you cut him off as he opens his mouth. “While I plant a tracking device with them, once we pinpoint who they are.”

He leans over, rubs his cheek against yours. “What’s my reward for considering this utterly boring plan?” He drags your hand to the base of his tail.

You take the hint, grasping his tail firmly, and he groans. You pull a little, and he lets you, rolling onto his stomach on the couch. You straddle the back of his big, meaty thighs and begin palming his tail, starting at the base where it meets the skin of his lower back, circling your thumb and forefinger around it even though it’s thick enough that your fingers don’t meet. You pull, and pet, over and over again, and his purrs are so loud they start to vibrate the couch.

“Say yes,” you demand. “Put that tux and your new parts to good use before the concert.”

“Fine,” he gasps, as his hips jerk a little, pressing himself into the couch.

“Excellent!” You spring to your feet, heading to the shower. There’s not a moment to waste if you’re going to get this mission over with before his tail and ears disappear.

“Stingy!” he yowls. Literally yowls, like a big tomcat thwarted in his attempt at mating by a mean owner yanking him into the house from the alley where his would-be mate was waiting.

“Consider that the down payment. Upon delivery of your promise, you’ll get the rest,” you say in a sing-song voice, just to further annoy him.

“I want double!” he yowls again, but anything else he might be whining about is cut off when you let the bathroom door close behind you.

***

Sylus has been impeccable for the duration of your agreed-upon mission. Poised, elegant, obedient. He has tolerated you treating him like an object to be admired and dismissed on a whim, even when people approached you not just to express interest in your catboy butler up for bidding, but also when they showed interest in getting to know the mysterious owner of said catboy butler more intimately.

The only indication that he was perhaps not entirely pleased with his code name was a flick of his cat ears and one hard thwack of his tail against the rail of the cruise ship when you first said, “Please fetch me more of the strata, Mister Whiskers,” in front of the other guests on the dining deck.

Furthermore, he only tried to attack and eat one person’s pet parrot, and he dropped the seagulls he kept catching at each ordered “Drop it, Mister Whiskers!” from you every time.

All in all, you think that you’re having a harder time than he is. High tea is over, seagulls have been caught and released, and you’ve already collected a number of business cards and varying degrees of subtle invitations to further discuss your catboy butler. You’ve navigated each diplomatically, and are rather proud of yourself, but your own patience is wearing thin as you stand at a luxurious bar in a small lounge on one of the upper decks of the cruise ship. The floor to ceiling windows give a lovely view of the blood-red sunset over the water—it reminds you of Sylus’s eyes. The evening, and therefore the black market trading, is about to begin in earnest. You’re waiting for a mocktail—you’re on the job, and you are a professional after all—when yet another person sidles up to you. Sylus, who has been standing at a respectable distance from you at relaxed attention, hands crossed behind his back, looking coolly over the people scattered at elegant standing tables, ears swiveling at constant alert, looks toward the newcomer, but he makes no move to come closer to you. It occurs to you that one of the reasons you are feeling increasingly off-kilter is that you are so used to Sylus touching you, draping himself over you, maintaining at least a sliver of contact at all times, that this respectful distance makes you feel like he’s standing on the other side of a great canyon.

You turn to the person who is trying to join you at the bar. He’s handsome. Tall, muscular. Dressed nicely, with subtle style. Nothing like your boyfriend’s flashy jeweled necklaces and bold colors. His blue eyes are startling in contrast to his black hair.

“Hi,” he says, smiling a little ruefully, like he wanted to open with something better, but this is all he could think of. He knows that he’s handsome and can skate by on the bare minimum.

You smile faintly back at him, despite wishing Sylus would come closer. “Hi,” you say. You’re not going to do all the work, dammit. This guy wants something from you, not the other way around.

“You’ve caused quite a stir tonight with your… companion,” he says, dark eyebrows lifting, gaze darting to Sylus and back to you again. “It’s made for more entertainment than usual on nights like these.”

You lift an eyebrow in response. “Oh? How so?”

“Watching the sharks circling and getting into tussles about who will ultimately have your pet.”

Your stomach twists at hearing someone other than Sylus calling him a pet. He’s not your pet. He’s your partner. He’s a whole person—a complicated, vicious, funny, cruel, gentle man. You suddenly hate the appraising look this asshole is giving him. But you’re a professional, damn it. You smile wider, going for seductive, amused, haughty.

“No need to tussle,” you tilt your head. “It’s simple. Offer the highest bid, and congratulations, you’re the owner of a new, obedient, exotic pet.”

The fuckhead eyeing Sylus chuckles heartily, as if what you said isn’t disgusting but the height of rich-asshole humor.

“I like the idea of owning the obedience of such a big, powerful creature. Is he willing to do anything you ask?”

The way his gaze keeps flicking to Sylus, as if he can’t help himself, makes you want to remove his eyes with one of your knives and wear them as a warning to anyone else who dares look at Sylus with such depraved, cruel desire.

“Place the winning bid and maybe you’ll find out,” you say coyly, somehow controlling your homicidal urges. Barely.

“Something to consider.” He shakes his head, as if trying to break the spell Sylus seems to have over him. “In any case, after a while, all these events start blurring together. May I buy you a drink, to thank you for dumping new blood in the water?”

This guy is the pinnacle of rich guy ennui. He probably would enjoy dog fights or hunting other people for sport, anything to break through his privileged, seen-it-all, can-buy-it-all numbness. Despite sharing the same status of filthy rich elite, this piece of shit is everything that Sylus isn’t. You want to hunt him for sport. Your nerves are fraying, and it’s getting harder and harder to maintain your composure.

“Shame, I just ordered a drink.”

He leans closer, invades your space.

“Why not indulge? You can have two drinks. And after, perhaps you’d like to show me just what your cat can do… a sort of preview, if you will.” He leans even closer, tilts his head as if a new thought has just occurred to him. “Is there perhaps a possibility of bidding for the pair, instead of just the butler?”

You realize that he’s propositioning you as well as your catboy butler, but the fury you feel at the idea of using Sylus for this fuckhead’s viewing pleasure overrides even your indignation at the insinuation that you, too, are for sale.

Suddenly Sylus’s warmth is at your back and the effect is immediate. Your murderous rage settles inside of you. You turn to him, lift an eyebrow like the imperious owner you’re supposed to be, slightly irritated at your servant’s interruption of… whatever this asshole at the bar thinks he’s getting away with. “Speak,” you command, imitating the most imperious man you know. Sylus, as he has done the entire duration of your appearance in public on this ship, does not react at all to your obvious inside joke.

“My owner,” he purrs deferentially, dipping his head. “You asked that I escort you back to your cabin at 21:00 in order to properly prepare for the bidding.”

The asshole’s gaze drifts from Sylus to you and back again. “A possessive cat, I see. What will he do, when his owner abandons him to another?”

You shrug, as if you don’t want to pull this guy’s tongue out of his mouth and garrotte him with it.

“As I said, buy him and find out,” you breathe through the nausea, trying desperately to stay in character—you are the same ilk as this guy, here to pawn your broken, loyal manservant onto anyone who can afford him. “But he’s right. Thank you for the interesting … offer, but the auction is about to begin. Tick tock, tick tock.”

“You’re a very good salesperson,” he smirks, as if pleased with the idea of depriving Sylus of his beloved owner and seeing if he can bend him to his will. You can’t see why you ever thought him handsome at all. “A raincheck, then, on the drink, and perhaps your own company.”

You just lower your head slightly, barely suppressing the urge to put this man on the ground and punch his smug smile until he is permanently unrecognizable, and the intensity of your renewed desire to hurt him for daring to even look at Sylus has you reaching for Sylus’s arm for support. He tucks your hand into his elbow and leads you out of the lounge.

When you finally reach your first class cabin on this pretentious floating black market, however, you see the strain that his flawless behavior has placed on your miscreant boyfriend.

As soon as the door closes behind you, he growls, deep in his throat, and spins, grabbing your wrist. He pulls you more roughly than usual through the elegant sitting room—the place looks like the interior designer was trying to recreate the staterooms of the Titanic—to the bedroom. Without letting go of your wrist, he yanks the scarlet velvet duvet and crisp white sheets from the bed and dumps them on the floor. The ocean glitters under the bright moonlight outside the bedroom’s window, the salt scent strong. The bed successfully stripped, Sylus now tries to jerk you onto the mattress, but you dig your heels into the plush carpet, feet dragging because despite your own strength, you can’t match his. You jerk your wrist from his grasp and whirl on him. You are willing to die for him, but you aren’t going to let him manhandle you like this.

“What is wrong with you?” you demand, rubbing your wrist.

“If I still had my evol, you’d be on the bed.” His voice is still calm, but his tail flicks angrily.

“If you still had your evol, I hope you wouldn’t use it on me when you’re this upset,” you glare at him.

He doesn’t respond, just begins to pace. Around the bed. Back into the sitting room. He veers into the bathroom and then returns to the bedroom. The anxious energy he’s giving off is palpable—you’ve never seen him this agitated in the entire time you’ve known him.

The longer he’s quiet, the more concerned you become. 

“Sylus?” you ask, softly. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m Sylus again? Not Mister fucking Whiskers?”

You stare at him. Your boyfriend, who is always up for teasing pet names and playful banter, is looking at you like he’s genuinely angry about the silly code name.

“Sylus—?”

His tail is thrashing back and forth as he continues to pace, ears flat against his hair. “Are you sure you’re interested in hearing how Mister Whiskers is doing now? You didn’t seem to be too interested when you were being fawned over by your suitors.”

You stare at him. At the tension he’s holding in his body, the wild movements of his tail.

“Sylus—”

“This was a boring plan to begin with, and now it’s even less interesting. You already have a mountain of gifts from my bidders—leave. Go through them to see if Snowy Owl has taken the bait so we can get this charade over with,” he snaps, effectively dismissing you. He sits on the side of the bed and puts his head in his hands.

With each harsh word, you feel your insides folding in on themselves. He hasn’t spoken to you like this since he held you captive when you first met. He promised he’d never treat you like that again, but you realize he never promised to never speak to you like that again.

Normally, how he’s talking to you—if it were any other person, you’d be out the door. Gone, ghosted. You speak to yourself cruelly enough every day in your own head, you don’t need that shit from other people. You’re even more shocked that it’s coming from Sylus, of all people. The Sylus who has cared for you so patiently, through all the time you’ve been together since that first auction. Who kills with his bare hands, but touches you with those same hands as if you’re made of glass. Until tonight.

You are tempted to run as the betrayal, confusion, and fear of the inevitable end course through you. To just stuff the gifts waiting for you on the sitting room’s coffee table into one of the big duffels you brought, move to another room, and wing the rest of the operation without Sylus. You can pose as a fucking waiter once you figure out Snowy Owl’s identity. You don’t need him for this mission. And you don’t need him in your fucking life, if this is his true self.

As you’re almost to the door leading to the hallway, reaching for the handle, you suddenly remember your promise to yourself, just a few nights ago—the night Sylus came to your place and you learned why he had gone silent for a whole week.

Your resolution that you wouldn’t give in to your fear at his expense anymore, that you would show him you care for him, just as he has done so for you through all of your time together. Even when he witnessed your worst moments, he did not walk away from you. He stayed, even as you pushed him away.

You think about how he was afraid for you to see him stripped of his power, as if you’d ever think him weak, and think less of him for something outside of his control. If I still had my evol, you’d be on the bed. How unnerving must it be for him to be in this shark’s tank without his ability to protect himself beyond his own body? It suddenly occurs to you that if he gets injured while his power is suppressed, he won’t heal like he normally does. The idea that he could get seriously hurt while here, helping you on a mission that has nothing to do with him, hurts a hundred times worse than the words he just snapped at you.

Weren’t you just furious with that fuck from the cocktail lounge for talking about Sylus like he was an object, instead of a person? Sylus is a human being. He’s not a god. He’s not perfect. He’s just a complicated man, a complicated man who hurt you with his harsh words tonight, but who has steadfastly shown how much he cares for you in the best way he knows how. Who could be expected to act normally, to be their best self, if one were to find oneself fundamentally changed, stripped of a lifetime of skill and ability, experiencing strange new urges, and to top it all off, thrown into a dangerous situation? 

You turn and walk back through the sitting room, to the bedroom where he’s sitting, head still in his hands. You stand in front of him.

“Sylus.”

He doesn’t respond. You reach out, gently grip his chin, and lift his face.

He lets you, docile. His cat ears are drooping.

“Tell me,” you order.

He refuses to look at you. His tail swishes petulantly behind him. 

“Tell. Me.” You tighten your hold on his jaw.

His eyes flick to yours, but he keeps his face turned away. “Caracal’s hate water.”

You gaze into his beautiful eyes, fire-lit gems. “And a caracal is the type of cat that you’ve partly mutated into?”

He nods, just a little movement of his head.

“And I brought you onto a boat, surrounded by water.”

He finally turns his head to face  you, gazing at you but not responding.

“What else?” You relax your hold on his jaw, moving your palm to cup his cheek and bring up your other hand into his hair, running your fingers through the soft strands.

“Each person who shook your hand, who handed you their business card, who leaned too close to you… their stench is all over you.”

You run your fingers through his hair until you reach one of his cat ears and gently begin to rub it. He closes his eyes and he leans into your touch.

“What else?”

“If this plan goes sideways, I won’t be able to protect you.”

With each admission, his shoulders relax. His face softens. But there’s still something bothering him. You search his beautiful face. His tail flicks, flicks, flicks.

“What else, Sy?” You lean down, rest your cheek against his soft hair. His ears are velvet against your skin.

He reaches out and clasps the backs of your thighs to pull you closer to him and rests his forehead against your chest. “Even if it’s just for the mission, are you really okay with letting someone else have me?”

It takes you a moment, but when you realize what he’s saying, you’re floored. 

Sylus has spent the whole evening watching you laugh off multiple peoples’ offers to take over ownership of your catboy butler. He watched you tell that little bitch at the bar, more than once, to buy Sylus to find out how obedient he is, how he’ll react to being parted from his beloved owner. Each time, you responded in character, like the idea didn’t bother you at all. Because that’s what the mission required. 

You realize that this entire ordeal has made him insecure. He wants you to be jealous. He wants you to be possessive of him. The thought never once crossed your mind that he would be bothered by the cover you planned for this mission. He is always so self-assured, only hinting at flashes of jealousy in playful, dismissive terms. And yet he doesn’t want you to be okay with the idea of him being possessed by another, no matter how briefly, no matter how falsely.

You continue to pet him as you let everything he just admitted sink in. The water, other peoples’ scents on your body, his lack of power at the moment, your lack of jealousy at the mere idea that another would have him.

After all the times Sylus has comforted you, cared for you, solved problems for you, it’s now your turn to do the same for him.

You drop your hands and he looks back up at you with such raw longing that you almost can’t step away. But you must.

“Would you like to abort the mission?”

He looks at you in confusion. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is your job.”

You smile down at him helplessly. “Don’t you realize by now that you’re more important to me than my job?”

He sucks in a breath.

“How else could I be with the most wanted man on the planet?”

“The only reason I have been able to repress my instincts through this whole shitshow is reminding myself how important this mission is to you,” he breathes, closing his eyes.

“Your instincts?”

“You have no idea,” he says through clenched teeth. His tail is violently flicking again. You can’t bear to see him so distressed.

“Yes or no. Forget what you think I want. If it’s too much, we leave right now.”

Eyes still closed, ears still flattened to his head, he shakes his head no.

“Okay.” You turn, but he reaches out and grabs your wrist to stop you leaving. You put your hand over his. “Since I can’t remove the ship from the water, I’m just closing the window and the curtains so you don’t have to see it.”

He reluctantly releases your wrist. You do as you promised, and when you’re done you return to stand between his legs.

“What do you need to do about how I smell?”

You don’t have to repeat yourself. He grasps your wrist again, pulling your closer. He grabs the hem of your outfit and pulls, tugging it over your head, lifting your legs one by one to tear off your shoes, tossing everything into the farthest corner of the room, until you’re standing in front of him in your underwear. He then pulls you down onto the bed with him, rolling you under him. He presses his face into your neck and rubs, rubs, his tail wagging behind him, his ears brushing against your skin again, their softness making you want to grab them and pull, pull, the cuteness aggression difficult to contain. You satisfy yourself by running your hands through his hair, gripping slightly, tugging, releasing.

As he rubs his cheeks all over you, he pauses to lick your skin, runs his hands along your shoulders, your arms, your waist.

After a long time, his manic movements slow and he inhales deeply. “You have no idea how hard it was to resist the urge to piss on your shoes while you were talking to that bastard in the cocktail lounge.”

You freeze. “Piss… on my shoes?”

“Didn’t you know? Cats urinate to mark their territory,” he licks your skin again, purrs. “And you’re my territory, sweetheart.”

You don’t even know how to feel about his admission. “Well… I might be willing to die for you, but I draw the line at letting you pee on me. So thank you, for not giving in to your caracal urges.”

He pauses, lifts his head. “Don’t fucking say you’ll die, ever again,” he growls. “I forbid it.”

You laugh, a little breathlessly. You decide it’s not a good time to point out that you will, in fact, someday die. Probably sooner than the average human, with your job. So you just say “Okay.”

He looks mollified and his tail begins to swish playfully again. “So that’s a no on watersports, in the future?”

You scowl at him. “Just try to piss on me and see what happens.”

“That sounds like a challenge. And you know that’s like catnip to this big cat. Are you sure you aren’t actually interested in golden showers?”

All you can do is laugh, and pull him down to you, and kiss him so he’ll shut the fuck up about peeing on you.

After a few minutes of mauling him, you groan and pull away.

“If we don’t want this entire thing to be a waste, we need to check the contacts we made today and finish the mission before the auction is over.”

He rests his head against your shoulder. “I know, but I don’t want to get off you. No one can hurt you as long as you’re under me,” he grumbles.

You stare at the ceiling and run your hands through his hair again, fondling his cat ears. “I survived before I met you, because I’m a fucking badass. I’m strong enough for the both of us, especially for a covert mission like this. We go through the business cards and gifts, pinpoint Snowy Owl’s room, you distract them for ten minutes while I plant surveillance, we get the fuck out before the auction’s over.”

“You and I both know how quickly plans get fucked,” he murmurs into your skin.

“And you and I both know that I am skilled enough to unfuck it. And with you here, even without your evol, it’s going to be okay.”

His tail lifts, curls up your leg.

“Fine.” He rolls off of you reluctantly, and you immediately miss his weight. “But the reward for going along with your plan is now tripled.”

“You can have anything you want, when this is over,” you promise, sliding off the bed and gathering your clothes from the floor.

“Even a golden shower?”

You throw your shoe at him. He just catches it and laughs, relaxed again.

After you’re dressed, the two of you tear into the gifts people sent hoping to gain your favor and therefore an advantage in the auction for your catboy butler. Sylus, the spoiled creature that he is, tosses multiple priceless trinkets aside like they’re trash, complaining about being bored out of his mind. However, he bats at a feathered butt plug before realizing what he’s doing and then tosses it as well. The only other thing he expresses even a passing interest in is a little spray can with DOCTOR SLEEPYTIME printed on the side, with the caption reading, “A stalker’s new best friend! Never worry about your target waking up too early again! Ten fewer side effects than chloroform!” You squint at it. The legal disclaimers are a solid block of text underneath the caption. Apparently, one of the side effects that it still shares with chloroform is death. You don’t comment when you see Sylus slip it into the breast pocket of his tux, not even wanting to know what he has planned for it. Finally, you open a small box and realize that the weird little thing inside matches the description the Association provided you of Snowy Owl’s calling card.

“Got you,” you whisper triumphantly, pawing through the packaging to figure out which room it came from.

Sylus stands, prepared to play his part in this little ruse, but you stop him before he opens the door. “Wait a second,” you say, running to the bedroom, throwing open your luggage in the cabin’s closet, and pulling out what you had hastily prepared in anticipation of this mission.

You return to Sylus with the item hidden behind your back.

“You asked if I’m really okay with the idea of sending you to someone else.”

He just watches you in silence, ears twitching in curiosity, tail swishing behind him.

“Of course I’m not. You don’t know how badly I wanted to slit that fucker’s throat who talked about you like you’re not even a person. I feel sick at the idea of anyone else looking at you with anything less than respect and admiration, let alone as some kind of object to be owned. I can’t even stand the thought that I own you. You are wholly your own person, and I’m just happy that you want me by your side, and allow me to adore you.”

His tail swishes faster the longer you speak, but stills at your last sentence. “But you do own me. Body and soul.”

You swallow through the thickness in your throat. You’re not going to cry at his absurd, devoted answer.

“Then perhaps you will do me the honor of wearing this while we’re apart.” You show him the soft black leather collar. “It can only be placed on you, and taken off you, by a person whose pheromones match those of your owner. Your true owner.”

“So this was your trump card,” he murmurs, tail thwacking against the door so hard that the door vibrates.

You shrug. “You don’t have to wear it.”

He flattens his ears against his head. “Nonsense. Put it on me,” he commands imperiously.

You try to hide your smile, but probably fail. “In that case, I hope it will remind you that I am definitely not okay with sending you to someone else. But none of this is real, and when we’re off this boat, I’m never going to ask you to do something like this again.”

He reaches out and wraps his hand around your wrist. “How many times must we go over this? You can ask anything of me.”

“Just because I can, doesn’t mean I want to.”

Without waiting for his answer, you unclasp the collar and lift onto your tiptoes to thread it around his neck. He growls softly, in annoyance or exasperation, and sinks to his knees in front of you.

As always when Sylus kneels before you, you’re overcome with a sense of wrongness. But he seems to want to give this to you, to drive home the point that anything he has is yours for the taking. You can’t find it in yourself to refuse him by insisting that you could have reached his neck just fine without him having to kneel.

You lay the collar against his neck, thread the end through the buckle, and tighten it. His eyes are half-lidded, the glow of his irises spilling from between his eyelashes. He seems to be enjoying this so much that you tighten it just a little bit beyond what is necessary, just to see his reaction. He lets out a pathetic little gasp, and you loosen it, worried you’ve hurt him. But his chest expands and his ears droop, almost as if he’s disappointed. So you tighten it again. “Yes,” he breathes. 

You stand there, with this gorgeous, half-feral man at your feet, fingering the pendant of the collar. You couldn’t afford the platinum that you think Sylus deserves, so silver had to do. But you did splurge a little to have your initials engraved on the inner side of the pendant, so that it’s pressed against his skin where no one else can see it. Your little secret against his pulse.

“We need to get moving, Sy,” you whisper, regretfully.

He rises gracefully to his feet.

“If you want it taken off, just ask.”

He gives you a disdainful look, his only response a tsking sound on his tongue. He leans down, kisses you, once, hard, and then straightens. He turns, throws open the door, and disappears down the hallway.

The rest of the mission goes off without a hitch. When you arrive at Snowy Owl’s door, you pick the lock easily, slip into the empty room, leave a variety of tracking devices in their possessions, and slip out again unseen.

You return to your room, prepared to wait for Sylus, trying to suppress the worry that he’ll have to put up with yet another handsy asshole all because he doesn't want to jeopardize your mission.

However, when you open the door, you find your big, beautiful cat already lounging on one of the sitting room’s ornate love seats, examining his nails and humming leisurely.

At his feet is the asshole from the cocktail lounge,  bound, gagged, and clearly roughed up, his bloody nose dripping into the fabric of his mouth gag.

“The fuck, Sylus?” you ask.

Sylus rolls his head to look at you, lovely eyes glowing in the light of the tiffany lamps on the tables on either side of the love seat.

“I brought a gift for my owner,” he says, ears twitching between you and the asshole who started to struggle at your entrance, making little pleading whimpering noises. “I could tell how much you hated this waste of oxygen the whole time you had to endure his attention at the bar.”

“A… gift?” you repeat.

“You have no idea the self control it took to suppress the instinct to bring him to you as a corpse, as nature intended, when I was done playing with him. But I assumed that would make my owner mad,” he says languidly, but his tail is flicking in agitation.

“Okay,” you draw out the word, trying to process this… gift. “And Snowy Owl?”

“Passed out in a janitor’s closet in the ship’s casino,” he shrugs. “Doctor Sleepytime is true to its claims. A great improvement over chloroform,” he drawls. “I’ll have to leave a good review on their website.”

Relief floods through you. You’re done. The mission is almost complete. All that’s left is to get the fuck off this floating cesspool.

“Thank you,” you murmur. But you’re still left with the problem of what to do with Sylus’s ‘gift.’ “But Sy, what the fuck am I supposed to with… this.” You can’t help but sneer a little at the asshole still struggling on the ground.

“Whatever you want, my heart,” Sylus responds. “He’s wanted in Linkon City by at least three different agencies. But we could just dump him over the railing and be done with it. In fact, I’d prefer that,” he says, perking up.

You march over to him and slip a finger under his collar.

“No! Bad kitty,” you scold, pulling a little on the leather, intending to simply tease him for his outrageous suggestion.

Sylus just gasps, eyes going half lidded again. You stop in surprise at the clear pleasure your rough treatment is causing him, but he wraps his hand around your wrist and moves your hand again, tightening the collar against his neck once more.

“If I’m a bad kitty, you better keep a tight hold on me to make sure I don’t drag home any other unwelcome surprises,” he says, voice low and rough.

“Oh?” You marvel at how lovely he looks, cheeks flushed, mouth slightly open, breathing hard. “Maybe my bad kitty needs to be punished, so he stops suggesting I murder wanted criminals instead of bringing them to justice like a professional.”

The man on the floor who is forced to witness this flirtation struggles harder, his whimpers ranging from disgusted to terrified. You ignore him.

“Oh nooo,” Sylus says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Then he narrows his eyes. “You better make good on your promise. Or are you just full of empty threats?”

You lean down and press the heel of your hand onto his hard cock straining against his zipper, hard. He moans, eyelashes fluttering.

“Get us to the getaway boat without causing a scene and you’ll find out what I’m full of. Or what I’m about to be full of, if you’re a good kitty for me,” you breathe into his ear.

The man on the floor gags a little.

Sylus stands, lifting you in one arm, grabbing a full duffel bag you hadn’t noticed with the other.

“What’s that?”

“Your bad kitty helped himself to a cat treat,” he purrs.

“What kind of souvenir?”

“The loud, prone-to-exploding-if-you-shake-it-too-hard-kind.” He grins at you, canines flashing.

You can’t help yourself. You burst out laughing.

It may have started with trouncing your crimelord boyfriend at kitty cards, but it ended with you learning how to better care for your catboy boyfriend. It also ended with the arrest of both Snowy Owl and the poor bastard who had to listen to you 'punish' said boyfriend from inside the duffel bag that he was stuffed in after Sylus cut the engine of the getaway boat halfway to your destination, too impatient to wait till you both got home to claim part of his reward for being such a good, good kitty.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 8: Jealousy Doesn't Look Good On Anybody Except...

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter eight of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (a few times), Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

The song they dance to is "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" by Russ Columbo and this should take you to the song. It's the song I named the series for, because I believe it encompasses how both the reader feels, but also how Soldier Boy will feel in a few chapters. I also believe that the song House of Memories by Panic at the Disco, fits the more modern parts of the series.

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Philadelphia 1938

The lights twinkled along the ceiling of the dance hall as the gentle swell of jazz floated through the air. Couples swayed on the dance floor clinging to one another as the soft tones of the music soothed the dull throb of the whispers of rising tension overseas. It was a Saturday night, and you and a few of your friends from the Dawson School for Girls had slipped away to spend the evening twirling in the arms of whomever caught your fancy.

Well, at least that's what your friends wanted to do. There was only one particular man who'd caught your fancy, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The Dawson School for Girls was the answer to your mother's prayers, a boarding school in Boston, far away from Ben's "corruptive influence" as she put it. Ben was currently at boarding school number ten in Upstate New York. The last time you’d seen him was when you were on break and Ben had just left boarding school number nine for fighting with other students, but he wouldn't say what for. You’d sent him a few letters to tell him how bored you were including a few sketches and watercolor paintings, with minimal response, but it was like him not to write back.

You hadn't mentioned that Howard Stine had been coming on the weekends to take you out. Your mother was pleased with him, he checked all the boxes: wealthy, not Ben, educated, not Ben, from a nice family, not Ben, and of course most importantly, not Ben.

She was practically making wedding invitations and choosing the names of your children after only three months. However, it was nice to see her happy for a change, kept her from sniping at your figure now that someone was interested. Well, not sniping that much.

Howard was… nice, but he was one of the most boring people you'd ever met and he never understood why you always carried a sketchbook with you. When he'd taken you to Franklin Park one weekend, you stopped along the pond to sketch some of the ducks that were waddling on the bank, but Howard told you he didn’t have time to wait for you to draw them. Instead of telling him that he could just leave, you shut the sketchpad and continued to walk with him and quickly learned that it was better to leave your sketchpad at the dorm whenever he was in town. You also found yourself talking less and less, allowing him to fill the silence with his talk of the stock market crash and how the United States economy recovered due to the efforts of President FDR.

You hated that. You didn't recognize yourself when you were with him. You didn't feel like you.

And every time he was here all you could do was compare him to Ben. Ben would never tell you to stop drawing, yes he would tease you about it, but he always sat next to you while you were sketching, watching you work. You never understood that. Ben was so impatient with everyone else, but he was willing to sit with you for any inordinate amount of time if you were drawing while making you laugh the whole time.

I miss him so much.

"Can I get you a drink?" Howard puts his hand on the small of your back, leaning in to whisper in your ear. You try not to flinch at his touch. He had already been in town, walking you home from a dinner that was dominated by awkward silence and the clicking of utensils on plates when you'd run into your friends just as he was walking you back to the dorm. They had rounded the corner giggling and begging you to come with them. Despite your insistences for him to stay in and relax for the night at his hotel, he refused.

It meant that now you were stuck with him while all your friends got to twirl around with men that made them warm and giddy. Howard made you feel like you'd swallowed a lemon.

"I'm fine, but thank you." You force a smile.

Howard shrugs, before he walks away towards the crowded bar on the other side of the room and blessedly far away from you.

Your thoughts drifted to Ben. You missed your friend more than words could comprehend. Not just because you were far from your family in another city, but because it felt like you were missing apart of yourself when he wasn't there. You briefly wonder if he felt the same way when he wasn't with you.

Probably not.

You turn away from Howard's retreating figure, to watch the couples on the dance floor. You sway to the music, holding your arms around yourself and feeling your dark green dress swish around your ankles, one that you'd picked out yourself, not a monstrosity of pink tulle, but something that you believed accentuated the natural curves of your body that your mother used other dresses to hide. Your mouth turns down into a frown remembering how Howard had reacted to seeing you in it, when he tried to give you his jacket to cover up, but you refused.

You had wanted him to be stunned by how you looked in it, or at least, wanted someone to be. The same someone that was miles away and probably tickling the skirt of someone who caught his fancy.

"One of the most attractive men I've ever seen in my life is at the bar." Your friend Pearl stated looking behind you with wide eyes.

I've got you beat. You think to yourself to a sigh, wishing, again, that you were here with Ben instead of Howard.

"Very funny." You roll your eyes, thinking that she’s making fun of where Howard is sitting probably flagging down the bartender with both hands to catch his attention.

"I'm not talking about Howard. This guy is seriously a looker. And he's staring at you." Pearl says again.

"Sure." You continue to watch an elderly couple sway back and forth to the smooth jazz that ebbs from the band on stage.

Must be nice to be with someone for that long.

You watch how effortlessly the couple moves as one, how the man stares down at the woman with more love than you can comprehend. It makes your heart sink in your chest.

The way things were panning out, you were going to end up with Howard and you couldn't imagine looking at anyone like that other than Ben.

"You're about to see, because he's coming this way." Pearl takes a step back from you as if anticipating the stranger interrupting your conversation.

"He's not-" You begin to say, but you feel someone place their hand on the small of your back, turning you towards them.

"Fancy meeting you here." Ben smiles down at you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

"Ben!" Your heart soars when you recognize your friend and you can't help but hug him so tight he laughs, the movement of his chuckle makes you feel alive for the first time in weeks. The sharp smell of whiskey and the familiar spicy scent of his cologne greets you.

"Guess you missed me." The rumble of his voice vibrates where your cheek rests against his chest.

"I did." You pull away from him reluctantly. "What are you doing here?" You can't help but smile at him, probably wider than what was attractive.

"Thought I'd stop by and visit on my way back to Philadelphia. Saw you walk into this place. " Ben shrugs. "What are you doing out so late?"

"Looking for trouble." You smirk.

"You found him sweetheart." Ben leans down towards you making your throat get unusually tight.

"Hi." Pearl says interrupting the conversation.

 Ben turns his smug smile on her. "Hi."

"I'm Pearl." She looks from you to Ben as if trying to decide that it's okay for her to introduce yourself.

"Benjamin." You watch him slip into the cool and smooth Ben, the one that charmed whomever caught his eye.

You can't help but feel a prick of jealousy against your skin. It was familiar, but every time it happened, it didn't make any of this easier. You knew that you shouldn't be jealous, you didn't have a claim on him, you were friends, just friends, only friends, best friends…

And now you were with Howard.

You let out a soft sigh watching the way that Pearl looks up at Ben and the way he leans towards her with the confident smirk you love so much on his face.

"Would you like to dance Benjamin?" She asks.

"I would." Ben's smirk turns into a smile.

Pearl steps forward to reach for his hand, expecting him to take it, but he doesnt.

"Come on sweetheart." Ben reaches out and takes your hand, twirling you ahead of him onto the dance floor.

"Ben-" You giggle, head spinning with the movement, but when he twirls you back into his chest, you feel your breath catch. This wasn't the first time you'd been pressed up against him and it wasn't the first time you recognized how perfectly you fit together. Your soft curves molding against the hardness of his muscles as you sway back and forth to the music. When you were pressed up against him, you didn't feel like you were too big, you felt perfect, because of the way you fit against him.

"You know I am here with someone-" You say, before you get too wrapped up in how good it feels to be with him.

"Yes. Howard Stine. Though I do believe you said he stepped on your toes." Ben smiles at you, eyes twinkling in the light.

"That was four years ago, and he's… sweet?"

"Hmph." Ben rolls his eyes. "You can't even say it with a straight face sweetheart."

"I have never said anything bad about your companions."

"Missy-"

"Besides her." You frown.

He laughs at your reaction, the hand clutched in your right seems to warm with his smile. "You've never said anything about them period."

Because I hate thinking about how many of them there have been. Because I hate that you don't see me as someone who could be with you.

"I try not to dwell on your numerous escapades."

"You sound a little jealous doll." He smirks at you.

"What was that you were saying about Howard again?" You tease, holding on to his shoulders as you sway back and forth to the music.

"Can't be jealous of someone I've seen get chased by a duck." Ben's eyes trace your body for a moment. Your cheeks blush under his gaze. "You look nice. Not one of your mom's I'm guessing?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You don't look like a cupcake." He spins you away one more time before bringing you back into his chest.

"No. I think she'd probably have an aneurysm if she saw me wearing this. Howard also thought it was a bit much-"

Ben's hand tightens on your waist. "What?"

You shrug, leveling your eyes on his chest to distract yourself from his hand placement. "He tried to get me to wear his coat."

"He what?"

You shake your head to dissipate the self-doubt and body-shaming conversation that was about to unfold in your head.

"It's nothing." You raise your gaze back to his, but you're surprised to see the anger that burns behind his green eyes.

"It's not nothing. He had no right to-"

"Ben." You soothe, rubbing your thumb over his shoulder to comfort him.

The song shifts to something softer, forlorn, a song that reminded you of the heartache you felt with Ben, but also a melody that eases your soul somehow.

"I don't understand why you're with him." Ben sighs, but you can still feel the tension in his shoulders beneath your hand.

"My mother is happy-"

"But you're not." The look in his eyes is unfamiliar, almost earnest, as if he's trying to get you to understand something that he can't say.

"Ben." You breathe.

"Fine. I don't want you to think about him when we're dancing to our song anyway." The look in his eyes shifts back to the playful green they'd been before.

"Our song?" The words make your heart skip a beat and you can't help but smile at him.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd smiled this much. Probably the last time I saw him.

"Yes." Ben dips you back, before bringing you up against him, the playful look in his eyes becoming softer as you come back.

You know that your own gaze is filled with love and you remember watching the elderly couple. The way they looked at one another warming your heart as you gaze up at Ben. The three little words tiptoe against your tongue, the three little words that you'd been trying to say forever, but you can't. You don't want to lose him, don't want to live in a world without him, because you know that it won't be worth living.

So instead you lean forward and lay your head against his chest, in the space between his neck and shoulder as the song continues. You think that you feel Ben's arms tighten around you, pulling you further into his embrace, but you chock that up to wishful thinking.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You hear someone yell, and all of a sudden someone's hand is on your wrist jerking you away from Ben.

What?

Howard is standing there his chest pushed against Ben’s, trying to look intimidating, but Howard's inability to reach Ben's shoulders made it difficult for him.

You rub your fingers over your wrist, where Howard’s bright red handprint stands out against your skin.

Ben’s eyes shift to notice your ministrations, darkening with the force of his anger at the thought that Howard hurt you.

“I think I was dancing with my girl.” Ben’s eyes narrow, skating back to Howard.

Your heart skips a beat when he says that, but you shake away the thought, knowing that Ben is only saying that to make Howard angry.

“Your girl?!” Howard sputters, his face growing red. “She’s not your girl!”

“Howie, buddy-“ Ben’s confident smirk slips over his features but you still see the anger beneath the surface. “Calm down, you’ll give yourself a heart attack.”

“Just because you think you have some claim on her because you’ve been stringing her along with the harem that usually follows you, does not make her your girl!” Howard fumes. “She’s with me.” Howard grabs your wrist again and drags you towards him.

“Hey wait a minute-“ You begin to say.

Ben grabs the front of Howard's tailored suit, rumpling the pristine fabric. “Don’t you dare touch her like that.”

“I will touch her however I damn well please! She's mine-"

The grip on your wrist is so tight that you know it’ll leave bruises. “Howard wait-“ You try again to diffuse the tension, bringing your free hand to rest on his forearm to make him let go.

“Shut up.” He snaps, eyes flashing back to you.

Ben’s temper flares and the sharp crack of his fist against Howard’s face echoes through the room. Howard stumbles away, letting go of your wrist as he reels backward to the welcoming hardwood floor that catches him when he falls.

“Don’t you ever speak to her that way you arrogant son of a bitch!” Ben shouts taking a step forward. His shoulders are tense, fists clenched at his sides and his jaw is tight, as his anger burns through the air.

By now the band has stopped playing music and all the couples around you are watching with wide eyes.

I have to do something before he kills him.

You put yourself between them, your hands firmly planted on Ben’s muscular chest so your back is to where Howard stands fuming. “Ben. Don’t.”

But he’s not looking at you, his gaze is locked with Howard’s, eyes blazing, muscles tensing beneath the palms of your hands. You try to ignore how good his chest feels beneath your touch.

Damn it.

“Ben.” You say his name again.

His eyes snap back to yours. The soft green has hardened to an emerald with the force of his rage, so different than how he looked when the two of you were dancing. But he doesn’t say anything.

“Please.” You whisper. "Stop."

Ben looks from you to Howard, before he finally exhales. “Fine.” He mutters, and he turns and vanishes into the crowd of people without another word.

A minute passes and the music begins all over again, the band on the stage starting with a lively tune that makes the couples around you to move back on to the dance floor, but the tension of what just happened remains in the air.

Because what did just happen? Did Ben do that because he was protective of me? Or did he do that because he was jealous?

Your eyes trace where he vanished, longing for him to come back, but when he doesn't appear, you're left to deal with the aftermath. 

After numerous apologies to Howard, he finally relented and took you back to your dorm, leaving your group of friends at the dance hall. You knew there would definitely be a conversation about what just happened between you all when they got back, but even you were confused. Ben was always protective of you, but what happened seemed over the top. You think about how Ben called you “my girl," the way he said it sending a thrill down your spine. He’d never done that before and you wondered if it was because he wanted to get a rise out of Howard or because he believed it.

Not like he’s tried to do anything about it. You think to yourself stroking one finger against your bruised wrist. The discoloration was more prominent now, black and blue marks beginning to sprout like flowers in spring. Howard’s eye didn’t look much better when he dropped you off. You were surprised that he’d been forgiving enough to continue to see you, not that you wanted to see him, but you didn't think you could handle a letter from your mother.

Then again maybe she would pull you out of this ridiculous school.

A small tap at your window causes you to raise your head to look out the glass. Ben is sitting there, but he doesn’t smile like he usually does. Your dorm room was on the first floor, which meant that Ben didn't need to shimmy up a tree to get into it like he did when you were home. Then again this was the first time he'd showed up here and you wondered how he knew where your room was. You also weren't thrilled at his appearance because you didn't know when Pearl would come back and you weren't sure what your roommate would do if she came back and found Ben in your room. She was a stickler for the rules and despite your friendship, rooming with her was one of your least favorite things about the Dawson School For Girls.

“If they find you here I’m going to be in so much trouble.” You say helping him through the small window, putting your hand on the back of his head so that he doesn't bang it against the glass. "You might like getting kicked out of boarding schools, but I don't."

“They won’t find out.” Ben rolls his eyes. He glances at Pearl’s empty bed on the other side of the room. “Roommate not back yet?”

“No she was still dancing when I left.”

Ben frowns. “Where’s the asshole?”

“Ben-“

“What?”

“He left. And I don't exactly invite him up to where I sleep."

“Good.” Ben flexes his fist.

“How did you know which room was mine?” You ask. Ben had never come to see you before at boarding school and the fact that he was here probably meant that boarding school number ten was out.

“I might have guessed wrong.” He smirks.

“Uh-huh.” You sigh, but all you can think about is how he acted earlier. Your feet shift back and forth “Why did you hit him?”

Ben’s eyes darken. “He shouldn’t have touched you like that or said that to you.”

You stand there for a minute observing his reaction.

“He kinda deserved it." You say slowly.

You knew it was true. When Ben showed up Howard shouldn’t have lost it like he did, he definitely shouldn’t have grabbed you like that or called you his-

You stutter on that thought. But maybe he is right. I am Howard’s. We’ve been going steady… The thought of being his makes something curl up in your chest and die. There was only one man that you wanted to belong to.

"Yeah.” Ben sighs.

"Why did you call me your 'girl'?" You ask.

"Um." Ben shrugs. "Felt right in the moment."

"What?"

"I mean you are. You're my friend-"

"But that doesn't mean friend Ben." You say it gently trying to catch his eye, but Ben won't meet your gaze.

"Fine. I just wanted to mess with him a little bit." Ben frowns. "But I didn't like that he called you his, or the fact that he hurt you."

“But Ben I am his.” You whisper even though you don’t want to. “We’re going steady-“

“That doesn’t make you his!” Ben snaps, eyes flashing. “Just because he feels the need to say it doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“But Ben-“

“And I never want to hear you say it.” He continues loudly.

What is wrong with him? I've never seen him this angry about anything.

“Why?”

“Because that means he has some claim on you. You’re not his, you’re my friend.”

"You're being ridiculous. You're saying that he can't have some claim on me but you're possessively calling me your friend!" You shout back frustrated.

Why is he acting like this? Does he really hate Howard that much?

"I am not! I'm just saying that you're my friend and you're not his!"

“I can’t be both?” Your words hang in the air between the two of you and you mentally beg Ben to answer. He was acting like he wanted you to be his, like he believed that he had some claim on you and you couldn't remember another time that he'd acted this way. Sure he teased Howard, but this was more than that.

It was almost possessive and it kinda scared you how much you liked it.

Ben doesn’t answer your question. His shoulders are tense, hands clenched into fists at his sides, while something lurks behind his eyes that you can’t identify.

“Ben?” You say it like a question, ignoring the urge to press your hands against his chest like you did earlier at the dance to calm him down.

His gaze drops to your arm, where Howard grabbed you, tracing the bruises and clenching his jaw together. Ben’s right hand comes to delicately pick up your bruised wrist, running his thumb over the discolored flesh with a frown. “Does it hurt?” He rumbles changing the subject.

“No. Does that hurt?” You breathe noticing his bruised knuckles and gently probe your fingers along them.

You hated the though that he was hurt and for you, no less.

Why did he have to intervene? Why did he hit Howard?

“It was worth it.”

You both stand there for a minute, with Ben holding on to your wrist, touch surprisingly gentle.

“I just don’t like that he hurt you okay?” He mutters raising his eyes to yours. You weren't prepared for the soft look in his eyes. You expected him to still be angry over Howard, but he almost looked, worried.

“I'm okay Ben." You whisper back.

You want him to answer your question. You think again about telling him those three little words you wanted to say when you were swaying on the dance floor together but you can’t.

He nods once before he looks around the room, eyes falling on your sketchpad where it lays closed on your bed. "Got any new ones?"

You knew it was Ben's way of asking if he could stay, trying to tell you that he didn’t want to go back to Philadelphia that night, and you didn't want him to either.

"A few. If you're not too tired-"

"I’m never too tired for you."

You feel your heart beat rapidly in your chest. “Okay.”

The whole time you sit together on your bed, Ben doesn't drop your wrist, in fact he continues to brush his thumb against it while you look through your sketchbook. And in a few hours when Pearl finds you and Ben curled up in bed together, you’re not embarrassed, because deep down you’re starting to believe that Ben cared for you more than he was willing to admit.

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126

[lauraneedstochill]

The object of my desires

summary: You overhear Aemond making a snarky remark about the way you dress. You decide to teach him a lesson. warnings: friends to lovers (both are idiots), a dash of angst, a lot of teasing, things get very heated (NSFW), with a sprinkle of softness. words: ~6500 (it was supposed to be shorter but they started making out...) author’s note: the idea first popped into my head months ago when I saw this post. also, for the longest time I’ve been thinking that “you are the bane of my existence” monologue is a perfect fit for Aemond — and yet I haven’t seen a single fic* using that quote?! so I finally decided to give it a try.

If anyone asked you to describe your relationship with Aemond, you would’ve said that the two of you were almost friendly. The almost part was the trickiest one to explain because, even though both of you acted very content with the way of things, you still couldn’t help but think that you wanted something more, no matter how much you’ve tried to deny it.

You got to know him through Helaena who you befriended when you were ten and six. A year older than you, she was the weird girl no one wanted to talk to and you approached her out of curiosity but soon learned that she had a cheerful nature and quite a nimble mind. She loved your sharp sense of humor and energetic wit and the two of you became close, your contrasting personalities complimenting each other very well.

Your introduction to her brothers was brief and for a couple of months, you didn’t interact with either of them. She’s been married to Aegon for four years back then and even though he immediately didn’t strike you as a faithful husband — always a cup away from being wasted and shamelessly gazing at every maid’s legs — he mostly looked harmless. Aemond, however, was the exact opposite — guarded and collected, he kept his distance from everyone, making it clear that it was his choice. You could only get a good look at the prince when you were passing the training yard, and a couple of times you found your gaze lingering on him — on the lean body and tense muscles, on the way he moved the sword with ease. In those moments you felt the danger radiating off him, yet it never scared you away. But you knew better than to fawn over the prince who seemingly paid you no mind.

A significant change came on the evening of Aegon’s ten and ninth birthday which Helaena begged you to come to — you weren’t fond of big events but couldn’t say no to her. For the most part, the feast was tolerable as you’ve spent it by her side, making glib remarks about the guests, much to your friend’s amusement. But when the celebration died down and all the nobles began to disperse, Aegon, drunk out of his mind, decided to make advances toward his wife whom he ignored for the duration of the evening. His approach was harsh and unexpected, and the look on Helaena’s face shuttered your heart. 

“Your grace, your manners escape you,” you tried warning him, shielding your friend but Aegon was too wasted to notice your fiery gaze. In his inebriated state, he probably mistook you for a maid as he grabbed your arm in an effort to shove you aside. Next thing you know, your fist connected with his nose — and then Aegon was lying on the floor, eyes wide and blood gushing down his face as you stood next to him, fuming. Before he could think of an answer, Aemond appeared out of nowhere — just in time to drag his brother away, while the drunkard was hurling insults at you in a frenzy. Only when they left, it dawned on you what you just did. 

You expected for the king’s guard to come for your head in the morrow, but instead, a few surprising things happened. First, you learned that the boys didn’t rat you out, making it look like they were the ones who got into a fight. Aegon did apologize to Helaena and from that day, his temper softened as he never dared to repeat his mistake. But, most importantly, Aemond took a sudden interest in you.

Overall, his behavior stayed the same, but you regularly caught him looking in your direction, and every time you saw each other, he made sure to acknowledge your presence. He never initiated the conversation first, only sometimes curtly voicing his opinion, yet you noticed him paying attention to your chattering with Helaena — and you could swear that a few times he suppressed a laugh at your jokes.

The mystery veil that the prince was surrounded with sparked your curiosity, and you wanted to crack down his guard, to get a chance to know him. The opportunity presented itself one day when Helaena and you came to watch Aemond train. You saw him and Criston arguing as the prince was late to his studies but Cole refused to let Aemond leave until he wins the last bout. Whether he wasn’t in the right mood or had something distracting him, Aemond kept losing, and his teacher only pushed him further, relentless in his attempts.

“Ser Criston, you’re putting yourself in harm’s way,” you chimed in, making the man turn to you with a chuckle, while Aemond gave you a tired look.

“May it be that the finest swordsman of the realm is simply avoiding his responsibilities?” you suggested with a light grin.

“Mayhaps he is in need of some encouragement,” Cole teased. 

“Well, I would’ve volunteered to share the burden of learning with him,” you remark. “If only he could win this one bout,” you added, keeping eye contact with the prince.

It took Aemond about two minutes to knock his opponent to the ground which made Helaena gasp in surprise while you were trying to hide a smile. Without a word, Aemond came to you, and the two of you went to the library. On your way there, he kept silent, but you were not intimidated at all. When you walked into the room, Aemond hesitated as if giving you a chance to change your mind. But you boldly turned to him:

“If you mean to scare me with the prospect of studying, I should warn you that I’ve read more books than you can count,” you informed the prince.

It was the first time when you saw him smiling — widely and shamelessly, looking very smug.

“You are full of surprises, my lady,” he grinned. “Do you mean to challenge me?”

It turned out that Aemond liked challenges, and you enjoyed being one. Since that day, you got into the habit of joining him in the library and the prince would accompany you in his free time more often than not. You would dare him to read faster, to fight harder, to engage in conversations — or sometimes to simply have fun. Whenever you had a reason to disagree with him, he was always respectful and found himself entertained by your way of thinking, which made your discussions and even arguments span for hours.

As years went by, you kept playfully bantering back and forth, and Helaena told you that you were the only one allowed to act like that around her brother. You couldn’t understand what his motives were but it was hard to deny that his company was pleasant. Aemond grew up into quite an eligible bachelor and his attention did flatter you, even though he never crossed the line. Sometimes you even dared to entertain the thought that maybe — just maybe — Aemond had a soft spot for you.

Until one day things took a turn. Helaena’s twentieth birthday was meant to be just another celebration that you would’ve skipped if it wasn’t for her. The only way for you to pass the time was dancing which you’ve actually come to love in recent years, enjoying the rhythm of the music that helped to lighten your mood. Your dear friend mostly preferred to sit back so you were often compelled to find yourself a company that would be bearable, at the very least. That evening, you got acquainted with Jacaerys Velaryon, the boy being younger than you but almost a foot taller. He approached you with a small smile on the pretext of knowing Helaena, and you soon learned that he was a good dancer. But the best thing about Jace was that he spend most of his time talking about his betrothed, Baela, who he was absolutely smitten with. The girl sadly couldn’t be present as she had to stay with her dad, who recently sailed home, and the dark-haired boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut. All the time while dancing he was either gushing about her or asking your advice, which you found adorable and gladly chatted with him.

Throughout the feast, you felt Aemond looking at you, probably more than usual. You knew that he wasn’t fond of dancing and even though his gaze on you felt rather good, deep down you wished that he was the one you were spending time with. After a couple of hours, however, you saw his usual spot empty, and the prince was nowhere to be found. For some reason, you got a very bad feeling and, after leaving Jace to take a break, you went to Helaena. She informed you that Aemond left not so long ago, adding that it looked like her brother was upset about something.

That’s how you ended up roaming through the castle halls, giving in to the unsettling feeling churning in your stomach. Passing by one of the chambers, you suddenly hear voices and realize that it's Aemond talking to his brother. You don’t mean to eavesdrop and were about to turn around — but then Aegon mentions your name.

“You are foolish to wait for so long. You could’ve at least asked Y/N for a dance,” his remark is followed by gulping sounds. Is he ever without a cup? You hold back a giggle — which quickly disappears when you hear Aemond’s answer.

“I prefer not to waste my time on such futile activities,” and his voice is unexpectedly grim.

“You may want to reconsider when the lady has every man’s attention. Even the Strong boy was pretty much drooling,” he chuckles, and his words make your brows furrow as you are certain he has no ground to suggest that. You’re a moment away from drowning in doubts, but the younger prince brings you back to reality.

“I suppose it’s hard not to, with the way she’s been dressing lately,” Aemond deadpans.

He says it with a flat tone — yet it feels like a punch that knocks all of the air out of your lungs. There’s a brief pause — and Aegon sounds almost sober when he asks, with a hint of surprise in his voice.

“And what about her dresses?”

“I found them to be... rather bawdy. Although I’m not impressed in the slightest,” Aemond forces out.

Your heart sinks at his words, cheeks heating up. You wait for him to say anything else, to give an explanation, at least one reason for his accusations but there is none. Aegon laughs — and you feel sick to your stomach, realizing that you cannot bear listening to their conversation any longer.

You walk away as quietly as possible, with cotton feet and your hands shaking. You rush past the hall and out of the castle, tears pricking in your eyes. Only once you are all alone, embraced by the silence of the night, you take a deep breath of air. Aemond’s words are ringing in your ears, loud and clear. You look down at your dress in disbelief: the neckline is basically non-existent, your arms are fully covered, and it barely shows any skin at all. And yet he thinks this is inappropriate? 

Your cheeks are wet and burning yet you feel anger bubbling in your chest. You never thought Aemond could be cruel — and yet it’s him, out of all people, who let those vile words slip out of his mouth like they meant nothing. Like you meant nothing to him. For years, you heard people calling him cold-hearted and arrogant but you were naive to believe that the prince made an exception for you. Out of all the mistakes you’ve made so far, this one might’ve been the most painful one.

Your outrage spreads like a wildfire as you think back to every interaction you’ve had with Aemond, his every glance and every word that fooled you into thinking that he cared. Was he secretly criticizing you the whole time? How many other jokes did he make behind your back? Who even gave him the right to judge whether your dresses are acceptable or not? As if he is any different from all the other men whose brains turn into mush when they get a glimpse of a female body.

You stop dead in your tracks when an idea suddenly forms in your head. It’s very uncharacteristic of you — at first, you hesitantly brush it off, thinking that it’s not wise to make any emotional decisions. And yet the idea keeps nagging at you for the remainder of the night and for a few hours you ponder if you should take such a brazen approach. But then his unkind remark pops back in your memory — over and over and over.

By the time the morning comes, you make up your mind.

He says he isn’t impressed in the slightest? There is only one way to find out for sure. On the very next day, you take Helaena for a walk in the garden, well aware that her brothers will accompany you as Aegon doesn’t have anything else to do and Aemond prefers to take a stroll after his training. Your dress is close-fitted yet modest, not an inch shorter than necessary. It is not about the dress but what’s underneath it — and the object in question clinks lightly with your every step. You show it to Helaena right away and she finds it delightful, the jingling only making her smile. Then her siblings come to join you, you curtsy but barely spare Aemond a glance. You don’t ask a single question about his day, instead taking interest in Aegon. The older prince gives you a suspicious side-eye but welcomes the chatting. It doesn’t take long before he notices the sound, too.

“Am I the only one who can hear the clinking? I am almost certain that it’s not just in my head,” he debates.

“Oh, it’s Y/N’s doing,” Helaena beams unsuspectingly.

“Apologies, my prince, it’s my aunt’s gift that caught your ear,” you slow down and take a few seconds to make sure you’ve got everyone’s attention.

And then, with one gentle motion, you pull up your dress — ever so slightly, just enough to show your ankle and the thin bracelet wrapped around it. The jewelry is made out of gold and it instantly catches the sunlight, casting warm sparkles on your skin. It’s decorated with tiny coins which make a jingling sound as you slowly turn your leg from side to side.

“I thought it was rather pretty. Don’t you think?” you only look at Aegon.

“Umm yes,” he gulps. “Rather pretty it is,” the prince mumbles, and then his gaze shifts to someone else. You don’t need to turn your head to know who he’s looking at. Instead, you continue with your walk without a care in the world.

“I should ask my aunt to bring you a similar one, my dear,” you suggest to Helaena and she eagerly agrees.

You have a few other gifts for Aemond, too. Next time you opt for a different bracelet — with no coins and no jingling, a simple golden chain. But your dress is a tad bit shorter and the jewelry catches everyone’s eye with ease as it looks like a ray of light curled around your ankle. You deliberately walk through the training yard, arm-in-arm with Helaena. You give Ser Christon the brightest smile, and he politely nods in your direction.

“Good morrow, ladies.”

“How’s your training coming along, Ser Criston?” you ask, and it feels strange to talk to him instead of Aemond. You bitterly remind yourself that you apparently overstated the value of those conversations.

“I’m afraid, we are hardly progressing. Mayhaps you will keep us company? I fear, we are in need of some cheerful words,” Cole shoots a glance at the prince who stands by, his eye fixed on you.

“Aren’t we all, Ser Criston,” you tilt your head at him. “But it seems like my pursuit of lessening your burden did nothing good,” and before he can ask anything else, you walk away, ignoring Aemond completely.

Helaena senses that something is off, giving you a worried look.

“Is there anything troubling you?”

“Not when I’m with you, my friend,” you reassure her and force your smile to look as believable as possible.

Partially, it is true as her company always brings you joy and you don’t want to sour her mood by recalling Aemond’s words that wounded your pride. You refuse to admit that he also grazed your heart. In a week, you accept Helaena’s invitation to join them for breakfast and you decide to up your game. It’s the perfect time of year for sleeveless dresses but the one you pick also has a daring addition: two thin cuts under your armpits. They are barely visible but when you put your arms up, it’s easy to distinguish the contour of your ribcage and the softness of your skin peeking through. You sit by Helaena’s side, easily keeping up with the conversation and not glancing at Aemond once. After the food is taken away and everyone starts wandering around the room, you get up to fix your hair, standing not too far away from the dining table as you raise your hands and run your fingers into your hairdo.

“May I offer assistance?” Aegon leans on the wall next to you, his mouth curling into a smile.

You roll your eyes and are about to shush him when he quietly adds:

“I know what you are doing,” you turn your gaze to him, and he winks at you. “From the look on my brother’s face, I can tell you that it’s working.”

You fight the urge to look at Aemond.

“I’m afraid I can’t share your concerns,” you are fiddling with hairpins absentmindedly.

Aegon shoots a glance over your shoulder and then back at you.

“He seems pretty bothered to me. Also pissed, but that may be my doing.”

“Look at you, my little helper,” you ramble as the cool air sneaks into the cuts of your dress, and you slightly quaver.

“Well, if you are ever in need of a helping hand...”

“I will not hesitate to stick this pin into your eye,” you cut him off.

“No need!” Aegon throws up his hands, cackling. “I’d like to keep them both. So I can have a better look at my brother’s reaction when you do... whatever you plan on doing,” the shit-eating grin on his face tells you that he is enjoying this.

But when you turn around and suddenly make eye contact with Aemond, your own enjoyment fades. You notice his frown and the probability of you being the reason for it doesn’t bring any satisfaction. You let Helaena lead you away, feeling his gaze on your back as you walk out. You do not yield to your emotions, continuing with your plan, as days turn into weeks, and then a month goes by without you as much as sharing a word with Aemond. Truth be told, you want nothing more than to stay away from him at all costs but you will not give him the satisfaction. He said he didn’t like the way you dress — and you make sure he sees every single dress you are in. You stay within the bounds of decency as you definitely have no intention to disgrace yourself, and none of your dresses are borderline scandalous, contrary to what any prince may think. You deign to let him see the curve of your neck with your hair up high, the bending of your shoulders and the sunkissed skin of your arms, the arc of your knees and mere glimpses of the upper part of your legs. You leave the rest to his imagination — granted, he has a good one considering how much time he spends reading.

During the second month, his patience starts running out.

In the years you’ve known Helaena, you learned all the ins and outs of the castle, so you manage to avoid Aemond at first, vanishing from his sight when needed. But, as time passes, you notice that he is tempted to talk to you, and escaping that possibility becomes harder with each day. One morning, when you walk into the yard, Aemond abruptly stops his training upon seeing you, and the two of you just stare at each other for a second, both startled and holding your breath. You are saved by Ser Criston, who calls for the prince, distracting him, giving you a chance to leave, and you all but run away.

After that day, you temporarily cease your visits to the castle, deciding to take a break and make up weak excuses to Helaena. Only now that you were apart, you realize how much you miss Aemond’s physical presence. His sudden, fleeting touches — to help you out of a carriage or to steady you after a fit of laughter, your hands brushing when you share books, his fingers sometimes lightly grazing your waist for the reason you are yet to know. You haven't talked to him for days, let alone felt him in your close proximity, and yet he's constantly on your mind. Somewhere in the midst of it all, you wake up at night realizing you yearn for him terribly. You wish you could go back to that damn evening of the feast, to confront him right away, to maybe get some clarification. But now too much time has passed and you’re too wrapped up in... whatever you plan on doing, so your ego insists that giving up isn’t an option.

When you receive the invitation for Aegon’s name day, you are ready to decline, but then begrudgingly decide to give it one last chance. You practice the look of indifference, the nonchalant tone, the proud gait, and you pull out your best dress. It’s green and the color is so bright, it dazzles the eyes, the material light and flowing — and yet, when you put it on, it feels incomplete. As you look in the mirror, the vivid tone of the fabric suddenly reminds you of something else. It’s a secret you once heard, a hushed conversation between the maids, one of which walked in on the prince when he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch. You only ponder for a minute and then reach for the jewelry piece that definitely will be hard not to notice. The castle is crowded, and you are one of the last guests to arrive. Bracing yourself, you pause at the door for a second. Ser Harrold, who stands there, lets out a surprised hum. “Should I take that as a sign of your disapproval?” you jest, watching his reaction.

“I wouldn’t dare to judge,'” he gives you a polite smile. “But I’m afraid all the men present are at risk of losing reason.”

His comment makes you chuckle and you step a bit closer, letting him take a better look.

“I thought it would match the occasion. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Ser Harrold, gods bless him, keeps his eyes on your face. “As always, it is, lady Y/N.”

It gives you enough confidence to walk in, appearing in all your glory.

The dress is a perfect fit, with a slit down your right side and an open back. The front neckline isn't deep but in the middle of it there’s a thin silver chain with a big, glittering sapphire — and the gem lays perfectly between your breasts. It’s only natural that everyone’s gaze is immediately drawn to the blue spark, all the men in the room gazing at it, voluntarily and not. But the effect their attention has is nothing compared to the wave of heat that warms your body when you feel a very particular gaze finally landing on you. You look right at him — and you catch him gawking, his lips slightly parted as he stares at the sapphire, too, almost in a trance. His hand is gripping a cup of wine with such force, you can see the whitening of his knuckles. When Aemond sharply glances up, your eyes lock for a second, and you look away first. So much for him not being impressed.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jace waving at you to come sit with him, and you do not hesitate, letting the one-eyed prince out of sight.

You feel like his eye doesn’t leave you for a second.

You are barely able to sit still while dining and let out a sigh of relief when it’s time for dancing. You rush away from the table, thinking it will provide you with a distraction, and you will be glad for any partner if only he can move his legs and keep his mouth shut. You go to the end of the line, lost in your thoughts, and when you finally come to a stop and look to the other side — you see Aemond standing in front of you.

The tall prince with his hands clasped behind his back, wearing all black, stares at you in a way that makes the crowd around you disappear.

When the dance starts, you step toward each other, and he speaks up first. 

“I couldn’t help but notice your absence. I find myself wondering what is the reason behind it,” his hand briefly touches yours, your bodies following the music.

“Your question is confusing, my prince. As I was merely doing you a favor,” you swap partners but Aemond only looks at you.

“Your leaving hardly favors me,” the prince says when you’re in his arms again. You feel a flicker of anger rising inside but keep your voice down.

“I was actually counting on you being relieved,” you snort, not looking at him. “Since, as it turned out, you were so displeased with my bawdy dresses,” with these words, you step away from him once more.

A minute later you come back to his side but don’t let him say a thing. 

“I’ve always thought bawdy was just another word for a whore. So I suppose I should be glad that you at least had some decency to not stoop so low,” when your eyes meet, you think you’ve never seen him so hurt.

Before he can come up with an answer, you are out of his reach. Then you circle back to Aemond again, and this time your tone comes out hasher.

“I also wonder if you would be so brave to say all that to my face. But it seems that your bravery falters when confronted with the need to speak plainly.”

The rhythm of the music works in your favor, because whenever Aemond tries opening his mouth, you’re swooped away from him, and it gives you time to tighten your self-control. You think you should resent him for his silly words, for his heavy gaze, for him knowing how to dance even though he never once did that with you in all these years.

But you have no resentment for him. All of a sudden you realize what you are actually feeling.

And then the dance comes to an end.

You only curtsy out of politeness, averting your gaze.

“I will not vex you anymore, my prince.”

“Wait, I should —,” he tries to take your hand but you swerve away from him.

“I already promised the next dance to someone else,” you lie. “You are finally free of my company.”

At that very second, when you glance at him before leaving, he looks absolutely heartbroken. Or maybe you just imagined it in an attempt to ease your own pain. Your feet carry you to the library on their own accord, and you’re too distraught to notice until you are already inside, in the dusty silence of the endless shelves. You take a hold of the nearest one, trying to catch your breath. You barely get a minute of solitude before you hear footsteps approaching. And it’s kind of pathetic how easy it is for you to guess who it is. “Your tendency to run away from me is quite unnerving,” Aemond walks in with rapid strides, his voice laced with emotion you can’t read. 

His words, however, trigger your reaction in no time. 

“Maybe it is because I do not want to be in the company of someone who hurt me,” you turn to him, and he’s already only a couple of feet away. The dim lighting illuminates his silver hair, the outline of his broad shoulders, his eye is boring into you. He looks so beautiful in his frustration, your chest tightens at the sight.

“I would’ve apologized right away if only you let me speak,” the prince retorts.

“Did something hold you back from apologizing sooner? Or were you too preoccupied with being outraged by my clothing choices?” your heart skips a bit at the intensity of his stare but you refuse to break the eye contact.

“I never said I was outraged.” 

“You weren’t thrilled, either, you made that very clear.”

“You know nothing of my motives because you refuse to listen to me!” he raises his voice and it startles you. But he doesn’t sound angry.

Aemond is standing at arm’s length — and you can clearly see that his face expresses no signs of annoyance or hatred. Instead, he looks at you with longing.

The air in the room feels heavy.

You run your tongue over your lips to moisten them, and Aemond’s eye darts to your mouth.

“We can agree on one thing,” he drawls, his eye locking with yours again as he moves closer. You take a step back — and feel pressed against one of the shelves.

He speaks with his tone low:

“...You vex me to no end.”

With another step, Aemond towers over you, and when you look up, your faces are only inches apart, and his flaming gaze envelops you.

“You are the bane of my existence,” Aemond breathes out. “And the object of all my desires,” his voice breaks, and you feel him inhaling sharply.

His words are akin to a match that lights up a fire deep in you, the muscles of your stomach tightening involuntarily. With one finger he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you can’t help but lean into his touch, your breathing shuddering.

“I’m haunted by your image everywhere I go,” he rasps, his nose brushing yours. “Night and day, I dream of you,” his index finger moves under your chin, close to the pulsating point on your neck. You feel the heat spilling into the pit of your belly, and you want nothing more than for Aemond to kiss you.

“I was raised to act with honor, but that honor is hanging by a thread every minute I spend in your presence,” he whispers vehemently, his words hot against your mouth. 

You are dizzy, breathless — and craving him. Everything else is forgotten, erased, nonexistent. It’s just you two.

“You are all I can think about,” you confess with a strangled voice, looking at Aemond through your lashes — and it sets him off.

His lips capture yours in an instant, claiming and burning with need. He pulls you closer, his hands on your back, and yours go up his shoulders to lock behind his neck. Aemond kisses you deeply, hungrily, sweeping his tongue over your lower lip and then sliding it in, intertwining with yours. One of his palms moves lower, outlining the curve of your hip, glides over your leg — and into the slit of your dress. He grabs your thigh, his thumb landing on the inner side of it, and he starts slowly massaging small circles on it. Him touching your bare skin elicits a moan from you and in the heat of the moment, as your mind goes blank and you can only focus on the pleasuring sensation, you spread your legs, and his finger slips higher — to the place where you want him the most.

He breaks the kiss in surprise, and you wait for it to dawn on him. To realize that you are, in fact, completely naked under the dress. You can feel arousal pooling between your legs, your body prickling with anticipation.

“I was under the impression that you owe me an apology,” you unabashedly murmur, looking him straight in the eye. 

You don’t know if it’s a challenge or a plea — at this point, you do not care. Apparently, neither does Aemond, as he takes no time hoisting your leg up to his waist for better access, firmly holding it in place. Your respite barely lasts a few seconds before you feel his other hand cupping your sex, rubbing his fingers through your folds. You shut your eyes, gasping for air, as he unhurriedly smears your wetness — and then his finger dips into your core, the sensation making you shiver.

“Aemond,” you sign, your body trembling with desire.

Trying to inhale, you get a whiff of aroma, a mix of leather and salty ocean breeze — and all at once, you are surrounded by him. His scent, his warmth, his scorching touches, the taste that’s left on your lips. He leaks into your every cell.

Aemond nuzzles into the crook of your neck, leaving wet kisses there, his finger picking up the pace.

“I’ve missed you,” he avows. “So fucking much,” he lightly nibbles the skin above your collarbone. “Missed hearing you say my name. Say it again.”

He doesn’t need to ask twice — and the interweaving of letters rolls off your tongue with each breath:

“Aemond”

“Aemond”

“Aemond.”

His name fills your mouth, leaving no space for air, your throat tight and breathing rapid. Aemond’s lips move down to your shoulder.

“Oh, the things I want to do to you,” he haltingly rambles, and the implication makes you clench around him, dragging a low groan from the prince.

He leaves a trail of kisses following the silver chain down to your breasts. The gem feels cold in contrast to your skin, and even though your head is clouded with lust, it triggers a memory. You move one of your shaking hands to his face, guiding it up to look at you again.

“I want to see the real thing,” you whisper, gazing at his eyepatch. “Let me. Please, let me.”

His hand between your legs doesn’t stop its movement but the one on your thigh trembles. You are too caught up in the moment to think straight, and before he can answer, your fingers roughly remove the leather patch.

The sapphire glows like a beacon, the cold blue of it is dazzling and piercing through your blurred vision. The tones and shadows are interlacing, cyan melting into azure and dark blue, and it’s mesmerizing. Seeing him like this, stripped of his restrain and his disguise, is the most intimate, precious thing in the world.

“Gods, you are divine,” you moan, panting.

You catch a flash of emotion in his eye — before you can take another breath, his lips are on yours again. This kiss is steady and fervent, and while his mouth melts into yours, Aemond adds a second finger. It slides in with ease, and he builds up the speed that makes you swallow air. He’s terrifyingly good with his fingers, with his every move, precise and fast. 

“Aemond,” you whimper in his mouth, but his lips keep chasing yours, and you can only follow, letting him take your breath away again and again. You lose track of time, lose yourself in his arms. His face is always close to yours, he breathes in every moan you make and keeps his gaze on you, watching you squirm, your cheeks flushed and lips quivering.

You helplessly whisper his name, and it comes out as a prayer, the coil in your stomach ready to snap. Aemond gives you a breathless smile.

“You do not need to beg me, ever,” he says in a husky voice. “I will give you anything you want,” with these words, he presses a thumb on your pearl, resuming the well-known circling motion, making you choke on air.

It takes merely a few seconds for you to come undone, the wave of pleasure blinding and crushing over you. His lips are at the corner of your mouth, ready to cover it should you make any loud sound, but you drop your head back, mouth falling slack in a silent cry.

His fingers slow the pace until you let out a quiet whine, and he removes them, carefully lowering your leg. You feel fuzzy-headed, trying to catch your breath, a few beads of sweat rolling along your hairline. One of his hands gently falls on your back, rubbing soothing patterns on your skin.

“I truly am sorry,” Aemond admits.

You chuckle lightly. “I think you already made it up to me.”

Despite the hint of humor, there’s an anxious feeling stirring in your abdomen, and you are afraid to open your eyes to meet his. You don’t know what’s to come and you dread the emptiness that will follow if he leaves.

Aemond tenderly cups your face with his hand:

“Mayhaps my intentions were not clear enough. I do plan to properly court you,” your eyes snap open at his words.

There’s a brief pause before he adds. “But I still need to apologize for my behavior because you deserved none of it. I was unfair with my judgment as I let jealousy get the best of me,” he sounds genuinely remorseful.

You glance at him in confusion, the gears turning in your head for a moment, and then you realize.

"You were jealous of Jace?!"

Aemond looks down at the floor, and there’s something endearing in his evident embarrassment. With your thumb and index finger you caress the jut of his jaw and make him look at you again.

“Aemond, I can barely consider him a friend. And the boy can only think about Baela, he speaks of her as if she is the light of his life.”

“I know that feeling," Aemond doesn’t hide his smile anymore when he’s with you. He brings your hand to his lips, and the sincerity of his words tugs at your heart. He leaves kisses on your knuckles, and you’re overwhelmed with happiness spreading in your chest.

“Do you get that feeling every time we argue? Or when I challenge you?” you inquire with a giggle.

His laugh vibrates against your skin. When Aemond meets your gaze, there are no doubts and reservations left, no room for denial.

“My biggest challenge was not to fall in love with you. I failed miserably,” he puts both of his hands on your waist, drawing you closer. “But I will humble myself before you because I cannot stand the thought of us being apart ever again,” Aemond presses his forehead against yours.

“I don’t plan on it,” you trace his scar with your finger, giving him goosebumps. “But you do know there still will be days when we vex each other to no end?” your voice is barely audible.

He moves his mouth to yours and, before bringing your lips together, he whispers:

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And neither would you.

the author doesn’t know how to shut up: — the dress is from “Atonement” (although I imagined her neckline a bit differently); — I haven’t written smut in a very long time so... I hope it was okay? any thoughts and comments will be very appreciated because I’m nervous about this 🥺 (not gonna lie, this was kinda self-indulgent so I hope that at least some of you will enjoy it, too!)

* I know there is an amazing fic called “bane of my existence, object of my desire” by @ jasonsmirrorball — I love it to pieces and highly recommend it! 💕 💚 my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[fandomnerd9602]

Comfort Food

Avengers High series (High School AU)

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Before you ever started dating the most popular and beautiful girl at Avengers High, your heart was chasing a girl in your science class: Shuri.

Wanda Maximoff was the most popular girl at Avengers High and she saw you as her closest and best friend. You enjoyed her company and watching Harry Potter movies with her. You did love her and wished that there could be something more there but she was popular and you were a STEM nerd.

So you redirected your focus to a fellow STEM student and good friend Shuri. She was funny and sweet. You could see going on a date or two with her. Her laugh and smile always brightened your day, not as much as Wanda.

It all came to a head one day when you approached Shuri with a little metal sculpture of a Wakandan herb flower. You knew Shuri loved them and worked all night to make it for her.

Any way you approached Shuri and she was absolutely floored by your little sculpture.

“It’s looks so spot on!” She giggled.

“I-I made it for you” you managed to say thru your blushing. “Shuri, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to- to go out with me sometime.”

Instantly her smile dropped. Not exactly the reaction you were hoping for. Her eyes filled with…pity.

“I-I’m sorry (Y/N)” Shuri tried to apologize, “you’re a good friend and all but…I-I do not view you in such a way. I’m sorry”

Your heart shattered. You manages to maintain your composure but inside your heart was breaking in ways you never thought possible.

“That’s fine,” you manage to say, “it’s good. I’m sorry.”

You managed to make it to the door and bolted out. You were lucky the school bell ring, signaling the end of another day but also a salvation of an excuse to leave.

You ran all the way across campus and nearly ran into Wanda and her clique of friends.

“Why the rush, Hufflepuff?” She manage to ask with a giggle. You didn’t answer, tears were already streaming down your face.

“(Y/N)?!” Wanda looked at you concerned. “What’s wrong? Who hurt you?!”

You ran all the way home and collapsed into your bed. You laid there in your bed for the next few hours. But time just felt irrelevant.

A few tears streamed but mostly your felt like you could only kick yourself. How much of a fool you felt. Of course she couldn’t like you in such a way. Your inner monologue filled your head with words of doubt and hurt, feelings of never being able to be loved. Who could ever love you?

And then came a knock. It wasn’t at your door. You tried to ignore it. Then came another. You turned to see Wanda at your window, a small pizza box in her arms.

“Hey Hufflepuff” she smiles, “want some pizza? I mugged a fellow Slytherin for it but-“

You rolled your eyes at her terrible joke. For being such a popular girl, Wanda still had the worst jokes you could imagine.

You opened your window and your best friend slipped right in, comfort food in hand. Wanda flipped on one of the Harry Potter movies and handed you a slice of pizza. Didn’t take long for you and her to scarf down that delicious meal fit for witches and wizards in no time.

“So…are you ready to talk?” Wanda asked you, a little concerned.

“I tried to ask out Shuri-“ you began to say.

“Ooh look at you” Wanda shocked you playfully.

“She turned me down.” You whispered. “Only saw me as a friend”

“Oh…” Wanda’s thumb moved gently across your knuckles. “Her loss”

“Her loss?” You asked.

“Yeah. You’re amazing. And sweet. And kind. Any girl would be lucky to have you in her life.” Your best friend tried to make you feel better. “I’m lucky to have you in my life”

“I’m lucky to have you too, Slytherin” you gave her a side hug.

“Cmon,” she settled onto your bed, “Quidditch is starting and I don’t want to miss it!”

You settled in, next to her. Over the hours, Wanda’s position shifted. From next to you to in your arms. Not that you or her noticed. You both had dozed off after movie three.

Pietro tried to come by to pick his sister up but he only smiled and left you be. He reassured your parents and his own that there was no funny business there. Just two Potterheads who fell asleep.

You and Wanda look back on that night in the coming years. Didn’t take long really for you and her to become a couple. By the time you and Wanda got to college, you completely forgot about Shuri. Your heart had already found its place: with the young witch named Wanda Maximoff, your best friend. And it all it took was a broken heart and a little bit of comfort food.

Tags: @natashaswife4125 @jacelion @lifespectator @aloneodi @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @family-house-of-m @holiday-house-of-m @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @russianredassassin @mostlymarvelsstuff @ma1egamer

[is-on-its-way]

The moment Mulder quits

A point in which Mulder was ready to quit the minute he saw Scully hold a baby in season 7 and its effects in season 8

*this is my headcanon, its not gospel obviously Firstly, two scenes that are very linked in my head

Season 7 Ep 22 Requiem and Season 8 Ep 16 Three Words

Look at that face. That dead serious, at all costs face.

Season 7

Requiem. The culmination of Scully and Mulder's secret yearish? long quest for a baby. They've tried for a baby with IVF already. Mulder has promised her he wont give up on a miracle for her and they're well... trying basically, throughout season 7. Perhaps I would call it "hoping" for a baby. Maybe Mulder is hoping and Scully is characteristically ambivalent? Fully not using any contraceptives and I know there's a fic in there somewhere, anyway

The first scene above is why Ive never watched past the season 8 finale. nothing past them agreeing to be a family makes any sense because of Mulders face here. People knock Duchovny for not showing out when acting, but I will always be a defender of subtle acting. The way he can say an entire monologue of dialogue with the minute expressions on his face is quite breathtaking here.

Hes goes from sorrow at Scully not being able to have a baby, sorrow at her loss, sorrow at not being able to give her that; to regret at what he thinks is all his fault, at dragging her into this life; to pure love and affection for her seeing this baby in her lap and how good she is with him; and then a smile peaks out. A smile of hope that could compete with the Mona Lisa. Hope for their future and the certainty with which he knows what he wants so clearly, maybe for the first time in his life. His own family.

Like for the first time hes really deciding the cost is too much and he chooses her over the mission. He chooses their future over everything. And he's hopeful and perhaps even happy about it. which for someone with his amount of family trauma is a seismic shift. For so long he's chased the past in hope of fixing it, completely discombobulated and reckless in his search for well, his family.

Though, from the beginning of that moment in the rainy graveyard, he has slowly unconsciously coming to regard Scully as his family. In small gestures, a hand on her cheek or voicing out loud how important she is to him; to big gestures, giving up who he believes is his actual sister to save her.

We are lucky here, to be able to witness the moment the sparks of unconscious thought bloom into the flame of certainty. He follows up as well. Tells her she has to stay, that the cost doesn't outweigh the price anymore. Sure he wants to finish out this case, but he doesn't work without her, thats been established. Him telling her to stop, is his resignation as well. (There's a fit there too, with Skinner and him on the plane probably Skinner already knowing he's done.)

Thomas Flight praises subtly in acting better than I could ever articulate here:

Season 8

Mulder was weird and the PTSD was implied, but I choose to see it everywhere. After the moment in three words where Mulder tries to let them go gently because he thinks he's too damaged to be a father (Thanks @randomfoggytiger for the meta on that) (there's a fic here obviously where Scully gives him the space to be broken and also hers) After this though, he's not the Mulder as we've seen, ever. He's not the Mulder who

cares about exposing the government so he can say I told you so

cares about saving the public from the invasion

cares about finding the ultimate truth that has driven him since he found the X files

cares about solving cases and one upping the FBI, trying to force them to admit the truth out loud.

Mulder is fighting the entire season for his family.

he cares about exposing the conspiracy so everyone including his child will be safe.

he cares about saving the earth for his child's future

he cares about his childs and his families safety

he has zero concern about the FBI and what they do anymore.

In the second scene above, he's about had it with the entire conspiracy and he's downright pissed. He wants it all to end he doesn't care how. He wants to protect his child above everything. Sure he's usually reckless but this isn't for him and his self involved cause anymore, it's for his family, his wellbeing be damned at some points along the way. He states his thesis in three words while breaking into FBI files in an astonishing show of recklessness

"Look, Scully, I need to make sense of what happened to me. So that I can stop it. Because if I can't stop it, it could happen to anyone. It could happen to you. And who's to say it's going to stop there?"

I always wondered why he was putting Scully through all that, without realising this was the reason. Poor guy. There's nothing else in his purview anymore besides that baby who's in danger, and his family, so much so, when he is ultimately fired from the FBI, he's positively giddy at his newfound freedom.

If he had then gone down a path temporarily where he murdered his way through the remnants of the syndicate to assure the safety of his family John Wick style, I would've absolutely believed it.

It would've been insanely intriguing look at an evolving dynamic between Scully and Mulder. Scully law abiding Mulder reckless as always but with a different motivation. Becoming what he's always feared, to protect the family he has never had. A family he feels like he's only grasping at, as they're slipping through his fingers due to the danger and his recent and past traumas.

There's a reason a lot of the fandom sees Mulder as a happy stay at home dad post wherever they decide to end watching. Thats what he's been searching for his entire life. A happy family with loving parents. When he let go of that dream for himself in Closure, he found he could want that for his future family whatever that looked like (adoption, a miracle, etc.) in Requiem. And I personally don't believe he ever would let that dream go once he realised, I mean we all saw the devotion he had to his sister right?

In other words these are my reasons season 9 onwards make zero sense and I regard them as AU

[fallatyourfeet]

Swanky Suits (Arthur x Female Reader)

One Shot

Credit to Gif creator- sorry I don't know who you are

Summary: Arthur is taken completely by surprise after being sent by Ada to get a new suit

Word count: 1322

Warnings: Awkward adorable Arthur. He gets a bit nervous and anxious.

Author's Note: This was only supposed to be around 500-700 words. Big fail. Also, can't believe I've posted two fics in a week. What the hell is happening to me.

Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around! You can find my masterlist in my bio.

This place seemed far too swanky for Arthur, he felt completely out of place, but Ada had insisted he come. “Trust me Arthur, they’re the best tailors in London… you won’t be disappointed.” Looking at himself in the mirror out front of the change room, he had to agree. The pants and shirt were the nicest things he had ever worn, and he hadn’t even tried on the jacket yet. But still, no matter how much money he had lining his pockets, this place just felt a little too fancy for a boy from Small Heath. Maybe Tommy could get away with it, but him? Not a chance.

Walking up behind him, jacket in hand, came the attendant who helped him with his fittings last week, his posh London accent and manner doing nothing to ease Arthur’s inner monologue. Walking in a circle around him, he looked him up and down and nodded, quite pleased with himself, “The shirt and pants are a perfect fit, they won’t need any alterations at all.”

Moving behind him, he held open the jacket so Arthur could put his arms in and slipped it up over his shoulders. Then walking back around, he adjusted the lapels and buttoned it up, before stepping back, looking slightly disappointed, “The jacket is going to need some tweaking.” Placing a finger to his chin, the attendant sighed with thought. “It doesn’t need much… I might get our seamstress to have a look, she’s out the back. Otherwise, our tailor’s back tomorrow if you want to wait.” Unsure how to gauge Arthur’s expression, he added, “She’s very good… you won’t be disappointed.”

Arthur sniffed, visibly rolling his eyes as he adjusted the jacket, had this guy been talking to Ada? Shrugging his shoulders, he replied, “Yeah, alright, let her ‘ave a look.”

The attendant disappeared out back, leaving him in front of the mirror, and he couldn’t help but admire the cut and feel of the fabric. Arthur knew he was hardly posh and refined like ninety nine percent of the shops cliental, but he knew a bloody good suit when he saw one. And this was one of the best.

Moving to the edge of the store counter, he was flicking through a collection of swatches, taken completely off guard when to the side of him, someone spoke, “Arthur? ….. Arthur Shelby?”

An oddly familiar voice which Arthur couldn’t quite place, spoke his name. A voice from his childhood, only much more mature than he remembered. The edges to the Birmingham accent were a little softer, the volume somehow fuller, richer. A voice smoother than honey. ‘Hmmm’, he thought quite innocently, ‘a man could get used to a sound like that.’

Turning towards the voice, he almost jumped when he saw you. Dropping the swatches to the ground his cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink, standing straight as an arrow like a naughty child being caught in an act of mischief. He recognised you straight away. Even if he were an eighty-year-old man that hadn’t seen you in sixty years, he’d still know exactly who you were. His childhood crush. The girl who made his heart fly whenever she was near. The girl to which no other could compare. The girl he wanted to grow up and marry… And the girl who up and moved to London with her family when he was barely fifteen. Moved before he even found the courage to ask her out.

Arthur spoke your name, “YN?” It was almost a whisper. ‘Fuckin hell,’ he thought, you were even more beautiful than he remembered.

You smiled in response, and if his cheeks were pink before, they must be bright scarlet by now. Not sure what to do or say, he fumbled over his words, before blurting out, “You… you’re the seamstress?”

Lifting your hands, you laughed a little, waving the measuring tape and pin cushion they held, “I am… and these are the weapons of my trade.” Moving towards him, you placed them down on the counter, taking in every inch of his face, turning his poor scarlet cheeks crimson. “It’s good to see you, Arthur. My goodness, it must be what…? Twenty years?”

You moved even closer. Slipping your hands inside his jacket you went about your work, pinning together the alterations when your hand brushed against his side. It almost made him freeze, and he thanked God that it wasn’t his pants that needed altering, your close proximity making it hard for him to think. But somehow, he managed, “Uh, yeah. It’s been exactly twenty years.”

Looking up at him, you smiled the sweetest smile, your eyes looking strangely humbled that he knew exactly how long it had been since he saw you last. And it did nothing to ease the building flutters in his chest. He was a grown man, and a few minutes in your presence had him acting like an awkward teenager again. Arthur’s thoughts were a mess, scrambling to find something else to say, “So, ah, how long you been workin’ here?”

Biting your lip, you looked at the ring on your finger, before answering, sadness gathering in your eyes and voice, “Since my husband left for France.”

Arthur wanted to kick himself for asking, needing no more explanation to realise your husband did not return. And his heart broke for you. The thought of you hurting, in any shape or form, made him uneasy, made him want to reach out and comfort you. Placing a hand to your arm, he gave it a gentle squeeze. No words needed to be exchanged, you knew what he was trying to say.

With a small nod, you smiled softly, distracting yourself by getting back to the task at hand, making a few quick adjustments with your pins and measuring tape. Seemingly satisfied, you took a step back to make a full inspection, announcing quietly, “That should do it.”

Slipping the jacket from his shoulders, you placed it over your arm before fixing the collar of his shirt, your fingertips creating a trail of goosebumps when they brushed along his neck, and that was when he knew he was in trouble. Just one touch against his bare neck and all those buried teenage feelings came rushing back, hitting him like a tonne of bricks. Never to be suppressed again. And he knew himself well enough to realise that if he didn’t act on those feelings today, he was going to end up with a whole god damned wardrobe full of swanky suits. When what he really wanted was you.

Breaking through his trainwreck of thoughts, you touched his elbow, your eyes searching for something in his, “Arthur, this will only take me ten minutes… will you wait? Or” You paused, your expression changing the slightest bit, “Or did you want to come back tomorrow?”

With a deep breath, Arthur cleared his throat, putting his hands in his pockets to hide the fact they were trembling. “Ah, yeah, I can wait.” Feeling sick to the stomach, he shuffled on his feet, taking his hands out to run them through his hair, before returning them to his pockets, “Um, when do you knock off from here?” Clearing his throat again, Arthur worked hard to keep eye contact, fuck you were the loveliest thing he had ever seen. “I mean, if you want to, we could catch up… I could take you out for dinner or… or somethin.”

You answered with a smile. It was so sweet and warm, and genuine. And he dared to hope that just maybe you weren’t going to turn him down. With his heart beating in his throat, he waited for your reply. It was just a few fleeting moments, a few short moments that felt like an eternity. But your answer came, and he could barely believe his ears. “Yes, Arthur. Thank you. Dinner or somethin’ would be lovely.”

[screamforyani]

Can you do a GF! Chad x GF! Ethan x Reader where reader is in Tara’s place during the apt scene and after Ethan kills Anika him and Chad kidnapped and noncon her at the shrine while monologuing about how long they’ve been watching her blah blah blah

all ours

warnings: noncon

wc. 1.6k

you didn’t make it on time. 

your friends only had a split-second to react after quinn’s weight got launched onto anika, scrambling into her bedroom. you’d seen sam try to come back for you, but she didn’t have much of a choice when ghostface started to jab a knife her direction.

from the floor where you laid, having tripped trying to escape from the killers, you could faintly hear their voices over your ragged breaths, the sound seeming more distant that it was. 

“where is she?”

“i thought she was behind you!”

“she’s out there,” sam replied, tone laced with worry. 

you didn’t blame them for leaving you there. not when you could see ghostface throwing himself against the door, endeavoring to pry it open with his weight. 

one of them, at least. the other one crouched down to be eye-level with you, watching your chest heave through the tight-fitting tee you’d worn. “please don’t hurt me,” you begged, scooting back by your elbows while tears flooded your face.

he said nothing, but you could hear dark, deep chuckles under the white mask. it baffled you. you should have been dead already, or at least a little more injured. you’d hit your head when you fell, but that was less of their fault. you’d seen mindy, on the other hand, get stabbed on her arm, and heard anika’s screams when they dragged the knife up her abdomen.

in spite of the silver-red knife in his hands, he didn’t touch you with it.

instead, he lifted you up in his arms like you weighed nothing. you demanded to be placed down, but all you were met with was a little, “shh,” from the other ghostface who was now behind you, posing a finger where his lips should have been.

quinn’s room was splattered in blood, and it almost made you feel queasy, but you noticed your friends were no longer there. then, ghostface sat you in front of the window, and you saw them across from you in cute boy’s apartment.

all of them except anika. when your vision panned a little lower, you gasped at the sight of anika’s lifeless body, blood pooling from below.

all of their eyes were fixed on you with worry, and you heard their panicked shouts. there was an unsettling feeling in your gut when you felt one of them press a knife to your throat for all your friends to see, all the while waving to them with his non-dominant hand. you couldn’t move, you couldn’t speak. you were paralyzed with fear.

the other one started to roll down the curtains, leaving your friends to guess what was going to happen to you.

but they didn’t kill you for your friends to find like you thought they would have. someone pressed a cloth to your face and you forcefully inhaled the chemicals, your world turning dark.

when you woke up, you didn’t know where you were. your lashes fluttered, the room spinning to a final halt. that was when you took in all the glass displays - and all of the things in them. they looked like things from stab. 

you only had one thought. what the hell?

you tried to stand, but you quickly realized that you were bound down, not that there was anywhere for you to escape in this strange place. your hands were tied behind your back to the gate.

“look who’s awake,” you heard a familiar voice say, and your eyes darted around to find them. what you didn’t expect was to lock eyes on…

“chad?” you exclaimed, eyes widening in shock. 

“that’s my name, don’t wear it out,” said chad, wiggling his fingers at you. “on second thought, you can wear it out as much as you’d like.”

you had a feeling you knew what that meant, but you didn’t want to ask. 

you shook your head in disbelief. “you’re behind all this?”

“who else did you think had the muscle to carry you all around the city?” chad asked lightheartedly. “of course, i still needed some help with the rest of this. who do you think is my partner-in-crime?”

“no,” you whispered, still shaking your head. matter of fact, you could feel your whole being start to shudder. 

“oh, come on, baby. take a wild guess,” chad prodded, shooting you a wild smile. only now it was a little more unnerving than usual.

your heart raced against your thoughts. it had to be somebody who apparently wasn’t there during the attacks. it couldn’t have been anika and quinn, because they were dead. sam, tara, danny and mindy were all across from you while you were in the room with two killers. which only left one person. 

you gulped, dread in your voice. “ethan?”

“aren’t you a smart girl?” came ethan’s voice, making you jolt when he appeared out of nowhere. they both laughed at how jumpy you were.

the room spun again. you were starting to feel lightheaded, as if you were going to throw up. “i don’t get it.”

ethan laughed, glancing at chad. “you hear that? she doesn’t fucking get it, chad. i think we should break it down for her.”

“i think you’re right,” agreed chad, reaching behind you to undo the knots on your arms and bring you towards the mannequins, sitting you before them. “you see, baby, we’ve been watching you for a long, long time. the second ethan and i saw you, we just knew that we had to make you ours.” 

“it’s your fault, really,” ethan said, making you gaze at him in alarm and confusion. “you are aware that your bedroom window is right across from ours, right? anyone can see you naked, anyone can see you bending over to pick up stuff, and rather than simply close your curtains you give us that tantalizing view.”

that was when he started to tug at your shirt, and you swiftly attempted to swat away his hands and crawl away, but one wave of the knife chad pulled out his pocket and you immediately stilled.

ethan enjoyed the way you held his breath while he peeled your shirt over your head, continuing, “you’d be surprised at how many pictures chad has of you touching yourself.”

“what?” you stammered.

“that’s right,” chad said, chuckling to himself. “i thought about blackmailing you, but this was so much more fun. i mean, look at yourself!”

your eyes locked on your reflection in the glass case, watching yourself shiver in horror. you could hardly even breathe, and all of the hairs on your body were raised. then, you saw them hover over you, chad reaching for your bra and ethan reaching for your shorts and underwear. you seethed at how helpless you were, knowing you couldn’t fight back.

“you two are monsters,” you snarled, wiping tears before they could fall. “you killed quinn and anika, and those two kids in our film studies class for what - me?”

“oh, no, no, no,” ethan said, sporting the most demonic smile you’d ever seen. “not everything is about you, sweetheart. you’re just a small part of the larger fun.”

chad pried your legs open and gently pushed you down so that your back touched the floor, but his gentle touches betrayed the forceful, impatient way he shoved his size into your cunt, making you scream. “small,” chad said in a grunt. “and tight.”

“chad, stop! stop, it hurts,” you whimpered, tears spilling. 

“good,” chad hissed. “you know what really hurts? watching you talk to all those other guys while acting like i don’t exist.”

“i’ll take your mind off of it, baby. i promise,” ethan crooned, stroking your cheek with his thumb. he kissed your collarbone and neck, sucking into the flesh.

it didn’t help much. you could still feel chad flush against your walls, stretching you out more than you could ever imagine. you couldn’t wrap your head around how big he was. it felt like you were being split open, right down the middle. to say nothing of his roughness, all of his gentle gestures abandoned. his fingers bruised your hips with his strong grip.

“you’re so beautiful, you know,” ethan whispered, scanning your body. “you shouldn’t let any of them have you.”

“you’re mine,” chad groaned, picking up his pace.

ethan rolled his eyes. “don’t get too ahead of yourself, big guy,” he said, in spite of the fact that he was also rather big and strong. the thought sent you into panic. “she’s ours.”

you exclaimed, “i’m not some fucking object - i don’t belong to any of you sick fucks!”

ethan grabbed you by the throat, which shocked you. you would have expected it from chad now, but not him. you stared into his dark eyes, seeing how he’d switched on a dime. “you. are. ours. what don’t you understand? i’ll kill anyone that touches you.”

chad, spotting the fear in your eyes, chuckled. “i’ll fuck you until you get that through your head.”

ethan pulled back, abandoning the niceties. he’d tried to be compassionate, but you would have to work for that now. your heart raced with alarm when you saw him hop out of his own pants, revealing his hard cock. “i can’t wait to cum all over your face,” he said, much to your dismay. “that would make a good blackmail pic. wouldn’t it, chad?”

“damn right,” chad agreed, laughing at the thought. “fucking do it! i’m gonna cum in this tight pussy. can’t wait to record that.”

his words hit you like a truck and you immediately grabbed his arm, begging, “no, no, no. chad, please. i’m not on any-”

“shh,” ethan said, putting his finger to his lips. just like that ghostface did. that one was him. “you’re ours.”

their sick, twisted plan washed over you right then. ethan and chad loomed over you with wicked smiles, watching the realization tense your face.

chad could feel himself getting close, slapping his hips into yours harder as he grunted, “all ours.”

[holylulusworld]

Big girls don't cry (4)

Summary: You are no stranger to heartbreak.

Pairing: CEO!Steve Rogers x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, strong reader, mentions of former heartbreak, arguments, regret, fear of commitment, abandonment issues,

Big girls don’t cry masterlist

Part 3

“Stevie, go in there and talk to her,” Bucky groans. “I didn’t almost get killed by your angry girlfriend only for you to chicken out now. Go—”

Bucky shoves his friend toward the door.  

“What if she doesn’t want to see me? Y/N hates me now, and I can only blame myself. I let my insecurities and fear of commitment get the best out of me.”

“Yeah, you fucked things up big time, punk. Now go in there and fix things with your lovely lady. You love that woman, right?” 

“I had the ring, and the proposal planned and chose the easy way out. I got scared. Scared that she’ll laugh at me. Or even worse, say no. I saw her throw the ring in my face and run off. I’m not worthy of her love.”

“Y/N is a great person. She’s kind, smart and caring. I can’t imagine her doing such a thing. If you are honest with her, she’ll not break your heart,” Bucky smirks. “Maybe she breaks your dick with her baseball bat, though.”

“Buck,” Steve reaches for the door handle, “whatever happens now. Thank you for trying.”

“Just don’t chicken out or get your dick out,” the brunette chuckles. “I can tell, women don’t like it when you get it out after a fight.”

“What?” Steve side-eyes his friend. “What did you do, Buck?”

Bucky shrugs. “It was a case of miscommunication. I thought she wanted to have make-up sex, and she wanted to break up with me.”

“You’re unbelievable. I can’t believe I asked you for advice on relationship problems.”

“Hey, what can I say? The ladies love me?” Bucky grins. “But enough of me and my perfect face, and dick. You should go inside and finally talk to her. People are watching.”

“Hi, uh- thank you for letting me come here. Bucky said you will hear me out,” Steve awkwardly stands in the middle of the empty bakery. “Not many people around today.”

“We are renovating,” you quip, not even sparing Steve a glance. You practiced this conversation in front of the mirror and can’t show weakness. “I told you so a month ago.”

“I didn’t know it was this one,” he licks his lips. “You scared the shit out of Bucky.” He chuckles. “And I can tell, Bucky never gets scared.”

“He’s a baby,” you snicker. “Your friend almost peed his pants when I got the baseball bat out.” It feels awkward being around Steve again. “You wanted to talk, so talk.”

“Maybe…you could start,” Steve stammers. “I know you are angry and hurt. And you have every right to be angry. What I said was awful, and I know now that you went through so much in the past that you cannot forgive me. I just wanted you to know that I—”

He hesitates. Steve looks at his shoes, shaking his head. He takes a few deep breaths. “Sorry, I need…shit…” 

“What do you want to say, Steve?” 

“I-I love you,” he almost yells. It’s the first time he has said it with fear in his eyes. “I know that I said it before, but I wanted you to hear it one last time.”

“Steve, I thought we wanted to talk. This was more like a monologue. I wanted to talk about the things Bucky told me about your past. Why did you never tell me about the people bullying you.”

“I could ask you the same,” he gives you a cracked smile. “I-I was ashamed, I guess. I wasn’t always like this. Back then, I tried so hard to fit in. It was never enough, though. Not once was I good enough for anyone.”

“Boys always treated me like I’m not good enough to be seen with them,” you sniffle. “When you said all those things, I felt like the little girl who got her heart broken for the first time.”

“Y/N…” He fights the tears. “I was a weak and thin boy back then. Sick too. No one wanted to be my friend but Bucky. He was tall, cocky, and popular. They didn’t understand why he was my friend. I didn’t get it myself. He could’ve been friends with everyone.”

“He’s a nice guy,” you wipe your eyes and sniffle. “And a good friend. He almost got hit by a baseball bat for you.”

“When I liked a girl for the first time, she punched my nose and called me a loser. I was like six or seven.” He sighs deeply. “I know, this is no excuse.”

“It is not. I got rejected all my life too, but I would never do such a thing to you. I loved you so, and then you say something like that,” You push the tears away. “I was so happy, and you broke my heart.”

“I’m so sorry, doll. All my life I tried to forget about my past, and the weak boy from back then.” Steve takes a step toward you, holding out his hand. “In my teens, I fell in love with a girl. I believed she liked me too.” 

“She told everyone about it, didn’t she?” You softly ask. “Bucky told me about it. What was her name?”

“Peggy Carter,” Steve winces when her name leaves his lips. “I realized she only liked me as long as I helped her get better grades.”

“Same here,” you take his offered hand to squeeze it tightly. “I was twelve. At least I shoved the bastard against the wall and called him a dipshit.”

Steve grins. “I’m glad you did, doll.”

“Do you want to hear a fun fact?” Steve places your hand on his chest. “I met her two years ago. She didn’t even remember me. Imagine, Peggy was all over me and tried to get in my pants.”

“No way.”

“I turned her down, though. She got mad. I bet Peggy Carter never got turned down before. Well, I told her it’s payback for what she did to me when I was a kid.”

“Good for you. I mean, that you go the chance to pay her back.” You glance up at Steve, feeling unsure of how to proceed now. You’ve missed him so much, but you are scared to give in to him only to get hurt again. “Steve, I can’t go back to what we had so easily. I need…”

“I know, baby doll,” he wraps his arms around you to at least hold you one last time. “Please never believe you are not worthy of love, or that you should settle for someone who’s not worthy of your love. I wish you love. A love that will give you everything you’ll ever need…”

Part 5

Tags in reblog.

[papikyoo]

Fuck it, I will post whatever I want. Here's 10 kate bush songs that remind me of mithrun. I made a playlist so you can see the same vision: here

Jig Of Life: THIS is literally his theme song, Mithrun convincing his past self to fight for their shared life, the harsh wake-up call exhibits his critical view of himself, the lyrics are so vivid. The Irish folk instruments fit the dunmeshi settings as well, the outro feels a lot like him reviving from the death, "C'mon and let me live, girl!

2. Suspended in Gaffa: the desperate feeling of wanting something and not being able to have it right now, maybe he's after his own death or desire in this case. It's a beautiful song with a religious imagery.

3. Coffee Homeground: I think it captures his distrust and fear, which he thinks he's being poisoned(betrayed) by others, and the Demon also used that fear to drive him crazy.

4. The Infant Kiss: this is a very controversial song of Kate, but it doesn't glorify anything at all, but rather about being torn apart by a situation that seems innocent at the surface but there's a dark and evil threat underneath and to me, it feels a lot like Mithrun and the Demon's relationship, that the Demon presented itself as a baby goat, and Mithrun reached to pet it, even though the Demon granted him "gentle love", Mithrun as a canaries member likely knew that it's a threat, so this song describes that dilemma, the story of this song has Gothic elements which is similar to how I see Mithrun's backstory, isolated, mysterious and distorted.

5. Get Out Of My House: pretty much his experience in his own dungeon. TBH, The Dreaming is my favorite album of her.

6. The Fog: I share this song HC with Kabru because Kabru's feeling towards Mithrun is complex and protective, he tries to encourage Mithrun to grow, while his sense of navigation is as foggy. There's nothing to worried about, just put your feet down, Mithrun. In my opinion, Kabru is a bit preachy when he tries to give an idea what Mithrun should do so the lyrics about being taught how to swim by your partner is perfect.

7. Full house: this song is pretty personal, but again, I like to imagine it's an inner monologue of his past self.

8. The Red Shoes: the idea is being tricked to wear the shoes and not being able to take them off, he's being controlled and forced to perform for others.

9. Hounds Of Love: it's more like a Kabru's song to me, but I think it could apply to Mithrun too... I really like the drum that sounds like running footsteps.

10. Running Up That Hill (A Deal with God): Do I have to explain... this is the most popular song ever lmao

I have more songs but I will yap too much. thank you for the person who agrees that Mithrun is kate bush coded, I love you.

[clericsong]

sunday and robin ramblings 🕊

long post ahead containing some thoughts on sunday and robin because i'm really obsessed with them.

to start this, i want to talk about how self-sacrificial sunday is. even going past his plan where he literally intends to suffer to create paradise in true jesus figure fashion, robin mentions that while she confides in and receives support from sunday, he doesn't tell her anything. in her letter, we see her being concerned for him because she knows he's so overworked as well, taking on so much on his own, and from the robin pc, we see how much he tried to bear his loneliness in her absence. it's clear he didn't want to worry or burden robin, but i also believe he was doing this to prepare for his role past a certain point.

i headcanon that this self-sacrificial nature comes partly from witnessing his mother's death and having a survivor's guilt reaction to it, as well as a protectiveness for his last living family, robin- feeling guilt perhaps that his mother could not be saved, he's determined to protect robin from the same fate, at the cost of his 'unworthy' life; (once again, this is mostly inferred) the belief of this unworthiness may stem not only from wishing his mother had been saved instead, but also the way his inability to effectively protect robin as he wants- from her audience, from getting shot, then 'murdered'- is dangled over him time and time again, thus highlighting his failure properly parent her in their mother's place. this nature of his is then further cultivated by gopher wood to fit his agenda; i am also of the belief that he purposely encouraged the divide between the siblings, specifically robin's differing philosophy (it's shown he was indoctrinating sunday specifically with the teachings of the order as opposed to robin who was taught the odes of harmony), then her career and absence from her brother's side, in order to further isolate sunday so he could groom him.

and building off of that, i think it shows a paradox in sunday's sense of self-worth: with his monologue on it against the individualistic philosophy of the strong exploiting the weak, sunday is collectivist to the point of self-effacement, and yet he's extremely isolated in that he cannot trust in or rely on anyone, not even his sister. he's so ready to throw himself under the bus for "the greater good," and yet he also cannot believe in a world that isn't under his control.

and that brings me to robin, who embodies the very contradiction in sunday's logic: hope and kindness, the humanity in helping one another that ties us all together in true harmony. robin, who even in opposing sunday, cares for him so much that she asks him to reconsider his plan bc she does not want him to compromise himself. who embraces him in his defeat, and searches for him afterward. it feels as if when she challenges him during the boss fight is the first time it occurs to him that there's someone who would wish for his salvation and happiness as well, that robin loves him too much to let him do this to himself. he was ready to make a perfect world for her where she wouldn't need his support, a paradise where she would forever be shielded, but robin's core is helping people; she wouldn't be satisfied with an escapist fantasy where she's detached from the people she wants to help, and that includes him. she never stops reaching for him.

we have already heard countless times how despite robin's caged bird imagery, sunday is the truly caged bird in his isolation and ideology, along with the sort of world he seeks to create, emphasized further by his design elements (especially in contrast to robin): pierced wings, a set of wings that can't be spread, a more covered up, stiff, confined design, etc. but i'd like to add another inversion: in robin's teaser, we see that sunday is the one crying between them. i like to think this detail was intentional: even if sunday tries to be strong, and does everything to protect robin, he is resultantly the more vulnerable of the two siblings, or rather "the weaker": restricted by his position in the family, isolated without a support system, exploited by the strong through gopher wood's grooming, and made to suffer for the sake of a paradise for others. meanwhile robin is the stronger of the two: she comes out of her trauma with her own wounds, but rises from them with a renewed will to help others, she questions the role she's put in, she breaks out of her confines as an idol to do humanitarian work, and even wakes from ena's dream on her own. and once again, she never stops reaching out for sunday, embodying her very philosophy, whereas sunday contradicts his own philosophy in that to create his paradise, "the weak," in this case being himself, must suffer.

but sunday also contradicts his philosophy in a different way. he believes in a cruel world where the strong and individualistic take advantage of the weak, and yet there's someone who wishes to help others so much he is ready to damn himself for their happiness, someone who, despite being misguided, feels so much responsibility over helping the weak, someone who has unconditionally supported his sister without seeking anything in return. perhaps robin has such strong convictions in people helping each other because she witnessed it from him.

[madschiavelique]

Hello! May I request a drabble or headcanons for a poly romance with Astarion x Fem!Reader x Shadowheart? Perhaps taking place post-game or late Act 3? I’d love to see them trying to navigate their new lives together. It can be fluff or hurt/comfort, whatever fits best to you. Thank you! :)

hey there sweet anon !! okay so it wasn’t specified if Astarion was ascended in this or not so i’ll go the route where he is not ascended !

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ pairing : astarion x fem!reader x shadowheart

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warning : some hurt/comfort, mostly fluff (i am so soft for them), fem!reader (although i think it could be read as a gn!reader), no use of y/n

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ words : 1.5k + bonus 400 words (around 1,9k)

( not proofread, english is not my first language ☆)

Shadowheart, depending on if her parents are still alive or not by the end of Act 3, would definitely want to visit them more with you and Astarion by her side. Not only because she wants them to meet you both, but definitely because she is frightened.

Frightened ? yes, because she has lost so many of her memories, and she fears that she might never recover them no matter how hard she tries. Yet somehow, you and astarion being by her side reminds her that the best memories are the ones to come, the one she will create with the both of you.

As for Astarion, he has never been much out of Baldur’s Gate during his life, being tied to Cazador and trying to escape wouldn’t have made it possible for him to get his freedom in any case. 

He had tried to escape, failed several attempts, and never managed to let his mind fully take in that he could taste freedom someday. He has probably dreamed about it though, this need for liberty, for a change of scenery, which he got from travelling all this time with you and defeating his master.

So one word would reunite you three on the matter : travelling.

Now that you had the title of heroes of the nation, or actually, heroes for saving the entire world, you had no worries for anything. You couldn’t wait to travel, just the three of you and see all the places you had only seen on maps, but you had to stick with a few activities in Baldur’s Gate.

Posing for hours on end for painters to make sure your heroicness would live through history, inaugurating monuments to your memory, and all sorts of reunions with bards and writers with each and everyone of you reciting your versions of your adventures.

Some receptions took place in Cazador’s now empty manor, Astarion having inherited the place, and some rings that would allow him to be constantly exposed to the sun if he wished. 

You were not accustomed much to big events like these. The last months had been made of exploring in various armours and dirty clothes, fighting and eating whatever you could find or steal along the way. 

And here you now were, all three of you in expensive clothing, a corset tightening your waist till you felt like breathing was the hardest fight of your life, buffet so full you thought the tables would crack under so much food at any moment, a flute of golden champagne in your hand as you had to boringly listen to whatever aristocrat lady was rambling about before you.

“I’m starting to feel like I miss wearing armour,” you huffed as you tried battling with the laces of your corset, struggling to untie them.

The evening was over, you had all retired to your quarters, undressing for the night.

Astarion’s cold hands came to stop your fingers from any more tie wars, taking the reins to undo them.

“I thought that woman would never stop talking, she could make Gale look like a debutant in the art of monologuing.” laughed the vampire, softly unlacing your cage and allowing you to breathe again, placing a soft kiss to the back of your neck as his fingers came to massage your soft skin.

No matter how many times he did that, you always shivered. Your head fell back on his shoulder, sighing with contempt in his embrace. 

“When will we finally be off of here?” 

“Soon enough,” smiled Shadowheart with her hair down, wavy from her braid. “Pity you have to remove that dress though, I could get used to seeing you wearing more of those.”

Her smile was contagious, and you allowed it to place itself on your own lips. She came to help with your hair, removing the assortment of pins, pearls and other ribbons in them, kissing your temple and face from time to time as you giggled.

She was right, soon enough you three had gathered everything proper for a good trip. You didn’t have many belongings, moving from one region to the other during your adventures had taught you to not get too materialistic. 

This hero's-pass was however useful in many aspects. You were given goods for your travel, scrolls, alchemy necessities, and big fancy tents with comfortable futons. But the most interesting and probably useful gift were the three horses and the donkey given to you, the latter given to carry your belongings.

“Tell me this isn’t some sort of bad joke made by Halsin,” asked Astarion as he arched a brow, eyeing the dapple grey stallion that was about to be his new road companion.

“Scared of a different ride than us ?” you chuckled as you lifted yourself on the stirrup and pushed yourself on your mount.

“You’re hilarious,” sighed the rogue, biting the inside of his cheek as he seemed unsure as to the way he was supposed to handle this thing.

“Have you never been on horseback, Astarion ?” Shadowheart ended up asking.

“I think your clarity of judgement must’ve understood by now that during the last couple of centuries, I didn’t have the best scenery to ride those kinds of things.”

After convincing him numerous times that the horse would not stomp on him or do a rodeo as soon as he went on top of it, he finally accepted to get on it.

Thus, your trip began. It had no end in sight, just the beginning of something new with your two loves, and that was all you needed to know.

As you were about to take a path leading you to another region, Astarion stopped, turning towards the silhouette of the city for just a moment before following you and Shadowheart. 

“Is everything alright ?” you asked after a few minutes, Astarion lost in thought.

“Hmm ?” he asked as he raised his eyes to yours. “Oh yes, I’m fine it’s just… Odd.”

“Odd ? What do you mean ?” asked the Shadowheart.

“Well,” Astarion started, “I thought that some sort of magical invisible rope would tie me back again to the city and forsake me to leave. But the further we are from it, the more this feels… normal ?”

“I feel the same way,” she seconded, “my purpose was pulling me to it, and now I don’t feel anything.”

“Exactly, but it doesn’t make me feel empty, more like…”

“Liberated ?” she smiled.

“Yes, liberated...” he hummed as he repeated the word with a satisfaction.

The journey went smoothly, the familiar sensation of resuming the adventure in a certain way taking hold of your heart, but the firmness of your saddle leather reminding you of the discomfort it could cause. 

It took Astarion barely an hour to start complaining, two before he finally decided to get off his mount and walk, and three to convince you to take your first break.

It was a pattern ready to be repeated for all the days to come. There were no itineraries, only discovery.

Passing through new areas meant that a few villagers and other locals would recognise you. You were offered food, asked to touch the heads of new-born babies as if you were saints, and children crowned you with daisy tiaras.

Some of the smells of the food revived in Shadowheart the ghosts of a past that was gradually revealing itself to her. You stayed overnight in villages, and she always listened to the stories told to children before going to sleep, hoping to recognise a character from one of the stories, or the feeling of the petals she pressed tenderly between her fingers, reminding her of such distant fragments of fields coloured by all sorts of flowers. 

You could see it in her eyes, every time the past pressed its fingertips to her temple and squeezed its hands across her throat when her voice broke, that glimmer of hope glistening in her eyes.

You took her hand every time, encouraging her to go back to her memories as far as she possibly could. She looked at you with such tenderness, each time.

Every morning, without missing a beat, Astarion would wake to see the sun rise from its slumber. The feel of it on his skin was an embrace he loved and cherished every single moment.

When the three of you shared the same bed, and he didn't want to wake you up by moving around, he'd just sit there, upright, waiting for the rays to pass through the curtains.

The first joy of the day was a ribbon of sunlight that wrapped itself around your hand and caressed your shoulder, and Astarion traced it with his fingertips without waking you up. He would never dare disturb your peace.

It was after visiting everything there was to see that you finally decided to settle in a pretty, dilapidated stone house that you renovated with your own resources. To this day, you receive your friends when they would be able to afford to come and see you, and you bask in your freedoms.

Bonus content for this : 

Several months into your travels, you had already received Gale's invitation to meet him in Waterdeep, so that he could find out more about your new life and see you all again.

You set off, and soon enough the realisation that you would have to take the boat to shorten the journey seemed to displease your two companions. 

‘Are you sure we can't make some better use of the horses ?’ interrogated Astarion.

‘We have mostly made them walk and trot a bit, we could surely make them galop just a little?’ Shadowheart rejoined.

But they finally gave in when the entire length of the journey by horse was compared to that by boat.

The two of them tried as best they could to stuff themselves with anti-seasickness potions, but as the effects of the latter were short-lived, they remained cloistered in the holds of the boat for the duration of the journey.

Back on dry land, you took the horses that had travelled with you for the last little stretch of the journey. Having finally reached Waterdeep, you asked the first passer-by where Gale Dekarios was staying.

You almost expected someone to look at you with round eyes of incomprehension as to whom you were searching for, but with a broad smile the passer-by gave you a precise indication of where he was staying.

Gale welcomed you with open arms, his new mage robes modest yet exuding nobility. 

‘I wish I could say otherwise but sincerely, the beauty of a cloth doesn't equal the kind of comfortability I had when we were in the middle of the Absolute's schemes. I sometimes grieve for these times, I never thought I would admit to it one day but I have got to say that ending the day with mud and whatever creature's blood we'd encountered on my robes sounds more thrilling than some of the books I now own.’

When Gale started a sentence, it was hard to stop him in his flow of words, and although it may have made you huff and puff at times, you had missed it.

It was while discussing Shadowheart's memory that Gale suggested a spell that he had been trying to master recently, allowing you to reopen memories buried deep in your brain.

During your stay in Waterdeep, Gale helped you to piece together Shadowheart's memory and restore as much of her past as possible.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 7.5: The Only Escape

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter seven of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Cursing (a few times), Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

A/N: I know I've been kinda awol lately, so please enjoy this outtake that I never posted for "You Call It Madness, But I Call It Love" as a bribe. It takes place between Chapter 6 and Chapter 8. Oh and yes I did name Soldier Boy's Dad, James, but only because I couldn't find it.

*************************************

Philadelphia 1936

"Where the hell is he?" The snarl shakes your entire house and wakes you from a fitful sleep.

"Who?" You hear your father say back to the voice.

"Benjamin!" The initial voice shouts back and you recognize it, sending a chill down your spine. 

Ben's father.

Ben stirs in the bed behind you, the arm he has thrown over you waist in his sleep to secure you into his chest is heavy, unyielding. And if it weren't for the circumstances you would stay and pretend to still be asleep so you could enjoy your close proximity.

Boarding school nine had been the longest stint that Ben had spent in any school. You wondered if that was because he genuinely tried or because he knew you were still at the Dawson School for Girls and he didn't have anywhere to go. Of course now you were on break, and although you had been surprised when he showed up at your window the night you returned home, you were happy.

You had missed your best friend more than words and when he crossed the threshold through the window you had practically crushed him against you in a hug that, much to your surprise, he returned with just as much enthusiasm. The most you'd been able to do was send him a few letters, but seeing him in person made you feel like your heart was whole again.

 School for you was going as well as you'd think. The only thing you'd ever been good at was art, but you were trying your best. You'd actually been able to make a few friends, but none of them filled the hole that opened in your heart when you left Ben standing on the train station platform watching you leave through the window.

"He’s not here James." Your father's voice is calm, controlled. You’d never seen him lose control, he was always well composed, even in the most stressful situations.

"What's wrong?" You hear your mother say from the stairs. You can imagine her bathed in the soft light from the hall lamps, wearing her perfect dressing gown, and looking effortless, not like she'd just been woken from sleep.

Your eyes go to the clock on your bedside table. It was past two in the morning, which meant that Ben's father was probably halfway through his second bottle of whiskey.

Probably has it with him.

"Where is y/n?" Ben's father roars through the door so loudly, you flinch.

Ben’s grip tightens on your waist and you turn to look over your shoulder at him. His eyes are wide, and you can see a vulnerability behind the green that strengthens you.

"It’s okay." You whisper to him. Your hand drifts to his arm where it rests around your waist, to soothe him. Ben doesn't remove it. "I'm just gonna go tell him that you're not here."

"Don’t go out there” Ben’s grip is unbreakable.

"It’ll be alright." You breathe.

Ben’s eyes are wide and for a moment you see the little eight year old boy hiding from his father in your fathers study all those years ago.

"No." He shakes his head.

"Ben. It's okay. I'll be right back." You say as you pull yourself reluctantly from his grip and slide out of the bed beside him. When you look back at the bed, Ben is still watching you with wide eyes, his hair mused on one side from sleep, and it takes everything for you not to return back to him.

"I know that son of a bitch is here! He's always here!" Ben's father shouts as you exit your room, the force of his rage no longer muffled against your bedroom door.

"Mom? Dad? What’s wrong?" You rub the sleep from your eyes, looking towards the staircase at the end of the hall where your parents stand in the way of Ben's father.

Each time you see him, you're always reminded of how much Ben looks like him. They have the same green eyes, the same handsome features, the same dark hair. But there are differences- his father always looks worn, his hair slicked back over his head and streaked with gray, his eyes were like two coal black pits that did not hold the warmth that Ben's did, and his father's features, although handsome, made him look cruel, not the same boyish ruggedness that Ben possessed.

"You!" His father snarls, pushing past your parents to stomp up the final stairs towards you. His suit is rumpled and unbuttoned, his usual slicked back hair is hanging in his eyes in long greasy strands, with unshaven cheeks, and he carries a half-full bottle of whiskey. "Where is my bastard of a son?"

"Y/n, go back to bed." Your father says from behind Ben's father, but you ignore him.

“Sir you are unwell. Perhaps you should go home and sleep.” You say keeping your voice as composed as you can. A small shiver of fear travels down your spine, but you shake it away remembering the look in Ben's eyes when he heard his father.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Ben's father snaps, continuing to advance on you, but you hold your ground. "Where is he?"

"He's at boarding school." The lie is immediate.

"You're lying." He takes a long pull from the bottle hanging from his hand. “Get out of my way.”

“No."

The smell of the alcohol on his breath washes across your face causing your nose to wrinkle. His eyes are blazing with the force of his anger, face contorted in rage. By now his father is standing a few feet away from you.

Too close.

"Ben’s not here. And this is my room.” You're clutching the sides of your nightgown so tightly that your fingers are white. The fear that rises in the back of your throat is pushed away by the anger you have towards Ben's father and the need to protect Ben. You'd always protected him the same way he protected you and that meant that you were not going to let his father into your room.

His father raises his free hand to move you away from your door, but your father intervenes. Your father's hand fastens on Ben's dad's wrist. “James. Do not touch my daughter.” Your father says. It was the first time you'd ever seen him sound angry and that scared you a little bit.

It seems to do something to Ben’s father, who takes a step back from the door, eyes burning with rage.

"If you see my son," Ben's father levels his gaze on yours, his eyes soul-less and cold, sending another shiver down your spine. "Tell him that I'm looking for him." He wrenches his hand from your father's grip, stomps down the stairs, and out the door, slamming it so loudly that the picture frames that line the hallway shake.

You release the breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Are you alright?" Your father asks, putting his hand on your shoulder.

Your mother is still watching from the top of the stairs and you can only imagine what she's thinking.

Probably that it's improper for me to be out here in my nightgown.

"Yeah. I'm just gonna- go back to bed." You begin to say, but your father hugs you before you go.

"Tell Ben that he doesn't have to leave." He whispers in your ear before he releases you and gently pushes you towards your bedroom door once more.

"What?" You look up at him with wide eyes, surprised.

How does he always know when Ben is here?

"Go on back to bed." He smiles tightly, but you can see how angry your father is in the tension in his shoulders.

"Okay. Goodnight mother." You say as you open your door.

"Goodnight."

When you close your door behind you, you realize that Ben isn't in bed anymore, he's halfway to the door as if he was going to come out of the room but stopped.

“Ben?" You whisper looking up into his wide eyes. You can see his anger, frustration, and beneath it all, you see genuine fear. You'd never seen Ben afraid before, not since the night you met and it breaks something deep down. But before you can do anything, Ben closes the distance between the two of you and pulls you tight into a hug, pressing his forehead into your shoulder. Warmth explodes wherever you’re touching and it take a great deal of effort for you not to melt.

“Hey. It’s okay.” You whisper, running your fingers through his hair. “He’s not going to come in here. He’s gone.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” His voice is no more than a whisper. “I was going to come out-“

“Yes I did. You’re my friend. And I’m glad you didn’t.” You wonder what his father would have done if Ben came out of your bedroom. Ben’s father never hit him, but it didn’t mean that what he did do was any less okay. Standing here with Ben is enough to make the anger and frustration you felt melt away. You’re not aware of anything else but Ben. The rapid beat of his heart against yours, the breaths he takes, and the way the warmth of his body floods through where you are pressed against one another. 

“I should go-“ He begins to pull away.

“Like hell I’m going to let you go home to be with him. Come on. Let’s go back to bed.”

Ben stands there for a minute. You’d never seen him look so lost.

“Ben?”

He blinks a few times. “Hmm.”

“Come on.” You gently take his hand and lead him to the bed, drawing him back under the covers with you.

Your hands go under his arms and you hold him to you, not caring that you usually didn’t hug in bed. But Ben doesn’t pull away, in fact he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his forehead into your shoulder again.

“It’s okay.” You breathe, moving your fingers back into his hair. Deep down you know that this is different than all the other nights you’ve shared together, that you shouldn’t do this, but you can’t stop. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest and you desperately want him to be okay.

He sighs and tightens his arms around your waist, pushing himself further against you.

“I -um- missed you.” You hear him mutter into your shoulder.

You can't help, but smile, warmth blooming in your heart and making your heart flutter with his confession.

“I missed you too. No one annoys me as much as you do.” 

Ben”s chuckle is soft, but you love how it shakes your body due to your close proximity.

“What did you do to get out of this one?” You ask.

“Fight.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important.” He rumbles.

He doesn’t embellish and you don’t ask him to.

“How’s yours?”

“Boring.”

“Hmm.” He sighs leaning further into you.

You feel yourself begin to drift, the comfort of Ben’s warmth lulling you into a soothing slumber as you fingers stroke through his hair.

And when you wake up, Ben is gone.

*******************************************************

A/N: This was just a little outtake from the story, thought y'all would like it. I can't remember why I never posted it. Maybe because it seemed a little too soon for them to be this fluffy with one another?

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this story let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303 @deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs @bughill126 @simplyfixated @sleepjam @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts @onlyangel-444 @lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan @marvel-mistress @my-obsession-spn @lifeonawhim @soldirboy @liuope @brynanna @carpenterswife @xxannyxx @babyinatrench-coat1 @the-gentle-spirit @valryomen @cassieriddle713 @shaggzthatsnottheworm @lil-soup @ej13928 @topstory21 @boywivlove @mrsjenniferwinchester @vivre-dans-la-nuit @megara0224 @daisy-the-quake @thesilmarillionblog @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @libby99hb @peachhiz @tinydancer40

[lichanicksstuff]

What books would characters from The Hobbit read?

This idea came up to me a while ago, but now I have to share it, so here me out ig:

I think Bilbo would read everything he can get his hands on. But mostly fantasy novels, history books, basically anything that would include a piece of unknown world. I just know that he would love Edgar Allan Poe, Jules Verne and I think he would enjoy Brandon Sanderson's books.

Here's a controversial one, but I think Thorin would mostly read poetry. Especially the Lake Poets. He would read poems about home, love, a warm place where people can feel safe. That's what he wanted, that's why he wanted to regain Erebor. (He would also read romance novels in his free time, but nobody knows about it. Fili and Kili would die twice if they found out. Of laughing and because Thorin would chase them with a knife).

Kili wouldn't read much. He would mostly watch films, but if he once in a while picks up a book it's usually a romance-comedy, or the worst and the most traumatising horror book, a person could ever read. He would recommend them to people by saying "It's a really good book! You will enjoy it!" and then laugh when they come back traumatised. He would like "Ring", "Haunting Adeline" and literally anything by Jane Austen.

Fili would read mostly criminal books or just contemporary fiction. He wouldn't have high expectations for books, but he would complain about every detail if he didn't like one. He would be the type of guy that says "the book was better" after he watched a movie based of a book. Even if he didn't read this particular book, he would say that, just to piss people off.

Porn.

Ori would read contemporary fiction, like Fili, and he would be the victim of Bofur's and Kili's recommendations. Poor guy. He would also read classic romance novels. I have a feeling that he would love Jane Austen's and Bronte sisters' works. I don't know why but it fits. Look at him.

History books and war literature. Do I have to explain myself? This guy would give you an hour long monologue about the emergence of the Balkan countries and you would listen to every word he says. After that he would make you a cup of tea and then asked what books you like to read. And somehow, even if you read a completely different genre, he would recommend you something that you would really enjoy.

Nori's the type of guy who says that he reads everything, even if that's a complete bullshit. He would only read criminal novels (he would have read all of Agatha Christie and killed you if you would say you don't like her work) and sometimes japanese classic literature. And by that I mean Edogawa Ranpo and his "The Human Chair" or "The Hornworm".

I just know that Dwalin would have read "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" like twenty times as a kid. When he was a little older, he tried classic literature, poetry, adventure, sience fiction, war literature, a few romance novels, horror books... He's the true "I read everything" guy. His favourite authors would be Dostoevsky, Karl Adolph Gjellerup (but he wouldn't be a fan of the femme fatale thing) and John Milton.

Cook books.

[jjkamochoso]

The Perfect Fit

Overview: Levi Ackerman begrudgingly finds himself falling in love with the Survey Corps’ seamstress. Will they be able to own up to their feelings for each other? Or is their love doomed to fail before they discover the truths of each other’s hearts? This slow burn reader insert story will be filled with angst, yearning, and a bit of mystery as we slowly unravel the truths behind Y/N’s past… and explore her and Levi’s future!

Chapter 13

Series Masterlist

Chapter 12 linked here

Chapter 14 linked here

Levi Ackerman x female reader

Warnings: kidnapping, violence, mentions of blood, allusions to prostitution and mentions of being in a brothel

This is hopefully long enough to make up for being away for so many months! I hope you guys like where the story is going :) this part’s pretty dark but it’s nothing out of the ordinary for AOT itself! I promise we’ll get to some fluffy goodness soon!!

Where we left off…

You scooted closer to Levi, an uneasy feeling settling over you the further you got away from the safety of the lit up house you were previously in. The houses in the next neighborhood were all but abandoned, no sign of living beings inhabiting the dilapidated buildings surrounding you. Levi took charge, leading you through the shortest route toward the inn you’d be staying at. He was moving so quickly that you grasped the back of his jacket so you didn’t get left behind. In the blink of an eye, he shoved you into a doorway as you spotted the glint of a blade barely miss you; it would’ve sliced your neck if he hadn’t moved so fast. You were stunned by the force of hitting the wooden door but quickly recovered when you saw a group of men with various knives and guns surrounding you and Levi. The latter bared his teeth, gripping a knife he had tucked in his belt, as he began slicing his way through the group, dodging bullets and cutting necks. While they were occupied with Levi, you took the chance to run. You knew of his superhuman strength; there was no way you could match it and you being there would hinder his ability to take them all down. You weaved through streets, the labyrinth of houses becoming more convoluted as you sprinted, but you at least remembered the general direction of the inn. You knew you couldn’t afford to stop moving at top speed but your lungs were ready to give out from exertion. You pulled yourself into a vacated building, panting as quietly as possible. When your heart no longer felt like it was going to burst, you opened the door to make a run for it when all of a sudden, you felt a knife prick the skin on your throat and heard the click of a gun.

“You’re comin’ with us, darling.”

“What do you want from me? I’m just a charity worker,” you pleaded as the man who spoke to you harshly grabbed your upper arm and began dragging you away, the knife now tucked away in his pocket. You hated the idea of being brought to a secondary location because the chances of you being found before something terrible happened were slim to none. You desperately tried to stall as much as you could, hoping they would distract themselves with a monologue to your questions long enough for Levi to catch up to you.

“Charity worker? Yeah, right,” he sneered, making his other, taller buddy snort sarcastically as he holstered the gun that was previously shoved in your back. “We know who you are and what family you’re from. You’re worth a lot of money, you know.”

“Really, you have the wrong girl,” you told them, but unfortunately their intel was too good for you to fool them.

“You’re Y/n L/n, now drop the act. It ain’t cute,” the other man, equally as nasty looking as the first, spoke up.

“Neither are you,” you grumbled under your breath, crinkling your nose in disgust at the dirty men manhandling you. You were feeling braver without them brandishing their weapons.

“Why you little-”

The taller man slapped you across the cheek, the sting rippling across your skin doing nothing but angering you.

“You call that a slap? My grandfather can hit harder than that and he’s been dead for years,” you jeered, the same man snarling at you now. He angrily grabbed the front of your shirt, the ribbon bow adorning your collar falling onto the grimy ground.

“You listen here, girl. The only reason you’re not lying dead in the street right now is because we want the ransom money from your parents. Don’t push your luck.”

As you felt his grip release, a thought struck you. With their weapons hidden away and nobody holding onto you for the brief moment, would it be wise to run? If need be, could you fight your way out of this?

A few months ago…

“Those moves are so cool. I wish I was taught to fight,” you had said to Hange, hanging out with them as they oversaw soldier training.

“Don’t tell me you don’t even know how to throw a punch?” they asked in a half concerned, half curious tone.

“…I don’t,” you answered sheepishly.

“Tch. I’ll teach you,” Levi had said, joining the conversation. “It’s stupid to walk around nowadays without being able to protect yourself.”

And teach you he did. You had met with him every day for a few weeks at the training grounds after hours, showing you how to properly shape your fist and use your body weight to your advantage in a fight. He was a scrappy fighter, quick with his evading movements and even faster on the offensive, and you were eager to learn as much as you could from him, soaking up each tidbit of knowledge he passed along to you.

“I hope you’ll never have to use these skills,” he had said on the last day of your training, “but I’m glad you can defend yourself if needed.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Levi. Thanks for being a great teacher.”

He nodded and turned away from you, the tiniest, satisfied smile resting on his lips.

You prayed to whatever heavenly body decided to listen at that moment that your lessons weren’t in vain. Without a second thought, you punched the man square in the nose with all of your might and immediately started running. You didn’t dare slow down or look back, afraid of what you might see if you did. You were sure that the other guy would be hot on your trail at any second and you couldn’t afford to be in this part of town by yourself any longer. You heard the gravel fly up from underneath your quick feet, crackling as the tiny stones settled behind you. If you could just reach past the next big building in front of you, you’d be closer to the city center and more apt to find help. You couldn’t slow down, had to keep pushing-

You cried out as a searing pain split through your right leg, causing you to stumble. The sound of a gunshot registered in your frenzied brain after you felt the steady stream of blood pour out of your new wound, soaking your sock. You tried to keep running, not wanting to risk getting caught, but to no avail.

“No more runnin’. I won’t say it again or next time I’ll aim for your head.”

The shorter man pushed you to the ground, one hand pointing the gun toward your body, ready to take your life, while the other dug through his pocket.

“Here.” He threw a roll of gauze that landed limp in your lap. “Bandage that and make it quick. I’m not missin’ my chance at money ‘cuz you bled out.”

You angrily obliged, not wanting to risk an infection in your open wound. Surely Levi heard all this commotion; at least the one good thing about being shot was that it could hopefully lead him straight to you. When your leg was wrapped, the bullet having only scraped the side, you were yanked off the ground and kept in a vice grip with the gun shoved into your back as you were forced back into the proximity of the second man.

“I’m gonna kill her!” the tall man shouted, blood still gushing from his nostrils.

“I want to as well but we can’t make another permanent mark on her body. It’ll lower her price.”

Lower my price? You thought. Wouldn’t that make my parents raise the ransom to avoid more harm coming to me? Unless…

Oh no.

“Looks like she finally understood what’s happening here,” the short man laughed as he saw your eyes widened from fear. “Either your parents pay ransom in the next 6 hours or we’re dumping you in the Underground.”

You tried to keep calm, but it was impossible with the very real threat of being sold in the Underground looming over you. Your parents would pay the ransom, they had to. They weren’t so far gone morally as to allow their daughter to be taken by these disgusting creatures. They weren’t corrupt and greedy enough to let you rot in the most horrendous conditions possible. They loved you.

Right?

“Wait, I have money of my own to pay you with. However much you want,” you said, trying to reason with the men who were leading you to your doom. Unfortunately, they either saw through your lie or didn’t care to deal with your bargaining, opting to laugh in your face once more as the entrance to the Underground came into view.

“What happened to waiting for the ransom? Why are we here already?” you asked incredulously.

“We decided to skip a few steps. If we don’t get the ransom money, you’ll already be down there without causing any more trouble.”

The tall man smiled at you devilishly, looking eerily similar to the cold blooded expression of a titan.

“Please, please, I’ll give you anything you want. Just let me go, please!” you begged as the lantern above the entrance to the Underground steps became visible in the dark of the night.

“You have nothin’ we want. You certainly don’t have all that money on you right now and we like our payday instant.”

It was now or never if you were to escape your certain demise. Once you were forced Underground, there was likely no way of anyone finding you.

“No! No! Levi! Help me!” You pulled against the tight grasps on your forearm, hoping to break free, but your injured leg was causing you to be in a weakened state and unable to loosen yourself from your captors. “Anyone, please! I’ve been kidnapped! Help, please!”

Again, the men just chuckled. This was truly evil personified. You’d much rather take on titans than these heartless monsters. By the time you reached the Underground stairs, you were in a frenzied state. Where were the police officers who were supposed to keep you safe? The concerned citizens who had to have heard your yells or the gunshot? Did everyone leave their humanity behind when the sun went down? You screamed and thrashed around, clawing the men and trying to bite them, anything to make them let go of you for even a second, but nothing worked.

“Shut her up or the MPs are gonna catch wind of this and make us give ‘em a cut of the deal,” the guard at the steps said.

“Happy to do so,” smirked the tall kidnapper, giving you a swift punch to the stomach. With the wind knocked out of you, you were rendered speechless as the shorter guy pulled out his knife and sliced a large strip of fabric from the bottom hem of your shirt. While you were trying to catch your breath, the makeshift gag was forced into your mouth. You looked at the guard, wide eyed and trying to convey your distress as well as you could in one last feeble attempt at getting help.

“Sorry,” he shrugged, “money rules everything and I’ve got a good operation going here. Who knows, you make enough down there and maybe you can pay your way up to see me.”

The wink he sent you was the last sight you had above ground before rough hands shoved you into the abyss below.

As you made your reluctant descent, you were reminded why you did your work to help the people who hailed from here. The world under Mitras was an incredible feat, there was no debate about that. However, the condition it was in certainly left much to be desired. The stale, acrid air hit your nostrils and made you want to puke. You never thought a trip down here could get more dismal than your previous ones, but you had never been at night. The city was alive with criminals and creeps galore, hungry eyes and dangerous grins making you cower as you were paraded to a destination unknown. You were being weaved through copious amounts of foot traffic, the Underground citizens seemingly more active at night. Actually, you realized they probably didn’t care if it was day or night since it was about the same amount of light streaming through the cracks—none. With every person you passed, you tried to gain their attention and let out muffled pleads for help, but most didn’t dare to look you in the eye and those who did just sneered at you. You realized you really were alone in this giant city, filling you with a sense of dread and despair you had never known before. You were steered into a dilapidated building, your heart rate quickening at what horrors you would meet inside. You yelped as you were pushed into a small, windowless room, a broken bed with a singular stained sheet as the only furniture.

“Time to see if mommy’s and daddy’s pockets are as deep as they claim,” said the short man.

“Who knows, we might just take the ransom and leave you here anyway. Double the pay,” chimed in the taller one, both men cackling at your misfortune. You untied the gag from your mouth but the men were already long gone before you could scream at them. You decided now would be a good time to figure out exactly where you were so you could start planning your escape. You exited the cramped room, taking in your surroundings. Outside was a long hallway, doorways lining both sides of it with one end being a dead end and the other opening to another bigger room. As you walked down the hallway toward the bigger room, you were hit with a nauseous feeling and it wasn’t just from the lingering smell of uncleanliness. You had been here before, dropping off clothes for the women and the latest unfortunate newborn who was a result of their work.

You were in a brothel.

Emotion swept over you in an instant with the severity of the situation making itself abundantly clear. You slid down in defeat, hugging your knees to your chest as you cried in the empty hallway. You were grateful for the lack of clients coming and going so you could sob in peace. Too enraptured in your own suffering, you didn’t notice someone approaching you until you felt a finger tapping your shoulder. Your head shot up in an instant, afraid of who it might be. Your tensed body immediately relaxed when you were met with a worried face of a kind looking woman. To your surprise, her outfit wasn’t in tatters and her hair looked clean, free from lice; she looked too put together to be employed here.

“Are you alright, my dear?” she asked, looking at your injuries and bleary eyes.

“Not at all,” you confessed, telling her the traumatic events you were experiencing. “I got kidnapped from above and I’m being held for ransom. Not to mention I’m probably getting sold here in a few hours and no offense but I’m not ecstatic about that.”

“I’m so sorry,” she soothed, letting her hand rest on your shoulder to comfort you. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n,” you croaked out, feeling a fresh wave of tears threaten to spill out.

Suddenly, her eyes lit up in recognition. “Wait, I know that name. You work with Mrs. Reimann, don’t you?”

“How… how did you know that?”

“You helped me. Many years ago,” she explained. “You brought clothes for me and my child. Without them, we wouldn’t have made it through the winter. It’s because of you that we survived. We were able to escape and now I work with Mrs. Reimann to pass along that same blessing to others like me.”

You used your last bit of strength to stand up once more, but you had to lean against the wall so you didn’t fall over. You needed medical attention for your leg and it was only going to get worse the longer you were down here in such unsanitary conditions.

“It’s my turn to help you like you helped me,” the mystery woman said, eyeing your weary body. “Tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” you told her sincerely, wondering how you got so lucky. “What’s your name?”

“Mina.”

“Okay, Mina. I need you to find someone for me.”

Levi hated to see you run out from under his watchful eye but it was a smart move on your part to get away from the group of attackers and let him handle it. What he didn’t expect was the two men who broke off from the group early on in the fight. At first he thought they were cowards, scared of meeting their end with his blade. It was too late by the time he realized why they ran and when he finally disposed of the never ending men attacking him, you were gone, leaving no trace but your discarded ribbon on the ground. The gunshot that rang out was a huge red flag to him but your body wasn’t there and the men wouldn’t have had time to dispose of it that quickly, meaning you were alive. Keeping a cool head, Levi wracked his brain thinking of what those men could’ve wanted with you. You never mentioned your background and for all he knew, you could've been from the city. You were aware of the luxury of breakfast in bed which meant you must’ve had a wealthy upbringing. Levi sighed; you were most likely being held for ransom. Were the L/n’s a high profile family? He hadn’t a clue. But he knew someone who did.

Levi ran as fast as he could back to Mrs. Reimann’s, clutching the ribbon in his hand and rubbing the soft texture nervously between his thumb and forefinger. He never expected something like this to happen, especially not with him being your supposed protector. He was upset with himself at letting you get hurt and he was upset at having to be back in this shitty city in the first place. Nothing good ever happens here, whether it be above or below ground. Having you by his side made it less painful to be so close to where most of his worst memories took place, but with you missing, your life in grave danger, he now felt as lost as you were. Slamming open the door to the shelter, Levi surprised the older woman heading up the stairs to get some rest.

"Y/n's missing," he said as plainly as he could, not wanting any emotion to come through his voice. "I need you to tell me if there's people here who want to hurt her."

Mrs. Reimann halted her steps but stayed silent.

"Answer me," he urged, his desperation slowly seeping through. "Tell me about her family. Her upbringing. Everything you know."

The salt and peppered haired woman turned toward him, sadness etching over her features. "I can’t believe they actually went through with it.”

His eyes narrowed, waiting for her to continue.

"She’s been taken for ransom. By who, I don’t know. I heard rumblings but I didn’t think it would actually happen,” she explained, making Levi’s heart pound in his chest in anger. “She comes from a wealthy family and you know how it is—everybody wants their hands on money.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” he seethed.

“Because there’s threats like that for people like her all of the time,” she replied. “I didn’t expect anything to come of it.”

Levi, raging on the inside, pried for more information. “Where do you think they’re holding her?”

“I don’t know. If I were to guess? A place where no one cares about you or your status. Somewhere someone could be easily lost and never found.”

A chill ran down Levi’s spine as he uttered the name of his next destination.

“The Underground.”

Chapter 14

Taglist: @blueeclipsepaperstudent @raginginferno267 @come-away-with-me87

[darksigns-exe]

My Endless Distraction - Nicholas Ruffilo/Noah Sebastian/OFC

Paring: Noah x Nicholas x OFC

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1.1k

Note: Listen I am just the messenger. I can't stop these poly brainworms. If you find punctuation mistakes no you didn't.

Nick finds them on the sofa. He doesn’t get to see them like this often, there’s still something hesitant about Noah. But Nick thinks that it’s less shame and more insecurity. He knows that the younger is still struggling with accepting how he feels. It’s new for all of them, but he knows Noah well enough to know that it might take him a little longer to really come to terms with it.

Noah has his head in her lap and from what he can tell he’s fast asleep. An even rarer sight.

He watches them from the door for a moment. Her hand is carding through his hair, and occasionally her fingers drift across the skin at his temples. It’s such an intimate moment that Nick can hardly convince himself to disrupt them.

She does notice him eventually. She waves him over. Gently as he can manage, Nick manoeuvres himself under Noah’s long limbs. He grumbles a little but otherwise gives little effort to move himself.

“How was your day?” She asks, reaching out of Nick's hand with the one that isn’t tangled into Noah’s hair.

“Busy. Good kind.” He gives her hand a squeeze, “What did you two get up to?”

“We tried to watch Evangelion.” She draws her hand across his cheek, “I don’t think he’s sleeping much at the moment."

Nick has heard the younger roaming around the house in the depths of night for a few nights in a row now. He knows that Noah sometimes struggles with falling asleep, but this is a lot even for him.

They’re silent for a while, and Nick just allows himself to watch Noah and her. Sometimes he thinks that it’s easier for Noah to pretend that he’s just with one of them. It should make him feel bad, but he understands the turmoil that must fill his waking thoughts. He’s been there too, but he had her bounce his fears off of. Noah isn’t as willing to part with his inner monologues.

Speak of the devil the younger stirs and stretches his tired limbs further across Nick's lap.

They’re in suspension for a moment before Noah realises that it’s not just the two of them anymore. He doesn’t immediately remove himself from Nick's lap and instead sinks a little deeper into her embrace.

“When did you come back?”

“Just now.” Nick gives his calf a squeeze, “Didn’t miss much.”

Noah turns onto his back and properly stretches across their bodies. It’s a miracle that he even fits on the sofa, considering how tall he is.

“You two eat yet?”

The smirk that plasters itself across Noah’s face tells him that he’s at least eaten something. Nick smacks his thigh, “Something real.”

She shakes her head before Noah can dig himself even deeper into that hole, “Thought we could order something in?”

Noah finally, albeit reluctantly, sits up but remains pressed to her side as if he’s glued to her. Nick gets it. There are very few places he’d rather be.

They order enough to share among the three of them. Noah’s fork will find its way to their plates anyway, and she’s always adamant that she doesn’t want fries, but always ends up stealing Nicks. And so he orders a bit of everything, even the bits they don’t think about. No one’s going to tell Nick that he isn’t considerate.

She’s perched on the counter in front of Noah when he comes back into the kitchen with the bags.

“I just don’t know why you always assume the worst. I really hope that neither Nick nor I have ever given you the feeling that this isn’t serious.”

He pauses just before the last corner.

“No — it’s not that —" he pauses for a moment, “It’s just — if this goes bad, I don’t just lose one of you.”

“Then we don’t let it go bad.” Nick can almost see the soft expression on her face, “But you need to talk to us for that. This can’t work if we don’t talk to each other. Right, Nick?”

He’s sure the damned woman has some kind of sixth sense.

Noah lets out a laugh at that.

And when Nick rounds that last corner, he finds him with his head dropped to her shoulder, his own still shaking with silent laughter.

"You know that he tries that all the time, right?" Noah says, picking himself up again, "He thinks he's sneaky like that, but you can hear him from a mile away."

Nick wants to protest, but he knows it's true. And truth be told, seeing them gang up on him makes him feel all warm inside.

"Terrible liar too." she digs, throwing him wink "But to get back to it. If we want this to work, and I wholeheartedly want it to work, we need to talk. This hush hush stuff doesn't work." she looks directly at Noah then, who shrinks into himself just a little "I know it's comfortable, but it won't do us any good in the long run."

Nick sets the bags down on the table in the middle of the room.

"I think we can all work on that." he says with his back still turned to the pair of them, "Expectations, limits and all that."

He hears her hop off the counter, "I think we should have had that talk before you ganged up on me like that. Don't get me wrong, that was fun, but --"

"That should have been a conversation." Nick agrees, "Are we good to have that talk now?"

There'll be some uncomfortable things, he's well aware of that, but he'd rather have it out of the way and talked about than shelved for yet another day.

Noah is the first one to give his yes, and she follows shortly after.

And so there's some back and forth over dinner. They agree that it's easiest if Noah stays with them for the time being, he's between places anyway and one commute less can only make things less complicated. Noah doesn't feel quite ready to dive into things with Nick, but he wants to try, and that's enough for him. Things involving her are fine, Nick supposes it's easier for the younger because he's used to girls and everything else is so painfully new. But he's glad that it's not off the table entirely. All in all the conversation is less tense than he'd anticipated, and his shoulders feel, to his surprise, a lot lighter once they return to the living room.

He's sure that he won't remember a bit of whatever they're watching, but it matters little when he gets to spend the evening with the two of them. He's seen all of Evangelion often enough. But every little step they take here is new, and he'd rather watch them than the images that flicker across the screen.

Nick tries not to make it known that he noticed the tattooed hand that slithers up his leg and finds a hesitant home against his calf, out of fear that he'll flee like a spooked bird.

He's trying, he instead repeats in his mind, that's good enough.