#but I hate when both parts of my hinge decide they need

[cyberm4n]

You've now filled my head with nothing but Alastor and Lucifer brainrot. Any other sharing thoughts you have for them? (I cannot stop thinking about them, I quite literally thought about them sharing me during my entire 8hr retail shift yesterday)

alastor and lucifer sharing you pt 3!

pt1, pt2

this was highly requested, thank you all for the love <3 im tagging anyone who asked/was fine with it last time but now you can fill out this taglist form to ensure you're tagged for future posts!

tags: @lu-ferri12 @my-anime-garden @princessdreamss @polytheatrix @reaper-of-light-12 @ambi-squirrelly @hazelfoureyes @meggletoomanyfandoms @afernandez21

cw: angst ig?? idk reader is upset cause they keep fighting, general relationship issues for a moment, smut, reader gets eaten out, there's some light praise and condescension i think, alastor has a master kink, alastor discovers he LOVES eating pussy, there's like a weird sexual tension between alastor and lucifer for the majority of this if you squint, the ending is VERY suggestive

other: not 100% happy with formatting on this but i wrote majority of it on a 6 hour flight so like. you win some you lose some. not proofread that well, i kind of ramble at times too but it's fine. 2.1k word count and half of it is formatted in a headcanon cuase, again, lazy 6 hour writing. i also don't use the bolding and coloring that much cause it'd be a lot of work.

left the ending a little open, will probably do a poll tomorrow on if people want me to take this that direction.

■ okay so sex aside i would think outwardly everyone knows you're in a relationship with lucifer at the very least

■ but it's kept lowkey with the other part of the relationship

■ which both are fine with btw

■ lucifer loves pda so he's happy, alastor isn't a fan so it's whatever

■ the public part works out because alastor would genuinely be worried about someone trying to use you to get to him

■ it's bad enough that it's known the king of hell has a new partner, but nobody knowing that if they fuck with you they're fucking with the king of hell AND the radio demon is a silent advantage

■ if anyone knows, it's charlie. but only to the extent of like the fact it's a hinge relationship, everything else she doesn't know and honestly doesn't need to know

■ she's just happy her dad seems happy and is getting along better with alastor

■ i think alastor is the kind to really start caring during the relationship vs. lucifer caring about you deeply before

■ so occasionally alastor will pull you aside, or if no one is watching will just press a quick kiss on your forehead.

■ meanwhile lucifer is always making it known he's in love with you

■ arm around your shoulder, holding your hand, everything

■ again, alastor doesn't really mind unless lucifer decides to be an ass abt it

■ look they still compete with each other sometimes they can't help it

■ then it becomes a game of how much the other can get away with before you either get upset or it's too telling

■ that's the other thing is like, the competing gets really fucking annoying to you

■ we saw them in hells greatest dad it wasn't a want to be a better dad it's just wanting to out do the other

■ and when it transfers to your relationship it gets agitating fast

moving on

■ relationship side alastor isn't as involved with that

■ but if either of them did something that upset you or like there was a lovers quarrel between you and either side it's a big deal to them

■ especially if you're only upset with one half of the hinge

■ cause like, sure, they could compete with each other and purposefully drive you apart

■ but tbh.. both of them lowkey like this arrangement much more than they thought they would

■ so they end up talking to each other about it and figuring out what to do

■ same if you're upset with both

■ not that you're upset often it's just that when you are it's usually cause they crossed a line in their little competition

■ and they hate making their girl feel like a prize to be won :(

■ whatever their solution is, they do it together.

■ show you they can get along, that they both care about you enough

■ you're in your room, a bit of a blow up happened earlier after they got into one of their arguments

■ it's not that you genuinely think theyre using you to get to the other but sometimes with the way they act it's easy to doubt

■ anyways, they both come in, it's late

■ i cry when im frustrated/upset and i think it's a pretty normal reaction, so let's just say you're crying a little

■ they're both immediately at your side, apologizing profusely

■ you've never cried like this before

■ it scares them. alot.

■ for once there's absolutely no competition, the only worry is making you feel better.

■ both sitting next to you on the couch, lucifer murmuring how much he loves you, and how he knows how much alastor cares for you

■ i hate the whole "alastor doesn't understand emotions" thing because he does. he has to, he knows how to read people well.

■ it's just he hasn't ever comforted someone

■ he doesn't know what to do when someone he cares about is upset

■ so he's glad lucifer is here, as alastor just sits at your side nodding along and gently rubbing your back

■ alastor only tunes back in when lucifer offers to give some space for the night, and a little murmur from you agrees but asks they both come to bed that night

■ given its usually only lucifer who actually sleeps in the same bed as you alastor is surprised

■ but lucifer is beckoning him out for some space.

"cmon, we'll be back in an hour yeah?" he chimes from the door, and with a squeeze of your shoulder alastor is out of the door, but he opts to walk along with lucifer. "we gotta do better" lucifer sighs as he walks, not looking over at alastor. he's not accusing alastor, he seems equally disappointed in both of them.

"for her?" alastor adds, and lucifer gives a hum of agreement. "this while ordeal has been quite... stressful as of late, no?" alastor adds, "to our own faults, yes" lucifer murmurs, giving a sigh. alastor nods, and the two men walk in silence for some time, ending up in the parlor, husk far since gone to bed. "want anything?" lucifer pulls alastor back to reality once again, he's standing behind the bar while alastor had been staring off, his mind running with thoughtd of god knows what.

"whiskey, my friend?" alastor suggests, and giving it a considerate thought lucifer pours two glasses. the silence falls over them again, just the sound of the clink of their glasses on the counter.

"so tell me, how do you do it when you pleasure her?" alastor breaks the silence, lucifers eyes dart up to him. thinking for a moment before replying "i don't really think tonight is the time for that—" lucifer says, but in a gentle tone.

"no no, in the morning." alastor says, staring down at his glass. "you two indulge often in the morning, correct?" alastor says, now his eyes uncomfortably on lucifer. Watching as the other man almost pales a little, swallowing thickly.

lucifer immediately falters, giving a sigh. "look it's not— i‐ that's not her fault–" lucifer immediately starts, assuming this is a confrontation. his eyebrows raise as alastor shakes his head. "oh please, if i had problem with it i would have done something" he says, a static crackle echoing through the room. "no, i want to know how you do it when you... when it's just about her. how can i do the same?" alastor asks, and this is even more surprising to lucifer than this whole fucking idea in the first place.

■ so lucifer of course explains some stuff to him, of course it's hard because unless he's done it before it's hard to articulate some of his "moves"

■ i mean lucifer can hardly resist going down on you everytime, he's definitely experienced but it's hard to transfer that knowledge at times

■ but he's impressed alastor even asked

■ so when they return to your room, they're a lot more calmer with each other than before.

■ that night changed a lot between them tbh

■ it's slightly awkward for both of them when everyone gets settled in the bed

■ you're on your back, lucifer on your right side and alastor on the left.

■ they're both holding you to the best of their abilities

■ lucifer gives alastors hand a squeeze before shuffling it to have a better grasp on your waist

■ you all peacefully sleep through the night, not shifting much but it's pretty comfortable

■ is the morning you're mostly cuddled into alastor, which is entirely lucifers doing

■ when you're all awake though alastor gets arguably nervous

■ but you being you, you slump over onto alastors chest, murmuring some affection to him

■ lucifer gives a nod, it's time.

■ he'd honestly probably move to get out of bed, assuming some privacy is wanted

■ but he feels a shadow wrap around his forearm, it's a light pressure

■ alastor shakes his head, mouthing a small "please"

after lucifer processes for a moment what exactly is about to go down, he's okay with that. he settles back in, his eyes on the two of you as alastor tilts your chin up, pressing a kiss to your lips. "my dear, would you mind if i tried something a little different with you?" alastor chimes, and you blink your eyes open again, still a bit sleepy as you give a nod.

he gently maneuvers you on the bed so you're laying on your back, his hands pawing at your sleep shorts and pulling them to your ankles. lucifer watches, honestly a little mezmerized by the whole ordeal. he feels proud in an odd sort of way. “I think our little doe deserves a treat, would you like that?” alastor murmurs as he spreads your thighs open. You take a shaky breath before murmuring some form of agreement, maybe even a little plea.

without further prodigy, alastors finally leans down his tongue swiping down your folds, hands grasping your hips to pull you to his face. your hands go to hold lucifers, but he shakes his head tutting at you. “ah ah, that’s not very polite princess” he chides softly, guiding your hands to alastors hair.

and alastor makes good use of the tips and information lucifer gave him, his tongue plunging into your sweet little hole as his nose bumps your clit. his eyes wander up, making eye contact with you as he eats you out so wonderfully. you tug at his hair and he practically growls in pleasure, opting to change tactics and focus his mouth on your clit while his fingers slide inside you, gently curling into your sweet spot.

and lucifer watches it all, absolutely mesmerized. he doesnt know what it is about watching this but theres something about knowing alastor is doing exactly as told to in this scenario that makes lucifer feel warm. he lets alastor steal the show, doing only minimal work. maybe hes softly cooing praises or gently reminding you to show your appreciation to the one making you feel this good.

as you get close, evident by the murmur that falls past your lips, alastors eyes snap to lucifers for a moment, and he takes a moment to think before understanding. usually when youre close alastor is all over you, telling you to be such a good girl and cum, just slight praises and coaxing. given the fact hes face deep in your sweetness he cant really do that, so that job is up to lucifer now.

“isn’t alastor doing such a good job duckling? you want to make sure he knows how good hes treating you, dont you?” lucifer coos, scooting in behind you on the bed so you stop trying to writhe away. “I think he’d be so disappointed if you didnt cum for him, you think you can do that, hm? you wanna cum all over your masters tongue?” lucifer says directly in your ear, and alastor feels a bit of a warmth in his stomach by being referred to as “master”

when you give a weak moan in response lucifer sighs, shaking his head. “be a good girl now, you can do it little doe” he says which is what sends you toppling over the edge, your hips rutting up into alastors mouth, whiny moans coming from you as alastor desperately licks up your sweet release. this whole thing was quite enjoyable for alstor, but hearing lucifer call you “little doe” his petname for you made him smugly satisfied.

after some aftercare which mostly just involved more cuddling, alastor feels satiated enough to shift to leave, before getting a look from lucifer. he reluctantly stays, feeling as you come to lay at his side once more. lucifer seems to take note of something, giving alastor a nod down, he glances down, seeing the obvious tent in his pants. alastor looks back up, slightly annoyed. a like “yeah, no shit dumbass” kind of look is exchanged.

alastor looks back down at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you sigh happily. but alastor tenses as he feels a hand on his knee, shooting a glare to lucifer as he traces his hand up a little. the two meet as and alastor takes a shaky breath as lucifer leans in just a little, breathing out the next few words with a calmness alastor admires:

“just keep cuddling her”

#lucifer smut #alastor smut #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #lucifer morningstar #radioapple #alastor the radio demon #alastor x lucifer #smut #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer

[buckysbvtch3]

and they were roommates

Summary: You come home from work and hear roommate Eddie on the phone saying some…interesting things about you.

eddie munson x reader

masterlist

You’d spend the whole day working at the local coffee shop and to say you were relieved to get home was an understatement.

It’s not that you hated your job, it was just super draining. Hawkins had its upsides and downsides, and unfortunately, your job as a barista meant you dealt with both.

After high school finished and you all decided to put the paranormal events of the past behind you, you and Eddie had decided to move into a little apartment together.

It wasn’t the most luxurious of living spaces, that was for sure, but it did the job.

Eddie needed his own space after the upside down as well, which meant that although he loved Wayne, he decided to move out. Your and Eddie’s plans had been the same so moving out together was pretty much a given, considering you were both short on money as well.

Eddie worked mornings and some nights at the car workshop meaning you didn’t actually get to spend that much time together given the conflicting schedules.

Your lack of savings on both parts had also meant that an interesting compromise had to be made… the was only one bedroom.

While Eddie had continuously insisted on sleeping on the couch, there was no way you’d ever allow it—and besides, you two were friends so there was no reason for it to be awkward…

Dumping your bag on the couch and locking the door behind you, you listened out for any indication of Eddie’s presence. He said he’d be home when you finished but you got let off early today as it wasn’t busy.

“Honey I’m home!” You jokingly drawled out as you made your way to the bedroom. You two had always had flirty banter.

The sound of Eddie’s music reached your ears as you got closer to the door but you stopped at the sound of his voice.

Who was he talking to?

You’re curiosity got the best of you as you rested your ear against the door.

I don’t know how much longer I can do it, man. It’s fucking terrible—it’s like—I don’t know. It’s just so fucking frustrating. I don’t think I can like this much longer man, she drives me crazy.

Who was he talking to?

More importantly, who was she?

You couldn’t help but feel your heart crack just a little bit. Sure you’d decided as soon as the living arrangement begun to put your feelings behind you but it was hard considering you spent every night with his body heat taunting the whole side of your body. It’s was cruel.

Its fucking cruel dude, I think I have to move out. I can’t live with her anymore.

Your breath got caught in your throat and you put your hand on knob of the door ready to confront him. If he had such a problem with you why hadn’t you ever realised. Why hadn’t he ever said anything?

God, and the clothes she wears! Those little pyjama shorts need to be burned—It’s like the universe is against me! How the fuck am I supposed to not be heard twenty-four-fucking-seven?! It’s a curse, man. You gotta help me out here, I don’t know what to do.

Oh my god…

This was news to you, that’s for sure. Even with such obvious evidence of Eddie’s attraction being right in front of you, you had your reserves.

Okay, yes he was attracted to you…but was that the extent of his feelings for you?

You weren’t sure if that would be worse or better than him feeling nothing.

The silence between his last words told you the other person was speaking, but what were they saying? You pressed closer to the door and a loud groan of the hinge gave you away.

Panicking, you jolted back towards the door, picking up your bag as if you’d just got in the door. “Home!”

You heard some loud shuffling and Eddie clearing his throat before a wide, slightly panicked, smile took over his face.

“Hey Angel, how was work?”

Those pet names were going to be the end of you. Eddie had always been a gentleman, but he never called any of the other girls in the group the same pet names he uses for you and it was confusing and frustrating.

Was he just being polite? Did he think you two were closer than he was with the others? You’d hoped so considering you lived together but the conversation you overheard definitely is making you question all of the things you’d previously brushed off as Eddie being, well, Eddie.

A tilt of his head made you realise you’d been staring and that you’d waiting too long before answering his question. Your cheeks immediately reddened as you snapped out of it.

“It was good! Jo let me off early because it was quiet… not like I get many tips when it’s quiet anyways,” you managed to get out, now recovered from your previous fluster.

“Well that’s good then doll, can’t have you working that pretty head of yours too hard anyways. Too good for that place. Too smart.”

You’d already had this conversation with Eddie about applying for scholarships numerous times. He urged you to, knowing you’d get them but you don’t want to leave your life behind.

“Yeah yeah… I know.”

You went into the room while Eddie waited on the lounge room as you got changed. It was routine for you two. Practically second nature. You couldn’t help but wish he’d walk in one time and finally make a move after all these years. The tension was frustrating and you’d always wondered if you could push him over the edge. Your doubt had always stopped you, but after hearing what he’d said you couldn’t help but wonder if there was…more to his feelings.

Your desire overtook the logical side of your brain as you saw your shortest frilly pyjama set. You usually reserved your little singlet and short sets for actual nighttime, respecting your and Eddie’s minimal boundaries, but you were feeling brave tonight.

Slipping it on and checking out yourself in the mirror, you smiled. You did look amazing in this set. If you were eddie you’d probably be hard too. You had to stop from getting ahead of yourselves. Pushing doubt and embarrassment aside, you walked out asking if eddie wanted to get takeout.

You pretending like you didn’t see the way his eyes practically bulged out of his skull as he saw you, seating yourself at the coffee table and opening your draw of menus you two had collected from around town. Leaning over, you’d definitely given him a bit of a glimpse down your top.

He cleared his throat harshly and sat across from you. “Yeah, sure—whatever you want sweetheart, we can pop on a movie as well.”

By the time the pizza had arrived you two were about half an hour into Scream. You had suggested it, knowing it was Eddie’s favourite movie. And tonight was about,well—him, to put it lightly.

It’s not like you wanted to torture the poor boy, but you were hoping that in your efforts he’d snap. Tonight was the last night you were pushing aside your feelings, you’d decided. Even if all he wanted was to bone you, you’d decided you’d tell him how you felt anyways, it was only right. Besides, you knew Eddie wasn’t really that sort of guy, sure you knew he’d slept around a little after high school, but so had you. It was no secret. It’s not like you could exactly hide your private life that well considering you slept in the same bed.

Not that you’d ever brought back anyone to the apartment, but neither had Eddie. It was just a given. It was one of the things you’d liked most about Eddie. He’d always respected you and your space, knowing you’d respect his.

Eddie had gotten up to grab the pizza and you could help yourself in what you did next. He’d placed it in the middle of the coffee table in front of the couch and once he’d sat down with a piece, offering it to you, you smiled and shook your head insisting on him eating it and grabbing your own.

You stood up, half in front of him and bent down, taking maybe a little too long to grab a slice. You knew your ass was almost directly in front of his face as you’d bent down.

You felt that your shirts had ridden right up as you’d bent over, and your heart was racing a million miles an hour knowing that there really was no going back after this. You just prayed he didn’t catch on to what you were doing.

Eddie shot up from his spot as you’d sat down next to him, thighs touching.

“Bathroom!” He exclaimed a bit too loudly as he walked a bit weird down the hall.

You had to hold in your laugh. He was definitely hard. You felt a bit guilty but you also didn’t want your game to end here. You weren’t certain that he was going for a wank but you didn’t want to risk it.

Gaining confidence knowing that at the very least he was definitely attracted to you, you waited about a minute before getting up and standing outside the door.

“Hurry up you’re gonna miss the best part Eds!” You smirked, knowing he had to come out now, knowing you were outside the door.

He was probably just taking a breather but you wouldn’t have any of that—you loved when he was flustered. Too adorable.

“Oh my goddd,” you practically moaned, “this pizza is sooo gooood.”

You heard a bang and a quiet curse from behind the door. Holding back a giggle you continued.

“Is it just me or does this pizza taste waaaay better than normal? Mmmmm…”

You almost ruined everything at the laugh you had to cover up with a slight cough. Deciding you were done now, you made your way back to the couch.

You two finished off the pizza without much more happening. You made the same jokes and quips as you usually would until the screen went blank out of nowhere.

“Eddie!” You knew we was sitting on the fucking remote. This happened at least once a week.

“It’s actually not me this time! Get up and check your own side!” He whined.

You get up and lift the cushion, only for it not to be there. “Get up, Eds!” He let out a long whine. “I’m comfyyyyy.”

He could be such a sook sometimes but you couldn’t help but find it adorable. His eyes were slightly glazed over with what you assumed was tiredness.

You decided to get it yourself and reached under Eddie shoving your hand under the cushion searching for it.

You two continued bickering, him insisting it wasn’t there and in your efforts to prove him wrong like you always did, reaching even further meant you somehow ended up in his lap.

The position went over your head as your hips moved, arm reached further between the cushion.

Eddie stilled beneath you and you breath caught in your throat at the reason why.

You could feel Eddie in his entirety. Hard. Against your thigh.

You were both frozen. Barely breathing.

Wide eyes connected as you were both lost for words. Eddie broke first.

“Shit—I’m sorry I…”

Your mouth caught up to brain and you stumbled out, “No—I shouldn’t have…”

Heavy breaths connected as you realised just how close your faces were.

You couldn’t help but glance down at his extremely kissable lips. You’d always been fascinated by every aspect of him, but especially his lips.

He licked them almost on instinct, causing you to lick yours as well without a thought.

“Y/N, I…” Eddie breathed softly, eyes full of lust but also something…warm?

“Please Eds,” you breathily responded, desire clear on your face.

That was all it took for Eddie to press his lips to yours. It started off surprisingly soft, the feeling of his lips against yours consuming you entirely. You were buzzing. It was just you and Eddie in this moment. His hands were on your hips and yours behind his neck gently tangled in his hair. You sighed into the kiss and he pulled even you closer.

His kiss slowly turned deeper, licking your bottom lip, hoping to kiss you deeper.

Opening your mouth, his tongue stroked yours and the fire in your belly was getting deeper. Unbeknownst to you, you had started slowly moving your hips against his.

He groaned deeply, pulling away from you. “Wait—” he squeezed your hips. “You need to stop for a sec.”

Rational thinking beyond you, the sting of rejection was overwhelming. So many emotions were rising to the surface and you couldn’t help your eyes glazing over. Maybe he realised it was a fantasy and he wasn’t actually enjoying himself. Maybe he realised having you as a friend was better. Maybe you kissed grossly—

Having realised your train of thought and seeing your eyes all glossy he immediately panicked.

“No! You don’t understand—j-just hear me out baby,” he stuttered out. Nerves evident in his voice. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your hips and he pulled your head down to his shoulder.

Mouth right next to your ear, unable to look you in the eyes in fear of rejection, he explained himself.

“I want you so bad, you have no idea. God, darling I’ve wanted you so bad for longer than you could imagine. You have no idea how badly I want to keep kissing you, but I can’t without knowing if you feel the same.”

His hand had moved to the middle of your back rubbing up and down gently. Your breath hitched wondering if what he was about to say was what you’d always dreamt of hearing.

You leaned back, looking him in the eyes, giving him a shy smile of encouragement.

“Look, I—I know I’m not the best guy out there, especially not for you. And I thought that all these years I could push down my feelings for you, but I can’t. And I don’t want to give you the wrong impression so I need to give you my whole truth. I—I love you Y/N… and you don’t need to feel the same because I know it’s a lot and I’m completely fine if you want to go back to being just friends or you want me to move out or you never want to speak to me again but I just needed you to know and Steve keeps telling me you feel the same but I don’t know if that’s true and I don’t want you to feel forced in to anything just because I feel that way—”

Hearing what you needed to hear, you interrupted his rambling by pressing your lips back together, and this time you took control of the kiss, moving even further up his lap eliciting a loud groan.

“I love you too, Eds.”

—————

Requests open!!

Thanks for reading guys!!

Not proofread sorry!

Please let me know if you want a smut part two! Or a normal part two 🫣!

Comment any ideas you have with this Eddie and reader as well because I’m thinking of making a few different one shots from the same universe!

Would you guys be into that?

Anyways thanks for reading!

Love you all x

<3

#eddie x y/n #Eddie munson #Eddie #stranger things #Eddie x reader #Eddie munson x reader #roommate eddie #roommate Eddie munson #friends to lovers #friends to lovers eddie munson #roommate!eddie #roommate!eddiemunson #x reader

[captain-mj]

WEREBEAR KÖNIG, WEREBEAR KÖNIG, WEREBEAR KÖNIG

First of all thank you for indulging my König x Ghost brainworms. SECOND, I loved it. The implication that König has been heavily collared and probably controlled in the past. *Mwah* good shit. Ghost going feral when he shifts? I need to know more! König and Ghost fully shifted encounter when? I think their dynamic here has a lot of potential.

If you are up for another part I will stay away from your teeth for now, but they are on thin ice.

I’ve thought about this more and I’m prepared!!

Part 1

König was cautious for a while. Being stripped of his mask by Ghost had caught him off guard. He felt weird about it. Not quite as angry as he should be honestly. More just... flustered and embarrassed. Ghost had immediately looked at his scars.

König had at one point started to consider himself handsome. It took him ages honestly, he had just joined the army and bulked up a little instead of being as skinny as a twig. Finally eating properly probably helped.

Then the scars happened. The ones across his face at the very least came from the battlefield. While he definitely thought they were ugly, hideous, nothing like Horangi's or Stilleto's, he didn't hate them quite as much as the ones around his throat. Shame filled him.

He honestly wanted to head back to KorTac. This was only temporary after all, but he needed to stay a bit longer. They were partnering with SpecGru for the time being which means he had to be here... With the angry, scary.... kinda hot lieutenant.

König blushed, wondering where that came. Yes, Ghost was tall. Not König height, but tall enough that he didn't feel like he had to back up and look down to speak to him. Ghost was also so commanding. Broad shouldered and willing to put whoever and whatever in their place. It was admirable. König wished he had that confidence.

One thing they had in common though was the unearthly silence they both had. With Ghost, it felt right. He was The Ghost. A Specter more than a Man. When König snuck up on his teammates or appeared out of nowhere, it was creepy. Off-putting. Where Ghost could lean in that, his whole persona hinging on it, König couldn't. Instead he just freaked people out and got called out for sneaking up on them.

König did not like training very much, Yes, he was well aware he needed to and he did regularly, but he didn't like it. And today, something in the air felt wrong.

He told himself it was just his anxiety again, but it didn't feel like he was being stared at. The air itself had a charge to it. König hesitated and considered just leaving. If anyone asked him why he was leaving before touching a single machine, he'd claim he suddenly remembered a meeting he had to go to. Yeah. That made sense. He could...

Ghost moved to spar. The hoodie he wore over his clothing fell to the floor with a thump, leaving him in an short sleeved shirt. König didn't recognize the other person, so not 141 and not KorTac. Maybe some recruit? Or another person like him from a different group? He didn't know.

They sized each other up. The other person looked very, very determined, but that was how most people looked when sparring with Ghost. König wasn't sure why because Ghost was willing to spar anyone if asked. Just no one was brave enough to ask half the time.

"Need me to go easy on you? Don't really learn if its just me tossing you around." Anyone else and König would've rolled his eyes and chalked it up to him being cocky. But with Ghost, it was just true. He was extremely adept at fighting and sparring was pointless if it was just getting your ass handed to you.

König decided to watch. As did half the room.

"For the first round. Need to warm up." Their voice was deep. König tried to guess his accent, but nothing really came to mind.

They were off. The stranger mostly went with quick jabs and tried their best to avoid Ghost. It wasn't the worst strategy, but Ghost had an impressive amount of stamina for his size, so it wasn't the most effective either.

König noticed someone recording and he thought that was odd. Some people recorded their workouts but this was sparring and it didn’t seem like Ghost to allow it. He shrugged it off. What was the saying? Not my circus, not my monkeys?

Ghost took the person down and they bounced right back up. “How did you do that exactly?”

König crossed his arms. Were they… flirting? Gross. Ghost didn’t pick up on it, instead actually instructing them on exactly how.

König noticed seconds before Ghost did.

The recruit grabbed the back of his mask and yanked.

There was a list of reasons this was bad. Besides the fact that Ghost had broken someone’s arm for touching him before (he insisted it was an accident but didn’t apologize) and could be downright evil in his cruelty with people he interrogated, it was also just mean. Why would someone want to do that? Ghost could be a hardass but never without reason. He was never mean without reason. He was cold and distant but König had a feeling that had little to do with his actual personality.

Of course every one was curious about his face. No one got to see it.

Before the cloth had moved an inch, Ghost shredded his clothing with his shift. People started screaming and fleeing, most of them having intimate knowledge of the fact that Wolf Ghost and Human Ghost were very different creatures.

König decided to stop this before there was a casualty. If he took a second to walk forward, he’d blame it on surprise.

The stranger currently had one of the ropes of the arena in front of them as Ghost frantically tried to get to them through it. Ghost hadn’t had time to think, to busy trying to go right for the throat.

König slammed into his side, sending him skidding across the floor. He stood up and quickly realized his mistake.

Ghost was big. It made sense. Big human equals big animal. But he looked more like the direwolves his omi would tell him than the wolves he had seen on missions.

Ghost had intense black fur and he stalked around König, snarling. But König didn’t think he looked angry. No, he looked scared. It made sense. Wolves were not supposed to be alone and not only did Ghost probably feel alone, this person had just cruelly tricked him.

“Simon.” König tried to reason. Someone was yelling about tranquilizers and he immediately grimaced. “No, just all of you leave.”

Ghost threw himself at König, teeth bared. König quickly tried to dodge, watching those giant dripping fangs almost graze him. He panted softly, backing up.

Ghost stalked forward, standing defensively when König simply stepped forward as well. He knew if he shifted, he could more easily pin Ghost down BUT an equal amount of pettiness for getting yelled at and worry they’d both end up tranqued and with giant headaches later kept him from doing so.

König snapped his fingers and Ghost’s attention fell on his hand. He spoke calmly to the stranger. “Go. Quietly. But keep close by. I’m sure Captain Price will be happy to hear of this.” The confidence he usually got on missions kept him steady.

Ghost glared at him. Bright brown eyes That struck fear into people’s hearts. That appeared from the shadows and dragged the soul to the ferryman personally.

Right now, he looked like a nervous puppy.

König softened a tad, now that everyone was gone he took off his hood slowly and then his jacket, glad he went with a zip up one. They had the room and no one else would come in until one of them gave the all clear. Its why they paired them up.

“You’re not feral.” He spoke softly. “Just spooked. Like a horse. Shifting has never been pleasant for you, has it?”

If Ghost could understand him was still up for debate. But clearly something agitated him because he was trying to get to König’s throat again. Killing bite, fast and efficient.

König finally shifted and they wrestled with each other. He knew normally, Ghost could beat his ass. Hell, if he was a bit more sound, he probably could with both of them shifted. But as is, Ghost couldn’t strategize and König could. Its how he ended up with Ghost on his back, König’s teeth around his throat, careful not to sink in, and his paw on Ghost’s surprisingly soft feeling tummy.

They sat there a while. König able to feel the pulse through his teeth.

It slowed once he realized König wasn’t killing him. He tried to wiggle away but König applied more pressure to his paw and he stilled.

Ghost melted back to a person. It was… shockingly graceful considering how he had acted. König suddenly dwarfed him. He pulled back slowly, ignoring the copious amounts of drool on Ghost’s throat.

Oh.

Ghost was pretty.

He had a strong nose, soft lips and a lot more hair than König had been expecting. It looked bleached and slightly curly, maybe wavy was better. Like König, he had scars. Glasgows along with a few on his cheek that connected to a slice on his ear. König wondered if he had been able to pay attention, if he would’ve seen the chunk from his ear in wolf form too.

Ghost stared at him. Both of them were half naked, bodies aching from unexpected shifts. Ghost also looked lost. Something soft in his eyes. König was careful not to look down, both of them remaining eye contact as is making sure neither broke that rule.

His eyes seemed to freeze over as he came back to himself. “Fucking bastard. Ill eat him alive, shifted or not.” He grimaced as he moved and König wanted to ask how long it had been. Ghost kept himself under wraps pretty well but tons of people snuck out too shift occasionally. Let out steam.

Ghost’s mask had been torn to shreds in the shift. “Fucking hell.”

König didn’t let himself think. He dropped the sniper hood over Ghost. “I had been wearing a neck gaiter in case the hood got too hot. Ill wear that.”

Ghost looked up at him and the word pitiful came to mind. König didn’t like it. “Thank you, König.” He pulled on the hoodie he had dropped before going into the ring. His pants were half shredded but he pulled those on anyway. It would have to do until they got to their room.

König also pulled on his half shredded clothing to follow him.

He wondered if Ghost would join him on a night out if he asked.

#cod #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare ii #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #König x ghost #König

[phlurrii]

I felt like writing a wall of text about Noe's atrocity, so here I am.

First off, The Aftermath. It's apparent that Dialga absolutely despises Noe (although it's my headcanon that Dialga hates everyone no matter what) As a direct result of the kill. Noe has already said before that he has killed a god or godlike entity.

It's safe to say that MissingNo has killed a Legendary or Mythical pokemon.

My contenders are Enamorus, Kyurem, and Zygarde,

I'm not very sure, but I think someone has asked about those three before, I looked, but couldn't find them.

Enamorus:

I do still want to ask about Enamorus. Again, I think someone has asked before, but I can't find it.

Enamorus' Bulbapedia entry states that:

Therian Forme Enamorus is known to be vengeful to those who disrespect any form of life. It will descend from the clouds and deliver a wrathful, ruthless punishment in the process.

Noe, Obviously, Kills and eats Spatiotemporal anomalies and glitches. Which, Though problematic, is still life. It could very well be that Enamorus saw Noe killing a less glitchy anomaly and decided Noe needed a lesson, after which Noe Killed Enamorus. Enamorus being dead is also supported by the fact that it has never appeared before Hisui. Which is set in the past.

Kyurem:

Kyurem is the original Dragon, And was split into three.

Its Bulbapedia entry is quite disturbing. stating that: The right side of its body seems to be damaged in some way, as the wing and horn on its head on that side are shorter; the right side of its head also has a spiked edge near its jaw hinge that is absent from its left. and: Kyurem generates powerful, freezing energy inside itself, but its body became frozen when the energy leaked out. By keeping its body frozen, the cellular structure will remain stable.

It could very well be that The Original Dragon was annihilated, and the three parts of its corpse became Reshiram, Zekrom, and Kyurem.

Zygarde:

Zygarde is my final nomination. It has a huge amount of Pokedex entries stating that it's incredibly vicious in protecting the ecosystem.

It kind of reminded me of this post where Noe's kill switch was mentioned.

If Zygarde was the one killed, It would've been a battle for the destruction of a third party. with both Tunnel visioned on their one goal, protect the Ecosystem, Destroy the anomaly. A Conflict of Common Interest.

Write-offs:

here are some legendaries that have been deconfirmed that I could find:

Necrozma and Eternatus

Giratina

Dialga

Arceus

You’re correct that Dialga despises Noe for who he ended up killing, as well as regarding write-offs, those have all been confirmed to not be the one who was killed off by Noe.

I’ll knock off Enamorus and Kyurem right now, Noe did get up to some goofy stuff in Hisui, but nothing with her. As for Zygarde I have to stay quiet for a reason, won’t confirm nor deny if it’s this reason though ;>

I agree I think some folks have asked before, but stuff gets lost so easily I wouldn’t worry about it ;3!

#always love me some walks of text with citing #genuinely makes me giggle and I have to spend a whi #council of theorists #ask #thebulletbot

[gritsandbrits]

Fixing that one small mistake in SAATFF

Having watched the show when it came out, I loved it! It had flaws but I enjoyed it. It was nice to see a modern show in the style of the 2000s action cartoons I grew up onm So imagine my shock when the season 2 finale pulled a Disney Twist on one of my favorite characters in the show.

See, back in season 1 Malcom Kane was a reformed gangbanger who got his life together and started working for Jonathan Rook (the series Big Bad) as an honest man. In s2 there was some mystery about a militant techno cult/gang called the Tech Men - everybody's so creative - and the heroes trying to figure out who the leader is. In the penultimate episodes They find out that the leader is... Malcom Kane!

Huh? What?

Given what we're told and shown about Kane this twist doesn't make sense. The Tech Men don't even have a connection to the bigger story. Why would Kane, whose motivation hinged on being good, suddenly decide to remove free will and go back to committing crime? The sudden reveal that he never changed at all undermined his arc as if implying that criminals will never truly repent, will always be evil, there's no room for morally grey backstories. You get the idea.

Basically it was stupid and unnecessary.

I legit HATED that twist! It was such a cop out. So, I decided to change it to something that actually made sense.

Instead, Kane actually a government agent working against Rook. It goes along with his past as a reformed criminal, this time it actually stuck and connects him to the overall mystery.

Like in canon, he knew Rook's true identity for quite some time. However, he needed to gather enough information to put the vile CEO away for good.

What you thought the government wouldn't notice the disappearance of one of their planes carrying their top scientists?

Anyways, Kane got a job working for Rook. It was surprisingly easy, as Rook was impressed by Kane's work ethic and take charge attitude. He was also compliant which meant little risk of being questioned. Kane did everything he could to keep Rook's favor, it was the only way he would be able to crack the case.

Over time, Kane managed to decipher his true involvement in the crash. Unfortunately Rook had a lot of connections that made it nearly impossible to properly charge him. One of those connections included the militant group The Tech Men, whose previous leader Kane helped put away years ago.

Kane visited the leader in prison and offered to reduce his parole if he gave him information about the group. Kane had to play his cards right. He joined the N Men posing as their leader, which in turn led him to more information about Rook's ultimate goal. Kane didn't want teenagers to get involved with the investigation. So he acted the part of the cold no-nonsense lackey to try to push them away.

Kane didn't expect their determination to stay. He didn't think a couple of children had the drive to fight for another day. Deep down he had to admit he was proud of those boys - and girls one he realized who Riya was.

Making Malcolm an agent ahows that he is willing to make morally dubious choices for the greater good. In a way it makes him more of a parallel to rook: both suffered losses and didn't have it all good growing up, but one decided to put good out into the world and the other wants to rule it. And it's better to show that people CAN change for the better than that black&white way of thinking.

#malcolm kane #they wasted a perfectly good character #wow havent used that tag in a while #saatff #stretch armstrong #stretch armstrong and the flex fighters #cartoons #rewrite #character arcs #fanfiction

[gigglebug]

.

#the only thing I hate about being in a polycule #and this is admittedly rare for which I am thankful #but I hate when both parts of my hinge decide they need #*gestures vaguely* #that can't include me #but don't tell me until hours after the fact that they started said activity #leaving me in the dark for hours wondering why I'm feeling lonely #and then I get depressed and start feeling like I'm too dependent on other people #etc. etc. etc. #forever until I go to sleep #which... maybe I should just... do that #sheriff rambles #to be clear those activities are normally a) hanging out with other parts of the polycule or b) games #it's only complicated when half of the polycule is only accessible via long-distance #because covid and lives in another country #but they don't... tell you... that they're going to be hanging out... #and I know it's the issue of different expectations and not great communication #but like #I don't like feeling like this #if you're going to spend three days offline could you at least... TELL me first?

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Unhinged | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends! This is my entry for @mobbucky's "600 Celebration Trainfest"! Big Big congrats to you, babe :) 🥰

So everyone please climb aboard as we travel to Gutpunch City for some good ol' angst!

Tag list: @beefybuckrrito @everything-burns-down @shadytalementality @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @glxwingrxse @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @psychoticmason @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @jamesbarnesjr @duchessoftheheart @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned 💘

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

Bucky sat alone in his darkened apartment. The tv was on, casting eerie shadows along the walls and filling the room with the sounds of soccer game. His eyes were vacant, unfocused. He felt himself getting lost in the deep waters of his thoughts, drowning with no hopes of resurfacing. A deep ache had set up camp in his chest two days ago with no intention of leaving. It was unbearable, and nothing Bucky did could make it go away. It worsened with each passing moment, never relenting- but he was certain that he deserved to feel such pain.

A light knock pulled Bucky out of his ever-darkening thoughts. Every part of him wished it was you knocking on his door, but he knew it wasn’t. With a huff, he pulled himself up off of the floor and dragged his body to the door. He found Sam standing in the hall with a six pack and a pizza, and normally, it would’ve been a welcome visit. But he hesitated to let Sam in. The only person he wanted to see, the only person he wanted to talk to, was you. But he’d fucked that up royally.

Sam and Bucky ate and drank without talking, both men with their eyes focused on the game but not really paying attention. After the pizza was demolished and the beers emptied, Sam decided to broach the subject, “So…have you spoken to her?” Bucky sunk deeper into the couch and shook his head. He’d never felt so defeated in his very long life.

“I don’t think she wants to talk to me…” he muttered, “I think it might be over”. Sam didn’t know what to do. All he knew was that Bucky needed to be with you more than he needed oxygen, and right now, he was suffocating.

“So, the two of you fought, that’s normal for a couple…” Sam offered, but Bucky shut him down. He thought back over everything that had happened and hated himself so much that wished he could blip again. “We didn’t just fight- we got into an argument and when I got up to leave the bedroom…” he paused for a moment, letting the shame wash over him, “I ripped the door off the hinges. I didn’t mean to, I was just- I was upset…sometimes I don’t know my own strength”.

Sam cringed at the image of Bucky partially destroying your apartment. He hadn’t expected those words to come out of Bucky’s mouth, not when he knew how Bucky was around you. He was always gentle with you- always soft and kind and quiet with his best girl. Sam shifted uncomfortably on the couch with no idea what to say. All he could come up with was, “oh…I didn’t know that”. Bucky nodded. He replayed the incident over and over again until he thought he might throw up.

A grueling, throbbing pain cut through him with every beat of his heart. He’d been in agony for the two days since it happened, but admitting what he did out loud struck the final blow. His jaw clenched and his hands balled into tight fists as he sat silently, hating the serum than coursed through his veins. A scarlet trail began to ooze from his palm as his nails dug deep into the flesh, but he didn’t notice- he was too consumed with thoughts of you.

“You should’ve…” he eventually muttered, “you should’ve seen the way she looked at me”. He thought back on how scared you’d been, how terrified you were of him. Your wide eyes and open mouth haunted him every time he blinked. He’d seen himself as a monster for years, but never wanted you to view him that way. He’d worked so hard to shed his sharp, intimidating Winter Soldier exterior and be the kind of man you deserved, but he failed.

“It hurts so much- why does it hurt so much?” he asked, his voice utterly broken, “I just want it to stop”. Sam sighed; he hated seeing his best friend in so much pain. Bucky had never gone through heartbreak before- he didn’t know how to handle it. This was a completely new experience for him that made him want to rip his heart out of his chest with his too-strong metal hand. He'd never thought he'd have someone in his life to be heartbroken over, and now that he'd lost you, he wished someone could wipe his mind one last time.

“It hurts because you love her...” Sam murmured, “It’s kind of a good thing-means you actually care. Have you tried to reach out?” All Bucky could offer was a shameful shake of his head, prompting Sam to huff. He checked the coffee table, the couch, and the floor, but couldn’t find Bucky’s phone.

He asked where it was, and Bucky mumbled something about it still being in his bag. Sam rolled his eyes and strode across the room, rummaging through Bucky’s duffel until he unearthed his phone. “Oh, shit- okay, well, you’ve got twelve missed calls and twenty-one texts from her. So…I think she wants to talk”, Sam told him.

Bucky’s head snapped in his friend’s direction and was off the couch in seconds. He scanned your messages in disbelief:

“Buck, please come back. I’m not upset.”

“Please please don’t worry about this, babe. It’s not a big deal. Just come over.”

“I miss you. Can we talk?”

“Bucky, I love you. Please call me back.”

He couldn’t believe it- you still wanted him. You missed him. You loved him. Relief began to spread through him slowly, making him feel real again. “Shit, she’s been trying to talk to me this whole time” Bucky mumbled. Sam shot him a ‘duh’ kind of look and grabbed his jacket. “Once again, Sam Wilson saves the day”, he joked as he headed out the door, “you’re welcome”. In a flash, Bucky pulled on his boots and grabbed his leather jacket, knowing he had to get to you as soon as possible.

He spent the entire ride to your place working on what he was going to say, but he knew it was pointless- he was certain he’d fall apart immediately upon seeing you. When he reached your door, he knocked gently, not wanting to alarm you. His mouth ran dry when you opened the door with your tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. “Buck…?” you murmured. Fresh tears pooled in your eyes and you wiped them with the back of your hand before falling into Bucky’s embrace.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you-I wasn’t looking at my phone. I didn’t think you’d wanna talk…” he muttered. You pulled away for a second and took his chin between your fingers, looking him deep in the eye. “If you thought I didn’t wanna talk to you,” you said with a sniffle, “then you don’t know me at all”. He chuckled a little and reveled in the feeling of you wrapped up in his arms. For the first time in two days, he felt the muscles in his shoulders begin to relax. It was amazing the effect you had on him, the way you could melt the tension from his body with just one touch.

He didn’t want to ruin the moment, but knew deep down he had to apologize. “Baby, about the other night- with the door…” he cringed as he brough it up, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I know I scared you, I just- sometimes I don’t know my own strength”. You could hear the shame coloring his voice. Your poor super soldier was always so gentle and sweet with you; he never wanted to expose you to the side of him that could snap you in half with ease. He was rambling, letting his anxiety get the best of him, when you took his face in your hands.

“You didn’t scare me”, you asserted, “Surprised me? Yeah. But I wasn’t scared…I know you’d never hurt me, Buck”. Bucky heard the sincerity in your words but remained unconvinced. His eyes flicked behind you to the hall that led to your bedroom, his gaze falling upon the broken hinges and bits of debris he’d left behind. “You sure about that? The look on your face told me otherwise…” he said as quirked an eyebrow at you.

“I’m sure. Honestly, Buck, the first thing that came to mind was that my landlord is gonna hate me- that's what you saw on my face,” you joked, “would you- would you just come in?” He let you take him by the hand and lead him inside, shutting the door behind you. “I want you here-I didn’t want you to leave in the first place”, you murmured.

He shoved his hands into the pocket of his jeans and tried to remember any of the things he'd rehearsed on his drive. “I feel normal with you, baby”, he said with a small smile, “when I’m around you, you make me feel like a regular person- and then I rip a door of the fucking hinges and it reminds me that I’m kind of a monster, you know?”

“Buck, you’re not a monster. You’re literally a super-hero. And all those years at Hydra, you were using maximal force all the time-" his jaw tensed at your mention of his Winter Soldier days. You saw his eyes darkening and quickly stopped his spiral, “but you’re always so gentle with me. You’ve never hurt me- not once. I’m not scared of you, and I know for a fact that this was an accident. So, please, don’t worry about it-I’m not”.

He let his forehead rest against yours and took a deep breath, letting your words soothe the cracks in his heart as he shut his eyes. “I’ve been in agony for days, I thought I was dying,” he muttered, “Sam told me that’s what heartbreak feels like”.

You placed a light kiss to hips, leaning into him with no intention of ever leaving his side, "I promise you'll never have to feel that again".

#mobbucky trainfest #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barns x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x reader angst #bucky x you #bucky x y/n

[your-mom-friend]

So I've been watching Assassination Classroom

Dear fuck I need to stop my exams are like 2 days from now

anyway y'all know how it is. Long post so buckle up

-I was pretty skeptical to watch it but my sister convinced me

-I love it so much

-I've just finished season 1 and I have opinions

-The whole series really hinges of Korosensei just deciding to teach a class for no reason huh. Like I feel like if they tried to logically answer "why does an octopus intent on destroying Earth want to spend the last year dutifully teaching middle schoolers?" the whole show would fall apart

-and I love it

-The opening scene of them firing on him as soon as he entered was iconic

-Really didn't like Karma at first. Kinda unhinged, even for this class. Especially when he tried to jump off a fuckin cliff what the FUCK Karma. I know the saying is "Karma's a bitch" but I didn't mean it like this.

-Nagisa. My son. Please protect him. I love him so much. The only one with a brain cell to record weaknesses.

-Damn I kinda...really don't like Irina. Like idk if that'll be a hot take in this fandom but what the fuck. Why would you try to seduce a middle schooler. Why kiss his brain out. What the fuck lady. I don't give a shit about you being a trained assassin part of that is reading a room and this room certainly wasn't spelling out "seduce the nearest child for information"

-Like I know she isn't a bad person and is a professional when she needs to be but I can't get over that initial thing. I might be biased but whatever.

-Also, Karasuma. 10/10 character. No flaws. Absolutely perfect. He's their dad. He gave them all a number to call in case they needed anything. They've al individually, without any input from anyone else, made the ringtone "You are my daAD, BOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE" This is canon because I said so.

-I headcanon both Karasuma and Irina as aroace just in different directions. Karasuma does not want a relationship, romantic or sexual, and just wants to live life as simply a tired dad to his assassin children. Irina also doesn't want a relationship, she just uses that to seduce everyone and she doesn't have to worry about catching feelings.

-The vibe I get from Irina trying to seduce Kurasama is the vibe I get from Teruhashi and Saiki. Only obsessed because he won't pay attention when everyone else pays too much attention, then develops feelings for who they are.

-I think my favorite part is how much almost everyone's heart is in the right place. And how everyone comes in with this clear-cut mission and goal and Korosensei just kind of...teachers them into being compassionate and letting loose. Karma. Ritsu. Karasuma, Irina. Almost anyone.

-Have I mentioned how batshit insane it is for the government to be like yes. We can't kill this unkillable creature that blew up the moon. How about we let him teach a class of middle schoolers, since he's gonna kill us all anyway. Absolute madlads.

-Yes I know the reason, no it doesn't stop it from being insane. And the government just has anti-sensei material to just provide for whoever the fuck wants it.

-Takaoka. Fuck that guy. Mostly because he reminds me uncomfortably of my father. Don't like that, not one bit. This man woke up and chose unbridled rage. Sir this is a Wendy's. Please chill.

-Oooooh Nagisa shaping up to be a whole ass assassin and everyone being like holy fuck lil dude dangerous as all fuck

-Karma not knowing since he skipped out

-I love their continued casual attempts at murder. "Hey no murder in the classroom till break time" students: *sigh* fine you're no fun

-I also love how hyped Korosensei is about being assassinated. Like whole ass giving them pointers.

-Plus his little quirks. Is he going to blow up the Earth and kill everyone? Oh yeah definitely. But infect his darling student's minds with the knowledge that he reads porn mags? are you insane? what kind of teacher-

-Really hating principal bitchface. Like I know that's his character but WOW setting up a class to fail with poor facilities and then making the laughing stock of the school on PURPOSE? That's messed up.

-I mentioned this earlier but Karasuma and Irina coming to be assassins and then just worrying about the kids and their future is everything. Is them being parental figures a tag? it should be

-I have FEELINGS about the howmany-part season finale (i lost count I actually have been studying in between letting this show consume me)

-Their plan was fuckin genius it should've worked and it WOULD'VE if Korosensei wasn't a little shit

-When they got sick I was like oh shit

-*sheds tear* my murder children have come so far

-Hey nice to see Irina in her element that's really cool

-Fuck Karasuma kicked ass so hard

-The whole interaction with the guy after Smog. "Hey why you doing that with your voice?" "because it makes me sound badass" sir what. It was so weirdly wholesome and then Karma was so sadistic with the wasabi and shit after

-Nagisa having to cross dress oh my god my poor son

-That shuffling maneuver was so good wow

-TAKAOKA YOU SON OF A BITCH

-Wow this dude is really off his rocker ain't he

-Local man tries to get revenge on babey that kicked his ass, more at 8.

-Oh shit I really thought Nagisa would straight up kill him I would've helped hide the body

-"Wouldn't someone like me be better?" You're fooling exactly no one with the nonchalance, Karma. You're scared for Nagisa

-Karma really saw Nagisa kick ass. It was at that moment he knew. He was WHIPPED for Nagisa I will take no criticism. There is NOTHING more amazing than a smol bean that can kick your ass 10 ways

-"Will you be my guinea pig?" chills. Literal chills.

-The assassins have morals that's so pure. "Well it was either kill children or take a hit to our reputations it wasn't a hard choice"

-Put also they really said their employer's a nutjob but that's fucked up even for us and then they just. Went behind his back to not do that.

-But can you imagine if they never had the showdown and Takaoka got away? The hired assassins tell them the poison was fake and they all go back and regroup against Takaoka later. He's expecting 14 and instead it's the whole class that would've been so funny

9/10 show, I'm on board the Karmagisa train, 100% and I want more

#so i've been watching #assassination classroom #rem rambles #nagisa shiota #karma akabane #korosensei #karasuma #irina jelavic #karmagisa

[gold-pavilion]

Shin soukoku and the philosophy of “meaning”

It’s a running theme that the team dubbed double black is always comprised of two very different but complementary members, from ability and skills to character and values. Shin soukoku, the new double black, isn’t the exception but actually the greatest exponent of that. 

Now, it’s also not unintentional that BSD’s characters and their viewpoints can sometimes represent different schools of existential thought, developing and clashing with others - it’s a theme that’s very central to BSD itself after all - and it’s precisely there, on that plane, where the opposition is built most strongly between Atsushi and Akutagawa.

I’ll explain each of their standpoints, and in a minute you’ll see exactly what I mean. 

Starting with Atsushi, his character arc sees him overcoming the idea he was raised under: that he needs to earn and justify his right to be alive, otherwise he’s a burden at best or pernicious at worst. And so, the need he displays to save others is both an act of empathy and a pathological need to be good for something, so that he can feel forgiven and justified. 

(Continuing under the cut due to length and plenty of imgs.)

This view has guided Atsushi from the start. It’s what pushed him to consider self-sacrifice as the only thing he could do during his ADA entrance test, what caused him to desperately want to save both the civilians during Kajii’s train hijack and Kyouka shortly after. It’s explained the most clearly in the following exchange with Akutagawa himself, during the Echo chapters:

But one thing is the ghost of the past behind Atsushi’s back, and another is his own thinking. Such ideas didn’t originate from him and they’re certainly not his own; in fact, Atsushi is fighting against them. 

Thanks to his own desire to live and the very healing effect of his time with the ADA, he’s quickly learned that no one can decide someone else’s worth or determine whether they have a right to live. That the worth in a person is inherent; a being doesn’t have to “be worthy”, it just has to be. It exists because it exists, not through virtue of being allowed by someone else. Existing, in itself, has worth, and anything more can be built up from there. That’s what he’s arrived at and what he wants to prove.

Akutagawa is aware of this viewpoint.

But Akutagawa refuses and opposes such a philosophy. He, on the other hand, has never seen or known worth in existence alone. Rather, his ideology is that a being doesn’t have worth, but must become worthy by virtue of being useful for something, being acknowledged for an achievement or use, and thus be given significance. To him, not everyone deserves their existence, not everyone gets that peace of mind. Not if they don’t win it first.

This is, of course, what his childhood in the slums and his education under Dazai taught him, what Dazai drilled into the deepest parts of him.

A being with no use is something worse than dead: it’s meaningless. It can be discarded, since it’s as good as nothing. So what he must do is earn his place and prove his significance. 

Even now, he must prove it.

In other words, we can summarize their standpoints this way: facing the question of “what makes it meaningful to be alive? What is meaning?”, Atsushi’s character as a whole represents the answer that “meaning is inherent to the self”, while Akutagawa’s says “meaning is determined externally to the self”.

When Atsushi and Akutagawa clash, it’s often a direct opposition between these two ideas. Akutagawa’s initial hate for Atsushi hinged on the frustration that someone like him, someone who didn’t prove to be strong enough and worthy enough, was being treated with humanity and given Dazai’s recognition. Likewise, Atsushi’s hate for Akutagawa was born from the latter’s disregard for life itself, for itself, which nullified his capacity for empathy.

Bearing this in mind, the following dialogues (taking place near the beginning, during Kyouka’s arc) become much clearer and more telling:

Akutagawa wanted her to have what he so desperately works for. Atsushi wanted her to be told what he so desperately needed too. Through their perspectives of Kyouka, they very much exposed their individual philosophies. And this first clash of values would shape their joint character arcs.

Of course, at the bottom of it all, what they both struggle with is the same: self-worth. And what they desire is also the same: to live meaningful lives. For Atsushi the answer is already at hand, what he must do is save lives and help people through the ADA, it’s what fulfills him and, little by little, eases the psychological ‘curse’ placed upon him by his deceased mentor. For Akutagawa, the answer is obtaining Dazai’s acknowledgement, being given worth by the only person he truly thinks can confer it to him, in order to feel that his life has been and is something of value. 

Though their search is similar, their answers are opposite and that’s what makes them two sides of the same coin, in a more profound way than anything else could. That’s what they are, as the current double black.

Or is it? Is that all?

After all, they didn’t simply stay as opposites and leave it at that, fighting each other without extending a single bridge between them. Akutagawa has shown time and time again that he understands Atsushi’s viewpoint, that he sees him. Atsushi sees him as well, and because of that, he’s set that unexpected bridge in order for Akutagawa to truly come closer and see things from his side of the divide. The constant friction of the two opposing forces erodes and begins to change them both.

Akutagawa, most of all, is still on a journey, tried and tested against Atsushi’s mostly defined arc. Through the rule of no killing, he’s gaining a new perspective on the value of life in general, and may yet see his own under a new light. Even now, he’s reconsidering what he’s proving and why.

In this setup of opposing philosophies something may yet change. This instance of soukoku, which has been built in a similar manner to the previous ones (that I believe have also had streaks of philosophical opposition written into them, but that’s thought and talk for another time) might result in something a tad different and be, in a way, more successful than their predecessors. 

But that’s the story Asagiri-sensei is still in process of telling us, so we’ll see what comes as we continue to read it.

For now, thanks for reading this! 

Manga credit: easygoingscans’s translation of BSD’s first arcs, dazaiscans’s translation of Portrait of a Father and the Echo chapters, and my translation for the recent Decay arc chapters.

#bsd meta #bsd and philosophy #shin soukoku #akutagawa ryuunosuke #nakajima atsushi #sskk #thoughts and talk and so #bungou stray dogs #izumi kyouka #she always ends up being very relevant #if the subject is the themes of bsd

[notlycheesden]

Rearview Mirror

Heyyo ✌🏻 this is my first written piece for Endeavor , as a gift for my friend @kogo for the evil exchange. so I hope you like it my dude 👍🏻. A piece I will def be coming back to write more for sure.

⤍ Endeavour x reader

⤍ 3.6k

⤍ TW.incest, TW.dubcon, TW.father/daughter

⤍ Summary:

Enji was trying to be a better father, a better man.

And you never lied to him.

Guess it was a time for a lot of firsts.

Everything was always red between the both of you.

It's past four when his phone rings.

He was awake. even on his day off -those becoming more frequent now- years of routine were still strong. His body alert and aware way before the break of dawn for hours of training before patrol, and later to go to his own agency, the literal empire that wouldn't run itself.

He was pretending to be asleep, unmovable laying on his stomach, face buried on his pillow. Deep breaths in and out in a rhythmic pattern. His massive frame takes most of his king-size bed that for more than a decade he slept right in the middle, no reason to let the right side of it unoccupied.

It was almost meditation-like. There in the quiet and calm of his bedroom between his sheets, he could organize -or at least try- his thoughts. A time in his day where he gets lost in self-reflection. The things he would have to do that day, what work in his agency he would have to supervise, and even stubbornly he would do a little steaming out, analyzing his “actions and emotions”, passing commentary from the resident agency therapist threw his way.

“A strict but good man, if not for some, mishaps, from your intense and fiery nature.” was his professional opinion about Endeavor. The man really lived to throw things his way.

It used to help calm his turbulent mind. But lately there was nothing in his head but turmoil.

It was something he would do until 6 AM, when he couldn't take any longer and had to get up, body and muscles aching from staying in bed for too long, the sun already rising on the horizon, painting the sky with yellows, pinks, and reds.

The silence of his room is broken by the ring of his phone. Instead of the familiar tone of the morning alarm, it was his normal ringtone. When he opens his eyes, the room was not bright as he expects, still shrouded by darkness. Endeavor sits on his bed at once, alert.

Getting it from the bedside table quickly, his posture falls when he catches the time and the already saved contact of who was calling him: Natsuo.

Enji picks up, but before he could question the call, the time, or even say hello, Natsuo speaks, voice grave and serious.

“You need to pick up your daughter right now.”

It’s a punch to the gut. One that makes all the air from his lungs escape at once. In a second, he feels like he is thrown into a rollercoaster.

The only thing he can muster in his shock is a guttural and deep bark of incredulity “What?”

Natsuo cuts Enji off immediately. His tone triggering him into snapping, memories hushing in -not the time for this- “She just called. She was a crying mess, begged me to come for her but I live two hours away-Shouto is on patrol and not picking up and Fuyumi is with her fiance's family at the onsen-”

Enji inhales sharply. Dread takes hold of him while he can't even see straight with the sudden rush of adrenaline, sirens blasting off in his head.

“She was supposed to be with fuyumi at the onsen.” His voice echoes back at him in his bedroom walls, he doesn't realize he is shouting.

“Look, this is really not the time. She has no money and her phone’s dead. I was able to get her to tell me an address before the call dropped. she's all alone there. Are you gonna pick her up?”

Natsuo calms his own breaths now after snapping and shouting back, and he can hear shuffling noises on his father’s side of the line. The older man was up in a second, not really seeing anything, rushing through his stuff picking his keys and wallet. He hates the way his father could make him snap so easily.

Enji was completely distraught.“She said she was going to be with fuyumi…” He mutters under his breath while running through the corridors, even forgetting the phone by his ear, his son still on the line.

But Natsuo hates even more the blatant difference in the way his father treated all of them and you in comparison. Always. Like he could fix his mistakes. Hide his sins.

“Well. Think your little princess lied to you old man.”

Enji didn't even register the venom in his son's words, nor when he hangs up on him.

He’s out of the house in a blink. He tries not to rip the door out of its hinges on his way out.

——

He drives fast, almost no other car in the streets making it easier to speed up in his nervous state. The GPS voice droning about the directions, a forty-minute drive that he would make in twenty.

you said you were going to spend the weekend with your sister.

You lied to him.

Enji’s heart hammers in his chest and his flames burst multiple times on his face out of control. His grip on the wheel tightens to ground his shaking hands, his jaw set with such force that he could feel a headache already forming.

Thoughts were flying through his mind a mile a second. Where are you? What happened to you? Who were you with? Were you safe? Why were you crying?

Why did you lie to him?

It was like his heart was being squeezed by dread and being broken at the same time.

You were his youngest. After he realized what he did to his children as a father, he tried his best to do better; connect, communicate, but he was emotionally and socially stunted -Thanks doc.- and by the time he tried to reach out, it was just a little too late.

Fuyumi was the pillar of the household, replacing their mother too much young and having to fit in a mould not meant to be hers, barely holding the treads of the family and house together. Natsuo was out of the front door as soon as he finished high school and got into med school, choosing to live in the dorms and work part-time rather than stay at the manor. Shoto was another history in itself.

And there was you, a couple of years younger than your now up-in-the-ranks pro hero brother, at the time just a pipsqueak. Too young to remember Rei, remember the worst of Endeavor.

And when he tried to connect, you were there. As if just waiting. Wanting your father to look at you. Frail and innocent and just in want of care, of attention, of love. You welcomed him into your life with open arms and heart.

Enji did try to make it right by you. And for some time things were progressing, even his other children were starting to turn their heads around his direction.

Until Touya’s incident.

The media cracked down on him and his family with a vengeance, almost nothing was left unturned or whole.

Natsuo was the first to cut ties. Shouto threw himself into his hero work, completely closing himself off. Even Fuyumi decided that she was done, took the next step, and went to live with her now fiance, completely ignoring whatever Enji tried to shout about costumes or honor.

Then it was just the two of you.

He tried to be a good father.

He was a quiet man in his private life, strict and with a violent nature, but he reached out for outside help to make it right. An older and trustworthy housekeeper to not chain his daughter down at the manor, guidance from therapist to help him become a better father, a better man, anything to do right this time.

Call it atonement, call it his redemption, call it hypocrisy, he didn't care.

He only cares that at the end of the day, you were there at his side, happy.

This morning he saw the note on the fridge.

Going to onee-san family trip,

Be back on Sunday.

You never had lied to him before.

Guess it was a time for a lot of firsts.

——-

The music blasting through the night tipped him off even before his car's GPS tells him he arrived at the destined location.

He parks way down the street and assesses the place inside the darkness of his car.

Enji’s way out of the city now and inside the industrial district, the building seems old and falling to pieces, people are lingering all around the street, but it’s thicker there. At surface level the building was empty, but the music was definitely coming from there.

He dreads the worst.

Getting out of the car still in his sleeping sweatpants and tee, he throws the hood of his workout jacket over his hair to conceal himself. He’s going for discretion, get you and get out, no need to make this a public affair. Not with this, not with you, not right now.

He searches around but still can't find you. Half an hour has passed since Natsuo called. He's in a frenzy. Endeavor forces himself to calm down and think.

His son didn't mention music. He looks far into the street and he can see the entrance of an alleyway, he hushes there.

His stomach tied in knots when he sees in the dark your small figure crouched down beside a dumpster. your shoulders ate shaking with silent sobs holding your dead phone for dear life, trying to make yourself smaller than you already were, head down.

Enji barks your name and your head snaps to the entrance of the alleyway in shock, your body trembling and fat tears running down your smudged makeup.

“Daddy!”

In a second you were up and running, throwing your body against him and hugging his middle. He doesn't know what to do first, but he opts for following his instincts. Enji hugs your shaking form, shushing you lightly while petting your head. He doesn't know if it's him or you who's shaking more.

He doesn't remember how, but he manages to walk both of you to his car without being seen, his hulking form covering your smaller one.

He's shaking. When Enji puts you in the passenger seat and the car lights momentarily shine everything in an amber glow, rage fills his chest. You are in a dress he has never seen before, he knows it was not yours. He would never allow a thing like that or let you use it in public. Your makeup that before being ruined by your smudging and crying, was heavy and meant to seduce.

He closes your door and gets in the car.

He's shaking.

——

Enji can only control himself enough to not rip the wheel or step on the gas right through the flooring for only three blocks. and thank the gods again for the hour, because he could not quite see the streets in front of him. If they weren't deserted while he drives double the velocity permitted, it would be likely that the fears of his family being again under the cruel and ravenous judgment of the public eye would become reality, although for a completely different reason from the ones he has been dreading until this point.

When he reaches the fourth block, he makes a sudden stop, turning and parking harshly with the front of the car almost all the way over the curb, the tires skidding loudly into the quiet of the night and scaring you out of your still shell shock state. your small sniffles stop when you let out a muted yelp of surprise.

Enji quickly pries his hands that have a death grip on the wheel and smash the roof of the car to turn the lights on in such a way that later he’s impressed he didn't send the entire ceiling flying. As fast as he did that and the darkness of the car is now cast in warm gold, his hands are on your small frame like a striking snake, a big calloused one gripping your face between meaty fingers, squeezing your wet cheeks and the other one in your far shoulder, turning you in his direction with a barely controlled yank. Enji wasn't sure if the shaking was coming from your body or his.

He's frantic, hectic, eyes going up and down your body trying to find anything, something. “Are you hurt? tell me,” His voice is harsh, too loud into the small space. You jump startled, but his grip locks you in place, he doesn't notice.

Why did you come to a party? Why are you dressed like this? Why did you do this?

“Are you?? Someone did something? Gave you something, touched you?” He barks again louder, bending and twisting to be in your face now, eyes scanning all over your body. But again and again, they would be drawn to the too short hem of your dress, from your ruined tearstained makeup and down again to your soft and creamy thighs, trying to find a mark, a scratch, a stain. Anything, something.

“Fucking answer me!”

“Dad please!”

Enji lets you go as if you just slap him in the face. He blinks.

You are shaking. Looking at him in fear, silent tears running down your cheeks. Your jaw is set as you try to hold your whimpers back, his fingers make red marks bloom on your face and arm under his digits.

Memories come back rushing. Phantoms scourging in blue flames.

He releases you as if you burn him.

His hands hover in place, and he doesn't dare to move, still crowding you. Both of you staring at each other in fear and confusion as if something would break.

He slowly backs away, and you keep still. He turns the light off and stares at the road.

Enji couldn't take more things between both of you breaking.

He takes a deep breath. Starts the car again to drive back home.

——

Friday nights are your nights.

Enji doesn't really remember when it started. But he knows it wasn't something that was spoken of or agreed beforehand. It happened once, then twice, then his job got in the way, then thrice, and when he noticed, it was a routine between him and his daughter.

Like most things between both of you, it just… fell into place. And it just felt right.

Endeavor would arrange his schedule in a way so that his Fridays would be empty, any emergency at the agency could be easily solved that way, patrols and hero work set on the weekends so he could come home at a sensible hour, just by dinnertime.

He would be just taking his blazer and shoes off at the entrance when Enji would hear your running steps from the kitchen, your pinky apron-clad figure hushing to meet him with a bright smile, eyes shining.

you would get a hold of his tie and gently tug down for him to bend at the waist to your level, your arms were thrown in a warm hug on his neck and a sweet and lengthy kiss on his cheek after he steps through the threshold. you would giggle against his face from the tickles you got from his stubble while warmly welcoming him, the food still hot on the table.

It was one of your multiple habits together, just the two of you. And it felt right.

It was routine. And it felt so domestic, warm and right.

Friday nights are your nights. After he gets home, you guys have dinner, something you cooked by yourself, sending the older housemaid away earlier.

Sometimes it is a new recipe, sometimes something you already tried before. But it's always good, and when Enji compliments your cooking skills and how much he enjoys it, your cheeks blush red. You daintly try to hide your smile as you thank him, bashful behavior so alluring even when he knows is just a little act, playing coy. There's warmth in his chest.

The lights in the dining room cast everything in this whimsical warm glow and maybe it's the beer, but Enji thinks it reflects lovely on you and the color of your blouse today. He says so.

“Looking so pretty tonight, princess.”

The red on your cheeks grow stronger. From across the table, he hides his smirk behind his can at seeing how you fidget in place, trying to contain your coquettish smile while biting your plush bottom lip. The warmth spreads lower.

Only later it dawns on him. Enji was flirting with his own daughter. And it was a habit.

It was routine.

Enji is sprawled on the big sofa comfortably, already showered and in his sleeping clothes after dinner, the second movie of the night halfway through.

It was a period drama and he tries to pay attention to the main points for your quiz about it the next day, but he was mostly checked out, lulled by the comfy dark of the living room, the buzz of the beers he drank, sleep and your warm body draped over his.

He doesn't really remember when it started, but he knows it was gradually. One day in your Friday movie nights, he notices you were glued on his side, and on the next one you had an arm draped over his torso while both of you were laying on the reclining couch, and since then, you were always over him, arms and thighs and breasts glued to his body, but most of the time cutely laying on his chest.

That night was no different. You are laying on his broad chest, using your arm as leverage to look down and back at the tv in front of the sofa, and for you to not slip he has one big palm over your waist and the other in a secure hook on the slope of your knee, propping your bent leg higher across his stomach. Your breathing matches his, and if not by your little grunts and noises of surprise, the redhead would have thought you had fallen asleep on him. It would not be the first time.

The clothes you are using are small and had hiked up a long time ago, a loose tank top and booty shorts, both of them old and worn out, sleep clothes.

From where he was, he could see all your body over his. From the crown of your head to the slope of your waist as it dipped under his scarred hand. His gaze follows the curve of your thigh draped over his waist to the fat of your ass pointing high. He muses in a daze that he could see the inside of your tank top, the soft swell of a breast making an appearance. He leers.

You move a little, and this time, he can make out the shade of a nipple. It’s pert and small and pretty, and blood rushes to his clothed cock, but is late, and he's tired and buzzed out. It doesn’t connect in his mind.

You move. you are getting yourself higher on his chest. Enji feels small hands wandering under his shirt. Presses of lips on his neck. Wet kisses on the stubble on his jaw.

The soft touches pull him deeper. There's a young and wanton body over his. It’s been so long since he truly touched another, let himself be touched. Smooth lips and an uncertain tongue were kissing him, and he wants to devour them. It’s hot and burns and makes his insides coil, his cock hard and heavy inside his pants. A warm slit humping it.

Could have been the tiredness, the beer, the comfort of the situation, anything really.

Enji kisses you like a man starved. Head moving and ravaging your much smaller mouth with his tongue. His hand yanks your tank top down exposing your breasts, and now he’s pulling and pinching the sweet nipples in a way that makes you moan against his tongue with a voice he couldn't recognize.

His other hand was down at your ass, guiding your movements back and forth on his erection with vigor, the friction against your slit makes you weak, but he keeps you moving, his calloused hand encompassing most of your behind. At each needy thrust his fingers would slide down between the cleft of your ass more and more.

His meaty fingers push the bottons of your shorts aside with a flick of his wrist, and now he's touching directly your puffy lips that are messy and wet all over. Enji growls in your mouth as you moan louder when he starts playing with your pussy, a pitched whine as he flicks your clit up and down, a strong hold on your breast.

A loud bang from the TV is what snaps him back to reality.

It was his daughter.

His daughter was over him. It was his daughter that was humping his cock, that he was sucking her small tongue and tweaking her nipples until he made her squeal.

He jumps to his feet and throws you across the couch.

Different from him, you look wide awake. Flushed face and startled eyes stares up at him, exposed breasts still heaving. Nipples rosy and hard. Between your legs, a glistening trail of where his fingers dragged when he ripped them off of you. Your shorts are drenched.

There's a moment of silence.

Enji snaps. He sprints to his bedroom, leaving you alone in the living room.

He locks his door, drops to the floor, and whips his hard and heavy cock out. in three pumps, thick ropes of cum cover his hand and clothed middle.

Taking big gulps of air trying to calm his breathing, his eyes glancing everywhere in a panic state, he looks down, and spot the wet patch on his clothed thigh. Yours juices that leaked on him. Its still in his other hand, fingers wet.

Enji wants to cry.

He tried to be a good father.

He ruined it again.

#endeavor x reader #Enji Todoroki #Endeavor #Enji todoroki x reader

[lepusrufus]

Wrong victim

Pure comedic self indulgence because we all need a funny break before shit starts to really go down in To bargain for immortality. Set quite a few years after the game events, around 2025, and is pure ridiculousness so enjoy.

////

Her response to being unceremoniously shoved in the back seat of a car that looked like it's seen far better days was merely an annoyed grunt. It turned into an eye roll when the man that climbed in after her pulled everything out of her pockets. 

"Wouldn't want you calling anyone," he said with a toothy grin while waving her phone in front of her. 

"Trust me, that won't be necessary," she replied in a deadpan voice. It's not like she would call the police, she wanted them involved even less than her kidnappers probably did. As for other people she could reach out to, a phone call would be redundant really. "Do be careful with it, I'd hate to lose the photos of Daniela sleeping upside down." 

After maybe ten minutes of driving down the barely illuminated outskirts of the city, and having her pockets emptied, dagger included, the burly man driving pulled up inside a parking lot. It was large and overgrown with weeds and vines reclaiming spaces that had been left without human activity for who knows how long. The lamp posts were nothing more than useless concrete pillars as they provided no illumination, resulting in her pitiful captors having to use flashlights as they made their way into the dilapidated factory. 

Nicole sneered at the sight of collapsed walls and rusty metal walkways, reminding her of the one particular Lord she couldn't stand the sight of. She decided a distraction was needed from unpleasant memories. 

"Abandoned factory?" She whistled. "How many cliche movies have you guys watched?" 

She let out a chuckle when the man that had previously taken her phone shoved her ahead. Hopefully they wouldn't tape her mouth shut, there was so much fun to be had by mockery alone. 

It didn't take long before all three of them entered a dimly lit room, numerous candles placed all around, either on desks or candle supports nailed to the walls. The three more people inside were wearing long black robes and white masks covering their faces. Nicole had to laugh. 

"Oh so you're that kinda crazy." 

"Shut the fuck up and stay put," the man holding her hands behind her back said while pushing her into a chair. 

He then moved to a table and Nicole couldn't help but scowl at how unceremoniously her beloved dagger had been thrown on the wooden surface. Afterwards, he put on a mask not unlike the others, except with red streaks going down from the eye holes, and started to prepare something in the middle of the room. The others joined in on the task, all but the one man that had been put in charge of making sure Nicole stayed put. Because of course she could easily escape five people much bigger than her at any given moment. 

She decided to take a look around, at the various dusty books opened on pages she couldn't quite make out from where she was sitting. A few pages were laying around, either with diagrams or with scribbled notes. Had she really stumbled upon a cult? She couldn't wait to have a laugh about it with her family. 

"So," she started, craning her neck a little so she could see her captor's face. "Who you gonna sacrifice me to huh? I wanna know before you slice up my throat or whatever you're planning on." 

A confused and suspicious look was thrown her way, surely due to the complete nonchalance she spoke with about what would surely be her untimely death. "The… the devil," was his unsure reply. 

Nicole let out a small laugh. "Oh trust me, you do not want to meet her. Though devil is not quite the word," she continued despite a few other pairs of eyes landing on her. "Maybe a pissy fungal overlord with an unhealthy obsession for crows. Yes that's more like it," she finished with another chuckle. 

The man with a slightly different mask, who seemed to be their self appointed leader, got up from where he was nailing something to the floor and walked up to her in a few long strides. His eyes were barely visible, but anger was clearly distinguishable. 

He pulled out a knife, old, rusty and with a black worn out handle so typical of a kitchen utensil, and so incredibly ugly compared to the beautifully ornate daggers that decorated her home. She had to laugh when the dull blade got pressed to her throat. 

"Will you shut up for one minute?!" He raised his voice slightly, as much as someone who was doing something they didn't wish to be caught doing would dare to. It didn't deter her though. 

"Oh sweetie this is just what foreplay looks to me," she started with a grin that made her wish she had fangs like the better part of her relatives. "But please do me a favor and stay quiet, there's no fun in hunting if my darling finds you within five seconds due to you screeching like a broken squeaky toy." 

The man blinked for a few seconds, taken aback both by the words and by the apparent passivity towards having a knife at her throat. He stayed like that until one person that was working with some ropes behind interjected. 

"Of all the people you could've taken, how did you find this unhinged bitch?!" 

"I'll take that as a compliment," Nicole said, bending slightly to the side so the person that had spoken up would have a clear view of her sickly sweet smile. 

After that exchange, her captors seemed happy to move things along quicker, working in silence and begrudgingly ignoring any remarks she would throw their way, including an observation on the downright dreadful quality of the rope they had. Quality that she regrettably got to experience when her wrist and ankles got tied to the nails in the floor, having her lay down in a starfish position. It kind of reminded her of sprawling on the bed she shared with Cassandra simply to annoy the brunette. 

After loudly reciting something in latin, the leader bent down, same rusty knife in hand, and tipped her chin upwards to expose the neck. She did let out a wince when the blade sunk deep in her flesh and got dragged downward, towards her chest, leaving behind a choking sensation and the taste of copper in her mouth. The knife however only made it to the base of her neck, before the sound of metal crashing caught everyone's attention. 

"What the fuck," the man whispered, thankfully pulling the blade out so her skin had the time to begin stitching itself back together. She still had to turn her head around and spit some blood that made its way into her mouth. 

Before anyone else had a chance to speak up, the door was kicked open, one of the rusty hinges breaking completely, to reveal a rather angry Cassandra with her sickle in hand, ready for bloodshed. 

There were a few seconds of stunned silence before the blade was unceremoniously thrown into the first person's skull, spinning through the air for only a few meters before getting embedded into the bone with a sloshing sound. Anyone else trying to escape through the one door was met with a similar fate. One person had their knees kicked inwards before a knife held at the same belt as the sickle came down to slash their throat. Another had their head smashed to bits against the nearest wall in the blink of an eye. And last, the burly man that had driven and kept an eye on Nicole, had his heart ripped through the bottom of his ribcage when Cassandra shoved him against one of the tables, scattering the books and papers that were by then stained crimson. 

The remaining man, the leader, got grabbed by the shoulders and forcefully shoved into the same chair she had been sitting in not too long ago. 

"Stay put and I'll let you live," Cassandra spoke, all the cruelty polished over decades upon decades of sporting the title of the family's most sadistic coming through those few words. 

He gulped and nodded, eyes glossed over by the pure human terror now so unfamiliar to both of them. 

She then turned around, expression softening like a switch had been turned behind golden eyes. "Nicole," she started, barely an edge of concern and irritation at the sight of her wife's bloody skin. 

"Hi babe." The self satisfied grin almost had the brunette chuckling while she retrieved her sickle and Nicole's things. 

The weapon was used to cut her free, a grimace pulling the corners of her black lips downward at the same quality observation her wife had priorly made, no doubt. A hand was offered to Nicole to pull herself up, while the other presented the familiar dagger that was gifted to her so many years ago. 

"Will you do the honors love," Cassandra asked, with that beautifully sadistic smile. 

"Of course," came Nicole's reply as her hand wrapped around the leather covered handle. 

With some of the wretched ropes gathered from the ground, Cassandra made quick work of the man's hands and legs, securely tied to the chair and voice frantic. 

"You said you would let me live!" 

Cassandra laughed, a low ominous sound, while grabbing the mask and throwing it on the floor. She did love to see the terror in her victims' faces after all. 

"Unfortunately my wife made no such promises," she finished with a forceful pull of hair that kept his head in one place as she moved to the back of the chair. 

Nicole approached with the dagger already out of its holster and tapped the blade's point against her lips in thought for a few moments. She could simply slice his throat and be done with it, or stab him and leave him to bleed out, choking on his own blood. A hum made its way past her lips. No, no that would not do. 

She grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt, pulling it up almost to the neck. After a few mental measurements and approximations were made, the tip of the blade finally found its way into muscle, drawing thin trails of blood and pained screams. It took a good five minutes to carve all the intricate details she wanted to, the swirling patterns cutting cleanly through skin, courtesy of her wife keeping the blade sharp and in top condition. 

After she was content with the level of detail, and screams subsided to pathetic sobs, she took a step back and, with a hum, looked at Cassandra for a reaction. 

"Oh dearest," the brunette said, looking over the man's shoulder and down at the bloody cuts on his abdomen and chest, forming a crude yet not unfitting replica of the Dimitrescu crest. 

At the adoration that made its way past the cruelty in her wife's eyes, Nicole smiled and gingerly took a hold of her unoccupied hand, bringing it close to her lips and leaving a small kiss and a barely visible blood imprint on each knuckle. 

"I take it that you approve of my… design choice," she asked with another glance down at the jagged lines that formed their family's symbol. 

"It's wonderful," Cassandra replied, fangs shimmering slightly in the low light, exposed from the proud smile that tugged at her lips. 

A gorgeous smile, really, that made something swell inside Nicole's chest no matter how many times she saw it. Truth be told, her rendition of the crest was quite lacking, never having had the artistic skills to quite capture the intricate details that formed it. Nevertheless, if it brought a smile to her wife's lips, she was more than content with it. How unfortunate that it had to be ruined. 

She let out a sigh, still holding Cassandra's hand. "Too bad those pigs at the BSAA would quite disapprove of us leaving such things behind. Oh well," she shrugged, bringing the hand she was holding over to the man's abdomen. "Better it be ruined at your hands." 

The next second, claws dug deep into flesh, slicing the muscle and everything underneath all the way up to the throat. It left five deep gashes over the fine cuts of her dagger, but the satisfaction did not dwindle. On the contrary, when the gurgling sounds finally stopped and the body went limp, her smile was still there, turning into light laughter when Cassandra licked her fingers only to visibly cringe. 

"Say what you will about the dungeons, but at least we feed our livestock well," she spat, taking out a napkin from a pocket and wiping her fingers clean. "But with that disgusting thing out of the way, let me help you with that," she continued, grimace morphing into a sly smile when her eyes landed on Nicole's still bloody neck. 

She gave her no time to disagree, not that she would, before she pushed her backwards slightly into the edge of a table. Nicole wasted no time in lifting herself up on the wooden surface, bringing their faces just a tad closer to being on the same level. 

Cassandra dipped her head down, lips leaving teasing feather-like kisses on her jaw before lowering even further so she could drag her tongue up the length of her neck. It made a shiver run down Nicole's spine, that turned into an impatient tug of her wife's hair when the motion was repeated again and again, until no traces of blood could be seen on her neck, save for the crimson stains that made their way to the hem of her shirt. 

Their lips met in a hungry kiss, full of fangs and smeared lipstick and the taste of copper so familiar to the both of them, albeit for different reasons. When Nicole's hands went to the first buttons of Cassandra's blouse, their kiss was broken with a sly smirk. 

"This is such a dreadful place for such things, don't you think," the brunette said, all too amused by her wife's exasperated sigh. 

"You started it," Nicole complained, but before the words were fully out of her mouth, she was tugged off the table and on the way out, ready to get back home and have a laugh about the irony of her capture. They would have to pick up where they left off at a later time. 

#cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #unhinged maiden™ my beloved #tw: gore #cassandra being cassantra and comin to save her wifey #don't take this as a clue to how the mutation sequel may turn out #fanfic

[queenbeean]

for better or for worse / bucky barnes

author’s note: this is my first bucky fic so bear with me please; this is my entry for @celestialbarnes 4k writing challenge; i’m sorry this is short and bad

warnings: bad writing, angst, mentions of cheating, fluff and smut MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

prompt #6 “i guess you didn’t mean it when you said for better or for worse”

taglist: @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

Bucky has never walked faster in his life. The handle of the plain brown paper bag was almost burning him. He felt as if everybody walking down the street was either staring at him or at the bag. What’s worse, he felt like every person knew what was inside the bag. His heart was beating faster. You were going to kill him. Maybe worse, he feared you were going to freak out, feel violated and then dump him. But on the other hand, he promised you he’d do this. Well, only part of it.

“Fuck.” He whispered. Or he thought he did. When he felt three people turning their heads to him, he pulled his cap down and walked faster to your shared apartment. Once he closed the door, he finally allowed himself to breathe. Leaning over the door, he took his cap and ran his fingers to his now shorter and quite sweaty hair.

“Why are you all flushed? And what’s in the bag?” Before Bucky could register Sam’s voice, he drew his knife out and threw it at where he heard him. Sam was quick to react and moved his head in the nick of time.

“What the hell, Sam?” Bucky walked up to the wall where the knife was now stuck. That was going to be hard to explain to you. “How did you get in?”

“Did you also shop for lingerie back in the thirties?” Sam’s voice was overshadow by the sound of wrinkling tissue paper.

Bucky almost flew and ripped the bag from Sam’s hand, ripping the bag in the process and making the contents of the bag explode in every direction. “That’s none of your business. Now you need to go.” He said as he pushed his business partner out the door.

Before he could close it, Sam stopped him. “Listen, I wouldn’t have peeked if I knew those were going to be in there. It was payback from that time I got donuts for my nephews.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Say hi to Y/N for me.” Sam said as he walked to the elevator.

For the second time, Bucky leaned against the door. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to go shopping for underwear. But he had promised you to replace the thong he ripped from your body. The memory of your small moans against his neck as you two tried new things flooded his mind. The two of you have never tried quickies in forbidden places but he couldn’t bear the thought of not talking to each other anymore. Which was the other reason why he decided to buy you one or maybe four more lingerie sets. The very same sets that were now thrown everywhere.

As he picked them up, he could only imagine how you would look in them. That image and the memory of the last time you two made love made his pants considerably tighter but you wouldn’t be home for another six hours. Maybe he could wait for you. Prepare dinner and wrap his presents for you.

Who was he kidding? The smallest thought of you had him craving you hard. And since he couldn’t have you right now, he was left with one thing to do.

Six hours later, you closed the door behind you and dropped your stuff, your keys getting caught with your scarf that also fell. “Shit.” You whispered under your breath. As you bent down to pick them up, something from underneath the couch caught your attention. “What the hell?” Your finger was almost burning as the little piece of fabric hung from it. It was a pastel blue and lace and there wasn’t almost any fabric to it. What was worse, it wasn’t yours.

I swear to God, if he cheated on me...

The opening of the door, awoke Bucky from his nap. “Hi, doll.” His smile almost made you forget about the incriminatory thong. The anger in your eyes made him sober up and sit up. “Doll?”

“Don’t call me that, James. What the fuck is this?!” You threw the fabric to his face. As soon as he took it from his face, his eyes widened. “I guess you didn’t mean it when you said for better or for worse.”

“Doll? Doll, it’s not what it looks like!” He yelled after you and almost caught you but you shut the bathroom door on his face. The first wave of shock simmered down and the reality of the situation caught up to you. He didn’t deny it but the look on his face was an answer, right? What if he didn’t? But what if he did? Oh, God, you almost threw up at the thought...

You were snapped out of it when the door was opened — or rather ripped off its hinges quite easily. Curse his vibranium arm, you thought.

“Did you cheat on me?”

“No.” Bucky said as he came closer to you. “No, I didn’t. I would never.” His hands cupped your cheeks and his thumbs wiped away the few tears that came out. The look on your face broke his heart. He hates that he wasn’t careful enough with his present for you. And more importantly, that yesterday’s fight led to you not trusting him anymore.

“Whose thong is that then?” You sniffled.

Bucky smiled slightly at you. He took your hand and led you to the kitchen pantry where he kept your present for the time being. He rummaged through the contents of the gift bag and pulled out the exact same panties he ripped off you. “Remember yesterday when I promised I’d buy you another?” You nodded and felt embarrassment fill you. “I might have gotten carried away and bought some sets I think you might like but I can always return them if you don’t like them, well except for the blue one because the tag is ripped off. I’m going to make Sam pay me back if you don’t like that one-”

You cut him off by pulling him down to your height and kissing him. His beard was slightly scratching you but you didn’t care. He went through all the trouble and bought you stuff the both of you might enjoy. The thought of this hundred-year-old man going out and do something like that made you feel so stupid but so incredibly loved and special.

“I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Bucky said as he lifted you. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he led the two of you to the couch. “I can see how this could be misinterpreted.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Well I’m sure you can make it up to me.” Bucky smirked as he laid back on the couch, leaving you straddling his hips. “If you want to of course.”

You placed a finger on his mouth. “How can I not want to when you are the sweetest old man? Wait, that didn’t sound as sexy as I hoped.”

Bucky chuckled, placing his hands underneath your shirt and rubbing circles on your hips. “Good thing I know what you mean... and that I don’t look my age.”You frowned and crossed your arms. “I’m kidding, doll.” His palms moved to your back and pulled you to him, your lips meeting his as soon as you were close enough.

“Bucky.” You moaned against his lips, his kiss leaving you breathless and wanting more. “Bucky, please.”

“What do you need, doll?”

“I need you...” You moaned again as his lips kissed underneath your jaw. “Make love to me please.”

“Gladly, doll.” His hands took the hem of your shirt and pulled it off you. Your hands were quick to unclasp your bra and throw it on the floor.

Both of your hands bumped into each other as you tried to unbutton each other’s jeans. “You do yours and I’ll do mine.” You stood up to take off yours along with your pants and he wriggled until he got them off, his boxers included. Once more, you straddled his hips and bent down to kiss him again.

“Ouch.”

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked you as he examined your face, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Something poked me.”

Bucky chuckled. “I guess I’m a little excited.”

You rolled your eyes. “It wasn’t you.” You moved your hand in between your bodies and pulled out a... tag? “James Buchanan Barnes, did you spent seventy dollars on me? Wait, no, you got more stuff. How much did you spend on me?”

“It was my pleasure, doll. Just like it’s my pleasure to do this.” He repeated his actions from before and pulled you down but this time, his lips took one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing it and licking it as his vibranium arm played with the other bud, instantly erecting it with the cold metal.

“Bucky.” You moaned again as you bucked your hips against his, his hard cock rubbing your clit.

“Wrap your cunt around me, doll.” He said as he switched his lips to your other breast.

Blindly, you positioned yourself and slowly sank down onto him. Your hands gripped his shoulders hard at the delicious stretch but he didn’t complain. “Bucky, fuck! Bucky, Bucky!” You moaned out loud as you were filled completely by him.

“That’s it, doll. You feel so good, so tight, so warm.” Bucky never thought he’d be able to enjoy this level of pleasure and he never did until he met you.

You started off by moving your hips lazily, still feeling the stretch from his big cock. As the pleasure built, you sat up straight and placed your hands on his chest. You needed something to support yourself as Bucky decided you were ready to bounce on him. He gripped your hips and helped you move up and down, leaving you breathless.

“Y-you are s-so big, Bucky.” You breathed out as you tried to match the buck of his hips.

“And you are squeezing me too much, sweetheart. I’m close.” Bucky grunted out and took your hands in his.

You opened your eyes and looked at him as your bouncing slowed down. He looked beautiful underneath you, his eyes shut and always the gentleman, he held it in so you could come first. Not that he’d need time to recover, he was a super soldier after all but it was the thought that counted. But you wanted him to enjoy the ride so you started...

“Y/N, no.” Bucky said in between moans. “Doll...”

Your voice was breathless as you started spelling his name. “Just relax, Bucky and fill me up.” As soon as you said those words, he pinned your hands behind your back and brought you down to him.

With a short margin, he was able to drill into you for what felt like forever and even after you were squeezing him for all he was worth, he didn’t let up until the amount of Bucky coming out of your mouth decreased considerably and also when he felt your juices combined with his were running down both your legs.

With shaky legs, you tried and sat up. Your walls still throbbing around his cock. “Let’s stay like this for a bit and then we can take a bath.” Bucky suggested, voice still breathless.

“Okay.” You whispered as you rested your cheek on his chest. “By the way, how did you know what store to go to?”

“How could I not know, doll? I love you and I know what makes you happy.” Bucky felt how you tensed at his words. “What is it?”

“I still feel bad for not trusting you.”

Bucky brought his hand to brush your hair in comfort. “Don’t apologize, love. If it had been the other way around, I’d probably have thought the same.” He whispered and kissed the top of your head. “And I meant what I said yesterday, for better or for worse. Life will take weird turns but we are going to get through them together. It’s you and me.”

“Who would’ve thought Sergeant Barnes could be so soft?” You teased him but knew he meant it.

“Maybe you could model the lingerie for your Sergeant?”

“Way to ruin the moment, James.”

“You love me.”

“I do love you, Bucky. For better and for worse.”

#bucky barnes #mine #grown up talk #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

[oreoambitions]

46 for agentreign please

Anon I'm sorry this took me a thousand years, but here you go. This gets wildly NSFW after the cut. Enjoy!

/// The first time it happens, Alex figures it's a fluke.

There are, after all, extenuating circumstances. She's not sure how many glasses of wine she's had because every time she turns around Sam has topped her off again, and maybe she should stop indulging but the wine is good and the company is better and this is the first day off off she's had for so long that it's hard not to let go a little. Kara's been keeping the showtunes coming all afternoon, a little louder than her old bluetooth speaker can really handle but it doesn't matter because Spotify is really just an excuse for Kara and Sam to sing at the top of their lungs. Alex is not participating, but she is appreciating. Appreciating because it's nice to see her sister laugh and smile like maybe things are getting better and maybe things are going to be okay. And also appreciating because, well, Sam. It's hard not to appreciate anything and everything Sam.

The activity of the afternoon is ostensibly the production of baked goods for a fundraiser related to Ruby's soccer team. Alex says 'ostensibly' because the reality is that it's been more than three hours and they haven't gotten the first batch of cookies into the oven yet. There's flour all over the floor, and she's pretty sure Kara got butter stuck to ceiling before Sam took the mixer away, but sometimes that's just the cost of a slightly raucous afternoon well spent, isn't it? And they'll have it all done in time anyway. In fact, Sam is just now finishing up the first batch of cookie dough in the confiscated kitchen aid when Alex, perhaps inebriated or perhaps just feeling emboldened by the domestic comfort of the whole affair, lunges for the beater.

This, it turns out, is either a mistake or the best decision she's ever made in her life. Her hand does contact the beater. She does come within a few seconds of pure raw cookie dough bliss. But Sam is faster, and in a flash Alex finds herself pinned between the counter and Sam's hips, one wrist wrapped up in Sam's fingers, the beater now soundly out of reach in Sam's other hand.

"Mine," Sam growls, but her eyes have dropped to Alex's mouth and for one disorienting moment Alex thinks she might be about to kiss her, thinks maybe the word 'mine' has nothing to do with the beater at all, that maybe they've crossed into some alternate dimension where there's a future for her and Sam that doesn't involve a lot of politely smiling and politely never mentioning one another's romantic entanglements or the absence thereof.

And the thing is, Alex thinks to herself, contemplating the heat of Sam's gaze and the fact that she literally cannot move beneath Sam's hips, this is... attractive. This is very attractive, in an immediate and throbbing sort of way that would be frankly embarrassing approximately half a glass of wine earlier in the afternoon. But that can't be right, because Alex doesn't like to be pushed around. Alex is the one who does the pushing. Isn't she? Sam's grip tightens around her wrist and Alex's lips part of their own accord and-

"Oh for heaven's sake," Kara says, snatching the beater out of Sam's hand. "It's mine, because you two are both being ridiculous." She rolls her eyes. "I hate being the only adult in the room."

It was a fluke. That's what Alex thinks to herself later that night when she wakes with a start from a just-dozing-off dream featuring the immovable nature of Sam's hips. They were drinking and it was a long afternoon and everyone was a little wound up and a little giddy and Alex has been single for a long time. That's it. That's all it was. That's all it has to be.

///

It's harder to write it off as a fluke the second time, but she manages.

James is in town and so it's game night. Not their monthly game night as scheduled, but an extra at-the-last-second game night, and Alex is on call. Which is fine. She can count on her fingers the number of times she's had to handle something in the middle of the night while on call for the DEO, and she's not particularly worried. But it's a problem because she can't be drinking, which means she's sober when Sam corners her in the kitchen.

It's been a long night. Not in a bad way. Just in the sense that things have been a little more risque than usual, what with Nia falling over herself trying to make it clear to Brainy that she'd like to sleep with him without actually making it clear, and Lena shooting those long smoldering looks at a characteristically oblivious Kara, and then there's Sam. Alex can't stop looking at Sam in that shirt where it sits a little too tight across the shoulders, can't stop tracing the line of that necklace to the place where it disappears just below her collar, can't stop following the meaningless movement of her fingers as she absently fiddles with a beer that wouldn't have an effect on her even if she drank the whole case. She wonders idly if it's for the aesthetic or if Sam just likes the taste of a craft IPA.

The trouble is that every time Alex catches herself looking at Sam, she also catches Sam looking at her. And so, upon dragging her eyes up once more from Sam's fingers to find Sam staring back at her, eyes dark and expression unreadable, Alex decides it's time for a drink after all. One beer won't hurt, even if the world decides to consider coming to an abrupt conclusion in the next hour or so and it turns out to be her responsibility. It's just that her mouth is suddenly dry, and the room is suddenly too loud, and she needs something to roll between her fingers the way Sam is rolling that IPA back and forth and back and forth and- Yeah. Just one beer will be fine.

She slips into the kitchen while Nia is yelling about how they should all do a TikTok together. It's quieter here, and a cool breeze through the window over the sink raises goosebumps across her arms. She pops the fridge open, pulls a beer at random, leans up against the counter. Maybe she doesn't want a drink after all. Maybe she just needs a minute.

"Aren't you on call, Ms. Danvers?"

Sam. Alex pouts. "What are you, the party police?"

Sam steps up close, takes the beer from Alex without so much as looking at it. "Aren't you the alien invader police?"

That's a dumb line and it doesn't remotely reflect Alex's actual job description, but she laughs anyway. "It's just one beer. Like 4%. I can handle it."

"I know," Sam murmurs.

Alex thinks she's forgotten how to breathe. Sam's eyes are on her mouth and those hips are pressing into her again and when Sam slips one arm around her waist and one hand into her hair a sound comes out of her that might have been a whimper. There's an inevitability to the way Sam leans in, to the way Alex's lips part as Sam tilts her head back with a firm tug. There's a moment of hesitation, a lingering, an opportunity to say no. Instead, Alex whispers, "Please."

Sam obliges. She kisses her slow, languid almost, holds her firm against the counter as she licks into her mouth and Alex is thinking that maybe she's going to come right here just letting Sam kiss her like this when Sam presses a thigh between her legs and she gasps, grinds down hard without meaning to.

Sam chuckles into her mouth, drags one hand around to her throat, traces feather light kisses along her jaw, tugs on her earlobe with her teeth. "Good girl," she whispers.

Alex isn't sure if it's the heat of Sam's breath, or the praise, or the way she's been casually immobilized, but she shudders, and Sam chuckles again, lips against her ear, and that only makes it worse.

"Fuck," Sam says. "If I had my strap with me I'd rail you right here."

Alex is pretty sure that would kill her. She's pretty sure just the thought of it is going to kill her. Just the pad of Sam's thumb dragging across her throat as she kisses her again, just the roll of those hips, that thigh pressing hard into her, that deep ache coiling tighter as Sam pulls back just far enough to meet her eyes and-

"Hey, Nia wants- Oh!" Lena stops short just inside the kitchen door. "I'll just." She plucks a bottle of wine from the counter. "Take this and tell her that you've uhm. That you're busy."

"We'll be right there," Sam says. She straightens Alex's shirt with a tug and a smirk. "Wouldn't want to miss the TikTok dance."

"Nope," Alex chokes out. "Wouldn't want to miss that."

It's a fluke. Alex takes a long shower when she gets home, and she takes care of the lingering ache that's now outlived not one but two TikTok dances, and she thinks about texting Sam. She falls asleep with her phone in her hand and if she has dreams about a tall, handsome, strong woman railing her against a kitchen counter, well. That happens sometimes. Could happen to anyone. Doesn't mean anything except that Alex has been single for probably too long . She downloads Hinge in the morning and considers explicitly mentioning in her bio that she's the one who wears the strap.

///

The Hinge profile lasts about three days. Alex scrolls through a ridiculous number of women, all of whom are... fine, before she comes to the conclusion that the problem is that none of them are Sam. She's sitting on this stupid app pedaling her stupid profile and all she wants is the woman whose attention prompted her to download a dating app in the first place. And she can't want Sam because it would never work. They're fundamentally incompatible. This bedroom ain't big enough for two tops. It's not going to happen.

But the words if I had my strap with me I'd rail you right here are as stuck in Alex's head as that Lady Gaga song Brainy won't stop playing over the speakers at the DEO. She can't stop thinking about it. Picturing it, even. Dreaming about it when her mind should be anywhere else, on anything else. And she'd just avoid Sam, just look the other way until her hormones sort themselves out, except that Sam is virtually impossible to avoid.

Kara doesn't make it any easier when she calls on Friday night to ask her about a movie night at Sam's apartment.

"Ruby's on a school trip, so it'll be just the four of us," Kara says over the phone. "I'll bring snacks, and we can order whatever you want for dinner. Please? Lena's never seen Star Wars; we have to do something."

Alex doesn't know how to say no. No, I won't come to what feels suspiciously like a double date movie night at Sam's apartment, because Sam's strap is at Sam's apartment, and I'm not sure that she isn't going to try to fuck me on the bathroom floor, and furthermore, I'm not sure that I don't want her to. Instead she says, "Any Star Wars? That's a crime. Which movie are we starting with?"

It's probably a safe bet anyway. Kara and Lena will be there the whole time; Alex and Sam will never be alone. All Alex has to do is make sure that she leaves when everyone else does and they can avoid the awkwardness altogether, and no that is definitely not anticipation she's feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she certainly does not spend an extra half an hour in bed on Saturday morning keeping herself busy with the thought of offering to stay and help clean up, of finding herself pinned against the refrigerator door while Sam takes her from behind. That absolutely does not happen because that would be ridiculous, undignified, untoplike behavior.

Alex is certainly feeling ridiculous, undignified, and untoplike standing outside Sam's door that evening, anxiously smoothing out her shirt with one hand, a case of that IPA from game night in the other. She's arrived a carefully calculated fifteen minutes late just to be absolutely sure Kara and Lena will get here first, but she didn't spot Kara's car outside, and so she isn't particularly surprised when Sam opens the door with a warm smile and welcomes her into an empty apartment.

"Kara and Lena?" she asks as Sam takes the proffered beer.

"Lena got held up at the office," Sam replies, already disappearing into the kitchen. "They're running late. An hour or so. Told them we'd wait. Do you prefer an IPA or a lager? I don't have any stouts in the fridge right now. Might be a decent sour in here somewhere."

Alex lingers in the entryway, that not-anticipation feeling thrumming through her veins. She could follow Sam to the kitchen. Kitchens do seem to be their Thing. But Sam returns with two lagers, her question unanswered, and nods her head towards the living room.

Well, now they're alone together after all and Alex is feeling awkward. She settles onto one end of the couch and tries not to read into it when Sam deposits the lagers on the coffee table and settles in next to her, legs folded under her, almost too close, instead of occupying the perfectly good cushion on the other end.

"Sam," Alex tries. They should talk about this. "We should talk about this."

"Hmm." A hint of a smirk flickers across soft lips before Sam schools her expression. "Talk about what, exactly?"

If Alex had bothered to rehearse this conversation in her mind, she still wouldn't have imagined it going this way. Her eyes drop to Sam's mouth and then she struggles to look elsewhere. The records on the shelf under the window. The blank television screen.

"I-" she starts, but the words don't want to come out. The lager on the coffee table. She doesn't reach for it. "I can't stop thinking about game night," she forces out, and then she looks back up at Sam to gauge her reaction.

Sam is smirking openly now, a hint of laughter in her eyes. She reaches out to tangle long fingers in the hair at Alex's nape, the same grip she used to pull her into a kiss just last week, and Alex's arousal is embarrassingly immediate. "Really?" Sam asks. "Game night, huh? You want to know what I can't stop thinking about?"

It's Alex's gaze that drops first, to Sam's mouth again, and this time she can't look away. "What?"

"Tonight," Sam replies, close enough that Alex's eyes flutter closed, close enough that she can almost feel Sam's answer on her lips. There's probably a coy response for this somewhere in the lesbian handbook but Alex is reaching and coming up empty. She presses a soft kiss to Sam's mouth instead and feels that anticipation - there's no denying now that it's anticipation - thrum again when Sam's tongue immediately presses into her, hot and demanding.

"What's so special about tonight," Alex mumbles as Sam kisses along her jaw to her neck.

"Mmm." Sam nips hard against Alex's pulse point, smiles into her skin when she gasps. "Well, that depends."

"On what?"

"Take your shirt off."

Alex hesitates. That isn't remotely the answer to her question, but now Sam is sucking on her neck and her capacity for rational thought is rapidly diminishing. She fumbles with the first shirt button, fingers trembling, and then the second. Three undone is enough for Sam to pull the offending garment over her head. The sports bra follows, and then Sam is tugging on Alex's hips to reposition her so that she's lying back on the couch, and Alex suddenly understands what everyone finds so attractive about kryptonians, because it's effortless the way Sam moves her. She has about a half second to be transfixed by the abs peeking out from under Sam's own blouse before Sam is kissing down her collarbone and over her breast, chuckling when Alex's hips jerk underneath her.

"You know," Sam says, "I was expecting more of a fight out of Alex But-I'm-A-Top Danvers."

Alex opens her mouth to let out a retort but Sam's tongue is working a circle around her nipple and rational thought is once again threatening to fail. "Is that what you want?" She manages, struggling to sit up. "You want a fight?"

"No." Sam pushes her back again, pins her arms over her head with one hand, brushes the fingers of the other across her ribs, frowns. "No, I like you better like this."

Alex flushes and has to remind herself not to squirm, not to look away as Sam studies her in silence, drops kisses across her shoulders, traces the lines of her hip and the inside of her thigh. And then Sam reaches under the couch for a box, the implications of which are momentarily as immobilizing as the hand still holding Alex's wrists down, because Sam planned for this, planned far enough in advance to stash supplies where they might be convenient.

Alex swallows hard when Sam's pants exit the scenario, and Sam's eyes flicker over her face as she opens the box.

"How do you feel about being strapped on the couch?" she asks.

It's such a blunt question that Alex flushes again. "Uhm. Okay?"

Sam stops with her harness halfway out. "Just okay? I'm gonna need a clear yes or-"

"Yes. God. Yes please," Alex says, flushing an even darker shade. She's going to let... this... happen, but she's not going to beg. Christ. Consent granted; please let's move on before things get awkward. Sam chuckles a little at her discomfort and presses a kiss to her brow.

"Okay. But if you want me to stop you just say the word."

Alex nods, not trusting herself to speak, eyeing Sam's fingers where they're tightening the harness. And then all at once she blurts out, "Kara and Lena could be here at any moment," which she hadn't realized might be a concern until it came out of her mouth but now she can't stop thinking about it, and how embarrassing that would be, and Kara can see through walls for heaven's sake, and-

Sam chuckles. "Baby," she says, sliding herself between Alex's legs, "You're not going to last long enough to be worried about that."

Sam is embarrassingly, excruciatingly not wrong. By the time the strap is working into her Alex is pretty sure she's wound tighter than she's ever been, and she'd crack some kind of joke about how it's clearly been too long since she's had anyone inside of her but this is really not the time. Sam is pressing inexorably deeper and it's all she can do to hold her breath because otherwise she's going to come altogether undone before they've even gotten started.

Sam gives her a moment when she's all inside, waits for Alex to exhale, waits for her nod before she starts to rock her hips, and the drag of the strap is so intense that Alex loses her breath and her self control in the same instant with a groan that only deepens Sam's smirk. Alex is kind of wishing Sam would give her back the use of her hands, but that's not in the cards. She squirms instead, hips bucking of their own accord, head thrown back hard against the cushion of the couch.

"Thought about this every night," Sam murmurs, and Alex thinks she'll say since game night but she says, "Since the day I met you," which is almost as mindblowing as the pleasure somehow, incredibly, continuing to build between Alex's hips. "Thought about how good you'd be under me."

Alex shivers at that and then comes, bucking hard into Sam to take as much of the strap as she can, half aware of Sam whispering something in her ear that might have been what a good girl you are if Alex had been cognizant enough to comprehend it. She comes back down to soft kisses across her face, and when Sam lets go of her wrists she wraps her arms around her and tries to remember how to breathe, how to pull all the pieces of herself back together, how to be a competent and capable, dignified and toplike partner.

Alex runs a hand absently through Sam's hair and hums. "Do you want me to return the favor?" she asks. She doesn't have a strap with her but, well, it's not like that was ever the best trick up her sleeve anyway. She opens her mouth to make a quip about how a good top is always prepared but Sam reaches out and casually tips an untouched lager onto her discarded shirt.

Alex splutters.

"Too late," Sam says brightly. "You'll have to ask me after dinner. Lena and Kara are here."

"Lena and Kara are what-"

And there's the knock at the door. The door not ten paces from where Alex is lying in a state of naked disarray on the couch where they are supposed to be watching Star Wars. There is a moment of absolute stillness before Alex begins to scramble for her clothes.

"Bedroom is the second door on the left," Sam says, sneaking in a last kiss while Alex reaches for the underpants peeking out from under the coffee table. "Clean shirts in closet. Do pick something nice; I've been dying to see you in my clothes."

Alex scurries down the hall in her socks quietly cursing and thanking every star in the sky. It's going to be a long night. If she's lucky.

#Alex Danvers #Sam Arias #agentreign #Ask Pile

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Lie to Me

Prompts: Post Pof: Janus is not doing ok, everday he can taste Roman's lies, he can feel Roman's pain. He can feel the ego crumbling. Guilt plagues him as hes done the opposite of protecting the ego. Hey uh... could you write a fic when you have the time? - meltheromanstan

Roman is having issues trying to keep up his facade (and maybe struggling with his work cause ADHD makes everything difficult on top of everything because I love the idea of the twins having ADHD) and he is one bump in the road away from a full on meltdown. And Janus realizes a lie in a conversation that’s concerning and at some point in Roman begrudgingly gives a self deprecating reason and Janus is like heck no and Roman’s like why not and Janus is like because i care? And then Roman breaks down because no one has told him anything like that in a long time. Sorry that’s so long. You can write this whenever, or never if you don’t wanna. Anygay, bye and thank you! - anon

Thank you for the requests! oh this poor man. roman i'm so sorry you didn't do anything to deserve this and here I am hurting you. I'm so sorry bb you need to be wrapped up with a hot chocolate and sat far away from everything.

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-hatred, self-doubt, poor roman’s got so much internalized hatred this poor man, some things that can be interpreted as self-harm but nothing explicit

Pairings: main focus on roceit but it can be platonic or romantic you decide, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR

Word Count: 10,554

Janus hears every single lie in the Mindscape. It doesn't matter whether or not the liar believes it to be true or knows it's a falsehood; if it isn't true, he hears it.

Roman lies. A lot.

Or: 5 times Janus had to hide that he was taking care of Roman, and 1 time he didn't.

1. 

They never gave Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he can be.

 The wedding is an absolute dumpster fire. The aftermath is a nuclear explosion. Roman sinks out in silence, long before the video is over. Virgil never shows up, neither does Remus. Logan is cut off before he can realize it.

 Well, that’s not true.

 Janus cuts Logan off before he can realize it.

 Because he didn’t care about them, no. Patton has the most influence over Thomas. Patton is the one who influences the other Sides more than they realize most of the time. And Patton is the one who needed to listen.

 So it didn’t matter that the others weren’t there when Janus had to talk to Patton and Thomas, because it worked. Thomas listened, Patton finally understood, and things could start getting better.

 …or so he thought.

 In fairness, the others came around…fairly quickly. He approached Logan with a book on philosophy and an apology on his lips, only to be swept up into a conversation that had drawn both Patton and Virgil into the living room by the end of the day. It felt…well, right isn’t the correct word, but…warm, perhaps. Yes, let’s go with warm.

 Of course, Remus belly-flopping onto the couch—and the rest of them—near the end was certainly an additional factor.

 But Roman…

 Janus didn’t expect Roman to forgive him. Certainly not quickly. He certainly expected Roman to forgive the others for whatever little parts they played in harming the prince’s precious ego. And he absolutely expected the prince to admit that he was wrong, that it was indeed his fault that everything had gone so spectacularly wrong.

 The first time Roman walks into the kitchen after the wedding, Janus flinches.

 Virgil notices and all but jumps in front of him, snarling a ‘what do you want?’ in Roman’s direction. Patton had turned around and his smile had frozen, staring at Roman.

 “Hello, Roman,” Logan says cooly, “may we help you?”

 “Yeesh, aren’t you lot jumpy this morning?” Roman shakes his head and sighs dramatically. “I am not here to grace you all with my glorious presence, simply to grab a little food and depart on a quest!”

 “Thank god,” Virgil mutters, too low for Roman to hear.

 He pushes Janus behind him as Roman waltzes into the kitchen to take something out of the cupboard.

 “…when will you be back,” Patton asks warily, “and where are you going?”

 “Into the Imagination, my dear Padre!” Roman spreads his arms wide. “To see where the spirit of adventure takes me!”

 “That answers only one of the questions.” Logan closes his notebook sharply.

 “Time is a social construct,” Roman says airily, “but I suppose I shall try to return for dinner?”

 “Don’t force yourself,” Virgil snarks, crossing his arms, “looks hard enough already.”

 Roman just laughs and leaves.

 “Goodness,” Patton mumbles, leaning on the counter, “I didn’t expect him to be so—so—“

 “Roman?” Virgil rolls his eyes. “Princey’s got a head bigger than a fucking balloon—“

 “Language.”

 “—and he’s not gonna come down to earth for anything.”

 “Roman is—or can be—remarkably immature when it comes to admitting his mistakes,” Logan adds, “it’s not to be completely unexpected that he is still in denial.”

 Patton sighs. “I know, I just…expected better.”

 “Don’t hold your breath,” Virgil huffs, “what about you, Janus? Are you hurt?”

 “I also noticed you flinch,” Logan says, standing, “are you alright? Did Roman…”

 “He didn’t hurt you, did he, kiddo?”

 No. No, Janus is absolutely fine right now.

 The instant Roman had appeared in the doorway, the lies slammed into Janus.

  They hate you, they never want to see you again.

  Everything is your fault.

  Virgil is right to try and shield Janus from you, you were so fucking cruel to him.

  They don’t deserve to be burdened with you.

  Leave. Leave so they never have to put up with you. You know they don’t want you.

  They’ve never wanted you.

 And yet, as clearly as he heard those lies, he heard Roman, the blustery, pompous Prince, loud as ever, spoiled as ever. He saw Roman, the swaggering adventurer, the cocky Creativity who was always right, always the center of attention.

 The actor.

 Janus had definitely given him enough credit for that.

 “Janus?”

 Right, they’re still waiting for an answer.

 “I’m fine,” he says, a beat too late, “just caught off guard, that’s all.”

 Virgil eyes him suspiciously. “You’re lying.”

 “Well of course I am,” Janus sighs, rolling his eyes, “it’s not like Deceit is one of my primary functions, after all.”

 “Kiddo,” Patton says, “you know you can tell us if Roman—if someone hurts you, right?”

 Something pinches just under his chin. “I know.”

 “…so?”

 He shakes his head. “Roman hasn’t hurt me, nor has he threatened to.”

 Virgil bumps his shoulder. “Just…keep us in the loop, okay?”

 “Because it’s very likely that Roman will hurt me.”

 The others chuckle or brush it off. Of course, they did. When they aren’t paying attention, Janus lets his gaze trail up the stairs, following the line where the prince vanished. The others have never paid much attention to when Roman returns from his ‘quests.’

 Janus does.

 Even if Janus weren’t consciously coming to the prince’s aid, he’s certain he’d be summoned regardless.

 He waits, quiet in the shadows, for the telltale squeak of the lower hinge on the red wardrobe door in Roman’s room. He’s learned to keep still, keep quiet, not yet fully materialized, watching as Roman stumbles back through the door, one of his arms sagging in relief as the other holds him up. The door creaks shut and a shuddering breath leaves the prince’s chest.

 His head bows.

 Before the charade completely falls away, Roman pushes himself up and starts getting ready to sleep. His sash, normally laid so carefully over the back of his chair, is given barely a second thought as he throws his costume onto the floor. Janus winces at the slam of the bathroom door and again at the way Roman all but collapses into the bed with a miserable expression on his face. He doesn’t need to pry away the pillow to know that Roman is desperate.

  Stupid, stupid, worthless prince.

  Not even a fucking prince, not even the fucking squire.

  Useless, can’t even do your fucking job.

  Can’t even stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself even though you know damn well you don’t deserve it.

  You don’t deserve anything.

 Janus grits his teeth and waits. Waits for Roman’s lies to grow less vitriolic, more sluggish, waits for Roman’s breathing to even out, sagging against the pillow, before he moves.

 His footsteps are silent as he crosses the room, keeping a wary eye on the door, lest someone else knock and wake up the now sleeping prince. He swallows, leaning down, his lips barely brushing the curve of Roman’s ear.

 He doesn’t touch, doesn’t want to risk waking him now.

 “You’re not stupid, Roman,” he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard, even by himself. “You’re not worthless, you’ve never been worthless.”

 Roman shifts in his sleep. Janus freezes. He stills and he breathes out. Bends just a little closer.

 “And you deserve to know that.”

 Even if he can only even whisper it when Roman is too deep in sleep to hear him.

 2. 

The lies don’t stop. They just get worse.

 Fortunately, Janus’s powers aren’t limited by the physical space, not when the lies are particularly pervasive. For example, every time Logan insists that he doesn’t have feelings, or Virgil insists he doesn’t care about the others, or Patton says—particularly passionately—that everything’s fine, Janus hears it. These ones typically merit a scoff and a roll of the eyes, or a quip if he’s actually in the same room. These ones he’s used to.

 Here’s the thing about the lies that Janus can hear; it doesn’t matter whether or not they’re lies that someone knows is a lie or whether it’s something they believe. If it isn’t true, Janus will hear it.

 Case in point: Roman’s lies, and the lies that took Janus far too long to figure out were lies.

 When he decides to tune into Roman’s mind, he’s normally greeted with statements lauding about how amazing the prince is, how he’s the best Side, how much he loves himself. Even when he’s not paying particular attention to Roman, he can hear those sentiments loud and clear.

 The issue with that? He can hear them loud and clear.

 Now, is it likely that these are things that Roman believes that aren’t true? The possibility exists.

 Is it more likely, given recent…developments, that these are things that Roman has known aren’t true, and is intentionally thinking them in order to keep playing a role?

 No, of course not, why would you ever think that?

 They won’t go away. He can barely look at Roman now, can’t stop seeing, hearing all the lies he tells himself every day. The others are starting to worry, growing colder towards Roman, concerned about how much Janus tries to put distance between them. Virgil keeps shoving himself in between the two of them, Logan keeps pulling Janus into long conversations that Roman wouldn’t dare insert himself into, Patton makes sure the two of them are never alone.

 Well, almost never alone.

 The lies are the worst at night. When Roman is in his room, curled up under the covers, his head buried in his hands, they roam freely, coloring the red curtains with shadows, smearing themselves over his paintings, his drawings, his writing, his keyboard.

  They’re right to be scared of you, right to hate you.

  You don’t deserve their forgiveness, especially when you haven’t even apologized for the amount of things you’ve done wrong.

  And you’re selfish enough to want a fucking apology from them?

 Janus, waiting in the corner for Roman to fall asleep, winces, the strength and magnitude of the lie filling his mouth with bitterness.

 Does he deserve an apology from Roman? Yes, perhaps, that would be nice. Laughing at his name in a moment of vulnerability was…perhaps not ideal.

 But the idea that Roman doesn’t deserve an apology? From any of them?

 Roman, the only one who consistently defers and gives and tries and hopes for them, the one who works nonstop to make sure they have something, anything to do, for Thomas, for each other, the only one who’s called out to apologize to them, who apologizes to them when he realizes he’s done something wrong?

 Roman deserves an apology. If only to make up for the amount of times he’s been blamed for something that someone else started.

 A noise.

 Janus blinks, coming back to the present as Roman stirs. For a moment, he worries that the prince has woken up, that he’s discovered someone else in his room, only for a trail of sluggish lies to funnel into his mind.

  Janus hates you more than anyone else and he’s right to.

  You hurt Janus on purpose.

  You never stop hurting Janus.

  You will always be someone he can use, a puppet, until you are nothing more than an obstacle.

 Before he can stop himself, he’s striding across the room to murmur in Roman’s ear again, chest aching with the weight of the lies.

 “The others,” he murmurs, flooding the words with as much sincerity as he can, “they don’t know what I can hear, what they have never noticed, and that is what hurts me, my prince, that you are so quiet and so brave that you can convince the world that you’re not suffering.”

 Roman clutches his pillow a little tighter.

 “I don’t hate you, my prince, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me like that, and I know—“ he takes a deep breath— “I know that the hurt you caused me is nothing compared to what I have done to you.”

 He closes his eyes and feels the guilt well up in his chest. He knows he can’t say the full apology that Roman needs—that he deserves right now. He can’t even begin to imagine all the little things he hasn’t even realized he’s done to Roman, how many things he’s done that he’s forgotten that were just another Tuesday to him, but rewrote entire chapters of Roman’s life.

 He can’t begin to imagine how much of this could’ve been stopped if only he’d realized just how hurt Roman has always been.

 “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry that I never realized how far I let this get.”

 3. 

Roman is touch-starved, he realized, horrified one day when he walks into the living room to see Logan and Patton sitting on the couch, Virgil sprawled across their laps, and Roman in the corner, far away from everyone else, hiding such a look of heartbreak that Janus almost stops in the doorway as Remus brushes past him.

 “Hey!” Virgil splutters when Remus lies down on top of him.

 “Remus!” Patton pushes lightly at him. “You’re going to squish Virgil!”

 “He’s durable, he’s used to it.”

 Logan raises his eyebrows, looking to Janus for confirmation. Janus sighs.

 “I can remember every single time I’ve walked into our living room to see the two of them on the couch,” he says dryly, “and I’m certain that all of them have started with Remus asking Virgil’s permission to lie on top of him for hours.”

 “See?” Remus wraps his arms around Virgil. “He’s fine.”

 “Yeah, yeah, Pat and L’s knees won’t be though.”

 “Ooh! Did you know that some people have a third bone in their knee?”

 “I would be more than happy to follow this train of conversation,” Logan mutters, “if you were to get off my lap.”

 “Fine.”

 Janus shakes his head again as Remus clambers off, landing cross-legged next to Logan on the couch and immediately info-dumping. Virgil sighs and scoots, laying his head in Patton’s lap and going back to his phone. Patton runs his hand through Virgil’s hair and wiggles his free hand at Janus.

 “Come on, there’s plenty of room.”

 Remus snorts, interrupting his tirade long enough to say: “Jan-Jan’s not a cuddler,” before going back to talking about…something to do with knees. Patton frowns.

 “What?”

 “’S true.” Virgil peers up at him. “He’ll hug you if you ask for it but he’s not big on cuddling.”

 “O-oh.”

 “He should still come sit with us, though,” Virgil says quickly, shooting Janus a very subtle look, “so get over here, J.”

 Janus sits, pulling out his book and opening it. After a few seconds, Patton looks away, and Virgil tunes out again.

 Good.

 The lies were getting a little too hard to stand.

 Here, behind his book, he can shift his attention to Roman, scribbling in his notebook and looking every bit the creative genius at work, dead to the world, couldn’t give less interest as to what’s going on around him.

 As he said, Roman is a fantastic actor.

 This time, it’s not even that the words are the thing hurting him now. No, these lies are the type he’s more used to, someone frantically muttering the same thing to themselves over and over and over, trying to convince themselves it’s true. The problem is what’s being carried with the lies, and how deep this need must run in order for it to make it to Janus.

  I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.

 Roman’s hand is trembling a little on his pen as his brow furrows, eyes skating back and forth over the page. The ache starts just under his chin, right where it meets his throat, and surges, rushing through his arms to the very tips of his fingers. All of them, even the hidden ones. His gloves twitch on the pages of the book.

 He’s so cold.

  I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.

 The words start to blur together. It hurts. His arms ache. He risks looking more openly at Roman only for him to notice, looking back and quirking an eyebrow.

 “Something wrong, Deceit?”

 “He has a name,” Virgil growls.

 “Janus,” Roman amends, shooting Virgil a glance, “is there something wrong?”

 “Why’re you over there?”

 He meant to ask why Roman wasn’t sitting with the other Sides. He meant to ask whether Roman chose to sit by himself and starve himself of physical contact or if the others had cut him off. He meant to ask if Roman wanted to come to sit with the rest of them.

 Instead, Roman smiles.

 “You’re right. It’s getting quite late. I must be off!”

 Before Janus can say anything, Roman assumes his dramatic pose and sinks out, cheerily declaring his farewells.

 Next to him, Patton lets out a shaky breath.

 “Goodness.”

 Logan adjusts his glasses. “Quite.”

 “Thanks, Janus,” Virgil mutters, making himself more comfortable, “I thought he’d never leave.”

 No.

 No, no, no, this is all wrong.

 “Why did you want him to leave?”

 Virgil shrugs. “It’s harder when he’s here.”

 “Harder how?”

 “We do not know how to act around Roman,” Logan admits, fixing his tie, “he’s not—well, he seems content to behave as if nothing is wrong, and…”

 “It’s not,” Patton says softly. He fiddles with his hands. “We can’t go back to the way it was before, and Roman…Roman doesn’t seem to know how to move on.”

 Virgil snorts. “Not that he seems to care enough to try.”

 Well, if the lies still plaguing Roman’s thoughts are any indication…

  Why would they want to touch you? You ruin everything you touch, haven’t you ruined enough already? Haven’t you ruined them enough already?

  They’re done trying with you. They hate you. It’s a wonder they only realize it now.

  Broken, useless, toxic prince. Finally left out in the cold where you deserve to be.

 Roman curls up under his thin sheet, the heavy blankets put away for the colder seasons too far away and too close to Patton’s room for him to get them safely. Janus watches as he twitches miserably, curling up tighter, turning over, hugging his pillow to his chest, trying, trying to feel warm. Every now and then there’s a quiet noise, quickly stifled. His arms start to ache again, not just from the cold, but from how much Roman seems to believe that no one wants to touch him.

 He makes up his mind.

 He sinks out to his room, quickly grabbing one of his weighted blankets from his own storage. Returning to Roman’s room, he waits with bated breath until Roman’s chest rises and falls at a steady rate before carefully creeping forward and spreading the blanket over the prince.

 “Don’t make yourself cold,” he murmurs, tucking it into place, “stay warm for me, my prince, stay warm, it’s alright.”

 Roman shifts, turning his head so it accidentally brushes Janus’s hand.

 Janus freezes.

 Roman hums slightly and falls back asleep. Shaking, Janus moves his fingers, letting them card through Roman’s hair. The prince mumbles and doesn’t wake.

 He does it again, firmer this time. Roman all but melts under this, just this, just a proper blanket over him and someone running their fingers through his hair.

 “Oh, Roman,” Janus murmurs, unable to resist cupping Roman’s face in his hand, “you’re don’t ruin everything you touch, far from it.”

 He cups the back of Roman’s head, guiding it to a more comfortable angle.

 “On the contrary,” he whispers, “you make us better.”

 And maybe…maybe he can try and provide a little of what Roman needs. Even if they have to be stolen moments, felt only on the very edges of sleep, when Roman is conscious enough to remember them but not lucid enough to lie and say he doesn’t deserve it.

 4. 

The time when Roman barely managed to stumble through the door in his room before passing out is the only time Janus seriously considers calling the others to help.

 But no, he reminds himself as he rushes to the prince’s side, they would want to wake him up, to scold him, to figure out exactly what he thought he was doing, whether or not he’s considered whether this is hurting Thomas.

 Janus bites back a growl as he starts examining the prince.

 Perhaps if they were so concerned about whether or not hurting Roman hurts Thomas, they’d be more considerate about what they say to him.

 He pushes that away for now, more focused on getting Roman’s tight collar away from his neck and checking the state of his bruises. From what he can see from the dirt on the costume, he’s fallen, from quite a significant height, and who knows what else might be hiding under here?

 “I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he looks around for something to help, “but I may have to peel you out of these.”

 Sure enough, he can get most of the costume top off fairly easily—and gains a newfound respect for how difficult it must be to put the thing on by himself, there are so many buttons—but the undershirt proves more difficult, especially as it seems to be stuck in places that it should not be stuck in.

 …oh.

 Oh, no.

 Janus bites back a curse and moves quickly. One arm reaches for the first aid kit he knows is in the bathroom, one arm grabs a pillow and stuffs it under Roman’s head, two gently move his arms up and over his head, and two carefully, carefully take the edge of the undershirt and beginning to take it off.

 He presses a gauze pad to the wound over Roman’s hip.

 He holds an ice pack to the swollen lump on his rib cage.

 He checks over the wound on his chest.

 He tilts Roman’s head from side to side to see how far up the bruises go.

 The pants have to come next and Janus grits his teeth, running his hand over Roman’s forehead as an apology before he shucks the article of clothing.

 More bruises. So many bruises. Thankfully no more bleeding wounds.

 He lets out a breath and sits back on his haunches, staring down at the injured prince.

 The best thing about it, he decides, is that there’s no way for Roman to know that he would’ve been safe passing out and not taking care of any of these.

 The wound on his hip has all but stopped bleeding as Janus tends to it carefully, wiping away the blood and soothing the angry skin with a balm, covering the whole thing with a bandage. The mark on his chest isn’t as bad as it looks, bits of dead skin that Janus clears away and brushes off Roman’s torso. The antiseptic makes him hiss a little and he rubs soothing circles into his tummy until he resettles, murmuring that he’s doing so well, he’s almost done, they’ll get him into bed and he can rest.

 None of the bruises on his legs are bad enough to merit bruise cream, let alone keeping the poor thing from his bed for a moment longer. Instead, Janus quickly covers the one on his ribs and lifts the prince into his arms.

 Roman jolts.

 “Shh, shh,” Janus murmurs, stroking a free hand through his hair, “shh, shh, shh…”

 Roman shushes, just in time for Janus to lie him down and tuck him in, one hand still in his hair as he sits on the edge of the bed. A furrow grows between his brows.

  Should’ve gotten hurt worse.

 Janus freezes.

  Should’ve let them hit you more.

  Got off too easy.

  It should hurt more. You deserve it. Maybe if you pay enough it’ll get better.

 “No, sweetie,” Janus whispers, reaching out before he can stop himself and cradling Roman’s sleeping head in his hands, “no, no, no, don’t ever believe that we want to see you hurt.”

  Shouldn’t have come back.

  Shouldn’t be a burden.

  At least none of the others know about it, they would only complain and ignore you. Useless, worthless prince.

 “You’re not worthless, sweetie,” Janus promises, still cradling the poor thing’s head, running his fingers through his hair to keep him lulled and asleep, “shh, now, everything’s alright, hush now…”

 As the lies drift off into nothingness, Roman along with them, Janus’s face falls.

 Roman is the protector. The prince that will always put himself between them and whatever dared to try and hurt them. He’s not meant to fight a war on two fronts.

  Who protects the protector?

 “I will, sweetie,” Janus whispers, so, so quietly as he tidies up Roman’s room and gives the sleeping prince one last pat, “I’ll look after you.”

 5. 

Roman, perhaps more than any of the others, is essential to Thomas’s mental help.

 Roman is Thomas’s hopes and dreams, the things he wants above all else, the things he strives for, the things he desires. He reaches and reaches and reaches for Thomas, holds every single one of his wants close to his chest, and keeps them safe until they can bubble up into reality.

 Roman is romance, the reason Patton gets all fluttery and bubbly inside. He’s the suave, fabulous, gay disaster that encourages Thomas to be happy, to reach for who he wants, for who he desires.

 Roman is creativity, the livelihood that Thomas has chosen. He works nonstop, tirelessly producing idea after idea for Thomas to film, to write, to create, so Thomas can live and be proud of what he’s doing.

 Roman is the Ego.

 What is the Ego, you may ask? Well, although Freud is largely considered bullshit by modern psychologists—or at the very least, upsetting due to the fact that his research was largely corrupted by the rich men funding it—there are certain aspects of his work that remain in the public mind.

 Simply put, the Ego is the conscious mind. It is the sum of your thoughts, beliefs, and habits as they interact with your physical body. The tether that stretches into your awareness and consciousness and into your physical form. It is a combination of body-thoughts-feelings and the consciousness taken to activate it.

 The Ego gives you a sense of self-worth. It is a mask, one you put on and play as a role.

 Everyone and anyone, it seems, has been warned about the dangers of an out-of-control Ego. Overconfident, hubristic, arrogant, with no regard for others. A vapid complainer, sustained by the power of approval hoarded selfishly. You are encouraged, if not instructed outright, to learn how to live without paying any attention to your Ego.

 Here’s what they don’t tell you.

 The Ego is what you think of yourself. It gives you self-worth because that’s its job. To make you feel secure in who you are. It is sustained by approval because it lives in fear. It itself puts on a mask of strength, of imperviousness, that it is indestructible, because it is soft, malleable, and so very afraid.

 It is true that the Ego is nourished by positive comments, because it isn’t a crime to feel good, or to feel proud, or to want to be validated. It is true that the Ego sometimes reaches too high, only to fall, because that is its nature, to want, and to hope.

 They don’t tell you that when you turn your hatred inwards, your Ego doesn’t just bruise, it crumbles.

 So when Logan constantly tells Roman that they can’t do something, or it isn’t a worthy use of their time, despite his best intentions, he’s not doing much other than snatching Roman’s dreams away. Roman learns not to ignore Logan, yes, but at the expense of constantly being told that it is his fault when Thomas feels crushed, never mind that Roman is crushed, too.

 So when Virgil insults and belittles his worth, tells him he’s stupid and unimportant, despite the fact that Roman will snipe back at him, all he does is reinforce the idea that Roman is the only one at fault, that Virgil is allowed to sit and insult him to his heart’s content while Roman has to apologize for standing up for himself. Roman learns to stand quietly while Virgil tells Thomas he’s a disappointment until the time comes where he believes it’s true.

 So when Patton decides that Roman is bad, after how much Roman has sacrificed for Patton, to do what would make Patton happy, Thomas happy, when all he needs is just someone on his side, something, anything, Roman has to stand there, alone, hurt, angry, upset, and be told that he’s wrong. Roman learns that he’s only here to give, not to receive, that no one will hold him when he falls apart.

 So when Remus starts to show up, more and more, less and less restrained, no one puts it together that Roman literally does not have the strength to hold him back. Roman learns that the others don’t realize how little confidence he already has, only that their approval of him is directly proportional to how much they hate his brother.

 So when Janus decides that Thomas needs to take better care of himself and that the only one he needs to focus on is Patton, Roman is the perfect tool, the perfect puppet, to be used and tossed aside when he no longer needs him, because it’s so easy to twist and turn the little prince so he dances in just the right way, never mind how much it hurts. Roman learns that no one ever cared about him, not really, and perhaps they never will.

 As you might be able to imagine, destroying the thing that gives one self-worth is absolutely the best way to go about things.

 Can any of you guess where the blame gets pushed when Thomas’s mental health suddenly plummets?

 It’s definitely where it should be.

 The thing that scares Janus the most about how that meeting goes is how resigned Roman is.

 His hands are folded neatly behind his back. His face is politely blank. His mind is quiet.

 When there’s a break in the conversation—if you could even call it that—he opens his mouth.

 “What would you like me to do?”

 “Have you not been listening?” Logan adjusts his glasses. “To…anything we have said?”

 “Of fucking course he hasn’t,” Virgil grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

 “Kiddo,” Patton admonishes, crossing his arms, “Thomas hasn’t had any ideas or dreams lately and it’s stressing him out.”

 “Which means you need to get out of the pity party and back to reality with the rest of us,” Virgil adds.

 “Which means,” Logan sighs, crossing his arms too, “you are going to have to start talking to us again.”

 Roman looks between them. “Are we not…talking now?”

 “He means actually interacting with us, Princey.”

 “Have I…not been doing that?”

 “It means accepting that things have changed,” Logan snaps, “and working through it.”

 Roman tilts his head. “How would you like me to do that?”

 “Well—“ Logan adjusts his glasses— “let’s start with an apology.”

 Something flickers across Roman’s face. Janus looks back and forth between Thomas and Remus. Thomas just looks a little confused as to what’s going on—which, when doesn’t he?—and Remus is staring right at Roman. There’s a strange expression on his face.

 “What would you like me to apologize for?”

 Janus winces when Virgil scoffs, turning away, and Logan’s mouth hardens into a thin line.

 “Why don’t you try starting,” Patton says, “and we’ll see.”

 “No, you know what? No.” Virgil points a finger at Roman. “I’m done holding your hand through all of this. Waiting for you to realize that you fucked up.”

 “Virgil—“

 “No, Pat!” Virgil gestures between the three of them. “You know how hard it’s been on us, waiting for something to change, and now he wants us to just…what, walk him through what he did wrong?”

 Patton spares a glance at Roman before looking away.

 Roman’s face twitches. He looks down.

 “Perhaps Virgil is right,” Logan says, “when Roman can try taking the first step, then maybe this conversation will be more productive. Until then, I see no reason to waste time.”

 “Great. Bye, Thomas.”

 “Wait, you guys are just leaving?”

 “I see no reason to simply stand here and be unproductive,” Logan shrugs, “perhaps if something changes, you can summon us back.”

 “Doubt it,” Virgil mutters, grabbing Logan’s shoulder and sinking them out. Patton spares one last look at Roman before he leaves too.

 Thomas shuffles a little. Remus keeps staring at Roman.

 After a moment, Roman moves.

 “…you want me to apologize?”

 Janus definitely imagines the chill that goes through the room.

 Roman raises his head. He does not look at where Patton stood, he does not look at where Virgil stood, he does not look at where Logan stood.

 He looks directly at Thomas.

 “I’m sorry, Thomas.”

 Thomas splutters. “Roman—“

 “I’m sorry that I sent you to the wedding,” Roman says softly, Thomas’s words dying in his throat, “I’m sorry that I made a decision that I thought you wanted. I’m sorry that I tried to put your friends above your own wants, because I thought that was right. I’m sorry that I thought I was doing what was right.”

 Thomas’s eyes go wide.

 “I’m sorry that you never had faith that you would win the callback,” Roman continues, never once looking away from Thomas, “I’m sorry that your dreams are always too far away, that you must always feel the need to crush them in favor of what is more practical. I’m sorry that you constantly feel like you’re set up to be one big disappointment.”

 Janus’s arms drop in shock.

 “I’m sorry that I can’t do what you want,” and by this point, Thomas looks on the verge of tears, “even though that’s supposed to be my job. I’m sorry that nothing I do is ever good enough on its own, that you feel so afraid, so scared of doing the things you want. I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel even the tiniest bit of my fear.”

 Thomas stifles a noise.

 “I’m sorry that I don’t know things.” Roman chuckles sadly. “I’m sorry that it takes me so much time to figure out what to do. I’m sorry that it always feels like everyone’s one step ahead of me, that you have to wait for me to catch up, even though I never, ever do. I’m sorry for not sticking to the plan.”

 Something heavy presses against Janus’s throat.

 “And I’m sorry that I’m hurt. I’m sorry that it’s been a little too much for me to handle. I’m sorry that my pain is an inconvenience to you.”

 “R-Roman—“

 Roman just smiles sadly when Thomas can’t finish the sentence. He spreads his arms, giving a little gesture to himself.

 “I’m sorry that this is your Ego.”

 Janus sees the moment the horrified realization dawns on Thomas’s face.

 “I’m gonna fucking kill them,” Remus snarls and it’s only years of practice that makes Janus’s reflexes fast enough to catch hold of him before he sinks out. “Let me go!”

 “You can’t hurt them,” Janus grunts, “you know you can’t.”

 “Fucking watch me!”

 “No, no, Remus,” Thomas splutters, “don’t—don’t do that.”

 “Why the fuck not?” Remus snarls, spittle flying from his lips as he struggles against Janus’s hold. “You heard what Roman just said, they—they—“

 “We did it too, Remus,” Janus says softly, glancing at Roman, “we’re not blameless either.”

 Remus keeps struggling. “Let—me—“

 “Remus.”

 Roman’s soft voice still the duke entirely, his head whipping around. Roman just stares at him, resignation and acceptance written plainly on his features.

 “It’s not fair, Ro,” he mumbles.

 “Life isn’t fair.”

 “I—I can summon them back, we can get them back, they can listen to you—“

 “But they won’t,” Roman cuts off in the same soft fury, “they won’t listen to me.”

 “Roman, they love you!”

 Janus winces. Roman just turns to look at him. He can’t meet his eyes.

 “Maybe,” Roman says eventually, “maybe not. Either way…”

 He spreads his hands.

 “Here we are.”

 “Let me go, Jan.”

 “If I do, will you stay?”

 “Fine.”

 Janus lets him go, only for Remus to lunge and wrap his brother in a tight hug. Roman stands there, immobile, until Remus lets out a howl. Roman just murmurs another soft ‘I’m sorry,' and sinks out.

 Remus collapses to the floor, his Morningstar cupped in his hands.

 “What—what just happened?”

 “The twins share things,” Janus murmurs quietly, his eyes still on Remus, “including emotions when they are particularly strong.”

 “So—“ Thomas shakes his head— “so Remus is feeling what Roman’s feeling?”

 “No,” Remus snarls, still gripping the weapon tightly, “I’m feeling what Roman isn’t feeling.”

 He stands up, eyes blazing.

 “I am what Roman isn’t. To you. What Roman isn’t, I am. Which means—“ his knuckles turn white— “the fact that I’m feeling so strongly right now means that Roman isn’t.”

 Thomas goes pale. “What?”

 “Roman is numb,” Janus says quietly, “he’s closed himself off from…everything. To protect himself.”

 “It means my brother, the good Creativity, passion, desire, romance, hopes and dreams, whatever you want to call him,” Remus growls, “is now numb, touch-starved, and too afraid of rejection to reach out for anything.”

 “What do I do,” Thomas asks frantically, “how do we fix this?”

 “You can let me kill the others.”

 “No, Remus.”

 “Talk to them,” Janus suggests instead, “I’m not sure they realize what Roman being the Ego means.”

 Thomas nods. “Okay, we can do that. Should we do that…now?”

 Janus opens his mouth to respond only for something very familiar to trickle into his mind, along with an all-too-familiar tug.

  Stupid, useless, worthless, toxic, dumb, unimportant, bad, can’t do anything right, selfish, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong—

 “Not now,” he manages, “get some rest. You need it.”

 Thomas nods tiredly. Remus just gives him a look that says ‘you’d better not fuck this up’ and leaves, probably to go work out some of his aggression on creatures in the Imagination.

 Janus sinks straight into Roman’s room and his heart breaks.

 Roman is on the floor, pieces of his prince costume thrown haphazardly around him, sobbing hysterically. It’s so loud that for a moment, Janus worries that someone else will come, trying to figure out what’s wrong, before he’s hit with another wave of lies.

  Broken broken broken broken broken broken broken broken wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless—

 He aches.

 Because he knows he can’t do anything while Roman’s awake. He’d never let him close, never let him see this. A sick feeling crawls into Janus’s stomach at the thought of invading Roman’s privacy like this but it wars with the knowledge that he’d be summoned anyway, and that Roman is falling apart.

 So he has to wait.

 Watching as Roman falls apart, believing himself unloved, unwanted, and unseen.

 Slowly, far too slowly, the harsh sobs morph into softer cries, then sniffles, then Roman stills, slumping on the carpet as his breathing evens out. Tears of his own threaten the corners of Janus’s eyes.

 The poor thing cried himself to sleep.

 But as he moves closer, reaching out a hand to stroke back his hair, he lets out a coo before he can stop himself when he sees more tears.

 The poor thing cried himself to sleep and kept crying.

 “Oh, sweetie,” Janus whispers, moving to cradle him as gently as he can without waking him, “sweetie you come here, shh, shh, honey, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

 He lifts the poor prince into his arms, moving swiftly to the bed and laying him down, tucking him in protectively and running his fingers through his hair.

 “It’s okay, sweetie, you’re safe now, it’s okay, you’re safe…” He settles Roman’s head on the pillow. “Shh, shh, shh, that’s it, shh…”

 Sleep-clumsy fingers curl around his arms. Oh. Oh, dear. Well…

 “Oh, sweetie, are you—do you want me to stay?” Janus tries to pull away a bit only for Roman to grumble and hang on. “Oh—okay, sweetie, I’ll stay, just—just a moment.”

 He snaps the fingers on a free hand and changes into something softer, something he can sleep in, something Roman can hold and cuddle. He slides into bed next to him, only to be immediately cuddled by a sleeping, still crying Roman.

 “Shh, sweetie,” he whispers, nuzzling Roman’s head, “I’m right here, I’m not leaving, I won’t leave you.”

 Roman mumbles something and snuggles into Janus’s chest. He makes another comforting noise at the evidence of more tears.

 “It’s gonna be okay, sweetie, I promise, I’ll look after you, I’ll take care of you.”

 And when Roman lets out a little cry, still asleep, he breaks, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

 Roman melts.

 “Oh, sweetie…”

 Janus spoils him with kisses, across his forehead, down his tear-stained cheeks, running his hands through his hair, down his arms, over his back, soothing a particularly painful hitch with a hand on his tummy, rubbing gently until he lapses back into a peaceful sleep. He buries his face in Roman’s hair and holds him tight.

 He swallows heavily, guilt and concern warring in his throat.

 “I don’t want you to think,” he begins carefully, “that I’m only apologizing because I feel guilty over seeing you hurt and that it’s my fault.”

 He tightens his grip on the sleeping prince.

 “I am sorry, Roman,” he whispers with his lips against Roman’s forehead as if to speak the truth into the prince’s dreams, “for all the hurt I have caused you. For using and manipulating you, for dismissing you and letting you think you were useless, and for letting the others make you believe you were so unlovable.”

 He shudders, his breath coming out shaky.

 “But mostly…” he swallows, “mostly I’m sorry that I won’t be brave enough to say that to you when you’re awake.”

 +1.

Janus blinks. There’s sunlight coming in through the curtains.

 His room definitely has curtains.

 Oh. Right. He’s in Roman’s room.

 Shit, he’s still in Roman’s room.

 He’s fallen asleep, he realizes, in Roman’s bed, with Roman cuddled protectively to his chest, after the poor thing had sobbed himself to sleep in the aftermath of that awful, awful meeting.

 Unconsciously, he goes to tighten his grip on the sleeping prince before realizing that he should be doing the opposite.

 He should leave. Now. Before Roman wakes up and sees him.

 He definitely wants to be around for that conversation.

 So, despite the ache in his stomach at the thought of leaving Roman alone right now, he grits his teeth and starts trying to disentangle himself from Roman, despite Roman’s best efforts to cling onto him. If he weren’t so afraid of the consequences of getting caught, he’d find it adorable.

 Okay, maybe he still finds it adorable.

 But Roman’s so soft when he sleeps, so lovely, so unabashed at chasing what he wants. He clings to Janus’s shirt with clumsy fingers, burbles soft noises of protest when Janus’s warmth leaves his side.

 “Come on, sweetie,” Janus coaxes, gently prying Roman’s fingers off, “let me go, you don’t want me to be here when you wake up.”

 “Mmno.”

 “You say that now…” He still won’t let go. “Come on, sweetie, let me go…”

 He leans down to press a kiss to his cheek, hoping Roman will melt and he can escape.

 “That’s it, just go back to sleep, sweetie,” he murmurs, his voice low and hypnotic, carding his fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead, “sleep, sleep, sleep…”

 “Stay,” comes the sleepy little mumble, its voice still lost in the dream, “take care ‘f me.”

 The earnest plea brings a sad little smile to Janus’s face.

 “If you knew who I was,” he whispers, “you wouldn’t ask that.”

 Roman opens his eyes and stares right at him.

 Janus freezes, his hands still caught in Roman’s hair, Roman’s hands still gripping his shirt.

 “Stay,” Roman repeats, his tongue thick with sleep but awake, “don’t run away this time.”

 This time?

 Oh.

  Oh.

  Oh, no.

 Janus swallows. “How long—“

 “You said you didn’t hate me,” Roman mumbles, still tugging on Janus’s shirt to get him back, “and that it hurt more that the others didn’t realize.”

 “You were supposed to be asleep.”

 “You were supposed to hate me.” Roman tugs harder. “Come back.”

 Janus gets slowly back into position, letting Roman cling to him like a child with a teddy bear. Without permission, his own arms wrap around the sleepy prince, and Roman all but purrs.

 “We c’n talk later,” the prince mumbles, already drifting back to sleep, “but stay. Want you to stay.”

 And…well, if it’s the first time Roman’s asked for something he wants in god knows how long, what else is Janus supposed to do but obey?

 “Alright, sweetie, I’m right here,” he murmurs, curling his arms tightly around the poor prince, “do you want to try and go back to sleep?”

 “Mm.”

 But his eyes don’t drift closed. Instead, they stay glassily alert, one hand fisted loosely in the slack of Janus’s shirt.

 “Sweetie,” Janus calls after a little, “do you want to change into something easier to sleep in?”

 He lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.

 “Can I help?”

 Another shrug. Janus tucks a loose piece of hair behind Roman’s ear, snapping his fingers to put the costume on the mannequin in the closet and replace it with a soft red shirt and boxers. He presses another kiss to Roman’s forehead and ruffles his hair.

 “Why don’t you hate me?”

 Janus frowns, pulling Roman closer. “How could I hate you?”

 He holds a finger gently up to the prince’s lips before the lies can fill Roman’s head again.

 “Let me rephrase: I don’t hate you, Roman, I promise.”

 Roman’s disbelief is palpable. “But why?”

 ...maybe he is going to have to do this.

 “I can hear lies,” he murmurs, “whenever someone says them or thinks them. If they’re not true, I’ll hear it. No, no—stay here, sweetie, shh, I’m not angry, I’m not disappointed. I can hear them when you tell yourself that you’re worthless, or toxic, or that we all hate you.”

 He lifts Roman’s chin gently.

 “They’re lies, sweetie, that’s why I can hear them. You’re not worthless, you’re not toxic.”

 Roman whimpers.

 “You’re not broken,” he continues softly, holding him still, “you’re not hard to love, we don’t hate you.”

 He cups Roman’s face and pulls him in to rest their foreheads together.

 “And I care about you, sweetie, so, so much.”

 Roman’s breath shudders warmly on his cheeks.

 “Shh, shh, oh, come here, sweetie—there you go, you can cry, honey, I’ve got you, I’m right here, shh, shh...”

 The weight of the prince’s tears drying on his collar makes it hard to swallow. He tugs the blankets closer around them and lets Roman cling onto him as he cries.

 “I know you don’t believe me,” he whispers as familiar lies start to drift across, “but it’s true, sweetie. It’s true, it’s true, I promise. I’m here to take care of you.”

 “I’m—I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor—sorry—“

 “Shh-shh-shh, don’t apologize to me, sweetie, you don’t have to apologize, I’m right here, I’m not angry, nothing’s so bad.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 Janus hushes him gently with a kiss to his cheek. “I know you are...even though you don’t have to be, not like this.”

 His chest aches when Roman won’t stop burbling apologies.

 “Roman.” He takes the prince’s face firmly in his hands. “Roman, look at me.”

 Roman’s glassy eyes fixate on Janus’s face.

 “I forgive you, my prince,” he says, “I forgive you.”

 Roman’s mouth stills.

 “If that is what you need to hear,” he continues, softening his grip, “I forgive you, my prince.”

 “You...you do?”

 “I don’t want you to think that you need my forgiveness for me to love you,” Janus murmurs, “but yes, sweetie. I forgive you.”

 Roman collapses.

 Janus catches him. Of course, he catches him. He curls around his prince and murmurs sweet nothings, reassurances, anything he needs right now.

 It’s messy, it’s frantic, it’s desperate, it’s human.

 He can care for Roman while Roman lets himself be human. So he holds the poor thing while he cries himself out.

 He doesn’t cry himself to sleep again, thankfully, just enough to slump against Janus’s chest and huff.

 “Sorry.”

 “No need to apologize, that was long overdue.” He runs his knuckles up Roman’s back. “Can we get you something to drink?”

 Roman stiffens. “Does that mean going downstairs?”

 “No, sweetie. Come on...”

 He gets Roman seated on the edge of the bed with a glass of water in his hands. Roman drinks, blinking as Janus passes him a warm cloth, then a cool cloth, to clean his face.

 “What do they want me to do,” he asks after he’s finished the glass and the cloths are hanging over the laundry basket, “now?”

 Janus winces. Is he surprised? No.

 “Shh, sweetie, I’m not angry,” he soothes when Roman tenses, “I’m concerned. You’re still—you still need to take care of yourself first before you worry about everyone else.”

  But everyone else is worthy of the worrying, not me.

 Janus hisses gently. Roman just sighs.

 “It’s what you’ve told me,” he mumbles, “I don’t—I can’t just stop it.”

 “I’m not expecting you to be able to just stop it, sweetie, it’s going to take time, but part of it is going to be recognizing what’s not true.”

 “I know.”

 Janus opens his mouth to say something else when Roman gasps, his hand flying to his chest.

 “Sweetie? Sweetie, what is it?”

 “I’m—I’m being summoned.” Roman clutches his shirt, staring up at Janus. “Thomas—Thomas—“

 “I’ll go.” Janus gives Roman’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just wait here for me, sweetie, I’ll be right back.”

 He can still feel the warmth of Roman’s shoulder tingling under his palm as he appears in the living room.

 “I’m sure you have a wonderful reason for trying to summon Roman,” he drawls, raising an eyebrow at a Thomas.

 Thomas looks up from his computer. “We were still filming.”

 Janus stiffens. “You’re not thinking of trying to continue—“

 “What? No, no, I’m saying that while Roman was talking the camera was still rolling.” Thomas points to the screen. “Which means we have it. All of it.”

 Ah, now he sees where Thomas is going.

 “You want them to watch.”

 “They should, shouldn’t they?”

 Yes, a bitter part of Janus growls, they should see how badly they’ve made Thomas’s Ego crumble.

 “What do you think?”

 Thomas rolls his shoulders back. “I think up until Roman said...all of that, I didn’t think the others were wrong either.”

 He glances up at Janus.

 “Did you?”

 Janus huffs. “I don’t think we ever give Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he is.”

 With that, the whole sorry tale spills out of him. He doesn’t reveal the exact nature of the lies, just the broad swaths of them and how many there are. To Thomas’s credit, he deals with it better than Janus expected. That is, he doesn’t burst into tears.

 Thomas takes a deep breath.

 “...yeah, we’re watching this now.”

 “Right now?”

 “Answer me this,” Thomas says, looking up at him again, “where is Roman? Right now?”

 “...on his bed.” At Thomas’s pointed stare, he relents. “He’s not alright, Thomas, he hasn’t been for a very long time.”

 “Then yeah. Right now.”

 “Then I’m going to ask Roman if he wants to be here.”

 Thomas nods. “Can you—can you tell him I’m sorry?”

 “You can do that yourself when he’s ready to hear it.”

 Understandably, Roman does not want to be there. Janus wraps him tightly in the softest blankets he has, tucked up with a pillow and a glass of water nearby if he wants it, along with the reassurance that if Roman wants him back here, at any point, to call. He’ll listen.

 “Thank you.”

 Janus leaves him with one last squeeze, appearing in the living room with the others. Thomas is back to setting up the computer so they can all see the screen.

 “Thomas?” Logan adjusts his tie. “I was unaware we had something scheduled for today.”

 “We didn’t. Spur of the moment.”

 Remus shoots Janus a look. Janus nods. Remus shifts a little closer to him and his hand grips his Morningstar.

 “Is this about the video from yesterday?” Virgil looks around warily. “Or is it something else?”

 “It is about yesterday.”

 “Shouldn’t we...wait for Roman?”  Patton rubs the back of his neck. “He kinda—well, if we’re talking about yesterday—“

 “Roman’s not coming.” Thomas keeps fiddling with the computer.

 Logan raises an eyebrow. “Are we deciding how to film the video without Roman?”

 “No.” Thomas glances at Janus. Janus nods. Thomas looks back at the others. “Roman’s not coming because he doesn’t want to.”

 “What the fuck?”

 “Language, kiddo,” Patton mumbles halfheartedly.

 “Wait, so—“ Virgil doesn’t look so much as chided— “you’re just gonna let Princey throw his temper tantrum and not come work?”

 “How much attention were you guys paying to what happened after you sunk out yesterday?”

 “…not much, why?”

 In response, Thomas just pushes ‘play.’

 Their voices fill the room, telling Roman what he’s done wrong, why he’s holding all of them back, why he’s the source of all their problems. Lies, lies, and more lies. They get to the part where the other three sink out and Remus tightens his grip on the handle.

  “…you want me to apologize?”

 Virgil opens his mouth, presumably to make some quip, only to cut himself off with a strangled noise once Roman’s apologies begin.

 Janus watches with a sick sense of satisfaction as Patton’s hands fly to his mouth, eyes wide at the hopeless tone coming out of the computer. Next to him, Virgil goes rigid, borderline catatonic. He looks as if one little push would send him toppling over.

 He can’t see Logan’s face until Thomas stops the playback. It’s only when Logan takes his glasses off to clean them that he can see the tears on his cheeks.

 Thomas looks up at Janus.

 “Can you still hear them?”

 “The lies?” Thomas nods. “Yes.”

 There’s a moment of silence.

 “Roman is the Ego,” Logan whispers, mostly to himself, “Roman is the Ego. Of course…of course, I understand—I understand now.”

 “What does that mean?”

 Logan takes a deep breath and looks up at Patton. “It means that Roman is Thomas’s sense of self-worth, more or less, and that he—he takes the brunt of Thomas’s reactions to…any sort of feedback, more than any of us. Good or bad.”

 Virgil stifles a curse. “And we’ve taught him to hate himself.”

 “Quite.”

 “We—“ Patton takes a breath— “we need to apologize.”

 “We all do.” Thomas closes the computer and sets it aside. “I don’t…I don’t know how we do that, though.”

 “Breaking patterns of thinking is hard,” Logan says, “and…especially hard when you have been taught not to ask for help.”

 “But there has to be something!”

 “Touch-starved,” Virgil breaks in, staring at a spot on the carpet, “Roman’s touch-starved.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow.

 “…when I was still having trouble,” Virgil says after a moment of them all looking at him, “Roman—Roman would just come and ask me if I wanted to—to—“

 He hunches his shoulders.

 “Sometimes it’d be a hug. Sometimes he’d sit next to me and—and lean on me. Sometimes he’d just—you know, with the forehead thing—“

 “Bonk.”

 They all turn to Logan, who has…a surprising flush to his cheeks.

 “Roman said that he—he wanted to be able to express affection for me and not disturb my work,” he manages, “so we…came up with a solution.”

 Patton blinks. “Is that why Roman will just walk up to you and bonk his forehead against yours?”

 “Yes.”

 “Huh.”

 “That’s adorable,” Thomas says quietly, “that’s—wait, hang on, that’s really adorable.”

 “It was Roman’s idea.” Logan swallows. “Most of his ideas are good.”

 “Yeah,” Thomas says, “maybe we should try telling him that next time.”

 Janus looks around. The others look to be in various states of remorse and determination. With the exception of Remus, who still looks like he wants to bash a few of their skulls in.

 “…can we go hug Roman now?”

 “I wanna do that.”

 “If he’s—“ Logan glances between Thomas and Janus— “do you know if he would be amenable to that? If he—would like that?”

 “We can ask,” Janus says quietly, “but I don’t know.”

 “And if he says no,” Remus growls, “you get out.”

 “We understand, Remus,” Logan promises. He looks at Thomas. “Thank you, Thomas.”

 Thomas shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Not yet. We all have stuff to fix.”

 Janus adjusts his cape. “Then let’s get started, shall we?”

 They don’t sink right to Roman’s room. Instead, Janus knocks quietly on the door and waits for the soft ‘yes?’ from the other side to open it.

 “Roman,” he calls softly, “hey, sweetie, why’re you over there?”

 Because Roman, the poor thing, is at his desk, trying to work.

 “I—um—“

 “I’m not angry, sweetie,” he murmurs, arms going around the prince to pull him up out of the desk chair, “just concerned.”

 “I figured that if I got to work they’d be less mad that I wasn’t there,” Roman mumbles, even as he lets Janus pull him back to the bed, “so I…”

 “Oh, sweetie, no one’s angry at you.”

 Roman looks up at him with such a heartbreaking look of disbelief that he lets out a soft noise, cupping his face.

 “Would you believe me if I said they want to apologize and make it up to you?”

 “No.”

 He squints. “Have you believed anything I’ve told you since you woke up?”

 “No.”

 The lack of hesitation makes his eyes widen. Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against Roman’s as he pulls off his gloves, reaching up to cup the prince’s head.

 “I meant every word,” he murmurs, doing his best to wipe away the bits of salt in the corners of his eyes, “every single word.”

 He pauses, then leans closer.

 “They’re sorry, Roman,” he whispers, “they’re so sorry and they want to know how to make it better.”

  They don’t want you. They hate you. They’ve never cared about you. They don’t even want to touch you.

 Janus hisses softly as he pulls Roman in for a hug. The poor thing still reacts like it’s the first time someone’s touched him in years.

 “They want to see you, sweetie,” he whispers, “and I believe their exact words were ‘can we go hug Roman now?’”

 “W-what?”

 In response, Janus pulls away a little and nods to the door. Roman’s eyes widen.

 “Can we let them in, sweetie?”

 “They’re here?”

 “Right outside.”

 “They want—they want to—“

 Roman’s desperate gaze flies to the door. He raises a shaking hand and lets it open.

 Patton’s through the door before it’s even all the way open. Roman lets out a wounded noise as Patton barrels into them, his arms wrapped around Roman before Janus can blink.

 “Pat—Patton—Pa—wha—?”

 “I’m sorry, Roman, I’m so sorry, kiddo—“

 Virgil follows not too long after, pulling Roman’s legs into his lap and reaching out to take Roman’s outstretched hand.

 “Hey, Princey,” he says, the growl from not five minutes ago softened to a low rumble, “missed you.”

 “Mis—miss—missed me?”

 “Yeah, Roman, missed you. Didn’t feel the same without you there.”

 Then Logan. As Patton and Virgil move to get Roman into a more comfortable position, Logan sits behind him so that when Roman leans back, his head rests against Logan’s shoulder. Logan reaches up to tangle his fingers in Roman’s hair, smiling softly at the low noise from Roman’s throat.

 “Bonk?”

 Roman nods, still blinking in confusion but lets Logan press his forehead gently to his.

 “Thank you, little star,” he murmurs, smiling at the way Roman’s mouth falls open, “I didn’t forget, Roman, even if I haven’t been the best at showing it.”

 “We don’t hate you, Princey,” Virgil says, squeezing his hand, “and we—well, we owe you one hell of an apology.”

 “But we don’t have to talk about that now.” Patton adjusts his grip around Roman’s waist. “Not if you don’t want to.”

 Remus picks this moment to not walk through the door and climb onto the bed but to sink down through the ceiling and land on top of them.

 “Re!”

 “Hey, Ro-Bro.”

 “Re, get off, you—it’s too much.”

Remus rolls to the side, right into Janus’s lap, effectively making sure that none of them are leaving, not that they particularly wanted to.

 Janus watches as Roman slowly asks if they can stay like this for a while, smiling when the answer is a resounding ‘yes,’ the cuddle pile closing in around their prince. Roman’s head rests against the crook of Logan’s neck, one of his hands wrapped in Janus’s, the other in Virgil’s. His legs lie in Virgil’s lap, Patton cuddling him protectively as Logan strokes his head. Remus and Janus keep watch, sentries over the resting prince.

 For the first time, in a long time, as Roman drifts off to sleep, the only lie in his head is this won’t last forever.

 They’ve got time to prove him wrong.

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#dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #janus sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #roceit #lamp #dlamp #dlampr #dlamprt #platonic lamp #platonic dlamp #platonic dlampr #platonic dlamprt

[scarecrow-supremacy]

A/N: Oookieee, so I decided to start writing a new fic bc I have great ideas for a story line. Yet I can’t bring myself I writing an actual beginning. Like I’ve already written some random chapters, but I can’t do anything with them because they don’t really make much sense without the context of the rest of the fic/my ideas. Like this chapters is where the romance/actual x reader gets into actual action. Hopefully you get the gist of what the plot is, and aren’t confused as hell from this part. Sorry if it’s a bit long, it’s around 4.8k-ish words. Enjoy 💜

Hatake Kakashi wasn't one to celebrate his birthday.

He simply thought that they were foolish excuses to let loose and party. To Kakashi, birthdays were no reason to be happy and celebrate. They were just reminders of how long he had endured the pain of living. Each year marked another without the people he once held close in his heart. His father, his sensei, his teammates, and (y/n)...

The day that (y/n) gone on that horrible mission was his special day. The mission he was supposed to go on, but (y/n) filled in for because she wanted him to go celebrate with Gai and the others. So much for having the day of joy...Kakashi thought to himself mournfully.

With a great sigh, he grabbed the last of his belonging, shoving them in his mission pack. He'd promised to take his students out of a group mission for the day, but it had been mostly for selfish reasons. Kakashi had hoped that this would take his mind off of the weight in his soul, yet knowing that his efforts would be futile. The loss would never leave him, it would always follow him like a darned shadow. It would forever haunt him. There was not letting go of the horrors of his past.

Slowly, Kakashi strolled to the gates of Konoha to meet his kids, shoving his hands in his pockets as he mumbled a little tune under his breath. The dark cloudy sky and drizzling rain seemed to mirror how he felt inside.

Drip, drop. Drop, drop. Drop, drop.

Each raindrop fell upon the dirt paths of the town, dampening Kakashi's Jonin uniform. If only he'd gone on that mission, if only he hadn't let (y/n) take his place. If only so many things that happened hadn't. If only he felt whole again. He could feel the heavyweight of guilt on his shoulders, spreading pain throughout his body. Sure, Team 7 filled the void, but they could only do so much. If there is one thing I wish for, it is that these kids will grow up to be happy.

A soft smile played upon Kakashi's face as he approached the three teens. "KAKASHI-SENSEI!" His hyperactive blonde student, Uzumaki Naruto, yelled at him, "YOU'RE LATE-TTEBAYO!" He raised his fist in anger. Sakura glared at both Kakashi and Naruto, slapping the boy's back to calm him down. Off to the side stood Sasuke, his hands in his pockets as he briefly kicked the dirt and pebbles around him to form his clan's symbol. "Usuratonkachi," he grumbled at the group. To be honest, Kakashi did feel a little guilty about keeping the kids waiting for him. They were being held back just because he was wallowing in self-pity. And Kakashi felt ashamed of that; ordering his mind to push his thoughts further to the back of his mind.

Kotetsu and Izumo, guards of the gates, turned to the team and smiled in greeting. "The gate opening mechanism is broken, so we have to manually open the gates," they explained. "Heading out yet again, eh?" Kotetsu chuckled. "I thought you lot just came back from a mission. Ya leaving so soon?" Izumo asked. Naruto pumped his hand into the air, "Yeah! Dattebayo! It's only a C rank, but it'll be fun-ttebayo!"

He's a lot like you, eh Obito, Kakashi's mind wandered as he looked up at the clouded sky, a drop of rain fell upon his nose and slid down his mask. If only you, Minato-sensei, and Rin were here to see us in action. You would be proud.

But what about (y/n)? Part of Kakashi was surprised that he didn't think of her immediately. Did he still believe that she could've been alive? After the Hokage had told him that he'd lost contact with (y/n), Kakashi didn't know what to think. It had been 3,650 days since she left. 3,589 since she was supposed to come back. And 3,529 days since they fully lost contact. What were the chances she'd come back, alive or injured? Kakashi wanted to believe that she was still alive. Was that realistic?

"She's gone, Kakashi! You need to understand that!" He flashed back to when Asuma, Gai, and Kurenai had tried to slap some sense into him. Well actually, Kurenai had slapped him. "Kakashi-sensei?" Sakura gently tugged his sleeve, straining her arm up so her red umbrella would also cover his head. "Are you okay? You've been spacing out a lot lately." She whispered as she looked up at him.

"I'm fine, Rin," Kakashi weakly smiled, "It's nothing that you should worry about." Sakura flashed him a questioning look, "Rin?" Sucking the air, Kakashi's whole body tensed up, "Sorry." He looked away, turning his attention to the bickering Sasuke and Naruto. "Just a little mix-up, Sakura." He put on a fake smile, breaking up the boy's fight. "Let's go, shall we?"

"Alright! Shanaroo!"

"Dattebayo!"

Kotetsu and Izumo went to open the gates but stopped to exchange worrisome glances. "Someone just knocked from the other side of the gates. Which is weird because our list says that we shouldn't be expecting anybody." Izumo knit his eyebrows together. Kotetsu, who had been looking through a glass which allowed him to see the incomer, hastily urging Izumo to help him. "ANBU!" He had barked at his partner, "Bleeding! Dying, wounds, whatever! They need medical attention!" That had caught Kakashi's attention, he got ready to act as the guards opened up the gates, heaving on the rusted hinges. Yet he was not mentally prepared for what awaited on the other side of the grand doors.

There she stood. Uniform torn, stained and ripped up. The wakizashi sword that was strapped to her hip was blunt and scratched, the sheath dented. Skin scratched and bruised, wounds dripping with blood and gore. A long x shaped cut on the inner side of her left thigh. Gasping and choking for air, she started to wobble, blood dribbling down her limbs and stomach. The rain continued to fall, now hard and heavy; burning and searing the wounds of the lady. Yet she still managed to keep her face from wavering In an instant, Kakashi recognized who the woman was based on her cracked porcelain ANBU mask. (y/n).... "Sakura! Go alert the hospital. And you two boys, clear the way for Sakura so she can get there. Quickly!" Kakashi ordered them as he took the heavily wounded woman in his arms. Anger and fear coursed through Kakashi's veins as his heart thumped erratically. He could feel (y/n)'s body twitch in pain. "Izumo, go let Hokage-sama know that Ibara-hime has returned." Kakashi let out one last demand before zipping off to follow his kids.

"Kakashi..." (y/n) mumbled out his name, "Kakashi..." she shakily rose her hands up to gently cup his masked cheeks. "What is it?" He whispered, gently rubbing her skin through a torn patch of her ripped uniform. "Happy birthday, Hatake..." She softly breathed, her tight grip of Kakashi's chest loosened as her eyes dropped closed. Please don't die, (y/n)... I've waited all the fucking years. You aren't leaving me again. A tear formed in Kakashi's eye, flying off with the rain as he bolted towards the hospital. Stay with me a bit longer, will you?

"My sensei will be here any second with an ANBU woman in need of immediate medical attention!" Kakashi heard Sakura's voice quiver as he barged into the hospital. "I'm here, kids. Go to Gai-sensei and stay with him until I'm back." He quickly barked, flashing all of the nurses who flowed into the room a nervous look. "Please, help her. I'm begging you." He pleaded with the staff uncharacteristically. I need her to live. Need. "We do what we can, sir." One of the medic-nin nodded, putting (y/n)'s unconscious body onto the stretcher. If (y/n) lives, that would be the best birthday gift ever.

Kakashi jogged after the nurses and doctors, peering into the emergency clinic room through the window. "I'm sorry, Sir, but you won't be able to visit the lady until all the major injuries have been cleaned up and treated." A male nurse out his hand in his shoulder from behind. "But..! Okay..." Kakashi let out a sigh, "Isn't there any paperwork that needs to be filled out?"

The nurse shook his head, "The Hokage has come and is speaking to one of my colleagues about it. Don't worry about it. You won't have to take care of any of that." He tried to reassure the angsty shinobi, "The woman is part of the ANBU ranks, right? Her mask is of the uniform." Kakashi nodded his head, biting his lip inside of his mask, "Yeah...she is... but it's kinda complicated." The nurse raised his eyebrow but just shrugged. "Can I speak with the Hokage?" The Hatake requested. "Come this way," the other man sighed, leading him away.

Kakashi let out a deep and long sigh as he held (y/n)'s scraped hand in his gloved ones. He had been told by the same nurse from before that (y/n) was in a decent state to accept visitors, yet was still unconscious. He could tell that the nurse was hiding something from him, but he was too worried about (y/n) to give it a second thought. Hesitantly, he brought her hand to his masked lips, gently pressing them against the fabric. "Ya know, (y/n). After you left, I decided to give those goddamn books a try. And you're right, they are addictive. Thanks for the gift," Kakashi sadly chuckled before pausing for a moment.

"Those books, they helped me a lot. They helped me get through my days, just like you told me."

"They also helped me realize something. They helped me realize that I don't hate you. I don't want to hate, and I never should've."

"I've realized that I was such a dick to you at the beginning and that it was all my fault that our relationship became how it was. I regret it... So when you wake up again, I just want to start over again. Maybe not entirely, but just so that we can leave all the hate behind us. How does that sound?"

Kakashi stared at the sleeping (y/n), her chest heaving up and how slowly and rhythmically. It hurt him to see her like that, her skin swollen in the places of the stitches and anointed bruises. "Listen, (y/n). I'd never been able to tell this to you while you're conscious, so I might as well let it out now. I...I love you." Kakashi rightly shut his uncovered eye. "After feeling your loss, my dumbass self finally realized how much you are worth. After they pass on, you and the others were all I had left. But then you also left me, that hurt like hell." His tone started to break.

"Lord Hokage told me about the whole fake-death move, and I was relieved that you weren't gone for good. And then we lost contact, everybody assumed the mission had been finished, and your squad sacrificed your lives for it. I couldn't let the fact that you could be a dead sink in. It didn't feel right. Gai, Asuma, and Kurenai tried to get me out of another depression cycle. Kurenai even went to the lengths of quite literally slapping some sense into me." Kakashi played with a loose strand of (y/n)'s (h/c) hair.

The muscles of (y/n)'s hand twitched ever so slightly. Kakashi's drooping head snapped up; he'd almost fallen asleep in the chair. "(y/n)?" He murmured as her eyes started to flutter, "(y/n)?"

(y/n) chapped lip parted ever so slowly, taking a big breath of air, her (e/c) eyes squinting. "Hatake..?" She shakily managed to mumbled, her voice hoarse and dry. She tried to prop herself up on the bed, but Kakashi eased her back into her resting position. "Rest, (y/n), you're not ready to stress yourself yet." Kakashi to her, "I'll be back with a nurse and some water for you, alright?" (y/n) opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She simply looked down and nodded.

Moments later, Kakashi came back with the nurse and water. "Here," he carefully put the cup to her lip, gently tipping the cup, "Good." He turned to the nurse, who seemed to be scribbling something down from the little monitor to his clipboard. Kakashi's eyes followed the cord attached to it, to the long x shaped hash in (y/n)'s inner left thigh. What worried Kakashi was the anxious look on the nurse's face.

"(l/n)-san, your vitals are doing alright, but you'll have to stay here for a night or two just so that we can keep an eye on something's that may need monitoring." He curtly nodded his head, "Lord Hokage wished to speak to you. So, sir, that means you may have to leave."

Kakashi tried to reason with the other man, but (y/n) reached to weakly squeeze his thigh. "It's okay, Hatake. You can just drop by later." (y/n) tried to smile. "Fine," Kakashi grumbled, leaving the room and letting Hiruzen in.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hiruzen came back out. "How's (y/n)?" Kakashi asked him impatiently. The Hokage put his hand on Kakashi's shoulder as if trying to soothe him, "She'll be better soon. Don't worry, alright." The silver-haired shinobi let out a small grunt, "I know that she'll get better with time. But what about now?"

Kakashi knew that Hiruzen loved (y/n) almost like a daughter, he cared about her deeply. Hence the elaborate cover-ups to protect (y/n) and her squad on the unconventionally lengthy mission. The Hatake could see the sadness that had tried to be tucked away in the Sarutobi's eyes. "The main concern of the moment is the poison in the gash on her left thigh. The medic-nins have tried to extract as much of it as possible, and try to find something that will counteract the effects." The elderly man explained to him. "Did they find an antidote?" Kakashi questioned.

"That is where the problem lies," Hiruzen explained, "There is a certain medicinal herb that is used alongside a jutsu to nullify the effects, as the poison has traces of chakra. We have a few medics on hand who support the skill to perform the jutsu, but we don't have the plant. Even so, that won't be a permanent cure." Kakashi knit his eyebrows together, "How would it not be a perfect cure? Plus, since there are traces of chakra, could we possibly track down the person who created the poison and make them fess up on the cure?" He questioned.

"Great thinking, but..." Hiruzen groaned, "(y/n) said that they performed a self-destruction jutsu just after striking her. He probably thought that it would be in their best interest to take their secrets to the grave with them." Kakashi cursed under his breath, "Fuck... This is terrible."

Hiruzen nodded in agreement, "No duh."

Kakashi's head shot up, "Uh?!"

The elder man's eyes widened, "Did I use the term correctly?! I'm trying to pick up on the phrases the kids are using these days..."

Kakashi gritted his teeth, "Right idea of the meaning, I guess. But the context and timing...wasn't quite fit." Looking ever so slightly dejected, "Oh...alright." Smoothening out the wrinkles in his robe and putting in his cob pipe, "Kakashi, if you are going to stay here with (y/n), could you at least pick up some good food. The food in the hospital canteen is quite bland." Kakashi nodded his head and obliged, only to be stopped in his tracks by Hiruzen.

"Kakashi, I'd like to ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"What caused your change in actions towards (y/n) change so much?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've observed you two whilst you were in the ANBU together, and you never got along that well. And suddenly you act so attached to her, Kakashi. You don't need to answer. It's just that as your leader, I want to understand what is going on in the heads of some of my most trusted people." Hiruzen explained to Kakashi, puffing out a cloud of smoke from his cob pipe.

Kakashi frowned from behind his mask, trying to figure out how to explain his change of feelings in a professional manner. "I think that after I was given the impression that she was gone, I noticed that I cared about her. It made me realize that I was wrong to not see how much she meant in my life." He tried, his voice fading off into a whisper. Hiruzen smiled and nodded, "You really are something else, Kakashi."

Kakashi silently strolled over to Ichiraku's to grab some takeout. The paper lanterns lit the nearly empty streets of Konoha, creating a soft and soothing ambiance. The smell of the rain and moisture still clung to the air, the dirt roads had muddy dampness to them. "Yo! Kakashi, my eternal rival!" A boisterous and friendly voice greeted the said man. "Hey, Gai," Kakashi responded, he noticed his students sitting alongside each other and gave them a quick wave and smile. Naruto and Lee were arguing about who'd get Sakura. Sakura insisted that Sasuke would come around in her favor. Sasuke was quietly eating his food. And Neji and Tenten were discussing a new sword they saw in the windowsill of a weaponry shop.

"I'll take two eggplant miso soups with brown rice noodles," Kakashi leaned over the counter space between Lee and Naruto to order his meal, also effectively stopping the argument. "Thanks, Ayame," he thanked the daughter of Teuchi, owner of the quaint place. "No problem, Kakashi-san!" She chirped.

"Kakashi?" Gai raised his brushy brow, "Your kids told me about what happened this morning..." Kakashi sighed and pulled him aside so that they were at a comfortable distance, "It was (y/n)..." he told his best friend, "She's back and in the hospital because she's not in good health at the moment. I just came here to pick up a meal for her." Kakashi watched as Gai's jaw dropped, "(Y/N) IS ALIVE!" He exclaimed a touch too loud for his eternal rival's taste, "CAN I MEET HER?!" Tears of youthful joy waterfalled down the jumpsuit-clad man's cheeks. "I'll see if you can come tomorrow, alright Gai." Gai smiled broadly, "This is very...unusual. Youthful, nonetheless!" He grinned.

Kakashi rubbed the back of his head and nodded, "I'm glad she's back..." he murmured barely loud enough for Gai to hear. Knowingly, Gai patted Kakashi's back. "Oh! Yeah! Happy birthday, my youthful rival!" He gently punched his comrade's shoulder. A smile formed on Kakashi's lips, "Thanks, Gai." He flashed his eccentric friend his signature close-eyed smile.

"I'll see you later."

"Bye, Kakashi! Have a good night!"

Knock knock, Kakashi rapt (y/n)'s door, "Can I come in?"

"Come in," (y/n) murmured, a small moan of pain escaping her lips, "Ouch..."

Kakashi quickly set the takeout on a little table, rushing to (y/n)'s side. He wrapped his arm tightly around her waist and helped her to the table. "I got us dinner because the food at the canteen isn't that good." He explained with a slight shrug. "Thanks, Hatake," a weak smile formed on her lips. The silvered-haired Jonin served them their meals. "Itadakimasu," they both mumbled.

Heavy tension filled the room as they ate in silence. (y/n) knew that Kakashi had his mask down, but didn't look up. "It's been a while..." Kakashi breathed, in hopes of hearing (y/n) speak, "Too long..." The kunoichi rested her forehead on her palm, "I- Yeah..." she mumbled, eyes growing classier by the second. So much for trying to start a conversation... Kakashi thought sadly as they resumed their meals without a word. The silence seemed to be killed him. Kami, it had been 10 goddamn years! 3650 days since he had gotten to talk to the woman. He missed her. Hell, he could even say that he missed all of their little spats. Hatake Kakashi missed everything about (y/n).

"I missed you..." was all Kakashi mumbled as he pushed his finished food away and pulled up his mask, "All these days, months, and years."

Hot tears slipped down (y/n)'s cheeks, forming a puddle on the table. "I-I came back be-because I didn't want-want to hurt you and the r-rest. Dying on passed down pain to the people who love you. I can't afford to c-carry the guilt of t-that." She mumbled shakily, "I promised to be back, a-and I held up the promise." Kakashi sadly smiled as he awkwardly reached under the table to gently caress (y/n)'s thigh.

"You care about others so much, but you should really take a moment to care about yourself, (y/n)." Kakashi scolded the injured kunoichi, "You had me scared for you; all those gashes and open wounds... You could've died," he knit his eyebrows together in worry. "Don't do that ever again."

(y/n)'s dull smile faltered as Kakashi spoke on, "Now you know how I felt when I saw you doing all those suicidal stunts back then on those missions. It was like you were in a hurry to die... I mean, I was too, but you did some seriously dumb shit," she giggled emptily. Kakashi sweat-dropped, "I see... I guess you are right..." (y/n) rolled her (e/c) eyes as the masked shinobi let out a drained sigh, "I'm always right, Hatake."

"Really, (l/n)? You've been through torturous pain, and you still act like a child." Kakashi groaned, "All these years..." (y/n) shot him a hard glare, "All these years and you still think you're in charge of me." He cast a confused look, "It's my duty to protect you, as a comrade." As a comrade... "I guess, but you're just annoying, Hatake," she huffed.

"I'm sorry about ruining your birthday with my arrival and stuff. I probably ruined your plans with those kids." (y/n) looked down, breaking the silence that had fallen upon them, "I could hear you guys through the gate; they seemed pumped about going out. I'm sorry, I didn't think about the flaws in my whole plan." Kakashi's head snapped up from its resting position on the table, "It's fine, they don't even know it's my birthday," he paused, "But you planned to come here? As in, today in particular. With all those injuries, (l/n), you should've just tried to take care of yourself. My birthday isn't as important as your health."

The (y/n) shook her head, "I was going to stay at a small village pretty far from here before finally coming home. I planned to just heal up there and see how things went from there. I even considered settling down there. But that just didn't feel right," (y/n) face set in a frown, "Once I realized that your birthday wasn't that far off, I decided that I couldn't stay and needed to come back. I doubted I would even live to be back. But here I am..." she said with a soft wince of pain. "It was terrible, I hated every second of it," Her (s/t) fingers made their way to the raw mark on her inner thigh, “I’d already lost so much; there was nothing for me to lose at that point.” Kakashi's face softened as he understood what she meant. (y/n) wasn't put in the mission alone, she had her team. They all must've been killed with time.

"Ouch!" (y/n) yelped as she let out a moan of pain, clenching the fabric of her hospital-issued pajama pants. “Shh..." Kakashi whispered into her ear, quickly leaning in to soothe her, "What's causing all this pain?" He asked with a frown as (y/n) bit her lip. "It's the thing in your thigh, right? Lord Hokage and the nurse told me a bit about it. But I still don't fully understand it and how it can't fully be cured."

(y/n) buried her face in her hands, "Oh..." She mumbled, "The poison can't de be removed because it's already been inside of me too long. And since it is laced with chakra, the properties of it aren't completely like normal poison." She blinked back the stinging agonizing tears in her eyes, "The herb that I need is just going to ease the effects in my body, whilst the jutsu will seal it from triggering anything that was layered in with the chakra." (y/n) explained. Kakashi could tell she was trying her hardest to keep her face straight, pushing back the pain and hurting inside. "The thing is–"

"What?" Kakashi asked the pained woman, his tone soft and soothing, "I can help if I know what's going on."

Warily, (y/n) agreed to speak on, "The place where the mission was stationed at was just underground of the nuke-nin outpost I was from. And the guy who poisonous me was one of the other kids' experiments were done on, along with me. He was a few years older than us, and his name was Hiroto Myoga. His parents were in owed debt to the rogues, they were forced into being test subjects until they died. Which left Hiroto in the nuke-nin's hands." She rubbed the temple of her head pushing away the images that sent a shiver down her spine, "Something similar had happened in the case of my parents and me. But unlike me, when the ANBU did the raid, Hiroto was snuck away just in time."

Kakashi's heart sank as he heard what she was telling him. (y/n) had never known much about her past, the damned curse seal had caused. “Since he was older than most of the other kids there, the nuke-nin's of the outpost decided that they needed to trust their information. It was all precautionary, just in case they were taken down. And that's just what happened. Hiroto was the one ordered to put memory restriction curse seals on us, the kids, before he fled to be underground, where the actual harm was being done. That meant that all this time Hiroto had been working in those old plans." (y/n) closed her eyes tightly, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

With a subtle groan, Kakashi supported (y/n) up from the chair and rested her in her cot. "Don't stress yourself, (y/n). You can just tell me later; it's getting late anyway." He told her. "It's fine, Hatake. Letting this out helps me feel better." She reassured him.

"The ANBU caught wind of suspicious activity in that area and decided to send out a squad to go check out. I overheard Danzō arguing with Lord Hokage about it, and got interested. It was really dumb, but I just wanted to go to learn more about what happened in my past. I learned, but that can with lots of twists and turns. 10 years of going undercover..." (y/n)'s (e/c) eyes met Kakashi's single uncovered black one, "It wasn't long before Hiroto became suspicious of us, slowly narrowing the group down till it was just me." (y/n) took a deep breath and continued, "After Hiroto killed himself in our final fight, my curse seal was lifted. That's how I suddenly was able to remember all of the past. All of it."

A pit formed in Kakashi's stomach as he watched (y/n) cry in silence. He wanted to help her feel better, he really did. But he was afraid that he'd make things worse; dealing with feelings just wasn't his thing. "I'm here for you, (l/n). We've been through so much together, you've helped me through it all," Kakashi tried to reassure her, "It's my turn to look after you. Please, just don't cry." He reached out his hand to brush a tear-off of her streaked cheeks.

“Are you okay with me staying here for the night?" Kakashi asked (y/n) as they sat at the bay window, looking down upon the empty moonlit streets of Konoha. The soft light cast down by the moon seemed to make everything look beautiful, serene, and at peace. "(l/n)?" He asked again, turning to look back at her. A gentle smile played on Kakashi's lips as he saw that she'd fallen asleep. (y/n) had been through so much throughout the day, she not only deserved to rest for a long time but also needed to. "Good night, (y/n)..." he carefully lifted the sleeping beauty and placed her on the cot. Sitting back at the bay seat, Kakashi took in a deep breath. "I love you."

She's finally back.

She's finally home.

#kakashi hatake #kakashi x y/n #kakashi x reader #naruto character x reader #reader x character #kakashi x you #y/n #naruto angst #just a lil bit of angst not much #i should stop procrastinating #i need motivation to actually write a beginning #should i keep going? #kakashi's pov #hatake #veggie_chan11 #kakashi #enemies to lovers #anbu kakashi #ANBU reader #team 7 #long shot #i wrote this at 2am

[wildlyglittering]

Good at Starting Fires

I really hated the overly sexualised way that Cassian looked at Nesta in ACOSAF and ACOSF when he commented on her drastic weight loss. Instead of being concerned that she was losing weight at a drastic pace he was more 'boobs man, great they're still there' and it wound me up no end.

I was sent a prompt by an anon that said 'angsty Nessian set in the Illyrian camp where Cassian sees Nesta in her underwear for the first time' and I found that I wanted to try and right that 'wrong' in relation to the above. Probably not quite what the requestor had in mind but hey ho.

Some mention of weight loss and concerns surrounding it.

***

The rain lashed onto Cassian’s exposed skin.

The deluge hadn’t turned into a full storm quite yet but still, this was the worst weather he had seen in a long while, the wind barrelling into him warranting his full concentration in order to continue to fly upright.

Cassian would have chanced some different manoeuvres to make flight easier but he wasn’t flying alone.

The female in his arms had said nothing to him since they left the ground, perhaps planning to ignore him for the remainder of their eternal lives. Cassian would usually provoke her into retaliating against some jibe but tonight, with thick darkness surrounding them and the harsh pelt of the cold rain against their skin, goading wasn’t suitable.

Instead, Cassian flew through the onslaught, clutching onto a shivering Nesta.

They’d exited the river house in silence. Cassian thought she would fight the decision, fight Feyre, fight him, but she hadn’t. Her lips pursed together with her spine rigid and shoulders defiant; a stubborn refusal to give any indication of defeat.

Nesta hadn’t looked at any of them, or spoken either, instead turning with clenched fists to walk out the door she’d walked in from.

“Bye then,” taunted Rhys from his place by the fireplace.

A sharp rebuke came from Feyre while Cassian rubbed his hands over his face before glaring at his High Lord. His next action was to move fast to follow Nesta.

Feyre had been on his heels but if Nesta wanted nothing to do with him she wanted less to do with her sister. Cassian reached her first and Nesta stared at him with cold eyes. “We go now,” she demanded through gritted teeth.

“Nesta!” Feyre called out from behind, half running towards them.

“Now,” she demanded again her voice thick and trembling.

For a moment it seemed like Feyre was going to shift into her wings and fly after them but maybe there was something in his expression, or Nesta’s, which stopped her.

Nesta had clung to his neck the way a child clung to their mother but he got the impression she really wanted to use her hands on his throat in a different way. The rain followed them from Velaris to the mountains; Nesta spending the entire flight with her face buried into his shoulder.

Cassian would pretend along with her that it was only raindrops falling onto her cheeks.

If the betrayal had cut her, she’d resolutely decided to not let the wound show. She’d been cornered like a wild creature by one sister and the other, the one Nesta adored with the fullness of her heart, hadn’t shown to say anything at all.

When they arrived at the cabin it was Cassian’s pity for her which made him absorb the spite spilling from her lips. The force of his landing caused mud to splash up their legs and Nesta pulled away from him the second her feet hit the dirt.

Despite the rain and with dripping hair and sodden clothes she was beautiful. The words from her mouth, decidedly not so.

“Pathetic,” she hissed at him over the roar of the thundering rain and he somehow understood her meaning underneath – how Cassian was a grovelling sycophant to his High Lord who would never place a wing out of line and never fight back.

Nesta spoke with fists clenched at her sides. Cassian wondered if there was a part of her that wanted to strike him and he wondered if there was a part of him that would let her. She turned away, her back as rigid as before, every bump of bone showing through the fabric.

Cassian frowned. The dress was drenched, clinging to her flesh in a way it hadn’t when dry, illuminating what the material would otherwise hide.

He shouldn’t have been able to see the sharpness of her spine.

“Do we have a place to go or are you reducing me to sleeping in the mud?”

Those words were small, sharp cuts which stung though Nesta had no knowledge of how Cassian’s nights as a youth were spent doing just that, with the smell of putrefying leaves on his skin and clumps of dirt under his nails.

“Well?” she snapped, turning her head to glare at him from the corner of her eye. This was a glance which said he was beneath her, that she didn’t need to turn to address him, that the sight of him offended her glorious eyes.

What Cassian saw painted a different picture; tinged pink eyes, and a red nose. The skin around her eyelids swollen.

He let the stings dissipate. Nesta had been thrown from one world into another and from that one into something new. He would hold his tongue.

“This way, sweetheart.” Well, to an extent.

They trudged across the mud, Cassian’s feet sinking into the earth as he overtook Nesta to show her the way and he didn’t bother glancing behind him to see if she followed. She had no choice, there was nowhere else for her to go.

Rain had seeped into Cassian’s clothes, his skin damp and his wet hair dripped water down the back of the neck. He was feeling wet and miserable and wondered how worse this was for Nesta in her heavy woollen dress.

His siphons emitted a soft red glow and that was all there was; them, the rain and the glow in the darkness. Not even the moon greeted them.

***

The cabin was a welcome sight.

Their belongings were there, mostly Cassian’s with some provisions Feyre had arranged for Nesta. The door creaked on the hinges as Cassian stepped into familiar, if slightly musty, surroundings.

A perfume of earth and open skies lay underneath the dust and he inhaled the scent through his nose and into his lungs. He hadn’t been here in so long with wars and commitments keeping him far away; but if Velaris was his home, this place was his sanctuary.

There was a shuffling behind him and for a moment, lost in euphoria, Cassian forgot he wasn’t alone.

Nesta stood in the entrance, surveying her new domain. Her wet hair had unravelled from her coronet braid and tendrils clung onto the side of her face. A fat raindrop travelled from her temple past her cheek and hung from her jaw before finally dripping onto her collar.

Cassian frowned again.

Nesta’s dress buttons had popped open in the flight and he saw her neck and collar bone, a strange sharpness protruding from the stark white of her skin. Shadows, he told himself, from the candle that had flamed into life. They cast shapes and make everything harsh.

Nesta’s fists were now balled into her gown as a puddle grew around her. If she noticed Cassian’s gaze she never let on and continued to sweep her eyes around the room with a bored detachment.

“This is it,” she said, “my prison for the indefinite future.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “If Feyre was going to keep me caged she should have at least made a gilded one.”

Yes, he wanted to say, because your residence was so lavish.

“Move,” but Nesta didn’t wait for Cassian to step aside before pushing past him, head high and eyes forward. She stopped in the living room, her head turning left to right as she took in more of her surroundings. Her face gave nothing away as she scrutinised the spacious open living space which branched into the enclosed kitchen.

Cassian shook his head and ground his teeth as he closed the door behind her, the wind bringing sheets of rain into the cabin. A trail of water led across the floor to where Nesta stood.

The middle of the cabin was lighter, framed by the multiple fae lights and candles, and Cassian saw so much more. Nesta’s skin was white all over but her pale hands had red, cracked knuckles and dark circles like old bruises hung underneath her eyes. A shudder rippled through her.

Rain smashed against the window panes and Cassian looked to the vast inglenook fireplace which took over one full side of the cabin.

The hearth was filled with grey ash and lumps of half burnt wood and the basket aside the fireplace held strips for kindling. There were no pieces sizable enough to get a full fire going and getting a fire burning was exactly what they needed.

“Upstairs and to the left,” he said and Nesta turned to him. “That’s where your room will be. Mine’s next to it, same side. Both will warm up quick when the fire’s lit as the floorboards heat too.” Cassian jerked his head to the stairs, “Go and get changed, I’ll grab wood for the fire.”

Her face, one of permanent indifference and as smooth as porcelain, changed. The expression lasted only seconds before Nesta schooled it into something passing for neutral.

“Fine, I shouldn’t have expected you to be prepared.”

She stormed past him, leaving enough space so not a single part of them touched, not her dress brushing against his leathers – nothing.

Cassian waited until she’d gone before releasing a sigh. He hadn’t imagined what he saw; her eyes wide in alarm, flickering to the fireplace and back, a jerk of her body like someone had slapped her with the palm of their hand.

He’d best watch for that again.

***

A sandstone path ran down the left side of the cabin which wound around a small vegetable patch, a smaller pool and down into the sloped garden. At the very bottom was an alcove of trees and the shed containing Cassian’s axe, a chopping block and, if he was lucky, some pre-cut pieces.

Through the haze of rain, the distant lights of a camp flickered beyond. Cassian was fortunate to have this place for himself, not that he didn’t reside in the centre of camp on occasion to make his presence known, but this was his slice of comfort in the otherwise endless trudge.

Now, this place was also hers, for however long deemed necessary.

The rain bounced off the paving slabs as he approached his destination. The shed was old but well-kept and thankfully, stocked with thick slabs of timber.

“Thank you, old friend,” he said with a hand to one of the trees. They were fast growing and long burning, a house warming gift from Rhys half a century prior.

Cassian gathered what he needed and turned back, the cabin an angular silhouette outlined upon the backdrop of the night sky, the mountains looming some distance away. The candles and fae lights had lit the building up from within and shone through the dark at every window.

He was halfway up the path when he noticed how bright they lit Nesta’s new room.

Cassian had never been concerned with decoration, shoving a blanket onto a bed and gossamer curtains onto the window had been enough, but now he realised how thin those curtains were, how visible the room was from the outside.

Nesta wouldn’t be able to see him, not with his leathers black against the night, but he saw everything as though she stood before him in the flesh.

She’d untied the laces that bound the stays of her dress and Cassian imagined the wet thud as it fell to the floor.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted Nesta in front of him, unrobing for him, those long, graceful fingers sliding up her collarbone and dipping down towards the ribbons of her bodice. In his dreams he would help her, his thick fingers weaving into hers, pulling at the material until it gave way to pools of silk and satin on the ground.

Imagination gave him options.

Maybe she would have been naked, with expanses of creamy skin readily available for his viewing or maybe there would have been a delicate piece of chiffon covering her like there was now, something flimsy for him to move aside.

He would have started by kneeling. His fingertips would trace the skin of her ankles before moving upwards to her calves, her knees and to her thighs which he would have kissed until she was breathless. Finally, he would have travelled upwards with his mouth, towards the apex.

This was his fantasy. Smoothing his palms over her curves, travelling up the cord of her spine, his tongue sliding over her skin, teasing with his teeth and all the while her breath would turn into pants, his name a prayer in her mouth.

This was a dream. Nothing more.

He stood alone in the dark, pounding heartbeat thundering in his ears and pouring rain saturating his hair as he spied on a female he now never hoped to hold.

By the Mother though, her body was far from what his mind had conjured and his heartbeat turned into a pain sinking between his ribs.

He’d thought he’d seen glimpses but here was the truth.

Her collarbone jutted out severely while her breasts and curves of her buttocks shrunk as her starved body ate away at whatever flesh it found. Nesta’s ribs - Cauldron her ribs – Cassian was able to count every one, the indents of her bone visible as though her skin was the thinnest paper. When she turned, he saw the same with the column of her spine.

He swallowed the lump in his throat down, a sting in his eyes that was nothing to do with the chilled wind.

***

Inside the cabin, Cassian dried out the wood and lit the fire, the red and orange flames dancing in the hearth.

Nesta might not eat but he would try and convince her, starting with something simple and small which would fill her but not make her sick. Shoving a plate of meat in front of her face was a bad idea so he decided on a light broth consisting of flavoured water and leafy vegetables and herbs grown from his garden.

Cassian was surprised she came when he called her down but was pleased when she did. Nesta stepped along the floor with bare feet, a new gown just as thick as the last covering the bones of her body.

She stayed close to the wall when she passed through the living space, the fire cracking and snapping opposite and she eyed the flames as though they would reach across the room and snatch her.

Cassian wasn’t sure where this fear had come from, tried to dredge any memory of where they’d faced fire and came up wanting. He’d ask her – not now – but when they’d reached a point of peace.

Still, she walked toward him, her throat moving as she swallowed fast.

“I’ve made us dinner,” and he gestured to the two watery bowls in front of him. Opposite each other. Face to face. Her eyes narrowed but she sat, suspicion on her face.

“What is this slop?”

He took a deep breath. Imagined her words as darts and his skin as impenetrable armour.

“An Illyrian broth; vegetables, herbs, some spices and the thinnest slices of poultry you’ll ever find.”

“It looks revolting.”

A muscle twitched in Cassian’s jaw. The dish was plain, colourless and watery but was filled with flavour and had what Nesta needed nutritionally.

He would refrain from telling her this was the staple of Illyrian’s recovering from sickness or injury, that he’d spooned this liquid into the dribbling mouths of multitudes of his brethren over the years and how he wasn’t above doing the same to her.

“Try it,” was all he said. “You might like it.”

“Doubtful.”

But she picked up the spoon, a tremor in her hand. Fear, withdrawal, or exhaustion he didn’t know. Maybe all three. Maybe rage.

Nesta bent her head forward, bringing the spoon to her lips and as she did, her dress, far too large for her frame gaped at the collar once again showing Cassian the sharpness of the bone under her skin.

Something sat heavy in his stomach, something like guilt and shame. He’d once thought of her as sharp tongued and soft curves, his mouth watering at the promise of the swell of her breasts and the shape of her backside.

His thoughts had been occupied with images of grabbing her with his hands, fingers digging into the folds of her flesh while they pounded the force of their desires onto each other. Nesta was no less beautiful now but when he thought of her body, thought of what he knew, he considered differently as to what his body would do with hers.

His fingers would likely bruise her, leaving crescent moons into her skin and the bones of her spine would be obvious to his gaze. Now, he wanted to use his build to hover over her, to envelop her with his wings and cradle the back of her skull with the palm of one hand and cup her cheek with the other.

Cassian needed to make this situation right but he didn’t know where to start other than this meagre offering of broth.

Nesta ate two spoons, possibly three, but at least she ate, her eyes fluttering closed as she savoured her meal, the shadows of her eyelashes playing on her cheekbones. He smiled at her enjoyment, however brief, feeling his heart soar.

Nesta opened her eyes and looked straight at him. Cassian dropped his smile and her eyes narrowed.

I’m happy you like the broth, he wanted to say, however little you take. I’m happy you tried. I think you’re dying. I don’t want you to die. I want you to want to live.

A log fell in the hearth and banged against the grate, popping into the air and Nesta flinched, her eyes snapping towards the sound.

The flames seemed to hypnotise her as they whirled among the wood, consuming what they needed in order to grow. Wherever she was in that moment she wasn’t in the room with him.  

The moment passed and Nesta snapped her head back to Cassian, slamming the spoon into the bowl.

“I’m not here for your entertainment.”

“I know that.”

“Then stop staring at me like I’m a festival showpiece.”

Cassian frowned, “I wasn’t staring.”

“Tell your gawping eyes that.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched again. He was exhausted, not only from the long day but from arguing with Rhys about the plan, and from convincing Feyre that he and Nesta would be fine. His blood, already on the rise, had gained extra heat when Amren made her parting comment to him and all this was before he began flying.

“I wasn’t staring,” he repeated, “believe me when I say there’s nothing worth looking at.”

His temper was still hot, irritation singing a song in his veins and this was default for him, the well-travelled road to flinging insults.

It was a road Nesta travelled herself.

“Well, believe me when I say that even if I’m nothing I’m still worth twice of you, bastard.”

“You’ve been exiled to the camps so that’s not what your sister thinks. Either of them.” He gestured around with his hand, “Do you see Elain begging to be let in the door?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared, her hands now clenched into two fists, those red cracked knuckles on display.

“Well, this shows what your ‘friends’ think of you, if I’m worth little to nothing in their eyes and they have you taking care of me?”

“You should be thankful, sweetheart. No one else volunteered to listen to your temper tantrums.”

“Let me ease your burden then.” She stood, jolting the table and the bowl moved, spilling liquid over the side. “I would hate to bore you with one of my childish tantrums.”

“By all means, take yourself off to bed. You’re obviously in need of a nap.”

Nesta bared her teeth at him and Cassian schooled his face into one of boredom. She turned, her gown brushing against the furniture and as she passed through the living room, she grabbed a thick blanket draped across one of the chairs.

There was a change to her face as she went, fleeting but not fleeting enough for his sharp eyes. Regret? Yes. What she regretted he didn’t know but the snarl had also turned into a smirk, a twist of her mouth which screamed, I am victorious.

What had she won? The prize was a night alone in an unlit room with a blanket and empty belly.

As she left, the bored expression slid from Cassian’s face to be replaced by a furrowed brow.

Nesta was playing a game, one which required her to start fights so she could flaunt from the room as though leaving were her choice. He’d seen her grip, the furrow of her own forehead and the stark whites of her eyes.

She didn’t like the fire and she didn’t want to eat - or she couldn’t eat.

All Nesta’s choices had been stripped away from her in one afternoon and her decision to exit swiftly and in outrage was all she had.

He let her. He goaded her, stoking the small flame she held burning until she felt something, even if that emotion was irritation and anger - anything as long as it wasn’t cloying fear. If Cassian told her to leave then she would have stayed in her misery to spite him.

Cassian lifted a clay pot lid, surreptitiously positioned beside him on a chair, to cover her bowl. He would leave the dish outside her door with a slab of buttered bread. Maybe she would eat if it wasn’t in front of his watchful eyes.

He would eat his own in his room, the space of the kitchen and the living area seeming too big now, too empty without Nesta’s presence.

As he passed by the hearth, he lowered the flames with his siphons, letting them burn down. As he did, he thought of another fireplace, in another home, in a time which seemed forever ago.

He would help her even if she hated him for it. Cassian would prefer her vitriol to the nothingness living inside her where even her scent had turned glacial; ice cold to the bone.

So yes, Cassian would let the embers burn low for now but he was a creature of air and flame. He was good at starting fires.

TAGGING:

@nehemikkele

 You are the only person who has ever requested a tag from me so thank you so much! :)

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