#if only i could get better at writing for them rip

[ancha-aus]

DoubleNoot AU Drabble - Next Steps

I got time! Time to write my version of what the next part of the DoubleNoot AU timeline is! Noot² for some :D

Last time on DoubleNoot Adventure! Corrupt split and caused the original Nightmare to return in the heat of battle! As a reaction he took his mates and the newly arrived child and took them back to his home and hideout.

@mikimakiboo Made their own version of this meeting but I also wanted to write it myself and how I see it happening :3 Still their drabble is amazing and everyone needs to show it love :D (yes i linked it last time but come on. This drabble is actually the counterpart to it!)

Also fair warning. I am keeping the pregnancy joke alive. I am not letting that go. It is too funny and too fitting for me. So... warning? discussions of mpreg.

No edits or beta we just going :D (warning. It is a long read.)

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There... There is a tiny skeleton in his arms. A shaking and terrified skeleton. Corrupt glances around and very slowly places the skeleton on the couch. Only to have to dive back closer to catch him from falling over. Corrupt ends up putting Nightmare in the corner of the couch to enable him to lean against two sides.

There... Is a child. In his house.

One he had thought had died. Correction. One Corrupt had thought he had killed.

What... What does he do now?

Corrupt had reacted impulsive. He doesn't actually have a plan. He just knew he had to get himself and his mates away from the Stars, even if he already felt much better.

Okay. He needs to focus.

Corrupt needs to check his mates and make sure they are okay. Needs to make sure the Stars didn't hurt any of them while he crumbled.

Why is it so hard to look away from Nightmare? Corrupt can't look away. He keeps staring at the young skeleton.

He looks scared as he looks around the area. Pushing himself back against the couch as his chest moves quickly wiht his fast breathing. His clothes are absolutely filthy and goop isn't even the thing that makes it most dirty. Not there is still old dust and blood on his clothes which are ripped and also covered in mud.

But the bones? While also covered with dirt there isn't even a scratch on Nightmare. Which surprises Corrupt. Nightmare had his skull smashed in. Had suffered years of abuse of those villagers. Yet here he sits. Whole. Not as much as a bruise on him.

The only thing that seems wrong is that Nightmare seems to have lost control over his body, but he had also been inactive for 500 years so this may more be a matter of him having to relearn how to walk and move..

Okay. Stop. Think. Waht do you know for sure?

Corrupt just... split in two and Nightmare was removed from his being. Aparently he had Nightmare resting in his body since the apple accident. Maybe instead of forming from Nightmare he formed around Nightmare... it would explain why Corrupt never actually saw Nightmare or dust from him. Corrupt had always assumed that Nightmare hadn't dusted because of his treespirit nature.

Now.

Nightmare had been in his body, aparently slowly healing, and is now out of his body. Corrupt frowns. How come that he has Nightmare's memories in that case? Is it because Nightmare was the one to eat the apple? Does that mean that all those things he remembers and remembered feeling was all Nightmare and never his own.

Corrupt takes another depe breath to try and stay focussed. He still glances to make sure Nightmare is still where he left him. He is.

Okay. Corrupt will ahve to think about everything that this means later. Now he has to make sure everyone is okay... also make sure that Nightmare gets clean and situated. It... unnerves him to not have Nightmare with him. Corrupt doesn't knwo a lot but knows his being misses having Nightmare close.

"Euh... Moonlight?"

Corrupt frowns and turns slowly.

Killer looks between Nightmare and Corrupt "You know... I know we aren't always the most... serious bunch... but you could have told us you were pregnant... we could have handled it and could have helped."

It takes amoment before Corrupt sputters and glares at one of his mates "I wasn't pregnant!" He snaps but sees Ngihtmare flinch at the sound. Corrupt mentally decides to not shout anymore.

Killer just raises a brow as he crosses his arms before looking pointly at Nightmare "Really? Because that is a whole ass child-"

Cross shoots him a disapproving look "Don't curse!"

Killer blinks and looks over "The kid is already like... eight?" he tilts his skull at Nightmare.

Nightmare however shrinks in on himself as he tries to disappear into the couch.

Corrupt answers instead "He is ten actually. Just... tiny." he frowns. aparently Nightmare is just short? Corrupt himself is also short and he took some of his appearances over from Nightmare...

Killer frowns "Wait... ten years? How long have we all been together?" He looks very disappointed "We aren't the dads?"

Corrupt sputters again but manages to keep his voice down "I wasn't pregnant."

Horror speaks up as he glances up from his phone "According to the definition of giving birth which is: The emergence of a baby or other young from the body of its mother; the start of life as a physically separate being." Horror waves into the direction of Ngihtmare "Young." and he just looks pointedly at Corrupt.

Corrupt sighs as he rubs his face "I wasn't pregnant. I didn't give birth." he looks at Nightmare and frowns "I didn't even... i thought he was dead..." Nightmare stares back at him but gets a tiny frown on his face. Corrupt isn't sure what is on his face... probably grief. there always is grief when he thought about Nightmare.

Cross joins his side and holds his hand "hey... you could also have told us you miscarriaged... We could have helped..." he smiles.

Corrupt rubs his skull as he shakes his skull "No. I wasn't pregnant... Meet... Nightmare." Ngihtmare flinches at his name and when the others all start staring at him. Shit. Corrupt regrets that...

Dust frowns "I thought you said..."

Corrupt groans as he takes a deep sigh "I know... I know what i said. I thought the same. This is also very much a surprise for me."

"how do you know my name?"

silence and Crorupt looks back at Nightmare. Ngihtmare still looks terrified. He is obviously terrified. but he has a very tiny stubborn glare on his face. One hand has formed a fist and is shaking sligthly. Nightmare keeps staring at Corrupt specifically.

Corrupt blinks and speaks softly "I.... What do you remember?" does he remember everything that Corrupt remembered?

Nightmare frowns as he thinks before looks at Corrupt distrusting "You first. What do you know?"

Killer snorts "suspicious little fellow." he points at Corrupt "That is corrupt. I am Killer." he points everyone out as he names everyone. Corrupt is watching closely and can see more and more panick appear in Ngihtmare's posture as each name is given.

right... Very unfriendly names. Corrupt now regrets not agreeing to taking a friendlier name. He makes the decision as he walks over to Nightmare and takes a seat before him. He makes sure to keep his tentacles low but not to hide them, same for his arms.

Hidden limbs can attack him and hurt him. This way Nightmare can keep and easy eye on everything.

Corrupt speaks softly, making sure to keep his voice soft and quiet just in case "I must admit I am not quite sure myself anymore. I am Corrupt. When you ate the apple of the tree I formed. I always believed that you had died and I formed from that moment with the apple's magic and power... I was unaware you were with me the whole time. How are you feeling? What do you remember?" and he waits. He knows this is a lot of information.

Nightmare frowns as he looks down slightly. Thinking. He looks at his hand and frowns as he touches some of his fingers. Corrupt follows the sight and knows why Nightmare must be confused. The villages had smashed his phalanges with a large bat just days before the apple incident. Those breaks should have been there still.

Nightmare forms a fist again as he holds said hand with his other "I... I think i... remember eating it..." he frowns more before flinching. Corrupt frowns and looks over his shoulder. Right.

He sighs "Loves. please back up a tiny bit." the four had started to gravitate closer but they seem to realise the problem. They give some quiet sorries and back up a bit.

Corrupt looks amused at them before motioning towards the other couches and chairs "Just sit down for a moment." He first needs to get Ngihtmare to relax just a tiny bit. Corrupt doubts he can move alright just yet and Corrupt wants him to be at least a bit calmer before he tries to ask if Nightmare wnats to get clean.

His mates luckily all listen and sit down and get comfortable as they start checking each other. Corrupt smiles, that is good. This way he is at least sure that they are all alright and no one is hurt.

Corrupt turns back to Nightmare who is staring at him. But he looks away as soon as Corrupt looks at him. Corrupt chuckles "It is alright... I can only imagine I must look very strange to you."

Ngihtmare shrugs and mutters "Not... that weird..." he grins a tiny bit as he glances up at him "I am a treespirit..."

Corrupt chcukles and nods "true..."

Nightmare glances to the side and Corrupt realises what Nightmare must be glancing it. Corrupt slowly makes one of his tentacles raise a little and makes it wave.

Nightmare blinks and looks at Corrupt "Are those..."

Corrupt nods "They are... made of negative energy." he brings it closer "We got that in common. Both of us have powers connected to the more negative things to feel." he lets the tendril hover near Nightmare.

Nightmare stares at it before very slowly touching the tendril. As soon as he touches it the negativity and magic in his being reacts. Because the area around the tendril starts to shine and show of cyan coloured swirls.

Nightmare stares and starts to smile "wow... I didn't know my stuff could be pretty..." he touches one of the shown swirls wiht his other hands and the area of effect expands a tiny bit.

Corrupt nods as he mutters "Even if everyone looks down on negativity. It has its good adn beautiful sides. Everything has, including the negative emotions."

Nightmar elooks unconvinced and that doesn't surprise Corrupt. Nightmare is used to being harrassed, bullied, hurt and abused over what he was connected to. His powers and role only every brough him pain.

Maybe Corrupt can at least show him the more beautiful side of their emotional powers. Show it is a part of healing and growth. That it has a connection to justice and protecting others.

Nightmare ends up focussing back on the tentacle in front of him and watching their magic react to one another. Familiar and calm. Both magicks seem to know the other and it helps Ngihtmare feel safe.

Some movement by his side and Ngihtmare watches as Cross is now near him before sitting on the ground with his back against the couch. Ngihtamre shoots him a look for a moment before calming down when the other's attention isn't on him. Nightmare turns back to the tentacle.

Cross looks over nervously before turning to Corrupt "what... what is the plan? are we just... going to..." he shoots Ngihtmare a look "Can we just keep him?"

Nightmare freezes and grabs the tentacle tighter.

Corrupt frowns as he looks at Nightmare. The idea... of leaving him somewhere? No... they can't just leave him somewhere.

Cross rubs his arm as he continues to speak "Like... I am not... sure how good I am at this dad thing?" he cringes "But I can learn! probably." he grins as he looks nervous.

Killer laughs as he lounges on the other couch, obviously watching them "I mean. I think this one is dips for either Horror or Dust. You know. Cyan of Cors and red of either of them makes purple for little nightlight."

Nightmare shoots Killer a glare "I wasn't pregnant."

horror hums and nods "Dust then. I don't have enough magic to get anyone pregnant."

Dust shrugs "Cool. I am upper-dad."

Killer grins "It has been decided!" and he throws his arms out with a laugh.

Corrupt sighs deeply as he looks back at Nightmare however just looks at the other four. Looking a tiny bit more relaxed and with a slightly tilted skull.

Corrupt speaks softly "Are you okay with staying here for a little bit? I swear to you that no one will harm you here, ever." It is why he made this place. it was a place of safety and shelter. For himself and those he holds so dear.

Nightmare looks at him, looks at the others, then looks at where their magicks interact and strengthen each other. Nightmare frowns but nods "Okay..."

Corrupt smiles "Thank you." he looks at his mates "How do you four feel?"

Killer grins "A bit tired but nothing too bad."

Cross nods and sits up straight "We are ready to do whatever!"

Corrupt sees both Horror and Dust give their own okays before nodding "Cross and Killer, can you two go to Littletale and get some supplies? We will need clothes foremost but anything that can fit a ten year old is helpful." furniture will come later once they figure out which room is right for the tiny prince-

Oh... Corrupt is already considering calling him prince compared to his own king title...

Maybe his mates have a point about how this whole situation happened. He does feel very protective over Nightmare... Again things to consider when he has the time.

He focusses on the mission "Dust. If you can go around the castle and secure the place. Make it safer." a glance confirms that Dust shoots their training room a look before nodding. He had figured Dust would understand what he meant without having to point out how many weapons they have, which will just make Ngihtmare nervous.

He looks at Horror "Love?"

Horror grins and nods "I will be in the kitchen. Allergies?"

Corrupt shakes his skull and looks at Nightmare "Not that i can remember... Nightmare? Are there any things you don't like the taste or texture off?"

Nightmare looks confused "texture?"

Corrupt smiles "Well yeah... I know I dislike either quite a few things that feel strange to me to eat. Anything you don't like?"

Nightmare thinks before speaking "I don't like.... mushy stuff? feels weird to chew..."

Corrupt looks at Horror and Horror nods before looking at Nightmare "Anything you like?"

Nightmare blinks and actually focusses on Horror for a moment. His hold on his tentacle tightens but seems to relax when he sees that Horror just waits as he stays in place and doesn't get closer.

Nightmare looks away and shrugs "Don't have stuff that i really like..." he rubs the tentacle. maybe it helps to sooth him?

Horror nods "Fair enough. We will have to get you to taste test a few things to see what you like." and he walks off before he can get a reply.

The others had already quietly left the room which Ngihtmare registers as he looks around soft "They move quiet..."

Corrupt nods "I know. I hardly ever hear them. I notice them by sensing their emotions more than anything."

Nightmare looks up unsure "They... they won't get mad? Others always get mad when i... used that..."

Corrupt smiles and shakes his skull "They won't... Will you let me help you get cleaned up?"

Ngihtmare blinks and looks down only to stare at the mess he is. Clearly not having realised that "Oh... euh..." he looks unsure as he looks hard at Corrupt "You... ARe you the one who spoke to me?"

Corrupt frowns as he tilts his skull "spoke?"

Nightmare nods as he rubs his hand "When... whenever i was sad and scared... I always heard this voice... it was very quiet and begged me to stay near... let them help... Was that you?"

Corrupt frowns as he thinks back. trying to remember the voice that Nightmare speaks off. But he can't remember those moments... What he does remember instead are his dream. showing the other side of the same conversation. Corrupt looks at Nightmare "I must admit I am unsure myself. I do not have memories of my own from before you ate the apple. I do... however... have your memories. For a long time i beleived those to be my own."

Nightmare looks away ashamed and mutters "oh...."

Corrupt shakes his skull "You don't need to be ashamed... you are a child... you shouldn't have had the pressure on you that was placed on you... and those who hurt you... they are the ones who are wrong. You never did anything wrong."

Ngihtmare nods but looks sad "I... I thought you were that voice... you sounded familiar and... I felt like i knew you."

Corrupt frowns and speaks sfotly "There are however dreams i had. Dreams that I wasn't you. But looking on from the outside... unable to assist. But I wanted to help you."

Nightmare thinks it over before looking at Corrupt and nods "okay... I would like being clean..."

Corrupt smiles and carefully picks Nightmare up. Noticing now that any goop touching any bones on Ngihtmare causes the same effect as the touches to the tentacles had caused. He hadn't noticed in his panic before.

Corrupt slowly leaves the living room and goes towards the hall before going up the stairs. As he walks he points at each room and area as he softly explains what is what. Ngihtmare looks around in shock and mutters about it being an actual castle. Corrupt smiles as he feels the excitement slowly start to appear in the younger empath.

They get to Corrupts room and he takes Ngihtmare towards the bathroom. Ngihtmare looks around confused as his hold tightens "what?"

Corrupt speaks softly as he explaisn how the bathroom works before turning on the tab of the bath. Letting Nightmare feel the water before making sure the water is nice and comfortable. He lets Ngihtmare sit by the water and play wiht it as he goes to look through the soaps and brushes. Getting everything needed to help clean up the young skeleton.

It only takes a moment before Corrupt returns to Nightmare's side. Ngihtmare looks nervous at him before looking at the water "will... will the water hurt you?"

corrupt stops and stares at Ngihtmare. He had expected th young skeleton to be worried about being exposed and naked in front of someone he didn't know. instead he is worried about Corrupt.

Corrupt smiles "I will be fine. Water does not bother me." to show he puts his hand in the water and shows how his goop just doesnt'mix with the water, all the rises off him was some old dirt from the battle. Nightmare looks at it curiously and touches it. the goop still lights up when their magic meets.

Ngihtmare frowns "why does it do that?"

Corrupt hums and shrugs "I can only assume it is because our magics have a similar source. it recognises each other as-" family. He manages to stop himself.

Nightmare tilts his skull as he stares at him. a tiny smile appears on his face "I already got a mom though."

Corrupt sighs and looks at the younger monster "please don't start to. I already have four of them doing that joke."

Nightmare chuckles before looking at the water "Bath time?"

Corrupt nods and gently helps Ngihtmare out of his dirty clothes and into the water. Ngihtmare hums happily and relaxes. Corrupt looks him over but doens't see any scars or marks of the past wounds. completely healed.

Corrupt smiles "You really are healed..." It makes it worth it. Makes it worth having to experience the pain of Ngihtmare splitting from his body.

Nightmare looks in awe at his body "You healed me... You kept your promise."

Corrupt frowns as he starts helping the younger monster bath as he still can't quite move right yet "What do you mean?"

Ngihtmare hums as he relaxes into his hold, full trust "The voice... it said that if i just gave in. To accept help. That the pain would stop." he smiles "You stopped the pain."

Corrupt looks at him before smiling "I am happy I was able to help you. I was worried before... That i had hurt you... that eating the apple to make me, destroyed you."

Nightmare keeps looking at him. Some suspicion in his feelings before he relaxes and smiles back. believing him. Why would Nightmare just believe Corrupt on his word-

Oh... of course...

Nightmare and Corrupt are both empaths. They can feel the other and feel that they are both honest. That they don't want to hurt each other.

That is what the trust is build upon. Something that was clear instantly from their first interaction.

After that Corrupt just helps Nightmare get clean as Ngihtmare uses the water to slwoly move his limbs.

Nightmare looks unhappy with the uneasy movement.

Corrupt chcukles "You were asleep for a long time Nightmare. It will take some time before you regain your full movement again."

Nightmare looks at him "Why... why did Drema shoot you?" he looks so confused "Your magic is like mine... why would he attack you?"

Corrupt stops and sighs "Your brother hates me. Because He thought I killed you."

Nightmare frowns as he looks up at him "But... you didn't... it was.. them... the villagers... not you..." he frowns "did you tell Dream that?"

Corrupt sighs "I tried to explain it to him a long time ago... He didn't beleive me."

Nightmare just looks sad as he leans heavily into his hold "He never believed me either."

Corrupt frowns "I am sorry."

Nightmare shrugs as he moves the dirty water around "I am used to it..."

Corrupt rubs his shoulders "People believe what you say here. I promise. They will listen to you."

Nightmare frowns before nodding "okay."

Corrupt nods before smiling "Ready to get dressed?"

Nightmare frowns at the sad pile of clothes "i guess?"

Corrupt shakes his skull and stands up "You are comfortable right? stable? No leanign to the side?"

Ngihtmare looks unsure but nods "I am okay... No one will get in?"

Corrupt nods "no one will bother you." Ngihtmare accepts it and Corrupt quickly goes ot his closet and reaches around. It doesn't take long before finding a soft sweater and some sweats. He returns to the bathroom and helps Ngihtmare dry off before helping him get dressed.

Clean and comfrotable safely in his arms.

Corrupt looks at Nightmare "ready to get some food?"

Nightmare looks at him before nodding "okay."

Corrupt leaves his room and goes towards the kitchen to meet up with one of his mates. Hopefully the others will like and accept Nightmare as easily as Corrupt did.

[riddle-me-ri]

i’m gonna follow the pattern here lol:

your thoughts on…the different scarecrows? especially MOF jon?

Oohh spooky Twig Boys that I may or may not slightly slightly enforce my southernness on (only the good southernness like cooking, music, hospitality none that other shit) I'll be more than happy to oblige anon hehe. It's not often I get to talk/discuss the masters of fear.

Again gonna just kinda discuss all the ones I write for since I'm the most informed on those versions so sorry if I missed one and the post got long lmao

Masters of Fear Scarecrow: since you asked for him specifically I put him first lmao. And this Jon is just incredibly endearing? I think he's an adorable spry kinda guy that, like most, deserved better. I'm also super fond of his design. Also as someone who writes for "x reader" it was nice to see him...actually have a romantic interest? (albeit she was a bully bitch) listen listen...any extra info in a romantic sense of a character I will take

Arkhamverse Scarecrow: Uhh can I just say, absolute whiplash in design and mannerisms lol. While I enjoy both its like...such a bizarre change? Like yeah he did go through something traumatic (being very close to dying) but like...a total voice change? Maybe there's some behind the scenes explanation or something I don't know but yeah...I do enjoy him being whimsy and silly in Asylum and brooding and stoic in Knight with his waxing poetic lectures...but also also...does anyone have any idea how Knight Scarecrow's face works? Like his mouth and such?

TNBA Scarecrow: Definitely a more gritty and intriguing take, especially considering its a revamp of BTAS. Allegedly this is the idea of Scarecrow with a noose started? And now we've seen it incorporated in other designs which is pretty cool.

BTAS Scarecrow: Much like Jervis and I think Batman as a whole, this was my first Scarecrow encounter, and cause of such there's a wee bias to him being one of my favorites lol. Super rich voice, I don't care if he's terrorizing me, I will die of fear peacefully. Solid design and a super strong depiction of the character overall? Also my god his theatrics, top notch such a dramatic lad I love him.

Dark Knight/Nolanverse Scarecrow: pretty eyes...pretty eyes..strong jawline..pretty pretty scarecrow..huh, what? Oh..uhh yeah he's...fine I guess..I mean like not just fine as in fine as hell just...meh? I don't know I just remember him being stupidly criminally pretty. Although to be fair I don't recall much about him..sorry (granted I don't recall much about nolanverse as a whole...its been at most five years rip)

Year One Scarecrow: it took me an embarrassingly long time for me to actually read Year One rip. But it was very gut wrenching. It was the best updated take I've seen on Jon's origins and just how deeply rooted he is in his obsession, and it was a unique way too? Like it was an interesting take on the broken family scenario, I dunno I just thought it was super enriching.

Fear State Scarecrow: so I will say the designs for him are jarring as there's like..a different artist between the beginning, middle, and end of Fear State. But I like both looks, especially in the middle where he looks a lot like his BTAS counterpart. It was an amazing surprise to see the spikey red hair and wide eyes again in comic form and more realistic but still animated? I hope that makes sense. But I loved the story, and he was especially cunning and ruthless here.

Happy Halloween, Scooby-Doo! Scarecrow: asdgggh this boomer asshole lmao. But definitely one of my top three favorites. He's a decent blend of old and new for me. Like he bears resemblance to BTAS but also some other comic appearances, he doesn't even need to he in the costumer and you can just tell he's Jonathan Crane. Also his voice is amazing, and I will forever be grateful to the writer that decided that Scarecrow was a fucking Elvira fan boy. Like of fucking course he'd love Elvira, Mistress of the Dark asdfghjj one of the few times where canon got it right lmao

[strohller27]

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[lavandulawrites]

Yandere Genshin Men With An Escaped Darling

Characters: Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Capitano, Childe, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Dottore, Gorou, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Kaveh, Kazuha, Lyney, Neuvillette, Pantalone, Pierro, Sethos, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Wanderer, Wriothesley, Xiao, Zhongli (all separate)

This took me so much longer than what I have planned. I had much fun writing this:) if you have any yandere scenario requests feel free to send me an ask<3 (I most likely won’t include every single character)

Masterlist

Warnings: violence, murder, imprisonment, manipulation, drugging, female reader

Word count: 9664

Albedo

The icy wind whipped against your cheeks. Snow clouded your vision. The tree branches waved in the wind and grasped at your clothes. You hissed as a thorn ripped your fabric, causing you to bleed.

As you ran down the mountain you glanced over your shoulder at every given moment.

A clearing caught your eye. Finally you could breathe out. You leans against a large tree. You needed to cover your wound. You rummaged through your pockets and to your joy you found a small scarf. The thin woven scarf was gifted to you by Klee, Albedo’s younger sister. The little girl was so proud when she gave you the scarf and wanted you to wear it all the time. Sadness filled your being at the thought of ruining the pink scarf, but your arm was more important. You bound your wound tightly with the scarf. One of the things he had thought you.

“I told you to stay inside the cabin” his voice echoed.

You froze. You prayed to the archons that it was just your mind playing tricks on you.

“This mountain is dangerous. You have no way of defending yourself” his voice soft.

You turned your head. Your eyes met his ice blue ones. They were cold, just like the icy mountain.

“Let’s go home” he walked towards you with quick steps. His arms wrapped around you and he kissed your forehead. “You are better off home, with me. I will keep you safe” his arms tightened around your form.

Alhaitham

The scribe had given you freedom. Which allowed you to freely roam the Akademiya. While Alhaitham was preoccupied in his office, you explored the university. Within a couple of months you had made friends with a couple of the students. You never told them you situation with the grey haired scholar, but they all knew that you lived together.

You had spent a lot of time plotting your escape. After all escaping the scribe was no easy task. The House of Daena was empty and quiet. The small bag you had hoisted over your shoulder filled with only the necessities. Your hands was shaking as you pushed down the door handle to a back door. The sunlight blinded you as the door opened.

You hurried down the path from the Akademiya. Your flats clicking against the cobblestone. You had to get out from Sumeru City and seek refuge in a remote town. It was risk, sure, but it was your only hope.

After an hour or so you had made your way to a small village on the outskirts of the capital. It wasn’t the ideal place, but it was your only option for the night. You was so kindly offered the spare bed by a lovely elderly woman. She didn’t ask why you looked over your shoulder every minute and that you were thankful for.

You packed your things and thanked the older woman for her kindness and went on your way.

After hours on the road your legs felt like jelly. You stopped by a abandoned house and rested on the little bench by the overgrown vegetable garden.

You woke up by the sounds of footsteps coming your way. A shadow blocked the sun.

“I must say you have slightly developed, but unfortunately you are still as predictable as ever” Alhaitham shook his head. “The elderly woman you slept at told me everything as soon as I explained the situation” his lips widened into a grin. “She thanked my for looking after such a helpless woman such as yourself.”

Strong arms picked you up and held you tight against his strong chest. “Let’s go home”.

Ayato

Ayato was a sly man. With his white clothing he looked like an angel, but that was far from the truth. You had many times heard him command the Shuumatsuban to get rid of the clan’s enemies. You knew the katana that rested by his hip when he was out on public duties, had slaughtered many.

You were afraid. Not only by him in himself, but afraid of his power and actions. That’s why you climbed over the tall walls that shielded the Kamisato residence from the outside world. Your ankles buckled under you as you landed and you whimpered out in pain. After you had collected yourself, you made a run for it. The ninja’s that were stationed around the estate had without doubt already spotted you. You hoped that they went to report to Ayato instead of chasing you down.

The way down to the beach was rocky and dangerous. Like a wild goat you quickly made your way down thanks to the adrenaline that pumped through your veins. The old rowboat was in the same stop just as you had recalled from an evening stroll with Ayaka along the beach. To your luck the two paddles were still there. You pushed the boat with all your might to the shore. The saltwater cold against your bare feet.

The swish of an arrow stopped you in your tracks. You looked down and saw it sticking out from the side of the boat. The hole was not that big, but it would cause your boat to leak in enough water for it to sink before you had made it to safety.

“Seize her!” a Shuumatsuban with high standing ordered.

A man with his face covered dragged you away from your boat and bound your wrists behind your back.

When you looked up at the cliff you saw Ayato looking down at you. He made his way down slowly and dread filled your veins.

He stopped in front of you and lifted your chin with a finger. “Did you have fun?” he leaned his face closer, his breath fanning your face. “Do not forget that I have eyes and ears everywhere”.

“Now let’s get you home. I will make sure you won’t slip through my fingers again. Though I must say your little attempt humoured me”

Baizhu

Tricking the little zombie girl made you feel horrible, but it was your only ticket to freedom. The green haired doctor had feed you herbs that made you weak and depended on his care. You had seen the label on the little bottle containing the medicine. So when he was out researching some herbs, you went through all the medical books he had in his libraries in search of the antidote. After much time and countless books you finally figured out the antidote.

You talked to Qiqi alone when Baizhu was busy treating a patient. You explained that he needed some herbs and told her that she had to deliver them to you and not her guardian. After some convincing she agreed. You crossed your fingers that she would remember and not slip up.

To your joy Qiqi had indeed remembered. The herbs tasted awful, but it was a small price to pay. It didn’t take long before you felt the medicine Baizhu had given you wear of. When he came to check up on you, you pretended that you were still weak. You asked him to go get some more medicine and he did as you said. When the green haired man left, you quickly tried to pry the window open. It was slightly jammed, but with your new strength you managed. Finally you had escaped the snake’s nest.

Your feet moved fast as you ran down the many stairs. You had to turn Baizhu to the authorities for his crimes. Just as you had made it down the stairs you bumped into someone. You didn’t need to look up to understand who it was.

“You will catch a cold running around like that” his voice cold as ice. His fingers lifted up your chin. “Tricking Qiqi really was a low move. That poor child was absolutely devastated to come home to an empty house. As for me I must say I am deeply disappointed. I have made it very clear that you will not manage without me.”

His lips curled up into a soft smile. “Let’s go home my darling. I will make some tea.”

Capitano

The first Harbinger was worshipped throughout the whole snowy nation. His underlings held great respect for him. He could be cruel and bloodthirsty, but to you he had a soft spot for.

Boots hammered against the ice ground. You knew you wouldn’t be able to run away from them, but you would not give up so easily.

As you made your way through the thick pine forest you started to regret your decision, but it was too late. As you came to the end of the forest you were surrounded by soldiers. Their spears raised towards you, stopping you in your tracks.

The sound of hooves reached your ears. The soldiers parted and bowed deep. On a tall black horse sat Capitano. Even with his face hidden by his black helmet, you could feel his intense gaze.

The stallion came to a halt and his rider dismounted. The snow crunched underneath his heels as he made his way towards you. His height towering over your trembling form. “You are all dismissed” he barked out. The soldiers bowed before they marched down the hill.

He stayed quiet for what felt like an eternity. The ice cold wind howling against the tree tops. The dark haired man finally spoke “You broke my trust. Criminals deserve to be punished.”

With a swift motion he threw you over his shoulder and held you in place with his arm. He mounted his horse and squeezed his heels against the animal’s flank.

The Harbinger’s hold on you was tight and as suffocating as his presence. As you watched the landscape blur together you realised that you would never escape him.

Childe

The sound of children’s laughter could be heard in the distance. The small fishing village Ajax’s family resides in was remote. The river that ran across it ice cold and filled to the brim with fish. You crept as quickly as you could between the trees that surround the village. To your dismay Childe’s childhood home was just by the border which meant that the red head knew the woods like the back of his hand.

You winced as you heard Teucer calling out for his brother. The little child had noticed your disappearance.

You picked up your speed and ran as fast as your legs could carry you. It was difficult with the heavy snow, but you had to keep going.

A flash of red stopped you in your tracks. You quickly hid behind a rock and held your breath.

“It’s not nice to run away” a chirpy voice said. Childe.

Of course he found you. It was only a matter of time. His soft laughter rang throughout the woods. He was close. Too close.

Suddenly he jumped onto the rock you had hidden behind. You yelped and backed away. He grinned as he looked down on you. His eyes wide and crazed. “If you wanted to play hide and seek why didn’t you just say so?” he laughed. His laughter chilling.

He jumped down and landed just a few centimetres from your legs. He bent down and dragged you to your feet. “Teucer, Tonia and Anthon are all waiting for you back home. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them would you?” he tilted his head and faked a sad expression.

He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly. “When we get home after our visit here, I will never let you leave my side. Is that understood?” his voice low. He chuckled as he pulled back to study your expression. “That frightened look of yours is really something. Makes me wanna eat you up” he kissed your cheek. “Don’t make me lose my cool, okay?”

Cyno

The sun was bright and high. The heat was unbearable and you regretted not seeking shade. The sand danced across the dune as the wind gave you some mercy from the heat.

In front off you on the scorching sand laid the lifeless bodies of the eremites that had helped you with your escape from the general. Blood coloured the sand red and the ruins surrounding you were splattered in red. The metallic sand made you dizzy.

Cyno stood before the bodies with his back turned to you. His white hair was coated in red. His strong muscles made him look like a god as he stood there with his bloodied spear. He turned to you. His face blank.

“I am sorry you had to see that” his expression apologetic.

He planted the spear in the ground and walked towards you slowly like he was afraid of scaring you. He squatted down so that he was on your eye level. You pulled your legs towards you as much as you could.

“Why did you run away?”

You only stared at him with big eyes. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. His head piece long discarded. “The desert is a dangerous place. You have no idea how scared I was when I noticed your disappearance” his eyes sad. “When I saw you among those eremites… I have never felt such anger. I had no choice but to eliminate them. Those who try to take you away from me deserves punishment. I did the right thing with ridding the world of such people” his hands was trembling in anger.

“I will make sure no one tries to take you away from me again. I will always be by your side” he kissed your tears away with a soft smile.

Dainsleif

Dainsleif had long lost his sanity. At least when it came to you. That much was clear.

You had just managed to escape him while he slept. The ruin you had chosen for your resting place for the night was eerie quite. Even the monsters were gone. You would have found it weird had you not been on the run. You manoeuvred through the dark ruins as fast as you could. After a while you made it out.

Your relived expression fell as you took in your surroundings. The monsters you had disappeared were now standing in front of you. You slowly backed away as you thought up an escaped plan. Just as you were about to make a run for it, dark blue power lit up the area in front of you. With movements faster then what your eyes could see, the monsters were slain.

The blond traveler looked at you with a look that sent shivers down your spine. He flicked off the blood that coated his blade as he made his way towards you.

“I expected more from you. To believe you so ignorantly took the bait is truly disappointing” he shook his head. “But on the plus side, I have now proved to you that you will never make it without me. Let me be your protector. Let me take care of you” he kneeled in front of you as he took your small hand in his and kissed it gently.

You could only cry silent as the Twilight Sword led you inside the ruins. Dainsleif was a man of his word and you knew very well that he would never break his promise to himself.

Diluc

The winery was a beautiful place. When you first arrived you thought it looked like something straight out from a fairytale. You could not be more wrong as you soon learned.

Diluc was a desperate man. He had tricked himself into believing he was your saviour and he would do anything in order to protect you. If he had to kill someone in order to do so he would not bat an eye.

You had escaped through the cellar door and out the cellar window. You had been unsure if you fitted through the window, but to your surprise you fitted like a glove. The moon casted a pale light against the manor and it made you pause in your steps by its beauty.

The stables were empty just as you had expected. You tacked up the chestnut mare Diluc had gifted you. You kissed her forehead as you collected yourself. He would come after you.

As the mare galloped through the dense forest you could hear the distant shouts from Diluc. You gritted your teeth as you made your horse run faster.

Just as you thought you had made it, you heard the dreaded screams of his hawk. You had lost.

Your eyes were heavy as you slowly gained consciousness. You were tied to the desk chair inside his bedroom. Your bindings was of the finest red silk. You shivered at the similarities between you and a neatly wrapped present. In front of you were a highly distressed red haired man. He was walking back and forth, muttering something to himself.

“How could I be so careless as to not look better after her… I am a fool” he hissed to himself.

After a few minutes he stopped and turned to you. His expression softened as he cupped your face. “I apologise for the bindings, but it is necessary. You could be hurt you know?” his voice soft, but serious. “I will never let any harm happen to you. Ever.”

Dottore

The doctor’s blood red eyes always sent shivers down your spine. Even though he was human, he seemed like anything but. His embraces felt like a cage and his sweet words like poison. It didn’t take you long to understand why he was the most feared man in the entirety of Teyvat.

Dottore held you within his estate and refused to let you leave. Heavily armed guards guarded your chambers. You had tried to convince them to let you go and the next day you were delivered their served head on a platter. Dottore was cruel that much was obvious.

You knew you could never outsmart Dottore. He was one of the smartest beings on the plant and he never pretended not to be. If you couldn’t trick Dottore, you would trick the servants.

The long hallways in Dottore’s mansion were dark and empty. You sneaked through the manor as quietly as possible. With the key you had stolen clutched in your hand you made your way to the garden door. You twisted the key in the keyhole and pushed the door open. Cold air filled your lungs. Your eyes lit up at the sight of the snow filled landscape.

Your freedom was however short lived.

“If you take a step outside of that door I will behead this woman” a deep voice reached your ears.

You froze and slowly turned. There in the doorway stood the Harbinger. His raven-like mask were nowhere to be found. His hand was wrapped around the neck of the maid who you had stolen the key from. Her face was filled with fear and she looked at you pleadingly.

As much as you longed for freedom, you could not bear to have the blood from someone else on your hands. You walked back in and locked the door with a lowered head. You placed the key in Dottore’s waiting hand.

He slipped the key onto his pocket with a smile. “Good girl.”

“However…. I cannot let such an action go unpunished” he tck-ed. He threw the maid across the room. Her back hit the wall with a loud thud.

“I have given you all a specific rule you all must follow. I have made what would happen if you would ever break it quite clear, have I not?” his voice as cold as the unforgiving landscape that surrounded the estate. The maid muttered a “yes lord Harbinger”.

The blue haired man scoffed and turned to you. “I suppose I should teach you a lesson” his eyes held nothing but cold determination.

With three long strides he stopped in front of the maid. Her eyes filled with horror. He pulled out a sharp and sleek scalpel and slight her throat in a precise motion. “You deserve much more suffering, but I don’t want me darling to be witness to that so this would have to do” he sneered at the maid as she gurgled on her own blood.

He threw the scalpel and wiped his hands on his pants. “Let’s get you back to your chambers shall we.”

He snaked his arm around your waist and led you out of the hallway. “I trust that you will stop your escape attempts and accept that you belong here with me” his voice smooth like honey.

Gorou

The general of the resistance was a generous man. He always looked after his soldiers and treated them with respect and you were no different. He loved you with his entire being, that much was certain.

He never brought you to the frontlines. You were to stay at the base with a few trusted soldiers that looked after you. They all knew about your situation, but no one cared. They all were just glad that the general had someone who brought him comfort through the tough times.

As the soldiers exchanged posts you were able to sneak out of the cabin. You did not get far before a certain brunette had tracked you down.

His big cerulean eyes wide as his whole body tensed. “Why are you out here?” his big eyes not blinking once. His ears alert.

“You didn’t try to leave right? It must be something else? Right?” his voice raised. His fangs visible as he sneered.

He gripped your hand tightly as he dragged you back to the camp. “I’m sorry sweetheart, but I need to keep you safe” he looked at you with a sad expression as he hurried back to the camp.

The hybrid had always been extremely overprotective to the point it suffocated you. He always told he did what he did for your own good.

The next nights he held you tightly in his arms as he slept. His fluffy tail wrapping around your leg in a protective manner.

Heizou

The detective had locked you up in his own home, claiming it was a way to protect you. Every door and every window (and some drawers) had complicated locks on. Only a few doors and drawers were unlocked.

Heizou was out on a detective job so you were left all alone. This was your chance to get out. You knew all to well that the detective most likely would track you down, but you could not let such an opportunity pass.

The puzzle that was the lock-mechanism on the front door seemed different. Heizou did have the habit of changing them so you didn’t think too much of it. The puzzle was tricky, but after a while you were able to figure it out. The door unlocked and you squealed in joy.

You hadn’t come far before someone wrapped their arms around your shoulders. “Boo” he whispered into your ears causing you to yelp.

“Aww… Did I scare you now?” his tone mocking. He leaned his entire body weight onto you causing you to stumble. He chuckled at your shuffling and poked your cheek. “I’m glad you passed my little test sweetheart” he purred.

You regained your senses and pushed him off. You glared at him as he laughed.

“You really are entertaining aren’t you? You thought that I would ever let you go… Now that’s just too funny!” he wiped his tears as he laughed.

“With your naivety, you are better of with me” he grabbed your arm and pulled you close. Your noses almost touching. He cupped your cheeks and smiled at you gently. “I will take care of you, darling.”

Itto

The brutish oni was really clingy and always felt the need to have you glued to his side. Getting alone time was nearly impossible, but you managed when he was out organising a onikabuto match.

While the white haired man was busy making posters with his gang, you snuck out of the house. Which was surprisingly easy when he wasn’t home. The city was lively and the lit lanterns flickering in the wind. Stars littering the clear night sky. You sneaked among the multiple food stalls. The smell of fried fish filling the air.

The sound of a booming laughter made your limbs freeze to the ground. You could recognise that laughter everywhere. You turned your head and your eyes widened in fear at your confirmed suspicion. Before a dessert stall stood Itto with Mamoru. “We gotta get something for the gang. You brought money right?” the oni nudged Mamoru who muttered a “yes boss”.

You quickly hid behind a small group of someone who stood before the boba shop. Luckily you where shorter than the group and you were able to stay hidden.

“Wait… Why does it smell like [Name]?”

“I don’t know boss. Isn’t she home?”

Your heartbeat hammered against your ribs. You carefully peaked through the group. Itto was sniffing in the air, the action almost comical, had it not been for your predicament. His closed eyes snapped open. His red slit eyes met yours. His body tense like a hunting dog. His expression filled with shock. “Doll?” he called out.

Your feet moved before you even registered it. You sprinted down the street. Your sandals clicking against the ground. You didn’t need to look back to know that Itto was right behind you.

You jumped down the railing and you were thankful that the jumps wasn’t too high as you landed on the soft grass. Just as you made it behind a small building, a big hand grabbed your arm. You lost your balanced and was pulled flushed against a broad chest.

“Why are you outside?” his voice eerily quiet. “I thought I made it clear that it’s dangerous, you are not a big strong oni. Humans are so fragile and weak” he pulled you into a tight hug. His face pressed against your soft hair. “You better listen to me next time… or I would have to tie you up” he pressed a kiss on top of your head followed by a soft “I love you”.

Kaeya

The Calvary Captain’s office was quite save from the sound of the captain’s pen scribbling. He hadn’t acknowledged you since he brought you inside his spacious office. His silence was scarier than his anger. He continued to write his report about some mission. The grandfather clock in the corner ticking.

After what felt like an eternity Kaeya looked up at you. He folded his hands and leaned his chin on them. His lone eye looking straight at you, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “You broke my trust did you not?” his honeyed voice terrifying. He tck-ed. “I am disappointed, but not surprised” he sighed. “I should punish you” he unfolded his hands and drummed two fingers across the rim of his empty glass.

“Why would I want to be locked up in some apartment?” you spat at the smug knight. His lips stretched up into a uncanny smile.

“Oh my…. You are more naive than what I gave you credit for” he chuckled. He stood up suddenly, causing the chair legs to scrap against the hardwood floor. He walked towards you like a stalking wolf. His eyes hungry and brimming with madness.

He stopped before you and leaned down on the arms of your chair. His face close to yours. Too close. His crystal blue eye scanned yours. You felt completely naked underneath his gaze. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know how you so foolishly conceived the knights guarding the house?” he laughed. His laughter sickening. “I dealt with them as soon as they reported back to me. It was a pain cleaning of the blood from my new boots, but some sacrifices must be made” he sighed.

He grasped your chin and leaned closer “I will never ever let you go.”

He straightened up. His expression lighthearted. “Now let’s get something to eat shall we?” he pulled you up with a tight grip. You looked down on his boots as he dragged you out of his office, noticing the few blood speckles he had missed.

Kaveh

The house Kaveh had constructed for you two was like a maze. With many corridors and doors, it was easy to get lost. He had built you both a home where he could play out his fantasy. He had kept you locked away in the mansion for months. Kaveh said it was to keep you safe and away from prying eyes.

You tried to force the window open for the 10th time, but to no avail. The window was still only a few centimetres open. Kaveh had proudly showed you the windows he had constructed that would not open more than a few centimetres. You had hoped that the design of the master architect had failed, but to your disappointment they had not.

Your eyes scanned the room till the landed on the doors to the winter garden. The glass were delicate and beautiful. You studied it closely till you came to the conclusion that they might be fragile enough to shatter. You picked up a stool that were standing in the corner. You lifted the furniture over your head and smashed the windows with all your might. The glass doors shattered into million pieces, looking like glittering diamonds. You dropped the stool and climbed through the window. You hissed as you cut yourself on the jagged pieces of glass that were still standing.

The winter garden was cozily decorated and it almost made you sad to leave it. The door out to the garden was locked which wasn’t a surprise. To your luck one of the miniature stone statues that resembled birds of all sizes, was perfect for shattering windows. It almost broke your heart at the thought of shattering the beautiful stained glass walls, but you had no choice. With all your might you managed to break it.

You ran as fast as you could through the garden. You had to find the exit before Kaveh came home from his meeting with his new client. As you were about to climb the tall fence that surrounded the property, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you down. You back hit the soft grass and straddling you were Kaveh. His eyes filled with betrayal and anger.

“How could you?!” his voice loud. His grip on your shoulders tightened. “After all that I have done for you?!�� his features twisted into rage and hurt.

You tried to defend yourself, but your words died on you tongue. You had never seen Kaveh that angry. Fear filled you entire being and you felt sick. You casted a last look at the flush forest behind the fence. You knew that this would be your last time outside for a very long time.

Kazuha

With your breath ragged you ran through the dense forest. You had finally managed to escape the white haired samurai. You just needed to reach the beach and board one of the fishing boats that were docked at the dock.

You finally made it to the clearing that lead down to the beach. You waved at the fishermen and they turned to greet you. The dock was old and badly maintained. Splinters poking out and threatening to stab your feet. Just as you were about to ask the captain on the rather small boat, a gust of wind nearly knocked you down.

Red maple leaves fell gently down form the sky. The man in front of you moved quickly and elegantly. His movements like a dance, completely ensnaring you with his beauty. Crimson rain littered the air before it splattered your face. The warm liquid brought you quickly to your senses. Kazuha swiftly slashed his katana, slitting the throat of the captain. The red eyed man landed gently and wiped his blade with a handkerchief. The white fabric staining red in an instant.

He turned his gaze to you. His lips bore a gentle smile. In a blink of an eye he was right in front of you. He lifted his hand and gently wiped the bloodstains of your skin. “What is my delicate flower doing here?” his voice soft.

You swallowed. You had yet to let you eyes wander to the slaughtered boat crew. Kazuha’s eyes scanned yours. His long eyelashes fluttered. Tears ran down your cheeks in crystal clear rivers. You shoved him away as hard as you could. He stumbled back, but you knew he held back his strength. He had let you push him. “Get away from me!” your voice weak and trembling. You choked out a cry as your fell down to the wooden floor. The wood was soaked with red blood. You let your eyes wander. You wanted to throw up at the sight of the dead boatmen.

“You know I can’t do that. Without me you’re lost. I need to protect you. You are the only light in my life and I know we will live happily ever after” his voice was pained and vulnerable. His calloused hands gripped your shoulders in desperation. “I am never going to let you leave me” his smile crazed and not fitting his saddened eyes.

He wrapped his arms around you in an embrace that reminded you of a cage. His face nestled into your soft hair. “I will make you happy, just you wait and see.”

Lyney

A swarm of cards flew over your face, momentarily blinding you. You ducked your head, but lost balance as something caught your leg. It was a makeshift snare made of multiple colourful handkerchiefs. Playful giggles reached your ears.

“The surprised look on your face is to die for! So adorable!” his voice gleeful.

You quickly got back on your feet and was about to make a run for it when Lyney tackled you. You landed with a groan, the cobblestone hard against your back. Lyney pinned your hands to the ground as he sat on top of your midriff. He grinned as he looked down on you.

“It’s no fun in you escaping you know?” he tilted his head. He kissed your nose before he jumped off you. “You could at least be a little more creative” he shook his head in faux disappointment.

“Asshole” you sneered at him.

His cat like eyes crinkled in amusement at your remark. “How rude” he snickered.

Just as sudden as he had jumped you, his expression changed. His eyes colder than ice and his mouth a thin line. He grabbed your wrist and dragged you after him.

He unlocked the house he, his siblings and you resided in. He quickly locked the door after him and dragged you into your bedroom. He let go of your hand. You quickly stumbled as far away from him as you could.

“Why can’t you let me have nice things? Why [Name]?” his eyes narrowed. It was in moments like this that you remembered his role in The Fatui. His eyes held a dangerous glint that dared you to cross him.

Your eyes widened in horror. “No, no, no… Please Lyney!” you begged. Tears trialing down your cheeks and pooling down onto the soft carpet.

“You gave me no choice. This is the consequences of your own actions” he shushed you as he clasped the chain onto your left ankle. He gently kissed your tears away. “It’s only temporary, okay?” he gently stroked your cheekbone. “I love you darling, don’t forget that.”

Neuvillette

Even though the judge bore aesthetically similarities with the sea otters that lived in the Fontanian waters, he was not like them at all. They were sweet playful creatures, and the judge a selfish cruel man. His good reputation made you sick. If only the citizens of Fontaine knew him like you did.

He had kept you hidden and locked up in his beautiful home. That was until you had managed to convince the Melusine that was in charge of looking after you that day. At first she refused to let you out, but when you told her that you were going to buy a present for Neuvillette she yielded. If it was under other circumstances you would have felt bad for tricking her.

The bustling streets of The Court of Fontaine a familiar sight. You breathed in the air. Oh how you had missed the smell of new baked goods and the music of street musicians.

You knew it would not take long before Neuvillette would notice your disappearance. You had to get out of the city and onto an aqua bus before he sent the Gardes after you.

You bought a ticket with the money you had managed to steal from Neuvillette. You quickly made it up the stairs to the aqua bus station. The aqua bus was just about to depart when a group of Gardes blocked the exit behind you. You leaped for the bus only to collide with a broad chest. You could recognise that scent no matter where in Teyvat you found yourself.

You slowly raised your head. Neuvillette looked down at you with a furious expression. You had only seen that expression when he had caught you chatting with other men (it didn’t matter to him that your conversation was only friendly and nothing more). His lilac eyes bored into yours, stripping your soul naked.

“I told you to never leave the residence” his voice low and lazed with anger.

His horns glowing light blue. His hands balled into fists by his sides, clearly trying to ground himself. You lowered your head.

“We are going back at once and you better not make any commotions” his hand turned you around and firmly guided you to the lift. One of the Gardes reached out his hand in order to size you properly. “Get your filthy hand away from her” Neuvillette’s voice boomed.

The Garde tried to defend himself but was cut short by Neuvillette. “Leave at once or you will regret it” his teeth bared. His sharp fangs fully visible. The Garde bowed and quickly left.

Neuvillette’s hand tightened its hold on your shoulder. “When we get home I demanded an explanation as to why you left your home” he whispered into your ear.

Pantalone

Pantalone was sitting on a expensive leather chair. His shoes polished in a way you could see your own reflection in the black leather. In his gloved hands was a black pistol with details in white gold.

In front of him on the cold polished hardwood floor knelt a man. His hands were bound behind his back. His eyes were looking pleadingly up at the Harbinger. He was a guard whom you had befriended. He had so kindly helped you escape before you both were caught red handed by the ninth Harbinger.

The black haired Harbinger turned his face towards you. “This is what he gets for taking what’s mine” his voice as smooth as velvet. His eyes dark and his smile cunning. He turned towards the bound man. “I must admit that I am a rather greedy man. I really hate when people try to take what’s mine” he sighed and clicked his tongue. He flicked the safety and pointed the pistol at the guards head.

“No!” you screamed as you desperately tried to get lose from your silk bindings.

Pantalone shushed you gently. “He asked for it my love” his voice sweet as sugar.

“Any last words?” he smiled. “Hmm… I don’t think you deserve any” he fired the pistol before the poor guard had the time to open his mouth. Pantalone’s smile stretched into a sickening grin. The man’s brain splatters onto the expansive rug.

You screamed as you tried to swallow the bile. “How could you?! You disgusting monster! I hate you!” you screamed while thick tears ran down your cheeks.

“Don’t cry my dear. He’s not worth shedding your lovely tears over” Pantalone kneeled in front of you. His eyes gentle. “I will make sure that no other men like that ever gets between us. You are mine and nothing will ever change that” his voice low.

Pierro

The sorcerer had forced you to your knees with his magic. You could feel the power tugging at your mind and it hurt. His pale eyes boring into yours. “Have you forgotten your place?” his gruff voice echoed inside the ballroom.

You glared up at him unable to do anything else. He kneeled before you and harshly lifted your chin. His expression harsher than the unforgiving climate outside. “I must say I’m utterly disappointed in your behaviour. You should be ashamed.”

You tried to get control over your limbs, but to no avail. Your words died on your tongue and you were unable to make any sound.

The white haired man scoffed and released his hold on you. His magic released you completely and you crawled backwards and away from him. Creating as much distance as possible.

The Jester rose to his feet and dusted off invisible dust from his elegant robe. “If you were anyone else I would have executed you for your crime. Do not forget that our relationship was blessed directly blessed from Her Majesty Herself” he sneered.

He hauled you up to your feet, his iron grip bruising. He dragged you down the corridors and up the many stairs to your chambers. He slammed the door open and dragged you inside.

“Think over what you have done. I don’t take such humiliation lightly” his eyes narrow as he looked down on you. “Don’t think you will ever get away. You belong to me and that’s final” with that he closed the door and locked it making you all alone.

Sethos

You ran over the dunes as fast as you could. You had to be fast. Behind you you could hear Sethos voice as he called for you. To your misfortune the free spirited man was fast. Extremely fast. Your sandals were filled with sand, but you couldn’t care less.

Suddenly it became quiet. Too quiet. You hid behind a rock formation and listened. Suddenly a figure slid down the dune to your left and leaped on top of you. He was precise enough that make sure you landed on the sand and not the rock behind you. His wild hair rustling in the wind.

The sight in front of you reminded you of the time when he swept you away and locked you away inside the temple. He had first gotten to know you when he visited Sumeru City. He had told you it was love at first sight and he asked you to come and visit the desert with him. You were taken aback by his impulsiveness, but you soon grew accustom to it.

“If you wanted to play hide and seek you could have just said so” his entire weight on you. He was silent for a few moments. His crystal green eyes scanning yours. You could see his gears turning. “Don’t tell me you tried to run away from me…? You would never do something like that? Right?” his voice lazed with disbelief and desperation.

In a swift movement you were brought to you feet. His hold on you right and you wondered if he thought you would fly away if he let go. “Let’s get back to the temple” his voice back to its jovial self, but his eyes clouded with obsession and desperation.

Thoma

The white mop mopped over the hardwood floor in a fast motion. The white colour quickly staining red. A crimson red pool of blood was spilled across the floor. The sight made you sick. Bile raising up in your throat. You were sitting in the coroner of the room , hugging your knees. The blonde man stopped his mopping and raised his head and looked at you. His face splattered with blood. He sighed and leaned the mop against the wall.

“I am so sorry you had to see that, my angle” his green eyes pleading. He crouched in front of your trembling form. He gently caressed your cheek.

The friendly and kind housekeeper was gone and replaced by a green eyed monster that slaughtered anything in its path. He had beheaded the kind men that helped you escape from the Kamisato estate.

“I am wounded that you tried to leave me. What did I do wrong?” his eyes glossy.

You locked me away you wanted to say, but you kept your mouth shut.

“My master has been kind and let us stay here together and this is your gratitude?” his voice slightly raised. His eyes scanned over your form and landed on your bloodied nightdress. “I have to get that off” he muttered as he quickly rose. His movements frantic as he looked for a washcloth.

“My gratitude?” your voice shaky, but loud. “You have taken everything away from me!” you stood up. Your legs shaky.

Thoma’s eyes narrowed. “Watch your tongue” his voice cold.

You swallowed. You understood now better than anyone why so many feared the “fixer”.

His hold on the washcloth tight. His knuckles whiter than snow. “Go to your room and change. I will wash your nightdress later” he spoke through gritted teeth.

Your colour drained from your face as you hurried to your room. Your bedroom seemed more like a prison than anything else.

Tighnari

The forest watcher had always lectured you about various plants and their effects and benefits. At first you thought it was boring, but after awhile you learned to use it to your advantage. Taking herbs from Tighnari’s beloved collection was tricky, but not impossible. You had read through every single book he had on botany. Your plan was bulletproof.

Tighnari had gently sipped on the cup of tea you had brewed for him while he read through some reposts. He had then fallen limp over the kitchen table. You checked his pulse and breathes out in relief when you felt his pulse against your fingers. You wanted to escape from the obsessed fox, not kill him.

You rummage through his pocket for his key. The key was heavy in your hand and it was almost a surreal feeling when you twisted it in the lock. The air fresh and welcoming. With a last look at the unconscious man you began your journey.

The rainforest was tricky to navigate in, but luckily you had stolen both a map and a compass from Tighnari. Yet again you were glad you paid attention to his boring lectures. The sound of branches snapping made you stop in your tracks. The hair on the back of your neck rose.

“Poisoning me…” his voice echoed through the treetops. “Your audacity is truly something” he sneered. “Look at me when I’m talking to you” his voice nearer.

You slowly turned around and were met with a angry hazel eyes. His long ears pinned back in anger. His arms folded over his chest.

“The rainforest is dangerous. Let’s get back” you could see he was holding back his fury. His jaw clenched. He groaned and dragged a hand over his face. “I guess I have no choice…” he sighed as he stalked towards you.

Quicker thank you could register he had trapped you within his arms. “I will never let you go. I’m just trying to protect you” he whispered against your ear.

Something pricked your neck. Your eyes widened and darted to Tighnari’s. “It had to be down. Consider it… pay back” he supported your body as you lost consciousness.

Venti

The anemo archon was an eerie man. He was all smiles and friendly laughter among the crowd disguised as Venti the bard, but with you he was like a completely different person. Sure he was still easygoing, but his obsession and possession overshadowing anything else. He had told you many times with a playful smirk that he was undoubtedly the weakest archon. You never believed him. You had seen with your very own eyes what he was capable of doing to those he thought was undeserving of your attention, but you had yet to see his full potential. Though you must admit that you rather did not wish to witness that.

He kept you in the ruins of Stormterror’s lair. He had made the ruin as liveable as possible and even quite cozy. He treated you like royalty and gave you everything except freedom. You thought it was rather stupid considering he was the god of freedom.

Escaping the ruin was almost completely impossible considering the wind shields that surrounded it and the dragon that acted as a guard. When you finally managed to escape and run over the grassy meadows you were so happy you cried.

Your tears clouded your vision causing you to become less aware of your surroundings.

Strong wind slammed against causing you to lose balance. There in front of you were Barbados. He was not in his usual clothing, but rather in a godly outfit. White big wings flapping behind him. His cerulean eyes glowing intensely in the night. He was completely silent, but you felt the anger oozing out from him.

You were completely frozen to the ground and you were unsure if it was his doing or your fear taking over. You wanted to explain yourself, but your voice failed you completely.

With a gust of wind you were swept up into his arms. His arms strong and squeezed you flushed against him. His wings flapped silently as he soared through the air. High up in the air you were able to see Mondstadt City and you quickly came to the realisation that you would probably never step a foot inside its gates again.

Wanderer/Scara

In front off you was a raging man. His eyes wide and filled with fury. His hands held anemo power which he sliced through the merchants that had guided you through the tick rainforest. Wanderer’s hair was slicked back with blood. He delivered the last strike to the merchant before he landed. He slowly turned around to face you. His hands shaking with anger.

You opened your mouth, but quickly shut your mouth at his raised hand. “Those lowlife who think they can take you away from me” he laughed manically. “How dumb can you be?” Wanderer sneered through laughter. “Because you would never leave me right? After all I have been through? Right?” his eyes crazed as he continued to spew nonsense. “We are destined to be together. It’s my right. How dare they to take that away from me?! I should revive them just so that I could kill them again” his laughter sounded almost forced.

He wrapped his arms around you. You could feel tears against your neck as he wept. You were astonished by his vulnerability. It almost made you pity him. Just almost.

He quickly regained his composure and roughly wiped his tears on his sleeve. “Let’s go home…” his voice distant.

The journey back had been quite. When you finally arrived back he shoved you inside. His eyes wide and intense. “You have no idea how much I wanna lock you up in a cage right now” he muttered. His porcelain white hand tightly gripping yours. “I will make sure so that you never leave me. I need you. I need you so much it hurts. So don’t ever try and get away.”

Wriothesley

You had long planned your escape from The Fortress of Meropide. Unlike the other inmates you were completely innocent. You had been wrongfully imprisoned on the request of Wriothesley. You had gained the trust of some of you fellow inmates and they promised to help you escape. You had chose the pipe cleaning day as your day of escaping. All went smoothly and exactly as planned.

The only step left in your plan was descend into the waters that the pipes were connected too and swim out to freedom. After that you had to avoid the detectors, but you were confident in your diving abilities.

As you were saying your thanks to the kind inmates, the sound of heavy boots against metal echoed in the pipes. In the opening of the pipe were Wriothesley. His imposing figure sending shivers down you spine.

The metal decorations on his outfit clattering with each step. The handcuffs on his hip catching the light. His icy eyes held an unreadable emotion. “Well well… What might this ruckus be?” he tilted his head and placed his hands on his hips. His tone held a dangerous edge to it. Wriothesley eyes glued onto yours and completely ignoring the others.

A bottomless pit formed in your stomach and you almost threw up. You swallowed the taste of vomit. Your freedom was so close, yes so very far.

“Are you aware your sentences are going to be so much longer?” his lips curled up into a little smirk. “I thought you were smarter than this” with two steps he reached you. He hooked off his cuffs and cuffed your wrists. “It seems you need a more secure cell… Luckily I know just the one” he leaned closer to your ear “I will make sure you always stick to my side”.

You had never regretted something more than your little escape attempt. The new so called cell was a bedroom connected to the Duke’s living quarters. Your freedom had never been so distant as it was now.

Xiao

You ran as fast as you could. The landscape blurring together as you navigated through the forest. You had to escape him. Or at least try. Tue bamboo forest was dense and dark. Your human eyes struggled to see clearly. You could hear birds fleeing in the distance. He was close.

You had ran away when you learned that he had slaughtered the man who had so kindly gifted you sun pork buns. The adepti had let you run first, which surprised you. Even though you didn’t understand why, you were grateful for your head start.

Suddenly a green black cloud appeared in front off you. You tried to turn in your heel to flow, but was stopped when a hand grabbed your collar. You were momentarily unable to breath. It was only when he loosened his grip that you were able to gasp for air.

“I don’t understand you mortals. I only do what I have to protect you. I give you everything you need and more” he sounded confused and annoyed.

“Without me you would not have managed to survive. At all” he spun you around so you could face him. “Did me killing that man hurt you that much? I have killed many of you near acquaintances and you never batted an eye…” his voice trailed off as he was lost in thought. “Could it be that you never realised? Never mind. It doesn’t matter now” he sighed.

At the thought of him killing your near friends without you knowing made you sob helplessly. He only started at you in confusion.

He clicked his tongue before he hauled you over his shoulder. “I need to ask Madame Ping for a tea pot it seems…” his voice a frustrated groan.

Zhongli

You had sought shelter at a kind older couple. You needed to regain your energy before you fled the city. The woman was kind and gladly cooked for you. She completely denied your help. You stayed at their house for two weeks before the older woman knocked at your bedroom door and told you a friend of her husband was coming to visit.

The atmosphere in the living room was as tense as it could get. In front of you were Zhongli. He was the friend the couple had spoken so warmly about. The brunette was sitting in the sofa besides the woman, one of his legs over the other. His hand elegantly holding a cup of tea. His reptile eyes staring you down intensely.

You felt like sinking into the floor. Your hands trembling as you took a sip of the tea. The bitter taste doing nothing to soothe your nerves.

“I don’t know if you are aware, but I and miss [Name] know each other’s very well” his smile sharp. To hear your husband speaking in such manner made your heart beat against your chest.

You knew it was unwise to go against Morax and his contracts, but you had no choice. He had tricked you into signing the contract that would imprison. Zhongli had terrified you before you knew of his identity as the Geo Archon, but when you found out about his identity you were absolutely petrified.

Zhongli hummed at a joke the man had told. His golden eyes never leaving yours. His lips twisted up into a grin which revealed his sharp fangs. With the golden light from the sunset outside he looked even more inhuman than ever before. You felt small and utterly helpless before him. You dreaded his punishment that you knew would income when he brought you back.

After an hour and an half had past Zhongli excused himself. “I must take my leave now. [Name] you should come with” his order clear as day. He smiled to the couple and bowed in courtesy.

You swallowed and nodded. You thanked the couple for their hospitality and left with Zhongli.

When you were out of earshot he turned to you. “A broken contract is no laughing matter my dear” his hand gripping yours. “I will make it clear to you when we get back who you belong to” his voice deep and determined.

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Wearing Their Clothes

Requested: i followed you for succession and currently im the boys brainrotted so you wouldnt believe my excitement when i realised you wrote for the boys too!!!!! i want to request maybe hc on how the boys would react to reader wearing their sweater/tshirts - anon

A/N: My love, the brain rot is so real!!! When I tell you I have an entire folder of The Boys edits, I mean I am kicking my feet and giggling at these people covered in blood lol. Thank you for requesting! Please feel free to again, I absolutely love writing preferences! I hope you like it!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher absolutely adores you wearing his coat. It drives him wild. It started one night where you two were alone, the group split up. While everyone else had their own jobs, you and Butcher were on surveillance. It was freezing out. He noticed the goosebumps on your arms. You swore you were fine, but he could tell you were putting up a front. Oi, just take it. Not wanting to blow your cover and fight, you put his coat around your shoulders, thanking him. It's a long night and you take shifts. When he catches you curled in a ball, his coat wrapped around you, it tugs at his heartstrings. Something about this image of you just makes him melt. After that, he's eager to see it again. Realizing this, you never turn down his offer. Now you basically have 50/50 custody. You like it. It's warm and worn, but it also smells like him and, when you're apart, remains a reminder that he's always looking out for you. Both M.M. and Frenchie are full of jokes when they catch you wearing it, but Annie and Hughie find it endearing.

Hughie loves that you wear his t-shirts and hates it. Not only do you look better in them than him, which is annoying enough, and now everyone finds them funny now that you're wearing them, but now he can never find the one shirt he wants to wear. It's either on your body or in your closet. Of course he would never stop you, he doesn't want you to stop, but he does wish there was a little bit more of a compromise. You wore it the first time you slept over. Your shirt had been discarded somewhere you couldn't find, but Hughie's was right there. He tried not to show it, he tried not to get caught smiling, but he was way too obvious. Something about seeing you in his shirt made his day, his life. It never gets old. When it's laundry day, most of your clothes end up being his. Now he has double the laundry. Still, it's worth it. His clothes always come back smelling like you. When they get ripped or torn from fights you apologize profusely, but he's just glad you're okay. Who cares about a stupid shirt?

Annie has always loved you in her clothes. When you moved in together, your clothes just sort of became jumbled. Neither of you felt the need to separate them, so you really can't tell if the sweater you're wearing is hers of yours. When she buys clothes she always makes sure you like what she's picking out so that you both can wear it. No one even noticed what you two were doing, that one day you'd be wearing a shirt and a few days later it would be her turn, it's just sort of become a thing. When something gets ripped or torn or covered in blood, you're the first to make jokes. I loved that sweater, you say, though Annie knows what you really mean is it's a stupid piece of clothing, you're just glad she's okay, that's all that matters. Your favorite thing is to look at pictures where, in one, you're wearing this sweater and, in the next, she is. Something about that puts a smile on your face.

M.M. feels a little insecure. You used to love wearing his shirts. Truthfully, no one can tell what's his and what's yours, your and his clothes are so blended. Since becoming in charge of The Boys, as close to a leader as possible, he's lost a lot of weight. Grown smaller, and his clothes no longer fit you. You of course still have his old shirts, but his new wardrobe just doesn't fit. You assure him it's just temporary. The anxiety, the OCD, it really hurts his appetite. He can't even think about food anymore. Still, realizing that you can no longer share, it makes him self-conscious. Something about you wearing his clothes made him think that he was there with you always, that this was a way to protect you, as silly as it might sound. Now that you wear your clothes more, he isn't there to save you. It just adds to his many worries. You assure him you'll be safe, you'll always come back to him, but he just can't help it. You make a point to wear his older shirts as much as possible, not wanting him to worry more than he does.

Frenchie literally can't tell when you're wearing his clothes vs. your own. His style is pretty eclectic. His pants alone are bright and patterned and, to his friends, a fashion offense. His clothes are rarely organized, so you end up picking through piles to find something specific. Most of the time you have to point out when you've got one of his jackets or shirts on. He of course thinks you look better in them than him and he makes it known. Your friends make fun of you and him for some of the outrageous outfits you put together. Everything is worn in and soft and smells like him, a mix of cologne and fabric softener and smoke. Not realizing, Frenchie wears your clothes, too. Only when you ask for a shirt back or where it is does he realize oh! so this belongs to you. Neither of you mind. It makes you happy seeing him wear your clothes. He definitely styles is better than you.

Kimiko's entire closet is all black. Not only is it easy to blend in with the crowd, and it all matches, but it can also hide the sight of blood. Neither of you can really tell whose shirt or pants or jacket belongs to who, considering most of your clothes are pretty identical. Still, she'll poke fun at you every so often when she realizes you've got on one of her shirts. Is that mine? She smiles. Is it? You didn't even realize. You always ask her if she wants it back, if she wants you to change, but she shakes her head. She tells you look good in it, badass even, and you shrug it off, though it means a lot. You and Kimiko both are still figuring out how relationships work. It takes a lot of trust, something neither of you were very well versed in. Sharing clothes is just another way you two show that you're a partnership. No one else can tell, but you can. That kind of attention would normally make alarm bells go off in your head, but you know Kimiko, you know she does it out of affection and not something more sinister.

Bonus! Homelander rarely, if ever, wears civilian clothes. If he's not in his suit, he's probably naked. You've never seen him in anything else. The only time he's done it was to see Sage and that was in secret. Still, you find a way to share by wearing his cape. Typically wrapped around you after you slip from the bed, in search of your own clothes, half-naked and embarrassed. He assured you you have never looked better. Homelander likes power. He likes when people listen to him, respect him, and show him their loyalty. You wearing his cape shows him all of that and more. He never thought he'd like you in his clothes, it's just another thing he's territorial about, but he's pleasantly surprised. Now he expects it. If you forget or just don't wear it, his ego is pretty wounded. You assure him it's nothing against him. Now you go out of your way to do so, knowing it makes him so happy.

Bonus! Soldier Boy feels such an attraction to you when you wear his clothes. He doesn't really wear anything but his suit, so one day you jokingly put it on. You filled it out differently than he did, but it didn't look horrible. When he saw you, he was all smiles. The first thing that comes to mind is wanting to take it off you *wink wink*. What was a joke is now something you do on special occasions, putting it on and parading around in it. The things he says are awfully dirty and make you laugh every time. You never thought something as silly and simple as putting on his suit would end up driving him this wild. You should have known, it makes perfect sense, but you just never realized. When he does, on rare occasions, wear regular clothes, he's the first to suggest that you share. It isn't as enticing as wearing his suit, but the attraction is still there. It makes him feel like you belong to him, that you want to show that off. Nothing matters more to him than that. Nothing makes him feel more seen.

[aliceramblez]

Dating the Hazbin Hotel Residents 😈

Tags: GN!Reader, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Mature Topics (ie. Suicidal Thoughts, Alcohol Abuse, SA, etc), Spoilers For The Show, etc.

A/N: Ahhh yes, more brainriot for the pile 😌 I was more of a Helluva gal before the show aired, but now I gotta say these blorbos are a dear part of my heart! Hopefully y'all enjoy these as much as I did writing them!

Consider following my main blog @taruchinator for more solid content & feel free to leave a request here for future HCs~

Charlie 🌈

When the Happy Hotel first opened its doors and all of Hell started making a mockery of it, you were probably the only one who took it as a sign to try and improve from the low life that you were. It's not like you had anything else to live for, anyway.

As soon as you enter the building, you're immediately greeted by the bubbly Princess of Hell herself (along with a reluctant Angel Dust) who is more than happy to show you around and welcomes you with open arms.

You've never been shown this much kindness and sympathy for your situation before, so it naturally takes you aback and makes you wonder what the catch is. Turns out there's none and the Princess is probably the only sweet soul to live in this shithole.

As you grow closer, she asks you to drop the title and just call her Charlie. She also shares a bit about her situation and how her mother wanted to save sinners from the extermination each year, and now Charlie felt like it was her duty to continue this legacy until her dreams came true.

You can't help but feel touched over how much she cares, so you silently vow to yourself to help her in any way you can, just like she's done for you.

It doesn't take long before the two of you grow even closer and feelings begin to blossom, but you decide to ignore them since why would a Princess ever like someone like you?

But Charlie proves you wrong yet again, since one day she comes to you a blushing mess and confesses her own feelings, asking if you'd like to go out with her. You can't help but vocalize your shock since she could do so much better than a random sinner. She deserved better, too.

She looks at you with fondness in her eyes. “You've been by my side for so long and supported me every step of the way. Who wouldn't fall for someone like that?”

And thus, you are the luckiest person in Hell because you scored Charlotte Morningstar, and whoever says otherwise can get a knife to their throat.

She's the perfect definition of a sweet and patient girlfriend, never pushing you to do anything you aren't comfortable with (since you really aren't used to such adoration in a romantic relationship), but as soon as you give her the get-go, she'll be sure to shower you with as much affection as she can until the doubts in your mind disappear completely.

You aren't that far behind either. Albeit not as good as her, you do your best to be a comforting partner whenever she needs you. This is especially necessary after an extermination happens, which always leaves Charlie devastated and in need of a hug or words of encouragement because she doubts herself sometimes and wonders if the hotel is even working at all.

You remind her how it brought the two of you together, to which she smiles and agrees that at least something good has come out of it so far.

Vaggie 🎀

Both you and Vaggie used to work in the same legion under Adam with the rest of his exorcists. You knew of each other's existence, but didn't really talk much aside from whatever was needed in the midst of battle.

The day she spares a demon child's life, you're doing your rounds nearby and witness the whole exchange, including Lute coming over and ripping both an eye and Vaggie's wings for showing mercy. You don't know why, but it makes your blood boil.

“HEY! What are you doing?! It was just a kid, why not let it slide?”

And just like that, you become a target of Lute's rage as well, being ripped from your angelic status along with receiving a few nasty cuts, yet surprisingly not as bad as Vaggie herself.

Once the two of you are left to die, you immediately try to tend the girl's wounds with whatever you can. Vaggie can only stare in disbelief at what you'd done and questions why you even did so in the first place—now you were stuck just like she was.

“Guess I just don't like seeing injustice... Who knew Heaven could be so fuckin' shitty?”

You both laugh at the irony of it all, and that's when luck is finally on your side as Charlie finds you in the dirty alley and brings you back to the hotel to heal properly.

For the next three years you two stay at the Hazbin Hotel, helping Charlie in any way you can to try and make her dream a reality since deep down you hope that despite Heaven's corrupt system, there can be a small chance that souls can be redeemed. You hide the fact that you're ex-Anges though, since you don't wanna cause unnecessary drama.

During this time period, the two of you become better friends, having your own inside jokes regarding things you didn't particularly enjoy from your time as Angels, as well as learning more about one another.

You're the one to come to terms with your feelings first and decide to lay them on the table for Vaggie to see—she's always been a straight-to-the-point kind of gal, so if you're about to be rejected, might as well have it be done quick. But of course, she replies with her own declaration and desire to give a relationship a shot, which you're ecstatic about!

It's a bit hard at first since you never got to see much of romantic relationships in Heaven while training for murder every year, but you try and make it work. Both you and Vaggie work endlessly to try and make the other happy, and it only makes you fall for each other even more.

Also Charlie is your go-to wingwoman who will be there to give you the best advice to try and woo your girlfriend. She ships you two so hard.

Angel Dust 🕸

Working at a porn studio under an Overlord who owns your soul can be exhausting. You know this better than anyone since everyone who works under Valentino has contracts that won't let you get far with a leash. This is especially true with your friend Angel Dust.

You know about the things Valentino does to the spider demon—hell, everyone in the studio probably knows, but know better than to say anything about it. You're always there for Angel after particularly rough shoots, doing your best to comfort him in any way you can, though there isn't much you can do given you're in the same spot.

When he tells you he's moving to Princess Charlie's Hazbin Hotel, you're so happy for him! At least that will give him some distance from Valentino and his disgustingly filthy hands when he's not working.

This unsurprisingly doesn't bode well with the Overlord, causing him to throw fits of rage around the studio when Angel leaves for the day. You can't help but make a snarky comment that you definitely regret moments later.

“Can one blame him for wanting space from such an overbearing asshole?”

Without his favorite stress toy around, you end up paying the price for such comments. The kind of pain and suffering he puts you through is completely different from what you're used to. Is this the stuff he does to Angel? He leaves you naked, bruised and bloody in your room, and all you can do is muster what little strenght you have left to head for the Hazbin Hotel.

As soon as the door opens, you immediately tumble forward and start losing consciousness. The last thing you remember is Angel's horrified expression before it all fades to black.

Once you wake up and have been patched up, you explain what happened at the studio, and you could've sworn you saw fire in Angel's eyes as he holds on to you, fearing you might disappear at any moment. He begs you to stay in the hotel with him, and you agree without hesitation.

And so, your new routine of heading to work and then coming back to the hotel becomes blissful, not having to deal with that lunatic mothman more than necessary. You also get to spend time off with your best friend, which is always a plus.

Well, ‘best friend’ might not be the best way to describe it. You'd developed a crush on the spider demon even before this whole incident occurred, and now that you were spending more time with him, it only continued to grow.

With the line of work you two had, romantic relationships didn't seem to be a thing that crossed anybody's mind since why have a permanent partner when you could just go around fucking the hottest people in Hell? But you knew your feelings were far beyond from sexual, but didn't wanna ruin what you already had going for you.

One heartfelt drunken conversation after work however, makes you do a double take—Angel likes you back. And that both scares and excites you. But with both of you going over the pros and cons with each other, you decide to give it a chance.

You make sure to always have Angel's consent when it comes to physical intimacy—anything from holding his hand, to kissing to just cuddling. He jokes about not being a porcelain doll, but deep down you know he appreciates it.

You're also there for the rough nights, when he comes home wanting nothing more than to die again and let the earth swallow him whole. Words of reassurance are spoken and you can only hold him and let him cry as you vow to do anything in your power to stop this from happening again.

Husker 🍺

As one of the first guests of the hotel, like any wayward sinner, you find yourself in the bar more often than you'd like. Alcohol killed you in the first place, yet not even in the afterlife could you seem to pull yourself from its grasp.

It's a somewhat welcome surprise to find out that the bartender is going through a similar struggle. He still serves you drinks and lends and ear whenever he's not busy, but will occasionally drop the words of wisdom to watch your fill.

Eventually you two find yourselves doing this little back and forth and aid each other when you're in your dark places—Husk won't let you near the bottle if he sees you're about to knock yourself out, meanwhile you're there to look after him when he has one too many drinks and can't take care of himself.

Not to say he isn't a good drinking buddy—you've found out most of the gossip around the hotel thanks to this sneaky little cat demon and there's never a dull moment with him around.

You learn about his deal with Alastor during a particularly bad night, when Husk's had one too many and isn't thinking straight. You don't bring it up, but now have an eye open for whenever the Radio Demon drags your friend away.

Angel's the one who brings up your questionable relationship to the surface.

“So... you two like, fuckin' each other, or what?”

Your entire face goes red, and if it weren't for the dark fur you could swear you see Husk looking the same. He's quick to get rid of Angel's nosy ass, but now the seed has been planted in your brain—do you like Husk that way?

After careful consideration, you come to the conclusion that yes, you do. And it's honestly kinda terrifying considering how relationships don't usually work out in Hell, at least from what you've seen. Besides, even if you did try and confess, there was always the possibility of him not feeling the same and just being embarrassed by Angel's comment.

So in an attempt to make your feelings disappear, you stop frequenting the bar. Who knew the best way to stop drinking habits was trying to avoid spending time with your unrequited crush?

But of course, Husk isn't stupid. He sees the change in your behavior and let's it slide for a while, until he eventually corners you and asks what's wrong. You decide to get it all out of the way and tell him how you feel.

To the embarrassment of both of you, he holds your hand firmly between his and darts his eyes toward the corner of the room. “Next time you should ask before going off assuming things, ya got it?”

And so, your glass may have been empty that day, but your heart had never felt fuller.

Sir Pentious 🐍

You meet Sir Pentious when you sign into the hotel, and your immediate thought is just how can this snake man be so adorkable, it should be illegal.

As you greet the other residents and staff, you're quick to strike a conversation with him, which based on his body language he was not expecting. He starts telling you a bit about his weaponry and other contraptions, and you can't help but be fascinated by it.

You're a bit of a tinkerer yourself, albeit you've only dabbled in small scale projects—nothing compared to the massive canons and aircrafts that Pentious seems to be familiar with.

He acts like a kid opening gifts on Sinmas when he talks to you about his inventions, clearly never having anyone show interest before. Eventually he'll even ask for your input on certain smaller projects he wants to work on to help around the hotel, all to thank Charlie for being so kind to him and giving him a second chance. You're obviously eager to help!

You two start spending so much time together that the egg boys have started calling you ‘Boss #2’, much to Pentious' embarrassment and your amusement.

One afternoon once exercises are done for the day, the snake demon seems much more fidgety than usual as he invites you over to his room to continue working on his security system prototype. He's a blabbering mess once he has you sitting down and your heart just can't help but swell at each little syllable.

“Dearest (y/n)... you've, um, well... you are a huge inspiration for my work! A-And I wouldn't have been able to create any of this... without your help. You are kind, and smart and very talented.... and w-well, um I-”

You gotta silence the man with a kiss otherwise you two would be here all day. He's puddy in your hands and you can only giggle in return. “I really like you too, Pen.”

Everyone is either saying they called it or groaning in annoyance because fucking FINALLY, you two were just dancing around each other like idiots. The egg boys are just so happy to have someone else besides Pentious to be in their lives, and will do their best to look out for you just like with their own boss.

So yeah, prepare yourself for some sickeningly sweet gestures from this guy cause he will go above and beyond to get you what you need/want even if it kills him (again). And you can confidently say that you'd do the same in return.

Alastor 📻

After running in the same circles when you were alive, it's no surprise to you to end up in Hell, although you never would've suspected that you'd find yourself in the same place as him. It was honestly a huge relief not having to go through this all by yourself.

As Alastor exerted his dominance over Hell as the Radio Demon, you were powerful enough to be an Overlord yes, but rather liked keeping it on the down low instead of making a spectacle of yourself (Alastor was the one for theatrics anyway). Because of this, only select few knew of your true power and what you were capable of.

Instead, if there was one thing you were known for, it was being the only soul allowed to be close to the Radio Demon without the risk of death.

Yes, Alastor was a sadistic, cold-blooded and egotistical mastermind, but he wasn't a monster. You knew that better than anyone. Although the reactions he had to other demons treating you like a joke or calling you the ‘Radio Demon's Pet’ were not helping his case.

“ł₣ ɎØɄ V₳ⱠɄɆ ɎØɄⱤ ₴ØɄⱠ, ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ₩₳Ⱡ₭ ₳₩₳Ɏ Ɽł₲Ⱨ₮ ₦Ø₩ ฿Ɇ₣ØⱤɆ ł Ɽł₱ ł₮ ₳₱₳Ɽ₮ ฿ł₮ ฿Ɏ ฿ł₮...”

“Al, chill. You're gonna make them shit their pants.”

After his seven year absence, you immediately noticed something was wrong with him, and wouldn't stop pestering until he told you the truth—A deal he made and how his soul was now bound to someone much more powerful than he was.

You were obviously mortified and started looking into ways to try and find a loophole to this, but alas the Radio Demon would just give you his signature grin and tell you not to worry about it. It was his battle to face.

But of course you're quick to remind him that you've stuck together through thick and thin even in life, so there was no way you were letting him handle this by himself. You work as a team—always have and always will. You engulf him in a hug.

“We're gonna figure this out, Al. I promise...”

The grin remains, but his eyes widen slightly in surprise. He hesitantly returns the embrace, patting your back and wiping the tears you didn't even know you were shedding.

“There there~ To think such a sweet and innocent soul wound up in a gutter like this. I cannot say I complain as long as I have your delightful company beside me.”

And so when he says he has a plan that involves Princess Charlie Morningstar and her new Happy Hotel, you follow along. Whatever fate has in store for you two, you'll be ready.

Also Charlie is a sweetheart who could do no harm. Knowing Alastor, he'll probably do whatever he can here and there to help around for the cause. You also offer your services as an undercover Overlord, much to everyone's surprise when you reveal your status.

The Radio Demon may have a plan, but something tells you it won't involve bloody murder (unless extremely necessary or if someone really pissed him off).

Like you said—he's not a monster.

Lucifer 🍎

You and Lucifer were good friends at the beginning of Creation. While you were stuck with the tedious task of designing blueprints for the new ‘Human Project’ that headquarters had in store, Lucifer's Seraphim status allowed him to bring creations to life with the flick of a wrist, much to your delight and wonder.

His ideas and pitches for Earth were always so entertaining to listen to, and you would do your best to encourage him to show them to the higher ups to get them approved—His mind was just filled with joy and love and wonder that you'd never seen before.

Which was why it was always so disappointing whenever he'd come back and say that he was shut down and even mocked at. How could Heaven shut down such an imaginative mind in the creation of their biggest project yet?

To say you were devastated when you heard about his fall would be an understatement. You mourned the loss of your friend, knowing that he'd done nothing wrong and thinking it wasn't fair to him to receive such punishment just because he cared for the future of humanity.

Thousands of years later, you overhear the plan for Extermination of Hell kind. You didn't mean to walk by, yet here you were, under the direct eye of the Head Seraphims about to be downcast for something you had no control over—just like Lucifer.

“You're all self-entitled pricks! You think you can do whatever you want just because it doesn't follow what you define as good!”

You get a few good arguments before being cast downwards, leaving you in bad shape in a random alley with no wings and no means of escape. That is of course, until destiny seems to be on your side and Lucifer finds you, completely perplexed to see you here at all.

After getting treated, you tell him about the Extermination so he and Hell can prepare. The conversation of you getting cast down by Heaven gets glossed over, but he can feel the fury building up inside him. You were always doing things by the book—how could they do this to you?

Once the slaughter is over, Lucifer gets a meeting with Heaven and secures protection for both his daughter Charlie and you, to which they begrudgingly agree to keep him outta their hair. You can't help but feel touched by this gesture.

He's also quick to offer you a room to stay in, but you compromise by living in a seperate building from him and Charlie so you aren't a bother even though he says you aren't. In fact, ever since Lilith left, he's had to take care of his young daughter all by himself, so he's more than happy when you offer to help.

It doesn't take long for your feelings to start coming into the surface from all those years ago, and you gotta push them away because he's both married and has a child to look after! Besides, why would the King of Hell ever look in your direction?

Eventually though, he brings up the question with nothing but sweaty palms and a customized rubber ducky that says ‘I love you’ whenever you squeeze it. You blush furiously, but can't help but bring up your concerns, not wanting to replace Lilith in his heart. He looks into your eyes and says that he hasn't been as happy as he is now in the past thousand years.

Cue baby Charlie walking in on everything, and she just smiles and goes innocently. “Daddy! Is (y/n) staying home with us now?”

You two can only chuckle at the cuteness of it and you immediately go to hug her. You couldn't believe that you were blessed with such a wonderful family.

[pellucid-constellations]

Of Oblivious Minds (3)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Azriel's POV (it's a warning here), angst

a/n: I am blown away by all of you and your support!! I really love writing for this fandom omg. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy ♡ Let me know what you think!! I'll get the next update up soon!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

~~

Azriel was losing his ever-loving mind. 

A few weeks ago, everything was fine. Not optimal, but fine. 

He knew his mate, and that was more than could be said for most of Prythian. But even more than that, he could love her from afar. He could make small remarks and catch the smiles they would elicit. He could send his shadows after her on her walks home, protecting her even though she had the entire Inner Circle looking out for her wellbeing. He could buy the ridiculously expensive pastries she loved and stock the kitchens with them, listening for the small gasps she let out each time she found them.

He could talk to you, listen to you, love you in his small ways, even if it wasn’t the ways in which he longed for. 

Because it wasn’t the right time yet. You hadn’t felt the bond for yourself. 

So, yes—admittedly, Azriel had not been in the most optimal position with you. But it was leaps and bounds better than the purgatory you were subjecting him to now. 

He mulled over his current reality as he sat opposite to you at the dining table. He had had to snag the seat from Mor, ripping the chair from her hand in an uncharacteristic show of aggression, and you hadn’t so much as looked up from your plate. He would’ve rather fought for the seats beside you, but Rhys and Cassian had been sitting before he even entered the room. So now he fought for your eyes and was too far away to offer any lingering, accidental touches. 

Not that you would reciprocate either. 

You were avoiding him, and Azriel was at his wit's end trying to decipher why. 

His shadows had relayed dismal reports, only whispering the words sad and alone and contemplative into his ears each morning. He could have guessed as much, if the display of emotions he had tried to comfort you through all those days ago told him anything. 

But Gods, did they really tell him nothing, because you hadn’t spoken to him since. 

“—that is certainly something to consider. Y/n, would you be open to the job?” 

“Hm?” you hummed, and Azriel watched as your eyes flickered over to Rhys in one abrupt movement. “Sorry, what?” 

Rhys raised a brow lined with humor, and Azriel realized he hadn’t been listening to the conversation either. “Helion has extended an invitation to the Night Court—for diplomatic relations and all. It’s mostly a weekend stay for show, but he has quite an extensive library. Feyre and I went last time so it would only be fair if—” 

“Yes,” you nodded, the most emotion Azriel had seen on your face in days blooming into a joyous array. “Of course, I would love to go. Are you kidding?” 

Rhys chuckled. “I figured. Helion has been quite eager to get you to come as well. Seemed like the perfect time.” 

Azriel didn’t miss the way the High Lord’s eyes shone with something other than mirth as he looked closer at the scholar… as he inspected your facade the same way Azriel had been for the past week. 

“When can I leave?” 

Something in Azriel scratched to a halt. “She’s to go alone?” 

Feyre offered the spymaster a soft smile from the other side of the table. “If she wishes. Helion’s invitation was open-ended.” 

“Take the vacation, I say,” Mor piped in, wine glass raised in a solitary toast. 

“Or… you could take me,” Cassian grinned beside you, jostling you in a playful grip. 

You sent a scoff his way. “Aren’t you banned?” 

“No, actually. I’m banned from Summer Court, which is completely unrelated.” 

A short laugh trickled from your lips. It wasn’t a full one, not like the ones Azriel was so used to—the ones he basked in—but it was a laugh, nonetheless.

He felt the way his eyes seemed to follow the crescendo of it, his blinks in time with the sweet sound. 

He committed it to memory. 

“Right, well let’s keep you away from neighboring courts as much as possible so we can avoid a repeat of that, okay?” 

Something like a grin fought at the side of Azriel’s mouth at your quip. 

Cassian prattled on. Something about unjust rules or ridiculous high lords—Azriel wasn’t paying attention. He was too caught up in you and the way you were so close to meeting his gaze. 

“Perhaps she shouldn’t go alone,” Azriel spoke up, interrupting his brother’s spiel. You still didn’t look at him, instead turning to catch Rhys’s response. 

“Azriel, I can assure you this is a safe visit,” Rhys offered. He knew. Everyone seemed to know but you. “It’s hardly even business. It’s more of a vacation. I’ve been shoving century-old relics in her face for the past few months. She deserves time to herself, don’t you think?” 

His High Lord was speaking in code. A terrible, frustrating code that really meant, “give her some distance.” 

Azriel had had enough of distance. 

He nodded his head all the same. 

And then, despite all odds, you looked at him. 

You looked at him and it was as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. As if he had been wrung out and stretched thin and every bone in his body forced him to sit up straighter. You were looking at him and Azriel couldn’t conceptualize the way the spectrum in his chest moved so quickly from utter relief to the brink of desolation. 

Because you looked at him as if you were broken. A sad—such a sad—smile graced your face, one he had never had the displeasure of seeing before, and he wanted to wipe it away. He wanted to kiss it from your face with soft touches and reassuring whispers and that was startling for Azriel because he usually kept his overwhelming urge to kiss you at bay. 

“I’ll bring you back a souvenir,” is all you said. Such simple words to accompany an expression that sent him reeling. 

“Thank you,” he replied, with the most sincerity he could muster. 

And then he held your gaze as it became downcast. He craned his neck to catch every last second of your eyes as they turned back down to the table.

It was hours later that Azriel found himself in the townhouse, boots creating an indent in the office carpet. Rhys sat just feet away from him, leaning back against the desk, waiting for the Shadowsinger to erupt. 

“I would like for you to position your spies further into Autumn. I know you have a few that have integrated into the court, but I need more intel on Eris and his plans.” 

“Of course.” 

“You can take out any currently residing in Day. Just for the next week or so. With y/n going, she can report any happenings.” 

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped. “Would that be wise?” 

Rhys stared back at his brother, expression giving nothing away. “Why wouldn’t it be? Do you not trust y/n’s word?” 

Azriel’s wings were taut against his back. In truth, he hadn’t felt relaxed in days. With you leaving, that tension would surely pull him into thin compliance. 

“Obviously I trust her word, Rhysand.” 

“Rhysand? What have I done to earn your grievance?” the High Lord asked, crossing his arms over his chest, still the perfect picture of calm. 

Azriel was a juxtaposition before him as he clenched his hands and replied, “You already know.” 

“Do I know? I’m not sure you’ve been clear or honest with anyone. Y/n especially.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Rhys bent at the elbow and rubbed a restless hand across his jaw. Azriel ignored the movement in favor of holding eye contact with the High Lord. Azriel was being stubborn, he knew that, but there was no other way to be. 

He needed to be consistent and reliable. He needed to be a pillar for his family to lean on, and you were part of that. He wasn’t going to take that away from you—to be selfish and call upon a mating bond you hadn't even been made aware of yet. 

He wasn’t going to squander your friendship in the hopes of something more. 

There was a chance, no matter how much the prospect pained him to consider, that you wouldn’t want the bond. You had never hinted at wanting more with the spymaster, so there was no telling how you might react to the cauldron blessing you with a union. You could reject it, and with it would go your friendship. 

Just the thought sent ice through Azriel’s veins. 

Truth be told, he had never shown you many signs either. When the bond snapped months ago, it had taken time for Azriel to come to terms with the truth. He had ruminated on it amidst many sleepless nights, watched you from a new perspective over many dinners, and contemplated the path that had led him to you. 

And then he had regretted. Cauldron had he regretted. 

The feeling still lingered, a reminder of each woman he had taken to his bed before you. All of the fae that had meant nothing, and even the ones that had boarded on something, he wished he could do away with.

Because you had been privy to them all. He knew you had witnessed a few late-night trysts, and even worse, that you had watched him pine after Mor for a century. It all seemed so frivolous now; it all paled in comparison to you. 

And the absolute worst part of it all is that he knew. 

He knew how easy it would be to fall in love with you from the start, so he pretended not to notice. 

He threw himself into impractical longing and meaningless lovers and he pretended that it didn’t hurt to look at you. 

The bond had only cemented his foolishness. 

He hardly had a chance with you by the time it snapped. 

“Late night then, Az?” 

You had teased him over breakfast just days before the bond had snapped for him, a small smile on your face as you lounged at the table early in the morning. At the time, Azriel had bit the inside of his cheek and reeled in his snarkiness. He had avoided your gaze, avoided the robe that barely covered your nightgown, and made himself toast in silence. He had already coaxed the blonde fae out of his bed, and he hadn’t needed a reminder of the woman he had been imagining all throughout the night. 

Because that had been something else he opted to ignore—that he pictured you, imagined you, at all times. 

It snapped three days later. He had been accompanying you through Velaris. “Shopping for fun,” you had said, “and I hate to go alone.”

The only thing Azriel had taken home that day was a gaping hole in his chest and the knowledge that lying to himself had brought him nothing but pain. 

The months following were different. 

Everything was different. 

But for you, he had come to the grim realization, nothing was different at all. He was still Azriel, your friend Azriel, who was secretive and private and cared from afar. You still pictured him as a man who chose his lovers based on convenience and quick practicality even though he hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since your emotions began flowing through his chest. 

Gods, your emotions. They were so positive, so addicting, he could sit back and live his days through you until the end of time. You had so much unrestricted joy coursing through you—so much curiosity and delight. Part of Azriel dreaded the day you did recognize the bond; it would dim the connection to you.

That day in the library had been the first time the bond had chafed against his lungs. He had felt the earthquake beneath his feet and thought nothing of it, but then your fear punctured his being and he had run so fast his wings ached. 

And then you started having nightmares, ones he couldn’t fix, and Azriel began to feel like he was losing you. Like the bond was withering and eroding within him and you along with it. 

“How long, Azriel?” Rhys’s voice cut through the air with a harshness. 

The shadowsinger breathed through his nose, jaw tight. 

“Tell me. Tell me how long you’re going to keep this up for.” 

“You don’t understand, Rhys,” came Azriel’s low reply. “None of you do.” 

The High Lord scoffed. “Right, because I had it so easy with Feyre. Az, mates are complicated—” 

“Don’t,” Azriel breathed. A dangerous shakiness accompanied the word.

“Explain it to me. Help me to understand how—” 

“There was nothing for you to lose!” The rise of the shadowsinger’s voice sent Rhys into silence. “There was nothing! You hadn’t known Feyre for three centuries—hadn’t known what it was like to see her cry over worthless males or laugh until she was doubled over. You didn’t have time to memorize the sound of her voice or understand how it felt to lose that small piece of her. Because she won’t even talk to me anymore and—” 

Azriel cut himself off, moving for the first time since he entered office. He paced, the motion of his feet doing little to dispel the tension from the air or from his body. Azriel tugged a hand through his hair, his shadows following the aggressive pull and weaving through the strands. 

“How long?” Rhys asked again, but this time, Azriel knew that he was asking a different question. One that even he himself had avoided answering. 

The shadowsinger paused. His next words were tainted and his voice cracked. 

“I think forever.”

Part 4

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 16: Big Brown Eyes

Summary: Things have returned to normal, or at least they seem to have. Nothing can ever go your way, though, can it?

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7925 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex, face sitting, grinding, spanking (it's like once and not even on the ass), Kyle is definitely a munch, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, reader is a little shit, angst, PTSD, nightmares, trauma, mommy issues, family issues, language, the author's bias showing just a tad.

A/N: Have you ever cried while writing smut? I have. Had two mental breakdowns during the course of this chapter, the worst of the two during the smut scene. Sobbing while writing the reader getting her back blown out? That's a new one for me. But, I did it. I finished Chapter 16 this week. I'm feeling significantly better than I was, at least physically. Giving it to you a day early because I feel bad about not posting last week. The events of this chapter pick up pretty much where the previous one left off. Timeline wise, this chapter is spread over roughly a week-ish. And special thanks to the battle rattle anon for inspiring part of this chapter 🫶

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

(This is my all time favorite gif of him I swear I stare at it way too much)

You’re clawing at the door frame, desperately clinging to the last thing you can hold on to, the last shred of your life as you know it. You fight the hands pulling at your arms, threatening to pull you away from the comfort, the warmth, the safety of your home, of your pack. 

Your mothers grief-stricken sobs reach your ears, her cries of desperation as they rip you from her, your father’s hate filled gaze directed at you over her shoulder as he holds her back. She loves all her children, but you were always her favorite. The bond between you two was always the strongest. 

Now you know why. 

The arms rip you from the doorframe seconds before the door slams closed. It’s like a gavel strike declaring your fate, cutting you off from everything you knew. You’re pulled back from the door, from the house that had become your safe space, from the pack inside. 

They’re not your pack anymore. The thought is like a sharp knife, severing the lifelong bond in your mind. You’re not a part of them anymore. You’re alone in this world, cut off from what you knew, and it’s all your fault. 

If only you could have presented as an alpha, like you were supposed to. 

You’re sobbing, breaths coming in choking gasps. Your chest feels tight, your body tense and aching as you fight against the constricting hold around you. 

“Easy, easy.” A deep voice murmurs in your ear, your senses beginning to return. “Yer alright, kitten.” 

Your breaths continue to come in shaky gasps as you start to recognize your surroundings. You’re in Johnny’s room still. His arms are wrapped tight around you, your own pinned against your chest. You had fallen asleep before you even realized it, exhausted after your night with Johnny. 

“Ye were havin’ a nightmare.” He says, projecting his natural beta scent in an attempt to get you to relax. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the scent start to numb your brain. The tears continue to slide down your cheeks, but slowly your breathing begins to normalize. Johnny begins to loosen his hold around you, not letting you go, but enough that you don’t feel like you’re being constricted anymore. 

“Si gets them too.” Johnny continues, speaking quietly. His breath is warm as it fans your ear, reminding you that you’re awake now, and your nightmare is behind you. “Woken up tae elbows and fists in my face many times.” 

You keep your eyes closed, taking in deep breaths as Johnny lays with you in silence, his fingers gently stroking your arms. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You hadn’t meant to have a nightmare. Not in front of them. You knew it would happen eventually, but you had hoped you could avoid it as long as possible. 

You don’t want to reveal your weakness, your pain, your inner struggle to them. They have enough of their own, they don’t need to know how broken you are too. 

You lay there, slowly calming your breaths and the slight tremble in your limbs as you wait for Johnny to begin questioning you. He’ll want to know, he’ll want to hear what it is that’s plaguing your mind. You’ll have to tell him, you’ll have to explain everything and then he’ll want to know more. He’ll want to unearth the brokenness and the pain that you’ve buried so deeply like an archaeologist looking for the secrets of an ancient civilization. 

You don’t want to reveal it, you want to bury it again, lock it back in the recesses of your mind where it can’t hurt you. You want to compress it back down until you feel safe again without the threat of the past hanging over your head. 

Johnny continues to relax his hold around you as you begin to calm down again, the tears finally slowing to a stop. You take deep breaths, trying to match Johnny’s even breathing behind you. You wait for it, the inevitable question, the prodding, the digging. He’ll want answers, he’ll want to know what plagues your mind, how much it’s been happening, why you haven’t said anything. 

You’re not sure how much time passes as you lay there, counting breaths. It’s silent in the room, in the barracks. Even outside it’s quiet, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting patiently for the shoe to drop, for the truth to get revealed. 

You can't wait any longer. The tension is too thick, the thought of waiting for the question to break the silence is too much. You'll rip the bandaid before he can try and force it from you. “I don't-”

“Ye don't have tae tell me.” He cuts you off before you can even start, the words slicing through yours, stopping you from spilling your darkest, innermost thoughts. “We all have them sometimes. No shame in that.” He tightens his grip on you for a moment, pulling you closer against his chest. “Simon doesn't even tell me all of his. Thinks he might scare me off, or somethin'. I'm no’ gonnae force ye to tell me anythin’ if ye don’ want to.” 

You're taken aback by his words. You suppose they all have to be plagued by nightmares of their own, with the kinds of things they have to see when they're in the field. Ghost had told you a bit about the nightmares that haunt him, and that had only been one tragedy, one mission. You suddenly feel silly. The kinds of things you’re afraid of, the nightmares that terrify your mind suddenly seem inconsequential to the things they must dream about at night. 

You wiggle in Johnny’s arms until you’re facing him, his eyes half closed as he stares down at you. You shift forward, pressing your face against his bare chest. His head tucks so his chin rests against the top of your head as he holds you, his breathing slowing just slightly as he drifts back to sleep. You don’t sleep, laying there awake as you listen to the slow, rhythmic beating of Johnny’s heart. 

He’s snoring quietly, breath fanning across your hair as he sleeps peacefully. You let your fingers trail over his skin as you wait for his early alarm that will signal the end of your quiet moments of bliss, snapping you both back into your realities. You trace the scars lining his skin, all of them with their own stories, just like John’s. 

He makes a garbled, snorting noise as your fingers brush over his ribs, his entire body twitching. His hand moves, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. “Tickles.” He murmurs, lifting your arm so it’s draped around his neck. He's asleep almost immediately, as if he hadn't woken at all from your tickling. 

You continue to lay there as he sleeps, your mind drifting between sleep and your racing thoughts until Johnny’s alarm goes off. He groans, reaching across you to turn it off. He lays still, breath still fanning over the top of your head. For a moment you’re worried he’s fallen asleep again, but eventually he moves, rolling on top of you. 

He presses his face against your neck, letting out a quiet groan. He’s heavy, but a solid weight above you. It’s comforting, the weight of him like a blanket keeping you safe. He presses gentle kisses against your neck, his fingers trailing across your shoulder before brushing over your mark. You let out a whine, arching against him. 

“Screamin’ Jesus.” He curses, getting hard against your thigh. 

“Don’t you have to go work out?” You ask as he begins to grind against you. 

“Would rather stay here with you.” He growls against your throat. 

“Won’t you get in trouble?” You gasp, bucking up against him. 

“Worth it.” He grunts, kicking the sheets off the end of the bed. 

“Someone missed the morning workout.” Kyle says as you and Johnny sit down at the table for breakfast. You’re the last ones there, despite Johnny skipping his early morning workout. 

You take your normal spot between Kyle and John, sitting gingerly on the hard bench. There’s still a distinct ache between your thighs from Johnny’s enthusiasm and intense stamina last night and this morning.  

“Aye, don’t worry. I still got a good workout in.” Johnny says cheekily, winking across the table at you. 

You’re afraid you may combust as the other three pairs of eyes at the table look at you. It’s no secret what you were doing last night, or this morning. Johnny, as in most aspects of his life, is loud in bed. Kyle had known you were going to, and so had Simon, but you find your gaze turning to John as your face warms. 

You’re not quite sure what you’re expecting as you look at him. It’s not like he had forbidden you from pursuing relationships with the others, or even shown any distaste at the idea. You were open to love the other members of the pack, just as they did one another, just as he did. 

His face is stoic as he stares at you, before it begins to lighten, a gleam shining in his eyes. “Did he take good care of you?” He asks, the corner of his lips twitching. 

You swallow thickly, your face getting warmer as you nod. “Yeah.” 

“Good.” John grins. “ Then I suppose I can forgive him for sleeping in this morning, so long as it doesn’t become a habit.” He casts his glance across the table. 

“I’m a bad influence.” You say, spooning porridge into your mouth. 

“Certainly worth the trouble, though.” Johnny says, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Especially when you do that thing with your tongue-”

Johnny’s words are cut off with a pained yelp as Ghost kicks him under the table. “Don’t go spilling all her tricks.” He grumbles, eyeing the tables around you. 

You think your face might be permanently warm at the thought of anyone nearby hearing the topic of your conversation. Of course they know, but hearing about it was something entirely different. 

Kyle walks you back to the barracks after breakfast, your hand in his, fingers laced together. His thumb rubs the back of your hand absentmindedly, shoulders brushing as you walk. Neither of you say anything, but you don’t have to. Unlike Johnny, Kyle is happy to exist in silence. They’re so very different, despite both being betas. 

Your brothers had often joked about betas being boring, and how glad they were that neither of your parents were betas. You’d disagree now, after spending some time around betas. They’re just as complex as alphas and omegas, in their own ways. 

Boring was the last thing you’d describe Johnny as last night. 

Kyle holds the door for you as you enter the barracks, following you down the hall. You stop in front of your door, your hand pausing on the knob as Kyle leans in close to you. 

His chest presses against your back, breath fanning your ear as he speaks. “Can’t wait to find out about this trick you do with your tongue.” 

Your face warms again, your heart thudding in your chest as you turn to look up at him, tongue darting out to wet your lips. “You could find out right now.” 

Kyle’s lips lift in a smirk as he leans in closer, trapping you against the door. “I’d love to, but I don’t think the Captain would be quite so forgiving if I skipped out on this training.” 

You stare up at him, lost in his big brown eyes. “Soon?” 

He smirks, leaning down to kiss you. “Of course. Just say the word.” 

He leaves you there with your heart thudding in your chest, your stomach churning in excitement. You’d be more than willing to go that extra step with Kyle right at this very moment, but the subtle ache between your thighs thanks to Johnny is a good reminder why you should wait. You want to enjoy your time with Kyle.

You know it will be worth the wait. 

“How have you been?” 

You shrug, sinking back into the plush chair. It’s warm in the office, a stark contrast to the cold downpour outside. “Fine.” You answer, running your hands over your jeans. “Tired.” 

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises an eyebrow at you. “Have you not been sleeping well?” 

“I’m...having a hard time falling asleep.” You say. It’s not entirely a lie, but it’s not the whole truth. 

“Why do you think that is?” She asks, writing something down. 

Your palms begin to sweat. You hadn’t planned on going into too much detail about this with her, but you knew she’d likely notice and remark on your tired appearance. “Been thinking too much.” 

“About what?” She probes, staring at you. 

You know you don’t have to tell her anything. What you share is up to you. Yet, you can feel the words bubbling up, threatening to spill over before you can stop them. “My family.” You say, releasing some steam from the boiling pot inside you. Tears burn your eyes, threatening to fall as you continue. “Especially my mom. I miss her a lot sometimes.” 

“You had a close bond with her.” Dr. Keller says. It’s not a question. 

You nod. “The closest out of all of my siblings.” You snuffle, wiping the tear trailing down your cheek. “Makes sense why.” 

“Sometimes we have traits or behaviors that show before we present that hint at our possible status. Having a stronger bond with one parent over another, especially in mixed status packs, can signal what one might present as.” Dr. Keller says. “Were you the first omega to present in your pack?” 

You nod. “Yeah. My older brothers were alphas, and I don’t know about my younger siblings.” 

“That could all contribute to a strong bond with your mother.” Dr. Keller leans back in her seat. “I’m assuming you haven’t had any contact with them since the institute.” 

“Not since I was taken from home. The institute didn’t support keeping those connections with previous packs and...I don’t think they would have reached out anyway.” You say, picking at the fabric of your pants. 

“What makes you say that?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You pause, not sure you want to open that bag of worms. If anyone is safe enough to do it with, you know it’s going to be Dr. Keller. She won’t judge you, she won’t think you weak or silly for having such thoughts, such fears. She doesn’t care how broken you are. You’re not part of her pack. She’s an outsider, a doctor above all. 

“Well, they did send me to the institute, didn’t they?” You finally say. 

Dr. Keller hums, staring at you for a moment before she drops her gaze to her notebook, writing something down. “I suppose you have a point there. Hypothetically, if you were given the chance to, would you want to talk to them again? It’s not uncommon for omegas to seek out their previous packs and families after they leave the institute.” 

Your stomach twists at her question. Even if it is only hypothetical, you had existed for years in the institute thinking you’d never get to see or hear from your family again. They were behind you, lost to you. They wouldn’t accept your attempts to reach out to them, even if you knew where they were. Even after leaving the institute, you knew the chances of seeing them again or even just hearing from them was almost none. You have a new pack now, your old one doesn’t matter. 

That’s just the life of an omega. 

Would you want to? In this hypothetical world where this question exists as a potential option, would they even answer if you called? Would they accept an invitation to see you again, if they were given the chance? Could your father feel regret after all of these years for what he did to you? 

“I...” You frown, tears pricking your eyes again. “I don’t know.” 

“That’s okay.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s a complex situation. If you ever wanted to, though, I’m sure they could make it happen.” 

Your gaze snaps to hers, the shock at her words clearly written on your face. Of course they probably could. It was their job to hunt down hard to find people, and with the CIA at their backs, you’re certain they could track down your family easily. Would they do it for you, if you asked? Would they allow you to have that connection with your old pack while still being part of theirs? 

“Most people keep some form of contact with their family, even after they move on to their own pack.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s not unusual, even among omegas. Just something to think about.” 

“Do you still talk to your family?” You ask her, partly out of curiosity. 

“I do.” She smiles. “I talk to my parents pretty regularly, and my older brother occasionally. He’s involved in this world too. He was in the Army originally, but now he does whatever it is he does.” 

You’re surprised by her answer. Not so much that she still talks to her family, but that she’s familiar with this world. It makes sense, how easily she existed in it, beyond just being a professional. “Do you think it had something to do with you being chosen for this position?” You ask. 

“Most likely.” She grins. “Laswell probably wanted someone who is at least a little familiar with this world, but also someone she knew would work well with you.” 

“I think she made the right choice.” You say. It’s the truth. You like Dr. Keller. You trust her. You’ve grown comfortable in her presence and you look forward to your appointments with her. It almost makes you feel bad for withholding the truth from her. 

“Good. I think so too.” She says. “So, did anything exciting happen this week?” 

You chew on your lip nervously, your hands disappearing into your sleeves as your face warms a bit. “Johnny and I...had our first time together.” 

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raise. “And that’s something you wanted?” 

You nod. “Yeah. I’d like to get close to all of them, well, as close as Ghost will let me get.” You bite your lip again. “Ghost...gave me some pointers on how to handle Johnny. It worked. He...let me take control. I liked it.” 

“Nothing wrong with that.” Dr. Keller says. “I think it’s great that you’ve discovered this about yourself. I know omegas are so used to being controlled in society. I think it’s great that you’ve found a place where perhaps you can take a little control back.” 

She’s not wrong. Your entire life has been dictated for you, controlled by someone else. The baton of control was just continually passed from your father, to the institute, to the CIA, and now to John. Though John has granted you the most freedom of everyone that’s held control over you, there’s still requirements for obedience and submission to him. You’ll never be your own person. That’s just the way society works, and you’ve come to accept that. 

Yet, you’ve never felt quite so powerful as you did in bed with Johnny, when you’d gripped him by the mohawk like Ghost had instructed you to. When you saw the change in his eyes as you took over, controlling him, telling him what to do. You liked it, exerting control over someone else for a change. He just let you do it. It still sends a thrill down your spine at the thought of the possibilities, the things you can do now that you’ve discovered this part of yourself. You’d never show it in public, but behind closed doors...

The book was right. Perhaps omegas can be powerful. 

“What are we doing?” You ask, staring up at John as he straps a tactical vest onto your body. 

“We’re doing an exercise, and you’re going to help us.” He answers, double checking the vest before putting a helmet on your head. “Think of it as hide and seek mixed with tag.” He finishes strapping the helmet to your head, taking a step back. “How does it feel?” 

“Heavy.” You feel weighed down with the vest and the helmet.

“You’ll get used to it.” He says with a smile, guiding you towards the door of the warehouse. 

It’s dark inside, nearly pitch black except for the light coming in from the open door. There’s fake walls set up in front of you, with space just in the middle like a sort of hallway that disappears into the darkness. 

“Your job is to get from this side of the warehouse, to the other without getting caught.” John says. “No weapons, just you trying to evade us and get to the other side while we try and catch you,” John lowers the goggles on the top of the helmet, the world coming alive in shades of green around you. “And night vision goggles. Be smart about it. Understood?” 

You nod, looking around with the goggles, trying to adapt to using them. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good. You have a thirty second head start. Use it wisely.” 

He leaves the warehouse, closing the door behind him. You’re left in complete darkness, with no sound but a fan running somewhere, probably to dampen any sounds that might echo. You stand there for a moment, trying not to breathe too heavily, as it might echo in the warehouse. You stare at the door behind you for a second before you begin to move forward, the adrenaline starting to pump. You have to get to the other side of the warehouse before they catch you. Are they working together or individually? What kind of strategy will they use? What strategy will you use? 

You begin to pick up speed, running until you reach the end of the first hallway. It splits off in both directions, and you hesitate for a moment. Be smart about it. You don’t have many advantages in this situation. They’ve done this before, both in training and probably in the field as well. They’re highly skilled soldiers, trained to hunt down people in all sorts of environments, sometimes with nothing more than their scent. 

Scent. 

Of course. 

You take off down the right hallway, following it as it twists and turns like a maze. A giant maze. There’s so many hallways, so many places to run, but not many to hide. That’s not the point, though. You have to get to the other side of the warehouse before they do. You have to track your way through this maze without getting caught by four special operations soldiers. 

Simple enough. 

You pause at a corner, undoing your vest so you can slip your sweatshirt off. You’re just putting your vest back on when the door opens, bathing the ceiling with light for a moment. It’s started. They’re inside. You can’t hear anything over the hum of the fan, and that’s almost more terrifying to you than if you had been able to hear them. The adrenaline is pumping now as you toss your sweatshirt in the corner before quickly backtracking and heading a different direction.

You try to keep your breathing quiet as you weave through the maze, doubling back and touching the walls every so often to try and leave your scent behind and confuse them. You take deep breaths through your nose as you go, trying to catch any whiff of them, any sign that you might have crossed their path or be getting close to them. They’ll reach the same area of the maze as you’re in eventually, sooner rather than later. You need to start pressing forward. You’re not just evading them, you have to reach the other side before they catch you. 

You slip around a corner, pressing up against the wall as something moves behind you. You hold your breath, quiet footsteps passing by your position. Your hands are shaking from the adrenaline, the instinctual fear of being hunted rising in you. You take a couple of quiet deep breaths, slipping your shoes off to grab your socks before slipping them back on. You peek around the corner, finding nothing. 

You toss one of your socks in the corner before doubling back, pausing as you cross one of their scents. Johnny. You recognize the citrusy tang in the air. Christ, you’ve never heard him be that quiet before. You continue on, your heart racing in your chest as you carefully weave around corners, slipping through hallways. They’re close to you now. They could be around any corner. 

You pause as you cross the scent of leather and musk, something prickling in the back of your mind. It’s a fresh scent. You pause for a moment, looking in the direction he went before slipping around the corner. You still have your other sock clutched in your hand, knuckles white as you grip it tightly. 

You should be nearing the end. The warehouse isn’t that big, even with all the doubling back and dodging you’ve been doing. You toss your other sock in a corner haphazardly as you decide to stop doubling back and go for the exit. You have to try and get ahead of them, as well as find your way through the maze to the exit door. 

Simple enough. 

Except, you have no idea which direction the exit is, or which direction you’re heading. You could be going backwards for all you know. You weave through the halls, around the corners, focusing on finding the end of the maze. 

In your concentration you fail to notice the scent, weaving through the halls mindlessly as you attempt to reach the end of the maze. You pay for it as the sound of boots on the concrete floor rushes up behind you. You let out a startled shriek of surprise as your feet leave the floor, your body ragdolling over someone’s shoulder. 

“Got her!” He yells out, weaving around a couple corners before light floods the warehouse, making you wince. 

Your squint as your feet hit the ground again, the night vision goggles lifted from your face. Your nose crinkles as you stare up at Kyle’s smug face, his lips pulled up in a smirk. 

“No fair.” You pout. “I was so close!” 

“You were, but you got sloppy at the end there.” He says, undoing the strap of your helmet to help you take it off. You’re sweaty underneath it, hair sticking to your forehead. You’re glad you ditched your sweatshirt now. 

“Not bad.” John says, exiting the warehouse, Ghost and Johnny following. “Nice strategy.” He says, tossing your sweatshirt to you. 

You shrug, hugging it to your chest. “Had to think fast with what I had on hand.” 

“Running around with no socks on too.” Ghost says, holding up your socks. 

“Left you a little present. You can keep them if you want.” You smirk. 

“Don’t want your nasty socks.” He grumbles, tossing them to you. 

“That was fun.” You say, grinning up at them. “Like being hunted.” You don’t miss the quiet rumble in John’s chest at your words, his eyes darkening just a bit. “Can someone help me out of this now though,” You say, reaching for the velcro straps on the vest. “It’s squishing my boobs.” 

The TV is playing some show, but you're not really paying attention. You haven't been, not for a while now. Your adrenaline had still been pumping a bit after your participation in the exercise earlier, putting you on edge the rest of the day. It had been a bit thrilling, the idea of being hunted like that. You can understand now how omegas enjoy being hunted, beyond just the inevitable end. 

The thought of that being how the exercise ended, all four of them at once, out where anyone could see you...your skin begins to prickle as heat blossoms in your veins. Kyle would get to take you first because he won, he caught you so easily. Would John go second, or would he allow the other members of his pack to go first? Ghost would be rough, taking you from behind, hands bruising on your hips. Your teeth sink into your lip as you imagine him over you, a position you often found yourself in during your training with him. He's just so big, so strong. They all are. 

You won't be able to control yourself during training if you keep going down that thought path. 

John would be gentle, piecing you back together after the others have had their way with you. He'd take care of you, like a good alpha, dragging one more orgasm out of you after you think you can't anymore. 

You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm your scent. You're stinking up the rec room with your fantasies. You turn your head to look at the TV, trying to focus on what's happening on the screen in an effort to distract yourself. 

It doesn't work, the subtle dampness between your thighs ever present on your mind. You have half a mind to get up and seek out Kyle, but like a miracle he appears in the doorway of the rec room. You see his nostrils flare, the lift of his shoulders as he inhales. He can smell your arousal, the spike in the sweetness of your scent. You have no doubt about that. He doesn't say anything, though, instead he approaches the couch silently, kneeling at the end. 

He settles himself on top of you, resting his head on your chest. He lets out a breath as he settles, keeping some of his weight off of you, but he's still pressed against you like a weighted blanket. You fight the urge to shift beneath him, to press your hips up against him, to seek any ounce of relief for the warmth between your thighs. 

You're not sure he's watching the TV either as he lays there, relaxed over you. Your fingers trail patterns across his back, gliding over his soft shirt. He's in blue today, one of your favorite colors on him. He looks good in anything, the perks of being pretty, but blue is one of your favorite colors on him. 

It's silent between you for a while, Kyle relaxed above you while you fight to relax beneath him. If he’s affected at all by your scent, he hides it well. You have half a mind to ask him to take pity on you, to slip his hand beneath your sweatpants and ease the ache between your thighs. He had said whenever you wanted it. All you have to do is ask. 

You shift slightly beneath him, lifting your hand to his head. “Kyle?” You ask, gently trailing your fingers over his scalp. He'd gotten his hair buzzed recently, the curly strands shorter than normal. 

He hums in response, the sound rumbling through your body from where his head rests on your chest. When you don't reply right away he lifts his head, blinking up at you with those big brown eyes. 

“Kiss me?” You ask. 

Your heart starts to race as he pulls himself closer to you, his body dragging against yours. His eyes dart to your lips before they look back into yours for a moment. He leans down, slipping his arms underneath your back as he closes the gap between you. His lips are soft against yours, his kisses gentle and controlled as he holds you like you might break in his grasp. 

“Kyle?” You murmur against his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck. 

He hums again in response, pulling away just slightly to stare down at you. 

“‘M not gonna break.” You say, dragging your nails over his scalp again. “Kiss me like you mean it.” 

His lips twitch in a smirk before he leans down, pressing his lips hard against yours. It’s a searing kiss that nearly steals your breath away. His tongue prods at your lips, and you part them to allow him in. He tastes like the tea he had been drinking after dinner, rich and earthy with a hint of sweetness from the sugar he added. You moan softly into his mouth as his tongue flicks against your own, your thighs squeezing around his waist at the thought of that tongue between your legs. 

He smirks against your lips as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, his body shifting over yours so he can press one of his thighs between your legs. You move instinctively, your hips grinding against his thigh. Finally you're getting some friction, some relief from the ache. 

“Fuck.” He breathes, pulling you tighter against his chest. “That’s it.” He groans, pressing his thigh harder against your grinding hips. “Gonna cum on my thigh, just like that?” He nips at your jaw, trailing kisses down the line towards your neck. “Haven’t even touched you yet.” 

You try to muffle your moans as you continue to grind against his thigh, the friction on your clit pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Kyle?” You gasp out, gripping the back of his shirt. “Gonna fuck me on the rec room couch?” 

He lifts his head from your neck, staring down at you for a moment. “Fuck, you’re right. Your room or mine?” 

“Yours.” You say, hanging on for dear life as he scoops you up off the couch, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

He walks you to his room, carrying you the entire way. He kicks the door shut, beelining for his bed. He drops you down on the mattress, your body bouncing as he hastily peels his shirt off, revealing an expanse of smooth skin marked here and there by scars. You immediately reach out, trailing your fingers over his skin. It’s just as soft as it looks, your fingers trailing the lines of his muscles. 

His hand flattens over yours as it reaches his chest, pressing it into his warm skin as he leans down, kissing you again. His hands slip under your thighs, lifting you and switching your positions so he’s seated on the bed, and you’re in his lap. 

“Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?” He says, looking up at you. 

“I think it’s been mentioned before.” You say with a shrug, smiling down at him. 

“It’s the truth.” He says, slipping his hands under your shirt. “Deserve to hear it all the time.” 

“Bunch of handsome men complimenting me constantly?” You say, lifting your arms over your head so he can remove your shirt. “Can’t complain about that.” 

“Luckiest men in the world.” He says, smoothing his hands across your back as he presses his face into your throat. “Pretty little omega.” 

You shiver as his teeth nip at your skin, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. You arch against his chest, pressing yourself closer. There’s a bulge in his pants, a shiver of pride running through you at the thought that you did that to him. You elicited such a reaction from him. 

“I never properly thanked you.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“For what?” He asks, staring up at you curiously. 

“For taking such good care of me during my heat. Couldn’t have been easy, seeing me like that, knowing you couldn’t even touch me.” You grind your hips against his, his teeth sinking into his lip as you grind against his bulge. “Tell me, how many times did you touch yourself while thinking about me?” 

“Too many to count, love.” He groans, leaning his forehead against yours. “Sounded so sweet, getting ruined by our alpha.” 

“Been so patient, waiting for this.” You gasp, still rocking in his lap, the wetness between your thighs intensifying from the friction. “Tell me how you want me.” 

“Sit on my face.” He growls, pushing you off his lap so he can lay down on the bed. 

You shove your pants and underwear down your legs, fighting the urge to be bashful. Kyle has already seen you at your most vulnerable, been up close and personal with your most private parts. Yet, it feels different like this. More intimate, and less of a necessity. 

You take his hand as he offers it, letting him guide you to kneel over his face. You grip the headboard as you hover over him, his hands settling on your hips. 

“Wait-” You say, before he can pull you down onto his face. “What if I suffocate you?” 

“Then I’ll die a happy man.” He says, tugging you down onto his mouth. 

You let out a gasp as his tongue drags through your folds, already soaked from his teasing. His tongue flicks across your clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your lips. Your hips jerk when his mouth closes around your clit, suckling at it with a lewd smack of his lips. 

“Fuck!” You gasp, grinding your hips against his face as he continues to tease your clit, drawing patterns on it with his tongue. 

You’re close already, your legs trembling around his head. He holds you steady, keeping you still above him as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it harshly. Your knees attempt to squeeze around his head as you cum, soaking his face with a cry. He continues to lap at your folds, licking up every last bit of your release before he finally lets you move off his face.

You drop to the side, staring down at him as you try to catch your breath. He licks his lips, his face shiny with your juices. He reaches a hand over, tangling his fingers in your hair as he pulls your face down to his, kissing you. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue and lips, already starting to get wet again. 

Kyle wraps his arms around you, flipping you onto your back under him. He hovers over you, the bulge in his pants very visible, even from this position. 

“Sweet little omega.” He says, nipping at your lips. “So fucking perfect.” 

“Kyle,” You gasp, pulling him down into a kiss. “Need you.” 

“I got you.” He soothes you, pressing another kiss to your lips before he sits back on his knees between your legs, staring down at you. He drags his fingers through your folds, still just as slick as they had been before your orgasm. “So fucking wet.” He groans, hastily undoing his belt and pants, kicking them off the end of the bed. 

You stare at him in awe, his cock just as beautiful as he is. Long and thick, curved just slightly. You can’t help but ogle him as he wraps a hand around the base, squeezing it. He’s hard, raging hard, the tip leaking precum already. He really has been so patient, waiting for this. You almost feel bad making him wait so long, but he had agreed to be patient, if only to keep Johnny from making everyone’s lives miserable with his pouting if he didn’t get to go first. 

It’s only fair that you let Johnny go first too, considering Kyle will likely be the one you spend the most time with. It’s only natural, thanks to your bond with John. Kyle’s your beta, just as much as John is your alpha. You’d like Johnny to be your beta too, but you know without that bond with Ghost, it’ll never feel quite the same as it does with Kyle. Regardless, you’ll continue to treat Johnny as if he was your beta. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Kyle asks, watching you as you get lost in thought.

You truly do it at the worst possible times.

You lift your gaze to his, staring into those big brown eyes. “Just waiting on you to hurry up and fuck me.” 

You let out a yelp as Kyle’s hand smacks your inner thigh, the sound cracking through the room. 

“Don’t get cheeky now.” He warns, rubbing the spot on your skin that’s quickly turning warm from his smack. “Just making sure you’re alright.” 

“Fine.” You say, spreading your legs further for him. “Be better if you finally fucked me.” 

Your laugh is broken by a moan as he drags his head through your folds, his hand falling to grip your waist. 

“That needy for me, huh?” He asks, teasingly pressing the tip of his cock into you before pulling back. 

“Just worried you might not make it since you’ve waited so long.” You gasp, trying to move your hips to take him deeper into you, but he pins you with the hand on your hip. 

“Careful what you wish for.” He says, the warning clear in his tone. You handled Johnny just fine, you can certainly handle Kyle. 

You hope. 

He finally takes pity on you, sinking his cock deeper into you. You moan at the stretch, flopping back on the bed as you try to relax around him. He rolls his hips in short thrusts, sinking deeper and deeper as you open up to him. You reach for him as he sinks even further into you, his body folding over yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, staring up at him as he seats himself completely inside you, hips pressed flush against yours. 

“Hi.” You breathe, getting lost in his soft gaze. 

“Hi, love.” He grins down at you, fingers brushing your cheeks as he leans on his elbows above you. “Doing alright?” 

You nod, squeezing around him. “Yeah. Feels good.” 

“Good.” He says, leaning down to kiss you. “Been waiting so long for this. Feels better than I imagined.” 

You let out a quiet whine, clenching around him again. The thought of him imagining this, trying to picture what you’d look like, what you’d feel like while he waited patiently for his turn has your body burning hot. You shift your hips below him, causing him to move inside you. 

“Kyle?” You breathe, shifting again. “Please move.” 

“I got you, love.” He smiles down at you, pulling his hips back before slowly pressing forward again. 

Your head falls back as he moves, keeping his pace slow and languid. Heat burns through your veins, your very nerve endings alive as he slowly rolls his hips into you. Something thrums in the back of your mind, the mark on your shoulder almost tingling as you stare up at him, your fingers trailing over the mark on his shoulder, a mirror of the one on your own. A shudder runs through him as your fingers brush the scar, his lips parting in a low groan. You clench around him at the sight of such unbridled pleasure on his face, pulling him closer against your body.

He drags your pleasure out as he makes love to you, slow and passionate and deliberate with every movement. You know you won’t last much longer, the sensations beginning to overwhelm you. 

“I’m close.” You breathe into Kyle’s ear, pressing kisses across his neck. “Don’t stop.” 

“Gonna cum for me?” He groans, keeping his thrusts steady. “Gonna let me see that beautiful face as you come undone for me?” 

Your back arches as you cum, pushed over the edge by his words. Your nails bite into his shoulders, but he offers no complaint as he continues to roll his hips into yours, working you through your orgasm as he chases his own. His pace picks up slightly as he gets closer and closer to the edge, your eyes on his face, wanting to watch him now. 

“Your turn.” You breathe, still trying to catch your breath from your orgasm as you clench around him. 

His head tilts back, lips parted in a deep moan as his hips jerk. His cock twitches inside you, his thrusts getting sloppy as he cums. You trail your hands over his back, sinking your teeth into your lip as you watch his face morph into complete bliss. You’ve never seen anything quite so beautiful. 

He collapses on top of you, just managing to keep his weight off of you thanks to his elbows planted on the bed beside your head. You continue to rub his back, fingers tracing the smooth, sweat slicked skin, only pausing to trace the scars that you find. Kyle presses soft kisses to your face, slowly trailing lower across your jaw and neck. He presses a kiss to your mark, a shudder running through you. He lets out a groan as you clench around him, shifting so he’s face to face with you again. 

“Give me a minute.” He says, slipping out of you as he presses a kiss to your lips. 

“Tired already?” You ask cheekily. 

“No,” He says, kissing you again before slowly sliding down your body. “Just need a minute to catch my breath. Besides,” He settles between your thighs, pressing them open so he’s face to face with your pussy. “I’ve got a mess to clean up.” 

You stand outside the door of John’s office, brows pulled into a frown. You have a feeling you already know what he’s going to say, yet your mind keeps reeling, coming up with the most fantastical ideas as to why you were summoned to his office in the middle of the day. It’s weird that he’s in his office in the middle of the day. Usually they’d be off training, but he’d pulled them all into a meeting this morning after breakfast, one that had gone into your usual lunch time, and then they hadn’t gone to train after you finally got to eat. 

“Come in.” 

Your hand pauses on the handle as you hesitate, almost as if you could prevent what’s going to happen by just not going in. It’s a ridiculous thought. Avoiding this will only likely get you into trouble. 

You step into the office, the air inside different from any of the other times you’ve been in his office. John’s face looks grim and focused behind his desk, and it’s not hard to tell you’re not facing John right now, you’re facing Captain Price. 

You take the seat across from him at his desk when he motions to it, trying to fight the tears threatening to brim in your eyes as you stare at him. You won’t cry. You knew this was going to happen eventually. You knew going in what was going to inevitably happen. You had been well prepared for this part of your new reality, yet you don’t want to acknowledge it now that you’re staring it in the face. 

“I know you’ve likely already figured out what’s going on.” He says, his voice gruff and deeper than normal. 

You can see it in his face. He’s fighting his own battle with having to tell you. You hadn’t expected it, to see him struggle with it. He knew it as well as you did. He knew it better than you did, and yet, you can see the turmoil behind that focused gaze. 

He lets out a sigh as he continues, hands closing into fists on his desk, his tone almost apologetic. The words sting despite the fact you had known they were coming, despite the fact you had expected them when you walked into the office. “This morning we had a debrief for a new assignment. We’ll be leaving tonight. All four of us.”  

NEXT ->

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph

[icysab]

more niki boyfie hcs — falling for you edition!

requested here!

wc: <350 i think

a/n: this is a little different than my standard boyfie hcs but i wanted to try something new, so let me know your opinion in comments, reblogs, asks, etc. of this format !!

a/n no. 2: idc what anyone says riki is a DORKY, RIZZLESS LOSER SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD BOY AND I WILL WRITE HIM AS SUCH.

- bro was CAPTIVATED by your smile

- that was literally the first thing he noticed about you— how your smile lit up the room he was in

- you were one of jungwon’s friends and so he introduced you to all the members

- and when i tell you niki’s heart STOPPED when he saw you

- but niki is loyal to his bros!! so he swallowed the lump in his throat so jungwon didn’t kill him

- (jungwon, in fact, introduced you to the members because you mentioned that niki was cute. he would not have cared one bit.)

- only realizes he’s staring after sunoo nudges him with his elbow

- literally stuttering trying to introduce himself

- “i, uh, my name is- uh- riki”

- (failed) attempts at acting aloof fly out the window when you repeat his name back and smile

- the second you leave jake and sunghoon RELENTLESSLY tease the poor guy

- and he gets so defensive too, like he wasn’t acting like a lost puppy dog

- before jakehoon can strip niki of too much of his pride though, won tells them to knock it off

- after scolding the two goofballs (scary leader) won decides to tell niki

- “you know, i don’t care if you go for her”

- poor riki is not following

- “??”

- “she thinks you’re cute too, and besides, you’d make a good match”

- he malfunctions

- “no nono why would you think that!! HAHA- wait. she thinks i’m cute??”

- he’s all red and blushy

- at this point jakehoon are CACKLING at poor riki

- won explains that you thought riki was cute too and that’s why he introduced you two, but he didn’t expect him to be such a nervous wreck around you

- riki is shocked 😮

- after MUCH coaxing from the members, won finally gets riki to text your number

- riki’s leg won’t stop bouncing with nerves as he types out a message

- “hey, this is riki from earlier. i just wanted to say that your shirt was cool”

- all the members facepalm at his attempts at playing it cool

- you respond almost instantly, to riki’s surprise

- “hi riki!! thank you, + i thought your outfit was cool too :D”

- before he can breathe a sigh of relief that your text was super nice and simple, he sees the typing bubble pop up again

- “did you ask won for my number? hah you must have wanted an excuse to talk to me again ”

- he freezes again

- HOW DID YOU SEE RIGHT THROUGH HIM??

- he’s about to deny, deny, deny, but won stops him

- “dude, just tell her the truth. did you already forget that she thinks you’re cute too?”

- riki’s brows furrow in thought at that, but before he can even begin to construe a cool, smooth response, jake rips the phone out of his hands

- RIKI SCREAMS SO LOUD THE ENTIRE DORM REVERBERATES while jake books it to the bathroom to lock himself in

- after a minute, he walks out with riki’s phone and the most devilish smirk on his lips

- before jake can do anything else, riki snatches the phone back and apprehensively starts to read the damage jake had done

- “lol you caught me. if you want, we could get to know each other better over some ice cream tmr? it’ll be my treat”

- “woah, that was smoother than i expected. ill see you tmr riki :)”

- riki is dumbfounded. did jake actually just score him a date with YOU?? there’s no way this worked

- “thank me later,” jake teases

- he is so in shock that he doesn’t even have the capacity to kill jake. tomorrow, a date (???) with you? he can die a happy man.

- to be continued…. ?

[nmakii]

Yan!Alastor with a sweet little doe reader that loves to stay close to them and is rather clingy? Cuddles are a must, light kisses on the chin, wanting to walk together with held hands, physical contact is basically their love language! 🥰 even going for his fluffy ears cause who wouldn’t?? I love your writing btw! It makes me happy whenever you have something new for us ❤️

SAY YOU’LL NEVER LEAVE ME!

— yandere!alastor x clingy!reader

— AGH!! this made me scream thank you sm i love you!!! violence warning! pure yandere fluff 😲

is in love with how clingy you are! you refuse to leave his side, and he didn’t even need to force you! alastor loves a submissive darling who’d do what he desires without asking

not to mention how innocent you are! how did such a sweet little doe such as yourself get into hell? st. peter must have been mistaken!

because of your pure nature, alastor would only want the best things for his darling! just promise him to be his forever, and the rest of hell will be in the palm of your hand.

alastor himself isn’t one for physical touch though. he doesn’t mind keeping you at his side nor does he mind the kisses, don’t get it wrong, he adores your kisses! touching his ears though may be harder to adjust to.

he hates the reminder that he is a prey animal, he himself enjoys being the predator. your gentle touch against his fluffy ears and antlers as he twitches under your touch makes him quite uncomfortable to the fact you’re touching his weakest and most sensitive spot.

eventually, he grows to accept the fact that to be yours, he must make some sort of sacrifice. and if it’s this, so be it…

although, because of your clingy behavior, it only raises his possessiveness. seeing you even talking to someone else would make his blood boil.

especially if it is someone alastor has conflict with; seeing you even be approached by lucifer or vox would make him jealous; his smile would grow strained, his murderous intent thick in the air, enough to cut with a knife.

against lucifer or fellow overlords, alastor wouldn’t act upon it. despite his huge ego, he knows better than to pick a fight with demons who are more powerful than him.

to those who are lesser than him… unfortunately, they’re not as lucky.

of course though, being the gentleman he is, he refuses to taint your soul with all the carnage and bloodshed he commits to keep you as his sweet doe.

‘LIVE ON AIR’ the neon sign in alastor’s broadcast station lit up as the speakers across pentagram city came to life. a man begging for his life, screaming as various noises were heard. one could only assume the radio demon was tearing his soul to pieces.

the sound of flesh being ripped apart was gruesome as the sinner’s bloodcurdling screams grew weaker. the sound of his corpse being hit against the walls of the station at least 40 times until alastor threw the body onto the floor.

when the man screamed no more, alastor’s voice was heard, sighing deeply, as if all his pent-up stress had just been released before joyful music started playing in the background. “good evening, sinners! take this broadcast as a reminder not to mess with what belongs to me! lest you’d like me to feast on your screams.” alastor warned before he laughed maniacally. and then he was gone once more.

after releasing all of his fury, he returned back to your shared bedroom, his cute little doe in pretty jammies he bought for you. so comfy in bed while hugging a plushie of a manically-cute red kitty, the antlers on its’ head resembling alastor’s. “alastor, what took so long?” you pouted as he began to retire in his nightwear, first taking off his bowtie.

“forgive me, my doe. there were many things to cover tonight on my radio broadcast…” he smiled, pinching your plump cheeks; so yummy and jiggly under his touch. “could i make it up to you tonight?” he smiled widely.

“ugh, then hurry up, please?!” you hit the sheets in frustration. “ahaha… just be patient, my darling.” he patted your head, getting into bed with you. turning off the lights before he wrapped his lanky arms around your waist, burying his face in your hair and leaving a trail of light kisses over your head.

the next time you’d see alastor’s broadcast station, a peculiar skeleton is pinned, adding a grotesque look to the hotel

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Eyes

Dp x Dc Crossover Writing Idea

“Red Robin!”

When he backtracked to find the owner of the voice he was a bit surprised to find a young boy, maybe eight years old if he had to guess, dressed in a red sweatshirt that dwarfed him and a pair of gym shorts that had seen better days.

Not many Gothamites called out to the vigilantes, a silent agreement to stay out of their way and not to look too closely. This kid however stared up at him with bright blue eyes unafraid of getting the Red Robin’s attention.

A fan?

Before he even opens his mouth, the kid gives him a small, hopeful smile, eyes shining with something that reminds him of himself when he was that age and following Batman and Robin with his camera around his tiny neck.

“I brought you a gift,” the boy say with nervous excitement. He enthusiastically swings off the backpack he had on to dig through the contents, taking his eyes off the vigilante and showing his unwavering trust that nothing bad would happen to him while Red Robin was here.

The boy pulls out what appears to be a jar wrapped in newspaper, the worn page ripping in some spots to show the clear glass underneath. Small hands present it like it’s Red Robin’s birthday (which it wasn’t).

He takes it cautiously, the kid hasn’t been hostile but this was still weird, and pulls it closer with enough space so if it’s a bomb it doesn’t blow up in his face.

It’s got weight to it and the slight sloshing tells him it’s filled with liquid. He carefully unwraps the ‘gift’, keeping his eye on the boy who stands waiting anxiously.

Tim almost drops the jar as soon as he sees what’s inside. Only his reflexes from over the years held on and his expression turned neutral.

A pair of eyes sit at the bottom of the jar. The orbs were crudely extracted, tissue floating around them like a mane of hair around a head.

He turns the jar to see the irises and… he knew these eyes. The slimy green is filmed with death, but he recognized these eyes from the number of times the owner locked them onto him, the cruel possessiveness they possessed when they gazed at him. Never again apparently.

Tim doesn’t speak for a while, not knowing what to say, but also thoughts racing too fast to form any proper sentences.

“Do you like it?” The small, nervous voice interrupts those thoughts.

What an innocent question on an equally innocent looking face.

“How did you get Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes?”

The teasing chatter over the comms immediately hushes into shocked silence.

“I took them from his body, so you knew he was dead. I burned the rest so you don’t have to worry about him coming back again. The Pit there is gone anyway,” the child explains easily, not fazed in the slightest from the words he speaks.

“Grandfather is dead?” He hears Damian whisper over the comm.

So many other questions were flying through Tim’s head. He looks the kid over again.

Black hair and blue eyes. In any other situation the kid might have been a possible Wayne adoptee. He’s not a clone from what he can see though. Despite the coloring he doesn’t really look like any of them. Pale skin like Tim, but has freckles. The same kind of nose as Damian, but wide, round eyes. Jaw kind of like Jason, but his body shape is too narrow. Bright, almost icy blue eyes like Dick, but eyebrow shape is flatter. Lip shape like Bruce, but from the kid’s anxious lip biting he could see the faintest trace of dimples.

“Who are you?” He asks instead of the other million and one questions.

The boy blinks almost like he wasn’t expecting the question. He’s cheeks color pink with blush as he grins widely.

“I’m Danny!” He introduces cheerfully like he didn’t just hand a vigilante a jar of eyes.

“Hi, Danny,” Tim greets almost dumbly. “Want to tell me why you gave me this?”

Danny scoffs his shoe against the pavement in what appears to be embarrassment.

“Well, I know when you ask someone for something, it’s nice to give a gift or something. Like I did something nice for you so maybe you’ll do something nice for me?”

He takes a moment to absorb that child-like reasoning.

“So you want me to do something for you and you thought I would like Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes in exchange?”

Danny studies him and fidgets with the large sweatshirt sleeve.

“I just thought you would like proof. Like the whole ‘bring me the heart of my enemy’ kind of thing. Do you not like it? I couldn’t just take a picture ‘cuz I didn’t have a camera with me, I know you like photography. I can do something else for you if it’s not enough,” he offers worriedly.

Tim freezes.

“How do you know I like photography?” He demands.

Danny tilts his head curiously.

“Because Tim Drake likes photography,” he says like it’s obvious, “and you’re Tim Drake.”

Well. This is less than ideal.

“Red Robin, take him back to the Cave,” Batman instructs over the comms.

Yeah, he was getting there.

“Do you know the other’s’ identities?”

Danny nods and hums affirmatively. Tim waits.

“Oh! Yea. Batman is Bruce Wayne. Robin is Damian Wayne. Red Hood is Jason Todd. Nightwing is Richard Grey-“

“Okay. That’s enough.”

Tim glances around the empty alley they were standing in, checking to make sure no stray people heard. Luckily they were truly alone.

“Danny, do you want to come back with me?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. The kid was coming back regardless, it would just be better if he went willingly.

Unsurprisingly, the kid lights up like a little sun at the offer.

“Really?” He nearly shouts in excitement.

“Yeah, kid. I parked my bike a few blocks from here. You ever rode a motorcycle before?”

Danny shakes his head, nearly bounding on his toes.

“Not in this lifetime.” And wasn’t that odd wording? “Are we gonna grapple there?”

“Think you can hold on?”

“Yeah!”

He kneels down so the boy can climb onto his back and lock his arms around his neck and hook his feet together around his torso. Danny is worryingly light as he stands.

The kid is the picture of an excited and overeager child as they carefully fly over rooftops and then drive back to the Cave. Even when they park inside the safety of the Batcave, Danny’s eyes are filled with child-like awe and wonder, so curious and chattering with questions and wild imagination. It would be cute, endearing even, if the jar of eyes wasn’t sitting heavily in his pocket.

Alfred came down not too long after their arrival with a tray of healthy snacks and some waters. Danny happily munches on the apple slices as he wanders around where Tim can see him.

The rumble of the Batmobile can be heard almost an hour later after Tim has to tell Danny not to touch the weapons for the fourth time. The kid’s attention is drawn to the sleek black vehicle as it parks by Tim’s bike. He trots over with wide eyes as the doors open and Robin exits, then Batman.

Unfortunately, Dick is in Bludhaven and Jason is visiting Roy and Lian this week. Cass and Steph were gone as well and Duke was sleeping. It was just the three of them and this kid with Alfred as the only buffer.

Danny stares openly, curious, as the duo makes their way over to the computer where Tim has claimed his sit.

Tim turns the jar that he set on the table so the eyes are facing them and slowly leans back again, suddenly very tired. Damian flexes his hands into fists tightly while Batman is very still.

“Hi,” Danny chirps like nothing is wrong, oblivious to the tension in the air.

Batman takes a measured breath. Robin glares down at the child, but remains silent for now.

“Who killed Ra’s Al Ghul?”

Danny blinks blankly.

“Nobody.”

“You’re saying he just dropped dead?” Damian sneered in sarcasm.

“Death took him,” the child says simply as if that explained everything.

“How?” The word is demanded and emphasized.

“Like Death takes everyone. His expiration was overdue.”

Bruce frowns and Damian almost snarls.

“I demand you start making sense!”

Danny glares back in offense.

“I’m being very clear! Maybe you should ask better questions!”

The twelve year old growls at the smaller child and Batman has to place a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from attacking.

“Danny?” Batman questions after a tense moment.

The boy’s arms are crossed in irritation, but he blinks out of his glare to stare up at the man.

“Yea?”

“How do you know our identities?”

“Oh, memories.”

Danny looked like everything he said made sense and it was driving Tim up a wall.

“Memories,” Bruce repeats.

“Uh-huh,” Danny nods confidently. “From the Lazarus Pit.”

A jolt goes through Tim as he recalls what the boy said earlier about the Pit.

“Didn’t you say the Pit was gone?” He asks before Bruce could continue his line of questioning.

Danny turns with a bright smile as if he was proud Tim remembered.

“Yea! Well, gone from this world anyway.” Tim was concerned. “I took the memories from it before sending it back where it belongs.”

“Okay. How did you know how to ‘take the memories’ and send it back? Back where?”

“I was born from it. Duh. It went back to the Realms or I guess you’d call it the Afterlife,” Danny actually rolls his eyes as if they should already know this.

“Born from it?” Damian asks with a wavering voice, hidden well from the child but not from them. “Nothing has ever been born from the Pits.”

“That you know of.”

And wasn’t that the kicker.

“So, to clarify, you come from the Pits. You know who we are because you took the memories from said Pits. Death took Ra’s because his time was up. And you took the eyes from his corpse to give to me because you thought I would like it as a gift so I would do something for you.”

Danny positively beams.

“This is why you’re my favorite!”

Damian grinds his teeth harshly.

“What is it you want Red Robin to do for you?” Batman asks in strangled hesitation.

“Oh!” Danny perks up like he remembered and hops over to Tim with pleading hands. “Can you please make me an identity? You’re really good at all that stuff and I was hoping you could find me a family. Someone to adopt me. A nice family, with a bed and family dinners and a dog. I always wanted a dog.”

Tim has the sudden urge to scream.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Would you be willing to write a Miguel x Spider!Reader oneshot where they’re arguing over something the reader did on a mission. And in the heat of an argument, Miguel yells “Because I love you!” at the perfectly wrong time, revealing why he cares about the reader’s safety.

‘What the hell was that back there. You could’ve jeopardised the whole mission with that reckless stunt you pulled back there!’ Miguel barked, ripping off mask the first moment moment he could; Hellfire were setting ablaze to his beautiful scarlet eyes that were zeroed in on you as the anger, the frustration upon his face became prominent the more he closed the distance between you.

‘When will you let this go, Miguel. When we became Spider-Man we knew the risks that we were running with-‘ ‘so you thought it’d be better to take a running head start by taking the leap and then diving headfirst into them?!’ Miguel cuts you off and with an indignant huff he adds, ‘you don’t get extra points for being reckless, this isn’t some little game that you can just come back to when you feel like it. No, what we do is a full time commitment with no room for last minute deviations just because you were feeling more heroic.’

You grit your teeth. You respected Miguel, you truly did and at one point in time you wanted to do right by his little rule book of how to be a great hero. However you soon learned that it’s better to play by your own rules rather then it was to play by those made by others and slowly but surly found a method that worked for you. For no two methods were the same when it came to protecting and saving people but if they both end in the same conclusion, then no one should be able to raise an issue with it. At the end of the day you and Miguel saved people from a much bigger problem if left unchecked; so why was it that all of a sudden he had an issue with your methods?

It never upset him this much before, so why now. Did he think you as incapable? As unreliable? As untrustworthy to fully let you handle a situation on your own? Whatever it was it only proved in pissing you off despite your semi-injured state; you didn’t care that you’ve gotten hurt, you’ve gotten hurt plenty of times before and he never once batted an eye or exemplified his emotions as he did as of right now. You could barely get a read on the guy as he stood mere feet away, chest heaving even though he wasn’t out of breath, eyes wide and his hair slightly disheveled from the way he had torn off his mask earlier.

And yet you couldn’t help but find him beautiful in his anger, for it was like witnessing the makings of a Greek tragedy; beautifully written, yet so heartbreakingly tragic.

‘Why does it matter?’ You spat, getting up, despite your injured leg’s desire to buckle beneath the weight of not only you but the situation at hand. You saw the briefest movements of Miguel’s arms almost stretch out to instinctively catch you but stopping midway through the motion before going slack at his sides once more; as though remembering why he was mad at you in the first place. ‘It never mattered before, so why does it matter now? You don’t hound the others for doing it so why is it me that’s getting shit on for doing the same when I ain’t the first to do so!’

‘Because I love you!’ Miguel exclaimed.

The silence afterwards was almost deafening. Miguel’s outburst quieted you quickly as a thousand and one thoughts raced in your head; how long? why now? Was this merely a ruse to silence you so he could badger on at you for your supposed mistake? You didn’t know what to make of anything anymore now that he said that. You didn’t want to believe it for starters on the basis that not once had he ever shown interest in you, if anything he made it apparent to push you away or avoid you entirely from any and all interaction, and even when he did it was comprised of short responses that left the attempts at conversation to die as an overwhelming awkwardness forced you into leaving him be.

‘What?’

‘I love you.’ Miguel repeated, softer this time.

‘I get that but why-‘ ‘haven’t I shown it until now? As stupid as it sounds but I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me and look where you are,’ he gestured to your injured state, ‘hurt because of me.’ He adds defeatedly. You were about to open your mouth when Miguel raised a hand, indicating that he wasn’t finished, ‘I know I haven’t given you any reason to believe me when I say that I love you. I avoid you like the plague and I push you away whenever I see you starting to get too close and respond in a clipped tone of voice so that you’d loose interest and move on to talk to someone else.’

He stopped talking to move in closer to you, grasping you by arms with a firm grip as all the anger in his face seemingly having been melted away. The raging hellfire that once consumed his scarlet eyes in their entirety had been diminished to that of dying ambers, unveiling his admiration, his worry, his guilt and most importantly, his love; the sneer now long gone was replaced by a softer more tender expression that didn’t hide away the worry lines that were deeply etched into his skin. ‘I don’t deserve you, I’m not worth having you because sooner or later you’ll see me the way I’ve always seen myself and I’d rather you be as far away as possible when that happens.’ Miguel said, making sure he was maintaining eye contact with you the entire time to prove that he was being wholeheartedly genuine, not wanting to lie to you about something as personal as his feelings; He’s done that for long enough, Miguel knew his breaking point was upon the incline and seeing you act the way you did during the mission only fast forward it.

‘Yet for some inexplicable reason I can’t stop myself for wanting to protect you, to make sure you’re safe, to make sure that you never come to harm. At first I thought it was because I was looking out for a teammate, making sure you didn’t slip up and cause more potential problems for the rest of us, making sure that you didn’t let a single perpetrator slip but soon I learnt it was far more then just simply looking after a teammate...’ Miguel paused to blink away the images regarding of the nightmares he’d get concerning you, which were few and far between but those times were enough to suffocate him with fear. ‘It was something more and I grew scared, I grew scared because I know what it’s like to loose it all but for some reason I also knew that loosing you would just be the nail in the coffin for me.’

Miguel admits as he presses his forehead against your own, his hands trailing from up your arms until they’re caressing the skin of either side of your neck between calloused thumbs. He closing his eyes and allows himself to breath you in, reminding himself that you were here and that he managed to get to you before anything else could, that he kept you safe, not from all harm but at least from some of it and that was good enough but he knew deep down that he needed the do better. ‘Don’t make me imagine a life without you,’ he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours just that tiny bit harder as his fingertips found their home where your pulse points were to remind him that you weren’t gone completely from his grasp, ‘for I don’t think I’m strong enough to withstand that reality.’

‘You don’t have to.’ You told him softly, lifting your hands to caresses the skin of his cheeks and feeling him effectively melt within your hold. ‘Not anymore.’

[blockedbykei]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏 𝐖𝐇����𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎𝐖

🏐— tsukishima kei x f!reader

— synopsis: he hates your intelligence in classrooms and you hate his cunnigness at the court. both go at great lengths to defeat each other, but how is it that both of you were the only ones that can help each other be better?

— warnings: swearing, a bit suggestive, enemies to lovers (although kind of enemies)

You slam your paper on his desk.

Tsukishima barely flinches. He removes his headphones and hangs them on his neck, unbothered by your looming presence as he stares blankly at your paper. 96

The corners of his lips tug down, seemingly unimpressed. "Eh."

"Eh? Aw, is little Tsukishima disappointed at himself?"

He looks up at you, stares deeply into your eyes. And for a moment you'd think his domineering gaze would soften as he was overawed by you. But then he smiles, that annoying little shitty, narcissistic smile.

"Actually, not at all (l/n)," his smile is bright, almost genuine, but his sarcasm is radiating. "I got a 98. Not bad, though!"

You swear steam was coming off your body.

"96 at modern Japanese." He says. "Understandable."

"Understandable?!"

"Don't beat yourself up, (l/n). Not everyone's perfect," he leans back. "Not even me. I mean, I'm just being humble. But yeah, not everyone."

"I hate you," you take your paper off his desk.

"Flattered. Really, really flattered. Thank you for hating me, actually. I feel so honored to be hated." He puts his headphones back on and places his elbows on his desk, his chin resting on his joint fists. Tsukishima smiles at you again.

God, his smile is infuriating.

Tsukishima was someone you'd go to great lengths to defeat. He never bothered for your existence when first year began. He didn't even know your name; Didn't even look at your direction. He'd only known it a month later when you were paired to be partners and he decided to be such a condescending brat when he pointed out your handwriting.

At first you ignored it, took it by heart and started organizing your writings on your notes. Then he decided to put all his self-hatred on you and started to discreetly judge you.

Maybe he wasn't even judging you. Maybe he was just staring at your paper, scoffed to himself, shook his head and laughed because you got a better score than him and he was berating himself. But no, he laughed because he thought you were a tryhard and he was a prodigy.

Obviously none of those were confirmed. But he's a man and a man hates it when a woman's happy.

When he smirks you have the urge to rip his lips to pieces.

You walk away from him and sit on your desk, which was actually beside him.

His scent follows your flaring nostrils as you carefully shove your paper between the notebooks in your bag. Tsukishima looks out the window, hiding his smirk, his foot tapping lightly but never making sound. So you put your own headphones over your ears, in hopes to drown out his deafening aura.

🏐 —

"Shit!"

Tsukishima's knees bends the wrong way and almost falls onto his back as he lands on the ground. The ball echoes across the court as it ricochets off the floor. You laugh loudly, and everyone looks at you.

"You're too advanced for the block, idiot!" You say loudly. Yamaguchi giggles.

He rolls his eyes at you as he chases for the ball. Kageyama sits beside you.

"You know he plays horribly when you're here."

"Oh?" You raise a brow. "Is he not used to a girl looking at her?"

Kageyama scratches his nose. "Probably 'cause he hates you."

You laugh lightly. "Kinda nice that I'm here. I get to see him fuck up."

Kageyama snorts. "He feels pressured 'cuz you're here."

"Oh? He said that?"

"No. But I can hear him think."

You laugh and wipe your sweat off. "I'd play with you guys, but his remarks could piss me off and I might, uh, shove that ball up his ass."

When Kageyama laughs again, quite loudly, Tsukishima's head snaps at the bench where you're sitting. Heat rises to his head, his stance losing its usual strength, his arms weakening as he watches you—

Laughing, at some joke you said or Tobio said. Laughing heartily like someone just made the best joke in the world. The way your lips almost reach the wrinkles beneath your eyes. Oh, that's so funny Tobio. You're so funny you should quit volleyball and be a stand up comedian!

He knows you're talking shit about him, too. Idiot. Brat. Showoff.

He had the right to show off. He was better than you.

He was the better thinker; the better scorer.

Tsukishima is better than you.

I'm better than you—

The ball hits the side of his face, his glasses flailing to the side.

The first thing that reaches his ears—your sickening laugh. That monstrous, sadistic guffaw. Tanaka yells from the other side of the court and dives beneath the net to take a look at his face. Nishinoya hovers, hands on his knees, laughing.

"Pay attention, dumbass!" You cuff your hands over your mouth. "Stop daydreaming! It's embarrassing."

He bends to pick his glasses up. Alive, no cracks, frame not broken. He puts it on the bridge of his nose so that he could see your face clearly.

Hideously alluring.

"Do you think of scheming as daydreaming, (l/n)?" his voice, full of disdain, though hidden through feigned sweetness. "Like a child as always. Go back to middle school?"

"Do better at volleyball?"

"I ought to kick the both of you out this court," Daichi says loudly. "Oh wait I can't speak to (l/n) like that. S-sorry!"

Tsukishima sneers, his lips frowning. He approaches the rolling ball, watching as it hits the wall and propells back towards his awaiting feet. When he picks it up, he steals another glance at you talking to Kageyama.

The King and the Brat. The most annoying combination in the entirety of Karasuno campus.

Somehow, seeing you next to Kageyama and being given the nickname as if the two of you were a pair sends a tight rope around his chest that causes it to ache a little. Tsukishima huffs it out, an unsettling in his bones.

Please don't look at me.

The ball flies into the air, and his palm raises just in time to make contact with the ball.

He sees you watch from the corner of his eye, a blurried silhouette, but your figure was familiar enough for him to recognize you. His heart beats a little louder.

🏐 —

No.

Shit. Fuck. No

God damnit. 74.

Tsukishima stares at his paper in horror. In his entire life, he has always gotten two digits on his scores. However, they had always been ninety onwards. Never in the line of sevens. He doesn't know if his horror is displayed across his face. He prays it doesn't—he would die if you saw his expression.

He leans sideways to the right, his eye darting towards the side to peak at your paper.

98.

The english language was something that was easy to learn but never easy in exams. This—despite boasting that english was the easiest subject—was his weakness.

You're too preoccupied to notice his existence. Good.

He turns around to look at the green haired boy.

"Yamaguchi." He whisper-yelled. "Tadashi."

Yamaguchi looks up. "Yes?"

This was it. Years of built up pride, intelligence, boosted ego— down the drain. As soon as he'd ask him the question, it would forever alter the image of himself towards his friend. Tsukishima was no longer the brainy four-eyes of the Karasuno Volleyball Club.

He would now be Tsukishima, the idiot four-eyes.

Maybe I'm overreacting.

He stands up and sits beside the empty chair next to Yamaguchi.

"How- What's your score?"

Yamaguchi looks puzzled as he glances at his paper. "E-eighty eight."

God, this is depressing.

"Um," Tsukishima scratches the back of his neck. "Could you help me with English?"

There it is. His face says it all.

"Don't you even—"

"You, Tsukishima Kei, asking for my help?" He laughs incredulously. "Are you sure? What's your score?"

"Don't want to talk about it."

"Aw, c'mon Tsukki." He pouts playfully like comforting a weeping baby. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Tsukishima tells him in a low voice. He never thought he could hate Yamaguchi's laugh. But he did, right after he laughed at his score. It wasn't even a failing grade.

"You know who should tutor you though?" He puts his paper in his bag. "(l/n). She's good, y'know. I heard her speak english once. I thought she was from, uh, some foreign country or something."

"She's not even that good." Tsukishima takes off his glasses and wipes it with the corner of his uniform. "She's good with memory but she forgets it right after the quiz like a ditz."

Yamaguchi snorts. "She's the one who got the best score out of all of us."

"Yeah, no thanks. I'd never let her teach me."

"I think you're forgetting I'm right here in front of you." You turn around, placing your elbow and forearm on the back of your chair and look at Tsukishima. "I can teach you."

Tsukishima scoffs. "No thanks. I'd rather repeat freshman year."

"Are you sure?" you pout, placing your chin on the back of your hand. "I can teach you, little Tsukishima."

"I'm not little."

"Yeah but your brain is."

"Yamaguchi, help me out here."

He can't ask for your help. Never ever. Never will he ever ask for your help. Tsukishima can study this himself. He's always studied by himself. He's never needed anyone, and certainly not you. He was independent, cunning as everyone says. Tsukishima does not need tutors.

Up until now.

"Please help Tsukishima study," Yamaguchi looks at you. "He's too prideful to ask but he really needs your help."

Tsukishima stammers. "T-that's not what I meant!"

"Aw, is this true?" You're taunting him. He feels like a child.

"I can study by myself. Fuck off."

You smile at him. In a way that he can't read. It was soft, almost kind, like you wanted to help him wholeheartedly and wanted his english to improve. Then he looked into your eyes and all the kindness in your smile had been washed away by this pity in your eyes that you enjoyed. Tsukishima huffs.

"No need to be shy about asking for help, little Tsukki," you coo. "We'll study in the locker room while everyone else plays. You're skipping practice today."

Tsukishima zips his bag and stands up. He towers over you, covering the sun that blinds you through the glass window. He looks down at your eyes—teasing, condescending eyes. His lips are turned to a frown, which makes you smile even more.

"I'm not skipping practice."

"Too bad. You are. You know, if you let me help you, you'd stop having that distraught face everytime you get your english paper." You take a step closer, neck bent backwards to look up at him. "Yeah, I saw your face."

Yamaguchi nudges his arm. "C'mon, Kei. Ask for her help. You know you need it. Don't be so prideful."

Tsukishima growls. He doesn't say anything yet, all the confidence in him washed away by a score that wasn't even a failing grade. His palm rubs the space between his eyebrows and mumbles:

"Help me."

You lean in, ear towards him. "Couldn't hear that. Sorry?"

"Help me study."

"Are you commanding me or asking?"

"Please help me study."

"Don't mumble, Tsukishima."

"Damn it!" He groans. "Please help me, dearest (l/n)." His voice drips in sarcasm, peering at you through his scratched lenses. "Help me get a better grade at english. Help me stop myself from strangling you! Idiot!"

You lean back, the bottom of your spine resting on your table as your left hand props you up. Tsukishima is almost seething, his eyes widened a little as his anger seethes through his nostrils. You hum, pretend to think, then slap his right cheek twice lightly.

"How kind of you to ask, little Tsukki." You wrinkle your nose at him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "See you at the locker room."

When you leave, his head turns to Yamaguchi who smiles innocently. Tsukishima almost strangles him instead.

🏐—

The boys are thirty minutes late to practice. Including Daichi.

"It's the sequence of the words, Tsukishima," you point your pen at his test paper. "The spelling's no problem. You're good at it. It's just with how you've formed them together."

They all sit behind the two of you, watching silently. Tsukishima is red from embarrassment as he ignores them.

"What's so wrong about this sequence? It sounds correct."

"Just because it sounds correct doesn't mean that it is correct."

Hinata snorts. Tsukishima's head snaps at it. "Don't snort, dumbass. Last time I checked you got a twenty at your exam."

"You hit a nerve there, Shoyo," Kageyama giggles.

You sigh and slap your hands at your thighs. "Sawamura-san, why are you guys even here?"

He stammers, his back straightening as he fixes his bag on his left shoulder. "Jus–Just wanted to make sure you two will be fine. Let's go guys."

When they leave, Tsukishima relaxes in relief. He stares intensely at his notebook, figuring out the correct answer. You try not to laugh at him, but the sight was entertaining; seeing him suffer brought your heart at ease.

"Figured it out, moron?" You bring your own notebook out, flipping it to the last page you'd written on. "It's really not that hard."

"Shut up, (l/n.)" he says. You make a small sound, similar to "okay!" As you begin to write down on a blank page.

And you're like that for a few hours.

Tsukishima answers the questions you've written for him, and when he asks you for help, you cordially help him without telling him the answers. Then you both go back to formidable silence, doing your own perspective works.

He almost enjoys this newfound environment created with you. Somehow, his body is more tranquil, but at the same time his mind is racing, because you're here. Tutoring him. Tsukishima has always believed that he was one step ahead of you, making sure you were unable to catch up with him. But now he's slipped from that step and you've caught up and you're deriding him.

Nonetheless, you're his only hope right now.

He looks at you.

Your hair is tucked behind your ears and your teeth are currently creating dents at the eraser of your pencil. You're concentrating, seeming like you've forgotten that he's sitting in front of you. And Tsukishima's eyes are extremely blurred, but when he looks at you through the gap between his glasses and forehead, your face was somehow clearer.

"Are you a dog?" he raises a brow. "Don't chew on your pencil."

You huff like you're being scold and place your pencil down. But the chewing didn't last a second as your bottom lip is now tucked between your teeth. Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

"Here," he flips his paper and shows it to you. "Did I do it correctly?"

You take the paper from him and read it. He hopes you're at least slightly impressed, that you're not arbitrating his answers nor think they're half-assed. When your red pen moves into a slant, the corner of his lip twitches upwards. But when you circle the number, he has this urge to shove that pen into your eye.

"Hm, not bad. But not enough." you flip the paper.

70.

Four points less.

"Damn it." You can tell he's disappointed at himself. "You suck at teaching."

"Excuse me?!" Your eyebrows furrow. "Hey, I've spent the past four hours teaching you here, stickhead. The sun's almost down!"

"Do you have to go home already?" He asks. You shrug. "Then we can stay here until they're done with practice."

"Tsukishima, I have freshly cooked doburi waiting for me at home. Do you know what donburi is? Do you know what it tastes like while it's still hot? Fucking donburi, Tsukishima." You whine. "Would you like to study at my place instead?"

You seem to not have processed what you've offered, but Tsukishima has. He's surprised at your comment, watching you look so desperate to get home and eat that "fucking donburi." He waits for a moment until you realize and you do, but it seemed like you didn't care when you lean back and raise a brow.

"Well?"

"Sure."

His quick, almost unhesitant compliance surprises you. Tsukishima adjusts his glasses and brings his headphones out as you both head out the door. You lock it behind you, with Tsukishima already walking ahead.

You pass by the gym. "Sawamura, everyone, we're heading out!"

Tsukishima appears beside you. "We're going."

"To where?" Yamaguchi approaches you both. "Are you going to eat out? Ooh, can you bring food back here?"

"We're going to her place to study." He answers. "We can't come back."

The others seem to hear what he said, because Hinata yells: "What kind of studying are you going to do, Stingyshima?"

"Something that your tiny shit-for-brains can't comprehend." He retorts. "Focus on your receives, squirt!"

You wave to everyone and catch a glimpse of Yamaguchi's smile. You roll your eyes at him and poke your tongue out.

🏐 —

The way home was quieter than you expected.

Mainly because Tsukishima had his headphones on and all you hear was your un synchronous footsteps on the stoned sidewalk. You take small looks at your peripherals to see what he's doing. And, well, he's walking... like every other normal person.

But you're walking side by side and there's this space between you that's so close but also so far away. You feel his heat touching the fabric of your shirt, his hand twitching and just barely grazing yours. Then he speaks:

"You walk like a penguin," he says. "Why are you like that?"

"Why are you so annoying?" you roll your eyes. "I don't point out how you walk."

"That's because there's nothing wrong with my walk," he puts his headphones down, hangs them around his neck. "What? Got a stick up your ass or something?"

"I'll stab you with that stick."

"Gross."

You turn a corner and he follows suit like it was normal for him to follow you around. When you stop in front of your gate and unlock it, he bore no unhestiance as he removed his shoes and entered your home.

There was no one else around. And as soon as Tsukishima entered, you disappeared in his vision. Although, he hears you yell from afar: "Set your bag wherever. Stay in the living room though!"

He assumes you're either changing your clothes, getting a bowl of donburi, or both. He obeys, sets his bag on the floor and sits cross legged on the carpet of your living room, taking his notes out. He sees the sun inching away behind the roofs of the houses near by, waiting for you patiently.

And then his eyes roam to picture frames.

Never would he think that a picture of you smiling would be so endearing. That smile of yours, painting you an angelic aura, like people would never expect that you'd be the devil's descendant. Nonetheless, you were still beautiful.

The picture was you in a ponytail, face doused in sweat; the background, although blurry and dark, looked familiar. But Tsukishima was more focused on your gleaming smile, the way your eyes are almost closed and your lips were pale and your teeth were shiny.

"Hey, douchebag," you sit beside him despite the free space on the opposite of the coffee table, setting down two bowls of donburi. And yes, you had changed your clothes into something comfier. "Let's eat and study."

He never expected that you'd get him a bowl, thought that he'd have to ask or drop hints of him wanting donburi. He takes it though, and it is freshly cooked. He now understood your eagerness to go home.

An hour passes by.

The bowls are empty and set aside. Tsukishima's notes are scattered, hair disheveled from him constantly running his fingers through them. That string of hatred between you has been put aside as you both seem to tolerate one another through this session.

"Tsukishima," you say, almost sternly, placing two cartons of strawberry milk on the table. "It's easy to determine an adverb in Japanese. It's no different in identifying it in English."

"I know that, dumbass. What are you, a consciousness?" He takes his box, taking the plastic off the straw and shoving it on the circular foil. "Gimme yours."

He takes your carton and shakes it before doing the same and handing it to you. You blush vehemently, murmuring your gratitude and wrapping your lips around the paper straw.

Tsukishima's eyes wander out of boredom, tracing every corner and every ridge of your home. Until his eyes land on the sliding door to your backyard and catch a glimpse of that familiar blue and yellow ball.

"You play volleyball?" he queries, both his eyebrows raising.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Back in middle school."

"Bet you were shit at it."

"I was a middle blocker."

Tsukishima's back straightens, staring at you in hidden surprise. "At that height?"

"I'm not that short! Asshole," you throw your pen at him. He catches it with ease, setting it beside his notebook.

"Why aren't you in the women's volleyball club, then?" his brow raises. "Too short? They didn't take you? Failed the tryouts?"

You look down at your fingers, covered in peeled up skin and charred fingernails. You feel embarrassed, avoiding his eager stare. You sense his want to know your reason, radiating off his eyes.

"Not saying," you push yourself up, now standing in front of him. Tsukishima's eyes follow you, trailing uo from your thighs up to your neck, his irises darkening until he meets your gaze. "Get up. Time to go home."

"Let's play."

You stammer. "W-what? It's late."

"And I want to see you play." Tsukishima stands, hovering over you. "It's only nine in the evening."

You purse your lips, arms going limp on either side of your tired body. Though despite being worn out, you walk towards the door and slide it open, being greeted by Miyagi's brumal air that raises the hairs on your body. Tsukishima tugs on the sleeves of his sweater, covering half of his fingers, before following you out.

Barefoot in the evening, with the moon casting a pearlescent glow on your enervated bodies, the thump of the leather ball is in sync with your beating heart; and at each thump, it seems to wake Tsukishima up more.

"Tell me why you're not in the women's volleyball club," he sets it towards your direction.

"No." Your wrists join, your right fingers placing themselves on top of your left fingers, both thumbs settled side by side as your wrist ricochet the ball towards him. "It's none of your business."

Tsukishima catches it with ease. "You're lame."

You scoff, returning the ball. "I am not."

The blue and yellow ball floats into the evening air, the bright colors darkened by the stygian sky, only luminated by the moon and the lights outside your backyard. Tsukishima sets it to you again. "Listen, I don't really care about whatever your reason is. I just want to know."

You huff. There's no harm in telling your enemy a secret of yours, right? It's not like he was popular enough to go on and tell people. And like he said, he didn't care.

The ball comes in contact with your wrists. "I got injured. Well, not seriously injured. I can still play but I'm not as good as I used to be." Tsukishima catches the ball and rests it on his hip, listening to you explain. "I actually got a surgery at my calf."

You lift your pajamas just below your knee, showing the healed scar at the back of your calf. "The bone got dislocated 'cause one of my teammates smashed onto my leg when she was trying to save the ball. She got injured too, actually."

"Obviously," he retorts, now staring at your calf. Something about Tsukishima staring at your scar seemed too intimate as it should be, staring at your bare skin. His blonde hair drapes over his forehead, glasses glinting in the moonlight. "So where do you struggle?"

"Blocking. I can't jump properly." You scratch the back of your neck. "I can set though. Just, it's not in my heart."

"It's just a club," he says. "Play whatever position you want." Tsukishima sets the ball to you again.

"Just a club, huh?" You smirk. "Why'd you fail your test?"

"Because I was thinking too much of what I was gonna do when I'm at court again."

"And it's just a club."

"What's it to you?" He snaps. "At least I'm in the Volleyball club. Have I taken your dream?"

"You're a child."

"Yeah yeah. Join the club or whatever. Don't care if you don't or you want to."

You set it back to him again. "I want to."

Tsukishima senses your melancholy longing for the sport, sees your disheartened look as you think about all the chances you've lost. His heart twinges just the slightest, holding the ball between his slender hands. He almost pities you.

"Tell you what," he sets it to you. "If I pass the retest tomorrow, I'll help you with your blocking. If not," he shrugs, catching your return, "good luck with your life."

"You sound like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity." You roll your eyes.

Tsukishima hopes he passes the retest tomorrow.

Mainly because it was import to him to ace it. Partly because he wanted to see you on court.

🏐 —

100.

You read Tsukishima's answers. In the fluorescent lights, his neat handwriting presents to you all the knowledge he's obtained from your chaotic teachings. He scoffs proudly, resting his lower back on the edge of his table.

"Not bad, nerd." You hand his paper to him. "And you beat me by two points."

"That's because you're an idiot," he sits down on his chair, though still facing you. "See you at the gym later."

Your brows furrow. "The gym's closed. Coach Ukai said today's rest day."

"But I'm not Coach Ukai," he fixes his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "It's just for today. And only today."

"Fine," you agree. You act like you're forced to say yes, but deep inside the vessels of your heart and every part of your brain, they throb with excitement.

So you meet Tsukishima outside the gym after class in a white shirt and gym shorts. He meets you there, clad in the same outfit, heat radiating off his body that warms your always cold flesh. For a moment he admires observes you, your attire unfamiliar but nevertheless appealing hideous.

When you enter, the court seemed bigger without the boys rousing around the court. It was quieter, no shoes squeaking, no balls slammed, no eager yelling. You set your bag down on the floor and see your untied shoe laces.

"Fuck," you mutter.

But before you could bend down, Tsukishima has already knelt in front of you.

His knee rests on the tip of your shoe, fingers ribboning the laces of your rubber shoes. Your eyes widen, body stiffening, and it felt like forever as he tied it (it was actually only 10 seconds).

"You're a dumbass for leaving your shoelaces untied." He makes no comment as to why he's decided to tie your laces, but you swear you see his ears turn a twinge of pink.

Tsukishima takes a ball and goes to the other side of the court. When you stand opposite from him, he rolls the ball to your direction.

"How long has it been since you've played?" he asks, loudly, voice echoing across the empty gymnasium.

"Uh, a year and a half." The ball bounces between your palm and the squeaky floor. "I'm a little rusty."

"You are rusty. Your receives were shit last night."

You growl at his tease.

"We're not gonna start with the blockings. We have to start from the beginning." Tsukishima positions himself, knees bent and apart, his hands on his knees. "Serve it."

So you do. You toss the ball into the air, your hand striking as it meets the ball, and it flies across the net. It goes outside.

"Idiot." Tsukishima laughs. "First, don't try to aim it to me. You don't want your opponents to save it. You have to aim it at an open spot inside the line. Second, don't serve too hard it goes outside."

"Okay!" You yell. And you serve again.

The ball grazes the net, but the momentum deems the ball to be inside the line. Tsukishima catches it and receives it back to your side.

Shit.

You race after the ball, joined wrists hitting it back to him. He dives, the back of his hand coming contact with the ball and it goes back to your court.

And it's high in the air, so you take the chance to bend your knees and jump, spiking it to his court.

Tsukishima blocks it.

He laughs. "You're horrible at this."

"I don't exactly have a libero to save it, don't I?" You retort.

Tsukishima smiles a little, laughing at your loss point. "Give me the ball." You roll it to his side. "I want you to try and block me."

"The net is higher than it is for girls, you know." You approach the net. "I'll have a hard time."

"The higher you jump, the better you can block the ball. And you'll even have an advantage against your enemies since you're practicing with a higher net, (y/n)." He dribbles the ball.

Tsukishima called you by your first name.

Not your surname, not some insulting nickname. Your first name.

Your knees weaken at the sound of his voice dropping the phonemes of your name.

But when he flings the ball upwards, you feel your body go rigid. And just before his incoming ball passes through the net, you jump, fingers stopping the ball.

But the ball doesn't go to his side, instead it falls down below the net, at your side. You land clumsily on your feet, ankle bending but not painfully.

"See, you got it. You just have to jump higher."

"Shut up, you stilt walking clown." Your leg throbs, shaking. "Hit it again."

"See this?" Tsukishima brings his hands in the air, his arms and hands bent inward. "You block like this. Don't straighten your arms. It sets the ball upwards and they get the point since you're last touch. Block me again."

You kick the ball to his direction. Tsukishima springs the ball into the air once more, his arm flinging back when he jumps and strikes the ball towards you.

Filled with adrenaline, you jump as high as you could, your chest as high as the edge of the net, arms and hands bent inward as you block the ball and ricochet it towards him.

He doesn't do anything and watches the ball roll outside the court. Tsukishima's eyes shoot up and look at you, the corner of his lips bent downwards in amusement.

"Not bad. Try harder though."

You snarl at him.

Hours pass and you're both drenched in sweat. His shirt sticks to his chest, his hair damp across his forehead. He's wiping his face with a towel and his glasses rest on top of his hair. You drink from your water bottle.

The sweat drips down the tip of his nose, golden eyes drowsy yet vigorous with adrenaline. His lips are parted to pant out tired breaths, his adam's apple bobbing, the veins of his arms protruding. And he's sitting at the same bench as yours.

You swallow the liquid in your mouth.

"One day of practice isn't enough to get me into the club, Tsukishima." you say, wiping your mouth. "Thanks for teaching me though."

Tsukishima sets his towel down. "It's whatever. Your receives are go-fine, anyway. And you're really not that tall enough to block. You're hopeless."

"I wish Hinata was here to say that so he could yell at you."

Hinata. Tsukishima feels something uncomfortable rise to his chest when you mention his name.

And it seems as though you have summoned that tiny tangerine devil.

"Oh, Kageyama! The lights are open, someone must be here," your head turns and see that Hinata's hair pokes out the door before his head fully goes in. His eyes roam around until they find you. "Oh! (y/l/n)-san!"

"Hinata," you smile kindly. "Why are you guys still here? There's no training today."

"Tanaka-san said we can train for as much as we want as long as we don't tell Sawamura." he hops inside, Kageyama following suit behind him, unzipping his jacket. "What are you doing here, Stingyshima?"

"None of your business." He replies, irritation dripping off his sharp tongue from the nickname. "What do you think we were doing? Playing kendama?"

"I wouldn't mind playing kendama," Hinata looks at Kageyama, who shrugs. "Can we join?"

"Hopeless child," Tsukishima rubs his face with his towel again. "It's getting late. We should go home."

His usage of plural rather than sigular denotes that his usual selfishness has been decreased due to your unwavering presence, having been spent multiple hours with you for the past two days than usual. Tsukishima has easily adapted to include you in whatever he was going to do next.

We should go home.

"Aw, well, can you leave us the keys?" Hinata asks you. Tsukishima shoves the keys in the small boy's hand. "Thank you, Stingyshima!"

Tsukishima slings his bag over his shoulder, approaching the exit. He looks at Kageyama. "Fix your sets, your Majesty. You wouldn't want to clip the wings of Karasuno now, would you?"

You can see the smirk formed in his face. Kageyama is fuming, his fists clenching. "You– I...– You piece of shi– Hnmgh– You dumbass! Hinata!"

"Why me?!"

Tsukishima walks away without waiting for you, although you follow suit behind him. And when you reach the school gates, he turns right rather than left—and his way home begins with him turning left.

Yours was to the right.

"You gonna walk me home?" You joke, finally catching up behind him. Your weary legs has made you walk slower, though enough to now keep up with Tsukishima's tired pace.

"Yes."

Tsukishima doesn't spare a glance at you. But you look at him in shock. Then you shoot him an upsidedown smile, humming.

"No longer Stingyshima, I see."

"I ought to leave you here and get kidnapped." He states bluntly, finally looking down at you through his peripherals.

"Why are you walking me home then?"

"Because I want to take a long walk."

"Yeah sure, whatever." Your hands meet behind you, hitting the top of your bottom at every step you take. "You wanted to take a long walk. Could've gone to the park, could've roamed around your street. But yeah, you're walking me home so you could have a long walk back to your home."

Tsukishima tuts, his arms crossing. "Are you implying something, (y/n)?"

Your first name. Again.

"Oh, I'm not implying anything!" Your eyebrows raise, looking fully at him. And Tsukishima turns his head and looks at you as he walks. "I'm just stating what I've observed, Tsukki."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay!" You turn to your gate. When you reach inside the small box and pull on the lever of your door, you sense that Tsukishima is still standing behind you wth his hands in his pockets, watching you intently. So you turn around when the gate unlocks. "Yes? Do you need to use my bathroom first? Want a carton of milk or something?"

"No." He says. "Get in already."

You rest your back at your gate. "Tell me the real reason why you walked me home."

"No."

"So you lied to me earlier?"

"N-no."

"So what is it?"

Tsukishima sighs. Then he takes a few steps, approaching you and bends down so that his face would be equal to yours.

His scent is sweet, like freshly picked strawberries. And his lips, though thin, was soft and pink. And the tip of his nose grazes just above yours. And his golden eyes narrow to gaze at every speck of your irises. The corner of his lip turns upwards.

"That shut you up." He says. You blush, and he seems to taunt you. "Still want to play volleyball?"

His breath is hot fanning over your cold face. You can't help but nod. You swallow thickly from the close proximity that Tsukishima has created.

"Okay. Well, I still need help with english. And you obviously still need help with volleyball. So you reap what you sow. We'll help each other."

Tsukishima says those words like they're a command. Like they're being read from sacred scriptures. An event waiting to be happened for a prophecy to be fulfilled. Tsukishima's tone was flat but his voice deemed importance.

"Okay," was all you managed to let out through a breath. "See you tomorrow?"

Tsukishima stands up, eyes you up and down. Then looks into your eyes again and you swear that his gaze softens.

"See you tomorrow."

🏐—

A few weeks pass by.

At mornings, Tsukishima has come to pick you up and you studied on the way to Karasuno. You spend your lunches together, along with Yamaguchi, as well as Hinata and Kageyama who—while also bickering like children—listen to whatever you teach Tsukishima.

After classes, you find yourself joining the boys at the volleyball club, with Tsukishima helping you practice your blocks and receives. Though you notice that the boys take their strengths down a notch, which you are somewhat grateful for — because they truly are strong, and you're not ready to catch up to their level yet.

And at nights, Tsukishima walks you home with a milk carton in hand and sharp remarks in his mouth.

There's still a thick smoke of hatred that covers the both of you, that string of annoyance wrapped around your fingers. Yet as days pass by, that smoke has been thinning at every civil interaction. Albeit that annoyance still lingered.

And until today, that smoke has turned into this very light fog, until you begin to question why you hated Tsukishima in the first place.

Your phone vibrates.

tsukishima. Where are you? 8:32am

you. almost there. forgot my bag at home. 8:33am

tsukishima. Hurry up. It's cold outside. 8:33am

you. will do. sorry :| Read at 8:34am

Tsukishima is standing outside the gates of Karasuno, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed as you quickened the pace of your walk.

"You're so slow it's annoying," his eyebrows furrow. "Why'd you forget your bag? Idiot."

"You pressure me, douchebag." You flick the bridge of his glasses. He yelps. "Hurry. I want to study already. We have a quiz at 9."

When you and Tsukishima sit on your respective seats, you quiz each other with lazily scribbled flash cards. He seems to have absorbed the passed on knowledge and had answered the questions with ease.

So after the quiz, he seemed content; confident.

"How well did you think you did, beanpole?" You zip your bag.

"Well enough to beat your ass," he replies. Then, he does something new.

He smiles at you.

It wasn't a bright smile. Not energetic, but radiates some kind of light happiness. Seemed like a smile of gratitude.

You feel your cheeks flare.

After classes, you meet outside the gym as always, both of you changed into training clothes. Then you spend hours and hours jumping and tiring your wrists out, squeaking your shoes off the floor.

By the time the sun has set, Tsukishima was waiting for you again.

"Let's study."

Your eyes widen and you look startled. Tsukishima looks bored. "I'm pretty sure you got yourself covered for the rest of the year, Tsukishima."

"And I don't think you can train by yourself in volleyball," he adjusts his bag. "Let's just study. Reap what you sow."

"You keep saying that."

He ignores you. "Let's study at my place."

"E-excuse me?"

Tsukishima begins to walk to his direction. And despite your reaction, you follow him either way. "Let's study at my place for a change. I'm sick of your living room."

He says it like he's spent years hanging out in your living room. Your feet runs on the cobblestone to catch up with him. "But- What else are we gonna study?"

"Whatever I want."

His house wasn't actually that far from the campus. When you've turned a corner, he opens the gate and lets you in. When you enter his home, it's warm and clean, so you set your shoes aside and walk in your socks.

No one's home.

Tsukishima could've led you to their living room. Instead, he goes directly to his bedroom. And when you don't move, he looks at you through the door with a raised brow, as if to say "well? why aren't you getting in?"

So you do.

You sit on the edge of his bed, watching him unzip his jacket and set it aside. You decide to stop acting so wary and let you back fall to his bed, taking your phone out.

"So when are your tryouts?"

You look at him, placing your phone on your chest. "Next week. Michimiya was nice enough to let me try this late into the school year."

"I'll be there." He sits down on the other side of his bed.

"Oh," you're stunned. "Okay. Um, what do you want to study?"

You pull yourself up until your whole body is on his bed, sitting up and resting your back at his headboard. Tsukishima brings his legs to the bed, resting them beside your socked feet.

"Chemistry." This is new. "Can you run me through it?"

And you do. You take your notebook our and run him by all the lessons discussed for the past week. Tsukishima's pretends to listen but he actually doesn't.

Instead he's staring at your scar at your leg, up and down your very exposed thigh, but mostly at your scar.

You notice this immediately. "Tsukishima, why are you staring at my scar?"

"It's Kei," he looks at you, his hand resting just beside your calf, index finger twitching to trace the ridges of your scar. "Call me Kei."

Kei.

"Okay, Kei."

Your voice, filled with dulcets, his name sounding mellifluous as it rolls of your tongue. Tsukishima's heart beats wildly, and has decided to come with the terms that he hates you— because he likes you.

"Your scar looks... cool..." his index finger finally sets on the soft skin of your healed wound. You shiver at his featherlight touch.

And he's so near you now. As near as that time he walked you home and bent down to your height. And gods, he was so handsome. Even with his scratched glasses. Your mouth gapes the slightest, shaking hands reaching to remove the spectacles off his nose.

Tsukishima lets you. You see sweetness of his stare, all that hatred you used to see seemed to have melted and dripped from his sweat. This kind of Tsukishima is new– foreign, yet seemed right. Seemed destined to happen.

"Kei," you murmur. "What are you doing?"

"Is your skull too thick to process your environment?" his laugh leaves him in a huff, smirking.

"You're so eager for me to teach you something you're already good at so you could keep training me," your brows meet in the middle the slightest, a crease on your forehead that Tsukishima wants to wipe away. "Why?"

"Because you're good, (y/n)." He declares. "Your injury isn't stopping you to perform your best. You're just scared."

"Then why not just train me without me having to tutor you?"

"Because I don't want to lose these kind of moments." he whispers. "Jesus, (y/n), I like you. It's why I brought you here, for fuck's sake."

His lips are warm compared to his cold hands.

You gasp, though eyes fluttering shut, and your eyelashes tickle his soft cheeks. Your fingers wrap around his wrist as he holds your delicate face in the palm of his hands, careful not to hurt you as his lips remain planted on yours.

When Tsukishima pulls away, he's not far from you. His lips hover over yours, breathing your air, his forehead resting just slightly on yours. Your fingers come up to tangle themselves on his silky hair.

"Lose moments like what, make out with me?" you giggle. "If you wanted to make out, Kei, just tell me."

"You never shut up, do you?"

His lips meet yours again in an open mouthed kiss, his tongue unabashed to graze your shy muscle. You hum in surprise, feeling yourself fall backwards when he gently cradles your head to rest on his sweet-scented pillow.

Somehow, you did meet up with your end of the bargain, only with something better.

Something better– like his hips slanted against yours as his mouth spreads shameless ardor across your body.

Something better– like how he whispers your name against your lips like a sacred prayer before he kisses you again carefully.

Something better– like a newfound relationship with Tsukishima Kei, someone you swore was your enemy, but now was someone you could spend your days with in his bed getting warm in ways fire couldn't.

Tsukishima looks into your eyes, tells you his secrets through his dilating pupils. His calloused fingers push your hair behind your ears, and then he kisses your forehead, followed by silk petal kisses on the plump of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and then your lips.

His hands wander beneath your shirt, palms no longer cold as they're heated by the fervor of your body.

"You're so pretty."

"What a sap." you tease. "You're in love with me."

"I am." His nose rubs against yours lightly. "I so am. I'm in love with a dumbass. My ego has exploded."

You hit his face with a pillow.

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!

[lilacs-stars]

moon + tides

this is part 1, read part 2 here! pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested) SUMMARY: you, ariel's daughter, find yourself in a strange relationship with the one and only infamous pirate captain, who's absolutely obsessed with you GENRE: yandere, a bit of angst, some comforting fluff here and there, especially at the end CW: a few mentions of violence, someone walking a plank, mentions of drowning, some suggestive material, nothing too graphic though WC: 4.2k

A/N: this req was really fun to write! I might have gotten a bit carried away, heh...this part includes the backstory of how you two got together and the first part of the req, and the second part will include the rest of it. hope you guys enjoy reading this cause I definitely put some hard work into it lol. also please give me feedback and suggestions, I'd really like to know your thoughts!

If you could go back, would you change what happened?

This is something that you often ask yourself. 

You think about that fateful day frequently. It was the summer before your first year at Merlin Academy. You had finally convinced your parents, the famed mermaid Ariel and her Prince Eric, to let you go for a swim unsupervised. Being half-mermaid, half-human allowed you to transform back and forth at will. And although life on land was pretty good, your heart always ached to go back to the sea, to feel the cold, salty water as it engulfs you. To race along the reefs, tail swishing back and forth, allowing you to reach speeds far past what your human form can do. To leisurely swim amongst the many species of fish and plants that created the world of the ocean. To go back home.

Your parents had already gone over the rules with you hundreds of time, to the point where you could recite each one of them word for word: “Don’t go past the boundaries,” “Don’t approach any animals you don’t know,” “Don’t go so deep where you can’t see any light,” “Come out at the first sign of bad weather,” and, most importantly, “Do not, under any circumstances, interact with any humans.”

Your mother may be renowned for rescuing a stranger from the unrelenting grasps of the sea—if she hadn’t, you wouldn’t even be here right now—but that was a very rare case. Far more often than not, mermaid interactions with humans out on the waters ended up in the mermaid being tortured, held hostage, or even killed.

You knew the rules by heart, and yet, maybe it was because of your young age, you still broke them. You weren’t really aware of your actions in the moment; one second, you were swimming alongside a pod of dolphins, racing against the currents. The next, you heard loud voices and realized that almost directly above you, yet still a good few dozen meters away, was some sort of ship.

You had ducked down next to a big sponge, peering up apprehensively. It was at that moment you realized that you were far outside of the boundaries set for you by your parents. You should have turned back, should have swam back home, but there was something about the ship, something that intrigued you so much it forced you to stay in place.

A few moments passed, and seeing as there was no commotion, you let your curiosity get the better of you. After all, that ship shouldn’t even have been out there. Slowly, you crept closer and closer to the surface, making sure to remain in the shadows. The noises were becoming clearer; you could make out people’s voices now. But they still weren’t sharp enough for you to understand what they were saying.

Finally, you took the risk and poked your head out of the water near the rear of the ship. The sight before you elicited a sharp gasp, and made you wish you had just gone back when you still had the chance. 

Extended from the side of the ship was a long, wooden plank. Standing on one side of it (the safe end), was a man, gagged, blindfolded, and bound. He looked to be no older than forty, with a scraggly beard and ripped clothes.

A pirate.

Another figure emerged, walking to the edge of the deck. Your reflexes caused you to duck down quickly, so only your eyes were barely above the water. This figure was much younger, with dark brown hair parted neatly and angular features twisted into a wicked smile. He donned a maroon blazer that covered a white shirt with an upturned collar. Something in his left hand shined brilliantly under the sun’s bright rays.

The younger figure laughed, but not in the way one would laugh at a funny joke. He unsheathed a cutlass from his side, using it to poke the back of the man on the plank. 

“You see, Mr. Jones? This is what happens when you cross the most feared pirate captain in all the lands!” the young figure roared as he yanked off the older man’s blindfold, revealing to him his fate. The fear and panic that spread across the man’s face has been forever etched into your mind, even to this day.

You heard the man beg and plea for mercy, watched as every move he made caused the plank to sway even more violently. The pirate captain simply laughed, his crew along with him. Finally, when you suppose he tired of hearing the man grovel, you watched in terror as the captain gave the man a good kick in the back, finally sending him over the edge.

Suddenly, it was like the world was spinning in slow motion. The man plummeting off the wooden platform, falling, falling, falling. His screams muffled by the cloth around his mouth. Then, all too soon, he made contact with the water with a loud splash. 

He sank quickly, devoured by the ocean’s waters within the blink of an eye. Your young, distraught face watched as a few bubbles rose to the surface. Then nothing. All that remained of the man’s existence, all there was to give proof that he had ever even been there, were a few ripples in the water.

That was it.

You were frozen in shock. How–what–why? Your brain could barely string together a comprehensive sentence. All you were sure of was the feeling inside you. You couldn’t quite put it into words, could barely even understand it. But it made your tail ache to move, made you feel as if you simply couldn’t stay in one place any longer.

You dove beneath the surface, frantically swimming towards the direction where you saw the man go under. You kept looking around, searching, but to no avail. You decided to dive deeper, swimming lower and lower until the water around you was near pitch-black. You were growing more and more panicked by the second, because every second you wasted was another second the man grew closer to death.

Finally, you caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye. Hope flaring, you darted towards it, the figure becoming clearer the closer you got.

It was him.

You reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt to prevent him from sinking farther. His eyes were shut and he wasn’t breathing, but you could still hear a heartbeat. There was still time left.

Wrapping your arms around him, you started the difficult journey back to land. Thankfully, you knew of a small island not too far from here. Swimming with the added weight of a fully grown man was incredibly difficult, especially for a young mermaid, but you persisted. After all, this was his life on the line.

You swam as hard as fast as you could, and thankfully, by some blessing from the heavens, found a warm water current going the direction you were. You let it carry you, the rushing stream multiplying your efforts. Finally, after what seemed like hours but must have only been a couple of minutes, you reached the island.

Letting the wave wash you up on shore, you settled the man down on the soft sand the first chance you got. You rolled him to his front, which was quite the endeavor itself. His heartbeat had grown more shallow, but it was still there. There was still hope.

Using the skills your mother had taught you, you started to nurse the man back to health using your melodic voice. Ever since you were young, she had explained to you the gift bestowed upon mermaids, the power of healing through song. She taught you to sing before you could walk, and it was the one thing that you were sure you could do right.

As you sang your strange and melodious tune, it finally occurred to you that you were breaking the most sacred of rules. Not only were you interacting with a stranger, you were coaxing him back to life. Like mother, like daughter, you thought. I suppose healing strangers who were drowning at sea runs in my blood.

The only caveat to your healing powers is that it takes quite some time to have its full effects. You don’t know how long you sat on the beach, but it had been quite some time. You probably would have been there for much longer had it not been for the boom voice that sounded behind you, waking you from your trance of song.

“Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t a mermaid.”

You practically jumped out of your fins as you turned around, startled beyond words. There, towering above you, was the evil pirate captain you saw earlier. He was even younger than you had previously thought. In fact, he couldn’t be much older than you. You wondered for a fleeting moment how a kid like that could command an entire ship full of grown—and scary-looking—men, but decided you have bigger matters at hand to worry about.

A few members of his crew lurked behind the captain, and you could see a small lifeboat docked to the ground near the coastline. Further beyond that, his ship swayed in the ocean waves, dark against the bright horizon.

You followed the pirate’s gaze down to your tail, which was still out. You silently cursed yourself for forgetting to transform back into your human form, being too distracted by saving the man to pay attention to your own safety.

You wanted to yell at the cruel pirate for trying to kill this man. No matter who he was, what he had done, he didn’t deserve to die. At least not like that. But the words got caught in your throat, so while a war raged inside your mind, you were completely quiet on the outside, simply staring up at the man with wide doe eyes.

“You have a lovely voice,” the man said, with a tone that you wouldn’t quite imagine a killer using. He must have overheard me sing earlier, you thought to yourself. “Tell me, little mermaid, who taught you to sing?”

“M-my mother,” you replied weakly, your voice far more meager and small than you wanted it to be. You were still staring up at him, afraid of what he’d do to you.

“Your mother? Well, that’s quite interesting.” The captain raised his left hand to scratch at his chin, which is when you realized that it wasn’t a hand at all. Instead of a hand was a curved metal hook, with a sharp point gleaming at the end. So that must be the shiny thing I saw earlier, you thought.

“Oh, where are my manners?” laughed the pirate abruptly. “My name is Captain James Hook, leader of the Jolly Roger. And you are?”

You blinked, almost forgetting your own name. If it were a less tense moment than this, you would have laughed at the fact that his name is rather befitting for him. “Y/N,” you respond.

“Y/N…Now, where have I heard that name before?” He tapped his chin with his hook again.

“Sir, that’s the name of Princess Ariel’s daughter,” one of the big, meaty pirates behind him answered in a gruff voice.

“That’s right!” Hook exclaimed. “You’re the mermaid’s daughter. You know, rumor has it you’ll be joining me at Merlin’s Academy in the fall, is that right?”

For some reason, your voice seemed to not work anymore, so you settled for nodding. Join him? you pondered. You didn’t know that he was also a student at the school you were planning to attend.

Hook started pacing along the beach, arms crossed with his hooked hand extended, deep in thought. You watched him, fear growing by the second. A sly smirk spread across his face, which only served to fuel the flames of your worry. 

“You know, you directly defied my command by saving that man,” he started. Slowly. Deliberately. Choosing every word precisely and carefully, like a shark circling its prey. “Do you even know why I made him walk the plank?” You shook your head no, the panic in you reaching record heights.

“That man”—he vaguely gestures towards the unconscious body laying on the beach with his hook—“stole an entire week’s worth of rations from my ship. An entire week’s worth of food and rum for an entire crew. Had he gotten away with it, we likely would have starved to death out at sea. Does he seem so innocent now, little mermaid? So worth saving?”

Again, you shook your head no. Although you agreed he definitely wasn’t an innocent man, you still didn’t see making him walk the plank a justifiable punishment. Despite your thoughts, you kept your mouth shut. Angering the captain further was not going to do you any good.

“Now, if anyone else had done something like this, I wouldn’t hesitate to cut their head right off,” Hook said menacingly, and with a swish, unsheathed his sword once again. You flinched—hard—and scrambled to back away from him. 

Hook took note of this, and, sheathing his sword, crouched down to get on the same level as you. “But don’t worry, little mermaid. I won’t hurt you. You see, you’ve piqued my interest. Plus, it would do me no favors to have a little girl’s blood on my hands.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. So he’s not going to kill me, right?

“But, alas, you can’t leave unpunished, now, can you?” he added. Your eyes grew impossibly wider, your entire body shaking in fear. This was it. He was going to kill you, or do something equally worse.

“I demand”—you already felt a tear slip down your cheek—“that you write to me for the remainder of the summer.”

Wait, what?

“W-write?” you asked in disbelief. “As in…”

“Letters,” Hook finished for you. “Write me letters. I’ll give you the mailing address of the Jolly Roger. Write me everyday, and I’ll promise I’ll write you back whenever we dock. How does that sound?”

“O-okay,” you reply, still taken aback by the peculiar, and far more lenient than you’d expected, request. That was all you had to do? Write letters? As punishment for saving the life of someone he’d ordered to die? You must be dreaming.

“Oh, and,” Hook said, voice lowered as he leaned in close to you, until he was just a hair’s breadth away from your ear. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, his alluring scent of salty winds and something richer, deeper, filling your lungs. “I look forward to seeing you in the fall. Don’t forget me, my little mermaid.”

With that, he stood up, smoothing out the lines on his pants. “You wouldn’t happen to need a ride back home, would you, love?”

You shook your head no, too terrified of him changing his mind to spend another moment in his presence. You glanced back at the man lying behind you, still unconscious. “W-what about him? What will you do with him?” you managed to choke out, somehow finding your voice again.

Hook pondered this for a long minute, before finally answering, “He can live.” You let out a shaky breath. “But only because of you, little mermaid. And only this time. You go against my wishes again, and trust me, your punishment will be far more severe.”

And with that, he went back to his ship and sailed away.

You still muse about that day, thinking how different things would have been if you had changed just one little thing.

You kept your promise of writing him letters, too afraid to know what would happen when you had to inevitably face him in the fall to break it. At first, they started out simple. Ordinary recounts of your day, your favorite things, what you liked to do. As the weeks passed, you started writing more personal letters. How you felt about certain things or certain people, including your parents. You never spoke a word of that fateful day to them, knowing that you’d be grounded for life and forbidden from swimming ever again if they caught even a whiff of the danger you had put yourself in. 

Hook kept his promise, too. He wrote you back, although it was far less frequent than your letters. Even though he kept his responses short and concise, you always ended up hearing his voice in your head as you read his notes. You soon found yourself checking your mailbox daily, even getting to know the mailman rather well. The rush of dopamine you got every time you opened it to find a letter awaiting you was unmatched; you would always run upstairs to your room, lock the door, and pour over the note. Reading every line, every word over and over again, committing them to memory. 

You don’t know why you enjoyed these little letters so much. Maybe it was the thrill of having a secret that no one else knew of, or the absence of your usual loneliness every time you were reminded that somewhere out there, across the seas, was someone awaiting your letters, reading them, and writing back to you. Whatever it was, your heart started to form an emotional attachment to him without you even realizing it. 

Unbeknownst to you, that had been his exact plan all along.

It’s safe to say that once you started school at Merlin Academy, Hook’s—or James’s, as he insisted on you calling him—grip on you only grew. Things started out pretty normal: light conversations in class and stolen looks exchanged across the hall, mostly initiated by him. After the first few weeks passed, things between you two only grew. Secret meetings during lunch hours, rendezvous after school, and small gifts exchanged between the two of you. From there, it became brushing your hands together whenever you passed by each other, soft pecks on the cheek or forehead where there were prying eyes, and more passionate kisses when the two of you finally found time to be alone.

Truth be told, you don’t really know what you two are now. Normally, you would consider two people that partake in such actions to be courting, and you kind of assume you are. But James has never said anything about a relationship to you, and in all honesty, you’re too afraid to ask him. You feel terribly confused at his intentions towards you; on the one hand, he approaches you every day without fail, even if you try to ignore him or when your schedules don’t match up. Somehow, he always finds a way. On the other hand, he never asked you to be his lover, never even vaguely mentioned anything of the sorts. So, you decided, with a heavy heart, to not be too confident and consider yourself his partner. And unfortunately, that meant that he wasn’t yours, either.

Really, you never meant to grow so involved with the bastard pirate that threatened to kill you on the beach that day. But for some strange reason, instead of treating you coldly like he did everyone else, especially the other hero kids, he was softer with you. Considerate, even. You had half-expected him to want nothing to do with you after your first few interactions, but he kept seeking you out. You often opened your locker to a note inside, or entered your dorm to find a letter slipped beneath the door.

Today was one of those days. You had gotten a note telling you to wait for him in your usual place in the evening, after classes. So here you are, waiting, staring at the water fountain in the courtyard. You’ve always been transfixed by the way the water spurts out the center and splashes all around. It seems that whenever you’re alone with your thoughts, they always end up back to that fateful day you met James, and everything that’s happened since.

“Wait for me long, my little mermaid?” a deep voice whispers in your ear from behind. You jump only a little, far more used to James sneaking up on you now than you used to be. For some reason, it seems he loves to startle you by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in close from behind, or speaking softly in your ear.

You twirl around, a delighted expression on your face, although you try to mask it with a feigned annoyance. “And if I say I did?”

“Well then, I’d have to find a way to make it up to you then, wouldn’t I, darling?” he purrs, using his hook to spin you around in his arms so you’re face-to-face. His lips make his way to yours, pulling you in for a slow, sensual kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his head closer to yours, not able to get enough of his touch. 

The feeling of his skin against yours ignites something in you, and you find your mouth opening to give him more access as a soft whimper escapes your lips. One hand reaches into his hair, tugging at it gently from the base of his head, while the other one trails down the front of his shirt.

James leans into you even further, your bodies flush against each other now, as he deepens the kiss. You find yourself leaning against the edge of the water fountain, the cool sprinkles providing a welcomed contrast to your heating-up bodies.

Once you’ve completely lost your breath, you pull away just slightly, a love-drunk smile on your face. “You had a request for me?” you whisper, panting, eyes full of adoration for the man you were interlocked with. 

James breaks into a grin. A genuine one, not one of the smirks he flashes to uphold his patented suave demeanor. “Ah, yes, how could I forget, my love?”

He pulls further away to give you two enough room to breathe, yet keeping his good hand on the small of your back. “I was reminded today that it's been quite some time since I’ve heard your voice, my little mermaid.”

You give a little smile, deciding to mess with him a bit. “Whatever do you mean? You hear my voice every day. I mean, you’re even hearing it right now.”

James cocks his head to the side and raises a single eyebrow, clearly aware of your antics. “Your other voice, love.”

You giggle. “Fine, all right. Only for you,” you say, giving him a peck on the nose. 

You sit down on the ledge of the fountain, turning back to stare at the water again. Although it has been a long time since you stretched your tail and went for a swim, simply seeing the rushing water soothes you. It isn’t quite like being immersed in it, but it still gives you some semblance of comfort. 

You reach into the pool at the bottom, letting the cool water rush along your fingertips as you inhale a deep breath. Through your mermaid abilities, your voice twists into an otherworldly song, filling the space with a mellifluous sound. 

James takes a place on the ledge next to you, reaching into the water to hold your submerged hand. You don’t really feel it, too transfixed on the rushing waves. You don’t see the way James gazes at you, like you’re his entire world. The softness, the tenderness in his eyes, which he reserves for you only. He looks at you not as if you’re his sun, something too bright to ever stare directly at, something violent and explosive and harmful, but as if you’re his moon. 

As if you’re the figure he watches every night before he closes his eyes, and the one he wishes to see again when he wakes up. As if you’re the only thing he notices every time the darkness envelops him, your presence never falling off the pedestal he places it on in his mind. Never losing its worth. He looks at you, your soft glow and mesmerizing shimmer, as if you’re the only thing filling up the night sky. The stars and constellations pale in comparison to you, especially on your best nights, when you shine so magnificently. 

You are the moon, and he is the tide of the ocean, constantly being pulled in by you. Never being able to escape the grasp you have on him, the grasp you are so blissfully unaware of. He stares at you in awe and wonder, bathing in your gorgeous light, so close yet always so far away. Sitting all alone against the dark backdrop of the evening sky, waiting for him to come back to you. And without reason, you always disappear. Always leaving him wanting more, waiting till the moment he can bathe in your presence again. 

As you sing, the tide gets pulled in by the gravity of the moon. Your lyrical voice bounces off the stone walls, surrounding you both, just as the moonlight surrounds the waves on that mystical night. 

But the moonlight is only a reflection of the sun’s glow, is it not? When daylight comes, the moon will pull away from the waves, its absence in the sky all but forgotten in the sun’s presence. And as dawn breaks, so too will the pull between the moon and ocean. 

on to part 2! ->

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do not plagiarize, translate, remake, or copy my works, including my writing and images, in any way.

[physalian]

Your colloquialisms are ruining the immersion (or, non-contemporary dialogue)

I am no expert here! Whenever I wrote historical fiction it was anachronistic historical fiction. This advice is from a reader’s perspective and from my experience writing high fantasy.

So what’s the deal with immersive dialogue? I’m going to ignore writing dialects and accents and so-called “old English” with the thee, thy, thou and such. Solely focusing here on the narrative telling me this isn’t set in present times, and yet the dialogue being painfully colloquial like present times.

This is coming from a book I had to read set in HRE times. In it, characters were spouting modern curse words, tacking on verbal tics and crutch words like “or something” and “um” and drawing out words like “daaaamn” and “nooooo”. Rip out the dialogue and toss it in a script with zero context and it would read like two high schoolers from 2009, not two adults from the Holy Roman Empire. Which is a problem, because it completely shattered the immersion. —

1. On so-called “formal writing”

Everybody knows that nixing contractions doesn’t do a damn thing to help your writing look more “formal”, it just looks robotic and stiff, right? We’ve gotten past this as a society? There’s a time and a place for replacing contractions with the full words, but not for every single sentence.

I swear this show keeps creeping into my writing advice but here we go. Transformers Prime. The context for Optimus’ dialogue has a lot to do with his aging voice actor, Peter Cullen, and the perception of the character over the decades from the corny 80s paragon hero everyman type leader to the grizzled and wizened old soul type leader. Optimus isn’t “one of the guys,” he’s old. Very old. He’s the dad of the group (one dad, his grumpy medic is the other dad).

So he gets lines like:

“I fear Megatron’s ambition is at its zenith.”

“But if his return is imminent as I fear, it could be a catastrophic.”

“I bore Skyquake no ill-will.”

He doesn’t curse like the other Autobots. His voice only raises in surprise, horror, or rage. He doesn’t go “um/ah/so/but/eh” and always thinks about what he’s going to say well before he says it. Despite him, Ratchet (the dad medic), and Megatron all being very old, Optimus is the only one who’s “proper” and collected and dignified with his lines. The writers didn’t achieve this simply by omitting contractions, he gets them where necessary and removes them when effective (e.g “We do not.” / “We don’t.”)

2. Thesaurus Rex

Continuing with the Optimus example, no other character in that show would use “zenith” unironically. Or “ill-will”. This doesn’t mean crack open and abuse a thesaurus but there’s a huge divide between:

“Megatron’s gone crazy and he’s going to implode soon” and “Megatron’s ambition is at its zenith”.

I can’ think of a better word to use than dignified, perhaps distinguished to describe his dialogue.

He doesn’t say “what?” when he’s confused, he pauses and says something like “please elaborate”.

This is both word choice and a syntax issue so if you’re struggling to fit a non-contemporary vibe for your work, pay attention to both.

3. When to abstain from cursing

There’s something very special about the dialogue in the Lord of the Rings movies: It’s PG-13 so they can’t curse, but if they had, it would have probably ruined the trilogy. These characters are able to yell in rage and anguish, spit vicious insults at their enemies, and stare down armies that are determined to kill them, all while never breaking the immersion.

Insults like:

“Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear.”

“Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth, you witless worm.”

“Your words are poison.”

And all three were said by or about Grima Wormtongue.

Characters aren’t dumbasses, they’re fools, with the exception of Gollum’s insults toward Sam, the “stupid, fat hobbit”.

Even devoid of name-calling, Denethor absolutely trounces his second son by asking (and I’m paraphrasing) “Is there any man here willing to do his lord’s bidding?” right after Faramir expresses some apprehension about a suicide charge with his remaining soldiers, completely ignoring him and implying that he’s not a real man.

LOTR is full of juicy lines beyond curse words, too. One of my absolute favorites is: “Dark have been my dreams of late” as opposed to “I’ve been having nightmares lately.”

Do you see?? It’s poetry. The motif of Shadow and Darkness as if they’re real, physical things, all the lines of poetry pulled straight from the books like Theoden’s “where is the horse and the rider” monologue just before Helm’s Deep.

It’s dignified.

—

This one was a bit harder to, ironically, put into words without doing a full-blown case study into either franchise’s ability to write dialogue and monologues. I didn’t even talk about Ratchet’s several monologues (one of which was done perfectly in the sound booth on the first take) because Jeffrey Combs has a voice like ambrosia.

TLDR: Immersion goes far beyond your vivid setting descriptors and the clothing or the names and languages. I mostly write fantasy and sci-fi and whenever I read or watch fantasy and sci-fi that isn’t meant to be a world different from our own, or about characters who don’t speak modern English, and they go off with modern slang, syntax, and verbal tics, it just feels sloppy and weak. Pay attention to the following:

Syntax

Modern slang and jargon

Filler words/verbal tics

Curse words/curses

Flat, unmotivated vocab

*All of the quotes were from memory because I watch both of these franchises way too often. So apologies if I got any wrong.

[delightfultheoristfox]

Never had a thing

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

I have no clue how this works the thought process was like: since I'm stuck in the worst writing block of my life why don't I start crossposting on Tumblr so it kind of feels like I've accomplished something while the truth is that I haven't been able to complete a WIP in two months? 🫠 I never posted on Tumblr. Is this okay? Anyways, Simon Riley brain rot. That's it. That's the post. Also, you can find this on AO3. 18+

Word count: 10k CW: smutty!!! jealous Simon Riley BECAUSE I honestly crave that. Soft Simon Riley because I crave that as well.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon had groaned like a battered dog when Price gave him the news that he needed to lie low. “Someone in Konni’s got your name” he’d said. “We don’t wanna take any risks. Just for a few weeks.”

He was sure those few weeks would turn into a few bloody months if he didn’t get a move on. For that, he’d hastily packed his things from the poor excuse of a flat the army had granted him, and started looking for a place to stay that wasn’t in Manchester.

Initially, Simon almost fantasized about buying his own flat. Maybe a piece of land and fulfill the wishes of the outcast that he was – living away from people, giving them the same treatment they’ve always given him.

Too bad he was legally dead. He had nothing to his name if not a grave that didn’t even exist, all his possessions were cursed memories and metaphorical things – a rank he didn’t hold, a flat that wasn’t his. Even his name barely pertained to him anymore.

The SAS wasn’t offering any accommodation, the tightwads. He couldn't buy a house, or rent one. He couldn't lean on any of his teammates, or he'd put them in danger – he wouldn't do it, not to them. Taint their lives with his name and the death it inevitably brings.

Price had helped him settle in a glorified motorway hotel. But he wasn’t picky – after all, he only had to stay for a few weeks.

A few days into his exile, he’d entered a Tesco with his head bowed and his hood on, a surgical mask on his face. A pack of Marlboro was all he wanted since the dodgy motel he was staying at (hiding) didn’t care if he smoked within the room. Plus, he reckoned that the smell of nicotine and combustion was a much better alternative to the rancid stench of mold.

However, as he plucked ten quid from his wallet, his eyes absently fell on a bulletin board behind the store clerk. There were tons of leaflets there: missing cats or dogs, people looking for a job or offering one. And then, a bright yellow paper caught his eye. Whoever printed it lacked taste but sure as hell knew how to catch one’s attention. He’d stopped in his tracks, a tenner between two fingers.

DESPERATE!!! PhD STUDENT LOOKING FOR A FLATMATE. NO SPECIFIC GENDER OR AGE AS LONG AS YOU CAN PAY RENT ON TIME. Two-bedroom flat, third floor, no elevator. If interested, please contact this number.

At the end of the flyer, the paper was cut into tear-off strips, so that interested individuals could rip the section with the phone number.

He liked that first word: desperate. He wondered if this person was as desperate as he was. Would they accept a man who wore a balaclava and looked proper sketchy? How desperate were they, really, if he asked to rent on verbal agreement – no contracts, no signatures whatsoever?

He decided he wanted to test that before he died of mold poisoning.

Nevertheless, when he dialed the number on his burner phone a few hours later, he wasn’t expecting the voice coming through the line. A shriek. A goddamn banshee. Chirpy and cheery, sounding like those damn advertisements on the telly for children’s toys. Whoever was on the other side of the phone was trying to sell.

The obnoxiously happy voice he’d heard through the receiver surely did match the person he found at the door of the flat a few days later - and the apartment itself.

It was a splash of colors Simon wasn’t even sure matched, from oranges and greens in the living room to yellows and blues in the kitchen. Walls of the same room were painted differently, and a brown leather couch lay on a round and fluffy turquoise carpet. A glass coffee table stood in the middle of it, hosting a clay vase with orange tulips.

You were a splash of colors yourself. Bright clothes, vibrant smile, and matching eyes.

Notwithstanding the loud energy that came with your presence, he could see you were tense as you guided him through the apartment. Simon didn’t blame you – he wasn’t the most trustworthy-looking lad. While he’d ditched the balaclava and had decided to go for a surgical mask, even hewould walk on eggshells around himself.

“Only a few weeks.” He’d said, deciding that he could withstand the eyesore that was the decor of that flat. “I’ll cover the rent while you find someone more permanent.”

And to his utter surprise, you’d accepted. He thought it was much too naïve of you, to let him rent without a lease. Without a document, without anything to prove that he'd pay as he'd promised in that listless fashion of his. Maybe you were as desperate as your tasteless leaflet said, in that dive of a Tesco.

He moved in in the span of a few days. You helped him with the boxes, although it was clear he didn't need a hand – especially not from a tiny thing like you. Not that you were small, he was just built like a brick house and you – well, you were made of wood, like in those cautionary tales mums tell their children. Pigs and wolves and shite.

You didn’t question why he wore the balaclava, nor why he never left his room, but sometimes you’d knock on his door to ask if he wanted pizza too, since you were ordering. He’d eat it (and any of his other meals really) in the cramped space he'd managed to rent, hosting only a bed, a poor excuse of a closet, and a desk.

Until one day he heard booming noises coming from the telly in the living room, so he peeked from the door he’d left ajar only to be greeted by Tom Cruise’s mug – Top Gun. 

Silently, he joined you on the sofa and he started correcting the way Maverick held the gun or grunting about how an aircraft couldn't make that maneuver. You never asked how he knew, but it had been a few weeks since he’d moved in and he’d already gathered how brilliant you were. You didn’t need to ask questions to connect the dots.

Simon wasn't keen on giving you his phone number, even the one on his burner phone. The paranoid that he was, and with a bit of experience to back it up, he didn't want to leave you with anything that could connect you to him.

So, you started leaving post-it notes on the fridge.

Dinner leftovers on the second rack. He’d tick off the sentence to let you know he’d read it, whether he ate them or not. Simon had this inborn ability to ghost people even without the use of phones.

Tried a new recipe. Tupperware with the blue lid. He’d write a score out of ten on the corner of the note.

I used your milk for breakfast!!! Sorry!!! He had huffed and grumbled when he’d headed out for groceries afterwards, but ever since that day, he started buying two cartons instead of one.

And he'd leave post-it notes for you, too.

Out for a few days. That’s how he would vaguely tell you he was being deployed. You would always draw a sad emoji next to it.

Watered your plants. Bloody things were more dead than alive. You’d mark down a very happy emoji, going as far as to add two poorly drawn thumbs up.

He barely noticed when his meals started happening on the kitchen table instead of his desk. Similarly, he couldn’t recall when he’d stopped taking pains to ensure your mealtimes wouldn’t coincide.

Friday night pizzas were always shared; it was a silent house rule you’d both agreed on. The both of you on the settee with the carton boxes on your thighs, two cold beers on the glass coffee table, and the telly playing a movie.

Your cheeky arse often chose a war film, and Simon had to refrain from rolling his eyes at how obvious you were being – trying to get to know him.

Zero Dark Thirty.

“Is it true you use callsigns?”

“Yes.”

“You have one?”

“Yes.”

“What is it, then?”

“Classified.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Negative.”

The hurt locker.

“You ever defused a bomb?”

“Yes.”

“No shit – oh my God. How was it?”

“Dangerous.”

“Why thank you for the chat.”

“No problem.”

“When did it happen? Like, what was the situa-”

“Classified.”

You made a face and mocked his accent. “Classified.”

Apocalypse now.

“You are a bit like Kurtz.”

He gave you a look. “Mental?”

You huffed. “No. I meant the things he says, not the whole insanity bit.”

Simon scoffed but otherwise stayed silent. The film rolled in the background.

He murmured, then. “The horror, the horror.”

And you laughed.

He found it inexplicably easy to strip down for you, until he stood metaphorically naked in front of your eyes. Until he told you his full name and gave you his personal phone number. Until he showed his face.

Until he noticed you'd stopped looking for a flatmate, and his weeks of rent turned into months like he’d initially foreseen, but for another reason entirely. Months turned into years, but he could’ve never predicted anything in his life to last this long.

Until two summers later, while sporting a mundane black surgical mask and casual clothing, he took a photo with you in your doctoral gown, in front of your Uni. The same picture that now hung next to the entryway of your flat.

Until two years became three, and then four.

Until he just kind of… stayed.

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon’s day has worn him to the bone. The only thing he wants now is to go home, down a beer in two gulps, and knock himself out on any flat surface available.

He’s risked his fair share of speeding fines on the motorway, parked the car in the building's garage, and trudged up the three flights of stairs that led to his apartment. When he unlocks the door, he finds a sight that melts his frustration into a puddle at his feet.

You’re lying on the sofa, absolutely unbothered, looking lovely and homely. A lousy romcom plays on the telly. One hand is hiding in the crinkling shell of a packet of Walkers, and your other one is curled around the neck of a Stella Artois. Simon gathers that your workday must've finished a little earlier than normal because you’re already in your loungewear: a pair of loose sleeping shorts and a t-shirt he knows all too well.

All too well, because it’s his. 

And he could give you the benefit of the doubt; after all, you often wear oversized clothes. It could’ve been a laundry mishap; you could’ve absently taken it out of the dryer without a second glance, thinking it was yours. But the blatant British Army patch on the sleeve and his surname written in white block letters on the back give him very little to work with to excuse you. He doesn’t even remember he still owned that tee, probably because, factually, he doesn’t anymore.

It's clearly yours, now.

He drops the house keys in the tray lying on the floating shelf next to the doorway, before closing the door behind him. The sound must’ve alerted you, because your head drops backwards, rolling against the armrest of the sofa.

"Evenin'." You beam, looking at his downward image. Your head lolls and your mouth looks busy chewing on a handful of crisps.

Ever the vigilant bastard, he wants to flick your forehead and remind you that chewing upside down could lead to choking, but you aren’t a child. Although, with the crumbs of what smells like salt and vinegar crisps littering the corners of your lips and the baffling, chaotic way your hair is tied in a bun, you sort of look like one.

You curl your legs to leave a free spot for him, patting your foot on the sofa’s cushions. "Wanna join me?"

Simon hums quietly; his eyes flicker over to the TV for just a glance. He isn’t in the mood for a romcom, not at all. But he does want company. He sighs and shrugs off his jacket before toeing off his boots. His balaclava is snatched off by a tired hand, and dropped somewhere he doesn’t care to check. Only two wide steps with his annoyingly long legs and he’s already by the sofa, flopping onto it like a wet rag slapped on the leather cushions.

He eyes the bag of crisps in your hand and raises a questioning eyebrow.

You’ve learned how silent communication works with him because most of the time (especially after particularly hellish days or long deployments) he wanders around the flat like a haunting specter more than a living being.

You mockingly raise your own questioning brow, but alas, you hand him the pack of crisps he’d wordlessly asked for. And just because you can, and because he’s never said anything when you did it, you stretch your legs to rest over his thighs.

That earns you a grumpy side-eye that softens just as quickly when he spots the checkered pink and green socks he gifted you for your graduation.

Simon doesn’t know much about things like that. He isn’t daft, he knows how big it is to earn a PhD. But presents aren’t his thing, nor are the pleasantries built around big achievements.

At the time, he was just tired of seeing you walk barefoot around the flat and thought you needed those more than anything since, apparently, slippers weren’t all the rage in your book. Surely, before his life-changing present, Simon was used to you asking if he’d seen your other slipper while you stumbled about the flat only wearing one on your feet. He’d find them everywhere: under the sofa when vacuuming the carpet, hidden in a groove between the floor and the kitchen counter, forgotten on the washing machine or in the washing machine.

He’d figured that the only way to ensure you’d avoid knocking your pinky toe on the corner of some furniture was to make sure you couldn’t simply drop the footwear. Socks were it, apparently.

He remembers how your eyes had shone like the bleeding sun when he’d given them to you, how you’d clutched them to your chest as if he’d just gifted you a pot of gold. It had been a lovely sight, one he carefully keeps tucked in the almost empty corner of his mind, the one reserved for happy memories.

Nevertheless, Simon has rarely minded your habit of lounging with your calves across his thighs. The opposite, actually. Your friendly sentiments make him feel like, for once, he isn’t about to get stabbed in the back. Moreover, the fact that he is letting you invade his personal space like that, when he never allows anyone else to so much as touch him, truly is a testament to the monumental trust he’s placed in you.

You take a sip from your beer. "Alright?"

“Peachy.” He grumbles dryly.

Your lips purse to conceal a smirk, but hell is it hard. His dry humor never fails to rob a halfhearted smile from you. He has subconsciously started using it more often than socially acceptable just because of that.

You wiggle your toes against his abdomen, trying to steal a smile of his own from him – even if those tend to appear once in a blue moon.

What you are given, however, is only a slap on the ankle.

Catching on his mood, you down one last sip from your Stella and then you wiggle the bottle at him.

"There," you offer. "Seems like you need it more than I do."

He tosses the bag of crisps on the coffee table and accepts the beer from you, taking a rather large gulp from it. He isn’t a light drinker by any means. In his defense, it takes a whole lot of alcohol to knock him out. He has the metabolism of a properly trained soldier and his liver has processed much worse things than a bloody Stella Artois.

“Why are you being particularly friendly today?” He asks with thinly veiled sarcasm.

He isn’t complaining, per se. But he is a pessimist, one who can’t seem to grasp the notion that people can act accommodating without asking anything in return. Even if that has been your only behavior for the past four years.

Therefore, Simon understands why you narrow your eyes at his question, all offended and a tiny bit sour, as if he’s just asked something outrageous. However, he also knows you’ll brush off his comment because it is true, what he said.

You are particularly cheery.

"I'm back in the game." You state, sounding as if you've achieved some great thing. "I have a date next Friday."

That.

That is what Simon needs to hear in order to give you a genuine reaction.

He raises a single blond eyebrow and glances away from the TV to look at you with that signature hooded gaze of his – the kind that could cut through steel.

“A date?” He grumbles. “Who’s the bloke?”

In response, you squirm a little on the couch to lazily reach for your phone on the coffee table. One of your legs swings to keep your balance, and if Simon didn’t have the reflexes of a sniper, you’d have heeled his face. He automatically grabs your ankle to both prevent your fall and save the integrity of his nose, releasing a sigh – bloody used to it.

You're absolutely unaffected by whatever's happening at the other end of you, awfully concentrated on your task at hand. Fingertips graze the phone enough to slide it closer until you finally manage to have it in your grasp. It’s painfully clear how you can’t be bothered to stand.

You lie back down on the sofa with a sigh, as if that has been an exhausting endeavor.

Simon scoffs.

Your legs return to his lap with apt nonchalance. Then, you swipe through your screen. Simon can only see the phone covering your face from that angle, how the screen light illuminates your features – brows furrowed and the tip of your tongue peeking between your teeth, all focused on finding something on it.

After painstakingly long seconds, you turn your phone to him. Simon squints at the screen and then focuses on the picture you’re showing.

The man is… somewhat handsome, he has to admit. Brown hair, blue eyes, charming smile with possibly fake teeth. Definitely older. Probably a boring, pretentious tosser. Probably wouldn’t appreciate your carefree nature. He wouldn’t return your lost slippers at your door. He wouldn’t buy you socks so you’d stop whining about being on the verge of breaking your toes. He definitely wouldn’t let you paint only one wall of the living room orange, because, in your opinion, having all four would be “too flashy” - as if one on its own isn’t obnoxious enough.

He has to admit, however, that you look beyond excited, and maybe a little enamored. It’s an adorable view, really, and he hates himself for being unable to rejoice about it with you.

"Adam." You tell him his name, even if he never asked. "Thirty-nine. Associate professor of Linguistics at the Uni where I graduated. Found him on Bumble.”

Simon has to physically stop himself from giving a scoff in response to that.

“Looks like a knob.” He takes yet another large gulp of beer, finishing the last drop. You frown, and before you can interject, he adds. “Looks old. Tory, probably.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his thigh with the tips of your toes.

"He ain't a Tory." You scoff. That little frown still lingers on your features, carving a small line between your brows, as if he'd personally offended you.

His comment prompts you to turn your phone to yourself and look at the picture of this Adam lad you found on Bumble of all places.

You look back at Simon and his deadpan stare. Then back at Adam and his million-dollar smile.

Your eyes swivel back to Simon again, and you tentatively ask, "You think he's a Tory?"

Simon places the empty beer bottle on the glass coffee table. The sound somehow makes you take a metaphorical step back. "Nah. He can't be."

You purse your lips, concentrated and slightly, just slightly amused.

Eyes back to Adam. Then to Simon. "Right?"

Simon looks that ounce of smug enough to be considered annoying once he notices how you’re about to go cross-eyed in changing your focus, all hesitant and that bit concerned. He already knows how you have zero faith in your own judgment of character even if you refuse to make peace with it.

A little too naïve for this world. A tad too innocent. When the topic would come up, you’d get all riled up and primitive in your frustration, muttering indiscernible words and expletives that sound like grunts. Brows all furrowed and pretty lips scowling. He'd remind you how you let him in your flat without a single proof that he wasn't a serial killing sociopath, and your mouth would lock in place.

His hand lands on the curve of your foot, smoothing down towards your ankle; the warmth of his palm bleeds through the fuzzy fabric of your socks. He sighs, a little overdramatic as if he were about to tell you some sad, sad news. "Definitely a Tory.”

You want to reprimand his lack of faith in your choice of men. But his hand on your ankle feels so nice and you’re a sucker for physical contact. Begrudgingly, you settle that your bruised ego and your wounded pride are worth the gentle giant’s warmth.

However, the lingering touch does nothing to discourage your fire, so you glower. The least believable thing he's ever seen.

It takes much more to upset a special forces operator with a series of achievements as long as Simon Riley’s. A doctor with a mop of hair lazily tied in a bun, checkered socks in his lap, and residues of crisps around her lips surely isn’t it.

"Well." You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'll ask him on Friday when we’ll have dinner."

He scoffs.

“You’re gonna bring up politics at dinner on a first date, yeah?” A condescending pat on your ankle. “Sounds really romantic.”

His dry humor again. It wins in its intent to steal a chuckle from you.

The fight leaves as quickly as it entered your bloodstream, and you flop on the couch with a sigh, your phone falling somewhere on the turquoise carpet.

"Gotta make sure I ain't dating a conservative." You quip.

Simon watches you clasp your hands over your belly as it ripples with the first waves of a breathy laugh. You crane your neck forwards, eyes squinting in mirth clocking his own.

"He looks like he’d vote Tory." You concede with a laugh and pinch the air in front of your face. "A tiny bit - just a tiny bit."

“A tiny bit?” He snorts. “Lad probably has a framed photo of Margaret Thatcher in his bedroom.”

You laugh again, rubbing an idle hand over your eyes as you shake your head, utterly defeated. He can see in the way your shoulders sag that he’s shattered the careful castle of hopes and dreams you'd built brick by brick around the man.

"God no." Equally as exasperated as entertained, you sigh. "Can't imagine shagging him with the ol' Iron Lady staring at my tits."

He scoffs again at the mental image you have just provided him with. He doubts he’ll ever forget the picture, to his dismay. “Christ. Didn’t need that in my mind.”

In the afterglow of that belly laugh, you don’t notice how he’s somewhat tightened his grip around your ankle. Simon knows you aren’t one to pay attention to those subtleties. Too focused on other people's well-being to realize when yours is being put first. He can already imagine how your heart is unraveling with the knowledge that you’ve managed to make him quirk a smile, however small, even if his day had been a proper shitshow.

The selfless angel that you are.

You turn your eyes to the ceiling, looking for something that clearly isn’t written on the colorful paint of the walls.

"All jokes aside," you murmur. "I hope it goes well."

Your eyes touch his. There’s a melancholy in yours you only allowed him to see. Thinly veiled vulnerability, heart bare just for his eyes.

"Really need a confidence boost," you say with a wistful smile. "And some love on the side."

He mutters under his breath. “Right.”

Simon tries not to wince at your words and what they imply. He thinks you’re too good to rely on other people (men, above anything) to boost your confidence. As if what he thinks are mouthwatering looks, a striking sense of humor and a brilliant mind aren’t enough to make you feel a peg above everyone else.

He hates that you don’t seem to understand it. Hates that you require other people’s approval even when you have a brain that could put most to shame and a series of achievements to boot.

He hates that despite how sharp you are, you’re slow when it comes to emotional intelligence. And it’s Simon fucking Riley who’s saying it, the most emotionally unavailable man he himself knows. It isn’t that you can’t discern signs and tells, you aren’t stupid by any means, but it’s painfully obvious how you just can’t fathom why people would be attracted to you that way. Thus, you’d always dismiss compliments and advances with annoying levity.

In four years, Simon has witnessed all your relationships wither because your lack of self-confidence made you question everything.

Seemingly aware of the tense air your comment has caused, your cheeky grin makes a comeback just to lift his spirits. You wriggle your foot under his grip to get his attention. "You think he'll like my socks?"

Simon has to admit (finally, at least true to himself) that your tireless search for reassurance about your date isn’t exactly doing wonders for his heart or his sanity.

“He’ll love them, you muppet.” He deadpans.

You chuckle at the comment, and then you relax, thinking the conversation over. Comfortable with your eyes on the telly and your hands clasped over your stomach, that gentle feeling of home and familiarity lulls you into a soft rest.

Simon on the other hand, is anything but relaxed. His jaw clenches involuntarily as if he despises even the mere idea of another man getting to see you like this: lying down, all soft and sweet and sleepy in the fuzzy socks he’s bought you. With his surname plastered on your back, of all things.

His eyes flick to the hand on your ankle. He wants to keep holding on tighter and stop you from leaving altogether. Keep you tethered to that couch without ever needing to stand up.

He could tell you to drop it. He could.

But you’re a grown woman, in her prime, with her doctorate and her big girl job that gives her enough money to start a war of her own but for some reason has never decided to pick up her things and leave that shabby flat she shares with him.

And he is poor with words. Communication is a skill he’s never learned, unless it involves extracting precious intel from skin-trading bastards or bloodthirsty pricks. He surely isn’t going to communicate with you that way, even if it's the only one he knows. The realization makes his lips dip into a scowl of self-hatred for being seemingly unable to keep you.

Simon’s eyes rake over your body – your silhouette concealed by his shirt, softly draped over you like finely carved marble. With natural flow, his hand follows the path traced by his pupils, and very deliberately slides up your leg, towards your knee.

Initially, the movement only prompts you to steal a glance from him. But when your eyes land on that frown, as if he were deep in thought, it feels natural, instinctive, to give him your undivided attention again.

Softly, you ask for the second time that day, "Alright?"

He nearly lets out a huff of laughter. Such a simple question yet so goddamn loaded he’s on the verge of blowing a gasket – his patience wearing thin. 

He locks his eyes with yours, only to snark once more. “Peachy.”

His humor this time isn’t successful in the effort of stealing a smile. In Simon’s defense, he hasn’t used it to make you crack one at all.

You frown, a tiny fracture between your brows. A little confused, mostly concerned. He can see it in your doe eyes, how you’re already miles away – overthinking every minute detail you might have missed during the conversation. You always thought so much Simon had joked, once or twice, that your skull was too small to host all that.

Your eyes shift from his face to his hand. Simon dares to be bolder and slides his palm a little higher. His fingers curl around the plush of your thigh.

"Peachy, eh?" You inquire, clearly suspicious of his antics. "You look far from peachy.”

A low scoff slips past his lips.

He is anything but peachy, he’d give you that. He is anything but sweet, far from it. Bitter, would fit better. Jealous, would fit best. He is downright pissed, but not at you. Never at you. He wishes he were a gifted conversationalist, so he could put into words what the idea of you shoving your tits in the face of some twat is making his hackles rise. He barely entertains the thought of you talking and laughing with him, never mind brushing with the concept of you riding the life out of that bastard. God forbid you brought him over and did all that in your flat – his flat.

He swallows in a piss poor attempt at juggling his feelings. His eyes shift to the TV to further conceal them.

“Just thinkin’ about work is all.” He mutters. Simon can almost hear Soap’s Scottish lilt calling him a “pining sod.”

Oh, but you’re an insistent little thing, aren’t you? Simon can hear the sheer doubt in your tone when you hum in response. The slight changes in the vibration against your frowning lips, the curves in the intonation of that simple, but so very telling sound. He catches each and every one of those details like the guard dog that he is.

In his peripherals, he sees the shifting of your eyes, from his hand to his profile. He sees you take in the crook of his nose, broken a few times (a tough job and a harsh childhood did that to him).  His furrowing brows, light honey, like his hair – all ruffled and staticky from removing his balaclava when he got home.

"Work." You deadpan, but it comes out softer than intended.

His fingers aren’t as sneaky as before when they slide further up your thigh. Simon knows you feel that same electric spark because your quadriceps stiffen under his palm.

“Work,” he affirms, his jaw tight as his hand journeys farther to reach the hem of your shorts. His thumb rubs from side to side over the skin at the edge of the fabric, and Christ, he’s fighting the growing itch to just pull them down.

While the two of you have watched plenty of films on this same sofa, in this same position, Simon has never touched you.

As in, touched you, touched you.

He’s averse to that, to anything that isn’t a noncommittal gesture. This one, however, obviously isn’t.

His hand is so big against your thigh, that plush skin underneath his callouses almost makes him feel guilty. The hardened palm used to disperse death shouldn’t touch such soft things. He feels the peachy fuzz brush against the pads of his fingers, he sees how they leave divots in the meat.

It makes his heart beat a little faster, blood pumping in all the wrong places but his head.

His expression is blank, dull eyes staring straight at the television. However, his mind is not as quelled as he portrays. It’s leading him to a very unholy place, where he wonders if your skin is as soft on your belly as it is on your thigh. Whether you’d whimper or groan if he were to flick his tongue over your breasts. If your eyes would roll back, were he to plunge his fingers deep into your core.

So many ifs he wants to put to the test.

He gently skims where your thigh meets your hip, and Simon swears he hears you gulp. He can tell you’re absolutely blindsided. You've been living with him as your flatmate for four years. Four fucking years, and if he ever tried to give you anything more than his usual snark, he might have been a little too subtle about it.

Simon glances at you, before returning his focus to the telly. One look is all he needs to hear your thoughts as if they were his own – the self-deprecation, the anxiety, that tormenting feeling of not being enough.

How torn you look. Stiff fingers curl around air only to release it right afterwards, fighting an invisible enemy. Let him do what he wants, let his hand slide up your shorts, and find the cotton lace of your panties. Or, pull away and retreat into your safe bubble, where no one can hurt you.

As if he’d ever lay an ill hand on you. All you have to say is “Stop” and he’ll take back his arm – cut it off for good measure.

Your eyes are hooded as they turn to look back at the malleable flesh of your thigh in his hold. His fingers disappear under your shorts until the first knuckle. He brushes along the hem of nice lace undies, feeling the rough fabric under the pads of his fingers.

Your voice is deliciously breathy. "Wha' about work, then?"

Avoidance. Normally, he'd let you. If it were any other situation, he'd brush it off with you. He'd keep up with the chat, coddling you in that safe place you seem too keen on spending time in.

Not now.

His head turns back to you; hungry eyes fixed on the way your mouth parts to yield that soft whisper. It makes his eye twitch, a splinter in his veneer.

“Reckon work can wait,” he rasps.

Simon is hyper-aware of how close he is to your core – a knuckle away from the throbbing heat between your legs. He sees your bowed head, eyes lidded with that primal desire he is instilling in you.

You look as if your brain has turned into soup; the ingredients a mix of shared memories and touches – even the most indifferent, neutral ones. To his utter joy, for the first time in your life, it almost looks like you’ve finally turned off your thoughts.

Your jaw clenches in a desperate attempt to get a grip on yourself. He knows you’re confused; he is too. Because it’s wrong to indulge in intimacy when more than just a friendship is at stake. Money's involved, a roof over your heads, a bed to kip, and food in your bellies – four years of shared everything is involved.

But you agree. You nod your head a little dumbly, and suddenly work can wait. To Simon, the fucking world can.

Your voice is a mumble. "Yeah, guess it can."

“Mhm.”

His gaze flicks up to your eyes, depriving your lips of the attention they were given, and he is delighted to see that you’re just as affected as he is.

Simon's fingers get squished between your thighs when you clench them together. He squeezes, feeling how the flesh rolls between his fingers, how it folds where the stretch marks crinkle.

“Lift your leg up for me,” he rasps.

Breath is stuck in your throat in utter anticipation. Simon knows it's been a long time since you've been touched in any way, shape, or form. You could've gone out and found a man willing to have a shag, it wouldn't have been hard to find someone who needed it too – someone as desperate as you look right now.

After all, that single word is the one that led him to you in the first place.

Yet you never did it. Simon has never seen you bring a man, or a woman, back to the flat. Sometimes you’d disappear with a text, saying you’d be sleeping out, but you never brought anyone home. And he never asked why – mostly, because he thought it wasn’t his business. Another part of him, however, was afraid that if he did, you’d take it as an invitation to do so. Obviously, he wasn’t too keen on the idea.

After giving it little thought, you part your thighs for him. One still rests in his lap while the other dangles off the sofa.

There's very little resolve left in you, Simon can tell by the way your eyes are so focused on his disappearing hand, and by the way you shatter when he experimentally glides one finger over the damp line on your panties.

“Fuck.” You hiss, tilting your head back.

You must want him dead, he thinks, as he gawks at the way your throat curves.

“Christ.” He mutters under his breath. He pushes the pad of his thumb down the cotton, feeling how it sticks to your slit. “Barely touched you.”

He wants to take his sweet time. He does. Wants to take it slow, reduce you to a mess of please and more before he finally gives you what you want. But he’s just as desperate as you are, isn’t he? He’s craving, clawing at the walls, to feel you clamp around him. Feel you drip down his hand until his callouses are coated, slick flowing down the crevices of his palm.

He’s no better than you are, currently.

So, his fingers slip under your panties just enough to touch your folds.

You can't help but tilt your head forwards again, only to look down at the bulge under your shorts created by his hand.

But when your eyes flit back to his, he stops.

Maybe he’s gone too far, he thinks. Maybe you’re realizing this is one hell of a mistake that can only end with you going your separate ways, something he will never forgive himself for.

However, it’s then, that you nod. That worry line between your brows, ever-present, seems gone. Smooth skin between your beautiful, beautiful eyes. And Simon feels whole again, feels wanted. The battered hound dog that he is, only useful for one thing and one thing only – sowing the seeds of death, and reaping them afterwards – is wanted.

Not tolerated. Not required. Wanted. Needed.

He knows your brain is turning its cogs, fighting against the fog of a kind of hunger that can’t be extinguished, one that only wants to be sated – by him, and him only.

Why is he doing this. 

What does it mean.

Is it because of the date you should have the next Friday. 

Is it because he's frustrated at work and you’re simply there, lying on a silver platter.

So many fucking questions it irritates him that, somehow, while his middle finger is tracing lazy patterns to part your folds, you’re still thinking. 

He doesn’t allow a single one to leave your lips, because he plunges one finger inside your cunt.

His first if is answered, then. Your eyes don’t roll back like he’d expected.

Your brows flutter to your forehead, and your mouth parts to form a pretty oval. Your chest swells as if you've just taken the first breath in your entire life. Your eyes, hazy and blurred, hold his own. And somehow, that is the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Your leg on his lap is taut and stiff, toes curling under those loud socks you’re wearing.

Simon takes in the sight of you – all flushed and panting. The only sound in the air is the quiet drone of the telly in the background and your sharp inhales.

He can only describe himself in that moment as wrecked. Maybe even more so than you are right now, all rigid in anticipation of his first movements.

“Keep your eyes on me," he growls out, and when you nod, he curls his pad inside of you.

Your fingers seem to mimic his own, but they grip the edge of the sofa’s cushions instead. Your nails scratch at the leather with such voracity they leave beige lines against the dark brown.

He struggles against the double layer of fabric entrapping his hand to your cunt – the lace scratches the knuckle on his thumb, the cotton of your shorts is a manacle on his wrist. But fuck if he cares about all that when your hips twitch to encourage his movements.

You look ruined. And he loves that – the effect he has on you, the fact that he’s the one to have you like this.

He moves his finger in slow, long strokes. He doesn’t do it to torture you, no. He observes, because for once his constant vigilance is not only useful to quell his paranoia, but also to feed your desires. He tests movements, tries different spots, looking for that one within your walls that will make you scream. 

And he finds it, then – to his utmost delight. Here you are: your breathy moans, soft and honeyed, turn into a stuttering and almost pained "Oh." And he knows he has you under his thumb, all perfect and yearning, unraveling with just one of his fingers. He’s looking straight at your face, not wanting to miss a single twitch of an eyebrow. Your pretty lips are all slick with your spit and they part to release the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard.

His strokes intensify, drawing back as much as he can with the limited movements he has, only to push in and hit ever so slightly that rougher patch of nerves he’s located. He doesn’t want to make you squirm, but he has something tickling his brain – questions. Or better, one question.

He places his thumb over your pearl, unsheathing it from the fleshy hood with a glide. He drinks the way it makes your breath hitch and stutter in sudden hypersensitivity. He rolls his pad tentatively, only to see you grit your teeth and groan – muscles and sinews all tensed up in your neck. It's like molten lava in your belly. It's syrupy hot and gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his finger, down to the knuckle.

“D’you think you’ll need to go on that date on Friday?” he rasps and rolls his thumb again.

His question doesn't seem to make you falter; your hips are unrelenting in their chase for release, as you push against his hand, grinding like your life depends on it. However, he can tell that it irked you. That blissed-out look pinches in frustration.

You're breathless, on a feverish hunt for that taste of heaven his finger’s promising, and Simon has the gall to bring up another man? One he's been mocking for the past half hour? He's surprised by himself as well.

You whine. "Does this look like the bloody time?"

“No,” he concedes, sounding a little patronizing.

He has the upper hand, quite literally, and to give you a friendly reminder of the power he holds, he slides another finger in.

You're absolute putty in his hands now. Your fingers grip at the sofa, your cheeks all flushed and warm. Your back arches, and he knows he just gave you that fullness you've been chasing. The sensation that causes the right amount of pleasure and pain of the stretch. He’s knuckle deep inside of you, his fingers trapped by your velvety walls as he strokes harder, lingering a little longer where you like it, but not faster. He keeps that steady pace that takes your breath away, not forgetting to lavish your clit with attention, and leaves you with just enough air for you to free those clipped and breathless moans.

He’s shameless as his other hand clamps your shin on his lap and pushes it down onto the painful tent on his jeans. He shifts his hip upwards to grind against your calf and hisses when it causes the zipper to graze his cock.

“Gonna cancel it, then?”

It’s bliss. You look like an angel.

"Yeah," you breathe out, a little incoherent. "Cancel it, 'course."

Your voice is more of an unintelligible mumble than anything else – two fingers in and his thumb on your nub drawing idle circles. Perfect pressure. Perfect fit.

He’s never seen you look this beautiful, all abandoned and relaxed, with your big brain he loves so much shut off completely. Synapses only working to generate a wish for release, so sweet and simple, and nothing else. And who is he to deny such a plain request, you sweet thing.

Simon would give you the moon if you asked.

He’s powerless in your presence, undecided if to focus on your face, or to stare at your hardened nipples. They brush against the black training t-shirt he once owned – right below the two crossing swords painted under the royal crown. It should be blasphemous. Should be bloody illegal to sully the name of the monarchy that way.

That is, if he gave a fuck about it. And even if he did, he’d see no wrong in it – because what can you taint when you’re the purest thing he’s ever touched.

Your hips move in tandem with his fingers, your face scrunched in that desperate look of someone who has a piece of heaven just out of reach. He watches you as you fall apart under his fingers and keeps your leg down so he can grind against it. If the situation were different, he’d feel like a wild animal in that regard, but there isn’t a spot on you he doesn’t wish to worship.

Especially now, when you look like this. With your hair sticking to your forehead and loose locks escaping your low bun.

He can’t take his eyes away from you – you have him absolutely entranced.

“s too much.” He hears you whine amongst the mist in his brain

“It ain’t.” He manages to grunt as if it's an order.

And you’re a little insubordinate, because you try and squirm away. But your shorts are his shackles as much as they’re yours – they fasten his hand to your cunt, while locking you against his unwavering fingers.

“Simon,” your voice is so wrecked when you beg. “Please - fuck.”

And how he finds the strength to snark is beyond him. His voice is thick and heavy. “’m tryin’.”

He drags his fingers deep down where yours can’t reach, where he’s found that patch of nerves that reduces you into a puddle of yourself. His thumb on your clit is steadfast, rubbing just above the hood where you’re not as sensitive, only to drag down again and make you see stars.

And the way that string of “Yes” leaves your lips, in that euphoric wheeze that tugs at the corners of your lips, makes his cock ache to be anywhere but in the confines of his jeans.

Your eyes are all glossy when you prop yourself on your elbows to fuel his resolve. Petal lips red and shiny, catching your teeth in an attempt to muffle your moans – bone-deep ingrained insecurity you can’t seem to get rid of. He doesn’t force you, though – he wants to hear you, sure, but most of all he wants to see you crumble to shreds. And if hiding your voice is what you need, then feel free to be his bloody guest.

Your hips stutter and your belly ripples under his large tee draped over it, and he’d recognize those signs anywhere. 

“Cum f’ me,” he orders. “C’mon, love. Give it to me.”

It takes a few more pumps of his fingers, and Simon feels it before he sees it. You clench around his fingers in rippling waves, thrumming rhythmically. Your cunt deliciously threatens to cut them off just above the knuckle.

And fuck, aren’t you a goddamn sight. 

Simon thinks it's almost cathartic to simply watch you. How your head tilts back to hit the armrest of the sofa, the way your toes curl in his lap and your foot on the floor rigidly lifts. The sway of your hips as they undulate to meet his thrusts and the liberating groan that leaves your lips, touching the sky with your fingers.

He unconsciously guides you through it, but truthfully, he has absolutely no idea what to do with himself – not with you looking straight out of one of his most unhinged dreams. His fingers slow down but keep moving relentlessly.

However, it would be a lie for him to say he knows what he’s doing.

You come down from it and your eyes are blinky and unfocused, staring at the ceiling. Your body deflates on the couch, limp and sated. Syrupy and warm. With your chest free to move now that the heavy weight on it has finally been lifted. He allows you this moment of privacy as you recollect yourself, although he truly wants you to look back at him again. He doesn’t want to miss a beat of this, yet he sort of understands.

Your breath comes out in puffs. He’s not faring any better on that note.

"Simon," you breathe, his name exquisite from your lips. "Christ."

He’s gawking. Watching your face for a moment more, he meets your eyes as they flick back to him down the slope of your nose.

Thumb still on your clit, the movements are gentler and featherlight. His voice is hoarse and rough as he speaks. “Alrigh’?”

You chuckle, breathless and a little nervous now that the appetite has been sated – much more self-aware than before.

His fingers are still inside of you and you’re already overthinking this. He knows it. He just hopes, deep down, that you’re not regretting it – because he sure as hell isn’t.

"Peachy.” Is your reply.

Oh, how the tables have turned. Joke’s on him, he’s fed you enough sarcasm for you to start throwing it back at him. Simon feels too weak to even smirk. However, his eyes do narrow, in a similar manner to how yours would at his snarky comebacks.

He gently slides his fingers out of you, mindful of your current sensitivity. He brings the hand up, seeing the gleam of your slick shamelessly coating their lengths down to the knuckles.

“Fuckin’ look at that.” He murmurs, unable to discern whether he’s talking to you or to himself, “Messy girl.”

He thumbs his middle finger and rolls the juice between the pads, thinking; tongue out to lick his lips like the voracious beast he is.

Simon reaches over and brings his hand towards your mouth. A jerky nod of his jaw, “Open.”

He knows he’s already crossed a line the two of you never even dared to toe before. And if he’s going to lose you after this, if you’re going to turn your back on him and leave the flat (leave his life) then he’s going to make the most of it.

Your brows are pinched in sudden uncertainty. A contradicting spectacle, if mixed with the way your chest is still heaving and how your cunt is still wet.

But tonight, you seem eager to catch him off guard, because you oblige. Your lips part and you offer your tongue, never breaking eye contact.

Each time he thinks you can’t look more beautiful you prove him fucking wrong.

He hums lowly in approval, and there’s something dark in that sound. He gently runs his fingers across your tongue, coating it with your taste. Fingertips slide and follow its curve. He stares at you with such an intensity, like he could consume you if he had a mind to. You devour him first, wrapping your lips around his knuckles.

When your tongue delves around his fore and middle fingers, he has to close his eyes. He has to roll his head, releasing the tension in his jaw. He has to, or he’ll cum in his goddamn jeans. The sharp inhale he takes almost burns his nostrils; his sigh heavy and anguished when his lips surrender to it.

“How d’you taste, dove?” he asks, blinking his eyes open.

The way his voice rasps out that pet name, rough like sandpaper, makes a shiver run down your neck. He sees it, the tremor of your shoulders, the goosebumps on your arms.

Simon reluctantly pulls his fingers away only so you can answer. His wasn’t a rhetorical question, and by that blush on your cheeks and the embarrassed hint of a smile on your face, you’ve guessed it already.

"Not as sweet as I thought."

His lips twitch.

“No?” he asks, his voice much too broken for his liking. He brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks, tasting your spit and your cum. A low rumble of a chuckle escapes him – must be a blue moon tonight. “I think you taste pretty sweet.”

This can go two ways: a fairy tale ending, like those romcoms you like to watch, or an absolutely dreadful one – in which you leave. And truly, Simon doesn’t believe in a higher power; God has abandoned him more times than he cares to count. However, he hopes that whoever’s up there realizes that he's owed big time for all the crap he’s been put through.

And he asks for nothing, but you.

His face is hot, and he gathers his cheeks might be a little pink. The rare sight must give you some comfort, the fact that he’s just as overwhelmed as you are, because he feels your leg relax in his lap.

You purse your lips to hide a bashful smile - as if you have any right to be coy right now. "Flatterer."

He hums, seemingly wanting to bite back at you but unable to find the spirit for it. His eyes rake over your body, from your flushed face to your chest covered by his tee, until they land on your quivering thighs, still splayed open for him.

For him.

His hand travels up your leg, following the same route that has led to this. When his palm finally cups your hip, his fingers curl at the waistband of your shorts and tug.

“C’mere.”

You do.

He sees you bend your knees and shift on the sofa so you can crawl to him on shaky legs. As the gentleman he never thought he’d be, he helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap with your knees on either side of his hips.

Afraid you might say something hinting at regret, he selfishly grabs your jaw and pulls you down, finally tasting you the way he’s always wanted. His lips mold with yours, and they’re so soft he has no business claiming them as his own. His fingers tilt your head so he can deepen the kiss, and only when he sees your eyes flutter closed through the slit of his eyelids, he allows himself to surrender to you.

Your lips peck the thin scar on his cupid’s bow, but before you can run away from him (as you should), he captures you once more. He never wants to let you go, so his tongue slides across the seam of your mouth, and you, so pliantly, oblige him.

Your hands are resting on his shoulders when the kiss starts tentatively, while his slender fingers follow the curve of your waist.

But then your nails dig at the fabric of his t-shirt, as if eager to rip it, and his palms journey to your rear. He grips at the flesh through your shorts, before shoving out of the way their distressed hem and directly groping the plump meat of your ass.

The two of you never part. If anything, everything gets more heated.

He doesn’t recall when it is exactly that you start grinding your hips, nor does he remember when his shirt was removed – whether you did it, or if he’s taken the matter into his own hands.

However, he does snap out of it when he feels your palms leave his shoulders to grasp at the hem of your tee. While he wants to feel his skin on yours as much as you do, what’s separating your chest from his is not a mere layer of cotton.

He pulls away and – to his pleasure – he sees you lean in to have more. His hand lands on yours, stopping you.

“No.”

He sees you blink, dazed. A myriad of emotions travel through that pinched expression you wear, thinking like usual that you’ve done something wrong.

He quells your fears in seconds, when his other palm skims over your arm. It journeys unhurriedly, leaving gooseflesh in its wake, until it lands at the base of your throat. His thumb brushes over its column, forcing your neck to tilt backwards and your back to arch, presenting your chest.

Simon models you like clay under his warm fingers, and he takes his time to drink you in and sculpt you as he wishes. Because you seem so docile now that his intents are less covert, clearer.

He brings his mouth to your throat, and his nose scrunches when he presses it against your neck, keeping you still with one thick arm around your waist. With sluggish movements, he tastes the salt of your skin and the tang left by your perfume.

Simon pulls back only to run his tongue from the hollow between your collarbones up to your jaw, feeling right under the muscle how your throat bobs when your breath lodges in between. He curves his head and digs his teeth into the plumper flesh on the side of your neck, enough to get a taste but not enough (never enough) to cause pain.

“Keep the shirt on.” He breathes against your skin, “I wanna fuck my name into you.”

And he does just that.

It’s effortless how he lifts you in his arms, guiding your ankles to lock at his tailbone. Clothes, both yours and his, freckle the floors in a trail that leads to his bedroom. He’s famished; there isn’t a single surface along the path he follows where he hasn’t placed you – if only to savor every piece of you for a little longer.

Until he has you on that bed, the one he should’ve gotten only for a few weeks and instead became his own alcove.

You look wonderful on it.

But you’re even more gorgeous when he sits at the edge of the mattress, facing the full-length mirror in his room, and places you on his thighs to straddle his lap – your back facing the reflection.

He runs his hands over your chest, riding up the t-shirt to your neck only so he can feast on your tits. Grabbing greedy handfuls of fat and muttering unintelligible praises when his mouth all but devours every inch – sucking on your puffy nipples and grazing his teeth around each peak.

Another if is answered by the whimper that escapes your kiss-bitten lips.

You look like an angel, when your soft hand goes to grab the base of his cock and, without much ceremony, you guide it inside of you – sinking on it easy and slow.

You feel like heaven, too, impaled on him. Perfect fit, always made for him, and him only.

Simon’s not sure what he did to deserve you, now riding his cock like you’d been deprived of it your whole life. Unbridled, free. You moan and groan without a care in the world, the hesitation he saw before vanished into thin air – and oh, he couldn’t be more grateful for it.

His hands curl at the hem of your (his, his, his) shirt, lifting it up slightly at your waist, only so he can see in the reflection how your ass slaps against his thighs each time you drop. Or, how your glutes clench when instead of trying to pleasure him, you please yourself – rolling your hips to grind your clit against his happy trail.

Simon’s hands leave the shirt only to grab more of you, kneading at your hips to guide your cunt down his cock until he has you filled to the brim. Your eyes roll back, breath stuck in that pretty throat of yours. He bites at it - laps at the skin like a starved dog.

Simon shattered his chains the moment you came undone on his fingers, and now he knows no restraint – not when he has you like this.

“Look at you,” he growls, slapping your ass only to watch how the fat ripples in recoil in your mirror image.

He grabs the back of your neck and tilts your head downwards. Your foreheads touch as he guides your eyes to look at where your bodies join. The foamy ring at the base of his cock, how the folds of your vulva hug around his shaft and tip at your unhooded clit, all puffy and red.

He tugs at your mound with his thumb, stretching the flesh to expose more. With a deliberate roll of his hips, he makes a show of how effortlessly his cock slides into you, how your cunt greedily stretches to welcome him whole. 

“Look at that.” His voice is equally as raspy as it’s enraptured. “Perfect.”

Using his hand on your nape, he angles your face to kiss you again. He thrusts into you only to have you part your lips in a stuttering moan, and he drinks it dry.

When you resume grinding your hips, he whispers in your open mouth, “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Simon sees how your thighs quiver under the strain of the effort, hamstrings taut and probably burning in the attempt to wrap around his hips. He won’t keep you like that for long, don’t worry. He’ll take good care of you, like he always has.

But now, he indulges in a selfish moment.

Spare seconds in which he watches your reflection bounce on him, and you’re too lost in the feeling to notice how his hooded eyes take in the view.

The profile of your face in the mirror (his little cherub), with your mouth parted and brushing against his temple as he nuzzles your shoulder through the fabric of the shirt. One hand ecloses his nape and your other palm is on his cheek, keeping his head close to your breathless lips. Your eyes are closed in bliss – lashes shy against your flushed cheekbones.

In the scantly lit room, the reflection in the mirror of you two is as dark as everything else, but the stark white writing on the back of your tee has never looked brighter. Your hair sways with your movements, and that RILEY that peeks through your locks has him impossibly enamored of you.

And you’re so smart, he thinks. So clever, because you know, even when your senses are clouded by euphoria and your eyes are closed. You know he’s never had a thing. You know that whatever he’s held, no matter for how long, has always slipped through his fingers before he could even get a taste of it.

“I’m yours,” you whisper in his ear.

And so, Simon surrenders. He’s at your mercy, you have his trust and whatever’s left of his heart – and he knows you won’t break either.

He helps you out of his t-shirt only to hold you bare against his chest. He brings you down with him, lavishes your skin with his palms and his lips. Nose buried in your hair, Simon breathes you in. The smell of sex and the smell of you and how it has him drunk when it whirlpools with his own – a new fragrance, one that burns itself into his brain with the threat (sweet promise) of never letting go.

Because he’s never had a thing, his name barely pertains to him anymore. But the moment he saw it on you, he finally realized where Simon Riley belongs.