#I never say anything to hurt anyone but nobody seems to care what they say to me....

[sensitivegoblin]

Unsafe vent

[moonlightspencie]

initially an idea from @hotchfiles from forever ago when i asked for james fic requests, and i finally wrote it teehee

original idea: “reader’s first time that she wants to get over and just do it with a friend she trusts and he ends up confessing mid sex”

james potter x fem!reader

warnings: smut! (p in v, first time, virgin!reader), MDNI

————————

To say you were shocked was an understatement.

You didn’t wake up this morning thinking you’d be messing around with your best friend. You definitely didn’t think he’d kiss you. Or do more.

But here you were, in his bed.

You couldn’t even blame the party or the drinks since each of you had only taken one shot each. James loved a party, but when it was at his home, he tended to lean on the conservative side until it was just his closest friends left over.

Now, you had no clue who was even still downstairs. He’d taken you upstairs an hour ago after a messy kiss. At first you thought that maybe it was for attention with his friends. But when barely anybody noticed, you dropped that theory quickly.

And it seemed like a perfect opportunity.

You still hadn’t lost your virginity, and it was something you’d been reflecting on more often lately after your 22nd birthday had come and gone. Realistically, it wasn’t a big deal. You just wanted to know what it felt like.

But you weren’t sure that your friends were entirely aware. You’d messed around with people before, but you’d never gone all the way. You didn’t want it to be some big event, and the second James started pulling your clothes off… what was the harm if he knew or not what your sexual history was?

It was going so well, too! Up until your initial feeling of being impressed by his size caught up to you.

The second he lined himself up and started pushing into you, you felt a bit nervous. The stretch wasn’t a great feeling, much to your disappointment. It wasn’t all bad, but it just felt like too much too fast. And he wasn’t slowing down. You held back any noises at first, but there came a point when you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“James, oh my g—” you moan, face feeling hot as he bottoms out. It kind of hurts.

“Feel good love?”

You’re silent for a moment, breathing heavily.

“I-I don’t know,” you shake your head as you respond.

James stops, looking at you. “What? What do you mean?”

“Kind of hurts.”

He smirks a little. “Never been with someone as big as me, love?”

You shake your head again. “Haven’t been with anyone.”

His smirk falls completely. He shakes his head, looking down at you in confusion, his chest heaving for a different reason, now.

“No—nobody?”

You swallow, realizing your mistake. You look up at him, feeling a bit panicked. He starts pulling out, and you wince at the feeling, then scramble to sit up when he sits back on his knees, his face in his hands.

“Jamie—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, looking at you. “Why… God, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Please,” you say, reaching for him, holding onto one of his arms. “I just… I haven’t done anything like this before and I wanted to do it with someone who I already know and love and then… then you kissed me and it just seemed like the right time.”

“Love, I can’t be your first time.”

“Why not?” you ask, voice clearly a little desperate. “You already—”

“I already did way too much,” he cuts you off, then looks at you again, his gaze softening. “You should’ve told me.”

“You wouldn’t have gone as far as you did.”

“That’s my point.”

You sigh, scooting closer to him. You hold onto his arm, your head leaning in his shoulder.

“Just wanted it to be with someone I care about. A friend and not some… Some guy who’d never talk to me again,” you explain quietly. “Would’ve asked Sirius or Remus but…”

James shakes his head. “Why didn’t you just ask me, then? I might’ve said okay.”

“Just wanted to do it. Get it over with. I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you shrug.

“It is a big deal, baby,” he sighs, glancing at you. “It’s a really big deal.”

“I don’t want it to be.”

“Why not?”

“Cause… it’s just sex. I just want to get the first time over with. Is that wrong?”

He swallows, hugging you to him. “It’s not wrong, I just—”

“What?”

“I thought you’d want a better experience.”

You furrow your brow. “But you’re my best friend. It is a good experience.”

“Love…”

“Please, James. Can we please just keep going?”

He glanced down at you, wetting his lips on instinct as he sees you looking up at him like that. After all, he was only a man. And you… you were his beautiful best friend. Naked and pretty and begging for him to keep fucking you. He wasn’t usually weak, but he couldn’t imagine anyone being able to say no to you like this.

He leaned in again, capturing your lips with his, his hand cradling your cheek. You sighed into the kiss, melting.

“You need to tell me if it hurts this time,” he mumbled against your lips.

“I will,” you whispered back.

He nodded, hands running up your sides softly. He laid you back on the bed, settling between your legs again easily.

“Tell me if it hurts.”

“I know, James. I will.”

He let out a heavy breath, groaning with his head dropping into your neck as he pushed into you again.

“Fuck, love…” he moaned, leaving sloppy kisses along your neck and shoulder.

You breathe heavy, whimpering softly. “It feels… a lot better this time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

You clutch onto him tightly, gasping as he finally starts moving. It feels strange and unfamiliar… but so good. You moan out his name as his hips snap against yours with every thrust.

“So— so good, Jamie,” you breathe out shakily.

“You’re even better,” he mumbles, his voice laced with desperation. “You’re perfect.”

“No I’m not.”

“You are.”

You whine, your head back against the pillows. He picks up the pace, his heart pounding not only from the effort, but from the feelings overwhelming him.

“God, I love you,” he groaned.

“Love you, too, Jamie.”

He shook his head, kissing your skin delicately.

“No, I love you.”

“What?”

He picked up his head to look down at you as he kept thrusting into you. “You’re perfect, love. Geez, you’re not usually this thick. I’m— I love you.”

“What?” you repeat with wide eyes.

“Just… you know what I mean,” he says desperately, looking down at you as if he could cry.

You swallow. Suddenly his behavior makes even more sense. He didn’t want to take your virginity. He didn’t want to hurt you. He wanted everything to be perfect for you. He loved you.

“I love you too.”

His eyes go wide as he moans. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your skin, dropping his head against you again in relief. “We’re doing this more often.”

“I won’t complain,” you chuckled breathlessly.

“Good. Cause this isn’t ending any time soon.”

[nothorses]

I think one of the ways that tranandrophobia seems to distinguish itself from the other forms of oppression it is connected to is in the way it attempts to convince you it is indistinguishable and that transmascs are always just collateral damage to everyone else's "real" problems.

One example is the very blatent tirf claim that transphobia on its own isn't real, that it is all misdirected transmisogyny, and that transmascs only experience oppression due to our association with transfemmes.

But there is also the insistence that anti abortion laws and similar things are targeted at cis women and therefore are "women's issues" - transmascs shouldn't complain about being excluded because it "isn't about us". Same with homophobia and butchphobia. Even the terf talking point that they are just protecting "little cis girls" from making irreversible mistakes pretends that actual the transmascs being harmed is just an accident and not the goal.

Trying to talk about transandrophobia is a constant stream of "It's just transphobia. It's just misogyny. No, you can't call your experiences misogyny because that isn't about you. You can't call yourself a lesbian or a butch or compare your oppression to lesbophobia. It isn't about you. Yes, terfs hurt you, but you aren't their main target. This isn't about you. Yes, you need abortions and experience medical misogyny, but you can't talk about it because this isn't about you. You were sexually assaulted because of misdirecred misogyny. Don't make it about you. You've never contributed to the history of gay men, or lesbians, or the trans community. It isn't about you. Those cross dressers weren't trans. Stop trying to make women's history about you. You can't reclaim cunt or faggot or dyke because those words aren't about you. I don't care how many times you've been called a tranny. That word isn't about you. Why must you make everything about you?"

Because sure, transmascs exist, and we might be impacted by everyone else's oppression, but it is always thought of as a theoretical consequence of what is really going on, if it is thought of at all. Transmascs are not considered to be oppressed in our own right.

This idea gives the lawmakers plausible deniability, allies an excuse to ignore us, and feeds into transmasc erasure. If we are never the actual target to begin with, then clearly, we can't be uniquely targeted. The law makers don't need to be held accountable for their transandrophobia because it isn't like they are trying to hurt transmascs, right? We need to let the real victims speak, the ones being targeted on purpose.

Nobody ever sees the way it all piles up, and even if they do, they think "well it's just an accident, right? If we fix the main problem, then this fringe issue will go away on its own" without ever considering that transandrophobia isn't as rare, fringe, or accidental as society wants it to appear and that actual effort needs to be put into dismantling it.

It isn't that they actually believe that transandrophobia isn't real. It's that they just don't believe it is about transmascs. Because even if we are the common denominator, we are still just collateral damage and could not possibly have anything of value to say. Because as collateral damage, our issues are never our own and thus never need to be discussed on our own terms.

100%. And I think this is exactly what this sort of cycle of erasure depends on.

We are erased, our problems are erased, and our oppression is erased, which means it's easy for people to ignore us, our problems, and our oppression. There's so little evidence, so few people talking about it, and they never really see or hear anyone name us in this violence, so surely, it isn't about us at all! It must be about the people they know about already, the problems they know about, and the ones who are always readily named in these conversations.

If we're speaking up, there's no reason to believe us; if anything, we come under scrutiny for trying to talk about these issues nobody else can see. We must be crazy, hysterical, whiny and overdramatic, or perhaps malicious. We're stealing attention, stealing space, and stealing help. We might be victims, but we are incidental and unworthy victims.

And ignoring us, our problems, and our oppression means we continue to be erased. Which makes it easier to ignore us, and erase us, and easier to perpetuate violence against us. And so on.

It's understandable, in a way, for people to ignore us; most people don't know about any of this in the first place, and when they do, they're not inclined to take any of it seriously. Even if they do see convincing evidence that our problems are real and worth talking about, it's easy for that to be a one-off that they eventually forget about. Everyone else is talking about everything else, so we sort of fade away.

It's not their fault; they're not trying to ignore us. They just haven't learned to recognize violence against us, and they just don't seek us out, and can they really be blamed for that? Can they really be blamed for the violence that continues because they and others don't see or try to stop it? We're so hard to find in the first place. You know, because we've been so thoroughly erased.

There are a lot of people who've been fighting this for a long time, and even more we don't-- and probably won't-- ever know about, who've been fighting for even longer. I think it's getting better; the organized backlash against us is, imo, a sign that our reach is getting stronger and wider. But it's a hard cycle to break.

[httpscomexe]

Forbidden Secret Desire

Summary: You just can’t seem to find yourself in this stupid school for freaks, but just when you’re sure no one cares anymore, a man with adamantium claws disturbs your groaning with a promise. Except he forgot to mention everything good comes with a price.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: (Individual warnings per chapter) Anxiety, hints to violence, loneliness, I guess angst, manipulation (The reader is helpless and will look for anything to make her happy), some hints towards suggestive material near the end, bad language word use, pet names.

Word Count: 3523 (Find all chapters here) Chapter 2

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

Xavier's Mansion.

Also known as the school for “Gifted Youngsters,” or simply for what society prefers to call, “Freaks.”

You’d been there for a few months. You have a very unique power, something even Xavier himself doesn’t understand how to control.

You get these looks all the time when you're walking in the halls of the mansion. You notice it when people cover their mouths to whisper about you and you can’t not notice it when you seem to create a bubble around you as some of the kids try to keep a distance.

Yea, it hurts. You couldn’t deny that either. Sometimes you’d even have to find a restroom really fast to cry to yourself in one of the stalls, but even that hurts when some of the students quickly flood out of the restroom after you enter.

Nobody knew how much it hurt you, nobody even knew what powers you really had. If they did, you would’ve already been sent to the ice box, but luckily, you didn’t know how to use your more dangerous powers. You figured Xavier probably knew about them, considering he can read your mind and he knows just exactly how powerful you really were, but he didn’t know if you knew about them. And what you don’t know, can’t hurt you.

The hardest part was going to class. While everyone else had a table of four people, you sat alone. You did every project alone, with high soaring grades by the way, and you never got to speak to anyone during discussion or free time before the bell rang.

Sometimes you wish you were just… normal.

Of course, you weren’t the only person that was avoided. There were a few other students and even some of the adults that were always avoided. The only true friend you seemed to have was Hank McCoy. Everyone used to fear him, thinking that he couldn’t control the “Beast,” so he knows how you feel. But sometimes it only felt like he tolerated you because you were smart, and you were the only student that could aid him in building anything related to tech, and nanotech, and coding, and all that good stuff.

“Have you figured out why it isn’t working?” Was the first thing he asked you as you walked into his lab. Not a good morning, no how’s class, and not even hello. “I was thinking it had something to do with our maths, that maybe we calculated something wrong but I’ve looked over it again and again and couldn’t find a single thing wrong with it.” He tells you, picking up his notebook which you could see was now full of mathematical equations and random scribbles which seemed to radiate with frustration.

“I don’t think we got the maths wrong, I’ve checked it about a thousand times.” You say quietly, then gently put your bag full of books down under one of his desks so it wasn’t in the way. “Pretty sure it just needs to be smaller. Nothing really about maths though. Other than that, the fibres need to be smaller.”

“So it is the maths?”

“Eh, kind of.” You groan a little and stretch before grabbing a small, delicate pair of tweezers. “This is still too big.” You tell him, placing a sample of part of your tech down under a microscope, strong enough you’re surprised it couldn’t see atoms. “See, this is about as thick as a piece of hair, which is about the size of…” You sigh, looking back at your maths. “It’s about 50,000 nanoparticles, so not a lot, but we need it to be a little smaller.” You tell him, then look away from the small bit of tech to look up at him, his eyes squinted in your direction as is he was trying to understand what you were saying. “Okay I’ll dumb it down. It’s about as thick as a piece of hair right now, we need to numb it down to about… only one hundred nanoparticles, so it should be about as thick as graphene.”

“What’re you two nerds going on about now?” Another voice cuts into your explanation. It was none other than the gruffy voice of Wolverine.

“Oh hey, Logan.” Hank abandons the workstation to go over Logan who was making himself some coffee. “Just figuring out something about nano…”

“Nanoparticles.” You finish his sentence.

“Yea, that.” He says plainly, not bothering to look at you as you turn away from their conversation and look through the microscope.

“Now how do I make you that small…” You whisper to yourself, gently lifting the particle string with your delicate tweezers and examining it through the microscope. “Hmm…” You hum to yourself.

“Y/N!” Hank calls for you, and you turn around. “I’m going out to pick up some lunch for the both of us. What would you like? I’m getting Mexican.” You tell him what you would like, and he takes a moment to clean his work area and stuff his wallet in his pocket before he finally leaves. Leaving you to stand by your desk, doing all the work that has to do with nanotech, but also leaving the Wolverine with you.

“So what exactly are you two working on?” You hear his voice behind you, then you see him next to you.

“Teleportation. Not as complicated as you think, it’s just the fear that gets to everyone really.” You look away from your work, and your eyes land on him. His arms crossed as he leaned on a nearby table, showing enough respect to not sit on your working table.

“Seems complicated. What could possibly be scary about it though? It's just teleportation.”

“Well. If you think deeper into it. Your body and every single atom and particle of your body has to be completely broken down into an uncountable amount of smaller pieces and then your body has to rebuild itself in the secondary location, you just have to hope that it rebuilds you correctly. Or the next thing you know half your right arm is also half of your left leg with toes for fingers.” You say without taking a breath, taking a deep breath after letting it all out. Staring back up at him, his eyes were now squinted in confusion.

“I don’t think anyone is scared of that except you. I’ve never even thought about that.” He shrugs, taking a sip of his scalding hot black coffee.

“Yea well… I’ve had a lot of time to think about a lot of things.” You tell him through gritted teeth, mumbling before grabbing your notebook.

“You know…” He pauses, placing his hot coffee mug on another table away from your work before walking back up next to you, placing his palms on your table where there wasn’t electronic junk lying around. “You aren’t the only one.”

“The only one?” You question, turning and grabbing another tool before looking under your microscope, turning the string around to try and figure out how to break it into a smaller piece, without actually breaking it.

“The only one that’s feared.”

You stop what you’re doing, still looking into the microscope but not actually paying attention to what was right in front of your eyes.

“I’ve seen the way some of the other kids look at you, bub. Like there’s something wrong with you. I know how it feels to not fit in.” He crosses his arms as he leans against your table, attempting to get your full attention. He clears his throat before speaking again. “I’ve seen you in the halls. Your name is Y/N, right?” You nod, his eyes and yours locked onto each other. “Logan.” He says, reaching his hand out to shake yours. Your hand basically gets engulfed by his as your soft hand meets his, which were rough and still yet soft, that surprised you, considering… “Hank talks about you a lot also. Not like he loves you or anything, he just tells me you’re smart. Like really smart.” He shrugs.

“Hm…” You hum a little. This is the first conversation you’ve had with someone in this school where they’ve actually treated you like a real human.

“Considering the way you explain this stuff, I’d say he’s probably right about you being smart.” He nodded towards the nanoparticles still sitting under your microscope, it was hard to see from even a foot away considering it was the width of a single piece of hair. “So what exactly is a nanoparticle? Or nano…”

“Nanoparticle" is correct. It just like a piece of tech or anything made of tech like certain fibers that can be visible to the naked eye but they’re very small. Just this one piece is the width of 50,000 nanoparticles.” You carefully pick up the string, and gently put it in it’s container.

“And what was that other thing you mentioned earlier?”

“Graphene?”

“Yea.”

“It’s made of about 50 to 100 nanoparticles, and it can be seen with the naked eye through a refraction of light in a mirror or clear substance that has a bend in it.”

“I’m not completely sure what any of that means. But I trust you know what you’re doing.”

“Yea, I’m kind of a nerd.” You chuckle awkwardly, then reach down to pull your bag over your shoulder, your social battery is pretty much near zero for the day, or maybe week. This was you first time ever speaking to Wolverine and you just nerd out on him? What were you thinking?

“Alright, I got food. Where are you heading?” Hank finally comes back, a bag full of boxes with the three of your foods in them in his right hand as he enters the lab, letting the metal door close behind him.

“I’ve got a bit of a headache, I was gonna go back to my room.”

“Well you know the rules. No food in the rooms.”

“Yea, yea. I know.” You sigh, setting your bag back down as he hands you your box of food and you hop onto one of the clean counters to sit down as you eat your food.

“Have you seen Xavier today?” He asks Logan, handing him his food also.

“No, he’s out on some special mission with Mystique right now, won’t be back for about another week.”

“And what does he have you doing? You never leave your room so I’m assuming he's’ got you doing something?” Hank stands next to Logan as they both talk back and forth.

“He has me teaching his third class and fifth class. I guess that one is the anger management class and the other is meditation.”

“Ah, so he’s got you teaching the two classes you used to fail in.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?”

After working in the lab, a lot shorter than usual, you actually head back to your room. You hate to admit it, but you’ve been ecstatic to meet Wolverine for years, and when you finally get to have a conversation with him, you just geek out on him about nanotech?

As you hang your bag on the wall and remove your jacket only to throw it on the back of your desk chair, you can’t help but want to just smash your head on a wall until you’ve forgotten about everything that’s happened today.

You mope as you walk into the centre of your small room, stopping and staring at the mess on your desk, a bunch of full notebooks covered in little pen markings of maths and science that no one else in the school would understand.

You walk to the desk, take one of the notebooks in your hand that had some free space left, and drop down on your bed. Reaching behind your head, you pull your sweater over your head and discard it on the floor before leaning against your headboard and clicking the back of your pencil until the led is at your desired length.

As soon as the tip of the led touches the paper, your mind wanders. That was so embarrassing… You realise, scribbling random maths into your notebook. I can’t believe I just made a professor hate me too… Not only had you dissociated, but you also completely nerded out. You talked about nanoparticles as if it was the only thing you cared about. You care about more though. You care about the family that was so scared of you they sent you off to this stupid school, calling you a freak and breaking all ties with you. No, you don’t care about them. But you care about your friends so much! You don’t have any friends. Hank is very special to you, he holds a space in your heart. A very, very small space. Yea he doesn’t care about you, you’ve just been able to make about a thousand breaks in his experiments. Then of course he would take all of the credit when he would show it to Professor X.

Why do you even try? I guess working with Hank is the equivalent of the other students going out to the mall with their friends. The only difference is he wasn’t your friend.

You take it back, you had one friend. If you could even call someone you only text cause you’re too scared for actual confrontation, a friend. Nightcrawler- or Kurt. The one guy who’s ever made an actual effort to try and be your friend, he’s just always out on missions. Or so that’s what his actual friends tell you. Maybe you should send him a text and actually verify whether he hates you or not… You get up from your bed and unzip your bag, sticking your hand into the pocket where you always shove your phone, but it’s not there. What the fuck? You take your bag off it’s hook and search the rest of the pockets, and still no phone. You go to your bed, searching under the covers and getting on your knees to check under the bed, still no phone. You check your desk, your discarded sweater, and you sweep the floor with your eyes looking for it, thinking it might’ve just fallen out of your pocket. You hate seeming desperate for a simple device that rots your brain to default, but God that phone is your escape.

“Hey, is everything alright-?” A voice cuts into your messy search as you turn around and your door is cracked just enough for him to stick his head in.

“Sorry, Mr. Howlett, I just can’t find my phone.” You chuckle awkwardly, standing in the centre of your room as he peeks around your room at the mess you’ve created.

“Again, you can call me Logan. I don’t mind it, I prefer it actually. Do you mind if I step in?”

“Yea, it’s fine. Sorry for the mess, I haven’t really had time to clean it.” You nervously link your fingers together in front of you and let your thumb pick at your skin as he comes in, closing the door gently behind him.

“It’s not a mess, just a sweater on the floor and notebooks on the bed.” Sweater on the floor. Of course. Yea, you were standing in the centre of your room, in your shorts and a black fucking clasp on bra. Now you suddenly feel naked standing in front of him, so you cross your arms, hoping to hide at least some of the embarrassment.

“Well uh, what’s up?” You try sounding cool but immediately cringe.

“You left this in the lab.” He tells you, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out your phone, handing it to you backside up, so you could see the glittery phone case, adorned with pink sparkles. “Was gonna give it to you in class but you kids go crazy over your phones.”

“Oh I wouldn’t go crazy…” You tell him, humour in your voice as you awkwardly look around your room, the sheets halfway off the bed and your pillows tossed in the middle, the result in the crazy search for your phone. “Would just be a little annoyed…”

“So is everything okay?”

“Yea, why do you ask?”

“I was knocking on your door and sayin’ your name. but you didn’t answer.”

“Oh,” You laugh dryly. “Sorry, sometimes I get lost in my head and kinda just block out all sounds and sometimes I’ll block out what’s in front of me."

“Oh I see.” What do I say to respond to that? “What were you working on?” Why is he still here?

“Honestly, I don’t know, I was just scribbling.”

“Had enough maths for the day?” He jokes.

“Had enough maths for the month.” You mumble, but then he laughs. A short laugh. But a laugh nonetheless. Isn’t he annoyed by you? Why is he still- “What would you be doin’ if Hank didn’t have you doing all this brain stuff?” Oh.

“Well uh, nothing probably.”

“Not one for hanging out with your friends?”

“Friends? Hah!” You laugh with sarcasm, then walk over to your discarded sweater, bending over to pick it up, deciding to distract yourself with cleaning. “It's not easy for a freak to make friends.” You mumble to yourself, hoping he wouldn’t hear, of course, he did.

“You’re not a freak.” He crosses his arms as you look over your shoulder at him.

“Yea sure. Everyone in the school would so easily disagree with you on that.” You say back, folding the sweater before tossing it into your dirty laundry basket. “Professor X won’t even let me leave the school because he doesn’t trust me. I’m sure you’re no different.” Shit that was supposed to be said in your head. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You’d smack yourself right now if it wouldn’t make you look stupid, if he wasn’t in your room still.

“So you think everyone’s the same?” He asks, more of a statement.

“No I- I don’t mean it like that. I just-” He clears his throat.

“Come here.” He demands, looking into your fucking soul. So of course, with a gaze as threatening as his. You stand right in front of him after you walk up to him like Bambi in a traffic headlight. Wobbly, and frozen. “Good, now look at me.” Oh, you forgot that part.

You looked away from his shirt, and tilted your head back to look up into his eyes and for a man who’s so adept at killing his eyes were so soft, and broken…

“If you didn’t randomly blank out, you would’ve also heard Xavier when he told you the only time you could leave, is if it’s with someone else in case there’s an emergency.”

“Emergency from what? Me losing my temper?”

“Exactly that.” Is what shuts you up. “When I said I know how you’re feeling, I meant it.” His voice softens, and you feel your throat knot as you hold back embarrassing tears. “It wasn’t easy for me to make friends either, but honestly I prefer to be in a small crowd. Normally I’m not the one to comfort a student, but you just don’t seem to want to talk to anyone. Why’s that?”

“I’ve tried talking to people. They just give me a look and then walk away.”

“Does that actually happen? Or is that just what it feels like?”

Shit. You hate to admit it, but he makes a point.

What the fuck. Was your next thought as his hand moved up and he gently placed his hand on your cheek.

“I know you hate everyone at this school from the fucking bottom of your heart, but I’m gonna have you try to refrain from hating me. We can strike a deal by letting me take you out of the mansion. I’m sure you’d love to get out, can’t remember the last time you left.”

“Never have.” You whisper, shrugging your shoulders. Your voice is only quiet so your tears aren’t cascading down your face.

“Well if you can just promise to behave, and tell me when you’re getting stressed, then I’ll supervise you like Xavier wants.” He tells you, promising some sort of freedom. “I’m not saying I’m scared of you. If anyone is scared of what you can do, it’s you. Am I right?” You nod. “Use your words, bub.”

“Yea…” Your voice cracks as you barely mutter an entire word.

“Hey, hey…” He says softly, then he suddenly pulls you into a hug. “I’ve got you.” He gently rubs your back, which by the way is still bare since you never got to throw on another shirt. “Just cancel your plans with Hank, I can help you more than he ever will…”

He promises. His fingers gently run over the metal clasps on the back of your bra as you loosely wrap your arms around him, embracing his hug and you nod, not able to formulate any more words as you cry quietly against his chest, your tears wetting his shirt as you both stand there in silence. A quiet smirk on his face as he holds onto you…

[cutielando]

Hii!! I hope you're having a good day! I saw your request were open so I hope you still write for the hp boy

I wanted to ask for a one shot with Theodore Nott (or Mattheo riddle whichever you prefer) where they're enemies or rivals but they can't help but notice the reader is eating less (and developing an ed) for the reason you prefer and they help her

If you're not comfortable writing about it it's totally ok and you can use another reason for them to get closer

Or if you're not inspired you can just ignore the request:)

take care <3

newfound connection | m.r.

my masterlist

Mattheo had always kept his distance from people, ever since he was a young boy.

He didn't fuck with anybody over anything, didn't allow people to get close to him, kept his distance and protected himself. He didn't see the point of having many friends or having a girlfriend or anything even remotely close to that.

Besides, who would want to deal with Voldemort's son? Nobody.

Growing up with his father messed him up in more ways than he could count or admit. He was taught how to be cunning, how to hurt people, how to use them, everything that Voldemort had learned over the years had been passed down to his son.

But Matteo, despite the extensive time spent with his father, knew better than that. He might have grown up in a toxic environment, but he would never lash out on innocent people because of it. It wasn't fair.

During his school years, he had never noticed someone of the opposite sex. He had never felt anything for any girl that he had met at Hogwarts. He never had a crush, never hated anyone, he just felt... nothing.

Until you.

There was an undeniable tension between the two of you ever since you came to the school, one that neither of you could explain.

The only words you had spoken to each other were insults thrown in the halls, not ever having given each other a chance to actually exchange some words.

But that didn’t mean that Mattheo didn’t notice you. You didn’t know it, but he did.

He noticed the little things about you, the way you fidgeted with your fingers whenever you were around a large group of people. The way you chewed your bottom lip whenever you were nervous to talk to someone. The way you would avoid eye contact.

The way you weren’t eating.

He hadn’t thought much of it when he would see you with an empty plate in front of you, staring off into space and not even touching your meals. He figured it was just a one time thing.

But then, you wouldn’t even show up at breakfast or dinner. He wouldn’t even see you anywhere near food for days, then for weeks.

You were weak, pale, hidden behind your hair and large robe. You were a ghost of the person you had been when you first came to the school.

He didn’t know what to do at first. Should he approach you and say something? Maybe help you in some way?

Ignore you and your eating problem?

No, he couldn’t do that. The thought of letting you starve yourself was gnawing too harshly to his mind to let it go as simply as that. He had to say something.

And when he entered the grounds and saw you reading a book near the lake, he figured that was the best opportunity he was going to get.

He slowly approached you, wanting to scoff when he saw you look up at him and roll your eyes.

Typical of your relationship.

“If you’re here to make fun of me or something, I’m really not in the mood, Riddle” you said, burying your nose back in your book.

He was silent for a moment, taking in your appearance. You looked even worse from up close, the bags under your eyes even more prominent, your cheekbones prominently protruding through the skin.

You were so pale, so weak and slim and he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t thought to say something sooner.

“You need help” was all he said, which you took like a punch to the gut.

Your eyes stopped skimming over the words of your book, freezing up. It seemed like your ears had betrayed you, or did Mattheo Riddle just sound worried about you?

"Excuse me?" you put your book down and slowly got up, having to steady yourself after you became a little lightheaded.

The lack of food in your system was becoming more and more prominent on you, the loss of balance whenever you stood up and the lack of strength interfering with your daily tasks more than you would like to admit to yourself.

"You need to get some help" he repeated, his expression remaining the same. You actually couldn't believe the nerve he had, telling you this with so much lack of care.

"I don't think you're in a position to tell me what I do or don't need, Mattheo" you said and crossed your arms.

"Look, I know we hate each other for whatever reason. I don't care about any of that right now. You haven't been eating, you're pale and weak and barely hanging on to health by a thread. Just because we snap at each other in the halls doesn't mean I don't notice the little things you think you hide so well" he explained, mirroring your stance.

You sucked in a deep breath, feeling tears starting to build up in the corner of your eyes. If you were to be honest with yourself, you had forgotten why you and Mattheo hated each other in the first place. The moment you two had met and immediately clashed already wiped from your memory.

Because now, as he stood there in front of you saying he had noticed you, noticed you when nobody else bothered, made you feel seen.

You bit your lip, your gaze stuck to your shoes and the ground. You didn't know what came over you, but you needed to talk to someone, and in that moment, you didn't care if it was your archnemesis or someone else.

"I can't help it" you whispered so quietly, but Mattheo had heard you loud and clear.

His heart broke when he heard how quiet and small you seemed, how much you were actually suffering beneath the surface.

He stepped closer to you, putting his hands on your shoulders and almost grimacing when he felt the bones so prominent under his touch.

"Talk to me, let me help you" the moment you looked into his eyes, you were gone for.

The tears started pouring out of your eyes at a rapid pace, and you collapsed into Mattheo's hold, wrapping your arms around his waist.

Mattheo held you tightly against his body, careful not to squeeze you too tightly. This hadn't been the outcome he expected when he came over to you, but in that moment with you wrapped up in his arms, he knew it was the right one.

You didn't know how long you stood there with your face buried in the fabric of his shirt, his hands rubbing smoothing motions on your back. Mattheo didn't complain once, holding you so comfortably as thought he had been doing it all his life.

At one point, you finally slowly pulled away from his hold, cringing when you saw the wet patch you had left on his shirt.

"I'm sorry for that" you said while sniffling, pointing to his chest.

He looked down and didn't sketch a reaction, shrugging his shoulders and waving it off.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it. Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?" he cupped your cheek in his hand, wiping away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb.

You thought about it, deciding against it when you remembered you were outside where people could see you easily.

"Maybe later?" you whispered, and he nodded, giving you a sad smile before pecking your forehead.

He took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers as he slowly pulled you towards the castle with him, holding your book in his other hand.

And so, from the hatred that nestled between you two from the moment you met, a new feeling was born.

A feeling of love.

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[weneeya]

the death of me w/ law m.list | rules

note. the one piece brainrot is never over but i'm definitely not writing with them enough so pls take law as a sorry <3

You couldn’t even remember when you joined the pirates of the Heart. It had been so many years ago, you felt like you had been here your whole life. They were the only thing that mattered to you and you would have given everything for them ; maybe too much even. 

If the things had been a bit complicated at first with your captain, Trafalgar D Water Law, you were now ready to give your own life for him and his objective. You were completely devoted, and the word wasn’t maybe even strong enough to describe how you felt towards him. 

There was a fight on this stupid island. Your crew just stopped by to get some groceries as an emergency, but you ended up getting trapped by some Marines who clearly wanted to bring all of you with them. You were a fighter, you had been your whole life. So you didn’t hesitate for a second when you saw them almost jump on Bepo to catch him. 

The fight got farther than expected, but thanks to Law, all of you had the chance to escape before they got any of you. When you finally all found your way back to the submarine, well hidden under the sea, Law thought he had finally some time. The wounds of the crew didn’t seem too bad, so it shouldn’t take too long. 

At least, he thought so ; until he saw you arrived. Or in fact, when he saw Penguin and Bepo bringing you to him, obviously worried about your state. They started to explain to Law what happened, how you jumped in front of Bepo so he wouldn't get hurt, even if he was more resilient than you for this. 

Law asked them to bring you to the bed and laid you down there so he could take care of your wounds. He firmly asked everyone to leave the room, and nobody said anything about the orders. He needed to be fully focused ; and he didn’t want anyone to see a hint of worry on his face. 

It had been hard, and he almost thought it was over a few times ; but you were holding up like no one. After a long time which seemed like hours, he was finally done. He took a chair, sitting down next to your bed. A long sigh left his lips before he closed his eyes, face hidden by his hat. 

You woke up a few days after, and the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was Bepo. The huge bear started to cry almost immediately when he saw you awake. He almost took you between his arms, but stopped right before because he didn’t want to reopen your wounds. He quickly called for Law at the door, and soon you were alone with your captain in the infirmary. 

You were sitting on the bed when he sat on a chair a few steps away. Both of you stayed silent, before you slowly cleared your throat. You looked at him, ready to say something, when his own voice resonated in your mind. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he said with a sigh, and you didn’t know what to answer. You looked at him, completely silent, before you finally met his gaze. You had known Law for years now, but you were sure you never saw him this annoyed before.

‘I’m sorry, I…” He didn’t let you finish, cutting you mid sentence. “What were you thinking? You could have died there.” He said, the anger slowly rising inside of him. You felt so guilty, but at the same time, you didn’t regret your choice. You knew your decision was the best. 

“It was me or Bepo, and Bepo can’t die,” you started, and a frown appeared suddenly on his face, understanding what you were trying to say. “Oh, because you can?” He asked, and he hated how he already knew what your answer was going to be. “Yes,” was the only thing you said, still looking at his face. 

He stood up from his chair, tongue clicking against his palate. He came closer to you, grabbing you by your collar, not caring about your state right now. You met his gaze, and the worry you saw in it caught you off guard. You knew your captain cared about his crew, but so much about you? Impossible. 

“You have no right to die, not under my watch. Am I being clear?” He asked, but you knew you could only answer one thing right now. You slowly nodded at his words, and he let go of your top. A sigh left his lips. “Good. Now take some rest. You’re not going out of here until you’re better. Really better, I mean.” 

You could only agree to this. You hated to stay in here, and you were always finding a way to get out of here. But this time, it was different. You knew that Law wasn’t going to be as tolerant as usual. But it warmed your heart in your way. Especially when almost half of the crew rushed into your room to get news about you. 

You were sure it was the first time that you felt people really caring about you, and it felt so good. You ignored the tears forming at the corner of your eyes, and you let your mind focus on reassuring your crewmates.

thank you for reading <3

[v4voracity]

TOO CLOSE - SELF AWARE COD CHARACTERS X READER

⥇❥"Reader" is described as "feminine leaning" or "feminine sounding"; however, they/them and it/its pronouns are used and no bodily adjectives are used in this part because reader is only described as "that person" or "the voice". Let me know if I should make an alternate post(s) slightly adjusted for masculine or androgynous description, and if I missed any content warning tags. I plan on making a masculine version for this one due to someone's request, currently deciding if I should just slightly re-write to change descriptions or fully-rewrite it :)

  ⥇❥Word Count: 3940, excluding warnings and text above the cut.

⥇❥CONTENT WARNING FOR:

↪ body horror(?) ↪ usual “Darkfic” stuff,  ↪ yandere tendencies ↪ Angst™ ↪ possible OOC characters ↪ american author writing (mostly) british people

I totally plan on continuing this drabble with another part so some of the warnings aren't quite apparent yet teehee <3

Link to main masterlist - Link to TOO CLOSE sub-list

You have been warned, scroll at your own risk.

There was always that nagging feeling that Ghost was being watched, paranoia which he had long since grown accustomed to. But, there were always times he felt it… heighten, where this…  this strange sense of dejá vu seemed to take root in his mind. Sometimes, he felt like his movements weren't his own despite it being his will that moved those joints.

It occurred often after he joined the military, and occasionally, when in the quiet of his thoughts, he could hear something. At first, he thought it was a teammate coming through his comms, yet “the voice” wasn't familiar. 

He remembered when he first heard it. 

A quiet voice saying something he didn’t quite catch. He sighed, heavy and annoyed at himself, focusing a bit more on the radio firmly strapped to his chest as he pressed a button with a familiar practiced ease. Despite the fact he laid prone on the ground, hidden amongst foliage he had no trouble reaching it and speaking up. It was… slightly embarrassing that he lost focus and needed to repeat instructions, but he’d rather face slight embarrassment over fumbling an important mission because he didn’t want to ask for them to repeat what was said. Not that Simon “Ghost” Riley was afraid of dying. As a soldier he honestly felt more fearful that he’d fuck up a mission and get yelled at by a superior. That he’d hurt people he was trying to protect. That he’d prove that nagging voice in the back of his head right, the annoying doubtful little shit always lingering despite his confidence that had grown with experience. 

Regardless, he didn’t care to debate with himself about yet another experience that would keep him up at night, wallowing in his bed thinking about everything he could’ve done differently. “Say again?” He asked, cautious to remain quiet and hidden, yet gravely tone firm and clear enough for the other side of his line to hear. Yet no one on the other side of the line said anything previously, voicing their confusion when he asked them to repeat something never said.

Yet no other soul was around the precarious position he perched himself, his scope aimed at distant enemies. He even briefly glanced around, surveying his surroundings for possible danger, anyone, anything. Then “the voice” came through again, energetic and excited— far too unprofessional for how serious that mission was. ‘A recruit,’ he would’ve thought if not for the fact nobody else acknowledged it.

However, once the mission ended, that strange feeling faded, and “the voice” didn't appear again… 

…Until a few months later, on another mission.

The uncomfortable feeling of being watched, the almost foreign feeling of his own body, and “the voice” returned. His skin crawled.

 As if something had forcefully crept beneath it, lifting the skin and making itself comfortable in his body. Claiming it for itself as it burrowed deep into the muscular fiber, into his organs, and flowed in his veins in place of blood. It felt… parasitic and invasive. It disturbed him greatly how the feeling came and went suddenly without cause. Leaving him as it wished and then showing up without warning, without his permission. How it happened to him regardless of how steeled his nerves were. Of how experienced he became.

And, as he would soon find, no matter how intensely he looked around, nobody else was present. Yet “the voice”, which he had to strain to even remotely understand, seemed to respond as if they could see him based on the few words he could catch. 

“HOLY SHIT! He looks so cool, dude! Look at his fuckin’ rifle, his gear! This was so worth the wait. He’s got a new mask too! I’m so glad they brought him back, ugh, literally my favorite poster boy of the whole franchise.”

And if Ghost focused a little bit more, he'd notice it didn't quite sound right, as if it wasn't speaking aloud. “The voice” didn't echo around the room when he was inside, didn't echo through the air when he was outside, nor did it have the crackle of the radio. It was simply muffled, like if someone talked from a room over.

“...Uh, yeah, it was totally worth the fifty-freakin-bucks. Rent can wait, my war criminal pookies can’t! …Yes I know they’re probably not actual war criminals. Yeah, I KNOW they’re… man, you’re no fun. Let me simp in peace.”

Ghost knew he hadn't exactly been the… most sound of mind, but he truly began to worry he might have been hallucinating. “The voice” had been following him for an increasingly long amount of time at this point, and he mostly tuned it out. He recently found himself in a new group though, which led to a disturbing realization that he wasn’t fully insane. His worries about that were swiped away when Soap (his new sergeant who was a little too talkative for his own good, in Ghost’s opinion) ever-so-casually asked about “the voice” he overheard during the mission, which he couldn't quite recognize. Everyone in the helicopter was surprised on the ride back, anxiously discussing that faint voice they'd all heard— had been hearing on and off during missions. It gave Ghost a whole new fear.

It was no secret that a majority of the people in base and on missions with them were men, so that distinctly feminine voice being hard to pinpoint caused a new worry among the team. The potential breach of their communication network. The topic came up as an innocent question from Soap about who “the voice” was before everyone realized they all heard that voice, contradictory in how it sounded so near yet so far, so clear yet it hurt their heads to try and process what was said, clouding their minds in a haze if they tried focusing on it for too long.

It was a clear cause for concern. 

Their task force, Task Force 141, a highly-qualified team, who frequently had taken on missions even some of the most seasoned veterans would find difficult.

Their task force, carefully hand-picked from all corners and crevices of the globe, skills compared, packed like a puzzle to cover all fronts. Their identities and information taken apart and put back together, their secrets in the open to the prying eyes of Captain Price as he was given the authority to form a team. Personalities scrutinized against one another to ensure the utmost efficiency and dynamic interactions between teammates.

Their taskforce, the best of the best, highly efficient, a well oiled machine crafted with the utmost caution for the most risky, dirty, and sometimes immoral missions that most wouldn't be able to stomach. All for the betterment of the world and for the protection of their homes and countries.

And yet they couldn't find a single trail, not a single damn clue, about this… voice. "That voice" that came and went almost exclusively on missions, too. There were very, very few cases where it breached outside of missions. Truthfully, Ghost didn't know what he found worse. That the team heard it outside of missions where they didn't have radio communication, simply just out and about, or that it had breached past the sanctity of the missions, crossing into the supposed safe zone of their respective bases, homes, and private lives. Passing the line that they usually hide behind for comfort after rough missions, the place they went to lick their wounds, to reload their guns, and to confide in each other. And this thing, brash and bold came through, kicking that metaphorical line in the sand and bouncing past their defenses without repercussions.

It started in instances where they could ignore it. 

Where it could've been just their mind playing tricks or someone who sounded similar.

At first it was Soap, running around the track and hearing it faintly. He could've mistaken it for the music blaring through his ears if it wasn't for the fact he knew the lyrics by heart, and the singer sounded nothing like "that voice".

“Whoa, Soap cutscene. We’re being fed today. Get your bowls 'n spoons.”

He could’ve sworn he even heard a ‘clank’ of glass or something. It was worse when he realized his earbuds didn't block out “the voice” anymore than usual. It was always somewhat muffled and incoherent unless he focused, even in the quiet. Yet the earbuds in his ears didn't alter it at all. He took a longer shower than usual that day, trying to let the cold water shock him enough to forget what he heard while thoughts ran wild in his head… It ended with him being slightly late to an important team meeting and getting assigned some training as punishment. He chose to keep why he was late a secret, not wanting to startle anyone about “the voice” or sound crazy.

Then it was Gaz. Friendly, slightly more inexperienced than the rest, Gaz. Gaz was on temporary time off, having accidentally pulled a muscle in his arm. He was simply walking through the streets of a nearby town where he had rented a flat. He rarely actually used the thing, since he spent most of his time at base and it was more convenient to use the barracks. Nevertheless, he still found himself in the quaint little town, going for groceries to stock his apartment's fridge. He was weaving through the streets when he heard that odd and unrestrained laugh, snorting and uncaring if it's an embarrassing laugh. 

“Gaz… my pookie-wookie, my cutie-patootie, my absolute ray of sunshine… WHOMST THE FUCK IS DRESSING YOU LIKE THAT?!”

He probably looked like a madman with how frantically he looked around, suddenly stiffened and still as some people complained behind him from how abruptly he stopped, causing them to bump into him. Yet nothing conclusive, he couldn’t even figure out the direction it came from, much less find out who it came from. He didn’t bother talking about it, only loosely mentioning it later when it came up in a discussion.

After that it was Price and Laswell. The two of them standing in a surprisingly mundane office in the base, not expecting much when that bold-fucking-voice echoed through both of their ears. Something about being a homewrecker? They… didn’t know. 

“Laswell!!! Man I wish they had her appear more often, she’s so cool… I’d totally marry her if she didn’t have a wife… What do you mean you’d become a homewrecker in seconds? Have some fuckin’ respect for the woman. Besides I thought you liked Price? He’s… single? I think?”

But it forced both of them to lose their casual mood from before, because they both heard it and neither of them knew what to think about the fact that they were hearing it outside of missions now. That… that was very bad.

The last straw was when Ghost was handing spare masks to the team when there's a faint comment about it. He can't quite hear it, can't quite wrap his mind around what's being said. No one ever seems to make out the words; at least not fully. As if there's a barricade between them and “the voice”. A veil yet to be ripped away to reveal the person underneath. A blockade made to infuriate them and taunt their attempts.

“How many do you think he has?”

A small silence follows the initial voice, as if waiting for a response, then followed with a giggle. A response unheard to his ears, to anyone’s ears. The others tense, hearing "the voice", but no one comments on it at the moment. They had a mission to get to. But they all knew they needed to do something when they got back.

“They probably do smell. They’re out there hiding in grass, getting bloody and sweaty, sometimes deployed for a month, so they definitely stink.”

And yet nothing came of that either. The only thing that changed is that they were all aware of this voice that seemed to follow them. That only their taskforce ever seemed to hear or acknowledge it. That "the voice" came from everywhere and nowhere all at once, sounding as if it was being broadcasted directly to their brains. No trace of this thing only they could perceive, and they started coming to conclusions that were less than rational; because rational thought hadn’t gotten them anywhere thus far. Gaz suggested it might’ve been a ghost, to which Price corrected that it must be a demon rather than a ghost, Soap suggested it was some weird matrix shit, then Laswell tried to convince everyone it was some weird shared delusion. They couldn’t settle on any theories. Ghost didn’t need an explanation. Or at least, he tried convincing himself that, tried telling himself he just needed this thing gone.

These abrupt drop-ins by “the voice” went on for a long while. Something they regrettably got used to. Something they let fester and become a part of them, even if they didn't know it. “That voice” ingrained into their brains, the elated giggles, the annoyed groans, the triumphant cheers, the frequent queries, answers to questions they never heard, stupid comments, everything in-between... 

Ghost didn't notice at first. Time went on, the Task Force's missions increasing after they bombed General Ghorbrani during an arms deal Ghost intercepted. Things were escalating into a silent war the general populace wouldn’t notice, and likely never know about, kept quiet and under wraps to keep the waters calm. The voice lingering on every damn mission, somehow with all of them at once even if they were in different corners of the globe. 

Then he had a wave of realization wash over him.

It was an easy mission compared to the previous few. An easy in-and-out. Just him and Soap, watching a building from afar. Biding their time. He felt anxious, a long gone twitch in his fingers resurfacing as he felt his fingers become clammy beneath his gloves. 

He had to stay calm, stay cool. He was ‘Ghost’ right now, a walking dead-man without weakness. He was strong. This mission was easy. 

This was no time to be antsy. Patience, he reminded himself. It was just him coming down from the high of adrenaline of the previous missions, all fast paced and requiring frequent combat. That's what he tried to tell himself, when that bloody Scotsman casually began chattering over the radio.

Jokes, bad ones, yet jokes he shared an enthusiasm for with Soap nonetheless. Ghost could tell there was a slight edge to his voice as he spoke though, equally antsy. He may have been somewhat distant but he was perceptive. Picked up on behaviors in others. Read them and their emotions. It was necessary in his job, and he was sure Soap probably picked up on his nervousness as well, as he was smart, even if he sometimes seemed a little air-headed and brash at times.

"No laughs from 'that person' today?" Soap feigned offense. Then they both realized. They were anxious from the lack of that person. “The voice”. They obviously didn't know who it was or their name, but everyone on the force knew who was being referred to when someone said 'that person' or “the voice”.

 It felt laughable that they were startled by some incorporeal voice not being there. If anything, they should be grateful they were spared its presence. Yet they weren’t. Ghost laid in his bed that night, sleepless, a common occurrence for him. But tonight instead of the nightmares that played when he closed his eyes, he just… contemplated. Brooding.

It was a few nights later when he came to terms with it. He knew some things were wrong with him, hell, most soldiers had something wrong with them if they worked as long as he did. But, he found himself.. weirdly fine with it. It seemed some of his teammates felt the same way as he did, and others did not. Soap made jokes out of it, unafraid around other Task Force members to refer to “the voice”, sometimes speaking directly at it, most of the time not getting much in terms of responses. There was only really one time he could make out something from “the voice” in response to one of Soap’s direct words towards it.

“That line… didn't play last time I played this one.”

It was probably one of the only things he could make the full sentence out of, and it seems everyone else on the team heard it fairly clearly as well. “...‘That line?’” Price repeated, quizzical. Referring to it like a game. 

“Must… Must be an easter egg.” A nervous laugh followed. 

The next time he found himself on a mission with that strange feeling, as if he weren’t himself, as if something else willed his way… There was almost complete silence. Unusual, a first for that sinking feeling to be there without any noise. He noticed after the missions were over that only when he had that uncomfortable feeling was "the voice" responsive. 

“Not talkative today?” He asked, not really to anything in particular and not expecting any sort of response. He could almost intuitively tell whatever “the voice” was, was there. He was again alone for this mission and that probably was what gave him the confidence to actually speak to it. He wasn’t worried about anyone hearing him and sounding crazy. And the response? Well, it was hard to hear, almost inaudible to him, but he heard a small gasp, and a shaky breath afterwards. 

…That was probably the first time the weird feeling left his body mid-mission. As if it was the one unsettled when every time it appeared, he and his teammates felt out of control, a passenger in their own body, hazed and moving as if puppets. Hearing a voice that lacked a body, floating around and seemingly coming from nowhere. It had no echo, no substance or matter, as if the sound didn't vibrate through the air.

And it was a while before he, or anyone, heard that lovely— 

…“The voice” again. He was careful not to directly reference it. Them.

Ghost thought about it some more, and found himself talking to Gaz one night at the pub, Soap hammered, currently in the bathroom while Price tried to help him to get stable enough to get to the rented car so the four of them could return to base. “Maybe Soap wasn’t too far off with the Matrix idea.” Gaz idly swirled his cup, almost devoid of liquid and only really clinking the ice in it around. He wasn’t really talking to Ghost in particular, more-so rambling to the air and himself due to him being tipsy.

Ghost leaned back in the booth, his mask barely lifted enough to allow him to drink a bourbon he’d been nursing half the night. Didn’t want a hangover the next day, he’d already be in a bad mood since he had recruits to train and they were often stupid and infuriating. “Yeah? How so?” 

Gaz, who seemed to not really mean anything when he initially spoke, sat up straighter, more zoned in on the conversation upon seeing his Lieutenant had taken an interest in what he was saying. “I was thinking about some of the things I’ve heard, that the others have heard, and just… the reactions in general. And that feeling… I don’t know if you get it but—”

“Like you’re possessed.” He interjected, knowing what he meant. Gaz’s eyes widened slightly. While they all knew about “the voice”, it seems none of them knew that weird feeling was shared. The feeling of being possessed, watched, almost like they were prey, not highly experienced military men capable of defending themselves and others. He nodded and drank the rest of his bourbon, setting it down on the table and looking back to Gaz, tucking his mask back down over his face.

“It’s just like… Like they’re playing a game. Controlling us. The reactions… It's like when you complete an objective or something. And it’d explain the feeling, like we’re controlled. Plus with how they reacted to Soap that one time, I could see it.”

“See it? The hell you seein’?” He didn't want to believe his life was a game. But Gaz made some good points. Ghost… No, Simon didn't play many games. He’d played a few party games with his team during off-time, Price convincing them that Mario-Kart was in fact a good team-bonding activity and absolutely necessary. But his off time wasn’t usually spent playing games, it just wasn’t something he could relax enough to do, never able to get calm enough to focus solely on said game.

“Imagine you’re playing a game—”

“Hard to imagine.” He barks, slightly sorry at the tone, though he wouldn’t correct himself.

Gaz sighs and continues. “Okay, imagine that it's team bonding night, and we’re playing Mario Party. Imagine everyone having a good time, laughing, chatting, playing the game, when Mario turns directly to the screen and acknowledges you. Like, unprompted, never happened before when you’ve played the game hundreds of times before? You’d probably be a little freaked out if you knew it wasn't the type of game to do something like that.”

Price interrupts, Soap slung over his shoulder and motions for them to head out to the car after he pays for the tab. Once everyone is in the car, Gaz continues.

“It’s just, the shit they said made me think about it. ‘That line’, ‘last time I played this one’, hell, them directly talking about us talking to them as an ‘easter egg’ makes it seem pretty clear to me.” Price glanced over, raising a brow at Gaz, who was sitting in the front passenger as He drove. Ghost was unfortunately stuck with a very clingy Soap in the back seat. “It’s clear whatever they were referencing is similar to a game, one they’ve played before. “

“You talking about ‘that person’? ‘The voice’?” Price sighs, slightly exasperated at the topic. He wasn’t quite convinced about "the voice" being real. He was still slightly in denial, but his slight intoxication must’ve allowed him to continue listening to the topic, not shutting down Gaz’s line of thought quite yet.

“You see what I mean though? If you were playing a game and the character you were playing just randomly acknowledges you out of nowhere, suddenly fucking sentient, you’d probably be scared shitless, especially if they’re a normal civilian.” Price hums, and Ghost blinks slowly, taking the information in and moving away from partaking in the conversation. The reaction was pretty akin to the one from when he was alone and spoke to “the voice”.

“Who’d wanna play a game involving the shite we do? We’re a bunch of soldiers doing unsavory work, I doubt that’s entertaining.” Price shakes his head, gripping the wheel a little tighter, his knuckles slightly turning white before he relaxes his hand with a sigh.

“Maybe not to us since it’s real-life. But think about it like this, a ton of people watch horror movies or slasher films. It’s not that they enjoy watching people die or get scared, but it’s like… an adrenaline thing. And you know when ‘that person’ appears most? On missions.”

This time, nobody responded. Gaz didn’t bother continuing either, already having made his point clear. An uncomfortable air settled in the car, not even forgotten the next day, even Soap somehow was capable of remembering the conversation despite the fact his head was reeling and his stomach turning in the backseat of the car.

This time they had settled on a theory.

[vivwritesfics]

Keep on Rolling - MV1

Chapter Five

Summary: Lando's best friend having feelings for anyone on the grid? Impossible, right? She worked with them, sharing her friendship with the grid with the world via the FormulaY/N youtube channel.

After film a video including... spicy water (alcohol), everything changes between her and a certain world champion. Good thing she hasn't had a crush on him since his F1 debut, right?

Right?

1.3K words

Promised QandA in next part

Series Masterlist

"Hey man," Lando said to Max one evening at dinner. It was drivers only, simply because Y/N was too busy working. Everybody wanted her there, but she couldn't spare the time.

Max looked at Lando with a polite smile, too busy eating to say anything.

"You let Y/N interview you?"

He nodded his head, still eating.

"Oh. Well, the rest of us ran away. We didn't trust it not to be a prank," Lando continued. "Why didn't you?"

Max stopped eating to look at him. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"What? No. I just want to know what you're doing with my best friend," answered Lando. This was starting to piss him off. "I don't care what you do, as long as you don't do anything to hurt her."

Max simply scoffed. He didn't have any intentions with Y/N. Whatever happened, happened. If that took them down the romantic route, so be it.

"Don't worry," he said, returning his attention to his food. "I don't plan on hurting her." He ate ignoring Lando and every other driver sat around the table. There was a good few minutes where Lando stared at him, something like disgust written on his face. He didn't mean to be pulling such a face, but he couldn't help it when it came to Y/N

***

Y/N's eyes hurt as she stared at the emails on her screen. "What the fuck," she whispered, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was seeming more and more impossible to find a moment of peace for her.

You need to look at this and give a statement, ASAP, the email said. This is the second time this has happened in the space of a month. How does this keep happening? You need to watch yourself to make sure it doesn't happen again

She read the email a couple of times over before clicking the link.

It was an Instagram post that had gone viral within the F1 community. Pictures of her with the drivers, hidden away in hotel rooms. Moments that nobody but Y/N and the drivers involved should have pictures of.

Her having dinner in Lando's apartment, Y/N and Charles walking through the hallway of a hotel together. There was one occasion where she, Lando and Carlos had snuck up to the roof of the hotel. Somehow that picture was in the post.

The worst one, though? There was a picture of Y/N and Max laying together. It must have been after the drunken quiz video, after they had fallen asleep against each other. It was such an intimate moment, a moment meant for the two of them and nobody else.

They were pictures nobody should have had. Who had taken them? Where had they come from? How did this account have them?

But then Y/N scrolled down to the comments

Username: omg she's such a whore

Username: You'd think this years championship would be interesting since she's sleeping with the whole grid

Username: I've never liked her

Username: She ruined Lando

Username: yeah I liked Carlando better before it involved her

They just went on and on like that. Thousands of them. For every supportive comment, there seemed to be two negative ones. It was horrible. How was she supposed to put out a statement about it.

So, she pulled out her phone and did the only thing she knew to do.

Ten minute later, there was a knock at her door. Y/N wiped her tears and ran to pull it open. "Oh thank god," she said through a sob and wrapped her arms around him.

Lando walked her further into the room and pushed the door shut behind him. “Tell me what happened,” he said and sat her down on her bed. He sat beside her and Y/N instantly placed her head on his shoulder.

"People are horrible," she sniffed as she pulled up the Instagram account.

Taking her phone from her hand, Lando scrolled through the pictures before getting to the comments. As he read them, his grip on Y/N was tight, growing tighter with every horrible comment.

"I've never seen these before," said Lando as he scrolled back up to the pictures. From the way they were taken, they couldn't have been fan pictures - they must have come from someone right there with them.

Lando pressed his finger against the power button and dropped Y/N's phone into his lap. He pulled her close, running his fingers through her hair. "Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this."

There was nothing they could do that night. So Y/N locked the door, double checked the lock and then pushed her bedside table up against it.

Y/N and Lando fell asleep together, spread out across the bed. They'd fallen asleep together several times before. They'd been doing it since they were kids, sharing a bed on sleepovers. It was a habit that hadn't died and had only taken breaks when either of them were dating.

"Promise everything is going to be okay?" Y/N muttered in her sleep as she rolled towards the door.

Lando's answer was a snore.

***

Max was used to his phone blowing up over night. He was a world famous Formula One driver, it was bound to happen. But, when he scrolled through his notifications this time, everything was different.

Pictures, none of which he had seen before. He was in some, but the one thing every picture had in common was Y/N. Max ignored all the pictures that didn't have him in the, all the pictures but the last one. The one of him in bed with her/

Nobody had been in the room with them, Max had made sure of it.

His phone vibrated in his hand. But it wasn't who Max hoped it would be. It wasn't the girl he had been pictured with. It was his father. Jos Verstappen. Just the man Max didn't want to be speaking to.

He swiped his finger across the screen and pressed his phone to his ear.

Have you ever been berated by an angry Dutchman almost to the point of tears. Max had. He'd been berated by his father so many times before. Even now, as a twenty five year old, it still stung just as much as it had when he was a child.

Jos ran through the list of all of the news article headlines he had read that morning. All of them about his son and the youtuber that had been following the grid around like a lost dog.

As much as Max wanted to defend her, Jos didn't give him the chance. He sat there in silence as his dad shouted at him down the phone. When Jos finally hung up, Max let out a sigh.

Suddenly there was a knock at his hotel room door. Now in a foul mood, Max stood and opened up the door.

"Hey," he said, letting his visitor in.

The visitor said nothing and walked into his room. "You need to stay away from Y/N."

Max stared at Lando. He said nothing, just stared, so Lando continued. "Stay away from her. Stop falling asleep with her, stop going near her. She doesn't need you to fuck up her life."

Max sat himself back on his bed and patted his thighs in a repetitive pattern. He'd just gotten enough of this from his father, he didn't need this from Lando, too. "What gives you the right?" he asked. "Why can't she make her own decisions?"

"She doesn't know what she wants," Lando spat.

Max shook his head. "I think you're wrong," he said. "I think she knows what she wants and you're unwilling to listen to her."

Suddenly Lando was very close to him, getting in his face. "Stay the fuck away from her," he growled and marched out of the room.

Taglist (Open): @sticksdoesart @eviethetheatrefreak @eugene-emt-roe @glai1023-blog @mqcherie @itsjustkhaos @chonkybonky @arian-directioner @lazybot @lpab @princessria127 @fangirl125reader @honethatty12 @larastark3107 @urfavouritef1girly @cassiopeiia24 @callsign-scully @lexiecamposv @dl-yum @savagecelery @laneyspaulding19 @formulas-bitch @teenwolf01

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

What do you think a relationship between Mary and Sister Winchester would really be like?

In the event that Sister Winchester is clearly not Mary's daughter

John had an affair with a normal woman and although we know that he never forgot Mary, he really came to care about the Winchester sister's mother, until she died or left. How would Mary take finding out that John was with someone else? Or I think the question is whether I could come to terms with it even though Sister Winchester is a constant reminder that John was with someone else.

How would Dean and Sam tell this to Mary?

Dean and Sam try not to talk about Sister Winchester's mother in front of Mary or talk about her as if she was nobody in John's life (never in a cruel way) so as not to hurt Mary's feelings, in the same way that Sam and Dean tried not to talk in front of Mary about what a bad father John was and that bothers Sister Winchester because she's like "she's my mom, if you don't want her Mary knows about her, that's fine, but don't talk about her as if she were nobody."

And which brings me to my last question.

If somehow Sister Winchester's mother were alive, do you think Sister Winchester would spend more time with her mother than with the boys when Mary returns?

What would the relationship between Mary and Sister Winchester's mother be like?

How would Dean and Sam take it if the Winchester sister wanted to go live with her mother after Mary returns (and before she leaves) so as not to make things awkward?

I think the boys would be a little heartbroken when their sister tells them "I want to stay with mom."

(I’m gonna write this like a reader insert so that I don’t have to keep writing sister Winchester 😅)

Ok, so first I don’t really think John could get super close to another woman, he was too obsessed with Mary, but for the sake of argument let’s say he did.

I don’t think she would still be around—if you could’ve had a safe life, John/Dean wouldn’t let you live with them, they’d want you to stay with your mother. Unless of course your mother didn’t want you, and left you with John.

This is how I think it would go down—you got kidnapped with Sam, so Mary doesn’t meet you right away. Dean, ever the avoidant one, doesn’t tell Mary about his little sister, so her meeting you is quite a shock. When Dean and Mary bust in to save Sam, she sees you tied up right next to him. After an awkward yet excited greeting with Sam, Mary starts to wonder about you.

“I wonder how many other hunters they have stuck in here,” she says. “I mean, this is just a kid! What could they want from her?”

“They don’t have anyone else,” Sam says. “They wanted information on other hunters.”

“Well, then how did they get her?” Mary asks.

“She…she was in the bunker with me,” Sam says. You haven’t said anything—you know who this is, you’ve seen her in pictures, and you’re too shy and shocked to say anything.

“Mom,” Dean cuts in. “She’s our sister.”

The ride back to the bunker is super awkward. Once they get there, Dean tells you to go back to your room for a bit so he can talk to Mary.

Dean explains about your mother, but he makes it sound like she wasn’t anyone important. He’s trying to dampen the blow for Mary, but in doing so he makes your mom seem like a nobody. Little does he know that you didn’t actually go to your room.

“Hey!” You speak up for the first time since Mary showed up. “You don’t have to talk about her like that, Dean. If you don’t want Mary to know about her that’s fine, but don’t talk about her like she was nobody!”

“Hey,” Sam would interrupt, trying to sooth you. “Let’s take a look at you in the bathroom, ok? I know they hurt you, we should clean up some of those injuries.”

You’d let Sam take you away now that you’d said what you wanted to.

“I’m sorry,” you said to Sam while he fixed up your wounds. “I’m not trying to mess anything up with your mom, I’m glad you got her back, I just…Dean was talking about my mom like she didn’t matter.”

“It’s ok,” Sam said. “I know you didn’t want to ruin anything. And I know it must’ve hurt hearing Dean talk like that. Dean…he’s always been in a bit of denial about your mom. You know, dad was always so obsessed with getting revenge for mom, that Dean thinks that that means he couldn’t care about anyone else. But he did, he did care about your mom kiddo.”

Mary would stay away from you for the most part. She doesn’t like you, and deep down everyone knows it. I mean, she came from the past, so as far as she remembers, she was married to John like yesterday. So the idea that she died and he moved on and got with someone else, and right in front of her is John’s child with some other woman?—that has to hurt. (I’m playing devil’s advocate here but in reality I really don’t like Mary).

I think Mary would probably belittle your ideas, like—

“Well she’s a child. She doesn’t understand how this works.”

And Sam would very gently remind her, “Mom, she’s been hunting for a while.”

“Not nearly as long as I have.”

Because of this, you’d speak up less and less before hunts. In fact, you talk less in the bunker in general, because whenever you do Mary gives you this side eye, like she’d forgotten you were still there.

It doesn’t become too much of a problem at first, because pretty soon Mary leaves to “get some space” (one of the main reasons I hate her) and “adjust” or whatever. As soon as she’s gone, the boys notice the difference in you. Your more confident in the bunker, and you talk a lot more. You always shut up, though, whenever Mary comes to visit.

You never talk about this with the brothers, because you’d never try to hurt their relationship with Mary.

So back to your mom—let’s say she’s alive, but she left you with John. You never wanted to find her before, because she left you with John because she didn’t want to put herself or her family (she has a lot of siblings and friends that she’s super close to) in danger. John told you all about it so that you would know that it wasn’t about you—your mom wanted you, but it was too complicated with the possibility that demons knew about you. You wanted to leave her be, but with Mary around you got desperate. You finally tell the boys—

“I want to go find my mom.”

They’re heartbroken that you want to leave, but they won’t make you stay. They know why you’re leaving, after all, and they can’t do anything about it—Mary’s their mom, and you’re their little sister, and they can’t pick between you.

So you go after your mom and find her—she’s happy to see you and know you’re ok, and she lets you stay with her, but after a while you start to feel unwelcome there, too. You know you’re probably putting her in danger, but you just don’t know what to do.

Just when you’re at the end of your rope, the brothers come and find you. They ask you to come back.

“Mary isn’t around much anymore,” Dean says, and you notice he sounds bitter. “She…she was working with the British Men of Letters.”

This comes as a shock to you, but you can’t deny that it feels great to come back to the bunker with just your big brothers. Of course they kind of-ish reconcile with Mary after a while, but since she betrayed them like that they stand up for you now—after all, you’ve never betrayed them like that. So the first time Mary tries to shut you down, Dean snaps at her—

“She has more right to be at this table than you, so let her speak.”

And Mary doesn’t do it again.

When John comes back, you don’t know what to do. This day is about the Winchesters, and as much as you wanted to see your dad again, you didn’t want to wreck anything. Your hiding out in your room for a while when John notices.

“Where’d your little sister go?”

“I think she’s in her room,” Sam says, and tells John where it is.

John’s the one who goes to find you. You’re expecting Sam or Dean when you hear a knock, so when John comes in you’re surprised.

“Hey baby.” John smiles at you. “What are you doing in here?”

“I-I didn’t want to mess up your family day,” you say.

“You’re my family, too,” John says, coming over and sitting on your bed. “I…I know things are probably a little strange with Mary back, but…but I want to see you, too. You’re my baby girl, always. Ok?”

You hug John, and he laughs.

“Ok.”

[girlreblogger]

the annoyance with blk y/n and the stories she’s in is hilarious. her characteristics might be the problem one day or her side characters the next. it legit feels like we may never get to a balanced solution on what to do with our own representation since the wrong ppl always talk about it and create it. we have mean and shallow ppl who take over the conversation, ppl who really self hate but try and cover it up with “i just don’t want her to be a stereotype” and then the ones who probably love and support tyler perry movies.

the bottom line is the ppl who do write those niggafying, toxic (it’s a buzzword but that’s what they are) or smutty fics (not talking abt the actual good ones with a blk reader though 🧎🏽‍♀️) can do wtv they want and owe you nothing. that’s why they get so frustrated. i don’t think all the times those should be crucified for what they write when other groups of ppl (or our own) write all kinds of other crazy shit.

and.. i know a lot of ppl who don’t want to say it but y’all keep bringing up the smut and niggafying as the main problem, but i think it’s some of the ppl writing it and their underlings. it’s just no one wants to say anything.

an excerpt from a draft of mine

“a lot of ppl on here be weirdos or mean asl. so when someone block you don’t be like “oh what i did” “they that mad cause of my (internet—fictional—digital on screen) presence”

like nobody got time to go to your acc and say “i don’t like you” who cares. oddly some miserable ppl do actually but still. the lack of awareness is ridiculous. that’s why ppl don’t f with y’all.”

i was talking abt all of tumblr and every other app but it applies here.

from what i see on here, some are just straight up weird, cliquey, and chiesty (if that’s how you spell it) and that’s why ppl be so mad abt those types of books 💀. we also have to acknowledge the amount of overwhelming & honestly damaging blk yn fics (not to be confused with ppls screwed ideas of stereotypical) there are. i understand why ppl write them for personal reasons but when it comes to our own reflections of ourselves as blk women it’s almost hurtful to read some of the things people put “her” through. i mean even her with a white man that use aave and has cornrows is hurtful.. 😔 (i’m trolling now 💀) naw but fr. i personally don’t like reading blk women just being written for smut or going through crazy situations or kinda like.. i don’t wanna say unfulfilling but like.. idk i can’t think of the word. (edit: ppl write blk yn to be in unfulfilling situations) but girl i can watch a tyler perry movie for all that.

again. ppl write these stories for there own personal reasons, relate to them and enjoy them for those reasons as well. that’s why depending! on what it is i don’t think blk writers should be bombarded with hate like that. also ion think smut should be banned like y’all go to far can we just slow down on it … there are some nice ones out there i promise 🧎🏽‍♀️

but in all seriousness there are many other reasons why i feel toxic and smutty fics are popular for blk yn but i don’t think anyone cares to hear that and the conversion will prolly go back to nigga eren somehow which is crazy cause y’all be arguing over a fictional white man.

oh! 😒 i almost forgot 😒 the ppl who are against “ghetto” y/n to try and advocate for more fluffy or like.. normal (healing) stories and from what i see the ppl who are the most up in arms about it in my personal opinion seem to dislike certain parts of blkness that i appreciate personally and so i just straight up disregard their opinions. y/n doesn’t have to “act” (😒) blk but i see ppl get mad about her protecting her hair….. with a bonnet….

sigh, anyway but yeah we need more soft and sweet fics or just like calming ones? but someone gon have to write it! i don’t like this app or my writing all too much so i gave up a while ago.

just like many other blk writers….

gaspp! we should also do like a fluff challenge or sumn where writers do like fluff … march? girl idk so maybe that will trend and all the ppl who spend time arguing and going back and forth with ppl who write stories they don’t like can like idk look for other writers who write soft, normal, fun stories and reblog them or make a list of them. or maybe like possibly write their own stories too????

everyone says the smut fics gets the most likes and they do. that’s why you keep seeing them. so maybe support or refreakingblog the fics that are comforting to you so others can be as well.

i actually made this page to repost softer fics because i was tired of blocking certain tags so i can avoid heavy smut and subtly abuse fics. also pls leave the ppl who niggafy anime characters alone they will not be stopped. i mean we still have ppl who have been calling chris evans jamal since 2020.. calling him that to this date. married and all.

sigh… 2 more days until blk history month ends. maybe next year we can find a balance between “dramatic” and smutty fics and soft and slice of life ones for blk y/n next year. remember this is tumblr too and the ppl writing aren’t even getting paid for this but it’s for the ppl yk.

ppl who are respectful and reblog tho.

muah

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Grew in my Heart

It's finally done you guys!!!! This is my take on a foster Pony au, loosely based on this idea from @freak-l0rd-certifed. It's currently unedited but I'll post it here anyways, and then cross post an edited version on my ao3. @pepsicurtis asked to be tagged when it was done based on a snippet I posted earlier, so here you go. This is part 1, part 2 is fully written and will be up tomorrow.

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

The lady on the other side of the room is watching him.

That’s okay though. Ponyboy is used to people watching him. Social workers, foster parents, group home staff, police. Everyone watches him all the time but nobody cares, cares for him or about him, so Ponyboy doesn’t mind this lady joining in. He knows he looks weird, with his sticky out ears and the patchy haircut Mr. Fuller gave him and the bruise around his eye. So he understands why this lady is watching him, and doesn't begrudge her for it.  Besides, she looks like a nice lady. Nice ladies don’t usually watch him. If they do they don’t usually look at him with the kindness glowing in the woman’s shining green eyes.

The lady smiles at him and he ducks back into his book, ears burning. She wasn’t supposed to catch him looking.

When he peeks over the top of his copy of Great Expectation a minute later, she’s still watching him, smiling in a way Ponyboy would call amusement if he didn’t know better. He quickly hides again, cursing himself for drawing notice. It’s never a good thing. Never. Better he stay quiet, stay invisible. Invisible kids didn’t get hurt.

He hopes Ms. Summers will come back soon and take him to wherever he’ll be staying next, if only so that he can leave the waiting room, escape from where this nice lady and her nice family are no doubt waiting for them to bring a brand new baby to adopt. Probably one only a few days old, something sweet and cute and new they could love and pamper. Nice people only ever came to the child services offices to pick up babies. Anyone who came to pick up kids was usually about as nice as the people who dropped them off. 

He goes back to his book. Usually it’s easy to escape into the story where he can pretend to be a knight or a hero or anything but stupid, small, unwanted Ponyboy Hewitt, but he can’t seem to concentrate today. It’s not just because of the nice looking lady with the green eyes who keeps watching him, keeping an eye on him the same way she’s been keeping an eye on the three boys who came in with her. His head is also aching something fierce. That last knock from Mr. Fuller was kind of hard. 

Hard enough Ms.Summers thought he should move again anyway.

“Quit fidgeting, Soda,” an authoritative voice from the other side of the room says, and Ponyboy can’t help but glance over. He tells himself it’s because the speaker was kind of loud, but he knows deep down that’s not the case. It’s not because the boy is loud, it’s because he’s cool. He’s a lot bigger than Pony is, and older too, with wavy brown hair and broad shoulders. He could probably look Mr.Fuller square in the face and never be scared, not ever. “We have to show we’re the perfect family or they won’t let us keep Johnny.”

“Really?” The boy who answers has golden blond hair and rosy cheeks with a dimple high in one corner. Pony never really understood what books meant when they talked about eyes twinkling until the boy had pranced into the office a few minutes before, looking like a prince straight from a fairytale. His eyes aren’t twinkling now though: instead, they’re shining with worry. His shadow, a smaller boy with jet black hair and tan skin, looks the same, eyes wide and terrified in his peaked face. “They can’t do that just ‘cause I’m sittin’ wrong, can they mom?”

He turns anxiously to the nice lady who smiles and smooths down his hair.

“Of course not honey,” she soothes, “we don’t gotta prove we’re perfect to keep Johnny, we just gotta prove we love him. And we do.”

She turns her smile on the dark haired boy who flushes and ducks his head shyly, looking unfathomably pleased. Ponyboy swallows hard and looks away, his own ears reddening. It’s not fair for him to hate the dark haired boy, he knows it isn’t, but it doesn’t matter. In that moment, he kind of hates him anyway. 

The woman’s gentle smile has confirmed what he suspected all along. She’s a nice mom, the kind he’s only ever read about in storybooks. She probably kisses those boys goodnight- even the big one, even if he pretended it wasn’t cool- and probably smells like cinnamon and bakes birthday cakes sometimes, puts bandages on cuts, and never slaps them, not ever. 

He wants Ms. Summers to come back. He wants to leave. He doesn’t want to sit here and watch a boy his own age get adopted by the kind of family he wishes he could have more than anything in the world. 

The blonde boy sticks his tongue out at the cool one and makes a fart noise.

“See Darry? They ain’t gonna take Johnny! You’re stupid and wrong!”

“Sodapop Patrick Curtis!” A man Ponyboy assumed must be the nice lady’s husband and the boys’ father boomed, “What have I told you about using that kind of language towards your brother?”

“That it's not how we speak to our family,” the blonde boy, Sodapop, says like he was reading off a teleprompter. Clearly, this was not the first time he’d heard that particular reprimand, “but dad, I was only defending my other brother.”

“Be that as it may,” Mr.Curtis said, “I don’t want to hear that language from you any more.” He sounded stern, but his eyes were still glinting proudly and there was a smile hiding somewhere near the corner of his mouth. Not a scary dad then. A good one.

“Yeah Soda,” the older boy, Darry, grinned, seeming unperturbed by the insult. He was real handsome, Pony thought. If he was Sodapop he’d never call that Darry boy stupid, not ever. “Save that language for socs. Or Two-bit when he’s playin’ poker against Dally.”

Sodapop laughed then, any traces of animosity disappearing, Johnny grinning quietly beside him. 

Ponyboy decides he’s done watching them be happy, and goes to the washroom.

He does his business, standing on tiptoe to reach the sink when he’s done because it’s meant for adults not for kids and there's no footstool. He can’t reach the soap, even when he jumps, so he just settles for rinsing extra long. The paper towel dispenser is also too high to reach so he dries his hands on his pants and goes back to the waiting room. 

“Oh honey, wait,” he doesn’t realize the nice lady is speaking to him until she’s kneeling in front of him, tugging his shirt from where he hadn’t noticed it had gotten twisted and tucked into his pants, pulling it out and smoothing it down nicely, “there you go. All handsome again.”

She smiles, looking like sunshine incarnate, and Ponyboy kind of wants to die.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, sure he must be redder than a tomato, then flees back to his chair on the other side of the waiting room. They’re all watching him now, the nice lady and her nice husband, and the three boys who are now all sitting in a circle on the floor, playing a game of cards. 

He opens Great Expectations to a random page and stares at it hard, trying very hard not to cry. He’s almost seven years old, he’s not a baby anymore. He will not cry just because one lady was nice to him and now her perfect family is staring at him. He won't. 

“Hi!” Suddenly, blonde, beautiful Sodapop is in front of him, grinning like Ponyboy is the best thing he’s ever seen ever, “I’m Soda. Wanna play cards with us?”

He wants to, more than anything, but he knows if he does it’ll just feel worse when they leave and he doesn’t go with them , or when Ms. Summers comes to drag him away to whoever will bother keeping him for the next few weeks, so he can’t.

He shakes his head, unable to actually say no, and Soda deflates, eager grin melting into an unhappy pout, shoulders curling forward, and the twinkle in his eye dimming. He looks like Pony just ruined his whole day with one shake of his head. 

“Ok,” he sighs, dramatic and world weary, and it would seem like an act if his eyes weren’t entirely genuine, “if you change your mind, you can c’mon over anytime. It would be so much more fun with another person.”

He rejoins the other two boys who shoot curious looks Pony’s way, but he ignores them, looking back at his book. He’s not reading though. He can’t. Instead he’s listening to the boys playing cards, wishing more than anything that he could join them.

“I win.” Dark haired Johnny proclaims for the third time and Soda throws down his cards with a dramatic groan, while Darry just laughs. He seems real nice, not like the big boys at the group homes who liked to steal Pony’s books and shove him around. He hadn’t gotten mad at Soda or Johnny even once, not even when they were playing Go Fish and Soda cheated by peeking at his cards. 

“You little shark,” Darry ruffled Johnny's dark hair, the smaller boy flinching a little before leaning into the touch, “how do you keep doin’ that, huh?”

Johnny shrugged. “It’s a secret.”

“You’re cheatin’!” Soda accused.

“Am not!”

“Are too! No one wins as much as you.”

“I’m just good at cards without cheatin’.”

Soda huffed. “You’re lucky you’re my brother now or I’d fight you.”

“I’d win.” Johnny boasts, and suddenly he looks fierce, chin jutting and eyes fiery, like every kid in every home who fought grownups and just ended up beaten down worse. 

“That’s enough,” Darry pulls the two apart, practically picking them each up with one hand, “quit arguin' or I’m putin’ the cards away.”

“No!” Soda throws himself to the ground, arm draped dramatically across his forehead, “I’ll die of boredom!”

“Then sit up and be good,” Darry tells him, and Soda scrambles to do as he’s told. Pony feels his own spine straightening. It’s just because he’s tired, he tells himself.  It has nothing to do with wanting Darry to look at him with the same approval he looks at Soda and Johnny with. He needs to stretch out a bit, that’s all.

“Y’know,” Darry says, disarmingly casual, easily shuffling the cards the way Pony always wanted to but could never manage, the movement too deft for his clumsy fingers, “there's so many more games we could play with four players.” 

If he didn’t know better Pony would swear Darry was looking at him sideways as he said it, grinning conspiratorially like they were sharing a joke. 

“Euchre…gin rummy…spades…signals…”

Pony’s heart jumped. He loved signals. 

It was practically another invitation right? And Soda had said he could join anytime if he changed his mind…surely one game wouldn’t hurt. 

He scoots forward a bit on the chair, considering. 

“Well?” Suddenly Darry- handsome, cool Darry- is grinning right at him, one eyebrow raised, “You in or not?”

And well….that was an actual invitation. From a big boy no less! Usually boys like Darry wanted nothing to do with him.

Pony could feel what was surely a far too eager grin spreading over his face and he nodded, quickly taking a spot on the floor in between Soda and Johnny. Darry’s grin turned triumphant, like he was the one who’d just been invited to play cards by a cool stranger. 

“Nice. What’s your name kiddo?”

“Ponyboy.” He mumbles, bracing himself for laughter that never comes. Instead Darry just nods, starting to deal cards with ease. 

“Tuff name. I’m Darry, and this here’s Johnny.” 

Pony offered a shy smile in response to Johnny’s friendly nod, earlier vitriol forgotten. It wasn’t Johnny’s fault he was lucky. Pony shouldn’t hate him for it. 

“You already met Soda.”

Darry gives Soda a fondly exasperated look, and Pony focuses very hard on the cards being dealt so he won’t have to look at their faces.

Unsure of what to say, he just nods. Luckily, Darry keeps talking.

“Well Ponyboy, I reckon since you just joined you get to pick the game.”

“R-really?”

“Sure.” Darry smiled kindly. Golly he was nice. “We’ll play a few rounds and then switch it up if any of us are getting bored.”

“Can-” Ponyboy hesitated. Darry nods, encouraging him to continue, “can we play signals?”

“Sure. You okay to be on a team with me?”

“Yes,” Pony could hardly believe his luck. Not only were they playing his favourite game, but Darry wanted to be on a team with him!

“Ok,” Soda chirped, “me’n Johnny are going over there so you don’t listen to us pick our signals like cheaters!”

“Soda!” Mr Curtis warned.

“I’m bein’ nice!”

Pony giggled. 

“Ignore him,” Darry advised, scooting over to sit beside him, “I wish I could say he’s just bein’ crazy ‘cause he’s excited, but the truth is he’s always like that. He ain’t really mean though, just has too much energy.”

“I know,” Pony tells him, “I seen mean before. He ain’t it. If he was mean he’d have taken my book or followed me to the bathroom and put my head in the toilet.”

A horrified gasp makes him jump. He’d momentarily forgotten all about sunshiney Mrs.Curtis, but now she’s staring at him in horror, eyes filled with rage. 

What did he do? Did she not want him to be telling her nice golden sons about stuff like that? 

“I-I’m sorry I-” he can feel his ears burning and wishes more than anything he’d stayed on that hard plastic chair where he was safe instead of getting drawn in by the light of the family in front of him. 

“Whoa, hey,” Darry catches him by the arm before he can scramble to his feet, grip not bruising like he’s used to but gentle, reassuring, “where are you going? We haven’t picked a signal yet.”

His smile is so hopeful. Hesitantly, Pony settles back down. 

“Ok.”

“Well?” Darry nudges him gently, carefully. It seems to Ponyboy that someone so big shouldn’t be able to do that and not hurt him just a little bit, but somehow Darry manages it. “What signal do you think we should do?”

Pony glances across the room at where Soda is gesturing exaggeratedly and talking at Johnny a mile a minute.

“Something small,” he decides, “something they won’t notice.”

“Good thinking,” Darry’s approval feels like sitting in the sunshine and eating ice cream and reading a book all at once, “how about…rubbing our noses?”

He demonstrates, rubbing a finger under his nose like he’s scratching an itch and Ponyboy nods, copying the action. 

“Perfect.”

He raises his left hand then. Taps his ear. Waits a few seconds. Taps his ear again.

“What are you doing?” Darry wonders. 

“I have a trick,” Ponyboy informs him.

“Oh?” Darry’s raising a single eyebrow again, looking intrigued. A swell of unearned pride starts in Ponyboy’s chest. 

“Yep,” Pony nods, “they’re watching us right now.”

Darry follows his gaze across the room to where Johnny is watching them out of the corner of his eye, while acting for all the world like he’s still focused on Sodapop. 

“So,” Ponyboy continues. He taps his ear again, “if we do a fake signal now, like we’re practicing, and then do it while we’re playing they’ll call signal and get themselves disqualified and we’ll win.”

“Huh,” Darry reaches up and taps his own ear, “good thinkin’ kid.”

Pony glows.

“We’re ready,” Soda announces a second later, dragging Johnny behind him, “and we have the best signal ever. You’ll never guess it.”

“We’ll see.” Darry challenges, flipping the first card off the deck, and the game begins.

Pony checks his own hand. Two jacks, a two, and a seven. Deciding to go for jacks he passes the two facedown and slides it left to Johnny, picking up the ten Soda placed down for him on the other side.

He passes and trades cards for a few seconds, managing to pick up a third jack on the way. When it’s been long enough it’s not suspicious, he reaches up and taps his ear, trying to make it seem like he’s scratching an itch.

The trick works. 

“Block!” Johnny cries triumphantly, pointing at him and Pony grins, shaking his head. 

“Nope!”

“What?” That’s Sodapop, “We’re out? But-but I’m with Johnny! Johnny always wins!”

“Guess not this time,” Darry grins, raising a hand. It takes a second for Pony to realize he’s reaching out for a high five instead of to cuff him, but when he does he reaches out eagerly, tapping Darry’s palm with his own.

“How did you do that?” Johnny wonders, head tilted in confusion, “I saw you tapping your ear earlier when you were making your signal.”

“It was a trick!” Pony grins. Darry is pleased, and they just won a card game, and no one here has gotten properly mad at him at all. 

Johnny shakes his head, grinning ruefully. “Well it was a good one.”

Soda declared he wanted a rematch, so they played a few more rounds, until Johnny figured out their trick and then both teams had so many fake signals and everyone was too scared to block anyone and could hardly remember their real signals from their fake ones. Darry was just proposing they switch to playing crazy eights when Ms. Summers hurried out of the office, looking harried as usual.

“Oh! Ponyboy,” She looks surprised to see him sitting on the floor, “don’t go botherin’ these nice folks now. I know you’ve had a long day, and I promise I’m workin’ as hard as I can to figure things out so just sit tight and be good a few minutes longer. I just got a few more calls to make and I’ll get you some lunch, alright? C’mon and sit properly now, that’s a good boy.” 

She pulls him to his feet, not roughly exactly, but carelessly, the way he’s used to, and he ducks his head, shoulders curling automatically as she frog marches him back to the plastic chair in the corner of the waiting room she’d parked him in at seven o'clock this morning.

“He ain’t botherin’ us!” Suddenly Soda is on his feet, glaring at Ms. Summers. “We invited him to play. We’re havin’ fun.”

“He’s really no trouble,” Mrs. Curtis smiles, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder. Her voice is as sugar sweet as ever but there’s something hard in her eyes nevertheless as she stares Ms. Summers down, “the boys are all havin’ fun playing together and I have no problem keepin’ an eye on him for you. He’s a good boy, like you said.”

She turns the full force of her smile on him, her eyes suddenly all softness, and Ponyboy finds himself wondering what it would be like if somebody looked at him like that every day, like he was something instead of nothing.

“Well, if you’re sure, I suppose that's fine. You be good Pony,” Ms. Summers says, and then she’s gone again, back into the office, back to making phone calls to find someone, anyone, willing to take him in.

Pony stands where she left him, half dragged across the room, lost in the waiting room he’d spend what felt like half his life in.

“That lady,” Soda says, “was a bitch.”

Darry’s eyebrows shoot up, and Soda grins cheekily over his shoulder in a way that says he fully expects a reprimand, but to Ponyboy’s surprise Mr.Curtis just nods slowly.

“Y'know son, I think in this case you might be right.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Mrs. Curtis says, but it’s so half-hearted even Ponyboy can tell. Her eyes are fixed on Ms.Summers’ door, lips pressed into a thin line, and Pony gets the feeling she’s real mad but hiding it real well.

“She don’t know what to do with me,” Pony finds himself defending his social worker. She ain’t mean really, ain't even a bad person. She’s just busy. Too busy to really care. “It ain’t her fault. I cause her a lotta problems.”

“I have a very hard time believing that,” Mrs. Curtis says, “I don’t think you could cause problems if you tried.”

He could. He wasn’t like Curly from the group home, who did everything he possibly could and then some to cause problems, but Pony did create them sometimes. One time he’d burned Mrs.Delvine’s sheets when he was ironing because she hadn’t given him dinner the night before. And he’d put half a shaker of salt in Mr.Fuller’s soup after he gave him this stupid haircut. But he never tried to cause problems for Ms. Summers and he still caused them anyway.

He shrugs. “No one wants me. It’s her job to find someone who’ll put up with me. I can’t blame her for bein’ tired.”

“You’re still a little boy,” Mrs.Curtis shakes her head, and usually Ponyboy hates being called little but he finds he doesn’t mind too much when she says it, “she shouldn’t be takin’ any of her frustrations out on you.”

Pony wants to tell her that his own mother didn’t want to be stuck with him so he can hardly blame his social worker for feeling the same way. He wants to tell her about how tired he is and how much his head hurts and how hungry he is. He wants to tell her a lot of things. He doesn’t.

“Oh honey,” he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he’s wrapped in a warm hug, held protectively against Mrs. Curtis’ chest, his sobs muffled against the stretched collar of her pretty yellow dress. He’s sure he must be getting snot on her, but she doesn’t seem to mind, holding him closer when he starts to squirm away and apologize, cooing to him until he settles down, “oh honey.”

She scoops him up then, because she’s a grown up and he’s still pretty small for six years old, and she sets him on her knee and kisses his forehead, and even if it won’t last and he will never feel this again after today, for once he knows what it’s like to be comforted and loved by a mother. 

Golly he’s tired.

“You just have a sleep now,” she pulls his head down to rest against her shoulder, running a gentle hand through his shorn off hair, “you just have a good sleep and don’t worry about a thing.” 

He feels his eyelids drooping. She drops a soft kiss on his forehead, her fingers never ceasing their soothing motions in his hair.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby,” he hears her say as he drifts off, “I promise. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

He sleeps.

[v-is-obsessive]

God Only Knows

Angus Tully x fem!Reader

summary: being in love with your best friend is hard, and another date fails at trying to distract you from your feelings for Angus. feeling alone and ashamed, you run to him for comfort. (hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers)

warnings: none really... (let me know if i missed any)

requested: yes | no

word count: ~1.3k

A/N: first angus fic!!!! this actually took so long to write but i'm decently proud of it. let me know what you thought and send me requests!!! <3

masterlist! / request!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You hadn’t meant to develop feelings for Angus. Truthfully, you wished it would go away as quickly as it was brought on. But with every moment you spent together you could feel yourself slipping further and further into the hole you’d dug yourself. He was a major pain in the ass, but he was also sweeter to you than anyone else had ever been. There was never a moment with Angus that you didn’t feel completely loved and cared for. He listened to all your problems, offered advice when you asked, cheered you on in all aspects of your life, and had always been there for you. You did all the same things for him gladly, and it created a beautiful friendship that cultivated your growing romantic love for him.

You and Angus met when you were twelve years old. You both attended the same private school for junior high and you had become fast friends. You were truly inseparable: walking to and from school, eating lunch, walking to class, hanging out after school, all the way down to your extracurriculars, you did everything together. When high school came around, you were devastated by the news that you would be attending different schools. You were shipped off to an all-girls boarding school and him to an all-boys school. However, with each school that he was sent to after being kicked out, you managed to keep in touch. Writing letters, spending all your dimes at the payphones, sneaking out: you refused to let distance break apart you and your very best friend.

When you realized your feelings for him last summer, you decided your best course of action was to bury them away. You had no reason to believe he felt the same way, so you figured if you never did anything about them, they would fade away and you wouldn’t risk losing him. However, burying your feelings only served to make them stronger. Suddenly, every time he touched you it felt like all your nerves lit on fire. Your heart raced in his presence and nothing else seemed to matter but him.

In an attempt to forget about your feelings for Angus, you begged your girlfriends at school to set you up on blind dates with other boys. You desperately wanted to just meet a half-decent boy that would fix the situation you had gotten yourself into. Unfortunately, though, all of the boys were either terrible people or just didn’t feel right. Even the nice ones you managed to find flaws in. In your mind, although you hated to admit it, nobody else was as good as Angus.

Another date in which the boy talked all about himself and barely let you get a word in led you to this moment. You stand at the window of your longtime best friend's dorm and knock just loud enough for him to hear. The chilly December wind sends a shiver through your body, and you hug your arms closer to your body.

Angus shoots his head up from the magazine he was half-reading. His eyes meet yours and he clumsily stands up from his tiny dorm room bed. He rushes over to the window and slides it open, beckoning you in from the cold. A record is spinning on the player, and you can hear the Beach Boys singing “God Only Knows,” one of your favorites.

"What the hell are you doing here? I thought you had that date with what's-his-name?" he asks, surprised but still visibly happy to see you. It's then that he notices your expression. Your features are laced with sheer disappointment and exhaustion. His face softens and he guides you over to his bed and sits down next to you.

"Didn't go so well." you say simply, eyes cast down to the floor. You shrug the heavy jacket off your body and sigh.

"I thought you liked this guy?"

"I thought so too. He was so nice to me when we met, but he was horrible when we went to dinner." you groan.

"I'm sorry. You wanna talk about it?" he asks. You shake your head. "Okay then." He takes your hand and interlaces your fingers comfortingly. You mindlessly rub your thumb over his knuckle as a means of grounding your swimming thoughts. Your spirit feels crushed from the failed attempt at making something work with the stupid boy you thought might distract you from whatever you feel for your best friend. Overwhelming feelings of failure and frustration cause emotion to rise in you. Your chest feels heavy, a lump forms in your throat, and tears begin to well in your eyes. Angus notices you becoming upset and turns his body to face you more directly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” he comforts, pulling you into him and wrapping his long arms around you. A sob racks through your chest.

“I’m so sick of it, Angus.” you cry. Angus feels his heart crack. Unbeknownst to you, Angus hated it when you went on these dates. Every time you told him about a new guy you were going out with, his blood boiled. At first, he couldn’t quite figure out why it made him so upset. He chalked it up to protectiveness over his best friend, or even just being sad you won’t be around him as much. But as time went on, it became increasingly obvious that these theories were not the whole story. He was jealous of those boys.

He didn’t think anyone could ever know you as well as he did, or care for you the way he wanted to.

Angus had enough. He knew in this moment that he never wants to see you hurt like this again, even if it means breaking his own heart. He takes a deep breath before taking the leap of faith.

“Y/N, none of these guys you’re going out with are even close to good enough for you. You deserve the best the world has to offer." He pauses slightly to think of how to tell you his feelings. "You’re hilarious, you’re wicked smart, you’re way too clumsy for your own good, you’re goofy, your smile lights up every room, you’re beautiful, you’re caring and loving even when I don’t deserve it." He stops, smiling at his next words. "You’re perfect.” You pull your head away from his chest, staring into his eyes, tears still stained on your cheeks.

“I love you.” he says, almost whispering. Your eyebrows raise a little with bewilderment and hope.

“Like, you love love me?” you ask.

“Yeah. Love love.” he confirms.

Another tear spills from your eye, but this one is joyful. Your heart swells with happiness and you give a genuine and bright smile. Butterflies flutter in your stomach and relief washes over you.

“I love you too, Angus. God, I feel so silly right now. I only went out with those other guys to get you off my mind.” you laugh. He smiles back at you, a rare wide smile gracing his usually sour appearance. He wipes your tears away, his face only inches away from yours. He’s looking at you with more love than you’d ever seen.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, shyly.

“Of course.” you respond, feeling nervous but dizzy with excitement. His hands cup your cheeks, and he gently moves forward, closing the gap between you. Your lips finally meet and it’s everything you ever dreamed of. His lips are slightly chapped, but they fit so perfectly with yours. Every nerve in your body is buzzing with exhilaration. You both grin like idiots through the kiss.

Eventually but reluctantly, you both pull away from the kiss. He smiles and pulls you back into him, laying you both down on his teeny bed. Your head is resting on his chest, and he has both arms wrapped around you. He places a gentle, loving kiss to the top of your head.

The record is still spinning across the room, and it’s nearing the end of the song.

God only knows what I’d be without you… the Beach Boys croon.

Suddenly, you’ve found that one of your favorite songs has taken on a new meaning.

God only knows what you’d be without him.

[merrinpippy]

on masks

so shockingly miracle mask has huge mask theming in like every aspect. basically every significant character is 'wearing' a mask literally or metaphorically, except for luke who remarks in ludmilla's costume shop that he doesn't think any of the masks suit him (since the events of the previous game luke can be authentically himself now.) this is fun to notice on its own, but there's more to be discussed than just the presence of masks.

every mask in miracle mask backfires on its wearer to some degree! the most obvious case of this is descole and the masked gentleman straight up underestimating their own mask/s and failing to see their plans to the end, and the resulting consequences. dalston and henry's masks of stoicism turn out to have kept them from years of friendship they could have enjoyed, and paint them both as suspects in the masked gentleman case. angela's aloof facade and distance from everyone around her allows her to be kidnapped for a significant portion of the game without anyone but the professor noticing (and even then, he notices that something's up with her, but chalks it up initially as not knowing her anymore). less obviously, emmy's mask only means she'll end up hurting the people she has come to care for even more when the time comes.

most interesting to me, though, is hershel! even as a teen he's remarkably reserved, though clearly passionate. he keeps himself very controlled, and seems to care very much about coming across to others as helpful, grounded, and 'normal'. the interests that we know he has he keeps locked up, literally hidden away in cupboards, not to be acknowledged aloud to himself or others. he never gets angry or ever really displays any stereotypical teen behaviours apart from awkwardness.

now what this means is he is treated as the reliable one who will nonetheless go along with whatever randall wants him to do. he's never particularly assertive (something he will learn to be as an adult) so his willingness is taken for granted. he's put in mortal danger in akbadain because it never occurs to randall that hershel's protests are anything more than for appearance's sake.

and when randall falls and hershel is alone, he yells! he falls to his knees, completely overcome. he cries. he pushes through. and when he reaches angela and henry, alone, covered in dirt, looking completely haunted... they don't even ask him if he's okay. angela bodily shakes him. in the past and present, nobody treats hershel as if he's been through something traumatic - to everyone else, he was either a bystander to or complicit in randall's death, but controlled, mild-mannered and rational hershel is never considered a victim in his own right even after years have passed for everyone to think on it. years after the fact angela apologises to hershel... when she realises she needs his help. and henry immediately accuses him of betraying randall's memory and abandoning him.

and to be clear this isn't me saying oh they're evil or whatever but it's significant that they acknowledge how the trauma affected them and their behaviour from that point forward but it doesn't occur to them that hershel's behaviour and life trajectory was also altered forever! because hershel has for his whole life masked so well that to everyone else he does not have an interior life that isn't puzzle solving.

and the absolute funniest thing about it is that when hershel confesses this all to emmy and luke.... it's immediately back to the investigation, "where do we go now professor!" i'm sure there's no reason to ask if hershel's okay, he's probably unaffected by all that, let's go! readers i laughed out loud. tfw you mask so well everyone forgets you're a person

[nnight-dances]

SOME GUY!

pairings: mark lee x f!reader genre: fluff, angst, heated moments tropes: close friends to lovers?, mark avoids u because he's stupid, taeyong as your perfect ex who's still in love w u, u kiss mark's face to shut him up. warnings: mint ice-cream slander, mark is some guy, skinship, college frat party, not proofread.

author's note: haha guess who's in their mark phase hhhhh... sorry he's just such an interesting guy i could write him all day long. either way!!! more mark appreciation, less depression <3

—

at the end of the day, mark really was just some guy.

that’s what he thought to himself everytime he sat down to really consider the reality of all things. he doesn’t mean to get all self-deprecating and emo like that, but it was just a neutral truth thing that kinda hurts the first time you realize it but then it’s just the obvious thing in your daily life. but of course, if he ever did tell someone that he always felt like some guy among a bunch of cool guys, regardless of their gender, he would have to sit through one of those ultimately useless and pitiful speeches about how talented he really was.

— “you know what? you’re right!”

mark’s thoughts zap off their route when he hears you agree with his remark a few seconds ago. honestly, he hadn’t been completely sure if you’d heard him because of the lack of reaction you’d given him. but when you suddenly chuckle and agree with him, mark chokes over the stream of dr pepper in his throat.

he coughs desperately, “wait, what?”

your smile widens, “you’re just some guy. that’s like the perfect description of you.”

under normal circumstances, mark thinnks he would’ve been offended by how certain you sound. but the way you say it? it’s not like you’re trying to be mean or condescending… more like you’re just saying the truth. the neutral truth thing…

“i can’t believe you,” mark mutters, face splitting in a laugh, “i can’t believe you’re agreeing with me!” you look slightly confused but continue, “don’t tell me you’re hurt? you were the one who brought it up!”

mark shakes his head, controlling his laughter, still slightly losing his mind. “you’re really something, bro. i just didn’t expect you to actually be honest.” he laughs again, taking a sip of his drink again, becoming aware that he was being too loud for a bookstore. thankfully though, on a brief glance around, nobody seemed to care.

you fiddle with the zipper of your pencil pouch in thought. then, a shrug as you look back at mark, “hmm, isn’t that funny. i’m some thing, you’re some guy.”

mark falls into another fit of laughter before he knows it, disbelieving more than anything over your badly disguised shamelessness. you hold in a laugh as you land the last punch to his gut, “the perfect pair, isn’t it?” — the punch that sends him right into an oblivion of a world where nothing except you makes sense.

(ok perhaps, mark was being a tad dramatic. you know what he means though: he’s smitten.)

—

if someone were to kidnap you for the purposes of interrogating your honesty behind your claims that you thought mark was some guy, you’d probably get shot in the head instead, because there was no way you were letting anyone in on the information that you did not actually consider mark some guy.

maybe, a little, yes, but at this point, the phrase ‘some guy’ needs some more definiton. some guy as in boring and bland and dry and overdone? absolutely not. if that was what mark was, you wouldn’t have been committing every last one of your wednesday evenings, aka the only free evenings you ever get, to sitting in a crowded bookstore to pretend to do homework with him. you never did homework with mark around.

mark was the kind of some guy that was just being himself. yeah, that’s all you got. mark was mark. good explanation.

“bro? y/n, you good?”

you blink, finding mark swaying in front of you. you were currently sat on a bench near the building where your next class was.

“uhh, sorry,” you take off your headphones to look up at mark, “what are you doing on this part of campus?”

mark shrugs with a playful smile, “why can’t i be here?”

“because you literally don’t take any classes in the econ department?”

he shrugs again, “what if i’ve changed my ways? we’re still young and free, y/n, think a little outside the box, won’t you?”

“you’re taking econ? how- how did you-?”

“oh, look at that,” mark cuts you off, holding up his phone in front of your face. the time reads 11:05 am. “it’s time for our class. let’s go.” you’re busy processing his words (our class???) when he pulls you by the arm and toward the hall behind you.

and that’s the story of how you go from knowing absolutely nobody in your econ class, to sitting next mark in the extremely damp and cramped chairs of your econ class which means your arm is constantly touching his which you, for some reason, don’t hate. probably because the chilly fall wind coming through the window next to mark always makes you glad for the warmth.

mark, on the other hand, smiles a small smile whenever you shuffle closer because even though, the guy (doyoung is his name?) in front of him is always asking him to close the window, he would rather not.

—

“you’re kidding? ice-cream? in this fucking weather?” you question mark, coughing a fake cough to make your point.

“what are you, a coward?”

when you give mark an unimpressed look, he breaks a laugh, grabbing hold of you by your elbow. cheekily, he says, “please. for me?”

you frown, feeling your resolve crumble under his stupid gaze, “i hate you,” you say but let mark pull you after him into the tiny corner shop.

the two of you huddle over the menu of the ice-cream shop, and you exclaim quietly, “oh! i’ve been wanting to try their raspberry choco flavor for a while!” mark looks between you and menu, “ah, really? that sounds kinda good.”

then, he shifts to look at the girl behind the counter, “uhh, we’ll have one mint chocolate and one raspberry choco, please.” you gasp at mark’s choice, “m-mint chocolate?! mark. i think i might break up with you.”

mark is too busy reddening at your joke that hits too close to home to notice the worker chuckling at you. she processes your orders and mark has time to recover.

when he looks back at you, you’re still grimacing. “i didn’t think you could get any worse.”

“are you sure you should be saying that to someone who’s treating you to icecream?”

“huh?” your eyes widen and then you smile, “ahhh, i see. i wasn’t aware you were bribing me into have a favorable opinion of you.” before mark can retort though, you continue with a smirk, “i’m not complaining though.”

your smirk both flusters and scares mark because it’s evidence you’re upto no good in your head but before he can air his suspicion, you’re reaching out for the two cones of icecream that the girl is handing out.

“you guys are really cute together,” the worker remarks shyly, giving you a thumbs up of approval.

mark chokes on the first bite of his mint choco icecream. you look at mark and he expects you to shut down the worker swiftly, but then you reach for his hand, pulling him closer with a bashful smile and say, “thanks, that’s really sweet of you.”

“uh-?” you cut mark’s question off by pulling him out of the store after you.

when you’re outside, you burst into laughter at the perplexed look on mark’s look, looking absolutely adorable next to his already melting green blob of an abomination.

—

the next morning, mark is still suffering through it, unable to come to terms with your actions yesterday. they were honestly not out of character for you. you were always one to do shit just because you knew it would get a reaction out of someone else. like, that time you didn’t tell mark he had spinach in his teeth the whole time he was speaking in econ and only told him at the end. yeah, sure, but surely that was different from you pretending that you and mark were together. right?

mark’s pulled out of his thoughts when his phone buzzes next to his pillow. he stirs to his side, opening his phone only to find a text from you.

y/n: fuck u

mark’s heart skips a beat, no matter the fact that you’re swearing at him the first thing in the morning.

mark: what did i do now…

y/n: it’s ur fault

mark: ???

y/n: i’m fuckin sick

“oh, fuck,” mark swears, sitting up with a frown, fingers quickly shooting a flurry of concerned texts back.

mark: oh shit really?

mark: im so sorry

mark: how bad is it?

y/n: it’s just a cold, dw not that bad

mark: what does that mean?

you, however, don’t bother to elaborate any more on your condition, going silent.

he groans, guilt settling in the slouch of his shoulder as he stares at his screen for a solid 10 minutes before giving up on your response. as he gets ready for the day, at the top of mark’s to do list is to visit your dorm room with medicine and snacks.

but by the time 3 pm rolls around, mark finds himself constantly distracted by classes and homeowork. he looks at the time and sighs. you hadn’t managed to get back to him. but considering how he hadn’t seen you in econ or lunch, your cold was more than ‘not bad’.

sitting outside the library to collect his thoughts, he spots chaewon, your roommate. the two of you had run into mark on a grocery shopping errand and mark had had a decent enough conversation to make him run up to chaewon.

“oh!” chaewon is surprised at first when mark blocks her way with a quick hey. “oh hey, mark!”

“um,” mark looks at the take-out box in her hands, “um, is that for y/n?”

“oh, yeah. did you hear? she woke up this morning with a fever.”

“a fever?”

“yeah, it was pretty high too. i had to force her to stay in bed or i think she would’ve just gone to class like the dumbass she is.”

mark frowns, “oh, no. has she eaten all day?”

chaewon hums in thought, “she told me she was fine for breakfast. i’m not sure if she had lunch though so i was just going to take some pizza and salad in case she’s been starving.”

mark’s frown deepens as she adds, “oh i better hurry though! i have to get back here in time for my dance practice.”

“ah…” he scratches his head, “uhh, if you’re busy, i wouldn’t mind dropping it off to y/n.”

chaewon raises an eyebrow, “wait, really? you’d do that?”

“um, yeah. it’s my fault she got sick anyway. i made her eat icecream last night.”

she laughs, “a little icecream wouldn’t have done that. but sure! it’d be a great help, if you did that. thanks, mark.”

mark hadn’t thought this through, he realizes when he reaches the door that reads y/n on the door, right next to chaewon. he takes a deep breath, clearing his throat, before knocking on the door. “y/n?” his voice breaks mid-sentence and he wants to hide in a hole somewhere, but you’re quick to throw your door open.

your hair is up in a bun which bobs in rhythm with your head, when you find mark outside your room, “mark? what the fuck are you doing here?”

“you weren’t responding to my texts,” he mumbles, and then holds up chaewon’s takeout box in one hand and in the other, the bag of medicine and snacks he’d packed. “i come bearing gifts though.”

you cough hoarsely into your elbow, pulling at the hem of your green hoodie as you consider mark in front of you. “you could’ve told me you were coming,” you sound… shy? mark thinks as he follows into your room after you gesture him to enter.

he looks at your bed and chuckles at the mess that is your bed. then, he smiles as he looks at the eccentric yet coherent collage of pictures and letters on your wall. “this is so you,” he comments and places the food and medicine on your table.

you pout, “a room that looks like all hell broke lose… is me? wow, thanks, mark.”

mark wants to refute your comment, he does, but then he gets distracted by how the way you say his name in your hoarse inside voice and he coughs a little. “i got you medicine though?” he sounds squeaky to his own ears.

you smile though at that, looking inside the bag he’s kept. “ahhh, ramen! i knew i could count on you, mark lee.”

mark almost wants to beg you to stop saying his name so much. but instead he shoots you a thumbs up, “how are you holding up?”

you nod in thought, still unpacking everything mark bought, “hmm, i’m alive. you should’ve seen me in the morning though i felt like something was trying to crawl out my skin.”

you laugh at the imagery, pausing when you catch the guilty look on mark. you already know he’s about to apologize when he opens his mouth. you hold up a finger threateningly, “i know i said that in the morning, but it’s not actually your fault. i always get sick like this every time fall rolls around.”

“no, for real though, i did force you to come eat icecream with me, didn’t i? i’m sorry.”

“ugh, mark, trust me, i wouldn’t have eaten the icecream if i really didn’t want to,” you say, too kindly for your usual snarkiness as if you can sense how genuine mark’s apology was, “for real, my body’s just weird like that.”

when mark remains silent for another minute, you groan, “i know! you can repay me. stay and we can watch a movie or something. all the sleeping’s making me feel gross. plus, i couldn’t eat all this food myself.”

and that’s how mark finds himself settled next to you on your bed, blanket covering half his body, watching gilmore girls (your fall preference of entertainment, it seems). the first half hour went by fine, with one of you commenting ocassionally at something the characters did, but then you shifted closer to mark with a cough.

he was shocked at first but then he wonders if the medicine you’d taken before were starting to take effect. (he’d questioned how wise it was for you to be taking them before watching something, but he also didn’t want to make your condition worse.)

“you good, y/n?” he mumbles under his breath when he feels your head come to rest against his shoulder. he sounds surprisingly calm for the turmoil that is bursting within his veins at the contact.

you hum in acknowledgement, sniffing a little, “yeah, just a little sleepy.”

“oh, you should probably rest then,” mark reaches for the spacebar to pause the episode but your cold hand pulls his finger away. except you don’t let go of his finger, instead seeming to crave warmth, you’re suddenly holding his hand, icy fingertips coming to rest against the back of his palm.

mark’s hearbeat is in his ears by now but he lets you hold his hand as you protest, “mm, don’t wanna sleep. just keep watching.”

you don’t sound promising but he doesn’t argue, letting you having the final say in this situation.

five minutes later though, you stir against mark’s side, arm now in his lap and… yeah, you’re falling asleep.

mark freezes at the realization when he sees your eyelashes fluttering shut. oh god. oh no… this wasn’t good for his well-being. or his obsession with you. or anything.

he clears his throat, hating himself, “um, y/n?”

you don’t respond except for a short grunt that indicates you don’t intend to wake up. he doesn’t have the heart to move you but also, this wasn’t right, was it?

there wasn’t anything wrong with it per se, except of course the fact that it did not help mark’s big fat ugly crush on you or the fact that he spent the whole day thinking about how you were sick and it was his fault.

you move slightly in your sleep, suddenly seeming to come to. your eyes open a little, “mark?” your voice is dangerously low.

“yeah?” mark can hear the nerves in his voice.

you’re pulling him now, without a warning, onto your bed. “you’re warm. stay.”

mark’s eyes widen when you turn to hug him around the waist.

fuck. fuck. fuck. FUCK. this was… THIS IS…. UTREJKLSGIURKEJU?????YGSAELRIAY

mark brain malfunctions for a good minute before he remembers how to think. first, he thinks he has to leave or you’ll hate him forever. but when he tries to budge, you groan an annoyed groan making him scared to leave..

??? what is one supposed to do in these circumstances?

he stills, deciding it was better if he let you doze off comfortably. he slowly places an arm around your shoulder, patting a reassuring back rub into your skin. you nuzzle closer into him, clueless of the way mark is short-circuiting.

before he knows it though, mark finds himself dozing off, chin pressed up against the bone of your shoulder. the sleep isn’t chaotic like his thoughts usually are, but it’s a peaceful sleep, the kind that you only get when you share a bed with someone.

—

ever since that eventful… nap, mark has found himself growing closer to you, in all senses of the phrase. you’d seemed to start trusting mark more, your bookstore evenings turning into whole days spent in each other’s company. sometimes you’d be at each other’s room, more often yours, but otherwise, you’d end up in some new corner of campus, giggling over half-completed essays and collectively complaining about econ.

you’d also grown closer… physically. something about spending a sick evening in someone’s arms, you’d like to say. whatever the reason was, one way or another, you’d find a way to be next to each other.

you’d made a habit of holding mark’s hand, especially on colder days when your fingers lost all feeling till you pressed them into the knuckles of mark’s warm ones. other times, mark’s hand would be on your shoulder or back, casually doodling into your skin, a lazy smile on his face while you dramatically narrate some event from your life.

mark could tell something was different, though he dared not investigate what it was, too afraid to mess up what he had right now.

but then, he does the stupid thing of asking you the question.

it’s on a late night hangout in your room when chaewon’s out for the weekend to visit home, and y’all are sprawled on your bed, exhausted from a movie marathon.

something about the dim lights and the way you lean against his shoulder, makes him speak. “do you like someone right now?”

for a good while, mark thinks he mustn’t have asked the question out loud because of how quiet you are. but then, “what about you?”

“not fair! i asked you first,” mark complains with a chuckle. you shrug, “not telling if you don’t.”

he rolls his eyes, “two can play this game, y’know. i’m not giving.”

“ugh, fine. i’ll tell you about my ex for now.”

mark’s ear perks up at the mention and he waits for you to continue.

“ah, this is so embarassing to talk about. but.. last semester i was with taeyong.”

“wait. lee taeyong?”

“mhm-hm. you know him? he was a good guy, but i don’t know, something felt off. we broke up right before new year’s eve so that was fun.”

mark falls silent as he recalls everything he can about lee taeyong. so far he has: perfect face and killer charm. oh yeah, wasn’t he a student athlete?

“you dated an athelete?” mark can’t help but ask.

“see! i know you’d make fun,” you whine, hiding your face in your hands.

“no- no, i’m not making fun. that’s insane. taeyong is, like, famous.”

you groan, “and you’re listing all the reasons i broke up with him.”

mark isn’t sure what he can do with this information so he releases a strained chuckle, suddenly ready to head back to his room. he can’t be too obvious though, so he waits a bit.

“what about you?” you ask him, poking his arm. “any embarassing boyfriends?”

mark laughs despite it all, “i wish. i was in a silly little relationship but it was so long ago that i hardly remember.” with that, he sits up, a little abruptly.

you frown as he clears his throat, “um, anyway, i should get back soon. i’ve got to sleep.”

“the fuck?” you question, “it’s like 11 pm?”

“well, yeah, i have an early morning tomorrow.”

“on a sunday?”

“yeah, uhm, i forgot to tell you about this new job i have. anyways, i should really sleep soon. i’ll see you later, yeah?”

and just like that, mark leaves your room, with you gaping at how fast he’d made his exit, not even bothering to make real excuses. new job? halfway through the semester? yeah, sure. you feel your mood dampening at mark’s sudden cold shoulder, wondering if you’d upset him. but no matter how many times you thought about it, you weren’t sure what had made him act like that.

mark, on the other hand, can’t get the conversation out of his head, even as he walks to the library at 8 am on a sunday, ready to finish all traces of homework in existence. it doesn’t matter though because sitting in the silence of the study room, his mind repeats your words.

he was a good guy, but i don’t know, something felt off.

boy, did mark feel stupid as shit. for everything? for thinking you were into him. somewhere along the way, your hands on his had him confused. for a minute there, he had stopped thinking about how he was actually just some guy. some guy who you chose to hang out with now and then, some guy who was your friend. mark was nowhere close to being taeyong, and even taeyong didn’t cut it for you. really, though, he couldn’t blame you. you really did deserve the best anyone could imagine.

a text from you interrupts his self-loathing spiralling.

y/n: heyoo!! u alive?

y/n: u left kinda abruptly last night. is everything ok?

mark clenches his fist as if to obliterate the hopeful smile that threatens his face. he thinks of how he might respond: sorry cant talk i’ve to make sure i’m not in love with u before i see u again or maybe: sorry i’m just trying not to cry in broad daylight bc i love u too much hjbykyvkvyf

“fuck! sorry!” a voice pulls mark back from his head. he looks up to see who’s broken into his study room… only to see lee taeyong standing there in confusion. of course this happens to mark.

“uhh, can i help you?” mark barely controls the snap that tries to escape him at the sight of taeyong.

“um, sorry,” taeyong looks down at his phone then back at mark, “i could’ve sworn i booked this room for the next hour…”

mark frowns, certain he’d booked this room for the next two hours. usually, he would’ve just told taeyong he’s booked it wrong, but instead he just says, “oh? i guess you can take this room then. i’ll go somewhere else.”

mark starts packing up but the other boy protests quickly, “no, no! it’s okay. i- um, i’d feel bad if you did that. what if… what if we shared? it’ll be nice to have someone else in the room, no?” taeyong smiles brightly at mark and the latter wants his eyes to stop working already.

call it the law of inertia, but something in mark doesn’t let him just leave the room, almost intrigued by how this might turn out. “alright, then.”

taeyong, as much as mark hates to admit it, is really nice. he hadn’t ever heard anything to refute that, but sitting silently in a room with someone really tells you all you need to know about someone. either way, the study sessions somehow seems to provide mark some sense of peace.

or so he thinks.

what he doesn’t expect is that two hours later, as the two of them are packing up to empty the room for the next occupant, for the next occupant to be… you. yes, of course, that’s gonna happen in this story.

for a moment, mark doesn’t find it particularly shocking to see you but when he notices the stiff look you share with taeyong, he realizes what’s happening.

you’d just entered the room with a knock when you’d noticed who was inside. your eyes travel between mark and taeyong, your mind unable to make sense of this.

your first thought is… is this why mark was weird last night? because he was close to taeyong and got offended by your remarks?

that would be the easy alternate, wouldn’t it? but even you can tell there’s a dryness in the way mark looks at the two of you, a look that unsettles you. of course, the sight of taeyong also unsettles you.

he speaks up before you, “y/n?”

you awkwardly wave at the two of them, “hi mark. hey taeyong. didn’t expect to see the two of you together.”

you look at mark pointedly but he’s not giving you much to work with. he just laughs as taeyong rushes to explain, “ah, i made a mistake in booking this room at the same time as mark, and he was kind enough to let me stay.”

marks want to leave right now. because of the way taeyong’s eyes are sparkling at the sight of you, hands nervously fidgeting. but he decides against it, when he sees you uneasy you seem, tight grip around the strap of your tote bag.

“what are you doing here?” mark asks and a part of you is relieved that he’s talking to you.

“um, homework. i didn’t really know what else to do ever since my friend started ghosting me.”

mark flinches at your attack, but persists in looking as indifferent as he can. “sorry about that, i got caught up finishing this essay.”

taeyong awkwardly coughs, “um, i should probably leave now. i have practice to get to.”

mark is quick to follow after taeyong, scared to death of being alone in a room with you. he doesn’t know what to do with himself around you anymore. “uhh, yeah, i’ll leave you to do homework, then! see ya!”

and just like that, it’s a repeat of last night. mark’s back receding except this time you watch him wave at you with a half-hearted smile as he leaves. you barely manage to close the door behind you before you feel yourself tear up.

this is stupid, you realize through tears, to be crying over something like this. but something like this? it meant a lot to you. you sit where mark sat minutes ago, the same disappointment in your eyes and a similar weight in your heart.

mark is not having the time of his life either though, as he walks out the library with taeyong, who starts asking questions about you as soon as he can.

“so you’re friends with y/n?” mark simply nods at that, having seen this coming.

“that’s cool. she’s really cool, isn’t she?”

“yeah, i suppose. she’s fun.”

“how close are you to her?”

mark laughs dismissively, “haha, i feel like i’ve done something wrong. calm down, bro.”

taeyong flushes at that, rubbing his neck, “oh, sorry. i didn’t mean to interrogate you like that. it’s just… you probably know about us, right?”

that words leaves taeyong’s mouth and buries itself deep into mark’s heart. us.

taeyong continues, “it’s just that i really miss her, man. i don’t think i’ve had as much fun with anyone else since her. or maybe, it’s just because i’m always comparing everyone to her.”

mark really doesn’t know what to say, feeling himself stuck in a similar situation. “hmm, it’ll get better.”

“i hope you’re right,” taeyong says, cheerfully patting mark’s back, “well, i have to go that way. see you around, bro. take care of her.”

take care of her? marks smiles remorsefully as he watches taeyong leave. and he wonders what was going on in your mind when you broke up with someone that perfect? what went on in your head when you befriended mark, just some guy?

—

on saturday, it’s been a whole week since you’ve talked to mark. you’d actually stayed up all night yesterday hoping he’d have a change of heart on friday night, and he’d text you with a can we talk? or come knocking on your door with an apologetic smile with some silly excuse. and you would’ve accepted it all because you were not familar with a mark-less existence. the past week was.. not good for you.

but on saturday night, you decide it’s enough. or rather, chaewon decides it’s enough when she sees you ready to spend the night in bed.

“y/n, i’m sorry but i can’t respect your stupid decisions anymore,” she bursts into the room with a concerned look.

you frown, “ouch? you just called me stupid.”

“because that’s what you’re being. i don’t care if you’re going through it, i’m not letting you woe over some guy on the weekend.”

you grimace at the phrase some guy, remembering your conversation with mark. “hey! i’m talking to you, miss,” chaewon’s hands pull off your bed. “let’s go out tonight. i don’t care.”

“chaewon…” you complain, voice low.

“y/n, my dear friend, stop giving up on life because mark lee is ghosting you. if i know anything about the two of you, y’all will be back to cuddling each other next week.”

you want to say you’re afraid that’s not gonna happen but chaewon is moving too fast for you. she throws a dress at you and then, a coat. “wear those and come to yunjin’s room. we’re pre-gaming.”

an hour later, you’re not feeling so bad after all. you’d forgotten how fun getting wasted really was. you giggle hopelessly when yunjin cracks another “slayyy~” at chaewon’s empty glass. as sakura pours her another shot, you nudge her with your own empty cup.

your roommate frowns a little, “you sure you’re not going too fast?”

you roll your eyes, “chaewon! you’re the one who wanted to slut me out tonight. how am i gonna do that sober?” that makes everyone double up in laughter and you down the vodka with a triumphant sigh.

another hour later, you’re really feeling yourself. the pre-game finally ended with all of you walking to the frat that was throwing tonight. the first step you take into the crowded room has you regretting your decision, but your worries go to waste once you’re hearing the music blast through your veins.

you stay within chaewon’s group for most of the night. the girls are fun, yunjin being one of the best people you’ve partied with. it’s halfway through a doja cat song when you feel your bladder getting full from all the beer. you groan at all the effort it’s gonna take to go upstairs to where the bathroom was, but you could use a break.

you quickly tell chaewon you’ll be back, pointing in the direction of the bathroom and reassure her you’re fine when she asks to come with. the world is definitely spinning as you go up the stairs but you do make it to the top without falling over.

but as soon as you reach for the door of the bathroom, you lose balance as the person inside emerges. “fuck,” you groan, falling over into the person ahead, “’m sorry,” you mumble, supporting yourself against the sink.

you’re ready to push whoever it is out of the bathroom when you heard a familar voice. “y/n?”

you look up and actually gasp when you see mark in front of you. “mark?!” you sound incredulous but honestly, you’re just ecstatic. “i miss you,” you say your thoughts shamelessly.

mark reddens or so your vision tells you. “y/n, are you drunk?”

you frown and shake your head, about to explain yourself when a loud voice outside tells you to hurry up with your business, the door still open. mark shouts a, “find somewhere else, buddy!” and shuts the door, locking it behind him.

your drunk brain isn’t doing well with the concept of you in a locked room with mark. “are you drunk, mark?”

mark laughs at your question, “a little, yeah.”

“okay, good, then can you just-” you lose your balance again and mark steadies you instantly, warm hand on your elbow. you lose your train of thoughts at the feel of him, looking into his eyes wordlessly.

you think you stay there for a minute like that, the two of you just catching up on all the looks you’ve missed out on in the last week.

“why are you mad at me?” you ask the question that’s been bugging you for ages. wanting mark to understand how hurt you’ve been, you pull at the sleeve of shirt, “i’ve been so sad. why are you avoiding me?”

mark takes your hand in his, “no! it’s not like that. i’m… not mad at you.”

“really?” you question him through a pout, “really?”

he doesn’t know what to do when pinned with that gaze of yours in that moment. and then his eyes land up on your lips, your little pout.

he knew the alcohol was a bad idea because now he can’t think straight, knowing he has to explain everything to you or he might lose it all. but somehow, instead of words, he feels another ugre crawl up his skin.

just as you open your mouth to speak, you feel mark’s lips on yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. you gasp into his mouth, and he pulls away just as soon as he leaned in. he drops your hand, falling to his knees.

it takes you a moment to re-orient yourself after the taste of mark in your mouth, but you hear mark sniffle and instantly join him on the ground, hands on his face.

“are you crying?”

mark tries to stop himself but he can’t. “i’m sorry, y/n. i’m so sorry.”

“hey,” you find yourself sobering up. how could you not when mark lee is in front of you, tears staining his ever-smiling face? “hey, mark, look at me.” he wipes at his face shakily, looking up at you through a fresh flood of tears.

“i’m sorry,” his voice breaks, “i’ve been acting so selfish with you. i shouldn’t have avoided you. i shouldn’t have kissed you. i’m.. it’s all because…” he trails off conveniently at the part of his sentence you most need to hear.

your fingers trail down to his chin, bringing his face back up, “it’s all because of what, mark? talk to me, baby.”

something in mark uncoils when you coo at him lovingly like that, his name as breathy as the nickname you suddenly throw at him. his lip quivers but his words are clear as day, “fuck, i’m into you, y/n. i know i’m just some guy really but i think i like you. i- like romantically, i’m dying to be with you.” he sighs when you don’t say anything, stunned into silence.

your hand stays put on his face though which mark thinks of as a good sign. gingerly, he takes your hand, gaze pointed at your interlocked fingers. “i know it’s awkward because you’re not into me like that. it’s all good, i understand.”

“mark, you’re drunk,” you finally mumble out, hand twitching in disbelief. “you’re just saying things.”

mark stiffens, “w-what? no! i’m serious, y/n. i’m not even that drunk anymore. how could i be, when you’re right here?” but then, he stirs, hands leaving yours, “oh, but if you’d rather forget that this happened—”

it’s a replay of five minutes ago, except this time your lips come crashing into mark’s, with so much force that you topple him over. he takes you with him, hand finding purchase at your waist as he pulls you on top of him, his back hitting the door of the bathroom.

your kiss is fierce, almost angry because you did not deserve to be kept in the dark about mark’s feelings. you push closer to him, making him groan into your lips at the intensity. you pull away then, hand at mark’s chest, “i hate you for avoiding me like that, mark. i can’t believe you.”

mark tries to explain himself but you’re kissing him again, swallowing his words whole, unforgiving in the way your hands grip his arms. again, you pull away, “what did you think? that i’d stop talking to you because you like me? you’re so stupid sometimes, mark.”

“i don’t—”

“no, you don’t understand. do you see me right now?” mark nods, eyes trailing at your disheveled state. mark couldn’t forget this sight if he wanted to: your hair wet with sweat, panting in between mark’s legs, lips a breath away.

“do i look like i hate you?”

“i mean, you do look annoyed,” mark remarks and you slap his arm with a snarl.

“that’s because you’re being unfair. what about my feelings for you, huh?” you challenge with a glare. “what about how much i suffered just because you decided to not show up to the bookstore? all because you came to some stupid conclusion by yourself?”

“wait,” mark starts, but you’re not letting him talk.

“no, listen, if i could, i’d seriously slap you. because i’m that down bad for you, mark! i’ve been thinking about doing this with you ever since you fell asleep in my bed that day. so fuck you, for hurting me like that.”

you’re breathless, eyes still trained on mark with that look of betrayal mixed with desire. you can’t help yourself though, mark looks absolutely breath-taking in front of you, mouth ajar in shock, lips red from your relentless kisses.

mark takes too long to process your words just then, long enough that you’re coming down from your high, embarassment flooding your veins. you go cold, standing up with a grunt. “i’m just gonna go back,” you mutter in disappointment, leaving before you can see mark’s response.

he’s coming back to his senses now, realizing that maybe you were right about how stupid he’d been. “fuck,” he breathes out, regaining his footing as he chases after you.

this chase proves to be difficult, given that the party only seems to have gotten more crowded since mark left. he struggles through the throngs of people, shouldering through, when he spots a silhouette of you in his peripheral vision. you were outside, apparently talking to another taller figure.

mark follows your shadow to the door, quickly making his way out. his breath hitches when he finds taeyong next to you. his arm is around your shoulder and you’re speaking to him in a low voice.

“y/n,” mark calls out, not hesitating to break taeyong’s hold on you, replacing it with his own embrace. he pulls you close. your eyes are teary and you sniff when you see mark, “what-”

“i’m sorry, can we talk?” he mumbles into your side, still aware of taeyong’s presence.

“oh, hey, mark. i was just,” taeyong moves to stand in front of the two of you, “taking care of y/n. she looked sick.”

“i’m fine, taeyong,” you reassure him, pressing yourself into mark’s side. “i’ll let mark walk me home. good night.” mark is impressed at how easily you dismiss taeyong, pulling mark after you.

“what do you want?”

mark stops you from walking, pulling you into a hug instead. “you’re right, i’m really stupid. let me ask you this instead: would you let me be your boyfriend?”

you release a soft laugh against his neck at his question, arms still for a moment for dramatic effect. then, you wrap yourself around him, kissing your answer into his ear, “of course, you idiot.”

—

[bldhrry]

The Brute and The Scholar

Chapter Five | Treacherous Cassian x Fem!Reader Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Series Masterlist | General Masterlist

word count: 9.0k

warnings: cursing, blood

author's note: my fav chapter so far i fear... let me know what you think!!

Cassian didn’t see you for a week and he hated every second of it.  He couldn’t wait to see you again and work on the same bullshit for hours.  

He wondered what you had done when he dropped you off at your house on the night of the Winter Solstice and the following week.  He imagined you were skating every morning and working in your mom’s store, leaning over the counter with a book laid out in front of you.  Despite your clear explanation of the moments you two had shared while at the Autumn Court, he wondered if you thought of that night on your doorstep and your reason for tilting your head towards him, your face and lips inches from his own.

He wondered about it all, so much so that he lost the snowball fight, too lost in the memories of you hunched over the desk with a pen in your hand or giving him a look for suggesting an idea that wasn’t horrible but that you didn’t like.

“Distracted much?”  Azriel laughed as they sat in the sauna after he had won, once again.

Cassian just shrugged.  He was; he hadn’t heard a single thing Azriel or Rhysand had said since they had entered.

“Too busy thinking of Y/N I bet.”  Rhysand laughed and Cassian rolled his eyes.

“Busy thinking about work, actually.”  He smirked and the other males scoffed.

“You’re too much of a romantic, brother.”  Rhysand laughed and looked at him.

Cassian was clearly head over heels for you.  He looked like a lovesick boy, unable to stay away from a female who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.  You were aloof, with eyes too sharp and analytical and a face that, despite your best efforts to be courteous to everyone, revealed you thought very little of what they had to say.

“We are just friends.”

“Colleagues more like,” Azriel grunted and Cassian shot him a look.

Cassian wouldn’t share the secret of your intimate moments; he knew you would be mortified if anyone knew anything about you that you hadn’t told them.  Azriel and Rhysand were his brothers, yes, but this needed to stay his little secret.  He needed to be the only one to think about the possibilities of what would happen if you two got closer.

“She is beautiful and smart.  What’s not to like?”

“The fact that she looks like she’s going to kill you every time you speak.”  Azriel shot back with a laugh and Cassian laughed even louder.

Azriel was more than right on that.  You seemed to hate everything that Cassian said even though he never thought any of his ideas were that bad but you made it a point to lecture him on how wrong he was and how flawed his thought processes were.  He really didn’t mind because maybe you were right, he really didn’t know or care, but he liked when you talked to him, especially when you made eye contact with you.  Your eyes were always serious and fierce and he had memorized them already and their million shades of emotions and colors, but looking at them again never hurt.

“She’s good, though.”  Rhysand mused.  “She’s made more progress than Feyre and I have in the past few years.”

The group nodded in agreement.

You had been able to do the impossible: reunite Prythian through treaties and contracts and diplomatic discussions.  The Autumn Court was growing stronger with the help of the Night Court and Eris’ paranoia had simmered down with you being the mediator with him and the rest of the Courts, especially the Spring Court.  Tamlin had stopped being as defensive about accepting help in his territories and rebuilding alliances across the region.  How you managed to do it, nobody really knew but they were grateful for it nonetheless.

Azriel was especially grateful because it lessened the work he had to do.  With the High Lords on the same page as everyone else, he had to interact with his spies less and focus more on the Human Queens with Rhysand.

Cassian was giddy Monday morning, waiting on the porch of the River House for your inevitable arrival.  He was excited to see you and ask what you had been doing this past week and jokingly, but not jokingly, ask if you’d missed him.

He saw you round the bend and trudge up the pathway to the house.  You were looking down but he could see that your brows were tight on your forehead and you were scowling to yourself.

There she is.

“Good morning!”  Cassian shouted and your head snapped up and you frowned and looked him up and down.

He was dressed warmly with a thick black jacket and sweatpants and his hair was messy, probably from the high winds that morning.

“Morning,” you grumbled as you walked past him and into the house.

You sighed at the warmth and took off your gloves and coat and sniffed.

“You have a good break?”  Cassian asked from behind you as you walked to your shared office.

You glanced over your shoulder and he was very close to you, so much so that you drew your shoulders in to create some resemblance of space.  He seemed to notice because he sped up and came next to you which really wasn’t any better.

“Yes.  Did you?”

“Great,” he beamed at you and you gave him a skeptical look.

He was being too weird.

“Did something happen?”  You asked slowly as you turned a corner and kept walking.

“Not anything particular.”  He pondered the question and spoke again.  “I went to the cabin and we had a snowball fight and then we all hung out.”  He shrugged.

“A snowball fight?”  You turned to him and to his surprise you were smiling.

“Every year.”  He grinned.

You chuckled and kept walking and Cassian followed you.

Gods, he had missed you so much.

“Did you do anything?”  Cassian asked as you entered the office and you shook your head.

“Just the usual.”

He nodded his head and sat in his desk chair and started to rock back and forth.

“You miss me?”  He asked with a smirk and you frowned at him.

“No.”

He pouted.  “I missed you.”

You rolled your eyes but you were smiling.  “You see me all the time.”

“I didn’t see you for a week.  It was horrible.”

You exhaled, your smile growing and it was so genuine it made his chest warm.  “And yet you survived.”

Cassian laughed and you started to open the letters that had piled up on your desk during your vacation.

“You really didn’t miss me?”  Cassian had made his way to your desk across the room and sat on it, his knee touching your arm.

You cringed away and gave him a look.  “No.  I particularly enjoyed our time apart.”  Lie.

A flash of hurt flitted across his eyes and he gave you a lazy smile.  “You’re a horrible liar Y/N.”

You frowned.  “I’m not lying.  Now leave me alone.”

You were lying.  You thought about him too much during that week apart and it frustrated you immensely.  You hated how much he had consumed your thoughts and how much you ached to see him and feel his touch again.  You had never felt this way before and never thought you would; you had always believed you were not built for any type of romantic feelings, that maybe you were too good for it but here you were with an odd sense of pining that made you ball your hands into fists and grumble to yourself how stupid it was, how stupid you were, and how stupid he was.

Cassian had uprooted your senses even if he didn’t know it.  He left you in a daze every time he left your presence and you hated every second of it.  How he was able to make you melt just by looking at you was beyond your comprehension.  You had said it clearly, you two were victims of your circumstances; stuck in Autumn for weeks and were confusing platonic with romantic feelings.  Cabin fever, you had said.

So how was it that he was able to do it to you again weeks later?  How was he able to make you want him to kiss you and take you on the doorstep of your house?  His ability to make you act like a teenager was incredible.  Maybe it was because of the wine or because you were so emotionally vulnerable.  You really weren’t sure and you weren’t sure if it happened again you could resist that innate pull you felt towards him.  He was a beautiful light that you felt compelled to be near and touch even if it hurt you.

He was ruining your life.  You were losing focus on your goals and priorities.  You should be focusing on getting your plans together for your trip to the Spring Court but instead you were daydreaming of what could’ve happened all those times he had invaded your space.

You should be scared of him.  And you were in a sense.  You were scared of how big he was and the size of his wings and the trauma they reminded you of, but yet, if you took those pieces of him away, he was borderline something you wanted and like Cassian had said during your argument that day, he was something that you needed even if you didn’t want to admit it.

Cassian just chuckled, taking half the stack of letters and went back to his desk.  He put his feet up and started sorting them from high priority to low priority like you two had been doing for the past few months.

It was routine at this point.  He annoyed you first thing in the morning, you sorted and responded to letters, had lunch, he annoyed you some more, met with Rhysand and Feyre, and then went home.

It was a welcomed routine and it lessened your anxiety about working here a great deal.  You used to show up with sweaty palms and a racing heartbeat, but now you strolled in without knocking and said hello to everyone and started working.

Cassian’s easy going personality helped a lot too.  He never seemed to care about anything and you envied him for it.  You wished you could not think about anything like he did.  Instead you thought about everything and it took over your body like a plague that you couldn’t fight off.

Cassian knew this and knew it well but had no idea how to quell your worries and anxiety so he let you be for the most part except for the few times he offered to be someone you could talk to but you turned him down every time.  

“Do you think,” Cassian’s voice rang in the otherwise quiet room.

You titled your head towards him but kept your eyes on the letter you were reading.

“Do you think that I could help you with your fear of my wings?”  

You shot him a look and he was already looking at you with a thoughtful expression.

“Like, work on desensitizing you to them.”

You tilted your head and couldn’t help the look of rage that flickered on your face.  The rage was simply a mask of the fear you were feeling and Cassian could feel it.

“Why would I need to do that?”  You finally asked.

Cassian pursed his lips and shrugged slightly.  “I think it could be helpful.  Maybe make you more comfortable around me and Az,” his voice was quieter, more soft now.

You let out a breath through your nose.  Would it be beneficial to work through your trauma?  Yes.  Would it be beneficial to feel fully relaxed in your workplace?  Yes.  Would it be beneficial to do it with Cassian?  Unclear.  Would it be beneficial for him to know?  Probably not.

He looked hopeful but somber at the same time and you rolled your neck, trying to look nonchalant despite the fact that your heart was hurting from how hard it was beating in your chest.

“Sure.”

It was a cold, windy, but sunny day as you walked out onto the back lawn of the River House.  Cassian was already waiting, his back turned to you as he looked out to the skies and mountains.

He knew doing this type of exercise would be too much for you so he opted to work with you outside so you had space to step away and relax if need be.

You approached him from the side and he turned to you with a smile.

“Ready?”

You took a deep breath and frowned, looking around.  You really weren’t if you were going to be honest with yourself.  This was the last thing you wanted to do with him or with anybody.  You did not want to reopen those wounds and unlock the memories you had tried so hard these past few years to bury.

But you needed to.  You would never escape the guilt and shame, but you had to escape this particular fear at some point; four members of the Inner Circle had Illyrian wings and if you were going to work here and avoid offending them you needed to do this.

So you crossed your arms and nodded.

“I was thinking we just stand here and you work on getting close to me.”  He said as he leaned on one foot and flexed his wings.

The movement made you flinch and you took a step back.

“I don’t know about that.”  You mumbled as you eyed the shining talons at the top of his wings.

“Do you want to talk about why you feel that way?”  He took a step towards you.

“No,” you snapped.  “Don’t ask me that ever again.”

While you were abrasive with him often, you had never gotten that tone with him before and it made him jerk back, like you had physically hit him.

“I’m sorry.”

Your hands were shaking and you were staring at the snow, the light reflecting off of it blinding you.

You looked up at him, tears brimming your eyes.  Already it was too much.  He was too much.  There was so much space around you and yet you felt like you were suffocating, the edges of the world coming in on you.  His wings loomed over his shoulders, taunting you and you let a whimper and Cassian’s eyes shifted.

“It’s okay,” he took a step back, his hands outstretched towards you.

With each step you felt better, like you could breathe again, like he wasn’t about to pounce on you and tear you apart.

He was about ten feet when he stopped and he just looked at you.  He could feel it; he could feel you so clearly like he was the one in a panic stricken state.  He hated that you felt this way and there was little he could do about it and it wasn’t like his presence was much help given he was the one with the wings; he was the one with the pieces that had done something so terrible to you that you froze like a deer, unable to move or think.

You let out a deep breath and stretched your fingers and nodded.  “Okay.  I’m okay.”  you sniffed and looked at him and Cassian relaxed at the determined look in your eyes.

This went on for a few hours.  He kept his distance and you paced back and forth and then in a semicircle around him, finding the courage to approach him.  He flexed his wings every now and then, earning a curse and a jump from you that made him laugh. 

Desensitization at its best.

“Do you feel better?”  Cassian asked you as you entered the house, kicking his boot on the doorframe, getting the snow off.

You shook your head.  You were even more scared.  He kept them tight and tucked into his back so often that you forgot just how massive they were and the see through skin made you so nauseous you had to bend over a few times to gather enough strength to keep going with the exercise.

You didn’t want to insult him and tell him that.  You didn’t want to tell him that the wings were even worse than they were before; that they were no longer brown black, but rather the milky white that had torn through the city, that screeched with delight as they killed everyone around them.  

“We’ll keep trying,” he replied. 

You left after with Cassian in tow after he insisted on walking you home.

“I don’t want you to slip on the ice,” he had said and you scoffed. 

Ridiculous excuse.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said as you opened the gate and Cassian leaned over you, placing his hand on yours.

“I really did miss you,” he whispered. 

His face was so close to yours that you could smell his cologne and you fought the urge to close your eyes and sigh at its scent.  Such sincerity filled his face and you admired it.  He was so open about his feelings; he let it be known with no shame and you also envied that about him.  He was proud of who he was, inside and out, and didn’t care what anyone thought of him.  He was firm in his beliefs and defended them and those around him, too.  You wanted those qualities; you wanted to be carefree and happy, but that simply was not a luxury you could afford or deserve.

You weren’t going to say the same.  You couldn’t.  You couldn’t cross that line again; it had been three times you two had done it and three times was enough.  You needed to work and you needed to do it well and a professional relationship was the only way.  

Platonic feelings often get confused as romantic ones, you reminded yourself.  Two people who spend almost every minute of every day together are bound to be confused in the true nature of their affections, you told yourself.  It was like a prayer at this point, something you recited and clinged to.  It was the truth but what if you allowed it to grow into something more?  What if you allowed him to be more than your partner?  

You squashed the thought down.  That was enough.  You were a grown adult with responsibilities and a life outside of wanting a male, especially this one: a stupid, Illyrian brute.  You were better than that.  You had thrived thus far rejecting advances and desires so you could succeed and you would do it again.  You didn’t need this; you didn’t need him.

“I missed working with you too, Cassian.”  You gave him a smile, attempting to make it genuine and slipped into your front yard.

Cassian found it difficult to breathe as he flew back to the House of Wind.  He hated your constant rejection of him despite the times you had allowed him to be close.  He only kept trying because he was sure you felt the same.  He would be a fool to feel such a natural inclination for you and you didn’t even harbor the same sentiments.

The “therapy”, if you could even call it that, went on for the next month and you made little progress.  You started being able to float closer to him but you couldn’t engage in conversations during it despite his best efforts.  You were too engrossed in making sure he didn’t make a move that you weren’t ready for.

You were growing more paranoid about him and the wings.  You started having more frequent nightmares; this time they were more vivid now and every time you woke you could smell the blood that had covered your body for hours and your scars burned like the first time you were impaled.  You hated every second of it and started to hate being both awake and asleep.  You were tormented no matter what reality you were in and you were growing more irritable at the never ending agony you lived in.

Cassian noticed this but you wouldn’t talk to him.  You were recoiling into yourself so much that it was like he couldn’t see your face anymore.  You barely talked to him when you were in the office together, opting to respond directly to whatever he was saying.  You had no energy for a smart remark or a judgemental look.

You were making progress, even if it was just the smallest, baby steps in the world, and he was glad for it, but it was like the more progress you made, the more time you spent with him, the worse you got.  He could smell the anger radiating off of you like heat and he could feel it too in the pit of his stomach, he could feel that you were angry with yourself and for what he wasn’t sure but he knew you weren’t going to tell him if he asked so he let you be.  He reminded you he was there every chance he got and still walked you home and stayed close; it was the only thing he could think to do.

You had declined the invitation to stay for dinner and when Cassian got back from walking you home, he sat down in his chair with a huff and leaned his head back.

“How is she?”  Feyre asked, passing him a bowl of green beans.

He shrugged.  “Wouldn’t know.”

“Are you sure doing this whole “desensitization” thing is good for her?”  Nesta asked from across the table.

If there was anyone in the group you were closest to it was Amren and Nesta, but Nesta understood you in a completely different way that made you feel seen and heard and you sought her out at every function.  

You loved Nesta and she reminded you a lot of one of your best friends; she was brave and with sharp eyes that saw everything even if you tried to hide it.

Cassian frowned and shrugged.  “If I don’t bring it up, she asks me to do it.”

Nesta nodded absentmindedly.  She worried for you; you hadn’t come over in ages and she missed you.  You were one of her closest friends.

“Any idea why she’s scared of the wings?”  Rhysand piped up from the end of the table, cutting a piece of chicken for Nyx.

Cassian shook his head and looked at Azriel who had been quiet this entire time.

His shadows circled around him, moving from his ears to his neck, like they were taking turns saying something to him.  If anybody knew it would be him.

Azriel was already looking at Cassian with a sympathetic look in his eyes.

“It’s not my story to tell, brother.”  He said quietly, confirming he did in fact know.

Cassian took his bottom lip between his teeth and nodded.

The dreams you were having this time around were ones you hadn’t had in so long but it was a memory that you remembered all too well.  Even now as you stood in the snow you could feel the claws ripping into your body and feel your breathing become ragged as the blood filled your lungs, but you stood still, keeping your fists at your sides.

You weren’t there.  Not anymore.

But it didn’t help.  Because you could feel the talons hit bone as it kept piercing your back and tearing your muscles.  The blood was hot as it poured out and it tasted bitter in your mouth.  And while it was Cassian in front of you, he morphed into your father, on his knees, the wounds you bore eerily similar to your own.  You wanted to go to him, to catch him before he fell, soften the blow and comfort him as death came for him but you couldn’t move.  The pain was too intense and it made the sun so bright and the wind was hurting you.

You aren’t there anymore, peaches. 

You weren't in the snow anymore or in the backyard of the River House.  You were in the field now, the grass covering your ankles and the sun hot on your back.  You flexed your hands and looked around, looking for your father.

He sat beside you, his knees tucked into his chest as he looked out at the rolling hills.

“You aren’t there anymore,” his voice was clearer now.

You sat next to him and when you brushed against his shoulder it was solid.  So you leaned against him, your head on his shoulder.

“I’m always there.”  You whispered.

He placed his head on yours and gave it a kiss.  “I know.”

“How do I leave?”

He sighed and his beard tickled your head.  “Once you forgive yourself.”

You stilled and your throat felt thick.  “I don’t think I can do that.”  You didn’t mean to, but your voice broke.

“Always the ruminator.”  Your father laughed and when you looked at him you saw tears in his eyes.  “My beautiful peach.”  He moved a hair from your face and cupped your cheek.  “You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and it’s time to let go.”

You shook your head and pulled away.  “I can’t.”  You let out a sob and dug your nails into your legs.  “I killed you.”

Before your father could respond, the world around you started to shake and you could hear shouting.  You couldn’t make out what was being said but your father looked around calmly.

“He’s here.”

Your eyes shot open and you gasped, the cold air hitting your lungs with such a shock you almost fell backwards, but someone held onto you with a  firm grasp.

“Y/N!”  It was Cassian and your eyes made their way to him and his own eyes were wide with worry.

“Where did you go?”  He was breathless like he had been yelling.

You shook your head; you couldn’t find the words to explain and if you did you would sound crazy.  A hallucination of your dead father where he spoke to you in a world that was years old.

You shook your head away and moved backwards, trying to get out of his hold but he wasn’t letting go.

He cupped your cheek and you cried.  It felt like your father’s touch.

“Where did you go?”  He whispered, a cloud leaving his lips from the cold.

You whimpered and kept shaking your head.  You couldn’t say it.  You were crying too hard, reeling from the touch of your father and the new wave of grief that rocked your world.

“It’s okay,” Cassian hushed you and pulled you into a hug and you stiffened but relaxed into it quickly.

Despite the winter weather he was so warm and firm and he wrapped around you so tightly that you had no choice but to let out the sob you were holding.  

Cassian rubbed your back in a rhythmic up and down until your cries turned into ragged breathing and that’s when he pulled away and looked down at you.

Before he could ask if you were okay you spoke first.

“I want to go home.”

Cassian didn’t see you for three days.  Every morning he stood on the front porch of the River House, scanning the road for your figure to round the bend and walk up the path but you never came.  He’d wait for an hour, telling himself you slept in and was late but then Rhysand would come out and tell him you had called in.

By the third day he was fed up, so he went to your house.

He made it there in half the time it would usually take him and he was slightly out of breath when he knocked on your door.

Your mother opened it, a rag in her hand and she smiled widely at Cassian.

“Cassian, good morning.”

“Good morning,” he lowered his head and gave her a smile.  “Is Y/N here?”  He looked over her shoulder into the house, trying to find you.

Her face fell and she shifted on her feet.  “She’s not feeling well.  I’m sure she’ll be up for visitors later.”  She gave him a sympathetic smile and moved to shut the door, but Cassian gently placed a hand on it and gave her a grim look.

“Can I just see her?”  Your mother noticed his wild eyes, like he was searching for something that he had lost and was going to tear the world apart just to find it.  She’d seen that look before.

She sighed, looking at the ground and nodded.  “She’s in her room.”

“Thank you.”  Cassian said softly and without asking where your room was, he went up the stairs and followed your presence that seemed to be calling out to him.

When Cassian entered your room, it oddly enough suited you.  It was messy but organized at the same time with pictures and paintings on the walls and bookshelves filled with books and some more on your desk and floor.  It was more colorful than he imagined and he stopped for a moment to marvel at it.  You had a lot more personality than he gave you credit for.

You were in your bed, the only evidence being your hair sprawled on the pillow.  You were asleep, he could tell from your slow, deep breathing and he moved closer to you as quietly as he could.

He kneeled on your side of the bed and placed his hand on your shoulder and shook it gently.  

“Y/N.”

You groaned and lifted your comforter, covering your head.

He tried to rouse you again.

“What.”  You muttered and he sighed at the sound of your voice.

“I’m here to check on you.”

You turned over slowly and squinted at him.  “Why?”

His hand was still on your shoulder and he shrugged.  “I haven’t seen you in three days.”

You snorted and nestled into your pillow.  “Well you’ve seen me.”  And with that you gripped the comforter and tucked yourself in and closed your eyes.

He smiled softly. 

There she is.

He moved his hand from your shoulder to your face and moved your hair so he could cup your cheek and you immediately lifted your face slightly into his touch and sighed through your nose.

“I brought work with me.  Let me stay?”

“Why?”  You asked without opening your eyes.

“Make sure you’re okay and because I miss you.”  He sounded ridiculous but it was the truth.

“I am okay.”

“Fine.”  He clicked his tongue.  “Then because I miss you.”

You sighed again and shrugged, turning over so your back was facing him.

Taking it as a yes, he kicked off his shoes and climbed into your bed and sat against your headboard.

“I have a desk.”  You muttered and he laughed.

“Not big enough.”

“And this is?”

Cassian looked at your bed and frowned slightly.  It was definitely not big enough but the chair would be much worse and it was farther from you.  

“It’s fine.”

You slept for another two hours and Cassian stayed the entire time, going through letters and reports and responding to those that needed a response.  His handwriting was awful so he wrote what needed to be said and would give it to you later so you could rewrite it.  You had pretty handwriting and Cassian could watch you write forever.  He liked how your letters swooped and connected seamlessly together and how legible it was compared to his “chicken scratch" as you liked to call it.

You barely moved in his sleep and Cassian found it incredibly interesting and weird.  He thought everyone moved in their sleep, readjusting themselves or fidgeting from dreams, but you stayed in place like a boulder and he had poked you at one point and you didn’t even react. 

Heavy sleeper.

Your mother had come in a little after he had come over and said she was going to the store and he gave her a sheepish smile, flushed with embarrassment.

“I hope you don’t mind that I stayed.”

She shook her head and her eyes shifted between you and Cassian, an unreadable expression on her face.  “She needs the company.”  She finally said at last and left.

Cassian fell asleep minutes before you woke up and it was his first snore that woke you and the second one, worse than the last, that made you open your eyes.  You didn’t think he had stayed.

You looked at him over your shoulder and his head was leaned back against the headboard with his hands slack at his sides and papers on his lap.  You couldn’t help but smile and chuckle at the sight.

Making sure he was still asleep, you got out of bed and put on shorts and grabbed clothes for the day and went into the bathroom to shower and get ready.

Upon your return he was still asleep, his head now rolled to the side and you cringed.  He was definitely going to wake up sore.

You walked towards him and shook him.  “Cass,” you said, patting his cheek slightly.  

His eyes fluttered open almost immediately and he gave you a lazy smile.  “There she is.”

You rolled your eyes.  “Lay down before you break your neck.”  You grabbed the papers from his lap and straightened yourself.

He did just that and flopped onto his stomach, one wing hanging off the bed and the other stretched out over the other side of the bed, dangling over the edge slightly.

You were glad the curtains were drawn because you could see that the wings were dark and most definitely not white, not dangerous.

You turned around, heading for your desk so you could finish the work, suddenly feeling much more energized than you had the past few days when Cassian’s voice stopped.

“Come to bed,” his voice was muffled, probably because his head was buried in your pillows.

You turned and even though he wasn’t looking at you, you gave him a quizzical look.

The way he said it sent you over the moon.  It was so natural and filled with so much care and something else you couldn’t place.  You lost your breath for just a moment and an image flashed through your mind of him just like that, his chest bare and the covers laid dangerously low on his waist.  You were in his shirt, the material so long on you and you could still feel his hands and lips on you, so tender and filled with promises.  

The image came almost like a vision of what your future could be, a future you were starting to want with him and just him.  You’d never had this urge to be with anyone, in fact you’d never cared for anyone in this way before but he was slowly cementing himself into your mind and it made you grit your teeth and ball your hands into a fist.  No, this was not what you wanted.  But it was.  You were going to resist his request, you were going to fight the battle within yourself and you were going to lose. And you did.

Without a word, you padded to the other side of the bed and like he knew your exact position, even with his eyes closed, he tucked his wing in and you sat on top of the comforter and got comfortable, your work in your hands, resting on your lap.

He didn’t open his eyes when a sleepy smile spread across his lips and he laid his wing on your lap and it curled around your leg and you sucked in a breath.

It was him, not them.

He reached over and placed a hand on your thigh, his fingers gripping it and his thumb moved back and forth and he sighed, his breathing became heavy until his movements slowed and he fell asleep.  Despite being unconscious his grip remained firm.  

You didn’t move.

Cassian slept so long that the sun had begun to set and you had finished with all the reports and correspondences so by the time he woke up you were almost finished with the book you were reading.

He was a light sleeper, so much so that every time you shifted he would open his eyes, tighten his grip on your thigh and tell you to stop moving which earned him a scowl and he would smirk and then immediately fell back asleep.

You enjoyed the quiet time and every now and then you would watch him.  He was a beautiful sleeper; his face was calm and his mouth slightly parted emitting a mix of loud and soft snores and at one point a piece of his hair had fallen onto his face and you quickly pushed it back, not wanting your view to be obstructed.

You were incredibly embarrassed by your behavior.  This was absurd in every sense of the word but you kept at it anyway, something deep inside of you, primal and not taking no for an answer, forcing you to let it happen and let your emotions float to the surface of your skin, making you feel hot, like you were glowing.

Cassian moved in the bed with a groan that turned into a moan and it made you blush.  He flexed his hand on your thigh and gripped it again, palming your skin and and he turned back to you, another lazy smile on his lips.

You didn’t look at him because you knew your face–hot and bothered by his touch–would give you away.

“Hello, professor,” he mumbled and his voice was thick and raspy.

You gave him a glance and chuckled.  “Finally.  Now you can leave.”

He bit his lip and smiled.  He shifted to lay on his back and he put his arms over his head and sighed, staring at your ceiling.  You had stickers on them that were neon green and he was sure they were the ones that lit up in the dark.

“Night lights?”  He tried not to laugh.

“They’re cute.”

He smacked his lips and nodded.  “How long was I asleep?”

“Couple hours.”  You turned the page of your book.

“Hm,” was all he said and looked at you.

He didn’t want to leave.  He rarely slept through the night and especially as of late because of how worried he was about you, but being here, your scent washing over him, keeping him more warm than the blankets on yobed, put him in such a deep sleep that he hadn’t had in centuries.

“You also snore.  Like, really bad.”  You said, a playful look in your eyes when you looked at him.

Giving you an amused look, he shrugged.  “I hope it didn’t bother you too much.”

You laughed loudly.  “It bothered me very much.”

He propped himself on his elbow and smirked.  “Tell me about it.”

“It woke me up and I had to rewrite the letter to Helion twice.”  You emphasized.

He flatted his arm and played with the hem of your shirt and rested his head on it.  “So sorry for your inconvenience.”

You let out a small chuckle and shrugged.

You looked down at where his hands were making contact with you.  His finger playing with the loose fabric of your shirt like it was the most captivating thing in the world and his hand on your thigh like it was his lifeline.  Every now and then he would shift his hand and pull at the seam of your leggings.  You felt your muscles twitch at the contact and you swallowed, your mind becoming cloudy.

“Why haven’t you come to work these past few days?”  Cassian after a half hour. 

He had moved on to his back again, one arm behind his head and the other one still in its home on your thigh.

You sighed.  You did not want to talk about this.

“I haven’t been feeling well.”

He hummed and looked at you, but you wouldn’t look at him.  Instead, you kept reading.  You were almost finished with the book; just a few more chapters left.

“Did it have anything to do with what happened the other day?”

You knew what he was talking about and a flash of it hit your mind so hard you sucked in a breath.  You did not want to talk about this.  Not with him.

You stayed quiet and he took it as a confirmation.  The other day had been too much and it took you out for a few days.

“I’m sorry you have to carry that.”  He whispered and you looked at him.

He was already looking at you and his touch had become soft, comforting and you inhaled.

You found yourself feeling honest, like you could say something about it. 

“It’s hard.”

He offered you a smile.  “I know.”  After a few moments he squeezed your thigh.  “You can talk to me, you know.”

A muscle in your jaw flexed and you cleared your throat, fighting back tears.  “You won’t look at me the same if you knew what I’ve done.”  Your voice was soft.  You were trying so hard not to break.

Whatever you had done, he probably had done worse in his five hundred years in this world, but he wasn’t going to say that.  He wasn’t going to invalidate whatever guilt you carried.  So instead he rubbed your thigh again, feeling the soft fabric of your leggings underneath his fingertips.

“I will always look at you the way I do now.”

His confession hung heavy in the air and your eyes filled with tears and why this hit you so hard you weren’t sure but it did and your throat felt so thick you had to breathe through your mouth to calm yourself.

You’ve always wanted to be liked and not in a romantic way, not really at least.  But you wanted to be accepted.  You had always been so different growing up.  It was difficult to keep friends, besides the one you had during high school, but even that was difficult at times.  You were so anxious all the time and particular about the things around you; the world would collapse around you if things didn’t go your way or if you failed or if you fumbled your opportunities or if anything wrong ever happened.  No matter how much you prepared to exist in the world, it was never enough.  You struggled so much to be like everyone else, to be normal.  You were too competitive, too intense, too harsh, and too proud.  It was exhausting to pretend to be someone you weren’t; it was exhausting constantly planning your day and reactions to specific phrases.  You were exhausted.

And it didn’t help that you were a murderer.  It didn’t help that you had your father’s blood on your hands and everyone knew it.  Everyone had seen your unconscious body on top of his; you had failed to stop the bleeding, you had failed to protect him.  If you hadn't been there, he would still be here.  You had distracted him and he had died, all because of you and your stupid pride.  You thought you knew best and it killed him.

But here Cassian was.  Someone whose gaze never changed when he looked at you.  His smile was so bright when he looked at you even if you snapped at him for not doing what you expected of him or judged him for not being on your level.  He saw you in a way that made you so scared.  It was like he saw your inner turmoil of just being outside and it was as comforting as it was intimidating.  He accepted you in the way you had been searching for your entire life.  He didn’t care that you were particular about the places you went to for lunch, or the seating arrangement at dinner, or what he said; he even seemed to love it.  

But you knew that would change if he knew.  He was utterly devoted to his family, that was so clear in the way he interacted with him and how long he had been with them all.  And they weren’t even blood.  So imagine what his reaction would be if he knew you killed your blood, your kin, your father.  Would he care for you the same?  Would he seek you out at the most random times just because he “wanted to see you?  Would he miss you when you were away?  He most definitely would not.  So no, he would never know.  You would never share with him that piece of you; he would never know of the greatest betrayal and sin you had committed.

You didn’t respond.  You broke his stare and sniffed, clearing your mind and heart of your feelings and went back to your book, even if the words on the page were blurry from your tears.

Cassian felt your confliction.  He could see the fight in your eyes but he didn’t want you to fight today.  He wanted you to relax.  So he didn’t press it.

After a few moments he spoke again and you laughed. 

Always talking.

“Have you realized that my wing has been touching you this entire time?”

Your smile was wide enough that your dimples were deep and he fought the urge to touch them.

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“Fine.”  You gave him a look and he smiled.

He squeezed your thigh.  “Good.”

You trudged up the steps to the house, the snow thick and hard from the winter air.  Spring was a month away but it showed no sign of approaching.

Cassian was waiting for you at the door, a shine in his eyes as he beheld you.

“Good morning, professor!”  He called to you and you snorted.

“Good morning, Cassian.”  You said as he opened open the door for you and you walked past him, not avoiding his wings for the first time.

“Y/N!”  Nyx’s high pitch voice screamed down the hallway and you didn’t have time to react as he hit your legs and hugged you.  “Where have you been?”

Nyx liked you more than you thought a child could like someone.  He always asked to be with you and Cassian while you worked and you never denied it.  He kept to himself, playing with his toys or copying you two as you wrote letters and reports.  Sometimes he’d sit on your lap and draw a doodle that he claimed to be an animal but it was just scribbles.  You never said otherwise.

“I’ve been sick,” you replied, squatting to face him.  

“How sick?”

“Sick enough.”  You laughed and he gave you a hug, wrapping his little arms around your neck.  

“Pick me up.”  He demanded and you did, putting him on your hip as you walked to your office.

“Where are your parents?”  You asked.

“Daddy’s office.”

You hummed and you and Cassian made their way to Rhysand’s office.

Cassian loved watching you interact with his nephew.  You were not good with adults but you were fantastic with children.  It was easy for you it seemed and in truth it was.  Children had straightforward dialogue and emotions and you didn’t need to read in between the lines to understand what was being said or felt.

“You’ve been missed,” Rhysand said as you entered the office and you blushed.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, his smile warm.  “No need.”

You went to put Nyx down but he clinged and you sighed, moving him further up on your hip.

“Any news since I’ve been gone?  Cassian and I worked on some yesterday but it wasn’t anything too pressing.”

“He told us.”  Feyre had a knowing look on her face and you furrowed your brows at it.

Cassian moved from beside you and plopped down in a chair and spread his legs, getting way too comfortable.

“Not really,” Feyre breathed out, leaning against the chair Rhysand was sitting in.  “Kallias and Vivianne had their babe so we were writing a congratulations card.  We’ll get a gift today, too.”

“Oh,” you raised your eyebrows.  “That’s nice.”

Cassian snorted.  You never knew what to say to things you didn’t think were interesting or important.

You glared at him, scowling and he smirked at you. 

There she is.

“Is Lucien and Elain still at the Spring Court?”  You asked, moving to sit beside Cassian.

Rhysand nodded, his expression somber.  

“He’s still erratic?”  You asked.

Rhysand nodded again.

You sighed.  Tamlin flipped back and forth too often for your liking.  He was torn between being humble and accepting help and thinking he didn’t deserve the generosity of the Court because of his actions.  Whether or not Rhysand and Feyre or anyone in the Inner Circle forgave him, you weren’t sure and you didn’t really care because they were being nice enough to be the bigger person in this scenario.  You just wished you were making consistent progress instead of progressing and then almost immediately regressing.

“It’ll be better once you both go there in April.”  Feyre said and she gave you a reassuring smile.

Eris was growing impatient too.  He wanted results immediately, but not only were you not allowed to go to the Spring Court until April, but his requests were also ridiculous.  Tamlin was not going to give up any of his territory because first it was his and second because his people were not going to fare well in the Autumn weather.  His other request for Tamlin to pay for the damages to the Autumn Court was just stupid.  The only reasonable request was for Tamlin to keep a set number of soldiers in his army and allow for various Courts to monitor the wall; this one you were sure you could accomplish but the other two you didn’t even entertain and you had already told Eris that much to his dismay.  He tried to sweet talk you and persuade you, but you knew your capabilities and you weren’t going to push Tamlin; he was doing enough by entertaining your letters.

Nyx went down for a nap and you and Cassian went outside for your “therapy” session.  

The wings themselves didn’t worry you anymore, but every time he flexed them, stretching them out to their full length or walked towards you, you would freeze.

“We need to work on that.”  He said, his voice filling the distance you had put between you too.

“No shit,” you grumbled. 

You were growing frustrated.  He could be near you, the wings could touch you, but every time they moved your body buzzed and you didn’t see his wings but their wings.  And it didn’t help that the sun kept shining on the talons and bones of his wings, the light reflecting off of them.

You took a deep breath and nodded and he walked slowly towards you.  You gritted your teeth and cringed back, but you didn’t move.

“Where are they?”  He asked. 

This was his staple question.  He wanted you to remember that they were his and not whatever you saw.

“On you.”

“That’s right.”

You could hear his footsteps now, the snow crunching underneath his boots.  He was so much closer now and you couldn’t open your eyes.  Your heart was beating so fast and you couldn’t breath; the air was too cold, too sharp.

He stopped and you dared a peek at him and was looking at you, his eyes looking you over, looking for something resistance.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No.”  You took a deep breath and straightened.  “I’m okay.”

He started again and you clenched your fists.  

His wings, not their wings.  His wings, not their wings.

He was an arm's length away and you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry.

You could do this.  You let him lay them on you.  This was like that.

It was the same.  You were relaxed then, his sleeping form beside you and his wings sprawled across your bed.  They were no threat to you.  Not like the other ones.  The other ones tore into your back, leaving you physically and mentally scarred for life.  These wouldn’t do that.  He wouldn’t do that.

He was so close now that he had to look down at you.  “You okay?”  He whispered and you couldn’t even respond, physically or verbally. 

You were not.

His wings moved so they were in your peripheral vision and you whimpered, looking at them. 

You were trapped.

“It’s just me.”  He whispered and you bared your teeth, closing your eyes.

The image in your mind was so vivid.  Milk white wings coming down from behind and wrapping around you, trapping you on the ground.

You let out a cry and tried to back away, but Cassian grabbed your wrist and placed your hand on his chest and he interlocked your fingers.

“Say it.”  He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand.  “Say it’s me.”

You shook your head.  “I can’t.”

He ducked his head down, his nose brushing against your cheek and you let out a cry of pain.  Your chest was caving in and you couldn’t breathe.

“It’s me,” he whispered and he gripped your hand even harder.

He was right.  It was him.  It was always him and never them.

“You,” you breathed out and he smiled.

“Yes.”

You let out another breath and then breathed in again.  His scent entered your body like a physical wave, going into your nose and spreading throughout your body.  Not rotting meat, but cologne.  It was a sharp smell that made you flare your nostrils. 

An intoxicating smell for an intoxicating male.  

Cassian kept moving his wings around you until you were cocooned against him and he trailed his nose from your cheek to the tip of your and like always, you lifted your head upwards.

“It’s just me.”  He said again.

You unclenched your hand and spread it flat against his chest.

“It’s you.”

“Mhm.”  He placed a hand on your waist.  “And it’s always going to be me.”

Yes, you wanted to say.  Nobody else.

tag list: @thecraziestcrayon | @rcarbo1

[delusionalwh6re]

drunk in love

aged up!lo’ak x fem omaticaya!reader

summary: after yet another failed relationship you end up at a party. what happens when the youngest son of toruk makto is going through the same as you, is it fate?

warnings: 🔞 smut with a plot, oral (both m & f receiving), fingering, cussing, kissing, alcohol, comforting, a bit of angst and drunk sex

you wanted to scream.

after everything, how could he? how could he just choose to mate with another woman right before your eyes? you were angry. all of these months of you trying to court him. he just throws it off a cliff

he doesn’t care. he never did, and that’s probably the part that hurt the most

the thing was is, you weren’t sad. you wanted to cry yes, but only because you were just so fucking angry

you were never the type to go all out for a man in the first place. the one time you did and this shit happens. you truly did love your great mother but you swore that if she put you through another heartbreak you were genuinely going to lose it

so to avoid him seeing you cry, seeing you in such a vulnerable moment you ran. you ran away from men like you usually did. maybe it was the little girl in you but at this point you didn’t care. you were done trying

eventually your running got you somewhere. from a short distance you saw something that appeared to be a… party?

there was glowy purple lights that blended in perfectly with your forest’s natural scenery. there was some traditional music playing along with some ‘sky people’ music from the lab

you decided to walk over to the party to figure out the hype. with every step you took the strong smell of alcohol flooded your nostrils

you physically cringed as you kept walking to the gathering

when you walked through the leaves flowing from the veins as a makeshift door and observed your surroundings. there were na’vi who were having a good time. they were dancing around, singing and laughing

you smiled at your people and even waved at some that you recognized. as you kept walking closer and closer the smell of alcohol got stronger. so you took this as a sign from eywa herself and decided to treat yourself to a drink

it’s honestly the least you deserve

while you were minding your business you felt a presence coming towards you from steps away. the smell was a bit familiar but you weren’t sure. so you just kept pouring your drink waiting for the person to reveal themself if they even were

you heard someone shuffle next to you and turned your head

“lo’ak?” you looked at him with disbelief

“aye wassup y/n” he smiled and turned to pour a drink

“why are you here? you must wanna get your dick wet” you shook your head playfully

he laughed and put his head down

you noticed his demeanor seemed a bit off but you didn’t say anything unless he showed a sign he needed some serious help

“well, why not?” he shrugged with a blank face

“are you good?”

“umm… why?”

“because you’re not yourself?” you side eyed

he sighed “im fine”

“don’t lie to me” you grabbed his shoulder to turn him to face you

he was silent for a while as he thought

“do you ever just feel alone? like there’s people around you but-”

“you’re still alone, nobody is able to understand you” you interrupted him

“yeah” he sighed

“is that what’s bothering you?”

he nodded and put his head down in shame

“lo’ak let me tell you something. there’s nothing wrong with you. i don’t care what anyone says, everyone is a bit misunderstood. don’t listen to what people say. including your dad because i know he can be tough on you” your tone was so genuine it made his heart flutter

“thank you y/n” he smiled

lo’ak sully had smiled because of you and it seemed to be genuine

“of course” you rubbed his shoulder

the two of you made eye contact. this eye contact wasn’t like how it was before. it didn’t seem friendly or strictly platonic, it was a look of lust

he cleared his throat “so what brought you here”

you fought the urge to roll your eyes at the thought of your “ex” boyfriend balls deep inside of another woman from earlier

“it’s a long story” you kicked a rock

“well we got all night mama” he said handing you the drink you poured with a chuckle

time skip

“damn” was all lo’ak had said

your words slurred as the alcohol started to take over your body “yeah, AND he didn’t even try to say sorry or anything. can you believe that motherfucker?”

“no i can’t actually, that’s so fucked up im sorry” his voice was low as he put his arm around your shoulder to side hug you

“it’s whatever, im getting over it” you laughed

“really, it happened like an hour ago?” lo’ak titled his head with a small laugh

“why would i care about a man who couldn’t give a fuck about me?” you raised a brow

he shook his head in agreement and put his hands up in surrender “you got it”

you laughed before looking back at the party. your people really knew how to turn up because the shit was still lit. mated pairs were dancing and touching all on each other as they celebrated

“let’s dance!” lo’ak pulled you up

“what?” you snapped your head towards him

“girl you heard me” he smirked before dragging you to the middle of the dance floor

“i can’t dance” you crossed your arms

“then shake some ass” he bit his lip

you playfully rolled your eyes and walked past him

“where are you going ma?” he called out as you started to walk away

you pointed in the direction of one of your friends to imply you were gonna go talk to her. he nodded his head as you shot him a wink before walking up to her

“boo!” you popped up behind her

“oh! y/n you scared me” amitsa laughed before bringing you into a hug

you laughed as you hugged her back for a little while. the two of you pulled away and began to catch up until she noticed you walked away from lo’ak

“are the two of you..?” she smirked a bit swifting her finger between you and lo’ak

“oh no! we’re just friends. i didn’t even he was here until a little bit ago” you awkwardly laughed

“mhm, you guys are cute together” she shrugged

you held back a smile “stop it”

“girl i see that smile! and i know you guys have some sort of connection. he seems to really like you, give him a chance y/n” she encouraged you

you finally let yourself smile before scoffing and shrugging your shoulders “we’ll see”

she giggled and winked at you “tell me how it goes”

“yeah, yeah whatever” you rolled your eyes at your friend before taking another sip of your drink

after some time you and amitsa ended up on the dance floor together. the two of you had grown a bit of distance just to focus on your own lives and you were starting to forget how much fun the two of you always had

“WOO!” amitsa danced around laughing

“THIS IS THE BEST NIGHT EVER!” you drunkly yelled jumping around

she grabbed you by the arm to pull you closer to her “and it’s about to get a whole lot better for you”

you looked at her in confusion until she smirked and pointed her head ahead of you. you turned your head and met eyes with lo’ak. he was looking a you, no, he was admiring you from afar

you smiled a bit before turning your head back to amitsa “don’t even”

“told you he wanted you” she teased

“he’s just checking me out no big deal!”

“you need to stop being in denial and go jump his bones already! you know you want to” she sassed

she was right. you would be lying to yourself and literally everyone if you said you didn’t find lo’ak attractive. you thought he was one of the most good looking men in your clan and that was simply just a fact

“you better do it or i will’ amitsa caught your attention

you hissed at her before widening your eyes

“oh my eywa! i knew you would get jealous” she laughed at the trick she just pulled on you

“oh my… i really do like him” you smiled at her

“SO GO GET THAT DICK ALREADY WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” she crossed her arms

you smiled at her antics before rushing over to lo’ak who instantly smiled when he saw you

‘he’s so cute’ you thought

“hi lo’ak” you whispered

“hey mama” he looked you up and down

the two of you stared at each other like you were the last meals on pandora. the tension between you two was so painfully obvious and so thick. even a palulukan could sense it

now you don’t know if it was the alcohol in your system or amitsa’s words floating in your mind. the next thing you knew you grabbed lo’ak’s hand and dragged him away to the first secluded area you saw

he happily followed you and was very intrigued by your antics. he couldn’t help but smile to himself before checking you out for the millionth time tonight. his eyes looked over your entire body

the way your hips swayed with confidence. the way your hair flowed down your back. the way the fat of your ass jiggled with every step you took. the way your sexy long legs walked with pride

the things he was about to do to you started to now flood his brain

you decided to stop once you guys were far enough and only heard very faint noises and music from the party. you couldn’t even turn around to face lo’ak before you were immediately pinned to a tree

you gasped and looked up at him to be met with those low drunk eyes he had been giving you since the second he saw you again

“lo-lo’ak, please” you whimpered

“please what? use your words” he whispered letting the smell of alcohol fly off his tongue

“please fuck me. i need you” you rubbed yourself against him

“yeah? you want some dick? was that little boyfriend of yours not properly pleasing you?” he titled his head

you immediately shook your head no

“open your mouth” he squeezed your waist

“no” you whispered

“what a shame, he’s trippin. i would never deny pleasing you” he got closer to whisper in your ear

“mhm” you whined at the little friction he was giving you

“are you thinking about him right now?” he kissed your shoulder

“not a single thought” you reassured him

he smacked your thigh causing you to gasp “don’t lie to me”

“no lo’ak! i swear im not thinking about him please” you pleaded as he started to slightly back away from you

“you swear?” he grabbed you by the neck

“yes” you let out a breath before smashing your lips onto his

the kiss quickly became sloppy as your tongues fought against each other. you ran your fingers through his braids as he held onto your waist gently. he started to get impatient though and rubbed himself against you

you pulled away to breathe and leaned your forehead against his. he looked into your eyes before speaking up

“i know we’re drunk off our asses right now, but are you sure you want this?” he bit his lip anxiously

“yes, more than anything” you smiled placing a soft kiss against his lips

he let out a low growl before lifting his head up and tapping your thigh “jump”

you jumped up and he caught you before walking over to a nearby creek with a soft pile of grass next to it

he laid you down as he settled in between your legs. he looked down at you, eywa you were gorgeous

the forest had really brought out all of your features and the bioluminescence only made you shine brighter in his eyes

“you’re gorgeous you know that?” he caressed your cheek

“thank you” you blushed and looked up at the stars

“nuh uh, if we’re gonna do this i need you to look at me” he demanded

you slowly trailed your eyes back on him. your eyes lowered down his body to be met with a huge bulge sticking out from his loincloth

“you did that mama” he whispered

your eyes widened slightly before leaning over to hover over your face

“you want this right?” he rubbed your thigh

“yes” you smiled widely

he smiled back at you “spread your legs some more”

now you weren’t a whore but for him? you spread your legs so damn fast you could’ve got whiplash

“damn girl” he chuckled at you

“sorry” you mumbled with a smile

“nothing to be sorry about, you want this just as much as i do” he leaned down to kiss your knee

your breath hitched as you couldn’t help but gasp at the contact of his lips on your body

he looked up at you with those eyes. you nodded your head giving him permission to take your loincloth off

he smirked and decided to go all out for you. he first pulled at the strings on the side of your thighs slowly knowing you were growing impatient. once he did that, he used his teeth to drag the loose material off of you

you gasped and looked down at him. he was already looking at you and his movements were very very slow. it was like he was putting some type of spell on you because you were making noise and he barely did anything

“mhm, all this for me huh?” he spoke looking at your glistening cunt

you face heated up in a little bit of embarrassment from how wet you were but who could blame you?

“yes, all for you, all yours” you whispered causing his ears to flick up

he groaned before placing a kiss on your inner thigh. you shut your eyes and just let him do his thing. each kiss he placed onto you was closer and closer to where you needed him the most

he paused and there was silence for a moment. you looked down at him in concern before you were immediately cut off when he placed a sloppy kiss to your clit

“oh!” you moaned throwing your head back

“right there huh?” he mumbled now starting to make out with your pussy and sucking hard onto your clit

“yesss” you whined arching your back

you rubbed yourself onto his face as your orgasm was surprisingly approaching fast, damn he knew how to work his mouth

“im gonna cum” you reached down to pull on his hair

he pulled away to rub your clit gently with his thumb before spitting onto your pussy

“yeah?” he looked up at you while swirling his tongue around to write his name on you slit

“mhm lo’ak!” you screamed as your core tightened

he slowed his tongue down before plunging in one of his long thick fingers inside of you. you moaned out loudly as he instantly curled it and wrapped his lips around your aching clit

“FUCK” you squealed as he sped up all of his movements as each second passed

your chest was heaving up and down which meant you were getting closer. lo’ak pulled his now two fingers out of you to grip onto your thighs

he shoved his face closer to you and held your thighs into place as he ate you out like a man starved

you eyes rolled to the back of your head as your moans got stuck into your throat as the knot forming in your stomach finally unraveled. you let out a scream and tugged tightly onto lo’ak’s hair

he hummed causing vibrations to flow through you which only added to the pleasure. he slowly kissed your pussy engraving the taste of you into his tongue. he eventually pulled away slowly, you watched as a string of his spit and juices were connected to your pussy

“oh my” you panted out

“you taste good” you heard the smirk in lo’ak’s voice as he kissed up your stomach and chest

“i can tell” you giggled wiping his mouth and chin

he smiled down at you before leaning down to place a soft kiss against your lips

“take it off” you mumbled tugging on his loincloth

“take it off for me” he smirked

you smirked back and didn’t hesitate to play with the strings of his loincloth. you started to unravel them before sliding the material off of him. he helped you by lifting up more and working his legs to take it off completely

you heard a hard firm slap against his stomach and immediately gulped. it’s sounded so heavy that you started to panic before even looking at it

“hey, chill, it’s okay. im here. we’ll take our time okay?” he cupped your face

you nodded and smiled up at him for being so caring towards you

“no promises i won’t fuck you up though” he smirked

your face heat up and you laughed at him before thrusting your hips up into him to let him know you were ready

“so eager” he shook his head and looked down between your bodies

he gave his dick a couple of strokes with his hand before spitting onto your pussy one more time to ease any possible pain you might have. even though it was unnecessary because of how dripping wet you were from before

“ready?” he placed his other hand on the side of your head

“ready” you nodded and held onto his wrist

he guided himself into you slowly. his tip was encased by your velvety walls as the rest of his dick slowly entered you. he took his time with entering you until his pelvis was connected to yours

you have never felt so full in your life..

you looked down to see a bulge sticking out of your stomach and sat up in awe. he looked at you with wide eyes and placed a hand on your stomach

“lay back down for me baby” he gently pushed you down

you obliged and wrapped your arms around his neck. your mouth flew open as he slowly began to pull out. his tip was the only thing inside of you before he rammed back inside of you at full force

“LO’AK!” you moaned arching your back

“shit!” he moaned now placing both of his hands on the side of your head

he lifted your thigh up to cling onto his waist. he leaned in to kiss you as he increasingly sped up his pace. his thrusts were firm but deep as you felt him hitting your g-spot perfectly

“FUCK” you whined loudly arching your back as the sound of skin slapping together started to fill the secluded area of the forest

he groaned before whispering in a raspy tone “you feel so fucking good mama”

“don’t stop” you started to scratch his back as he placed both of your thighs on his waist

“this pussy is way too good to stop” he leaned up to put your legs above his shoulders

“OH YES! you’re fucking me soooo good” you whined as tears welled up in your eyes as his thrusts started to get down right vicious

“im fucking you so good huh?” he tiled his head not showing any mercy on you at all

“mhm” you whined gripping the back of your thighs for steadiness against his brutal thrusts

he suddenly pulled out of you with a ‘pop’ sound. before you could even think to open your mouth you were flipped onto your stomach and he was sliding inside of you again

“OH GREAT MOTHER!” you yelped as he started to fuck you senseless from behind

“taking this dick so well” he groaned wrapping your hair around his forearm to yank your head back

“god lo’ak” your legs shook as your body started to grow weak

“nah keep that ass up baby” he smacked your ass before holding onto you waist to hold you up

“SHIT” you screamed as he started pounding your sweet spot

“you like that?” he leaned over you a bit

“YES! RIGHT THERE” your back arched causing him to go deeper inside of you

“FUCK! im about to cum” he whimpered as he was in awe of him sliding in and out of you

“yeah?” you whispered looking back as you threw it back on him to help him reach his first orgasm of the night as you reached your second

“don’t look at me like that” he met your low eyes

you smirked and reached for his hand. you started to meet his thrusts halfway. he gripped the side of your hip as he thrusted into you in a circular motion. the both of you let out loud moans as your orgasms approached

“ouuu lo’ak! yessss” you threw your ass back faster as you gripped onto the grass in front of you with your free hand

“im cumming mama, im cumming” he threw his head back as he aggressively smacked your ass

“cum inside of me, please i want all of you deep inside of me” you begged

he groaned as he gripped your hair harder as his cum shot right out of him into you. you moaned as his seed filled you up just right which triggered your own orgasm too

the both of you let out long sighs as exhaustion started to wash over. you squealed when he pulled out of you with a whimper

“shit” he rubbed his hands across his face

you flopped onto the floor as your legs have officially gave up on you

“told you i’ll fuck you up” he smacked your ass once again

you giggled “shut up”

“come on ma, let’s get you cleaned up”

you sat up and turned around to look at him “i rather clean you up first”

he looked at you in confusion and like you were crazy. his confusion was immediately drained from his body as you grabbed his dick into your hands

“oh you’re nasty” he smirked at you

you smirked back at him before licking under his shaft while maintaining eye contact. his breath hitched as he gripped your hair putting it into a makeshift ponytail. you kissed his tip softly causing him to yank your hair before you decided to stop teasing

you hungrily shoved him into your mouth as he groaned. you instantly started to swirl your tongue around him doing all sorts of tricks on his dick. he threw his head back moaning loudly

“you’re so good at this, fuck! keep doing that. im gonna nut all in that pretty ass mouth”

you moaned at his words which only caused him more pleasure. you decided to add on and wrap your hand around what you couldn’t fit into your mouth. your hand worked in a twisty motion as you bopped your head up and down

“mhm, im gonna have to marry you after this” lo’ak mumbled in complete euphoria

you tried not to laugh at him. you reached as far as you possibly could on him. the tip of your nose briefly reached his pelvis. there was a lump in your throat and spit dripping down your chin leading to the crease between your breasts

lo’ak would have that image engraved into his mind forever. he couldn’t help but get needy as he felt another orgasm slowly approaching

“baby please” he begged for nothing as he began to fuck your throat

tears started to form in your eyes as your jaw was starting to hurt from this and all that screaming you did from earlier. you tapped his thigh to give him the green light. his hips stuttered as he gripped your hair so hard it felt like your scalp was burning

but you didn’t care, not when he just filled you up in another one of your holes. his hips came to a stop and his breathing increase as his load flowed all the way down your concentrated throat

“FUCK GIRL! that was amazing” he grinned down at you

you smiled up at him and wiped the cum that got on your chin onto your thumb. you looked up at lo’ak seductively before placing your thumb in your mouth and sucking slowly. his eyes widened at you and you caressed his thighs

“what are we?” you asked in slight desperation

“shit, well we ain’t friends no more. you’re mine” he smirked and planted a kiss on your forehead as he helped you stand up

and you couldn’t be happier…

authore speaking

SHIT THATS FINALLY DONE

y/n really said “i ain’t trippin over no nga im hoppin onto the next” I KNOW DAS RIGHT!!

don’t get me wrong im a proud teyam girl thru and thru but lo’ak is tew underrated.. like cmon he’s sexy yall show him some more lovin 😫

LMAO this was lowk ass um.. go easy on me yall i haven’t wrote smut in MONTHS. 😭

love, liana