#and I don’t expect them to understand and they shouldn’t HAVE to understand but GOD I wish they could see how hard I try

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Your writing is amazing! I’ve been checking daily for new fics lmao

I was wondering if your requests were open would you be able to write some angst with a happy ending w/ Peanut?

Perhaps a Shy!Reader who has flirty banter with Logan. They’re on a mission and Logan has to make a quick decision on who to save — Reader or Jean and he saves Jean without thinking. Reader ends up surviving with a few injuries but her and Logan’s relationship starts to deteriorate. Logan’s not good with verbal apologies so he does acts of service — bringing reader food/drinks etc. reader is stubborn and Logan starts to get frustrated. He eventually proves himself to reader.

I’m sorry if this is confusing!! I’m not creative enough to write it myself and you’re really really skilled. Love your work x

a/n: I read this request and then read them together and my brain imploded because I loved it so much, no smut in this one Summary: Logan saves Jean on a mission and it's the wake-up call you desperately needed to understand that you will never be her. You can't stand to look at him anymore and he doesn't understand why you've stopped talking to him.

“What’re you thinking of doing after this?”

You shrug, leaning back on the uncomfortable bench seats and looking over at Logan. “Not sure, got any plans?”

Logan smirks and you immediately know whatever he’s about to say is going to send you spiraling. “Yeah, whatever you’re doing, sweetheart.”

Oh. My. God!

You know you’ve got it bad when something as simple as that has you swooning. It’s so easy to fall into this routine with him, to pretend you’re more suave than you actually are. Despite your usual tendency to fade into the background, you find it nearly impossible to do with him. 

Where someone else might let you stay quiet and go ignored, he seeks you out. He makes you feel seen and heard. Some days you don’t know if you appreciate it or despise it. You laugh a little, trying to hide just how affected by him you are. “Sounds good, Lo.”

He smiles and leans back on the seat, his arm coming around the back to rest lightly over your shoulders. You can tell from the look on Storm’s face that she’s trying not to laugh at you. You can’t blame her, you’re sure your eyes have tripled in size and you look absolutely stunned. 

Flirting isn’t out of the usual for you and him. Lately, though, he’s upped the game. Touching you more than usual, spending more one-on-one time together. You can feel it all building up to something. You’re shy, not stupid, you know when a guy’s going to ask you out. 

But it feels like he’s dragging it out longer than necessary like he’s enjoying teasing you a little too much.  “Alright,” Scott stands up and moves towards the back of the jet. “We’re almost there, get ready.”

You, very reluctantly, pull away from Logan and get to your feet. He walks past you, briefly squeezing your hand before joining Scott by the ramp. You grin, flexing your hand by your side and trying to memorize the feeling. 

The ramp lowers to the ground and Scott and Logan lead the way out. You’re expecting this to be simple. Stake out the area, find some information about the people running the warehouse, and figure out what exactly it is that they’ve been doing. 

The air is bursting with moisture. It’s suffocating, how humid it is, how it makes the material of your suit cling to your skin. You know the rest of the team can feel it. That it’s irritating them just as much. 

None of you want to be out here in the peak of summer, trying to be stealthy in these ridiculous costumes. Your thighs squeak every time they rub together. It’s beyond embarrassing. You know that that’s what has you all distracted. 

You’re struggling through ankle-deep mud and sweating buckets. So none of you are paying any particular attention to the area around you. Technically, you shouldn’t have to, you’re still about a mile out from where you need to be. 

You duck, hands coming up to cover your ears as Charles’ voice screams through your mind. It’s a trap!

Even with the warning, there’s no time to prepare. The ground around you explodes, grass and dirt flying through the air. Logan grabs your arm, he shoves himself in front of you and takes the brunt of the bullets. Splatters of blood hits your cheeks and he runs you both behind a tree for cover. 

The other three have all found their own cover and they’re struggling to figure out where the shots are coming from. You spot something in the underbrush and scream, “Behind you!”

It’s more of a warning to duck than it is to move. You throw your hands up, shoving the man away from them and sending him flying into the trunk of a tree. You swear you can hear the snap of his spine as it hits the bark. 

You look to Jean and nod towards the small clearing of trees. “Don’t,” Logan warns. But you’re already slipping out of his grip and solidifying the air in front of you. It provides enough of a cover, absorbing the bullets, and giving you all time to figure out a plan of attack. 

Jean moves beside you, eyes narrowing on the perimeter of your cover. “There are too many of them, more than I can count.” 

“How did they know we were coming?” Scott snaps, keeping an eye on the area behind you. 

Your arms struggle under the weight of your power. The more bullets they shoot into your cover, the harder it is to keep up. You’re forced to absorb their energy, push it out tenfold to try and keep the blockage solidified. 

“Guys,” you snap, “we need a plan. I can’t hold it much longer.” You grit your teeth, taking a step forward to try and push against the strain. It does nothing but make your bones ache. Logan shoots you a concerned glance, coming up behind you like he wants to take the weight off your shoulders. But there’s nothing he can do. 

There’s movement behind you, a boot snapping a twig in two. You can’t risk looking back but you can hear the worry in Jean’s voice. “Ten of them-”

You can tell by the sounds of their movement that the others don’t give her much of a chance to finish. Ororo, Scott, and Logan all shoot forward to deal with the threat. Ten isn’t much to worry about. But that doesn’t change the fact that the men in front of you haven’t let up and you’re about to weep from the weight of keeping the wall up. 

Jean stays beside you, brows furrowed in concern. She places her hand on your shoulder and closes her eyes. A second later you feel something like a cool blanket laid over you. The tension in your arms and core eases just enough for you to stop clenching your jaw so hard. Some of the strain eases away and you know she’s sharing it with you. 

But just as quickly as the relief was given, it’s yanked away. Jean jumps back with a gasp, “Flux, we need to move!”

“I can’t,” you shout, fighting to be heard over the sound of bloodshed and gunshots going off in front of and behind you. The others are steadily moving through the people surrounding you, but their numbers are still overwhelming. “It’ll all come crashing down,” you tell her. 

She glances towards the bullets, finally spotting the way they’re slowly, but steadily, moving through the thickened air. The second you let go you’ll be riddled with holes. “Shit,” she hisses. “Look, we can’t stay here much longer-”

She’s cut off by a loud bang. You’re so disoriented by the noise your hands drop to your sides. At the same moment, you hear wood splintering and cracking beside you. What has to be the largest tree in the forest creaks before it begins its descent down towards you both. 

You don’t what happened, or what they used, but it doesn’t matter. The wall in front of you is fading. You have seconds to get out of the way of the bullets and the tree, you’re not sure either of you is going to make it. 

“Jean!” There’s a flash of brown hair and Jean’s being tackled to the ground, safely out of the way of the tree and bullets. You feel something stinging against your shoulder and know the first bullet’s made its way through. 

You also see the tree is almost over top of you. You’ve always been a fight response in flight or fight scenarios. But when there’s nothing to fight, when you have nothing to go up against, you freeze. It’s horrible, you know it, but there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Even as you’re desperately screaming at yourself to just fucking move, all you can do is watch as the tree topples down on top of you. “Flux, duck!” The words trigger something in your brain just soon enough to drop to the ground. 

Scott releases a red beam, blasting through the tree and knocking it off course. You don’t even register the smell of burning flesh as you lay in the mud. Your blood is rushing so fast in your veins, there’s so much adrenaline pumping through you, you can’t focus on anything except the sound of your heartbeat. 

You let out a breath of relief, slowly lifting yourself up to your knees. You don’t hear any more fighting and you figure whoever they hadn’t taken down before, the beam took care of the rest. 

You look down, checking yourself for any bullet holes or serious damage but you can’t find anything. Something warm trickles down your shoulder, it drips across your arm and down your hand. 

You look at the blood curiously, it seems to steady a flow from the simple bullet graze you’d had earlier. “Oh my god,” Jean whispers your name and you turn around with a concerned look. 

You want to ask her what’s wrong but your eyes are trained on the way Logan’s arms are bracketing her. He’s practically on top of her, only now getting up to check on you. You get it, it was a stressful situation, he acted fast. 

But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow the lump in your throat. It doesn’t ease the burn of betrayal. He saved her, not you. He chose her even though she doesn’t want him. The anger you’re feeling only makes it harder to be aware of your surroundings. 

It’s not until Scott kneels behind you a presses a gentle hand against your back that you lurch forward with a loud cry. The pain slams down on you all at once. The wind blowing gently against your back feels like someone’s dug razor blades in your skin and ripped. 

Feet rush towards you, someone kneeling beside you and grabbing your shoulders. Logan forces you up and makes you look at him before his gaze turns to your back. “What the fuck did you do?” He practically growls, lunging towards Scott. 

He grabs him by the collar and shoves him into the dirt. Ororo and Jean leap forward, trying unsuccessfully to rip him off. You try and keep your eyes open, try and stay focused. The pain is too much, you don’t want to be awake for this anymore. Every nerve on your back feels like it’s being forcefully exposed and plucked at. 

Your brain forces a shutdown and you slump into the mud, the world going black. 

When you wake up, you’re on your stomach. You’re a little dazed, not fully remembering how you got here. You try and sit up but there’s a steady grip around your wrists stopping you. “Don’t move,” Jean warns from somewhere behind you. 

You try and look for her but you can’t move much. Your head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, stuck to the pillow beneath you. “What happened? Why can’t I move?”

Her shoes appear in front of you and then she’s kneeling down, a slightly worried look on her face. “We needed to make sure you didn’t roll over in your sleep.” Her brows crinkle and she frowns, “You don’t remember?” You shake your head minutely. She sighs, lifting her hand to your face and pressing her chilled fingers to your temple. 

The images rush towards you. You see it all from her eyes. The way Logan had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground, checking over her and not once looking at you. How Scott had tried to stop the tree from breaking your spine. His beam had just barely grazed your back as you had ducked. But it was enough for there to be serious damage. 

Through her view, you can see the way your skin had bubbled up and blistered. How horribly damaged it was. You have limited healing abilities, but it was enough to stop the nerves from being permanently damaged. 

She lets you go and you groan, the pain slowly registering in your brain. It’s dulled and you don’t know if they’ve given you drugs or if your abilities are still working to help you. “How’s Scott?” 

She chuckles and shakes her head while she undoes the restraints around your wrist. “He feels awful. He keeps coming by to check on you.”

The thought of him sitting beside you while you were strapped down to the bed makes you feel a little bad. It wasn’t his fault, he’d helped you. It was more than Logan had done for you. 

You frown, hating yourself for being bitter. If he hadn’t helped, Jean might not be here next to you. He had saved your friend. The thought didn’t bring much comfort, though. “I’m not mad at him.”

Jean eases you onto your knees and slowly helps you sit up. It causes minimal pain, but it’s still uncomfortable enough to grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palms. “I know, but he’ll probably be coming down here a lot to check on you.”

You almost ask her if anyone else has visited. If Logan had, but you don’t think her answer would make you feel any better. “He did,” she tells you and you click your tongue in irritation. 

“Out of my head,” you warn. She releases you with a small grin. “I don’t care,” you tell her, trying to appear nonchalant. 

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing on you. “Yes, you do. And I don’t need telepathy to know.” She walks towards your IV bag, fiddling around with something on the line. “He was here whenever he could be, practically lived beside you.”

“Don’t care,” you tell her again, but there’s less conviction this time. 

Jean frowns and you hate how guilty she looks. It’s not her fault he’s desperately in love with her and not you. You can’t force someone to love you or choose you. And you don’t want to. You want someone to love you for who you are, not because they couldn’t have their first choice. 

“Don’t,” you say lowly. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t get a chance to say anything before the door bursts open, both Logan and Scott sliding into your room. Scott lets out a relieved breath when he sees you. He breathes out your name and approaches with a guilty smile, “You’re awake.”

“Charles told us,” Logan informs. You offer him a brief glance before diverting your attention to Scott. 

Petty, you’re aware. But you don’t want to see Logan right now. You’d put so much effort and time into your friendship with him. It doesn’t even matter if he doesn’t feel the same way about you. You two are best friends, and he didn’t even try to help you when you needed him the most. 

So, you smile at Scott. You forgive him and you tell him you're fine. You chat with him and Jean while Logan just stares at you from the other side of your bed. You can’t make yourself face him. You don’t want to look at him, it makes you sick to your stomach.

Eventually, Scott’s guilt is slightly assuaged and he and Jean leave for the night. Logan is a heavy presence beside you, one you no longer can ignore. You shift around, pretending to fluff your pillows until he grabs your hand. 

“What’re you doing?”

You look at his hand and then at him. Whatever look is on your face is enough for him to release you and back off. “Getting comfortable,” you spit out, more venom in your voice than necessary. Something clicks for him, you can see it as it happens. 

He backs up and narrows his eyes down at you. “Right.” He frowns and sucks on his teeth, nodding his head silently. “I’ll come back when you’re feeling a little better.” You don’t miss the hidden dig underneath it all, the way he’s calling out you’re unusual behavior. 

“I think that’d be best.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, slamming the door behind him as he leaves. You jump at the noise and it makes you hiss as a twinge of pain shoots down your spine. You feel slightly guilty about the whole interaction. Then, you remember the way he’d been cradling Jean and you feel slightly vindicated. 

You’re sure he doesn’t even give a shit. He’s probably pouting in his room, wishing Jean was in bed beside him. 

What the fuck?

It’s all that’s been playing through Logan’s head since he returned from your room in the medbay. He’s waited days for you to wake up, so he can finally take a breath and let go of the anxiety that’s been plaguing him. 

He’d thought that he’d lost you in that forest. When he’d gone for Jean, he’d assumed you’d just be able to use your powers to knock the tree out of your path. Or make it melt around you. 

Honestly, he can’t put a finger on what exactly he was thinking. But he knew that you could protect yourself and that would be your priority. So he’d moved without really thinking and grabbed the person who would be collateral damage if your powers went haywire. 

And then you hadn’t saved yourself and all he could smell was your burning flesh. The smell has been stuck in his nose since you were brought back to the mansion. He can’t escape it. Everywhere he goes, he sees you burning and hears your screams. 

He’d thought that you were dead and there was a moment where he genuinely was so lost he could do nothing but watch as the others swarmed you. He couldn’t move, couldn’t help you. He could only stare at your still body and pray to anybody who could hear him that you weren’t dead. 

He didn’t know what he would do if he lost you before he ever got a chance to love you. 

He’d, irritatingly, imagined all the different ways he would finally tell you how he felt when you woke up. He’d prepared himself for every possible reaction, except this one. He hadn’t expected you to reject him before he ever got the chance to confess. 

Anger stews within him as he paces through his room. He knows that it’s unfair to be upset with you. You’d gone through something horrific and there had been doubts about your recovery. Of course, you’d act off. 

Except, you only seemed to be directing that at him. Had you been just as dismissive to Scott, the person who actually hurt you, he would have looked past it. He’s tempted to go back down and see you again, maybe try and make you see some sense. 

Instead, he decides to give you both some time to calm down. He doesn’t want to do anything he might regret while he’s pissed off. He’ll see you tomorrow and, hopefully, you’ll be back to normal. 

You’d thought Logan might have gotten the hint with how you behaved earlier. That was not the case. He’s back today and you can smell the breakfast food he’s brought you. The smell is wafting deliciously from an inconspicuous brown bag. 

But you know it’s from the restaurant that’s twenty minutes out of his way. You’re not petty enough that you can’t appreciate the forty-minute round trip he’d taken for you, but you still aren’t excited to see him. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles at you despite your clearly hostile energy. He tugs the chair towards your bed, ripping open the bag and pulling out enough food for the both of you. 

You think it should be considered a form of manipulation to call you that while you’re pissed at him. He has such a clear effect on you. You know he’s aware of it. He knows that when he calls you something sweet like that it makes your heart race and stomach flip. 

You turn your gaze towards your blanket. You pretend the thread pattern is the most interesting thing in the world so you don’t have to look at him. You’re sick of giving your all to men who couldn’t care less about you. 

You’re tired of being the second, third, fourth choice. You want someone to choose you first for once. And you genuinely thought Logan would be the man to do that. But he’d chosen Jean. You should have known. 

“Alright,” he huffs, crossing his arms and glaring at you. You’re pissed off that he’s acting like he’s the one who was hurt. “What the hell is your problem? You’ve never been this mad at me before.”

It’s his tone of voice that really grates on you. He genuinely does not understand what he’s done wrong. He doesn’t even comprehend the possibility that you might be mad he left you to die. Have you really become such a doormat?

Yes, you’re shy and generally reserved with the people you meet. But he is so different. You two met and it was an instant connection that you thought was reciprocated. You hadn't realized that you'd become so complacent in the relationship he thought he could get away with something like this with no repercussions. 

“You left me to die,” you snap at him, voice taking a pitch it never has before. You’ve never truly gotten angry at him. Pissed off sometimes when he teased you a little too much. But you’d never plainly shown anger at him. “You fucking left me behind and expect me to, what,” you scoff and shove the food back towards him. 

“You think some shitty breakfast is going to fix this?” His face contorts. It screws up into something like hurt and you worry you might have been too harsh. He doesn’t know how you feel about him. He doesn’t know that this would hurt you so bad. 

But, it doesn’t matter. You’re still his friend. You should have at least warranted a little concern. 

Just as quickly as it appeared, the hurt is washed away by his own anger. “I thought you could take care of yourself. Isn’t that what you’re always bitching at us about?”

If you weren’t so upset you might find it funny how quickly the two of you turned on each other. Clearly, there was something repressed between the two of you. Some brewing resentment that neither of you had ever acknowledged. The words are coming quickly now, without thought.

“Fuck you, Logan,” you snap back at him. “You didn’t give a shit whether I lived or died. You only cared about your precious Jean.” You spit out her name with so much venom it stings as it leaves your tongue. 

He laughs, getting out of his chair. He shakes his head and glares at you. His anger is always a physical thing. You know he’s pacing so he doesn’t do something worse, like destroy the entirety of the room. 

“That’s what this is, you’re jealous? Don’t blame your fucking incompetence on me.” You hate the way he’s speaking to you. Like you’re a little girl who's incapable of understanding even the most basic of concepts. He has such a patronizing look on his face, you want nothing more than to wipe it off. 

The tables beside you tremble, the vases of flowers rattling against the wood. “I’m your friend, Logan. You could at least pretend like you cared about me.”

He leans against the end of the bed, tilting himself forward until he’s aggressively imposing your space. You shrink back against the pillows, narrowing your eyes in disdain. “Don’t fucking pull that shit with me. I knew that your priority would be to save yourself and I acted accordingly. This wasn’t some goddamn ploy to get into Jean’s pants. Grow the fuck up, Flux!”

You flinch back at the volume of his voice. Unwillingly, tears pool in the corners of your eyes. It’s an involuntary response. Sometimes you just get so enraged that you have no other way to get rid of it than to cry. It’s infuriating to see the moment someone stops taking you seriously and starts to think you’re nothing more than a crybaby. 

Logan’s face pales and he winces, backing away from you. “I didn’t-”

“Enough,” you stop him, voice thick with unshed tears. He never calls you by your X-men name, it’s an unspoken agreement between the two of you. That’s a formality reserved for the other members. To each other, you’re nothing more than two people who care deeply for one another. 

Or, you had been. Before this one moment had blown your life and your back up. 

“I appreciate how much faith you have in my abilities, but the fact that your first instinct wasn’t even to protect me says a lot.” You take in a deep breath and shake your head. “Thanks for the breakfast, but can you please just leave?”

He looks like he doesn’t want to. You know he doesn’t want to leave. You two never fight like this. Even if there wasn’t a lot said, it’s still not normal for you. Maybe that should have been your first hint that things weren’t what you thought. 

It’s healthy to fight, to a certain extent. Sometimes it's needed. You two never have before and you know it’s just been brewing for a while, waiting to blow up. “I-”

“Get out,” you shout, and the tables beside you finally crumble under the weight of your emotions. They drip to the ground in an inorganic form of liquid wood. “Shit,” you hiss, glancing over at them. You wave your hand and they return to their normal state, but it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have lost control at all. 

The door slams and you look up to find the room empty. You sink back against your bed and run your hands over your face. You ignore the way the skin of your back screams in protest. 

You embrace the pain, the fiery shocks running up your nerves as the bandages chafe against the wounds. You focus on that instead of how things have ended with Logan. You always had such high hopes that he might be the one you finally man up and confess to. 

You should have known you were wrong. You should have known that it would never have ended with him picking you over her. 

You’re permitted to leave the medbay the next day. You don’t see or hear from Logan for the following week. You can’t confirm if he’s purposefully avoiding you or not but you have to believe he is. You both live in the same hall. You don’t know how it’s possible to have gone this long without even catching a slight glimpse of him. 

You force yourself to suffocate the part of you that misses him. You picture the side of yourself that longs for his presence and imagine shoving a pillow over her face. You don’t want to ache and cry over someone who doesn’t give two shits about you. 

You keep reminding yourself over and over again that when things got rough he showed you his true colors. But it’s more difficult than you imagined to just completely disregard so much history with him. 

Besides, you hadn’t realized just how little you interacted with the others until Logan was out of your daily life. It’s so difficult for you to bond with people that when you’d connected with Logan you’d latched onto him. 

It’s a little pathetic, honestly. Being grown and eating lunch alone because you only had one friend. You wonder if your feelings for him were genuine or born from a desperation not to be alone. You don’t let yourself linger on the question for long. 

It’s as your training with the students that you finally see him again. 

“Has he made much progress yet?”

Jean shakes her head and purses her lips. She watches as Billy, one of the newer students, struggles with the logs in front of him. He was a firestarter, a very inexperienced one who had only ever set his curtains on fire. 

His powers were more focused on the mental aspect of things rather than the physical. Which is why you and Jean were in charge of helping him. He couldn’t start anything on his own, he only really seemed to be able to activate the ability when he was emotionally stimulated. 

That meant whenever he was mad or sad, or anything in between, everyone in a fifty-foot radius was in danger. He was a risk to the other students and you were both trying to be gentle with him. But you’d been working with him for so long and there was so little progress. It felt like he wasn’t trying sometimes. 

He’d asked Rogue out a week ago and when she’d said no, her hair had caught on fire. You know he could have been hurt and lashed out without thought or malice behind it. But you’d seen the look in his eye. 

You’re fifty percent sure he knows exactly what he’s doing. This little act he puts on is just to get himself out of trouble. You hadn’t brought the issue to Charles yet because you’re trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Billy,” you call out. His head whips up and he sends you a vicious glare. You can’t help the sneer on your lips. “Just take a deep breath and try again. There’s nothing wrong with struggling, we all did.”

You put on your normal teacher voice, calm and collected. Assuring. But the little shit in front of you isn’t buying it for a second. He gives you a sarcastic little grin, “Right. Sorry, I forgot you’re a fuck-up just like me.”

“Billy!” Jean snaps, taking a step forward to reprimand him. She doesn’t get far before there’s a fireball shooting out of his palms and hurtling towards the both of you. 

There’s no chance to react before something slams into your side and is tossing you to the ground. Your head nearly snaps against the grass but there’s a hand underneath your skull softening the blow. 

You smell something smoking and look up to see a large scorch mark right where you’d just been. Jean’s standing over it, palm outstretched as she keeps the fire subdued. She gives you a worried look, “Are you okay?”

Surprisingly, yes. You glance up to see Logan hovering over you. He backs off when he notices you’re okay, getting to his knees and offering you a hand. Wordlessly, you slip your palm into his and let him help you into a sitting position. 

“You alright,” his hand hovers over your shoulder like he wants to pull you closer. But he resists, backing off and waiting for your answer. You nod your head, still a little dazed from the failed assassination attempt. 

He narrows his eyes, searching your face for any sign of head trauma. When he’s properly assured you’re okay he jumps to his feet. “Billy!” His voice booms across the courtyard and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen that little asshole scared. 

He’s barely on his feet before Logan is stalking towards him, jerking him forward by the scruff of his neck and dragging him towards the mansion. “We need to have a little talk,” the tone of his voice has you a little scared and you’re not even the one he’s mad at. 

Jean walks towards you and helps you to your feet. “Is your back okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod and brush your clothes off. You have to physically shake the shock of what happened off. “Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t believe he did that.”

Jean scoffs and glares towards Billy’s back. Your eyes widen in shock when you see the large scorch mark across his arm. “Jean! He got you, are you okay?”

She glances down at her shirt and frowns. “Yeah, practically a sunburn.” She gives you a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine.”

As shitty as this sounds, you’re not concerned for her. You can only focus on the fact that she was in just as much danger as you and Logan had tackled you to the ground. You glance back towards the mansion, more fucking confused than ever. 

You’re not sure what compels you to follow Logan, but you’re running after him before Jean can stop you. He’s barely got a minute headstart on you, you’re not sure why you can’t find him. You’d gone through every inch of the first floor. 

You don’t know where he would have dragged Billy, but it’s nowhere you can find. After about ten minutes of looking for him, you give up on the hope that you’re ever going to figure out what’s happening inside his brain. 

You let out a defeated sigh, running a hand over your face and trying to shake off the funk of the day. You can’t believe that little shit tried to roast you. You’re not comfortable with the fact that he’s just roaming around inside the mansion somewhere. 

You turn out of the living room and nearly slam into someone. His hands shoot out, grabbing your shoulders and gently stopping you. “Logan,” you give him a strained smile. “I was looking for you.” You glance over his shoulder and frown. “Where’s Billy?”

Logan sighs, his hands linger on your arms for a moment before he takes a step back. “Wheels got to him before I could do anything.”

You laugh a little, the noise involuntary. “What were you planning on doing with the sixteen-year-old?”

He doesn’t find the question amusing if his expression is anything to go by. “He was really trying to hurt you.”

His words sober you up slightly and you drop the flippant attitude. “Yeah, I wanted to,” god, it feels like you could choke on the words. Just last week you were screaming at him for not helping you. Now, you could barely thank him because he had. 

“You’re always my priority.” He tells you before you can struggle any longer. Your head shoots up and you stare at him with confusion. He groans, the noise tired and resigned. “Saving Jean was a mistake. I mean it, kid, I just thought you could handle yourself.”

You open your mouth but he stops you before you can argue. “I know, that’s not the point. I should have saved you, no matter what I thought you could or couldn't handle.”

“No,” you stop him and shake your head. “No, Logan, I shouldn’t. I,” your mouth opens and he stares at you expectantly. What you were going to say gets stuck in your throat. This is a horrible idea. 

“I liked you in a way you didn’t like me and it was unfair of me to push my expectations onto you.” You wanted it to sound better, and more intelligent. Instead, it came out in one rushed breath and you’re not sure he even understood half of what you said. 

His brows furrow in confusion for a moment before a smile breaks out on his face. You’re not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that he’s smiling. You can’t tell if he’s mocking you or about to profess his undying love. 

You don’t have to wonder for long. He moves closer towards you, leaning forward until you’re practically sharing the same breaths. Unconsciously, you’re drawn into him, hands braced gently on his chest as you chase after him. 

“What are you doing?” Your whispered words brush against his lips and he gives you a small smile. His hands travel up your waist. He tugs you closer, his other hand looping around your neck and craning you up. 

“I’m gonna choose you every fucking time, kid.” His lips brush across your own and it’s like a switch is flipped in you both. Your arms twine around his neck, pulling him down until you’re practically melting into him. 

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and so different at the same time. You always thought your first kiss would be after some cheesy first date. He would have taken you out to dinner. Something would have inevitably gone wrong, you spilled something on your dress or the waiter brought the wrong order. 

You would both worry that it was a sign that nothing would work out between you. And then, at the end of the night, he’d tug you into his arms and kiss you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. 

That would be nice, but this is better. He’s not holding you like you’re something fragile or something too precious for this world. He’s kissing you like you’re the very air he needs to survive. He’s greedy with his affections and demanding with his wants. 

You’re being consumed and devoured. And you never want to stop. This is all you’ve ever wanted with him, from him. 

Sadly, you do have to breathe. You’re the one that forces the stop, you’re sure he would have happily suffocated if it meant he could keep touching you like this. You pull back, the air coming in short pants between your parted lips. 

You can already feel them swelling, the slight irritation on your cheeks from his stubble. You don’t mind, you quite like the feeling. He speaks before you can, a pleased smile on his face. “Forgive me yet?”

You chuckle, a little impressed by how cheeky he is, still slightly pissed off. “Why don’t you do that again and I’ll think about it?”

He rolls his eyes but you can see the smile fighting against his firm glare. “You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?”

You smile and nod, leaning into him again. “You’re never gonna hear the end of it,” you whisper before dipping down and kissing him again. You can’t believe you ever doubted just how much he cares for you. 

He didn’t choose Jean over you. He’s just a dumbass. 

a/n: I had to resist putting in a “pick me, choose me, love me” line in there bc that would have just been too much lol

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl ♡ 

[charliemwrites]

Part 4

Mister(s) Steal Your Girl is, somehow, now the official title. Congratulations you little shits (affectionate).

Content: Toxic Behavior, Brief Weight Shaming, Hurt/Comfort

You didn’t expect to see Johnny much after that one night - or possibly ever again. Kyle introduced you two, it was a lot of fun, but you figure that’ll be the end of it. Like introducing a new man to your girlfriends (not that you can really introduce Kyle to yours) you passed the vibe check and now Kyle will keep you and Johnny separate.

That’s how it’s been with Brandon’s friends. (Granted, you don’t really care for Brandon’s friends. And you figure it’s mutual based on the “uptight” comments they pretended to think you couldn’t hear.)

You’re starting to realize that Kyle is always going to subvert your expectations.

Johnny becomes a fixture - a welcome one. While you and Kyle still have your date nights and privacy, Johnny joins you two at least once a week for movies, drinks, dinner, or just silly adventures out and about.

You’re surprised that you don’t mind. Johnny is fantastic company, always respectful, funny, and friendly. Whenever the two of you are left alone, there’s no dead air. In fact, sometimes you could almost swear there’s electricity. Which is… well. It makes it hard to look him in the eye sometimes - and looking at Kyle even harder.

Guilt nips at your stomach until one of them distracts you with another story you’re 70% sure they shouldn’t tell you.

You and Johnny play a game with pub napkins, doodling something on one folded half, then passing it over for the other to scribble on the second half. The trick is not cheating and seeing the first half, then unfolding it to a complete (and usually silly) picture. Gaz always gets to name whatever monstrosity has been created.

You get a month of that good company. Then Kyle sighs at his phone one night.

“Shipping out again,” he explains when you glance at him.

“Will you be gone long?” you ask, shifting.

His brow furrows. “Not sure. They can’t tell us much over the phone.”

You hum in understanding. Still new to this whole military thing, the redacted danger of it all, but you think you’re getting the hang of it. At least, Kyle never seems annoyed when he can’t answer you, only apologetic.

“Is it gonna be the whole team?” you ask.

“Nah, just me and the cap.” He rubs his palm along your calf, a gesture that you suspect is self-soothing rather than for your benefit. “Probably not too dangerous, then.”

You make a noise of protest, nudging at his thigh with your foot. “Bad luck!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he chuckles, tapping his knuckles on the wooden end table. “You’re right.”

You crawl from your side of the couch to his, nuzzling up under his arm. He trails kisses along the side of your face as you snuggle in.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble into his neck. Still a little embarrassed to be so needy, but you want him to feel appreciated.

“I’ll miss you too, chickadee. I’ll call if I can, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, squeezing an arm around his middle.

“While I’m gone, if you need anything - even some company - you ought to call Soap,” he adds.

The idea is tempting but… “I don’t want to bother him.”

“I promise you won’t,” he laughs. You don’t know what’s so funny, but hearing his voice rumble in his chest like this is always a treat.

“Maybe,” you allow.

“We’ll take it.” Before you can ask what that means, he loops an arm around your waist and scoops you into his lap. “Now then, about my send off.”

Your giggle turns into a moan as his mouth slants over yours.

Kyle’s only been gone three days. You’ve occupied yourself with cleaning up the flat you share with Brandon. Dust has been collecting since you’ve been out and about so much - and god knows Brandon hardly does more than load the dishwasher. Besides, a good bit of spring cleaning is a pleasant enough distraction, humming as you toss out old things to make more room for the new stuff you’ve been collecting.

“Good to see you getting back to normal,” Brandon says cheerfully. You glance up from the laundry you’re folding. He continues, “I was worried with how behind you got on things, but I knew you just needed some time. I told you this would be better for us both.”

You try not to let that sting. Even if things are better now, and continuing to get better, you can’t forget the pain that lingers from the beginning.

“Tell you what,” he adds, hands in his pockets. “When you finish cleaning up, I’ll take you out to the pub, yeah? Put on something pretty.”

You perk up, pleasantly surprised, though hesitant.

“We could leave earlier if you helped,” you point out, hoping for more than just dinner. “Maybe we could walk in the park or something before eating.”

He gives you a weak smile. One you recognize more than his real one by now. It’s almost apologetic, but not quite.

“I would but I’m bloody exhausted from this week, ya know? Big projects coming up at work.”

Your smile freezes. “And some late nights, I’m sure,” you try to joke.

He doesn’t laugh like you expect, but gives you an odd look. “Why would you say something like that?”

Baffled, you shrug. He shakes his head.

“I’m going to take a nap, come wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

You manage to finish the majority of your to-do list by 5. Shower, get dressed, do your hair and makeup with Brandon snoring in the background until 6. By then, he still hasn’t woken up from his nap, so you perch on the edge of the bed and gently nudge at him until he stirs.

“I’m ready to go, babe,” you murmur.

He scrunches up his face - you spare an affectionate thought for how cute it is. You’ve always found it cute.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles.

You laugh a little. “It’s getting late, we should probably head out.”

He groans. “Five. Minutes.”

You huff in amusement and reach for his phone to set an alarm, but pause at all the notifications from dating apps crowding his screen. There are… a lot. And as you’re looking, a new message pops up, just labeled “blonde” with a peach emoji. Gross.

You set the alarm and slip away to the living room.

It takes him another half hour to finally rouse, shuffling into the living room with a groan.

“C’mon,” he yawns. “It’s going to be bloody crowded by now.”

You follow him quietly to the car, knowing he’s not chatty when he’s just woken up. Hunger only adds to his mood; you can practically see a cloud forming over his head. By the time he pulls up to the pub, he’s downright grumpy. He grumbles about shit parking, and the milling people outside. It looks busy.

“We could go somewhere else?” you suggest.

“This is fine,” he says.

He parks a block away and starts at a swift pace. You try to hold his hand, but halfway there, he pulls away to check his phone and doesn’t take it again.

Surprisingly, it’s only a twenty minute wait for a table - but Brandon sneers something like “of course it is” under his breath. You smile apologetically at the hostess and usher him away.

He doesn’t talk during the wait, at first. Until suddenly he blurts. “We wouldn’t have to wait if you’d woken me up.”

You blink at him. “I did. You asked for five more minutes.”

“Well, why didn’t you wake me up then?”

“I set an alarm?”

You don’t know why he’s so irritated, just that he seems tired and hungry.

“You know I don’t listen to alarms,” he complains, scowling at the sidewalk.

“Okay… I’ll wake you up next time,” you offer.

“Yeah, next time.”

Thankfully, the two of you are called a little early. The pub is indeed loud and crowded, and you’re definitely overdressed. But at least you know what you want - Brandon’s taken you here a million times before.

Wisely, you wait until he’s downed the texmex rolls before trying for conversation again. He hums along as you talk about work, about the books you’ve been reading, about the new movie you saw last week. You think it’s going pretty well, catching up on each other’s lives, when he interrupts you mid-sentence.

“Where was this?”

You frown. “At the grocery store…?”

“You’re still on that? Thought we moved on from that story.”

You don’t bother finishing it, just ask him about his work. It’s like pulling teeth. A lot of “good” and “busy” and “same as usual.” By the time your entree comes, you’ve given up, not sure if you want to cry or just walk away to see if he even notices. He keeps checking his phone. Your fingers twitch to text Kyle, but you don’t want to bother him while he’s working.

The end of dinner can’t come sooner. You decline dessert when the server asks.

“Probably for the better,” Brandon tells you lowly when they’re gone to get the check. “I think you’ve put on a bit of weight. You know how you get.”

You probably have - Kyle has a sweet tooth and practically begs you to split desserts with him. Johnny’s shares his food with you now too, grinning when you express approval for whatever high-protein dish he’s picked and shoving more at you.

As for “how you get”… Brandon’s mentioned in the past when you were heavier that you get mopey, aren’t much fun to be around.

(A small part of you wonders how that would even effect him at this point. He doesn’t spend enough time around you to notice if you’re mopey. Is that why tonight has been such a disaster…?)

You just collect your purse and lead the way out of the pub. It’s a quiet walk back to the car, even though Brandon seems to be in a better mood. He’s still texting, nearly bumps into an elderly couple along the way.

Back at the apartment, he runs his hand down your side, tugs at the lace hem of your shirt.

“Careful,” you chide.

He sucks his teeth and drops his hand. “I’m just trying to be playful.”

“I know, but I like this shirt.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’ve got three just like it.”

You don’t answer, know it’ll lead to more useless bickering. Just tug the stupid thing over your head, ready to go to bed.

“Hey now, that’s more like it,” he drawls, fingertips running down your spine.

You jump, surprised, but play it off that his hands are cold. He makes some crass comment about warming them up, reaching for your breasts, and your stomach churns.

“I-I think I ate something bad,” you lie, all but sprinting for the bathroom.

You close the door behind you - but don’t lock it. Just sit on the floor, the wall cold against your back, while you try to breathe through your spinning, conflicting thoughts.

He’s finally giving you attention, affection. Why aren’t you jumping at this opportunity to spend time with him? Not long ago, you would have been weeping with joy to have an iota of your normal relationship back. Maybe you really did eat something bad.

“Hey,” Brandon calls through the door, “I’m gonna stay somewhere else tonight.”

You stare at the blank white wood, aghast. “But I’m sick.”

“It’s not like I can do much, is there? Except listen to you be sick all night,” he reasons. “And who knows. Maybe it wasn’t something you ate. Maybe it’s contagious. I don’t want to spend the weekend ill.”

Your eyes burn. He didn’t even open the door to check. “Yeah,” you agree, voice robotic, “you’re right.”

Not even five minutes later, you hear the front door close. That almost, almost does you in. You manage to keep your lackluster dinner down, but not the tears.

You let yourself be pathetic for a few minutes, crying into your arms, folded over your knees. When you finally manage to get yourself together, it’s not Brandon you ache for. It’s Kyle. It’s not possible, you know. You just don’t want to be alone even though the nausea is dissipating.

Sighing, you remove your ruined makeup and wash your face, climb into one of Kyle’s jumpers. At least it still smells like him. It’s only as you’re trying to decide on a comfort show, huddled into a ball on the couch, that you remember his advice.

It takes all of fifteen seconds of debate before you scramble for your phone.

I know it’s late, but are you free, you text Johnny.

A response comes almost immediately.

Always for you, lass. You bite your lip on a tiny smile, already feeling better. Your phone buzzes again. What’s up?

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment as you figure out what to ask - then how to ask it.

Would you want to come to mine for movies? I don’t feel good…

He answers instantly again. Ice cream not-good or Theraflu not-good?

You sniffle when you remember that being sick was a dealbreaker for your night with Brandon.

Ice cream not-good, you reply.

Say no more, hen. Be there in fifteen. Pick a good one.

You watch TikTok’s until there’s a knock at the door. Upon answering, you’re swept up in a bear hug that lifts you off your socked feet.

“Johnny!” you cry, laughing a bit in shock.

“There she is!” he crows, swinging you around. “Been missin’ my best girl!”

You tell yourself the thrill in your stomach is just from him setting you down. (It’s a harder sell when it happens again seeing his wide smile and warm blue eyes.)

“You're ridiculous,” you huff, “I’m not your best girl.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Oh, yer keepin’ track, are ye?”

“C’mon, you must have a partner or something?” you prod as you usher him inside.

“Kyle must’ve told ye, hen, it’s hard in this line of work,” he explains, shrugging. “Tried before but… usually they just end up feeling neglected, ya ken.”

You hum. That’s why Kyle said you and he would work so well with the open relationship - that you’d still have someone at home while he was out. That you wouldn’t be alone if something happened to him.

“Anyway, this is no kinda talk for a cozy night in, now is it?” Johnny says, cutting your melancholy musing short. “Come look at what I brought ya!”

You only notice then the two grocery bags in one hand. He herds you to the couch and sets them on the coffee table for you to root through.

“My favorite!” You exclaim when you extract the tub of ice cream.

The grin Johnny shoots you is proud. “Kyle said so.”

“You two,” you sigh happily.

He’s also brought a squishy stuffed animal, crisps, popcorn, soda, candy, and a small collection of self-care items. You hold the face-masks up with a questioning smile.

“Heard somewhere that it’s good for ye, when yer feelin’ down.” You try not to giggle when the last word comes out sounding like “doon.” He continues, blissfully ignorant. “Hope that’s the right shite, there was a lot to choose from.”

You throw your arms around him, chest warm. “Thank you, this is perfect, Johnny.”

He circles his arm around your waist, holding you close. “Anytime, bonnie,” he murmurs into your hair.

You squeeze his shoulders as you pull away, waving one of the mask packets with a wicked little smile.

“Wanna try this ‘shite’ with me?” you tease.

You expect a resounding and masculine-heavy no. Instead, Johnny tilts his head consideringly for a moment, then shrugs.

“Eh, why the hell not?”

You wake up the next morning to a mess of candy wrappers, discarded moisturizers, and an empty carton of ice cream. And the smell of eggs. Cartoons are playing quietly on the telly. When you yawn and sit up, you’re greeted by a cheerful Johnny at the stove, wearing your pink apron.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he calls.

You flush and smile back, glad that you called him. “Mornin’!”

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Pride ! PJO or Time Travel drarry if you please ? Thank you !!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5

Poseidon hadn’t known what to expect, when he’d found Sally near hysterical and their son’s empty room, when he’d gone to the armory and found a sword missing from the armory with comical IOU scratched in it’s place. He had thought Sally’s mortal mind simply did not have an appreciation for scale, that a teenage demigod was far enough from a seven year old one as to appear closer to a god than a mortal.

He'd underestimated Sally. Not the first time. Hopefully the last.

Percy, nearly fully grown, tips his head back and meets his gaze evenly. He understands why Sally mistook them at first glance.

He doesn’t know if he’s ever had a demigod child take after him quite this starkly before.

“Your mother is beside herself.”

Percy winces, pulling a knee to his chest. “Yeah. The Mist is taking care of the mortal stuff, right? No one’s blaming her for anything.”

Poseidon’s lips thin. “No. Your lack of presence is simply being – ignored.”

Demigod children die young all the time. It wouldn’t do for mortal law enforcement to look into it to closely.

“That’s good,” Percy says. “I should call her. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Why did you call me?” he asks, instead of any of the other questions he’s burning to know the answers to. Just meeting him has been enough to answer some of them.

Persephone’s influence lingers around him so powerfully that if he didn’t know better, he’d be questioning if Percy was his son rather than hers.

He resists the urge to ask after the child version of his son. Sally has already said that Percy doesn’t know, and besides, the difference is not as jarring for him as it was for Sally. He has very little to compare him to.

Percy shrugs. It’s insolent and leaves Poseidon wondering what type of relationship they have in the future that Percy is both this easy in his presence and that Poseidon allowed his son to do something this monumentally stupid in the first place.

Then again, with Persephone’s hand in this, it’s likely he had very little say in it.

“You and Mom are the only ones who know who I am,” he says. Percy couldn’t have known that he’d spoken to his mother before calling him, but he supposes that’s irrelevant. He knows his blood. Barring that, he knows his own eyes. “I guess I just – will you look out for them? If something happens to me?”

Poseidon looks over at the cliff’s edge, at the three sleeping children huddled around a dying flame. Athena, his enemy. Hermes, who he’s never called a friend. Zeus, who’s child shouldn’t even exist, although he acknowledges the irony there. “Is she the child of prophecy, then? Is that what all this is about?”

“She’s a child,” Percy says, voice suddenly hard. “They all are. Isn’t that enough?”

Ah. There’s Sally in him.

“Are you not also a child?” he asks gently.

He snorts. “No. Technically, barely, but not really. This isn’t about me.”

Poseidon thinks it is. He doesn’t see how Percy can be this impossible and this powerful and have this not be about him.

He thinks he knows exactly why Percy has traveled to the past. He doubts it was Persephone’s intention, because she knows better than to believe this is a plan that could work, but maybe it doesn’t have to. She’s clever enough to account for Percy’s choices.

Instead of saying any of that, he rests his hand on Percy’s shoulder. He’s gratified when he leans into it. He must not have been too terrible a father. “You are my child.”

“Dad,” he sighs.

Poseidon squeezes before letting go. “Alright. If something happens to you, I’ll look out for your strays.”

“They’re my friends,” he corrects, but Poseidon is already leaving.

Athena’s child is stirring. It would be just like her get to see something she shouldn’t and wreck his son’s plans, foolish as they may be.

[alien-magnolia]

Surprise!

dom!Billy Loomis x subby!fem!reader 

My first Billy fic :) tw; this is more dark, don’t like, don’t read. If you like this post, pls help a writer out and reblog✨

Tw: degrading kink, praise kink, daddy kink, knife play, blood play, d/s dynamics, cnc, choking, impact play,  bondage, corruption kink, unprotected sex, dom!billy loomis/ghostface, innocent fem sub!reader

Fic description: Billy was always this really mysterious guy you knew. One night, he wanted to play, and you were his victim of choice. You didn’t expect that you’d be into it

It was a Friday night, and you were comfy on your white couch, laying down on your tummy with nothing but your little pink nightgown on. The rain was thundering upon the roof, a gloomy October night. You were eating some popcorn and watching a horror movie. You liked those, and sometimes you’d imagine those big scary slasher killers coming after you, having their way with you. Using you. Little did you know, that was about to happen. 

You hear the phone ring. You quickly jump up and tiptoe your way to the receiver, careful not to mess up the pretty pink nail polish you just put on your toes. You grab the receiver.

“Hello?,” you timidly draw out onto the phone. “Hi, sweetie,” a low voice answers back. It was Billy. You always felt so tingly and subby around him, and sometimes he’d give you rides home. He was a good guy, you thought. “Hi Billy!,” you shout, excited but confused to see him calling. “What are you up to, sweetie? Wearing anything nice?” You blush at the question. Sometimes you’d see his eyes shamelessly rake over you. You gulped, you might as well indulge. You did have a little bit of a crush on him, but sometimes your gut feeling would tell you that he seemed dangerous.

“Just my pink nightgown. Gee, Billy. It’s suddenly really cold here,” you say as you shiver, your manicured fingers dwindling with the phone cord. “Well maybe you shouldn’t have left that window open, sweetie. Who knows what could happen…” you hear his voice, although it isn’t on the phone anymore. It is behind you. The phone drops from your hand as you feel a pair of strong arms grab you from behind, one hand on your neck, the other firmly splayed out over your hips. 

You take a look in the mirror. Billy is standing behind you. He’s got some blood on his face, and in one of his hands, a knife. He’s standing there smiling at you. “Surprise.” He lets out a low chuckle, a predatory grin over his face. “Weren’t expecting me tonight, were you sweetheart?,” he asks, his lips trailing over the tips of your ear, you feel his hot breath on your face. You feel the metallic blade of his knife trail over your thighs. 

“N-no, Billy. What are you doing? Will you let me go?,” you timidly ask him. He might hurt you with that knife, but you were just incredibly turned on. “I don’t think so, sweetie,” he replies, and then flips you around, so you’re facing him. He quickly grabs two of your wrists, and ties them together, firmly in place with some duct tape. He strokes your hair a bit, trailing down your neck with a few light kisses. 

You were almost moaning at this point. 

“Billy…what are you doing?? Let me go,” you plead, on one hand, you wanted to be free, but on the other hand, this just made you melt. “Here’s what’s going to happen, bunny. I came here tonight, just for you…”, he coos at you, his deep brown eyes gazing into yours. He’s got you caged against the wall now with his bulging biceps. You couldn’t escape, even if you wanted to! And he was just so strong!!! He continues. “I’m going to play with you. Just a few things. Wanted you so, so, bad, princess. And now —- I’m going to get what I want. Gonna see how much of a little slut you are, underneath that innocent little act you pull. And you’re gonna take it like a good girl. You understand?,” he asks, while he runs a blade over your cheek.

God— you loved how he talked to you. How he talked down to you. You felt so subby already. You nod, looking up at him, eyes wide. You nod. “Good job, such an obedient girl for me. You’re gonna call me daddy, from now on, okay sweetie?” You nod again. “Yes, daddy.” With that, he puts some duct tape over your mouth, and grabs you by your taped wrists. He leads you up the stairs with his strong hands, you feel the knife and his hard on behind you. 

He takes you to your bedroom. “All pink, white frilly sheets, even some teddy bears on your bed I see…,” he lets out a low chuckle. “Such a pretty little thing you are for me, princess. Too bad that I’m about to corrupt that dumb little head of yours,” he coos at you, turning you around to trail your face with kisses. You felt so squirmy already, so wet for him. He drove you insane! You were so scared of him…but he turned you on so much that you just submitted to him, so naturally.

You start to let out a few little moans, muffled by the duct tape, of course. Suddenly, he rips it off you, and slams you against a wall. You see the blood on his face, and he pushes his lips into yours, so big, so rough! You loved it! “Sir…please…can’t…can’t take it…,” you plead with him, but you really didn’t know what you were pleading for. Maybe for him to fuck you. “What’s the matter? Too much for my bunny already?,” he chuckles, and comes in close. He has that insane look on his face, this predatory smile, you felt so powerless. “I’m just getting started, honey,” he patronizes you. “Too stupid to understand, I guess…” he sighs to himself, and then brings one of his hands up to your throat. He leads you to the bed by your throat, and then pushes you onto it, face down. You feel him adjust your taped hands behind you, and his calloused hands grope at your tits eagerly. “Gonna show you how I play, sweetie…you’re just gonna be a good slut, and lay there for me and take it, okay?” You were confused on what he meant, till you felt your nightgown being hiked up. “No panties even? You are a slut, huh? So good for me,” he moans out, and you start to feel his hand come down to spank you a few times. It was painful, and it burned, but you loved it. He turned you around, his shirt was off, he was naked right in front of you. His cock was already out, you were just aching to put it in your mouth. 

He pulls you up, shoving his cock closer to your face. “Open for me.” You do as said, it was just heaven to feel his throbbing cock inside your mouth, you looked up at him as you suckled on his tip, and he stroked your hair just a bit. He still had that knife, and then traced the blade over your face, not cutting you, but you just felt it. He pulls out of you. “Good girl, you got it wet for me. Now you’re gonna take my cock, gonna stretch that tight little cunt out, nice and wide.” He pushes you down onto the bed again, you feel his big chest over yours, you feel him pushing into you. You felt scared before, but now you just felt nothing but need. “Want it in, want it to fill me, daddy please, need to be full so bad,” you begging him again. “Can’t resist that little smile you got, princess. Gotta be patient, daddy's going to give you as he sees fit,”  he patronizes you. 

You feel him slam into you, his tip reaching your gummy walls, filling you up so sweetly that you just couldn’t even breathe. You felt him choke you lightly, and then start rocking you slowly but roughly on his thick length. “Please, wanna cum…please…” you feel his breath on your neck, he leaned in close, his lips trailing over your cheek. “Then come, sweet girl. Give me a big squeeze…there you go,” he coos at you. You felt so subby, so stupid, but you loved it when you were with him. You feel him spill into you, you loved how warm it felt :) 

“Did good for me, sweetie. Should be grateful that I came to play with you, little thing.” He pulls out, unties you and leaves through the same window he came in from. 

[cressidagrey]

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 5

Summary: 

Shadowsingers were made, not born. Made out of trauma and loneliness and desperation.

So when Cilla and Azriel meet and their shadows entwine, they both meet the only other person that could understand these particular childhood scars.

The last thing Azriel had ever expected from his mate, however, was for her to have a surprising connection to his brother.

Warnings: 

Mentions of Child abuse and neglect, Cassian feels horrible, Azriel gets a broken nose and for once, Rhys is actually not that horrible?!

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

For as long as Cassian could think, his brother had the unfortunate habit of not actually talking about his problems. Cassian liked to complain. Azriel never did, regardless of what went on in his life. 

He stayed silent, seemingly thinking that even the slightest annoyance was something that he deserved for some god-forsaken reason. 

So it shouldn’t actually surprise him that Azriel decided to go completely silent. He should be well used to it by now. 

And still, Cassian worried. 

“Anything new from Az?” he badgered Rhys during dinner, who just sighed. 

“No.”

Mor was already rolling her eyes because he already had annoyed her during this week. He had not gotten a proper answer out of Mor either, because Mor had absolutely no clue where Azriel was or what he was doing. Amren had threatened to behead him if he asked her again if she knew anything and had then decided that not showing up for dinner was probably in her best interests, so Rhys was his next, long-suffering victim. 

(Nesta had threatened to geld him, and he was kinda taking her threat seriously, so he had already exhausted that avenue of enquiry as well…and Feyre knew nothing as well.) 

“And he really didn’t tell you what it was about?” Cassian wheedled, and Rhys just fixed him with a glance. 

“I don’t know any more than what you do,” Rhys gave back. “You know how he gets sometimes. It’s better to give him time, we learned that the hard way,” Rhys said reasonably.

It was true. 

They had learned that the hard way. It was much better to give Azriel the time until he came to them on their own until they were in the mood to badger him until blood was drawn.  

The problem was just, that Cassian didn’t want to be reasonable. 

“Normally we know that something is going on. It’s out of character for him to just…demand time off so suddenly,” he shot back.

“Then I imagine he has a rather good reason for it,” Rhys sniped, rolling his eyes. 

“He’ll come to us when he’s ready,” Mor said with a shrug. 

That’s what Cassian worried about. That Az was going to come to them when he was ready and not when he actually needed help, which promised to be far earlier. 

“It’s not about Rosehall, is it?” Cassian asked suddenly. Was this about Azriel’s mother?

“Cassian, I really don’t know any more than you do,” Rhys said with a sigh.

Fine.

And then, just like somebody had summoned him, Azriel stalked through the door of the Dining Room. 

Looking none the worse for wear, which was good…but also looked like he was getting ready for a war, shadows ominously swirling around his shoulders. 

Before Cassian could even open his mouth, Azriel fixed him with harsh hazel eyes. “We need to have a talk, Cassian. Outside now.”

It was said so coldly, so evenly that Cassian froze. 

“Why outside?” Feyre piped up curiously. 

“Chances are, either Cassian will try to kill me or I’ll kill him. I don’t want to get blood on your rugs, so outside,” Azriel answered, not a spark of humour in these words. 

“What have I done?” Cassian tried for levity but failed horribly, even as he stood. 

Something had happened. And it must have been horribly, otherwise he couldn’t Otherwise he couldn’t…he couldn’t explain what had happened to Azriel. 

“I hope to the cauldron nothing,” Azriel answered, his voice quiet, before turning on his heel, and going outside. 

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a look of foreboding, though they weren’t the only ones. 

Feyre and Mor were jostling for the best viewing position, while Nesta watched the whole thing with crossed arms, clearly thinking that Cassian must have been an idiot or worse…though he really had no idea, what Azriel could be so upset about. 

Rhys demanded that they both handed over all the knives they wore, and to his surprise, Azriel not only handed over Truthteller but every other single knife he kept stashed on his body to Rhys without a word…well, that wasn’t particularly calming either. 

”Hit me with it. What the fuck is going on?” Cassian asked with a sigh.

“I need to ask you a question. And I need you to answer me truthfully,” Azriel told him, his arms held tightly at his side, wings flaring. 

“Yolanda Negrescu.” 

It was a name. 

“Who?” Cassian asked, coming up…completely empty. 

“You don’t remember her?” Azriel asked him, staring at him like he was very much doubting Cassian’s ability to breathe at that moment. 

“Should I?” He asked with a grimace. 

“You slept with her, Cassian,” Azriel said, his face unmoving like marble. 

Oh. He wrecked his brain. What did it say about him that he still kept up completely empty? He had no clue whatsoever who that had been. What Yolanda Negrescu may have looked like…

“Around 20 years ago,” Azriel offered up. So it had been during the Sealing of Velaris. Right. That narrowed it down. If one wanted to call his near-nightly trip to Rita’s or another pleasure hall that…

“You really don’t remember?” Rhys asked from the sidelines and Cassian growled. 

“I have slept with a few dozen people in over 500 years. I highly doubt you still remember every single one of your conquests, Rhysie,” he groused. “So I slept with her, 20 years ago. What does it matter?” Cassian asked Azriel with a sigh. 

“She’s dead,” Azriel said evenly. 

“That’s…sad,” Cassian responded with a sigh. “But I don’t really know what you want from me here, Az?” Why did this result in Azriel coming here and demanding to speak to him? Why had this Yolanda even come up in Azriel’s work? What had happened to Yolanda Negrescu?

Azriel closed his eyes for just a moment, before they opened again, his resolve clearly hardening. 

“She died in childbirth. 19 years ago,” Azriel said carefully. “Her daughter‘s Illyrian wings shredded her from the inside out.”

For just one moment it felt like he couldn’t properly breathe anymore. 

If he had slept with her 20 years ago…and 19 years ago she had died in childbirth…and the child had Illyrian wings…By the cauldron. 

No, this couldn’t be. 

This was impossible. 

“What?” Nesta spat out.��

“Are you sure?” Rhys asked, his voice careful. Azriel just inclined his head. 

This shouldn’t be happening. Cassian had always taken a contraceptive draught, he had never even thought about the possibility…he had never even…What? 

How could…

A child? A daughter?

He hadn’t known about her. He had never…

She had grown up a bastard, just like him, hadn’t she?

The one thing he has always promised himself he wouldn’t do, father a bastard, and he had managed to do just that. 

Not for 500 years, but clearly then his luck or his care had run out and he had saddled the poor girl with…he had killed her and hadn’t even been aware that he had done it. 

And she had died giving birth to his daughter. 

“I…I have a daughter?” he asked, his voice shaking, staring at Azriel who was still watching him. 

“You didn’t know,” Azriel said flatly. 

Cassian just stared at him. “What? No, of course, I didn’t know!” he snapped. 

If he had known, everybody would have known. He would have never tried to keep his daughter a secret from his family! She would have been his, damnit!

Not thrown away like garbage, like he had been, but treasured and protected. 

How could Azriel even think that he ever…

“How did you find her?” he asked Azriel weakly. “Where did you…”

How had Azriel come across her? The first time that evening, something like emotions flittered over Azriel’s face, just that Cassian couldn’t place them. 

“I met my mate.”

He blinked, twice. 

That was the last thing Cassian had expected after the news of that evening. 

But it was good news, wasn’t it? 

“You met your mate, Az?” Rhys asked, clearly surprised and Azriel nodded. “But that’s fantastic news! Where did you…“ 

And then the pieces seemed to come together for Rhys and Cassian at the same time. 

Cassian’s wings flared. Pure protectiveness turned into rage enveloping him. 

“Azriel. Tell me that your mate is not my daughter,” he spat out.  A gasp of surprise, either Nesta or Feyre or Mor…but he didn’t care. 

Azriel, his brother, met his gaze square on. It was all the answer he needed

“I am going to fucking kill you,” Cassian growled, as he attacked. 

It had been a good call from Rhys to insist on them handing over their knives because like this it only ended in a wrestling match, that probably ruined half of Feyre’s landscaping.

Though he did break Azriel’s nose. 

It did not really make him feel better. Especially because he just knew that Azriel had let him get that hit in. 

“Don’t even think about laying a hand on her,” he growled, still throttling Azriel. 

“Too late for that,” Azriel growled right back, every inch the freshly mated male. 

It just fired on that protective fury. “She’s my daughter!” Cassian bellowed. “She’s still half a child!” Azriel had no fucking right to lay one fucking finger on her! She should still be…

“She’s an adult. Otherwise, the mating bond wouldn’t have snapped. Feyre was not much older than her,” Rhys gave back with a sigh. “Cassian. 

“And that makes it right?!” Cassian snapped. “Azriel can’t have known her longer than a few hours!”

“Cassian,” Rhys cut him off once again. “She’s his mate. None of us told you to keep away from Nesta.” 

“Fuck you,” he seethed. “She’s too young! She probably didn’t even have a clue what she was doing!” Azriel flinched, not saying a single thing and Cassian fixed him with a glare. 

“You aren’t even trying to defend yourself,” Cassian realised. “You think the exact same.”

Azriel wiped the blood off his face as Cassian let off him.  “She’s fucking traumatised, Cassian,” Azriel said sharply. “I didn’t even think about how bad it was until after.” 

He nearly went back to throttling Azriel if Rhys didn’t intercept. 

“Is she alright?!” Cassian demanded sharply.

“Physically? Mostly,” Azriel answered, shaking out his wings as he gained his feed. “I fished her out of a mountain lake after she tried to fly. She had a fever but that has disappeared.”

“She can’t fly?” Rhys asked, shocked. 

Azriel shook his head, a muscle in his jaw feathering. 

“Her grandmother raised her after her mother’s death. She spent her childhood locked in her grandmother’s attic. Her wings were bound to her back so tightly that there is scarring.”

All the tension, all the anger at his brother bled out of Cassian like somebody had hit his carotid artery. An attic. 

His daughter had spent her childhood locked in an attic with her wings bound. 

She had never had the childhood everybody should have…something like the childhood Nyx got to have these days…of wonder and happiness…Instead, she had been locked into a small dark space, with her wings, the pride and joy of every Illyrian bound to her back so tightly that it had scarred her. 

Somehow that seemed just as bad clipping her wings. 

“And mentally?” Rhys asked the question he was thinking.

“It could be worse,” Azriel admitted. “She‘s quiet. Halfway Feral. But sweet,” he assured him at Cassian’s startled look.  

“Obviously Cassian‘s daughter,” Mor managed to bring out, a joke that fell flat. 

“It gets pretty obvious once you realise it. She smells like you,” Azriel said quietly. “Just she has a tint of vanilla to her scent you don’t have. 

“And otherwise….?” Cassian asked, shakily. 

“She can’t read or write,” Azriel said quietly. “She expects everybody to be out to hurt her. Which isn’t far from the truth, because she got an employer that ignored the minimum wage and a landlord that offered to let her pay for her apartment on her knees.” He spat out the last few words and Cassian wanted to vomit. 

She was…she was his little girl. 

And she had been…she had been treated so abhorrently.

“What’s her name?” he asked Azriel. “What…”

“Her shadows named her Cilla,” Azriel answered quietly. 

Cilla. 

But only when Rhys pulled in a sharp breath did the rest of Azriel’s statement register. 

“She’s a shadowsinger - just like you,” he realised weakly. Azriel just inclined his head. 

Of course. Of course, Azriel hadn’t thought twice about accepting that Mating Bond. Not when Cilla was the one female in all of Prythian that could probably understand his brother. Not when she was the only one who also had this strange ability…

“You know what that means,” Azriel said quietly. 

He did. 

He swallowed, nausea building in his stomach when he reflected exactly on what it meant. 

“What does it mean?” Nesta demanded, and he swivelled around, staring at his mate, who crossed the space between them…that reached out for his hand and squeezed it. “What does that mean for her?”

“It means that she spent so much time alone in the darkness that the darkness decided to talk back to her,” Azriel said, his voice painfully even. “Shadowsingers are made, not born. Most don’t survive their adolescence, driven mad by the sound of the shadows. Others… others find comfort in it.”

Cassian had never asked, but he knew which of these two possibility were the case of his brother. “Cilla only had her shadows for company for half her life. For that she is…surprisingly sane,” Azriel admitted freely. 

“You said her shadows named her Cilla. What is her real name?” Nesta asked. 

“I couldn’t find a birth certificate,” Azriel admitted quietly. “I only found her mother’s name through house-owning records…Her shadows gave me her former address, I checked who owned the house…I found her grandmother and her mother.”

“What did her grandmother call her?” Cassian asked, but Azriel just shook his head. 

“You don’t want me to repeat that,” he told Cassian near painfully soft. 

“Who does she look like?” he demanded next, trying to come up…trying to come up with what her mother, what Yolanda had looked like and came up empty, once again. 

“Your hair but curlier. The shape of her eyes is you. Nose and mouth must be her mother's but her forehead is all you as well,” Azriel answered. It didn’t help. It didn’t…make it possible for Cassian to imagine…what his daughter, what Cilla must look like. 

“And where is she?” 

“My house,” Azriel answered quietly. “I…told her that I would get answers for her. She doesn’t know that I know you, but I…I asked her if she wanted to meet her father,” he said carefully and Cassian swallowed.  “She wanted to know if her father knew that he signed her mother’s death warrant when he slept with her. And if he knew that she spent the better part of two decades living in that attic.”

“I didn’t,” he pledged. “I didn’t know,” he repeated desperately. Azriel just inclined his head. 

“I know,” he answered with a sigh. “I didn’t think you knew…but I needed to make sure.”

Azriel’s eyes were asking for understanding and Cassian understood it. 

Azriel was still in the throes of these early days of a freshly mated Male. Overly protective, overly territorial…it was a wonder that he hadn’t outright slaughtered Cassian for a perceived slight against his mate. 

“What…What happens now?” Cassian asked shakily. What…

“What do you want to happen now?” Nesta asked him calmly. “She’s your daughter.”

She was. But Nesta was his mate, and Azriel was his brother and…

“She’s your daughter. The only opinion that matters is what the two of you want,” Nesta said carefully, looking at him, with these beautiful grey eyes and he could see the stark honesty in them. 

She reached up to cup his cheek. 

“She’s your daughter, Cassian,” she repeated, her voice soft. “We’ll deal with it…together.”

“I want to meet her.” 

[snail-squasher]

Good Luck, Babe!

‘your head in your hands, youre nothing more than his wife’ - chappell roan

word ct. - 5571

warnings - fem!reader, cheating!!!, bathroom make-out gets heated, angst to fluff

“What do you mean you're ‘leaving’?” The wobble in her voice says it all. “Why?” The look on your face tells her everything she needs to know, “you know how my family is, Sho.” You reach for her left hand before she rips it away from you. “No. No. You don’t get to just say that I ‘know how it is’ because I don’t; okay? I don’t understand what is stopping you for sticking up for yourself! I left… everything behind for you, and you're leaving?” You messed it up. you knew this wasn't going to go how you wanted, you knew you should've said something to your parents, you knew and knew and knew. Why is it so easy to know something but not do something?

“Sho, I’m sorry okay? I can’t just have them cut me off, I’m not going to have a career like you and you know that,” obvious confusion washes over Ieiri’s face, “Then let me take care of you; that was the plan from the beginning!” Tear stains splotching onto her (your) t-shirt. “They already have a guy set up for me.”

The small laugh was the only response Ieiri could muster, “You have to be fucking joking. Tell me this is a sick fucking joke,” the pacing starts, then the cussing, and next thing you know all you hear is, “Fuck you and you're stupid shirt,” now discarded into your lap, “Sho wait-” “No. Don’t.” She puts on her own clothes and leaves. “I can’t fucking believe you.” 

The next few days felt unreal. You hadn’t heard from Shoko (obviously) and Gojo and Geto couldn’t even look at you normally. The goodbyes you uttered were to no one. You packed and left; a few days later meeting your suitor.

Meeting all of your old classmates feels wrong. You feel like you shouldn’t be here; you left after all - everyone avoiding eye contact solidifies it. You can see her - more like hear, since you’re too scared to actually look her way. 

“Is that the one and only!” Gojo. Satoru Gojo. The most annoying guy you knew in high school; given you only knew about 7. “I haven’t seen you since graduation. Well this is awkward, the laugh you let out proves it, “Yep it is. Didn’t expect you to actually show up, you never used to at least.”

“What can I say I’m a changed man,” this was worse than making eye contact across the room with her.

“So how’s it been? You still with what’s his face?” Why did he bring him up, this is so embarrassing, “Yeah, a little over 3 years now,” it must be the tight lip smile that gave it away. Satoru leans in, “Listen. I know, and I know that you know that I know. And I also know that she is single and probably will be until you do something.” Oh god. Your boyfriend is at the bar across the room grabbing you a drink and this is what he wants to talk about? 

“I know it’s just… I saw a ring in a drawer,” you say quietly. “I can’t just leave knowing that,” the desperation in your voice has never been this bad. “Well… that does… complicate things… but! Shoko was obviously waiting to see you again! You know, she stopped smoking months before this - and i think it’s to impress you, but you didn’t here me say that.” He says with a wink leaning back away from you. “Welp! I’ll be going now, I’ll make sure to Shoko a little hint for you, it was nice seeing you again though!” 

You leave a small smile in his direction zoning out before a arm around the back of your chair startles you, “Oh! Sorry I was zoned out,” you say looking at your boyfriend, he chuckles a little, “No problem, weird how you were zoned out looking at him though.” He’s starting again. He does this every time a guy is around - he probably forgot this was arranged in the 1st place. “Please don’t start that right now,” he shrugs and leans into his own chair more, “Just odd how you zone out a lot when another guys is around but no other time,” you glance in Shoko’s direction and everything stops. She holds eye contact like no one else. She licks her lips like no one else. She is unlike anyone else. 

Without breaking eye contact she turns towards the group of friends before saying something, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” That’s it. That’s all it takes. Shifting towards the guy on your right you parrot her before speed walking to the bathroom. 

“Hey, didn’t expect you to be he-” she’s cut off. The force of your body makes her stumble back into a stall. She doesn't break the kiss. She deepens it. Turning her head to the side, you follow her lead; you always seemed to follow. 

“God I missed you,” she mumbles into your lips before gliding her hands down, “Touch me Sho, please?” God. What are you doing? What are you saying? Does this count as cheating? Even if you don’t want to be with your boyfriend? 

Before you can continue to question everything, Ieiri slides a hand between your legs, making you pull her head closer to you, if anyone walked in they'd know exactly what’s happening. The heavy breathing, the noises, the slightly wet sounds echoing between the walls, and the taste of cigarettes- wait. 

“I thought you quit smoking,” you pull away confused, “You're kissing someone else while the man who has a ring in his pocket for you is waiting, and you're worried about me smoking?” While you want to be upset at the harsh words Shoko used, it’s true. You’ve been dating the same guy for over 3 years and yet the only worry you have right now is the lungs in front of you. 

“You could put it a little nicer, how do you know that anyways?” you whisper, “Gojo told me, also why should I be nice to you? You disappeared after graduation and then show up to the reunion with a boyfriend.” Why’d she have to bring this up right now? You two were just having a heated make-out and now something else was getting heated. “I’m stupid, I know! I’ve been planning on breaking it off anyways, but I just feel so bad knowing that he’s gonna propose.” 

Everything would be so much simpler if you didn’t snoop around your shared apartment trying to find a shirt to sleep in; instead you found a velvet box with a handwritten speech. 

“Do you wanna be one of those anonymous users talking about how you regret marrying your husband? Or do you want to be free? You have to decide, and when you do, the left side of my bed is always a little chilly,” that stupid fucking smirk. The same smirk you used to see after sneaking off to ‘go to the bathroom’ in high school. Why’d you ever leave?

“Can we just finish what we started in here and then go? I’ll figure out some plan to break it off, I promise.” The next thing you hear is a sigh and then a small ‘fine’ before you tasted cigarettes again. 

The small knock at the door gets increasingly more aggressive when Ieiri ignores it. “Sho, please,” it was faint but there. The spot on the couch immediately abandoned, her front door almost flies off the hinges when she opens it. 

“So you did it finally?” you nod, with water eyes and shaky hands, “Is the left side of your bed still cold?” Shoko giggles a little, “Cold is an understatement. Wanna help me warm it up?”

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!

this is the longest fic i've ever written. save me.

[darklordofthesimp]

Sanative (John Price x Reader)

Summary: As Captain Price attends your medical room more often, he manages to get you to open up to him.

A/N: THIS WAS DIFFICULT

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Fluff

Warnings: Graphic Language || Description of Violence

Captain John Price went from being an unseen legend to appearing everywhere you turned. 

Obviously, you'd tended to him and members of his team before. Some of them were from the recent selection but the most memorable ones had carried through from the past. You just hadn't expected to see the leader as often as you did. 

"Captain," you greeted, swallowing thickly as you found him leaning against your doorway.

"Doc," he replied casually, the crack in his voice telling you that he was injured. You rushed forward as he groaned through his teeth. "When are you gonna call me 'John'?" 

"Well," you huffed, as you flew to prep your table and his seat, "probably when you call me Saint."

The Captain chuckled as he dragged himself further into the room, hand pressed to his stomach and his gaze firmly locked on you. The man had made sure the door stayed open, breaking the habit of closing it behind him. It made you uncomfortable and while it wasn’t entirely providing him with any privacy, he much rathered your medical attention over isolation. 

 He watched you move with deft fingers, unwrapping, sanitizing and somehow still maintaining a conversation. 

"Come lay down, John," you murmured absent-mindedly, maneuvering the chair to lay out flat like a bed. 

"There you go," the officer groaned with a tight-lipped smile, genuine but pained. “You do listen.” 

“Or maybe I just pity you, Sir,” you offered him a sly smile, the addressing of his authority was a purr on your tongue. It was playful or meant to be, you hadn’t really thought twice about it. 

But John? God. 

His movements faltered, fingers digging into the bed until his knuckles turned white. He tried to clear his throat but it was more of a strangled choke and his cheeks burned bright with embarrassment. Or shame. His thoughts fell somewhere dirty, somewhere they shouldn’t have been. 

Your name may have been Saint, but all you did was make him sin. 

When your fingers dragged across his midriff, stroking over his hand to encourage it to move from the wound, John forgot how to breathe. You sucked in a sharp breath between your teeth at the blood drenching his shirt. 

“You gonna take off your clothes or do you want me to do all the work?” You asked, leaning back with an amused smile. John swallowed thickly. 

“I don’t think I can, love.” A strained grimace followed his chuckle and he clenched his jaw tightly. “Might have to cut it off.”

You hummed suggestively as you reached for the scissors, a small smirk playing on your lips. When the fabric of his shirt sat snuggly beneath the blades, John reached over to touch your hand lightly. 

“Take it easy.” The statement was clearly a question, pleading with you to be soft on him. 

“Don’t worry,” you laughed. “I’ll be gentle.” 

The Captain groaned. “You’re doing that on purpose.” 

“I’m trying to distract you.” 

“It’s working.” 

The words were a growl as the disinfectant met his wound. You tried not to let the tables turn and attempted to block out the sound of his groans. He was unashamed in his grunting, red crawling up his neck as he gnashed his teeth. 

You knew he was in pain and that you were breaking some ethical code by entertaining these thoughts. At the end of the day, John was many things- but he wasn’t a mind reader.

It was quiet between you both as you worked. Usually, you filled the space with small talk or casual flirtation but you’ve been running on caffeine and a chocolate bar for the past 19 hours and you didn’t have the energy to talk. 

Thankfully, John was understanding. He watched you carefully as you worked, you could feel his gaze burning into your skin as you forced your eyes down. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to see the symptoms of your exhaustion. The minimal amount of flirtiness would have been the biggest indicator. 

It was jarring for the Captain, he wasn’t exactly working in an environment that had much exposure to coquettish people. You figured that’s why he’d reacted so obviously to all your advances, subtle or brash in nature. 

You wondered if he’d been struck with the question of whether you flirted with all your patients. Did he think that it was part of your medical practice? Something that you did with everyone who’d come through? You’d been out of the social scene for so long that you forgot how to interact with someone you were interested in. 

Maybe you were just embarrassing yourself by trying. 

“Saint.” A voice sounded from the doorway. 

Both you and the Captain turned to see one of the nurses poke their head inside. You immediately offered a smile, acknowledging their call. 

"You got another 141 boy waitin' outside for you," they said with a roll of their eyes. "Want me to send 'em in when you're done here?" 

"Please," you nodded, "shouldn't be too long." 

Price groaned as the nurse disappeared back into the hallway. "Fuck's sake." 

The sound of the door clicking shut had your reply dying on your tongue. The room fell silent as you zeroed in on the now closed door.

Anger flushed through your body, heat licking up your spine as if someone had lit you on fire. Your fingers tightened on your equipment as you tried to steady your breathing.

The nurses knew better, they knew better than to close your office door. While it was common practice to maintain a private space, they fucking knew that didn't apply to you. 

"Saint?" John's soft call barely registered, tugging you back to the situation at hand. 

You cleared your throat. The Captain raised a brow. 

"Lean back and brace yourself," you rasped, avoiding his gaze. 

You wanted to throw your tools at him and clamber to your feet. Your blood buzzed with urgent anxiety, pressing you to open that door. You didn't want to be alone in here- you couldn't be alone in here. 

So much could happen. It could happen again. It might happen again. What if it happened again? 

You couldn't breathe, the replay of that fateful afternoon displayed across your vision like a fucked up movie. 

Not again. 

A hand clapped down on yours and you realised that John had been trying to get your attention. Your eyes snapped upward to meet his with a startled gasp, fingers shaking in his grip. 

"You good there, love?" The Captain ducked his head to meet your dropping gaze. 

"It's Saint," you stammered.

There was an amused huff. "Saint." 

"Yeah," your vision blurred. "...Saint." 

The man before you took in a sharp breath. Concern shone brightly in his gaze as he appraised you like he'd just dragged you from the battlefield- like you were a casualty. You wondered what he'd deemed your condition to be when his jaw set with resolve. 

John raised his hands in front of him, showing you his palms as he stood to his feet. Your heart leapt into your chest at the movement but you forced yourself to remain still. Your eyes tracked him carefully until he reached the doorway.

When the door swung open it was as if your airway did too. 

Dry but quick breath rattled in your chest, chasing the black spots from your vision. It was as if someone had taken their hands away from your throat. 

"We ever gonna talk about that, sweetheart?"  John asked softly, the words dulcet and comforting. 

"Saint," you corrected with a whisper. 

He shot you a discontented look. 

When he finally reached the seat, his mouth twisted into a grimace. His hand shot to his stomach and you jolted, suddenly realizing that you hadn't finished patching up his wound. 

John groaned as you pressed your hand against his chest, pushing him back onto the bed forcefully. His mouth twisted but he said nothing, no flirty comment, no subtle innuendo- the atmosphere was too serious for that. 

Instead, the Captain opted to watch you as you worked. Ignoring the sting of his butchered skin and taking in your visage kept him occupied and had him laying still. 

You could feel his gaze, it was hot and heavy and burned every inch of skin it passed over. Blue eyes turned to blue fire, forcing you to shiver beneath the intensity. 

"It was a soldier," you offered suddenly. The words had fallen from your tongue before you could close your teeth around them. 

Price went still. 

"He'd come back from a bad mission," you took in a shuddering breath. "Real bad, John." 

He didn't make a sound, afraid that you would clam up if you thought about his presence. 

Your fingers shook as you worked, your eyes on his wound but seeing something else. You might have looked like you were in the room with him but you were galaxies away. 

"He'd been through hell and clawed his way out," you rasped. "By the time he got brought to me, he was half deranged." 

Hands closing around your neck, throwing you onto your own nursing bed. His body on top of yours. Rage smouldering in his gaze- tears burning in yours. 

No one could hear your strangled screams and you watched in despair as the closed door stayed shut. There was no reprieve, there was no rescue- there was only the shell of a man above you. 

You begged, he sneered. 

You sobbed, and he gripped you tighter. 

When you whispered his name, his real name, with your dying breath… that's when he stopped. 

That's when he pulled away as if your skin had scorched him. That's when he scooped your crumpled and gasping body against his in a broken embrace, begging for your forgiveness. 

Praying for redemption. 

His body wracked violently as he wept, fingers digging into your skin. His face was pressed into the crook of your neck and his tears ran down your chest. 

"I'm so, so sorry. God. Please help me. Please-" The words were strangled, choked even. 

The door flung open hard to reveal the nurses you'd been screaming for earlier. You wondered if you hadn't said his name, would they be walking in to find you dead beneath him? 

When the nurses and guards ran in to remove him, you threw a shaky hand over the man's shoulder. 

A silent command. 

'Stop.'

No one dared to disobey. 

Not when your eyes burned with determined tears, not when your hands came to wrap around the soldier protectively. 

You cradled the broken person in your arms, his wailing growing louder when he realized what you were doing. Your hand rubbed up and down his shoulder, your fingers stroking the back of his head- letting his body fit tightly between your arms. 

He'd lost so much weight, his bones jutting into your skin. You couldn't imagine the horrors he'd been through. When you'd read the report briefly before they admitted the soldier, you couldn't believe your eyes. 

None of this surprised you. 

You would never blame him for his distrust. 

It was your job to help him. 

"You're okay," you soothed, trying to erase the shakiness of your words. Your heart still thrashed wildly in your chest, adrenaline pumping from the near-death experience. "I've got you. You're safe with me. I'll make sure you're okay." 

The man pressed his face further into your neck, gnashing his teeth against your skin like the tortured soul that he was. He shook his head. 

"You've gotta be a fuckin' saint," he rasped, sniffling between words. "No other explanation." 

"Not a saint," you let loose a startled laugh. "Just a doctor." 

"You're a saint to me, Doc."

A Saint. 

Saint. 

You blinked back to the present, realizing that John had been holding your hand throughout the entire conversation. Slowly, you let your thumb rest over his. The simple sign of affection had John drawing in a deep breath and leaning back in his seat. 

"That's why you don't like the door being closed?" 

You nodded. 

"And that's why they call you Saint?" 

"Yeah." 

The Captain nodded slowly. There was nothing further for him to say, no matter how much he searched for the words. He wanted to commend you, you could tell by the way that he leaned forward- but the look on your face told him that you didn't want to hear it. 

It was your job, not an achievement. 

"You're all patched up now, John." You muttered, suddenly uncomfortable by the vulnerability. 

You never thought you'd be sharing that story with anyone, you figured that if your soldier was ready he'd tell everyone about your connection. Maybe you'd overstepped by telling John although it was vague and non-descriptive.

Price stood to his feet, hesitant. 

"You don't have to say anything, Captain," you said, sanitizing the nursing bed. 

"I want to." He rasped. 

You smiled as you stood up straight. "Take me to coffee and I might consider letting you talk."

The man blushed. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Wordless noises tumbled from his lips as he scrambled for an answer. "Tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow."

With that John left the room, rounding the corner to uncover which one of his overgrown kids had injured themselves. Out of everyone, he hadn't expected to find Simon with his head laid back against the wall. 

"Jesus," Price raised a brow. "You good?" 

Simon grunted his affirmative. "Am I right to go in?"

"Yeah, mate." 

John watched as the Lieutenant struggled to his feet, gripping the doorway to your office. He heard your voice trinkle through the hallway, inviting him in. The Captain waited, waited for Simon to inevitably close the door behind him- he would quickly open it and then leave. He didn't want to linger, didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable but he couldn't just let you go through that anxiety again.

Simon was known for valuing his privacy, and his need for concealment and isolation. It would only be natural of him to close the door behind him, unaware of Saint's history.

But, when Ghost walked through the threshold, John took in a sharp breath. 

The Lieutenant slipped straight in, slowly and with his eyes cast downcast- though, that wasn't what caught Price's attention.

He didn't close the door. 

[yuikomorii]

Happy Birthday, Ayato! ❤️

// Today is the golden boy’s birthday!! Sweet and spicy visual god, you are the reason of my unattainablly high standards… and also of my questionable financial decisions, lol.

This looks more like an Ayayui shrine than an individual Ayato one, but I couldn’t fit all the items in one pic, therefore I chose the ones that were the easiest to find in my room. :”)

Nevertheless… I did try to prepare a SCENARIO too! I used my nsfw edit as the cg, although I didn’t show everything. The romantic part is really cheesy and cringe, but if you’re into fluff, you will like that. 💕💕

~Operation: Ayato-kun’s birthday~

Yui: ( Haa… it feels as if there’s no ending to these anymore… )

( I woke up earlier today, hoping to finish all these exercises, yet I really can’t bring myself to understand how to solve them at all…! )

( My mind is completely in a whole different place right now. Today is Ayato-kun’s birthday after all. )

( Unfortunately, all the assignments kept me so busy this week that I wasn’t even able to bake a cake for him… )

( However, it’s still not too late for that, right? )

( Once I’m done with this page, I will definitely try my best to prepare it as soon as po—)

Reiji: Komori Yui, are you slacking again?

Yui: …!

R-Reiji-san!

( Oh no, he picked up my notebook! )

Reiji: Good grief, there are mistakes everywhere! Do I need to remind you that you are not permitted to bring disgrace upon the Sakamaki family as long as you reside under this mansion's roof?

Yui: Uuh… I-I’m really sorry, Reiji-san. I promise I’ll—

Reiji: Silence. I recently received your report card as well, and I must admit that I’m not pleased with your performance in the slightest. I was expecting such indifference from my brothers, but it’s rather disheartening for a human girl not to care about her education.

Yui: Y-You got it wrong! It’s not like I don’t care about school, but… simply put, the teachers have been giving us much too many tasks lately, and I find them quite difficult to solve, which stresses me out a little, to be honest.

Reiji: Hmph, excuses. I find it incomprehensible how such simple exercises cause you mental difficulties.

Nevertheless, I shall teach you then. Even if it requires the whole day to achieve that.

Yui: You will? Woah, thank you so much, Re— W-Wait, no! We can’t do that today!

Reiji: Pardon? Are you rejecting my offer to tutor you?

Yui: No, no! Not at all! It’s just that today is Ayato-kun’s birthday, and well… I would obviously want to celebrate it with him.

Reiji: Denied.

Yui: Eh—?

Reiji: You truly are a fool. Vampires show no interest in the day of their birth. Now, take a sit.

Yui: …

( I know Reiji-san is not in the wrong, but… I really do want to celebrate Ayato-kun’s birthday. That day may not be special to him but it’s so special to me. )

( Am I being selfish, I wonder…? )

*Timeskip*

Reiji: It appears that you’re finally able to understand how to solve this exercise. The next ones are similar to it, therefore there shouldn’t be any obstacles.

Yui: Yes, I see…

( I appreciate Reiji-san’s help, yet too many hours have passed by and baking a cake from scratch is not possible anymore… )

Place: Living room

Yui: ( Hmm… apparently I still have enough pocket money to buy a cake. I know a self-made one would have been more meaningful, but I really couldn’t… )

Kanato: Yui-san, are you spacing out?

Yui: Eh—? Ah, Kanato-kun, I didn’t see you there. I’m fine, but I’m a bit in a hurry, so… see y— Kya!

( He grabbed my wrist! )

Kanato: You’re going to buy a cake for my brother, aren’t you?

Yui: Uhh… well yes, I mean, it’s his birthday after all.

Kanato: My birthday was yesterday and I didn’t see you get any cake for me, nor for Laito. Teddy thinks you forgot about us. Tell me, Yui-san, is that true?

Yui: T-that’s not it!

Kanato: So you’re going to buy a cake for me as well after all? I might forgive you if you do that.

Yui: ( What did I get myself into…! I’m sure Kanato-kun will throw a tantrum if I say “no”. )

But… I don’t think I got enough money for two cakes.

Kanato: Please don’t worry about that, Yui-san, I know my ways. Or what, are you doubting me now?

Yui: …!

— shakes head —

Kanato: Good, now let’s go.

Place: Demon World Cake shop

Yui: Woah, I’ve never seen such big cakes before!

Kanato: Please don’t shout. Your looks already make you resemble a servant, you don’t have to act like one as well.

Yui: ( Hey, that’s mean! )

Cake shop owner: Welcome, how can I help you?

Yui: We’re searching for a birthday cake, but uhm… one a bit smaller than the ones displayed here, if possible.

Cake shop owner: Any flavor you got in mind?

Yui: ( Speaking of flavor, I don’t think Ayato-kun has ever told me anything about his favorite. He would probably say Takoyaki but a Takoyaki cake… that doesn’t feel right. )

I think he likes straw—

Kanato: Raspberry!

Cake shop owner: Wonderful! We just finished a raspberry cake a few minutes ago!

— brings cake —

Yui: ( It truly looks delicious…! Besides, it’s red as well, which is Ayato-kun’s favorite color, so I believe he would truly like this one! )

Kanato: Alright, we’ll take it!

Place: Mansion

Yui: Phew, I’m glad the cake didn’t get crushed on the way.

Kanato: It’s time to eat!

Yui: Wha—! No, Kanato-kun, you can’t!

Kanato: Excuse me, but who do you think you are? This is my cake, therefore I’m allowed to eat it whenever I want!

Yui: W-Well, don’t you want to wait for Ayato-kun too? This way, you two will be able to eat it together like bro—!!

(He pushed me in the cake!?)

Kanato-kun, why did you do this!?

Kanato: You ruined the cake!

Yui: Me!? But Kanato-kun was the one who pushed me there!

Kanato: Teddy says you’re annoying, and I agree. Now how will you fix your mistakes?

Yui: ( I can barely see anything…! )

Kanato: Fufu, look at her Teddy! She’s full of cake from head to toe! Now, let’s give it a taste che—

Yui: You can’t!

— moves cake away from him —

Kanato: I can!

— moves cake back —

Yui: No!

— moves cake away —

Kanato: Hmph, just give up already, will you!?

— pushes her away —

Yui: Wait, no—!!!

???: Oi, what the—!

— cake falls on them —

Kanato: Noooo, the cake!!!! Ngh, this is no fun anymore!

Yui: Uuh… Why is the floor so soft…?

Ayato: ‘Cause it’s not the floor, you idiot.

Yui: Ah! A-Ayato-kun!

Uhh… Happy birthday…~?

Ayato: Geez, c’mere, you’re an even bigger mess.

— picks her up —

Place: Bathroom

Yui: ( This is so embarrassing…! )

Ayato: Haa… You’re finally not covered in cake anymore.

Yui: I… I’m sorry…

Ayato: Huh? What are you apologizing for? I’m not mad that you dropped that cake on me.

Yui: That’s not the only thing I’m sorry about…

If it weren’t for my carelessness, you would have gotten a nice birthday, but now… you don’t even have a cake anymore.

( Ah, I’m feeling as if I’m about to cry right now… )

Ayato: Hey, c’mon that’s not worth the tears. I’m a vampire, remember? I don’t care about my birthday, so there’s no need to worry about such stuff.

Yui: Maybe you don’t care about it but… I do. I know that I’m about to sound selfish, but your birthday is very special to me. It represents the day you were born and I… I simply can’t imagine not celebrating it.

Ayato-kun is important to me, therefore that automatically makes his birthday important to me too.

Ayato: You klutz…

— hugs her —

Yui: W-Wha—! Ayato-kun…!

Ayato: Seriously, are all humans really that sentimental? Or does this only apply to cute girls like you?

Yui: …!

(He… he called me cute! )

— blushes —

Ayato: The day’s still not over, y’know? There’s still time to celebrate it if you’re really that obsessed with it.

Yui: …! So, are you really okay with that?

Ayato: Yeah? If I weren’t, I would have told you, idiot. On top of that, it’s not like I got anything better to do anyway.

Now tell me, Chichinashi, what exactly do you have in store for today?

Yui: Hm… uhm… nothing comes to my mind at the moment, but for now… I can’t say I mind spending time like this with Ayato-kun.

Ayato: Heh~? You suddenly don’t mind being in my arms while naked?

Yui: P-Phrasing it like that…!

Ayato: Well, if that’s the case, then… you wouldn’t mind if I sucked your blood either, right?

Yui: Go ahead.

Ayato: Hah? No talking back? Are you really that easy to convince today? Or, could it be that you finally admit enjoying the pleasure these fangs give you?

Yui: It’s not only about your fangs, Ayato-kun. I really like you as a whole.

I wasn’t even able to find a gift for you, therefore giving you my blood is the least I can do.

Ayato: Heh, I see… I don’t need your blood as a gift though.

Yui: You don’t…?

Ayato: Nope, ‘cause I already got the best gift ever.

Yui: Is that so?

( Did someone already give him something for his birthday? If that’s the case, then who could it be? )

( Ah… I guess I’m just overthinking, but now I’m really curious. )

Ayato: You really wanna know, don’t you? It’s already written on your face.

Are you getting jealous~?

Yui: T-That’s…—!

Ayato: Pfft, you really did get jealous, huh?

Yui: ( Ugh… he’s making fun of me now! )

Ayato: Anyway, there’s no need to. After all, the best gift I’ve ever gotten…

It’s you, Yui.

— Smooch —

The end

[julesthequirky]

The Choice: Chapter Nine

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there’s a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters/Pairings: Fem!Reader, Dean, Beau and Ben (Soldier Boy)

Warnings: Language, typical Soldier Boy behaviour, angst, dashed dreams, mental breakdown.

W/C: 1,617

Everything hurt. Your throat felt tight and sore. Your head pounded, and your eyes felt gummy from all your tears. Your knees ached, and your soul felt irreparable. God knows how long you’d been here for. It felt like a century.

“Sh, sh, shhh.”

There was that low, soothing voice again.

Your fingers felt stiff as they clutched the jacket of the person it belonged to. Your tears had soaked into their shirt, leaving a wet patch. They were warm, whoever they were, with a steady heartbeat, which helped to calm you. And they smelt nice. Musky aftershave…

Hands pushed at your shoulders, pulling you back. You didn’t want to leave the safety or the comfort of whoever’s arms you were in. The busy hum and the bright lights of the mall came rushing back. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing you were anywhere but here.

Warm, dry hands cupped your face, thumbs stroking over your hot, gummy eyes, catching any lingering tears caught on your lashes.

“C’mon, darlin’.”

You expected a Southern drawl but got Dean’s deep-timbred, Mid-Kansas accent instead.

“It’s safe. Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you. Not on my watch.”

Shame filled you, remembering the event that transpired and what you must’ve looked like to everyone in Walmart. You couldn’t.

“Hey, hey. Look at me. Look at me.”

Your eyes open, and Dean’s green eyes filled your vision. Magnetised, you focused on the flecks of colour, the hue changes and just how emerald they looked in the brightness.

“Where’s Ben?”

You’d left him alone in the middle of the store with Mark and the girlfriend.

Dean’s lips turned into somewhat of a smirk.

“Well, after you ran out, he tore right into the guy. Beau had to pull him away before he could land a punch. They’re both still inside the store, waiting for you. I suppose he’s not such a bad guy after all.”

Oh.

“We can go right home, put all this right behind us. I won’t pry. Hell, I don’t blame you if you never wanna talk about it ever again, but if you do want an ear, I’m here.”

Thanks to Dean, the intensity you’d felt a moment ago had calmed. The tightness in your chest and throat receded, your breath steadied, and the thoughts in your head cleared. You flung your arms back around him, breathing in his manly musky scent that was so distinctively his.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“No…I’m okay. Thanks, D.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

Your knees were aching on the hard mall floor. Dean pulled back and helped you up. You turned to the store and took a deep breath. Beau and Ben were inside, waiting. They would understand if you decided to abandon the shopping trip. But in all honesty, you weren’t a quitter. At least not in trivial matters.

You brushed yourself down and wiped your eyes. They still felt a little gummy but were quickly returning to normal.

You just hoped that Mark and his girlfriend weren’t still inside.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head. “No, I want to.”

You took steady steps towards Walmart. Your cart and shopping were still in there, probably being looked after by Ben and Beau. You wondered how Ben was getting on. How angry he must‘ve been flashed through your mind. Angry enough to have a punch-up in public.

The hand on your lower back had your shoulders and back easing. It reminded you that you weren’t alone. Dean had your back. Literally. His touch felt natural like it belonged, but there was no way in Hell you were telling him that. You’d look crazy.

You returned to your cart, manned by Beau and Ben. Your ex-husband was nowhere in sight, and relief ran through you.

“Darlin’,” Beau hugged you, wrapping his arms around you tightly, almost setting you off again. “He never deserved you. He’s an asshole.”

Beau’s Southern drawl comforted you to no end.

He let you go, and you gripped the bar of the cart. So much was added. All that was missing were groceries. You steered the cart away from the clothing section. Walking in a daze, you grabbed items from the list in your pocket, whipping around the store. Ben added a crate of beer and the whiskey he had been drinking from.

You paid for the items, not bothering to bag them until you reached your cart. You opened the trunk. The guys helped you put it away, and you soon found yourself in the driving seat, staring into space, with Ben beside you.

The image of your ex’s new girlfriend’s pregnant round belly occupied your mind.

Ben poked you.

“You gonna drive?”

“Right.” You murmured.

You couldn’t remember the drive home or how the groceries made it inside. Somehow, you ended up in the room where Dean was sleeping, pulling open a drawer and taking out the set of baby booties from within.

The dream you so long wished for was now being taken over by someone else. Sitting on the bed, you let your heart break all over again.

*

A loud crack pulled you out of it, then a yell of rage. Sitting up, you placed the baby booties on the mattress and slowly headed down. Dean and Beau were surrounding the kitchen. From further in, you heard grunting, huffing and panting.

“I am NOT the one to blame!!”

Beau and Dean looked at each other. You stepped closer. You saw Ben’s eye lock on you from the space between Beau and Dean. Your heart leapt to your throat, and he was barrelling through both of them in a matter of seconds just to get to you.

“You!” He roared.

He was dirty and unkempt. His undershirt had stains on, as did the grey sweats he wore. He had great big bags under his eyes, and looked absolutely feral.

He grabbed your arm, gripping it tightly. Your eyes widened in shock, unable to free yourself.

“This fuck up is on you! I’m sick of taking the fucking blame for your fuck ups!”

You could barely take it in. Your brain was on the go-slow still.

“I didn’t—”

“No, but they sure have.” He pointed to Dean and Beau.

Ben was angry and bitter and had been for a while. He stormed past you and up the stairs. You followed, scrambling up after him.

“What are you doing?!”

“I’m doing what they’re too fucking pussy to do.”

He headed into the room you’ve been sleeping in, Dean’s room. Your heart leapt to your throat again, and your pulse spiked as panic shot down your system. Not the baby clothes.

The door barged open, slamming into the wall and splintering. You ran in after him, gripping the back of his vest, desperately trying to pull him back. He shoved you off like he was swatting a fly, and you landed on your ass with a thud.

He picked up the booties on the bed, keeping them in his fist. He turned to you.

“Where are the rest!”

You shook your head.

“I’m gonna start tearing out each fucking drawer until I find them.” It wasn’t a warning. It was a promise.

When you didn’t answer, he yanked the first drawer out of the chest, throwing it on the bed when it didn’t have what he was looking for.

“No!!”

You scrambled up.

“Please!” Your desperate, futile beg went over his head.

You needed him to turn and walk away like your life depended on it.

“I won’t ask again. Where are they, Y/N?”

You shook your head, pleading, tears streaming down your eyes, still trying to pull him away, feet slipping on the carpet. But he was superhuman. Your strength was nothing compared to his.

He couldn’t really be doing this.

The emotion in your chest expanded as he yanked open another drawer, ripping it from its hinges and chucking it on the bed when it wasn’t the right one.

The gaping wound seemed only to worsen.

“Stop!!” You screamed, raining your fists down his back. He ignored you and opened the third drawer.

The wound gaped further. Your heart lurched when his hand reached out. You leapt up, straddling his back and covering his eyes. He yanked you off, pushing you back against the bed. You grunted as pain sliced all the way up your back.

“Please, Ben.”

You didn’t understand why he would do this.

He turned to you, fists full of the tiny garments. “Your problem, Y/N, is you don’t believe in yourself. These clothes fulfil nothing. They don’t mean shit! Wake the fuck up and stop holding on to shit that’s meaningless.”

His words shredded your heart.

“They mean everything!”

He shot you daggers.

“Bullshit!”

Spittle flew off and landed on your forehead. You grimaced as you wiped it off and scrambled to get up as he turned away.

“No!! Please! No!”

No amount of begging or pleading would work. They all fell on deaf ears. He gripped the doorknob and swung it shut behind him, leaving you screaming and crying. You tried the handle; it rattled, but the door remained. He was on the other side keeping you from the clothes.

Your fists bashed on the splintering wood, and your throat burned from begging, pleading and sobbing, your energy fast draining. Anger spiked your system, and you kicked at the door. When that didn’t work, you gathered the remnants of your energy and threw it at him.

“I hate you!!”

Silence.

You slumped against the door, eyes hot and gummy, stinging with fresh tears.

Of course, you didn’t hate him. It would have made everything so much easier if you did.

Tags: @yvonneeeee, @curlycarley, @angelbabyyy99, @sassy-pelican, @k-slla, @deans-spinster-witch, @ashdoctor, @eretsupremacy89, @fanfic-n-tabulous, @deans-number-one-fan, @afro-hispwriter, @tiredstrangerr, @zemosdarling228, @justjensenandhisalteregos, @ladysparkles78, @nescavaneck, @winharry, @stellasfictionalworld

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 16 all chapters

~AUTHOR'S WARNINGS: N$FW, SEXUAL CONTENT, COPIOUS SWEARING, TOXIC POSESSIVENESS , IF SOMEONE TREATS YOU LIKE THIS IN REAL LIFE RUN RUN RUN BC IT WILL NOT TURN OUT WELL U CANT FIX THEM~

-Aware that John Wick knows this city much better than you, you stick to the crowds. You manage to find your way to the Peggy Guggenheim collection, and you hang out there for hours, looking through the art works, but really only half seeing what is in front of you.

You are devastated.

You’ve had controlling boyfriends before, and it was not fun. They seem exciting at first, until the person you were before is eaten alive by their tantrums and their ridiculous expectations as they try to fit you into a box of their own making.

You can’t believe John turned out that way.

Or maybe you can. Maybe you have a fucking type, and you should have seen this coming.

You stay almost until closing, then grab a bite to eat before daring to wander the streets. You find a little walled in park, a courtyard filled with lush greenery and a tinkling fountain. By some miracle, there is only one other couple on a bench at the far end. You practically have the place to yourself, and you sit down on a wrought iron bench with a sigh and eat your sandwich.

You pull out your sketchbook afterwards to pass the time. Your doodling hand wanders, and perhaps its no surprise when you draw John Wick from memory, his proud lips and haunted eyes. There are tears running down your cheeks as you do so. When it gets too much, even though you’re in public, you hang your head and weep into your hands.

Darkness falls, and you know you should be getting back. The bench has long ceased to be comfortable, and yet it’s like you have grown into it, unable to move.

Even with your head down, when someone sits silently down beside you, you just know it’s John.

You do not look at him, and thankfully he does not try to touch you.

“It’s getting late, y/n. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Yes it is,” he insists, sounding almost tired about it. You hate it that your demeanor softens towards him, just a little.

“You broke my heart, Mr. Wick.”

“I was afraid I might.” He is sitting with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. “Would you let me make it up to you?” 

“I'm not sure that's a good idea.” 

“No?”

“No. I think you have a mean streak.” 

He had tried to warn you, you realize, in his way.

God, are you really such a fool?

“Doesn't everyone?” 

You make a sound between your teeth, and he nods like you have said something profound. 

“I'm not a nice man, y/n. But I would be good to you.”

“Like last night? I didn't like that.”

The corner of his mouth curves in a wicked smirk, and your heart skips a beat in your chest, damn him. Was the contrition all an act?

“Yes you did.”

“Not the last part.”

“Hmm. I tried to warn you.”

In the vaguest terms possible, maybe.

“My fanny.”

He raises an eyebrow to that, and you’re not sure why that little gesture wounds you like a knife to the heart all over again. Perhaps because he is beautiful, and even though you know he’s dangerous for you, you still want him so very much.  

You start to cry again, and try to get up from the bench. You need to get away from him, because you can’t think straight when he’s near.

“Y/n, wait.” He catches your wrist, and when you don’t really fight him, he pulls you down into his lap, and goddammit if this isn’t what you’d wanted all along. You feel small in his arms, cradled against his long torso and sheltered in the bend of his neck, even if in your hindbrain you know you are not actually safe at all. He strokes your hair until you quiet, and he kisses your temple like you are something precious.

How can this man be so sweet, just to turn on you?

“Why did you leave me, like that?”

You just do not understand. You could have had a lovely, fulfilling, mind-blowing if not vanilla night together. He’d laid all the groundwork like a master orchestrator, and you would have let him fuck you senseless. Fuck, you wouldn’t have even minded the tying up part, if he just hadn’t humiliated you.

“Because…” His lips ghost along the line of your jaw, and you fight not to squirm as his large hand slides up your thigh, his fingertips feather light on your skin. “Only good girls get to cum,” he says low in your ear, and you hate how it makes you ache between your legs, to hear him talk to you that way.

Outwardly, you do your best to keep your cool.

“And touching your hair made me a bad girl?”

“No.”

“Disobeying you did.”

“Yes.”

“That’s kinda fucked up.”

“Maybe.” He actually seems a little amused by you, which is not the reaction you were expecting. “I like to be in control. But you make me feel...unbalanced.”

“Me?” You sound incredulous. The thought that you could affect this powerful man in such a way seems absurd.

“Yes, you, kitten.”

The urge to demand he not call you that desiccates on your tongue. 

“So...what? You feel the need to take revenge for that?” 

“Maybe. I thought you knew the game we were playing, when you batted those big eyes up at me. Mr Wick, Sir, aren’t I a good girl?” His fingers dig into your thigh with the memory, and you can feel his growing erection beneath you. “But you’re just an innocent, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You’re used to boys just eating out of the palm of your hand. But I am a man, with a man’s appetites, and a man’s desires.”

He was a little more than that, you reckoned.

“You want to control me.”

“That’s part of it.”

“Why?”

He smirks. “Maybe I had a rough childhood.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“I want to take care of you.” He kisses your cheek again, and it is gentle and sweet and everything you had wanted from Mr. Wick, before this all went sideways. “I want you to be mine.”

You are not proud of the way those words unleash a fluttering swarm of butterflies in your belly, your breath quickening in your chest. You are proud when you manage to answer, “I don’t need taking care of.”

He just snorts lightly at that, as if it’s not even worth arguing over. “Come back to the hotel room with me. I promise I’ll finish what I started. With interest.” His hand slowly slides up your thigh, just beneath the skirt of your sundress, and you think you might die. You should not want this man, after what he did to you.

The ache between your legs suggests otherwise.

You give yourself some points, when you shake your head.

“No. I’m going back to my hostel.”

The shift in his demeanor gives you whiplash, a thunderhead of a frown pulling his handsome features. “Need to get back to your little friend Javi?” The jealousy in his tone hot as a brand. “Did he try to kiss you again?”

Your heart drops to your feet.

“How did you know he tried to kiss me?” you ask, your voice so small.

That was in Rome, after all.

What should have been obvious before comes crashing in, and you realize what a little fool you’ve been. That feeling that someone’s been watching you, and John’s so convenient and coincidental appearance outside the alley…

“Holy shit. You’ve been following me.”

“I’ve been protecting you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have no idea what the world is really like, sweetheart. It’s a dangerous place.”

You frown at this.

“So…you think I’m stupid?”

“No, of course not.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself then.”

“I think I found you wandering around here like a lost little lamb. There are monsters here who would have gobbled a sweet little treat like you up in one bite.”

The fact that he sees you that way is more alarming than the thought of some unnamed threat in the shadows.

For some reason it makes you think of the men in the van back home—and how that van was found empty and on fire.

“How do you know about the monsters, John?”

“I just know.”

“You said you weren’t a cop. Were you FBI?”

He glares at you, which you take as a no.

“Interpol?”

You are met with silence, and you nod, mostly to yourself.

“You know about the monsters because you are one.” You think about those fierce looking Italian men with their scars and their bespoke suits. His previous words echo in your memory. Sono retirato.

“Were you in the mob?”

“Not…specifically.”

Then you remember he’d said he was from Belarus.

“Bratva, then.”

You should be terrified as you work all this out, trapped in the circle of this man’s arms, but you feel strangely numb about it all.

“My clever girl.” He sounds almost sad about it.

“Not clever enough,” you sigh.

You are not sure who is more surprised, you or him, when you burst to your feet. You actually manage to slip out of his grasp, though you only make it three steps before he captures your wrist again with a grip like an iron manacle. He gives you a dark look, annoyed that you would even try to play this game with him.

You remember what you learned in martial arts class a lifetime ago, pointing your thumb down towards the weak point of his grip and trying to jerk free. It’s worked before, with grabby men.

Not with John Wick, though.

“Stop.” Again, there’s that steely tone. The alpha voice one uses to reprimand a naughty dog. It only makes you angrier, and you struggle.

He pulls you hard against him, and you bite his hand. He doesn’t let you go, just adjusts his grip. “I didn’t want to do it this way,” he snarls low in your ear. “But you are so fucking stubborn.”

“Thank you.” You try to headbutt him behind you, but he ducks into the bend of your shoulder. You feel his chest trembling against your back, and only belatedly do you realize he is laughing at you.

“Enjoying this?”

“A little.”

“There’s no fucking way you can get me out of here without someone seeing. Let me go.”

He just sighs into your hair, like you’ve said something extremely naïve.

The arrival of newcomers into the park catches both of your attention. You lift your head, ready to ask for help, when you recognize the besuited tough guys from before.

Well, fuck.

“You've got some balls, showing your face around here, John Wick. Gianna d’Antonio’s son sends his greetings.”

“This isn’t a good time,” he snarls in return.

“Sorry, are you too busy fighting with your little girlfriend?”

He actually releases you then, pushing you to stand behind him. They are blocking the exit, so for now, you comply.

“You know how this will go,” John says, assuming a ready stance, his feet spread. He almost sounds regretful about it. “Do yourselves a favor, and leave.”

“Can’t do it, John,” says the one in the lead.

“For fuck’s sake,” curses John under his breath. The lead Italian makes a move, and John bursts into action. He is like a tornado of carnage upon them, throwing punches and breaking arms, cutting tendons and stabbing throats.

You are absolutely frozen as you watch all this unfold before you.

That is, until one of the thugs throws a knife at John, and you watch it bury in his chest. This is the thing that breaks your spell, and you run towards the fray with a scream, though who the fuck knows what you intend to do.

However, like he wasn’t just stabbed in the heart, John takes another attacker’s gun, pistol whipping him with it before shooting the knife thrower, then the last one standing. It cannot have been more than minute, before all of them are dead at his feet. He leans on his bent knees for a moment, catching his breath.

“John?” You hardly recognize your own voice as you rush to him, certain he’s taken a lethal blow and somehow fought through it with the surge of adrenaline. However, when you peel back his suit jacket you find no blood. He lets you look him over with frantic hands, maybe enjoying the fact that you don’t wish him dead, before pulling the still protruding knife from the breast of his jacket.

When he produces the little leather journal you’d gifted him from his inside pocket, now gravely marred with a puncture through the cover, you understand.

“Holy fuck.”

“You saved my life,” he says with an odd little smile down at you, as though all this is normal and what you just saw is totally ok.

Utterly horrified, you run.

“Y/n, wait!”

You throw yourself into the dark winding streets, taking any turn you can, trying to stay out of sight. Your feet fly beneath you; even in your shitty strappy sandals, it’s the fastest you’ve ever run.

It’s not fast enough.

When strong arms close around you, lifting you from the ground, you try to scream. A big hand clamps over your mouth, and you find yourself pressed hard into a stone wall. “Please, calm down,” he pants in your ear, out of breath from killing four people then running you down.

Your answer of, “Are you fucking kidding me?” is nothing but muffled syllables.  

“Goddammit,” he sighs behind you, rifling in his pocket for something as he pins you with his body. “This is not how I wanted this to go.”

Your pitiful plea of “Let me go,” is cut off by an evil-smelling cloth shoved into your nose.

[itoshiexx]

pretty

synopsis: when your insecurities get the best of you, rin comes to the rescue to make sure you know you're so much more than pretty.

pairing: itoshi rin x gn!reader | words: 845 | warnings: established relationship, slight hurt/comfort, insecurities, i tried to make this as gender neutral as possible but reader is implied to wear makeup, suggestive at the end!!, aged up characters

notes: it’s me, hi, i'm the problem it's me! i'm back with this idea i had while i was trying some clothes. kinda hate how this turned out but whatever, i'm sad

masterlist part 2 (nsfw)

you never really took long to get ready. it was one of the reasons rin loved you so much: you were practical with your outfit and your makeup, and very good at managing your time. for someone as the young itoshi, who screamed practicality, you were a perfect match.

it is why rin is standing up from his place on the living room’s couch, sprinting towards your shared bedroom — to understand why you are taking so long. if you don’t leave soon, you might be late for your dinner reservations. 

entering the bedroom door, rin spots you easily. you are standing in front of the mirror, with nothing but your underwear on, staring at your reflection with a lost gaze.

he decides he doesn’t like this gaze on you.

“what’s wrong?” his question seems to break you from whatever stupor you were in; his bluntness catching you off guard in an unusual manner, since you were used to your boyfriend’s direct nature.

rin is met with silence. your lips part and close several times, but nothing comes out. his brows furrow, and he takes a few steps inside to take a closer look to you. 

your hands are wandering through your skin — from the plush of your thighs, your hips, the curve of your waist, stopping at your tummy. then, they move further to your ribs, chest, shoulders, up until your neck. 

it’s like you’re analyzing something, although rin can’t quite pinpoint what it is. he could almost say you’re admiring yourself, if not for the slight furrow of your brows and the crisp on your lips.

“do you… do you think i’m pretty, rin?” 

your voice is so small it scares him for a moment. he wasn’t expecting such a question. nevertheless, rin takes a few more steps until he’s right behind you in the mirror, and his arms find home in your waist in a tight embrace. you shiver feeling the material of his white button up shirt against your bare skin. 

you feel his scrutinizing gaze from over your shoulder, and you have to fight the urge to hide. it’s silly, and you know; because you never have to hide from rin. he has seen you, all of you, way too many times. 

but there’s just something about this moment that makes you feel so little and so insecure, because the stupid voices in your head keep telling you bad things about yourself. and you also know that they are just intrusive thoughts, and that you shouldn’t listen to them, but right now it’s really fucking hard. 

“pretty?” he repeats, a little breathless. his eyes wander through every bit of you, like he’s trying to commit to memory. “you’re asking me if i think you’re pretty?”

you shake your head. “forget it, i shouldn’t have asked—”

“love,” rin interrupts your rambling, “you are so much more than pretty.”

you blink a few times, unsure you heard him right. rin’s hold on you tightens. 

“you are beautiful.” he rests his chin on your shoulder, still staring intently at your figure. “you are… god. you’re breathtaking.”

he leaves a featherlight kiss on your neck, and you can’t help but feel incredibly shy under his strong gaze. rin stares at you as if you are the most beautiful creature that has ever landed on earth, like some sort of divine being that came from the heavens to bless every human lucky enough to deserve to cross your path. probably because, to him, that was exactly what you were.

and rin was the luckiest of them all, for he was the one who you chose to call “lover”, the one that could spend every minute of his existence by your side, bathing in your glow, basking in the warmth of every one of your smiles. 

he was the one that could feel the texture of your skin beneath his fingertips and worship your body like some kind of temple, giving all the love it deserved. and if you were asking him that question, well… then maybe he wasn’t worshiping you enough. 

“baby,” his right hand leaves your waist and trails all the way to your shoulder, where he leaves another kiss. “look at me.”

you shake your head no. you miss the way his expression turns pained. “please?”

you sigh. you’re such a goner for itoshi rin. and he knows that anything he asks in that tone will be granted. so, albeit hesitantly, you do what he says, and meet his gaze in the mirror. 

the small smile he gives you is enough to send your heart into a frenzy, giving you those stupid butterflies in your stomach that always appear when it comes to him.

“you are everything good in this world,” he says, like it’s the truth, like it’s all he’s ever known.

then, gently turning you around to face him, he grips your waist tightly and brings his face impossibly close to yours, until your noses are touching and his lips are hovering above yours.

“and i will show you just how much.”

© 2023 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.

[llamagoddessofficial]

@mothiepixie's art has dragged me kicking & screaming back into my Death God Sans obsession

so here's a concept I've been rolling around in my head for an updated scaryboy...

---

He was cloaked, head to toe, in black. Sweeping robes, black as the night, that seemed to draw in any light around them. Though delicate chains of silver decorated his shoulders and waistline, he had nowhere near the degree of finery one would expect from such an ancient and powerful being.

... He looked over his shoulder at your approach. His face was veiled. The veil itself was beautiful, as black as his cloak, the edges embroidered with fine thread that caught the light like stars. No one had ever survived glimpsing beneath that veil. Legends told of curious Gods peering when they should not- being driven mad instantly upon seeing the face of Death.

Immortals simply were not made to comprehend their existence coming to an end.

“... what a pleasant surprise.” He mused. “hello, little goddess.”

“S-Sans.” You couldn’t look at him long. “I-I... want to talk...”

... A sigh escaped him. He turned to you, fully, a great figure of black ash and silence. When he spoke, he sounded... regretful.

“of course you do.”

“I-it’s... it’s my friend. A nymph. She’s...”

He spoke gently. “i know what you're going to ask, so please do not ask me. i don’t want to have to refuse you.”

You didn't know why Sans had a soft spot for you. Other Gods and Goddesses had attempted to befriend him, attempted to gain his favour. They were always rebuffed- sometimes aggressively. You were the only one whose friendliness he ever reciprocated.

“She’s going to die." You almost choked on your words. "There... there must be something you can do, I...”

“i can’t.” His words carried the finality of someone who had been asked this question more times than he could count. “if i make one exception, the world will know. and then i’ll have to make a hundred more.”

The hope was draining from you. This is what you had feared most. “I-I won’t tell anyone. I... Please.”

“there are rules i have never bent.” He said, softly. “i cannot start now.”

...

You looked away. Though you knew you had no right to, considering he was only doing what he'd been made to do, you still felt hurt. “... I suppose you’ve had this conversation many times.”

A pause.

“... yes.”

“After a while it must get amusing.”

The veil shifted, slightly.

“i know you did not mean that.”

... You immediately felt regret biting at the back of your tongue. Of course he wouldn't be amused, what a horrible thing for you to say. He didn't choose this existence- and he certainly didn't choose to have his heart hardened by centuries of desperate people clawing at the bottom of his robes.

“... I’m sorry." You said, small. "I shouldn’t have come.”

...

“wait.”

In an instant, Sans was far closer to you, close enough that you could reach out and trace your hands across his robes. Great black wings, each taller than you, circled you; the veil fluttered for a moment, you thought you saw something glint beneath them that definitely wasn’t the light glancing off the fine silver embroidery. 

“... there is a way.”

You stopped, heart jumping in a mixture of hope, and apprehension at his proximity. His aura was overpowering. “There is?”

“making exceptions for the way my soul turns would not be acceptable." His head tilted. "however... making exceptions for kin...”

You wished you could see his face. Anything to clue you as to you what was going on. “... Kin?”

“your friend would be my kin, if you were my wife.”

... 

Your jumping heart stopped in your chest.

“... Your... wife.”

“it would be in name only. i cannot give you children. and... i would understand if you sought intimacy elsewhere.”

You felt yourself tearing up. You didn’t understand. “But... what’s the point, then? Why would you want me as a wife, if you know I won’t give you affection or children?” 

“do we have a deal?”

...

What other choice did you have? He could probably see it written all over your face.

“close your eyes.” He said, softly.

... You did. 

You heard nothing. But you felt something draw close, you felt that overwhelming aura intensity, a power that drifted across your skin like spiderwebs... it smelled like obsidian, in your mind’s eye it was the deepest shade of midnight. 

A hand on the small of your back. 

“do not open them.” His voice was so near. So near you felt it in your chest and throat.

... So near, that when you heard the sound of thin fabric being lifted, you could almost count the threads.

Breath against your cheeks. Instinctively, your hands came up, catching in his silken robes. Your frozen heart started pounding all over again.

... Pressure, on your lips. Gentle, warm, much warmer than you expected. The barest, softest touch... but it lingered long enough for you to sense that it was the touch of someone who was restraining themselves.

You didn't expect the kiss of Death to feel so loving.

As fast he had come, the warmth retreated from your lips, the hand retreated from your back. His cloak slipped out of your grip.

...

You opened your eyes. Sans was a few feet away from you.

... You didn’t need to be able to see his face to know he was smiling.

[jeonscatalyst]

I’m Just going to say this. I’m not the one who will always tell you exactly what you want to hear. I’m not the one who will come on here to call Jimin and Jungkook liars just because i want people or myself to keep believing that Jikook never have bad days or go through ups and downs in whatever relationship they are in. I don’t look at things through rose colored lenses, I look at things from realistic and objective point of view as much as I can so if all you want to hear is how perfect Jikook are or how they never fight, never hurt each other or never have bad days, then maybe my blog is not the right place for you.

I am still firm in my belief in Jikook despite what they have said because I never looked at them and thought I was watching fantasy in the first place. I always viewed them as two human beings who were learning how to navigate this this thing called life while being under the most complicated circumstances ever and when you look at things from that angle, it doesn’t surprise you that two people possibly in a romantic relationship have off moments. Stop for a second and try to look at your own romantic relationship or that of any of your siblings or best friends. What does it look like? Is it all roses and honey? It is all smiles from morning to night? Is it all smooth sailing? If it isn’t then why on god’s green earth would you expect Jimin and Jungkook’s to be when those two are probably dealing with alot more than you or anyone else you know is dealing with?

I have always tried to give my honest opinions on things regardless of whether I think people will like to hear it or not and honestly it they are just my opinions and not the LAW so it shouldn’t be a big deal anyways. Also, it is ok for you to think differently from me or have different opinions and we can discuss them and then agree to disagree and keep it moving. I understand people wanting to only hear good things or things that only affirm jikook being real and I know that it feels good but you and I know that reality isn’t always pretty or pleasant so before you come to send me an ask coming at me for NOT calling Jimin and Jungkook liars, please just unfollow or block me because while I understand that Jimin and Jungkook probably do lie and have probably lied before and will probably continue keeping somethings to themselves as far as the true nature of their relationship is concerned, I will not be the one to only believe them when it suits me and call them liars when it doesn’t. Taekookers are already busy in that department.

Thanks for coming to my Ted talk😊

[schemmentis]

La Cosa Nostra - Pt. 10

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

Cowritten w/ @janeyseymour

Summary: Barbara learns the truth and you spy someone unexpected talking with the Feds...

WC: 3.4k

Barbara Howard is still thinking about the fact she has this ledger, and Melissa does not want it back. The woman knows that she shouldn’t open it- not with the explicit instruction from her friend to not open it, but she feels the need to. Perhaps she could help to balance the checkbook and find where the issues are in the ledger.

So, with Gerald in the office and the girls nowhere around, the woman of God opens up the ledger. And when she sets her eyes upon it, she can’t help but gasp.

It isn’t what she expects to see- not in the slightest. No, instead there are a bunch of names that she’s heard were rumored to be connected to the Irish mob, and others that she knows she's heard her husband mentioned before in his work. Lo and behold- there is the Schemmenti name.

Barbara slams it shut. She should turn this over to the police immediately, and she nearly does. She’s actually in her car and about to pull out before she stops to think what this would mean for your family.

Turning this over means that you would end up in prison, potentially Melissa too if she has any ties to this side of the illegal business. It means that the girls would grow up without a mother figure, perhaps two- ending with those two sweet girls who Barbara absolutely adores in foster care and away from her. It means ripping a family apart that she absolutely adores, even if they do have a hand in what her husband actively roots against. She cannot do this to the Schemmenti family, she decides.

Without a second thought, she hides the ledger that she now knows the truth of in her glovebox. And then she pulls off out of the driveway and heads for church.

When she gets there, she slides into the back pew silently. Barbara is the only one there, no sermon taking place. But she needs the strength that God can give her, so she prays to God by herself.

“Dear Lord,” she whispers softly, head bowed down. “Please... please grant me the strength to carry what I am holding with me now. Please keep those beautiful little ones safe and out of harm’s way. Please... please keep those two, who you know I am speaking of, safe. Please... if not for the two of their sake, for their little girls. Lord, please. I am begging. I am here begging...  because even though they are wrapped up in shady business, they are good people. They are two wonderful women who would do anything for their little girls. And God, please... if something does happen to them, please do see to it that those two little ones are spared of the understanding and disparity of the world. Gerald and I will take them in if we have to. Just please, keep them safe, and keep them from this dark and depraved world that we live in- because they don’t deserve to grow up in this world without somebody, anybody who loves them for who they are.”

She slips out of the church with her eyes down, as if she doesn’t have something that could quite literally get her killed. The woman of God speeds back to her house and hides the ledger back where it once was. There is no way she can let anyone find out she has this- especially not her girls.

By the time you leave Mickey, you feel that you know what you have to do. You have to continue to fight for this- if not for yourself, than for your family- the family that is real and true. You feel the slightest bit better having been able to speak to Melissa’s brother, and as you drive through the countryside, you allow yourself to hum along to the music that plays softly through the speakers. You’re more at ease than you’ve been in the past few days.

When you pick up Melissa, you park the car in the lot and head in through the back. She looks so at ease now, in her element. She’s humming softly to herself as she and Val continue to prep for the dinner rush, and you can’t help but let your eyes go soft as you take in the beautiful sight and sounds.

You snake your arms around her waist and kiss her cheek and then behind her ear in that one spot that almost always makes her shiver. “Hi, my love.”

“Ciao, mi amore,” she whispers back to you as she craned her neck to kiss you gently. “How was your day?”

“Actually…” You start before pausing long enough to kiss her lips again before letting her return most of her focus to her prepwork. Your arms stay around her waist. “It was good.” 

“A quiet day around the house did you good, huh hun? I knew you'd relax eventually.”

You prop your chin on your wife's shoulder. “I went to see Mickey,” You admit softly. You watch your wife's hands as she works. You notice the small pause in their process when she hears what you've said before they keep moving.

“What'd you go all the way up there for?” She mutters as she chops a pepper with a bit more force than before. “‘S a long drive.”

“A drive I needed. It helped clear my head, I think. I'll make it up to you by staying home bored out of my skull tomorrow?” You say, attempting to joke as you squeeze her waist lightly.

Melissa is quiet for a long moment. You don't push her to speak her mind. Instead you let her think as she works, just enjoying being in the presence of your favorite person. You're about to pull away from being so in her space when she sets her knife down.

She turns in your arms, hands on your wrists to keep you from stepping away when she moves. “You coulda talked to me and helped clear your head. Instead you went all the way to the pen.” She sighs, lightly brushing stray hair away from your face. “It was that bad, hey? You needed my goofy ass brother's advice?”

“C'mon, you know it ain't like that, babe.”

“Then what's it like? Tell me.”

“We've both been stressed to hell ‘bout this. How was I gonna just…talk to you ‘bout it? Wring us both through it for the hundredth time?”

The fingers caressing your cheek slide down in order to grip your jaw. “I'm your wife.” Melissa reminds softly. “That's kind of my job, amore. Go through the wringer with you as many times as we need to. I meant it when I told you ‘for better or for worse’.” 

You smile at that, just a bit. You remember when you had first started seeing each other- how you both had your doubts and fears. You remember the day that the two of you decided to lay everything out on the table, weighing the pros and cons of intermingling your businesses and how it would affect both your personal and professional life. She had told you that day that she was in it if you were. You answered her with a passionate kiss. You also remember the day that the two of you were wed and your families were officially tied together- the way that as you both spoke those words in front of your families to witness, Melissa let go of her tough act, her voice wavering and eyes shining with tears, as she told you that the two of you would be together for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, til death did the two of you apart.

And you have seen each other through better and worse. You’ve seen her on the happiest of days- the day you found out you were pregnant, the day the girls were born, when they took their first steps, when she opened her restaurant. And you’ve seen her through the lowest of lows- the day her Nonna died, the day she finally cracked under all the pressure with opening Twelve Tables, how she’s had quite a few moments of doubt when it comes to raising the twins. You’ve seen each other through moments of wealth, as well through moments where you were living paycheck to paycheck and doing everything you could to make ends meet. You’ve both seen one another in sickness and in health- whether that be while you were suffering from terrible morning sickness during your pregnancy with Cat and Rosie, or when the two of you were taken down by the flu that the girls brought home from daycare. You’ve held each other through it all, loving and cherishing every waking and sleeping moment that you share together, and you fully plan on it until death does the two of you apart. 

Now though, the two of you aren’t sure when it will be that death parts you. For all you know, it could be tonight. And that… terrifies you beyond belief. Even before, when things in the business got rocky, it’s never been as bad as it is now. You’ve never been in as much danger. But now? Now you’re on the forefront of this operation, and you have the feds tailing you and presumably tracing your every move.

You sigh, Melissa's eyes on yours softening you as they always do- especially now with how relaxed you can see they are. She's not upset or angry, just trying to understand your choices and remind you she's here. 

She uses the fingers gripping your jaw to pull your face to her own so her lips can kiss yours. “Sono con te amore mio. Sempre.” Melissa whispers the reminder against your lips, her hand sliding away from your jaw to the back of your neck as she kisses you deeper this time.

The sound of someone clearing their throat loudly behind you in the room makes you pull back after a moment. You gently press your forehead to your wife's, not moving away further.

“Hey, Val.” You greet your wife's manager without looking.

“How many times am I gonna have to remind you the restaurant is off limits to foolin’ around?” She teases with a smile as she moves past both of you.

“That depends.” You say as you slowly pull away from Melissa, though not completely. Your hands are still on her hips, hers are still at the side of your neck and gently threading the fingers of her other hand through your hair. “How long you plannin’ on workin’ here?”

“As long as your wife lets me, Y/N. You know that.” Val tosses back easily.

“Then I guess you got at least a hundred or so more reminders that might happen.”

Melissa lightly hits your shoulder for that. “Stop.” She murmurs. It doesn't sound that much like she means it when she kisses you again. “Lemme finish what I'm doin’ then I'll be ready to get the girls.”

You continue to hold the redhead by her waist as she finishes chopping the cilantro used for garnish before she sighs softly. “Okay, let’s go get our little tornadoes, and then… Val, I’ll be back for the dinner shift.”

“Melissa, you know I have it handled if you want to spend time with your family,” the manager reminds her.

“I think I need to be here,” the owner states. “But I might just have to bring my circus with me.”

“We’ll see you later, Val,” you nod in the woman’s direction as you guide your wife out the back door.

The second that you’re out of the restaurant though, your wife has you pinned up against the stone wall. It catches you off guard, but it’s not unwelcome. 

“Honey,” you mutter against her lips after a few minutes- your wife’s hands and lips wandering. “Baby, as much as I would love to… you do have security cameras out here, and we do have to pick up the girls.”

She groans but does pull away. “We need a night where we aren’t both so exhausted, and we can actually have time to ourselves where we aren’t just sleeping.”

“I’ll see if I can take the girls to one of our parents this weekend,” you promise her. You lead your beautiful wife down to the car, and you pull off in the direction of the girls.

Once you’ve collected them, you take them back to the restaurant, and they are all too thrilled to jump on Valentina with hugs and kisses.

“Can you keep an eye on them?” Melissa asks her manager. “Just for like… twenty minutes?”

Val eyes the two of you, who are still very much undressing each other with your eyes. “No.”

“You still want a job?” your wife threatens, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let me remind you that I do own this place.”

“You wouldn’t fire me,” Valentina rolls her eyes. “Fine. Just… don’t… anywhere where I’ll be able to see it on the security cameras.”

By the time the two of you reenter the restaurant, you’re both much more at ease. The girls are sitting at their designated table in the back with their coloring books and crayons with Val, giggling as she too doodles with them.

“We really need to give her a raise,” you sigh softly as you watch with a soft fondness in your eyes.

“Oi, remember who you're married to.” Melissa says with a small jab of her elbow to your ribs when she sees your look at the twins with Val.

You roll your eyes but kiss your wife again just to make sure she knows you definitely didn't forget. “Like I could forget being the luckiest woman in the world, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah, just watch our girls, sweet talker.” Melissa answers despite her smile and a tint to her cheeks.

You take over coloring duty to let Valentina follow your wife back to the kitchen for the dinner rush that's starting to come in. The twins chatter with you about their days over their crayons and pages. You manage to keep them quiet and contained to your table until Val is bringing out little plates for them for dinner. You smile knowing well that it's your wife's work and nothing at all that's actually on the menu. The best and solely Melissa made things were reserved for your tiny twin terrors.

“Mommy!” Both your girls are saying excitedly, with mouths full a few minutes later.

“Stay here.” You say softly at them starting to scramble for your wife despite her making her way over.

Melissa sets a plate in front of you and one next to you for herself. Quickly kissing the heads of your girls and murmuring to them softly as she wipes their faces. It's only then that she takes her spot next to you for her dinner break. 

“You comin’ home with us for bedtime or are you stayin’ to close with Val?” You ask as you work on stabbing another forkful of pasta.

“I don't wanna make ya come back.” Melissa answers. “It'll be late and I don't want to—”

“No fuckin’ way.” You cut your wife off when you glanced back up from your plate, your eyes catching a table across the restaurant floor.

“Mam! That's a bad word!” Rosie says loudly from her spot standing on her chair next to you instead of sitting. You wince as most of the sentence is said directly into your ear.

“Mam you gotta pay the jar a dollar!” Cat exclaims from next to her sister, referencing the swear jar on the entertainment center in your living room.

“What is it?” Melissa asks, seeing your face. “Rosie, sweetheart, sit down before you fall.” She adds without even looking at your youngest.

“Sit down completely.” You add when you see Rosie merely crouch on her chair instead in the corner of your eye. You lean a bit more into your wife, gesturing as subtly with your fork as you can. “Look at who's sittin’ at the table ‘cross the floor.”

Melissa glances about the room, looking like she's merely checking on the restaurant and that her staff is working even though she's on break. You know when she sees it though because a half second after her head is turning back to face you, her eyes wide.

“I know that is not Uncle Dom sittin’ with the Feds in my restaurant.” She hisses out at you.

“‘Cept it is. It definitely is.” You retort, forcing most of your attention back to your meal and your daughters. 

“You think he's talkin’?”

You scoff at your wife's question. “Dom? Flipping? I don't think so, babe. I think he'd sooner have a heart attack at your restaurant for the dramatics of it than do that.”

“Then they're pressin’ him.” Melissa guesses, doing her best to not seem as if she's noticed that particular table at all.

“Or tryin’ to.” You cede. “Maybe finally gettin’ closer on the Bobby business. Realized it ain't somebody like us they should be worried about.”

“God, if only. I ain't gonna put my guard down yet though.”

“I wouldn't.” You agree.

You're nearly finished eating when Val comes to your table, leaning close to your wife's side. “Dom is askin’ for you. I told him he'd have to wait.” She relays, glancing between the two of you for reactions. 

Valentina doesn't know about the salon and it's extra business. She doesn't have to, though. She lives in the neighborhood and she knows plenty well who people like Dom are. If you guessed, you'd imagine she has an idea of who you and your wife are, too. 

“Thanks, Val. I'll take care of it, huh? You mind bringin’ the girls a couple cannolis?”

You groan as your daughters cheer and Val walks away. “Baby, why?” 

Melissa leans to kiss your cheeks. “‘Cause they've been little girls on their best behavior for their moms tonight.” She says loud enough for the twins, shooting them a smile. “And to keep them occupied just a little longer.” She adds in a whisper to you.

You reach and grasp your wife's wrist as she gets up to leave the table, watching Agent Shaw and Danik rise from Dom's table and shake his hand before they leave. You look back to Melissa who looks down at you. “Be careful, yeah?” You whisper before you kiss her knuckles. 

She smiles, her fingertips brushing your cheek in affection when you pull away. “I'll be fine.” She promises before stepping away to weave through the tables on her dinner floor.

Valentina comes over and brings your girls dessert, and they grin the entire time that they eat, the chocolate sauce and raspberry sauce finding its way more to their cheeks than their mouths. You silently curse your wife as you usher them into the bathroom to clean their sticky faces and fingers- but you have to admit that they’re absolutely precious.

“Why’re you here?” Melissa asks the older man- the one who took your salon out from under you. “And why the hell were you talkin’ to the feds?”

Dom shrugs. “I wanted dinner.”

“You know you can always get dinner over at Ma’s. You have no business bein’ in here during our rush, and you know that,” your wife says pointedly.

“They were askin’ me questions,” he tells her. “Asking about you and the restaurant- if this place had anything to do with Bobby’s murder.”

“What the hell could they be askin’ ‘bout?” the redhead grumbles. “They already searched the damn place and tore it up. I’m sure you heard about it.”

“I told ‘em that the restaurant is legit,” Dom says quietly. “I told ‘em that you put your whole heart into this place, just as you do with the salon… that they need to stop harassin’ you, or there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“We already told them that,” Melissa mutters. “They have no right showin’ up here like that.”

“Well, they did,” the man shrugs. “And it seems like you should be in the clear with the way that they saw how business is conducted- that you brought your girls here. Which is why, I have a proposition for you.”

“And that would be?”

“We start using Twelve Tables as the front.”

[milesmolasses]

Trust Don’t Work (Earth 42! Miles x black! fem reader)

Earth 42 miles finna make me act up hes so damn fine

AND I THINK HE MY AGE!!!

don’t y’all just love thug livin?

on my tupac type beat

Warnings: kinda toxic relationship, mentions of blood and killing

From what you knew, Miles Morales was a hard working guy. Always around doing God knows what  as he barely has time for anything else, other than his work. The time that you get to spend with your boyfriend is very limited throughout the day, whether it be short-lived dinners when he comes home, or his lips on yours as he’s about to walk out the door and go back to work.

When you first asked Miles about what kind of work he does that has him out and about all day, he told you, “Don’t worry about that mami, just worry about getting your pretty little nails done.”

And that’s exactly what you did. If Miles didn’t want you worrying about what he did for work, then you thought that you should respect his privacy and his wishes. However, respecting his wishes became difficult when he began coming home in the middle of the night with specs of blood on his jackets and shirts.

Lord knows you would stay up late until Miles finally came home, and when you would try to talk to him, his response would always be “Don’t worry about it ma.”

“What the hell is this... Jesus, Miles are you bleeding? Who did this to you? Did you get in a fight? Miles talk to me-”

“Yo, didn’t I say you don’t gotta worry about it? Dios mío I’m fine ma, now take yo ass to bed,” he said in annoyance whilst walking past you.

It was becoming an ongoing cycle of you questioning Miles every night when he came home and him brushing it off like it was nothing. That was until one day, Miles came home days after he left. He didn’t call, he didn’t text, he didn’t even leave you a note telling you he would be gone for a while.

The first time he left for a couple of days, you almost had a panic attack. For all you knew he was dead already. Thoughts of him being found dead somewhere on the streets plagued your mind, sending you into a frenzy of calling him and texting him, desperately needing to hear his voice. It wasn’t until he came home two days later to see you angry crying when he apologized for scaring you so bad. 

“Mami, you gotta understand it was a stupid mistake. I was out on business for a couple days, and I forgot to tell you. Por favor, I’m sorry. I ain’t mean to scare you like this Ma.”

Learning his lesson, whenever he had to go for a couple days he left you a note on your refrigerator, saying that he would be gone and not to worry about him. This is when you really began to want answers as to what your boyfriend was doing. There was no way he was working no 9 to 5 and being gone for three days. You needed an explanation as to what was going on. 

You chose to try asking Miles what he did for work once again. You sat him down and tried having a one on one conversation with him, slowly leading him up to the big question you wanted to ask. When you had finally asked it, Miles seemed upset with you. He had told you multiple times not to worry about what he did because as long as it paid the bills, you shouldn’t have to worry about what he does. 

“Miles, you come home with blood on you and I don’t see you for three days and you expect me not to ask you these questions? Do you think I’m fucking stupid? You want this relationship to work, you need to put in the fucking work. I need you to tell me the truth,” you said as you paced around your apartment.

What you wanted to be a calm conversation had quickly turned into an argument between the two of you. At this point, it wasn’t even about what Miles did for work, it was about the fact that he was lying straight to your face 24/7. 

“What happened to you saying that a relationship needs boundaries? What, now that I have my boundaries set straight you wanna cross them?” he asked. “If I don’t want you to know what I do for work, then that should be that! You trying to press me to say something that I don’t feel needs to be said, is crossing my boundaries!”

Arguments, like these became frequent; the longer his lie went on, the more your trust for him began to crumble. The more you tried to question him, the more walls he put up between the both of you. It wasn’t until one morning when you turn on channel 2 news to see none other than New York City’s newest vigilante in the limelight.

He had a mask on so you couldn’t see his true face, but cascading down from his head you recognized those two long frizzy braids anywhere,

“Oh my God…”

It was like your whole world was falling apart — the man you loved, was out in the world killing people. Though yes, these people were terrible people who were wreaking havoc upon New York City, that still didn’t change the fact that your boyfriend, Miles Morales, was killing people.

Your breathing began to pick up, your eyes searching the room frantically for something, anything to make this horrible feeling go away. You gripped the edge of the couch, shaking your head, praying a mantra of denial and trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t real.

“No… no no no no no this can’t be real- this can’t be happening, no it’s not him.”

When Miles came home the next day, you couldn’t even look at him. You knew. You knew what he was doing for “work,” that he was killing people and making deals with others. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Miles realized you were acting strange toward him.

“Mami? Mami ¿qué tal? You’re acting weird,” he said as he sat next to you on the couch, nudging you. You had both legs up with your hands wrapped around your knees; almost like you were cradling yourself.

“I’m fine baby.. just a little tired,” you tried getting up from the couch, not wanting to be near him now that you were fully aware of what he was doing. You didn’t know how to feel about him anymore.

Miles pulled you back down to the couch by your shoulders as he said, “Nuh-uh, hàblame. I’m not just gonna let you get up and leave me without talking about this first-“

“Who said I was gonna leave you? Huh? Is that what you think Miles, that I’m gonna leave you-” you questioned him with your eyes wide open looking at him. He looked at you, surprised by your small outburst.

“What? N-no mi amor I meant leave the couch.. are you good you’ve been acting like this for a while now?”

It was happening. You know you would have to tell him that you found out what he was doing, but you just didn’t think it would have to be so soon.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Huh-? Baby what are you talking abo-”

“I know you’re the vigilante on the news. I know it’s you Miles, I seen the braids on his head so don’t even try to deny it!”

Miles slowly took his hand off your shoulder, surprised at what you just told him. Jesus Christ how could you have guessed just by the braids on his head?

“Okay… you know… what do you want me to say about that?” he said, careful not to tread too close to your emotions.

“I want you to tell me why,” you said, putting your head in your hands trying so hard not to let the tears flow. Miles could hear the way your voice cracked as you tried to get the right words out. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m doing it for you Ma-“

“No you’re not, cause I ain’t never ask for you to go leave this house and kill people! I never asked for that shit man!”

Miles sat there, bewildered. Just looking at you and your convulsing body as you were full out sobbing into your hands. He couldn’t think of what to say. Nothing would fix this, nor what he had done. You were right, we was a killer. But he had always tried his best to keep that side of him private. All he wanted was to protect you from the ugly side of his life. If he had openly told you he was the Prowler, a target would be instantaneously attached to your back.

Just as he was about to open his mouth to say something, his phone rang in his pocket. He slowly sat up to grab it and tell the person calling that now was not the time. But when he heard his uncle Aaron telling him he needed him outside to complete unfinished business, he had no clue what to say in the moment. After a few silent beats and a sigh, he quietly agreed over the phone to meet up with him.

You turned your head to the side to see miles ending the phone call. He turned to look at you, head scrambling to find an excuse to tell you he needed to go in the middle of an argument.

You turned your head back into your hands as you told him with no emotion evident in your voice,

“Just get out man…”

ooooooooo milessssssssss

lol this was fun y’all!

I love Miles G. so imma be sure to write smth more light hearted for the next one

Idk if he’s a lil OOC but we don’t really even know what his character personality is yet

y’all I don’t speak spanish, so for the little spanish I put in here I hope I ain’t screw it up 😭

and if I did, feel free to tell me!!!

[sky-kiss]

Raphael x Tav College AU

A/N: Was talking with @molinaesque. Was consumed by the need for a coffeeshop AU. Also. Shadowheart and Astarion, my beloved.

The College is 30 Minutes from Here. It's Noon. He's Down Bad.

__________

“Darling, he’s back.” 

Astarion does not say this silently. Astarion doesn’t say or do anything silently, so there’s no real reason for Tav to be surprised. The elf cocks his hip against the counter, tapping a finger to a tune only he hears. The shop is bustling, but he’s chosen not to help. Shadowheart shifts beside him, chin resting in her palm. 

“You really should say something,” she says, also opting not to work. She leans back against Astarion, and the elf shifts to wind an arm around her. HR is going to have fucking field day. Again. “He’s…of a certain age. That much caffeine can’t be good for his heart.” 

“If he gets what he wants, the caffeine will be the least of his heart’s worries.” Her friend chews the inside of his cheek and considers. “I almost want her to accept, don’t you? He’s swanned about for long; he almost deserves it.” 

 “I am curious; he has that build, you know.” 

“I do know.” 

Tav shoots them both a dark look. She doesn’t need to see her reflection to know there’s a violent blush in her cheeks. They’re burning. She has half a mind to sink into the ground. Or pray for death. “Will you both please be civil?”

“Oh, darling,” Astarion says, “Of course not.” 

That one’s on her. She shouldn’t have expected anything else. Tav shakes her head, turning her attention back to the line. Professor Raphael is loitering near the back, glasses set on the tip of his nose. He’d confessed to her once, months ago, that he didn’t need them; it was purely for aesthetic purposes. People expected as much from a tenured professor, and he intended to play into those stereotypes. It hardly explains the rest of him. 

He’s handsome. In fact, handsome is an understatement. It’s unfair; it’s rude, and in darker moments, alone in the shitty studio Tav shares with Shadowheart, it makes her want to scream. The gods blessed academics with brains; it came at the cost of their looks. And then there’s fucking Raphael, in his tailored suits, with his perfectly mussed brown hair and pretty eyes, and her whole world view goes topsy-turvy.

Asshole. 

It’s another ten minutes before he reaches the counter. Astarion and Shadowheart have gone back to work (shocking), but she feels their attention shift to her. Tav clears her throat, painting on a smile, trying to look surprised. Like he hadn’t stopped in for a quick espresso before class that morning. 

“Professor! I didn’t expect to see you again so soon!” 

“Not,” Shadowheart chimes in, “That she’s complaining.” 

Tav considers the implications of firing one’s roommate. “We are always happy to see repeat customers.” 

He smiles, plucking the glasses from his nose. Tav tries to keep the bottom from falling out of her stomach. She fails. His hands are long-fingered and elegant, and he’s just…the whole thing is a lot. It’s a lot. “My dear, if you were aware of only half of the papers I've been asked to evaluate…you would understand my need for this…outlet.” 

“That bad?” 

“A massacre of the English tongue.” 

Astarion presses beside her, sliding the professor’s espresso (which he has yet to order) across the counter, “You know, our sweet Tav was something of an English expert.” She pinches Astarion hard. “Ow! It’s true. Gods, you vicious little beast! Perhaps if you need a second set of eyes…” 

Raphael cocks his head to the side. “A charming suggestion. Impossible, but charming.” 

“You see, Astarion,” she elbows him back towards the steamer. “He’s impossible.” Tav scrubs a hand through her hair. The color is back in her cheeks, and he must see it. The strange thing is he seems to have softened. “I’m sorry…he’s…they’re…” 

“I understand, my dear.” 

His accent does funny things to her insides. Like horrible, awful, dizzy things. Tav chews the inside of her cheek, indicating the coffee, “This one is on me; you’re here so often. And you have all those essays.” 

“No, I cannot accept.” 

“Please.” Something dark flashes in those pretty eyes. Raphael nods, holding her gaze. The bastard slips the bills into the tip jar, smirking at her. So proud of himself. Tav rolls her eyes. “Very clever.” 

“I thought it was an excellent move.” The professor tips her a wink. He turns to go.

“Professor?” 

He stops, chuckling. “Raphael, please.” 

“Raphael,” she brushes a stray piece of hair back from her forehead. “Do you um…live near here or something? The college is a little…” she makes a vague gesture with her hands. It’s meant to approximate the distance, but it…doesn’t. 

“Not at all.” Raphael holds up his cup in salute. “But I’m willing to sacrifice the time for the…quality of this fine establishment.” He dips his chin, dropping into a half bow that would look ridiculous on a less charismatic man. “Until tomorrow, my dear.” 

Tav stares after him long after he’s disappeared. Her head is doing that buzzing thing, which is probably why she doesn’t realize her friends have pressed in on either side of her. Shadowheart flicks Tav’s cheek. 

“You do realize what you have to do, yes?” 

She knows the answer. Oh, god, she knows what they’re going to say, and she dreads it. “Yeah. I know.” 

And the little shits say it together like it's a bad romantic comedy. “You have to fuck him.” 

“I have to fuck him.”