#making him far angrier and upset

[kaijukebox]

Sharp and sharper

-

No reference today (obvious 😵‍💫)

[stars-in-a-jam-jar]

I don't think Buddy asks Helio any questions.

Kristen asked 'Why do bad things happen to good people?' because she believed in all the good things she was taught, but noticed the strange disconnect between the world as it was and the world as it was taught to her. So she thought, surely, if I can't come up with the answer, Helio will have it. And she hates him for dodging her question.

Buddy is far more deluded than Kristen ever was. And he is far, far angrier inside as a result, even if he deliberately conceals this fact from himself to protect himself from the inevitable mental breakdown this would cause. Buddy is not as altruistic and giving and caring as Kristen is. He wouldn't question why he was betrayed or dig into a question like 'Why do bad things happen to good people?' Those aren't the answers he needs, because of course he'd be betrayed by someone outside the church, that makes perfect sense. Of course bad things happen to good people, we simply live in a fallen world.

Or, well. He used to live in a fallen world. Now he's dead here. In Helio's divine domain.

I think Buddy, as he wanders through fields of corn to the big farmhouse where Helio is chilling out, privately thinks about the fact that Kristen Applebees' horrified expression was the last thing he ever saw before a sharp pain in his throat. I think Buddy assumes Helio knows he's thinking this and apologizes for bringing thoughts like that into paradise. I think he thanks Helio for recognizing his devotion and bringing him here once he died and dutifully deceives himself about his own rising emotions at contending with the fact that he's dead now.

After all, he was raised to die. He was raised to want to die.

To want to be here with his god whenever it was he called Buddy to him. So he doesn't feel upset, no, of course not. He's just a little surprised at how sudden it was. (How completely random. How unceremonious and unfair.) He's a little bit worried how his grandparents would react to the news is all. (He cracks a joke that maybe he'll see them here shortly after they do get the news. He doesn't laugh at it.) He had his own plans for how he'd spread the good word in life, but of course, Helio had other plans. (Nothing Buddy ever wanted really mattered. He knew that, he knew the will of Helio was the real thing that mattered, and everything else was just a small list of preapproved extracurriculars in the syllabus of his life.)

He can't be upset about this.

He shouldn't be upset about this.

This is his reward.

This place and these people and this god are his reward for a life of service and devotion and walking in the light.

It's not his place to be upset about his own reward. Kristen got upset when she went to heaven, when she met Helio, and look where that got her.

Look... look where that got her.

He thinks he hates her. For looking at him like that. All the ways she looked at him. Like he was something pitiful and contemptible. Someone she needed to threaten away from her little brother. Someone she has to double and triple check if he's going to revive her when he's under magical oath to do just that or lose his connection to a divinity she threw away after being chosen.

And then. In that last moment, she looked at him and he saw grief and horror and caring. Like his death was awful and unfair and tragic.

And he thinks maybe he hates her for that. For challenging him every conversation they had and looking at him like she knew something he didn't. Like she was above him. Like killing your own god twice in life is a preferable fate to living for the promise of eternal sunlight and cornbread in death. A promise which was kept to him.

Kristen was promised to Helio, too.

And he can't unsee her face. He can't move along and focus on what truly matters (Helio, the church, spreading the word, doling out divine punishment when needed) because he's reached the end. There is nothing left. Only this bright sunny cornfield and a god who... is nice. And who cares about him, personally. He got Buddy's name wrong the first and only time they held audience.

He thinks he hates Kristen, and he hates that that hatred isn't immediately squashed out of his soul just by being here. In paradise. Where he belongs. Where every follower of Helio belongs. Where he never has to have anyone look at him the way Kristen did ever again.

I don't think Buddy Dawn asks Helio any questions. Because how do you ask the god you devoted every waking minute of your life to, 'Why do I hate it here? Why does this feel like hell?'

(There's a part 2 now that the next ep is out >:3)

[traveler-at-heart]

Cat's out of the (super) bag

Summary: Natasha doesn't like going on missions with you. Learning the truth might make her change her mind.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Big thanks to @soggy-wet-cat for hearing this idea before I wrote it :)

--

Fury was going soft.

That was the only way to explain your presence on most of Natasha’s missions.

Rogers, she gets. He’s a super soldier and as capable as Natasha is, it doesn’t hurt to have an enhanced individual around.

But you.

Always slow, always too relaxed for Natasha’s liking. Insisting you could do more, but last week you weren’t even able to pick a lock.

Not to mention how much you avoid hand to hand combat. Natasha suspects it’s because your skill level is very low.

“She’d do better out of the field” Natasha complains for the tenth time. Fury smirks. “This isn’t funny. I’m risking my neck to protect her and she’s not even worried about getting better. I’m not doing missions with her anymore”

“Now, hold on” Fury protests. “That’s not for you to decide. And I thought you trusted me”

“It’s her I can’t trust”

“Too damn bad. You have a mission. No Rogers this time. And I better hear it went well, Romanoff”

Natasha rolls her eyes and leaves his office.

It will only go well if she convinces you to sit and wait at the jet.

—

“What did you do to piss off Romanoff?”

“Morning to you too, Nick” you smile, placing a cup of coffee in front of him. “I don’t know. It’s pretty obvious she doesn’t like me”

“I know that. Have you done anything to upset her?”

“I barely speak to her and when I do she doesn’t answer” you shrug your shoulders, going back to every interaction you’ve had with the redhead. Her intense glare comes back to haunt you. “Do you think she knows?”

“You tell me. Did you screw up?”

“I keep a low profile. Like you asked me to” you nod, knowing how important this is for him.

“Better stay that way. You’re both leaving for a mission tomorrow” the man hands you a folder and you skim it. “Keep your head down and don’t make her angrier”

“Is that even possible?”

“You don’t wanna know”

—

It’s a mess from the start. You try to stay away from Natasha, but every time your attempts go in the worst way possible. Like when she’s walking down the jet, and you move aside so she has space. Except you end up pushing a few buttons on the console and Natasha has to come back and straighten the ship.

“Stay still” she mutters, glaring. You nod and sit on your hands, more concerned with the woman’s temper than about the mission.

“Wait here” is all she says after landing the jet.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a very simple mission” Natasha says, without looking at you, focused on adjusting her widow bites. “So, if you really want to help, stay out of my way”

“That’s not the plan. I’m supposed to watch the south entrance”

“They’ll never even noticed I inflitrated the building”

“You’re not my boss. Fury is. And if he wants me to stand outside and watch the south entrance, then that is exacly what I’ll do, Natasha”

The redhead finally turns back to look at you, surprised. This is the first time she’s seen you upset. You’re walking past her, not bothering to look her way… have you always been this tall? It always seems like you’re trying to look small.

“Hey” Natasha tries to make you turn, grabbing your arm. She’s surprised by how strong you are. “You better not screw up. Or I’ll make sure you’re on desk duty for the rest of your career, Y/L/N”

“Oh, now that’s funny. I’ve been here far longer than you” you lean forward, whispering. Natasha tries to understand what you mean, her eyes scanning your features for a sign. Aware of how close you are to her, you take a step back and jump out the door, ignoring the ladder.

Ridiculous, to think that you (you!) are an incompetent agent.

Maybe Fury was wrong for asking you to do this.

You’re kicking the ground, huffing every few minutes, still fuming at Natasha’s words. All this time, you thought she didn’t like you and though it sucked, you could live with that. But saying you were bad at your job when it was the exact opposite makes you see red.

“Y/N?” Natasha says over the comms.

“Here” you answer.

“A little help”

Those three words make your stomach drop. Natasha asking for your help?

This must be life or death kind of bad.

“Tell me where you are” you ask, breaking into the building.

“Intelligence room. Surrounded by at least 20 guards”

“Use the vents to go out and grab one of their vehicles. I’ll distract them”

“You’re gonna take down 20 people all on your own?”

“Just do as I say, Romanoff”

It feels good to finally use all your strenght. You practically rip open a door that sets off an alarm, and then you throw a couple of grenades around.

Now, all eyes are on you.

Sure enough, it takes them a few minutes to come find you, but you’re ready to shoot at the first guards, and when the second wave has gone through their ammo, you prepare for hand to hand combat.

“I’m out but there are two individuals after me. Towards the east, away from the jet”

“Got it. Gentleman” you turn to the man. “Change of plans. Let me go or die. Whichever is fine by me”

They laugh, until you send one of them flying across the room, his neck snapping.

“Who’s next, ladies?”

—

How could this mission have gone so wrong? Now Natasha is navigating the snowy road on a motorcycle, being chased by two of the guards and dodging their bullets.

The cold air is stabbing her hands and face but she has to keep going. She is too far away to communicate with you, but hoped you had the good sense of going back to the jet.

She’d find a way to survive.

Or maybe not, as she notices a third motorcycle joining the chase.

Through the rearview mirror, she sees the new person approaching one of the guards. A fight ensues and an exchange of shots. Next thing Natasha saw was the motorcycles colliding.

“Y/N?” she tries the comms, hoping you aren’t stupid enough to be knocking down people. Whoever those two were, the force of the hit was enough to kill them.

And yet, one of them begins to run after Natasha and the man still chasing her. The figure is fast approaching, which is ridiculous, considering Natasha was going 150 miles per hour.

The brute is clearly scared, as his movements become more erratic, trying to get rid of Natasha and the mysterious figure at the same time. He shoots behind him and then at Natasha, getting to one of the tires in her bike.

She tries to keep the handle steady, but can’t turn on the curve ahead of her. Natasha is sent flying directly to a river, the cold water making her momentarily paralized. The currents confused her, and she couldn’t tell up from down. She swam and swam, until her arms were too tired.

She began to drift, and the last thing she saw was a shadow hovering above her.

—

“Natasha? Nat?” you plead, doing CPR as gently as you can. You don’t want to add cracked ribs to her list of injuries.

Finally, after what felt like hours but were only seconds, Natasha lunges forward, coughing and throwing up water. You hold her head, helping her until she can breathe again.

“I’m freezing” Natasha complains, looking around. “Did we lose them? How did you…” she then turns to you and widens her eyes. “You’re bleeding”

“Yeah, he shot me. It’ll stop in a second. And yes, we lost them. Though I’m sure HYDRA is sending more people to track us down. Come on” you stand up, offering your hand. Natasha takes it and is once again surpised by how strong you are.

Your body is also warmer than hers, even if you dived to rescue her. On pure instinct, Natasha comes closer, practically melting against your body heat.

“You’re hiding something” she states and you chuckle.

“Now’s not the time. Come on, I’ll carry you. There must be a safe house close to the river”

Natasha climbs to your back, and as if she weights nothing, you walk down the river, trusting she’ll keep an eye for any place to hide.

Sure enough, after ten minutes of walking, the redhead gets your attention and points at the right. There’s a small cottage hiding between some trees.

“Here” you say as you kick open the door, not bothering to find a key. You set Natasha down and go around the place, looking for blankets and anything that will make her warm.

“Did it stop bleeding?” she asks, looking at your abdomen. You nod, placing a blanket over her shoulder and checking for other injuries. “Are you a super soldier?”

You smile, thinking that Fury will be up in arms. But technically, you didn’t tell Natasha. She figured it out.

“Yes”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Who else knows?” Natasha says, pulling the blanket closer, as if it will help her cover from you as well. It’s clear she doesn’t trust you right now.

“Fury asked me to keep a low profile. He’s the only one that knows. I think he’s concerned about the integrity of SHIELD. You know him, keeping an ace up his sleeve”

“How long have you known him for?”

“Thirty years, give or take. My existence is top secret, and I spent some time away from the job. My father died, and he was the last person that I knew before everything, so… it was hard, I guess”

“I’m sorry”

“Me too. I didn’t like lying to you or pretending to be something I’m not”

Natasha kicks herself for not noticing sooner. It’s so glaringly obvious now that she has to roll her eyes at herself.

Your build, the fact that you never seem to be tired or catching your breath. Hell, the fact you never train with anyone else.

Natasha made an assumption and ran with it, instead of trying to see past it.

“Hey, you ok?” you ask, craddling her head in your hands. “Did you hit your head? Feel dizzy?”

“I’m just cold”

“We can’t start a fire” you regret, looking out. “Here” you pull her closer, your arms going around her shoulders. She tries to protest, but whatever she was about to say dies in her throat as soon as she feels how warm you are.

“This suit is all wet” she says, pulling away and taking it off. “Don’t look or I’ll kill you”

“Uh… what is going on?” your eyes dart to the ceiling, blushing. Then, you feel Natasha’s cold skin against you. “Jesus, Nat. You’re freezing”

You bury the both of you in more blankets, and feel her melting against your side. On instinct, your arms go around her waist and bring her closer, to which she responds by burying her face on the crook of your neck.

“So I can’t look but I can touch, huh?”

“Glad we understand each other”

—

“So…”

“So” Natasha says, landing the jet back home.

“Can we be friends? Friendly, at least?”

“No” she stands up, walking towards you. “Friends don’t look at each other the way you’ve been looking at me for the entire ride home”

“Can you blame me?” your eyes drift to her cleavage, remembering how she was practically naked and clinging to you as if her life depended on it.

“Wine and dine me, Y/L/N. And we’ll take it from there”

“Yes, Ma’am”

“Am I interrupting?” Fury shouts from the hangar.

“Yes” you say, but Natasha leaves, glaring at Fury on her way out.

“I’ve known you for thirty years and you still can’t keep it together around a pretty lady. And now I’m in trouble too” Fury says, clearly displeased.

“Hey, at least you don’t have that problem with Rogers, huh?”

“For now, Y/L/N. There’s always some trouble waiting around the courner”

You laugh and clap his back, leaving the jet. His plan may have failed, but you’re certainly not complaining.

Not when you have a hot date waiting for you.

[stairain]

Mommy's Boyfriend.

While dropping off your son at school, the last thing you expect is your ex-boyfriend Mr.Reid to be his teacher.

Warnings: Soft Dom Spencer, Mother reader, Your child is unnamed don't think too much about it, make-up sex, cunnilingus, begging, gentle-ish sex, doggy style, light choking, cream pie, he loves you too much. 

WC: 7.1K 

It was the first day of school, and you were dropping your son off, walking through the hallway and holding the little boy's hand. As you passed through various rooms, you smiled at passing teachers and students. When you finally make it to your son's classroom, you kneel down and kiss his forehead before saying a few encouraging words to him, patting his back before urging him into the room.

"I'll see you in a few hours, love.."

You say to him as he walks away from you. When you stand up, you're not at all expecting Spencer to be standing there behind you. The two of you had broken up just before summer started, and although you knew he was a teacher, you were really hoping you didn't see him today.

What are the chances he’s your son's teacher? Apparently very high ones.

You give him a forced polite smile before trying to walk away from him as quickly as you could.

As Spencer watches you go, he’s hit with a wave of shame, guilt, and disgust. He should never have let things end the way he had. He should’ve tried to fix things but, instead, he had just given up. It was something he would never forgive himself for. He decides that he’s not going to let you go without at least knowing that he regrets his actions. He walks after you.

"Hey."

You hear him, and the clicking of your heels against the floor speeds up as you try to get away from him as fast as possible.

"Wait.." He says in a calm, firm, serious voice with a hint of a pleading tone. He picks up his pace and is quickly closing the distance between you two. When he moves closer to you, he reaches a hand out to plant on your shoulder, trying to stop you. 

When you shrug off his hand, he purses his lips and quickly runs in front of you, so you're forced to stop. You blink at the quick movement and look up at him with eyes full of undercover malice. Pushing your tongue into your cheek in annoyance, you quietly snap at him, so as to not attract a crowd.

"Can I help you?"

Spencer looks at you with eyes that are full of regret, sadness, shame, and longing. He takes a small step closer to you. You can see that he’s upset, but most of the emotions he is feeling are negative ones directed at himself. He looks like he wants to hug you and cry at the same time, but he is restraining himself, far too scared to make you even angrier at him. Even in all of his sadness and regret there is still a little bit of love in his eyes, and it looks like he’s about to cry.

You bite your lips as the look in his eyes still never ceases to make you melt. With a small shake of your head, you speak.

"Listen, it's been great seeing you, but I just came to drop off my kid, alright?" You push past him and start walking towards the front doors, not wanting to be around him any longer than you already have.

Spencer reaches out and grabs your wrist before you can make it to the door. He looks at you with pleading eyes, still full of the same negative self-loathing emotions, but there’s a glint of hope and love in them.

"Wait–please." He says, his tone now urgent. "I just need two minutes of your time; to explain."

You take a deep breath and look down at your watch before you look back at him. "Don't you have a job to do?"

Spencer takes a deep breath and his eyes narrow before his expression softens again. "Yes, I do," he says.

"But, I'll go to work every day for the rest of my life. Please, just two minutes of your time." He looks desperate and pleading but, if you refuse again, he seems like he’ll let you go.

It hurts you to admit it, but his words make your heart swell. If there was one thing he was always good at doing, it was putting you first. But ironically, that's what got the two of you here in the first place. With wavering eyes, you look around before sighing, and agreeing.

"Two minutes." 

A huge wave of relief washes over Spencer and he can't help but smile a little bit. He walks you to a quiet place to talk. Once you are out of earshot of everyone around he looks at you with regretful eyes, and his voice begins to crack a bit.

"I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you and I am so sorry for the way I treated you. I was too caught up in my work and didn't give our relationship the attention it needed and I regret it every day. Please, forgive me."

You shake your head and look down at anywhere but him, because you know the second your gaze locks with those puppy-dog eyes you've always adored, all of your progress of "getting over him" in the past few months would go to waste in a heartbeat.

"I-I don't know, Spence.."

You hadn't even noticed the way you referred to him as his nickname you always used to call him, too caught up in your emotions to acknowledge it now.

"Please," His voice sounds desperate, like he might break down any moment now.

"I would do anything to fix what I have done. Please, just give me one more chance. I will never take you or our relationship for granted again. I love you."

As those last few words escape his lips his voice breaks and he looks like he might just get down on both knees and beg you. He looks completely ready and willing to show you, not just tell you, how sorry he is and that he can and will make things right.

Raising your chin a little to look at him through teary lashes, you run your thumb along your waterline. With a heavy sigh, you finally find the courage to look him in the eyes.

"You have a class to teach, Spencer. I'm sorry."

"I'll call in sick. I'd walk away from my job in an instant if it meant I got you back."

His voice is desperate as it breaks again and tears well up in his eyes.

"Please, love. Just give me a chance."

He looks heartbroken, and this is probably the most emotional, intense, and passionate he has ever been about his love for you and it's hard for you to resist. You’re sure you'll be making a mistake by saying no, but at the same time, you feel you’ll be making an even bigger mistake by saying yes.

You almost laugh at his words, but you stop yourself before you do. If you laughed in his face right now, you know he'd absolutely be crushed. With a sad smile, you sniff. 

"Don't do that, Spencer."

With one last look at your watch, you barely think about the next words that leave your mouth. You were just saying whatever he wanted to hear, you couldn't help it. Even after everything, you just wanted to please him.

"Listen, I- School ends at three, right? When I come to pick him up, we can talk more, okay?" 

Spencer is absolutely thrilled by how things just went. He fully expected you to just walk out on him, and he wouldn’t even blame you. He tries to hide the happiness on his face but he's unable to prevent himself from letting a small smile creep onto his lips. He nods his head in agreement.

"Three o'clock," He says in a calming, but still emotional, voice. "I'll be right here." He looks over you for a second before he turns and walks away, still clearly full of hope and optimism.

And you're left in the room by yourself and your thoughts as he walks out. You know this is a mistake, and you should've just ignored him and went on with your life, but it was too late now. In a battle with your heart and your head, you think you're going to let your heart win.

As the day passes, you're running errands and doing some work of your own, but your mind is somewhere else. 

It's only two thirty, you've got another half hour until you see him again, and you feel your nerves race through your body. As you sit in your car in silence, the sound of your heart pounding in your chest rings in your ears, and it taunts you.

You can't help but feel excited as you think about finally getting the chance to talk to him and try to work things out despite knowing full well that this is a bad idea. Part of you still wants to run, but the idea of having him in your life again feels like a dream come true and it’s hard to resist that kind of temptation when it is just within your grasp.

At three o'clock Spencer is waiting at the school, just as he promised, hoping you won't change your mind.

Taking a deep breath and shaking out your hands, you get out of the car and begin to walk towards the entrance of the school. All of the other children and parents were walking back to their own cars, and you remember then that your son had after-school sports, and he wouldn't be going home with you now.

At least it gave you and Spencer more time to speak. As you walk closer to him, the pounding of your pulse fills all of your senses, and you force a polite smile on your face.

As you approach him he smiles and hugs you. His arms are warm and comforting, and just having him hold you again makes you feel better. You can tell he is nervous too, you can see it in the way his eyes are darting around and how he keeps fidgeting his hands. You can also tell that he’s trying to keep his composure and has the same polite smile you do. He's trying to act like things are normal and like he isn't just dying of impatience for when you two can go somewhere to have a serious conversation.

With a small push to his chest, you break the hug with an awkward chuckle. His touch felt so nice, so comforting, but it was too much for you right now. You clear your throat as you stand in front of him with your arms behind your back and stutter as you speak.

When you push him away you can see a little bit of hurt in his eyes before it’s quickly replaced with understanding and patience. 

"I-I forgot that.. I forgot my son has soccer practice now.. So I don't have to pick him up for a few hours.." Your voice is wavering and sheepish, and you sound so unsure of yourself. The woman you were this morning, strong and unwilling to speak to the man in front of you was traded for a whole new persona, one that couldn't help but fumble under the gaze of Spencer.

"I see." He says in a calm, comforting tone, "Then, what would you like to do? Where would you like to talk?" As he speaks you can see him relax a little bit, but he is still filled with nervous energy, but it's clear that he’s trying to help you calm down.

And before you can stop yourself.

"We could go back to my place.."

When you say those words a huge smile makes its way across Spencer's face. He nods in agreement and takes your hand in his. You let him hold it.

"Your place, it is." As he speaks he leads you to his car and opens the passenger side door for you before getting into the driver's side himself. He turns to look at you to make sure you've gotten in safely and smiles again before turning forward to drive from the school to your house. As he drives, your thoughts race. You start thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, and they outweigh everything that could go right. 

It almost hurts your heart that he still remembers where you live, without a GPS or directions. It's like he never really forgot, how could he? It's all muscle memory to him.

As Spencer drives, a wave of nostalgia hits him hard. He can't help but remember all the sweet moments you have had at your place. He remembers the long nights, and the quiet mornings. He remembers the way you used to make him feel.

Then it hits him, these are the same feelings that made him make the huge, dumb mistake that got him in this situation in the first place. If he doesn't want to lose you again he’s going to have to do everything in his power to fix his mistakes and do everything he needs to do in order to make you happy.

Pulling into your driveway, you swallow before unbuckling yourself and stepping out of the car. You don't wait on him as you're walking up the pavement to your front door, pushing it open and walking inside.

Spencer gets out of the car and follows you inside, closing the door gently behind him. He walks over to you and looks at you with intense love and affection in his eyes. Before you can speak, he gives you a long, passionate kiss. For those few seconds he is able to forget everything and all he can think about is just how much he's missed you and how much he loves you. When he finally pulls away, you can see how hard he had to try to pull himself away in the first place, he missed the taste of your lips on his. 

"I love you.."

You gasp against his lips when he breaks the kiss, and the way your eyes widen almost rivals the moon. The nerve of him, you thought. But when his hands reach up to cradle your jaw, you can feel the anger fizzling into pathetic dust and you pull him in for another bruising kiss.

Spencer kisses you back passionately and his arms wrap all the way around your waist in the embrace. A wave of calm crashes over him as he holds you close to him because nothing feels better in the moment than being close to you again.

After a few minutes of kissing you he pulls back just a little bit to look at you and breathlessly speak.

"I missed you," he says, a little breathless, "So much."

Your eyes are full of passion and vexation towards him and you all but growl out your words. 

"Shut up and kiss me." Grabbing the collar of his dress shirt, you deal another violent kiss to him.

"Yes, ma'am."

Is all he can say as he moves in again. He had to pry your mouth away from him for air, and he leans in to kiss you again, but this time, instead of going straight for your mouth he makes his way to your neck. He’s leaning over slightly as kisses your neck, your ears, and your jaw in a playful move that has more passion behind it than playfulness, but you can still tell he is trying to tease you. 

Growing impatient and letting months of pent up emotions control you, you grab his hand on your head and forcefully move it down to your ass, putting your hand overtop of his as you make him squeeze your rear.

Spencer lets out a gentle groan at the feeling of you gripped in his hand, and grabs the handful roughly, digging his fingers into the denim of your jeans. 

"Now, can we talk?" His voice is gravelly and breathless. 

You’re pushing his body back until the backs of his knees hit the couch, and he sits down on it. You sit down next to him and begin to kiss up his neck, one of your hands moving to hold his jaw steady.

"Go ahead.." You murmur against his neck as you press a wet and sloppy kiss against the goosebump raised skin. 

Spencer lets out a small chuckle at how much you seem to be enjoying this. He's loving every second of it and he just smiles as his eyes start to go a little bit cross-eyed as he leans back into you.

"Stop that. I don't think I can hold a coherent thought like this."

His voice is half serious and half playful, still filled with the same passion and lust for you it has been the whole time.

"You're a genius, figure it out." Your voice is low and teasing as you bare your teeth against the flesh and nibble at it, leaving small, red marks.

Spencer groans a little bit as a shiver runs down his spine at the feeling of your teeth against his skin. His eyes go a little bit more cross-eyed the longer you do it to him.

"Please," His voice is a little bit breathless and it's unclear if he is asking you to stop or if he's just asking you to take a little break from it so he can finish his sentence. "I'm begging."

Despite his words, you continue to suck at his neck, determined to mark him as yours once more. He was right, you two needed to talk about it, but you were a little preoccupied at the moment. Smiling against his skin, you lick over a fresh hickey.

“Haven't changed much then, Spence.."

Spencer lets out a small noise that is part moan, part whine, and part laugh. His eyes are just about completely rolled back into his skull at this point.

"I can't talk at all while you're doing this," His voice is strained but it's clear he is trying desperately to keep a playful tone to it. "You're not going to make this easy are you?" You can hear him take a deep breath as he is just barely able to calm himself down enough to give you a warning. 

"Nothing about this is easy, love.." The pet name just slips from your mouth, as if it were a habit. You don't dwell on it for too long as you lift yourself onto his lap and continue to kiss and mark his neck.

Spencer moves slightly to make it easier for you to sit on his lap and he lets out a soft sigh when he feels your weight against him and once again he can't help but smile.

"Baby," He says, his voice getting just a little bit more sincere now as he gives you a soft kiss on the cheek, "Please..." he asks one last time with pleading in his eyes.

"I have a lot to talk to you about. I'm not sure how you feel about everything but I promise it will be okay if you let me explain."

With a final press of your lips against him, you pull back and rest your hands on his shoulders. 

"Speak then."

The man takes a deep breath and speaks with the most sincerity you have ever heard in his voice.

"I am truly, truly, sorry for what I did to you," His voice cracks at the end of the word ‘you’ as he gets emotional again. He takes a few more deep breaths to compose himself before tearily speaking again. You can see how much he means the things he is saying and how much it hurts him having to tell you this.

“You didn’t and don’t deserve anything I did to you. I was wrong, and I’m sorry."

You had hoped the cloud of lust that sat between the two of you was enough to distract and mask the real reason why he was here, and you sigh. The arousal in your body fades and is quickly replaced with solemnness.

"I didn't deserve it, and I so badly want to hate you, Spencer." He reaches a hand out to run through your hair as you talk, and you lean into his comforting touch. "I spent months wanting to scream at you, yell at you for how you treated me. I wasn't even going to talk to you today, really.."

At your words Spencer's eyes fill with regret. He can only imagine how hard and awful the past few months must have been for you and to know he is the one who put you through it all makes him feel like he's a monster.

"I can't blame you, I know I'm a terrible person.. I really do." Spencer's voice cracks and tears start to form in his eyes too, he looks at you with a sad, pitiful look in his eyes. "You didn't deserve any of it, baby. I don't know what I was thinking.."

You tilt your head to the side at his words and pout at the way he's putting himself down. With a slightly trembling hand, you reach to wipe the tears forming in his eyes.

"You're not a terrible person, Spence. Just.." Taking a deep breath, you actually think about your response this time. When you come to a conclusion, you don't know if it's the right one or not. "Just, promise not to do it again, alright?"

Spencer watches you as you wipe away the tears that have formed in his eyes. He looks up and meets your eyes with some of the most pure love and devotion he has ever had. He slowly nods his head in agreement as a small smile starts to form on his face at your response.

"I promise, my love... I will do anything to make up for what I've done."

His words are filled with so much love and compassion it almost seems impossible that he is the same man who hurt you so many months ago.

You slowly nod and swallow, and try to push away the already rising feelings of sadness and regret.

"Can I kiss you without being interrupted, now?"

Spencer chuckles a little and nods.

"Of course you can... I've been dying for one." He gives you a playful wink and a playful shove to your shoulder before turning to kiss you deeply. When he pulls away his eyes are filled with the same passion and desire you have always loved, and a bit of the same lust you felt earlier as well. He smiles at you as he leans back on the couch and wraps his hands on your hips. 

"Come closer. I've missed you so much."

A warm feeling fills your body at his words and you grab the back of his head to tug him into a hot and heavy kiss, full of pent up emotions of anger, lust, love, and hurt.

Spencer moves in for the kiss with just as much desire and lust as you. He lets out a small, playful moan as you pull on his hair, he grabs your waist as you kiss him and a small smile forms on his mouth.

As your lips break apart he catches his breath for a minute but he seems unable to resist you for too long as he pulls you in again for another kiss, this one even stronger than the one before and his hands start to wander under your clothes to the small of your back. Just one moment seems to be too long without his arms around you and his lips on yours.

A sigh of satisfaction pours from your mouth into his, and the feeling of his hands on your bare skin was a sensation you've gone far too long without. His fingers swirling up the flesh of your back feels like it's burning you in the best way, and you're all too eager to finally connect with him again.

Moving your hands to take off your shirt, you pull away from the kiss, much to his disappointment. As you tug the fabric off your body and over your head, you're left in your bra and jeans as you look up at him through long lashes and sultry eyes.

Spencer gasps at the sight of you and it takes all of his restraint not to just pounce you like an animal. A grin washes across his face and that devilish glint returns to his eyes once more.

“You are more beautiful than I ever remembered,” He says in a way that is both flirtatious but also full of love and adoration. He smiles as he looks up at you. 

“Will you allow me the honor of taking those off of you?”

"Please.." Is all you can mewl out, lust washing over your entire body, just ready to be his again.

At your words, Spencer's eyes light up with excitement and he smiles widely before getting off the couch and kneeling down in front of you. He slowly reaches out to the clasp of your bra and undoes it before slowly sliding it down your arms and off of you. He doesn't even try to hide his joy, it's evident in just how much he's smiling and the glimmer in his eye.

"You're still so perfect, my love... Just like a goddess." He whispers as he reaches to undo your jeans and unzip them.

You lift your bottom a bit off the couch to help him pull your pants down your legs, moaning softly at the cool air hitting your skin. Your arms cross over your chest, not used to being exposed like this after so long.

Spencer can't take his eyes away from you as he takes in your body again and a deep, content sigh escapes his lips as he looks at you.

"God.. You're more beautiful than I ever thought was possible," He whispers in amazement as his eyes take in your exposed body. "And you're just as beautiful on the inside too. I’m sorry it took me so long to understand that.."

You can feel your breath hitching at his words, and a warm blush spreads over your cheeks, and you slowly lower your hands from over your chest, and rest them next to your bare thighs. You're only left in your panties now, sitting on the couch as he's kneeling in front of you.

Spencer's heart speeds up and he breathes heavily as he takes in the view in front of him. It's almost a little overwhelming, but all he can manage to do is take it in and admire you as he is left speechless for a moment. Finally, he comes to and he slowly moves in to touch your thighs. He takes his time and caresses them softly with his fingertips.

At his soft soft, you flinch slightly before letting your body relax. You trusted him, even after so long.

You can see the care and love in every soft caress that Spencer deals to your delicate body. His slow, steady touch is done with an intensity and a passion that almost seems to radiate off of him and you can feel it as his fingertips glide over the skin of your thighs. You don't know if you have ever felt someone be so delicate, slow, and methodical with something before but it’s beautiful, almost like he was dealing with a piece of art. 

Subconsciously, you feel yourself slowly spreading your legs as you watch his large hands move towards your body, and take the bands of your underwear in his fingers. He looks up at you for approval.

Spencer's breath catches in his throat and you can see his jaw practically hanging open as he's overwhelmed by the view that's in front of him. "You're beautiful, darling.." He says like it's a prayer. He lets out a soft sigh, and he nods in approval before slowly taking the bands off and peeling them down your legs.

You moan now that you're fully exposed in front of him, and all previous confidence you had in you has completely dissipated under his intense glare. Once the air flushes against your bare, soaked cunt, it makes you shudder with a shiver. 

Spencer's eyes narrow down on you and they burn with passion and emotion at seeing you there on the couch in front of him, all spread out and ready for him. He's lost in you for a minute and you can see it as his breath hitches and his jaw is still hanging half open. He still moves with deliberate, slow, and gentle touches as he moves his hand to the top of your thigh.

"Baby.. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He whispers breathless, almost as though he is stunned by just the sight of you.

Moving your legs, you hook your calf around the back of his head, pulling him closer to your spread thighs, and there's a devilish smirk on your face.

He’s caught aback by how you pull him closer to your core and his eyes go wide at the gesture. He seems a little bit surprised but in the end he doesn't argue, instead he lets out a small chuckle and moves in closer to the point that the front of his face is pressed up against your thighs.

"What are you doing to me, love?" He asks innocently with a smirk of his own as he looks up at you with an amused smile on his face. His warm breath is ghosting over your glistening hole, and it makes you all the more desperate for him. 

“Making up for lost time.” 

You pull him in closer with your leg latched around him, urging him to get on with it already. You hadn’t slept with anyone since the two of you broke up, and you never really had time to take care of yourself. But that’s what he was there for. 

“Guess I better get to work, then..”

Spencer huskily spoke before leaning down and encasing your puffy clit between his spit slicked lips. The sensation instantly made you arch your back and jolt away from him, but he was quick to wrap his hands and arms under your thighs and over your hips, forcing you closer.

As he pulls you closer, his long wet tongue peeks out from his mouth and licks a broad stripe up your cunt, tasting just how much you missed him. With each lick, he was lapping up at your juices like a man starved, moaning at the way your slick coated his tongue. 

Your lips were parted in a high pitched mewl, and you squeezed his head tighter with your legs. It made him dizzy, being suffocated by your shaking thighs and your gushing pussy, and he couldn’t have asked to be anywhere better. 

The wet muscle between your folds was pistoning in and out of you like heavy machinery, working you just the way you needed. You could feel your cunt contracting around him, further gushing your arousal on his tongue. 

Spencer was breathlessly moaning into your core, not being able to contain it. He was agonizingly hard in his pants, and it took everything in him to pry himself away from you. When he does, he deals one last slow, tortuous lick up your folds, before licking his lips and backing away. 

You look up at him with pleading eyes, and he was already working on lifting you from the couch, quickly making his way into the hallway and where he knew your bedroom was.

You could feel your still soaked cunt rubbing against the silky fabric of his shirt, and couldn't help but grind your hips down against it. You had been so touch starved, that even this tiny bit of satisfaction made your breath catch in your throat.

He gently laid you down on the bed, making sure your head was rested against a pillow, before he practically tore the buttons off his shirt trying to take it off. And his pants were no different, the leather of his belt slid against the fabric of his dress pants, and as soon as you heard a small clank of metal against your floor, his pants followed suit. 

When he was fully undressed, and crawled over your body until he was caging you underneath him, and the sight of his slightly sweaty hair falling over his face made your chest heavy with emotion. 

Spencer leans down to kiss a line from your chin to your jaw, before stopping at your ear and lowly whispering into it. 

“Think you can let me take care of you again, like old times?” 

And it’s almost like his voice has put you under a trance, because before he can even finish, you’re nodding. It didn’t matter what he asked of you, you’d always say yes. 

He lifts himself away from you with a small mirrored nod, before hoisting you by your waist and flipping your pliant body around, and propping a pillow under your stomach and hips.

The cool material pressed against your sweat sheened skin made you sigh, and his rough hands traced over the curves of your hips and ass like he was trying to relive all the nights that he used to have you like this; plush ass bent over in front of him, soaked cunt begging for attention, spread legs practically inviting him between them. 

He swallows at the memories, and has a hard time convincing himself this is actually happening again. But he doesn’t dwell on it for too long, whether or not you’re really in front of him, or he’s just dreaming again, he can’t leave you like this. He loves you too much. 

Trembling hands find the heavy bobbing length of his cock, and he grabs himself at the base, shakily squeezing in order to urge himself to not cum immediately. You deserved better than that. You deserved so much better than everything he could give you, and he promised himself he’d somehow redeem himself. 

There wasn’t a better time to start than now, he thinks to himself as he tilts his hips forward to rub the leaking tip of his member against the silky folds of your cunt. And thank goodness he’s kneeling, because the second he felt soft, wet flesh against him, he would’ve collapsed. 

“G-God.. Missed this..”

You lift your head slightly from where it’s pressed against the pillow, and look back at him with a lazy smile. Your voice is slighted muffled against the fabric, but he understands you.

“Didn’t get laid over the summer, Spence?” 

You lift your ass higher, arching your back further so he would get the memo to fuck you already, and with a shake of his head and the cant of his hips, he’s easing himself inside of you, inch by inch. 

“N-No.. Was always yours, love.”

The smile slowly falls from your face and you turn back around to bury your face in the pillow, trying to play it off with a pleasured sigh. 

The two of you had stayed loyal to one another, despite everything. The thought made your heart swell and your cunt clench. He was unmistakably yours, and he always would be, no matter what. 

The squeeze of your hole around him forced him inside of you quicker than he had planned on, and he had to bite his lip, breaking skin, to stop himself from finishing right there and then. He grunted as he tried to regain control over himself, and pushed himself the rest of the way inside of you.

When he was buried to the hilt inside of you, your eyes rolled back into your skull and you bit at the pillow to stop yourself from screaming. He filled you so perfectly, just as he used to. It felt right, like he belonged nowhere else but entirely swallowed by your cunt. 

Spencer mutters out a few curses to himself before he’s draping himself over your body, pressing his firm chest against your damp back. His mouth is right by your ear, and you move your head to the side a bit to hear him better. 

And hear him better you definitely do. You can feel the heave of his chest as he breathlessly begins to withdraw his cock from inside of you. The rub of his veiny, long length dragging along your soft walls had you cursing like a sailor. 

As his breaths and moans quicken, so does the shove of his hips against your ass. He was so deep inside of you it was a miracle he was even able to pull himself out of you, but he managed to do it just fine. There were no complaints from you whatsoever as you felt him imprint the image of his tip right against your spot with every thrust he dealt to you. 

Your hands were planted out in front of you, gripping at the fabric of the comforter when his own came and fully encompassed them. Spencer intertwined your fingers together as the visceral sound of your pussy sucking him deeper and deeper filled your ears. 

Every time he humped into you, your clit brushed against the pillow, and it only made your cries of pleasure grow louder. The friction was dizzying, and you unknowingly clench around him impossibly tighter. 

And he just about loses his mind at that moment. When he’s sucked flush against your body, he goes cross eyed and squeezes your hands in his, as if trying to ground himself. A guttural groan leaves him and it’s a few more moments before he’s panting in your ear as he starts to move once more. 

He pulled back his hips to let his cock slide halfway out of you, before forcing himself back into that tight drenched cunt of yours. You can feel the spurt of arousal that leaks out of you at the force of his thrust, and you writhed at the feeling. 

Your body shakes underneath his as the combined feeling of grinding yourself down against the pillow and how deliciously his length abused your cervix and puffy folds drives you mad. You were gasping for air, trading your desperate moans and whines for a chance at breathing.  

“Sp-Spence.. Baby–please.” 

There wasn’t one single thought in your brain that knew what you were begging for, but somehow, Spencer knew exactly what to give you.

“L-Love you so much, sweet thing..” 

He moans out to you, then he leans down unbelievably closer to you. He lets go of one of your hands to wrap his own around your neck, grabbing at your throat as gently as he can to urge your face up to kiss him. 

It’s a little hard to catch his lips with yours, as with each plow into you sent your body forward, along with how heavily he was breathing. But when you do, the two of you seal your lips together in a passionate, burning kiss. 

His grip around your throat tightens a bit, and it’s enough to entirely set you off the edge. With one more ground of your hips against the pillow, and one more stamp of his cock against that little spongy spot inside of you, you’re suddenly soaking everything around you. 

The wet noise of your release is all you and him can hear, as you’re spraying your arousal all over his hips, his cock, your thighs, and those poor sheets underneath the two of you. Your eyes cross almost comically at the feeling of your orgasm rushing through you, and Spencer is doing no better.  

As he feels you squirt all over him, he curses into your ear and his entire body goes rigid. His hips still and he pushes himself as deep as he can possibly get before dumping everything he’s worth right into your soaked velvet core, sending ribbon after ribbon of his cum right against your cervix. 

“F-Fuck.. Fuck.. fuck..” 

All you can think about is how full you are. His cock is miraculously still hard inside of you, even though he’s emptied everything he’s got into you, and his thick cum is practically fighting for any room left you’ve got inside you. 

Wet. Wet would be the only word to describe the scene you’ve found yourself in. Your body goes limp against the soaked bed, and his sweat drenched body finds itself at the same fate as he collapses against you. The hand around your throat loosens and snakes its way back to your lonely hand, intertwining them once again. 

The both of you are panting against each other's faces for god knows how long, and neither of you have moved a muscle. You can feel his cum dripping out of you, running down the expanse of your thighs to join the puddles of your own arousal that pool against the bed. 

With a groan, he slowly pulled out of you, and it was like pulling the plug to a well, because the second his cock left your hole, a gush of a mixture of your arousals flowed out of you.

He chuckles at the sight, while you just moan softly. Spencer lays down right next to you and pulls your body against his, so you’re chest to chest. He reaches to move your sweaty hair out of your face, pressing a warm kiss against your sticky cheek. When he speaks, his voice is strained and you wouldn’t be surprised if he had lost his voice. 

“You know, he was talking about you during class today..” 

The slight rasp and squeak in his voice is problematically attractive to you, but you don’t think you could deal with another orgasm after flooding your own bed. 

You shake your head and groan softly at his words. 

“Oh god, what’d he say?” 

“He kept saying to everyone, ‘Mr.Reid is Mommy’s boyfriend!’” 

The tone in his voice heightens as he tries his best to imitate your son's words. You groan again and close your eyes. 

“And I’m guessing you didn’t say anything to him about it?” 

Your voice is strained and laced with faux annoyance, but he sees right through it. Spencer huffs out a small laugh and presses a kiss to your forehead. With the arm that’s holding you against him, he squeezes your shoulders lightly, as if to tease you. 

“Course I didn’t, can’t embarrass him like that..” 

Rolling your eyes, you sigh and he pulls you closer to him as you shake your head.  

“You’re the worst, I hope you know.” Your tone is playful and teasing, but you can feel yourself relaxing in his hold, allowing yourself to savor the moment for the time being. 

“Maybe, but at least I’m ‘Mommy’s boyfriend’ again..” 

[graceloveswolves]

Attempting To Escape Yandere Bucky Barnes Would Include...

Honestly, he's probably one of the easier Yandere's to escape from.

You've escaped from him a few dozens of time.

But he's Bucky, a highly trained assassin, he finds you every.single.time.

The longest you've been away from him was a couple of hours.

He doesn't like fighting or any altercations, especially from a his love.

He is already pretty lenient on you to begin with, just trying to get you to like him so you feel better/safer with him.

And so he can stop worrying about the entire situation.

He doesn't try to intimidate you in any means, the last thing he wants is you to be terrified of him.

Although he doesn't let you push him around, he will put his foot down and let you know he is serious and that you will never be with anyone but him.

Most of the time he already knows when you plan on escaping.

The trick to escaping him would to be nice to him, act like you trust him and start warming up to him, then wait for him to let his guard down

The moment he lets you have the slightest bit of freedom, RUN.

He would be very hurt, but not surprised.

He'd obviously have no trouble finding you.

But when you put up a fight when he catches you is when he really struggles.

He'll let you hit, kick, punch, bite, spit on him all you want as he drags you away from public sight.

You can say the most vile things to him as he takes you back to your shared house, he will agree with you.

Will probably low key cry about it later when he's by himself.

No matter how much you act up, he won't punish you harshly.

Man-handling you and chaining you to a bedpost is as far as punishing goes with Bucky.

He will accept any apology, but to make sure to give you twice as much.

Still feeds you, and gives you anything you want aside from freedom.

Rinse. Repeat.

He keeps letting you try, hoping you'll eventually get tired and just accept your fate with him.

Let's you have your space and privacy, and lets you run your mouth as much as you want and vent your anger out.

It's pointless though, he never responds unless he has a valid answer.

But he notice that just makes you angrier so he keeps his comments to himself.

Sometimes he will chain you to the living room couch and make you watch movies with him.

Or when he knows he won't have any distractions, he will let you sit freely on the couch.

But obviously he sets some rules.

In order to stay unchained you have to be in the same room as him within his sight at all times or they go back on.

Pull down gates all over the house.

He'll lock the hallway gate at night and let you roam between your bedroom, his bedroom, and the bathroom.

But he secretly hopes one day you'll lay down in his with him.

If you want something sometimes you will.

Whatever it was, you'd have it the next morning.

He has no problem calling you out when he sees you snooping or trying to find ways to escape.

"You do know I'm not that stupid, right."

"You know I can see you from right here right?"

"Now why am I going to say no to that?"

"Give. It. Now."

"Now see that is exactly why you have to be chained."

"Nope. Chains going back on."

"Hey!"

Has alarms set everywhere.

Once Bucky accidentally set one off at night, disarming it instantly and went to bed, upset that he probably woke you.

He forgot to arm it again and you realized after he went to bed and got out that night.

He walked in your room with a plate of waffles the next morning and about passed out when he realized what he forgot to do.

In total denial at first.

Really thought he had lost you for good.

Had Steve and Sam help him look for you.

You had no idea what Steve looked like, so when he ran into you it didn't raise any alarms.

You just wanted to get as far away as fast as you could

so when this random guy offered you a ride out of town you were in his car in a heartbeat.

You didn't know where you were so you didn't even know he was driving you straight back to Bucky's.

Bucky's place looked a lot different at night in the pitch black.

The random dude offered you to stay at his house.

You rejected, wanting to keep moving until you were at least three states away.

He then pulled up into a driveway and roughly yanked you out of the car and into the house, nowhere as gentle as Bucky was with you.

Once he threw you in, you were actually relieved to see Bucky and have clarity that this stranger wasn't going to kill you.

"Oh thank god. Wait WHAT!"

The only time Bucky has ever yelled at you.

He felt really bad afterwards but didn't apologize.

Steve still never lets you live it down.

[nothomegal]

"My beloved monster"

(Pyramid Head x GN Reader)

Summary: There are always limitations for someting, and when these affect your ability to show love, it becomes a huge deal, so big that it's crushing... Devastating actually. But love itself is a weird thing. It may not break down said limitations. But maybe, it can make you accept and find your own ways to love instead?...

Warnings: a bit angsty at the begining (but lots of love at the end!)

Word Count: 2.1k

(Y/N) looks at their monster, concern filling their chest as they take in his uncannily still form. Since the moment they woke up they knew something was wrong, because one; they were laying on a mattress instead of their lover's body. And two, because Pyra seemed troubled, he looked so unnaturally dull and gloomy…

His helmet positioned lower than usual, as if his gaze is constantly down, his shoulders slump, his overall posture hunched as if something heavy is dragging his body down…

Is he… Is he sad?

This possible explanation both concerned and intrigued (Y/N). They are aware that Pyra’s feelings and mind don’t exactly work like human's, in occasions it feels like he’s being guided by instincts rather than thoughts (especially when things get intimate). But right now it seems like he's experiencing something big, big enough to send him into this wretched state.

With a sigh, (Y/N) stands up from the matress and slowly makes their way towards the beast, their steps careful and a tag hesitant since they had no idea what to expect.

—"Pyra?... Are you alright big guy?"— you ask, concern lingering in your tone.

But the monster didn't move or made any noise of acknowledgment, which obviously made (Y/N) frown. They step even closer, and still no reaction.

—"Did I do something wrong?..."— you ask despite knowing well that you didn't, but you still felt the need to apologize. —"If so I'm very sorry. If you need time alone then I'll leave- "—

A deep low growl was all it took to shut them up. (Y/N) stiffed in their place as they wait to see what will happen next. But instead of witnessing something volent, Pyra only tilted his helmet evel lower, appearing even more upset whith whatever is bothering him.

This image of him was enough for (Y/N) to collect the courage to move again, making their way to their lover's sitting form. This time however, they don't speak or ask anything, instead they carefully place their hand on his large shoulder and let it stay there for a while.

When there was still no reaction, they began to slowly caress his skin. Hand slowly traveling from his big arm to his broad back, which seemed to do the job in soothing him judging by the way his muscles began to relax under their touch. That until their hand traveled to his helmet, and the second it made contact with the metallic surface, a noise nearly resempling a roar errupted from it, causing (Y/N) to recoil violently almost as if their hand got burned.

They stay frozen, clutching their hand tightly and close to their chest as they observe Pyra, feeling both sad that they aren't able to help him and afraid that they may pushed their luck too far.

And to make things worse, their fear seemed to upset the beast even further, because soon another even angrier and louder roar errupted from the monster as he grabs the enges of his helmet tightly. This made (Y/N) even more afraid, but no longer for themselves, but for Pyra.

What is going on?! Is he in pain? Does his head hurt? Why is he so angry all of the sudden? Why...

Why does it look like he wants to rip his helmet off?...

Carefully and slowly, (Y/N) makes their way back to their lover. Movements wary and cautious, like they're in front of some wild animal.

When close enough, they notice something with the corner of their eye. It's a book, one they accidentaly stumble upon somewhere and been reading time to time. It wasn't anything special, just an classic old romance whith a lot of text and the only picture being the cover, which portraited the two protagonists being in each other's embrace and pressing their foreheads together in a loving and affectionate manner.

Oh... OH.

(Y/N)'s head snaps towards their lover, a frown placed on their face at the sight of his miserable form that was still holding his helmet and growling angrily, hatefully, at it.

—"Pyra..."— you call out softly as you step closer. —"Hey."—

They place their hands on top of his larger ones, making the beast stop fidgeting in place and stay completely still again.

—"Is that why you're upset?..."— you ask, voice gentle.

At first the beast does nothing. But when (Y/N) squeezed his hands slightly, that's when a metallic noise was made, which was something in between of metal scraping and a whine. It was new noise, noise that expressed nothing but misery.

But who wouldn't be upset after realizing how little one can do with their loved one while looking like this? A monster with no face, created with the sole purpose to spread pain upon others and drag them through eternal punishment. Pyramid Head never was supposed to love, he never was supposed to care for anything or anyone, only hunt and execute. But after (Y/N) came into this place... Just tell me, how couldn't he want more of them? How couldn't he desire to keep them? How couldn't he crave to have them close and feel their soft warm body against his? To feel excitement whenever they speak, the gentle tone of their voice, the sweet things they say about a creature like him... To fall further for them at the sensation of their soft lips on his damaged scarred skin, a gesture they made to tell him just how much he means to them withouth the need to use words...

(Y/N) can do so many things to show the love, affection and respect they have for him. Of course he tries to show them his desire for them too, but he can do so little... And that's just devastating. No matter how much noises he makes, no matter how carefully he tries to nuzzle his helmet against them... It will never resemble anything that another human could do to show love, it will never feel as sencere as what (Y/N) does... And it will never be possible for him to say these three words that make his inhuman heart pause and his chest squeeze in warmth whenever they leave (Y/N)'s lips...

These three words...

I love you.

After these intense seconds of dead silence passed, (Y/N) decided to take the matters in their hands and try again.

Slowly they slide their hands off of his and into his helmet. And this time the beast didn't pull away or made a sound, he just sat there in complete stillness.

—"I understand that we cannot do certain things..."— you say as you step closer. —"But do you think I care?"—

As they speak in a gentle voice, they run their hands along the metallic surface, caressing it carefully.

—"When I say 'I love you', I mean I love you, whole."— you smile as you say that. —"Head and everything included. I love you whole Pyra."—

Their words seemed to slowly break him, as another of these strange whines was emited. His hand slid off his helmet and placed on (Y/N)'s hips. For a second they thought he would push them away, but he doesn't, he simply keeps his hands on them.

Suddenly, (Y/N) stopped their caresses. Wich understandably caused Pyra's grip on them to tighten, as if to prevent they pull away from him. But of course, that's not something a deranged person like (Y/N) would do, instead they lean forward and wrap their arms around his helmet and press themselves closer to it.

—"And I don't say it expecting you'll say it back."— you mutter softly as you resume your caresses. —"But I know when you do try to say it back. It may not be through voice, or a kiss, or any other more intimate and 'human' action. And it doesn't make it any less important, if anything, it makes it more special."—

The two of them remain like this for a while. I probably looked so weird to embrace Pyra's helmet like that, but non of them seemed to mind it.

With a soft hum, (Y/N) pulls back just a bit and presses their forehead against the metallic surface.

—"Look, we can do that too."— you say playfully. —"Just like in the book's cover!"—

It was an immature and a cheap thing to do, (Y/N) knows it. But their efforts were recieved positively anyways judging by the soft rumble that was emited from the monster and the small careful tilt he did with his head to press it further against theirs.

However, this time (Y/N) didn't remain still for too long. Their arms soon unwrapped and began to travel down until their hands slipped underneath the beast's helmet. The second their fingers made contact with the soft and slimy flesh, a small shiver run through the monster's body.

—"Well, I know this is not something I could do with another human... But do I care? Absolutely not!"— you chuckle as you start to gently scratch the fleshy mass. —"And the fact that you even allow me to touch you there already tells me how much trust you have in me. See? No extra words or actions needed for me to understand how big of a deal it is."—

Their voice and scratches were soon recieved with the well known low rumbling, that was so similar to a deep purr. Pyra's hands slowly began to slide off their form as his body relaxed with each second. (Y/N) couldn't help but to childishly grin at his state, he looked so happy, almost like a cat recieving a good scratch.

They were about to tell more things, but the beast decided it was enough reassurance and that it's time for him to take action.

(Y/N) let out a surprised yelp when their body was suddenly dragged down by a great force and slammed against a solid torso. It all happened so fast that it took them a couple of seconds to process what just happened. The embrace was tight, keeping them caged in the beast's arms, so closely that it was almost suffocating...

Any normal person would freak out at that, too concerned about the wellbeing of their spine. But (Y/N)? Nah.

They let a small yet joyful laught as they attempted to wrap their arms around Pyra's waist, though due to their limited mobility and his huge size it was quite a task. Nevertheless, their attempts were appreciated anyways, and the amused rumple was a proof of it.

The monster curls his larger body around his human a bit more, holding them tightly and closely. So closely that he could feel their heartbeat, heartbeat that was slow and perfectly rhythmic, indicating just how calm and content (Y/N) was in his arms, trusting him completely and totally unafraid of his monstrous strength.

It was unclear how long they've been holding each other like that. It could be minutes, it could be hours... But what was clear for both of them, was that they didn't want to let go of each other, not now, not anytime soon.

Until...

—"Hey Pyra, one last thing."— you suddenly say.

Their sentence was responded by a quizical rumble.

—"Can you stick out your tongue for a second?"—

At first there is no reaction, as if Pyra was caught off guard with this seemingly random request. Nevertheless, he lose his grip on them just enough to allow his human to lean back. And as they do so, the pink muscle was already sticking out of the corner of his helmet and curiously wiggling in place.

(Y/N) smiles and gently grabs the tongue with both hands, slowly pulling it closer to them. They silently observe it for a comple of seconds, before bringing it right to their lips and giving a small kiss. Yes, it felt weird, maybe disgusting for some. But not for (Y/N).

After that sweet gesture they glance at their lover, who was completely frozen in place, even his tongue was no longer wiggling.

—"Look, we just kissed!"— you announce with a cheerful laugh. —"Y'know, maybe I was wrong. Maybe there aren't as many limitations as we thought. Sure, some methods are weird and all... But doesn't it feel more special? More like... Ours?"—

The monster remains unresponsive for a while, either thinking or just staring at their little naive form. Whatever the case it, their genuine expression of joy and warmth was enough to melt away whatever bits of doubt their lover had, and the shy wiggling of his tongue towards their lips was a clear demonstration of that.

After sharing some more 'kisses', (Y/N) was soon pulled back into this suffocating embrace again. And this time, it wasn't just desperate...

It was also warm, affectionate, intimate... Absolutelly everything about this embrace screamed one message and one message only, which combined with the soft purrs and noises coming from the beast, was much more clear...

I love you.

[semisolidmind]

So, in your college au, assuming catnap does end up murdering y/n, why? for what reason would the prototype ask for y/n's execution?, also how would dogday and the others feel? does dogday ever find out who murdered y/n or if he was even murdered? are they just reported missing? does catnap get away with it?, and if he doesn't and dogday ends up finding out, what's his reaction towards his brother's actions? Sorry if this was long I got questions and they need answers😭

ive been thinking about it, and i think that the prototype (which is a demonic entity in this au) wouldn't really have a good reason to command catnap kill y/n.

y/n is good to catnap. you'll see after i finally draw him, but cat is skinny. mans forgets to feed himself, and the red smoke drug throws his mindfulness and metabolism all outta wack. y/n, good friend that they are, reminds catnap to eat. they'll bring him food that they make. they let him "steal" food from their plate at lunch time. (dogday, being a good brother, does these things too, but it's kinda his job so it doesn't make as big of an impact).

the "angel" is keeping his executioner functioning when he can't, so the prototype shouldn't have a reason to want them dead. unless, perhaps, he thought that they were making the executioner soft. that's not the case (he does his job just fine regardless of any growing attachments), but if it were and catnap was slacking...

the prototype would take over. he'd have his acolytes send catnap a very high dosage of the red smoke drug, allowing the demon to take hold of him fully. catnap would black out.

the next morning, he startles awake in bed to the sound of his brother's cry of anguish. he goes into the kitchen to see dogday clutching his phone to one ear, hunched over and crying. the canid can't speak through his tears for a long while. catnap stands awkwardly, waiting for him to speak as the dread creeps up his spine.

catnap's heart stops with dogday's stuttered admission of what has him so upset; y/n is dead. the police found them this morning.

the feline says nothing, does nothing, but feels the sting in his eyes, tears on his face, and the impact of his brother's arms solidly embracing him.

why...why would the prototype do this? there was no reason to kill the angel, they hadn't done anything wrong, they weren't in the way, hadn't crossed him, there shouldn't have...

he doesn't understand.

when he goes to the bathroom later to freshen up, catnap notices the small flecks of blood under his claws. he feels like throwing up.

but he doesn't. he washes the blood away, and leaves the bathroom.

catnap remains as silent as he always has. he says nothing when he and dogday are inevitably questioned by the police (as two people who were close to y/n), the grief (and the prototype's voice) rendering him unable to even write out a response. they let him go, accepting his alibi. he was home all evening, of course.

he attends the funeral in a daze. he stands and watches the casket be lowered into the ground, far away from his body. he can still feel the fog of the prototype's influence hovering in the back of his mind.

for the first time in a long time, catnap's faith in his god is shaken.

———

dogday is never the same after y/n's death. the light in his eyes is gone. after the funeral, he isolates himself, only leaving to attend class and complete errands. he barely speaks to his friends, though they continue to visit him and offer their support.

eventually, each of the critters is murdered by catnap at the behest of the prototype. these murders are completed by a much colder and less caring catnap, who, after y/n's death, has no mercy left to spare (the prototype takes advantage of his vessels' grief to take further control of him).

dogday's reaction to each death becomes angrier and angrier.

he's wanted to find the killer ever since the string of murders started, but now he's searching with a single-minded purpose.

he gets better at wielding a pistol, better at wielding a hunting knife...he takes self defense and fighting classes. dogday slowly turns himself into a weapon.

dogday finally figures out where the cult is hiding. an abandoned mine system in a nature reserve a short drive away from town, converted into a "holy site" and the place where the cult sacrifices their victims. he drives out there to confront their executioner.

when he finds out that it's catnap, his own little brother...it's too late for sentimentality. his friends are gone. the love of his life is gone. countless others have lost their lives to this... this thing wearing his brother's skin.

at this point, the prototype has almost fully possessed catnap. the transference into the felines' body is almost complete, and during this time he is most vulnerable...but still incredibly powerful.

the fight between the dog and cat is climactic and bloody. a clash of claws, knives, and a struggle for dogday's gun. the forest floor beneath the struggle is spattered with blood, both men covered in open wounds.

it's a close battle, but catnap, despite being nearly fully under the prototype's influence, breaks the hold long enough to allow himself to be killed.

it's the least he can do, after all the trouble he's caused.

dogday pulls the trigger. a clean shot through the heart. killing catnap kills the prototype.

dogday glares down at the body that once housed his little brother. there is nothing of him in the battered corpse before him now... aside from the small, satisfied smile on his muzzle.

dogday finally allows himself to break down. he sobs over the many great losses he's suffered. but...but he has to get out of there. the cult members will be there any minute, and he can't be there when they do. he calls from a campsite phone booth to report catnap's body, and leaves it in the woods.

dogday does his best to recover.

months pass. with their god dead, activity from the cult peters out.

[yeyinde]

lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him.  (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met. 

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really. 

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with. 

Stupid. 

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine. 

Because maybe you are, too. 

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent. 

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him. 

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you. 

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him. 

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married. 

And where does that leave you? 

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber. 

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both. 

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar. 

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet. 

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight. 

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush. 

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways. 

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape. 

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore. 

Moving on. Moving forward. 

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent. 

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this. 

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him. 

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness. 

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location. 

You send him your pin. 

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way. 

You met Kyle Garrick at university. 

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre. 

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met. 

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap. 

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care. 

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed. 

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth. 

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?" 

And that was that. 

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them. 

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him. 

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him. 

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain. 

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart. 

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square. 

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots. 

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring. 

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner. 

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots. 

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes. 

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest. 

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it." 

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you." 

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult. 

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes." 

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid." 

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it." 

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought. 

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot. 

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips. 

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain. 

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks. 

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all. 

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you. 

Except—

It isn’t. 

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes. 

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know? 

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips. 

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort? 

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him. 

He’d know, he said. 

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic. 

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around. 

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement. 

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken. 

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison. 

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat. 

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet. 

He seems to understand. 

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here." 

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance. 

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him. 

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it. 

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do. 

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area." 

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe." 

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—" 

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat. 

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame. 

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold? 

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state. 

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish. 

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back. 

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy). 

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making. 

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away. 

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign. 

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now. 

Because you do. 

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts. 

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too. 

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin. 

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences. 

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same. 

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam. 

And oh. 

Oh. 

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing. 

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it. 

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it. 

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always. 

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him. 

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun. 

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. 

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free. 

Confessing goes like this: 

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears. 

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands. 

"...and that's basically it." 

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you. 

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all. 

You want it. Want him. 

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam. 

But he isn't. 

He's here with you. Still. Still. 

"I just—," you say, or try to. 

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth. 

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated. 

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation. 

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence. 

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin. 

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain. 

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take. 

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air. 

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you. 

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind. 

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox. 

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke. 

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable. 

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames. 

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown. 

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home. 

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all. 

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it. 

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this. 

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration. 

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two. 

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food. 

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along. 

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling. 

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know? 

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

[thecapricunt1616]

NURSE!!! NURSE!!! SHE BROKE OUT OF HER CAGE TO POST MORE- Dad!Carmy brainrot for you all 😉🫶

— so I Imagine him getting a call in the middle of the night, you’re heavily pregnant with your third. His Apple Watch thankfully woke him (you’d be worried for him to get a call so late). He gets up without waking you going into the living room and answering to hear your teen daughters watery voice at the end of the line and she’s all “Daddy promise you won’t be mad at me” (more below)

He’s immediately grabbing his keys, putting on his shoes and brown plaid coat that he’s had longer than she’d been alive, or then he’d even been knowing you for that matter - his heart thumping in his chest and throat tightening. “Sweetheart why aren’t you home right now?! are you safe? Tell me wha’s wrong- what happened- I won’t be upset honey” he assured her, his stomach clenching at the thought of her hurt.

“P-paisley wanted me to go t’this party with her and - and the police came daddy and she left me there alone- and I got arrested. Come get me I don’t wanna die in hereeee” she sobbed dramatically. He sighed gratefully, starting the car.

“You aren’t going to die princess. Give me 20 minutes mm? And we can talk ‘bout y’punishment w’mommy t’morrow” he said and she huffs

“You’re gonna snitch on me T’mommy?! Daddy you’re being so unfair! “ she whined

He chuckled a bit, “I’m bein’ very fair. I love you babygirl I’ll s’ya soon” he said and hung up. He knew if he’d have woken you, you would have freaked out and panicked at the thought of your little girl drunk and scared and alone. Considering how far along you were currently the stress could most definitely cause early labor and he did not want to deal with that tonight.

He’d make it to the police station fast bc ofc when he was picking a home for his family it would be super close to one for safety reasons and when he walked in and saw his baby sitting in a holding cell with other adults being held on misdemeanor charges, his heart would break.

She would be curled into herself on the bench, knees flush to her chest hugging herself, cheeks tear stained, big blue doe-like eyes puffy and red with thick tears that were still falling. He wanted to pick her up like she was 2 again - even though the top of her head hit his shoulder now, and cradle her like the baby he couldn’t help but see any time he looked at her.

“Oh princess” he said softly and she looks up, quickly standing up and she couldn’t help but burst in to sobs as relief washed over her when she finally saw her dad, who had never let her down from the day she was born - he was always there for her, as were you, but Carmy was always softer on the kids then you were because his dad never showed any of his siblings softness, so he wanted to be sure the kids always trusted him in that way

“Daddy you came! I’m so scared please please I’ll never do it again please get me out of here dad I’m so sorry I’m so so sorry daddy” she broke down and he felt tears pushing at the back of his eyes he could only swallow back because they were in public.

“You- hey-“ he snaps his fingers and the cop standing outside the holding cell door finally acknowledges him “I’m her fuckin father- let ‘er out. Now.” He said annoyed with the man’s lack of attention for his own job.

“She’s unable to be released until her fine is paid” he said and shrugged “it’s the law”

Carmen dug the stupid reciept paper he’d shoved in his pocket that he’d paid the front clerk when he got here, pushing it to his chest “open the fucking door, jagoff. Shes 16 the fuck is wrong with you she’s a baby” he said angrier, voice getting louder.

“Sir I’m gonna need you to calm down.” He said and Carmen rolled his eyes, 2 words he hated hearing even more than anything when put together.

“Look at the fucking paper. And let my daughter go” he snapped, holding his baby’s hand through the bars gently and rubbing a soothing thumb over her knuckles, she was shaking like a leaf.

“Mmm” the man grumbled, opening up the door and she rushed into Carmen’s arms. He kisses the top of her head tenderly, wrapping her in a tight bear hug.

“Y’never allowed t’scare me like that again angel girl” he mumbled into her hair, breathing in her scent that he could pick out even in his sleep as his baby girl.

“I’m sorry daddy I’m so so sorry” she mumbled over and over, tears soaking his shirt. He hushed her how he did when she was just a baby and rubbed her back soothingly.

“S’okay babygirl I think y’learned y’lesson mm? Y’think you wanna go out drinkin again before y’21?” He teased lightly and she sniffled, shaking her head lightly. He didn’t care that she was getting snot all over him, or that she was staining one of his near $80 white shirts with her mascara and eyeliner she’d gotten with a Ulta gift card ‘Santa’ had gotten her, since Carmen couldn’t bare the fact his baby girl was growing up.

“No- no daddy I promise. I promise I’ll never do it ever again. Please don’t tell mommy” she pleads and looks up at him with big watery eyes. He carefully thumbed away the large rings of black under her eyes and cups her face tenderly.

“Sweetheart I am not in control of what mommy does. You know this, and I can’t lie to mommy. Are you asking me t’lie t’mommy? M’already riskin’ my spot in bed by not waking her up t’tell her ‘bout this” He asked sternly, she knew that lies were a big boundary in your family - they just hurt people unless they were ‘happy lies’ aka surprises like gifts or sweet things, but withholding information from each other in fear of making someone upset was a big no no in your house.

She huffed annoyed, lip quivering and she nuzzled back into his chest “unfair. Mommy is gonna ground me forever” she whined.

“Mm - maybe she should ground you. What the hell is this outfit? She’s not gonna be happy ‘bout this, y’gonna get sick” he tells her. She was in nothing but a tank top dress, flimsy nylons, and a half cardigan. He wraps his jacket around her shoulders as they walk out to the car, of course he couldn’t care less about freezing his ass off because his baby needed to be warm even if it was a short walk to his SUV.

“It’s cute dad and m’not gonna get sick! All the girls were wearing dresses like this!” She snapped sassily as she buckled in.

“Mm cute - sure pumpkin. What were you even doin’ - what party was worth the rage of y’mother? Especially when you know she’s been in a mood lately” he asked. A mood was what he called it, you were really just overly hormonal and sore and giving birth within the next 14 days, so everything was ticking you off

“Hally Hawkins party dad. Only the coolest senior at school!! If I was the only one who wasn’t there how was I supposed to ever find a date to the winter ball next month?!” She huffed, crossing her arms

“Date?!” His eyes widen “since when did we say you could date?!” He asked quickly “you aren’t dating you- you can’t date until you’re married!” He said seriously to which she just giggled

“How am I supposed to get married if I don’t date daddy! I’m 16 now! I’m getting my license soon! I should be able to hold hands with a boy I like-“

“Hold hands?!” He exclaims “who the hell is holdin’ y’hand? No- no. No! I’m the only man that holds y’hand and it’s to help you across the street” he grips the steering wheel tighter “y’too little” he said and she whines

“Daddy I’m not little! I’m 16! You promised to stop calling me little” she pushes his hand away at a stoplight when he goes to fix the strap of her dress out of habit “daaaad!!!” She whines and he huffs

“Quit all the whinin’! Y’little as long as y’live w’me and that means that y’not dating and y’not holding hands” he pulls into your driveway, turning the lights off before as to not wake you. “And quiet comin inside- if you wake y’sister mommy is gonna be upset she’s been havin’ a hard time sleepin’ “ he opened her door, taking her purse and helping her out of the car.

“Is this mommy’s?” He holds up the purse and she takes it from him, holding it to her chest defensively.

“She never wears it anymore what- are you gonna snitch?! If you do I’ll tell her about you eating all her ice cream” she teased and headed to the door

He gasped, “you wouldn’t dare- you’d sell out y’own father?! After he just went and picked y’ass up outta the slammer. Maybe I shoulda let you stay there eh’? A night in jail may teach you some manners missy” he jokes as he unlocks the door, not seeing the kitchen light on.

“Where were you!” You were stood at the end of the hallway, fluffy robe and slippers on, hand over your bump as you stood there while nervously pacing. Carmy and your Daughter give eachother the we’ve been caught look before Carmy looks at you, as you narrow your eyes at your daughters arm adorning a very familiar looking black bag.

“Is that- red lipstick…and my purse?!”

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Rough Waters ~ P.P.

A/n: Added a little bit more than what the request asked for. Hope you like it!

Request: “Tasm!peter x male reader, where Pete and reader been having a rough time in their relationship to where Peter asks if reader wants to break up” by anon

Word Count: 1700+

MASTERLIST

"Where have you been?"

Peter frozen, mask in hand as he heard his partner's voice. He turned slowly - like a teenager caught coming home past curfew. He hesitated, analyzing their expression and body language to try to grasp whether they were anxious or angry. What time was it? He was in costume - they knew exactly where he'd been, which meant the problem was something else. Had he forgotten an anniversary or birthday? A performance? Had he stayed out too late and forgotten to message his boyfriend?

There were too many possibilties.

Y/n was especially hard to read tonight, which meant he was even more upset than usual. Peter braced himself. "Out."

That was not the right thing to say. Y/n's face turned a light shade of red as he tried very hard to keep calm and talk slowly. Calmly. "Okay. I'll give you that one." His eyes dropped to Peter's suit and for a second the most visceral rage crossed his face, before he smoothed it out again and met Peter's eyes. "I'm assuming you forgot then."

Peter shrugged, defensive. Always defensive. "I've got a lot going on Y/n, I forget."

"You forget," Y/n scoffed. The words curled from his lips like they were almost laughable, almost offensive. "I know you forget Peter. You forget, a lot."

He swallowed, wringing his mask. He felt cornered and he never responded well when he felt cornered. "What did I forget? Don't just leave it up in the air."

The calm coming from Peter seemed to make Y/n angrier. "No. I'm not going to remember everything for you. And don't you dare-" He rushed as Peter went to argue again, cutting him off before he could. "-start with me about how busy you are. I know you are busy Peter Benjamin." Ooh, middle name. This was very bad then. "If it was something I at least cared about I'd let it slide. I'm more than used to that. But May?"

His words hurt, but nothing knocked the breath out of his lungs like thinking he'd let May down. "What? Y/n you can't hold this from me, what did I forget?"

Y/n scoffed, turning away and heading further into the apartment. He seemed done with the conversation.

Peter wasn't though. He chased his boyfriend, his own anger growing. This wasn't something they could work through together - May was waiting for something from him. Y/n was holding him back from doing something for his aunt. This wasn't a small thing - this was huge. May didn't know Peter was Spider-Man. Had Y/n given him an excuse again? Was she okay? "Y/n-" He reached out, grabbing his boyfriend's arm in a desperate attempt to get him to stop.

Usually Y/n would pull away from him, spin around and start going off. Reprimand him and tell him everything and then they'd argue and after a while maybe cry and then they'd hold each other because it felt like their relationship was falling through their fingers. They did it every time anything went wrong - it was habit. Easy to play out. Every step was expected. Pre-written.

Except Y/n just stopped walking away. He froze, feet together, still looking away from Peter. It was so unexpected, so cold and far away, that it made Peter panic more than he'd ever panicked in their relationship before. He was stiff solid for a beat before he was falling forward, feet tripping to keep up as he made his way around Y/n. The man's eyes were blank. Empty. There was no anger on his face anymore, just... emptiness. He look exhausted.

"Y/n-" Peter began.

"It was May's birthday."

There was a long silence. It went on maybe even too long as Peter's will to fight suddenly left him. It was immediately gone - like a light switch turned off. He had been forgetful recently, scattered and distant. But.. surely he wouldn't forget that. Not something so important. He'd always rushed to keep himself busy. Work, Spider-Man, relationship. Or... arguing. Fighting. Had that really been every part of his life recently? Sure he did other things -

But, no. He couldn't think of a single other thing he'd done. Sleep, eat, shower, brush teeth, work, Spider-Man, come home and argue. When had arguing become part of the routine? When had the days started to blend together, every single one identical to the last? How had so much time passed without him even realizing it?

How long had they been like this?

He looked at Y/n, a horrible feeling sinking in his skin, settling in his rib cage. An ache. "We're not working anymore, are we?" He knew why Y/n didn't fight this time. Why he'd given up. There was nothing to fight for. Not when all they did was argue.

Y/n didn't even sigh, or shrug. He just sat on the bed. No hands through his hair. He didn't seem angry of frustrated or even sad. Just tired. It was more of an answer than he could have ever given with words. "We haven't worked for a very long time, Peter."

Peter sat on the other side of the bed, mask still in his hands, dangling between his legs. They sat like that for a very long time, backs to each other. It seemed silly, but he had to ask it out loud. "Do you want to break up?" His voice sounded heavy, hollow. It didn't even shock him. He realized it still hurt... but he'd seen this coming for a long time. That was why he was avoiding it, after all. He didn't want to address it. He had always been one to bury his head and pretend nothing was wrong.

This time Y/n did sigh. "Yeah." No argument. No fight. Just one, single word. It was so final, Peter didn't say anything else. He didn't even look up as the weight on the bed lifted and a few sounds here and there began to be made. A zipper, drawers opening and closing, a few doors opening and closing. Until - "You were worth it. In the end. I'm glad we got the time we did." A pause and then, "Peter?" When he didn't say anything, Y/n went silent. Then the bedroom door closed, and the apartment door opened, and then closed again.

The rest of the night was silent.

-

The daycare was loud. Peter was only here because May had asked him for a favor. Her neighbor had been caught up with something and needed someone to pick up her son. The first time had been a few months ago, and he had volunteered to pick the kid up for her as often as he could since then. It helped her out and... and...

Y/n was helping Michael - the child Peter was supposed to pick up - with his jacket. Y/n had kneeled down, and was laughing at some story Michael was telling. He looked breathtaking. All the weight from his shoulders gone, seeming to have slept very well. Brighter than before. He looked up when Peter approached, and not a lick of recognition was in his eyes. Peter thought back to the other world, with the two other Peters and the villains they'd fought together. The spell that would send everyone home and make everyone forget about Peter Parker.

Everyone.

He swallowed, forcing himself to collect himself. Y/n's eyes light up in the way they always did when he was looking at something he found wonderful. Or someone attractive. They'd seen each other from a distance so often. Y/n was usually busy with one of the other kids who favored him, a little girl with green eyes that always begged him to help her get her shoes on. Today she was with one of the other teachers though. Peter tried to dismiss the thought that Y/n might have arranged this on purpose.

"Hey little dude," he greeted Michael first, grinning as the toddler waddled up to him, hands reaching up. Peter scooped him up. Michael launched into a story about play time where they'd pretended to be Spider-Man. Peter felt his heart warm. He'd only been back from the other world for a year - and undoing his tarnished reputation had been hard work. But some people saw the old Spider-Man, and they were slowly opening up to him again. Glad to see him doing better. Some people didn't - but some people never would have in the first place, so he didn't hold it against himself too harshly.

In the middle of the story, Y/n chuckled. "Right?" Michael asked the teacher, as if remembering he was there for the first time. "You got the bad guy!"

Y/n blushed. The way Michael had been telling the story, Peter had assumed the boy had been playing Spider-Man. But, in that moment, it clicked that Y/n had been playing the hero, leaving the mischievous villain to the youth. "Spider-Man always gets the bad guy. That's what heroes do." Peter's breath caught. he hadn't heard Y/n call him a hero in a very long time. His unknowing ex looked over, suddenly sheepish "Sorry, I know- um- not a lot of people approve of Spider-Man. I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay," Peter was quick to reassure. "His mom is a fan of Spider-Man. But even if she wasn't, I wouldn't rat you out." He winked, as if they were conspirators, and he watched Y/n's face turn red. It was so easy to pick up on all their little hints and expressions - they were still so familiar to him. He hadn't forgotten a single detail of them, even after all this time. He had gone to another world, cleaned up his act, and even started therapy.

Maybe a second chance wouldn't be too out of the question. He could do it better this time.

"A trust worthy guy," Y/n mused. "Does he keep his promises?"

Peter thought on it. Y/n had said something similar the first time he had flirted with Peter too. He'd follow it up with, 'maybe you can promise me dinner then?' or something. But it was a real question - one Peter hadn't taken seriously enough the first time it was asked. "I try to."

Y/n's face light up with a smile. "Maybe you could promise we a coffee and if you succeed keeping that one, we can make a few more after that."

It was better than last time, so quickly on a better foot already. Peter smiled. "Yeah. I'd love that."

Y/n had been right the night he'd left. Peter was glad they'd met, and their love was worth all of the mess they'd gone through to experience it. This time, Peter would try harder though. This time it would work. He was sure of it.

-

Male Readers: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz @fadedver

[bunni-v1]

Cureé

Chapter 2: Strange Men Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Tw: Vil is a manipulative older brother; Idia

Info: Vil and Reader; Idia x Reader; Riddle Rosehearts x Reader; Leona Kingscholar x Reader

🍓How exciting that I got the second chapter done. It's considerably shorter, but I hope it's still worth reading. Love you all, enjoy!

Tags: @kitsun369 @bloomstruck @squidsailing @roseinbloom02

You sit quietly in your room, drenched in sweat in clothes far too small for your frame. You felt like a child waiting for a scolding. You might as well be. The anticipation of your brother's reaction to your little escapade with Epel was wearing on your mind since the guards set you back into your room.

No one was allowed to visit you, and you weren’t allowed to leave - at least, that's what you assumed the burly guards placed outside your door and windows were for. You sighed – you’d been doing that a bit too much today. 

Left alone with nothing but your thoughts and time, you decided you would ponder about what happened to you today instead of driving yourself mad with worry. 

You turned another year older and had another extravagant party where all you did was sit and watch your guests enjoy it for you. You learned your brother intended to sell your heart off to the highest bidder of jackasses in all of Twisted Wonderland. And… most importantly, you realized that you and your brother are not nearly as close as you thought.

Just how many secrets was he keeping from you? 

Did he banish you from the forest because he knew about that phantom? If he knew why didn’t he tell you about it? Why has he done nothing to stop it until now? What about all the citizens you know who frequent that forest? Was it all right for them to go in with such potential danger?

So many questions swirling in your head, you nearly forgot about the strangest thing of all—that man from the party. You hadn’t even caught his name, but he had made such a lasting impression on you. 

You took the hat he gave you off your head, examining it with curiosity. He knew so much and was so charming and sneaky at the same time. If you were a weaker person, you would’ve fallen for him in a heartbeat. 

His words still echoed in your head, how people wanted to harm you, how he wanted to see you again. You won’t lie and say it didn’t make your heart race a little.

Your door creaked open, and you looked up from the hat, fiddling with the brim of the hat. The long-awaited confrontation has come.

Vil’s face was practiced patience, the perfect queen stood in front of you. Not a hint of what he felt was leaking through his facade, but you knew he was pissed beyond words. He took his seat from the tea table and pulled it to sit across from you, resting in it as if it were a throne.

Were you a regular citizen, or were this a normal day, you would be horrified. However, you had sat with your thoughts long enough to understand you had every right to be leagues angrier than he was.

He stared you down, waiting for you to relent. When you didn’t, he sighed, shaking his head.

“This was a rebellion,” he started.

“Was it? I wasn’t sure. Thank you for letting me know, brother.” you shot back with venom dripping from every word.

“You are angry.”

“You have betrayed my trust.”

“I am doing what I must for the betterment of our people.”

“The betterment of our people includes selling me off to the dragon prince that everyone is afraid of?”

“I am not selling you off.”

“What are you doing then? Vil, he claimed I was his betrothed!”

“He is trying for your hand, as everyone else will, fairly.”

“Who is everyone else.”

He sighed again, clearly frustrated with your unwillingness to bend to him. It felt liberating to see him upset in the same way you had felt upset since your parents died.

“Leona, Riddle, Malleus, and Idia are your main contenders,” he admits, rubbing his temples, "there are a few more, but they don't stand much of a chance."

“I can’t believe you offered my hand to Leona Kingscholar. You do know he hates my guts, right?”

“And I hate him, but his family adores you, and the alliance would be beneficial.”

You groaned, burying your head in your hands, “It’s always about benefits with you isn’t it? Could you not think of what is fair and kind for me for once?”

Your brother did not respond for a long moment, and you thought that perhaps he had left, but then he wrapped you into a tight hug. He hugged you like he used to when you were both little kids, both innocent to the world around you and still afraid of the shadows on the wall and monsters under your beds. Despite all your anger and your unanswered questions, you melted into his arms and cried your heart out.

“I have not been kind or fair to you, and I apologize for failing you in such a way,” he whispered, “you can trust me, my darling. I have never done anything that wasn’t in your best interest.”

·┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆·

You did not learn much that night, or the many nights afterward. You doubted that your brother would’ve told you much about the monsters in the woods if you asked anyway. It had been weeks since your night in the woods, and things were returning to normal… sort of.

If you ignored the new presence of your new suitors wandering around the palace. Ah, and, your new guards. Courtesy of Riddle Rosehearts. Seems he wanted to get on your brother's good side early, so he sent you two of his kingdom's ‘best’ knights. If by best he meant stupidest.

Ace and Deuce were diligent but incredibly easy to rile up – especially Deuce. Ace spent most of his time trying to do just that, and Deuce always fell for the bait without fail. They were just magnets for trouble, though. ‘Trouble’ being Roseheart’s attention, of course. 

You were in the library with them at this moment, skimming through history books, attempting to find any information about what you saw in the forest. All you knew was that these creatures were fictional in the eyes of the public, but the history books could tell you something.

They weren't proving too useful.

You wondered how that mysterious man found so much information on this creature. First-hand experience, maybe? If that were the case, then shouldn’t more people be aware that these creatures are real?

You sighed, closing another dud of a book on the table. 

“‘Nother loss?” Ace asked from his seat next to you, flipping through a nonsensical fiction book.

You nodded, picking up the next one to start looking through it. You’d been at this for hours and still hadn’t gotten anywhere.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Deuce offered shyly, still not used to being friendly with royalty.

“Nah, let ‘em suffer,” Ace snarked, closing his book with a laugh.

You rolled your eyes, “It wouldn’t be so bad if I had some help.”

“We’re not helping you chase a crazy dream, Your Highness,” he teased.

“I believe you princess.” Deuce defended, though he made no effort to grab a book.

“Thank you, Deuce. It’s nice that one of my guards appreciates me and my mind.” You joked lightly, enjoying the way Deuce perked up at the praise.

“Aw, you’re such a suck-up,” Ace groaned, “seriously though, what do you think you’re gonna find in these old history books.” He snatched the book out of your hands, flipping through the pages, “This stuff is hidden, so looking in the regular books probably won’t get you anywhere.”

You sighed, slumping in your chair. He was more right than you’d like to give him credit for, and it frustrated you to no end when you were proven wrong. 

“Hey, don’t give up just yet, we can still find something if we work together,” Deuce assured squeezing your shoulder, and you gave him a tired smile. 

Instead of comforting you as well, Ace stood from his seat with a posh look on his face. Book in hand, he began reading from it in a voice that you assumed was mocking yours. He had his own way of making things easier, you supposed.

It was just what you needed too, to be poked fun at. It was making this process far less arduous. You and Deuce both laughed gleefully at his obnoxious display, so he amped it up, pretending to be more prissy and royal.

None of you heard the door opening through all the noise you were making, nor the clicking of heeled boots and clanking of metal armor until it was too late.

A voice cleared behind the three of you, and you knew it was Rosehearts by the way Deuce and Ace immediately stiffened. You sighed, turning to look at the Duke with boredom, waiting for his routine lecture. 

“I was unaware that your training taught you to mock the princess, Ace, is that what you've learned, or do I have to send you back to the kingdom for remedial lessons,” he said, scowl wrinkling up his otherwise stunning face.

“No sir!” they responded with varying levels of enthusiasm.

“So why do I keep catching you doing just that--”

Riddle's personal guards – Trey and Cater – sent you an apologetic look. You placed a hand on your hip, rolling your head back in annoyance as he continued his lecture. You felt for his people deeply. If this was the man running their country, they were doomed, and you were doomed if you had to wed him.

You weren’t sure how long he went on for, you weren’t listening at all, but it must’ve been an eternity with the way Deuce was sweating. He looked horrified, poor thing.

You would hate to upset your brother again, but you hated little tyrants who didn’t know their place more. 

“If I catch you doing this ever again I wil–” 

“Rosehearts,” you interrupted, “you forget yourself. Screaming so hard you’ve turned red in the face – this is not a good way to win my hand, you know?”

He tensed up, features confused between anger and embarrassment. 

“Ace and Deuce are my friends, and they are my guards. They are doing as I wish, and is that not why you sent them to me?” 

“I- yes. Of course Your Majesty,” though he was still red in the face, he was able to answer calmly enough. 

“Good. Now, you’ve come to the library for a reason outside of scolding my guards,” you shifted topics gracefully. “What can I help you find? I know this place like the back of my hand, so I’m happy to help.”

His face shifted to full-on embarrassment now, clearly not expecting you to handle him with as much ease as you did. In front of his own people no less. 

“I wanted to see your books on equestrians,” he admitted.

With a wave of your hand, you dismissed both sets of guards and gestured for Riddle to follow you. You examined his face carefully as you guided him toward the equestrian section. He was pretty, with delicate features except for his sharp grey eyes. If his personality weren't so horrible, you might say you were attracted to him. 

“I wasn’t aware that you liked horses, Rosehearts,” you commented curiously, trying to see what you could get out of him.

“I do. I have three girls back at home,” he answered, avoiding your eyes, “do you like horses, Your Majesty?”

“I do, but not as much as you, it seems,” you teased lightly watching his face flush, “Riding was my mother's favorite hobby, and she was teaching me before she passed, but no instructor has been nearly as good as she was, so I gave up on trying.”

He stayed quiet for a long moment, seemingly conflicted on something. You watched him curiously, dangerously intrigued by what might have him so in his head. Then, he swallowed and looked into your eyes, “I could teach you. I’m told I’m the best rider in my kingdom, and I’ve been wanting to teach some classes.”

You blinked, pausing in your steps for a moment, which he followed. You could feel his nervousness build with each second you stayed silent, but you didn’t know what to say. You hadn’t expected him to offer such a thing. Perhaps it was just a way to get in good with your brother, but you were too curious now.

You smiled, “Are you trying to make up for yelling at Ace and Deuce?”

He smiled a little back at you, “Perhaps, but I would like a chance to teach someone, and I do… want to get to know you, just a bit. We are politically inclined to get along after all.”

You laughed at that, “I suppose you are right. Then, I’ll say yes to your proposal.”

He grinned, and you found yourself grinning back at him. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, just a bit uptight.

“Ah- ahem, the books are just right here,” you said suddenly, gesturing in front of you both.

“Oh, of course, right. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Of course.”

With a nod of your head, you dismissed yourself.

·┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆·

After your little ‘incident’ in the library, you decided you’d like some fresh air. Just a break from the smell of old books and inhaling cloudfulls of dust. You dismissed Ace and Deuce from duty and made your way into the castle’s garden. Your mother had planted most of the flowers herself, and none of them had been the same since she passed. Somehow, they too seemed to lose most of their life without her.

As you walked, your mind began to wonder back to what you were trying to escape: the phantom in the forest. There was no historical record of them - none whatsoever. At least, not in your records, which meant one of these two things. 

1. They truly didn’t exist, at least not until recently. If this was the case, then the one in the forest was either a fear-filled hallucination or an exception to this rule. It couldn’t be a hallucination, since Epel and the man saw it too, so if anything it was an exception. Though, that didn’t make sense either, since the man seemed keenly aware of everything about it.

2. They had existed for a very long time - long enough to outage you, at least. It also means your brother had purposely removed all mentions of these things, which meant he didn’t want you or any of your staff to find out about it. This meant he knew far more than he was letting on, and he still didn’t quite trust you with this information.

You adjusted the brim of your hat – the one the man gave you in the forest, the look of it had grown on you, though you supposed it was a bit silly with all your fancy dresses. You hoped he would come back for it like he said he would, there was much you needed to discuss with him, and you’d like to catch his name this time.

Truthfully, you needed to speak with anyone who had some experience with magic – anyone but your brother, of course. The staff wouldn’t discuss magic with you they weren’t allowed to since magic was dangerous and Vil was insistent that you would hurt yourself by using it.

You picked up the pace of your walk, feeling frustrated at your helplessness. You were the second most powerful person in this kingdom, and thanks to your brother you could hardly do anything. You were growing sick and tired of his intrusion into your life.

A sickening crunch beneath your foot and a groan to your right halted you in your spot. Lifting your dress to see what you just stepped on, you frowned, turning to glare at the owner of the tail you just stepped on.

Leona Kingscholar greeted your glare with his own as if you were in the wrong.

“Why don’t you watch where yer goin’ mousey,” he grumbled.

“Why don’t you get out of my mother’s petunias!” you snapped back.

He growled but did as you said regardless. Seems he’d rather not sit through a whole lecture, which was smart on his part. You’d learned your lecturing skills from Vil.

“Why would you even be asleep here, you have a perfectly good room that my brother prepared for you.”

“Felt like it, and no one was stoppin’ me,” he replied, adding “Until now…”

“Aren’t you just charming?”

“Look who’s talkin’, you’ve got a mouth on you for a princess.”

“I do, to deal with the likes of you, of course.”

He rolled his eyes, stretching out his limbs in a manner so casual it was practically disrespectful. You have no idea why Vil was allowing this buffoon of a man to try for your hand, but you knew he had no chance in the first place. Leona was brash, rude, and downright lazy. Not exactly the perfect prince, and not the perfect life partner. 

His eyes scanned you with boredom, “Are we done here.”

You blinked at him, pondering something, and then smiling at him, “Actually… you’re a talented magician, aren’t you?”

“What of it?”

“You must know plenty about blot then?”

It was his turn to blink at you as if he was waiting for you to tell him your question was a joke. When you didn’t, he grinned so wide you could see his fangs, busting out in boisterous laughter. Your smile fell into a pout, confused as to what could be so funny. You were serious.

“You’re serious,” he asked between chuckles.

You nodded sternly.

He wiped at his eyes, “I knew your sorry excuse for a queen sheltered you, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

You crossed your arms, frowning, “I don’t understand what’s so funny, I’m being serious.”

“Listen mousey, I’m telling you this because I don’t like your brother, but blot isn’t real. It’s made up to scare little things like you off from using it,” he finally answered, proud as a lion would be, “Start usin’ yer head instead of listening to what that lunatic you call a ruler says all the time.”

He turned to leave at that, leaving you glaring at the petunias in front of you. Before he fully walked away, he decided to shout out, “Your hat looks awful, by the way.”

You huffed, swiping the hat off your head. This whole investigating thing was going to be far more difficult than you thought it would be. Leona confirmed that blot, and phantoms, weren’t exactly common, but he gave you a million more questions to worry about.

Examining the hat in your hands, you hoped that the mysterious man would come and visit you soon. If not for your sake, for the sake of your people. 

·┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆·

You wound up in the library once more, more frustrated than you had been before. There truly was nothing about these mysterious beasts anywhere. You’d combed over every single book over the past few weeks ten times over and still found nothing. A groan ripped its way through your mouth, echoing off the empty library walls. 

You would get nowhere with this frustration. Your only remedy was the fact that these creatures were not plenty enough to cause an immediate threat… at least, you hoped they weren't.

The door to the library creaked open, and a faint blue glow filled the dark room. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. This topic was consuming your life, wasn’t it?

The person at the door crept in, quietly muttering to themselves under their breath. Upon closer inspection, you realized it was Lord Idia of STYX. The blue fire of his hair was a dead giveaway. You knew the least about him out of all of the men crawling around your castle grounds.

You knew his parents were incredible magicians, and frequently played with death. You know that a curse had befallen him and his far kinder younger brother Ortho. And you knew he tended to slink around in darkness and avoid all socializing at all costs. So seeing him was quite a surprise.

He didn’t seem to see you, wandering around the shelves of books with a scowl on his face. You didn’t want to disturb him, you were tired and needed quiet too. You tried to stand from your seat quietly, but the legs of your chair squeaked.

The blue light flared up for an instant, and Idia whipped around to face you. He looked as though he was about to cry. You gave him an awkward smile, lifting your hands to show you were no threat.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you quickly tried to ease.

He didn’t respond, simply staying frozen and blinking at you.

“I was just leaving, I won’t bother you,” you said, softer this time.

He relaxed a bit, still keeping the frown and wide-eyed look on his face. He watched you as you gathered your things, careful and delicate as any princess should. Quietly scooching your chair back in, and moving with all the grace in your world. You figured you’d just leave like that, but he cleared his voice behind you.

“Ah, uhm, you’ve spent a lot of time in here recently,” he said nervously.

You turned to him with a polite smile, “I have, yes. I wasn’t aware you were watching me?”

He jumped, “I-I wasn’t! I just, uhm, I notice things.”

“I’m only jesting, don’t worry.”

He relaxed again. He was more jumpy than you’d expected him to be, not very fitting of a future leader. His parents had a lot of work to do if they wanted him to succeed.

“What are you researching,” he asked quietly, almost reluctantly.

He was likely trying his hand at courting you since he was one of your suitors, but he wasn’t good at it. It was charming how clumsy he was, a nice change of pace. You chose not to tease him this time.

“It’s silly,” you admit, “Leona laughed in my face earlier about it.”

He raised an eyebrow, a hunger for knowledge in his eyes. Now, that was unexpected of him. He didn’t seem to be the type to be hungry for knowledge, but maybe you judged him wrong.

“Do you… know the stories about blot, you know the fairy tales our parents would tell us about?”

He nods.

“Well,” you sighed, feeling crazy, “what if they were real.”

You expected him to laugh. To jeer and point and call you crazy, but he doesn’t. His face seems stern, and he is completely serious.

“That’s a pretty bold claim to be making with no evidence.”

You stiffened, his attitude had completely changed. Seriousness didn’t suit him, his face wasn’t built for it, which is why it was so unsettling. He didn’t break that stare on you.

“I- You’re right. I’m just going stir-crazy, being locked up in this room can get to someone,” you quickly explained, not wanting to spend a second longer here.

As you began to leave again, he muttered something that sent chills down your spine.

“You shouldn’t go digging your nose in places it doesn’t belong.”

Swallowing thickly, you gave him a polite curtsy and mumbled your understanding, quickly stepping out of the room. To think he was being shy and sweet just a few moments ago, what an odd man.

His behavior did give you answers, however. Blot clearly did exist - obviously, since you saw it. However, this proves that it's a hidden subject, and people with power - a few of them at least - knew about it in more detail than they were willing to admit.

That just meant you had a lot more searching to do, and you had to be more careful about doing it.

[danikamariewrites]

Hi! I’m in LOVE with your blog! Would you be able to write something with nessian x reader where the reader has just an awful no good day/week and maybe something small sets her off and they comfort her and calm her down? I have had a very bad week and I had a whole breakdown over dropping a pen lol and I wish they had been there to comfort me. Anyways, I hope you have an amazing day!!!

Just A Bad Day

Nessian x reader

a/n: They would be so sweet and caring, especially Cass my fav gentle giant☺️ also I’m so sorry this feels very boring/typical. I might take a break for a few days bc this slump is killing me.

warnings: slight angst

Slamming the front door an angry sigh escapes your lips. You head staright to your personal bedroom wanting space from your mates. If you saw anyone right now you might yell at them.

Not even bothering to take your boots off you flop on the bed face down. Grabbing your pillow you stuff your face into the feathery soft fabric letting out a blood curdling scream.

You screamed and screamed and screamed until there was no air left in your lungs. Until your throat burned. Throwing the pillow as hard as you could against the headboard you flop back down on the bed.

Why are people so difficult to deal with? Today made you never want to speak with the governors or the general public ever again. You don't know if you just weren't communicating properly or what. But everyone was stupid and deserves to have a bad day. Not you.

After an hour of laying in bed you decided your throat was tortured enough and that cold water was necessary. Making your way down the stairs Nesta and Cassian's mixed scents hit you. It didn't calm you or anger you. You felt nothing but the exhaustion slowly creeping into your bones.

Another sigh leaves your lips as you open the cup cabinet. Frowning, you realize the glass you want is on a higher than usual self. Not feeling like asking Cassian to get it for you you strech up on your tip toes, grasping at the edge of the shelf. As your mind wandered to Cassian's usual teasing remarks about your height you get angrier.

The glass was just out of reach. Just a hair's breadth away from your finger tip. Your nail finally catches on the glass, bringing it forward. You finally grasp it with between your fingers and pull it down.

The glass slips from between your pointer finger and thumb. Your other hand reacts thanks to your fae reflexes, landing safely in your palm. You turn on your heel a little too quickly, sending the glass flying out of your grasp. It hits the wall shattering far too loudly.

Your hands go to cover your ears instantly. Tears pricking your eyes. You try to tune out the muffled sounds of Cassian and Nesta’s worried voices followed by their footsteps. Your face quickly contorted in anger. Angry at yourself. At the fucking glass. At your mates.

Your fingers tug at your hair in frustration. Your eyes are so clouded by tears you don’t even see Cassian in front of you. He gently takes your hands in his large ones. Slightly pressing his thumbs into your palms to lessen the death grip on the roots of your hair.

“Hey,” he coos, “what’s going on sweet pea?” You don’t look at him. Keeping your eyes down so you don’t break at the look of pity on their faces. Nesta hooks a finger under your chin, pulling your face up to look at them. The sad frowns on their lips broke you. The last thing you wanted to do today was upset or disappoint your mates.

Nesta took in a sharp breath at the projection of your feelings through the bond. “Oh, sweetheart. We’re not upset with you at all.” She wraps her arms tightly around your shoulders, swaying you gently. At Nesta’s loving embrace you break down. Sobs shaking your body.

Cassian smoothed your hair talking you through your tears. “I’m sorry.” You choked out repeatedly through your sobs. After hearing enough Cassian pulls you into his arms to carry you upstairs. Sitting you in his lap you continue to cry into his chest.

Nesta finally joins she has the glass of ice water you’ve been dying for. Just like Cassian taught her Nesta began massaging the pressure point on the back of your neck. She wanted to do everything to prevent your eventual headache.

When your tears finally stopped you took deep shaky breaths. They were coming too fast making the simple task difficult. Cassian laid you flat on the sheets to give you space. “Slow down, y/n. In for five and out for five.” He began to breathe with you until you finally calmed down. “Thank you,” you whisper.

You grabbed their hands so they can hold you up. Nesta hands you the water which you immediately gulp down. The cool liquid soothing your throat. Once it was empty Nesta took it from your hand. You lean into Cassian, resting your hand against his chest. Your fingers toy with the old fabric of his shirt to ground you.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Nesta coos. You shake your head mumbling, “Just a bad day.” “Do you want to talk about it?” You sniffle and shake your head. “No. That cry was good enough, honestly.” A short humorless laugh escapes your lips. Cassian kisses the top of your head letting out a small hum in answer. “Let’s get you some dinner and relax, yeah?” You nod again. Cassian lifts you again, carrying you downstairs.

[bird-inacage]

Only Friends: Episode 6 Preview (Mew VS Ray)

Jesus Christ, the pain train will keep on chugging full steam ahead next week when it comes to Ray/Sand. Ray gets in an altercation with Mew (over Top), who proceeds to punch Ray in the face out of frustration. My jaw dropped to the floor.

There's an earlier clip where Ray is speaking to Boston and it sounds like Ray either finds out about the affair, or that Boston/Top have history. I have a feeling it's likely the latter, because Ray would be far angrier at Boston if he found about the affair. (As well as the fact we get another blow-up later between Boston and the entire group when this is revealed). Besides, knowing they had history is enough ammunition for Ray to believe that Top is untrustworthy and not deserving of Mew.

So Ray decides to approach Mew about it, probably in an attempt to warn him to distance himself from Top. However at this point, Mew's pretty loved up. Considering Ray's recent indiscretion and the fact he causes a scene (making this seem like drunken, rowdy behaviour), Mew ultimately defends and sides with Top, and sends Ray flying in the process. Ray hits the stage hard. Mew was not going easy in the slightest which left me speechless.

(*Has Mew become evil!Mew now that he doesn't wear glasses??)

Sand is also at the scene during this confrontation, and helps Ray up when he gets hit. Immediately after this is where Ray and Sand then also have their argument. This string of events makes a LOT more sense now, considering Ray's reaction.

Ray must be incredibly heartbroken and utterly devastated. He probably never thought that Mew - the person who saved his life - would one day be capable of hurting him instead (and all in a bid to defend another man - a giant, red flag of a man).

Then Sand decides to top that off with "Can you stop thinking about something else for a second? Focus on me for once, will you?" perhaps not fully realising that this is THE ABSOLUTE WORST time to ask that question. I love you Sand, but this is really not the time to make this about you. I know you're still upset from this week's episode, but please give your boyfriend a moment's respite.

This results in Ray exploding in his face, shoving Sand to the ground and storming off.

Ray's in an exceptionally heightened and raw state of mind in this scene. What he says to Sand is going to come out incredibly harshly, and he's not going to be thinking straight to consider Sand's feelings.

However, once he cools down, he's going to seriously regret it. Especially in immediate succession to hurting Sand just recently.

The aftermath is what I'm really concerned about. From Sand's perspective, everything that transpires 100% confirms Boston's bombshell, without a question of a doubt, that Ray does love Mew.

Both Ray and Sand will be in a very poor mental state after next week's episode, and I hope to god they're going to be okay.

Also - Ray should NOT be driving himself home when he's like this.

[mysticficti0n]

All my Attention part 2

warnings- swearing, fluffy/sext Tom, mentions of being cat called, romance (😏)

words- 2.7k

If you'd like to read the previous parts → All my attention series

a/n- so I am British and cannot speak any German, I speak a little French, Spanish and Italian but German- no. I also do not trust Google translate so this is gonna be like an avatar thing (if you've seen the newest one Jake says that their language just became normal or something along those lines) so in reality this is all in German, you as a reader know German but, its wrote in English... make sense? no... well. also thank you all so much for the response to the first part! I couldn't believe I woke up and saw that many likes, I was shocked, love you all 🤍

(p.s also sorry this is quite short! but I will right more soon because I am loving this so far ★)

┍━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━┑

backstory- you are the 5th member of Tokio Hotel and you always thought the love was equally platonic between you and a certain guitarist... but what if that all changed?

"Ready?"

"yeah" I spoke again getting up and waving to the rest of the band, Tom with his newly cleaned hands held the door for me and a small smile pressed onto his face, he followed me behind and directed us out the building to the now mostly empty streets as it was around 9:30pm and not many people hung out in this area of town anyways, the feeling of night air whipping at my skin calmed me, it washed me of all my thoughts for a few seconds, we began to walk to our hotel it was around a twenty minuet walk and all on flat ground so if anything we'd make it in shorter time

"can I have a smoke?" Tom asked breaking the silence for the first time, I stopped walking to grab the packet out my bag and hand him one and get one for myself, I knew I shouldn't have really had another one but after the day I had, it was necessary "thanks" he spoke letting me light it

"no problem" we began our walk again under the flickering streetlights that pierced the night, a few cars ran by and lonely workers who were leaving the offices that surrounded the streets passed us by, my eyes found the profile of the boy next to me, still in his performance clothes and his hair tied in a cap, I was on the side where I couldn't see the lip piercing and without it he looked like a baby

"doing alright there?" his voice snatched me back as he followed his words by laugh

"I'm fine" I spoke back trying to look now anywhere but him "are you doing alright?" I spoke back

"of course, never been better!" a sarcastic tone laced his voice but I knew it wasn't intended at me "you know... I will always look out for you Y/n, especially from him- its cliche but" his steps halted, I turned myself to look at him again, our eyes locked together

"its not fair that you had to do it though Tom thats the point" i spoke, removing myself from his gaze with a serious expression "I am grateful, I am, but none of it should've happened! its bullshit" i felt myself getting angrier by the second but I couldn't stop myself

"but it's not your fault, its nobodies fault but his Y/n" Tom began following me as I picked up my pace "and plus were fine, we aren't the ones who have a broken nose and maybe a rib- who knows" I ignored his quips and kept going focusing on the mismatched patterns on the street "Y/n!" he called "slow down I can't go that fast" I stopped still not facing him, I felt if I looked at him all my emotions would spill out and it couldn't happen again. I felt Tom's hand press the small of my back and I turned around to face him, fighting back tears as I saw the look in his eyes that threatened to break me "please don't be upset"

"how can I not be upset, not fucking only did I have to see my ex in the audience but...his fucking face- and why the fuck did he look sad! . then you, Bill and Georg fucked him up and...and what if Felix is right- what if it gets out 'Tokio Hotel beats fan' and what story will he fucking tell?! and it is my fault- I should've never got with him, i don't know what to fucking do with myself. the media still think me and him are together, daily I get tagged or sent pictures of me and him saying 'Y/n and Brian are so cute' or 'Y/n and Brian are so that' and it kills me! I want to scream and yes you were right Tom, I do hide my feelings and that little fucking pathetic cry I had earlier was only fucking some of it!" my voice shook as I only got louder, Tom watched, eyes analysing everything I did

"Y/n you cannot blame this all on yourself! you didn't cause it, yes you did date Brian but that isn't your fault that dick came tonight!" Toms voice matched mine "you can't seriously think that-"

"You don't fucking understand Tom! fuck you get different girls every god damn night- fuck them and leave them and you're seen as this sexy guy! you haven't been in a relationship since Savour and that didn't go well did it? so you don't get it! You'll never understand the shit I feel right now!" I screamed shoving his body away from me, he looked shocked, eyes narrowing

"And what?! yes I fuck girls but I'm fucking looking out for you and trying to understand its not my fault you are to much of a fucking bitch to actually talk to us about it!" his words caught me off guard "I want you to be okay! but all you're doing is smoking like a fucking chimney and shoving me away literally!" with that I spun on my heal and walked away from him again, I couldn't get my head straight "don't fucking walk away!" I flipped him off and herd him groan "Y/n come on!"

after that I never looked back- keeping my head down and ignored the comments random people said on the streets about my clothes and my 'pretty little face'. I finally saw the flashy lights of our hotel and pushed the door open to a friendly looking desk women clicking away at a computer

"hiya darling what can I do you for?" she spoke glaring up at me with green glasses perched near the end of her nose

"I have a room under the name Y/l/n" she nodded and typed along the keyboard

"mhm.. okay yes your luggage was dropped earlier by a huge bus with like hundreds of other stuff..." she trailed off " here is your key number 486 on the 4th floor and if you need anything don't be afraid to give us a call" the ginger lady spoke passing me my key

"thank you..." I went to walk to the lift before I saw the door open again and a panting Tom fell through "fuck" I hummed going into the metal doors of the lift

"Y/n come on... shit" he growled "hold the door" I saw him jog toward me and I stuck my arm out before the doors could close "thanks" and all I did was raise my eyebrows, the ride up to the 4th floor felt like an eternity, stood in silence besides the slight clipping of the metal shaft

'floor number 4' the intercom spoke revealing a long corridor barren bar a few plants potted by doors, I walked out closely followed by Tom who had just caught his breath, I looked at the numbers passing by until I finally saw mine near the end, I slipped my key into the hole and turned it open, the room was small but large enough to keep me for the night, one double bed, a tv, small make up desk and a bathroom with a huge mirror

"you can go now" I spoke to Tom who was standing outside my room hands in his pockets staring at me

"no" is all he answered with "we need to talk, and I mean properly talk" I shook my head

"not tonight" I saw his face soften "I just... I can't Tom"

"okay... tomorrow?"

"maybe" I spoke back to which he breathed and opened his arms calling me in for a hug- even if we had the worst argument, wanted to murder each other, we'd always hug each other it was just one of those. I walked into his arms and they curled around my hip pulling me tightly, my forehead landed into his neck to which he rested his head on top

"I love you" Tom whispered pressing a light kiss to the top of my head

"love you too"

┍━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━┑

RING RING RING

my heart stopped hearing my phone go off next to me in bed, I squinted trying to avoid the bright light that was now illuminating my room 'Mom' I sighed happily and picked the phone up holding it to my ear "hello" my voice was groggy and full of sleep but I tried to sound as awake as I could for 5:25am

"hi sunshine! how are you?" she spoke and I could feel the smile through the phone

"I'm okay, tired but all good here, how about you?"

"well we're missing you, your sister has been asking when her big sister will be home, oh darling- how are the boys? they doing good to I hope" hearing the mention of my sister warmed me, my mini me, my little Stella, she was only 2 and was just the best thing in the whole wide world to me, her cute little blonde curls that decorated her head and her bright green eyes, she was gorgeous

"ah I miss her so much, tell her soon I only have one more show and its a day show so I could try be home today to see her, and the guys are good, me and Tom walked back last night from the show- but nothing really interesting has happened since- how's home?"

"well, I've been spending a lot of my days cleaning, playing dress up with Stella and cooking dinner so not at all fun compared to what you're doing sweetie... but I did call you to ask something" her voice went serious, she never had these sorts of conversations with me unless something bad happened "so I was speaking to Tom last night-"

"Tom who?" my heart dropped "Kaulitz or not?"

"mhm, Kaulitz and he said to me-" my stomach dropped she doesn't know yet, I didn't have the mind to say to her that me and Brian broke up, she admired him... "well he asked if me, your father, Stella, his family, Georg and Gustav's family would like to come see your show today as it being a day show we can bring Stella and I think she'll love it, I mean you remember when she sat in the practise studio and clapped when you and Bill gave her the show of a life time" thank fuck

"OH! Oh my god yes that would be amazing! yes do come" I called, my sleepiness soon going into adrenaline realising I get to see my family again after a month "and of course I remember performing for Stella, she loved it, oh but please mom come" I herd her laugh and shift herself in whatever seat she was in

"okay darling we will- I'll best leave you for now and I'll see you tonight, love you sunshine!"

"love you mom see you later" the line ended and I did a lying down happy dance, I was ready to preform that second, I couldn't contain my excitement, I quickly got up running from my room to go to the room of the guitarist, my knuckles going red from hitting so hard

"fuck I'm coming my god-" as the door opened I ran into his arms "woah what the fuck!"

"thank you so much!" I chanted squeezing him tightly, I pulled away and his face went from looking scared shitless to a shy grin

"shit I thought you were a crazy fan or something Y/n, and why are you thanking me?" he wrapped his arms around me relaxing

"inviting mom and dad and Stella and everyone else, just... ahh I can't wait!" we pulled apart and I started jumping around "I get to see my Stella!"

"Oh no problem, I thought she'd love to see our show as were her favourites, obviously" he smiled, scratching his head- for the first time I actually looked at Tom properly, I realised he was in his boxers which fit in all the right places according to him and nothing else besides the necklace he wore every day... thats also when I realised I was still in my little black number with a sheer mesh top just about reaching my thighs

"I can't get over it!" I laughed perching myself on his bed

"scuff what I said yesterday, tonight will be the best show we ever do" he walked over to the other side of his bed and lay back down, one arm resting on his stomach and the other went behind my back and held my hip giving me a feeling I'd never had before from Tom- butterflies.

"oh absolutely" i huffed "I am like completely awake now"

"good, well I mean we've gotta go in like an hour ish for rehearsal" I nodded relaxing more into the spongy mattress, we sat there in comfortable silence, his hand still holding me ".....im sorry for last night- not for the fight- the way I spoke to you.. It wasn't right, I was so close to just knocking on your door and saying this all but I had a feeling you would beat me up if I tried" he laughed looking up to me causing me to do the same

"so you take back calling me a 'fucking bitch'?" he nodded

"yep- all of it. I think I was just... worried for you, you know how much I care about you and seeing you looking upset all day was just... ugh I don't even know"

"I know... I'm sorry I know you were trying but I am just.. a twat really" he rolled his eyes "what?"

"you've only just realised?" he spoke sarcastically, lifting his head from the pillow to look properly at me

"hey!" I shoved him and he nearly fell from the end of the bed, quickly I moved to grab him before he slipped and panic shot though his body

"Y/N!" he called reaching out for me before his body slammed into the floor with a thud "ow"

"Oh- Oh my god! are you okay!? I'm... fuck... I'm sorry" I spoke through stifled laughter as I held my chest, Tom sat back up and rubbed his back, I have no clue what made be laugh harder but I fell stomach first on to the bed and belted out another cackle hearing Tom join it with me

"you are such a fucking idiot!" he called scruffing my hair, I got back up leaning up on my elbows, he still on the floor, when we sat like this our faces were only a few inches away and the room fell quiet, smiles still spread across our faces. I watched his eyes, those brown eyes there is something bewitching about them. They can be warm and inviting, or mysterious and brooding, they flickered between my Y/C/E eyes and my lips giving me a nervous ache through my body "I meant what I said before that all though Y/n" my name coming from his pierced lips made me feel different then any other time "I care about you so fucking much it's crazy-" the tension between us grew, he leaned in closer to me, my heart racing with excitement. the only source of light emanating from a small lamp on the bedside table which just about illuminated his face but i could see the meaning in his movements as his hand reached to cup my jaw, he drew me closer, our foreheads knocking together "I want to kiss you right now" he spoke in a whisper, it was just loud enough for me to hear, our eyes flicked back together and though no words left me, he knew exactly what I wanted to say

As he pulled me closer, my heart was beating so quickly, it felt as if it could leap out of my chest at any moment. Our eyes met for a brief moment again before he leaned in and pressed his lips gently to mine. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as I melted into his touch. Every inch of my body was on fire, my mind could only think of Tom, Tom fucking Kaulitz.... who knew I need it so badly. Without breaking the kiss he stood back up and brought me to my knees, his hand holding my face to his, I tangled my arms around his neck trying to get him closer and closer "fuck" I spoke and it came more as a whimper as he tugged gently on my hair, I felt a smirk appear to his face. We pulled away and immediately I felt coldness but I soon melted as he brought my gaze to him

"you don't understand how long I've wanted to kiss you Y/n"

[luvyeni]

hii !! would it be possible to request for a txt and nct dream reaction where their partner (preferably a fem!reader) has always felt left out by them or their friends? thank u <33

—｛🎂｝FRIENDS LEAVING YOU OUT; WITH TUBATU

pairings. ot5 txt x fem!reader

wc. 676

warnings. none

—｛🍰｝... SOOBIN ! ⋮

When you tell him you feel left out of your friend group, he's gonna make you feel better immediately.

The moment you sighed, he was quick to figure out what the problem was so he could fix it. "what's wrong baby?"

"my friends went clubbing again, and they didn't even bother to ask me, they look like they're having so much fun." you showed him the videos.

He took your phone, putting on the table.

"let's have a movie night okay, let's ignore everyone; order some food and watch your favorite movie. would you like that love?"

—｛🍰｝... YEONJUN ! ⋮

he'd say something, he doesn't like his girlfriend being treated like that.

he was confused when you called him to pick you up from the library where you were doing a project with friends, because he'd only dropped you off a hour before, there was no way you were done.

but when you told him your friends were leaving you out and ignoring you making you do the project yourself, he was livid, but all he wanted was to quickly get you out of the situation, so he was out the door.

he found you in the library, and he could tell you were upset doing the project. but did your friends care? no, they were too busy laughing about something they were looking at on the phone.

"babygirl." he smiled walking up to the table. "let's go." He helped you pack everything up. "what about our project?" yeonjun turned to them.

"you mean the project in which only my girlfriend will be getting a A? figure it out, don't contact her for anything anymore, you two can figure it out together since you like doing that anyway."

—｛🍰｝ ... BEOMGYU ! ⋮

like yeonjun, beomgyu is gonna say something.

when you first told him about your friends leaving you out, he thought you were joking, so he brushed it off, but when he actually saw it...pissed was a understatement.

He didn't want to be here in the first place, but you were so excited for him to meet your "friends", so he gave in, and let you drag him out.

But he could himself getting angrier and angrier everytime your friends would ignore something you say, or started an entire conversation WHILE you were speaking.

"princess, let's go do something else, they're clearly busy with each other, next time just go on a date with each other, don't invite my girlfriend just to leave her out."

—｛🍰｝... TAEHYUN ! ⋮

taehyun loves you, but he would tell you straight up, they're bad friends and you should stay away from them, he'd delete them out your life for you.

"where are you?" he pointed to the group picture. taehyun hated this group of friends you had, constantly leaving you out of everything and when they did invite you, they didn't even attempt to make you feel wanted.

"oh, they needed someone to take the photos so they made me do it." he was pissed, he was tired of them doing this to you.

"give me your phone." confused you handed it to him. he took it, blocking all their numbers.

"this has gone on far too long, they continously do this, you don't need them, i blocked them for you, leave it like that.

—｛🍰｝... HUENING KAI ! ⋮

kai is sweetheart, so his main priority is making you feel wanted and loved.

He heard you sniffling in your room, concerned, he walked in to see you balled up, holding your phone in your hand.

"baby what's wrong? are you hurt?" you shook your head. "it's stupid."

"it's not stupid, tell me baby." he held your head in his lap. "it's my friends, they're constantly leaving me out of things, when i ask them to hang out they say they're busy, but then they're posting pictures together." he let you cry as much as you want.

"awe baby, im so sorry they're such bad friends." he massaged your scalp. "how about we go do something, let's go to your favorite restaurant and then go see a movie, would you like that? hmm?"

©️LUVYENI

[misc-obeyme]

Petite and oftentimes calm mc that can fling them across the room if upset. With the 7 brothers

(Can you do a masc mc for this? I don't mind gn either)

Hi there, anon!

Okay I wrote their reactions to being flung across the room because I find that idea sooooo funny. I definitely had masc MC in mind when I wrote it, but I think it's hard to tell since I'm still using the you/yours pronouns and such. Hopefully it turned out okay!

Anyway, I quite enjoyed writing this! Thank you for the request!

Brothers react to being flung across the room by petite masc!MC.

Warnings: Well... the bros get thrown around a little bit, but nobody gets hurt lol

Lucifer

The first time you get upset enough to throw him, he’s so surprised he almost crashes into the wall. Almost. He just barely manages to catch himself by shifting into demon form and using his wings. He certainly wasn’t expecting you to react that way and he was not expecting you to have the strength to do something like that. Completely shocked.

When he recovers, you’re going to have to deal with his hurt pride. Especially if you were around others at the time. How dare you do something like that to him, MC. Are you prepared for the consequences? Don’t back down. Point out that he’s the one who upset you. It isn’t your fault if he underestimated you.

Since you’re normally so calm, he understands that he really must have crossed a line to push you to such extremes. He assures you that he will not be making that mistake a second time. That’s about as close as you’re gonna get to an apology. Still he’s definitely going to be more careful. And he never does upset you that much again.

Now that he’s aware of what you can do despite your small stature, he takes pleasure in watching you do it to other people. Warns people ominously if it looks like they’re about to piss you off. They never take the warning though and he can't help but find it entertaining when you react accordingly.

Mammon

Definitely the first one to push you to this point. You’re always so chill, he thinks he can get away with anything. And yeah he can get away with a lot, but when he finally pushes you too far, he finds himself flying across the room.

Woah. Woah! MC! Since when have ya been so strong?! You totally took him by surprise. Once he gets over the shock, he blushes. A lot. Suddenly he can't quite look you in the eye. Turns out he kinda liked it. He's not happy that you're upset, but damn… it certainly gets him riled up.

Mammon can cause this reaction from you frequently, but he doesn't do it on purpose. He forgets about it and just goes about his usual trouble making ways. It doesn't happen often since it takes a lot to get you really upset at him, but when it does it flusters the hell out of him every time.

He gets good at dodging you, though. He's known for being a fast runner, but he only makes you chase him for a little bit. In the end, he lets you catch him. He doesn't want to make you even angrier. And he always apologizes.

Leviathan

Rarely upsets you enough to cause this reaction. Not expecting it when it happens even though he’s aware of it due to his brothers already experiencing it. He’s completely disoriented by it. What just happened? Where is he? What’s his name again??

After getting back his bearings, he switches to full on apologizing. Profusely. He's so sorry, MC! Please forgive him! Seriously, you should probably forgive him or his anxiety is gonna kick into high gear.

Actively tries not to upset you enough for it to happen again. He likes how calm you normally are, it helps him stay calm too. But since it takes quite a lot for you to get upset, he doesn’t always realize it’s happening until it’s too late.

Will always try to make it up to you somehow. Swears he will never underestimate you again. When he’s afraid of something, he’s going to hide behind you. Knows you’re strong enough to handle what he can’t. This is confusing to anyone who doesn't know you well. Is that the Admiral of Hell's Navy hiding behind some human guy? Something isn't adding up here…

Satan

Normally he's the one who loses his cool. Definitely not used to having someone upset enough with him to fling him across the room. He's going to be dazed a bit before coming back to his senses. Then his reaction could go one of two ways. Unlike him, it takes a lot for you to get upset. Knowing this might be enough for him to calm down, too. However, he might also just get angrier.

It's pretty clear to everyone at this point that you can hold your own against demons. So if Satan's anger intensifies, you're ready to meet him head on if you have to. You can be sure the other brothers are gonna try to get involved, though. This has the potential to devolve into complete and utter chaos. Your best bet is to leave and let yourself cool down.

If it goes that way, he will find you later when he's not angry anymore and apologize. He knows how he is and he's embarrassed that he let it get that far. If it doesn't escalate like that and he actually calms down after you throw him, he will apologize right then and there. You've stunned him into it.

When he has a moment to think about it, he's impressed with how strong you are. Appearances can be deceiving. You appear small and calm, but you have quite a bit of power, don't you, MC?

Asmodeus

Distraught at first. How could you do that to him, MC? What if he had broken a nail? Once he has confirmed that he still looks as fabulous as ever, he’s a little overcome by how strong you are. Gets naughty ideas because of course he does.

But he realizes that you’re upset and that's not good. He’s sorry, darling! He didn’t mean to upset you! He’s going to do whatever he can to make it up to you.

Now that he’s aware of how strong you are, though, he’s gonna come up with excuses to get you to flaunt it. Oh no, he’s hurt his ankle! Won’t you carry him to his next class? If you try to carry him on your back, he’s going to hop into your arms instead. Now you’re carrying him bridal style through the halls. He is loving every second.

He gets what it's like to be underestimated based on how you look. And he won't be able to stand it if other demons do it. He won't wait for you to get angry enough to take action, he’s just gonna take care of these lowlifes himself.

Beelzebub

If you actually manage to pick up and throw this giant, it’s going to shock everybody. Your name becomes legend because how is that even possible? He’s completely flabbergasted. It makes no sense. You’re just a little guy. How did this happen?

Beel is impressed. He’s not used to being on the receiving end of such strength. He’s usually the one carrying everybody else around. Thoroughly ashamed that he pushed you to this point though. Apologizes. Takes you out to lunch.

Teach him your ways. He wants to be able to throw people three times his size too. Not that he’s likely to encounter such a person, but you know. That’s not the point.

When nobody else is around, he might sheepishly ask you to pick him up. Likely just wants cuddles. Set him in your lap and he’ll get comfy and content. It’s just not something he’d ever expect anyone to be able to do, let alone you.

Belphegor

Startled so bad he shifts into demon form without realizing. Tail twitches as he blinks rapidly in confusion. What did he miss? Something's not right here. You’re way too small to have been the one to just launch him across the room… right?

After the surprise wears off, though, he gets it. You are calm most of the time, but Belphie is also a brat most of the time. He pushed you to your limit and it turns out you’re a lot stronger than you look.

Pretty annoyed with you at first. You really messed with him just now, you know? He might have deserved it, but still. You can’t just go around throwing people, MC. But he won’t protest for long, eventually apologizing.

Now he has two crazy strong people he can rely on. He already gets away with a lot but he sees this as an opportunity to threaten others. He’ll tell on his brothers to you in hopes he’ll get to watch them fly through the air haphazardly. He can’t help it, it’s funny when it happens to someone else.

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