#and then have the gall to be mad when they leave. like what did you think

[hallasimss]

not me leaving autonomy on by mistake ruining one of my carefully crafted relationships..... this is a f*cking joke atp

[kayjaywrites]

Like Bugs in a Rug: Chapter One

Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.

Chapter Word Count: 6,350 Chapter Music Inspo: End of It - Friday Pilots Club

Chapter Content Warnings: fluff, some cursing, one bed trope, awkward but wholesome communication, AFAB Reader, Reader (You), some details about Reader's appearance but overall vague, canon plot spoilers as this is canon compliant-ish, reader low key being thirsty for Azzie

Note: Hello! Welcome to my first fic in like 10 years! This idea came about when I was having a hard time falling back asleep. I sometimes draft fanfiction when i'm trying to sleep. I don't often remember the plots come morning, but the memory of this one remained intact enough for me to jot down. I’m thinking this update is gonna be the longest chapter because it's both prologue and the first chapter, but I have terrible self control with word count limits. So I guess we’ll see what the next chapters bring, but they may be shorter!

Enjoy me 2am fugue state musings, there are likely typos~

XxXx

Prologue

It was all worth it. The decades of patience and silent suffering. The centuries of loneliness paying off just as you lost hope of ever leaving The Court of Nightmares. You and your father, Kier, expected a typical visit from the Inner Circle. The High Lord would threaten your father to keep him in line, you’d go unnoticed in the back of the throne room monitoring the interaction. Just like every other time they visited.

Except, the High Lord and his Inner Circle asked about you like you were the reason behind their visit. You had clocked the visit as odd as soon as only Rhysand, Feyre, and Mor arrived. The absence of both The General & Shadowsinger at the same time a rarity. Despite being related to Rhysand and Mor, you didn’t think they knew your name, so when they asked Kier about you, by name, your heart damn near fell out of your ass.

They wanted you to leave Hewn City to work with them. A Courtier of the Night Court, working alongside Nesta, Lady Death herself, of all people. They wanted you to start immediately now that the war with Hybern was over. Relations between Courts were strained, and upon learning of your talent, the High Lord deemed it a waste for you to be hidden away down here. He and the Inner Circle believed you did not belong in The Court of Nightmares. To anyone else, having the High Lord speak so highly of your child would have been an honor.

It was the most furious you’d ever seen Kier. Which was saying something. His emotions grew volatile in a blink of an eye, outraged by the absolute gall of the High Lord. How dare he come to his city and tell him that you weren’t meeting your full potential down here? At some point Kier stood up, snarling at Rhysand and the others like a wild animal. Kier, so lost in his anger, let his mental shields falter. Just for a second, but it was more than enough time for your powers to draw his wayward thoughts to you, like a magnet, his unspoken intentions seeped into your own mind. You were always terrible at blocking him out when he got like that.

Power. Kier's thoughts whispered to you. A spy for him in the Inner Circle.

It disgusted you how predictable your father was, his intentions were always about how he could best use you for his own gain. It was the driving force behind your excessive training habits, desperate to protect yourself from the toxicity of his intentions. The more you failed at keeping him out, the more you hated him, and by default hated yourself.

Rhysand was right, you were wasted down here, and it wasn’t that your father didn’t see that, he didn’t care. He wasn’t furious with the High Lord for taking another daughter away from him, he was mad about losing a tool.

Well, your father could rot down here alone for all you cared.

You felt a lot of things in that moment. Intimidated by the prospect of working with Nesta, unsure of Mor’s morals and the rumors surrounding her, apprehensive of Rhysand and Feyre’s power, and not to mention all the unknown dynamics between the rest of the Inner Circle. But, despite all that uncertainty, you did not feel nervous about leaving Hewn City with them.

The first task Kier ever appointed you was to report on Rhysand and his Inner Circle’s intentions every time they visited. Either they all had flawless control over their mental shields, or their icy behavior was an act from the beginning. You never dared to share your suspicions with Kier, your father only wanted ammo for his hate, and he never took kindly to evidence that didn’t support his biases against High Lord Rhysand.

It felt a little too much like blind faith and a hunch for you to be 100% comfortable with the decision, but you decided to put your trust in these strangers anyway.

You would take the job.

Not to be a spy for Kier.

Not out of some duty to your High Lord or older sister.

It was time to live your life for you. Consequences be damned.

But, the focus of this story was not about moving to Velaris with Mor and getting to know the Inner Circle. It wasn’t about how much you rock as a diplomat for the Night Court. It wasn’t about how good it felt the first time sunlight touched your skin upon leaving the underground city. It wasn’t even about how you and Nesta became best friends. However good those stories may be.

However, this story is about Azriel Shadowsinger, and how the mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, fell head over heels for you without you ever picking up on it. Yeah, that’s right, the girl who struggled to control her talent for hearing unspoken intentions never puzzled the pieces together. For literal years everyone else in the godforsaken room could tell the Spymaster was in love with you, except for you.

...one year and a couple months later....

It all started with an argument with Rhysand a few assignments into your career as the Night Court Courtier. You felt like you could handle traveling between Courts without needing an escort, especially if you’d be meeting up with Nesta at the destination anyway. Rhysand did not agree, basically threatening to ground you if you didn’t allow someone to accompany you.

That was how Azriel had become your full-time travel partner. Rhysand appointed Azriel as an additional escort in case Nesta was pulled away.

You’d take this to your grave before ever admitting it, but Rhysand wasn’t wrong to be worried. There had been a good number of times where just that had happened. Nesta would be working the other side of the room, and having Azriel lingering nearby eased your nerves. Prythian was a vast Realm, and Rhys had been right in worrying about your adjustment.

It didn’t take too long for you to adapt once you had visited all the different Courts a few times. Yet, Azriel continued to go out of his way to accompany you to events. The first obvious sign of his affections for you came a little over a year into your career.

The event was in a small Day Court town on the border of the Night Court, just under a day’s travel from Velaris on foot. Home to one of the libraries hit hardest by Amarantha’s looting, the entire town was celebrating the return of a sizable chunk of the stolen volumes. The gala was advertised to be a quaint dinner and cocktail hour. You suspected that scholars and book enthusiasts would be the bulk of those present. Although interested in going, Rhysand had High Lord duties to attend to that involved Nesta and the other Archeron sisters in the Summer Court. With a promise to fill everyone in on anything of interest, you packed a small overnight bag and waited for Mor to arrive home. You never developed the ability to winnow, so you needed someone to bring you.

Fussing with your hair in one of the numerous mirrors decorating Mor’s walls, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. Your time in Velaris, just over two years, had already begun to sooth a deep sadness you hadn’t realized had settled under your skin. It was obvious in the gentle way you gazed at your reflection, the healthy flush of your cheeks, and the warmth of your thoughts. Velaris looked good on you, and as you smoothed a hand down the shimmery sapphire blue fabric of the dress that clung to your curves, you thought the new formalwear looked good on you too.

Giddiness bubbled up in you at the idea of modeling the new dress for Mor. The excitement felt foreign still, after spending centuries believing Mor didn’t care to know her own little sister. You never thought you’d ever get the chance to gush over dresses with her. Kier hated everything Mor represented, and was cruel to her in ways that made you feel lucky in a perverse way. Your father may have manipulated and alienated you, filling your head with lies about your older sister, but it was never public. Kier made sure everyone in the Court of Nightmares knew that Mor was a useless whore and a traitor.

When Mor became a core member of the Inner Circle, and Rhysand put her in charge of Hewn City, you would wait for her to acknowledge you during her visits. Decades turned into a century, but the same hope would always rise up when Mor was due for a visit, only to be crushed when she ignored you. She never paid you a second of her time, just a fleeting look in passing as if you were another spectator. Knowing that she wasn’t ignoring you out of ill intent stung more, because you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her.

Kier may be your father, but that didn’t mean you had to be a fan of his intentions. You never believe the rumors he spread about Mor.

And then, the big reveal came. It turned out that to Mor, you were just another spectator. Mor didn’t know she had a younger sister at all. Keir hid you so well that no one realized you were related to him. A detail that made you feel so small when it came to light. You were just the shy woman in the background, taught to be pleasant when spoken to, a pretty little wallflower the rest of the time.

Later, when you asked about who first realized your identity, you got mixed accounts from the Inner Circle. Rhysand insisted that it was he who put the pieces together first. Stating that it came to him suddenly after Azriel submitted a report from a surveillance mission detailing an overheard conversation between you and Kier about your talents. Rhysand claimed that your powers reminded him of a variation of Mor’s. The rest of the Inner Circle credited Feyre for noting the resemblance between you, Kier, and The Morrigan the first time she noticed you loitering at the back of a council meeting.

When the truth was confirmed, and you agreed to go with them, Mor wept. She vowed to never leave you alone in The Court of Nightmares ever again, even for a second. That promise was your first experience with making a deal in the Night Court. Your clear surprise at the intricate tattoo that branded itself over the center of your sternum clued Mor, Rhysand, and Feyre in on how out of touch you were with common lore from your own Court. Mor wasted no time in winnowing you out of there after that. The both of you had heard enough of Keir’s nasty sneers and low-blow comments to last a lifetime.

Now, Mor’s cozy little home was also your cozy little home, if not a bit tight for two people. If someone asked you a decade ago if you thought you’d ever have a relationship with Mor you would advise them to seek out a healer.

And yet there you were, vibrating with things to tell her, anticipating her arrival with an almost goofy grin when…Azriel of all people winnowed into the living room.

Perplexed, but not totally disappointed, “Oh!” you said, clearly taken aback. “I was expecting Mor.”

Azriel huffed a low chuckle, dimples bracketing his amused half-smile. “Sorry to disappoint.”

You looked him over, dark circles under his eyes, droopy eyelids, posture leaning forward in a slight slouch. “Az, didn’t you just return from a long mission? Why aren’t you resting?”

“Wanted to escort you to the Day Court Library Gala, of course.”

The tenderness in his voice had warmth bubbling up from your chest. “That is very kind,” you started, making sure to meet his gaze so he knew you meant it, “but you look so tired, Az. I’ve visited the Day Court a bunch of times now and only need someone to winnow me there. As much as I enjoy having you accompany me to these things, I don’t want you to stretch yourself thin on my account. I’ve got this.”

“I know you’ve got this,” came his immediate reply, “as you’ve pointed out I’ve been gone for a few weeks. What if I offered to escort you because I missed you, hm?”

Despite yourself you felt a flush of heat in your cheeks at his teasing. You refused to use your powers on anyone in the inner circle, unwilling to violate their privacy without explicit consent. But you didn’t need your powers to read Azriel’s sincerity. It made it hard to meet his gaze, you turned back to running your fingers through your hair in the mirror, taking a moment to compose yourself. “Well alright then, I don’t think I can do anything more to tame my hair, we should be off then.”

You felt Azriel at your back, a gloved hand coming up to gently grasp your elbow, guiding your arm down as his hand trailed down the bare skin of your forearm to hold yours, turning you to face him. “Stop fussing, you look stunning, this dress is new, right? I think the color suits you.”

You smiled. “Thank you, I suppose you would like this color, now that I’m thinking about it,” with your free hand you held up the skirt of the floor length dress to the siphon on his wrist, marveling at the color match, “it looks like I did it on purpose.”

He hummed in acknowledgement as he pulled you closer into an almost embrace. “We should go now. Wouldn’t want to miss the opening speeches.”

You suppressed a shudder. Definitely from the way his breath tickled your ear, and not from the way his voice sounded as he tucked you into his chest. “You hate opening speeches.” You pointed out, remembering all the times he complained about how boring they were.

“I do, but you like them.” You’d never said as much aloud, but you did enjoy listening to people talk about things they were passionate about, and opening speeches tended to be just that. Of course the Spymaster had noticed.

If Azriel saw your smile before you hid your face against his leather-clad pec he didn’t let on. You pulled your hands free and looped your arms around his middle, clasping your fingers together under the base of his wings.

“I’m ready then, thank you for coming with me.” Your voice was muffled, unwilling to tilt your head up to talk to him in case your maddening blush was there. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you winnowed with Az, your whole face would go cherry red. Something Cassian never failed to poke fun at whenever he witnessed it.

Azriel wrapped his arms tightly around you, your body now flush to his. You focused on the sound of his wings rustling as he tucked them in closer. Anything to distract from the way your pulse spiked when you felt his lips brush against the crown of your head, his hold on you gentle, yet firm and protective as darkness folded around the both of you.

XxXx

Neither you nor Azriel realized the issue with your room reservation until much too late. Upon arrival in The Day Court the both of you hurried to the event. The gala wrapped up around midnight, and like most of the other guests staying in town, you and Azriel retired back to the nearby Inn. With your strappy heels in hand and a pleasant buzz from the alcohol, you felt positively bubbly. Paused in front of your room, you let Azriel rummage through the small black purse at your side for the key. After almost leading them into the wrong room, Azriel took it upon himself to find the correct room and unlock the door.

Minutes later you were still trying to suppress a smile at how Azriel reacted with such mortification when he realized you’d led them to the wrong room. The mental image of the great Shadowsinger so frantic in his efforts to stop you from further jostling the doorknob, had you letting out a laugh before you could stop it.

“It’s not funny.” He grumbled as he swung the wooden door to your room open, leading you inside. You were on the verge of poking fun at him some more when you caught a glimpse of the interior layout. Right, you had RSVP’d expecting to attend the gala alone. The realization sobered you up real fast.

The room was small, burgundy curtains concealing a sizable window, antique desk with tourist flyers stacked in a neat pile on top. A queen sized, four post bed situated in the middle of the room.

“I’ll take the floor—” Azriel started saying.

But you interrupted him. “—you should have the bed.”

“Absolutely not, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady sleep on the floor while I hogged the whole bed.” He nodded, as if the conversation was over, and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at him.

“There’s not even enough space on the floor for you to stretch out Az. The room is basically only bed. It’s fine, I can use my extra clothes—”

You inhaled sharply, tensing at the thought of your overnight bag, left forgotten back at Mor's apartment. Your eyes darted to Azriel, meeting his gaze out of the corner of your eye, and you knew you didn’t need to say anything about it as he scoffed under his breath.

“You forgot your bag.” He observed.

Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair, your tight dress feeling like it was constricting around your chest as you contemplated sleeping in it. “I did indeed forget my bag.”

“We could just go back, we don’t have to stay here for the night.” Azriel pointed out, but the thought of cutting the trip short caused a ripple of disappointment to drop in your stomach.

“Or,” he continued with a hint of amusement, “I have an undershirt beneath my leathers. I changed before I met you at Mor’s, so it’s relatively clean. I was going to sleep in it tonight, but I would sacrifice my shirt for you if it meant you’d stop frowning like that.”

If you thought you were anxious before, Azriel’s suggestion sent your anxiety through the roof. You had always found Azriel attractive, even when you were still living in Hewn City. Who wouldn’t? That attraction grew into a bit of a crush when you first arrived in Velaris. He treated you with such care as you adjusted to living above ground, quiet, patient, and thoughtful.

Once it was apparent that you would be working closely with him you shut that shit down. You and him had spent a lot of time traveling together the last few years, always with separate sleeping arrangements, and never sharing clothing. You went out of your way to respect his privacy, give him space, all in hopes of being someone he one day could trust, like how you trusted him.

You could handle one night, sharing a bed, borrowing his shirt. That wouldn’t totally backfire on you in any way, right? Nodding to yourself once, you tried for an air of confidence as you talked around the nerves that have bloomed in your chest.

“Okay,” you agreed, “but if I change into your shirt you definitely can’t take the floor. I won’t let you sleep shirtless on the ground while I’m all tucked in and cozy in bed. I’ll only take up a sliver of it by myself anyway.”

He opened his mouth to object, his intentions written in the way his brow furrowed at you. But you barreled on anyway, “So, we share the bed tonight. Are you comfortable with that?”

His mouth snapped shut, eyes studying you for a tense moment as if you may be tricking him. You clasped your hands together in front of you, the longer you waited for him to respond the clammier your palms felt. Each second felt like an eternity and in no time at all you found yourself scrambling for a way to play off your idea as a joke.

Of course he wouldn’t want to share a bed with you. What in the world had you been thinking?

Maybe you could blame it on that deliciously fizzy drink you downed before leaving the gala, say you weren’t in your right mind. Pretend to not remember in the morning, as if this wasn’t going to be a moment you cringe about decades later. Would you be able to just laugh it off? Would Azriel be chill enough to let you live this down? You were probably so screwed.

He was still a little tense, but just before your panic truly took root Azriel began to nod his head like he...agreed with you?

“Yes, I think that is the most logical solution. The bed can definitely fit two.” Azriel finally said, and you tried to keep yourself from gaping at his response. But your surprise must have been all over your face because he went on to say, “I didn’t suggest it myself because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Wiping your hands down the front of your dress did little to help with the sweat. The pit that had been taking form in your stomach churned, your dread morphing into jittery nerves.

Then, as if you weren’t having a nervous breakdown right in front of him, the handsome lunatic started striping his leathers off. Dept hands tossing his gloves to the desk, he unclasped the chest pieces of his leathers, they fell to the floor with a thud. Then, the promised black undershirt was up over his head, and you were drinking in all his tattoos and corded muscles like you were a tactless teenager instead of a 300+ year old female.

A flash of movement from him, and you flinched when his shirt hit you square in the face. It was so big it draped over your head. You made a disgruntled noise, ignoring how delicious the shirt smelled as you removed it from your face, “Hey—!”

“If you’re done gawking at me like you’ve never seen a shirtless male, you can get ready for bed first.” He headed further into the room, collecting his chest piece off the floor and approaching the desk to place it with his gloves. He turned to face you, his butt propped against the desk as he gestured to the door his wingspan had been blocking from view. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, flexing his biceps, and you almost swooned at the sight. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Your fist tightened around the shirt, fighting the urge to toss it back at him out of spite. Embarrassment felt like hot iron under your skin, so instead you snapped your attention to the door he had pointed out–the bathroom. You knew you’d averted your gaze much too fast to seem unaffected by him. He chuckled, and you glowered at him as his head tilted to the side, watching you with a bemused expression. He looked about ready to comment further, but you waved him off with faux-annoyance and an exaggerated roll of your eyes. Clutching his shirt close to your chest, you escaped into the bathroom.

Subtle.

Pressing your back to the door, it closed under your weight. You paused there for a moment to focus on your breathing, your frazzled mind going a mile a minute. This was all so far out of your comfort zone, it wasn’t even funny. You never had to deal with handsome males in The Court of Nightmares, Kier didn’t let you socialize long enough for it to even be on your radar. Dating hadn’t quite made your list of top priorities upon arriving in Velaris either.

What little experience you did have was with a male named Allistair. You’d met him at Rita’s within your first year above ground. It was a fling of sorts that lasted a few months before you decided casual dating wasn’t for you. He was a perfectly adequate lover. At least you think he was. He was also your only lover. A nice enough companion as you acclimated to your new life. The times you had been intimate with that male had left you feeling…bereft. Seeing Allistair shirtless had been nothing like seeing Azriel shirtless.

And Azriel calling you out for ogling him so blatantly? Mother have mercy.

So now you were just expected to fall asleep next to him wearing his shirt after that? The situation almost made you want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The last thing you wanted was to draw his suspicion by loitering against the door for too much longer, so you moved to the sink. Maybe splashing lukewarm water on your face would reveal that this had all been a weird ass nightmare.

Cupping water into your face a couple more times, you took in the smeared makeup dripping down your face in the mirror. Definitely not a dream.

Azriel was going to think you were in love with him for fucksake.

Snatching the nearby hand towel from the rack on the wall you soaked it, and got to work on scrubbing your face clean. You had to have a little more faith in Azriel. He wouldn’t let a single weird moment ruin over a year of amicable teamwork. But your personal relationship with him felt fragile to you at best. You can't let some tattoos and abs mess up what you considered to be the most solid friendship you’d made among the Inner Circle.

So what if he was hot as hell? You could co-exist with attractive people, it was legit a part of your job. You could salvage the situation, just change out of the dress you accidentally matched to the colors of his siphons, put his shirt on that smelled so strongly of him it gave you a headrush, and face him like you hadn't just been drooling over his naked chest.

You know, simple.

The hem of his t-shirt landed just above your knees, and the comfort you found in it was criminal. The black fabric was very soft and so baggy that you worried the wing slits in the back would shift forward in your sleep. It could reveal a little more than what you’d considered 'tasteful side boob'.

Resisting the urge to fuss in the mirror (because it wasn't like you were trying to look cute for anyone, right?), you exited the bathroom clean faced and a bit more settled than when you had entered.

Your bravado, however, was short lived. Azriel faced away from you in only his underwear, the rest of his leathers added to the pile on the desk. He was organizing his various knives on the bedside table closest to the main door.

He looked over his shoulder at you. Totally not catching you checking out his butt in the tight underpants. Cauldron boil you. Would it be weird if you marched yourself back into the bathroom to try the whole “not affected by sexy, almost nude Illyrian warrior” thing again?

Azriel inhaled sharply, and you snuck a glance at him. His attention was back on his knives, but there was a tension to him, almost like he was brooding. There might have been a light blush over his cheeks, but you felt weird analyzing him anymore than you already had out of habit. You clocked the change in his body language for what it was the instant he saw you in his shirt. Clenched jaw, tense shoulders, spine ramrod straight, wide eyed before averting his gaze, elevated heart rate–classic signs of attraction. Reactions he clearly didn’t want you to notice.

"I'm taking this side." He informed almost absently, patting the mattress. Leaving you with the window side.

You wandered to the desk to avoid observing him further, wishing that you could turn off the part of you that always seemed to be prying for more information. And then you felt it, his thoughts getting louder, his emotions growing wilder, reaching out to you. You slammed your mental shields up hard, a gross feeling taking root when it was too late.

Protect. Azriel’s intentions conveyed to you. Protect. Comfort. Provide. Here you were invading his private thoughts without his knowledge, while he was concerned with your wellbeing. What was the point of all that effort Rhysand put into teaching you how to better control your mental shields? It never worked when you needed it most. The failure stung, and you had to busy yourself with folding your dress in a neat square so you had something to keep your hands from shaking.

It was quiet for too long, and you struggled with recalling what he had said to you before you’d lost control. Something about the bed. "Sounds good to me." You decide on saying, placing your dress next to his leathers.

Azriel didn’t seem to find your reply out of the ordinary. Small mercies.

"I'll be out in a few minutes, then." His voice was rougher than before, and it sent chills down your spine. As soon as you heard the bathroom door click shut you scurried into bed. You couldn’t get under the covers fast enough, pulling the blankets up to your neck with a hefty sigh of relief.

It felt awesome to be laying down after such a long evening on your feet. Too bad you couldn’t enjoy it more, instead drowning under waves of shame. Maybe you’d never get a full handle on your powers. Maybe the Mother was teaching you a lesson in this life? You couldn’t fathom what the moral could be. You wanted more than anything to be able to mind your business.

You wished you could turn your brain off. Alas, even your guilt couldn’t stop you from reflecting and organizing what you’d just observed. Not only had you heard his intentions, but you also felt them. Unlike the sweet warmth of his thoughts, his gaze had felt like desire and bad decisions.

He didn’t seem like he was actively seeking to bed you. You reasoned that you were also an available female wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties. You could only imagine how all of that must have chafed against his Illyrian instincts. Rhysand had once mentioned that Illyrians were possessive and protective at best, controlling and jealous at their worst.

Surely those possessive instincts were what you were picking up on, then. You were covered in his scent after all. That was the only logical explanation for his reaction, his instincts were telling him to protect you because you were vulnerable and wearing his clothing. Even if it didn’t quite sound right to you, it was the only explanation you were willing to entertain. You were barely friends, there was no way Azriel wanted to court you. The thought sent a fleeting pang of disappointment through you that you refused to examine.

Whatever. There wasn’t anything you could do to make the situation less messy right now. You were exhausted, and stewing on scenarios that would never amount to anything real was unlike you.

Snuggling further into the sheets, you decided it was best to just pretend you hadn’t noticed shit. The damage was done, Azriel wasn’t dumb, he at least knew he had flustered you. You weren’t going to draw any more attention to that tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever. Everything about this night was a fluke.

Azriel returned from the bathroom, and you kept your focus on fluffing your pillows. Sitting up you tossed an extra pillow onto the floor, and you could feel as soon as his eyes landed on you that some of his…instincts…were still acting up. You pulled the comforter back up to your neck as he got into bed next to you. Turning on your side to face him you were determined to be normal. No more awkward gawking allowed tonight.

He stretched his arms up above his head, his joints popping a million times as he groaned in relief. You couldn't help chuckling at him, the fearsome Shadowsinger of the Night Court, doing something so mundane.

Scooting further onto the bed, Azriel rolled over to meet your gaze, his wings tucked close to his back as he settled. Most of his wingspan spilled over the side of the bed anyway. He surveyed you, eyes lingering along your tired but genuine smile, and you saw the stern tenseness slowly leave his body. "You sure you're comfortable with this?" He asked.

Your smile turned a tad warmer. This male was just so kind, so different from what you knew in Hewn City. "I am, I trust you Azriel." It was the truth. You didn't have friends growing up, and although you may have a long way to go before Azriel truly called you his friend, you considered him a dear (sexy) friend.

Your words seem to settle something in him, and you could have sworn you saw something almost affectionate flash across his face. You blink, and it's gone, but the fuzzy feeling it left in your chest remained.

Like he sensed your mushy thoughts, he ruined the moment. "So I have to ask you something, it’s serious.”

Your brows raised in bemused interest, the scenario with him wishing to court you snapping to the forefront of your mind again. He’d always been very attentive to you, but in a worried protective way. You’d never picked up on any romantic intentions from him before, and he’s not the type to make a decision like that on a whim. The chance was small, but you couldn’t 100% rule out him wanting to ask you out. Could you say no to him? Would you even want to say no? You’d never considered this as an option before!

He held your gaze, as if for dramatic effect and then with the seriousness of a top notch spymaster he asked you, “You have seen a shirtless male before...right?"

Maybe it was a mistake to consider this male kind, he was a menace all along.

You had never rolled your eyes so hard at someone. Unbelievable.

Turning away from him with enough force to toss your hair in his face, you are rewarded with the sound of his indignant grunt.

"Can you turn the light off please?" You snap, unable to rein in your annoyance. Unsettled by how it tasted almost like rejection.

"You didn't answer my question." He goaded, and you fell right for it.

"Yeah, because it's a silly question." You fire back.

He hummed at your response, "Doesn't seem like you think it's a silly question."

You would rather swallow your own tongue than admit to Azriel that you’d seen shirtless males, but he had been the first you’d enjoyed seeing shirtless.

Done with the line of questioning, you blindly flung your arm back, swatting at him. He startled at the contact, and he exhaled a scoff when you didn't stop flopping your arm at him after the first blow.

He caught your wrist, stilling your flailing. "Fine, fine, I'll drop it," He let go of your wrist, “for now.”

You shifted to burrow further into your pillows, totally not dwelling on how his big hand wrapped around your wrist made you feel dainty. The texture of his scars hadn’t made your heart skip a beat either. Nope. Not at all.

"Could you shut the light off please." You asked again with more venom than you intended. It bothered you how easy this male could get under your skin. He wasn’t even trying.

You felt his weight shifting, the bed frame squeaking a bit as he moved. "Anything for you, Princess." He shuffled a little more, and then the light went off, casting the both of you in darkness.

The nickname made you grimace into your pillow. No one had ever called you that before, and you really didn’t want it to catch on.

You felt him return to the position on his side facing you. Some moments passed in loud silence, and although you were the one that let the conversation drop, the residual tension in the room was killing you. There was no way you would be able to fall asleep, and you would bet that Azriel was stewing in the tension too.

"Az?" You whispered. His response was quick like he’d been waiting on edge for you to speak, "Yes?"

"Goodnight." And you found yourself meaning it. You hoped he got some sleep tonight despite the turmoil he had so effortlessly sowed in your stomach with his teasing. The prick.

You could practically hear the mischief in his voice. "Sleep well, princess."

Ugh. Your stomach coiled, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Very dangerous. It was an inappropriate reaction, and you wrote it off as stress. However as hard as you wished to forget it, you wouldn’t be forgetting how Azriel had made you feel that night anytime soon.

Even your racing thoughts couldn’t stop sleep from finding you, putting you out of your misery.

And if you woke up to the sounds of song birds that morning, your face pressed against Azriel's neck, your body sprawled atop him while he slept on his back, then that was your business. No one would know if you relished being in his arms a few minutes longer than necessary. You wouldn’t confirm nor deny if one of his hands had looped through a wing hole of his borrowed shirt, his fingers resting just under your breast.

And so what if it had been the best sleep you'd gotten since leaving Hewn City. And if Azriel seemed more well rested than usual on your return to the Night Court, you certainly didn't notice that either.

XxXx

Next Chapter

[rekino2114]

How the chainsaw man girls handle jealousy

A/n:I usually don't write for the csm 2 girls but let me know if you want me to and I'll add them to the masterlist (mainly cause I really like fami)

Makima

Thanks to you, makima, now could finally feel true emotions. You made her feel the happiness of being truly loved, the sadness of being without you, anger when a devil had the gall to hurt you, and the worry of when you came injured from a mission and so on..

She felt another one of those emotions when she saw you talking to another girl at the public safety headquarters, a particularly flirty one who apparently didn't know you were dating her boss.

Ah this must be jealousy.

She wasn't that bothered by it. She knows she can trust that you'll never leave her. However, the moment she starts touching you even after you clearly rejected her and is making you feel uncomfortable, that girl is dead.

She might have better morals after meeting you but she's not above killing who she deems as human scum.

But if things don't reach that stage, the girl might just be assigned a particularly difficult mission as her next

"Sorry, but I have a girlfriend,"

"Who cares? It's not like she's gonna know anyway"

"Sorry to interrupt, but I'd like to talk to y/n"

"Ah! M-miss makima!"

"Oh sure babe"

"B-babe? You mean she's your girlfriend"

"Exactly, and now that you know I suggest not looking forward to your next mission"

Power

The moment she sees you talking to another girl, she gets mad, she assumes you're cheating on her cause she doesn't have that much of an understanding of relationships.

In her eyes, you don't need anyone else when she's clearly the best option.

She's also really angry towards the girl. How dare she try to steal what's hers? Even though she wasn't flirting with you

"Hey! Y/n! What are you doing talking to this human"

"Oh power, don't worry she was just asking me directions"

"Like I believe that! You better go away this very moment I'll kill you!"

"Power be nice"

"Only if you stop talking to this bitch"

"*sigh* I'm so sorry"

Himeno

How she reacts depends on how drunk she is.

She gets really clingy when she is drunk, so she'll hug you from behind and lazily try to pull you away from the girl you were talking to while mumbling some incoherent words and that's usually your sign to take her home.

She's really not that jealous when sober, even when a girl flirts, she doesn't get mad, she understands her,after all if she didn't flirt with you she wouldn't have gotten with her amazing partner.

"Hey, you having fun without me over here?

"Oh sorry hime,I was just about to tell her I have a girlfriend"

"Oh you do? Sorry I had no idea"

"It's fine. I get it they're so stunning anyone would try to get with them"

"Did you just use the fact that a girl was flirting with me as a way to flirt with me?

"Guess so, I guess complimenting you is just second nature to me"

Kobeni higashiyama

This poor nervous wreck of a girl.

Whenever she sees you talking to another girl, she kinda gets anxious and starts comparing herself to that girl. Imagine how it is when a girl actually flirts with you

She starts overthinking and sweating,thoughts that you're gonna leave her for the other girl and how she's a bad girlfriend her fill her head.

She'd rather self combust than try to confront the girl with you around so she'll just continue wallowing in self-pity until you finish.

She needs a lot of hugs and reassurances later to calm down

"Hey, are you OK, kobeni? You were sweating and shaking"

"O-oh n-o i'm ok, what about t-that girl you were talking to?"

"I told her I had a girlfriend and she left, don't worry,more importantly, let's continue out date"

"R-really?"

"Of course you're my girlfriend right? I'd much rather hang out with you than some random girl"

"Uhm t-thank you"

Asa mitaka

She is also kind of anxious and worried just way less than kobeni.

She feels kind of like a bad and boring girlfriend often, and that feeling skyrockets when a girl flits with you.

She trusts you, but seeing you so close to that girl while she blatantly flirts with you just makes her feel kinda angry at her, and yoru definitely tries to take advantage of that.

"Come on don't you wanna get rid of her anyway"

"Not in that way yoru!"

"Just turn her into a weapon, that way I get a new one to fight chainsaw man, and you get to take care of that bitch"

"I'm not gonna do that"

"Geez you really are a bad girlfriend then"

"I'M NOT A BAD GIRLFRIEND"

"........"

"D-did I say that out loud?"

"Yeah but don't worry at least it was the truth"

Yoru

You and yoru begged asa to let her take control of her body for just an entire date. After a lot of hesitancy, she accepted but made yoru promise not to kill anyone........ You should probably think twice before trusting the war devil

The moment she saw another girl even look at you with a flirty gaze, immediately she turned her into a weapon without any hesitation.

You weren't that shocked, dating yoru does come with a very high chance of her trying to murder people she even thinks are trying to steal you, you were kinda mad at her for what she promised asa though.

"*sighs* why did you do that?"

"You're mine she was trying to take you from me. I could feel it"

"And how are you gonna explain it to asa?"

"Well it's not my problem"

"What?"

Then she feel unconscious the scars from her face disappeared and asa woke up looked at the weapon in her hand and then at you

"I'm so sorry asa I swear I can explain"

Fami

She was just coming back to your table with your fast food orders (she got way too much food for herself). When she saw you talking to a girl, she didn't recognize

She didn't think much about it maybe you were just talking to a friend. So she ignored the kinda weird feeling in her chest by doing her favorite thing (tied with spending time with you) eating.

The girl, meanwhile, was very freaked out that a random girl was staring at her with a cold glare and ringed eyes so she left allowing you to go back to your girlfriend.

"Hey fami, sorry if It took me long"

"It's fine, who was that girl you were with?

"I don't know she just came up to me and started flirting"

"I see"

"Why? Are you jealous"

"No I am not"

"Alright whatever you say, you did eat faster than usual though and that's saying something"

"*sighs* Humans are truly weird creatures"

[thicc-ray-of-sunshine]

Of course he had to be there, why wouldn't he? The very object of your frustration right in the very spot you came to cool off. You'd recognize that stupid busted up stetson anywhere. He was lounging back, long legs posted up on the table in front of him while his chair was tipped back. Part of you itched to swipe your foot under it and knock his chair down, taking the smug grin he was giving you with it. You turned back to the bar with a huff and ordered two fingers of whiskey from James. Typically you were a nuka cola and rum kinda girl but tonight you were here to get drunk and needed something with some bite to it, especially since you knew there was no way you were going to avoid Cooper.

Realistically you didn't really have anything to be mad about, it was the wasteland after all so of course nobodys gonna be upfront or honest so you really shouldn't have been surprised when he jilted you and skipped town with three quarters of your radaway. He at least had the decency to leave you some caps but overall your profits took a hit because of the whole debacle. Well that and your pride. But that wasn't really what you were mad about, no not at all, you were upset because you wanted him, pure and simple. It was all encompassing and ate at you every time you even thought about his weathered face and dangerous demeanor. Sure he was mean but you always liked it when men had some bite, it was more of a snark anyway.

James offering you your drink pulled you out of yourself. You took your whiskey in hand and knocked it back, willing your face to not scrunch up at the harsh feeling it left in your throat. Speaking of keeping cool, you were having an increasingly hard time ignoring the stare Cooper was burning into the back of your head. Taking a deep breath and sliding your caps onto the countertop you slowly turned in your seat. As suspected he was just staring at you, his body relaxed and languid in his chair, drink held loosely in our and and a smoke in the other while his eyes pinned you with a stare that made you feel like you were on fire. You watched him as he clicked his teeth together and tilted his head to the side, motioning you over. Again you felt anger welling up underneath your skin at his smug attitude, yet that wasn't the only thing that was itching at you.

It didn't help that he downright grinned when you stood up and wandered over to him. You chose to stand in front of him, a little to the left of his legs but enough to be directly in his line of sight, hands crossed over your chest, displaying your displeasure.

"Aw it ain't gotta be like that sweetheart. It ain't like I did nothing untoward."

He said playfully as he leaned forward and set his glass on the table.

"Yeah nothing but stealing my shit. Totally normal friendly behavior."

You retorted, cocking your hip, knocking against his crossed legs at the thigh.

"You still owe me for that by the way. Not too pleased to have been robbed, especially after giving you some of my supplies on the house."

His eyes followed the line of your body down to where your hip touched him, giving you a brazen up and down that had you barely suppressing a shiver.

He took a long drag from his cigarette before he spoke again, eyes never leaving yours.

"You and I both know that ain't what this is 'bout darlin. You're mad because I left you high and dry."

You didn't know what to say, the way he said it was so matter-o-factly, like he was making fun of you. Yet the look on his face was damn near salacious. You felt naked, uncomfortable and unbearably angry that he had the absolute gall to even say something like that. Before you could even think about raising your hand to slap him you felt pressure on the small of your back your whole body suddenly tipping forward. Just as quick as you fell, you were hauled up into Coopers lap. Some part of your brain registered that he had kicked you but the rest of it was focused on the sudden close proximity and the gloved hand that had made its way to your hip. You watched him through your lashes as he worked his cigarette in his mouth before he exhaled, leaving you in a haze that burned your nostrils.

"So how 'bout we cut the shit and you let me show you what you've been missing out on?"

[ladyloveandjustice]

To give my Real Opinion on the whole Clark vs Lois issue (since people are giving me theirs), I'm surprised it is an issue, since it's very clearly supposed to be an conflict where both people made decisions that made sense from their point of view but still hurt each other. It makes sense that Clark would be insecure about telling Lois this when she's acting distrustful of Superman, and it makes sense he'd freak out and not handle a situation where she was putting a lot of pressure on him well. It also makes sense that Lois would be angry (and probably humiliated) and upset that Clark not only lied to her face when she was begging him to tell her the truth, but left her where she couldn't help him when she was worried sick about him.

Honestly, I think a lot of you aren't being honest about how you'd feel if you had a friend who disappeared every time something dangerous happened, you spent a lot of time frantically searching and worrying about that friend each time, only to find out oh hey, your friend was well aware of how worried you were and was actually right there but they were pretending to be someone else instead of letting you in on what was happening. You'd feel played with.

And Clark also KEPT lying when she was basically saying "hey stop lying to me. I know." He did it instinctively. She was begging him to tell her, and he didn't. That's going to hurt, and that's going to be galling. She definitely felt she had no other choice than to do something drastic, because she can't enter a relationship with someone she knows is lying to her and here he is, refusing to come clean. She's a reporter, the need to know drives her.

"Lois isn't entitled to Clark's private information, they haven't known each other that long", sure, but Clark vanishes in dangerous situations and causes real distress, Clark has been discussing Superman with Lois and unconsciously trying to manipulate her feelings on him while not telling her the whole truth, and you'd feel weird if someone did that, you'd feel kinda violated! And even if someone told you they weren't doing that to laugh at you, wouldn't you be hurt and humiliated?!

When exactly IS Lois entitled to Clark's info? When they start dating? How many months is it okay for him to date her without him telling her he's actually the guy she spends every waking minute trying to interview? Would he have told her as their relationship got serious? Not knowing that is probably scary and if I was Lois I'd think twice about if I wanted this either!

And what's especially scary is that yeah, he did leave her behind to so he could possibly go get killed when she was begging him not to. That's terrifying. She was probably terrified the entire time she waited. He was able to take her choice away from her, and Lois does not like feeling helpless. Clark was scared of her getting hurt, so he enforced his will and so shewas scared for HIM. and then he refused to talk about those worries!

It's also pretty galling when she's already helped him out in several fights- she's proven she can be useful and helpful! I'd be mad too! I'm sure there was a little vindictiveness in her actions- you see how you like it when someone takes your choice away too.

At the same time, Clark is clearly not comfortable showing people his whole self. He still doesn't know who he is, and he goes into panic mode about it. He's very scared of people being hurt because of him. What he did made sense from his point of view. And I'm sure he's not happy to be forced to reveal his secret.

It doesn't matter 'who's more right'. It's not a game they get to win! They both violated each other's boundaries. Their feelings both make sense from their perspective, and interesting conflicts are complicated. And I like it when characters don't just react to everything flawlessly. There's a lot of drama in secret identities, and sometimes stories have conflict.

I do agree this should have happened later in the season or as a season 2 thing, but that's sadly just life in this streaming hell era. They didn't know if they'd get a season 2 to tell the story they wanted. We have to take the conflict as it is. And let's face it, if Lois had taken longer to figure out, y'all would be making fun of her for being dumb. Lois is for some reason always the butt of that joke even though nobody else can see Clark is Superman either- and when she does figure it out (as she usually does!) and has anything other than positive feelings about it she still gets blamed. Just enjoy having a character who can have complex feelings.

If you hate relationship conflict, there's stuff for you out there! Read Superman Family Adventures by Art Baltazar, it's very cute low stakes low conflict stuff and has an actual Himbo Clark.

[alexiethymia]

Listen, book!Lockwood who is so repressed that it just translates to beaming smiles has a special place in my heart, but at the same time I cannot stress how much I appreciate the live action series for showing us unbelievably exhausted Lockwood who’s so obviously scared that Lucy and George will eventually leave (willingly or otherwise) but still has the gall to push them away. My boy was barely pulling it together. And ofc he would be so tired that the bags under his eyes are so prominent because we’re outside of Lucy’s POV now. Lucy who’s always had rose-colored glasses when it comes to him.

Speaking of Lucy, I really do love how she calls him out. She’s so aggressive with her love. It’s like she’s demanding that George and her will love and care for him and there’s absolutely nothing Lockwood can do about it so he just better shut up and take it. Peak found family right there.

How that scene where Lockwood comes to apologize to Lucy in the kitchen had so much ‘husband in the doghouse’ vibes, and how ultimately what Lucy is really mad about is just her wanting Lockwood to value his life more. And for Lockwood to outright admit that yeah he was a bit suicidal but it’s a bit like he found a new reason for living because of Lucy and George, again I say PEAK FOUND FAMILY, this is my jam. The ease of which Lucy being Lucy calms him down. (Ugh, again the domesticity of choosing egg cups). He can’t stand when she’s mad at him and he learns about apologizing properly this time around, but when she wordlessly forgives him, you can see on his face how he could fall so quickly and deeply in love with her. That’s one thing I love so much about the live action series. While the book showed us more of Lucy’s feelings for Lockwood, I actually think the series highlights Lockwood’s feelings more in that if I hadn’t read the books beforehand, I could have easily seen it as Lockwood falling first. His abandonment issues are so prominent in the series and while they play it with humor with Fittes and Kipps, you can just see that desperation behind the lighthearted tone, and for Lucy to say that she chooses Lockwood and George anyway….!

This is basically an excuse to ramble about the little things they add in the series that I love so much, which works because we’re not restricted to Lucy’s POV, in no particular order:

How Flo can immediately see how Lockwood feels about Lucy because of the effect she has on him. Prior to that statement, she’d only met Lucy once before, but that brief meeting told her everything she needed to know. She probably knew Lockwood in the aftermath of his family’s death, so for her to see Lockwood just buttering someone’s else toast for them and being all domestic and smiley, treating another person like a family member especially considering how guarded he is, she must have thought (and rightly so) that meeting Lucy made him have an appetite for life again.

We actually get to see Fittes’ and Lockwood’s side of the fight! And it was awesome. “I’m Anthony bloody Lockwood.” I can no longer remember if that line was in the book or not but idc I love it.

George and Lucy’s scene was in the book, but the acting in the series just really sold it for me. How Lucy’s heart just broke hearing George talk about himself, especially everything he said then were feelings I’m sure she’s also had about herself. I seriously loved that last episode. George and Lucy were adorable. Again I say, found family ftw.

The rise of the Flo x George ship! “You, me, and herons!” Again I say, adorable.

There are some elements that work better in book format, but in many ways the tv series really did elevate this beloved book series. It was a wonderful, wonderful adaptation. As a reader, I couldn’t be more satisfied. As a shipper, I couldn’t be more ecstatic.

[yandere-genji]

Ahhh hi!

So, I have a request for Cassidy, Reaper, Moria, and Soldier:76 (separate, please).

What I was thinking is their darling (preferably masculine, but gn works too) goes outside while they’re sleeping. Not because they’re trying to escape, but because they just wanted to go on the porch for a bit. Darling doesn’t even think about leaving, and is surprised when the person comes running outside for them, thinking that they left.

What do you think their reactions would be? Would they be mad, understanding, not really care?

Thank you and have a good day!

(Also don’t forget to hydrate and take care of yourself)

tw: yandere, abuse

❤️‍🔥 Cassidy

The man sleeps like a log. Snores and everything, gives off a lot of body heat. It’s easy to be overwhelmed sharing a bed with him, especially on sleepless nights. 

Luckily, due to his heavy sleeping, you’re able to slink out from underneath him and out the bedroom with little trouble. You’re surprised he doesn’t have other measures to prevent you from doing this. 

You’re dying for fresh air, cracking open a window and resting your head in your hands as the breeze cools your skin. The desert at night is empty with stars painting the sky. 

It takes some time before Cassidy notices you’re gone and he’s surprisingly cool-headed, partly because he’s just woken up. 

He finds you looking out the open window, relieved that you haven’t left for good. Not that you could’ve made it very far without him. 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” his arms wrap around you and presses you against his body’s musky heat. 

“It’s so hot, Cass,” you whine, “I need some fresh air. Please?”

He takes you by the hand and leads you to the front door, stepping out onto the porch. You follow and sit with him, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

The desert climate doesn’t make for perfect sleeping conditions, but it’s freeing. He holds you until you fall back asleep, stealing you back to bed soon after. 

🖤 Reaper

Lightest sleeper, a pin drop will wake this man. Not that you would know, he keeps you in a separate room. 

Did I say room? It’s more of a box, no windows or doors etc. Some toys to pass the time while he’s away. Not the most trusting yandere.

So you don’t have a lot of options when it comes to step out for a breather. 

But the Reaper works at night. And when he’s off conducting Talon business, there’s no one to stop you if, say, you’ve stolen the keys to your chambers.

And let’s be honest, it’s probably not by your own merit that the keys ended up in your hands, knowing how much Reaper enjoys punishing you. 

But it’s not like you were doing anything wrong. You weren’t exactly looking to escape, a part of you might not have wanted to and the other couldn’t afford the consequences. But staying indoors with such minimal resources was enough to drive anyone stir-crazy. 

You miss the feeling the open breeze, the sound of birds and bugs buzzing around. Anything to remind you that the world did indeed exist outside of Reaper’s hold. 

You brought blankets and pillows and laid yourself down on the porch - just to enjoy the outdoors without all its discomforts. Relax to the sound of crickets chirping. 

Of course, you end up asleep, and when Reaper catches you out, he’s not at all happy to find you outside your room. Before you can even process all that is happening, you’re inside your chambers again. 

His shadowed tendrils hold you against the wall, “Are you out of your damned mind?”

Black smoke filled your lungs, stammering your words, “I-I’m sorry I stole the keys, it’s just- I can’t stay in here for so long.”

“You have the gall to think I don’t know what’s best for you?” he releases you, letting you fall to the floor and gasping for air, “Earn your place.”

He leaves soon after and you can’t help but flog yourself for being so bold. Maybe if you keep complying to him, he might give you that freedom. Or it’s just another carrot to hang over your head. 

🧡 Moira

She has safeguards in place that prevent you from outright leaving your quarters, but you’ve mostly free range. 

Moira’s obsession with you is a bit different from the other yanderes because of her experimental tendencies. 

She likes to see you come undone, whether by her own hand or keeping you under the influence of some test substance. So you don’t always have your wits about you, her way of restricting you. 

Rarely do you have time to clear your head, desperate for reprieve. Most days the sun is far too bright for your adulterated state, but the moonlight is that goldilocks-perfect pale glow.  

Moira has security measures in place, so she knows when you’ve left the house. And when she’s notified that you opened the front door, she’s livid. 

When she confronts you, you think she’s going to tear the head off your shoulders without even a word as she pulled you back inside with little resistance. 

“I’ve half a mind to keep you paralyzed,” she is fuming, jaw tight. 

You writhe in her grasp, “Wait, Moira, I can explain-“

Yours words come out just as weak as your body as she shoves you into her lab. 

“Keep your explanations to yourself. I’ll see to it you’ll never need them.”

Looks like you’ll have to find some other way to convince her to let you outside. (Bad ending vibes)

🩵 Soldier: 76

Big spoon. Very possessive. He holds you close and his weight is crushing. Most difficult one to sneak away from in these circumstances. 

Even if you try to break away, he’ll pull you back into him. You’ll need deliberation and luck on your side to slip away. 

If only you could have the house to yourself. Just waste time on the living room couch, watching some TV and eating snacks. Maybe take a hot bath. 

But your captor was in the next room over, the last thing you wanted to do was wake him. Best you could do to relieve your muddled mind was to get some fresh air. 

Your heart is thumping against your chest. Jack’s cardinal rule is to never leave the house, and if he caught you sneaking out like this who knows what he would do to you. Still, you had made it this far, you might as well enjoy the luxury. 

And as you might expect, your absence is noted almost immediately. In fact, you’re no less than a few paces from the bedroom when his hand catches yours. 

“Back to bed,” he commands, all gravel. 

“No,” you protest, trying to halt him with a hand on his wrist but he leads you anyway, “I don’t want to go back to bed, I can’t breathe in here.”

He turns back to you, brows knit. He leads you past the bed and releases you on a pillowed surface, behind which was an elaborate work of contraints he restrained you against. It’s a dog bed, you realize. 

“This will be your sleeping arrangement until you learn how to behave.”

[harukamitsuki]

Okay... I am currently back on my Voltron bullshit and continuing my rewrite of Voltron. And I'm constantly reminding of HOW MUCH I HATE LANCE.

Don't get me wrong. I am still treating Lance fairly in my fic, making sure he gets screen-time and a proper character acr and stuff.

But by GODS. This man pisses me off so much and that's only made worse by his stans. I was scrolling through Keith's tag here on tumblr. I also have Kl@nce filtered out. I cannot see a single post without at least three pages of scrolling and then it's only ONE POST. AND IT'S STILL KLANCE BECAUSE IT HASN'T BEEN TAGGED CORRECTLY.

Anyway. Onto the actual things I hate about Lance and not just his fandom.

Lance is a fucking asshole. I mean that on the deepest level. Let's go through it chronologically because I cannot rank it from least to most assholery, because some things are on the same level.

1 - Allura wakes up from the cryopod and Lances catches her. She's confused and dazed and the first thing you should do is ask if she's alright. Oh, but Lance is above that. Instead, he flirts with her. Karma given immediately as she calls his ears hideous and puts him in a submission hold, which is why I kept that scene in my fic, but that was still wrong. I know it was played for comedic effect, but that doesn't make it not canon. It's canonically accurate that if you've awoken from a coma, Lance's first instinct is to flirt with you if you're pretty.

2 - Literally throws Hunk into the middle of a battle. I get that Hunk was supposed to leave the Lion anyway, but just shoving him out when there are lasers everywhere and Hunk has no protection? Yeah. So much for 'best friend'. Add on the fact that Lance never really treats Hunk like a friend. At all.

3 - Okay. Season 1 Lance isn't bad outside of those two examples, even if he has his dumb moments, so let's jump to Season 2. Starting shit with Keith for no reason. People can go 'oh, Keith obviously did something to him at the Garrison' but he DIDN'T. The writers themselves confirmed that Keith did nothing to Lance, he just started shit with Keith all the fucking time. Like accussing Keith of wanting Blue and cutting him off when he tried to explain what was actually happening, even though Lance is the one who was outraged initially that Keith had Red. Or how about Lance getting up in Shiro's face and screaming his head off about how Keith would rather kill people than listen to them, as if he knew Keith at all after bullying him the entire time.

4 - Okay. This one pissed me off the most and is the biggest reason I'm making this post. The fact that Lance used Shiro's death/disappearance against Keith. Keith outwardly expresses his lack of desire to become the leader and accidentally let it slip that Shiro wanted him to do it. To which Lance is all 'convenient that you say that when Shiro's gone'. What. What the fuck. Stans really say that Lance is precious but how the hell are you justifying that? A blind man could see how much Keith loves Shiro, and Lance has the fucking gall the say that Keith is USING his death/disappearance for a position he doesn't want? He didn't even apologise for it. He just told Keith to suck it up later on. This is one of the reasons I hated Lance as the Red Paladin, the others being explained in an earlier post of mine.

5 - Oh, yeah. We're not done. Because after Keith, it's Allura. Allur@nce is probably the worst ship that could have happened, apart from Kl@nce. If you wanted a straight ship, how about what was canon for the past Voltron series? Kallura? Anyway. Yeah, Lance treats Allura like a prize instead of a person. He's posessive in a way that he has no right to be because they were not together. He glares at Matt for flirting with Allura, something he only does once. He gets mad at Lotor and tries to stop them from spending time together, EVEN THOUGH LOTOR IS HELPING ALLURA AND BONDING THROUGH ALTEAN THINGS. HELPING HER KEEP IN TOUCH WITH ALTEAN CULTURE. In Season 8, he literally yells that it should be Lance and Allura?? What a fucking weirdo?? You can't claim that you're destined to be with someone without being together. That's not how healthy relationships work. That's how a stalker's mind works. Lance is constantly flirting with Allura throughout all of Voltron and she never once reciprocated until Season 8 where it's so obvious that Lance is just a rebound but the writers wanna make it so that it's 'true love' and they want Lance to be happier than anyone so they just gift her to him like some sort of trophy. Lance didn't care about loving Allura, he cared about winning her. At least Lotor actually cared for and respected her. I still don't like canon Lotor, but that's mostly because the writers didn't want to deal with gray morality. Cowards.

1 - Honestly the worst example of a leader. It's shown from episode one. Now, there is the argument of learning to become one, but Lance just never learns? He's never facing the consequences of his actions and, if he is lectured, he ignores it. Keith actually takes lessons to heart and tries to improve and he does. If Lance became the Black Paladin, the universe would have been doomed because he can't get over himself for a single moment to even bother listening to anyone else's advice.

So. Yeah. Those are the main reasons why Lance is an asshole. Now to make the Lance stans really pissed.

Reasons why Lance would have been a terrible leader and could never have been the Black Paladin.

Remember episode one? Remember how the hydraulic stabiliser was out in the simulator and Lance still tried to push on, even though Pidge and Hunk advised him not to? Totally great leadership qualities there. There's nothing better than a leader that refuses to listen to you. 'Oh, but Keith is stubborn and didn't listen--' yes he did. He's stubborn and unrelenting at first, but he eventually realises that they're right.

Remember episode three? Remember when Lance bragged about kicking, which made Voltron fall, then proceeded to try it again and failed again even when Keith advised him not to? Yeah. Lance does not make good decisions and does not listen to any advise. Even from the leader's right hand man.

Remember Season 1 Episode 12? Remember how they were waiting for Shiro and Allura to get back and then Keith saw someone taking quintessence so he decided to follow them? Remember how Lance said no and was ignored but did nothing more to stop Keith? He has no authority and no charisma to keep anyone at bay. Pidge herself mocks Lance for being the pinnacle for leadership. Sarcastically. Because he's far from it.

Pidge doesn't respect Lance as a leader, Keith never would considering Lance treats him like shit, Allura can't take Lance seriously with him hitting on her every ten seconds, and Hunk is always questioning Lance's decisions. If nobody respects you, you cannot be a good leader.

2 - Easily distracted. Yes, it's a very popular headcanon that Lance has ADHD, and I agree with that, but that doesn't make it okay. And he's distracted in the easiest ways. Just shove a pretty girl and he'll instantly get distracted and lead the entire team to doom. Remember Nyma and how easy it was for her to steal the Blue Lion? How he didn't even warn anyone that he was taking her out for a ride because he didn't want anyone contesting his conquest? Yeah.

Don't get me wrong. It's fine to have ADHD or get distracted easily. Monkey D. Luffy from One Piece is a great example of a leader who gets easily distracted, but the second he sets his mind on something, he blocks everything out. Lance just doesn't have the capability to do that, nor do I think he'd be able to learn how to.

3 - Gets jealous really easily. As in. Really fucking easily. He's jealous of Keith from the get-go, starting a one-sided rivalry that he's constantly on the losing side of because Keith doesn't care. He gets jealous of Matt when he flirts a bit with Allura. He gets extremely jealous of Lotor for having actual chemistry with Allura. He's constantly jealous and a good leader is only ever in competition with himself. A good leader will only strive to become better for the sake of the team, not to say that they're better than someone else, much less if they're someone that you are in charge of. It's a horrible trait to have.

Jealousy in and of itself is not a bad thing. It's when that jealousy overrides your logic and controls you, instead of you controlling your jealousy: which Lance struggles with a lot. And getting jealous over anyone who even looks at your crush is a very bad thing to do because you do not own your crush. It's okay to be jealous, but not posessively like Lance is. Not to the extent of trying to scare off any potential suitors.

4 - Nowhere near as skilled as Keith or Shiro. Sure, the writers may claim that he is better, but the proof is in the pudding. Keith and Shiro are fucking unmatched. I've defended Lance's skills in a previous post, but I also said in that post that, while he is skilled, he is nowhere near Shiro or Keith's level. I mean, Shiro was the golden child of the Garrison and set so many records. He was known as the best pilot. Keith beat those records and his flying capabilities are always, always noted. I haven't heard a single character comment on Lance's skills, other than to point out how bad they are. Keith was the only one who could have flew through the astroid field, he was the only one who could fly into the Marmora base which was in a blue star surrounded by two black holes, he was able to fly a Galra jet just by pushing the right buttons and knowing what the do, and he's the one who unlocks the warping abilities of the Black Lion. Shiro was able to connect with the Black Lion far before anyone else, able to see through Black and connect with Black to the point of his soul being saved by her.

Lance hasn't done anything spectacular. And, no. He was not 'done dirty'. He was given almost everything he wanted except the Black Lion. The writers claim he's the best pilot, but have not shown it at all. In my eyes, Keith and Shiro will always be the best.

5 - Selfish. Again. Nothing against being selfish. It's perfectly fine to be selfish, so long as it doesn't actively harm others. But for a leader? You should be as selfless as you can be. The team comes before you. And that's exactly what Lance isn't.

Lance is selfish and that's okay, but it's not leadership material. The whole reason Black rejected him is because he wanted the position out of selfish reasons. When he enters Black, he says 'Come on, Lance. You can do this'. In other words, he wants to pilot her because he wants to prove himself. He wants the acknowledgement. He wants the title of the Black Paladin and leader. Black accepted Keith, both at the start of Season 2 and Season 3, because he piloted her for purely selfless reasons. For Shiro.

Lance wants things for himself. Keith wanted things for Shiro. It was only after Shiro came back, (or so they thought), that Keith started focusing more on himself. Even then, he put everyone else before him. He distanced himself from the team so that Shiro could pilot Black again, and he was constantly risking his life for the Blades.

Lance just... isn't the type. He has put others before himself, but he expect things out of it. He expects a parade and acknowledgement. Nobody knew what Shiro went through to rid Zarkon of his connection to the Black Lion. Nobody knew what Shiro went through in his imprisonment because he doesn't want to burden anyone with that. Nobody knew what Keith went through to save Black and Shiro from Zarkon. Nobody knew what Keith went through when they were all mad at him for missing an attack. Lance doesn't withold that sort of stuff. The only thing he doesn't talk about is his insecurities, which he ends up spilling to the mice and Laika (the Yupper) anyway.

6 - Last one. Promise.

Nothing fucking happened. While Keith was gone, nothing of importance happened surrounding Voltron specifically. There was the Lion mind meld and Lotor joining, but all that served to prove was, with the mind meld, if Keith was there, he would have heard Shiro. And with Lotor joining, all it proved was how immature Lance was.

The second Keith gets back, things start happening again. Lotor gets outed as cruel and manipulative (still an ass-pull, by the way), Shiro gets outed as a clone, and so on. If Lance was leading, they all probably would have died ages ago. I'm talking Season 3 Episode 2, ages ago. Because Lance just isn't cut out for it.

So. Yeah. Those are the main reasons I hate Lance and why Black Paladin Lance is an awful idea. Screw the people who believe in it. It is awful.

Like I said, this won't affect my treatment of Lance in my rewrite, because I can fix those issues that come up. I don't have an issue with Season 1 Lance, it's later on that gets problematic. I just hate people building Lance up by bashing all the other characters, then claiming that Lance is the most traumatised, sad character when SHIRO AND KEITH ARE RIGHT THERE. NOT TO MENTION ALLURA, WHO LOST HER ENTIRE SPECIES, AND CORAN WHO LOST EVERYONE INCLUDING ALLURA AND NEVER GOT TO SAY GOODBYE TO HER.

Fuck. I hate Voltron so much but I can't help but love it.

[considerablecolors]

⚠️ SPOILERS FOR S4 & DISCUSSION OF SA ⚠️

hey so umm THEY NEVER ADDRESSED ALLISON TRYING TO ASSAULT LUTHER IN S3 WHAT HAPPENED HELLO. I KEPT WAITING WITH BATED BREATH TO SEE HOW THEY COULD POSSIBLY ADDRESS THAT TOPIC WITHOUT FUMBLING IT AND THE ANSWER WAS JUST. TO NOT EVEN TRY. I GUESS.

"everyone in the family is mad at me because i changed the timeline" ok yeah sure but I CAN THINK OF ANOTHER REASON TO BE MAD

and before anyone says any shit this is 100% not an excuse to be racist and sexist or to hold allison to different standards than your favorite white male characters. part of what made that scene in season 3 so disturbing to me was the fact that the writers chose to have the only black woman main character in the show do that to a white man. she's one of two women in the core siblings cast at this point. she's also a character that initially, while prone to making mistakes and abusing her powers, always loved her family. in fact, her love for viktor and insistence on not giving up on him even when he was hurting the others was one of the main themes of the first season.

why did we have her do that of all people. why did we have anyone do that at all. it was completely unnecessary to do (and to SHOW ON SCREEN) but to have the gall to do... that... and then not even address it and have allison and luther act completely normally to each other...

ALSO UM. luther canonically not remembering his first time having sex because he was under influence, getting mind controlled by his sister to almost get sexually assaulted, and then becoming a stripper despite showing basically no interest in the actual aspects of it... girl am i going crazy or is this not a coincidence, in a competently handled show this could be an exploration of the way sa victims will end up sexualizing themselves but no. instead we get jokes about him wearing thongs 24/7 and A FLASHBACK TO HIM AND HIS SISTER THAT TRIED TO ASSAULT HIM DANCING TOGETHER LIKE THAT'S CUTE. HELLO. ARE YOU THERE LITTLE GIRL ON A BICYCLE IT'S ME I JUST WANNA TALK.

also here's the deal. luther is also not perfect at all. none of the siblings are, that's the point, but specifically, luther was incredibly shitty and abusive to viktor in season one. but the show took the time to properly address it, have characters act differently towards each other as a result, have luther explicitly apologize to who he hurt and show genuine remorse, and throughout the next three seasons they took time to have him make up for it.

allison didn't get that chance, and that leaves such a bad taste in my mouth, and not even in the context of the show itself as much as the real life implications. im white, so i can't really give much of a genuine perspective and may be looking into things too deeply, but... the fact that allison consistently tends to be one of the most villainized characters in the show and portrayed specifically as manipulative and abusive and selfish... as the only black woman in the show since season 1 (unless i am forgetting someone)... feels so so so gross. (also having ray leave her and her child offscreen like come the fuck on)

everyone is talking about the treatment of five's character lately (and RIGHTFULLY so, believe me), but... allison AND luther i am sorry i am so so sorry they did this to y'all omg

[raisindave]

[Chapter 73] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

This is just an entire chapter of unhinged, depraved smut, idk what to tell you. Come get y’all juice I guess. Enjoy <3

There's something so exciting about pushing someone's buttons. It's no fun when it's someone who doesn't want to be fucked with; it's also no fun when there's no reaction. But Ghost always has a reaction. You just have to push the right buttons. He might play stoic at first, feign ambivalence like he always does, or flex his authority if you happen to forget his exalted rank. There's something so exciting about tipping water droplets onto the surface of an overfilled glass of water, testing how far you can push the surface tension. And push things you have. What's he gonna do, tell Price that you were mean to him with a quivering lower lip? 

You weren't expecting him to withdraw entirely, but he lifted himself from over you leaving you shockingly empty and cold both metaphorically and literally. Maybe it wasn't wise to spit in his face when he has your arms tied in a way that you definitely wouldn't be able to free yourself from if he happened to up and leave. Fuck. What's scarier is that he doesn't even look mad, just dark. Like his chin is tilted slightly downward and the whites of his eyes glint just above his waterline. The thought of apologizing never necessarily crossed your mind, but it did for a moment as his hand flashed toward you, harshly swiping the pillow from under your head and making you flump back into the mattress. 

In your daze, you didn't even connect what he was doing with his neatly folded clothes until he pried free a grey rectangle from the pocket of his jeans, wiry headphones dangling in tow. He almost instinctively measured the chords against his forearm like he does for all other ropes, an act that even made him blink in confusion; what you wouldn't do to know what was going on in his head right now. His phone, headphones, and a pillowcase he shucked from the pillow you'd been robbed of. At least you got a glimpse of a heavily cracked screen- a well-loved piece of technology, to put it lightly. Cleanliness and durability don't always go hand in hand. An odd glimpse into his personal life makes you wonder whose numbers he might have saved in there. While he was occupied by tapping away at his small, bulky personal cell, you thought to clear the unsteady silence. 

"Listen, it's not that serio-"

"Shut the fuck up," he barked. 

A chill ripped through your body; that's his this is serious tone. You held strong to your belief, owning what you'd done rather than submit like he's expecting. If he has the gall to step into your field of view again, you'll happily grace him with another spatter of saliva across his face. Fuck, his arms look so good. He stepped forward again, seemingly satisfied with whatever he was up to, an utterly unreadable expression in his eyes. 

There was a tenderness to how he placed the sheet over your eyes, and it all clicked into place. He made the pillowcase into a blindfold, tying it carefully behind your head in a thick knot. For some reason you could feel air flashing past your face. Seconds later, it connected with you that he was probably drawing punches to see if you could see past the blindfold. You couldn't, and now you'd lost access to two of your major faculties, your arms and eyes. For a second, you could hear him let out a low chuckle, and a sudden wash of eager anticipation crashed into your system. Your wrists writhed under your spine. He still wasn't touching you. Even worse, you've been stripped of the privilege of gawking at his form. The more time passed, the more you craved his touch, any touch in this void you're now floating in, and he finally caved. Of all the places on your body you were anticipating his hands, your ears were the last. Carefully, he was tucking your hair behind your ear to clear the way to place those earbuds in either of your ears. As much as you might baffle him with your so-called unprofessional attitude, he too baffles you with these wily schemes he gets up to. 

Just as you were about to say something snarky, the sound of deafening noise came through the flimsy speakers, startling you enough to make you flinch. It took you a second to recognize the noise as blasting metal music, and suddenly his hands were all over you. Pinching taut skin and ropes over your chest, cool air flooded over your tongue as you gasped. To say his touch was ravenous would be an understatement. Much-needed contact on your skin that made you crazy, and the feeling of his teeth over your collarbone made it worse. Teeth? He's taken his mask off, or pulled it up at least. An excuse to bite and nip at your skin while you're particularly susceptible, stripped of sight and sound, expertly crafted torture. He slipped himself back within your folds without any effort, another gasp torn from your throat that you couldn't hear past the squealing guitar and thundering drums. 

You did it to yourself, really. It's probably pretty not the best idea to piss him off when he has you in a state like this. Though, maybe that's the best part of it. Inciting his wrath to be taken out by fucking your brains out. That sounds like a win-win, except you are winning both times. His trusts weren't kind, even if they felt like a gift. They left your body shaking after every push against your cervix. Out of nowhere, his two fingers hook under your lower teeth, prying your jaw open. You do as you're bade, only because you have no other option. His other hand closing around your throat made you flinch at the additional unexpected touch. If you could hear what he was up to it would make all the difference, but unfortunately every action came as a shock to you. Heat grew over your face, more than what's already there. What came next was once again confusing at first, but it was a sensation you were all too familiar with. He'd spat in your mouth he pried open, spattering his own hot saliva over your tongue, returning your insubordination. All while he continued to punish you with his pace, fuck, the friction he created was divine. Worse yet, his hand tightened around your throat, disavowing you from swallowing the act. This was an act he'd done on your last birthday, an act that set your blood on fire all the same. Hopefully this won't end like that night did. 

He really is cruel to no end. You could only hear him whenever the music would pause between songs; once the screaming guitars and vocals withdrew, his rhythmic panting and gasps made your heart flutter, just as another crashing drum riff returns to command control over your senses again. All these sensations and lack thereof were all too much. The elevation to your senses from the denial of others made heat quickly grow in your core, and his palm finally withdrew from your throat, permitting you to swallow his spit. Once again, those fingers hooked under your teeth, and for a moment you rejected the second lashing of punishment, but he persisted. After considering biting down on his fingertips, he pried your mouth open again, and that free hand returned to the side of your head with an unanticipated air of clemency. It seems your expectations might never match reality because you swore you could feel his nose touch your cheek for an instant. Something hard touched your teeth, and you instinctively recoiled. Hot breath swept over your damp lips. Breath? Reluctantly, you opened your mouth fully, and shuddered as he placed some small item in your mouth from his own. A million thoughts and more surged through your neurons, and the taste of blackberries swept over your tongue. A candy? He'd placed a hard candy in your mouth, one of those German fruit-shaped sweets Laswell gifted you with the candle. It tasted so sweet, so sweet from his mouth; it felt like lightning had struck your body and left your skin electrified. 

That familiar tense energy between your thighs built, and his mouth closed around the side of your neck as you came undone around him. The sensation was slow to fade, leaving you twitching and trembling as he continued. For a few beats, he carried on, only to withdraw entirely. Spatters of hot seed spilled over your stomach, not nearly as hot as candle wax, and you could only imagine the look on his face right now. You were so used to him spilling himself within you that the thought of him withdrawing almost came as a shock, but it's no matter. You crunched the hard candy you'd lapped at with your tongue, a satisfying crack across your molars and smiled at the sweet candy. 

Heat had been sapped from your body, and the energy receded, he seemed to have stepped away. Blasting metal music continued, allowing you to catch on to what must be lyrics once your attention was free. Just as you started to grasp the actual rhythm of the tune, a hot fibrous cloth on your belly made you flinch as he swiped away his sin. A few more seconds of oblivion, and he lifted the blindfold, so too removing the headphones from your ears. The world spun for a short while, brighter than ever before. Blinding light from the lamp at your side made your pupils strain to catch up to the world around you. Your ears were ringing, and his mask had been pulled back over his face, he was neatly wrapping the headphone wires around his cell phone. It hadn't even occurred to you how out of breath you were until the music wasn't blaring in your ears anymore. 

He looked more exhausted than you'd ever seen him, a thin sheen of sweat over broad shoulders that challenged your unwinding hormones. He, too, was gathering his breath, but after another pause he rose to hook an arm under your spine. Your eyelids were heavy, but he was unravelling the ropes that bound your arms behind your back, suddenly acutely aware of the strain they'd left along your shoulders. That tenderness had faded, and he roughly twisted and tugged at loose chords, one by one unravelling his masterwork. Finally, your arms were free. He sat himself at the edge of the bed, and the discarded sheets felt more heavenly than before once you wrapped them around yourself. Warm, sated, with the taste of sweet blackberries lingering on your tongue. You even spotted the torn candy bag beside you on the table, assorted candies splayed over the wood. The relief you'd felt from the orgasm that ravaged your entire system let you easily consider this one of your top-ten birthdays of all time. Even if it's otherwise miserable. At least a minute was spent in blissful silence, catching up on your breath and peace before a series of sinister thoughts clicked into place. Your voice finally caught up, and you put your pieces on the board. 

"Are you satisfied now?" you croaked. 

"Quite."

"Well, I'm not," you sighed, rolling on your side. 

"No? You sounded pretty satisfied," he boasted in that gravelly accent you knew all too well. 

For a beat the thought occurred to you that his spit and the candy might have been an attempt to silence you, that these thin walls might invite some privy voyeurs. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe that's part of his psyop, and he wants you to be doubting yourself right now. There's this thought that's lingered in your conscience since you had a taste of it with your first encounter with him. It's both within grasp and entirely out of reach, a pipe dream that you'll have finess from him. This man won't comply of his own volition. You can't overpower him physically, that one time you did was a fluke. 

"If you want to make this birthday extra special, I was think-"

"Not happening," he grumbled. 

"You don't even know what I was gonna say," you raised your head from your now bare pillow in outrage. 

"I know what you want," he shifted to face you from the end of the bed. "You're not tying me up."

"Why not?" you pout. 

"Security."

"Security? What, you don't trust me?"

"Don't trust anybody," he shrugged, "life's easier that way."

"How righteous of you," you scoff. "How about this, if you let me do this, I'll give you one I-Owe-You. And If I-"

"Deal."

"That was fast," you shook your head in confusion. 

"The mask stays on," he held steadfast, making sure you caught the gravity in his tone. 

"Deal."

He probably thinks he can easily break free of whatever scheme you have in mind for him. He's probably right. But that doesn't mean you don't have a few tricks up your sleeve to keep him compliant. There's no reason this can't also be beneficial for him. Your knots might not be as pretty and neat as his, but they'll get the job done. It's your turn to turn the tables, but you won't forget the kindness he offered you while you were under his control. And you won't forget his brutality either. 

You stood uneasily at first, but the pads of your feet eventually landed on the grainy carpet. Even your shoulders ache, and your ears are still ringing. He eyed you cautiously as you rose, even more cautiously as you gathered his clothing from the wooden chair in the corner and tossed it to the floor. That one looked like it stung, and his eyes lingered on his jeans and shirt, now splayed on the ground. You also made sure to grab the black survival rope he'd neatly ravelled into a tidy loop, cocking your head to the side as he, too, watched you with skepticism. He seemed more bold and challenging than you were, though. The tables have turned. With the chair within reach, you repositioned it to sit at the foot of the bed, right next to him. 

"Sit," you order sweetly. 

"Am I going to regret this?" 

"It's likely."

He rose from his position and for a snapshot in time you stood face to face. All this time, you'd encountered him from the context of you being on your back or something of the sort, but he lazily met your stance. Even standing at your tallest, you couldn't even clear his shoulder, and his bare skin in your peripheral made your heart skip at the size of him. You swallowed hard. For a moment, it looked like he recognized your internal struggle, satisfied by his evident effect on your heart rate. Brown eyes met yours, and you swore his pupils dilated. He leaned forward and it made your stomach lurch, but instead he sat down in the creaky wooden chair, tilting his head back to easily meet your eyes. 

"Don't break the chair now," you manifested your sweetest voice as you aligned his wrists to align with the chair's wooden arms. 

"Why should I care about an old chair at a run-down motel?" 

"It's a charge on Laswell's credit card that will require an explanation." 

"Chairs break all the time," he watched your hands move with a smug expression. "Just say you sat on it and it fell apart."

"You think I want to take responsibility for your mistake?" you frowned sadistically, drawing a black rope around his wrist. 

He doesn't really have a choice to argue back since you're already tightening the cord that secures his wrists to the chair, haphazardly looping twice, thrice around his wrist to make sure it's extra tight. If you're honest with yourself, you're not entirely clear on what you're doing, but basic logic suggests you fasten his wrists and forearms and loop around the back of the chair to secure the other side. Unfortunately there isn't enough rope to secure every limb, but you'll have to settle with this with your limited resources. It's becoming clear that it'd be a miracle if you can secure him at all with how quickly this rope is being used. 

Around his back, and now it's time to secure his tattooed arm. Swirling inky imagery of skulls and weapons, how sinister. No match to your gruff ties along the curves of his bicep. His muscles are so warm under your fingertips. Focus, he's watching you actively stoke his ego, his chest even flexed as he laughed at your lingering eyes. Asshole. Both arms were secure, held fast by black ropes hard as iron, looped half a dozen times each over his arms to ensure he wouldn't break free without at least some breakage. A new heat in your core sparked. He looked heavenly, even if he didn't have the same shock he did that first time. Not to worry though, you have a plan. 

There's a certain arrogance in his look, like he thinks you can't outdo his previous act. While that was one for the history books, you have every intention to test the ego in his level gaze. 

At first you felt a twang of guilt at the thought of defacing the chocolate birthday cake your comrades had supposedly been up at the crack of dawn for, but at the same time, it's not their business how you want to consume it. Still, you couldn't help but cringe as you swipe your fingers across the delicate icing, scooping exquisite chocolate frosting on your two fingers. Without a moment of hesitation you transferred the treat onto his molten skin; heat from tight muscles radiating under your tongue as you lapped up the sugar. You'd always had a sweet tooth. He cocked his head to the side as he watched you glide your tongue over his shoulder, his pectoral, even haphazardly spreading a palm of the sticky treat across his abs. At least you avoided the gauze, an obstacle you were considerate enough to steer clear of. Your enjoyment of this birthday treat was made extra sweat by the rippling surface, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off you. Sitting back upright, you spared a glance to consider his expression, still arrogant and brash. It made your breath hitch, stepping further to rest your shins on either side of his thighs, straddling his lap. 

"How's this for too sweet?" you purr, slipping the decadent fingers under his mask, despite some resistance, and past his lips. 

He should consider himself lucky that you're loyal enough to respect his wishes, not lifting the mask above what's necessary to slip your fingers into his mouth, concealing his jaw with your palm. His tongue was warm over your fingers. Once he detected that you wouldn't betray his trust, he leaned in, lapping at your fingers with sultry eyelids, a foreign sensation that felt so unbelievably erotic around your fingertips. But he, too, wasn't so quick to forgive. He bit down on your fingers hard. Pain shot through your fingers and up your arm and your jaw tightened in agony. It seems you're each taking turns trading blows, and soon you won't even know who made the first slight. 

You'll return the courtesy if he wants to toy with the unexpected. If he wants to bite down on your fingers in protest, coy as he might think he is, you won't tolerate the insult. Shifting your posture to rest on one shin, and lifted your other leg while his gaze remained transfixed on yours. Candlewax would have a negligible effect on someone like him, so you'd have to up the ante. You had the wisdom to withdraw your fingers from his mouth before you slammed your knee into his groin, sending an explosion of anguish to wrack his body. 

He gulps in a gasp, holds shakily, and lets out a low, creaky whine. There's something so thrilling about it, though, so invigorating. You'd never thought of yourself as a sadist, but something about how he whimpers and groans when you hurt him like this makes you feel alive. More alive than ever. You'd seen needles get drawn through his skin just hours ago, gauze on his stomach that only slightly softens your heart, but only you can rip this reaction from his lips. Transfixed, you can't take your eyes off how his Adam's apple flexes on the column of his pale throat as he whines. For some reason, the thought occurred of hovering your mouth over his as a distraction. Through the cloth, you can feel the void of his open mouth, gasping hot air as you can only imagine the level of pain he's in right now. Your lips only technically making contact with his through the cloth of his mask, you breathed with him as he heaved for air. It feels so good. You'd never heard him groan or show any signs of distress until now, even if by a normal man's standards he's still remarkably tame. 

Your glory gained a twang of pity as he gasped. You barely saw eyebrows knit together in agony as he strained to tilt his head back. Gentle fingers caressed the side of his face, along the cloth on his jaw, around the skull-shaped plate across his nose. No reaction other than agony, except for when you softly took his cock in your palm. For a moment, his eyelids fluttered in recognition, but he only sucked air between his teeth and flexed his shoulders. Still in agony, you felt an odd twinge of pity for betraying him, even if it was all in the name of particularly sadistic sex. It still lit a fire in your core, and your own ache became clear as his muscles buckled against your restraints, you lifted yourself to straddle his lap again. Without even thinking, you did it again. Slamming your knee into his sensitive balls, he doubled over despite his arms being securely fastened. Not even for any particular reason, just call that one preemptive.  

Another cry tore from his throat, gruff and low. The pain threatened to make him go soft, but you still sat down gently on his cock with a sigh, taking him within you once again. He winced, and gulped, and his fleeting gaze finally focused to meet yours. His shoulders were tense when you wrapped your forearms around his neck as you had to wrangle this mechanical bull. The entire encounter started to feel like a song, slow and rhythmic, as you worked electric muscles to sow pleasure back into his body. He slowly gave in, letting his head fall back again and exposing his neck. And his neck tasted delicious along your tongue, even if he didn't have chocolate frosting along his skin that made it extra sweet. His agony was delicious, it just made you want to ride him harder. His voice was creaking in his throat, whining words like 'oh fuck’ and 'shit,' music to your ears as you took him deeper within you. 

You found yourself grinding down into his orgasm as your own found your system in turn. He poured himself into you, straining and bucking against you to dig himself further. For a brief instance, you were connected, no matter how briefly, thanks in part to what some might call guilt. It's definitely something he won't forget, and it's easy fodder for dialogue if he ever wants to get petty in the future. 

You furthered your makeshift apology by palming a circular container of sweet-smelling lotion, pistachio and salted caramel, and swiped it over his broad chest. Something you'd picked up in Italy at one of those boutiques before the gala. You eventually lifted yourself from his lap, watching his eyes as you took your fingers to re-administer his dripping succour back within you. If anything, he looked like he blushed at the action, a reaction that you’d never expect from the likes of him. Carefully and tenderly, you worked the balm over his skin; his breath finally started to steady after a few minutes of your kindness. It's only fair. You did just technically brutalize him with cruel torture that even Narcos debt-collectors might not consider. Not that you have any guilt, though. He smelled so sweet, sweeter than the usual musk and grime and sweat and gunpowder. He was even such a good boy when you loosened your dodgy ropework around his wrists. 

"Are you satisfied now?" you repeated your question from earlier.

"Fuck you," he groaned weakly.

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Master List

[audreyscribes]

Hii i love your writing <33 could you do headcanons for a child of zeus? l always wondered what it would be like for a child of zeus to be in camp half blood. Maybe they went to the same school as percy and grover brought them back too? How would her getting claimed by zeus change the situation between gods in the first book and stuff(lightning theif) specially since the prophecy said 1 of the kids of the big three wpuld overthrow the gods when they turned 16. Would hera be mad at them and send mosters after them since they're a byproduct of zeuses infidelity ? Thanks in advance ♡

If you’re just talking about being a child of Zeus, I have the headcanons already written in the Major Demigods H/C’s. I already have my own thoughts written about it there. 

Though, you’re talking about stuff as if the daughter of Zeus being in the main storyline. Well dear anon, let me first warn you that this is not going to be as cool and as great as it you might think it will lead to be. There’s a reason only why Thalia is there and being a child of Zeus is already a set-up for having a hard life. Not necessary a happy story with a good ending either. That just makes it worse. [Disclaimer: massive text wall below]

First addressing the daughter of Zeus being a daughter of Zeus. Hera is already historically going to do something and take out her anger at Zeus’s infidelity again at the daughter of Zeus and her mother.

What’s worse is that this daughter of Zeus would be the second or worse third time Zeus has broken the Oath the Big Three swore after WW2; since depending when, the daughter would be born right after Thalia or around the same time as Jason. 

So not just Hera, there’s going to be other gods after her. We already knew Hades will be evoking his wrath at the daughter of Zeus, because he did it to Thalia. Her existence would stoke Hades’ anger even more because what Zeus did to Nico and Bianca’s mother, so for him to break the Oath again? Not looking too well on her prospects. And following Zeus, it’ll be Poseidon because up until Percy, he hasn’t have any demigods since the Oath; he’s the only god out of the Three to not have any children since WW2 started or had any before the Oath (like Hades). So for Zeus to break his oath twice/thrice? The gall of him being King and not upholding his own oath, law, and honour? That’s absolutely not fair. Oh it’s all hands on deck. (Side tangent: Poseidon has a whole lot of restraint for a sea god. He kept his word and it really paints the picture that Poseidon broke his own oath because of Zeus breaking the oath (twice if you include Jason as well), and Hades having his own children still alive really leaves him left out of fatherhood). If the daughter of Zeus hasn’t died or majorly cursed after all those THREE gods, and more gods along the way, and there are also monsters, SOMEHOW, and I’m assuming they do for the sake of your ask, I’m going to assume that this daughter of Zeus is either a year younger or the same age as Percy. Then there’s when her birthday is, is it going to be one month or a few months before Percy’s birthday or after that? It’s going to be tight and absolutely nerve-wracking because of the prophecy. The daughter of Zeus would not be naive to the world of the gods and monsters after what I said earlier. There’s also how she would survive that long being in Nancy Academy with Percy for that long, even if she is a new transfer student. Cause two children of the Big Three surviving in the same vicinity? Percy only survived that long because of Sally’s endurement and love to be with Gabe to mask his demigod scent, him being ignorant as a demigod,  Grover and Chiron doing their absolute damnest to keep him alive and yet they still didn’t know Mrs. Dodds was one of the furies among them. 

So that doesn’t paint a good picture for the daughter of Zeus. Even if it was the same scenario like Percy, she already be exposed to the world of the gods, so her demigod scent would be activated. To be hidden, would mean interference from a god like Zeus, and that’s not fair. 

The Lightning Thief plot wise, it doesn’t paint well either. Zeus’ thunderbolt is missing so it would be natural for the Daughter of Zeus to target whoever searching for who stole her father’s weapon…meaning she would have to fight Percy in accusation; thus splitting the camp in half much more earlier; between those who support Zeus and those who support Poseidon. There’s also to consider the Hades's Helm of Darkness also missing at the same time, which is also another thing. 

It would be super easy for Luke and Kronos to convince, trick, and manipulate the daughter of Zeus. Not just in the Lightning Thief but for the entirety of the books. That’s where it gets sad/unpleasant. Percy has always been meant to be the child of the Prophecy, and the one to turn the tides. He has the necessary perspective and personality, his journey as a hero adding to his nature and the people he has met along the way, both good and bad. Those experiences making up Percy for the prophecy to come to fruition is the key. Anyone else would have succumbed and led to the downfall of Olympus and the gods. If the daughter of Zeus’ birthday is a few months after Percy’s, then it's a matter of holding out till then, and everything is fine. It’ll be a tug of war over who is the child of the Prophecy that’ll make great tension in the books.

If her birthday is before his, well…not so good. She’ll be at peril by the gods to smite her so the prophecy doesn’t come true, like they tried with Percy and Nico. She could have been or is on Kronos’ side. If not that, then she’ll either be in a state to be suspended in time like Thalia joining Artemis’ huntresses or being cursed into one in an untimely way (i.e. being frozen as a statue), or meet an untimely demise (like Bianca).

[connectionterminated13]

A Dead man who just needs a pack of cigarettes

Short little fan fiction I worked on in a couple minutes on Tumblr because I was bored BTW this takes place in my AU Inferno! Also please don't expect stellar writing quality this is mostly just a joke and for fun and I'm not doing the best editing on this (Fuck you Tumblr (The app) I'm going to write something tonight If it fucking kills me)

"You're telling me you're out"

Michael stared down the store clerk with what he could only describe as pure hatred. He was focusing every bit of rage and anger and general unhappiness from a miserable life at this man.

"I told you sir we sold out an hour ago.."

The bleary-eyed teenage boy behind the cast register of a convenience store somewhere in Arizona was not acknowledging the pure hatred that Michael was staring at him with. This made Michael even more mad

"Well Mr. I ran out of them an hour ago, I just saw some guy leave with a whole Fucking bag full!!"

This was a lie but Michael assumed if he got more threatening with his tone and maybe yelled a bit and made up this total this stupid probably high teenage boy would tell him where the goddamn cigarettes were!

The boy just blinked at him tired and boringly like he wasn't looking at an affront to God Screaming his face about cigarettes.

"LOOK KID I DON'T THINK YOU GET IT I NEED FUCKING CIGARETTES I AM GOING TO BE ON THE ROAD FOR THE NEXT OH SAY 8 HOURS, 8 HOURS IN THE DESERT, 8 HOURS WITHOUT A TASTE OF NICOTINE. WHICH I THINK IS TAUTAMOUNT TO TORTURE."

Michael was going to break something if this stupid boy didn't at least give him a reason why there was no cigarettes. Because Michael knew barely anyone passed through here so it was safe to assume that this stupid dumb future Hippie boy or Trailer truck Owner had stolen these also precious rations away from Michael as some elaborate plot against him!!

"I told you sir we're out someone bought up the last pack an hour ago if you wait till tomorrow they'll be more..."

The boy didn't even have the gall to look at him staring down at his stupid phone.. Disgusting absolutely disgusting.

"Do not know what I am boy?? I am not human I do not need what you need all I need is cigarettes AND IF YOU CAN'T GIVE THAT TO ME WELL I'LL JUST HAVE TO DRAG YOU TO HELL WITH ME!?"

Michael with much anger picked up a display of gum and threw it against the ground. The boy did slightly raise his eyebrows and let out a small "Damn"

"Are you going to pick that up?"

The boy looked down at the mesh Michael headmaid clearly thinking about how annoying it would be to clean up later.

"Not until you tell me where the cigarettes are.."

Michael said with the smuggist face his lack of lips and cheeks and general facial features would allow.

"Look sir... I get you think you're some kind of crypted supernatural entity but please trust me when I say we're out of cigarettes..."

The boy rubbed between his eyes clearly beginning to lose patience and by extension beginning to care about what Michael had to say.

"Okay let's believe you you have no cigarettes.. But do you really think I'm just putting on an act? no no this is what I am. You see a long time ago, I was like you human stupid handsome..."

Michael paused for a moment remembering his beautiful hair and his handsome untainted face... As for some reason the teenage boy continued to look bored and mildly distraught about the idea of cleaning up the gum Michael had spilled on the floor.

"Anyway up until my sister and her other insane clown robot friends ripped out my insides and used me as a human skin suit!! This went on for 2 months... Do you know what it feels like to be a human skin suit for 2 months???"

The boy just existed there for a moment before realizing it was a question in shaking his head.

"And you know what I survived!! Sure I'm dead and bruised and maybe a bit more crazy than I was before but I survived!!"

Michael punctuated the word survived By knocking over another display. This time it was for some kind of chocolate egg. For good measure Michael even stamped on some of the packaging as the boy with a giant sigh responded to michael.

"What does that have to do with cigarettes or your continued violence to our products sir?"

"WELL EVERYTHING OF COURSE!! BECAUSE IF YOU THINK AFTER ALL THAT I'D GIVE UP WHEN YOU SAY THERE AREN'T CIGARETTES WHEN THEY'RE CLEARLY ARE AND YOU'RE JUST HIDING THEM FROM ME, YOUR JUST AS INSANE AS PEOPLE CLAIM I AM!!!"

The boy seemed genuinely pissed off at this point which made Michael feel proud.

"Look Mr. Unholy Damon guy if I give you my Own cigarette Package will you just leave me alone??"

The boy slapped a box of cigarettes on the Cash register sliding them towards Michael. Michael looked down at them immediately noticing they weren't his brand of cigarettes but they would do.

"Thank you"

Michael took the cigarettes with a smile before walking out of the convenience store ignoring the fact the boy was flipping him off behind his back. Michael was still smiling when he opened the RV door and was face-to-face with Charlie.

"What did you break this time?"

Charlie said with a tired but unannoyed voice

"Just a couple of standies nothing to worry about..."

Michael said with Sing song voice voice lighting up a cigarette

[ghostly-hitch-hiker]

Puberty Speedrun (pt 1)

For some reason @stealingyourbones ‘s DPxDC Prompt 492 was the one that finally galled me into writing action, but have some aged up Danny! He’s not in Gotham yet, but oh Boy does he end up there (if I actually keep writing, that is). It’s not all that long, but I’m adding a keep reading line anyway.

Chapter 1: Part 1 (you are here!), Part 2, Part 3

He wasn’t sure how it had happened. Perhaps, this is what he gets for taking advantage of Clockwork too much. Maybe it’s just another side effect of slipping in and out of the time stream unaffected for too long (how long has it been anyway? Has he actually lived long enough in those time out moments to have aged this much?) For once, it wasn’t his parents. 

Of all the changes he’s been through, this one had been the most peaceful. He’d woken up with his feet sticking off the edge of his childhood bed and his head smushed against the headboard. Pajamas that he’d actually managed to shrug into for once instead of falling into bed fully clothed were far too tight and too torn all of a sudden.

Danny rolled out of bed with a louder than normal thud and struggled to get his too long limbs in order. He rubbed hand up the side of his face and froze when he felt stubble. Oh, Ancients, had he seriously speedrun puberty? Danny’s body finally obeyed him in his mad rush to the bathroom before freezing when he caught his reflection in the mirror.

Damn, that’s a no to speedrunning puberty, then. Or was it really a no? Because the man that looked back at Danny from the mirror definitely wasn’t fifteen. He wasn’t even a teenager. “Fuck,” he muttered, and he shuddered when his voice sounded exactly like Dan’s. Danny blinked, and so did the man in the mirror. He stepped closer, so did his reflection. His shoulders were broad, far broader than his fifteen year old frame had ever given any indication they could be. He was a good six inches or so taller than he had been the previous night, but that still only put him around 5’10”. Probably. (Jazz was already that tall. They’d have to compare heights. Oh Fuck, Jazz. Nope. Not yet. Still processing mirror shenanigans).

He thought he looked how an unghostly Dan might’ve looked, but the longer he stared, the more he could see how too much eau de Vlad had influenced Dan’s appearance. His hair was shortish still, and most importantly, not made of flames, but still the same hair texture it had always been. His eyes were significantly less red and evil looking. They were the same blue as ever, as a human at least, and if he focused on them, he could still pretend he looked fifteen. His nose was larger than it had been, and it looked even more like a cross between his parents than it had before. Rounded ears. Normalish incisors. The dark circles under his eyes still looked like he was a chronic insomniac rather than Dan’s bad eyeliner choices. Rubbing a hand once more along the stubble of his jaw, a jaw that was much more defined than it had been, Danny decided he looked like Danny… just older. Sighing, Danny brushed his bangs out of his eyes and winced as his pajama shirt tore further with the motion.

Alright, mental to do list time: 1. Steal clothes from dad, 2. Call himself out of school, 3. Liquor store (KIDDING, JAZZ!), 4. Actually maybe talk to Jazz about what has happened and also definitely Sam and Tucker, 5. Fight Clockwork and undo the instant aging.

Danny was only fifteen, dammit! He wasn’t ready to be twenty-five!

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

If I keep going, the course of events would go as follows. Danny’s parents don’t recognize him, and after fighting talking to Clockwork, it becomes apparent that there isn’t any way to undo this anytime soon—at least, not in Amity Park. So Danny leaves. His parents don’t recognize him, his friends and his sister are almost a full decade younger than him. He doesn’t want to miss out on ten years of life with the people he cares about, so he’d better find some way to undo the aging bs.

The problem with leaving Amity is that everywhere else in the US is a hell of a lot further ahead technologically, so it’s harder to fake an identity than he thought. Sam, Jazz, and Tucker help, but they’re really all teenagers and his new ID really wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny. So Danny makes his base of operations Gotham. The police don’t care about some slightly wonky paperwork, and neither does his landlord. He’s pretty sure he can stay clear of the bats while he’s in the city anyway (courtesy of ghost powers), and he’ll be spending most of his time around the continental US trying to figure out what the hell even happened to him. It’s as foolproof of a plan as it could be. He totally won’t get into any trouble living in the world’s greatest detective’s hometown!

He does not account for it also being Bruce Wayne and his family’s hometown...

[emmyrosee]

Idk… I’m in like. A big Suna mood, friends

He’s just such a chaotic good, such an absolute loser, and how anyone thinks he’s more than someone who willingly, and for fun, plops down on the couch with uncooked instant noodles with the packet and eats them straight is beyond me.

The worlds most obnoxious snuggle bug, latches himself onto you when he’s tired and will not let you go. He’s adorable, of course he is, but to say he’s not the bane of your existence would also be an absolute lie, and makes using the bathroom sometimes infinitely more difficult than it needs to be.

(“Rin, I have to pee-“

“Pee the bed.”

“Absolutely not, if you’d just give me three minutes of my own personal space-“

“No. We’ve been together for four years. Your personal space is my personal space.”)

Sometimes, if he has the energy, he’ll let you go but literally seconds later, you hear padding feet outside of the door, a small poomf on the floor, and when you’re finished washing your hands, you’re greeted with the sight of Rin on the floor, scrolling through tiktok. “Seriously?” “You missed a really funny one.”

Every now and again, him being such a pain in the ass causes you to get into little fights, little spats here and there, and when you get into these fights it’s not impossible to have them turn into little ridiculous digs that you both know are things you love about each other, but are just ammunition for a petty disagreement.

(“You’re just mad that my hairline isn’t receding!”

“Oh yeah? At least I don’t dip my chicken nuggets into my milkshakes!”)

Sometimes, when he’s out of things to say (or he’s just in the wrong and he wants the fight to stop) he says very out of pocket things to throw you off.

(“I think you’re just jealous!”

“Of what?” You scoff.

“That I can juggle, and you can’t.”

“…..what?”) It’s an easy way to break up the ‘fight’ and have you giggling at him once again.

Sometimes, you come home, and something is very, very off. You cock your brow, you put down your keys and shrug off your coat, and with a call of his name, he quickly calls back “I love you!”

“Rin what did you do?” And after a few beats of silence, this man has the audacity, the gall, to round the corner with an animal in his arms, and the worlds most swollen eyes and red cheeks, and your jaw slacks. “Rin.”

(“It’s a baby! We have to keep her!”

“You’re deathly allergic to dander.”

“But it’s a baby.”)

This happens at least twice a month. Quickly prompted by a stop at the shelter so the animal can be put for adoption and rescued, and then a stop at the hospital for anaphylactic shock.

WILL, and I mean WILL, put off any gosh damn task you ask him to do; dishes, laundry, cooking, dusting, the only thing he does without argument is trash because once, he actually forgot to do it, and it was a wonderful time trying to get rid of the smell in your kitchen.

But otherwise, he waits until you offer to do it, and he shrugs and says “let’s just do it together.” And it’s so cute he wants to do things with you, and that’s the only reason you don’t leave him for it.

He knows all of your tells for anything you may be feeling- emotional or physical. He knows when you’re nervous, you fiddle with your fingers and dig at your cuticles, so he gets you some rings to fidget with. He knows you’re about to be sick when your eyes look heavy and you are extra, extra cuddly.

(“Don’t puke on me, let me get a bucket.”

“I’m not gonna puke.”

“And I don’t believe you, now stay.”

And you elbow him extra hard when he’s got the cockiest smirk while rubbing your back.)

[84reedsy]

The Mentorship, Part 19

The Mentorship

Characters: Curt Hennig/FemOC , Scott Hall/FemOC

Part 19 of 22 (Parts not chapters, parts length varies)

Warnings/Considerations: Smut, Age Gap, Power Dynamics, Dirty Talk, swearing

Word Count: 3835

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

Taglist: @writeandsurvive @theweaselandthekilt (DM or comment to be added!)

Brinkley stopped in her tracks, surprised by Scott's voice. She felt nervous, knowing how this must've looked to Scott. She wasn't sure how much she cared if it hurt him or not,  remembering his degrading treatment.

“Nothing.” She stated simply, “I needed someone to talk to. Curt was kind enough to listen,” she spoke confidently,  though she felt so much smaller than him as he took a step toward her. 

Curt did not move from behind her,  but was ready to step in if she needed him. He tried to remain visually neutral.

“Did you sleep with him?” Scott accused through gritted teeth.

“Did we sleep in the same room?  Yes. Was he a friend when I needed it? Yes. But if you're asking if we fucked? No, Scott, we didn't. And I can't tell you how much I appreciate you not waiting to talk to me about this in private, just in case anyone else in the house wanted to know.” The more she spoke the angrier she got, the more bold she got, the louder she got. Her confidence seemed to crack Scott’s exterior a little, “Hell, maybe I should have if you're gonna think I did anyway,”

The last words made Curt feel uncomfortable and Scott noticed. His memory from the night before was fuzzy,  but he recalled being angry with her,  he was just unsure why. 

“Brinkley…I'm sorry,  you gotta know how it looks to me,” Scott took another step toward her. 

“I can understand how it looks.  But I'm telling you what happened. Believe me, don't believe me.  I really don't care.” She rolled her eyes and walked past him into the room, feeling more emboldened by the second. 

Curt was shocked at her gall, exchanging surprised looks with Scott.

A few moments later,  Scott followed Brinkley into his room, the chair in his room triggering a memory from last night.

“Are you mad at me about something?” Scott was the one lacking confidence now,  sitting on the edge of the freshly stripped mattress.

“Why would I be mad?” She vollied back with an iciness in her tone.

“Obviously, I upset you. I was hoping you might help me remember why,” he kept his tone even, not used to her not being putty in his hands. 

“Oh did you forget? Did you get wasted and forget what happened?” She spat at him as she spun around from pulling clothes out of her suitcase, “isn't that convenient,” she stalked to the bathroom.  She'd be damned if she let him see her naked at this point. 

Scott had never seen her like this.  He had to admit,  she was even more attractive when she was assertive,  but he felt like something bigger than he realized must've happened. He walked over to the closed bathroom door.

“Brinkley,” he knocked gently, “please talk to me. Tell me what I did. Can I at least try to make it right?” He was met with silence on the other side of the door. He leaned back against the frame as another fuzzy memory filtered through his mind. 

He remembered throwing her over the chair. He remembered the look in her eyes,  slightly fearful of him.  It made his stomach turn now. He remembered demanding she call him ‘daddy’ and how timidly she responded. 

He remembered saying he owned her. 

He remembered how coldly he'd treated her after.  Leaving her sitting there,  still naked without a kind word or touch. He could understand her being upset.  He wondered how much she'd confided in Curt.

It wouldn’t have been the worst thing he’d ever done when drunk. At least she didn’t tell him no and he’d ignored her. He hoped that was the case at least. 

She opened the door and walked right by him without a look. 

“I think I know why you're mad,” he took a couple steps in her direction,  rubbing his palms together nervously, “Last night was kind of a blur,”

“Aw, do you remember now? Did you have a rough night? Poor baby,” she feigned concern, roughly packing her clothes away.

Scott felt himself break out in a cold sweat.  He'd never known Brinkley to be this upset. He couldn't very well blame her, but he was feeling more and more desperately hopeful she'd let him try to fix it. 

“Did…did I force you?” He asked,  bracing himself for a verbal and perhaps physical onslaught. Hearing no response initially,  he carefully looked toward her. The betrayal in her face felt like a gut punch. 

“Not entirely. But I'm not sure if I only said yes because I was worried my consent didn't matter,” she answered honestly, “I've never been treated like that,  Scott. And I can't do anything about your hangups with me and Curt. But it wasn't like I lied about it,  you knew all about us. And I feel like you're punishing me for something I can't change,” she tried not to ramble but so much was building up behind her frustration.

“I'm sorry that I scared you,” he responded gently.  

His tone surprisingly angered her.  How could he be so considerate and understanding now when last night he was so cruel and unforgiving?

“I'm not the most stable guy,  Brink, I don't think that's any big secret…but I think the pressure of hiding it got to me. And that's still on me.  Not you.” He cleared his throat.

His calmness was nearly infuriating. She wished she didn't feel such ire, but she knew she was justified. 

“I don't know if I ever want you to touch me again,” she said flatly, but had to look away from him,  unable to cope with the vulnerable look in his eyes.

Scott felt dread wash over him.  He'd kept telling himself that it was too good to be true,  that it'd fall apart like everything else. He'd wished the opposite, but couldn't deny that he architected that exact reality to perfection.

“I'm really sorry you feel that way.  I would like to try to make it right,  if I can.  If you'd let me try.” He felt the sting of hypocrisy,  having pledged to nearly kill Curt and he'd only grabbed her arm. He was feeling a bit of desperation in salvaging what he could of their relationship.

He felt his heart aching and he knew he'd loved her for far longer than he'd allowed himself to admit. 

“I just…I don't know,  Scott. I'm really…I'm just so…so mad at you!  And at myself for still being here having this conversation with you instead of walking out and getting as far away from you as I can. And I can't do that because I feel like it's going to literally rip my fucking heart out of my chest,” the last words drawing streams of tears down her cheeks. She was desperate for him to comfort her but knew she shouldn't let him. 

“Brinkley…” his own voice cracked and she looked at him,  his own eyes bloodshot as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, “Please don't give up on me yet,”

Though tears blurred her vision, she could really see him. He was not a man 20 years her senior, he was just a man.  She wasn't the young,  inexperienced girl,  she was just a woman.  She felt as if for once they were equal.

“Scott,” she shook her head, going against her better sense, “I want to trust you again…but I just don't know how,”

Scott felt a surge of hope,  all he needed was a chance from her. 

“You don't have to do anything. Just let me try,” he hoped to assure her. 

“But you have to let this thing with Curt go.  He's my best friend.  I know things were weird for a while,  but I’m not going to stop being his friend,.” She added a stipulation, knowing that making Curt a forbidden fruit would only inflame her hunger. 

“I can work on that,” he assured her, “I just ask that you be honest with me in return.” He didn't intend to disallow anything if she'd just agree to stay. 

“I've always been honest with you, Scott,” she reminded him. He nodded,  scrunching his forehead and he looked downward. She had been, almost to a fault.

“I know you said I can't touch you.  I respect that.  But…can I at least hold you for just a little bit, just for now?” He asked,  hating the pleading tone that he tried to mask. 

Brinkley knew she should say no,  but she was still pining for the embrace she was denied the night before. She nodded,  trying not to sob as he cleared the space between them, quickly pulling her into him and wrapping his arms around her. 

“Baby,  I am so sorry,  I'm such an idiot,” he felt her shaking against him. He could only hope it was anything but fear.

She gripped into the front of his shirt,  her fingers curling into the fabric. She felt comforted against his firm chest, by his scent. She knew feeling this way was absurd. But she didn't have the energy to be logical. 

“Are you alright? If I hurt you please tell me,” he begged,  wishing he never had to let go. 

“You didn't. Not physically…” she mumbled against him. In her mind,  she wanted to pull away from him just enough to kiss him and let him apologize with his body,  but she couldn't let herself.  

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

The locker room was tense that evening, though they all did well enough to remain professional. No one else could quite put their finger on it,  but other than Kevin and Page, the three of them were the only ones who knew that anything was different.

Curt was relieved tonight wasn't a full match.  It was against a fill-in jobber, but would be interrupted by a run in. He wasn't sure if he had a whole match in him anyway. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked Brinkley as they arrived near the staging area early. 

She shrugged, looking as gorgeous as ever but he could tell she was tired. 

“You pretty much know the gist of it,” she rotated her head around her neck,  trying to stretch her tense muscles, “I just don't know what to do,”

“You think I'm going to tell you what to do?” He had to smirk, “You know I can't do that anymore…girl,  you gotta figure this out on your own,” he looked remorseful that might have sounded cold, “as much as I wish I could help you,” 

“Just marry me and let's run off to the woods together,” she joked out loud the silly fantasy she used to imagine when she was still sleeping in his guest room. 

“In another life,  I'd take you up on that,” he replied honestly, “But in this life…not in the cards,”

“I know.” She followed him into the gorilla curtain.

“I want you to know,” he said, his hands holding her face gently in the private, dark space, “regardless of whatever else, I'm really proud of you,  Brinkley,” he could feel her smile against his palm, dropping his hands to let her walk out first. She wasn't even phased by the cameras anymore, he noticed. In fact,  she seemed to enjoy it. 

Brinkley hadn’t talked to Scott at all since leaving the embrace that morning. She didn’t know what else to say to him and making small talk felt pointless. Her hand had felt so bare walking in without him holding it, but so far he’d respected her demands. 

As he stalked out to the ring, for once without Kevin, she let her very real nerves show themselves, putting their tense situation to good use. She cut him off at the bottom of the ramp, blocking him from interfering. Scott grinned, his signature cocky smile on full display. It turned her on and she hated it, she let that hate burn through her. 

“You better step back,” She loudly announced. 

“What are you gonna do, sweetheart? Stop me?” He trivialized her position, “Hennig too chicken shit to fight his own battles? Gotta send in a girl to do a man’s job?” 

“Nope, I just take care of all the light work for him,” She criticized him back, pretending to yawn. 

Scott pretended to take a deep offense to her words, pinning her against the side of the ring with a hand on either side of the apron. He was as close to her as he could get without touching her, staring her down intensely. She didn’t have to fake the heavy rise and fall of her chest. She tried her best to keep animosity in her eyes instead of desire. 

Scott’s face only changed as Curt leaned over the ropes and grabbed a handful of his black hair and pulled him into the ring. She watched as Scott was pulled upwards right in front of her. She slapped the ring, supporting Curt as he held the upper hand against Scott. 

She thought of how cathartic it felt to let kayfabe allow her to vent her frustrations. She had to wonder if all the drama in the locker room was easily squashed because they could act out what they wanted in front of the camera and forgive and forget backstage. 

But this wasn’t typical backstage politics. It was much more. 

With his attention on Scott, the opponent took the opportunity to roll up Curt for a two count, broken up by Brinkley’s interference. The referee called for the bell, ending the match in a disqualification. 

Brinkley left Scott in the ring, not looking back as she helped Curt backstage. She wasn’t going to wait for him by the staging area either, but Curt encouraged her to. 

“Don’t kick a man while he’s down,” He gently suggested, “He got a couple receipts out there,” 

Brinkley was ready to argue, but saw Scott holding his cheek as he emerged from behind the black curtains. She hated that she wanted to help him. 

“I’ll find some ice,” She offered, but not warmly at all. She found an ice machine and a towel, wrapping ice in it, remembering the night at Lex’s house where she’d done the same. She’d pulled him outside and doctored him the best she could. She remembered the things he’d said and the memory alone made her shiver. 

She didn’t hurry back to the locker room, walking casually and not taking the most efficient route either. But as she returned to the locker room, Curt motioned towards the bathroom. She pushed the door in, seeing Scott leaning forward across the sink, examining the swollen bump under his eye. He saw her in the reflection, looking relieved. 

“I brought this for you,” She held up the towel of ice and walked toward him. 

“Thank you, that was really thoughtful,” He seemed genuinely appreciative, but didn’t reach out for it, hoping she’d doctor him like she had before. She seemed to contemplate her options for a moment, but did walk up to him, placing the chilled fabric against his cheek.

“You have to stop letting people punch you in the face,” She joked without a smile, pressing slightly to combat the swelling. 

“Maybe I should stop doing things that make people want to punch me in the face,” He countered with self depreciation. He could see the corner of her mouth fighting a smirk, “You did really well out there tonight,” He complimented her. 

“It’s easy for me when I’m working with really talented people,” She admitted, sitting on the edge of the counter as she continued to hold the ice to his face, “You guys do most of the work,” she shrugged. 

“But we don’t carry you like we’ve had to some broads. You’re up there with Sherri, I think anyway,”

“I know you’re just trying to earn brownie points,” She tried to brush off his compliment, “I still want to be mad at you, though,” 

“I deserve it,” he turned to face her fully, his legs so nearly touching hers, but he didn’t close the gap, “I want you to be mad at me,” 

“You do not. You want me to forgive you and fall into your arms so you can have your own personal sex slave back,” She didn’t feel like mincing words at the moment and if she wanted to feel heard, she would have to say what she felt. 

“My what?” He looked at her, confused, “My own personal…what?”

She just scowled back at him, refusing to repeat it, “We both know it's true…” She mumbled, “You just proved it last night, that’s all,”

“But it's not true,” He said more firmly than he meant. He got her attention, her eyes flickering up to his immediately. He didn’t want to be demanding and reinforce any negative thoughts she had about him - but he couldn’t let her trivialize what he felt, “That’s not true at all,” 

“Are you sure about that?” She countered, “You know what the road does. It's like this insulated little separate reality. Were you really planning on introducing me to your family? Your girlfriend who’s half your age?” 

“Maybe…but we’ve only been together a few weeks, baby girl,” He thought better of the term only after he said it. She glared at him a little, but did not correct him, “If I wasn’t serious about you, I wouldn’t have brought up dating. And then told people about it.”

“Well last night really made me wonder,” She could feel an ache in her throat, but she swallowed it, “Made me feel like I was nothing but a kinky play toy for you that you could just use and dispose of as you pleased,”

“Well…sometimes sex isn’t always gentle and sweet…” He instinctively tried to defend himself, realizing it sounded bad as soon as he said it.

“I’m fully aware of that,” She snapped at him, pressing the ice too firmly making him wince. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “You really should work on not making people want to punch you in the face… “I know that it can be dirty and mean and fast and slow and everything in between. But I at least want to be in on the idea…” She wasn’t sure how to say what she wanted. She could see herself agreeing to let Scott be that rough, hell even demeaning as long as afterwards he treated her well. Or at least like a human being, “I’d probably role play anything you wanted if you’d just ask me first,”

Scott nodded, willing every gross thought in his mind to keep himself from being aroused. 

“I understand. And I can do that from now on,” He agreed quickly, “If there’s still a now on for us…” He asked carefully. 

She was quiet as she looked away from his gaze again. Would she really leave him and end it? Was what happened really that bad or just a misunderstanding? Will they ever be able to really trust each other when their first time was a trick threesome? 

“Scott…” She started, her thoughts jumbling into an overbearing din, “Do you really even want me?” She asked.

“Are you serious?” He asked genuinely, “I have been literally sick to my stomach all day. There have been women in my life that I really liked having around, but the second they weren’t, I couldn’t have cared less. I’m not always the greatest guy - but the thought of not being with you? I can’t even think about it, Brinkley,” He looked at her with such honesty and sincerity that she could barely stand it, “I don’t know when, how, why it happened, but you got in here,” He tapped his chest with the inside of a closed fist, “I never said it - but I felt it. I know that’s a pretty bullshit thing to say…”

“Just a little,” She interjected. 

“But I didn’t want to tell you that and just lose you anyway. Women usually realize what a fuck up I am and take off. Can’t say I didn’t give you the perfect example,” he shrugged.

“I’m not really interested in who you were with other women. It doesn’t pertain to right now,” She said with a wisdom that made him feel foolish, “Just like your mistakes with them don’t either,” 

He felt panic in his gut, wondering if she was going to cut him loose. 

“Don't make me suffer because of your past when I want to be in your future…” Brinkley slipped her free hand in his as it hung at his side. Her touch startled him,  but he squeezed gently. 

Relief flooded him so profoundly he almost felt sick to his stomach all over again.   

“But,” she wasn't sure her caveat would be well received, “both times I've had problems…you guys have been drinking,” she didn't think they'd ever stop completely.  How could they, being on the road like this?

“You're right,” his will was there,  but he knew it would crumble without much pressure.

“I'm not going to ask you to stop,” she quickly interjected again,  “but I need you to understand that I might not be able to trust you for a while…if you're drinking,”

“What about when I'm sober?” He questioned,  his thumb stroking the top of her hand. 

“I don't know yet,” she mumbled as she shrugged, “I don't have an answer for that,”

“What about right now?” He asked,  his voice softer and lower. The tone made her look back to him, “Do you trust me now?”

She knew he wanted to touch her and more than just her hand. She knew he wanted to relay his apology physically. But he was resisting. She wondered how much he was holding back. 

“I do,” she said,  glancing at their joined hands. 

“Will you come home with me tonight?” He carefully asked.

“What if I say yes, but I sleep in Curt's room?” As she asked,  she felt cruel, but didn't apologize.

“You are free to do what you please” he said,  the idea crushing him, “I just ask…if you're going to be with me to be honest…”

“You don't own me?” She postured now,  remembering how he made her repeat that. 

“No,  not at all,” the memory of his drunken words haunted him, “I don't want to own you.  I just want to be with you,”

Brinkley looked into his eyes, thinking for a few moments before answering. 

“I'll come home with you. I'll sleep with you.  But the rest of the terms stay the same for now.  I need you to respect my boundaries. No touching and I want privacy,” she laid out her rules, knowing they were the opposite of what he wanted. 

“I understand, you'll have whatever you need. We can even change the match if you don't want me touching you,” he offered.

“Well,” she smirked a little,  “I don't think we need to go that far…”

[supercorpkid]

Your Name Hurts

Supergirl, Kara Danvers x Reader!, Nia Nal.

Word count: 3030.

Notes: Inspired by Hailee Steinfeld's song :)

“Wait,” Nia stops you before you go on any longer. “Who are you talking about?”

Kara. Kara. Kara. You’re always talking about Kara.

But you don’t want to say that. You don’t want to utter her name, can’t have it leaving your lips. 

“Hmm, you know-“ You try to tell her with your eyes, but Nia makes sure she doesn’t get it so you have to say it out loud.“Kara, obviously.”

Her name burns your lips, almost literally. You can feel the awful ghost feeling of tingling. Like your body is trying to get rid of all the toxins, trying to set you free from this unhealthy obsession.

“Oh, right right.” 

You wonder if Nia can see how your stomach hurts and whether she notices that your heart is squeezing on your chest. Can she fathom the bitter taste Kara’s name leaves on your mouth? 

“I’ll bring it over with me to game night.” She peeks inside the box you put together with all of Kara’s stuff.

She can’t. 

Your best friend doesn’t get what it’s like to lose Kara, because she hasn’t. She won’t. She doesn’t understand what it is like to have all of Kara’s love and to have snatched it out of your hands. Nia will never know how Kara’s name hurts whenever it has to leave your mouth.

“Y/N? You’re there?” Nia waves her hand in front of your face waking you up from your trance. Your eyes focus back on her and you agree with your head. “Should I bring something back as well, from Kara’s apartment?”

“Maybe. I don’t know whether she’s packed everything I left behind, though.” But you're hoping she hasn’t. You’re praying she hasn’t touched any of your stuff and that they still live in her apartment rent free. You hope they don’t make her want to get rid of everything, that instead she thinks they feel like home. “If she gives you something is fine, otherwise I’ll just stop by CatCo one of these days.”

“Oh, you haven’t been to CatCo in weeks!” 

So she has noticed how hard it is for you. Maybe Nia has noticed all the effects. How it hurts your stomach, cuts you like a knife, how it still feels like you're sinking even when you’re holding both sides of the life raft.

“Ah, yeah, been a while. Should I not go? Does, like, everyone hates me there or something?” You fidget with your fingers, not looking up at her, while still desperately needing to hear the answer.

“What? No! Y/N, it’s Kara. She wouldn’t.” 

But you don’t know what Kara would or wouldn’t do at this point, because she is a fucking liar. A genuine liar, who says it’s someone, but in reality is someone else completely. And then, when she finally tells you the truth about her, after so many fucking months of sleeping next to you, she still has the gall to fucking leave you. So you don’t, you absolutely do not know what Kara wouldn’t do to your name.

Your face reddens, sad and mad at the same time. The betrayal makes your mouth taste bitter and it stings, like an open cut.

“Well, I guess we’ll see.” You excuse yourself back to your room while your flatmate goes to a game night at your ex’s apartment.

You have forgiven Nia for not taking any sides, mainly because you know she has learned Kara's secret identity exactly when you did. But Nia had felt no hysteria whatsoever, forgiving that lying traitor too fast. You also know how hard it would be for her to work with Kara while hating her guts, so of course you have forgiven her about it, you just haven’t forgotten. But that feeling is staying lodged for another day.

“Hey, hey.” Nia tried to calm you down when she saw you spiraling. “She is still Kara.”

Kara had just flown out of the window, after you told her to get the hell away from you.

“Are you kidding me?” You yelled, livid. “She is not Kara. She is a sneaky little snake who has been toying with me and my feelings, for what, months?” You dropped yourself on your couch. “Fuck, she’s been lying to me for a whole year.” You said when you finally realized what day it was and how long you knew Kara then.

“It’s a secret identity for a reason, Y/N.” Said Nia trying to sound obvious, but coming out extremely condescending. Just because you didn’t have a secret identity, doesn’t mean you didn’t understand how they’re supposed to work.

“Yeah, to hide yourself from villains and criminals, not your fucking girlfriend. The supposed love of your life. The one you planned to grow old with and adopt dogs and babies and even bunnies.”

Nia dropped herself on the couch next to you, hands went to your arm, for a light squeeze.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Nia breathed out, looking away while you wiped your face clean from the tears. “If it’s any consolation, I think Lena also doesn’t know. So, you know, it’s not you —“

“Of course it’s not me! Lena is her best friend and she is still lying to her. She made you come out and tell her your secret, and only told you hers when she pitted you.”

“That’s not —“

“It was exactly what happened, do not bullshit me. And you know what, it’s not fair. It’s not fair Lena and I only got one side of her. It’s not fair we didn’t get all of Kara when we gave ourselves entirely to her. It’s not fair and it’s not ok for her to think this other side of her wasn’t going to change everything between us.”

You got up, walking in circles. Hands covering the fresh set of tears springing from your eyes.

“She saw all there was to see about us. The good, the bad, the better. She’s touched our hearts and soul and body so thoroughly.”

“You’re not talking about Lena anymore, right?”

You go on, unfazed and unbothered by her comments. “And we only got to see, what? What she deemed we were trustworthy enough to know? That’s fucking bullshit, Nia! It’s — it’s almost evil of her.”

“Ok, that’s just not —“

“Well, no more. I’ll say she doesn’t get to lie to us anymore. She doesn’t get to choose what side we get to see. I have to go.”

“Wait, wait! Where? Where are you going?”

But you were gone before she had the chance to stop you. In retrospect, maybe she should’ve.

“Lena!” You didn’t knock on her door, neither rang her doorbell, you just kept slamming your hands and yelling her name. She didn’t take long to open the door.

“Hey, hey. What’s going on?” Lena took one good look at your redden face and puff eyes to know something was completely off about you. “Are you ok?”

“She’s a fucking liar! She’s been lying to us for ages. We’ve been so fucking stupid!”

“What? Who? What are you talking about?”

“Kara! Your — Your so called best friend. My so called girlfriend.” Lena raised her eyebrows at you, and like she suddenly realized you’re still at her doorstep, her hands enveloped your wrist and she pulled you inside. When she locked the door behind her, your voice immediately kept going. “Kara is a liar.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, don’t. She’s been lying to you ever since you two met.” Lena silently asked you to go on. “Kara is Supergirl.”

“What?” Lena asked dumbfounded. She didn’t talk for a while, but you could see on her face how much she just wanted to deny that. To refuse that hypothesis. To tell you it’s not possible and you’re going insane. But she couldn’t. “What?”

“We were fooled by glasses and a ponytail. Trust me, I can’t believe it either.” 

“But —“ And the sentence is left like that. 

You felt horrible, awful, vile for screaming Kara’s secret on the top of your lungs like that, but also you’re so mad you couldn’t stop yourself even if you tried.

In retrospect, sure, Kara had every reason to feel hurt. To feel like she couldn’t trust you, given she told you her biggest secret and you literally ran off to tell Lena the next second.

You felt betrayed, then she felt betrayed, and you both hurt each other more than it was ever supposed to. 

Nia comes back from game night with none of your stuff, to find you nowhere at home. She is quick to find you at the nearest bar, so drunk you can’t speak properly.

“Nia!” The familiar bartender calls her when she steps in, pointing at you. “I'm so glad you’re here, I don’t know what to do anymore, she won’t stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Cursing Kara’s name. I thought about calling her, but —“

“No, no. It’s fine.” Nia makes way to where you are. “Hey, you’re drunk enough. Let’s go home.”

“I — I shouldn’t ‘ve don’it.” You slur, pathetically, getting the hiccups right after. “Kara’s name hurts.”

Nia, holding you tight by the arm, scared you might just fall over from your stool. “What do you mean her name hurts?”

It’s between hiccups and shots that you manage an explanation. “It hurts, Nia. Like poison on my veins.”

“Ok Y/N, you’re not making sense. Let’s get you home.” She says after sharing one look with the bartender. 

Nia holds you by the waist, slowly walking outside, but you never stop talking. You don’t even care if she can hear you or not, all of your feelings have been bubbling inside ever since Kara left and you tried to shut them down and pretend you were ok, now they just want out. 

“It’s not fair we’ll only get to be half written. No ending to the story. No happy ending.” You look up to Nia. “I just can’t stomach it.”

And that’s when you detach yourself from her, falling on your hands and knees, then ridiculously crawling to a bush so you can throw up. 

“No taxi will stop if they see you throwing up in a bush. Come on, Y/N.” 

“Kara is gone.” You clean your mouth with the back of your hand. Look up to Nia, doe-eyed and tearing up. “Do you think my name hurts her too?”

She thinks about it, deciding on the best answer. She seems to decide that the only person who can give you this answer is Kara herself, so she presses the emergency button on her watch. 

You have no sense of time, but to you it was only a second later that you see Supergirl landing in front of you. Cape flying gloriously, almost hitting you in the face. 

“Nia, what’s wrong?” Kara’s voice is strangled on her chest. So Nia points to the floor and she turns around to find you there. 

Her face remains inscrutable. No emotions, no affection, no feelings. 

“Y/N.” She kneels in front of you. Hands going to your arms for support. “Are you ok?”

You barely register her question. She said your name and didn’t even wince. No way she ain’t feeling it too. No way your name doesn’t burn her lips the same way it burns yours.

“Not ok.” It’s Nia who answers for you, because you haven’t got a word out yet. “Drunk and sorry, about Kara.”

But Kara herself doesn’t look at Nia, too preoccupied with meeting your eyes to read something, since apparently you can’t talk.

“Let’s fly her home.” 

Kara picks you up in a bridal style and your entire body fires up under her touch. She smells exactly the same. The same perfume, the same smell so fundamentally hers you wouldn’t know how to describe, the same way home always smelled like. So you breathe her in, even though your heart is squeezing on your chest telling you to stop. 

Stop smelling her! Stop getting worked up because of her touch! Stop wanting her back! You can’t have it. Won’t have her back. Stop hoping, praying, agonizing for it! 

Supergirl lands inside your apartment, right behind Nia. They’re not talking, but are saying whatever they need to say through hands and eyes. Supergirl takes you to the bathroom after nodding to Nia.

“Alright, well,” She puts the glasses back on her face and her suit disappears, and then she is just Kara. Your Kara. But not actually yours. The person you fell in love with. Not the superhero, not the alter ego, just little old quirky Kara with her thousand dollar smile and perfect baby blue eyes. “you, ah, just take a shower so you can sober up.”

She doesn’t have to say it twice for you to immediately start undressing. 

“Wait, what-“ She looks up, trying to ignore your nude figure in front of her. “What are you doing?”

“Shower.” You state, sitting inside the empty bath tube and holding your legs close to your chest.

“You could’ve waited until I had left.” 

You look up to her. Big eyes, unable to focus due to the tears still threatening to leave your eyes. She meets your gaze again, and you don’t have to say it. Don’t have to point out that she’s already seen you naked a million times before. That she’s touched you, and kissed you all over as well. 

So Kara sighs, understanding. Makes way to the tap to turn it on for you, and soon you feel the warm water rising up your body.

“Ok, I’m gonna leave you to it. Take care, Y/N.” She’s almost turning around when you speak.

“Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?” She turns back at you, but you can’t meet Kara’s gaze anymore. Not while you say it.

“My name.” You sigh, feeling impossibly sober already. Like you just took 5 shots of coffee. This conversation feels exactly like that, like an impossible amount of energy coursing through your veins when it has your heart beating so loud it’s ringing on your ears. “Does my name hurt you when you say it? Does it make your lips burn? Does it feel like a knife through your heart? Does it make your heart sink so low on your chest you wonder if it’s still there at all?”

You look up to her shocked expression, tears falling silently from her eyes, and surely she can tell your face is wet not only from the bath anymore.

“Does it kill you when you have to say it? Does it get stuck on your throat like a lump? Are you scared of saying it because it will probably bring tears to your eyes?” 

She doesn’t answer. Eyes darting anxiously between your face, the fresh cuts on your knees, and your anxious hands on the water. Kara’s mouth is agape, ready to say something, but her brain is possibly still trying to comprehend the whole question.

“You’re drunk.” Kara smooths her hands on her cardigan, adjusts her glasses, and there’s nothing that screams Kara more than that action alone. So the tears keep streaming down your face. “Let’s talk about this some other time.”

But you barely register what she means, because the only thing you register is that she is leaving. Again. Always. 

You wake up with a terrible headache and a sense of regret. Of course you remember last night, and the fact that your ex had to literally go pick up your sorry ass from the bar because you couldn’t even walk.

So the fact that someone is ringing your doorbell, today of all days, it’s the worst of things that could happen to you.

Still, you roll out of bed because Nia is not answering the door so she must not be home, and make your way to the door. 

Her name is stuck on your throat. Kara’s name has been stuck there for months. And it doesn’t leave your mouth even after you open the door to see her on the other side. Not even after the initial shock.

“It doesn’t.” Kara says as soon as you two lock eyes and your surprised face eases up a little. 

“What?”

“Your name. It doesn’t burn my lips. Your name doesn’t hurt me, Y/N.” Kara’s voice is small, strangled on her chest. “Your name does the opposite. It — It makes my heart soar.”

You swallow deep, opening the door so she can walk inside because this is not a conversation you want all your neighbors to hear.

“You said it last night.” She makes sure you remember, turning to you as you close the door. “you asked me if your name hurts me and it doesn’t. It could never.”

“But I hurt you. Betrayed your trust. Did horrible things.” You try, though you don’t really want her to be hurt by your name. 

“Yeah. And I hurt you, and betrayed your trust, and did horrible things.” Kara finally admits. “Does, umm, does my name hurt you?”

“Yeah.” The admission makes you feel like a ton of bricks has been lifted from your shoulders. “It kills me. It kills me to know I’m not using it to call you, I’m only using it to talk about how I lost you. I hate saying your name when I know you’re not — you’re not mine.”

Kara breathes out, reaching for your arm. “I’ve always been yours.” 

“Kara.” You beg and that’s just it. That’s all that is. You say her name and nothing happens. Your stomach doesn’t twist and turn. Your mouth doesn’t taste bitter. It doesn’t hurt. Not when she’s the one you’re begging to, anyways. “Kara. Kara.”

“Does it still hurt?” Her hand slowly makes its way up your arm, shoulder, neck.

“No. Not when you’re around. Nothing hurts when you’re around.” 

Kara pulls you in for a kiss. Passionate and demanding, like she too terribly missed your body and mouth.

“Not even the cuts on the knee, huh?” She jokes, making you crack up a smile your mouth hasn't known in months. “I’ve missed that smile.”

“I’ve missed you.”