#not exactly the right decade i know but it was stuck in my head

[capcollector]

“why do people call him danse? he doesn’t look like he moves that good.”

[nyursi]

NASTY DOG. . .ᐟ

⫘⫘⫘ㅤmale reader, brat taming, size difference, age gap (around 20-40 ig), ass eating, yeahhhh,,, livestock guardian dog x recon cat reader!!!ㅤ♪ㅤ───ㅤwc: 3k

"Ow, ow, ow!" You yelped, the fingertips digging into your scalp causing whimpers. Face scrunched up— brows furrowed, lips pulled into a pout. Like a proper hurt brat. 

Dean meanwhile, had ignored your struggles and continued to drag you through the field, eyes narrowed. The sharp blades of grass (freshly cut) dug into your skin, leaving red lines to mark up your thighs. 

He had a firm grip on your hair, tugging harshly. Let it fall it out for all he cares. "Tsk. Stop complainin', it's hurting my ears." Dean huffed, pulling your head upwards for a sharp jolt. Relishing in the quick yelp that followed afterwards— echoing in the field. 

With no warning, he dropped you down onto the ground, leaving you to keel, curling up like a worm. Dean crossed his arms, large and meaty, waiting for you to get up. "I already told ya, quit whining' and get up." 

You huffed and rolled your eyes— getting up to stand. Dusting off any dirt and grime on your clothes, you crossed your own arms and gazed at him. Eyes narrowed. "What is your problem?" You hissed. "Why'd ya have to— to drag me back!" 

Dean rolled his eyes. "This is exactly why. Your attitude won't cut it in this line of work, for cryin' out loud." He pinched his temple, right between his thick brows, the lines on his face more prominent than ever. You did a really good job at making him age by the second— and he was already old as is! 

The old dog was the definition of loyal. Having been working for the ranchers since he was young. And now, with greying hair and decades of experience under his belt, Dean was the perfect mentor in their eyes. The hell were they thinking? The hell was he thinking? 

"Yeah, sure,'' Dean said. Not paying any mind to the farmer's request. Something about some cat arriving next week. He's trained a couple of their guardians before, whats a recon cat to him? He's the top dog 'round this place, second in command if you may. Any new faces got to deal with him first. 

Unfortunately, the pretty little cat they took in was far from easy. 

A hellspawn he'd called you. Not outright of course. Dean still had some decency left in him, no matter how much you tested him. But he did imply it, a more passive aggressive approach. Let you know he was really disappointed with such a brat to deal with. Huffing and puffing like some wolf 'bout to blow the hay. 

"Yeah well you didn't have to grab me by the hair!" He eyed the finger pointed at him, scoffing. Completely unthreatened. Dean was big, a tank that won't be moved so easily. That dainty little finger you waved around? Laughable. Course, he did stare at it a bit too long for his own comfort— unsure why thoughts of how easy it would be to just... handle and carry you around like a sack of feathers. 

"Boy, you're givin' me a damn headache. Recon cats are supposed to be— what? Agile? Quick? Behaved? Is chasing butterflies your job or what?" Dean raised his voice. You winced at the jab. He frowned, eyes softening the tiniest bit. 

"C'mon kid. The farm’s still away. We don't wanna get stuck out in the dark." Dean nodded his head to the distance, a faint silhouette of your new home. He trudged forward without waiting for you. 

You sighed, posture slumping. Yet you followed along anyway, dragging your feet on the ground. 

"Stupid fuckin' old dog," you murmured, plopping down on your bed. It was small and creaky, put together last minute. Much like your room. Pretty sure it was an old storage closet without the shelfs lining the walls to make room. 

It was dusty, and cramped. Reeaaal welcoming. Guess they thought a room small as this would be fine, considering you weren't that hunkering anyway. At least Dean gets a proper room. 

You sneer, feeling your blood boil at the thought of his name. "Who does he think he is? He's not the boss of me." Well... he kinda is. But whatever! It's not like you signed up for this anyway. Some boring countryside life looking out for barn animals and whatnot? Psh. Boooring! 

"Some big old hunk bossin' me around... hmph." You lay on your back, the mattress was thin and barely did anything to soften the rough wood of your bed frame. Pretty sure your back’s gonna ache quicker than Deans. 

A small snicker escapes you, lips curling into a smile. The image sends you a rush of amusement. Tiny giggles echo in your room— sounding like some maniac locked up in a padded cell with only his ideas to keep him company. 

Dean stops outside your door. Hand raised midway the air, curled into a fist. He was about to call you out for dinner, escort you to the kitchen so you wouldn't get into any more trouble. But your laughter made him stop dead in his tracks. 

He was dumbfounded, kinda. You sounded so innocent despite your... behaviour. Huh. It was almost cute. Endearing, even. Dean coughs, shaking his head. An annoyed frown tugged on his lips.

Ain't no way in hell. Never in my life would I... 

Ah. But he has already fallen for you? Slowly and surely, even if he was unaware. The day you arrived on the farm, all prickly like a cactus. He almost found it cute (he did). But he wasn't sure if the intense feelings that were harbored deep in his chest was a really intense anger or something else entirely. 

Something Dean had never thought to consider. 

Affection. 

Affection? For him? Dean blanched. He stepped back from the door like it burned him.The fucking cat? With his naughty attitude and god-forsaken defiance? Dean couldn't count how many times you stuck your tongue out at him, getting him all riled up. But fuck, maybe he did find it cute. So what? He's just a lonely old man, what's he supposed to do when the heavens throw a feline right into his arms? 

A feline that'd fit in them all nice and snug, with how small you were compared to him. That's the first thing that came to mind when he laid his eyes on your form. 

"Are ya tryin' ta kill me? That little thing's our recon?" Dean scoffed that night, complaining his heart out. "I don't know what you were thinkin'— what's he gonna do against coyotes? Wriggle and squirm?" 

And unfortunately, it had only plagued him more as time went on. When he was introducing himself to you— albeit begrudgingly. You were just standing there, leaning against the wall. Acting all smug as if Dean didn't dwarf you by a landslide. Like he couldn't just pick ya up if he wanted to, swing you over his shoulders. 

The thought made him a bit too excited. 

When he was tourin' you 'round the barn. Walking behind him like some shadow. Even his sharp ears couldn't hear your footsteps— feel your presence. Light as a feather, indeed. Maybe he doubted you too much. 

Earlier when he was dragging you on the field. Truth be told, he didn't mean to be so rough. Never in his life has Dean laid his hands on his juniors. But with you? It was an entirely different story. There was something about you that ignited feelings he didn't even know he could feel! It was a whole new area for him. 

But god. Temptation had been building up, and Dean was only a man who could hold on for so long. He'd lost control, when those sinful thoughts kept him up. Shame welling in his being for every lewd image his mind conjured up in the middle of the night, keeping him from sleeping and getting some shut eye like an old dog should, as you said. 

Gods, and how many times had you jabbed at his age? He ain't even that old! 

It only made him feel guiltier. You were a young thing— all pretty and shiny. Like a brand new chew toy for Dean to maul on. Sink his teeth into your pristine skin, leave red marks that'd prove his territory. (Territory. And this guy has the nerve to act like he doesn't have feelings for you!) What sounds would you make? If he bit deep and hard, licked up the marks afterwards. Dirty dog. 

"Fuck," Dean snarled, dragging a calloused palm down his face. He stood in the hallway, trying to cancel out your laughter. What was he here for again? Right. Dinner. 

Well shit, ain't Dean got dinner right here? Beyond that door, laying on the bed... 

He turned his head away swiftly, ragged breaths leaving his chapped lips. Chest heaving up and down. "No, no... calm down. You ain't feel like that—" Dean chuckled. But it sounded more like a pathetic strain. "Not for him." 

He didn't call you out for dinner, and he didn't eat either. But that hunger would get you both sooner or later. 

"Just... a little... bit... more...!" You groaned, hand outstretched. Curse these tall cabinets. It's not like giants live here! And what the fuck was up with Dean? He was supposed to call you for dinner! 

You actually fell asleep but that doesn't matter. 

What matters now, is the hunger in your stomach driving you crazy. The rumbles could echo in the barn if they got any louder. It was embarrassing enough as it is. 

Sneaking around, avoiding the creaky floorboards. Ears raised and alert for any and every sound made. What were you? A spy? You live here! 

"Goddammit, coulda saved me some leftovers. Even a grain would've been nice." You grumbled, sighing and rolling your eyes. Pouting at the thought of the meal you missed. Damn barn animals and their never ending greed. Not even a single scrap was put away for little ol' you. 

You were so caught up in your actions that you failed to notice a figure entering the kitchen, getting a nice front view of your behind. Huh. Why were you archin' your back like that anyway? 

Dean froze, mind blue screening temporarily as his eyes registered your ass all puckered out in the dark. 

He had given in to his hunger, forgetting about dinner after his... ahem, revelations. Curled up in bed, sulking in denial like he was about to be put down. Pathetic really. Since when did Dean get worked up over pretty kitties? 

Since you, apparently. 

He thought about it. Since you were their first recon cat, he didn't have much experience with felines. Only knew that they were playful, independent, and incredibly alluring. Dangerously so that when you've fallen for one, oh brother, there is no getting back up. 

Might as well dig yourself a hole in the ground to live in. 

Playful, when you gave jokes he wouldn't understand. Quick-witted, aren't you? With a smart little mouth that said all sorts of things. Curiosities and glimpses of your personality past the shallow image of a no-good cat. That twinkle in your eyes every time your soft lips curved into a smile, a triumphant "hmph!". You just loved being right, didn't you? 

Independent, always going off on your own. No matter how many times Dean reprimanded you, kept you from wandering too far. Curiosity kills the cat, after all. That's what he said, and that was the first time you rolled your eyes at him too. Wonder what it'd look like if he made them roll back for a different reason. Dean could only sigh and expect a headache to form whenever you weren't round the barn. Away from the fence and enjoying the scenery like some tourist. 

And finally: Alluring. 

As much as he didn't want to admit it. You had this charm that... well, charmed him. He beat himself up over it. But everytime he promised himself to stop— the obsession only got more intense. Every time you weren't looking he'd catch a quick glimpse. Admire your features, rake his eyes down your figure in silent appreciation. Whenever he entered a room, Dean found himself looking for you. And when you entered one? He'd feel your presence immediately. 

It was ridiculous, how downright bad he was. 

Maybe it was fate. Here, with you oblivious to his presence, arching your back and presenting yourself (unknowingly) to Dean. 

He stepped closer, silently. A shadow casted over his face. 

You could only widen your eyes and gasp in shock when two hands placed themselves onto your hips, keeping you in place. "Gah! Dean!?" You yelped, blinking at him curiously. Sweat built up on your temple, heart caught in your throat. 

"I wasn't doing anything! Just... looking for food, I swear!" You reasoned, still planted on your palms for balance. 

Dean only hummed, massaging invisible circles into your skin with his thumbs. "That so?" He said. You shivered. What the hell? What was that? Why did he sound so... intense? 

"What're you doin' up late at night?" He asked, brow raised. Eyes boring into yours. Had the nerve to sound suspicious, too. "You were supposed to call me for dinner, don't act surprised." You huffed, turning away. 

Dean only tugged you closer— hips meeting yours. Stupid kitty. Even now you have the nerve to act so high and mighty. Maybe Dean should teach you humbleness, take you from your throne for a little while. 

"Don't test me," Dean growled, satisfaction creeping in his blood as he watched you tremble. "Mh," he hummed. Yeah. You were tiny. 

"Test you? What the hell are you—" Riiip! In an instant, the cold air had latched itself onto your skin. Dean tore apart the seam in your shorts— right in the cleft of your ass. His tail has begun to wag, eyeing the cute rim staring at him. 

You were too shocked to make a sound, and even then, before you could react, Dean had dove right in, licking and nibbling at your pucker. "Huh- ah!" Your claws dug onto the wooden counter, leaving scratch marks. Dean slobbered up your hole like a man starved, saliva dripping down your chin. 

He licked and licked, made you dizzy til' your hole was nice and soft. His tongue was rough and textured, making your cock tingle and come to life. "W-wait, it's dirty down there!" 

Dean wrapped his hand around the base of your tail, tugging it upwards to bury his face deeper into your behind. Slowly, he breached your insides, licking up at your gummy walls. Your soft whimpers was like music to his ears. Oh, he felt fulfilled. 

But not quite. 

"O-oh..." you gasped softly, blush blooming on your cheeks. Dean was massaging your insides with his tongue, desperate and needy. His movements were quick yet deep and stimulating— as if he was looking for something. 

"Hnn!~" Your tongue lolled out, thighs tensing up. Unkowingly, you began to thrust your hips baclwards, meeting Deans licks. His tongue rolled onto a soft bud inside— a sensitive cluster of nerves that made you weak in the knees. "F-fuck..." 

Dean continued his assault on your prostate, never once breaking his pace. His eyes were closed shut, as if he was trying to savor the taste and feeling— keep this memory in his mind forever. His own cock jumped in his jeans, straining to be released. 

You were so warm... so tight. He couldn't wait to bury his cock to the hilt, make your belly bulge and fill you to the brim. Hump you like a dog in rut— fuck. "Uh... guh!" 

Dean parted himself from your ass, panting and heaving. Your rim was shiny with spit, legs trembling and cock leaking pre pathetically. 

It was silent for a moment. Until you heard a belt buckle, followed by a zipper and the sound of fabric falling to the floor. 

And then you felt it. 

Deans cock. Hard and hot— rubbing against your behind. Fuck. How big was that? It felt huge! You whined softly, fear striking you. But there was excitement as well, you had never done this before, and for someone like Dean to make you experience it... 

Naughty. 

You had been nothing but a brat your time here, but you couldn't deny that Dean was a good looking man when you first met. Tall and buff, yet soft. Hair on his arms and chest, a little grey in his hair. Lines around his eyes and lips... you shivered. God. What did his cock look like? 

What would it feel like, to take him nice and deep? 

You bit your lip. Dean continued to rub his length between your cheeks for a goodwhile, like he was easing you into the harsh fucking to come. "Fuck, can't wait anymore." Dean groaned, and pushed his tip against your tight vice. 

He held your hips firmly, keeping you in place as you wriggled. He was big! Your pathetic rim struggled to envelop his tip. 

Dean's mind raced as his hips rocked up, driving his thick cock deep into your tight hole. The boy was so small, so delicate compared to his large frame. Your slender body bounced with each thrust. 

"Fuck, boy..." Dean groaned, fingers digging into the cat's hips hard enough to leave marks. "You feel s' good around my cock. So hot 'n tight..." 

He knew this was wrong. You were his junior, and Dean was supposed to be disciplining you, teachin' you the ways 'round the barn. Not... fucking you senseless. But god, the way your velvety walls clenched around him, the sweet little noises spilling from those plush lips— it was too much to resist. 

Dean's balls slapped against your ass as he pistoned his hips faster, chasing his rapidly approaching climax. "Fuck, fuck," he snarled. "Take it." 

The lewd squelch of saliva and the slap of skin on skin filled the kitchen. He could feel you shaking apart on his cock, the boy's neglected dick bobbing between their bellies, flushed an angry red and leaking steadily. 

He reached around to palm your cock, jerking you in time with his erratic thrusts. Huh. For and old dog— he sure had stamina. 

Dean's thumb swiped over the sensitive head, smearing the copious precum. You let out a high, keening wail, back arching as his orgasm crashed over him. Pearly ropes of cum painted Dean's fist and splattered across the counter as your hole clamped down around his pistoning length. 

The pressure sent Dean hurtling over the edge. With a guttural groan, he slammed you back onto his cock, all the way down to the hilt. Bulging your belly. At the same time, he had bit onto your shoulder, breaking skin and leaking blood. 

Your body twitched, eyes rolled back and unfocused. You leaned forward, finding support on the wooden counter (now littered with scratch marks) as Dean massaged your hips. "Hah.. haahh.." 

Uncontrollable sighs escaped you, bones melting against Dean. Smaller spurts of semen shooting out of Dean's tip sent shocks down your spine, smaller cock red and spent. With your cum dribbling down onto your tiny balls. 

Sweat trickled down their skin, breaths heavy. Illuminated in the moons light. 

Finally, with a groan, Dean pulled out (albeit begrudgingly) of your warm hole. 

He watched, transfixed, as a string of his cum connected his softening cock to your puffy, well-used hole. The sight made his spent dick twitch with interest. Fuck, he could do this all night. 

Ah... but you seemed tired. He chuckled, eyeing your spent form. All sweaty and twitchy. Particularly focused on the bite mark that stuck out on your shoulder. 

"Congratulations, boy. Now yer a true, fully-fledged recon cat.”

this was supposed to be lamb reader but idk,,, let me see how this does first then ill think abt it :3 ALSO WHAT IS IT WITH ME AND CAT READER??? ffuckin cat burglar n heavenly,,, urg. So sorry guys idk. I just love pussy!!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

contents: dilf!sugu (early forties) x younger reader. written with gn!reader in mind but "good girl" is used exactly once (i am not a girl but would still like it if he called me that <3) one mention of throwing up. reader is implied to have intimacy issues wc 2.6k

"suguru… i can eat it myself."

your voice comes out raspy; worn down, splintered, a dull stab of pain at the base of your throat.

behind your eyes lies a similar sensation, dry fatigue throbbing at the root of your skull. it has you slumping back against the pillows, squeezing your eyes shut — you can scarcely move. stuck under soft duvet covers, in a body that feels too cold and too hot all at once, with broken vocal cords to boot.

suguru gives you a sympathetic smile.

”i know, honey," he croons, the silver spoon resting just in front of your pursed lips. ”but i want to do this for you. would you open up, for me?"

you frown.

then you're parting your lips; pliantly letting him feed you another spoonful's worth of rice porridge. it goes down easy, soothing the walls of your dry throat, a comforting warmth spreading through your body, from your chest to the tips of your fingers — little sparks of numbing heat. you wish you could taste it, but not even the chopped scallion carries any flavour, dulled by your useless tastebuds. and that’s fine — your stomach can handle it, that’s all that matters.

but gosh, is it depressing.

"good girl."

a low, absentminded rumble. you let out a weak, sputtering cough — heat crawling up your nape.

(you aren't sure if it's the fever's doing, or his.)

a miserable croak. "… my throat hurts…”

suguru hums. his fingers reach for your jaw, cupping it gently with the inside of his palm — the pad of his thumb rolling softly against your wet bottom lip, wiping at the excess broth. he feels cold, against you, like the underside of your pillow on a sweltering summer night. suguru has always been nothing but warm, your very own melting point, a walking furnace under cardigans and turtlenecks —

but the heat of your skin is overpowering, right now.

of all days to get a fever, it just had to be today. you just had to wake up sick, bleary-eyed and dizzy, right before your deadline — curled up to a boyfriend that should really be at work right now, not sitting by the bedside and coddling you. leisurely as he might treat it, as much as you know he doesn't really need to work, that he has decades worth of savings to fall back on — that pottery is something he teaches as a form of self-soothing — you really think there's something more important he could be doing. something that doesn't involve you vomiting over his covers, or needing to be soothed into sleeping.

or, well — spoon-fed porridge.

(you're embarrassed. he's never seen you like this.)

"i know," he murmurs, softly. lifting his hand to smooth over the apple of your cheek, budding with uncomfortable warmth. "does it hurt a lot to speak?"

you nod, weakly, and it's answer enough.

"… poor thing." he exhales, through his nose, leaning back in his chair to retrieve the green, wobbly cup on the nightstand. he helps you drink from it, holding the ceramic against your lips, making sure you're taking steady sips. herbal tea, strong enough that you can almost tell which bags he mixed together — something minty, a kick of spice on the roof of your mouth — a smooth sweetness to it as it trickles down your throat. honey-soft against your teeth.

it helps, a little, but you still feel miserable.

"it'll pass, darling." as if sensing your thoughts, he runs his heavy hand down the back of your head, petting down your hair. you're pouting, softly, drowning in thick blankets and freshly changed sheets — you must look silly. "i'm right here. try not to strain your voice too much, hm? you can whisper in my ear if there's anything you'd like."

a weak croak. you squeeze your eyes shut, leaning into his touch. "… i just wanna feel better..."

a sad smile slips over his face. a shadow in his eye, just from hearing you whisper such helpless words.

”… i know," he sighs, carding through your tousled hair. "i know, love. i know you didn't want this."

suguru sets the cup back on the nightstand. it clinks, in the dim-lit room, the curtains drawn shut to spare you the grating light — not that there's any to be found in the cloudy skies outside. you can hear the patter of rain against the window, a steady rhythm, the heavy downpour helping your mind sink into some state of rest. as close as you can get to it.

"but you'll be alright. i've got you." pitter, patter, his tender voice blending together with the white noise of the world. "i'm glad you stayed over, last night."

"… mm,” you mumble, struggling to keep your eyes open. you aren't sure how to feel about that, yourself — if a part of you wouldn’t have preferred braving it out alone, in your own apartment — but you're sure he knows. sure he senses your discomfort the same way he's always been able to; seamless in his care, all too keen to the restless twitching of your fingertips, the way you've yet to look at him properly.

suguru knows you don't like this.

(he also knows it's because you need it, deep down.)

"… my baby."

you're pliant, as he smears a kiss against your cheek, cupping the apple of it in his palm. when he turns you to face him, you want to shy away — his eyes leak liquid gold, something too loving to look at without feeling nauseous with unease.

he knows, he knows. he's more than aware that the first bite of warm food after a life of feeding off scraps is the hardest.

another kiss, at the corner of your lip. you push him away, weakly.

"you'll get sick," you rasp, curling further into the mattress, like a rabbit burrowing a hole in the ground to sleep in. to hide in. ”we can't…"

a delighted laugh; short and breathy, as he tilts his head, bangs gliding across his skin and framing his crinkled eyes, silver strands in between the ink-black. suguru smiles, and something in you knows he wants to say oh, we could —

but he refrains. before his palm falls from your face, he brushes a thumb right below your eye, ghosting gently at your lashline. then he purrs, softly;

"alright. i won't be irresponsible."

a quiet buzz resounds from the phone in his pocket. it frees you of his weighty gaze, and suddenly you can breathe again, watching as he takes it out and squints at the screen — a stark brightness lighting up his face. crows' feet by his eyes, soft facial lines, the sharp edge of his jaw. so, so handsome, only ripened by age. the air of maturity he carries.

it makes you feel so safe. taken care of.

"ah… your treat is almost here." he slips it back into his pocket, and stands up from his chair. "they'll be here any moment. i'll go get it; just stay put."

the ghost of a pout. when you realize the kind of face you're making, it's too late — he's already noticed. his eyes soften, and you curse your feverish heart.

"i'll only be gone for a second." his voice is softer, now, velvet smooth, honey and butter. "okay, honey?"

"… okay."

a quiet exhale. he leans forward, to plant a kiss against your forehead; you feel him frown at your rising temperature, before pulling back. once he's sated himself with another meaningful glance, smiling gently, he turns towards the door.

you watch his back as he leaves the room. trying to ignore the mellow pounding in your skull; the sweltering, dizzying warmth bubbling beneath your skin, thrumming inside your veins. it hurts. you're all alone. a meek, vulnerable part of you can't help but wish he hadn't left, even though you can't deal with the way he’s acting. the guilt-ridden longing that washes over you when he treats you like something to be cherished, something small and needing.

you hate that you crave it. you hate that it's the standard he's gotten you used to.

(you hate that you want him to stay, and hold your hand; like your mother used to, before you grew too old for it.)

a shaky exhale. you try to put an end to that train of thought; your mind is too tangled up in threads, too cloudy with the fever. think of something else. the warm bed you're in, the spacious room — its beige walls, lined with oil paintings, the carpet on the floor and armchair in the corner. houseplants on the windowsill, and a desk he assembled just for you.

if the fever hadn't ruined things, you would've been sitting there by now. working on your assignment.

… you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut.

(at this rate, you'll miss the deadline for sure.)

…

suguru still isn't back.

maybe it's taking longer than he thought. maybe — maybe he's talking with the delivery guy, right now, making pleasant conversation.

maybe he won't notice if you just…

sluggishly, you lift yourself up by the elbows. slow, clumsy, it's a struggle just to stay upright; a wave of vertigo wringing your mind when you move your legs until they're dangling off the bed's edge. squinting your eyes, gazing ahead, at the cabinet you know your laptop's hidden in — you were just barely lucid enough to hear the wood slide into place.

suguru basically forbade you to study, today — though he'd phrase it more like gentle persuasion.

unfortunately, there's nothing gentle about the look he gets when you put your health at risk.

but you need to email your professor, at the very least. or just throw something together — anything, even a sloppy mess of an essay would be preferable to having to plead for another extension. a fever isn't an excuse. you've pushed through worse before.

("your body's telling you to rest. what could be more important than that?")

his words sting the back of your mind.

yet you push on.

standing up, on unsteady feet, you will your knees not to buckle as you wade across the room. it's a haze, but you make it, miraculously — leaning both arms against the desk as you lower your head and squeeze your eyes shut. a deep intake of breath, to stabilize yourself. the hard part is over.

now you just need to—

your feet leave the ground.

strong, solid arms lift you up, and a frightened yelp tumbles from your throat. raw and animal. it would embarrass you, if you weren't so caught off guard — hoisted up like a misbehaving cat, raised into the air like you weigh nothing. suguru's got you pressed against his chest, one palm on your back, the other just under your butt, your cheek against his naked collarbone. you can't smell him like you usually would; but his embrace carries a placebo of jasmine oil and rosemary, hints of sandalwood and musk.

it makes your head feel fuzzy. like being in his arms just turns your brain off.

before you can get any words out, he's carrying you right back to the bed — biceps coiled tightly around your starstruck frame. gentle, as he sets you down on the mattress, letting you bounce just a bit.

… he looks admonishing, though.

"my little troublemaker," he sighs, carding a hand through his hair. one brow raised, an exasperated lilt to his smile. ”what did i tell you about staying put?"

you blink. eyes wide, still, heart thumping with surprise.

suguru seems to notice.

"… did i spook you, honey?" he chuckles, smoothing his fingers along your sweaty bangs as if to signal that he isn't really mad. dragging the covers up, to tuck you back in, making sure you’re comfortable.

you swallow, thickly, willing your fragile voice not to crack.

”i just… forget how strong you are, sometimes,” you mumble. not knowing what else to say.

you think he's trying not to smile, based on the silent laughter in his eyes; flickering flames of mirth. ”i see,” he hums, his gaze alight and gleaming. "does it scare you?"

"… no."

a warm smile. "good." he tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. "now, what were you thinking of doing, hm?"

… you glance away, sheepishly. like a child caught elbow deep in a cookie jar.

of course he would make you admit to it.

"s… studyin'," you rasp, stuttering on a cough. rushing to defend yourself against his accusing stare. "i won't finish in time, sugu… they're gonna fail me."

"they won't." he cuts you off, swiftly, and the decision in his voice makes you think it’s more than empty reassurance. "i'll email your professor, sweet thing. they're not gonna fail you just because you happened to get sick at the wrong time."

an involuntary gulp. you look at him with bleary, flustered eyes, shaking your head — because not only is that wildly optimistic —

"t-that's too embarrassing," you whine, voice soft and pleading in a way that makes you feel small. "it's like you're my mom… you can't."

suguru chuckles — a deep bark, ripe with fondness. it makes you feel hotter, a whimper on the tip of your tongue. "just for today." his eyes are gleaming, the promise light on his lips. "when you get better, you can be an independent adult again. alright?

…

that idea only makes you feel smaller. like you're something he could cup with just one hand — something that doesn't need to stress because he's got everything covered, you only need to lean against him and sweetly mewl for his assistance. there’s something so intoxicating about not having to be a person, for once.

especially when you don't feel like being one.

(you can just be his baby.

… just for today.)

"… okay," you mumble, finally, so small you don't think he hears it. but your lips part, and you lean into his touch, and he sees that — a tell-tale sign of your unravelling, a complex machinery taken apart — reduced to something soft and pillowy.

it makes him croon. all too pleased, as he gazes down at you, meek and melting, struggling to hide a little pout. he rubs your bottom lip soothingly.

"thank you, honey." there's weight behind the words, but you don't think he'll push it — not today, not right now, he'll allow you to hide after being brave enough to show your metaphorical underbelly. "now, would you like some sorbet? it's waiting on the counter."

it's a silly question, because it's all you've been dreaming of for the past hour; lemon-frost sliding down your throat, soft and chilly, melting on your tongue and cooling your heated body. you're silly, because the question makes you frown, makes you reach for his palm so you can nuzzle into it. hearing the rain patter, feeling his touch, his presence like a weighted blanket around your frazzled mind.

you shake your head.

"… don't go," you whisper, as your eyelids flutter shut.

suguru is silent, for a moment.

then he's squeezing your hand, gently.

"… never," he promises, another of his palms coming to rest against your cheek— his voice like melted caramel, sticky, gentle shushing, so soft you'd think him just as sick as you. ”never leaving you, my dear.”

his thumb rubs circles into your skin, comforting and slow, and he sounds nothing but sincere. you curl up into a fetal position, beneath the blankets; allowing your body the rest that it needs. sinking into the plushness of the mattress, letting your chest rise and fall, as his presence cocoons you, lulls you into that state you’re so afraid of — the one that makes you feel like an infant child, a non-person, something worthy of the care it receives. in the safe haven of his bedroom, fragility gains a different meaning; something to savour, rather than crush.

it's okay if it lives, you tell yourself. it's okay if it breathes, and grows legs. if it starts to take up space.

(it’s okay if it just gets to be.)

[steddieasitgoes]

Eddie helps Jeff and Grant move into their freshman college dorms. Eddie's not going to college; it took him six years to graduate high school. He's not about to put more time and now money into a dead-end education, but he respects the guys' decision.

They're upset the university's stupid roommate questionare didn't pair them together. They answered everything exactly the same, and yet they still got split up. It's bullshit. Eddie knows it, they know it, everyone knows it. But it is what it is. Jeff doesn't want to make waves with the school, and Grant's just happy they accepted his sorry ass, so they'll have to live with it.

Jeff, Gareth, and Grant are currently figuring out how they're going to smuggle a microwave into Grant's room. Eddie leaves them to it, already holding a box marked for Jeff in his hands. He saunters out of the elevator and down the hall toward Jeff's room, nodding his head at anyone who does the same to him.

College is weird, he thinks. No one has sneered at him -- not even the frat dude bro type who checked Jeff and Grant in earlier. Maybe it's true what they say, college is full of open-minded people. He'll let the boys be the guinea pig on that one.

Jeff's door is half shut when he gets there, which is weird because he knows they left it wide open. They still have to bring in his record collection, and even though he ditched hundreds at home, the box is still way heavier than it should be. Having to put it down to open the door is a no go.

Thankfully, the box Eddie is carrying now is rather light so he turns and uses what little ass he has to bump the door open before sliding inside.

He stops dead in his tracks as Jeff's roommate turns to meet his gaze.

Eddie doesn't believe in God, doesn't believe in angels -- he likes to think Demons exist, but that's more of an aesthetic thing than anything else -- but he's pretty sure he's in the presence of an angel.

No, he's certain he is.

The large window between the beds shoots rays of sunshine through the horizontal blinds, painting the guy in beautiful shades of yellow and orange. And jesus h. christ the shadow gives off the illusion of a halo around his gorgeous, lush, perfectly styled hair.

He's wearing a sweater -- how he's wearing a sweater in the sweltering heat, Eddie doesn't know, but he is -- with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Eddie can't help but let his eyes take in the miles and miles of sun-kissed skin, unmarked with ink like his own but decorated with freckles and moles that Eddie wants to trace, connecting them like constellations he spent decades staring at on the roof of the trailer back at home. And, okay, maybe a few other unholy thoughts also pop into his head -- sue him.

He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at that. Of course Eddie's first thought upon stumbling on an angel is to wreck them.

"Hey, I'm Steve," the man says, extending a hand out to Eddie.

Jesus H. Christ, it's bigger than any hand has any right to be. Eddie's mind immediately wonders what else might be bigger than most. He can't help it.

"You must be Jeff," he smiles. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Yep, that's me!" Eddie says without thinking it through. He scrambles to put the box down and reaches out to shake Steve's hand.

It's a firm handshake, what Wayne would call "business-like," but it sends a burst of electricity coursing through Eddie's body. It's silly, really silly, but Eddie doesn't think his hand has ever fit so perfectly in someone else's before.

Maybe they're soulmates. He doesn't believe in those either, but he could if this Steve guys is his.

Steve smiles and drops his hand a second later and Eddie tries his best not to buckle under the loss of touch.

"What do you think of the place?" Steve says. His hands shoot to his waist, settling there as he gives the room a bitchy glance over. "It's a lot smaller than I was expecting."

"At least it's only a double," Eddie says. "My friend's stuck in a triple."

Poor Grant. As if losing out on rooming with Jeff isn't enough, he really got fucked.

Steve whistles lowly. "Damn, man, that sucks."

He squats then, digging through an already unopened box, and Eddie feels faint. His jeans were already tight, but with his new angle, they're stretched to the max, leaving very, very, very little to be imagined. And Eddie has no problem imagining anything, much less what the skin under those pale blue jeans looks like.

Steve's shirt rides up a bit as he leans over more, really sifting through the box now, and the tiny sliver of skin above the waistband of his boxers is enough to send Eddie into full-blown gremlin mode.

Maybe he should have applied to college.

"So, Jeff," Steve says, standing again and glancing between the two beds.

Neither has seemed to claim them yet. Jeff -- the real Jeff -- didn't want to be rude, and judging by the single box Steve's been looking through, he's only just started the move-in process.

"Got any bed preferences?"

Sharing it with you.

No, no! he scolds himself.

"Nope, have at it," Eddie says, casting his arms out wide and bending at the waist. He's not sure why he's done it, but by the time he registers how weird it might be, it's too late. So he commits to the bit, and it's worth it when Steve chuckles.

"Cool, cool," he nods. "I'll take this one, then." Steve shuffles over to the bed farthest from the door and tests the firmness with his hand. It gives just enough to make Steve smile. "I can work with this, if you know what I mean."

Eddie thinks he's really gone and died then because Steve honest to god winks at him.

Winks!

At. Him.

Eddie!

What the fuck.

"Yeah," he croaks, a little awkward and a whole lot aroused. He needs to get out of here before he jumps Jeff's roommate and accidentally gets him kicked out. Better yet, he needs to figure out how to get enrolled and kick Jeff out of his room himself. "Alright, well, I've got more shit to bring up, so I'll be back."

"I'll be here."

Eddie nods then bolts, ditching the elevator altogether and taking the three flights of stairs two at a time. Jeff's still arguing with boys when he gets down there, sweaty and out-of-breath.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" Gareth snaps.

"Oh no," Jeff winces. "Is my roommate a dick? Did he chase you out?"

"No," Eddie pants, shaking his head widly. He reaches out with both hands and slams them down on Jeff's shoulders way harder than he needs to. "Your roommate, Steve-- he's-- I think I'm in love."

The guys burst into laughter.

"Here we go again," Gareth says, rolling his eyes.

"You just met the guy," Grant adds. "How could you possibly be in love?"

"You can't be in love with my roommate," Jeff scolds, shaking Eddie's hand off of him.

"Jeff, Jefferson, Jeffery," Eddie rambles. "I am in love. He is the man I am going to marry. The one who will father my children. The one to tame this wild horse--"

"You've slept with two dudes, Eddie. I don't think that makes you a wild horse," Gareth scoffs.

Eddie ignores him. He doesn't have time to deal with Gareth. Not when Steve is upstairs waiting for him.

"I need to go back to him."

Eddie moves to step around the three, eager to grab another box with Jeff's name on it and get back to Steve. Back to the love of his life. But Jeff blocks him.

"No. No. Absolutely not," Jeff says, reeling Eddie back in. "I have to live with this guy for a year. You are not going back up there and making it weird."

"Well then I have good news for you," Eddie says, wicked grin already breaking out onto his face.

"This can't be good," Grant mumbles.

"You don't even have to go up there. He thinks I'm Jeff."

"Okay, but you're not Jeff," the real Jeff says, crossing his arms. "I'm Jeff and I'm going to go to my room and introduce myself to my roommate and you're going to stay far, far, far away from him."

Eddie shakes his head. "You can't do that! He'll think I'm a liar."

"You are a liar," Gareth butts in.

"Eddie," Jeff groans. "I have to go up there! I live here. I'm Jeff. He needs to know the truth."

"Or, or!" Eddie shouts, full of frantic energy now. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet, mind reeling a million miles an hour as the plan starts to form in his head. This could work. It could totally work. "How about I pretend to be you for the next year and you can be me."

"Dude, no!" Jeff scoffs. "I worked my ass of to get here. I'm not trading lives with you so you can try to fuck my roommate."

"Oh, I won't have to try," Eddie says. "He might have already offered."

"Oh my god. My roommate thinks I want to fuck him."

"Your roommate doesn't even know you exist," Grant corrects.

"What were you thinking?" Jeff shouts.

"He clearly wasn't thinking with his head," Gareth says.

"This is a disaster."

"No," Eddie says, shaking his head. He doesn't know why they're being so catastrophic about this. It's fine. It's all going to be fine. "Okay, new plan, I'll pretend to be you but only in your dorm. You can still go to class and do all the college shit. I'll only be Jeff to Steve."

"And where am I supposed to live?"

"With Grant."

"Asshole! I'm already in a triple! We can't house another person."

"And you're not even enrolled!" Jeff adds. "What happens when the RA finds out? I'll get kicked out and you'll--"

"Go to jail."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I don't think people go to jail for impersonating college students, Gare."

"They might!" Gareth says, throwing his hands up. "Are you really going to risk going to jail just for a chance at fucking Jeff's roommate?"

"Well, I hope it would be more than fucking. I did say I was in love."

Gareth doesn't get it. The only thing he's ever loved is his drum set -- and he can't marry that. Not even in bumfuck Indiana.

He goes back to ignoring Gareth and focuses on Jeff. He braces his hand on his shoulders again and slinks down to his knees. He's not above begging. Not for this. Not for the angel that is Steve who is probably wondering where he is right now.

"Jeff," Eddie says, hitting the pavement. He retracts his hands from Jeff's shoulders and clasps them together in prayer. He's making a scene.

"Get up, you're making a scene," Jeff hisses, yanking him back to his feet. Eddie goes willingly and Jeff huffs. "Alright, alright. Let me think."

"You can't seriously be considering this," Grant chimes in. "Eddie's plan is shit. It'll never work."

"I know that!"

Eddie watches as Jeff paces in a circle with his eyes closed. If he wanted to, he could bolt right now. Grab a box and make a run for it. Lock himself and Steve in the room and not come out until he's sure Jeff won't rat him out. Holding Steve hostage might not be the best impression to give Steve though, so he stays put.

"Okay, how about this," Jeff says and Eddie gives him his undivided attention. "The two of us are going to go back to my dorm and we're going to set the record straight--"

"No! That's--"

"Eddie," Jeff says, firmly. "If you really do love my roommate or well, you want to eventually love him. You have to tell him the truth."

Jeff's right. He's always right that's why he's going to college on a scholarship and Eddie's not. But he doesn't like it. Steve's going to think he's a total weirdo and he'll never get a chance to see what's actually under those tight ass pants.

Still, Jeff's right.

"Fine."

Steve really is an angel because he doesn't even bat an eye at the truth. He does laugh, but Eddie doesn't mind that. He wishes he had his cassette recorder and a mic so he could record it. It's music to his damn ears, and he knows a thing or two about music.

Jeff and Steve hit it off and Eddie tries not to pout about it as he continues lugging in box after box. When Eddie's van is finally empty, Grant and Gareth meet up with them in Jeff's room. Steve introduces himself and Eddie can tell they're both silently judging him.

Yes, this is the dude he would risk going to jail for, Gareth. Eddie thinks, he hopes Gareth gets the message in the glare he shoots his way. He thinks he does.

It turns out Steve also has a best friend who just moved in, too. She's in a different building than them, but he's meeting up with her for pizza at the parlor down the street. He invites them all to go and Eddie says yes on behalf of all of them a little to quickly.

When they get there, Steve introduces them all -- Jeff, Gareth, Grant. He gets all their names right, even Gareth, but when he gets to Eddie, he smirks. "And this," he says, smiling as he slings an arm around Eddie's shoulder. "This is not-Jeff my not-roommate."

"Hi, Not Jeff," Robin says.

Eddie laughs and introduces himself to her with his real name and Robin nods before her eyes lock on with Steve. He can tell they're non-verbally communicating with each other. It's not unlike the way he is with the boys. One look is all it takes sometimes for them to know what he's thinking.

It's weird watching it happen from the outside and especially difficult when he's still stuck under Steve's arm. Not that he minds that part not at all.

Finally, her lips quirk up into a smile and she pulls her gaze from Steve, letting it land on Eddie. At the exact same time, Steve's name gets called and he excuses himself to get pizza, leaving the two of them alone.

Robin's smile falters just a bit as she takes a step closer to him, replacing the spot where Steve just was. "Just so you know, I'm obsessed with Murder, She Wrote. If you hurt him, I know where to hide your body."

Eddie doesn't have time to even think of a retort before she's scampering off to help Steve with the pizzas.

He might not be enrolled in college, but he has a strange feeling he's going to spend a lot of time up here from now on.

[lucy-literates]

Unspoken Things

A/N: my requests are open :) and we love slightly jealous Bucky

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes gets jealous when someone flirts with you and doesn't know how to tell you.

The bar wasn’t exactly his scene, but Bucky came anyway—mostly because you asked.

He stuck to a corner booth, nursing a beer he didn’t really want, trying to pretend he was listening to whatever Sam was saying. His eyes kept drifting back to the bar, where you were talking to some guy with a Wall Street smile and too much cologne.

The guy leaned in closer, saying something that made you laugh—head tilted back, eyes bright, completely unaware of the way Bucky's stomach turned at the sight.

It was stupid. You weren’t his. He had no right to feel like this.

But he did.

He clenched his jaw, looking away. The glass in his hand creaked faintly beneath the grip of his vibranium fingers.

"You know you’re being obvious, right?" Sam said, low enough only he could hear.

Bucky didn’t answer.

“She’s allowed to talk to people.”

“I know,” Bucky muttered.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Then why do you look like you’re five seconds from throwing that guy through the wall?”

Bucky stared at the wood grain of the table, voice flat. “Because I don’t know how to say what I want without messing it up.”

And the truth of it sat heavy in his chest—he could survive the war, the brainwashing, the decades lost to HYDRA. But this? Watching you slip just a little further away while he stayed silent? That might be what finally broke him.

If looks could kill, the man who just put his hand on your hip would be dead. Sam looked at Bucky, concerned, wondering how much more of this Bucky would endure before he walked over there himself, or left completely. He chose the second option, standing up. His chair fell back and would've hit the floor if not for Sam's fast reflexes.

You looked over to where the boys were sitting, only spotting Sam, who made eye contact. You mouthed "Where's Bucky?" and Sam just pointed at the door. You excused yourself from the handsy man in front of you and headed for the exit. Sam sped up, to walk beside you.

You walked out to see Bucky taking the car keys from the valet. You and Sam jogged up to him just before he got in the car. He looked at you both and just said "get in". You got in the front, Sam in the back, just buckling up as Bucky sped off. His flesh hand was white knuckled on the steering wheel; his metal one was close to causing indents.

You got back to the tower, Bucky parked the car and didn't bother waiting for you or Sam, stalking off to the elevator and heading up to his room.

You went back to yours, bidding goodnight to Sam. You took your time showering and getting ready for bed. You laid there, thinking about what happened at the club.

Next thing you knew, you were standing in front of Bucky's door.

You gently knocked 3 times, the door was pulled open as your third knock finished. "how-" you started. "Super soldier hearing, I heard you walk up to my door" he deadpanned. He opened the door wider and let you in, closing it behind you.

"What happened?" you asked him

He sat down on his bed and looked up at you. "What do you mean?" he challenged.

"I mean" you started, slowly walking closer until you were stood in front of him "What happened tonight? Why did you leave like that?" You were directly in front of him now. His fingers twitches with an itch to place them on your hips. He balled his fists instead.

"I didn't like watching that man touching you" He whispered "It made me angry"

You chuckled, and he looked at you, bewildered, "Is it funny?" he asked. You shook your head, figuring out what he meant by being angry. "Was the normal angry, grumpy kind of feeling, or was it an intense kind of angry?" he looked confused "intense".

"Thats jealousy, Buck"

"It's not-"

"You sure?"

"No"

He looked down at his lap. Your fingers came to rest under his chin, tilting his head up. You sat down in his lap, giving him no choice but to hold your hips, and kissed him.

It was slow, gentle at first but became much more intense.

"I wanted to do that a long time ago" he confessed

"I know"

[crazy-pages]

I'm going to throw my two cents in to the conversation about why James Somerton didn't get caught earlier. Part of the answer is of course that he did get caught, he just bullied and lied to get away with it for a while, but I know a lot of people still express confusion. And of course he went out of his way to make sure his audience didn't know about other queer history sources other than himself. But still. How could he have so many viewers of his videos and none of them had seen X source material?

Well. To be blunt, most of his videos were pretty basic. He tended to copy the highlights of what he was plagiarizing, not the really advanced stuff. And insofar as he copied the advanced stuff, he had a tendency to chop it up and serve it out of context alongside other plagiarized work. The material he was presenting was revolutionary to an audience unfamiliar with queer history, but like. I'm guessing 'Disney villains are queer coded' is not exactly a new concept to the kind of people who read multiple books about queer coding in film.

Now I'm not a film studies person, I'm a physicist. But you know what I do when I get a video in my YouTube recommendations about some fairly basic physics concept?

I skip it. No shade to the creator, but like. I hit that topic a decade ago and I've added literally thousands of hours of studying and research to my brain since. I'm just going to give it a pass, all right?

These kinds of videos self-select for an audience which isn't going to be familiar with the source material. The people who know it are unlikely to keep listening after the first minute or so.

And you've got to remember how much of this content the experts have consumed! With very few exceptions for weird little things that stuck in my head after all these years, I would probably not notice a physics explanation plagiarized from one of my textbooks! Not because I wasn't intimately acquainted with the textbook, but because I was intimately acquainted with many such textbooks. Spend enough time learning this stuff and it all blurs together a little bit. Does this explanation sound familiar because you've heard it before, or because you've just read books which cover this specific topic seven different times? And does that wording or that example ring a bell because it's plagiarized, or because it's common to the field?

Catching this kind of plagiarism requires having the kind of people who are already familiar with these sources, and therefore uninterested in video summaries on the topic, to watch the video. And among those people who do, it requires them to match Somerton's words to one specific source on the topic out of many, that they probably read quite some time ago. And then you have the filter of how many of those subject matter experts have the source on hand to check, to turn a vague "...hmm" into something solid.

If you know enough about queer history to say that some of his plagiarism was obvious, now that you've watched the video, then you should remember that there is a reason you probably weren't one of the people watching his videos! And because YouTube promotes videos through algorithmic engagement, none of this stuff has to pass the sniff test for any other expert in the field before it gets released. No experts have to like it for it to get published or for it to get good reviews or for it to get a recommendation in, I don't know, the New York Times.

The only people who have to like the videos for them to get traction are people who are just trying to learn introductory queer history and film theory. The exact people who aren't going to notice this. And for those of you who to whom it is obvious, ask yourself. When was the last time you watched a basic level queer history introduction on YouTube?

[azrielbrainrot]

I'll Be Here

Pairing: Azriel x Healer!Reader

Description: You feel a little out of place at a celebration in the House of Wind and a certain Shadowsinger comes to the rescue.

Word Count: 3605

Warnings: None

Notes: I had this stuck in my head and decided to just write it down. I'm not really a writer so bear with me please. Hope you enjoy!

Healer!Reader Masterlist

It's hard to keep an eye on how much wine you drink when the glasses get refilled magically. You've heard that this house has a consciousness of its own. Maybe it can sense your growing anxiety and keeps filling your glass in hopes of helping ease your mind a little. The more you drink the more worried you get, the thought that getting too drunk will only put you at a higher risk of embarrassing yourself having infiltrated your brain and pushed all the rational thoughts out. Big gatherings aren't exactly your cup of tea and the fact that this one was personally hosted by your High Lord didn't exactly help ease your nerves.

You've visited the House of Wind before but always as a part of your duties. Though it was because of your duties you were invited to this dinner so maybe you could add this attendance as part of your job. The High Lord and High Lady decided to invite notable people in Velaris for a night of celebrating the thriving city. After losing its High Lord for decades and the war that followed his release, Velaris went through some tough times but with the help of its people - most of them gathered in this space tonight - the city was once again prospering.

As a healer you usually see the High Lord and his Inner Circle in a state of emergency, when your abilities are needed and there's usually no time for formalities or worries. Every time you encounter them outside of those situations you never know what to make of yourself. You wouldn't say you're completely inept at social situations but you're definitely a lot better at handling them when they involve your patients and you have a job to do, something more important to focus on than choosing the right thing to say.

Your relationship with the Inner Circle is professional albeit friendly. It's hard not to feel your heart warming at the cupcakes the General insisted on buying you for helping heal his wings even after explaining that you actually only helped on his recovery process. Every time he drops by the clinic to pick up any herbs or ointments he insists on buying you one - though you suspect it's also an excuse to get one for himself - and when you see him out and about he demonstrates how healthy his wings are, having done it just before dinner when he was in charge of flying you up to the house. The painting the High Lady personally painted for you, as an acknowledgement of your efforts during the war, hangs right behind your desk in your office at the clinic and is one of your most important possessions.

This would be the kind of relationship anyone would kill to have with their employees - friendly acquaintances. But, since you were there for some of their most intimate moments and helped them through them, you never know how to act when you're not doing your job. You can't exactly call them your friends, even putting the fact that is your High Lord and High Lady aside, outside of work you only exchange some pleasantries whenever you bump into them. However there's too much knowledge for you to act completely professional after decades of nursing them and their family back to health. It feels awkward to shake their hands when they have hugged you with tears in their eyes, thanking you for saving their family.

There's also the tiny detail of the crush you've harbored on the resident shadowsinger ever since you first laid eyes on him. On top of trying to walk the line between friends and strangers with everyone else, you also have to be careful with not letting the observant Spymaster find out about the beat your heart skips when you see him. Making things awkward because of a silly crush is the last thing you need.

It's that reminder and the monumental effort you have to make not to let your eyes search for him that has you finally sneaking out of the room, deciding to find a quiet place to sober up. The House had fed you too much wine, and you still had to be flown back down at the end of the night. You'd really hate to throw up on Cassian's fancy suit. He probably wouldn't buy you cupcakes ever again.

You remember some of your surroundings after decades of being called in for emergencies, quickly finding one of the huge balconies overlooking the city. The fresh air grounds you almost immediately. You can still hear the muffled sounds of the ongoing party but the quietness of the mountain lets you get lost in thought. As much as you enjoy the liveliness of the nightlife in Velaris, you infinitely prefer the quietness and freedom only the woods or mountains at night can provide. When it's only you, the moon and the stars, and the world stops.

You don't know how long you sit there for, leaning on the railing and looking into the distance, wondering why your healing abilities work on some forms of poison but not on sobering you up. Your head only comes back to earth when you hear a familiar voice calling out your name behind you. You turn around fast enough to make you a bit dizzy, leaning back against the railing with wide eyes.

“Didn't mean to scare you,” the shadowsinger explained, “I just noticed you were gone from the room.” You spot the way he's bringing his wings closer to his body, making himself smaller, if that were even possible. Azriel made you feel a lot of things but you hadn't felt scared of him in decades, ever since the first time you met him. If you hadn't been already tipsy and distracted thinking about him you wouldn't have reacted so dramatically.

Realizing the spymaster of this court had just found you wandering around his house unattended, you rush to apologize and give him an explanation.

“I'm sorry. I needed some fresh air and remembered there was a balcony around here. I shouldn't have left the party without permission.” You make to move back, showing you were ready to go back to the party but he raises a hand and takes a step closer to you, stopping you before you can.

“You're not a stranger to this house. No need for permission,” he took another tentative step towards you before continuing, “Do you feel better now?” You relax back against the railing, your heart beating fast for a whole different reason now. It's not often you get to see Azriel out of his leathers and you barely had a chance to see him up close tonight, he looks mesmerizing.

“What?” Maybe you didn't sober up as much as you thought. Maybe being this close to Azriel was just an intoxicating experience in itself. Either way your brain was having a hard time catching up to his words and your chest was starting to feel warm.

“You said you needed some fresh air.” There's a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before. Probably realizing that you weren't actually going to be sick. His shadows peak behind his shoulders, following their master as they usually do.

“Yes. It was just getting a bit stuffy in there.” Aside from the butterflies creating a hurricane in your stomach, talking to Azriel feels right. His calm demeanor lets your thoughts quiet. “I might have drank too much because of the nerves.”

The Shadowsinger moves until he's leaning against the railing next to you. His eyes wander the illuminated city slowly before meeting yours. Stretched wings hang in what you assume is a less straining position after having to be pulled tighter into his body in the crowded room. Shadows start rolling off his shoulders, now lazing around him instead of covering him. The soft wind moves his hair ever so slightly, letting a few strands curl around his forehead and giving him an almost boyish look. It's not often you see the spymaster appear relaxed. You decide it might be your favorite look on him.

“Nerves?” Your eyes search his face once again after hearing the confusion in his voice. Azriel has a permanent seat at the High Lord's table not only as the Night Court's Spymaster but also as someone Rhysand considers family. This night isn't so different from every other dinner he shares with his family, just more crowded.

“I've never been to this house outside of my duties. It's a bit nerve-wracking to be personally invited by the High Lord.” As you finish speaking one of his shadows curls around his ear. You've learned they do this when they're speaking to him. The thought of it being about you has your heart speeding up. Only the Mother knows just how much those shadows can see and hear, if they can hear your thoughts. You check your mental shields just in case. They can be as terrifying as they are beautiful.

“Rhys and Feyre couldn't have thrown a party celebrating the strength and courage the people of Velaris have shown without one of our best healers. You've helped more people than we could ever thank you for.” The warmth you felt in your chest before was now spreading up your neck at an alarming rate. You had just been doing your job but being recognized for it felt incredibly rewarding. The fact that this praise came from the shadowsinger was making you especially giddy. “Rhys invited you because you're very important to this court, to us.”

“I am?” The question comes out before your brain has a chance to catch up. You try not to cringe at the surprise in your tone. It's not that you're not aware of your capabilities, the High Lord and High Lady either call for you or for Madja, one of the most powerful and wise healers you have ever seen. But old insecurities will always show their claws, indifferent to your achievements. To think that you could be important to all these extremely powerful people seemed like the punchline to a joke.

“Of course.” His body turns to you ever so slightly. Fingers uncurl as if he wanted to reach out, comfort you. “None of us would be here in good health if it wasn't for you, maybe not at all. You've helped us more times than I can count.”

“I was just doing my job. And I can't take credit for Madja, I'm usually just assisting her.”

“Even so, you've helped us through a lot.” He sounded very sincere, there was no denying he meant every word, but you still have a hard time believing it.

“I just don't think I really fit in here,” you whispered so low that if it wasn't for his fae hearing he wouldn't have been able to make out the words. The admission felt heavy in the air, it felt good to let it out. You hadn't been this honest with anyone, perhaps even yourself, in decades, you must have drank way more wine than you initially thought.

You weren't born in Velaris, but you've lived here for a century. The problem is you've spent the better part of that century waiting on feeling like you finally belonged. You never felt at home in your own court or in your family so it might have been wishful thinking that it would happen here.

“I think like that sometimes too.” As baffled as you were to hear that coming from him, he looked even more surprised than you. It seems he hadn't meant to say that out loud, but the words couldn't be taken back now.

“That's insane,” you try to level your voice after the outburst, "You're part of this family. Why wouldn't you fit in?” You couldn't let him think like that, there was no doubt in your mind everyone here loved and cherished him like family.

Rhysand's inner circle was known for how close they were, they were seen as the High Lord's family regardless of if they were blood related or not. Azriel has always been calmer and you know he likes to keep to himself but you never thought he looked out of place for a second. It's hard to imagine Rhysand and Cassian without his brother.

His eyes were trained on the city under you. His shadows had come back to him, almost covering him completely. Azriel was quiet for a while, long enough you thought he wouldn't even give you an answer. But then you feel a shield form around you, lest someone wanders in and hears his next words.

“Sometimes things and people change while you stay stuck in the same place,” his eyes meet yours as he talks and you search his expression for the rest of the story you know he won't tell. If there's one thing you hate about the shadowsinger is his ability to mask his emotions. His face was the perfect stoic mask as always.

It's not hard to understand what he meant. In less than a decade the inner circle almost doubled and some of the dynamics had likely changed with it. His brothers have found their mates, something every fae dreams of, and he was the odd one out. Even the Morrigan and Amren had found lovers in recent years.

You had heard some rumors he had taken a liking to the middle Archeron sister after pining for the lovely Morrigan for centuries, but she had also found her mate. Not even his methods of interrogation could make you admit you were avoiding the entire inner circle during that time. The hope you had felt upon realizing he wasn't looking at Morrigan like she hung all the stars in the sky was short lived and it only made you feel pathetic. You didn't understand why it had affected you so much. This was just a silly crush after all, you had never considered actually pursuing a relationship with the shadowsinger.

“I still don't understand how Amren got a lover before you.” You had meant to clear the heavy air between you but why your brain decided to use the millennia old creature to do so was beyond you. “I mean she's just…” you continue, startled by your own words, praying to the Mother that the shield he put up stopped Amren from hearing you, “Well, she's fae now but wasn't before and is still mildly terrifying, even after the transition, and you're so-” Wide eyes meet hazel and nothing could ever prepare you for the look on his face. The amusement shone bright in his eyes and in the teasing grin he wore. Just when you thought the shadowsinger couldn't get any more beautiful.

“I'm so?” He tilts his head a little as he asks the question. His shadows start almost dancing around him, like they can't wait to hear your thoughts on their singer. You clear your throat before continuing, trying to salvage some of your dignity.

“You're the Spymaster, the only known Shadowsinger. That's incredible, anyone would be lucky to have you.” Something flashes in his eyes and your mouth starts back up at the thought that it could be disappointment at the impersonal description. Azriel is much more than his role in this court and you can't let him think that's all you see in him.

“You're also one of the kindest people I've ever met. I've seen you worry over every single person in that room, putting their needs over your own even when you're also injured. You always keep your composure for them and give them your support. I've seen you around Velaris too, you're always respectful to everyone, even when they're a bit scared of you.” Eyes drag themselves back to the shiny stars in the night so you can keep going without wanting to jump off the balcony and making an even bigger fool of yourself. “Even as far as looks go... I would bet my house that if we walked down any of these streets we wouldn't find anyone that doesn't think you're stupidly handsome.”

“Stupidly handsome?” The amusement was dripping down his voice at this point. The smile was unmistakable in his tone and you couldn't hold yourself back from watching him any longer. You feel yourself relax at the grin plastered on his face. It isn't often that the shadowsinger shows any emotion at all, and you can't help the pride in knowing you put that gorgeous smile on his face, especially after the somber turn the conversation had taken earlier. You continue despite the warmth you feel in your ears, you'd compliment him for hours if it meant he wouldn't feel sad ever again.

“I've actually heard someone use those exact words to describe you.” You've thought it to be the most accurate description of the immense beauty the shadowsinger radiates ever since you heard the barista use it. Apparently she hadn't been born in Velaris and had taken up the job only a few days prior to serving the illyrian. She had barely held the compliment down long enough for Azriel to exit the building, shooting up into the sky. A few fae present couldn't contain the laugh at the fervent appreciation of the shadowsinger, but the air of agreement shared by everyone was unmistakable.

“I'll have to let my mom know,” there was laughter in his tone, “I'm sure she will be very proud that her son is receiving such compliments.” You hadn't known his mother was still alive which makes you think it's meant to be kept secret. You almost curse at the way your heart flutters. Stupid crushes.

“I'm sure she is very proud of you regardless.” He doesn't give away any hint of what might be going through his brain and it leaves you in a slight panicked fear of overstepping or having said the wrong thing. You could swear you saw a glint of disbelief but it was gone too fast for you to be sure. The idea that the Spymaster couldn't see his own mother being proud of him was ludicrous to you.

The nod he gives you doesn't give any of his thoughts away, but his shadows keep moving slowly around the balcony, never rushing to cover him.

“Why are you single then?” You know he's changing the subject but you don't have time to consider that when you realize it's your turn to answer the questions.

“Me?” You barely register the slight nod he gives to show you he's expecting an answer. If you had shadows of your own they would have wrapped around you like a blanket until only the top of your hair was peaking out. “How do you know I am? Are you using your spies on me, Spymaster?”

“I have to be well informed of what happens in this city,” he searches your face just like you did to him, “And as the spymaster I'm more than familiar with deflection. You don't have to answer my question. Tell me if I'm overstepping”

“No. It's-” you cringe, trying to find the right words. “I just never found anyone special I guess.” Even talking about this with him has your heart swelling in your chest and you pray to the mother he can't pick up on any changes in your heartbeat. You've been avoiding this conversation with family and friends, but despite all this you know Azriel will understand and won't make fun of your feelings. It feels safe talking to him. “I get really busy sometimes so it's hard to keep up a proper relationship, even with friendships. Sometimes people need more time than what I can give them.” You try not to think of all the times you didn't measure up to other people's expectations, when they didn't see you as enough for the trouble.

“They're idiots for letting you go.” You don't know if he's being polite in not mentioning how your heart keeps speeding up or if he thinks you're drunker than you are, but you thank every deity you can think of that he doesn't say anything.

“Some things just aren't meant to be.” You hope he doesn't insist on this conversation. There isn't much else to say and you'd rather not keep talking about how many times you'd gotten dumped. You consider pointing out he never gave you a reason for being single and that he was the one actually deflecting, but you don't want to push what clearly isn't an easy topic for him to discuss either. You suspect Azriel barely opens up with anyone, so you'll just treasure the brief look into his heart he allowed you before.

The rest of your night is spent with the shadowsinger, sitting in that balcony, watching the stars and talking about anything. The next day you'll sit in bed mortified, thinking about how you were doing most of the talking while he listened, but he had seemed content enough so you couldn't have been too annoying. When the party ended you had said your goodbyes to your hosts, without the previous nerves after your conversation with the shadowsinger. Feyre had even asked you if you were alright because she also noticed you leaving in the middle of the party, though something about the glint in her eyes told you she had gotten the wrong idea. Then Azriel had flown you down the steps and winnowed you to your front door - even though you could do it yourself. Maybe you'd have to rethink calling the inner circle your friends.

[thesilmarillionblog]

𓏲 𓂃 L o s i n g Y o u

Part: 5

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy's secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, hurt, PTSD, violence, mentally unstable Soldier Boy, anger issues, Soldier Boy hates everyone, Countess is a bitch

Word Count: 3032

A/N: English is not my first language.

* This story is inspired by the song "Losing You" by Dream Evil.

Present, 2022

Butcher grinned and added, “Lift your asses up, boys. We're heading to Russia. Let's see what's being hidden there that could kill.. Cuntlander.”

Butcher had been looking for any other way to terminate Homelander and was working hard to get the chance to succeed. Butcher's past was clear after everything that transpired with Stormfront, but he didn't like the quiet. He still had unfinished business with Homelander. He was willing to take a chance and find a way out, but he wasn't sure if his plan would work out well. He would fuck around and find out.

It wasn't challenging to enter the Russian basement with Temp V on his body and the boys around. When they stood near the well-guarded metal object that concealed the potential end of Homeland, they took extreme caution. They all were aware of that was their final shot. Butcher didn’t know what could he done more to end Homelander.

Kimiko and Frenchie retreated a step as Butcher approached and removed the metal object's door with ease. Frenchie's gun-wielding fingers clenched, and Kimiko attempted to peek inside the box. As the strong smoke began to reduce, MM's eyes grew wide with horror, his heart paced with distress. Butcher leaned forward and muttered, “Soldier Boy.”

Ben removed the handcuffs and the object from his face with ease as his senses began to awaken. His legs felt like jelly, and he was holding on to the metal object he was in. He couldn’t see a shit at first; everything was blurry as fuck. When he began to realize the real gravity of what was happening, he understood that he was completely naked. He was being watched intently by a few people around him. He blinked in confusion, sensing immense power beneath his chest. His muscles began to tense with fury.

“It’s okay,” one of them said with a calm voice.

That fucking calm voice, Ben thought. It was the same tone as the fucking scientists who tortured and poisioned him for years, like they were studying a fucking little rat. They were all going to pay for what they did to him.

Ben experienced an immediate increase in warmth and energy in his chest. As he exploded, he let out a painful shout and felt a wave of relief afterwards. Fuck, he thought. What the fuck was that? What they have done to him? He was aware that he had to leave the region as soon as possible. He needed to get out from the lab as quickly as he could before they caught them again.

Ben then remembered you. He was informed that Vought had punished you for treason by shipping you to Russia in a metal box where you would be subjected to the same smoke that he had breathed for decades. You were nowhere to be found, even though he tried his hardest to locate and rescue you. When he realized that fucking Crimson Countess had betrayed him, it was too fucking late. She would be the first to die.

He would track them down and rip their limbs off for their betrayal. Stan Edgar would be the fucking second among them, if he was still alive. He had to find you first, though. He didn’t know what exactly happened to you. He didn’t want to think the possiblity of your betrayal. Ben had done unforgottable things to you, hurt your heart pretty bad, after all. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Ben stuck into an airport after he stole some clothes and illegally boarded a passenger plane bound for America, New York. It was the city that he had known you had been last time he remembered. However, he got confused seeing huge buildings and crowd. The city was nothing like he remembered at all; there was huge screen around, everywhere. Ben paused for a moment and thought what he should do. Everything he knew had changed and he didn’t feel like fit in there.

A nearby location played Russian music on the radio that Ben heard as he wandered down Manhattan's street. He recalled all of the torture and shit he had endured over the years. Back in Russia, he experienced the same overwhelming sensation in his chest. He struggled to control this new power without drawing attention to himself or doing any harm, but the terrible memories overpowered him so much that he was unable to control it and let out a loud groan as he exploded.

“Oh fuck,” Ben whispered when he opened his eyes. Maybe he needed to find Legend first to make a start somewhere before he exploded the whole country. Fuck, he needed you.

Butcher and MM were too late when they arrived in New York, where Soldier Boy exploded. Their eyes widened with shock, seeing the entire building burn out. There were at least ten corpses around the building. It was a big fucking mess. Butcher’s chest overwhelmed with remorse. He was the one to free Soldier Boy after all. But there were no place for soft heart at that moment.

“Where could he have fucking gone?” Butcher murmered as he wandered around, overwhelmed by the chaos in the street and hearing cryings. He wasn’t sure at this point if Soldier Boy was really controllable or not.

“Who else lives in this city?” MM said, raising his eyebrows. “Think about it.”

Butcher’s eyes widened with excitement, and he said, “Legend.”

Legend was drinking his visky in joy when Butcher, MM, and Hughie knocked on his door out of the blue. He resisted letting them in after seeing Butcher among them, but he eventually gave up and invited them in.

“I swear on my kids,” Legend said, raising both hands up. “I haven’t seen Soldier Boy.”

“You hate your kids.”

“Well, you’d hate them too if they were your kids,” said Legend with an irritated voice.

“Fuck, stop being stubborn. Nothing will happen to you. I give you my word,” MM said, trying his best to convince him to talk. Butcher’s patience was also growing thin.

“Your word? He gave his word too once. I fucking lost my leg.” Legend snapped suddenly, showing off his prosthetic leg and waving it on the air.

“You’ll have to order another one if you keep talking like that old man,” said Butcher, getting up from his couch.

“Let’s calm down,” said Hughie. He got anxious because of the heat of the moment, but nobody gave a damn about him at all, so remained silent.

Legend sighed as he kept sipping his visky, and he murmered “I thought I'd seen a ghost. Fuck, he never aged a day, despite his long, odd beard. He just took his suit, nothing more.”

MM and Butcher exchanged a look.

“It seems like he demanded something,” Butcher stated, casting Legend a wary glance.

“Well, he requested the address of the Crimson Countess. I don't know, but he appeared quite furious. I don't expect to have an enjoyable visit.”

Ben learnt that Countess had been living in a trailer before he arrived. Thankfully, it was very easy to locate the bitch. His heart filled with anger seeing she lived her life while we was burn and tortured for decades. Before he entered the trailer, Ben had seen the same cocksucker back in Russia. His eyes narrowed in confusion. He had a very punchable face.

“You’re the same asshole in the lab,” Ben said with a questioning voice.

“Yeah. I am the asshole who let you out. Your lovey-dovey countess is inside the trailer. All yours. Consider it a good gesture of faith,” said Butcher giving him a sly glance.

“Good faith for what?” Ben asked in an arrogant voice, ignoring his little stupid comment about Countess. Ben didn’t even know that cocksucker, but he had a lot of things to do, and he didn’t have time for games. He couldn’t rely on anyone either.

“I was thinking, you and I might come to an arrangement, you know.”

Ben didn’t say a word as he walked by him and went inside the trailer.

“Ben?” Crimson called him with a shaky voice. Her hands were in chains, and she was looking at him with fear. The place she lived looked pathetic to his eyes. Ben’s heart was filled with immense hatred seeing her face after all those years. How could he even spend a minute with her? “You look so young.”

“You don’t.” Without letting her talk, he inhaled deeply and asked with a calm voice, “Why did you even sell me out? How much did Russians pay you?”

“I wasn’t paid,” Countess said, closing her eyes with shame and fear. She never thought this day would come.

“What?” Ben blinked his eyes in confusion.

“What did you thought would happen? Everyone hated you so fucking much,” she went on while she was looking at him with despise. “It wasn’t my idea, but I wish it was,” she said cruelly. Ben’s grip on his shield grew tighter as she spit hatred towards him.

You also warned him that Countess would be the first to betray him if he continued to behave as he used to. It felt like it had been a day ago when you had that talk, and it was painful to realize how correct you were. He bet you would die to see his face right now.

He didn’t care what she or others felt towards him at that moment, though.

“Where is Y/N?” he asked with a firm voice as he got closer.

With a sly smile, Crimson raised her eyebrows, saying, “How could I know this? But she’s most likely napping. Perhaps in China, perhaps in Russia, who knows.”

Every time she spoke, Ben's chest grew warmer, but he had to maintain his composure in order to get to know your location. “She was already off the team. What the fuck have they done to her? And Why?”

“If anything bad did happen to her, it was due to her own naivety,” Crimson snapped. “You were the only person they intended to capture, but they also wanted to ensure that no one would come to your rescue. She tried to save you, and that was a big mistake.”

With one quick motion, Ben grabbed her throat, his glowing chest continuing, he knew it was getting out of control, but he couldn’t stop it. “I asked you a fucking question, and you'll fucking answer me,” he repeated while still strangling her.

She was attempting desperately to free herself from his strong hold, but she remained helpless, his strenght was unmatchable. Ben continued to choke her and ask the same question, and she closed her eyes in misery.

“You’ll never know. You lost the only person who wanted to rescue you. Good luck with living with this,” Countess whispered with a weak voice. Not being able to control himself anymore, Ben exploded with an angry growl.

He walked out of the trailer with a heavy heart. He considered the awful experiences you may have had for decades because of him. Despite everything he had done to you, you still loved him and attempted to rescue him. However, all he gave you was pain and suffering. You may be in a container of metal or suffering from torture right now while he was free. Feeling his shield becoming heavier in his hands, he tried to process what was happening. He fucking had let you down. He has never felt so lost.

He didn't know where to look for you because he was unfamiliar with the modern world. Even if he was still the strongest supe, he didn't feel that way at that point in time. He knew he would never give up looking for you, even if he had no idea how to find you. There was nothing that could stop him.

Ben turned to face the cocksucker who had been following after his balls since yesterday after sensing that someone had been observing him.

“It seems that you require a place to stay, don't you? After all, you are currently the state's greatest enemy.” With an encouraging smile, Butcher added, “You need our help.” He was closely gauging Soldier Boy's facial reactions.

Ben nodded and followed him out to his car. Hughie and Butcher exchanged a look and both sighed with relief that Soldier Boy wasn't hostile or anything.

Ben was given a cheeseburger and anything he wanted, including cocaine, some pills, and a drink, by Butcher in the morning. Ben needed to be in business and in shape, and he needed his fucking energy back. 

Ben continued eating his hamburger and said, “So, what exactly in the world do you two fuckfaces fucking want from me?”

Hughie turned to face Soldier Boy's enormous shield and used all of his strength to try to raise it. It was so freaking heavy that even with his best efforts, he could not get it to move an inch.

Ben angrily commanded, “Hands of the fucking shield,” to which Hughie responded with a shy smile and a mumbled apology. 

“We will assist you in locating your former teammates who betrayed you,” Butcher stated bluntly as he settled into the seat. “so that you can take your revenge.”

Ben instantly dropped the hamburger and furrowed his brows in suspicion. “But how can you manage to track them down?”

With hesitation, Hughie walked up to Ben and smiled slightly, saying, “Internet, GPS, Google Maps—you can find anyone with those things.”

Ben’s heart paced with hope as the bottom-faced guy said strange words. They could find Crimson even before him, after all. Maybe finding you wouldn’t be so hard. He had no other choice after all.

“You made those words up,” Ben said, not sure if they were talking true shit or just trying to deceive him.

“Those words are real words.”

“The kid’s right,” Butcher said as he gave a sly smile to Ben. “We will find every single member of Payback, so you can have your revenge.”

“And what do you cocksuckers want in return?” Ben asked rudely.

“We just want you to add one single person to the list. The cunt’s name is ‘Homelander’”

“Alright,” Ben responded without raising any further concerns. He wouldn't bargain when it was your life he was talking about. He could easily kill one more jackass; he'd killed plenty already. “But who is he? I’ve seen his pictures.”

When Soldier Boy didn't even hesitate, Butcher and Hughie sighed with relief and were unable to control their big smiles.

“He’s the new you,” Butcher said with a smirk.

“No one’s the new me, pal,” Ben answered with pride and arrogance, but deep down, knowing he was betrayed by his own country and team, he couldn’t help feeling a bit insecure. Nevertheless, he surpassed his feelings with a smile.

So, that was it. His nation used him in every operation, every war, and anything that required a supe, but they treated him like a worthless piece of trash in return, repaying him with disloyalty. Despite everything he had done for his nation, he was ignored and treated like a rat in a lab. He realized at this point that you were the one person who had never betrayed him and that you were the only one who would care about him. He made a promise to himself that he would make everyone pay for how they treated him and you, and he would make sure you and him would rule this modern world together.

“Let me to test you. What functions does your so-called internet offer?” Ben asked Hughie seriously, changing the subject.

“Alright. It can display images, films from all eras. You can even see the space through Internet,” Hughie answered, attempting to seem straightforward and sound simple like he was talking to a child so as not to confuse him. “You can learn everything from it. Billions of people are having their job done through Internet.”

Fuck, Ben thought. How the fuck he was supposed to save you through Internet thing? He was so fucking unfamiliar with that bullshit.

“Is there a way to see a photo of a Payback member?” Ben got up and asked. The excitement in his voice was obvious. 

“Absolutely. You can even find more information about them on several websites.”

Soldier Boy was watching very carefully when Hughie asked him the name he was interested in, and Hughie then showed him your images, saying “Here.”

Ben quickly grabbed Hughie's phone and gazed at your photo with a heavy heart. Fuck, he thought to himself. Undoubtedly, the term ‘internet’ was real and it fucking knew everything. He felt helpless at that point, since he had missed you so much. To find you, he would kill anybody those fuckers needed him to.

“I need to find her,” Ben whispered, showing your picture to both of them right to their eyes like they were blind or something. “If you help me find her, I’ll help you two fuckers kill that guy, Homelander. That’s the fucking deal.”

Next Chapter

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

A/N: Consider this chapter as a filler chapter. Sorry, if it is bad. I kinda didn’t like it personally, but here we are. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated! ♡♡♡

Taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @xmariakx @spnfamily-j2 @suspicious-stain-in-spain @atomicsoulcollecto  @yvonneeeee @starryperson    @mfnqueen1 @chaand-sitara   @boywivlove   @stilinskisthings

Let me know if you want to be tagged for this series! -`♡´-

[cursedbycain]

haircut - Cain x Lane

tagging: @rc-catalog and also @kazu-naito she's to blame for this

synopsis: even immortals need haircuts

tw: literally just fluff, allusions to sex, rated T

wc: 1.4k

It started with a subtle shake of the head. At first, she thought he was just disagreeing with whatever was said. But then he would do it even if no one was speaking.

Then she noticed the irritated look. Once again, not very unusual for Cain. He often looked displeased when he was forced to sit through squad meetings. Lane knew he wasn’t a fan of sitting still, always tapping his fingers or shifting his wings. But usually his face conveyed boredom.

The last piece of the puzzle was the angry way he would thread his hands through his hair, pushing it back only for the ash blond strands to fall right back into his eyes.

That’s what it was.

She wasn’t sure if immortal’s needed haircuts. The idea of an immortal hairdresser in heaven was quite a silly thought. But if they aged, surely their hair would grow? Anhea probably knew but there was never exactly a good time to ask.

The rattle of her window nearly makes her jump out of her skin. She opens it quickly and Cain slips in, smiling ever so slightly when he sees her.

“Hi.” He pushes his hair back once again.

“You know you can come in through the door right?” She sits back down at her desk, returning to her notes as Cain settles on her bed.

“I was on patrol. It’s quicker this way.” Lane hums in response as she starts to get sucked in. But when she tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, the question returns to her. Turning to the immortal on her bed, she watches him for a moment.

His eyes are shut as he lays on his back, hair surrounding him like a halo. His wings are spread as much as the bed will allow but she knows he’ll eventually turn to his side to prevent them from going numb.

“Will there ever come a day where you don’t stare at me the second my eyes close?” He smirks at her.

“Does your hair grow?” She blurts the question and his face shifts to confusion.

“It does. But it grows as slowly as our cells age on Earth so it’s not very noticeable. I’ve never had a haircut, if that’s what you’re asking.” He sits up to look at her as she shuts her notebook.

“Do you want one?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Why do you ask?”

“It’s been getting in your eyes.” She notes. Something about that makes him smile cockily.

“Perhaps if you looked at the book as often as you looked at me, it would be translated by now.” A wave of embarrassment washes over her as she turns away.

“Nevermind.” She mutter and he chuckles as he stands up.

“I’m kidding. I’ll take you up on that offer actually. It was starting to get irritating.” He stands by her, reaching over her shoulder to gently close the journal on her desk.

“…Alright. Sit here.” She stands and he takes her place on the wooden chair. Grabbing a clean towel, she wraps it over his shoulders. He lowers his wings to fit underneath it and standing in front of him, he almost looks like a swaddled baby.

Pulling out the hairbrush from her backpack and a small pair of scissors from the desk, Lane starts to realize she might be painfully underqualified for this.

“You have no idea what you’re doing.” Cain says knowingly. She can’t help but frown at the very true observation.

“If I give you a bad haircut, how long will you be stuck with it?” She busies herself by gently brushing the soft hair at the back of his head.

“Decades. Maybe centuries depending on how badly you mess up.” The smirk comes through his voice and she has the vague desire to smack him with the brush.

“I’m not gonna mess up. Besides, I’m the one that has to look at you, remember?” The bold statement slips out before she can think it over. Of course they hadn’t officially discussed whatever it was they had, but it definitely went beyond friendship.

He’s quiet after that so she takes it as a sign to start slowly snipping the hair at the base of his head. She doesn’t focus much there, stepping around to trim the sides. Slowly, she starts to get the hang of it, holding pieces between her fingers and taking the tiniest bit off. She had told the truth earlier, messing up would only be bad for herself. Besides, Lester would probably never let Cain hear the end of it.

The strands are quite long, and without thinking much she takes a piece and splits it into three, deftly making a small braid. She secures it with a small red hair tie, admiring the way the red is almost entirely drowned out by the white. It’s not unlike when his eyes take on a similar tone.

When she finally stands in front of him, he’s watching her intently. His eyes are still blue, which always makes her feel slightly more at peace as opposed to the blood red.

“You should close your eyes for this part.” She instructs and she brushes some of the hair forward. His eyes close and Lane takes the moment to admire him.

She had known Cain was beautiful since that day in the manor. His face inspired many feelings in her. Some of them were painfully unfamiliar. She had never felt the warmth in her chest that Cain brought out for anyone else. It was almost nauseating to like him this much. The worst part was the fact it was reciprocated. Sometimes he would look at her so warmly it would make her tremble.

There was also that night they spent together.

It had felt unreal to be that close to Cain. She couldn’t quite believe it and yet, she knew every word out of his mouth was nothing but the whole truth.

‘You are mine,’ He had whispered to her.

“I’m done.” She brushes the trimmed strands back into their usual style, no longer in the way of his vision. He opens his eyes and smiles softly.

“Thanks.” She can’t bring herself to step back, or pull her hands out of his very soft hair.

“Of course. Do you wanna see?” She’s about to reach for her bag to pull out a compact but he grabs her wrist, eyes never leaving hers.

“No. If it looks good to you, that’s all I need to know.” He pulls the towel off, letting it fall to the ground as he stands from the chair.

Her mouth goes dry as he gently presses her against the desk. For a moment she thinks he’s going to kiss her but instead he takes her hand and pulls her towards the bed.

Blood pounds in her ears as he maneuvers her into laying down. Just when she thinks they’ll have a repeat of the other night, he rests his head on her chest, laying down.

“You should sleep.” Is all he says. She strokes his hair slowly, and succumbs to sleep as he taps a rhythm against her hip.

She’s in the middle of chewing when she hears the comment, loud enough to reach the whole squads ears.

“Is that a braid?” Lester’s voice cuts through and she raises her head to find the whole squad staring at the immortal. He’s facing away and the braid completed with a tiny red rubber band at the back of his head is very visible. He slowly turns around, face unreadable as he looks at her.

“Eat your food.” Is all he says to him as he crosses the room, settling next to her. All eyes switch from the immortal to her and her face burns as she slowly swallows.

All she can do is shrug and look back down at her plate. Eventually the squad resumes their conversations. When she sneaks a glance at the immortal sitting next to her, she could swear he’s smiling into his food.

[roanofarcc]

ALL’S FAIR

pairing: sasappis x ghost!reader

summary:  sass has been out of the dating game for a long time and feels utterly unprepared to ask out the cute ghost girl, jessica. he asks you for help, and despite your feelings for him, you offer to help him out with a practice date.

warnings: believed to be unrequited feelings that are actually quite requited.

word count. 2.3k | masterlist

It started as a simple complaint from Sasasppis. Dating wasn’t exactly one of his skills, considering he’d been dead for such a long time, so he was lacking serious practice. You, on the other hand, having died a bit more recently were fairly versed in the dating game. You certainly were no expert, but at least you had been on a date in the past decade. 

So, when he complained that he was “embarrassingly” out of practice and didn’t want to look stupid in front of a cute car ghost who was new to the mansion, you made an off-handed comment about him going on a practice date. You had learned, during your life, the key to being good at most things was to practice. 

You just didn’t expect him to ask you to be the one he practiced with. But you couldn’t say no to him. 

Sass was unfairly cute and someone you connected with first after your death. What started as a silly crush morphed into a stupid one you tried to ignore, which was hard considering you couldn’t exactly avoid him. Nor did you want to. 

It was a terrible idea, you knew that, but you didn’t have a reasonable excuse to tell him you couldn’t. So, you agreed like any good friend would, even if it made you feel a mess of all sorts of things tied in an impossible knot and stuck in your gut. 

“Should I be taking notes or something?” he asked. 

You raised your brows, sitting at the kitchen table. “Yeah, go grab a piece of paper and a pen,” you joked. 

He laughed dryly before a real smile broke out on his face. “Okay, okay. But seriously, what if I don’t remember all of this when I’m on my actual date?”  

You were probably overthinking things, but the way he said ‘actual’ sounded pointed, a clear reminder that what the two of you were doing was just pretend. You knew that, but your brain liked to overanalyze every interaction you had with Sass, searching for something that wasn’t there. He was just a friend, and you wanted to be a good one by helping out. 

“It’s not an exam, Sass,” you gently reminded him. “I’m just giving you guidelines, not a step-by-step manual. Everyone’s different when it comes to dating.” 

“Right,” he said with a sigh. “I just don’t want to screw this up. Jessica’s so cool. I can’t even remember the last time someone’s been interested in me.” 

You rolled your lips into your mouth. He was technically right, you never expressed your interest in him. Why? You didn’t have an answer. Maybe you thought you’d have more time to either get over it or work up the courage to own up to it. Neither had happened yet, then Jessica stepped into the picture. 

“It’s pretty simple,” you started after clearing your throat. “Above everything, don’t be an asshole, which should be pretty easy.” 

“One would say I excel in that regard.” You tilted your head in question, and he held his hands up in defense. “Okay, sometimes I excel. But I won’t be an asshole,” he said. “What are we supposed to talk about?” 

Small talk was surprisingly more difficult as a ghost. Without a life to be lived, talks of your future were null. “You can talk about Woodstone, your friends here. Ask her about the places she’s seen. You can even talk about your life, but I’d avoid talking about your deaths; that might kill the mood.” 

Sass listened intently, focusing on you, which made you more flustered than you liked. 

“I wish we could do something for our date,” he said after a beat. Jessica was confined to a small radius outside the car, which meant she couldn’t enter the mansion. Sass had to go to her, and their date was stuck in the backseat. “I don’t know how exciting I can be for longer than an hour.” 

“Well, if she likes you, she’ll find you exciting. Plus, you two have your whole life and death to chat about.” 

“I’m just…really out of practice,” he sighed. “Or lack practice at all.” 

You leaned back in your seat across from Sass, not liking the worry lines creasing in his face. He had nothing to worry about; he was wonderful, you thought, the furthest thing from boring or unkind. Anyone would be a fool not to see that. Yet, a selfish part of you wanted Jessica not to, for your own sake. But the other, more reasonable part of you wanted Sass to be happy regardless of the part you played in that happiness. 

“As cliche as it sounds, just be yourself,” you said, and he shot you a look. “I’m serious. She’d be crazy not to like you, Sass. She might even find it cute that you’re nervous.” 

He didn’t look convinced. “Really? You don’t think that’s lame?” 

With a shake of your head, you attempt to rid Sass of his spiraling worry. “If I were in her shoes, I’d think it was sweet how worried you are and how much effort you’re putting into making the date perfect. I’m sure she’ll see it the same way.” 

“And if she doesn’t?” he asked, fiddling with his hands nervously on the tabletop. 

You looked at him with the utmost sincerity sparkling in your gaze. “Then that’s her loss.” 

Sass’s version of “getting ready” for his date with Jessica was pacing around his room and being slightly judged by Hetty and Trevor. 

“I don’t get why you’re nervous, dude,” Trevor said. “It’s really not a big deal.” 

Sass rolled his eyes. “Says you, dude. This is the first person this century to be interested in me.” 

Trevor furrowed his brows. “Uh, that’s not-” He was stopped by a swift hit in the gut from Hetty, who sent him a glare. “Jesus, okay.” 

Sass ignored them, fixing his hair. He started to ramble, explaining how he thought he was somewhat ready for his date before he had help from you to prepare for it, but his rambling after that bit of information was cut off by Hetty. 

“Wait, you had them help you get ready for your date?” she repeated, seemingly aghast. Sass nodded, not understanding the look on her face. 

Trevor didn’t look much different. He hung his head. “Wow, dude. That’s rough.” 

“What’re you talking about? We’re friends and they offered.” 

Hetty and Trevor exchanged a look that Sass couldn’t pinpoint. 

“You’re not seriously that dense, are you?” Hetty asked. 

It was at that point that Sass felt defensive, he just didn’t know of what. Their tone was judgmental, but he was positive he hadn’t done anything wrong. 

Trevor saw the shift in Sass’s expression and held his hands out to cut the confused tension. “That’s just a little mean, don’t you think?” 

Sass felt like he had missed something, a chunk of the conversation he hadn’t been let in on. “What are you guys talking about.” 

“Oh, God,” Hetty gasped, grasping Trevor’s wrist. “He doesn’t know.” 

“Know what?!” 

“Dude, Jessica is not the only person who likes you.” 

Trevor’s words took a long beat to sink in, for Sass to make sense of who they could possibly be talking about. It wasn’t you, surely. You and Sass had been friends since you had died and ended up joining their group of ghosts who haunted Woodstone. He’s never taken any of your words or actions as anything other than friendly. That was what you called him and what he called you. Friends. Plain and simple. 

Of course, it wasn’t that Sass had never thought of the possibility of you. He thought of you often, if he was being honest with himself, but he blamed that on all of the time you two spent together. Of course, you were on his mind because you and him were always talking, gossiping, even scheming. He liked that you found his jokes funny and were always interested in his stories, even if they weren’t very riveting. He enjoyed your presence, always lingering around him warmly. 

“N-No,” Sass rushed out, laughing at the ridiculous idea they were implying. “You guys don’t know what you’re talking about, okay? Because why would they help me get ready for a date if they liked me?” That was something a friend did, not someone interested in you. 

“Because they don’t think you return the same feeling. It’s easy to see why since you are going out with another person. Why say something when they don’t believe it’s reciprocated?” Hetty said. 

Sass stilled in the middle of his room, his mind running a mile a minute. “But they could have said something before,” he muttered, more to himself than the other two. Why hadn’t you said anything? He was certain that if he had known your feelings pushed beyond friendship, he would have let himself consider the same. But he had been so certain you only saw him as a friend that he didn’t let himself fall into a trap of a crush not returned; he’d been there and done that plenty of times before. 

Trevor shrugged. “Maybe they were scared?” 

“There is a way to find out,” Hetty said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “But that’s a choice up to you, I’m afraid.” 

It was time for his date with Jessica. She was waiting for him outside. He had a choice to make, one he certainly didn’t envision facing at the start of the day. 

The night stretched on, yet you couldn’t sleep. You tossed and turned, thinking about Sass and Jessica on their date, probably laughing and sharing kisses in the backseat of the car. 

With a grumble, you rubbed your temples, trying to scrub the image from your brain before it drove you mad. You tried to think of anything else, closing your eyes and trying to force yourself into a night’s sleep, but your actions were fruitless as a voice called your name from outside the door. 

If you could have picked up your pillow and yelled into it without making much noise, you would have. It was Sass, probably giddy and ready to tell you all about his date. You couldn’t turn him away, and you wouldn’t. 

You sat up, adjusting your appearance before you told him to come in. 

You expected him to come in with a wide smile, bouncing on his feet from a date gone well, but the Sass you were met with looked more stressed than anything. His brows were pulled together, causing a crease to form across his forehead, and his lips were downturned in a frown. 

“I need to talk to you,” he said bluntly. 

“About your date?” 

“No.” He paused. “Yes. Well, kind of. I-I don’t…” he trailed off with a sigh and sat on the edge of your bed, not facing you. 

Worry pricked the edges of your mind as you crawled forward and sat beside him. “Is everything okay?” 

Sass twisted his hands around in his lap and kept his gaze forward. “The date didn’t exactly go as I thought.” 

“Oh?” You weren’t sure how to feel about that. On one hand, Sass was your friend, and you wanted him to be happy regardless of who he was with. But you couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. “What happened?” 

“I talked to Trevor and Hetty before it. They said something and it…it made me second guess the whole thing.” 

“No offense to them, but I don’t know if they should be your main source of relationship advice,” you said, only half joking. 

Sass finally turned his head to look at you, his expression confusing and unreadable. “Why’d you agree to help me out with my date with Jessica?” 

“Because you were worried and said you needed help,” you answered honestly. “Did my advice not work?” 

“No, it worked,” he sighed. “But it wasn’t Jessica who I really wanted to be on that date with. But I just didn’t realize it until I was, you know, on it.” 

You stilled, feeling a confusing rush of emotions fill the air between you two. “What’re you trying to say, Sass?” 

“I wanted it to be you.” 

His words hung heavy in the air for a moment as you two stared at each other, neither one sure what the next move was to be made. At first, you didn’t know if you had even heard him right. He wanted it to be you on the date? He had been so excited since Jessica arrived at the mansion, and you had never felt like your feelings towards him were reciprocated. 

“Hetty and Trevor said it wasn’t fair that I asked you to help me with my date,” Sass continued with a shake of his head. “They said it was clear you liked me. And I thought that was crazy. Then I started thinking about it. I-It was all I could think about during my date. When Jessica asked me what was going on with me, I realized thinking about someone else while on a date isn’t exactly great. So I told her and…and then I came here to tell you all of…that.” 

You were going to kill Hetty and Trevor. That was your first thought as your mind worked through everything Sass had just dumped on you. The second thing was, what were you supposed to say back to that? Your mind felt muddled. 

“They weren’t wrong,” you confessed after a beat. “I mean, not that it wasn’t fair. We’re friends; I wanted to help you. But they weren’t wrong about the other thing. About me liking you.” That had weighed on you since you uncovered your crush, and you planned on never uttering those words aloud to Sass, or at least not so soon. You planned on just living in the afterlife with your one-sided crush or embarrassing yourself somewhere in the future.  

Sass’s expression shifted and a smile spread across his lips. “Well, you know, I’ve gotten some pretty good advice on dating. Maybe I could take you on a real one sometime?” 

You laughed lightly, a giddy feeling replaced the confusion that had clouded your brain a moment ago. “I’d like that.”

[elvensorceress]

sunday snippet

I meant to have this fic done ages ago but it's now somehow three times as long as it was, I've rewritten it five times, and I'm still working on it 🫠 oh well. have a snippet from snickerdoodles.

@tizniz @hippolotamus @eddiebabygirldiaz @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @spotsandsocks @kejfeblintz @smilingbuckley @sofa-king-lame @chaosandwolves @smilingbuckley @belasmalhotra @bekkachaos @blutterlie @sazanahashi @livinginsunnyhell @epicbuddieficrecs @sparklespiff @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @dangerpronebuddie continued from Wednesday

Eddie tries again, but still sounds rough and hollowed out. “I don’t want to drag you down. Okay? You should move on and forget me and— and it’ll be better.”

Not so much for Eddie. He’s never let go of anything in his life. It’s all there hiding under the surface, stuffed in cages. But Buck should move on. Buck should survive him. 

Is this their only future? It feels like losing everything. Eddie is losing everything. He’s kidding himself if he thinks he hasn’t already lost Chris. What if Eddie doesn’t survive this time? What will happen to everyone he loves? Everyone who loves him?

Does anyone love him? Does he mean anything to anyone? Has he ever meant anything?

“Forget— I should forget you?” Buck snaps, his anger un-contained fire now, not just a hint of smoldering kindling. Vicious, spitting, sparking, living flames that will turn everything to ashes. 

Maybe they should actually fight and say awful things and then it would be easier to walk away. 

Eddie’s not sure he could even manage that right now. There’s nothing left in him. No fight, no fire. It’s all shattered, scattered pieces. But he would try. If Buck needs that. 

He might need that. He snaps again, “Like you’re a pair of socks that disappeared in the laundry? Or something I meant to pick up at the store and spaced? Like it’s easy? Like you’re nothing? Like this? Us? You and me? Means nothing?”

Okay, when he puts it that way… it sounds dumb. But how else can Eddie stop hurting him? “No,” Eddie says. Not fiery, not loud, not anything. “No. Just. Something that doesn’t—”

“You're my best friend. You— you’re— I’ll let you go. Okay. Whatever. I’ll do that because I know you and I know you need Chris and I get it. I wouldn’t want you to do anything but love him exactly the way you do. But I won’t, will not and can not pretend that you aren’t my best friend and my partner and the person I love more than anything. All right? I’m not going to do that. I’ve spend years—literal— almost a whole decade of years loving you more than anything. I’m not going to just forget that or forget you. I’m not throwing that way. I’m not ever going to lie and say otherwise. This is not a ‘move on and grow out of it’ scenario. I love you more than anything in the world. Okay? You told me I wasn’t expendable and I had to deal with that so you have to deal with this. You mean everything to me and I love you, and that isn’t going to change even when you leave.”

“—hurt you,” Eddie finishes. It doesn’t really sound finished now. He says it because he was already saying it. 

But that the fuck does he say now? 

Eddie doesn’t usually think of himself as small, quiet, or fragile. But he feels like that now. His feeble words sound like it even in his own ears. Small. Inconsequential. Torn apart.

Buck steps back toward him. Not enough that they’re touching, but enough that they’re closer. “Hurt me. Drag me down. I don’t care.”

Eddie recoils. No. No, he hates that idea. He is not doing that. Not intentionally. Not. What the fuck. 

He knows he said the words. He said them because his mother said them and they stuck and haven’t left his head or his heart and it’s all he does. Ruin people he loves. 

Buck shakes his head. “Be in the way. Burden me. Share whatever weight you’re carrying. Be something that stays even if you’re not here. Be part of my life even if it hurts. I don’t care if it hurts, I need you to be something to me. Having nothing of you would be a hundred, thousand, million times worse. I am in this with you. I always have been. Don’t shut me out just to spare me. If you’re facing the fire, I want to be right there with you. Please don’t make me lose everything of you. Please don’t— please. Don’t pretend this is nothing. I can take you leaving, I can’t take this,” he motions between them, “meaning nothing.”

Eddie stares and doesn’t move. And stares harder like it will help him understand. 

He knows he’s breathing still because there’s air. 

Maybe he’s not breathing. But something is making air flow in and out of his body. Like rescue breaths? Supplemental oxygen? It’s not Eddie doing it, he’s not taking in air, but it happens anyway. 

He doesn’t understand. Maybe he never has. Maybe his brain stopped processing information when he stopped breathing because the brain can’t function without oxygen. Something like that. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t. 

Buck wants something of him even after everything? After all the people who have walked out on him and treated him like he doesn’t matter? Even with how Eddie fails and hurts people who care about him? He means something to Buck? Even though he’s hurting him and abandoning him and losing him? Eddie’s just another person who leaves him. He can’t hurt Buck. He can’t keep doing it. Buck doesn’t deserve this. And Eddie deserves no loyalty, no forgiveness. 

He doesn’t deserve anyone’s love. Not in any form. He shouldn’t have it. He’s never had it. 

“I don’t—” Eddie tries to say. He has to say. He has to make the words come out. “I don’t want to hurt you the way Abby hurt you. I don’t want to do that.” 

Buck shakes his head again and starts to say something.

Eddie beats him to it. “I know it’s not the same. I know I’m not— I know you don’t— It’s different. Still. I know how she hurt you, and I don’t want to do that. I don’t know how to not do that. I’m leaving you here. In my house. Just like she did when she left you. And I have to—” Do the same fucking thing? Give him up? Walk away? Destroy everything they made together? And maybe the only way to survive is to do what Eddie does best and ruin everything? 

He looks back at Buck and doesn’t mean to say it. He wasn’t going to say anything. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. He should be mean and nasty and he should tell Buck he means nothing, this means nothing, and then Buck can just be justifiably angry and hate Eddie properly. 

And it would spare him. Whatever pain and tragedy that is associated with being near Eddie. It would spare Buck. 

That’s what he should do. 

That would be mercy and kindness. Pick up the weapon and blow this all to hell. 

Eddie can’t breathe. He can’t do this. Any of it. 

He can’t let go. He can’t lose Buck. 

And then he’s suddenly confessing, “I don’t want to do this."

It’s too late. It’s always too late. And what he actually wants has never mattered. He doesn’t matter. He never has. He twists his hands together and has nothing else to hold onto. It’s too late, so none of this matters. Eddie doesn’t matter. But he meets Buck’s lost gaze, stares into his eyes for three seconds, and he can’t keep it in.

“I want to be with Chris. I miss him so much. Every minute of every day. But I don't want to leave here. I don't want this. But it doesn't matter what I want. It never has. The one time I said, 'What about me? Why didn't you think of me?' Chris left. He left because I hurt him. And my dad says, ‘don’t wait thirty years to listen to your son.’ So I listen. I don’t know what the hell else to do. I listen, and I do what all of them ask. Even when it’s the last thing I want and I’ve already said, no, please stop, I need more time, please hear me. They don’t listen to me. I’m still nothing to every single one of them. And I just keep thinking why don’t I ever count? Why don’t I matter even a little bit?

"You think you aren't everything to me, too? Do you think that I don't love you just as much as you love me? But I don’t get to pick you. I don’t get to have anything of you. I hurt everyone I try to love including you and Chris. I’m not enough for anyone, in any way. I can’t love anyone the way they need or the way I’m supposed to. You say you’re defective parts, well I’m fucking broken.

"That’s why you should forget me. I don’t matter. You shouldn’t care. I should mean nothing because I am nothing. I’m not worth this. If I were a better, stronger person, I’d make you hate me. But I can’t even do that. I don’t want to hurt you more. I have to lose you and I don’t know how to lose you. I love you more than anything and it’s not enough. I don’t know what else to do but say, you should move on and forget me.”

Eddie turns away and covers his face, tries to hold his head because it’s aching. It’s too much. That was too much. He’s not supposed to be falling apart. Everything is supposed to be getting better. 

Shards of ice crack and fracture and break underneath him. Everything in the cage around his ribs snaps and he’s crying into his hands, trying to keep it together. Trying and failing. Always failing. His face is already wet. He was already broken. A long time ago. So many times. 

Buck is suddenly behind him. Not distant. Close behind him. He touches Eddie’s back gently and then steps around until he’s standing in front of him. He reaches between them and rests his hand on Eddie’s chest. As if he can stop the never-ending bleeding that’s somehow always pouring from Eddie’s heart. “You are enough, Eddie. You’re more than enough."

[mercurygguk]

head over skates · jjk ; part iii.

··· SUMMARY; jeon jungkook is the captain of the hockey team and one of the biggest fuckboys on campus. you happen to have known him for as long as you can remember but he is not who he used to be and you simply can’t stand it.

so what happens when you’re suddenly stuck doing a project with him for three weeks?

SERIES MASTERLIST · # TAG · MOOD BOARDS · PLAYLIST

PAIRING; hockey player!jungkook x f. reader

GENRE; fwb au, childhood friends to enemies to lovers au, college au

WORDCOUNT; 1,255

RATING; 18+

WARNINGS; swearing, a teeny tiny little tension but also, jk is being very sweet :(

a/n; part 3!!! i love doing this little series bc it's so easy to write when the chapters aren't so long <3 i hope all of you enjoy it too despite the fact that it's not a very long read! lmk what you think! ty for reading xx

You didn’t text Jungkook back.

No matter how tempted you were when he tried to bribe you with iced americano – your favorite (which he remembered).

Instead you took it upon yourself and started working on the project without him. Your gut is telling you that he won’t be adding much to the group work nor will he invest the time and energy in it. There’s no reason to wait around for him to actually care about the project when you know that ‘caring’ isn’t one of his primary traits. It used to be but not anymore – if he still cared, he wouldn’t have abandoned your friendship the way he did.

Besides, it’s not like you mind. 

You’ll gladly put his name on the finished product if it means you’ll be rid of him and his flirty, cocky behavior. It’ll only make the process easier and you’ll be able to do it just the way you want. If anything, Jungkook should be grateful that you’re willing to do this on your own and just add his name. Normally you wouldn’t do something like this but you just can’t stand being stuck doing group work with him for three weeks.

Jihyo is right though – it is time to move past it but you can’t. Not yet.

You haven’t spoken to Jungkook in 5 years – that’s sixty months of spite and aggravation that has affected you way more than you would’ve liked. Like you said, you’re not one to hold grudges against people but this particular grudge has been sitting in the back of your mind for half a decade and while you’d love to be able to just let it go, you can’t.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when your phone buzzes due to an incoming text. You reach for it to take a look, your face instantly twisting in annoyance when you realize who’s texting you.

[11:07 AM] Jeon🤬👊🏼: whatcha doing? ;)

You swipe it, removing it from your lock screen before returning your focus to your laptop and the project at hand. You let out a soft sigh and rest your chin in your palm as you play around with the font of the text – Times New Roman suddenly has a whole other meaning after Jungkook’s name was written next to yours the other day.

"It’s good to know your phone works.”

“Oh my god!”

Startled by the low and deep voice right next to your ear, you jump in your seat and turn around with widened eyes. Dark brown eyes with a mischievous glint in them are staring back at you, an amused grin on pink lips as well. You take notice of the two iced americanos in his hand before you’re scowling at your former friend turned stranger.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to do the project,” Jungkook tells you and holds up the beverages. “I brought drinks.”

“How did you know I was here?” You can’t help but ask, wondering how he managed to locate you. The library isn’t exactly one of the places on campus Jeon Jungkook frequents the most. You’d know since you spent a lot of time here. 

He shrugs, “I saw you when I walked by, went and got these,” he places the iced americanos onto the table, “and came back to join you.”

You gape at him for a moment as he pulls a chair out and takes a seat next to you, not a word of protest leaving you because you’re simply speechless once again. He actually got you iced americano and he genuinely wants to do the project. 

Something doesn’t seem right.

Jungkook glances at you with a smirk when he’s met by silence, “what? Surprised that I actually do my school work?”

You shake yourself off your speechlessness and shrug as nonchalantly as possible, “something like that.”

“I see you took a head start,” he nods to your laptop with a chuckle as he pulls his own out of his backpack. That fucking chunky, black backpack he’s had since high school. Back then you wondered what he carried around in it and every time you asked him, he would only shrug and grin. 

Teen boys and their mysterious behavior.

And just for a brief moment, you see your best friend from high school in front of you, sitting here next to you like back in the day – boyish grin and that same glint in his eye. He looks the same and it’s messing with your head because back then you were crushing hard on him. Jungkook has always dominated that casual, boyish charm and look and today is no different. He’s wearing an oversized white Nike t-shirt and black track pants from the same brand. There’s a yellow beanie on top of his head to tame his messy hair. For all you know, he could’ve gotten straight out of bed and gone to campus after throwing on the first outfit he could find – simple, casual, flattering.

The only difference is the two lip rings and the full sleeve of tattoos.

“Yeah, about that,” you start, shooting him a fake, over-friendly smile. “Don't worry about it – I’ll do the project and just add your name before handing it in.”

Jungkook blinks at you for a moment before recovering, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “why? You're scared I’ll fuck it up or some shit?”

You shake your head, “no, I just prefer working alone.”

“You always do projects with Jihyo though,” he points out, squinting his eyes at you.

“That’s different.”

“Is it? Or are you just saying that because I’m your partner?” He challenges.

How do you tell a guy who’s so used to getting his way and having people go out of their way to make sure he’s happy that you don’t want him as your project partner? That you’d rather do an important project that’s meant to be done in pairs by yourself and risk the possibility of getting stressed out just because you got paired up with him? 

“If I’m being honest, yes,” you tell him, not taking a moment to rethink your choice to confront him but just blurting it out instead. “I would rather work myself into the ground than do group work with you. So if you don’t mind…”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow as you do a gesture with your hands as if to shoo him away. He looks rather unbothered though, not moving an inch either. He stares at you for a second and if you didn’t know any better, you would almost assume he’s silently challenging you to try again, to tell him off and ‘shoo’ him away like a fucking bird. 

You don’t.

You stare back at him, your face not showing an ounce of anything as you patiently wait for him to get up and leave.

He doesn’t.

Instead the corners of his mouth curls into a faint smirk as he reaches for one of the iced americanos and slides it towards you. He then grabs the other one and turns to his laptop, silently sipping on his beverage while getting to work on the project.

You feel your blood starting to boil a little but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you pointedly snatch up the iced americano, once again turning your focus to the project at hand. You feel his eyes on you but you keep your eyes on your laptop screen, acting as if his presence isn’t affecting you or bothering you in any way.

You then give in and take a sip of the coffee.

Damn it… 

It’s a really good iced americano.

[gamerwoo]

Bang Chan: The Girl Who Didn't Cry Wolf (Part Two)

Characters: Bang Chan x fem reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, enemies-to-lovers-ish??, slowburn, werewolf/alpha!chan, (werewolf)hunter!reader, angst, a tiny bit of fluff, mentions that reader moved to korea, if i missed anything lmk!!

Word count: 1,953

Summary: You've learned to do whatever you can to protect yourself after an incident almost a decade ago had your father and brother dragging you to a new country to start all over even though they blamed you for what happened. After finding yourself stuck in a house of werewolves, you're forced to come to terms with your feelings over what happened back home when the alpha imprints on you and his pack claims they're keeping you prisoner. You know exactly how this will end if you give in, and yet you can't seem to get yourself to leave the sweet and charming werewolf who's willing to do anything to make you comfortable. You're just hoping that maybe there'll be a good end this time.

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“So am I your captive or what?”

Chan paused, looking up from his food, “What?”

You looked back at him, still chewing a mouthful of food, sitting criss-cross on his bed while he ate on the bed opposite yours, “Are you holding me hostage here until I… I don’t know, do whatever I’m supposed to do? Succumb to Stockholm syndrome or something?”

It was the next morning when Chan knocked on your door once again, and he didn’t actually expect you to open the door for him. You looked back at him with no expression, just blinking as he stared back in surprise. He was frozen seeing you cooperating even a little bit.

Strange werewolf hunter, was all he could think.

He had told you breakfast was about to be ready, but then you scowled and stated you weren’t going downstairs to eat with the pack. Were you holding a grudge against the two members of his pack that you’d scuffled with? Well, yeah. They both hurt you pretty badly – especially that Seungmin guy. If you had a chance, you’d give him a piece of your mind.

So a few minutes later, Chan returned with two plates of food and with a grin, said he was going to eat with you upstairs. So that’s what you were doing. And, again, he was shocked you were letting him keep you company. You were…oddly nice for a werewolf hunter – or supposed werewolf hunter.

“There’s no Stockholm syndrome if you’re not captive,” he chuckled with a shrug. “I guess…yeah, you could leave if you wanted.”

You were surprised by his answer, freezing mid-bite and just staring at him for a moment. He stared back, raising his eyebrows for your response.

“You’re not gonna force me into being your mate…?” you quizzed slowly, surprised that he was telling you that you had the option to leave.

“I mean, you and I both know I’m a hell of a lot stronger than this door. If I wanted to do anything to you, I could’ve by now, but you survived a night here. Woke up safe and sound,” he pointed out. “Besides…you could probably kill me if you wanted to.”

While that was true, you didn’t know if he could sense you didn’t have any plans to do so – at least not to Chan. You had started out as a hunter, but after fleeing to Korea, your father started training you and your brother to hunt werewolves specifically. And while you might’ve been really good at most parts of the training, it didn’t mean you liked what you were doing. But you wouldn’t let your father or brother know that.

“I don’t really have any weapons that could subdue a werewolf, though,” you reminded him.

“Well maybe if someone didn’t try to pull a knife on one of my pack,” he cocked his head and gave you a pointed smile.

“Nobody got hurt,” you scoffed, going back to your breakfast.

“There would’ve been a round two in my kitchen if I didn’t catch you before you jumped Minho,” he stated.

Okay, maybe he was right. However, the question of if you’d win that fight or not was definitely debatable considering you only had that tiny pocket knife as your weapon. Among…other reasons. But again, you were unsure if he knew that. He must’ve. He probably didn’t sense any werewolf hunter with you in the house, which was actually embarrassing on your part.

You were just grateful your father and brother lacked the senses that werewolves had.

As you settled into a surprisingly comfortable silence as you ate, your mind began to wander as it tended to do since ending up in this situation. And there was a lot to think about considering Chan was a werewolf, and you were a werewolf hunter who had…very strange circumstances.

Despite the fact you were training to be his sworn enemy, Chan didn’t seem to care. It was like he completely disregarded whatever instincts he had, and had given into the mating pull already. How he managed to just let go without a care, you weren’t sure. Your favorite answer was that Chan was just crazy and didn’t know how to be careful. But you figured it was because of how strong the pull was. Because if what the hunters taught you was correct about the strength of the pull, it would lead a person to do some very crazy and dangerous things…

But you were crazy, too, weren’t you? Because you hadn’t threatened him, tried to harm him, or even tried to run away once. You stayed in his bed when you woke up that morning and just thought. You didn’t try to sneak out or scream for help. You were letting this werewolf hold you captive, but he wasn’t even holding you captive. You were just staying at your own will at this point while his arms stayed wide open, giving you an out.

Yes, both of you were crazy. But maybe you were crazier than he was because the pull wasn’t even as strong for you as it was for him.

So, to at least keep a shred of your pride, you broke the silence and said, “Don’t think that this means I trust you now. I only wanted sustenance.”

“Of course,” he smiled, rolling his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it, hunter.”

“Your alpha must be angry with you,” you mused, putting a little less food into your mouth this time. “You’re a stupid wolf for imprinting on a– werewolf hunter.”

You hoped he didn’t notice how you hesitated with your words for a split second, the sentence almost flowing seamlessly but not quite as you tacked the ‘werewolf’ on at the last second.

But he didn’t seem to, scoffing with amusement by your comment, but he didn’t say why. Instead, he sat back in the chair like he was becoming more relaxed around you, especially now that your stomach had quieted.

“You’re one to talk. You let a wolf into your room when you have no weapons or defense. I even locked you in here and you didn’t complain once,” he pointed out. “I haven’t even heard you screaming for help up here.”

Your mouth opened, but silence followed instead. You almost gave yourself away, stopping before it was almost too late.

You realized Chan reminded you of him. Actually, the whole scenario did. You weren't sure you liked that, feeling your stomach twist uncomfortably.

“What’s up?” Chan wondered, noticed you staring into space with your mouth open.

Your mouth snapped shut and you quickly shook your head, “Nothing.”

You were becoming too soft around him so quickly. You were getting too comfortable without realizing, and you knew it was because of the mating pull. Suddenly, you could hear your brother and father’s voices in your head.

All werewolves are bad, _____, your father spat in your face during your very first werewolf hunter lesson, Even if you think you know them, they’re evil, horrible creatures! If you don’t kill them first, they’ll turn on you eventually.

But that memory made you think of another…

It’s your fault this happened, Nolan had scoffed at you once after one of your training sessions. You weren’t very good back then because, frankly, you didn’t want to be good, and your brother was pissed at you for not putting your heart in it, If it wasn't for you, we’d still be home and everyone would be happy and alive. Then you act like you don’t even want to make things right? I should shoot you myself, you fucking traitor.

You set the food down and shoved it away from you.

“I think you should go,” you stated coldly.

Chan suddenly sat up straighter, confusion on his face at how you suddenly seemed to just flip a switch, “What?”

“Get out,” you told him, looking across the room at him, dead in the eyes.

“I– What? Wait, was it what I said?” he asked quickly with a twinge of hurt in his eyes that you definitely noticed as he stood from the bed. “_____, I didn’t mean–”

You stood from the bed and pointed at the door, “You just had to feed me. I’m fed. Go. Away.”

Chan stood as well and walked over to where you stood in the middle of the room. Without thinking, he reached out to hold your hand, “_____–”

Immediately, your instincts kicked in. You quickly turned on your heel, keeping his hand in yours while reaching for his arm with the other, holding it over your shoulder. Then you pulled and bent over, throwing the werewolf over your body until he landed with a loud thud on the hardwood.

He didn’t even seem hurt. He just stared up at you in shock. He even seemed…a bit impressed. You’d just flipped him with ease.

You were shocked yourself. Some part of you felt...bad.

But now you could hear multiple sets of feet running up the stairs, and you knew you were in for it if his pack saw that you flipped him on his back. You harmed him. You were a threat to them now. Obviously you couldn’t fight all of them, so you just wanted to keep them all away from you.

“You have five seconds to get out of my room,” you told him, sounding more panicked than menacing.

Instead, he gave you a defeated look and pushed himself off the floor before going over to the bedroom door and unlocking it. He didn’t even look behind him as he left, but you heard the whine come from his chest.

Once the door was closed and you had locked it once again, you waited until you heard the commotion of the pack retreat back down the stairs. Then you sat back down on Chan’s bed and let out a deep sigh. Why did it have to be you? You were going through enough with conflicting ideals that went against what your family wanted you to feel. Now whatever higher power out there had to make it worse and force you to have feelings for a werewolf? Why did you have to be stuck being his mate? Why you? Why you?

You decided you needed to escape. The thought sent a twinge of pain to your heart that reminded you–

You shook the thought from your head, blinking rapidly to fight back tears as you took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Leaving was the only option for either of you to be safe. You wouldn’t tell Chan you wanted to keep him safe, but you knew you felt it and you had to act on it. The alternative was both of you getting killed, and probably even his pack. That wasn’t something you could let happen.

You glanced at the window that was perfectly centered between Chan's bed and Felix's. You stood and went to examine it, seeing a tree not too far from the window. You could probably jump to it and then climb down. Maybe while the pack was asleep.

You’d leave that night, you decided. You felt bad, thinking about leaving without any explanation. Maybe you could find a way to get some paper and a pen or something to leave a note?

No. If there was any evidence that you felt bad leaving…

As much as it hurt, you had to do it. You had to do a lot of other things in your life that hurt, anyway, so this was no different. Suck it up and carry on like always.

You were a strong werewolf hunter, after all. You had a reputation to live up to.

»»————-　　————-««

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[qin-qin16]

We need more Classic in this household and I'll help you with that.

How about this, just Sans being himself, punny and funny skeleton in reader's house but then they suddenly ask him to let them see his soul and touch it.

Getting his permission and they do just that, bcuz they are just being curious about how soul works while making sure not to make Sans uncomfortable.

Just fluff and mild suggestive to satisfied reader's curiosity. I'm counting on you with your beautiful writing 🤭

cw.: Classic Sans x Reader, Alphys is mentioned, fluff, bam! Kabedon scene, they're both a blushing mess... 

note: I'm trying out a new type of writing, let's see how it goes. I'll make a part two of this! So let's say this is a prequel :D

In the past days, a recurring question haunted your thoughts from time to time: what would Sans's soul be like? Sure, in a way, you knew exactly what a monster's soul looked like; there were no mysteries! An upside-down heart with a pattern color.

Even though it was fascinating to imagine that monster souls might, though rarely, have a color other than white, it still remained an impossible theory — at least, that’s what Dr. Alphys told you when you pondered the differences between human and monster souls out loud.

You can still hear her stuttering in an endless loop, a never-ending monologue filled with technical terms and theories that she contradicted during the conversation (which you participated in only as a listener later). Unfortunately, you could barely remember half of the information she threw at you — if your memory serves you right, Alphys deliberately mixed the topic with some shoujo anime she was watching at the time. If that served as some kind of analogy, you don’t remember.

In any case, one of the few pieces of information Dr. Alphys shared that really stuck with you was that viewing someone else's soul is an extremely intimate act — on a level of interpersonal relationships that spans years or even decades, according to research conducted in the Underground.

Since then, you found yourself constantly watching Sans, following him around the rooms until he went to work or locked himself in his office — always using the same excuse of working from home, but you were beginning to suspect that he simply didn’t want to handle the paperwork outside the house. 

He seemed to take pleasure in vanishing every time you gathered the courage to ask the long-awaited question—only to open your eyes and realize you were speaking to yourself. But this time, Sans wasn’t going to escape.

You had devised the perfect plan, and the moment to put it into action had arrived.

"Well, my break’s over; looks like I’ll have to work to the bone now. Heh." Sans remarked nonchalantly, shrugging as he made his way to his infamous hideout, the office (which had originally been a recreational area until Sans had slyly taken it over with his stacks of paper and dirty socks).

Time to put the first part of your plan into action.

Before Sans could even touch the doorknob, you rushed toward him — almost losing your balance as you had to sidestep his favorite pet rock.

Bam! The door slams shut with the palm of your hand, startling both you and the skeleton, who was still facing away with one hand on the doorknob. Without hesitation, you press your other hand against the door as well, pinning both of them against the wooden surface and effectively trapping Sans.

“Nah-uh!” you counter, watching him turn around with one bony eyebrow raised, looking more intrigued than surprised by your stance. “I know your meeting schedule for today, and you don’t have any meetings right now!” Your triumphant smile doesn’t escape Sans’s notice.

He chuckles before turning fully toward you, leaning his weight against the door. “Heh, looks like someone’s been watching too many anime.” He gives you a lazy wink, glancing at your arms pressing against the wall, one on each side of his head.

Even though he was the one cornered against the door, it was you who felt your own face burning, probably flushed after receiving such a rare wink from your boyfriend. Despite your composure slipping slightly, your hands stayed firmly pressed against the wall as your eyes roamed over Sans’s face — from his relaxed smile to the bright dots in his eyes.

“N-N-No, it’s not that, it’s just that—um…” You hadn’t expected to be this nervous when you came up with the plan, especially under Sans’s attentive gaze. “I-I…” You stammer once more before letting your eyes drop to the floor, focusing intently on it.

“C-Can I… see your soul? Please?” You never thought your voice could come out so softly, almost like a whisper meant to go unheard, timid and gentle.

You didn’t want to repeat the question, but after receiving no response—not even a half-hearted laugh — for a while, you glanced back up at his face, hoping to see his bony eyebrows furrowed in confusion or a hint of hesitation in his signature smile.

But all you see is a skull bathed in blue, with Sans’s eye sockets looking more widened than usual (was that even possible in a skeletal structure like his? Apparently, yes). As if mirroring him, your own eyes widen in surprise at seeing such an unusual expression on his typically relaxed face.

“What?” Unlike you, Sans spoke in a loud whisper. It seemed your question had completely unsettled him..

You inch closer to him, careful with your approach — as if you didn’t want to startle him further with your “unusual” actions. One of your hands glides down the door until it gently presses against Sans’s ketchup-stained shirt. Without realizing it, your face is now only inches from his, nearly brushing against him in a touchless caress.

“I want to see your soul…” you repeat, a bit louder this time, but still gentle and tinged with shyness. “I can show you mine first, if you’d like…” you add, gazing intently at the fuzzy lights within his eye sockets.

For a moment, you close your eyes, trying to muster the courage you had before. When you open them again, Sans is no longer in front of you — vanished like every other time you tried to ask that same question to him.  All that’s left is the office door and the rapid thumping of your own heart.

Inevitably, you let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of defeat on your shoulders. You gently bump your head against the door, knowing that sooner or later, Sans would have to face you, and if he were a good boyfriend, he would answer your question with some decency.

This turned out worse than I thought, you think aloud as you step away from the door and return to the old sofa in your home — your solace after the failure of your meticulously planned (or at least, in your mind, meticulously planned) scheme.

[soulshaped]

find me where you've left me

sirius black x reader | exes to lovers

wc: 1.6k

It seems silly to you, waiting outside for so long that you’ve lost complete feeling in your legs. Even covered by laced tights, the skin of them is now cold to the touch. The cigarette lit between your fingers is the closest thing you have to warmth and the feeling of its smoke swirling in your lungs keeps you just grounded enough to stay. 

You should leave, that much is painfully obvious. You should be at home right now, wrapped in a warm blanket instead of standing out here like a complete fool. But you can hear the laughter rumbling from the inner walls of the Leaky Cauldron and you can’t move. You don’t even know if it’s coming from them, from him, you can’t tell. Even then, it is all enough to make you stay and try to convince yourself to open the door and go in. 

The end of your cigarette is just beginning to kiss the tip of its filter when, 

“Merlin, why is it so fucking frigid out here? Moony, can we go back in?”

“It’s been seconds, we’ve literally just opened the door.”

“I don’t care! Feed your ugly habits on your own time, it’s my birthd-”

You really should have left when you had the chance.

It takes only seconds before a very, very drunk James is enveloping you in a hug that nearly crushes all of the bones in your back. He’s practically wailing your name as Remus tries to rip his best friend’s arms off of you with a slightly apologetic, slightly amused look in his eyes. 

“James, for godric’s sake, get off of the poor girl.” 

“Happy birthday Jamie,” you smile. 

“Where have you been?! We’ve been waiting all night for you!” 

“I’ve only just arrived, was just about to come in when you lot came tumbling out the door.” 

Remus knows you. Not in the way that Sirius ever did, but he knew you well enough to see right through your white lies. You suppose it comes with the territory of decade-long friendships, but at this moment, you wish it didn’t. You wish you could run away from Remus’ increasingly pitiful gaze and James’ drunken whines without feeling even a sliver of guilt. But they know as well as you that you were never going to make it home, even if every single survival instinct you had told you otherwise. 

“Well, come in then! It’s been faaaaaaar too long since I’ve seen this adorable, scowling face.”

“Yes, come on dove, it’s awfully cold out here,” Remus wraps his arm around you reassuringly and much to your dismay, ushers you through the pub doors. 

The intense warmth of the bar hits you first, followed almost immediately by the smell of cheap beer and fried food. It’s a little disgusting. It’s overwhelming. But still, it’s comforting to be here again after so much time away. How long has it been by now, six months? A year? Ever since the break up, you’ve had trouble keeping track of the time. Every day, you get up and you go to work. You ignore calls and answer texts with only the vaguest of responses. You try to forget the mess of it you made, but it’s harder than you ever imagined, so you try to forget it all. The mess grew and grew and before you knew it, it was much too big for you. What a foolish thing to do, you think. You realize now that you’ve missed it, so very dearly. In those quiet moments, lying in bed, you have missed it. It felt like dread, but it was yearning and you have missed it. Even more so, when you near the table of such familiar faces. 

Lily reaches for you first, her blazing red head of hair being the last thing you see before she buries you in a tight hug. It means more to you than she knows.

“Where have you been?!”

She unknowingly echoes James’ words exactly, and your instincts are stuck between laughing and crying in relief. 

How did you ever think you could go without this? 

You’re bombarded by hugs and kisses, one after another, and you wish you could bottle their warmth up, stow it away on a shelf for your rainiest days. It all happens in a blur and then, suddenly, he’s in front of you again. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere, y’know.”

He pulls you into his arms by instinct, like this is how it was always supposed to go. There is no hesitation, like you were always supposed to end up here, with him, time and time again – a missing piece found again. 

“I’ve been around, you could’ve found me.”

“Sweetheart, you are the hardest thing I’ve ever had to look for.”

“That can’t be true, you lose your motorcycle keys every third second of the day.” 

“You’re rotten,” he places his lips on your temple, “I’ve missed you, we all have.” 

He speaks the words into your skin, so gently. He was always his most gentle in these moments; he is always loving, but for you, he is always gentle. His presence is overwhelming; it crowds you in the most torrential and blunt ways, in a moment's notice, he is everywhere. Even when you can’t possibly squeeze into the overcrowded booth after him, his grip on your waist is unwavering, like there is nowhere else you should sit. 

Stories, new and old, are told again and again over countless drinks. The new ones are just as exciting as they are depressing to hear, you can’t help the little details you’re missing as if the story isn’t quite all there, some inside joke that you’re only now catching the tail end of. Marlene complains about her new (to you, at least), shitty boss that she kind of wants to seduce while everyone groans at her to just fuck her already. Remus talks a little about his new chapter of a book you know nothing about and Dorcas discusses her on-and-off again situationship in excruciating detail. 

Lily and James talk about their tentative plans to move in together sometime in the next year, but the look in James’ eye makes you a bit suspicious. It’s nervous, almost, like he’s holding himself back from spilling something big. It’s the same look as when he had to keep his promotion to captain of the Quidditch team a secret. He lasted a day before he spilled over breakfast in the Great Hall. 

Sirius taps on the bit of revealed skin on your hip twice, signaling you to turn towards him as he leans in closer to your ear. 

“He’s thinking of proposing. Soon, we think. In the next few months.”

You try your best to keep a neutral look on your face as you pull back to look at him. 

“Shut up.”

“I’m Sirius.”

You want to roll your eyes for this terrible, terrible joke you’ve heard too many times, but you can’t help but laugh. It bubbles out of you like a hiccup, and you start to laugh so hard you want to cry. You might cry. 

Sirius shuffles you out of the booth and nudges you out the pub door before you have any say in it, you think you hear him saying something to the table, but you can’t tell. You’re already crying, the tears blocking out all of your surroundings. All but Sirius, who stands in front of you now, in the cold, cradling your face in his uncharacteristically warm palms. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sor-”

He shushes you before pulling you in, your face meets his neck as his hands meet the nape of yours, holding you to him. 

“It’s not your fault, baby.”

“It is, though. I’ve missed out on,” you gasp in between sobs, “everything! I’ve missed out on everything. And now James and Lily are getting married, Remus is writing a book for godric’s sake, and you…”

“And I’m the same.”

“You’re not.”

“I am exactly the same,” he smiles gently, “I am right where you left me.”

You lift a finger and swipe under his eye gently; it’s a habit that started back in your school days, when Sirius was experimenting with black eyeliner and you were hopelessly in love with him. You would always brush your thumb under his eye, maybe to help wipe off the residue, maybe just as an excuse to touch him. 

The breakup was mutual, for the most part. It was never for a lack of love, but rather, too much of it for the two of you to handle. Both of you are not known for your understanding of love and commitment, neither of you were taught how to properly by family, not like James or Lily. As teenagers, that seemed so far off like it was never going to be a problem, not knowing. All you had was this immense, overflowing love for each other and even the thought of it becoming too much was incomprehensible. And yet, come adulthood, after years of being with one another, it became suffocating. 

The commitment suddenly felt too serious, the love was too overbearing. When you are never taught how to love and care for another being for what is seemingly forever, when you never have these examples to look up to, it is an impossible task. It is daunting, it is terrifying. You reassure one another that you’re both so young, you’re only in your early twenties and there is so much more life to live. But neither of you wanted to admit the reality of the situation – most of your lives have been spent together, rather than apart. The breakup that followed was inevitable, really. 

But after all of this time, you realize you would have rather spent it with him beside you. No matter how many months, years, decades may pass, you would always prefer to spend it with him.

So he is right, you are right where he left you.

[blacksheep28]

https://www.tumblr.com/blacksheep28/781861652058554368/httpswwwtumblrcomblacksheep28781775366005063?source=share

It took a handful of visits from Mobei Jun before I finally realized what was going on. It was hard to look past the anger when he hit Airplane at first. I had known it was coming, but it still made me angry. Watching Mobei Jun however I realized this wasn't just abuse. He was expecting something from this exchange. When I realized what it was it felt incredibly obvious.

[He's treating you like a demon.]

"What?" Airplane paused in icing his bruises.

[Character Mobei Jun is treating Host like a lesser demon joining his court. But Host is not a demon, and cannot respond to it.]

"He-of course," Airplane muttered. "Demons communicate everything through violence, of course it would also be around their servants. Why did I ever think that was a good idea to include? Ah, but it had paid so well for sexy scenes."

[Host should research demon culture and speak to Character Mobei Jun about human differences.]

"You think he'd take that from a lowly servant?"

[Character Mobei Jun doesn't know he's mistreating Host. Would Character Mobei Jun be pleased to mistreat a servant?]

"No, he's too cool for that-f*** I see what you mean. I'm going to have to actually talk to him, ah! My king, my king, how am I supposed to talk about this?"

[Host could write it down for Mobei Jun to read.]

He panicked about it for a week before he finally managed to jot something down. Then tore it apart. Rewrote it. Threw it out. Wrote it again. And had to go through at least another eight edits before he stopped. He fretted about wanting to look up how demons behaved as well. He complained about how he should know it, he was the author, but he still didn't know what the right move was. I assured him that was fine. He knew a lot, he had a lot in his head, he couldn't be expected to remember everything perfectly. It had been almost two decades since he died after all.

The actual conversation between the two was painfully awkward. Mobei Jun was in fact dumbfounded to learn he had been mistreating his newest servant, and rather stuck on how to correct it. He had absolutely zero guidance on how to go about that, and Airplane wasn't exactly helping. I did prompt him to explain what he would like: clear instructions on what to do, and being told when he did wrong before punishment so he would have a chance to correct it. Airplane even managed to squeak out a request to be told when he did a good job.

Mobei Jun asked what Airplane got out of the entire arrangement if he wasn't looking to shelter under Mobei Jun like he had thought. Airplane almost stuck his foot in his mouth before I prompted him to ask Mobei Jun to teach him about demons in exchange. Airplane couldn't say he just wanted to serve Mobei Jun, that would only confuse the demon prince.

The new dynamic was awkward for both of them. Airplane spent a ton of time fretting about how Mobei Jun might choose to leave him behind. He was awfully stuck on that considering he had been afraid Mobei Jun might try to kill him. But Airplane rarely took the easy path. That would require him to not panic and dart down the first available option that popped into his head.

Airplane's room was a safe place, a sanctuary for Mobei Jun away from the threats to his life. He could relax there, and he could get medical help. And even if Airplane wasn't great at understanding demons, he knew plenty about the threats to Mobei Jun's life he had planned for his character in another life. And about treasures that would surely be useful to him.

Airplane's confidence shot up rapidly. He was already doing better in this life than the previous one, as I had kept him out of survival mode and given him company. But he had still been lonely. Mobei Jun changed that. Sure their dynamic was a strange one with both trying to figure the other out, but every time Mobei Jun came back Airplane was happier.

It felt great to watch him gain this. One day he would travel to the Northern Desert when it was safe and get to see more of this world. For now however it was best that the two lingered here in An Ding. The decade before Tianglang Jun's sealing passed. I mentioned it to Airplane, and he seemed surprised by the reminder that the plot was still, in a manner of speaking, ongoing. He wasn't a pick to be the future peak lord, and he hadn't felt a need to drive himself forward that way. He did idly mention that perhaps Cang Qiong Mountain Sect would be better off without a traitor peak lord. It didn't truly matter, not to me at least, as long as my host was happy.

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