#i was too lazy to get up to run it under cold water so i'm just burned now it's okay

[eepybubble]

ahhaaa oww

[peachyloveswriting]

I saw the need for König requests and came RUNNING omg

Idk why but I really would love to see König (or Soap or...any of them tbh) jealous. Ik it's cliche but....I am starving....just a crumb of content ;-; just a little bit of König watching the main character get attention from someone who isn't him and him going feral. I beg 🙏🧎‍♀️🥲

ATTENTION SEEKER --- König

SUMMARY: During a night out on the bar with the boys, König watches Soap get what he feels like is too "touchy". Not feeling very happy he decides to corner you outside, his plan didn't come to fruition however...

CONTENT: Suggestive, panic attack, hurt/comfort, fluff.

NOTES: This went a completely different route than I expected but I'm not changing the cringy ending because I'm lazy

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

You're not part of 141 however you are close friends with Soap, being friends with the Scotsman you often find yourself drinking with him on nights off. It's always a good night when you spend it with him and his team. Drinking with him isn't an issue either, he's respectful, he doesn't make nasty comments, and he takes care of you when you're drunk.

Thankfully you're only buzzed at the moment, you've only had about two or three drinks. Soap's laughing beside you while you babble up a story. His hand rests on your shoulder while he clutches his stomach with the other. You came up to the bar a few hours ago with Soap, his team, and könig, your boyfriend. He hasn't said a word since you got here, he usually doesn't but he would at least have ordered a drink by now yet he hasn't. Pausing your story for a moment you look beside you to see the chair empty. Sad to not see the man there you frown, he must've stepped out for air while you weren't paying attention.

Continuing with your story you begin to feel eyes burning holes in the back of your skull, it's hard to ignore the itch that rolls up your spine while you squirm in your seat. Red hot heat collects at the back of your neck while you drift off into silence. Soap's brow furrows in worry as he looks at you. Putting a hand on your knee and shaking it he pulls you back to the present moment. "You alright? Drinks got you already?" He asks. You shake your head. It's not clear in the moment but you can't shake this feeling. "Need to step outside?" He moves his hand to your fore arm, his body turning to step down from the stool.

"Yeah. I'll be right back just stay in here." Turning to slide down his hold on your arm tightens. He looks at you with worry swimming in his eyes, secretly pleading for you to not go alone. "I'll be fine, Soap." You reassure, brushing his hand from your arm. Giving you a curt nod he turns back to the bar. Able to slip away you press your feet into the floor and begins to make your way outside. Your stomach burn with the weight of a full grown adult, the heat bubbles up your throat in a small burp and you push into the cold air of the night. Your breath leaves you in white puffs as you shiver under the sky. Thankfully this bar isn't too heavily populated, standing alive outside shouldn't be an issue. With no creepy guys around at least, König was usually by your side so people would stay away. His usual body heat at your side freezes your back while you sink into the realization that he's not around. Not common for him to be away from you for so long, especially in public.

Brows furrow with worry and arms crossed over your chest, you look around the edge of the building to see if he stepped off to the side for a breather. "König?" You call into the shadows. The response of cold dripping water answers your call as you settle back into clearing your mind. It's hard to think straight when thoughts of König's whereabouts cloud your mind. Being buzzed apparently doesn't help with that, it only blinds you further as you smother yourself deeper in thought. He could be anywhere, and sure he can handle himself perfectly fine but who can blame you for being worried?

The bell on the entrance to the bar echoes through the night, glancing back for a brief moment you can see a figure begin to step from the threshold. Stepping away from the door and looking away you swallow harshly, your stomach churning with the idea that you probably left him alone inside. He would be worried when he came back from where ever he was. Going back in would mean that feeling crawling back up your spine while trying to have a nice conversation, but staying out meant you could breathe and relax. Torn between the two, it's hard to make you're decision, König shouldn't have to worry about you and wonder where you are but he's not around. Taking in a deep breath warm spreads in your gut, it's fizzles like a shook soda while you bite your lip.

König was too important. Biting the bullet you turn on your heel to move back inside. As you turn, a large figure sends electricity through your chest. Calling out in surprise you step backwards to peer up at the person. His tall stature and body scream familiar to you but your back is shoved against the brick wall before you can meet his eyes. Fear settles in your stomach as he presses against you, it's then that the smell of König's cologne hits you.

"König what are you doing?" You ask as you crane your neck up to look at him towering above you. The light casts shadows on his eyes making them look icy and cold as they stare down at you. "He should learn you are mine." His voice is damn near a growl as he rests his hands on your hips and pulls you to the side of the building. Dazed, you press your palms to his chest pushing his body away from yours. Suddenly the air is no longer cold around you, it's smothering, the heat taking you whole. "What are you talking about?" The fizz in your gut has exploded, turning your mind into a jumbled mess. "Soap having his hands all over you." His hands are slipping up your shirt while your press the back of your head against the wall. Clenching your eyes shut and shaking your head you push him away.

"Stop, I can't breathe..." A tight phantom grip holds your neck, involuntary tears form in the corners of your eyes and you lift a hand to fan them off. The quickening breaths in your chest become increasingly hard to take the more you gasp for air. Your heart clenching and unclenching in your chest brings with it small jolts of pain making you seize. "Oh god..." You choke out as you rub your neck.

Two hands grab your shoulders to pull you away from the wall, the cold replaces their warmth momentarily before a coat is draped over you. "Breathe." König says. You nod feverishly, your hands gripping the edge of the coat with an incredulous force. "Breathe in, hold" Swallowing thickly you suck in a slow steady breath and let the air swim around your lungs. "Okay now breathe out..." Tightness firms and loosens as you release your breath, your hands go blindly searching for a hand to grasp desperate for something to hold onto.

Your cold searching hands find purchase in König's hands, a light reassuring squeeze letting you know he's there. Looking at you, he can feel his stomach churns unevenly. If he hadn't of pounced on you like that you wouldn't be like this right now, at least that's what he thought. He's not exactly wrong, if he'd been softer, the situation would be different. Watching you blink up at him with teary eyes makes his heart throb in pain, his biggest fear has just come to life: hurting you.

"I'm so sorry." He states. His hands gently squeeze and loosen against yours while he looks down at you, eyes soft with worry and brows furrowed with concern. "I did not mean to cause this." He's almost whispering at this point. You rock forward on the balls of your feet. "I'm just buzzed baby, you scared me is all." Even though you actively admit to his aggression not being the issue he still looks away nervously. His handa pull from yours to pull the coat around you tighter. "I was already freaked out before you did that." You state.

His head cocks to the side. "Why?" Giving a gentle smile and slipping your arms into the sleeves, you wipe your eyes. "I didn't know where you were, got worried." You explain. "But now I'm confused, why does Soap need to know I'm your's?"

A red shade tints his face while he shifts his weight, his hand fiddles with the belt buckle of his belt. "He was getting all handsy with you..." His voice trails off before that cold look glazes over his eyes and they meet your gaze. "...I did not like that." Hearing his voice drop to an octave you didn't know it could makes a you shudder. "Baby you know he's just a friend." Your hands rub up and down his forearms to console him, he seems unaffected by this and huffs in frustration.

"I did not like it." There's emphasis on every word, venom bleeding through his lips. "But I did not mean to make you cry in the process of showing you." His gaze stays cold, locking you beneath him. König's emotions are out of left field and it feels like he's walking on thin ice. It's clear the alcohol has had an effect of him, but you didn't expect it to be this. *It's okay-" he interrupts you. "Not him touching you like that." Frustration lingers in his throat, burning like the alcohol swimming in his stomach. This feeling of jealousy latches onto his chest like a stack of weights keeping him in place, he can't breathe without it consuming his racing thoughts.

"I really, really, want to show you how much better than him I can be," - subconsciously stepping closer to you, he starts pushing back against the wall - "I just want to make sure he knows...what belongs to me."

"König, I am completely yours and no one else's. You don't have to show anyone that and I can swear by it." In his state of mind it feels like your words are hitting a brick wall, you know what's coming and you're excited but mentally, you're unprepared. "I get that you love me, and you're jealous because of him but I want to do this at a more personal time. I hope you understand."

He pauses just inches away from you, his hand slipping into his pocket. "That is okay. I just want you to do this one thing for me." His eyes plead for you to let him have this one thing, to allow him at least some peace of mind and you can't ignore it. The way they bore into your soul with burning love and guilt. "Yes baby, anything." You weren't really thinking when you said it and you weren't ready for what came next.

When that velvet box came out of his pocket, your heart dropped. Looking down at it and up at you, he opened it to present a small silver ring with the word promise written on the outside of it's width. "I was planning to do this some other time but I want to secure it now. I want you to promise me that one day we will get married and that you'll stay mine until that moment comes. I want this to be how others know, because I don't want to do anything sexual for the reason of jealousy. If I can't show them that way then I'd rather make it as official as possible." He says. His hands tremble and his heart beats rapidly in his chest. For a moment you thought the question was going to be popped. You're thankful this wasn't it but that it was a guarantee of what's to come. His hearts in the right place, even though his mind isn't.

Smiling, you grab his shaking hands and steady them. "Thank you for respecting my wishes and not doing what I'm uncomfortable with...but this, I didn't even think that this was- I- yes. I promise." Swallowing the urge to cry you pull him into a hug, your arms pulling him flush against you while you hide away in his chest. Happy, König wraps his arms around you a smile plastered on his drunken face while he rocks you back and forth. "I am sorry for getting like that." Pulling away and grabbing your hand he slips the ring onto your finger and pulls it to his lips. "I truely am." Pressing a kiss into the ring he softly lets your hand go.

"I know Baby." Cupping his face in your hands you smile up at him. "Are you ready to go?" You ask. He nods, bringing a smile to your face. "This was irrational of me, save me the embarrassment."

You chuckle before pulling his face down to press a small kiss on his cheek. "It's okay. We're drunk, let's just forget that ever happened."

[momojedi]

final fight crosshair x gn reader

summary: after a yearlong cat and mouse game, you finally fix the trooper who murdered your master at the end of the wars and you're not planning on leaving until you get your revenge

⤷ tlou reference who

word count:

warnings: angst, violence, death threats, grief, out-of-control grief, injury, lazy writing ig

"I can't let you leave."

Crosshair stopped in his tracks, frozen on the spot when he heard you gasp out the words, raspy voice cracking. For a second he thought he'd taken one too many hits or that maybe his surroundings were playing tricks on his ears but as he heard your heavy breathing behind him, he knew you were dead set. It was almost impressive. He hadn't expected you to put up that much of a fight, not in your current condition anyways.

Just like him you were soaked from the heavy rain and the icy knee-deep stream you were standing in. Blood clung to your clothing and seeped from the fresh cuts. Various bruises littered your skin from the countless blows you had already taken that night. Still, you remained determined as you glared daggers into the back of his skull.

Crosshair took a shallow breath as he fished his floating helmet out of the water. "I'm not doing this." Silence. Suddenly a quick yet forceful kick in his back threw him off balance and into the cold water with a rough splash. You loomed over him with a distant expression, fixing him so much hatred, it sent chills down his back. "No," he hissed through clattering teeth, "no, I'm not going to fight you."

Your brows furrowed and with quick steps you shuffled to the girl unconsciously laying on the rock piercing the water's surface, grabbing her limp body by the scruff of her neck and igniting your lightsaber. As you held the blade by her neck, Crosshair's eyes widened. Instead of the once familiar blue glow, the light was replaced by a dangerous red glint, complimenting the crazed gold colour your eyes had taken on over the years. He didn't know much about the Force or how it truly worked but as he felt your gaze pin him so intensely, he knew that the gentle Padawan he remembered you as had long succumbed to the grief-driven maniac that now stood before him. "Yes, you will."

"She's not part of this," he slowly spoke but you remained in your position, eyes narrowing at him as you watched him move in the water. Tightening your grip around the girl, you spat at him. “You made her part of this.”

Crosshair’s hand slipped on the seaweed enveloped pebble ground underwater as he turned to look at you. Hesitantly, he inspected you. Was there any other way out? No. No, there wasn’t. “Okay,” he spoke under his breath as he stood up, “okay.”

With a scoff, you retracted the blade and let go of the girl, leaving her to slump back over the rock. For a second, you stood there, scanning him wordlessly as he gathered himself. Your features softened looking over his broken form and maybe, in a different universe, this might have been the point of change, of return.

But not in this universe.

Flashes of screaming, blasters firing and blood passed before your inner eye, images of the very trooper before you firing at your master and the salty tears burning in your eyes as you watched helplessly. You snapped back into reality—and charged.

Landing on top of him in the splashing water, you roughly pinned him down and landed blow after blow as you abused the element of surprise. Crosshair quickly caught up, spitting out the blood that started to gather in his mouth and pushed forward, effectively taking over as you rolled off in time.

As soon as he caught his breath, Crosshair stood up and stumbled over to you, throwing a punch in your direction and hitting you straight in the jaw. An iron taste began spreading on your tongue but before you could spit it out, another punch landed on your nose, leaving the red fluid freely running from it. You ducked away as another flew at you before Force shoving him off. Crosshair landed with a loud splash in the water. Using the opportunity, you fell to your knees and straddled his waist, gripping his neck and holding his head underwater.

—

“He seems like a nice man.”

You flinched as your master chimed behind you, hands clasped behind his back as he approached you.

You hadn’t realised he’d taken notice of you gazing at the clone sniper dreamily from a distance, completely abandoning your task of overseeing the cargo embarkation for the next mission ahead. With a smile, you shook your head. “He’s not — he’s not nice.”

Your feelings for Crosshair were an open secret between you and your master. Despite being seen as somewhat unethical and frowned upon by the order, your master had seemingly always encouraged your romantic interests. Upon asking him about it a few years back, he had grinned at you. “Because holding back your feelings will wind up causing more harm than learning openly from them.”

Since your initial meeting, since the day he had taken you as his padawan, your master had held you close and taught you the way of the Force not without teaching you of choosing your own paths. He felt that letting one shape their own ways would make better than to force them down another. You held his views close.

“He is to you,” your master replied, turning his head to follow your gaze, “I’ve seen how he looks at you. I think he fancies you just as much.” With an eye roll, you glance back at the sniper who, to your surprise, now met your eyes with his piercing one. Cheeks flushing, you clear your throat and raise your datapad in front of your face.

“Where’s our next mission again?” You squeak behind the object, trying to change the topic. Your master laughs warmly. “It’s on Kaller.”

—

You let go.

Barely even processing Crosshair sitting up with a tight gasp, coughing up the water that had been filling up his lungs, you felt hot, sticky tears following the blood flowing down your cheeks. Sitting back, you tried to roughly rub the blood and sweat of your face, tried to rub all those nasty feelings away. Then a sob broke through you. You looked up beneath tearful lashes as Crosshair stood up, holding his now broken arm to his chest. Blood dyed the water a deep shade of crimson.

That was you. You did that.

“Just…,” you bit through gritted teeth, “just take them.” You whispered hoarsely, voice cracking from the crying as you didn’t really know who you meant.

[starcrossedreaders]

Hi! hello! I'm new to the RE fandom and let me say that, i fell in love with Leon (RE2 and RE4), and my god, i can't stop thinking about him!

So... if you can, can you do a little story where reader loves to roller skate, and tries to teach Leon how to do it and both have a clumsy-cute-fluffy day.

(actually i'm trying to learn how to roller skate. It's acceptable too the other way around, Leon teaches reader, idk, i just thought is just a cute thing to do)

Thank you for read!

Authors Note: This is so so cute, so thank you for requesting it. I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings! None! Just cavity-inducing fluff Re4 Leon.

"Come on Leonnn, it will be fun, trust me,"

"You know I don't skate,"

"Baby, you are literally the top government hero of the world, I think you can handle roller skating," The attitude dripped from your voice as you gave Leon a 'seriously' look.

"Besides, it's my turn to pick what our next date is and I want to go roller skating," If looks could kill you would probably be deceased right now. Leon loved you to literal pieces but sometimes, on very rare occasions you can push his buttons; this was one of those occasions.

It was Friday night and you and Leon had just finished the movie he had put on. It's been a long week so the movies and cuddles were something you guys really needed. It was a normal routine you guys had established at the beginning of your relationship. Friday night you guys stay in, Saturday night was date night. You guys often alternated between who picks what you guys do, and you had just happened to luck out this weekend.

"Fine." He crossed his arms in defeat while you excitedly jumped around him.

"Oh my gosh, this is going to be so fun,"

"Whatever, I get to choose dinner then," You stopped your fit of excitement and looked at your boyfriend. His blue irises looked right back at you and for a few heartbeats, you guys stared each other down.

"Okay," you shrugged your shoulders and skipped off to your shared room. Leon could only scoff and shake his head.

The next morning you guys spent in bed sharing lazy kisses and quiet 'I love you's till you finally wiggled out of Leon's arms to get ready. His protests fell on deaf ears as you skipped to the bathroom.

Leon couldn't believe what you did to him. Never in a million years would he think he would find himself still in bed on a Saturday morning listening to you dance around in the shower singing along to the playlist he made for you when you first started dating. Just the thought of a future with you had him smiling as he rolled on his back to look at his phone. He mindlessly scrolled through past pictures of you guys on previous dates and his heart fluttered.

You had always made a point to take at least one picture together on every date you guys did. The last date you guys went on was a hike. Despite the rough terrain, the hot sun beating down on you guys, and the sweat running down your brow you still looked like the most beautiful thing in the world to him. Your face was red which contradicted the blue lens sunglasses that shielded your eyes. Your baby hairs stuck to your head as your cheek was pressed up against his. Your smile brightened up the whole picture, the mountains in the background could never compare. He took one last look at the picture and remained himself to print and hang the most recent picture.

The water came to a sudden stop and the music became louder. Leon could hear you humming to the song as you stepped out of the shower. Upon opening the bathroom door hot steam pilled into the cold room and you stepped out with a towel wrapped around your body and a similar one on your head. Leon had to hold back the urge to take you right then and there. He groaned and covered his eyes with his arm.

"Please change fast, I don't think I can hold back when you look like that,"

You could only snort as your waddled to the closet, "Perv,"

You heard Leon mumble 'meanie' under his breath as he rolled on his stomach to get a better look at you.

"What should I wear? A dress? Jeans? Leggings?," You look back at Leon in hopes he would help you out His arms were tucked under his pillow showing off his defined shoulder blades.

Leon mumbled into the pillow," Hmm, what about those jeans I just bought you,"

"OH!, That's a good idea, I love you,"

"Love you more."

After taking your sweet sweet time getting ready Leon was finally getting out of bed to get ready. You could tell he was trying to delay the enviable. While you were doing your finishing touches and your make-up Leon was brushing through his hair. The shirt he had on squeezed his arms in just the right way, and the Jeans he had on curved his ass, which you were secretly jealous of. Putting your mascara down you turn to look at him.

"Are you ready to go love?"

"Of course baby."

Leon grabbed his jacket and keys as you walked out of the house. He triple-checked that the door was locked before he lightly jogged over to you so he can open the door for you. On the ride there his hand stayed on your thigh rubbing soft circles while you serenaded Leon with your singing.

Upon arriving at the roller skating rink the harsh A/C hit your body. The lights were dimmed down while LED light shone around the area. Leon gripped your hand tighter as he heard a little kid scream out a laugh. The smell of greasy food danced in the air the further you guys walked in. Walking up the shoe counter Leon did most of the talking, and paying, like the gentlemen he is.

Sitting down on a bench you had cringed at the worn-down roller skates while lacing them up. Leon had yet to move to put them on, the look on his face said it all: I'm fucked.

Turning towards him you placed your hand on his thigh, "What's wrong love? Does roller skating scare you that much? If you want we can le-,"

"NO-no, you wanted to roller skate so we're going to roller skate, it's just.... I don't know how..."

"You don't know how to...skate?" You could barely see the light pink dust on his cheeks as he slightly shakes his hand.

You laugh a little, "Baby, that's okay, I'll teach you how. Don't worry is easy,"

"....Are you sure...?"

"I'm super sure love, Besides if you fall while holding onto me I'll be going right down with you so you won't be the only one falling," The beaming smile you gave him lit up the whole room.

"Tch, yea right," Leon bent down to put on his skates. After he tied his last knot you stood up and pushed yourself to curve in front of him.

"Kind Sir," You placed your hand out and bowed your head a little. Leon shook his head a little as he place his hand in yours.

Leon tripped a little when you helped walk him to the rink. When he placed his first skate down his skate rolled back and forth a little as he lost his balance. You were quick to lead his other hand to your shoulder to help him make the step-down.

"There you go, that's the hardest part I promise,"

Leon mumbled a 'whatever' as he slowly took his hand off of your shoulder.

"When you skate it's almost like walking, but instead of lifting your foot up and down, you are going to push your foot. Watch," You let go of Leon's hand and showed him the pushing motion.

Leon was amazed at how well you did this, you glided along with no problems, and you looked....graceful doing it. You circled around him and by the time you did your second lap, you skated backward to face him again.

"See? Easy enough, now it's your turn," Your curved to be on his left side.

"Want to hold my hand," You offered your hand to his. Leon was embarrassingly quick to grab it before you started to skate.

You guys started off extremely slow pushing one foot in front of the other. Leon was really struggling to keep his balance, the grip on your hand was starting to hurt the further you guys moved. The kids around you guys were putting Leon on edge. How are children better at this than him? He is literally a government agent, he had saved the president's daughter, and he can easily skate in a circle. His grip on your hand lightens up and his pace fastened.

"Okay baby, I see you," You laugh a little as Leon skated in front of you.

Your laughter squeezed Leon's heart. Looking back at you he could see your beaming smile as you sway to the music that was being played. He was memorized, the most beautiful girl in this building was his girl.

Being too engrossed in his thoughts Leon didn't notice the slight curve, and you had been too late to call out to him, "Leon watch o-" Taking the curve straight on he was too late to turn his body, and when he did he turn it was to fast and he lost his balance and fell.

You really had to try hard to not laugh your ass off. You were quick to skate over to his fallen body.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" A snort fell past your lips.

Leon was sitting down with his legs sticking straight out to form a 'V'. His head fell down to look at his hands that lay on the floor. His bottom lip stuck out a little as he small pout adorned his face.

"Poor baby," you moved over to his right side and crouched down to move the hair out of his face.

"Are you okay?" He shook his head slightly side-to-side

"mmhm," The pouting was too cute to take him seriously. You just had to take a moment to capture his cute face.

It's very rare to see Leon pout because if he pouts it's into your chest or neck. You were quick to pull out your phone and pull up your camera. You stretched your arm so you and Leon could fit into the frame. You tried to copy his pouting face by pushing your bottom lip out with puppy eyes. You clicked the button at least three times before Leon lifted his head up.

"Did you just...?"

"Nope, let's go get dinner I'm hungry,"

Clearly, Leon didn't believe you but he couldn't care less. Because in a few years, he would look back at the picture and laugh as he remembers this moment.

"Whatever you say....Can you help me get up?" Your laugh danced throughout the room as you stood up and shook your head.

"Of course, you big baby."

[cumsockwoundpack]

LAST SEMESTER: CH.3

T4T BOYDYKE GIRLYAOI SO SELF-INDULGENT IT'LL BLIND YOU

ch1 ch2

Lo, "a beer and a dart" turns into two beers per hour, chainsmoking between acrid cigarette makeout sessions, deciding to take tomorrow off work, smoking a bowl or two, and a couple rounds taking turns giving lazy head, the last of which is capped off by both of you drifting to sleep together.

Upon waking with your face nuzzled to his chest (rising, falling, his heart thrumming, all steadfastly soothing as a gently swaying redwood, rising, falling) you take a deep breath. With the windows closed and your nose pressed halfway into the pocket of his shoulder, the humid, cloying blend of blood, sweat, stale sex, and cigarette-ash hedonism coats your sinuses like treacle. You remember that you both still have yet to shower.

You peel your cheek away from his collarbone and take a breath of the closest thing to "fresh air" you've had in the last 8 hours. The rest of the room is still saturated with the postbacchanal miasma, and unfortunately, the unbidden flow of air does nothing but increase the acuity of your sense of smell.

You're unsure how much of the head rush you're currently experiencing is due to oxygen deprivation as opposed to the condensed sensory summary of last night's deviancy getting you so fucking hot and bothered that you revert to an earlier stage of human evolution.

Shaky-legged, you get up to let the cold air in. Getting the window up proves to be an endeavor, with the Landlord Special offwhite paint welding the pane to the sill, and every actin-myosin filament in your right shoulder softly wincing with the memory of their teeth every time you exert yourself. Despite this, you succeed and make it once again possible to walk, rather than swim, the rest of the way to the shower. Even when intentionally and tactically lukewarm, the water running down your back lightly sears your nerves as it contacts fresh scratches, gouges, hand-carved canyons. For the first couple seconds, the water is tinged pink.

He, nude, visibly only half-awake, opens the bathroom door abruptly without knocking, and looks at you. You are covered in blood, scared, and look like a dog that got left in the rain. He seems to finally remember he possesses a right hand, which he brings up to his eyes, sees your blood caked under his fingernails. They stand stock-straight, the full memory of last night (you can read his mind through his eye, he's recalling your face when he found himself grinding on your leg and whining) slamming into his cerebellum like an atom bomb.

"Do you usually get that hard from looking at me?"

You look down.

Fuck.

Eyes back up.

Now he's in the shower with you.

"Turn around."

Tense as hell but without missing a beat, you shuffle a quick little 180. You stare intently at the tiling, black and white checkerboarded. Stylish. Your fists are clenched hard enough to make diamonds.

"Relax! Relax," he says, opening a bottle of conditioner and lathering it between his hands. Conditioner? His buzzcut's like a centimeter long, why do they even own - your train of thought derails (killing hundreds) as the gruff dyke tenderly brushes his hands through your hair.

You let out a sigh that emanates from somewhere deep in your core as rictus tension abates into a sort of pleasantly giddy anxiety.

"I take it you don't regret last night?," you say as he massages the conditioner into your hopelessly fried and split ends.

"God, no. I'm starting to realize I've wanted you this whole time," he says, nibbling your ear and sending something unholy up your spine.

"I've been thinking something similar. Although...,"

"Hm?,"

"I worry - oo, little bit gentler please—" "Mhm."

"—about this somehow being a bridge too far. I'm petrified that this passion, this tension, this novelty is gonna fade after a month or two and that a four year friendship that could have gone on for fifty years falls victim to the three month rule."

"It won't. If it does, I think we can still work things out. I trust you," he says.

"I trust you so much it scares me. Ooh, that's nice, can you actually scratch my scalp a little, right where your hand is, ohhhh yeaahhhh... hell yeah. Hell yeah," you say, pushing your head against his hands.

"You'd make a cute dog," he says. You're unsure if he knows the kinds of buttons that just pushed.

Who the fuck are you kidding, he knows. Of course he knows!

You shiver.

When he finishes working the conditioner into your hair, you reach for the soap. He playfully smacks your hand away from it and grabs it himself, lathers it, and wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling your back against his chest. He's ever so slightly taller than you and he knows it, pecking little kisses into your shoulders and neck as he caresses and cleanses you. His guitar-calloused fingertips strike sparks off your skin as they trace along your ribs. One hand settles on your chest and idly gropes your tits, using your nipples as buttons on a soundboard (pathetic little gasps and hitched breaths, you can feel your dick twitch every time. you're sure he can see as well, which only makes your head fuzzier) while the other hand wanders down to your waist, around your hips, right to the crease between hip and thigh, clutching you firmly to him.

He's so warm. Chiselled where it counts, but still tender in all the right places. He flows like water around you, his breathing getting huskier every time he feels your chest rise and fall. You whine, involuntary, arching your back and grinding into him as his hands get closer and closer to your crotch.

"Oh, you're gorgeous," he coos into your ear, "And so needy."

"Please touch me."

"No. Gotta clean you properly first."

He roughly licks the bruise on your shoulder, tongue buttressed by lower jaw to add deep-tissue pressure as he pinches your nipple with his nails and twists. It's unrelenting, soul shaking, all-consuming, like tattoo needle on bone, issuing a free flow of precum out of you.

"Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckpleasestop, please, please stop, PLEASE," you whine, frantic, your hands flailing behind you to try and find some purchase on his (smooth and soap-slick, urggh,) skin.

He pauses.

"Was that a 'Red' I heard?"

A moment of recognition. Your hands go limp.

"...Green."

"Good girl," he says, finally taking hold of you, peeling back the foreskin, lazily running the pad of their thumb along the flared head, and gently wrapping his free hand around your throat.

"hhHhaahhnnnn~," ...Oh, dear, that's embarrassing, mutters some far-off fragment of your psyche, clamping your hands over your mouth for you, though (through interlaced fingers) you still let out sounds like distressed livestock, writhing in his grasp as he starts stroking you properly.

"Aww, c'monnn, doll," the hand around your neck pries your fingers from your mouth (they go back to holding onto him for dear life) and a thumb works its way between your teeth, their voice in your ear a steady flow of spiced honey, "Sing for me, love."

"mmmmffffffffffuck, fuck, oh, fuck, Ted, fuck, fuck!"

The rope of your psyche ties in knots. You are utterly scrambled. Through the sea of sensation and – "God, oh damn, fuck! It's so much!" – dopamine flow, a sickly, keening, ravenous tension starts building inside you. Your knees grow weak, your babble gets rapidfire and less and less intelligible, "fuck" becomes "fuhhgghh" becomes high-pitched grunts until your eyes go wide and...

"Oh, fuck, I'm close, I'm close, I'm gonna-"

He stops. You writhe. You keen like a steel chair scraping linoleum. You teeter on the edge, feeling like your soul's throat's getting garotted with piano wire, like the grape-skin membrane around your psyche is about to yield and snap under teeth, his thumb keeping your jaw wrenched open.

"Don't do it. Don't fucking cum."

You just barely hold on, the precisely-built tension somewhere behind the base of your dick slowly uncoiling as you moan and roll your hips, shaking a little ass as you grind back into him.

He's in your ear again, any pretense of restraint on your part melting away every time his teeth use your cartilage to elicit a pathetic, animal grunt of pain from somewhere in your throat.

"Did you cum?," he purrs.

"No, sir."

He keeps his hand pressed where thigh meets hip, your earlobe pinched between his canines, and his thumb practically down your throat as his voice curtly and gruffly slips two words through your eardrum and directly into the hypothalamus like a well-placed morphine needle, causing you to squeeze your legs together and arch your back like you're getting electrocuted. You almost don't actually register the semiotic content of the phrase itself through the vision-blurring white-hot static hit of pleasure that washes over you with their utterance.

After the flashbang's gone off, you consciously register that he called you, quote, "Good Boy," and your eyes unfocus again as your brain almost leaks out of your dick.

You decide to put off processing exactly how significantly that might affect your gender presentation in favor of focusing on the hand on your right cumgutter tracing a path around your outer thigh and palming a nice fistful of ass - ("God, who gave you all this?") - before getting to your tailbone and drawing a line directly downward. Feeling his soap-slick fingers parting your ass and teasing your hole, your knees grow ever weaker and your wordless, mindless pleas grow ever louder. A thought crystallizes in your addled mind and fights its way out of your throat before you can think to stop it.

"Please, Sir, fuck me. For the love of God."

"Good boy. Get out."

"Huh?," you say, your head fuzzy.

"Get out of the shower and–"

"PLEASE!", you snap, louder than intended, your desperation having reached a head as you interpret this as a sign of further denial, then, more softly,

"Please. You've toyed with me so fucking much," looking into his soft brown irises with doe eyes that you know could topple nations.

"Adorable. I'm not railing you in this studio apartment bathroom's clawfoot tub though, dipshit. One of us doesn't have healthcare."

"Oh. Mmh. Right." you say.

He turns off the water, motions for you to step out of the shower, and you do so readily. If you weren't still slightly afflicted by the combination of obligatory butch chivalry, Catholic guilt, and the urge toward canine displays of submission causing you to avert your gaze and stare intently at the bathroom door, you would have taken the time to really drink up the view of his lithe form, the way the lingering dampness makes his leg hair cling to calf, the droplet-flow of water from shoulders to waist to cumgutters to bush to the reflection of the divine between his surprisingly plush thighs as he steps out onto the bathmat.

But, alas, this courtesy was your downfall, as you had no way to react to him swiftly grabbing both your arms, passing your right wrist into his left hand to pin both arms behind your back over the course of about half a second. He leverages this grip, his right hand in your hair, and his knee pressing uncomfortably (nigh-bruisingly) into the backs of your thighs to wrench you into a wretched, back-arched posture and march you to the bed. Once there, he kicks your feet out from under you and you both catch a moment of lurching airtime as you realize he is fucking bodyslamming you (!!!!!!!!!!!) into the bed, facedown, pushing your face into the pillow to followthrough. He's straddling you now, and he releases your hands, which you wouldn't fucking DARE move. He brings his left hand to your mouth.

"Spit."

You oblige. The saliva draws a momentary string between your lips and the butch's hand, only separating when they rub their fingers together to distribute the spit.

"Again."

You whine, then oblige once more before he can chastise you.

"Good boy," he grunts.

"rrrRruff," you bark.

You bark?

"Did you just bark?" he says.

Yes, you did.

You decide to shut up.

You can almost hear him cock an eyebrow behind you in the silence before he re-asserts his grip on your hair and his calloused-but-spit-slicked thumb starts rubbing lazy circles into the clenched ring, opening the valve on a long, low, breathy yowl that had been building pressure on your throat since you were embarrassed into silence.

"So cute. So fucking adorable," he mumbles. You feel his thumb press a little harder, you clench unthinkingly, your desperation audible and breathy. Seeing you unravelled before him like this has softened something in Ted's soul, his words taking on a soft, molten, sickly-sweet timbre that places you utterly at his mercy.

"So tight. So cute. Fuck. Breathe, baby. Relax. Good boy, good boy. You worry so much, just breathe. Goooood...." - he redoubles his efforts, the tip of his thumb finally breaching the surface, "...boy! Good boy."

It's awe-inspiring. He's inside you, prying you apart with his thumb, centimeter by centimeter, knuckle by knuckle, you swear you can almost feel each individual ridge on the pad of his thumb as he grinds it inexorably deeper, running the fingers of his free hand through your hair and caressing your jaw.

You can feel him fucking dripping between the firm padding of his asscheeks pinning you to the bed by the lumbar spine.

"Ssssso.... fucking.... tight..," he coos breathily, finally reaching the point where even he is audibly struggling to keep composure as his thumb bottoms out inside you. This is not a problem for him for long, however, because when you feel him zero in on your prostate, your dick starts leaking like a sieve and you burst into tears, whimpering and bucking into the sheets.

You feel him grinding on your back, his free hand now clamped around your lower jaw, his thumb wrenching your mouth open. You can't keep your voice down. You sound like you're trying not to drown as he uses two fingers (the middle two out of the four not yet inside you, precisely) to press down on your taint externally, crushing your prostate from both sides.

It feels like you're getting fucking tazed. You'd know. You start shuddering and gasping for air, twitching, muscles (that you didn't know you had!) tensing to what feels like the point of snapping. Your salivary glands are working overtime and choking you on your own drool occasionally. Everything goes a little bit grey and fuzzy. There's pressure building. Oh god.

You peel his hand from your face and out of your mouth.

"Can I please cum?"

"Good manners. Cum."

He wraps the hand back around your throat and squeezes. Three perfunctory, businesslike jabs at your bitch button and dopamine hits your brain like a sledgehammer as your whole body goes limp under him.

"So pathetic!," he says, voice tinged with joy, his choking hand loosening, and his thumb... still going full strength, oh god, oh god, oh, God, you hear your wails reverberating off the unfurnished walls, filling the room, overflowing and leaking out through the door, fuck, are you still cumming? Oh, oh god,

"Fuck, it's too much! I can't fucking take it!"

"Aw, don't you wanna be a good boy? For me?"

"Please, please stop, please, i think i'm still cumming, fuck, stop, nonononono-"

He leans right down next to your ear.

"I love you," he growls.

"Oh god! I, I- Oh, I fffhgg-"

"Good boy. Cum. Again. "

You remember him biting down on your ear and grinding his thumb into your hole one more time right before you black out.

[ten-shi-fandoms]

"Why is it still raining..."

___________________________________

CW: Wally Darling x Reader, Sad!Reader, based on ''Rain'' by Jack Stauber, minor kissing (on hands), Soft!Wally, angst to fluff

Authors note; sorry this sucks and is short and vwry cringey it's like 3 am where i live, i'm also sorry for not posting in a long time. I'll be posting again soon, and i'm doing Spider-Man/Spider-Verse stuff too :)

__________________________________

Soft rain could be heard all around the neighborhood as the clouds weep. The sounds of the soft droplets against items was clear, it wasn't hard to head such rapid sounds. To most in the neighborhood they enjoyed the rain. Barnaby and Wally sat drinking juice in their raincoats, Julie and Sally danced in the puddle, Frank spoke with Eddie under a umbrella, even Poppy and Howdy were hanging around his shop listening to the lovely sounds of the weeping skies. Yet, there was one person who stood in a mix of sadness and shock. (Y/N), (Y/N) (L/N).

(H/c) hair stuck to (s/c) skin, the wet strands moving ever so slightly in the cold wind. (E/c) eyes stared dully at the sky, water running down their body forcing their clothes to stick to their skin. As the water ran down (s/c) skin they moved a bit under a tree to get away from the rain yet somehow the water seemed to keep pouring down on their body.

"Why.. Why is it still raining.. I did everything i was suppose too, that's not fair.." their voice soft as they kept looking up at the weeping sky. While the (h/c) haired individual stared at the sky, Wally had noticed their disappearance from his side. His head turned, lazy, half lidded eyes travelling along his friends before locking on the wet individual standing under a tree.

Wally stood up excusing himself from Barnaby, placing his glass of juice down as he made his way over to his partner. Small hands gently reached out grabbing onto (Y/N)'s hand causing them to look down at him. Their eyes softened as they stared at him.

"Wally..'' (Y/N) mumbled, their voice almost completely muffled by the sound of the rain. Wally's half-lidded eyes softening as he pulled their hand up closer to his lips pressing his lips against their skin.

"It's okay, I love you (Y/N)" wally smiled a bit against their hand as tears welled in their eyes. Wally smiled a bit more as he wrapped his arms around their waist laying against their chest with his cheek. The rain beading down his raincoat and their water coated body. He didn't move, as he held onto their cold, shivering wet body.

Barnaby couldn't help but chuckle a bit as he watched the scene from afar. (Y/N) face in their hands as they sobbed. Wally who held himself against their waist offering quiet comfort, allowing them to cry without interruption.

Sometimes all anyone needs is some rain to wash away their tears..

[automeris-io-moth]

More? More please? Pretty please? I'm loving One to go so so much

One to go pt. 3

Part one; Part two

Supervillian held them tight against them, arms gentle, but firm as they kept them pined. Civilian trashed and cursed in their hold, trying to get themselves off the grasp, to keep running and get far, further away from the criminal’s base.

Cold air blew in their face, burning as if the sun was shining, the mountains ominous before them as they laid half in the ground half in the other’s chest, breathing harshly for their lungs ached with the rush and freeze around them.

Tired of their struggles, Civilian ceased after a couple more pulls, and a last, lazy, try to dislodge themselves from the other’s grasp. They looked up, half seeing the starry sky above them, greatly clearer, to their short-lived amazement, than the one in the city; and half Supervillian’s face, sharp eyes looking right back at them, a smile, not quite mocking yet very much entertained, shining right under. 

Unbothered, seemingly, was the other for the chase, no catching their breath, no sweat, no scrapes and no worry in their eyes, they had been certain the whole time, of the outcome, and Civilian felt like a fool thinking, without skill or knowledge of where they were, that they could outrun Supervillian, much less outsmart them, not in strategy to the one who had made professional Hero’s look like idiots in national television not even a month prior. 

How very stupid of them. 

Civilian hit the criminal leg three times, as a surrender, or so they expected them to understand, and tried, with an elbow on the rocky ground, to stand or at least sit straighter, attempts cut short once more by an arm tightening around their middle, aiding them a little further up yet still close against their chest. 

“Catch your breath first, there’s no need to rush,” Supervillian said over exaggerating their own breathing so the other could follow, and, after a moment, Civilian did, sinking in tiredness over the criminal “It was respectable attempt, you actually did almost tricked me into believing you were not preceding until tomorrow.” 

“It was stupid, I made a fool of myself!” they yelled “there was no way, I had no chance, I couldn’t have gotten away.” 

“Of course you couldn't have, of course,” Supervillian affirmed nonchalantly “but I must acknowledge a proper try when made, little I’ve seen of that lately, to be truthful, as my people I must highlight your triumphs.” 

“I’m not your people,” Civilian answered, face burning, for the coldness or the praise, they couldn’t yet tell, they weren’t used to being praised. 

“Yet.” 

***

The water was warm in the shower of the room, bathroom spacious, more lavish that what they had ever seen outside of Hero’s compound, certainly not thought for a prisoner, yet they were not stupid, Supervillian wanted them to lure them into their side. They had to wait just a bit more, Civilian was certain, their friend was coming to get them back. 

Supervillian left them a change of clothing on the sink, grateful they were that it had no logos or colours like the ones the employees wore outside the small apartment-like room they were being held in. 

Steam left the room with them, entering the main room, with the bed they had woken up in, and the blinking lights they’d failed to notice before, scattered around the room. 

A warm meal awaited them over the desk. 

Just trying to get in your good graces, they want you to work with them. 

Civilian drowsily laid in bed shortly after dinner, warm, clean and well-eaten. Academic life, heroic friendships and bills to pay allowed such luxuries in very scarce occasions, and if they could indulge in such for just a bit, perhaps taking the chance wouldn’t be so bad. 

The bed was soft, and big and…

Warm. 

It was very warm, not comfortably anymore.

It was too warm.

Was the fire on? 

Their eyes kept being closed, they couldn’t quite open them. 

The food was drugged again, the chimney was lit. 

What a stupid thing to think, they were trying to get in their good side, Supervillian wouldn’t, it made no sense. 

But then why were they short of breath, why was it so difficult to open their eyes and why were they so hot inside the room. 

Civilian cleared their throat a couple times, half their face pressed against the pillow, light on and over the covers.

“Supervillian,” they called barely above a whisper “Supervillain!” then screamed. 

 And after what felt like hours, the door opened. 

Someone said something, and the mattress dipped beside them. 

They could distinguish little of what the other person in the room said, but they could feel their hands gently handling them up. 

“Supervillian,” they called again. 

“Civilian, it’s me, I’m here,” the other voice in the room called, holding with callous hands their face with care “open your eyes, open them please, you’re panicking.” 

“Turn off the fire, please, turn it off,” Civilian muttered, breath quick and short, words scrambling without sense or structure “I won’t try it again, just turn it off.” 

“There’s no fire here,” they answered, slowly, understanding “but I can open the window if that would ease your worries.” 

A nod, multiple, harsh, bordering erratic. 

Supervillian didn't move, but the window did open, they could feel it in the cold air of the night. 

“If you let go for a little bit I can get us more comfortable.” 

Oh.

Civilian let go of the criminal, shaking still. 

Supervillian did as they told, laying across the bed with the other on top, this time, getting themselves comfortable close by, with their knuckles still turning white with their grip, and their head still spinning, yet, seemingly, more responsive than minutes prior. 

They drew circles on the other’s  back, slowly, aiming to ground them, to calm them just a bit before asking, even if the reason was clear and before them, even when they wished not to acknowledge it. 

Minutes ticked on the clock, and Civilian became heavier on them with every passing one. 

A light snore broke the silence. 

Or maybe, they could ask in the morning, Supervillian chuckled. 

The criminal slid their unwilling guest to the bed, brushing their hair away from their face and covering them up with the thick duvet, leaving the window open but closing the door behind them. 

Back in their office they fixed the camera’s of the room at the very front of the screen, for if anything else was needed through the night, they’d have loved to stay, but the heroes had already put an alert on Civilian, a hostage situation, for the moment, and they had still quite some things to do.

Part 4

_

Masterlist

:))))))

<3

[dirtytransmasc]

Pitch for a self-indulgent fix it au that I'm too lazy to write but need for my own sake and sanity:

Because Aegon was close with Rhaenyra's boys, he gets very close to her. It's slow at first; he is still Alicent's child, and she can't help but feel some level of resentment towards him, no matter how cruel it is. But Aegon is still sweet on her and her boys; he still craves his eldest sister's praise and attention, he is still just a child, and she can't bring herself to resent him for very long. Once she comes around to Aegon, she starts to include Aemond in things around the palace grounds, and puts a stop to the bullying, because now that she's let one little brother into her heart, she can't leave the other out in the shit storm that is this family. She treats them like she treats her boys, especially after seeing how deep the trauma runs in both boys. She takes care of Aegon when he's made himself sick and lets him hold onto her after Alicent, or her father has had a go at him . she takes Aemond out on Syrax and helps him with his studies. aemond is most fluent in High Valaryian, so they can almost talk 'in code', and they do it to mess with the others quite often. She makes sure both boys have a safe place with her and her boys. Things are still rocky; they're still emotionally used, abused, and neglected by their parents, the whole kingdom is still filling their minds with poison, and they're angry. angry at the world, their family, fate. they take it out on Rhaenyra and the boys at times, but she never turns them away, she helps them. They're still struggling to keep their heads above the water, but Rhaenyra is there, she makes it easier; she holds them up the best she can as she begins to drown beside them.

Bad shit still happens, Aemond takes Vhegar and loses his eye, Luke is on the other end of the blade, and the fight in the hall still happens, but everything is easier. Because they were truly treated like kids, Rhaenyra had more to lose in that moment than Alicent could truly take from her; she doesn't allow Alicent to turn the attention away from Aemond and onto politics and petty feuds. She protected all of them. Aemond wasn't treated like a pawn and scapegoat, Aegon wasn't thrown under the bus, and Luke was forced to carry some of the blame (a healthy, child-appropriate load).

There's a rift, but it isn't as big. Aemonds doesn't grow up as angry, Aegon doesn't grow up to be as much of a cold and impulsive drunkard with the maturity level of a teenager, and they stay relatively close even as the family grows apart. The boys still grow up together, they still have their sister, and they are less susceptible to Alicent and Viserys's abuse and neglect.

When Aegon is supposed to be crowned he runs to the one safe place he's ever known, into his sister's arms, now with the additional protection of his uncle. Aemond and Luke have a confrontation, but Luke is willing to surrender whatever it takes to bring his uncle peace and Aemond can't do it. He never wanted blood, but he thought he should, as his entire life was surrounded by numb violence, his studies full of carnage, his family line had blood on their hands and were dead set on tearing one another apart. But as he looks at his nephew he just couldn't, doing it made him feel sick. Luke was still so little compared to him, still so young, yet willing to give it all up right then and there. It really just turns into a screaming match, both of them in tears, screaming at the world for putting them in this hell hole (they hug it out after). At the end of it, all of Rhaenyra's kids and siblings are safe at dragon stone (Heleana and her children included, I didn't know exactly how to tie her in, but she's here don't worry).

the 'war', though that's and over statement at best, a straight out lie at worst, is an attempt to out the 'king' back on his thrown. Rhaenyra won't give up her siblings, her supporters behind her, her husband and children both ready to fight rough and bloody for their family.

I can just imagine Aegon, who's always suppressed how caring he can be, standing in front of his pregnant sister, knowing she will fight and die for him if need be, because he won't let her lose anything else. He won't take anything else from her. He won't let someone else get hurt because he's a coward. Luke behind Aemond, Jace in front of Helaena and her kids. Deamon taking a stand next to Aegon, giving him a nod of approval. And even if this means war, this is one of the first times any of them has belonged to a true family.

how it ends I'm not 100% sure. full circle redemption, bittersweet end, something in-between. it could go in a lot of ways. I just know that I'm mentally ill thinking about it.

[writersmorgue]

Day 11 - fever

read on ao3

word count: 803

TWs in tags

note: SORRY I'M LATE I WASSSS UUGGGGGGGGHHH UM OK HERE'S THE FIC

102 F = 38.9 C

╞╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╡

Katsuki wakes in a damp bed.

At first thought, he assumes he had a nightmare and got the bed soggy with sweat. Upon further investigation, he realizes that the sweat isn’t his, but the shivering lump next to him.

It’s odd, considering that Shouto hardly ever sweats enough to be noticeable, his quirk effectively preventing such things. Juxtaposed with Katsuki who leaks out of every orifice like it’s his job. (It is.)

“Icyhot, you good?” He nudges the man, cringing when a phlegm-filled wheeze fills the air.

Ah, shit.

Katsuki sighs, rolling out of bed and tugging on his discarded pajama pants. He must’ve tossed them off sometime in the night when Shouto became a living furnace. He should check his temperature.

At least they’re not both sick; if Shouto’s as insufferable as he was in second year when he had a singular ear infection, Katsuki can’t imagine taking care of that on top of himself.

He pads into their kitchen, scoffing at the bowl of soup Shouto had given up on eating at some

point yesterday. He really should’ve seen this coming.

He grabs some supplies, including their thermometer, and returns to the bedroom.

“Shouto, wake up.” He tosses his pile on the bed, crawling on the duvet and flicking Shouto’s hip. 

His boyfriend groans, sniffling before reaching up to scrub at his sleep-filled eyes.

“No work, ‘Suki.” He grumbles, digging his nose into the snot-covered pillow below him.

Katsuki winces, “Hey, sit up. Neither of us are going in today but we’re gonna get you in the shower so I can clean the sheets.

Shouto whines, pulling himself up with Katsuki’s help. “Feel shitty.”

Katsuki sticks the thermometer in his ear, pressing the on button, “Yeah, I know.”

He pulls it out when it beeps. 

102 it reads.

He frowns, pressing his hand to Shouto’s head.

“Yeah, we’re taking that shower, bud.”

They make their way to the bathroom- well, Katsuki makes his way and Shouto stumbles blindly behind him.

He steps beside his boyfriend, leaning him on the counter so he can go turn the shower on. It’s not too cold, but hopefully enough to help the fever. 

He shakes his hand off, turning to help Shouto strip his clothes. His sweat-soaked shirt goes straight to the hamper, along with his boxers. He shivers in the cool blow of their bathroom fan, and Katsuki kisses his head in an apology. 

He mumbles a brief ‘be right back’ and leaves Shouto to get settled under the water. He makes quick work of starting the laundry, tossing everything he can think of into the washer, including his own clothes.

When he returns, Shouto has sunk to the shower floor, knees spread apart and head hung as he allows the water to run down his back.

Katsuki opens the door to sit with him, grabbing a towel and draping it over Shouto’s back, letting the water saturate it. He throws a washcloth on his soaked hair for good measure. Grunting, he lowers himself to sit across from the man, feet on either side of his knees. 

“You alright?” He asks, leaning over Shouto’s head to turn the water slightly warmer. If he’s gonna sit in here for fuck knows how long, he’s gonna be comfortable.

Shouto shrugs weakly, watery snot dripping from his nose as light steam begins to form around them. 

“Want me to make you some soup later?” He offers, rubbing his hands up and down Shouto’s thighs, watching the soft hairs there follow the path of his palms. 

Shouto mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Hm?” Katsuki prompts, leaning forward, “Gonna have to speak up, lazy.”

“‘Oba?” Shouto says louder, leaning the rest of the way until the top of his head collides with Katsuki’s collarbone.

The blond huffs, “I don’t know what else I expected. Yeah Shouto, I’ll make you soba.”

“Awesome…” Shouto’s voice is slow and syrupy, and he’s almost definitely half asleep right now.

“You wanna wash or just sit?” He asks, taking Shouto’s face in his hands, and rubbing the peaks of his cheekbones with his thumbs. He clears a few stray strands of hair out of the way, letting the hiss of the shower fill the silence as he waits for Shouto to process his question.

Sho shakes his head, leaning into Katsuki’s left palm, silently requesting more pets, like a damn cat. “Hold me, please. It’s cold.” He punctuates the statement with a pitiful shiver, to which Katsuki rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, you big lug.” He smiles, pulling Shouto into his lap, allowing the taller man to rest on his chest as he leans against the tile wall.

He can already feel his ass starting to fall asleep, but no way in hell is he moving. Not until the fever breaks.

Or maybe a little longer.

[detective4blog]

I wrote more of those sweet yet sad bastards <33 emphasis on the sad part <33

Uh tw for slight self hatred!

Sebastian stared at the ceiling fan spin around, getting lost in thought. A dangerous thing to do when your mind is as messy as his, but he couldn't help it. He was bored and there was nothing better to do than dive into the deep end.

What was John doing right now?

Sebastian blinked at the question. The hypnotic sync his eyes had with the fan broke, making it's rotation look wrong. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from it, feeling a bit dizzy now.

Maybe drinking tea or eating lunch. Maybe he went out for lunch too, enjoyed the nice weather. Probably wearing a nice jumper too.

He sighed, dropping his hand onto his face. The one time he would've welcomed harsher thoughts of people in the past, it had to go to John Hamish Watson.

Hopefully his bed isn't cold. Maybe he met a nice girl or fella. Maybe he's just got better heating. Either way, I hope he's warm.

He groaned now, rolling onto his side to stare out the window. It wasn't a nice view of the street at all, but it was still enjoyable. He could see birds flying from above rooftops, he could see smoke rising from chimneys.

Funny. Wishing someone is warm when I've pointed a gun at him.

Sebastian blinked then closed his eyes, huffing quietly. "It was one time. He doesn't even know." He muttered to himself, rubbing his temple. "He won't know."

Everything was quiet for a moment. He thought about taking a nap, despite the midday sun glowing in his room.

I could contact him. His email is on that stupid website. We could try again.

The blonde sat up, glancing at his phone on the nightstand. It'd be so easy to do, but he stopped himself. Getting involved with someone who was unfortunately very tied up into work was a horrid idea.

It could be for just one night. Feel good, mimic the good ol' days, sleep comfortably. I always slept better in his arms...

"God damnit," he muttered, getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom. A shower sounded nice. Maybe that stupid massage setting could steer his thoughts away from...whatever this was.

I wonder if he ever thinks of me when he-

Sebastian turned the water on blasting cold to nip that thought in the bud, biting his tongue to hold back a shriek. Too lazy to change the temperature, he dealt with the cold. Wasn't the worst shower conditions after all.

I miss him.

He started rubbing shampoo in his hair. Fruit scented; how fitting. Sebastian snorted at the irony of it. Maybe he should get a haircut soon, his hair was getting long...or grow it out again.

I miss how nice he made life seem.

He ducked his head under the water, closing his eyes. He'd gotten used to the cold water running over his body, making sure all the soap was rinsed from his hair and face before opening his eyes again.

I want to be ordinary.

"What am I, the living embodiment of that fuckin' song?" He muttered out loud, laughing at himself. "Forget that, I'm too far gone for a 'perfect soul'."

He shut the water off, snatching his towel from the rack. Army green; Jim must've thought he was being real cute with that. Regardless, he still used it to start drying off. At least it wasn't a rough towel, it didn't make his chest scars flare up.

I wanted to be with him.

Sebastian wrapped the towel around his waist, kicking his old clothes into the growing pile. He knew he had some clean comfortable clothes somewhere in his closet.

We were going to get a place together. We'd wake up and eat breakfast together.

He snatched a discarded robe. He was just getting increasingly more upset about thinking of the "what ifs" from the past and just wanted some damn sleep.

I want to be ordinary with him. No one else. Just him. He makes it look so lovely.

Sebastian laid down in bed, setting an alarm for the evening so he could eat dinner. The thought of contacting John came back to mind, this time the impulsiveness winning.

"Hey, It's Moran. Found out you've got a blog, wanted to get in touch. Hope life's been treating you well. -Bastian."

He reread the email too many times before hitting send and flinging his phone away. There was enough damage done to the blasted thing, getting thrown onto either the floor or nightstand couldn't hurt.

He makes the mundane look like art. Reading the newspaper, eating breakfast, setting alarms. He's a masterpiece. And I'm...not.

What a lovely train of thought to start drifting asleep to. Not the worst, of course, but not any better. Sebastian wrapped the blankets tightly around himself, burying half his face into the plush pillow.

I'm the paper used to test colored. Dried paint peeling off, colors that didn't work out staying around. The smell of expired paint soaking through. Used over and over, yet never discarded. I still have use. I still have blank spaces that can test a color.

Poetic self hatred. That was new. A bit nicer than the aggressive repeated words that would only stop after a bottle or two. Still hurt like a knife to think, of course.

Sebastian shut his eyes tightly. Trying to think of anything; some show he had seen recently, his favorite song, the stars. But no, it always circled back to John.

He'd listen to me talk about the stars. Listen for hours, to the point we'd both be exhausted the next day. Poor bastard must've really liked me to lose sleep over listening about the story of Orion or the difference between the Big and Little Dipper.

That got a chuckle from Sebastian, shaking his head a little. He missed being the bright eyed idiot that would talk about the stars with whoever listened. He was still an idiot, but didn't have the bright eyes and talked about the stars with whoever was closest emotionally.

I want to tell him about Canes Venatici and explain the different types of moons to him. Super moons, blood moons, blue moons...

Sappy. At least he was still a sap. He was starting to drift asleep, hearing the notification sound from his discarded phone but too tired to check it out.

I want to know if his eyes still shine when he smiles. I want to know if he still hates the smell of cinnamon but loves the taste. I want to know if he still remembers what I told him about the galaxy. I want to know if he ever thinks of me when he smells cigarette smoke.

Another notification sounded as he finally fell asleep, comfortable in the blanket tomb he made for himself. He didn't dream of anything special. The stars, mostly. How they danced with each other, even when both were dead and still shining brightly. How it was just like the memories of him and John in the past. The younger versions of themselves were dead but still danced together.

...

"Sebastian! It's been a while! Life's been alright. Got a lot to tell you about, heh. We could meet up for lunch tomorrow. I live near a cafe. -J"

[megumiifushiiguro]

heloooooooo, i;m sorry you're not having the best day!

if you haven't drunk any water in a while, please have a small glass, and maybe put one of those vitamin c dissolvable tablets in if you're feeling under the weather, it might help.

if you've been sitting for a while, stretch your legs and maybe sit up straight to give your back a break, or get a pillow or something.

if you're cold, get a jumper or a blanket or something cozy, and have a snack if you're hungry!!!!!

i'm so sorry if things aren't going incredibly well for you this week or today or whatever time period it is, but i promise you it will get better and you will feel good again and you know tomorrow is another day, and it may surprise you by being an absolutely amazing day that you weren't expecting!

i hope you walk somewhere today and see a cat and are able to stroke it a bit and have a nice couple minutes with the cat, and then you get a muffin or brownie or some crisps or cake or soemthing along those lines and and eat it whilst watching gilmore ggirls or another comfort show, and the day's overall quality just goes up!

ummm, what else. i can tell you about my day. i have eaten my body weight in special k istg. the chokehold that cereal has on me is ridiculous. i realized that once upon a time is no longer on netflix and is now on disney+, with i dont have, which was pretty annoying as i am currently craving hook/emma interactions and cuteness. yk how sometimes you are really just in the mood for one specific type of cute couple will they wont they enemies to lovers interaction, from two specific people, and then when you realise it's not available to you it'sjust so annoying. yeah, that kinda sucked, but i just watched rory and logan episodes of gilmore girls and felt better :)!

also, i just bought shadow and bone, the first book from that whole series. i was wondering if you've read it? i've heard from some people on here that it is really good, sothat is something to look forward too :)!

ummmm, what else is there to ramble about. idk if you've noticed but i'm trying to distract you from any bad or not nice things that might be happening, and i am going to continue to do this until i run out of words in my brain. gotta cheer up my favouritr tumblr big sister!!!

i have been obsessively listening to maisie peters today! do you watch caitlin marie reacts an youtube? i love her and i just binged all her maisie reactions this morning and spent the rest of the day obsessively listing to her eps and watching live performances. if you haven't already, you should listen to her music! it's really good! i watched her performance with james bay of funeral so many times today, it's just so good! so yeah, that's what the music has been like today.

oh, also i was sitting on my bed, just listening to music, and i was sitting cross legged, and my cat came and sat on me, kinda facing outwards and stretching his whole body out onto my leg, which was really cute and adorable, but he is also a large boy and didn't get off for an hour so by the time he did, the leg cramp was ridiculous istg. it took me five minutes to be able to use it again. so yeah, that happened. he's very sweet though so i'll forgive him.

have you got any plans for the next week? if so, what type of things are they. it is currently a week off from school for me so i am going to laze around, study a bit, listen to music, and maybe see friends at some point. very lazy week :)

soooooo, yeah. i can't really think of anything else to day but i hope this maybe made you feel better and if you were already feeling better before reading this then i hope this kept your mood at that good level.

idk, the amount of rambling in this is riduclous, i should stop, so yeah, byeeeeeeeee

(also no pressure to answer this, i just hope it makes you smile)

hellooo izzy🥺💗

i'm feel a lot better now :) i ate smth and took a bath so :) and i'm pretty cozy in my blanket rn :)

right??? cereal is so good??? wtf??? oooh i haven't watched ouat so as i have disney+ i might watch it now :D and yes yes yess i totally get that feeling bestie!! sjsjsj u can always count on rory and logan to make u feel better lol<3

noooo i haven't read it :( tho it's on my tbr FOREVER aahh!! also i heard that shadow and the bone trilogy is not that good but six of crows duology is better?? idk anyway rn i am ready city of bones by cassandra clare it's good i think tho i am not getting much time to read :(

awww i noticed🥺🥹💕 ilysm for this<33 and i'm so happy that u see me as a big sister ilyilyilyyyy

i don't listen to maisie but maybe now i will :) also yesss i watch caitlin marie reacts on yt!!

omg hgfdsdfgh ur cat sounds adorable<33 u should share a pic of him🥺 and i'm sorry for the cramp izzy ily

aaah that's nice!! i don't have much plans but to study as my exams are from march 1 so yeah :')

AND YES YES YESSSS THIS MADE ME FEEL SO MUCH BETTER ILYSM MWAH (and yes ik i think i already said ily in this like 10 times but hushhh)

and nooo it's not ridiculous at alll!! ramble whenever and whatever u want to me :)

take care of urself<3333

[nbkuhn]

The Siren's Lover, Ch. 4

Chapter 3

Read on AO3?

On Saturday, when Matty finished his run, Finch wasn’t by the path or at the bench. Matty almost gave up, assuming Finch had left already, and then he spotted a small figure floating in the waves, not far from the edge of the sand. He hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

So far, Finch had always crossed over into Matty's world, and this felt like crossing over into his.

But Matty was desperately curious about Finch's world. He shrugged off his shoes and padded down onto the beach to meet him. The sand was cold under his bare feet, enough to make him jump and wince, but he adjusted by the time he reached the edge of the waves. The water brushing his toes felt good, easing away the aches of a long run.

Finch was floating on his back, eyes closed, his hands resting below his ribcage, his fluked tail wrapped around one leg. Every other time, Finch had reacted to Matty's approach, but this time he didn't notice. He was humming the same song in a loop, without pausing to draw breath. His voice echoed further than it should have, resounding through Matty’s skull like sound waves shivering in the body of his acoustic guitar.

In the water, his true face on display, Finch was really something else. And, apparently, Matty liked something else.

He walked up to the edge. "Can you sleep in there?" Shit. What a rude question. Like asking Matty if he slept in a tree.

But Finch only opened one eye, black as a patch of night sky. "Of course." He brought one hand up to his neck, indicating the dark blue gills. "That would be inconvenient otherwise, considering my entire civilization is deep underwater. We don’t live near the water’s edge like mermaids."

"It looks—relaxing."

"It is. I don't really care for human beds." A small, secretive smile crossed his lips. "Well. Human beds are good for some things. But not sleeping."

Matty almost asked what else Finch was doing in his bed. For once, his brain beat out his mouth. Still, a blush crept across his cheeks. "You just might not have the right mattress, you know." He scrubbed a hand across his face. "Shit, now I'm talking shop. Don't mind me. I was studying all night."

Finch turned on his side, as comfortable as Matty felt buried under a pile of blankets. He stayed the same distance from shore without any apparent effort, near enough to speak easily but too far to touch. "I hope I've made it clear I never mind you. If not, let me know how I can correct the record."

Matty’s blush crept up to the back of his neck. He couldn’t figure out how to reply. Everything he wanted to say felt artless, compared to the way Finch put it. What could he offer someone so sophisticated?

"Do you swim?" Finch broke across Matty's thoughts.

"Huh?" Matty shook himself. "I guess. It's not my favorite kind of exercise, but I put up with it when I have to." He stopped himself, pressing his forehead against his knees. "I like swimming fine. For fun."

"Oh, good. Fun’s the only reason I do it. I respect your athleticism, but I'm afraid I'm terribly lazy. Most days I only come out here to watch the sun rise and float." He sighed. "When I left home, I didn't think those two things would be hard to come by, but the human world is built much differently than I expected."

He stifled a yawn with one long-fingered hand. "If you’re here already, I suppose I must get out. The weekday-weekend schedule takes so much getting used to. Underwater, our lives are dominated by the tides and the moon. We don't have our leisure and work times so sharply partitioned."

He paused. "Then again, I just said I'm lazy. My mother always scolds me for daydreaming when I’m supposed to be taking notes or making observations." He ducked underwater in a flash of long fluked tail, movement eerily quick, then surfaced at the edge and stepped out, suddenly so close to Matty he stumbled back.

Matty realized he was watching the water pour over Finch's teal skin and made himself look away. Staring was rude, whatever the reason. "Well, you're an artist. Daydreaming and distraction comes with the territory."

"Mm, not if you ask my primary mother. She has a schedule for everything." Finch pulled a towel from his black backpack and dried himself off. "Do you have to rush anywhere?"

Matty blinked. He hadn't been sure what to expect. Seeing Finch on the weekend felt… risky, almost. During the week, Matty could call it a coincidence. On the weekends, though, he was seeking Finch out on purpose, making his attraction more difficult to write off as the usual blue screen of death he experienced when he saw a hot person. "No, not really. I have more studying to do, but I figured I'd do it on campus to get out of my apartment for a while."

"If you wanted to go together, I was heading that way too. I have more work to do. Well, I don't have to, but I want to make sure my ambition doesn't get ahead of the time I have left before my show at the end of the semester."

Matty lost track of half Finch’s words, watching his more monstrous features slowly disappear as he dried off. How could he look so handsome both ways? "Uh, sure, sounds good."

If Finch noticed, he didn't show it, only smiled. "Good. Let me get changed."

Matty waited by the door of the changing rooms, restless and unsure why. Maybe because he was desperately curious about Finch's artwork. Or because this felt more personal than sharing breakfast or even their first weird conversation.

Finch returned in a similar outfit to Thursday, though instead of a button-down, he wore a black Henley, rolling up the sleeves as he approached. The muscles in his forearms were stark and clear, like diagrams in one of Matty's anatomy reference books. He wanted to know what they felt like under his fingertips, parse out the distinctions between flexors and pronators.

Stupid. "While I was waiting, I realized I never actually asked what kind of art you do. It's a pretty broad category."

"And I do a broad spectrum of things." Finch wrinkled his nose. "However, galleries prefer their artists to fit into nice little boxes, so I have to say mixed media or some such nonsense. It'll be easier if I show you." He started walking away. Though it would have annoyed him from anyone else, Matty liked the way Finch expected him to follow. He didn't have to question whether Finch minded him hanging around.

Matty nodded. "As long as you're not expecting any smart art criticism. I like museums, but I never have anything interesting to say."

Finch shot him a sharp look, black eyes gleaming with focus. "There is no such thing as an uninteresting perspective. Every person will look at a piece of art and see something different. For example."

He tapped his cheekbone, below one eye. "I see a slightly different range of colors than humans—more toward deep purples and blues instead of yellow-green. So for me, looking at a painting like Who's Afraid of Red, Yellow and Blue number one or two is a distinctly different experience than it is for humans. Are you familiar with those paintings?”

Matty shook his head, totally thrown, both by the lecture and Finch’s proximity.

"They’re modern art pieces—and what a ridiculous distinction, but if I talk about that, we'll never get to campus. The point is, they're enormous, taller than even my sisters, and infamous for inspiring, shall we say, heated reactions in viewers, especially ones not well-versed in art." He dug out his phone and  pulled up a picture: a variety of canvases nearly entirely covered in red paint, except for small stripes of pure blue or pure yellow.

"At first, I didn’t understand the reaction, beyond non-artists not realizing how much technique is actually on display in these. The reds didn’t jump out at me. However, I have a pair of glasses which alters my vision to a color spectrum closer to humanity. When I put them on and look at that painting, it is the same, and yet also completely different. All that red feels far more violent, the blues less soothing. I have a better idea of why the painting disturbs and unsettles people. But.”

He raised a finger. “Is my initial criticism less valid simply because I am not the intended audience? Should I need to change myself to meet the artist’s conception of his own work? At what point does his intent cease to matter?"

"Huh." For once, Matty didn't feel like he needed to rush to complete his thought or add something more interesting. At some point he’d stopped focusing on Finch’s nearness and actually absorbed his points, which was good because they were interesting. He took Finch's phone, studying the image results. "I guess I never thought about it that way. When I shift, I can see ultraviolet light—though it wouldn't be a lot of use to me in an art gallery. It makes for a neat party trick, I guess."

"Really?" Finch accepted his phone, his eyes wide with interest. "I would give my tail flukes for the ability. I've always wanted to do an installation with black lights, but they’re bad for my eyes."

He slid his phone back into his pocket. "The point is—everyone on the planet has something interesting to say about art, even if it's only what they do or don't like. And to be honest, I far, far prefer talking about art with non-artists. My peers try to make it into a competition of which galleries they've appeared in, or they turn self-deprecating and disparage their own creations. I cannot think of anything duller."

"You really have a lot going on, you know that?" Matty hooked his fingers in the pockets of his jeans. "You know what you want."

Expression suddenly unreadable, Finch glanced at him. "I do now. And I usually don't see the point in lying. If land dwellers want to call me rude, they may, but sometimes I really wish they could spend some time underwater. We don't have the luxury of prevarication, not when so many creatures think sirens make delicious snacks. Nearly getting eaten makes you more forthright."

"Well, hey, you can't bring that up and not tell the story."

Finch’s mouth twisted, and Matty felt like he might have said something wrong. Then his expression smoothed out into an even smile. It should have put Matty at ease—it was far more approachable than Finch’s usual intense stare. But it felt… wrong somehow. The way sometimes when Matty smiled at his dad in public, he was really baring his teeth.

“I’ve already told you I can’t defend myself. There are honestly too many stories to choose from. I was never allowed out of my mother’s or sisters’ sights underwater because they’d likely never see me again. My teeth and claws are too small to scare off anything but eels, and since I never developed my adult stripes, I couldn’t even signal for help.” He sounded so apologetic for something he couldn’t change. Matty wanted to ask, but he had no idea where to start.

Probably better to let it go. "Gotta say, you are not doing a very good job selling me on 'underwater' life. I'm happy here on land."

At this, Finch looked almost puzzled. "Of course you are. It's what you're made for."

Before Matty could ask what he meant, they arrived at the campus art building, a huge metal-and-glass slab on the western edge of the school grounds. "Come around this way. I don't want to pass too many students, or we'll risk getting sidetracked." Instead of entering through the main glass atrium—which appeared beastly hot at this hour anyway, since the rising sun struck the glass directly—Finch walked further down to an entrance tucked away in the lee of the building.

"I've never been through here much," Matty commented as Finch unlocked the door with one of several keys hanging from a ring clipped to his backpack. "I check out the vending machines once in a while, I guess. They’re less likely to be cleared out than the ones at the gym.”

"It's pleasant, if you don't mind the stench of burned coffee and despair," said Finch dryly.

"Oh, that's just college. At least it's coffee, not gym funk like over in the College of Professional Studies. You think they'd put better ventilation in a building full of jocks."

"Again, you land dwellers make me very glad I've never had a proper education sometimes." Finch flashed him a grin. The door opened on a back hallway, dim and crowded as opposed to the lighter, airier front part with the art gallery. "This way."

Most of the lights were off, though they sputtered awake as Finch and Matty walked by windowed classrooms full of half-completed paintings, sculptures, and woodworking projects.

"Here we are." Finch flipped over a sign on the door—the artist is out to the artist is in—and unlocked it. The lights came on automatically, revealing a room covered in bits and pieces of different projects: wooden frames flecked with paint, half-completed figures sculpted from papier-mâché and clay, paintings of single words in foot-high, monochromatic letters, yes, no, maybe.

Matty's tail flicked. He'd really been hoping he would be able to look at Finch's work and immediately respond with amazement or appreciation. But he couldn't stifle his confusion.

To his surprise, though, Finch laughed, delighted. "You look terrified." He walked over to one of the papier-mâché figures, giving it a gentle prod. "Still not dry."

Matty chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I told you I'm a rube. There is... a lot going on here, and I don't know what I'm supposed to focus on."

"Oh, is that what you're worried about?" Finch moved on to another installment, a tiny red door, which he opened and closed a few times, testing the hinges. "It's not supposed to make sense yet. I could hardly call myself an artist if you could understand my work at a glance. Eventually all of this—" he gestured around the room, "—will be assembled into a single installation. For now, I'm trying to finish as many component pieces as possible."

"Oh, okay." Matty relaxed. "I mean—the pieces are cool." He walked over to the yes, painted in foot-high letters in shades of dark blue, and remembered what Finch had said about his eyes. "So... what's the final thing going to look like?"

"Have you ever been to a children's museum?"

Just once, he'd like to get through a conversation with Finch without wondering if he needed to clean out his ears. "Uh... Like... a science museum?"

"Yes, exactly. The sort where children wander around and explore the exhibit, where they're encouraged to experiment and learn on their own timetable. A playground, but with more stimulation for the mind."

"Oh, yeah. We went on a few field trips to places like that when I was a kid." Matty moved on to the no painting, this one done in yellow. The brush strokes were thick and heavy, leaving streaks and artifacts in the paint instead of the perfectly smooth surface of the yes.

"Well, you see, when I was a child, my primary mother did occasionally have to go to conferences, which meant, once in a while, we visited the surface world. I was usually left with a babysitter or at the hotel. But once, she took me to a children’s museum. I was supposed to be interested in the science, but there was a painting class…”

His expression drifted as he got lost in the memory. “I was the only student, and the human teacher walked me through the entire process—how to mix pigments, gesso a canvas, hold a brush properly. It was like being handed the keys to a new world. The first time I was ever allowed to express myself.”

Abruptly, his eyes snapped back to the present, and he smiled, almost apologetically. He moved on to what Matty had thought was merely a block on a table. It turned out to be a mold, which he carefully tapped to pry apart.

"Anyway, I ended up with a skewed version of the surface world, all wonderful spaces built for children and other beasts. Imagine my surprise trying to make my living here. I’m the first of my family to spend more than a few weeks out of the ocean, so I had a lot to learn.”

He slid his fingers into the cracks in the mold and tugged. It came apart cleanly, revealing a clay bust of an anatomically correct human heart sitting on a stand. "At least one thing is done." Almost tenderly, he scraped away a few stray strands of clay still clinging from the mold.

"So... you decided to make your own?" Matty asked, when Finch didn't continue, absorbed in cleaning off his heart.

Finch started. "Oh, yes. My apologies. I was thinking about what color I want to paint this." He swept off another speck of clay, then unlocked a drawer on the table, full of brushes and tubes. "When I first started, I painted portraits, since it was the easiest way to make money, but I got bored. I became invested in the way an audience moves through a gallery—I wanted a more vibrant experience than some art on walls and some art on plinths." As he talked, he dug out a paint palette and squirted out a glob of yellow, the same color as the no painting.

"Huh. I guess I've never thought about it."

"Why would you? It isn't your job." Instead of a brush, Finch used his thumb, smearing a streak of yellow paint across the center of the heart. "I should let that dry and see if I like it. I don't want to have to repaint it."

He set the palette down and turned around to face Matty, leaning against the table. “So that's what I do. Or what I'd like to, anyway. I've only actually put on one installation, at my last residency. It went over—what's the land dweller expression?—like a house on fire, and it was far more entertaining than my ordinary showings. Besides, it provoked more interesting conversations with the students. There's only so often you can talk about anatomy or chiaroscuro. Sometimes, you have to get weird."

Matty smiled; he couldn't help it. Watching Finch talk about this was like watching a spontaneous jam session, hearing the artists fall into sync together and make something amazing. "And you’re obviously an expert in weird.”

Finch laughed again, throwing back his head, exposing the long, muscled column of his throat. Matty wanted to laugh too, but his breath caught in his chest. "Honestly, I'd be more offended if you said I was dull. I can take any other comment on my character. As we’ve established, I’m well aware of my own faults."

"Oh, trust me, that is the last word I'd pick," said Matty, when his breath finally returned. "If someone did, I'd want to know what kind of life they were leading. Or maybe not. It'd probably involve too many dangerous activities for my taste."

"Not a thrill-seeker?" Finch inspected the streak of yellow paint, clearly not yet dry. He moved on to a pile of wood scraps, arranged by size, and sat on the floor to pick through them. "I thought you said you were a jock. Doesn't a taste for excitement come with the territory? Or am I misunderstanding?"

The maybe was the most curious painting of the bunch. The letters weren't quite filled in all the way, as if whoever colored it had gotten bored and walked away. Or changed their mind about what color they were going to be. Matty tore his eyes away. "No, it can. But I grew up in a doctor's office, and now I'm learning PT. I see way too many people with gnarly injuries to seek more out. Shifting can heal minor stuff like sprains, but I’ve never tried with a broken arm, and I would like to avoid ever having to."

Finch was now laying out different pieces of wood in various configurations, apparently to make more frames, though some were triangular or many-sided instead of simply rectangular or square. "Can I ask you about shifting, or is that rude? I've spent a little time with other shapeshifters, but never griffins."

Tail twitching, Matty tried decide if he honestly didn't mind or if he just didn't want to say no to Finch. Was there a difference? "No, it's okay. From you, anyway. I'm sure I'll come up with a weird question for you eventually."

"Fair's fair." Finch hummed as he fitted two pieces perfectly together. "I won’t take offense, for the record. I know I'm a curiosity. When I was younger, I tried being upset, but it was a waste of effort. Sharing myself freely myself encourages others to show me the same courtesy, and then the conversations are far, far more interesting." He finished laying out the pieces he wanted. "Do you mind handing me the wood glue? I should have grabbed it before I sat down."

"No, I got it. Don't want you to mess up—whatever it is you're doing." Finch chuckled, and Matty felt stupidly pleased. He spotted the wood glue on a shelf on the wall behind the scraps and passed it over. As he accepted it, Finch's fingers brushed his, and Matty started like he'd been stung.

"'Whatever' is a good term for it, at least at this stage." Finch glued the various pieces together, holding the edges. "Here’s my question. I transform whenever I fully submerge, whether I like it or not, because otherwise we'd all drown. But I don't think it would be the same for you, would it?"

Matty realized he was winding his tail through his fingers and made himself let go. Though it was nice to do so simply because he wanted to look calmer, not because he didn't want to alarm anyone by drawing attention to his more beastly features. “It's not involuntary. But we do have to shift on a regular basis, or else... it's like if you sit in one position for too long and your joints lock up. You risk getting stuck. Or the opposite can happen, and the shift does turn involuntary. But as long as I change fully back and forth once a week or so, I have total control. Unless I get drunk, but I don't care for alcohol."

"So serious." Finch’s voice was surprisingly fond. The wood scraps he was gluing together hid his expression, so Matty couldn't tell what he was thinking. Not that he probably would have been able to guess anyway. "And is it all or nothing? I wouldn't think so because of the tail, but I shouldn't assume other people can get rid of their tail whenever they want. I’d keep mine around if I could."

"No, I can modulate it." Matty couldn't help the little touch of longing in his voice. Keeping his wings hidden all day, every day was terrible. "I'd show you, but I'd knock something over. I only keep my tail because putting it away throws off my balance."

"And we will get an awful lot of interested parties in here eventually." Finch sighed. "Again, I don't mind others' curiosity." Though this time he sounded more like he was trying to remind himself than like he actually meant it. "But my students know my boundaries, not yours."

Matty wanted to dismiss Finch's comment, to say he didn't care. Maybe when he started here, he wouldn’t have been lying. But it'd been almost six months of questions and stares and weird comments and pick-up lines. Like Finch's advice about Ruby, being reminded he didn't have to tolerate those either was... good. Sometimes, he wanted to whip out the fangs and the claws and get people to back off.

"Thanks," he said, finally and painfully inadequate.

But Finch glanced up at him, smiling. "Don't mention it. Is that the phrase?" When Matty nodded, too vulnerable to say anything else, Finch's smile widened. "Yes. Don't mention it." He set down the finished frame. "You can work wherever you like. Or leave, if you prefer. I can never tell if you're going along with me because you want to be here or because you're too polite to tell me no."

"I want to be here," Matty blurted, then immediately turned his back to dig through his stuff. He didn't mean to sound so pathetic. “I usually go up to the top floor and hide in the bookshelves so no one bothers me, but there'll be fewer people in your studio."

Matty decided to stop wasting time and actually get out his books, before he thought of something else to say, anything else, to keep Finch talking to him. Earlier, he had thought the room was so warm, but now goose flesh sprouted all over his arms. He rubbed it away, then claimed the least-cluttered table for his studies, though he still had to move aside a large tub of holographic glitter and a few sheets of construction paper.

***

Despite Finch's warning, they were mostly undisturbed, but a student did show up a few hours later, knocking lightly on the door before he entered. He was human, with enormous glasses covering most of his face. "Professor—" His eyes landed on Matty, and he stopped, even though he was doing his best to appear friendly. He was never sure if it worked around humans who didn't know him. The eyes unsettled them. And people always insisted he didn't blink enough.

"I told you, Lee, I don't actually have any accreditations to my name." Though Finch didn't look up from the clay heart, his tone was gentle. He was inspecting a diagram, carefully adding in detail to match the outlines of the atria and ventricles. "No one will shriek in horror if you call me Finch, and it will put my colleagues at ease. They hiss like wet cats when anyone assumes I have a degree."

By Lee's expression, he was not ever going to call Finch by name. "Uh—well, I don't want to interrupt." He glanced at Matty, and Matty realized he wasn't afraid of him. He thought...

Well, probably the same thing as the people in the diner the other day. That they were dating, or walking in that direction. The idea tightened his chest with what he was only beginning to recognize as longing. He dropped his gaze before he freaked Lee out.

"If you were interrupting, I wouldn't have turned the sign to open." Finch dabbed another streak of blue paint on the heart, then set down his brush and turned to face him. His forearms and hands were streaked with all different colors, as were his jeans. "Is there something you need me for, or did you come to work?"

"I was—wondering if you'd look at some of my concept sketches. Before I get too far along in the process, I mean." Lee pulled a sketchpad from his backpack but kept it against his chest, like he was expecting Finch to say no.

But Finch hopped up on the table. "Let me have a look. Pull a stool over there if you like."

Lee's eyes flicked in the direction of the stool, as if moving even a few inches to grab it was completely terrifying, then passed over the pad. “I know it’s all really rough—” Lee began, but Finch lifted his head, frowning at him the same way he frowned at Matty.

“Lee, you know the rules.” He tipped his chin down, and Lee sighed, twisting his hands together behind his back.

“It’s still in the early stages, I mean,” he muttered, his tone indicating a practiced phrase. “I’m just—not sure if any of it is any good.”

Finch pinned him with a firm stare. “If you were not talented, you would not be in my class. What have I told you?”

“Doubt is the enemy of art?” Lee asked, not like he wasn’t sure of the phrase, but like he wasn’t sure how it applied.

Finch nodded. “I can see these were done without doubt in the confidence of your lines. Even if it needs refining, the essence of your vision is here. And I am here to help you with the refining. It is my responsibility, but it is also my pleasure. What you've sketched out here should make for a truly fascinating effect."

"But I don't actually know how to make it work," Lee blurted. "I can paint the pictures, but I’ve never made mirrors before, and I don’t know if the light will bounce like I want. Maybe I should scale back—I'm going to be pushing deadlines to finish all these pieces by the time of the show, much less figuring out—”

Finch held up a hand, and Lee went quiet, watching him intently even as he turned his fingers in knots. "I can help you with that, actually. You already have the dimensions of the room written here, and I assume you have a size for the mirrors, so we can figure out the light’s path. It's just physics. Do you have your phone on you? I left mine—somewhere."

Lee pulled his out, looking skeptical, but Finch continued. "Do me a favor and google the angle of refraction for glass." Clearly baffled, Lee typed it in. "Can I make some marks on your sketch? Good. This will be quite a bit of math, and it may not all stand up to the real world, but it will give us a rough idea.”

Matty tried to sink back into his homework, but he couldn't help glancing up now and again, listening to Finch's soft encouragement as he flipped through the sketchpad. He was just... so gentle. And Lee slowly relaxed, his posture opening as he leaned around to watch and make notes of his own. By the time they'd moved through his ideas, he'd joined Finch on the table, nodding along as Finch offered advice and gentle critique.

"Why did it sound so complicated when I was trying to figure it out and so easy when you did it?" Then Lee clapped a hand over his mouth. "Because—you have a lot of experience—"

Finch shot him a quelling look, and Lee put his hand down, blushing. "Because my mother is a scientist, so I happen to have experience in this. This doesn't mean you were wrong not to know it. It means you were correct to come to me for help."

Lee smiled shyly. "So you really think this might work?"

"If you discover unexpected snags, you can always come back to me. More importantly, you have the skills to do this." He smiled, his hand coming up to cover his teeth. "Also, I want to see it, which is a less important reason, but still part of my motivation for encouraging you."

"Okay. I'll keep that in mind."

Matty hadn't looked down at his own work in almost five minutes, just watching them. He dropped his eyes, but the words in his notebook blurred, the world nothing more than the soft sound of Finch's deep voice and Lee's softer answers.

If he didn’t find something to do with his hands, he would get himself in trouble. He tore a new piece of paper from his notebook, then folded one corner up to make a perfect square and tore off the excess. The rest of the movements came so naturally he didn’t miss a word of their conversation, but at least he wasn’t worried he would stare.

"Thank you," Lee said when he hopped off the table.

"You were on the right track, merely setting out to take the long path instead of the shortcut. What's the expression? Work smarter, not harder?"

Lee actually laughed. "Watch out. By the end of the semester, you'll be talking like a land dweller."

"Perish the thought."

Lee waved, then ducked out of the room, shutting the door carefully so it made almost no sound.

"I'm surprised he's the only one who showed up so far," Finch commented, returning to his heart. He studied it, then shook his head and started cleaning up his materials. "Usually, it's more crowded."

"Well, this weekend is Homecoming. They’re probably all sleeping off hangovers." Matty wondered if he should give up his studying as a bad job. Whenever he resorted to origami, his focus was gone. Honestly, he wanted to go for another run. He didn't know what else to do with the wad of feeling sitting inside him.

Cocking his head, Finch paused. "My students tried to explain the holiday, but I still don't think I understand. I thought they were exaggerating. But you land dwellers take every opportunity to intoxicate yourselves, don't you?" There was no judgment in his voice, only confusion.

"Mostly, yeah. Not me, though. I don’t enjoy puking my guts out." His hands stilled on his second paper star, remembering who he’d shared his first beer with. Who had taught him to make these in the first place, given him the outlet for his permanently restless hands.

He could see her so clearly, pushing her dark red hair out of her eyes as she bent over her desk, her tongue poking between her teeth, her lips curled in a permanent smirk. Freckles all over her cheeks and hands, wickedness in her eyes.

He was definitely going for a run.

"What on earth do you do for fun?" Finch was only teasing as he replaced his things, but the question stung, probably because Matty was already feeling so weird.

"Not much, if you ask my roommates. I'm boring."

Finch turned his head to study Matty's expression, and Matty ducked his head, cursing himself for being so obvious. "I'm not certain if I could say I know you yet. But boring is the last word I'd pick for you too."

Finch approached him, but now he wasn’t paying attention to Matty. He picked up one of the paper stars, formerly Matty’s anatomy notes, and inspected it with the same care and attention Matty had tried to give his paintings, like they were worthy of close study instead of toys he could dash off in less than a minute.

Finch looked up now, without seeming to notice their faces were only inches apart. “What are these, Matthias?”

Oh, he should not have been allowed to say Matty’s full name so near his breath brushed against Matty’s cheek. “Uh—you’ve never seen paper stars before?” Then he kicked himself. “Duh. They probably don’t have a ton of scrap paper in the ocean.”

Finch shook his head. “Is that what these are? Scraps?” A challenge lurked in his voice, like when he was speaking to Lee.

Even though the answer was yes, Matty rose to the bait, the same way he could never resist the urge to climb something high. “It’s origami. It helps me think.” He tore a blank sheet of paper and repeated the same steps: fold one corner to the opposite edge to form a perfect square, then fold, and fold, and fold again.

He held the finished star up for Finch’s inspection, and Finch took it, gaze intent as a jeweler’s assessing a stone. His eyes slid back to Matty’s; he had not moved an inch.

Under Finch’s gaze, Matty began to understand why his own attention unsettled humans. Finch could say he was small and weak all he wanted, but he could take Matty apart with no effort at all.

The scary thing was Matty probably wouldn’t stop him.

“Would you show me how?” Finch asked.

Matty wanted to say no, but then Finch would fix him with one of those looks he was coming to like and dislike in equal measures—like because he would do anything for Finch’s attention, dislike because he was afraid of anything reminding Finch of the unbridgeable distance between them. Finch could make speech upon speech about the worthiness of Matty’s perception, but Matty knew he wasn’t good enough for him.

But Finch was daring him, and Matty couldn’t say no to a dare, just like he couldn’t ignore the electricity in the air between them, so close together.

“Sure. Hang on.” Matty made two more pieces of square paper and passed one to Finch, then walked him through the steps, slower and more precisely than if he had been doing it himself.

When they finished, Finch inspected his own star with the same critical assessment he’d given his clay heart, then glanced at Matty’s notebook. “Help yourself.” Matty pushed it toward him.

Finch copied his steps exactly and came out with a much neater final product.

“Wow, you’re a fast learner.” Matty cringed at the inane comment, but Finch shrugged.

“For this sort of thing, maybe.” Before Matty could ask what he meant, he glanced at their combined pile of paper stars. “Can I have these? They’re giving me an idea, but I need to think about it some more before I do anything else.”

“Sure.” Matty swept them toward Finch. He could always recopy his notes later; it wasn’t like he had actually absorbed any of them.

“Not very attached, are you?” Finch cupped the whole pile in his hands.

“It’s about making them more than having them. It keeps my hands out of trouble.”

Laughing under his breath, Finch met his eyes again. “Oh? And what kind of trouble do you usually get up to, Matthias Beckett? You don’t drink, don’t stay out late, don’t party.”

Matty froze. Finch had gotten closer now, more than close enough for Matty to lean forward and—

What, kiss him?

He could picture it so clearly, more clearly than he saw the room right now: leaning across the table, erasing the distance between them, Finch dropping the stars to dig his hands into Matthias’s hair or grip his shirt instead, and—

And then what? For fuck’s sake. Finch was a sea beast, and Matty would move back home when he had his grad school diploma in hand. Kissing him would be as pointless as asking Ruby about her day and expecting an answer instead of endless silence. 

He swallowed and moved away, and the moment popped like a soap bubble. “I don’t. I just told you I’m boring.”

He looked down at his notebook, but though he could remember writing them, his words meant nothing. "Shit, what time is it?" He pretended to glance at his watch, even though there was a large, colorful clock over the door. "I need to get going. I'm meeting my cohort for a study—thing." He wasn't lying, though he wasn't meeting them until much later. Presumably, they would drill some flashcards, between shots Matty didn't drink and awkward flirting Matty never participated in.

If Finch could tell he was lying, he didn't show it, though he hadn’t moved, like he was still waiting for Matthias to take the kiss he’d imagined. "Oh, of course. The day got away from me too." His tone softened slightly. "Will I see you tomorrow?" "Yeah," Matty said, mouth dry. "'Course you will." Then he grabbed his stuff and fled like the coward he was.

[dorefasolsido]

14. Life in plastic, it's fantastic

***credits to the original creator***

How frequently are you inclined to read, and how much?

I read quite a lot, but like with everything else in my life, I go through phases with it. Sometimes I'll read like three books in a week, and then I'll go months without reading anything. So it really depends.

When was the last time you questioned the direction your life was taking?

End of June/beginning of July. Work slowed down significantly, which means no money for a freelancer. I have my savings, but I started freaking out that I'd never get any work again, which would mean relying on my parents' money again, resulting in me staying in my hometown and dropping my German courses. All that would mentally fuck me up completely, so I'm glad I took a step to look for a different job and found something pretty good.

What small things have the ability to get under your skin?

When anyone tells me either "don't be so sensitive" or "you're so cold." For first, it's because I trained myself not to express my feelings and now, when I'm trying to break out of that a bit, there's nothing that sets me back more than that comment.

As for the second thing, I know I come across as cold and I try my best not to, but with some people it's just never enough.

When was the last time you were caused to be upset with someone?

Don't want to get too much into it, but I had a fight recently with my best friend.

What is something small that has the ability to cure a bad mood?

Run BTS for me. Seeing my boys backstab each other for snacks is therapeutic, to say the least.

What beverage is best capable of quenching your thirst?

In the summer, iced tea. Or just good old water.

What was the last big change through which you went? Do you deal well with change, typically? Have you always?

So, as I said, I recently found a new job; similar to my previous one, but I still needed to adjust to new software and way of working. Tbh, it's been going really well, and I generally worry a lot about change beforehand, but when it comes to it, I have no problem adjusting.

How do you feel after spending a great quantity of time online?

Hmmm, I guess I feel a little out of it, or like my brain is all buzzed. But it's not so bad, since I literally work and live online at this point.

What do you consider to be the biggest drawback to being you?

There really aren't any special drawbacks except for my questionable mental health.

What do you consider the best part of being who you are?

I think I'm lucky to have a supportive family, good friends, to be healthy and capable of supporting myself. Plus, I'm pursuing a career that I love, which I feel like isn't as common as I thought when I was younger.

What kinds of things do you have on display in your room?

A few stuffed animals and some trinkets I got as gifts or souvenirs. Oh, and a little collage of pictures me and my sister took together.

What do you think your room and its contents say about you, if anything?

I don't think it says much about me, I didn't put super much effort into personalizing it. But maybe that says enough about me as is -- I'm super lazy.

When was the last time you felt insecure about something/some situation?

Oh all the time. I'm getting tired of it lately, though, so maybe I'll work on not giving a fuck anymore.

Do you ever stop to contemplate infinity?

Sure, only infinity is such a hard concept to wrap your brain around.

Are you comfortable amongst nature, or does the wilderness discomfit you?

I love nature, but I'm not a fan of spiders and other creatures that lurk there. But nothing's quite as relaxing as hiking in the mountains or taking a walk through the forest.

When was the last time someone or something caught you off guard?

Tbh, Black Mirror's "Shut Up and Dance" episode I watched yesterday. That twist totally blindsided me.

How much time do you put into maintaining your appearance and hygiene?

I mean, enough to be presentable. If I'm not going anywhere, I'm definitely not bothering as much with my appearance, but I always put effort into hygiene.

Are there any foods you eat daily? Or wish you could?

Chocolate, more or less.

When was the last time someone new entered your life? What was your first impression of that individual?

Hmm, I guess my new coworkers now? I only interact with them online, but we did one casual call where we played games too. They seem alright, though I still need time to form my opinion.

Do you put much thought into your handwriting?

Lol none. I don't write by hand very much anymore, so it's even more of a disaster than it used to be.

What are some of the top priorities in your life right now?

Family, friends, travelling, work, my cat, in no particular order.

In general, how do you feel about romantic relationships?

I don't put much stock in them, personally. Maybe because I'm ace with aromantic tendencies, idk. I just feel like I'm happier the way I am and platonic relationship satisfy me just fine.

Which emotional sensation inconveniences or bothers you the most?

Not sure how to answer this one, tbh.

Are you capable of consoling others in their grief?

Aaah, I don't know. I mean, I try. I don't think I'm good at it though.

Do you ever find it awkward to compliment another being?

Yes yes yes. And it's awkward to receive compliments too.

When was the last time you had a new experience? What was it?

I can't think of anything particular, but I'm going to Rome soon, so that will surely be a new experience.

Do you dress more for yourself, or to the expectations of others?

For myself. I'm really tired of worrying about other people's expectations. I've been trapped in that mindset for over a decade for sure.

What kinds of things tend to stress you out?

Public speeches, phone calls, job interviews, being the centre of attention.

What is one way you cope when you feel like crap?

I mostly just distract myself and wait for it to pass.

Name an insult you regularly receive, if there is one?

I don't think there is? At this point, if someone insulted me regularly, I'd just walk away.

Name a site that takes up a lot of your time?

YouTube.

What is something you used to believe about life that you no longer do?

I mean, I'm sure I believed at some point that life is fair and was in for a nasty surprise.

Do you have a tendency to look on the morbid side of life?

Aside from an occasional morbid joke and my interest in horror, I don't think so.

When was the last time you went shopping? What did you buy?

Before I went to see Barbie movie last week. I was going with friends and we had agreed to wear pink, so since I owned absolutely nothing in that colour, I had to visit the shopping mall. Got myself a pink crop top.

When you shop for clothing, how long does it take you?

Not very long usually because I find shopping exhausting.

What is something fun you have done within the past week?

I went to see Barbie on Friday and then Oppenheimer on Wednesday. Also met up with a friend on Saturday and we got completely drenched in the summer rain, which is always fun.

What is something you hope you never have to do again?

Job interviews, but I don't delude myself thinking I never will.

How does the rain affect your mood, if it does?

I love the rain. It inspires me to write, actually.

[sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine]

Taking Care

{Next Chapter>>>}

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

{Author Commentary: Jake comes home cold and tired, and you get to pamper him. Pure fluffy Jake night <3 }

When the door opened the bitter cold outside momentarily permeated your cozy living room. Jake closed the door behind himself swiftly. You met him at the door as he took off his gloves and hung up his jacket. His eyes were downcast and the color around them that you were familiar with was more prominent than ever. You rested your hand on his jaw, stroking his cheek with your thumb. "You need some care, love. Let me take care of you." He nodded tiredly, leaning into your hand slightly. You leaned in, raising yourself slightly to press a kiss to his forehead gently. His skin was cool to the touch from the wind you could still hear howling outside. "Let's get you warmed up, I'll run you a bath." His hand came to rest on your lower back as he kissed your cheek "Sounds like heaven."

You walked to the bathroom, steering him to sit on the closed toilet. You started the water and added some soap as he started undressing. You turned to him as he pulled off his shirt and took it, hanging it up on the door. He undid his pants and took them and his boxers off. "Are you getting in?" "No, but I'm staying with you. I'm taking care of you, remember?" You brushed his hair back from his face, slipping your hands into his hair and caressing his scalp. His eyes fluttered closed as he appreciated your gentle touch. He eventually pulled away to tie his hair back in a lazy bun so the bathwater didn't get in it. Your hand guided his shoulder towards the tub "go ahead and get in."

He sank into the water, letting out a cathartic sigh. You smiled to yourself as you shuffled around the cabinet for your shea butter massage bar. With it in hand, you pulled a small stool from the corner to sit beside the bath. Jake's eyes fluttered open as you wordlessly lathered your hands with the bar and reached for his closest hand, retrieving it from the water. You coated his hand before starting to massage it, starting with slow deep circles in the center of his palm. He groaned in relief, his head leaning back against the lip of the tub as his eyes closed again. You slowly worked between each metacarpal, paying extra attention to the muscles connecting his thumb and palm. You drew the pressure down to the tip of each finger, releasing it. He occasionally hummed and groaned in appreciation, bringing a fond smile to your face as you watched him breathing slowly, blissed out and flush from the steam.

"You carry a lot of tension in your hands, do you use them for work or something?" you joked. He cracked a smile, letting out a gravely laugh before sighing. "Yeah, they really take a beating." You lifted his softened hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to his palm, then gently closing it and kissing his knuckles before setting it back on his chest. "Other hand." You directed gently. He offered it to you as you leaned in a bit more to keep the angle comfortable. You reapplied the shea butter before repeating the same treatment to the second hand.

Once you'd finished, you got a washcloth and ran it under the tap, foaming up some body wash before kneeling by the tub again and gently washing him. It wasn't the most thorough, but it was more about the ritual of the act, washing off the day. He'd take a shower in the morning and handle his hair and everything. As he leaned forward to turn on some fresh water as you ran the cloth over his back before hanging it up. He rinsed off and drained the tub before getting up gingerly. You handed him a towel, smirking at his slightly wobbling legs. He chuckled as he dried himself off before securing the towel around his waist. He brushed his teeth and washed his face. You stood behind him, holding his hips and rubbing slow circles in his back dimples. "Let's get to bed, I want to work on your back too." He smiled at you in the mirror, leaning his head against yours where it rested on his shoulder. "Don't be offended if I fall asleep." "Offended? That's the highest praise for a masseuse!" You squeezed his hips before heading toward the bedroom.

He flopped face down in the middle of the bed as you changed into a large comfy t-shirt. You grabbed a small bottle of massage oil you kept in your drawer before climbing over him. You straddled him, settling on his butt -not the worst cushion. You lightly brushed the stray hairs off his back as he turned his head to rest on one side of his face. You warmed the oil between your hands before starting on his shoulders. A low groan of satisfaction rumbled from him, sounding like a sleepy bear. You giggled to yourself as your hands appreciated every intricate muscle that made up his upper back, and his warm soft skin, which your hands glided over in their symmetrical motions.

As you transitioned to his lower back your nails trailed lightly around the curve of his sides. He shivered slightly, making you giggle quietly again, looking up to see a sleepy smile on his half-obscured face. You kneaded the plush sides of his hips appreciatively; this was as enjoyable for you as it was for him. You preceded to scoot down a bit further to sit on his thighs so you could press slow, deep circles in the perfect little dips in his lower back. His back also certainly 'took a beating' -to use his words- while he was touring. You made a concerted effort to draw out the tension, working the circles out bigger and bigger. You earned another sound from him, soft, and ending in a slightly higher pitch. You drew your thumbs up along either side of his spine and back down, bringing them to a stop at his tailbone.

You watched his slow even breathing for a moment, taking in his soft peaceful state. You leaned in to press a kiss to the middle of his back, then one between his shoulder blades before nuzzling the back of his neck. “Hmm?” you hummed softly, checking on him. “Mmmhmm.” he nodded sleepily, so blissed out he couldn’t open his eyes. Your hands reached down to gently knead his full cheeks "should I do your glutes & quads, or save that for tomorrow?" A tired chuckle rumbled out of him "I'd want to be awake to really appreciate that, so let's say tomorrow." "You got it." You press another kiss to his back before sitting up.

Jake got under the covers as you turned out the lamp. You crawled in beside him, facing him. He remained on his stomach, turning his face to smile at you, half obscured by the pillow. “I love you” he mumbled sleepily. Your fingertips traced lightly over his back in a continual pattern as you smiled at him. His eyes fluttered closed again as you spoke softly. “I love you too. I love all that you are in your mind and body, and I love that you come home to me, and let me love you.”

~

{Next Chapter>>>}

Author commentary: I hope I’m not the only acts of service bitch that dreams of massaging Jake hahahah. I hope you enjoyed, let me know!

Tag List: @star-boxer​​ @gretavanlace​​ @doodle417​​ @greta-van-chaos​​ @weightofdreams-gvf​​ @prophetofthedune​​ @gretnabancheese​​ @shutupdevvie​​ @jackiidk​​ @t00turnttrauma​​ @groggyvanfleet​​ @garagebandvanfleet​​ ​ @gretavanflowerpower​​ @joshkiszkasunshine​​ @razorbladekiszka​​​ @hyperfixated-gvf​​ @kkdarling​​ @joshkiszkaenthusiast​

[valaryswrites]

hiii! saw you wanted some remus requests and i’m here to deliver :D

i’ve been feeling under the weather so maybe remus comforting reader and being all mushy for reader??

🪐 where after working the whole day, remus finds you sleeping in his quarters.

warnings: fluff, english is not my mother language

The wooden door of Remus Lupin's quarters opened at midnight, revealing his tired but satisfied face. He spent the whole night grading papers and preparing some activities for the students. Lupin cracked his neck the moment he stepped inside, and sighing in relief he looked at the room, just to find you sleeping in his sofa.

The man smiled wide open and before leaving his brown cloak over the desk he search for and old camera in his bag. Lupin always carried one just to capture moments. In this case, literally and metaphorically, he captured you.

The flash made you wake up in a quick movement, making Remus feeling a little bit guilty. Without giving you a chance to do or say something, he sat right next to you while sorrounding your body with his arms.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry..." he whispered, caressing your hair. "I didn't mean to wake you up. Keep resting.”

"It's okay." you said, letting yourself rest in his chest. "I slept a lot already. This is better."

"Are you okay?" Remus asked. His chin was resting on top of your head. "I thought you were going out tonight, so I stayed in the library doing some paperwork. If I knew you were here, I would've come running." you laughed.

"How dramatic." you said. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just feel a little tired and... weak, I guess."

“Is there something I can do for you to feel better?” He asked, lifting your face with one hand, making you look at him. His eyes had little sparks and the scars from the last full moon were healing perfectly.

“A bath.” you answered. “A bath would be fine. We can do it together.”

He smiled.

“Nah.” he said. “I’ll prepare you a bath and I will take care of you.”

After ten minutes you were still resting all over the sofa, when you smelled the sweet scent of lavander and mint. Remus was never the kind of man to take fancy an expensive showers. But he always wants to give you that.

“Come here, love!” he called for you.

Lazy, you stood up and walked out of his room to enter the bathroom. Your face recover it’s color when you notice he was sitting right next to bathtub, with rolled up sleeves of his dark green sweater.

He placed his wand over the sink, with the light coming from it.

“I didn’t want to turn on the lights, but I don’t have candles.” He explained. “So I though my wand can be used as something similar.”

You walked towards him and placed a sweet kiss on top of his head. He was sitting on a little chair, so he grabbed your legs with softness and kissed your clothed stomach.

“It’s ok if I undress you?” Remus asked, lifting his head to look at you. His eyes weren’t mischievous; they were full of love, admiration.

“Go ahead, Professor.” you teased, smirking. Your hands were cupping his cheeks.

“If you keep calling me that I’ll have to undress you and take you back to that sofa. But not to make you sleep.” Lupin assured. “Just let me do this without getting hard.” he laughed.

Remus unbuttoned your pants first, pulling them down until he was able to remove them completely. The cold hit your legs but he made sure to warm them up with caresses. Your shirt was next, your bare shoulders making their appearance.

And there you were, letting your body relax in the bathtub, while the man sitting next to you was in charge of covering your body with warm water and the most honest love someone could give. 

“You are too good for me.” you said, with your eyes closed.

Remus placed a kiss in your wet forehead. 

“I could never be good enough to someone like you.” he said in a whisper. “It’s a pleasure for me to come here after a long night and find you.”

[nyxyxx]

The God of Gods (Pt.1)

Pt. 2

I recently fell down the rabbit hole of the sagau and now I feel deeply interested in writing my own take for it- because well I can barely find anything for some of my favourite characters- 

I had gotten inspiration for this from @streimiv and @myuni-moon- their work is really amazing and well written! (You should totally look at their work as well)

I didn't edit it very much yet but I'll get to it eventually lmao

I'm just very lazy

Warnings!: Yandere, Cultish themes, Obsessive and insane behaviour & religious themes. Please proceed with caution. 

Not many people knew about the being above even the gods themselves. Sure, a few have occasionally thought: “What if there is a being even higher than the Gods?” Although such thoughts would quickly dissipate, for it could be considered blasphemy to think of such a being. However, there were a few who knew the truth. 

For some, they possessed knowledge of this being for many years, whether it be from pure instinct, belief or prior research. There were even a few who just somehow knew that they existed. Regardless, the archons that governed each of their lands sprinkled in tad bits of evidence, that the general public often happened not to notice. 

So, there were a few who knew faintly of your existence, hoping, praying, that perhaps one day, they might get to meet this almighty being who not even the Gods themselves can disobey. 

Thus, on the date of your arrival, many people were extremely shocked. Your precious worshippers flocking to your side after all these long years of waiting for you. 

You awoke under a large tree, one that seemed oddly familiar, yet you couldn’t figure out exactly how. A gentle breeze carried several leaves through the air, while the loud sound of nearby running water helped ground yourself to reality. At first, it seemed almost impossible, even after a few minutes of aimless staring up at the large branches of the large tree, you still believed that this must’ve been a dream. There was no way. There was no way this was real. 

Yet here you were, laying underneath the tree by the statue of the seven at windrise. It seemed almost too real to be a dream, the firmness of the cold stone beneath your back, the gentle yet cool breeze of the wind, the oh-so sweet melody that the birds sang. 

There is no way this couldn’t be a dream, you told yourself. Although, what did it truly matter if it were a dream? If this was a dream, than that meant you could enjoy your time here until you woke up. If this wasn’t a dream, and you were actually in Genshin Impact - which you told yourself was very unlikely, than you could at least try to enjoy your time here. 

You took a deep breath and steadied yourself onto your feet. Only then did you notice, that you were in fact, not alone the entire time. A young blonde haired man kneeled at the statue, his golden eyes observing your form with fear, but also intrigue. You knew this man as Aether, one of the protagonists of the game. He sat there, unmoving, as if a single movement from him could cause you to disappear in an instant. 

“You are...”

"You are light as you are dark,

You are kind as you are cruel,

You are chaos as you are kind,

You are the creator. The meaning, the purpose."

Something he and his sister had often talked about, before they got seperated.

The man before you instantly bowed, head presenting against the stone as low as he possibly could. You stood there, confused by his actions. Then, a wonderful thought crossed your mind. If this is truly a dream, then I can do whatever I want.

I can be free.

“Whatever,” You spoke almost sarcastically. Though indeed Aether was certainly good-looking, the interest to meet the archons was much more important at the moment. “You can stand up now.” He obeyed without any delay. A distant, euphoric look on his face, as if he was hearing a siren’s singing. 

It was strange. He was almost treating you as if you were someone important, but surely, you aren’t right? You’re just a normal person who happened to download a game that seemed fun. He spoke softly, as if a single word he spoke could potentially invoke your wrath. “What do you wish for, Master?”

Truthfully, there were mainly things you could’ve said. Yet, a certain set of words seemed to consume your mind even more. “I want to travel. I want to explore. You can show me around right?” 

He, your loyal servant from this day forward, obeyed your command without question. Afterall, a divine being such as you descended upon your beloved world and have graced him with your presence. This could be the start of a wonderful journey, or a lonely fate.