#this is a rant that's been brewing for a LONG time

[four-ravens-in-a-trenchcoat]

I hate it when English speakers act like totally normal language processes (in particular regarding borrowing and spelling) are somehow unique to English and that they are °~♡~exceptional~♡~° and sooooo weird (tee hee) or uniquely baaad :( because of, again, totally normal language processes which happen all over the world

"Four languages in a trenchcoat uwu" mentality my fucking loathed, that's heavy borrowing. Happens everywhere. You're not special. Adjusting or not adjusting (percieved) pronunciation of loans is not unique (or uniquely bad) either. It's just a thing that happens (granted, often governed by prestige and bilingual ability). Stop making normal linguistic processes sound unique for you. I can give you examples

Yes, someone had a bad take on language on the internet again, what's new

[helaintoloki]

Hello and good evening,

I saw you opened requests so I'm dropping by!

What about an infinity stone mishap that has multiple Bucky variants be at the compound at the same time. (Let's just have Winter Soldier be not entirely murderous for the sake of Tony's heart) and literally no one can seem to keep some apart except Steve and reader, who goes off on a rant about all the teeny tiny, to her very obvious details that differ between the Bucky's and accidentally in doing so admits she has a huge crush on him/them??

I hope that made sense omg

And as always, only if it speaks to you and you're up for it! ♡♡

a/n: hi hon, ty for sending this in! i’ll admit this was a bit challenging to tackle but still fun! hope you don’t mind that i changed a few details in the process <3

warnings: light angst, lots of pining, fluff

summary: a multiversal mishap leaves the compound teeming with Bucky variants, and Steve entrusts you with helping him figure out which one is the real deal

“I think I had a nightmare like this once,” Sam shudders as the two of you survey the plethora of Bucky’s taking up space in the compound. A multiversal mishap had led to an overflow of variants into the compound, and now your team found themselves working vigorously to determine which Bucky was your own and which ones needed to be sent back to their proper dimension.

Getting rid of the Winter Soldiers had been the easiest, the red stars on their arms giving away their identities and also giving Tony a heart attack in the process. You could tell apart the Bucky’s with hair that was too long or too short, the one’s that had brown or green eyes instead of blue, and the ones that went by Jane instead of James. The real work, however, came when there was only a handful of variants left that looked identical to your own Bucky.

“We can’t take any chances,” Steve says after having approached you and Sam. “All of these men are going to insist they’re our version of Bucky, and we can’t risk sending back the wrong one. I’m really going to need your help on this, y/n.”

“Why me?” You retort with furrowed brows, nervously peeking your head out of the office to observe the variants that sit restless in the common room.

“Out of everyone here, you and I know Bucky best,” the blond states truthfully. “I think if we work together we have a better shot at cleaning up this whole mess. The sooner the better.”

“You got that right,” Sam scoffs, prompting you to roll your eyes in response.

You couldn’t exactly deny the truth in Steve’s words. Other than Captain America himself, Bucky considered you to be one of his closest friends. Your kindhearted nature made it easy for him to gravitate towards you when first joining the team, and after saving each other’s asses on multiple occasions, he knew you were someone he could entrust with his life. You tore down his walls with ease, you brought out the best in him, and he’d forever be indebted to you for your friendship.

You decide with Steve that the best course of action is to spend one-on-one time with each Bucky you cross paths with to detect any abnormalities in their behavior. The Captain makes it abundantly clear that you cannot let them cloud your judgement with pleasantries, and it’s pertinent you trust your gut with each decision you make. The pressure is on, and you feel the nerves settling in your gut as you approach the Bucky that has made himself at home in the communal kitchen.

“Hey, stranger,” you call gently, a pleasant smile on your face as you seat yourself at the island counter. You note with interest how the man visibly relaxes at your presence and sets aside the pot of tea he’d just finished brewing. His eyes are bright like your Bucky’s, full of adoration and relief when he sets them upon your face.

“Y/n,” he breathes out gently before coming to meet you at the counter, “you have no idea how glad I am to see you, doll.”

“Rough day?” You prompt understandingly.

“Where do I even begin? Being around so many versions of myself is more unsettling than I ever could have imagined.”

“Well, Steve and I are doing our best to fix that,” you assure him. You watch as the man turns back to his pot of tea and begins to pour you both a cup. There’s nothing unusual about this considering your Bucky also enjoys drinking tea; it helps him keep calm and relaxed before retiring for the night.

“How many are left?” He asks before handing you your mug.

“Around ten. Steve and I are making our rounds to figure out which Bucky is ours.”

“Am I your Bucky?” The man prompts with a raised brow while taking a careful drink from his cup.

“You tell me,” you reply with a faint smile, ignoring the way your heart begins to flutter when he refers to himself as ‘your Bucky.’

“I know you have a scar on your stomach from being stabbed by another Widow in the Red Room, and the reason I know that is because I accidentally walked in on you changing in the shower room once,” Bucky admits with a sheepish laugh, prompting your face to heat with embarrassment.

“God, don’t remind me,” you groan while hiding your face in your hands. It’s not exactly comforting to know that Bucky has accidentally seen you naked in at least two different universes, but it also doesn’t make it easier to determine if this man is an imposter.

“I know you like your tea with a tablespoon of honey,” he continues before gesturing to your cup. You hum thoughtfully and set the mug down before meeting his gaze.

“I do, and I know you only like chamomile tea,” you reply, prompting Bucky to stiffen in front of you as you look down at the mug in front of you. “But this is green tea.”

Sighing, the doppelgänger sets his cup down with a defeated frown before meeting your gaze with pleading eyes. “Don’t make me go back.”

“I’m sorry, but it has to be done. We can’t risk the effects that come with having two Bucky’s in one place.”

“Then can I ask you a favor?” The man says solemnly.

“Of course.”

“Before you send me back, can I… is it okay if I hug you?” He asks, catching you by surprise. Noting the confusion on your face, Bucky gives you a dejected smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before explaining, “We don’t talk anymore in my universe. I was an idiot, and you rightfully cut me out of your life. This is the first time in years you’ve looked at me with love and not utter disgust, and I just want to enjoy it a little longer before I have to leave.”

Your heart aches for this poor Bucky who very clearly misses you, or at least his version of you, so you can’t find it in yourself to deny his request. You wordlessly rise from your seat and allow him to wrap his arms around your frame. His hold is tight, his nose brushing against your neck as he savors the feel of your touch, and you feel terrible for the fact that there isn’t anything you can do to help him.

“I’m not sure what happened between the two of you,” you utter quietly while rubbing comforting circles into his back, “but if she’s anything like me, I know she probably misses you but is too stubborn to admit it. Don’t give up on her.”

You release him with a smile and find his eyes shining with tears as he lets your words settle. You bid him a final goodbye before escorting him to Tony and Bruce so that he can be properly transferred back to his own time. That’s only one Bucky down with several more to go, and you know now that you really have your work cut out for you. This is going to be much more difficult than you anticipated.

You stumble upon the next Bucky quietly ruminating in your room, and it takes him a moment to detect your presence as you lean against the doorway and simply observe his mannerisms. You can already tell this isn’t your Bucky by the way he anxiously taps his fingers against his knees; your Bucky’s tell is the anxious bouncing of his leg. This Bucky also wears his hair pulled back into a ponytail, whereas your Bucky prefers to tie his hair back into in a half-up style.

His eyes widen in shock when he finally notices you standing there, and you’re taken aback by the way he nearly flings himself at you. His strong arms wrap around your midsection and lift you off the ground, holding you impossibly tight against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“жена,” he whispers in a trembling voice while combing a hand through your hair.

“I don’t speak Russian…” you voice with an uncomfortable laugh, struggling to take a breath due to how tightly you’re pressed against him. “Buck, you’re kind of suffocating me here.”

The man finally releases you after your admission, but his hands immediately find their way to your cheeks as he cups your face and rests his forehead against your own. You’re startled by the closeness, but there’s no denying the rapid beating of your heart when you stare into his troubled eyes. You’ve had daydreams like this before, but it’s jarring to experience it in person.

“When I arrived here and came across your room I thought it was too good to be true,” he utters shakily, “but you’re here. You’re alive.”

“Bucky, I-“

“You’ve come back to me, жена.”

“жена?” You repeat unsurely. His panicked features melt into a fond smile at the sound of your botched Russian, and he carefully pushes back your hair before gifting you a nod of confirmation.

“Wife.”

Your eyes widen at his proclamation, your heart dropping to your chest while you process the weight of his words and struggle with the turmoil inside of you. You thought dealing with the Bucky from the kitchen was difficult, but this is way out of your playing field.

“Oh god,” you breathe out before carefully removing his hands from your face. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“I know this is all really confusing, but I’m not…” you start to say, grappling with your guilt at having to crush the man’s hopes of being reunited with his version of you, “I’m not your wife.”

The man’s features become sullen at your confession, brows furrowing in disappointment and confusion. “What do you mean? You aren’t y/n?”

“I am, but I’m just not the same y/n you know. This is a different dimension, and you were sent here by accident.”

“So you’re not… she’s not really alive, then,” he murmurs dejectedly, eyes casting towards the floor in despair.

“No, and I’m so sorry I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you console, resting a comforting hand on his bicep. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut at the feel of your touch, something he’d been lacking since your death. You aren’t his wife, but in spite of that, he is grateful to be able to speak to you and see your face once more. “Can I ask what happened to her?”

“Hydra wanted revenge for my desertion and for aiding Captain America in their destruction,” Bucky utters lowly, eyes hardening at the memory. “An eye for an eye. She paid the price for my mistakes, and I’ve spent every waking moment avenging her death.”

A chill runs through your spine as you hear the recounting of your counterpart’s death, but you do your best to remain composed while in the presence of this alternate version Bucky. Your heart aches for the man, and you once again find yourself completely useless at trying to help him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you express solemnly. Despite this, Bucky looks to you with a tender smile before carefully taking your hand in his own.

“Don’t be. I know you’re not her, but seeing you again, hearing your voice- It’s the most precious gift I could ask for. Thank you for giving me some semblance of peace.”

You’re a wreck when this Bucky is returned to his own timeline, and after multiple instances of running into Bucky’s who believe you’re their y/n Steve assures you that he’ll take over moving forward. It seems that each Bucky you speak to cares so fondly for you, they adore you even, and yet in this universe you’ve been designated as a close friend and nothing more. It’s killing you to see all the ‘what if’s,’ because deep inside you know that you’ll never be with your Bucky the way you want to.

You’re not sure when your crush on the super soldier had first developed, but you know that you’ve harbored these romantic feelings for him for quite a while now. You’ve never told anyone, though you can guess Steve was smart enough to figure it out on his own, and you have no urge to act on such feelings in fear of how complicated things will become if he doesn’t reciprocate your emotions.

Your rumination leaves you in deep thought as you sit out on the balcony and enjoy some quiet after all the chaos you’ve endured. You hear the sliding door open and shut behind you, but you make no attempt to see who it is until they seat themselves beside you. You peek at Bucky from the corner of your eyes before returning your gaze to the New York skyline, simply enjoying his presence without making an effort to speak.

“You doing okay?” He asks, effectively breaking the silence between you.

“I didn’t think being around multiple versions of you would be so exhausting,” you confess with a humorless laugh, but it prompts his lips to quirk up slightly into a smile.

“You’re starting to sound like Sam,” he teases with a careful nudge to your side. While you’d normally laugh at his jokes, Bucky doesn’t even get a smile out of you. You feel him shift closer to you and hope he can’t detect the way your heart picks up a beat in response. He nudges you again softer this time and asks, “Talk to me. What’s eating you?”

“Every Bucky variant I met today looked at me like I moved heaven and earth together, like I was their reason for getting up in the morning, and I guess it just reminded me of the fact that my own Bucky doesn’t really look at me that way.”

You pull your knees up to your chest and let your chin fall on top of them with a melancholic sigh. A part of you feels embarrassed to be voicing your disappointment aloud, but you figure there’s no harm in telling a variant since you’ll never have to see them again after today.

“Do you want him to look at you that way?”

“Of course I do,” you avow incredulously like the answer isn’t already obvious. “I love him so much that Steve trusted my judgement enough to have me help him sniff out the doppelgängers. I know how he likes his tea, how he does his hair, what his favorite movie is- the list could go on forever. But of course, I live in the one universe where Bucky and I don’t end up together.”

You feel his hand come to rest on the small of your back and shudder at the feel of his cool metal hand seeping through your sweater. You can’t help but to lean against him so that your head is rested on his shoulder, and you’re able to find some comfort in his presence. You hear him let out a thoughtful hum beside you.

“You want to know something?” Bucky pronounces. He feels your head nod against him and smiles. “I know the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

The confession has you lifting your head to peer up at him questioningly. “You do?”

“Of course I do. We were on a mission, and you picked up Steve’s shield to stop a bullet from hitting me straight on before using it to knock out three bad guys in a row. You looked so strong, so beautiful. My heart was yours from then on.”

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” you confess quietly, stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about it since,” he asserts with a fond smile. “Any Bucky would be lucky to have you, and I’m sorry yours has been too chicken to make a move.”

“I guess it’s not totally his fault,” you relent with a meager shrug. “I’m chicken, too.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Bucky suggests, tone light and inviting. “I know I’m not the most obvious about it, but I love you too.”

You open your mouth to answer only to be interrupted by the sound of the sliding door again. You turn to see Steve standing there, surprise on his features when he sees you two sitting on the balcony together.

“Y/n, I’ve been looking for you,” he says suddenly. “I wanted to talk to you about the variants-“

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt him with a passive wave of your hand before gesturing towards Bucky with your head. “I found another one for you. This Bucky just told me he loves me which means he’s definitely not ours.”

“Actually,” Steve says with an amused grin, “I was just coming to tell you we sent the last of them back to their own dimensions.”

“What?” You gape in shock, heart immediately dropping to your stomach as you slowly shift your gaze towards the Bucky sitting next to you. He flashes you a bashful smile and a small wave that fills you with embarrassment.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” the blond says with a knowing smile before making his exit, leaving you alone once more with the man you’d just poured your entire heart out to.

“I thought you knew,” Bucky offers apologetically. You take a nervous swallow before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

“So you’re saying that you do love me?” You ask hesitantly, almost afraid that this is all some sort of joke.

“I may not be as romantic or straightforward as the other Bucky’s you met, but I love you just as much as they do if not more,” he professes earnestly, gently resting a hand on your cheek to pull you closer. “I think we make a great team, but we’d make an even better couple.”

“I think so too,” you utter with a giddy smile, waiting with bated breath as Bucky slowly begins to lean in. The anticipation is killing you, but you’re finally rewarded for your patience when his lips meet your own in a tender kiss. Your lashes flutter shut as you melt into his touch, reveling in the moment you’ve dreamed of since discovering your feelings for Bucky.

No matter the timeline and no matter the universe, Bucky is destined to fall in love with his y/n. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[deathbxnny]

RAHH YOUR BACKKK

perchance, could you do arcane women reacting to reader in the aftermath of a really toxic relationship like how they would comfort them and stuff?

Arcane women comforting you after a toxic relationship. | Sevika, Vi, Jinx x Gn!Reader

You can't just say perchance!/J

But on a serious note, thanks for the interesting request, I had alot of fun writing this!<3

Content: Angst, past toxic relationships, fluff, can be read as either platonic or romantic? Idk, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》SEVIKA

She hated your ex and never bothered to hide it either. Her passive-aggressive remarks and cold glares got the point across every time, but she never tried to talk you out of your relationship. It wasn't entirely her business anyway, and you'd learn eventually on your own. Trying to intervene would only make things worse unless they were hurting you, to which she'd bury them alive for it.

Either way, it came to no surprise to her when you appeared at her door late into a random night, crying and sobbing incoherently at what had happened. You finally found the strength to break it off with your ex, but that didn't stop the heartbreak from lingering in your heart so horribly. Yes, they were terrible to you, and it was for the best you left, but the self-doubt and conflicting emotions in you were driving you to the point of insanity.

Thankfully, Sevika was quick to get you into her humble home wordlessly, slightly unsure of how to comfort you. But she didn't play her long awaited "I told you so" card. Instead, she got you some tissues, a nice cold drink of your choice, and your favorite food before simply sitting down next to you in silence. She figured that listening to your rant would be better than to say anything, and so she did just that, for how long you needed it.

Deep down, she was brewing with anger, though, yet kept it calm for you. She wanted you to feel comfortable here and even goes as far as to let you cuddle up to her at the end of your vent session. In her mind, many different ways of dealing with your ex's existence came to mind, yet they stilled at the softest "thank you" given by you.

Her heart skipped an embarrassed beat as she waved your gratefulness off with a stubborn shake of her head, claiming it was nothing to worry about.

Your ex, on the other hand, definitely had something to worry about, though, once she gets her hands on them.

》VI

Vi has been itching to fight your ex from day one, yet refrained at your pleas to not hurt them. She always told you that you deserved better. That you deserved someone who actually loved and cared about you, but you couldn't see her way no matter how many times you two talk about it. It's like you couldn't see past the love you had for your ex until the glasses finally did break.

The pink haired woman intervened during a heavy argument between you and your ex, which eventually led you to finally just break it off with them for good. You were so sick of their fighting and finally understood what Vi was seeing from the start... but that didn't stop the guilt and heartbreak from seeping into your heart by the time you made it back to her place.

You felt ashamed for not seeing it sooner, but Vi was quick to wrap you up in warm blankets and reassure you that there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Things like that can happen to anyone, after all. And you learned something from it, so that's a good thing!

She will try and give you a bit of a peptalk that then veers into her, wondering if she should beat your ex up for good measure. Words won't get through to them, but these fists certainly will! Or so she thinks. Thankfully, you eventually fall asleep in her embrace before you can notice her once again reckless scheming.

Vi may let them get away with it for now, but if she ever sees them around, it will be on sight... well, as long as you're not there too. She wants you to feel safe with her and hope's that you do, as she, too, finally falls asleep.

》JINX

I hope your ex is good at dodging bullets because Jinx will shoot them on sight. She has already contemplated this from the start and never thought anything good of them either in all the time you dated them. She'd prank and annoy the hell out of them in the hope of driving them away, especially after you warned her not to hurt them.

But that didn't mean anything to her anymore, after you two finally broke up. Her efforts weren't for nothing after all, and she would've rejoiced at the news if it weren't for your heartbroken expression that greeted her the moment you stepped into her hideout.

Pushing her chaotic and murderous thoughts aside for the moment, she was quick to cuddle you up in her strong arms and let you rant all about your troubles to her. She'll feed you your favorite food and drink whilst you speak, yet doesn't say much herself. She's a good listener when she wants to be and luckily knows when to be serious. At most, she'll join in at the shit talking phase, glad to finally be free to gossip about them in peace with you at last.

Eventually, she'll try and distract you with some new inventions or stories of hers until you fall asleep, at which she takes that as her green light to go on a little hunt. After covering you in all of the blankets she can find and making sure that your resting place is extra comfortable, she casually loads her gun and exits the hide out with a wide grin.

Finally, some revenge for all the tears you've shed.

[sp0o0kylights]

"Valentines Day is a capitalistic scam made to sell chocolate and flowers!" Eddie Munson bellowed, leaping to the top of a cafeteria table not even ten minutes into lunch. 

"Do you think he was born like this, or just dropped on his head as a baby?" Heather asked, rolling her eyes as the super senior began waving his arms around, getting way too into  his annual “anti-valentines day” rant. 

Steve, who'd tuned out the dramatics in favor of trying to figure out how he could ditch school, only heard her because she’d begun running her foot up his leg.

Directly in front of Patrick.

As if half the school didn’t know he planned on asking her out after school. 

Long over being a part of these kinds of games, Steve kicked out, forcing Heather’s leg off his. 

He did it harder than he intended and immediately winced, as  if he hadn’t meant to do it at all. Aimed a sad little look at her, softening his eyes in the way he knew ladies loved while murmuring a quiet "sorry.” 

A pudding cup was offered as an additional apology--which Heather, thankfully, accepted. 

Crisis averted, Steve used the movement of handing the cup over to get his legs well out of Heather's range. He had other things to think about today, and getting drawn into whatever drama Heather was trying to brew wasn’t on the list. 

Particularly given the basketball team as a unit had started snubbing him out. 

"Newsflash ladies! Your man isn't taking you to some shitty restaurant because he loves you, he's doing it because he hopes you'll give it to him in your car!" Munson continued, voice growing impossibly louder. 

A crude gesture followed, involving hip thrusts and hand jabs.

 Several of the cheerleaders shot him disgusted looks as he did it. 

"Definitely dropped on his head." Carol said, glaring at Munson as his little group of freaks and geeks cheered him. "More than once." 

Steve hummed an agreement, more on automatic than from actually listening. He knew how to look like he was paying attention, even if his head was deep in possible escape plans. 

If he dipped at the last minute to the bathroom on the way to fifth period, Tommy wouldn't have time to stop him and he could make a break for his car…

That just left making up a plausible enough excuse as to why thee Steve Harrington, whose single status was the current hot topic of the school, left school early on Valentines Day. 

("Candy, sex, the overwhelming affection of all the ladies." Tommy drawled out that morning, practically preening. "Valentine's Day is the best holiday man. Just look at all this!"  

He waved a hand at his locker, which was absolutely covered in paper hearts. 

"The rally squad put hearts on the lockers of everyone on the basketball team, Tommy." Carol argued, rolling her eyes. "Steve’s is practically buried in them.”

Tommy opened his mouth to respond, no doubt with something else teasing and rude, but Carol’s elbow caught him in the gut first. 

“If you keep acting like this you're not getting any sex." She warned. 

"Aww baby, don't be like that. You know you're the only one for me." Tommy teased, with a wink that prompted Carol to smack him on the shoulder.

Laughing, he added: "Besides we can't fight or we'll miss our favorite game. Which poor gal thinks this year is the year Steve will take her out on a date!"

Carol allowed Tommy to put an arm over her shoulder, the two of them turning knowing grins on their friend as a singular unit. 

Even if Steve hadn’t felt like their friend in a hot minute. 

Not in the way he used to. 

"I do love watching them stutter through their little confessions.” Carol admitted, like this wasn’t something they’d loved doing since middle school. “I wonder if anyone will ever top Cindy Komer." 

Steve almost wasn't fast enough to cover his wince--that particular incident had been painful for him and Cindy. 

Steve still had no idea what he'd said to make the then-freshman cry. 

He thought he'd been nice about turning her down, but judging by Carol constantly quoting what he'd said, Steve had a feeling he'd accidentally been an asshole again.

Not that anyone ever thought it was accidental. 

“Steve? Hel~lo? Are you listening?” Carol said, snapping to get his attention and God did Steve hate that.

Never realized just how much until Nancy but after she’d pointed out that Carol treated him and Tommy both like her dogs, well. 

It was hard not to notice--and be a bit resentful. 

“God you keep doing this, you’re turning into such a space case.” Carol continued, the edge back in her voice. The same one she’d been using for a while, like Steve was on her last nerve. “Please tell me you’re not still mooning over Nancy fucking Wheeler.” 

“No.” He snapped, only to know instantly that was the wrong move, and try to fix it before Carol blew up. “No--I’ve just already had to fend someone off today. Like first thing--I was barely out of my car.”

There, that should keep Carol and Tommy both off his back for being “angry” and it wasn’t even a lie. He really had been asked out earlier, though the girl had been gracious about his rejection.  

Of course, this kind of instant redirection came with a price--and in this case, it was being absolutely hounded for more information. 

“Oh shit who!? Was it that Buckley girl?” Carol perked up immediately, like a hunting dog scenting prey. “I swear she stares holes in your head, she’s so weird…” )  

"This isn't about romance! It's about showing who has the most cash, gets the most sex! It's a pathetic social ritual you're all falling for!” Munson yelled, jolting Steve back into the present.  “I bet none of you even enjoy it!” 

"Tell that to all the girls Steve’s dated!” One of the younger basketball guys hollered, prompting a wave of laughter from the rest of the cafeteria. “They seem to enjoy it plenty!”

Steve couldn’t see who had said it, and should have felt the normal wave of smug warmth that the team had his back.  

Except his team had already proven they didn’t. 

Were in fact, siding more and more with Hargrove, just as Tommy was. 

They were rapidly approaching a watershed moment. Steve could feel it, the same way he’d always been able to tell when a crowd was about to turn.

He was losing, but was still on top of Hawkins social spaces enough, had caught it early enough, that he could turn everyone’s favor--if he wanted. 

Emphasis on ‘if.’ 

Munson spun to face his table, hair whipping to smack him in the face. The guy had clearly been trying to grow it out, but right now he looked like one of those poodles Carol's mom loved so much. 

So said Carol, anyway. 

"You sure about that?" Munson challenged, a crazed grin breaking across his face. "Rumor has it King Steve lost his groove ever since Wheeler dumped him!" 

Steve grimaced, though he was secretly thankful Munson went with "dumped" instead of "cheated on" (or any of the other vile words Billy had flung around, spreading across the school in the sick, crawling way rumors moved. 

Hargrove had been positively brutal about the whole Jonathan and Nancy thing, and the only reason he wasn't here now to spin this whole situation against Steve was because the guy always vanished at lunch.)

Tommy's face morphed into an affronted snarl, hands slapping down on the table. He turned expectantly to Steve, waiting for "The King" to get up and "handle" Munson.

Like Steve even cared about this dumb high school shit anymore. 

It took him a moment to realize Steve wasn’t planning on doing anything. Was in fact, going to remain perfectly quiet, other than an eyeroll and half-assed middle finger in Munson’s direction. 

Tommy let out a disgusted scoff in his direction and then decided to handle things himself. 

(Like that had ever been a good idea.)

“Shut up, Freak. The only game you have is in the prison showers.” He snapped, half rising from the table. “Isn’t that why you keep your hair long? So all the boys will actually fuck you?!” 

Whistles and yells lit the air, though Steve didn’t miss how the girls at the table looked taken aback at the sheer vitriol in Tommy’s voice. 

Even Carol looked startled, eyes sliding to meet Steve’s as if to confirm she hadn’t just imagined it. 

The three of them had always been good at this kind of mindless high school banter, but this over the top, crude shit? 

It wasn’t Tommy’s style.

It was Hargrove’s.

(That was its own growing issue. 

The way Tommy was gravitating towards Billy. 

How Carol kept expecting Steve to act like he used to. 

That she blamed his “outbursts” on Nancy, snidely mentioning that Steve had better have learned his lesson about “changing his personality for pussy.” 

Even now Steve knew they were only defending him because Munson was the one saying it.) 

“I didn’t realize Harrington still had his attack dog!” 

Munson put a hand against his heart as though injured, staggering dramatically backwards. 

“I thought you were too busy putting your tongue up Hargrove’s ass to bark at people!” 

Tommy immediately fired back, letting loose an uninspired string of curse words and something about Eddie being queer again. Steve didn’t hear the specifics--didn’t care to hear it, even as things started to spiral out of control. 

All he wanted to do was go home. 

Ideally before Billy got back from lunch and decided to make a spectacle himself, because Steve could feel that coming just as he could everything else. 

He was running out of time to come up with an excuse to get out of here without making a production out of it, and Munson wasn’t someone he wanted to piss off today, given he’d half hoped to buy weed off the guy before he ditched.

…Which was looking more and more unlikely given Tommy had just screeched some insult that had put Munson’s sights back on Steve. 

“You sure? Cause Harrington looks like he’s just gonna sit there and take it, just like he takes everything Hargrove and Wheeler and anyone else throws at him.”

He leered, leaning forward as if to see into Steve’s very soul. 

“I don’t know if anyone else has noticed, but our beloved King here hasn’t exactly been defending his crown. If anything, he’s abandoned it.” 

The world stopped. 

This was the first time someone actually called him out on the fact that he often let whatever crap Billy spewed go. That Nancy and him had a few awkward encounters publicly, with at least one of them starting a rumor that she’d told Steve to fuck off. 

(She hadn’t of course, but Carol had stopped running damage control, and Steve was feeling the effects of her ire.) 

Silence echoed, and Steve realized with a dawning sort of horror, that Munson was waiting for a response from him. 

Just as the entire cafeteria was. 

The catalyst was here, brought on early by one Edward Munson. 

With a startling amount of clarity, Steve realized he was done. 

With his so called friends, with  the girls who’d tried corning him all morning, with Hargrove and just--everything. 

He was over it. 

If Billy wanted the crown so bad he could fucking have it. 

(If Tommy wanted to pretend he was tougher than he was by mimicking the dick, then he could have that too.) 

“This is stupid.” Steve announced, dropping the masks he so carefully wore. The ones he kept having to fix, because the Upside Down and its related demons (human and non) kept taking chunks out of it. 

He stood, feeling the weight of the room press down on him as he faced them all down. 

“Yeah--!” Tommy started to pile on, seeming to think Steve was about to unleash hell, and got the surprise of a lifetime when Steve turned and jammed a finger in his face.

“Shut up.” He snapped. 

Knew instantly he only got away with it by the fact that he’d caught everyone off guard.  

King Steve did a lot of things, but he rarely blew up. 

“This is stupid.” He reiterated, voice booming across the lunch room, “ You wanna fight? Fine, but leave me out of it.”  

“The King doesn’t want to play? Why I never thought we’d see the day!” Munson clucked his tongue, and without missing a beat Steve turned to him. 

 “For someone who is always screaming about nonconformity, you sure are happy to attack anyone who doesn’t do what you want.”

Steve’s voice was loud, but he wasn’t screaming. Wasn’t yelling or throwing his arms around.

He didn’t need to. Had never needed to. 

“I heard you going off on that guy whose lunch you're standing on yesterday, because he wanted to watch the Colts play.” Steve continued, voice cold. “Half of your friends are terrified of you, because you’ll scream at them just like you accuse us of doing--and let’s be real here, Munson, you do it more.”

In a dramatic move that absolutely, 100% came from Dustin and his theatrics, Steve shrugged his letterman jacket off and bunched it into a ball. 

“You might as well crown yourself King, because you’re the exact same as the rest of us. Here--you can start with this.”  

Cocking back an arm, Steve let the jacket fly. Watched with everyone else as it  landed neatly right at Eddie’s feet. 

Shell shocked, Munson’s eyes drifted from Steve down to the letterman jacket and back. They were massive, those stupid eyes of his, but at least it meant Steve could see the realization wash over the guy in real time. 

Steve should have felt smug about it. His past self would have.

Presently? 

He just felt tired. 

“You’re welcome to jam it up your ass.” He finished, before giving his own sarcastic half bow to the room.  

The cafeteria was dead silent. Not a fork was scraped, or a loud piece of chip chewed. All eyes were on Steve, some waiting to see if Eddie would let him have the last word, others just  shocked to see Steve lose his shit in front of them. 

Idiot he was, he tried to rally anyway. 

Even Tommy, who’d partly stood up, hands pressed against the lunch table looked shocked.

“What the fuck Steve!?” He sputtered, and it wasn’t long before half the basketball team was muttering similar remarks. 

They were ignored. 

Whispers ripped across the room when Steve turned on his heel, striding towards the exit and making it clear things were over, but Tommy didn’t give up. 

“Fuck you Harrington!” He hurled at his back, Carol now standing and placing a restraining hand on his arm.  “You’re not fucking better than any of us!” 

Steve didn’t even look back. 

"That's my point Tommy." Steve said, loud enough to be heard. "No one is better than anyone else. You lot are all just buying into your own bullshit.” 

Then he was slamming through the doors, and out into the sunlight. 

xXx

He didn’t want to go home.

Not anymore, which was ironic in a way that made Steve’s face screw up in a grimace.  

Here he’d been dying to go to his stupid house all day, and now, after losing his shit and undoubtedly, the last of his social standing, he just didn’t feel like being by himself.

All alone, in a house too big for him, full of nothing but dark corners and a phone that never rang. 

So instead, he wandered, reminiscing on how Valentine's Day used to be his favorite day of the year. 

Steve loved the gesture of it all--the romance, the wooing. The butterflies floating in one's stomach, mixing with fear of rejection and a burning kind of hope towards starting something new. 

Of course, Steve also had always had a girl in mind, when he celebrated. Now, after Nancy…

He did not.

It felt weird to go to Skull Rock--the place he himself had made into Hawkins hottest makeout spots. Likewise all the local restaurants were off limits--too many adults knew how much he loved the holiday. 

Steve didn’t want to face that. The expectations, the knowing winks that would slide into uncomfortable frowns. Any possible advice given wouldn’t be appreciated, and the last thing Steve wanted was to get the “everyone has an off season, son” speech. 

So he’d stayed away from his usual haunts. Explored some storefronts instead, the Beamer parked in front of Family Video as he wandered. 

Had an entirely too peaceful two hours, which of course, meant he had to bump into someone.

At least, Steve thought dully, whole body tensing in preparation, it was Munson. 

Not Hargrove, or Tommy, or hell--the children, demanding he help them fight some other fucked up creature the government had accidentally summoned. 

“Hey Harrington.” Munson said, and it took a moment for Steve to realize the guy was embarrassed. “I uh, I need to talk to you.” 

Steve just stared at him.

“If you couldn’t tell from earlier,” He warned, “I’m a little done talking for today.” 

Or any day, for the foreseeable future. 

“Yeah no--I, I got that.  I--okay.” Eddie stopped rocking on his heels, before giving his entire body a shake, like the guys sometimes did while prepping for a game. “Hear me out, and then you can deck me or leave or whatever makes you feel better.” 

“I’m not going to deck you.” Steve said, exasperated and frazzled and not wanting to do this whole song and dance a second time. 

Not that it mattered, because Munson had already launched right into whatever it was he needed to say. 

“There’s this book right? My Uncle got it for me. It’s a fantasy book all about this big battle and there’s these wizards in it, and--” He stopped himself, shaking out his hands.

Like he realized he was rambling and needed the movement to get himself back on track. 

“I always--I guess I saw myself as a Gandalf kinda guy? Like I was this shepherd herding these lost sheep. A person who intimately knew all the dark forces of the world and could be a shield for them. Do not pass and all that.” 

He chuckled, but it was weak, and he killed it almost immediately. 

“...Okay?” Steve said, knowing he was supposed to say something here, even if he had no idea what. 

Maybe something about how Gandalf the Grey wasn’t exactly a shepard given he’d led the hobbits straight into Mordor, but saying that meant admitting Steve knew what Lord of the Rings was, which wasn’t a conversation he felt like getting into. 

Particularly not because he’d only read the damn things after losing a bet to Dustin and Mike both. 

Munson nodded, as if acknowledgement was all he needed. 

 “I thought that’s what I was doing. I wasn’t and I didn’t realize I wasn’t until you pointed it out. You shouldn’t have had to point it out. You shouldn’t have had to say any of what you did.” He rushed to add, oddly sincere. 

"Is this…" Steve might be confused but catching on, an uptick at the corners of his mouth as the tiniest spark of amusement leaked through. "an apology? Are you trying to apologize right now?"

Eddie groaned, flinging his head back. "No!” 

Then immediately; 

“Actually yes, but--”  

Which caught Steve off guard enough that he laughed, and had to hide it with a cough. 

“I am sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said that shit about you, especially not about you and Wheeler. It's more than that though.” Munson swallowed, before squaring his shoulders. “It’s that you were right." 

“I was right?” Steve repeated dumbly, because fuck, he couldn’t believe it either. 

Not that Munson heard him. Eddie always had been hard to stop once he started, and Steve had been in enough classes with the guy to know the train had left the station. 

"I did yell at Jeff because he wanted to watch that stupid football game.” He began, and Steve got a front row seat to watch as one Eddie Munson word vomited his way through a myriad of emotions. 

“I fuckin’ lost it on Grant because he missed band practice to drive his sister to some thing. Gareth looked like I was going to hit him when I asked if I had really been that bad--same exact look he gave Hagan and those other assholes that cornered him in the bathroom two weeks ago!” 

“Tommy did what?” 

Steve was promptly ignored. 

(Or more likely, Eddie simply didn’t hear him, too lost in his own voice to realize Steve had said something.) 

There were a lot of mentions of the Gandalf guy. Where Eddie thought he’d gone wrong, and even something about a glowing eye thing that had Steve a little concerned until he realized Munson was talking about Sauron (and also made Steve realize that he’d been pronouncing Sauron in his head wrong, oops.) 

“I called up this friend of mine who graduated. She’s always been no nonsense, so I asked her for her advice.” Munson said, finally seeming to slow down a little. “She told me I might as well eat my own doctrine because I sure wasn’t living by it, and that if I wanted to fix it then I should start by apologizing. To everyone but--to you, first.” 

Eddie took a step back, winging out his hands as if to present himself. 

“So here I am. Apologizing.” 

A pause wherein neither of them did a thing, which caused him to awkwardly add; “To uh, you. Harrington.” 

“Yeah I got that.” Steve said, because what else was he supposed to do here? “Good for you? I guess?”

“Most people either forgive a guy or tell him to fuck off.”  Munson pouted, and mimicked like he was kicking at a rock. 

It made Steve want to laugh again, though he shoved the urge down. 

“Someone once told me,” He said instead, speaking slowly to make damn sure he didn’t let slip this piece of advice came from a middle schooler. “that apologies without actions don’t really mean anything. They’re a start--they let people know you’re aware you screwed up, but no one’s going to trust you if you don’t follow through. So I can forgive you, but I think you’re better off doing this with one of your friends.” 

Someone who would hug it out, or at least tell Eddie how he could be better, at least. 

Rather than argue, Munson just titled his head back, eyes to the sky. Like he was really thinking on the words, before giving a sort of accepting sounding noise.  

“Trying too.” Steve admitted with a sigh. 

“That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?” He asked, head coming back down so he could stare at Steve.

“The thing in the cafeteria was a good start.” 

“Yeah?” 

Eddie grinned. 

“Yeah. Don’t think Hagan’s gonna see it the same way though.” 

“We were falling out anyway.” Steve admitted, and hated how easy it was to say.

That they really were just going through the motions of friendship. Had been, ever since Jonathan had punched Steve in the face. 

“Think you lost more than just him as a friend, to be honest.”  

“Pro tip about the actions thing, Munson?” Steve said with a snort, once again unsure of where this conversation was going, “Nice people don’t typically point out when someone’s turned into a social pariah.” 

“No, I get that. Say,” Eddie’s grin had grown, which Steve would have taken poorly except he invaded Steve’s space with a goofy little hop. “I think you might be in need of some new ones!” 

“New…friends?” Steve hesitated, very unsure of what was happening. 

Munson promptly stuck his hand out. “Yup! So--hello, my name is Eddie Munson, and I am here to apply for the position as your friend!” 

Steve snorted, but the harshness of it was taken away by the grin on his face. 

He took Eddie’s hand, noting how doing so made the older teen’s smile widen. 

“Nice to meet you Eddie, I’m Steve.” 

Excited, Eddie waived their arms up and down, with far more enthusiasm than the gesture required. 

“How about we cement our new friendship by renting a truly terrible horror movie and drowning our woes with my other good friend, Mary Jane?” 

Then he waggled his eyebrows, like that was something scandalous. 

“Tempting me along with weed, huh?” Steve mused back, sticking his hands in his pockets once Eddie let him go. “Guess you’re a little like Gandalf the Gray after all. Just don’t send me on any missions.” 

“Steve Harrington.” Eddie gaped, pure delight spreading across his face. “Have you read Lord of the Rings!?” 

He got a shrug and a sly; “Maybe.” in response. 

It was worth the barrage of questions, even if the rapid fire pace of them nearly gave Steve a headache.

(Just as it was worth it several months later, when Steve was comfortable enough to instigate wrestling matches with Eddie over the dumbest of things. 

One particularly semi-drunk tussle over the remote led to an interesting discovery when Eddie popped a boner, and then frantically tried to escape when it brushed against Steve’s leg. 

 Instead of panicking--or letting Eddie bolt in his panic, Steve just dropped his whole weight down, effectively pinning the slimmer man to the floor. 

“Steve.”

Eddie said it so quietly he almost didn’t hear it, the word filled with desperation.

The kind of tone someone whispered a prayer in, a sort of pleading that Eddie did better with his eyes than his voice. Or would have, given his own were firmly scrunched closed the second he realized he’d been caught out. 

Except--

“Not right now I’m thinking.”  Steve told him absently. 

Which he was. Speed thinking even, if that was a thing. 

Because if two plus two equaled four (which it did) then feeling the exact same, fluttering excitement about Eddie’s boner as Steve had Nancy’s breasts, equaled…

“The fuck? Steve--”

Steve shushed him. 

That pulled a frustrated, embarrassed groan from Eddie that went directly to Steve’s own dick, not that it needed much help waking up. 

“I think I’m having one of those crisis’s Robin is always accusing the basketball team of having.” Steve informed Eddie dutifully, the dots done connecting.

Eddie, still refusing to open his eyes, snorted. 

“Whatever man. Can you at least be decent and hurry up with the beating? This is embarrassing enough.” 

“I’m not going to beat you up.” Steve said, thankful that his brain managed not to add some shitty comment about the entire town being awash in rumors of Eddie’s sexuality. That he’d confirmed it here wasn’t exactly a surprise. 

“I’m going to try something. If you don’t like it, let me know.” Streve added, before screwing up his courage and leaning down.

That of course, got Eddie to open his eyes.

“Wha--” He managed, before Steve’s lips were on his. 

For one single, blissful moment, Eddie Munson’s mouth was too busy to talk. 

“Yeah?” Eddie said, voice wrecked, and oh, Steve liked that. 

“Huh.” Steve muttered, when they broke for air. “Well that’s new.”

Liked the way Eddie looked at him more, hesitant, but with heat in his gaze. 

Steve had always been good about knowing what to do with heat. 

He leaned back down, pecking lightly at Eddie’s lips, and was delighted to find Eddie not only let him, but kissed back. 

“Not bad, Munson, but I think I could give you a few pointers.” Steve muttered, nose ghosting alongside Eddie’s. “Let me show you…” 

One boyfriend, several weeks, and another interdimensional monster later, Steve found himself socked in the arm by none other than his coworker, Robin Buckley. 

In her defense, she’d confessed her love for Tammy Thompson, still somewhat drugged on the Starcourt bathroom floor, only for Steve to tease her that at least his boyfriend could actually sing. 

“God you and Eddie Munson.” She muttered after, smile on her face. “How did that happen?” 

Steve knocked his shoe into hers, returning the grin unabashedly. 

“So remember last Valentines Day?” Steve started, all too eager to finally tell someone who understood about the best thing to ever happen to him. 

Robin of course, would soon also be ranked in that same chart, but Eddie didn’t need to know that. ) 

[kabsey]

Spite paced the nursery with a scowl while Lucanis rocked his wailing son and wondered how long it would be before Spite launched into his new nightly rant. Not long, as it turned out. The demon stopped in front of the rocking chair and thrust an accusing finger in their direction. Lucanis didn't know if it was meant for him or the infant in his arms. Knowing Spite, probably both.

"I was writing. To Curiosity," Spite snapped.

"I know, Spite," Lucanis replied. "And I apologize. But Enzo needs me awake right now. We talked about how this would happen, remember?"

Violet eyes settled on his son, and Spite growled. "Why does? It scream? It is fed. It is dry. What does? It want?"

Lucanis shook his head. "I don't think he knows what he wants. I think he is just confused."

Spite tilted his head like a bird. "Confused?"

"Until three days ago, all he knew was the inside of Rook's belly," Lucanis explained. "It was warm and dark and quiet. Now he is in a new world that is bright and cold and loud, and he doesn't know what to make of it." He offered Spite a weary smile. "Sound familiar?"

Spite continued to assess the baby for a few long moments, and then he settled into their body alongside Lucanis. They had long since learned how to inhabit the space together, and even as Lucanis's vision tinted violet, his son was still cradled safely in his own arms. The glow from their eyes caught Enzo's attention, and though his cries did not stop, they did quiet just a bit.

"This world is—" Spite began, and Enzo startled, his wails cutting off abruptly at Spite's volume.

Softly, Lucanis reminded him.

He felt their lips twist in another scowl, but when Spite spoke again, his voice was quiet.

"This world is. Not so bad. Lucanis and Rook. Will help. There are candles. And fire. And messes. You will be good. At messes. I think."

Lucanis chuckled. Perhaps he should have been alarmed at the thought of what trouble his son and Spite might create together, but they would simply have to deal with it as it came. He imagined it was not unlike a family with a large dog: he and Rook would have to watch them carefully, but he suspected that in time, once Spite and Enzo had bonded, Spite would be just as fiercely protective of him as he was of Lucanis and his wife.

That bonding was not to start quite yet, however. Having adjusted to the novelty of Spite's glowing eyes, Enzo screwed up his face and resumed his wailing. With the mental equivalent of throwing up his hands, Spite left their body and headed for the door.

"I'm going back. To the bedroom," he grumbled.

Once he was gone, Lucanis also rose from the rocking chair. Perhaps a change of scenery was in order for him and Enzo as well.

"Come on, mijito," he sighed. "Let's see if you like the smell of brewing coffee."

[supernotnatural2005]

A Dangerous Love

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Sam's POV of yours and Dean's relationship.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings/tags: Implied smut, angst, fluff, mentions of blood and injury, poor Sammy! Dean being his typical over protective self, both of them are stubborn.

AN: Hey guys, I know I've been MIA for a lil while, but I'm doing okay, still getting there, although this isn't a full return, I just wanted to pop on and give you guys a little something, as well as catch up on some reading now I have a minute 😅. This was sitting in my drafts and finally touched it up. I tried something little different with It being from Sam's POV. But I enjoyed this one and I hope you guys do too! ❤️

Main Masterlist

They were fighting again.

Sam didn’t even flinch. He barely glanced up from his laptop as the sharp words echoed through the paper-thin motel walls—voices rising, footsteps pounding, another inevitable blowout brewing like a summer storm.

“You can’t just run in like that!”

“I had it handled!”

“No, you almost got yourself killed!”

“I’m not a child, Dean! I know what I’m doing!”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me with the way you acted tonight!”

Sam sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He’d heard this fight a hundred times—probably more. Same argument, different hunt. Dean being overprotective, you pushing back, neither of you knowing when to shut up.

Then came the inevitable—

“Go to hell!”

“Already been, sweetheart.”

Sam winced a second before a door slammed hard enough to rattle the walls. Right on cue, his own door flew open, and in stormed Dean—still fuming, chest heaving, hands clenched at his sides, his face flushed with frustration.

Sam didn’t look up. He’d learned his lesson. Playing mediator between you two was about as effective as standing between two charging bulls. So, he kept his eyes locked on his screen, feigning deep concentration on the case he was researching.

A small town in Lincoln, Nebraska. Three bodies in a week, hearts missing. Probably a werewolf. Maybe a Rugaru. Definitely not as terrifying as the emotional carnage currently unraveling in the room.

Dean stalked back and forth like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Sam made the mistake of humming in vague agreement. That was all the opening Dean needed.

“Right? I mean, she just—she just goes in, no backup, no plan, like she’s got a damn death wish.”

Sam finally looked at his brother, eyebrows raised. “You mean like you do? All the time?”

Dean scowled. “That’s different.”

Sam snorted. “Oh, is it?”

But Dean ignored him, too deep in his rant to acknowledge logic.

“She doesn’t listen. Ever. I tell her to stay back, and what does she do? Runs straight into danger like she’s got something to prove.”

From the other side of the wall came a muffled, but unmistakably pissed-off voice: “I can hear you, jackass!”

Dean didn’t even hesitate. “Good!”

Sam sighed, long and suffering, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was his life. Not just the near-death experiences, not just the monsters and the ghosts—no, this. Being caught between his stubborn brother and his brother’s equally stubborn, equally reckless, equally loud girlfriend.

Dean, still grumbling to himself, flopped onto the opposite bed and crossed his arms like an angry child. Sam wisely said nothing. He knew the drill—Dean would rant, stew for a while, and eventually, in a few days—

Wait... Scratch that. 

A few hours later, Sam was rudely jolted awake by a very different kind of disturbance.

Something rhythmic. Repetitive. Suspiciously… breathy.

At first, his sleep-fogged brain struggled to make sense of it. A fight? No—too much giggling between the groans.

And then—

Oh. Oh, no.

Realisation hit like a freight train at full speed and his stomach churned.

The unmistakable sound of a headboard knocking against the wall. The low, hushed moans. And worst of all—

“Oh, God, Dean—”

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

Sam groaned, grabbed his pillow, and smothered his own face with it like he could suffocate the memories before they fully formed. How could he forget about the damn make-up sex? He should’ve known when Dean left the room and didn’t return that this is what would come of it. 

Burying himself deeper under the blanket, he contemplated driving to another damn state. Maybe exorcising himself. Was there a ritual for that? A way to erase the mental scarring?

Eventually, after a painfully long time, blissful silence returned, and with it, the symbolic, albeit fragile, truce between you and Dean.

The next morning, Sam nursed his coffee like a war veteran as he sat in the outdated diner, watching the two of you with equal parts fascination and whiplash.

You were nestled beside Dean on the other side of the booth, stealing bites of his pancakes with a smug grin.

Dean—who, under normal circumstances, would stab a man with a fork for even looking at his food—just smirked, all stupid heart eyes, letting you get away with it like you were some divine exception to the rule.

Sam squinted. Not even twenty-four hours ago, you two were about five seconds away from an actual homicide.

Now? Now, you were practically glowing, exchanging touches, finishing each other’s sentences, giggling like a couple of lovesick teenagers in a CW drama.

Sam exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

Every relationship expert on the planet would call this toxic. Hell, if he described it to anyone—the explosive fights, the impossible stubbornness, the complete disregard for self-preservation when it came to each other—they’d probably diagnose you both with something and slap you with a warning label.

But for as long as he could remember—even before you and Dean finally got together—it had always been like this. Back when you were just a couple of reckless teenagers, trading jabs and daring each other into stupid, dangerous situations. Before things got complicated with feelings and labels.

You and Dean were like flint and steel—constantly striking, constantly sparking, burning hotter than anything Sam had ever seen.

But the fire never went out.

It should have. By all logic, it should have burned itself to the ground a dozen times over. But instead, it just kept going, somehow forging you both into something stronger.

It was chaos. It was infuriating.

And, honestly? It was kind of impressive.

Even if it made Sam’s head want to implode.

But then there were moments that tore away all the noise, stripped everything down to the bare bones of what you and Dean truly were. Moments that left no room for doubt.

Because when it came down to it—when it really mattered—the two of you didn’t just care. Didn’t just love each other. You were willing to bleed for one another, break for the other, burn the whole damn world down if you had to.

And tonight? Tonight just proved that.

The hunt was supposed to be routine—get in, take care of the pack, get out. But the damn werewolves were faster, stronger. They had numbers. And somewhere between the chaos and the fighting, you made a split-second decision.

You saved Dean’s life. And you nearly lost your own in the process.

Dean caught you before you hit the ground. One second you were standing, the next you were collapsing, blood soaking through your shirt, pooling between his fingers as he pressed down hard against the gash in your side.

“No—no, no, no,” Dean’s voice was hoarse, raw with panic. “You're okay. I got you.”

Sam barely had time to react before Dean’s head snapped up, his eyes wild, desperate.

“Sam! Get the car!”

Sam was already moving, sprinting for the Impala as Dean held you against him, his flannel already stripped from his shoulders and bunched against your wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

“You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Dean murmured, his grip unrelenting. His fingers trembled against your skin, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “Just hang on. I got you.”

Sam skidded to a stop beside the car, yanking the door open. He turned back just in time to see Dean lifting you into his arms, his expression twisted in barely contained panic.

Sam didn’t miss the way his brother held you—not just with urgency, but with a kind of care that made his chest ache.

He helped ease you into the back seat with Dean, still pressing the flannel to your side. His voice was shaking, but his grip was steady.

"Step on it, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t argue. The second he was behind the wheel, he floored it, tires screeching against the asphalt.

The drive was a blur of traffic violations, but because it was nearing midnight, the roads were practically empty, making up for the reckless driving. The city flashed by in streaks of yellow and white, and in the rearview mirror, Sam could see Dean cradling you against him, his forehead nearly pressed to yours as he whispered every reassurance he could think of.

"Stay with me, sweetheart.”

"You’re okay.”

“I swear to God, you’re gonna be okay.”

But Sam heard the crack in his brother’s voice. Saw the way his hands were shaking. Dean wasn’t just worried. He was terrified.

By the time they crashed through the ER doors, shouting for help, Dean was covered in your blood.

The nurses barely had time to react before Dean was snapping at them to hurry, his voice sharp, desperate. And then you were gone—whisked away behind double doors, leaving Dean standing there, breathing hard, fists clenched, and your blood staining his hands.

Then came the waiting.

Dean couldn’t sit still. He paced the hospital waiting room like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair over and over, jaw tight, eyes darting to every single doctor or nurse that walked by.  

The agitation built inside him like a pressure valve ready to burst, as Sam sat nearby, watching his brother unravel, feeling helpless.

"What the hell is taking so long?" he growled, throwing his arms up in frustration as his gaze stayed trained on the double doors they had wheeled you through.  

Sam let out a quiet sigh. He was just as worried, but kicking and screaming wasn’t going to make time move faster. “They’re doing everything they can, man. You have to let them do their job.”  

Dean clenched his jaw, his entire body rigid with anxiety, and Sam could see the cracks forming in his brother’s usual composure. Deannwas a lot of things—fearless, reckless, stubborn as hell—but right now? Right now, he just looked scared.

When the doctor finally approached them, Dean nearly jumped down his throat.  

"How is she? Is she okay?"

“She lost a lot of blood,” the doctor said. “But we’ve managed to stabilize her. She needs plenty of rest, and we’ll have to monitor her overnight and go from there.”  

Sam let out a breath of relief. But Dean—Dean’s shoulders sagged, his lips pressing into a thin line as something unreadable passed through his expression.  

They had lied, of course. Told the doctors you’d been attacked by a bear because —“yeah, doc, she got slashed by a goddamn werewolf” — would’ve landed them in padded cells. Thankfully, the doctors didn’t ask too many questions.

When they were finally allowed to see you, Sam watched as Dean crumbled at the sight of you lying in that hospital bed.  

You looked so small. So fragile. The machines beeped steadily beside you, an IV hooked up to your arm, your face pale from the blood loss. It made even Sam’s heart twinge painfully to see you this way. You were not only his brother’s girlfriend. You were his best friend. His sister.

Dean approached cautiously, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he got too close. Then, without a word, he sat beside you and grasped your hand, his fingers brushing over your knuckles with a gentleness that didn’t match the man who had just been almost punching walls in the waiting room.  

His throat bobbed. Then, wordlessly, he lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering there as he exhaled shakily.

"You scared the hell outta me," he muttered, his voice thick, raw. “You’re gonna pull through this, you hear me?”

He swallowed hard, then softer, more broken— "cause' I can't lose you."

Sam swallowed hard against his own emotions. He knew this wasn’t just about saving you anymore. It was about Dean confronting the most terrifying thing he could ever imagine—the thought of losing you. And for a man like Dean, who was constantly worrying about this very thing, you'd think he'd be somewhat prepared for the real thing. Evidently not. It was crushing, breaking him into a thousand pieces.

Sam wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching the way Dean’s thumb traced gentle circles against your skin, but he saw the anger rise, predictable from his brother's guilt and fear as it continued to chip away at him the longer he looked at you. 

“Dammit, Y/N. Why didn’t you listen to me? I—“ Dean’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he just closed his eyes, like he was trying to pull himself together.  

And then, as if on cue, you stirred. Your fingers twitched in his grasp, your eyelids fluttering, and Dean went still—his breath caught, his entire body frozen as he waited.

Slowly, your eyes opened, hazy with exhaustion and pain, but when they focused on him, you still managed a weak, lopsided smile.

"Worth it.” you murmured, voice hoarse.  

Dean closed his eyes like he wanted to strangle you and kiss you at the same time, because of course you’d have a comeback, even on the brink of death.

Sam huffed a small, teary laugh, shaking his head.

Because this was the two of you. Always on the brink of disaster. Always throwing yourselves in front of danger for each other. Always driving each other insane.

It was a deep love. A dangerous love.

But it was real.

And it was true.

AN: What started off as a Drabble, became a one shot lol. I hope you guys enjoyed this one, it was fun to do. 😁💕 Also I am still working on part 2 of In The End , I'm sorry for the delay guys 😭

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[loveraging]

𝐌𝐲 𝐂𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐞𝐚

𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘙𝘦𝘪𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Summary: you always drink tea in the evenings. Spencer always watches you, admiring from a distance until he finds the courage to admit what he knows to be true. For now, though, he's content in the serenity you bring, in the shape of teacups and late-night reading. Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, tea with milk (don't knock it..!), reference to a vaguely depressing book. W/C: 1.2K A/N: first fic, massively exciting! Even more nerve-wracking! Time to stop lurking though, and share a bit of my own work. :)

━━━━━━━━━･❪ 🥀 ❫ ･━━━━━━━━━

Spencer glances over the edge of his book, down the aisle of the jet, seeing you all the way in the back. You’re leaning against the wall beside the kitchenette, your arms crossed in front of your chest as you wait for the hot water, in which you’ve just put your teabag, to turn the right brown colour. He knows this dance, he’s watched it countless times. You always stare at the teacup with a crease on your forehead, watching the water like a hawk until it’s the right colour, after which you pull out the teabag. You let it rest against the edge of the cup, just above the hot water, letting it leak out most of its contents. Then you add a splash of milk, which is also done with meticulous focus. Morgan had once said you seemed like a scientist when you made your tea. Your reply had been simple: “Tea is to the body as music is to the soul, darling.”

At the end of the day, such as right now, it’s always Earl Grey, and you let the teabag steep for a while, allowing the tea to become so strong it’s nearly bitter. The milk balances it out, according to you. Spencer has never felt brave enough to try that particular brew, even though you always offer it. In the morning, however, as he now knows so well, it’s always chamomile. It soothes you, apparently, and helps you start your day. He remembers ranting on and on about the medicinal benefits chamomile has the first time he watched you make it in the kitchenette in the BAU, and you had listened to all of it, only to, by the end of his long rant, simply say: “Why d’you think I drink it?”

You’ve finally finished your brew, leisurely making your way over to where he is and sitting down in the chair beside him, the one by the window. That’s your spot, he knows now. His spot is beside wherever you sit, but he’d never admit to that out loud. You offer your cup to him, to which he shakes his head with a small smile, and you shrug as you bring it to your own lips—it’s what the two of you always do. You always offer, and he always declines. It’s a nice little ritual. The other part of that ritual is that you finish your tea in complete silence, and over the months, he’s learned to keep quiet during that. You’ve never outright told him to shut up, but you don’t really reply to him when he talks. You hum and nod, but it’s not a real conversation. Eventually, he learned that it was because, to you, that cup of Earl Grey at the end of the day was a moment of tranquillity—complete serenity, your whole body in restful repose. A moment to let the day wash away and to gather your thoughts. Now, he enjoys it with you, whenever he can.

When you’ve finished your cup, you put it down on the table, which is Spencer’s sign to shuffle in his seat until he’s in the perfect position for you to rest your head on his shoulder—it took him a while to perfect that one, but he’s got it down pat now. His elbow is on the armrest so that his shoulder is at a slope, and his legs are crossed so he doesn’t unconsciously bounce them up and down and accidentally disturb you.

Normally, when you rest your head on his shoulder, you cross your arms in front of your chest before closing your eyes. This time, however, you do something different. Slowly, your hand moves behind his elbow until your forearm is hooked around it as if you’re about to walk arm-in-arm. It stays like that for a moment as you ask, “What are you reading today, then?”, which is the question you always ask. It’s another part of this ritual: you ask what he’s reading, which is his sign to explain the book, to which you always tell him to read a bit to you, and as he does, you fall asleep. 

“East of Eden, by John Steinbeck,” he says, and you nod despite your head resting against his shoulder. He’s about to explain the plot of the book when you suddenly move your hand and start drawing small circles on his skin, languidly brushing your fingers on the inside of his forearm. He, quite phenomenally, instantly loses all train of thought and can only stare at the way your hand caresses his arm where his sleeves are rolled up.

“What’s it about?” You ask, quietly, which only adds to the intimacy of the situation.

“You’re making it a bit difficult to focus,” he murmurs and your hand pauses. He immediately regrets ever saying anything.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. No, definitely not,” he says, before clearing his throat as he tries his best to summarise the book through the haze in his mind, while your hand resumes its dance. “It’s—it’s about this dangerous rivalry between two generations of brothers, similar to Abel and Cain from the bible. It’s mostly about the endless contest between good and evil.”

“Cheery,” you mumble, making him laugh softly. “Read it to me, would you, sweetheart?”

As if he’d ever say no. “The cemetery was deserted and the dark crooning of the wind bowed the heavy cypress trees…”

Your fingers keep drawing circles, slowly but decisively, as he reads from the admittedly depressing chapter. As the minutes drag on and Spencer realises he can’t remember a single thing he’s just read to you, your hand draws lower and lower, until your fingers are tracing the lines in his palm. He keeps glancing over as if he can barely believe what he’s seeing. And then, like the grand finale to a beautifully slow buildup, you push your fingers between his until your hands are fully intertwined.

He knows he stutters over a few words, he knows his breathing audibly hitched, but you don’t comment on any of it. You simply keep your hand where it is and wait for him to react: for him to reject or accept it. He accepts it wholeheartedly, he’s more excited about this than anything that’s ever happened to him, and the only way he knows how to tell you is to squeeze your hand as decisively as he can. 

You squeeze back, and he continues softly reading to you.

Fifteen minutes later, he knows you’re fast asleep. Your grip in his hand has gone a bit slack and your breathing is rhythmic and even. He’s not reading anymore, now just staring at your intertwined hands and marvelling at the fact that this is happening. Finally, finally, he’s getting somewhere with this. All that patience, all that waiting for you, that admiration that he had from the sidelines, it has finally cultivated in this. He only hopes that it will continue to grow. 

And if Emily tries to slyly take a picture and Morgan nudges JJ with a sly look, Spencer pretends not to notice any of it. He’s too busy staring at you anyway. 

[glossykissies]

in the mood to have a snotty nosed, thick-saliva, hot faced tantrum infront of anakin. ꒰꧞ ˃ 𛱊 ˂ ꒱ྀི

it was a long time coming, infact it had been brewing all week. you liked to remain poised around him — seeing as he seemed to keep his cool around you in that disciplined jedi way you knew too well, but as your week got harder and harder it got increasingly more challenging to keep your emotions in check.

infact, you’d even go as far as to say it had been the worst week ever, but atleast when the end of the week came, you’d have some time to recollect yourself and be taken care of by your loving boyfriend. right?

during the worst of your moods, he’s striding casually toward the door — barely having taken a moment to read your emotions and notice that you’re at your breaking point. he hadn’t sat down since he got to your apartment, ranting and raving about the council and obi wan and the likes of them. he hadn’t realised he was being, well— selfish.

“theyre calling me in for a briefing.” he places his holopad down with an exhausted sigh, rolling his shoulders in mental preparation. “i sense they’re going to send me on yet another trip to the outer rim.”

panic and fury soar through your chest so hard it makes you stumble, forcing your way toward him in the living room.

“no.” you breathe simply, following him to your hallway.

“ridiculous, i know. i just got back.” he grumbles, unhooking his cloak from the coat hanger contraption by the door. you crumple, covering your eyes with the heel of your hand, mouth turning downward into a devastated sob. this finally makes the man turn around, unravelling himself from his own thoughts to realise your overwhelming waves of negative emotion. “what’s the matter?” he steps towards you to embrace you, but you freak — smacking his chest and collapsing to the floor.

“no i’m— you can’t! you won’t! i need— you need to be here i can’t do it after this week i can’t —” you wail, releasing any sense of control over your emotions, and admittedly it felt kind of good. anakins brow frowns and his mouth sets in a straight line as he watches the tantrum unfold, your hands occasionally reaching out like you want to smack him again. he sighs, lowering himself to a squat next to you.

“you’re beside yourself. atleast let me hold you until you calm down.”

“no!” you whinge, too immersed in the tantrum to understand how embarrassed you’d be on a later date for acting like a complete youngling. in all honesty, you thought anakin would maybe scold you for all the ruckus when he’s already likely stressed too, and you thought perhaps a scolding would snap you out of it— putting things into perspective, but instead he perseveres, dodging your hands and yanking you to his chest, holding you even when you squirm.

“there. settle down.” he commands, but its gentle. you’re not yelling anymore atleast, more so just sobbing in utter despair, he even sensed confusion at your own emotions. his brows furrow in sympathy at this, rubbing your back in big circles. “baby, it’s just the way things are. i don’t have a say in the matter.” he explains, voice gentle if not a little exasperated.

you cry out at this, clutching his robes in frustration, wiping your snot into the lapel. “‘need you more than them.” you refer to war torn planets, species on deaths door, which sadistically anakin wanted to chuckle at due to how dramatic that statement was.

“you sell yourself short. you’re my strong girl, are you not?” he tilts his head, hoping to peel you away easily but you hold on. feeling you overheat, he uses a little more force to pull you off, cupping your warm, tepid cheek with a hand. you look wrecked, and he hates it.

“no.”

“i must disagree. now breathe. i wont be leaving tonight anyway.” anakin instructs and you mellow ever so slightly at this, guiltily sucking in a breath. “there you go. another big breath, that’s it. all that fuss and noise for nothing, hm?” he teases, but wipes your tears and snot affectionately with little judgement.

“i just don’t want you to go. i’m sorry.” you mutter dejectedly. anakin stares for a moment, unsure of what to say, so he scoops you onto his lap and lifts you as he stands, cuddling you like that.

“they wont keep me for too long. i’ll make sure of it.”

[yoonkinii]

Argument with Sukuna

Warning(s): cursing, heated arguments, name calling, insults, mentions of being depressed, self doubt. (If I am missing any, let me know ASAP) Requested by this request Requests open! (only for this AU) Masterlist (check for more AU content) Note(s): I am so sorry it took me literally forever to upload this. I got slammed with midterms and my new job so it took me a while to get around to editing this part.

Doubt- a creeping, insidious emotion that sinks its claws into your chest, digging deeper with each passing moment. It’s the very thing that has wrapped itself around you now, slowly consuming you from the inside out as you spiral deeper into the sluggish pit of overthinking. It gnaws at your thoughts, festering in your mind, even as you stand before the familiar doorway, dressed in a white dress, the soft fabric contrasting with the roughness of the leather jacket draped over your shoulders- his leather jacket.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, the screen’s bright glow illuminating your face as you bite your bottom lip, the sensation a poor distraction from the unease bubbling within you. Your eyes scan the messages again and again, searching for clarity in the words that now feel heavy with doubt. 

Nothing. Hours had passed since his lunch break, and still, there was no reply. Each time you texted, a small hope flickered, only to be extinguished by the silence that followed. With each unanswered message, the doubt that had been simmering beneath the surface grew stronger, tightening its grip on you. You knew the risk of being annoying, yet the gnawing feeling inside pushed you to  reach out again, and again- only to be met with more nothingness. 

With a sigh, you slipped your phone into your purse and rapped your knuckles against the door. Silence greeted you. Just as you raised your hand to knock again, the door cracked open, revealing a pair of familiar brown eyes. 

“Y/n! I didn’t know you were coming over,” he says cheerfully, his voice carrying the usual warmth. 

A sharp pain of anxiety hit you at his innocent comment, the unease twisting in your gut. “You didn’t?” you muttered, brow furrowing as Yuji leads you into the kitchen. 

A pang of anxiety shot through you at his innocent comment. Your brows narrow as Yuji leads you into the kitchen. “You didn’t?”

He shakes his head casually, already reaching into the fridge and pulling out a gallon of milk. Without hesitation, he uncapped it and took a long drink, oblivious to your growing concern. 

“Where’s Sukuna?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, though your mind was racing with a hundred different possibilities. The hope that Sukuna was just busy, still getting ready, lingered desperately. 

Yuji wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, waving off the question as he set the milk down. “He’s in his room, asleep. Came home all moody- said something about needing a nap and just shut himself in there. Hasn’t come out since,” he replied, nonchalant as he ranted about his uncle, completely unaware of the storm brewing in your chest. 

Your heart sank, a heavy weight settling in your chest as you swallowed hard. Offering Yuji a quiet thank you, you turned and followed the familiar path to Sukuna’s bedroom. Your mind was a whirlwind of disbelief and frustration, unable to comprehend that he’d actually do this- again. With each step, dread gnawed at you, but it was anger that simmered beneath the surface, flaring as you reached his door. 

You didn’t bother to be gentle. Swinging the door open, you flicked on the lights, flooding the room in a harsh, luminescent glow. Sukuna’s reaction was immediate.

“Fuckin’ hell, Yuji. I’m trying to sleep,” he groaned, his arm instinctively covering his eyes to block the sudden brightness. 

“Oh, I am so sorry to disturb your royal slumber, Lord Sukuna,” you snapped, sarcasm dripping from your words as your annoyance echoed in the room. 

Sukuna shifted, squinting past the light to get a look at you. The sight of you standing there, arms crossed and clearly fuming, made him sight deeply, frustration creeping into his voice. “Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand over his face.

“Are you kidding me, Sukuna?” you start, your voice rising with every word as you plant your hands firmly on your hips. “This is the third time you’ve blown me off. What is your deal?” You raised three fingers to punctuate your frustration, your tone sharp with irritation. 

He rolls his eyes, scoffing as he sits up. “It’s not a big deal, doll. We can hang out another time.”

“Not a big deal?” you repeat, your voice going up an octave as you stared at him in disbelief. “Not a big deal? Are you fucking serious? You’ve said that exact same thing the last three  times you’ve bailed.” You glare at him, anger radiating off of you. 

Sukuna met your glare with a harsher one, his expression hardening as if your anger was completely unjustified, as though you had no right to be upset.

“Oh my God, you are so damn needy,” he spat, his voice laced with venom. “Sorry that I can’t drop everything for you. I have a job that’s more important than going on dates all the time. Damn, you’re such a nuisance.” His words were sharp, slicing through the air with a brutal finality as he stared you down from where he lay. 

The world stops for you. His words replaying in your mind over and over again. It’s not just his words anymore. The dam inside your mind finally breaks, your mind filling with the comments you’ve ignored so far. 

For a moment, the world seems to stop. His words echo in your mind, replaying like a broken record, growing louder and more painful with each repetition. But it wasn’t just his words now. It was every cruel comment, every sneer, and every judgment you had ignored until now. 

“Look at her. She’s just after his money.”

“What is she wearing? Doesn’t she know the attire is supposed to be business classy, not-hang-your-tits out.”

“It’s cute how she thinks Ryomen actually cares about her.”

“What a whore, can’t she survive for two seconds without clinging to him?”

The dam inside your mind broke. Every ounce of doubt, sadness, and frustration you’d suppressed surged forth all at once, overwhelming you. Tears of anger and hurt welled up, spilling from your eyes as your fists clench at your sides. 

“Fuck you, Ryomen.”

His last name, spoken with such finality, snapped his attention back to you. His eyes widened briefly at the sight of your tears, but his frown only deepened. 

“Seriously, you’re crying?” he scoffs, the corner of his mouth curling in disbelief, as though your emotions were an inconvenience to him. He sits up in the bed, the blanket falling to his wasit, exposing his tattooed chest. With his arms crossed, he tilted his head at you, the condescension in his gaze unmistakable.

“God…you’re insufferable sometimes. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Oh? Well, I’m sorry for wanting to spend time with my own damn  boyfriend,” you snap, your voice trembling with emotion. A white-hot anger flared inside you, making your chest burn as you pointed a trembling finger at him. “You are such a dick, Sukuna! I understand you’re busy, but you’re not even trying to see me.”

“I don’t fucking want to,” he growls, nostrils flaring as his anger matches your own. His gaze bore into you like you were insignificant, something beneath him. “I don’t want to spend every second with you. It’s suffocating. Don’t you get that?”

Your face falls, the fire in your chest extinguished in an instant, leaving only a hollow ache behind. The room seemed to freeze, thick with an eerie silence as the harsh lights threw long, jagged shadows across the walls. Your hands drop to your sides, nails digging into your palms. Trembling slightly, your eyes fixed on the floor, unable to meet his gaze. 

Noticing the shift in your demeanor, Sukuna lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair through his hair in frustration, “Y/n-”

But he doesn’t get the chance to finish. You turn on your heel and walk out of his room, the movement quick, decisive. Something inside him snapps at the sight of you leaving, and his voice erupts after you, echoing through the halls. “Fuck you then!”

Grumbling under his breath, Sukuna stands from his bed, the sudden absence of your presence unnerving him more than he’d care to admit. He stomped towards the door, grabbing the edge to slam it shut. But as he moved to close it, he froze.

Yuji stood at the end of the hallway, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Gone was the boy’s usual bright smile, replaced by a cold, unwavering gaze. 

“You’re a dick,” Yuji said, his voice calm, yet heavy with disappointment. 

Three simple words, but they hit Sukuna harder than he’d expect, cutting through his defenses like a blade. His lips curled into a snarl, masking the sharp sting of Yuji’s comment. With a sharp flick of his wrists, he slams the door, the sound reverberating through the room. 

Sukuna leaned his forehead against the door, relishing the cool touch of the wood against his heated skin. 

She doesn’t understand him at all. 

-

He doesn’t understand at all. 

Time has dragged on painfully these past few days, each second stretching into an eternity. The world around him seems muted, painted in dull shades of gray and blue. Nothing shines the way it used to; everything irritates him. People, places- everything feels wrong, like clothes that don’t fit. And he’s left grasping at an explanation, yet understanding nothing. 

In the dark of his bedroom, the only light comes from the dim glow of his phone screen, casting eerie shadows on his face. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and flashes of lightning briefly illuminate the room, breaking through the oppressive gloom. His eyes scan the messages on his screen- dozen of texts sent to you, one after another, each more desperate than the last. 

A week.

An entire week without your smile, your laugh, your touch, or your kiss. Time has slowed to a crawl without you, every minute dragging him further into the suffocating void of your absence. At first, he didn’t care that you were ignoring him. It was your issue for getting upset- at least that’s what he told himself. But as the days beld together, something shifts. The weight of what he’d lost settled into his bones, and he began to understand the hollowness you must’ve felt- the same emptiness now consuming him. 

It’s unbearable. Each second stretched out in the silence, thick with a loneliness he never noticed before you came into his life. Now, it’s all he can feel- this aching void. And he knows, deep down, he messed up. He sees it in the way Yuji looks at him, the silent judgment behind those eyes every time they cross paths. It cuts deeper than Sukuna thought possible, slicing him in two with each glance. 

Another flash of lightning, and he’s up. Without thinking, without even grabbing his jacket, he’s out of his bed, storming out of the house before the rational part of his mind could stop him. He can’t take it anymore- this hollow, gnawing ache that’s been clawing at him. He needs to see you. Now. 

-

The relentless patter of rain against your window muffles the found from you TV, the show playing fading into a distant hum. You can’t even remember the name of the program or what it was about. Your half-lidded eyes stare blankly at the flickering screen, knees pulled close to your chest. The cool night air slips through the slightly open window, chilling your skin and raising goosebump across every inch of you. The hoodie- his hoodie- offers little warmth, but you don’t care. The cold is the furthest thing from your mind.

These past few days, you haven’t been able to focus on anything- school, work, even the most mundane tasks seem distant and irrelevant. Your thoughts drift aimlessly during class as lectures drag on and on, or while you mindlessly restock shelves. Even Shokok noticed something was off. She poked your side during class, slipping you a note with a simple, loaded question

‘Are you okay?’

A question you still don’t know how to answer.

Sukuna’s words left a deep scar, one that feels impossible to heal simply by ignoring him. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cried, the sting of his voice and the cruel whispers of others replaying in your head like a vicious cycle. His name lights up your phone screen more than once, and every time you choose to ignore it. Call it petty, but you want him to feel some of the hurt you felt when he brushed you off like you didn’t matter. Yet as the days stretch on and your phone continues to vibrate, you begin to wonder if this silent war is worth it. 

Even now, your eyes sting from the tears you’ve shed. You know you shouldn’t be crying this much, that you should be stronger, more resilient like those girls who don’t care what others think. But you’re not like that- you care deeply, too much sometimes. Yes, you’re angry at Sukuna, but beneath that anger lies an overwhelming sadness you can’t seem to shake. 

The TV flashes as a commercial for some love-themed product plays, the word “love: glowing brightly on the screen. A bitter frown tugs at your lips- how ironic. You lean forward to grab the remote from the coffee table, ready to change the channel, when a knock echoes from the door. The student noise startles you, cutting through the rain and the murmur of the TV, sending a jolt of fear through your body. 

You freeze, eyes locked on the door, unsure if you’d actually heard anything. A second knock comes, more urgent this time, breaking the silence. Slowly, you make your way toward the door, hesitation pulling at every step. It’s late, the rain pounds against the windows, and you weren’t expecting anything. The thought of ignoring it crosses your mind, but the knock persists, louder, more frantic. 

With a sigh, you unlock the door and crack it open, only to swing it wide in shock at the sight before you. 

Sukuna stood there, drenched from head to toe. His soaked hair clung to his forehead, water dripping down his face as his chest heaves, clearly out of breath, like he had run all the way here. Judging by his disheveled appearance, he probably did. He was dressed in nothing but pajama pants and a white tank top, both utterly soaked, the thin fabric of his shirt sticking to his muscular frame like a second skin. 

Your heart stutters in your chest, wide eyes scanning him up and down, trying to comprehend why he was here- why now- when he was the one so furious with you. His presence felt surreal. Sukuna, your sharp-tongued, blunt boyfriend, looked utterly defeated. The usual fire in his eyes had dimmed, replaced with something distant and heavy. His brows were drawn together, casting faint lines across his forehead, and his mouth- so often curved in a smirk or scowl- was set in a hard, straight line, lips pressed tightly. His whole expression was steeped in sorrow, a quiet, aching weight that made him look so unlike himself. 

“Y/n…” He whispered your name as if it were the only thing holding him together, his voice laced with disbelief. 

You swallowed hard, biting the inside of your cheek as your mind raced. Before you could react, Sukuna moved, stepping inside and pulling you into a fierce embrace. His arms wrapped tightly around you, and though your body instinctively tensed at his touch, the warmth of his closeness stirred a whirlwind of emotions. 

“Please,” he murmured into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and desperate against your skin. “Be angry with me, hate me if you have to- but don’t stay away. I can’t do this anymore.” his voice cracked, raw with emotions, his large frame curling into you as though he could make himself smaller, more vulnerable. 

Shock ripples through you, his words shaking you to your core. Sukuna has never been like this. Harsh, yes. Guarded, certainly. But this? This openness, this need- this was something you’d never seen in him before. The façade he always wore, that untouchable exterior, had finally cracked, and you could see the raw, unguarded person beneath it. 

Slowly, almost hesitantly, your hands found their way around his torso, returning the embrace. “You’re getting my floors all wet,” you teased softly, the tension easing so slightly from your chest as you spoke. 

He let out a low hum, tightening his hold on you. “Sorry,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “I’m so sorry…for everything.” his words were muffled against your hair, but the weight of them hung heavily in the air. The sincerity in his apology palpable, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the tightness in your chest beginning to lift, if only just a little. 

-

Tendrils of steam drift from the bathroom as Sukuna emerges, a towel draped loosely over his shoulder, catching the last few drops of water from his damp hair. He grunts as he drops onto the couch, his presence immediately filling the room. 

From the kitchen, you eye him, raising a brow at his casual appearance. “You do know I gave you a shirt to wear, right?” you say, stepping closer and handing him a steaming cup of tea. His hands cradle the cup, his eyes fixating on the liquid inside as if it might hold the answers to his thoughts. 

“And you know I don’t like wearing shirts to bed,” he counters, a lopsided smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Humming, you lean your cheek on the back of the couch- your legs tucking themselves close to your chest again. 

You hum softly in response, resting your cheek against the back of the couch, your legs instinctively curling up to your chest. The silence between you grows heavy, and though his smile remains, you can’t shake the lingering weight of what had happened. 

“I’m still angry at you,” you say, your voice softer but firm. 

Sukuna’s eyes remain on the mug for a moment longer before he speaks, his voice low. “I know.”

“What you did,” you begin, your gaze fixed on him, “was really messed up, I can’t believe you spoke to me like that.”

He finally lifts his gaze, meeting yours. His lips pressed into a thin line, and there’s something in his eyes- something softer, almost regretful. “I know,” he repeats, the words filled with quiet acknowledgment. 

Your frown deepens, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Is that all you’re going to say?” you ask, irritation, creeping into your tone at his lack of explanation. 

Sukuna watches you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “There’s nothing I can say to undo what happened,” he begins, voice steady but laced with a rare vulnerability. “What I did- it was bad. Really bad. I didn’t understand why you were so upset.”

Your teeth clench at his choice of words, and you shoot him a sharp glare. “You’re terrible at apologizing,” you mutter through gritted teeth. 

He lets out a small, rueful laugh. “I know,” he admits, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek, the gesture almost tender. “I got angry because I didn’t understand. And I can’t say anything to excuse what I did. But I am…truly sorry.”

His voice softens at the end, the weight of his apology hanging in the air between you both. It isn’t perfect, but it’s honest, and for someone like Sukuna, that means more than words ever could. 

With a soft sigh, you inch closer to him. He tenses, casting you a wary glance as you lift his arm, guiding it over your shoulder. For a moment, his arm hovers in the air, unsure, before he slowly lowers it, wrapping it around you in a gesture that feels both hesitant and protective. 

“I appreciate the apology,” you murmur, your cheek suppressed against the warmth of his bare chest. His skin, always radiating heat, feels more like a personal heater. “But I don’t know if I can forgive you just yet.”

Without a word, he places the mug on the coffee table and shifts his position, pulling you down with him until you’re both lying on the couch, your body draped over his. He lets out a deep, content sigh, his arms tightening around you as if afraid you might slip away. On instinct, your legs entwine with his, the closeness both familiar and comforting. His voice, a low rumble, vibrates through his chest as he speaks. 

“That’s alright. I didn’t expect you to forgive me right away,” he says quietly, his breath stirring your hair. “But I’m going to do everything I can to earn it”

Propping your chin on his chest, your eyes meet his as a playful smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “I’m going to make you work like a dog to get it back.”

A deep chuckle escapes him, the sound reverberating through his body. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” he replies, his eyes softening with affection. 

Bonus:

“Damn, my back’s killing me,” Sukuna grumbled as he dropped into one of the dining chairs, his face twisting with discomfort. 

Rolling your eyes, you set a plate of breakfast down in front of him. “That’s what you get for sleeping on the couch… and for being old.” 

He shoots a glare in your direction, stabbing his fork into the eggs with more force than necessary. “Ha-ha, hilarious.” 

You settle across from him, your own plate in hand, watching as he eats. The room was quiet except for the sound of clinking cutlery and his occasional grunt when a movement aggravated his back. You simply observed, a content silence falling over you as you ate your meal. 

He had hurt you, deeply, with his words. They’d cut through you like a blade, but right now, in this moment, it didn’t feel as heavy. You could set aside the hurtful comments whispered behind your back and deal with them later. What mattered was now- this quiet morning,watching your boyfriend clear his plate, his eyes occasionally flicking up to meet yours. 

“What?” His piercings caught the morning light, glinting as he gave you a curious look. 

“Sure,” he says with a suspicious glance, getting up and taking his plate to the sink. He rinses it off, the sound of running water filling the small space. “I’ll need to head back to my place soon.”

A pang of disappointment hits you, but you mask it with a short nod. “Okay. Your shirt should be dry now.”

“He glances over his shoulder. “Be ready when I come back later.”

You blink, caught off guard your fork pausing mid-bite. “Wait, why?”

His lips tug into a small smirk. “Didn’t you want to go to that stupid musical in town?”

Before you could stop yourself, you’re standing, hands pressed flat against the table. Excitement surging through you. “The one I mentioned weeks ago? About Odysseus? That musical?!”

Question after question tumbles from your mouth, your heart racing. Sukuna looks at you, brow arches, clearly confused by your outburst. “Yeah,” he drew out the word, eyes narrowing slightly, “that one. Why are you so worked up?”

With a squeal, you dart over to him, grabbing his cheeks between your hands and squishing them together. He scowls, his lips puckering in protest. “Thank you, Kuna!you exclaim, leaning in to press a sloppy kiss against his squished lips. He grunts but returns the kiss as soon as your lips meet his. 

Pulling away, he peels your hands off his face. “It’s the least I could do. You did say you wanted to go.”

You smile up at him, your heart still fluttering with excitement as he pulls you closer, his hands finding their place on your waist. “Yes, but I only mentioned it in passing. I didn’t think you’d remember.”

He shrugs, squeezing your hips lightly. “I listen sometimes.”

You hum, your arms lopping around his neck. “Yeah, sometimes.”

-

Taglist (open): @kalulakunundrum , @fushipurro , @sad-darksoul , @cupcaketeddybehr

[yrluvjane]

Best of Both Worlds

Barty Crouch Jr. x reader x Sirius Black

The first time you met Sirius Black, he was dangling upside down from the enchanted chandelier in the Gryffindor common room, his school robes flapping around him like a bat as he attempted to charm the portrait of the Fat Lady to sing a vulgar rendition of "Hoggy Warty Hogwarts."  

You'd just been sorted, your robes still stiff and new, when the entire common room erupted into chaos.  

"BLACK!" roared a voice from the stairs, and a frazzled-looking James Potter came storming down, his hair wilder than usual. "Get down from there before McGonagall—"  

The chandelier snapped.  

Sirius came crashing down directly into your lap, his elbow knocking the wind out of you as you both tumbled to the floor in a heap of limbs and laughter.  

"Oi, watch it!" you wheezed, shoving at his shoulder.  

Sirius blinked up at you, his grey eyes bright with mischief. "Well, hello there," he drawled, not bothering to move. "You’re new."  

James groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Sirius, for Merlin’s sake—"  

But Sirius just grinned, rolling off you and springing to his feet in one fluid motion before offering you a hand. "Sirius Black, at your service."  

You took it warily. "I can see why they put you in Gryffindor."  

Sirius barked a laugh. "Oh, I like you."  

And just like that, you were swept into his orbit.  

---  

The first time you met Barty Crouch Jr., it was in the library at midnight.  

You’d been struggling with a particularly tricky Arithmancy equation, your quill scratching furiously at parchment as you tried to make sense of the numbers swimming before your eyes.  

"You’re doing it wrong."  

The voice was cool, matter-of-fact. You looked up to see a boy with sharp features and sharper eyes leaning over your shoulder, his Slytherin robes pristine despite the late hour.  

You bristled. "Excuse me?"  

He pointed at your parchment with a long, elegant finger. "Your formula is backwards. If you transpose these variables, it’ll make sense."  

You frowned, looking back at your work—and then it clicked. "Oh."  

The boy smirked. "Oh indeed."  

You scowled. "Thanks, I guess."  

He inclined his head slightly. "Barty Crouch Jr."  

You blinked. "The Barty Crouch Jr.? As in, the son of the Ministry’s Head of Magical Law Enforcement?"  

Barty’s smirk twisted into something darker. "The very same."  

You hesitated, then held out your hand. "Well, thanks for the help."  

Barty looked at your hand like it was a foreign object before shaking it briefly. "Don’t mention it."  

And just like that, an unlikely friendship was born.  

---  

By third year, you were caught in an invisible war.  

Sirius, with his effortless charm and reckless abandon, dragged you into pranks and adventures, his laughter infectious as you raced through the halls under James’s Invisibility Cloak or charmed Peeves to dump water balloons on unsuspecting Slytherins.  

Barty, on the other hand, was your quiet counterpart—the one who stayed up with you in the library, who brewed Pepper-Up Potion when you were sick, who listened when you ranted about your frustrations with the pureblood elitism that still lingered in the halls of Hogwarts.  

They couldn’t have been more different.  

And yet, they both wanted you.  

---  

"Come on," Sirius whined one evening in the Gryffindor common room, flopping dramatically across your lap as you tried to study. "The Whomping Willow’s not going to pelt first years with acorns by itself."  

You rolled your eyes, shoving at his shoulder. "Sirius, I have a Potions test tomorrow."  

Sirius pouted. "But it’ll be fun!"  

"Fun isn’t the word I’d use," came a dry voice from the portrait hole.  

You looked up to see Barty leaning against the frame, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.  

Sirius scowled. "What are you doing here, snake? Lost your way to the dungeons?"  

Barty ignored him, his eyes on you. "You said you’d meet me in the library an hour ago."  

You winced. "I got distracted."  

Barty arched a brow. "Clearly."  

Sirius sat up, his grin turning sharp. "She’s busy, Crouch. Run along."  

Barty’s eyes flicked to him, cold and assessing. "I wasn’t aware you were her keeper, Black."  

Sirius’s smirk faltered for half a second before he recovered, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "Someone’s got to keep her out of trouble."  

Barty’s lips curled. "From what I’ve seen, you’re the one causing most of it."  

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "Merlin, you two are impossible."  

They both turned to look at you, identical expressions of indignation on their faces.  

"Me?" Sirius said, pressing a hand to his chest. "I’m an angel."  

Barty snorted. "A fallen one, maybe."  

Sirius shot him a glare before turning back to you, his expression softening. "Come on, love. Just one prank?"  

Barty stepped forward, his voice low. "Or you could actually study and not fail your exams."  

You looked between them—Sirius with his puppy-dog eyes and disheveled hair, Barty with his quiet intensity and unwavering focus—and sighed.  

"Why do I have to choose?" you muttered under your breath.  

But the words lingered in the air, heavy with possibility.  

---  

The tension came to a head during a Hogsmeade weekend in fifth year.  

You’d agreed to meet Barty at the Three Broomsticks for a study session, but Sirius had intercepted you on the way, dragging you into Zonko’s with promises of new joke products to test.  

By the time you made it to the pub, Barty was sitting alone at a corner table, two Butterbeers untouched in front of him, his expression stormy.  

"You’re late," he said flatly as you slid into the seat across from him.  

You winced. "Sorry. Sirius—"  

"Of course," Barty cut in, his voice icy. "It’s always Black, isn’t it?"  

You frowned. "What’s that supposed to mean?"  

Barty leaned forward, his grey eyes burning. "You know exactly what it means."  

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, the door to the Three Broomsticks burst open, and in strolled Sirius, looking windswept and entirely too pleased with himself.  

"There you are!" he called, spotting you immediately. "I’ve been looking everywhere—oh." His grin faded slightly as he noticed Barty. "Didn’t realize you had company."  

Barty’s jaw tightened. "Clearly."  

Sirius ignored him, dropping into the seat beside you and stealing a sip of your Butterbeer. "So, I was thinking—"  

"You’re always thinking," Barty muttered. "A shame none of it’s productive."  

Sirius’s eyes narrowed. "Careful, Crouch."  

Barty smirked. "Or what?"  

The air between them crackled with tension. You could feel the other patrons starting to stare, whispers spreading like wildfire.  

You’d had enough.  

"Merlin’s beard!" you snapped, slamming your hands on the table. "Why does it always have to be a competition? Why can’t I just have both of you?"  

Silence.  

Sirius blinked. Barty froze.  

The entire pub seemed to hold its breath.  

"...Both?" Sirius repeated slowly, his eyebrows creeping toward his hairline.  

You threw your hands up. "Yes, both! Merlin, you two are impossible. It’s not like I have to choose—"  

"Yes."  

You stopped mid-rant. "What?"  

Barty’s lips curled into that rare, genuine smirk of his—the one that made your stomach flip. "I said yes."  

Sirius’s grin was downright predatory. "Oh, this is brilliant. I get to annoy Crouch and keep you? Perfect."  

You stared between them, waiting for the punchline. "You’re... serious?"  

Sirius winked. "I’m always Sirius."  

Barty rolled his eyes, but there was no real irritation in it. Instead, he reached out and tugged you to your feet, his grip firm but gentle. "You heard him. Though I reserve the right to hex him if he gets too obnoxious."  

Sirius popped up on your other side, slinging an arm around your waist. "And I reserve the right to be exceptionally obnoxious."  

The pub had gone eerily quiet, every eye in the room fixed on the three of you—a Gryffindor, a Slytherin, and you, caught perfectly in the middle.  

You looked between them—Sirius with his wild grin and disheveled hair, Barty with his sharp eyes and barely-contained amusement—and felt something warm settle in your chest.  

"Well," you said slowly, a smirk of your own forming. "This should be interesting."  

Sirius pressed a dramatic kiss to your cheek. "Darling, with us? It’ll be legendary."  

Barty rolled his eyes—but when he leaned in to kiss your other cheek, there was no hesitation.  

The pub erupted.  

Whistles. Shouts. A loud "Bloody hell!" from Rosmerta behind the bar.  

You didn’t care.  

Because as Sirius laughed against your skin and Barty’s fingers tangled with yours, you realized—  

You’d won.  

---  

The rest of the school year passed in a whirlwind of chaos and affection.  

Sirius, true to his word, was exceptionally obnoxious—sending you flowers charmed to sing vulgar love songs, sneaking into your dorm to leave notes under your pillow, dragging you into broom closets for stolen kisses between classes.  

Barty, on the other hand, was quieter but no less intense—his touches lingering, his gifts thoughtful (a rare potions book he’d tracked down, a silver bracelet charmed to warm when he thought of you).  

And when they were together with you?  

It was electric.  

---  

One evening, you found yourself in the Room of Requirement, curled between them on a conjured sofa as the fire crackled in the hearth.  

Sirius was idly braiding a strand of your hair, his fingers surprisingly deft as he hummed a tune under his breath. Barty had his nose buried in a book, but his free hand rested on your thigh, his thumb tracing absent circles.  

"You’re staring," Barty murmured without looking up.  

You smiled. "Can’t help it."  

Sirius tugged playfully on your braid. "Admiring the view?"  

"Something like that," you admitted.  

Barty finally glanced up, his grey eyes warm in the firelight. "Sap."  

Sirius grinned, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple. "Our sap."

Graduation Day

The Great Hall was bathed in golden sunlight as the graduating class of 1978 stood in their dress robes, the enchanted ceiling reflecting the cloudless summer sky. You stood between Sirius and Barty, their hands clasped firmly with yours, as Dumbledore gave his final speech.

"Mischief managed," Sirius whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he slipped a charmed galleon into your palm – a twin to the ones the Marauders used, now engraved with all three of your initials.

Barty rolled his eyes but didn't let go of your other hand, his thumb tracing idle circles on your wrist. "Sentimental fool," he muttered, though the way his fingers tightened around yours betrayed his true feelings.

As the ceremony ended in a shower of enchanted confetti, James whooped loudly, tossing his hat in the air. "Black! Crouch! Stop making heart eyes at my best friend and help us celebrate!"

Sirius flipped him off with one hand while pulling you closer with the other. "Jealous, Prongs?"

That Evening – The Shrieking Shack

The abandoned house had become your secret meeting spot over the years, its creaking floorboards and peeling wallpaper now as familiar as the two boys lounging on either side of you.

Sirius stretched out like a contented cat, his head in your lap as you carded your fingers through his dark hair. "So," he mused, catching your wrist to press a kiss to your palm. "What's next for the three most brilliant minds to grace Hogwarts?"

Barty, ever practical, pulled a set of documents from his robe pocket. "Auror applications for you two," he said, handing one to Sirius. "And a research position at the Department of Mysteries for me."

You blinked. "You planned our careers?"

"Someone had to," Barty deadpanned, though the corner of his mouth twitched when Sirius threw a pillow at his head.

One Year Later – London Flat

The key Barty had given you fit perfectly in the lock of the cozy flat above Diagon Alley. Sunlight streamed through charmed windows that showed different landscapes – a beach for Sirius, a library for Barty, and your favorite Quidditch pitch for you.

"Home," Sirius declared, dropping his trunk with a thud before promptly pushing you against the nearest wall, his lips finding yours with practiced ease.

Barty cleared his throat pointedly. "If you're quite finished defiling our new home..."

Sirius pulled away just enough to grin. "Oh, I'm just getting started."

Five Years Later – Ministry Ball

The grand hall glittered with enchanted chandeliers as you navigated the crowd, your Auror robes swapped for elegant dress robes. Sirius, ever the showman, had charmed his to shift colors with his mood. Barty stood nearby in impeccably tailored black, looking every inch the Unspeakable he was.

"Merlin, you're beautiful," Sirius murmured, spinning you into a dance without warning.

Barty appeared at your other side, his hand resting possessively on your waist. "Stop monopolizing her, Black. Some of us would like a turn."

Sirius gasped dramatically. "Is that jealousy I detect, Crouch?"

You laughed, pulling them both closer. "Play nice, boys."

Ten Years Later – By the Lake

The same stretch of Black Lake shore where you'd shared so many stolen moments now hosted a small gathering of friends. Lily held baby Harry while James made embarrassing toasts. Remus smiled fondly as Sirius fumbled with rings charmed to always return to their wearers.

Barty, usually so composed, had tears in his eyes as he slid a delicate silver band onto your finger. "No more secrets," he whispered, echoing your words from all those years ago.

Sirius kissed you breathless before pressing his forehead to yours. "Forever, yeah?"

[homiesexuallaj]

“Jackass.” “..Dumbass kid.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Genre/Warnings: fluff, both live in the compound, enemies??/frienemies?? to lovers, name calling (nothing like hateful though), blood, wounds, stitches, thorns, food sharing, sick! reader, grumpy but caring! bucky, kinda proofread

Summary: You and Bucky hate each other's guts, or so you thought. Over the years of your rivalry/friendship, you two seem to soften up ever so slightly. And just in time for Valentine’s Day!

prompts:

one // two // three

———

Bucky Barnes. Local resident jackass.

You two had been at each other’s throats since you first ever met. Both of you were stubborn and had “my way or the highway” attitudes. It was horrible since you two lived in the compound with a few others, and even worse when you two had missions together.

Steve was always placing a large palm on Bucky’s shoulder. Sam always had a hand rubbing at the stress lines on his face as he begged you two to “take a break.” Natasha was always working to keep you two separate, dragging you away to the city, her apartment, or your room.

But living in the same place, in the same building. It was always like a ticking time bomb if you two spotted each other across the room. It was always a staring contest, checked shoulders, and snarky comments.

“You look like shit.” “What’d you do? Fall in the middle of a bull run?” “Oh god, you’re coming?” “Old man.” “Fucking kid.” “You’re a dumbass.” “Fuck off.” “Would you get?!” “Quit that!”

But there was an… oddness to your dynamic.

With watchful eyes when the other wasn’t paying attention. Or a freshly brewed pot of coffee in the middle of the night. An oddly placed book that was bound to catch attention. Held doors. And allowed first dibs on the bed of the assigned safe house. Or looming over your shoulder if some random guy tried to talk to you either out in public or on a mission.

Hell, you could barely talk to any guys at the bar before they were throwing fleeting glances over your shoulder before they scampered off. You turned around only to meet Bucky’s irritating blue gaze staring you down over the edge of his glass of whiskey. You’d always turn around, sit down at the bar, and order something stronger.

It’s even worse if you try to bring a guy home. It’s always, “Who's this?” “Where’d you met him?” “How long have you known him?” “One night!?” “..Well, where does he work?” “What kind of car does he drive?” “What’s the license plate number?” “What’s his mom’s maiden name?” “What high school did he go to?” “Where did he go to college?” “What bank does he bank with?” “You know his social security number?”

“Bucky-!”

“What?!” . . . “Get out.”

And off goes the guy.

“You’re a jackass.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you stopped bringing weird guys home.”

And then you’re storming off to your room and slamming the door shut. You throw yourself down on your bed and make grumbly noises into your pillow as you rant to yourself. Then, you’re reaching into your nightstand drawer to fish out something that could help you with your personal problem that you were originally going to deal with- with another human person, not an electronic vibrator.

And good god. Don’t even get started on the fact that you can’t even get stood up on a date alone.

You had made a reservation for one of the nicer restaurants down in Brooklyn. You were supposed to meet a guy here you met online. But thirty minutes pass. And then an hour. The guy’s a no show.

So, there you are in a nice, crimson colored dress and all alone with a meal for one. You’re not even hungry anymore. Picking at your food as you sip at a bottle of beer you traded for a glass of champagne. When to your right, someone goes,

“Beer? Really?”

You look up.

There’s Bucky. He’s dressed in a white dress shirt and slacks, of course with his famous leather gloves. His hair is brushed back, but a singular strand falls over his forehead. If you two didn’t hate each other so much, you might even say he’s handsome. But he’s totally, definitely not handsome at all, nuh uh.

"You've been teasing me all this time about being single just for you to get stood up?" He says with a bemused expression. Clearly, Bucky is entertained by your suffering.

You don’t say anything. You send him a glare instead before you’re looking back down at your food, which is room temperature now. And then you’re jostled to the side as a bulky body shoves you down the booth.

"Move over,” Bucky demands, shoving his way into the booth to sit beside you. “You're lucky I'm hungry."

“There’s a whole other booth, Barnes,” You point to the empty booth.

“This one looks comfier,” Bucky shrugs, picking up your fork so he can start munching down on your pasta.

You roll your eyes, ignoring the way Bucky is practically pressed into you. Your thighs touch and your shoulders are pressed together. The fabric of his dress shirt is soft against your exposed arm. You ignore the way that neither of you two make a move to separate from each other or the way Bucky tosses an arm across the back of the booth while you wait to pay. Except, Bucky doesn’t give you a chance to pay. He slaps your hand away, throwing down his credit card that you weren’t even sure he understood how it worked.

He does understand how it works, he argues. You don’t believe him one bit.

“Thank you,” You say as Bucky and you walk out into the parking lot.

“Don’t mention it,” He replied with a hand on your lower back.

And you don’t. You never do. Even if it’s something you think about every night with your thoughts running wild and second guessing every emotion you have.

Though, you don’t even notice your dynamic changing bit by bit after that ruined date. You’re too busy having aggressive staring contests and spitting out snarky comments to notice a change.

You’re oblivious to the way Bucky’s eyes are a little softer when they look your way or how his shoulder always brushes against yours when he’s near you. Or that he starts joining team movie nights, replacing Sam’s spot beside you after the first night he joined because he didn’t like you and Sam all cuddled up on the couch. And he hated the way you two whispered and giggled with each other during the movie. Or how you two shared a blanket. Bucky hated it.

So, the next movie night when he stole Sam’s spot and Sam protested, Bucky only told him to “go find another spot” and that “it won’t kill you if you don’t sit besides her.”

So, Sam has to relent. And he prays to whatever god above that you two don’t bite each other’s heads off during the movie. And he’s presently surprised you two don’t.

You don’t notice either that Bucky always has a spare mug sat beside the coffee machine if you have another one of your restless nights. Or the way he starts reaching for your hand if you cross a street or if you have to temporary separate from a mission. Nor that Bucky seems to “absentmindedly” interlock your pinkies on the way back from a mission if you two sit beside each other. Cause you two are always sat beside each other now.

You don’t notice until Natasha is bringing it up.

“So when did you and Bucky get all buddy-buddy?” Natasha asked you over the music of the bar the team has congregated in for the night.

You cock and eyebrow her way, sipping on your season edition of Strawberry Blonde Shiner beer.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swallowing the cool liquid down.

“Well.. y’know..,” She trails off, swirling around her own beer.

“No,” You look at Natasha seriously. “I don’t know.”

“Well, how you two are around each other all the time now,” Natasha tries, giving you an expectant look. When you’re still looking confused, she continues. “Like during movie nights, he took Sam’s spot. Or how he never shoulder checks you anymore and his smartass comments your way have lessened. Even his tone has less bite to it than it used to. Or how he’s always gotta be touching you now, like a hand on your back or a pinkie interlocked with yours.”

The red-head lists off example after example. Though, she gives up when you don’t seem to come to an enlightenment or when you don’t agree that maybe Bucky is softer with you now. That he’s been getting softer since your ruined date, or even since before then. You don’t know. You don’t know cause you don’t notice. Just like you don't notice the watchful blue eyes from across the bar.

Though, a little light shines through the crack of your mental walls in the dim kitchen of a safe house off in Germany.

There’s blood in the sink, smeared across your shoulder and hands, splattered across your face, and dripping down your side.

You did your best to clean up, but the tear in your side limited your movements. And with too much of shaky hands, you had to let someone else stitch you up. That someone else was Bucky, who’d knelt down at your side before you could even say “no.”

You breathed in through your nose and out through your mouth as you suffered through the pain of being stitched up without any painkillers expect the decent bottle of vodka. Your fingers twitched with every stab of the needle and your lip curled into a grimace as you felt the thread being pulled through your skin. You had the fight back the queasiness that you weren’t sure if it was from the pain or the blood loss.

Bucky knelt beside you on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. He was face to face with your side as he wove the needle and thread in and out of your torn skin. His eyebrows were scrunched and his eyes concentrated. And he was silent for once. No smartass comments or words of encouragement, not that you would expect any from him. Bucky’s hands were deft and rough. The callouses felt like sandpaper against the sensitive skin of your ribcage.

Soon enough, Bucky was done. He stood up, threw out trash and cleaned up his bloody hands. He scrubbed all the way up to his elbows, getting rid of any blood and grime that may have lingered still. He hadn’t even tossed your slightly undressed form a glance over as he wrapped up your abdomen with gauze.

“Lost a lot of blood,” Bucky commented.

He’d brought a cold, wet washcloth up to your face as he began to wipe away at the blood there. The man still had that stupid concentrated look in his eyes.

“No shit,” You say with a tone that’s a little harsher than intended. Blame it on the pain and the lightheadedness you feel.

You watched as Bucky wiped your face off, wiped down your right shoulder and bicep, and wiped the exposed skin of your torso. You looked Bucky over, taking note of his own wounds and scrapes that he had yet to tend to.

Once done, Bucky looked back up at your face and stared. Just stared right into your eyes. He wasn’t looking around and he didn’t seem to be searching for anything. He was silent.

You ignored the way your heart seemed to pick up in your chest. You couldn’t tell if it was from nervousness or another emotion. Your brain was too foggy with pain still to decipher your feelings.

“What?” You asked with a normal volume of voice, not bothering to keep your voice down. Hopefully it would scare Bucky out of this weird, up close staring contest.

“Go get something sweet to eat. Keeps your blood sugar up,” Is all Bucky says as he breaks away and mills about, wiping down any affected area in the kitchen from the impromptu stitching.

You don’t protest or even argue. You go over to dig in your jacket and fish out a couple heart shaped suckers you snagged from in town.

It was February. Why not indulge a little in the heart-shaped candy that lined the shelves of almost any store around this time of year?

You gotten through about two and a half suckers before you began to doze off on the couch. The stick of the third sucker still hung from your mouth, still with your lack of movement. You’d didn’t have time to protest or process when the candy was yanked from between your teeth, pulling you from your dozing state.

“Hey!” You sat up straight but instantly regretted it with the painful pull in your side. “I was eating that!!”

“I’m not stitching you up just to have you choke and die on some stupid ass sucker,” Bucky pointed at you with the sucker, looking down at you with a harsh glare.

“I was not going to choke and die,” You protest, settling back down into the couch.

“Uh huh,” Bucky muttered as he made his way around the couch to sit down beside you. “And my first name isn’t James.”

Bucky popped the sucker into his mouth, taking no regard for that fact that it was just in yours. He was completely unbothered by the fact, toeing off his boots before propping his feet up on the wooden coffee table.

You grumbled, sinking back into the couch and pulling your own feet up to yourself. It took you a minute, but eventually you dozed right off again. Your brain was exhausted and your body was doing its job on tiring you out so you could get some well-needed rest.

Never mind that when Sam and Natasha came in from outside, Bucky still had the heart-shaped sucker in his mouth and your legs across his lap. The tv was off, holding the room in an almost comfortable silence. Or, it was silent to Sam and Natasha.

You start to come to terms with the fact that Bucky seems to care for you, for some odd reason, when you get sick. Not just sniffly, sneezing, stay in your pajamas all day sick. More of sweaty, feverish, sleep all day, barely eat or drink anything kind of sick. For three days, no less.

Your fever was so high, you could barely keep a shirt on. But you did as Natasha kept coming in to check on you and keep you stocked up on gatorade and pedialyte. You were between kicking your blankets off or snuggling up under at least five. You switched between laying on your side, huddled under your blankets, on your stomach with arms around your pillow, or on your back with your t-shirt pulled up to expose your stomach in order to try and keep cool.

You currently laid in the latter position, on your back with an arm tossed over your eyes to shield the light shining in through your cracked bedroom door. You could hear the muffled voices of two people bickering from somewhere out in the common area of the living floor. But they were too quiet and you were too exhausted to try and listen in.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky and Natasha were arguing which food to try and feed you for dinner. You haven’t eaten for three days now and your fever, while dwindling, was ever persistent.

“She needs to eat something spicy! Something to sweat out the fever and clear her sinuses!” Natasha protested, holding a packet of spicy ramen.

“No, she needs something that she’ll actually eat and that’ll keep her hydrated,” Bucky countered, already holding two cans of chicken noodle soup in his hands.

“And how do you know what she likes?” Natasha asked, holding an accusatory tone. “You hated her guts only just a year ago!”

“I didn’t hate her guts!” Bucky defended himself. “She hated mine! And she’s so fucking stubborn, and she never listens to me!” He then gives a little shake to one of the cans. “Plus, I pay attention to what she likes.”

Natasha sputters for a moment, “I know what she likes! She’s my best friend!”

“Obviously not, since you’re trying to feed her something spicy while she’s in there sick and practically withering away,” Bucky protested.

You didn’t even hear the continued argument, or when it finally dwindled away to silence. When you heard your bedroom door squeak open, you sighed.

“ ‘Tasha, I’m not hungry-” You lifted your arm to who you thought was Natasha trying to feed you again. “Oh-.” It was Bucky.

Bucky held two mug-soup bowls in his hands as he made his way into your room. He sat the bowls on your nightstand table. As well as a washcloth you hadn’t notice he was holding at first.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asked, pulling your t-shirt down to cover your stomach back up.

“Getting there,” You mumbled, laying your arm back over your eyes.

“You need to eat-” Bucky started as he sat on the edge of your bed.

“Not hungry,” You mumbled.

“I don’t care,” Bucky grumbled, picking up one of the bowls. It made a clinking sound as the spoon moved around. “Now sit up.”

You gave a groan as a sort of weak protest, but you sat up anyway. You moved yourself up with shaky arms and sat back against the headboard of your bed. You took the mug-bowl from his hands, only Bucky didn’t let go until you had a solid grip on the slightly heavy eat-ware. Then, he picked up his own bowl when you picked your spoon up.

“Chicken noodle,” You commented, taking a sip.

“You should be lucky I’m feeding you,” Bucky took a spoonful of his own chicken middle soup. “Natasha wanted to feed you spicy ramen.”

You give a weak chuckle, which forms into a few even weaker coughs, “Sounds like her.”

“Yeah,” Bucky scoffed, still bewildered that Natasha wanted to feed you something spicy at one of your weakest moments.

You two ate the soup in silence. The only sound between you two was the clinking of spoons against the ceramic soup-mugs. And ever so slowly, you finished your soup. You set the mug to the side before laying back down on your bed.

“Thank you,” You said with a low, quiet voice.

“It’s no problem,” Bucky had finished his own soup a few minutes before you and his own mug was sat beside yours now. “I’ll make you more if you want.”

“Not now,” You shook your head. “Maybe later.”

You noticed that, now that you two were done eating, Bucky made no move to get up or leave your room. He only stared down at you from his seated position, and even went as far to brush a few strands of hair away from your sticky forehead. But he also stopped to press the back of his hand against your forehead, feeling for your fever.

“Your fever should go down now that you’ve eaten,” Bucky noted, then brought the folded washcloth to your forehead. The fabric was damp and cold against your skin. “This should help keep you cool.”

“Wow, Buck, keep treating me like this and I might think you like me,” You joked, a little smile on your face.

“Whatever,” He mumbled, though he kept a hand pressed against the washcloth on your forehead.

Bucky never left you as you laid there on your back, relishing in the cold of the washcloth against your heated skin. He even got comfy in the spot beside you, laying his legs up on your bed and sitting back against your headboard. And when Natasha came in to check on you, and to see where Bucky disappeared to, he didn’t even blink an eye when Natasha saw how you two were positioned.

You moved to lay back on your stomach, hugging your pillow with the damp wash cloth over your eyes to try and keep cool. And Bucky still sat up beside you, with a hand rubbing at your back.

“You’re a simp,” Natasha whispered, leaning against the doorway to your room.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Bucky whispered back.

“Then Urban-Dictionary it,” Natasha shot back.

“That’s not a real dictionary,” Bucky cocked an eyebrow her way.

“Online, old man,” Natasha muttered, pulling your door closed until it was just a crack open before she left.

And he did “Urban-Dictionary it” later than night. Bucky only rolled his eyes at the definition. This wasn’t a real dictionary anyway, so “simp” wasn’t even a real word in Bucky’s mind.

Nevertheless, over the next few days, you got better. Better enough to feed and shower yourself. Better enough to wander down to the gym to work on building your muscle and endurance back up.

Better enough just in time for Valentine’s Day. A year now since Bucky stitched your side up in Germany.

But, at the moment you were second guessing if you were really better or not. Or if you were in a sickness-induced comma or you were having some sort of twisted fever dream. Because you were sure this wouldn’t have happened in a million years, no matter what.

Bucky stood in front of you, looming over your form as he shoved a bouquet of very nice roses in your face. Literally. The petals literally slapped you in the face when you turned the corner.

“What the hell?!” You sputtered, backing away from the face-full of roses you just got. “What are these for?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Bucky answered flatly, jerking the roses in your direction.

“And?” You asked, gaze flickering between Bucky’s and the flowers.

“And these are for you,” Bucky replied, still holding out the roses. When you didn’t take them right away Bucky got sassy, “Just take them! My arm’s getting tired.”

You finally did take them. You were almost about to tease Bucky about him being a sap and being romantic, until you felt a sting of pain take over the tip of your pointer finger. You jumped and pulled back, almost dropping the flowers. You looked down at your affected finger to find blood already seeping from the pinprick on the pad of your pointer finger.

“What the hell, man?!” You asked, more offended than previously.

"I thought bringing you roses would be romantic! You know!?" Bucky matched your tone, offended by your reaction. “Since it’s Valentine’s Day?!”

"Not when they still have the thorns on them, dumbass!" You countered, taking your bleeding finger into your mouth to soothe the pain. “And since when do you give a damn about being romantic?”

“Since I saw this on sale,” Bucky pulled a heart-shaped box of chocolates under his arm and handed them your way.

You glared down at the box suspiciously, still soothing your finger. You glanced up at Bucky before finally taking the box. You looked it over, seeing if it had been opened or tampered with at all. Then you remembered,

“Chocolates go on sale tomorrow, old man,” You point out, still glaring at Bucky suspiciously.

“Well- I- uh,” He was caught, almost backed into a corner. “I got these on the bottom shelf then.”

You cocked an eyebrow his way, not fully convinced. You still twisted and turned the box, not letting your guard down just yet.

“They’re not poisoned,” Bucky said, crossing his arms over his chest.

You fought off the urge to look down at the way his chest puffed up underneath the t-shirt he wore, or the way his biceps flexed as they were squished against his abdomen. Damn him and that stupid ass compression shirt he wore.

“Really?” You turned your gaze from the box to Bucky once again. “Then share them with me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and grumbled out a “fine” before following you to the living room.

You set the thorny roses down on the coffee table before you sat down. You opened the box in your lap, setting the lid and the paper covering aside to get a good look at the chocolates.

As soon as you had the lid off, Bucky picked out one of the assorted chocolates and popped it in his mouth. He looked at you expectedly as he settled into the cushions beside you, setting an ankle across the top of his knee in a masculine way of crossing his legs.

You scoffed, picking up the chocolate of your choice.

“To definitely not poisoned chocolate,” You toasted, holding up the little square.

“To regular, run of the mill, chocolates,” Bucky responded, picking up another chocolate and tapping it against yours.

You two make your way through the box, commenting on the flavors and ones you liked or dislikes. It was a rather civil interaction, with a few snarky comments here and there, of course.

It was when you bit into one of the more gooey, liquidy chocolates and a little bit of the fluid filling slipped past the corner of your lip did Bucky do another thing that had you second guessing your conscienceness again.

Bucky, with the gentlest hand he’s ever touched you with in all your years of knowing him, cradled your jaw and swiped his thumb at the corner of your mouth. His stormy blue eyes watched the motion, making sure to wipe up the mess and not looking at your lips at all.

“Always so messy,” Bucky commented, amusement shining in his eyes. “Dumbass kid.”

You stared up at Bucky, cheeks coloring with heat and heart pounding behind your ribcage so hard you were afraid your sternum might break. You could feel your hands grow clammy and your mouth go dry, maybe you were gaping like a fish. You weren’t sure. You didn’t get a chance to respond when the voice of Steve interrupted you two from the doorway.

Due to the positioning of the couch in the living room, he had a full few of your current position.

“Oh good, you finally picked out a box,” Steve sighed, practically calling Bucky out on his bullshit. “He spent like forever in the candy isle trying to remembered what you liked.”

“Steve-!” Bucky protested, voice raising a few octaves. His own cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Right! Right! Sorry!” And with that, Steve disappeared into the kitchen.

After a few moments of silence, you spoke up, “Bottom shelf chocolates, yeah?” You were teasing, cocking an eyebrow Bucky’s way.

Bucky met your eyes quickly, “Shut up.”

Amusement danced in your eyes.

Bucky finally pulled his hand away from your face, swiping his thumb at the corner of your lips once more to clear away the light pink sticky filling of your previously chosen chocolate. He turned away from you, back resting against the cushions of the couch. Throwing an arm over the back, he sucked on the pad of his thumb to clear the liquid. Never mind that it came from you, pretty much.

You turned away too, chocolates still in your lap. You tossed your feet up on the coffee table, crossing your legs at the ankles. You stared ahead, chewing on your little treat.

“You’re a jackass,” Is all you said.

“Dumbass kid,” Is all Bucky muttered back.

Never mind the way both of yours and Bucky’s thighs pressed together as you sat on the couch, or that he practically crowded into your space for the rest of your sharing the totally normal box of chocolates between friends.

Cause that’s what you two were, right? Friends?

[mawrmyy]

sugar 'n cream

Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings:

18+ !!! minors dni please !!! smut, messy blowjobs, f!masturbation, tooth-rotting fluff, writing soft!husband!joel has become my brand at this point, pet names (angel, baby, perfect girl), lmk if i missed anything :)

You’ve fallen into a routine of waking up to the smell of brewing coffee every sunday morning.

Today is no different. Your eyelids flutter open gently, the burnt, earthy smell climbing upstairs to your bedroom. 

You linger in it, let yourself sink deeper into the white sheets as the scent envelops you, the familiarity of it feeling like a warm embrace. 

You can’t help but smile. You know he’s downstairs, probably pouring the dark coffee into two separate mugs; one for each of you. He knows exactly how you like your coffee, but he never gets it quite right. 

You love him for that. 

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the back of your knuckles, you begin to get up, the sheets rustling and twisting beneath you as you do. The floor tiles are cool against your bare feet, jolting you further awake as you tiptoe downstairs, hand lightly grazing the railing.

He’s there— broad shoulders facing you, muscles moving beneath his shirt as he pours the last drops of coffee into one of two mugs on the counter. You see him eye the sugar, contemplating whether or not to attempt sweetening your drink just how you like it. It makes you smile. 

You decide to help him solve the dilemma, walking towards him. 

He’s so warm. You feel the heat he radiates before you even wrap your arms around his waist, pressing a sweet kiss between his shoulder blades before resting your forehead there. He hums, and the vibration of it sends shivers throughout your whole body, you’re sure you feel him in your bones. 

“Mornin’, Baby,” Joel says softly. You hum in acknowledgement, unmoving from your position against his body, whining in protest when he tries to change positions. He chuckles, gruff and hearty, and you give in, loosening your grip on him. He turns over in your arms as he leans his back against the counter, and you lean your chin on his chest, looking up at him. He’s smiling at you, and it’s so soft and sweet, you’re sure your heart is going to burst out of your chest. 

Joel ducks his head down and kisses you, one big hand coming up to cup your cheek. A content sigh leaves your throat, and you feel him smile against your lips as his thumb softly caresses your cheekbone. 

You miss the warmth of his mouth as soon as you break apart. You grumble, your head nestling against his chest, ear against his thrumming heart. 

“Wanted to wake you up with coffee in bed,” Joel says. “Been workin’ real hard this week, Baby. Thought you could use the extra sleep.” He’s right, of course. He always is. He knows you so well, your Joel, always attentive, listening to your constant rambling and ranting as he holds you close to him on the couch after every long day. He’s so sweet, so good to you. 

You lean up, kissing him once again, this time shorter and sweeter. 

“I love you,” You tell him, because it’s true. He smiles, tugging you a little bit closer to him. 

“Never know how much sugar to put in your coffee, Baby,” Joel tells you. You huff out a laugh, reluctantly pulling yourself away from his body to pull out a milk carton from the fridge. You feel Joel’s gaze on you, burning a hole through your head as you pour the milk into your coffee, the dark brown shade of it softening to a lighter, caramel-like color.  

Before you can reach for the drawer to pull out a spoon for the sugar, Joel’s handing you one. It’s a normal teaspoon, but it looks comically small in his large hand. You take it from him, mumbling a thank you, Baby as you sweeten your coffee. His hand, the one that was handing you a spoon a moment ago, falls to the small of your back, and you revel under his touch. The two of you take a sip of your coffee simultaneously, and you smile into the mug as both of you find the other’s eyes. 

__ __ __

Joel likes his coffee black, black, black. You don’t understand why someone would choose to drink something that tastes like charcoal and burnt shit out of their own free will, but right now, as you kiss him, your tongue against his, you think you might not mind the flavor. 

He’s got you pushed up against the counter, marble digging into your lower back as he trails open-mouthed kisses up and down the column of your throat. His hands rest on either side of your hips, thumbs drawing circles on your waist. You’re breathing him in, holding the back of his head in the palm of your hand as his mouth nips and licks at your throat, kissing every sliver of bare skin his lips can find. Lost in the moment, you let your mind go completely blank with nothing but Joel.

Your man.

Your big, strong, capable man, always so good to you, so selfless. You know for a fact that he’d give you the world— he’s just waiting for you to ask him to. 

Your body moves on instinct, sinking to your knees before you even realize what you’re doing. Worshiping Joel is muscle memory at this point. Your hands travel up and down the outsides of his thighs, the fabric of his jeans rough and dry against the palms of your hands. You had asked him once, who the hell wears Jeans on their day off? He’d just huffed out a laugh and kissed you sweetly, and that was the end of the conversation.

Your fingers work at his belt, shakily unbuckling it, pulling it loop by loop before letting it fall to the floor beside you. Joel is looking down at you, eyes wide and dark and full of love and everything else that’s unsaid. His hand cups your face and you melt into his touch, nuzzling against him like a housecat basking in the warmth of a fireplace. 

“Baby,” Joel says from where he stands above you. His voice rasps around every vowel, lust dripping from it like honey. “Y’don’t gotta do that, c’mere. I’ll make you feel real good, Darlin’. Let me make you feel good.” You smile up at him, at your man, always putting your pleasure before his own. You shake your head softly, unbuttoning his jeans.

“Wanna make you feel good, Joel.” You say as you work the zipper down. His eyes never leave yours. Not as his pants fall around his ankles, or as you plant a kiss on his tan thigh. Not even as you palm his half-hard cock through his boxers, cupping him through the fabric. 

“Always taking such good care of me,” You say as you begin to pull his boxers down, kissing the newly revealed skin of his soft tummy. “Let me return the favor.” You keep tugging his boxers off slowly, pressing your lips softly to every inch of bare skin your greedy mouth can latch onto. You smile to yourself as you feel Joel’s breath hitching, the uneven rise and fall of his stomach against your curled lips. Your own breath catches in your throat as soon as Joel’s boxers fall to his ankles, his cock standing hard and proud before you, a bead of precum on the tip. 

This isn’t anything new. You and Joel have been together for a long time now, finally tying the knot last autumn after dating for five years. He takes such good care of you, showing his love in ways that range from sending you pictures of every heart-shaped object he comes across, to fucking you deep into the mattress until you’re screaming out his name. But still, you almost never get to love on him like you wish you could. He’s always so preoccupied with making you feel good, he doesn't realize that seeing him come undone for you has your sweet cunt clenching around nothing. 

You reposition yourself on your knees, making yourself as comfortable as the cold tile will allow, before taking Joel’s cock in your hand. He groans at the contact, your warm hand closing tightly around the thick base of him. The sound spurs you on, and you lean in to press a sweet kiss to the leaking tip. Joel’s hand flies to your hair, fisting it tightly. 

“Shit, Angel,” His voice is deep and gruff. You keep pressing feather-light kisses along the length of his dick, riling him up. “Fuck, go easy on me, Baby. Don’t tease me— shit,” You take him into your mouth, lips wrapping around the tip of his cock, tongue rubbing the sweet spot right beneath the head. The groan that Joel lets out is so primal and animalistic, you’re sure it’s been brewing in his chest for a while now. His hips stutter as he holds himself back from fucking your throat, and you take him deeper, mind hazy with the need to make him feel good, craving his sweet moans and groans. 

Joel is muttering about your perfect lips, and about what a good girl you are, taking him so well. His praise spurs you on, has you moaning and humming around his cock. 

But it’s not enough. You need more of him.

You pull your lips off of his dick with a wet pop! sound, spit dripping down your chin. Joel loosens his grip on your hair, confused. 

“Want you to fuck my throat,” You blurt out bluntly. Joel’s eyes go wide at your request. 

“Fuck– R’you sure?”He asks. You nod enthusiastically. “Don’t wanna hurt you,” He says, a little softer. His hand comes to rest on your cheek, his eyes wide with affection and worry. You hum, nuzzling into his touch, a smirk gracing your lips.

“Someone’s self absorbed,” You joke. Joel snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Goddamn smartass,” He replies, and you laugh. You press a light kiss to his lower tummy, his pubic hair scratching against your skin, before looking back up to him with a soft smile.

“M’serious,” You tell him. “Want you. Want all of you.” Joel inhales deeply.

“My perfect fuckin’ girl,” He says, and you beam. And after a moment– “Shit, yeah, okay.” It’s all the confirmation you need before taking him into your mouth once more, cheeks hollowing as you relish in his bitter flavor. Joel’s hand finds the back of your head once again, pulling you closer to him until the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. His nostrils flare as he grunts, eyes never leaving yours. You can’t help but moan at the intimacy of it, at the warm weight of him against your tongue. 

You can tell your sounds spur him on, giving him more confidence as he bucks his hips against you, making you choke around his cock. 

He looks so beautiful like this, with his tousled hair and his coffee-brown eyes watching you in awe, you can’t help but let your hand slide down beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers running through your slick folds, drawing small circles on your clit. 

He looks like an Adonis, like an ancient Greek statue carved from the finest marble. You run a hand up and down his thick thigh, your other hand still toying with your cunt. You sink a finger into your dripping hole, making you moan even more enthusiastically as you bob your head up and down Joel’s cock. He’s close and you know it, the rhythm of his hips uneven as he fucks into your mouth. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth slightly agape and yes, he looks so handsome like this, you feel yourself clenching around your finger before slipping another one into your tight hole. Joel’s always been better at this than you, his fingers thicker and longer, hitting all the right spots inside of you. You can’t help but wish it was him, fucking you deep and slow, thumb circling your clit while two fingers pump deep inside your pussy, making you gush and cream around him. But no, this is about him, now. You swirl your tongue around his heavy cock, pulling your head back slightly to suck at the sensitive tip. Joel lets out a broken moan before pulling you against him, your nose against his soft belly. It’s a sweet burn. He’s so big, you feel tears beginning to blur your vision as you breathe deeply through your nose. 

He finally lets you break away, and you gasp for air. You smile up at him, practically glowing, the hand that was previously buried between your plush thighs comes back up to stroke him, the mix of your spit and your juices coating his dick as your hand tugs at him. 

“Want you to come in my mouth,” You say, before pressing a soft kiss to the side of the shaft. “Wanna taste you.” Joel curses under his breath, something you can’t quite make out. You smirk, before taking him into your mouth again.

“Girl of my- fuck- girl of my fuckin’ dreams,” He says, and you hum around him. He gives two hard thrusts into your tight throat, before his hips still completely as he comes. You’re pressed against him, your eyes screwed shut as you focus on breathing through your nose, not wanting to break away before you get to taste all of him, every last drop on your tongue.

Joel’s hips jerk as his cum paints the velvet walls of your mouth. The flavor of him is bitter and salty, something you can’t quite put into words. 

Something that’s all Joel, all yours.

You slowly pull your mouth off of his softening cock, swallowing every last drop of his release, all while never breaking eye contact. Joel’s breathing is heavy and his eyes are wide, watching your every move with utter fascination and adoration. You give him a small smile as he brings his thumb to the corner of your lip, swiping up a leftover drop of his come and pushing it slowly into your mouth. It’s a welcome intrusion, and you wrap your lips around the finger immediately, tongue circling the pad of it. Joel grunts, before helping you up so that you’re standing again and kissing you deeply, has hand on the back of your head. You can’t help but smile into the kiss.

He still tastes like coffee. He tastes like coffee and Joel and a hint of you, reminding you he’s all yours.

“I love you,” You tell him, and he smiles.

“Love you too, Angel,” He replies. “Fuck, love you so goddamn much.”

__ __ __

whew! this one took a while to write cause i was sick for the longest time and couldn't really think about sucking dick...

thank you for reading!! i'd love to hear what you thought, and constructive criticism is always appreciated :)

picture I -- Spotify on Pinterest picture II -- TheLastredemption on Pinterest picture III -- вишневый котик on Pinterest

[graciedollie]

Would you please do Maddie and Cailtyn (separate) hcs for reader flinching in an argument? Perhaps the reader is a naturally calm person when arguing even if the other person is going balistic. Thank you! (If you don't write for multiple characters please feel free to just choose 1)

Unexpected

☔︎︎ 𝐇𝐨𝐰’𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭☔︎︎

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫: 𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⋆˚࿔𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧⋆˚࿔

“Do you not understand the danger you could’ve been caught in?!” She was practically seething as she paced around back and forth in the office while you were settled on the couch—welcoming the warmth of the brewing fireplace .

She was quite upset at you—not even upset, she was pissed. There was a mission assigned and you gladly took it, thinking that you could easily have it handled and orthodox. Though, it wasn’t easily handled or orthodox, but thankfully, you and your crew didn’t really get hurt, only a couple graze and cuts . By some miracle, that was all.

You were used to her yelling and being pretty going all out when she was upset or frustrated with you or all the above, to be honest. It never really phased you or anything, being the natural calm person you are.

Of course here and there, you’d get upset and sometimes get upset with her with it either saying something you didn’t like or doing something you didn’t really like either. Even so, you weren’t much of a hothead or didn’t get upset to bad.

Though this time…it was a little different.

Like before, you were used to her yelling and going all out with her angry rants, but she would also pace around frequently and frail her arms out—trying to prove her point and get it in your thick skull.

Now, that didn’t really phase you either, but this time it just felt so different and you don’t know why. You listened to her intently as she scolded you about blah blah blah could’ve gotten yourself and blah blah blah it was a stupid choice.

You weren’t too bothered by her rambles or scolding, it was enduring and cute to see that she cared so much about you—even though she was practicing fuming.

“I can’t believe you made such a decision! Do you have any idea how…how pissed I am, Y/N!?”

That’s when she took a step forward as she pointed at you with her hand raising at you, making you flinch slightly. It made her pause mid rant, looking at you as if you were her entire world—which you were, no doubt about it.

It was weird…you never did this.

I mean, yeah, she would raise her hand and stuff with gestures, but it was nothing drastic. So why was this so different and odd—especially for Cait.

“I didn’t mean to…I..”

Her words felt stuck in her throat as her jaw clenched, though her eyes held a soft gaze as you both locked eyes—teleporting the high affection you both had for each other, though she was still mad at you about the situation earlier.

But that didn’t matter right now (it will be brought up later, trust).

“No, it’s fine…I just…It’s just been a long day, Cait.”

You didn’t want her to worry or anything, but you knew she couldn’t help to do that. It was just odd to flinch whenever she did, though she used her hands as gestures frequently. Nothing new.

It felt as the air became tense. Both of you not knowing what to say before you felt Caitlyn soft hand caressed your cheek—brushing the skin of your neck, bringing you close to her.

“You know I would never..”

“I know..”

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you saw the relief gleam in those royal blue eyes—the eyes that you always found yourself getting lost in every single time and you never wanted to find your way out.

⋆˚࿔𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧⋆˚࿔

“You don’t understand. I have to do this.” She was quite on edge as she had came back from Piltover from doing her ‘duties’, only just to make sure everything was in place for Ambessa’s placed plan.

But there were some problems. You were unsure about this whole thing, worrying that it would be figured out and the whole plan would blow to shit. Though, she was working for the infamous Noxus warlord, so maybe this couldn’t go so bad…

But you couldn’t help that gnawing feeling and you couldn’t hold back your strong opinions on the matter.

Which lead you here, arguing with her—mainly her doing the yelling and you doing your best to maintain your calm nature, but she was steadily tugging at that rope.

The two of you went back and forth, constantly bickering at each other. You felt that something bad was going too happen and she felt that nothing was going to happen. It was a futile argument, neither one of you backing down, but of course you wanted to put it to an end.

“All I’m saying is that I don’t trust this, Maddie. Do you even understand what situation you’re putting yourself in?”

Your voice was filled with worry and concern, only hoping that would get at least an inch to her thick skill, but you both knew that was useless.

Once Maddie stuck to something, there was no backing away from her choice. She loved you dearly, of course she did, but this was important to her. She didn’t want to let down her people nor did she want to let down the general.

God it was just tiring and frustrating to get her to listen most times as she was caught up in her own rambles. She couldn’t help, but glare at you and ball her fists up—creating crescent-like marks in her palm.

“You don’t understand. I have to do this. You know this is dear to me! I can handle this, no one will find out!”

Her voice was raising more and more as she stepped closer to you, staring at you with a scowl etched on her face deeply—making you miss that sweet, stupid smile on her face. With the way her voice raised, it caught you by surprise—making you flinch as you looked at her with disbelief and surprise.

That hit a nerve.

Maddie immediately quieted down with her angry rants, quickly coming to cup your cheek as she tilted your hand to make your eyes meet her apologetic gaze—rubbing the skin of your cheek with her gloved hand.

“Nononono, i’m sorry…I didn’t mean to, love. Please, i’m sorry—I-I was just upset…I didn’t mean to..”

Her words were coming in jumbled form and stutter, trying her hardest to not let her frazzled nerves get the best of her any further.

“No, it’s just…you don’t usually…get this upset.”

Seeing the way you looked at her hurt her in ways that she never imagine, quickly pulling you close to her as she rubbed your back in firm, but gentle circles.

“I’m sorry…i’ll make it up to you, yeah?”

Your eyes gazed into hers with glint of hurt, but you couldn’t help but love at how she cared so much about you—besides her getting a little overboard with the yelling.

You nodded as your hand gently caressed her cheek, rubbing over the skin of her cheek—feeling your heart flutter as that same stupid, sweet smirk tugged at her lips

hope you liked this <3 (idek if this sucked or not tbh)

[lure-of-writing]

His little sister

Summary: Azriel point of view of the things you do as Rhysands little sister (This should be read only after reading all in a days work and knock before you enter otherwise it probably won't make any sense as you need the know what happened in the other two for this to make sense )

word count: 2.5 k

Note: Hello! For a while I was stumped on how to continue the little sister series so boom! I present to you Azriel's pov. I would love to hear what you guys think about having things from this perspective also! please don't be shy and let me know!

The playful touches and not so subtle glances across the room paired with the seductive bit of your lip as it lifts into a forbidden smile is not lost upon the spymaster of the night court. In fact everything you did never went unnoticed by him. As Rhysands little sister he was more or less forbidden from having any relationship with you that was purely platonic or sibling-like. Much to the high lord's irritation, once you learned of the rules set in place for the general and the shadow singer, you had made it your own personal mission to see just how much you could get away with. Just how far could you bend the rules before your older brother snapped? 

Azriel was well aware of the game you played in hopes of causing your brother a small amount of distress. Unfortunately for him, he respected his high lord and his wishes to much to counter your advances with some of his own but that doesn’t mean he can’t help you accomplish your lifes works of making your brother rub his temples with a long sigh and a shot of whiskey or which ever bottle of alcohol appeared before him first. 

It had been just a few short weeks after your fifteenth birthday when you had learned about the guidelines Rhys had set for the two other males in your family. Being told what to do never sat well with you, neither did being told who you can and can’t do things with. At first your reaction was to find your brother and argue with him until he couldn’t think straight but when you were on the way to his office you bumped into your favorite member of the bat boys.  Azriel was leaning  against the wall of Rhysands office waiting for his meeting with Helion when you were stuck with a brilliant idea. “Az?” his hazel eyes shifted from the dark oak doors to where you stood in the middle of the hall. “Yes?”  as soon as the word had left his mouth he knew you were up to something. It was the way your eyes lit up in excitement and you shuffled over to him with hurried steps. Huddled close to his body you beaconed him to lean down so you could whisper in his ears. Wordlessly he follows your commands. “Would you like to help me make Rhys question why he was blessed with being my brother?” 

The sly smile and trouble that brewed in your eyes was enough to get him to say yes. Not like he could ever say no to you in the first place but that wasn’t important. From that moment on he would allow you to flirt with him and crawl into his lap with no rejection. This drove Rhysand up a wall. He said that they could not try to flirt with you but you never said anything about it being the other way around and you had taken full advantage of that each and every single time the opportunity presented itself. 

Family dinners amongst the inner circle were never an uncommon thing but since everything that transpired over the last fifty something years had the family dinners becoming a more common tradition. After dinner talks and catching up had been moved to the living room. Silently Azriel sat by himself, listening to his family talk. Perfectly content with listening rather than speaking. While Cassian went on this third rant about why he was certain that he could fight Bryaxis, if and big if here, they weren’t so scary looking, when you had gotten up from where you were sat next to Mor on the floor. He watched as you left the room and not even a second later his shadows informed him that you were getting another wine. 

His attention shifted from his brother onto you when you had reentered the room with a glass full of wine and strutted over to him and made yourself comfortable in his lap. Az would never admit it but the feeling of your arm draped over his shoulder and playing with his hair was one of his favorite feelings in the world. As your body leaned into his, the temperate difference between the two of you became very apparent to the shadowsinger. Without thinking he placed his much warmer hand on your freezing and goosebump covered leg to help warm you back up. The slit in your dress had done nothing to help keep you warm. 

Without saying anything he watched as his brother marched his way over to where you had chosen to sit, also known as Azriels lap. He watched as Rhys reached his hand out in hopes of pulling you off of closest friend and he watched as Rhysands face morphed into one of confusion to anger as Azriels wings furled around you to keep your brother from grabbing you from him. If there was one thing that the shadowsinger knew with one hundred percent certainty, it was that you could handle yourself. The context didn’t matter, you could always handle yourself. So while you and your brother went back and front he mindlessly began to rub comforting circles where his hand had found purchase on your leg. And once Rhysand had made his way back to his mate, he had leaned down and pressed his lips against your hairline. “You are a menace” giggling you smile up at him before shrugging and taking a sip of your forgotten wine. 

Visiting the court of nightmares was never something that brought Azriel much joy. More often than not he was watching for any threats against his high lord's life, now he had to worry about his high lady also. It wasn’t as if Azriel wasn’t capable of handling such a task but when you had revealed that you would also be in attendance, it brought Azriel another level of stress. He knew that you could handle the court politics and the volleyball of words sent back and forth with hidden messages. Hell you had even been trained by all three males and Morrgian. You were more than capable of looking out for yourself but there has always been a part of Azriel that couldn’t rest when he knew you could be in danger at any moment. 

Now the notoriously quiet male, while known for not saying much, always had something to say when it came to you. There was no comment too small that you made that didn’t get an answer from Az in return.  As you finally made your way down the staircase to your awaiting family Azriel had just about a thousand thoughts and compliments he could give you at any moment. While your brother had a meltdown in the background all Azriel could focus on was you and as you made your way down the last few steps he reached his hand out helping you the rest of the way down. Shamelessly he looked you up and down not caring that your brother just might beat his ass for looking at you in such an outfit. Once his eyes reached your, you sent him a wink and beaming smile. Az could tell that you had wanted to ask him what he thought of your clothing choices but decided that dealing with your brother would be the best idea  before he dragged you back up the stairs himself and forced you to change. 

While at the place of nightmares the shadows that sung to Azriel hung close to his body, only leaving to secretly watch over you and make sure you were ok. For most of the night all was well, at least as well as things can get in the court of nightmares. That was until his shadow came back to inform their master of the predicament that had presented itself to you. He watched from afar as you pushed your way out of the crowd and towards himself. Pushing off of the pillar he was once perched against he made his way towards you. Az’s blood began to boil when he watched the random fae male wrap his arms around your waist and pulled your body into his. In two long strides he was in front of the strange male and yourself, demanding he release his grip on you or he would do it for him. There wasn’t a part of Azriel that enjoyed the violence he brings upon those he was tasked with gathering information from but holding truth teller to the male's neck did in fact bring him joy. 

Upon your release he guided you back to where he was previously standing to make sure you were ok and that the random male didn’t inflict any harm to you. After his thorough evaluation of your body met his standards he returned his gaze to meet your and suddenly your cold hand was pressed against his warm cheek and the burn of the two temperatures had never felt so nice before. Once again your hand had found its resting place in his hair and your lips on his and Azriel swore hes never felt something as soft as your lips on his.  As soon as your lips had met his, Az knew he was in for a whole world of pain when Rhysand got his hands on him but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Az recently pulled away when he felt the anger of his high lord coming at him with the purpose of making him bow to the power radiating off of Rhysand. “We should probably get out of here before he kills you.” looking down he saw the mischief twinkling in your eyes and he positive nobody can pull off that look quite like you can. The wink you sent over your shoulder as you grab his hand pulls him out of the trance you had put him in. Willingly Azriel followed your lead out of the ball room while you bumped into his arm periodically. “Honestly he just might kill us both.” he felt you mumble into his shoulder as you hid your face and laughter in his body. Chuckling he couldn’t help but agree before winnowing you back to the house of wind. 

After Rhyand had actually considered beating the shadowsinger to a pulp your usual antics had dwindled in frequency which saddened Azriel more than he was willing to admit. During training you kept clear of him in case your brother didn’t approve of you even looking in his general direction and it had been almost two weeks since he had last talked to you for more then five minutes and honestly it was starting to drive him crazy. After a family dinner consisting of you, Nesta, Cassiand and himself he finally approached you. “You're going to the Summer court tomorrow right?” As the resident know-it-all he already knew your answer but he waited nonetheless “Yes?” Azriel watches as you place your book in your lap to give him your full attention and he swears he could bask in it forever. “I’m not doing anything for the next week, would you like me to go with you?”  The beaming smile you sent him was confirmation enough. 

That's how he found himself in your room the next morning helping you get ready. You had asked his opinion on basically every piece of your outfit and Azriel had never been so happy to assist someone put together their clothes for the day. After you had pulled all the needed pieces of clothing from your closest you held up the corset you picked for him to see. “I’ll need your help putting this on.” And that's how once again Azriel feared Rhys would consider pummeling him once more. 

Not once during Rhysands withering glare did Azriel stop pulling the strings of your corset until they were tight enough and only then did he gently pull the strings into a bow before removing his hands from your body. After finishing his assigned task Az thought it was best to leave the siblings to deal with each other and he would wait for you on the rooftop to begin your journey to the summer court. Only after he could assume was a long lecture from your older brother on being safe did the two of you join him on the roof. “I swear if a single hair on her head is out of place I will kill you.”  As much as Azriel wanted to laugh at the worn out sound of his friend he simply nodded his head before acknowledging what he said. 

The week in the summer court with you felt more like two days. Any time with you never felt like enough. On the way back Rhysand had talked to him and you that he wanted a debrief before you did anything upon your return. Gently he set you back on the ground once he had landed in front of the river house and he already missed the feeling of your body on his. He really wished and in that moment that he never agreed to those rules Rhysand had set for him and Cassian all those hundred of years ago. 

The silence that engulfed the room would make anyone who didn’t know the two males squirm from how uncomfortable it was, but these two males had dealt with much more stressful problems and had sat in more silence than the average people did. Azriel knew that lately your antic had been pushing the line but he had never stopped you nor had he ever thought too. Mainly because he didn’t want you too but also in fear that if he asked you to stop you would never come to him again. “Truly Rhys there is nothing going on between me and your sister. You and I both know she only does this to get under your skin and she does that very well. As long as it bothers you then she will keep doing it. You know this.” 

After a long and much needed talk Azriel made his way to the stand outside of the river house collecting a much needed breath of fresh air while he came to terms with his conversation with his oldest friend. A few moments pass before you come waltzing out of the house as if you had accomplished some great mission. “Maybe next time he’ll knock” Azriel knew exactly what you were talking about and couldn’t help but laugh at what you said. He didn’t need to ask you what you did as the one shadow that always kept you company told him all about what you had just done to your brother and his poor unsuspecting mate. Without another word Azriel scooped you into his arm while pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. Gods he wished this wouldn’t be the last time he felt your skin against his lips.

Rhysand had asked him to put a stop to your behavior towards him. Not that you made the shadowsinger uncomfortable, gods no, you could never do that. It was just you were your brother's pride and joy and he refused to let the males he considered his brothers to be the reason your heart broke. Rhysand would never be able to forgive or look at Azriel the same and he knew that. Azriel just wished the golden string tying the two of you together didn’t have to be hidden from everyone including you.

Taglist: @kemillyfreitas @gorlillaglue25 @willowpains

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 11

Summary - War is brewing in Westeros, but Rhaenyra is determined to avoid it for as long as possible (to the frustration of her husband).

Warnings - General HOTD warnings, canon character death, minor violence between family members ((Y/N) and Daemon)

The end of season one! I'm putting this series on a bit of a hiatus while I figure out my plans for season two (thank you, Ryan Condal, for making my life miserable) but do not fret I have stories to hold y'all over in the mean time.

“What is our standing?” 

“We have thirty knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and three hundred men at arms.” Daemon spoke, “Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend but as an instrument of conquest, our army leaves much to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I’ll have some support there but I cannot speak to the numbers.” 

“We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton, Massey, Darklyn, Bar Emmon.” 

“As well as Coldwater, Sheet, and Tollett.” (Y/N) turned to Rhaenyra, “Runestone stands behind you. I have no doubt Lady Arryn will as well, the Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.” 

He watched as Rhaenyra gave him a grateful smile and placed a marker on the table. 

“Riverrun was always a close friend to your father, your grace. With Prince Daemon’s acquiescence, I’ve already sent raven to Lord Grover.” 

Both (Y/N) and Rhaenyra paused at Maester Gerardys’ words, they both looked up at the Prince. (Y/N) narrowed his eyes at his father, who did not look the least apologetic as Rhaenyra spoke, “Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed. He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position and that we will support him should it come to war.” 

“I am going to treat with him myself.” (Y/N) raised an eyebrow at his father’s boldness, watching as he and Rhaenyra glared at each other from across the room. His father had been falling into tendencies (Y/N) had hoped he’d grown out of these past days, and the new Consort was unsure how to feel about it. 

“What of Storm’s End and Winterfell?” 

“There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath. And with House Stark the North will follow.” 

“Lord Borros Baratheon will need to be reminded of his father’s promises.” Rhaenyra said, voice tight. More markers were placed around the table, the promise of war becoming stronger and stronger with each clang against the wooden table. “What news from Driftmark?” 

“Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone.” Rhaenys said. 

“To declare for his Queen?” (Y/N) asked. 

“The Velayron fleet is in my husband’s yoke.” (Y/N) frowned, unable to stop the hot flash of anger in his chest at her words. “He decides where they sail.” 

“We shall pray for both you and your husband's support. Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake’s return to good health. There’s no port on the Narrow Sea that would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet.” Rhaenyra spoke before (Y/N) could open his mouth to speak his offense at Rhaenys’ answer. “And our enemies?” 

“We have no friends among the Lannisters. Tyland has served the hand too long to turn against him. And Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet.” 

“Without the Lannisters we are not like to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth.” Both (Y/N) and Rhaenyra frowned. 

“The Riverlands are essential, your Grace.” Daemon spoke. (Y/N) cringed inwardly at the knowledge that Daemon was making good points for all of his boldness and made eye contact with Rhaenyra from across the table.

“Pray forgive my bluntness, your Grace. But talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that not has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.” 

“The Greens have dragons as well.” Rhaenyra responded. 

“They have three adults, by my count. We have Syrax, Vermithor-” (Y/N) winced at his father’s words, taking in a deep breath as his father continued on his rant. “-Caraxes, and Meleys. Your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer.” 

“Daemon none of our dragons have been to war.” 

(Y/N) grabbed his father’s arm, bringing him in close so that his words did not go any further than their small shared bubble. “And need I remind you, we do not have Vermithor until I am recovered.” He bit out, face hot as he spoke. 

Daemon ignored him, causing (Y/N) to throw his head back and sigh, “There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Silverwing dwells on the Dragonmont, still riderless. Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.” 

“And who is to ride them?” Rhaenyra sounded as exasperated with Daemon as (Y/N) felt. 

“Dragonstone has 13 to their 4. I also have a score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmont. Now…we need a place to gather, a toehold large enough to house a sizable host. Here, at Harrenhal.” Daemon spoke, ignoring his Queen’s question. “We cut off the west, surround Kingslanding with the Dragons and we could have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.” 

“Your Grace.” Ser Erryk spoke up, and (Y/N) relaxed, grateful for the interruption. “A ship has been sighted offshore. A lone galleon flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon.” 

(Y/N) straightened in his seat, grabbing his cane as his father shouted out commands to the men around them. He stood making his way toward his wife, she was frowning as Daemon exited the room flanked by guards and lords. 

“Follow him.” Rhaenyra said, “Make sure he doesn’t do anything rash.” 

“And you?” 

The smile she gave him did not reach her eyes, “Just go.”

(Y/N) kept one hand on his cane and the other on his sword as he watched Otto Hightower and his posse of Knights approach. Otto looked between (Y/N) and Daemon, chin up in the air and posture straight as the oak branch up his ass. 

“I come at the behest of the Dowager Queen Alicent, mother of King Aegon, Second of His Name, Lord and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.” He spoke. “I’ve been directed to deliver her message only to Princess Rhaenyra. Where is the Princess?” 

Otto and his men were startled at the sound of Syrax’s screech overhead, causing (Y/N)’s lips to curve up in a smile. Syrax’s landing caused stones of the bridge to crack and fall off the side, and the she-dragon continued to growl and screech at the men as Rhaenyra dismounted and walked through the crowd. She took her place between (Y/N) and Daemon, turning to face Otto. 

“Princess Rhaenyra.” 

“I’m Queen Rhaenyra now. And you all are traitors to the realm.” Rhaenyra spat. 

Otto took her statement in stride, continuing on as if she’d never spoken. “King Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name in his wisdom and desire for peace-” (Y/N) scoffed, but yet again Otto continued on. “-is offering terms. Acknowledge Aegon as king and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne. In exchange, His Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to your trueborn son, Jacaerys, upon your death. Lucerys will be confirmed as the legitimate heir to Runestone-” 

“He is my legitimate heir.” (Y/N) stepped forward, but Rhaenyra shot her arm out, blocking his path. 

“-and all the lands and holdings of House Royce.” Otto looked smug as (Y/N) begrudgingly heeded his wife and stepped back. “Your sons Aegon and Viserys will also be given places of high honor at court: Aegon the Younger as the King’s squire, Viserys as his cupbearer. Finally, the King, in his good grace, will pardon any knight or lord who conspired against his ascent.” 

“I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken usurper cunt of a king.” (Y/N) said, hand flexing around his sword. 

“Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne. He wears the Conqueror’s crown, wields the Conqueror’s sword, has the Conqueror’s name. He was anointed by a septon of the faith in the eyes of thousands. Every symbol of legitimacy belongs to him. And then there is Stark, Tully, Baratheon. Houses that have already received and are at present, considering generous terms from their king.” Otto spoke, causing (Y/N) to laugh. 

“Generous? You have offered us things we already have.” 

“Stark, Tully, Baratheon all swore to me when King Viserys named me his heir.” Rhaenyra said, and (Y/N) could see the anger deep inside her bubbling to the surface. 

“Stale oaths will not put you on the Iron Throne, Princess. The succession changed the day your father sired a son. I only regret that you and he were the last to see the truth of it.” 

“You are no more Hand than Aegon is king.” Rhaenyra moved toward the man before (Y/N) could have time to respond. She rushed the man, seething, grabbing the silver hand pinned on his chest. She ripped the pendant off, tossing it over the side of the bridge. “Fucking traitor.” 

Once again Otto was undisturbed by the show of anger, “Grand Maester.” 

“What the fuck is this?” He heard his father ask as Otto grabbed a folded-up piece of parchment from the Grand Maester, handing it to Rhaenyra. (Y/N) could not see Rhaenyra’s reaction from where he was standing, but his stomach turned at the sight of her angry posture softening ever so slightly as she looked at the paper. 

“Queen Alicent has not forgotten the love you once had for each other. No blood need be spilled, so the realm can carry on in peace.” Otto said softly to Rhaenyra. “Queen Alicent eagerly awaits your answer.” 

“She can have her answer now, stuffed in her father’s mouth along with his withered cock. Let’s end this mummer’s farce.” Daemon and the knights around him drew their swords, and (Y/N) smiled as Otto’s knights tensed. (Y/N) took a step forward, not bothering to draw his sword. (The scabbard was really only by his side for show, for he was practically useless with it until he could manage to bring his arm above his head without aggravating the wound in his shoulder.) “Ser Erryk, bring me Lord Hightower so I may take the pleasure myself.” 

Syrax roared, causing the stones they were standing on to shake and the men behind Otto drew their weapons in retaliation. Before anyone could make a move Rhaenyra turned on them. 

“No.” She said, and the men around him stood down. (Y/N) raised an eyebrow at her, but she did not look at him as she continued. “Kingslanding will have my answer on the morrow.” 

(Y/N) gaped as Otto Hightower and his crowd of traitors walked away completely whole. Daemon huffed and puffed in frustration the whole way up to the keep, but (Y/N) paid his grumblings no mind. His shock was aimed wholly on Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra would not look at him as they walked, or limped in (Y/N)’s case, and (Y/N) feared the worst. He bit his tongue as the council resumed, sorting through his scattered thoughts before he said something rash in front of the council. 

He’d only wished his father could have the same sort of self control. 

“It’s no easy thing for a man to be a dragonslayer. But dragons can kill dragons. And have.” Daemon spoke. “The simple truth is this: we have more dragons than Aegon, even with (Y/N) recovering.” 

“Viserys spoke often of the Valyrian histories. I know them well. When dragons flew to war-” Rhaenyra sighed, “Everything burned.” 

“War has its casualties whether dragons are involved or not.” He mumbled from his seat. His voice was merely a whisper but Rhaenyra heard him anyway and shot him a subtle glare. 

“I do not wish to rule over a kingdom of ash and bone.” She said it to the room, but it was clear the words were directed to her husband and uncle. 

“Are you considering the Hightowers’ terms, your Grace?” (Y/N) straightened to attention as Lord Bartimos asked the question at the forefront of his mind, on everyone's mind, apparently. 

“As Queen, what is my true duty to the realm, Lord Bartimos? Ensuring peace and unity? Or that I sit the Iron Throne, no matter the cost?” (Y/N) sighed at her words, frustration building as Daemon responded. 

“That’s your father talking.” 

“My father’s dead. And he chose me as his successor. To defend the realm, not cast it headlong into war.” 

“They have already declared war, Rhaenrya.” (Y/N) could not help the bite in his words. His frustration and exhaustion finally boiling over despite his attempts at holding it down until he and Rhaenyra were in private. 

“Clear the room.” The lords looked between the two warily but they left without complaints. As soon as the door shut behind the last lord Rhaenyra rounded on (Y/N), practically sneering. “Does the promise of war excite you?” 

“I just ended one war, Rhaenyra. My last wish is to start another, but you cannot bend the knee to the Hightowers.” (Y/N) sighed, collapsing into his chair. The action brought attention to the wound in his shoulder, and he swallowed a groan of pain. He was dreading this war, but he was not going to sit in denial. Unless they were to take the Hightower’s terms, and (Y/N) would die before he let that happen, war was inevitable. 

“If you could take the Iron Throne without putting Otto Hightower’s head on a spike, would you?” (Y/N) could not help but scoff at her question. 

“Are you not angry?” 

“I should declare war because I’m angry?” 

“No.” (Y/N) said between gritted teeth, “Because it’s your duty as Queen to crush rebellion.” 

“My oath reaches beyond our personal ambitions.” Did she not understand? How could she not understand what this slight meant for their family? 

“Personal ambitions? Rhaenyra this is your birthright and they have stolen it from you the same way they tried to steal it from Luke. To bend the knee now-” 

“Shut up and listen to me. You are acting like your father.” (Y/N)’s mouth shut with a click, his words dying on his tongue. Rhaenyra continued on, ignoring the rising anger in her husband. “My father told me something when he named me heir, The Conqueror’s Dream.” 

“A dream?” (Y/N) scoffed, but Rhaenyra ignored him. 

“A Song of Ice and Fire, a coming war against the darkness in the North. The realm must be united if it is to survive, so you must understand why I am so reluctant to plunge it into war.” She spoke with such certainty that (Y/N) almost wanted to concede to her. 

Almost. “You are in denial, Rhaenyra.” He said, forcing his voice level. He was not his father and he would not take his frustration out on his wife, even if she was part of its origin. “There is to be a war over this. I do not want it, but I have accepted it and so should you.”

(Y/N) felt himself drifting off in his chair as the lords argued around him, barely letting Rhaenyra get a word in. His body throbbed, a few new bruises added onto them courtesy of his father’s drunken anger. 

He’d sought the man out last night, too keyed up from his argument with Rhaenyra to go to their bedroom. He’d knocked on Daemon’s door hoping to drown in the wine his father no doubt had already brought up from the kitchens. Instead he’d found himself thrown into the wall after a particularly nasty screaming match that had multiple guards running into the room.  

One snide comment about Rhaenyra's choices was all it had taken for (Y/N)’s already simmering anger to rise to the surface. Rhaenyra could frustrate them both to the grave, but she was still their Queen, and Daemon needed to give her his respect, especially in the presence of the other lords.

His father had not seen it that way. 

“The Lord of the Tides, Lord Corlys Velaryon, and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.” (Y/N) snapped to attention at the sound of Ser Eyrrk’s voice. 

“My lords.” Lord Corlys nodded to the lords around them as he limped down the steps and toward Rhaenyra. He looked well despite his injuries although the grimace he gave with every step betrayed just how healed he truly was. 

“Lord Corlys. It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again. I extend my deepest condolences for the loss of your son, and heir.” Rhaenyra said. 

“I’m very sorry about your father, Princess. He was a good man.” Corlys looked around the room, gaze falling on (Y/N) for a moment before he spoke again. “Where is Daemon?” 

“There were other concerns which demanded my father’s attention.” (Y/N) responded, and Rhaenyra pursed her lips, having heard about these other concerns from a concerned guard the night before. She had not been happy at his father’s regressions in anger management, even less so with his decision to take his frustrations out on his already injured son. 

Corlys hummed, obviously too familiar with Daemon’s temper. “Your declared allies?” 

“Yes.” 

“Too few to win a war for the throne.” 

“Well, we would also hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark.” 

“Hope is the fool’s ally.” (Y/N) frowned at the Sea Snake’s words, the lord of the tides was correct in his statement but that did not mean (Y/N) had to appreciate the sentiment. 

“House Arryn shares blood with my house, but all of them swore oaths to me.” Rhaenyra was losing her patience. 

“As did House Hightower, if I remember.” 

“As did you, Lord Corlys.” 

The room went silent at Rhaenyra’s statement, but (Y/N) simply smiled. He hid his soft laugh behind his hand turning in his chair to get a better view of Lord Corlys as the Lord seemed to ponder her unspoken question. 

‘To who are you loyal to?’ 

“Your father’s realm was one of justice and honor. Our houses are bound by common blood and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand. You have the full support of our fleet and House, your Grace.” Lord Corlys bowed his head to Rhaenyra who sputtered. She recovered quickly, turning to look at Rhaenys who simply nodded with a smile. 

“You honor me, Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys.” She straightened, letting her demeanor shift back to that of Queen. “But, as I said to my bannermen, I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war’s first stroke is to fall, it will not be by my hand.” 

“You do not mean to act?” 

“Taking caution does not mean standing fast.” Rhaenyra shot him a subtle yet harsh look as she spoke. “I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war.” 

“The consequence of Laenor’s sacrifice and my near-demise in the Stepstones is that we now control them. I took care to fully garrison the territory this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already. The Triarchy have been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours. If we further seal the gullet we can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to Kingslanding.” The mood of the room immediately brightened at Corlys’ words. 

“I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet myself.” 

“When we drain the Narrow Sea, we can surround Kingslanding, lay siege to the Red Keep, and force the Greens’ surrender.” 

(Y/N) smiled at the sudden mood change amongst the lords of their council. Rhaenyra herself was not immune to the feeling and (Y/N) watched as her mouth curved up in a small smile as she watched the room. “If we are to have enough swords to surround Kingslanding, we must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm’s End.” 

“I’ll prepare the ravens, your Grace.” Maester Gerardys moved to leave the room but Jace interrupted before he could. 

“We should bear those messages.” Everyone turned to look at the young prince. “Dragons can fly faster than ravens and they’re more convincing. Send us.” 

(Y/N) smiled at his son, “He’s right.” 

“Very well.” Rhaenyra caught his eye from across the table and smiled. “Prince Jacaerys will fly north. First to the Eyrie, to see my mother’s cousin and his father’s liege Lady, the Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm’s End and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon. We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore. And the cost of breaking them.”

The gods, old and new, gave him no warning that day. There was no warning, no omen, for him to heed as they said their goodbyes. As he looks back on that day he wonders what he would have done differently if there had been. 

“It's been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to gods than to men. And the Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But, if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms we must answer to their gods.” Rhaenyra spoke. “If you take this errand, you go as messenger not as warriors. You must take no part in any fighting. Swear it to me now.” 

“Under the eyes of the old and new gods.” (Y/N) added as the book was presented to his sons, and Jace smiled at the obvious disdain in which (Y/N) regarded The Seven. (Y/N) looked over his boys as they swore, locking eyes with their mother as they did so. Jace was as confident as (Y/N) had expected a boy of his age to be. He was still green and eager to prove himself to the realm. 

“Thank you.” Rhaenyra turned to Jace. “Cregan Stark is closer to your age than to mine. I would hope, that as men, you can find some common interest.” 

“The North follows the Old Gods as House Royce does, Jace.” (Y/N) added, smiling. “Do with that what you will.” 

Jace smiled back at him, head held high. “Yes, your Grace.” 

Luke was less confident, which brought a small frown to (Y/N)’s face. He did not comment on it, remembering himself when he first began to fall under the pressure and critique of the court. Luke was younger than he was when Rhea died, and Daemon brought him to Kingslanding, and he no doubt felt more pressure than (Y/N) could have imagined at his age. 

“Storm’s End is a short flight from here. Lord Borros is an eternally proud man. He will be honored to host a prince of the realm and his dragon. I expect you will receive a very warm welcome.” 

“Yes, Mother- your Grace.” Luke stumbled, and (Y/N) gave him a reassuring smile. 

He touched his shoulder gently, bringing his voice to a whisper so that only Luke could hear him. “Do not worry, tresy. You are simply going to remind Lord Borros of his oath, if you cannot convince him he is already lost to us.” 

Luke nodded, and (Y/N) kissed his head. He grabbed Jace next, who only gave a small protest as his father laughed and kissed his cheek. All three Royce’s turned to look at their Queen who nodded. 

“Go to it then.” 

(Y/N) had not thought to be worried as he watched his eldest sons fly off. It was only a few days later, when they received a raven assuring them of Jace’s safe arrival in the Vale, that (Y/N) began to worry about his younger son, and even then, he brushed it off. He told himself that perhaps Luke had just forgotten to write, and he did not know Lord Borros, but he would not put it past the man to not bother sending a raven. Rhaenyra began to worry immediately, watching the sky at every opportunity as if Luke would suddenly appear on Arrax to assure his mother of his safety. She would not hear (Y/N)'s excuses, and months later, in his grief, (Y/N) realized he was simply doing what he had yelled at Rhaenyra for doing not days before. 

Living in denial. 

They were in a council meeting when Daemon received the news. (Y/N) was immediately on edge at the look on his father’s face as he took both he and Rhaenyra aside. Rhaenyra and (Y/N) watched as his father struggled to find the words, turning his body so that he did not have to look at them as he spoke. 

(Y/N) did not need Daemon to speak to know what the raven had said. 

He vaguely remembers Rhaenyra’s gasp as Daemon finally got the words out. She turned away from both men as she processed the words, doubling over and clutching her stomach, sobs began to rack her body. (Y/N) stumbled as the voices in the room faded from him and his vision tunneled, Daemon reached to steady him but (Y/N) pushed his father away. He threw his cane across the room with a shout as the tears began to fall. His hands met the council table with a loud slam and he swept the nearest items off the table. The clatter of the items meeting the stone floor was not loud enough to drown out his curses and pleading words. 

His father approached him when his body finally gave up on him, his legs unable to support his weight without his cane to steady him. He held him up, pulling him close to his chest. As (Y/N) sobbed, fists pounding against his father’s chest, Daemon leaned in close. 

“An eye for an eye, a son for a son.” Daemon cupped his cheeks, forcing (Y/N) to look at him through his tears. “Your son will be avenged.”

---

Translations -

Tresy - son

[koolades-world]

How would Satan, Lucifer, Barbatos, and Thirteen react to fem MC (their s/o) when she answers the bear vs man question with bear? I don’t think I’ve seen any losses regarding this! I’m sorry it’s not fully fluff… but I’ve been curious about it for a while! Don’t you dare feel pressured to write this. Is you don’t want to write this, it’s completely fine!!

Have a lovely day as usual, and take care!!

hiii!!!! even though we spoke like just yesterday i think, it's great to hear from you! don't apologize for it not being fluff! i did say i would write anything. a promise is a promise :)

and omg thirteen and satan. you know the way right to my heart!

enjoy <3

Fem s/o Mc answers Bear vs Man question w/ Lucifer, Satan, Barbatos, and Thirteen

Lucifer

at first he's a little confused by the whole conversation and takes it a bit too literally at first

by the time he realizes it's just a question, he's already started mentally planning

after that, he quickly agrees and is upset with you!

he's seen some things. there's a reason he doesn't visit the human world that often

the human men upset with the responses of the women make him the most angry. they're the problem and he'd love to punch them in the face

after how worked up you get (rightfully so) he decided that you need a nice relaxing evening of being pampered!

the two of you get your favorite food and spend the rest of the evening together <3

Satan

he's actually the one to bring it up because of the popularity it gained on social media

while he knows what your response will be, he still wants to hear you talk about it

since he is a very loving and caring s/o, he listens to you rant <3 haha

but, he really does listen and takes the time to engage with you

he knows where you're coming from. you know it's bad when even a demon agrees with you

he'd do anything to protect you! and if he could join you in this theoretical scenario, he would

you changed him for the better, and he loves you so much <3

Barbatos

he's a great listening ear, and always lets you know the offer to talk is on the table

you take him up on this offer, and he takes time out of his day for you

he brews you a nice tea, and you sit down for a chat

for however long you need, you've got his attention

of course he adamantly agrees with you

if he could (and he probably could) he would put the men saying they'd pick the bear in the women's shoes

that would teach them the lessons they so desperately need, wouldn't it? just say the word haha

Thirteen

of course she immediately agrees with you when you say bear

she's a girls girl, and totally understands you

she's been reaping souls for how long now?

and she's seen some things working that position

anyone who dares to say otherwise is wrong

she knows it's theoretical, but if it ever did happen, she makes sure to let you know she's got hundreds of traps that might come in handy

after that though, she lets you know she loves you and would gladly use the traps for you <3