#then i get low n i just. can't think of a reason to fight it anymore

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

It never gets any fucking easier does it

[amiableness]

Peonies ; part four

Pairing: Theo Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Mattheo is in an awful mood after the party while Theo takes reader to the peony field.

Word Count: 4772

Warnings: Unrequited love & Mattheo and Theo get into it. Reader overthinks for a little bit. Mentions of drugging? One mention of Y/n. Let me know if there’s more!

A/N 💌 I can't tell you how nervous I am to post this, I feel like it's not my best work. But regardless, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. As usual thank you to @moonpascal for reading, helping me with ideas, and just providing support and comfort. I love you endlessly!

SERIES MASTERLIST <3

“Did something happen last night between you and Mattheo?” Pansy asks, throwing the door open with an expectant look. Despite your low mood, you can’t help but crack a tiny smile at the sight of her—hair a tousled mess, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. She’s the perfect picture of someone who had way too much fun last night.

“Is there any particular reason you’re asking?” You reply cautiously, eyes following her as she saunters over and slips into bed beside you. She gives the blanket a hard tug, leaving you to huff in irritation when she claims more than her fair share.

“Because I heard him and Veronica fighting. I didn’t catch much, but I did hear your name.” Pansy looks you over, taking in your rumpled clothes and tired eyes. You’re not in much better shape than she is, and she can’t tell if it’s the lingering effects of last night’s drinks or the aftermath of whatever happened with Mattheo.

“Merlin,” you sigh, rolling your eyes and sinking deeper into the warmth of your bed. You haven’t moved since Theo left about twenty minutes ago, and you’re not sure if you’ll find the energy to do so anytime soon. Honestly, the idea of staying curled up here is more tempting than you’d like to admit. “We got into it again last night.”

“Again?” Pansy raises an eyebrow, shifting to face you.

“Apparently, he does care.” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm and frustration.

“He told you that?” Pansy shifts so quickly it’s as if you’ve shocked her. Both of you know very well that Mattheo isn’t the type to open up about what he’s feeling. Years of watching him around his parents taught you why—with how many times you had seen them scold him for even a flicker of emotion, it was no wonder he kept everything locked up.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling, “He said he wanted me to admit I have feelings for him too.” Pansy’s eyes widen, her mouth falling open as she stares at you in disbelief.

“Feeling for him too?” She echoes, and you finally turn to meet her eyes with a weak nod. Your best friend sits there for a moment, studying your face carefully before choosing her next words. She knows she has a nasty habit of saying the first thing on her mind without considering that it might not be what you need to hear.

Pansy sits up, grabbing the pillow she was using and hugging it to her chest as she stares at you impatiently. She’s waiting to hear if you’ve finally told the boy you’ve been head over heels for, for years, that you like him too. “Well? Did you?”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Please, tell me it’s for the reason I’m thinking.” She all but begs, her eyes wide with hope.

You let out a weary sigh. “I don’t know when I stopped having feelings for him, Pans. I didn’t even realize I’d lost them until he asked me to tell him I felt the same, and there was just...”

“Just..?” Pansy prompts gently.

A pause hangs between you as you search for the right words.

You hardly slept last night; your mind raced with thoughts of the past few months, trying to pinpoint when and how your feelings faded so quietly. You had liked Mattheo for so long, even convinced yourself that maybe you even loved him.But how could you truly love someone who was so closed off? Sure, he turned to you when he was struggling, but that didn’t mean he ever shared what he was feeling. He liked your presence and relied on you to be there whenever he needed support, but he never trusted you enough to truly let you in.

Not in the way you wanted, at least.

If he wasn’t comfortable with his own emotions, there was no way he would be able to handle yours. Maybe that was the heart of it—the realization that he would never fully open up to you, and that had kept you from falling in love with him. And maybe that was the best thing that could have happened, no matter how painful or uncomfortable it was to come to terms with at the beginning.

Then there was Theo. Who had promised to help you get over Mattheo, and from that moment on, he was there for you without hesitation. He held your hand whenever you needed it, and honestly, you had begun to lean on him a bit too much—being close to him had become your favorite feeling. He never made it feel like supporting you was a chore; instead, he made it seem like something he had always longed to do.

In truth, everything had changed for you. Spending time with Theo was no longer just a way to distract yourself from Mattheo; it became where you wanted to be. Being around him made you feel safe and accepted in a way you hadn’t realized you craved.

And that was absolutely terrifying.

You sit up abruptly, fully facing Pansy, “When you said that you thought Theo would give me everything if I let him, did you mean that?”

“Babes,” she begins, sending you a soft smile. “I’ve always thought you would be good for Mattheo. You bring something out in him; he’s happiest when he’s around you. Veronica seemed to make him happy at first—” she adds with a snort—“but nowhere near the level you do.”

“But with Theo…” Pansy trails off. “I’ve never seen you so happy—and not the kind of happy you were with Mattheo. It’s not the relief of him not having a one-night stand or flirting with you a bit bolder at a party. It’s genuine happiness; you’re truly yourself. Theo brings out a different side of you, and you do that for him, too.”

Glancing over at the vase of red peonies, battling the tightness in your throat and the sting in your eyes. You decide you’d rather not spend the day in bed.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Since last night, Theo has been struggling to push away the thought that maybe the idea of you having feelings for him isn’t so far-fetched. Especially after you’d implied that the two of you were together to the girl who’d tried to flirt with him. The way you’d intertwined your fingers with his, staking a silent claim that he was off-limits, had left him reeling. There was no way you’d be so possessive if you didn’t feel the same. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself all morning.

And then there was the way you hadn’t been able to answer Mattheo about your feelings. Theo’s whole heart had been in his throat as he waited for you to tell Mattheo that you did have feelings for him, that you’d had them for years. But you hadn’t answered.

In a way, though, you had, hadn’t you? You’d pushed past Mattheo without a word and gone straight to him.

“Are you coming with us to Hogsmeade or not?” Enzo nudges Theo, pulling him out of his thoughts. The boys had all planned to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend, a plan set firmly in stone since last weekend. But when Theo saw you this morning, he couldn’t hold back. On impulse, he asked if you wanted to spend some time together, suggesting—almost shyly—that he could finally show you where he’d been getting the peonies.

“No, I’ve got plans.” Theo shrugs, and Draco sends him an irritated look from the opposite couch.

“We made plans.” Draco huffs, clearly agitated with the change. He always hated it when the boys ditched at the last second.

“Something came up.” Theo sighs, hoping that he’ll let it go quickly. He’s well aware that Mattheo should be coming down the stairs at any second. Enzo had told them that he was taking forever to get ready, probably hungover from last night. 

“You mean your girl.” Blaise corrects, and Draco looks disgusted. His head swings back to look at Theo.

“You’re ditching us for her? Mate, that’s pathetic.” Draco scoffs. “She isn’t even your girlfriend.”

“She’s pretty damn close.” Blaise points out, and Theo tries his best to ignore the feeling that jolts through him when he thinks of you as his girlfriend.

He doesn’t have a chance to say anything—not that he would have—before Mattheo walks over to join the group. He claps a hand on Draco’s shoulder, only for Draco to shrug him off irritably. “C’mon,” Mattheo says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As the others rise, stretching and adjusting their robes, Theo remains seated, gaze fixed on the fireplace in front of him. Mattheo pauses, giving him a puzzled look, one brow lifting in question. “You’re not coming?”

“No.” Theo answers curtly, clearly uninterested in extending the conversation. The truth is, he hasn’t spoken to Mattheo in quite a while, and when they do, it’s nothing but tension—a quiet frustration simmering beneath each exchange.

Mattheo’s curiosity sharpens. “Why not?”

“He’s got plans with his girl,” Draco interjects with a roll of his eyes, impatience seeping into his voice. “Now, can we go? We’ve waited long enough for you as it is.”

“Wait. Hold on,” Mattheo turns to face him fully, and Draco huffs when he realizes they’re not going to be leaving any time soon. “Your girl?”

“You know what he means.” Blaise interjects calmly, his eyes shifting to Mattheo as he watches tension coil through his stance.

Mattheo gives a casual shrug, though his jaw tightens. “No, Blaise, I really don’t.”

Theo huffs, rolling his eyes as he stands, making to push past. “Why the hell do you even care?”

Mattheo’s hand snaps out, stopping him mid-step. “You know why I care.”

Theo’s gaze darkens, voice low. “Oh, you mean because of your feelings for her?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Does your girlfriend know that you told Y/n you’ve always liked her?”

Theo’s eyes flicker over Mattheo’s shoulder, catching the shared looks between Blaise, Enzo, and Draco. There’s no shock in their expressions—only a knowing look as if they’d been bracing for this moment all along. It’s unsettling, the way they seem almost resigned, like they’ve seen the tension building between him and Mattheo from a mile away.

Mattheo scoffs, an edge of irritation slipping into his voice. “Did she go and tell you everything I said?”

Theo raises a brow, “No, I overheard you. But even if she did, what does it matter to you?”

Matteo narrows his eyes, “Because I care about her.”

“Bullshit. If you cared about her, you wouldn’t have put her in that position last night.”

“I care about her more than you think.” Mattheo bites out, and the boys watch carefully as Mattheo takes another step forward.

“Right,” Theo scoffs, “You care so much you went and found yourself another girl.”

Theo sees it before Mattheo even speaks—the subtle shift in his expression, the tightening of his jaw, the flicker of defensiveness flashing in his eyes. “I wasn’t ready to—”

“So you weren’t ready for her? But you were for Veronica? I don’t get it. You can’t just expect her to always be there when you finally figure out what you want.”

Mattheo laughs in disbelief, “I wasn’t waiting, I—”

“Then what the hell were you doing?” Theo’s voice sharpens. “You had years to tell her how you felt, and you didn’t say anything. Then you get a girlfriend, she starts spending time with me, and all of a sudden, you care? Leave her alone and quit messing with her.”

“I’m not fucking messing with her—”

“You are. You’ve been doing it for years.” Theo’s eyes flash with frustration, and suddenly he feels the urge to make it clear that he wants you—that he always has, and Mattheo isn’t the only one. “She deserves better than someone who can’t make up their mind. She deserves to be someone’s first choice.”

Mattheo’s expression hardens and his tone drops. “And that’s you?”

Theo doesn’t have the chance to answer, because Veronica’s shriek causes both their heads to snap in her direction, “Matty!”

Theo watches as Mattheo steps back, anger giving way to frustration, a quiet curse slipping from his lips at the sight of his girlfriend. Veronica strides forward, pushing right past Blaise and Enzo without a second glance. Blaise shoots her an agitated look, irritation flashing in his eyes as she barrels through.

“I thought you said you guys were going to Hogsmeade.” Veronica smiles, reaching out to take Mattheo’s hand, but he subtly pulls away, dodging her touch with a flicker of impatience in his eyes.

“We are.” He grumbles under his breath, but Veronica keeps smiling sweetly, unfazed, as if her boyfriend hadn’t just blatantly brushed off her attempt to hold his hand. Mattheo turns to leave, muttering something to the boys, likely a brief comment about their plans.

Theo watches as an agitated Mattheo strides out of the common room, with the boys trailing behind him. But the boys glance back at Theo, their expressions a mix of caution and confusion. Theo turns to leave as well, but Veronica’s voice stops him, soft and pointed, just loud enough for him to hear.

“You should tell your girlfriend that last night was a mistake,” she murmurs, a sympathetic smile tugging at her lips. “Mattheo thought she was me; you know how he gets after a few too many drinks.”

Theo thinks about correcting her, letting her know that he doesn’t really know what she means at all. From what he saw last night, Mattheo was tipsy—not that drunk—and Theo has had enough years of experience to tell the difference. But instead, he shrugs it off, deciding he’d rather find you than spend any more time in the common room.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

“Hogsmeade is that way.” You say, a bit confused, gesturing in the opposite direction as you walk beside Theo.

“I know.” He replies simply, his gaze flickering back to the trail that you’ve never gone down before. Honestly, you had no idea it even existed. It’s evident that this path isn’t used often, as moss and grass have claimed most of the walkway. Vibrant wildflowers dot the sides, their colors brightening the greenery around them. 

He’s been quiet for most of the walk, which feels strange; you’re not used to this side of him. The more time you’ve spent with Theo, the more he’s opened up—sharing memories of his late mum, the weight of his father’s expectations, and his hopes for the future. These walks, where you slowly unravel each other’s stories, have become your thing, something that only the two of you share.

You frown slightly, glancing at him as you try to piece it together. “But I thought you said you got the flowers from a shop.”

“I never said that.” Theo’s lips curve into that soft, gentle smile that never fails to send your stomach into a flutter. “I said I’d take you with me the next time I went to get some. I never said it was in Hogsmeade.”

It takes you a second, too enamored with the view in front of you for it all to click. The walk isn’t long, but as you continue down the path, you spot a patch of red ahead. It stands out against the greenery, a cluster of flowers blooming a pretty, vibrant hue. You can’t quite tell what kind they are, but when you glance at Theo, you notice the way his eyes flicker nervously, and it suddenly feels like you’re walking toward something important.

But then it hits you all at once: “They’re peonies.”

On instinct, you grab Theo’s hand, giving it a playful tug to urge him along toward the blooms. He lets out a soft laugh at your enthusiasm, and a warmth fills you as his earlier mood seems to lift, the tension in his shoulders fading.

When you reach the edge of the flower field, you pause, still holding Theo’s hand as your gaze lingers over the vibrant blooms stretching out before you. Theo glances at you, heart beating a little faster as he wonders what you’re thinking, but he brushes aside his nerves and releases your hand, shrugging off his jacket to lay it carefully on the ground. You murmur to him, urging him not to squish any of the flowers, and Theo smiles, his expression softening as he gently reassures you that he won’t.

There isn’t much room on his jacket, so you find yourself pressed against Theo’s side—though you don’t mind in the slightest. He’s leaned back on his hands, while you sit cross-legged beside him.

The quiet is soothing, broken only by the soft chatter of birds and the occasional hum of an insect drifting from flower to flower. The warmth of the sun on your skin feels heavenly, its heat a welcome contrast to the long, cold months that have passed.

“Is this why you left? The first night you stayed with me?” You ask, glancing to the right to watch his reaction. 

From where you’re seated, you can see how the sunlight catches every small detail of his face, highlighting any imperfections. There’s the faint mole on his cheekbone, his dark lashes that you’re secretly jealous of, and the thin scar along his chin from when he fell off his broom as a kid. Another mark splits through his brow—a scar whose origin he could never quite remember, but has always just been there. It tugs at you, knowing you can recall the origins of his faded scars. It might seem trivial, but it means he’s let you in, sharing parts of himself that not everyone gets to see.

Theo nods, “I had to go early in the morning to give them to Pansy. With practice later, it was the only chance I could.”

A smile creeps onto your face as you imagine Theo, slightly awkward but determined, handing over the bundle of flowers and the little card to Pansy, who no doubt teased him relentlessly. You’d had wondered how she noticed that Theo was different with you, especially when most of your time together was just the two of you. But now, hearing this, you understand perfectly how she recognized a side of him that only seems to surface around you.

“I didn’t want to leave, y’know.” Theo continues, finally glancing over at you, and the effect is instant—those watercolor eyes meet yours, sending a flutter through your stomach as you instinctively lean closer, feeling yourself melt into his side.

“The flowers made up for it,” you tease, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Aside from you, they were the only thing that made me feel better.”

“Yeah?” Theo glances down at you, tucked into his side, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Hearing you say the flowers meant something to you eases any nerves he had—because they were never just a way to cheer you up. They were his quiet, unspoken way of telling you that he was there, that he cared. And that, despite your feelings for Mattheo, he was an option too.

“Yeah.” You confirm.

For the rest of the afternoon, you and Theo sat together, talking about whatever came to mind as you picked flowers. You gathered a few, but mostly you watched as Theo picked the ones he liked the most, adding to the small bundle that sat between you both. Watching him carefully select the prettiest flowers, knowing he was going to give them to you, made something shift inside you. If you hadn’t fully realized your feelings before, you were certain of them now.

You lost track of time with Theo, but eventually, he had to leave for practice. He handed you the freshly picked flowers and walked you back to the castle, stalling as if reluctant to say goodbye. In the end, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and murmured a quiet ‘thank you.’ You didn’t want to say goodbye either, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be the reason Theo might get into trouble.

It wasn’t until you got back to your dorm, leaning against the door with a giddy squeal, the flowers pressed to your chest, their scent lingering in the air, that the realization hit you. You should’ve kissed him. The thought made your stomach dip with excitement, and for a fleeting moment, you entertained the idea of running after him, catching him just before practice, and kissing him. Absentmindedly, your hand rises to trace your lips, lost in your racing thoughts. 

You’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t notice Pansy at her desk, watching you with an amused look.

“You look like you had a good time.” Pansy smirks as you startle and send her a look before pushing away from the door.

“Pansy, I’m fucked.” You whine and she lets out a loud laugh.

“You were from the second he stayed the night with you.” You pause for a moment, letting the realization settle in, and as it does, you know she’s right. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so safe with someone—not in the way you did that night. Sure, you felt safe with Mattheo, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t compare to the way you felt when you were with Theo.

“Did you know he’s been picking me flowers?” You ask instead, setting the new bundle onto your desk before turning to face Pansy. 

“Oh, I knew.” Pansy hums, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. 

“How did I not notice?” You wonder aloud. 

“You were a little distracted.” Pansy shrugs, and you nod in agreement.

After Pansy tells you she’s meeting Blaise after practice, you briefly wonder if you should go with her. You sit on your bed, lost in thought, weighing the decision, but before you can make up your mind, Pansy is already gone.

As much as you want to see Theo, you hesitate, not wanting to assume that today meant as much to him as it did for you. It’s clear from the fact he’s been picking you flowers that he has feelings for you, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself or risk ruining something before it has a chance to begin. So, you stay in your dorm, trying to focus on an assignment you’ve been putting off for far too long, though your mind keeps drifting back to him.

So when you hear the knock, your heart skips a beat, and before you can think, you’re off your bed and rushing to the door. You know exactly who is on the other side and your stomach flutters in anticipation. You pause just before opening it, taking a deep breath to calm the flutter of nerves in your stomach, willing yourself to appear composed. 

You pull the door open, forcing a casual smile as you try to sound unaffected. “Hi,” you say, though your voice betrays the excitement simmering just beneath the surface.

Theo stands in front of you, one hand holding onto the doorframe. His hair is a tousled mess, and his cheeks are flushed—whether from practice or the rush of seemingly running here, you can’t quite tell.

And when he looks up at you, he’s out of breath and looks downright impatient, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” You pause, thrown off and completely caught off guard. That was not what you expected him to say, and your mind spirals into the worst possible conclusions. Was he regretting what happened earlier? Apologizing for showing you the flowers, or for picking some for you? Giving you flowers at all? Maybe his feelings for you weren’t strong enough, or perhaps he only thought he had them? The thought that it could be too soon after your feelings for Mattheo crossed your mind, even though you’d started moving on from him months ago, gnaws at you.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, releasing the doorframe and stepping forward, one step, then another. He pauses, giving you a moment to pull away if you need to, but you stay rooted to the spot, unable to move. Theo stands so close now that you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze. He reaches up, and your breath catches when his thumb gently brushes against your cheek, his hand settling just below your ear. His voice is quiet, but the weight of his words makes your heart stutter. “I should’ve kissed you, dolcezza.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your skin as he steps even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. His words tumble out in a rush, desperate and raw. “All through practice, all I could think about was you. The moment I walked away, I just wanted to turn around and kiss you.” His voice drops to a whisper, low and thick with a longing that sends shivers down your spine.

You murmur his name softly, but he’s barely listening, his gaze intense as he leans in slightly, his lips just inches from yours. “Fuck, you’ve been on my mind for months—years, if I’m being honest. I feel like I’m losing my mind, wondering if you feel even a fraction of what I do.” His hand still lingers at your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin, the warmth of his touch sending a tremor through you as if he’s waiting for something—waiting for you to say what he’s too afraid to ask.

It’s you who closes the distance, your lips meeting his in a sudden, fervent kiss that catches him off guard, pulling a surprised moan from deep in his throat. His body reacts instantly, his free hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you against him. The sound he makes causes a rush of warmth to flood your veins. He’s hardly touched, and you’re already too warm, and your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. You let him guide you backward, the pressure of his hand firm against your back until your steps falter just inside your dorm. Every inch of him feels like fire against your skin, and your previous worries fade into nothing.

Once you’re inside, he kicks the door closed with a thud but the sound barely registers. Without any hesitation, he presses you back against the door, his body close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. But you want him closer. Somuch closer. One hand rests flat against the door beside your head, while the other cups your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. Then, it’s him who leans in, his lips meeting yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that deepens with an aching intensity. There’s no rush now—just an overwhelming wave of longing, a perfect culmination of the emotions you’ve both held back. Your head spins, your heart races, and you’re certain that if you could take your temperature in this moment, it would be burning hot.

But then, slowly, he pulls back just enough to break the kiss, his breath heavy and uneven. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, both of you struggling to catch your breath. You feel the urge to close the distance between you again, to press your lips to his, because there’s something about the way Theo kisses that leaves you breathless, already craving more. But then again, maybe it’s just him—the way his touch makes a thrill course through you.

“I wanted you to kiss me before you left—”

The door jolts against your back, halting you mid-sentence as Pansy’s voice cuts through the moment. “What the hell? Open the door.” You hold your breath, hoping that if you stay silent, she might forget the whole thing and simply go away.

But that’s wishful thinking: “Babes. Please open the door.”

“I thought you were hanging out with Blaise.” You call back, stealing a glance at Theo, whose expression mirrors your own surprise. Before leaving practice, he’d told Blaise to keep Pansy distracted—he wanted time with you because he had planned on telling you exactly how he felt about you.

“It’s about Mattheo.” Your brows raise is surprise at the intensity in Pansy’s voice and you fling open the door without another thought.

“What’s wrong?” Theo stands behind you, watching the way your face turns nervous.

“Veronica’s been giving him a love potion,” she says softly, her eyes studying your face as it twists in disbelief. “He’s in the infirmary... and he’s asking for you.”

please please please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write, and reblogs help to spread my work 🤍

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hi !!!! I’m sorry if this is bothering you and if so you can totally ignore this but…

I’ve been thinking about how Ghost would react to reader gradually pulling away from him because she gained some weight and is self conscious and ashamed and doesn’t want to be seen by him, so sculpted and beautiful… but of course he’s feeling low because he wants to be close to reader and so he asks and she finally explains it to him (ready to be broken up with…)…. And I’d love to read your take on it !

You can make it female or gender neauteal I don’t really care !!!! Thank you anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wildflowers Grow in Ruins

(Ghost x F!Reader, word count: 5 k)

Summary: Reader tries to break up with Ghost because she thinks she's not good enough for him.

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, soft sensual smut 🔞, hurt/comfort, light angst, Jealous!Ghost, Soft!Ghost, self-loathing & self-body shaming. Good girl talk/praise kink. Reader is female and wears a skirt for smut plot purposes.

A/N: I hope you like this take & I hope you don't mind that I tweaked this request just a little bit!) Also: JFC I'm wordy. The "I need to explain why they're fucking!" meme comes to mind every time I write anything.

Wars are exhausting. 

You know fighting for something can empower people. Fighting against something usually just depletes your strength.

But waging a war against yourself… 

Now that is pure hell. 

It started somewhere in your youth. You thought adulthood would take it away; that reason and tolerance would take it away. You were supposed to feel more confident in yourself, more positive about life. And for a moment, you thought you might just succeed.

But standing beside a god of war is no easy feat.

He came into your life like a walking myth, swept you away, and you only laughed as you went. It was fun at first. He was supposed to be your savior, the solution to all your problems. If a man like him found you attractive, perhaps it was the world that was crooked and not you.

But then you got soft: you started to gain pounds. Meanwhile, he became even more magnificent. It reminded you that it had all been just a dream.

Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed to worship you, that seemed to look past your every flaw. Perhaps it was the hands which never seemed to get enough of your skin. Whatever it was, it was too much. And at the same time, never enough.

The day has finally come to let him go.

You think yourself heroic. It's like it should be: it's only right that you finally release him to someone better than you.

But inside, the noble feelings twist and turn and curl around your throat and stuff your stomach full of ice - the kind they fill glasses of mojito with. The drink you'll always remember him by because he teased you about it: that you wanted an ice-cold summer drink even in the middle of winter.

Now you feel cold all over, and wish he could warm you like he used to. 

You would forsake all the mojitos of the world to keep him. You would renounce the whole drink if it came to that; if you could make him yours.

But he's not yours. He never was: he was just on loan to give you a taste of what it would be like to have a man like him. That taste should be more than enough for a lifetime. You should feel grateful.

So why is it so hard to let go?

The key on the front door turns, and your heart shoots up your throat: you're supposed to settle this thing once and for all. You're supposed to let go of him today. 

And still, when he arrives, you can't find the courage to say what you need to say. The words are stuck in your throat, but tears are not. He should already be a memory, but you find yourself suffocating on memories as you cry. You've learned to do even that in silence, like the rest of your suffering.

You take a few deep breaths, wipe the tears away, shove the rest of them down your throat – you save them for later, later, when he's far away and you can finally curl up and cry your heart out without no one there to look. Fucking later.

Good. 

Good.

Great.

You put your heaviest armor on. It protects weak and soft flesh because you can't meet him all bare. Then you step forward with the knowledge that you’re a thoroughly wounded guerrilla while he is a seasoned, well-rested veteran. The fight is nowhere near even, but it's ok. You are not meant to be in the presence of immortals anyway.

The man looks at you warily as you finally enter the room. That haunted look has followed you for some time now as the distance between you has grown. 

It should be easy, what is about to come, because he hasn't touched you in weeks. You haven't wanted him to.

Or you have… But it's not easy to have his hands on you when your body is only a vessel you hate. How can you even think about pleasure when all you think about is how it must feel for him to caress something as awful as this?

The man is a vision, and he settles for a peasant. It should be against the law, but it's not… so you figured a some time ago that you should simply find the strength and grace to do ii: do what's right.

"I need to talk to you." 

Your voice comes out neutral, and it makes you more confident, if only for a second or two.

He lifts his chin: already knows what's coming, because he's not stupid. You've been shutting down for weeks, and he hasn't done much about it. But when the thunder rolls in, he doesn't flee. Probably because he fears nothing.

"Go ahead then," he says, equally as neutral, equally as icy. Got his armor on, too. 

This should be easy…

It's really not, so you decide to rip the band-aid off in one yank.

"I think we should go separate ways."

The following inhale from across the room pierces the air like a bullet. You can hear his breaths gain depth and speed all the way to where you're standing.

"Ok."

It doesn't look or sound like he's ok. If anything, he looks like he's trying to process the sudden storm. 

"Ok…" His eyes are on the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. Then he starts to pace around the little kitchenette you've shared for almost six months, just before you started gaining weight.

He stops to look out the window, then turns to you, and the hurt in his stare comes through like a thousand needles pushing through skin.

"Is it because of my work?" 

"No."

"What is it then?"

Your breaths are getting out of hand, too. He looks like a lost, tired creature in an abandoned animal shelter for a moment, and it breaks your heart. It squeezes the organ inside a flaming fist until it shatters like it has never been nothing more than ice.

Your lip starts to tremble, and he notices, as per usual. Nothing escapes this man, except perhaps the true reason for your anguish.

"Hey. Hey."

He comes to you and hugs you like it's the only thing that matters: to comfort you when he sees you're about to cry, no matter how crushed he's feeling himself. The sudden warmth, the intimacy after weeks and weeks of pain is knee-buckling. 

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

His voice is soft, so soft… The tears rush forth now; there's no way of stopping them. What the hell can you even say to a question like that? That you wish he could grab a magic wand and turn you into someone gorgeous, the woman he deserves?

His embrace feels good, kind of. It also feels smothering because your self-hate makes you want to disappear from existence entirely. His eyes are equal to physical touch, a probing scan that sees every little flaw, not to talk about massive faults, the ones which make you feel like you're simply disgusting. His touch only reminds you how you must feel like to him: soft, too soft, weak.

And he must hate weakness.

"What do you need me to do? I'll do anything," he tries with a parched throat, then swallows. 

It's fucking horrible. This isn't going at all like you had imagined.

"It's not about you," you struggle out of his hold, and he lets you go with reluctance. You have to basically fight your way out of a bone and steel prison. Why would he even want to hold a pathetic woman who's on the brink of ugly crying on top of everything?

"What do you mean?"

He's slightly breathless – and restless as fuck. He's usually so calm; nothing can get to him, nothing can rattle the tower of raw strength. Now you've not only pierced some invisible armor; you can hear pieces of it falling on the floor.

"Have you found someone else?"

What the…

"No." You put as much weight on that word as you possibly can. To imagine that he thinks you are cheating… Fucking cheating on someone like him. "Jesus Christ…"

He takes a deep breath and sighs deeply, sighs out relief, perhaps. Then his razor-sharp stare fixes on you again, and you can see the fear turning into something akin to concern. You suspect you have to tell him the truth, otherwise he will dig it out of you. 

"I'm just…" 

Jesus, this is just humiliating. 

"I'm just not your type."

"What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, the impending fury giving way to momentary surprise. 

He gets intense sometimes. This time, the ferocity is born of barely concealed distress. He's broad and magnificent, even in despair. He’s just so fucking fine… The perfect man, someone you had never even imagined yourself with. Pulled down to the world of puny mortals, evidently stressing about losing one. 

Losing you.

"If you have someone new, you can just bloody well tell me."

"It's not that. You don't understand–" 

"Try me."

"I just…" A tear escapes down your face as you finally break for him. "I'm fat. Okay? And ugly. And–"

"Stop right there."

The look on his face is just… It's priceless, you suppose.

"Bloody fucking hell…" 

He looks at the floor, then runs his fingers through the short cut hair on top of his head. You've yanked those blonde strands more times than you can count, nearly every time he's been between your legs, and you miss it – you long for it, like fallen angels long for heaven. 

And if there was a time this man was rendered speechless, you would say you were witnessing that moment right now. His brows knit together, then he looks up at you again with blaring disbelief.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"This is the reason you wanna break up?"

Ugh.

"Yes?"

His voice grows rougher with every question until it resembles thunder, and you suspect this is the commanding tone his soldiers are used to hearing. 

But you're not: it's gravelly, harsh, and betrays the feeling of having been insulted. You feel even more devastated with yourself – it appears you can do nothing right.

"Where has this… idea even come to your head?"

"I don't know." 

"And you never thought to ask my opinion?"

"Would you please stop yelling," you whisper and blink back some putrid tears. His mouth is snapped shut, his head pulls back just a little as he realizes what he's done. 

"Sorry," he says with a half-whisper, and you catch the strain in his throat. You've never seen him cry, but now his voice is suddenly thin and frail. "I'm sorry."

He takes a step, then another, places fingertips on the counter as if to take the faintest support.

"Can I touch you?"

You don't really want him to do that, but you feel pity for the man. He's trying to find a way through this mess, and you want to help him.

"Yes," you whisper, and he immediately comes and takes you in his arms again. Hot tears disappear into his shirt, and you sniff a few times. He feels so good, so safe, even when you're about to lose him. His hold tightens around you, and the kitchen is silent; the whole world is silent. You don't know if you're being put to a grave or if you're in a deaf womb, waiting to be reborn.

"Now I don't know who's said this shite to you but ugly is the last fucking thing I'd call you," he declares above you. As if it was some bully whose fault it is that you were this way, a bully he could deal with with his fists or a gun. If only things were that easy…

"Have I said or done something? To make you feel this way?"

Then the blade is turned against himself. The man desperately searches for a culprit so he can deal with them.

"No," is the only thing you can say because it's true: he has never done a thing to make you feel like you weren't good enough; quite the contrary. But then again, he doesn't have to. It's enough that he exists and resembles a god.

"Then why do you think you're not my type?"

"Because you're so perfect," you hear yourself wail, no, cry into that shirt that smells of sweet safety and familiar musk – his scent, another thing you have missed like it's the only way to heaven.

"That for sure ain't true."

"But it is."

He seems to have the utmost difficulty in grasping what the issue here is. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head with a rusty, laborious creak.

"Can't believe you wanna break up because of this," he finally says. You've chipped his pride, the ego that lives off of pleasing the ones he loves: the few chosen ones who he wants to give his whole life to. 

"To me, you're perfect," he then says, and you simply… You stop breathing. "You're like… my dream woman. Ever thought about that?"

It can't be true, even if you vehemently, desperately want it to be. You reach out to his words like they're precious food after years of famine. Like they're sun and spring rain after being buried in the cold, dark soil whole winter.

"No…?"

"Never occurred to you that I might find you fucking beautiful?"

"Stop," you whisper, because it's too much to take in. He sounds so serious, so sincere.

"No, I don't think I will."

He pulls back a little and cups your face. Brushes away a tear, looks at you with so much love that it physically hurts; you feel like it's a lance that slowly drives through your heart.

"How about I kiss every part I love about you?"

You let out a soft little whimper. Fuck, that you want him to… 

It would also be uncomfortable as hell. To try and let him love you and your body, which you have grown to loathe.

"It's gonna take all night, though. Wanna be as thorough as possible."

"Simon–"

"Love. I want you. Thought I'd made it pretty clear, but apparently I haven't. If you only knew how much–"

He sighs deeply. The man is frustrated with his shortcomings, thinks that this is all his fault. You cry a tear or two just for the sake of how absurd it all is. 

"I don't want you to go. I fucking love you. Everything about you."

For the second time this afternoon, your lower lip starts to tremble as if this was some stupid, romantic movie. He can be so soft when he wants to, more romantic than the soft-spoken gentlemen in Jane Austen's novels. It doesn't even require any effort: underneath the cynical surface, there's fiery emotion, so powerful and raw that it almost bleeds out of him. Fuck… Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"I love you too," you whisper back, and the warmth that starts to bloom in his eyes is an entire sun on its own. It's hope, and you believe him, almost believe him.

"Then I'd say it's a bloody bad idea to break up."

You chuckle while few more tears push through to the surface.

"Simon…" You sigh and look back up at him, your armor falling to the floor too. "I feel like a wreck."

You allow him to see the pain, all of it. His breath is sharp as it hits him, but he still doesn't waver.

"Then let me help you."

The arms around you gain more strength, and you're crushed against a chest made of power. He tries to turn shit to gold, and threatens to succeed. You allow yourself to soften in his hold. How good it feels to be supported – no, loved.

"You don't even let me touch you anymore."

It's a filed complaint, but also heart-rending, soul-wrenching longing. You have evaded him for weeks now – hell, this shit began months ago and has escalated gradually, stealthily, until the moments together were a rarity, the space between you was full of frost; and not the crispy, happy summer drink kind.

"I thought you'd found someone else. Could've found out if that was the case in minutes, but honestly, I didn't wanna know."

Oh my God…

Has he lived with a growing suspicion and dread all these months? 

That would explain why he has avoided you too…

He has allowed you to go to your supposed lover, has given you space to be alone and without too much attention. The man has shielded himself from pain. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm so sorry," you say with a strained little breath. "I swear it's nothing like that. I just… I feel like a mess."

"Never seen such a gorgeous mess." 

He speaks on your skin, the kiss on your forehead feels like an absolution. 

Then you notice it's not only his words which try to assure you. He's growing harder by the minute against your stomach, just from a simple hug. Just from being pressed against you like this, after weeks of dry, bitter longing.

"Miss your taste," he murmurs to your skin, his voice like sand wrapped in burning velvet. "The sounds you make when you want it hard."

Oh God–

"Miss your smile when we go to shower after."

"Hmh…"

"Don't wanna live without that smile."

You don't have to. 

God, you don't have to…

"How about we make a deal," he draws fingers down your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. His eyes are stripped from the cold distance that greeted you just moments ago: now they are filled with warmth that spreads to your chest and belly and bones. You drink him in like summertide.

"You come to me every time you feel bad and I'll make you feel good. Alright?"

"...Ok." 

He tilts his head a little to the side, not entirely satisfied with your shy little answer.

"Come on. Make me believe it."

"It's a deal," you say with more grit to it, even if you're nearly crying again, this time from relief.

"That's my girl."

Oh fuck…

He knows exactly what strings to pull, the good girl talk being one of the things that instantly makes your legs feel like jelly. 

And why does he always have to use that voice when he calls you a good girl or his girl, that sultry smoke that makes you want to swoon until he catches you and carries you to bed?

The man seems to be a mind reader as well, because he sweeps you off your feet and does exactly that: carries you to your bed which has mainly seen silent tears and painful sleep last months.

"Poor thing doesn't even know how lovely she is."

He sounds amused in the face of your darkness: sees it in full and still doesn't fear at all. He's ready to battle your demons for you, and you feel like shaking: from his touch and that voice, from the stress and loneliness that starts to release as he lays you down on the bed.

He looks so different from the man that has haunted this place for the past months, the complete opposite of the reserved soldier retreating into the shadows.

He moves to kiss you, and it's been – what? Weeks since your last kiss? And even that was only a quick peck, nothing like this… Wet, and desperate; a devouring. It makes you clench around nothingness, and you finally surrender. 

No one can fake such fervor.

You try to accept it: accept the fact that even if you hate yourself, he does not. For some reason, he adores you. His breaths hit your face hot and urgent, and he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. They wander over your waist and hips, they even risk to steal a feel of your breasts, and then he groans in your mouth.

"I've missed you. Fuck, I've missed you..."

You taste notes of burning leaves; tobacco, his only weakness. You fantasize on the thought that you might be another weakness, too.

"Remember when I fucked you in my office?"

"I've missed you too," you utter softly in between the kisses that threaten to turn into a sloppy mess. "So much..."

He smiles at that, and it makes you weak, even when lying down like this.

"Yeah…?"

"You were so loud I had to put a hand over your mouth."

His voice is thick as he laughs a short chuckle. Your inner walls clench again at the sound, you throb among the warm syrup surrounding you.

"Never seen you so wet. Almost dripped all over my gear."

"It's that stupid mask you wear," you hear yourself breathe like you've just been underwater. Feel yourself throb some more, feel a burning sensation in the nether areas from the scorched desert turning wet again. You want him so much that it actually hurts down there.

"Knew you'd like it. That's why I kept it on."

If this man keeps talking, your underwear is going to be utterly ruined. And of course he does; of course he continues to pour more love in your ear.

"Everyone looked at you like you were a queen," he grunts in your ear, sounding almost… pissed.

"Don't be ridiculous," you try to form sensible words. It's only a faint breath, really, but he huffs at your modesty. 

"You don't have eyes in the back of your head, love."

Wow… He is a bit pissed.

Had they checked your ass out when you visited him? 

It was the first and, what you thought, the last time you got to visit him at his workplace… but you never would have guessed the reason for him not asking you to visit again would be jealousy. 

"Don't worry. I put those fuckers in their place after you left." 

Whoa. 

Ok…

First, he had fucked you senseless in his office – a highly inappropriate move for a man in his position – then got jealous because some soldiers had checked you out as you left with his cum practically dripping from your cunt.

You put yourself in his shoes for a moment: he's had to live with thoughts of you running to some other man's arms when he's not home, and then watch you waltz around his workplace after making what was supposed to be the last effort to make him love you… When he has loved and adored you this whole time, has watched the sway of your ass with the rest of those home-deprived, horny soldiers, thinking you had fallen out of love and were on your way to go see some other guy.

Had he invited you there to try and win you back, too? By showing himself to you in all his puffed up, masculine glory? A desperate man in a skull mask, hoping to get love from you…

There's so many misunderstandings; they rip your throat. A sob escapes, and he stops his caress.

"Love… Tell me to stop if you–"

"No. No, I don't want you to stop." 

Your request comes out with such demand that he hesitates only a second or two. Then he moves on top of you and tugs your skirt up. You don't even have time to realize what is happening before he has worked himself out of his pants.

He's hard and heavy between your legs, and your eyes go wide as you realize he's not going to bother to take your briefs off. He just slides a hand under the skirt and draws the fabric aside, and the fat tip of him is pushed in the middle almost clumsily. It's hot, and slips down to your opening with ease.

Oh f–

"Been jerking off to you nearly every night at the base," he says just before he pushes himself in. 

"Uh–...."

Your thighs spread wide as he fills you slowly, inch after inch. The sound that leaves him is starved: a dry, painful sigh. He's been waiting for this for god knows how long, and you're just as hungry to take him in. He seems endless, the way he finally works himself fully inside, spreading you even wider as the thickening base of his cock reaches its end. 

"Thought you were getting railed by someone else while I only get to fuck my hand."

"Oh god…"

There's really nothing else to say as his balls press against you, heavy and taut. He's not going to last long.

"Yeah. Imagine that," he admits, breathless like you. 

You look at him with what must be the most helpless stare of longing in your eyes. Then he moves, and you want to grip him to keep him inside. The first thrusts are divine, they're pure heaven, and your head sinks deep into the pillow as you try to get enough air, try to not scream from pleasure already. Somehow, all you are able to utter is a desperate little whisper.

"Simon–"

His cock is good enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're starving too, you're pulling him in with fierce hunger, and he groans, then nearly falls forward, his weight pressing against you, swallowing you, until you feel like you're an idiot for thinking that you're too big. The thickness of his chest rubs against you as he makes love to you with passion that echoes the first times you did this.

"Just wanna adore you, love." He's panting desperate somewhere above you. A god and a man, both furious and gentle. "I wanna adore you. Just like this."

You answer him with what must be those sounds he told you about, the sounds you make when you want it hard. 

You want him to fuck you, to wreck you after weeks of loneliness and hate. To love you until you break into a million pieces.

"Simon," you whisper. "...Love me."

He halts, huffs in your neck. It's almost a sob. There's so much emotion and desperation in the air that it could be scooped up and sold in the streets.

"Always," he rasps in your ear, then moves to kiss you again. "Always."

The promise echoes around you, it coats your lips as he loves you with all he has. It's been so long, and he feels so good that you nails dig into his shirt, his shoulder, you try to hold onto him even though he's the wave that rocks you.

"You feel that?" He goes deep; he's out of breath and desperate, even more desperate than you. "That's love. You feel it, yeah?"

"Yes," you sob in his shoulder, tears trying to escape your waterline as you're going dumb from the pure sensation, the sensuality of it all. 

"That's it, love. That's a good girl," he turns to your neck and gruffs in your ear as you whimper and moan. "Always such a good girl."

Shit…

"I, I'm gonna…"

Your legs wrap around his middle, your muscles twitch and your hands reach and grab – they claw and yank and tug everything they can: his back, shoulders, shirt, something sturdy to keep you from drowning in a glorious orgasm.

He laughs in your neck and continues to grind you through your climax even when you're shattering, sighing, moaning, writhing under him. He just laughs, the man who never laughs: from witnessing you respond to him calling you a good girl.

Fucking bastard…

Lovable, infuriating bastard who knows you to your core. 

You're an overstimulated heap by the time he comes as well, not long after you, but long enough to make you feel like you're only a tender bunch of nerves. Your legs have fallen to the side, he has open access to take what he needs: you, your love, all of it.

His whole middle goes tense as he cums, he groans and swears somewhere deep into your neck, rolls his hips over and over again like it's a must that his balls press against you with every thrust that shoot his load. 

Then he falls slack, nearly collapses on top of you, reminding you of what it feels like to be small under a giant like him. You're throbbing together, you're full and fulfilled, and he is still lodged deep inside you, panting and broken in a sweat.

"Jesus Christ…" 

He sounds dazed. 

Relieved. 

"Should've done this weeks ago."

You laugh at seeing him so done – a man in love, torn by jealous yearning, finally taking what's his. You stroke his neck, his back – it's so good to have him finally there… So close, with no barriers in between.

"I should've talked to you weeks ago..." 

"Yeah. You should have."

"Are you going to punish me?" You giggle a little – the flirt is light and frees your heart further from its recent jail. He moves to look at you with all the tenderness there is. It's too much... His love is too much. But you won't run from it anymore.

"Nah. Think I'm gonna spoil you some more."

He spoils you right away with a kiss. You surrender to his treatment with happiness: happy tears, even. 

The medicine to your anguish has been the exact opposite to what you had first tried, what you had originally thought. The true remedy for your sickness is mercy. Perhaps some spoiling…

And love.

[blue-jisungs]

promise

# author's note ... oh i love making deals w zanna bc i get to write this banger (idk what possesed me) and she will write me pt 2 of this masterpiece mwahahahah (go read it btw its so good like vampire hanbin>>>>>)

# setting ... boxer gunwook

# summary ... gunwook comes home after a fight, missing a date... but he can't understand why are you quiet

# warnings ... angsty, hurt to comfort (i think...?), mention of wounds n blood, nursing trope (its me n zanna, come on.... if uve been around for a while u know we r sucker for nursing teehee) also it was written at 2am so sorry for any misrtakes !!!

# word count ... 1k

the door opened quietly but gunwook could swear it was the loudest noise ever. your small but cozy apartment was dipped in the darkness of the night, only occasional beams of moonlight shining on the floor. 

however, there was one more source of light coming from the kitchen. gunwook sighed and took off his shoes. 

his footsteps were soft, trying to keep the noise as low as possible. maybe you’re asleep. maybe you forgot and just left the light on… 

his hopes died upon seeing your silhouette. your back was facing him, legs crossed and head resting on something (probably your arm). 

“you’re home” 

your voice was cold and stung like frostbite but gunwook knew it was well deserved. 

“i’m home” he whispered and you finally turned around. 

now it was your turn to sigh upon seeing his bruised face, busted brow and dried blood on his cheek, along with some cuts. 

“couldn’t you at least take care of yourself?” you murmured and stood up, reaching for the usual spot with a heavy heart. 

gunwook stayed silent because you both knew the answer. he preferred when you took care of him. 

without additional words from you, he went to change into fresh pyjamas that he kept at your place. then he swapped his eye contacts to his glasses, scanning his injuries in the mirror. 

guilt washed over his gut, wounded knuckles turning white from gripping the sink. you’re too sweet for him. 

“wookie?” your soft voice called him, causing a pang in his heart. 

your boyfriend soon enough came out from the bathroom, a sad look on his face. if it wasn’t for his savaged face, you’d think it was a normal night. his black t-shirt, red and black checkered pj pants, glasses resting on the bridge his nose and framing his handsome face. even his raven-colored locks were still slightly wet, probably after the shower he took at the gym. 

gunwook sat on the chair you were previously sitting, spreading his legs and resting his fists on top of his thighs. 

you took a quick glance at the clock, which read 1:31am. your boyfriend caught your worried look and bit the inside of his cheek. 

there were so many things you could say, yell. how he forgot about the date that he promised you two weeks ago. how late it was. how he got hurt again. how he didn’t let you know where was he… or if he was fine. it puzzled gunwook; why were you so quiet? 

he closed his eyes, unable to bare your eyes on him. focusing on the calming feeling of your fingers instead, he tried to think of a reason. maybe you will break up with him? 

you both knew that with his lifestyle of a boxer it won’t be easy. you knew he wouldn’t give up on his passion and way of living but he promised you to stop being careless. 

your fingertips gently caressed the unharmed skin of his right cheek. then he felt a stinging sensation on the left onr, just where he got hit by someone’s fist. 

gunwook felt two or three fingers tucking his hair away from his forehead softly, followed by a feather light kiss on that spot. 

only then he realized it’s your way of speaking. the kiss meant ‘i love you’. the fingers tracing his nose gently to see if it’s broken shouted ‘you should’ve been more careful!’. a slightly wet smudge being smeared by shaking fingers right under his busted brow meant ‘i was worried’.

gunwook's eyes shot open and he realized you’re crying, crystal tears trickling down your face. 

“hey, it’s fine. i’m here now, i’m fine. look, i’m in one piece” he choked out and grabbed your hand to cup it against his right cheek. you just nodded your head, trying to silence the sobs “y/n…” 

you raised your other hand to your eyes, hiding your face into your elbow. 

“you’re so reckless” a muffled cry leaving your lips made his heart clench “and… and, it’s not even about the date anymore. i just wish i could fall asleep without worrying about you, about your life” 

you’re standing right in front of him, between his legs, shaking and crying. and gunwook felt helpless, also taken aback by your words. 

he knew you were worried about him but every time he’d miss a date because of his fights you would say you’re angry. angry because you didn’t get to go on it, angry because you wasted time preparing. 

now he just realized it was a lie. it was a cover up for your true feelings, for your energy draining and - so it seemed - endless worry. 

“you don’t have to worry about me, sunshine. i know i get home looking like something tan me over but i always win” gunwook hummed, his thumb tracing over your knuckles. you just shook your head, face still hidden in your elbow. 

your boyfriend moved his hands to your hips and pulled you down into his lap, ignoring the stinging bruises on his legs. 

instantly, you wrapped your arms around his neck and started crying your heart out into his shoulder. his large, calloused from fighting, hands found its way to your back. rubbing it in soothing motions, gunwook gave you time to let it all out and eventually calm down. ignoring his own aching wounds (the biggest one being the red muscle clenching inside his ribcage), he let the time pass. 

finally you leaned away, eyes puffed. gunwook immediately gently cupped your face with one of his hands, wiping the wet traces after your crystal tears. 

“you didn’t answer your phone” a faint, barely audible, whisper escaped your lips. gunwook moved his thumb and wiped it over your upper lip. 

“i’m sorry. i don’t know what i was thinking” he replied honestly, locking eyes with yours. 

“i know you love boxing, wookie. but promise me…” your voice trailed off, hand wrapping around his wrist. gunwook looked at you expectantly, already willing to agree on anything “promise me to come back home safely. to me. please” 

“i promise” your boyfriend hummed and sealed the promise with a long, passionate kiss. despite his aching body - and even more aching heart upon seeing your state - he put all of his energy and life force into that kiss. and you felt that. because if there was something gunwook was passionate about other than boxing, it was you; loving you.

masterlist <3

taglist. @slytherinshua ,, @haecien ,, @weird-bookworm

[svgarseason]

𖹭 cw: mildly suggestive, fluff

══════════════𖹭 MINORS DNI 𖹭═════════════

PT 1 ⋆ PT 2 ⋆ PT 3 ⋆ PT 4 ⋆ PT 5 ⋆ PT 6 ⋆ PT 7

English professor Nanami knew you were having relationship issues. Your boyfriend called him from a blocked number and told him to stay away from you. He made many not so eloquent accusations and threats before Professor Nanami calmly invited the man to put him in a position where he would be forced to defend himself.

Professor Nanami sincerely wishes that he would. Every time he thinks about the disgusting way the man spoke of you, he sees red. You deserve so much better than some insecure prick who steals numbers off your phone and talks about you like you're garbage.

Professor Nanami resists bringing it up with you, he knows you well enough to realize that it would only embarrass you. Although it pains him to see your face a little more drawn and tired for the next couple of days, he knows you are strong. He noticed that you changed your phone background from a picture of you with a man to a picture of you and what appears to be a young sibling. This is heartening. He hopes you have stopped inflicting that loser upon yourself.

Since he can't talk to you about it, he brings you coffee just the way you like it when you forget. He asks you if you've eaten when you don't take your lunch break. He thinks he understands why you are avoiding the cafeteria and the parking lot at this time of day, so he brings you a sandwich and soup from his favorite cafe across the street. It's hard to hold your gaze when you look at him the way you do after he offers it to you.

Even harder than that is looking at you stretched out on your belly asleep on the couch in his office. Hands tucked under your cheek, lips parted, bare legs peeking from beneath the blanket just below the curve of your ass, hair falling over the edge. It caught him off gaurd, that's why his heart lurches and his skin crawls with sparks of heat. That's why he has to step back into the hallway and take a deep breath, try to think of something unpleasant to combat the heat blooming low in his guts. That's what he tells himself, although he's not sure there's much of a point in maintaining the self delusion anymore. You are waking up when he steps back inside.

Professor Nanami 's mind is a whirlwind of thoughts before he even confirms with you that you've been sleeping on campus. It isn't safe. You must not be parking in the parking lot, they close that. You must park down the street. The building is locked at night. Gates are locked. What if you had some sort of medical emergency? No. You can't sleep here. He knows immediately that you've misunderstood him when he sees the way your face falls.

"You can stay with me," he hears himself say the words, drowning out the voice of reason telling him it's wildly inappropriate, that it can only end badly. Perhaps there is still a point in deluding himself, because he needs to be the one to fix this. "I have a spare bedroom. Just until you figure things out. You don't have to explain anything," he is saying but you are already nodding and smiling. Then you are off the couch in a blur of motion, which is a relief because the last thing he needs right now is to get a good look at you in you little tank and shorts. You are hugging him tight around the waist, cheek pressed into his chest, thanking him.

Professor Nanami pats you on the back, fighting for his life not to slip his hands around your waist and let his fingers map out the skin beneath your top. With herculean effort,he peels himself away from the warm crush of your body, the maddening scent of you. He is quick to take a seat at his desk, coat in his lap hiding the evidence his true feelings until you leave to shower and dress, cursing his perversion. Hard from a simple hug. How will he tolerate you living in his house?

𖹭 a/n: just want to say thanks for reading. Really appreciate you guys interacting. I'll be done with this series after a few more parts, so feel free to send me requests (:

[dix0nspretty]

Knives, Bikes, and Stitches, Oh My!

Summary: Daryl is working on his motorcycle and you watch. Too bad you can't keep your focus.

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader, 1.3k words

Era: Prison (again) because he's just so yummy...

TW: 18+ Mention of blood and stitches. Maybe chronic horniness?

Y'all loved my first story and I hope this one whets your appetites just as well! I have no idea how motorcycles or vehicles of literally any kind work, so please feel free to educate me in the comments.

You put the fear of God in Daryl every time he sees you with a knife.

It’s not that you can’t use one. On the contrary, you’re a force to be reckoned with when you’re fighting. Sometimes all that can be seen of you in a fight is the shine of blood-tinged metal as you slash and stab at whatever is attacking with your twin blades. No, your knives are comfortable and at home in your grip. Maybe too comfortable.

“How many times I got to tell ya to stop eatin’ off yer damn knife?” Daryl’s rough accent sounds out in the empty courtyard. His head is bowed low as he works on his bike, not looking up as he speaks.

I’m perched on the tabletop of one of the prison’s picnic tables eating a can of peaches. Daryl, for some reason unknown to me, had elected to start taking his bike apart and putting it back together and I followed along to watch the process. I don’t know shit about vehicles, much less motorcycles, but I like spending time with the grumpy man.

“It’s fine, I’m not gonna cut myself.” I tell him as I tilt my head down to drag a slice of peach off the blade. Daryl’s eyes don’t move from the work in front of him, but I can feel him watching me. I pull the chunk into my mouth and lick the blade clean of the sticky juice.

“Told ya to cut it out.” I’m eating the canned fruit haphazardly, not paying any attention to how close I am to the edge. Daryl shakes his head. He knows it’s a matter of time before I cut my lip or tongue.

At his repeated command, I roll my eyes but pull away from the edge of my knife. I set the can of peaches down and watch him. His brown hair is getting longer now and it’s sliding down into his eyes, shielding most of his face from my watchful gaze.

“What are you doing, anyways?” I ask. I scoot myself closer to the edge of the table and peer down over his shoulder. He has one of his tools in his hand and some pieces of metal I can’t identify. It is roughly the size of my fist and cylindrical. Whatever it is, it looks important.

Daryl glances over his shoulder, feeling my curious eyes looking down. He huffs and continues his task. “Workin’.”

“No shit. Working on what?” I’m playing with my knife in my fingers, absentmindedly twisting and flipping it. Daryl looks up at me through his hair, squinting one eye against the sunlight. My breath catches in my throat, and I try to play it cool.

“Do ya really want to know or are ya jus’ bored?” He asks in his gruff voice. I don’t answer for a second. He looks so pretty. Get a grip, Y/N, I think to myself.

“Really want to know. Come on, I don’t know anything about bikes. Teach me something.” Daryl squints at me for several seconds longer and I’m convinced he’s going to send me inside to bother someone else, but he slowly starts talking.

“’M cleanin’ the carburetor.” He tilts his hand up to show me the same piece I was looking at earlier. “It’s startin’ to get clogged.”

“Oooookay. What’s that do?”

“It keeps the engine runnin’ smooth, basically. Don’t keep it clear and that can fuck up the bike, make it stall or overheat. Gotta take it apart and clean it every few months.”

Daryl lets me watch over his shoulder as he points out different parts of the carburetor and how to clean them. After a few minutes, his gruff voice starts to fade out and my mind begins to wander.

He just looks so good. His hands are greasy and dirty from all of his work today and his biceps are sweaty from the Georgia heat. He’s wearing one of his simple black shirts that already fit him so well and the sweat is only making him look more delicious. I’m watching his hands work over the small brass jets when I feel burning heat in my palm and look down.

I’d been messing with my knife the entire time and cut myself. I instinctively let go of the blade and it hits the concrete with a harsh clang. Daryl’s head lifts at the noise and he spins around right as I rush to tuck both hands behind my back. I look like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar and I’m trying to hide the chocolatey evidence. Except this time, it’s blood.

Daryl’s eyes run over me for a second, then flick down to my knife as it sits on the dirty floor. He slowly bends down and picks it up. “Y/N.” He starts, a low warning in his tone.

“It’s fine! I’m fine, I just dropped it.” My voice rambles out. There’s a high, nervous note to it and I’m hoping to God he doesn’t notice.

He raises an eyebrow. “If yer fine, why’s the knife got fresh blood on it?” Fuck.

“Uhhhhh.” I look around the courtyard, trying to find an excuse. I, naturally, see nothing. “Magic?”

Daryl huffs and crosses his arms. “Let me see your hands.”

I wince. I don’t want to get in trouble, but I can feel the blood dripping off my hand, and it stings. The longer I hold off showing him the angrier he’ll get.

“Y/N. Hand, now.” Daryl’s voice leaves no room for arguments.

“Jus’, don’t be mad?” I ask. He says nothing and I sigh, then slowly move my hands back in front of me. The blood is quickly evident on my skin.

“God damn it, girl. Why can’t ya ever listen to me?” Despite his rough tone, his hands are gentle as he takes my wrist and tilts my hand, inspecting the damage. I risk a glance at my hand. There’s a slash across my entire palm and more blood than there should be. It’s going to need stitches.

“Ya need stitches.” Told you.

 Daryl looks up from my hand but doesn’t let go of my wrist. His eyes lock with mine and he gives me a warm look. There’s exasperation and concern and I don’t know what to do with it. He takes a surprisingly clean rag from his pocket and ties it around my bleeding palm, firmly but not enough to hurt.

I can’t help but be surprised by just how gentle he’s being with me. I was expecting a pop in the side of the head and a banishment to Hershel’s cell. I look up at him through my lashes, waiting for my verbal lashing. After almost a minute, I realize there is none.

“Does this mean I gotta go in now?” I try to keep the potential disappointment from my voice and don’t entirely succeed.

“Yeah, yer going to go get those stitches. Ya weren’t listenin’ anyways.” He grumbles at me. “The hell were you doin’?”

I look away from him. I do not want to explain that I was too busy being horny over him to notice that I gouged my palm open. I risk a glance at him and I’m caught by those ocean-blue eyes.

“I was watching your hands…”

Daryl pauses, then snorts. “Maybe instead of watchin’ my hands ya should’ve been watching yours. Go get your damn stitches and I’ll show ya somethin’ else.”

[haobubbles]

Riize when you argue and they have to go on tour

genre: fluff, crack n kinda angst?

tw: no foolproof read!!, cursing

roxy yapps: i publicily apologise for taking so long to post smth😭 with my exam's week and now christmas (having family over ALL THE TIME) i haven't had time but well, here it is!! enjoy and if u can leave some ideas for req!!

── . ★ shotaro

after the attitude of fans at the airport and the fight he had had with you, this boy was quite a mess and was in very low spirit.

known as probably the most energetic boy on this earth, that day he would catch their fans by surprise when, even if his performance was astounding, he sounded more tired than usual and he clearly had his mind somewhere else. when he closed the door of his room in the hotel, after the concert, he made sure to send an apologise to briizes on weverse. without a second thought (after cheking the time of your country ofc) he called you.

"if you just need to, pretend we're fine until i come back home. i can't perform knowing i've fucked up and haven't made things right"

── . ★ eunseok

after having a fight with you, eunseok sent you a message about his departure for the tour, and as he didn't receive any message back, he second guessed that you needed your space, which he decided to give. he was sure you'd reach out when you felt better but the wait was slowly killing him.

on stage, he wouldn't seem as if he just had a fight with his significant other, although he kept on thinking about his electronic device, and if it had buzzed with a message of yours. he definetely acted flirty with the camera, sending flying kisses or winks in hopes you were watching it at home and you knew they were for you.

seeing your messages on his lockscreen made his face lit up instantly, which even if he knew he would be made fun of later, he couldn't care less.

eunseok: did you see me on stage? all those flying kisses and winks were for you

── . ★ sungchan

would definetely be pouty and with big ass moodswings.

on stage, he would be the sungchan everyone knew and loved, however, on backstage he would be (for the couple minutes they have) pouty, with his eyebrows furred and maybe even moody.

his teammates would probably need to take part in it by telling him how much you miss him. then he would call you with all his confidence built up and he would curse them out loud for setting him up.

"well, now that i've called you, let's just fix things okay? i miss you and i dont want to be abroad while having an on-going fight with you"

── . ★ wonbin

number 1 sulky boy. he would be confident about you two fixing your diferences but he hated the thought of getting on stage and being in a fight with his first and most important supporter.

either spam messages or he would go silent because he'd be too scared to say something or do things to worsen the situation. however; he wouldn't wait for you to make the first step.

would deadass indirectly tell you things during his speech "don't forget to tell your loved ones how much you appreciate them, no matter if you're arguing or phisically distant from each other.."

would leave everyone stunned and would low-key be very proud of himself when he would see your message "call me when you have some time x"

── . ★ seunghan

another boy with speeches however, he would take your arguing as a possibility to get you back, so he would put up a romantic act just for you to see (even if he was in front of thousands of people)

woulnd't be too worried because he was confident in deeply knowing you. he knew how you acted when you were mad and how he was supposed to act

"i've started listening to (your fav song) recently but i think it lacks some reasoning, could someone explain it to me?" "can i marry you? oh no, no, my heart can receive all the love from everyone but it can only give it to one person back"

── . ★ sohee

he would be lost. not only about what to do, but not talking to you and being currently not in good terms, it wrecked his routine and his "normality" so he wouldn't be sure on what to do.

i feel like he would need to talk it out with another member to ask for advice on how to make things right. he would be too shy to act bold by hismelf, so that's why he recurred to talk with euseok during the flight. even if the older member told him to just call you and have a proper conversation (which he of course would do) he dedided to add his own touch.

during the concert, he would say some words or constructions you usually used and poses and gestures you usually made. he just wanted to show you that even if he hadn't reached out, he kept you wiht him everywhere, everytime, no matter what.

"please call me or text me when you can. i miss you so fucking bad and i refuse to go on like this"

── . ★ anton

wheni tell you this boy would risk losing his flight because he didn't want to leave while you hadn't fixed things.

if he did really had to leave (or they just obligated him), he would be all the time sending you reassuring messages about how much he loves you, or maybe some memes to make you laugh.

on stage, he would be bubblier and happier than usual, but he would go viral for singing a snippet of 'the reason' of hoobastank. when the fans would ask him later on about why did he choose to sing it, he would dismiss the topic by saying that he just felt like it.

"i hope you liked it..i bet you'll even like it more when you know the boys have been making fun of me for 15 mins now"

[rosenclaws]

Could I pleasssse request a smut/fluff fic with Logan where he secretly likes the reader and doesn't like the readers bf? The reader is in their early to mid twenties and has been best friends with Logan for years and he snaps one night when her bf is being an asshole 👀 thank you so much 😭

warnings: Angst to fluff, asshole boyfriend, he's mutant hating low key, threats, fighting

a/n: Hehehe i fucking LOVE a good jealousy fic, also I based the asshole ex on multiple asshole exes of my own lol.

Things were well and truly complicated. You always knew what being a mutant meant for your relationship life. Having to dip your toes into the water to see if they the kind of person who wanted your kind dead or if they were more open to the idea of mutants.

Even then you ran into all kinds of assholes. If you could even get past the first date then you'd have to drop the bomb that you work at a mutant school with mutant children. Safe to say your dating life was pretty empty.

"You here again sweetheart?" You roll your eyes when you hear Logan's voice. It's Friday night and you're sitting in the living room of the mansion with a root beer.

“Yeah, so are you.” You bite back. He just chuckles and takes a seat next to you. Spreading his legs until his knee knocks into yours.

“Weren’t you supposed to go out with that kid, what was his name Jacob or…”

“Jason. Yeah he canceled when he saw the pick up address.” You remember the absolute terrified voice he spoke to you in, afraid you were going to melt his bones through the phone or something.

“You really know how to pick em.” You shove Logans shoulder as he laughs.

“Fuck off, I don’t see you getting any action lately either.”

“That’s because I’m not interested in dating some stranger.” He grumbles.

Truth is Logan hasn't been interested in anyone except for you for a while now. Its been years and as pathetic as it sounds Logan was too afraid to say anything. But there's no reason to mess up a good thing right? Plus it's not like you've been showing any interest in him.

“Look, any guy would be lucky to have you sweetheart, you just need to find the right one."

"Feels like I've been searching forever. Feels like I should make a marriage pact or something." You say with a groan.

"A marriage pact?" "Logan questions.

"Yeah you know, if we haven't found someone by the time we're forty we just, get married."

"We?" Your eyes widen and you start to flounder. The last thing you want is for Logan to think you're a creep or something. It's not like you fantasize about Logan or anything. Totally not.

"Not you, I mean if you wanted to then sure but I was just talking hypothetically you know. I mean god could you imagine you and I?" The words tumble out of your mouth with no filter. You just can't stop yourself. Logan cocks and eyebrow and you pray for something, anything to happen to help you shut up.

"Yeah...hard to picture you and I" Logan's face hardens as he talks.

Like he thought before, you don't want him. You could just burst into flames right here and now. The tension is palpable. Logan has been your friend for a long time but he never fails to make you a little nervous. He shouldn't have this hold over you but god he's just so big and intimidating.

"You know what? We should go out." You say abruptly.

"What? Hey give that back!" You grab the beer out of his hand and he looks at you confused.

"It'll be fun please, I'll buy the first round." You offer and he thinks for a second.

"Fine."

You don't really know what drove you to want to come here. It was loud and crowded and you and Logan had gotten separated after the first drink. Maybe you just wanted to avoid the odd feelings you get whenever you're alone with him. Plus that last conversation was awkward as hell.

You sigh as you swirl your drink around. You spot Logan across the room. He's leaning against the wall while a very pretty red head is all in his space. Your heart clenches as you notice the cocky smile on his face and how he's not pushing her away. Guess someone is getting lucky tonight and it isn't you.

"Hey, couldn't help but notice a beautiful girl all by herself." You look to your side to see a guy slide into the seat next to you. He seems nice enough. He's cute and all.

"Oh I'm here with a friend." You say looking back at Logan.

"Yeah, he seems busy to me. The name's Carter. Let me buy you a drink, no strings attached I swear." He offers. You take one last look at Logan, that woman's hand snaking up his arm. Fuck it.

"Alright deal."

Things since that night have been, a little off. You went home with Carter after Logan had disappeared. Carter was nice enough, at least he was at first. He treated you nice, bought you flowers. He didn't care you were a mutant or that you worked at a mutant school. He was the perfect gentleman. For the first couple months.

It happened so slowly you didn't even notice at first. You spent less time at the mansion, instead now spending it with him. The kids started to miss you and so did your friends but you were happy and they were happy you were happy.

You rarely saw Logan anymore. Ever since you came home from the bar he had been avoiding you, or something. Carter would come by the mansion but his nice guy persona seemed to fade the more he spent with everyone. It didn't help that one of your students accidently lit him on fire once. That's when the fights started.

He didn't trust the kids there, said they were dangerous. He would tell you that he liked mutants but h was worried for your safety. And he really didn't like Logan. The first time the two of them met it ended in a fight on the car ride back to his place. Logan was a strong personality and the two men clashed.

Soon every time your job got brought up it ended in a fight. He'd talk bad about your students, about your friends, about Logan. Carter wanted to keep you away from there because he loved you but they were your family.

He loved you, you had to believe it was all because he loved you. I mean you had spent so long looking for a man who didn't care about your job or your mutant abilities and Carter was that guy. At least you thought he was. You won't find anyone better. Carter liked to say that. It's hard to come by someone who's okay with what you are. So you just had to believe he did it all because he loved you.

"Do we really have to go to this stupid thing? Can't we just stay in..." Carters hand snakes up your leg but you bat his hand away making him huff.

A pissed off look on his face as you drive to the mansion. It was a simple staff party but it had been too long since you got to relax with all your friends. Carter had insisted on coming along but right now you wish he had just stayed home, especially if he was going to complain the whole time.

"This is really important to me. We don't have to stay long I promise." You say in a cheerful tone but Carter just rolls his eyes.

"Whatever." It was exhausting. To Carter anything he wanted to do was fine but as soon as there was something you wanted to do it was a chore.

"Don't understand why you're so obsessed with being around these...people." He mumbles under his breath. Not this again. You plaster on a fake smile as you pretend you didn't hear him. He loves you for who you are right?

The party was in full swing by the time you get in. You greet your friends, trying to hide your feelings as Carter says something about getting a drink.

"You finally made it." You turn to see Logan standing behind you.

"Logan! Didn't expect to see you here." You tease. Parties were never Logan's thing.

"I heard you might show up, can't miss that now can I?" He opens his arms and you don't hesitate to hug him. You missed this. Your nights used to be filled with movie nights and late night snacking with Logan. It's been so long since you got to do any of that.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Logan clocks the fake smile immediately. He's noticed the ways you've changed. You're deflated, tired. It's all that assholes doing and he knows it.

"Yeah every things fine," Logans hands rest on your arms, he's about to press you a little further but Carter comes back.

"Hey man get your hands off my girlfriend." Carter almost seems to puff out his chest as if he was trying to appear bigger than Logan. Logan rolls his eyes.

"Calm down bub, just saying hi to my friend."

"Well she's my girlfriend."

"Yeah she's also a person not a fucking object." Logan growls and you step to get in between the two of them. The last thing you wanted was a fight right now.

"It was great seeing you again Logan." You smile as Carter wraps his hand around your wrist.

Logan reluctantly lets go of you as you're taken away by your boyfriend. He feels this anger burning inside of him. Every time he sees that bastard touch you he wants to rip off his damn arms. Every time he sees your smile fall or hears your fake laugh.

"Jealous much?" Scott comments, a smirk on his face as Logan turns to glare.

"I ain't jealous." Logan snaps as he stalks away.

Yes he is, he's very jealous. He's jealous that asshole is your boyfriend and not him. He's jealous that he's not the one who gets to hold you at night and call you his girl. But he was too late. So he's got no one to blame but himself.

Carter hadn't left your side since your moment with Logan. Normally you'd be happy about this but he was doing nothing but complain every chance he got.

"Can we just fucking go home already. You saw your little friends."

"It's barely been an hour Carter. All I asked for was this one thing! These people are my family would it kill you to try and act interested." You snap, finally fed up with his attitude. He scoffs and crosses his arm.

"I am trying. It's not my fault your family are freaks! Especially that fucking monster." He says with an extra glare towards Logan. Heads start to turn as he raises his voice.

"They're not freaks and don't call Logan that! He is not a monster!" You hiss. You've had it up to here with Carter. Everything you thought about him was crumbling down. If this is what love was then you'd rather be single.

"Of course you come to his defense. What are you fucking him on the side?" He spits.

Logan looks ready to pounce but he's being held back. If he could he'd maim this guy until he's nothing but blood and bones. He doesn't care what insult this guy spews his way but the second he disrespects you, all bets are off.

"He's my friend that's why I'm defending him. I will not let you talk about anyone of these people like that! You are nothing but a hateful asshole. You can go home and don't wait up because you're done."

You're seething with anger but there's a sense of relief that washes over you. You can feel every ones eyes on you but you don't care. You turn around to walk away but Carter grabs onto your wrist.

"Don't fucking walk away from me!" You wince at how hard he grabs you and that's when Logan snaps. Like an animal he's on Carter in an instant. Claws out and a murderous look on his face.

"Get your fucking hand off her before I slice it off." Whatever arrogance Carter had was gone in an instant. He lets go of your wrist and grabs at Logan's arm but Logan is unmoving.

"Listen here bub, you're going to get your sorry ass out of here and never come back." Logan leans in, just close enough that Carter is the only one who can hear his next words.

"If you even think of contacting her again I'll find you and I'll rip you limb from limb." Carter scrambles out of Logans grip and falls to the ground.

"You're all fucking insane." He yells as he runs out the door.

There's a weight that falls off your shoulders the second he's out of your sight. You let out a sigh as you turn to face everyone. Some of them were looking at you with pity and others were happy he was finally gone.

"I am, so sorry for ruining the party."

"You didn't ruin the party sugar, we're glad he's gone. Now we can really party." Rouge says with a smile, you're grateful for her as this breaks the awkward tension.

Things seem to go back to normal but you slip outside, not really feeling a party mood anymore. You hear the door open and foot steps behind you. A root beer is placed in front of you and you gladly take it. Wordlessly Logan takes the spot next to you. Man you can't remember the last time you got to sit down with Logan.

"Thank you, and I'm sorry." You say. He shrugs and throws an arm around you, pulling you closer.

"Nothing to be sorry for sweetheart, asshole had it coming." He takes a sip of his beer and you sigh, leaning a little closer to him.

"How could I be so stupid, things went south way before tonight. I just...didn't want to see it."

"Hey, you're not stupid. You were in love." Love makes you do a lot of things. Turn a blind eye or in Logan's case. Pretend like the feelings aren't even there.

"No I wasn't. Not really. I think...I was so afraid of never finding someone that I latched onto the first guy to give me an ounce of attention." You groan. What's so wrong with wanting to be loved huh? Nothing. But you deserve a guy who isn't a complete asshole.

"There will be other guys, anyone would be lucky. to have you"

"Yeah? Like who?" You say with a snort.

"Like me." Logan says simply. Your eyes widen as you taken in what he just said.

"What?" You ask in disbelief.

Logan shifts where he sits. Fuck this isn't how he imagined telling you, in fact he thought he never would. But Carter made him so angry and he'd be dammed if he let another dick come and take you away again.

"Like me, I want to be the lucky bastard."

"I...Logan how long have you felt this way." You ask, a hand coming to rest on his chest.

"It doesn't matter,"

"Yes it does, please. I need to know how much of an idiot I've been." You beg and Logan frowns, he doesn't like it when you call yourself an idiot.

"Years sweetheart, I've been in love with you for years." He confesses.

All this time. He's been there. As your friend, as something more. Too wrapped up in his own shit to say something at first and then by the time he worked out some of it, it was too late. He hates to admit it but that asshole did one thing right, it pushed him to stop hiding how he really feels about you.

"Logan..." You whisper as your lean in close to him.

His hand snakes around your waist and pulls you closer. Your lips ghost each other for just a moment, before he leans closer and kisses you. Your lips move together slowly. Logan groans against your lips as he pulls you even closer, if anyone were to look outside they'd see you practically crawling onto his lap.

His other hand cups your cheek, keeping you right there for him to kiss over and over. A part of you is kicking yourself for not saying anything to Logan sooner. So much pain and annoyance could have been avoided had one of you just confessed, but the other part of you is too happy to care. Too happy knowing that he felt the same way and that he was finally yours.

"I wish we had done this sooner."

"Me too sweetheart, but you have me now." He says as he kisses you again. A thought lingers in your mind and you pull away from Logan much to his dismay.

"Fuck, I need to get my shit from Carters place." You say with a groan.

"Don't say his name ever again," Logan grumbles and you laugh.

"I'll take care of everything so you never even have to think of that asshole." Logan buries his face in your neck, kissing every bit of skin he can reach.

"Now, lets ditch this party and make up for some lost time." Logan purrs.

God there's so much time to catch up on, you mourn what could have been but Logan taps your cheek. Snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts.

"You alright sweetheart?" You nod, shaking your head free of those thoughts. That's all in the past now, it took a while but you found your way to Logan and that's all that matters.

"I've never been better. Now, take me home."

[babiigirly]

cw: arguing, mc has this red flag, inaccurate, rushed, I don't know what I was writing, not proofread

Sometimes, you're also the one at fault when it comes to arguments, the one who bursts out the most.

Whenever that happens, you two are not on good terms, obviously. You two won't speak to each other for hours and hours, days, maybe even weeks if the fight was really that serious. Funny thing is, you're the one who avoids him and refuses to be in the same room alone with him.

Belphie who scoffs whenever he sees you and notices how you're doing everything you can to avoid him as if he's the one at fault. This demon right here waits until you come up to him with an apology, he won't ask for it, he will wait until it comes out of your lips. He tells himself that he's going to play along with you, but deep down, he misses you so fucking much and just wants to cuddle. He knows you feel the same way and you're just being stubborn. Neither of you will approach each other unless you do it first. You're the one at fault after all, he thinks.

He acts pretty nonchalant and just eats all he wants as usual, but Beel is actually feeling sad that you two haven't made up yet. Unless the fight was really REALLY serious, he'll be the sweetheart he is and try to talk to you after a few days. Otherwise, neither of you will even bat an eye to look at each other and it's unusually awkward between you two.

Asmo is very verbal or sassy about it. He will yell it out loud even in public if he's feeling shameless enough. Something like "I'm waiting!!!" and he means he's waiting for an apology. Most of the time, it fuels the fire and you just hate being with him even more so more avoidance happens. One time, he came home drunk with Solomon assisting him home while he vents and rants about how you won't apologize to him, but he doesn't care about that now and just wants to be with you.

Gets so angry, Satan just wants to thrash everything around but stops himself because he convinces himself that he didn't do anything wrong. He keeps telling himself how he tried to stay calm this time, but it didn't work out with you. Once he notices you avoiding him, he's doing the same thing. He acts like nothing happened even though he feels mixed emotions about feeling so distant to you.

Levi goes to his room and tries not to cry while the heated exchange replays nonstop in his head. He plays his video games or watches anime while being next to one of his favourite plushies or body pillows. He starts talking to Henry, venting and all that. Then he starts missing you, but he will also avoid you and refuse to look at you. He just wants to hear "sorry" and starts self-sabotaging.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it" says Mammon while he paces around his room. He doesn't know why he's the one feeling anxious, but he also kinda knows why. I mean, it's you sooo... And Mammon can't sit still for the rest of the day and the following. He's also pissed that you're the one avoiding him when he just wanna talk about it but he wants you to initiate the conversation. This man can't sleep. He won't sleep.

There was this shocked, disappointed, upset, angry, and low-key sad expression all mixed in Lucifer's face the moment you walked out of the room. He doesn't stop you, but his pride is so hurt especially when you barely show up to him the following days after the argument. He doesn't send you a message, letter, gifts, or anything. He's just there, upset with you but wouldn't say anything. So he's basically doing the same thing Satan is doing. Acting like nothing happened.

Eventually, once you gain the courage to approach him and talk things out, these men are down bad for you and would pretend to consider your apology even though they're beyond happy that you've finally talked to them.

Once you two are on good terms again, expect a bunch of cuddles, dates, clinginess, etcetera etcetera.

a/n: the reason why I have not posted for so long is because of writer's block, as you can probably tell. I'm sorry for this poor quality of work, I promise you that I can do better than this😭 I'm looking for some fics that I've written and are finished or semi finished. I'll try posting those. As for the requests I've received (that I have not yet answered or started doing, please forgive me), I'll get to it soon and I'll do my very best to give you guys what you're asking for.

Also, the Obey Me! announcement and ending has taken a huge toll on me, so bear with me while I continue grieving please lmao hahaha (I'm not ok)

[daryltwdixon]

Kinktober #4: Voyeruism

Honestly, I’m a little doubtful Daryl would ever be into sharing or any sort of voyeruism, but this has been living rent free in my head and I had to get it out x

Daryl x reader +rick hehehe 🤭

Warning: smut 🌶️

You tossed and turned in your tent, the sleeping bag rustling with every move. It was so damn hot this time of year, sleep felt impossible. With a quiet groan, you rubbed your eyes and slapped your hand down on the bedroll. That’s it. You were up. No point in fighting it.

You glanced over at the empty space beside you. It didn’t surprise you. Daryl had first watch tonight, and you could hear the crackling fire just outside. How he could stand the heat with a fire going was beyond you.

Pushing out of the tent, the flap snapped back as you stepped into the warm woods. The air outside felt less suffocating, and you breathed it in with a sigh of relief.

You stopped mid stride out to the fire pit when you noticed not one, but two figures around the fire tonight.

"Evenin', Y/N," Rick drawled from the other side of the fire, taking a swig from a bottle of beer. It was a lucky find from the last run, though it was nothing more than the cheap stuff.

You smile at him and rounded the fallen log where Daryl sat and slid down in front of him, settling between his legs. Leaning back into his chest, you felt his warmth envelop you. He hummed softly at the contact, his hand gently brushing your hair to the side so he could press a kiss to your temple.

"Can't sleep, love?" he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You let out a dramatic sigh, throwing your head back slightly. "Too hot," you whined, exaggerating the complaint.

Your legs stretched out in front of you, hands resting lazily on the ground, and as you leaned back further into him, your shorts inched up, exposing more of your thigh. You felt his eyes on you, his gaze dark and intent as he looked down at the exposed skin. The weight of it made you smirk, knowing exactly what was going through his mind.

Daryl's fingers lightly traced the bare skin of your leg, his touch sending a shiver up your spine despite the warmth. His bangs fell over his eyes, shielding him from Rick's view, but you could see the spark of heat in his expression. That quiet intensity he always had, especially when it was just the two of you.

You shifted slightly, pressing further into his chest, and turned your head to meet his gaze, your lips hovering near his. "You staring for a reason, Dixon?" you teased in a low voice, your tone playful.

He grunted softly, his lips quirking up at the corner. "Yeah... got plenty of reasons," he replied, his voice gruff. Before you could respond, his hand moved up to cradle your cheek, and he dipped his head down, closing the space between you.

His lips met yours with a gentle but deliberate pressure, the kiss slow at first, like he was savoring it. The fire crackled nearby, but all you could focus on was him-the warmth of his body against yours, the roughness of his hand cupping your face, and the way his lips moved against yours with a growing urgency.

You lost track of time, sinking deeper into the kiss, your fingers brushing against his leg as your body responded to him, heat building between you. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just you and him. His tongue pushed into your mouth, eliciting a moan from you as his hand continued to travel up your thigh.

Then, a loud, deliberate throat clearing from across the fire shattered the moment.

You pulled back quickly, your face flushing, and glanced over to see Rick smirking as he took another sip from the beer bottle. “Now, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were tryin’ to give me a show,” he teased, his voice low and playful.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks. “Forgot you were still here,” you teased back, earning a chuckle from Rick.

Rick chuckled, leaning back as if settling in for the long haul. "Oh, I'm still here. But don't worry, I can keep quiet-might even enjoy the view if you don't mind," he added, his eyes flicking between the two of you, the teasing grin never leaving his face.

Daryl's arm tightened around you, his chest rumbling with a low growl. "I ain't into sharin'" he muttered, his voice gruff, but his grip on you was secure, his fingers tracing a slow path over your thigh.

You could feel the tension between them, a current of unspoken words and something more. Your heart raced, the fire crackling beside you, but it was the heat between the three of you that felt more dangerous, more intoxicating.

After a moment, Daryl's hand slid higher, his lips brushing your ear as he added, "But I am open to some show 'n tell."

You sucked in a quick gasp at his admission, your eyes darting up to his, searching for truth in his words.

“You serious?” You whispered so that just he would hear you. The corners of his mouth twitched up as he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing his lips down to yours again.

“Only if you want, baby,” he whispered when he pulled back just an inch. You could feel his breath and his lips move around the words, he was so close. You audibly gulped and after a few deep breaths, you looked at Rick.

The darkness in his gaze sent a light of fire in your stomach, the flicker of firelight in his eyes only adding to the hauntingly carnal look in them. Your breath hitched as Daryl using his one arm to wrap around you, brought you closer against his chest, his breath on your ear, “just say the word, and I’ll stop,”

His other hand that was playing with the hem of your shorts came up to your jaw, forcing your head up to kiss him.

His tongue pushed into your mouth so hungrily you moan around him immediately, his grip tightening on you at the sound. He dropped his hand from your face as you grip his hair, and began roaming his hands ravenously over your body—gripping your arms, running his rough hands over your neck and chest, pulling you into him further.

At one point, his hand came to your throat, just under your jaw and he squeezed eliciting another needy moan from you. He reached back down and brought his fingers further into the hem of your skimpy shorts, and you hear a quiet “fuck,” from across the fire. You pull away from Daryl then and look across to the man watching you both. With hooded eyes, you take in his appearance. You’d never seen him like this before.

Rick’s gaze was predatory, and you m barely needed to imagine why. The sweat glistening on your chest, flushed face and neck with hardening nipples was quite a sight to behold across the crackling flames. His silence spoke louder than words, the way he leaned forward slightly, just enough for the shadows to shift over his features, sharpening the lines of his jaw and the set of his mouth. He wasn’t just watching anymore—he was drawn into the moment, captivated by the tension, by the unspoken invitation Daryl had laid out.

Daryl’s fingers brushed higher, the sensation making your breath catch again, “Reckon he likes watchin’,” Daryl murmured against your neck, his voice low, almost a growl. His lips hovered close to your ear, and the closeness of him made your heart pound. “You like that, sweetheart?”

The question sent a wave of heat through you, a shiver trailing down your spine. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer aloud, but the way your body reacted was answer enough. Daryl smirked against your skin, feeling the tension in you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns now close to your center.

Across from you, Rick’s eyes burned into you, the intensity of his gaze only deepening as Daryl spoke. His hands were still, but the way he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, made it clear he wasn’t just observing—he was immersed in the moment. His lips parted slightly as he watched, the weight of his gaze heavy and unrelenting.

Daryl’s hand slid higher again, and your body arched in response, pressing back into him. His lips found the pulse point on your neck, lingering there, and you let out a quiet gasp, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment. The sensation of being between the two men—one touching, the other watching—sent a jolt of electricity through you.

Your breath quickened as his fingers traced over your center, your shorts sticking to you like a second skin from the heat and sweat. The soft fabric was dampening more by the second, and when you opened your eyes again you saw Rick staring downwards then. Daryl’s mouth was languid on your neck, tasting your salty skin with his tongue and teeth as his fingers work deliberately and frustratingly slow. His other hand was now at your chest, beneath your tank top reaching in from the top, kneading one of your breasts. You were so overwhelmed by his touches and tongue and teeth you couldn’t even concentrate on the man across from you. The only thing you could make out was hunger in his expression, the way his focus never strayed, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths as he watched you with a kind of raw, primal interest.

Your back arches as Daryl’s fingers dip under your shorts, and he growls at the feeling of your gushing cunt. He takes his other hand out of your shirt and pulls your face back to him, hungry for you again. You whimper into his mouth when he brings his lips to yours, and pushes his finger into you, bending them up into you, making your mouth open in a gasp, unable to concentrate so much even to kiss him back. His thumb brushes against your swollen clit as he works his magic, all while keeping your shorts mostly in place, his hand cupping your mound to block the view as much as he could. Your chest was heaving, heart pumping arousal into your blood stream and pressure building in your core as he looks down into you with a smirk.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers into your mouth, kissing your open mouth as you gasp under his touch. He releases your face and lets your head lull back onto his leg as you stare at him with a lazy smile before he inserts a second finger, making you moan even louder. He quickly brings his hand to your mouth, and smirks looking to Rick, “Sorry 'bout that. She gets a little excited when I do that," he teased, his voice a rough murmur, clearly amused with himself.

Rick’s jaw tightened slightly at Daryl’s comment, but instead of backing off, he leaned forward a bit, eyes still dark with intensity. A smirk flickered briefly across his lips before he spoke, voice low and steady.

“Don’t see me complainin’,” he drawled, rough but laced with the slightest hint of amusement. His tone was tight, as if trying to contain himself while he watches the both of you His gaze flicked to you for just a moment, taking in your reaction before settling back against the tree at his back, “makes me wonder what else she gets loud about,”

To your surprise, Daryl didn’t seem to like the idea of Rick thinking of you in any other way. His eyes narrow at his friend, and looks back to you, his fingers pumping into your with so much fever your eyes roll back.

“Who makes you feel this good baby?” He whispers into your ear, “who does this beautiful fucking cunt belong to? Tell him,”

He releases his hand from your mouth as his thumb pressed a calloused pad against your sensitive nub, and you convulse around his fingers.

“Daryl!”

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 4: You Want to Live Where?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy.

Word Count: 7.6K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Spotify Playlist 🪴

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You lay down the $2.50 map of NYC that you bought at the bodega next door to Butcher's apartment building on the giant threadbare wooden table that serves as the group dining room table.  Everyone was still in Jersey, for what reason you didn't know, but it meant that the apartment was silent.

Aka. Ben wasn't here to drive you to murder.

After Annie and you had said goodbye, she went back to Vought Tower because Ashley had called and complained about something that you couldn't hear over the sounds of the city outside the coffee shop. You were hoping that she'd text you later to dish about Ashley's probably insane request. While you kept your promise to Butcher about plotting out where the carjackings were happening and noting the auto shops nearby.

He had left you the complete lists of where the cars were stolen, what time, and how many. It was your job to mark them on the map and see if any of them were like the others. He was getting frustrated with how little the team could find on the electric wielding supe who was jacking cars, and you wanted to help out as much as you could. In a few days you were going to go to the auto shops in the same area to see if anyone heard anything about him.

Best case scenario someone would give you a lead, worst case scenario you were back to square one.

You lean down over the table, making the first mark on the map where the initial carjacking took place. It was at the top of the map which meant that you were practically laying on top of the table to reach.

The door to the apartment behind you opened but you didn’t think about it, too absorbed in making the correct tick mark.

"Don't stop on my account Doll." You hear Ben's low rumble break through the silence of the apartment.

You fight the urge to audibly groan when you realize that he's back from Jersey and here to make your life a living hell.

You stand up and turn around to face him. He’s wearing his Soldier Boy suit, standing  inside the front door and looking just as handsome as he always does, as much as you hate to admit that. He's got some soot smeared just under his left eye, and the left sleeve of his suit is singed, but other than that he looks okay.

“I thought you wouldn’t be back for at least another hour-“ You begin to say, but Ben interrupts.

“I missed you Petals.” He smirks wider, setting his shield down against the base of the kitchen counter. “You and that perfect ass of yours.”

“Where is everyone else?”

“Fuck if I know. After I bagged the supe I didn’t ask questions.” He shrugs moving into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

You roll your eyes and turn back to the map laying on the table, making another tick with the red marker in your hand where a car was stolen, but avoid bending over the table. “So which supe did you go after? The electric guy?”

“No this girl had fire shit coming out of her hands.”

"Oh guess you've got a new girlfriend, huh Gramps? Though I will say you definitely have a type. First Countess and now-"

"Jealous?" Ben responds from right next to you.

You weren’t expecting him to be so close, so close in fact that you could practically feel the heat of his skin through the air between the two of you from where he leans over the table looking at the map. It immediately reminds you of this morning when he pinned you to the counter, how his body felt pressed against yours, and how his gaze seemed to hold you in place. His eyes really were beautiful, more green than you'd ever seen anyone have, but you were biased because your favorite color was green for obvious reasons.

“You’re doing it again Sweetheart.” Ben smirks, his eyes shifting to where you pretend to study the map with a newfound fascination.

Don't look at him. Don't look at him. Don't look at him.

"Doing what?" You ask making another tick on the map as you go down the list Butcher made last night when you were researching.

"Thinking about fucking me." Ben says.

"No I'm not." You reply tapping the map with your red pen.

"You're a terrible liar doll. It's what I love about you." He laughs, but then takes a sip from his glass. "Um." Ben pauses. "How was your day?" Ben says it slowly, awkwardly, like it's difficult for him.

"What?" You turn to look at him, surprised.

"How was your day?" He repeats. Ben's green eyes are shining in the soft light coming from the lamps lit around the apartment, his dark hair softly curling around the back of his ears. Again you're struck by how normal he looks. Because despite wearing his supe suit, Ben looks relaxed, calm, sipping from the amber liquid in the glass like he belongs here and not forty years ago.

"Why are you asking me that?"

You were confused. Ben had never asked you about your day never seemed to care about how you were. You remember earlier when Ben asked if you would be at the apartment later, like he genuinely wanted to know what you were doing.

This is weird.

Ben shrugs.

"It was okay." You say slowly, narrowing your eyes in suspicion. "I fixed a shipment of African Violets-"

"African what?"

"African Violets." You answer. "It's a flowering plant, has fuzzy leaves. We always sell out of them. I have some in the windows at my apartment."

"The purple ones?" Ben interrupts.

He noticed that?

"Yeah." You blink in surprise. "And I got coffee with Annie."

Where she mocked me endlessly for kissing you and liking it.

"Did Hughie go with you two? Kinda seems like he doesn't do much without her say so." Ben laughs at his own joke, the ice in his glass clinking against the sides as he tilts it back to catch the last few drops. "Poor bastard's pussy whipped."

You can't help, but snort. You knew how Annie seemed to have a bit of a hold on Hughie, but where Ben saw Hughie as being "pussy whipped" you saw Hughie as being in love with Annie and willing to do things for her.

"No he didn't come with us and I think that he'd disagree and say that he loves Annie. When you were with Countess didn't you guys do anything together?"

"We did lots of things together." Ben's eyes darken slightly. "Things I wouldn't mind showing you."

You shake your head at him and nudge his shoulder. "Come on. You didn't go on dates or anything?"

You were probably crossing a border by asking Ben about Countess. You'd never asked him about her before, had heard about how the relationship exploded, LITERALLY.

Not to mention she was probably the closest to love that Ben had ever come. Maybe you were just curious, curious if Ben had actually cared about her, if he'd actually had feelings or if it had been a lie.

Ben hesitates for a second. "Why do you care?"

"Just making conversation." You look back down at the map noting the streets that run within the circle of carjackings.

It can't be a coincidence given how many auto shops there are within this circle. Someone has to know what’s been going on.

He hesitates and you wonder if that’s because it’s painful to talk about her or painful for him to open up. "Once or twice." Ben says finally. "We didn't really do that."

"Oh."

"We went to premieres and fucked a lot." Ben doesn't seem that disappointed by it, as if he thinks that is what a healthy relationship should be.

Didn't need to know that. What else did I expect? He said that he wasn't into emotions earlier today of course he doesn't care about that. He's so confusing. He told Hughie that he loved her and that he wanted to have kids with her, how is that born from going to premieres and fucking? Kinda feels like you'd need to spend more time together and have deeper conversations for that to happen right? You know what? I'm not gonna judge his relationship, maybe they had a great connection or whatever.

You think about your only serious relationship which was 7 months with your high school boyfriend Newton. You thought that you loved him, and then he broke your heart. But Newton and you had done more than go on one or two dates, it had been a relationship, you had depended on him, told him things about yourself that you didn't tell anyone else.

"How about you?" Ben's fingers trace one of the roads along the map.

"How about me what?" You put another 'x' over another place where there was another carjacking.

"Have you ever been in a relationship or have you just been waiting around for Jake to fuck you?"

"I don't want him to fuck me-"

"Sorry. You want him to make love to you." Ben says make love like it's a curse word.

"You're not making me want to share anything about my life with you."

"Come on Petals, I shared my deepest darkest secrets with you." He nudges you with his elbow.

"I wouldn’t say that you telling me that you and Countess fucked and went to a premiere together is your 'deepest darkest secrets.'" You make air quotes with your free hand. "But, I’ve only had one serious relationship and it was in high school."

"And?" Ben presses

"It was 7 months lasted just until he went to college. What else do you want me to tell you?"

"Why did it end?" Ben pours himself a new glass of whiskey.

"Why does that matter?"

"Come on doll."

"I-" You bite the inside of your cheek in contemplation. I can't believe I'm about to say this. "He wasn't a supe and when I finally told him that I was a supe he didn't react appropriately and I locked him in a tree." You make another tick on the map.

"You locked the fucker in a tree?" Ben snorts into his glass.

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Because he asked me if I could shapeshift and made a few comments about my body." You say it quietly more to the map than to Ben.

Ben's hand gently comes under your chin turning your face towards him. He looks pissed, his green eyes dark as he gazes down at you. "What did he say about your body?" Ben's voice is more of a growl than anything else.

His touch was gentle, almost caring, and he’d never tried to do that before.

"Nothing worth repeating-"

"Tell me." Ben breathes. "Please."

"Just that I could lose a few pounds and make myself a little more busty."

Ben doesn’t move. His jaw clenches tightly, muscles tensed, eyes hardening. “He said that to you?”

You nod because you’re not sure what to say. Ben was acting different all over again.

“Fuck him. He’s wrong.” Ben says, voice tight. “He’s an insignificant asshole who didn’t understand how to speak to a woman and who deserved to be locked in a tree. Hell, if I had been there I would have beat him with a tree.”

“I’m not exactly sure you know how to speak to a woman either Ben.” You crack a smile remembering every time that Ben had made an inappropriate comment to you.

“Well I’d never call a woman fat. And he must have been blind because you have the most perfect body-“

“Shut up.”  You roll your eyes at him, but all he does is grin.

Ben stands there for a minute, still holding on to your chin, his skin burning through yours where the two of you are touching. Your eyes shift down to his lips for a millisecond thinking about how soft they were last night and Ben clocks the movement.

You wonder if he wants to kiss you as much as you want to kiss him. If he's remembering the kiss you shared with him last night, if it felt as good for him as it did for you, because it couldn't have been just you.

You hated seeing this side of Ben because it constantly gave you whiplash.

Was he a jerk or was he actually deeper than you thought and he locked it all underneath the macho bullshit?

You pull back, letting his hand fall from your chin to continue working on the map, but can’t fight the way you miss his touch against your skin.

An awkward silence follows and you keep looking at the list that Butcher gave you to avoid looking at Ben, going down the list with the marker checking them off. Because you knew if you looked at him again you would definitely try to kiss him and after what he just said to you, you really wanted to.

Deep down you wonder if that was him trying to connect with you, trying to not be such a jerk or if he was changing tactics to try and get you to sleep with him, just like when he remembered how much you liked ABBA.

There's no way that he actually pays that much attention to me, that he actually cares enough, right?

Finally you ask. "How was your day?" It comes out hesitant, as if you can't really form the words. Honestly it was weird to ask him something so mundane, without it being sarcastic. Saying anything was weird after the moment the two of you just shared.

"Better now that I got to see you doll." Ben catches your eye with a wide smirk, slipping into old habits.

Why do I even try to-

"It was okay." He follows up with a shrug. "Firey bitch got a few hits in."

You glance over at where his suit is singed over his left arm, and then raise your eyes to the soot smeared under his left eye, wondering if it actually burned his skin. "Are you okay?"

Sometimes it was easy to forget that he was almost indestructible. And after all the tapes that you'd seen of Ben being tortured in Russia, you did hate it when he got hurt. He didn’t deserve that, not after what he'd been through.

"I'm a little harder to roast alive, but I like that you worry about me." Ben leans further towards you, so close that his breath tickles the right side of your neck.

"I'm not worried about you." You turn to glare at him.

"You know when you lie you get this little scrunch right here." Ben's finger gently touches the space between your eyebrows making your face turn bright red. "It's cute."

"Don't touch me."

“I think you like it when I touch you.”

“No I don’t.”

I do.

“Then why does your heart start beating a little faster when I do?” Ben smirks as if he thinks he’s caught you.

“To pump all the hate faster through my body.”  You snap. You move around the table to the other side to get further away from him and his stupid perfect face. “And if you couldn’t tell I’m working on something and I’d like to be done with it soon so I can go home.”

“You sure you don’t want to take a break? I’ve got to take a shower. Might help you relax a bit.”

“I’m perfectly relaxed!” You snap back, crushing the writing utensil in your hand. 

Ben looks from the ruined red marker in your hand that drips ink down your skin and then back up at you. “Are you? Because that pen says otherwise.”

"Don’t you have anything else to do? Like get someone pregnant with Homelander 2.0?” You say, wiping the ink from the pen on an old rag that hangs from one of the chairs.

At the mention of his son, the expression on Ben's face turn murderous, and you can't help but feel a little guilty. It was a low blow. You hadn’t meant to bring him up, but Ben always had a way of getting under your skin worse than anyone else. Ben never talked about him or brought him up in conversation. You knew why. Ben might not have said it aloud, but you saw how he acted whenever his son was brought up in conversation, how he seemed just a little more tense than usual and almost a little more quiet.  You knew that he was hurt by what had happened even if he didn’t want to admit it.

You figured that finding out that he had a son that was made in a lab without his permission was enough of a slap in the face, not to mention the whole thing about Homelander being the replacement for him and being the reason why his team was "allowed" to stab him in the back and send him to Russia in the first place.

Fuck.

"I didn't mean that Ben. I'm sorry." You say touching his wrist before you can stop yourself. As much as you didn't get along with him, he didn't deserve to be reminded of something like that.

"Why the fuck should I care?" Ben yanks his wrist back from you, his tone harsher, no longer teasing. The humor is gone from his eyes and the guilt builds in your chest as you look up at him.

"Because I know that you're still a little upset about everything that happened with Vought and Homelander and-"

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" Ben spits moving around the table to tower over you.

It's the first time you'd ever seen him really mad at you, the only other time was when you met for the first time and he tried to rip you in half, but got a face full of tree branch instead, the night Homelander finally got put on ice.

"I'm not some fucking pussy that talks about their feelings or someone who gives a fuck about anyone else." He continues, eyes blazing. "I don't give a fuck about feelings or emotions or any of that shit. So do me a favor Sweetheart, don't put me on a fucking white horse, don't romanticize me, and don't turn me into something I'm not. Because the only thing that I want from any woman is to fuck them. Don’t forget it." Ben pushes past you to go to his room, slamming the door so hard the entire apartment shakes.

Well that went well.

By the time you finish the map and make a complete list of all the auto shops contained within the large circle you marked on the map when you connected where the car jackings were happening, everyone was back and Ben was gone.

He had left about thirty minutes after he yelled at you, didn't look in your direction once as he stomped out the door of the apartment wearing his signature leather jacket and dark t-shirt jeans combo.

You assumed he had a tinder date or he was just trying to get away from all the noise. Bagging the supe had definitely  boosted morale. Even Butcher seemed less moody than usual, the dark cloud that hung over him dissipating for a few hours while everyone laughed and ate greasy pizza.

But despite the happy atmosphere in the apartment, you couldn’t help but think of Ben. Yes he yelled at you, but you shouldn't have brought up Homelander. It wasn't your business and Ben might have tried to cover up what he was feeling with his usual angry, loud, and sexually forward advances, but you could see that he did have emotions, he just tried to hide them.

He just needs to drop the bullshit macho attitude.

You didn’t think that it was weak for a man to show his emotions, if anything you thought that it showed emotional maturity and it was nice to meet a man who was actually open about what he was feeling rather than keeping it locked away and repressed.

Sometimes you thought you could see the man that Ben was, when everything was quiet and it was the two of you, but then he'd make a pass at you or revert back into whatever the hell kind of person he was a few hours ago when he yelled at you for apologizing.

For APOLOGIZING of all things.

You walked back to your apartment quickly and quietly, taking note of the place that is overgrown with weeds where you had fought the muggers last night. The bodies were gone now and you wondered if they were at the hospital or in prison. The blood stains on the ground where Ben beat the man were still on the pavement, and again you thought whether or not the man was alive.

You doubted it.

When you round the corner and approach your apartment building you notice that someone is sitting on the front steps, but you don’t pay any attention to it, you just continue to walk forward.

“Hey Petals.” Ben leans back on the steps smoking a blunt. His hair is more tousled than usual as if someone has run their fingers through it and you assume that the reason why he left earlier is because he had a “date.”

You watch the way the thick darkened strands lay on his head, admiring how it looks in the light that comes from the street lights that line the sidewalk. You were trying not think about how it would feel to brush the strands back from his face, to twist your fingers in his hair.

No. Not thinking about that right now.

“What are you doing here Gramps?” You cross your arms over your chest and use his nickname to offset the annoyance you feel when he calls you 'Petals.'

“Well I left some clothes here this morning and thought I’d come up to get them.”

“I can just bring them to the apartment-“

“You could.” He interrupts, taking a hit from the joint. “But I didn’t want to put you out.”

“How chivalrous of you, but aren't you the guy who forced me to let him crash on my couch yesterday?”

“Well I could have slept in the bed with you, but you were so adamant about me ‘respecting your boundaries.’”

"Thanks." You force a smile. "Fine, you can come up for two minutes-"

"If you make it 10, I promise I'll make it worth your while." Ben's lips pull into a mischievous smirk around the blunt perched between his lips.

You roll your eyes and pass him as you go up the concrete steps, feeling his gaze on your ass the whole time.

When you finally get up to your apartment Bean greets you at the door, purring loudly and rubbing against your ankles. You stoop down to pet him, running your fingers through his thick gray fur.

“Hey buddy. You missed me huh?” Bean purrs louder and pushes his neck into your fingertips to signal you to keep scratching him.

Ben walks past you to the couch where his clothes are waiting but instead of picking them up, he sits down and grabs the tv remote before propping his feet up on your coffee table.

“What are you doing?” You look up at him.

“One of my old films is playing tonight. Thought you’d want to watch it.” The tip of the blunt burns bright red like a beacon in your apartment.

“No. The only thing I want is for you to leave.” 

Ben huffs out a cloud of smoke. “Look I know you like me-“

“I don’t.”

“You do.” He smiles. “So why can’t I stay here?”

“Because this is my apartment!”

“I can pay half the rent if you want me to.”

“It’s not about the money-“

“Then why?”

“Because this is my home! This is where I come to get away from people. This is where I come to decompress when you piss me off! And I don’t want you to live here because you’re a huge dick, stuffed full of macho shit, who keeps trying to sleep with me!” You shout, standing from the ground to plant your hands on your hips.

Ben only smiles as if you've complimented him. "Come on, was last night all that bad? I didn't bother you-"

"Because all we did was go to bed, if you stay here, that’s you 24/7. I need a place to get away from you." You emphasize again.

"Your bedroom isn't far enough away?"

"Nope."

"Come on Petals. I'm not so bad. At least I'm nice to look at." He smiles wider.

"You're not making me want to let you stay here."

Bean saunters over and begins to rub himself on Ben's ankles, purring loudly like the traitor he is. "The cat wants me to stay." Ben quips looking up at you while he scratches Bean under his chin.

"The cat doesn't get a say." You cross your arms over your chest. “And why do you want to stay here anyway? You’ve got tons of money! You don’t exactly need a roommate. And you certainly don’t need to live back at the apartment with Butcher and the team.”

Ben frowns for a minute as if what he’s about to say next is difficult. “I just-“ He sighs. “I don’t want to live alone okay?”

“What?” You blink in shock. It was the last thing you were expecting him to say.

“The lab and all that shit-" Ben looks away from you and takes a hit from the joint. "It- fuck." He mutters it more to himself than to you, eyes leveled at the hardwood floors.

It was the first time you'd seen him look a little bit vulnerable, surprising since he'd yelled at you a few hours ago when you'd accused him of having feelings. The truth was you felt bad for Ben. He was all alone, didn't have anyone left, his old boss literally took his genetic material and made a monster, and he was stranded in a world that he didn't know anything about. And maybe he didn't want to admit it, but maybe Ben was lonely. Which made the whole bed hopping thing make sense.

You examine his posture, notice how he still won't look at you, and how he almost seems to be ashamed that he admitted that.

“I’m just not sure it’s a good idea for us to live together.” You say quietly.

“Why? Because you think I’m going to try something while you’re sleeping?” Ben looks up at you suddenly angry. “Do you really think that I’d do something like that? I mean I’m a lot of things Petals but a fucking rapist isn’t one of them.”

“No I don’t think you’d do that Ben.” It was the truth, Ben might be obnoxious and inappropriate at times, but you didn’t believe that he would ever force you to do something you didn’t want to do.

“Then why?”

“Because we don’t get along. You’re-“ You wave your hand up and down at him.

Yes I know that gesturing to all of him isn't an answer, but maybe I'm trying my best.

“I don’t know what that means.” Ben raises his eyebrows as if trying to solve the secrets of the universe.

You sigh, blowing out a breath. "I just don’t think we’re a good fit for roommates.”

“Because?”

“You’re loud, and you always have those women with you. You smoke and drink and you put your feet on my furniture! Not to mention you don’t really seem to like plants all that much-“ You gesture with your hand to the room covered in plants in different stages of growth.

“I like plants.”

“Uh-huh? What plants?”

“What?”

“What kind of plants do you like?”

Ben blinks for a second. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“That’s another thing! We drive each other crazy Gramps. I don’t think this is a good idea. Not to mention you wouldn’t have a room, you’d be out here on the couch.”

I mean did he want to sleep on that couch? It was sort of comfortable, but not live on forever comfortable.

“It’s not a bad couch?” Ben says it like a question.

“I got it free from a guy with a foot fetish, Ben. It’s a bad couch. I just-“ You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “You really want to live here that badly?”

“It's quieter here than it is at the other apartment."

“Nothing about Mike’s singing in the morning is quiet.” You crack a smile for the first time since you saw him sitting on your front step.

“It’s not so bad. There was this hero in the 70’s who could super screech. Fucking blew out my eardrums one time.” Ben shrugs. “Plus I don’t want you to miss me.”

Your smile drops into a frown. "I wouldn't miss you."

"I think you would doll."

You stand there for another minute considering what it would be like for him to live here.

I can't believe that I'm considering this. That would mean that he would be a pain in my ass 24/7. Him drinking, smoking, and doing God knows what on my couch. And why does he want to live on the couch anyway? It sucks. He could live anywhere he wanted and yet he wants to live here with me? Kinda feels like there's another reason for this.

"If I say yes there are some ground rules." You bite the inside of your cheek, rocking back on your heels.

"Like?"

"No sex."

Ben rolls his eyes. "I don't know why you're so against you and me-" He begins to say, but you interrupt him.

"I'm talking about you. You’re not allowed to bring any of your harem into my apartment."

“Want me all for yourself huh Petals?” Ben smirks stretching his hands back behind his head in a way that makes the end of his shirt pulls up enough for you to see the sliver of skin just at the top of his jeans and a peak of his muscular abdomen.

Keep it together, it’s just skin.

You frown at him until Ben finally sighs.

"Wouldn't it be our apartment if I lived here?" He raises an eyebrow.

"No women." You say firmly.

“Fine.”

“No going in my room under any circumstances.” You point down the darkened hallway as if he didn't know where it was.

“But what if-“

“No going in my room under any circumstances!” You repeat.

Ben mutters something under his breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch that.”

“I said okay.” He grouses.

"And no killing my plants." You look at the ones growing on the coffee table where they could be easily pushed off by his large feet, narrowing your eyes.

“What if it’s an accident?”

“Too bad. And how do you accidentally kill a plant?”

“I don’t know there’s a fuck ton of them in here! I could step on one or trip. Not to mention in the shower-“ He begins to shout.

“It’s you that wants to live here! And if you want to, you have to follow my rules.”

“You really are a bossy little thing. Didn’t think you’d be into domination.” Ben cocks his head to the side examining you.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Because you’re so damn guarded. It’s like trying to get into the U.S Mint.”

That made you pause. He wants to know more about me? What?

Bean purrs louder and brushes up against your legs as if asking your permission for Ben to live there.

This is insane. Why here? Couldn’t he go off and live with Legend or something?

“Are you sure you couldn’t just live with Legend? Y’all seem to get along better-“

Ben shudders. “I never want to live with him again. I stayed over at his house a few nights one time and walked in on him naked and covered in cool whip.”

“I don’t think you have the right to kink shame other people-“

“He was alone Petals.”

“What?”

“There was no one else there.”

“Okay yeah that’s weird.” You snort.

“Then again if I walked in on you covered in cool whip I think it would be a nice surprise.” Ben winks at you as he takes another hit from his blunt.

“Keep dreaming Gramps.”

“Oh I see it in my dreams all the time.” He tilts his head to the side, his eyes tracing the curves of your body.

You sigh exasperated. On one hand you felt bad for him and were kind of flattered that he was willing to confess that he didn’t want to live alone to you. And on the other hand you didn’t want him to live with you because you knew he would drive you to the brink of insanity. And you were already close enough to that.

“Fine.”

“Fine like you’re going to pull some cool whip out of the freezer?” Ben perks up.

“No. Fine as in you can live here and pay rent. But, if you break any of the rules or if you start driving me more insane than usual, I reserve the right to kick you out on your ass.”

“Can I make a counter offer?”

“Nope.”

Ben sighs mulling it over, before he stands from the couch and holds out his hand towards you. “Deal.”

You take it hesitantly. Sometimes you weren’t used to how warm Ben was. You figured that it was because of the nuclear radiation, but you didn’t mind it. In fact, you kind of liked it. Plants and cold didn’t mix and you noticed that you didn’t do well in the cold either, which meant that Ben’s body temperature almost seemed to soothe you.

And you noticing how warm he was again lead back to the memory of him pinning you against the counter earlier, how warm his body was when it curved around you, how he dipped his head down towards yours, how he-

I’ve got to get this under control. You grit your teeth together to avoid the strawberry bush on top of the refrigerator to go back into full bloom.

“Well now that this is all sorted out, I’m going to go to bed.” You let go of his hand and try to step around him, but Ben blocks you.

“Come on roomie, watch a movie with me. This is a good one.” Ben nods his head back to the tv, where the opening credits have started to play.

You’d never seen this film before, but wondered why Ben was so adamant about you watching a movie with him. You’d seen most of his others and hadn’t been impressed with his acting skills. You assumed he kept getting roles because of who he was.

What? Does he think that watching a film with him in it will make me sleep with him? I wonder if he does that on his Tinder dates, gets them all hot and bothered with his old films and… I am not thinking about this right now.

“I don’t watch much tv.” You lie, eyes shifting back to the dark hallway and the solace of your bedroom. In your bedroom you couldn't make the mistake of kissing Ben, in there you could only fantasize about it.

“There’s that adorable scrunch.” Ben coos poking his finger directly between your eyebrows, signaling that he knows you lied.

“Fine.” You sigh, swatting away his hand. “I’ll watch the stupid movie. But can I change first?”

“Sure.” 

You vanish down the hallway and into your room, looking around at the familiar objects inside. You take in a soothing breath, feeling the energy from the plants in the room sink into your bones and take away your anxiety and nervous energy. You gently touch the petals of a honeysuckle on your chest of drawers to perk it up, the happy yellow blooms making you smile.

I don’t have to go back out there. I can just hide in here forever.

It seemed like a good plan, but apart of you felt guilty, because Ben was asking you to do something that was normal with him instead of asking you to sleep with him.

Maybe he’s trying to have a sort of friendship. Maybe I should be supportive of that and-

“If you’re debating whether or not to come out of your room naked, the answer is yes.” Ben shouts from the living room. "I can check the freezer for cool whip for you."

Never mind.

When you finally come out of your bedroom you’re wearing a pair of your softest sweatpants and a maroon t-shirt with a picture of a potted plant on the front, toting your latest crochet project- a black cardigan with small white flowers the size of the tip of your pinky that you were making for Annie's birthday that was coming up in a month.

Before you hadn't minded that the only place to sit in your living room was the couch. Annie and you had spent many nights sitting on it drinking wine and watching ridiculous movies, but now you wished that you had tried to shove another armchair into your living room, because the only place for you to sit was beside Ben.

Ben, who now had shrugged out of his jacket and was looking much too good for someone wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He grins when he sees you and pats the cushion next to him.

"Come on baby, I don't bite." His grin turns wolfish. "Unless you ask me to."

You shake your head, but sit down beside him, bringing your legs up underneath you and place the cardigan on your lap before finding the cold metal of the crochet hook in the bundle. Ben's thigh is almost touching yours, just an inch of space between the two of you, but you can still feel the warmth of his body in the space.

"What the fuck is that?" Ben zeroes in on the project in your lap.

"I'm making a sweater for Annie's birthday. It's next month." You don't bother looking up at him, instead you try to find the stitch where you left off.

"And you call me old." Ben laughs.

"Keep talking Gramps and I'm gonna make you a pretty pink hat with big yellow flowers, tie it to your head while you're sleeping, take a photo, and make it your profile picture on Tinder."

"You've seen my pictures on Tinder?" Ben leans towards you and wiggles his eyebrows. "Were you fantasizing about me Petals?"

"Have you ever had a filter or did it get thrown away when you got the Douchebag iOS 8 upgrade?" You ask beginning to work down the row of stitches.

"I have no idea what that means." Ben frowns in confusion.

"Ask Hughie. Now be quiet I'm trying to watch the movie."

Ben chuckles and leans back on the sofa.

The movie was better than the others you'd seen. Ben was playing a man who was surviving in an apocalyptic world following the fallout of nuclear war that turned everyone into mutated creatures. It was broken up by flashbacks to a perfect world where Ben was in the military and had the perfect nuclear family.

There was something about seeing him in the flashbacks with the family that made something stir in your chest. Seeing him so gentle, playing with his kids, sitting at the breakfast table with his wife- it reminded you of how Ben acted with you sometimes, when he acted calmer and less like the macho asshole he was around Butcher and the rest of the team.

It made you think about what Hughie said that Ben said about having a few kids with Countess.

He’d probably be a good dad.

You think to yourself finishing the row and starting the next one, the bright blue metal crochet hook weaving the yarn together.

That must have been painful, to find out that she never loved him. I wonder if he waited for her to come get him everyday.

A part of your heart broke for him despite how much he annoyed you. You couldn’t imagine someone you loved letting you down like that, leaving you behind and not coming back.

It would be like me waiting for Annie each day and then find out that our friendship didn't mean anything to her.

You could see Ben glancing over at you every few minutes as if gauging how much you liked the movie, and it was hard not to smile.

“What?” You ask, threading your hook.

“Are you paying attention?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

“Huh?” You look up from your crochet at him. You weren’t expecting him to ask you that. “Um yeah. I like this one. I can't believe they got Charleton Heston to star in this with you." You say watching Ben and Heston on the screen. Heston was playing another survivor who was leading what seemed to be the last group of survivors in New York. Ben's character had just discovered them living in the sewers and was happy to learn that he wasn’t the last man on earth. “You like Chuck Petals?”

“My dad did. We used to watch all his films, but we never watched this one.” You look back down at your crochet, smoothly working down the row. The rhythmic motion of the hook and the yarn is serene and calming. It’s why you started in the first place, because after a long day it was the only thing that lowered your anxiety.

You hadn’t thought about your father in years, hadn’t tried to watch one of the films he loved so much in ages, sometimes it was too painful to think about your parents, hard to think about what happened to them.

“What was he like?” Ben asks.

“Charleston Heston? I hate to break it to you Gramps, but if you’ve forgotten what he was like and you were in a movie with him I’m pretty sure that’s a sign of Alzheimer’s.” You reply without looking up.

“Your old man.” Ben rolls his eyes.

“Oh.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “He was a dad.” You say it hoping that Ben won't press you for more answers.

“And?”

“Why are you asking me that?” You insert the hook into the sweater, not looking up at Ben.

“Humor me.”

“I don’t really want to talk about him.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like to.”

“Why not?"

“Because I don’t!" You shout, shoulders tensing. "Why? Do you like talking about your dad?”

Ben’s mouth dips down into a frown. “Not really.”

An awkward silence grows between the two of you, broken only by the dialogue between Ben and Heston on the screen.

“My parents died when I was 12.” You whisper, continuing down the row of stitches until you get to the end and flip the sweater around. "I don't like talking about it."

Ben presses his lips into a tight line. “I’m sorry.”

“I’d say it’s okay, but it’s really not.” You begin the next row of stitches, not looking up at Ben. You hadn't talked about your parents with anyone since you were in a relationship with Newton. Annie of course knew, she'd been there with you the whole time, through the funeral, through the aftermath when you had horrible nightmares, through the fallout with your brother when he vanished for a month and didn't seem the same when he came back, and she always made sure that you were okay. Annie was more than your best friend, she was family.

Another silence builds as the two of you watch the movie continue. Heston had just revealed that it was his fault that the nuclear fallout took place and that he was secretly a Nazi. You were sure that there was going to be an epic fight scene within the next few minutes.

“My mom died when I was young too.” Ben murmurs still looking at the screen, barely audible over the music as it begins to swell.

You stop crocheting to look at him. “I’m sorry.”

He nods once, not looking at you, taking another hit from his blunt.

And as you sit there examining him, you wondered if Ben, despite everything he said and everything he did, if he was just as human as you were.

A/N: I realize that this might be becoming a lot of domestic fluff and soft Ben and I'm not sorry. 😂

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist please let me know! :)

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

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@ifyouwerethemoon @ririshkin @peachhiz @fitxgrld @sukunassfinger

[etheries1015]

We all always do General Lilia with Human Reader but NEVER

General Lilia and Fae Reader

What you gon do? Spit out another angst right in my face? Come fight me coward

My first thought to this was to raise an eyebrow and inquire: "How could that possibly be angsty? Fae Lilia falling in love with Fae reader, they could live their lives out the way they want, and have ample time to bask in one another company! Doesn't this sound like the perfect win-win scenario?"

But then it hit me like a truck.

General Lilia X Fae! Reader - The fae with a dream

General warnings: Gender-neutral reader, angst w/ no comfort. Not proofread. slightly rushed ending..? let me know if you have suggestions and I can update and edit accordingly.

TW: Morbid descriptions of Death, emetophobia. Please make me aware if I missed anything and I shall update this section.

General Lilia was used to seeing death all around him. Humans and fae alike fallen into the fire of war losing their lives for...what? Power over one another? A battle of whose race is superior? Seemingly meaningless in the end, for why should the fae fight to prove their worth to live equally in a world where humans simply feared their magic and mystery? That's what made Fae beautiful, after all. And if the humans could just come to understand that their magic isn't all that heinous, perhaps they could find peace with their existence.

That was what you had said, at least.

"All this fighting is just so...pointless," You sighed to the general in your shared camp, "If all they fear is our magic, don't you think we should have some sort of civil conversation to-"

"(y/n)." Lilia sternly said, a scowl on his lips telling you all you really need to know with his displeasure of the topic, "Humans will never understand us. They fear us, and that's all the reason they need to kill our people. Do not try and speak words of peace when they obviously have no interest in hearing us out." You bit your lip to hold back the words of disagreement, something so like you. Always a peace maker, not wanting confrontation, especially not with him.

But he also knew better than anyone just how reckless you can get to obtain that peace, every day that passes by he wishes you spoke to him first before jumping into the noble idea that ultimately took your life.

He noticed the way you fought became sloppy, he could tell you were holding back your magical abilities in some sick and twisted mercy for the humans. He admired how strongly you dreamed of a world where the two races could live in peace, but he was disappointed in how naive and stupid you were to hold back during a battle for your life and the lives of your comrades. The general made certain to make you aware your actions had consequences, breaking your heart in the process.

The long-haired male looked down at you in distaste, blood red eyes squinting in authority and lips tilted in a disgusted frown as he grabbed you by the back of your hair and roughly pushed you into the tent. You let out a feeble cry mix of shock and pain, tears pouring down your mud-stained cheeks as the rough force of his push left you plummeting to the ground.

"Your actions as of late have been incredibly foolish and put the entire army at risk, (y/n)," He growled, "What were you thinking? Sneaking off with a human?! Do not think I have not noticed this past month what you have been up to," His voice raised in fury, a low growl the back of his throat, "Why can't you understand that they don't-"

"They do care!" You cried out, "Lilia, please! T-they just need-"

"They need to back down from the war and stop slaughtering our people. If they cannot do that, then I need you to fight by my side, as my subordinate. Do not forget who your leader is here. I am your general, and you abide by my orders. If you continue to deliberately go against what we stand for, I have no choice but to remove you from this battle and banish you to scullery work. Humans do not care about peace, they do not want peace, and they have no intention of doing so. What in your right mind makes you think you could change that outcome? You are nothing but an easy target for them to potentially squeeze information out of. Nothing less, nothing more. Do you understand?"

Lilias heart broke at the sight of you remaining on the ground, slowly sitting up and nodding with the light in your eyes fading. He felt a knife twist in the pit of his stomach and thought back to a conversation he had with Baul the previous night.

"You give (y/n) far too much leeway! I'm sure you've noticed, but the past month they have been participating in sneaking away to talk to some...humans.

"I'm aware, Baul. I've been following them and listening in on their conversations from afar." Lilia grunted, prodding away at the fire. His companion scoffed at this revelation, raising angry eyebrows and pointing an accusing finger towards the General.

"You were aware of this?! Why have you not stopped it sooner? Are you agreeing with their silly fantasy of changing the hearts of humans and making peace with those...things?" His voice raised in agitation. Lilia avoided his gaze, for he knew Baul had a point.

"I understand your concerns, however, They truly have the intention of changing their hearts, and if anyone could, I want to believe in (y/n). They are very persuasive, and perhaps this war..."

"Will never end until the humans surrender. Lilia, You are allowing your feelings for (y/n) to severely cloud your judgment! We both know that stupid fae is too trusting for their own good. This could compromise our position, and I don't trust them to keep their mouth shut."

"I have it handled-"

"Do you?" Baul interrupted, standing up, "Because it seems to me you are failing your duty as the general of the fae army right now. Failing our queen, failing Meleanor. Have you forgotten which side you are on? How many of our people died by their hands? And you wish to believe a singular fae with silly dreams could possibly persuade them to put this war to an end?" Lilia kept his mouth shut, staring at the fire before him, hunched over as his partner walked past him.

"The general I follow does not show mercy for humans, nor allows his heart to be swayed by such drivel. I sincerely hope you take care of this issue before I handle it myself."

Lilia had told himself it was better this way, to straighten you out with harsh words in hopes to dissuade you from becoming overzealous and taking advantage of his obvious favoritism towards you. He had to draw a line; you were an important part of his army and to him. He couldn't risk losing you, someone who has stayed by his side from day one.

Sighing with frustration for himself and the situation, Lilia walked up to your silently crying figure and bent down, pressing his forehead against yours attempting to pull your gaze towards his own.

"I can't lose you," He whispered, eyes peering into yours wide with concern, "Please, please understand where I am coming from. You are the only family I know. Think of Levan, and Meleanor. Think of the Valley. Think of our home, our people, and...our future together," His voice trembled slightly, coming out almost in a begging tone. You bit your lip and swallowed a sob, taking a shaky breath in and reaching your hands up to cup his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," you whispered back, a moment of silence reigning.

He knew something was wrong the second you said that. You apologized, not as if you were guilty for your actions, but as if you were saying...goodbye. He could feel it deeply in the pit of his stomach that if he let go in this moment, if he allowed you to leave, he would never see you again. in a final desperate attempt he breathed in sharply before in a boost of confidence roughly pressing his lips against your own, ignoring the yelp of surprise escaping your mouth. You soon found yourself kissing him back with equal force, the sob that you held back coming to the surface as you cried into the kiss and salty tears pouring down your eyes and mixing with the passion. Lilia pulled away and pressed his forehead against yours once more, interlocking his fingers with yours. You continued to cry.

"We're going to make it out of this war together, right?" His voice cracked, "We-we're...we're going to live the rest of our lives together and happy in the valley with Levan and Meleanor, and we're going to meet Malleus together, right?" When you didn't reply and simply dug your head into the crook of his shoulder, the general held you tightly with his rough embrace and simply allowed silence to overcome. There wasn't anything left to say.

It was inevitable for him to let you go and return to his duties. He was general, after all, which meant plenty of meetings and strategy planning had to be done, as well as updates to the queen. You had said your goodbyes, stars had completely painted the sky and the sun fully set to rest. While returning to the camp, Lilia had a strong uneasy feeling as the events that transpired prior to his departure left his heart in a state of unrest and beating frantically, as if trying to tell the General something.

That unsettling feeling was confirmed when you were nowhere to be found, and you hadn't been seen for the past few hours when he had left. Angered at the lack of information and of the unknown variables, Lilia barked orders for everyone to disperse and try and find where you might have wandered off to. Many disagreed with this; stating that fae wandering off was not uncommon, that you were able to protect yourself, that perhaps in the morning they would search. Baul, in respect of Lilia, had been the only one to agree although reluctantly to involve himself in the search of where you had gone.

Light touched the forest before you were found.

dead.

I could go into gruesome detail, but I shall spare the details. All you need to understand is how it stood; a truly disgusting and unruly sight. The way you were placed was almost as if they were being taunted, and mocked. You were almost used as a morbid warning from the humans, it was a disgusting and disrespectful way to die. Baul and Lilia stared in absolute horror at your lifeless body, jaw ajar and heart racing faster than it ever had before. He thought about how mere hours ago his lips were upon yours, you were safe in his tight grasp, nodding in understanding as he listed off the ways in which you would live your long life together, making it past this horrible war.

Even the General could not hold back the urge to vomit, doubling over in pain and anguish as his throat burned and eyes blurry with tears. Baul had to look away, tears pricking the side of his eyes and biting his bottom lip to prevent himself from sharing the same fate Lilia had. You were gone, and there was nothing else to do but scream.

The second to worst part of this was returning to the camp, without you following him as you normally would. The generals eyes were truly dark and empty this time, heading directly to his tent. The same tent he had chastised you in, hoping to avoid this exact situation. He kept repeating in his head the ways in which the two of you would have lived together. He was supposed to propose to you after the war ended, he was supposed to build a home for the two of you to share your lives together, you were supposed to stay by his side and experience new places together, you were supposed to die together. There was nothing to explain just how badly his heart yearned for you in the many years you had known each other, the way you accepted him while most fae turned him away, you were a part of his circle of most trusted people in his life. And now you were gone, and he could not stop seeing flashes of your smiling face soon replaced with your lifeless display. A truly revolting truth of war, a war he was determined to end.

He then noticed on his bed, a letter. With shaking hands and blurry vision, Lilia weakly picked up the paper with penmanship clear as day to be identified as yours, and read it carefully.

Lilia Vanrouge,

I presume if you are reading this letter at this time, it means I failed to return from my mission. I'm sorry. I understand this is the part where you tell me "I told you so" and chastise me for being naive, and maybe so. Nonetheless, I have to do this. I plan on meeting with knight of dawn, the human I spoke to said he would be able to get me an audience and plead our case.

"that fucking idiot..." Lilia muttered, tears dripping onto the letter.

I know you are probably thinking to yourself; "that stupid idiot." And I suppose you wouldn't be wrong, even I know the high possibility of not returning. But I like to believe the good in humans, and believe that their fear could be placed at ease if we simply...talked. I understand not everything can be solved that way, but how are we to know the outcome if we do not try? You have your way of fighting, and I have mine. With my words. I love you, Lilia Vanrouge. I truly do. I wish we could spend the rest of our lives together, but I cannot see that happening if this war does not resolve with a peaceful ending. I implore you to find love in your heart for all- and love others the way you loved me. Give them your blessing, for I know you have a lot of good in your heart and room for growth. As the years pass, remember my sacrifice was for the pursuit of peace for our people, and you continue on that mindset. I believe in you and trust in you, Lilia, you will go on to do amazing things.

your love,

(y/n).

You soon became the foundation of what he believed in and continued to live on doing. After the war had ended, losing his dearest friends and beloved, Lilia stood strong in his resolve to make your sacrifice worth something. From hatching Malleus, to even becoming a father and giving the blessing to a baby human. Something you would have surely smiled at him for. With every milestone you were there with him; guiding him, parenting with him, and placing those very values you trusted into everything he had done. He had come far and liked to believe it was your words that strongly influenced him. You were right, your choice of fighting was with your words rather than your magical abilities, and it worked wonders.

Thus, there he was... Lilia Vanrouge, vice housewarden to Diasomnia of Night Raven College, watching as his three underlings sat at a table in the cafeteria enjoying a meal with a mix of races. He felt a surge of proudness and pride fill his heart with sentimental joy, sitting in the shadows re-reading that same hundred of years old note from someone he cared for deeply.

I believe in you and trust in you, Lilia.

A voice interrupted his thoughts, the short-haired fae folding the letter and tucking it safely back inside his pocket. A familiar figure walked towards him with excitement and a comforting twinkle in their eyes.

"Lilia~!" The curious human called out, The red eyed fae smiling in return and flashing a toothy grin.

"Ah, why if it isn't our precious prefect from Ramshackle. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He chuckled, floating upside down.

"I'm doing this project-" You said, holding up a notebook, "And I have to interview a few students about who impacts their lives the most. Can I interview you?" Lilia raised an eyebrow and floated down to meet your gaze, a gentle smile planted on his lips.

You were always a curious soul to him, and in many ways, he found solace in the way you spoke so cheerfully and hopefully that he had almost deluded himself into believing perhaps the fae he had once known had come back as the thing they held credence in the most; a human. That you had come back to give him a second chance to have confidence in you, come back to see what the world has accomplished in your absence, to give him peace of mind that the world has truly progressed and you were there to witness it flourish. Perhaps it was the shared name or the same sparkling eyes, but he couldn't help but have a soft spot for this human who had come into his life.

"I'd be delighted to assist you! Now, where to begin...? Ah! I know,"

"There once was a fae with a heart as noble and pure as gold, with a beautiful dream for peace across all nations..."

[cjayius]

BLOSSOM — NISHIMURA RIKI

SYNOPSIS. being forced to tutor the school's most popular student, you assume that he hates you, as you do him. which is why you're quite surprised to find out that he doesn't share the same feelings as you.

pairing. jock!riki x f!reader wc. 0.93k tw. y/n is oblivious as hell, sad riki genre. slight angst (?) ( CATALOGUE ) part 2 soon

you feel riki’s presence before you see him, the air tingling with an unusual tension as he takes his usual seat beside you. your heart skips a beat, anticipation crawling through your body.

“ wow, the great nishimura finally decided to grace us with his presence. “ you remark, tone laced with sarcasm as you glance sideways at him.

riki meets your gaze, his expression a mix of frustration and something else, something you can’t quite decipher. “ did you finally decide to stop being an asshole ? " he retorts, voice tinged with annoyance.

you bristle at his words, a surge of defiance rising within you. “ you’re one to talk, “ you shoot back, tone sharp with indignation.

his jaw tightens, glancing at something behind you. “maybe you should go have fun with your boyfriend, taki. “ he mutters under his breath, but it was loud enough for you to catch it.

you freeze, the mention of taki sending a jolt of confusion through you. “ what’s that supposed to mean ? “ you demand, setting your book aside as you gaze intently at the boy beside you.

before he could respond though, a tap on your shoulder shifts your attention towards the pink-haired boy now standing in front of you. taki.

as taki interrupts, his cheerful voice cuts through the tension between you and riki. " hey yn ! sorry to interrupt, but i was wondering if you're free tonight ? i thought we could grab a drink together. "

you hesitate, glancing briefly at riki, who remains silent beside you. despite the sudden unease in your stomach, you manage a small smile. " um, sure, taki. i think im free around 7. "

riki's expression remains unreadable, but a flicker of something passes through his eyes before he looks away. you can't quite decipher it, but you push the thought aside as taki beams at your acceptance. " great! how about we meet at dream cafe around 7:30?"

you nod, offering a faint smile. " sounds good. " with that, taki gives you a friendly wave and heads off, leaving you and riki alone once again. for a moment, neither of you speaks.

finally, he breaks the silence, his voice low and tinged with bitterness. " guess you've got plans tonight then. "

you swallow hard, unsure of how to respond, " yeah, i guess, so. " you murmur, looking down at your fingers to avoid his gaze. he scoffs, his frustration evident. " figures. "

before you can stop him, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving you to grapple with the tangled mess of emotions you were feeling right now.

in the locker room, riki's shoulders slumped with defeat, his friends exchanging worried glances as they listened to his lament.

" i don't know, guys. " he confessed, voice tinged with resignation. " maybe it's time i just accept the truth. y/n and taki seem like they'd hit it off. i mean, she deserves someone like him, right ? "

jake and jungwon exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them. jungwon had his own reasons for pushing riki to confess, knowing full well that y/n harbored feelings for the boy. but he kept hanni's words to himself, knowing how complicated things could get if riki found out.

" cmon, man, don't sell yourself short, " jake interjected, tone firm. " you're a great guy, and you've been pining after her for ages, you owe it to yourself to atleast try. "

jungwon nodded in agreement, gaze earnest as he met riki's eyes, " exactly, you can't just let taki swoop in and steal her away without a fight. you'll regret it later. "

riki sighed heavily, torn between his desire to move on and the lingering hope that maybe, just maybe, things could work out. he knew deep down, he couldn't ignore his feelings forever.

" fine, " he relented, " i'll do it. i'll tell her tonight. "

in the dimly lit interior of jake's car, riki leaned forward, smoothing down his unruly hair, fingers combing through the dark locks in an attempt to tame them.

jake glanced over at him from the driver's seat, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. " nervous ? " riki scoffed, trying to play it cool, despite the nervous fluttering in his stomach, " of course not. "

tonight was supposed to be the night he finally confessed his feelings to y/n, but now, with the sight of her and taki together still fresh in his mind, he couldn't shake the doubt that lingered in the back of his mind.

as jake pulled up to the curb near the cafe, he took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come. he glanced down at the white rose clutched in his hand, a silent offering of his affection for y/n. for a moment, he hesitated, uncertainty warring within him.

but then he remembered jake's encouraging words, the way he had urged him not to give up without a fight. with a determined nod, riki pushed open the car door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

but just as he rounded the corner to the cafe, his heart sank at the sight that greeted him. y/n and taki emerged from the cafe, their laughter filling the air, their smiles radiant in the soft glow of the streetlights.

taki's arm was around her shoulders, and they looked so happy together that riki's heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise.

defeated, he paused, his hand tightening around the stem of the white rose. he couldn't bring himself to interrupt their moment, couldn't bear to see the disappointment in y/n's eyes if he confessed now. with a heavy sigh, he turned away, the weight of regret settling over him like a shroud.

instead of heading back to jake's car right away, riki found himself drawn to a nearby park bench, where he sat in silence, lost in his thoughts. what was the point of confessing now? y/n was clearly happy with taki, and he couldn't bear the thought of ruining that for her.

[balkanradfem]

Debunking the 'males follow reason, women follow emotions' myth

A woman makes a rational demand to a male, he denies her. She gets frustrated and upset, he accuses her of being overly emotional, and the reason why women can't make good decisions. It's a situation we've seen repeat over and over again, and we've gotten convinced. After all, m*n don't get emotional, they make rational decisions, they don't have that annoying trait of having to cry or care too much, they just do what is right in any situation, while a woman could never stand in their place.

Historically, m*n have been making a lot of these, rational, non-emotional decisions, so let's analyze how they've been doing. Historically, a lot of m*n have both started, and fought in wars. According to them, this is a logical, hard factual decision they've made, and they're proud of it, wars are integral to humanity, we have to fight if we want peace, and so on. So rationally, what do wars achieve for humanity? Mass destruction, mass murder, terrorism, mass rape, mass famine, intense trauma, destruction of environment, destruction of animals, destruction of culture and property, sea of corpses. But, m*n have decided that this is reasonable, because to the country that's been doing it, it can bring new assets, colonization of land mass, new natural resources to exploit. Massive damage to one part of the population for the benefit of another part, this they say, is rational.

If you're a male, it's rational for you to cause damage to countless individuals if there is some sort of benefit to you in doing it. This is presented to us as a reasonable, human and rational thinking. They've not only indoctrinated us to believe this, but put this into their laws. They've created laws that allow them to commit murder under the circumstances of war. They've made sure to give themselves a way to commit murder to get what they want, and not be punished. Again, this is presented as inevitable, cold hard factual thinking.

I would argue that the emotions followed here are greed, sadism, pride, and deep sense of egotism. Deluding themselves into believing that the entire world is turning around their personal needs and wants, and any amount of damage made for this cause is irrelevant. This isn't rational thinking, this is selfish, valuing themselves to the point where other human lives have zero value to them; it's irrational. A woman who puts herself before others is immediately informed that she is objectively selfish, irrational, unrealistic, self-centered, and deserves any kind of harm going her way. M*n have been operating like this from the beginnng of human life, and expect to be praised as 'rational and objective', by these same women they call selfish for not acting as free servants for a second.

Let's look at another 'rational' concept males have created and developed: capitalism. Cold hard logic is – if you can exploit other people to the very maximum, and take the value of their labour for yourself, you should get to do it, and if you can't, work until your health gives out and you die in pain. Again, a group of people gets power to exploit another, resources are given to those with financial power; those who do not have it, have to fight to survive. We know at this point it's caused deaths, sicknesses, mental illness, hunger and low quality of life to the majority of the population, we also know it's caused massive environmental damage, to the point where the climate of the planet is threatened, and animals under mass extinction. Was this a logical move? Was it a normal, rational system to build? Yes according to m*n, because they get to use their financial power to rape women they wouldn't otherwise get to rape.

I would argue again, that the emotions followed in this case are selfishenss, cruelty and greed. When a woman tries to exploit people around her for her own benefit, she is called the worst slurs and names imaginable, and no punishment is too cruel to inflict on her. While m*n have been doing this for centuries and apparently we need to acknowledge that this is in fact, smart, rational and reasonable way to live, and also inevitable.

So let's see what women have been doing on earth at the same time while m*n were busy murdering people in wars and inventing financial systems that bring destruction; women were creating the human population. We were making sure that everyone alive gets to eat, drink, clean clothing, care. We were putting our labour and our minds in taking care of our family members, and fighting for our human rights whenever the situation, or the information we got allowed for it. We struggled to stand up to power-hungry m*n in our life who would exploit us, we studied and invented, we found our ways in every trade, every school, every cultural institution that did good to the planet, and we outpreformed m*n almost immediately after we got in. We gave our lives to make sure the human race isn't erased by the amount of murder and terrorism going on. We put our efforts into protecting the environment, we figured out medicine and then got destroyed for it, we lost countless of our own to murder, rape and torture, we tried to keep safe the ones who got hurt.

While m*n 'rational' and 'logical' thinking lead us closer to destruction, we've been fighting to preserve life.

Having the creatures in charge who believe themselves more rational, but function out of a place of empty pride, absolute ignorance, endless hunger for power, endless greed and insatiable sadism, is not a reasonable way to lead the civilization. In fact, it's been proven over and over again, that this causes low quality of life for everyone, creates practices that allow and support cruelty and destruction, and deals massive trauma and pain to the most of the living humans.

What is 'reasonable' to them, is for them to ignore everyone else's emotions, well being, safety, even the right to exist, and follow only their own. The reasoning they follow has nothing to do with being rational, it has to do with being selfish, proud, ignorant, and I can't stress this enough, being incredibly and utterly stupid. They're destroying the land they depend on to live, and feeling proud and rational to do so, while calling women stupid and selfish for wanting human rights.

It's been enough of this. A rational male has not been born or seen on this planet. We need to assume that every time a m*n says something, he has absolutely no clue what he's talking about, and is likely attempting to cause some damage for his own benefit – in all cases we will be right. We cannot let someone with a track record like this to be in the charge of decision making, nor should we respect their decisions. They couldn't even make laws that protect human lives. They couldn't even base their own accomplishments on the things they achieved – they had to take credit for our achievements over and over again. They are irrational, power hungry creatures that stop at nothing, humanity means nothing to them, human lives have no meaning to them. But they do to us.

We can make decision that make sense, specifically because we care about not destroying lives or the environment. We are capable of making the 'tough calls' because we will make the call that will not result in mass destruction! The only thing they keep holding over our head is that we don't have experience – but we can get it. And experience never helped them make less destructive, less stupid choices.

Male emotions are based on self-delusions. They refuse to see any consequence of their action, and play ignorant to the very end. Their empty pride, empty self-importance, empty confidence and empty arrogance is based on nothing but the lies they've told to themselves. Even slight factual analysis and statistics that come from male decisions, make their reasoning crumble into pieces.

Women's emotions are substantiated by facts. In every case when a woman has been told off for being emotional, she's getting gaslit and turned away from the cause of her emotion, which is always factual. It is reasonable to be upset at being treated as less than a human being. It is reasonable to care about the lives of other human beings. It is reasonable to care about the state of the world, state of the environment. It is reasonable to stand against destruction and loss of human lives. And yet we get told off for having the most substantiated, reasonable responses to male violence and terrorism.

And then there's one emotions males love to use to pretend they're not emotional: anger. It provides them with enough threat to stop women from analyzing and pointing out the failure of males, it works to protect them from the realization of how useless, harmful and destructive they've been. Making horrid, harmful and selfish decisions and exploding in anger if anyone comes close to pointing it out, coupled with blaming everyone else for having an emotional reaction to being harmed, is their primary 'reasonable' way of managing life. And this is what we have in charge on earth. A creature who causes damage, and then uses emotion to hide the damage they've done, while pretending to be an ignorant little baby, blissfully unaware of anything he does having any consequences.

We're done believing their lies.

[sporadicthingcollection]

Kiss, Marry, Kill: Part 1/2 (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: In which Buggy overhears a private conversation and uses that knowledge against you. Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: Semi-explicit. Word Count: ~3k (of 5.3k) Warnings: Clown abuse, strong language, incorrect use of a straight razor.

Never had you on my mind Now you're there all the time Never knew what I missed until I kissed ya

---

By all accounts, Buggy should be having a great time. There's food, alcohol, gambling... hell, there's even a swimming pool. Not that he can partake, but he can live vicariously.

Instead, he's got a whole school of shark eyes trained on him as he sits on a stool next to Arlong's throne. This water park sucks.

He's not chained up or anything. The threat of a couple dozen sets of teeth ripping into him is reason enough to sit perfectly still, keep his mouth shut, and try to look as small as possible. No sudden movements, no change in expression, no—

"Kiss the clown, marry the waiter, kill Pink Hair."

Buggy sits bolt upright and looks around. Who the hell said that?

Arlong doesn't even deign to look at him. "Hear something?"

Clear. Crisp. With a little bit of an accent, maybe. He's heard it somewhere recently, but where?

Certainly not here. It was a woman's voice, and Arlong Park is a bit of a sausage party at the moment. Not that he can tell on sight with fishpeople.

"Answer me, clown," Arlong rumbles.

He forgets who he's talking to for a moment. "Eavesdropping's an art," he snaps. "You can't rush art."

Big mistake. Arlong responds with a low, wet growl. "It's been three days. My patience is running thin."

Quiet chatter. The clinking of silverware. Someone chewing with their mouth open. The little pirates are at a restaurant, it seems.

He relays this to Arlong. He's less than pleased. He enunciates every word to show his teeth. "Care to be more specific?"

A shudder crawls up the back of Buggy's neck. He takes a swig of his drink to cover it. He places his fingers over his remaining ear, straining.

"You're shitting me." That voice he recognizes. The redhead. The one who ruined his show. The one Arlong's so interested in. Nadi? Nani? Noni?

The other woman speaks. "Nami, you rejected him," she says. "Girl Code only applies if you were dating."

Nami. That's her, the conniving little bitch. "No, not the waiter. I mean you'd seriously kiss the clown? He nearly killed us."

He'd recognize Rubber Boy's voice anywhere, the little shitheel. "And his nose would get in the way."

The mystery woman speaks up again. "That's nothing new. I’ve smacked noses with plenty of guys."

Okay, that narrows it down. It’s not the redhead, it can't be Rubber Boy or the bounty hunter, so that leaves...

...you. Of course it's you. How could he forget you? You're the only one who laughed at Axe-Hand Moron. Granted, it was more like a snnrrrk and you immediately clapped your hand over your mouth, eyes wide with horror, but it was a laugh all the same.

And in that moment, he knew he liked you. Bad sense of humor. Cute smile. A little bashful. He appreciates that. Sure, you helped humiliate him not an hour after the fact, but all's fair in love and piracy.

"Look, I'm not saying it’s a good idea," you continue, "but sometimes you gotta live dangerously."

The bounty hunter speaks, dry and droll. "Storms are dangerous. Bar fights are dangerous. You're just insane."

"Oh, c'mon, you're not seriously gonna hold Fu..." You pause. "Kiss Marry Kill answers against me."

So that's what's going on. "They're just chattering like they always are," he says to Arlong.

Arlong does not like that answer. He snatches Buggy up by the neck, lifting him clear off the ground with only one hand.

"Wait! Wait wait wait! They're still talking! I might have something!" He kicks and struggles, but it's no use.

You speak. "You think everything pops off? ‘Cause a gal could really— hyurk.”

Laughter all around as you’re cut off by something. Sounds like you choked.

“Thank you, Usopp,” Nami says. “I am not having that conversation.”

Arlong saunters over to the pool, carrying Buggy like a ragdoll. He has precious few seconds now. C'mon, he wills them, say something useful!

A slap, a spit, then a couple of hard coughs. “Nice shot,” you wheeze. “Use the unspicy peanut next time. I think I burned my windpipe.”

The new guy — Usopp — scoffs. “Spicy? Please. This isn’t spicy. Baratie spicy is barely a zip. Now, you want spicy, you gotta hit up the Great Pepper Isles. Their chilis are so hot, I had an out-of-body experience.”

And boom, there it is. Right as he's about to be dropped into the water, his ticket to life.

“Baratie! They're at Baratie," he chokes out. "That floating restaurant. That really nice one I got thrown out of, the pricks."

It was Cabaji's fault. Turns out whipping a unicycle out at the bar is frowned upon. Who'd've thunk.

Arlong 'smiles.' All teeth and gums and no mirth at all. "Consult our charts," he says to the nearest fishman. "I'll prepare our compass."

He grabs Buggy by the hair and yanks. In the interest of not getting his neck broken, he separates his head from his body. Unfortunately, gravity takes over and his body plunges into the pool.

Weakness swamps him like a rogue wave. He can't say a word as he's stuffed into a cloth sack and everything goes dark.

In both ears, all he can hear are the sounds of laughter.

---

Someday, Buggy will learn not to run his fat mouth. That day is not today.

Usopp barges into the galley and lobs his head through the air, a low slow toss. He only has a moment to appreciate not being overhand pitched before landing on the floor. Not on his nose, fortunately, but it still hurts.

He points at the blonde guy — Sanji? Sanji. "I can't take it anymore. He's your problem now. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

He tramps off as Buggy flips himself upright. “What’s his problem?” he asks no one in particular. “Sheesh, you make one ‘your mom’ joke and—“

A decidedly unmanly yelp escapes him as he's popped up into the air. The world spins and turns and he braces himself to hit the ground again, only to be caught in soft hands. He's spun around...

...and comes face to face with you, regarding him with curious, contemptuous eyes.

Oh, you're even prettier up close. The redhead's a looker, but she's still a kid. Soft. Pale. Set like a mousetrap, ready to spring and break some poor chump's neck at the slightest provocation.

But you? You're a grown-ass woman. Comfortable in your sun-kissed skin. A twinkle of experience in your eye and the ease of someone who's been sailing her ship for years.

He can't help but smile. "Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here, gorgeous," he says with a wink.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Sanji shoot him a glare. Your expression remains cool and uninterested. Shifting his head to your side, you hold him against your hip like a laundry basket. Even through your trousers, the soft swell of flesh warms his cheek.

“Weren't you just on buggysitting duty?” you ask Sanji.

Buggysitting? Really? "I'm right here, y'know," he grumbles.

He's ignored, as per usual. Sanji straightens up and huffs. “New guy always gets the shit jobs.”

“Let’s trade,” you say. “You take my watch and I’ll mind our chatty compass.”

Rude. “I’m still right here.”

Sanji shakes his head. “Go get your beauty sleep. Not that you need it, of course."

Wow, that was a bad line. Buggy makes his displeasure known with a retch.

“Sleep is for people who don’t have coffee.” You flap your hand toward the door. "Shoo.”

Sanji glances between you and Buggy, but heads for the door. "Any trouble at all, love, and I’m a shout away."

A little smile colors your voice. "If he starts gnawing my ankles, you’ll be the first to know."

Sanji returns the smile, sickeningly sweet. As he leaves, you sit at the table, placing Buggy across from you.

He wants nothing more than to plant his leg on a stool, lean in on his knee, and give you a toothy grin. But alas, he must settle for the grin. "Alone at last. Come here often?"

You don't even bother to look at him, too preoccupied with picking up a very shiny straight razor and a strip of leather. Muscle ripples under your skin as you slide the blade back and forth.

"So you're the barber," he says. You don't respond. "Can't imagine you're too busy on a ship with a bunch of babyfaces." Still nothing. "Don't suppose I could get a shave, then? Last time I used a straight razor, I ended up like this!"

"Barber surgeon," you say as you inspect the blade. Dissatisfied with some invisible blemish, you continue stropping.

He shrugs, only to remember he can’t. "Say, doc, I can't feel anything below my neck. Could you take a look?”

Irritation tints your voice. “Not a doctor,” you say. You’ve clearly had to explain this countless times before. “Doctors treat the inside. I fix up the outside.”

“Splitting hairs, Miss Sawbones.”

Shiff shiff shiff goes the razor. "If you don't stop talking, we’re gonna see if cutting off the nose really does spite the face. Might be an improvement for you.”

That’s just low. “Keep talking shit and this bark is gonna turn into bite.”

You finally look up. You level the razor at him, glaring down the blade. “You’re the only one talking, clown.”

Damn. Your eyes are pretty. Warm as the first sunbeam of a summer morning, but dark as the blotches he gets in his eyes when he looks into a spotlight by accident. Hot like one, too. Heat lurks below the dark surface, like warm charcoal about to catch fire.

Nerves ball up in his absent chest. He swallows them and summons his bravado. “Can ya blame me? I’ve got shit else to do. I’ve met parrots with more to say than you.”

"Count the cracks in the ceiling."

"One, two, three—“ He gives an exaggerated groan. “Didn't you say you were gonna make coffee? Can I get in on that?"

You scoff, but you do stand. "Last thing you need is caffeine.”

“The last thing I need is to be held hostage by a bunch of greenhorn nobodies,” he says, "and yet here I am."

“Sucks to suck,” you say. You pull a pot out of a cupboard and fill it with water. “How do you take it? Sugar? Cream?”

“Black. Like my heart.”

You let out that snnnrrrrk of a suppressed laugh again. What a nice sound. “Something we got in common.”

“Black heart or black coffee?”

“Yes.”

Such a simple, easy response. Not even particularly clever. But the delivery with no hesitation, no intonation, no second guessing the punchline. He laughs. “I knew I liked you!”

You glance over your shoulder at him. “You try to kill everyone you like? No wonder you have no friends.”

He hops to the edge of the table. Not an easy feat with only a stump. “C’mon, babe. All’s fair in love and piracy.”

Calling you babe was a blindfolded over-the-shoulder shot in the dark, but it lands. You add a smile to your glance. “I’ll give you that and nothing more.”

Somewhere, miles away, his heart flutters. He lets it. “Will you still give me coffee?”

“Only if you shut up ‘til this water boils.”

In this state, he’ll take any scrap of stimulus he can get. He bites his tongue and bites it hard, willing himself not to speak.

Silence creeps in. Silence leads to stewing, and stewing leads to bad thoughts. Bad feelings. Lonely feelings. Like how long it’s been since he’s had a friendly cuppa joe with someone. Or had someone honestly laugh at his stupid jokes.

Especially not someone as quick as you. Or as pretty. Or with such a nice ass. Or who maybe-sorta-kinda-might-possibly be interested in him. Potentially. Hypothetically.

There’s no damn way, he tells himself. You’re humoring him. You’re definitely shacking up with that cook — young, charming, handsome. Or the bounty hunter, maybe — tall, dark, broody.

You wouldn’t give him a second glance. Him, a pathetic, painted, big-nosed weirdo. Who is currently a severed head. A temporary state, but still not a good first impression. Even though his actual first impression was trying to kill you and your buddies. This second first impression is just as bad.

A sharp groan escapes him before he can stop it. He eyes you, expecting you to snap at him or worse.

But you don’t. You pause in your pouring to peer over your shoulder at him, gaze soft. “Y’alright?”

There goes his heart again. Ugh. “Peachy. That coffee done yet?”

You curl your lip. “What’s got your panties in a knot?”

“Just realized I’m gonna need a straw or some shit.”

Still sneering, you set a shallow mug in front of him. “I’ll see what I can find.”

See? You definitely don’t like him. Stupid fucking jackass, letting his hopes get up. This is what he gets.

…A nice, warm cup of coffee. If you really hated him, you wouldn’t have given him coffee, right? Or be looking for a straw?

You’re just humoring him. You just want to save your friend. Catch more flies with honey and all that. He’ll be more agreeable if you’re friendly.

Across the room, you open a drawer. “Hey, bendy straws. Perfect.”

You’re breaking out bendy straws for him? There’s gotta be something there! At least a little something!

No. No way. Coincidence.

You place an oddly long straw into the mug. He realizes it’s three normal ones jammed end-to-end, creating a pipe ending just about level with his mouth.

You just pulled some engineering shit so he can drink coffee with you. There’s definitely something.

An ice cube plops into the mug and you slide back into the booth with your own cup. “Might dilute it a bit, but can’t have you burning your mouth.”

His distant heart flips again. He has to say something. Before he can convince himself otherwise. He says the first thing that comes to mind.

“So,” he says, “‘kiss the clown,’ eh?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That’s the first thing he thought of? Seriously? He braces himself for boiling coffee thrown in his face.

You freeze mid-sip, brows raised. “Excuse me?”

Okay, you don’t look mad. “Don’t deny it, babe. I heard everything. Kiss Marry Kill? Nice job keeping it kid-friendly, wink wink."

You stare at him with those dark eyes. "No idea what you're on about."

"I know you know. And I know you know I know." He waggles his eyebrows, hoping for a laugh, but he gets nothing.

You watch the steam swirling up from your mug. "What do you want me to say, exactly? That I chose you to kiss?"

"I just wanna know what possesses a woman to make her want to shack up with the guy who tried to kill her and her friends." He lips the straw into his mouth and takes a test sip. Still quite hot.

"Circumstance. Process of elimination. Being put on the spot." You pick up the razor. Your fiddling with it belies your agitation.

"Don't lie to me, babe," he croons. "I can see right through you."

You stare at him. "And what is it that you see?"

What does he see? "A woman on a knife's edge of self-satisfaction and self-destruction. Once bitten, twice shy, but when he comes around the third time, you just can't help yourself."

Your fiddling becomes more insistent. You break eye contact to look at the razor. He's hitting on something. Time to push some buttons.

"You bet on the wrong horse every time. You think it'll be different this time. But it never is." He smiles bitterly. "Something else we got in common. Birds of one ugly feather."

Your gaze softens as you return your gaze to him. "So you found the problem, Doctor Headshrink. What’s the prescription?"

Shoot your shot, Buggy. "Kiss the clown and maybe we'll find out."

You're still for a few moments. Then slowly, carefully, you slide your hand across the table. You pull him closer as you lean lower in your seat to eye level with him.

He can't help the way his breath quickens. It's been so, so long since he had any kind of intimacy. Your reedy fingers trace his jaw down to his chin. Your thumb comes up to pull at his bottom lip, and he lets out a satin-soft whimper as he opens his mouth to you.

You strike like a snake, yanking his tongue out with one hand and readying your razor with the other. His choke turns into a scream as you bring it down, severing his tongue clean at the root.

It's one thing to disconnect body parts. Pop a leg off, drop an ear — he’s used to it. But it's a different story when said part is supposed to be inside of him. His tongue waggles like a fish as he tries to return it to his mouth, but you keep a firm grip.

"You can have this back in the morning," you say.

He wants to cuss you out, but what comes out is ew bihck, whadda fuhck iss won wif ew, gif ih bahck.

You laugh. And lord, what a laugh you've got. Loud, like a party gone late into the hours of the night. Clattery, like a dozen plates shattering on the floor. Full of mirth, like a drunk on payday.

And, for the briefest of moments, his rage is forgotten. He wants to make you laugh like that.

But it returns with a vengeance, replaced with a desire to see you squirm.

---

⬅⬅⬅ | To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

[fieldofdaisiies]

Power Over Me

ship: Nyx x Reader type: I don't know, a bit angsty, a bit fluffy word count: 2k words warnings: none request: Hiii i just finished reading ur Nyx fic on wattpad now I have an obsession with the young lordling. I was wondering if you can make an angsty fic of him and reader where they had a fight and she doesn't talk to him and makes him grovel??

He is a fool. A big, big fool. Nyx knows this. He knows this so well. 

He sits on the railing of the balcony, wings spread wide behind his back as he balances, pondering over the biggest mistake he has ever made in his life — letting you go. 

A cool breeze blows through his hair and he brings a hand up to brush back his silken strands, before grabbing a hair tie and fixating them at the nape of his neck. You look more and more like Cassian, he can hear his mother's voice and a low, cold chuckle slips through his lips. 

Maybe he does, but Cassian wouldn't have messed up like this. 

This stupid fight — it was so useless, over something so stupid. His thoughts were a little too loud, and he started to worry that you can't stand the pressure of dating the High Lord's heir. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he did not even listen to you, did not even give you a chance to explain to him that it doesn't matter to you. And then you laughed and chatted with his best friend, Ran, and jealousy flooded the young heir. He thought you would like Ran more and that you would be so much better off with him. Everything, every stupid thought filled his brain, and he saw red and simply ended things with you. 

And well, now he has to pay the price. 

After your fight, you told him you don't ever want to have anything to do with him. The hurt just ran so deep, your emotions got the best of you and made you say this. 

You did not mean it, not really at least, but obviously Nyx now thinks he lost you forever. 

A groan parts his lips when the young lordling throws his head back, his eyes squeezed shut. 

"Let me guess, a girl is the reason behind your misery?"

Nyx whips his head to the side, eyes wide open. 

He didn't hear his father enter, nor did he hear him approach. But suddenly Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, stands next to him, hands braced on the railing onto which Nyx sits. 

Nyx closes his eyes and groans again. "So obvious?"

Rhysand chuckles lowly, then he clicks his tongue. "Very much, son." The High Lord turns his head, giving him son a sidelong glance. He just looks so much like Rhysand, the same eyes, the same colour of hair, the same stature, he only has Feyre's eyes, and her nose. And apparently he is trying to get the same hairstyle as his uncle. "This is about Y/N, I assume?" Rhysand asks when Nyx provides no further information. 

"You know about us?" 

For a moment Nyx worries his mental shields have been lowered too often and he has given everything he ever thought away. But his father's answer brings at least some comfort in this case. 

"The amount of times she has been here, how you looked at her and the way you talked about definitely gave you away." Rhysand chuckles again and finally Nyx turns to him as well, sadness glistening in his eyes when he searches his father's gaze. 

"She is amazing," Nyx mumbles. 

"She is." The High Lord nods, sympathy passing over his face. "And now I wonder what happened."

"I am a fool and I messed up?"

Rhysand raises a questioning brow. "Enlighten me, son."

"I let her go?" Nyx says, his voice rising at the end, almost like he is posing a question. 

Confusion passes over Rhysand's face and he watches his son closely. "Why?" he asks. "Did you do something to hurt her? Or did she do something to hurt you?"

"Yes." Nyx presses his lips in a thin line and lowers his chin to his chest, letting his head hang. 

"Yes, what?"

Another groan leaves the lordling, and he once again throws his head back in a dramatic manner. "I fucked up."

"Wording," Rhysand reprimands and gives his head a little shake. 

Nyx turns to him once again and rolls back his shoulder. "Sorry, father. I messed up. I broke up with her. I got jealous and I then I thought I was not good enough for her and I broke up with Y/N, not even listening to what she has to says and she…" His voice starts to quaver, but Nyx quickly bites down on the inside of his cheek — he won't cry now. 

"She said she never wanted to see me again."

"And you just gave up?" Rhysand leans forward a little, holding his son' gaze. He can see the young boy behind his grown-up demeanour. Deep inside, Nyx is still so very young, his little boy, and he will forever stay that. Rhysand brings his arm up to clasp Nyx's shoulder. "Your mother called me terrible names back then, threw a shoe at me—" "Y/N tossed pillow at me," Nyx says with a cold chuckle. "And then told me to get lost, but not in the nice wording I just used." A sad smile appears on his lips, and Rhysand squeezes his shoulder again. 

"You are going to fix this, Nyx. I know this. But you need to put some effort in it. Buy her something nice, show her that it was a mistake. Tell her—" "I tried!" Nyx blurts out and throws his hands up in despair. "I tried everything. I brought her flowers. I brought her chocolate. I knocked at her window at three in the morning. I told her she is amazing and I tried to make it up with her. But she does not even want to see me. She—" "Did you apologise?" Rhysand raises a brow. "Did you tell her that you are a massive fool for letting her go?"

Nyx doesn't answer, does not deny it either, which tells Rhys he hasn't. The young lordling only turns his head to side and stares straight forward at the Sidra river, his lips pressed in a thin line, eyes downcast, gaze empty. 

The High Lord tilts his head in a reproachful manner, and gives his son's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Well, I guess you now know what you have to do?"

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

And Nyx does know what he has to do. The moment the sun rises the next moment, he is one his feet, gathering the large bouquet of flowers his aunt Elain made for him, a box of little chocolate hearts in his other hand. He sets out, his wings carrying him over Velaris to the small house where you live with your family. 

Today he won't give up. Today he will make up with you. He is Nyx Archeron, first born son of Rhysand and Feyre, High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, and he won't give up. 

He will get you back and he will never let you go. 

Determination is etched upon his features when he Nyx slowly descends. His grips the bouquet and the box of chocolates in his hands, his heart beating so rapidly he can feel it in his throat, hammering against his ribcage. But it won't make him give up. 

This is a mission, a mission he will return from successful. With confident struts he nears your entrance door, shifts the bouquet and knocks. 

And then he waits, feeling how his hands turns clammy, how his heart beats even faster, his breathing quickens until—

The door opens slowly, and your beautiful eyes are the first thing he sees. 

"Y/N, I—" You slam the door in his face. Or rather you try to, but he is faster. He places his foot in the doorframe, stopping the door. "No, Y/N, you need to listen to me. You need to let me explain. Please, hear me out."

"Just like you listened to me?" With anger in your voice, you raise your brow at him, fingers curled around the door. "What do you want, Nyx? Ask me again if I am banging Ran behind your back? Tell me again that I am not good enough for the High Lord's son and should rather be with someone like Ran?"

"I never meant it like that. You are good enough for me. I am not good enough for you and I am huge fool."

You snort. "That is true. You are a big idiot." Slowly you grip on the door loosens, but you stand your ground, nothing kind or warm in your gaze. He hurt you and he should see what his words have done to you. 

"I know this, I am the biggest idiot ever for letting you go. I love you and I am sorry - for what I said, for what I assumed, for how I behaved."

"And you think a simple sorry is enough?" You raise your brow, hoping your discussion at the door does not draw your family's attention to you. They are all still asleep and really don't want them to wake up because you are fighting with the High Lord's son at the entrance door. So, you decide to step outside, closing the door behind you.

A glimmer of relief passes over Nyx's face, over you at least wanting to talk to him, being ready to listen to him. It is what he should have done. 

"No, I don't think so," he says, voice tinged with shame. He gives his head a little shake. "I know I have to fight hard to make it up to you, and I will fight hard for you. I am a born warrior and I won't give up like that."

"You are a born idiot, Nyx." You can't avoid the silly, little smile from appearing on your lips. 

Nyx has to chuckle a little as well, stepping a little closer to you. "I brought you chocolate and flowers." He reaches his hands forward. 

You don't accept immediately, you let him suffer for a second, and then hesitantly reach forward and take the things from his hands. Inhaling a deep breath, you lift your gaze to his. "It is a beginning and—Nyx, what are you doing?!"

The High Lord's son drops to his knees in front of you, staring up at you with a pout and pleading eyes. "I love you. I love you so much, and I am the biggest idiot Prythian has ever seen. Letting you go was the worst I could have ever done, and I hate myself every day for it."

"Nyx, Gods, get up please." You have to laugh a little as you try to urge him to get back up again. 

"Not until you forgive me." He pouts even more, brows laying in furrows. 

"Nyx," you say, shifting the bouquet, so you can reach a hand out and grab his arm.

But he shakes his head. "Nope. I am sorry. I never thought you would cheat on me, I just thought you being with me puts unnecessary burdens on you. Everyone in Velaris knows who I am, and they will be interested in you as well. People will question who you are, will want to know everything about you—"

"And I told you that I don't care. Or, I tried to tell you that I don't care." You now also take a step towards him. "I don't mind it. I wanted to be with you, and I don't care what other people think or want to know about me. I like you and I care about what you think, not random citizens from Velaris." 

You tilt your head to the side and look at him for a long moment. "If you promise me to never question my love for you, my loyaltiy and that I would never betray you, I will forgive you."

"Sure?" Nyx raises a brow. 

You nod and he finally gets back onto his feet, straightening up and rolling back his shoulders. "Also, to make it fully up to you, you are allowed to call me an idiot for the rest of our immortal life."

You grin, stepping into him so he can put his arms around you. "I would have done that anyway." You smile into his chest when a soft laugh leaves him and he embraces you tightly. "I love you so much and I missed you terribly."