#they’re bloody brilliant!

[frootyrooties]

my darling 10cc boys at cardiff castle, 1975 ☺️💙

[obsessedwithceleste]

All’s Fair in Love and Quidditch

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw Reader

Summary: All’s fair in love and quidditch. At least until Matteo’s poorly aimed bludger knocks you off of your broom.

word count: 3.7k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

“Get your wand. Out of my face.” You growl between clenched teeth, glaring up at the tall boy in front of you whose wand was dangerously close to the tip of your nose.

Theodore Nott. You’d first met the boy in third year on the quidditch pitch after his team had beat yours. It had been a long and grueling match and the only reason they’d won is because of that bloody snitch. Ravenclaw had been up in points the entire match. You remember the boy smirking at you as you lowered your broom to the ground.

“Better luck next time principessa.” He’d said.

You’d taken that personally, and the very next week, you’d stolen the position of top of the class in potions from him. This had apparently acted as a declaration of war as the two of you began constantly finding ways to outdo one another.

You seethed with hatred for the boy. Constantly challenging you in classes, on the pitch, even at prefects meetings. You two simply could not see eye to eye; which he constantly reminded you was likely because he was well over half a foot taller than you. Bloody bastard. It didn’t help that the boy was aggravatingly handsome. A detail you couldn’t help but appreciate as he loomed above you. Still, you glare on.

Despite the immediate threat of peril, you remained surprisingly calm knowing that, while you and Theodore may be intense rivals, he’d never actually harm you. At least you hoped. You’d seen his knuckles bloodied plenty of times before, but he’d never harmed so much as a hair on your head. Yet.

Theo’s words shake you back into the present.

“Then get off the bloody pitch. Like we said, we have the pitch booked until 7.”

“No, we booked it starting at 6. We have a signed slip from Flitwick,” You retort.

You watch Theodore’s eyes flick over to the piece of paper Cho was now brandishing smugly before whipping around to his teammates behind him.

“What the hell Malfoy. You were supposed to have Snape reserve the field!” He shouts.

You roll your eyes at the bickering boys. This is one of the many reasons you disliked the male population of Slytherin house. Wildly disorganized, yet still expecting to have everything handed to them.

“I did! They must’ve bloody double booked it!” Draco replies, glaring at the paper.

“Well then it looks like either you all leave, or we’re sharing,” you say decidedly, much to the grumbling of your teammates.

Theo scowls at you. “We gathered as much thanks- we’re not idiots.”

You give the boy a sugary sweet smile. “You’re doing an awfully good impression of it then.” You reply, hoping that if you annoyed him enough, he’d leave already.

You watch the boy’s jaw and fists clench tightly as his scowl deepens before he turns and stalks off.

“C’mon. I’m not dealing with that bloody witch today.” He snaps at his teammates who follow hesitantly, but not before shooting some nasty looks over their shoulders.

Once they’re out of earshot, you hear your teammates burst into laughter.

“That was bloody brilliant!” One of your beaters calls out, leaning on his broom as he shakes with laughter.

“Oh y/n, he so likes you,” Cho snickers as she pushes past you onto the field.

Your jaw drops open at that and you rush after the girl.

“Excuse you, you can’t just walk off after dropping something so wildly ridiculous on me like that,” you protest, mirroring your friend as she hops on her broom and takes off into the air.

“Oh please. I could cut the sexual tension between you two with a well placed diffindo charm. And he’d never give in to anyone else that easily. Now heads up or your head will be taken off by that bludger,” she responds easily, dodging out of the path of the ball hurtling towards you.

You quickly follow, barely managing to side sweep the bludger before turning back to your friend. Before you’re able to further probe her however, she’s taken off in search of the elusive snitch.

You try to shake off her words as you continue to fly through practice, joining your fellow chasers as they go head to head with your keeper, trying to make a shot through one of the hoops.

“Nice shot, y/n! Better keep that aim up for the game this weekend. I wanna beat those snakes so bad,” the keeper shouts as you make throw past him.

“Not a chance in hell those slithering bastards are taking the cup again,” you reply with a grin.

“Excited to see your little witch today?” Matteo asks, plopping himself into his seat next to Theo.

Theo glares at his curly haired friend, snapping his textbook closed with a grunt.

“She’s not my witch Mattheo. I can’t stand her,” Theo mumbles back.

“Right, right. It’s just y/n this, y/n that. Did you see y/n helping Cormac with charms the other day? He’s such a bloody wanker. Blah, blah, blah.” Enzo says, joining the two boys at the desk next to them.

Theo scowls at his so called friends. So what if he happened to notice you a bit too often? They knew full well that the two of you had a sort of rivalry going on and that he had to keep tabs on you to make sure you didn’t sneak something by him. Constant vigilance and what not.

Before he could defend himself however, you burst through the doors of the potions classroom with a group of your fellow Ravenclaws, coming to take your spot at the desk directly in front of him.

“Hey, thanks for giving us the pitch last night Theodore. Stomping off the field like that, was really such a testament to you being the bigger person.” You say, turning to give the boy an innocent smile as you slide into your seat.

“What can I say, I just know your team will need all the help they can get to try and beat us tomorrow,” Theo replied easily, eyes falling as he notices the hem of your skirt ride up a bit higher than normal as you sit down.

“Aw, that’s so considerate coming from someone whose shooting percentage is barely over 50%.”

Theo’s eyes snap up at this.

You hear Enzo snicker at that before he quickly attempts to cover it up with a loud cough.

“Yeah? It’s so interesting that you know my stats off the top of your head.” Theo retorts.

“They really help build my ego when I feel like I’m playing poorly.”

“So always?”

You glare at the boy, but before you’re able to respond, the professor clears their throat, forcing you to turn in your seat.

As the professor begins droning on about whatever potion it was that you were to be making that day, Theo’s eyes couldn’t help but wander to the pretty witch in front of him. For such a pain in his side, you sure were easy on the eyes. Before he knows it, he feels Mattheo’s elbow digging into his rib cage.

“C’mon lover boy, neither of us are going to pass if you don’t start focusing less on y/n and more on this potion, cause I was not paying attention.” Mattheo grunts, pulling him off his seat and over to the stock of potion ingredients along the back wall.

“I wasn’t even looking at her,” Theo protests, glaring at his friend as he begins pulling ingredients haphazardly off the shelves.

“Right. Because if you were, you’d have noticed that the white ribbon in her hair was crooked. Bothered me the entire time we were sitting there.” Mattheo replies, leaning lazily against the counter.

Theo shoots a nasty look at his friend realizing his eyes had once again wandered over to the witch in question.

“The ribbon in her hair is navy blue you dolt. And it’s not crooked.”

Mattheo gives him a victorious smirk.

“Too true. So glad we cleared up the fact that you were only staring enough to remember the exact color of her hair ribbon and whether or not it was crooked.”

With another smug look over his shoulder, Mattheo saunters back over to their shared desk, leaving Theo to finish collecting ingredients in agitated silence.

Glancing back down at his list, Theo quickly collected the rest of their ingredients, tossing the anjelica, bitter root, and daisy root essence into his basket, careful to not steal any more obvious glances at you.

As he went to return to his seat, the soft petals of the flower assortments sitting neatly in their assigned jars once again caught Theo’s eyes and a small smile grew as a masterful plan began to form.

“That BLOODY, FUCKING SNAKE!” you shriek as you open your quidditch locker to find a stunning bouquet of bright daises and velvet roses propped up against your broom.

Hearing the commotion, Cho rushes over to find you glaring menacingly at the offending flowers, a look of exasperation overtaking her face.

“For Rowena’s sake, not flowers. How dare he. The nerve,” she says dryly.

“Aww. How romantic. That’s so sweet. Are they from Theodore?” One of the other chasers adds, coming to see what all the noise was about.

Your glare shifts to your teammates as they peak into your locker to get a glimpse of the flowers.

“I’m allergic.” You grit out. As if to emphasize your point, you let out a loud sneeze, feeling the pollen reach your nose.

Your teammates’ faces fall slightly at your statement and you go to extract the flowers from your locker.

“Well- I suppose there’s something to be said about the fact that he knows exactly which flowers you’re allergic to, and how he went out of his way to buy them for you?” Cho offers as you toss the flowers onto the bench behind you.

A note flutters to the floor.

“Yes. It can be said that he’s a psychotic wanker with too much free time,” you say, bending down to snatch the note off the ground.

Good luck Principessa, hope you play similarly to how the flowers make you feel xxTheodore

“He literally tried to kill me so I wouldn’t be able to play,” you announce dramatically, thrusting the note card towards Cho who rolls her eyes as she shakes her head at you.

“Alright, we need to focus. Y/n, get rid of those flowers, we don’t need you sniffling all match. Everyone on the pitch in 15!” Cho yells, pulling the team together.

Shaking the thoughts of that damn Slytherin from your mind, you unceremoniously dump the large bouquet into the trash before quickly changing into your robes.

“Everyone remember the new offensive formations? We need to take them by surprise. They’ve gotten way too comfortable running the same defense against every team. Remember. If you can’t see Mattheo or Blaise, they’ve flanked you and there’s already a bludger aimed at the back of your head. Theo and Enzo stick together, third chaser is on their own. Flint is a lefty, if you can, always go for the right hoop. Prioritize y/n, when going for the goal posts unless you think they’ve picked up on it. Don’t worry about me and Draco, focus on gaining a lead. Everyone clear?”

You blink once, soaking in Cho’s words.

“Alright. Let’s get out there and stomp on some snakes.”

Your teammates let out loud whoops as you make your way out to the field, adrenaline beginning to course through your body. The breeze blows gently through your hair and the sun shines softly behind a thin layer of clouds. The perfect day for quidditch.

As you grow closer to the pitch, you can hear the loud cheers and hollers coming from the stands, the faces of your fellow Ravenclaws grinning down at you.

“Coin toss is on you, y/n. Try not to let him rile you up too much, yeah?” Cho says, mounting her broom with the rest of the team.

You nod as they take off and make your way down to the center of the pitch where Hooch is already waiting.

“Ah, y/n! Beautiful day for a match yeah?” She greets as you approach.

You offer a tight smile and nod as you see Theodore approach, cocky smile in place.

“Alright, you two know the drill. Snitch or broomsticks, Ravenclaw, your call, on three,” Hooch says, holding a large gold coin out on her palm.

You feel Theodore’s eyes on you as Hooch tosses the coin into the air.

“Broomsticks.”

The three of you watch as the coin hits the ground, three gleaming broomsticks shining in the sunlight.

Theo’s lips tighten, but he doesn’t say anything.

“We’ll take the ball first then,” you say with a tight lipped smile.

“Very well, go on then, shake hands.”

Swallowing your displeasure, you tentatively extend your hand.

With a lop sided grin, Theo grasps your hand.

“Like your flowers Principessa?”

“They were lovely. Really spruced up the trash can.”

Without another word, the two of you returned to your respective sides of the field, joining your teams in the air.

“We got ball,” you shout, once you’re within earshot of your teammates. The boys let out a whoop of excitement.

“Let’s make this a nice, clean match today, yeah?” Hooch shouts from her place on the field. Without waiting for a response, she points her wand at the chest, waiting below and the lid flies open, releasing the balls within.

Your eyes immediately lock onto the quaffle as it makes its way into the air, diving down and snatching it, a chaser on either side of you. You slip easily into your rhythm of dodging and weaving around your opponents, passing the quaffle around as you make your way to the opposing goal posts.

As the ball is being passed back to you however, Enzo pushes past, intercepting. Cursing under your breath, you whip around, close on his tail.

As if seeing your need, a bludger whizzes straight at Enzo, forcing him to drop the ball into your waiting arms.

This time, you’re able to make it to the opposite side, but with Theo and Enzo close on your tail, you’re forced to surrender the ball to your teammate who narrowly misses.

“Next time!” You shout in encouragement.

This back and forth goes on for what seems like ages, with neither team managing to score a point.

Finally, the ball is back in your arms as you speed towards Flint.

“Don’t choke now, Principessa,” you hear Theodore shout from beside you on the right.

“Please. Save your breath. You’ll probably need it to blow up your next play,” you retort.

“You know your ass is probably jealous of all the shit that comes out of your mouth.” Theo snaps.

“Yeah? You’d love to see my jealous ass wouldn’t you?”

Theo jolts in shock, and that moment is all you need to take a dive to the right, securing the first goal of the match.

It all falls into place after that and soon enough, your team is up 80 points. A comfortable lead, but not enough.

“C’mon guys! C’mon! Keep it up, this one’s ours!” You hear your keeper shout as they toss the quaffle to you.

You nearly fumble the catch as a bludger soars past your broom.

“Stay on her and keep those damn bludgers away!” You vaguely hear Cho call out to one of your beaters as you again make your way to the opposite end of the field.

After scoring two more goals, the Slytherin team finally gets the idea to begin putting more pressure and focus on you, with at least one chaser always guarding you.

“For Rowena’s sake, I don’t even have room to breathe!” you shout as you pass Cho briefly.

As the match continues with no end in sight, Mattheo and Blaise begin to grow bolder, narrowly missing a few heads. Their own teammates’ included.

“Watch it you bloody wanker!” You hear Enzo call out after Blaise nearly takes out the end of his broom.

With a sharp turn, you’re able to break away from his steady pursuit just long enough to safely secure the quaffle once more.

“Dammit Enz,” Theo grunts as he flies up beside you.

You ignore their bickering, eyes taking in the field and your surroundings. You spot your other two chasers gliding below you, gearing up to be positioned for a clear pass. Your beaters are no where in sight, and only Rowena knew where Cho was flying off to.

You make several attempts to lose the two green robed Slytherins on either side of you, but they remain stuck to your side.

Suddenly, you see Enzo’s broom dip. Thinking this is your chance, you turn quickly, trying to see if you have a clear pass to one of your teammates.

“Y/n!” Theo shouts.

But it’s too late.

The last thing you remember is the feeling of falling and strong arms wrapping around you before everything goes black.

When your eyes finally flutter open, the first thing you notice is the sky and how dark it is. What time was it? Slowly, you begin to sit up, a distinct pounding in the back of your head causing you to wince slightly. Looking about, you realize you were in the hospital wing and still in your quidditch robes. Ew.

The next thing you notice, is the mop of soft brown hair lying face down on the hospital bed beside you. As your eyes follow the body down to the chair it’s slumped on, you take in the familiar green robes that distinguish the boy as a Slytherin.

The hairs on your neck prickle as you recognize the boy. How could you not?

“Theodore,” you whisper, giving the boy a poke.

No sign of life.

“Theodore,” you say, a bit louder this time, shaking him gently.

“Shove off Matt. You and Toria can find another place to shag for the night,” he grumbles, shifting further into the coarse hospital bed blanket.

You let out a snort.

“Seriously Theodore, wake up,” you say, growing frustrated.

Finally the boy sits up groggily before appearing to remember where he was.

“Oh. Mornin principessa,” he drawls, smiling lazily at you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What happened? And why on earth are you here of all people?” You ask, ignoring the pet name that you seemingly couldn’t shake as a yawn escapes you.

“That’s really no way to treat your knight in shining armor.” Theo tsks, stretching his arms out and leaning back in his chair. “I’m the one who caught you after Matt knocked you off your broom after all. Bludger to the head is no joke.”

You grimace. No wonder your head was throbbing.

“What a fucking git,” you grumble, falling back onto the bed.

Theo shrugs, not seeming to disagree.

Stupid Mattheo and his stupid bloody aim. Utter shit. And of course it had to be bloody Theodore of all people who saved you. Though you weren’t entirely sure you minded, closing your eyes briefly, an image of Theo in his quidditch uniform flashing through your mind.

“You never answered the second question.” You say after a moment of silence.

Theo looks at you, his head cocked to the side.

“Why are you here?”

“You’re hurt,” he says simply, as if it made all the sense in the world.

Your frown doesn’t quite reach the tips of your mouth as you look over at the brunette boy staring back at you.

No matter how many times you told yourself that you utterly detested the boy, you were never quite able to say it with your full chest. And for Rowena’s sake, it was not fair for someone to look this good at this time of night, in sweaty quidditch robes.

“You don’t like me.” You say quietly, not quite sure how true that statement truly was as the boy’s eyes had yet to stray away from you.

“Oh I can’t stand you.” Theodore replies, suddenly much closer than you remember.

“You’re the absolute worst person on earth,” you say, feeling yourself magnetize towards the boy beside you.

“I despise you with every bone in my being,” he responds before slowly, tentatively closing the gap.

His lips are fire against yours, not burning, but consuming. You feel yourself getting lost in the sensation of his lips moving hungrily against yours as his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you in closer. You would definitely be blaming this lapse in judgement on the fact that you’d taken a bludger to the head earlier. Or maybe not, you think hazily as a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Easy there principessa,” Theo murmurs, pulling away and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Let’s not hurt that pretty little head of yours.”

With a silent nod, you lean back, mind still reeling a bit given the night’s events.

Hesitantly, as if not wanting to spook you, Theo edges his way onto the bed beside you. Realizing his intent, you scoot over a bit, allowing yourself to be tucked carefully into his arms.

“If it makes you feel any better about being knocked out, Ravenclaw did end up winning. And your team visited after the match was over.” Theo says as you rest your head on his chest.

You smile at that.

“Good. Slytherin is shit.” You reply.

“You take that back.”

“Make me.”

Theo’s lips find yours once more, and you feel him grin against your lips.

“I’m still mad about those flowers you sent by the way,” you say once he pulls away.

A smirk overtakes Theo’s face as he looks down at you.

“I’m sorry principessa.”

“No you aren’t,” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“No I’m not. That was one of my better bits I’d say.”

“It was pretty good.”

Another yawn escapes your lips, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by the boy holding you in his arms.

“Sleep now, principessa,” he says, fingers stroking gently through your hair.

You didn’t have to be told twice.

Not a single person was surprised when the Slytherin and Ravenclaw quidditch teams walked into the infirmary the next morning to find the two of you wrapped in each other’s embrace.

“Bloody took them long enough,” Mattheo says, finally breaking the silence.

Cho can’t help but nod in agreement.

The rivals to lovers quidditch fic that no one asked for, but I wrote anyways 🤗

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

28 / 1.7k / soap soulmate au, part 5

...

Soap stares at his name where it's inked across your skin. You should be his enemy. He's sitting across from you, your interrogator in this dimly lit weapons closet. You refuse to look at him. But his gaze bores into you anyway, intense on your eyes, your lips, the cuts and bruises on your face. He wants you. But he can only have you once you've given him the information Captain Price needs.

"Tell me where Alejandro is," he says. "That's all you need to do."

A muscle in your jaw twitches when he mentions Graves' name, but you bite your tongue. You won't let him shake your resolve like he did in Las Almas. You should've killed him on sight.

"What Graves is doing to Alejandro--you know it's wrong." Soap’s gaze is steady. You're so close. He wants you so badly it hurts. "He's not a good man.”

"You have no idea what kind of man he is," you say.

"I know exactly the kind of man he is," he growls. "I saw what he did to the people in Las Almas. He called them dirty cops and had them executed when they said they didn't know anything. Innocent people. In front of their families. Their children." Soap's hands curl into fists on the table between you. "He's not the kind of man who deserves your loyalty."

Your cuffs clink as your arms flex against the chair. "You wouldn't understand."

"You're right. I wouldn't." Soap's knuckles pop, his voice low and dark. All his life he's waited for you. Now Graves--fucking Graves, who betrayed Soap and his team and tried to murder them all--is somehow the one keeping you from him. "I don't understand what you see in that bastard."

You say nothing, eyes trained on the far wall.

Soap's shoulders tighten. "You're just a tool to him."

"I’m a soldier. I choose to follow orders. So do you.”

"You're following his orders. You think that makes you a soldier, being a weapon? No. Makes you a damn dog."

You say nothing.

Soap grips the table until it creaks. "You think he cares about you.”

"It doesn't matter if he does or not."

"It does so bloody matter. You’re no’ some pawn he can just throw away." God damn you. He wants to grab you with both hands and shake you. To hell with this interrogation--he's got half a mind to lock you down somewhere padded until you get it through your skull that you're not worthless. He scowls at you. "You're better than this. You have to be."

Cold irritation seeps through your mask. "Am I?" Soulmate or not, he doesn’t know you.

At the look on your face, Soap's scowl deepens. He's going to kill that bastard, and he's going to do it slowly. "What about Graves is more important to you than the innocent lives he took? Does that mean nothing to you?”

"Orders are orders."

Soap's voice drops to a dangerous pitch. "Look me in the eye and say that.”

You don’t. You tell yourself it’s because he has no power over you. He can’t tell you what to do.

Soap crosses his arms. "'S what I thought. You're bluffing."

"I'm not."

"Bullshit. Graves is nothing but Shepherd's lapdog. Gettin’ paid to commit goddamn war crimes.”

"Shut your mouth," you snap. "You have no idea what happened--"

You stumble on the next syllable and go silent, realizing suddenly that you're looking him in the eye.

Johnny's a man of impulse, and it takes all the self-control he has to keep himself in place the moment you lock eyes. The pull he feels to you right now is overwhelming. You're in reach. He leans forward. Those brilliant blue eyes of his see all the way down into your soul. They’re just the same as you remember--eerily vivid, pupils blown, with his jaw set hard.

"What happened to what, darlin'?"

You shift, skin prickling. You want to cross your arms over yourself and clap your hand over the soulmark on your neck. "You don't know what happened in Al Mazrah."

"You were ambushed."

You nod, remembering that night of the mission. You've seen your squadmates die before. It's a hazard of the job, part of being a mercenary. But that night--seeing so many Shadows gunned down before they could so much as draw their weapons--it still haunts you.

"Shepard didn't know. It wasn't like we-- it was supposed to be a simple transport mission."

"It was a black bag op."

"That's what Shadows do. We take missions people don't like. Someone has to step in where you military dogs won't."

"Where was Shepherd when it went tits up, hm?" Soap's lip curls. "No air support on an illegal op. He left you to be killed. And now he needs someone to blame. It's not gonna be him taking that bullet. It's gonna be you."

"Captain Graves can handle it."

Soap lets out a rough sigh. Your insistence on Graves is rubbing him raw. You could have died on that op two months ago. And then what? He'd have never met you, only found your name later in stone on some memorial somewhere. The thought makes his chest go cold and his blood run hot. It could still happen. If he can't tear you away from this bloody mercenary work, you'll never be his. Christ. He can't let that happen. He won't. You're not going back to the Shadow Company. He'll tear Graves into pieces before he lets that happen.

He fixates on your soulmark again. Why can't he focus on getting the information Price needs? All he can think about right now is the scab on your lip, the way your pupils dilate when you look at him. Your body wants his even as you're spitting venom. The fire in you matches his own, and he wants more.

"Graves isn't here," Soap tells you. "And I'm not takin’ chances. You’re not going back to Shepherd, and you’re sure as hell not going back to Graves. You're mine."

You pull on your cuffs, hating the way the possessive note in his voice makes your stomach flip. "You don't get to decide that."

"Neither do you.”

"Isn't a matter of choice. It's a matter of what you’re gonnae do about it."

You swallow and watch his gaze track down your throat. He's close. When did he lean in? Why aren't you pulling back?

No, you tell yourself, you’re not scared. You’re in control. You lean a millimeter closer. "You can't keep me here."

His eyes brighten, gaze so intense it warms your skin. "Careful, darlin'. You don't want to throw down that gauntlet."

"And you expect me to tell you whatever you want to know? Fuck my career, fuck my squadmates?"

"If you weren't so damn dense, I'd--" He mutters another string of curses in that thick Scottish accent, standing from his chair and pacing the tight room. "You don't understand what I'm offerin’. You don't need them. You have me an' mine."

He circles around to your side of the interrogation table and kneels next to you, his expression an open plea for you to listen. You stare down at him with your heart suddenly in your throat. You can't backpedal. You can't look away.

He searches your face. Even roughed up, even pissing him off, you're beautiful. Damn it, he's going to do something stupid if he doesn't control himself.

He keeps his voice low and even. "You were expendable to them. You're expendable to Graves. You're no' expendable to me." He reaches up to you, and you go still. His hand is hot on your skin. His grip is surely strong enough to break bone. But only his thumb drags along your lip. His eyes follow the motion. "Your loyalty should be for people who care about you. I'm on your side, ya wee shite. Just tell me how to get to Alejandro and I'll get you out of here. I'll make sure you're safe. That's all I need to know."

You stare down at him. Your heart beats in your ears, and his pulse hammers with yours. You can feel it through his thumb against the sensitive skin on your lower lip.

Johnny wants you so badly you almost give in. He thinks he's telling the truth--that he'll protect you. But he doesn't know any better. You're not who he wants you to be. You're not soft. You're not good. Why does he act like he can see something redeemable in you?

Being his soulmate doesn't guarantee you a goddamn thing. Promises don't afford you any more protection than you've already given yourself. You know that very well. People aren't reliable. Soulmarks don’t fix everything. They’re just ink.

Whatever he sees when he looks up at you makes something cold and sharp settle in his chest. His throat constricts. He's pushing, he knows he is, and it's the wrong move with you. He's never been this desperate for anyone.

"Darlin'. Don't do that. Don't shut me out." His voice wavers just like his resolve. He'd protect you to his last. You refuse to see that, and he can't make you.

You look away, pulling away from his hand. "I don't trust you."

Johnny's stomach drops, and he digs his fingers into the metal chair to stop himself from digging them into you.

You want him. He can see it in the set of your shoulders, how tight you hold yourself when he's close to you. You want him despite yourself, and you still refuse. It doesn't matter how rational a decision it should be to accept his help. There's something else happening in your head that's keeping your walls up, and he's starting to realize it's not just Graves. It can't be.

He watches you for a long moment. He doesn't want you to hurt, but he's not stupid enough to believe you'll soften up and come around with time. You're a soldier.

Finally, Soap stands. If you don’t tell him what he needs to know, you’ll remain a hostage, and won’t be able to have you. He won’t accept that.

"Fine," he says, pushing his way out the door. "We’ll do this the hard way."

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / [part 5] / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist tag

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝟷𝚔 || 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Sirius's worst nightmare comes true when both you and Remus get your time of the months together.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Wolfstar x Reader

Sirius paced back and forth in the small living room, his fingers raking through his long hair, muttering under his breath. He could hear you and Remus in the bedroom, murmuring, laughing, then suddenly going quiet—an eerie calm before the next storm. He winced, thinking about the past few days of chaos.

You were on your period, and Remus was nearing the full moon. Mood swings? More like a tsunami of emotions, and Sirius was caught right in the middle.

He glanced at the bedroom door, half-expecting one of you to storm out, shouting at him for some unknown reason, or worse—crying uncontrollably over something he didn’t even understand. It had been like this all week.

"Merlin, what am I supposed to do?" Sirius whispered dramatically to the air. He grabbed his phone and dialed James’s number.

“Pads? What’s going on, mate?” James answered, sounding cheery.

“They're driving me mad!” Sirius whispered harshly. “Y/N’s got her period, and Remus is so close to the full moon he’s practically howling, and they’re both—both insane! I swear, James, they’re like… like pregnant women! And I’m in the middle of it all!”

James chuckled, but Sirius wasn’t amused.

“It’s not funny!” Sirius snapped. “I don’t know whether they’re going to shout at me or cry or smother me in affection! Yesterday, Remus hugged me for ten minutes straight, and then Y/N told me I was the worst person in the world because I didn’t put the dishes away properly!”

James was practically wheezing with laughter on the other end. “Mate, you’re gonna have to deal with this yourself. It’s called being in a relationship!”

“Oh, brilliant, thanks for the help. Maybe I’ll just die here in a storm of emotions while you and Lily live happily ever after,” Sirius grumbled.

“Pads, relax,” James said, still laughing. “Just go check on them. See what they need.”

“Oh no. No, I am not going in there. You don’t know what it’s like! One minute they’re calling for me, all sweet, and the next, I’m getting death glares because I forgot to buy extra chocolate! It's a bloody blood bath!”

As if on cue, your voice floated down the hallway. “Sirius, can you come here for a second?”

Sirius froze, eyes wide with panic. “See?! They’re plotting something!”

“Mate, you’re being dramatic. Just go. You’ll be fine,” James said, completely unbothered.

“I won’t survive this,” Sirius muttered darkly, hanging up. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever awaited him on the other side of the door. With a final prayer to Merlin, he walked into the bedroom.

You and Remus were sitting on the bed, both looking at him with big, pleading eyes. Sirius’s heart clenched. Oh no, here we go again.

“Sirius,” Remus began softly, his voice a little shaky, “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I didn’t mean it.”

You nodded, looking equally regretful. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too. We’re just… so emotional right now, and everything’s overwhelming.”

Sirius blinked. “Wait, are you… both apologizing?”

Remus smiled, though his eyes were tired. “We are.”

You reached out for Sirius’s hand, and he stepped closer, letting you pull him down between the two of you on the bed. You snuggled into his side, your head resting on his shoulder. Remus followed suit, resting his head against Sirius’s other shoulder.

Sirius could feel the tension slowly melting away as you both wrapped yourselves around him. He let out a deep breath, wrapping his arms around the two of you. “Well… this isn’t so bad,” he mumbled, his lips quirking into a small smile.

“We love you, you know,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder.

Remus hummed in agreement. “Yeah, you’re the best, Pads. We don’t deserve you.”

Sirius chuckled softly. “Finally, some appreciation.”

But just as he started to relax, you suddenly lifted your head, your brows furrowing. “Wait… did you eat the last of the ice cream?”

Sirius’s smile froze on his face. “What? No! Why would you—”

Remus sat up too, narrowing his eyes. “Sirius. You know how much we needed that.”

“I didn’t eat it!” Sirius exclaimed, eyes wide. “I swear!”

But you both stared at him suspiciously, and just like that, the storm was back.

“I knew it!” you accused. “You don’t care about us!”

“Oh, Merlin, help me,” Sirius groaned, his head falling back in exasperation. “I’m not gonna survive this.”

You crossed your arms, looking deeply offended, while Remus sighed heavily, clearly upset again.

Sirius pulled out his phone, sending a frantic text to James and Lily.

Sirius: Send help. I’m not making it out of this alive.

“Sirius!” you and Remus shouted at the same time, drawing his attention back to you both.

“Okay, okay!” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll go buy more ice cream. Just… please stop looking at me like that. I feel like I’m in the middle of a war.”

Remus and you exchanged glances before looking back at him. “Hurry,” you both said in unison, and then, as if nothing happened, you both wrapped your arms around him again, squeezing him tight.

Sirius sighed dramatically, feeling your heads resting on his shoulders once more. “I’m doomed,” he whispered under his breath.

James's response came through.

James: You’ll be fine, mate. Just wait till they start crying again.

Sirius groaned, muttering to himself. “Why did I ever think dating both of you was a good idea?”

“Because you love us,” you whispered sleepily.

“And we love you,” Remus added with a small smile.

Sirius smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and Remus’s. “Yeah, I do.”

But then, just as the moment turned peaceful, you both tensed up again. Remus sat up abruptly, eyes wide. “Wait. Did you really eat the last of the ice cream?”

Sirius groaned dramatically, falling back onto the bed. "Merlin’s beard, I'm dead."

[anantaru]

who do you think would be most likely to end up in a fwb arrangement (and catch feelings 🤭)?

including. kaveh & scaramouche

cw. [ex]plicit, friends with benefits, they’re idiots istg, fem! reader

— kaveh + will tell you he loves you during sex

kaveh's body was aflame and his frazzled chest heaves as he watches you go down on him, slowed movements and your touch bringing him afloat, as if underwater, and his eyes, they're aglow— purled with a dwelling pleasure when you squeeze him gently around his tip, your thumb patting over a thudding vein which was on the underside of his girth, embellishing his pretty, thick cock when your lips slant down at last, parting to wrap around his sizable dick.

"archons.." kaveh moans out the pleasure you set free in his frame, and he's licking his lips at the sheer sight of you, mouth watering as a heavy hand drops against the back of your head to move you up and down his bulging cock himself as you're eagerly running your tongue back and forth the sensitive skin to please him, make him cum inside your warmth, whilst the man was growing certainly impatient when you taste a couple droplets of his pre greatly overwhelming your taste buds;

yet then, it's when your entire ordeal of having this, so called, special relationship, which— let's be honest now, was fairly confusing in its own parts, came entirely crumbling down on you.

well, you occasionally fucked, yes, but that's about it, so when you suddenly hear it, the:

"fuck— i love you so much."

you instantly still your lips around his cock because wait. what.

your eyes shoot open at the words and you look up at kaveh as his own worried gaze meets yours immediately, in horror, both parties awkwardly staring at each other for what felt like hours as he was reminding himself about what he just said, and what he just ruined for himself.

you pull him out of your mouth, and kaveh hisses at the lost contact of your warmth sadly leaving his cock when he attempts to speak again and fix this bloody mess somehow.

"i mean this!" he panics, pointing at his still, very much, erected cock resting on his lower stomach, "i don't love you, i love this!"

you look at him in overwhelmed disbelief, because what the actual fuck, honestly defeated with this entire, confusing situation as you quickly grab your shirt off the ground, swiftly pulling it above your head and dragging it down to conceal your upper body because being fully naked right now, didn't seem like the best decision.

yet funnily enough the second kaveh contradicted himself, particularly when he stated the "i do not love you" part, something deep inside his stomach scrunches up viciously, so much it began to ache, as if his own body has caught him in a blatant lie, a big one at that, one he had ultimately hidden from even himself and he didn't realize until now.

yet, you rub your forehead, wishing you would've just ignored it and kept sucking the life out of his cock. although, you speak at last, a little overpowered, despite that keeping your cool.

"who says 'i love you' during a blowjob?"

you question but he didn't hear you, instead he did the unimaginable and made it worse, muttering the following to himself but loud enough so you could hear it, "or maybe i do love you."

"WHAT!"

— scaramouche + will stay in denial

"how's that?" scaramouche flaunts the brilliant smirk on his face as he taunts you, smacking his working hips against your cunt so fucking fast and strongly that the sound alone of your skin touching the other almost suffocates out your own moans and whines.

"—so good." you hiccup, the noises parting from your lips falling lower and lower, dripping with a high amount of lust and longing. and scaramouche certainly knew you were close, he can tell, immediately— after all, he's seen it plenty of times before, well, who knew having a fuck buddy could be so beneficial to him, he honestly didn't seem quite convinced in the beginning but grew into it relatively fast.

up till now at least, because for some reason, he cannot understand why he suddenly cares about how good he was fucking you, or if you're enjoying yourself wholly— if his hips were lurching forward correctly, if his thrusts were strong enough for you to desperately cry out his name or when the muscles in your core clench down for him to see literal, big, bright stars as you milk him dry with your pussy, taking him perfectly into your warm walls.

when did he start giving a single damn about you? obviously, not to be a completely malicious dick and an asshole— but it was fairly difficult for scaramouche to find meaningful, real relationships with another individual, and when you first hooked up with each other, it then repeating day by day as you ultimately decided to walk into this kind of relationship, hand in hand, he never once thought about catching any feelings for you, because quite frankly, he did not believe he was capable to produce such insolent emotions in the first place.

yet, there he was now, being happy and smiling from head to toe when you're affirming him, when he can make you cum on his cock before he was even allowed to cum himself.

because, here's the deal, he won't stop denying himself, not before you're climaxing all over his girth and soiling his skin with your liquids, until he can ease himself forward again and notices your tasty slick all over him as he's automatically wetting his lips at the sinful sight of your pussy clenching around, fucking himself into your cute, small entrance again that gnaws down onto every bump and ridge coating his entire shaft.

but no, again, he cannot possibly be in love with you, hah! those feelings, someone must be playing tricks on him, right?

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

[redstarwriting]

bestie | hobie’s version

black cat!fem! reader becoming besties with Hobie

request?: yes LMAO

request: continuation of my original fic “bestie”

requested by: literally everyone omg

word count: 2.8k

genre: platonic and chaotic

warnings:  language, stealing, monarchy slander, mentions of homelessness, knives, a sword

a/n: ok y’all, i thought of a way to continue this post as a series. maybe i’ll make a ‘bestie’ masterlist? 

───────────────────────────────────

The friendship between you and Hobie formed fast. So fast. Faster than Miguel expected, even. You and Hobie literally became best friends immediately. He fucked with your attitude, which you knew already, but when he learned what you do? Best friends. “So, let me get this right, mate, you’re a global superstar—”

“Yep.”

“But you steal from the rich—”

“Mhm.”

“And you give to the poor—”

“Right.”

“Like some kinda famous Robin Hood?”

“Precisely,” you nod and he raises an eyebrow at you. The two of you are chilling in your penthouse apartment in a building that you own. He’s mindlessly strumming on his guitar, looking out at Nueva York from your balcony/rooftop, and questioning you. He thinks you’re cool, but he can’t help but be weary of sitting in such an expensive place. “Love the sentiment, really do, but ain’t bein’ a superstar… counteractive to all ‘at?” you shrug. “The majority of my money goes back to charities. I keep some of it, obviously, but I prefer giving back.” You lean back against a chair. “Besides. I grew up with nothing and basically no one. Feels kinda nice having a place like this.” “I guess, but donthca think buyin’ the ‘ole buildin’ was a bit overkill?” “No, actually. I pay for everything in this building and let homeless kids and teens in need, like me at that age, live in the rest of it free of charge,” you explain, taking a sip of your water. He stops strumming his guitar. “‘Scuse me?” you look over at him to see him staring at you with a look of disbelief in his eyes. You chuckle. “Don’t look so shocked. I like giving back, that’s the least I could do. Besides, I have a soft spot for kids being on the streets like that. No child deserves to suffer like that,” you explain and he shakes his head. As someone who was homeless as a child and well into his teenage years, hearing you say that actually makes him respect you loads more. “You should talk to some of the rich assholes in my world. Talk some sense into ‘em,” he mumbles, and you shake your head. “Rich people are inherently assholes.”

“You’re rich.”

“And I’m inherently an asshole. Self-awareness is key, Hobart,” you say and he rolls his eyes. “Not like ‘em assholes, though. They parade ‘round their wealth, pretendin’ the citizens in the city ain’t dyin’, starvin’… always stickin’ the pigs on us like we ain’t worth nothin’,” he mumbles, and you frown. “They’re lucky they have someone like you to stand up to them,” you say, and he nods. “Bloody right. ’s what I do. But there’s always a new person who gets in the way after I take down the first one,” he sighs, beginning to pick at the strings of his guitar again. You hum in agreeance. “Heard you bashed Norman Osborn’s head in with that guitar.”

“I did. It was bloody brilliant. But ‘en, after ‘im, these new Nazis showed up. Don’t even get me started on the new fuckin’ PM now,” he groans, and you shake your head. “Governments are ass. And I come from a non-monarchy. Can’t even imagine what yours is like,” you mumble and he frowns. “After I got rid of Norman, the new Prime Minister stepped in. Got rid a’ one evil and gave another one a open invitation.”

“At least you got rid of one of them. You’ll get the other one in time.”

“As much as I want ‘at to be true, I got the crown to worry ‘bout. Spewin’ all their rubbish to everyone, distractin’ ‘em all from the real issues goin’ on with their fancy jewels and blood money,” he stopped playing again, using his hands to show his disgust to you. “Jewels, you say? Money?” you smirk, and he rolls his eyes. “Is ‘at all ya got from ‘at, ya bloody klepto,” he asks, and you shrug. “Not all. Large portion. What do you say we fuck with them?” you suggest, and he raises an eyebrow at you. “And ‘ow d’you reckon we do ‘at?”

“Well, I, for one, am partial to the jewels and money you mentioned,” you grin at him, and he cocks his head to the side. “You wanna steal the crown jewels? Mate, I ‘ate to break it to ya but it’s not just one jewel. Or money. It’s a collection of shit.”

“And? You act like I’m a beginner at this shit,” you say, snorting and finishing your water. He smirks. “Serious?”

“Would I ever joke about making rich assholes panic?” you grin, taking your sweatshirt off to reveal your catsuit. You slip on your gloves and wink at him. “Let’s go, mate,” you imitate his accent and he jumps up, opening the portal to his world. “You got a plan?” he asks as the two of you enter, and you shrug. “Not necessarily, but they won’t even know I’m there.”

“Cocky, ain’t we?” Hobie teases and you giggle, shrugging. “I’m good at what I do.” “The jewels are protected. And on display. Dunno ‘ow you plan to get ‘em, but I’m excited to see it ‘appen,” he says as you step foot in his flat. You grin. “I have my ways. I say we hit it when it’s like 2am. Which luckily for us is in… right now, actually.”

“Ain’t this late gonna be expected?”

“Yes. I love a challenge,” you smirk and he shakes his head. “You’re mental.”

“But you like it.”

“Love it. No one ever actually wants to do shit like this with me,” he says and you shake your head. “Can’t imagine why. This is about to be so fun,” you smirk, and he nods, giving you a fist bump. “So just ‘ow are wee expectin’ this to go down? Am I meant to come inside with ya?,” he asks and you shrug. “Didn’t expect you to, honestly. Figured you’d be distracting the cops so I can get in there anyways,” you explain and he nods. “I can do ‘at. If I’m lurkin’ round the guards’ll ‘ave a fit.”

“Your accent gets thicker when you’re home, how is that even possible?” you say your thoughts out loud, and he rolls his eyes. “What is it with all of you and my accent. ’s just the way I talk,” he grumbles, and you laugh. “Because you get so annoyed by it. At least that’s why I do it,” you say, and he shakes his head. “No wonder Miguel ‘ates you.”

“Hey! He doesn’t hate me! He just strongly disapproves of all of my life choices and urges me not to speak to him most of the time,” you feign offense, and Hobie holds his hands up in surrender. “Now, where are these jewels held?” you ask looking out at the city through his window. He looks out, pulling his mask on. “Tower of New London. They moved the most important pieces overseas so the new Queen could ‘ave a second coronation over ‘ere. ‘ave ‘em on display for the public to see. Make money off it,” he explains and you scoff. “That’s fucking stupid. Are you sure they’re real?”

“Oh, yeah. No doubt. Like I said, they love flauntin’ their wealth,” he says, and you grimace. “Gross. Can’t wait to take them,” you say with a smirk. “Need a lift, love?” he asks, holding his arm out for you to grab onto him. “Would love one, mate, thanks for offering.” You wrap your arms around his neck, and he grips onto you. He jumps out of his window, webbing to the New Tower of London which looks a bit out of place in the cityscape belonging to New London, but you can see why they hold the jewels here. “It’s like a small castle,” you mumble, and Hobie nods. “Fuckin’ annoyin’ ‘ow everythin’ ‘as to be so over the top,” he says as the two of you land in an alleyway across the street, hidden in the shadows. You scope out the place. “You weren’t kidding. Guards are everywhere,” you mumble and he nods. You point to a part of the castle that isn’t well-lit, a wall on the side of one of the watch towers. “We can climb that,” you say, and he nods. “Time to go make the wankers freak,” he says, and the two of you sneak over. The two of you scale the wall of the walkway surrounding the main part of the tower undetected, making your way to the wall you pointed out earlier. You use your claws to climb up while Hobie uses his spider powers.

You hoist yourself up onto one of the platforms, ducking down and hiding behind a wall to figure out what your next move is. Hobie was right beside you. “I think… this might be where we part,” you whisper, and he nods. “Don’t die, yeah? Lotta paperwork I don’t feel like doin’,” he says before swinging away to distract the guards. You scoff. You watch as guards run off in the direction he was spotted in and make your move. You run to the wall of the next building, climbing it and hiding from the guards on the top of the roof. You quickly sneak to the other side of the roof, only to see that the middle of the castle is connected to nothing. “So that’s why they call it a fucking tower,” you mumble, scaling down the side of the wall and into the grassy lawn.

You assess the situation. You know there are guards in those watchtowers, but that would probably be the easiest and most efficient way for you to get in. You just need them to be distracted enough for you to run across the lawn and over to one of them. As if on cue, you hear Hobie play a chord. Loudly. You smile to yourself. Perfect.

You sprint across the lawn, being sure to stay as shrouded by shadow as you can, and luckily for you multiple guards are on edge and running to wear the guitar noise came from. You hear them calling Hobie some… choice words and chuckle. He’ll be so happy to know they hate him so much. You quickly start to scale up the watchtower, looking out just in case a guard might see you.

You were in the clear.

You reach the top, quietly peering into the tower, and see a guard looking out of the opposite window. You climb through the window you’re in front of, not making a sound, before sneaking past the guard. You quietly hurry down the stairs, and peer through a large archway. You search for cameras, pulling out your small throwing knives to break them if needed. You spot two, hitting them with deadly correct aim. You scoff, sneaking out and making your way to some large double doors. They’re locked, of course, so you use your claws. You pick the lock, quietly pushing it open and slipping through. Sure enough, your intuition was right, and now you’re in the room with probably billions or trillions of dollars. You glance around to see if there are any guards inside the room. None. Strange. “Come to mama,” you mumble, taking out a vial of chalk dust and blowing it. Yep. Lasers. That’s fine.

You start crawling, flipping, and sliding your way through the lasers, collecting a few gemstones, a staff, an all-gold orb with a crown on it, a giant fucking diamond, and finally, a purple crown endowed with gold and jewels. You collect them one by one, placing them in a bag you have laying where the lasers start. You shake your head. Relying on lasers is never a good idea for people trying to protect their things. For you? Amazing. You sneak back out, closing the door and glancing around. You hear the faint noise of screams and an electric guitar. Hobie’s still got them distracted. Good.

You run up the way you came. This was almost too easy, but then again, you are skilled at what you do. Too bad your dumbass forgot there was a guard up here. “Oi!”

“Oh! Hi, there. If you don’t mind, I’ll just be on my way,” you say, slinking towards a window. Unluckily for you, he pulls out a sword. Though he does have a gun, so… guess it could be worse? “I’m like, totally not telling you that I’d prefer the bullets… but why a sword when you have that?” you say as he takes a swipe at you and you dodge it. He doesn’t respond, and you frown. “I heard you speak earlier, bro. I know you can,” you backflip away from him, tossing the jewels to the side and getting ready to fight. “Seems a little… redundant, you know? Like why even carry a gun if you’re not gonna use it.”

“Pipe down, cow,” he growls as you continue dodging his attacks. “Well, now, that just wasn’t very nice. Clearly, no one has ever raised you to treat women with respect,” you say, using your claws to catch the sword in your hands. His eyes widen as you yank the sword away from him. You kick him in the side of the head, disorienting him before swiping his legs out from underneath him. He falls down, hard, and you stick a loose part of his uniform with his sword into the bricks below him. “Would love to stick around and chat, but I have some jewels to sell.” You wave, picking up your bag and leaping out of the window, using your claws to slide down the wall. You sprint across the lawn, being careful to stay in the shadows, and make your way back out to the wall you and Hobie climbed earlier. You lay low, hoping that Hobie can deduct you’re done and give you a quick getaway, but it’s never that easy. You slide down the wall again, hearing the commotion of the guards starting to race around and search the perimeter, so you stay hidden. You make your way back across the street and into the alley that you and Hobie were in earlier. You send him a quick message on your watch before climbing up one of the buildings.

You watch as across the street chaos ensues. And you smirk to yourself knowing that you have the riches of a family that never deserved them. You hear a familiar voice screaming, “What?! Ya didn’t like the show! I played jus’ for you bloody lot, ’n ‘is is ‘ow ‘m repaid?!”

You shake your head as Hobie lands next to you, pulling you behind the door that leads into the building the two of you are on top of. “We should definitely run,” you say, waving the bag towards him and he nods. “Right,” he says, pulling you into him and webbing away again. You lose the guards, and he quickly ducks into his flat. You roll into the room whereas he lands perfectly, and there’s a silence that falls between the two of you. You turn your head to look at him and give him a big smile. “Think I can return any of this shit to the original owners?”

“What ‘ave you got?” he asks, dumping out the bag. He pulls his mask off, genuine shock on his face. “You got it all?!”

“I told you. I’m good at what I do,” you say, picking up the giant diamond. You gasp. “No fucking way. This is—”

“The Koh-I-Noor,” Hobie laughs, picking up the crown and inspecting it. “Bloody tosser wore this on ‘er ‘ead the other day. Now it’s in my ‘ands,” he smiles, tossing it to the side with no regard for caring for it. You hear the heavy gold thump on the ground and shake your head. “How much you think all this’ll go for?”

“Mate, this shit is priceless. I can’t wait to see the look on Pavitr’s face when we show ‘im you got the Kah-I-Noor,” Hobie shakes his head, and you grin. “Well, let’s get it back to my place, yeah? I can display it and the best part is these assholes here will never find any of it.”

“Lead the way, love.”

You enter through a portal into your home, typing a code into a painting that opens like a door. You allow Hobie to see your treasure room. He’s honestly kind of stunned. You have so many priceless artifacts in here. It’s impressive. “Mate. You are cool as fuck. Jus’ thought ya should know ‘at,” he mumbles, picking up an emerald the size of his head. You chuckle. “I know, Hobie. Now, let’s get this diamond to Pav, shall we?”

As soon as Miguel got the notification that there was disrupt in Hobie’s universe due to someone stealing the Crown Jewels, he had to take a walk.

He was stressed.

───────────────────────────────────

『 tag list 』

@noelsilly* @yunonaneko​

*if you are italicized - i am unable to tag you for whatever reason, feel free to reach out and see if we can fix the issue

[iwritefandomimagines]

I COULD KISS YOU — GREG HOUSE

masterlist

pairing: greg house x reader

description: when an offhand comment to praise house for helping you diagnose a patient leads to the silent treatment, you’re both forced to confront the feelings that had been lingering unspoken for too long.

warnings: swearing, angst to a teeny bit of fluff, may be a lil ooc as i’m still iffy on fleshing out how i write the house characters but i’m trying <3

author’s note: had this idea and got excited so bashed it out quite quickly while i was motivated af — hopefully you enjoy !!! let me know what you think

“Gregory House, you bloody genius,” you exclaimed, clenching your fists in excitement, unable to stop the words that came flying out next, “I could kiss you!”

You’d been trying to diagnose your patient for nigh on a week now, and with the young boy’s symptoms rapidly progressing and his condition rapidly worsening, House’s diagnostic expertise provided exactly the breakthrough you needed.

You were ecstatic — mentally piecing together just how he had to be correct — and so without another word you practically skipped out of his office to run some tests and reach the certainty needed to treat the boy as soon as possible.

What House had suggested made perfect sense, accounting for every symptom and every adverse reaction to the treatments you had tried so far, and though you usually mocked his tendency to always smugly assume he was right, at present you were immeasurably grateful for his input.

You were disappointed, then, when you rushed to tell him that the young boy was responding incredibly well to the treatment he suggested and he simply gave you his smug “I-told-you-so” smile and rushed away from you.

He didn’t speak to you again for the rest of the day, choosing instead to actually take time to visit his patients rather than deal with encountering you again.

“What did I do to piss House off?” you asked Cameron, Foreman and Chase shyly as you stood near the nurse’s station with them.

They all just eyed you like the answer was obvious, but Chase shrugged, “When has anyone ever needed to actually do something to piss him off?”

“No, he won’t even talk to me right now,” you frowned, brows furrowed, “It’s weird. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong since this morning.”

The group all looked between eachother, as though deciding who would be the one to have to tell you the honest truth.

“Probably something to do with your little ‘I could kiss you’,” Chase replied, doing a terrible impersonation of you and batting his eyelids flirtatiously as he quoted you, “He didn’t seem to like that very much.”

Your mouth was parted in confusion, “Firstly, I do not sound like that. But secondly, why would he give me the silent treatment for that? Is the idea of kissing me that repulsive?”

Cameron scoffed, rolling her eyes, “You’re both as oblivious as each other, Y/N… He’s ignoring you for literally the opposite reason.”

You shook your head in disbelief.

Was she seriously trying to tell you that House was ignoring you because he didn’t like you joking about kissing him?

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“It’s literally painfully obvious, Y/N,” Foreman groaned, “You’ve had this weird sexual tension going on forever and given that he’s usually bad at giving a damn about people, he gets weird about you. And he obviously has feelings for you, so it rubbed him up the wrong way.”

Chase chuckled, “They’re right. He’s only mad at you because you’re the only person he’s never mad at but you hurt the feelings he apparently has.”

You pondered what he was saying for a moment, trying to piece together whether there was any semblance of truth behind their explanation for House’s weird behaviour.

Truth be told, it was the exact kind of petty and ill-fitting behaviour you’d expect from House.

For such a brilliant man, he could be utterly childish at times, especially if he wasn’t getting his way.

Your relationship had always teetered on the edge of professionalism — he was always making flirtatious comments, he always took your suggestions on board more than the others, always sung your praises to your peers and superiors.

Whilst everyone else was certain it was proof of his feelings for you, you had just thought he appreciated that you never pried into his life unless he offered to divulge information himself, and you were excellent at your job.

Of course, you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed your ambiguous relationship, given the crush you had harboured since very early on in your acquaintance. That’s why you always flirted back, always made sure your input was carefully though out, and why you were always singing his praises too.

But it was Greg House — a man who so famously behaved as though he didn’t care about anyone. So of course you didn’t think that things would ever progress past your unprofessional professional relationship.

“Where is he?”

“In his office,” Cameron smiled, “He told me to make sure nobody bothered him, and I think he meant you because he’s still throwing his toys out of the pram.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, “God, he’s ridiculous. I’m going to go and talk to him. Or try, anyway. Wish me luck.”

“Is this House we’re talking about?” Dr. James Wilson made an appearance at your side now, his brow quirked in curiosity as he butted into the conversation.

You nodded, “He’s being a baby instead of actually talking to me about why he’s mad.”

You hoped he’d have some kind of more concrete explanation, given that he was the only person House was even remotely honest around.

“He’s hardly an expert at talking about his feelings, is he? Or having them, actually,” Wilson chuckled, “But he’s been grumbling all day. Please do go and speak to him. For my sanity’s sake, if not your relationship’s.”

“Slow down, Wilson,” you scoffed, but though you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself, you couldn’t deny the fluttering in your stomach at any sort of reference to you and House’s potential relationship, “I’m going!”

You entered the room without even knocking, folding your arms over your chest with a stern expression on your features as you strode towards his desk and stood firmly in front of him.

“I’m busy.”

“Busy being petty and ignoring me?”

He looked up now, narrowing his eyes as he realised you were not going to meekly scuttle away like you had done every other time he’d dismissed you today.

“What makes you think that?” sarcasm dripped from his words, “I just so enjoy spending time getting to know my patients and doing paperwork!”

You huffed out a sigh, frustrated by him already trying to dodge the subject, “Greg.”

“Y/N.”

“Greg!”

“Y/N!” he matched your tone just to challenge you, and you scoffed, “Are you really going to be like this?”

“Like what?”

“So deliberately evasive?”

His lips drew together in a thin line as he eyed you carefully, “How’s your little boy from this morning?”

“You are so fucking frustrating, Greg,” you scowled, “Can we have an adult conversation here?”

He appeared to ponder over another joke to make, but apparently for the first time in his life thought better, as he remained silent and waited for you to continue.

“I’ve been so stressed out about that kid, and you helped me to help him massively — he’s likely to be discharged by tomorrow. I was so happy, so relieved, and I said I could kiss you,” you began, avoiding his gaze at first until your final sentence, “And it was a silly offhanded comment about how grateful I was, but at the same time I honestly could’ve kissed you because I quite honestly want to a lot of the time.”

Oh my God — you’d stunned the Greg House into silence?

Your breathing was jagged, “I don’t know if you’re just being an ass because you don’t like being on the other end of jokes, or if the team actually aren’t just blind hopeless romantics and you actually care about me. But I just wish you’d talk to me instead of doing all this and making me feel like you don’t care at all.”

He pulled himself up onto his feet, grabbing his cane to lean on as he inched closer to you.

“It’s a bit of both,” his voice was low, and you were sure that if you didn’t know him better you might believe him to be shy about telling you the truth, “I’m not good at caring, and I don’t usually like caring, but I guess I do. Sue me!”

You took another step forward, so that you were so close you were breathing right in each other’s faces.

You were trying to be brave and command the conversation, but your stomach was doing backflips as it dawned on you that what he meant was that he really did feel the same about you.

“Why would you go silent on me then instead of talking to me about it?” you bit your lip as you spoke, and caught notice of how his eyes trailed to your lips as you did so.

He swallowed thickly, “Didn’t feel right to. Hardly professional, is it?”

“Oh, because you’re the picture of professionalism usually aren’t you?” you laughed dryly.

“Point taken,” he shrugged, “Maybe I was little scared. And we’ve got a good thing going, it’s a risk pushing things any further.”

You weren’t happy with that, not when this was Greg House — king of taking risks and breaking rules — and you were certain that it was a risk worth taking anyway.

“When has risk ever stopped you?” you asked, whispering now as your eyes darted between his and his lips whilst he mirrored your behaviour.

“Point also taken,” he mumbled, before finally taking the plunge and bringing his lips to yours in a heated kiss that you leaned into immediately.

He quickly leaned back to sit on the edge of his desk, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you to stand between his parted legs.

You pulled back, suddenly aware that anyone could come in at this moment and see you — and whilst the biggest risk here really was endless teasing from the team or a scolding from Cuddy, you did still have some things to discuss too.

You didn’t want to ruin the moment, overcome with giddiness at what had just happened, but you wanted to make your feelings clear; Even if it was to a man who would probably make a jokey remark and underplay his own feelings.

“I don’t know your relationship history, and I don’t care to,” you shrugged, moving your hands to your hips but hardly moving away from him, “Well, I’m not rushing to. I can assume it’s not great, but I just want to take every day as it comes and see where things go because mine isn’t great either. I’m not gonna hurt you, Greg.”

The sincerity in his eyes as he gazed up at you made your heart melt, and you could tell that somehow, some way, you had gotten through to him.

“Don’t make promises you can’t be certain that you’ll keep, Y/N,” he mumbled, before shaking off his own words and standing back up to stare into your eyes intently, “But fine. Because it’s you, I’m willing to try. Provided there’s more of this,” he kissed you again before continuing, “And less of them ogling and concocting their little romantic stories about the lovely doctor Y/N and her damaged old fool.”

You turned around to see the entire team peering through the window, all smiles and whispered chatter at the sight before them.

You raised your middle finger to them, turning back to look at House and stepping back a little from him.

“Unfortunately, those nosey fuckers are not going anywhere,” you rolled your eyes, “If you’re willing to try then we’re going for dinner. Tonight. And we’re going to have a good time, and not talk about this place or about anything you don’t want to.”

He nodded, “I’ll pretend I’m not furious you’ve robbed me of making the grand romantic gesture of being the one to ask,” he cocked his head as he joked, truthfully very much pleased you were the one to ask and confirm that your interest in him was genuine, “But sounds good to me. I’ll wear my nicest tux, eh.”

“Yeah, yeah, ha ha,” you hummed, “Now I’ve got a living patient to go and visit thanks to you. Enjoy your afternoon with that lot,” you gestured to your friends, who were all still stood there watching you, “Good luck. Oh, and pick somewhere to book for us to eat. That can be your grand romantic gesture, hm.”

“Gee, thanks,” he laughed, shaking his head, “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” you grinned, swanning out of his office with the biggest smile possible painting your features.

You nudged past your friends as they watched you walk down the corridor, happier than they had probably ever seen you in the time that you’d known them.

They immediately filed into House’s office when you were out of sight, and his head fell back in irritation for a moment despite the smile still gracing his lips.

“Things went well, then?”

“Go away,” he replied, “I’m in a good mood for once, and you idiots aren’t going to ruin that, alright?”

“Woah, okay,” Foreman laughed, “Who are you and what has Y/N done with Greg House?”

———

thanks for reading !!! i hope enjoyed and this wasn’t too ooc lol. let me know what you though pleaaase & if you’d like — feel free to request!

in the meantime, here is my masterlist!

[noctxj]

hanahaki disease “… in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies…”

part i / part ii / part iii / part iv

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

warm.

too warm.

a scorching heat—

this isn’t what agent imagined being dead would be like, but they guess the fires of hell weren’t called fires for nothing. 

…

no, thats not it.

the engulfing warmth slowly cleared up the haze within agents mind, finally allowing them to properly assess their physical state. 

nothing broken… nothing torn… so far so good…

… throat remains sore though…

an instinctual habit they’d adopted during their early days, particularly after a gruelling contract gone sideways or a bumpy operation with the taskforce—

they’re here. they came.

agents’ mind screeching to a halt as all of a sudden the events of the last few (?) hours flashed behind their closed eyes.

the bloodied flowers.

painpainpain—

the doctor.

savemesavemesaveme—

their initially slow and aching climb to consciousness now shattered as their inner turmoil translates to abrupt stirring of their limbs. agents’ brows furrowing in discomfort; panic and fear steadily fuelling the turbulence of their memories and emotions clashing against one another.

scheduled to carve them out of agents body—

to heal them. make them better.

so that—johnsimonjohnnykyle—would never find out—

undeservingundeservingundeserving—

agent didn’t feel the comforting warmth shift beneath—around? them, too lost in the storm brewing within their mind. slender, tanned fingers anchoring itself firmly to the back of agents’ neck, as if to gently coax them to stay in the present little love.

a gentle huff exhaled through agents’ lips, as if their body instinctually understood that command, trying to respond with an exasperated I’m trying, to only which an even more exasperated tutsounding beside—in front? of them. only for a new snap of blurred images of the taskforce spill through agents’ mind; all of them surrounding agent as they vomited out bloody flowers. the cause of their absence, the reason why agent (desperately) distanced themselves from the taskforce. agents’ secret now literally spilt out in front of them—

nononono— 

theyknowtheyknowtheyknow—

pleasedoneleavemepleasedoneleavemeplease—!!

agents’ eyelids slowly blinked open, the effects of the anaesthetic still present in their system; but not impossible for their restless panic and fear to demand control of their body. a soft gasp escaping their lips as they (thankfully) register the dimmed lights of the seemingly familiar room—bedroom? yes, their private living quarters within the clinic (and for any subsequent visits, per the doctors words). the soft hues of browns and deep greens evoking a comforting ambiance. however, agent wasn’t able to appreciate this as their senses seemed to finally catch up to their distressed minds’ demands—

agent was lying on top of someone.

ah shit.

their cheek pressed against a solid chest covered in a soft cotton shirt. the stranger—

no. not a stranger. they smell—

like comfort (home). 

earthy. a tinge of sweetness.

a brilliant smile—

kyle. 

they were lying on top of kyle of all people.

this time agent feeling a different sense of panic— an embarrassed one; their cheeks heating up. agent now forcefully trying to pump their blood through their body faster. getting ready to bolt—

strong, rough fingers gently interlocked with one of agents’ squeezed as if being able to read their train of thought now now, none of that lass.

johnny.

agents’ vision sharpening in clarity after each blink, their eyes trailing from their interlocked fingers, up a strong arm and shoulder to electric blue eyes peering into agents’ own, from a seat besides the bed they were lying upon. a soft smile stretching across johnnys face as he placed a chaste kiss upon the back of agents’ hand.

whatthefu— 

“there’s our wee little bon’, had us scared for a bit there. but now we ‘ken finally see those beautiful eyes of yers!”

always a fucking flirt—

“johnny, behave”

a gravelly, tired voice sounded out from the back wall closest to the door.

positioned like a big, scary guard dog— 

simon.

of course, the human equivalent of a (double-layered) brick wall was always prepared. focused. agent redirecting their wide eyes to simons’ intimidating mass, only to meet dark whisky pools behind a plain black balaclava already boring onto agents. johnny only humming in response as he continued to lightly brush his lips back and forth over agents’ hand.

whatthehell—

“johnny”

“soap, stop being such a shit”

“oi ‘am not bein’ a shite—“

“of course the first thing our little love is subjected to upon waking up, is you lots’ clucking like hens” a deep, smooth voice intercepts the sergeants’ bickering. johnny immediately pursing his lips in defiance, with kyle cracking an awkward, sheepish smile at the captain. meanwhile simon seemed content to continue blending into the shadow of the wall.

john.

standing in the seemingly minuscule doorway with his burly arms crossed over his chest and a bushy eyebrow arched, unimpressed. his clear azure eyes flickering between johnny and kyle, as if daring them to bite back.

agent, now definitely wide awake, rips their hand from johnny’s and immediately moves away from kyle’s comforting warmth as if burned, their legs now dangling over the side of the bed, intent to stand before the captain in their already disgraceful state. only for a wave of queasiness to slam across their body.

moved to much too fast—

was agents’ fleeting thought as their upper body lazily swayed forward, the taskforce swarming to them. kyle gently grasping one shoulder, johnny planting both hands on agents’ waist, simon’s broad palm curling against their collarbone, and john gently cradling agents’ face between his rough, calloused hands.

“shhh, hey easy now. take deep breaths for me love”

john rumbled as he ducked his head down to keep eye contact with agents’ wide, frantic eyes. the close proximity, the gentleness, washing over agents’ skin in waves.

“c-captain--“

agent finally managed to warble out from between their stinging lips, johns gaze softening further as his thumbs swept gently across agents’ cheeks.

“—why are you here? why are you all here?”

john didn’t appear phased at all with the question, seemingly content to continue rubbing soothing motions across agents’ touch-starved cheeks. only for the uncomfortable (yet familiar) drag of something sharp at the base of their throat to slowly unwind.

no—

please—

notrightnow—

“tryin’ to find you ‘f course”

agent’s brows furrowed in disbelief, as they had informed him— the captain, of their absence—

“had somethin’ important to say. all of us had’ ta’ tell ya’ somethin’— it just couldn’t wait”

they had had enough of me—

the vicious thorns continuing a slow and continuously deepening drag against the walls of their throat.

a liability to the taskforce—

luscious plumes of soft flowers causing a suffocating sensation.

notenough—

“we love you”

john— the captain of taskforce 141’s voice seemed to bounce against the walls of the room. 

what—

“all of us love you, lass” johhny crooned gently. 

lieslieslies—

“we didn’t know it in the beginnin’— buncha’ muppets we all were”

simons’ rough voice interjected agents’ twisting thoughts, his gaze so so soft as they mapped the corners of their face in reverence.

how—

“didn’t know then, but we know now—“ kyle softly continued on from simons words.

they couldn’t be—

“— that all of our love belongs to you” he murmured against the back of agents’ neck, his soft lips and warm breath feeling so right—

“our little love” john murmured, moving even closer to rest his forehead against agents own, a shudder rolling through them, “ours to always love.”

agent felt something within them break.

they could finally breathe—

a desperate sob spilling out of agent as their tears dripped down onto johns hands still cradling their cheeks, grabbing onto his wrists as if to remove them from their mess, as if in apology, only for the captain to wipe away agents’ tears with a tenderness agent didn’t even know existed.

theylovemetheylovemetheyloveme—

“i—“ they hiccup, voice interrupted by their sniffles.

itsokayitsokayitsokay—

“i love you to”

imsafeimsafeimsafe—

“I love all of you”

im home—

agent squeaking out in surprise as john connects his nose with agents, half lidded eyes unwavering from agents’ own. johnny resting his head upon their thigh, a look of pure adoration shining in his sky blue eyes as they gaze upon agents’ sweet face. simon replacing his palm resting upon their collarbone with his cheek, tucking his nose against the crook of agents’ neck. and kyle fully resting his lips against the back of agents’ neck, softly inhaling their addictive scent. 

the agonising pain of the thorn and flowers gone from agents’ body. the cuts on their lips, both fresh and old disappearing as if they hadn’t haunted agent for weeks whenever they looked into the mirror. the suffocating struggle of breathing now absent from agents’ lungs and throat. everything appearing so much clearer, brighter—

and for the first time in their life, agent felt weightless, felt warm. 

and it was all because of them that

agent feels love.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

anddd we’ve made it to the end!! thanks to everyone whose read and enjoyed this story! ᡣ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶𐭩 ♡

this is my first completed fanfic series so feel free to leave feedback and comments, i'd love to hear your thoughts (o´〰`o)♡*✲ﾟ*｡

crossposted on ao3 (same username!) 

[natalievoncatte]

CW: discussion of death and dying.

The gun was still on her hip when Lena walked into her penthouse. She probably should have gotten rid of it, just for the sake of disposing of evidence. It was far from the only one she owned, and she wouldn’t miss it. Then again, one does not discard lightly the weapon of fratricide. She’d decide what to do with the murder weapon later; right now, there was only one thought screaming in her head.

I killed Lex. I killed my brother.

It kept repeating in her brain on an endless loop.

I killed my brother for a liar. A betrayer. He was right and I was wrong. She only-

Lena was not alone. There was a figure seated on her sofa, staring straight ahead. Lena knew those blond curls, falling in a dark river like warm honey. Supergirl.

Supergirl, not Kara. Kara was good. Kara loved her, trusted her, watched out for her, had her back. Kara kept her secrets and gave her a shoulder to cry on always had her back. Kara was good, and Kara was a lie.

Lena walked around the couch, eyes wide and lips trembling, her features pulled into a mask of morose fury. How dare she just break in here and… sit there.

“I died.”

Lena froze.

“I died,” Supergirl said, again. “The clone of me that Lex had, she was a duplicate created by Harun-El somehow. She killed me. I died.”

Supergirl’s brilliant blue eyes flashed in the twilight of Lena’s dark apartment and locked on her.

“There was nothing. No warm light of Rao welcoming me home to live in peace with my people forever. No tunnel of light. There was just nothing. I was gone and then I wasn’t. Alex said the grass brought me back.”

Lena licked her lips. She was fixed to the spot.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m Kara.”

Those two little words, those treacherous words, hit Lena like a freight train. Her knees buckled and she sagged, catching herself by an end table.

Kara met her gaze.

“There were a million reasons why I never told you. They’re all stupid and pointless. When I woke up that was the first thing I thought of. I died and I never told you.”

Lena tried to speak, but her throat had gone so dry that it was like trying to breath through a mournful of sand. She sagged further, barely able to fall into a side chair.

“At first I just didn’t know you well enough. Then I screwed everything up by being a complete ass to you, and I never even said I was sorry. But I was sorry. So I was too scared to tell you because I didn’t want you to hate me. Then by the time I wanted to tell you again, all of this had happened and I was still afraid you’d hate me.”

Kara looked down at the floor.

“But then I was dead and none of it mattered anymore. None of the things that had been important to me mattered when I was dying. You know what I was thinking as she crushed the life out of me?”

“No,” Lena choked out.

“This is it?” said Kara. “All that… and this is it? Just like that? This is all I get?”

Silence ruled the dark apartment. The back edge of Lena’s gun dug uncomfortably into her flank. Kara just sat there, looking through the floor. Perhaps literally.

“Kara,” Lena said, without quite knowing why. “I’m sure… you weren’t…”

“No, Lena, I died. It wasn’t like when Reign beat me to a pulp and threw me off a building. That was different. This was different. I can’t even say how. I just know.”

When Reign…

Lena had been there that night. Reign had beaten Supergirl into a coma, thrown her off a building and left her broken and bloodied in the street. Lena thought she’d died that night.

Wait.

That was Kara, too.

Sharp, rancid bile, harsh and acidic, burned the back of Lena’s throat. She choked it down, trembling.

Kara looked at her again.

“I have something else I have to tell you.”

Lena needed a drink. Now. She wobbled across the room to the kitchen and grabbed the nearest wine bottle, pouring herself a glass and downing half of it in one go. It was a dry red, harsh and sharp on her tongue.

“Kara,” Lena began. “Before you say anything else-“

“I’m in love with you.”

Lena wasn’t sure what she expected Kara to say, but not that. Not just… say it. She couldn’t say it. Not when Lena has been grasping that secret so hard that it always threatened to slip from her fingers, reedy to leap from her grip from being held so tight. The words simultaneously made her feel as if her heels would float from the floor and nearly drove her down to it. She leaned on the white marble countertop, trembling.

“None of the reasons I kept that secret matter anymore, either. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I’ll leave if you want me to. I just… I died,” Kara’s voice crumbled into a sob, barely intelligible, “and I didn’t tell you.”

Lena said nothing. She downed the rest of the wine.

“What do you want from me?” She finally choked out.

“I want to tell you about Krypton. I want movie nights and game nights and big belly burgers and brunches. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you so bad I don’t know how I never did. If you want that.”

Again, Lena went silent.

“I want to make up for the shit I’ve put you through. I want to show you how much I care for you, as often and as thoroughly as I can. Dying without you fucking sucked. I want to live with you instead.”

Lena’s breath quickened. Kara’s boots creaked as she stood up, her cape billowing slightly behind her as she crossed the room, keeping a respectful distance.

“I’ll go, if you want. I just had to say it.”

Lena pressed her fingers against the countertop until they went white and her palms trembled. She felt the weight of the gun on her hip.

“Stay,” she whispered.

There is no prompt for this one. The idea just came to me and I had to write it out.

[merakiui]

Azul who enchants a pussy pocket since it's mating season and he's too shy and nervous to ask reader. So he stuffs the reader with his eggs using the pussy pocket.

I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense, had a bit of trouble organizing my thoughts lol

This is the ideal solution to so many of Azul’s problems. He doesn’t have to show you his mer form, nor does he have to look biologically and emotionally vulnerable in front of you when he’s caught up in mating season heats. And he can also pump you full of eggs without having to actually look at you. He’s much more confident when he’s alone. One day he’ll gain the courage to show you his true form and one day another mating season will roll around in which he’ll finally take you into his arms and fuck you without the distance separating you or the help from the magical pussy pocket.

But for now, baby steps. He’ll make progress with you one day, but for now he’ll do it from the shadows.

Maybe you’re sleeping or maybe you’re in public or maybe you’re even working your shift at the lounge. No matter where you are and what you’re doing, the moment you feel fingers thrust up inside your pussy to stretch it in preparation for something, you nearly double over, curl into yourself, crumple… it’s a sensation that takes you by surprise, leaving you gasping and grasping for something to squeeze or hold so you can properly brace yourself and figure out what’s going on.

Maybe you try to ignore it, assuming it’s just a passing feeling. But then it persists and you’re quickly falling apart, sweating so much, chewing your lip bloody to keep any salacious sounds from slipping out. If you thought the fingers were unbearable, it’s when they’re removed and the tapered tip of something pokes at your hole that you begin to realize this is far from any fleeting feeling.

Azul’s so desperate in his pool, far past the point of keeping his composure, and he’s impatient to release his clutch. So he’s a little rough when he thrusts his hectocotylus so deeply, not entirely thinking of whether or not you can truly take so much of it. But he does imagine your expression, how you’d sound, what you might say, and even the little tummy bulge as it presses up against areas a normal human cock could never hope to reach. And it’s so tight and warm and wet inside you; he’s a mess, his pace hasty and determined. He doesn’t have the foresight to pretend like he isn’t affected; he’s a moaning mess under the water as he ruts into you, the tentacle thrust so far that it kisses your cervix. <3

There’s no time beneath the water. Not that it’s important at this moment. Not truly. Azul’s so focused on base desires, brought down to such a primal level by his own biological imperative, and so maybe it’s been hours of fucking or maybe it’s only been minutes. But eventually, finally, he’s filled you with enough slick to keep the eggs safe and sound. He’s flustered about the idea, about seeing you so round and full of him the next time he crosses paths with you. Maybe you’ve already guessed he’s responsible. Or maybe you have no idea, too confused and pleasured to think that far ahead.

He doesn’t count the eggs as they’re deposited in the depths of your womb. Rather, he just fucks, mindless and instinctual, until every last one has made its home inside you. It’s not an absurd amount—although by human standards it would surely be—but it’s just enough for now. In the future, he’ll turn you into a mer, keep you in the Coral Sea, and give you a larger clutch when he knows your body can handle it.

Azul could have painted you a dozen ways in his brilliant mind, but no amount of fantasy could prepare him for just how pretty you look when the twins guide you into his VIP room and you’ve just managed to squeeze yourself into a uniform, so round already. He has bad news for you; you’ll only get bigger as the eggs grow and the fry within mature. Hungrier, too. And moodier. And more hormonal. Mers fuck a lot when they’re pregnant. And when it comes time to lay, necessary preparations will need to be made… there’s so much to look forward to. So much planning. But he’s immensely happy, and he tries not to let it show while you, flustered and teary-eyed, try to explain your predicament while the twins leer.

Maybe you don’t need to know yet. For now, he’s just pleased to have overcome this mating season. And he has a family to look forward to, hoping most of them survive hatching, that is. But for now he’s happy. And you will be, too. Eventually.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Getting ready for their first date, like—

—Keeley bringing Rebecca to find the perfect outfit, not because she needs a new outfit and not because Roy and Jamie won’t love her in whatever, but that’s half the fun, isn’t it? Getting ready, building anticipation, sneaking another drink at Aeronaut while Derek fetches her two more dresses, just for the hell of it.

Rebecca tells her that she looks gorgerous in every bloody thing, but that she looks particularly gorgerous in the second pink one, and oh, they should stop by The Connaught Bar on their way to the spa, celebrate Keeley looking like the marvel she is, and maybe raise a toast to Roy and Jamie being far, far luckier than either of them deserve.

“If you were into women I’d never date anyone else,” Keeley says very seriously over her Fleurissimo. “We’d never even have to go on actual dates, we could just do this forever, it’d be fucking fantastic.” She makes an exaggerated face. “Now I’m stuck dating icky boys.”

And Rebecca laughs and hugs her and knows that she’s not serious, at least not about the last part.

(Rebecca hopes this works out because if it doesn’t and she has to deal with the implosion of a relationship between her head coach and their star player… Well. She’d put the brakes on the whole thing, maybe, if it weren’t for Keeley and the way she lights up when she talks about her icky boys, if it weren’t for the fact that Roy and Jamie are going to be absolutely ridiculous about each other no matter what Rebecca allows or doesn’t allow, if it weren’t for her sordid affair with Sam and how it hasn’t left her with a single leg to stand on.)

---

Getting ready for their first date, like—

—Jamie giving Roy an incredulous and halfway reproachful look as Roy sticks his head out the office to tell him that they’re leaving, so mush. “I’m going back home, mate. Dani’s giving me a ride.”

And Roy’s eyebrows do their Roy’s eyebrow thing. “What the fuck for? Keeley’s picking us up in less than two hours. At my place. You can do your fucking hair bullshit or whatever you need to do there.”

(It’s unclear to Roy exactly what hair bullshit Jamie might need doing, because he’s already spent half an hour after training in front of the dressing room mirror with most of the team chiming in with encouragement and advice, but it’s Jamie, so it’s probably something.)

“Not with your tragic products, I can’t,” Jamie mutters (and that’s a right laugh because Jamie knows better than most everybody that Roy does not, in fact and unlike some other people, settle for fucking Lynx or the like). “And anyway, we’re going on a date with each other, right, not just with Keeley, so we can’t get ready together. What am I supposed to do, sneak out the door and ring the bell when it’s time to pick you up?”

“What? No.”

Jamie points at him. “Right, ‘cause that’d be weird.”

“That’s not—“ But Jamie doesn’t let him finish, he just walks off with Dani, because he doesn’t have time for Roy’s spluttering, has he, and doesn’t Roy know Jamie has a date to get ready for?

Get ready he does, but because he is a filthy hypocrite (a word he does know the meaning of, so there, Coach Beard) he doesn’t hesitate to call Keeley when he can’t decide between his favourite Stone Island jacket and the new patterned Gucci number he got sent the other day, and then he has to have opinions on her shade of lipstick, and she suggests he wear the Layton she bought him a few years back, and it’s a brilliant time, just like them getting ready for the red carpet back when they were dating before.

“Bit like cheating, though, innit,” Jamie tells Keeley, out of a sudden and uncharacteristic sense of fairness. “Us asking each other for advice when getting ready for a date with each other, yeah? I should be on the phone with like Isaac, and you should talk to Rebecca or Barbara.”

“Well,” Keeley reasons as she sips her mimosa and waits for her nail polish to dry. “We’re going on a date with Roy too, and since we are the ones who properly knows what he likes and we want to look fucking fit for him, it makes sense for us to help each other out, yeah? Besides,” she adds, “we can do whatever we want, babe. Screw the rules, right?”

And yeah, right. That’s the basis for this whole thing, innit? “Yeah,” Jamie agrees, giving her a grin. “Screw the rules.” And then his smile softens into something gentler, almost shy, something she used to be the only one ever allowed to see. “Want look fucking fit for you too,” he admits, like it’s a secret.

Keeley’s smile, too, is soft. “Aw, babe, me too. And you do.”

—

Getting ready for their first date, like—

Roy picking Phoebe up from school and dropping her off with Sophia’s retired colleague, and when Phoebe asks why she’s not staying with him this time he takes a long moment to answer, and it’s messed up, isn’t it, that he’s this concerned about what a fucking child should think about his love life.

Not just any child, though, is she. “I’m going on a date,” he says eventually, glancing at her in the rear mirror.

“Oh.” She frowns; not in disapproval, he thinks, but in careful consideration. Then: “Is this a date with Keeley or with Jamie?”

Huh. All right, then. First potential hurdle cleared. As for the second… “Both.”

To his stupidly immense relief, Phoebe brightens at that. “That’s very clever of you, Uncle Roy. It would have been really hard to choose between Jamie and Keeley, and they both love you so much.”

Roy shakes his head, biting back a smile that’s as much affection as it is incredulity. “All right, you little precocious shit, get out of here, and be good for Ms. Mallard.”

And then he has just enough time to get back home and change out of his black shirt and trousers into another black shirt and pair of trousers, to trim his beard and add a textured silk tie (very dark purple, Keeley and Jamie better fucking appricate the splash of colour). He spends a long time staring at his reflection, partly because he really is quite vain (his stubborn protests to the contrary), but mostly because this means something to him. They do: Keeley, Jamie. The three of them, and what they could be.

It leaves him a little dizzy. It scares the hell out of him. He wants to get this right.

The door bell chimes. Jamie, and Roy has barely let him in, has barely even begun to figure out what he’s supposed to say to this Jamie, to his date Jamie, to the Jamie whose eyes sparkle and who manages to make even that ridiculous outfit look good, when the bell chimes again, and there is Keeley, a fucking vision, and Roy knows what to say to her.

“You look fucking amazing,” he says, and she giggles and leans in to kiss his cheek, very chaste (it’s a first date, after all), and still it’s nearly enough to leave him breathless with how much he’s missed her.

“Got you this,” he mutters a little hoarsely, picking up and handing over a Black Baccarat rose that’s been strategically sat on the sidetable.

Impractical, since they’re going out, and corny, but fucking sue him. Roy Kent will headbutt anyone who dares call him a romantic, but that doesn’t mean he thinks they’re wrong – and anyway, it’s worth it for the way Keeley smiles as she inhales the sweet scent.

“Uh, where’s my flower?” Jamie complains.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he growls. “Fine.” And he heads off into the kitchen where there is indeed a second rose waiting in a small vase. He’d left it there, deeply unsure if he was supposed to offer Jamie one or not; but that’s that cleared up then, flowers for Jamie is a go, he’ll make a note for their next date.

Jamie beams as he accepts his rose; grins wickedly as he, too, leans in to kiss Roy’s cheek.

Roy clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his heart’s sped up at the brief touch. “Okay. Let’s fucking do this.”

“Yeah,” Keeley agrees. “Let’s.”

And Jamie doesn’t say anthing at all, but he nods, and he takes Roy’s arm, and Keeley takes his hand, and they walk out into the night and fucking do it.

[weeesi]

Imperfect - May Prompts (24)

“Erm,” John scratches the back of his neck. They’re stood outside a kebab shop a little after four in the morning. To Sherlock’s chagrin, only John had caught a glimpse of the suspect before they’d lost him. “Dark hair. About your height, maybe. Dark clothes.” 

“That’s it?”

“And…dark shoes.” 

“Brilliant.”

“Really?”

“Brilliant description of approximately 2.8 million men living in London, including me,” Sherlock snaps. They’d been working this case for a week and were no closer to catching the thief, even after two consecutive nights on stakeout. 

“More, I need more, what did he look like,” Sherlock mumbles, pacing. With a gasp, he claps his hands together and whirls round. “Draw him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Draw him.”

“How will that help?”

“Oh I dunno, perhaps you’re better with your fingers than your mouth,” Sherlock says without thinking.

They both pretend not to notice how the other blushes at that.

In short order Sherlock scrounges up some paper and a biro from the shop.

John would throw himself in front of a bus for Sherlock, least he can do is try.

Two minutes later he presents his drawing. “It’s a bit imperfect, the nose isn’t quite, well, noses are bloody impossible to draw—”

After the suspect is arrested later that morning, Sherlock learns John is actually quite good with his mouth.

+

Thank you to @calaisreno for the fun prompt series! Tags in replies. Thanks for reading! <3

[raina-at]

Jealousy

He’s not jealous. It would be ridiculous to be jealous. Not after all this time.

Sherlock is gay. Sherlock is also married. To him. They’re raising a daughter together. He trusts Sherlock absolutely. It was hard-worn trust, and it needed a lot of time, therapy and painful honesty to re-establish, but it’s rock solid now. He knows Sherlock would never betray him.

And yet. 

And yet, the very sound of that obscene text message chime is enough to set his teeth on edge and make his blood boil.

Sherlock never replies. He does read the texts, though, and he doesn’t delete them. He went halfway around the world to save her, and he still has the fucking camera phone. 

John hates her. He never found her attractive at all, even though she’s practically Sherlock in female form, with her dark hair, her pale skin and her sharp intellect. But she lacks something completely essential to John. Something Sherlock has, even though he hides it well. Integrity. Morals. Sincerity. He always found her painfully artificial. In control. Cool, calculating, always out for her own advantage. Never a genuine emotion. Even though Sherlock believed she loved him, John never bought into it. 

He hated how she toyed with Sherlock’s emotions, hated how she manipulated him, made him dance. He hated, hated, how fascinated Sherlock was with her, how he admired her, how she turned his head and scrambled his sensors. How desperate he was to impress her. How she taunted him. Look at us both, indeed.

He was insulted when she compared herself to John. John would die for Sherlock. Irene wouldn’t have crossed the street to spit at his corpse. And yet she mockingly called him on his biggest vulnerability, his unrequited—or so he thought—love for Sherlock, his traitorous heart that even then belonged entirely to Sherlock, who—or so he thought—didn’t want it.

Even now, almost a decade later, every time Sherlock gets one of her moany texts, John wants to take Sherlock’s phone and shatter it against the wall. 

It’s not that he thinks Sherlock will ever have sex with her.

It’s that she still fascinates him. Intellectually. She’s so clever, isn’t she. She’s so smart, so cunning, such an elegant criminal. She never gets caught, and only Sherlock can trace her crimes through newspapers and social media posts. A blackmail here, a clever con there. A clandestine theft, an act of corporate espionage. Victimless, bloodless, traceless. And Sherlock loves it. He enjoys regaling John with her exploits, full of admiration and praise for her cleverness.

The thing is, John recognises that this is a him problem. Sherlock doesn’t do anything to make him jealous. Ever. People flirt with him all the time, and he’s oblivious at best and scornfully dismissive at worst. He’s a great father, a wonderfully attentive lover and much easier to live with than he used to be. He’s a good partner, period. And he clearly, openly, transparently, visibly loves John. 

It just.

John isn’t brilliant. He’s not clever, cunning, or elegant. He’s not seductively amoral, he’s not out there temptingly flaunting all the roles of social dos and don’ts in an elegant, victimless, clever fashion. 

He’s the person admonishing Sherlock to put his socks in the bloody hamper. He’s the one asking him about the electric bill. He’s the one topping up Sherlock’s oyster card and the one telling him to call his parents. 

And yes, he binds Sherlock’s wounds and soothes his nightmares and tethers him to the ground when he would otherwise fly apart. 

And he knows Sherlock loves him intensely, passionately, almost obsessively. He knows Sherlock values him, respects him, needs him.

He’s just never sure exactly why.

Most of the time, he doesn’t think about it. They work, as a couple, as parents, as partners. They’ve always mysteriously clicked, like two broken pieces fitting together perfectly at the cracks. Most of the time, he’s too busy living his life, raising his child, loving his husband.

But sometimes, there’s a text. And a sound. And John looks at the person he loves so much his heart literally quivers with it sometimes, and he wonders. 

Why me, if it could be her? Why me, if it could be anyone?

He never asks, because he’s honestly afraid of the answer. And he knows it doesn’t matter why Sherlock loves him, because it’s so obvious that he does. There’s so much binding them together these days. Parenthood, trust, affection, family, habit, and more than a fair share of lust.

But sometimes he doubts. Will it last? Will he one day wake up, look at me, realise I’m just a broken ex-soldier who has nothing to offer?

It only lasts a second. It only lasts until Sherlock notices his frown, pulls him down for a searing kiss that relegates the doubts in John’s mind back into the closet. 

One of these days, John knows, the doubts will disappear completely. One of these days, he’ll hear that fucking moan and won’t care.

He’s not quite there yet. 

But he will be.

----

Tags under the cut as usual, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

[squidthoughts]

collected thoughts on the creloise matter (Big And Detailed Spoilers Ahead):

if it’s dual character assassination, it’s dual character assassination and irredeemable and frankly uninteresting and unfortunately the show becomes unwatchable for me personally. if it’s purposeful setup? it’s bloody brilliant. i mean it could actually be bloody brilliant. there are a few lines that feel very purposeful: pen’s “did you ever truly like her?” and the moment with cress and her mother when cress protests being cruel to the btons. both of which come after the creloise breakup and, you know, the uhhhh cessation of scenes together. creloise was dead. there was no reason to continue to examine the corpse. unless it wasn’t truly dead. ok, so there is now incredible potential in the CreloiseSituation(tm).

they hate each other. perfect! cressida was suffering all season and eloise was a truly terrible friend - i mean, comically selfish and villainous - that is to say, cressida’s actions (antagonistic as they were) were explained and justified within the narrative and eloise’s were not. ok! that’s fine. in the past, cress has been the unjustifiably cruel one. if anything, they are now on equal footing in terms of illogically hurting each other. so, they hate each other. which just means their growing back together could be that much more satisfying.

eloise’s choices didn’t make sense. they just…don’t. if her arc this season was to show her growth separate from pen, and it ends with nothing mattering to her but pen, it’s just nonsensical. (dont get me wrong- i’m glad they made up! their friendship is a core pillar of the show! but taking a season of development apart and introducing new dynamics into eloise’s life only to end her precisely where she was in season ONE is just…huh??) that is, unless elosie’s decisions don’t make sense YET. unless the point of her abandonment of a friend IS the abandonment. unless this is precisely the base a following season would need to portray el from a starting position of moral inferiority- a facet of her character not yet explored.

creloise both out of mayfair now. coincidence? well…maybe! i guess! but also, outside the set and setting of society. idk, that just screams landscape of possibility to me.

they’re both on the cusp of substantial development! cressida at rrrrock bottom and eloise striving to find experience and purpose. we’ve never seen cress this low and tortured or el this alone and unsure. idk. parallels.

nothing that made us love them so much in the first place has changed. they’re still mirrors. they’re still unflinchingly honest with each other - often the only ones who are. they’re still (deliciously) (occasionally) mean. the foundations are still there. and tbh, if all of this was purposeful, there is SO much conflict and strife between them that i actually really love it. the angst! the tension! the possible banter! eloise abandoned cress at the worst possible time in her life and cress betrayed eloise (out of desperation but facts are facts) and neither of them got an explanation. and for a summer and a season they were very much alone together and enjoying each other and the betrayals sting because the friendship mattered in the first place. and that broken dynamic is just. so yummy. and the hate is there because the embarrassment is there and the embarrassment is there because….i liked you. and you burned me. and i cant believe i was stupid enough to like you. but i did like you, i did.

also, i’m sure the showrunners were understandably wary about how the audience would react to cressida this season. up until now, she’s been a glorified extra; the personality-less stereotype of the loveless, callous debutante bridgerton’s grand love stories exist to subvert. in s1 she was a joke (daphne and simon laughing about her scripted flirting) and in s2 she was the hopeless and petty mean girl. there was no reason for the audience to like her, because she was hardly a character and certainly not a person. i imagine suddenly linking her to everyone’s fan favorite eloise was seen as a huge risk— in case of a negative reaction, cress could hardly be established as a romantic prospect as well, possibly guaranteeing a large portion of screentime to someone the audiences don’t even like. creators obviously shouldn’t feel the urge to cater to an audience’s whims of how they think a story should go - this would be very bad!! - but i do think the extreme outpouring of appreciation for cress this season might enable the writers to utilize her more in the future. she’s a real character now with depth and her story has established loyalty in fans- narratively there is freedom there for some satisfying payoffs.

all this to say, this season reduced my expectations to not quite zero, but somewhere around one. the finale was crowded and unfocused and more than a few things just did not make sense and the queer rep felt very sudden and trite - for shock value, practically - and we were forced to watch creloise hacked to pieces….but, i maintain, if it was all purposeful….idk. i personally don’t think all hope is lost.

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

the start of (something) new

I WILL NOT APOLOGISE FOR UNIRONICALLY USING HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL IN MY TITLE!

“I don’t know why Vernon couldn’t meet us at the train,” Petunia grumbles. “It’s quite hot to walk so far.” “I don’t mind the walk. The weather’s nice,” Lily says optimistically. “Well, sorry we can’t all teleport like you,” Petunia snaps. Lily decides not to take that particular bite of bait in favour of watching the boys play football at the park. It really is a beautiful day and Lily finds herself wishing she had an excuse to go sit on the lawn to watch the boys play for a bit, instead of tailing her sister’s awkward day with her horrid boyfriend. One of the boys scores a goal and throws his hands up in victory. Lily smiles, watching as he jumps up and down before two of the other boys tackle him into a hug. It reminds her of her dad and all the matches played at full volume in their sitting room throughout her life, the scarves decorating the walls of his office, and the shirts she expects are still neatly folded in his long-abandoned chest. The boy who scored pulls back from the group hug and jogs over to a tree, leaning down to grab a bottle of water. When he stands up and takes a long drink, running a hand through his hair, Lily freezes. Because there’s no way. This is London, Muggle London, and while she knows he lives somewhere around here, the idea of him in Jubilee Gardens kicking a football about with Muggles, is so preposterous. It’s impossible, but somehow— It’s very clearly James Potter. He’s wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, blending seamlessly enough with the other boys, but his boots—they’re Quidditch boots, the idiot, and she refuses to believe the other boys, in their well-worn football boots, haven’t noticed. But this only serves as further evidence that it’s James, because of course, he wouldn’t bloody well care. He caps the bottle of water and tosses it back to the ground, jogging back to the makeshift pitch. One of the other boys briefly claps him on the shoulder and then they’re off, sprinting back down the pitch toward the ball. Lily allows herself to watch for another minute, and God, it’s just like watching him play Quidditch. He’s effortlessly brilliant, receiving a clean pass and dribbling it with precision down the length of the pitch. He runs like he flies, smooth and quick, and Lily isn’t close enough to confirm, but she’d bet that his jaw is set in that same determined way, too.

continue reading on ao3

[bongo-clash]

Peacock Au Part 3

(Part One & Two here!!!)

Continuation of the Eldritch Danny DPxDC fic!!!! This is Kind Of the final chapter but Bones has also been making my brain go So Wild with other ideas so!!! Big chance they'll be more parts at some point (probably after Ectober week if I do!!)

Either Way Here It Is

(Fic under cut!!) (+ Part 4 Here)

-

Constantine makes the executive decision not to explain anything to Batman until the other League members are gathered in the watchtower meeting room. Maybe not his best choice, evidenced for the most part by the seething glare the vigilante is shooting him from his place at the head of the table, but still, John really doesn’t want to have to talk about this any more than he has to. It’s already going to be a pain in his side as is. 

It doesn’t take long for the rest to appear through the zeta tubes. Superman and Wonder Woman predictably arriving first of the lot, followed by Zatanna, the Flash, and then Green Lantern. Once they’re all settled and he figures this is all the people that’ll be showing up today, he deigns to begin speaking. He might’ve appreciated a bit of a higher attendance rate, but he’ll take it. 

“Alright, you lot,” He starts, just as the Green Lantern opens his mouth, likely to ask what this whole meeting is for. “I believe we’ve got a little bit of a situation on our hands.”

“Situation how, Constantine.” Batman asks, eyes narrowed behind the cowl, the furthest thing from a question. 

Constantine sighs deeply, fingers fidgeting in his coat pocket for a cigarette even if he knows he can’t smoke in the watchtower (maybe he could just hold one…). In lieu of looking the man in the face, however, he addresses everyone else in the room. “Well, see, the Bat here had a Pit forming in his territory, and he decided it’d be a bloody brilliant idea to call me for help instead of literally anyone else. The good news is the Pit’s gone. The bad news is I’m pretty sure the thing that got rid of it is worse.”

A few of them make faces, since if Constantine’s involved then this is definitely a magic problem, and none of them are fans of magic problems- Superman looks like he’s trying not to twitch. “Can you describe it?” 

“Not properly, no. Big, bright, bit of a space theme going on? Had these horrible things on them, kept changing between eyes and mouths and hands- used those to reach out and get rid of the Lazarus Pit, ‘far as I could see. They knew I was doing it for the Big Bat even though I never said a word about it, and from what I understand, they wanted a favour for sorting it out. I don’t know what they want it for.”

Batman’s face is unreadable, but there’s a scrutiny there that permeates the air around him. “So you discovered the existence of a powerful, unknown entity, and not only did you deign to summon it into our world, but you then proceeded to make a deal with it as well, completely unaware of the potential consequences.”

“In my defence,” Constantine retorts. “This is entirely your fault for getting me involved. I’ve no clue why you thought coming to me was a solid plan in the first place.”

There’s a storm brewing beneath that bat mask, but Wonder Woman intercepts before it can descend into a full-blown argument. “Now is no time to be assigning blame, we need a plan. Do you know of any way we can attain more information on this being, Constantine?”

“Not the foggiest,” He replies simply. “The only thing the book said was that it could help with the Pits. When I asked the damn thing what it was, it just gave me a riddle and, quite frankly, I wasn’t going to push it. So unless Zatanna has anything, I’ve got nothing.”

The whole table turns to look at Zatanna. She has a contemplative look on her face, pausing for the moment presumably to run through the information in her head. “Well, there’s a lot of entities around whose existences centre on keeping the balance between realms or concepts, but this is the first I’ve heard about anything like this. The closest thing I could think of is maybe Pariah Dark, since he’s known to have a connection to the Lazarus Pits, but he’s been out of commission for centuries now, and he’s never been depicted at all the way you described…”

“…And I know for a fact that his summoning ritual requires a blood sacrifice, and this thing didn’t want blood.” Constantine finishes. 

Zatanna makes a sour face, seeming to understand his implications, and the remaining non-magic members of the JL look appropriately disturbed. He thinks the worst thing about it for them is probably that there’s no real way to plan this out. They’ve got no power list, no strengths, no weaknesses, they don’t even really know what the entity is beyond its relation to the Lazarus Pits and even that’s an area of questionability, because the Pits are damn confusing on their own. If this thing shows up on them now, they’re screwed.

And just as the thought crosses his mind, there’s a tangible shift in the watchtower atmosphere, like the air’s thinning and closing in on itself at the same time. He looks at Zatanna with matching confusion, praying to gods he’s never met and that don’t like him that he hasn’t just managed to jinx himself in the worst way possible. 

“Do you feel that?” He says, and it doesn’t look like it’s only the other magic user in the room that does, because a fair few of the remaining League are pulling expressions Constantine really doesn’t like. Please, please say he hasn’t jinxed himself. 

There’s a sound like whale song and whistling as something comes up through the floor, and there’s not enough languages on Earth or beyond to encapsulate how many swears John wants to say right now. 

But it’s not the entity. 

Or at least, it doesn’t look like the entity, even if it certainly feels like it. It kind of looks like a teenager, of all the awful things. They have flare-white hair, bright, sheepish green eyes, and they’re wearing what Constantine thinks is a hazmat suit but doesn’t know enough about hazardous material protection to say for certain. No alarms going off, no doors opening or shutting, no signals at all; just a weird breeze, and the few seconds of warning that gives before the being appeared. That’s worrying. The way the League doesn’t even say anything is more so. 

“Hi,” They start, after what feels like an eternity of silence, and oh boy, they really do sound about twelve. Constantine doesn’t know how to deal with children, let alone ones that can just phase into the most secure superhero base in Earth’s orbit. This is awful. “Okay, so, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot yesterday, so I just wanted to, y’know, rectify my first impression? Uh, sorry if I came across sort of… weird.”

Everyone looks at the glowing kid. Everyone looks at each other. No one knows what to say. Flash decides to be the one to break the silence with a cough. “That’s great, kid! Uh… who are you, though?”

“Oh!” They startle. “Right. Me and Constantine met yesterday- I think I kind of scared him? It was by accident, though, I promise! I’d just had a long day, y’know? I didn’t know I was gonna get summoned and I wasn’t thinking so everything just kind of happened.”

No way. 

No. No way in Hell.

“You are not that thing I summoned yesterday.” 

And he knows, he knows entities like that tend to have forms more palatable for mortal eyes, but after seeing that yesterday, his brain just cannot for the life of it connect it to this. This child floating mid-air in a base he shouldn’t be able to access, with big huge earnest eyes and a painfully youthful face. One that seems to have reached a realisation. 

“Ah,” He says, smile just a little bit wry. “Fair enough, I did look kinda different then. Just- here, this should look a little more familiar?”

It’s not a full shift. He doesn’t contort into the same mind-searing thing that Constantine had had to bear yesterday- but his eyes scatter into neon spots across his face, nose and mouth left intact, the neck of his jumpsuit folds into the creases of an open eye, and those peacock-membrane-whatevers fall into fruition on his back, drifting like a cape or like spines. And just to top it all off, there’s a dinky little crown floating above his head, decorated with icicles and whispers of mist. 

It’s not a full shift, but Constantine’s never going to forget those damn cosmic peacock feathers. No mistaking it: that’s the entity. Forget yesterday, this is the worst day of his life. 

“What the Hell is happening right now.” Green Lantern flatlines, face dulled into non-understanding. Constantine thinks he feels the same way but worse. 

He takes a deep, cleansing breath, and tries not to scream. “You’re the one who sorted the Pit problem out?”

“Uh, yep, that’s me.”

“Okay, great! Fantastic. Can you tell me what the Hell that whole deal was?”

What’s left of the maybe teenager’s face drops somewhat, and a gloved hand reaches up to rub at the back of what’s left of his neck. “Ha, right, yeah sorry.” He mumbles, and Constantine kind of feels bad, but he’s also still kind of suffering from the adrenaline high of meeting the guy yesterday, so he guesses they’re even now. 

“So, I mean, I don’t usually look like that? It is my true form or whatever, but I’m not really… I don’t hang about in it too often. Gives people the heebie jeebies, y’know? I don’t want to scare people out of nowhere, especially not for a first meeting! But I was about to go to sleep last night when you summoned me, and I wanted to shift my form a little just to be more formal about the whole thing, but I guess I let the whole thing go by accident, and I didn’t realise at all until I got home. And if I was in that form by accident- I usually go with ghostspeak during summonings ‘cause it’s easier in that way and there’s usually translation sigils embedded in the circle- but if I was in that form by accident, then I was probably using a different dialect to the one I thought I was, so if I sounded kind of off, then that’s why. Again, really sorry about that. This was totally not how I wanted my first impression with the Justice League to go. You’re all really cool, y’know? I wanted to get off on the right foot and not the ‘let’s fight each other’ foot.”

Constantine blinks, opens his mouth, closes his mouth, and then blinks again. He’s sure there’s a reasonable response to this that can be expressed in a sentence somewhere, but right now he’s too enamoured with how utterly absurd this is. He genuinely, honestly does not know what’s worse: that this kid can turn into that, or that he can turn into that and it’s so natural he doesn’t even notice. 

Still, as consistent as the sun sets, Batman’s the first one to break the stupor, interjecting with narrowed eyes. “How do we know you’re not a threat to us? We don’t even know who you are.”

“Uh,” The kid splutters. “I didn’t introduce myself. My name’s Danny.”

“Danny.” Batman replies flatly. 

“It’s a nice name!” Danny, apparently, defends, looking about as stupefied as someone can without eyes on their face. The dinky little crown drifts after him when he moves his head. “And, um, I don’t know how to prove I’m not a threat? I mean, I closed up that Lazarus Pit for you, if that counts as being helpful in a non-threatening way?”

If anything, Constantine would think that makes someone more threatening. “You said you wanted a favour for it, that you were going to ‘find your recompense’.”

“No I didn’t?” Danny says incredulously, before he pauses and his lips part in an O. “Right, translation error, duh. I uh, didn’t actually say that, that’s just how the sigils took it I think. You don’t owe me anything. It might be nice to get some help if I’m ever in a bind or something, but we didn’t make a deal or a pact or anything, you just asked for help, so I helped. 

His brain completely shuts down, blue-screen style. This isn’t how this type of thing goes. There’s no way this is that easy. “You seriously don’t want anything.” 

“I mean, an autograph might be nice. My friend thinks you and batman are cool.”

“You don’t think the rest of us are cool?” Flash complains, because that’s exactly what he’s supposed to be getting out of this conversation and not how utterly insane it is. 

Danny, the kid that’s going to be giving him nightmares and is already giving him migraines, has the audacity to look embarrassed. “I think you’re cool; obviously you’re all cool, you’re the Justice League! My friend’s just into the edgier members, I guess? She’s goth.”

“Oh? So who’s your favourite?” Why is no one acknowledging that the incomprehensible cosmic horror just called him edgy. Why are they just moving past this. 

“…Martian Manhunter and Green Lantern. I really like space.”

Yeah, no shit, he’s made of it. 

Constantine genuinely wants to pass out. He wants Batman to get him over the head with a batarang; he wants Superman to tap him on the forehead and give him a concussion, just- anything not to be here right now. This might not even be the weirdest thing that’s happened to him, but he’s hating every minute of it. This kid’s talking and existing like it’s nothing but even as the conversation begins to border on casual the atmosphere is still thick, nearly physical with the chill and the chiming of bells and the way something shifts every time those peacock feathers waver behind him. 

Right now, John really, truly does not care if this entity’s playing some kind of twisted long con to trick them into sacrificing their souls or something equally as horrifying. He just wants to go home and forget anything ever happened. “So, you’re not a malicious entity.” Constantine states finally, putting an end to any further back-and-forth that he’d managed to tune out. 

“I promise you I’m not.” Danny replies seriously, even as his features shift back to something more human-looking that only seems like it’s trying and failing to hide something bigger underneath it now. 

Constantine puts his hands in his pockets, and turns straight to the door. “Brilliant news. I’m leaving now. I hope we never have to see each other again.” The League and that kid can do whatever they want, but Constantine swears on everything he holds sacred that he’s not touching any of it with a ten-foot pole. He never wants to have to deal with anything like this again, and he is never agreeing to do Batman another favour.