#like that is not at all an acceptable response no matter how bitter you feel like you can’t just be making

[romance-incubomp3]

god it is so annoying that any time someone makes a post along the lines of “hey maybe don’t graphically traumadump on an internet stranger’s post about something nice and positive” there’s people who are like “um well I guess you just want to silence traumatized people therapy isn’t free you know they need somewhere to vent so just smile and put up with it:) let people cope:)��� SHUT UP SHUT UP!!

[chastiefoul]

—finally giving up on your unrequited love ft. alhaitham

a/n: ouch i hurt myself writing this. wc: 1.6k words of yapping about unrequited feelings

once upon a time you were grateful for alhaitham’s indifference, the lack of anything he was being when you’re badgering him with chatters, a detailed description of your day, concerns over him, and the occasional gifts.

it seemed like a blessing once, like acceptance. the slightest open of the door, thinking you could invite yourself in and he’d embrace that fact. but as his apathy remain constant and unchanging, you’ve come to realization—an embarassing one at that.

that indifference, that should’ve been a sign for you; alhaitham will never return your feelings.

-

 a stroll a day, keeps the stressful thoughts away.

however today’s walk is just not doing it for you, once you decided to wake up from the dreamland you thought you’ve been living in. a faraway and unrealistic vision of a life where you end up together with the akademiya scribe. an exaggerated sigh escaped you at your own daydreaming. usually by now you’d be quick on your feet to visit the scribe, however the overdue revelation you had last night made you finally think twice before doing it. and only because of that now you’d realized just how much of your life was centered on the grey-haired man, which was a scary discovery, knowing just exactly how little you mattered to his.

you found an empty bench mid-walk, immediately sitting on it. you leaned back, both of your hands holding your weight as you look above. the sky was clear that day, but your mind was clearer, as if a thick fog has finally been lifted.

seriously, what have you been doing all this time? giving your all to someone who wanted none of you. alhaitham’s curt nod, his brief and short responses really should’ve been a clue as to how he felt about you. yet you kept being stubborn, and sometimes hope was human’s greatest enemy. what should have been a bare minimum gesture he did, your mind managed to twist it into something more; clinging to it like a water on a desert. when it turned out that was exactly all there was to it—a mirage.

you chuckled sadly. even remembering those pathetic displays, you couldn’t bring yourself to fully regret having this feeling towards alhaitham. those moments where you’d steal a glance at him and felt like the world was okay. you would not allow yourself to forget that as you became more selfish, wanting him to look at you and feel the same. but here you were, reluctantly learning to accept the fact that he may never does.

suddenly a shadow loomed over you, shielding you from the sunlight you didn’t realize was so bright.

a familiar blond invaded your vision. “(y/n)?” he called out unsure, not expecting you to be there. “oh hi there, kaveh,” you lightly said, as if your heavy train of thoughts hadn’t existed at all. you adjusted your sitting position, shifting yourself to the side as you spare an empty spot beside you for him to sit. kaveh swiftly took your silent offer up, making himself as comfortable as he could on the wooden bench. “i spotted you from afar and you seemed a little troubled, hopefully i was wrong?” the ever so kind kaveh spoke up, and you couldn’t help but smile. kaveh always felt like a friend more than alhaitham ever was, albeit knowing him after you got to know the scribe. you weren’t even sure if the grey-haired man would ever mention even a word about his roommate if it wasn’t for you hanging wround on his office on a peaceful lunch break when the fuming blond barged in and yell at him about a key.

as it turned out, it’s a known fact that most people became quiet irritable when it comes to being in contact with the curt and aloof scribe, since kaveh has been nothing but a good friend since the day he gave you a weird look about wanting to get close to the acting grand master.

“it’s kind of complicated to say,” you started, thinking of the words as you went on. “let’s just say i’m having a quite bittersweet moment.”

you rested your gaze on the bustling street in front of you. he nodded in reply, “i’m guessing it’s more bitter than it is sweet?” he asked genuinely as you smiled once more despite not feeling a drop of mirth. “i suppose so,” you replied curtly, not knowing what to say to his keen observation. keen and exactly correct.

it’s the kind of bitterness that lingered. a kind of flavor you’d expected, since you’re the one who put it in. still, when that sharp taste hit your tongue you couldn’t help but flinch. after all, things don’t stop affecting you even though you saw it coming from miles away. you just hoped the sweetness will get stronger overtime, overpowering as it wash down the unpleasant aftertaste.

kaveh mirrored your smile in return except his looked particularly patronizing, as if he could sense your helplessness.

“will you tell me what happened?” his voice sounded gentle, a care you’ve never heard from the man you’d give a limb to for him to say things along that line. how do you even begin to answer such a simple question? nothing happened, and that’s why it was the problem. the fact that you’re the only one who’s mulling all over this, being so conflicted to what he thought must be nothing. a pain so overwhelming that’s swirling all over your chest while his biggest inconvenient that day was probably a typo made in a document made by a lousy student.

the whole thing just sounded so... pathetic.

“nothing happened... it’s just, i have decided to finally give up on something,” you try your best to sound nonchalant despite having no bravery to look at him, scared that he didn’t look like he believed you.

“well, i might know a thing or two about it. sometimes when an architecture project is too... unreasonable,” kaveh paused, the word tasted like a sour lime on his mouth. “there’s no way but to give it up. especially if you take a step back as take the whole picture from many aspects; in my case, there are budget, location, materials, and so on. there would definitely be some regret about letting go especially an ambitious task, however i think many of my past-self would really like to give the present-me a big gratitude for not forcing it through,” he rambled on, despite having no idea what were you referring on. “even sometimes, the reward was just not worth the risk, you know?” he ended it at that, throwing the question at you.

you swallowed on nothing, but you needed that to let out a reply.

“yes, i do know.”

“yeah? does this mean in your case, whatever you were fighting for was not worth it in the end?”

oh, that’s the worst part. you knew, you knew it with your heart, body and soul that it would be so worth it if there’s an outcome, a scenario where alhaitham might return your feelings. oh it would be so worth it. you could smile, just imagining how worth it would it be.

but that was all it was. an unattainable imagination. an ending that you couldn’t allow yourself to be so cocky to reach.

kaveh waited for your respond patiently, but when the silence had gone for too long he moved his stare to you. he widened his eyes, his gaze softened.

“i don’t think you’re as okay as you made yourself to be,” he said softly, as you felt your cheeks wet by the uninvited tears, running along freely across your face. yet, you couldn’t make an effort to stop them, your heart knew more than anyone you needed that. to feel the sadness, to recognize it.

to let go of the fact that alhaitham will never return your feelings.

kaveh was just quiet as you sobbed quietly, putting a handkerchief silently at the space between you both. there is no empty consolation, no comforting words, no small pats on the back. there’s just silence, a little safe bubble for you to cry in without people coming over to you and asked why.

giving up is such a funny thing, how could doing it hurt more than to keep trying even though you received no sign of reciprocity at all? but you knew the answer of that.

when there hasn’t been a rejection, it’s in everyone’s nature to have hope. a hope that there’s a chance of obtaining something you’ve wished for. a chance that something could happen.

giving up means finality. a state of accepting an outcome you hadn’t wanted. a result you never asked for. an ending where all that’s left was what should have and what could have. a harsh reality people could only accept as it dangled the possibilities and visions of what ‘could have happened’ if you’d just kept trying right in front of your eyes.

like chasing your own shadow; a fun thing to do when you’re a child, but now it’s just a fitting metaphor, reminding you of a fool’s way who love in such a pathetic way.

-

once upon a time you were grateful for alhaitham’s indifference, the lack of anything he was being when you’re badgering him with chatters, a detailed description of your day, concerns over him, and the occasional gifts.

but now it’s definitely a curse. after all, anything that has to do with love was not indifference.

it was never, indifference.

---

the urge to write this in alhaitham pov........................ should i?

[lucid-loves]

simon slowly falling in love with reader after hating her for a long time⁉️

Sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy it! ❤

Nuclear Date Night

Pairing: Ghost x 141!reader (fem!reader, weaponsengineer!reader, codename: Byte)

Word Count: 12.8k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, mention of violence, hate to love relationship, rivals, competitive, competence, realized feelings, smut, body praise, deep kissing, licking, fingering, biting, p in v

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: Ghost hates your guts. Even since you joined the team as their new weapons engineer two years ago, he’s hated you with his whole chest. With your high and mighty attitude, bewildering intellect, and unwavering confidence, he can’t stand you. You hate him too with his unreadable face, demeaning protection, and lack of grace. When an undercover mission requires the two of you to get closer, though, the both of you realize your hate for one another has turned into something else entirely. 

You ignored the icy cold glare the lieutenant kept on your figure as you explained how the new sniper-focus worked. Your comrades stared at your invention in wonderment, once again reminded just why you were part of the team. Thanks to your countless all-nighters and delicate hands, you managed to invent a focus that can attach to any sniper, calculate notches and wind speed, recommend the gun-adjust accordingly, and hit a target perfectly with over 98% accuracy. No matter the distance, no matter the weather, your focus powered with A.I. calculated assistance can kill any target. 

Everyone was impressed. Save for Ghost. 

“Aim at the target, give it a second to calculate, and then listen to the adjustment with the earpiece. After that, just adjust the aim and fire. Pretty simple stuff, really.” You demonstrated, large sniper in hand. 

The wind blew through your hair, dust coating your strands like moth to a flame. From a distance, a whipping dust devil was forming across the golden sands of the desert. It was dry, it was hot, and it was windy as hell. It was the perfect place to demonstrate your brilliance. 

When you joined the team two years ago, you knew that you had to put your heart and soul into this job in order to be taken seriously. You weren’t especially muscular or tall. As a soldier, you did train for instances of defense in case it was needed, but your true power relied on your smarts. A rather overlooked sign of an excellent soldier that often invited ridicule from the more traditional soldier. 

That’s exactly what Ghost did when he first met you. 

“You sure this shrimp can handle herself? Be one of us? She looks like she can barely lift a spoon without straining her wrist.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at the memory, muscles tensing as if you were in that moment once again. The memory of your response quickly took over. 

“Are you sure this meat-head can handle my science? He looks like he can barely use a blender without getting confused by all the buttons.”

You both left a bitter taste in each other’s mouths that day. The taste has lingered ever since, tainting nearly every interaction you had. It was a wonder how you haven’t killed each other yet. 

Setting up the sniper, you prepped for the real demonstration. While you did final adjustments to the focus, you called over your rival. “Ghost, test this for us.”

“Why do I have to be the guinea pig? I don’t need a fucking robot to focus my aim anyway.” He protested, every cold tone in his words deliberate. 

The team shifted uncomfortably, even after all this time still not used to the spats the two of you got into. Attempts to resolve the bad blood have always failed. It was easier to just let the two of you spit your fire until you ran out of fuel. 

“Alright then, tough guy, you can aim without it. Go ahead, hit the target.” You nonchalantly agreed, confident that things were going to go your way this round. Ghost noticed that easy acceptance you gave, his eyes narrowing at you as he tried to figure you out. What was your game this time?

Not one to back down, he approached the sniper and aimed it normally, your focus set to default. No robots, no artificial intelligence. Just plain-Jane markers for distance. Looking through the scope, Ghost looked for the little red flag that indicates the location of the fake target used for practice. After a while of looking at nothing but sand, he spotted the target just past the dust devil. 

He would have to account for that. You planned for this. No wonder you insisted on dragging them all out to this dry wasteland. He clenched his teeth, blood simmering as you tried to make him look like a fool in front of his team. Backing away, though, would make him lose this game. Shooting and missing would also give you the victory point. Either way, both scenarios made him look incompetent.

God, he fucking hated you. 

Suppressing a malicious smile, you antagonize him. The feeling of beating him made your heart race in excitement. “Any day now, Ghost.”

He hated the way you drew his name out like that. The way you so easily said it like it was nothing but air to you. Like bubblegum being blown and popped at your will. His name should’ve struck fear and intimidation. Instead, you chewed on it. Popped bubbles with it. 

Aiming the scope, he lined up his shot, and fired. Watching the bullet carefully, he saw it shoot forth with speed right on the dead center of the target, whip back from the dust devil, and hit sand with an explosion of grain. 

It took everything in him not to fucking leave right then and there. 

“Good shot if you planned on missing. Now, use my focus.” You continued to tease, twisting the knife further into his already wounded pride. There was little snickering coming from his men, Gaz and Soap not being able to contain themselves. They would admit that sometimes your fights were funny. It was a way to cope with the discomfort it brought. 

Silently, Ghost switched on your focus. Out of the side, a small earpiece ejected out. He took it and fitted it into his ear under the mask. Of course, you programmed the artificial instruction with your own voice. Serious, stoic, and purposeful. “Awaiting aim to calculate.”

He aimed once more at the metal target using the scope, the dust devil blowing the sand around violently to protect it at all costs. The scope projected its calculations as if he was staring at a screen. Within a few seconds, it completed its estimations. A green dot appeared way over to the left and bottom of the notches, marking the shooting point. Your voice rang in his ears. “Target confirmed. Aim and fire.”

This seemed way off. There was no way this could be right. Was he really meant to aim so far off? The green dot stayed perfectly in place as he adjusted the aim, his center notch in line with your tech’s mark. He hoped that it would miss.

He fired and watched the bullet sail through the air, ride with the dust devil like a wave, and hit the target with perfection. He became slack-jawed bewildered at the precision. The fact that it could calculate aim with even an extreme factor such as swirling winds was undoubtedly impressive. 

This was your clear victory. And he hated it. 

You relished in his fiery disdain of your genius. A small smirk played at your lips as you saw just how the rage froze his muscles. He looked like he wanted to punch something. 

“God damn, Byte! That was phenomenal!” Soap loudly praised, his eyes wide in true marvel. The others agreed, all wanted a turn to use that focus of yours like it was a new toy. Every invention that you gave them has felt like a new toy. It made those days feel like Christmas morning. You were great at your job and they couldn’t be happier to have you on the team. 

Of course, except for Ghost. Even if your engineering prowess was the best in the world. 

“Really great work, Byte! Are the blueprints all ready to copy?” Kate smiled appreciatively while tapping on her smartpad.

“All ready for production.” You simply answered, proud of the work that you had accomplished. Another one for the books. 

While the boys played with their new toy, Ghost stepped back and crossed his arms angrily. 

He hated everything about you. Your unmatched intellect, your confident plays, your arrogant personality. He hated that his team was wasting money on technology for weapons when a true soldier shouldn’t need the handicap. Real skill was earned by yourself. Not with the assistance of technology. It should be a tool, not a crutch. 

Ghost believed that people who couldn’t aim a sniper on their own and hit a target didn’t deserve to be snipers. And you just made him unworthy of being a sniper when against your tech. 

You looked up at him, taking note of how hard he threw daggers at you. You made him look stupid, and that was your goal. It felt like you had the world in your palm when you did. Someone as respectable as Ghost being bested by a brainiac was always the best. You proved that you didn’t need muscles or height or even intimidation to be better. You just needed your smarts. 

A huff of a laugh escaped you as you turned away from him, knowing that that would just make him even more angry at you. Good. 

You hated everything about him too. 

~

“What you do really is modern magic. Seriously, Byte, how does your brain come up with such things?” Gaz inquired, raising a bottle of beer to his lips. The team decided to celebrate your new invention at the usual bar. Of course, your drinks were on them as a reward. They knew that you put a lot of work into what you did. The least they could do was pay for your rum and cokes. 

You raised the cold glass to your lips, the sweet and spicy cocktail hitting your tastebuds. “The pros of being a genius. Thank you for the praise. It feels nice to be appreciated for my work around here.”

That last past was said a little louder, loud enough to make sure that Ghost could hear it on the other side of the bar. He bit his tongue and rolled his eyes at you, not willing to open himself to any more of your antagonizing today.

The victory was as sweet as the drink you were nursing. Addictive too. You couldn’t get enough of the feeling of success. When you finished an invention, when you helped your team complete a mission, or when you bested Ghost, they all gave you that sweet sense of accomplishment. 

Soap slung his arm around your shoulder, nearly causing you to spill. He was already a couple drinks in. “Yeah yeah yeah, good work! But all we ever talk about is work. Been two years, Byte. Tell us what that genius does outside of work, huh?”

You shifted in your seat, becoming a little uncomfortable with the sudden questions about your personal life. They knew tidbits here and there about you. Some failed relationships, favorite songs, distaste for certain foods. But your answer to all of that was usually straight-forward. “We broke up.” “I like this song.” “I’m not going to eat that.”

Something that the team noticed early on was that you were a workaholic. You hung out with them on rare occasions, you were usually confined working in your lab while they had offices, and you usually departed events early to be in said lab. Besides minor details, they really didn’t know much about you outside of your work personality. They have been trying to pull you more out of your shell over time, but it was a slow process. 

Gaz frowned at Soap’s bluntness. “Come on, Johnny, leave her alone tonight.”

“It’s fine, Gaz.” You put your glass down roughly, the clink of the glass on polished wood sobering Soap up pretty quick. It made Gaz look away in shame. That was at least one thing they knew about you most intimately. You hated being treated like you can’t take care of yourself. When they stepped in on your behalf, answering a question that was meant for you, it made you want to hit them. You knew they only did it to protect you. That you were one of them and this is how they treated one of them, but you could never let it be. 

You didn’t need anybody to stand up for you. You will make that a point for forever if you had to. 

The air grew thick with tension as you silently scolded them for hitting one of your pet peeves. With a sigh, you caved in, wanting to restore some of that fun from before. “What do you wanna know? Anything is on the table.”

Soap’s face lit up like a match to a gas station. “Seriously?! Anything?”

You gave a little nod and braced yourself for the worse. Soap’s lack of personal boundaries was quite well known. It was coming from a place of genuine curiosity and ease, never ill-intent. It was just one of the quirks of Soap that you were still coming to terms with even after all this time. 

“Well. . . what’s your sex life like?” 

Gaz began to choke, coughing on beer stuck in his throat. Price tapped his back to help him out, his sharp gaze falling on Soap for such a personal question. Yet, he didn’t say anything. He knew that if he did, you would get angry at him. He has been pretty good about avoiding your pet peeve and he didn’t want to break his streak.

Clearing your throat, you composed yourself. You weren’t expecting such a blatant question either, despite inviting this kind of open question. It didn’t mean that you weren’t going to be honest, though. That just wasn’t the kind of person you were. You never stepped away from a challenge. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Soap grinned widely, happy to talk with you finally like you were just like one of the guys. “Body count? Preferences? All of it. I wanna know what a genius views sex as.”

Slowly, you drank the rest of your rum and coke before signaling for another one. While you hailed the bartender, you noticed that Ghost was staring intensely at you. He hated you, but even he was curious on how anyone could tolerate you enough to sleep with you. 

Once you were halfway through your second drink for some liquid courage, you began to talk about one of the most personal details of your life. “Body count of five. All men. Most were one-night stands or sex-friends.”

You liked sex. There was no question about it. At least, you were interested in it. Despite the amount of people you’ve been with, they always left you wanting more. It was always a little unsatisfying when they were finished. It always felt like there was a black hole inside of you that needed the right meal to be satisfied. 

The exact reason why was no mystery either. Unless you were masturbating alone, you never came. No matter how much time and effort went into foreplay, none of your partners have ever made you orgasm. 

Just because your sex life was active didn’t mean it was great. 

“Wow, that’s a little surprising.” Gaz admitted, finally over his coughing fit. Price shook his head, a little embarrassed to hear about his men talking about sex so freely with you. As a captain to a group of mostly boys, he has shared details with them to bring the group together. It felt a little strange to have you participate in this. Even Kate wasn’t pressured into sharing such details. 

“Our little genius gets some then! How is it? Any experience noteworthy?” Soap persisted as he ordered another round.

“Not especially? Average, I suppose.” You shrugged, answering the questions becoming much easier the more you poured rum and coke into your system. Warmth crept along your cheeks, blossomed in your ribs. You felt yourself opening up like a dormant flower. 

You ordered another drink. Soap continued to pry. “Average? What does that even mean?”

“I never came before.” You suddenly blurted out, the blending of your naturally blunt personality and alcohol turning into a pretty dangerous combination. It seemed like the rum in you was getting to your brain faster than you thought. 

This time, it was Soap’s turn to choke. Gaz was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to comfort your plight. Ghost just stared as if he was watching the news. However, his mind was thinking all sorts of things. He wanted to mock you. Say that that was what you deserved for being so arrogant about your intelligence. He felt the instinct to trash talk you to recover some of the pride he lost today. 

Yet, he couldn’t. In fact, he began to feel a foreign pity for you. If you knew that he was pitying you over something like this, you would absolutely rip him a new one. That didn’t stop his eyes from softening for just a moment, though. A moment that you noticed with those sharp eyes of yours. 

Finishing your drink, you slammed the glass on the counter, nearly shattering it. How dare Ghost look at you like some tragic whore! So what you never orgasmed from sex! You were doing just fine when it came to solo-sex escapades. You didn’t need anyone to satisfy you. You only needed yourself. “I do perfectly fine when I masturbate. Don’t get it twisted. Other people just don’t satisfy me. It’s whatever.”

In a simmering fire, you got up from your chair and left the bar for the night, leaving your teammates wondering what the hell got you so worked up all of a sudden. 

Only Ghost knew the answer to that. 

~

Arriving back on base on your motorcycle, you headed straight to your lab. It was quiet. The dead of night. Everyone else was either back home, sleeping in the barracks, or partying it up downtown. You had an apartment to go back to, but you always found yourself coming here instead. 

Settling your helmet and jacket on the coat-rack, you made yourself at home. Dim-emergency lights softly illuminated unfinished projects on tables. Pieces of wires, circuits, and bolts littered every corner of the room. The place looked small and cramped during the day, scientists and engineers squished together in a lab that was second priority compared to the more athletic-based facilities. In the night when no one was here, the place looked like a tech graveyard. Vast, dark, and cold. 

You headed towards your usual workstation, a large workshop desk that was overflowing with unfinished blueprints of inventions that haven’t panned out just yet. A lot of the struggle came from lack of funding. Some of it came from unrealistic expectations. Science was an investment, something that most military dogs failed to realize. It’s why you always pushed yourself to work constantly and prove what the proper time and resources could bring. 

You were essentially killing yourself in order to make them see the worth of your department. 

Looking through the blueprints, you settled on one that was worth revisiting. A Russian Doll bullet that would save ammunition and materials to build said ammunition. The idea was to invent a bullet that would be compatible with most firearms, shoot an outer layer of bullet without shooting out the inner layer, and repeat until the last of the bullet is gone only to be replaced by another Russian Doll bullet. 

It would effectively turn a six-shooter into a twenty-four. It would save so much ammo and save many soldiers the reload time. 

The only problem you haven’t solved yet was the instability of gunpowder. 

That’s what you decided to work on tonight. Taking a seat in your worn out swivel chair, you opened your drawers and pulled out your materials. Bringing a magnifying glass close to you, you began to disassemble a few bullets. It was always a good idea to build things by first taking things apart. 

As you worked, you heard the sound of the lab door open. It was still much too early for the morning crew to come in, so you wondered who it could’ve been. Maybe Price had come to lecture you about how you left things at the bar. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to talk to you about your temper. 

Turning around, you were surprised to meet your rival, peering over all of the electronic corpses on the tables. He didn’t come here very often. You were always here after all. He knew you were always here. He shivered, noticing just how chilly it was inside the lab. The air conditioning was running on full blast. “Feels like a meat-locker in here. How can you work like this?”

“What do you want?” You sharply retorted, nerves already on edge at his presence. The lab was supposed to be your refuge. Your paradise. And here came the snake. 

“Relax. I’m not here to fight. I just wanted to talk to you about the focus.” He treaded carefully, his own instincts waiting to fire off like they were used to when he was with you. A lightbulb in his head just went off just then. He realized just how bad the relationship between the two of you was since his first real instinct was to yell at you. Ghost knew you felt it too. 

He was supposed to be the 141’s Lieutenant. He was supposed to bring the team together for his captain. And here he has been for two years, trying to push you out. 

Ghost has never even approached you without the intention to fight or yell or demand since the first day he met you.

Christ, was there any recovery from this? Ghost took a deep breath, trying to choose his words carefully for once. “The focus is great. You did a good job.”

“Don’t fucking pity me.” You snapped, turning back to your desk and igniting sparks as you bonded metal with heat. A hurricane brewed in your chest. Did he seriously come all this way to pity you? The gaze in his eyes should have been enough. It made you leave the bar!

Ghost felt that fire rising in his throat, wanting to say something back that would hurt you. Old habits die hard. It was a tough pill to swallow. “I’m not trying to pity you. The focus is going to help a lot of soldiers. It’s going to save a lot of people.”

You paused, unsure if his words were genuine or misleading. You’ve fallen into that trap before, hearing what seemed like a compliment only for it to be backhanded. It was unfortunate that you didn’t trust a word that came out of his mouth. “Why did you look at me like that at the bar?”

He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he wished he didn’t. He didn’t really want to talk about your sex life when it was just the two of you. Especially not when the two of you haven’t even had one decent interaction with each other. Goosebumps prickled all of his skin, his teeth nearly chattering. How could you keep it so fucking cold in here?

“I felt sorry for you.” He admitted, finding himself unable to lie to you or change topics. At least from the beginning, he has always been honest with you. 

As you heard the words you loathed to hear, you put down your tools, hands becoming too shaky to handle them with all the rage storming inside you. “I-”

“I felt sorry that no one has liked you enough to satisfy you.” 

Well, that didn’t exactly sound right.

Your mouth opened in shock at his dig. His eyes widened as he heard the words coming out of his mouth, realizing that it sounded completely fucking wrong. He held his hands up in defense, scrambling to explain himself before it was too late. 

The hurricane was in full swing, though. But instead of bringing thunder, it only brought rain. The corners of your eyes prickled with tears before streaming down your flushed cheeks. A lump choked in your throat choked the air out of you. You thought you could say something hurtful back. You always did before. But this time, his words cut a little too deep.

None of your relationships have lasted long. Not even with people you agreed to just be sex-friends with. They always ended up leaving. Whenever you asked what went wrong, they always blamed it on your demeanor. Your personality was too particular. Your interests were too complex. Your high expectations were too much. 

It was one of the reasons you kept a distance from the 141. They loved your company as far as you knew. But only in small doses. Who knew what would happen if they really spent time with you? They would probably get sick of you over time too. Ghost hated you since day one after all. 

No one liked you. You thought that you were fine with that at this point, but clearly you weren’t.

Ghost stood frozen in time, completely taken aback by your sudden tears. He expected screaming. He expected hitting. He expected icy retorts. That’s all he has ever known you as. He never in a million years expected tears. 

It made him feel like he was the biggest piece of shit on the planet. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know what to do about it. 

All of his years of hatred for you melted away as he watched you crumble, your distrust for him putting up more walls between the two of you. Jesus, how does he fix this now?!

“Byte, I-”

“Don’t you think I already know that no one likes me? You think you’re the first person to hate my guts?!” You spat, some of the lightning finally coming out. The tears kept coming, but it was somehow better for Ghost. He felt more used to that dangerous spark you had. It made you easier to approach now. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. Poor choice of words. Honest. I just meant that. . . I . . . Everyone deserves to be loved enough to the point of satisfaction. You work hard and give us countless advancements to use. You deserved to be satisfied. You deserve to have someone that will put the work into you too.” He finally managed to find the right words, nearly running out of breath with all the effort he had to find them. He was never really good at heart-to-hearts. 

You looked at him in shock once more as he attempted to salvage the hurt he caused you. This was beyond confusing for you. Your brain that worked so hard everyday, that could think up a million things at any given time, was at a loss for words. 

In your uncertainty, you followed your instincts. And that was to turn back around to your desk, wipe your eyes, and get back to work. It was the only constant in your life that you could rely on. The best way to think. 

Ghost didn’t blame you for returning to work. He probably wouldn’t know what to say either if it was him. Instead of pushing it any further, he decided that it was probably best to leave. Before he headed out of the lab, he turned back and looked at you. 

You did the same, the moment of work gracing your senses. In the end, he did try to pay you a genuine compliment. You were always the type to reciprocate fairly. “Thanks, Ghost.”

There was a certain way you said your thanks that made Ghost’s heart skip a beat. A sense of gentleness that he’s never heard from you before. The way your eyes shone bright from leftover tears had him stunned. Were your eyes always that pretty?

He turned quickly and left, the back of his neck heating from the intrusive thought he just had. As he walked back to the barracks, he sighed. The air outside was much warmer than the environment of your lab. So much easier to breathe. It felt suffocating being in there. Out here, he could let his mind relax.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking of you. 

~

The two of you didn’t fight as much anymore. Sharp words slipped out every now and then, but neither of you kept feeding the fire once they were said. Most of the time, you two were just back to avoiding each other. Though, the both of you had your own reasons. 

You found yourself just at a loss of words when he was civil. It was that distrust that still lingered that made it hard for you to interact with him. It was especially difficult to be around him when he was actively being polite. Praises for your work, helping you carry heavy boxes across base, or prioritizing processing your submitted paperwork was always done either curtly or in silence. It was foreign to you.

And the energy you saved now that it wasn’t spent on fighting was now put to use by noticing him a little more. You always couldn’t help but stop and stare as he helped carry equipment with you from the lab to the armory. The way his biceps flexed with ease at the heavier load. The way his eyes remained stoic even as he embraced your inventions. Ghost was now more on your mind than ever, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. 

Ghost, on the other hand, was now always thinking about you. He felt the urge to get closer to you. To get to know you better. To help you out in a way that didn’t look down on you like he’s always done. He couldn’t stop thinking about your eyes too. How bright they were under the sun or moon. How they watched him under such careful supervision, trying to decipher if his good will was real or not. 

Even in moments where he didn’t want to think about you, he found his mind wandering anyway. Ever since that night in the lab, he felt his feelings change. Two years of anger and resentment for you have nearly melted all away only to be replaced by something else. And he didn’t know how to explain it. 

All he could do was try to keep cool. Remain civil. Avoid too close of interactions with you. 

It was working for the both of you for months until you were assigned to a mission together.

The team had noticed that the both of you were getting along in the loosest sense of the term. They wondered what caused such a shift, but they never asked out of fear of resetting the apparent progress. Instead, Price tried to push more progress by assigning the both of you to work an undercover mission. 

A wealthy investor of nuclear weaponry was suddenly pouring a lot more money than usual into a country with a rising dictator. The investments coincided with less threatening ideas such as climate change prevention and DNA study in order to balance out interest. The goal was to detain this investor, question him about his relationship with this dictator, and then hopefully stop a dangerous man from getting his hands on advanced nuclear power. 

The way in was at a formal event promoted by the science community. Conservationists, biologists, engineers, and more were going to be present to try to win over some other wealthy investors that would be there including celebrities, CEOs, and politicians. It was a high brow event which made the need for scientific knowledge apparent. 

And who knew more about such science than you?

Intimidation invitations in hand, Ghost waited in a hotel lobby, a crisp, black tuxedo hugging his form as if tailored to him. The skull balaclava was swapped with a simple black face mask, covering enough of his identity which made him feel better about all of this. Looking at a nearby mirror, he checked his blonde hair. He’s never dressed so formally in his life. 

He suddenly wondered if you would like it. 

You still need a moment to get ready, always one to check twice to make sure you had everything you need. Your heart raced in your chest, your nerves tingling with adrenaline as you prepared to see this mission through. You’ve been on the field a couple of times. Never under-cover. The fact that you would probably have to do most of the talking made you nervous. 

People didn’t like you. That weakness of yours was clouding your confidence. Being a woman in science was already a tough world. Would you be able to keep your personality in check if you faced such a conflict?

Nervously, you headed down to the lobby, adjusting every dress each step of the way down. When you spotted Ghost from a distance, you froze. You have never seen him so cleaned up before. When you were coming down, you half expected him to appear like he always has. Military uniform, skull mask, strapped with obvious weapons. 

You didn’t know that his hair was so. . . 

Finding yourself at a loss for words again, you steeled yourself. As you got closer, you realized that your heart was racing for an entirely new reason. Your lieutenant was much more attractive than you thought. 

And he was technically your date for tonight.

Ghost caught your figuring in the corner of the mirror, making him turn around. Time stood still for you once again as you appeared before him looking like someone straight out of a romance movie. Your dress hugged your curves in all the right places, every strand of hair was styled beautifully to frame your face, makeup only highlighted just how beautiful you naturally were. 

How could he never see just how beautiful you were before?

You walked closer and cleared your throat, that voice he thought was so annoying before now sounding like the sweetest violin. “Lieutenant, you look good this evening.”

This was the first compliment he’s ever received from you. It made his stomach do flips. What was happening to him? Pull it together!

“Thanks. You look great tonight. Ready?” He offered his arm, waiting for you to take it. 

Your heart could barely take it as you looped your arm around his, touching him so intimately for the first time. Heat radiated from his body. The biceps you found yourself staring at before felt solid under your touch. You looked up into his eyes, the glacier blues melting into a deep ocean. Looking away suddenly, you attempted to hide your blush. He was looking at you so intensely that it startled you.

“Do you have to stare?” You questioned a little too sharply than you intended. You braced yourself for him to say something equally sharp, something Ghost felt in your arm that was hooked around his. 

He averted his gaze, now conscious of the way his eyes naturally followed you. His mind searched for an explanation for his lack of discretion. The unexplainable pull that you had on him. Jesus, it was like he was. . . 

Oh. Oh no.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, trying to keep his feelings in check. How could he spend two years praying for your downfall to all of a sudden being-

He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t even want to entertain the likely possibility. Even if he wanted to act on his feelings, did he really deserve to after all the fighting for two years? You would probably never truly accept him after all the things he’s said and done. You weren’t completely innocent either, but Ghost had to face the fact that he was the one that started it all. Before even knowing your name, he insulted you, unable to keep his opinion on tech in weapons in check. A matter that wasn’t even your fault to begin with. 

What the hell was wrong with him back then? What the hell is even wrong with him now?

“Hey, Earth to Ghost. You okay?” You asked, noticing how he seemed to be just staring into space as they waited for the car to pick them up. There was a brightness in the night, a rain having just finished its pour. Puddles on the ground reflected the city’s lampposts, cars flashed their lights, and much to Ghost’s dismay and pleasure, your eyes shined replaced the stars. 

His voice was deep and agitated, more so upset with himself than with you. “I’m fine. Just nerves.”

At that you smirked that devilish smile that he hasn’t seen in a while. It pissed him off to no end before, but now it made his heart flutter. “Wow. The great Lieutenant Ghost has nerves. Never thought I’d hear that. Makes me feel a lot better, though.”

“And why is that?” He inquired carefully, almost afraid to hear the answer. 

You shrugged, actually starting to feel at ease for the first time in his presence. The butterflies were still there. They were just much more manageable now. “I am nervous as well.”

Before he could question you further, the designated car pulled up in front of the hotel. Gaz, parading as the chauffeur for tonight, got out of the car and held open the passenger door for the both of you to get in. Soap wanted to do this job, but Price refused. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to shut his mouth if he saw the two of you together like this. Gaz at least had a filter.

He played the role to a tee, onlookers staring as he took off his hat and bowed. “Good evening. You both look dashing tonight. Especially our lady.”

The cover was working smoothly. Together, they really looked like A-list people. The civilians would have never guessed that they were all just soldiers. Drinking in their looks, you let it replenish your confidence. You got into the car followed by Ghost, Gaz shutting the door once everyone was settled. As he drove to the venue, he went over the mission details. 

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you the entire time. We have access to all the venue’s cameras and we have mics hidden throughout the building. Some security is our own too to keep an eye on things. This place will be packed full of civilians, so violence must be kept to a minimum. Non-existent preferably. If anything does go wrong that we don’t notice, use the codeword.”

You nodded at all of the information that will keep you safe, reading the mission file to brush up on before the big show started. Ghost looked over your shoulder, also reading the file once again. Mostly though, he noticed how intensely you studied. You didn’t want to be the reason why this mission failed. You couldn’t afford that. 

When the car slowed in front of the venue, you looked out. At least a hundred people were outside, dressed to the nines, ready to spend their money or ask for money. Your blood suddenly became cold as you looked at all the people. There must have been hundreds more inside.

Gaz parked the car and stepped out, getting ready to open the door for you. However, you were a statue. Unmoving. There was panic in your eyes. You looked the part for this. Could you talk the part too?

A warm, large hand landed on your shoulder, gaining your attention. Ghost looked at you with steady eyes, his tone slow and soft as honey. “You got this, Byte. You’re probably smarter than everyone here. I’m right by your side too.”

It was relieving hearing those words come from him. He was encouraging you like he was your lieutenant. Like you were part of his team. Your heart swelled as you looked into the eyes you’ve been trying to avoid. It looked like he was finally seeing you after all this time. 

With a deep breath and a new steely expression, you nodded to Gaz through the window. He opened the door and Ghost stepped out first. You took the hand he offered you and came out, the buzz of intellectual conversation in the air. 

Gaz drove off, leaving the mission to the two of you. Ghost led the way up, your arm in his like it was always meant to be there. Miraculously, the two of you looked like the ideal date. It made getting into the venue easy as Ghost handed over the invitations to the guard at the entrance. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Riley. Have a fun night!”

The both of you couldn’t help but blush at the shared name. To be referred to as Mrs. Riley gave you ideas that you never thought you would think about. It strangely had a nice ring to it that made your senses prick up. 

Ghost thought the same thing as he guided you in. Tonight, you were Mrs. Riley, his beautiful and intelligent wife. 

The two years of hating each other seemed to feel farther away as the night stretched on. 

The marble floors were packed with esteemed guests. Large, crystal chandeliers reflected off gold jewelry and champagne glasses. A live orchestra played with precise rhythm. Everyone mingled, trying to see where the best place to put their money was. Likewise, scientists tried to advocate for their foundations. All of the talk made Ghost’s head swirl. He was used to undercover missions, however, this was truly out of his realm. 

You were better at picking up the jargon. They spoke a language you understood. The language that only the people in the lab on base understood. It was like hearing your native tongue after years of speaking foreignly. Military culture and science culture was so different, that you often missed this. 

A couple approached the two of you, led by a middle-aged woman with a large, diamond necklace and fake lilies in her hair. “Aren’t you two the most adorable couple! I must compliment you on your gown too!”

This was it. This was their test to look like a real couple out as each other’s dates. You put on a fake smile and held out your hand. “Thank you for the compliment. I’m Mrs. (Y/n) Riley. This is my husband.”

The name slid easily off your tongue, yet it sent electricity through you. There was no way you were going to get used to that name tonight. It made you feel lightheaded when you said it. How could you get so embarrassed by a fake name?

Ghost was having trouble getting used to it too, a part of him wishing that the name was real against his will. Clenching his jaw, he looked out at the crowd, trying to spot the target. His large height helped, but there were too many people around. They all crowded around each other. Talking, laughing, flaunting. A slight tug on his arm brought his attention back to you. You were just sending the lady on her way after a simple, pleasant conversation. Through that, you were able to figure out if the target has shown up yet. 

“Let’s go to the main ballroom. According to the recent intel, our target would be there if he’s shown up. Something about him not being able to resist a shrimp cocktail.” You directed, your confidence becoming stronger as you weaved through the crowd. Ghost couldn’t help but take in your courage, finding it hard to believe that you were once nervous. Then again, this was your crowd.

The ballroom floor was also filled with people, but also now with clear advertisements from scientists. Small signs indicated programs with their representatives, helping investors find the right place to put their money in. You read the signs carefully, recognizing a few of them along with who was supposed to be running it. At some of the names, you grimaced. 

“You alright?” Ghost asked, trying to keep his own expression solid as if he was playing poker. He found himself worrying about you now that you looked so pained. 

You shook your head, trying to clear unpleasant memories as best as you can. “I’m fine. I just. . . I hope I don’t run into any ex-colleagues.”

As if the devil was listening himself, you heard your name being called from afar, a surprised tone countering the determined piano filling the room. “Y/n? Is that really you?!”

Putting on your game face, you smiled and turned towards your former colleague and, unfortunately, ex-lover. Of course, this was going to happen. Almost always one thing goes wrong during a mission. A part of you wished you didn’t accept this mission now that you were face-to-face with someone you tried to leave in the past. 

“Dr. Emmanuel. It has been a long time.” You greeted politely, taking extra time to keep your tone in check. The last time you spoke to him was during the breakup. He dumped you after a quarrel about a missing blueprint. You were working on a project together when you were both interns at a scientific space-engineering facility. The blueprint was supposed to help the both of you land permanent positions, but it was made clear that there was only room for one. 

When you heard the news, you both agreed that neither of you would take credit until you talked to the head of the facility. That was, until the blueprint went missing. From there, you fought and accused him of taking the blueprint for himself to get the job. Your hunch was right when you saw the new employee ID card he hid in his wallet. 

You called him a traitor. He called you deplorable. You claimed that most of the blueprint was your design. He reasoned that if you had the job, you would neglect him anyways with your workaholic nature. He then dropped the bomb that he hated working with you, that you made him feel insecure in bed with your inability to orgasm with him, and that you were just becoming into someone he loathed with your particular personality. He accused you of not loving him enough.

So he took the credit and ran, leaving you to figure out what the hell you were going to do about a job. That’s when you decided to join the military as a weapons engineer. Some time after, you joined the 141. 

“It has been some time, hasn’t it? I’m surprised to see you here? Are you here as a scientist or an investor?” Your ex inquired, sizing you up as someone to take advantage of or as competition for investors. You knew his game and you knew it well. You only had to learn the hard way once before you learned your lesson. You never made the same mistake twice. 

Ghost noticed how your expression hardened, yet you maintained that fake, pearly smile. What was this man to you? How did you know each other? 

Why did he care so much?

“He is the investor and I am the scientist. This is my husband, Mr. Riley.” You announced, now saying the word “husband” with your full chest. Your ex’s eyes widened briefly before twisting into a smile that showed hints of disgust. 

Nonetheless, he held out his hand for a handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Riley. It is an honor meeting a man that could tame such a work-driven woman.”

Before you could shoot back some venomous words that were bubbling up on your tongue, Ghost took his hand and gripped it tight with that soldier strength of his. Your ex seemed distraught as pain shot through his hand that was being crushed. Ghost didn’t let up. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t look down at my wife, doctor. I love her just the way she is. I’m sure she has accomplished much more than you as well.”

“Now, if you will excuse us, we have better things to talk about with other people.” Ghost finally let go, bruises already starting to form on the crushed hand of your ex. While you normally would pop off at him for standing up for you when you could’ve done so yourself, you were too busy thinking about his words. The L-bomb he dropped seemed to flow so naturally from him. It made you feel flustered. 

As Ghost led you away, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. He took your flustered expression as you being upset. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were upset with him or your ex-colleague. He knew he triggered your pet-peeve and he wanted to apologize. For now, though, he had to settle with a raincheck. “We’ll talk about that later. Do you see our target yet?”

You snapped back into action, being reminded that you have a mission to accomplish above all else. Looking around, you tried to spot the target. As predicted, there he was, gorging himself on shrimp and champagne. “10 o’clock.”

He looked over and confirmed. “Target spotted. Good eye. Ready?”

Taking a few deep breaths to reset your brain, you nodded. Swiftly, the both of you approach the target just as he was taking another flute from a silver tray. You changed your serious demeanor into a more graceful one. Someone worth giving money to. Someone that the target will like. “Mr. Marston. I was hoping to finally meet you tonight. I am Y/n Riley. This is my husband. You are such an inspiration to both scientists and investors.”

“Ha! A couple of fans with good taste! A pleasure to meet such a handsome couple! I’ve been in the business for a long time though, so I know you must want something. Can’t pull the wool over these eyes, even if they are old.” He laughed cheerfully as he raised more alcohol to his lips. 

It seemed that this would be easier than you thought. People like Mr. Marston made you sick. People with way too much time and money on their hands to shape the world as they saw fit, regardless of the good of the people. Nuclear war would be a disaster. And yet, this man treated it as lightly as the glass in his hand. Careless. Spilling over with each movement. Such a fragile thing away from one wrong move before shattering into a hundred pieces. 

“With age comes experience and wisdom. I am a scientist looking for an investor. Though my studies tend to be a little. . . unconventional.” You buttered him up before casting your line. All he had to do was take the bait.

And that he did. His eyebrows rose with interest at your choice of words. He felt his wallet burning a hole in his pocket. “Unconventional, you say? Well, I am all for out-of-the-box solutions to our world’s problems. Care to elaborate on your odd studies?”

You looked up at Ghost, awaiting some sort of signal that you may proceed with luring the target to where you needed him to be. He gave a single nod, disguising it as full support for his lovely wife. You were handling this much better than he expected. Or perhaps, this is how you always were under pressure. His judgment was always just too clouded with contempt to see it. 

“We would love to talk about our project, but such a thing is rather sensitive in nature. I would hate to upset some over-hearers. Perhaps we shall meet later once the formal is over?” You played cautiously, not yet reeling in such a loose bite. 

“Oh my, now you really have my interest! There are a few study spaces at this venue reserved for investors and scientist contract negotiations. I haven’t committed to any facility yet, so why don’t I start with reviewing you? What do you say?”

Hook, line, and sinker. “That would be most ideal, Mr. Marston. Just lead the way.”

Grabbing a few shrimps to go, the target led the way to a more private area of the venue. Everything was smooth, all according to plan. The crowd parted away for the richest investor here, making the exit quite swift. Once the three of you separated from the main event down to a much quieter room, Ghost detained him with cuffs. A button on his watch was pressed, signaling to the team that the target was in custody. 

“Wh-What?! What is all this now?!” Mr. Marston protested, hoping that someone would come to his rescue. 

“Lieutenant Ghost and Sargent Byte. You are being taken into military custody for involvement with nuclear investments. We just need to ask you some questions.” You explained carefully, trying to keep the target calm so you didn’t attract unwanted attention. Cool, calm, and collected. Ghost thought it was a good look on you. You weren’t normally involved like this, so he couldn’t help but think so. 

He had it worse than he thought. Seriously, what was with him?

While Ghost took his hands off the target for a moment to reach for his phone, feeling an incoming message, the target swirled around and tried to bolt. Not in the direction of an exit, though. Instead, he was running straight to you, binded fists raised to strike you. Thanks to your self-defense classes through the military, you acted on pure instinct. You dodged his fists and struck his jugular with a sharp strike of the side of your hand. He gasped for air and collapsed, tears streaming down his face as if he would die from the loss of oxygen. 

Ghost’s attraction to you increased tenfold as you nonchalantly fixed your dress like a meager wind just caused only slight agitation. He forgot just how capable you could be physically, not just intellectually.

Right on time, Price waltzed in wearing his common military uniform. He didn’t even bat an eye at the struggling target. “Transportation is outside. Well done, you two! It was about time you worked together on something. I hope to see more of this in the future!” 

You made some distance between you and Ghost, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea. For some reason, it pained Ghost to see you put up that wall again so soon after the mission. Was this the first and last time you would get along so well with him?

No, he decided. He told you that he would speak to you later about the interaction with Emmanuel. Then, he would knock your walls down. Finally get to know the real you.

From there, we can really determine if his feelings were just a fluke or not. 

~

You were back at the hotel, wiping your makeup off and stripping yourself out of the formal dress. Your muscles ache at the new freedom, having been fed up with such a fitted dress and heels. After showering and putting on some pajamas, you got into bed and began to read. You were rewarded for your work with a one-night’s stay at the luxury hotel, and you were taking full advantage of it. 

After reading, you were going to order hotel service and then go to bed. The life of luxury that was more than enough for you. As you began reading the next chapter of your book, you heard a knock at the door. Sighing, you bookmarked your page, and answered it. You were surprised to see Ghost standing there, smelling like fresh maplewood and citrus soap. A plain shirt clung to his torso and pajama pants made him look like a new man altogether. He had his black facemask on still, but once he let himself in, he took it off. 

This was the first time you have ever seen his full face uncovered. You noticed the small scar on his upper lip that matched the one on his right brow. His jaw was strong as if chiseled from marble. You couldn’t deny it. Ghost was a very attractive man.

“Sorry to barge in like this. I said we were going to talk, so here I am.” He explained, taking a seat on the edge of your king bed. He was drinking you in too. The pajama shorts that showed off your thighs, the cami that exposed your delicate shoulders. Your hair was still damp and scented with lavender and vanilla. His heart picked up speed as he felt a pull of attraction to you. 

How could he have ever hated a beautiful thing like you?

You found it a little rude that he just barged in, but you let it slide for once. From his tone, he didn’t seem like he wanted to fight. Besides, those deep blues were starting to melt your icy heart little by little. Just for tonight.

You took a seat on the bed next to him and looked up. “What is there to talk about? He’s just a man from my past.”

At that, he felt his muscles tense. He knew that there was more to the story. Ghost detected your evasion of the subject as clear as day. It was something he experienced nearly every day before this. He knew your tell. “I know it wasn’t just that. What he said, how you looked. What happened?”

Out of all people, you least expected Ghost to hound you about this. He has never been interested in your personal life before. Then again, your relationship has changed dramatically since the night in the lab. Before you knew it, you started to feel yourself open up to him a little. 

You stared down into your lap. “He’s an ex. We were interns together, he took all the credit for a project we did, he got a job, and I didn’t. He insulted me, dumped me, and then left. I left to work in the military. That’s really all there is to it.”

While your tone tried to keep it casual, Ghost knew it was really a tragedy. No wonder you didn’t trust easily. Now he wished he broke that guy’s hand when he had the chance. 

Did he really have room to talk though? He made you distrust people even more easily when he first met you. It was about time he apologized for it all. “Listen, Y/n. I’m sorry. About everything. For the two years of fighting. All the insults, all the exclusion. Everything. I should have been a better teammate, lieutenant, and even friend to you. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say, a new trick of his that seemed to have worked time and time again. The tick of a classic clock filled the silence as you thought about his apology. The sound of him using your real name echoed in your ears. You blamed him for everything that transpired. And now he was sorry about it. Yet, the way he looked at you didn’t indicate the need for forgiveness. He wasn’t entitled to it, and he knew that. Instead, his gaze was filled with certainty. The certainty to do much better by you from now on. 

Two years to lead up to this moment. You never thought you would live to see the day. Just like him, you slowly found your rage for him melt down to almost nothing, instead to be replaced by something soft, warm, and electric. 

You gave an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry too. I know I can be pretty unlikable.”

“You’re not unlikable.” He reassured, his hand naturally taking your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life. Ghost didn’t even realize that he did it at first. And before he knew it, he was going in for a kiss, unable to resist those pretty lips of yours for a moment longer. 

Your cheeks began to burn as he kissed you so suddenly, yet you didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. Something was pulling you deeper into him. A passion that was always there from the beginning. Hate or love, you have always been passionate about Ghost. Maybe that was why you truly hated him in the first place. 

Ghost couldn’t stop himself, deepening the kiss with each second that passed, reveling in how sweet you tasted on his lips. He’s been obsessed with you since the beginning. A fire within him had always burned for you. He just wished he realized that it was actually love much sooner. Perhaps if he did, you really would’ve been Mrs. Riley tonight. 

All the things he hated about you before were things he loved about you now. Your soft lips, your silky hair, your amazing intellect. All of the things that he could never match. You were better than him. However, he didn’t care anymore. He actually appreciated it now. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I really am.” He whispered as he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his embrace. You felt his firm muscles against you so much better now than before, the shirt he was wearing leaving little to the imagination with how fitted it was. 

It honestly turned you on. 

You took the initiative to reconnect your lips, your mouth opening to invite his tongue. Nerves fired off in every inch of your skin as his slick tongue met yours. Your toes curled as he felt you up, groping your thighs and waist like they would disappear any moment. His hands felt so good on you that you shivered, yearning for more. 

Things were getting out of control, but Ghost didn’t care. Tonight, he wanted you more than he has ever wanted anything from you. To appreciate all the things he was too stupid to notice before. You were sexy beyond belief. Always have been. When you were working over your desk with such a focused look, when you were gloating about your new invention, when you demonstrated a new gun so naturally in perfect stance. 

His pants tightened as his erection grew strong with each taste of your tongue. His hands roamed into your hair, gripping slightly to pull you closer. The both of you moaned when you ended up grinding against his hard cock. Once you got a taste for that, you couldn’t stop. Your hips grinded into his, sending earthquakes of pleasure through you. You could feel your panties get damper each minute as the makeout became even hotter and heavier. It wasn’t helping that it has been a while since the last time you had sex. It made you feel more sensitive than usual.

Finally, Ghost flipped you around and settled you back on the bed. He has never been so turned on in his life and you were the one doing this to him. 

There was something he needed to make clear first, though.

“I’m going to make you cum.” He promised, flashing you a determined look that had you weak. 

You blushed and averted your gaze, your voice low. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“I’ll do it. No matter how long it takes. I’m going to be the first man to make you cum tonight.” He reassured, gladly ignoring your warnings as he leaned down to kiss your lips again. As he took control of your tongue, his hands began to explore your skin under the shirt. You were unbelievably soft under his fingertips, delicate from your lack of experience on a battlefield. He now loved that about you. You didn’t need to be in the throws of battle to be part of the team. 

“You’re so soft, you know that?” He praised, deep rumbles of his voice making your brain turn into mush as it entered your ears. His kisses traveled to them, making you shiver uncontrollably as he softly bit down. 

He chuckled, a sound that was once always reserved for his male teammates unless he was making fun of you. Now, they teased you so pleasantly that your breath hitched. “Someone’s ears are sensitive. You like having them played with?”

Just as you were about to answer, he slid his hand up to touch your breasts, pinching your nipples and making you jump. “Ahh~! Ghost!”

“Call me Simon.” He demanded, yearning for the sound of his real name coming from you. It would be the first time you would call him by his real name. 

You played with it in your head, noting how foreign it felt just sitting on your tongue. Nonetheless, you gave him what he wanted. “S-Simon. . .”

“Again.” He encouraged, suppressing a shiver that traveled down his spine. It was like getting a dose of the sweetest drug. Fireworks exploding in his chest. He loved how his name sounded on your lips. 

“Simon. . .” You sighed as he peppered kisses all over your neck. Your cami was now raised up to reveal your chest, kisses traveling further and further down to taste all of you. As much as Simon wanted to fuck you already right then and there, he had a promise to keep. He had to take it slow and let it build up. He had to make you cum first.

He took a stiff nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around before taking it between his teeth in a gentle bite. His other hand twisted your other nub between his fingers. The way he tweaked them hard sent waves of pleasure through you, all the way down to your cunt that was still soaking your panties. It felt so good to have him touch you like this. You wanted more. 

Arching your back, you took your top off completely. Simon followed suit, stripping off his shirt and trailing his kisses down your stomach. As he felt your stomach on his lips, he buried his face deep into it. To think that he could’ve had this so much sooner if he was just nice to you from the beginning. “So soft. . .”

You squirmed a little under his slow, deep kisses to your body. No one has ever taken this much time on you before. All foreplay was pretty exclusive to your breasts or cunt with your previous partners. Simon was taking the time to appreciate your whole body. It felt so intimate. “Simon. . ?”

God, he loved it when you said his name. “Y/n?”

You were starting to like the sound of your name coming from him too. A blush swept across your cheeks. “You can be a little rougher.”

He smirked, this time making you tremble in excitement rather than rage. “Is that what you like? You like it a little rough?”

“I like the firmer sensation. Nothing too crazy.” You elaborated, always one to speak your mind even in a moment like this. If you were going to have sex with Simon Riley, if he wanted to make you cum, information like this was important.

Simon hummed against your skin, his hands working to pull off your pants. The vibrations made you sigh. Once your shorts and panties were off, he settled himself between your legs. Your dripping cunt was such a pretty sight. Pink, wet, and sweet. He bit the inside of your thigh, making you gasp in pleasure. “Like that? Is this what your previous partners did to you?” 

“N-No. . .” You admitted. Your previous partners never really listened to what you liked even if you told them straight-forwardly. At least not enough to get you to tremble like Simon did. It seemed like the man you hated before was really the best so far in bed. 

“Good. Their loss.” He murmured, biting down on your thighs soon after and leaving a deep love-bite. You bit your lower lip and whimpered, the sensation sending shockwaves. Simon kept going further and further down on you, relishing each time you moaned and quivered. He wanted more. He wanted to make you scream.

His lips latched onto your swollen clit, biting it between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue. He tasted your nectar on his tongue, a taste that instantly made him addicted to it. You arched your back and grabbed his hair suddenly, silky soft strands feeling nice between your fingers. 

Just like he wanted, you moaned his name over and over again. His tongue kept lathering your clit firmly and with even strokes. Fingers prodded at your opening, spreading your wetness all over you until he was able to put two of his fingers inside. God, you were tight. 

“Ahh~! Right there, Simon!” You encouraged, your ability to speak your mind unwavering. Simone found that insanely attractive as he pushed his fingers in further and curled right at that spongy spot that was driving you crazy. His teeth pulled at your folds before being soothed with his tongue. Your clit twitched as he pressed his tongue up against it once more, all the while pumping his fingers into your soaked pussy. 

Your grip on his hair got tighter as he kept pushing you to the edge. The sensation made his own cock twitch under his clothes, making him press it up against the mattress to grind into. He wished it was your pussy he was grinding into already, but you were so close. He could feel it. You could feel it. 

He didn’t stop his pace. Strong, even, and slow. You tightened around his fingers each second, feeling the wave approach closer and closer. You could already tell that this was going to be a big one. Your first orgasm with a partner ever. 

Tilting your head back, you moaned louder and louder. You begged for more and more, praying to a god that Simon wasn’t just going to leave you hanging. Now that would be pure evil. The worst thing he could ever do to you. But he didn’t. He just kept nipping, sucking, biting, and licking to the point that your head was spinning. 

Before you could warn him, your vision saw white and you screamed. Simon could feel you suck in his fingers so tight that he smiled as he still landed kisses on your clit. Your legs trembled, aching to close or kick out the electricity that coarse through you. Your cum was spilling everywhere. All over his fingers down to his wrist, coating your thighs in a sweet glaze. 

While you tried to catch your breath, Simon licked up every drop. “How was that? Everything you thought it would be?

You looked down to see his eyes ablaze with victory and a sexy smirk on his lips. You sighed and nodded. “Credit where credit is due. That was really good.”

“Good. Because you’re not done yet.” He decided, already stripping off his pajama pants to reveal his rock hard erection. He was bigger than you expected, all that shit talk for two years making you believe that he was making up for something. But he was blessed with the girth, the length, and the look that you knew would be amazing.

He positioned himself between your legs, coating his length with your slick. Shivers started again as the tip rubbed against your clit. The both of you sighed, enjoying each other’s bodies to the fullest extent.

Suddenly, Simon pushed all of his cock into you, bottoming out within a second. You gripped the sheets tight in your fist as you cried out. He stretched you out so pleasurably, so fully. You’ve never felt so full in your sex life. 

Simon hissed as you clenched around him. “Fucking hell, you’re so tight. . .”

Slowly, he began to move. Long even strokes that rubbed every inch of you and him. As he looked down at you, face twisting into such a pleasurable expression, eyes only on him, he heard his heart beat in his ears. God damn, you were gorgeous. 

Your eyes widened as he came down for a kiss, his tongue taking full control while his hips remained steady. The sudden rush of the kiss and his cock reaching deeper made you scratch at his shoulders. He was eating up all of your moans like candy. 

“F-Fuck~! Simon, wait!” You begged, the sensation getting overwhelming with each deep thrust. He could feel you getting tighter. Wetter. He knew that you were getting close to another orgasm, and he wasn’t going to stop for a second.

He sat up and pushed your legs down by your thighs, spreading you wide open and making you take all of him as deep as you can. You clawed his hands as your climax approached even faster, Simon ignoring all of your cries for him to wait. The sounds of your wet sex echoed in the room along with your sensual moans, causing you to get even more aroused. Christ, his cock was so good!

You were plunged into an orgasm, your whole body quaking as you arched and screamed it out. Simon felt your pussy wrap tightly around him, trying to take everything from him before he was ready. It was dizzying how good your insides felt coiling around him. He loved how you soaked his dick and crotch full with your hot cum. 

Simon grabbed your thighs tight, squeezing hard and clenching his teeth while he tried to stop himself from climaxing too soon. He wanted to stretch this night out for as long as he could.

While you settled down from your second orgasm, you gazed up at Simon who was struggling to keep himself together. You lifted your arms and touched his strong, muscular chest that was shimmering in sweat. You could feel how hard his heart was beating under your fingertips. You could feel him twitch hard inside you, aching to fuck you again. Your body was weak, though. You didn’t know if you could last for much longer. Every nerve in your body felt like it was melting. “Si-”

“I know. Your body won’t stop shaking. Just until I cum, yeah?” He observed, fingers tracing your trembling curves.

At the idea of Simon cumming, your body regained new energy that you didn’t know you had. You wanted to see it. Feel it. You wanted to see your lieutenant crumble from the power of your body. “Fuck me then, Simon.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. His hips went into overdrive, thrusting in and out of you with ease from all of your slick. You felt him hit that wonderful spot of yours that made you see stars over and over again, your body already on the edge once again. 

Simon picked you up off the bed and turned, settling you on his lap while he laid back. He didn’t relinquish any control, however. He just wanted to grope your delicious ass while he thrusted up inside you, hitting nice and deep. With the new view and new places to touch, he was losing his mind. 

You weren’t expecting this new position, but you didn’t reject it either. In fact, it felt heavenly. He hit that g-spot at just the right angle and you loved how he manhandled your butt so roughly. You liked how his eyes never looked away from your body, drinking it all in like the finest wine. From this position, you could feel his solid cock twitch inside of you.

Struggling yourself up, limbs feeling like jelly, you fell onto his chest, your tits pressing firmly into him. That sent him over the edge, his grip on your ass making his nails dig into your skin. Once you felt that first rope of cum enter you, you came for the last time.

Hot cum mixed together, making a mess out of the both of you. His chest fell and rose with heavy breaths, groans coming out with each rope he couldn’t hold back. Your tightening pussy wasn’t helping, milking him of everything to the point where he even felt tingles travel through him. Once he was finally done, he felt exhausted. 

You were exhausted too, your lungs struggling to regulate air flow. Your heart was beating so loud that it drained all other noises. Your body felt slightly numb from it all, your head getting fuzzy with each second. Simon wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as you both calmed yourselves. 

“That was. . .” He began, losing the right words to describe just how amazing that was. He’s had his fair share of sexual encounters, but never like this. No one could quite compare to you.

“Yeah. . .” You agreed, your eyes closing as you felt the afterglow take over. You felt the covers pull up over you, Simon still holding you on top of him, not willing to let go just yet. 

He could never imagine letting you go now. 

[eamour]

emotions do not matter.

! this post was highly inspired by former loa blogger aphrodite apprentice !

emotions and feelings, the way neville coins these words, are of different nature. when speaking of emotions, we are speaking of unconscious emotional experiences. feelings, however, are a conscious act and usually a reaction to our emotions — which, according to neville, are the secret to help us manifest.

emotions vs feelings.

an emotion is an immediate reaction to your emotional state of mind, whereas a feeling remains a lot longer and is felt for a longer period of time. emotions could be joy, fear, anger, lust or sadness. the counterparts in feelings would then be happiness, anxiety, bitterness, love or depression. if something unpleasant happens in your life, you will react to it emotionally first. only later, you will be able to form a feeling. as you can see, an emotion is a lot more intense and often manifests in a physical reaction (ex. facial expressions), not based on any reasoning while in contrast your feeling is based on logical reasoning. you could say a feeling is a way of explaining an emotion with thoughts which you have felt due to external experiences. this also means that not every feeling will always be accurate enough to explain an emotion and how you actually feel emotionally.

emotions cannot manifest ...

once again, a feeling isn’t the emotion itself. your feeling has nothing to do with our emotional state of mind but rather your mental state of mind. that means that your feelings, longterm, are more concerned with what you feel to be true or false, right or wrong and real or unreal.

mental · relates to the mind; thinking process.

emotional · relates to emotions; feeling process.

... only feelings can.

especially because a feeling does not necessarily have to correlate to an emotion, it is entirely up to you to define your feeling. you could replace feeling with what you accept, know or believe to be true. it's a thought. and an emotion isn't. you may not help the way you emotionally feel — and you shouldn’t! you should never suppress an emotion and feel sad, angry, etc. — but you can make the conscious decision to define your feeling. and since a feeling is a state, after all, you can manifest anything you'd like while feeling like you are at your lowest (or highest). your emotions will not manifest!

emotions arise.

as i was saying, an emotion is a pretty much sudden response. you may lose something and feel bad about it, maybe you had a fight with your friend or perhaps you were told some unsettling news. whatever it is, you will always feel some intense type of way from time to time.

emotions fade away.

the thing is, emotions come and go. you may feel super joyful one minute and then feel super sad the next. that’s totally normal, and we are definitely not trying to fix our wonderful human nature in any way.

emotional responses.

emotions are a response. when manifesting, when changing your feeling, you might also experience emotions of some sort. you may feel euphoric of manifesting something that has always felt very prestigious or hardly available to you.

but the same way, you could not feel anything at all. some manifestations aren’t going to move you the way some manifestations do, but that’s not an issue! the premise is, you don’t HAVE to feel excited. you don’t have to jump out of happiness whenever you think about how you manifested to find your keys you had lost the other day. remember, emotions come naturally. you don’t have to force them.

accepting and persisting.

the only thing you really have to do is to accept your desire as yours and persist in that assumption. feel it to be true, to be real, to be factual. that’s what feeling the wish fulfilled means. the feeling of your assumption to be realty.

with love, ella.

[scribblesofagoonerr]

— found family | inner demons prologue

pairings: leah williamson x teen reader

summary: reader discovers that family isn't always blood

This is a sort of prologue to inner demons, some background of readers' life in the early years when she transferred to the club.

Also, this is rewrite as I wasn't happy with the original that I posted.

There's always been tell-tail signs that you should've recognised, all throughout the past several years and yet you will still so obviously blind to it all.

It wasn't easy to come to terms with things, but the realisation of it all didn't sit right at all, and in turn you weren't exactly sure how to cope with it all.

It was clear as day for everyone else around to see, your mother was a complete narcissist, she was manipulative and gaslighting. It was something that she had been doing your whole entire life, always making you out to be the bad day in every situation and acting like she was the victim.

How were you so obliviously blind to see that?

You guess your niave self choice to always refuse to believe it, it was the easiest option to just do that.

Looking back to the last several years, your childhood was full of moments like it, but of course you had always thought that your upbringing was completely terrible, it could have been a worse situation.

Growing up, it was only ever the 2 of you, you and your mum. Your parents split up when you were little, the seperation was messy and ever since that day, you'd always been to blame for the reason that it never worked out.

You had always wondered how exactly could it be your fault? You were 3 years old when your dad walked out, so how could it be like that?

"You were always to much to handle, Y/N. He couldn't cope," Your mum would make the excuse, all of them long nights when you would have your tiny arms wrapped around her and sob your little heart out when you asked where he was.

"I'm here, you've got me. You've only ever got me," Her words were imbeded in your head from the day that you'd decided to try and have an open conversation about the possibility of finding your dad, "Why go and find him? Haven't I been good enough. I'm the one that's looked after you for all of these years, and yet this is the thanks that I get in return!?"

It was always something like that, a way to guilt trip you and you always ended up feeling for it.

Her manipulation was completely toxic, of course you didn't realise it until later on in life.

Eventually, you just choice to accept that for the reason that you had such an estranged relationship with your dad.

"Aren't you happy for me? I made it, mum!" You exclaim, you were so happy enough to share the news with her, but you were left so dumbfounded by her response which left you feeling shame and judgement for even wanting to tell her.

The harsh statement of this current conversation with the older women is leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and make you question every single thing in life.

"Yes, you have made it Y/N, but you know, you only have me to thank for that now, don't you?" Your mum once again found a wa to make it about herself, regardless of the situation.

It was always and only ever about herself, no matter what type of news you wanted to share with her. Why was so selfish to not care about you?

"I'm sure that you can find some way to thank me though," You listen to your mum continue to talk and you resist the urge to scoff, "After all of these years and the amount of money I have spent on football boots for you, you'd be nowhere if it wasn't for me and I think you owe me now, don't you?"

Her words stun you and there's a lot of emotions that are building up inside of you. Ultimately you feel confused, how can she manage to twist this to make it all about herself, but of course shes' quick enough to make an excuse to end the call when she grows bored of talking to you.

You should know better, every single phone call has the same pattern to end the same way and you always leave with a pang of guilt for making a life for yourself.

It turns out that this phone call was no different either.

You are so excited to spill the news of making it into the senior squad of the national team, however the excitement soon fades and now you're replaced by mixed feelings of confusion, anger and upset instead. You fight to hold back the tears during the initial phone call but now its' over, you feel on the verge of a breakdown.

You feel like your news is a big deal, you've only been a part of the arsenal women's first team for shy of a year but it feels like such a massive achievement to be selected to represent your country and straightaway, the first person you thought-- you wanted to call was your mum. You thought she was going to be so pleased for you, so excited about it but you can't be further away from the truth.

The conversation happened a week ago, yet you still couldn't let it escape your mind.

Ever since the phone call, you had tried to distance yourself from her but even that hurt to do. The women was the only blood related family member that you had, it had only ever been the two of you, sticking together through thick and thin.

"You seem quiet tonight," Your guardian and fellow team member, Leah, perches on the arm of the sofa as she looks at you in concern, "I'm about to start cookin' tea soon. How do you feel about chicken nuggets and smiley faces?" She wonders.

"That sounds good to me," You shrug your shoulders and glumly stare staight ahead at the wall in front of you, the TV is playing but you barely even pay attention to whatever it is that's playing.

Its' been a long day with training ahead of a crucial game in the season, but all you can think about right now is the conversation you had with your mum a week ago previously on a constant loop in your head.

You still can't help but think about the conversation; The bitterness, the manipulation, every single time you thought about it, it made you think of every single time that something else happened like this throughout the years.

Maybe your childhood wasn't as great as you really thought it was?

"Okay," Leah nods and smiles in agreement but she doesn't move away just yet, "Is there anything that you want to talk about at all, bubs?" You know she's only asking for a bit more insight on your current mood, after returning from her own rehab session to find you shut away in your bedroom, the entire shift in mood was concerning to her.

The usual car rides over the past week had been quiet instead of the raised music level and sarcastic comments that the blonde was used to, replaced instead by the quiet, dull mood with you slumped against the car door and staring out of the window.

Leah definitely knew there was something wrong with you.

"Nope, I'm fine," You stand firm on your reply, shaking your head and keeping your eyes glued on the TV screen, choosing to look anywhere other than at the blonde, who would be able to see right through you in seconds.

"Are you sure?" Leah questions, furrowing her eyebrows in concern as she could see the tears welling up in your eyes, "Bubs, what's the matter? You look like you're gonna cry," She notes, worriedly.

"I... I'm fine," You mumble, fighting to keep the tears at bay until you can escape to your bedroom and allow yourself to be vulnerable when you're alone.

You always feel complete shame to show any sort of vulnerability in front of anyone, let alone the blonde defender who has taken you under her wing ever since you joined during the transfer window of 2022.

Crying only shows signs of weakness, you refuse to be seen as weak.

"Okay," Leah exhales a sigh and taps your knee gently, deciding to drop the subject when she realises you aren't be open and talk about things, "Its' okay if you don't want to talk about it, but just remember that I'm always here to listen, alright? Anytime that you want to talk, I'm here,"

Unforuntately, you are too stubborn to not give in and blurt everything out there and then to her. You feel like you still need time to wrap your head around the idea and see things for how they really are now.

"Uh huh. Thanks," You murmer in repsonse, getting up from the sofa and shuffling away to the confined space where you can be alone.

Leah exhales another sigh and shakes her head, heading into the kitchen to make a head start on dinner but she can't help but still be worried about you. Of course the women knew better than to try and get you to talk if you didn't want to though.

The blonde has always been around to witness moments like this and the backlash of it, you hadn't told her outright what was going on but she already had an idea what it was about.

All of your upset stems down to the one person causing you to be like this and she hated it every time you were left upset when you spoke to her.

Every single time you and your mum spoke, you would always become quiet and be in a general bad mood, often resulting in lashing out at people around you as a coping mechanism.

You know that all the arsenal girls have their own opinions on your mother, but they would never voice them out loud to you, because you wouldn't agree with it, but you knew it. They know it wouldn't be fair on you as the youngest member in the squad, even after the countless times they had seen the girl upset by her own mums actions.

You were so grateful for every single of the girls on the team, Leah especially, she'd always been there for you since day one.

Ever since you moved in with Leah, there's been several nights where she would be the one to comfort you and pick up the pieces, waking up in the middle of the night to hear your heartbroken sobs and feel her own heart shatter every single time, wanting nothing more than to take away any sort of pain that you were experiencing.

It was heartbreaking for all of the team to witness and always sought out to comfort you, they knew no matter what they said, it still wouldn't stop you contacting our mum.

Ultimately, it was your own decision to make soon enough when you turn 18 and until then they would be there to pick up the broken pieces when your mum let you down.

It happened time and time again, unfortunately.

You have lashed out way too many times as a result of that.

None of the girls ever took it to heart of course, they were old and wise enough to realise that none of your anger was directly aimed towards them and there was much bigger issues to be dealt with.

They have always vowed to support you, regardless of what happens in the long-run.

"I... I should've realised sooner," You think to yourself as you lay crumpled up in your bed that following night, its' almost 4 am in the morning, but you were still wide awake with your thoughts spiraling.

You can't help but think about things, replaying every single conversation with your mum that you have had, the numerous times that you've started to talk to her and she's cut you off with her own problems.

Why was it always like this? It wasn't fair.

The first mistake was ignoring her gaslighting this whole time.

The second being that you believed her manipulation for years, always twisting things to make it seem like she was the victim in the different situations - first when you were a child and even now as your nearly an adult.

Why had it taken you so long to finally realise it after all of these years? Why couldn't you have just realised it sooner?

Without much realisation to the current moment, your sobbing aloud with a tight clutch of your pillow. The pent up anger is replaced by sadness and loss, your grieving the loss of a women who you have always seeked the approval off and now you realise you can never have it.

The phone call was the last chance, the reality of it all coming to light.

Every time you have now learned to understand that youwhen speak to her, it's nothing but a vicious cycle of emotional abuse, something you were so oblivious to believe.

As much as you didn't want to believe it, it's true. Its' clear as day of what it is but yet, you still find it hard to believe it.

It's your mum, your flesh and blood, so could she be like that?

The sound of your sobs were what woke Leah up, she's quick to pad out of her bedroom and push open your bedroom door to find you crumpled up in your bed, "Bubs?" The women stands in the doorway of your bedroom, her heart cracks to see you looking so distraught and vulnerable.

Without any hesistance, the blonde is quick move to be beside you on your bed and envelope you in a warm hug, "Its' okay, its' okay. I'm here now," She's quick to comfort you, she wouldn't ever stop doing that as long as you need her, "Let it all out, I'm right here," She adds.

Leah keeps you in her arms, gently rocking you as she runs her slender fingers through your messy bedhead, "Just let it all out, alright? I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," She reassures you.

As always, she's patient enough to wait for you to calm down before she gives you chance to speak, she won't ever push you to talk if you don't want too.

"L... Le," You cry aloud, clutching onto her tightly. Your breath becomes more shaky as sobs wrack your body, trying to find the words but nothing wants to come out of your mouth right now.

"I'm here, it's okay," Leah repeats in a calming voice, continuing to try and comfort you in the best way that she knows, but she already knows it's going to be a long night ahead of them, or day rather.

An emotional night that will leave you drained tomorrow for sure.

A vicious cycle on a loop, once more.

"Ready to tell me what's going on inside that head of yours now, hm?" The blonde quietly asks with caution, already having a feeling that she knows the answer to that question.

There's a brief pause of silence in the room and the blonde thinks that you wouldn't talk, but regardless of that, she still continues to comfort you and reassure you that she's here and not leaving at all.

To Leahs' surprise though, you do start open up this time though and the words spill out of your mouth without you even thinking about it.

"I... It's my mum," You mumble quietly, making the mistake to speak aloud than think it like you thought you have done, "I... I should've realised. I should have done,"

Leah furrows her eyebrows on confusion, "What should you have realised, bubs?" she questions about what you mean.

Snapping your head in the blondes' direction, you bite your bottom lip and debate whether to be open with your thoughts that you have been trying to buried.

"I should have realised about my mum, she's so... she's so toxic," You admit as you try to fight more tears from spilling, "Why does everything I tell her-- Why does it always get turned back around so its' about her?"

There it is. You've blurted it all out in the open, your feelings were laid out now and there's no more hiding how you feel.

Leah smiles sadly and continues to hold you in her arms, "I... I'm sorry bubs," she speaks honestly.

"So many people, so many people have told me-- They've warned me, you've warned me about her, but I... I never wanted to listen, did I?" You confess, the tears spilling again and you don't care a less if you look like a blubbering mess right now, but you still can't stop the emotions pouring out right now, "And now... now I finally realise how its' always been. Why is she like this, Le?" You question.

"I can't say I know the answer to that one, bubs. I wish I knew," Leah replies, exhaling a sigh as she can't fathem herself how your mother can be like to her you, her own child.

The blonde feels so much for you, your still so young and she always wished that she can make the situation better for you.

"Listen, I know its' hard but you've got us. All of us girls here at arsenal, we're all here for you and you're so loved by all of us," Leah continues to tell you gently, running her slending fingers through your hair.

"I... I just want her to love me, and she just... she doesn't even care about my feelings!" You state, roughly trying to wipe at your tear stained cheeks to the point where you made them red and angry, "Why does she always throw everything back in my face? Everything that I have ever done, she makes it about herself. Always!" You cry.

"I know, I know it hurts... I know that it does," You keep your head buried in the blondes' chest as you hiccup from the sudden breakdown in the middle of the night, "And I'm sorry that you have to go through this. I'm so sorry, because it's not fair on you, bubs," She adds, trying to comfort you in the best way that she can for you.

The whole wave of emotions leave you feeling entirely exhausted in the end, you are trying to fight to keep your eyes open as you lie slumped up against the blonde.

"Come on you, lets' get you back into bed, yeah? I mean you're almost falling asleep on me here, bubs," Leah notes your exhaustion and is concerned for your lack of sleep, trying to get you to crack a smile even as it feels impossible right now, before she gently moves you to lie back in bed.

"M' not tired," You mumble, trying to protest against the idea of sleep.

"I don't think thats' true now, is it?" Leah chuckles, tucking you into bed, "I'm so sorry that you have to deal with this now, bubs, but you know that you have a family here with us. We may not be blood, but we really do love you so much," Before you know it, your eyes are fluttering shut but you don't miss hearing the blondes' words before she presses a gentle kiss against your forehead.

You really had found your family here at arsenal.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[bunny584]

For I Have Sinned ୨୧ Chapter III

“Abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul.” 1 Peter 2:11

Priest Geto has unfaltering faith in his hands. They have traversed deadly straits. Blossomed gardens. Taken and given life.

Can he trust his hands to mold you for another man?

Pairing: Geto x Female reader

Art credit: Grartss on tumblr/insta

A/N: someone needs to peel me away from I wanna Be Yours x Artic Monkeys and the third scene. That song fits TOO perfectly to my ears. I hope this chapter edges you just as much as it did me.

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CHAPTER III: Courtside

Duchess, 

Allow me to apologize. It was inappropriate to end our session so abruptly. 

You have been on my mind. It will serve your marriage best for you and the Duke Ahriman to pursue individual counseling prior to pre-marital counseling. 

I cannot guide you to love one another, your hearts will make that determination. But I can help unravel your layers; to allow for independent growth. Having a strong sense of self, above all,  is paramount for successful matrimony.

Think on this proposal. If you both accept, we will proceed. 

Warmly, 

Suguru Geto

Suguru Geto. 

His name tastes just as rich as it reads. 

Elegant. 

Too ethereal to be bound by ink and manila paper.

A name like that is meant to be said out loud. Shouted from the mountain top. Meant to be worshipped. 

Praised. 

“Darling? Are you decent?” Ezra calls from the other side of your heavy chamber doors. 

You flicker down to your robe. Technically you aren’t. But your continued attempts to avoid your betrothed — conscious or not — remain futile. 

Especially, today. Your formal introduction to court. The future Duchess Ahriman. You will be fused to Ezra’s side for hours on end. Grateful to have been bestowed the honor. An honor you will spend your life upholding. 

Pro Deo et patria. 

For God and Country. 

“Yes, I’m decent.” Hoping whatever he needs can be addressed from behind your barrier. 

“May I, my love?” 

A bitter scoff glides down your throat, but your words seep sweet. “Yes of course!”

Arella, who is diligently arranging your formal attire on the golden rack, fetters over to welcome the Duke.

Instinctively, your hand tightens the silk knot as he steps into view in your mirror. Ezra’s emerald gaze is warmer than the Grecian sun. Excitement buzzing off of his boyish grin and short strides to your vanity. 

The Priest’s letter finds its away into your pocket, just as strong hands land on your shoulders. 

Ezra didn’t notice. And why would he? The letter isn’t illegal.

“How are you feeling?” Like plush Evergreens withstanding all seasons, Ezra peers into you and roots you in place.

He’s unwavering, your fiancé. He doesn’t yield so easily. 

“Are you ready for tonight?” 

“Not like I have a choice in the matter.” 

Almost instantly you regret the response. The Duke offers you a pained smile and tender kiss on the crown. 

A sudden gust of wind brings the bouquet of fresh Dahlias to everyone’s attention. Ezra rubs a soft petal between his fingers. 

“These are outstanding, darling. Who brought them to you?”

Before a half truth drips off your tongue, Arella speaks up, taking stride toward where you sit. 

“I picked them this morning. From the garden.”

She grazes over your empty, half parted mouth.  Planting her own kiss on your warm canvas.

“We should get ready for the ball, yes little Dove?” 

Ezra’s good natured laugh overflows. He raises both palms in feigned retreat.

“I suppose that is my queue. I’ll take my leave.” Your handsome fiance keeps his word. Shutting the heavy doors behind him. 

“Arella!” Your head whips around to face your beautiful handmaiden. 

She is swanlike. Coordinating the intimate pieces of your gown. Not another word on her lips but a whole diary on her face. 

“Why did you lie for me?” Your hands steady her busy ones. 

Arella’s voice is small enough to fit through the cracks in the walls. 

“My allegiance is to you and only you, little Dove.”

 · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

“Under His Eye, Father.”

“Under His Eye, Rhea.” 

“Blessed Be The Fruit, Father.”

Of course. The greeting used when women are trying for child, the handmaiden chose to use with him. Suguru offers a polite, but pointedly distant smile.

Since his arrival to the compound, there hasn’t been a shortage of high court handmaids and the women they tend to ‘greeting’ him in a similar way. 

Well within the unspoken rules of engagement, but a message served loud and clear. 

“May The Lord Open, Seren.”  Suguru returns the pleasantry as scripted. 

The pretty maiden smiles like a Cheshire kitten. Taking her position in line behind the clergymen. Suguru keeps his gaze ahead. Remaining neutral in the midst of hushed giggles and whispered praises. 

His index finger wires beneath the formal collar. Tonight is the first of a long line of celebrations he will have to stomach. 

A commemoration of a new contract between families. A new marriage of countries. A long awaited treaty as precarious as the peak of Mauna Kea. 

And as the appointed Chaplain he is tasked with praying over each event. Handing out blessings to the soon-to-be-wed and those that wish them no harm. 

He’s already exhausted.

The processional begins and all extraneous chatter settles to the ground. Just in time for you and the Duke to step into view. At the height of the sprawling staircase, there you stand. 

Regal. 

Breathtaking.

Not a single strand out of place. The rigid corset digs into the small of your waist — accenting the feminine swell of your hips. Sage satin drips off the rolls and hills of your mind-altering lines. 

Curve and dip. 

Curve and dip. 

Your figure could render the most veteran fishermen seasick. 

Then your eyes collide with his and Suguru nearly falls backward. Knocking more air out of his lungs than any sea storm ever has. Ten times more deadly than the waves he rode along Drake’s Passage.

The infamous strait holds legend amongst seamen, old and new. The lethal dance between the South Atlantic, Pacific and Southern oceans gives way to the notorious Ship’s Graveyard.

At 60 degrees south of the Equator, Suguru’s father tweaked his usual saying before he dove off their vessel. 

“Below 40, there are no laws. Below 50, there is no God. Don’t go trying to find One, Son.” 

Suguru strips his eyes away from you. Currently plunging well below 60 degrees south, he will drown in you if he keeps gawking up like that.

Focus, Suguru. 

Lines from tonight’s production begin circulating in the Chaplain’s mind. Every moment rehearsed down to the breath. The night is already stifling. And he still has to look you in the eye and bid you a lifetime of love and prosperity with Ezra Ahriman. 

He’ll have to repent for the lie tomorrow. 

Patent leather dress shoes echo a path into the ballroom. Suguru and the rest of the priesthood fall behind the last line of noblemen. His stomach suddenly plummets lower than its usual residence. 

Public speaking isn’t the issue. 

A room full of eyes trained on his every word has never shaken his nerves. 

The problem is the air around him suddenly deciding to shed its layers. 

Leaving one, thin strip of sustenance left for Suguru to breathe in. While he rehearses the lies he has to spew in front of a congregation. 

Half of which is so forbidden. Basking in the thrill of lusting after a “Man of God” bound by law — biblical and not — to remain pure in the face of temptation. It’s thrilling for that half of the congregation. 

Then there’s the other half.

Seeing him for the foreigner that he is. 

The other. A man with eyes more inclement than the worst of Heaven’s rainfall. Who bares tattoos of a past life. Acting as if that part of himself is so far lost at sea.

That half of the congregation is counting the seconds until Suguru can be properly burned at the stake. Words he reads directly from the Bible sound like lies to their ears. 

Which half of the congregation do you reside in?

“Father, I have a hard copy of your speech if you want it.” Noel whispers, just a few paces away from entering the ballroom.

And Suguru is so fond of the boy. The little brother he never got to grow up with.

“I think I have a handle on it, Noel. Thank you.” The Chaplain flashes a brief smile his way before taking in the last gust of oxygen. Praying that it gets him through the dreaded speech.

Violin notes reverberate in sync with Suguru’s footsteps toward the podium. You are somewhere behind him. Probably 20 paces or so. Polite about your wave. Genuine about your smile. Convincing the masses that you are one of them. 

The decades your home country spent in war with them mean nothing. 

Welcome home, Duchess.

Suguru’s deft fingers wrap around the microphone. 

“Welcome in.” He starts. It takes nothing for the room to come to an obedient silence. Listening intently. Taking in every word.

“Please, may the congregation rise? To give and receive blessings this evening.” Suguru prompts the room, a gentle up-flick of his wrist, raising all to their feet. 

“I’d happily kneel, Father.” A muffled comment from the pretty handmaiden that made a point to greet him a few moments earlier. 

Normally, Suguru wouldn’t entertain it. But something about this being his first formal engagement strips his usual restraint. 

“Such a dedicated servant of the Lord, Seren.”The Chaplain glances over to the blushing crowd of women at his right. 

Seren’s outburst crumbles to nothing under his pointed gaze. And a collective chuckle fills the room.

That should be enough to stifle any additional outbursts. 

Here he goes. 

“To the Duke Ahriman, and the Duchess-To-Be.” Suguru tilts his glass of water up at the noble pews — everyone else holding goblets of red wine.

Beauty and grace lock his eyes into place. Coaxing words out of his parched throat. He couldn’t deny you his voice if he wanted to.  

“I pray the Lord brings you unwavering love,” A lie whipped sweeter than cream rolls off his tongue. Suguru’s eyes float from you to the Duke. An eager smile on his face. 

But, what is the expression you’re currently wearing, Duchess?

Are you desperate to come up for air, too?

“A never ending fountain of peace.” Suguru continues to bless the ‘happy’ couple. With eyes that can see with inhuman clarity below the level of sea that receives penetrance from Helios.

The Midnight Zone may as well be daybreak to the Chaplain. And those same sharp eyes see something other than joy in your face. Something other than peace. 

But he continues his script, nonetheless. 

“An unconditional well of prosperity.” Suguru shamelessly sips from your tantalizing presence. If someone whispered to him that you two were the last beings on earth right now, he’d believe it without question. 

The finishing lines cause physical pain.

“And most importantly, to an Ahriman heir.” Suguru chokes out. “For God and Country.”

The room erupts in near uncontrollable cheer. 

“For God and Country!”

“For God and Country.” 

You mirror the Preist’s words and he memorizes every twitch in your lips. Every intonation of your voice is burned into the most permanent part of his mind.

Festivities flicker past Suguru’s short term memory. The night is a complete daze. Hundreds of courteous smiles. Dozens of handshakes. A handful of empathic stares and one all-consuming gaze that halts the Father in his tracks. 

How are you allowed to exist when lust is apparently a sin?

The answer to that never comes.

Boisterous music. Drunken celebration. Complete disinhibition comes in full force instead. 

Suguru wires around the women flinging themselves into his embrace. 

No matter the intention, he wants no part of it. In fact, if he could make it home to steal a few hours of uninterrupted sleep he would consider the night a roaring success. There’s no telling how many seconds, minutes, hours have passed since the start of the celebration. 

Not until his eyes find you swallowing more  than a mouthful of red wine at the edge of your seat. Avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room as if the clouds are your native home. 

“Blessed be the fruit, Duchess.” An inebriated noble nearly trips into your arms. 

You narrowly miss his impact. The flame in your campfire gaze ascends high enough to singe the crescent moon. 

“May the Lord open.” Each one of your words sharper than swords made of dragonstone. 

Suguru starts to make his way over to flailing man, to rip him away from you at the very least. 

But you are more skilled than he is in still waters. Beneath your fiancés nose and a host of prying eyes you find an exit to slip past. 

The Chaplain’s feet move before a knowing smile tugs on his lips. 

Suguru knows exactly where to find the woman who doesn’t want to be found. 

 · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Saline seabreeze intertwines with your loose mane. Erupting goosebumps along your exposed décolletage. Expanding the lungs imprisoned by your steel-boned corset.

Breathe.

The moon is curved and high. Super-terrestrial hands knead the low tide crashing along the cliffside. 

To what end?

Your mind searches for a finish line to the marathon. Desperately seeking refuge from the journey with no endpoint. Traveling further than Pheidippides, who ran hundreds of miles from the battlefield to the citadel to deliver news of victory. 

All before dropping dead. 

A chuckle more bitter than the goblet of wine escapes you. 

You would travel further just to be home. Even if it meant instant death in return.  

“For God and Country.” Sharp words through terse lips. “For God and Country.” 

Thick, unforgiving fog fills your brain space. Heels echo through the chapel garden, pebbling the stone path to the rocky edge. Red wine powers your clumsy stumble. Chasing an ever elusive clarity. 

The marathon continues.

“What if…what if I don’t serve your God.” You hiss at the stars above. 

Resentment more potent on your tongue than the spirits you ingested tonight. Before rules of conduct blare through your drunken haze, rolls of sage satin fill your balmy fists and you take a seat on the ground. Legs dangling over the edge. Enticing the dangers below. 

“For God and — what if I think your God is deaf and dumb and…and—“

“And He loves you all the same, Duchess.”

Oh, that voice. 

That voice that smells like honey. And tastes like a dream. And sounds like lilac. 

No.

Violet. 

Like the eyes of its owner. 

“Suguru!! I-I mean Father. Shit. I’m sorry.” Bitter resentment is replaced with sour regret. 

Did you really need that last serving of truth elixir?

The Chaplain lets out a deep, velvet chuckle. It runs smooth along the curve of your flushed cheeks. He takes a seat on the ledge. A full hand width or two away and yet, his presence kisses you in the way sun rays do, when they tuck in for the night.

“You must think I’m a petulant woman, Father.”  Shockingly sober words, thanks to the company beside you. 

Another rich, truffle laugh. You cant help but notice his prominent Adams Apple gliding down the muscular column of his throat. 

“My name sounds like a ballad when you say it.” Irises softer than an oil painting cement you in place. 

“Please use it.”

Because it is, Father. 

His name is a ballad. A sonnet. A monologue in its own right.

A love letter. 

“And what of my name, Suguru? When will you use it?” 

Sobriety flutters away as quickly as it cloaked you in the first place. Cobalt winds lift the hem of your dress. A sheet of goosebumps along your bare thighs now on display. 

From the glacial breeze? The damp earth beneath you?

…Or is it the way the Chaplain’s Adam’s Apple and gaze descends?

“When I’ve earned it, Duchess.” 

Long, deft fingers reach over to re-drape the  satin over your knees. You swallow a gasp before it erupts. 

Of course he fixed your dress. It’s where your hem belongs. Especially around a man who has taken a vow of celibacy. 

No, no. 

Especially as a woman who is engaged. Spoken for. Under the God he serves and the law you abide by. 

“I trust you’ll have enough..” Suguru’s lips curl up at a thought reserved for himself only. 

And somehow, the perfectly centered dimple  on his appled left cheek comes to your attention for the first time. 

“Enough what?” You probe, sinking in the cavern you’ve discovered. 

“Conviction.” Volcanic eyes trail up to the moon. “To tell me the exact moment when I’ve earned the privilege.”

Suguru gives you ample space to bathe in him while he bathes in moonlight.

It’s uncanny. 

How the Priest exists in two different places at once. Down here, with you on the cliff edge. He’s tangible. Thick locks in a poetic cascade down his back. Limbs nearly twice as long as yours, beckoning creatures that only break the surface of Leviathan’s playground to wreak havoc. 

Sure, he’s down here. 

But he’s also up there. 

Somewhere in the ether. Traversing altitudes well above the average, simple minded being. High enough for the Gods to confess their sins. Because Suguru is the only one worthy enough to forgive them.  

“You’re staring, Duchess.” His voice holds a grin, and that grin has fingers. 

Cruel, torturous fingers that pet and stroke and tease your throbbing core until it’s plush. Your cunt is more intoxicated than you are.

“Eyesight is not a sin, Father.” You retort, crossing your legs before any more arousal leaks from your warm sex. Your gall entirely fueled by Arella’s quote imbedded in your mind. 

“Suguru.” The Priest corrects.  His sleek, jet black brow elevates. You must be an amusing drunk. 

“Suguru.” You acquiesce with a bashful nod. 

“So demanding.” 

He gifts you his left dimple once more. A feature that is rapidly soaring through your mind’s construct. Undoubtedly the only boyish thing about the stallion of a man next to you. 

Straight from Poseidon’s steed. 

“Very.” He agrees. “Only when the time calls for it.” 

And what time would that be?

“The Dahlias I sent, did you enjoy them?” Suguru deftly redirects the conversation like a captain navigating treacherous waters. As if he heard the blasphemous thoughts starting to brew. 

“They are gorgeous.” 

Stifling heat emanates from your cheeks. You were so fond of the bouquet that you felt compelled to lie to your betrothed about the source. 

“Good.” His eyes capture a moon ray and holds it hostage. 

“And the letter?”

“I loved it!” A slurred confession. “I’ve re-read it more times than I can count on my fingers and toes.” 

How does his laugh sprint down your spine the way that it does? 

Unraveling you bit, by bit. You would stay drunk and stupid if it meant you could keep drawing that addicting sound out of his full lips. 

“I was referencing the proposal in the letter, Duchess.” 

Suguru’s eyes drop to your bottom lip, now rolled under your teeth. Not even a second passes before he flickers back out to the sea. And you’re grateful for the privacy to darken like Pinot Noir on a corkscrew. Both hands cup your reddened cheeks. 

“Yes, of course.” You wave, a matter-of-fact, of course. 

“I’ll do whatever you ask of me.” 

That response draws something new from the enigmatic Priest. 

Raven locks lift off his back from the speed at which his gaze recoils back to you. Lightning strikes the volcanoes in his eyes. A clenched fist and tense arm drops between his legs. 

Is he…steadying himself?

You can’t quite name his expression.  Wine or not, you’ve never seen anything like it.

It’s dark. Ominous. Full of bloodlust. 

And you’d gladly offer up a vein. 

“Pardon?” He rasps, completely fixated on your lips. As to not miss a single word of your answer.

Your hips roll around under his unrelenting stare. “I-I mean, you know best. I will do whatever you think is best for my marriage.”

Suguru barely hears your repeated answer, judging by the way he briefly makes eye contact, before re-settling on your mouth. Heat swells in your puffy cunt. Already hugging your thin, sodden undergarment. 

The Priest offers no words. 

Just a heady, quiet that pins you to the ground. And your mind, suddenly promiscuous, wonders if this is what it feels like to be beneath a man’s weight. Caged in by muscular arms. Scalded by fiery eyes tracing inch by inch. 

Not that you would know. 

Not that you know anything about making love. Or men. Or loving a man. 

“Will you…can you teach me how to love a man?” The tips of your ears threaten to melt off your head the second your sentence is complete.

Another shocking blow to the Father. His lips hang open in disbelief. For one, two, three seconds before he zips back up. Concealing his thoughts behind a courteous but very present steel barrier. 

“I—“ He starts carefully, averting away. “Surely you don’t need to be taught—“ 

“But I’m pure, Father.” You counter. Searing into his angular profile. “I’ve never…I don’t know how to—“ 

Cool fingers gently tilt your chin upward. To brand his correction into your memory. 

“Suguru.” The Chaplain’s voice glides lower than your inhibition. 

Something says that he won’t correct you a third time. 

Despite the temperature maintaining the same degree, a sharp jolt of pleasure straightens your spine as your nipples pebble against the silky fabric. You gnaw your cheeks to keep from physically squirming.

“S—Suguru.” You repeat. Subservience wets your drooling sex in a way that makes you want to keep following commands. 

Suguru’s tone rubs the folds in your brain smooth. 

“Good. Quick learner.” A pleased grin blooms across his lips. “I’ll start with focusing on you.”

The two of you slowly peel away from one another. Crashing waves replace the heady silence. 

Well, silence other than your heartbeat rattling between your ears. In your periphery, the Chaplain is now peering outward, at his true home. The coast is clear to return your greedy eyes back to his acute, feline features. 

Just enough of his mane is tied back to reveal a pretty mulberry dusting his high cheekbones and pointed nose. 

A pleasant surprise to know the demigod warms like the mortals he walks amongst.

“You’re blushing, Suguru.” Girlish satisfaction heavy on your tongue. 

Another decadent chuckle pets your womanhood. And this time you have to swallow a moan.

“As are you, Duchess.”

“Darling? There you are!” Ezra’s voice is just as, if not more sobering than his footsteps approaching. 

Too soon. 

Time bows at Suguru’s feet. The concept doesn’t exist around him. Someone, be it Arella or Noel or now, your soon-to-be husband, someone always has to physically draw you back to the present. 

Reality never comes on time. Always too late. Or in your case, always a little too early. 

The Chaplain is on his feet in seconds. He swiftly lifts you from the edge and sets you on solid ground. Leaving you dizzied and breathless on the surface. 

Guilty and red-handed beneath it. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Ezra paws at the soiled fabric, concern etched into his face. “Your dress is completely ruined.”

“I’ll live.” You’re sharper than intended. Surely, from the spirits still thrumming through your veins. 

Ezra falters like a wounded puppy. And it tugs on your tattered heartstrings.

“Thank you for the concern, Ezra.” You soften, thumbing his cheek. Purposefully avoiding the violet beams aimed at your face. And shoulders. And hands. 

As if the Priest is daring you to keep provoking his searing gaze. 

But your fiancé unravels under your rare display of affection. He eagerly leans over to kiss your forehead. Meanwhile your hand desperately magnets to your side. 

“Sorry for leaving so abruptly Ezra, I—I had a bit too much to drink and I needed air then—“

“Don’t give it a second thought, my love.” 

Your fiancé is gentle with you. Little strokes along the small of your back. And maybe…just maybe your reaction time is dulled because you don’t immediately flinch away.

“Individual counseling starting early then?” Ezra jests. Pristine jade eyes dance between you and Suguru. 

The Priest offers a smile about as warm as the Siberian tundra. 

“Hardly. Just ensuring the Duchess is out of harm’s way.”

Like your fiancé did with you, you flower under the pad of Suguru’s thumb. A brief swipe, to remove a stray saltwater droplet. But your skin scorches all the same. Unreasonably missing a touch that lasted all of half a moment. 

Ezra clears his throat and drops his broad, but not nearly as broad, shoulders.

“I received the memo from your office staff, Father. Please accept this as my formal agreement to proceed with individual counseling.” He reaches out and Suguru takes his hand firmly. 

“Duchess,” Suguru beckons without breaking focus on Ezra. 

“We will be begin your sessions in three days. Meet me around 8:00 AM in our garden. Yes?”

Our garden.

You are a dirty woman. 

The way your core aches at his meaningless, frivolous, harmless words. 

“Y-yes. I will be there.” A half-baked attempt at maintaining neutrality. 

Your agreement earns you Suguru’s left dimple again. You toss your gaze elsewhere before your knees commit treason. 

“Duke, is there an activity you enjoy?” Suguru probes Ezra. 

“Sailing.”

“Sailing…?” Suguru lifts an incredulous brow. Blatantly amused by his automatic response. 

Granted, you don’t know your future husband that well, but he’s never made mention of any maritime activities.

Meanwhile everyone in this country, two countries over, possibly your home country knows that water belongs to the Chaplain. The element bends to his will. 

“Are you certain about that, Duke Ahriman?”

“Yes, Father. We have quite the fleet. I think you would be impressed.” 

“Understood. You and I will set sail before Sunrise the day after tomorrow.” 

The men exchange pleasantries as they do. Ezra intertwines his loving fingers into your reluctant ones. He ushers the long night to a welcome end.

Five steps into your path home, a blistering heat snakes up your spine. Fanning your shoulders like high noon during summer solstice. 

You don’t have to do it. 

You know the source, already. 

But you do it anyway. 

Over your left shoulder, you find the Naval Prince strolling along the unstable rocky ledge with as much grace as he does flat terrain. Eyeing the tide. Searching for the perfect entry home. 

Suguru’s trident reflects stark against the moonlight. Upper body completely shed of clothing, lower body with a long, black compression garment. Heavy locks now woven in the same singular braid you met him with. Dark overhead skies somehow illuminating the ridges and shadows of his sculpted arms, and back…and chest. 

A glimpse of heaven. 

…is staring right back at you. 

Possessing you.

“Enjoy your swim!” 

The words string together without your consent. Ezra lands his attention on you, startled by the sudden crack in silence. 

And the demigod shakes his head.  One part disbelief, two parts fond. 

“Enjoy your dreams!” Suguru calls back before turning his trident to you. His night has just begun.

You walk away with your betrothed, cloaked in soiled satin and guilt. 

Were you in the wrong? Maybe so.

But your heart didn’t choose Ezra. Not yet. You aren’t sure if your heart has even chosen you. 

Arella’s gentle wave from the patio welcomes you home. Sleep suddenly descending on your heavy lids. 

At least you’re safe, here in your mind’s haven.

For now. 

     · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

“Fuck.” 

A tormented hand swipes the bead of moisture tickling a path down Suguru’s temple. 

0345

Obscenities seem to spill from his lips a little too easily these days. And his usual coping mechanisms are falling a little too short. 

The chaplain drags the hem of his sleepwear down to his thighs. 

Each bone, muscle and tendon is utterly spent after tonight’s swim. Every part of his body except the thick rod that springs free from its cage. 

Glistening with beads of lust. Taunting him. Making a mockery of his code of conduct. 

Thou Shall Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Wife.

“Really?” Suguru scoffs and screws his eyes shut. His nails dig into the abused sheets to keep from gripping his cock and tugging himself numb. 

How convenient. 

The Holy Book of Answers and all of its rules makes no mention of how to survive the likes of you. 

How does one circumvent murky waters when Thy Neighbor’s Wife is Aphrodite’s reincarnate? 

Suguru’s heavy, oversized length pulsates. Its blushing head lays flush with his abdomen, a few inches past his belly button. Leaking pearly arousal onto his damp skin. Still not fully air-dried from the second icy bath since returning to his quarters. 

‘I’ll do whatever you ask of me.’

You dangled your submission in front of him. 

Him, a red-blooded man. 

A ravenous, touch starved, cunt-drunk beast of man. And you sat there. With your dizzying silhouette. And puffy lips. And pert nipples, pebbling from his gaze alone.  

Did you think he couldn’t see? 

How you pressed your mouth-watering thighs together? With wide, gorgeous eyes. Desperately trying to deny yourself the indulgence. 

What if he asked you to spread your legs then and there, pretty girl? 

What if he asked you to watch his fingers pet that weeping little cunt of yours? Watch how much honey he could coax out of your needy opening. 

Because you were. 

So fucking needy.

Suguru could see it from a mile away much less sitting next to you. Tensed legs. Short gasps. Studying his features when you thought his attention lapsed. 

‘Can you teach me how to love a man?’

“Oh, sweet girl,” Suguru rolls over to settle a plush pillow between his thighs. The cool, soft cotton rubs blinding friction against his aching length. 

This is wrong. 

Immoral. 

He’s a filthy, disgusting, pervert.

Suguru lurches his hips forward in a deep thrust against the cushion. A shattered groan pushes past his clenched jaw. 

It’s a disgrace, the way saliva pooled in his mouth and cum drooled from his cock when you unveiled your purity. 

Suguru’s hips rut faster. Brutalizing the pillow. Animalistic sounds bubble out of him. 

“Fuck…fuck no..don’t..” Pathetic pleas contradict the pace he humps the fabric. Chasing the whirlpool of lust in his groin. 

Demons in hell couldn’t concoct the vile things his mind is showing him. The intricate ways he wants to violate you.

A moral stain for the church 

The priest tilts up on his knees. Fucking the pillow in earnest. Picturing its your precious, dewy center that he’s defiling. 

He could teach you, gorgeous. 

He could shape your untouched core to fit his cock like a sleeve. Perfectly molded to his veins. Slotting into your warm, wet, noble sheath with ease. 

He would have you sit on his lap for your first lesson. 

His swollen length buried inside you to the hilt. He wouldn’t thrust, not yet. Your body would just clench and squeeze and leak around his intrusion. Suguru wouldn’t retreat out of your cunt until you were begging him to. Teary eyed and drooling from every single opening. 

He could teach you. Break you. Turn you into a pretty little cockdumb puppet at his touch.

“God..nngh fuck.” Opaque fog fills his head and lungs. 

Sordid moans echo against the walls. Reflecting his sinful behavior, but Suguru is too intoxicated to care. He curls around his swollen cockhead. Feverishly jerking his abused sex. Grinding so pitifully into his hand. 

Suguru drops his head. Mumbling your name in full before spewing himself empty into his grasp, the sheets, his pillow. 

Shame warmer than the mess of cum he’s currently laying descends. Filling the fuzzy corners of his brain. 

Is he really so weak?

“Be stronger than this.” The priest hisses angrily.

Unable to lay in filth for another second, Suguru rockets out of bed. Pulling his sheets, folding his sins away. To be cleansed in the next load of laundry.

A third, icy shower serves the same purpose for him a few minutes later. Glacial droplets soak the length of his mane, again. His manhood hangs away from his body, bucking every couple moments. Threatening to steal his virtue for a second time. 

He’ll be a better man when the sun rises. 

A tired sigh escapes his lips. At least Suguru is safe, here in his mind’s haven. 

For now.  

E/N: Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Chaplain, you really have to get a handle on those pesky hands of yours. 🤭

Taglist: @blkkizzat @hayakawalove @rotteneyess

[itsmiyamore]

— loving you.

He's not first in your heart. (He knows he never will be.) part 2 of missing you.

a/n: Tysm for 450+ notes on my drunk!Sakusa fic!!! It's super late (we're past 600 notes now!) but as promised, here’s my little treat for you all: a surprise part 2 to another Sakusa fic of mine, missing you. I hope u all like this one, I’ve been holding onto it for a very long time and it is very precious to me <3

-> this is not part of the @/ficsforgaza initiative, but please consider sponsoring another wip!

"I can't believe you're going to be late to our own party."

Miya Atsumu huffs, pouting as he says, "You could stop laughing at me, you know."

"You could have woken up with your alarm, you know," you mock back. Atsumu rolls his eyes, begrudgingly grinning when he hears your laughter again.

"Don't worry, I'll be there," he says as you calm down. You're already at the venue (he can hear Bokuto's boisterous voice in the background), and although he's not looking forward to everyone teasing him for taking a three-hour-long nap, his heart thumps at the prospect of seeing you.

"I know, Tsumu," you giggle. "Hurry up though, Bokuto is getting impatient." With that, you hang up, and Atsumu flops onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Three years of being together had made no change in the way Atsumu feels about you, a smile breaking across his face when he remembers how you looked when you accepted his confession, the feeling of your hand finally in his, and your kiss—god, he swears it felt like heaven.

Better not keep you waiting any longer, he supposes.

When he pulls up to the venue—a nice bar you managed to reserve an evening at—Osamu is already outside, waiting for him. Atsumu groans when Osamu raises his eyebrow at him. "Don't look at me like that."

"Look at you like what?" Osamu's eyes glitter. "I can't believe–“

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Atsumu waves Osamu away with his hand, rolling his eyes when Osamu snorts behind him.

(He swears you and Osamu are telepathic.)

The music inside isn't loud, the white sound of indistinct conversations reaching his ears first, and then, of course, Bokuto's booming voice and Hinata's excited response.

He turns to them as he steps through the door, but a movement catches his eye and he stops, heart fluttering when he sees you looking so perfect under the soft, golden glow of the pendant lights.

Then it falls as he watches his teammate walk to you and how your eyes lock onto him, entranced.

There's a bitter taste on his tongue when he sees Sakusa Kiyoomi—the man who always has a sour look on his face, the man who laughs when Atsumu fails at something, the man who takes his coffee black for god's sake—flush when he meets your eyes and smile. The whole world seems to stop around you, everyone else melting away, insignificant as you take each other in.

And it's when you take Sakusa's hand and he pulls you against him to dance that Atsumu realizes that it doesn't matter what he does, how hard he tries, or how much he loves you—it's so painfully evident that he will never truly hold your heart.

(And he comes to the painful realization that there had never been any competition for your love in the first place.)

Footsteps come to a halt next to Atsumu, followed by a sharp intake of breath as Osamu catches sight of you and Sakusa.

"They look…“ Osamu’s voice trails off as he glances at Atsumu. The atmosphere is tense—a mixture of fear and deep sadness permeating Osamu’s words as he watches his brother’s mosaic heart shatter on the hardwood floor.

"Yeah," Atsumu whispers, tearing his eyes away from you and Sakusa's figures, Osamu’s unfinished statement hanging in the air.

“They look like they’re still in love.”

This was supposed to be your night, he thinks. Your anniversary celebration, the night he would swear himself to you when he asked you to marry him, the night he was supposed to be promised the happiest future in the world. There's a sort of irony when Hinata greets him and Bokuto says, "That one's a keeper, isn't ever gonna stop loving," a bitterness in his throat when he forces an empty laughter that echoes the heartbreak in his ears.

But Atsumu can't help loving you when his fingers burn as they trace the velvet box in his pocket; even when he kisses you and your distant gaze doesn't quite meet his; even when the scent of Sakusa’s cologne still lingers on your skin, and Atsumu wonders if you knew that you still loved him too.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Angsty Curtis Brothers fic

My mental health really isn't mental healthing today so I tried to channel that into this. Hope you enjoy :)

**************

“Good hustle, Curtis,” coach claps him on the back as he jogs off the field and he grins, pushing dark sweat soaked hair out of his eyes. 

They’re up by a touchdown and one field goal- that he’s responsible for- and with possession and just two minutes left in the fourth quarter they’re reasonably safe, though the game isn’t over until it’s over. 

His teammates pat him on the back and compliment his kick as he guzzles back water, and it’s not hollow per se, but even after two years it still feels skin deep. He’ll never be one of them, never be rich, never be quite good enough, popular enough, socy enough, no matter how good his kicks or how well he runs plays. They accept him, maybe some even like him, but they’ll never want him, not really. It doesn’t even sting anymore.

The people who do really care about him watch from the bleachers. Mom and dad are there, dad talking with his hands like usual and mom laughing at him like she always does, too in love to ever scold him for anything. They wave at him across the field when he catches their eye and it almost feels right. Almost. 

The gang is around too, though less obvious in their support of him. Two-bit and Dally are pelting a group of freshmen with popcorn, while Steve, Johnny, and Soda are all smoking near the gap in the fence. They’ll be gone as soon as the final whistle blows, and he really can’t blame him. The end of the match is always the hardest for him too. 

33..32…31…

The clock ticks down steadily, their team and the visiting school fighting back and forth without either team gaining any substantial yards and then the whistle blows and they’ve won.

Like every game they've ever won, the victory feels worse than losing. 

His teammates cheer and thump him on the back while the fans flood onto the field and the coach gives a short congratulatory speech before telling them he’ll see them at practice tomorrow.

Then it’s perfectly, blessedly over. Except it isn’t, is it? It never is, not really.

“You coming to the afterparty, man?” Jared Strong, one of the nicer guys on the team and also one of the biggest, asks, “Damien’s hosting and his parents are outta town.”

“Nah,” he shakes his head. Rarely does he go to parties with the team, even though he usually gets an invite. He has no love for pretending to be something he isn’t. Not anymore at least, “I got other plans. Thanks though.”

“Have fun,” Jared nods politely, his helmet dangling in one hand, pale hair stuck to his face, “I guess I’ll see you at practice tomorrow?”

“For sure. See you Jared.”

“Bye Pony.”

He watches as Jared rejoins the rest of the team, shining brighter than the rest of them even in his stained and sweaty jersey. Jordan’s captain of the team, nicer than the rest of them, obviously more skilled even though he never bragged about it. 

Jared reminds him of Darry, and it’s hard not to hate him for it. 

It’s been two years, but he can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever really recover from it, or if the hole Darry left in the world is going to be a permanent fixture rendering his life a theatre production he stars in as Ponyboy Curtis with the demands of Doing What Darry Couldn’t Finish.

He wishes he could be bitter about it, but it just feels like a weird sort of penance. Not that he was the one who killed Darry- no Paul Holden and his alcoholic buddies and their too fast cars had done that- but there’s an odd sort of peace tied in with the pain and the guilt of trying to make sure Darry’s legacy is never forgotten. He’ll never be football captain or boy of the year, but he can play the game Darry loved and go to college and get out of this town once and for all. Is it really his dream? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care because it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Darry would know but he isn’t here, he will never be here again and it’s never going to be okay again because a piece of Ponyboy died the same night the police came to their door and told them about the accident and what use is there of living when he isn’t really alive?

Mom and Dad are both beaming when he makes his way over to them, and they’re both still living but they’re different now too, just like all of them are, and it shows in the way mom’s eyes are still bright but now they only ever shine with tears, and dad’s laugh is still loud but never so carefree as it used to be. 

“Great job Little Colt,” Dad ruffles his hair, and mom gives him a quick hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He allows it only because he knows Darry never used to. She needs the reminder sometimes, Pony thinks, that things are different, even though it’s something they all never forget.

He manages a faint grin but he’s tired of his performance, of pretending to be whole around the team, and he can see in their eyes they can see it. 

“Thanks. Let’s go home.”

Dad throws an arm around his shoulders but says nothing, something Pony is grateful for. He’s lucky to have parents who understand him so well, because most people don’t much like his silence even though sometimes talking is just so much work. 

The gang is waiting for them in the parking lot, clustered around dad’s truck and Steve’s car which are parked right next to each other. None of them are usually subdued- two years has given them all enough time to develop a new normal- but there’s a weight hanging over all of them that football games bring out. They’re all performers now, but all of them seem better at it then he is.

Well. All of them except Soda. 

Two-bit can joke again, better than he used to, and Dally is tougher and meaner than ever. Steve’s anger has been honed to a sharp edge, but he’s grown better about using it, his fights with the socs more frequent and violent, but his outbursts at the gang far fewer. Losing Darry had put things into perspective for all of them. Even Johnny was different, even though Pony suspects Johnny might have changed so he still fit with him rather than because of losing Darry. Not that Darry hadn’t loved Johnny and Johnny hadn’t loved him, but in the past two years Ponyboy has come to realize that Johnny spends a lot more energy taking care of him than his younger, more stupid self had ever been able to realize.

They all surround him when Dad drops the steadying arm around his shoulders to pull out his keys. Johnny hands him a cigarette without him having to ask, and he inhales half desperately, ignoring mom’s disapproving look and trying not to roll his eyes. He knows she’d hoped he’d wait until he was at least fifteen to start smoking, but If she can ignore Soda’s recent antics she can surely ignore his newly acquired habit.

Speaking of Soda, he’s currently reeling pickled and clearly far past the point of attempting to hide it. He’s paler these days than he used to be, and skinnier too, no matter how much mom is always hounding him to eat, and pony thinks maybe Soda’s the most ruined of all of them, or at least the only one of them that’ll never recover not really. Right now he’s living like he’s trying to follow Darry to his death, and the anger Pony feels has more to do with the sorrow that came with the fact that in losing his eldest brother he lost the human part of his other brother too.

Steve’s holding Soda upright, his arm under Soda’s shoulders while Soda slurs out a never evening stream of consciousness that none of them can understand, that stupid fucking flask he never goes anywhere without sticking out of his jacket pocket. Pony takes one look at dad’s tightly drawn face and locks eyes with Steve, both of them coming to a silent agreement, one he would’ve thought inconceivable before. Nowadays though, he and Steve Randle get along just fine.

He ducks under Soda’s other side, helping take the rest of his body weight, even though Soda’s got so slight as of late it’s hardly needed, and helps Steve guide him to sit in the back of the car. He’s so drunk he hardly seems to notice, still babbling incoherently.

“Thanks,” Steve huffs, and he looks tired, nearly as tired as Pony feels. He nods, and Steve nods back then goes to promise mom and dad that he’s sober enough to drive them all home. Mom and dad never believe any of them anymore, not without looking into their eyes and smelling their breath. Pony can't even blame them. They’d lost one son to a careless man’s drunk driving. Clearly, they couldn’t risk another.

Johnny climbs in next to him then, smiling softly, and Two crowds in after him. Dally takes the passenger side, and then Steve’s back, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Dally turns on the radio and rolls down the window while he lights up a cigarette, but even the rolling stones aren’t loud enough to drown out Soda’s talk, as much as Ponyboy wishes they could. 

It’s strange and wrong that they all fit in Steve’s car, a gang of six that’s meant to be seven, and also hardly a gang at all.

He rests his head on Johnny's shoulder next to him. 

Last week was the two year anniversary and everything has changed and nothing has changed, none of them are getting better, and Soda is still just getting worse.

Ponyboy sighs. They say three time’s the charm, right? Maybe three years will be enough. Enough that he will be able to look inward at the hole in his heart and it won’t look like a gaping wound. Maybe it will ache like a bruise instead of burning every hour like a knife wound. Maybe three years will be enough for him to be able to say Darry’s name without having to force it past clenched teeth. Maybe if he makes it to three years Soda will decide life is still worth living. Maybe he won’t.

Maybe three years will do what two years haven't. Maybe three years will be what it takes for them all to start to heal.

There’s nothing he can do but find out.

[bloodblanks]

when you’re sad

ft: eyeless jack, masky, hoodie, ticci toby, jeff the killer, ben drowned, slenderman

author's note: this fanfiction will contain mildly dark content, including mentions of violence, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

eyeless jack

jack is probably one of the best with feelings, even though he may not seem like it. he’s not just an expert with medical affairs, but he has also studied psychology.

so not only is he good at reading you like an open book—he can accurately guess how you feel based on your behaviour, body language, facial expressions and so on—he is also skilled at being compassionate and empathizing with you. and you appreciate it, because not only is he understanding but he’s also knowledgeable about your feelings and struggles.

it’s nice, being able to be vulnerable with jack and know that you’re in good hands

so when you’re sad, he can easily tell, he already knows without you needing to say it and that’s nice as well, it saved you the difficulty of having to initiate the conversation because he’ll ask you about it.

“what’s wrong, love?”

if you don’t want to talk about it though, that’s fine as well. jack won’t push, he won’t pry, he’ll just accept that you might have a hard time opening up about it and instead focus on just trying to comfort you.

his touch is gentle, his embrace is tender, and his care is apparent when he takes you into his arms, your head buried in his chest—if you wanted to cry into his shirt he wouldn’t mind in the slightest.

and he’ll stroke your hair slowly, running his fingers through each strand as he used his specialized hearing to listen for your pulse and your breathing, listen for it and hear it slow down to a normal pace before he’d let go.

if you wanted to talk about it though, jack would be all ears. he would calmly and patiently listen to every single one of your problems, no matter how long the list, and he’d know not to interrupt but he would still show that he was paying attention.

and if none of that was enough to make you feel better, then he’d take matters into his own hands, he’d figure out the answers to your problems.

and he’d fix them for you.

masky

tim was never good with anything delicate and fragile, which is what he considered you to be.

he was very rough, all harsh edges and blunt words. and in general, he was just a bitter, sarcastic, temperamental man. god knows how he ended up with a pretty little thing like you, but he somehow did, and now he was in very big trouble for it.

see, something had obviously upset you, because you had come home that day, and instantly tim could sense the despondent attitude you gave off. something was wrong, alright, but what the fuck was he supposed to do about it?

when something bothered him, he would usually just go for a smoke, or punch someone in the face, maybe go for a murder or two if his mood was particularly foul. but he knew that wouldn’t do, not here, not with you. you needed something else, something along the lines of care and comfort, and he was responsible for providing that.

he’d view it as a hinderance, a bother almost, but not enough to not do it or complain about it, just enough that he’d be hesitant and drag his feet a bit when he’d go over to you, awkwardly wrap his arms around you in a tender hug. he’d give you some reassuring pats on the back, before asking, in that gruff voice he always used whenever he felt uncomfortable or awkward, “what’s going on, darling?”

he wouldn’t ever say it to you, but he actually preferred it if you didn’t tell him what was happening. you telling him would mean that he would have to talk about it, something he preferred far less to simply patting your back, rubbing your shoulders and caressing your face, just simple touches in an attempt to give you reassurance and comfort of sorts.

if he did have to talk about it, he’d keep it simple.

“oh princess, everything’s going to be okay.”

he wasn’t sure if it would be okay, but fuck it, he had to tell you something, and that was better than nothing. but if it really wasn’t okay and sometimes, you’d insist on that being the case, then tim would be at a loss of what to do. at that point, he’d probably just offer to take you out to a diner, grab some pancakes and whatnot, his treat, of course.

tim really didn’t like having to deal with things like this, but goddammit, because he did in fact like you. and it was weird for him to feel this way, but at the end of the day, all of this only bothered him because he just wanted things to be okay.

he just wanted you to be okay.

hoodie

brian was an interesting guy. he was anything and everything at once. sweet and charming, sly and manipulative, soft and sensitive, the list goes on.

but what really stood out about him was just how loving and caring he could be. which automatically makes him one of the best people to go to for comfort.

key word, comfort, and not overall, because while brian was smart and cunning, he wasn’t the best at solving problems that didn’t involve manipulating someone. nor was he really the type to uh, murder anyone that hurts you. not that he wasn’t protective or anything, he was, but he just… wasn’t like that. and plus he didn’t think it’d actually help the situation, only likely make it worse.

however, he was a very good listener, he’ll pay close attention to every word that comes out of your mouth, even when it’d be unintelligible sobs and hiccups.

and this is where brian’s silver tongue came into play.

he’d know just the exact right things to say to soothe you and calm you down. he’d know just the exact right things to say to show that he understood, that you weren’t alone, and that he cared. he’s very good at just being kind and supportive. and it never failed to bring you comfort, knowing that no matter what happens, there would always be at least one person that would have your back.

so no matter how sad you are, no matter what went wrong in your life, you’d know that he’ll always be there for you. you’d know that you’d always have someone who cares, who loves you for who you are and who would take good care of you. you’d know that you were in good hands, you’d know that you could trust him and you’d just know that you were safe.

and that in some odd way, everything was going to be okay. as long as you had him, and you always will.

he’d make sure you never forget that.

ticci toby

physical pain? nope.

but toby sure as hell understood emotional pain.

if anyone had emotional baggage and trauma, it would be him, with having had a deceased sister and an abusive, neglectful father and a doormat of a mother. and of course, there was the fact that he had borderline personality disorder, making emotions all the more volatile and difficult to handle for him.

yeah, toby was an emotional wreck. so, it was easy for him to be empathetic towards whatever pain and suffering you were going through.

however, toby was kind of awkward.

he understood, he related, and he empathized, but he didn’t really know what to do with that. he wouldn’t know what exactly the right words to say would be, nor the appropriate actions to take in order to comfort you. instead, he’d crack a few jokes, make a couple sarcastic, satirical comments in regards to the situation, hoping that it’d help in some weird way. and sometimes, it would.

during the times in which that failed, though, toby had a plan b. and that was well, good ol’ netflix. yup, toby would drag you over to the sofa—cuddles and watching netflix together. 

he’s a pretty touchy person in general, but this would be on a whole other level. he’d be practically wrapped around you the way a koala would to a tree, cradling you so close to him that you’d swear he was cutting off your circulation. but it did feel nice, and you did feel cared for.

even if toby was a bit odd about it.

jeff the killer

emotions are not jeff’s forte.

in fact, he’s probably as horrible at dealing with them as can be.

honestly, he was actually a somewhat emotional person himself, a ball of bitter teen angst and hormones, but he didn’t like that at all. no, he didn’t like being that. so instead, he’d kill his emotions just like he would his victims. instead replacing anything and everything he feels with a cold, hard, and downright psychopathic exterior.

yeah, jeff really didn’t like facing his own emotions. so when he’s met with yours, well, he has no idea what to do.

yeah, you were his darling and everything, yeah, he wanted you. but no, he did not want to deal with whatever the fuck you were feeling right now, with your cracking voice and saddened sniffling sounds.

he’d decide the best thing to do would be to ignore it, and wait for it to pass. and usually, you would get over it, just like he’d hoped for.

however, sometimes there would be a rather serious problem at hand, and you wouldn’t just ‘get over it’. the issue would persist, and you would stay upset, and jeff wasn’t stupid even though he sometimes pretended to be. he’d know.

at that point, jeff would be forced to deal with it, and he’d force himself to hesitantly ask you just what was going on

when you’d tell him, he’d try to help, but his answer to almost any issue you could have would be well, violence. just kill whoever or whatever was making you upset and problem solved, right? that was his answer to anything.

if you rejected that, though, insisting that it wouldn’t actually help, then jeff would feel really forced into a corner. emotionally support you? okay, but how?

he’d be harsh, saying things like, “big deal”, “who cares”, “just forget about it” and so on. but it wasn’t with bad intentions, and it wasn’t because he didn’t care, per se. it was just the best he could manage, and his idea of trying to comfort you.

nonetheless, jeff tends to shut out his own emotions, so don’t be surprised when he does the same with yours.

ben drowned

as soon as you stepped into the home, he’d know that something was wrong, because even if he wasn’t at the front door and instead upstairs or something, he’d still see that something was wrong from your expression. maybe it was the bloodshot eyes from crying, maybe it was the puffiness or maybe it was just the fact that he knew you well enough to know your facial expressions.

but he’d have seen it right away. he liked watching the security cameras, after all.

so by the time you had made your way upstairs and into his bedroom in search for him, he’d already be waiting there with a collection of various snacks, sweets, blankets and pillows.

as soon as the two of you made eye contact, he’d ask you, “hey, what’s wrong?” and listen carefully as you explained what was going on.

now, ben was no expert with people or psychology or anything along those lines. it wasn’t the bane of his existence by any means, but he just possessed no particular talent or aptitude with it, either. so talking to him often resulted in him nodding along while providing comments such as “damn, i’m sorry to hear that”, “that really sucks”, and so on.

sure, they sounded pretty generic, but they were genuine, he meant every word he said to you because he really did feel bad for you knowing that someone or something had upset you.

ben is empathetic, but he isn’t the most sensitive person. however, he was good at being able to relate, and he liked to talk, anyway, so he’d happily discuss the situation with you, and more often than not, he would tell stories of his own of similar events, in order to help you feel less alone in your struggles

of course, all the while he’d be offering you the snacks he had gathered, wrapping you up in blankets and snuggling up with you. he’d ask if you wanted to put on a show, or play a game—he’d even let you win, he was nice like that—anything to distract you from your sadness.

ben may not be psychiatrist material, but he was a good friend, and an equally caring partner.

slenderman

did i say jack was the best with emotions?

slender might contest that, actually.

after all, the eldritch entity has been alive for centuries—he has such a vast array of knowledge, especially about humans. from the first days of psychology, to freud, to modern day science, he’s seen and read it all.

he’s very interested in and knowledgeable about how humans behave, so it’s no surprise to him, only a shame when he sees you sad, something clearly on your mind.

and to be completely honest? slender didn’t even need to learn psychology, after all, he could literally read minds, he was telepathic. so, the second something is wrong, there’s no hiding it from him, he knows. you wouldn’t have to talk about it, you wouldn’t have to say a word, the second you got near his presence he’d be able to read all your thoughts and he’d be able to assess the situation.

of course, he always gave you the option to talk about it if that’s what you wanted to do. just because he already knew didn’t mean that he minded listening to you say what was on your mind, still. he could offer an ear to listen, always.

but since there was usually not the need for that, he’d just move to take you into his chest, wrapping his long, slender arms around you. while he was holding you, he’d let out his tentacles, each of them doing their own task of comforting you. one tangled in your hair, smoothing it out, one cupping your cheek, stroking it, another patting your back to soothe you, and the rest just wrapped around your body alongside his arms, giving you a sensation of being cocooned.

as he was comforting you, he’d have assessed the situation already, and would have figured out what the correct solution would be. and once you felt okay enough, and he would know exactly when that was, he’d tell you his thoughts, or he’d unwrap himself from you and excuse his presence. he’d leave to go and do whatever he needed to in order to make things better.

after all, he was powerful, and he’d use those powers to protect you.

[literatureloverx]

The song “Poison” from Hazbin Hotel inspired me to write this, which is why you can find it below the second cut.

Angst, hurt without comfort: Dazai is aware that he’s in love with you but is not accepting it. Dazai x fem!reader, desperate / yandere!reader.

Reminder: I’m not romanticizing abusive relationships. The song is meant to be taken seriously, and my work is inspired by it but has no direct ties to it.

Enjoy.🩵

Desperate.

“I should’ve guessed this would happen… I should’ve known the moment I looked into your eyes….”

Your voice trembles, while his gaze is cold, detached, almost dissociative. You continue.

“…They were so intense, so… warm….heartwarming. But you were spewing lies, weren’t you? Warm, cozy lies.”

You stare at him, waiting for a response, but he says nothing, his expression unreadable.

“The worst part of this hell… it is that I can only blame myself.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight.

He knows that this isn’t true. He knows that you’re the way you are, because he wanted you to be this way.

“I knew what you were, but I couldn’t stay away. It’s like I’m trapped, and I can’t escape… not from you.”

His gaze remains cold and distant, as if your words are drifting right past him. He pities you—or perhaps himself. The latter seems more likely. You can see it in his warm brown eyes, which somehow seem so cold that they make you shiver.

“Aren’t you being a little melodramatic, bella?~”

His voice is cold. Ice cold. Distant.

“I knew you were poison,” you say, your voice cracking.

Your desperate effort to illustrate your feelings for him is failing miserably —you’re fully aware of this. But you keep trying, as you do always.

“You’re feeding me poison every time you look at me, every time you speak.” You take a shaky breath, feeling the weight of your own confession. “But… I’m addicted. I can’t help myself. I can’t help but swallow it all down.”

Your fists clench at your sides as you try to steady your breathing, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I made my choice, and now…” You pause, the words catching in your throat.

“Every night, it’s like I’m living without a tomorrow. You’ve got me completely under your control. Any way you want me, Osamu, that’s how I’ll be. I’m yours.”

You step closer to him, close enough to feel the cold air between you, your eyes desperately searching his for any flicker of emotion. But there’s nothing. Nothing you can see, at least.

“My story…” You choke back a sob, your voice trembling. “It’s going to end with me dead from your poison. And the worst part is… I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word. His silence cuts through you, as devastating as his beauty.

“Even now…” You let out a bitter laugh, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“You won’t say anything, will you? But that’s just like you.” You exhale shakily, your whole body trembling. “And still… I’m here, completely lost in you.”

Finally, you look away, your shoulders slumping in defeat. The silence hangs heavy between you, as you realize that no matter how much you give, he will never give you anything in return.

How pathetic of you to be so obsessed with the fragment of a man—neither real, nor loving, nor truly alive.

If only you knew how obsessed he was becoming with you at this very moment.

The way his breath hitched and his cold gaze couldn’t be fazed from your beautiful, pitiful face and teary eyes.

Oh…you were so going to be the death of him.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

villain x hero where the hero gets seriously injured after a fight and looses a limb, and the villain makes them a new robotic one? :0

It was strange technology, unknown to the hero and definitely not...legal. Their new arm was perfectly fine, without any errors, without any unexpected movements. It was a perfect replica of their old arm and yet...

"It's linked to your brain," the villain explained. "I've constructed one very similar to this one a few years ago. I'm confident that you won't have any troubles."

The hero formed a fist over and over again, training their hand but even that didn't seem to be necessary. The villain looked at the data on their computer, avoiding the hero's eyes. Their ears were red.

"You don't have to feel guilty," the hero said. "You don't have to do this out of pity."

"I know," the villain mumbled.

"We both know you had to cut it off. It was damaged beyond repair."

"I know," the villain said again. They looked at the hero for a split second before their eyes found the monitor again. The villain had always been someone rather nervous. Fidgeting often, a little clumsy even. "You're left-handed. You need your arm in battle."

The hero didn't know the villain was aware of that.

"No, I can't accept this. It's too much," they said. They eyed the arm, perfect in its functionality and pleasant in its aesthetic. It looked futuristic and touching the table, feeling the cool surface was like a memory they had lost coming back to them.

"I'm not gonna take it back. What am I supposed to do with a third arm?" The villain laughed and it was soft. Very sweet. It tempted the hero and almost made them smile.

"You're kind," the hero said. It had been a chore to them, fighting and protecting. The job had made them bitter and a little cold. It wasn't something they wanted to be. They wanted to be as excited as the villain, as optimistic as them, they wanted to be free of responsibility like them. It was unrealistic wishful thinking.

When they had lost their arm, they hadn't spoken for weeks. Because, honestly, once they were old (if they made it that far), how much of their body would be left? In a year they might lose a leg, they might lose their fingers. The arm was nice but it wasn't real. It wasn't them.

"I've been cruel for a long time," the villain said. "And I have made mistakes. But you saved me and you shouldn't suffer because of it."

Their eyes locked.

"I'll be honest. I like the arm. But it isn't the same. I still feel as if a part of myself is lost. As if I am still incomplete. I still feel unnatural. I know I shouldn't...I know it's not my place to..."

"It's not about the arm. It's about the touch. It's about being able to experience life to the fullest. It doesn't matter what it looks like or that the original is lost. It's about experiencing life in the best way possible," the villain explained. "Physical touch is important. It is a universal language that everyone understands...no wonder that all of us crave it. I didn't make this because you're worthless without an arm or incomplete, I made this..."

The villain didn't finish the sentence right away. They looked a little lost in thought. "...I made this for you."

"I have never liked physical touch that much," the hero admitted. "But I have to admit, I did crave it. I craved a gentle form of it."

"You haven't experienced much gentleness, have you?" the villain asked and the hero didn't answer since the answer was quite clear. "Come here."

The hero hesitated but when the villain stood up from their chair, they did the same. The villain took their arm, the robotic one, and guided it towards their face until the hero could feel their cheek pressed against their palm. It was warm and it felt real, it felt kind.

Automatically, their other hand followed until they cupped the villain's other cheek. The villain closed their eyes and smiled softly.

"Can I touch you, too?" The hero nodded slowly and as the villain's fingertips brushed against their cheeks, they felt a peace they hadn't felt in a very long time.

[gatorlovebot]

continuation of this blurb here. check out my king!simon masterlist here.

the days following your dispute with simon over lunch were reminiscent of your earlier days serving under the king. you performed all your duties but there was no laughter, no shared looks, none of simon’s dreadful puns. you couldn’t tell if simon was upset with you or if he was just giving you the space that you had asked for. 

there’s a part of you that wishes you could take it back, take back all of your biting words from your little quarrel so things could go back to how they’d always been. even if you couldn’t have simon to yourself, you’d do anything to get back his humor and casual touch. 

was this how it was going to be? was this his way of telling you that he doesn’t want you?

the questions swirled through your mind constantly, but everytime you tried to open up your mouth, no sound would come out, fearful of whatever response you’d get in return. 

you didn’t think you’d feel this awful, having been so fiercely irritated with him days previous. but now you couldn’t muster up the energy to be cross with him because you missed him. 

you seemed to luck out though, the secretary had scheduled an hours long meeting with you to create the itinerary for the king’s upcoming cross country trip. simon would not be in attendance, instead attending to other matters, and you were frankly excited to spend some time away from him. 

you had to admit that it was going to be bitter sweet though, the only time you got to spend away from him was time spent planning his trip. that you would be accompanying him on. your dynamic may have changed over the past few days but your duties to your king had not. 

“so, this is where you’ll be staying, i already sent for the accommodations. i made sure to get you a room right next to the king’s.” and you shouldn’t be surprised, on all your travels you had lodged right next to simon. it used to be something that you reveled in, being able to fall out of bed and go directly next door to pick out his clothes instead of having to walk all the way across the castle in the early hours of the morning. but now you dread the mornings and the way you and simon barely speak while alone in his bedroom, just going through the motions. 

“it’s quite a long trains ride, most likely all day,” the secretary continued you on, outlining your future route on a map that he had rolled out across the table. you couldn’t say you were excited for such a long journey, but you hoped that maybe a change of scenery would help with your’s and simon’s issues. “but the journey is worth it for such a beautiful place.”

“have you been there?” you inquire. you had been working more with the secretary the past few days, little details here and there regarding the upcoming departure, but this is your first time sitting down with him for an extended period of time. it would be good for your future working relationship to get to know each other better. 

“i have, i did a bit of traveling on my own before coming to the castle.” he explained, pointing out various other cities and towns on the map. “i didn’t really know what kind of opportunities i’d have for travel while here, so i traveled to some places i really wanted to see before accepting the position.”

your servitude under the king has allowed you many opportunities for travel, to see parts of the world you could have never even imagined. but there was a little bit of desire within you to be able to go where you wanted when you wanted, instead of only going places to accompany the king. especially now, with your relationship with the king in such a precarious position. there was a feeling of trepidation with the upcoming trip, only a few short days away now. throughout the years, you and simon had your ups and downs, but this time you were expecting a permanent change in your relationship to him, and not a positive one. 

you sat in silence as the secretary went over the rest of the itinerary, where you and the king would be going, what people you would be meeting. the trip was to only last a few days, each day packed with things to do and people to meet. the secretary was advising you on potential clothing items to pack, due to your destination experiencing snowfall before your kingdom when you felt a presence lingering at the doorway. 

the secretary also noticed the presence, turning to see simon stood in the threshold. taking in the sight of the two of you huddled up at the table. you had a hard time reading his face, but his voice was surprisingly soft as he spoke, “i’m going down to dinner, my dear, if you’d like to join me.”

it's something that he started doing after your spat, asking you if you wanted to do things, if you wanted to join him, instead of just expecting you to do so. you found it odd, he hadn’t absolved you of your duties yet so why was he continuously giving you a choice in them?

“or,” he continued, voice almost curious, “if you two would like some more time together you can.”

you consider his offer for a moment, you had been having a pleasant time with the secretary, you could easily send simon down to dinner alone. but you had to admit that you missed his handsome face in the hours that you had been apart that day. you turned back to the secretary and started gathering up the papers that were strewn across the table, “thank you so much for you time today, sir, i think we’ve smoothed everything out for the trip.”

you could see a flash of disappointment on his face, maybe expecting you to stay with him instead of going to simon. you probably should have stayed with him, should tell simon to leave and ask the secretary what his previous offer would entail. you were a little stumped that he hadn’t taken this meeting as an opportunity to approach you about it again since the previous time he seemed so serious. but his face quickly settled into a polite smile, the one that he usually had on his face. “thank you for my your time today, my dear. enjoy your dinner.”

you stood from your chair, gathering up your documents in hand before making your way over to simon to make your way down to the dining room. you stopped at the threshold at the sound of the secretary's voice, “your highness, thank you for letting me borrow her for the day.” 

simon didn’t even turn to face the secretary, just inhaling loud and long before biting out, “she’s not something to borrow.” and with that gruff comment he stepped out into the corridor, and strided to the staircase. 

you wanted to roll your eyes at his comment and abrupt departure down the corridor, but it was just so simon that you couldn’t help but let a humorous smile stretch across your lips. you wordlessly followed him down the stairs, down hallway after hallway until you finally reach the grand dining room.  

as you make your way to the table simon does something surprising, he pulls out your chair for you. it was something that he did for you in your first few days of serving under him, until you two became more comfortable with each other and you told him through laughter that he did not have to do such cliche gestures for you. 

you looked at him curiously, but when all he did was gesture to the seat you wordlessly sat down, allowing him to push you in closer to the table. in a moment there’s a plate of delicious, hot food placed in front of you and when simon sits across from you, he digs into his meal the room stays quiet for a few long moments, only the sounds of your cutlery filling the room.

“getting along well with the secretary?” his tone is casual, but the question itself makes your ears perk up. even though you two have barely spoken these past few says, you’ve been waiting for more hurtful words to come out of him. you braced yourself for this conversation to get quickly derailed by his jealousy and anger. 

you try to keep your voice light and even as you respond, “we got all the details of the trip finalized.” you wouldn’t bore him with all the details tonight, that would be a job for his secretary in the days leading up to the trip.

he makes an inquisitive noise, “you know, it’s interesting, the way he looks at you and the way he talks about you.”

you stop, your fork held in the air, before bringing it back down to your plate, pondering his words. you weren’t sure what he could be referring to but you knew he would tell you whether or not you even asked. “what do you mean, your highness?”

he doesn’t respond for a moment and you just continue to look at your plate, pushing food around with your fork, until you feel something nudge your foot. it makes you look up at him, attention held by his dark gaze. “he looks at you with rapt attention, hanging on your every word, and then he goes on to ruin it by claiming you’re just something to borrow.” he scoffs, “you don’t borrow people, especially not you.”

simon was very interesting at times. indirectly talking about his feelings because he never learned how to state them outright. you knew him, you always knew what he was trying to say. but you were no longer going to sit and just infer about his feelings anymore, you needed to hear them.

“wouldn’t be the first time one of your men showed me disrespect.” you quipped. the sting of the mens’ harsh words had dissipated over the years, you had come to terms that they would never see you as a part of simon’s court. it didn’t really matter to you, knowing that you would always be significantly closer to the king than any of them could even dream to be. but it still irritated you, knowing that simon thought of himself as your savior, your protector, and yet he wouldn’t send away any of the rude men that served under him. would only bark at them before they muttered a fearful apology and then allow them to continue on with their duties. 

“you’re right,” he sets down his cutlery, giving you his full attention. “and i will rectify that as soon as we come back from our travels.”

now you roll your eyes, having a hard time taking in his sincerity. too little, too late, you think to yourself. “and what will that entail?”

he picks up his fork again, “when we get back i'll dismiss all of my court and fill only the roles that are absolutely necessary. that will mostly be for appearances, we both know it just takes the two of us to run the kingdom.”

just takes the two of us to run the kingdom. maybe that would be true in another life. in a life where simon would claim you as his own. 

“that’s no solution to this simon, that’s not what i want.” you push back. 

he raises his hands in disbelief, “what could you possibly want then, if not that, then what?”

“i want us to talk about the real issue here!” you spit back, anger bubbling over. “you know that the past few days have been awkward not because of your fucking court, or because of anyone else, it’s because i asked you to finally decide what you wanted out of me.”

“what i wanted out of you?” he repeats, incredulous, “what i want doesn’t matter, because all i’ve ever wanted is what you wanted.”

tears spring to your eyes, fear and anger mixing up inside of you as you get the courage to speak, “i want love, simon, i want companionship. and you feel for me as strongly as i feel for you, but i want to know it, i want to hear it. i need to know that you choose me over-”

“i do, it’s you! it’s always been you,” he pleads. 

“then prove it.” you challenge, mustering up all the conviction you can. 

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 9- An Explosive Setback

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: Valeria is kind of mean this chapter. She gets nicer in the next one, pinky promise

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH20.), Dual POV

There's a cobweb in the corner of the lab. Fine, silvery strings of silk woven together in an intricate pattern. A large spider inhabits it. Evidence of it's dinners existing as dried out corpses of flies and whatever else was unlucky enough to wander into it's web. another spider, a smaller one slowly crawls along the wall. Carefully approaching the web. For whatever reason you're unable to look away. anticipating a fight among them. The smaller spider steps one leg onto the web. Sending invisible vibrations down to the owner, who is hidden in a crack in the wall. It's legs dart out inquisitively. The intruder steps onto the web, walking along the silk with minimal caution. Just a few more. The larger spider darts out and attacks. You watch the spiders strike out with their thin legs. Imagining their tiny fangs - too small to pierce through human skin - sinking into each other's exoskeletons. You had assumed the larger of the two would win. It has home field and size to it's advantage but to your surprise, the larger one falls still. Having succumbed the smaller one's venom.

You turn away to get back to work. Losing interest after witnessing the conclusion to such a riveting fight between arachnids. A part of you is still bitter over not being accepted by your peers. Though you aren't sure why. It's not like you respect most of them. Valeria is really the only one you can feel any glimmers of respect for. Even Diego, to a minuscule extent holds some. Whatever. It doesn't matter. What does matter is perfecting your craft. Maybe you'd be able to be better if you had taken more than just high school level chemistry but it's nothing more than a small obstacle. Sweet Meth was a huge step in the right direction. You want to go further. 

You're pouring over chemistry textbooks. Trying to ignore the headache behind your eyes. That's probably why you never pursued anything more then you had to. Though your ability to work with and understand chemicals is certainly higher than the average person, you aren't all knowing. There's a dark area within your mind where your knowledge just ends. You pertain a certain intrigue in the chemical world but learning about it always bored you. Mixing them and learning about what they do is okay enough but you couldn't tell anyone what the charge for a phosphors atom is. Truth be told, learning gives you a headache.

What's worse is you're giving yourself a headache for no reason because nothing in this textbook is making sense. Your eyes might as well be glazed over as you scan the words that are slowly beginning to morph into other things. Lines curving in ways they shouldn't making it harder for you to read. Nothing is telling you or even hinting at what chemical is responsible for addiction. Of course, that would be dopamine, but you don't have access or any clue in how to trigger it. What chemical causes the brain to release it? You wouldn't know because this dumb textbook won't tell you. You set the textbook aside and decide to just figure it out through trial and error. Like the forefathers of science did. Ecstasy is pretty addictive and it makes the user feel euphoric. Both of which would have someone coming back for more. Sodium Hydroxide is what you need. 

With your body suited up you carefully measure out your ingredients. Sulfuric Acid, liquidated sugar, Acetone. Sodium Hydroxide. You carefully mix it with Red Phosphorus and heat it. All you have to do is figure out the proper ratio for Sodium Hydroxide and you'll have perfected the Sugar Meth. You allow yourself to glimpse into a small fantasy of yours. Your meth is a success and completely out selling the other stuff. Nobody says anything but you can feel the grudging respect. Right as you turn around to check on the Red Phosphorus and Sodium Hydroxide mix, the flask it's boiling in explodes. Shooting glass shards flying in every direction. It's not a small explosion either. Expensive equipment is damaged and the force of the explosion itself throws you against one of the big metal containers. The back of your head slams into it and there's an angry pain in your ribs.

Your vision swims as things catch fire. You barely register the shrapnel sticking out of your arm and chest. You panic. Worried about burning to death even though you know the smoke is more likely to kill you first. You attempt to get up and only make it halfway to your feet before your ribs cramp. You gasp and crumple to the ground. Only embedding a long piece of glass further into your forearm. Fire blazes out of control in only a matter of seconds. Reaching the contained pseudoephedrine. Your arms and chest are wet with blood. You feel like a scared animal. You try to crawl towards the stairs, but you can feel that light, numbness spreading through your body. You pass out before you can reach them.

                            *                             *                          *

In the darkness, you begin to register a sensation. Something distantly painful. your brain attempts to ignore it but when it sharpens you wake. It takes only a second for the pain to rush you. Descending upon you like a pack of rabid dogs. The lights are bright and there's an older man kneeling next to your side, weaving a needle and thread through your arm. You can feel a small pop each time the needle penetrates through your skin. You hiss in pain and jerk away.

"Keep still." He barks. Roughly grabbing your arm. 

You look around. Confused and still dazed. This doesn't look like a hospital. Valeria is in the corner, gaze dark and arms crossed over her chest.

You're still at the compound.

"Ow!" You flinch. Turning and looking at the 'doctor.'

"Whoops, sorry. I have shaky hands." He murmurs. A dot of blood wells up where he mistakenly poked you. As the fog clears, other parts of your body begins to hurt. There's a small burning feeling along your chest and arms and it hurts to breathe. You flex each limb in turn. Right arm, left arm, right leg, left- you gasp in pain. You can barely move your leg and trying sends a sharp pain shooting up your calf. 

The man finishes and stands.

"Okay. All patched up." He says. Looking over to Valeria. "She has some fractured ribs and her tibia and fibula in her left leg are also fractured. Though not by a lot. she won't be able to walk probably for five or six weeks."

Valeria sighs. "Okay."

The doctor leaves and you wish he wouldn't. You fucked up big time. Blew up the lab. The supplies. You don't have to look at Valeria to know - or feel - how pissed she is. The atmosphere in the room gets significantly heavier with the man's absence.

"What the fuck did you do?" Valeria growls. Storming up to your side. She has uncrossed her arms and her hands are clenched into tight fists at her side. Knuckles whitening like it's taking all her self-control to not hit you.

"I'm- I'm sorry." You stammer. "I was trying to find what-"

"You dumb bitch!" She cuts you off. Voice raised. "How stupid and irresponsible can you be? I thought you were supposed to be smart. Do you understand how much this is going to cost us? You completely destroyed the lab. The equipment is ruined the supplies are all contaminated. Nothing was salvaged. Nothing."

You close your eyes and avoid her gaze. Chest burning with shame. Or maybe it's one of your wounds that's burning. 

"You are so useless." She continues. Slicing you open with her barbed words. "I should kill you for this. I can't stand to look at you right now." Valeria storms out with her insults lingering behind. Despair floods your body at what you've done. You won't even be able to cook for a while. No lab, no supplies, you probably can't even stand on your own.

[theambitiouswoman]

Hi! I'm not sure if you've done one before, and if you have, feel free to ignore this, I'll find the post, but do you have any tips on how to start your self love journey? I've been struggling from the beginning of the way and I've made some progress but I feel like it's not enough. And I'm not sure exactly where to go. I read so many posts on self care and self love but I don't know which to start with cause they all seem like something people who've been on that journey for a long time are doing. I guess I'm saying I'm lost and not sure where to start or continue 😅

How To Start Your Self Love Journey 🥰❤️‍🩹

1. Accept yourself and realize that you are worthy of self love: When you learn to love yourself, you won't feel scared of what others think about you, and you'll be able to embrace who you are. Figure out what you like and what you dislike. Create boundaries and learn your love language. This part of the self love journey is crucial. I recommend that everyone takes the time to figure out who they are and learn how to accept themselves.

2. Affirmations: Start using positive statements can help your brain think in a happier way. Even if you don't believe them at first, saying them repeatedly can make you start believing. Choose some positive statements and say them often. Write them on sticky notes and put them around your home.

3. Do Things You Love: No matter how busy you are, set aside time for activities you enjoy. Whether it's a short trip or reading a favorite author's book, prioritize things that make you happy.

The idea is to take charge and actively shape a life that brings you happiness, rather than settling for one that doesn't. Treat yourself kindly and give yourself the wonderful gift of a life filled with happiness.

4. Take Care of Your Body: A good 30 minutes of exercising can change your whole day and mood. Aside from exercising, you should change your diet to healthier options. The foods you eat affect your mood and energy. Don't forget to rest too.

5. Quit The Negative Self Talk: Self-talk is basically how we talk to ourselves. We tend to be really hard on ourselves. I wrote a post about it recently here. I suggest trying to find proof for your thoughts and questioning them. In short, focus on how you speak to yourself. Many of our thoughts are extreme or very black and white. Most of these thoughts aren't even original, our minds pick up so much throughout the day. Almost always, people project their own insecurities, values, fears, and opinions onto us. Treat yourself kindly.

6. Don’t Compare Yourself to Others: Comparison is the fastest way to bring yourself down. It doesn’t matter what other people are doing or how far they’ve come. Everyone works at his own pace. Everyone is unique, and no uniqueness is better than the other.

7. Don't Care What Others Think: This isn't just about rejecting criticism; it's also about not becoming too focused on compliments. Your value isn't determined by others' opinions. Don't rely on external sources to validate yourself. Your worth comes from within.

8. Forgive And Let Go: With emotional pain, we often extend our suffering by clutching onto negative emotions like guilt, shame, and resentment, sometimes indefinitely. Rather than releasing these emotions, we cling to them, replaying hurtful moments repeatedly, hoping the person who hurt us will feel the same pain. Yet, harboring resentment is akin to consuming poison and expecting our enemy to suffer. Clinging to bitterness doesn't alter anything; it merely confines us to our pain.

Forgiveness liberates us—it's about us, not the person we're forgiving. Prioritizing our well-being over being right, it takes responsibility for our happiness instead of placing it in someone else's hands. Happiness trumps being right. Freedom often hinges on picking happiness over being right. When someone makes a mistake, it can be more satisfying to let them believe they're right and move on, rather than stewing over it. Reflect on someone who irked you three years ago. Can you even recall them now? If so, does it still provoke irritation? If not, why invest energy in something you'll forget in a year or two? Once you genuinely forgive, release it entirely. Forgiveness involves moving beyond resentment, focusing on positive actions and intentions instead.

9. Start a Gratitude Journal: A grateful heart is a magnet for miracles. You attract more good things in your life by being grateful for what you already have. Understanding what gratitude is can help you on your self love journey because of how you appreciate what you already have. Especially when we are in a place where we are only focused on the negative things in our life.

10. Practice Small Acts of Kindness For Yourself: Treat yourself to outings and buy things that make you happy. Set aside money for little things you enjoy. Remember, even the small gestures towards ourselves matter.

I suggest forming the habit of creating habits that lead you toward your desired life. A book I recommend is "Atomic Habits" by James Clear. It shows how habits can be positive or negative, and how doing something small daily can lead to significant outcomes.

11. Surround Yourself With Positivity: Watch motivational videos, and follow accounts promoting self-love and body positivity on social media, and unfollow those who make you feel bad. In real life too. Keep a Pinterest board with uplifting quotes. Use positivity to counter negativity. Aim to be realistic with your thoughts instead of assuming the worst. Focus on positive outcomes, and if that's hard, start with neutral thoughts.

Don't go to extremes with forced positivity. Aim for practical positivity. For instance, you might not be the absolute best, but you're a hard worker and your best is valuable. You might not excel at something today, but you can improve over time through effort.

12. Do A Lot of Self Reflecting: Write in your journal. Spend time alone. This is how you really understand yourself. Challenge your insecurities and the things you imagine about others. Figure out if you're accepting less than you deserve or if you're moving towards improvement.

13. Get To Know Yourself: The journey to personal growth begins with recognizing and embracing your true self before you start building and improving.

You can learn more about yourself by pondering these questions:

Am I Content with My Current Activities?

What Do I Want to Do?

Can I Turn My Passion into Reality?

By understanding yourself, including your values, priorities, motivations, sources of satisfaction, and abilities, you can discover your true desires and drive personal growth.

14. Realize That Going on A Self Love Journey Is Not Easy: Embarking on a journey of self-love involves a lot of heartache and healing. You might come across various self-love activities and advice, but the key is understanding that it requires dedication and effort. It's not a simple task. There will be moments when you feel like you've wasted a lot of time, prompting you to reevaluate your approach. There will be times when you believe you're making progress, only to realize there's more to work on. It's essential to recognize that you're taking significant steps to unlearn old habits and make changes.

My suggestion is to genuinely take a moment to understand that self-love is a commitment. It's like building a muscle that needs regular exercise. Think of it as tending to a plant that requires consistent care. Recognize that self-love isn't always about positivity; there are challenges to overcome as well. It's a realistic journey that involves ups and downs, rather than just an easy path of happiness.

15. Discover Your Purpose: Discovering your purpose can bring more happiness and fulfillment to your life. Each of us possesses unique talents and gifts to contribute to the world. When you share what you're meant to give, you align with your best self. Follow what feels right to you. You don't have to have it all figured out.

16. Take Action: Instead of getting stuck in overthinking and planning every detail perfectly, take action. Even if you're unsure, take that first step. You don't need a complete roadmap; just follow the path that feels right and see where it leads you. Your initial step might not instantly lead you to your dream scenario, but it could serve as a foundation. Regardless of where you find yourself, value your current position. Understand that every action you take along your journey contributes to your ultimate destination.

17. Don't Start Everything Anew: You don't have to build your ideal life completely from scratch. Observe what others are doing that deeply resonates with you and brings you a sense of vitality. Is it their well-structured routine, their freedom from routines, or perhaps their ability to travel extensively? The more precisely you identify the elements that ignite your passion, the easier it becomes to visualize and shape your own desired life.

18. Act As If: Embrace the "fake it till you make it" approach. Hold the belief that whatever you desire is attainable, even if there's no current proof of its possibility. Behave as though it's already unfolding and remain receptive to opportunities that guide you toward your objective.

19. Surround Yourself with Like-Minded People: You tend to adopt the mindset of those you spend the most time with. Avoid people who bring negativity, and instead, connect with individuals who view the world as abundant. Invest more time with those whose thinking you aspire to emulate. If you're lacking inspiring connections, seek out new friendships.

20. Give: Giving is one of our greatest joys. When we have faith in the abundant nature of our universe and freely offer, we elevate our energy and create an opportunity to receive abundance in return. When we withhold because of distrust in abundance, we inadvertently attract the very scarcity we wish to avoid. The universe operates on a balance of action and reaction, like inhaling and exhaling, giving and receiving. Hence, the more you give, the more you open yourself to receiving, and vice versa.

21. Gratitude In Real Life: Gratitude goes beyond mere politeness of saying "thank you" when given something. True gratitude involves being aware of and profoundly valuing the numerous blessings in your life. Since gratitude generates positive emotions, it elevates your energy to a high frequency, attracting more positive feeling

22. Change Your Story: The stories we tell ourselves shape our lives greatly. Often, we hold onto untrue beliefs like "I lack money" or "I'm not capable," which blinds us to the many possibilities and chances around us. To reshape your life, begin by realizing that you are the author of your life. When you decide to draft a better script, your life becomes more meaningful. To let go of old narratives, first, be aware of them. If there's something you want to do but haven't, ask why. What's stopping you? Every story you tell serves a purpose, whether it's healthy or not. For instance, if you believe you're depressed, you might avoid exerting yourself and receive attention. We often prioritize the benefits of our stories over our actual desires. Comfort becomes more important than seizing control of our lives.

Once you identify old stories and their hidden gains, compose fresh, empowering narratives. To make these new stories your reality, focus on them. Embrace the happiness and excitement they bring. Use them as affirmations, repeating them until they replace the old tales entirely.

Self love can lead to you to big personal transformations.

You'll treat yourself with greater compassion and understanding. Your self-support and ability to forgive will bring a sense of calmness. Embracing self love enables you to truly live and embrace each moment. Through it, you'll have more love to give to others, improving your relationships. You become the architect of your own happiness.

<3

[lightofraye]

You are ridiculous, you have proof of nothing, all you have is selective blindness and deafness. you just choose to ignore every instance in which Jensen shows affection to anyone who isn't Jared. it doesn't matter how many times he expresses that he loves his wife, or his other friends like Misha. or even his own kids. you just don't want to hear it. all the good things he has, all the blessings and the large amount of love surrounding him, you don't want to see that, you rather have a drama novel. you don't want to see Jensen as a real person, all you can see is the twisted version of him that you made up on your head, a poor diminished guy who needs alcohol to cope with his miserable life and whose only friend in the whole wide world is JP. so how does your little novel ends? maybe you should write it down and finally be done with it. does Jensen die at the end? does he kills himself? or perhaps he's murdered by Danneel.

Y’know… I was going to put off answering this until tomorrow, but no.

Because you actually said something so horrific it demanded a response.

You think that’s the fate Jensen deserves? I mean… did you really think he doesn’t deserve a happy ending? Because I never said that. You did.

In fact, the part about the kids baffle me. Where have I ever said he doesn’t deserve his children? If anything my heart has been broken by the fact he’s away so much—forced to be away—that his eldest daughter is crying over it.

And you say I don’t see him as a real person? Really? What’s the flip side of my perspective? The AAs who see him so perfect, never capable of making a mistake? Who of us doesn’t see him as a real person?

I see his flaws. To borrow a phrasing an anon used on another blog, I see his freckles. I see his slightly crooked nose. I see those adorable eye crinkles that come out in full force when he smiles

I also see the man who made a terrible business and personal decision years ago when he decided to pursue The Winchesters without involving Jared. I also see the man whose decisions on the set that nearly cost a man his life.

I see the man.

Not the perfect Ken doll y’all are so insistent he is.

He’s flawed. A real human being.

And no, I don’t think he’s really friends with Misha because he’s never seen anywhere outside of cons with him. And given what a blabbermouth Misha is, we’d know in a heartbeat.

Hollywood is full of users, anon. Leeches. Hanger-ons. And fanatical fans.

No, you’re right, I don’t believe him when he says he loves Danneel—but when was the last time he’s said that? Not “she’s perfect for me” or “strong woman”. When was the last time he said he loved her?

You’re allowing your irritation with me to affect you, anon. I don’t know why you and the others are so insistent on arguing with me. What would be the purpose behind it?

To dissuade me? To persuade me otherwise? Why? I’m not here to change your mind. I merely share my opinions, much like I’m sure you do on your blog.

The only difference is, I’m not going to pro-Jensen blogs or pro-Misha blogs or anti-Jared blogs and harassing them.

That’s the difference between us. I’m expressing my opinions on my blog and am at peace with allowing others to think and feel as they like on their blogs.

I only speak up and act when there’s actual bullying or harassment or threats of violence to others—because we should absolutely care about that, regardless of who it is.

Here you are, mocking me, calling me stupid, coming up with horrific scenarios you seem to think I believe Jensen deserves (really?).

I see the world for what it really is, anon. I try to balance that with a little bit of hope and faith that maybe humanity isn’t entirely lost. That by speaking up about abuse, someone will be saved. By pointing out dangerous lies, someone will open their eyes.

What is your purpose here? To be bitter and angry that maybe, just maybe, your perfect image isn’t perfect after all?

Be better. Do better.

Accept that I have a different opinion. Block me, block my tags.

Go in peace. I hope you someday find some solace in this world.

[rockwgooglyeyes]

Although this is extremely late, what would you say happens during and after Nyx’s and the other’s escape?

HI (I am assuming) PARA!! I'm so sorry that I never wrote something for the aftermath of Nyx's round, I had a draft but I just moved into my flat at uni and my flatmates moved in last Sunday and it's been kind of super chaotic since. I haven't had much time to write. But the finished product will be in this ask-response, for simplicity's sake. If that's okay with you

LOG (SUBJECT: Round 18 - ONYX LOSS)

SPECIMEN: 001247 (ONYX)

When the lights go out, fear is the furthest thing from Nyx's mind.

Why would he be afraid? Lang won, she won, he's so happy he could cry. She deserves it, she deserves the world, he wants to hug her and kiss her forehead and tell her that he loves her before he goes. He clutches onto her, their dance stuttering to a stop in the muddy black. He can hear the alarms going off, the panicked screams of the crowd, the footsteps clattering through the arena and the gunshots ringing out, but it all feels far away. Lang starts to push him away, her hands shaking, but he holds fast.

"It's just me, please," he rasps, voice breaking on the last syllable. She goes still in his arms, wariness clear in the steely potential energy of her limbs. He finds her forehead with his hand and brushes away her bangs from it, bending down to press a kiss to the revealed skin. "Thank you, Lang, for being my friend. I love you." She hesitates, hands twitching where they rest on his chest, before hugging him. She squeezes him tightly and lets go all too soon, distancing herself from him. She takes one step and then another, getting farther and farther each time.

Letting out a shaky breath, Nyx lets her go. Lang doesn't turn, she doesn't run away, she watches him unflinchingly in the murky darkness. If there really is an afterlife, he thinks, I will miss her when I get there. Maybe I'll get to see Kyo, or Cas. Tov might even name a constellation after me. He doesn't follow her, simply standing there and waiting for death to come. He doesn't care how it's done, whether it be a bullet through the chest or someone slams him to the ground and bashes his head in, it doesn't matter. If his last memory is one of pain, then so be it. He deserves it, after all this time of living past his expiration date.

See, it was as soon as he realized that Kyo would never love him back, it was when he first set his eyes on Asahi, it was when he stood on stage at graduation- those were the moments that told Nyx that he wouldn't make it past twenty. Here he is, though, twenty and something months, however many days over his allowance. He doesn't regret it, the moments he had in that stolen time. He was able to tell Tov he loved her, he got to tell Vera goodbye, he saw Aurien one last time and Solei, well, Solei is still alive. He just hopes that they're happy.

Nyx can't help but laugh- Tov will be absolutely furious with him for dying. For losing. At least, he hopes she hates him for it, that it makes it easier to accept that he's gone. Part of him still wishes he had done something other than laugh. He wishes that the last thing he said to her was something gentle, sweet, but he supposes it wouldn't have been true to form. He's not a sweet, gentle person. He's brittle and sharp around the edges and cruel when it counts, bitter when it hurts. Still, he wishes that he had done something better than laugh when she told him to win. He laughed because he had nothing to say, because he was surprised, because he was astounded that Tov thought he even stood a chance. After all, she knows the truth, that Cas threw the round, that he'd done it as some kind of sacrifice, some sick act of love.

(Really, Nyx should have known from the beginning, that something was off, that Cas wasn't trying as hard as he should have been, that he wasn't pouring his heart out into it like he would've been had the circumstances been different. He should've known that the calm, the acceptance in Cas' eyes was a harbinger of doom, an omen for what was to come. He didn't. He was too foolish, too naïve, too stupid to see the truth.)

When a hand clamps down over his mouth from behind him, he doesn't scream. He doesn't fight. He waits for the end, no resistance, no questions, no fear. Maybe that's why it takes him a moment to make out Aurien's voice, pleading with him.

"Nyx? Nyx, can you hear me?" He blinks, turning to see his little sister, standing stark in the darkness. Inky strands of hair is dripping into her wild eyes, she pulls down a mask covering her mouth, breathing heavily as she watches him.

"Aurien," he murmurs, breathing her name in a hushed whisper, reverent as a prayer. He takes a step forward and tucks her hair behind her ear, cupping her face with a hand, stroking his thumb down the delicate curve of her cheekbone, the gentle flutter of her eyelashes. She leans into his touch, smiling slightly and releasing a sigh of relief. "You're not supposed to be here." What happens next doesn't make sense, her eyes flashing open, fury flashing in their obsidian depths.

"Nyx," she intones, warning obvious in her tone. She places her hand on top of his, her jaw twitching with barely constrained rage.

"I've already stayed too long," he tells her, running his fingers through her hair, just as he used to when they were children and he was comforting her while she cried. "Please, save Lang instead. She doesn't deserve to die." She jerks backwards, ripping his hand away and stumbling, looking shaken to her core.

"What are you talking about?" She demands, throwing her hands up in the air. "You don't deserve to die, either." Nyx barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

"Of course, you would say that," he sighs, looking down at the ground. "But Cas died. He died so that I could live. Kyo is gone, Vera too, that's not even mentioning Tallis. You and Solei are happy, now. I'll just drag you down, with my cynicism, my baggage. You're better off forgetting about me."

"You-"

"I don't deserve to be saved."

"Well, good thing that I don't fucking care whether or not you deserve it," Aurien snaps, eyes flashing dangerously. "You're coming. We're saving you. No buts."

Of course, right after she says that, a whistle pierces the air and punctures her in the side. Right where she was shot the first time. Right where Cas was shot. Nyx catches her when she falls, grasping at her arms with shaking, sweaty hands. She coughs out blood onto his shoulder, trying to push herself back up and failing. Nyx should be helping her, he knows he should be helping her. After all, she's real.

But his vision is flickering in and out, Aurien's hair turning curly, the color of dried blood, hemoglobin on silk. She looks up at him, says something, but he can only see Castor's face, smiling at him with bloodied lips. Nyx can only hear the laugh that bubbled out of Castor in his last moments. Nyx's heart is beating the drums of war in his ears, chest heaving and tears budding in his eyes. He presses his hand to the wound in her side to stem the bleeding (like he did with Cas) and she hisses in pain just like Cas did.

Nyx chokes on his own breath, stuttering backwards, unable to do this any longer. Aurien makes a noise in surprise, crumpling to the floor, just like Cas did. Just like Cas did.

"It's not, real, he's gone," Nyx hiccups out, shaking his head, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. "He's gone, he's gone. Please, please," He repeats it, a broken record catching again on the needle, attempting to self-soothe in the face of a fracturing psyche.

"Onyx," a voice cuts through his delusions. He barely hears it and when a hand suddenly grabs his forearm, he flinches away on instinct, eyes wide, panic taking over every other faculty of his mind. The owner of the hand is he doesn't recognize, with white curly hair and a face mask just like the one Aurien was wearing, and they're looking at him sternly. "We need to get out of here."

"Wh- I- alright," Nyx acquiesces, too tired to fight anymore. "Where're we going?" His voice is hollowed out and rough, broken by his crying.

"Surveillance room," the white-haired person grunts out while picking up Aurien gingerly and holding her over their shoulder. "You know a way there?" Nyx nods, scanning his mind for the shortest route from the stage. He beckons them to follow him and darts off, lowering himself down off of the stage and going to the undercroft beneath the stage through a hidden panel. The person ducks in behind him, seeming surprised at where they end up, the racks of costumes, the tools and other supplies, microphones and cords strewn about. Nyx weaves through the mess quickly, leaving his companions to catch up as he rewires the lift to bypass the security lockdown.

"I wouldn't risk the lift if we didn't have someone injured," Nyx says quietly, fingers tangles and disentangling the cords he pulled from the outlet. Finally, the lift dings, the light turning on as the doors open with a hiss. The person holding Aurien nods to him and enters the lift. Nyx presses the button inside and opens up the admin panel to program a no-stop straight shot to the surveillance room. "See, the thing is, the undercroft and the surveillance room are directly connected because they're both backstage work areas." Nyx doesn't know why he's talking, not really, but the words are spilling out of him and it feels good to fill the silence up with something other than the hum of the electricity and the whispers in his head insisting that this isn't real either, he's already dead and this is some grandiose delusion of heaven.

They actually reach the surveillance room before the person holding Aurien even responds to his rambling which feels a bit like a blessing in disguise. There are two people already in the surveillance room, one of which whips around to face them while the other stays hunched over the admin panel, presumably doing damage control. Funnily enough, they look like Ryu and Ji-Woo but that's ridiculous. Those two went missing.

"Nyx?" The person that looks and sounds like Ryu exclaims, amber eyes widening. "Shit, what happened to Aurien, Bunny?!" The person carrying Aurien, Bunny apparently, lets out a sigh and walks out of the lift, dragging Nyx with them.

"She got shot, Ryu, obviously," Bunny answers. "Now, where's our muster point? We can't just hole up in here."

"I'm working on it," Ji-Woo barks out. Nyx has decided that they must be the real Ryu and Ji-Woo, no matter how ridiculous that is, because they both sound like them and look like them and Ryu got called Ryu by Bunny and Aurien is the real Aurien and- fuck, he should really just shut up. Ryu glances at Nyx out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, are you okay?" Nyx blinks, frowning at Ryu in confusion. "You seem shaken up." Nyx stares at him for a moment longer before trying to smile.

"Never been better," he lies through his teeth. He's definitely been worse but suffice to say, this not one of his better days.

"I've got a muster point from Solei, c'mon, we need to go," Ji-Woo says as soon as he sends out a command for a system wide 24hr shut down. "We meet at docking bay 4D in the Φ wing. You know where that is?" Ji-Woo glances to Nyx who blinks in surprise before nodding. He finds his way to the front of their pack before darting ahead, scanning the hallways for any guards as he slowly orients himself and takes them through the weird back alleys of the arena.

"How do you even know these are here?" Ryu asks at some point while they're in an abandoned fuel cellar in Φ wing.

"Uh, trial and error mostly," Nyx replies as he tries to remember whether they go right or left from here. "Oryon took me to the last two seasons of ALNST but it didn't really supervise me well so I wandered around."

"And you never got caught?" Bunny inquires, skeptical and for good reason.

"Oh, it's left," Nyx realizes, beckoning them to follow him through the gap between two walls where there used to be insulation, before the wing was decommissioned and set for demolition. "I mean, I haven't gotten caught doing this yet." Finally, they emerge in the bay after going through the vault in the ceiling, where all the old electrical is still hanging from the rafters.

"You would have been useful to have when we did this before, Ji-Woo and I kept getting lost," Ryu remarks. Ji-Woo blushes and elbows his partner before breaking off to find Solei. He waves them over to a bulky object covered by a dusty tarp after a moment. He and Ryu drag the tarp off and Solei pops up from the bed of the truck, eyes huge and wary in the dim. Bunny settles into the bed of the truck as well, putting Aurien down gently in the pile of bedding there so that she won't get jostled too much. Solei chirps, panic obvious in their tone and Nyx feels guilt pool in his stomach. He gets into the passenger seat after Ji-Woo settles behind the wheel, unable to face his sister who he was unable to help when she needed and the friend who loves his sister as much as he does.

Nyx thinks the best thing that happened tonight was Lang surviving.

Perhaps, Nyx is not good at accepting good things.

I will tag @starry-skiez because Ryu & Ji-Woo belong to him, @bluemoonscape because Castor & Kyo belong to him, @apriciticreveries because she's Aurien's mama, @solei-eclipse is Solei's creator, @rosedeleca for Bunny & Rose. um. @zerostyrant because he asked to be tagged <3 oh and @ivanttakethis because i mention Tov <3