#for a brief second i was like well maybe i could suffer through it for max and chrissy scenes

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 38: Shattered

Summary: Things aren't okay. They never will be again.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,743 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, medical stuff, injuries, brief description of a possible death, language, mention of weight loss due to medical stuff, emotionally heavy chapter (again), slightly graphic imagery, illness, so much crying

A/N: I just want to make something very clear here since there's a scene in this chapter that might be interpreted this way, but 'mega is NOT suicidal. That's not something that's going to be in this fic, and neither is self-harm. It would have been well warned in advance if that was going to be something coming up in this fic. She's struggling a lot, but she's not suicidal, she's not going to become suicidal, nor will she self-harm even off screen. So don't worry. That's not what's happening. It won't be happening.

Okay, just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy the suffering!

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

The scream slices through the silence seconds before chaos erupts. 

John is on his feet and out the door before Kyle is even fully awake. Simon is on his heels down the stairs, the two of them nearly colliding in their rush. His heart thuds in his chest as he sees your door open, the overhead light on. It’s bad. It must be bad if the overhead light is on. You hate the overhead light. 

He barrels in like a bull, ready to fight. The screaming has stopped, but it still rings in his ears. The fear, the panic. Something has happened. Someone got in. He should have made you take the room upstairs. He should have put a barrier between you and the door. That window. Someone could break that easily and grab you before they even noticed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

The screaming has stopped, but gut-wrenching sobs have taken its place. He takes a moment to scan the room. Nothing is misplaced. The window isn’t broken, there’s no bodies, no one that shouldn’t be in there. 

“You’re okay.” Christine soothes you as you sob. “It was just a nightmare.” 

The bright fluorescent overhead light burns his eyes as he stands there, staring at the bed. Christine is right there, having beaten them across the living room, or perhaps she had already been in there, having heard you in your distress before they could. You're tucked in her arms, your face against her shoulder as she holds you. 

Nightmare. 

The safety and security the cottage promised has faded, leaving you at the mercy of the horrors your mind can conjure up in your sleep. Something twists deep in John’s stomach as he turns, motioning for the others to back up and give you some space. You won’t want them there, and things will only get worse if you notice them. 

His heart is still thudding in his chest as he stands there, the sharp sound of your scream still ringing in his ears despite his confirmation of your safety. The other three look just as startled as he feels, standing there tensely in the dark living room. He brings himself to move, turning his back on them for a moment to try and gather his thoughts as he flips on the lamp in the corner. It casts a warm light across the living room, far too warm for how he’s feeling. He’s trying not to panic, trying not to be sick on the floor from the worry. His heart is in his throat, trying to choke him. He’s trying so hard to be strong, not just for him, but for his pack, for you. 

He sinks down on one of the couches, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been so sure something had happened, that their safe little bubble had been breached and someone knew about their whereabouts. He had been so sure someone was trying to hurt you with a scream like that. 

Maybe someone was, but not in reality. 

What is it you dream about now? Your nightmares about your father and your traumatic presentation must seem like nothing now compared to what must haunt your mind. Do you dream of Graves and his torture? Do you dream of them leaving you behind? Do you dream of dying because of their failures? 

A hand settles on his shoulder, a body sinking onto the couch next to him. Arms are wrapping around him, easing him against a solid chest. 

He’s crying. 

He didn’t even realize the tears had started flowing. 

He can hear the reverberating voice in his head, yelling at him, telling him not to show such weakness in front of his pack, in front of his team. He’s supposed to be the strong one, he’s supposed to be the stable one keeping the pack afloat and steady. Yet here he is, breaking down in front of them. 

“It’s okay.” 

Kyle. 

His sweet Kyle. 

How he’s been neglecting his sweet beta, and yet, how willing Kyle still is to reach out and comfort him in such a time of visible distress. That’s what betas are supposed to do. Mediate and balance the emotions of the pack. How have they been coping with all of this? How have Kyle and Johnny been managing in such a time of disarray and upheaval? Have they been managing it? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know the state of his pack, of the members of his team. 

What a failure he is. 

He lets himself lean against Kyle, something filling his chest as Kyle’s soft scent seeps into his senses. He’s projecting it, not just for John but also for the whole room. Johnny is crying too, soft sobs tearing from his chest as he sits on the other couch. Simon is on his knees in front of him, trying to get him calmed and breathing. 

They’ve been ignoring and denying each other for days, fraying the bonds further while trying so hard not to. The pain they’ve been causing in their emotional constipation and intentional neglect is almost worse than the pain caused by their infighting. At least fighting they were feeling something. At least fighting they weren’t cutting each other off so willingly. 

“We can’t do this anymore.” He says, his voice thick and shaky from his tears. “Cutting each other off. It’s not helping anything.” He doesn’t move from where he’s tucked against Kyle’s chest, letting the comfort wash over him for the first time in a week and a half. 

How he’s missed this. 

“It’s not doing any good for any of us.” Simon says, shifting onto the couch next to Johnny. 

“Especially not our omega.” Kyle says, voicing the thought flashing through all of their minds. 

“We may not be able to do much to help her right now, but we can focus on each other. That is something we can do.” John swallows thickly, his alpha starting to come back to life, his instincts aware again as he stares at Johnny and Simon. “Doing nothing isn’t good for any of us. We need to have something to focus on, something tangible we can do. Denying each other comfort isn’t going to help anyone.” 

“I full-heartedly agree.” 

John whips around, Christine standing in front of your closed door. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room, hadn’t sensed her standing behind them. Johnny and Simon are the only two that don’t look startled, but they must have seen her come out from their position facing your door. 

“Sorry.” The corner of her lip twitches up in a smirk. “Thought you would have noticed.” 

John clears his throat. “How is she?” 

“Settled again.” Christine says, moving over to the chair. 

“How long has she been having nightmares?” Kyle asks. 

“Since that first day in the med center in Dallas.” She says, sinking into the chair. How heavy this must all be on her shoulders. “I’d almost call them more sleep hallucinations. Mostly of Graves. Seeing him in the room, being attacked by him.” 

“Is there anything that can be done to help?” John asks. 

“For these kinds of nightmares? Not really.” Christine folds her hands in her lap. “Her brain is trying to process what happened. Until she feels safe enough to truly begin working on processing the trauma, it’s likely the nightmares will continue.” 

“Is there anything we can do to help her feel safe?” Kyle says. 

Christine’s lips purse as she looks between the four of them. “I’m not sure any of you could do anything right now directly, at least. She’s not open to that yet. Working on your bonds with each other, though, could help her omega finally settle and allow her emotions to even out again. That can help her feel safer, remove that instability and the fear of losing control again.” 

All of them share looks, John and Simon staring at one another. They hadn’t even thought about that. Well, at least he hadn’t. Christine had told him months ago that omegas need their alpha when they distress, when their omega takes over. They can come back from it with the help of an alpha...their alpha. Without one, the chances of survival were slim. Yet here you are, trying to do it all on your own. Having to do it all on your own. 

That ache in his chest starts again as he stares at Simon. He sent Simon after you, he made Simon go through that process of seeing you in that state and scruffing you. He made Simon be the one to help you through that. He made Simon be there when you needed an alpha most because he couldn’t face the fact that he abandoned you, he left you behind like you were nothing but another faceless soldier. 

He wipes his face as the tears start falling again. He truly is a failure of an alpha. 

Despite Christine’s reassurances, John can’t help the automatic reaction to your screams. On his feet instantly, his heart pounding in his chest ready to fight bare handed whatever might be causing such a reaction. Whoever might be causing such a reaction. He can’t fight the demons in your head, though, and he’s always greeted by the sight of Christine by your side, comforting you as best she can. 

He wants to hate her, wants to be angry at her for taking his place, doing what he should be doing. His alpha scratches at his mind every time he sees her by your side, giving you comforts he should be giving, but it’s his fault. It’s his fault she’s the one there with you. It’s his fault you’re suffering so much. Those thoughts send his alpha crawling back into its cage with its tail between its legs. 

It doesn’t matter the time of day, whether it was a nap or the middle of the night, your screams have a pain throbbing deep in his chest. His heart is constantly racing, waiting for that rush of adrenaline at the sound of your terrified scream, at that rush of instinct to protect and fight. He’s not sure how much his heart can take. 

He might have a heart attack by the end of their stay at the cottage. 

That’s something he’s been trying not to think about. 

They can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he knows you’ll want to, how much the others will want to. Eventually they’ll begin to go stir-crazy, itching for something to do. They still have jobs, and Kate can only keep them off the radar for so long, and can only give so many excuses. Eventually they’ll have to go back. Eventually they’ll have to make that decision of what comes next. 

He’s going to delay that as much as he possibly can. 

They can’t go back while Shepherd is still out there. They can’t trust that anywhere is safe while he’s still skulking around, while he still has contacts that could put them all in danger. That could put you in danger. 

That’s not a risk he’s willing to take again. 

But what comes next? 

What will they decide to do? Can they go back, knowing what the inevitable will be? Can they take that risk of having to leave you again, put you through that constant fear and worry that they might not come back? What if they all leave again? Could you survive the fear that something might happen while they’re away again? Not to them, but to you? 

Could they leave you alone again? 

Those are thoughts for another day when they’re inevitably faced with the fact they have to return to society and their lives and jobs. 

They have time. 

He has to make sure you’re okay first. 

You’re not okay.

You’re so very far from okay. 

The bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow around the room. 

There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. 

It’s one of the rare times you’ve woken before you can react, before you can scream and alert everyone in the house that you’ve had a nightmare. They’ll all come running. All of them. 

You hate it. 

You hate the nightmares, you hate the fear, you hate the constant pain and worry and the constant knowledge that your pack is right there. They want to go back to how things were, they want things to go back to normal, but they can’t. They expect you to forgive them, to go back to loving them, but how can you after everything? 

They left you. 

They let this happen to you and they just want you to pretend like nothing happened. That’s what they would do. Go back to normal life after being tortured and forget it all happened because that’s what they do. 

You’re not them. 

You don’t want to be like them. 

Cold. Heartless. Uncaring. Unwilling to put anyone but themselves first. 

Fuck them. 

The only thing keeping you here is the fact you’re bonded to them. That, and you’re an omega. You’d get picked up off the street and brought right back here to your owner. Or, worse, you’d get picked up by someone looking for a cute little omega to add to their collection. 

Or worse. 

You’d get picked up by someone else. 

Graves. Shepherd. 

If you’re lucky, they’d kill you instantly. Leave your body on the front porch for the others to find. You won’t care anymore. You’ll be dead. 

You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks, wiggling yourself back until you’re leaning against the headboard. Your shoulder doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore. It still throbs, still aches, still occasionally almost puts you on the floor when you try to reach over your head with it. Your throat is healing too. Soup isn’t quite as horrible as it was a few days ago. Solid food makes you ache, but at least you can get it down without feeling like you’re swallowing glass. 

You still haven’t spoken to them, though. 

You can hardly stand to look at them. 

Fuck them. 

Just the thought of them makes you want to scream. 

Dr. Keller says it's normal, being angry. ‘It’s all part of the process.’ The anger, the fear, the pain, the depression. It’s all normal. It’s all part of the process. It’s all necessary. You won’t get better holding it all in. You won’t get better numbing yourself. You won’t get better if you don’t allow yourself to feel everything. 

You hate it. 

Why should you have to go through all these feelings, all this pain? Why should you be the one suffering because of their decisions? It’s not fair. They should be suffering. They should be in pain. They should be the ones on the brink of insanity because of the fear and the pain and the suffering and their omega constantly screaming at them. 

It makes you want to scream. 

Screaming will only draw them in, force them closer. Screaming will alert them all, make them all come running. You don’t want any of them near. You don’t want to have to see them again. 

Fuck them. 

You let out a huff before wiggling back down the bed until your head hits the pillow. You won’t go back to sleep. You never do. At least you have the pain and exhaustion and tumultuous emotions and your very nature to excuse your constant naps, constant sleeping during the day. They don’t need to know you’re not sleeping at night. They won’t care. They don’t care. None of them do. 

Fuck. Them. 

You want your phone, you want something to keep you occupied. It’s probably lying somewhere on the side of the road shattered beyond repair. That, or it’s back in the barracks. The barracks. Fuck that place. You’ll rip your hair out strand by strand if you have to go back there. It’s not safe, it’s not happy. There’s nothing good about that place anymore. 

It’s just a place of pain. You might as well have been tortured by Phil there. 

You were tortured there. 

It wasn’t a physical torture, but a mental one. The entire experiment was just torture for you. No one thought of you, no one cared about you. 

Dr. Keller cares. 

It’s her job to care. 

Still, you can’t hate her entirely. She’s the only one that understands. She’s the only one that can help. She’s the only one that’s been helping. Not just now, but back then. She cared, she fought for you, she did her best with what she had. Sure, she made mistakes, but so did you. She’s the only one you can forgive. 

She’s the only one you want to forgive. 

Fuck the others. Fuck your pack. Fuck those fucking soldiers who were never going to care about anyone but themselves, who were never going to care about anything but their jobs and their duties and the good of the world. 

You should have been their world. 

They couldn’t put you first. They wouldn’t put you first. They didn’t want to put you first. 

They won’t change. They can’t change. There’s no hope for change. 

You’ll just go back to the way things were before and be forced to pretend everything's okay and that you’re happy and fine and content. Were you ever really content or were you just trying to make the best of the situation? Were you deluding yourself into believing you loved them and cared about them and that they loved you and cared about you to numb the fact you knew deep down that they never would, that they never could. Were you deluding yourself into thinking everything was fine and dandy to hide the constant pain from the knowledge that you would never come first? 

The pain begins to burn in your chest again. It’s hot like acid, rising in your chest to your throat, threatening to choke you. It’s a deep pain, one nestled right in against your soul. Tears leak out of your eyes again as you squeeze them shut, pushing your right hand against your chest in an attempt to get it to pass. 

You thought you were dying the first time. 

You could only be so lucky. 

The bond. 

It’s trying to break, trying to sever itself, trying to free you from the constant pain, but it can’t. 

Maybe because deep down you don’t want it to. Maybe deep down you want to forgive them and move past all of this. Maybe you want things to go back to normal, even if normal means pain and distress and fear. Maybe you want to believe them that they’re finally going to put you first. 

‘Maybe’ is only a doorway to disappointment and pain. 

Fuck yourself. 

Fuck your omega. 

Fuck your pack. 

Hell, fuck Dr. Keller for not fighting harder, for not doing more. 

Fuck Graves and his haunting of your nightmares.

Fuck Kate for choosing you.

Fuck Shepherd for creating the initiative in the first place to try and cover his own ass. 

Fuck them all. 

You tug the blanket higher around yourself, rolling onto your right side. 

Fuck. Them. All. 

You don’t want him here. 

He does it now, usually in the mornings. 

You hate it. 

You like it. It’s nice. He’s the only one making an effort. 

He never says anything, surprisingly enough. It’s silent as he sits there, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Always coffee, never tea. He won’t sink that low. He brings you a cup, but you can never bring yourself to touch it. You feel like a mental patient stuck in a straight jacket. You could free yourself, but that would bring too much awareness, too many questions, too much pain. 

You don’t want to. 

So instead you sit there in silence, staring out at the sea. It’s so far away still, yet it’s right there. You can hear it and smell it and see it. 

The sea. 

They brought you to the sea. 

John remembered. He did it for you. 

The thought has something stirring in your chest, and it’s not pain or anger. 

You hate it. 

Johnny leans back in the chair, his eyes on the horizon like yours. He sits there in that chair every chance he gets, usually in the mornings when Dr. Keller takes time for herself and leaves one of them watching you through the sliding glass door. You do feel guilty for forcing so much on Dr. Keller’s shoulders, yet you need her. 

You’re not ready for the others yet, no matter how loudly your omega screams at you. 

You don’t want them. 

Fuck, you desperately need them. 

Your eyelids flutter frantically as you try to keep the tears at bay. You can’t cry. You can’t let him know how close you are to breaking down. You can’t. 

You can’t reach out. 

You can’t take his hand. 

How desperately you want to. 

You nearly breathe a sigh of relief when the sliding door opens, Dr. Keller’s soft footsteps crossing the wood planks of the porch. 

“Ready to go inside now?” She asks, pressing the back of her hand against your cheek. You don’t say anything, don’t react, frozen in fear of everything coming tumbling out in front of Johnny. “You’re getting cold.” 

Johnny glances your way and you immediately turn to look at Dr. Keller, scared to look him in the face. That desperate hold you have on the gaping wound in your abdomen will open and your guts will come spilling out like some gory scene in a horror movie. 

Disembowelment thanks to your own weakness. 

Dr. Keller holds the crutch out for you as you push yourself to stand. Your legs are strong enough you could probably walk without it, but it’s still nice to have it in case you get tired. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

It’s the weakness from your liquid diet over the past week and a half. The weakness of being unable to eat solid foods, to properly nourish. You’ve lost weight, your clothes hanging from your body in a way they never did before. You’ve lost the softness that marks you as an omega, but it feels fitting. You don’t feel like an omega anymore. 

You don’t feel like anything anymore. 

You’re fighting your instincts out of pain and suffering and stubbornness. You keep taping your omega’s mouth shut despite how loudly she screams at you. You don’t want your instincts. You don’t want that need. Eventually it has to go away. Eventually it has to recede and your omega has to go back into her cage and sleep. Eventually you can numb yourself to it and force it away forever. 

That will certainly make things easier. 

But will it make things better? 

No. Probably not. 

It’ll make things worse. 

But if it allows you to keep your distance, allows you to avoid them, you’ll risk it. You’d take numbness over anything right now. 

How you miss those long days of depression while they were away. How you took those days for granted. 

Who knew those hours spent worrying about them and their distance and what might happen to them would be for nothing? 

What you wouldn’t give for all of them to disappear right now. 

How badly it would destroy you. 

“She’s at war with herself. That instinctual need is screaming at her, but that emotional pain is keeping her shut away. If anyone is going to get through to her, it will probably be you.” 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his jaw as he stares at Christine. As much as he wants to hate the doctor and her ability to see straight through him, he can’t deny how necessary her presence has been. She’s the only one you tolerate, the only one you’ll let close. Without her you’d probably be rotting in bed, stuck and unable to do anything out of stubbornness. You won’t let them close, yet you need them close. 

You’re going to rip yourself in half, metaphorically and possibly even literally. 

He shakes that mental image from his mind. The horrifying images his mind has conjured up over the last few days have his stomach churning. Even his tea no longer looks appetizing. 

He put milk in it this time. Almost how he likes it. Almost how he wants it. 

“Johnny’s the one actually trying.” Simon says, staring across at her. She doesn’t shy from his gaze, doesn't even flinch. “You should talk to him.” 

“While I agree, reintroducing a beta from the pack is the first step, eventually she’s going to need an alpha.” Christine says. 

“She needs her alpha.” He argues. 

“She doesn’t want her alpha.” Christine counters. “He’s going to be the last she lets close, but she’s going to need some kind of stability.” 

“I can’t give her that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his hand around his mug, his knuckles going white. She’s infuriating, yet he can’t be mad at her. Not completely. The good she’s doing for you, for the pack, far outweighs his annoyance with the doctor. She’s right. He knows it deep down, but he can’t. He can’t do that, he can’t put you through that. He’s already done enough. He did his part, he faced his fears, he saved your life. That’s enough for him. It’s up to John now. 

John has to do the work to fix it. He broke it, it’s no one else’s job to fix it. 

“Maybe both.” Simon finally says, pushing himself up to stand. “It’s not my job to fix this.” 

He leaves his mug behind as he stalks out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. He can’t stand being in the house any longer, cooped up with the same five people. Four people and a ghost. 

He shakes his head, jogging down the steps into the gravel. He should go for a jog. A long jog. He could jog to town and back. That will clear his head. 

That’s a long jog.

If something happens while he’s away, he won’t get back in time. It’ll be his fault because he took the time to do something selfish. He can picture it, coming back to find five bodies laying in pools of blood, dead because he wasn’t there to help, because he wasn’t there to fight. 

It’s a ridiculous thought. There’s three other highly trained soldiers in the house. If anyone tried anything, they wouldn’t make it past the door. He can see it now, Price’s alpha coming out in a rage because someone dared try to enter and hurt his vulnerable omega. He’d probably win in a fight ten to one if that happened, and he has Kyle and Johnny to back him up. Christine would take you and run the first chance she could. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not again. 

Still, he can’t shake that fear. If he can’t sprint back, then it's too far. If it will leave the pack too vulnerable, he can’t. 

To the beach and back, then. 

She’s like an angel. 

The soft sunlight streaming through the clouds makes her glow. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was shining just for her, sending down a beam just to illuminate just how ethereal she is. 

The Garrick beauty is genetic. 

Kyle is beautiful in terms of a man. He shares the same ethereal glow as his sister, but Ashley? You don’t feel worthy of looking upon her. 

“Kyle never mentioned an omega, but then again, he never says much about his job.” She gives another dazzling smile, your heart rate picking up just slightly. “Can’t, I should say. You haven’t been with them long, huh.” 

“About nine months.” You say, your voice still a bit hoarse. It’s not quite healed yet. It might be that way forever. 

“Such a short amount of time to go through so much.” She says, giving you a soft, sympathetic look. You don’t know how much she knows, though it’s still fairly obvious you’ve been through hell. That you’re still going through hell. “Christine told me a bit about what happened. I don’t blame you one bit for being upset at them. I would have left them, but I know. In a perfect world, right?” 

You make a quiet sound. Indeed in a perfect world where omegas have rights and can make their own decisions and could leave and have support in doing so. You’d leave with Dr. Keller or even Ashley, even though you’ve only known her for ten minutes. She has the same magnetic energy as Kyle, so much so you don’t mind the way the scent blockers burn your nose. She probably smells like something warm and soft, something comforting. 

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” She says, settling in the chair. It’s cool outside, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it one bit. 

You scramble for something, anything. What is it you like to do? What are your hobbies? You’re drawing a blank, your mind searching through its filing cabinets to find where you shoved all the things you like to do. 

“I like to read.” You finally say, remembering the stack of untouched books on the dresser across from the bed. 

“Oh? What do you like to read?” She asks. 

What do you like to read? What is a genre? What are books? 

“Oh, I read anything, as long as it’s interesting.” Is that the truth? You’re not quite sure. 

“I see, I see. Well, there’s quite the collection on those shelves inside. I’m a reader too. Read through those entire shelves over the years.” She grins at you. “We could do a little book club, if you’d like. Read some books and talk about them over some tea. We could get Christine in on it too. Have a little thing just for us girls.” 

You nod, staring at her in awe. This is the first time someone outside of your little circle has offered to do anything with you, for you. 

You want to do it. 

You want to spend time with someone who isn’t your pack, who isn’t Dr. Keller. 

“Okay.” You say, still staring at her in awe. 

“I could come over on the weekends, or we could do a call if you’re not up to seeing anyone.” She continues, and you’re not sure if she made this plan before she came, or if she’s coming up with it on the spot. Regardless, you're still impressed by her and her dedication to a complete stranger. 

“Would...would that be too much?” You ask, your brain starting to wake up again, the wires connecting once more. 

“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I live and work in Exeter, so I’m not too terribly far away.” 

You’re not sure where Exeter is off the top of your head. Your mental map isn’t even sure how far away London is...or even where you are on a map of England. Are you even in England right now? 

“What do you do for work?” You ask, realizing you’ve been silent for an awkward amount of time. 

“I’m a finance lawyer.” She says. “Mum used to say ‘you love to argue so much, you should become a lawyer.’” She laughs. “So I did.” 

“You must make a lot of money.” You say. You don’t know how much lawyers make in England relative to the US. 

“I make enough to be comfortable.” She says. Enough to travel back and forth every weekend. “Seriously, though, if you need or want anything, let me know. I’m more than happy to come sit with you and give you a break from those stinky men.” 

You’re not quite sure what happens to your face. It contorts, muscles shaking off the dust and starting to move before you even realize it. Your lips are tilting upwards instead of downwards. Something is happening. Something that feels good, something that you’ve been missing. 

You’re smiling. 

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long time. Weeks. Not since the cameras. Not since your pack left. You haven’t felt like smiling in so long you’re certain you forgot how to. But yet, here you are, smiling at Ashley. It’s not a genuine smile, one that crinkles your eyes and shows joy, but it’s a smile. It almost hurts your face after so long. 

She’s funny too. 

Stinky men. 

They are that. 

Your smile falls as soon as the sliding glass door opens, your head whipping around to look. Ashley turns to look too, perhaps out of instinct at your sudden movement. 

You’re half expecting it to be one of the guys, maybe Kyle out to ruin the moment, but it’s only Dr. Keller. 

“How are things going?” She asks, stepping up beside you. 

“Good.” Ashley says. “We’re planning a book club.” 

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises a brow, looking between you. “I think that would be fantastic.” 

“You’re welcome to join in if you’d like,” Ashley says, giving Dr. Keller a smile. 

You stare up at Dr. Keller, watching the way her lips turn up a smile, her eyes shining with...something. Her hands open and close, tugging at her pants almost nervously. Your brows raise as you look back up at her face. She almost looks...flustered. 

Oh. 

Another grin forms on your face as you stare between them, Ashley still smiling and Dr. Keller still looking a bit flustered. 

Oh. 

“You could join us if you want.” You say slowly, still looking up at Dr. Keller. 

She seems to snap out of her daze, her gaze darting down to you. She gives you a soft smile, back to her composed, professional self. “If that’s what you’d like.” 

You nod. Even though you see her constantly every day, you’re not tired of her existence yet. She’s the only one whose existence in the house doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out, the only one you want to talk to, to see, to have around. If you had the choice, you’d be here alone with her. 

That’s not possible. You know it’s not. 

“A thing for just us girls.” Ashley says. “On the weekends. No pressure whatsoever.” 

“I think that would be fantastic.” Dr. Keller says. “A nice little distraction.” 

“A nice break from those stinky men.” You say. 

Both Dr. Keller and Ashley erupt in laughter. 

Another smile tugs at your lips. 

You don’t want to be here. You can feel him staring at you from behind. He hasn’t moved since Dr. Keller left, still just standing there like he’s not sure he can approach you or not. You hope he doesn’t. You want him to. 

You don’t say anything, still staring out at the ocean, but you can see him reflected in the glass, obscuring your view of the horizon. Hatred burns inside of you as you have no choice but to stare at him, even when you’re trying not to. He’s like a ghost, always haunting you. He always will be. 

“I didn’t want to try to rush into this.” He finally says, knowing you’re not going to say anything. You won’t greet him, welcome him into your space. It already feels like an intrusion into your safety, him being here. 

Is this becoming a safe space? A nest? No, not that far. It’s becoming sacred to you, though, and having him in it without invitation feels wrong. It makes you uncomfortable. 

You hate it. 

“But I just wanted you to know that we’re all feeling the weight of what we did, I’m feeling the weight of what I decided to do. We all feel guilty for putting you through that, for forcing you to endure things you never should have.” 

He swallows thickly, falling silent for a moment. You almost feel like laughing at his attempt at an apology, another attempt at an apology. Why is he even bothering? He knows you won’t forgive him. He’s probably doing it for himself again, to make himself feel better. 

“I know it’s not an ideal situation, being forced in such a small space together, but we all wanted you to know that you’re the one setting the boundaries. If you don’t want us to be somewhere or do something, then you can tell us, or have Christine tell us. If you don’t want to see us at all, we can make our best attempts at that.” 

“That would be ideal.” You say, breaking the silence you’ve held for days. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the hospital, since his first sad attempt at an apology. 

It shocks him to stillness and silence. 

The words hurt, burning your throat like acid as you stare at his reflection in the glass. You hate it, how pathetic he looks standing there. Where’s the big, tough alpha? Where’s the strong protector? Where’s the person that’s supposed to take care of you and care about you? 

He never existed. 

He left you behind. 

He never cared. 

Anger begins to bubble within you. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, his voice shaking. “I never meant for this to happen-”

“You think your sad attempts at apologies are going to work?” You hiss at him through your teeth. You push yourself to stand, turning to face him. “You left me. You fucking left me there knowing full well what was going to happen!” You’re shouting now. All the quiet movements on the other side of the wall in the main area stop. 

They’re all listening. 

It’s not like you’re giving them much of a choice not to. 

Fuck them.

“I know,” He says, his eyes wide as he stares at you. 

“Do you? Do you know?” Your voice is wavering, your throat starting to ache but you can’t stop. Not now. It’s all coming out and there’s no stopping it. “You. Left. Me. You willingly turned your back on me time and time again even when I was being tortured! You leaving was torture enough and you still chose me second. I’ve always been second. I’ve never mattered enough for you to even question anything!” 

You let out a sob, the sound cracking in your throat. It hurts, but it will always hurt. You’ll always carry this hurt with you, so you want him to hurt too. 

“I asked you once if you would ever leave for me. You said if things got dangerous, if my life were ever at risk because of you, you’d leave in a heartbeat.” The tears are falling, streaming down your face. “Was that a lie?” 

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at you. Does he even remember that conversation? 

“Was that a lie?” You shout, making him jump. 

His eyes drop to the floor, his scent souring. Good, you think. Let it hurt. 

“Answer me.” You say, pushing him to give some response to your question. You need to know. You need him to say it. 

“I didn’t intend for it to be.” He says quietly. 

“You didn’t intend for it to be.” You say, bitterness coating your tone. “What the fuck does that mean? You said you wouldn’t let me go even if the initiative failed. Was that a lie too? Was it all a lie to keep me happy and complacent? ‘The job always comes first,’ even when my life is in danger, right? The job always comes first over everything, even me. You lied to me.” You swallow the sob threatening to come up. “I want to hear you say it.” 

He stands there, tears brimming in his eyes. He hasn’t moved hardly a muscle, still frozen like a statue. 

“Say it!” You scream at him, your throat tearing around the words. You’re surprised you’re not tasting blood yet from how raw it feels. 

“I lied.” He says, swallowing thickly. “I lied to you and I couldn’t keep my promise. And I’m sorry-” 

“Don’t apologize.” You cut him off starting to pace as the anger burns hot in you. “Don’t you fucking apologize to me, you don’t deserve to apologize. You don’t deserve the chance at forgiveness. You’re a shitty alpha and you always have been!” 

You let out a sob, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. There’s a tear sliding down his cheek, and it brings you some sort of relief deep down. So he can feel things after all. 

“I don’t know what I expected, though.” You let out a sardonic laugh. “You military men are all the same. It’s always about the job and the image and the ‘greater good’ and making sacrifices, even if that means sacrificing your pack. You’re just like my dad. You never wanted an omega, you never wanted me. You cast me out and let me suffer when I needed you most.” 

The anger burns hot in you again, shooting through your veins until it’s choking you as you stare at him standing there pathetically. He thought he could apologize, he thought his groveling would mean anything to you. Fuck him. Fuck them all. 

“You left me.” You grit out, your hands starting to shake. “You left me! You abandoned me, you let me get hurt! You didn’t care, you never cared about me!” You storm over to him. “Fuck you!” You scream, hitting his chest. “I fucking hate you!” You shove him back, sending him stumbling. “Get out!” You shove him again, pushing him back towards the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again!” 

He stumbles back out of the door and you slam it in his face so hard it shakes on its hinges. You click the lock as you sob in pain, pain both physical and emotional. Your chest aches, a tearing feeling burning through it. 

The bond. 

You don’t care. You don’t give a fuck anymore. You hate him, you hate them all. 

The tears and sobs threaten to choke you but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You don’t care about anything anymore except the anger burning hot through you, making your hands shake. Your legs give out and you slide to the floor against the door, sliding until you’re laying down on your back on the hardwood. It’s cold against your skin but you don’t care. You can’t care anymore. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Her hand presses against your forehead, wiping some of the sweat beading on your skin. Despite your shivers, you’re burning hot. A fever. You worked yourself up too much earlier in your outburst. She had been proud of you for finally releasing some of it and showing some emotion, but she knew the consequences of getting so worked up would be high. Your omega is still unstable, on top of still trying to physically recover. You hurt yourself doing that, even if it was necessary. 

She shushes you as you whine, fingers grasping at the blanket clumsily. She pulls it higher over you, your body shuddering underneath the pile already stacked on top of you. She’d put every blanket she could find over you, and yet you still shiver. Worry floods her again as she stares down at you, your eyes pinched closed. You must be aching, your show of anger taking its toll. 

It was necessary, but at what cost? 

If your temperature continues to spike, the risk of distress heightens. You can’t handle distress in your current state, which would mean your omega would come out, finally be freed again from the unprotected cage it's been pushed back into. If your omega comes out, that will require John to help, which may only drive you further into distress. 

She needs to try and stop this before the situation continues to deteriorate. 

But how? 

How can she move you past this without the help of your pack? She can’t give you the comfort you need. Medicine or any therapeutic methods can help solve the issue at its core. Sure she can try and lower your fever with medicine, but you need your pack. You need that comfort and stability that only they can offer. 

You need someone, and it can’t be her. 

If your omega comes back out, they might never be able to get it back in. It’ll be the end of you. All of your recovery, the fight you’ve put up against your body and your instincts and your mind will have been for nothing. 

You need someone. 

An idea begins to form in her head, her hand resting against your forehead. It’s hot under her hand, your skin burning. You might hate her later for this. It’s risky, but sometimes risks have to be taken in dire situations. Sometimes those risks pan out in the end. What will happen if it fails? The inevitable that’s going to happen if she doesn’t try. It’s a lose-lose situation, but if it works, it could be a win-win. 

She can’t help you, but maybe she has someone who can. 

She tucks the blankets around you, cocooning you in an attempt to keep you warm and still while she steps away. She won’t be gone long.  

She leaves your door cracked open just in case, even though she doubts you’ll be moving much while she’s away. 

Just in case. 

One can never be too careful. 

She heads up the stairs quietly, going slow to avoid startling any of them. She’s intruding on the safe space they’ve made in their solitude. It feels like invading sacred grounds, but it's a necessary invasion. Their omega is in danger. They’ll forgive her. 

The bathroom door is closed at the end of the short hallway, a light on inside. The lights are on in both rooms too, glowing beneath both doors, and she takes a gamble. Based on the heaviness of the footsteps above the kitchen she can guess the room on the right is the one Simon and Johnny are staying in. If she’s wrong, she’ll have some explaining to do before she’s ready, and she knows John will have his thoughts about this. Though, with what happened earlier, perhaps he’ll agree. You won’t see him, but maybe...just maybe... 

She lets out a deep breath before knocking firmly, waiting a breath before she calls out.  

“Johnny, I need your help.”

She just hopes you don’t hate her too much later. 

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[onepiece-writting-forest]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6 - ʟᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴏꜱᴇ

Summary: After you forgot your keys at home and had no where to stay, Law casually offers his apartment for the night without any second intentions. Though the heat from the make out session still lingered in the air.

a.n.: n.sfw, have fun <3

tags: Law x Reader, Modern AU, protected sex (yea we being responsible here), aftercare a la Law >>[ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ɪɴᴅᴇx]<<

As Law stood next to you outside, waiting for the cab, you quickly checked your bag again. Wallet? Check. Phone? Check. Keys? Keys?

Wait…

You rummaged through your bag a second time, feeling a familiar knot of panic tightening in your chest. Law had his phone to his ear, glancing at you curiously as you tore through your belongings for what felt like the tenth time.

“The cab will be here in a few,” he said casually, slipping his phone back into his pocket, to which you simply replied with a distracted “Mhm”.

He watched you, mildly amused as you turned your bag inside out.

You cursed under your breath, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “Shit…” The realization hit you: you hadn’t brought your keys. You couldn’t even remember picking them up before you left. They were probably still at home.

“Forgot something?” Law asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah… I left my keys at home. I have a spare at a friend’s place, but it’s kinda late to call her…” You trailed off, glancing at your phone. 3 a.m. No way she’d pick up at this hour. You didn’t want to bother her either.

Panic spread through you. What were you going to do? Crash on the street? Maybe sleep at the uni library, was it even open at this time?

Meanwhile, Law remained calm as ever, weighing his options. Or the only option he could come up with.

“You can crash at mine,” he offered with a shrug, like it was no big deal. He genuinely didn’t seem to care. Sure, you’d made out in a bathroom not too long ago, but that was just part of the night. This felt like a simple, polite offer—nothing more.

“Really? You sure?” you asked, needing some sort of reassurance that it actually was okay.

He nodded, facing you with his usual unreadable expression. “Yeah."

You hesitated for a second. This was technically your first "date"—if you could even call it that. Was sleeping over at his place really a good idea? Then again, what choice did you have?

Swallowing your nerves, you agreed.

The cab ride was quick, and when you reached Law’s shared apartment, he paid the driver before leading you inside. As soon as you stepped in, Law tossed his keys on a small table, hung up his jacket, and kicked off his shoes in a routine manner, clearly relieved to be home. The party had been fun, but you could tell he was ready to crash.

“You want some water?” he asked, noticing you glancing around. His place was surprisingly tidy for three guys sharing it. Cozy, even.

“Yeah, thanks.” You took the glass from him and sipped as he gave you a quick tour of the apartment. It was brief—he pointed out the essentials, like the bathroom and which rooms to avoid (his flatmates’ rooms), before leading you to his own.

You hesitated at the doorway, feeling a sudden wave of awkwardness. His room felt personal, more intimate than the rest of the apartment. Stepping into his private space like this felt strange, but you couldn’t resist glancing around.

“You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch,” Law said, already rummaging through his closet for a spare pillow and blanket.

Your eyes widened. “No, no! I’ll take the couch. You should sleep in your own bed. Please.”

“Not happening.” Law didn’t even glance at you as he tucked the spare pillow under his arm. The couch was a nightmare—he knew that all too well from experience. It was a one-way ticket to back pain, and he’d much rather deal with that himself than let you suffer through it.

“But I—" you started to argue, but he cut you off with an annoyed click of his tongue.

“Y/N. My home, my rules.”

There was a beat of silence before you offered, “We could… share the bed?”

Law stopped mid-motion and turned to you, a little surprised. He studied your face, trying to gauge if you meant something more by the suggestion. But your expression was innocent, it was just a simple compromise.

“You sure?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Y-Yeah, if you don’t mind?” you replied, shyly rubbing the back of your neck.

“It’s my bed. Why would I mind?” Law shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, though you both knew the situation wasn’t that simple. Just hours ago, the two of you had been tangled up in each other in the bathroom of some basement party. The tension was still there, lingering.

But Law, as usual, played it cool. He acted as if sharing the bed with someone he’d very clearly wanted to hook up with earlier was just another part of the night. Nothing to read into.

"Alright, then," Law said, tossing the blanket back in the closet. "You need something to sleep in?"

You blinked, a little surprised by how casually he accepted your offer to share the bed and immediately asked if you needed clothes. It shouldn’t have caught you off guard—it was a normal, thoughtful gesture. But considering they were his clothes, something about the offer made your heart skip. Maybe your standards with men had been so low that this level of decency surprised you. It made sense though, right? Your clothes reeked of the party, and he was just being practical.

Trying not to overthink it, you nodded. "Yeah, that’d be great."

Law handed you a simple T-shirt and a pair of comfy shorts. In the bathroom, you changed and washed your face, noticing how oversized everything was on you. The shirt hung down almost to your knees, and the shorts were so loose you had to cinch them tight at the waist. You’d almost forgotten how much taller Law was compared to you.

When you stepped back into his room, Law had changed too—nothing flashy, just grey sweatpants and a sleeveless white top. But somehow, seeing him like that made your heart race. You’d never noticed how much muscle he had beneath those baggy hoodies he always wore. His arms were defined, and tattoos traced up his chest, reaching his collarbone.

Oh, fuck. He’s even hotter.

Law, sitting on the edge of the bed, glanced over his shoulder as you walked in. His eyes unconsciously trailed over you, taking in the sight of you wearing his clothes. Even though they hung loose and hid your figure, something about the way you looked in them stirred something inside him. He swallowed hard, suddenly wide awake. You looked... better than you did in your own outfit.

For a second, neither of you said anything, the room charged with unspoken tension.

Law cleared his throat, subtly pulling the sheet back as an unspoken suggestion to get into bed. You shut the door behind you and flicked off the light. The sudden darkness made your pulse quicken, as if switching off the light heightened everything—the silence, the intimacy, the fact that you were about to share a bed with him.

You crawled under the covers carefully, your heart pounding in your chest.

“If you need anything, just wake me up,” Law’s voice came out softer now that the room was dark, his tone lower and more intimate. You gave him a quiet hum in response, turning your back to him as he mirrored the action, settling on his side of the bed.

You tried to focus on sleeping—closing your eyes, steadying your breathing—but his scent surrounded you. It clung to the pillow, the sheets, even the oversized shirt you wore. It was impossible to ignore, distracting in a way that left you wide awake. The exhaustion that had weighed on you moments ago was gone, replaced by the fluttering in your chest that wouldn’t let up.

Time blurred, and after what felt like hours but could have been minutes, you shifted slightly, trying not to disturb him. You turned carefully onto your other side, stealing a glance at him, unsure if he had fallen asleep yet.

Suddenly, Law shifted and turned over, facing you with tired, half-lidded eyes. For a second, you froze, wondering if you’d accidentally woken him up.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, laced with exhaustion.

You pulled the blanket closer to your face, feeling a bit shy under his gaze, and shook your head slowly. There was a pause as Law studied you, his expression soft but unreadable in the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the window. His messy hair fell across his forehead, and despite his tiredness, there was something comforting in the way he looked at you.

You exchanged a quiet glance, the tension between you thickening, unmistakable. It was like a flashback to the bathroom, the same charged energy, heavy and electric. You pulled your legs closer to your body, biting your lip, and that small movement didn’t go unnoticed. Law’s eyes flicked to your mouth, and he visibly swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

He hadn’t intended to… well, pick up where the two of you had been interrupted at the party. But as the seconds ticked by, and the heat in his body rose, he couldn’t ignore it. He wanted you, more than he liked to admit. The brief taste he’d gotten earlier had only fueled his desire, leaving him craving more.

And now, with you so close, curled up beside him in his bed, it was driving him insane.

When you shifted slightly, inching closer, the last of his restraint crumbled.

Ah, fuck it.

Before you could react, his lips were on yours, soft and insistent. The kiss was slow, deliberate, each movement calculated to make your pulse race. Your hands instinctively went to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as you leaned into the kiss. Law's tongue was quick at tracing the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you parted them willingly, letting him explore.

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer until you were practically pressed against him. The sudden closeness and tension from the night made Laws blood rush south. The sensation of his hard cock pressing against your belly made you moan against his lips, your body responding to his without hesitation and inching closer. Law groaned, deepening the kiss while his tongue tangled with yours in a dance that left you breathless.

Desire pooled low in your body, growing stronger with every passing second. You needed more, craved the feel of his skin against yours. Finally you were alone, without anyone to disturb you.

Breaking the kiss, you looked into his eyes, searching for permission to go further. Law's pupils were dilated, his breaths coming fast and shallow. He wanted this just as much as you did.

You swung a leg around and straddled him, slowly circling your hips causing sinful friction between you. You wanted to feel more, more of his hard dick against your clothed core. The heat was unmistakable, a sizzling current that sparked with every movement. His hands immediately came up to rest on your hips, firm and possessive, guiding you with a subtle yet undeniable authority. You could tell he liked to be the one in control, even if you were on top.

His hands started to wander up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist before cupping your breasts through the thin fabric of your shirt. You gasped at the sensation, leaning forward to press yourself closer to him impatiently.

"Take off your shirt," he commands, his voice allowing no argument. You complied eagerly, pulling the fabric over your head and tossing it aside, along with your bra. Law's gaze raked over you, scorching hot, before he leaned in to capture one of your nipples between his teeth. He really wasn't here to play games.

The sharp pinch of his teeth followed by the gentle tug of his lips sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You moaned without any shame, arching your back to encourage more. His hand cupped your other breast, thumb flicking across the hardened peak as he continued to tease the first with his mouth, knowingly pushing your buttons.

"Law," you pant, "please..."

He pulled back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Oh, he liked how you already begged for him. "Please what?" he asks, a unmistakable teasing grin in his voice.

You bit your lip, feeling suddenly shy. "Please…fuck me."

His expression darkened once you spoke your words, desire pooling in his eyes. How could he say no to such a sweet plead.

He slid his hands down to your short, pulling at the waistband and helping you get out of them quickly, obviously getting impatient. You lifted your hips to help him, and within moments, your pants and underwear were thrown to the floor.

Law pushed you off his hips gently to remove the last bits of clothes on him. You were about to straddle him again, yet paused. He seemed to be reminded of something too.

“You on the pill?” He asked while his breath was going quick, to which you shook your head. Law simply nodded and leaned to the bedside table to search for the familiar packaging.

As Law was getting out a condom, you couldn’t help but pepper his neck with kisses. One of your hand wandering down to his core, gently wrapping your fingers around his hardened cock and pumping it up and down.

Law let out a hiss suddenly, looking at what you were doing. Fuck if you kept going like that, he wouldn’t last long.

He quickly ripped the plastic open with is teeth, and gently pushed you down with one hand. Obediently you let yourself fall into the mattress and spread your legs for him. While Law was putting on the rubber, he watched you with greedy eyes, eating up every piece of you.

“God, you’re going to be the death of me…” He mumbled under his breath and grabbed your legs, pulling you closer to him effortlessly. You could sense the tip of his cock against your entrance as he leaned down.

The feeling of him filling you up painfully slow was overwhelming, a perfect fit that sent waves of ecstasy crashing through your body. You let out a moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjusted to the sensation. Law couldn’t control his own voice and let out a satisfied groan as he pushed deeper, letting you get used to his size. He moved slow at first, observing your blushed face to check if you were okay. However, you being soaking wet made it easier for him, and the way you arched your back and moved closer let him know that you were fully into it.

His fingers tightened around your thighs, pulling you even closer as he maintained that agonizingly slow pace. The sensation of his cock stretching you open was both painful and deliciously overwhelming. You could feel every inch of him, every ridge, as he filled you up.

"Fuck," you moaned desperately, your voice barely a whisper as your nails dug deeper into his shoulders. "Law, please..."

He paused and backed off, the tip of his cock just inside you, teasing you with the promise of more. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and hungry, reading your desperation. "Beg for it," he whispered, his voice low and commanding.

You swallowed hard, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts. "Please," you repeated, "I need... I need you deeper."

A smirk played at the corners of his lips, but it quickly vanished as he began to push further inside you. The stretch felt so good that you moaned out his name loudly. Your hips bucked instinctively, trying to take more of him, but he held you firmly in place, controlling the tempo.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Take it all..."

With each slow thrust, he sank deeper, until he was fully seated inside you. The feeling of being so completely filled sent waves of ecstasy through your body. You let out a ragged moan, your head falling back against the mattress as you surrendered to the sensations.

Law's hands moved from your thighs to your hips, gripping you tightly as he began to move. The pace was getting quicker, his hips rolling against yours. He watched your face intently, gauging your reactions.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice dripping with sinful satisfaction.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "God, yes."

He picked up the pace further, his hips moved against yours in a steady rhythm. Each thrust brought him deeper, hitting spots inside you that made your toes curl and your vision blur with pleasure.

"God, you feel so good…” he groaned, his voice raw with emotion.

Law couldn’t hold himself back any longer, and began to thrust into you ruthlessly, making you body bounce along his own rhythm. The sight beneath him was sinful, and he didn’t know where to look first. Your pretty face twisting in pleasure, your tits bouncing up and down or your pussy where his cock disappeared inside you.

A mixture of grunts and moans started to leave his throat now, Law starting to chase his own orgasm which was painfully close. He wanted you to reach your high together with him, making his thumb circle around your clit. He knew exactly where he had to put the pressure on, causing you to moan out his name multiple times in a row, while your thighs started shivering. Your surrounding were blurred, the only thing you could focus on was him filling you up over and over with a rough pace.

The sound of skin clapping, bed creaking mixed with both of your sinful voices filled the room. Law couldn’t care less if anyone heard you, you felt too good around his cock to worry about that. He gave you all of his attention, dipping down and burying his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck. The added sensation threw you off completely, and you didn’t even notice how fast your high was coming.

“L-Law, I’m…I’m close! Please don’t stop!” You gripped a handful of his hair and threw your head back, locking him tight against your body with your legs.

You let out a strangled cry, your body shuddering with the force of your orgasm. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless and weak. Law continued to move inside you, riding out your climax with relentless intensity. He wanted to make sure you felt every second of it.

He was close, so close, and he wasn't going to last much longer.

"Law," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Come on... I want to feel you come."

It gave him the last push. He let out a throaty moan, his control slipping as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you. He filled up the condom with his hot cum as he came undone above you. Law stayed still for a moment, letting the intensity of his orgasm wash over him before slowly withdrawing from your body.

As he pulled out, you felt a strange mix of emptiness and fulfillment. The bed felt colder without him inside you, but the memory of what just happened lingered like a warm glow in your chest. Law collapsed beside you, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

The room became quiet suddenly, only your mixed heavy breathing filling up the silence. Both of you laid next to each other, covered in sweat, looking at the ceiling.

Law got a bit uncomfortable with the condom still attached and reached down to carefully remove it, tying it off before tossing it into a bin. Slowly, almost cautiously, he leaned over you.

His hand hesitated on your cheek, his fingers lingering on the sticky strands of hair he just brushed away. His touch was gentle, almost respectful, a stark contrast to the primal intensity that had driven you both to the brink moments ago. “You okay?” he asked, in a voice so soft it barely broke the silence.

You nodded, your smile tired but genuine. “Yea…hah…give me a moment.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours. He pulled back, letting you rest as you requested, before he finally sat up. You watched him from beneath half-lidded eyes. He reached for his clothes, the movement casual and unhurried.

Your gaze followed him as he got dressed, his silhouette sharp against the dim room. When he slipped on his sweatpants, the fabric hanging loose on his hips in a way that made your heart skip a beat. He placed your spare clothes next to you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before he turned and left the room without a word.

The door clicked softly behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the sticky residue between your legs. You started to shift, trying to find a comfortable position, but the sensation was too distracting. You sighed, your hand slipping between your thighs, feeling the dampness there. You really didn’t want to get dressed like this.

Just as you were about to sit up and make a move, the door creaked open again. Law stepped in, carrying a warm, damp towel and a glass of water. He tossed the towel towards you and set the glass on the nightstand, his actions smooth and practiced.

“If you want to shower, go ahead,” he said casually, sitting next to you on the edge of the bed. His voice was calm, a balm to the lingering tension in the air.

You shook your head, giving him a small smile. “Will do that at home, thanks though.”

At home.

Right, you were going to leave in a few hours, Law almost forgot. It was probably past 4 a.m. now.  

Law nodded in silence. You took the towel, its warmth comforting as you began to clean yourself up. The moisture from the towel slid over your skin, erasing the remains of your heated encounter. As you worked, you felt the tension in your body begin to disappear, replaced by a dull ache that reminded you of the intensity of what had just happened.

Once you were done, you pulled on your clothes, the familiar fabric a welcome change from the sticky discomfort. Law watched you, his expression unreadable, but there was an underlying warmth in his gaze that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Feel better?” he asked, his tone still casual, but there was an softness to it.

You nodded and crawled back to bed.  “Yeah, much better. Thanks.”

Without another word, you nestled back under the blanket, feeling the weight of the night settle over you. Law followed close behind, his presence a quiet comfort. After everything that had happened, you hesitated, unsure of how to position yourself now. The earlier intensity still lingered, making the space between you feel charged with unspoken thoughts. But Law didn’t seem fazed. He simply looked at you, his expression softening, and opened his arms just a fraction—an unspoken invitation.

It wasn’t that he was insensitive. In fact, he knew the importance of aftercare, regardless of who you were. Though, if he was being honest with himself, maybe it mattered more because it was you.

With most others, it was easy for him to turn over and drift off to sleep without a second thought. But something felt different now. He didn’t give off that cold, detached air that might have made you feel discarded. Instead, there was a quiet warmth in his actions, as if he genuinely wanted to care for you, even after everything was over. The moment you’d shared felt significant, and though he rarely allowed himself to admit such things, he enjoyed being around you. More than he would ever say out loud. The fatigue from the night, the weight of it all, left him too tired to overthink or resist his own feelings.

You hesitated only a moment before slowly moving closer, finding your place beside him. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, and as your head rested on his chest, you could hear the steady, calming rhythm of his heartbeat. The sound soothed you. Wrapped in his warmth, the earlier uncertainty faded, replaced by a feeling of safety. It was comfortable—unexpectedly so. Soon, the exhaustion from the night overtook you both. The world around you softened, and together, you drifted into sleep, bodies tangled, hearts quiet.

tag list: @mars-mizuko , @tadomikiku, @hopelesslover06 (Comment to be added 🖤)

[biillys]

the thought of a stranger things season five is insane btw. like. how is that shit still going

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - VERSION OF YOU

A/N: Inspired by the Deadpool and Wolverine trailer. Inaccurate things when it comes to timelines and shit. Beware, it was not edited properly. Sorry.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader

Warning: angsty?, attempt at being funny?

My stories are written for mature audiences - 18+!

Words: 2500+

Important note: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine (which means he's tall as fuck!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - VERSION OF YOU

“Do you think this is gonna work?” 

“Agent Smith said it would.” 

“It’s fucking weird, you know?” 

“A lot of fucked up things happened before. This is nothing compared to what I have to deal with now. So, ladies first.”

Wade pointed at the weird-looking orange door. He didn’t want to walk through them first. That fucker shoved Y/N right into the portal before he took a step forward. Coward. 

They appeared in front of a dive bar, during a bright sunny day. Y/N looked at Wade, well, more like at his masked face. “Wasn’t this place supposed to be fucked up?” she asked. “It’s too nice outside.”

“It will become in a matter of hours. Now, here’s the plan,” he said. “We’ll go in. I’ll talk first. If I won’t move with that stubborn mountain of a man, it’s your turn. Do whatever it takes to bring him with us - smile at him, have sex with him, for all I care. And, who knows, maybe we will know whether Agent Smith was right.” 

“I call bullshit,” said Y/N, cracking her knuckles. “I don’t know him. I think it’s a fairy tale he made up so I would work with you,” she said, fixing her tactical suit. “Can’t believe I’m doing this shit with you, Wade.”

He chuckled. “Come on, you love spending time with me, kicking ass, making men suffer.” 

“I will make you suffer.”

Together, they approached the entrance door of the dive bar. Wade was the first one to walk in. During the day, there weren’t many people around. Some people gave them brief attention but quickly went back to their beers. Y/N glared at Wade. 

“Our guy is right there,” he said, pointing to the bar. 

And there he was - their target - the man they had to collect to save the universe. Was it the universe or the multiverse? Whatever it was, he was crucial for this mission. 

Y/N eyed his back - the dark jacket he wore and how bent he was over the bar. The sadness radiated from him. Something was happening inside her. As if she experienced a magnetic pull towards him.

Y/N showed Wade forward to start. She was curious to see the man’s reaction. She sat at a nearby table ready to watch the scene unfold. Of course, Wade used a beautiful opening line that would normally get his assed whipped. 

“Hi, peanut.”

Y/N bit her lower lip to stop herself from laughing. This was Wade, typical Wade Wilson. Fucking Deadpool and her best friend. How the fuck did they manage to become friends? She knew him for a long time, fought alongside him and tolerated that dipshit. 

“Look, lady, I’m not interested,” the man said gruffly. His voice was deep, husky and kind of sexy. It made Y/N tilt her head. Interesting. 

It was painful to watch the interaction. Wade tried to get him off the chair, away from the bar before he could explain anything. Such a rookie mistake. It was time to intervene before Wade overstepped and jeopardised this whole mission. 

She got off the chair and walked to the tall, well-built man. With a smile, she tapped on his shoulder. He instantly turned, his weird metal claws already out of his hands, ready to fight. When their eyes met, she showed him her bright smile and teeth. “Hi, peanut.” 

His face changed from pissed to shocked in less than a second. For a second it lost its colour. The man’s mouth opened wide. “Y/N?” he said her name gently, too gently for her liking. “Holy shit.” 

“Ha, Agent Smith was right,” Wade laughed, pointing a finger at her face. It got him three claws into his stomach. It made him grunt and fell to his knees. “Ouch. That fucking hurt.” 

“You know me?” Y/N asked, not believing the whole story she was told back in the TVA. 

That question took him aback. “What kind of dumb question is that, baby? Of course, I know ya,” and his hands reached for her face, holding her cheeks. To Y/N’s surprise, she let him. “How is this possible? How are you alive?” 

It was Y/N’s time for her eyes to widen in complete shock. “Woah,” she stepped back. 

“It’s me,” he said, frowning. “It’s Logan.” 

Wade decided to step in, waving a hand at them. “I don’t want to interrupt this romantic reunion, but we need to talk to you, big guy. It’s important.” 

“You came here with the weírd-looking sex toy?” Logan’s eyes were back on Y/N. “What the fuck is this? The the fuck is going on?”

That made her laugh. “Ha, Wade, even he thinks you look like a sex toy. With Cable, we are now three who think the same thing.” 

“Fuck you, Y/N,” he spat back. 

The man, Logan, pushed away from her, glaring. His claws were in the air, ready to strike if necessary. “Who the fuck are you?”

“My name is Deadpool and this is my annoying friend Y/N,” Wade introduced them. 

“You are an ass,” Y/N glared at Wade.

“Impossible,” Logan shook his head, bumping into a wooden stool. “You are dead,” he pointed a finger directly at Y/N’s face. “You cannot be here. You died in my fucking arms! Who the fuck are you?” he raised his voice at her. 

“I’m Y/N,” she said. 

“Don’t bullshit me!” 

There was a sound of a loading gun. All three lazily turned their gaze to the bartender who was pointing a shotgun at them. None of them was intimidated by that. “Get the fuck out of my bar! Now! Or I will shoot you all.” 

“I think this is our cue,” Wade whispered. 

Logan grabbed Wade by the red top of his suit, pushing him out of the bar like he was a ragdoll. Y/N immediately followed them out, ready to step in if necessary. She wasn’t worried about Wade. He was immortal. His body parts would grow back. She was more ready to step in intellectually. That was something Wade didn’t know how to do. 

“Everyone calm down,” she said. 

“No!” they both yelled at her, already fighting like children.

Y/N looked at herself, reading this story and made a sour face. “Men,” she sighed and turned her gaze to the two men who were about to tear each other apart. A purple-looking mist appeared in her hands and she pushed the men away from each other. 

“That’s enough, gentlemen,” she said. 

There was blood coming out of Wade’s abdomen - the marks from the claws. She had to shake her head. Wade had his gun out, pointing it directly at Logan. “Will you fucking listen, you oaf?” 

Logan’s eyes moved from him back to Y/N. She saw how his stance relaxed. It was painful to look at her, see someone he lost. His claws retraced back into his hands. His fists clenched tightly, knuckles becoming white. “How come you are alive?” he asked. 

Y/N sighed. “Because I’m not her… me… uh,” she shook her head. “It’s complicated.”

“Fucking talk, woman,” he raised his voice. 

She raised her hand to calm him. “I can explain. But I need you to come with us, Logan.”

His eyes closed. When Y/N said her name, more emotions ran across his face. “How can I trust you? I can’t seem to trust my own mind.” 

Wade was ready to say something stupid, but Y/N quickly shut him up by throwing him away with her power. “Believe me, it doesn’t make any sense to me, too. I can give you an explanation if you will help us.” 

“Help with what?” he raised a brow. 

Y/N made a face, changed it to a frown. ”To save the multiverse?” she said it like a question, hesitant whether he’d believe her. “Before you say anything, I know it sounds fucking crazy. Trust me, I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around it.” 

Wade came running back. “That was rude, you know?” 

“Shut up,” she glared at him. “We need his help, so let me handle it. Just for once, Wade, I need you to zip it, okay?” 

He leaned closer to Logan. “She’s hormonal,” he whispered to him. 

This time, Y/N decided to ignore his comment. “Please,” she turned her gaze to Logan. “Will you come with us? Help us save our world, all of the worlds?” 

He scoffed. “I’m no hero, kid.” 

Y/N turned her head to Wade, then back to Logan. “None of us are heroes here,” she said. “Maybe that’s why we are meant to save everyone’s asses,” she shrugged. 

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “How come you are not a hero? You are the sweetest thing in this world. You are the definition of heroism and kindness,” he said. 

She made a face. “Come with us and we’ll talk about it all.” 

And he did. 

. . . 

Logan and Y/N sat behind an old-fashioned plastic table. He still wore his clothes while Y/N changed from her tactical suit to jeans and a simple shirt. The silence between them was awkward. The tension could be cut with a knife. His eyes scanned her from head to anywhere they were able to reach. 

There was a stack of documents and papers by her side. She grabbed them to show them to prove she was not lying. 

The door opened and Wade stepped in, out of his red suit. Logan gasped, horrified when he saw the man’s face. “What the fuck? Holy shit, that is fucking horrible. As if you were ran down by a Zamboni,” he yelled. 

“It’s disgusting, right?” Y/N nodded. But a second later a grin was on her face. 

“Ha, ha,” Wade pretended to laugh. “Can’t believe you two are laughing at a poor disabled man who happened to have his face fucked to safe his shitty life.” 

“That was your decision,” Y/N reminded him. 

Logan pretended to hurl. Y/N chuckled. “It’s hard to look at him.” 

Y/N smiled at her friend. “Could you leave us alone?” she asked. “I need to talk to him alone and, well, it takes time to get used to your face.” 

Wade pointed a finger at her. “One day, I will cut your tongue out,” he threatened. He was already on his way out. “Oh,” he threw her a little device. “If you want to show him something spicy,” he winked at her. 

Once the door shut behind him, Y/N exhaled the breath she was holding. “Now that he’s out of the picture,” she waved with a hand.

“Just start singing,” said Logan, annoyed. 

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N, but I am not your Y/N. I’m from a different timeline,” she started. 

“How are you, not my Y/N? You sound the same, you look the same. You have the same mutation,” he said. “And a different timeline? What kind of bullshit is that?” 

She shrugged. “Hey, I found out about all of this today, okay?” she then glared at him. “I, myself, have trouble taking it in. It’s crazy, it’s fucked up on so many levels. It’s not easy for me too, you know?” 

Logan huffed. “Continue.”

“This is going to sound crazy, so prepare yourself.” She took a deep breath. “I was told, and showed, that somehow, we are meant to be together in almost every timeline.”

“What?” 

Y/N made a face. “It sounds like a fucking fairytale.” Her hands grabbed the first folder, looking at its name. When she opened it, there was a photo of both of them. They looked the same. Y/N pushed her chair closer to him and showed Logan the details in the document. “In this timeline, we are both normal people. We live together in the Canadian mountains.” 

Logan took the folder and read the document. His eyes went over the photo. He shook his head. “Holy shit,” was the only thing he said. 

Y/N reached for another folder. When she opened it, she chuckled. “Here, you are a notorious mob boss,” she showed him. In the picture, he had an eyepatch over his left eye. “We live in Madripoor. People know you there as Patch.” 

“What about my version in your world?” he asked.

She sighed. “There is none. I said we are meant to be together in almost every universe. In mine, you don’t exist.” She turned to the documents and took out the one from her timeline.

Logan snatched it from her, reading through the words. “You are a mercenary?” he asked. 

“Uh, yeah,” she nodded. “Wade and I have a business together. He’s the only family I have. Well, Wade and his fianceé Vanessa. In the past, the Avengers approached with the offer to be in their team. I declined. That’s not who I am.” 

“Is there a world, uh, timeline where you don’t exist?” he asked.

“They told me there used to be one, but that timeline was destroyed a long time ago,” she explained. “Don’t ask me how that happened, because I don’t have an answer for that. You should ask Agent Smith that.” 

“Why do you keep calling him that?” 

“He looks like a character from a movie,” she explained. Her hand reached for another folder. When she opened it, she laughed. “In this world, you and are enemies that secretly love each other.” 

Logan’s brow raised. He read the details of their relationship. “You are on Magneto’s side?” he gasped. “I mean, she is… This is so confusing.” 

“Uh,” she hesitated for a moment. “When did you lose me? Or the version of me. You know what I mean.” 

“Haven’t you read that?” he asked. 

“Nope,” she shook he head. “I’ve got through a couple of those folders. I was only told that we were going to your timeline and that I was dead. Plus to get you out of there and convince you to help us.” 

Logan nodded. “You died…” It was hard to talk about it. “It happened a few years ago during a war that the mutants were in,” he said. “You died in my arms,” he cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered. 

“I live with that pain every day,” he continued. “And now, it is fucking harder than ever before, because here you are, sitting in front of me, but you are not… her.” 

At that point, she realised how difficult this experience was for him. Logan seemed like a tough guy. The pain that reflected in his eyes, how he avoided meeting her eyes more and more. 

“Everyone I knew is dead,” said Logan after a pause. “No one lives in my world that I care about.” 

Y/N bit her lower lip. “Logan,” she said his name softly. “We pulled you out of your timeline because it will be destroyed soon.” 

His eyes widened. “Wait, what? What’s going to happen to me?” 

“The TVA will present you with options. But if we save the multiverse, we will be rewarded. Or that’s what they told me,” she said. 

“It doesn’t matter. No one in my world is alive.” He stood up from the chair. “Let’s do this shit. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.” 

Y/N put a small smile on her face. She wanted to show him more, tell him what they told her, what she thought of it. “Yeah, let’s do this.” 

[anantaru]

— telling him “we need to talk”

including childe, gorou, alhaitham, scaramouche x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, crack, childe's part is a bit sad, we‘re evil, they're panicking

— childe

"oh! and one last thing." you pause, luring a deep gulp of air through your snagged throat, "can you come over tonight? we need to talk."

correspondingly, childe groggily rubbed his eyes and frowned at the wearisome remembrance of your previous accursed encounter— it just couldn't leave him alone, that constricted gruff of panic.

the words you had spoken out earlier were continuing to peskily repeat themselves through his psyche, again and again— like a virus progressively taking over its host— and it did, wretchedly slow, even after he finished a couple more salient tasks of his work.

did something happen between you both? or did he unintentionally do something he should be aware of but isn't?

nowadays, he had been abundantly occupied with carrying on the crucial duties as the eleventh fatui harbinger, essentially the befalling of the various nations all around teyvat in search of the enigmatic gnosis.

consequently, ajax would go on about balancing his private life together with his work in a notably strategic way. He had always made it a habit to keep the serious out of your relationship, though now he was debating wether or not that was your last straw.

because you see, ajax was convinced you'd actually dump him tonight.

so, well, under those circumstances, yeah, it's fine, he's fine, or wasn't he? after all he couldn't force you to stay, maybe, he's joking, perhaps.

he gave himself a second to rewind his rational thinking in search of a breakout from this state of affairs but instead, a rising silence befell his mind and he couldn't concentrate for the life of him.

by that means, childe was inordinately nervous and a dizzying sense of anxiety had been manifesting from inside out— his breathing too, had become nimble, he felt as if someone had been suddenly suffocating him with a giant plastic bag over his head.

and then presently, there he was.

without a way to escape he was soon trapped in between the door and your body when he closed it shut behind him. You had made him follow you to the living room— your face, without a doubt, undisturbed and calculative which didn't make the appalling situation any better, due to this action his dreadful judgment prevailed over him much more unyielding.

he began to hatch a plot; because if he manipulates his emotions good enough while bamboozling himself over and over that he was in fact, okay, he'll maybe not suffer from an integral cardiac arrest after this blood curdling conversation.

for a brief period of time childe had been wholly iced to the ground, awaiting your voice. You turned around to face him, silence, a long and grueling five seconds of unbroken staring when you in confusion, pucker your brows together, "what's with you?"

he was overcome by a flat sense of both irritation and surprise at how casual you sounded, "w— what?" childe didn't mean to stutter out his words like that, but his voice was still distressfully stricken.

"you seem sick." you note, directly holding your hand towards his face to keep it on top of his forehead, a flicker of concern eroding inwardly, childe winced at that and he bleeds into your touch, it was alleviating and he missed it, "no fever."

your apprehensive tone faded when you hastened to follow up your words, "i'm glad, because there's this thing i need your help with." you press yourself into his body, "it's a present for a family member." with your lips instantly split into a humane smile, you settled to tease him, ruffling his hair a bit.

childe thought this had to be some kind of metaphysical fantasy he had been trapped in the moment he entered your home, could he be hallucinating or did dottore really mix something into his orange juice earlier?

one of the first couple skills he had learned in the fatui was to always keep a clear head, yet right now he didn't have the time to even recompose himself nor did he realize that he‘s been standing in front of you without moving an inch— it‘s as if he was currently deciphering a difficult secret riddle in his mind and wholly forgot about your presence.

ultimately, you had caught up on the panic and the unintentional perpetual twitch in his eyes, "hey." a sigh of relief, so soft yet it brought him to tears, he felt your hand shelter his once more, the tone on his face grew a bit lower and delicate— a little more allayed.

without trying to conceal his worry now, childe responds clearly to you, "i thought i did something." he blurted out— barely, his throat was still clenched and a continuing dread thudded in his heart.

his eyes widened and a light bead of sweat formed just above his browbone. The thought that you might‘ve broken up with him vehemently churned and wrecked a deep havoc in his gut, it almost had him see white of terror.

you saw the glint of fear— the panic, and closed the distance of your bodies, wrapping your arms around his waist to pull him close, "you didn‘t." the sound of your voice seized his heart and he breathed out a shaking heave.

"because you‘re perfect to me."

as an instinctive counter, his eyes squinted a little of a bigger smile and a shadow of boundless solace stamped in his veins. effectively, he can breathe easily now— be that as it may but for childe to purely envision a skid second without you by his side hurt him so much, if the control of his body hadn't been as well trained by him as it was, he'd tremble into your enfold.

"i‘m sorry." you patted his warm, rosy cheek with a kiss, "i didn't mean to make you feel this way." the tepidity of your eyes felt like the sun buzzing on a sweet summer day, "don't apologize." he stated and swallowed hard, returning your hug.

"i love you." he's leaning his face against your head and closed his eyes shut, "i love you too, ajax." a tear— just one, was then glissading down his cheek at your well spoken words, .

— gorou

"gorou, we need to talk, i finally made up my mind."

talk about what? the great weather on watasumi island?

meanwhile gorou nearly lost what little self restraint he had left in his soul— his right ear repeatedly twitching and serving as a bodily response. However, the way he had acknowledged the teeny tiny letter in his hand in the first place— with the disreputable words frumpily scrabbled on top of it with a black pencil, was largely concerning, he realized.

gorou didn't move for a couple seconds and remained by his own company— in silence, now his eyes grew a tone darker, because he was beginning to feel sick to his stomach, precisely the lower area, a stormy tornado of panic exuberantly nagging on the base of his spine.

what was it that he did because there must've been something he had to mess up if you're handling the situation in that precise way.

fundamentally speaking, (and that was the most irritating component in this whole situation) for you, to not say it out right away but rather have a hand written letter sent over to his office— it's ambiguous, everything turned out to be like a complete mess and he was a part of it.

to say he was both bewildered and crushed combined into one heavy ball of perplexing emotions was a restrained statement. Because truthfully, he was on the brink of a mental breakdown, his face was now hiding in his palms while he leaned further into the desk.

"it's over." he's talking under his own breathing, "that must be the case!"

if you have figured out one thing about your boyfriend— it was that he had a habit of talking to himself whenever he was pressurized by an crucial mission or something was simply bothering him.

he (himself) stated that it was an eminent way of analyzing his scattered thoughts and bring down all meaningless components should there be any at hand.

having said that, you would mentally applaud him because gorou was a genius, it was a great way— while not the one that would be of any need to him right now.

he decided to go all out and search for you— from his perspective, there wasn't any other way. Gorou had previously decoded that you must've been at your home by now, his work wasn't far off anyways so he could show up any time— yet unannounced but this was an emergency, he noted.

for gorou there wasn't anything more important than his relationship with you, it was a part he'd protect vigorously, yet if you were to dump him tonight, that's a different story because then he wouldn't know what to do nor how to retaliate.

considering that, he had been vastly comfortable with you to the point that he simply cannot envision a life without you by this side.

so, yes, maybe that's why he was so tense and anxious moving forward to your home. Little does he realize it wasn't quite how he had imagined it because truth was, gorou didn't do anything wrong.

you see, for a while now, you had been greatly pondering with the thought on your living situation, after all, you had been a couple for a long time and moving in together was the next designated step to be taken.

resultantly you had talked about this with gorou, yet only once and the timing wasn't the best either. If it was for him, he had long since forgotten it, in any other occasion he was a great listener and infallibly did his best to memorize whatever important topic you had to say to him.

but as an automatic result of the miscommunication taking place, gorou had visualized how he thought the conversation would end up, it being with you dumping him for good.

on the other side of the coin there was you, so very happy you could barely wait to tell him that you want to finally approach the next step and move in together.

the moment you let him into your home, you, as always, you greeted him with a kind hug which caught him completely off guard, obviously he wasn't expecting it. You knew your boyfriend very much, so when you saw him in the composition he was currently in, you almost gasped out loud by the terror.

his eyes were sunken and he seemed a bit pale, his ears too, were pointing downwards and that frown on him— together with his ragged breathing made you realize that something wasn't on their designated place. "hey." you approach him gently, "did something happen at work?"

his muscles stiffed and he thought about the words he had planned out to say, repeatedly they had thudded into his skull but nothing arose off his throat. You watched him closely and his gaze softened when you decided to hug him once more, this time with your lips ghosting over his ears, "it's okay, you're home now gorou."

"home?" granted, he couldn't place any fault on you for his own too quick thinking or his habits of jumping to conclusion when it came to this relationship, gorou wasn't the most experienced in that peculiar department after all. "our— our home?!"

"yes!" you're quick to show your happiness to him, your eyes glowing with brilliant shades of delight.

"that's what i wanted to talk about, i was busy preparing everything so Ii couldn't visit you in person." you fleetly pecked his cheek, "i hope it was okay to send a letter instead."

gorou was stunned— bewildered, he thought his ears fell off. "wait." he's taking both of your hands in his to make you stare at him, "this it what you wanted to talk about all along?" your brow ploddingly arose at his way of speech, because you were still very much clueless about it all.

"what did you think i was going to say?" at this rate, your conversation would never end anytime soon. gorou fidgetily scratched his neck before he chirped his words out in a blabbering draw no one but you was able to discern.

"oh nothing special, ijustthoughtyourebreakingupwithme." you were rendered speechless— lost of words and you placed a mental sticker in the deepest ends of your brain to get better at spelling things out more clear.

your eyes formed of sadness and you felt bad, trying to soothe your boyfriend in your own ways, "why would i?" you humorously squeezed his cheeks in a strive to delete his troubled expression, smiling in a loving kind, "i'd never do that, ever."

— alhaitham

beyond the shadow of a doubt, becoming the acting grand sage was an astonishingly tedious task for alhaitham to take— and he did not look forward to it.

unquestionably it was apparent that he wouldn't potentially have as much time for you as he previously had when he was the akademiya's renowned scribe. In spite of his new occupation, you undeniably had supported him throughout the first stages as much as you could.

but, lets say, you had felt a bit neglected lately— or to state said emotion in a contrasting light, you were in need of some much required attention from your boyfriend, plain and simple. Of course— and this usually goes without saying but it's not like alhaitham did it on purpose because, by all means, he didn't.

there wasn't anything he'd like to do as much as leisurely resting on his cozy bed with you by his side, cushily enclosed in your arms while you play with his hair and talking about all kinds of topics at hand.

with it becoming worse, it followed that he rarely had time to come over for dinner anymore, sure, you had your own duties to be taken care of but you missed him so so dearly and weren't sure how else to get him to move his unwavering attention from his work to your sweet frame again.

though your approach seemed a bit evil, you realized. but wasn't your creative thinking one of the reasons alhaitham had fallen in love with you in the first place?

to accurately get your plan in motion, you had sent an overly prettily framed letter to his new office— you added your favorite symbols to the paper and used your best-loved colors to have it cross your boyfriends keen eyes the second it would land on his desk.

under those circumstances you had impatiently began to wait at your place for him to get to you. And he did see your letter glowing in midst all the important papers on his desk, bedazzled by your most dearest decorations.

alhaitham slanted his head a bit to the left when he caught a glimpse of it eventually— he was a bit puzzled at first because whenever you did require his cooperation you'd just show up in person. But then again, in recent times he had his hands full of work and you arguably wouldn't even meet him to begin with.

his fingers gingerly opened the fine letter to scrutinize the words at hand, "we need to talk, it's about us."

he was taken aback, very, and caught off balance. He didn't view you as someone who'd send cryptic messages like that one in particular. Alhaitham distressfully rubbed his eyes and placed the letter on his desk above all the other workloads he had gotten delivered today.

upon that, he leaned into the broad armchair and careened his head back, closing his eyes. In that peculiar state he might potentially arrange and categorize his thoughts more coherent. The last thing he would've wanted now was to have your relationship suffer because of his current job.

first, it's dreary, second, it would throw him off completely.

while alhaitham had a dozen more work to finish before he could routinely head home, he decided to go to your place instead to talk it out. In his opinion, pushing back a much needed conversation would only elude his rational thinking skills by a huge mountain of precious time. it would've been obtuse for him to not handle this.

deep wrinkles were forming around his brows when he knocked on your door, his eyes fixated with worry but also irritation. On the flip side alhaitham was also concerned that something might've happened to you without him being aware of it.

another knock and you had lastly opened the door to your home, with a pseudo sad frown on your lips, maybe that was your ticket to great evilness because you did feel a bit wicked for tricking your poor, overworked boyfriend like that.

he doesn't say much, a dreadful silence of a couple minutes had surrounded the atmosphere and the inches in between your frames. A direct steady approach hadn't been found before he decided to speak at last, though heedful. "i saw your letter." he remarked through a clenched jaw.

"you did?" you slowly turned around and simulated to shuffle something out of a drawer in your kitchen— pretending to make a cup of tea for you both. "yes, i did." alhaitham might be many things, but he wasn't stupid, he knew something wasn't adding up, at all.

at first note, there was your body responses, despite your d class acting skills you were still showing emotions that weren't classified as sad nor angered. Second, it felt as if you didn't even know what to say, more thoroughly did you appear to just like him being here because why else were you settling a cup of tea and would you look at this, a few pastries he was sure were freshly bought.

"do you want me to applaud to you?" his voice was dry but despite that it harvested a glint of humor, "for this performance, i mean."

you bit down on the mushy insides of your cheeks before turning around, "i don't know what you're talking about." there you stood with an empty cup in your hand when he resoluted to walk towards you, haltering himself when he reached your body. "you wanted to talk." his hand finds your cheek and banteringly nudges it, "then talk."

you avert your gaze to recollect your thinking, because truthfully you did not expect him to catch onto it that fast— plus, you could also say you didn't think too far ahead into the future as on what to do once he's actually there.

"okay, okay." you dramatically throw your hands in the air, "i pretended to be mad so you'd show up." silence, "because i missed you." before you could hide the embarrassment with your hands alhaitham had swiftly bolstered one of his arms around your waist to pull you into his chest, "I know."

"can you blame me though?" you tried to explain yourself through your shy smiles which he had found so so very adorable, "you're never home." you lay your cheek against his warm chest to reply with a cuddle back and alhaitham sighed out when he beheld your distressfulness— how much he longed for his calm days to return.

"i know." he idly pawed his hand over your spine, "i can't wait to be the scribe again." you quietly shake with laugher at his words, the sides of your lips creasing up, "though i have to admit." you suddenly state while blinking up into his multi colored eyes, "saying my boyfriend is the grand sage doesn't sound that bad."

he's amusingly shook his head and found himself deeply connected in your arms— though being wary of the entire settling of today, alhaitham's sadness resigned back into him, he realizing that the last time he had held you just like this had have been a long time ago.

for this, he couldn't wait to get back to his usual, comfortable life with you again because no matter which position he'd take in the akademiya, he'd never want to place you second under it because it was you who truly gave new meaning to his life.

— scaramouche

working in the shadows had been something scaramouche was practicing his entire life, he‘s as fast-moving as the wind, a split second and he was gone, poof, unforeseen and brief.

substantially, you weren‘t quite sure what made you reach the conclusion to perpetually poke your finger into his hardiness, over and over— to sweetly aggravate him because it’s fun. especially when he had gotten back to you after a long, monotonous day full of his duties to fulfill.

on the assumption that nothing was wrong, kuni, as in any other circumstance, had saddled back into the couch with you next to him— actively observing how you’re casually paging through a couple letters in your hand.

"hey." in the pitch of his voice alone you were capable to discern the fatigue in his body— he must‘ve been especially hard working tonight.

"put the book away." undoubtedly, it was that time of the day again, scaramouche required your unwavering attention because if you aren't handing it over to him right this second, he'd become actually ballistic and sullen, waiting until you notice.

"hm." you do not say much, pretending to have something critical crossing your current state of mind, "what do you mean hm?" he's peeved by your behavior— despite that it piqued his interest.

you evidently weren't drained or disgruntled by his presence, at least he thought you weren't, "is this more important than i am?" scaramouche loftily pointed towards the book in your hand which you then, meteorically closed.

"there is something—" you do not dare to look into his permeating eyes, being panicky stricken you might blow your cover in front of him. Kuni had a way of heeding every so little change in both the articulation in your voice and face.

"there is something we need to talk about— about us."

scaramouche didn't buy it, not even once, you were too perceptible and easy to detect.

what was there to talk about when nothing happened, in the morning you seemed fine, you even gave him a goodbye kiss when he left for work. "really now?" he's sharpening his eyes on you, his chin held up high to throw you off the high in your conversation and most pivotally, to make you all jittery so you‘d eventually slip up.

"yes." you outstandingly flumped back into the velvety cushions of your couch, "we're just so different." - "no we're not." he was right there to cut you off, giving you no room to breathe while also slouching closer to your frame so you‘d look at him.

without beating around the bush, scaramouche decided to play this game with you, though in his eyes, he was way better at this than you could ever be, "but we are." now coming across at him through distinct eyes, you sealed your lips together so you wouldn‘t suddenly burst out laughing.

in a wink of an eye he had edged himself so near to you— with only being a mere couple inches away from banging your heads together, "are you playing games again?" he really wanted to know it now, fundamentally, scaramouche was captivated by this— he never loses and this side of yours would never bore him, not even once.

"maybe." you blurt out bluntly, affectionately wiggling the tip of your nose against his own, "you're a menace." he rolls his eyes and pulls away. with how swift you were to follow him, you put your legs over his lap so you‘d be dotingly enclosed into one another. "don't do that again."

sweet scaramouche— what he didn't show you was that he in actuality shared a concern in result of your behavior. All things considered he was aware you were kidding to rally him up. He thinks your skills were amateurish at best, whimsical, he hoped you were practicing your acting to once really catch him off guard.

"it's so fun though." you brusquely admitted to him with a candid smile while venturing to case your arms around his neck.

if only he wasn‘t so utterly compelled by you he‘d actually be mad for once, yet he only puffs out a warm heave, "i'll get you back for this."

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[geekgirles]

"The Flower that Blooms in Adveristy Is the Most Rare and Beautiful of Them All": A Brief Amalia Analysis

I've been meaning to talk about this scene since the episode premiered, as I find it perfectly encapsulates Amalia's character and her development.

On the one hand, we have the fact that she's long outgrown the pampered, sheltered princess archetype she was introduced as and become far more mature and multi-faceted.

Over the course of the show, we've seen how Amalia evolved from a girl who ran away from her responsibilities because she felt stifled in her own home after her mother's passing, to a girl whose reason to break the rules was the sake of her kingdom, determined to save it from Nox. To the point she eventually grew into the Sadida Queen mantle and was ready to do whatever it took to ensure her kingdom's safety and well-being, from accepting to marry a stranger, to finally stepping up to the challenge and ascending to the throne to guide her troops to victory despite having just lost her brother and such heavy burden thrusted upon her.

All the while dealing with her own trauma, heartbreak and desires as she watched her father wither away, her best friend since childhood was far away living her own life, Armand and Aurora tried to pressure her into marrying, she was manipulated by Oropo into almost abandoning Yugo, and she likewise suffered because she couldn't be with the man she loved despite both of them wanting nothing more.

And on the other hand, that scene also shows how, while not necessarily the most powerful member of the Brotherhood of the Tofu, Amalia's versatility is second only to Yugo and maybe Adamaï's, as well as it once again shows how despite her powers' development not being as flashy as Yugo's, it's still notable and impressive.

In a way, you could say Amalia's character and power development are both subtle, yet a constant of the show.

Amalia's gone from summoning vines and using her doll to being able to overpower a Xelor demigod without help, use her powers to light up dark spaces (seriously, girlie can create literal light out of plants, how?!?!?), growing cotton plants from stone to keep her and her friends in touch, and season 4 has her become the team's weapons provider against the Nécromes; an ability that, as far as I'm concerned, only King Oakheart was able to do back in season 1 when he created a new bow for Evangelyne.

And it that weren't enough to prove how layered and multi-talented she is, there's her fight against the Sadida Nécrome itself.

Up until that point, except for a few punches here and there, Amalia's been mostly a long-ranged combatant, much like Eva, relying on her plants to fight. However, her summoning that wooden staff and using it to fight against the Nécrome shows that she's actually quite adept at hand-to-hand combat, too, especially when she moves with such grace and her strikes hold that much precision. Which at the same time means that not only Armand received training from the best masters around, so did Amalia.

This all comes to show Amalia is an example of the hardships she's endured slowly molding her into the person she was always meant to be, into the queen she was always meant to be. Grougal already said back in season 1 she had the heart of a Sadida Queen, her adventures were always meant to get her to that point.

Much like his adventures eventually turned Yugo both into the king his people longed for, and the one Amalia needed by her side. Everything they have been through together have led them to this moment, to the chance to stand together as king and queen, as husband and wife.

To stand together as one.

This is what Amalia had been preparing for her entire life. And I, for one, am proud to say, "All hail Queen Amalia."

[lunarw0rks]

Hi! Is it possible to get an imagine where Ghost accidently walks in on reader changing (they're together and reader doesn't mind) but Ghost kinda freaks out and insists he can wait outside until they're done. I feel like with his past he'd constantly worry about invading people's privacy/violating them in anyway, so maybe just some fluffy reassuring him that he's ok and he makes reader feel safe? Sorry if that's a lot 🫶

༄ Poise | Simon Riley

Warning(s): !!brief references to ghost's trauma/SA!!, established relationship, mentions of sex/nudity, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, gn!reader

₊˚ෆˎˊ˗ Word Count: 1.2k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ- ♡‧₊˚✧˖ 「 AO3 VER. 」 A/N: Tried my best to handle this topic respectfully. Definitely an underused, under-discussed part of Ghost's character.

Simon Riley was a complicated man, to say the least.

But he never intended to let his complications rub off on you — no matter how much suffering he voicelessly endured to ensure that.

Whether it was weeks into the relationship or months, his walls were still standing tall. Certain things: he just couldn't do with you. Reviewing old photographs of himself, going to a park where children run joyously with their parents, nor could he do anything to invade your privacy.

To you, your involvement with him was at a pivotal point. Where there wasn't a need to be bashful around the other and withhold the petty grievances.

Though, Simon's skeletons were anything but quaint.

There was weight to them; weight you only bore a measly tinge of. He never told you details, only bits and pieces of what he had been through. Those serious talks were scarce and short-lived — forgettable, even, if it weren't for the woeful nature of his past memories.

『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』

Per usual, he had gotten up long before you. It was a typical sight; laying in the empty bed unsure if Simon was even home, because of his default stealth. Even though you knew he wasn't beside you, your fingers outstretched to his side, palming the sheets that had gone cold in his absence.

With a drowsy sigh, you peeled back the plush comforter, revealing the remnants of the lustful night before. Or, the lack of remnants, considering you were still rid of your clothes.

Through the curtains, the risen sun engulfed the shared bedroom, illuminating its lackluster decor — at least on his portion of it. Little decor, no pictures or clutter out, clothes folded and hung neatly as he would with his uniforms on base.

After a few minutes of gathering your strength, you climbed out of bed and approached the dresser, giving your fatigued eyes a rub. You dug through the clothing piles until you found an outfit suitable for a slothful day in with him.

You set the pickings on the edge of the bed. Following, you were slipping into a fresh pair of undergarments, listening intuitively for any sound of your lover, which wasn't an easy task.

Simon ambled up the staircase, on his way to the ensuite washroom to retrieve the watch he took off to shower. In his mind, you were still fast asleep, especially after last night. His fingers clamped around the knob, opening it with slowness.

In a matter of seconds, he was poisoned with a sensation of unbearable discomfort, as well as disgust towards himself. Seeing you, nude and vulnerable rather than slumbering in the bed.

"Shit, I'm sorry, love." Unlike before, he handled the door with haste — closing it like he had just walked in on a stranger.

Your mouth remained slightly agape with bafflement, paired with a feeling of unease for him. You were only changing, and it wasn't the first time he had seen you undressed. This wasn't a little hiccup in the day, nor an off-beat moment that you could laugh at later on.

Something gravely upset him, and it wasn't your bare skin.

Quicker than before, you changed into the remainder of your outfit. As well as fixing up the rest of your appearance; an excuse to figure out how to approach the subject.

You exited the bedroom, giving the door a gentle close. No sign of Simon down the hall, not in the living room, either. You checked the office next, finding nothing but another uninhabited space. Lastly, you crept through the kitchen with wary arms folded across your chest.

Then, you caught a glimpse of Simon's unstirring silhouette through the window. Slouched while sitting on the steps of the deck; a thousand-mile stare into the garden.

He didn't flinch when the patio door shut behind him, not even when you sat beside him on the steps.

"This isn't about me being naked, is it?" You spoke into the crisp mid-morning air, feeling the unforgiving bite of it overwhelm your exposed skin and lips.

Simon scoffed at your poor attempt to lighten the bleak mood, giving you a brief glance. If only things— if only he were that uncomplicated. "No, it's not you. Nothing like that."

You nod your head, trusting that his blunt nature wouldn't allow him to stifle a thing as serious as that. If he truly wasn't attracted to you or your frame, you wouldn't be resting your head on his shoulder.

For a few minutes; the conversation stopped. Only the occasional passing car in the distance or an animal or insect chirping. The leaves blew gently, until the breeze eventually found the both of you, sending a bitter, unforgiving autumn wind.

The silence was fine; it was common with him. But it wasn't fine when you knew he was swallowed by sorrowful thoughts.

"Can I..." You began, still keeping your head pressed firmly against his solid shoulder. "Can I ask what's wrong? Why you wouldn't stay in the room?" Asking what happened was too far, and you were already walking a narrow line. He wouldn't hold it against you if you got too invasive, but that wasn't a chance you wanted to even consider.

Simon's flashbacks hadn't ceased for a minute. Not since he shut the bedroom door behind him and sat out here.

The worst part? None of it was your fault. It had nothing to do with your bare skin, not even him catching a glimpse of it. His inner voice had him convinced he overstepped; that he made you feel used and violated by proxy.

He sighed heavily, saying a thousand words with a mere exhale. "Things you don't need to hear, sweetheart. Trust me on that." That was one way of putting it lightly, considering the gravity of what he had endured years ago.

"Listen, Simon," your fingers roamed along his shoulders, caressing down his back, careful to avoid the scars he didn't want you to touch. "I feel the pain you walk around with, I do. Every moment we're together, it doesn't rest."

He nodded his head slowly, closing his eyes for a moment to absorb the bleed of your words. You weren't sugarcoating the rawness of how his past affected you, nor were you judging him for it.

"But you didn't hurt me, alright? You did nothing wrong." Your voice couldn't have reached deeper. The tightening of his chest had uncoiled a bit, soothing his silent episode of derealization.

Simon's shaky fingers found your cheek, caressing against your chilled flesh with a tender firmness, "don't think I deserve you and that bleeding heart."

Your brows knitted with benevolence, returning the same gloomy gaze his amber eyes were emitting. Following his words, you shook your head, gripping his wrists gently.

"You do deserve it," you retorted gently, "nobody makes me feel safe like you do." You had never said something more truthful. He really did make you feel safe, in every sense. Intimately, romantically, even just as another human being you decided to spend your time with.

"C'mere." Simon murmured, shortly before nudging your head in the direction of his lap, allowing you to lay against him completely.

Whether he believed you or not, that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he hit the jackpot with you. Someone who didn't tip the scale, who didn't need to be privy to his every sorrow.

You were there purely to be there for him, expectant of no rewards or praises — though Simon would definitely give them soon enough.

In his own, deeply complicated, way.

[spotsandsocks]

The Last of the Tea is Gone

This started life as a title prompt from ask game sent to me by @madambeetrootn who I can not tag sadly. They liked it, I liked it so I’ve spruced it up and here it is for a bit of light fluff before 7x10 breaks our heart.

If there’s one thing that Eddie does not like it’s doing the grocery shop, regardless of his feelings though he’ll do a good job, a thorough job and that means making a list. So it’s time to look through the cupboards and check what they need.

The second cupboard door he opens generates a frustrated growl. Reaching up with clenched teeth, he shakes his head, how many times does he have to tell him? Again! This is sadly not the first time he’s found an empty box of teabags sitting on the shelf.

It’s Buck’s tea, the one that he drinks whenever he’s round. Disgusting stuff but for some reason he loves it.

Sighing the sigh of the long suffering Eddie grabs hold of the offending cardboard, why can’t that man ever put an empty box or bottle in the recycling. It’s not that hard. Eddie manages it every day. Even Chris half the time but Buck not so much.

The moment freezes as Eddie looks at his hand holding the vanished tea and a thought blazes through his mind bright and intense and overwhelming.

Buck keeps his tea here, the thought shifts and changes, no …he keeps Buck’s tea here, for him. He remembers buying the last box clearly. Buck wasn’t even with him that day, he was grocery shopping on his own, and why is Buck even with him sometimes when he does the grocery shopping anyway?

After that question others flood his mind.

Why does he buy Buck’s tea? Why does it run out so often?

What does it mean?

He knows, oh god he knows… finally he sees it.

Eddie stays frozen to the spot, staring at the small cardboard cartoon that’s caused him to have an existential crisis in his own kitchen.

Footsteps and a voice finally shake him.

“What’s wrong?” Buck sounds worried. Eddie supposes he probably does make an unusual picture right now. Staring at an empty box. He looks up and finds blue eyes and a frown close by.

“The last of the tea is gone.”

Perfectly clear from his point of view but not so much from Buck’s

“The last of the tea is gone?,” The sentence is repeated with concern and a deepening frown. “And that’s …. a bad thing? You don’t even drink my tea, why are you so upset about it?”

“It doesn’t last very long.”

Another random comment from Eddie at least as far as Buck is concerned but the words mean everything to Eddie.

Buck steps closer, a hand tentatively reaching out to support his best friend through his unexpectedly complicated feelings about tea. He speaks slowly.

“No… that’s ‘cos I drink it. That’s what you do with tea…Eddie are you ok.?”

He’s a man of action always had been so now he knows, well there’s really no option but to do something with the information. He answers his best friend, the man who’s ended up so much more important to him than he could ever have imagined on the day they met. The man he buys tea for and the man who drinks it in his home so often it barely lasts.

“Not really.” Eddie looks at Buck and wonders if he can see what’s coming. “Well maybe …I guess it depends on if you’re in love with me because I just worked out I’m in love with you.”

Buck laughs, a brief surprised bark of humor and then his grin lights up the kitchen.

“Really? That’s what finally did it? An empty box of tea?

Eddie smiles back, how could he not when he has this.

“Apparently. So… are you?”

Eddie doesn’t get an answer but he does get a kiss and that kiss tastes like Buck’s stupid tea, which is isn’t so bad after all.

Maybe he’ll get two boxes next time.

[snailstriad]

Connections Between Novel and Current Milgram

Alright, it's theory time. While it's not confirmed yet, after Kotoko's music video, I am certainly sure that the two novels and our current Milgram are connected. Because their motives fit so well? Maybe some of you know about our "snails theory," right? If not or if you've forgotten about it, please take a look at it too! [in our twitter under the same name] (I must say that some parts of the theory (e.g the voices part) are wrong, but it is a theory after all.) To summarize, we think Haruka, Muu, Shidou, Amane, and Mikoto's beliefs and mindsets come from the first novel, and Yuno, Fuuta, Mahiru, Kazui, and Kotoko's mindsets and their thoughts resemble the second novel. First of all, please do not forget that we are not connecting crimes. Maybe you can see similarities but I, too, believe crimes and storyline different(not completely because of Touchi) from our current trials. This theory is only about mindsets. Well, let's start with 1st novel characters.

Our first prisoner, Gentle. He is a very emotional man to me. And killing a man, who is about to kill a woman. Of course this is pure coincidence but the thought of killing one life to save the others is bugging me. Because of this, I feel like there is a parallel between Gentle and Shidou.

Nervous. Her anxiety of being useless and a failure is similar to Muu actually. Another point that these two have in common is wanting to be appreciated. This desire for acknowledgment adds a psychological layer, suggesting how much external validation influences their thoughts and actions.

Considering that Close and Gentle are siblings, you might think I've lost my mind for what I'm about to say next, but yes, I believe Close and Amane have similar thought patterns. Let's look at the events this way: Close is someone who would do anything and everything to get the person she loves. However, after all the events, she no longer fears suffering. In fact, she wanted to experience pain and didn't seek help. This reminds me a lot of Amane. Maybe in the future, I'll prepare a separate theory for Amane, but I always felt that in that famous electric shock scene, Amane was afraid of pain, so it seemed like she was trying to comply with the rules. However, after her father's death, and of course, when she came to Milgram, she tried not to fear pain and even attempted to surpass the help she received.

The next prisoner, in my opinion, is probably the easiest to connect among all the characters: Two-Face. Initially, I had wondered besides the name, what similarities there could be with Mikoto, but then I realized I had overlooked the most important thing. Both of them were unaware of the consequences of their actions. As you know, Mikoto was completely oblivious to everything. On the other hand, Two-Face genuinely didn't know that what he was attempting could lead to an actual murder.

Our last character from the first novel is Torch. Firstly, when we saw less of Torch's story and mindset compared to the second novel, I couldn't liken him to anyone. However, later, with the release of the second novel, I understood that the reason Torch's (or Touchi's) life was saved was Milgram. Through Milgram, he found the love he had been seeking for a long time, thanks to Sumi. When I look at this child who has no one in his life, I see Haruka. Both are individuals without anyone and in need of love. Additionally, Milgram, who saved Touchi, also saved the first trial Haruka. The lack of self-confidence he had when he first arrived was overcome thanks to Milgram.

Our first prisoner in the second novel: Tatsumi. I might exceed my thread limit before finishing listing the commonalities with Fuuta. First, let's talk about how both perceive their crimes as a symbol of justice. For those who haven't read it, I'll give a brief overview of the common theme in the second novel: all the characters' crimes are based on a kind of murder trend called "justifiable righteous murder." When Touchi asks him what justice means, Tatsumi responds, "Justice is a social media hashtag." Most likely, you've already understood where I'm going with this: both share similar thoughts about the concept of justice. Another shared aspect is that both constantly question the concept of justice they possess.

Rina and Mei, since they share the same trial, I'll continue without separating them. In my previous theory, I talked about how Yuno and Mahiru are opposites of each other, yet still closely connected. The same holds true for Rina and Mei; they are almost opposites, but their attitudes towards all these events are still the same. It's similar to Yuno and Mahiru; Yuno has a very cold personality while Mahiru is the opposite. However, when it comes to Milgram and its rules, both pairs' thoughts align remarkably.

Alright, this was the person I found the most challenging to connect among all the prisoners: Tomonari. Because, honestly, when I first looked at him, nothing came to mind except the word "psychopath." However, if you look at Tomonari's actions, despite all the darkness within, he never tried to kill anyone until the very end, somewhat keeping his "true personality" hidden. You might get upset with me, I know, but I associate him with Kazui. As I mentioned, this theory is not about the crimes they committed. Kazui, too, chose to lie and conceal his true self until the very end of his life. In my view, they are similar because of these choices they made.

Finally, the last prisoner, Mako. First, I can't go without mentioning that, in Kotoko's MV, I saw Kotoko closely following the "Justifiable Righteous Murder" trend created by Mako (even looking at the news of Tatsumi's murder). Both of the characters are individuals willing to kill for the goals they have set in their minds. Additionally, both characters closely follow the workings of Milgram and manipulate it in line with their own interests.

[additiva]

Hiii, I was rereading some chapters of frechheit again (ch16) and I was wondering… charles is telling max that he will have to stay at his own place so people won’t draw any conclusions about them, max understands but is worried being an alarmist that maybe charles will leave him or something (as iffff anyway 🤭) I was wondering if charles was ever *this* fearful about losing max throughout the fic? bc I remember during brazil when charles goes to see max after his crash going to his drivers room and max tells him to leave and he’s actually pretty hurt about it (but refuses to leave 😜)

Hiii!

Great ask!

Congrats, it's an essay 🎉

The answer is no.

Max's anxiety about it is partially informed by his own perception of himself as 'unlikeable'. As well as that, he knows Charles keeps a lot to himself, so he doesn't think he'd know if Charles was losing interest or thinking about ending things. Charles is actually much more committed than Max realises, from Abu Dhabi onward. Max knows that Charles struggles with honesty and asking for what he needs, so he doesn't know that Charles is actually quite committed to making it work

Charles is used to being adored, even if it's something he's used to.. augmenting with most people. He knows he's well-liked and attractive. Also, Charles started out being a living nightmare for Max, and Max still fell for him. So Charles isn't so scared of doing something that will drive Max away. He does worry about how Max will react to certain things about him (the sponsor thing, and the extent of his manipulations), but he delivers that information to Max in a controlled manner, sort of as a test, which Max passes. And by the time he does that, he's pretty sure Max will at least try to understand. So he's not really worried that Max will leave him. He's just worried Max will be upset by the revelations.

There's a brief period between Qatar and Abu Dhabi in the first part of the fic (Ch 7) when Max is trying to give Charles space and keep his distance, when Charles has the sudden fear that Max has lost interest in him, and sort of panics about it, which is why he's trying to provoke Max in the club in Abu Dhabi.

But other than that, no, not really.

Max is super honest so he's pretty honest with Charles about how much he wants him. He's cautious with Charles, he puts alot of effort into learning about him and USING that knowledge. He tries to anticipate Charles' needs and meet them without him having to ask. He tries to be patient with him, and indulge him even when he's being irritating. To Max, it's kind of like driving in that he wants to keep learning and improving every little detail until everything's working seamlessly. He's driven by that. Every good moment with Charles is a reward to him, and he wants to make it great for Charles, too.

Max consistently invites Charles to spend time together, and to be in his space and in his life.

He's honest about wanting to see him, talk to him, touch him, and be with him. He's not trying to play it cool, and he's not subtle.

So Charles never really has any further doubts about how much Max likes him and wants him.

Which is part of the reason Max can be a source of strength for him through the whole second season, rather than another source of stress.

That's also why he could do things like be the first to say 'i love you'. Because he knows how Max feels. He could suggest in Spa that they break up for a while, because he thinks Max will find it easier not to watch his suffering so closely, but he also fully believes they'll be together again eventually.

And it's why he can stand his ground in Brazil. Because when Max tells him to go away. He's surprised and a bit hurt, but he's so secure in knowing how much Max loves him, that he immediately recognises that Max is just upset and doesn't really mean anything by it.

So. In summary, no.

It's just Max.

Charles is stressed about everything else, but not that 🤍

[dittanyinbloom]

Fate Aligned

This is a bit strange for me to post here, but it is a second part to this George Weasley x fem!reader fic I made on an old account. Sebastian Sallow heavily influenced me with ideas for a part two. If you want to know why George and reader aren’t going to the Yule Ball with everyone else, read that one first! It’s cute! I promise!

George Weasley x fem! reader. Rated T for a brief make-out session and a few curse words here and there.

summary: You and George manage to lose a total of eighty house points on the night of the Yule Ball which you were not planning on attending because George gave all his money for dress robes to Fred so that at least one of them could go.

(also, the lockets mentioned in this are a little Easter egg for a SebastianxMCxOminis OT3 fic I may or may not be working on called Lover’s Lockets. It’ll probably come out in early summer, but the inspiration to write this first hit me like the Hogwarts Express)

.🍬✨🍬

The younger students that were not able to attend the ball had long since traveled home for the holidays. With everyone else draped in their best and headed for the Great Hall, you and George had the castle to yourselves. The possibilities were endless. Should you sneak into the faculty tower and see what the professors’ rooms looked like? Perhaps you would break into the Headmaster’s office and search for priceless Hogwarts artifacts. Maybe the librarian left the key for the Restricted Section at her desk while she was whisked away to the ball.

Of all the places they could go, George had chosen not only the most boring, most dangerous, but also the most unromantic of them all. Filch’s office was just off the Entrance Hall, which happened to also lead to the Great Hall. Only a couple sets of doors separated the two from being caught.

“Must this be done tonight?” You whispered from behind a giant Christmas tree that decorated the center of the Entrance Hall in front of the doors that lead outside. The Grey Lady was weeping at a statue perched on the upper tier, just a few feet from the door to the Reception Hall where you would find Filch’s office as well as a few stragglers taking a breather outside the Ball.

“They’re candies. We need to get them back and sell them before they go bad. This might be our only opportunity. When else is he going to be this distracted? He bought Ms. Norris a new collar. They’ll both be at the ball.”

“And we’ll both be in detention if your plan goes wrong, which they often do.”

“No, those are always Fred’s plans. Mine work like a charm,” and as he said the last words, he waved his wand and disappeared. The disillusionment charm was something you were becoming to be quite familiar with as of recently. Two boisterous redheads may or may not be the cause of it. You followed in suit, tugging your school robe over your hair and using the charm effortlessly. George smiles at how easily you complied before throwing on his own hood to cover his fiery hair and whispering, his voice low and thick as honey, “Good thinking.”

As soon as the Grey Lady wandered off, the two of you crept up the stairs and peeked through the giant set of wooden doors. The Reception Hall was startlingly empty. The faint sounds of orchestral music looked from beyond the Great Hall’s doors. The display of House Points seemed to have eyes on your back, judging you for your unapproved adventure. You tried not to dwell on the guilt, knowing Gryffindor’s house points would suffer greatly if you get caught.

“Look at that, not a soul in sight. Come on, then. Let’s not waste our luck.”

With the help of Alohomora, the two of you found yourselves in the tiny, dusty space Filch called his office. The walls were lined with cupboards. Knowing the twins had found the Maurader’s map in here their first year, you were sure more extravagant enchantments were stuck inside those drawers, collecting dust and begging to be used. Feeling safe now, you took off your charm and let George see your excitement. He matched your smile and immediately joined you at your side to start sifting through anything and everything.

“Ack!” You let out a squeak and jumped back from the second drawer.

George leaned over you and then laughed at the sight. “Dead rat? Probably lots of those. Ms. Norris does live here too, ya know.”

“Lovely.”

After a few more drawers, you found the familiar, warm brown briefcase the twins had been keeping their experimental treats in. “George, I’ve got them, now we can get the hell out of here.”

“Hold on, look at these!”

“George, really. We should take our winnings and go before someone-“ but the words die on your lips when George pulled the twisted chains of two lockers out of the drawer.

“Lumos,” he whispered to better show off the intricate floral pattern imprinted in the metal. “Think we should have a little reward for our venture, don’t you?”

“I agreed to help you find your treats, but stealing things that aren’t yours, Weasley-“

“Hush. You sound like a Ravenclaw. Always doing things by the book. Pft. Live a little, love.”

Completely derailed and flustered by his nickname for you, you didn’t have the mind to protest him further. Though looking back, you really wish you had. He untangled the lockets and bestowed one upon himself before inching closer to you.

“Be careful!” You whisper yelled. “What if it’s enchanted? Filch must have confiscated them for a reason!”

“Like he stole our taffies for no good reason?”

“He had reason. First years with ten-ton tongues were enough to justify them being taken.”

George flicked open the locket to study it. “Just a compass. Nothing evil about it.”

“Hmph. Well. Fine. I guess. . It would be nice to have a little souvenir.”

“See?“ He gently put the chain around your neck and took a step back, finally letting you breathe only to steal the air right back out of your lungs with his words, “So beautiful.”

The tiny office now felt unbearable. Earlier, you had confessed your feelings for him in not so many words. Whether or not he reciprocated, you weren’t sure. George hadn’t really had much time to respond or even take in your confession before your friends had come back. Since then, you had easily fallen into your usual pattern of playful pranking and chatter. It was easy to forget about your confession until his alluring compliment. The word had fallen off his lips almost breathlessly, a sultry whisper that had your mind alight and playing the moment over in your head.

Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful…

It was all you could think about. Your heart ticked nervously and your skin went warm. Did he really think you were beautiful, or was this just the typical Weasley charm the boys often used on girls, and even professors to get people to do things they wouldn’t normally do. You wouldn’t call the twins manipulative, they just... Okay, they could be quite manipulative, but never with malicious intent. Flirting as a way of buttering people up wasn’t exactly a bad thing. You surely didn’t complain when they used their charm on you.

But that was before you had confessed your feelings to George. If Fred had been the one to say it, the word would have rolled off your back like water without a second thought. George, however, was now in the know of the feelings you had been harboring. You almost felt betrayed in a way that he would whisper a sweet nothing like that so carelessly after knowing where your heart lies. Did he just not care? Had he forgotten in the moment? Or was it somehow possible that he returned your feelings and this flirting was now more meaningful than his usual antics?

“We should go,” you said rather stiffly, immediately hating how rude it came off. In your rush out of the office, you forgot how careful you two had to be going in and found yourself bursting into the Reception Hall without even trying to be quiet. “We should get this to safe keeping and then we can do something that’s actually fun.”

“And what might you have in mind?” Professor McGonagall called out from across the hall. She was standing with her husband who had traveled to the castle for the night to accompany her to the ball. His eyes were soft and kind, but he also had an all-knowing smile that was thrown your way. He patted Minerva on top of her hand that he had been holding and then excused himself back to the festivities, letting his wife deal with her troublesome students.

“I-uh.” The briefcase of candies in your hands suddenly felt hot and heavy.

George’s hand landed on your shoulders as he dipped down to whisper right by your ear. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Piss off-,” you uttered back, elbowing him in the stomach rather ungraciously.

“I will take that.” And with the wave of her wand, McGonagall had the case of candies in her hands. “I would send the two of you back to the common room, but it sounds as though I shouldn’t trust you to stay there until the Yule Ball is over.”

“Professor, we-“

“Ten points from each of you for rummaging around Mr. Filch’s office. And since I think it best I keep an eye on you for the rest of the evening... “ She pointed her wand at you with a curt wave. The fabric of your clothes began to wiggle and tickle your skin, swishing all around and changing color until you ended up in a long ivory gown with golden embroidery. George’s clothes were next to change into an ivory button down with a deep red vest decorated in gold buttons, the same gold as your dress. One final silent wave of her wand, this stroke alarmingly familiar… it was Expelliarmus. Both of your wands floated into her open palm.

That night, George had been wearing his only school robe that was still long enough after his recent growth spurt. He couldn’t afford to lose it, in the most literal sense since the price of new robes had gone up greatly over the holiday season and all of his money had gone toward Fred's dress robes for the ball. The loss of that set was detrimental, even in exchange for these fancy clothes. “But, our robes. .”

“If you should wish to have your school robes and wands back before classes, I suggest you find me after the ball. Now, don’t dawdle. In you go.”

Jokingly matching your professor’s air of elegance, George spoke in as proper of a tone he could muster, “If you insist, Professor, but I must have a word with my partner first.”

“Do not make me come looking for you, Mr. Weasley.”

As soon as McGonagall exited into the Great Hall, George’s serious face turned into a bright and mischievous grin, as if you hadn’t just been caught by your Head of House. He dipped into a regal bow and held out a hand to you

Voice still posh and dropping even lower, George kissed your hand and spoke, “It seems as though fate has aligned-“

“Why are you still talking like that?” You giggled.

“Because it’s fun. You must know what fun is, shall I remind you?” Then he was pulling you in close and twirling you in circles, humming along to the faint music coming from behind the grand doors.

“I think,” you managed out between laughs, “-this is exactly what McGonagall meant when she said not to dawdle.” With all you might, you dragged the boy to the doors where he planted his feet and refused to move another inch. “George, what are you doing now?”

“We can’t go in there, silly. I haven’t even asked you yet.”

Those pesky nerves were bubbling back. You tried to swallow them down. “You’re ridiculous. We’re here. McGonagall’s forced us into these clothes. You don’t have to ask at this point. We aren’t- it’s not like we’re going by choice, I mean-“

Ignoring your endearing mumbling, George gently took your chin to make your eyes meet his as he asked, “Will you do me the honors of being the only bloke you dance with at the Yule Ball?”

“As long as you promise to crash us into all the Slytherin couples with your atrocious leading.”

“That’s a given.” He held out his arm for you to hold onto before walking you into the Great Hall where you were very fashionably late.

Decorated from enchanted ceilings all the way down to sparkling floors, the Great Hall was completely transformed into a winter wonderland. The ceiling was cloudy with snowflakes trickling down, sadly designed to never fall. It was always astonishing how the magic encapsulated the exact look of the weather, but never the temperature. Perhaps the frigid cold of the snow would have been welcome tonight because the hall was surprisingly warm from all the bodies dancing about.

The four center tables had vanished in favor of a large dance floor. The platform professors sat at was being used as a stage for a live band that was currently playing a jovial waltz. The corners of the hall were filled with refreshment tables and smaller, more personal round tables for groups to have a break from the excitement.

You scanned the room for your friends but immediately regretted doing so when your eyes landed on Lee Jordan and Alicia Spinnet. It seemed you had witnessed a rather intimate moment of Lee kissing Alicia’s knuckles, and then the back of her hand, and then her inner wrist, and then. . You quickly looked away, clearing your throat.

“You’ve got to be joking,” George muttered to himself. He was patting down his vest and dress pants. Turning his pockets inside out, he was presented with piles of sand. “It seems McGonagall transfigured away the dungbombs and fireworks as well.”

“Oh no,” you replied sarcastically, “How ever will we survive?”

“I suppose we will have to dance to pass the time,” George played along as he dragged you to the center of the hall. Once there, he adjusted the hold on your hand to one where your fingers were interlocking. While many other dance partners were doing the same, it still felt strikingly intimate, even more so when his other hand landed on your hip to draw you in close. You lightly placed your free one on his shoulder, mimicking a very cordial and proper stance.

You weren’t able to maintain your posture long, because George whizzed across the dance floor at an alarming speed. Your hand had slipped from the feather of a touch in his shoulder down to his bicep where you clung on for dear life. His hand was meant to stay on your hip had snaked to the small of your back, making it much easier to swing you to and fro. How he had managed to step on other couples’ toes but not your own was a mystery.

Actually, it was probably deliberate considering two of George’s victims had been a Slytherin boy from your year and a boy from Beauxbatons that had both previously asked you to accompany them. The true mystery was how George managed to find out who exactly you had turned down so that he could target them.

Then you were being pulled to him to avoid your backside slamming to the Durmstrang Headmaster. There had been no warning, so you stubbled into George ungracefully with your cheek pressing into his chest as you let out a string of bubbly, nervous laughter. The hand on the small of your back had drifted all the way to your opposite hip now, holding you up, but also holding you so tightly against him that you had nowhere to go. Not that you could step back even if you wanted to with your faulty feet.

“S’cuse us,” George slyly offered to the terrifying man as he brisked you off in another direction.

“Sorry!” You had to call to the man over your shoulder since George had you gone in a flash.

George mumbled only for you to hear, “No need to apologize to him. You never actually ran into him. I know what I’m doing.”

“Maybe so, but we did give him a heart attack. And if you’re so aware of your actions, then why did you nearly just have me expelled?”

“All a ploy to get you closer to me.” His hand squeezed your hip for emphasis. “See? I can be quite romantic.”

“Falling into you is hardly romantic.”

“Oh, so you’re falling for me?”

“Did I not already make that obvious?” You had planned to play the words off as a joke, but George’s stiff reaction made it difficult. The tension only worsened when you found yourself at a standstill in the middle of the dance floor. George let go of your hip. You tried to escape your interlocked hands, but George tightened his grip, not letting you step too far away.

“We should talk about that,” George rarely sounded as serious as he did now, and the times when he had were never for good reason.

You winced at his tone. It was clear to you now that George didn’t feel the same. All the dancing and touching, it was all just in good fun. Nothing he ever did was meant to be analyzed. There was no reading between the lines. You were foolish to even try.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry to bring it up. I was only joking.” But the tightening feeling in your throat set in. It broke your heart to lie.

“You responded too quick to be joking, and besides, I-“

“Please, forget it. And forget what I said earlier,” Your voice diminished to nearly a whisper and you looked down at your feet lamely. “-I didn’t mean it, okay? Let’s just go back to having fun.”

George finally released your hand so that he could cup your face on both sides, forcing you to look back up at him. His brows softly pulled together. There was even a hint of a frown across his lips, a very foreign look on the prankster. “You’re an awful liar.”

“I’m not-“ you choked on your words, trying to hold back the sobs bubbling in your throat. “Just dance with me, George.”

“Ridiculous,” he huffed in disbelief. His hand wrapped around your upper arm to guide you toward the courtyard adjacent to the hall. You were still fighting the tears, refusing to let anyone see how much of a mess you truly were.

“You’re here! Brilliant!” Fred popped up just before the two of you made it out, placing both his hands on George’s shoulders to shake him in excitement. This in turn caused George to let you go, so you were thankful for Fred's intrusion. “Let me guess, you saw him run out to the courtyard too? Thinks he’s sneaky, that one. Well, he can’t escape all of us, eh?”

Fred and George did not disagree often, but this was one of those rare times George was putting his foot down. “This isn’t the time, mate.”

“This is the perfect time! What’s he gonna do to us with all these people as witnesses? Bagman doesn’t have the balls to pull something here.”

The name seemed to change George’s demeanor. He glanced at you to gauge your reaction. You knew of the antics Ludo Bagman pulled on the twins at the World Cup. This would be the perfect time to approach him, Fred wasn’t wrong. He just had absolute shite timing.

“Let’s go get his arse,” you proclaimed, jumping at the opportunity to avoid the awkward ‘I’m just not that into you’ conversation that George was no doubt planning to have with you out in that courtyard.

Fred’s grin spread across his face wildly. “Oh, how lucky Georgie is to have you. Angelina is livid I’m doing this. Knew I should have asked you as my date instead. And you clean up nicely too, I mean, look at you two.” And Fred did take a moment to give your dress a proper once over. His eyes landed on the locket around your neck and then flickered to the matching one his brother was sporting. “Now where in Merlin did you two nick those?”

Normally, George would jump at the opportunity to brag, but he was being oddly quiet. You spoke up in his place, “Filch’s office. McGonagall caught us stealing back your candies. She took those, but I don’t think she knew about these. . .”

Fred whistled lowly, clearly impressed, “You two have been busy. And I’ve just been here trying to dance like a babbling, bumbling, baboon!” His McGonagall impression was getting quite good.

You promptly followed Fred toward the courtyard. George seemed to drag his feet behind you. Eventually, you made it to the array of carriages the guests had arrived in that evening. A few groups of people were scattered about, chatting in the fresh air. Goosebumps instantly littered your arms and shoulders, but you welcomed the sensation. It was like jumping in a cold shower after that heated moment between you and George.

Fred wasted no time approaching his enemy with his arms raised in a faux welcoming stance. “I don’t believe my eyes! If it isn’t Ludo Bagman, old friend. How have you been?”

Bagman had been talking to an older, gruff-looking wizard you did not know. They both examined Fred quizzically, intrigued that a student would approach them in such a way. You moved to stand beside Fred, but George had stepped in first, crossing his arms and smiling at the two older wizards as if that alone was a threat. And it seemed to come across that way with how painfully obvious it was that his smile was forced.

George was quick to join in on Fred’s jovial greetings as well, “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you. When was our last chat? Remind me, Fred.”

“Oh, George, I do believe the last time we saw Ludo was during the Quidditch World Cup. You remember, don’t you?”

“Ah! Yes! I remember that night quite well. We won a pretty hefty bet, didn’t we, Fred?”

“That we did, George. That we did. Say, George, we still haven’t gotten the money from that, have we?”

“You would have been paid if you didn’t cheat,” Ludo sneered.

“We didn’t cheat,” George said through his teeth, immediately offended that he would even need to defend their honor against such a statement.

“You just want to keep the money for yourself,” Fred threw in offense.

Bagman’s eyes narrowed. “If the Weasley clan was known for their integrity, perhaps I would take you at your word. Now, quit wasting my time with this.” He looked to his companion and then nodded for the doors. They both turned to leave. Fred reached into his pocket for his wand, but you caught his wrist.

“Snape,” you whispered as the professor sauntered out into the courtyard.

“Bastard,” Fred murmured. You dropped his wrist, assuming he would put away his wand so as to not draw suspicion. Instead, Fred lifted his wrist and cast the disillusionment charm on himself. The motion was automatic at the mention of Snape. All you could hear was his hushed whisper. “What are you two doing? Let’s go before he questions us.”

George met your terrified eyes, looking rather pale himself. McGonagall had taken your wands. It seemed as though you were going to have to face Snape head-on.

“Fuck it,” George whispered as he grabbed you yet again, heaving you into the nearest carriage. You scrambled in with George following so close behind that he was nearly on top of you. The skirt of your dress had twisted and risen from all the movement. George planted himself on the bench next to you, mumbling apologies for nearly squashing you.

“How the hell are we-“

“Whisper!” George uttered. No wand, no ability to cast muffalo. The two of you would have to wait this out in silence. He pressed his ear to the side of the carriage and then looked very alarmed as he whispered, “Can hear him talking with Bagman and that other piece of muck.”

You tried smoothing down your skirt, but it was tangled horribly underneath you. Instead of offering to help or apologizing for the inconvenience, George merely followed the frantic movement of your hands. His eyes lingered over your exposed knee.

The sheer stupidity of your night was hitting you hard. Your jaw clenched in annoyance. If you hadn’t followed Fred to the courtyard, if you hadn’t made that stupid comment while dancing, if you hadn’t gone with George to Filch’s office, if you had never admitted you wanted to go to the bloody ball with him in the first place. .

“Lift yourself up,” he whispered, elbowing your arm.

You pouted in confusion, but gently lifted yourself up with both palms pressed into the bench of the carriage. George swiftly smoothed the fabric under you, meaning his hands had to skim over your backside and underneath you. Your breath caught in your throat at how nonchalant he acted. Once the underneath was straightened out, he pulled down the top to finally hid your exposed knee.

“Better?"

“You should warn a girl before grabbing her arse, Weasley.”

“I only did it so you’d stop fidgeting. Snape will know someone is in here if the cart is shaking.”

Any response you might have had died on your lips. Images of what sort of actions would make the carriage shake flashed across your mind. Your face felt uncomfortably hot, embarrassed that you couldn’t control the thoughts you were having about your best friend whilst sitting right next to him.

“Y/N,” his voice was soft and sincere, only making you feel more guilty for your own track mind. “I really should tell you-“

“Save it,” you begged. Merlin, you couldn’t hear the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech while you were shamefully thinking of making the carriage rock. You would die of embarrassment if he turned you down at this very moment.

“I don’t want to save it,” he seethed. “Don’t know where you got the bloody impression that I’m going to turn you down but damn it, I said I would have been the first to ask you if I had the money for robes. I didn’t mean that in a platonic way. Thought that much was obvious.”

He sounded cross with you, but his words were a confession of sorts. You studied his features. His hands were opening and closing. He was biting the inside of his cheeks. His eyes couldn’t meet yours for more than half a second before darting to the floor of the carriage.

“You like me,” you whispered in awe.

George didn’t seem to notice you shift closer, too lost in his own demise. “Look, I know I’m a fucking idiot. You said you wanted a night of fun and dancing, the ball gets dropped into our lap perfectly, and I go and ruin it by getting you stuck in a carriage. I’ve been told my whole life I don’t know when to quit. It didn’t mean shite to me until now that it’s affecting you. I got us into this. I should have told Fred to bugger off, but he and I just feed off each other’s insanity and-“

Your hands guided his face toward you so your lips could feverishly crash into him. From the shock of your hold, George’s hands wrapped around your wrists almost like he might pull you off. His entire body shivered from the feeling of your lips over his. It was heated and messy right from the start because his mouth had been open from talking.

George melted into you, matching your fever and even raising the stakes by taking your bottom lip between his teeth. He was being gentle, playful even, but it still had your arse lifting off the bench and rolling onto your knee so you could lean in further to his pull. His hands moved in quick now that the opportunity arose. They trailed down your back, smoothing the dress over your backside much slower this time, deliberately stroking to get their fill before reaching the underneath of your thighs where his fingers shamelessly pressed into your soft flesh to pull you closer until you were dragged onto his lap.

You broke away to gasp with your hands landing on his shoulders to steady yourself. His mouth went for your exposed collarbone, kissing from one shoulder to the next and swiping the chain of your new locket out of the way to thoroughly get every inch of skin. You thought he would go for your neck next, but instead, his lips traveled down toward the exposing, sweetheart neckline of your dress.

The door to the carriage swung open on your right. Professor Snape glared at the two of you. George had not removed his hands from your waist, so you just smiled sheepishly at your potions professor from George’s lap.

“What on earth do you think you two are doing? Out. Now.”

Rather reluctantly despite the ridicule, George helped you off of him so the two of you could crawl out of the carriage. As soon as your feet were on solid ground, Snape was firing off punishments.

“Thirty points from each of you. A week’s detention with Hagrid tending to the Forbidden Forest should be enough to make you regret this awful choice you’ve made. Back to the Great Hall, now.”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the laughter threatening to burst out and double your detentions. Snape keenly watched the two of you drag your feet back to the ball. “Hands to yourself, Weasley,” he drones when George had tried to put his hand on the small of your back to guide you. Once the two of you were heading inside, Snape moved to the next carriage to end a different couple’s impromptu snog session.

“That was horrifying,” you grimaced at the thought of facing Snape in your next class.

“Was my kissing that bad?” George mused.

You playfully slapped his chest, “Sod off. You know what I meant. I’ll never be able to look Snape in the eye again.”

“I’m sure he’s witnessed worse. Hell, he probably is witnessing worse as we speak. The others were in their carriages far longer than we were.”

And yet George still managed to look like a complete mess. His lips were bright red, matching the flush he still wore on his cheeks. His hair was staticky and wild, not at all fitting for the ball you were walking back into. You waved him over, insisting, “Come ‘ere. You can’t go back there looking like this.”

A lazy smile plastered across George’s rosy cheeks. His eyes shamelessly studied your serious look of concentration as you tried to smooth down his wild locks. “Think people are gonna know what we did no matter how long you play with my hair.”

His fingers swiped over your collarbone, pressing harder on the red, sensitive spots that were definitely going to bruise later. A shiver ran down your back. You would have to remember to down a healing potion tonight that way you didn’t wake up and go about your day tomorrow, forgetting how scandalous you looked.

“Quit making them worse.” You smacked his hand away. “I can’t believe you did that while I’m stuck in this stupid dress with no robes to hide it. You’re devious.”

“You’re the one who started it,” George challenged.

“Must all your comebacks be childish?”

“You find them endearing,” he teased. “Merlin, can’t believe we could have been doing that ages ago. Do you think McGonagall would notice if we slipped back to the common room to make up for lost time?”

“I’m not taking any chances while she still has my wand. Besides, we hardly got to dance!” You took his hand and pulled him into the hall. “There are more Slytherins that need to be run into.”

[redux-iterum]

A Canine Eulogy

We put down my dog, Geno, today.

Textwall of sentiment under the cut.

Shortly, he was ill, and steadily growing worse every day at a rapid decline of a week before his death. He'd have brief moments of cheeriness, then go back to being listless, sluggish and unhappy. The vet made it clear a few days ago that there was very little chance of saving him and that his quality of life (the most dreaded phrase in a pet owner's dictionary) was poor, and only getting poorer. We made the decision to end his suffering before it got so severe he couldn't climb up the stairs into my house, or have accidents indoors, or starve himself to death (as he was starting to). It didn't feel good, not remotely, but it had to be done.

I haven't talked about Geno on this blog, so I figure the best way to pay my respects is to tell you all how great of a dog he was. Probably a bit late to introduce him, but whatever.

Geno (nicknames including Bean, Stinky Bean/Gene, Eyebrows Boy, Old Man and Geno Bon Benostein) was a dog that we never figured out the breed of. Many people, charmed by his pleasant, permanent puppyface that was always so happy to see them, would ask me his breed, and my answer was "He's got big eyebrows, that's all I know". That generally got a laugh, which was nice.

We attained Geno when he was about half a year old in a move. My pops runs a moving company, and we get all sorts of things from moves that people don't want to take with them to the new house across the state. I don't think a single piece of furniture in my house isn't secondhand, that's how much we get.

Geno in particular was our first longterm pet from a move. The lowdown is that the customers were divorcing and were viciously arguing over every single item and animal in the house. The wife threatened to take Geno to the pound, and immediately Pops offered to adopt him. I found this out when he picked me up from a sleepover in middle school and had a second dog with him, along with our first. It was quite a delightful surprise.

Our first dog was less than obedient and more than indifferent to humans, loving to destroy stuff and escape constantly. Geno, on the other hand, was only concerned about staying within eyesight of his owners, to the point of sitting on a windowsill as well as he could and staring at us through the glass until we let him in (at the time Pops was not eager to have dogs in the house). We never needed to chain him up or fence him in - he was entirely devoted to us from jump and got as close as he could at all times.

The first dog eventually died, and Geno was the sole pup of the house. He thrived in that, and he made a point to prove himself to be an excellent dog. He never had an accident in the house for many years (until age got to him), preferring to potty in the bushes or brush so that we didn't have to worry about stepping in it or even cleaning it up. He never barked or ran away or growled at visitors, nor did he knock over trash cans or even so much as get fleas during the summer. The only things we struggled with were his great hatred of other dogs and aggressive fear of wheels. The wheel thing was a little more embarrassing, because he'd bark at some poor bastard in a wheelchair who was just trying to mind his own business. Like, great, thanks, Geno. Now we look like assholes.

Geno went on many, many trips across the country with us, especially to Yellowstone, which is a yearly voyage pops and I go on. He was a treat to travel with - he just wanted to rest his head between the front seats and look at us adoringly. He went to beaches, where he didn't enjoy the coast and instead stuck with us by inches, and on moves, where customers and their new neighbors would fawn over him and he got to be the Super Special Puppy Dog, which he loved. He went more places than most people I know, and certainly ate more pizza than any other dog in the United States while we were in hotels. Maybe not healthy for him, but man did he love his 'za, and he'd stare at us with his big ol' cow eyes. How could we say no?

This dog was a major part of my life - he was around for half of it, from middle school to adulthood. I don't think I can ever get another dog that would be nearly as wonderful as him, and I don't know that I want to. I think he raised the standard too high and made every dog I take care of (I housesit for a living) somehow not as good as him, no matter how well-mannered they are. I expect that to be that way for a very long time.

His collar, I decided, will stay in my car, hooked around the rearview mirror. That way, he gets to travel with me no matter where I go. He always did thoroughly enjoy a car ride.

Moonshine will miss him greatly. She was infatuated with him no matter how much he tried to make her go away. He gave up towards the end and started being nice to her, at least. I'm just glad I've got pictures of them interacting and her demanding his affections. Those are precious memories above precious memories.

The vet techs mourned with us as we said goodbye, calling him "one of the good ones". I think that's a pretty high compliment.

I hope he's happy, wherever he is.

You were a good boy, Geno.

[dia-souls]

DIABOLIK LOVERS DAYLIGHT Analyzes [ Vol. 4 Sakamaki Subaru ]

Original title: 不機嫌の理由

Source: Diabolik Lovers Daylight Vol. 4 Sakamaki Subaru

Seiyuu: Takashi Kondou

Analyzes by: Admin Afra

Admin's note: Finally, it is the turn of Tsundere boy. Of course, we all know that Subaru and Yui's ship is one of the most famous ships in the fandom. I used to think that maybe one of the reasons is Subaru's shyness and how he shows his tsundere side in front of Yui. But Subaru's feelings are much bigger than these words. This guy is willing to give his heart to the girl he loves more than anyone else and he doesn't care what happens to him even if it means he won't breathe again in this world, he still doesn't care because His heart will beat in the body of Yui, who is more precious to him than anyone else.

The flashback left me with a lot of questions. For example, are the legends of demons real or not? Maybe this is something we can investigate outside of the daylight series, but in my opinion, the fact that Subaru could not find that fruit does not mean that it is not real.

Let's go back to the story. Surely someone must be so important to Subaru that he would put all his hope in a legend. I understand Subaru's dark and sinister side well and I can say that this boy has really improved, especially since he is looking for a small glimmer of light in his black pit of despair to save Yui.

Maybe we can say that this is not something important because all the boys did it. But if we have a brief overview of their behavior in the first seasons, we will realize that this progress is really admirable. Especially about Subaru. who is ready to believe a fairy tale even if it seems ridiculous to him to save Yui.

After the flashback, as usual, a normal routine begins, which is very annoying in Subaru's opinion. Why? Because, as usual, Yui puts the wishes of others before het own, and this is what torments Subaru the most. It's not like Yui can reject others' requests very easily like Subaru, but this is what Subaru expects from her.

For Yui, it doesn't matter what time of day or what day it is. In any case, she accepts others' requests and this can have two reasons. Fear of punishment or kindness and naivety. I myself prefer to say the second case. Of course, I don't deny that Yui is afraid of punishment because she has gone through a great journey with the boys and endured severe torture from them. But if we take a look at Yui's life, we will realize that she has always been like this. Not just about boys but about all people. For example, if someone makes a request to her, she nods her head with kindness and a sweet smile, rather than rejecting the request. And this is what Yui is and makes it stand out from the rest and be special. She does not expect anything from anyone and does work for them without regret.

But apparently Subaru is not happy about this and blames Yui for paying so much attention to the wishes of others. I will put my thoughts at the feet of Subaru's jealousy. Subaru, as someone who has never seen the love of his mother and suffered a lot because of his mother's bipolarity, does not want to lose someone who really loves him from the bottom of her heart. Maybe Subaru is afraid that Yui will turn away from Subaru's love like his mother and stop loving him. It can be said that this is normal from a boy who wants nothing from life but love.

When Subaru decided to punish Yui, Yui's trembling and weakness scared him a lot. This means that even if Subaru is rough with Yui or angry at her, the first and last thing he thinks of is Yui and he never wants to lose her. At that moment, Yui's illness was not very serious, and only a simple tremor in Yui's body made Subaru panic. Because Subaru sees his own life in Yui's life.

Realizing that Yui only listens to others' requests because of her loyalty to Subaru so that they don't drink Yui's blood makes Subaru regret and you can understand this regret in his words. Subaru doesn't express his apology in words and tries to show with his behavior that he is sorry and this is because he is a little shy.

After Subaru notices Yui's absence at school, he decides to skip classes and return home. Well, I never thought of Subaru as a responsible person, so it's quite normal that he worries about Yui more than school, even if he thinks Yui's illness isn't too serious.

But in any case, Subaru is upset with Yui for not telling him about her bad health. When it comes to Yui, Subaru never likes to fall behind his brothers, that's why the fact that he found out about this later than Ayato bothered him a lot. It can be said that Subaru is somehow jealous that he is not as close to Yui as Ayato because only Ayato is in the same class with Yui and he found out about Yui's situation earlier.

Maybe we find it very funny that Subaru is angry with Yui for such a small matter. But don't underestimate the Tsundere boy. When it's Yui, he gets jealous very easily.

In any case, the fact that Yui hid her illness from Subaru upsets Subaru more. You can understand that Subaru wants Yui to feel comfortable with him and not to hide anything from him. Because Yui is the only person that Subaru trusts and Subaru wants Yui to feel the same way about him.

But it was very interesting to me that Subaru called Yui unlucky because she has Cordelia's heart and is chosen as the legendary Eve. Because many people consider Yui lucky to have Cordelia's heart and it is because of Cordelia's heart that she is still alive. Well, with Subaru's words, we realize that this thinking is completely wrong. Cordelia's heart did not save Yui, but her kindness and wonderful personality and her golden heart made her survive until now. Otherwise, the boys would have killed her a long time ago. Apart from that, Yui is not lucky to have Cordelia's heart. On the contrary, she is very unlucky. Because Cordelia's heart has only taken away her freedom and happiness, and also her life. It is not easy at first glance, but if we pay close attention, we will realize that Yui was chosen because of having Cordelia's heart and fell into this hellish life. Something Subaru confirms here. Having Cordelia's heart has caused Yui to be hurt by many people and her life becomes shorter and shorter. Well, this is not something that can be called happiness or good luck, but it is exactly the opposite of this obvious example of bad luck.

Yui's thinking is different because her heart made her meet Subaru. Well, maybe this is normal from Yui. After all, she is the girl who easily forgives others and forgets their mistakes. This even makes Subaru upset about it. Because he knows Yui deserves more than this. Yui's kindness and compassion only hurts herself and this is what upsets Subaru.

I can say that just like Reiji, Subaru believes that not only himself, but this world needs a person like Yui, and this thought gives him the motivation to try to save her life.

I cried after Yui donated her blood to Subaru despite her illness. Yui is not in good health and is worried about Subaru's bad mood. She blames herself for not being able to offer her blood to Subaru.

After drinking Yui's blood, Subaru talks about its strange taste and it is here that Yui becomes disappointed. Not because she is sick, but because her blood is no longer special. I can understand why Yui was upset about this.

Yui has suffered the most severe torture and punishment from these boys and if we remember the first CDs and games, almost all the boys have told Yui several times that the only thing that makes Yui special is her blood and Or all her value is because of her blood and she has no value and blah blah blah.... Honestly, if I didn't know Yui well, I would say to myself that she was just disappointed by all this and decided to deal with her fate. But now that I know het well, I realize that she accepts this issue not for herself but for the person she loves.

She thinks that if all her worth is in her blood, then she will give her last drop to someone she loves, and it doesn't matter what happens to her, and it doesn't matter if she enters a hellish life. She thinks that the boy she loves has suffered enough, and if her blood makes him even a little bit happier, she will give it to him, even if she has to endure a terrible life.

This was exactly what made Subaru angry. He hates Yui's behavior. That Yui doesn't care about herself at all and she doesn't care what will happen to her. Don't do this, Subaru wants to scream at the top of his lungs. "You are worth more than me and my brothers. You deserve a better life. You should worry about your health and life, not that your blood is no longer special. Think about yourself, not worthless creatures like us."

It's hard for Subaru to express these feelings in words, that's why he just yells.

In any case, Subaru tries his best to save Yui. He apologizes to her and tells her that "I don't care about your blood at all. Your existence is precious to me. You were the one who saved me from the monster inside me and that's why you are dear to me."

Subaru sees his own life in Yui's. Because Yui was the only girl who did not look at him with the eyes of a monster and understood the goodness and beauty inside him and called him beautiful. Subaru does everything to save her. And when he sees that Reiji is useless, he gives his hope to the legends, even if this legend is not true, but it gives him a small hope that Subaru will try his luck. Because Yui is the only person he never wants to lose.

How does Subaru describe Yui's fake coma to keep herself alive?

"Your heart is not beating. Your skin was white as if you were really dead. At that moment, my heart stopped. I would give anything for you to breathe again. my foot, my hand, my arm....everything."

This sentence simply describes that if Yui disappears from this world, Subaru will also disappear. If Yui doesn't live in this world, Subaru has no reason to stay in this world. This simply shows that Subaru loves Yui more than his own life, that he is willing to give his whole being to Yui so that she can live and breathe.

Yui considers Subaru to be kind, but why does Subaru not approve of Yui's thinking. Because Subaru simply knows that he will never be as kind as Yui. Yui is willing to sacrifice her life to make the person she loves happy, but Subaru wants to sacrifice his life to be satisfied and happy, so Subaru considers himself selfish, not kind.

Subaru doesn't like churches, but he's willing to take her to church to make Yui happy. The church where they first met, and according to Subaru, both of them have changed a lot since then.

In any case, Subaru is not willing to watch Yui die and even if he can't find a magical fruit to replace Yui's heart, he is willing to give his heart to Yui. And he does it for himself, not Yui. He can't live in a world without Yui and that's why he wants to keep her alive at any cost.

Honestly, I find this very kind of Subaru. In any case, even if he is not alive, he knows that his heart will beat in the body of the girl he loves. Yui might cry, but as Subaru said, if you don't want to lose me, you need to know how I feel. Subaru doesn't want to lose Yui either.

Yui is precious to Subaru. More than anyone and anything else. Yui is the rose that shines in the dark for Subaru and makes him smile. Yui is a treasure that Subaru never wants to lose. Even if he gives his life to Yui.

How Subaru survived the loss of his heart left a lot of questions, but I think the ending was more symbolic. A symbol of a bridegroom who surrendered to the pure love of a girl.

[twiceasfrustrating]

Welcome to the Hoard

Rating: Teen and Up

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: GN/M

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Characters: Diavolo, Main Character, Barbatos 

Additional Tags: GN!MC (you/your), omegaverse, greater demon forms,

Summary: Diavolo hasn't been feeling well, but Lucifer needs something from him. You help out by running an errand, but it seems Diavolo wasn't quite suffering from an illness.

A/N: For those who haven't read up on my OM Omegaverse content yet you need to know two things. 1) Only demons have second genders and therefore follow Omegaverse rules. 2) Diavolo is an omega

Word Count: 742

"I didn't know a demon as powerful as Diavolo could get so sick," you said as Barbatos welcomed you into the palace and shut the door behind you. You reached into the bag you were carrying and pulled out a stack of papers that you extended in his direction. "Here's the document. Lucifer already signed it." Now it just needed Diavolo's signature to be official.

"Thank you very much," he said but didn't reach for the papers. "Lord Diavolo is currently in his private chambers. Would you mind bringing him the documents?"

You raised a brow in confusion. "Me?"

Normally, Barbatos would be the one to bring Diavolo everything he needed, especially when it came to entering his room.

"Unfortunately," Barbatos started, "the Young Master is currently in a state where I cannot see him. It's… a particular issue for demons that would leave me unable to assist him properly. However, a human like you should be immune. If you wouldn't mind?"

You looked up toward where his room was located then at the papers on your hand.

It wasn't a large ask, all things considered. It was a quick jaunt up the stairs and the handoff would only take a few seconds. You could be done in only a few minutes; maybe a few more if Diavolo signed it on the spot for you, but you'd feel bad asking so much of him when he wasn't feeling well.

"Well?" Barbatos asked. "There is no obligation, of course. It would simply be more efficient for you to go yourself and get it signed than waiting for his… ailment to pass."

"Are you sure? I don't want to bother him when he's sick."

"It will be fine. He's well enough to receive guests."

"I guess I should then…" The sooner the documents were signed, after all, the better. Lucifer clarified how soon the deadline was for this particular project was.

"Thank you." Barbatos gave a shallow bow as you began to tread up the stairs. "Oh! And in the unlikely case you should need assistance, please feel free to scream."

That was strangely ominous, but as you glanced back down at his smile you couldn't read any malicious intent. That didn't stop your nerves from tensing for a brief moment before relaxing so you could continue up the stairs.

Diavolo's door seemed the same as always as you approached, but from just beyond the wooden barrier you could hear the muffled sound of pacing and shuffling. Also, there was a strange scent wafting through the air; like apple wood smoke and heavy spices with a hint of sweetness. It wasn't an unpleasant scent, but it also wasn't something you were used to. It almost smelled like Barbatos should be cooking but you hadn't smelled it downstairs at all.

You knocked your fingers against the door. "Hello? Diavolo?"

The sound beyond the door stopped suddenly before those same steps aggressively began to rush toward where you stood. They stopped just on the other side before a low growl took their place.

"Diavolo?" Your voice was more concerned this time. "Are you alright?"

"I'm… fine." The voice was labored, but it was clearly Diavolo's. Why are… you here?

"I brought something that Lucifer needs you to sign," you answered. "I can come back later if you still aren't feeling well."

"Pl…ease…" he stammered out.

"Alright," you said with slight worry. "I hope you feel better soon. Also, whatever medicine you're taking has a very strong scent. I hope it's as effective as it smells."

You turned away to go back downstairs, but just as you did you heard the door slowly creek open from behind you. The smell in the hallway got stronger, so strong you had to hold your hand up to your nose to block out some of the stench. It was like your were being constricted by the smell.

"Medi…cine? You can smell… it?"

"Sorry," you squeaked as you looked back at the door only to see darkness flooding out of his room. "Was it rude to mention it? I only meant that I'm happy you're taking care of yourself."

"No… No… Why don't you… come in?" The door opened wider, just enough for you to see a large hulking figure with glowing golden eyes through the open slit; something both familiar and entirely foreign. "I'm so glad… you're here. It felt… like my nest was missing… something. Now it'll be… complete."

[around1302]

IV. SAY MY NAME

SPARE PARTS: a series (4/20)

WEMBLEY’S AFTER PARTY, LOUIS’ FLAT

(W) strong language, drug/alcohol use, oral (female receiving), fingering

a/n before we start: in case u didn’t read the series’ brief and are like ‘whoa hold on we’re only on part four and this is happening?!’ this is enemies with benefits! their relationship? a slow burn for sure. the fucking? yeah if u came for slow burn smut ur in the wrong place. ANYWAY.

CHARLIE’S POV

If someone shot my in the head right now, I’d die a happy woman doped up on adrenaline and post-anxiety jitters.

"My favourite sign had to be that one about cutting Harry's hair," Liam laughs, making us all chuckle as we recall the giant scissors someone had actually spent the time and effort making. Impressive, really.

“Alright, leave it out,” Harry snaps, but even he’s grinning ear to ear. We all are, I have no doubt in my mind we’ll all be suffering with split cheeks tomorrow.

Oh, and a heavy head.

“I was already pumped for this party, but it’s going to be so much better now,” Niall reminds me of our destination – Louis’ second London flat, just by Wembley – but after playing to 90,000 a few shots don’t sound so bad now.

“Is everyone already there?” I ask, swiping my sweaty hair out of my face. I didn’t account for partying in the same gear I’ve been dancing about on stage for an hour and a half.

“Yeah, look,” Louis shows us a video his friend sent half an hour ago, at least thirty people already littering his apartment. The light a dim blue and something bass-y booming behind them, “gave Stan a key when we arrived so he could set up.”

I squint, just being able to make out Amelia and Zayn in the background tipping back a shot. I can already tell this party’s going to be her highlight – until her designs get processed, her job is just adding alterations to designs our old stylist already set up for us so she doesn’t sue us.

We all rush into the building when our driver drops us to avoid anyone seeing us, and (still pretty high on adrenaline) decided to run a few flights before giving up on floor three and taking the lift.

The five of us cram in, hyperventilating and sweaty and still giggling over nothing. We spill into the flat as we reach Louis’ floor, forgetting the penthouse is one floor to itself, and get thrown right into the party.

People cheer when they realise it’s us, coming over to congratulate us and throw alcohol at us. It’s so instantly overwhelming I forget how to see for a moment, the smell of liquor and weed and the bass thrumming through my chest blinding anything else.

“You were a-mazing! We were watchin’ from t’side for half n’hour and s’the best half hour of my liiiiife!” Amelia throws her arms around me, already clearly a little tipsy, engulfing me in Chanel perfume and expensive vodka. I laugh, wrapping my arms around her waist as someone I don’t recognise passes me a shot and I (not so gratefully) thank them with a nod.

“Thank you, and thank you for this,” I glance down at my outfit, “way better than what it was before.”

“True,” she sways, her arm still around me, “M’a genius. Niall!” She spots her boyfriend behind me and let’s me go, rushing over to do the same thing to him. Zayn’s next, seemingly waiting his turn to grab and spin me around. I scream, trying not to spill my shot as I whack him to put me down.

“You were sick, Char.”

“Thank you,” I gush, “do you want this shot?” I hold it up, knowing full well it’s vodka and knowing full well I despise vodka. With a passion.

“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head, pushing it my direction with a sly grin, “all for you, baby. Liam! You were amazing,” he passes me to hug my bandmates and I’m left alone with my ugly little stupid shot.

“Bottoms up,” Harry’s whisper suddenly echoes in my right ear, but by the time I look up all I see is the back of his head as he hugs someone by the counter.

I take a deep breath, maybe a few more, followed by a few more, say a silent Hail Mary, and tip it back. I wince and try not to gag at the hot taste of bad mistakes burning a strip down my throat.

“Is Charlie actually being fun tonight?” Louis sneaks up behind me, throwing an arm around my shoulder, his own shot between his tattooed fingers.

I turn my head, narrowing my eyes at him.

“I’m always fun, bitch,” I steal his shot and down it before he can say anything – and unlike the yell I thought I was about to receive, he whoops and kisses the side of my head.

I hide how badly I want to vomit till he leaves.

“M’kay, kiss, marry, fuck–”

“It’s kill, marry, fuck,” he adds behind a chuckle, “idiot.”

“You.”

“What?”

“You. Kill you.”

“Fine,” Harry sighs, eyes reddened by liquor and whatever he smoked outside with Zayn, “Connor and Paula.”

“Marry Connor,” I say without hesitation. Connor’s our photographer, and damn sweet. Plus, Paula’s terrifying – which is why she’d be a good, “fuck Paula, all day every day.”

Harry snorts, tipping his head back. I lazily watch the action, the shots and the drinks and the weed stopping my body retracting from the touch that lingers so close to my neck on the back of Louis’ crimson sofa.

“Right,” I turn my body, tucking my legs under me and scanning the room. Everyone’s become a little blurrier, a little less recognisable, so I land on what we know, “Niall, Liam, me.”

Harry pushes his tongue into his cheek, clearing his throat before sitting up and facing me, too.

“Marry Liam. He’d know how to do my taxes,” true, “kill Niall–”

“Kill Niall?”

“Yes,” he sighs, hazy sea foam dropping to my lips for a brief, brisk second, “couldn’t kill you, princess.”

I roll my eyes, repulsion seemingly finding a way to wiggle between the intoxication.

“So you’d fuck me?”

“So good,” he grins, dimple popping.

“I’m getting another drink,” I stand, over the game and rapidly sobering. There’s often a ten minute time limit as to which I can stand Harry, we only landed together by default: a game of cards that eventually left him and I. So I leave the sofa we resided on to find people I actually like.

Zayn seems to be first in eye-line.

“Z!” I throw my arms around his neck, leaning in to him so he stumbles and has to stabilise us both by wrapping his arms around my waist.

He laughs, holding me tight and returning with a, “knew that shot would do you good,” into my hair.

Zayn and I are complicated, yet entirely simple at the same time. Our history is well in the past, and barely a history. He was comfort when I needed it, and he was gone when I didn’t know how much I’d miss him. But he’s back, in my arms, dangerously close to my lips. So close, in fact, I can’t help but lean forward.

He kisses me back for a second, as chastely as he can before squeezing my hip and pulling back. He lifts his hand, thumbing at my lip with a sad look in his eyes I hate, and I move to go back in but he pushes me back with gentle grip.

“Come on,” I know the alcohol’s running my mouth right now, and I know I’ll live to regret it, but I continue regardless, “I was good enough for you three years ago, wasn’t I?”

His pique deepens and he lets go of me completely now, looking at me like I’m a different person to the one I was a few minutes ago.

“Are you okay, Char?”

I swallow, feeling embarrassment and guilt and whatever I’d drank and smoked coming back up in a painful lump.

“S’good,” I lie, stepping back from him, “bathroom,” I point in the general direction, ignoring whatever he’s trying to say to me as I haste toward Louis’ bathroom.

Despite the couples outside it, it’s thankfully vacant, so I rip the door open and slam it right back shut. I perch on the edge of the bath, cold porcelain digging into me but I don’t care. The emotions of today’s gig and me kissing Zayn for some fucking reason and too many shots of vodka come hurtling back to me till I’m crying.

I’m crying at my own after party.

I sob until my eyes sting with mascara, so I wipe it away and cry some more. Something in me needs Amelia, and misses Poppy, and all I want to do now is call her and tell her how we performed at Wembley and it was incredible and everything she dreamed for me… but I can’t – so I cry again.

“This is why I don’t do vodka,” I mumble into my palms, wet with tears and remnants of thick eyeliner. I hear one song change, two, three, before I realise this is stupid. I’m Charlie fucking Greene, I’m at an after party for my band because we just played fucking Wembley. I need to pull myself together, I need to open this door and–

“Oh, shit, sorry, I didn’t… Charlie?”

I mutter something along the lines of, “fuck off,” and decide if I want to stop crying I just need to barge past Harry before he decides to say anything that’ll set me off again. However, Harry’s arm and Harry’s stupidly tight grip pulls me back in front of him, to which he then shuts and locks the door.

“What?” I snap.

“What’s wrong?” His brows are creased, and despise the alcohol that still rims his eyes, he looks soberer beneath the bright bathroom bulb.

“Don’t pretend like you care. I had a cry, like every other drunk person at a party does, and now I’m fine. Leave me be,” I make a move to push past him again, but he grips my bicep and yanks me back.

“Charlie, is this over what I said? It was a joke in a game, I didn’t think–”

“God, not everything is about you!” Whatever tether that was holding me to calm was bound by rotting rope, and Harry’s the blunt knife, “I was crying because I threw myself at my ex and was rejected, and the one person I wanted to talk to it about isn’t here!”

He says nothing. Of course, he says nothing.

“And you…” I’m on a roll, now, “you’re always flirting with me, and I hate it, because you’re a dick and it’s confusing and… why do you do it, huh?”

Harry sighs, closing his eyes, “Charlie–”

“What is it? You have a crush on me or something?”

His eyes darken and I fall silent.

What I do following needs to be scientifically studied, because nothing can explain my brain activity in this moment. Not until I remember alcohol, and weed, and feeing sad and lonely. So sad and lonely that I kiss him.

He gasps into my mouth, and I become aware for a moment, ready to run, until he grabs my face and kisses me back so hard I forget everything.

I grip the open hang of his shirt, tugging on silk fill he’s impossibly closer to me and–

No. What the fuck? What the fuck am I doing?

I pull away as quickly as I went in, opening my mouth to say something, anything – but I can’t. I have to leave – I need to leave. I make for the door a third time, managing to reach the knob and unlock it this time.

“No,” I hear him mumble, but I’m already out the door and the thrumming music silences anything else he says to me. I wipe my lips as I push past the people loitering outside the bathroom, trying to remember where Louis’ bedroom is so I can just lock myself and sleep this whole night away.

“You can’t just kiss me and walk away,” I feel his hand wrap around my wrist, twisting me, but I yank him away.

“Why not?” I have to yell over the music, the solitude of the hallway serving us well – probably helped by how there isn’t a sober, aware person in this flat, too.

“Why not?” He scoffs, his expression unreadable. In the last six years, I’ve seen angry, annoyed, hungover, and happy. But I’ve never seen this, “why the fuck do you think, Charlie?”

I pause, unsure of what to say. So I turn, I find Louis’ bedroom, and I shut myself into the darkness.

Well, Harry shuts us into the darkness.

“What the Hell do you wa–”

“Kiss me again,” he asks. My brows dip, and I can just about see his expression beneath the moonlight leaking in through the open curtains and the orange side lamp switched on in the corner. He’s serious, and it’s terrifying, “please.”

I nearly laugh. “Please?”

He quickly licks his lips, eyes flickering toward mine before he quietly affirms with another, “please.

I don’t know what to say, what to do. I stand stationary as he steps forward, closer and closer till I can practically hear his heartbeat as well as my own.

“You’re drunk,” I whisper, noticing his freckles.

I swallow dryly, my every nerve starting and ending at where his ring-clad hands now hold my waist, his middle finger just taunting the small sliver of skin between my top and trousers.

My eyes dart between his pink lips and his green eyes and the curls that rest on the sheer black of his shirt until I’m looking at our shoes and refusing to look back up.

He lifts a finger, tilting my chin and bringing me closer to his lips. We share the same breath, the same sharp inhale. It’s just the vodka. It’s the vodka and the fact I haven’t had sex in a hot minute. It’s the vodka and the weed and the–

“What’s happening?” I finally ask, the words barely leaving me as a whisper but travelling like an amp anyway.

“I don’t know,” he responds, his hand slipping to grip my face. His thumb touches where Zayn had been, and replaces the feeling of embarrassment with something new, something uncharted. Harry’s all over me and my stomach isn’t churning. It’s definitely the vodka.

“Is this something you’re going to use against me later? Did Niall tell you to do this or something?”

“You kissed me first,” he answers quickly, certainly. His thumb trails my lower lip, making me exhale as sharply as the first inhale. I open my mouth a little wider for him, unaware I’m even doing it until he dips his finger into my mouth and I suck.

He dips his finger into my mouth… and I suck.

“Fuck, Charlie,” he whispers, and without a second to blink his finger’s out of my mouth and his lips are on mine.

I don’t take a second to freeze, that would mean thinking about it. About him. About his lips on my lips. Instead, I just focus on the feeling of someone’s lips on mine and I rake my hands into his hair, tugging, tightly. He groans deliciously into my mouth, wrapping his arms around my back until we’re entirely tangled with other and there’s nothing between us but material and laboured breaths.

He pushes me back till my legs hit the bed, making me collapse back into the untouched duvet., With barely a moment to separate, he cascades stop of me and grinds his hips into mine. His hands go everywhere, my ass, my waist, my back, my thighs, my neck, my face. We’re moaning like horny teenagers into each other’s mouths, desperately moving for friction whilst grappling for more taste of him.

As the need for oxygen becomes incessant, we break apart, which only leaves him room to attack my neck. I tilt my head back, scratching his scalp with my nails as he bites and sucks at my throat, probably leaving marks I’ll have to cover with concrete but it feels too damn good to care right now.

I turn my head to the side, moving my hips up to meet his and it’s then, as I catch our reflection in the mirror beside Louis’ door, that I realise.

Harry’s making his way down my body. Harry’s undoing my trousers. Harry’s removing my shoes and ripping my knickers off and tucking them in his back pocket and–

“Wait, maybe we shouldn’t–”

Harry stops everything and looks up at me, hair knotted, panting and rosy-lipped.

“Is this you backing out?”

A beat passes between us before he softens.

“Because that’s fine, you know.”

I stop everything and just look at him, staring at sea foam until I realise I really must hate myself, because the words that tumble from my mouth next are,

“No,” fuck me, I guess, “I want this.”

“Then shut the fuck up and spread your legs for me.”

I roll my eyes, “God, you’re even annoying when– oh,” whatever insult I was about to hurtle catches in my throat as Harry latches his tongue onto me. He’s thrown one of my legs over his shoulder, his lion ring digging sharply into my skin but fuck.

I look down, gasping as I see Harry watching me watch him. The hand wrapped around my leg digs in, keeping me where he wants me as his other hand grips my waist to help keep me down. He sucks on my clit for a second before flicking his tongue over me, and I can’t help but throw my head back and hope no one outside can hear.

I close my eyes, and it’s not Harry. It’s just someone giving me ridiculously good head right as I need it. I focus on the expert of his tongue and the grip of his hands and the sound of his own pants every time I pull particularly hard on his hair.

“Mm, fuck,” I roll my head into the pillow, arching my back and pushing myself further into him, “God, just like that,” his hand pushes me back down to the bed, and slowly trails down till his thumb is rubbing my clit and he’s tongue fucking me.

“Yeah, shit,” I breathe out, suddenly desperate to have this damn corset off. I pant as I glance down, seeing his eyes completely on me, and somehow it’s not turning me off. I decide I’m high on the moment, and start to pull on the clamps of the corset. I can barely breathe as is, and it’s starting to ruin the head.

“Here,” he quickly surfaces, pushing my hands out the way to unclip the rest of the clamps and spreads the corset apart. He rips it from under me, throwing it on the floor with my other discarded clothes, and starts his attack on my breasts.

My fingers knot in his hair as he sucks on each nipple, flicking his tongue over the sensitive buds and biting down on the surrounding flesh. I watch as he takes one of my nipples between his teeth, making eye contact with me as he pulls it out slightly, making me writhe before letting go and sucking the pain away. I bite my lip to stop myself from moaning so much, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but when his hand returns to my throbbing clit I can’t help it.

He dips his head down my chest, kissing the edges of my ANGEL tattoo that adorns my stomach. I feel him smile into my skin as he murmurs, “knew you were making me work for it.”

I pant out an unconvincing, “shut up,” while he rubs my clit in a way that has my chest heaving. He holds himself over me, kissing my neck as he dips a his index in me and starts curling. I wrap my legs around his, grinding into his hand as he adds another finger.

“Tell me how good it feels, princess,” he bites my ear lobe, then my jawline, then my bottom lip, “come on, give it to me,” he kisses me, letting my moans tumble into his throat as he curls and pumps his fingers till in me till my pride completely slips away.

“Oh my God,” I pant out, the feeling of his cold rings pressing against me with every thrust tipping me over the edge, “that feels so good,”

“Who does?”

“You do,” my hands fly to the pillow beside me, gripping it till my knuckles blanch, “fuck, you feel so good.”

“My name, Charlie,” he nips at my jaw and slows his fingers, making me grind for it, “need to hear you say my name.”

“Do you ever take a break?” My tone doesn’t back up my insult, it only makes him grin as he removes his fingers. I can’t help the whine that escapes me at the sudden loss of contact, “Harry–”

“There we go, princess,” his middle finger suddenly returns to my clit in slow, hard circles, “wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Christ, you’re an asshole–”

“Again,” he rubs faster, adding another finger. I feel my legs start to run hot, my stomach start to ache, my head start to spin. With every circle I’m getting closer and closer to the edge, but whatever (teeny, tiny) sliver of pride is actually left in me stops me from saying his name. All I can do is throw my head back and incessantly moan till my throat hurts.

“Are you close?” He asks, taking my bottom lip between his teeth again. I kiss him back for a second, but it’s physically impossible to do anything but whine with my mouth at the minute.

“S’close. Please don’t stop.”

“Please?” Harry teases.

“Please,” I affirm, not caring at this point, “God, right there,” I bite down on my lip till I taste iron. His fingers are working so fast and so hard and so good that I–

That I… nothing. Because right as I’m about to tip over that peak, the fucker stops everything. His fingers stay on my clit, applying pressure but not nearly enough. I try and grind against his hand, but he firmly pins me down to stop me.

“Harry–”

“Ah,” he interrupts, pressing a chaste kiss against my lips before removing his hand completely, “too late.”

I lay in utter disbelief as he stands, picking up my clothes from the floor and setting them on the bed beside me. I sit up on my elbows and watch him adjust his hair in the mirror, sort out his collar, re-do a few buttons.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He catches my eye in the mirror, poking his tongue into his cheek before shrugging. He opens the door a sliver, just enough to let blue light and foggy bass thrum into the once silent room.

“Should’ve said my name, princess,” he sucks his used fingers and thumb like he’d just finished a meal, winking at me like the douchebag he is before slamming the door behind him; leaving me there on the bed, naked, aching, and incredibly fucking pissed off.

taglist: @lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm

[doodlegirl1998]

Thinking on the whole "Aldera allowed BK to bully Izu" and how Inko is so...uncaring for such fact may be accidental or not...

There are others schools out there...why Izu had to stay in Aldera? Legit. Why? If Inko is so poor she cant afford a new school it would be smth but...the fact she doesnt even try, she is so out of reality...its concerning.

Also...Aldera has (or should have )parents meetings(parents and teachers meeting one another) are the teachers the best actors in the world to convice Inko "your son happy here" or she just dont care?

Another thing: BK is from a rich family...he could have gone to a big school but stay on Aldera. Reason? "To make his hero origin story look good"

1) why? Where this idea comes from? Is AM from a poor background and reach stardom from day to night?

2) does others heroes care for "proper hero background"?

Inko is a bad mom in canon...ironically, bashing fics got it wrong. She doesnt light cigars on her son nor let him starve...she just...do nothing.

Hi @mikeellee 👋,

This. This is where I see Hori's lack of exploration into Izuku's childhood to be a massive problem. Inko is never seen to try literally anything to prevent Izuku's bullying.

A common defense I hear of her is that, "Izuku hid it from her so she had no idea" and while that may be the case later let me ask; does anyone seriously think a four year old can hide being hurt constantly? Let alone being exploded?

So there is two options here:

She could have been too poor to change Izuku's schools / move homes. If this is case - Explore that HORI! That could have been common ground for IzuOcha to bond over!! Not only that but it would have gave Inko a sympathetic reason why she didn't go this route. Hori should have coupled this with a few brief shots of her in the manga showing her trying to speak with teacher, Mitsuki etc... That could have shown a sympathetic and good prominent mother figure.

She saw Izuku being hurt for being quirkless and viewed his suffering as inevitable so did not try to do anything to prevent what he was going through. This is the option that makes Inko look the worst - but also lines the most up with canon in my view. There's metas out there saying that, despite the Midoriya's living in an apartment, they are rich / well off by the interior Hori designs for them (maybe not as much as Bkg but comfortable.) So no monetary boundary to moving. There's the fact that Inko is quick to say "I'm sorry Izuku" and cry on him when he's being diagnosed as quirkless which... It feels like Inko is now expecting the worst for him/ Izuku's future in this diagnosis - which would explain her inaction. (Note - she only tries to protect him after Izu gets a quirk too, by threatening to take him out UA, which lines up with this theory.)

With the Bakugou part - that's just Bakugou's stupidity and ego coming out full swing.

Logically speaking, it would make more sense to go to be best school - rather than whatever Aldera is - to maximise the chances of getting in UA. But Baku is so up his own ass he believes he is innately the best.

First, who lets their child pull this sort of shit when they genuinely want the best for them? Why doesn't Mitsuki sit Bkg down and tell him he's being an idiot? She's done it before. And should do it here.

Second, I WISH this bit him in the ass. I wish he got lower down the scoreboard then third on the term rankings. Or even, failed the entrance exam, got expelled by expellzawa - just anything! Because then it would show Bkg is his own worst enemy.

Third, maybe Baku pulled this deliberately because he knew Aldera would let him get away with being a POS. If Bkg went to a top school do you think they would let him get away with being an abusive turd? Short answer no. If they expelled him - game over for his dream of heroism too. Baku probably knew Aldera would likely fudge things for him to help him get in UA to make themselves look good.

We don't know enough about AM in canon but I do presume that he was from a poorer background due to this view of Bkg's otherwise Bakuboo would not have cared about being seen as "coming from poverty."

TLDR - Inko sits by and does nothing for her son while he was quirkless and being severely bullied because Hori writes her poorly. But there's no nice implication as to why this is the case.

Bakugou is an arrogant idiot who is his own worst enemy - or would be if Hori making him the strongest plot armour all the time.

And AM needs his origins explored - where's the underdog rising to be the number one hero origin story, Hori?