#when will the rage they feel inside disappear :(

[sillyromance]

...He picked me up.

Just a minute ago, it was a fight: loud screams, screeching of metal upon metal, dead people, scents of sweat and blood flooding the ground underneath my boots. Now, it's just me and him; he is so huge, a death battle below is nothing but an amusing bunch of shouting tiniest punching each other for no reason.

Many years ago, he left to serve a kingdom opposing mine. I knew him... Very well. But we have changed. He isn't my old friend any more as well as I'm not an immature student of Royal academy.

I don't know who ordered him to come here. I have no idea how he found me in that mess. But there is no doubt why I'm on his palm now. My fate is clear: he is a giant, and I'm a human. I'm significantly weaker; my sword is a toy which won't do him any harm. As if I intended to... Anyway, I throw the blade away - then look back in his blue eyes gazing at me softly, almost like they did before his deception.

No words are said. Feeling tears swelling at the corners of my eyes, I hold away sobs, but continue to stare right in his face, showing that I don't fear what's coming next. He moves his thumb and rubs my wet cheek as if trying to reassure me. I don't protest. It's... comforting to be remembered. To be reminded that our bond still costs something.

Afterwards, he lifts me closer to his mouth, opens it slightly - and gently puts me inside, shutting his jaws behind my feet, leaving me in compete darkness. His tongue springs beneath me, saliva pools in immediately, soaking my clothes and hair as I lie limp, allowing my devourer to do anything he pleases with me.

I cry silently. I have already accepted my end.

At my surprise, he doesn't savour me for long. He is exceptionally careful with my vulnerable body; perhaps, it's because he tastes blood running from a wound in my shoulder. Merciful, as always... I'm grateful for him taking me from hell down below; at least, there will be no nasty smells and yelling soldiers when I die.

His lips part one last time - I see a glimpse of sky and the sun flickering gloriously at my smeared face. I look at it, peace settling in my chest.

Goodbye...

I tap the muscle, announcing that I'm ready.

And he listens - I feel as gravity gradually shifts beneath me. I slide into the pharynx - he swallows loudly, forever separating me from the outside world. Just a little quivering lump travelling down his powerful throat and disappearing without a trace in his broad chest as if I have never existed.

I slowly sink further, further into dark, soothing warmth. I hear his heart beating beside me, his huge lungs filtrating air as he inhales and exhales - signs of a great life all around my minuscule frame. Something I will be a part of very soon as a ship becomes a part of the ocean which claimed it.

The esophagus contracts, squeezing a pained whimper out of me - I'm pushed in a spacious chamber which greets me with an audible growl.

I don't know if I should feel anything as I tuck myself into the velvet folds. Acids make my skin itch a little, but it doesn't take long for the sensation to turn into pleasant numbness. It's pitch black, hot, humid. And soft. My lids lower against my will; exhaustion and blood loss are determined to knock me out. I know - if I fall asleep, I won't wake up. But it's OK. I'm tired. He is with me. His belly gurgles softly, digestion process ready to rage on; his hand wonders around his abdomen - I feel it touching my back, then it presses harder at me and doesn't ever go away.

Only he will ever know what happened to me. I'm not even visible out there - and though it should be terrifying, I'm happy that no one will come to save me.

He won't leave me alone again...

I smile. Then, allow my eyes finally close and succumb at the mercy of his stomach....

........

- Hey.

I blink, lifting on my elbow. The room is enormous; every item or piece of furniture is at least fifteen times bigger than me. Meanwhile, my bed is just the right size for a tiny. In fact, it is a cute fruit basket full of cushions. I want to pull away a heavy piece of fabric given me instead of a normal blanked - but hiss and give up on this plan immediately, blind and deaf from pain: the cut on my shoulder burns, convulsing, as if it was on fire.

Only once I catch my breath and the fog covering my vision clears a little, I notice familiar forget-me-not eyes twinkling kindly from above.

- Ugh... W-what happened?

The giant smiles.

- Your injury needs good treatment. I saw you on the buttle field and decided to take care of your crazy head before someone else did. It appears I was just in time.

I huff, falling back at the pillow dramatically.

- Very funny. Actually, I thought you was about to make me your food.

He raises a brow, then frowns - it looks like I have offended him.

- One more word - and I'm eating you for real.

I giggle. Next few minutes pass in silence as I watch him preparing a tiny bondage for my wounded arm. His large fingers move so accurately - it seems impossible, considering how big he is. When he finally turns to me, I let him wrap his work around the stinging area. Healing extract bites sensitive flesh aka crocodile, but I don't pay attention to it, smirking softly at my friend's focused expression as he tends me gingerly.

- That's why I love you. - I murmur.

He says nothing. Just smirks back - and gives me a kiss in the forehead.

[quietzap]

.

[rowarn]

shadow entity!ghost cw: it/its prns for ghost, protective!ghost, implied vomiting from a hangover, sexual assault by third party, implied murder of said third party, unedited /: part: one

it was strangely easy to fall into the life of living with an unknown shadowy entity in your house. it wasn't particularly talkative or friendly -- it was sort of like living with a really creepy, introverted roommate. except occasionally it made the atmosphere feel 5x heavier around you. and there was always the looming threat that it would kill you.

your life outside your home continued on -- college, work, and the difficulty of making friends now that you lived in a new city. a bar is where you happened to meet a guy -- phillip, you recall his name. he was older than you but seemed quite polite.

after a night of drinking, you return to your home, buzzed and happy. you stumble into the house, brows furrowed as you tossed your shoes off before collapsing in a heap onto your couch. the springs creaked under your weight and you groaned at how uncomfortable it was. but you weren't going to be able to make it to the bed, you knew that for sure.

just as you were drifting off to sleep, that familiar, heavy feeling filled the room.

"ghost..." you sighed, "i'm drunk."

"drunk?" its deep, echoing voice came in response, sounding almost confused.

you were too out of it to consider that too much, instead simply explaining, "i had too much to drink."

it hummed in response, offering nothing further. you finally relaxed letting you sleep overtake you.

only to wake up with a hangover. you jumped tot your feet the moment your eyes opened, throwing yourself over the toilet bowl. sweat beaded on the back of your neck as that oppressive feeling washed over you.

"are you still drunk?" it asked, making you groan.

"i fucking wish," you spit into the toilet, cringing at the awful taste that still lingered on your tongue before sitting back and leaning against the wall, "this is what i get for drinking, i guess."

"drinking?" it asks, curiosity lacing its tone.

you hummed, "you know, alcohol," it remained silent and you raised a brow, "what? you didn't drink alcohol when you were alive? jeez, what century were you from?"

"i am alive," it responds easily.

you grunted, "right, right. you're not actually a ghost, that's right. so what--"

your phone obnoxiously ringing stopped you short. you stood, steadying yourself using the wall before you stumbled out into the living room to find the device. it was sitting on the floor, clearly having fallen there sometime while you slept.

when you answered it, the familiar voice from last night spoke -- asking you out on a date. as much as you wanted to say no because of the raging headache currently pounding behind your eyes, the desire for actual human connection after being away from your friends for so long urged you to agree.

so you did.

the date went surprisingly well, he was a gentleman and polite with a bit of a sense of humor that had you grinning through the entire dinner. he even paid for both your meals and by the time the two of you were walking out, you were more than willing to invite him over to your place.

"ah, but," you cleared your throat as you stood on your doorstep, suddenly remembering the problem inside, "i have a uh...roommate. it- he is a little odd. i-if you hear any...weird sounds, just ignore it. he's kind of flighty and shouldn't bother us otherwise."

"that's alright, sweetheart," phillip assured, offering you a kind smile as he followed you inside.

when you stepped in, you were relieved that you didn't feel ghost's presence.

"do you want a drink?" you ask, wandering towards the kitchen.

"sure, darlin'," he mumbled, looking around your place.

"have a seat if you'd like," you smile, disappearing into the kitchen.

as you grab a glass, a familiar, dark form takes its humanoid shape in the corner. you jump, almost dropping the object before you glare at it.

"ghost," you hiss, keeping your voice low so your guest doesn't hear you, "don't scare me like that." it remained silent, simply standing there. you could feel eyes burning into you, making the hairs rise on the back of your neck, "look, he's just gonna be here for a little while, okay? then he'll leave. just...don't do anything, alright?"

it remained silent, it's shadowy figure wriggling and shifting with varying shades of darkness. you tried not to stare too long -- staring into that murky black always had you seeing weird, scary things from within that disappeared the second you blinked.

"ghost," you urged it to answer you.

it didn't offer any response before vanishing. you sigh in relief but still feel apprehensive that it was going to do something to scare your guest. phillip was the first real, human connection you had since moving here and you weren't about to let that little shadowy shithead ruin it.

you plastered a smile on your face before greeting him back in the living room. phillip grins and thanks you for the water, taking a few sips before placing the glass on your table.

after a few moments, sitting up and making sure that ghost wasn't going to make an appearance, you settled into the couch and turned on the tv -- the otherwise deafening quiet of the house really stifled the atmosphere.

the energy between you and phillip grew and grew until you found yourself kissing him right there on the couch. as you pulled away to take a breath, he dove back in immediately, pushing you onto your back. you frowned, hands moving to his shoulders to push him back a little bit. he didn't mind, moving his lips down to your neck and to your neckline.

"h-hey, slow down, phillip," you mutter, pushing a little more forcefully at his shoulders.

"can't," he breathes, sounding positively drunk on you, "i've wanted you since i first laid eyes on you."

you roll your eyes, frowning when his fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, "hey-! i told you to stop!"

as soon as the words fell from your lips, the lights flickered dangerously. phillip didn't seem to notice but you knew immediately. your guests hands continued to wander and you kept trying to push him off to no avail.

"s-seriously, stop it," you cried, growing more nervous as the seconds passed.

how could a simple need for human connection turn out so rotten?

"don't want to," phillip huffs, "i know you want me too, baby."

"no!" you shriek.

then, all at once, something terrifyingly heavy fills the room. you know that sensation all too well -- it was the night you first saw ghost's shadowy form.

phillip paused, no doubt feeling that same dark feeling looming over the both of you, making it hard to breathe. he looks confused, "what the-?"

the floorboards creaked, loud, booming footsteps coming from some unknown place in the living room. it sounded right next to you yet across the room at the same time.

darkness surrounded the both of you, blocking out the living room completely until all you could see was darkness. somehow, your eyes were able to adjust, seeing phillip's petrified face, a strange, purple filter seemingly coloring the both of you within the shadow.

"close your eyes," it's voice sounded completely different now. though it didn't address you, you knew it was talking to you so you quickly did as you were told and slammed your eyelids shut.

your breathing was labored and loud as was phillips. he sounded terrified.

"what the fuck?!" he cried, a petrified kind of voice you'd only ever heard in movies.

then, a scream. an animalistic, horrified scream you didn't know could come from a human being. you squeezed your eyes shut tighter before slapping your hands over your ears to drown it out. but it was impossible, it was too loud -- too horrific to block out.

the scream was cut off, complete silence following that made your ears ring. you couldn't resist opening your eyes to see what had happened.

but there was nothing.

just the inky blackness of ghost's shadow. no sign of phillip to be seen.

slowly, the darkness dissipated, taking shape in that familiar, humanoid form. your living room came back into view and your eyes adjusted painfully to the sudden light.

"ghost?" you pant, finding it difficult to catch your breath after that. you look around frantically, "what was that? what did you do? where did he go?"

ghost didn't respond, shadowy form flickering in and out and sight before vanishing completely. you frowned, heart racing in your chest so painfully that it made your head pound.

you looked around, for any sign of the man you had brought home. but there wasn't a single sign he had ever even been there. it was silent in your home aside from the tv playing in the background.

you sunk into the cushions of the couch, unsure of anything that had just happened. you were starting to doubt that phillip had even been there to begin with.

but on the floor was a black scorch marked circle. right where ghost had stood.

[blaire-apricity]

Grief

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ┆ : 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘓𝘈𝘋𝘚 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴?

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 ┆ : 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, & 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘖𝘖𝘊

─────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

Xavier is unraveling. He refuses to accept the brutal reality of your absence, his mind rejecting the notion that you’re gone. Every day he clings to the desperate hope of finding you, even if it means chasing an illusion. Jeremiah pleads with him to let go, to find rest, but Xavier hasn’t slept a single night since you disappeared. The world insists you’re gone forever, but he can’t believe that. Somewhere, he convinces himself, you must still exist. He’s willing to turn the world upside down to see you again, despite the gnawing certainty deep inside him that you’re lost to him forever. He will never stop, not until his body collapses from exhaustion. Losing you once was unbearable; he won’t let it happen again, no matter the cost.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

Zayne appears composed, his emotions meticulously controlled, his expression unchanged. But the mere mention of your name sends ripples through his calm facade. When alone in his office, the dam breaks. Tears fall freely as memories of your smile flood his mind, shattering his composure. Your disappearance haunts him, and he blames himself for not protecting you, for not being there when you needed him. It takes years for him to begin moving on, and even then, the wound never truly heals. He will always carry the pain of losing the one person who mattered most to him, a scar that time can never erase.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

Rafayel descends into despair, his mind a tangled mess, his heart shattered beyond repair. The thought of you forgetting him pales in comparison to the agony of losing you completely. He was content just being near you, even if you couldn’t remember. Now, faced with a life without you, he breaks down, collapsing to the ground as sobs wrack his body. He retreats from the world, locking himself away in his studio, which becomes a prison of his own making. What good is anything if it’s only half? That’s how his heart feels—torn without you, the other half of his soul.

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬

Sylus explodes with rage. Always the controlled one, he now finds himself consumed by a fury he can’t contain. You were his unexpected source of gentleness and warmth, and now you’re gone, ripped away from him. The news of your disappearance drives him to violent outbursts. He flips tables, shatters glass, and destroys furniture, his shouts of frustration echoing through the mansion. Luke and Kieran keep their distance, knowing better than to approach him in this state. The loss of you makes him question everything. What’s the point of keeping the peace, of holding back? If he’s lost his world, he might as well set fire to the entire world in his grief and anger.

·❆　　　❆　❅　　　　•　　　　.　　　　　❆❆• 　·　.　　　❅

𝐴𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒: 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑎-𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑘 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑠; "𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑣𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑒𝑓𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑋𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑆𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑠." 𝐼𝑇 𝑊𝐴𝑆𝑁'𝑇 𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑁 𝐼𝑁𝑇𝐸𝑁𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝐴𝐿, 𝐼 𝑆𝑊𝐸𝐴𝑅 𝐴𝑆𝐾𝐷𝐻𝐾𝐴𝑆.

[hoshifighting]

hi sweetie!<3, hope you are doing fine.

can i request svt angry sex?, idk, it has been on my mind lately, that's the thing.

angry sex with seventeen

WARNINGS: face slapping, slighty anal, fingering, clit stimulation, overstimulation, edging, deepthroat, chocking, slut/bitch shamming, crying, fight, begging, overwhelming...

seungcheol’s anger is real. he’s not one for degrading names, but he makes you kneel and beg for your orgasm, clasping your hands together. “beg,” he commands, you do, and when he finally takes you to the bed, it’s rough, almost careless. he spits for lubrication, sliding into you without preamble. you gasp, desperate to hold in any sounds as he thrusts relentlessly.

jeonghan tries to solve fights with angry sex. it’s a chaotic mess of slaps to your face, your pussy, and overstimulation until you’re begging for him to stop. “you’ll take it,” he snarls, pushing you to your limits. the aftermath is quiet, with him waiting for your egos to cool down before apologizing. “you need to learn your place,” he murmurs, his hands firm on your hips.

joshua’s gentle nature disappears in bed. he holds you down when you squirm, slaps your face when you scream, and bites you when you cry. his cock is pressed to the brim inside you as he demands you to say sorry, slapping you until you get it right. “say it properly,” he hisses, his eyes cold.

junhui feels conflicted, his actions alternating between slapping you and asking if you’re okay. reassured, he continues, surprising you with sex toys. “you’re okay, right?” he checks, even as he’s rough and relentless, ensuring you leave the sex marked and satisfied.

soonyoung’s anger translates into an exhaustive session of every position imaginable, circling your clit until you think it will fall off. your apartment fills with your combined screams, the fight forgotten. later, he cries, regretting solving things this way. “i didn’t want to do this,” he sobs, holding you tightly.

wonwoo is a ticking time bomb. when he finally explodes, there’s no time for preamble. he presses your face against the wall, fucking you roughly. “you’re such a slut,” he growls, his degradation only stopping when you collapse, unable to hold yourself up. afterwards, he’s full of whispered apologies, remorseful for his outburst.

woozi is methodical in his anger. he locks you in a headlock, fucking you from behind while his fingers torment your clit. “you’re such a brat, you never learn” he scolds, relentless until you’re crying after your orgasm. his heart shatters at your tears, but his anger needed an outlet.

minghao dislikes angry sex but knows everyone has limits. when you push him, he denies you the pleasure you seek, edging you without letting you cum. his quiet intensity leaves you desperate and frustrated. “go to sleep,” he says coldly, turning away. the next morning, he wakes you with oral, finally letting you cum as you apologize. “good girl,” he praises softly.

mingyu uses his size to his advantage, throwing you around like a rag doll. he calls you names he’d never use otherwise. “you’re such a bitch,” he snarls, slapping your ass until it’s red. when you’re exhausted and dirty, he kisses you, soothing the sting of his words with tenderness.

seokmin refuses to let you kiss or touch him, only allowing you to cry, moan, and whimper. “just cry for me,” he fucks you in all fours, his nails marking your hips as he slides a finger into your other hole, knowing you love it but are shy about it. he loves seeing you sheepish after saying so many angry things to him. “look at you now,” he taunts, a smirk on his lips.

seungkwan overstimulates you to show how easily he can make you cum, finding your clit in seconds and pistoning your g-spot with talented accuracy. he doesn’t stop until you’re soft in his arms, your sharp answers replaced by soft n' tired whimpers. “remember why you’re like this,” he says, his voice firm.

vernon is quiet, his actions speaking for his rage. he grips your ass brutally, chokes you until you’re slapping his arm for breath, and makes you deepthroat him until your spit is dripping down your face. “take it,” he commands, his eyes dark with anger, something veryrare to see.

chan is a little shit, continuing to bicker even during sex. “you think you’re so smart,” he loves seeing you angry, giving sharp answers until he thrusts so deeply you’re left speechless. “i’m talking now,” he says, a smug grin on his face. “you’ve talked enough.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

They overhear you telling the team how much you like them and want to have their babies.

ANON! The way I screamed when I first read this prompt. I love shit like this because o-m-g. I had so much fun writing our boys in this scenario. Thank you so much for sending it in!

While there are some sweeter moments, these all lean toward the steamy side but don't cross over fully into spice. But, each is left open enough that you can make up your own mind about what happens! (hehe).

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): mild language, suggestive themes, pregnancy, fluff, feelings

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John "Soap" MacTavish (wc: 651)

John is grinning like a bloody idiot. Has been for the last few days.

He’s caught your attention, and he’s downright smug about it. Every lingering glance and gentle upturn of your mouth has his skin singing with an intensity that can only be described as a tree burning from the inside out. He’s been after you for months, doing his best to gauge your interest in him.

He thinks he has an in because just yesterday, you touched him. Not a passing touch either but a firm grasp of his upper arm. A squeeze that shot heat straight to his toes and sent blood rushing quickly to an already throbbing need.

You looked him in the eye, brow all soft, mouth puckered slightly in the most gorgeous pout. John wanted to kiss you right then.

He turns the corner, heading into the training room, only to stop dead when he hears your voice. Pausing, he backtracks, pressing himself against the wall but leaning around the corner to listen in.

“Johnny’s been sweet on you,” comes Ghost’s voice. It’s slightly teasing, and John frowns slightly. Ghost would never overstep and steal you out from under him, but he would give him or even you a hard time.

“Has he?” you reply, and it’s breathy.

At this rate, his cheeks are gonna hurt for a week from how stupidly big his grin is.

“Don’t tell us you haven’t noticed,” laughs Gaz. “Soap’s been drooling all over the floor and himself.”

You remain silent, and John would give anything to know what you look like right now or what you’re thinking.

“Do you like him?” asks Ghost.

“What?” you exclaim.

“We won’t tell. Unless you want us to,” continues Gaz. “We can tell him to back off if—”

“No. I—” There is a stretch of silence. “I like him.”

When neither Gaz nor Ghost say anything, you keep talking. “I like him. I’m interested.”

“How interested?” asks Ghost, slowly.

“I’d have his babies if he asked,” you blurt so suddenly that it even takes John by surprise.

His grin momentarily slips away, and then it comes back, raging larger than before. He is going to bottle up those words and savor them. John runs his fingers through his hair, tugging on the tips slightly as he comes to a decision.

Pushing off from the wall, he barrels around the corner, making enough noise to not startle anyone. You and Gaz both jump but Ghost remains utterly still, a passive brick of a man. But his dark eyes swivel from you to John, and he sees Ghost’s amusement behind the balaclava.

John approaches you, and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep his grin from seeming too eager. “Price is looking for you.”

“Oh,” is all you say, moving in the direction John just emerged from. He waits until you pass him to start following, but before he can, he catches Gaz’s grin and Ghost’s gentle shake of his head.

When the two of you disappear around the corner, John reaches out, grabbing your arm. He tugs you against him, then shoves open a nearby door, hauling you inside.

“Johnny,” you protest as he shuts the two of you inside.

Leaning against the door, John crosses his arms over his chest. “Heard what you said.”

“Did you?” you counter, placing your hands on your hips.

“Aye.”

“And what did I say?”

“That you wanted to have my babies.” Your face heats and John has to bite back a groan. He surges forward, trapping you against the wall. “Is that the truth? Do you want me?”

You soften in his arms, and he cannot help himself. His arms snake around your middle only to lift you onto a nearby table.

“I want you,” you whisper.

John dips his head and you greet him with your mouth. “Then let’s get to it, love.”

John Price (wc: 420)

Price reclines in his office chair.

His mind is a mess. All thoughts of work are utterly gone. Finished. The only thing in his head is you and what you said this morning. The thing is, you don’t know that Price heard every word, that he listened as you confessed your feelings for him to the rest of the team.

Price is your superior, which means anything between the two of you cannot happen. At least, not while you’re under his command. The rest of the team said as much, and you reluctantly agreed, knowing that nothing could be done unless you or he moved out of the unit.

And Price won’t leave. Not because he wouldn’t do it for you, but because Laswell would have his head if he tried.

But the two of you can still talk. The two of you can still figure something out.

Yet it wasn’t just your interest in him that has Price’s head in knots. It’s what you said, almost absently, like you were speaking to the air and not the rest of the team.

I’d have his babies.

Fuck, he was gone when he heard that. Price walked away immediately and went to his office. Which is where he’s been the entire fucking day. When his phone rings, he refuses to answer. Everyone who has come knocking leaves when Price ignores them. He just needs to get his head on straight but he can only do that once he talks to you first.

Sighing, Price leans forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the table. A knock comes, and everything in him tenses.

He swallows. Turns his nerves to steel. "Come in."

When you enter, Price loses all thought. It isn't until the silence becomes awkward that Price clears his throat and stands. "Shut the door."

You do and then take a few more steps inside. Price isn't one for stepping around a conversation. He just needs to get this shit off his chest.

"Heard what you said this morning."

"You did?"

"I did."

You take a shaky breath. "And?"

"Did you mean it?"

'Every word," you say automatically.

Fuck. He's done for.

Price slowly sinks into his chair. He leans back casually, legs spread. Resting both hands on his thighs, Price runs them up and then back down. He taps the inside of one thigh in open invitation.

Your legs obediently move, and Price's chest tightens. As you straddle him, Price's hands come to rest on your waist.

"Show me."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick (wc: 309)

Kyle heard you wrong. He must have.

The words that just came out of your mouth simply aren’t true.

I want to have his babies.

He shakes his head, the middle of his brow furrowing slightly as he continues to listen. He hears Soap guffaw at your reply and then swear up a storm when you smack the back of his head.

“It’s not funny,” you snap.

“Oh, aye. But it is.”

“Cut her some slack, Johnny,” says Ghost teasingly. “Sergeant Garrick is a handsome man.”

You sigh in frustration. “You’re both terrible. I can’t tell you anything.”

“You just did.”

“Oh shove it, Soap,” you reply.

Kyle covers his mouth with his hand, smothering a laugh. You’ve always been feisty, and you don’t take shit from anyone, especially not from them. But this admission completely catches him off-guard.

He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t interested. What first began as mutual respect grew into genuine friendship. Now it’s…this. Whatever this is.

But Kyle is a private person, and he’s not going to shove himself into this conversation. He’ll wait until you’re alone and the two of you can talk this out without an audience. From there, he will have the truth directly from your mouth.

And if he's being honest with himself, Kyle is fucking ace to the idea of you giving him a kid or two. Or three.

His mind swirls outward with images of what he’d do to put a baby inside you. Everything in him ramps up, burns hot until he’s aching.

“Sergeant.”

Kyle’s eyes snap open, and he momentarily sways as he rights himself.

“Captain,” he replies, clearing his throat.

Captain Price smirks and then squeezes his shoulder. “Must have been a hell of a daydream.” Price releases Kyle’s shoulder and continues on.

Privacy. Privacy with you.

That’s what Kyle needs.

Simon "Ghost" Riley (wc: 375)

Ghost is a patient man.

But right now, there is a fire beneath his skin.

It itches, radiating outward, even making his bones ache. This is not a wound. Not an injury. He didn’t take a hit. There is nothing physically wrong with him. Ghost is healthy. A solid brick wall of muscle and scars.

This impatient insistence comes from a carnal place. All the blood is rushing to a singular point, and Ghost is going fucking insane with how badly he needs to relieve it. The worst part about it is that you don’t even know. You have no idea what you’ve done, or what he heard.

I’d have his babies.

Ghost is entirely aware that the conversation you had with Soap and Gaz was private. He wasn’t meant to hear it. But he did. He did, and now he can’t stop thinking about all the things you said to them.

Which is why he’s lurking in the shadows, watching your every step, assessing when he should slide on up to you. Ghost needs you alone. He needs to talk but he also needs you in his lap.

So, when you turn the corner, Ghost slips into his namesake, grabbing you by the waist to haul you through the nearest door. Instinct kicks in, and you lash out, but Ghost is so much bigger than you, easily restraining all resistance.

"Stop moving."

"Simon."

His real name on your tongue is perfect. Pressing his face into your neck, he inhales, and you melt into him.

"What are you doing?" you ask softly.

"I heard the conversation you had with Johnny and Gaz today."

"Did you?"

"Is it true?"

Your face shifts slightly in his direction and Ghost draws back a bit. "Yes."

"Mean it?"

"Yes."

Slowly, Ghost removes his arms from around your waist. He gently guides you forward and then spins you around so that you're fully facing him. There is silence and then Ghost reaches for the front of his belt buckle. Your gaze immediately drops and then pops back up as undoes and then removes the belt with one hand.

"Willing to show me?" he asks.

Your lips part, and then you're touching him.

The fire beneath his skin becomes an inferno.

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[seresinhangmanjake]

Respect

Feyd-Rautha x female!reader

Summary: Your betrothed is a son from one of the Great Houses, an awful man who has enjoyed threatening and scaring you since you were children. Feyd makes it known he doesn't appreciate such disrespectful treatment of the woman he loves.

Notes/Warnings: SA (mention of past unwanted touching. Not by Feyd). Violence and blood. Implied or mentioned sexual situations. Feyd is soft for reader and reader only. Typos, im sure. I think that's it. Feel free to correct me.

Words: 1900

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You told him stories of the youngest son of House Kenric. As you lay in Feyd’s arms, you recounted your meetings with your betrothed over the years. The ways he teased you as children, pinching your skin, tugging on your hair, spitting in your face, calling you worthless, stupid, pathetic. Then in the years before coming of age, how he would mock you alongside his brothers. How he would smack you if you defended yourself and force you to tell your father you’d fallen. How he would grope you over your dress when neither your parents nor his were paying attention. But you’d kept one story from him; the most recent of them.

Feyd had met you at a party for a handful of influential Great Houses, and it wasn’t long before he found himself rather attached to you. Over the course of six hours, you’d met, talked, flirted, snuck off, kissed, fell into bed, fucked, and returned to the party with no one the wiser. It was that same night you were able to convince your father of a budding interest in Harkonnen ways, and that if the Houses were aiming for peace and unity, there would be no harm in you spending a few months on Giedi Prime.

At the time, Feyd knew the “Harkonnen ways” you so appreciated didn’t extend far past the attachment the two of you shared and his ability to make you see stars when his cock was inside of you, but it eventually developed into more. Much more. Though never said aloud, he loved you. So much so that when you finally informed him of your betrothed’s treatment of you the week preceding the party—his cornering you, touching you, telling you of his intent to control and use you as he pleases once you become his wife—Feyd struggled to swallow his rage. 

“I’m scared, honestly,” you told him, your hand sliding up from his abdomen over his chest to the curve where his neck met his shoulder, gently squeezing the toned muscle. “How do I become the wife of a man like that? And what about producing his heir? I’ll have no choice but to let him have me.”

It made Feyd sick to think of another man so close to you. Another man’s hands on you, his lips marring your body, tongue between your folds, sweat staining your skin. Even screwing his eyes shut couldn’t make those images disappear. They only grew stronger, tormenting him. She’s not yours, a little voice whispered. Not your woman, not the mother of your child, not your wife. 

But, fuck, you should be. You should be all of those things. You would make a perfect Baroness; the only one Feyd could imagine himself wanting. You would face hardship with a sturdy backbone and not shy away from what Giedi Prime would request of you. You would be respected as the ruler by his side, as you deserve. Respected most of all by the man who loves you.

“Would you rather marry me?” Feyd asked, lazily running his fingers up and down your bare spine. He felt a sudden uneasiness, like nerves wiggling throughout his limbs. Such an unfamiliar sensation. Unwelcome, but not misplaced he supposed.

“Yes,” you replied to his relief. “But we both know that’s not how this works, Feyd. It’s just not that simple.”

You were right. It wasn’t simple. Your father made an arrangement with House Kenric, but there was no chance Feyd was going to let that old Duke take you from him in two weeks and ship you off to marry an abusive, unworthy pest of a man. If your father wouldn’t permit simplicity for the sake of your happiness, then Feyd would just have to make it simple. 

—

“Why is it again that I’m not allowed to see?” you ask as Feyd guides you down a dark corridor with his fingers covering your eyes.

“I told you it’s a surprise,” he teases. “Don’t you like my presents?” 

You chuckle. “Of course, I like your presents.”

“Then that’s all you need to know,” he tells you. “We are here, anyway.”

Coming to a stop, Feyd removes his hands from your eyes and places them on your shoulders, kneading out the tension that has only worsened in your body as your wedding day grows nearer. You blink once, twice, still curious as to what sort of present could possibly be this far from your rooms, but when your vision adjusts to the onslaught of bright light illuminating the small cell, you gasp at the sight before you. 

“What do you think?” Feyd asks, pressing a kiss to your neck as you take in the badly beaten body of Aldo Kenric—your future husband.

He’s secured to a chair, his arms strapped down to the chairs arms and legs strapped to legs. His head hangs low. His shirt is torn down the front, exposing the deep purple bruises that litter his torso. Blood drips from his nose and split lips to stain white fabric and forge red rivers through the hills of his abdomen muscles. If not for the pink flush to his skin, you would think him long dead.

The hand that raises to your mouth partially conceals your shock, but the rest of your face gives the emotion away. Your eyelids don’t seem to be able to blink anymore, and your brows will not lower from their position high up on your forehead. You don’t know how to swallow what you see.

With a sigh, Feyd says, “Wait a moment. He’s not very lively.” Then he steps around you toward your betrothed, lifts the man's head by his cropped blond hair, and hits him across the face with a smack that echoes throughout the cell. Scarlet droplets splatter across Feyd’s forearm like flung paint from a brush.

Aldo jolts awake, body convulsing in a sharp jerk. His eyes blow wide as saucers as he snaps his head in all directions and struggles against his binds. The gag in his mouth muffles his whimpers of panic. 

“H-How?” you stutter, glancing at Feyd. “When did you—”

“I had some of my men snatch him last night,” Feyd informs you. ‘While we were busy fucking’, he leaves out. “I was told it was done without difficulty. Didn’t put up a decent fight of any sort.” 

He grabs Aldo’s jaw, fingers pressing into the hollows of his cheeks, and forces his head so he has no choice but to look directly into Feyd’s eyes. “We had a long talk about respecting our women, didn’t we, Kenric?”

Tears stream down the man’s face, cutting through dried blood and dripping onto Feyd’s hand. Aldo tries to yank his head free from the tight grasp to look at you. You think he’s repeating your name behind the stuffing in his mouth, but you can’t be sure.

“What are you going to do with him?” you ask.

“What would you like me to do with him?”

“I can decide?”

He laughs. “Of course. I wouldn’t give you a gift and not let you choose what to do with it.”

You almost flinch in shock. You’re not known for choosing things for yourself. Until you met Feyd, ‘choice’ was a word associated with negativity and obligatory sacrifice. He is the one thing you’ve ever chosen. Your clothes, your hair, your studies, your husband—all selected for you. But Feyd…you met him and fell and didn’t want to get back up. 

Maybe now, you don’t have to.

“You’d kill him?” you ask.

Aldo screams behind his gag, more salty wet lines running down his face. His squirming shifts the chair back and forth and forward and back. Unevenly distributed weight nearly causes him to fall on his side, but Feyd sets him upright before he can crack his head on the stone floor. 

Reaching around his back, Feyd pulls out a small knife and in one sharp motion sinks it into Aldo’s thigh with a sickening yet satisfying thick thud. “Stay put,” he growls, then he turns to you with a smile. “Yes, I would kill him, if that would make you happy.”

Water pools in the corner of your eyes. Your bottom lip begins to quiver. Feyd rushes to you and cups your cheeks in warm palms. 

“Do not cry,” he demands as his thumbs brush over your cheekbones. “You know I hate it.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, sucking in a few deep breaths between your sniffles. “No one has ever done something like this for me before.”

His face softens. “I’d do everything for you,” he swears before drawing you in for a kiss; slow and sensual and sweet in front of the broken man who currently has a claim on your hand. You lose yourself to mouths moving in perfect sync until he pulls back. 

“So, do you have a preference?” he asks, giving you one final peck. “Slit throat now, or arena in the morning?”

Your head tilts in contemplation as you observe the distressed, wailing man who has happily hurt and terrified you. By nature, you are not a violent woman, not in the way your man is a violent man, and you were raised to believe that it is improper and rude and disrespectful to wish pain upon someone else—downright cruel or whatever—but there’s a sense of freedom now. Clearer mind, lighter heart, straighter spine, weakened conscience.

You raise a brow. “If I choose the arena, will you make a show of it?”

Feyd hums in agreement.

“And, um…” you pause.

“You can have anything you want,” Feyd says at your hesitation.

You nod, your confidence renewing with his encouragement. Yes, he’s right, you can have anything. With Feyd, it’s anything, and it’s conditionless. 

As you slowly drag your hand down his chest, you peer up at him through your lashes. “Will you go in without a shirt? I’d like to see you come out covered in red.”

Feyd smirks then steps out of your arms and crouches in front of your soon-to-be-former betrothed. “Did you hear her?” he asks Aldo as he flicks the hilt of the blade sticking out of his flesh. Aldo whimpers, pressing his legs together. “Covered, she says. And I will give her what she wants because I love her and this is how I respect her.”

Leaning down, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Let’s go to our room. I want to thank you…properly,” you whisper, softly kissing just under his ear before sucking his earlobe into your mouth. Feyd groans.

“And then I will properly thank you for thanking me, my love,” he says with a grin that falls into a frown when he turns back to Aldo. “See, Kenric? Respect.” Feyd slaps the top of Aldo’s leg for emphasis as he stands. “You can keep the knife for now. Can't have you bleeding out. We have an important day ahead of us and I don’t want it to be too easy.”

“Come on,” you snicker, pulling him by the hand as you walk backward out of the cell. 

Feyd spins and grabs you at the waist to lift you into his arms. You giggle as your legs lock around his hips.

“Will you agree to marry me now?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you tell him, your lips ghosting over his. “You saved me.”

--

tags (let me know if you want to be on the list): @avidreader73

[kentopedia]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold. 

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity. 

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants. 

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards. 

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding. 

he can feel the man swallowing. 

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well. 

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand. 

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you. 

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity. 

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you. 

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them. 

limply, they fall to the floor. 

chuuya rushes over to you. 

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it. 

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing. 

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?” 

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?” 

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either. 

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.” 

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.” 

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones. 

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.” 

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.” 

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later. 

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.” 

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off. 

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him. 

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage. 

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course. 

but you… you’re different. 

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.” 

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own. 

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable. 

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you. 

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow. 

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.  

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy. 

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets. 

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found. 

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain. 

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him. 

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain. 

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding. 

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips. 

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you. 

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads. 

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.” 

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?” 

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.” 

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken. 

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word. 

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you. 

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you. 

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies. 

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest. 

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well. 

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating. 

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe. 

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend. 

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.” 

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation. 

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you. 

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation. 

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own. 

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed. 

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive. 

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them. 

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall. 

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive. 

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes. 

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats. 

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile. 

dazai hums. “you the leader?” 

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you. 

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all. 

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him. 

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become. 

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple. 

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.” 

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.” 

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?” 

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.” 

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎

[god-syndicate-if]

DEMO [TBD] You've always been angry.

Rage comes naturally to you. With how much life has messed with you it's only fair that you use your anger. That's why you became a boxer. The thrill of breaking an opponent. And hoping they might break you in turn. They never do though. Every fight is a disappointment, almost as much of a disappointment as they pay for each fight.

Enter Jackie Roth, club owner, mob boss, and former god. When she offers you a job you can't say no. Not that you would, not when she and everyone in her gang feel so familiar to you. At least with this job you'll be able to use that rage inside you more.

As you learn the ways of the criminal underground you reconnect with people you never met. Reforge bonds that you've never made. And recall memories you've never had. You were a god once upon a time, can you become one again?

God Syndicate is an interactive novel where you play the newest incarnation of Ares, The God of War. It's 18+ for violence, explicit sexual themes, drug use, morally questionable behavior, and more.

Customize your MC, play male, female, or nonbinary. With transgender options and pronoun selection. Customize your appearance and develop your personality.

Romance or befriend a cast of characters, including gods with more issues than you can count or even a mortal! Asexual and Aromantic options available.

Show the gods why you were feared all those years ago or prove that you're better than your past lives.

Uncover the mystery of disappearing gods as well as the mystery of your past.

Help out Elysium, the club where you'll practically live from now on. It seems to attract gods and that isn't always good.

Take out your anger on people who might even deserve it.

Zeus: Jackie Roth - She/Her. [Not an RO]

Jackie is The King of The Gods and she makes sure everyone knows it. Her word is law in Elysium and beyond. Fail her and you'll have a storm waiting for you. In the years since your disappearance Jackie's love for her family has seem to only grow. But she has a criminal empire to run and you're just the weapon she needs.

Hermes: Riley Liao Zhi - Gender Selectable. [RO]

The Messenger of The Gods. Or in Riley's case, the ever bored personal assistant to Jackie. Riley's an adrenaline junkie with a heart of gold. As the one who found you they feel almost responsible for you. But why do they also seem so afraid of you?

Apollo: Franco Valerio - He/Him. [RO]

As expected of The God of Music, Franco's your classic rich and famous rock star. Well he would be, if only he could get out of Elysium. His love of singing and love of his family are two chains he can't break that tie him here. Will your arrival help break those chains or tighten them?

Aphrodite: Damiana "Dame" Rivette - Gender Selectable. [RO]

Quiet and Serious, Dame is no longer The God of Love they once were. The passion of their life faded and now bitterness grows where love should. The only friend they have in Elysium seems to be their fiance, Johnny. To make their life even worse, you arrive.

Nemesis: Verne Mercer - They/Them. [RO]

Protective? Vindictive? As the God of Retribution Verne can be described as both perfectly. As the bouncer of Elysium and Jackie's right hand Verne refuses to allow a threat near them or their friends. And what are you if not a threat?

Dionysus: Mitch Dorsey - He/Him. [RO]

It's almost cliche that Dionysus is the bartender for Elysium. But if Mitch needs to fall into old habits to help pay for his daughter's life then he will. He's tired of his life here and has never tried to hide it. Now with you coming back he wonders how long he can protect his daughter from The Gods. (Optional Poly route available with Sigourney)

The Mortal: Sigourney Hawthorn - She/Her. [RO]

Newly divorced from Mitch she struggles with juggling her (demigod) child, relentless job, and love life. As her daughter, Claudia, grows she wonders if she can keep up or if she'll be left behind. And now with your arrival Claudia's godly family gets bigger and her presence gets smaller. (Optional poly route available with Mitch)

Artemis: Rebel Reyes - She/Her. [RO]

How can The God of the Hunt thrive in the city? The prey here are either too weak or too annoying to hunt. The only thing Rebel craves is to feel that thrill again. With your arrival she has a perfect chance, who better to hunt than the God of War? She can't wait to meet you.

Nike: Johnny Noble- He/Him. [Not an RO]

How can you beat the God of Victory? When fate itself decides that it's special little boy gets to win then he wins. In any competition you can name, love included, he wins. You can't beat him so don't even try. He's engaged to the God of Love, friends with everyone in Elysium, and worshiped by everyone who meets him. You might as well join. No matter how insufferable he might be.

[lucyrose191]

PROTECTIVE SHIELD| K.RÄIKKÖNEN

Pairing: Protective!Kimi x Sunshine!driver!reader

Summary; You always have a smile on your face, even through the struggles of being the only female driver but when it feels like the entire media is against you it’s hard to keep that smile on your face but Kimi won’t allow it to disappear, he’s always there protecting you.

Warnings; fluff, mistreatment of women

F1 Master List

You had fought to get in the position you were in today and you had done it all with a smile on your face. It was easy back then, when there was less attention on you and less people questioning your every decision or underestimating your talent compared to the other drivers on the grid simply because you weren’t a man.

You were known for your smile, the way it was always present with everyone you spoke to and no matter the question you were asked but people seemed to take it as an invitation to say whatever they wanted as though it had no affect on you.

It didn’t in the beginning.

But as each of the questions piled on top of each other, the strain made it harder to maintain the smile, your struggle was hard to notice because you did such a good job of hiding it but one person did.

Kimi Räikkönen.

Whilst he was quiet, he was observant.

To him only a fool would think your smile was real. There was clearly such a huge difference between you being happy and you pretending to be happy.

There were no more sparkles in your eyes or twitch of your nose and it enraged him.

It was infuriating, knowing that the journalists and media had managed to ruin the pureness in you.

He wasn’t going to allow them to destroy you of everything you were.

You normally didn’t mind the driver’s press conferences but lately they’ve been…. hard.

The questions lately have hardly been about driving, instead about your possible challenges against the other drivers or if you feel as though you’re at a disadvantage.

You don’t. You’ve said countless times that you don’t feel the need to be treated differently in any sense and that you being female added no extra struggles in your opinion.

It seemed the tipping point for Kimi with these questions was when a female journalist asked not only peculiar but disturbing question.

You smiled at the woman as she stood up, thinking you’d get a real question about driving but that smile soon faded as she opened her mouth.

"Hi, this is a question for Y/N. As a woman, I was curious as to whether it’s more difficult for you to finish a race during the time of the month when you’re menstruating?"

You hated it. You hated that just because they’re a woman they think it excuses the questions they’re asking.

Beside you Kimi scoffed loudly, the most noise he’d made during the entire conference. "What sort of fucking question is that?" He stared straight into the woman’s eyes with a face as hard as ice.

The woman seemed taken back by him and started stuttering. "I-well-I was just-"

Kimi shook his head "We’ve been sat in these chairs for half an hour and not a single one of you imbeciles has asked her a real fucking question about the car or the race. All of you have sat there and just questioned her ability to do her job as if any of you know a thing about racing."

Kimi stood up from his seat and gestured for you to get up as well from where you were sitting in pure shock, lips parted and eyes wide you did and followed him out of the room, ignoring the fact that you weren’t meant to be leaving any time soon.

He was raging, he had sat and watched as your smile dimmed with each question; anger building inside until he just couldn’t keep it to himself anymore.

You had to run to catch up with him, he was walking so fast, fuelled by his anger. Your body was still in shock from the way he had spoken and stood up for you but you caught his arm which caused his footsteps to pause.

You looked up at him in silence for a moment, contemplating what to say as he looked down at you with those piercing blue eyes.

"You didn’t have to do that," you settled on saying.

Kimi huffed, glancing away for a short minute before returning his gaze back to you. "I did, I wasn’t going to sit and let them speak to you like that, you deserve better."

You shrugged and smiled weakly "It’s how it’s always been, they’re not going to change and I’ve accepted that."

"You shouldn’t need to," he argued before grumbling under his breath and reaching out to cup your cheeks, keeping his gaze locked with yours. "They’re taking away your smile and I’m not going to let them. You’re beautiful and your smile is beautiful, I’m not letting them take that away from you."

You blinked up at him in shock whilst trying to process his words, raising your own hands up to wrap around his wrists to keep his in place.

Eventually, you smiled and leaned into his touch. "Thank you."

He gave you that half smile you knew so well before pulling you into his embrace "Don’t listen to anything they say, they don’t know you."

You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t let them knock you down, not when you had Kimi there to stand in front of you like a protective shield or hold your hand as you walked through the media storm.

You could do anything with him beside you, you could even keep your smile.

[luveline]

begging on my hands and knees (if you haven’t already) for you to write something about Aaron during the birth of your child 🥲🥲 and jack’s reaction to meeting his new sibling

You suffer through labour, Aaron dotes, and Jack meets his baby sister. fem, 2k

cw for labour/delivery, no graphic imagery

For some people, giving birth is a fast affair. Dilation occurs quickly, and after twenty or so pushes, a baby is born. Some people can go into labour and be finished within the hour. 

You, unfortunately, have not had that kind of luck. And that’s okay —it’s also entirely normal for this process to be difficult. Doesn’t make it hurt any less to watch, but Aaron has thick skin. Who cares what he’s feeling? You’re about to have a baby. 

He stands at the head of the bed with his arm over your pillow, tired despite himself, a styrofoam cup of ice chips in his hand. He presses it to your cheek, and every couple of minutes he changes it to the other one. Your forehead is wet with sweat, your face puffy with sobbing tears, but you’re beautiful in your sleep. Beautiful to him. 

He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead where he stays for some time. Your heart monitor beeps. 

A few minutes later, your heart monitor jumps. A strike of pain to warn of an oncoming contraction. 

You drag yourself from sleep to find his eyes. “Hi,” you whisper. 

He doesn’t know what to say. What can sum it up? Aaron doesn’t think he’s felt this many emotions in his life; he thinks of Jack, his baby face, and he thinks of Haley squishing his pink cheeks; he thinks of your hands, how chapped your palms are, how much he hates to see you crying like this; he thinks of your little baby so close to being here, and all your months of triumph and love and good luck to get to this moment. 

This is the biggest privilege of his life, in line with Jack’s birth. 

He doesn’t feel like he deserves it, but he makes himself a man who could deserve you. “Hello,” he says, pressing the back of his hand to your raging forehead. “How are you feeling?” 

“It has to be time soon.” 

“You think so? Should I find someone?” 

He speaks in solid but hushed tones, as though a raised voice might hurt you more. You find his chest to press your hand to space above his heart, where you give him a little rub back and forth. “No,” you say, tears welling in your eyes as the monitor spikes, “not yet.” 

He helps you into a sitting position which quickly becomes a bent over and keening position. Aaron obviously doesn’t know how childbirth feels, but he has experienced his own scar tissue ripping apart inside his abdomen as his organs flooded with his own blood. By the looks of it, you’re hurting worse than that. You don’t even speak. Your moans turn to panicked shouting before you get so scared your voice disappears. 

He doesn’t like it at all. He waits a good long minute with you for the pain to pass, his hand in yours as you squeeze it to mulch, his nose pressed remorsefully to your cheek. It fades like all the others. 

“I know,” he says as you start to cry in earnest, “it’s over. It’s over.” 

“It’s not over,” you snip, sniffing. 

He leans over your lap to press the button that asks for help. “You’re doing amazing.” 

It’s a hard night. At nearing one in the morning, they measure your dilation and agree it’s time to push. You tolerate it well, but it still takes two and a half hours of agony and tears. Aaron doesn’t cry, but he does feel an acute ache for you, and an excitement you probably can’t feel yourself. Every push is one step closer to the baby. 

Just after three hours, when the midwives are whispering to one another in concern and Aaron is sure he’ll never feel his left hand again, you have a baby. 

She’s snipped, cleaned up, and laid gently on your chest within seconds. You’ll never know how whole and brimming Aaron’s heart feels in that moment, to see you crying against the little forehead of your baby, to watch your arms cradle her body tenderly. 

He’s sure everyone in the room will forgive him for crying too. Just a couple of tears, smiling as you look down at her in pure joy. No shock, no sign of all that pain. 

“Oh, fuck, Aaron,” you say suddenly, to the delight of everyone in the room, “she’s got your frown.” 

She’s screaming, as babies tend to do. Aaron presses himself as close as he can to confirm the wrinkle between her brows. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, kissing your cheek. 

You breathe out deeply. “It’s okay. I forgive you.” 

Sorry for the pain and gunk. You forgive him for everything. 

You’re feeling nearly yourself again when morning comes, Aaron can tell. Showered, changed, swaddled with post-labour padding and with half a sandwich in your stomach, he can nearly forget the sound of your panicked crying. You’re hoarse as though you’ve been out for the night with friends, whispering clumsy love notes to your daughter where she naps in your lap. 

“So pretty,” you say, running an awed fingertip over her nose, “so beautiful, baby. You’re so beautiful. Look at your liccle nose.” You dip into sugar. “Aw, look at your nose.” 

“That’s your nose,” he says. 

“I think so.” 

She’s a baby so it’s hard to say for sure, but Aaron hopes she has your lovely nose and that she looks exactly like you, if she only keeps his wrinkled brow. 

You lean back. The bed has been wiped down and changed, your pillow from home propped behind your shoulders. Jack’s good luck talisman sits on the night table, waiting for him to visit. Aaron has been away for weeks, sometimes months at a time, and still he misses him after not seeing him these last eighteen hours. 

“He’s on his way, right?” you ask, noticing Aaron’s quiet. 

Aaron picks up Mr. Bear where he sits on the nightstand and massages the teddy’s arms and stomach. “Can’t you hear him?”

“My sister!” Jack is saying, words too fast to pick up each one, “Jess, we have to be faster!” 

“I’m going as fast as I can, sweetheart!” 

Aaron meets him at the door. Jack sees his father, probably just the shape of him, and starts to run down the hallway. He slams into Aaron’s legs, who pulls him up against his chest for a two-armed hug that he couldn’t need more. 

“Jackers,” he says in relief.

“Dad, put me down!” He must see you over Aaron’s shoulder. “Y/N! You’re okay!” 

“I’m more than okay, handsome! Were you worried about me?” 

“Is that my baby?” he says, rubbing his eyes with both hands.

You, Aaron and Jess all laugh. “Your baby sister. Are you gonna come and say hello? She’s been waiting for hours for you to wake up,” you say.

“I was waiting for her for hours first,” Jack says, climbing over Aaron’s shoulder, and then slipping back down as his father walks him into the hospital room to stop by your bed. 

Jess stays by the door. 

Aaron puts Jack on the bed beside you where there’s not much room for him, hands clasped around his arms just in case he does something sudden. “Oh,” Jack says, breathing out slowly. “Wow, dad.” 

“Wow,” Aaron echoes. 

“Can I touch her?” 

Assured he’ll be careful, Aaron lets Jack loose, and the boy waits for your signal before he pokes at the baby’s fisted hand. 

“She’s really little, huh?” you ask quietly. 

“Was I this little?” 

“You were smaller,” Aaron whispers. 

“She’s a real baby, dad.” 

“She’s super real. Does she look like you pictured?” Aaron asks. 

“No, I thought she’d look more like me.” 

This is really funny to you. Careful, you hold the baby to your chest and free an arm to cup Jack’s shoulder. “Buddy, I missed you. Aunt Jess says you stayed up past your bedtime, how are you feeling?” 

He smiles and goes shy at the same time. “I’m okay. I missed you, too.” 

“That’s good, I’m feeling good too.” You sniffle. 

“Are you sure?” Jack asks. 

“This is the best day ever. My little girl meeting her big brother.” You take a steadying breath, and you turn the baby toward Jack gently. “Do you wanna hold her?” 

Jack sits against your pillows and waits with pale terror on his face for you to pass him the baby. He bends over her as soon as she’s been placed, worried she’ll tip out of his lap, and you stroke the short brown strands of his hair, crops of it moving shiny under your touch. 

Aaron takes his phone from his pocket. In his rush, he struggles to find the capture button, recording a video instead that will take up most of the memory on his old phone and that he will refuse to part with. 

“Did she look like this in your belly?” Jack asks you, frowning. 

“Not the whole time. Why, does that bother you?” 

“Was she squished?” 

“No, she wasn’t squished. ‘Member how big my belly was?” You laugh warmly. “How big it still is.” 

“Will it ever be small again?” 

“Maybe somebody. I don’t mind.” You stroke his hair again. Baby makes a wet noise. “What do you think, lovely?” 

“About your belly?” 

“About the baby.” 

“I wish I was her.” 

You stroke behind his ear. “How come?” 

“I’m so tired, I wish I was sleeping too. But she is really small.” 

Aaron catches your relieved smile before he puts down the phone. “Do you want a nap, buddy? We can take a nap.” 

“I can take him home?” Jess suggests quietly. 

Aaron thanks her for everything. When you’re feeling better, he’s sure you’ll want to introduce Jess to the baby as well, but Jess doesn’t want to impose, and Aaron lets her go without fuss. Perhaps it’s a little hard on her to see. He doesn’t know. 

But Jess is a good woman, and he knows she’ll want to meet your baby whenever you’re ready. For now, it’s just you, Aaron, Jack, and the baby Hotchner.

Aaron sits in the plastic wrapped chair by the bed and leans back to accommodate sleepy Jack, who falls asleep with little more than a back rub and his family’s proximity. You look like you could sleep, too, but you won’t put the baby in the bassinet. You hold her and watch her for a soothing stretch of time, Aaron watching you both. 

“He’ll be more enthusiastic after he’s slept,” Aaron promises. 

You pucker and press teeny kisses to the baby’s ear. “He was perfect,” you murmur. “He was so gentle. We’re so lucky.” 

Aaron reaches over to hold your hand. You indulge him with an open palm, the two of you shushing in tandem as your children rouse, both of them perfect, and both parents very lucky. 

[kquil]

POLY MARAUDERS | HEROES IN TATTOOS PART 4

04 : DISAPPEAR

SUM. : you find out the truth about the boys' relationship

REQUEST. : this might be a dumb question but are the marauders also all in a poly relationship with each other? if so, i'd love one where the reader finally has that realisation and gets all blushy and starts to consider if they'd ever want to include her —@thepunisherfrankcastle

TAGS. : modern au ; muggle au ; tattoo artist james ; tattoo artist sirius ; piercer remus ; only slight fluff ; mostly angst ; im so sorry ; reader finds out the truth ; but not really in the best way ; major misunderstanding trope ; sirius isn't a bad person! ; poly relationship revealed ; yay? ; distance ; walking away trope-ish ; james is precious ; remus trying to make the hard decisions ; our boys need a hug ; wolfstar ; starchaser ; angst angst angst ; im sorry im sorry im sorry!

LENGTH : 5.2k

← PREV. : 03 | GROCERIES

Hearing James giggling fills your chest with warmth and is so contagious that you have to bite your lip so as not to join him. He sees your resistance and moves his hand, making you freeze up and stop all movement. His index finger curls under your chin to lift your gaze as his thumb settles on your bottom lip and slowly draws it out from the press of your upper teeth. 

“I can’t be the only one laughing, angel,” on his face is an innocent smile but you know he’s devilish — the raging fire he lights up inside you with the smooth delivery of his simple statement is evidence enough that he’s up to no good.

His light grasp offers barely any resistance when you lift your chin away, “that’s because I’m not ticklish like you,” 

“Hey now,” he warns firmly but you can see the mutual playfulness reflecting clearly in his hazel eyes, it was like staring into clear honey, “you’re the one who’s colouring in my tattoo like a toddler,” 

“I was bored,” you defend a little too quickly, getting huffy and exaggerating a pitiful pout. It was… a sight, James admits in his head; you look adorable like this and he wants to frame the image in his memory forever, “and besides, you agreed to it,”

“Yeah, so don’t tease me about being ticklish,” his hand reaches up to play with a strand of your hair before he leans down to press a kiss onto your forehead, where you feel his mischievous smile lift up the corner of his lips, “instead, tell me how much you love to hear my laugh,”

There’s no way you’ll ever admit that. Not to his face, at least…

“Woah, comfy are we?~” came the familiar teasing voice of Sirius, who walks into the room and almost has his eyes bulging out at the sight of you and James, “you lucky bastard, Prongs,” Sirius clicks his tongue but there’s no malice in his eyes or tone, “shirtless, all relaxed and cool, leaning back into the sofa with our doll on your lap and colouring in your tats,” your cheeks heat up under your skin when a shameless expression takes over James’s face and he sends a wink over at his fellow tattooist. 

“I guess I saved the universe in a past life,” James chuckles, receiving an eye roll in return.

“And you, princess,” Sirius whistles playfully and leans down to kiss the crown of your head, “how lucky you are to have such well-sculpted muscles and a handsome face entertaining you,” the heat on your cheeks continue to blossom, “I don’t know who I’m more jealous of,”

That was the first time you were hinted at Sirius’s dichotomy. Between the wink he sends James and the satisfied grin the glasses-wearing brunette returns, you felt a slight shaking in your heart that you couldn’t quite place. 

It didn’t feel bad… but it didn’t feel good either…

After the first homemade lunch you made for them, you’ve gotten into the habit of regularly visiting the boys at the shop with boxed lunches whenever time nears noon. They often insisted that the first surprise lunch was enough thanks. 

“It’s really okay for you not to do this, dove,” Remus voices, slowly trailing off as he leans forward to wipe a stray crumb off the side of James’ mouth with his thumb, only to lick the crumb he wiped off without batting an eye. James pays him no mind either and continues savouring your cooking; he was always the one person who devoured your food as if he was a starved man being fed for the first time.

“But–” you quickly protest, trying to dismiss the small gesture between the two, “but I enjoy cooking for you,” 

“And we’re very grateful,” Sirius smiles warmly at you and takes your hand to press a kiss against your knuckles, “but your company is enough,” ever the flatterer and flirt, you resist the butterflies in your stomach from his gesture and words. 

“And we feel guilty that you have to buy and cook all this food,” Remus adds but you assure them one more time. 

“I promise I’ll stop if it ever gets too hard or burdensome but, for now, please let me do it…” the boys look at each other and smile following a unanimous sigh of defeat. You weren’t aware of the effect your soft pleas and pretty eyes had on them. Of course, they couldn’t say ‘no’ and agreed, satisfied with your pledge for the meantime. 

“Ugh! These cookies are amazing!” James praises, completely oblivious to the interaction you had with Remus and Sirius. He looks up and the three of you have to suppress your laughter at his childish appearance, crumbs surrounding his mouth as his cheeks puffed out from the food he still had to chew. 

“Swallow your food first, James,” Remus reminds, which James quickly does before addressing you again. 

“Can you please teach me?” James leans forward in earnest and you swear there are stars in his eyes, “please teach me how to make them so I can have them all the time. I’m an expert at making fruit tarts now but Moony and Padfoot are sick and tired of me making just fruit tarts,”

You were flattered but…“I want them to stay special though,” you pout softly, “I want to be the only person who bakes them for you,”

Before James could answer, Sirius breaks out into peels of laughter, “you don’t have to worry about that, doll,” he winks at you and side-eyes James with a smirk, “James sucks ass in the kitchen, especially when it comes to baking,” James shouts in protest but is swamped by the laughter shared between you, Remus and Sirius. Nevertheless, you finally agreed to teach him just so he stops pouting… even if he looked cute doing so. 

That Saturday, you were at their apartment, eager to teach James the secrets to your baking creations. Their flat was sizable and still relatively clean, which you verbally praise and are clued into all of their cleaning habits in more detail. It appears that they have a pretty good system going on that keeps things neat; Remus handles the organisation of all items and keeps stock on most things, Sirius proactively keeps all spaces clean and James loves doing laundry. When asked, he said that the main reason was because he liked the smell of clean sheets, which you couldn’t really blame him for. Together, their good habits cumulatively result in a tidy space and you were impressed; not only were they great friends but they functioned well together too. In some ways, you were envious of that. 

When you arrived at the apartment, the boys had all of the ingredients you sent over on a list laid out on their kitchen counters, ready to be put together and baked into your famous cookies. 

“Do you two want to join us?” you ask with a smile as James helped you into Sirius’ apron, tying up the strings behind you. 

“We’re good, darling,” Sirius smiles and offers to tie up your hair as James slips into his apron. You don’t deny his assistance and hand him over your hair tie as Remus observes the scene with a soft smile, leaning against the door frame that leads into the kitchen.

As much as Sirius and Remus disparaged James’ abilities to bake in the kitchen, he, once again, proved them wrong. He did pretty well with following your instructions and getting things done if you discounted the times he got distracted and had to pull you away from the work as well, just to share in the fun. The last time you baked together was a lot of fun and you were just as eager to get back into the kitchen with him in order to experience that joy all over again. Like last time, Sirius and Remus occupied the living room while you and James got to making the cookie dough before eventually baking the cookies. With the timer set, it won’t be too long before you’re happily serving everyone yours and James’ baked cookies with some tea and coffee. 

“It’s just down the hall,” James points out, directing you to their bathroom, “it’s the last door on your right,” with a quick word of thanks, you make your way out to relieve yourself while James gets started on clean up duty. You promised not to be too long so he didn’t have to clean all by himself but he just laughed it off and assured you to take all the time you need — ever the sweetheart. 

Your mood was light and happy and, like all other times you spent with the boys, it felt as if you were walking on air… that is, until you weren’t. From the corner of your eye, when passing the living room doorway, your heart came to a stuttering stop at the scene you happened upon. 

Seated on the sofa was Remus with Sirius’ laid down, his head on the tall brunette’s lap. It would have been a scene you could have easily shrugged off if it weren’t for Remus bending down so that the two could share a loving kiss. One that had Sirius running his fingers through Remus’ light brown hair, who returned the touch by tenderly gripping at Sirius’ thigh with a spare hand. You would have remained frozen there, like some petrified statue, if Sirius didn’t hum pleasantly only to have Remus chuckle against his lips. 

Hurrying to the bathroom, you struggle to get the scene out of your head as your heart breaks over and over again until the stinging pain in your chest dulls into a throbbing ache. 

If they were in a loving relationship then you were happy for them, truly…you were; they always looked so content and at bliss around each other, you felt stupid for not having put the puzzle pieces together yourself. It was just conflicting as to why they never hesitated to establish some sort of distance with you when they already had one another. They were together romantically and yet they were able to press loving kisses against your temple and wrap their arms around you with their loved one standing close by?...

“There you are,” James chuckles when you finally make it back into the kitchen, “I was starting to get worried that you somehow got lost on your way to the bathroom,” it was a weak attempt but you joined his laughter without offering to explain your whereabouts. Turning back to the sink, James returns to washing the dishes as you wordlessly get to wiping down the surfaces. He doesn’t appear to notice your sudden change in mood or, at least, he doesn’t let on that he knows; soon enough, he’s yapping away again, being his usual goofy self and drawing a smile from you. He almost makes you forget. You could always count on James to be your ray of sunshine; a happy bug who was eager to spread his contagious joy. 

Sirius and Remus were a… surprise, although you really should have known better than to not suspect anything. They’re happy though, and you’re happy for them; that’s what matters. 

It was hard to gauge whether or not you should confront them about the revelation you had about their relationship. You had to thoroughly think it over… 

There had to be a reason behind why Remus and Sirius didn’t want to tell you about their relationship and managed to get James in on it too. It must have been a very good reason. So you can’t fault them and resolve to stay silent on the matter. Their privacy needs to be respected; they’ll tell you when they’re ready, you’re sure of it. For now, you just have to act normal, as if nothing happened. The only problem was that you were left to wonder…

Why haven’t they told you? Is it awkward for them? Maybe they didn’t trust you enough? Did they think you were homophobic?— You’re not! You fully support all types of love in all its forms and would never be prejudicial towards them because they preferred the same gender. Or maybe they did trust you but the right time just never came up? That’s also plausible. They probably just need time…yeah! Time, you can give them that; you’re a very patient person, after all—

“—Dove?” 

“H-huh?” you blink rapidly, returning to the present as Remus tilts his head at you curiously. 

“Are you okay?” there’s an amused smirk painted across his lips as he eyes you up and down, “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” his warm voice is like a comforting hug on an autumn day, one that makes you want to lose all thoughts and melt into his arms. 

“Y-yeah!” you chirp as embarrassment begins to creep in, “Sorry about that,” he laughs with you, “I guess I got distracted,” Remus nods, understanding in his eyes as he turns to the clock on the office wall.

“The both of us have been at it for a while,” he hums when reading the time, “I think we deserve a break,”

“Snack run?” 

Seeing the delight in your eyes, Remus laughs and presses a kiss to your temple. It takes everything in you not to lean away out of respect for Sirius —you still need to act as normal as possible so you don’t draw attention but it’s getting harder and harder to do so, “snack run,” he confirms, his gaze lingering on your tight-lipped smile. It’s an awkward tilt of your lips and it doesn’t belong on your usually soft and brightly beaming features, Remus thinks to himself. He wants to ruminate on it’s appearance further but files away his thoughts for another day, “let me tidy up here first and I’ll meet you out front,”

Nodding stiffly, you hurry to leave and get to the front of the parlour, where you can safely catch your breath. There, you can recalibrate your thoughts and feelings from a safe distance—

Your gradually slowing thoughts come to a grinding halt as you pass. 

What did you just see?...

Angling yourself carefully and peeking through the crack of the door, you resist the urge to gasp in horror. In an otherwise empty tattoo room, Sirius sits in his tech chair and angles himself upwards as James stands and leans down to meet the former in a sweet kiss. 

Scandalised, you cover your mouth and step away from the door, suppressing a scream as racing thoughts pour into your head. 

SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!

All breath escapes you and the world begins to spin. The charming, loyal and honest character of Sirius that you’ve built up in your head breaks apart and you’re left spiralling at the implications of his betrayal. You feel like crying and vomiting and throwing a rage-filled fit all at the same time! Wait! —No! It’s not about what you want to do it’s about what you need to do and that’s to—

It was then that you hear Remus walking down the steps behind you. Your heart jumps in your chest and your stomach caves in on itself. Leaning forward, you peek through the crack in the open door again and find Sirius carefully prepping his tools for a later appointment while James is against one wall on the other side of the room, checking something on the computer. 

Good… Remus doesn’t have to see anything… you think to yourself, although the thought alone makes your heart break all over again. 

“Ready to go?” Remus asks, approaching you with a lifted brow of curiosity. He’s probably wondering why you haven’t made it to the front of the parlour yet. 

“I-I was just thinking!…uhh,” you bite your lip and try to keep your rising panic from reflecting in your eyes. 

“Hmm?”

“I don’t really want to go on a snack run,”

“Oh?” Remus didn’t even try to hide his surprise, it wasn’t like you to not go on a snack run — so much for wanting to act normal… “How come?”

“I just remembered something-!” it was a lame excuse but you could kill two birds with one stone through this, it’ll be worth it, “-something I wanted to talk to Sirius about—”

“You called?~” speak of the devil and he shall appear. Upon hearing his name, Sirius pulls open the door and flashes his usual charming smile, which only draws a chilling glare from you. Caught off-guard, Sirius blinks in surprise, “What’s the matter, dollface?”

A taunting whistle floats through the air from behind him as James steps up and eyes your unusually angry expression, “what did you do this time, Pads?”

“I-I don’t know…” his normally confident, unwavering voice stutters and is offered cautiously, almost scared despite the tattooist standing a good few inches taller than you. 

Finding some confidence, you square your shoulders and address Remus again but keep your glare focused on Sirius, “Why don’t you and James go on a snack run while I talk to Sirius?” you almost snap out the cheater’s name from spite. You can’t believe you ever deluded yourself into thinking he was a good person that could do no wrong. He’s charmed you, Remus and James, tricked all three of you and you weren’t going to stand for it. 

The two boys jokingly wish their friend ‘good luck’ as they walk past and head out, promising to get his favourites so he can nurse his wounds from the verbal beat-down he was about to receive with something yummy. It’s clear that James and Remus don’t really believe you’re capable of delivering much vengeance or rage but the fire in your eyes tells Sirius otherwise. As soon as the front door closes behind the two, you push Sirius back into the private tattoo room before he could utter a single word. 

“You need to explain yourself, Sirius Orion Black and you need to do it now!” you demand, your voice harsh and biting, something you’ve never done in front of the boys before and catches the traitor, in your eyes, by complete surprise. Sirius doesn’t know what he’s done but he already feels incredible guilt and sorrow over it. He’s never wanted to draw out such a horrid emotion out of you; you’re only allowed to feel happiness and love and comfort. Not this. Never this…

“I-I don’t understand, princess—” he reaches for you but you step away from his touch, your piercing glare and obvious rejection stabbing a knife through his chest. You’ve never pulled away from his reach before, he’s not used to this. What did he do? He would take it all back, whatever he did, if it meant that you would lean into his touch again rather than pull away. He’d do anything to quash the evident flames of rage in your eyes. What did he do?... What did he do goddamnit?! 

“I saw it! I saw everything! You’re playing both of them!” you shout, your rage lashing out and scorching him with their intense heat. There was no holding you back, you told him everything, about how you saw his kiss with Remus and James. His eyes widen in shock before filling with horror, which does nothing but corroborate your heart breaking revelations, “I don’t want to believe it! How could you do this to them, Siri?...” your shouting voice slowly quietens and tapers off at the end, quivering like a shaken autumn leaf. So heartbroken over the fact, your rage quickly turns into sorrow and tears quickly fill your eyes, “You’re better than that, I know you are!” and you really do. No matter how betrayed you feel and having witnessed the evidence first hand, you cling onto the little slither of faith you still had in Sirius, “Please tell them the truth, they deserve the truth… they deserve you being forthcoming with them because they’re good guys,”

Looking on at you, Sirius feels his heart break. This misunderstanding was tearing you up inside and, although it makes him happy to know that you would confront him and be angry for the boys at his supposed betrayal, watching you break down, and sob uncontrollably made Sirius’ heart twist and clench uncomfortably— painfully so. 

Without a word, he reaches out again and is able to bring you into his arms. You don’t return the gesture but you make no effort to push him away either. 

“Shhh Shhh Shhhhhh, darling…” Sirius whispers comfortingly, softly patting your hair as he waits for your sobbing to calm down enough for him to come clean. Scrap the plan, whatever bullshit plan they came up with to slowly ease you into accepting their relationship before selfishly asking for your love as well. He wasn’t going to let you continue misunderstanding their relationship, especially when it’s causing you so much pain, “...this is all a big misunderstanding…” he begins softly once your cries were finally reduced to soft sniffles, “do you know what polyamory is, sweetheart?”

“...n-no…”

“It’s when more than two people agree to be in a loving, romantic relationship with each other, all at the same time,” he explains in the same soft voice, his arms never pulling away from you as he feels you slowly lose your grip on resistance. 

“Is…is that…”

“Yes, that’s the relationship James, Remus and I are all a part of…” he looks down with a gentle smile and watches you peek up at him curiously. Sirius resists the urge to swoop down and pepper your face with kisses. Just when he thought his love for you couldn’t grow any bigger, here you were being the sweetest, most caring and lovable little thing he’s ever laid eyes on. 

However, you slowly begin to shake your head and the resistance in your eyes and expression returns. This time you push him away and keep him at arm's reach. Like a scared prey animal being cornered by a predator, you inch your way back until you're pressing yourself against the wall beside the door. It takes Sirius two steps forward to finally stop and keep his place so that you don’t feel pushed or stressed by his presence. 

“I-I won’t believe you until James and Remus say so…” 

He shrugs and gives you a pained smile. He supposes he can’t blame you for being cautious and not believing him, he’s the apparent ‘cheater’, afterall. 

You watch Sirius part his lips to voice something when you hear the parlour door open and rush into the hallway to see James and Remus walk in. The two were grinning cheekily at each other and their arms were piled high with an assortment of snacks. They held true to their promise; you could spot many of Sirius’ favourites among the pile and it made your stomach twist uncomfortably. 

As soon as the two look up and see your dishevelled form, your eyes pink and tearful, your bottom lip wobbling from restrained cries and your frame closed up like a frightened clam, the snacks are carelessly disregarded and they rush to your side. 

“Dove?” Remus calls, worry evident in his voice as he steals a glance at Sirius over your trembling shoulder. The response he was given — tight lips, drawn into a straight line and unreadable eyes — wasn’t enough, however and his chocolate pools hardened into brown stone. What. Did. You. Do?... Remus silently interrogated the tattooist.

“What happened, angel?” James immediately wraps his arms around you and you almost melt into his hold if it weren’t for your need to clarify everything dominating your thoughts. 

“Are you and Remus in a relationship with Sirius?” your hesitant voice, small and fraying at the edges, speaks up but barely above a whisper. The two men visibly stiffen beside you and you feel a well of tears quickly building up again; your thoughts immediately jumping to the worst possible outcome. 

“Tell her the truth. Give her peace of mind, lads,” Sirius speaks up, his own voice lacking its usual confidence and was reduced to a vulnerable softness. 

“Yes,” Remus affirms after a beat of silence. 

“We’re all consenting, we all love each other, mutually!” James pipes up, his tone bordering on defensive despite not knowing what he’s their relationship defending from, “You…you don’t think of us differently do you?”

“No! No no no! Of course not,” you quickly elucidate your thoughts, your shoulders relaxing as you turn and meet eyes with Sirius, mustering a small smile, “it’s actually quite a relief,”

Grinning softly, Sirius steps up to explain the situation, “Dollface over here thought that I was cheating on you and James with each other, Rem,” he chuckles softly, amusement in his eyes though it still lacked their full brightness, “she gave me a good shouting to and looked like she was ready to bite my head off if I didn’t ‘come clean’ to both of you,” Remus laughs and pulls Sirius into a sideways hug as James coos lovingly at you. 

“You got angry for us, angel?” James presses his face into your hair and nuzzles you affectionately, “you’re the sweetest~” he coos, his smirk growing as he feels an embarrassed heat radiating off your cheeks. 

“St-stop the James,” you whine with an awkward smile and wiggle yourself out of his arms, avoiding his pouting lips because you know your resolve will melt away at the sight. It was confirmed. They were in a relationship, all three of them, with each other. You should be happy that Sirius wasn’t a cheater and still the wonderful man you saw him to be. But, no matter how happy you were for them, the twisting of your stomach and the gaping hole in your heart wasn’t easily fixable. 

The following weeks, you maintained the friendship you had with the boys, who no longer felt the need to limit their intimate touches around you. However, whenever they tried to initiate affection with you, as per usual, once the innocent kiss on the temple and harmless hug was now fervently being rejected by you and pushed away. You had no intention of disrespecting their relationship, even if most acts of affection you exchanged as friends were innocuous. But, then again, it was also your way of protecting your already shattered heart. Yes, you could just stay away from them entirely but you had built such a strong friendship with them that it didn’t feel right to candidly pretend that you’ve never met them before. It’ll do more harm than the harm you were inflicting now…  

Ever the observant man that he was, Remus knew the instant reason behind your hesitation and was quick to reassure you the next time you were invited over for tea. 

“It’s really okay, sweetheart,” the tall brunette hums softly as James and Sirius agree from their own seats, “we’re okay with it and you aren’t going to come in between any of us, I promise you,”

Stubbornly, you shake your head, pulling a deep frown from all of them.

“Are you not comfortable with it?” James asks with uncertainty, his question and its potential implication is filled with enough dread to make even his two lovers stiffen up. 

You nod your head ‘yes’ and they slump in their rejection. It hurt to know that the revelation of their relationship had pushed you away when the basic nature of their affair meant more love for everyone. And they wanted it to include you… Their romance that led to such an abundance of love and promises of more was now paradoxically pushing you away. For once, they didn’t know what to do, not a single one of them could come up with any idea to resolve the ever-growing tension in your relationship. It was a rubber band ready to snap. 

“If you’re uncomfortable then we’ll respect that and keep our distance, touch-wise” Remus surrenders despite the heartbreak it gives him while Sirius shoots up and sends him an irate glare, one that Remus coldly returns. It wasn’t a question of their comfortability but yours, Sirius needed to regard that to the highest degree and Remus was all too ready to make him face the music. They can’t afford to lose you and if it meant that he needed to make the hard decisions then so be it.

“Thank you,”

“...do you not want to be around us anymore?” James speaks up, not necessarily taking things to their extremes but rather potential, future escalations. He’s seen it. In the days and weeks that followed the divulgence of their true relationship, bit by bit you have begun to pull away from them to the point where James can vividly see where the escalation of your behaviour will lead and it’s frightening. One day, you’ll just disappear and that terrifies him. 

“No no…” your weak defence, lacking true resolve, ignites a shock of terrorising fear in all three of them, their eyes shaking with trepidation. But you couldn’t see it because you couldn’t look at them, like a coward. Because that’s what you are — a coward. The heartbreak was chipping away at you. You thought you would be brave enough to see them happy together but you couldn’t. Because, not only were you a coward, but you were selfish too. Green with envy, you stewed in that awful, stomach-twisting, heart-aching, bitter-tasting, gut-wrenching feeling each time you saw every loving kiss, affectionate cuddle and sweetly whispered words. 

Throughout your friendship you grew to love each of them as more than a simple friend. You know it was wrong but they were all so charming in their own, unique way. They treated you sincerely, cared for you without any sinister, ulterior motives and they’ve successfully wormed their way into your life and heart, permanently. 

What was once something that brought you such joy, warmth and feelings of safety was now mercilessly ripping you apart. 

Their dynamic looked different to you now that you were looking through a different lens. They weren’t just close friends anymore, they were very much in love and have been romantically involved for a few years now — it was one of the first things you found out about their relationship. Its longevity was a testament to their unwavering love for each other and here you were, secretly, selfishly and salaciously hoping for your own slice of the love pie.  

How dare you…

Just because you’ve had such bad luck with love didn’t mean you had the right to wish for something that couldn’t possibly become yours. You have no right to ask them for love when they are completely content with their own.  

“Please don’t push us away, dollface,” Sirius begs softly, his steel grey eyes melting into a pool of mercury. Beautiful but poisonous. Something you want but can’t have. 

“I’m sorry,” you’re breathless when you see the genuine fear in their eyes and turn away from the sight. This isn’t the time to turn weak at the knees, “it’s getting pretty late, I should go,” shouldering your bag, you get up and rush to leave their flat. 

“Stay,” Remus half commands and half begs, almost stopping you in your tracks, “please stay… we need to talk to you about something important,” if there was any time for them to reveal the truth, it was now. Before they lose you, before they drown themselves in regret, before they fall into a pit of despair, before they—

“I’m sorry…” you repeat and, just as James feared, you disappear. 

A/N : this took such a long while to write but i wanted it to be perfect, thank you so much for requesting this darling @thepunisherfrankcastle it fit perfectly into the plot although i did make some slight altercations to your request. unfortunately, there's still more to go after this so i'm going to have to leave you darlings with a cliffhanger, look out for part 5! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

→ NEXT. : 05 | DRUNK AND CIGARETTE SMOKE

NAVI. | HEROES IN TATTOOS M.LIST

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[paynomind-iamnotreal]

You are not a real person.

You wear a face that is not your own. You were designed to die.

You wear a face that gets you recognized around the grounds of a school you are not enrolled at (you aren't enrolled at any school.) You live in the same house as the person you were supposed to be. She has the right voice, stands the right way, wears her clothes correctly. When you look like her, you feel wrong. You see all the parts of yourself that are wrong, the makeup you wear, your style, your mannerisms. You can only see all the parts of yourself that fall short of her, but, any closer, wouldn't feel like you.

You are at a party. You don't know anyone her besides her friends (they are the only people you have ever known, but they never know what to make of you.) They helped you enroll in your own school, one that won't know you, one that won't know her. The other day you were desperate, uncertain and panicked. You took a pregnancy test and it came back positive. She never had to worry about that. She never has to worry about disappearing. The steps were confusing, you could've done it wrong. There is a rumble in the ground and you all leap to action, you're loading cannons, healing people, sharing the blessing of her deity (you never really bothered to ask her about all that.)

You are needed on the roof. You can feel it. The storm is thick and choking, the spray of clouds forces your eyes partly closed. You take stumbling steps towards her. She is on her knees. You've seen her pray before, but something about this is different. You can't tell if its tears or mist pooling on her face. You can't tell if its the pains of combat or the strain of heartbreak contorting her expression. The prayer itself feels wrong too, less holy and more personal. You follow her gaze.

The words leave your lips before you realize, an automatic reaction to the mammoth mess of wind and cloud and hate: "Blimey." There is a face in the storm. Monumental, twisting, grotesque, but a face nonetheless. You are good at recognizing faces. She looks a bit... No. It is grotesque. Monstrous. The face you see in nightmares. Lightning cracks and whips around you. You feel something deep and heavy click in your chest as lighting cracks inside the storm. It looks exactly like her. It looks exactly like you.

And She is beautiful.

It was awe that clicked in your chest. Fear and hope. Awful and awesome. Sublime. Recognition of a power that is beyond yourself.

You don't know what will happen to you if you survive tonight. You don't know how long you live. You don't know where you go when you die.

But you need to reach Her. You place a hand on her shoulder and take a step towards the roiling clouds, towards It. You can reach her, that is all that is certain.

"I don't know if you heard me,"

The face contorts with rage and fear. It knows not what it is. It is everything that is wrong with Her. It will destroy you, when you return Her. That's O.K.

"But I said—"

You were designed to die.

Lightning envelops you as uncertainty replaces fear. It burns your hands, clasped in prayer, it singes your lips, forming the words of your impromptu, awestruck prayer. It's lightning is not what destroys you though. You feel the prayer work as a peace in all the chaos of your life becomes clear, waves of cool night and weighty cosmic power flow through you, calling you home.

You die a person.

Goodbye K2.

[girllblogging777]

𝐼𝑅𝐼𝑆 — 𝑀𝐴𝑇𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑂 𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐷𝐿𝐸

↳ short mattheo riddle drabble based off the song “iris” by the goo goo dolls.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

and i’d give up forever to touch you

cause i know that you feel me somehow,

mattheo riddle never let himself feel anything other than hatred, until you came into his life. before you, he was just numb, nothing that pure rage and darkness. but with you, everything changed. he didn't need words or grand gestures, just being near you was enough to make him feel...something. it was like, for the first time, someone actually saw him. and the first time you touched him, when he let his guard down and let you in, something deep inside him shifted. you buried your face in his chest, and he froze, not knowing what to do. the only touch he’d ever known was violent and cruel, so he didn't know how to handle the soft, soothing way you held him. but once he gave in and wrapped his arms around you, he knew he’d give up everything for just one more second of this.

✩✩✩✩

you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be

and i don’t wanna go home right now

everyone else saw mattheo as nothing but trouble, like he was born bad. darkness seemed to follow him everywhere, and he figured that was just how it was supposed to be. hell had probably been his destiny from the moment he was born. but then you came along. you, with your golden heart and warm soul, gave him a taste of something pure, something he knew he didn’t deserve. somehow, he had found his way into your life, into your heart, and for the first time ever, he understood what “home” meant. he never had a real home before, no place or person to run back to. but now, you were becoming that for him. his safe place, his shelter.

✩✩✩✩

and all i can taste is this moment

and all i can breathe is your life

and sooner or later it’s over

i just don’t wanna miss you tonight

mattheo wasn’t stupid. letting you in gave him hope, but deep down, he knew the truth. no matter how much he tried, he’d never be good enough for you. the connection you shared felt like a temporary dream, something that could disappear at any second. he promised himself he wouldn’t let anyone see him weak, but you made that impossible. the closer he got to you, the more he feared what would happen when it all fell apart. that’s just how he was, doubting everything, second-guessing every feeling. because he’d always been broken, and he couldn’t imagine anyone seeing past that. but with you, he wanted to try, even if it meant risking everything. because he found himself missing you everytime you weren’t around.

✩✩✩✩

and i don’t want the world to see me

cause i don’t think that they’d understand

when everything’s made to be broken

i just want you to know who i am

mattheo never cared about what the world thought of him. everyone saw him as ruined, a lost cause. they couldn’t understand the storm inside him, the pieces that never fit together quite right. he knew he was broken, and he had grown to accept that. but you saw through the cracks, past the sharp edges, and somehow, you still wanted to know him. he didn’t want to hide from you, didn’t want to pretend to be someone he wasn’t, but he didn’t understand why you stuck with him even after seeing his dark side. for the first time, he wanted to be seen. not as the person everyone else thought he was, but as the person he really was, deep down. he just wanted you to know him, the real him, the one who was scared, vulnerable, and maybe even a little bit hopeful. because in a world full of chaos and brokenness, you made him feel like he could be someone else, just for a moment.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : i thought about this after making the moodboard the other day, iris is literally the theme song of my life and i listen to it 24/7. anyways my requests are open, please like/comment/reblog and tell me if you wanna be tagged !!!

@iris-qt @tateshifts @myunperfektstorys @yikesitslush @sp7-mr @shiftingwithmars @redeemingvillains @helendeath @larmesdevanille @fluffycookies22 @reys-letters @mattheosdior @sylviaonyx @fbvreadingblog @moonlightreader649 @jolly4holly @elsie-bells @bellatrix-lestrange5 @icantkeepmyplantsalive @dexoq

[stxrvel]

the house (2)

hi guys! i felt so inspired that i was able to write part 2 soon and that's a very rare thing for me. thank you so much for all your comments and notes! they made me very happy. see you in the next one!

summary: Azriel wasn't gonna give in so easily with Rhysand, but he had to do everything he could to ensure his mate's well-being pairing: azriel x f!reader words: +3.5k warnings: bad words and fights and angst and a lot of anger. also English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes!

part 1: the cliff

part 3: the court

part 4: the routine

“... what the fuck is wrong with me? No, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Az, I had no idea-”

“What does that fucking power works for if you're not gonna use it right?”

Cassian stood back from the commotion, with Nesta and Mor on either side of him watching from head to head as words crossed. Azriel was raising his voice and snarling at his own High Lord, and Cassian was almost surprised to see the way Rhys only dropped his shoulders, looking at his brother with sunken eyes as he claimed him. He had no intention of defending himself, Cassian could almost feel how embarrassed and remorseful Rhys was from a distance.

Azriel had a right to be angry, everyone knew that. And no one would stand in the way (unless the situation turned violent) because they understood the lengths you could go to just to safeguard your mate's well-being. Rhys would do it for Feyre. Cassian would do it for Nesta. Cassian always believed that this was how he would see Azriel defend his mate, right when he found her, and he was grateful that Rhys understood that his cries came from beyond rage and anger. There was anguish there, pain, guilt… Cassian had never seen Azriel so upset.

Returning to the Town House was torturous. Azriel wouldn't leave his mate's side and wouldn't allow any of his brothers to get close either, but she wasn't willing to go to a place she didn't know at all either, even if her mate accompanied her. Cassian had to watch his friend be more cautious and careful than ever with someone he never thought he had to be: with himself and Rhys. The sight was bleak as Azriel's shadows swirled around him and his mate, almost as if erecting a wall between the four of them. The looks Azriel sent them were like daggers and just by sharing a glance they knew that this was something the Shadowsinger wasn't going to overcome out of thin air, even if hundreds of years of friendship gave him the confidence to do so.

Azriel had to make a promise with her to convince her to leave, because he wasn't willing to let her disappear from his sight and she wasn't willing to just go with them for the sake of it, when one of the men in front of her was the one who pushed her off the cliff.

Cassian noticed several times Azriel watching the tattoo with crystallized eyes. Beyond everything, the hostile and distrustful context of the whole situation caused him pain.

Arriving at the Town House, they were all assembled. Without wondering too much without Rhys having spoken to Feyre (which he surely had), Cassian ran into the kitchen where Nesta was with her sisters and enveloped his mate in a tight embrace. Within seconds he heard movement around him and knew Rhys had done the same. Neither of them would ever be able to forgive each other for what had happened, if Azriel ever forgave them first.

“Az, I'm truly sorry,” Rhys stood behind his desk, the only thing that allowed him distance from a heated Azriel, besides Feyre's presence which the Shadowsinger respected even within his rage. “I was careless with the inmates. And you're right, it was easier for me to have simply looked inside her head. It had been a long time coming and I think I became confident of the reality of the situation, that whenever I saw inside them I knew what they were. I didn't give her the benefit of the doubt. I'm sorry, brother.”

“Your apologies are worthless,” Azriel spat, his face almost red from the way he was trying to contain his emotions and his hands resting on the table. Rhys lowered his head in front of him, running his hands over his face. “How are you going to fix with your words what for years broke under your nose? How can I come to look at you with respect when my mate is terrified to see you?”

Cassian felt Nesta's hands wrap around his right arm and he lowered to look at her questioningly. She had reserved her comments from the moment Cassian had told the two sisters what had happened. Feyre had escorted Rhys to his office after their effusive hug and Cassian had stayed with Nesta and Elain in the kitchen, talking. With Elain it had been a little easier, her face looked mortified and she had run after Rhys and Feyre barely understood what had happened.

Nesta… she tried not to show what she was thinking, but Cassian knew there was something that made her feel upset and insecure.

Cassian tugged at the bond, trying to get her attention and Nesta had to drag her gaze from Azriel to look at her mate. Cassian felt the air rush out of his chest when he noticed the tears under her eyes. He didn't waste a second in leading her out of the room, moving into the giant living room in complete darkness, despite it being barely noon. The maroon curtains lent a more somber look to the situation.

“What's wrong?”

Nesta closed her eyes as Cassian's hands cradled her face, letting out a pair of tears that furrowed the border with her cheeks. A ragged breath left her and Cassian felt the agony of her nervousness shake his body.

“I had already seen her,” she whispered, her eyelids tightening. Cassian frowned, but didn't interrupt her when she came up for air again. “I once accompanied Rhysand and Feyre to the camp. Feyre had told me that Rhysand had some business to take care of on the mountain. I heard… I heard her voice…”

Cassian pulled his mate closer by the shoulders, pressing her against his chest as her voice broke off.

“I heard her voice begging Rhysand to believe her,” Nesta continued, trying to still the sobs that were born in the ache in her chest. Cassian shared the sentiment, the end of the bond in his chest twisting with his mate's wailing. “She was so scared…”

Nesta wrapped her arms around Cassian's torso, sinking her face into her mate's neck. Cassian moved from side to side, trying to send warm sensations through the bond, trying to calm her down a bit.

Nesta's revelation left Cassian almost frozen. The last time Rhys had gone to the mountain had been ten years ago.

-

Azriel hadn't expected that to be the way he would meet his mate, much less would he have expected her to be terrified to be around his brothers and almost himself and, of course, much, much less had he expected to hold so much resentment against Rhysand.

His mate hadn't left the room Azriel had left her in, as far away from the others' rooms as possible. With the tattoo burning his skin, Azriel had not only promised her that she would be safe in the Town House, but she had also made him promise that her interactions with his brothers would be next to none. With the watchful eyes of his friends from centuries ago upon his back, Azriel agreed. He had to make sure to provide for his mate's physical and mental health, especially when he knew that the time she had spent with the Ilyrian soldiers had to have been traumatizing.

And of course, there was also the issue of the bond.

His mate couldn't or didn't know how to control the flow of emotions that traveled through the bond and Azriel felt it all. At the moment she was relaxed, calm inside the room away from everyone, but Azriel was losing his temper in the living room. His friends were gone, they had left him a moment alone when he had finished yelling at Rhysand, as he tried to control his emotions and those of her mate, who had surely been listening to everything and so was sending distressing sensations through the bond.

But even with all that space to himself he still felt like he couldn't breathe.

He didn't know how things were going to be from now on. The mere thought terrified him to the bone. He didn't know how he would deal with the fact that he wanted and was dying to be near his mate, to hold her, to comfort her, to support her, to protect her just a step away from him, but he couldn't, at least for now. The need consumed him and tormented him. Staying behind had never been an option, especially if it was his mate, but what could he do if that was what she wanted? He would have to get used to the pain, the emptiness he already felt in his life even though it had barely been half a day since he had found her.

Ah, Azriel didn't know how much guilt and pain he could carry until his knees failed.

He closed his eyes for a couple of minutes, laying his head back on the couch, his face settled in the direction of the ceiling. He tried to relax his muscles, stiff from the tension and stress, from the speed with which everything had happened in the last few hours. Maybe then he could get some sleep. He didn't know how it would be now that he had found his mate.

Azriel was beginning to feel his body going numb, the inattention to his senses and the lightness of his limbs, when a pair of light footsteps entered the room. They would've gone unnoticed by anyone, but not him. He lifted his head attending to the sound, finding you on your feet, frozen, all around the entrance to the living room, hands clasped together twitching in nervousness.

Azriel didn't know what to do. His heart skipped a beat at the sight. But he also felt the fear and nervousness coursing through the bond from the other end. He tried to send calm through his end, hoping that and the shadows crowding at her feet, which hadn't left her since they found her, would allow her to relax a bit.

“I'm sorry… for interrupting,” you looked down and Azriel had to stifle the urge that went through his body to get up and go running to your side. His head filled with the memories of his dream, cruelly comparing the happiness that was in them and the sadness that now engulfed you. Your voice was barely a whisper.

“It's okay,” Azriel stood up carefully and quietly, catching your attention. From the way you brought your hands to your chest, still clasped together, Azriel made no attempt to move closer.

“I need to ask you something,” you fought with the words until you finally told him and a current of panic ran through the bond, so strong that Azriel had to hold back the grimace on his face.

“Whatever you need.”

You looked at him again and Azriel felt something in his chest blossom. He sent that feeling through the bond, hoping it would counteract the anxiety on your end, but only received a frown in response.

“I need to contact my parents,” you asked, shifting your feet a little closer and Azriel quickly caught the pleading expression you were trying poorly to hide.

“Sure. Where are they? I can take them a letter, if you want,” Azriel offered, but your reply wasn't welcome as a spasm of pain ran through his chest.

“No… I-I-I don't want that,” you shook your head, lowering your head. The way you moved your intertwined fingers made him question how much courage you'd had to muster to come out of your room and ask him that. You must've wanted it badly. Surely it was all you could think about for all the years you were on the mountain. Azriel moved his hand from side to side across his chest, through the fabrics of his clothing.

“We'll do what you want, then. Tell me where they are.”

“Adriata,” you whispered, eyes glittering.

Azriel choked. Of course, former prisoner of the Summer Court. How would he get across the border if he had a blood ruby in his desk drawer? Rhysand and he were still mortal enemies of the Summer Court.

“And how do you want to contact them?”

“I want to go back.”

“What?” he coughed, his body tensing and the calm evaporating from his body in a second. Surprise narrowly prevented him from noticing your crystallized eyes.

“Azriel,” you implored, taking long strides towards him, frozen in place, electricity coursing through his veins from the way you said his name. “I don't even know how long it's been since I last saw them. Please, please. That was all I've ever wanted since I was captured. I just want to see them and let them know I'm okay. Please.”

Azriel stood there on his feet in front of you, barely acknowledging the fact that you had moved so close to him that from just raising a hand he could run down your cheeks. Your request had torn at his chest and he was sure he hadn't been able to keep some of that emotion from traveling through the bond, because now you looked more disgruntled and nervous than before. Now you wanted to… leave? And you were asking him to let you do it, as if he had any right to keep you here, as if you owed him anything?

The Shadowsinger clasped his hands at his sides, trying to contain his emotions behind the line, trying to keep them from affecting you too much. He had never felt such pain, not even something he could imagine, nothing that had ever hurt him before could compare to the pain of that moment. He hadn't had a moment with her and he had to let her go already.

“You want to go back… to Summer Court,” Azriel murmured, trying to confirm the obvious, as if you repeating it made it more real, as if he needed it to be sure.

“Yes,” you shook your head in assent and Azriel's heart crinkled as he noticed your desperation. Of course that would be the first thing you would want to do, how could he have been so selfish as to not even consider it before? How could he not have suggested it from before?

“You… I don't… I mean-”

“Azriel,” you took another step, hesitant, he could tell by your body language, but trying to keep the assurance on your face. “I need to see them. Please.”

“All right. Just… wait,” Azriel moved to the side, trying to clear his mind and think rationally even though your closeness was suffocating him. “There's something you should know.”

“I know the Night Court and the Summer Court aren't on good terms,” you shook your head, as if to tell Azriel that it was a silly problem that should have no bearing on your return.

“Yes, but that's not all,” moving his hands away from his already sufficiently tousled hair, Azriel looked at you in anguish. “If you go back to Summer Court now, I don't think you'll be able to come back again.”

You frowned at him, tilting your head in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Rhysand has held the Summer spies captive for…. many, many years. Tarquin has tried to negotiate their release, but Rhysand is not open to negotiating with him, or even seeing him again,” Azriel tried to explain, not overlooking the way you flinched when he mentioned the high lord's name. “If you leave now… If your parents declared you missing… Tarquin's not going to let you go out again. And they won't let me in either because the moment they see me they'll try to kill me.”

The silence that followed his words was agonizing. Azriel was terribly frightened. It didn't calm him to know that the doubt in your eyes was minimal; the desire to see your parents again was greater than the possibility of never seeing your mate again. The mere thought made him shudder, but if that was the case, there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing.

“Why… why wouldn't my High Lord let me come back?”

“Fifteen years ago the high lord forbade his people to return to the Night Court. Fifteen years ago no person from the Summer Court has gone beyond the mountains of Day.”

“Fifteen years?” you stammered, an expression of incredulous surprise taking over your face. “I'd been there for more than fifteen years?”

Azriel halted his movements, barely noticing how you succumbed to gravity and plopped down on the couch where he had been a couple of minutes earlier in complete stupefaction.

“Y/N, I'm really sorry-”

“I can't stay here,” you looked at him again, shaking your head in refusal and sending a current of panic through the bond. “I don't want to. I need… I need to see my parents. I want to be with them.”

Azriel shuddered at the desperation he saw in your eyes. He wasn't going to deny you that, ever. But he couldn't deny that he wanted to show resistance because, if you left right then, when would he ever see you again? They wouldn't even have time to talk about the elephant in the room, but, at the same time, it didn't seem like the most important conversation at the moment.

Azriel wanted to cry.

“It's okay. Don't worry. Of course you'll go see them,” he finally spoke, facing the reality he would have to live in from now on.

“Thank you,” you cried and Azriel felt each tear pierce his heart, even though the feeling of relief reached all the way to his chest, your relief, mixed with his hopelessness. “But, you… you won't be able to go.”

“No.”

“We won't be able to see each other.”

“No,” Azriel exhaled sharply and shook his head slightly. “But I'll work it out. Somehow.”

“You can't go near there. Tarquin would hurt you!”

Azriel felt the worry reach from the other end of the bond to his chest and was a little glad to know that you at least cared about him the same way he cared about you.

“I'll make an agreement. Whatever I have to do, I'll do it. I promise.”

You nodded in his direction, convinced of his words, convinced of his shaky assurance and confidence.

“And you… will you accompany me?”

You frowned when he shook his head, but quickly added, thinking he'd be mad and damned if he'd let you spend the return trip all alone after all you'd been through, “I know a faster way to travel.”

“Okay,” you nodded, calm finally ruling in your body. “So when do we leave?”

-

Everyone in the house had gathered to receive Azriel's announcement and things were breaking down just as he expected.

No one had said anything for several minutes after the Shadowsinger announced that he would be going to the Summer Court with you, to return you to where you belonged, to your true home.

“I'll do it,” Mor was the first to speak, to Azriel's right, watching him confidently. She turned to look at Rhysand, who hadn't looked up since his brother finished speaking, deep in thought with a hand on his chin. “I'll request a meeting with him.”

Cassian stirred at Azriel's left side, sweeping his gaze over everyone present. He could almost imagine what was going through his friend's head, helpless at not being able to join him, just as it must've been going through Rhysand's mind. Azriel knew the only reason his High Lord was still thinking was that. If it was risky for the Shadowsinger to go, it would be worse if it was both of them.

“I can go too,” Feyre spoke to Rhysand's right and the aforementioned raised his head in a second, beginning to shake his head in denial.

“For no reason should you ever step near that Court again,” Rhysand stood up, resting his hands on the desk and leaning towards his mate. His face contracted, contrasting with Feyre's warm gaze.

“Rhys, don't you think it's time to get this over with?” Feyre reached up to cradle his mate's face, Rhysand leaning in almost on instinct, betrayed by his senses.

“You want me to overlook so easily what he did to you?” the High Lord frowned, closing his eyes under Feyre's gentle touch.

“Not easily, Rhys. It's been fifty years.”

“You know fifty years is nothing to us,” Rhysand snorted, straightening his back.

The Shadowsinger clicked his tongue.

“It was too much for Y/N.”

No one in the room had to look twice to know that Azriel was tense, hands clasped behind his back. Rhysand turned to see him, his wary look of apology over his friend's stony expression.

“You know I didn't come here to ask your permission, Rhysand,” Azriel almost spat, dragging the words out between his teeth.

Mor shuddered beside him, following Cassian's gaze. In so many centuries, there had obviously been trouble between the Inner Circle for some time, but in this moment it felt different, deeper and more painful. The anger and rancor in Azriel's gaze was unmatched and to earn that facet of the Shadowsinger you really had to be a son of a bitch. Mor hoped she was wrong.

“It could be dangerous for you,” Rhysand warned and Azriel had to stifle a wry chuckle. The way his High Lord's features contorted gave him to understand that he had understood the twitch in his muscles all too well.

“I don't care what you think,” Azriel bellowed, clasping his hands at his sides. “I'll go with her, and since Mor offered I'd greatly appreciate it if she'd accompany us.”

Rhysand didn't respond, settling for sharing a glance with his brother, trying to reach a part of him that was minimally willing to forgive him. Azriel sensed his intrusion and angrily erected a wall of obsidian in his mind, miles away, forcibly pulling Rhysand out of his head. The aforementioned barely staggered to his feet.

“Fine, but I'd like to be kept informed of everything that happens,” Rhysand nodded looking at Mor, who barely returned the gesture and left the office to manage the meeting as soon as possible.

When the doors rattled and the room fell silent again, Rhysand looked at Azriel pleadingly.

“Az-”

“If that's all.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, Azriel turned on his heels and stormed off. Cassian followed close behind, barely sending a glance at his high lord, his brother, saying with his gaze how sorry he was that it had all happened and ended like this.

[hom3landr]

Tea with Honey

Bakerverse

Every relationship has its firsts. Homelander’s budding romance with his Baker is no different. But not all firsts are pleasant.

Homelander can’t wait any longer to visit her. His heart stings and aches from the weight of rejection. There is a hole inside him that he hoped the promise of family would heal. He has no experience with Fatherhood but he’d figured that it would be natural; instinctual. But one can’t learn love in a lab. Even his best intentions came up lacking, a fall from a roof seemed like such a necessary harmless casualty. He doesn’t know how to handle things that were raised soft. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, so he spits it out and seeks reassurance from the hands of a ghost.

Deep deep down, he can’t forget. But that’s ok. The Madelyn in front of him lifts two milk covered fingers to his mouth and he willingly takes the offering given. If she is a ghost then she is one with a warm body, an eager mouth, and a soft lap. She is one with assurances and words he needs to hear. She is one that he can keep on a leash and who won’t disappear into smoke. This is a ghost who knows his sins and lets him sigh them into her skin.

He can’t forget but he can control the memory left behind.

He tells her about you and she eagerly responds to his tales of your softness. She urges him to take you. If he could watch from outside himself, he would see it as the plea it is. For Doppelganger is willing to feed you to the lion, toss you like a piece of meat to a snarling dog, wave you like a flag in front of a bull. Homelander hears Madelyn’s voice as a kindness and doesn’t see it for the desperate distraction that it is.

“What are you waiting for?” She coos. “You’ve shown her that you can be good but have you considered that she longs for the raw power you hold? Once she has experienced your strength then she will beg you to take her.”

It’s what he wants to hear. He’s proven that he can be good yet still your kisses remain sweet and your touches light. The beast within him is growing more difficult to quiet when it howls for that sweet heat between your legs. Your gentility is starting to feel like rejection. The hunger inside him is an empty ache. He needs to take up space in you.

———-

He grins at the fat raindrops that dampen his hair as he leaves the cabin. The ozone is a pleasant scent that lingers in the back of his throat and on his tongue. It tastes like power. He can relate to the wild fury of a thunderstorm. He wishes that his rage could also be seen as something natural and not some sort of flaw. Thunderstorms can rain hail and destruction without consequence and people will still find comfort in the rumble of thunder. Perhaps that is another reason why Stormfront makes him so bitter, he envies that she takes on the characteristics of the storms he loves so much. How dare she show her edges and still be adored?

But Stormfront can’t have you. You’ve told him as much. You admitted how much she gets under your skin. You told him that you don’t trust her and that the very sound of her voice makes your flesh crawl.

The only storm you’ll know is him.

————

Homelander’s hunger for you clouds his judgment and the cracks of thunder echo the hot pounding of his arousal as he contemplates his plan. He can’t wait to surprise you and finally show you what he’s capable of. He’s on autopilot as he flies to your apartment, mind busy with fantasies. He intends to make you scream so loud that even the fiercest weather would be deafened by your pleasure.

He lands on your fire escape and knocks cheerfully on your window. He can hear you startle through the walls, your heartbeat fluttering with surprise. He leans back on his heels and crosses his arms under his cape. He has to suppress a grin when he sees your distorted face through the rain smeared glass. You’re a watercolor painting and Monet can go fuck himself cause your beauty makes his works no more than trash. He longs to keep you hidden away so only he can appreciate you.

You open the window wide so he can climb inside. His wet cape drips puddles all over your floor and your brow furrows briefly at the mess before meeting his gaze with a quizzical smile. He takes a brief glance behind you to inspect your place. He hasn’t been inside since that perfect Christmas night and without the decor it’s painfully obvious that your apartment is in a poor state. He huffs a tiny laugh to himself. It wouldn’t take much to convince you of structural damage. He’ll make sure you have a place to stay.

“I didn’t know you were coming over! I’d have made dinner.” You lament, flustered at being caught in such an unprepared state. He waves your concern away. As pleasant as your cooking sounds, he still fully intends to eat.

“I wanna show you something.” He replies with a smile, gesturing to the open window behind him. He’s surprised that he hasn’t done this sooner. What better way to wow you than to give you a practical application. He’s been good but now he’s starving for you to see behind the gentleman’s mask he wears. He takes a closer look at you. You’re wearing nothing more than an old white t-shirt and some sleep shorts. He thinks if he looks close enough he can see the shadow of your nipples through the material. With the way it’s pouring, he’s bound to get an even better look soon.

Madelyn’s voice still echoes in his ear.

He’s so excited that he doesn’t notice things he’d usually be laser focused on. He doesn’t register the shiftiness of your eyes or the anxious way you fidget every time the thunder rumbles. Your heart is racing because you must still be surprised by his arrival. The scent of fear can’t be because of him. You were probably watching something scary. He can hear the strains of a true crime podcast that you’d turned down playing on the tv.

It’s not because of him.

“Right now?” You ask, nervously scratching your arm as a streak of lightning briefly lights up the sky. His hackles instantly rise at your apparent lack of enthusiasm.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” He replies sharply, sharper than he usually is with you. The instant rejection is a fierce sting to his ego. His fantasy already isn’t working out how he planned and he’s starting to feel annoyed and out of sorts. He was so sure you’d be wowed but apparently you’re feeling prissy tonight.

You wince at his tone. You glance anxiously out the window and bite your lip. He begins to tap his foot in impatience. You exhale roughly as though you’re preparing yourself for some great trial.

“I’m sorry you came all this way. I’m not feeling well so maybe we should reschedule. You’re welcome to stay and watch a movie! I can order us some takeou…” You don’t get to finish your sentence.

“I didn’t come here to watch a fucking movie!” He snaps and he hates the way you flinch. It makes his throat tighten up and his chest ache with hurt. You’re making him feel mean and foolish, needy in the way he seeks your attention.

This is all wrong. You’re not being you.

“We don’t have to watch a movie! I have some board games and I know I have a deck of cards somewhere.” You try to do damage control but your continuous deflections only make him more frustrated. Your gaze is wary now; it’s the first time you’ve been wary around him.

He stomps over and grabs your arm firmly. It’s not tight enough to bruise but you can’t pry him off as he guides you over to the window. You struggle and try to stutter out excuses and explanations but he doesn’t want to hear it. He scoops you up in his arms and is out on the fire escape in the blink of an eye. The rain immediately drenches you and he’s so frustrated that he doesn’t even register the way your clothes cling to your form.

“Stop whining. You’re gonna fucking love this. Don’t worry.” He attempts to soothe you. You have to like it. You have to like him. You’re frozen solid in his arms but he knows you’ll relax once you’ve adapted. Without a warning he shoots up into the air like a rocket.

It’s beautiful up in the storm clouds. Despite the flashes of lightning, Homelander knows you are safe even up in the sky. He can sense the sizzle in the air and smell the ozone before electricity splits the sky. He’d never let you be harmed. He wants to share this with you. He wants you to know this part of him. This is what you hold in your hands when you kiss him.

He looks down at you, anxious to see the awe on your face. He wants to smell your need for him mixed with the heady smell of ozone. But instead he’s met with your pounding heart and trembling form. Your hands are curled into icy claws and your breathing is rapid and shallow. Tiny pained noises escape your mouth with every panicked heave. You’re fucking terrified.

“It’s not that bad. I’ve got you.” He reassures you but he’s not even sure you can hear him right now. You shake your head jerkily and a wail escapes you as lightning flashes in the distance.

His heart drops and shatters on the ground far below as he realizes that this isn’t some passing anxiety.

Homelander wants to fucking shake you in anger. How come you’re overreacting now? This is him. You’re supposed to share this with him. He’s giving you this privilege and you’re spitting it back in his face.

You’re supposed to love (him) this. Why don’t you?

“P…please,” You manage to stutter out weakly. “Can we go back now?”

He should fucking drop you.

His fingers twitch with temptation. Of course he’d catch you, but you’d learn there are things worth crying about.

You anxiously paw at his chest.

“I want to go down now!” You sob. His fingers twitch again. You don’t smell like brown sugar anymore.

He startles as he feels a sharp sting across his cheek. You’ve grown wild in your terror now. While he lacks the capacity to bruise, the shock of the impact still has him rattled. Your chest heaves.

“PutmedownPutmedownPutmedown!” You repeat in a furious panic as you pound on his chest with your hands. Your fight response is fully activated and logic is clearly no longer in the picture as you lash out at the very thing keeping you in the air.

He almost lets go.

But instead he slowly glides back down, drawing out your torment out of spite. He drops you coldly onto the slick metal of the fire escape. You grasp the bars like a lifeline and Homelander’s nose wrinkles as you spit bile. You still haven’t ceased wailing.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” He hisses. His mood is blacker than the stormy sky. You don’t even look wounded. You might as well still be stuck in the air as you tremble and wheeze.

He wants to put his hands over his ears to block out your cries. He wants to fly away to safety. He wants to crush your skull. He wants to pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless till you calm. He wants to hold you. He wants to kill you. He wants to beg your forgiveness.

He wants. He wants. He wants.

As if on autopilot himself, he scoops you back up into your arms to carry you inside. He deposits you on the couch, gentler this time despite his whole body shaking with restraint. You curl up into a ball and hide your face from him.

This is like Ryan all over again.

He clenches his fists and storms into your kitchen in a rage. He needs distance from you before he does something rash. He paces like a caged animal in the small space. His reflection in the glass cabinets is judgemental but he refuses to acknowledge them. He ignores the soft calls of his name itching at the back of his consciousness.

“Look at me, Tiger.”

“You need to calm down John.”

“Pathetic! She’s gonna fucking hate you just like everyone else does.”

He slams his fists down on your counter and he hears a crack.

FUCK

His eyes land on a lone mug on your counter. It’s colorful and chipped and so you that the unexpected rush of endearment he feels helps direct him out of his rage. His brow furrows as an idea begins to form. He can fix this. He just needs to do what you would do. He looks around, pointedly avoiding the cabinets. He sees a box of tea bags. He exhales sharply. He opens the fridge and fills the mug with water from your filter. He heats it with his vision till it's bubbling. He dips the tea bag in it and with one last flourish because he’s not sure if it’s safe to face you yet, he locates a container of honey that he gives a generous squeeze.

He takes a deep breath as he exits the kitchen.

You’ve calmed down considerably although your head is still buried in your knees. Your breathing is a little steadier and your agonized wails have quieted into soft sniffles. You’re still shivering as the fading adrenaline and damp clothes send chills through your body. He grabs a blanket from a nearby basket as he tentatively walks over. He sets the tea down on the coffee table in front of your spot on the couch and wraps the blanket around your shoulders. It feels strange, taking care of somebody else. Especially someone he’s still angry at.

“I’m sorry,” Your words are shaky and muffled. You sound so sad. “I’m so so so sorry. I ruined everything”

Homelander freezes, his brow furrowed in confusion. You’re apologizing?

“I have a phobia and I should have said something but it happened so fast. I was so scared and I lost control and panicked. I shouldn't have hit you.” Your voice is thick with guilt.

“Please,” He scoffs, weirdly amused and a little unsettled by your concern. “You couldn’t have hurt me if you tried. Now c’mon and look at me.”

You lift your head. Your eyes are red and swollen.

“I shouldn’t have hit you.” You reiterate and Homelander’s chest tightens. “I’m sorry. It was wrong.”

For a moment the silence is deafening. The sincerity in your gaze unsettles him. You reach out and your fingers tenderly brush the area of impact. It’s not tender. It barely even hurt

Shocked hysterical laughter starts to build in Homelander’s throat at the solemn look on your face.

Well fuck.

Isn’t that a fucking first.

You watch him quietly as he doubles over and holds his stomach. It’s not a laugh of amusement and if he was an outside observer he’d realize just how wounded it sounds. It’s pure emotional release.

You’d barely even given him a love tap. You’re sitting over there with your big wide weepy eyes as though you’d fucking beat him senseless. You’re acting as if you’d thrown him into a fucking oven.

He wheezes until his chest hurts. All the repressed anger and anxiety now flooding out in sheer astonishment. He was so sure you’d hate him.

He feels something warm wrap around his shoulders and his giggles begin to quiet. He looks over to you only to startle for a second at how close you are. You’ve wrapped the other end of the blanket around him. Your expression is soft but unreadable. You rest your forehead against him and he shudders.

“I…” He pauses. He can’t quite articulate what he wants to say. It’s not your fault. He didn’t pay attention. He didn’t listen. But admitting such feels like a weakness. It chokes him.

“I made you some tea.” He says instead, pulling back to hand you the mug. His voice barely shakes.

You smile and as you cradle the mug and take a sip, he notices that you smell like brown sugar again.

“Tea with honey is my favorite.” You reply sweetly, after giving a pleased hum at the taste. He may not have said it out loud but he can tell you understood with the way you look at him. Things are so easy with you. He turns to bury his face in your wet shoulder as you sip.

“I forgive you.” He mumbles, half hoping you don’t catch it.

“I forgive you too” You reply.

He doesn’t sleep with you that night…at least in the primal sense. But it doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep on his chest once the two of you decide that a movie might be just the thing for a stormy night after all. Lounging on the couch, while dressed in some soft sweatpants, and with you warm and sleepy on his chest, he comes to the conclusion that this is just as good as fucking anyway. You make soft noise in your sleep and snuggle further into the whorls of hair on his bare chest. (Something you’re absolutely delighted by if your physical response at the reveal was any indication)

In fact, it might even be better than fucking.

He lazily decides that he can love storms enough for the both of you.