#and in you he sees the wrongs done to him but a thousand times worse

[cassettemoon]

You are eight years old

You have to kill your dad

[yandere-daydreams]

Idk if Sex doll!au Alhaitham has been discussed yet…(honestly it probably has been, but it was likely during the times when I wasn’t keeping up to date with this blog. Tumblr’s shitty search function doesn’t help with finding out either.)

Anyway, I’d like to share my thoughts about it, if that’s okay.

-I think sex doll! Alhaitham would mostly be for professional and academic purposes. He’s not reccomended for younger grades, mostly just colleges.

-His general purposes are office/administrative related. Especially since he’s a “scribe”, he’s especially good at file management and documentation. I don’t think it be uncommon to see him assisting librarians alongside a Lisa model…or maybe helping archeologists/museums workers catalogue info about artifacts.

-I think his way of not doing anything more than what his job asks of him would stay even as an Android. I know that as a product, he’d probably wouldn’t be given leeway or time off like that; but the thought of someone trying to assign tasks to Alhaitham that are outside his designated role being ignored by him is funny to me.

-if Alhaitham is acting as a companion doll in someone’s home, I can only imagine that he’s incredibly annoying. Alhaitham normally chooses to ignore social etiquette, and as an android it has to be even worse.

tw - unhealthy relationships, slight infantilization, slight stalking.

i think he'd absolutely be marketed toward researchers as a sort of lab assistant who acts like you're the lab assistant, if that makes sense. he specializes in archival work and bureaucracy, but he's a bit of a jack-of-all-trades and it's not uncommon to see him alongside more outdoorsy androids like cyno and albedo when you're out doing fieldwork. he's also especially loved by students for his,,, strict attitude toward studying. you wouldn't think the ability to say 'i'm not touching your dick until you finish your thesis' would be such a popular feature in a literal sex doll, but, y'know, what does it for you does it for you, i guess.

you're not a student, though, or a researcher - just a librarian for a big enough branch to warrant writing off a helper android as a business expense. you probably could've gotten away with bringing on lisa or nahida, but you were able to find a second-hand alhaitham for a price you couldn't turn up and figured dealing with the occasional comment on your organization skills or catalog maintenance was better than wasting an extra thousand dollars on a robot that'll be reading to children twice a week. he works well enough, too, even if it does take a few days for him to get used to the idea that you won't be using him for his, uh, intended purposes. it just doesn't feel right, considering he's basically one of your employees - something he's surprisingly indifferent about, considering how judgemental he's rumored to be about, well, everything.

you do take him home at night, though, since the alternative is leaving him in a dark building alone all night and trying to live with the guilt. he's a polite enough houseguest, even if does occasionally let out a disapproving huff at your admittedly less-than-steller diet, but he does have a few... bugs, you guess, for lack of something better to call his little lapses in decorum. he's overstepped his boundaries a few times - taking pens and reports out of your hands because you 'have a tendency to mess these things up', checking on you in the middle of the night when he's supposed to be charging - but he'll never indulge your attempts to confront him, just clicking his tongue and shaking his eyes. sometimes, he brings up your stress levels, mentions off-handedly that orgasms are known to reduce overall tension, but denies that he's done anything wrong when you ask him to change his behavior. he's good at that - justifying himself, bending his protocols until he can get away with practically anything. you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little worried, knowing the awful rumors that spread about second-hand andriods, about how demeaning alhaitham can be when he's supposed to be little more than a platonic assistant.

you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little worried that, one day, he'd find a way to justify disregarding your autonomy altogether.

[minervas-hand]

Right to fear, wrong to believe

Just had a horrible realization and needed to meta it out.

How different they were before Edinburgh, when Crowley was sucked down into Hell.

Look at this flirty babygirl in the Bastille:

I mean could he climb that tree any faster?

(This is why I really like fics that place a more physical relationship here, pre-Bastille or just post-Bastille, because c'mon look at them. )

In S1 the next thing is 1862 and Crowley asking for insurance (with a cane ffs). And Aziraphale freaking out with his "fraternizing" BS. It's jarring, until we get 1827 filled in for us in S2.

@takeme-totheworld notes in this post:

Crowley sure went from "our respective head offices don't actually care how things get done" and "nobody ever has to know" to "walls have ears" FAST after Edinburgh. And Aziraphale went from looking at Crowley with hearts in his eyes to "I've been FrAtErNiZiNg" just as quickly. I'm more convinced than ever that Edinburgh was the first time Crowley ever actually got caught and punished for fucking around with Aziraphale/doing good deeds/whatever it was they yanked him back down to Hell for, and it scared the absolute shit out of both of them and changed the whole tone of their relationship after that.

Yes! - it's clear to me as well that the Edinburgh graveyard was a very bad turning point, where they both saw that Hell was listening and would intervene. And it did change their relationship drastically, for over a century and a half (really, until looming Armageddon loosened up the stakes for them).

But what about Heaven?

See the thing is, we know Azi's been worried about Heaven watching him for the past 6000 years.

But they haven't.

[GIFs posted by starrose17]

All this time, and Heaven had not seen them together. Hadn't noticed. Had not even LOOKED.

I want to mention what @starrose17 says about this here in this post:

What I love about this is her choice of words, “went back through the Earth Observation files.” This implies that these photos were already filed somewhere meaning somebody had to have been watching them which meant somewhere in the depths of the bureaucratic heaven there’s an underpaid angel clerk tasked with watching angels on Earth, and he’s been hording photos of his favourite Angel/Demon couple not reporting them to Michael because he wants to see what happens.

And that's exactly what this fic covers!: Spying Omens by @ednav

(Give this a read, it's fabulous.)

While I am here for this being exactly how that happens, the other scenario is colder and worse - there's no one watching, at all. It's just filing automatically and never seen until some Scrivener is called to pull a file.

From @fuckyeahisawthatat's comment here :

I found this scene to be quite chilling, actually. Not only is the idea of Heaven as a surveillance state brilliant (way to make “God is always watching” sound way more ominous) but this is exactly how modern surveillance states work. They don’t actively watch everybody all the time. That’s not physically possible for humans, and even if it is metaphysically possible for Heaven, it’s not a very efficient use of resources. Surveillance states watch people they deem “suspicious.” And once you’ve been put in the category of “suspicious,” they have massive amounts of data that they can comb through to collect a lot of information about you–to retroactively build a case justifying why you’re suspicious, to collect information about where you go and who you associate with, etc.

Yes.

So we either have secret collusion in the rank and file, or we have a surveillance state that is constantly reinforced to its subjects for fear's sake, for control.

(Well, it obviously could be both.)

BUT my point is… Up until Edinburgh, Hell has not been watching (or caring at least). And up until near the end of Armageddon't, neither has Heaven.

Oh, my poor Angel. Thousands of years, of denying yourself, of pushing Crowley away, of carrying around a tension that is it's own constellation.

After 1827 you might have reason, but for the 5000+ years before that?

Thousands of years and Heaven was not watching nor cared.

You were right to fear. And you were wrong to believe.

And that just breaks my heart.

[roosterforme]

How Do You Feel About the Parking Lot? (Rooster x Reader)

Part of The What If Collection of blurbs for Roo and Baby Girl. My masterlist. Banner by @mak-32

Warnings: language, drinking, angst, fluff

You were excited at first. Very excited. You showed off your ring to everyone and gushed over the fact that you were engaged. And while you were still wearing his mom's engagement ring, it was becoming obvious to Bradley that things were not quite as they should be.

"Hey," he said softly as he walked into the kitchen. It was exactly nine weeks ago that he'd proposed in the dining room and you'd happily accepted that ring that glittered on your finger right now. But tonight you just mumbled something at him without looking up from your computer where you sat at the island. It was nearly midnight on Friday, and he would have given anything for you to start planning this wedding with him. "Are you coming to bed soon? I thought we could talk about potential wedding dates."

"Oh," you replied without looking up at him. "I'm still putting this presentation together."

Bradley sighed. "Baby Girl, you've been working nonstop for weeks. I just want... a little bit of your time." He wanted a lot of things, actually. Like a long snuggle on the couch while you and he watched a movie, or a soak in the tub together. He'd love a blowjob or pinning your hands above your head while he slammed you into the bed. But mostly he'd love to plan his wedding to you, because more than anything, he wanted to get married this year. And it was already late September. 

You glanced up at him and adjusted your glasses. "How about tomorrow? I really need to get this done before my work trip."

"Sure," he whispered before pecking you on the cheek and heading off to climb into bed alone. 

But it only got worse from there. You worked all weekend. On Monday, you didn't come home until seven o'clock. Tuesday was eight o'clock. By Wednesday, he wasn't sure if you were even eating or sleeping any longer. And worse yet, you were leaving for Annapolis in a few days. Bradley wouldn't even see you for a week. Not that he really saw you now, he supposed. 

He ate a bowl of cereal for dinner before sinking down onto the couch with Tramp and a bottle of scotch. He turned on Real Housewives, but he wasn't really watching it. He took a sip, and it burned. But the next one didn't. And neither did the one after that. He started to feel better. But he'd stop when you got home. 

Another episode started, but it still wasn't holding his attention the way you would have, and that's when he realized it was once again seven o'clock, and you still weren't home. When his phone rang, he sloshed some of the alcohol onto his tee shirt reaching for it, and he was praying it was you calling to tell him you were on your way home. 

He pressed his lips together and then took a deep breath before he answered. "Hi, mom."

"Bradley! I haven't heard from the two of you in days! How's your lovely fiancée? And Tramp?"

The dog must have heard her voice through the phone, because he perked right up. But Bradley couldn't answer with anything other than a raspy, "Fine." 

The line went silent. "Are you sick? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, mom," he lied. "How are you? How's dad?"

"Well, I went to lunch with Brenda, and I got the scoop on all of her kids. And your dad needs hearing aids, but he keeps arguing with me about it. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, if he can even hear you."

"Okay," he replied, realizing the room had started spinning when he leaned back against the couch.

"Bradley, are you drunk?"

How could she possibly tell? His own wife-to-be couldn't seem to see what was going on, but Carole could tell by his voice from almost three thousand miles away. "I'm... fine, mom. I need to take Tramp for a walk. I love you and dad. Bye."

Then he ended the call, because he could feel tears in his eyes. And when you got home at nine, he was already asleep. 

-------------------------

You needed to go to happy hour with your boss and coworkers on Friday, but you really didn't want to. You'd been pulling twelve hour days, and you were so exhausted, you just wanted to climb into bed with Bradley and sleep until you left for Maryland on a Saturday night red eye flight. You also really needed to tell him that he had to lay off the wedding planning until you finished this work project. It was just a few months of all these extra hours, and you desperately wanted to be promoted. 

Your plan was to stop home quickly and change out of your uniform before heading back out with everyone to celebrate that fact that you were going to present your research at the Naval Academy. When you pulled into the driveway in your shitty, little red car, the Bronco was already there. But when you looked around the house for Bradley, you didn't immediately see him. But then you heard his voice through the open sliding glass door. He was sitting on the back patio in just his gym shorts with his back to the door and a half empty bottle of scotch set on his knee. 

His voice sounded miserable as he said, "I tried, mom. She just... doesn't seem to want to. I don't know what I did wrong." 

You froze in place. He had to be talking about you. Embarrassment and sadness filled you as you listened to what he said next. 

"I really wanted to get married this year."

You ran down the hallway to the bedroom as you fought off your tears. You had to get changed and go right now while you still could. In another week, you'd have a little more time to talk to him about the fact that you couldn't plan a wedding and get married in the next three months with your current schedule. 

You left the house again without talking to him, but he was still sitting on the patio on the phone. And when he dropped you off at the airport the following evening, he didn't seem to want to let you go as he whispered, "I love you, Sweetheart," and ran his thumb along your ring. 

"I love you too, Roo. I'll be home in a week, and then we can talk about maybe planning a wedding for next year?"

He swallowed hard and nodded. "If that's what you want."

---------------------------

When you landed in Maryland on Sunday morning, you were still exhausted and looking forward to crashing until your presentation on Monday. But Carole called you when you were at the baggage claim, and you knew you had to answer. A guilty feeling was about to eat you alive as you put on a bubbly voice and said, "Hi!"

"Have you arrived in Annapolis?" she asked straightaway, and you sighed because at least she didn't sound angry with you. 

"I did," you told her softly. "Still at the airport."

"Perfect," she replied. "I'll leave now, and I'll be there in less than fours hours, and we can go get lunch."

You were so stunned, you watched your bag go past without realizing you needed to pick it up. "You're going to drive up from Virginia?" you asked her slowly.

"Yes. I'm grabbing my keys right now. Bye, Goose! I'll be back later!" You listened to her call out to her husband, and then a few seconds later, you heard a door close and a car start. She was actually going to drive up here.

"Oh, okay," you muttered, pressing your lips together, embarrassed about where you'd left things with her son. "I'll... see you in a few hours."

You managed to take a short, restless nap while you waited for Carole to arrive. You changed into a simple dress and put on some makeup, but you didn't really feel any better until you met her at a restaurant in the city. She rushed down the sidewalk toward you with a bright smile on her face. "My sweet girl!" she called out, wrapping you up in a hug next to a few tables full of people enjoying their lunch outside. "It's been too long." She kissed your cheek and started to lead you inside. 

"Thanks for driving all the way up here," you told her, not bothering to fight the smile tugging your lips. She was absolute sunshine, and it was pointless to try to resist it. "You didn't have to do this."

"Nonsense," she said as the two of you made your way to a booth. "I wanted to see my future daughter-in-law."

You nodded and enjoyed some pleasant conversation. She told you all about Goose's appointment with an audiologist and about Brenda's kids. And after you finished your avocado toast and bowl of soup, she said, "Now, I think we should talk about what's really important."

Her voice wasn't unkind, and she was still smiling softly, but you knew what was coming as you whispered, "Okay."

Carole reached across the table and took your hand gently in hers. "I know you're smart and independent. And I also know that's part of why Bradley loves you so much. You don't need him. He's not offering you anything you can't get on your own or with someone else. You chose him, because you want him." Tears started to fill your eyes, and you had to swallow against the lump in your throat. "And he just wants you to be happy, so he would never tell you to your face that you're hurting him."

You tried to speak, but you just made a pathetic sound and started to sob. "I don't want to hurt him."

"I know you don't," she replied softly, squeezing your hand. "I know you're not trying to. But I think you need to tell him once and for all that you don't want to get married this year so he can finally get used to the idea of waiting a bit."

You buried your face in your free hand. Why were you trying to push it off anyway? It's not like you really cared where you got married or what the two of you were wearing. Planning some sort of huge celebration was not something you wanted to spend your time doing. You wanted to be with Bradley exactly as you were right now, just with two more rings and a certificate involved. 

When you looked up at Carole, you whispered, "I don't really think I actually want to wait. And I don't want you to hate me either."

"No," she gasped, standing and coming to sit next to your on your side of the booth. She kissed your tear streaked cheek and whispered, "I could never, my sweet darling girl. I think you just need to talk to Bradley, okay? Can you promise me you'll give him a few hours of your full attention? And maybe let him know how much he still means to you?"

"Yes," you croaked, and you let her hold you as you cried.

---------------------------

The week without you was kind of miserable. Bradley managed to dump the rest of the bottle of scotch at Carole's urging over the phone. And he did notice that she and Goose started calling with a bit more frequency which he didn't really mind. But the best part was that fact that you called him every night before you went to bed. 

Every time he answered your calls, his heart thundered in his chest. And as soon as he called you Sweetheart, he could practically hear you smiling through the phone. "I can't wait to pick you up on Friday," he said over and over. If he just felt like he mattered to you again, then he could wait until next year to get married. That was no big deal in the grand scheme of things.

But when he met you in baggage claim at San Diego International late on Friday night, he was so surprised, he could barely speak. You ran for him with a garment bag in your arms, but you let it fall to the floor when you reached him. "Roo," you moaned as soon as you were in his grasp. "I missed you so much." You kissed him deeply. "I just got off the phone with your mom again. And I didn't tell you before, but I went to see my friend Caleb a few days ago," you said as you smirked.

"The tattoo artist?" he asked as he kissed your cheek fifteen times. When you nodded he asked, "What's in the garment bag?"

"My wedding dress."

"Holy shit." He scooped it up off the floor and held it tight. "You bought a dress?" he asked, trying to hold you and the garment bag both to his chest at the same time.

"Yes," you told him matter-of-factly as you tugged him toward the exit while you kissed his lips. "How do you feel about getting married in the parking lot in two months?"

------------------------

[manicpixiefelix]

he wanted to be in love (but you got in the way) // epilogue

{ head, heart, hand. masterpost }

Summary: Oliver is haunted by what he's done to get his happy ending in Felix's arms. His guilt is only made worse when he meets the first member of your family to actually remind him of you. Unfortunately, he does not find it to get better from there.

{ context; please read he wanted to be in love (but you got in the way) first }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons. YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD IN THIS ONE, but you do get to haunt the narrative. congratulations?

Warnings: discussions of death/overdose, lots of guilt, manipulative oliver, felix being upset, vaguely unhealthy oliver/felix, lotsa angst, oliver quick reckoning with the sunk-cost fallacy.

A/N: 6828 words. first, i don't usually do part 2s when i say something is a oneshot, so this is a rare occurrence. secondly im sorry this is almost 7k there's something wrong with my brain i think. thirdly bro, bro, listen to me; ANGST. HURT NO COMFORT. HURT NO COMFORT. it's soft in the middle THE SOFTNESS IS A LIE. ITS GONNA HURT ALL THE WAY DOWN (apart from nana i love her nd i hope you will too)

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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One hour and fifty three minutes.

Rounded up, because all things considered, he should round it up, that's two hours.

Two hours. Like the blink of an eye in the scope of a whole life. But a very long time when you sit and count it out.

One hundred and twenty minutes. Seven thousand, two hundred seconds. He's always counting two hours, seeing exactly how long it feels like, how he can fill that amount of time. Seconds pass like a steady heartbeat.

He can do a lot in two hours.

Oliver tries to occupy himself nowadays more than ever, and really tries not to be alone, but it's hard. Farleigh left for Oxford. Venetia, before she decided to backpack across Europe and find herself, wouldn't let anyone touch her anymore.

Oliver doesn't like leaving Felix alone, but sometimes he has to be. You're laying cold in a family crypt somewhere next to a grandfather you never knew, and while Elspeth and Sir James don't comment on it, they both scowled when your parents sprung the announcement on everyone at the funeral.

Felix spends a lot of time alone at the edge of the maze. He's making a fairy garden where you had waited. Sometimes he'll drive into town without telling anyone, and come back with quaint, second-hand miniatures to add. It's beautiful, shining with greens and golds when the setting sun hits it just right.

So Oliver finds time to occupy himself, when he's alone and all he can think about is you sitting by the maze. You laying by the maze. You alive when he'd run from the maze. And the two hours that followed.

Sometimes he leans out of his window and shouts to the gardeners so far away they look like ants; even at this distance, his voice carries, and he sees them turn, search for him, ask if he's okay. He is, and he apologises, and he think about how far his voice carries.

On occasion, out of the blue, he'll lift Felix up when he hugs him, able to get his feet off the ground as Felix wriggles and clutches him out of surprise. Of course Felix lifts him with ease in return, spins him around, but that's not the point. Oliver is stronger than he looks; he wonders if he could lift you, could carry you far, if he could have dragged you if it had come to it.

Some nights he wakes up in a fright, your rapid heart rate beneath his fingers and he swears he could hear you whispering for help amid your shallow breathing. Please. Pleading. Begging. You were alive when he'd left you. He presses two finger to Felix's pulse point beside him, and tries to calm his breathing, to focus on Felix's slow, steady heartbeat.

And some days he sneaks into the computer room and curses how long webpages take to load when he looks up statistics on overdoses. Symptoms. Niche forums where he can learn what it felt like from survivors. People luckier than you. Their words, their stories, the recollections of those horrifying sensations stick with him, even as he diligently erases any trace of his browsing history.

And he thinks about how fucking long two hours is.

"Nan's coming over later," Felix tells Oliver idly one Sunday afternoon, "we're having tea of you'd like to join us." They're laying out in the grass, Oliver in the grass finding shapes in the clouds, Felix on his side, chewing on the stick of a lollypop he'd finished an hour ago and gently tracing abstract patterns on Oliver's chest.

"I thought you said your granny haunted Saltburn," when Oliver looks at Felix, he still can't help the way his heartrate picks up. Felix Catton touching him in the most gentle, caring way; he'd never stop feeling lucky for getting here, and never forget what he did to earn it.

Felix's gaze moves with his fingertips, up Oliver's warm, bare chest, twisting two fingers in the delicate chain around his throat. He looks pensive; but shakes his head after a beat.

"Different nan," he says distractedly, plastic straw trapped between his teeth. He tugs the chain experimentally, like he's forgotten it's attached to Oliver at all. He's in his head again; Felix is always in his head nowadays, but there's still often echoes of who he was, echoes of what Oliver has fallen for in the first place.

And he's finding himself falling more and more for this version of Felix too. So he tell himself that it was all worth it.

"Love," all these pet names - Love, Darling, Sweetheart - because if he slips up, tries to call him Fi, Oliver knows he'll only get ice in return, "is everything okay?" Oliver carefully reaches up to cover Felix's large, warm hand by his throat with his own. Felix meets his gaze, and gives a faint smile, an attempt to reassure him when he says he's fine. It doesn't work, but Oliver lets it go, and lets Felix tug him in by his chain for a kiss.

"Tea sounds lovely," Oliver murmurs against his lips.

There's something about this visit has Felix alive and buzzing the he way he hasn't in a very long time. Still he's quiet, but his eyes are bright as he follows behind the staff members setting up tea and biscuits in the garden. He goes through all the DVDs the family has and picks out a stack he thinks would be suitable, making sure they're all perfectly stacked by the DVD player. Oliver floats along behind him, and simply allows himself to admire Felix's energy.

Still, Felix finally takes a moment to breathe right as it becomes noon, and decides to have a bath to freshen up before his guest's arrival; two hours before she'd be here, Felix reminds him.

Two hours.

Oliver feels drawn to his own room. He doesn't allow himself to be alone in Saltburn often anymore, doesn't like the thoughts that crop up when he does. Perhaps it's a kind of punishment, a painful reminder, penance for what he's done.

There's a scrap of paper that he keeps tucked in a book in his nightstand, his own handwriting stuffed amongst a collection of Edgar Allan Poe's short stories, words he'd clung to and scribbled out the minute he'd gotten the chance so he'd never forget them exactly.

From the coroner's report, according to Duncan and Sir James. Time of Death; around 2am. Cause; narcotics overdose, and there were signs of alcohol poisoning.

On the back, he'd written '12:07'.

"Mum and dad both say it was a tragic accident," Felix's voice in the dead of night, the night they'd gotten the full report, riddled with guilt and unspilled tears, betrays his disbelief regarding the sentiment. Felix doesn't talk about how his last words to you were shouted with anger. Felix doesn't talk about how your last words to him were a desperate plea for him through tears. Felix doesn't think that it was an accident; only Oliver knows that he's almost right, just not in the way he thinks. Or dreads. But he has to bite his tongue on the truth, and let the man he loves live with this unjust guilt.

The water starts loudly draining for the tub, and Oliver isn't sure how long he's been sitting on the edge of his bed with his eyes squeezed so tightly shut, but he scrambles to stuff the page back into the book, and toss it back into it's drawer. He can smile again, and admire whatever outfit Felix chooses for the rest of the day, and pretend like he doesn't feel your rapid heartbeat or hear your shallow breathing every time he touches that paper, like he had the night he left you.

With the hour drawing ever closer to two, Felix keeps checking his watch. The minute he deems it to be time, he gives up all pretence of small talk - which had been another thing severely lacking as of late - and snatches Oliver's hand, pulling him through the house. They even outstripped Duncan and the footmen by the door when there comes a firm knock. Its the only time Oliver has ever seen any of the Cattons open the doors for themselves.

And it's not Felix's grandmother.

"Hi, nan," Felix sounds so genuinely happy as he hugs the older woman at the door with a warm smile and your eyes.

Oliver feels like he's frozen, like he's seeing a ghost. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Duncan actually standing aside, giving Felix and your grandmother a quietly fond smile.

"I swear you get taller every time I see you, oh, my lovely boy," she says with a warm laugh that sounds so damn familiar, "or maybe I've been shrinking, you get to my age and people tend to do that," and Felix laughs, actually fucking laughs. Oliver realises it's been a long time since he'd heard Felix give a proper laugh like that. As the hug ends, Felix let's her tuck her arm in his as she continues, "just you wait, one day you'll only be six-foot tall." Another laugh, and Oliver can see how genuine and broad he's smiling, how his eyes shine when their gazes meet. She's surprisingly sprightly for her age, it seems. Oliver recognises your grandmother from your funeral, but hadn't made the connection at the time, so he's surprised when Felix goes to introduce him and her eyes sparkle with recognised.

"Nan, I don't know if you've been properly introduced, but this is -"

"Your Darling, Oliver," and it's said with such warmth; her hug feels almost like home, "you strange, little thing," she laughs, "it's called a hug; are you not a hugger? I should have asked," but she doesn't apologise, nor does she let go for a few more beats. Oliver gives into this moment, closes his eyes tightly and hugs her back.

"Our Darling Oliver," Felix echoes with such admiration, and when Oliver opens his eyes, it's the first time since you'd passed where his gaze has held only the love and pride Oliver had been craving since he'd first laid eyes on him.

Once Nana - she'd insisted Oliver call her that too - lets him go, she tucks her arm in his, and is waving Felix over to her other side, briskly asking where tea was to be held. Duncan leads the way and she fawns over him too, apparently downright overflowing with love for Saltburn and everyone and everything in it. She talks more than she doesn't, but considering who Oliver is and who Felix has become, that suits them both just fine.

It's been too long since they've had tea together, she insists, and doesn't talk about why exactly that would be. She doesn't bring you up, not while you were all making your way through the house, but once she's settled outside, she takes a moment. The way she looks at Oliver in this moment makes him queasy; the smile, that look in her eyes, the way her gaze takes all of him in. A woman, whose time is so precious to her, taking her time to make him feel seen. Felix is quiet, intrigued by the exchange.

Your phantom heart beats beneath Oliver's fingertips.

"You're Y/N's grandma," Oliver says quietly, breaking the tension. Present tense still, they all play pretend. She smiles, and finally leans back. The moment is broken; Felix pours them each a cup of tea. Nana takes a jammy dodger and looks over the gardens with a smile.

"Of course, dear," she says sincerely, taking a bite of the biscuit, but being so eager to talk that she spoke through half a mouthful, "and when they were thirteen they told me I was Felix's grandmother too, because they'd overheard Felix's mum talking about how she hoped they'd get married some day." Felix snorted a laugh at that, turning pink around the ears as he prepared everyone's tea, as if on autopilot.

"Does that -" Oliver begins awkwardly, but he tries to smile, "do you think in time, they would have ask the same of you about me?"

"Considering how they spoke about you," there's a twinkle in your Nan's eyes as she turns back to him, smile knowing, "there's absolutely no doubt in my mind, my dear." All you had ever done was love him; love him and stand in the way of the love he desperately craved.

Oliver watches his tea for a long while, spinning the ornate cup on its matching saucer, while your Nana almost immediately picked hers up and took a tentative sip. Watching out of the corner of his eyes, Oliver notes the way her face goes on a journey of emotions, from pleased, to confused, to a sudden realisation as she looks to her cup.

"I should have asked you how you liked your tea," Felix realises too late, apology in his voice as Nana puts her cup down with a forlorn, yet fond look.

"No, darling, it's nice to know you know how my grandchild liked their tea," and she holds her cup delicately, looking into it's warm, brown depths, "just the same as I always made it for both of us when they were much, much younger."

"I am so sorry to ask," Oliver hears himself blurt out, unable to help himself, "but how does all this love just skip a generation?" It comes out far worse than he intends it to; he means to ask how someone so loving as you come from parents so uncaring, yet how did either of those parents turn out the way they did when the woman in front of him was clearly bursting with just as much love as you had been. Thankfully, instead of being offended, your grandmother laughs.

"My daughter is a wonderful, intelligent, compassionate, impressive woman," she begins, but sighs with unmistakable disappointment, "but my late husband was never capable of even trying to be a father over pursuing his own interests, and it's one of the few traits she actually inherited from him," she shook her head, "and she went on to fall in love with a man who loved her but suffered from that exact same defect," after a beat, she looked up with a warm, reassuring smile, "it's why I love Y/N so fiercely, and so hard," her grin turns soft and adoring, looking between the two boys before her, "the only way my daughter has ever disappointed me is as a mother, but I will never be disappointed in Y/N as my grandchild."

Oliver knows there's tears in his eyes, and Felix has ducked his head. Immediately Nan begins apologising, realising she'd set both of them off. Despite this, Oliver tries to wave her away, insisting it's fine, before he asks about her; he's heard bits and pieces he thinks, but Y/N had always been so cagey about their family. Honestly he's surprised that your grandmother knows so much about him when he feels like he's barely heard about her.

Despite turning out to be an incredibly decorated artist, with paintings selling for more than Oliver's pretty sure his own family's house is worth, your Nana is quick to downplay her own successes, simply insisting that it took decades of hard work. Again, he sees you in her eyes.

"We've got a few up around the house," Felix adds, "most of them actually from before we even met Y/N," and your Nana gives him a shove, as if flustered and embarrassed by the idea. But Felix is beaming, happy to be showing off her accomplishments, just as he always took joy in celebrating you; "there's one in your room."

"What?" Oliver asked, and your grandmother also seemed surprised, though touched by the thought.

"It used to be their room, actually, but Ollie moved in there, so Y/N was staying with me," he explains a little awkwardly, wanting to skim around as many implications as he could. Thankfully she doesn't comment. All she asks is which one. Felix and Oliver both think about the room; Felix about the few pieces of art on the walls, Oliver about your time of death in the drawer. You were alive when he left you -

"That one of the stars, and that person smoking; I think you actually gave it to them as a gift," he frowns for a beat, "for when they turned seventeen, I think?"

Oh, Oliver knows that one. It's enchanting, blues so deep, so rich it's like you could swim in them, stars that seemed to actually glow on the canvas, and the hazy, dark outline of the window in the foreground, and part of a figure against the windowsill, lit cigarette the lone spot of fire, of red or orange, that makes everything else warmer for it.

"That one really surprised me actually," Nana admits, giving Felix a shrew smile, though he only seems confused, "did they ever tell you anything about it?"

"Said you painted it for them; pretty sure I remember them crying about it," he says fondly, reminiscing, "one of the best gifts they ever got, I'm not lying, they say it every year. It's beautiful." Then, as if recalling what she'd actually said, he looks at her curiously, "surprised you?"

Her smile widened into something both knowing, and endeared.

"I asked them to send me a photo, a postcard, their very best drawing, anything, as long as it was their favourite place in the world - do you really not recognise it?" The tea and biscuits are gone by now, the tea portion of their afternoon is coming to a close. Felix shook his head, almost looking like a lost child, as if he was aware there was something he was supposed to be understanding but couldn't quite get it, "Felix, my dear boy, they sent me a photo of you; that's their dorm room window from boarding school."

Felix looks winded, and a bit like he's about to cry.

"Oh you two were impossibly sweet," she reaches over and holds his hand tightly, looking over to Oliver earnestly, "you take care of this dear boy and his heart, you hear me?"

"Yes," Oliver all but trips over his words to agree, "of course, nan." And she gives him a pleased grin.

They move indoors after this, Felix quiet but lending his arm to Nana, which she takes, while she explained that usually you and Felix would visit a few times a year when they were on break, but she thought it would be best to come to Saltburn this time, given the circumstances.

"You should come see the place when you get the chance," she insisted, patting Oliver's hand.

"It's mostly where Y/N was raised before they ended up staying at Saltburn," Felix supplied with a grin, piquing Oliver interest.

"Y/N's childhood home? Oh I have to see that," he grins, and your grandmother grins brightly for a long moment.

"I'm sure Y/N would love that, they can give you the grand tour -" but her face falters, falls, as if she'd just remembered. Sombre silence, the spell is broken. "I'd love to have you around, dear," she corrects, much softer this time.

Felix lets her pick a movie, while Oliver settles himself awkwardly on the sofa. He wants to reach out to Felix, to touch his cheek, feel his boyish smile and know that it's real. But Felix isn't really even looking at him. There's something childlike about his enthusiasm here, about how he sits on his knees on the floor, watching with rapt attention as your grandmother pores over them. He practically glows as she praises his choices. When she picks one, she hands it over and he scrambles on all fours across the short floor space to the DVD player, fumbling with the case like he can't put it in fast enough. There's a softness in your grandmother's eyes as she watches the boy who has seemingly forgotten the man he is; when she looks at Oliver, its like he sees her asking how easy is he to adore, what a beautiful young man.

"You don't mind watching a movie do you, Oliver, dear?" She asks, though it's clearly an afterthought. He's already shaking his head, assuring her it's fine. Felix is already scrambling back, remote in hand. Oliver tries to make space for him on the sofa between himself and your Nana, but he seems content to sit on the floor in front of her, leaning back against the sofa with her knees gently pressed against either of his shoulders. Handing her the remote, Felix twists to give Oliver an expectant smile.

"Come here, mate," he insists, patting his lap, his legs kicked out in front of him. At Oliver's obvious confusion, Felix blinks for a few moments. It's like he's waking from a dream. His face falls, he goes to apologise, strained smile on his face, "sorry, I know that's weird, you don't have to -"

Slowly, Oliver moves from the sofa, sitting beside Felix on the floor. Your grandmother's knee is pressed gently to his back, but he's not quite sure if he's capable of relaxing enough in this moment to mind. She's playing with Felix's hair, having already started the movie.

"This is what you and Y/N would do," Oliver said softly, and rested his head on Felix's shoulder. Felix takes his hand, and laces their fingers together.

"Do you like it when people play with your hair, Oliver?" Your grandmother asks idly.

"Um, sometimes," he answers, still feeling rather awkward. He hears her chuckle warmly.

"It's okay if you don't want me to; Felix likes it so much he lets me braid it when it's long like this."

"Oh, I know Felix loves it," Oliver hears himself agree, "if he were a cat he'd be the kind to purr any time someone scratched between his little cat ears." And while both he and your grandmother share a fond laugh, he can hear Felix's smile in his words. He gives Oliver's hand a squeeze.

"I can't even argue; I wish I could purr right now."

Oliver wants to bottle this moment forever, keep it locked tight in his chest.

But the movie is a long one. One hour and fifty six minutes. Two hours rounded up. A whole two hours. Enough time to fall asleep with his head in Felix's lap the way they both said you used to. He wakes with your heartbeat in his ears, rapid, alive, left for dead.

"You okay buddy?" Felix looks at him with genuine love and concern; it's been such a long time since he'd seen that look, even with everything that had been happening, "I'm here, you're okay," he assured. Over by the television, putting the remote back, your grandmother glances over at the interaction with a warmth that makes Oliver feel queasy in this moment.

And he'll look up from the book, from his notes from the coroner's report crammed in, obscuring the end of one story while The Tell-Tale Heart begins on the other. Felix will be getting ready for bed in the other room, but he won't sleep there. He can't sleep there. Can't sleep in that bed without you, can't move the costumes from that night that hang side by side as a reminder of the hole you'd left behind in his life. Oliver will read approximately two am in his own messy handwriting, and look at the digital clock on his bedside that had read 12:07 when he'd crashed into his room and locked the door and sunk down against it. The numbers had been shining red in the darkness. On the wall behind, that starry night sky and the hint of Felix and his cigarette; a home you'll never return to hung up in the home you'll never truly leave.

He put enough coke in that bottle to kill a fucking lion. He'd given you the bottle. He'd told you he loved you. He'd left you like that.

He knew you were dying.

He'd left you alive.

Two hours.

The book snaps shut. In the silence he thinks he hears your breathing. Please, Ollie, help. Paranoia is a cruel thing, he has to tell himself; paranoia and guilt.

"Can I ask you something?" Felix joins him just as he's putting the book back in it's drawer. Oliver, heart beat racing - never as fast as the memory of yours, oh now it's all he can think about again - nods quickly. Felix sits on the end of the bed, clearly preoccupied, fussing with the buttons of his pyjama shirt. The days are getting cooler now; Oliver misses his bare skin against his, but he still feels too precarious to make such an observation.

"It's about Y/N," Felix swallows, can't meet his eyes, "about that night." Oliver feels his mouth go dry; the worst fucking night of his life. The night he doesn't know if he'll ever figure out if he regrets all he'd done.

He nods again.

"Were you the last person they spoke to?" It's like Felix is forcing himself to not shy away from this moment, giving Oliver the attention he thinks he deserves for such an important question. Then, after swallowing hard, he can't help but drop his gaze, "why," he can barely get it out, there's already a lump in his throat, "didn't they come into the maze too?" Oliver can't even give him that.

You'd been such a mess on your way to the maze, even with Oliver supporting you. Crying, furious, apologetic; you were everything at once. Even when you couldn't bring yourself to go in, everything about you had been sliding from one emotion to the next. But then it had stopped.

"I can wait for Fi here." It's the most sure that he'd seen you all night. It's when he knew. It had to be you, even if he loved you too. He'd never forget how clear your smile was, how sincere you'd urged him into the maze to follow the tail of what he thought was right. The sight of you, waiting, obedient and loyal for your master to return; "I'll be here, I promise; I'll wait."

Oliver knew before he'd even entered the maze that Felix's return to you would be too late.

In the present, Felix waits too, diligent, expectant. Oliver thinks about lying. Oliver thinks about how the truth will break his heart. Oliver thinks about how close Felix will hold him in his guilt riddled grief.

"I don't think they wanted to interrupt -" Oliver tries to start, but Felix immediately swears, hangs his head.

"Can't fucking believe I did that," he spits, "I was angry, and off my fucking face, sure, but that was fucking low, even for me," he admitted, pitching himself back on the bed, whole face scrunched up with guilt, barking out an upset fuck far louder than the others, prompting to Oliver to tentatively ask what he means. Felix took a moment, as if forcing himself to calm down, before he admits, voice low like he was sharing a secret, "I never even took Eddie into the maze," he sighed. After a beat, he conceded, "no, okay I did, but we didn't do anything - we made out a bit, but -"

"You didn't fuck you ex-boyfriend in the maze," Oliver connected the dots quickly, "but you did fuck your best friend's ex-not-girlfriend who you kind of stole from them, out of spite after kicking them out of your the bed you've been sharing all Summer?"

"Fucking hell, Ollie!" Felix sounds especially wounded when he lays it all out like that.

"Sorry," immediately, Oliver apologises, knot in his stomach when he hears Felix's pained tone. He wonders if this was what it was like for you all through the night of his birthday. Fuck, he can't think about that.

"No, but you're right," Felix admits, eyes finally opening, looking all hurt and vulnerable. Oliver lays himself down next to Felix, going the other way, both of them looking up at the ceiling. Oliver's hands rest on his chest, trying again, softer this time.

"So was a special place to them?" He gets no response other than a guilty nose from Felix, "you think that's why they wanted to wait by the entrance?"

"They wanted to wait for me," Felix says weakly, clearly in his head about that night once more, "didn't want to interrupt even as I was fucking defiling our-" but he catches himself turning bitter again, mouth snapping closed, "after everything I said that night," he mumbles, "fucking hell," he chokes out. The pain in his voice is audible. This is the sweet spot, Oliver thinks.

"I can wait for Fi here," Oliver whispers amid Felix's faint sobs.

"What?"

"You asked me what their last words were," Oliver told him as softly as he could manage; Felix sits up, eyes wide, distraught, so full of guilt and love and - "only thing they were properly coherent about; waiting for you," Oliver props himself up, reaches out to wipe a tear from Felix's cheek.

"You're not- Ollie, please tell me you're not kidding," Felix practically begs.

"I can wait for Fi here," Oliver reiterates, making sure to meet Felix's gaze as he holds his face, "'s the last thing they said- they said; I'll be here, I promise; I'll wait."

God he can see it in Felix's eyes; it's like the man's entire world crashes down around him. But he clings just as Oliver had hoped he would. As Felix holds him tightly, Oliver can't look at the glaring, red numbers of the clock on his bedside, the constant reminder of the two hours where he could have done something. Two hours and those wouldn't have been your last words.

He looks at the painting. At the stars. At Felix and his cigarette and your idea of what home looks like. The stars look just like they did that night. Just as bright. Oliver closes his eyes. Guilt twists people into shapes they don't often recognise; Oliver just holds Felix, hopes they twist into something together.

Except Oliver's guilt isn't the kind that twists, it's the kind that bites. It's like moths, eating him from the inside out. The guilt leaves him with jagged edges and thoughts he'd rather not be having; there are shades of Felix Catton that he loves, but shame and revulsion bites just behind the guilt as the months pass and he realises more and more this is not what he wanted. This is not the Felix he wanted.

Felix is like an echo, like the sun without it's warmth; he can look just the same, smile, talk, charm just the same if it was required of him, but there was something clearly missing from every interaction. Guests to Saltburn would pull his parents aside and ask if everything was alright. He is, but he is not the same as he once was.

Every day Oliver looks in the mirror and sees something grotesque behind his eyes that no-one else seems to notice. Felix Catton was meant to be the prize, the one who tossed aside everything but the best, the one who made the world fight for his attention, and feel heartbroken when he merely looked the other way. After all this, Felix Catton was not someone Oliver expected to be bored by.

Oliver Quick had lied for, lied to, betrayed the trust of, worked to gain the trust back of, loved, made fall in love with him, and literally murdered the love of his life who he also loved and was themselves also in love with Oliver while still considering Felix the love of their life, just to get a chance to spend his life by Felix fucking Catton's side. He wasn't allowed to not want this.

Felix smiles at him, says he loves him, fucks him, but it's not the dream Oliver once had. Something is always missing. No. Oliver deliberately took that thing away. But he can never admit that, nor can he ever regret that; too far gone. Oliver doesn't want to talk about the past, Felix can't being himself to talk about the future. Trapped together in the present, living lives that no longer feel like enough. Their routine becomes suffocating. Even Venetia, the few times she's stopped back at Saltburn, can barely manage a disdainful look, as if merely inconvenienced by Oliver's presence.

The growing apathy of the estate and it's occupants is exhausting. The cost of this lifestyle has long since surpassed it's value. He's even bored of being haunted. Two hours feels like fucking nothing when the days drag on the way they have been. Behind his eyelids he doesn't see you begging for help, you hiss for him to run, to get out.

He should have listened.

"Ollie, can I show you something I found?" Felix sounds bright today, and though Oliver wants to roll his eyes at the idea of anything in this house being new or novel enough to show off, he smiles back instead.

"'course Felix, what is it?"

Except Felix isn't smiling at him. Felix is looking far more serious and determined, sitting on the edge of their shared bed. Oliver immediately frowns.

"Have you been hiding something from me, Ollie?" It's a trap; a forced confession. Oliver shakes his head, plays dumb. Felix takes a deep breath, the kind that shifts his whole body, his expression remaining firm, "before I show you this thing, I want you to be honest with me; you promised you wouldn't lie to me anymore, you remember?" Oliver tries to lighten the mood, leaning against the window with a warm smile.

"Of course, my lovely Felix, no more lying," he assures, but the hairs on the back of his neck stand up with the way Felix remains quiet.

"What's seven-past-twelve mean?" Felix is watching him closely; too closely. Scrutinising his every move. It's like Oliver's been doused in ice water, even his tongue frozen in his mouth, "and what's it got to do with what happened on the night of your birthday?"

Felix doesn't even look at the night table as he opens it; his gaze is solely on Oliver. It's clear he'd done this before, pulling out the book, flicking through it's pages, and pulling the delicate, incriminating piece of paper out from where it had been safe for so many months.

"Felix, I-"

"What does twelve-oh-seven mean?"

Oliver is the deer again, trapped in Felix's accusatory gaze. For just a moment, Felix's voice drops, pleading with him for some other explanation, that Oliver wasn't somehow caught up in what happened, more closely, more malevolently than he'd ever said -

"Tell me," there's tears in his eyes, the furious kind, the ones where he's desperate to love and hope against all odds, "Oliver," he pleads through gritted teeth, "tell me you didn't know."

"Know what?" Oliver's voice is a hoarse whisper; he knows he is caught, all he has left now is borrowed time and a desperately silver tongue he doesn't know if he can rely on anymore. But Oliver's tragically weak denial is enough for Felix to all but jump to the right conclusion.

In a rush, Felix has Oliver by the collar of his shirt, pressed to the window -

"You knew they were dying and you fucking left them there."

This is the tipping point, the end of whatever good this had been. Felix could hurt him, Felix had hurt countless people on your behalf, he'd seen it himself. But Felix had always been the bleeding heart; you were the one who had to be kept on a leash. Felix could hurt him, could probably maim him for what Oliver was about to say, but he never shared your stomach for true Machiavellianism.

"Of course I knew," Oliver managed coldly, despite Felix attempting to crush all the air from him, "the amount of coke I gave them in that champagne could have killed a rhino-" it needed to be unforgiveable, the confession, so Felix would let him leave, would never want to see him again. He hadn't expected the force of Felix's rage to have the glass behind him give out.

Oliver falls from the second story window into the hedge garden below. Felix's shouting is tearing through the whole house it seemed, making his way downstairs, while Oliver tries to regain his breath and figure out if anything's broken. He's pretty sure it's not, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt as Felix drags him by his feet from the hedges, demanding at the top of his lungs that Oliver get the fuck out of Saltburn.

Every single person who'd been in the house comes outside to view the commotion, to see Oliver struggling to his feet, to get away from Oliver. Elspeth looks helplessly between the two boys, wondering what happened -

"Tell her what you did," Felix demanded, once more getting into Oliver's space, jabbing at his chest, "tell her what the fuck you just told me -" and Oliver's strength isn't insignificant, but Felix is in a fury, flooded with rage and adrenaline, and he grabs the back of Oliver's shirt like he's scuffing a cat, shoving him towards his mother like an offering. Oliver struggles because he feels like he has to, feels wild, feels feral, but it's the most of anything he's gotten from Felix in so long. His mouth stays shut, won't give him the satisfaction of a confession.

"He killed them," Felix doesn't even let Oliver have his power play before he grows bored. He shoves Oliver just a little, grip unyielding despite Oliver's best efforts, like he means nothing to him. Elspeth and Sir James are confused, looking between them both, but Felix isn't done with stringing Oliver up for all of Saltburn to see, "Y/N; he intentionally dosed their drink and left them to die outside the maze."

The Catton parents immediately look crestfallen; it's the first time in months Oliver's felt genuine guilt again. Oliver stops fighting. Felix lets him go. Elspeth asks him if this is true; that heartbroken hope is going to make him sick.

"Just send me away already," he drops his head.

"Oliver," Elspeth's voice is firmer this time; when he looks up, she's stepping towards him, tears in her eyes despite how hard she's clearly trying to hold herself together, "is Felix telling the truth?" Is this it? Is this the final gate to his freedom from Saltburn.

"Yes."

Elspeth slaps him so hard her ring draws blood. Oliver hadn't thought that was even possible, but his head is ringing from the collision.

"Get. Out." She hisses with absolute malice as he's hunched over, clutching his face. Felix is by his mother's side in a heartbeat, arm around her, looking at Oliver with contempt. Behind them, Sir James is ordering Duncan and the other staff members to get Oliver off of the property as quickly as possible, but the look in Elspeth's eyes is burning, "this is my family, you monster."

At first, it almost feels worth it to leave Saltburn. To leave the Cattons and their bullshit and their games behind. He thinks he knows them well enough to trust that they don't want the kind of scandal a murder on their hands would be, and for the most part, he's right.

It's not the Cattons who haunt him after Saltburn, though they may be pulling the strings. It's you. It's you sitting on Felix's bed in his dorm room reading every single detail of Michael Gavey's file with threats on your tongue. It's the casual way you talked about being able to access his academic files to change his grades if he wanted. It's you, tipsy at Saltburn, admitting that you got Eddie transferred without his consent to a university on the other side of the country after he cheated on Felix with Venetia.

There's no place for Oliver to return to at Oxford... He's not entirely surprised about that, however, there's also apparently no record of him ever attending. Any calls or enquiries he makes are shut down with the kind of immediacy that seemed reserved for shows about government conspiracies. When applications open for other universities, it seems websites shut down the minute he fills out his damn name. Nowhere in the world seems willing to consider him.

Having him audited seems like overkill. When it happens the next year, despite no employer willing to even consider him for an interview, the existential dread of his situation sets in.

Felix never had the stomach to finish the job; he'd let you haunt Oliver forever.

[spooky-pomegranate]

Use Your Words:

Captain Price x F Reader (18+) 🔥 Word Count: 3.8K

Summary: Price shows you the scars on his body and reassures you that everything will be alright.

It was hard to see where you were going through the hazy fog of tears, but Price gently guided you into another room and helped you sit on the edge of his bed. You didn’t understand why your emotions had taken over you so quickly. But now that they had bubbled to your surface it felt impossible to dismiss them.

Price’s hand left yours and through the blurry haze, you watched as he knelt down in front of you. Without a word, he gently removed his shirt and laid it on the ground.

“Price I don’t think I can…” Your eyes fell to the floor. As badly as you had wanted him just a moment ago, you couldn’t go there now. Not when your world felt like it was crumbling beneath you. Not when your head and heart were on such different terms.

“I know,” Price's voice soothed. “I know. Just look at me, sweetheart.”

You raised your head and stared at Price. His lips curved upward and he smiled. The edges of his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched. A warmth spread through your belly. You loved how his face changed when he looked at you like this. Like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Like nothing else mattered but you. Like time was standing still. No one had ever looked at you this way.

The tender reverence in his soft blue eyes pulled you back to earth. You sniffled again and brushed the tears from your eyes feeling slightly more grounded.

“I’m sorry, Price. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Shhh. Shhh. It’s alright. It’s okay to fall apart. I’m here… I’m here to catch you,” Price let a moment of silence pass, allowing you to regain your breath before he spoke again. His tone was soft and gentle. “I know you're scared and I know things seem impossible. But they’re not. I promise you. I’ve faced much worse odds, love. And I’m still standing here aren’t I?”

“You… you have?” Your voice wavered.

Price reached for your hand and brought it to his chest. His skin felt hot underneath your trembling fingers.

“Look.” Price moved your hand just below his left shoulder. He rubbed your thumb over an angry silver and white circular scar the size of a quarter. “You feel this?”

You nodded as you focused on the feeling of your finger gliding over the healed mark. His skin was raised by still soft. Whatever had caused the mark had been violent and cruel.

“Last year a terrorist launched a missile from a rooftop in downtown Chicago. The missile was headed for Washington D.C.” Price paused shaking his head. “Thousands would have been killed. It would have been the worst terrorist attack ever seen on American soil.”

Your jaw fell slack and your eyes left Price’s chest and met his.

“I was shot right here with an automatic rifle.” Price chuckled, “Felt like getting run over by a truck. Knocked me back on my heels and pretty sure my Sergeant thought he’d lost me. But he didn’t and I’m still standing… aren’t I love?”

You looked back at Price’s chest and splayed your palm over the healed bullet wound. You could feel his heartbeat strong and steady. Sure you had noticed his scars before but you never imagined the hell he’d walk through to earn them.

You nodded at him.

“And we stopped the impossible. Rerouted the missile and kept the entire operation under wraps.”

The thought of Price facing death made you hyper-aware of your own heartbeat. It was beating against your ribcage like a rapid drumroll. Your hand felt warm and sticky against Price’s chest.

“Nothing’s impossible, love. Even when it feels like there’s no hope I promise you there is always hope.” Price's voice was low. You wondered if he ever told his men this or if this was a mantra he privately reminded himself of. You wondered how anyone was strong enough to do what he’d done alone.

You slid your hand further down Price’s chest to a long red scar that started near the healed bullet wound and traveled across his chest to his right side.

“And here?” You murmured, sliding forward on the mattress so you were perched on its edge, your fingers gliding back and forth over the long red mark.

“Mmmm…” Price hummed, leaning into your touch. “Knife attack. Russia. We ran out of ammunition and we were cornered. Had to fight our way out hand to hand.”

You two continued like this for hours… Price kneeling before you, you running your hands over every scar on his body, and him telling you stories about how he acquired them. And with each retelling, your heart ached as you realized these were only the scars you could see. It was hard not to imagine how many more he must have that were out of your reach.

But the ache in your heart was also met with a blistering pride. If Price was able to move forward, to fight another day, to keep pushing onward after everything he’d seen and done then surely you could do the same. Surely Price could draw out from you a similar strength he drew from the men he commanded.

You leaned forward and placed a kiss on the small silver scar by Price’s shoulder, your lips lingering on the raised and discolored skin.

“Your so strong.” You said slowly pulling away from his chest.

Price hummed a deep groan that melted straight through you.

“And you make me stronger, sweetheart,” he whispered.

“I… I do?”

“You do.” Your heart lept to your throat at his tender words. “Of course, you do, love. When I left you at the warehouse you stayed in the back of my mind for every single second. I fought to get back to you because I promised you I would. I just want to be with you and I would have done anything to get to you because… I love you.”

Price closed his eyes and shook his head. He sighed before resting the palm of his hand over your cheek.

You felt a surge of emotion fill your chest, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch. His rough thumb brushed back and forth over your cheekbone, and you closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of his palm against your skin. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you.

For so long, you had felt lost and alone, but with Price, you felt like you had found your place in the world. His love was a balm to your broken heart, and you knew that you would do anything to keep it. And now you were starting to realize, that maybe Price felt the same way. Maybe this was a love different from anything you’d both felt before.

You leaned forward again and kissed the red lengthy scar that traveled across Price’s broad and muscular chest. He groaned as your lips made contact with his skin. Price pulled you closer to him, his hands roaming over your back. As your lips moved along the length of his scar, Price's hands eventually found their way to your hair, and he tangled his fingers in your locks.

You could feel the heat emanating from his body, the scent of his cologne filling your senses, mixing with the tobacco and whiskey you’d consumed. It was intoxicating, and you found yourself lost in the moment, the world outside of the room ceasing to exist. It was as if the weight of the world lifted off your shoulders as Price’s love enveloped you.

Your hands slid to Price’s waist and pulled him upright so he was standing between your thighs. You leaned in again and kissed another scar that lingered beneath a dark patch of hair that trailed from his stomach to underneath his pants.

“Fucking hell…” Price growled as your lips grazed his happy trail.

His sultry groan was electrifying. You looked up at him with a mischievous smirk on your lips. His eyes were dark with desire, and you could feel his hardness growing and pressing against your thigh.

You pulled him down by his neck and kissed him deeply. Your tongue teasing his lips before delving into his mouth. His hands were all over you, roaming your body as if he couldn't get enough. You moaned into his mouth as one of his hands found its way to your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple through the fabric of your shirt. You pulled away from the kiss, gasping for breath.

"I need you, Price," you whispered, your voice husky with desire.

Price didn't need any more encouragement. He lifted you up and carried you to the center of his bed, laying you down and crawling on top of you. He kissed you again, his hands roaming over your body as he gently removed your shirt and bra. His lips moved down your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin.

“You don’t know the power you have over me, love,” he whispered into the shell of your ear, sending chills down your spine.

You unconsciously arched your back pushing yourself off the mattress and into Price’s firm and tense body. Your body was on fire, and you couldn’t get enough of the heat rising inside you.

Price's mouth trailed down over your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipple before sucking it gently into his mouth. His teeth lightly nibbled at the sensitive skin, and your hands ran up the length of his arms, fingers digging into his muscle. The scruff of his face felt like sandpaper against your overly sensitive skin, but you revealed in the sensation. The mix of pain and pleasure only made you more wet in between your thighs.

Price’s mouth released from your nipple with a squelching pop and you whined. You arched your back, trying to get another sensation from his mouth as it trailed over your stomach and to your navel. His eyes found yours, and there was a wicked gleam in them. His lips curled into a devilish smirk as he moved his hands to the button of your pants. He quickly undid the button and slowly unzipped your pants, his eyes never leaving yours. You moistened your lips nervously, your eyes glued to his deft hands.

“Please,” you whimpered, your heart rate increasing.

With one strong pull Price yanked your bottoms down past your ankles. You propped yourself up on your elbows you painfully and deliciously slowly spread your legs apart for him. By the way, Price’s pupils darkened you were sure that he could see that your arousal had soaked through the cotton of your underwear. You had no doubt the white fabric was probably translucent from the way you felt drenched with desire.

Price’s lips connected with your underwear, his tongue darting out to taste you through the soaking wet fabric.

“Anything for you,” he growled against your center before giving it a kiss. You whimpered again. His teasing winding you up like a coil tightening into a taut spring.

Price hooked his fingers in the sides of your panties and you eagerly lifted your hips off the mattress so he could slide them down your legs. Price dove back in between your thighs like a man starved and you gasped as his tongue entered you.

He groaned at the taste of you, and you could feel the vibrations through your body. You moaned loudly as his tongue pushed deeper inside of you. Your fingers twisted in his short hair, and you pulled his face deeper against you. You couldn’t control yourself. You rutted against his face. His beard rubbing against your thighs.

The feeling of his tongue delving into you was too much, and your hips bucked again and again into his face. His hands moved from your thighs to your hips, and you could feel his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass in a forceful grip.

The pleasure was quickly building in you, and you could feel your orgasm rising like a tidal wave in the ocean.

"Oh, god, Price, please," you whimpered. His tongue hit a spot inside of you, and you were sure you were about to explode.

“Please what, love? Use your words.” He demanded, giving your ass a gentle squeeze.

“Please… don’t… stop,” you breathed barely able to form the words.

The wicked smile returned to his lips and Price dove back in between your legs. But this time he focused his mouth on your clit, licking and stroking the bundle of nerves in delicious and mesmerizing circles. You felt yourself teetering on the edge and just as you were about to fall Price slid two fingers deep inside you.

You came with a loud whine. Your body thrashed against the mattress as you tried to pry yourself apart from Price. But he held onto you tightly and continued his assault between your legs, licking and sucking and pounding up into you with his large and thick fingers.

You were sure you had lost your mind. The strength of your orgasm was too intense that you could feel your vision blurring. God, no one could make you lose control like this man.

But as your orgasm finally started to subside Price pulled his fingers from inside you and slide them up your body over your thighs, across your stomach, up to your breast. A trail of your own wetness lingered behind shining on your skin as he squeezed your breast and rolled your nipple in between his fingers. You couldn’t help but release a high-pitched whimper as he played with you.

Price eventually kissed his way back up your stomach and over your collarbone until he found your lips. You could taste yourself on his lips as his tongue pushed into your mouth. You traced your hands over his toned torso, feeling every ripple of his taut muscles.

Price’s hand found your wrist and gently, but firmly, moved your hand to the waist of his pants. You smirked into the kiss as you felt his hardness strain against the fabric of his trousers. His breath was ragged as you unbuttoned his pants and slowly slid them down his legs, taking his boxers with them.

Your fingers wrapped around his girth, your thumb flicking over the sensitive tip of his reddening cock. You curled your hand around Price’s shaft and gave it a firm squeeze. He moaned into your mouth as his hands ran up the length of your body. One hand cupping your breast, and the other buried in your hair.

You guided Price’s cock to your opening. And with a small snap of his hips, you felt the tip of Price’s cock slip inside of you, and you moaned.

Price let out a deep groan of his own as your body enveloped him. Your hips rose to meet his, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Ever so slowly Price began to rock his hips back and forth. Rutting into you at a delicious pace.

Price plunged deeper inside of you making your cunt clench around him in a vice grip. The feeling of being so full of him was driving you insane as he began to pick up his pace. His breath was hot against your ear, and you could feel the stubble on his chin scratching against your neck with each thrust.

“Oh, god,” you moaned into his ear.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned back.

You could feel yourself losing control again. The pleasure from before was building in your core and you couldn’t help but thrust your hips up to meet his steadily increasing pace.

“I’m gonna…” you panted, your head dropping onto his shoulder.

“Not yet, love,” he said as he pulled his face away from your neck.

“But I’m--”

“Not yet,” He growled, his eyes dark with lust.

His thrusts deepened, and you could feel him hitting your G-spot. Your body quivered, and your vision started to go spotty. The pleasure was about to take over, and you couldn’t control yourself.

But then Price stopped.

“Not yet,” he repeated.

He pulled his cock from you and you let out a disappointed whine. You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat when you saw Price’s feral gaze. He grabbed your thighs and pulled you toward the edge of the bed. He climbed off the bed and stood quickly yanking your thighs up against his shoulders before slotting himself back in between your legs. He grabbed a pillow and slide it underneath your hips so your torso was raised off the bed.

Then Price pushed into you hard and it didn’t take long for you to see stars with the new angle in which he was fucking you. After a particularly vicious snap of his hips, your eyes rolled back as you moaned loudly.

“Fuckkkkkk,” you cried.

“That’s it, love,” he said as your eyes met his again.

He pushed into you again and again, his balls slapping against your ass and you could feel yourself tightening around his cock. He looked beautiful like this. Taking you so viciously. Standing over you like a powerful god looking down upon a mere mortal. You felt so spread open and vulnerable before him like this. And fuck was it the sexiest thing you had ever seen.

The feeling of him sliding in and out of your wet pussy was maddening. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. And you knew you were about to come again. You could feel your orgasm boiling just underneath your skin.

“Price I can’t… I can’t…” you whimpered desperately.

“It’s alright love. Let go,” he said sliding his hand up your thighs and to your ankles.

With another snap of his hips, he pulled you to him, impaling you on his cock. The pleasure was blinding and your orgasm rocked you to your core. You reached above your head and dug your nails into the sheets, clawing and scratching for anything to ground you as Price continued to fuck you senselessly.

You stared up at Price and he met your eyes.

“One more sweetheart. You can give me one more right?” He asked the deep timbre of his voice making you twitch.

Your voice was lodged in your throat. All you could do was whimper and nod your head. You would give Price anything he asked for at this moment. He was making you feel so good how could you deny him?

“Good girl,” he growled before leaning down, slipping out of you, and lifting you up into his arms.

Without warning you were in the air and Price was moving you across the room. You wrapped your legs around his waist and buried your head into his neck. You kissed and sucked just below his beard leaving small marks behind until suddenly your back made contact with the cool surface of a wall. The cold plaster sent a shiver down your spine.

“God you’re so beautiful,” Price whispered in your ear before pistoning back into your pussy.

You bit your lip hard to keep from screaming as he continued his assault on your cunt. You reached up and wrapped your arms around Price’s neck, your hands scratching at his back, trying to hold on as he pounded into you.

Each thrust of his hips was harder and faster than the last. You could feel the throbbing in your clit as you started to come undone once again. Price gripped your ass tightly. He was holding you as close to him as he could manage. You could feel his breath hot on your neck as he sank his teeth into the crook of your shoulder. The pain of his teeth sent a shockwave through your body. You felt lightheaded. The pain, the pleasure, the heat, the cold… it was all so much.

You dug your nails deeper into Price’s shoulders as you tried to stave off your approaching orgasm. You didn’t want this feeling to end. You wanted to stay here like this with him forever. But the feeling of his teeth on your skin and his cock pounding away inside of you was too much.

You had never felt anything like this before. You had never been fucked like this before. Your vision went white and your whole body bowed into Price as he grabbed your ass hard and pushed into you one last time. You screamed his name.

Your orgasm felt like it was going on forever, and your body shook. You clung to Price as hard as you could. Your fingernails left crescent-shaped marks behind on his back. Your cunt clamped down around Price as you writhed in ecstasy and he growled at the sensation of you tightening around him. His moans quickly drowned out your own cries and you felt Price twitch as he came deep inside you.

You wanted to collapse to the floor, but Price held you pressed against the wall as he pulled out of you. You could feel his cum drip down your legs as he carried you back to his bed. And yet the feeling of being cradled in his strong arms was the most comfortable thing in the world.

“Stay here, love I’ll be right back,” Price said before vanishing behind a door. You stared up at the ceiling as you tried to regain your breath. Your eyes felt heavy. Your limbs were entirely too exhausted to move even a singular muscle.

But the cool feeling of a wet cloth on your thighs made you snap your neck upright. Price smiled his sweet quokka-like smile as he wiped you clean. His touch was gentle and soft.

“You did such a good job, my sweet girl.” He murmured into your thigh before giving it another kiss. His beard scratched against your supple skin.

You hummed in response and Price laughed. He must have known you were entirely too fucked to answer him. He crawled up into the bed next to you and cradle you into his chest.

“Rest now, love. You earned it,” Price said pressing a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Will you stay with me?” You managed to ask craning your neck to look into his blue eyes.

“Of course, beautiful. I won’t go anywhere. I promise.”

It didn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep. Tucked into the safety of Price’s arms, you slept soundly for several hours. And this time, with your protector watching over you, the nightmares stayed at bay.

————————————————————————

This is an excerpt from my much larger work on AO3. If you would like to read the whole story thus far here is the link.

If you are just here for the *spicy bits* I have more fun excerpts here on Tumblr called "Violence and Timing" , "Falling Apart" , and "Testing His Will"

[bruisedboys]

Hi, first congratulations on 3k!! You deserve every one of them and more!:))

second may I request THE DARK NIGHT with “I won’t deny I’ve got in my mind now, all the things I would do. So I try to talk refined for fear that you find out, how I’m imagining you” (from ‘talk’ by hozier) and either Peter or James whoever you feel fits the best:)

Thank you very much in advance and no pressure at all ily<3

thank you angel!!! this was such a good request I loved writing it sm. the correlation with the lyric prompt is a bit vague but I hope u can see it!! I tried lolzies

fem!reader 0.5k words

James lays with his head in your lap and tries not to think about how pathetic he looks. He supposes he looks pretty lame right now. Half asleep in the lap of a girl who’s not even his girlfriend. His drink cradled in your hand because you’d taken it off him when he’d said he was feeling sick.

He doesn’t care as much as he should. He’d look pathetic in front of his friends a thousand times over if it meant he got to have his head in your lap, and your hand pressing into his back between his shoulder blades. It’s like being in heaven.

“James.”

Your voice brings James out of his drunken daze. He twists so he can look up at you. You’re already leaning over him. Your chest is directly in his line of vision. He thinks how he’d love to be in this position under different circumstances and then immediately regrets thinking it. He looks away from your chest very quickly and almost says sorry out loud.

Instead he says, “Huh?”

You giggle. It’s so pretty it makes James feel sick. Or maybe that was the beer. Or the fact that he’s head over heels for you. Either way, your laugh rings in his head even when you’ve stopped laughing.

“I was just gonna ask if you’re okay,” you say. Even though you’ve asked the same thing about ten times in the past twenty minutes. “You don’t want to go home, do you? Go to bed?”

Sirius, who’s twice as drunk as James but twice as good at hiding it, laughs loudly from across you. “I don’t think he wants to go to his bed, darling.”

Heat licks up James’s neck and sets his cheeks on fire. You can probably feel the heat through your jeans, where James has got his cheek pressed to your thigh.

“Sirius,” James groans, mostly because Sirius is kind of right and James hates that he’s right. And also because his friend is a douchebag.

“What?” Sirius laughs like he’s done nothing wrong. Typical.

“Leave him alone, Sirius,” you say, glaring.

Your hand moves up James’s back until you reach his neck, and your fingers push up into his curls. James’ stomach swoops. Worse when you lean over him and press your lips to his forehead in what he thinks is a pity kiss. He smells all your smells, your perfume and the drink you’ve had and your cherry lipgloss. Your face hovers over James for a moment and his mind goes to places he wishes it wouldn’t.

When you pull back James sits up fast. It makes him dizzy, if he wasn’t already dizzy enough. Your hand drops from his hair and you frown.

“James?” You ask softly. You touch your hand to his knee. “You okay?”

You look at him so intensely James wonders if you can read his mind. If you can see all the thoughts he thinks about you. He hopes you can’t. It scares him to death, what you’d say if you knew.

“I’m— I’m fine,” he manages, glad that Sirius is distracted now so he doesn’t hear James stuttering. “Feeling much better, actually.” A total lie, but he’s ready to do anything to escape that gaze of yours. “Thanks for, um. Looking after me.”

You smile at him like he’s the only person in the room. James feels like he’s been kicked in the stomach, worse when you squeeze his thigh with your lovely soft hand.

“Any time, Jamie.”

-

[itoshiexx]

behold: the end of the world is near.

synopsis: rin feels you slipping through his fingertips every time you fight, and he's sure he won't survive the heartbreak when you inevitably leave.

pairing: itoshi rin x gn!reader | words: 532 | warnings: established relationship, angst, rin is overthinking and hating himself, this is 100% self indulgent and honestly just word vomit

notes: it’s 3 am, i’ve just cried like a madman and spilled all my pain in this drabble. wrote on my phone so sorry for any mistakes and lack of format. will edit soon.

fighting with you always felt like the end of the world to rin.

when the little daily arguments started to gather into a huge snowball and ultimately become a serious conversation, with some accusations, some screaming and throwing some stuff on each other’s faces, all rin could think of was: this is it. this is the moment they leave forever.

he was no stranger to being left. he was no stranger to the piercing pain that came along with it, too; but somehow, rin knew that it would be a thousand times worse when it came to you.

he knew that if you left, he would never be able to recover from the heartbreak. the love he harbored for you in his strongly guarded heart would spill and consume everything inside of him like a scorching flame, until there was nothing left but the bitter taste of ashes.

he would never breathe the same. he wouldn’t see the world in its full colors, hues and brightness. there would be no point for him anymore, because itoshi rin was certain that the sole purpose of his soul was to love and be loved by yours — and although his love would be eternal no matter what, he knew damn well yours could end at any minute.

in those stupid fights, you could see all of his flaws and idiot mistakes. all of the things he could have — should have — done; all of the ways he should have tried harder and been better. in every word traded between you two, his imperfections would show, and make way to the abnormal abyss inside of him that always devoured any chance of happiness he could possibly have.

he wasn’t meant to be happy. rin knew he was way too broken to live a content life with a love as beautiful as yours. and every bone in his body ached with the awareness that being by your side was a paradise he didn’t deserve.

and no matter how much he tried, he could hardly understand what he felt, why he acted the way he did and how he could fix everything wrong in him to match with your perfection.

one day, you would see just how wrong itoshi rin was for you — or anyone, for that matter, because in this lifetime and the next there would only ever be you for him. and when this day came, you would leave without looking back, grateful for getting rid of such a burden like him, who was holding you back from giving your love to someone that could retribute like you deserved.

and on this dreadful day, the song of the apocalypse would play on repeat in his head until his ears bled and his skin became dust without your love flowing through his veins. amongst the burning sensation of being left behind, once again, because he was too much and not enough at the same time, despair would swallow him whole until he was just a pile of sorrow and regret.

itoshi rin was no stranger to loneliness, but being without you would mean being alone with no one but himself. and that would be the end for him.

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

[jesterwriting]

(for that timeloop post,, uhm this relates to the whole body horror thing ((not too much just a brief mention)) so if rn u don't wanna see that SCROLL AWAY!!! OR DELETE ME!! OK disclaimer ends here)

oh man but what if Law did say room anyway and there were impossible scars on your insides... like littered everywhere, they're not fresh but old, almost phantoms that make no sense, because if they were real you would've died. how would he react to that? maybe not when he noticed them crying but after weeks or months, dunno, where they keep skipping his more thorough check-ups (where he uses his devil fruit) since they're anxious about the pains? and think that somehow there are signs of their previous deaths and the mention of them makes it hurt more and more and they just can't do it. but they can't bring themselves to say it because who could possibly believe them? if Law doesn't, it would just feel even worse, won't it? even if they understand his point of view. maybe they even die in front of him and it gets harder to just hold all of that in,,, oh boy. if you think about continuing your oneshot i'll eat it like a starving animal!

pairing: law x gn!reader

contents: slight body horror, slight gore, timeloops, suicide done to restart the loop, hurt/comfort, happy ending,

word count: 1.6k words

note: OHHHHH I LOVED THIS IDEA OH MY GOD. absolutely so smart. anon your mind is huge and i had so much fun doing this request. <33 i really hope you enjoy :33

playlist: caribou - tanya tagaq

a sister fic to this

This had never happened before. You had experienced hundreds of loops, maybe even thousands, and this was the first time Law saw fit to scan you with his Devil Fruit.

Maybe you were getting sloppy. You had a strong immune system so you never got sick, and the first time Law scanned you for your general checkup upon joining the crew, there was nothing of note. You wondered what changed, as if you hadn’t died more times since you joined his crew than you had in your entire life. Maybe it was because the more you suffered, the more reckless you became, throwing yourself into the fray with little regard for yourself. You could take a bullet for your crewmates, so you would. It was as simple as that.

There was a first time for everything, you supposed. A first death, a first breath, a first kill; there were uncountable firsts that one could experience, and you had experienced most of them.

Not this one, though.

You had tried to avoid it for as long as possible. Your captain was a man who carried burdens, ones almost as heavy as the ones on your shoulders. If he knew how many times he failed you — or how many times you failed him — you knew he would take all the blame for himself. As if you hadn’t been the one lying, and fighting, and dying over the course of countless lifetimes.

Law blinked a few times before his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed. You fidgeted under his stare. If his reaction was anything to go by, he found something horribly wrong with you. While you had experienced slow deaths before, you had never experienced what it felt like to waste away from disease. Maybe you’d find out this loop, you thought, trying to feel nonchalant about the idea and not like you were about to throw up.

“Um. What’s wrong,” You tried.

Law shushed you, the blue glow from his room still surrounding you. You bit your tongue, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt to try and take your mind off of whatever he could have found.

“This can’t be right,” He muttered, one hand cradling his chin. He pointed to your chest. “There’s a scar inside of you, it looks like a puncture wound through your lungs. When did that happen?”

Three loops ago when you fell off a building and onto some rebar. That was a particularly awful death. The last thing you remembered before everything went black was Law’s panicked expression as he tried to put you back together again. There was terror in his eyes. You tried not to think about that part.

“And here,” Law continued, pointing to your abdomen. “There’s a scar running across the length of your stomach. It almost looks as if you were previously disemboweled.”

You had been. Multiple times. It was a common and very disturbing loop ender that you tried to avoid if you could. Watching your organs fall out of you in a steaming heap was never something you liked to experience, but for some reason, your opponents kept aiming for the gut. You wished they’d aim for the heart or the head more often. At least then it’d be quick.

He didn’t stop there, jaw falling open when he stared directly where your heart was. “When were you stabbed, Y/N-ya, this looks recent.” Law blinked a few times before realization dawned on his features. His eyes shot to your face, expression going from open to unreadable in seconds. “How did you survive without my intervention?”

Your mouth was dry. How were you supposed to respond? There was no way you could tell him that you had died on his watch more times than you could count. Law didn’t deserve that. Your captain was a good man, one you loved admired far too much to allow this to weigh him down. He would take your failures to heart, completely discounting the amount of times that he had saved you from having to start anew.

You must have been quiet for too long because Law was speaking again. “Answer me.”

“It’s from a long time ago,” You said.

That was a lie. It was from the previous loop. A quick death by your own hand over the cold corpse of your captain. If Law didn’t survive, there was no point in continuing, and if there was one thing you had grown accustomed to, it was taking your own life after one loss too many. You knew how to make it quick, no suffering. So with a precise hand, you drove your knife into your chest and let the timeline begin anew.

When you saw Law again, whole and alive, you vomited. You were under the impression that he believed that you simply ate some bad seafood, but from the concern that was slowly etching its way onto his features, you weren’t so sure of that now.

“Don’t lie to me.” Law’s eyes flashed, barely contained frustration needling at the corners of him. “None of this makes any sense, half of these injuries should have killed you. The other half would have needed to be treated.”

The truth sat on the tip of your tongue. You felt selfish and needlessly cruel for your desire to tell Law what was really happening. Your eyes burned, and their glassy sheen didn’t go unnoticed. Law handed you a tissue, expression softening.

“I- um.” You hated how your voice cracked. It had been a long time since you told someone about your Devil Fruit. You always died, and they always forgot. For a long time, you thought it was better that way, carrying this weight on your own. The way Law looked at you, though, it made you want to pour your soul out to him. Every pain, every loss, every death lain at his feet, and for once, you could stand unburdened. “It’d be wrong of me to tell you.”

Law’s eyebrows knit together. “Now you’re being stupid.”

“No, I’m not. You’ll regret asking once you know. Don’t pretend like you don’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, you don’t deserve my troubles on top of that. It’s better for both of us if you just forget what you saw.”

With that, you stood and made to brush past Law and out of the room. He grabbed you by the shoulder, not allowing you to go any farther. Though his grip was firm, it didn’t hurt. If you really wanted to, you could wrench yourself away from him.

“You’re trembling.”

Your lower lip wobbled, your resolve ebbing away by the second. “It’s complicated.”

“So tell me.” Law’s lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. “Doctor’s orders.”

You let out a small huff. He didn’t deserve this, but there would always be another loop. This current one hadn’t been going so well, and by your estimation, it would take at least three more before you managed to reach your next checkpoint. It wouldn’t hurt to tell Law what he inevitably wouldn’t remember. You steadied yourself with a deep breath and turned to face him, his eyes met yours with a mix of concern and exasperation.

“It’s my Devil Fruit,” You started. Law leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms, attention solely on you. Your heart thundered in your chest. “I’ve died so many times.” Without your permission, your breath hitched. Law’s hand encircled your own with a small squeeze, encouraging you to continue. “It, um, brings me back, I guess. I’ll die, and then wake up in the bunkhouse days earlier, and I’ll be the only one who remembers what happened. All those scars you saw were what killed me in a previous loop.”

He was silent while he chewed on his words.

“How many times have you died since you joined my crew,” Law finally asked.

Your hand was still in his and you gave it a squeeze. “That’s not fair. I know what you’re doing and I won’t let you do it.”

Law’s shoulders slumped as he brought his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I believe you. It explains a lot. I noticed you cry in your sleep sometimes.”

“You watch me sleep?” The tips of Law’s ears were tinged pink while you laughed.

“I was worried so I checked on you.” With a sigh, he began to lead you out of the clinic to his office. “Come on, you’re telling me everything you can remember. We’re going to come up with a plan.”

Humoring him, you followed close on his heels. It didn’t matter how long or how hard you planned, there was no accounting for the unpredictability of the universe. This comfort wouldn’t last long. Soon, you would be dead again and the cycle would start anew. That didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy sharing a space with your captain, listening to him meticulously craft tactics to keep you, and everyone else, alive.

It wasn’t until four days later you found yourself breathing, though covered head to toe in blood, with the rest of the crew. Everyone was safe and sound, and Law wouldn’t stop looking at you with a smirk on his face. When you found yourself next to him, he bumped his shoulder against yours.

“I told you my plan would work.”

Just like that, for the first time in your life, you were no longer alone.

[plasticfangtastic]

American Royalty. Ch. 1

A Homelander X F!Reader fanfic

A/N: I am writing this alongside another fic so sorry for the publishing schedule altho I got 2 chapters done, this is my dadlander fic and hyperfixation explorations

Sypnosis: Homelander never wanted to remember you again, but after welcoming Ryan into his life, he thought of you, and the lie that tore you two apart, but now... thinking back, thinking of your betrayal-- was he perhaps wrong about who the father of your unborn child was? Did you perhaps told the truth all those years ago? That it was his.

Tags: mild gore, angst, slow burn, fluff, OC characthers, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter One

Blue

It had been by pure chance, whether it had been a combination of forced reminiscing and exhaustion that Homelander had thought of you after all these years; These meetings had been proven wasteful of his time, nothing the PR and Digital Marketing departments could come up that was good enough, and somehow he had gone from irritated to just defeated.

He sulked in his chair listening to their meandering voices brainstorming potential ideas as to how Ryan’s new origin story had to be developed and handled, whether it was too squeaky clean or absurd, how much could they risk offending the child, how much of his mother should be kept from the public (not that they were very aware of the fine details, as Homelander had been more than just vague about it, he had simply no intent to divulge about his son’s conception, upbringing or his mother’s fate) Homelander would never allowed the public to look with pity or fear at his son, he would not allow them to brand him as a murdered over an accident– he could still hear his son weeping and shaking in his sleep, waking up in a fright, seeing invisible blood in his hands.

Homelander had grown overprotective of the boy, he was made indestructible but his mind and heart were glass, still pure and uncorrupted by the awful world they inhabited, he would never allow anything else to taint it and bring him nightmares– so this had to be perfect.  

To make it worse, the kid was growing impatient and depressed, forced to stay in the tower until this story was concocted, he couldn’t attend school or interact with other children until he was trained and learned his lines, making his father increasingly more paranoid that his son was slowly growing resentful. 

“Mister Homelander… what if we base Ryan’s mom off one of your other ex-girlfriends?” A rather tired intern had muttered– preferably somebody dead…”

The room shot daggers at the nameless intern but Homelander simply sat in silence and gave it a thought, he had plenty of unsuited mates disposed and handled in the past, the amount of NDA issued made for a small but noticeable stack alone, he looked at the table and the box of cannolis that the group had been munching on, looking at the small printed italian flag on the box’s side.

That he thought of you for the first time in years.

You had been his new personal chef, your interactions minimal as you brought him his meals, he hadn’t known at first how heartbroken you’d look as he returned half touched dishes over and over, it had become a competition against yourself to make him eat, every leftover morself a cause of grief, as if your honor and ego had been beaten mercilessly with every dirty plate.

One evening, Homelander sat on his couch watching a documentary by Orson Wells, he hadn’t noticed you there as you brought him dinner, the way you looked at him with spite waiting to throw the most likely untouched plate of pasta back at his face, it would get you fired and possibly killed but you couldn’t take it anymore. You were a chef, a professional, you had turned down a dream job and left the restaurant you loved for the honor of being Homelander’s personal chef, the job that would open you a thousand doors but it was without reward now it felt like your biggest mistake, no matter what you made he fucking hate it but offered no feedback, you had no clue what he wanted, what he disliked and liked, what he craved, or how he liked his meals– he simply left your food untouched.

Diverting his gaze from the film, he noted your food and that you were still there with a block of pecorino and a grater in your hands.

He stood up with a groan, lifting the silver cover to reveal boring pasta and bolognese sauce, it wasn’t styled exceptionally, it didn’t even look too appetizing, it was just some fresh linguine covered in meat sauce, he stared at you as if this was some sort of joke but your dead eyed expression was off-putting.

“Would you like some fresh cheese, sir?” Your voice might as well have been automated.

Frankly he didn’t want any cheese but pasta had to be eaten with cheese, he gestured for you to grate watching an off-white pile form on top of his pasta with no intention of stopping.

“That’s enough” he said sharply, he took the plate looking at the mound and then back at you who was still in the room, he wrapped his fork with the pasta doing his best not to stain his suit.

You just wanted to save the time with coming back to pick up the insults, but there he took the first bite of this homely dish heis eyes opened up, there hadn’t been anything special, you simply had taken some left over pasta and brought a jar of your grandma’s sauce, a recipe she had guarded fiercely ever since she stole it from some italian friend’s mom many many years ago, you adored this recipe, it had been the reason why you fell in love with food, you loved visiting your grandmother when it was time to jar the sauce, and when she served you a humbled serving of bolognese– he gave it a second bite letting the tangy and fresh sauce wash over him.

And that’s when he finally noticed you for real, how closely you watched him eat, smiling as he took another mouthful and mixed more of the fresh pecorino, there had been something warm about this meal, it lack pretense, it was something that no high end 5-star restaurant would serve but it tasted… warm.

From that point on, he looked forward to his meals, wanting to see what the fuck had you done to make food taste worthy of his body, noting you would personally deliver the meals after he failed to clean the plate on the previous one, he hadn’t even known your name but he noticed you.

You were cute, your voice had gained some warmth since that awkward first impression, he could tell it was these homemade meals that tasted the best, as if you put everything you had to make them taste delicious, there were no frills with these, just good homemade fair, made with love, he had began asking for things he had been curious but never served as if they were above his status like meatloaf, carbonara, shepherd's pie, etcetera. These were the kinds of meals the families he’d seen growing up behind the screen would eat, he had been the first to strike a conversation.

You listened, you talked, and before he knew it, he had found himself asking for your company at the dinner table. You were hesitant at first but he was handsome and charming, but above all he was the Homelander! While apprehensive you still took to his offer just to smugly enjoy seeing him enjoy your food, proud that you had triumph in this battle where so many had been defeated, you’d cracked the code and god it felt good.

It became part of your weekly schedule, having dinner at his penthouse and chatting about anything, he loved talking and eventually it became apparent that it wasn’t because he was in loved with his voice but simply… he hadn’t got anybody who enjoyed listening to him, you were attentive, you responded well and even if you weren’t sure about something you weren’t going to let him feel as if you weren’t approachable anymore, you were more than happy to hear him explain to you a topic because his eyes gleam like those of a small kid telling you about something new they learned at school– in truth you loved how happy he became when he could rambled about things, as if nobody in the world had ever given five seconds of their time to let him talk about strange events from history and his theories, tonite he wanted to talk about the Dyatlov Pass incident and star formations that he was sad that he couldn’t see from New York, wishing you could see how the sky looked like from his cabin.

You’d spend more and more time in his home as the conversations grew more frequent, as he wanted to hear more about your interests and hobbies.

Thinking of how cute you looked while baking, how cute your laugh was, of the way you always held him after long days, that first real date, that first time you held hands, the first shy kiss after dinner.

As he took a long whiff to catch some of that gentle sweetness, he thought of the last day you were together.

That sound.

The thing that’s the size of a bean.

The anger, his heart shattered, all the colors of the world had dissipated when he saw that tumor growing in your stomach, he wanted to hurt you as much as you did, to shut you up as you threw excuses, begging him to believe you.

But that thing wasn’t his.

It couldn’t be his.

You said it was his, that the baby you didn’t even know was inside you was his, but he couldn’t be the father.

His eyes widened, he stood up and left the room, his mind focused on your name. They had tried getting his attention but could only give up as nobody would dare to chase after him, Homelander found himself entering the analytics offices towards the first chump he spotted.

“Can you find me information on a former employee?” He said firmly, the junior staff jumped at his seat nodding frantically– their name was Y/N L/N.” he said quietly.

The staffer didn’t have to do much work, you were easy to find, your name attached to Brooklyn’s most loved pizzeria for the last couple years, your face on their socials, and even a video from some food channel following what it was like working in Brooklyn’s hottest pizzeria had you in it, your shop had been listed as the best two years in a row, Homelander couldn’t bare looking at your face, but he asked for an address.

That night after spending time with Ryan who seemed to be sulking more and more, as he watched him eat his dinner, he thought of you, the kid was meandering whatever was on his plate didn’t feel appetizing, his meal was no different from what it was served in a high-end restaurant and the kid had no desire to eat it, he wanted Ryan to have the finest things when all he wanted was to have his mom’s tacos– his son opted to head for bed early skipping dinner all together, it was almost 10 pm, a heavy feeling had been boiling in his stomach since that meeting.

Taking flight all the way to some red brick Brooklyn projects, hovering about until he encountered you.

Time had been kind to you but you looked tired, the glow in your skin now dulled, your appearance unkempt, your clothes worn and old, your shoes the nicest thing you worn but they still creased and dirty, you looked beyond exhausted, your eyes half closed and your arms dangling on your sides as you carried a couple grocery bags, he looked around at the constructions and rubbish, at the hooligans and wannabe gangbangers, and the rancid smell. Hundred buildings all the same, he wanted to get closer as he watched you walk alone in those sticky white painted brick walls, you stopped suddenly by one of the brown doors, there were only four other doors in that floor, waiting patiently, an old lady opens the door, you two exchanging pleasantries as you handed the lady two of your grocery bags, a small dog came to say hello and then… there she was.

She was small for her age, she didn’t jump with excitement or say much to you, just a slight bow to the old lady and she walked in front of you as you said goodbye, only stopping two doors down.

Your apartment was small, two small bedrooms, small kitchen and barely sparsely decorated, but it was clean and tidy, your daughter dropped her school bag, and headed for the bedroom while you moved to the kitchen, never really talking to each other, he found himself flying closer just to get a perfect vision of that child.

She was a mini-you, taken so much from you, whoever the father was it didn’t seem to have mattered in the end for the kid got nothing from him, she changed to her pajamas as you sat on the couch after throwing away your uniform to the floor.

You two talked briefly, you didn’t read her any stories before bed or kissed her good night, you simply stared at each other and talked while you stretched your feet.

The little girl entered her room, a tidy space, books piled up on the floor in sharp stacks against the wall, a desk containing some electronics and a couple stuffed animals.

She was a cute thing, just like you had been once, her hair short and her straight bangs covering most of her face, too long for it too be safe, she had your complexion and jet black hair, she sat on her desk turning the desk lamp and picked her Kindle up, looking at her clock then back at her Kindle, she sat there for a couple minutes digesting some pages until it was almost midnight, before heading to the living room– you’d passed out on the couch, she took your phone and put it to charge fidgeting with something before leaving it, turning the TV off, and finally turning around to slip a quilt on top of her mother.

Homelander almost felt sorry for the kid, after all you had done to him only to neglect your child, you were just as much of a scumbag as he had imagined, he had had enough wanting to fly away until he saw the little girl staring back at him.

The lights were off on the home, and it was dark with the streets below shaded piss yellow, he looked around wondering if there was something nearby that caught your daughter’s attention but she was staring straight at Homelander, she forced the window open peeking her small frame slightly out the window, in the dark starless night while strangers made a ruckus a couple streets from here, a bright twinkling of pale blue illuminated your home.

He got closer, something caught in his throat as he came only a meter away from your daughter.

She looked so much like you but her eyes even as they lost their unnatural light were so blue, as if the entire ocean lived in her eyes.

The curtains slid shut, his chin flicked in surprise as he caught the small figure plainly ignoring him, he was loved by all, especially children! Even those whose favorites were Noir, A-Train or Maeve loved him! Yet this little girl had just shrugged him off and ignored him, simply returning to her bedroom to shut the second set of blinds and jump straight to bed.

Homelander was left dumbfounded, not once had he seen such disinterest and callousness from a member of his safest demographic, so he stood in mid-air pondering about killing both of you briefly, just as the heat from his cheeks cooled down, he stared at the now sleeping brat, wondering about that inhuman blue light that glossed her big round eyes.

[neverchecking]

I have a brain rot for sage, hes challenging the chain for their time with player/reader, he basically wants all His/Her/Them's attention, of course none of the chain and sage are going to "play" fair their going to cheat no matter what. the only ones he might not win against is time, FD and maybe twilight. wind, four, Hyrule, and sky would do sad puppy eyes to get cuddle time, twilight and legend turn into their animal form to get pettings, sage and wild would cook food to get points for being delicious. (etc.etc.) just some yandere shenanigans for attention. the challenges he did were sword fighting, bow and arrow targeting, sparing, arm wrestling, and so forth.

-Eevee

Okay, last one for the night! I figured since this isn't really a request, I could spitball some more of my headcanons for our beloved Sage.

Jk it delted itself so I gave up and went to bed bc last time I tried to push through I wasn't happy with the end product, so sorry for the delay!

For those of you who don't know, Sage is another name for the Tears of the Kingdom Link--dubbed Hero of the Zonai-- should we decide he is not in fact Wild.

For the Wild and Facesitting request, it's in progress I promise! I try to go in order with my requests, but like I said, this is more headcanons versus a scenario. It should be out tomorrow later today so look out for that ;)

ANYWAY-

Y'all. The amount of Sage requests in my inbox right now? You guys are feral for this man and I love it. So I'm here to feed you guys.

TotK spoilers below!

・❥・Okay, so lemme start this off by saying. I have done you all wrong. And for that I apologize.

・❥・Because our wonderful @wayfayrr has opened my eyes to new possibilities that I would've never even thought of. So everyone say thank you rn >:(

・❥・So let's make some amendments!

・❥・First off, let's talk about nicknames. I love the idea that Reader, and only Reader, can call him anything other than Sage. And calling him other herb-related nicknames? Kills me. He is a flushing red mess the first time it happens. You had deemed him worthy of a nickname? You considered him person enough to have a moniker that wasn't also a title? If he was down bad before, it's so much worse now. Because you see him as a person. He's sure the others just see him as a means to the end. The second one of them, maybe save Wind, try it, he's shooting them daggers and snarling at them for even daring to try and impeach your privilege. (I also love the Calm, Wild and Feral thing, I thought that was so freaking clever.)

・❥・And you know how each of the hero's have their own 'sword' right? Well, what if Sage's was the Master Sword Remastered? Like Sky's (Like most of their Master Swords actually) but now it's been boosted by ten thousand years worth of direct light magic. (Does the Zonai time fall before Skyward Sword or after? I have no idea where they fall on the timeline tbh.). Just a thought. It could also be a gloom sword which probably wouldn't effect him as hard in other timelines because there's no demon king to power it, but it probably does hurt the others if they try to touch it.

・❥・Now, the juicy part. Let's retouch on Wild's and Sage's relationship. I originally said that Sage was okay with him? I lied. Wayfayrr has opened my eyes.

・❥・Sage probably can't fucking stand Wild. As they said, this is a version of him that didn't have this second adventure. Got to rest and distant himself from the Hero Title. And that just pisses him off. Why did he get the shittier hand? Why did he have to do it all over again? Why when this failure got to get off easy? Why couldn't he have the same grace, huh? What made them so different?

・❥・And if we're using the past oneshot (Here!) as they're 'canon' meeting, this filth let you get hurt. You were hurt before meeting him, which means that they can't be trusted with you. Especially Wild. So Sage cannot stand you being near Wild. At all. It eats at him and he doesn't last long before splitting the two of you up.

・❥・Calamity is even worse. There is probably an active hate towards Calamity (In this Yandere world, in a normal, not toxic world? They probably work out their differences a little better). This was a version of him who didn't even have to die to complete his quest. And this just shows that Fraud has favorites and it's not him.

・❥・You know who else he probably doesn't like? Twilight. Now, hear me out. This is purely me just spitting this out, but Sage has to be aware. He listens when they don't think he does, he's awake when they think he's not, he's watching when they don't even know he's there.

・❥・So he probably picks up on all of their little secrets. Meaning he knows Twilight is Wolfie. And (I think this is Canon is LU but I'm not sure) Wild had Wolfie as a guide. Which means Sage had Wolfie as a guide. The difference? When he needed him the second time, left stumbling around like a newborn fawn crawling out of the shrine all over again, he was left alone. He was fighting robots with a fucking Stick. He fused a mushroom to a shield just to buy himself more time. At one point, he was fusing a long stick to another long stick just to fight from a distance to save his battered body. Rauru did as much as he could, but there were some times he wished he was left for dead.

・❥・Not anymore as that means he would've never met you, but then? different story.

・❥・They also brought up that Sage probably doesn't stop at just cooking your food and I agree. When on the road, he for sure goes straight to the source. If he doesn't know exactly where it came from, it's not going anywhere near his Goddess. Nope. Not a chance in the gloomy depths from hell.

・❥・He's going to farmers themselves rather than merchants for produce, hunting any protein himself, climbing trees for eggs, he probably even makes his own butter. Now, because he's also cooking savy this for sure makes the rivalry between him and Wild widen. Wild is set in his cook for the chain, not you. Sage can't trust them to not hurt you again. Whose to say they don't over spice the food? Or undercook the fish? Or drop shells into the egg?

・❥・He can't trust them and may force you to pick one of the other. Depending on who you chose, he'll either hold his victory up high or work even harder to separate you from the chain. Can't you see, Reader? They aren't good for you.

・❥・When it comes to the Gloom, he for sure uses to his advantage. You know he's been infected, but you don't know how much light he's gathered to dispel it. At this point, he's probably gotten most, if not all of it, out, but you don't know that. And he preys on that fact.

・❥・Oh, the Traveler wants to down to the river with you? But, Reader, there's something rotten in his chest and he's stumbling against trees, exaggerating his steady steps just in case to really sell it. He needs you by his side, can't you see?

・❥・Oh, the captain is trying to get you to settle with him for the night? But, Reader, he's tossing and turning, feigning sleep and acting just enough to catch your attention. He's listening, ears pricked, just to hear you swiftly apologize before your gently hands are laying on his shoulders and he's won again.

・❥・And because his Hyrule is one of, if not the most dangerous Hyrules, he's given so much ammo to keep you tethered to him. You can't trust anyone, don't you know? The Yiga uptake has skyrocketed and they are everywhere, along with Ganon's new ability to make puppets? Can't you see how you can't trust any of them?

・❥・He even entertains you when you come up with the idea to have a secret saying between just the two of you as a fail safe. (It's probably something like 'Deforestation Enthusiast' because of how the two of you met.) Anything to have you pulling further away from the Chain and into his arms.

・❥・If it begins to take longer than expected, Sage is not above letting you wander just enough in his Hyrule. Maybe you set off a bit of Gloom hands (Or maybe he nudges them in your direction, hard to tell, really) and they go charging at you. The others don't know how to deal with them, but he does. He saves your life before the others even know what hit them. He's cooing into your ear, reassuring that where the others fail, he would never dream of it. He's whispering that he knows how scary the feeling of those hands are. He knows how freezing the feeling of sudden restriction, only accompanied by the burning sizzle of malice, is. He knows and he understands, but he's right here. He'd never let anything happen to you. Not like the other frauds.

・❥・Now, all that being said, Sage for sure does not play fair. Oh no. He does challenge them in his own ways, but does it in a way that can only reflect badly on them should they call him out on it.

・❥・He's fighting (Picking apart) with Wars and Calamity on their sparring routines, angling it in just a way that should they snap back he can turn on the innocent little look with a 'But I'm just trying to protect you. I don't know how any of you fight, I'm still learning.' Just in time for you to catch them barking at him to 'Learn faster' and it just falls perfectly into place.

・❥・He's calling out Twi and Four every time they try to wander off (Probably to bring out Wolfie or split to relieve a headache of sorts) because 'The woods are dangerous, what are they doing going off alone?' and now they can't leave because all eyes are on them and he's restricting their movement without even really trying. They wanna go foraging? But he and ...Wild were their best foragers and they were busy with dinner (That was something bitter to get out).

・❥・And wow, Time, Legend and Fierce have so many secrets, can you really trust them? Sage has laid down his entire adventure to you, and regardless if Reader is a LoZ player and knows of them regardless, Sage told you. Those two are trying to hide from you. He would never.

・❥・Wind, Hyrule and that filthy disgrace want to drag you along to go Shield surfing? Reader, do you know how dangerous that is? Especially with someone's track record. Here, you wanna go riding on this motorized wagon he just happens to have on hand? (Between the Zonite in his Purah pad, he can build any component necessary.)

・❥・Not even Sky and First are safe as he uses carefully laid words to sully their once golden image towards you. Afterall, they're so close to Hylia, whose to say they aren't behind all of this?

・❥・Now, you said that the only ones he may not win against are Time, Fierce and Twilight, but like I said, I can imagine him loathing Twilight, so instead, may I suggest First.

・❥・Time and Fierce are both pretty burly dudes that demand some semblance of respect and while Sage has muscles, he's not overly tall. So while he doesn't bow, he may just back off from their forefront for a while.

・❥・Now, First. He's probably the only one who can put Sage back in his place of the hierarchy. It's the first in the timeline, versus the last (As of right now). And it's not pretty. They probably go to blows a few times when you're out of ear shot.

・❥・The problem is that First can only push him back when you're out of ear shot and Sage makes it a point to keep you as close as humanly possible.

・❥・And while yes, some of them may use puppy eyes, Sage is not above using pity to get what he wants because he just hurts so badly don't you know?

・❥・He unfortunately can't do anything about wolves or rabbits. If they manage to disappear before he can call them out on it, he's left bitterly sulking as Wolfie laps at your cheeks or dumb rabbits nose at your hand. He may know who they are, but not even he's cruel enough to call them out (Yet) because that would just pit you against him. They weren't his secrets to tell, you would scold, and he just couldn't handle that possibility.

・❥・The biggest difference between Sage and Wild, one that the chain will fail to realize right away, is that Sage is much more experienced. He is on his second, THIRD if you count the pre-calamity, adventure. He knows everything Wild does, and more. Wild knows how to improvise and adapt, Sage can do it faster. Wild knows how to forage and concoct incredibly potent elixirs? Sage can do it tenfold with half the ingredients. He knows all the little tips and tricks and is not only backed up by the champion's gifts-- should they have remained-- but now he has the sages with him.

・❥・Like imagine their mid-battle, they had forced you away from Sage just to create some distance (At long last) and mans comes rolling in a giant fucking robot. He's using Sidon's sage to shield you over and over again and decimating a battle field using nothing but Riju and an arrow. Hell, the bigger enemies are struck down by Yunobo crashing into them. Sage alone is enough to cut the enemy hordes in half through recall and sending their own attacks back at them or fusing together weapons they wouldn't have ever dreamed of with new abilities. Even his outfits give him benefits far beyond anything they could think.

・❥・You saw him as someone more than just Link. He wasn't just the Swordsman to you when that was who he was to everyone else. You dubbed him something far beyond what a damned sword made him.

・❥・And he would have to be four days dead before letting you go.

・❥・And as he's proven before, Not even death could truly kill him.

I am so glad I waited bc I like this one so much more than the one that was deleted.

[aballadforbarbatos]

mc falls hard and fast

specifically, out of the sky.

you were looking for a gift for mammon, originally. something sparkly and shiny- he seemed down in the dumps, last time you saw him

and since you’re back in the human world for an undisclosed amount of time, this is the best time to go searching for a surprise gift!!

thinking back on it now, this whole set up was a bit suspicious… maybe you should be a little less one track minded next time?

i mean, saying the item’s worth is well over ten thousand dollars and then selling it for only $200? what were you thinking?

and it only got worse! they apparently had it hidden in a secret place where you needed to take a helicopter, and they needed your driver’s license and passport? MC, what is WRONG with you?

well, they told you they were going to steal your identity, taken your documents, and pushed you out of the helicopter. they’ll probably be back later to collect your body.

so here you are. falling out of the sky.

you screamed when you first got shoved, sure, but you can’t keep doing that or else you’ll go splat on the ground and the entirety of devildom might break down and also some shady guys will steal your identity.

and you’ve done a lot to have this identity, so that definitely can’t happen

pacts! you can get a demon to come rescue you!

as soon as the idea pops into your head, you know exactly which demon you want, even before you see his pact mark on the back of your hand, the same hand that you always, always use to pull out your wallet.

but, uh… you’ve never actually used the pact from so far away. will it even work if you order him from here, now?

you reach into your pocket for your D.D.D.

with the needy demon boys you’ve collected, you can barely go anywhere without it

you tap his name…

and wait while the phone rings??

meanwhile, in devildom, the demons are having a student council meeting, completely unaware that you are currently hurtling towards the ground, and your death, at an incredibly fast pace.

mammon’s phone rings.

he tries to ignore it and play it cool, but it’s so obvious it’s him

“mammon. what have i told you about keeping your D.D.D. on silent.” mammon does not look at lucifer and instead decides to investigate the table until he remembers-

“no, wait! i did put it on silent, which means-”

which means that the caller has to be you, because he fiddled with his settings so that you were the only one that could reach him while his D.D.D. was off.

he digs his hand into his pocket and pulls it out, eagerly answering your call and putting it close to his ear

…and then immediately holding it at arm’s length as you shout into the receiver, trying to be louder than the wind

“MAMMON! MAMMON OH MY GOD, MAMMON!”

“uhh…”

he genuinely has no idea what to say. what’s going on in the background? why’s it so loud? and it’s nice hearing you say his name, don’t get it wrong, but you sound panicky and he’s not sure why you’re saying it so often.

“mammon, it’s time for you to take responsibility for your words, okay?!”

“aha, words? MC, what words are you talking about? i haven’t done anything super bad or anything!”

“mammon…” your voice gets quieter and shaky so he gingerly puts his ear against the receiver. “mammon, i don’t want to die, okay?”

his eyes widen. if lucifer’s saying anything to him now, it doesn’t matter. mammon has totally drowned it out, listening to what you have to say.

“what do you want me to do?”

“mammon, come here.”

poof! he appears next to you

except you’re falling through air

so he’s only next to you for a split second

and he’s in his student uniform too so he’s falling as well

just a human and their demon, falling to their certain doom

“mc, what the fuck?!”

that’s what you think he says. you’re not sure. the wind has carried his words away

you look up, away from the ground, and at the scenery beyond. at the very least, if mammon doesn’t get it together soon, this is a pretty place to die.

mammon gets it together.

your life didn't flash before your eyes- did that mean that your brain knew that mammon would catch you?

well, of course it would think so. it’s not like he’s ever let you down before.

he could’ve saved you a little NICER, though?

seriously, slamming into your body from the side? what if he broke a rib?!

plus he accidentally crashed into a haystack, so now you’re sitting there pulling straw out of your hair, adrenaline still pulsing through your veins

okokok hold on, you’re gonna hurl

mammon’s head pops up just as you finish, “okay, gross.”

you laugh. and laugh. it feels so good to be alive! a shame about your stolen documents, but you can do something about that later

“um, why did you call me? lucifer probably would’ve been faster…”

you look at mammon with a warm smile

“mammon, aren’t you my first? didn’t you say that if you couldn’t rescue me, then i should just die? why would i want to be saved by anyone other than you?”

your D.D.D. buzzes

it’s a text

no wait, it’s two

three?

eight??

they’re also all asking you if you know what happened to mammon and if you could get him to come back to the student council

you glance at your saviour, covered in hay, now sporting a light blush

“lol” is all you send back

the devildom lives another day

[lightlycareless]

I was reading your scorned ex husband Naoya and I was wondering how much worse he’d be if him and Y/N had to share custody of a child(How the Zen’ins let Y/N get a divorce AND get joint custody idk. Maybe it was Naoya’s last act of kindness to his wife). Hehehe, I feel like it’d be so messy

Heya anon!!

Couldn't get this idea out of my mind because I needed the angst :> I gotta say, your child here is the true victim. And yes, it would be messy. You'd end up hating Naoya for it—

But I won't say much, I'll let you read it instead :)

warnings: naoya is your ex-husband. you have a daugther named naomi. naoya's a jerk. naomi is a victim of his idiotness. toxic relationships. physical violence.

also, this is the work anon is referring to (can be read independently.)

Happy reading!!

Sharing custody of your beloved daughter Naomi with Naoya is, as expected, the most surprising, frustrating, and difficult (if not borderline impossible) things to do.

And no, it’s not because you must arrange your schedule to fit this new lifestyle—nothing that ever related to Naomi could be that.

Rather, because of the things Naoya was doing to spite you. He might deny it as much as he wanted, but what else could you call these… questionable behaviors?

First, through setting up thousands of excuses as to why the place Naomi was to visit with him was not good enough.

Sure, you could argue that as her father, he was entitled to… voice his opinion and choose an option that would also be of his liking—it’s their time together, after all, which didn’t happen every day; restricted to the weekends, per previous agreement.

But his suggestions were just so stupid, if not inappropriate for a child!

What made him think that spending the weekend over at this office was any good?

Or going to all these fancy restaurants that limit Naomi when it comes to her behavior?! She’s a kid, for god’s sake—the weekends are supposed to be a break from the boring school routine she’s subjected to on the weekdays!

“The amusement park is too noisy.”

“There’s too many germs at the water park.”

“She if wants to see a movie, she can do it at the house.”

Just to state a few.

It was highly infuriating, to say the least, to see how dismissively he behaved towards his own daughter. Angering enough, that the next time he said one of those stupid comments of his, you couldn’t help but lash out, wondering—

“Do you even love Naomi?”

Naoya remains quiet at your accusation, before opting to scoff in response, rolling his eyes, and leaving.

You believed that it wouldn’t get any worse than this. That it couldn’t.

But oh, how wrong you were.

By the next time Naomi returns from spending the weekend with her father, she runs to your arms as soon as she steps through the door, teary eyed and highly distraught, confiding you with words which prove Naoya can indeed be worse.

No, not worse.

Straight up atrocious.

“Naomi, pumpkin, what’s wrong??” you fret, taking the poor child in a tight embrace as she begins to cry.

“I don’t want to go with papa anymore…” is what she confesses, and at the notion of Naoya doing something stupid, yet again, your chest tightens with anger.

«Just what did he do this time?!» Your mind would frantically wonder, going through a long list of possible causes, hating each one more and more as you went past them.

And yet, no amount of preparation would be comparable to what Naomi eventually confessed.

“Papa made me call a… a woman mama.” She begins. “I—I didn’t want to, but he—he told me I couldn’t go back if I—if I didn’t do it…!”

That’s it.

Naoya has done it.

Officially.

You could respect his intolerance when it comes to doing something genuinely fun, or his lack of tact when being a father—hell, even you were accepting of it, outside of what the law said. Because deep inside you, you still believed he deserved to be in Naomi’s life.

And now that this new advancement rose to the occasion, regardless of how much it hurt you, you were also willing to accept the fact he was moving on with someone else.

But this…

This was beyond your limits.

Because if Naoya had any issues. it would be kept between him and you.

Naomi is nothing but an innocent girl that deserves to have parents that love her, and have nothing but her happiness in mind, doing all what it takes to ensure such a thing!

Not a father that immaturely tried to spite the mother of his child for bitter reasons.

And certainly not a mother that allowed this to go on for far too long.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You’d shriek the moment you got a look at him in his office, Naoya freshly out of a meeting, and rightfully taken aback by your sudden, unannounced visit—any other time, you would’ve cared enough to not have caused a scene, but when it came to Naomi, you didn’t care if this was all his employees and family would talk about for the upcoming weeks.

You just bothered to know what was inside his stupid little fucking mind to have demanded such absurdity from your daughter and disrespected you in the process!

“What are you doing here, Y/N—"

“I can respect you seeing other people, really, I do.” You cut through his words; this isn’t his moment to talk, after all. “In fact, I’m glad you have! Great, you’re moving on!

But I will not tolerate disrespect towards my daughter, or my role as her mother! Did you know Naomi came back home crying because you forced her to call a woman she doesn’t even know her mom? What were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking of what was right.” He quickly interjects, a prominent frown on his face. “Do you think it’s acceptable to have this—this arrangement??”

“No, it’s not, because I should’ve gotten full custody of her!” you cry back. “I can’t believe you managed to convince the judge you were actually a good father to her! But let’s be real, that was your family’s money talking, wasn’t it?”

“Y/N—I won’t allow you to—!”

“Oh, but I have to?!” you gasp. “I have to take the way you treat Naomi weekend after weekend? Dismissing her like she was just a random kid, and not your daughter? Which you wanted to have if I need to remind you! And after all this, you still have the nerve to tell me I’m being disrespectful?!”

“Well, now that we’re talking about reminders, you’d do good in remembering you’re the one that filed for divorce! The whole reason this is happening at all is because of you!”

“Fine! I’ll play the villain if you want to—But I won’t stomach you hurting Naomi!” you cry. “She is your daughter, Naoya! At least have a bit of decorum when it comes to her!”

“Ha! I don’t recall having a daughter so insolent against her own fa—”

Naoya doesn’t even finish his words before your hand lands a slap across his face, a movement so harsh that effectively turns his head to the side, with a sound equally resounding in both his mind and office, that left him both speechless and startled as everyone else quickly exited the room, understanding it was best to leave in their own terms while they still could.

While you, on the other hand, frantically tried to wrap your head around the fact that not only was he comfortable insulting you, but your innocent daughter as well.

The one person that did not deserve any of the horrible things he was doing.

The one act you could never forgive.

“Do not, ever, talk about Naomi like that!” you hiss. “Naomi has been nothing but accepting of your irresponsible parenting! Far more than she should be! In fact, she’s—she’s always excited to wait for the moment she’ll get to see you again, since you don’t bother reaching out to her any other way!

And you still dare talk about her like that?! What is wrong with you, Naoya?! Why are you doing all of this?! You literally don’t have anything in your odds to be behaving this way!

You have a good job, no—you have your whole life set, and you’re moving on with someone else too! So, why must you keep hurting me and your daughter? Are you not satisfied with what you have? With your new life without the wife you hated oh so much?!

Or do we—do we have to be miserable just for you to be happy?”

But even then, Naoya doesn’t respond; instead, he just keeps silent, as if deep in his thoughts while placing his hand over his cheek, carefully feeling the marks of your attack underneath his fingers before eventually glancing back at you.

And you don’t know what it was—perhaps the silence following the turmoil allowed the depths of your emotions to finally settle, or maybe it was the disbelief of reaching your breaking point and hurting Naoya, an act you greatly came to regret later on, pushed you to it— but you’d end up revealing far more than what you initially wanted.

Offering a glimpse of your true feelings, a question that erupted the moment divorce crossed your mind, and filed the papers, continuing to torment you to this day, more so when doing what you did…

“Where—where did we go wrong?”

“You did this.” Naoya accuses—there was fury in his eyes, an expected sentiment after all that transpired. And yet, underneath that fire, something inside you was still able to discern that far from pained by the act… he was sorrowful both got there in the first place. “All of this is your fault—”

“What was I supposed to do, Naoya? Stay behind in a household where I was nothing but miserable, where your family wouldn’t bother respect me, or our daughter, and with you—you allowing all of it? Like we were deserving of it?” you breathe. “Did you…. all this time—Hate me?”

“No, I don’t hate you.” Naoya disputed. “I—I don’t—I never did.”

“Do you hate Naomi, then?” you fret. “How—how could you do that, Naoya? She’s your daughter, for fucks sake! A child! What could she have done to you to earn your hatred?! You—you even wanted her!”

“It’s not—It’s not against her—it never was. I couldn’t do anything to hurt—”

“Then what is it?! What is it that has you so—so angry at us!”

“Y/N—I—I don’t know—”

“Just tell me!” you cry. “Tell me!! Why is it always so hard for you to tell the truth?!”

“I never wanted to hurt Naomi! I could never!”

“Don’t lie to me—not after all the horrible things you’ve done to her! Do you really need us to be miserable just to be happy?! You have everything in the world! Why can’t you just let us go—"

“Because I never wanted you to leave!” He suddenly confesses, a shocking truth that hits you across the face, perhaps much sharper than the slape you gave him, leaving you silent all air leaves your lungs. “I never wanted that—that stupid divorce! Or for you to act like I wasn’t even important to you!”

“Naoya—what does that even—”

“You know damn well what I mean!” he hisses, burning tears beginning to pool in his eyes. “I—I could never hurt Naomi, I wouldn’t dream of it—but it was the only way to get you to look at me. The only way to see you again—or even—or even react to me!”

“Wha—what?”

“Ever since you… ever since we got divorced, is like I don’t exist to you anymore.” Naoya continues, lowering his gaze to the floor, the weight of his actions, as well as your hardened gaze, too much for him to take. “I call you, text you, even try looking for you at your house, but you’re nowhere to be found. Or even… interested in seeing me again.”

“And why would I want to do that?” you murmur, frowning. “With the way you treated me—the way you’re treating our daughter, why would you even think I want to do that?”

“Can you say with certainty, that you don’t feel anything for me anymore, then?” Your ex-husband adds. “That in your heart, there’s nothing—nothing left for me?”

“That’s… that’s not what matters.” You pause. “Not anymore.”

“So that’s it? That’s what you’re going with? You’re just going to abandon this marriage, like it didn’t mean anything?” Naoya takes a step closer to you, and while you move away from him, you don’t do the same at the second attempt, less when he placed his hand over your cheek, gently touching you the same way he’d done many, many years ago—when the two were, perhaps, still in love.

“It meant the world to me, Naoya.” You say, voice trembling, doing your best to not let the tears in your eyes slide down your cheeks—to no avail, caught by his gentle thumb. “There was nothing more than I wanted than to make this marriage work. But… it wasn’t meant to be, no matter how much I tried, or how many children we had—”

“We can still do it—we can still go back and make it better—right this time."

But deep inside you, you knew that wouldn’t be possible.

Because what you hoped Naomi would represent, the one last chance to save this marriage… simply became its doom, a tool for him to use against it as well—a declaration that truly, not even a blessing, like was meant to be for you and him, could do the now impossible task.

After all, if it didn’t happen during the marriage… what security did you have it would happen after? More so with the things he selfishly did to grab your attention?

It was unjust for Naomi. The one person you’ve long accepted to shift your whole existence for, and would willingly continue to do so, even if it meant letting go of what once made you happy.

Or wished that one day would.

Your work was carved out for you, you just… needed to stop being the delusional mother that wished for a happy, healthy marriage with the man you considered the love of your life…

And walk away from the father that is still unwilling to let go. the father from not letting go.

“I hope you enjoyed your weekend with Naomi.” You begin, moving away from his hand and getting a glimpse of his shocked, if not confused, eyes, which gave you the impression he knew what you were to say—

Or perhaps, the reluctance to accept this was to happen.

“Because it’ll be the last.”

Ex-husband was too merciful of a title to give him.

With at that happened, and all you needed to do…

No one was more fitting.

Oof, that was angsty :s well, it's safe to say Y/N and Naoya are not happening again.

I honestly always liked the idea that if Y/N and Naoya break up/divorce, they wouldn't date again. Sure, they'd try, specially with Naoya's family, but they would never move on. They can't—their fates were destined to be with one another, and if not possible, then that's it—no other person can come into their life.

Gee, how... dramatic of me lol. But, well, I like tragic stories :)

Anyways, I hope it was to your liking! Thank you so much for this angsty ask heheh. Take care, and hope to see you soon!! ❤️❤️

[sweaterweatherever]

Hiii, its my first time requesting for anyone. But you are so amazing, so i was thinking maybe a ajax x reader smut Where ajax maybe had a bad day and is not really feeling himself, so whilst he is doing something (maybe homework or sum), reader is under the table iykwim. Just vanilla-ish and not deepthroating? You dont have to but i would really appriciate it since nobody has done it<3

Personal statement (Ajax Petropolus x Reader)

Pairing: Ajax Petropolus x GN Reader

A/N: Remember how last thing I posted I went heavy with the world building? Yeah, this is not it. Been both on holiday and doing stuff for school, so posting will be limited.

Warnings: Cursing. Oral sex (Male receiving) Aged up characters.

Requested: Yes! Hope you like it and I don't traumatize you for life about requesting stuff. It's short, but only because of what it is.

Ajax was sitting on his desk chair, head in his hands. He had a look of total frustration on his face.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him, slipping inside his dorm. These days, you barely bothered with discretion, both of you being seniors already. It was nothing like when you first got together, still kids, worried about any of your classmates seeing and thinking you were having sex during your fumbling make out session. God, you missed those days, your troubles had been so trivial. From now on, it would only get worse, you knew.

“Personal statement, that’s what’s wrong.” He complained, handing you the printed application that he was editing. “I think I didn’t stick enough to the prompt, and I have to turn it in next week.” The page was filled with annotations and circles in red ink, Ajax handwriting cramping the document so much it was barely legible.

“Babe. Chill. Breathe.” You said, trying to make sense of the prompt. “Tell me what this is supposed to be about.”

“I have to describe, in like, a thousand words, why I would be a good fit for the college. Also, who I am.” Ajax groaned, slumping forward on the desk. You sat on the edge of the table, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. You rubbed a few circles there. “What if they think I’m not good enough?”

“What?” You were being confused because, first, this was Ajax you were talking about. The nicest boy on earth. Second, weren’t you just talking about who he was. “Babe, you are giving me whiplash with the logic jump there.”

“Just… Just, you know…” He peered up at you from beneath his lashes, looking so damn adorable, you wanted to kiss him silly. You abstained only because he was in desperate need of assurance.

“I don’t, actually.” And you really didn’t. You knew he had insecurities, who didn’t? But you didn’t think college applications would be the detonator. Everyone made shit up for theirs, it was a given.

“Look, Xavier has the whole artist thing going on. Wednesday has her novels and she plays the cello. You are you. Fuck, even Tyler can whip up something interesting about himself, with the whole being from a discriminated species even for outcasts.” He rubbed at his eyes, the tell-tale sign he was getting a headache from all the stress. “How do I compete with that?”

“You don’t.” You stated, firmly. Ajax looked at you, betrayal in his eyes. Underneath it, there was a hurt expression. Realizing you had been too blunt, you took his face in your hands and brushed at his cheek gently. “Our friends aren’t your competition. Xavier is going to a fancy art college. Wednesday is going to an Ivy League, and we all know it. Tyler is… Wherever he is applying. And we are both applying to the same college, yes, but different majors and on different first options too. You have to worry about the college being your dream college, and not whipping up some model application based on things that aren’t you.” You kissed the crease between his eyes, softly.

“Yeah, but wanting it badly won’t get me in… I’m not enough.”

“You are more than enough. The SAT scores you have are great. I read your essay for this college too, you bombed it. It more than makes out for any perceived defects you think this has.” You waved the statement in the air. “I love you. You are more than enough.”

“Yeah, but you are…” Ajax starts, and you really don’t want him to finish the sentence. An insecure Ajax is hard to talk down, but a stressed one gets… Too in his head. You hate to see him hurting. How could you help him get out of his head?

“Your partner?” You got off the desk, an idea suddenly striking you. “You think I'm biased?”

“Kinda.” Ajax grabbed at your hands, pulling you closer.

“But being yours doesn’t make me do anything I don’t want. And you know, I’m honest. Always. Brutally so.” And it was true, too. You were famous in your friend group for running your mouth and lacking a brain to mouth filter. It had been the way you and Ajax had gotten together, too. If it weren’t for your straightforwardness, the poor guy would have never noticed you liked him.

“Yeah, but…”

“Do I look obligated to you?” You asked, getting more on his face, until you were almost sitting in his lap.

“No, but you…” You pushed his chair away from the desk. “What are you doing?” Ajax eyed you, suspicious.

“I always do what I want.” You insisted. “And right now, I want to shut you up. If you consent, of course. Because consent is sexy.” You grimaced at your own words. No brain to mouth filter indeed. Way to make a blowjob sound unsexy.

“… I…” Ajax stared at you, confused puppy look on his face.

“A blowjob. That’s what I mean.” You parted his legs for him, and Ajax let you move him like a rag doll, completely limp on your grasp. He was too dumbfounded by your words to say anything. “Yes or no?” You tapped his leg, insistently. “I bet orgasms are good for stress, too.”

“Are you really trying to sweeten the deal when it includes a blowjob?” Ajax smiled a little, seemingly shaking off the daze he was in. You couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yes or no?” You squeezed at his knee.

“Yes.” Ajax pulled you in for a kiss, still muttering against your lips. “I’m an idiot, but not idiot enough to refuse a blowjob from my gorgeous partner.”

“Those SAT scores say the opposite.” You responded, dropping to your knees beneath his desk. There was something dirty about it, sucking your boyfriend off while he was sitting on his desk, doing important work. Maybe some day you could try that too, when he wasn’t as in his head as today.

“Grades don’t measure intelligence.” Ajax said, breath hitching slightly at having your face so close to his crotch.

“Yeah, that right there? Makes you fucking smart.” You caressed his thighs, slowly, trying to get him riled up. “Only smart people say shit like that.”

“Dirty mouth.” He cautioned.

“About to get dirtier, babe.” You popped the button of his pants. Ajax laughed. Instead of helping him get out of them, you ran your hands lightly against his stomach, nails scratching at his sides, until he was squirming. “Good?”

“Good.” Ajax leaned down, almost doubling over himself, to press a kiss to your forehead. Your hands went lower, slowly making your way to his hips, and the waistband of his boxers. It was going to get messy, you betted. Ajax always got a little brain-dead with blowjobs, reaction time pretty slow, and you weren’t about to ruin your clothes. So, you take your shirt off.

“I want you so badly.” You say, slowly palming him through his boxers. His eyes roam your body, but he seems content to let you do as you please. Ajax is slowly getting harder under your touch, breath hitching. “Should I jerk you off first, or just use my mouth?”

“Mouth, please.” Ajax covers his face with his arm, throwing his head back on the chair. He already looks wrecked and you have barely touched him. You love how embarrassed he gets, asking for what he wants. You hope one day you manage to fuck that out of him, but you enjoy him like this for now. His happy trail is very sparse, so you take advantage and lick your way down from it, thighs clenching at the way he squirms under you.

You pull him out and stroke him a couple of times, just to get him hard enough to suck him off. Ajax has a pretty cock, perfect size to make your jaw hurt just right. You kissed a path from his thighs to it, working out the courage to get started. Ajax’s thighs trembled under your hands, impatient.

“Come on, don’t tease.” He pleads, and you finally, finally, put your mouth on him, licking a stripe down the shaft. Safe sex is good, but it’s much harder to give a blowjob to someone wearing a condom, the slide isn’t that great and flavored lube is not a sacrifice you are willing to do today. Ajax keeps himself very neat down there, and he showers frequently, so it’s not that much of a hardship.

His erection is getting harder, tip flushed a pretty pink. A tiny bead of pre-cum is starting to form there, so you lick at it, grimacing a little at the salty taste. You haven’t done this in a while, and you had forgotten how he tastes. Even salty, it beats the flavored lube. It’s Ajax. That already makes it way better.

“Want me to get a condom?” Ajax asks, brushing your hair out of your face. It seems like he has been watching you the whole time. He’s got good blowjob etiquette, you have taught him well. He never pulls at your hair or head. Ajax is all gentle touches and soft skin, the only times he pulls your hair is when you ask him too.

“Nope. Just, saltier than I remembered.” You wrap your lips around the tip, being careful to not drag your teeth too much. You aid yourself with your tongue, drawing nonsensical patterns on the underside of his cock. Ajax moans, and you sneak a quick glance at him to find him with his eyes closed, head thrown back. You hollow your cheeks, making his hips nearly buck up. And nearly because he is too sweet to thrust into your mouth.

“Fuck… Fuck, like that.” Ajax says, looking down at you. Your eyes meet, and you snicker at his fucked out look. His hand comes to brush at your cheek affectionately. You take more of him in your mouth, licking at the head at the same time. Just before you start gagging, you warp your hand around what you can’t fit on your mouth.

“Love you.” Ajax brushes your hair out of your hair again, tucking it behind your ears. You start to bob your head up and down, aiding yourself with your hand. You squeeze at the underside of his cock, and supporting yourself on his thigh, you let your hand go to his balls. Ajax will strongly deny it later, but at that, he gives a small scream, back arching and cock nearly choking you. You remove your hand immediately, pushing at his hips with a frown. Only when he sits back down, you keep going.

“Shit, sorry.” He says, but he doesn’t sound very coherent. You repeat the motion, curious about what other curse words you can pull from him. “Too good.”

You scratch lightly at his thighs, a wave of hot, urgent arousal on your stomach. You want him to fall apart under you, badly. Your jaw aches, but you don’t pay it attention, choosing instead to go faster, with both your hand and mouth. You open your legs more, so you don’t need to hold on his thigh so as not to fall forward and fondle his balls again, lightly scratching with your nails. Ajax gets impossibly harder, and you know he is close.

“Close.” He says, tapping your shoulder. You give him a look that screams, no shit Sherlock, and keep at it, staring him directly in the eyes and jerking him faster with your hand, mouth tightening as much as you can. He looks at you, and Ajax fucking whimpers. Seeing you on your knees, shirtless, and staring up at him like you want to ruin him, makes it for him. His hips jerk and he comes on your mouth with a moan, face scrunching prettily. You pull away at the last second, letting it drip down your chin and neck. Ajax moans again and pulls you to your feet.

“Let me return the favor?” He asks, as he kisses you, uncaring of the mess between the two of you. It sticks to his skin, his shirt.

“Sure. As long as you don’t look at that statement until tomorrow.”

“What statement?” Ajax asks, kissing you again. You laugh against his mouth as he starts tugging you towards the bed.

[heyhihellosworld]

𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝'𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐈𝐈

Mason Mount x reader + Kepa Arrizabalaga x reader

Word count: 4.5k

Summary: Maybe Kepa isn't the one and maybe feelings can surface, even after fifteen years of friendship

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut?

Notes: This is a whole mess because I started with so many ideas and landed with cero lol

Grateful for all of you who see and read this! x

When did things become so complicated?

You couldn't say but you knew the exact minute things had changed for the worse, the evening not leaving your thoughts.

The game had just begun again after halftime but it wasn't that interesting, or maybe it was you just couldn't focus with the storm that was raging in your mind. It felt like the storm had been going on for the last month, never calming down and never stopping. It didn't feel like it ever would.

Kepa was between the poles, the only reason you were there watching from the first place. He had done a good game so far and you were proud of him, you really were.

Mason wasn't playing, according to Chelsea he was out with some injury. Not that you would know from him anyway as he hadn't spoken to you since that evening. He had vanished and if you hadn't followed all his teammates and Chelsea on social medias you wouldn't know if he was alive or not. Not that they were providing you with much either way.

Maybe Kepa would tell you if he died but Mason wasn't exactly a topic you spoke about regularly. In all honesty you didn't speak much at all anymore.

You sighed as you felt yourself going into over-thinking mode.

"You-uh what?" you stuttered out, feeling yourself sit down on the floor at the revelation. It was not what you had expected, not at all and it took you with shock.

Mason looked at you intently, watching your every move but he didn't expect you to do or say anything. He just needed to say those words, utter what had been weighing him down for years because it had been too much lately.

He didn't expect you to jump up and say you loved him more than a friend nor did he expect you to kiss him he just needed to let it go once and for all.

You looked up at him with widened eyes making him move his gaze away from you and to the floor.

"Mason" you breathed, feeling a thousand thoughts spinning around your head. "Mason wh-what?"

Mason shook his head, he knew how it was, now he had uttered his thoughts and feelings and now he needed a break. A break to think and stop his feelings from drowning him whole. And that meant a break from you.

"You heard me, I like you. Now it's said so let's forget it and move on"

You had never thought about Mason in any other way than what he was. Mason was Mason, you had never thought about it more than that. He was your childhood friend, your best friend, your comfort and your safety, simply Mason. To label your relationship had never felt necesary which now put you in a hard situation.

You forced yourself to look at the game as the opponents went on pressing again, setting Kepa in action in the Chelsea goal.

Kepa was nice, sweet and hot. There was nothing wrong with him or your relationship, not at all. You loved cuddling with him after his late games, loved eating in the sofa, talking long into the night and the sex was awesome

But

Something had been off. Not with you and not with him but with it all. No matter how many times you had sex or made out he still didn't feel like your boyfriend. He hadn't technically been but he felt more like a friend than anything else. You didn't get butterflies from him like you felt like you should get, he was nice hanging out with and nice to fuck but that was it your feelings didn't go deeper than that.

The last two, three weeks had been a bit different too. Kepa had been off a lot since he had been traveling to Germany and had matches every three days but you felt like it was probably a good thing. Stuff had been rough and it had made you realize that you didn't like the basque in a romantic way.

It had ended quietly and peacefully one late evening at his place after a game at the bridge. Both of you confessing it wasn't working out in a romantic way and that had been it.

You weren't exactly sad it had ended because you had barely dated him but it did leave you even lonelier and even though you had both agreed on staying friends it wasn't like he was with you all the time.

You still couldn't really wrap your head around it, how would you handle this all if Mason some day decided he wanted to be your friend again. How did you act around someone who you knew liked you? Would he ever want to be your friend again or was that too hard now?

You breathed the thoughts away, you didn't even know how Mason was thinking so no need to stress one step ahead.

It felt almost like a bad joke thinking about these past few weeks. Only some weeks away you were over the moon over Kepa at your and Mason's regular movie-night, you had laughed eaten and cuddled up on the couch like always and now. Now you had broken things with Kepa and Mason, but the latter more involuntarily.

You wanted to scream at yourself for the negative thoughts spinning around you head, the thoughts never ending and it made you go crazy.

The game had ended, what a well spent hour and a half, not even looking at the game but being too wrapped in your own head. You cursed yourself as you looked at the scores, 2-1. Chelsea had done one goal but you hadn't paid attention enough to see who had done what.

You sighed, running your fingers through your hair in a stressed manner as the arena started to move. The fans starting to exit whilst the player greeted each other and thanked the fans who had came to watch.

Your heart almost fluttered out of your chest as you saw a familiar head of hair walking onto the pitch. Applauding the fans and shaking hands with some of the opponents. Your eyes followed him like he was a fridge and you had magnets for eyes.

He hadn't played but apparently been sat on the bench. He smiled softly as he went around in the arena, his eyes moving over the stands.

His eyes suddenly met yours, probably feeling stared out which he was. His lips pulled up in a small smile as he watched you before walking out the tunnel and to the changing rooms.

You felt like crying as his hair dissapeared, your heart wanting to run down to catch him before he left but your mind stopped you, knowing it wouldn't be the smart thing to do.

You stood at Kepa's car, waiting for him to emerge from the changing room as you had promised to hang out with him and a couple of his friends after the game. You would usually wait outside of the changing room but since Mason would be there and he had made it pretty obvious that he didn't want to see you right now, that he needed a break you wanted to respect that.

Stood outside you regretted your choice bitterly, it was fucking freezing outside and you were freezing your ass off as you stood there and waited for the basque who took forever.

"If you're styling your hair in there i'm gonna fuck you up" you muttered into the darkness, picturing the Spaniard standing there with his stupid brush, not knowing you stood here dying.

"What did you say?"

You thought you had a heart-attack for a second, yelping out as the dark shadow approached you, squinting to be able to see in the darkness

You took a deep breath "Fucks sake! What the hell" you scolded, hearing the guy chuckle as he came into eyesight.

You felt yourself choke as you saw Mason looking down at you, your bain racking for something to say.

"Uh-a-I-"

He shook his head with a lopsided smile, stopping on a appropriate distance from you.

"Hey" he smiled, your smile mirroring his as you returned the greeting.

"I didn't know you were in the squad tonight" you admitted, watching him shake his head "Don't dwell on it, you should't have to avoid places you love because of me"

You shook your head promptly, "No I don't need to but I want to respect you and your feelings"

His soft eyes smiled down at you, his hands in his pockets as he rolled on his heels.

"Is that why you are standing here in the cold?"

You nodded, pursing your lips as a shiver ran through you from the cold.

"Come on, let's wait in my car" Mason offered, nodding at his car only a few meters away and you more than gladly jumped into the familiar vehicle.

He quickly started the car and turned on every heat button possible as you shook, trying to get yourself warm

"You're really stupid you know?" Your eyebrows raised in mocked hurt "excuse me?" "Standing outside in this weather isn't exactly smart" he grinned, your heart constricting at his beautiful smile.

Mason felt at peace talking to you again. Seeing you on the stands didn't make his heart tug, it made him smile. He had missed you terribly, not being used to not hear and be with you everyday.

"Yeah yeah, slander me for trying to be nice" you huffed, loving the smile you pulled from him yet again.

"What are you even doing here?"

"Waiting for Kepa" you shrugged, immediately noticing the change in the atmosphere as you mentioned his teammates name.

"Right, I forgot" he muttered through clenched teeth, making it clear he had never been as okay with you dating his teammate as he had made out to you in the beginning.

"Mason-" you begun but he shook his head harshly "No no, it's fine"

You sighed, tempted to roll your eyes at the stubborn man beside you but you restrained yourself from it "Me and Kepa, we are not together anymore, well we were never officially together, has Kepa not told you?"

Mason blinked at you, swallowing hard, almost looking embarrassed as he fiddled with his chain "to be honest i may have avoided Kepa lately" he confessed, your eyes not being able to stop from rolling this time. "Why-why are you not?"

You shrugged, meeting his startled gaze. "We gave it a try but neither of us felt romantic feelings towards each other so we decided to just stay friends instead"

Mason nodded in understanding, not being able to hide the relief that washed over his body, his eyes swimming over and shoulders relaxing. "I'm sorry" he forced out

You scoffed before chuckling at him, resting your head against the neck of the seat. "Sure you are Mase"

Mason didn't answer but his grin told you everything you needed to know.

A soft silence settled in the car as he fiddled with the heat buttons before he broke it, his voice soft as he spoke

"Ben is having a get-together on Wednesday, do you want to come?"

Your eyes met his face, his eyes staring down on his hands, hair messy over his eyes. He really needed a haircut soon, his stubble had also grown noticeable since the last night you'd seen him

You nodded, humming softly "Yeah sure, as long as this come from you"

He nodded, meeting your eyes with tenderness "maybe it could be the re-start?" You smiled, feeling like you would explode with happiness "I will be there" you nodded, looking as his face lit up before turning to look out the window, he looked utterly gorgeous in the late light.

"Kepa is here" Mason announced snapping you out of your thoughts, "Text me the details?" you asked as you climber at the car "sure"

"Oh and y/n?"

You turned back to look at him again, a questioning expression on your face "yes?"

"Nice shirt"

You laughed, turning your back to him to show it properly, it was your Mason shirt you had gotten last season with the new design. "I know right"

The grin he gave you in return was etched in your mind for the rest of the evening.

You felt almost nervous as you stood outside of Ben's gigantic house. You pursed your lips before opening the door. Last time you had been here everything had changed but now it didn't feel like it could be any worse than that time.

The night was very similar last time you'd been at Ben's, the boys playing fifa and joking around. The only difference was that this time you weren't hooked on Kepa. You were more a part of the group and specifically you hung out a lot more with Mason.

Mason, sweet Mason sat beside you, murmuring in your ear all the gossip and fun stuff you'd missed out on. He had missed you just as much as you'd missed him and he was giving his all to catch up, make you feel like old times again.

He would never loose feelings for you but he had time to think and now it didn't feel like he wanted to die every time he saw you. It stung, but he didn't wanna die and that was enough because he loved you too much to let you go. Even if all he could ever be was your friend he would take it.

"Did you know Ben hooked up with that girl last week?" Mason hummed, eyes glistening as he gossiped about his friends.

"Hey, stop telling on me" Ben whined from the other side of the couch, giving Mason a bad glare "You did?! Wow this is huge news Ben, finally getting laid huh?"

Ben's eyes rolled "You know what, I haven't missed you at all actually"

"Hey, that's mean Benji" you pouted, trying to keep a straight face at his unimpressed expression but you failed miserably.

Mason was a sweetheart all evening, making sure you had nice company, made sure you got the food you wanted, got you drinks and drove you home when the time had come. It felt like nothing had happened and you knew it took a lot of him but the fact that he did it meant the world to you.

"Thank you Mase, it was really sweet of you" you smiled softly at him, locking eyes with him as he parked outside of your flat. "Don't worry" he smiled, bidding goodbye as you hurried up the stair, your heart fluttering as you catched his smile as you waved him goodbye.

His eyes sparkled as he waved up the stands, he looked genuinely happy and it warmed up your heart, making you feel happy for him. Finally things started to look clearer again, Mason's career looked bright, he got to play regularly and he seemed to be enjoying it for real. The smile never leaving his lips as he went around thanking the fans at Stamford bridge who had cheered them on their first win in what felt like forever.

You caught yourself smiling like an idiot as he waved up at you, your heart stuttering as he looked at you.

The last couple of weeks had been amazing. Mason had kept on his words to restart what had been a little fallout and it felt like nothing had happened. The more days that went the more you liked the British joker. He spent more and more time with you and soon it was regular again, it felt natural and normal, the old habits coming back. Your feelings grew and grew but it felt like they never stopped growing, growing stronger everytime you laid your eyes on him, your heart fluttering and a smile forming on your face. It went beyond frienship and that scared the shit out of you.

-

He looked at you as you fixed with the tv, changing to Netflix and getting cozy on the sofa. When you met his gaze he smiled at you, his lips tugging upwards in an warm loving smile. "What?" you giggled, watching him shake his head and raise his hands "no nothing"

You giggled as he plopped down next to you, his arms immediately wrapping around you and keeping you close, your head resting on his chest.

You tilted your head up to him as you felt him watching you again, his soft eyes almost catching you off guard. It felt like you were drowning in his eyes, swimming in the emotions he displayed so openly.

It felt like magnets were pulling you closer until his nose bumped yours but then insecurities took over him. His eyes looked hesitant, scared to move forward. You smiled softly at him, your hand landing in the nape of his neck, gently pushing him down in a soft sweet kiss.

His lips moved slowly, softly and almost carefully against yours, savoring the moment as you let yourself go, melting into him. One kiss turned to two, three and soon the tv was long forgotten as he kissed you more intensely, no longer scared to cross a line as you made it pretty obvious what you wanted.

When you didn't have any air left in your lungs you pulled away, resting your forehead against his, thumb stroking his cheek affectionately as he gazed into your eyes.

He looked conflicted, like he didn't know what to feel or say. "Tell me what you're thinking" you begged. "I'm thinking I don't know what just happen, I-I thought you didn't like me more than a friend"

"I didn't"you answered, seeing him wavering "But I don't know, these last couple of weeks I have gotten other feelings, strong feelings. Like when I look at you I get butterflies, when we kissed right now it felt like I was gonna explode" you tried to explain, his face-expression impossible to read.

"So, you have feelings for me? More than a friend?"

You nodded slowly, looking at him apprehensively, "I don't know how you feel but I-"

He cut you off with his lips on yours you immediately answering it, tongues intertwining, hands grabbing at each-other both on the line to desperate but it didn't matter anymore.

"Hii Ben" you smiled, hugging him as he led you into the living room. Mason was right behind you, his hand on the small of your back as he walked behind you, listening to what Ben was telling you about as you stepped into the living room, greeting the others.

You felt Masons hand grip your waist tightly as you hugged Kepa, smiling as you turned back to your boyfriend, kissing his cheek with a teasing grin.

Mason guided you to the sofas where the rest of the guys were sitting. Kai had his girlfriend Sophia next to him but other than that it was only the boys, all you'd met before.

It was easy to be with them, all kind, funny and welcoming. Nothing felt awkvard or stiff. You did feel a bit awkvard though sitting next to Mason, because you didn't know how you should act with him in front of his friends. It had been almost two months now since you'd kissed for the first time and after that everything had just moved on, smoothly and quickly.

You'd decided to give it a go which was both terrifying and amazing. It scared you to not know what would happen if Mason suddenly stopped feeling for you, what if he had thought about it so much he had became hung up on it but when you made it to reality it wasn't that fun?

You worried and Mason knew that but he also knew that his feelings wouldn't stop. He wasn't hung up or obsessed with the thoughts but he truly loved you and that wouldn't change overnight. It was a scary step to get over but he had never been happier.

The discussion about you as a couple hadn't been long, you had just went with it, tried it and felt it out without too much discussion and questions. That had worked really well but that meant that you hadn't discussed about publicity. Did he want to be open in front of his friends or act like you were just friends? Did he want to sneak around or go about?

Mason's hand on your thigh snapped you out of your thinking, you quickly flashing a smile at his frown. "Are you okay?"

The words were low in your ear, his closeness making you shiver as you nodded "I'm fine" you smiled as convincing as you could.

He nodded, giving you a small glint between narrow eyes which made you laugh. His arm came behind you, pulling you closer to him which pulled a smile to your face.

Something you loved about Mason and always had done was his ability to read situations and people. He knew what you needed or what the situation needed without a single word.

He declined playing the first round of FIFA for the night and instead opted to sit and talk with you, Kai and Sophia who had also turned down the offer. Mason seemed to have no problem at all behaving around his friends but you still felt stiff. You overthought every move you did and every word you said.

Soon it felt unberable, like it was to stiff and awkvard but you couldn't make sense of how you should behave. When the boys went out to the kitchen to fetch some more drinks Mason took the opportuinty to ask you again, demanding the real answer.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he hummed, his eyes staring into you making it feel like he was looking through you. "Yeah I'm sure" you tried but you already knew you wouldn't be able to crawl out of this one without telling him the truth.

"Y/n" he repeated, tearing a groan out of you to which he chuckled. "Fine, I feel awkvard as hell, okay?"

"No not okay, why? I thought you liked them? Do you want to leave?" Your head shook, smiling at his concerned face "I do like them it's not them that make me awkvard it's us"

"Us?" he asked in confsuion, a small tension growing in his chest

"Not us us but... ugh" you groaned "I don't know how to act around your friends" you finally admitted, making his worry melt away and a small smile making it's way on his face instead.

He looked at you, prompting you to elabrotate your thoughts.

"Well I dont know, I mean we agreed to try this but we never talked about others. I don't know how to act around the others because I don't know what you want"

"I still don't get it" Mason admitted making you groan out a chuckle at your bad explaining skills.

"I don't know if you want us to act like friends, if you want us to behave like a couple or what you want and it makes me stiff as fuck"

Mason's smile made you frown, not liking the way he found your misery amusing. "Don't worry so much" he tried but you scoffed "I suck at being social, you know that"

Masons laughter echoed in the room, lightning you up "Don't hang yourself up on it, you don't have to hide anything because we are trying a relationship and we are both serious about it so why would you even think to hide it"

"I don't know, we haven't talked about it" you muttered, looking down in your lap. "I know we haven't but we are both serious about this, right?" "Of course"

"Then there is nothing to hide" he smile, his fingers tilting your ching up so you looked him in the eyes. His lips met yours softly, catching you off guard at first but soon you melted into him. Kissing him back with a small smile on your lips, feeling the worries melt away.

"Okay okay" Ben gagged out as they walked into the room again "enough"

All of them were grinning at you, wiggling their eyebrows and making your face flush. Head turning away from them to contain your embarassement

"Aww did you get shy now?" Ben mocked you, teasingly smiling at you, giving you the impression he already knew about this.

"Stop being an ass Ben" Mason scolded his friend but he still smiled, finding amusement in your flushed face. "Let her be" Sophia scolded, flicking Ben away

"When did this happen?" Reece smiled politely, breaking the teasing "Uh, two months ago?" Mason hummed, giving you a small squeeze as you gained your cool back.

"Are you together?"

"Is that the hottest you kissed?"

"Have you fucked?"

Your eyes widened at Ben's question, spread laughter filling the air as you hid your face again, not being able to take this awkvardness

"Ben fuck off!" Mason chuckled, hugging you into him "It's so fun to make her that flustered" he argued, your eyes glaring at him.

"Not to be rude or anything but wasn't you just with Kepa?" Christian asked, your eyes fleeting away again as Mason gave him a stern look but luckily Kepa answered for you

"Nah man it was nothing serious and we ended it a couple of months ago"

Your eyes sent him a thankful look which he only smiled at, making sure you knew it was fine. You had told him about Mason after you'd kissed him for the first time, feeling you owed it to him after everything and he had only been happy for you, telling you about a girl he had met in Spain when visiting the last month making it easy to maintain friends.

No more questions was asked and the boys went back to chatting, laughing, drinking and eating as someone had ordered take-away.

"See, it's all fine" Mason smiled, your eyes slimming "Except for Christian thinking I go through the group" you hummed, his eyes turning soft "He didn't mean it like hat and even if, it dosen't matter, does it? Me and you both know that it isn't like that"

You smiled, nodding at him "Thank you Mase"

His smile mirrored yours, lips coming to meet yours again in a sweet kiss, going in for another Ben interrupted again "Come on guys, no no no"

"Just don't look you sensitive ass" Mason joked, pecking your lips once more before pulling you into him, thumb gently stroking your hip as you smiled contently at him.

_____________________

@xjval @sessgjarg

[manyminded]

I can’t stop thinking about shadow milk x physically disabled!reader. is this just because I, myself, am disabled? yes. but still. (Warning the writing below will be very wired to my experiences and mine only!! Sorry to my fellow disabled shadow milk lovers!!!)

~~~

just…imagine.

there’s an ache in your gut. a pain, deep in your psyche - something is fundamentally wrong with your body. you want to cry. you’ve run out of tears. every breath leaves you heaving, every step sending a shooting hurt through you. it feels like you’re just constantly sick or ill, having to take on the world with what is essential the flu 24/7.

shadow milk doesn’t understand, at first. survival of the fittest ruled in his time. why are you so tired? in so much pain? you haven’t done anything crazy.

it’s hard to explain. “it’s just how my body is,” you say, “the doctors never figured it out. I accepted it a long time ago.”

but there’s something about being there. about seeing the effects with your own…two? eyes, and the understanding that comes by being forced to help.

it’s…difficult. worse for you, certainly, but that doesn’t erase the learning curve. after spending thousands of years stuck in a cycle of torment and being the tormenter, it’s hard to heal.

but he manages. he’ll jump out of the shadows, letting you lean on him. he’ll even cary you, if you can’t keep walking. it’s almost become second nature to take you home in an emergency. (plus, scary dog privileges. doctors are much more willing to listen when you have an ancient beast with you.) he’s there when your symptoms get worse, both in public and in private. he’ll get anyone off your back if they’re harassing you for having symptoms.

it doesn’t get easier, more like it just becomes routine. maybe it’s nice to have someone around. it’s a healing of self through the other - finally being listened to, on your end, and on shadow’s, he gets to use his powers for something other than destruction. reddened hands come away clean, for the first time in an eternity.

doesn’t mean it’s perfect, far from it. easy to slip into old habits. days are hard. the journey ahead is rough, awful, gravely and painful.

but you will make it.

I believe in you.