#writing has Evaded Me i only bring this

[sensesdialed]

who's gonna build the lego flowers with peter

[moonstruckme]

hellooow i love your writing and characterization is so good 🤌🤌🤌 could you write something about james and r talking about their future together and james is like "yess and we'll live in a nice house with two or three little us running around!!" and reader is like "haha thats so cute love but i don't want kids... ._."

Thanks for requesting!

modern au

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You tsk, adding a picture to your pinterest board. “It’s decided. Someday, when we move out of this apartment, I simply can’t live without a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.” 

“Mm.” James’ hum vibrates on your chest. He’s been lying there for some time, in and out of dozing while you’re on your phone. “I think that can be arranged. I want a fireplace.” 

“You just want to chop up wood.” 

You feel his smile spread against your skin. “And so what if I do?” 

“It wasn’t a criticism. So long as I can come watch.” 

His laugh is a warm puff of air, followed by a soft kiss just below your collarbone. This commences a fascination that involves his lips making a slow, idle perusal of your skin. “Do you think you want a big house?” 

“Not really.” Your attention has been pulled from your screen, the sight below you too adorable to ignore. You thread your fingers into James’ hair. “Too much cleaning. Honestly, if you have any questions you should just look at my pinterest. I’ve got it all laid out. We can make room for whatever TV you want, though, I suppose. Plus a secret tunnel to Sirius’ and Remus’.” 

“Obviously,” he agrees. “Yeah, I’m the same. All I need is my fireplace, you, and maybe a nice backyard for the kids.” 

Your hand stills on James’ head as a heavy weight drops into your chest. 

You’ve managed to evade this conversation, you’re not sure how. You’re not sure why either. Maybe just to make a good thing last, for as long as you could. But you know how much James loves kids. And if you’re honest with yourself, this, the proof that he does expect them one day, has always felt inevitable. You feel like a liar for not bringing it up with him sooner. 

Maybe it worsens your deception, but you keep your tone light as you ask, “Would you settle for a backyard for a couple of dogs instead?”

James gives a little laugh, tinged with bemusement. It makes you feel worse. 

“Or cats,” you say, voice growing smaller. “Or no pets, up to you.” 

It’s probably your obvious unease that tips him off. James looks up at you. You straighten his glasses for him automatically. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, and there’s no accusation in his tone, only curiosity. 

A low buzzing burrows into your ears, not unlike how you imagine it’d sound if you were drowning. 

“I don’t really want kids.” 

James’ face falls, and your heart splinters. 

“You don’t?” It’s like he thinks he might’ve misheard you. 

You shake your head. “I’m sorry,” you say, immediately angry with yourself for apologizing but not angry enough to overshadow your guilt. “I’ve thought about it a lot, and I just don’t. It’s not that I hate kids or anything, I just, I don’t want to have any of my own.” 

“Oh.” The word seems to leave James on a breath, faint and hollow. “Okay.” 

Your eyes burn, and you cannot cry right now but you can’t seem to shut up either. “If I ever did want to, it would be with you. But I just—” your voice fractures “—I don’t want to bring kids into a home that doesn’t want them, even if—if it’s only me that doesn’t. It’s not fair.” 

“No, you’re right.” James’ voice sounds a bit more like him now. He’s nodding, slowly, like he’s still wrapping his head around things. “You shouldn’t have kids if you don’t want them. For you and for them.” 

You nod. Hot tears trudge down your cheeks. 

Wordlessly, he sits up and wraps his arms around your shoulders. James is a really good hugger. Tight and warm, like he’s given and received plenty in his life. You know he’d be a great dad. Any kid would be lucky to have him, someone who comes from a love passed down and strengthened through generations. You’re just not meant to be a mom. 

You hold onto each other tightly, and you wonder if it’s the last time you will. You know in your heart that you’re doing the right thing for yourself, that you should never make such a life-altering choice based on someone else, but right now you’re desperate enough to consider it. You think you might do anything to keep him. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

James pushes his face into your neck. You think, to your horror, that he might be crying too. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t want you to be sorry, sweetheart. It’s not your fault.” 

“I wish that I wanted to.” 

“You don’t. It’s okay.” 

You sit there like that for long minutes. When James pulls back, he sets his hands to your face, smiling ruefully as he thumbs away your tears. You choke out a little laugh and do the same for him. You have the urge to kiss his cheek, warm and beloved, but you don’t know if you should. 

“We can have pets,” he says in a quiet, rough voice. “And if Sirius and Rem or Lily or anyone has kids, I can just be their favorite uncle.” 

“You would be,” you say. “Being their aunt would be fun, too.” You study him anxiously. “Are you sure?” 

James’ lies down beside you, seemingly exhausted. “Sure about what?” 

You chew the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know, I guess that you’re okay with this.” 

He doesn’t answer right away, which you appreciate. You want him to think about it. A sigh leaves him, long and heavy. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to the idea,” he says finally. 

“But…for right now, you don’t want to break up?” 

“What?” James turns to look at you. Whatever he sees makes his face soften. “Oh—no, honey, I don’t want that. That wasn’t even…I wasn’t thinking like that.”

“Are you sure?” you ask again, though it threatens to bring another wave of tears. “I know you pictured things differently. I’d get it.” 

“I always wanted all of that with you,” he says, soft and yet somehow firm. “It’s going to take me some time to change how I picture the rest, but you’re not going anywhere. Not if I can help it.” His mouth curves slightly as he holds out his hand in invitation. You place yours in it. He brings your palm to his lips, kissing your heart line. “It’s you and me, yeah?” 

A pleasant feeling skitters up your arm to sit in your chest. “Yeah.”

[toshidou]

lighthouse for a lost comrade . . .

Pairing // Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Word count // 4.9k

Tags // 18+ ONLY, AFAB reader, soft simon riley, written from simon's perspective, mild descriptions of injury and blood, hurt and comfort, aka simon finally allows himself to be looked after <3, he is a big boy with a heart that yearns to be loved you cannot convince me otherwise, the softest of smut, praise, you accidentally give ghost a 'sir' kink, reader calls ghost sir a couple of times because they're hot like that, unprotected sex (tut tut), creampie, a whole lot of swearing

AN // i love this man a ridiculous amount, so me writing nearly 5k about how much i love him was inevitable

AO3 link here

Simon Riley is not a man who cares about his own health. In fact, his wellbeing never has, and never will be a priority to him. He has work to do, gruelling, gritty, gruesome work, it is beyond pointless wasting time even thinking about when he last had more than 3 hours sleep, or how long it’s been since he consumed anything other than cold military rations. In his defence, he’s never really had a reason to give a shit, he sees the hourglass whenever he allows himself to close his eyes; watches the sand slip rapidly through the cracks, counting down until his inevitable, most likely painful death. He’s living life on a timer, and he’s never had a reason to change that.

Until he met you.

You were a wide-eyed rookie, Laswell bringing you into the fold as a technician, a skilled hacker and mechanic who despite your innocent doe eyes, held lethal talents. He remembers so vividly, the way your head had cocked to the side as Laswell introduced you to the peculiar members of task force 141, remembers the way your eyes stopped on him. You showed not a single ounce of fear or hesitance, just pure unbridled curiosity. That same curiosity led you to asking him far too many questions, relentlessly prying to see more of the man behind the mask, to see Simon Riley, rather than ‘Ghost’. It should have pissed him off, he should have reprimanded you for your callousness towards your Lieutenant, but somehow you knew exactly which questions to ask, knew exactly when to stop and move on to other subjects.

Contrary to popular belief, Simon doesn’t hide his past, doesn’t try to use it to fuel the mysterious and mythical reputation he’s unwittingly built. It’s just that no one ever asks. Maybe it’s something about the skull mask, or the egregiously high kill count he sits so casually on top of that has people wary of ever approaching him. But you—you had no hesitation. You read him like a goddamn book every single time, and it simultaneously terrified and relieved him.

One glance and every secret he shoved behind his balaclava is left bare before you, leaving him with a vulnerable, gaping wound in the shape of a lifetime of trauma and tales that Simon knows no person should ever have to experience. And yet, your eyes hold not an ounce of pity, no awkward silences attempting to be alleviated with an awkward pat on the back and a “that sounds rough, buddy”. You see his past, his pain, his suffering, his bad habits, without him ever having to explicitly say anything. And in return, you say nothing. You don’t try and mollify him about circumstances he’s moved on from long ago, you make no effort to coddle him, to sit him down and patronisingly ask him if he’s doing well, or when the last time he slept was.

Instead, you leave him cutely packaged leftovers on his doorstep, easy meals he can throw in the microwave when he’s too tired to even comprehend making food. You buy him a multitude of jigsaws and puzzles for when sleep evades him as it so often does. You never once try to change him, never force yourself into his life just so you can claim that you’re some selfless martyr. To Simon Riley, you are nothing short of a blessing, and falling in love with you was quite frankly the easiest thing he’s ever done.

He takes off the mask for the first time when neither of you were prepared, nor expecting it. The mission had been so fucking rough, camped out in the middle of nowhere on the hunt for someone he was sure had long since gone. Weeks spent trudging through thick mud, swimming upriver, tracking footprints that led nowhere, steered them to no one. His bone-deep exhaustion finally caught up with him after being shot in the leg and falling nearly 75 metres off of a cliff, plunging into the water below. Price had insisted he go straight to the medic tent back at basecamp, but then simply sighed and shook his head, resigned, as he watched Simon limp off the chopper, and in the exact opposite direction.

To most, this would be the latest example of Simon Riley once again disregarding his health for the sake of keeping up the stoic, strong mask he never let slip. Yet this time, Simon Riley was not disregarding his health, he was, for maybe the first time, trying to preserve what little of it he had left. His leg was near numb by the time he made it to your tent, his foggy mind quickly soothed by the sound of you humming along to the radio, accompanied by the rapid clicking of keys as you worked on some coding. It takes him hissing in discomfort as he attempts to remove his military boots for you to turn around, eyes going impossibly wide as you watch an alarmingly large pool of red grow at his feet.

“Jesus Christ Ghost, are you trying to redecorate my floor?” He kept his mouth shut, using the last dregs of his energy to keep his gaze pinned on you, dark brown irises following your every move as you usher him into the chair you occupied merely seconds before, gingerly hovering your hands over the drenched material that clings to his thigh, soaked in blood and water.

“I’m going to cut the material above the wound, okay? I need to see what I’m working with here.” Your eyes connect with his unwavering gaze, translating his silence into a language that has taken you an eerily short period of time to become fluent in. He watches you nod to yourself, can pinpoint the cogs turning in your mind, can practically see you write the list of how best to deal with this situation as you unpack your first aid kit. Somehow, despite his leg stinging like a bitch, despite how utterly worn he feels, so raw and rough around the edges, he feels at peace.

Price may think he was a stupid bastard for not seeing one of their trained medics, but Simon knows without a doubt that you will always be the best thing for him, you will always be the first port of call, the lighthouse that guides him oh so safely to shore, to home. Even when your stitches are a little uneven, even when you dab a little too much alcohol disinfectant onto his wound, even when you wince every time the muscle in his leg twitches involuntarily, he watches you pour every ounce of care and tenderness into every touch, watches you take care of him in a way no one else ever could, not that he’d let them.

You’re finishing off wrapping up the wound on his thigh when Simon realises he doesn’t want this moment to be over. He selfishly craves more of your delicate, gentle care, unsure if he could ever have this again after tonight, if he deserved it.

So, he waits. He waits for you to lean back on your haunches, bending back to check your handiwork with a satisfied smile tugging at your pretty lips. He waits for your eyes to drift to his, as they so often do, and then he speaks.

“I uh, I got hurt here too,” The words grate against his throat like sandpaper, rough and unsure as he lifts his hand to prod at his cheek, “think I hit a rock in the water after falling.” You stand immediately, eyebrows furrowed together as your fingers gently brush the small rip in his mask.

“I can’t see much with this in the way, Ghost, though I think you’ll live.”

Simon couldn't pinpoint exactly what had his fingers hooking under his mask, couldn’t single it down to any particular moment or word that had him pulling the black material over his chin, and up past his nose, he just knew it felt right. All he focused on was the way your lips fell agape, how your hands lifted automatically towards his wrists, whether to stop them or encourage them further he didn’t know, but he sure as fuck clocked the slight tilt to your head, taking him immediately back to when you first laid eyes on him.

You were looking at Simon in a way he can’t say he’s ever experienced. Like a complicated mixture of guilt and awe. But he feels no fear, no regret as he throws the skull balaclava unceremoniously onto the floor, and directly into the pool of blood he’d left by the door.

“Should be a little easier to see now, don’t you think?”

All he gets in return is a small huff of a laugh, the ghost of your breath fanning across his exposed face, he swears he’s never felt anything as sweet. That is until your hand comes to cup his face, shudders erupting down his spine when the pads of your impossibly soft fingers brush just under the superficial cut on his cheek.

“I don’t know Si, I think we might have to amputate.” You murmur, an overly dramatic lilt to your voice as you pretend to further examine the ‘wound’. And Jesus fucking Christ, if he isn’t so impossibly, incredibly fond of you.

“That bad, huh doc?” He leans forward, just enough to catch the way your pupils dilate, the slight hitch to your usually even breath, “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do to save it? I’m particularly fond of that cheek.” He drinks in the soft hum you give in response, watches you with rapt attention as you lean further forward, and nearly passes the fuck out when you press your lips to his upper cheekbone, because what the fuck.

Before this, Simon Riley could say with absolute certainty that he’d never once blushed in his life, but now? He could feel the blood rushing to his face, knowing without a doubt that you could feel the heat radiating from where your fingers and lips remain connected to his skin. His wide eyes, blackened around the sockets from a mixture of paint and week-long exhaustion, remain firmly fixed on you, hardly hesitating before he secures your hand against his face the second he feels you pulling away.

There are no words exchanged, nothing but shallow breaths and searching eyes before Simon allows himself to be selfish just this once and pulls you onto his uninjured thigh, guiding you to sit with his other hand, fingers digging ever so slightly into the meat of your hip. And now he has you here, right where he’s always wanted you, there’s not a chance in hell he’s ever letting you go.

“Please kiss me, Simon.”

As if he could ever say no to you.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He removes his hand from your wrist, dragging his scarred knuckles as delicately as he possibly can across your cheek, fanning out his fingers around the side of your face, using the leverage to guide you impossibly closer. He allows himself one last look, tracing his gaze from your lidded eyes to your lips before he lets his eyelids fall shut, and loses himself in you. Loses every ounce of tension and exhaustion under the ministrations of your fingers as they tangle into his hair, and finally, fucking finally, he feels his once cold, dead heart thrum to life as you sigh contentedly against his lips. Kiss of life in-fucking-deed.

He's lost in every inch of you, can’t get over how soft and warm the plush of your waist is under his fingers, how responsive you are when he slides his hand ever so slightly under your oversized t-shirt. He wants more, he needs more, can’t help himself as he moves his kisses from your lips, down your jaw, until he reaches the base of your throat, sucking deep purple bruises into your supple skin.

“You taste like heaven,” He’s all too aware of how raspy his voice has become, desire only deepening his tone further as he drags his lips back up the expanse of your throat, a deep groan pulled from his throat when he feels you shift on his lap, highlighting the growing pressure of his cock straining against his pants. “Driving me fuckin’ wild already. Look what you’ve done to me, gorgeous.” His fingers come to curl under your jaw, directing your gaze down to the prominent tenting of his trousers, ensuring his eyes don’t dare drift away from your face as he watches you take in the view before you.

“Mine.”

The noise Simon makes in response is nothing short of primal, it wasn’t a sound he was even aware he could make, near guttural, but of course you would be the one to pull it out of him.

“That’s right baby, all yours, fucking hell,” he’s powerless to stop his eyes squeezing shut when he feels your fingers curl around his clothed cock, mustering every ounce of strength he has left not to cum in his pants there and then, because he’ll be fucking damned if he lets anything get in the way of giving you the pleasure you deserve.

“Come on Si, look at me.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath before he finally opens his eyes again, instantly zeroing in on your fingers as they begin to unfasten his pants, before flicking back up to meet your gaze, “Is this okay?”, your voice tentative.

“More than okay, Jesus,” Simon wastes little time after that, hands sliding under your shirt and shifting further up your torso, muscles freezing when his hand contacts nothing but bare skin, grazing the flesh of your breasts.

“No bra? Lucky me.” You laugh, arching your back further into his touch.

“More like lucky me, those things are basically torture devices, Simon, I’d like to see you try and work with metal wire and straps digging into your boobs and back,” He grins, pinching one of your nipples between two of his calloused fingers and revelling in the way your smirk twists into a moan, hips twitching against the rough material of his cargo pants.

“I think it’s about time you took these off,” He mutters, one hand dropping to thumb under the waistband of your sweatpants, “Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought about how pretty you’d look getting yourself off on my lap.” Apparently, Simon doesn’t need to say anymore, watching with intense eyes as you pull away from his grip, and begin undressing. Your top joins his mask on the floor, soon followed by your pants and underwear until you’re stood in all your naked glory, mere inches away from him. Simon must be the luckiest son of a bitch on this entire fucking planet.

He takes advantage of your absence by lifting his hips, cocking an eyebrow at you as he gestures towards his trousers, “Give an injured soldier a hand, would you doll?” Truthfully, Simon knows he would have no issues removing them himself, but why would he do that when he can have this instead? When he can have your body pressed in between his thighs, your deft hands undoing his buttons and sliding the material of his military pants slowly over his wrapped-up leg, when he can watch your eyes drink in every inch of new skin revealed with barely contained desire. No, he would much rather have this, especially when your dainty hands peel away his boxers, leaving him only in his top and vest plate.

“Simon…” You whine, your lips so perfectly pouted, a cute little furrow between your brows as you pull and tug at various parts of his vest, “help me take this shit off. It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here.” He hums, schools his face to show careful contemplation, reaching up a hand to rest on your bare upper thigh.

“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?”

“Please, sir.”

Well fuck. That awakened something within him.

With military precision, he unsecured the armoured vest from his body, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head, joining the now large pile of clothes left scattered across the floor of your tent. For a brief second, Simon feels so incredibly vulnerable under your intense gaze, wondering if maybe this is how people feel when he fixes his stare upon them, bare and defenceless. But then you lower yourself back into his lap, settling across both his legs with such gentle care, wrapping both your arms around the back of his head and pinning him with a look he thinks most likely reflects his own.

“You’re so beautiful, Simon,” It’s almost too much, the sincerity in your voice mixed with the way the words were uttered so softly into the air, as though they were a secret only to be shared between the two of you.

“I’m nothing compared to you.” You shake your head, smiling, leaning forward until your nose brushes his.

“Just take the compliment, Lieutenant.” He tries his best not to shiver as he feels your hand trace down his spine, instead shifts his focus onto how close your lips are to his, or the quiet noise you make in the back of your throat as his hands come to grip the meat of your thighs.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Something in the air changes, as though the collective patience between the two of you could stretch no further, so taut it had no choice but to snap. His lips crash into yours, desperation surging through Simon’s veins like wildfire. Fuck, what are you doing to him?

“Can I touch you?” he mumbles against your lips, large hands aching from where they rest, yearning the feeling of your wet heat against his fingertips.

“God, yes, please.”

With newfound strength, he lifts you from his lap and twists you until your back is flush to his chest, uncaring of the twinge of pain he feels from his leg as he settles you fully on his lap. Now, Simon has full access to every inch of your perfect body, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck as he litters the skin with open mouthed kisses, humming contentedly at the way you arch into his hands as he cups your breasts with both hands, fingers toying with your nipples until they’re perked and firm under his touch.

“No teasing, please,” Your pleading breaks him from a momentary stupor, bringing his head up to watch as you place one of your hands over his, guiding it further down, sweeping over your sternum, past your belly button, until his palm rests over your cunt, “I need you here, Simon.”

Fucking hell.

He couldn't find the words, couldn’t articulate them even if he had any. So, instead of speaking, he presses his hand over the curve of your cunt, groans when he feels just how hot and wet you are, all for him.

“Mine.” He repeats your words from earlier into the shell of your ear, a smirk stretching onto his lips at the full body shiver you give in response, growing near predatory when he feels your pussy twitch under his hand. God, how the fuck are you so wet? His fingers glide over your folds with ease, teasing your clit on every upwards swipe of his fingers, and when he finally dips his index finger into your cunt, he’s rewarded with the sweetest symphony. Breathy whines and whispered pleas of “more”, “deeper, Simon, please”, every request he happily indulges, now curling two fingers against your velvet walls, searching for the spot he knows will have you keening against his body. It takes a shift of his palm, the angle changing just enough to have you choking on a gasp, his other hand remains fixed to your breasts, pushing your chest down until you’re pinned against his body.

“Atta girl, feels good huh?” He slips a third digit in, cursing under his breath as he feels your pussy clamp down, twitching helplessly around his fingers as they continue to stroke relentlessly at your g-spot, “Gonna need you to cum at least once on my fingers before I give you anything else, baby.” He dares to steal a glance at your face, and is met with closed eyes, your mouth agape, and head thrown back onto his shoulder, you’re nothing short of a masterpiece. Your hands desperately grip onto his arms, nails digging sweet red crescents into Simon’s inked skin, as though the hold you have on him is the only thing keeping you grounded, and he feels positively fucking drunk on it.

You’re close, that much he can tell, and as much as he could absolutely keep you like this on his lap for another good few hours, he takes pity on your furrowed eyebrows and soft whimpers, removing his hand from your chest and placing his thumb into your open mouth. He doesn’t even need to instruct you as you close your lips around his digit and suck, your tongue eagerly lapping at the rough pad of his finger. He doesn’t have the strength to leave it there for much longer, overly aware of the way his cock desperately twitches from where it’s trapped between your bodies, instead focusing on the way you react the second his spit slicked thumb begins to rub tight circles around your clit.

“Si-, fuck, Simon ‘m close, so close, wanna cum,” There was never any other option for him than to watch you fall apart on his lap, but if he somehow needed further encouragement, “Please Sir, please make me cum.” It would be entirely impossible for him to stop the moan your words drag from his throat, to think of anything other than giving you your release. It’s obvious when your orgasm hits, having to stop toying with your now engorged clit to instead pin your hips down, worried there was a chance you might fall to the side if he didn’t keep you grounded.

“Good girl, such a good fucking girl, made such a mess of my fingers baby,” Simon hums against the side of your head, slowing his ministrations until he’s lazily fingering your still spasming pussy, drawing out the sweet sounds of post-orgasm sensitivity from your spit-shining lips. He waits until you finally regain some form of lucidity, waits until your neck straightens, no longer lolled against his collarbone to finally withdraw his fingers, soothing your whines at his absence with kisses to your jaw. But he makes sure your eyes are locked with his when he brings his fingers to his own lips, ensures you’re watching with nothing less than rapt attention as he cleans every drop of your arousal from his skin.

“Taste fuckin’ divine, princess.” Your head tips forward into your hands with a groan, and Simon couldn’t hide his pleased grin even if he tried.

“You’re not allowed to be this hot,” Your words muffled into your palm, the Ghost’s heart rate spiking when you looked at him shyly through your fingers, affection surging through his bloodstream like a shot of pure adrenaline. “Especially when I can feel your cock pressed against my ass.” As if he needed the reminder, as if that singular thought hasn’t been plaguing him for the past 10 minutes.

“And what exactly are you going to do about that, darling?”

His words were meant to make you shy, were said to watch those sweet eyes of yours widen. Except, Simon realises, he must have awoken something within you, something bold, something utterly fucking debauched, because instead of shying away, you lock your eyes with his, rising to the challenge he set. You stand up, turn yourself around, climb back onto his lap and sink down onto his cock in one fluid motion.

“Fucking-, shit, what the fuck,”

“I think that works for both of us, right, Simon?” You need to stop, or you at least need to give him some time to adjust to whatever the fuck it is you’re doing right now. He can tell you’re far from unaffected, however. The slight quiver to your voice, and the way the slick walls of your pussy clench greedily around him show at least that much. And yet, you’re pinning him with a fierce gaze, your fingers forming an iron grip on loose brown hair at the base of his skull, using him as leverage to grind your hips in circular motions. “Let me take care of you, handsome.” His response cut off by a groan as you begin to fuck yourself on his cock, his eyes frantically flicking from where your cunt swallows every inch of his shaft, back up to your heavy-lidded gaze, locked onto his as you effortlessly ride his cock.

So instead of trying to take the lead, to lift his hips to meet yours, for the first time ever, Simon Riley does as he’s told. He allows you to control the pace, lets you direct his hands to your waist, but doesn’t use it as a point of control. Instead he caresses your skin with rough fingers. He lets you take care of him. And God, does it feel good.

He lets his head fall back, lets his eyes slip closed, and allows himself to just exist in this moment with you. A luxury he hasn’t been able to afford for far too long. Instead, he focuses on the sounds dissipating into the air around your joined bodies, the soft pants and moans that spill from both his mouth and yours, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin combined with the slick noise of his cock fucking into your heat, and if he focuses hard enough, he swears he can hear the rapid beating of your heart where your chest is pressed flush to his.

“C’mon Simon, baby, look at me.” It takes an embarrassing amount of energy for Simon to lift his neck up, refocusing his gaze onto you, “You’re doing so well, letting me look after you like this.” And fuck, he doesn’t want to cry, can’t remember the last time he allowed himself the comfort of crying, but he feels so unequivocally safe around you. Still, the time for tears will come later, right now, Simon wants nothing more than to feel you lose yourself on his cock. He secures his hands on your ass, and stands, ignoring your surprised cries and worried scolding, and walks as best he can towards the mattress near your desk. He doesn’t want to admit that lowering you both down onto the cheap material nearly left him breathless, and he definitely won’t admit that you were right, he didn’t have the strength to do that. But now that he has you lying on top of him, cock still buried deep inside of you, he knows the pain was more than worth it. Because in this position, he can ground his feet into the mattress and focus on fucking you like you deserve.

He ignores the sting of pain in his thigh, no doubt ruining some of the stitching you had done earlier, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. Not when you’re mewling into his chest, nails scratching long, thin pink lines down the expanse of his chest as he fucks his hips ruthlessly up to meet yours. He knows he won’t last much longer, you feel too fucking good, and he has no strength to hold back, praying that you’re as close as he is as he snakes one hand down to toy with your clit once again. Relief washing over him when he feels your cunt clench like a vice around his length, allows himself one, two more thrusts of his hips before he finally reaches his peak, cock twitching like a heartbeat from where it’s buried within you, not moving until the last weak spurts of cum finish painting your cervix white.

“Fucking hell,” with his energy long since depleted, his body slumps into the mattress below, dragging you down with him, his arms still wrapped securely around your form.

“That good, huh?” You grin up at him, eyes glinting in the low light. You look positively stunning.

“You know it, sweetheart,” Simon pauses, looks down at where you’re still sprawled against his chest, and silently thanks the motherfucker who decided to shoot him in the first place, he’s not sure if he would have ever gathered the strength to have you like this, in the way he always craved. “C’mere, I want cuddles.” He grunts, choosing to ignore the surprised laugh you give in response, says nothing at your incessant teasing and light threats to tell Soap that “oh my god, Ghost likes cuddles”.

He does none of that, instead, he holds you close, stares up at the ceiling as you bury your face into his neck, whispering sweet confessions into his skin, words he soaks up and saves for a rainy day. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has never been a man to care about his own health, even now he still sees that damn hourglass, unsure of how much sand remains. But now he has a reason to change that.

Now, he has you.

[xveenusx]

You

Paring(s): JJ maybank x fem!reader

Summary: Request- John b's little sister grew up with JJ. Both boys are protective of her but when John B and Sarah leave on the boat, she only has JJ. She realizes she has feelings for him, not knowing he feels the same.

Authors note: I decided I could give you guys a sprinkle of fluff and slight smut after the last two pieces! This takes place at the beginning of season 2 where they believe Sarah and John b are dead.

Also, someone complained about the length of my pieces. I know they’re long but it’s just my writing style. I like for the readers to feel what the main character is feeling. If the length bothers you, then don’t read it!

_______________

Angry.

That’s how I felt.

At myself. At my dad. At John B.

When we first lost our dad, it didn’t feel real. I waited outside on the steps of the chateu hoping to see him come back on his boat. Suddenly, hours turned to days which turned into months and the hope that filled my chest shrank bit by bit until I no longer sat outside.

Instead, John B and I did what we could. After successfully evading CPS, we decided it was best to lay low. That was the thing about us, we always managed to make the best out of a shitty situation because let’s face it, being born on the cut was shitty situation after shitty situation.

Unfortunately, it felt like the stress had finally caught up to me. Being surrounded by unfamiliar people caused a bitter sense of panic to fill my very core. My anxiety had amplified tenfold as the once out going girl became completely sheltered.

It was safer that way. At least, if I isolated myself, losing someone else won’t hurt as bad as this. Because as long as I had my brother, everything else was manageable.

Losing my dad was tough, almost impossible but at least I had John B.

Until, I didn’t.

It didn’t hit me until I saw the boat capsize with my brother and Sarah in it. I was truly an orphan, in every sense of the word.

My knees had given out as every emotion crashed into my body like a violent tsunami. A silent scream leaving my body as I could no longer hold myself up.

Familiar arms caught me just as I was about to hit the floor, the rain pounded into my skin like thousands of needles. As I drew in a sharp breath, my voice impossible to find, a delicate smell of sex wax and salt filled my nose.

JJ.

“Please breathe. I need you to take a b-breath,” He pleaded, his voice shook in obvious grief. He had just lost his brother too.

I couldn’t seem to do what he was asking. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing for this nightmare to end, but thought after thought slammed into my head repeatedly. My chest squeezed tightly, so tight that I began to claw at it, desperate to relieve the tension.

Yet, nothing seemed to work. I could see him now, his image blurred due to the tears falling from my eyes. His mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear anything.

My fingers slowly started to cramp due to the lack of oxygen from my inability to calm down. The tidal wave known as anxiety pulled me deep, my vision slowly becoming black before my unconscious body falls limp in the arms of my brother’s best friend.

_________

I hated this sign.

My eyes glared at the makeshift headstone my friends made for Sarah and John B that was carved into the tree.

It served as another reminder that my brother left me.

I’ve become close friends with anger and sadness.

Our friends tried to give me a sense of stability and normalcy, one that I’ve been lacking since the moment our dad died. Kie always stopped by bringing left overs from her parent’s restaurant. Pope would help me with my homework and go over scholarship options. I knew he was trying to help me plan for the future, but we both knew he was the only one that could really get out. I welcomed the distraction and tried to enjoy the small bubble I’ve created for myself.

And then, there was JJ.

JJ was special.

He all but moved in to the chateau, never leaving me alone in my thoughts for too long. He took up a serving job at some kook club to feed us and always brought me with him. I would sit in a small corner throughout, his shifts and enjoy his company.

In a way, I think it was for him just as much as it was for me. We had both bonded over the loss of my brother and it caused an invisible string to tether us together in a way that almost felt intimate.

I blew out a breath.

Standing up, I wiped off the dirt from my thighs and flexed my hands. JJ was on his way to pick me up and take me to the annual bonfire here on the island.

When he asked me, my first reaction was an immediate no. I had avoided going near large groups of people since they believed my brother to be a murder, therefore, making me guilty by association. Just the thought of surrounding myself around those people made my skin itch.

But I also knew that we were both desperate to feel the closest thing to normal that we could find.

What he didn’t know was that feeling of normalcy could only be achieved when he was with me. Breathing was easier when he was with me, living was easier.

The familiar sound of a bike engine caused my stomach to flutter with nerves.

“You ready?”

Inhaling deeply, I turned around to see JJ leaning against his bike looking every bit as handsome as the first time I laid eyes on him. He was grinning, something he reserved just for me, with a toothpick on one side.

If he was here, then I’d be able to do anything.

“I go where you go.”

JJ’s blue eyes shined at my words. He shot me his infamous smirk that nearly caused the butterflies in my stomach to erupt.

“You got that right. Get on the bike, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

My brain was my biggest enemy. It had a tendency to disrupt whatever sense of peace I had and destroy it with every self sabotaging thought I’ve ever had.

In this case, my brain wanted to know just how many girls sat there before me.

Noticing my hesitation, JJ raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “What’s up?”

“I just don’t want to get cooties from all the girls you let on this thing.”

He rolled his eyes. “Get your ass on the bike.”

My feet moved towards the bike as I mumbled under my breath. Stopping in front of him, JJ brushes some loose strands of my hair out of my face before grabbing the helmet that was on the seat.

I reached for it but JJ shoved my hands away, shooting me a flat look. Huffing, I stood there as JJ placed the helmet on my head, tightening the strap under my chin.

“Why do I have to wear a helmet and you don’t?”

“Because you matter.” His response was immediate.

Speechless, I said nothing more as he continued with the unnecessary pampering before he finally let me on the bike. Revving the engine, JJ kicks up the stand before reaching behind and grabbing my arm, settling it around his waist. He tapped my thigh twice to signal we were going and we took off.

I clung to his body, watching as the greenery blurred into one large mass, my thoughts doing the same.

You matter.

You matter.

You matter.

But what did that mean? What did it mean to him? What did I mean to him?

Because, I knew exactly what he meant to me.

There were small moments we shared. Our eye contact would stay on each other for a beat too long or his hands would linger just a minute longer than normal.

I knew, at least for me, our friendship had reached a very blurred line. My feelings for him seemed to consume me but I couldn’t tell how he felt. No one ever could, JJ didn’t let them.

He would say things like this that would completely throw me out of the loop. So we settled into a routine, one that resembled a relationship yet we weren’t in one.

The familiar cackle of the fire and shouts of excitement signaled that we were close to the party. Unease leaked into my bloodstream as I flexed my fingers into JJ’s shirt, the nerves sky rocketing.

JJ parked next to some truck but my focus was broken. My eyes jumped all over, taking in the scene all while trying to remind myself to breathe. People were shot gunning while others were playing beer pong, kooks and pouges alike.

Everyone was laughing and smiling, but it all seemed foreign to me. This was what I used to do, when things weren’t as complicated and dark as they were now. It felt almost wrong to go dancing and drinking when my life was in shambles.

A small touch to my wrist pulled me out of my thoughts as I turned to face JJ. A look of concern painted his face as he pressed his fingers against my wrist, checking my pulse.

“JJ, I’m fine.” I said exasperated but secretly, I adored how he took care of me. It made me feel like to him, I was different than all the other girls.

I just couldn’t decipher if he took care of me out of obligation to John B or because he actually cared for me.

He picked up this habit after I passed out in his arms. JJ always brushed his fingers against the inside of my wrist, just to double check that I wasn’t going to pass out again.

My anxiety was yet another monster I had to tackle after I lost John B and JJ was the only one that could calm me down. He weighed me down like an anchor.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his fingers lifting my chin causing my eyes to meet his.

His gaze ran over every inch of my face before a small satisfied smile played his lips.

“Do you believe me now?”

JJ shot me a wink, before cupping my face gently. “I’ll be back with tequila, don’t move.”

A small laugh left my mouth. “JJ, I don’t hang out with anyone else.”

“I’m all you can handle anyways, baby.”

My stomach dipped at the term of endearment. Laughing it off, I shooed him away and within seconds people were calling out his name, tugging him into their groups.

He seemed relax—happy even—to be surrounded by familiar people that I’m sure made him feel normal. I wanted him to have that, god, did I want him to have that.

So I ignored the nausea that nipped at my throat and spent the next five minutes looking around, hoping to spot Pope or Kie with no luck.

JJ deserved some time that didn’t involve watching me.

Only, I didn’t expect him to disappear for the rest of the night.

Hours later, I pushed passed the sweaty, overheated bodies as the bass of the music trembled through the air rattling my chest. The mass of bodies caused a layer of sweat to cover my body the further I went into the crowd. Intense rap music was being blasted instantly getting a reaction by the drug induced people around me.

Just by a simple sweep of the overcrowded property, I gave it a solid half hour before the cops showed up.

A large figure stumbled into me, beer sloshing onto my top. I gasped, stepping back slightly wincing at the cold liquid dripping down my stomach.

"Sorry," He slurred before stumbling back into the mosh pit of raging teens.

A familiar laugh rang out and almost immediately my body reacted to it. It was odd. After years of hearing his voice and his laugh, you would think I'd have gotten used to it by now, but no.

The effect he had on my body left me stunned.

My eyes were drawn to him instantly. I blocked everything else out.

His head was tilted back as he belted out another laugh. JJ was leaning against a wall with a hand holding a beer bottle loosely and the other moving as he spoke animatedly to the group that surrounded him.

His sun touched skin complimented his bright blue orbs that shined with a child-like wonder. JJ’s golden colored locks were thick and fell into a messy heap on his head, loose strands brushing against his forehead.

The black cut muscle tee he wore displayed every muscle as he continued to move his arms to accompany his storytelling.

JJ Maybank was a sight for sore eyes.

He was still talking rapidly when he glanced up and locked eyes with mine. JJ’s ocean eyes shined as he shot me a megawatt smile nearly sending me to my knees. He stopped mid-conversation and motioned for me to come over, his eyes once again gleaming with a unspoken level of affection.

I remained frozen. Sometimes this happened. I got overwhelmed by just how much I needed him.

JJ managed to knock me off my feet a solid five times a day. Each time welcomed even more than the last.

He bit his lip, stopping a smile as he bid his friends goodbye and began walking over to where I stood, running a hand through his hair messily.

I opened my mouth, not knowing what to say when a manicured hand rested itself on his stomach, stopping him in his tracks.

“Haven’t see you in awhile. Where ya been?”

Stacey Williams had this thing about her.

What it was, I couldn’t say, but it was enough for JJ to keep going back for more. She was the only other girl in his life that he gave a fraction of his attention to.

That fact alone made me nervous.

Just walk away, JJ. Please just walk away.

Instead, he took a seat next to her and shot her smile that was reserved for me.

People stumble between us, blocking my view but I could still hear them conversing.

“You know me, Steis. I’m here, I’m there. Just doin’ me.”

She let out a giggle causing me to roll my eyes. He’s really not that funny.

“You haven’t been answering my calls. I figured, tonight you could come over and we could talk.”

My stomach tied itself in knots at the silence on his end. It was almost like he was contemplating going.

“I -I can’t tonight. I came with John b’s sister.”

I winced. That’s all I was to him?

I could see Stacey lean forward and slip her hand along the open slit of his muscle tee. “She follows you around like a lost puppy, JJ. It’s almost sad if it wasn’t so weird.”

I saw him shake his head. “It’s not like that, we’re both just dealing with everything the best way we can.”

Stacey rolled her eyes before she took a sip of her drink, “JJ, your hot but please tell me you’re not that blind. The girl is basically in love with you.”

Judging by the way JJ froze, I now knew that I misjudged every interaction we’ve had to this point. He didn’t even notice how I felt.

“What-I mean-no. She’s just a girl that needs help. I mean, come on. She’s just John B’s sister.”

The only thing more humiliating than finding out the person you want doesn’t want you, is finding out they were only there for you because of an obligation.

I wasn’t special to him. I was just John B’s little sister.

I think another part of me died right there, because yet again, I have lost another person I loved.

But this time, he wasn’t gone, no—he was right in front of me, but he might as well have been a million miles away or six feet under.

Eavesdropping is the quickest way to a broken heart. Words not meant for your ears strike your heart in a brutal assault until nothing remained.

Finally, the crowd that separated us moved and I stood there stupidly staring at him.

Feeling the weight of my gaze, JJ turned his head and his eyes widened before settling into a look of guilt.

I tore my gaze off of him and looked at her. The smug smile she wore told me she intended for me to hear what he had said.

My face heated, and I glanced down at the drink in my hand. How could I be so fucking stupid?

Ignoring the sickening twists in my stomach, I tossed back the strong liquor in my cup. The burning trail the tequila left is the feeling I decided to focus on.

Spinning around, my eyes searched for another cooler, desperate to keep the burning feeling going.

“Shit-Wait,” I could hear JJ shouting for me but I kept moving.

Finding a handle of tequila, I flicked the top off and took a pull. The bitter burn fell over my body with a fuzzy warmth.

JJ knocks the bottle out of my hand.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“Since when do you drink like that?” He asked.

“Go away, JJ. I don’t need you to babysit me anymore.”

“Listen, if this is about what I said-“

“You’re free, JJ,” my voice trembled with pain,” You don’t need to waste any more of your time on me.”

I grabbed a red solo cup, sniffing the contents, and just as I was about to chug it back, his hand slaps it out of my own.

“Will you stop fucking drinking that-“ JJ’s baby blues narrowed as he growled at me.

“What are you, my dad? You’re taking this baby sitting gig a little too seriously.”

It was, then I noticed how many eyes were on us. The music was still blasting, but no one was dancing.

My breathing picked up at the sudden attention. I dug my nails into the palm of my hand to distract my body from the ever growing panic that plagued my body.

JJ’s eye clock in on my nervous tic causing his glare to soften. A figure approaching pulled my focus off of him.

Topper strides over with a drink in his hand and a lazy smile. “Hey man-“

“Top, your wearing sandals bro. Step off.”

“I’m just saying man, she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

JJ’s eyes darkened as a threatening smile slowly graced his lips. “Wanna run that by me again?”

“I forgot that you pouges are missing a couple brain cells,” Topper lolled his head to the side and shot me a wink, “Since you’re clearly a bit slow, I’ll spell it out for you. She. Doesn’t. Want. To. Talk. To. You.”

“I dont remember you being this cocky with a gun to your head.” The words were spoken softly but the threat was clear.

A storm brewed in JJ’s eyes as the bright blue was replaced by something much darker.

My heart jumped at his tone and the look in his eyes made me swallow hard. Disgust filled me as heat began to build between my legs forcing me to press my thighs together.

Hands up on surrender, Topper shot me a look before heading back to his friends. JJ’s eyes stayed on him for a beat ensuring that he wouldn’t come back.

When he was satisfied, JJ moved towards me in quick strides making me yelp in surprise.

His ring covered hand grasped my upper arm and tugged me back to his bike. I shrugged out of his hold and crossed my arms across my chest, hoping it’ll keep a safe distance between the two of us.

I couldn’t think clearly when he was close.

“Listen-“

“No thanks.”

“If you would just-“

“Go away.”

“Can you please stop acting-“

“Why don’t you go back to Stacy? I’m sure she’d find this conversation enlightening.” I spat, shoving his reaching hands away.

“I dont want to talk to Sta-“

“Are you sure? You seemed to have a lot to say be-“

“Jesus Christ, would you just shut up?” JJ shouted with his hands in his hair.

My mouth opened and closed in shock.

“You’re the most frustrating person on this fucking island.” He growled, shaking his head in false amusement.

“Then why are you still talking to me?”

“Because it’s you.”

Throwing my hands up in defeat, I let out a bleak laugh. “What does that even mean? Stop pretending you care. Stop pretending to be my-“

“I wasn’t pretending.” He shook his head, the blue orbs pleading for me to understand,”Stacey was just saying shit to get a reaction-“

“She wasn’t wrong.”

He stopped talking and stared at me, almost confused.

My body trembled slightly with nerves as I prepared to finally expose every bit of my heart to the blue eyed boy in front of me.

“What she said—about how I feel about you. She was right. Anybody with two fucking eyes can see how I feel about you, except for you.”

I furiously wiped my eyes stop the tears from falling. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

“But now I know you only see me as John B’s little sister. It’s just humiliating that you chose to say that to Stacey instead of me.”

I was going to throw up. My stomach churned and swayed but I swallowed down the urge.

JJ let out a harsh sound, “I feel fucking guilty, okay? I feel guilty that I don’t see you the way I should. John B was my best friend and now I’m falling for his sister? It’s eating at me.”

“Then leave-“

“Shut up,” He snapped. “You’ve already got to say what you wanted. It’s my turn.”

My throat tightened as I braced myself for his confession.

“I look at you and I have to stop myself from kissing you even though it’s all I can think about.”

His eye contact seared into my very soul. I could feel it pierce my pounding heart.

“So you aren’t the only one that feels something.”

My heart was in my throat as I processed his words.

“But you said-“

“I lied.” He cut me off with a shrug and advanced towards me, clearly fed up with the distance I placed between us.

In a last ditched effort, I put up my hands to stop him in his tracks. I needed to think. I needed to breathe.

“Don’t touch me.” The plea itself was weak at best.

At the sound of my sob, JJ ignores my demand, and shoves my hands away, despite my weak attempt to keep him out of my space.

Instantly, his fingers curl themselves along my wrist and take note of my pulse. He let out a distressed sound from what I can only assume is the pounding of my pulse and whispers soothing words.

Taking in gulps of air, he slowly counts me down to a manageable pace of breathing. My shaking slowly begins to subside and my very focus is just on him.

Resting his forehead on mine, JJ whispers pleadingly, “Please stop crying.”

Another kiss lands on my nose. “I’m sorry.”

His request along with his sweet pleadings, causes my defenses to crumble down. Another sob tears from my chest as I relax into his embrace.

“I didn’t mean it.” He muttered, brushing my tears away with his thumb.

“Then why did you say it?” My words were soft, barely a whisper.

“Because she’s not important enough to know how I feel.”

Our eyes were glued to each other, a deep unknown longing singeing us together.

“You said I was just some girl.”

JJ tilted my head up, his fingers trailing softly along my bottom lip, “I meant my girl.”

“I have a lot of baggage,” I gave him one more shot at leaving.

“Good thing I have a truck.”

“But she-“

He shook his head, leaning down so there’s just a sliver of space between our lips, so close that we were inhaling each others breaths.

“You’re the only one I want.”

JJ bent down, his arms circling themselves directly below my ass, and picked me up causing me to shout out in surprise.

My hands curled onto each of his arms, my stomach fluttering at the flex of his muscles. He set me on the seat of the bike, his large calloused hands gripped my upper thighs tightly sending a wave of heat right to my core.

JJ’s half lidded eyes dart between my gaze and my lips. “Tell me to stop.”

The words never crossed my lips.

He let out a sound of satisfaction, tugging my legs open to stand in between them.

His ring covered fingers danced along the strands of my hair before nesting themselves at the root, gripping the nape tightly, "You’re mine.”

Heat instantly swarmed my belly as I drastically tried to collect my thoughts. My lips trembled as he hovered over me, his figure towering over my small frame.

JJ swiped his tongue along my parted lips before biting gently. Instantly, my body jolted forward and we were chest to chest, perfectly aligned.

My grip on his biceps tightened as I tremble with anticipation.

Finally, he pressed his lips to mine, slowly guiding our kiss. Gripping my hair tighter, he tilts my head sliding his tongue inside.

A small whimper escaped my lips causing a groan to erupt from him. Almost lazily, he pulled back slightly and pulled my bottom lip into his, sucking softly.

White hot lust seared itself into my blood. I let out a whine and pushed myself up, pressing my lips to his, desperate for another taste of JJ.

My blood was pounding in my ears as I tugged him closer. Almost lazily, I teased his mouth open and slid my tongue inside. Humming with desire, I gently sucked on his tongue causing him to flex his grip on my thighs.

JJ pulled back giving me the opportunity to catch my breath. His fingertips left a heated trail along my face as he caressed every inch.

He shook his head, laughing to himself softly,” It’s you. It’s always been you.”

______________

I love sassy JJ. Sorry for the delayed upload, I got into a car accident and am just now starting to get better:)

Please let me know what you think!! Next piece will be yummy smut with Rafe

[mondaymelon]

— “𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞…” ♡

໒꒱ || :feat~ xiao, kazuha, heizou, wanderer x gn!reader:

໒꒱ || cw: fluff <3 modern!au, the two of you live together, established relationship, wanderer has anger issues, reader needs an oscar !!

⤷ jokingly ignoring your anemo boyfriend ♡

“...Did I do something not to your liking?”

XIAO’s frantic, even if it doesn’t show on his displeased expression. And his worries aren’t without reason - you’ve been ignoring his presence since he came home from an outing this afternoon. It’s already evening, yet you still haven’t uttered a word to him, only occasionally sending him complicated glances that he can’t even begin to unravel. He knows your heart well, that much is true, yet right now his senses have been cast into an abyss of confusion.

You cast him a sideways look. “No, nothing.” Even as the male visibly brightens at the fact that you’ve finally acknowledged him, you still seem as offset as before. It’s rather laughable how this entire matter is bringing him back to when the two of you first met, when he still acted so bristlingly cold to you, and how your warm disposition had melted that away… the light scowl on your face proved to serve that he had made a mistake.

What kind of mistake? Perhaps he’d never know. Xiao thought that he had been acting well recently, hadn’t lashed out with his sharp tongue or started a dispute with a particularly foolish person, yet perhaps he had slipped without his knowledge, and you had been there as his silent witness.

“Nothing? If I’ve done anything to upset you, please, tell me what it was.” 

“I said it’s nothing.”

The frown on his face only deepens. Were you testing him? “If I hadn’t done anything wrong, then why won’t you look at me?” You only remain silent, and while Xiao isn’t hurt, the adeptus is utterly clueless about what to do in a situation like this. His voice grows soft, leaning closer to you and staring into your eyes even as you evade his.

“Please look at me, love.”

It’s hard to utter those words, especially when his instincts are failing him, yet the male jolts as you let out a laugh.

“Ahahaa- Xiao, what are you- Aha-!” You stop for a breath, still laughing quietly. Great, now Xiao is even more confused. Why were you laughing? Was it because of him? Either way, he’s just glad that he’s rid the scowl on your face.

“I’m sorry, but… just what do you mean?”

“Nonono, I’m the one who should be apologizing.” You shake your head slightly, smiling. “I thought it’d be funny to prank you, but I didn’t expect it to be that effective…”

Xiao blinks. “So…”

“It was a joke.”

“Ah. Is that so? However…”

You blink, and you can feel his presence behind you, his whisper tickling your ears as he speaks. His voice is low, a near growl as his sturdy arms pull you closer. “That lost time. When you evaded my gaze and affection.”

“You better make it up to me.” ♡

“Are you sure you’re alright, dearest?”

You can see the sincere concern reflected in KAZUHA’s crimson eyes. He’s keeping his distance, yet he knows something is off, and it makes him unreasonably uneasy. The way you’re acting now isn’t something he hasn’t seen before. Kazuha’s been through much, and he knows what hurt looks like. It’s hard to stay silent, but he knows that he won’t be able to reach you at the moment. Sometimes, walls that were put up could only lower over time.

“I’m fine.” As if that were true - then why was your voice so cold? The male’s heart aches as he watches you disappear into your room, the door closing shut behind you. Ah, even writing a poem wouldn’t be able to capture his feelings right now. Kazuha wants to take you in his arms, to embrace you, to hold you tight as he whispers to you that everything will be okay. Yet even for the person who understands you best, he knows that what you need is rest, not whatever else he could provide.

He sits in front of your door, his head leaning against the wood. He’ll wait until you’re ready to talk to him, even if that time wouldn’t come soon. It’s silent, that is, until he hears a faint sound. Laughter? His face visibly brightens, only to grow confused as he hears the words, “Holy shit, I am one very good actor-”

He calls out your name, a stunned expression appearing on his face as your door swings open, your surprised eyes meeting his. “Ah, were you lurking there?” There’s a visible grin on your face as you let out a little laugh. “I should’ve expected that much, you wouldn’t simply brush away the incident like that, would you? Ah, to think the prank would be found out so easily…” You let out a playful sigh.

“Wh- What is… all of this?” His expression is one of distant amazement, crimson eyes wide as he glances at your beaming self. Sure, he knew that your disposition was often teasing, but to go this far…? He lets out a good-natured laugh at your antics, a warm smile gracing his lips. He’s not upset - he can’t be, not when he’s glad that you’re able to laugh like this without hindrance. “It’s always something with you, isn’t it?” He chuckles, drawing closer and leaving a light peck on your forehead, sweeping away your hair with a soft touch. “Hm, but this is rather unfair, isn’t it?”

His eyes adopt a sense of contentment as he watches your expression grow perplexed. “Huh?”

“To play such a cruel trick on me, without second regard… no matter.”

“You’ll just have to make it up to me, dearest.” ♡

“Huh? What’s up with you today??”

The moment you avoid his all-knowing gaze, HEIZOU’s already thinking up of every possibility. Someone annoying at work? He had heard you complaining about obnoxious commissioners far longer than he cared to remember. Or maybe someone had taken one of your bounties, and now you were at a loss of mora? Or perhaps the person in question was someone different entirely… himself.

“Nothing.” Your reply is short as you merely give him a quick glance as you step through the door. It’s apparent that you’re trying to weasel out of his sight as soon as possible, with the way you’re frantically undoing your shoes without so much of another word.

But he certainly hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? No, of course not. How could you possibly find an annoyance in his ever-charming smile? Ah, but then again, it’s not unreasonable for the person at fault to be none other than himself, but with the way your eyes hold just the slightest shred of mischief… oh. Oh. Ahaha, you’re proving to be rather amusing, aren’t you? To think you’d dare pull such a slight on someone like him… a half-done case like this is easy to unravel. But no matter, he’ll play along, just for his own entertainment.

“Awww, love, did I do something wrong?” He blinks his sparkling green eyes up at you, fluttering his lashes. Glittering tears pool at the edges of his eyes. “C’mon, you can tell me what happened…!”

You blink, utterly dumbstruck. “Heizou, what the fuck.”

“D-Don’t avoid me, alright?!” He whines, clinging to your shirt desperately. “I-I don’t want to be alone…!!” His large doe eyes, growing even larger under your gaze, are glossy with tears.

In all honesty, you should’ve expected this. But perhaps a small part of you wanted to believe that Heizou wouldn’t just figure all of it out off the bat… he knows you far too well to nod along with concern.

“Wh-Why aren’t you talking? Do you hate me??” Heizou’s blubbering, close to breaking into tears. Fuck, he was an even better actor than you were, how was this level of satire even possible?? What kind of detective cases is he having to go through if he needs these kinds of skills… you sigh.

“Damn Heizou, you could’ve at least pretended to fall for it.” You huff, sitting down on the couch before shifting to the side to make space for the male. “You’ve gone and ruined my nightly entertainment.”

He blinks at you, then laughs, quickly changing out of his facade. It’s startling, how he’s able to switch characters so easily, almost like he’s taking off one mask and simply putting on another. “I would’ve been a fool to fall for that shoddy performance.”

“A fool? Don’t flatter yourself.” You let out a joking exasperated sigh, leaning into his shoulder with a pout.

“But perhaps I am one?” He hums thoughtfully, ruffling his hands through your hair. “After all, you certainly are, and I am your lover, so… what is it they say? Like meets like?”

You puff out your cheeks, face growing red. “Heizou, I’m not a fool!”

He chuckles, eyes twinkling as he grins. “I know. However, I fear the same could not be said about me…” He shrugs his shoulders, sighing dramatically, yet you can hear the impending mischief in his tone.

“Or… perhaps I’m a fool for you? ♡

“Hey, did you just ignore me??”

All you did was brush past him at the doorway, yet WANDERER is already bristling, eyebrows drawn up in a scowl as his gaze burns into your back. “Oh great, so now you aren’t even going to respond to me, are you?? Fun. So funny. I hope you feel proud of yourself, dimwit.” His rage only continues when you remain silent. “What, did I do something wrong? The fuck, answer me!”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” You manage to add a note of sarcasm into your voice, inwardly cheering yourself on at your sheer acting talent. “I’m just tired today. Don’t talk to me.”

His indigo eyes widen at your words. “Hah? Wh-What do I have to do with that? That doesn’t give you the right to-!” He catches himself before he falls into a fit, knowing surely that in the heat of the moment, something would likely be broken and thrown out the window, which had just been fixed last Thursday. He lets out a sigh, one of exasperation. “Why must you be so idiotic?”

He supposed he was the idiotic one to expect a response.

“Alright, I see how it is. We’re going to play this game. Very well.” He confidently strides up next to you and pulls up a chair, watching your pencil draw words about who knows what. Wanderer is someone stubborn, that much is apparent, and he’s not one to back down. And you’ve just presented him with an opportunity to flare that tenacity of his. Of course, he wouldn’t be lying if he hadn’t said that he wasn’t at least the slightest bit concerned about what had happened to you, how could he not? 

Ah, but at the same time, he had threatened everyone in your classes and workplace not to lay a single finger on you, so who would have possibly dared to defy his command? If that was the case… you instinctively flinch, glancing at the male in your peripheral vision, whose eyes have grown cold as the air trembles at his sudden release of bloodlust.

He’s definitely misinterpreting this, isn’t he? You grumble, catching his attention for a brief moment. “Nevermind, I don’t think I can pull this off…”

The blank expression on his face is almost worth the scolding you’ll get after his realization. “...What?”

“You’ve been… pranked?” You give him a sheepish smile. “I thought it would be funny to ignore you for a day, so-”

“You what?” Shit, his bloodlust hasn’t disappeared, just switched recipients. You let out a shaky laugh as he glowers at you, clearly enraged. Ah, you’ve certainly dug yourself into quite a deep hole, haven’t you? But it shouldn’t prove to be a problem…

“Don’t be so mad at me, alright? I just wanted to poke some fun!” You press your lips into his cheek before he can get a word in, smiling against his smooth skin. “Mwah! There, my apology!”

His silence is a terrifying thing, but soon enough his lips move to form words, mumbled out and hard to hear as his cheeks ever so subtly grow red. “...t…en…”

“Huh? Sorry, I couldn’t-”

“Not enough. Kiss me again, and just maybe I’ll forgive you.” ♡

(a/n) wouldn't it be so silly if i posted at least every monday so my blog name would actually make sense. so silly. so unbelievably improbably inconceivably impossibly unthinkably unimaginably silly !!!!

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123

[claymoresword]

The Queen And Her Knight | Chp: 8

Alicent Hightower x Knight Fem!Reader

Summary: Alicent Hightower against her better judgement, falls in love with her sworn protector. Can she bear to fight her feelings or will she finally just give in?

Pairing: Alicent x Reader

Wordcount: 2.5k

Disclaimer: angst, masc/butch coded reader, alicent is a mess, aemond & y/n, otto is a scheming little prick

Note: honestly idk if it's writers block or just a general lack of motivation but i could not for the life of me convince myself to sit down and write this story lol i'm very sorry for the delay

this chapter doesn't move around too much as it focuses on the events directly after Storm's End. sorry if it's boring... but I really hope it isn't! ok that's it, love y'all

Taglist: @blackbirdv98 @flaiire1805 @alicentfangirl @memarrymilf @thegayassbit-ch @vantestark @hauntedfictionland @livinginafantasysposts @baddie-on-a-mission-xx @evolutionsglory @darthtargnister @dxrewclf @rozmrazaradelfinow @wlwfanfictionss @karsonromanoff

You are jolted out of your slumber with the feeling of Criston's rough hand on your shoulder. "Council meeting, Lord Commander. you have been summoned." 

In your half asleep state, you open your eyes just enough to squint at him, a grimace covers your features. 

"What? Why can't you take the watch, Cole?" You question, rubbing your face in frustration as you sit up in bed. 

You feel a breeze through the open window, it is still noticeably dark out. Nowhere near first light; your expression twists further in confusion. "What hour is it?"

Criston doesn't respond to your inquiry, his jaw is set in a way that always makes him appear mad at the world. "The dowager queen has sent for you, specifically." 

At the mention of Alicent, you quickly tug the blanket off your frame, rising from your bed. "Very well, Ser. I will be out in a moment, just let me dress."

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You observed as Otto Hightower paced the length of the small council chambers, his hands firmly clasped behind his back. His stare is pensive, but he is anxious– despite his meager attempt to conceal it.

Alicent wears a similar look on her face, although instead of pacing she repeatedly brings her fingers up to her lips, gnawing at the skin around her nails.

The sight makes you grimace. Every time you allow yourself to believe she has abandoned the horrid habit, it resurfaces ten fold.

Alicent would manage to chew her fingers until raw and bloody unless you put a stop to it.

Infuriatingly, now you can only afford to rest both hands on the hilt of your sword. You cannot reach out; too many eyes.

The last thing you want is to be seen touching the dowager queen without her leave.

"Your Grace." You chide instead, your voice only loud enough for Alicent to hear.

The dowager queen looks your way, her gaze distant before her eyes finally settle upon your own. 

Your narrowed gaze was enough for her to remove her hand from her mouth, clasping both of them over her belly instead, stifling the impulse.

Something has happened. But what, exactly? 

You want to ask, but the words soon die in your throat as the doors to the chambers open. 

Prince Aemond enters, dressed in his riding attire. His hand propped on the pommel of his longsword, his head held high.

You manage to catch the way Alicent stiffens at the sight of him.

Something is wrong, very wrong.

"Prince Aemond, I am certain we are all eager to find out what matter is so pressing that it requires our immediate audience at this time of night." Ser Tyland is first to address the obvious issue that's been left unspoken. 

The Lannister's annoyance represents that of the other men in the room. It is thinly veiled if not entirely unconcealed. 

Though to his luck, it somehow evades Aemond entirely. The prince decides to speak plainly.

"Lucerys Velaryon is dead." 

The room falls silent, safe from the crackling of firewood in the hearth nearby– the air so still you can hear the beating of your heart in your ears.

"How–" Ser Tyland tries but Aemond interjects.

"He died on dragonback. Vhagar and I happened upon him in the Stormlands." The Targaryen explains and your eyes widen.

You glance at Alicent on instinct, the dowager queen appears ready to faint, or wretch– you could not say. You remain standing beside her just in case.

Once again there is only silence, even from the Hand of the king himself. Otto Hightower's expression betrays nothing, and it confounds you.

There is certainly no hope for peace now, not when Aemond has just openly declared a war by killing the princess’ own son.

"I do not.. understand–" The words tumble out before you even fully realize you were speaking.

Aemond turns to you then, his expression betrays even less than his grandsire.

"His dragon provoked mine, there was not much I could do.” Aemond delivers the statement with such certainty and indifference, it sends a chill down your spine, destabilizing enough that you have to look elsewhere.

“My Prince, forgive me– As I understand it dragons do not attack others of their kind unless they feel threatened, much less one six times it's own size.” Maester Orwyle verbalizes your own thoughts exactly.

Aemond provoked the boy first.

“It does not matter. The bastard got what was coming to him.” Aemond snaps in return, you observe as Alicent rubs her own forearm, an effort to soothe herself. You notice, whilst the men around her remain oblivious.

The room is flooded with a sudden sense of trepidation and despair.

“The princess will want blood for this.” Orwyle states grimly.

“That she will. and when she comes for it we will be ready.” Otto finally speaks, he steps forward, bracing his hands firmly on the wood-carved table.

“We can no longer expect the princess or her lord husband to bend their knees willingly. They will attempt to take my grandson’s rightful seat by force. We must strengthen our defenses.” He bellows, glancing at every man in the room. 

Eventually Otto looks to you, but pays his own daughter no mind.

“I have the largest dragon.” Aemond remarks proudly, like the green boy that he is. 

Having a dragon does not make you invincible, lad. You would have warned him, if you had been alone. Afterall, he did listen to you.. most times.

You let out a quiet sigh. The young prince knows nothing of warfare, so naturally he is giddy at the prospect. 

His grandsire remains the only one with authority to openly address his statement, and his next words to Aemond are a risk. “Yes, and they are not to forget that.”

“We must first secure the castle, no one unauthorized goes in or out without my leave.”

“Lord Commander, double the amount of guards in the royal quarters. The king and queen's chambers especially.” Otto orders, his gaze now fixed on you.

With what men? You find yourself wondering.

More than half the kingsguard has since fled to join Rhaenyra's cause while your own men grow restless and uncooperative the longer your father took to declare his support for Aegon.

You don't dare utter your grievances out loud, simply nodding at the command.

“Very well, M'lord.”

Otto turns away from you to continue discussing future strategies with the rest of the council members. 

It all comes easily to him, as though he had been planning them for some time. As if this was all a part of a larger scheme. 

You foolishly mistook Otto's excitement for anxiety. This realization feels so macabre, you could laugh.

The men of the council continue to listen whether they want to or not, whilst you remain standing by the dowager queen. Alicent grows more uneasy by the minute as she listens to her father openly laying out strategies and tactics.

It is all happening so quickly.

Alicent fiddles with her seven pointed star necklace again before rubbing her neck anxiously. She goes to gnaw at her finger but stops herself. 

The queen is unraveling right before your eyes, and the sight makes you ache. 

Like a pot of steaming water just about to boil over; your lover's next move is sudden.

Alicent takes large strides towards the exit, the men of the council rise from their seats abruptly to see her off, and you fall in next to her dutifully.

“Mother–” Aemond calls out to her, but Alicent does not look back.

═══════════════════════════════════════════ 

Alicent doesn't allow herself to pause until she reaches her bedchambers, Ser Criston inclines his head at the sight of the queen, stepping aside to let her through.

“Return to your quarters, Cole, I will guard Her Grace.” You command, and Ser Criston nods without much reproach. 

Most likely eager for the opportunity to return to his bedchambers and resume his slumber.

You replace his spot by the door as he went on his way, soon the knight turns a corner and out of sight. The clanging of his armor grew faint, eventually dimming into nothing.

“Y/n.” Your name echoes through the walkway. 

It is Alicent calling for you before the door to her chambers gets the chance to shut fully. Her sweet voice, frail and weary with tears unshed.

You swiftly step inside at the invitation, habitually bolting the door behind you. As you turn, the dowager queen practically throws herself into your arms. It doesn't take you long to return her embrace, your chest constricts as you hear her sob against your shoulder.

“Oh, my love–” You coax, caressing her hair with a much needed tenderness, but you don't get to do it for long as Alicent soon breaks away from you to speak.

“Aemond, he came to me first– woke me to admit what he'd done.” She starts, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, only for more tears to fall.

“But it seemed as though he expected me to celebrate him for it. He looked so proud of himself.” Alicent recounts, her hand now shifts over her belly, as though actively suppressing the urge to be sick.

You watched as she began to pace the floors.

“The indignities of his childhood.. his want for revenge, it has blinded him–”

“It has blackened his heart, twisted him into someone I don't even recognize.” Alicent declares bitterly.

She gnaws at her cuticle again before turning to look at you. Your silence only makes her grow expectant, as though hoping you'll dispute her words. Perhaps even agree with them, but you find yourself incapable of doing either.

Aemond no longer appears the same boy you grew to care for. The boy you have trained and looked out for since he was not much taller than your knee.

A solemn fact, but one that is true.

Even so, you can hardly believe the young prince is capable of cold blooded murder– surely, it must have been an accident, a terrible lapse in judgment.

Dragons have never been so easily tamed, least of all the large and ancient beast Aemond commands.

Vhagar must have acted on her own. 

Yes, in the presence of the council Aemond has to pretend. He pretends so his dignity is spared.

-

Alicent mistakes your silence for agreement, frustration and helplessness quickly overwhelm her.

“What is to become of my sons, y/n? The rotten fruits of my womb.. They are both monsters.” Alicent sobs, placing the blame entirely on herself– a thing she does often and mercilessly.

Another unjust habit.

You feel inclined to disagree. It is not fair that Alicent bears the burden all on her own, it does no good to anyone for her to believe these things. 

You realize that your kindness will most likely not be of much use to her now– but you vow to try anyway. “Most men are, Your Grace.. You mustn't– you cannot blame yourself.”

You allow yourself a deep breath as Alicent meets your gaze; she is listening.

“We are a product of our parents, our mothers, that much is true. Still, we are our own person, we make our choices and we live with them.” You approach Alicent steadily, as though not to startle her.

“Aemond made a choice, my love.” You affirm, cupping her face with both hands, silently relishing at the feeling of her seeking out your embrace once more.

Alicent remains silent for a prolonged moment, she welcomes the feeling of your hand smoothing down her back.

“He should have never gone to Storm's End without an escort. Death and destruction awaits anyone who dares mount those feral beasts.” Alicent maintains her revulsion for dragons, now more than ever, vitriol laces her every word.

“This could have all been avoided.” She decides, forlorn. 

“Now that poor boy is dead– and Rhaenyra, she– I gave her my word, peace in the realm if she accepted my terms, and I have betrayed that.” Alicent hugs you tighter, and you lift her head off your shoulder calmly as to guide her face towards your own.

“Alicent, what has happened cannot be undone. I dread the consequences as much as you do, but no good can come from blaming yourself.” You render, still you decide to continue even as the older woman averts her gaze.

“There was no way to anticipate this. I am certain prince Aemond himself did not plan on meeting Lucerys with his dragon.”

“Sometimes things simply happen. For better or worse.” You finish, in truth, unsatisfied with yourself. 

Words are wind, there is only so much you can say in a situation as dire as this, in the face of impending war.

“It is not your fault. Do you hear me?” You insist, the pad of your thumb caressing Alicent's cheek as you catch a glimpse of her warm brown eyes.

At last, she hears your words and she accepts them. Alicent nods.

“Not my fault.” The dowager queen finally utters in return, uncharacteristically withdrawn and almost docile in your arms.

You continue to handle her carefully, as though she were made of glass. “That's right.” Relieved, you place a lingering kiss upon Alicent's forehead.

A welcomed stillness fills the air as you hold each other, in the quiet of the night, but as with most good things as of late– it is short lived.

A knock on the door startles you both, a familiar voice can be heard from the other side.

“Mother?” Aemond says as he attempts to enter, but the bolt you had placed on the handle prevents the door from budging.

Alicent escapes your touch, she threads her fingers through her auburn locks in visible distress. She makes the effort to step even further away from the door as Aemond knocks again.

“Tell him to leave me, please. I cannot bear to look at him just now.” Alicent pleads in a frantic whisper, and you nod, gesturing with your hand, at an attempt to remind her to calm herself.

As Alicent moves to her bed, you straighten out your doublet, approaching the door. Subsequently, you retract the long wooden panel barring it shut.

Aemond's features are twisted in visible confusion as your eyes meet. You school your own expression in turn, ignoring the way in which your shoulders tense at the sight of him. 

“The dowager queen is abed, my prince. She is not to be disturbed.” You explain with an intended air of indifference and Aemond simply grimaces. He stubbornly tries to peek into the room as you remain blocking his view; to no avail.

“I don't understand, why does my mother not wish to see me?” He asks, his growing frustration evident.

“She is abed, the hour is late.” You repeat, not unkindly, though your hand rests on the pommel of your sword on instinct.

Aemond searches your face, and soon his own expression twists abruptly, bristling when he finds nothing within your gaze that would work in his favor. 

The young prince just as quickly dons a look that fills you with a familiar sense of unease.

He turns on his heels, his cape flourishes as he storms through the dimly lit gallery, eventually disappearing into the shadows.

Aemond Targaryen left for Storm's End a brilliant and obliging boy, and he returned a Kinslayer.

[impyssadobsessions]

DPXDC Enemy of my Enemy is the Worse "Excerpts" (Part 1?) I have more Ideas

Okay I kepy thinking about the prompt Enemy of my Enemy is the Worse I made LOL- (gonna post excerpts.) Probably wont fully write this.. as much as I like to right now LOL. If this inspires anyone to write, go for it.

"So now what? Going to vivisect me? Experiment? Rip my molecules apart like how my-Mr. Fenton keeps telling me." "Unfortunately, no." Agent K grumbles. "And its dissection, not-" Agent O tries to correct. "I maybe dead-but I'm not THAT dead." Danny rolled his eyes, flashing them at the two men in white. He can't believe any of this is happening. Oh he wished he listened to Jazz.. or Sam or Tuck more. He pulled at his ghost proof bindings, them having him ridiculously buried in the restraints. "Actually, Mr. Phantom, is it? I wanted to talk." Another bald man walks in, his suit notably black. Danny raised his eyebrow unimpressed, "What? Is it the Guys in Black and White now? Not that I'm against it, I'm all for equality, but it does seem a little off brand. I'm guessing the bleach bill is getting too high." Agent O was about to speak out- when the guy in black raised his hand to silence him. This guy only looked slightly amused, which gave Danny the creeps. "Of course not. That'd be ridiculous, though I'm not against inclusivity either. I'm Lex Luthor, and it is my recent interest in ghosts that had allowed the GIW to reach its full potential. " "So another annoying billionaire. Great."

"So you know of me? Perfect, then we can keep this simple. In truth, I am only interested in one ghost in particular." "We can capture him without involving ourselves with this scum-" "This GHOST has not only evaded my notice for YEARS, but has been stealing very valuable technology that would go beyond NASA's comprehension. Though I don't doubt your expertise, it has not come without notice that this particular ghost is seen the most-" Lex flicked his eyes down at Phantom. "With you." Agent K and O unrolled paper from their suits to reveal a picture of Plasmius. "The Wisconsin Ghost." - "Plasmius?!" Danny spoke same time the Agents did. Lex smirked at the Agents then down at Phantom. Danny took a moment to register what was going on before busting out laughing. "Really? What makes you think I'm buddy buddy with Plasmius? He's a total fruitloop and honestly- not surprise. He steals blueprints from my p---Dr. Fentons all the time." "You steal their items as well, if we recall." Agent K raised a brow. "Well-I- Just because- YOU USE THEIR BLUEPRINTS TOO!" "Enough. " Lex starting to sound annoyed, Danny felt like it was a win. Serves bastard right. Man did he hate billionaires. "I've observed your work in Amity Park. If I dare say you are quite similar to many of the masked vigilantes that plague this Earth. Even more heroic in my opinion." Danny was not biting at whatever trick Lex was pulling. Though he didn't miss the skip of his core at being recognized something other than a menace. 'He's lying to you.' he repeated in his head. Pulling on his bindings again to remember the real situation before him.

"That being said, I like you to do as heroes do and capture this criminal, then bring him to me." "Look, thanks for the compliment- but we both know I'm not seen as a hero. So why don't you quit the buttering 'cause I'm not interested in culinary and tell me what's in it for me. Even though I'm barely c-average on the best of days, I'm not dumb. I'm not doing this for free or just some lame you will be spared nonsense. Been there done that." Lex smirked again, "I'll grant you immunity from GIW and you can have your haunt back." "Wait? What?!" "But it took so long to capture him-" "IF you manage to capture Plasmius and bring him to me before GIW can." Danny glanced at the two agents as they puffed out their chests. Cocky. They really think they could capture Vlad? Then painfully reminded himself that they did catch him. "And if I don't agree?" "We DISSECT you and use you for very unethical and highly painful experiments that are legal on subjects like yourself." Agent K happily boast. "Riiiight." Danny clicked his tongue, "Add in that these guys are not allowed to be in a 50 miles radius from Amity and I'll do it." "No-" "Deal."

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

Danny looped on back to the entryway as he finished swooping through every room of the manor. "Alright! Come on out Fruitloop! I know you're still here-" Just as Phantom floated down to land, he felt a hard punch in his face that sent him skidding across the room into the wall. "OOF" "Guess I should have seen that com...ming..." Danny rubbed his jaw, turning back to see who punched him. His eyes widening as he recognized the heroes he was facing. "Phantom. We're taking you into custody." "YOU CALLED THE JUSTICE LEAGUE ON ME?!" -----(Fight happens)--- Flash manages to hold Phantom, using his speeding molecules to keep Phantom from phasing through his grip. Danny gritting his teeth as the other heroes ready to capture him. Fine. If he can't phase through, he'll just phase in. Phantom uses his icy breath to freeze everything around them. Superman quickly uses his laser vision to melt the ice covering the room in mist, trying to keep themselves from being frozen. "Flash!" When the mist cleared the was no sign of him. Superman using his hearing to try and locate him- despite guarding his right side, he was kicked into the wall by Flash. Flash's eyes glowing bright green. "Well this is weird." -Proceeds to fight in Flash's body for a moment, until he gets knocked out of it. Danny's on his last legs, thinking he barely done a number on them (Not realizing he had been giving them quite a fight). Danny tries to reason again only to hear Amity Park doing great since GIW involvement. Still he isn't backing down. Even mentions Lex is backing them. He knows its only temporary peace if its really peace at all. Which he suspects is a big farce. Besides the portal still resides in Amity. GIW can't get a hold of that- portal. If he can't make them hear him out, then he'll show them why Vlad isn't just some victim. (Not realizing what Justice League may have already discovered) "Want to know why the number 2 worse billionaire is after Fruitloop?" standing up as the net placed on him burned and electrified him. It hurt so much, but he wasn't ready to quit now. Superman flew out in front of the others to block Phantom as Phantom tackled him. Phantom just uses rest of his strength to crash Superman through layers of floors til they reached the secret lab. Superman flinging Phantom into the other side of the room just as they landed, making him slam into a green tube, shattering it. The netting having dropped to the ground away from him. He coughed, shaking as a white ring dangerously popped around his waist shakily dancing, until Phantom sucked it back in. Not yet. The green ectoplasm from the tube soaking into his skin. His eyes widening as he saw what the green ectoplasm was from, jumping back with a disgust yell. He watched the clone fizzle out. "ALREADY? Really Vlad?" He shook off the creeps. "What is this?" "A Lab, du-UAHHHHHHH-" He found himself being spun around by Flash, and flung into the air where he was lassoed. Wonder Woman yanked on the rope tight, swinging him down into the opposite wall. He really was tired of being walled by them. Batman was quick to cuff him as Superman froze him in place. Danny raised a tired brow, unamused. "Are we chill now?" "No." "Thought so." ---bit more talking. Danny navigating his way through the truth of the lasso before using his wail as his last ditch effort to escape. Manages to escape through the portal as the lab collapses.

[thisreadswhatever]

The Chase: Part One

Pretty Sweet

series masterlist

[description]: jax teller x female reader

[wordcount]: 2.7k+

[summary]: Jax Teller is used to getting what he wants. At least that was the case before he met you.

[cw]: 18+ only minors do not interact - AU, follows some canon characters & themes but timeline is different. otherwise none yet, but stick with me, I have a smutty plan!

[authors note]: this has been really fun to write. thank you so much to this anon for requesting this idea! I plan on writing a good few parts of this.. as I am really loving writing this reader insert. if you have any ideas or suggestions on where you would like this to go, please let me know! I absolutely love getting your suggestions. I really hope you enjoy!

It had been a long sixteen hour drive. You sighed with relief as you sped past the large wooden slice, “WELCOME TO CHARMING”. You rolled your windows down, the wind blistering through your hair as you took in the warm California sun. 

You turned the music up, attempting to drown out the events replaying in your head that led you here in the first place. 

Charming wasn’t exactly on your bucket list of places to travel. Your parents had split a few years back, after your mom decided she could no longer handle the baggage that came with the Sons of Anarchy MC. Your Dad was an avid member of the Denver Charter, and she soon realised she couldn’t sit back and watch as he grew deeper into the Club. It was a quick and amicable divorce, made easier by the fact you were an only child and more than understanding of why the relationship had to end. You were old enough to see the pain your mom went through trying to make it work, and you knew that it was the best decision for them both. Your Dad on the other hand, never really got over it. 

When your mom remarried last year, he decided to leave Colorado and transferred to the SAMCRO Charter. Charming was his home now. He’d been begging you to visit him for months, and despite the fact you were genuinely pleased that he was happy, seeing him so far from home and content without his family wasn’t something you’d looked forward too. 

Charming was a small place, and from what your Dad had told you, it had never really left the seventies. Denver was the total opposite, a city full of life and people, and ever growing with new expanding chains of business. Even with the freezing winters, there was always something to do in Denver. But Charming? They barely had a population of fifteen thousand. 

You had evaded the trip for as long as you could, blaming college assignments and exams for the reason you couldn’t make the drive. Now that you’d graduated, the excuses had run thin, and it was time to visit your Dad in Charming. 

You pulled into the road of the address he had given you, entering a long unpaved driveway that ended on the outside of a dainty cabin. Your Dad’s bike was parked stagnant on the dirt. You dug your suitcase out from your trunk and walked up the wooden steps to the porch, bringing your hand to the door to knock. Before your knuckles could meet the wood, the door flung wide and your Dad lunged at you with open arms. 

“You’re finally here!”, he squealed in excitement as he grasped you into a giant bear hug.

“‘Finally’ is right. That was a serious drive, Dad.”

He took your suitcase and carried it through the entryway. “Sure is. I’m so glad you got here safely, kiddo. Come on, let’s get you settled. You hungry? I was just about to make some lunch.”

You followed him inside as you observed the interior of the quaint, dusty cabin. “I could definitely eat.” 

—

Your Dad showed you to your room and then became sidetracked from lunch, giving you a full tour of his new home and the complete low down of all things SAMCRO. He’d explained that the place was owned by the Club, but nobody ever frequented it unless they were in hiding. Your Dad was housed here for the long term, or at least until he could find something he liked better inside the Charming suburbs. 

Once he’d caught you up, he made his start on lunch. You watched as he strolled throughout the kitchen, sitting patiently at the small round dining table. 

“It’s a nice place, Dad. Not sure how I feel that you’re out here all alone though.”

“I’m barely here, kiddo. Spend most of my time down the Clubhouse.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued to make sandwiches, dropping a piece of turkey in the process. “I can’t wait for you to meet the guys, y/n. A lot more warm than the ones up in Denver. Some of them are your age too.” He placed the plate in front of you, and you grimaced at the site. Your Dad had never claimed to be a great chef. 

“Thanks.” You smiled at him politely, taking a bite and struggling to swallow down the piece of dry sandwich. “I’m sure they’re great, Dad.”

“So, how’s your mom?” 

You shrugged dismissively, unsure how to broach the uncomfortable topic of the newly weds. “She’s doing well. Mike is good to her.” 

He nodded. “That’s good. I’m really glad she’s happy.” 

It was hard to see your Dad try to be okay with the fact that your mom had moved on. The awkward silence was interrupted by his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up from the table. “Finish lunch and we can head on out. The guys are getting together at the Clubhouse tonight, you can meet them all there.”

You knew an evening with a bunch of Californian bikers was going to be inevitable during your trip. At least you could get it over with on the first night. 

“Sounds great, Dad.” 

—

You weren’t thrilled to be back in the confines of your car so soon after your long road trip, but your Dad knew better than to ask you to sit on the back of his motorcycle.

You rolled the windows down of your car as you followed his bike through the winding road from the cabin. As you re-entered Charming, you passed by locally run stores and cafes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was a quiet, peaceful town. But you did know better. You knew what the Club’s presence actually meant for a small community like Charming. If SAMCRO was anything similar to the Denver Charter, the underworkings of this town would be anything but quiet and peaceful. 

You pulled into the lot of Teller-Morrow Automotive Repairs, instantly drawn to the huge row of Harley motorcycles lined up on the inner bays.

Your Dad parked up and met you outside your car, telling you all about his new job in the garage as you walked together. He led you across the lot towards a small black door, entering into the SAMCRO clubhouse. It was impressive, a comfortable space with its own bar and lounge area. The place was full of MC memorabilia and pictures from the club’s long history. The furthest wall was centered by two large double doors that were surrounded by mugshots of the SAMCRO members. You had visited the Denver Clubhouse enough to know that room was where the decisions were made.

Your Dad introduced you one by one to several members that were there, a few of which he’d mentioned to you that afternoon. Bobby, Chibs, Trager, Juice and Opie all greeted you with open arms. They were extremely friendly and welcoming, just as your father had promised. The one your Dad called Trager seemed very pleased with your arrival, hugging you for a little too long. Your Dad managed to break the long embrace, pulling you away to start touring you around the building. 

“Don’t get too close to that one, kiddo. He’s a little out there.” 

You giggled as you nodded in agreement, “I’ll keep my distance.” 

—

You sat alongside the club’s Secretary, Bobby, on a leather bench that faced out with a view of the entire room. You observed as the Clubhouse filled with more members and women, a handful of which were old ladies. The rest of them, very clearly single. Of all the members you’d met so far, Bobby had been the easiest to talk to. He clued you in on some of the Club’s legitimate businesses, Cara Cara and Red Woody Productions. You figured that’s where most of the girls came from, retired and current porn stars. 

It was a little strange, and anyone else may have felt uneasy seeing their father in this kind of environment. But you were used to the life of girls and guns from growing up with a dad in a motorcycle club. The Denver Charter had its fair share of women in and out of their doors, but mainly just bartenders and the odd crow eater looking for a way in. These girls were more forward, scantily clothed, makeup on point, and obviously comfortable with their surroundings.  

Bobby nudged your shoulder, regaining your attention from the party happening around you. “You know your Dad talks about you constantly. He’s so happy that you’re here, kid. We all are.” 

You glanced over at your father, a huge smile forming as he collected a drink from the bar. 

“He does seem happy. Just weird seeing him away from home.” 

“You got a home here with us too now, y/n.” He placed his arm over you and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, “we’re your family as much as we are his.” 

“That’s really sweet, Bobby. Thanks.” 

He pulled his arm back as he chuckled to himself, his large stomach bellowing as he laughed. “I am pretty sweet.” 

Suddenly, the front door opened and a roar of drunken welcomes filled the clubhouse as two more members entered. The President of SAMCRO, Clay Morrow, walked in smiling ear to ear, hands held up as though he was a celebrity greeting his adoring fans. You’d heard a lot about Clay from your father, mainly that he was the initial sponsor for his transfer from Denver, and some remarks about what an ass he was. Behind him, a much younger member followed, embracing Opie as he entered. He was different from the other members, not totally clean cut, but you could at least tell he had showered. Not only was he bathed, he wasn’t harsh on the eyes either. You watched as he talked with Opie, his hands pushing his long blonde hair behind his ears as he spoke. 

“Who’s that?” You asked Bobby, your eyes never feigning from the man. 

“That’s Jax. Club’s VP.” 

As you watched him converse with Opie, he suddenly glanced your way, locking eyes with you. You quickly turned away from him and back towards Bobby. 

“He looks a little young to be Vice President”, you mumbled as you took a swig from your beer, still conscious that he was looking at you. 

Bobby laughed, “Yeah, well, he’s a Teller. His Dad was First 9 alongside Clay and Piney Winston, Ope’s pops. Jax has been SAMCRO since he came out of the womb.” 

You raised your eyebrows, glancing back over your shoulder. Jax’s attention had now been obtained by one of the Cara Cara girls. She was pulling him in by his cutte, batting her eyelashes at him as she leaned against the bar. 

Bobby watched as you observed Jax. He sipped his drink, amused by your interest. “He’s known for his way with the ladies.” 

You wanted to press Bobby further, but your Dad suddenly was stumbling over beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“Come on over here, kid. I want you to meet my sponsor.” 

“The asshole?”, you whispered to him as you stood up from the chair.

He snickered back at you, patting you on the back. “He’s having a good day.” 

—

You were impressed by the brotherhood the Redwood Originals shared. It wasn’t unfamiliar to the Denver Charter, but the way the members of SAMCRO loved one another was palpable. You observed quietly throughout the night as they all ripped into each other with lighthearted banter and spilled beer all over the place. You were conflicted by the fact your Dad fit in so well here. It was painful to know he had chosen this life over one with you in Denver, but you still felt at peace knowing he had found a place in this family. 

He was now slumped over a leather armchair in the lounge, snoozing after one too many beers. You nudged his shoulder, trying to wake him. “I’m gonna head back to the cabin, Dad. I’ll meet you here in the morning?” 

“You sure, y/n?” He tried to stand up as he slurred, but his balance failed him, collapsing back into the seat. “I can lead you back-” 

You chuckled, placing a hand on his head as he closed his eyes, “No way are you getting on a bike in this state. I remember the way.” 

Tig overheard and slid himself beside you, placing an arm across your waist. “We’ll take care of him, sweetie. Don’t you worry. Get back safe, okay?”

You unwound from his grasp, collecting your bag from the coffee table as you searched through the contents for your keys. “Thanks Trager.”

A strange laugh left his throat as he watched you leave, before his face turned straight as a board. “Call me Tig.” 

You said your goodbyes to the members that were sober enough to communicate, and made your way to the parking lot. 

Jax Teller was sitting outside the clubhouse, journal and pencil in hand. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips.

He smiled boldly, in a way that perplexed you. Almost like he was happy to see you, even though you’d never met. He took the cigarette from his lips as he asked, “you’re Ralph’s kid, right?”

“I usually just go by y/n.”

He placed his pencil inside the journal and tucked it snug in his cutte, standing from the bench. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing, coming all this way to see him.”

You nodded, “had to make sure my Dad wasn’t living with some crazed psychopaths, you know?” 

He exhaled, his lips forming a perfect O as the smoke left his lips. “Pretty sure a few of those knuckleheads could pass for psychotic”, he teased. His mouth pulled into an infectious smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back. 

Jax walked closer towards you, your bodies now inches apart. He held out an open pack of cigarettes, prompting you to take one. You shook your head, declining the offer.

 “And what about you? How’s your level of sanity?” 

Jax hesitated. “A work in progress.” 

You smiled politely as you walked past him, making your way to the car. “Anyway, I was just leaving. Was nice meeting you.” 

Jax’s brow creased in concern, “you heading to the cabin on your own?” 

You looked over your shoulder to see him pacing behind you, flicking his cigarette to the cement.

“My Dad’s not exactly in riding order.” 

“I can take you back.” 

You stopped outside your car and turned to him, scoffing at how forward he was. “I met you thirty seconds ago.”

“So?” He shrugged. 

“I don’t really think that’s appropriate.” 

“I’m not asking to get in bed with you, y/n. You can ride the Harley with me and I’ll leave the second you’re in the cabin.” 

You opened the car door, sliding into the seat. “Not gonna happen.” 

“I won’t lay a hand on ya, darlin’,” he raised his hand up, smiling, “scouts honor.” 

You pressed your lips together, suppressing yourself from giggling at his innocent gesture. “I don’t ride bikes.” You affirmed. 

Jax cocked his head at you, confused at the statement. “Denver girl’s scared of bikes?” 

Your eyes rolled at his assumption. “No offense, but I just met you. I’m not sure my safety is your concern.” You shut the car door, realising your window had been left ajar from the way there. You wanted to curse aloud that the good Californian weather enabled the opportunity to ride with the windows down.

Jax didn’t push further, nodding his head as he watched you settle into the driver's seat. “No offense taken.”

Jax leaned his head into the open window, resting his arms on the roof of the car. You turned the ignition, letting the engine roar to life. “Nice to meet you, Jax.” 

“You too, darlin’. Will I see you again?” 

You were looking directly at him, your faces parted only by the frame of the window between you. “I’m here for the week, darlin’.” 

His lips pulled from ear to ear, smiling playfully as you put the gear in reverse, forcing his hands off the car as you pulled out of the parking lot. You peaked in the rear-view mirror, finding Jax still watching you drive away into the Charming night.

back to masterlist

[lkinguscara]

I'm crying because I love the idea of correspondence between the students leaving next year and I'd love to see more of it. The white day cards are so cute that I just want to elaborate (hc) on handwriting and maybe even writing quirks. Just Malleus (for now...)

Malleus would be really interested in how his partner writes, it's all so fascinating to him and he's a pattern noticer. The noticerrrr. And he sees so much that he even finds himself compiling all the repetitive actions you take when writing -not just what you're writing, and brings them to you to discuss further. The way you slant letters, when your pen lets up, if you type then the frequency of paragraph breaking, how you insert images, etc. I think it'd be something like "Did you know you tend to smudge the paper when you reach the furthest margin, are you perhaps left-handed? Oya, you are? I knew that to be the case." He says with a slight smile and downturned gaze because he knows he ate that. Sherlock Horns.

He would get overzealous about the fact that you're only a word away and would immediately call you with his archaic phone and pester you until you receive it. His Correspondence wouldn't actually be a surprise because you are usually visited by a heavy knock on your door and fae appropriate fanfare when it arrives, that's just etiquette when writing royalty. But, he always calls you the day he receives it so that you know he shall be returning post haste and he intends to dazzle you. In fact, you'll spend so long speaking to each other about what was written to him, that when you finally get his response, it's more or less just recapping what you spoke of two days prior. He can't hide his giddyness, even if he keeps a cool baritone while on the phone. Because you're a kind person, you pretend that his tail happily thumping against the ground is inaudible, because you know he can't help it.

He is going to surprise you by the emojis he uses because WHO taught you that!?!? He learned these from Cater and Lilia, but he doesn't change the way he speaks. It's "Good evening, How have you've been? The summer season of Briar Valley is particularly exhausting and hot💧, I am very bothered by the heat of it all.🥵🥵" and when Lilia intercepts it, he's like "that's a perfect sentence, go ahead and send it. Actually, one note, send more sweating emojis, it's really hot this summer, right?"

Your messages go through a diverse array of moderators and middle men. Those people being his Grandmother, who reminds him that he's a prince, Lilia and Silver (the two who initially opened the letter, and finally his transcriber and narrator, Sebek who scoffs at the quality of the smut you're peddling his young master, who shouldn't even be hearing this, but he'll read on against his better judgement. (It's literally benign, the furthest thing from smut, Malleus argues). His letters would look a little like this:

21.09.19XX Child, It's been nice knowing you.😌 Why do I say that? Since we've met, it seems as if Briar Valley has taken a lead in comedy and our collective temperament could not be more jovial. Your humorous description of your familiar, Grim child, was very well received by my Grandmother, as I was awoken early enough to the sounds of insects humming and birds chirping well into the night to read it aloud to me, guffawing as she spoke. (I apologize, I cannot stop her from opening my mail, but we're working on her problematic behavior, that's a fact.😉) She in particular has asked if she may keep it, you know how older individuals are with their chucklesome cat stories. 🙄 There's this understanding of the world that I just don't possess when it comes to what grabs the attention of the people's comedy, it continues to evade me. For instance, what is the humor of "surprise hot dog 🌭" and why must it be a surprise to be enjoyed? The children of Briar Valley seemingly shout this and end their sentences with it, and I am surprised and annoyed every time. It seems like you have an understanding in the matters of humor, so you are welcome to explain it to me. But I digress, If I sat down and listed to you all the things that escaped me, well, you might find yourself as old as I am by the time we've finished! 🤣The trees and wind must sense the happiness in our friendly union, and have planned accordingly to block out bad weather🌧️ and unforgiving spirits. The weather is nice enough that (forgive me I've overstretched my hand) planned your visit for sooner rather than later. Next time we meet in person, this shall be us ->🕺💃, as I've already made arrangements for a night in a cabaret club in the Capitol for us to partake in. It's a culture so far from the realm of possibility of establishing itself in our quiet little country, that I was astounded when I stumbled across its zoning request permits one day and I rushed to see it in person, paperwork be damned. The smaller fae who perform insist it to be a "cheeky, yet inoffensive showcase of the arts", and after witnessing it for myself, I knew it would be the type of entertainment you'd enjoy.🤫 Even now, it doesn't feel natural to write, like an odd mouth feel that doesn't change as I turn it over and over. A cabaret in Briar Valley, a music club in a quiet kingdom... it's as I've mentioned earlier, Briar Valley has surprisingly given itself wholly to the Joviality of life. Sincerely yours; Malleus Draconia, Heir to Briar Valley p.s Surprise hot dog 🌭

On the other hand, as confident as he is in your responses, he's always a little embarrassed to send something back. It's not fear of his ability, but rather, if you'll care to hear about the day to day of a crown prince who's routine is very boring and full of nothingburger drama. He doesn't understand that his 18 page assessment of his life is literally replacing the cable you can't afford, and when he describes the way the lion prince attacked him during a diplomatic meeting, the colorful language of his response makes you laugh, and then cry, and even gag because "how did he get close enough to gash you!?" You can see the face he's making as he writes this, pouty and angry and even chuckling when he describes the punishment that followed. Just like in his real life, Malleus has a hard time concealing his emotions. He's not shy about who he is as a person, and his writing is not either. The way it flows is a little different from traditional correspondence, if anything, he's sending you disjointed journal entries and prose while also clipping what you send him to respond directly. Your 2 page crapped out response filled with emojis and memes and inside jokes is returned in full by 20 pages of thoughtful dialogue, assessments of politics and fondness of your life, and even sketches of the things around him (okay... just gargoyles and Sebek, but those are things in all fairness.) He has a real zest that he doesn't try to contain, and even his handwriting gives it away. When he's in a good mood, it's very pristine, heavily slanted cursive that his heavy hand oppresses by not dotting his i's or crossing his t's. It's just understood between you two what he means. Likewise, when he's angry or melancholic it's surprisingly very light, almost inelligeble as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. He must be getting up and pacing, because of course he is. When upset or recounting something terrible, his handwriting is unusually neat, funnily enough the sentences are much shorter, as if he's hiding something or thinking long about what should be said next. He's a very wistful person, after all.

Malleus enjoys fine art that seeks to appease the senses and refine beauty, so attached to his letters will often be trinkets like necklaces, earrings, watches, and pocket squares that he found in shops in Briar Valley, or a ticket to a play or music shows that dazzled him. The heavier packages (these tend to come at random) are filled with small desserts, books on the anthropological history of different fae species, woven pieces from more aesthetically competent fae and their fashion, and of course, fragmented pieces of ancient gargoyles he found hiding in deserted rooms of the castle. <- He'll know if you've thrown it away, so hold on to the heavy, weird rock fragment, please.

[glutengoblin]

Too Sweet (Part 1) - Sebastian Sallow X Reader

A/N: Hello everyone! My name is Ari! I used to write fanfiction back in the day, but took a break for a while. I've recently decided to restart my writing journey. This is the first of many pieces I have in my drafts - please let me know if you enjoy it, if you'd like to see more from me, and if you have any suggestions! I would really appreciate it.

This story is inspired by "Too Sweet" by Hozier, which I have been playing on repeat for days at this point.

Also, if you'd like to be friends, please reach out! I would love to get to know you!

Summary: Sebastian has a problem, and that problem is his best friend. She is simply too sweet for him, and can't get her out of his head. Will he do something about his feelings, or choose to continue to keep them a secret? (She/Her Pronouns, House Neutral)

Word Count: 2.6 K

______________________________________________________________

10 am was typically when Ominis could expect his dear friend and roommate to show his head on a Saturday morning. Though Sebastian always managed to get up for classes for time, the weekend struggle of being left to his own devices never seemed to evade him.

Ominis raised an eyebrow as he felt the brunette sit in his typical spot, with a bit rougher descent than usual. To the casual observer, Sebastian’s hair looked particularly unruly this morning - a sure fire sign he had an “interesting” night.

Without even bidding Ominis good morning, Sebastian poured himself a large cup of black coffee. He inhaled the scent as he brought the mug to his lips, hoping it may bring him back to life. The first sip was always the best to him - his now typical 3 am escapades had made him dependent on the bitter substance. And at this point, he honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. Sebastian reveled in the night time, enjoying the time away from prying eyes, time where he could truly focus on his work.

Even without sight, Ominis could tell Sebastian had a rough night- The tell tale smell of smoke covered him, a sure fire sign that he had been up late practicing confrigo in the undercroft, or perhaps a more dangerous location.

Despite the events that had occurred during the end of his fifth year, eventually Anne had chosen to forgive him. After many long conversations, Anne had also given Sebastian the okay to continue with his research, but only if he swore to Merlin that he would no longer go anywhere near dark magic. So far, he had managed to keep his nose clean- but his desire to help his sister his sister was strong as ever, so he opted to spend as much time as he could looking for a cure. It being his seventh year with N.E.W.T.S quickly approaching, Sebastian had been struggling to find time during the day to work on anything other than his studies. Despite the common misconception, Sebastian was actually one of the best students in his year. Having grown up with professors for parents, a jest for learning was instilled within him from early life.

So far, Sebastian had managed to stick to his plan: study during the day, research at night. The one downfall to Sebastian’s focus was Y/N. Ever perfect, sickeningly sweet Y/N, who seemed to be unaware of how absolutely mad she drove him.

Though he wouldn’t admit it to himself, Sebastian had been in love with her since she first knocked him on his ass during Defense Against the Dark Arts. Being one of the best duelist at Hogwarts, Sebastian was not used to being beat so easily- Especially by someone who had only know of the existence of magic for less than a year. Though they were good friends and spent exorbitant amounts of time together in the undercroft, Sebastian still could never get enough of her. Her presence was like a drug to him. He often found his eyes stuck to her during lessons, during meals, basically any time she was in the near vicinity of him. Right now, his eyes tracked her across the great hall, as she had an animated conversation with Garreth. He stared, trying to determine what topic had gotten her so excited, hoping that one day he may be able to bring it up “accidentally”. His focus was so great that he barely noticed Ominis’s hand waving in front of his face.

“Earth to Sebastian… Are you still in there?” The blonde looked at him, puzzled, until he followed Sebastian’s gaze. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slightly disappointed sigh.

Sebastian startled a bit, and turned to look at his friend. “Yes, what exactly did you want to talk about Ominis?” Ominis muttered something to himself about Sebastian’s inability to listen to any one but himself, before responding.

“I had asked if you were still planning on going to the Three Broom Sticks tonight. Natty, Poppy, Imelda, and Amit are all insisting we go.” Sebastian looked down at the table, taking another sip of his coffee, trying to weigh his options.

“You might just have to go without me, I have a very interesting lead that I-”

“Y/N will be there.” Ominis cut him off with a slight smirk on his face, waiting for his friend’s reaction.

“On second thought… Perhaps you could count me in. I could also read more of my book from there.” Sebastian let out a sheepish smile as Ominis tisked, not surprised at Sebastian’s sudden change of heart at all.

Sebastian looked away, drawing another long sip from his coffee, before looking up. To his surprise, he found the object of his unadmitted obsession standing right before him.

Y/N had walked over, clearly excited about something, as she eagerly took a seat across from the boys at the Slytherin table. “Well if it isn’t my two favorite friends! How are you on this fine moment.” Sebastian let out a soft chuckle, studying her face with a gentle smile.

“Nothing much… What’s got you all excited today?” Y/N grinned, leaning in a bit more to whisper to the two.

“Well, I just found out its Imelda’s birthday today. And I was thinking it would be a wonderful idea to throw her a surprise party! We’re all going to the Three Broom Sticks anyway- might as well set up a few decorations while we’re at it.”

Ominis let out a slight huff, looking at Y/N with a puzzled look on his features. “Are you sure she won’t have your head for doing that- I mean, this is Imelda we’re talking about. I don’t really want to clean up whatever blood is spilled from the after math.” Y/N let out a chuckle, taking Ominis’s hand and squeezing gently.

“While I appreciate the concern, I’m sure it’ll be okay. I’m going to make it Quidditch themed!” She grinned in excitement, sending a small shiver down Sebastian’s spine. He longed to be the cause of that type of grin one day.

Ominis shook his head, giving her a small smile. “If you say so, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Sebastian choose to chime in at that point, “Let me know if you need any help. I’m not exactly sure what I could do, but I’d be happy to assist in any way possible.” Y/N looked thoughtful as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the same pitcher Sebastian had used earlier - the only difference being that she choose to dump an exorbitant amount of sugar and milk into her mug too. She preferred her morning beverage sickly sweet, quite the opposite of Sebastian. Still Sebastian found it endearing, he loved watching her try to make the perfect concoction… Gosh, he was a goner.

Ominis, a bit disturbed by the silence at the table, choose to elbow Sebastian in the side at that moment. “Anyway, it was great to see you Y/N. Sebastian and I must be going. I need to pick up some supplies from Pippins.” Ominis stood, waiting for Sebastian to join him.

Sebastian stood as well, flashing her one last smile. “Send an owl if you need me.” He followed Ominis out of the great hall, much to his dismay.

_____________________________________________________________

Spring had just begun to show its face as Sebastian and Ominis approached the path to Hogsmeade. The sun was out, which added a bit of warmth to an otherwise chilly day. The trees still hadn’t recovered their leaves from the fall prior, but the grass was beginning to show hints of green, a surefire sign that warmer days were soon to come. Lost in silent contemplation, Sebastian had his arms crossed behind his back as they meandered at a casual pace. Eventually, Ominis broke the silence with a question that Sebastian had been dreading asking himself.

“So, when are you planning on divulging your feelings to Y/N?” Ominis said expectingly. Truth be told, he had begun to grow a bit tired of his friend's endless pining. At first, it was heart warming to see 5th year Sebastian focused on someone other than Anne for once. But at this point, especially with graduation approaching, Ominis hoped his friend would build up the courage to do something about his feelings that seemed to be almost all consuming.

Sebastian sighed, running a hand through his hair as he often did when worried - it was his nervous tick. Sebastian considered his options, but he was long past being able to lie to Ominis about his feelings at this point. Everyone with eyes, except for Y/N of course, seemed to be aware of the brunette’s strong feelings for a certain ancient magic yielder. “Honestly Ominis… Probably nothing. Truth be told, I think she’s too good for me. You see how selfless she is- she constantly puts everyone before herself, running errands for them. How could she possibly like someone like me? I mean,” he let out a small chuckle, “I can barely keep up with my work. And I almost drove her down the path of dark magic once… Who says she even really trusts me at this point? She’s too sweet for me. She be better off with someone like Garreth.”

Ominis let out a small sigh as he continued to walk, a bit displeased by his friend’s ignorance of the situation. After all, it was pretty obvious that Y/N returned his affections if one took the time really observe the situation. After all, Y/N had told Ominis just last week that she had actually turned down Garreth when he asked her on a date. Ominis considered telling Sebastian this tad bit of information, but decided to keep it to himself instead. Sebastian needed to figure this out on his own.

By this time, they had reached the bridge and were joining the busier streets of Hogsmeade. “Whatever you say Sebastian, but I think you’re wrong about her. Perhaps you should try a make an advance at the party tonight.”

Sebastian let out a chuckle at that, shaking his head. “You’re impossible… but perhaps I’ll try, should the opportunity present itself. Its also funny, I think this is the first time you’ve actually admitted you have feelings for her.” Sebastian punched him gently in the arm at that, letting out a small huff.

They made their way to Pippins, only stopping to throw a spare coin in Ernie’s hat as he put on yet another one of his magical street displays. Truth be told, Sebastian had a decent feeling about tonight. Though he was still hesitant to potentially affect their friendship, his feelings for Y/N had reached a breaking point.

______________________________________________________________

After their Hogsmeade excursion, Sebastian and Ominis had made their way back to the castle to prepare for the recently declared surprise party. Typically Sebastian wore whatever he could pull out of his closet first. This time though, he took his time trying to decide between his limited collection of jumpers. Growing frustrated, he flopped back on his bed in the dorm he and Ominis shared, startling his roommate a bit.

In typical Ominis fashion, Ominis was already ready to go and looking rather dashing at that. Sebastian often found it ironic that his blind friend could clean up better than he could - not that it was hard to do, Sebastian tended to rely on his decent looks to make a good impression.

“Are you almost ready to go Sebastian? We need to leave in 5 minutes if we don’t want to be late for the festivities.” Sebastian let out a groan, staring up at the dark green canopy that covered his plush bed.

“Almost, I just can’t decide what jumper to wear. I’m thinking maybe the green one?”

“How very Slytherin of you. I think that’ll be fine, Sebastian. If you’re worried about Y/N, I think she’ll like whatever you wear.” Sebastian relented and pulled on his favorite green jumper, running a brush through his hair a couple of times (for the first time in longer than he’d like to admit), and even added some the woodsy cologne Anne had gifted him for Christmas as a special touch. Looking in the mirror, he felt his outfit was suitable enough for a party. His brown boots, khaki trousers, and dark green jumper all suited him nicely. For good measure, he grabbed a book, just in case he should find himself in a situation where he needed it. It was rare nowadays to find him without one, anyway.

Once he was fully ready, Ominis ushered him out the door, eager to depart the Slytherin common room before Imelda had the opportunity to try and hound them for information as to why everyone was suddenly acting strange.

Thankfully, they made it out of the castle interrogation-free, and started making their way towards Hogsmeade for the second time that day.

______________________________________________________________

Not that he had ever doubted her, but what Y/N had managed to pull off in just a day was truly amazing. As Sebastian and Ominis walked into the Three Broom Sticks, they were greeted with a full range of decorations - green streamers crowded the ceiling, confetti containing mini brooms and snitches was splashed across the tables, which were also covered in deep green table clothes. Music was playing in the background, a testament to Y/N’s ability to plan. She truly thought of everything.

As the pair made their way over to the bar, Y/N ran to meet them, engulfing them in a massive group hug.

“You made it! I was getting concerned that you wouldn’t show up. I wouldn’t be a party without the whole gang here!” She gave them a toothy grin that made Sebastian’s stomach turn. He had to admit, though he typically regarded himself as a strong person, she had a way of making him turn into absolute putty in her hands. If she flashed that smile at him, he would simply do anything she requested, without hesitation.

Ominis broke Sebastian’s pining thoughts with a small chuckle. “Well, I’m sorry if we were almost late. But I’ll have you know that its because our dear friend here couldn’t decide on a jumper. For twenty whole minutes.” At that, Sebastian laughed sheepishly, rubbing his neck with his hand as his eyes pointed towards the floor.

“What can I say, I dress to impress.”

After a few more pleasantries, Y/N had to return to host duties and disappeared from sight. This left Sebastian and Ominis to the bar, where Sebastian intended on staying. Typically, he would have a drink and hand and start making the rounds, perhaps sliding a few flirtatious remarks towards any fellow Hogwarts students that caught his fancy. In this instance, however, it felt almost traitorous. It had since he had developed feelings for her. Honestly, it had felt that way since the day he met her. The first day, when she handed him his ass in DADA and still had the audacity to be nice about it.

Giving Sirona a proper greeting, Sebastian soon enough had his beloved butterbeer in hand. The sickly sweet syrup of the drink always seemed to sooth him, reminding him that no matter how dark his thoughts may sometimes get, at least sweet things exist. One of those was Y/N. His thoughts simply couldn’t escape her at this point, replaying her like the melody from a song one has heard multiple times, but could never place. Somehow, he instantly knew her and didn’t - but he certainly longed to learn more.

Ominis let out a small huff, tapping Sebastian’s arm lightly. “Sebastian, you are still there, aren’t you? You’re rather quiet… Especially for you.” Sebastian sighed, and gripped Ominis’s arm, mulling over his next words.

“Yes I am… and I think it’s time that I finally do something about my feelings for Y/N.”

[the-kr8tor]

HII, well, this is my first time writing reques, so I'm sorry if something is not clear, and English is not my first language😭😭

Can you write Hobie x reader hurt/comfort, where Hobie had to leave them for a some long time without warning, because of his some kind of spider-thing or for the safety of the reader, they thought that they would not see him again and were super worried, but he’s returned!Something like thatt.

SORRY AGAIN FOR THE WAY I WRITING, also love your works so muchh, thank you!!😋

Hi hun! Thank you for requesting! Don't worry your english is fine, english isn't my first language either. I'm glad you like my works! Hope you like it ��️

Hobie Brown x gn!reader

TW injury, violence mention, hurt/comfort.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

It's been a month, a long agonizing, torturous month without Hobie, sure you're used to going through days without seeing him, that's normal for you both, with him busy with being Spider-Punk and you with work. But this is different, you haven't heard from him, not a single call or even a simple text of 'hey, I'm still alive'

The only indication that he hasn't kicked the bucket yet is his occasional sightings in the news. And even that is rare, the last time he was on the news was a week ago.

You've never been more afraid for him.

Your anxiety is at an all time high, your legs tensing up under the heavy blanket you covered yourself with. You can't sleep, eyes wide open, staring at nothing, but your mind races through different scenarios of Hobie getting hurt, or worse.

You shake your head, inhaling and exhaling, trying to calm yourself down. It was futile, again you watch the news, waiting to see his familiar suit, and again you're disappointed at another day of not seeing a proof of life.

You still don't know if not seeing him on the nightly news is a good or bad thing. On the other hand you get to see him, but was it worth watching him get beaten up? But if you don't see him, your own mind betrays you, imagining his current state, is he okay? Is he even eating or taking a break? You curse at whoever keeps hunting him down.

You miss your Hobie, a single tear slides down on your cheek. What if he doesn't come back? What if this is his way of breaking it off with you?

The only indication of your relationship is the marks he left in your flat. His toothbrush next to yours, his clothes in your drawer that you've cleared out just for him, a mug still sitting on your counter, right where he left it.

You swallow down a sob, pulling up the covers to your chin, as if it brings you comfort.

You hear a creaking sound behind you.

Opening your eyes, you see a shadow creeping up your bed. You flip away the heavy covers off you, this could only be one person.

Your intuition is right, you see Hobie hanging upside down on your fire exit, as he tries to open your window quietly. The spikes on his mask shine in the moonlight, immediately calming you down.

You breathe a huge sigh of relief.

You call out his name softly, as he gracefully lets himself inside your room. You don't notice the slight limp in his step, too engrossed in finally seeing him alive and well.

"Did I wake you up?" He asks softly.

"No, I wasn't sleeping" these past few weeks, you wanted to add, but you bite your tongue, not wanting to fight, you just want him back in your arms again.

You take a step towards him, but he backs away further. Yet you push forward, determined to hug him, to check on him.

Your fingers skim over the hem of his leather vest, careful of any injuries he might have. Hobie grabs your hand gingerly, caressing the soft skin.

"I'm alright, I'm alright, lovey" the whites of his mask evades your eyes.

"Let me look at you, please" you raise your free hand over the edge of his mask, slowing your movements, so he has the chance to stop you.

He doesn't, instead, Hobie lets go of your intertwined hands, so you could use both in taking off his mask.

"I was worried about you y'know" you try to make light of the situation, lifting his mask up to his nose, sneaking a quick look to check for bruises "I've basically been glued on the telly, waiting for –" you stop yourself once you finally lift off the mask, a small gasp leaving your lips.

Hobie's cheeks were sunken in, his eyes bloodshot, the color now dull. The most concerning though is the deep red gash that runs from the corner of his brow up to the middle of his forehead.

Your heart shatters at the sight.

"Hobie–" your eyes get glossy.

"Fuck, don't cry for me" he grabs you by the shoulder, dragging you towards him for an embrace, Hobie ignores the slight sting when your head hits his injured shoulder "I'm alright, yeah?" He rubs your trembling back "I'm so fucking sorry, I should've told you– fuck I'm sorry"

Hobie hugs you tightly, he thinks about all the close calls he had, his heart clenches at the thought of leaving you without a word. Forever wondering what happened to him.

He kisses the top of your head.

"I thought I'll never see you again" you say in between sobs, "never do that again" lifting your head from his aching shoulder, you grasp the back of his neck, affectionately massaging the tensed muscles underneath.

He nods, Wiping the fallen tears off your wet cheeks "I'm home, love"

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Thanks for reading! Consider reblogging if you enjoyed ❤️❤️❤️

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if i cut off someone reaching out for help on tumblr? i am a very anxious person. ive been on tumblr a very long time because most all other social media terrifies me as someone who grew up with the wild west internet a decade past (im in my late 20s) so i feel sometimes with how reckless and spurractic people can be online in chatroom and especially clearly public platforms where any stranger, malicious or otherwise can just archive your digital presence for personal use.

more recently as someone who has been here during the pornban and as an asexual really enjoyed the quiet with no drama farming and a slow pace to talk about more unique political topics in a measured way it is something im strangely nostalgic for and a great example of my sensibilities to people when they insist that i use other platforms like discord or twitter or whatever clone for these services comes out of the old guard introducing feature creep to copy everyone else or any other indi "were the anti corporate version" of the endless scroll apps. i just dont want it. tumblr is special because im desktop only, been here for years, and i have kept track of every single change made so i have manually adjusted the change through hacks to evade every bad decision on here and make my set up look identical to how it was in 2010. so let it be understood that i tend to be a loney person because of this stubbornness. web 3.0 is too dangerous to people with addictive tendencies that my adhd brings out and my need to wear my heart on my sleeve. so i hope i defended my personality type enough to show why someone like me would see a post about some horrible abuses they have fell victim to who also share alot of the marginalized status as me and writing depressive things in the replys of others posts as to attention seek about it.

i directly interact with this person, not only to check if they are real (but wow, modern chat bots make this part horrifying for me. we really cant ever know for sure what is real anymore. trying to find warmth on the internet feels impossible now a days) i have multiple conversations at this point both venting and just casually shooting the shit. but the begging for me to constantly repost their paypal makes me so nervous in a way that i feel so guilty for because it reminds me of all the scams that get associated with this kind of ebegging and the reminder that capitalism takes away all warmth from human interaction to make them purely transnational and conditional. but then it just has been escalating where im so scared that now its not enough that im reposing on my 8 follower, all mutual blog, they are asking me to share it on other socials. accounts i do not have i have a flip phone and a laptop and i am tinkering with a windows 7 tower that will never be connected to the internet so i can always have software sit perfectly in its time capsule for when i need it. i do not have a way to help this person outside of what i learned from collage psyche classes. a part of me is so scared to just abruptly cut them off and just delete my entire account like i tend to do often on tumblr for a multitude of reasons, its a part of what lets people survive being here this long but i worry that would crush them if i did that, i dont want to make them feel more hopeless and unwanted then they already talk about. but i am text on the internet through a screen. i can only do so much. so would i be the asshole if i just deleted my account with a "i hope you hang in there, the world is a harsh place but keep moving" to cut someone so similar to me who is struggling out of my life?

What are these acronyms?

[cosmicaces]

i've never been good at writing intros to posts and that isn't gonna change today, esp since only a handful of people are probably gonna read this. i am making this post for me, because this is something i noticed and i wanna talk about it. leave it to me to make a detailed post about a character from a movie from three years ago.

rody has pstd! let's talk about it

[ID: A screenshot from MHA: World Heroes' Mission. Rody is pointing at Deku, winking. Deku looks annoyed. End ID.]

to preface this:

i am not a professional 👍 i have ptsd 👍

analyzing characters is fun for me! this is how i am interpreting rody with what i know about him from the little media he's been in + some additional speculation. feel free to incorporate this into your belief system. or not! all that i ask is that you bear with me.

now, before i get into it (preface...2!):

everyone knows about fight or flight, right? well, did you know that there are actually 5 trauma responses? fight, flight, freeze, fawn, and flop. (there may be more, but these are the ones that have the most information on them.)

fight and flight are the body's primary responses to a bad situation. freeze, fawn, and flop are more complex responses that happen when the first two aren't available. little self-explanatory, but for the sake of infodumping:

freeze: the body is in a state of hyperarousal. the muscles are tight and ready for action but is ultimately paralyzed. think of a deer in headlights.

fawn/befriend/submit: this response involves complying/befriending the aggressor; people-pleasing in an effort to remain safe. this is more common in cases of abuse.

flop/shutdown/collapse: the body is in a state of hypoarousal, aka its shutting down; muscles go slack, brain stops receiving sensory info. this can often result in fainting. you know how some people faint when they see blood? or when they're on a rollercoaster? yeah, it's this.

it's important to have this context. as a matter of fact, you probably already know where i'm going with this:

rody faints when deku is climbing up the bridge. of course, right? he had reached such a heightened level of fear that, when his brain realized it couldn't trigger one of the other four responses, he just... flopped. why bring this up? well, and i think this is easy to miss, but rody didn't pass out once. he actually passed out twice.

when they first reached the train, it appears that, in their brief moment of safety, rody had collapsed.

[ID: Deku picks up Rody to shield him from Beros's oncoming arrow attack. End ID.]

[ID: Deku is carrying Rody, swinging under the bridge in an effort to evade Beros's attacks. At the end, Rody appears as though he is coming to. End ID.]

up until this point, rody had been freaking out during their escape from the police. for him to have no initial response to being physically moved by deku... hell, he looks like he's just coming to. if we're going based off of the dub, he even yells "what's happening?!" simply put: he shut down and, more specifically, he shut down in what had been perceived as a moment of respite.

the reason i point this out is because, while we don't choose our trauma responses, there are events that can impact what they can be.

so... what is the purpose of the flop response?

quoting from an article here, but it's thought to help people in three different ways: to reduce the mental impact of the circumstances, to cause a physical disconnect (thus experiencing the trauma less directly), and to prevent additional assault.

the point i'm trying to make here is, well...

[ID: A flashback showing Rody protecting his siblings. A villain strikes him with a pipe. End ID.]

rody's been assaulted! and this is only one instance that we know of. we don't fully know what he's had to go through when providing for his siblings, but there is no doubt that there have been negative repercussions on his mentality.

did you notice how he startles easily?

[ID: Rody puts his hand on Deku's shoulder, scaring him. His response startles Rody, causing him to flinch backwards. End ID.]

[ID: Bakugou suddenly appears behind Rody, causing him to jump. He flinches back, turning to face him. Pino is also startled, flying to sit over on his other shoulder. End ID.]

with ptsd, some people can develop an exaggerated startle response. this happens when your nervous system gets stuck in survival mode. your brain is hypervigilant; any sudden sound or movement that you don't expect can make you feel like you're in danger and your body has to be ready to react in a given moment.

look at the difference between how deku and rody flinch. deku has a standard flinch, but rody violently flinches, almost as though he's been struck. do you see how he moves his head? his arms? how, after both instances, he's starting to sweat? yeah 👍

continuing along this line of thinking, let's talk about rody's attempted betrayal.

[ID: Rody being approached by the oni villain. He braces himself for the attack, clutching at his head. End ID.]

i feel like most people, when cornered and under the imminent threat of being attacked, try to block it or defend from it in some way. rody... didn't do that. as a matter of fact, it looks like he's trying to hide.

[ID: Deku runs towards Rody, shielding him from an arrow. Rody panics and turns away. End ID.]

additionally, in this scene, rody is apologizing. in this moment, he sincerely believed that deku was going to hurt him for his betrayal. instead of trying to run, he just... froze. braced himself again. i know he was very scared, but, despite deku having just saved him, seeing his fear at being approached... psychologically, there's something else going on here.

i think rody had been re-traumatized.

again, we only have that one flashback regarding a violent encounter with villains, but i genuinely have reason to believe that it wasn't a one-off scenario. the only reason rody tried to fight was to defend his siblings. they are his reason for continuing forward. but... what if there were times when they weren't there? and he had to face the villains by himself?

... yeah. i think that's why he responded the specific way that he did. his life was actively in danger, yes, but how many times had he been in that position? pleading, trying to garner sympathy about his siblings, wanting to be let go? i think the severity of his psychological distress in that instant is what caused him to try and hide rather than attempt to minimize any incoming damage.

as for feeling threatened by deku, that can be easily explained, too. rody talked quite a bit about betrayal, it seemed like a very natural thing to talk about. he's probably had to betray some villains and gotten hurt for it. honestly, you could probably argue that this contributed to his confusion regarding deku protecting him instead.

similarly with starting posts, i am also very bad at ending them 👍

tldr; rody soul has ptsd as a result of his encounters with villains after his father's disappearance. this has given him an exaggerated startle response as well as both a freeze/collapse response in times where his life is threatened. who knows what other symptoms he may have! what we can say for sure is that this kid needs therapy.

if you read all this, thanks! i hope you enjoyed me dissecting him like a bug.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

i did not break my own heart last night thinking about the missing 1941 scene and have it sat in my brain all of today spinning around like a fucking microwave in order to not make you lot suffer with me. and i somehow feel i may be right about this so buckle up and lets break it down.

so yes, following on from this post, i think that there is going to be a third 1941 scene. twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. it's been literally set up like that by even bringing back 1941 into s2 in the first place. but we're missing a crucial detail because it does not - at all, really - explain how they went from evading danger from hell and having a cosy candlelit bottle of red to celebrate, to the bastard 1967 scene. we all know this, this is nothing new.

the symbolism of nightingales is probably going to cast a shadow on this. these two excellent analyses look at the meaning of nightingales in the context of R&J, and the relation that the song has to this point in time, respectively. in summary; it's a song that should be around in 1941 courtesy of vera lynn and others, and the nightingale itself carries the meaning of love being hidden and forbidden by way of it singing under the cover of darkness, before being replaced with reality and soberness - represented by the lark. the Dinner of '41 scene is set in the bookshop at night; this would parallel - that they are safe and concealed, and truths can be shared, but the writing is on the wall that stepping outside would be to shatter the illusion, so to speak. it might be that the song itself gets miracled up onto the record player, or a wireless lying about - whatever. note: i don't think they'll dance though, not given crowley in ep5, "you don't dance"... but then again, if there ISNT a kiss in s3-1941, an aborted dance seems like the next best option... the cowardly one, but i'll take it

this would also track with aziraphale having his epiphany after the church in s1-1941; specifically, in my eyes, that he doesn't necessarily just realise he loves crowley, but that crowley by way of saving his books loves him too. this is only supported by the whole of the s2-1941 scene of trusting in each other as the only way to pull off the trick, the subterfuge. this is then, again, also important in the context of what i think happens in s3-1941.

i do think aziraphale is going to bring the books up again, and what crowley did, because it needs to be addressed. the Nazis/furfur confrontation has scared him, regardless of whether he saved them both, more than he realised. its put things into startling perspective. i think he's going to bring up the books, and actually question crowley a little more as to why he did it. the repeated use of, and subsequent weird reaction crowley has to, the use of the term "friend" in s2-1941 would indicate that this is going to be a focal point in s3-1941. are they just friends? is crowley disappointed that aziraphale is still referring to him as that, after what he did? 'saving' aziraphale in the church, and then saving his books? or is aziraphale just saying 'friends' so hesitantly in both instances because he's not completely sure where crowley stands?

we as the audience know the answer to this, but they obviously do not. if one of the crucial themes of s3 is going to be resolving miscommunication, it makes sense for this scene to be the first, and last, time they communicate properly... at least, until they sort out the issues that culminated in the Final Fifteen.

so let's say they start getting into a very roundabout way of discussing what they mean to each other. there will need to be the sobering, ice-water-over-the-head realisation however, as s2-1941 demonstrated, that they cannot belong to each other, because they manifestly belong to heaven and hell respectively. crowley is still being spied on, and it firmly places aziraphale in their line of sight too. it's going to bring up the holy water discussion; why crowley asked for it - to protect himself, whether by taking out demons or taking out himself, as long as it means he - and most importantly, aziraphale - does not get hurt.

they actively confess that they want to be together, in a way that is more than they are now. aziraphale wants to, but says that they can't, because it's too dangerous. crowley suggests that no one ever has to know, they can hide it (there, in the bookshop, whilst the nightingale is singing), and even if they are found out, they can run. "hell won't just be angry; they'll destroy you..." // "no one ever has to know".

aziraphale doesn't want to have to hide it, doesn't want a halfway measure- is still thinking in black and white. crowley however thinks that something is better than nothing - thinking in the grey. but ultimately, as long as they are still shackled, they cannot do what they want, and it puts the other in danger. "surely the great thing about being a demon is that you can do whatever you want" // "you sound jealous, angel...". instead, aziraphale promises that the day that they are no longer tied to heaven or hell, they can be together; crowley scoffs, thinking that that will never happen, so they will never happen, "you're so clever! how can someone as clever as you be so stupid?!"

the reason they can't right now is because they could be caught. they would have to skulk around, be ashamed, feel guilty - and aziraphale is tired of feeling like that. because only having crowley in secret would hurt more. not being able hold his hand, or dance with him, or kiss him, unless it was in the bookshop. if hell were to find out, crowley would be killed, true, but if heaven were to find out, aziraphale could be cast out. and if crowley survived hell long enough to see aziraphale fall - he'd never forgive himself, and in a way, i don't think he'd ever forgive aziraphale either.

it's tearing them to pieces, but they have to stop whatever is happening between them in its tracks. it's acknowledged, but it's not named. this gives them plausible deniability; if they called it 'love', it would be undeniable. so, aziraphale asks for crowley to go; asks him to leave before they do something they can't come back from. crowley doesn't listen - crowds him, gets in close, and aziraphale is powerless to stop it. doesn't want to stop it. he's selfish by nature, a selfless kind of selfishness, but he wants this with all his being. and then - "this is too fast, crowley, please don't..." // "im sorry, angel. please... please, forgive me". aziraphale never gets to answer, to grant him that, because boom - the actual first kiss.

so. now that i've had to make you read that, i'm going in for the kill. let's look at everything that follows - and look at how the above might recontextualise it.

1967: the offer of the picnic, the Ritz? ie. the literal lyrics of berkeley square? aziraphale has caved in the interest of giving crowley a weapon to use if all else fails, to protect him, but that's as far as he's willing to progress. everything else is still too painful; he's on the brink of tears, promising that one day they'll be able to do what they want, to be open about how they feel, but not yet. they can't. crowley tries to push, "ill give you a lift, anywhere you want to go..." (him offering again to run away? a second chance to leg it?), and aziraphale reminding him that they can't, he can't... don't make him go too fast again, it's not fair. it also sets up perfectly that aziraphale and crowley don't speak for the next 40 or so years (as far as we're aware) until armageddon is threatened.

bandstand: mostly this is still centred around the apocalypse contextually, but i think with the above hypothetical scene in mind (the offer to hide, to run away, to be together), aziraphale is sent back to remembering their mutual confession that they've nonverbally agreed not to bring up, because it's not safe, and it's too painful. they've skirted around it, and returned instead to a tentative kind of friendship at the beginning of s1, but they're still not safe to address why seeing each other again, being so close to each other and not being able to touch is so painful. anyway - aziraphale refuses their side, but the above scene would re-view this as 'our side can't exist yet, you know this! you know why it can't!', and crowley leaves, again after pushing a bit more than aziraphale can stand.

alpha centauri: basically a facsimile of the above; same steps, same dance. but this time, crowley harks back to aziraphale's foolish (?) hope that they will be together, without having to run away, when the day comes that they don't have to answer to heaven or hell. and aziraphale smacks him right back, echoing crowley asking for aziraphale's forgiveness in kissing him, "i forgive you." crowley knows exactly what aziraphale is getting at, there - he's answering crowley's whispered plea to forgive him for pushing, for trying to force him, for acting in desperation. but he's also not answering that - he's skirting around that very thing, forgiving him like a knife would, slicing back at crowley for not only insulting aziraphale on something that is likely a genuine insecurity of his, but also putting him back in his place, for their safeties, because them being together just cannot happen. not yet.

and "please forgive me" in 1941 might seem out of character, but idk if it is; crowley knows that doing what he's about to do will hurt aziraphale, aziraphale has (hypothetically) told him as much, but he needs to do it - and seeks not benevolence or forgiveness as crowley-the-demon, but actually seems aziraphale's forgiveness, as crowley-the-person. the echo would certainly match the tone given here, in multiple ways:

the ritz: i mean, what is there to say? yes, their song is literally playing on the piano, and heralds the shift in their being out from heaven and hell, the day has finally come where they can - again, going by this entirely hypothetical scene that ive concocted - actually be together as they want to. and the nightingale literally singing outside, but as @shoemakerobstetrician beautifully pointed out, god remarks that it's covered up by traffic. so actually, if we again refer back to R&J interpretation of the nightingale, the love is still hidden, still somewhat under wraps, but can only just about be heard over the noise of the streets outside. the prohibition of them being together, of loving each other, is dwindling. and one day, it'll stop singing altogether. that day is coming, it will come, and then they can do what they please. so whilst the ritz scene may well be a mark of them starting the next chapter, it's slow to take hold, there's still hesitancy - which absolutely makes sense when we see that they are still very tentative with each other come the beginning of s2.

s2 general: aziraphale realises their freedom first; he gets excited by the dance, and being able to show his love to crowley, completely and without barriers, in the form of the ball - what he has read to be the best way to do so. he touches crowley more. he shares his bookshop with him, gifts it to crowley as being his as well as aziraphale's, this safe space that is so wholly theirs that crowley has the power to grant entry. the same with the bentley - aziraphale sees it as theirs, and crowley silently agrees, granting aziraphale the same power. crowley is comfortable in the bookshop to remove his glasses, has a place for them. the bookshop becomes tidier, more minimalist, to make crowley more comfortable in it (it is more cluttered in s1, im certain of it). it might just be the grading between s1 and s2, and lack of clutter, but the yellow is more prominent - his literal favourite colour. everything just screams that aziraphale is ready to make good on his promise from s3-1941.

crowley... for once, is the one not quite catching up. not realising the little dates here and there are literally poses them as a couple (although yes, the coffee shop one is to prep crowley for the goob jumpscare), that aziraphale has granted him the power to grant entry. aziraphale literally asking, practically begging, crowley to help him hide goob. the mf colour of the walls. the colour of the bentley. it's not until nina outright asks him if they are together that he realises how careless they've been - but wait, is it careless if they have nothing to be careful of? well, arguably crowley does, hell are still hanging around him like a bad smell... but this is what he wanted! this is what he was pushing aziraphale for! so, does he risk it? he's not sure, but he's certainly realising that aziraphale is ready, if nothing else. and by the time the ladies stage their little intervention, crowley finally realises that the confession he started in 1941 now can be fully aired, can come out into the open.

the Feral Domestic: *fingers at temples* i know i have been fairly vocal about my interpretation of this scene, and frankly - until we get this hypothetical s3-1941 scene, i stand by it - but let's say this speculation about the scene is true, and re-examine the key points in the Final Fifteen that would completely turn on their heads in terms of meaning:

literally, harking back full circle to what aziraphale promised in 1967 as what they would do when they could fully acknowledge their love, and what they did as soon as - on paper - they were free at the end of s1. this is however before he's spoken to by nina and maggie, so maybe this is what crowley was planning in terms of confessing fully to aziraphale, but after their meddling he realised that yes, they need to actually talk about it again. he doesn't understand why they're telling him what they are - because he's existed so long in gestures and gifts and not talking, literally dismissed it now as a viable option, that it doesn't even occur to him to try talking again.

which is why he does something brave, and tries to tell aziraphale instead (say it out loud, make it undeniable, put a name to it, "i love you", something that i think was crowley's actual intention before aziraphale interrupts him) when he comes back to the shop... he's so nervous, because it's vulnerable, and because the last time he did, they ended up hiding for 50-ish years.

next up:

now, im reluctant to think that aziraphale lied in the Feral Domestic, because i do think the key thing at work is his paramount need to do the Right Thing (ie. make a difference in heaven). whilst metatron obviously manipulates him, im not entirely convinced that aziraphale wholly sees through it. i don't think he knew that metatron was up to something, i think the shaking off of this naivety is going to be part of his s3 character development. but this sentence - again, especially in context of the hypothetical s3-1941 scene - must on some level frighten him. especially if you take this meta into account, aziraphale must realise at least that they were never safe, even when they were denying what they were and how they felt, it didn't make a bit of difference. now, metatron could have just been talking about the arrangement, not referring to any romantic elements of any kind, but the threat of it? no wonder he pushes for crowley to join him in heaven; he could keep crowley safe there. they could be together, and heaven - in his eyes - would be able to say a word against it.

then:

the fear sets in; crowley was too late in telling him, acknowledging that they could be together, realising what aziraphale was saying to him without words, and now heaven has come for him. plonked them right back where they were in s2-1941, but perversely mirrored; instead of hell coming for crowley with violence, heaven came for aziraphale with kindness. crowley doesn't have a magic trick he can just do on the fly, perform it perfectly when the need for it is greatest, and has to cling to the hope that aziraphale still sees them as the barrier to them, the reason they can't be together. and in true miscommunication fashion, i think aziraphale does see it, but what metatron said lingers, and in addition to being inside the institution, changing it from the inside out, in order to make a difference... he knows that whilst it's exactly the opposite of what they wanted, he needs to make them safe. better to be inside the tent pissing out, than outside the tent pissing in.

but aziraphale doesn't tell crowley what metatron said, because instead he either deliberately tries to deny the implications of it (cognitive dissonance king behaviour), or he doesn't want to panic crowley and is trying to convey to crowley that he can't speak his concerns, not when the metatron could still be watching, and instead just needs crowley to trust him, take his hand, and join him in heaven where they can be safe. doesn't tell crowley that heaven hasn't captured him in shackles again, but he's willingly held out his wrists because it's the safest thing for him, and them, to do.

so it's one thing to look at what crowley's saying, but aziraphale's reaction? before, i just found it to be out of confusion, him not really understanding what crowley was saying, but tbh i never paid much attention to it (david stole this bit of the scene - not to put down my beloved michael here, but he did). and i know others have remarked here that aziraphale is flitting his eyes to the window and looks scared and stressed, but i don't completely think that its because he's scared that metatron is watching (although, now, i will accept with the rug thing and hypothetical s3-1941 in context it is definitely playing a part), but also because he's just starting to recognise that this is a repeat of the s3-1941 scene, "this sounds familiar, we've been here before... oh, we've definitely been here before... oh shit. i still can't do this, not unless he comes with me. we still can't be together, not in the way crowley wants. the way he's trying again, now, to ask for."

but the issue is: crowley wants to run away together. again. and i totally get why, but once again, going back to 1941: it's exactly the solution that will not work. they cannot run from this. heaven, and hell, will find them. they will come for them. it wasn't an option in 1941, it wasn't an option in 2019, and it isn't an option in 2023. aziraphale begins shaking his head - crowley is confessing, but a) aziraphale doesn't run from things, it isnt in his character, and b) it's just putting them back where they started - something that they have to hide. it defeats the purpose.

and this? yeah, im sure on neither side it was meant the way im about to interpret it, more of an unspoken thing, idk... but if the bookshop is indeed their place of safety, and is where they (as far as crowley sees it) can speak and keep their love, it makes sense that crowley is telling aziraphale he needs to stay. the bookshop can be interpreted so many ways - it represents their relationship, or that crowley means him, himself - but what if we looked at it like crowley is trying now to covet it, because it's protecting them? what if he's saying, "well, if you won't run away with me, we can't be free to have our relationship as we wanted it, not unless we stay here... heaven has come for you, has come for us, and whilst they're here we can't move. so what other option is left remain in this bookshop? to never leave it, and what we have inside it, because there's no other option in which we can be together if you won't run with me."

and what if aziraphale is saying, "no, i have an option, and that's to be together in heaven! they won't be able to do anything, not when im in the position the metatron has offered me, that can be our new bookshop... nothing lasts forever - this bookshop won't last forever, it's compromised, and we can't continue to secret away what we feel inside it, it's time to move forward."

welcome to the line that breaks my heart the most in this whole goddamn scene - and tbh i think is fairly self-explanatory in the hypothetical s3-1941 context. that aziraphale is trying, once again, to tell crowley that he is offering himself, letting them be an 'us', as crowley says shortly after - that before he couldnt do it, and these arent the best of circumstances, but they can finally do it and not have to hide in the bookshop. but crowley reminds him, "hey, i was in your shoes, remember. i wanted us to be together then, and you told me you couldn't, didn't want a halfway measure - well, now i don't either. and this will be a halfway measure, because i don't think us being together in heaven is going to go the way you hope it will. i understand a whole lot better than you do." in any case, it would explain why aziraphale choses this moment to look so devastated. this is what he promised crowley, but now crowley - to his mind, in the things left Unsaid - doesn't want it... him.

and then... back to the nightingales. they're not singing at all, not even under the rumble of traffic, like they were at the Ritz. they're completely absent - day has broken, the things unspoken have now been said, and there's no denying them anymore. from crowley's point of view, there was nothing to stop them this time, but if aziraphale won't run with him, then they have to go separate ways, because there is no other way. aziraphale knows there's the possibility that the only place they could actually be safe is heaven itself, that the bookshop was never as safe as they hoped it had been, but that crowley might actually come to see that. but the fact that crowley is resigned to just... returning to 'reality', to a world that's still turning where they aren't together? despite everything they've just said? "we could've been... us." well, that hurts.

and then... the kiss. now. im still of the mind that the kiss was an Issue. i definitely think it was meant out of love and desperation, and out of possibly being a goodbye. this would echo the hypothetical s3-1941 kiss... but it was hurtful. it was abrupt, and harsh, and not at all romantic (imo). it was possessive, and almost cruel. i do think still it was a last ditch attempt, a temptation, to get aziraphale to change his mind, before crowley leaves the shop and returns to the 'real world'. but it hurts aziraphale in many different ways - but with 1941 put in there, too? crowley is just testing his resolve, trying to push him, come around to giving in. crowley asked him to forgive him the last time he kissed aziraphale, and this time - this time, aziraphale is giving him what he asked for.

[waywardxwords]

Empty

Summary: Ten months ago, Sam threw himself and Lucifer into the cage. While Dean went off to live happily with Lisa and Ben, you couldn’t bring yourself to live a “normal” life. While on a hunt, your trail leads to Lansing, Michigan where you get your hopes up when you stumble upon the Sam Winchester in a dive bar. Instead, bumping into the man you had fallen for years before leaves you feeling empty. Pairing: Soulless!Sam x Female Reader Word Count: ~4.1k Warnings: IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, PLEASE STOP READING. THIS IS RATED M FOR MATURE. Soulless!Sam, swearing, smut (p in v, unprotected), slightly angsty, sadness, feeling used…Sam is kind of a douchebag in this (hello, he has no soul) - I would also like to preface that I'm still new at this whole ~writing smut~ thing, so please be kind but I am 10000% open to critique/feedback!

A cloud of cigarette smoke pooled above the bar as your boots clicked upon the hardwood of a little dive bar in Lansing, Michigan. It had been ten months since everything changed–Sam in the pit as Lucifer’s vessel, and Dean off living the life he had always deserved with Lisa and Ben. You were happy for him, truly. But that life wasn’t your life. Once you knew about all that went bump in the night, there was no going back. Thankfully, you had found Alice McCaffrey. Bobby had introduced you when you told him you wanted to get back out there. “You don’t hunt alone,” he had warned you. Alice was a little older than you, but you seemed to gel well. It wasn’t like hunting with the Winchesters, but it was still fine. 

The two of you found a small, round table towards the back of the bar where there were billiard tables and took your place on the stools.

“I just don’t get it,” Alice gnawed a little at her bottom lip. “We tracked that trail all the way here…there’s no way it just goes cold.” There was plenty of evidence floating around that the Shapeshifter was here, in Lansing. And when you said ‘the’, you meant the one and only: first of its kind, Daddy Shapeshifter; the one who created all shapeshifters. 

“I mean, this thing has been alive for how many years?” You toyed with a round paperboard coaster in your hands. “He could just be that good. He’s used to evading hunters for centuries.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she grumbled, but you knew she wasn’t going to let it go. That was fine by you, but in the meantime…

“I’m gonna grab a beer, you want anything?” You asked her as you thumbed to the bar.

“Yeah, one for me, too. But none of that light shit…see if they have a Guinness or something,” she pulled out her laptop and her leatherbound journal. 

Just as you turned to walk towards the bar, you caught sight of him. Him. The him you had mourned (and were still mourning, if you were honest with yourself). Your breath caught in your throat as his tall, broad frame stood over a billiard table. The bright light above the table accented each of his features–nothing had changed, really, besides his hair maybe being a tiny bit longer and it looked like he had been working out again. His eyes grazed over the green baize fabric on the table to check his next move. 

You didn’t want to make a scene, but this wasn’t possible…there was no way in Hell this man could be standing in front of you. You quickly pulled your cell phone from your pocket and dialed the familiar number. You refused to pull your eyes away as you watched for any sudden movements.

“Bobby?” You asked when he answered after just the third ring. “You got any idea why I’m standing in a bar in Michigan looking at Sam Winchester right now?”

As if on cue, Sam seemed to feel your gaze as he pulled his eyes up from the table and found yours. 

“Balls,” Bobby grumbled as you listened to his drawl through the receiver of the phone. “Listen, it’s Sam…but I didn’t say anything ‘cause I didn’t want ya to get hurt…” you weren’t sure what that meant. Sam had already started his pace over to you. There was a smile upon his lips, but it seemed different. “Something’s different about him. He ain’t been the same since he got pulled out of Lucifer’s cage. You hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear ya, Bobby,” your words were soft. “I’ll, uh, I’ll call you later.” You hung up quickly just as he approached.

Your name fell from his lips, almost inquisitively. That same old Sam Winchester half-smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“Sam,” you breathed in return. It was difficult to keep Bobby’s warning in the back of your mind when the man you had hunted with for so long was standing just in front of you. While hunting with the brothers, you had never allowed your feelings to see the light of day. They were professional, and they had taught you so much about what looms in the dark. But you would be a liar if you said you had never felt butterflies when Sam smiled at you, laughed at your joke, or the way it felt when his fingers grazed your skin…

“Hey, wow, it’s been such a long time,” something did feel a bit off with his words, but even more so with his demeanor. You had mapped out those hazel eyes over the two years you spent hunting with the boys, and there was a lightness missing. They just felt empty. 

“Sam, how are you here? I saw you fall into the cage myself,” the thought alone made your eyes burn. Watching Sam and the strength he had to throw himself (and Lucifer) into the cage was devastating. 

“Yeah, uh, I don’t really know?” He chuckled softly. You searched for the light, but still couldn’t find it—even behind his laughter. “I just sorta woke up and I was back…”

“God, it’s so incredible to see you,” you couldn’t stop staring at him, afraid if you blinked, he’d disappear. “Is Dean here? Are you guys trying to figure out what brought you back?”

Sam broke his gaze from yours, but only for a second. He slipped his hands into his front jean pockets. “No, uh, I didn’t want to pull Dean back in. It’s rare to get an opportunity to get outta this life. He seems happy,” he nodded. You couldn’t help but notice the lack of emotion in his tone or on his face. “I, uh, I actually found some of my mom’s family. They have a compound here in Lansing, so I’ve been hunting with them.”

You tried to hide the way his words stung. He was so stoic, you didn’t want to look like a fool. But you were hurt…he had to have known you were still hunting. It made you doubt yourself—there were probably better people to hunt with and he had found them. You had always wondered if you were just a tagalong for the Winchesters; maybe they had just felt bad for you, after all. 

“Oh, nice,” you forced a smile and a small nod. “That’s good. Hunting with family is good…” your words trailed. 

Sam matched your nod. As if he realized he should be asking you about yourself, he continued with, “What about you? Are you hunting still?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you turned back to your hunting buddy as she watched cautiously from your table. “This is Alice McCaffrey,” you introduced as you stepped back to the table and Sam followed. “Alice, this is Sam Winchester. Alice and I have been hunting together."

Alice’s eyes widened. “The Sam Winchester?” She asked, incredulously. 

“The one and only,” he chuckled as he shook her hand.

“Wow,” Alice’s eyes drifted to you—you knew immediately what she was thinking: shifter? Demon? Shifter-demon?

“It’s really him,” you confirmed. While you hadn’t tested him yourself, you trusted Bobby. Bobby seemed very certain. He just also made it explicitly clear that Sam was different. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I just…I thought you were in the pit…”

“Yeah,” Sam tucked some strands of brown hair that had fallen forward back behind his ear. “I was, but somehow got a way out. We’re still trying to figure that out.” He explained. 

“That’s great,” she seemed a little hesitant, but that was why you loved Alice. Alice was wary of anyone and everyone; she didn’t trust at face value. There were still days you wondered if you had earned her full and complete trust. 

“What brings you to Lansing?” Sam shifted the topic, his eyes on you now. 

“We’ve been trailing a shifter,” you kept the topic brief. It felt weird not delving into all the details of your case, but you couldn’t quite shake the fact that Sam had been back and hadn’t tried to connect with you. 

“Oh, the original?” He looked between the two of you. Alice narrowed her eyes at Sam. 

“Yeah, are you hunting him too?” She questioned. 

He looked between the two of you, still emotionless. “Yeah, we got him. A few hours ago, my team had him killed.” 

“You…you managed to kill him?” Alice looked at him with the same level of shock as before. 

“Sam, he was the original shapeshifter. Like, father to all shifters,” you added in, wondering if maybe he didn’t realize.

“I know,” he looked between the two of you. “He was a beast. But we’re a team of six. We had it covered.”

Alicia glanced at you—you knew the look. She wasn’t sure of this Sam Winchester guy. 

“Hey,” Sam's fingertips grazed your hand. “Would you wanna get outta here? Some place we can sit and catch up. Somewhere quiet?” Between his fingertips on your flesh, and the way his voice had dropped lowly, you shuddered internally. 

Somehow, you still seemed hesitant. Had this been ten months ago, you would have leapt out of your chair and been halfway to the door by now. But it wasn’t. And this version of Sam just felt different. You pushed past the hesitation. “Yeah, okay,” you nodded. 

“Let me just go let the guys know I’ll be back in a while,” he thumbed back to the billiard tables where you finally noticed an older man, bald and eyes that you felt like could see through your soul. You managed a quick nod before he headed back that way. 

“Can I say something and you promise it won’t piss you off?” Alicia asked as soon as Sam was out of earshot. 

You were fairly certain you knew what she had to say, but you pulled your eyes from Sam’s back and looked back at her. “Of course.”

“I listened to you go on and on about this Sam Winchester guy. Even when you didn’t realize you were talking about him. You talk about him in your sleep,” she emphasized. Warmth crept up your neck and into your cheeks. You hadn’t realized you were sleep-talking about him… “But the Sam Winchester you’ve been mourning for almost a year? Girl, that’s not him.” Her eyes bore into you. 

“I know he seems a little…rough around the edges,” you tried to reason as your eyes found him talking to the bald man in the corner. The man had returned his gaze to you as Sam spoke. “But we have no idea what happened to him in that cage. That would change anyone, Alicia.” You looked back to your hunting buddy. 

“I get that, I do,” she agreed. “I’m just asking you to be careful. A lot can change in ten months. Especially when we’re talking about someone coming back from one of the darkest depths of Hell…if not, the darkest depth of Hell.”

“I’ve got it handled,” you watched him as he moved back towards your table. “I’ll meet you back at the motel later.” You managed a quick smile and hopped off of your bar stool. 

“Ready?” Sam asked as you approached. You nodded once, but couldn’t help the feeling of the bald man watching you. Sam began to lead you away from the table. 

“It was nice meeting you,” Alicia practically yelled over the sounds of the bar. Sam nodded once nonchalantly back at her. 

“Yeah, you too,” it was strange, but then Sam’s hand snaked around yours and held it in his palm, and any uncertainty you had in your gut went out the window. 

When Sam suggested going some place quiet, you had assumed that would be a café or diner; somewhere public, but where you could get caught up. It surprised you when he pulled into a motel parking lot and had you wait in the car. He wasn’t staying here…why was he getting a room? You were smarter than this, but somehow Sam Winchester had always had a way of emitting a haze around you; a haze that more than clouded your judgment. 

“Why a motel room?” You finally managed to ask as you stood behind him while he unlocked the door. 

“I just figured it would be nice to get caught up…” you noticed his eyes trailed down the front of you. He was looking at you in a way he had never done so blatantly before; a way you had always imagined in your mind, but never experienced. Your throat ran dry as he opened the door and held it open for you to step through. Suddenly you felt nervous. 

“I really missed you, Sam,” you felt a lump of emotion knit together in your throat. Your eyes moved up his torso to find his hazel gaze. A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips. 

A surprise to you, his arms snaked around you and pulled you into his chest. “I missed you, too,” you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sam was saying it because he knew he was supposed to. 

“Sam…” you started cautiously. There were two parts of you, and they were at war: on one hand, you had wanted this moment to happen for so long–you had willed for Sam to come back. But the other part of you had so many questions that you felt needed answered before you could fully open up to him. “How long have you been back?”

“Just about ten months,” he answered with little-to-no hesitation. He seemed a little surprised when your eyes widened.

You moved away from him to sit on the edge of one of the double beds in the room. Your eyes found the multicolored carpet that lined the motel room floor. “You’ve been back almost the entire time we thought you had been gone, and you didn’t call?”

“It’s…complicated,” he breathed out as he moved to sit next to you on the bed. “Things aren’t like they were ten months ago,” he tried to explain. You kept your eyes on the carpet as he spoke. “Things are different now. The Campbells are different…” there was that word again: different. Your eyes didn’t budge until your name fell as a whisper from his lips. “I really did miss you.”

You watched as his eyes trailed over you once more. Across your face, down your neck…you felt the heat rising again. “I feel like I’ve had this dream a million times–you coming back. And now it’s real, and it just feels…”

“I know,” his words were soft again as his body shifted towards you.

Before your brain could argue with your heart again, you felt your hands pull at the collar of his plaid button-down shirt. His face moved closer until your lips crashed against each other in a hasty motion. His movements were quick, but thorough, as his hands traveled to your waist. He pulled at the hem of your cotton t-shirt until his fingers slipped underneath and grazed against the flesh of your hips, causing goosebumps to bubble on the surface of your skin. 

Your hands tangled in the locks of hair at the back of his neck just as his hands lifted you and pulled you onto his lap so your legs straddled his waist. His fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt again until you instinctively raised your arms and broke where your lips met as he tugged the garment over your head. His fingers tangled in your hair once more as he stood up with your legs secured around his waist and turned to lay you on the bed. Once your eyes fluttered to see him pulling his button-down off, your brain kicked back into gear.

“Sam,” you breathed. He was back hovered over you now, his fingertips tracing a line of goosebumps down your neck, then your clavicle, to the tops of your breasts. Your breath hitched in your throat once more. “Sam, should we…are we doing this?” You were still trying to wrap your head around the idea that this was happening.

He paused for a moment and looked back down at you; your eyes tried to find old Sam once more–even just a glimmer. But you were coming up empty, yet again. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” his emphasis on the word ‘long’ made your heart and stomach flutter simultaneously. “I should have before. But I was stupid, and then I was saying ‘yes’ to Lucifer, and I never thought I’d see you again.”

Your brain wanted to remind him that he could have called you, hell, he could have shown up at your doorstep and you would have welcomed him back with open arms. But your heart decided against it as he leaned closer to your lips.

“I thought maybe you wanted this too,” he breathed as his lips gingerly touched against yours once more.

Words failed you, so instead you reached up and tangled your fingers in his hair once more. The way you moved your lips against his gave him your answer.

His fingers strategically moved behind you, expertly unclasping the black bra that constrained your breasts. With a quick flick of his fingers, you felt the material relax and the straps slipped off of your shoulder blades. Your eyes found his once more–the only thing you saw was want and lust. 

You relished in the feeling of his lips as they trailed from your lips to your neck, sucking on the skin just under your earlobe. You closed your eyes at the sensation; your heart allowed your fingers to move through his hair, down to the nape of his neck. He moved against you in a way that warmed you to your core. You hadn’t realized Sam had moved his fingers down to the metal button clasp on your jeans. His fingers very quickly and skillfully moved so the button popped through the denim material and loosened. As he worked, his lips trailed down to your breast and attached to your nipple. His tongue moved over the already hardened bud, massaging in a way that elicited a moan from the back of your throat.

The break of the suction of his lips from your skin evoked a pop that echoed to your ears. In one swift motion, he pulled your jeans from your hips, bringing your underwear with it. He took a moment to stand at the edge of the bed. You watched as the muscles in his fingers, hands and forearms flinched as he worked his belt and jeans from their own metal clasp. He pulled his jeans down along with his boxers until they were at his ankles and he could step out of them.

“So fucking sexy,” he breathed. Your breath hitched once more–that wasn’t something your imagination had come up with when you had thought of this moment. The burn from the pink glow you had felt on more than one occasion tonight crept back up your skin once more, but this time you couldn’t hide.

“Sam,” your breath hitched in your throat, yet again.

Sam moved back over you at that moment, no additional words exchanged. You felt his length harden just between your legs upon your thigh. Your eyes closed once more as he kissed you with a force you had never felt before–you couldn’t place it. It wasn’t passion, it was need. 

His hands moved yours just above your head so they were bent at your elbows. With one hand, he clasped them there. His other hand moved down the side of your face, down your breasts until they wrapped around his cock. You felt his knee move between your thighs to part them. His hand shifted until his fingers deftly found your center. Sam’s index finger slipped between your folds, finding out for certain just how excited you were for this moment.

“You’re already so wet for me, baby,” his breath tickled just below your earlobe as he whispered. He picked up the pace with his fingers as he rubbed your swelling nub with his thumb. He moved in small circles that made you begin to grind your hips with his motions. Without warning, he plunged a finger inside of you once, twice, three times before he added a second finger.

A gasp escaped your lips as you pressed your head back into the mattress even further, your mouth agape. “Jesus, Sam,” you couldn’t help the words as they toppled out between your lips. After a few more thrusts, he reached down to pump his hand between his legs again. Without his touch, your brain started working once more. “D-Do you have a condom?” You didn’t mean to stutter, but you were lucky to even get words strewn together that made any sense at this point.

“It’s alright, I’ll pull out,” he kissed just below your ear on your jawline. Goosebumps flooded the surface of your skin once more as his stubble trailed over you. Your brain didn't have a moment to respond.

As he lined himself up against your center, you opened your eyes to find his gaze. His eyes were dark–a dark you had never noticed before. The normal flecks of gold, green, and blue were suddenly a darker yellow, forest green and gray. It was beautiful–lustful, even–but you didn’t see any emotion. They were still just empty.

Your mouth fell agape as he pushed into you, releasing your hands above his head so he could reach down and pull your legs and hook your ankles around his back. Instinctively, you moved your hips against him, meeting him with each movement he made.

Sam ducked his head so his lips could connect with the sweet spot he had found just above your clavicle. You couldn’t be sure, but by the feeling you knew it would leave a mark; you didn’t care. You focused on the raw feeling of him inside you, the way he grunted with each thrust. You flattened your palms up his back, the feeling of his muscles under your hands adding to the pooling warmth in the pit of your belly.

Strategically, Sam reached between the two of you and pressed his thumb to your clit once more. The continuous motion of the small circles sent a shudder over you.

“Sam…” you warned. 

He nipped at the skin below your ear. “I know, baby. Let me get you there,” the words dropped from his lips in a whisper once more.

You moved your hips to the rhythm of his hand and his thrusts. The muscles in your abdomen tightened and trembled as he pushed you over the edge. The pace of his movements picked up as he removed his hand and gripped your hips again–he pumped in and out of you with such fervor, you thought you might break.

With a shallow grunt, he quickly pulled out as he found his release–and suddenly, you felt empty.

Sam removed himself from the bed quickly and retreated to the small bathroom to clean up. As he came back, he handed you a towel. While you never could have known what being with Sam would be like, exactly…this wasn’t what you had expected. 

“That was…” your voice trailed off as you tried to catch your breath. You rolled to your side and propped yourself up on your elbow as you watched him. Instinctively, you pulled the rustled sheet up just under your chin to cover yourself.

Sam’s eyes found you as he pulled up his boxers, and then his jeans. His chest heaved only slightly as he got dressed. “Yeah, that was nice,” a smile pulled on his lips. “I’m glad we bumped into each other again.” Your throat felt dry again. Words failed you; you didn’t know what to say to that. He pulled his shirt over his head and fixed some of the buttons. “I paid through the night, so you can crash here, if you want,” he gestured to the room.

“You’re…you’re leaving?” You tried to shove the emotions bubbling up so they went back down. It felt like you were underwater–Sam was different. There was no hiding it or trying to deny it anymore. 

He looked back at you quizzically, as if he couldn’t understand why you were asking him this, but then turned his attention back to his boots as he tied the laces. “Uh, yeah. We have a lot of work to wrap up, and you’re just passing through,” his words trailed off a little, but it didn’t seem to be because he felt bad. “It really was good seeing you again.”

He managed one more small smile before he grabbed his remaining belongings and walked for the door.

The emotions finally bubbled over, but all you felt was empty.

A/N: Please, please don’t hate me. If you love Soulless!Sam with zero feeling and emotion, then this might be your jam. If you prefer loving, kind, caring Sam–you’re probably wanting my head on a platter. This is part one, I have a part two in the works and I promise I’ll fix everything <3

[my-mt-heart]

The current state of the spinoff right now has nothing to do with what Melissa wants or doesn't want and I do not appreciate her being used as a strategy for Norman, AMC, and the three stooges to evade responsibility. I don't know what happens next, but whatever it is, it is on them. For prioritizing their own needs over the core audience. For mishandling the characters/relationship the core audience is invested in. For constantly gaslighting everyone and refusing to deliver the payoff so many people have been waiting for. For not fixing the problem when they had the chance.

Yes, I am sad because this is supposed to be Melissa's time to shine. Yes, I really do want to support her because if anyone on this show has earned the support, it's her. If anyone is going to be worth watching in S2, it's her. If anyone's input is going to make a difference, it's hers. I do think she was excited to show the impact that Sophia's death had on Carol, but that doesn't mean she's getting everything she wants and it doesn't mean fans have to sit through relentless nunbaiting and a retconned bond between Daryl and Carol similar to S11 (I can only assume at this point that's what we're getting). I will not do that. Platonic Caryl is inorganic to me, and speaks more to TPTB's ageism/misogyny than it does about anyone's creative input. Daryl being torn between Carol and French characters he's only known for a few months is just fucking ridiculous. Period. It doesn't mean that I don't want to be here anymore or that I don't care about the characters or about Melissa. It just means I won't put money in AMC's pockets for awful decisions, like letting Zabel and Nicotero run amuck, like shoving "BESTEST OF BEST FRIENDS" down my throat, like forcing their nun fetish on me, like turning Daryl into every other generic male hero there is. If TPTB show they value Melissa/Carol as much as Norman/Daryl, if she and Norman get equal billing, if Carol's name is included in the title, if Daryl and Carol are allowed the romantic beats that their story in the flagship show set up, then I'm all in. In the meantime, for those who asked, my plan is this:

I am going to watch the premiere because I've heard enough reliable testimonies about the heavy Carol focus, the lack of nunbaiting, Carol's determination to find Daryl, and Daryl's desperation to get home for me to assume it's worth it. I will review the episode and show Melissa my support. I will go no further as soon as I hear any of that starts to change, which I expect will happen rather quickly, but I will keep speaking up where AMC can see it so they understand what's working and what's not. If Melissa's fans keep speaking up, reminding AMC how much they value her and how much they detest some of Zabel's other choices, then AMC can't try to blame her if numbers are low or assume we'll settle for whatever inappropriate writing choices Zabel throws at us if Melissa does bring the numbers up, and I do believe she's the only one who can.

I have nothing to say about S3 and beyond because the only way I'm on board is if AMC somehow manages not to ruin Caryl's story in S2 and hires a showrunner who can do these characters justice. Hint: it's not Zabel, it's not Gimple, and it's not anybody who's ever worked for them.