#like think about that. someone can call themselves all the fem terms ever except when they say fucking TRANS by it? that makes no goddamn

[cericertain]

wanna point out, trans woman and woman are not different genders and we need to stop acting like it. acting like trans women are anything else than women who are trans is fucking stupid and counter productive. so many people on here will argue against honeybees as if "trans woman" is its own gender that has a super strict rules and definition and its like NOOO!!! theres a reason why there's a space between the words trans and woman!!

[dreamingofaizawa]

Powerful Ch. 2

Yakuza! Shouta Aizawa x Fem! Reader

*Mafia AU*

Warnings: Misogyny (not from Shouta), a dagger, kinda fluffy

Word Count: 3.5 k

Author’s Note: This is turning out pretty good, I think. It’s turning into a kind of slow-burn ish thing, and as much as I can’t stand slow-burn sometimes, I’m liking it so far. If I’m being honest I feel like (hopefully) this is the thing that can help me get over my smut writing block. I haven’t been able to get myself to write smut for a while, and I’m hoping this can help me fix it.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Also, if you haven’t figured it out by now, I usually put in that little line spacer when there’s a pov change. You know, this one:

____

So yeah. And the three asterisks (except the ones at the beginning):

* * * Usually means a timeskip. If it’s unlabelled it’s only a short skip, anything over 24 hours I’ll label.

Enjoy~

*

*

*

Shouta woke you up, his rough hands rubbing your back and deep voice softly calling your name. When you let your eyes flutter open you realize you’re still on top of him, only your head is further cradled into his neck and your leg had found its way around his waist. The position had your face warming as you lifted your head and met his dark eyes.

“Good morning, little one.” He sounded groggy, like he’d just woken up himself. You pulled away and he released you so you could sit up. Off of him. You couldn’t quite hold his gaze, so you looked down at the bedsheets.

“Good morning, Shouta.” He sits up beside you, a hand grasping your chin and making you look at him.

“Am I too forward? Or are you afraid of me, little one?” You raise your eyebrows, not expecting him to really consider your own comfort.

“Can I speak freely?” He nods, and you take a breath.

“You are being just a little forward, but I think it’s only really enhanced because you’re known for being cold and unwelcoming. And also the fact that we only formally met last night.” His hand drops, and he waits for the second half of your answer. You take a moment to choose your wording, make sure you’re accurately communicating your feelings without offending him.

“While I do feel awkward and, frankly, small around you I don’t necessarily fear you. So far you’ve shown that you aren’t cruel, and though you are capable of some...violent things, I have no reason yet to believe you would be violent toward me.” A small smile tugs at his lips, a foreign thing to see.

“I assure you, I am not a violent lover. Nor will I ever be.” He reaches over and grabs your hand, lifting it to his face and leaving a soft kiss on your knuckles. It’s a simple, sweet gesture that has your face and chest heating. Then he gets up and you follow him out to the living room where three large suitcases are waiting. Your suitcases, you realize, Mother and Father must have packed all your clothing and had them sent here. Shouta picks up two of them and you take the last one, returning to the bedroom.

“The closet has plenty of room, so go ahead and sort everything out. I’ll be in my office. Once you’re done just wait for me, we’ll be going out later.” You nod, and he’s disappearing into his office. For the first time, you take a good look at the room. Your room now, you remind yourself. 

It’s large, enough to fit three more king beds with plenty of spare room. The king-sized mattress sits in a black frame that was built to look like it was hovering inches off the ground, fitted with light gray sheets and a large black comforter. The entire room is illuminated by lights embedded in the ceiling, the floor a dark hardwood that matches the doors to the bathroom and walk-in closet. A table sat on either side of the bed, both painted black to match the bed frame.

The walk-in closet is big as well, though it’s much brighter than the main bedroom. The floor is smooth white tile, a white center island with a glass top looking into the top drawers that held numerous watches and ties. Most of Shouta’s clothing seems to be folded, the suits and more high-end clothing the only pieces hung up. You filled the empty spaces with your own clothing, keeping everything organized like you had back at home. With everything tucked away, you decided it was time to change out of the robe, tugging on undergarments you missed those, a pair of loose sweatpants and a racerback tank top. Then you brought the now empty suitcases back to the living room and dug through the kitchen for some breakfast.

____

Shouta emerged from his office to you humming to yourself as you worked over the stove of bacon and pancakes. He didn’t even know he had bacon, let alone the ingredients for pancakes. It was quite cute, seeing you bounce lightly along with the tune you’re humming, spatula in hand. It’s a domestic sight, completely foreign to him. He leaned on the doorframe, choosing to admire you a while longer.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come get some food?” He blinked, slightly shocked, you hadn’t even turned around to see if he was there. You must have heard the door open, though he made sure none of the doors in his home creaked. It’s an irritating noise. He made his way over to you, hooking his chin over your shoulder and placing his large hands on your waist.

He knows he’s moving a little fast with the intimacy. He’d asked you earlier, though you said you didn’t mind, you were absolutely right that it’s weird being so close so soon. In all honesty, as long as you’re alright with it he wants to continue being touchy like this. He’s never truly had any interest in naming a partner, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want company. He’s been lonely for a long time, longing for someone to hold, and while he’s absolutely sure any woman would love to court him willingly, he wants someone special.

He can’t stand the women that throw themselves at any man with power and money, most of them only in it for their own gain. If he were to announce before the ball that he was looking to name a wife, he’d probably have had a line of fawning women on their best behavior to butter him up, flirting and smiling those too-big smiles in an attempt to get a rock on their finger and power to wield at their leisure. That’s why he’d decided to watch from afar, and you struck him as different the moment he’d laid eyes on you.

The more time he spent in your company, the more he’s commending himself for picking you. You’re one of the probable few that held a semi-neutral opinion of him, not fearful nor starstruck. You’re intelligent, well-articulated, and while you have your limits you tend to go with the flow, let the wind carry you this way and that. And you’re honest with him, he has no doubt you’ll tell him if there’s a boundary he crosses.

____

You’re grateful he can’t quite tell the state you’re in right now. Shouta’s hands on your waist flustered you, more than you care to admit. Sure, he’s advancing rather quickly, but you meant it when you said you didn’t mind. You’d been forbidden from dating, made to save yourself for the strategic marriage your father had planned. For the longest time you’d wanted to be held, touched and loved by someone. And here Shouta is, fulfilling all your teenage daydreams. He has no reason to be so close behind closed doors, where no one can see you, so he must feel some sort of real attraction toward you right? Otherwise he’d be more closed off, only opting to speak on his own terms and not caring at all about you or your comfort.

You shake yourself from your thoughts and the two of you sit at the dining table, quietly eating your breakfast. It is a little awkward, but you expected as much. Shouta, like you, probably isn’t used to eating with another person. You both finish breakfast soon, and once the dishes are washed Shouta startles you with his next words.

“We’ll be leaving in an hour or two for a lunch meeting with a few other clans.” You have to take a pause and think about what he’d just said.

“We? You want me to join you?” A part of you wants him to confirm it, another hopes he doesn’t.

“Yes, I want you there with me.” Cue your confusion.

“It’s almost unheard of, having a woman in a clan meeting.” As much as you hate the patriarchy and its traditions, they are still traditions that, once challenged, could upset many people.

“Let’s say I’m breaking the status-quo. If I’m going to have a wife, she’ll be wielding my power alongside me, not just existing as a means to further the bloodline.” It becomes apparent to you that Shouta, despite his position, is very much not traditional. You turn to him and lean against the kitchen counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

“So why have you chosen me? I’m the daughter of a very low-ranked oyabun, have almost no experience compared to you and I am most definitely not someone other oyabun would approve to be your wife, let alone leading the entirety of the Yakuza.” He quirks an eyebrow at you, crossing his own arms.

“I don’t care what other oyabun may think of me or my choices, they don’t dictate what I do. As for why I’ve chosen you, it’s quite simple. I’ve known you for less than a day and it’s already obvious to me that you can take most things in stride, without allowing it to affect you emotionally. You’re good at compartmentalizing your own thoughts, can keep a level head under pressure, and that’s exactly what I need.” Your own eyebrows raise, not expecting a read like that.

“And last night as I watched you, it was clear to me that you’re skilled at masking your emotions, especially nervousness or fear. Think about what any other woman would have done, had I walked up to them and asked their name. Before I could get another word out they’d probably drop to their knees and begin begging for their lives. Most would probably faint on the spot, pounce on me, or any other number of unsavory responses after announcing a sudden engagement to me. But you? You did nothing, simply answering my question and taking my hand with no theatrics.” 

You nod slowly, mildly understanding his point. While it’s true you had almost no reaction, you’re almost sure there’d be at least a dozen other women in that hall that would have reacted the way you had. 

“Still, there must have been many others that acted like I did. For me to be so completely unique is…” You trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

“Unlikely? Yes. Impossible? No. I trust my own judgement, little one, and you should have a little more faith in yourself. Now, let’s go get ready. I’ve already got a dress for you to wear. It’s only semi-formal, we’ll be going to a restaurant for this meeting.” You give a small sigh as you follow him into the bedroom. 

All you can do now is go along with it, whether you trust his judgement or not. Suddenly being put in a position of so much power is stressing you out a little bit, but Shouta isn’t wrong about your compartmentalization. The stress could be dealt with later, right now you have a meeting to attend.

* * *

On second thought, maybe the stress should have been dealt with earlier. Standing outside the restaurant, wrapped around Shouta’s arm is making your heart pound in your chest. You’re unconsciously squeezing his bicep, and even as he looks down at you, there's nothing on your face to indicate your nerves. You’re completely deadpanned, eyes focused and mind working overtime. Shouta’s calloused hand falls over yours, a mildly comforting gesture.

“Don’t worry, little one. The most you’ll have to do is sit still and look pretty. I’m aware of your inexperience, I don’t expect you to be put on the spot. If you are and feel uncomfortable then all you need to do is tap my leg. You’ll be fine.” You nod. The pep-talk is appreciated, but it isn’t the meeting itself you’re worried about. What kind of backlash will Shouta be getting once you enter? What will be said about his reputation afterward? All you can do is wait and see.

You stride into the venue, and are led to a private room by a hostess. You can hear the casual conversation from the open door, but once you’re inside the immediate silence is unsettling. You don’t need to look directly at the half dozen men to know all their eyes are fixed on you as you both sit at the head of the table. Shouta quickly and smoothly brings the attention off of you.

“It’s good to see you, gentlemen. Let’s get this meeting started, shall we?” The tension in the room is still palpable, the clear discomfort from the men hadn’t vanished, but their main focus now is the subject of the meeting. You sit and listen carefully as they talk about several things, from natural disaster preparations to minor territory disputes. Some of the smaller syndicates under these oyabun had spread operations outside their borders, but that was quickly settled as most was due to small misunderstandings and unclear borders. Soon the meeting was nearly coming to a close, and suddenly Shouta left to use the restroom. 

And now, you’re a lioness in a clan of hyenas.

You keep quiet, listening to their conversation and following along with the political debates to further familiarize yourself with the inner workings of the higher circle. Suddenly the table goes quiet, and you lift your eyes from the table to meet the gaze of six men that value tradition. Unsure what to do, you drop your gaze again, but don’t drop your chin, choosing to look down your nose at the wood grain. Shouta had told you to hold yourself as he does, and you make sure to try, but you know when to keep to yourself.

“Tell me, girl, what are you doing here?” You blink, not expecting to be confronted so blatantly. You look up at the man who had asked the question. He looks to be in his late forties, jet black hair graying at the temples and striking brown eyes aged and tired. He’s not thin, a little heavier-set, but it’s clear there was a point that he was fit and muscular. He’s already irked you. You nod your head, a small bow, before calmly answering.

“My name is (y/n). I would appreciate it if you could please use it, Oyabun. I am here because Shouta wants me to be here.” The man narrows his eyes at you, a small scoff comes from one of the others but you don’t avert your eyes to him.

“Well why does he want you here, girl?” The blatant rejection of your request made your blood boil, but you kept a pleasant face.

“I don’t know. If you wish to know you may need to ask him yourself, Oyabun. And please, call me (y/n).” You’re certain he won’t use your name, and you addressing it again will probably anger him, but you can’t care too much when you know you’re within your right to ask that anyone use your name. Especially when you yourself are using a title for the man.

“I’ll address you how I see fit. Just because you’re the Black Dragon’s fiance does not mean I will acknowledge you as anyone of importance.” Ah, that’s right. You had forgotten Shouta’s nickname. Black Dragon is the name people used for him, whether they were afraid of the man or in awe of him. You take an imperceptible, steadying breath. Misogyny is one of the few things that challenge your composure.

“I do not ask you to acknowledge me as a person who holds power. In fact, I am aware of my previous rank and understand that it was maybe unwise to have me here. All I ask is that you please use my name.” The near growl that escapes the man does nothing to your self-control, doesn’t even strike any kind of emotion other than irritation. At this point, the other five men seem to be siding with you, their gazes fixed on the rather aggressive-reacting oyabun with something akin to confusion. 

“Do not talk back to me, girl! I should remind you of your place here.” The other men sit in shock as he rises from his seat and begins to circle the table. He must have had tunnel vision, because Shouta’s voice cuts through the room so abruptly he freezes, his eyes snapping over to the entrance where Shouta stands, glaring daggers at him.

“Touch her, and I will personally bury you six feet under.” The man is frozen in shock, almost in disbelief. He tries, albeit weakly, to get Shouta on his side.

“O-oyabun! I… This girl, she--” 

“I believe she asked you to use her name. Politely, might I add.” He’d been listening? How long had he stood there?

“In fact, you should address her as Onna-oyabun.” Your breath caught at that, the same as the rest of the room. That title was a myth, a rarity in its own right. There were so few instances where that title was applied to a woman under such specific circumstances that it’s a mere legend today. The most recent was an old woman who had inherited her deceased husband’s clan, which was extremely small, and even that was long ago. 

Shouta’s hand landed on your shoulder, his rough thumb drawing small circles into your skin. He was silent, waiting for the older man, or anyone in the room, to oppose him. You could feel his glare in the faces of the other clans’ oyabun, the intensity of it making even you uneasy. It felt like an eternity before Shouta spoke again, venom laced in every syllable.

“I’ve chosen to let you keep all of your teeth, in favor of keeping her from seeing what violence I’m capable of. Next time, I won’t be so gracious. It’s time to go, little one.” You bow your head quickly before taking Shouta’s extended hand and strolling out of the room.

In the car, it’s silent. You have every intention of apologizing for causing a scene, though you aren’t sure if you should speak here or at home. Shouta doesn’t leave you any options.

“What is it? There’s something bothering you.” How perceptive.

“I’m sorry, Shouta.” He turns his head, his expression questioning your intelligence.

“For what? For asking to be addressed in a way that isn’t demeaning? He had no reason to ask why you were there, let alone attempt to attack you like that. I always hated that man, you’ve just given me a reason to threaten him.” You did a double-take.

“You heard everything? How long were you standing at the door?” 

“Ah. I put a bug in the metal piece on the front of your dress. I knew they might be unsavory toward you, and with me out of the room they were more likely to speak their minds.” You nearly gawked at him. No wonder he’d chosen your dress for you. 

“You never went to use the restroom.” He shook his head.

“No, I didn’t. It is I who should be apologizing, little one. The entire ordeal was intentional, as much as I hoped it wouldn’t actually take such a turn. Though I will say I was serious about that title. I fully intend to marry you, and I intend to have you by my side for every meeting from here on out.” You suck in a sharp breath at that bit of information. Marriage seemed like such an abstract concept until now, having Shouta say it somehow made it all the more solid. And to join him for every meeting? 

“As long as there are no more surprise incidents then I think I can come with you.” A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he squeezed your hand.

“Deal. Though I may need to do that a few more times just to keep some men in line.” You let yourself giggle, he must hate a few of the others as well.

“In that case I’ll help you. I was afraid he’d actually get me for a second there.” 

“Really? You didn’t even react. What if I were a split second too late?” You smirked, a mischievous little tug at your lips.

“Well if you were too late he’d have at least one stab wound and be bleeding out on the floor.” He shoots you a bewildered look before you tug up the hem of your dress, exposing a large dagger strapped to your thigh. He can’t contain his laughter, throwing his head back and wiping away at a few stray tears once he can breathe again. You can’t help but laugh with him, and notice just how handsome he looks when he’s happy, or in this case amused.

“Wouldn’t that be an unpleasant surprise.” He chuckles a bit more, getting it all out of his system before looking over at you. 

“Regardless, I won’t be letting them get that close. I’m sure you’re capable of defending yourself, and as much as I’d love to see you stab an annoying misogynist, the risk to your safety still remains. Not to mention he disregarded my warning last night. You’re untouchable, little one, he knows this and still thought he could touch even a single hair on your head.” 

You let a small smile settle on your lips, lacing your fingers with Shouta’s as a comfortable silence falls between you.

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

Tags:

@inumorph

[mrs-gucci]

The Angel, Chapter One: Intel {Flip Zimmerman x biker!Reader}

Chapter One: “Intel”

series summary. The Angels are the newest biker gang in town, looking to dethrone the current high-riders, The Sharks, a notoriously violent gang. Fresh off the Klan case, Detective Flip Zimmerman and his new partner, Detective Ron Stallworth, are tasked with finding out more information about this new gang. After a passionate affair behind the bar with a mysterious woman calling herself Siren, Flip discovers that perhaps he’s a bit closer to this investigation than he originally counted on. Can he manage to use this newly-recruited ally to not only take down The Sharks before they strike again, but perhaps use it to benefit his lonesome personal life as well? Find out all this and more in “The Angel”!

chapter summary. Flip and Ron head over to Ace’s, a local bar in Colorado Springs to gather intel on The Angels, the newest biker gang in town. The young detective gets more than he bargained for when he meets and beds a mystery woman named Siren. Except ‘Siren’ ends up being the last person Flip expected to get intimate with and now, he’s entangled in this case, both professionally and personally.

table of contents. Intel (NSFW) * Saint Siren Turned  Sharks Intercepted Epilogue

(a * indicates where you are in the table of contents)

author’s notes: hello, hello! saw a few bikers as I was driving on the highway, and my mind decided that I wanted to write a multi-chap fic about flip with a biker gang reader love interest. I love exploring the whole ‘flip with an independent/dom fem reader’ trope. so, here I am, designating an entire ten chapters to it.

**this multi-chap will have 5 parts total (4 ‘story’ chapters and an epilogue). due to the shorter number of chapters/parts, expect each to be longer, usually between 4-6k words.

word count: 6.1k 

warnings: smut. heavy flirting. swearing. a generous amount of dirty talk. degradation. oral sex. reader smokes. use of the term ‘pig’ to describe the police.

(possible) tw’s: tobacco use (as is canon for flip’s character). public sex.

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268​ (if you’d like to be added to my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist. I’m also willing to do a series-specific taglist if enough people are interested!)

---

“Alright, everyone. Rumor has it that there’s a new biker gang in town, called ‘The Angels’.” Chief Bridges says. “We gotta be on top of this, make sure they’re not the violent type.”

Flip rubs his chin, stroking his beard as he listens to the limited intel the department has on this new group. 

“I’m putting Zimmerman and Stallworth on this one. You’re gonna hang out at some of the local watering holes, see if you can gather some more information on this new group.”

His eyebrows raise and he looks over at his partner. “C’mon Chief, don’t you think our talents could be used elsewhere? It’s just an intel mission, a beat cop could do it.”

“This is incredibly important, Zimmerman, and I only trust my top talent to do the job right.” Bridges crosses his arms, staring daggers at the dark-haired detective. “It’ll be a quick job, I’m sure. No more than a week’s time. Now, get over yourself and do the damn job.”

He huffs softly, nodding as he looks away. “Sure thing, Chief.”

“You’ll head to Ace’s tonight, since that’s where they’re said to hang the most. Meeting dismissed.”

Everyone piles out of the small conference room and back out into the bullpen. Flip lights a cigarette as he sits down at his desk and continues typing up a report from last week’s home invasion-robbery. 

Ron sets the ‘Angels’ file down on his desk a few minutes later, sighing as he sits on the edge.

“What are you thinkin’ about this case, Flip?”

“I just wanna get it over with, rookie.” He leans back in his chair, shrugging and taking a drag. “I think it’s nothing to worry about, since they haven’t done anything yet, but the Chief wants us to check it out so I guess we have to.”

Ron nods.

“Well, we’ll head over to Ace’s after work. Hopefully we’ll find something and then we can get back to finding the Sharks.”

The Sharks were the biggest gang in Colorado Springs, spreading violence and dominating the northern part of town. But, all of them wore masks or helmets with masks, so no one’s been able to identify any of them. 

“Mmhmm.”

Flip hums, stubbing the cigarette butt out in the mug on his desktop.

Before he knows it, the clock hand lands on 6, and everyone starts packing up. Flip gets up and puts his freshly-typed reports on the Chief’s desk before heading over to Ron’s desk. 

“You ready to go, rookie?” He asks, hopping up on his partner’s desk.  “I need a fuckin’ beer.”

Ron laughs, shaking his head as he stands up and both men walk back to get the mics and listening equipment together. Flip clips the lauve to his white undershirt, then re-buttons his signature buffalo plaid flannel. 

They head out and hop into Flip’s pickup truck. He pulls away from the station and heads down the freeway towards Ace’s while Ron sets up all the audio equipment in the front seat. 

The parking lot of Ace’s is almost full when the two detective’s pull in, and when Flip puts the truck in park, he immediately catches sight of a series of bikes parked at the front. 

“They’re here.” He says in a low voice, nodding over to the bikes.  “I’m gonna go check the jackets to make sure.”

Flip casually gets out from the cab and walks over. He sees one of the jackets draped over the seats with the words ‘The Angels’ and a logo on the back. 

“Yup,” He says to Ron through the window of his truck. “It’s them.”

Ron’s eyes widen slightly. “Well then, get in there, partner. See what you can find.”

He chuckles, sticking a cigarette between his teeth and flicking his lighter on as he walks into the bar. His eyes scan the room, looking for biker-like characters, but his attention is quickly drawn to a certain young woman sitting at the bar. 

She’s not much younger than himself, if Flip had to guess, and her subtle smile was infectious. Flip was absolutely taken with her, but he maintained his cool, approaching the bar. 

“Hey, Earl.” He says, leaning against the bar.  “Get me a Miller, would you?”

“Sure thing.” The bartender nods, giving Flip a handshake before heading over to the beer fridge. 

You can’t help but look over at the handsome man that’s leaning against the bar. His eyes move over to you, and yours dart away quickly. He smirks, and when you look back over, he gives you a quick wink.

Your cheeks warm as you and the handsome stranger make eyes at each other. You’ve only been in town for a little while, and you’ve certainly never seen someone like him around before. 

Once the bartender hands him the dark brown bottle, mister tall, dark and handsome casually makes his way over to where you’re seated. His presence is intimidating in itself, patrons suddenly hushing their voices as he stands behind you.

“Like what you see?” He asks in a low voice, smirking. You chuckle.

“Perhaps, although you don’t have much competition. The human eye is naturally drawn to the most appealing sight in the room and quite frankly, I’m so damn tired of looking at old white men. You were the reprieve.”

“Mmhmm.” Flip laughs, sitting down next to you at the bar, pulling out a cigarette and holding it between his teeth as he flicks his lighter on. “I’m impressed at your ability to spin such a convenient story for your obvious ogling.”

“Don’t act so innocent, prettyboy. Your eyes were not keeping to themselves either.”

You huff softly, taking a drink, the smoke from his latest drag clouding the space between you.

 “Perhaps.” He retorts, taking a sip of his beer before looking over at you. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, I bet you’d like to know.” You hum softly. “You can call me Siren.”

His eyebrows furrow.  ��Siren, really? What, is that a nickname or something?”

“Something, yes.”

He’s intrigued by your mysterious and closed-off presence, your casual yet extremely confident demeanor. God, how he’d love to make you crumble on his cock, scream his name and beg him for release.

The thought has him stirring in his Levi’s.

“Phillip.” He says after a beat of silence, taking a drag off his cigarette. “In case you were wondering.”

Back in the truck, Ron shakes his head. “Did you really just use your own name, Zimmerman?”

Flip realizes his slight mistake, mentally kicking himself for not having an alias name already prepared.

Your finger swirls around the rim of the whisky glass. “I wasn’t.”

His eyebrows raise for a moment. He liked this game you’re playing with him, in fact, he loves it. 

Finally, a woman giving him the thrill of the chase, making him work for it.

“Are you new in town, Miss Siren? I think I would remember seeing someone like you around here before.”

You nod silently. “Got here a few weeks ago. I’ve got some business to take care of, y’know, tie up some loose ends and such. Then I’ll be out of here.”

“What’s the rush in getting out of here? You don’t like it?”

Your lips curl up into a small smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, it almost sounds like you’re sad to hear that I’ll be leavin’ soon, prettyboy.”

He huffs softly in amusement, although his liking of your nickname for him is much greater than he anticipated or would ever admit aloud.  “No, nothing like that. Just curious, is all.”

“I’m more of a city girl. All this fresh mountain air makes me sick.” You quip, smiling softly. “I like the polluted smell of New York much better.”

Flip laughs. “Oh, a city slicker. Yuck.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh. He’s kinda cool.

“What, Colorado Springs isn’t enough to convert you, or at least open your mind to the idea?”

He takes one final long drag before crushing the butt out in the ashtray on the bar.

Your eyes linger on his seated figure for a moment before turning your attention back directly in front of you.

“Well, now that I’ve met some more of the locals, I’m thinkin’ about it a little more.”

“Yeah?”

His voice lowers an octave as he leans in a bit closer, one of his large calloused hands now resting on your denim-covered thigh. You shiver slightly beneath his touch, the smell of cigarette smoke and freshly-chopped lumber intoxicating as it ensnares your senses.

“I think you’d like it out here, if you gave it a shot. We’ve got a few things New York can’t offer.”

You’re biting your lip as his husky voice rasps in your ear, his close proximity thickening the tension between you. You haven’t been this rattled by a man in a long time, and damn, it feels good.

“Oh really? And what is that, besides trees and grass, hm?”

His chuckle makes you squirm in your seat.

“Men. Real men. Not the city pussies that gel their hair up all fancy and can’t get a speck of dirt on themselves without throwin’ a damn fit. I mean...”

“Big,” He leans a bit closer.  “Strong,” Closer. “Men.”

His lips are practically on top of your ear now, hot breath tickling your eardrum. He smirks. “And that’s all you’ve ever really wanted, isn’t it, slick? A big strong man to take care of you, protect you...satisfy your every whim and desire.”

You can barely see straight, vision blinded by the sheer lust rolling off his tongue. He’s so damn cocky, a real alpha male type, and you were eating it up. You couldn’t wait to break him.

“I’ll have to see it to believe it, prettyboy.” You say, voice unwavering as you turn to look him directly in the eyes with a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lip.  “So why don’t you go ahead and prove it, hm? I’d like to see you try.”

His jaw clenches along with his fists, body turning lurching forward slightly to the edge of the chair, now fully facing your side. 

“You’re walking an awfully thin line with that trap of yours, slick. I’d watch yourself, ‘cause the folks out here won’t hesitate, like city folk do, to make an example outta brats like you.”

Your eyes don’t leave his as you lean forward a bit, challenging him right back. “Lotta big talk from you this evening, prettyboy, but no action has come to match these claims. All bark, no bite, just like everyone else in this town.”

Flip is hard as a fucking rock, erection urgently pressing against the seam of his Levi’s, but he can’t even focus on that right now. You work him up like no one else ever has before, and he’s not about to let you just leave with the last word. No, he’ll have the last word tonight if it fucking kills him.

“You wanna see some fuckin’ bite, slick?” He growls, standing up and grabbing hold of your jaw, keeping a firm grip on it. “Talk to me like that again and see what happens.”

You grin deviously, wrapping your hand around his wrist, holding it as you remove your jaw from his grip.

“Heard it all before and nobody’s gotten me just yet. You’re no different, prettyboy.”

A twenty is thrown on the tabletop and then you’re leaving.

His blood is boiling, cock twitching with excitement as he lets you walk out of the bar, letting you think you can get away with this. Then, as soon as you’re outside, he strides across the room, flings the door open, and grabs your arm.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

He walks you to the side alley and pins you to the bricks, body caging yours in. You’re breathless and defenseless against him as his wiry whiskers tickle the side of your neck. His legs spread out and his large hands grip your hips as he scoops down, grinding his arousal against your ass with one long, rough stroke.

The denim-trapped bulge presses incessantly against your backside when he stills and lights up a smoke behind you, taking a brief drag, exhaling through his nose.

“Y’know, I work hard all damn day, seven days a week, bust my fuckin’ ass to get shit done.” He stands up again, kicking your ankle so your legs spread open. You gasp softly at his brazen moves, which only fuels his arousal. “I come here to kick back a few beers and have a few cigarettes, relax, unwind…”

 His hands yank your jeans down your hips suddenly, then one curls around to cup your clothed mound, lifting up against you.

“But instead of that, now, I have to bring you out here and fuck some goddamn manners into your bratty cunt before I can go back in to finish my beer.”

You can barely formulate words at the moment, his every move dripping with pure power and unwavering dominance. You’re absolutely taken by him, but that doesn’t mean you won’t fulfill your own agenda. 

Let him think he’s the boss, that he’s got you wrapped around his finger. It’ll only wreck him harder in the end.

The small jingle of his belt buckle being undone brings you back to reality, as well as his fingers swiping over your clit through the material of your panties. He pulls away for a moment, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, yanking them down far enough so that he can pull his length out. 

Luckily, due to his massive body size and the fact that you’re in a dark alleyway behind a dumpster, nothing is too exposed in case someone happens to come by and see the little show about to unfold.

Your panties are torn down your legs quickly and his digits swipe through your warmth. He smirks when he feels how wet you are.

“Now I can call you slick for two reasons.” He chuckles darkly into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I knew you liked this, dirty girl. Bet you’ve been wet all night since I came into the bar.”

His fingers trace over your clit, pressure on and off with his lazy circles, and within seconds he’s got you gyrating against him. Then, suddenly, he pulls away and steps back, hand on your shoulder. He flips you around quickly so that you’re facing him, then forces you back against the wall, flicking his abandoned cigarette away onto the black pavement.

“Why’d you turn me around?” You ask nonchalantly.

He smears some of your fresh arousal onto the tip of his cock, moving it around over his girthy length while his fingers force themselves into your mouth, grabbing and pressing on your tongue.

“I decided that I wanna ruin your disobedient little mouth first. On your knees, use my boots as padding if you need.”

Your legs close and you cross them at the ankle, leaning back against the brick wall freely, arms crossed over your chest. His eyebrows raise and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth.

“Did you not hear me or something?” Flip asks, voice low. “On your damn knees, slick, or I’ll put you there myself.”

Silence. You don’t move a muscle, watching the frustration fester. He leans in suddenly, face real close.

“I’m gonna give you one last chance to do as I say before I force you down.”

Nothing.

His hand wraps in your prettily-done hair, holding the roots just above scalp-level, yanking harshly. He steps back a bit quickly as you cry out, hand on your shoulder, pushing you down as the shock and pain weakens your knees. 

Your knees rest on his work boots and his impressive arousal is lip-level, now. He loosens his grip on your hair ever so slightly, still holding you firmly as he rubs his head over your cherry red lips.

“Don’t make me take this from you too, slick.” He warns.

You offer him a cheeky, close-mouthed smile, batting your eyelashes teasingly. He snarls, pulling your hair again, and when you yelp in pain, he pushes his hips forward. His cock forces itself into your mouth and your eyes widen, choking immediately at the sudden intrusion. 

Flip’s head falls back and his eyes squeeze shut as your throat contracts around his length. He holds your head, keeping your mouth wrapped around him, and he gives you a quick look of concern, breaking character for a moment. 

Once you give him a quick wink and small smile, indicating that everything’s okay, he draws back before pushing forward again. He establishes a consistent back-and-forth rhythm, grunting softly with each thrust of his hips. You’re taking him so well, better than anyone before. Your choking and gagging has essentially ceased within the first minute or so, the quickest recovery Flip has ever experienced.

Look, he knows he’s got a nice cock, there’s no denying it, especially when he’s got women chanting it in his ear on a weekly basis. It’s long and girthy with a slight upward curve that gives him the ability to hit the g-spot almost every time. Plus, he knows how to use it properly.

But, women often have trouble taking him or making him feel good with oral sex because he’s always concerned that he’s genuinely hurting them. A lot of women are also very intimidated by his size, which doesn’t help him in feeling okay about it. 

You, however, didn’t say a word, give it a concerned look, or hesitate even a bit when he put you on your knees. You’re something else.

He groans, fucking your mouth even harder, hands on the sides of your head. Your eyes are watering and tears have already begun spilling down your cheeks, but you’re not complaining in the slightest. He looks so incredible like this, restrain and composure slipping as the pleasure begins to consume him.

You do your best to establish a bit of suction on his length, and when a guttural growl emerges from above you, you know you’ve done it. His hips lose their rhythm soon after, cock throbbing in your mouth, meaning he’s close. 

He’s panting heavily, spine curling as he fucks your mouth harder, shuddering every once and a while from the sheer amounts of lust coursing through his veins. 

Just before his release, he forces himself to pull away, a strangled groan of agony rumbling through his chest as his shaft bobs angrily at the lost orgasm. 

“Christ!”

You catch your breath for a moment, but that moment is brief because within thirty seconds, he’s got his hand wrapped around your jaw.

“S-S…” He takes a second to compose himself. “Stand up, turn around, take your panties off and spread your fucking legs.”

This time, much to his surprise, you obey, getting into position with little resistance. He smirks, giving your ass a quick swat before rubbing his head through your folds.

“Mmm, shit, you got wetter just from having your face fucked?”

His chin digs into your shoulder as he lines himself up with your entrance. He pushes in quickly with a long, low groan, then settles inside of you to allow for an adjustment period. 

Your eyes go wide and you whimper, walls stretching out to accommodate the large intrusion. Soon, you move your hips a bit, looking over your shoulder.

“You can m-move.”

Flip nods, drawing back before pressing his hips forward again, sighing through his nose as he picks up a steady thrusting rhythm.

“Fuck you’ve got a good little cunt, wrapped around me so goddamn tight.” He growls in your ear, mouth lazily kissing and nipping at your neck.

The burn of being stretched out subsides soon after he begins, replaced with copious amounts of pleasure, jaw slacked as your body jolts back and forth with each powerful movement.

“I can feel you clenching around me, slut...I know you like this. I wanna hear you fucking admit it.” He breathes. “Tell me how good I’m making you--fuck--feel. Tell me how much better my cock feels fucking you than any--goddamnit--other f-fuckin’ city slicker’s cock.”

When he doesn’t get a response, his pace suddenly quickens a bit and one of his hands comes up to wrap around your throat, squeezing experimentally.  “Say it, slick, admit it!”

“Y-You, you feel...okay.”

You smirk, eyes squeezing shut when he brushes against a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

Flip huffs. “You’re a fucking brat--god fucking damnit.”

He snarls, hand closing tighter around your neck, lips right up against your ear.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ destroy you, slick. I’m gonna fuck your tight cunt so hard and stuff you so fucking full of my cum, make it run down your fucking thighs when you go home. You’re gonna have to walk into your fuckin’ house with my cum leaking out of you like the dirty slut you are.”

A loud whine comes from your lips, goosebumps spreading like wildfire over your skin at his words. You’re close already, the anticipation and sensations too much to hold off much longer.

“I know you’re lying, slick, I know you love this fucking cock, and I know you’re close. Say it, say it and I’ll make you cum so fucking hard you can’t see straight for the rest of the night.”

He growls into your ear, panting heavily.

“All you gotta do is--shit--say it and I’ll give you what you want, what we both know you want.”

Your walls clench and pulse around his shaft, preparing for your approaching orgasm. But, even though the temptation is sweet, you hold out.

“Eh, I’ve h-had better. You’re really--oh--not t-that big, prettyboy.”

“Fuck!”

His reaction is exactly what you were looking for, hips thrusting impossibly quick as his hands grab your wrists and pin your hands behind your back. Part of him liked this, being called ‘small’ and being taunted, although he’d never admit it to anyone.

“It’s your fucking loss, slick.”

“Oh, is it?” You smirk, adjusting your hips subtly until you find the right spot, crying out softly as you teeter on the edge of orgasm. “I don’t t-think so--fuck!”

“NO! Goddamnit, f-fuck...NO!” He tries to stop your climax, but it’s too late, you’re already there.

“Y-Yes, fuck...yes!”

You’re trembling as you ride out your intense high, his hips pumping you into a delicious overstimulation.

Your release gushes out around him and Flip feels his own climax rapidly approaching, hips starting to lose their rhythm.

Flip’s absolutely pissed that you made yourself cum, allowing his frustration to fuel his thrusts. His teeth sink into the muscle on the curve of your neck, drilling into you as hard as he can manage.

“Brat!”

He snarls against your skin.

“You’re a fucking d-dirty, filthy--yeah, so fuckin’ tight--naughty brat! O-Oh fuck, shit, gonna--fuck goddamnit--cum…”

“Are you gonna cum? Fill me up, prettyboy?”

You clench around him one more time, bringing him over the edge. 

“Oh f-fuck, yes, gonna--unnhh!”

Being fully prepared to bury his load deep inside you, fill you up, it took him by great surprise when you suddenly pulled him out of you. His eyes fly open and a choked cry leaves his lips.

“FUCK, N-NO!”

He roars, load erupting out onto the bricks and alleyway pavement instead of inside you. His hips rut forward instinctively as he rides out his high, groaning against your skin.

You smirk, slipping out from beneath his grip, pulling your panties back up over your hips. He’s still panting and recovering from his climax, hands spread on the cool brick of the building, eyes catching sight of his seed dripping down the wall as he redresses.

Before you walk away, you run a hand through his silky black mane. You give it a gentle tug, earning a low growl from the handsome man.

“Told ya, no one’s gotten me yet and no one ever will.” You pat his cheek, giving him a soft smile. “Have a good rest of your night, prettyboy.”

You’re quickly overtaken, within the first few steps of walking back towards the front entrance, by a large set of hands. Flip turns you around in his arms and crashes his lips on yours, pulling you close to him.

At first, you’re taken by surprise, but that lasts for only a few seconds before you melt into his touch, melding your lips with his. He pulls away a minute later, a big smug smirk stretched across his face.

“Good night, slick.”

He walks back towards the side door, lighting a cigarette on his way, leaving you frozen in suspension for a moment. Every inch of your skin, every fiber of your being, is buzzing. You find yourself unable to wipe the small smile off your face as you walk back towards the front of the bar.

You look through the window of the bar as you slip your leather jacket on, then your helmet before swinging your leg over your bike. The engine rumbles, ground quaking beneath it as you pull out of the parking lot and onto the freeway, wind whipping around your body as you disappear into the cool Colorado night.

-

Flip is drunk on you as he pays for his drinks and stubs his cigarette out in the plastic ashtray on the bar. The damn bastard’s essentially grinning and giggling with joy as he walks back out to his truck, or at least ‘grinning and giggling’ by Flip’s standards, which pretty much just means a small smile.

It’s quickly wiped from his face when he sees Ron in the passenger seat. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that Ron was listening the whole time, and he can only hope that his partner took the headphones off before anything too explicit happened.

He hops up into the cab and immediately, Ron begins chuckling to himself. 

“Oh, shut up.”

He says, frowning as he backs out of the parking lot.

“I hope you took the headphones off.”

“So, did you find out anything about The Angels?”

Ron asks, snickering.

“Or did you focus on learning more about the inside of her mouth?”

Flip growls under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“Can it, rookie. We’ll go back tomorrow. And, for the record, I cased the joint when I walked in, and there were no bikers in sight. No one that seemed the type, y’know?”

“Well, the bikes were there. They had to be there, right?”

His jaw clenches, kicking himself for losing focus. Although, he doesn’t exactly regret anything he did with you, he just wishes he had worked the case a bit beforehand. 

“They should’ve been there, but I’m telling you, there was no one.”

Ron gives him a look and Flip shakes his head.

“Look, I know what it looks like, but I’m serious. I cased the joint when I went in, and there was no one even close to the basic look of a biker gang.”

His partner sighs.

“I know, and I trust you, Zimmerman. We’ll go back tomorrow, like you said. We should go a bit earlier, maybe try and catch these bikers coming to the bar.”

“Agreed.”

Flip nods as he pulls back into the station, sighing when he puts the truck in park.

“Alright, let’s go report to the Chief.”

The Next Day

It’s another long ass day at the station, although there was a bit of excitement when the Chief went out to his squad car and found the window busted out.

Everyone chuckled to themselves as he flipped his shit, almost as if he’d temporarily forgotten that he was a police chief. 

Flip and Ron went out to lunch at the local diner, discussing the ‘Angels’ case, and of course Flip’s back-alley hookup last night, much to the detective’s dismay. 

He just resorted to sucking down as many cigarettes as he could while Ron fired off questions, hoping the nicotine buzz would get him through this all quicker. It didn’t.

Finally, with the Chief’s approval, Ron and Flip head out at five to Ace’s in hopes of spotting The Angels as they come to the bar.

Luckily, when they reach the bar, there are no motorcycles in sight. Flip backs the truck into a spot facing where the motorcycles were last night, putting it in park before lighting up a smoke. He and Ron pass the time with some casual chit-chat before the telltale rumble of motorcycle engines.

The first bike comes into view, the leader no doubt, and slowly rolls up to the front of the bar, foot planting on the pavement. There’s something so oddly familiar about this leader to Flip, the way they move, their demeanor in general, but he thinks little of it, determined to actually focus on the case this time. 

Once the whole gang has pulled up, Flip grabs his notepad and a pencil, ready to write down the names on their jackets while Ron pulls out his camera. The bikers' engines all shut off almost simultaneously, pavement settling back into the dirt as they all dismount their bikes. 

Flip looks at all the names on their jackets, each beginning with ‘Saint’, writing all five of them down before pausing when he reaches the leader’s jacket. It read ‘Saint Siren’, glitter-infused stitching catching in the evening sunset. 

No, it can’t be.

Saint Siren reaches up to pull their helmet off, and when they do, Flip is stunned into utter and total silence. It’s you...you’re Saint Siren. 

You're the leader of ‘The Angels’.

Ron’s snapping a bunch of pictures as the rest of the gang takes their helmets off, revealing the women beneath each. Both detectives were surprised to see that ‘The Angels’ were all women, considering the general ‘man-ness’ of biker gangs.

Your hair flutters in the gentle breeze as you hang your helmet on the handlebar of your bike, reaching into your jacket pocket for a cigarette and lighter, hand shielding the flame from the gentle breeze. 

“Zimmerman?”

Flip faintly hears his partner say, but he doesn’t process it, too focused on the reality hitting.

“Zimmerman!” Ron says, shaking his partner’s arm.

“What’s the matter with you?”

His eyes dart over to Ron, a serious expression etched on his face.

“That’s her. That’s the girl from last night.”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m fuckin’ sure!” He snarls. “I only spent all night with her. I’m not that shallow, rookie.”

Ron stifles a laugh. “Uh huh. Well, now we understand why no one could ever figure out who this gang was. No one would ever suspect women to be bikers, much less in a biker gang.”

Your jacket is taken off and draped neatly over the seat of your bike, and Flip quickly tosses his notebook on the dash, clipping the lauve to his undershirt with a sense of urgency. His face is steadily turning redder the more he thinks about it, and Ron can almost see the smoke coming from his ears. He’d be whistling like a damn tea kettle if that were true. 

“What are you gonna do when you get in there? Remember what the Chief wants, intel only.”

Flip huffs, buttoning his flannel back up before flicking on the microphone set on the front seat, tapping the top of the machine. “I know how to do my damn job, I know what Chief said. Just be sure to listen and write the important stuff down.”

He hops down, the heels of his work boots reverberating off the pavement as he walks, more like storms, into the bar.

Earl, the bartender, greets him, but he’s already closing in on you. He doesn’t even hesitate, just walking right up to the table you’re sitting at and putting his hand on the top.

“Can I speak with you a minute?” He says in the calmest voice he can muster at this point, staring daggers at you, teeth gritted. “Please?”

All the girls look up at him, then back over at you, awaiting your answer. You stub out the cigarette between your lips before gesturing for Gladys to scoot out of the booth. She does, and you slide out, standing in front of the familiar man.

“Lead the way, Flip.”

He spins around on his heel, then stops, stomach dropping. How do you know that name?

You giggle to yourself as you walk by and out to the alley. He’s hot on your tail, slamming the door shut behind him, bounding down the stairs.

“I figured it out pretty quickly.” You say, twirling your hair as you lean back against the wall, arms crossed in front of you. “After I saw the mic clipped to your undershirt last night. Looked through the yellow pages this morning and found the contact information for one Detective Phillip Zimmerman of the Colorado Springs Police Department. There’s only one other man by the name of Phillip living in this town, and he’s the guy down at the gas station.”

“Could’ve been a fake name.”

Your lips curl up into a smirk. “Yeah, coulda been a fake name, I guess. But I saw the way you reacted when you said it, looked like you wanted to kick yourself in the nutsack. The mic on your shirt tied it all together, and then when I did some surveillance on the station, I saw you.”

Flip isn’t sure if he’s more nervous or impressed by your ability to observe and fact-find. 

“I’m not the only one that hid my true identity last night, Saint Siren. Nor are you the only one that did surveillance today.” He growls, standing in front of you. “You’re one of the ‘Angels’, the leader, in fact.”

Your face is unchanging, still wearing a neutral expression, before a small smirk tugs at your lips.

“Congratulations, Detective. I’m a little surprised you didn’t put two-and-two together last night when you read the name on my jacket.”

His eyes widen, which makes you laugh. Had your name really been on the jacket that he’d seen, and he just missed it?

“Saw you not so discreetly snooping around the bikes before you came in last night. You ought to check your surroundings a little more thoroughly before ‘casually’ sauntering by the bikes and leaning over to read the jackets...someone might see you.”

You laugh quietly, shoving your hands into your jean pockets.

He’s pissed, you can tell, but there’s also a sense of respect buried deep within his gaze, and perhaps there’s even a bit of desire mixed in, too.

“I...you’re…”

Suddenly, an idea pops into his head, and the rage suddenly melts away. He could use this to his advantage.

“Join me.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you look up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. Think about it, it’s beneficial for both of us. You want to knock the Sharks on their asses and kick ‘em outta town, and I want to stop them from taking over the whole town. We both get what we want.”

You just burst out into laughter.  “You’re a funny guy, Detective, thinking I’d ever even consider becoming an informant. Ha! Sure, I hate the Sharks and I wanna kick ‘em out, but I don’t need the pig’s help for that.”

His jaw clenches. 

“You’re trying to turn her now, Zimmerman? What the hell are you thinking? INTEL, Zimmerman, we’re here for ANGELS INTEL, not the Sharks.”

He shakes off his partner’s words, staring deep into your eyes.

“You know this is a good idea, I know you do, slick. All we need are some names. It’ll be quick work, and in return, we’ll help you get rid of them and stay off your ass after they’re gone, as long as you don’t start or engage in any violent altercations.” 

“Man, you gotta stop. You can’t make promises like that without the Chief’s approval. C’mon, Zimmerman, get outta there!”

“I’m not falling for that bullshit, and I’m not becoming a pig, even if it’s only for a few weeks.” You say, pushing off the wall and standing up straight. “G’night, Detective.”

Flip quickly grabs you before you can even take a step back towards the door, holding your arms as he steps up behind you.

“I never say things I don’t mean, and I never make promises I can’t keep, slick.”

He grabs one of his business cards out from his wallet, teasingly sliding it in your back pocket, giving your ass a quick squeeze.  “In case you change your mind.”

Your skin has erupted in goosebumps as you walk back into the bar, overly conscious of the business card tucked into your back pocket, gently poking your bottom with each stride.

As you sit with your crew, drinking and chatting the night away, you can’t stop thinking about this proposal. 

The thought of being an informant scares you.  The thought of turning on the Sharks scares you.

What scares you the most, though?

You’re ready to get to work.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Dawn

Loki x fem!Reader

ONE/TWO/THREE SHOT

Warnings: mention of past trauma and fluff.

Summary: A truce to end all wars leads to an alliance between Earth and Asgard in the form of Loki marrying a mortal. None of them what this. None except fate.

Word Count: I know I have a lot of WiPs. They worry me. My office changed and now I have to travel forty minutes to and from the place and boy do I get tired after that! This is one of the reasons I’ve not been able to put up much. And I know this will lead to a lot of readers fading away (I have seen this happening already) which is okay. A little heartbreak but I’ll live. But I just hope everyone stays safe and takes care of themselves.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever done."

"I think insulting your father in front of thousands of his Hydra henchmen is still on top."

The most anxious day of your life and Anthony Edward Stark still makes you feel at ease.

The reflection in the mirror in front of you is of a timid woman with not an ounce of beauty to her name but for the title that comes with her unworthy blood. At least that is what you think.

Tony can read it in those eyes that are still carrying the lost sleep from many nights gone.

"The Asgardians have no idea how lucky they are to have you. And your father was an idiot for giving you away."

He takes the golden chains from your hands that you're unable to lock at the back to do it for you. "But then again, if it weren't for you, we would have never won the war."

You mock a laugh. "Oh, come on, Mr Stark. I'm a freaking ball that was played by earth and Asgard's most unhinged boomers."

The clasp on the chain shuts and Tony's brows go up. "I could not have said it better. Odin does seem like he should chill out more."

"Right?"

You both chuckle and Tony presses away creases on your shoulder before catching your gaze in the mirror.

"You do know you don't have to go through this, Y/N. You just have to say the word and every one of us out there will fight those golden bastards for you."

Your lips stretch in an involuntary smile that fills your heart to the brim and you feel your eyes get wet for the man who has been more of a father to you than your own blood and bones. "You know that is exactly the reason I said yes to the wedding, right? I don't want any more bloodshed. Let's just take it as me repenting for my father's sins and call it a day. Although I'm glad this peace offering didn't come with shady terms like the Asgardians ruling earth or something."

Tony blinks and looks into some unknown void. "Hm." Some afterthought later he looks down at you adjusting a flower in his jacket's pocket, patting and jumping a little in excitement at how great he looked. "Maybe Odin wants to give one of his disappointments some responsibilities or something. To keep him busy, you know."

"Mm-hmm," you hummed, giving yourself one final look in the mirror before picking up the bouquet of Asgardian orchids- the golden flowers in full bloom.

"But honestly though, if he does something you don't like, you have to tell me. Or anyone of us. Nat! Yes, she will take care of him for you on the down-low. It'll be so quiet even he won't know what hit him."

You twirl around towards Tony, making him question the whole event once more. He could not let this happen to you. No. You deserved better. So much better than some egotistical maniac of a God who once wanted to rule your planet.

"Ready to walk me down the aisle?" You ask him with stars in your eyes.

"No?" He replies with clouds of doubt lingering over him.

"Tony."

"Okay, fine. But I am going to sulk about this throughout the wedding."

.

The great halls of the palace have been decorated with flora of all hues. Civilians have gathered outside to witness the wedding of their Prince. The old ones are curious about who would marry the adopted child. The young ones make merry, rejoicing their Prince has finally found love and the kingdom can once again celebrate after what seems like aeons. The guards have been doubled and the groom's brother is all over the place, running around to make sure everything is in order. It is only when Sif rolls her eyes and audibly groans before dragging Thor by his arms outside his brother's chambers does he stop. Be with your brother, he is ordered before she takes off to cover for him, leaving him to discover what he's been dreading all this week- what is Loki going to feel about this.

It surprises him when it does not take much to open the door and find his brother dressed in his most exquisite armour for the occasion. The gold glitters under the sun rays falling through the windows and balcony and the cape flutters luxuriously reminding every witness that none could carry one as Loki did.

Thor wonders how much of his mother's poise he sees in Loki while he stands overlooking Asgard. His eyes are taking in each and every living pixel while his hands are trying to scratch the nervousness off each other.

Mother would have loved to watch him start this new chapter today, Thor wonders gleefully on the inside.

Maybe it's the reluctant thought of their mother that travels unspoken across the room and makes the other brother turn around.

"Let's get this over with," Loki announces, walking towards the door.

Well, clearly not what I was hoping for, Thor muses, following his brother out.

"How are you feeling brother?" He has to ask.

"Like I might puke my insides any moment."

Vivid.

"Is there anything I can bring you that might ease your stomach?" I mean a brother can try, right?

"Oh yes, of course! Bring a very rare herb called common sense and feed it to your father. He seems to be suffering from this particular deficiency."

"Okay, Loki, that's a bit-"

"Say it's a bit on the nose and I will punch you in the face right now, Thor. I'm being married against my will to an earthling against her will. Father might be a professional matchmaker in his days but I am not one of his pawns to be used in some peace treaty like this."

Thor sighs because that is all he can do right now. No matter how much tries to defend the Allfather, the fact remains that two people are being brought together without much room for their thoughts and opinions. “Weren’t you the one to bring forth the idea of peace with the one planet that father has not tried to conquer and the one that still considers us friends? It is all for the better. And Y/N is an amazing woman. I am sure she would make a wonderful partner-”

“The peace holds because you are known to their heroes, Thor. And if peace is the subject let’s just marry you with Y/N, why don’t we?”

Thor mocks a muted laugh but Loki does not stir, staring at his blond brother with a piercing gaze that finally makes the former shift his weight uncomfortably between his legs. “That’s what I thought. Keep trying to defend the Allfather unless he stands against what you desire. You do realise this was the very reason I tried to stop you from becoming king in the first place at that time.”

Before he can get a word in- or at least try to think of one- Loki has already moved past the great doors to be welcomed by a crowd of royals gathered in the hall at one side and Y/N’s family on the other.

He knows. He knows deep within his heart that the royals are here just to witness what drama goes down this time, what does the bastard of Odin do this time to wreck chaos midst these celebrations. The other side? They are here to make sure they have his bones if Y/N says the word. So, it’s just another day in my life. But he has to admit to himself how he envies you for having a cavalry of the galaxy’s most lethal beings protecting you without so much as a word. What is this camaraderie exactly? A strategic alliance? A well-put band of the unfit?

It’s love, my dear.

It is not hard to miss Friga’s words fluttering inside once he climbs the stairs to stand by Odin’s side. Love, Loki mocks a laugh, it does make you do mad things. He is not paying attention to the grand speech Odin is giving, and for once he can relate to a yawning Clint in the front. All he wants is for this charade to end once and for all. So much that he might actually be happy if Y/N says no at the very last minute. Would save both of us some very awkward lifetimes ahead.

The great doors open again. Everyone rises from their seats to welcome the bride. Loki isn’t even interested in looking that way till the sun is reflected in his eyes from the veil that covers your face. And that is the first time he looks at you.

There is the strangest flutter inside his gut to witness his colours on someone else; on you. The armour in a matching shade of gold adorns your shoulders and arms. Gold chains have the honour of covering your chest and back, curving down from behind to the plates on your waist. Green of the gown dazzles like the galaxy moving around your existence, snug all around your curves. A Goddess walks on the land of Asgard. And every single soul is in awe.

Loki blinks under the light of the suns. The air seems to leave his lungs and time slows down. Everything fades away; except for the woman that walks towards him in arms with earth’s protector. His mind is questioning whether she is a mere human while his heart is trying to figure out the pressing sensation it is feeling.

“Lady Y/N, daughter of...under the care of the house of Stark,” Odin announces to the crowd, breaking Loki out the trance whilst he watches you climb the steps with Stark, come to stand by his side and give the man a kiss before he takes a step back, his gaze never leaving your face, waiting for a single line of doubt to take you away from all of this.

Well, one of the father figures understands.

“Time for the union,” Odin declares to the two of you.

You turn towards Loki, your heart beating in your ears as you watch your future husband for what seems like the rest of eternity through the veil. Even though you have been trying to convince everyone that it’s the right thing to do, your panicking heart seems to be having doubts of its own.

Breathe! Breathe, breathe, breathe, Y/N. Just breathe, please.

“Unveil her, Loki,” Odin softly orders the God.

You feel the heat run to your ears and neck. What fuckery-

“She will unveil herself, if she wants to, Allfather. Do not belittle her with your old traditions,” Loki points out, much to Odin’s dismay.

Damn right, Tony thinks to himself as he pauses and looks inside in disbelief for liking Loki there for a moment.

Loki does not miss your hands going to your solar plexus to wipe off the sweat before moving the veil back. The suns finally get to touch your face, that glows even when everything inside you cripples in anxiety. Y/E/C eyes meet the ocean of green looking at you with deep curiosity before you look away.

“Bring forward your hands unto each other so you may be tied by the fabric used by the first Gods to be wed under the suns and moons,” Sif requests as she holds a red fabric in her hand while her eyes travel to Thor standing at the end of the stairs.

Loki is first to bring forward his hands, patiently waiting for yours.

The hesitance is not for the ceremony as much as for the fear of him finding your drumming pulse under his touch. Oh, well, I’m pretty sure he can hear it from here right now. And so you bring forward your hands to slide into his, feeling the heat from your palms being siphoned by his cold ones.

A chill runs throughout your body; like a feverish tingle when your stomach is on the verge of throwing its contents out. And Loki seems to sense it too. It’s really hard to ignore for him, as a matter of fact. So is the repeated rise of your chest to breathe as much as you can while undergoing a panic attack; a state he is all too familiar with.

“Róaðu taugarnar á henni, gyðja styrks og umhyggju,” he whispers only for you to listen and still it does not make sense till you can feel an ascended calm run from your hands to the rest of your body, bringing the chaos to a standstill.

How did he-

The removal of clouds of anxiety seems to suddenly clear your vision and you watch the God holding you in a new light. His eyes are soft towards you, his touch careful and light. His head bows a little and his body is still as a boulder. If only I had a backbone like him, you wonder when Sif wraps the red around your hands, binding them together neatly with a bow on top.

“Time for your vows,” she whispers to the both of you with a smile before taking a step back.

You look at her and watch the face of a friend before your eyes come back to rest on the red fabric. So much power resides in this little piece of cloth.

“Under the stars of Valhalla,” Loki begins, bringing your eyes up from the fabric to his face like an involuntary reflex, “I take thee, Y/N, as my wife, if you shall have me. I vow to protect you and be by your side in life...and death.”

...okay...that was...okay.

You clear your throat as discreetly as possible, taking in one long breath before looking back at right into Loki’s eyes. “U-under the stars of Valhalla, I take thee, Loki, as my husband, if you shall have me. I-I vow to protect you and be by your side in life. And...and death.”

No sooner are the words said than the fabric starts to glow with a blinding light, turning into butterflies made purely of light and flying to the skies, marking the bond witnessed by the heavens old and new.

.

"If you need anything, your handmaidens will be a call away."

There is comfort in Sid's gentle smile. If only you could ask her to stay. But that's not usually how the night goes.

"Take care of her, brother," Thor comments before a strong pat comes for Loki's back and the God rolls his eyes.

You know Thor means well but those words in no way bring comfort to you as the doors to Loki's room opens and are shut behind the two of you.

Silence marks the first few seconds of being alone in a room for the first time. Well, not first really. There was that time when the two of you had to fight your way out of the Hydra's facility.

"Nice colour theme," you finally say out loud standing by the door, awkwardly swinging on your toes while holding a fur coat given to you when you were shivering at dinner.

Loki takes his helmet off and your eyes follow the raven strands of hair flowing in the night breeze dancing in from the windows and open balcony. How does he have such lush growth? Maybe it’s the water of Asgard.

The helmet rests on the table with a soft thud. “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch,” he states, already undoing his armour.

“Oh, no,” you press, taking a step towards him, “please, you don’t have to get uncomfortable in your own room on my account. I’ll take the couch. It looks more comfortable than my bed anyway. So…yeah. Um...where can I change?”

Loki blinks and turns his gaze towards an archway by the end of the wall. “That’s...the bathroom. Everything has been arranged for you in there.”

You nod even though Loki has already gotten busy with undoing what remains of his armour while you start on undoing yours. The bracelets come off first, then the earrings. But the worst is the clasps of chains choking you from your neck down your back. I should have asked Tony how he did it, dammit. No matter how much your hands try they just don’t seem to find the stupid openings anywhere.

“Allow me,” comes the voice from behind you, startling your already tensed nerves. And as if that isn’t enough, the touch of his cold fingers on your neck seems to fire up whatever nerve endings still seem to be working. Every undoing is soft and careful, always ending with a click. You can feel your hairs rise in anticipation of this foreign touch, goosebumps all over your back that you are pretty sure Loki can notice. You have to stop breathing in order to keep the shiver in check. It's only when your neck feels light once the last of the gold is removed do you take a lungful, catching the odd piece of jewellery in your hand, thanking Loki and hastily making your way to the doorless bathroom with a wooden partition made of intricate carvings as the only thing blocking the view on either side.

When you come out Loki has already changed into a loose black shirt over black pyjamas for the night, ready to take the couch. "I said I'll take the c-"

The creak followed by a crash drowns your words and makes you smack your hand on your mouth. The sofa lies in ruins on the floors, the legs done away with while the arms rests have fallen flat. And the thought of Loki almost sitting down on it fills you with the guilt of having the thought of laughing out loud at the scene.

"Oh, God. You okay?" You have to ask, partly because you did see him rise up safely thanks to his wonderful reflexes but mainly because the pressing jaw tells you somebody might die tomorrow morning.

"I'll have one of the servants clean this up," is all he says.

Servants. Ruined couch. Wedding night. That cannot go right in any way imaginable. Not at least for your overthinking mind.

"No, that's okay. We can share the bed," you blurt out, not wanting any outside attention, "i-if that's okay with you."

And so, both of you lie down on the king-sized bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what odd decisions did you have to make to get you here. Even though the space over the bed is surprisingly a lot, the senses just cannot help but notice the other one's tiniest movements, every breath, every gulp and every sigh in the silent night.

"I'm sorry," you finally manage to say softly, still staring at the ceiling while your fingernails gnaw at each other. "That you were dragged into all of...this. I really thought the whole gist of a wedding between two kingdoms was over on my planet."

Silence resumes and as the seconds pass you feel a shot embarrassment rise in your throat for saying that. Clearly Loki is not interested in hearing any of this, you moron. He's a God married to a dumb mortal. This must be the worst day of his-

"Don't apologize for the mindless traditions of old men, dear. We are just pawns in their quest for power."

Weight of the words aside, there is something really soothing about Loki's voice mixing with the sweet cold of the night.

"All of this could have been avoided if Odin took his word back and let you live as you wished, no matter what your father promised."

You agree in a hum, bringing the duvet closer to your chest.

"But I presume you thought it better to avoid blood and take it as it was presented to you."

The words in that honey laden voice seem to travel over your exposed skin like a feather.

"Yeah. Yes. It would have been the better option but I could not stand to watch my friends and family suffer anymore. Tony deserves to rest and live a happy life with his family. Steve and Bucky are finally getting around to find their love for each other. Natasha has settled down with Maria and Clint can finally stay with his family. The battle had already taken a toll on them. I would have rather killed myself than make them put their life on the line again for the whole...planet I guess."

You do not notice but Loki has turned his head to look at you, to notice the quick blink of your eyes, the tug of your fingers on the edge of the duvet, the lick of your lips before biting on them hard.

"Well-" you clear your throat, scratching your forehead for some invisible itch- "I'm human. So, I'm supposed to make the dumbest decisions. But I cannot imagine how you must be feeling mixed in all of this. I'm sure this is the last thing you wanted for yourself in exchange for some reduced sentence. T-that's what Thor told me."

You turn to look at him and are caught off guard by the moons shining in on the pair of greens looking at you with utmost interest. And once you lock your gaze with them, it's hard to let go. Swimming in the springs in a forest under a full moon night while the world sleeps, that's what his gaze feels like. Why wouldn't it; they seem to be touching you in crevices untouched and unbared.

He continues to watch you and sigh. "To be honest I stopped putting any hope in Odin to think about me a long time ago. Nothing he does to me or for me surprises me anymore."

Your lips pucker down, letting the words sink in before you decide to turn in his direction.

"Well, I'll try to make this situation suck a little less as I can...though I highly doubt I'd be able to create much havoc here."

"Oh-" Loki feels his eyes close as a smirk lands on his face and he turns in your direction too- "trust me, darling. With me, there is no corner of this place that you cannot create havoc in."

You find yourself chuckling, letting a few seconds pass before you lick your lips and wonder whether to let out this tiny naughty piece of your mind into bed between the two of you.

The lick and the tug of your teeth at your mesmerising lips do not go unnoticed by the God; something that is soon brewing a question about why his insides are so restless at the sight of your lips having to feel the torture. Curse the unknown! "What?"

"Hm?"

"There is something you want to say but you're not allowing yourself to."

You take a deep breath and move your head just a little closer towards him in order to whisper. "It's not that I'm not mischievous... it's just that I'm often presumed to be the embodiment of a golden child and so I've never been caught. Ever."

The slight shift in Loki's expression that elevates from seriousness to confusion calls for clarification.

"I...once laced your brother's drink with laxatives because he pissed me off."

Confusion.

Surprise.

Shock.

"Y/N Y/L/N," Loki nearly gasps, feeling his head rise from the fluffy pillow, "you did what?"

And the night drowns with the light laughter and old stories for the mutual feeling of detest for siblings and contrast in the view of the world. Discussions went on through the timeless breeze blowing throughout the night about the worlds beyond and the things undiscovered; everything riding on a melody till one of you feel victim to the sweet sounds of slumber.

Loki's eyes are stuck on you all night, watching the serenity washing over your face as all worries seem to fall away while you let yourself drift in peace. Beautiful seems to be an understatement according to the God.

Even though she's an immortal, she does not deserve to be tied to me for eternity. That's a fate too cruel.

But something inside him does not want these words to be true; a gentle tug to his heartstrings by you, that seems to have struck a chord he cannot stop playing.

[communistsans]

Bi/pan lesbian is not a term you should use.

Let me be clear, I think the experience you're describing is real, but the term is offensive to bi, pan, and lesbian people. Bi, pan, and lesbian are separate sexualities. They cannot be put together because they are directly contradictory. And before you say "what about x sexuality and ace," that is different, because the terms bi, straight, pan, lesbian, and gay all define the romantic and sexual parts of attraction. Ace only describes a lack of sexual attraction, leaving the question of who they are romantically attracted to. So if someone says they are ace and bi, it works because from that you know that they are attracted to women/men, but only romantically. You wouldn't say, "I'm aromantic, asexual, and bi," because all those things overlap. You can't be attracted to no one romantically or sexually AND be attracted to men/women. Lesbian describes a sexuality that means women/fem aligned people who are EXCLUSIVELY attracted (romantically and/or sexually) to women/fem aligned people. Bisexual describes a sexuality that means someone attracted (romantically and/or sexually) to 2 or more genders. Pansexual describes a sexuality that means someone attracted to others (romantically and/or sexually) regardless of their sex/gender.

So that's why the term is nonsensical, but why is it offensive to lesbians and bisexuals/pansexuals? I'm bi woman, so take my lesbian commetary with a grain of salt.

I believe every sexuality has a bit of wiggle room, and also that that doesn't mean that a person can't use the term gay/lesbian. I don't think a straight man being attracted to one guy makes him gay/bi, I don't think being a lesbian and being attracted to one guy makes her bi/straight. I'm bisexual and people often ask me if they are bi because they are attracted to x obviously attracitve celebrity, and the answer is usually no. It takes more than being attracted to a couple of people of the opposite sex to be bi/pansexual. What makes you bi/pan is being able to be genuinely attracted to, date, fall in love with, and be intimate with people of the same and different sexes/genders. I think straight and gay people alike can have genuine attractions that do not align with their sexuality and still be that sexuality. However the key here is that those are exceptions. When 99% of your experiences are exclusive to one gender then yes, you are gay/lesbian. I don't think that genuinely liking your high school boyfriend because he was a sweet guy and you hadn't figured yourself out yet makes you not a lesbian. And I think to say that it does is also lesbophobic. Just to get the whole "sexuality is fluid" out of the way.

Relationships between women are so often devalued, and lesbians often suffer from people erasing their sexualities, or people assuming that somehow they must be attracted to men in some way. This is a fucked up and lesbophobic way of thinking, and it's stupid that they have to deal with that. Lesbians shouldn't be made to feel ashamed of personal experiences for fear of having their sexuality questioned/invalidated. Politically speaking, it is critical for lesbians to ensure the term lesbian means a sexuality of women exclusively being attracted to women, please do not interfere with this term. It is important to their communities that it stays that way. However I know what is politically convenient isn't always what is personally true. On a personal note, I think the distinction should be this: if you HAVE BEEN attracted to a couple of men in your life but could never see yourself being with a man and being happy, and can easily say that 95% or more of your attraction has been exclusively to women, you are a lesbian. If you ARE attracted to men and could see yourself being happy in a relationship with a man, you are bisexual or pansexual. As a bisexual person, I don't experience or see my attraction to either men or women as exceptions, they are both natural and part of my sexuality. I also want to note that it is unfair and lesbophobic to assume that because someone has liked one guy in their life it somehow discredits the rest of their experiences, especially when we dont hold gay men to the same standard. In fact, its usually the opposite! If a straight man has one experience with another guy everyone assumes he must be gay/bi, even though he has only ever been attracted to women. Ultimately, if someone says they are a lesbian, they like women and just women. End of story. Yes there could be different personal anecdotes, but lesbians are attracted to women alone. To say otherwise is lesbophobic. If you are attracted to men, you aren't a lesbian.

Implying that lesbians are attracted to men is lesbophobic, so why is the term "bi lesbian" also biphobic? Well because in addition to erasing the meaning of lesbian, it also erases the meaning of bi. Bisexuals are often believed to secretly be straight or gay. We are not gay or straight, we're bi. I get the term is trying to say that you have a strong preference for women; many bisexuals have a preference, however you are still bi. If this "preference" is that strong to the point where you basically are near exclusively attracted to women, then you are probably a lesbian. You are either a bi person with a preference for women, or you are a lesbian. You cannot be both bi and a lesbian. Substitute bi for pan here and the commentary is the same.

I've also seen people who say they call themselves bi/pan lesbians because they are attracted to women and also to nonbinary people. And okay, I see where you're coming from here, but that doesnt mean the term isn't offensive. Gender non-conforming and nonbinary lesbians are a thing and I'm not about to police nb lesbians; they have always existed and been important parts of the lesbian community. But if the only nb people you find yourself being attracted to are nb lesbians and other fem aligned people, you're still a lesbian. If you aren't comfortable with that because it erases some peoples identity, then use bi/pan, because those are the terms to describe attraction to 2 or more genders. Or use queer! I knew a couple in college who were a lesbian couple until one of them came out as trans masc. To not invalidate them, their partner said they were queer instead of lesbian.

Another person I have seen using this term is women who are basically bi/pan or even straight who for whatever reason have stopped dating men permanently, despite being attracted to them, and this actually has some historical precedent. During 2nd wave feminism these women called themselves "political lesbians," giving up dating men in order to free themselves from misogyny. If this is your experience, do what you want, but again, the term bi/pan lesbian is harmful to lesbians and bi/pansexuals and please call yourself something else. I think it's fine to call yourself a lesbian or gay for convenience sake if you really do never plan on dating men again. Please just understand that the lesbian/bi/pan communities need to have the integrity of these terms for political reasons. Lesbian is not an umbrella term the way gay or queer is. On a personal level, yes there is wiggle room, but on political level these terms need to have definitions.

Ultimately if you identify as a bi/pan lesbian, please stop using that term. It's problematic for lesbian, bi, and pan communities and frankly makes no sense. If you want a fluid term, you can always just say "queer" or "queer with a preference for women." Normally I don't care about what people identify as and I against gatekeeping, because in the end it doesn't hurt anyone. But this isn't about gatekeeping. The term bi lesbian is harmful, which is why I'm asking anyone defending that term to please reconsider. If you identify with this term, I'm not sending hate your way and I'm not trying to invalidate you. I'm just saying this term is harmful and there are plenty of other non problematic ways to describe your sexuality, like wlw, nblw, sapphic, or queer.

If I got something wrong here please tell me! I just think there is a lot of really hateful debate going on here and it's extremely unnecessary. But my final stance is that the term bi lesbian/pan lesbian is offensive, biphobic, and especially lesbophobic, and we should do better by the lesbian community, who are constantly being erased.

[shittyelfwriter]

Nightmare

Pairing: Unrequited Castiel x fem!reader, established Dean x reader!sister, Sam x reader!other sister

Word count: 8.3k, one-shot

Summary: Your sisters had made a deal to save Sam and Dean. You had made another deal, with Crowley’s help, to save your sisters. No one had seen it coming when you went missing, but even less had they expected to find you as a shadow of your former self.

Warnings: Usual spn levels of angst, trauma, demon deals, etc.

A/N: Sort of sourced from an old rp I did, and loosely off of Nightmare by Halsey. Another song fic, literally no one is surprised anymore (oof.) I’ve been extremely sick this week as I’ve been working on this, so apologies in advance if it isn’t as coherent as I think? Also apologies since tumbles apparently took away the line break feature and I’ve yet to find a way to fix that. I’ve made an attempt at line breaking in the meantime, we’ll see how it goes. 

More of my writing (masterlist)

You’d just been so desperate.

There hadn’t been a lot of time to think through what you were doing—there never was with this sort of thing, was there? All you knew is that your sisters had sold their souls for those Winchester boys, and now they owed theirs as debt. You weren’t surprised, exactly. It was just like them to sacrifice for the men they loved, and who loved them in return—they had done the same for the girls before, right? It was a stupid mess, but serious.

And with three days left before their time was up, and no other viable options on the table, you knew what you needed to do.

Oddly enough, you weren’t the type to have enemies. Of your sisters, you were the most polite, and quiet. Innocent, if you wanted to put it that way. For all of your connections to Sam and Dean, you weren’t hated in the supernatural world—if anything, monsters knew not to cross you because if anything happened to you, they’d be shooting themselves in the foot. You only believed in hunting when necessary; preferring to help creatures find ways to live without killing humans. Oftentimes you vouched for the odd vampire, or demon, even angel from time to time—which was perhaps why you were so close with Cas.

Well, close was one word for it. Rumors ran amuck that you two were hopelessly in love—but you weren’t in a relationship, by any means, nor romantically involved. You were very close, and yes you were pining after him, but you refused to ruin what the two of you had because you had a crush.

So it was surprising when you’d called Crowley for a reason other than a case. You didn’t exactly trust the King of Hell, but he had taken a shining to your wit and intellect. Perhaps he even had a soft spot for your well intentioned naïveté—or at least, that’s what he’d told you once before.

“Isn’t it more like you to ask Feathers for help with something like this?” The demon had asked you, and you’d looked down at your shoes, clearly distraught.

“We’re a bit past that point, Crowley. Don’t get me wrong,” you added, looking resolute. “I know better than to ask you to pardon my sisters. There’s a balance to this sort of thing, when you’re trading in souls.”

“Then what exactly are you here for?” He’d asked, and seeing your expression his face had fallen. “Oh no. Really?” Seeing tears jump into your eyes, he sighed. Be it far from him to be compassionate, but he really did have a terrible soft spot for you. “Dearest, I can’t let you do that. You know that, don’t you?”

“Please,” you asked, begged if you were honest. “I know it’s one soul for two, but…I mean, from what Cas has told me, I have a high quality soul.”

“He’s not wrong.” That was reassuring, somehow. Crowley circled around you, assessing you. “Of your sisters, you’re the most untainted. The Winchesters have a way of defiling those around them—your being more removed has done you good. You don’t drink, smoke, gamble, fornicate—still a virgin, which is a near miracle. And that’s coming from a demon.” You swallowed uncomfortably, shifting on your feet. Crowley came to stand in front of you again, his hands behind his back. “Sam and Dean had a heavy price on their heads, which transferred to your sisters when they renegotiated the deal. All of that on you would be…brutal, to put it lightly.”

“I know.”

“And you’re willing to take that on?”

“I don’t have any other choice.”

“You could let them do the time, wait for the boys to save them—eventually.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Crowley squinted at you. “You’d really sacrifice yourself for them?”

You let out a sad little laugh, shrugging. “Why not? I’m the only one who doesn’t have someone to live for.”

He seemed concerned by your statement, frowning and taking a step closer. “I know Castiel for one would disagree with that heavily.”

“Castiel is my friend,” you said, your voice breaking on the word. “Nothing more, nothing less. Taylor and Ariel have Sam and Dean in their lives, they deserve to have that. I want them to have that, and I’ll do what I need to to keep them all safe.”

“Your soul for theirs?”

“Yes.”

The King of Hell turned over your answer for a moment, the silence weighing on you considering how he’d turned you down at first. “On second thought, I do have a proposition for you, Y/N,” and you could tell by the look on his face it wasn’t going to be pretty.

In the end, you agreed to Crowley’s terms. “What will you tell Castiel?” He asked, and you knew he was concerned about the angel coming after him for brokering your demise.

“I won’t,” you said, resolutely. “I’m not going to tell any of them. They don’t need to know.”

 “Dean it’s been six weeks. Six weeks, and nothing from Y/N.” Your middle sister, Ariel, stood at the map table in the war room, staring her boyfriend of the past few years down with tears in her eyes. “This isn’t like her, Cas is worried out of his mind even though he won’t admit it—”

“I know!” Dean admitted, running a hand down his face. “I know, and you know that we’ve been doing everything we can to try and find her. Cas has been back on angel radio, Sam and Taylor have been working with Rowena to try and track her, but that didn’t pan out.”

“Rowena said something is tainting Y/N’s energy,” your youngest sister, Taylor offered from her seat next to Sam. “It’s impossible to track her the way she is now, whatever that means.”

“I think we all know what it might mean,” Dean said, and Ariel and Taylor immediately began to protest when they were cut off by a deeper voice in the doorway.

“Y/N can’t be a demon.” Cas looked much worse for wear than usual, more disheveled, with red rimmed eyes that if he weren’t an angel might suggest he’d been crying. But he did seem exhausted through and through, so maybe he actually had been crying. “We’ve been over this before, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Her soul is too pure, to become a demon she’d have to commit a heinous crime and none have come up on our radar that have anything to do with anyone who looks like her.” Dean slumped into a seat, clearly frustrated. “I just don’t know what to do, man. Y/N is incredibly intelligent, and capable—if she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.”

“It doesn’t exactly help that Crowley isn’t picking up his phone,” Sam pointed out with a meaningful look.

“You think he’s hiding something?” Ariel asked, and Sam shrugged.

“I’m just saying. Y/N went missing around the time your deals were due, and seeing as you haven’t been collected by hellhounds, and she’s nowhere to be found—”

“Don’t say that.” Cas’ gritted tone garnered everyone’s attention. His hands were in fists, a furious and heartbroken expression on his face. “If she were in danger she would have prayed to me, I know it. She promised me, and Y/N doesn’t break promises.”

“But what if she chose to be in danger?” Sam asked, saying what everyone was thinking but was too afraid to say. “We all know she used to say that if any of us ever did anything too pigheaded, she’d trade herself for us in a heartbeat. We were so down to the wire, trying to find a way to save Ari and Tay that maybe we forgot that she’d promised that.”

Everyone fell into a miserable silence. They all knew it felt like the truth, but none of them liked it. Cas turned around and stormed from the room, up the stairs to the front door.

“Cas?” Dean called, concerned with his attitude but not surprised. He knew how close the two of you were, how much this must be tearing Cas apart. “Where you going, buddy?”

“To keep my promise. To bring Y/N home,” Cas snapped, but there was a catch in his voice that betrayed his emotion. He slammed the bunker door on the way out, and considering how heavy it was it made quite the clatter. Ariel and Taylor both cringed, exchanging glances, and Sam sighed.

“We should keep an eye out for unusual demon activity,” he said, and they all knew what he was saying.

“On it,” Dean replied, already on his way to the computers. If they were facing the truth, then maybe it would be easier to find you.

As much as your family and the Winchesters cared about you, this was perhaps hardest on Castiel.

He’d believed what he’d told them: that if you were in danger, you would have reached out, called, prayed to him, anything. Maybe you withdrew from your siblings, but not from him. He was usually exempt from your moody phases, always an exception to your rules. This time, being shut out had him worried much more than he would have anticipated. And it made him wonder how badly you were in trouble, if you hadn’t prayed to him.

He didn’t want to believe what the others were saying. He didn’t want to even think, let alone believe that you would have sacrificed yourself without coming to him for help first. It was tearing him apart to think you’d been so afraid, that even now you could be suffering the full force of two Winchesters worth of torment—and all because he hadn’t realized you were pulling away until it was too late.

It was driving him frantic, leaving him chasing his own tail trying to find any scrap of information as to where you were. And now that that had failed, he was moving onto the next phase: direct action.

He found demons. He tortured them, trying to get them to talk, to let slip where you were. They seemed afraid of him, but not more than they were of talking. Three died before they gave up something he could work with: the address of an abandoned hotel in Chicago, and the promise that Crowley would try to stop him.

“I hope he does,” Cas growled out, smiting the demon in the chair it was tied in before whirling, picking up his angel blade from the table and heading to Chicago.  He needed someone to take his anger out on, in big swinging punches, and Crowley was seeming more and more like the right face to make a punching bag.

Of course he’d called Sam and Dean and the girls. Of course he’d told them to get the dungeon ready, just in case. Either he was bringing Crowley back, or…he didn’t like to think about the other option. But when he reached the abandoned hotel, saw the penthouse windows lit up from the sidewalk below, he knew he was going to have to prepare himself for the worst case.

Not that it made that any easier.

He was surprised to find the bottom floor unguarded. Finding the elevator out of order, he ascended the staircase of the hotel, his apprehension rising with each floor. As he reached the penthouse, he drew his blade and approached the door—surprised to find it open, cracked ever so slightly.

“Castiel.”

It was like a dream, or some sort of reverie the way your voice carried out from the room. Music to his ears, how clear and unharmed your voice sounded. He felt his vessel’s heart skip a beat, his pulse rising as he pushed the door open with his free hand. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding. Maybe you were okay, almost dared to let himself hope. Almost.

You stood there, in the middle of the room. It seemed lived in, as if you’d been there for a few days. But your back was to him, and you were examining something in your hands, something he couldn’t see. The energy in the room was all wrong, he couldn’t sense your soul—that bright ball of beautiful flame that he always found himself mesmerized by. No, the air felt static, and heavy—there was a demon nearby, and everything in him was clawing to find an answer that meant it wasn’t you.

“Y/N,” his voice was relieved; he just couldn’t help it. After weeks of searching, he was weary of missing you, of being afraid for your life. Seeing you in front of him unscathed was a mercy he hadn’t thought he’d be afforded.

But then you turned, and your face was all wrong. His angelic eyes were horrified to see your face, not glowing softly with the radiance of your soul, but hollowed out into the thing he’d feared most.

“Took you long enough,” you said, your voice still normal sounding and a little amused. It was like you were mocking him, that he’d thought you’d be alright. “What’s wrong, Cas. Aren’t you happy to see me?” You smiled, and it was earnest, filled with the happiness and love that normally greeted him. But then you blinked, and your eyes went black.

“Y/N, what have you done?” Cas asked, his world shaken. It felt like everything had gone upside down, that nothing made sense. He’d grounded himself with you, and now you were the inverted version of yourself. He didn’t know which way was up.

You could sense his confusion, could see it in his form that you could finally look at unharmed. “They always did say that you were handsome, and I wondered how much was true,” you admitted, casting your blackened gaze along his true form. “It used to make me jealous.” A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you.”

You quoting verse at him was already twisted enough, but Song of Solomon was a particularly low blow; as if you were mocking his affection, the love you shared but never spoke of.

“Why.” It was a simple question, but it seemed to puzzle you as you came closer, stopping when you were a foot in front of him. He longed to reach out, to pull you close and reassure you everything would be alright, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Not now.

“Why do you think?” You were so calm, so at peace with what you were that it was unsettling. Normally demons were full of anger, venom, spite. But you still seemed like you, if not a bit faded out. Like your personality had been switched from color to black-and-white. “I had no other choice, Castiel. It was either them or me.”

“Why you?” He asked, anger creeping into his tone. His chest rose and fell, barely contained emotion showing itself physically. “Why should you be the one to bear their sins?”

“Why not me?” You asked, tilting your head. You blinked, and your eyes went back to their normal color. It was like nothing was wrong, it was just him and you. “You’ve thrown yourself into danger for us without a second thought many times before, Cas. Why is my doing so worthy of questioning? I did what I needed to do, to protect those I loved.”

“Loved,” Cas clarified, and you smiled sadly, the emotion not reaching your eyes.

“Demons don’t love, do they?”

“Neither do angels,” he countered. “And yet…” His eyes lingered on your face, searching for anything that gave away this was a trick, that you were really you. Your gaze softened, something almost like emotion behind them as you realized the intention behind his trailing off. It made his grace want to reach out to you.

“I’ve missed you, Cas,” you whispered, and he believed you had. He believed that you believed you had. But he knew that like this, you couldn’t properly miss anybody.

“I miss you too,” he replied, unmoving when you set a hand to his cheek. It felt wrong, when you touched him, which was so wrong itself. All he’d wanted for weeks was you to come back, to comfort him. Now that you were, it felt terrible. Your face darkened at both his words and lack of response.

“You should be more grateful,” you said, withdrawing your hand. All sweetness had left you, your tone cold as you took a step back. For the first time, he realized you were holding an angel blade. His relief could have cost him his life, and he wouldn’t have even seen it coming. “I could have been dead, or worse.”

“Isn’t this worse?” He demanded, irritation creeping into his voice. You could see it, the anger rising behind his eyes, the celestial in him spurred to action by your behavior. You saw his wings flutter angrily, but there was a conflict in them—like he knew he was angry, but they had a mind of their own and still wanted to embrace you. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“Oh, Cas,” you singsonged, holding your blade behind your back with both hands and swaying from side to side. You were grinning again in spite of yourself, far from aware of how manic your mood changes were. “Do your wings always reach for me like that? Was I just too blind to see it?” His lips turned downward in frustration, and you knew you’d hit a nerve. You faked a gasp. “Is it possible your true form is more forward with your feelings than your vessel? Fascinating—especially considering how little you give me of yourself.”

“I give you more of myself than I do to anyone else.” Hearing him be so firm was even more arousing than usual, and you felt your own wings aching to come forward, to mingle with his despite the contrast of their essence. “I stay with you while you sleep when you ask for it, my arms wrapped around you, keeping you safe. I protect you on every hunt, at every opportunity. I put your safety above my own in all things, and I always answer your call, whether it be in prayer or over the phone.”

“Which I’m assuming is why you’re so offended I didn’t call,” you finished, noting how wound up he was. You rolled your eyes, sighing and abandoning your stare down to return to packing a bag at the end of your bed. “I didn’t need you to save me, Castiel. Not this time. I needed you to let me go.” You looked over at him, sadly. “I still do. There’s nothing for you to save here anymore, angel. And I’m sorry it had to end this way—really I am. But this is the end of the line for us.”

“No. No, I refuse to believe that,” He argued, raising his voice. “The Y/N I know wouldn’t give up so easily. She wouldn’t just surrender to becoming”— he looked you up and down—“this.”

“A demon,” you pointed out, seeing his expression sour at the words. “You can’t face it, can you? That this is what I am now?”

“I won’t,” he growled, staring at you, rage behind his blue eyes. “I won’t accept it, because I’m going to make it right. And once I’ve done that, Crowley will pay.”

“Crowley only did what I asked,” you said, crossing your arms. “I asked him to intervene, he didn’t have to, but he did. I owe him everything.”

“You don’t owe him anything, Y/N!” Cas said, clearly exasperated. “Look what he’s done to you!”

“Made me stronger,” you said, calmly. “Erased my weakness, given me something to do while serving my time—well. My sisters’ time.”

Cas seemed ready to snap, like he was about to boil over and was afraid he’d take it out on you. “Enough of this,” he said lowly, striding forward. You didn’t attack, allowing him to grab your wrist. “I’m taking you home.”

“I don’t want to go home.” You refused to move, feet planted firmly.

He narrowed his eyes at you, cocking his head. “Do I look like I’m asking?” He said, all sass, and you hated that desire pooled in your stomach from the fiery look he was giving you. Despite that, you forced a firm glare.

“I’m not going back. Not to the bunker, where they’re going to look at me the same way you are right now.”

“We—“ He sighed, rolling his eyes before fixing you with a clear gaze. “We care about you. We want what’s best for you, Y/N, I know you know that deep down.”

“And what’s best for me, Cas?” You asked, arching a brow at him. “To go ‘home’, have you lot try to ‘cure’ me? Go back to being a pathetic little girl, who pines after you like a puppy who’s master only comes home when he needs something from her?” That hurt him, you could see it in his face. “No, fuck that. I’m done being the child of the group. I’m done letting you make a fool of me, like you have all these years.”

“I’ve made a fool of you?” Cas nearly hissed, rounding in on you, so close you were practically nose to nose. His eyes were furious, hurt. “No, little girl, you’ve been making a fool of me all this time. Making a laughing stock of me to my brothers and sisters, who spurned me for my weakness—my weakness for you.” 

“Why should they? It’s not like you’ve ever acted on it.” If you’d had the ability to feel your emotions, you would have been crying. “All this time, Castiel. First Dean and Ariel, then Tay and Sam. Everyone around us finding love, and yet with everything we’ve been through, we stay the same.” You tried to shake his hand away, but he wouldn’t let go. “Was it me? Was I the problem? Because back when I cared, I sure thought I was. Something must have been wrong with me, that you wouldn’t want me despite what we share. But then I realized that maybe you just needed someone who cared no matter what. A little more than a friend, a lot less than a lover.”

“Enough.” He shook you a little, the look in his eyes far more emotional than you would have expected. “I’m not having this conversation with you the way you are right now,” he told you, and you scoffed.

“Please, any other time I’d be too shy to talk about it.”

“Which is incidentally why I don’t bring it up,” Cas said, exasperated.

“So you admit you don’t want to talk about it, right.”

He stopped and stared at you. “And I thought you were impossible when you’re human,” he muttered.

“Surprise, surprise,” you said with a wink, and he sighed. “You gonna let go of my arm yet? Crowley will be back from an errand any minute and I doubt he’d like to see you with your hands on the merchandise.”

“Would you stop talking about yourself like that.” He pressed his lips together, as if he didn’t like what he was about to say. “I know you have an issue with self-loathing to begin with, but this is taking it to an unhealthy place.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You think this is cause I hate myself? No, Cas. Maybe I finally loved myself enough to get out. To stop pining over you, and grow the fuck up.” Your eyes went black, and you saw his anger boil up again. “This is what I’ve chosen to be, and I don’t owe you, or anyone else, a goddamn thing.”

“Is that your final answer?” He asked, and you reached for your blade with free hand. He clutched your wrist tighter, a warning.

“Yes.” He was clearly dissatisfied, but you could tell he wasn’t about to give up. He was about to say something else when slow clapping sounded behind the both of you. Cas turned, revealing Crowley in the doorway—clearly entertained.

“Bravo, Y/N, you him occupied long enough for me to show. Told you it wouldn’t be hard.” He stepped into the room, Cas already bristling. He was shielding you with his body, you realized, finding that funny—but something deeper within you began to worry. Crowley hadn’t mentioned hurting Cas. Was that what this was about?

“You,” Cas said, nearly a snarl, but Crowley waved him off.

“Oh come on. We’re past that by now, aren’t we? You know as well as I do that we both have a soft spot for Y/N. I did what I was asked, save the holy wrath for someone who actually deserves it.”

“You made her a demon,” Cas pointed out furiously. “I think that warrants a bit of wrath.”

“Yes, and she’s lucky she got the easy out. I had to pull some strings to make that happen—do you have any idea the kind of torture that was lined up for Sam and Dean?”

“I’m taking her with me.”

“You’re really not.”

He really was though, because exactly 17 minutes later he was leaving the room, a bit bloodied and bruised but with Crowley pinned to a chair with your angel blade, and you unconscious, slung over his shoulder. Crowley was shouting after him, promising all sorts of foul repayment for his interference, but at that point Cas didn’t care anymore. He was far more concerned with the apathy you’d found in your new state of being—because that didn’t come naturally to a demon, and it made him think something was wrong with the way you’d been turned.

When you awoke, you were handcuffed and chained in the dungeon of the bunker, a dim overhead light making you squint. The last thing you’d remembered was that you’d had Cas pinned to the ground, your blade at his throat as Crowley had yelled at you to finish him. But it all went blank from there. What had happened?

“It’s not important,” came a familiar voice from the corner, and your stomach churned at the idea that your thoughts had been combed through. You noticed Cas there for the first time, sitting in the semi dark, his forearms resting on his knees with blue eyes fixed curiously on you. “What matters is that you’re home now.”

“You’ve made a big mistake bringing me here,” you threatened, but Cas merely sighed.

“Dean’s already spoken to Crowley. We’ve given him something he wants—an item, not a person,” he clarified, seeing your interest. “While he’s still annoyed about the fight we had, he’s letting it rest for now.”

“How long have I been out?” You asked, tilting your head and groaning. You felt lightheaded, dizzy, out of sorts and you knew it wasn’t from whatever had knocked you out. You looked about the room for what could be the cause of your pain, when your eyes fell on the series of needles on the table. You groaned. “Really, Cas? Blood therapy?”

He didn’t answer, but it didn’t seem to matter when the door opened and Dean, then Sam came in.

“Where are the girls?” You asked, your tone again, too normal. It was like nothing was wrong, like everything had just been a bad dream. Only the cuffs and chains around you were a sign that something was amiss, your eyes flickering to black reminding them all that this was real. That you were the nightmare.

“Somewhere out of your reach, for now,” Sam said, picking up a needle. “Is it time, Cas?” He asked, and Cas nodded. “Good.” He came over to you, and even though you struggled he still managed to get the needle into your neck. It felt like your blood was on fire, and you were freezing all over at the same time. You hissed angrily, thrashing about as much as you could.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, near begging. But neither Dean nor Sam seemed to be in the listening mood.

“Back in an hour?” Dean said to Cas, and again, Cas nodded. You growled in frustration, kicking your feet.

“Talk to me, dammit!” You demanded, but neither brother paid you any mind as they left the room, closing the door behind them and leaving you alone with the angel again. Your head lolled to the side, and you looked at him. You were bleeding from your nose, eyes their normal color but red rimmed, with your bottom lip split from your fight earlier. “Please,” you begged, near whimpered. “Please, just let me go. I don’t wanna go back to what I was before. I don’t wanna go back to being that miserable.”

Cas’ expression shifted to some kind of emotion for the first time since you’d woken, guilt and sadness marring his features. “Did you really hate it all that much?”

You couldn’t reply, your returning humanity hanging heavy in your throat. He got up, and you felt your pulse quicken as he took slow steps towards you. One, two, three. A finger lifted your chin.

“I don’t understand,” he said, voice low, scanning your face—your true face, which was beginning to faintly shine with the light of your soul again, just barely; like a flickering lightbulb. “How did he turn you? I see no signs on you of a sin large enough, no spot on your soul dark enough to warrant your demonic nature. What did he do to make you this way?”

You blinked, eyes heavy with tears. “I’d rather die then tell you anything,” you said angrily, turning your face away and out of his grasp.

“Maybe you feel that way now. But it will pass.” You hated him in that moment, in his surety that he could bring you back from the place you’d begun to feel was safer than your own home—the dark depths of what you’d become. You tugged at the chains again, trying to escape against the odds. You knew there was no getting out. All of you had kept Crowley in this dungeon before, for weeks at a time. All you had was hours, you weren’t even sure how many; but by the feeling in your head, you assumed you were around halfway finished.

“You might as well relax,” Cas said, grunting as he took a seat again. His blue eyes fixed on you the same way they had before, with patience and wariness. “We’re going to be here a while.”

He was right. It was a good five hours before your treatment was nearly done. The boys had been coming in and out on the hour, dosing you and giving you a scrutinizing look before leaving you with Cas, in silence. Your hatred for their coldness has begun to fade into a lonely sadness every time they ignored you—a sure sign of your humanity returning, which only made you more miserable.

One last syringe remained, and this one Cas had insisted on giving to you himself. He came to stand in front of you, your face layered with a sheen of sweat, your hair clinging to its edges. “Please,” you begged brokenly, and it wasn’t clear if you were begging him to stop, or to give the last dose. He paused, looking into your eyes. He could see the shine of your soul beginning to stabilize, but something beneath was ebbing darkness, the source of your demonic energy. Your core wound. His curiosity got the better of him, and knowing that you wouldn’t tell what had caused you to succumb to your fate, he set a hand on your head—stepping into the memory of it.

Just like now, you were strapped into a chair. He was viewing you from the front, as he had been in the dungeon, but you didn’t see him. Instead, your eyes seemed fixed on something behind him. No, someone.

“This will only work if you believe what you’ve done to be a truly heinous sin,” Crowley explained, holding up a vial of inky liquid in front of him between two fingers. “Think you can do that, love? I know you don’t have much to go off of, but—”

“I know what will work.” You sounded resolute, but Castiel could see your pulse hammering with fear, worry. The look in your eyes spoke of regret, sadness, and pain.

“Right then.” Crowley opened the vial, tipping its contents out into the air. It was like a smoke, slithering towards you, a whisper behind it. It wound and coiled around your body like a snake, grasping at your throat. There was no external noise, but inside your head a voice spoke, discordant and echoey.

“What have you done to be worthy of calling yourself a demon?” It questioned, and your eyes slipped closed, tears slipping down your cheeks.

‘I have desired the undesirable. I have longed to love that which is not made to be loved, but to be venerated. I have wished to belong to that which cannot be understood by my own nature. I have loved an angel, with all my heart, and body, and soul, and in doing so, I have defiled his divinity—tainted his light.’  

The smoke hesitated a moment, then snuck into your mouth and nose, making you writhe in pain. When it stopped, your eyes opened, pitch black, your pained expression empty, vacant.

“Y/N.” Crowley said your name, spurring you to awareness, and you looked up at him with dark, oily eyes. He smiled.

“Welcome home.”

Cas took his hand off your head, finding you gasping for air. He felt similarly breathless himself, taken aback by what he’d seen. All the same, it only redoubled his resolve, and he reached for the last syringe, plunging it into your neck. You let out a blood curdling scream, chains biting your wrists as the antidote burned through you, the last of the demon in you washed away. You fell silent for a moment, stunned and in too much pain to think clearly, before a sob overtook you and your head fell to your chest. The emotions were so very much, after feeling so little.

“Y/N,” Cas breathed out your name like a breath of fresh air, relieved beyond belief to see the last of that ghastly face fade away, replaced in full by your soul. He reached out out of instinct, to caress your face and smooth your hair aside, but you whimpered and pulled away. When you looked up, there was so much fear in your eyes it nearly stopped his vessel’s heart.

“Y/N?” The door to the dungeon flew open, Sam and Dean rushing into the room. “Cas?” Dean demanded, wanting to know if it had ended well.

“She’s okay,” Cas assured him, his eyes not leaving yours. “The cure worked.”

“Thank god,” Sam sighed in relief, and he and Dean both came forward to help you, checking you with salt and holy water before undoing your chains, apologizing profusely all the while.

“We couldn’t take any risks,” Sam explained. “We had to get you back, understand?” You’d nodded weakly, and Dean had pointed out how exhausted you looked. Sam picked you up, carrying you upstairs to where your sisters were waiting to help you recover from your ordeal. As he carried you out of the room, you saw Cas talking with Dean, shame weighing heavily on the angel’s shoulders. He glanced up and your eyes met for a moment, guilt all over his face before you hid yours against Sam’s shoulder.

You didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to act after what Cas had seen in your mind.

It had been four days since you’d been cured. Four days, and you still hadn’t spoken to Cas. 

The others had all thought that the moment you’d had a shower, had a proper meal and maybe a good long cry, the first thing you’d want to do was take comfort in Cas’ presence. It’s what you normally would have done, anyway—maybe even before the crying part, since he usually was your shoulder to lean on.

But you hadn’t. You’d given your sisters an explanation, a half apology for what you’d done but you’d stood your ground that you believed it to have been the right choice. Everyone, Sam and Dean and your sisters all made you promise that you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself like that again; that you’d trust in all of you to find a solution, together. You’d agreed, just because you were too tired to argue anymore. You felt weary all the way down to your soul, just wanting to sleep for the sake of getting away from all your thoughts and emotions. So you did. And when anyone asked you if you’d like them to call Cas, that it wouldn’t be an issue, you’d quietly reply that no, that wasn’t necessary thank you.

“You don’t have to hide from him,” Ariel told you, sitting at the end of your bed. “I know that going through what you did, with him there must have been strange—maybe even embarrassing. But Y/N…you know by now that there’s nothing you can do to shake Cas’ faith in you.”

“He never stopped believing we’d bring you home.” Tay was in the doorway, offering you a smile. “We were all afraid that maybe you were gone for good, but he wouldn’t even consider it.”

“Cas cares about you, Y/N,” Ariel agreed, and you felt your pulse quicken, stomach twisting itself in a knot. “He loves—”

“Do you think I could have some time to myself?” You blurted out, fresh tears in your eyes. Ariel seemed disappointed, exchanging a look with Tay before smiling softly.

“Of course.”

The silence was too heavy, after they left. You rolled onto your side, picking at the blanket, your eyes stinging. The blanket was one Cas had bought you for your birthday; something to make the bunker feel more like home. It was soft, with silk edges, and was a particular shade of blue that usually comforted you. But now, it made you want to break down completely. You got up, swiping angrily at your tears with the back of your hand before tearing the blanket off the bed, folding it hastily. You couldn’t handle any reminder of Cas, not then. The way you felt reminded you of all the times he’d been dead, when you couldn’t handle the idea that he wasn’t coming home to you. You wondered if he’d felt that way. You wondered if he felt anything, at all.

You knew he did, and you knew that the doubt was your despair talking. Because as much as you’d been avoiding Cas, he’d made no effort to come to you either, and you knew why. You felt so, so extremely guilty, broken, that he’d seen your deepest fear, and that it was something that reflected so poorly on him. It wasn’t his fault that you felt like you’d been a weight around his ankle, continuously pulling him back down to earth since you’d met. Your guilt was your own, it had nothing to do with him—but it did make you ashamed, and want to hide yourself away. Which is what you were doing now, you realized, looking down at the blanket in your hands. Hiding yourself away, pushing away any vestiges of his affection. They’d told you your soul had returned, but if that were true, why was there a gaping hole in your chest where your heart should have been?

You sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching the messily folded blanket to your chest. You just didn’t see a way out of this, a way where he could forgive you for viewing your relationship with him in such a negative light. You pressed your mouth and nose into the blanket to stifle your noises as you broke down into sobs, screwing your eyes shut as your shoulder shook. This was too much. All of it was too much, and you wished you could go back to just nothing.

Until you felt a hand on your head, you looked up and found a familiar pair of blue eyes on your face. He was looking at you with such sadness that your breath caught, choking on your sobs. “I-I’m so s-s-sorry,” you cried, and the hesitance about him melted away. He knelt in front of you, pulling your blanket out of your arms and setting it on the bed beside you. He opened his arms, and you wrapped yours around his neck, burying your face against his shoulder. “It’s not like you think, I promise,” you told him, and you felt his hand rest on the back of your head again. “Do you hate me?” You asked, in barely a whisper. It had been your biggest fear from the moment he’d seen inside your mind in the first place.

“No, I don’t hate you. How could you think that?” He asked, breath warm against your ear. You could have sworn he was about to cry as well from how thick his voice was with emotion. “How could you let yourself think that you caused me to fall?”

“I…” you stammered, looking for the right words to convey your contriteness. “I suppose it is a bit arrogant of me, to assume,” you began, but he cut you off, turning his head to look you in the eyes.

“No, Y/N,” he said, and you realized there were tears in his eyes. “How could you let yourself feel that kind of guilt, over me? Over something you didn’t do? My multiple fallings out with Heaven…they came from me trying to redeem my own failings, not from you dragging me down to you.” You should have been embarrassed, sitting there with your arms round his neck, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, much too close for casual conversation; but you weren’t, and this wasn’t. It was for the first time like a wall had been fully brought down between the two of you, all reservations set aside. You weren’t afraid to say how you really felt, not anymore.

“I know that,” you admitted, sniffing softly. “I know that you chose to leave all of that behind, that I shouldn’t take the gravity and free will of that decision away from you. But on the other hand…” You bit your lip, turning the words over in your mind to make sure you had the sentiment right before sharing it, fresh tears pooling in your eyes at the brutal honesty of it all. “There has always been this pull between us, even before we became close in the way we’ve become accustomed to, in the…the friendship we’ve had. Castiel, I…I’ve loved you from the first time we met. And so for me, our friendship has always been convoluted, mixed up with my feelings for you into this guilty, one sided thing where you don’t realize how deeply I feel for you, and meanwhile, I’m burdening you with a love you never asked for. Never chose.”

“Didn’t I choose you?” Castiel replied, bumping your nose with his own, raising your gaze back to his. “Don’t I always come back to you, always you over anywhere else on this earth? Always you, when the choice is mine. In making a place for myself here, rather than in heaven, I have always found it preferable to be at your side.” It was true, when he said it. It made what you’d said to him before, in Chicago, weigh even heavier.

“All this time, Castiel. First Dean and Ariel, then Tay and Sam. Everyone around us finding love, and yet with everything we’ve been through, we stay the same.” You tried to shake his hand away, but he wouldn’t let go. “Was it me? Was I the problem? Because back when I cared, I sure thought I was. Something must have been wrong with me, that you wouldn’t want me despite what we share. But then I realized that maybe you just needed someone who cared no matter what. A little more than a friend, a lot less than a lover.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to push away the thought of what you’d said when you hadn’t cared about the consequences. But you could tell, by the way that his hand came up to hold your face, that he’d heard you anyway. 

“It makes it easier,” you confessed, mortified as you realized a truth you hadn’t even let yourself admit yet. You sighed shakily, eyes fixed on his tie and unable to meet his. “To believe that I’ve been hurting you, by pulling you down. Because if I believe that—if I believe that I’ve trimmed your wings with my love—then it’s easier to understand why you wouldn’t want me. It being my fault is easier to live with than just…not being enough.”

“The only way that’s correct is that the reason you and I haven’t had what your sisters and Sam and Dean do isn’t just because of me,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you. But he was smiling softly, and you could feel your pulse in your fingertips from how hard your heart was beating.

“Oh?” You managed, quietly. Trying not to look at his lips was harder than usual when you were this close and personal.

“It’s also because you’re both incredibly stubborn, and incredibly shy when it comes to romance. I didn’t want to push you too quickly, and for me, the waiting wasn’t a problem. I’ve waited much longer for much less.” You supposed that were plenty true, considering how he experienced time on a cosmic time scale rather than a human one. “But it was never because you weren’t enough, and definitely not because you trapped me.” He tilted his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Why do you feel like your love is such a cage? It’s been my safe place, my succour, but never a confinement.”

“Because angels aren’t meant to be loved, are they?” You said, and you saw the comprehension in his eyes. “Let alone love someone back. I shouldn’t have let myself feel what I did, should I?”

“I thought we’d set aside that kind of thinking after the apocalypse,” he said, and you sighed.

“It was easy to say that I had. Hard to stop, especially when this is new territory and I’m afraid to hope for more. Hoping for more felt selfish.”

“Y/N.” He caught your chin and finally brought your eyes to meet his. It was becoming too much again, too real. Too close to having it all, and you wanted to draw back again, fight your own feelings. But he was looking at you, and this time you felt like you were the center of his world for the look in his eyes. “It’s not entirely true that angels can’t love. It’s more accurate to say that until recently, no angel has ever tried.”

That nearly stopped your heart. “And...some angel did try?” You asked, cautiously, skirting around the real question. Humor crept into his eyes. 

“Yes.”

“And...did they succeed?”

“Almost too well, I’d say,” he replied, sighing and looking up at the ceiling, playing along with your little game just to keep you comfortable. “But of the risks that this particular angel has taken, daring to love is perhaps the one he regrets the least.” He pressed forward, closer into you, and your knees came to rest on either side of him. “You need to hear me say it, don’t you?” He said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he squinted playfully at you, and you felt tears pricking your eyes again.

“Only if you mean it,” you replied, with a soft smile.

“Don’t you know that I do?” You felt his hands circle your waist. Goodness his hands made you feel tiny sometimes, and you liked it. His breath was warm on your lips, the blue of his eyes so soft and eager just for you. “Every time I’ve stayed, held you all night. Every time I’ve cradled you to me, every time I come when you call. It’s all there, you just didn’t want to hear it yet.” Perfectly sculpted lips pressed gently against yours, a ghosting of affection to lead the words you’d needed for so long. “I love you, Y/N,” he said, words soft against your mouth. “And by now, I know that I always will.”

The last little bit of your reserve melted, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him in. “I love you too, Cas,” you reassured him, between breathless kisses. You knew you didn’t need to say it; that he was the one that could read your mind and heart like an open book. But it was all out there now, the rest of it being told in touch, no more unspoken feelings between you, no more wondering ifs to keep you up at night.

When your sisters and Sam and Dean came to find you later, they found you both tangled up in the blue blanket, your face tucked into the crook of Cas’ neck—but the expression on his face in the dim light from the lamp beside him told them everything they needed to know.

You were really yourself again, for the first time in a long while.

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[moomingitz]

If youre uncomfortable replying to this you can stop here. What are your thoughts on crushers Oc Lutrudis?

I’m going to paraphrase this right now. I never really feel comfortable saying what I think of other people’s creations like fan characters when someone who isn’t the creator asks me for my thoughts on them. Even when it comes to easy targets like Akiadahlia. I know fans are just doing this sort of thing on their free time as just a hobby, they’re not pursuing a career and they’re not getting a regular salary for it. For the average fan it’s something they do as a means of escape, and while I don’t really find much of a need to make Sonic fan characters myself most of the time(because there’s a stockpile of canon characters to work with) I do see the appeal in it.

But, I am going to make an exception here, due to how the creator clearly doesn’t respect other fan’s tastes or their works and efforts, saying lovely things like how I and other fans who like or defend characters like Chris Thorndyke have a “talent for seeing a character that doesn’t exist”, being dismissive of other’s AUs or interpretations of characters by saying “I understand seeing potential in a character but they may as well be a completely different character guuuys” but then expects people to write his personal favorites the way he thinks they should be portrayed, mocking and demeaning the very idea of people defending or unironically liking games like Sonic 06 and admiring it’s ambition it had, etc. And he still does it.

So if you really want my honest, unfiltered opinion of his fan character, I will break this personal unwritten rule of mine for this. But keep in mind here, that I will be talking about them in terms of their character design for most of the part, because I don’t really care to look up much stuff about them.

—-

Remember that one rant of mine a long while back, how “hooved” type Sonic characters, official or fan made, tend to be a big victim of the franchise’s Same Faced Syndrome thing in character design? Well this Lutrudis character is a good example of that. She’s one of the most generic looking horse Sonic fan characters I’ve seen in a long time.

She’s not only a good example of Same Faced Syndrome, but it’s also an offender of “informed species”. I honestly thought she was a cow until I read that she was meant to be a horse. This character doesn’t really have much of an actual significant resemblance to a horse, even as far as more simplified representations of animals go. She has more resemblance to the Sonic franchise’s takes on monkey characters more than she does with anything from the equus genus.

All I did was swap out the tail and ears and she instantly became a monkey.

To go even further and show just how cookie cutter it is, and the lack of an effort to make her resemble a horse in an actual significant way, that she may as well be a completely different species, here’s what she looks like when the only single modification I made was giving her a standard mammalian nose instead of there being visible nostrils.

She uses the same base body used for Amy, Sticks, Wave, Blaze, and countless other Sonic fan characters out there, and then slapped on interchangeable design characteristics. A perfectly spherical head with a standard Sonic muzzle, same standard almost triangular or curvy torso, and the same rubber hose arms and legs. It’s what I like to call an assembly line Sonic character design. Lutrudis here looks like she could have come out from the custom character thing in Sonic Forces. At best she looks like she could be one of the many nameless, generic looking background characters in post-reboot Archie that were meant to fill in the background space. If she was meant to just be a nameless background character than this would have been tolerable. But her creator didn’t intend for to be one. She’s apparently not only supposed to be a major character, but she’s also apparently supposed to be Sonic’s damn love-interest. So I will come down hard on this. And I hate to sound like some angry “fem-nazi”, but I’m also just sick of seeing female Sonic characters in official media alone using this cookie cutter design base in general.

I don’t expect people to be masters at designing more unusual species as sonic characters, but at least do something more than just adding visible nostrils on the muzzle. Give them a more unique head shape or body type more closely resembling a horse, or even just give them a unique muzzle instead of a standard Sonic one. Anything, please.

It’s like when I finally learned how Tiara Boobowski was actually intended to be a manx, despite looking exactly like the franchise’s idea of a hedgehog.

My not-so positive opinion of her character design isn’t just because I think it’s a poor representation of her intended species. I can get over Sonic barely resembling an actual hedgehog, Knuckles an echidna, because their character designs themselves look appealing. This isn’t the case with Lutrudis. I think she just looks kind of boring in general. She just doesn’t look that appealing to me.

The outfit and attire doesn’t look like it had much rhyme or reason behind it. It’s just kind of dull. The gloves are at least pretty unique looking, but unfortunately that’s undermined by how plain everything else is. It looks like someone went clothes shopping at Wal-Mart, buying the most plain basic t-shirt, shorts, and bandana, trying to dress up as their super hero alter ego, only to end up not looking as cool as they envisioned it would look.

Having both the tail and ponytail as not only the same shapes, but long, makes the silhouette look both kind of busy but also kind of redundant. Like looking at Snooki’s big hairstyle stacked on top of each other.

I don’t know what he was thinking with putting that green together with not only a bright ass primary blue, but putting that bright brown color together with them, but it doesn’t look the most pleasing to the eye.(Assuming he even designed the character himself and just didn’t have someone else do it for him.) They all look like they’re battling for dominance. Even with the lighter toothpaste green I’ve seen her colored in to break things up, the bright primary blue and bright brown still clash against each other.

And I usually don’t like to make presumptions about creators with their OCs, but, I get the vibe here that this guy is possibly just using Sonic more as a stand-in for himself with his OC. It’s always kind of brow raising whenever a person says they aren’t a shipper and think romance is icky, until it involves their own OC who was not only obviously tailor made to be their ideal waifu, but the canon character they’re pairing up with their OC is one they’ve said they don’t like.

What’s frustrating about this is how a species like horses aren’t used that much when it comes to Sonic characters, yet it’s done in the most safe and bland way possible. The character design does have potential, but whatever it is it’s held back by the common crutches people rely on whenever they design an anthro Sonic character, both official and fan made.

I really don’t expect fans to be pro artists or character designers. But when the creator of the OC in question is not only a rude elitist prick who shits on or demeans other fans for things like “seeing a character that doesn’t exist”, always complains about non-game Sonic characters having either boring or generic character designs, but also seems to really love jerking himself off over how totes unique and awesome his fan character is unlike other lowly fan characters or even canon characters; this is the best he can do? This is what he has to show for it? A bland, cookie cutter looking and sounding character? Believe it or not, but sometimes, “I would like to see you do better.”, is appropriate.

Though him and his ilk are probably just going to find any desperate way to make this about me being an evil Chris fan, and maybe even cherry pick one of my Chris redesigns to “prove” that I’m a hack fraud who has only ever done that and nothing else. If he is even reading this(I’m sure he is because he really loves hate follow people).

[cleverbroadwayurl]

The Lady of Shalott (Connor Murphy x SlightlyFem!Reader)

Word Count: 2692

A/N: Me??? Writing Connor Murphy like Chloe Price from Before the Storm??? Yes. Also! I implied a little bit of fem!reader, and I did ask if anyone was against that, and no one said no, so uhhh here it is! I tried to make it not so tough to read but it’s hard to do that when you’re talking about the Victorians who were kinda snooty. Also! This is a real poem! I have a love of it, and the paintings are absolutely stunning! Just do a quick Google search to find them! And uhh if you want to be tagged in all of my work, you need to let me know bc I don’t know about that right now. 

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of marital assault, mentions of assault, mentions of Victorian era laws (which are horribly sexist), some dickwad, bad ending, language IF I MISSED ANY PLEASE LET ME KNOW

Connor rubbed his eye with his hand before checking the analog clock once again. 7:28. Fuck first period. With a glance at the board, he was met with the empty white surface. A hint of dread rose within him. Ever since his British Literature teacher said that everyone from the Romantic Era had died by the time the Victorian Era came around, except of course, for Connor’s least favorite poet, he’d been preparing for the worst ever since.

He hadn’t done his homework from the night before. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t normally do it—he typically liked English. His dad on the other hand, he did not like. Connor scoffed at last night’s fading memory, the image of Zoe’s cookie dough ice cream wrapped into his arm, a spoon in the other, while Larry went batshit about “stealing your perfect sister’s ice cream” for the fifth time that month. It wasn’t like he was taking it. He just wanted something sweet at 2 AM instead of sleeping. It wasn’t like he could sleep anyways. He was out of weed anyways. Fuck sleep. Fuck Larry. Fuck Perfect Zoe’s ice cream.

“Alright let’s get started,” Mr. Rand called out, picking up his anthology and flipped through the pages. “The Lady of Shalott. What do we think?”

Wait a minute. Connor had read that poem. Well, not read. No, Connor had enjoyed that poem, which was a first, especially ever since the bastard Wordsworth came into his life. He was silently thanking whoever he could—fate maybe—that it wasn’t that pretentious dick who loved nature so much he thought that “God himself has created Heaven on Earth” or some dumb shit. No, this was a fairytale poem about a badass lady who looked out her window, saw an attractive man, and then was banished to death by a curse that was placed on her years ago. It was like a really dark fairytale. And Connor had a soft spot for the original Brother’s Grimm stories.

And, on the bright side, he wouldn’t have to lock himself in the bathroom for getting so fed up with Wordsworth’s outlook on life (well, that and his classmate’s discussion) and how everything would be perfect if we all just loved nature. Yeah, Connor tried that. It didn’t work even a little bit. If anything, it made things worse for him. Being alone with his thoughts was not a good phenomenon, to say the absolute very least. So a break from the nature-loving freak himself was like walking under a waterfall into a right of passage.

“I think it’s like a fairytale!”

It was going to be one of those discussions. Alright. Fine. Connor took a deep breath and hoped that the conversation would get a little bit more exciting before he would leave and chill in the silence of the bathroom while everything around him remained still. It was the one thing he could control; that he could keep calm. He decided he’d give it another 20 minutes before leaving.

He chose to zone out a little bit, his pencil doodling a little boat, scarves and rags coming out of it. He’d draw the actual Lady of Shalott later. It was now that Connor wished he’d gotten a coffee from literally anywhere to help him stay awake and fight off his usual headache of not sleeping. When he’d been open about his head hurting before, kids started to laugh at him; mock him for being “too hungover to even talk about poetry”. The truth was that he was never actually hung over—extremely hungry, yeah, but that was kind of a given. And that was another thing that the coffee he so desperately craved helped with. He knew it was too late to get it right now, though. His drawing was just only getting started, guidelines still very prominent.

His black nail polish hit the paper, and he stopped for a second, assessing the damage that had been done. He liked it. Yeah, it was a new wave of hurt, it could symbolize the violent calmness of the Lady’s death. Connor made a few more marks, giving the image a real feeling of rage and empathy. He liked it. It was more than pretty. It was telling of what he assumed deaths of this caliber were like.

“Let’s talk about some Victorian history, okay?” The teacher queued up his PowerPoint before walking back to the front of the class, adjusting his blazer just slightly. Why was this teacher so pretentious? He was always way too chipper for this time of day; it was like he’d just swallowed a spoonful of straight caffeine. Connor rolled his eyes before pulling out a pen for the accents of his drawing.

“Now, in the Victorian era, women were typically referred to Angels of the Household. They did practically everything in their power to make the home perfect and ‘just so’ for her husband.

“Another term came along with the Angel of the Household, however. That term was Fallen Angel; or a woman who did not do the chores she was expected to and would also often commit adultery. Now, adultery was a pretty common thing among men, especially since divorce was so unheard of and frankly only for the exceedingly rich. And if the woman committed adultery, the husband and the rest of society would shun her, causing her death or causing her to be exiled. The deaths were a lot more frequent and usually were water based. Women would jump off bridges or purposely drown themselves in some way or another. Given this new information, what can we say about the Lady of Shalott?”

“She got what was coming to her.”

Connor rolled his eyes. He had to restrain throwing his pen at that one kid. He didn’t know names, but knew that that kid was more annoying and ruder than Jared Kleinman. Connor watched as the kid smiled smugly as the teacher tried to continue the conversation with the class, leaving that comment out. While the comment was a joke to the kid, Connor knew that there was truth behind it. He refocused on his drawing.

“I think we should also talk about some laws women had to follow.”

For some reason, Connor thought of his sister. Maybe it was the events from the night before or something. It dawned upon him after a minute or so: Zoe would totally raise her hand like the dumb overachiever she is and state something completely true and wonderful about women today before giving harsh criticism to anyone else who still believed in it. He had to chuckle a little bit. While he was still definitely upset at his sister and often fought with her, sometimes fighting to purposely get a rise out of her, he kind of missed the bond they’d had before. It was weird. Connor dismissed the feeling.

“Women weren’t allowed to file any kind of lawsuit without her husband’s or father’s consent. That includes divorce. And, if they somehow got the money and consent, women couldn’t divorce based on adultery alone like men could.”

Connor turned back to his work once more before he could hear the discussion around that. He didn’t want to hear the discussion around that. If he did, he’d have to leave for the bathroom, and he still had 5 minutes to stick it out before making his final decision to skip or not. So, instead of listening to the cringeworthy conversation, he chose to add medallions to his boat and begin the figure of the Lady of Shalott.

“Good question, Ellie! Women were legally obligated to submit to their husbands. As in, martial assault was completely legal and encouraged. It wouldn’t be many years until that law was changed.”

“Wait! So like assault was legal?”

“No! Not at all, actually! Let me give an example of this.” Connor hoped he wouldn’t be picked. If Mr. Rand used him in an example where he was the bad person, the class would break out into laughter and his entire day would be ruined. He’d have to leave, he’d have to find a new way to cope with this bullshit because his fucking dealer wasn’t getting back to him. Everyone called him a freak now, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like if the teacher called him something like a predator to an entire sex.

“Let’s say Jenna and Erik were married, and Erik assaults Jenna. That’s legal in this time period. But now let’s say Connor and (Y/N) were married—(Y/N) being the feminine figure in this situation” FUCK “They live a very happy marriage, love each other very much, and neither have done anything wrong. But let’s say one day someone forces (Y/N) into a situation they don’t want to be in. That would be illegal because (Y/N) and their assaulter aren’t married. Does that make sense?”

Connor suddenly met your gaze, each of you embarrassed as the other. You quietly eyed your pencil quickly after, a blush ever prominent on your features. You looked up after a solid thirty seconds, refocusing on taking notes on the class’s discussion. Someone else spoke up about you as your eyes met your notebook again, not shifting up this time.

“So if (Y/N) wanted to file a lawsuit, they’d need Connor’s consent?”

This was just getting worse and worse by the minute. Connor counted. He’d been here past the 20 minute mark a while ago. He had 10 minutes left before he could escape. Connor wasn’t going to the bathroom, though. No, he was going home. This was too much for him and his lack of sleep.

“Yes, that’s correct! And I’m sure Connor would gladly give it, as two people in this time period generally love and care for their spouse, even if this time period’s art don’t depict that.”

Connor didn’t need to see your face to know you were beet red. He kept staring at you until he made eye contact again. He shot you a look of sadness. Connor knew what was coming. The kids around you would start calling you a freak, would start making fun of you for this teacher’s dumb move. He had never talked to you, but knew from various things he’d heard around the school that you just kind of kept to yourself and were generally a nice person. You didn’t deserve to be harassed for something that was out of your control. You didn’t—fuck was Connor turning into Zoe?

“Would Connor even do it? Because how does he know that (Y/N) isn’t lying about their acts of adultery?”

Now Connor couldn’t hold it in as he watched  your face meet the light and contort into utter horror. You scooted your chair away from this kid, eyes fixated on your desk as you did so. Even from his seat across the room, he could sense your discomfort and your attempts at distracting yourself from the thoughts that oh-so-obviously clouded your mind. He could see how you held your breath. The tighter that your inhale became, the tighter that Connor’s fist and jaw clenched.

“Because unlike you, I actually believe in the people who come forward about a very personal and traumatizing experience, asswipe.”

“Language, Mr. Murphy.”

Connor’s face turned red and slumped into his seat. Although, he had been victorious. You were staring now, pencil not moving as he could see your heavy breaths take over. He relaxed a little bit at that, but not enough to stop crumpling the drawing he’d created at the beginning of class. His eyes shifted from you to that one kid, fight blazing in his heart.

“Connor is right, though,” Mr. Rand continued, “He would believe them because why would you lie about that kind of thing, especially when that’s your spouse? You wouldn’t. Studies have shown that even in today’s society, you can’t even pay people a million dollars to lie about being assaulted. So, why lie? No one does, Mr. Bernstein. You’re just trying to justify your own actions.”

But the kid—Bernstein apparently—smirked at Connor, happy he’d gotten a rise out of him. Bernstein didn’t even listen to the speech that Mr. Rand gave so eloquently and wonderfully, but to be fair, Connor didn’t either. No, instead each of them were staring at each other, one in victory and the other in pure plotting. He knew that he couldn’t get revenge on this dick now, but soon. Yeah, Connor would beat the shit out of him soon.

“Hey, Connor, right?”

Connor didn’t even notice that you’d stepped up to his desk, he had been so involved in making that one kid fucking pay for his actions. His eyes were now meeting your nervous ones, and Connor tried his hardest to seem less intimidating. It probably didn’t help that he’d chosen to wear all black and was staring at Bernstein like he was going to kill him. And a part of him knew that he couldn’t help being intimidating—rumors spread around this school almost better than cholera had in the Victorian age. To you, and everyone else, he was scary and unstable, ready to strike at any moment. He wished it wasn’t like that, especially with someone who was as needlessly as nice as you. And now, he had proof that the rumors were true.

You were making an effort to at least be nice to the poor kid who sometimes can’t keep his feelings in check. Yeah, he has outbursts, he just wished they weren’t as often as they were. And you knew that—or at least, he assumed you knew that. And yet, you were still talking to him, like he were a real person and like everybody else in the entire school didn’t treat him like some zoo animal that they didn’t even pay to see.

“I just wanted to say thank you for like…defending me back there. That kid deserved it.” You smiled nervously, shifting your feet as you stood in front of his desk.

“Yeah. No problem.” He stated, trying to be as not scary as he could be, “Human beings need to be treated with respect, you know? Plus, that one kid calls me a—”

“Hey freak!”

Connor’s hands balled up and his breathing became staggered. He quickly packed up his stuff before walking off, giving you a small nod as he continued on with his day. It was almost like for a moment he’d forgotten he was in this shit school with people who commit fuckery at all hours of the day. He stepped into the bathroom; choosing to at least try to go to second period. But he’d have to be late. Yeah, he needed to calm down from that encounter and he just…he couldn’t take anyone with that shitty sense of humor at the moment.

^^^

Connor rubbed his eye with his hand as he walked into the classroom. 7:28. Fuck first period. With a glance at the board, he was met with the empty white surface. A hint of dread rose within him. Ever since his British Literature teacher said that everyone from the Romantic Era had died by the time the Victorian Era came around, except of course, for Connor’s least favorite poet, he’d been preparing for the worst ever since.

He hadn’t done his homework from the night before. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t normally do it—he typically liked English. But he’d lost the motivation to the night before for some reason. Maybe it was because he could hear Zoe playing guitar and humming along through the wall until about midnight. And by then, he decided he wasn’t going to do it.

Connor looked up and started for his usual spot, but it was oddly surprised to find you in the seat next to his, pulling out your notebook and offering a soft smile to him. He offered one back before sitting in his spot, careful not to accidently bump you or something. He settled, class started, and for some reason, Connor felt like first period British Literature might just be okay.

[jeezperseus]

A PLOTTING CALL IN TWO PARTS.

like for a msg !

CHARACTERS & INFO.

perseus hayden alexander xavier lehnsherr.

APPLICATION / INTRO / MUSING TAG

— adopted son of charles xavier & erik lehnsherr. nineteen. pansexual. accidentally married. regenerative healing & healing touch. fc: nick robinson. generation why by canon gray.

split knuckles, impulse tattoos, red solo cups, the copper taste of blood, post-ripped jeans, a story told in two parts, peals of laughter strong as vodka, shaking hands shoved in pockets, greasy fast food, low flying planes, cuffed shoes, the soft notes of a piano, a baseball bat in the back seat.

barbara “bobbi” morse.

APPLICATION / MUSING TAG

— former agent 19. thirties. bisexual. divorced. enhanced. fc: jessica alba. emotionless by drake.

gentle hands, biting remarks, unknown skill, non-disclosure agreements, hidden stashes of cash, studyblr accounts, handmade bullets, a tongue taught to deceive, coffee-mug rims, set shoulders, precise results, minimalism, lilting accent, a broken mirror, clean test tubes, red-painted nails around the hand of a gun.

andromeda rosalie isley-quinzel.

APPLICATION / INTRO / MUSING TAG

 — adopted daughter of pamela isley & harleen quinzel. twenty-one. pansexual. single ( see below ). precognition. fc: lana condor. finest hour by cash cash.

whispers from a voice both soft and powerful, sloppily cut hair, pointe shoes, paint stains on every article of clothing, cassandra foretelling the trojan war, dirt under your fingernails, a love a week, the gold tinsel of a crown, unexplainable dreams, bundles of flowers, the soft rustling of worn cards.

roman darkhölme.

APPLICATION / INTRO / MUSING TAG

— son of raven darkhölme. twenty-four. pansexual. enchanted. persuasion & power absorption. fc: miles heizer. lost boy by ruth b.

the unexpected answer, washing your hands, casual disinterest, stacks of cash, little clear baggies, practiced ease, a silver tongue, whispers of the past, old cobblestone streets, bad decisions in the best way, sweaters and flannel, the burning of flowers, white lab coat, fear of the unknown.

loki.

APPLICATION / MUSING TAG

— the god of mischief. 1000s. fluid. open marriage. fc: daniel gillies & katie mcgrath. wild things by alessia cara.

dark skies, a long steel dagger, fog coming in, green & gold banners held high, the twisted around truth, stories told from a thousand tongues, crooked grin, a crown just out of reach, salt in wounds, ourborous, contrary to a point, blood superiority, loneliness as something else, eyes in the back of your head.

winona falcone.

APPLICATION / INTRO / MUSING TAG

— daughter of sofia falcone. twenty-six. bisexual. single. darkness manipulation. fc: shay mitchell. take me to church by hozier.

expensive fur, champagne glasses, hands covered in blood, instagram perfect, beautiful but deadly, the rich kids of gotham, sharp edges for a reason, dark hair in waves, a product of a situation, cherry stems tied with your tongue, heels on a hardwood floor, the many shades of red.

skylar helix mccoy.

APPLICATION / INTRO / MUSING TAG

— daughter of hank mccoy. twenty-two. lesbian. single ( see below ). genetic atavism & genius intelligence. fc: jennie kim. 400 lux by lorde.

a field of vibrant yellow flowers, the yipping of a small dog, fangs bared, constellations of words, no apologies, thousands of discarded ‘what ifs,’ the call of the wild, a small crescent moon necklace, pride without arrogance, false confidence, spitting blood, intelligence without direction.

CHARACTERS & WCS.

perseus hayden alexander.

a former foster care sibling.

it’s been a while, but he’s a pretty memorable kid / hasn’t changed much at all. until age 5 / 2004, percy was in foster care + went through a bunch of homes. this is someone who was in one of them! probs knows stuff abt him that even he doesn’t/doesn’t rem. the possibilities! 

first relationship / current enemy. TAG

basically, it was percy’s first relationship back in his teens !! cute lil puppy love except he’s awful so not puppies more like … squirrels. like his first everything !! and then they broke up n it didn't go great !!! since then it has evolved and gotten much much worse - they’re now totally and completely against each other, hate each other, and will fuck w each other when given half a chance. 

first relationship / current enemy.

basically, it was percy’s first relationship back in his teens !! cute lil puppy love except he’s awful so not puppies more like … squirrels. like his first everything !! and then they broke up n it didn't go great !!! since then it has evolved and gotten much much worse - they’re now totally and completely against each other, hate each other, and will fuck w each other when given half a chance.

barbara “bobbi” morse.

old mission target.

bobbi worked with shield for a very long time! she went on various missions, undercover and classified and the like. on this particular mission, this is someone she was targetting. what for is up to you, but the options are rather open to interpretation. just generally something that would have set them against shield’s desires.

rival.

bobbi being widely competitive when it comes to just about anything (science, training, lecturing) is bound to attract some friendly competition. they’re constantly versing each other, even in the simplest things, like giving out test results or getting ready.

ex that ended on bad terms.

it’s a common story. girl meets person, girl dates person, girl and person breaks up, girl literally hopes person dies in a fire. for whatever the reason, they didn't part ways peacefully. and you bet your sweet ass she plays the part of scorned ex great.

andromeda rosalie isley-quinzel.

poly ship. ( 0 / 2 ) TAG

andy has baggage, certainly. she’s a past weapon x detainee, unbeknownst to her, adopted from a broken family, and had her heart broken by the first person she dated. she’s serial dated for years. but these people, they made her stop & start to appreciate love for what it is again. this connect can be filled by someone of any gender.

ex. TAG

andy was younger and very awfully naive. she’s never really gotten over it. for whatever reason, they broke up— it could have to do with her slightly overbearing personality, or general attitude, or whatever, totally up to you, but it was the other muse’s decision to break up, leaving andromeda heartbroken and now seeking out love in places it’s not.

former prediction.

andy PREDICTED something about this muse, in the past. how long ago and what is up to you. it was something SERIOUS, though, and most likely bad. it could be as wild as death, or marriage, or a death in the family, or a regret, etc. it’s rly up to u !!

roman darkhölme.

childhood love.

this is honestly rly cute. they were lil lil kids when they were friends and were super cute n close. they got fake “married” once or something. they were just best friends who grew apart. now roman is hella dif. he’s manipulative and a total fiend and it’s like “where’s that cute lil kid who promised to fight off all the bad guys in my life??” like … cute n sad.

enemy.

they see him for what he is: a manipulator. they either have past experience with him or are just adept ( VERY adept; he’s good at hiding ) at noticing him. they don’t enjoy him. not his view of the world, his actions, or his drug dealing. roman doesn’t like them for a point. he doesn’t like being exposed.

clientelle.

the darkhölme-mccoy drug dealing business is going great, actually. paragon is full of just the type. and with roman’s skill of persuasion, they haven’t gotten caught yet. this is someone that roman knows from that particular side of his work. he sells them drugs.

loki.

someone he had a kid with.

the other side of the story. not someone he fathered/mothered, but rather someone he had a child w. can be any gender for obvs reasons. how old the child is is up to u!!!

someone he pretended to be someone else with, extendedly.

for them, he pretended to be a different person… for a very extended period of time. it’s a trick he played often, but for them it was honestly excessive. the nature of their relationship is up to you, but upon coming to paragon this person finds out that loki is LOKI ! god of mischief, stories, lies, what have u. they’re probs pissed lmao 

asgardians.

while most midgardians known them as the god of mischief / alien asshole, this character knows a side of loki outside of the lore. they’ve met their kids & can even remember little loki, just around causing mischief, not trying to overthrow odin & what else. they have a better understanding.

winona falcone.

older sibling.

the oldest falcone ! mwahaha. so it’s this whole big thing that WINONA IS THE HEIR, but she wasn’t always. she has an older sibling who was disinherited from the family & cast out. a big ole family disgrace that none of them like to talk about. the reason behind this is up to you ! but it can range from being a MUTANT to a DEGENERATE to being SOFT to whatever. sofia is a pretty uptight gal.

best friend.

she’s not trying to replace raph. she didn’t think she would actually ever be given the chance, and for good reason. i mean, look at what happened to the last guy who took the spot. but they’re friends, for whatever reason ( and, damn, do the people commenting on her instagram posts speculate ).

ex.

she’s always been the exception that proves the rule. her sexuality is no different in that she’s not hte most comfortable with it. it’s just another thing she never told sofia about, lest her position as heir was to be threatened. that makes her exes an interesting story, especially considering she won’t acknowledge some of them.

skylar helix mccoy.

hateship to ship.

open to fem aligning nb & girls / both have reputations that proceed themselves ! sky obvs bc she had one inherently n bc of what happened & the other for w/e reason. pref an xkid. they knew each other when sky was younger but they didnt get along & when they reconnect , they dont get along right either. theyre a PLAYER really. like new girl on their arm every month. sky becomes one of the girls, rly. and sparks fly. and shes mad abt it. they have this antagonistic hatefuck relationship. and she finds herself starting to rly like them, falling in lov w them, unbeknownst to their own feelings (that shes the ONE). and like that

tutoree.

girl is, in fact, a genius, though people of many have expressed their disbelief at such a fact. she literally didn’t have education for eleven whole years of her development and is still ahead of her peers. she tutors in her free time. while totally organized, studyblr style, her teaching style leaves something to be desired in her paraphrasing of many a thing. ( vicki vc king george iii did what? sky vc fucked half of england )

someone who knew her before.

she was a prodigy child. famous beyond her years. even now, she’s on vogue lists, has millions of instagram followers, the whole thing — but for different reasons. this person knew her before she got taken, and are likely a child of the xmen or someone who was at xaviers. they remember the fearless child, ready to dive into anything, the kid who was always the top of her class. brash and happy, but kind, in a way she no longer is.