#can someone pour a little more i’m too weak

[frnkiebby]

fuck. just.~🎃

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Danny and Ellie are forced to flee Amity Park. And find themselves in Coast City.

I started writing this with the intention of only writing a short prompt, but then I just kept going until I felt like I’d written enough.

Danny gets caught up in yet another fight with Skulker, only this time it wasn’t because Skulker had come for Danny. No. He’d come for Ellie. And she was already weak from fleeing the GIW who had shot at her the moment she arrived in Amity Park.

Whether Skulker is after Ellie for Vlad, or because he wants her pelt can be up to you.

Either way, he manages to beat Skulker and captures him in the thermos. Just as he lets out a long sigh of relief he hears the sound of an ecto-gun being fired and then his side is burning and he’s falling. He’s falling too fast and it hurts and he can’t stop-

Danny guys the ground hard. His head is spinning, his skin feels like it’s burning, and he can hear the stomping of feet as someone runs towards him.

He needs to get up. He needs to get away. Find Ellie and make sure she’s safe. He’s needs to MOVE- but he can’t. Black spots for his vision as he manages to stand up and his eyes meet the end of his mother’s gun.

Before anyone can speak, he’s falling again, handing face first in the dirt. And the familiar feeling of de-transforming washes over him.

The last thing he hears before loosing consciousness is the grief stricken sound of his parent’s voice as three voices shout in unison.

“OH MY GOD DANNY!”

“DANNY ARE YOU OKAY?!”

“NO, GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

When Danny wakes up again, he’s in his room, the curtains are drawn but he can see the sliver of sunlight pouring in through the gap underneath. He notes that his body aches, but not as much as usual after a fight like that. And there’s a warmth enveloping his hand. It’s soothing, and he almost considers going back to sleep when he notices that there’s a ghost in the room. And all too fast he’s sitting up and staring into the exhausted, red, puffy eyes of his mother looking back at him from where she’s sitting holding his hand in hers.

Just behind her he sees Ellie floating just above the ground talking quietly with his dad.

“Danny,” his mother’s voice draws his attention along with Jack and Ellie’s. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Are you in any pain?”

He didn’t notice when she’d helped him to lay back down again. “Do you need anything? Ellie here was just telling us about how regular pain medication doesn’t work as well for the two of you. But I’m sure we could find something for you that might-”

“Mom,” Danny rasps. Man his throat was dry.

As if reading him mind Ellie appears by his mother’s side holding out a glass of water with a straw in it. Maddie helps Danny to sit up a little more so he can drink.

“Mom,” he tries again, sounding better this time, “I’m okay. I promise. It’s not that bad!” He starts to lie as the panic sets in. He de-transformed in front of them. He knows he did. And the fear shows on his face, it must, because before he can even begin trying to think up an excuse his mother is crying.

“Oh Danny, it’s okay. We know. And we’re not angry at you. We love you. So much.”

And Danny’s heart swells at hearing it. “You don’t hate me for being Phantom?” He asks quietly.

“No! We could never hate you Dann-o!” His dad’s cheery tone doesn’t disguise the sadness and guilt etched into his face. “We’re just…so sorry that we never noticed before. And that we…” he can’t finish his sentence but he doesn’t need to. Danny already knows what he’s apologise for.

“I’m okay. I promise. I heal fast!” Danny tied to reassure them.

It seems to help a little, though his parents still have a grim look in their eyes. As they make connections in just how Danny would know that about himself.

And Ellie, with perfect timing to cut the tension, announces happily, “Danny! Good news! Your parents said I could stay with you!”

Ellie had told his parents while Danny was unconscious about being his clone. She saw how they fretted over Danny, cleaning and dressing his injuries with the love and care she only imagined from a parent that truly loves you. And they had accepted her almost right away. Jack even crying as he proudly declared himself a father of three.

Jack soon excused himself, saying he’ll go see if Jazz needs any help with cooking lunch. Danny and his mother share a look, and with a final kiss to his head says she’ll go make sure nothing gets brought back to life. And she asks Ellie to please make sure Danny stays in bed and rests.

Danny and Ellie are left alone in his room, and it gives Danny the chance to really revel in everything. His parents accept him. They love him, both sides of him. And they accepted Ellie too! And said she can stay! She doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

Now, a lot can happen in the span of a few seconds, let alone minutes. In the time it took for Maddie to reach the kitchen, their front door was kicked down and a group of GIW agents had stormed in demanding they hand over the ectoplasmic scum they were harbouring.

Jack and Maddie drew their weapons and planted themselves directly in front of the GIW agents. The agents state that a ghost shield was put up around the house to prevent any ghosts from escaping, and by law any ghosts within the premises were ti be handed over for destruction immediately. Jazz runs upstairs to Danny’s room to warn them that the GIW were inside the house and that they needed to run. They need to get to the portal NOW.

With all the authority of an older sister Jazz tells Ellie to grab the go bag Danny had insisted on having prepared, and picks Danny up despite his protests that he could walk. Or well, fly. Ellie turns them all invisible and intangible and takes them down to the lab.

They can hear the sound of shouting, and something breaking and a gun being fired all coming from upstairs as Jazz opens the portal for Danny and Ellie.

Another shot rings out. And then another, and more shouting.

“Quickly you two need to go!”

Another shot.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Danny, now Phantom, asks suddenly as he and Ellie are preparing to enter the Ghost Zone.

Two more shots.

“Someone needs to be here to deactivate the portal in case the guys in white make it down here. I’ll be fine. Mom and dad will be okay, they’re not here for us so you two need to go. Now!” There’s banging on the lab’s door and Jazz shoves both Danny and Ellie into the portal. The last thing Danny hears before the portal closes behind them is another shot being fired.

Danny is scared and angry as he and Ellie are forced to fly through the zone with no currently known way to get back to his family. He needs to make sure they’re okay. He needs to protect them.

But right now Danny is still hurt, and he needs to get himself and Ellie somewhere safe. They begin to slowly make their way through the zone, looking for somewhere to rest and avoiding any ghosts that might want to pick a fight.

Ellie isn’t sure how long she and Danny have been moving for. It feels like it could have been days, or hours, or even minutes. But Danny can’t fly as quickly right now. He’s trying to keep a brave face for Ellie’s sake but she can see the exhaustion beginning to take hold of him.

So Ellie makes the executive decision to touch down somewhere to rest. She tells Danny she’s tired. Danny knows she isn’t and it’s only because she’s worried and wants him to rest. So he goes along with it and they make their way to the next floating island they come across and thank the ancients it’s empty. The two halfas touch down and Danny slumps over as he sits against a nearby rock. Ellie pulls out some energy bars that were tucked away in the go bag and hands one over to Danny.

They do this a few times, stopping to rest, as they gradually make their way to the Far Frozen. Ellie had insisted on going there, Frostbite would know what to do, and he would be able to help Danny with his injuries that had started bleeding again in all the commotion of escaping, and then flying and hiding from ghosts known to attack Danny regularly.

But unfortunately luck is not on their side yet again as a natural portal rips open directly in front of them, and closes behind them after spitting them out in a city they didn’t recognise.

That’s how Danny and Ellie find themselves in Coast City, hiding out in an old warehouse by the docs while Danny heals and they figure out how they’re going to get back home.

That is, until now.

Danny stares up at his little sister and sighs with the resigned tone of an exasperated older sibling.

“Ellie,” he takes a breath, “what did you do?”

“I’m my defence,” Ellie glares up at Green Lantern, who has Ellie scruffed by the back of her hoodie, before looking back at Danny, “I simply do not vibe with the law.”

[zweiginator]

divorced!art who has nobody and nowhere. lives in a hotel off the highway and stares at the ceilings at night. how the fan whirs and the lamp wobbles as the people next door come and go, come and go.

art really has nothing to do. and during a low moment, full of desperation and loneliness and broken sobs—he calls an escort service.

he pays over the phone and the woman on the other side runs the payment, the phone pressed against her ear and the cradle in her shoulder.

“someone’s antsy.”

art sighs. berates himself for seeming so fucking needy. is that why he’s divorced?

“maybe so.” and then he hangs up.

thirty five minutes later, a knock on the door. two sharp bangs, the flat of a palm. a jangle of keys and the thick strap of a purse.

he opens the door and there you are. red lipstick and eyeliner and a short, short skirt. impossibly high thigh high stockings.

art lets you in. he’s wearing nice pants and a button up shirt but you can tell he didn’t have on such nice clothes before this. the clothing is much too pristine, crinkly as he pours you a drink.

you’re supposed to get a feel for what he wants. that’s what your job description is, more than anything. not necessarily the touching, stroking, kissing. fucking.

he shakes your hand, awkwardly. a soft grip, like you’re a fragile doll. but you grip him harder and he says,

“i’m art.”

you give him your name. the fake one you’re supposed to use. he says it’s a beautiful name and you sigh and sit on his lap. throw your arms over his shoulders.

“you’re strong.” you feel his shoulders; they’re broad and hard under your fingertips and he likes how your hands dig into him. you figure, this is what he needs. “do you work out?” he needs to feel masculine, and therefore good, needed.

his hand hovers over yours and he sighs at the pressure. how you adjust in his lap. his pants are scratchy.

“i play tennis. taking a little bit of a break from practicing at the moment.”

his voice is so feeble.

“if you’re so strong—why are you seeming so weak?” you ask. you run your thumb over his cheekbone, his cupid’s bow, his bottom lip. his eyes close.

“that’s a good question.”

he’s hard underneath you; he has been since you sat in his lap. your thigh highs have rolled down just a tad and art hasn’t even noticed that the skin there is pebbled with goosebumps because he’s only looking at your face.

“and most men by now—“ you take his wrist and place it on your inner thigh. “would be fucking me right now. but you’re not. why?”

art’s thumb rubs a small circle on your inner thigh and you spread them for him. your skirt rides up and art can see your panties. they’re not what he expects. pink and cotton, as if from a pack at the grocery store.

“because i thought we’d talk first.”

you rock your hips back and forth on his erection. “you thought we’d talk first? i can do that.”

art moans, breathily. you almost can’t hear him. but he’s silent otherwise.

“what do you want to talk about?” your hips move again, and art plants one hand on each of your thighs. feels the warm skin, where the hem of your panties squishes the flesh. you look down, and then up at him again.

“i’m lonely.” he feels a pang of regret but then he sees the genuine empathy in your face. it pours out of you. you’re much younger than him, but he feels taken care of.

“i’m lonely.”

“most everyone is.” you pop the buckle of his belt. quietly move the leather through and art grabs your hand to stop you.

“i’m lonely and it scares me.” he undoes the first few buttons of his shirt, but then he stops.

“but i’m right here.” you tell him, a promise in the shell of his ear. “so you’re not lonely. not right now.”

art smiles. it’s lopsided but you see a boyishness come out of him for that second.

“so you don’t want me to touch you?” it wouldn’t be all that uncommon. but it would be the first time you’d feel disappointment from it.

he shakes his head and pulls your legs closer, so you’re all the way on his lap. all the way his, for the time being.

“i’d rather touch you. if that’s okay.”

usually it wouldn’t be okay. it wasn’t a rule on paper but in your mind, you didn’t want clients to touch you. you didn’t want to blur lines and involve the sappy feelings that come from stuff like that. you’d never let a client make you cum. you’ve never had to worry about that.

but art looks at you like he needs it.

“yes. that’s okay.”

art picks you up. he sets you further back on the bed, against his pillows. perfectly fluffed against the headboard. and he admires you. it makes you grow hot, uncomfortably aroused. he pushes your legs apart, and your skirt gathers around your waist. you cover yourself with your arms, suddenly embarrassed from the intensity of his gaze. he kisses your ankle.

“don’t cover yourself. i have to admire you.”

have to.

“okay.” you spread yourself out more.

“take off your shirt, please.”

you pull it over your head and it musses your hair up. you aren’t wearing a bra and your nipples grow hard. the room is cold, but you’re both covered in a sheath of sweat.

“touch yourself.”

“where?” your fingers play with the waistband of your panties.

“wherever you want.”

you rub over your tits, down your torso. spread your legs a little more. and art watches with a tilted head and his mouth ajar.

he draws in a breath.

“push your panties to the side.” art can see a wet spot forming, and he wonders what you think of him. if you think he’s as alluring as you are to him. maybe you’re wet because you’re really attracted to him.

you maintain eye contact with him and do as he says. art lurches forward on the bed, laying on his stomach.

“can i touch you—“ art looks up at you and his lips are close to your cunt and you’re nodding before he even finishes. “here?” he runs his middle fingers through your folds and feels how soaked you are.

“do you like that? i don’t want to make you uncomfortable. you can be honest with me. you should be.” art retracts his hand.

you don’t know whether to shake your head, to say no i’m not uncomfortable. or to nod it fervently. tell him please, touch me.

“please, touch me.” you sound more desperate than you mean to, but art likes it. it shows you really aren’t lying. unless you are.

art leans into your spread thighs and you feel each breath as it escapes him.

“i can touch you with my fingers if you’d like that.” he suggests. “or with my mouth.”

you never let your clients be intimate with you like this. but you need it now.

“your m-mouth.” the words stumble but art listens.

his tongue licks a fat stripe up your folds. he’s more forceful now, keeping your legs spread although they want so badly to clamp shut. to trap him there, his tongue inside you. like you caught him.

your hips swivel up and down and you ride his tongue, pointed and sharp against your clit. you’re so sensitive and so wet but art spits on you again and again. rubs it into you to make himself a part of your anatomy. and you feel like you could cum just by looking at him. slick on his face—he’s shining with you. tongue dripping all his spit on you like he needs you to just take it all. and he kisses your clit sweetly before he sucks it in his mouth.

you’re going to cum, you tell him. and you should stop this before it goes to far but art holds onto you tighter and eats you harder and you cum on his tongue. he swallows it like a token. you should really go, your time here is up. but you pull him by his hair so you can have his mouth. so you can finally taste him, even though right now, he is you. you kiss him for awhile, messy and intoxicated and then you say you have to go.

you lean on the bed post while you put your heels on and pull your skirt down. and you leave without getting the money even though art had it ready to go for you, smoothed out on the table. a business card falls out of your purse; you advertise yourself as a masseuse.

and there your name is, in bold black print, fake.

and as soon as the door closes, art searches you up. sixteen tabs. he’ll find you, because he needs to have you again. and you left, because you can never see him again.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Here me out…

Lesbian/Male Yan who’s a Hair Stylist who uses their big, masculine hands to move your head so they can cut, iron/curl and style your hair THEIR way

And their so big and masculine too, their appearance is so scary and stoic that they rarely ever get any customers, except you, their cute childhood friend/newcomer who just moved here who’s nice enough to even tell them to choose the style for you!

DID SOMEONE SAY LESBIAN 🤤🤤🤤🤤

Yandere Short Stories:

For Those Who Wait

Yandere Butch Hairdresser x Fem Reader

TW: stalking, yandere behavior, unhealthy relationship dynamic, obsession, isolation, wlw dynamic, blood, and murder (mentioned)

(Your name) sighed dreamily while Char ran her large fingers through her scalp. A smile on her lips at the soothing sensation of conditioner being lathered up on her scalp. (Your name) swore Char’s fingers were like magic.

“Does that feel good, meine Liebe?” Char huskily whispered from above (your name). Her German accent was thick and her voice was a raspy tenor. A deep voice for a masculine woman. “Schatz, my fingers could do so much more than just massaging dein (your) scalp.”

(Your name)’s eyes fluttered open to gaze at Char’s tender expression. Char was a woman of immense size and intimidation. The various scars that littered Char’s face did little to deter (your name)‘s fondness of her hair dresser. Who cared about Char’s past when she was so talented with hair? (Your name) never felt prettier unless she was in Char’s care.

“You do more than enough for me. You always style my hair perfectly.” (Your name) gave Char a giant grin. “Plus, my head fits perfectly in your hands.”

If (your name) would have paid better attention, she would have noticed the way Char quickly shut her muscles legs together for some friction.

Was it wrong for this hairdresser to feel such an intense attraction toward her client? To want to press her lips all over (your name)’s while (your name) sat sprawled out on Char’s lap while she cut their client’s hair- Jesus. Char once again let fantasy slip into reality.

Char hummed, her palms rinsed the conditioner off (your name)‘s scalp with warm water. The suds drained down the drain of the rinsing station.

“Let’s head into the dryer. Are you thirsty, Mein liebes Mädchen?” Char asked (your name), which made the smaller woman smile.

“I’d love something to drink, Char. You know I’m happy with whatever you pick.” Char nodded and placed (your name) into the dryer and lowering the device on her head.

“I’ll go get that then, meine Liebe. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

(Your name) watched Char saunter off with a bit of pep in her step. Char was such an interesting character. It was a shame (your name) was her only client…

Char went into the back and nearly collapsed on the floor. Her precious client loved whatever she picked! Gods it made her knees so weak. Char felt like a school girl in love again!

Char shook her head and regained her senses. The giant woman opened up the fridge and grabbed a bottle of champagne to pour for (your name).

(Your name) was always so sweet, she deserved the best! And Char had plenty of money from her past as a contract killer. (Your name) would be in good hands once she accepted Char’s love!

(Your name) was new to this town so of course she didn’t know this town was full of ex assassins. It was refreshing to be treated like a human being again!

Char took in a deep breath and poured the champagne into a plastic cup. Her steel blue eyes studied the glass in interest. (Your name) trusted her so it wouldn’t be odd to press her lips against the glass, right? It’d be like an indirect kiss!! There wasn’t anything odd about that…

Char pressed her scarred lips against every inch against the glass’s rim. There was nothing weird about what she was doing… she was just a woman in love.

Char shuddered at the thought of pressing her lips against (your name)’s… but she had to be patient! Char knew her feelings tended to be overwhelming. And she didn’t want to scare away her precious client!

Char brought the glass to (your name) and smiled at the young woman who swung her legs back and forth in the chair. What a good girl.

“I have your drink.”

Yes… she’d be patient. For good things came to those who wait.

[traveler-at-heart]

Brave

Summary: The sudden loss of someone in your family leaves you broken. Natasha tries to help.

A/N: Special thanks to @happychopshoppenguin for helping me to sort out ideas for this plot.

It was a regular day for the Avengers.

Mission, explosions, fighting some bad guys and then fly back in the Quinjet.

“Fury’s gonna be mad” Clint taunts, looking at you.

“He didn’t say how to stop them from sharing the drive with the Chinese” you smile, thinking that blowing up their entire control room was a bit much. But, you were in a hurry to finish the mission and go home.

Clint rolls his eyes and steers the Quinjet.

“Alright, it’s gonna be at least seven hours. Go get some sleep, dynamite. Tasha, you ok?”

Natasha had been quiet, which was nothing new around you. To most people, it was probably the contrast in personalities; while the Russian was reserved, you were very outgoing.

You’d hope it was just that, and not that she disliked you. After a few attempts at conversation that turned cold, you decided to be cordial, but give her space.

Right now, she’s sitting in the back of the Quinjet, no visible injuries. But still, her hand is over her ribs, and she seems to be deep in thought.

You know what’s happening and that she’d never ask for help.

“Do you need to clean any wounds? I’ll take over the Quinjet while you do” you offer to Clint and he shakes his head no. Walking to the first aid kit, you pull out a bottle of water, painkillers and a pack of ice. You’re about to walk to sit next to Natasha, when you bring a hand to your forehead.

“Great. Blood and sooth. I must stink” placing the first aid stuff next to her, you mumble to yourself about taking a quick shower.

By the time you come out, Natasha has already taken a pill, and has the ice pack over her bruised ribs. Her eyes are closed, and much as you’d like to stare, you go sit next to Clint, hoping to get home soon.

—

Maria is waiting on the hangar when you land.

“Told ya” Clint mocks and you turn to glare at him.

“Did you snitch on me, Barton?”

“Y/N” Maria says, and her tone alone erases your smile.

“What’s wrong?” you say, going over every possible scenario. This is your last mission before a two week break to go back home. “Is it…?”

Your mom was supposed to have surgery. But she was fine. It couldn’t be…

“I’m sorry”

It’s as if a bucket of ice cold water was poured over your head. Your hands are so numb, you can’t feel Natasha taking one of them, her arm around your shoulders.

—

It’s been a week. Natasha tries not to think about you, mainly because there’s nothing she can do to help.

And it’s none of her business when (or if) you come back. Still, she feels a certain heaviness in her movements as she makes her morning coffee.

You always made enough for the two of you. And it tastes so much better than the one Natasha makes.

“Is Y/N around?” Maria walks in, looking for you.

“I thought she was still with her family”

“She came back earlier. It didn’t… it sounded bad. Like a family disagreement had happened on top of everything else” Maria sighs.

“Do you know what it was?”

“All I know is that her mother’s condition had been bad for a while… and then they did emergency surgery but her heart was too weak”

Natasha nods in silence, imagining how hard it must be for you. How your mother always sent something she knitted for everyone on the team on their birthdays, or how your parents would fly to visit at least once a month.

“If you see her, will you let me know? I just want to make sure she’s alright”

“Of course”

—

No one saw you, not even for movie night. It’s not like the team was expecting you, but it was quiet as the movie played on the screen, and only Sam seemed to be paying attention.

Natasha looks at the table in the middle of the room.

You always got her Dr. Pepper. Her guilty pleasure, a little indulgence in her life of strict physical activity and healthy meals.

This time, there’s only beer that no one bothers to drink. A headache threatens to sour her mood even more, but the cupboard with medical supplies is almost empty.

That’s how everything feels without you around.

Natasha had hoped you’d be at the staff meeting next Monday, but everyone took a seat, your chair remained empty.

“We have to do something” Steve says, looking around. His eyes meet Maria’s.

“Well, she’s been going on solo missions”

“And you think that’s a good idea?” Barton challenges, clearly annoyed. Would it be so hard for Fury to give a damn about his team?

“Listen, any one of you is welcomed to join her but I don’t think…”

“I’ll go” Natasha says.

“Good. Maybe she needs some… girl talk” Steve says and everyone laughs for the first time in weeks.

“Yes, we’ll braid our hair while we wait for the bad guys, Steve” Natasha mocks.

“Nice one, Capsicle” Tony says.

Truth be told, Natasha wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction when you saw her at the hangar.

“I’m on solo duty, Natasha” you say without looking at her, getting inside the small aircraft.

“Fury’s orders” the redhead lies, following you. She almost crashes against your back as you stop and turn around.

“If you’re coming, I don’t want to hear any scolding or complains. I’m running this operation”

“That’s fine by me”

Either way, from what she read on the file, it was only information extraction. And yet, you were gone for thirty minutes, after she successfully hacked into the database.

“Where the hell have you been?” Natasha scolds, forgetting about her previous promise.

“Can you get us on the air? I’ll take over in a minute” you answer, your face evidently beaten up, as one of your eyes was starting to swell.

Natasha is torn between concern and anger, but she figures it is better to talk to  you once they’re away from the enemy. With a sigh, she starts the engine and sets the coordinates of the Compound.

A spot on the floor catches her eye.

Blood. A lot of it.

“Y/N?” she stands up, looking around. Following the trail of blood, she opens up the door to the small bathroom. She sees you, your uniform torn around your thigh, a gash exposed. “Oh my God!”

“Ever tried knocking?” you say, without looking at her. Next thing you do is use the surgical stapler to close the wound, not caring to use anesthesia.

“You need stitches”

“I’m fine” you stand up, taking off the top of your uniform. Natasha spots bruises that are just starting to heal.

Maybe that’s why the medical supplies were gone the other day.

“Y/N…”

“If you’re not gonna fly, I’m taking over” you walk towards the cabin, and she stands there, looking at all the blood that you left behind.

What the hell is she gonna tell Maria when you come back?

There’s a moment of silence as you land the Quinjet. You hope that Natasha will not even start about your injury, so you wait for her to leave.

“Y/N?” 

“I’m fine, Natasha”

“I’m worried” she admits in a low voice, which catches you off guard. You’ve never thought she cared enough, not about you at least.

“I’ll stop going on missions until I’m better”

She wants to tell you it’s not enough, because an injury isn’t the issue here. But Natasha also recognizes when she’s about to cross a boundary. 

So, she just nods and leaves the hangar. The feeling of defeat comes with her as you’re left alone on the jet.

—

Another Monday, another staff meeting. 

To everyone’s surprise, you’re the last through the door. Steve sits up, but the rest of the team just looks at you, afraid that saying anything else might scare you away.

For your part, you ignore everyone but Natasha, placing a paper bag from her favorite bakery in front of her. 

She smiles at you, because it’s something you always do on Monday meetings. This time, you don’t mutter your usual excuse of being around the bakery first thing in the morning. You do give a little smile in return, and Natasha tries to ignore the warm feeling she gets from the gesture.

“Everyone, have a seat” Maria says, trying to pretend she isn’t surprised to see you as well. “We have word of a HYDRA base storing potentially dangerous technology. It’s big enough to send the whole team”

“Surely some of us could stay behind if we’re not up for it” Barton says, avoiding your eyes. He’s the only one that knows about what happened on your mission with Natasha. 

“It’s not ideal, but if anyone wants out, speak now. Very well”, she continues after a beat of silence. “Here’s the map of the facility. You leave in an hour”

—

The mission was completed. 

Barely. 

You’re holding a gauze against your side, to stop the bleeding from a bullet graze. Fury’s been called to go over what happened. 

He doesn’t seem pleased.

“You better do something about her” Tony says, his finger pointing at you.

“Stark” Barton warns but you don’t even react to his confrontation.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. If she wants to go and get killed, that’s her deal. But we were just about done with the mission when she decides to fight a dozen HYDRA agents on her own”

“We need to calm down” Steve says.

“No, there was a town a few miles south and HYDRA had nuclear warheads. Have we learned nothing? This could have been catastrophic” 

“But it wasn’t, so…”

“If you have some mommy issues to deal with, do it on your free time. I’m not gonna burden myself with civilian deaths over your trauma” 

“Tony!” Steve reprimands, standing up. They’re so busy facing each other, they never see you approaching. You throw a punch that hits Stark square in the eye, followed by another one that breaks his nose.

“Say that again, you fucking asshole” you shout, throwing a kick that never lands. It takes Steve and Bucky to hold you back. “Talk shit, Stark, see what happens” 

“That’s enough. You’re suspended, effective immediately” Fury says.

“I’ll do you one better. I quit” you push Rogers and Bucky away, not bothering to look at the rest of your teammates. 

It’s better this way.

—

It’s not hard to find you. Being a professional spy works in Natasha’s favor, but you’re basically bouncing from your apartment to the bar around the corner.

Sit and drink.

That’s all you do from the moment you walk in, around noon and then you leave past midnight. Before going up your apartment, you stop by the bodega to get another bottle of whatever cheap booze they have and call it a night.

Natasha looks from across the street, debating between going inside and talking to you or just going home.

What can she tell you to make it all better?

That’s the question she asks herself all week, and come Friday Natasha still doesn’t have an answer. 

The bar is crowded and the redhead figures it’s safe enough to go inside without being spotted.

You’re in your usual spot, leaning against the bar while sitting on a stool. The loud music and conversations make you dizzy, but you still ask for another scotch and drink half of it in one gulp.

“Are you moving anytime soon?” a twenty something year old pops out of nowhere and you don’t even look his way. “We want to sit at the bar and watch the game, I’m sure you can go be a sad drunk somewhere else”

“Fuck off” you say after finishing your drink and asking for another one. When they give it to you, the idiot knocks it from your hand. 

“You have ten seconds to apologize or leave” you rub your temples, thinking how much worse your headache will be after kicking his ass.

“I don’t think so” he says, throwing a punch at you. Even with all you drank, you’re able to avoid his fist, knocking him down in one swift motion.

“Crap” you kinda forgot he was not alone. Three more guys show up, and while you’re busy blocking some kicks, one of them manages to punch you in the face. You fall to the ground, feeling a kick to your side and a fist that connects with your nose.

At this point, you give up, thinking that getting your ass kicked in a bar is just as effective as drinking the day away.

But the next attack never comes. In fact, all three men are down.

“Get up” you hear someone say. 

It sounds like Natasha.

You try to stand, but there’s a pain in your side. Before you can collapse on the ground, arms go around your waist and help you stand, walking side by side all the way to your apartment.

The lavender scent and the gentle touch confirms it’s Natasha, and you try not to think about how much you’ve missed her.

The redhead opens the door to your apartment, letting you down on the couch. You grunt as you sit, blood running down your nose and temple.

Yeah, this is going to be the worst hangover of your life.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” Natasha says looking around the place. 

You really did miss her and the thought finally breaks you.

“What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?” Natasha kneels in front of you the minute you let out a sob, tears mixing with the blood.

“It’s not worth it, Nat. I’m not worth the trouble. You should go” you plead, overwhelmed at the guilt that’s been consuming you for weeks now.

“What are you talking about?” 

“She kept asking for me. When they were at the hospital. She wanted to see me, she was scared and in pain and I wasn’t there. My mother died and I didn’t get to say goodbye” 

“Y/N…”

“What kind of person does that? How can you fail so badly to the people that loved you?” 

“You didn’t fail”

“Yes, I did” you say, struggling to breathe.

“You didn’t. It’s ok” Natasha tries to calm you, her hands going through your hair until your breathing evens out. 

The rush of adrenaline leaves your body, and pretty soon, you’re slumped against the couch, Natasha’s hands still in yours.

—

There’s light. And pain.

A different kind than the one you’ve had. As you sit up, you feel your bruised ribs and when you grimace, the split lip reminds you your face didn’t fare any better during your fight.

Natasha…

“How are you feeling?” you turn to find the woman standing in the middle of your kitchen. 

“Like shit” you reply and she chuckles.

“There’s some coffee. It’s not as good as the one you make, but it will do. I should go” she sets her cup down, sighing.

“You don’t have to…” you want her to stay. But you don’t know what will happen if you ask her.

“I do, actually” she walks towards the door, but you endure the pain to meet her at the threshold. 

“Nat”

“No” she shakes her head, without looking back at you. “You have no idea how hard it is to watch someone you love hurt themselves”

The word love echoes, making you take a step back.

Natasha turns to look at you, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I guess you were bound to find out eventually”

“Natasha” you plead, not knowing what to say.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. I won’t go into this when you’re going through hell and all i’ve done is watch you from afar. I guess I just want you to know…” she wipes the tears and looks at you. “You buy my favorite brand of peanut butter. You wake up one hour before I do, but the coffee is done only when I’m up. My water bottle is always full and cold before going to the gym. You charge my phone when I forget to, and when it’s late and I’m still working you stop by and tell me you made too much pasta just so I eat something…. You’re not a bad person. You’re wonderful and I wish I could have told you sooner. I’m sorry” Natasha turns around and leaves.

You don’t stop her this time.

—

It’s been three days and Natasha hasn’t heard from you. To be fair, she said a lot of things and didn’t wait for you to reply, so that might have been a bad idea.

Talking to Clint might be the only solution and she’s looking for him when you leave the conference room, followed by Maria and Steve.

Tony approaches you from the other side and Natasha waits around the corner.

“I’m sorry about what I said” Stark says and you nod.

“Fair enough. Not sorry about punching you, though”

“Fair enough” he repeats, smiling.

When they all leave, you turn back, your eyes meeting Natasha’s.

“Hi” you approach her, hands inside your pockets.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sober”

“That’s good”

“Mhm” you nod, holding her stare. Your eyes travel to her lips and you sigh. “Can we talk?”

“We don’t have to…”

“I wanna show you something. It won’t take long, I promise. What do you say?” you offer your hand and she stares at it for a second.

When Natasha nods and takes it, you hold her tight, leading her out of the Compound.

—

“She loved Central Park” you remember, walking around the benches, Natasha’s hand still in yours. “The whole city, really”

“She liked it because you live here, I think” Natasha says and you nod.

“Well, that and the pizza”

“Right” the redhead nods. You find a bench and lead her to it, pointing at the plaque.

Love is only for the brave, followed by your mother’s name.

“Is something she said often. Figured it might be nice to have it here, for people to read and gather courage”

“That’s a beautiful way to remember her” Natasha nods, aware that you’re moving closer.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you what I thought back at my place, Nat” 

“You don’t need to explain anything” she interrupts, giving you a way out.

“I didn’t think you liked me that much. And I absolutely thought I was being more discreet about my feelings for you” 

“It’s hard for me to think that love makes you brave… or strong” Natasha says, taking a step forward so you’re inches apart. 

“I know. Please let me show you?”

“I think I’d like that” she nods, leaning forward until your lips meet in a short kiss.

When you break apart, you remember that time your mother visited. How she insisted Natasha looked at you in a special way. 

“What’s so funny?” Natasha asks against your lips when you smile.

“I love you” you say and she pulls you closer.

Everything will be ok, as long as you have each other.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 3: Window of Opportunity

Pairing: Gojo x fem! reader

Warnings: language, Gojo being well Gojo, domestic violence, thank y'all for sharing your experience with me, it helped me so much understanding childhood trauma and made me transform it into this fic <3

Synopsis: Being the daughter of the Zenin clan made it your mission to defeat him. Him, Satoru Gojo, the honored one. Him, who makes your life a living hell. Him, who begins to get so much more than your curse...

Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Romance, Hurt to Comfort

<- Previous Chapter l Next Chapter ->

„Oh, did you say something? I can’t understand you when you’re crying like a baby”, you purr as the eyes of the man who writhes in front of you like a little worm fill with tears of sheer fear.

Your grin grows wider and wider, satisfaction filling you to the brim. Maybe that mission isn’t so bad after all when you’re finally able to use your special abilities again.

While you are a skilled combat fighter, the director strictly forbids you to use Phobia Projection against another member of Jujutsu High since your former classmate almost hung himself because of it. You roll your eyes out of instinct.

As if it was his fault that his mind is so damn weak.

“I know he tried to kill us a few seconds ago. But don’t you think you’re going a little too harsh on him, (y/n)?”, Geto questions while manspreading the whole couch and eying you up and down.

“I’m not harsh on him. He’s seeing his own fears, I have nothing to do with that”, you defend yourself with a casual shoulder shrug.

How is it your fault that this guy acts like a baby? You let yourself sink next to Geto, watch from afar how the little bug continues to cry out in agony.

Unfortunately, your powers don’t allow you an insight into what your opponents go through. Is his worst fear a spider, a monster, or even worse…a human? Too bad there’s no way to find out since they never tell you afterwards. Maybe you’ll be able to torture it out of him. With a little bit of cutting and a whole lot of punching-

“P-please, make it stop!”, he yells out over and over.

The violent ringing of Geto’s phone rips you out of your chuckling and more than entertaining thoughts with an annoyed groan. Urgh, who the hell is interrupting that wonderful moment?

“Did you beat him already? I hope the dirty Zenin brat wasn’t in the way.”

You don’t have to look at the screen to know who’s calling, pulse rising to the rooftop. It’s him, the white-haired douchebag. Much to your liking, Geto decided it would be best if you accompany him instead of Gojo. But even if you’re not forced to be next to him physically right now, you’re still doing this mission together. Which means that he’s always there – like herpes.

“Spare your stinky breath. We were done before you decided to-“

“HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME!”

“Can you shut the fuck up? I’m having a serious call with a douchebag right now”, you bark at the man rolling on the floor.

“You’re an evil witch”, Gojo comments dryly on the other side of the phone.

“Evil, huh? Well, at least I’m not as dumb as-“

“Can you two just stop? We have him here as well as the vessel. I’ll send you the location. Don’t cause trouble.”

“Tell that this little-“

Oh right, the plasma vessel. You eye the girl lying opposite of you up and down, her dark hair falling into her closed eyes like a curtain. Must be rough, knowing your only reason walking on this planet is the stinging fact that a part of you will get killed within the next years.

How is she different from you, though?

You, with your family pressuring you into pouring your heart and soul into training, who never accepted you despite your heart work. You, who lost a part of herself in the process of forcing the best version of (y/n) onto you. You, who slowly but surely turned into a frightening resemblance of her family’s shadow, crossing a path she never imagined she’d land on as a kid. You sacrificed your smile, your dignity, your heart for the mission to become better than Gojo Satoru.

Aren’t you just like her?

“Hey, are you good?”

The sheer feeling of Geto’s warm hand resting against your shoulder rips you out of your daydreaming immediately.

“I’m not that Gojo weakling. You don’t need to watch over me”, you reply dryly, gifting him with the deadliest side-eye you have in store.

Well, maybe not the deadliest. That gaze is reserved for Naoya and Gojo only.

“Is there a reason apart from Satoru being a member of the Gojo clan why you hate him? I never understood what’s the deal between both of you.

You can’t help but tilt your head to the side, mind going blank for a second. Now that you think of it…Is there really a reason apart from the fact that your family taught you to hate him for your huge dislike? When you two first saw each other that one evening, he was nothing but a nice boy your age through your innocent eyes. A boy with a quite charming smile, who always had a cheeky reply in store. A boy with a strict family himself. Yes, you actually had a lot in common. And to some point, you began to like him in the few minutes you talked to each other.

Until you came back home and realized who exactly you were talking to.

“You did what?”, your father hissed through gritted teeth. 

Another ruthless slap. Blood spilled to the ground, discoloured everything around you crimson. Eyes widen and teary, lips trembling when his flat palm crushed into your face again.

Over and over.

Again and again.

Until you weren’t able to feel your face anymore, eyes so swollen that your vision faded.

“Let me remind you of wrong little thing.”

He grabbed you by the hair Gojo complimented just a few minutes ago roughly and yanked you into the air.

“You are nothing, the biggest disappointment in my whole life. If it was for me, you’d be dead already. But because of your other lousy family members, you get the chance to surpass that Gojo brat. And you?”

Another slap, your feet tangled in the air like a wind chime.

“You actually befriend him. You disgust me, (y/n). And you always will. You’ll never bring honor to your family.”

“He’s himself, that’s enough”, you press out.

“What do we have here, dreaming about me, (y/n)?”

Speaking of the devil. Before you’re even able to accept his existence in the same room, he stands in front of you and grins you down.

That fucker, the reason for your suffering, for the fact that your family doesn’t accept you…

Your hand reacts faster than the rest of your body. A ruthless slap sends Satoru Gojo straight back to reality, echoes through the room without mercy. Your palm begins to burn like hell while your uneven breath hangs in the thick air between both of you.

“What was that, huh?”

He roams closer, his redden skin showing your act of violence way too clearly.

“Who the hell do you think you are, little bitch?”

Your throat begins to tighten uncomfortably, the veins in your arms throbbing in an all too familiar way.

Hatred. You feel nothing but hatred.

“You’d deserve even more than that, asshole”, you bite back.

He’s so close that you’re able to sense the heat radiating from his body and how his breath wanders over your face. You feel like burning alive, so unusual aroused that it’s hard to keep a straight face. Did he always look at you with his lips slightly parted, his eyes glowing like they normally do in serious fights? You are trapped between both of his arms, roasted by his heat, defeated by the way he looks down at you without saying another word.

What is that? And most importantly, do you want it to stop?

You can’t decide for yourself. In the split of a second you find yourself surrounded by broken glass, free fall down from the 15th floor.

Fuck, who’s responsible for this? Did Gojo go this far, would he actually throw you out of a skyscraper just to get rid of you? He might be the biggest asshole walking on this planet, but he’d never do something so damn basic. No, it has to be someone who is chasing after the star plasma vessel, someone who kept an eye on you this entire time.

Well, who’s responsible for this mess isn’t your biggest problem. At the moment, you are on your rapid way to crash into the ground, your guts feeling as if they’ll spill out of your mouth any given minute. And even though you’re able to inhibit the impact, this will still hurt like hell.

Do you have another way out of here, though? Getting hurt is better than crying for anyone’s help, after all. You close your eyes, embrace yourself for multiple broken bones and a wave of pain as soon as you hit the ground.

But it never happens.

“Aren’t so brave anymore, huh? If you only had told me that I would have to throw you out of a sky-high window to get you to shut up, brat.”

Just to let y'all know, I'm still over here giggling like an idiot over the title of that chapter hehehehe

Tags: @whereismysane @risuola @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @livmarauder @sapphireandange

@madaqueue @chilichopsticks @sugurulefttesticle @boba-is-a-soup @jennapancake

@kentocalls @mrshlf @byakuya61085 @polarbvnny @rzcnlb

@m0k0k0

[munsoninthedark86]

I Guess It's Different Cause You Love Him(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader)

warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of cheating, mentions of possible abuse, alcohol use, reader gets drunk, Eddie is weak for her word count: 1.4k pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Eddie hates your boyfriend. He does his best to be on his best behavior because he is your best friend, but Eddie knows you could do so much better than this fool. Still, he’ll bite his tongue and pretend to be supportive of this relationship. It just hurts when he watches the person he loves the most get shit all over.

Day after day, he sees the real you begin to disappear. The shine and glow of you fades as your boyfriend takes over more and more aspects of your life. Eddie wants to say something, but he’s so damn scared to lose you. He’s scared that if he tells you that this guy is bad for you that it’ll end up backfiring on you and you’ll only think that Eddie is jealous of your boyfriend.

And it hurts him so much to watch you begin to fade away. Your normally sunny smile is only half-assed these days. You were someone who would try decently well in school and in work, but now it would seem you’re doing so poorly. You even stopped coming to the Hellfire club meets, which ends up worrying everyone.

But you always try to pass it off as nothing. Eddie knows that you’ll barely open up to it because this asshole has got you convinced you’re happy. He sees how your boyfriend acts around you, especially when he thinks nobody else is around. Eddie sees the tired look in your eyes along with the heavy bags that begin to form under them. He sees the way you flinch whenever someone raises their voice just a little too loud.

This all culminates one night when someone at school begins passing around the rumor that your boyfriend has been cheating on you. At first you try not to believe it, but the more you hear it from people who give you sad and pitiful looks, it becomes obvious that this isn’t just a rumor. You’ve been played and you’re so embarrassed. You don’t even know who to turn to because you’ve just alienated yourself with the help of that asshole. You’re way too afraid to turn to Eddie, the man who you trust in the most. You’ve been hurting him the most, you realize as all of this comes crashing down.

The bar near your home allows you inside even if you aren’t quite of age. You know the patrons and the bartenders. They can tell you’re not doing well. So the bartender pours you a drink, which soon turns into two…then three…then four.

By the time you’re five drinks in, you’re more than tipsy. You’re absolutely drunk. You’re dancing to whatever song they’ve got playing on the jukebox, but it isn’t healing your heart. It won’t heal your heart ever. There’s not much that ever could. You find yourself sitting on a stool at the bar, your head in your hands as you try to steady yourself.

“You got someone to come pick you up, dear?” The bartender asks.

You’re about to say no, but then you remember Eddie. You nod your head and the bartender gives you money for the payphone in the corner of the bar. You sway as you walk over there, and you lean against the wall to steady yourself. The phone feels heavy in your hands, but you press it to your ear and you put the coin in the slot. It surprises yourself to be able to remember Eddie’s number while you’re in this state. After a few rings, you feel like crying because someone answers.

“Munson residence, Eddie speaking,” Eddie says on the other end, a mocking tone to his voice.

You half-sob, “Eddie can you…can you come pick me up?”

Immediately he’s freezing on the spot, worried about what’s going on with you. He had heard those rumors today too but he didn’t want to hurt your feelings. He had wanted you to come to him for comfort.

“Babe, what’s the matter?”

“Come pick me up. I’m at the bar.”

You tell him the address and beg him to hurry. He can tell you’re not feeling well at all. So he quickly gets into his van and drives over to the bar. Once he arrives, he spots you just sitting outside. You’re obviously drunk and he feels so sorry for you.

“Eds…” you moan softly, clutching your head in pain.

Eddie is quick to pick you up, allowing you to lean on him. He’s not even really sure what to say just yet, so instead he focuses on getting you buckled into your seat.

Then he begins driving the moment he’s back into the driver’s seat. You moan in pain and you begin to cry. It’s breaking his heart to see you like this. Eddie feels guilty because he knows he should have been there for you. He should have done more for you.

“Honey,” he says softly. “Don’t worry. Things will be okay.”

You shake your head, “No…he made a fool of me.”

Eddie feels his heart wrench when you say this. It’s painful to see you hurting this way. So he drives you back to his trailer, knowing you’ll have a safe space to recover from being this drunk. Once you two arrive, he unbuckles your seatbelt and he guides you inside the trailer. You are so thankful that his uncle isn’t home right now. You don’t want him to think poorly of you.

“Easy there,” Eddie says as you begin to stumble. He’s guiding you towards his bedroom.

As the alcohol burns in your veins even more and your mind gets hazy, you allow Eddie to lay you on the bed. First he takes off your shoes, then he begins to remove your jeans. He takes off your shirt, gently caressing your shoulders before pulling on his old Iron Maiden shirt on you. Then you watch as he leaves you on the bed for a few moments.

When Eddie reappears, you’re so happy to see him. He’s got a bottle of water in his hands. He helps you sit up, and you relish in the feelings of his warm hands on your skin. He holds you close as he brings the bottle to your lips.

“Drink so slowly, honey.”

You try your best to take his advice, but the water just tastes so refreshing. Soon he’s pulling it away from you and he helps you lay back on the pillows. He pulls the covers up over you and he’s about to leave when you grab his hand and whine a little.

“Stay with me,” you pout. “Please, Eddie.”

His heart skips a beat when he sees how pitiful you are. You’re a sight for sore eyes, but he still thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. So without thinking too much, he shrugs off his jacket and kicks off his shoes. He slides under the covers with you, and immediately you cling to him. It feels natural to have you back in his arms like this.

“I’m such a fucking dumbass,” you mutter under your breath.

“No, you’re not. Stop thinking that way. That guy is such an asshole for playing you like that.”

Eddie thinks you might be too drunk to understand what he’s saying, but your heart flutters when he defends your honor. You cling a little tighter to him, and he presses the softest kiss to the top of your head.

“Why are you treatin’ me so good?” you ask, your words a bit slurred.

Eddie sighs, and he knows you might not remember this in the morning. “Cause I love ya,”

Your heart flutters again and you snuggle even closer. You know maybe he doesn’t mean it in the way you need it, but you still love hearing it from him. You smile sweetly at him, and he leans in to kiss your lips so softly.

“You’re my girl,” he finally admits. “And…I couldn’t even protect you.”

You sigh softly, “Eds…I don’t blame you for this. You are so wonderful.”

You two share another kiss, and he caresses your face so softly. You don’t even really know why you were dating that asshole…especially when you could have had this the entire time.

“Sleep now,” Eddie commands. “Sleep now and we’ll talk more tomorrow, okay?”

You nod your head, “Kay…night night, Eddie.”

He holds you close, vowing to himself he’ll never ever let anything else hurt you like this. Never again will you know pain.

[iridescentpull]

The first time Pac wakes up, he’s not very aware of what’s happening. All he knows is that someone seems to be carrying him, and that his right leg hurts.

“Shh, Pac, I need you to be quiet.” Someone whispers to him, they’re quiet and soft. “We’re almost at the infirmary, just a couple more minutes.”

He whines quietly, feeling tears slip down his face. Everything is fuzzy, like a dream. His mind struggles to piece together where he is and how he got there. He drifts in and out of consciousness, fragments of memory flash before him– walking alone through the hallway, listening to footsteps get closer, the piercing pain in his leg…

The voice speaking to him is familiar yet distant, and Pac strains to make sense of it amidst the haze. Gradually, the sensation of movement stops, replaced by the gentle sway of a bed or stretcher. He feels a gloved hand on his face, and he faintly recognizes the material as the cloth from a guard’s glove.

“Pac, can you hear me?” The voice asks again, a note of concern cutting through the darkness. “You’re going to be alright, just hang in there a little longer.”

Pac tries to nod but finds his body unresponsive, weighed down by fatigue and pain. The scent of antiseptic fills his senses, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. Despite the fog in his mind, he manages to utter a weak, hoarse reply. “What happened?”

He feels the person caressing his cheek freeze, like cold water had been poured over them. The silence that followed Pac’s question was heavy with unspoken words and a tense atmosphere.

“Don’t worry about that now.” The voice murmurs, and suddenly Pac feels very tired. “Just sleep, it’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t want to. He wants to know what happened, why he feels like he died, why his body hurts, why can’t he feel his leg, but his eyelids betray him, slipping shut despite his efforts to stay awake. The darkness pulls him in again, deeper this time, wrapping him in its comforting embrace.

The last thing he hears is “I'm sorry.”

《 ♧ 》

The second time Pac wakes up, he’s a bit more aware of his surroundings. He knows something happened to him, and that he’s so drunk off pain-relief medications that everything seems too much and not enough.

He can feel someone pressing against him, trying to cuddle with him but being mindful of the machines hooked up to him and the mass amount of bandages wrapped around him. He attempts to say something but the words won’t form on his dry tongue, and his eyelids seem like they’re being weighed down by anvils.

So he just listens and feels.

He can feel the hard plastic of glasses press against his neck and the rough cloth of a prisoner’s jumpsuit brush against his arm.

A familiar voice murmurs in his ear, soft and soothing. “Hey, moço, it’s okay. I’m here. Just rest.” The voice is gentle, filled with a mixture of relief and worry. Pac recognizes it, though it’s buried under layers of drowsiness and confusion.

He tries to turn his head toward the voice but finds the effort too exhausting. Instead, he focuses on the sensations around him– the warmth of the person next to him, the steady beeping of the heart monitor, and the occasional soft hiss of the oxygen machine.

Time seems to stretch and bend, and Pac isn’t sure how long he lies there, drifting in and out of awareness. At some point, the person holding him shifts slightly, and Pac feels a cool hand brush against his forehead.

“You’re safe now.” The voice says, and he can hear the tears in it. “You’re going to be okay. I’m sorry for everything, fuck, I should’ve been there.”

Pac’s mind swims with questions. He wants to ask who did this to him, why he’s in so much pain, and how long he’s been here. But the words get tangled up in his thoughts, and he can’t quite manage to pull them into coherence.

He can hear the sound of a door opening and the sound of footsteps approaching. He hears a sigh, before a lady speaks up. “Time is up, inmate.” She says, and Pac notes she sounds bored. “An officer is waiting to escort you back to your cell.”

The male feels the body laying next to him freeze. Pac's sense of confusion deepens as the person next to him tenses up. The warmth of the body against his grows cold with dread, and Pac can feel the subtle trembling. The pieces start to fit together in his mind, albeit slowly and imperfectly. The person beside him is also a prisoner, and they’ve taken a significant risk to be here with him.

“If it’s the same officer as the one who brought him in, I’m not going.” The person answered defiantly.

Pac can hear the nurse rolling her eyes. “Either you go with him now, or you will be thrown to isolation and now allowed to visit him.” The woman says, and Pac feels the person hiss. “Your call.”

The voice that’s been comforting him sighs, before he whispers. “I’ll be back, I promise. Just hang in there, okay?” The male voice is strained, filled with an intensity that cuts through Pac’s haze.

Pac wants to hold on, to reach out, but his body won’t cooperate, and then the warmth is gone. The absence is immediate and profound, leaving Pac feeling more vulnerable than ever.

Footsteps recede and a door closes, leaving the room in a heavy silence. Pac’s thoughts swirl, questions without answers pressing against the fog in his mind. His eyelids grow heavy once more.

The last thing he thinks before falling back into consciousness is ‘Why can’t I move my leg.’

《 ♧ 》

The third time Pac wakes up, it’s with a clearer head. The fog has lifted enough for him to think more coherently, though his body still feels heavy and weak. He looks around, taking in the details of the room with greater clarity. It’s still the infirmary, still filled with the hum and beep of medical equipment, but now he can make out more details—the cold white walls, the flimsy bed he’s lying on, the tray with medical supplies nearby.

He shifts slightly, testing the limits of his movement. Pain radiates from his right leg, but it’s a dull throb now, not the sharp agony he remembers from before. He’s still heavily bandaged, and the IV drip attached to his arm supplies a steady flow of fluids and medication.

It’s night, probably midnight if the stillness and quiet are any indication. The infirmary is bathed in a soft, dim light, casting long shadows on the walls. Pac’s senses are more alert now, and he can hear the faint hum of the ventilation system and the distant murmur of voices from somewhere down the hall.

He’s about to try to move his body when he hears the faint sound of a door opening and familiar footsteps approaching him, so he closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep.

He can feel the person stare at him, deathly still and cold, and Pac can feel his skin crawl with unease. The footsteps halt beside his bed, and the silence stretches, thick and suffocating. Pac's heart pounds in his chest, the sound loud in his ears as he tries to control his breathing.

The person doesn't say anything, but Pac can feel their gaze burning into him. He wants to open his eyes, to confront whoever it is, but fear keeps him still. He wonders if it's another inmate again, sneaking in against the rules, but something about the atmosphere feels different—darker.

After what feels like an eternity, the person finally moves. Pac hears the rustle of clothing and then the faint click of something being placed on the bedside table. A chill runs down his spine as he senses the presence lean closer. He can feel warm breath on his face, and then, in a voice low and menacing, the person speaks.

“I know you’re awake, queridinho.”

Pac’s eyes fly open, and he's met with a pair of cold, calculating eyes. Those same blue eyes that were wide and dilated and feral as they bit, bit, and bit.

“Good to see you finally awake.” The Butcher of Alcatraz says, his voice dripping with malevolent amusement. “You’ve been quite the topic of conversation while you were out. Everyone’s been wondering if you’d make it.”

Pac’s heart pounds in his chest as he meets the Butcher’s gaze. He feels a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead, the pain in his leg momentarily forgotten in the face of this new threat. The Butcher’s presence is suffocating, his eyes never leaving Pac’s face, and the menace in his voice sends shivers down Pac’s spine.

The Butcher leans closer, his breath hot against Pac’s ear. “I must say, you’ve proven to be quite resilient, queridinho.” He says, and there’s this sick twisted tone to his voice. “Most wouldn’t have survived their leg getting eaten on, but you’re special. I knew you could do it.”

And suddenly, everything clicks in Pac’s head.

The memories rush back in a painful, disjointed torrent. The hallway, the footsteps, the sudden, excruciating pain… Pac’s breath quickens as panic sets in, his body finally realizing that he's missing his right leg. Every nerve in his body screams at him to get away, but he’s trapped, immobile, and at the mercy of his tormentor.

The Butcher’s hand brushes against Pac’s face, cold and callous. “Such a shame, really. You were always one of my favorites. Never thought you’d end up here.” He chuckles, a low, sinister sound that makes Pac’s blood run cold. “But I had to teach you a lesson. You understand, right?”

Pac tries to pull away, but his body refuses to cooperate, the pain in his leg flaring up as if to remind him of his helplessness. The Butcher’s fingers dig into his skin, a reminder of the brutal force behind the deceptively gentle touch.

His mind races, desperately searching for a way out, for any means of escape. He tries to remember the layout of the infirmary, the location of the door, the position of the medical staff, but his thoughts are scattered, his senses overwhelmed by the immediate danger.

“Calm, queridinho, I won’t hurt you.” He says, voice sweet like honey. “You already learned your lesson, didn’t you?”

Pac’s heart pounded furiously in his chest as the others words washed over him like a chilling wave. His mind raced, grappling with fear and confusion. He knew this man, this sadistic figure who had haunted the nightmares of Alcatraz’s inmates.

“Anyways,” He started, pulling back and folding his hands behind his back. “You better heal quick, because soon we’ll be escaping. If you’re not ready by next week, we’ll take off without you.”

For a moment, Pac thinks it’s not a bad idea. Without his leg, he is basically a dead weight. He’s useless, only there to bring the group down and to get the all captured. If he stays here, he could garantee everyone to escape safely and successfully.

Then again, he would not be happy with the decision.

Cell gives him a smile (Pac feels like he can see the blood staining his teeth) and gives him a wave, before walking out the way he came. “Tchau, queridinho.” He says, nonchalany. “I trust you to not tell anyone about this.”

And off he goes.

Pac closes his eyes, and asks whoever god is out there why he isn’t dead.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[6:33 am]

(cw: parents!au, pregnant reader, "mommy" reader)

Jungwoo swears he can hear someone trying to wake him up, albeit quietly. He doesn’t hear anything for a minute and decided to nestle further into the warm sheets and fluffy pillows. Not even a minute later he feels something wet hit his cheek, then hit it again, and then, “Daddy.”

He blinks an eye open, flinching at the brightness of the dawn just creeping in. He catches sight of his daughter standing right in front of him, how he missed her face inches away from his own. She smiles all too brightly for the neon green time glowing on his night stand. She holds her pacifier in one hand, the obvious culprit for the wet feeling on his cheek. Now he had even more incentive to get rid of that damn pacifier. “My love, why are you awake?” He mumbles out, running a hand over her tangled bed head.

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” she tells him.

He shushes her gently, “My love, it’s not breakfast time yet.”

She juts out her bottom lip as she lays her head beside Jungwoo’s, “Daddy, please. I’ll be quiet.”

Jungwoo sighs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and sits up. Knowing his daughter she won’t give up on this, she gets her food or she continues begging until all three- well, four- of you are awake. “Let’s go,” he tells her before he slowly slips out of bed, careful to not wake you up. You had been up late with the very toddler padding along behind Jungwoo with her blanket dragging along.

He sets her on the counter and places his hands on his hips, “Cereal?” She shakes her head, he tries again, “eggs?”

She shakes her head once more before she pulls the pacifier from her mouth, “Pancakes!”

“Baby, it’s too early for pancakes. Do you want some rice?” Jungwoo offers instead.

Your daughter pulls out the big moves, she pouts her lips and throws on her puppy dog eyes that are quickly filling with tears. Crocodile tears, Jungwoo knows, but he’s so weak to her. He curses internally, she must have inherited this look from you. He can recall countless times you pulled the very same look to get what you wanted and he fell for it every time. Now he was seeing the very same look and falling under the same spell.

He curses internally, then sighs with a finger pointed at her, “We have to be quiet.”

Her tears dry immediately as she nods fervently with a big smile. He pulled out the pancake mix and got to work. He mixed the batter, handing it off to your daughter as he turned to heat the pan. He poured the batter into the pan, quieting down his daughters excited giggles and kicks against the cabinets.

When the pancakes were all served up and cooled down, he carries his daughter to her high chair and straps her in. Her little plate of cut up pancakes was drizzled with syrup as she thanked Jungwoo and placed a wet kiss on his cheek as she tore into the food in front of her. Jungwoo couldn’t fight the amazed chuckle as he watched her eat. His daughter always ate like she was starving, which could not be further from the truth what with her protruding little belly and consistent second servings at every meal.

He slowly ate one of his own pancakes, feeling the tiredness of being up so early finally hit him again. He gets up and starts making coffee, keeping an eye on the toddler who hasn’t slowed down despite his many warnings for her to do so.

He just begins pouring himself a cup of coffee when he feels a hand on his back, “Smells good in here. Pancakes, this early?”

He pulls you into a hug, placing a hand on your barely there baby bump while he places a kiss on your temple, “Your daughter has resorted to violence when she’s hungry.”

You snort out a laugh before turning your playful glare to your daughter, “You little monster! Did you wake Daddy up for pancakes?” She laughs as you barrage her chubby cheeks with kisses in your cupped hands, “Did you hit Daddy this morning?” She shakes her head so you try again, this time she nods. You begin telling her that hitting people is not nice and explain other ways to wake Jungwoo up, “like this, you take your finger and you poke him right here!” His daughter’s laughs ring out again as you tickle her midsection as well as you can with the limited space in the high chair.

“Good morning Mama,” his daughter smiles, puckering her lips to place a big, wet kiss on your cheek. A very different wetness on your cheek compared to what Jungwoo got earlier which has him grumbling under his breath.

“Good morning my love, wanna say good morning to the baby?” You ask her after giving her her own kiss. She nods fervently again, much like the nod she gave Jungwoo earlier. You stand and pull your T-shirt over your belly and let the toddler whisper, though it’s really not a whisper, and kiss your belly as a greeting to her sibling.

A plate of pancakes slides in front of you, Jungwoo places a kiss on the crown of your head, “For Mommy and baby.”

[satoruxx]

NORTHERN LIGHTS.

✧ PAIRING: kaeya alberich x fem!reader | 4.5k words

✧ SUMMARY: smut, p -> v, praise, fingering, lots of pining, angst, angsty bc it’s kaeya tbh lol, kaeya lore but it’s vague, also military themes bc sometimes we forget kaeya is a captain and i love the knights of favonius, he’s highkey got commitment issues but i think he’s valid, man is whipped tho, he's just an overthinker and traumatized, also can you tell i’m a med student?

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: first i have to apologize bc this is SO late??? i got this request back for my 200 event, asking for kaeya with the song northern lights by kennie (which is such a good song). at first i was gonna make it a short little drabble, but the more i wrote, the more i wanted to make it a full fic, which is what ended up happening. kaeya's character has so much depth and i wanted to explore it hehe. northern lights is such a fitting song for him so i just had to go all in. but i'm so sorry that i got to your request so late, hopefully you still enjoy it lovely! (even tho it’s not the main focus in this fic, this is technically my first real smut fic so take it with a grain of salt; i don't think i write it that well LMAO)

it was rare to truly know your own weaknesses, but kaeya knew his a little too well. behind his carefree, unbothered exterior he cared a little too much. he cares a little too much when klee tugs on his fur cape and whines about a scolding she’s gotten from jean, and he ends up indulging her with whatever she’d like. he cares a little too much when rosaria spills just a tad more than usual during her drunken ramblings. he cares a little too much when he sees the discomfort in the face of certain fiery bartender as they speak, and he consistently lies awake and remembers days when that discomfort between them didn’t exist.

it’s a curse, he thinks, because he always ends up feeling too attached to people he knows he shouldn’t be attached to.

even now, his weakness is acting up as he barks orders to his soldiers. they scramble around him as they enter the city, carrying their wounded brethren to safety up at the cathedral. kaeya knows he shouldn’t blame himself but as their captain he feels like he should’ve seen this coming. new recruits wouldn’t be able to handle the hordes of monsters at daduapa gorge—he miscalculated.

“take them to the sisters at the cathedral. sister barbara and the others should be able to heal them,” kaeya commands, clasping one of the men’s shoulders and helping him up to the church. he’s ignoring the now dull throbbing in his side as blood stains his clothes—his soldiers were most important right now. like he said, he cared a little too much.

the nurses had set up a medical station at the cathedral, and in between all the commotion, kaeya’s finally able to hand over the groaning soldier to a nurse, who immediately gets to work.

he then takes a few steps back to assess the damage, grateful that all of his soldiers are getting the attention they needed. he’d hate himself if there were any losses today.

he doesn’t even realize that he’s now leaning against the wall, panting shallowly as blood continues to pour from his abdomen. oh well, he’d wait his turn—only after his soldiers were taken care of.

kaeya shuts his eyes, letting his body rest for a minute.

“you’re wounded.”

his eyes shoot open to see you standing in front of him. he assumes you’re not one of the nuns because your clothes are entirely different. you’re young, appearing to be around his age as you eye his torso critically.

“it appears so,” he answers.

“did someone take a look at you yet?”

“i’d prefer all my soldiers be taken care of first.”

your eyes flash with recognition. “so you’re captain kaeya?”

“indeed i am.” he lets his eyes roam over your concerned features.

you give him a small smile before continuing with a sigh. “i can safely tell you that all the wounded are being treated. i’m still an apprentice so i’m only here to deal with the non fatal injuries. like yours, captain.” you crouch down in front of him, fingers reaching towards his clothing with a silent question of permission. he lets his hand slacken as he gives you a nod and you attempt to peel back as many layers as you can to asses the damage before you’re motioning him towards a tent.

a few minutes later and kaeya is letting you strip his torso bare until you have a full view of his injury. your fingers brush over the wounded skin gently, and he wonders if you even touched him at all. “it’s long, but not too deep. a few stitches and you should be alright. if you’re okay with it, i’ll get started,” you tell him.

kaeya wants to tell you that he’s no stranger to the pain of injuries, but he finds something oddly refreshing about your comforting attitude, so he just says yes and lets you begin to work.

you thread through the skin with a delicate hand and despite the sting he honestly can’t even focus on it, choosing instead to analyze your features.

he realizes that you’re awfully pretty.

kaeya makes small talk with you as you work, partly to stay awake through the pain and mostly because he can’t stop his curiosity. he finds out your name, your hobbies, your goals. you may not have the most exciting life but kaeya thinks there’s something so alluring about you it makes him a little dizzy. he's not sure what it is, but he thinks about it the whole time you tend to his wound. realization hits when you finally finish, looking up at him with a smile, and kaeya realizes that your eyes hold the stars in them.

it’s hard to explain but when kaeya watches you work, nose scrunching in the dim lighting of the tent, he thinks you remind him of home.

(kaeya has chased the stars for as long as he can remember. he remembers shouting with diluc in the grass behind the winery, the two of them reaching for celestia because the stars up there were so undeniably pretty.

"we're never gonna get them!" diluc would laugh, trying hard to balance kaeya on his little shoulders. "they're too far…"

and kaeya only grins down at him toothily, raising his fists to the sky. "no way! i'll catch them one day!"

and yet his whole childhood went by without being able to capture the stars. as he grew older he started to learn that it was impossible to steal what the sky so selfishly held on to.

but even as an adult, kaeya knows to appreciate the stars when he gets the privilege to see them in the sky.

especially after he finally seems to find them in the dim glow of a medical tent.)

he hates to admit how often his eyes seek you out after that one encounter. sometimes he’ll see you at the cat's tail, giggling with your friends as you slam tcg cards down on the table triumphantly. other times he’ll catch a glimpse of you at good hunter, chewing on a quick meal as you browse through a book. almost every time he gets caught staring you only smile and offer him a little wave that sends his brain into a frenzy.

(maybe in another life kaeya would allow himself the luxury. he’d let himself go through the motions for you. let himself stress every time you threw a glance his way. work up the courage to ask you out on saturday afternoon. finally get the chance to press his lips to yours. trace your skin with nimble fingers and have the privilege to call you his.

in another life maybe.

but for now he’ll just keep you his own little secret—a guilty pleasure he’ll indulge in because it’s hard to rid an addiction, especially if you don’t have the will to rid it in the first place.)

kaeya’s messed up this summer. he knows it in his soul that he’s made the wrong decision as he watches you babble about something as you lean against his bare chest, still basking in your own afterglow.

he knows that he should have resisted the temptation. as soon as he and the troops got back and he saw you sitting in a secluded corner at angel’s share he knew that his feelings for you hadn’t dissolved.

they say absence makes the heart grow fonder and kaeya only now knows this to be true because just the sight of you sends his mind into a frenzy. you could probably feel his gaze on you because you look up from the book you’re reading and make straight eye contact with him. for a second, he wants to turn away but then you smile at kaeya like you’ve never once forgotten him, and he’s putty. before he knows it, he’s buying you a drink and walking over to your little corner to make himself comfortable.

it’s a slow descent for him because in his head he knows he shouldn’t get too attached. he’ll leave again soon with the troops, and who knows maybe he’ll leave them behind one day too. his future has always looked so clouded to him, and he knows you belong in the sun. he’d like to leave you there in the light—avoid dragging you into his darkness.

so he tries to keep it simple, occasionally meeting you for a drink or catching up around the city. but then you’re showing him your favorite place to study near starfell lake and he’s showing you his favorite stars while laying on his back on starsnatch cliff. and he knows he can’t avoid it.

soon enough he’s giving into everything he said he wouldn’t, finally finding out what you taste like. finally knowing how his name sounds when it falls from your lips.

it's more addicting than he could've predicted, the feeling of your breath against his skin as you pant out his name. kaeya can't even bring himself to pull away from you to stop and think for a second. if he did then maybe he could slap some sense into himself and draw some distance because archons above he was digging himself deeper into this hole. but he can't, not when you're gripping his shoulders as he presses you against the wall of his bedroom, whining into his lips for all that he can give you.

and kaeya is nothing if not generous.

so he indulges both you and himself—the perfect mix of selfless and selfish as he guides you to his bed, nimble fingers loosening the ties of your clothing until you're bare in front of him. he can see the bashfulness settling into your cheeks and he almost feels like goading for just a minute, but he decides he'll be nice.

you've always deserved a nice guy anyway.

he tries to push that thought away, instead distracting himself with the heat of your body, his fingers dancing along your skin eagerly. maybe, just this one night, he can let it be about you two. he can afford to forget about all the old promises he's made—all the responsibilities and duties he devoted himself to a lifetime ago.

kaeya ignores the flush of heat crawling up his neck as he hovers over you, caging your body underneath his as you squirm in anticipation. he understands—the tightness in his pants is enough for him to feel the same. but he's not worried about that, not when his fingers part your thighs eagerly, brushing over heated skin and finding slick wetness there as he dips into your cunt. he hears the sharp intake of breath, the quiet restrained moan, and he preens. kaeya revels in the sounds he pulls from your lips as his fingers curl against your slick heat, your head lolling back against his pillows.

there's a possessive streak of something that cuts through him then—something that tells him how he aches to be the only one who gets to hear those sounds.

it makes him slightly sick.

kaeya realizes then—he's been quite stupid when it comes to you. he's kept the maelstrom of feelings brewing in his soul trapped under all his bravado, arrogant and cowardly all at once. he needs to tell you, needs to be honest because this isn't something he can trick his way out of.

but all he wants to do is run. run so far away from you because he doesn't want you to to get caught up in his own ruin. you're far too good for him, too sweet and carefree to be tainted by his sin-laden hands. he needs to run.

but he does none of that, not when he's guiding his fingers to the apex of your thighs and exploring territory he knows he shouldn't claim. because then you look at him with an expression so blissful—so thankful, relieved that he's giving you a part of himself he never wanted to—and he can't even be angry about it.

kaeya presses his lips to the swell of your chest, feeling the rapid thumping of your heart under your skin, and he shuts his eyes as he breathes out your name. you answer with a resounding mewl, catching his eyes even through the dark strands of his hair.

he then chooses to focus on pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt because archons do you look heavenly when your eyes roll back like that.

but it scares him, the way you leave him open and exposed and aching even when he doesn't want to be.

in his head you're perfect, all bright and glowing under him as you chant his name like he's some kind of savior. but kaeya isn't a savior—if anything he's destruction in human form, sent by the heavens to wreak havoc on those around him. he'd destroyed enough already—he doesn't think he can do it to you too.

but archons the way you're looking at him now, from under fluttering lashes and dewy eyes that shine even brighter when they're trained on him—begging, pleading, and oh so trusting of him and every thing he wants to give you. he can't even help himself.

"i know, sweet girl," he sighs, voice strained as you buck your hips just perfect—a temptress, sent to lead him to his doom. and yet he can't stop his fingers from pushing back your hair from your sweaty skin, knowing that he should be careful because he doesn't want to destroy something as fragile as this.

"kaeya please," your breath comes out in short desperate pants, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders haphazardly.

"i know," he repeats, reaching down to heft your thigh over his waist as he slots his hips against your own, biting back a groan at the sensitive brush against his cock—throbbing, aching, needy.

"ah fuck," he's almost shy at the way his voice shakes as he lines his cock up, the heat and slickness of your cunt a teasing caress against his sensitive head. he drops his forehead against your shoulder, breathing heavily even before he's inside you because something about this makes him so incredibly nervous. a single desperate whine and the soft squeeze of your fingers into his biceps and he's stilling—breath catching, heart pounding.

for a moment, he doesn't even feel like himself. he's not anything, no one.

and then he slides in and kaeya knows that there will never be anything better—another experience that would feel this right in his life.

he pulls out a little, gaze lingering at the sweat beading at your forehead, and something in his chest stutters. "okay?" he traces your face for any hint of hesitation—of the nervousness that he feels in his gut, but all he finds is a stormy mix of desire and devotion.

"uh huh," reassurance, stability—everything he isn't. his brows pinch, eyes shutting because he doesn't want you to know.

he's pulled out of the whirlwind that is his thoughts when he feels your fingers on his cheek, brushing over his skin gently. his eyes snap open, and even through the haze he can feel himself relaxing under your touch, because the way you're looking at him is so undeniably loving and it makes his stomach flip.

"you okay?" you whisper, looking up at him carefully, and kaeya feels as though you've put him between the halves of a microscope slide to analyze him.

"i'm fine," he breathes out, not a lie but not the whole truth either. "don't worry."

his words do little to quell you, but one roll of his hips has your eyes fluttering, a choked moan escaping your throat, and the sound makes his pride sing.

there's an image then—hazy and yet so obvious as his brain registers it. the implications behind it makes his stomach churn.

quiet smiles, hazy kisses, soft goodbyes—and then the inevitable distance as he crosses over the border separating your world from his. a lone figure standing in the streets of mondstadt, always waiting for him to come back. always disappointed.

you buck your hips upward, blissfully unaware of the torrent of conflicting emotions in his head. kaeya's brain short-circuits, and then he's pushing back, a steady rhythm against your gummy walls that takes the breath out of your lungs. you savor every thrust, punctuated by the sharp grunts he lets out against your throat.

your fingers rake over his back, desperate and needy and focused on one thing only—kaeya, kaeya, kaeya.

"that's it sweetheart," he doesn't have any more control—not on his mind, his body, his mouth. they've all escaped his grasp, too spurred on by you and everything you're willing to offer him.

"'s okay…ah fuck…it's okay," kaeya groans into the column of your throat, not sure whether he's telling you or himself. the clench of your walls sends him spiraling, hips picking up the pace as he pistons his cock in and out—trying to find out just how far he can go.

then he hits one spot, and his vigilant gaze catches the way your jaw slackens, eyes glazing over even as they roll back and a shaky moan escapes your throat—surprised, unexpecting. his ego jumps.

an experimental roll of his hips against the same spot and you make a sound so unhinged that he finds himself already addicted to it. and to tease is in his nature.

"yeah? right there?" he drawls, masking his anxiousness with his bravado once again.

"right there," you whimper, nodding meekly as you grip his shoulders. he huffs out a soft laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to your eyelids like he's trying to kiss away the tears that have gathered there. you preen under his ministrations—it feels a little too domestic.

he understands. it scares him, but he understands. he wonders what the point of worrying is—wonders why he's letting his paranoid brain taint this moment that he'd been waiting for. the only solution left is to ignore it. because you're here, writhing underneath him in the throes of pleasure, vulnerable and trusting and just for him. he should give you what you deserve after all.

so kaeya pushes every other thought out of his head, only focused on you and making you feel good because that's what someone like you deserves—everything you desire laid at your feet.

he presses a chaste kiss to your mouth, paired with a languid roll of his hips as he quietly groans. "okay…." his voice comes out an octave lower, pushed down by the barely concealed need for you. "okay sweet girl. i've got you."

another searing kiss as he breathes through his nose, picking up the pace again as he slams his cock into the spot that makes you see stars. your moans get louder even as they remain muffled against his lips, and kaeya can't help but dig his fingers into the meat of your thigh, leaving behind finger shaped dents in the plushy skin.

a claim—possessive, desperate, selfish.

your kisses become sloppier as kaeya leads you closer to the edge, walls clenching around the length of him, tighter with every thrust he delivers. the chants of his name have become almost reverent, and kaeya thinks his name couldn't possibly sound more beautiful than in that moment. he wonders if he could be blessed to hear it for the remainder of his life, and the thought sends pure unadulterated need through him.

his hips stutter, red hot fire coursing through his chilled veins—building, climbing, overwhelming as every sense goes fuzzy with heat. his grunts become more irregular, in time with the reckless thrusts of his cock as your cunt tightens around him greedily.

his cock twitches as you suck him in eagerly, feeling every ridge and vein as he grunts and groans and tightens his hold on you—unyielding, unrelenting, selfish.

your eyes stay locked on his even as your orgasm rips through you, and kaeya sees celestia in them—brighter than ever before. your muscles spasm, clenching almost painfully as you tremble and writhe underneath him, and he follows you to the doorstep of nirvana with a throaty groan. his hips stutter, twitching and throbbing as he pants out a broken chorus of your name and every praise that doesn't do you justice.

then he drops his forehead against yours, watching your eyelids flutter—celestial stars dim. a soft brush of your lips against his.

your muscles go lax, every guard dropped just for him—trust he realizes, trust he doesn't deserve. he doesn't know how to tell you that.

because even after everything—when you're curled up against his chest, skin warm and dewy against his own, he does not think about how he adores the feeling of your hair brushing against his arm, nor does he focus on the soft tickle of your breathing washing over him. instead he thinks about how he's ruined it all, how he's dragged you into him, and how he needs to let you go before he destroys you completely.

at the end of the summer, kaeya tells you he can’t.

“what are you talking about?” you ask him, a light chuckle escaping your lips as you barely focus on his words. your nose is buried in some medical text, and kaeya thinks that the universe is punishing him now by making him repeat himself.

“us. we shouldn’t have…” he sighs, shoulders dropping. “i mean, we should stop…seeing each other.”

he can practically feel the way his words pull your attention and when he looks up he sees the way your grip on the book has slackened. there’s panic settling in your eyes, mixed with a bit of confusion. a conflicted emotion runs across your face and kaeya’s fingers itch to touch you. “w-why?”

it’s a simple question and he should have no problem answering it, but he struggles to get the words out, his throat constricting uncomfortably. “it was fine in the summer, when i was back here with the troops. but now i’ll have to leave and-“

“so what?” you question, turning in your seat to face him completely. his eyes drop to the shirt you’re wearing, his shirt, and he feels his heart squeezing.

“so-“ he gulps, head spinning as he tries to explain himself. he doesn’t even have a proper answer—he just knows that this is his only option. because there’s no way in hell he deserves this kind of comfort, this kind of happiness. “so i cant-“

“can’t what, kaeya?” you stress, voice going slightly higher and he only then sees the real fear in your expression.

he pauses, mulling over his words and the bitter taste they’re leaving in his mouth. he can feel the sting of your pleading stare, and he swallows hard. “can’t stay,” he finally answers, and he’s shocked at how miserable he sounds.

you look at him like he’s insane, and honestly he feels like he might be. you’re confused and rightfully so, because there are so many remnants of him left in your space, so clearly evident the impact he’s left on you.

“can’t or won’t?”

kaeya’s eyes snap up to yours, because the tremor in your voice sends a jolt of fear down to his stomach, churning and roiling until it makes him sick.

he regrets looking, because he can feel himself breaking then and there.

you’re looking at him with these shining eyes and he swears that he’s glimpses them again—the brightest stars he’s ever had the privilege of seeing. for a second he thinks the light of those stars might disappear because that’s what always happens. but they remain, glowing against the backdrop of your irises and he’s captivated all over again.

his plans to leave you in tears fly out the window then and there.

he’s reaching for your cheeks in less than a second, holding them delicately as he lets his thumbs brush over your teary lashes. there’s a reasonable bit of confusion in your face at his sudden change, but when he leans down to kiss you, you don’t protest, melting into him even though he’s so undeniably cold. kaeya doesn’t even realize he’s saying he loves you, choosing to murmur it against your lips because it’s not meant for anyone else to hear—just the two of you.

he remains there, in the quiet darkness of your room for the rest of the night, because he doesn’t want to leave your side even after he told himself he would.

and yes, he dreads tomorrow. he dreads tomorrow because he knows that he will have to choose between the comfortable home he’s found in you or the dark abyss that has swallowed his past.

he’s scared that the more he allows himself to fall into you, and the more he finds that your eyes are the ones that hold the stars of celestia, then the easier his choice will become.

he’s been chasing the stars for so long after all. now that he finally has them, why in teyvat would he let them go?

[meo-on-prairie]

Keep it Lowkey

Sukuna x Reader

Prompt: “Be as quiet as you can ‘cause if anyone sees they’ll just blow shit up” - Lowkey by NIKI

Words count: 1.1k

Tags: bodyguard!sukuna x Popstar!reader, fluff, coworkers to lovers (????), just pure indulgence, pure fluff

Rambling: it’s a little fluffy Sukuna fic inspired by “lowkey”-NIKI. Full fantasizing. I’m writing while I still have the time lmao. If i was in this situation, my brain would become mush.

Note to self: get a new bodyguard. You mentally note as you stare at Sukuna, your current bodyguard, in all his glory. You have to fire him. He’s not bad at this job by any means. On the contrary, he’s excellent at his job. With his nearly 7ft build, his… well trained body, and his tattoos, he looks very intimidating. Ever since your team hired him, you have encountered much much less crazy fans, in fact you feel safe enough to post pictures while on vacations instead of having to wait until you’re back at home to post them. But lately, he has been a distraction to your work.

You didn’t pay much attention to Sukuna when your security team first introduced him to you. You were too busy prepping for your performance at a music festival. You just greeted him quickly, thanked him for joining the team, and hurried on stage. Sukuna has been working for you for about 2 years now, and you hate it. You hate it because you’re pinning after your bodyguard. And the smug fucker knows it.

The way he smirks at you when he shields you from the flashing light of cameras. The way his hand casually grazes your back and hip, lingering a little longer than he should but not long enough to be noticeable. The way he leans in a little too close to whisper in your ears about potential danger in a large crowd. This fucker know how his actions make you blushing and knees weak. He knows and he’s teasing you. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Sukuna teases, snapping you out of your train of thoughts.

“Why would I need to take a picture of someone I've been seeing everyday for 2 years? I’m tired of seeing your face.” you reply nonchalantly, redirecting your focus on the notebook in your lap. You’re currently in the artist lounge, alone with Sukuna. The music show won’t start for another 3 hours, but you like to be early. You’re waiting on your makeup artist as you work on writing another song for your album, but it’s looking hopeless ‘cause you have no clue what to write.

“The way you’ve been staring at me says otherwise, Little Star.” Sukuna pressed on with a smirk. 

“Please, do tell, how have I been staring at you?” You said sarcastically. Closing your notebook, you ain’t getting anything done with Sukuna in the same room as you. You get up to pour yourself a glass of wine that the music show provides to its VIP artists. 

“Like you’re mentally undressing me in your head. I’m surprised none of your fans or paparazzi notice it.” He shrugged. Sukuna eyes your form as you pour your wine. You look good enough to devour, he thinks. The sparkly, skimpy outfit leaves little for the imagination.

“Because I’m a professional, Sukuna.” you side-eyes him, sipping on your wine. 

“Oh, so you do undress me with your eyes” Sukuna is full on smirking now. You fucked up. 

As your mind races to find a good response to his remark, you feel a pair of arms snaking around your waist. You look up to see Sukuna towering over you. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This isn’t good, your heart is beating too loud, you feel like even he can hear it. Your mind is turning white. You want to run away right this second. You feel like a mouse being trapped under a tiger’s paw.

“Come on, Little Star. You could’ve been more honest with yourself… With me…” His voice dropped to a low volume, you can feel the rumbling of his chest, he leaned down to whisper into your ear. “Come on now, what do you want?”

His breath fanned your ears and your brain short circuit. This isn’t good. This is down right dangerous. You can feel your self restraint slipping. “Whatever deity above, whoever you are, give me power.”. Clearly whatever deity above is not on your side because you can’t take your eyes off the way his collarbone look at this angle. Now that he’s leaning down to your height, you are finally able to see the way the muscles on his shoulder flex with his arm on your hip. His tone biceps. And oh god, his chest, they look so incredibly⸻

“Come on, Little Star, tell me.”

You feel his lip nibbling on your ear. You’re done for. 

“Y-y-you. I want you.” you are barely able to choke out. There is no turning back now.

“That’s more like it.” Sukuna breathes out right before he presses his lips against yours. 

You melt into him as soon as your lips make contact with his. Your knees finally give out under you, if not for his hands that were on your waist, you would be on the ground. He holds you up and against his body and you wrap your legs around his torso. His hand moves from your waist to your thigh so he can hold you up better. 

Your hand slides from shoulders to his nape to the back of his head, tugging on his hair as you kiss him back. He kisses you like your lips are the sweetest nectar and he’s a starved man.  Hungrily, ferociously, desperately. His hand glides from your thigh to your ass, slipping under your skimpy stage outfit. If Sukuna could have it his way, he would tear the outfit off of you right then and there. But that could wait till after the music show.

You don’t know how long you were kissing him. It felt like time stopped. The world stopped. There is no one else but him, nothing else but his kiss. So this is what you've been denying yourself of for so long. Sukuna was right, you should’ve been more honest. You hate that he's right.

A knock on the door, snap you both out of the haze. Your makeup artist. You forgot that you were waiting for her. In fact, you forgot you were at a music show and is about to go on stage. The thing this man does to you. He’s dangerous. 

“We’ll continue this later. I’ll let you undress me with your hands this time.” He said with a smirk as blood rushed to your cheeks and ears, tinting them red. 

Sukuna leans down to give you a quick peck on your forehead before turning around to open the door for your makeup artist. 

Maybe you don’t need to fire him after all. You’ll have to keep your relationship a secret though, if you want to keep your fan base. It’s not easy being famous. Fortunately, like you said, you’re a professional.

[jackiepackiee]

Can you do flags with a VERY insecure reader

𝐹𝓁𝒶𝑔𝓈 𝓍 𝐼𝓃𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓊𝓇𝑒! 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 - 𝓂𝒶𝒻𝒾𝒶

𝒯𝓎𝓅𝑒 - 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈

Apologies that some are shorter than others

Chuuya

Shows his care with tough love

He is well aware the life you both lead is dangerous, and you must be ready

So expect training

It’s not that you’re weak, it’s that he wants you to have confidence in your skills

He is a cocky person, but he cares for you more than his image

He’ll never admit it, but he’ll purposely lose a fight against you just to boost your confidence

Now, he’s the only one allowed to show this tough nature

Anyone else will be a goner

You’re out on a mission, and the enemy is taunting you?

Before he was just gonna take them out quick, but now he’ll have a little fun beating this one up

If you’re dating? He’s always there for you

You’re having a sleepover, and you’re awkwardly standing in the doorframe

“What are ya doing?”

He asked, and used his gravity to pull you into his bed. Making sure to not knock over the array of snacks and the movie laptop

You plopped onto the bed, and moved away

“Sorry…”

“The hell are you sorry for?”

He pushes the bag of your fav candy to you

“I… I dunno.”

“Well you’re gonna have something to be sorry for soon.”

“Huh?!”

“Get over here so we can watch this movie before I get bored!”

The perfect cure for your insecurities?

Chuuya Nakahara

Lippmann

If I’m being honest? He will make you feel worse at first

It’s not at all his fault of course and he doesn’t mean to

But he is just so damn perfect and I t’s hard to “compare to him”

So his most important lesson to you in to teach you that you are yourself

Not compared to him, but instead an attachment to him

A partner and a lover

And that if he’s so special, you must be even more superior for him to have chosen you

He’s the port mafias communicator after all, so he can make you believe whatever he likes

This is not manipulation of malice intent, but instead his only means of making you see yourself for your true value

“Love, what are you staring in the mirror for?”

“Oh… it’s nothing.”

“I would appreciate the truth.”

“This dress is most unflattering…”

“On you? It’s magnifying your beauty.”

He’s an amazing liar, though you see right through him

Of course you do, you’re his lover

So you know every compliment is genuine

Albatross

Oh boy… it’s not that he ignores it

But it’s more that he doesn’t understand why you feel that way

You’re so perfect? A loving, beautiful, and kind person

Patient enough to care for him so you being insecure confuses him

He loves to show you off, thinking the best therapy is experience

And at first? It’s embarrassing

Making you feel foolish with everyone’s eyes on you until he has one of his genius moments and tells you to

“look into there eyes. They adore you.”

Believe it or not, it’s a master plan

Take you to the most expensive parties in Yokohama and showing you off

The attention is hard, but he is sure to comfort you in your embarrassment

“Oh come on, you looked like an angel! One more time, that’s all I ask.”

And his pleading is charming. So magically that next time ticks something

It makes you realize that the eyes on you are of adoration

And jealousy that Albatross has you… wow, what a confidence booster

Although, if the eyes get too much looking to him may be the worst idea

His adoration isn’t just in his eyes, but his whole body. Pouring from him

It seems silly, but he’s not a high ranking mafiaoso for nothing

Iceman

The gentle king himself will be there, even if he’s sorta in the shadows

He’s VERY preceptive and knows what is going on with everybody around him

So the second you get a bad feeling, perhaps after passing a reflective window?

He’ll go to the flower shop down the street and drop them off at your desk

He’s not a talker, and probably won’t be able to comfort you

But actions are his forte

If someone made rude comments however?

And they made you upset?

They’re gone. It’s quick and clean

He isn’t one to show his partner off, but he has this silent care

Not overly touchy, but he likes to maybe keep a hand around you while out

He’s proud to be with you, he just doesn’t show it

Like the good man he is, he’s confused by such things as you saying “I’m stupid” or “I look terrible today”

Because… no you don’t?

He’s seen thousands of people, and some look a lot worse than you do? So how would you be considered bad?

But he won’t comment on it

Just like he is with Chuuya, he’s hesitant to do things incase it’ll further escalate the situation

Pianoman

This fun leader will make you feel better in the short and long term

He’s the type of man to always have a smile on his face

And obviously he’s gonna smile when he sees you!

That in of itself is a confidence booster and makes you much happier

He’s so welcoming to you every time you greet one another

And it makes your presence feel wanted, which it is

He isn’t going to fact your insecurities one on one

He isn’t an idiot, and knows that is he tries to tackle that issue he’ll be in over his head

He’s not a therapist, but he’s a comforter and someone you can rely on

Now… let’s say someone says something bad about you?

That piano wire is cutting something… if you know what I’m getting at

Now if you feel as if you look bad?

He disagrees, but nonetheless buys you very nice clothes and makeup (if you want)

He uses his counterfeit money, so skies the limit!!

Good luck even thinking about yourself when his dad jokes are always taking up your mind

Doc

Will say to himself “I’m a physical doctor… I’m a physical doctor” to stop himself from interfering at first

He would hate to accidentally mess up your mind even more

He knows you’d hate it if he knew how insecure you were

But it’s not his fault you’re not good at hiding it

So he stands by

Little acts of kindness on bad days

Flowers that have no allergens, fruit to make you feel healthy physically

But he can’t do this forever

Watch you suffer in your own head

So he steps in quietly

He’s not a main attraction type of guy

So he’ll help from the sides

And when you suddenly feel better about yourself?

Just know Doc is stitching up some patient while being proud of you for beating stupid thoughts

[goldenempyrean]

Sniffles on a Stakeout

〚 Day 21 - "But if you stay, you'll get sick too." 〛

〚 Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Maybe going on a stakeout while sick isn't the best idea 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙〘 Sicktember 2023 Masterlist 〙

As the rain poured relentlessly on the darkened street, you and Natasha sat in the inconspicuous black sedan, parked across from the abandoned warehouse. The mission was simple: observe and gather intel on a suspicious arms deal that was rumoured to go down tonight. However, things weren't going as smoothly as planned. The chilly night air seeped through the car's cracked windows, making the atmosphere even more unbearable as the rain rattled against the windshield. 

Natasha had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the entire stakeout, staring out the window without saying a word. Something was up with her. If you didn’t know better, it was almost as if she was functioning on autopilot. Normally she’d be reading over files or making use of her time in another way but today she was different. 

Thinking about it, she’d seemed off all day. You’d remembered seeing her spacing out frequent during your debriefing seemingly unable to concentrate. 

As you watched her from the corner of your eye, you noticed her shivering slightly despite the car's heating system running on full blast. The dim interior of the sedan made it difficult to see her clearly, but the subtle signs of discomfort were unmistakable. She sniffled softly, and then, without warning, she let out a series of suppressed sneezes. 

“Hhh’itshoo! ...Hh’tshu!” 

Oh. That’s why she seemed so spacey. “Bless you.” Your murmured quietly, trying to keep the concern out of your voice. You couldn’t miss the way jumped slightly at the sound of your voice, almost as if she hadn't realised you were there despite the pair of you sitting then than a few inches away. Natasha turned towards you, her face pale and tired, the dim light revealing dark circles under her eyes. She gave you a weak smile before casting her eyes back to the warehouse out front. 

“You alright there baby?” You asked calmly, keeping your gaze adverted, you knew if you asked outright, she’d get all defensive and grouchy - a grumpy Natasha was certainly not someone you wanted to deal with on a stakeout. 

She muttered something under her breath as she sank back against her seat, “I’m fine.” Her sentence was followed by a soft sniffle which had you looking over her, worry nestled behind in your gaze. She certainly didn’t look fine. 

Her eyelids were drooping, and her head kept nodding forward before she jerked it back upright. It was clear she was fighting a losing battle against exhaustion. Eventually she seemed to settle, and you couldn’t help but look over curiously to see her eyes closed as her head rested against her shoulder – an awful position that was bound to make her wake up stiff if she stayed like that.  

 You reached over and placed a hand on her forehead, shaking your head as you felt her shivering skin, "You're freezing Natasha," you sighed softly to yourself, “Poor girl, there’s a nice warm bubble bath in your future I reckon.” 

You must’ve been mumbling a little too loudly however as your girlfriend stirred beneath your touch, slowly bringing her hands up to her eyes and rubbing at them sleepily, “Mmh don’t want a bath.” 

The concern in your voice was undeniable as you gently stroked her hair, your hand still on her forehead. "You don't want a bath, huh? Well, how about a warm cup of tea when we get out of here, and then you can decide?" 

Natasha mumbled something unintelligible, her voice still groggy from drowsiness. Her defences were down in her half-asleep state, and she seemed more vulnerable than usual. 

"You've been pushing yourself too hard lately," you said softly, your thumb caressing her cheek. "We both know you’ve not been sleeping well. I don’t think staying here is going to do you any good. There's no use being here if you’re too out of it to stay alert. It's not safe baby.” 

She blinked blearily, her tired eyes struggling to focus on you. "But the intel... the arms deal..." 

"We've gathered what we can for now, we'll report back, and the team can analyse it.” You reached over and gently placed a hand on her upper thigh, squeezing it gently when she coughed into her elbow again, "We should’ve stayed home baby. This can’t have come on this fast. When did you feel this crap kicking in, hm?” You asked, as you turned on the engine and began pulling out of your parking spot. 

As you eased the car away from the abandoned warehouse, Natasha leaned back in her seat, her eyes still heavy with fatigue. She let out a long sigh, her voice raspy from the grasp of a sore throat. "I started feeling like this earlier today, but I thought I could tough it out. Guess I was wrong." 

You continued to drive, making your way towards home. "You're too stubborn, you know that?" you said with a gentle smile, “Bath and bed and snuggles for you when we get home.” 

“But if you stay then you’ll get sick too, I can sleep in the-” She began to object but you cut her off with a soft kiss. 

“Then so be it.” 

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[amyriadofleaves]

outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter four

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

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ao3 : wattpad  ˚　.˚　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, wriothesley, clorinde, sigewinne ⌗ warnings : a lot of blood?? ⌗ word count: 6.6k (a little longer this time teehee)

“I never knew entourages were your thing.”

You tilt your head. “How’d you know I had someone with me?” The image of the Chief Justice flashes through your mind for a moment.

Clorinde shrugs. “Some people from outside the Pankration Ring were babbling about seeing someone with the head of civil affairs. Were you always such a high reward person? Fame catch up with you yet?” She says this as she deepens her voice, posture straightened with her hands on her hips. Your eyes wander around the fortress, at the brass that graced every corner, seeing a few puddles pooling under a number of leaky pipes. 

Playfully nudging her arm, you snort at her jab. “You’re acting as if I’m some textbook rags-to-riches story. And no, fame has not caught up to me. I am no snob,” you tell her with a chastising look, but the attempt to steel yourself breaks when you feel your lips unwillingly quirking upwards into a smile, before you begin to shake trying to restrain your laugh.

It is not long before it infects Clorinde, too, and she falls victim to your foolish sense of humour. You lean on each other like two girls who’ve had too much to drink, afraid to let go lest one of you falls over; and you fail to notice the chiding looks of the people around you, but Clorinde shakes herself off before flicking your forehead causing you to stop your fit of laughter. 

“Gosh, remind me why I’m here again?”

“Oh I’ve seen you in your office, working away like a lifeless machine—” Clorinde feels at your arm. “What a pity. All that muscle is now reduced to flab.”

“Okay, ouch.”

Someone clears their throat from the other end of the room, and a manly voice sounds. “Hey. Clorinde. Get your friend over here so you can finally get to sparring.”

“Alright, alright,” Clorinde groans before dragging you by the arm to the ring; you stumble on the heel of your boot, stride broken by the unexpected force.

She chuckles at your clumsiness, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Come on, don't be such a klutz," she teases, her grip firm as she leads you towards the sparring ring. You shoot her a playful glare, feigning annoyance.

As you approach the ring, the shouts of brutes and the scrape from blade against blade pierces the air in a dissonant choir. Clorinde releases your arm as you stand at the very base of the stairs leading to the ring, and you square your shoulders — drawing in a long, sharp breath. Acutely aware of their eyes on you, you smirk. You are knowing how their eyes follow you — others, a bit more indifferent in the ‘affairs of the ‘overworld’’ so to speak. If you were any younger and naïve as you were,  you would’ve crumbled under their watchful eyes, but you know better than to have your weakness out for show, to be an open book. 

A man clad in a dark grey coat and haphazardly bound black bandages stands in the centre of the ring, eyeing your every move, and you see him smile to the duelist next to you. From description alone, you surmise that this is the Duke; and you take in how he is a lot more different in appearance than you last saw him: a little bulkier in frame, the pinch of boyish recklessness now discreetly tucked under the guise of responsibility.

A cheeky grin plays on his lips, before he gives you a bow. You return the courtesy with a light curtsy. It is a lie to say you aren’t a little intimidated, but you play it off by avoiding his eyes, afraid that he might see right through you and immediately think you an idiot. And you are not an idiot, you tell yourself over and over like a broken record.

“It is a pleasure to meet you again, Your Grace.” Your eyes stay trained on the floor before a chuckle breaks the silence.

Bewildered, you look up to face him and he waves a gloved hand in jest. “There is no need for such formalities. If anything, it should be me doing all of that. And plus, a friend of Clorinde is a friend of mine.” 

Clorinde sees right through his facade and dismisses it with a derisive ‘pfft’. “You certainly didn’t act like that when you first met me.”

“Oh come on my dear, dear Clorinde,” he places a hand on his chest in faux distress, a pout forming on his lips. “You know it isn’t like that.”

The duelist rolls her eyes before he puts his hands up in surrender and steps backwards.

The ring awaits, and you take a deep breath, ready for the impending spar. The crowd's anticipation adds to the pressure, but you push aside any lingering hesitation. Clorinde smirks, sensing your resolve, and steps into the ring beside you.

The announcer from the side announces the start with a rumble. “Let the sparring begin!”

The duelist bows her head, and you follow suit. Instinctively, you reach for the pellet gun at your hip as Clorinde does for her sword; it is an odd selection for a spar, and the crowd seems to raise a few eyebrows at this. Dejected as you are at the pellet gun resting in your fingers instead of your normal musket, you take this as an opportunity to give yourself more of an advantage with a slowing factor. A mere practice of skill, it was, really. 

Clorinde rushes in with a burst of speed, her blade flashing downward in an opening diagonal slash at your torso. You slip left of the weapon’s reach and step backwards, barely missing a cut by a finger’s breadth. You and Clorinde possess different skill sets: she requires a closing of distance whilst you have to create distance. 

A space separates the two of you and you slightly duck before firing a shot at her shoulder blade. The gun recoils against your arm and sends the bullet ricocheting against the wall and you stumble. Frustrated, you palm the holster of your gun and wriggle your hand to loosen your muscles. Can’t blame me for this, you think blindly, giving yourself a petty excuse for your blunder. Clorinde springs forward at the brief seconds of your imbalance and slashes at an angle. Rather than trying to escape backward or sideways, which you cannot do in time, you draw your gun as you drop to the ground on your back and you fire upwards. You cannot help but smile as the bullet hits her in the torso. 

She grimaces in stinging pain as the bullet falls to the floor. Rolling onto your stomach, you fire again from a crouch. From all the spinning, your vision swirls in a blur and your head is clouded. Without thinking, you stand and attempt to create more space, but realise you have unequivocally cornered yourself against the restraints of the arena. Before you can manoeuvre your way through the ring, the duelist comes in at full speed and you are given a mere few seconds to react. Clorinde slams her own blade into the path of your weapon with the intent of disarming you with so much force that you feel the impact reverberate through you like a shockwave. You fully expect the impending pain to come at any moment, but it never does. Instead, a resounding clash sounds from metal against ice echoes throughout the ring. You do not even realise the sword that comes to manifest through your fingers until you notice the gleam of light blue shielding you from the overhead lights.

A still silence fills the air as both of you widen your eyes in astonishment. Amazed gasps sound from the onlookers, and they are now eyeing you with more intent. You do not dwell on it for long before you bring your sword down at a speed, sending Clorinde staggering.

You cannot help but laugh. “And you called me a klutz.”

The look in her eyes almost shouts a flippant: 'I am totally fucking you over,' and it makes you instantly regret even speaking. 

Clorinde’s left hand seizes your hand, gripping hard. You let out a grunt of pain. With a light twist, she forces your makeshift weapon downward, and the numbing pain that grows in your wrist knocks the blade out of your arm, and you barely catch the glint of your own gun at the base of your feet. One final cry to win was you squirming in her grasp to reach it, but your fingers hover helplessly, unable to grab the grip of the gun. 

The next move you make is miscalculated, an oversight. You jab your elbow into her shoulder, overlooking the blade that she left hanging in the little space between the both of you. Adrenaline pumps through you like a vice, and you push further, forcing another blade of ice spiralling through your fingers, ignoring how you are completely stripped of your energy and the sudden humidity of the room. The crowd gasps, and for whatever reason, you do not pay it any mind — until you see Clorinde stopping too, stepping away.

Your eyes flicker haphazardly and notice that her eyes trail slowly to your abdomen, and you absentmindedly comply. At first you do not notice anything, but then the hand that had come to rest over your stomach comes away red, and you stumble in horror at the wetness flowing down your pants as if your intestines had given out. Your blouse blooms red too, clinging to your skin like a lifeline, and the forearm that clutched your stomach is now stained with blood, diluting further as it trails down the sword swirling with the condensate that rests on the ice.

Clorinde steps forward, but you hold out an arm to command her to stop. You can handle this, it is nothing you can’t bear. You take a few steps backwards, your free arm reaching for the rope that lines the ring.  Sweat beads on your forehead and suddenly everything is burning and your stomach is catching fire. Your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage and you greet the feeling like a friend; it is a familiar one, the same heart that beats whenever you are huddled in the corner of your room blocking out the shouts from the other end of the door along with other more unimportant things.

No. You can already vision how this would turn out for you. You cannot emerge from the depths of the sea injured and dead weight for the contract that stands. How will Neuvillette push through without you to serve as a catalyst? This was no one-man act, and this, you have come to terms with. 

With your blade still held and your resolve unchanged, you advance with a futile step. Might as well push forward now; it would be pathetic to surrender in a friendly match against your own best friend. 

Clorinde’s eyes flood with worry as you show no sign of yielding. “Name, stop. Let’s get you to the infirmary.” 

You are wordless as the pain festers to your upper chest and you feel as if you cannot breathe and all the air is knocked out of your lungs. People are going to think you’re weak, unable to defend yourself: a delicate worse-for-nothing figure. But I’m not weak, you want to scream at the world. If they think otherwise, so be it. The thought teeters precariously before ultimately shattering into the void of the unspoken.

The duelist looks over at Wriothesley pleadingly as she stabilises your weakened figure and eyes the audience with a sort of disdain. “I concede,” she says, before repeating: “I concede.” She also doesn’t fail to shield you from them, and you wish to thank her later for it. 

“Wriothesley, help me out here?” She manoeuvres herself so she can wrap your right arm around her neck and, expectantly, waits for Wriothesley to take your left.

“Yes ma'am.” 

Though you do not hear it, you see the silhouettes of many receding from around the ring in a blur. Black spots form in your vision and you barely catch Wriothesley taking your left arm over his neck before your consciousness lurches what it feels to be a sudden moment. A brief thought is pushed to the forefront of your mind before everything swarms black — and the question is as mundane as the person it concerns:

Just what exactly could the Chief Justice be doing right about now?

____

“Ah, my dear Neuvillette. Don’t you just love the taste of fame?”

Neuvillette’s eyes do not leave his paperwork and the last thing he wants right now is to be pestered by the lady in front of him. “Now’s not the time, Lady Furina.”

She steps forward, the thud of her heels growing increasingly louder in an act of taunt. “And when is the right time, Chief Justice? This is a breakthrough for your career, and you’re sitting around your office like a nobody when you’ve quite literally stolen the hearts of the whole populace.”

Neuvillette taps in rapid succession at a blank piece of paper, subconsciously counting the dots that spray from the quill in his hand. It is not everyday that the Chief Justice loses his temper. But today is not everyday and nor is it anything normal. He still feels your warmth against his ear, and he lightly ghosts his hand over it.

Furina snaps her fingers repeatedly. “Monsieur Neuvilletteee! Earth to you?”

He responds with a darkening glower. Looking away, he makes out the shape of her pout through his blurred peripheral vision, and hears her sulk. “I need to talk to you about preparations for the proposal! This is very important — go too long without one, and the people will think the two of you are simply an affair. Oh, I bet you don’t like the sound of that.”

“The proposal? We’ve barely gone a day with the approval of the contract, and you’re already pressing me for the proposal? Give her a rest, she is out with a good friend of hers. 

“Well obviously the proposal isn’t for today, I’m talking about preparations. You need to purchase a ring, she needs her hair done — perhaps a new dress tailored — I think the dress she wore yesterday was rather tattered and worn…” she tuts, finger on chin. “Oh! And I don’t think it would be much trouble to have the Melusines involved, would it?”

The silver-haired man sitting in his seat is being pulled from all his limbs like a puppet. He subconsciously notes all the things she had just listed, and his mind hiccups at the idea of purchasing a ring.

“Can’t it just be simple? Such exaggerations of a mere profession of romance shan’t be necessary.”

“But that is exactly the point! Don’t forget that I have my own duties to attend to in the dark, you are hot news. I saw how you two were this morning — everyone did!”

The flashing of cameras and the unwavering look on your face rushes through him like a deluge and his stomach pits. When he returned from his trip to the Fortress of Meropide, he had washed his face in a nearby restroom earlier and noticed the touch of lipstick on the very point of his ear. He found no point in removing it.

“So you want me to purchase a ring and propose to her in front of every breathing Fontainian, is that right?”

Lady Furina's smile widens a little too much and becomes a pain to look at. “Why yes, it is a statement of love and devotion, after all. Make sure what you pick makes her eyes pop. No woman wants a ring that dulls complexion.”

He does not care that it is him that has to oblige — but subjecting you to unwanted fame is beyond him.

Not wanting any further arguments, he caves. 

____

You are in and out of consciousness, but not so much that you cannot make out the panicked conversations the two are having in hushed voices. Funny enough, you're unsure if the fact that they can't find Sigewinne anywhere troubles you a little or if you're simply just drained and want to go to sleep.

“Can’t you walk any slower?” Wriothesley grunts.

Clorinde snaps back with a glare .“Can’t you realise we’re dealing with a gash that could tear open if you keep up this pace?” 

“Can’t you both,” your voice breaks off, and instead of continuing you droop your head before mumbling: “just shut up?”

The two people on either side of you are stunned into a chastising silence and if this were any different you feel that you would’ve laughed.

The man to your right clicks his tongue. “Oh, whoops. Forgot you were even awake.” He adjusts your arm a little too roughly and you let out a cry of pain as it doubles the sensation of your wound.

Clorinde smacks his arm and you slightly shift backwards at the lack of support. “What did I tell you? Okay — let's set this aside for now. We need her in the infirmary before her whole blouse gets drenched.” 

You don’t see or hear his response, and so you briefly imagine him having an indifference to this. Sure, it is everyday for him in the Fortress, but you do not know him very well, so he might have had a different reaction — perhaps a brief look at Clorinde almost begging her through his eyes for her to know what to do even though he, too, knows basic protocol? Plausible too.

“You’re going to need to take a deep breath for this.” The duelist’s voice is as monotone as ever, and as your lids flutter open you see that you are greeted with your archnemesis.

Stairs.

Not like they were anything too taxing; a mere five steps up and another few steps down and you’d be in the infirmary; but you instantly flinch back as they assist you with the first step, and you feel their arms grab for your back. You almost black out again the moment you glance at your abdomen but Clorinde promptly pushes your chin upwards so you don’t see the worst of it. 

“I don’t think I can make it up the stairs,” you say, defeated. You eye both of them carefully and they seem to almost weigh the possibilities and come to a solid conclusion (the word ‘solid’ is an overstatement).

“I mean we could bring the infirmary to her…”

Safe to say, Clorinde isn’t amused. “Wow, let's bring a whole bed out for everyone to see! Forgive me, but I won’t allow that for her. There are many problems on the surface as is, and I don’t think this paints a good image for her.”

As delirious as you are, you manage a nod in agreement and squeak out: “Whatever. Get me there.”

Wriothesley’s eyes are crazed as he looks at you with doubt.“W— you just said you couldn’t make it up the stairs.”

“...And that claim still stands. But what other choice do I have?” You say this through gritted teeth as the pain wells up in your side for the nth time this afternoon. The light peeking through the ceiling of the Fortress seems to dim and you take this as a sign that is just shy of dusk. 

Clorinde’s lips quirk into a small smile, and you miss it because you are unable to keep focus on anything except the blood you feel dripping into your slacks. “Alright. Just squeeze something every step you take. On the count of three:”

Wriothesley starts and they alternate. “Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

With a yelp, you grip firmly onto the man next to you and let out a sigh of relief when your feet touch another step of the staircase. 

“Next time, please grip me somewhere else.” You slowly eye where your hand lies and it is unfortunately somewhere not ideal. Oops.

“Not my fault you have a built-in stress ball,” you look at him and Clorinde and realise that you have four more to go. “OK. I think we can go at a faster pace.”

Clorinde’s hand leaves your wrist as she wipes her palm on the base of her shorts and finds your hand again. “Are you sure? You looked like you’ve walked ten miles and it’s been just a step up.”

You look forward and nod your head. “Affirmative.”

“Alright then.”

Wriothesely announces the count of three rather plainly and you grip somewhere else this time. You bite your lip harshly; you do not want to complain any more than you have and instead shut your eyes to steel yourself, but fuck, did it hurt more than the first time.

You thank the gods above that it did grow easier the more steps you took, and with having given Wriothesley more bruises than dignity you finally made it to the platform at the top.

“Tough part done,” you mumble, eyeing the corridor with contempt. Not as tough, you suppose, and push ahead, your arms still hanging limp by their shoulders. You can't help but notice your blood swirling in the pools that flowed from each end of the hall, but the metallic scent of the pipes overpowers the metallic of your own.

Your boots touch the ground with a heavy thump that echoes so loudly it feels like your head is whirling quicker and you can’t make out any object in front of you. 

“Smells like murder.” His attempt at lightening the mood does more harm than good, and through your lethargy you still furrow your brow. Clorinde berates him in a low voice and you don’t even attempt to say anything in response. It is awfully silent, and suddenly you wish he had continued speaking. You force your eyes wide open out of fear that you might not wake up the moment you close them, but you have to fight against your weighted eyelids, and it is, by a mile, a terrible battle.

Fatigue - 1, You - 0.

A light shines from your left and you let yourself breathe.

“We’re here. Just need to tough through another flight of stairs and you’ll be alright,” Clorinde comforts, lifting your right arm a little more after noticing that you were slightly being raised a little higher on your left because of the height difference between her and Wriothesley.

“Here goes,” you tell yourself. This is not the first time you’ve been in a situation like this. 

Just a bit of blood and you’re crying? You look just like your mother.

You do not particularly enjoy the feeling of descending the stairs, but at least it is better than ascending them, and faster too. No need for any counts to threes. 

You wring your arms out of their grips, and soundlessly stumble to the bed closest to you. Mindlessly, you slip into the slight depression of the mattress and the springs groan under a new added weight. 

Wriothesley frantically looks around and suddenly his head is in his hands. Clorinde seems to adopt the same wrinkles between her brows as the man beside her has, and they are both thrown in a panic. The duelist still appears calm and collected throughout, and you’re surprised that the ‘panic’ they are thrown into has been reduced to a civilised conversation on how to deal with you.

Unbuttoning your blouse reveals that it takes a lot of work to separate skin from material, and you feel something stir in the pit of your stomach, or lack thereof. Dried blood starts to flake from the chilly air and the skin lining the wound is swollen pink, puffy and tender to the touch. Turning away, you aren’t partial to someone like Wriothesley to seeing the other scars that are littered throughout your skin like a canvas, and you know it isn’t pretty. You do not like your idea on what you are to do next, nor do you think it’s ideal, but with nothing to show of Sigewinne, you have to take the risk.

“Clorinde. Pass me rubbing alcohol and a towel.”

Clorinde casts you a weary look. “Surely you’re not thinking to do what I think you’re gonna do —”

“Yes. It's exactly what you think. Now pass it to me.” You turn your head a little as your hands beckon her over, and she hesitates before reaching for what you asked for and passes it to you. You do not miss the long look she gives Wriothesley.

The items weigh like a burden on your hands, and you almost decide to hold out until Sigewinne arrives. Even though you know this is probably the worst choice you'll ever make, you choose to ignore the nagging voice and go forward with it because simply, you are impatient. And what good were you to the public if you were ugly and unkempt? You know that everyone and Lady Furina would find you ridiculous. Would the Chief Justice share the same opinion? Would he break his impartiality to think that of you? For a brief moment, the answer flickers to a yes, but you swallow it down like a pill. No. No, he wouldn’t.

“Shouldn’t be too bad.” Bracing for the sting, the anticipated pain hovers like a phantom before the fabric even grazes your skin, but before you can give yourself room to yield, you jab the cloth over the gash and almost scream at the sting. You keep your mouth sealed shut and only rapid pants escape your lips. The pain courses through your veins and suddenly every working limb is now subject to agony. You absolutely detest the feeling, and you were sure that you would never find yourself like this after your father…

Shaking your head, you distract yourself by observing how the blood seeps through the cloth with ease, and you begin to question just how much blood you’re losing and how your body hasn’t given out. But the answer to it is fairly simple. Or maybe it isn’t. 

Your composure is so frigid you think the Duke is beginning to grow a little uncomfortable with just standing there.

“You can look away.” Even though you didn't have much energy to begin with, you startle yourself by being able to talk coherently in spite of everything.Your mind is dumbfoundedly collected, almost as if trained; for this you know why, and you decide not to mope over the memory. It still does end up slipping through the cracks. 

The clean blade against skin. Your father’s nasty laugh as you let out a cry of defeat. The reopened wound triggers a cascade of memories, but you resolve to relegate it to the past: a mere memory. You know you will never see him again, the idea of closure long gone and ties severed. His name, once a burden, now fades into the recesses of your memory, and you find solace in no longer sharing it.

Wiping the blood around your wound, you robotically reach for a needle and thread next, and this time Wriothesley steps forward with his hand outstretched to finally say something. “Woah there. I think we’re gonna need Sigewinne for this one.”

Your arm retracts from the needle and you wave him off with a curt wave of your hand. “I got this under control, don’t you worry,” you declare, but the claim dies on your lips when you feel your eyes drooping and your limbs going slack and the two are thrown into another dispute. 

“We need Sigewinne!”

“She should be coming in about,” the Duke checks his watch. “Five minutes.” He steals you a glance and continues: “Hang in there.”

Clorinde tears her gaze off yours and her brows knit again. “Well what if she doesn’t ‘hang in there’?” Her voice is thrown into a hush, but you can still hear it, and she knows you hear every word leaving her lips.

You use this time to silently teeter to the open cupboard of needles and thread. Surprisingly enough, you look back and find them in their own world. Perfect! You take a generous amount of thread along with a few needles with different gauges and slyly return to your place at the foot of the nursing bed. You dab antiseptic on the tender flesh of your gash. The sting is something you never get used to, and a low groan leaves your lips, and your head tips over.

Clorinde whirls lazily on her heel and points a finger at you. “You. Stop playing a fool. Your wound will get infected if you keep going at this rate. And don’t think I can’t see what you’re trying to do when I’m not looking,” the duelist reprimands, and you can’t help but admit defeat. Hah! She thought.

“Yeah, OK. Shut up and come over here for a second.” You do not face her, but hear her slow strides from behind.

“What is it?”

“Come closer.” you place the needle under her fingers, and flick her forehead. A zap courses from her fingers.

“Ow?”

Her complaints morph into incoherence as you study the needle and find that it is warm to the touch and slightly blackened at its point. 

“Thank you!”

Feeling at your abdomen, you conclude that it is numb enough to begin stitching. The sanitisation is a mere precaution, because as much as you trust everyone in this room and the nurse that isn’t present, you cannot trust whatever might be in the Fortress’ air.  It takes a few attempts before you successfully guide the thread through. 

And before Clorinde can stop you, it is far too late. The needle pierces skin, and you squint your eyes at the discomfort. If you could manage one, you could manage seven more. You are nowhere adept nor do you have a steady hand, but you are quite proud of the deep cuts you’ve stitched up in the past; they still did their job.

The Duke’s complexion is nothing short of sickly as his hand flies to his mouth. “I can’t— I can't watch this.”

“You just don’t listen, do you?”

You smile wearily. “Well, Clorinde, that is my expertise.”

Just before your fingers swoop down for another stitch, a certain Melusine skips down the steps and pauses at the sight.

“Oh? What do we have here?”

Wriothesley scratches the back of his neck before cracking a smile that seems to say: ‘caught us!’. “Ah, Sigewinne! We were just looking for you. Now if you could tend to this high demand patient we have it would be greatly appreciated.” He points over his shoulder without turning his head, and yet the shaky undertone in his demeanour is unmistakable.

You give him a look even though his back is towards you.

Sigewinne nods her head. “Alright then. Let’s take a look…” if she’s surprised, her face betrays nothing. She waddles to the other side of the room and reaches for a new, cleaner towel; and you realise how comical a sight this is — with both the Champion Duelist and the Duke following her every move in silence as you sit stiffly on a worn mattress. She returns and studies the needle in your hand and holds her own paw-like hand out. Placing it in her hand, she dips the towel into a bowl of warm water and cleans the area properly this time.

“Take a deep breath in for me please.” you do not know why you silently follow her orders. “And out.”

That was your que to prepare for the second stitch. Not bad; it did feel less haphazard than your own. Sigewinne’s eyes do not leave your wound as she pops a question: “Will you need your entourage to escort you to the Overworld?”

Suddenly all your worries are gone and are now replaced with a new one. “My entourage? Oh, no, that wouldn’t be necessary.” The needle comes up from under your skin and her paws move downwards.

“Are you sure? I can contact him if you like.”

You playfully look to the side. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Sigewinne unfortunately does not take the hint and questions your dismissal of your dealing with him. “But you were just with Monsieur Neuvillette just now, I don’t see why it would slip your mind. Unless you’re suffering from short term memory loss, that is.” Your eyes widen at the mention and you motion your hand to to your neck to stop her before she goes off on a tangent.

The pair standing on the other corner both seem to share the same concerns. Wriothesley quirks a brow. “Monsieur Neuvillette? Surely you haven’t made yourself fancy for the Chief Justice.”

“No, he is not my suitor; just a mere colleague of mine. Our relationship is strictly professional — that is all.”

The Duke smiles. “Yeah. Sure. That’s how it always starts. Workplace romance is a classic.”

Clorinde tilts her head. “What has gotten into you? Always blabbering about romance this and romance that.”

“You, Miss Clorinde, should be aware that I have always been hopeless for things like this. I am not as stoic as you or the Chief Justice of Fontaine.”

“I am well aware. I just choose not to acknowledge it — oh and…” she breaks off mid-conversation, leaving Wriothesley sulking like a defeated dog. “How has Monsieur Neuvillette been? I’ve heard that he’s been involved in some ‘scandal’, but I’ve been too busy resolving business. I haven't an idea what it’s about.”

Dread fills your gut as you come to another decision you have to make today. Either you tell her the truth or skirt over some details so she doesn’t tie any link back to you. “As it turns out I haven’t really been well-versed in the melodrama of the people, but from word of mouth,” your hand cups one side of your face as you whisper, “he has entangled himself with a commoner.”

Wriothesley and Clorinde both shout a distressed “What?” in unison.

“I surmise he hasn’t taken any of it into account,” the duelist guesses, shooting a blind shot in the dark.

Your lips curve into a leer. “He’s doing what he always does. His job.”

___

"M-monsieur Neuvillette! What brings you here?”

“Good afternoon. What rings do you suggest would suit...”

The jeweller, filled with the delicate hum of conversation and soft hushes of conversation, momentarily hushes in anticipation. Neuvillette, however, maintains a calm demeanour, allowing the flustered individual to collect himself.

The person takes a moment, clears their throat, and continues, “... suit your refined taste? We have an exquisite collection of vintage pieces or, if you prefer, more contemporary designs. Perhaps something that resonates with the essence of your intended occasion?” He glances nervously at Neuvillette, awaiting his response with bated breath.

“A simple engagement ring would be right up my alley. Your guidance…” He quickly searches for the name etched into his nametag and spots a ‘GATTINEO’ on his person “Monsieur Gattineo,, in finding the perfect ring, would be much appreciated,” Neuvillette states, and he smiles stiffly, unable to tell if he’s just scared the worker senseless or struck the first normal human conversation he’s had in weeks.

The person behind the counter nods profusely and points his arm to the left. “R— Right this way, monsieur.” 

Neuvillette gazes at the employee intently, studying the way his hands slips at the knob that seals the rings from under the glass display and slowly retrieves them, pushing the array of wedding bands toward the Chief Justice as if a single sound might shatter the fabric of time. 

The Iudex takes pity and reassures him that he ‘need not be so tense’, but whether the employee buys the claim is a story he does not remain privy to. Gloved hands pick a ring from the second row from the array and he holds it in the light, checking the glimmer of the diamond that sits snug under the hooks of white gold. Too dull, he notes, already picturing it against your ring finger. He thinks that you do not deserve such a ring of commonplace, and he politely places it back into its respectful place on the display.

He reaches for another, acutely aware of the growing pairs of eyes that are burning into his back. Another ring is victim to the light and he needs little inspection to know that this wouldn’t flatter you in the slightest. Scrunching his nose, he turns to look at other options. 

None seem to suit his taste.

Neuvillette stands stationary for a moment before noticing a glint to his right. It is a ring that appears lacklustre at first glance, but when he looks at it for longer, he realises that the ring is not as uninteresting as it initially seemed.

He points at it through the glass. “Would you mind if I take a look at that one?”

“Why, sure. It is a latest addition, monsieur, and is very much flattering on any bride.” The Chief Justice, who is ever impartial to opinions, disagrees. He does not think it is flattering on just any bride.

Its centrepiece is a gorgeous sapphire, and his mind immediately shifts to the casual blue undertones of the clothes you wear. It would certainly complement her eyes, he thinks, picturing the glimmer of blue on your skin. It would make your complexion ‘pop’, as Lady Furina had said. It is nowhere near extravagant, but keeping it simple is to make a statement. 

He pinches the ring in between the pad of his thumb and index finger. “I would like to purchase this — does it come with a box?”

The worker is stunned, eyes practically popping out of his skull. “Y—Yes! It surely does. That would be one hundred thou—”

“Please, put it on my tab.”

Now the worker is really ogling at him. He hasn’t even heard the full price! He figures up how much he will get for this commission, and it will buy him a luxurious lifestyle for several months. Heavens above, he really was lucky today. 

“I can do that for you. Just give me a moment to get the box from the back.” The man scutters away, and the conversations around Neuvillette are now brought into vivid technicolour.

“Is it for the woman in the tabloids? I heard she’s the newly employed head of civil affairs.”

“She really has done everything under the sun.”

The Chief Justice’s ears perk at the phrase in response. “You can’t trust everything you see in the media. Looks to me that she’s only in it for the money.”

“You are right… Perhaps it is a calculated move to push her way through the ranks! What a sly, sly woman she is.”

Are they seriously speaking about you around the very man that dictates the verdict of whom is guilty? That kind of daring makes Neuvillette's eyes narrow. He does not wish to entertain their idle gossip, but he also can't watch while his future wife is being disparaged in such a manner. To him, your resilience is remarkable. That, is one aspect of your character that he truly admires. But one thing rings true: fame comes with a price.

Neuvillette’s jaw ticks, and his warm, serene mien freezes over, his glare a piercing chill. He composes himself, and turns on his heel with a rigid calm. The words that leave his lips send the people’s blood running cold.

“If you are to speak ill of the woman I am to propose to — and that is certain — I hope you see to it that the repercussions are to be nothing but shy of being remarkably uncomfortable. ”

a/n: this one kinda strayed off my outline if im gonna b honest but like are we really complaining cuz PROTECTIVE NEUVILLETTEE OGME

taglist : @sek0ya, @souxiesun

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

@phoebepheebsphibs SURPRISE ATTACK!!

You know I had to do it when I read the prompt.

@tmnt-write-fight

Fandom: ROTTMNT (Until I Found You AU and No Fun in Fungus AU crossover)

Prompt: “Okay, look-I’ll give you whatever you want, just d-don’t hurt him!”

Word Count: 764

TW: In the tags

“Okay, look-I’ll give you whatever you want, just d-don’t hurt him!” Leon begs, pleads.

He can’t believe this happened again. For the second time, these spores have taken over and threatened his brother.

Audreytello peers down at him with a wide smile, eyes glowing maliciously.

“What could you give me that I would want?”

“You can feed off me! I-I’m the one with the fears, I’m the one who thinks I’m not good enough! I’m the one who knows I don’t deserve my family!”

Mikey whimpers and whines against the vine wrapped around his mouth, moving his arms and legs too in an act of defiance.

Leon knows he’s desperately trying to tell him it’s not true, he does deserve his family, and probably a lot more just in those little sounds.

That he should have more faith in himself, that it doesn’t matter what he’s been told, what he believes so wholeheartedly, that he is a good brother.

How good can he be after everything he’s done to him?

Everything he hasn’t protected him from?

Everything he’s robbed him of just by existing?

“Why would I want to feed from you instead of him? You’re too pathetic for me to even do that.”

Leon tenses, gripping his arm.

All he has is what he can offer people, how useful he can be, and it’s never been a lot. Whatever he can do is used up and then he’s tossed off to the side.

Forgotten.

By everyone but Mikey.

That’s why he has to do this.

He has to save him.

“Well…..I suppose there is one thing I might need you for.” Audreytello muses.

Leon perks up.

He hates that it gives him even a slim glimmer of hope.

“A-Anything. Please.”

Audreytello’s eyes flash something dangerous.

“I need you in order for him to break.”

“What-!?” Leon gets cut off as he’s picked up and slammed into the ground.

Mikey’s muffled screams are as loud as they can be.

“You’ve always been his weakness. You hate yourself so much you can never see how much he loves you. The depths he would go, and has gone for you. You get scared and you run, you leave him behind because you think that’s the only way he’ll be happy. Instead, you hurt one of the only people who cares about someone so truly insignificant. You hurt him in the biggest way possible. You left him alone, Leon. You always leave him alone. That’s when I come in.” Audreytello smirks.

Leon’s tears drip onto the floor, quickly creating a puddle.

“Mikey! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I-I love you! You’re the best little brother anyone could ask for! I shouldn’t have left you! I shouldn’t have run! I was just scared! I’m always scared! I’m not brave like you! Y-You’re so so brave! Don’t let him use me against you!”

Mikey’s tears are falling too, pouring.

Audreytello lifts Leon up again before repeating the process. With every hit, Mikey becomes more violent in trying to get free. As blood mixes with the tears on the floor, he loses it.

A bright glow explodes around him. The vines are incinerated by mystic fire and chains shoot out to grab Leon.

Audreytello moves the already injured boy around roughly as he also tries to dodge Mikey’s hits as long as he can.

Leon can only watch in horror as Mikey uses more and more of his power to try to save him. The cracks appearing on his hands feel like they’re on Leon’s heart too.

He’s only finally freed when Mikey’s power finally overwhelms Audreytello and makes him too weak to continue.

The power overwhelms Mikey’s body too.

Leon screams as he reaches out to his brother, barely able to do so from his injuries.

Mikey smiles softly at him before he cracks apart, gold overtaking Leon’s vision.

He wakes up with a start, breathing heavily, tears already on his face.

Mikey rubs his eyes, sitting up next to him.

“Leon….? Did you have a nightmare?”

Leon sniffles, checking his brother for the cracks he saw in his dream. He only calms down once he sees they’re not there.

Then, the memory disappears.

“Y-Yeah….”

“Another dream you can’t remember….?”

He tearfully nods.

Mikey hugs him close, smiling up at him softly. He knows seeing him happy always cheers him up at least a little.

“It’s okay. Whatever happened, everything will be okay! I’m here. We have each other.”

Leon gladly hugs him back.

“I won’t go anywhere ever again….no matter what.”

Well….let’s put that to the test, shall we?

[elcpsstuff]

The Summer I Remembered You (C.F) (Part 2)

Summary: the first bonfire of the summer doesn’t go as planned when Belly and Yn decide to crash it.

—

Last Summer

“Why can’t we go to the bonfire?” Me and Belly were sandwiched between Susannah, Laurel, and my mother.

“You guys are only fourteen, maybe next year.” My mom ruffled my hair and I huffed.

Belly rolled her eyes, obviously sharing the same annoyance as me. “It’s not fair. Me and Yn sit around doing literally nothing all day.”

“That’s not true.” Laurel piped in, “You hang out with us, and we’re the best company.”

“And to be clear,” I looked at my mom pointedly, “I turn fifteen in like, two days.”

“And and I turned fifteen a couple of weeks ago!”

“who’s up for 10 things I hate about you?” My mother says, knowing how to sidetrack me, and that movie is my weakness.

I signed, leaning back and I could tell Belly had given up too. “I hate that you know me.” I murmured as my mom turned the movie on.

She kissed my forehead, “You secretly love it.”

—

Present Day:

“Are you seriously gonna let my mom rope you into the deb ball?” A voice says from behind me. I fell out of my trance and turned around to see Conrad sitting down next to me, dipping his ankles in the pool.

I shrug, “I don’t know.” But I did know, I didn’t wanna do it. It was my mom’s dream and I might have been motivated to do it if she was here, but she’s obviously not.

“You don’t have to do it, my mom will understand.” He pulls out a joint and I almost gag. He was so different, Belly was right about that.

“I can do what I want.” I say, the words going like knives to his chest.

“Yn, you forget that I know you. Don’t do this because you feel obliged to make my mom happy and yours. I know—”

“Fuck you, Conrad.” I almost spit on him while saying this. His face dropped a little and he reached out for my wrist before I could leave.

“I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

I scoff, “Well you are.”

“The deb ball is a fucking joke, Yn. Don’t do it. I’m just trying to save you the pain, okay?”

I couldn’t believe him. Acting like he knows me, he knows nothing about me. Not anymore.

“Stop acting like you know me, Conrad. You don’t fucking know me at all.” I say and yank my hand away from him. But he did know me, he knew my heart and soul inside and out.

—

Sometimes I felt like I was more Susannah’s daughter than Laurels. Like Laurel thought I was some sort of curse to her family. John didn’t think so though.

The light poured through my window, and I knew with that I needed to get up. I could hear noises from downstairs, and I checked my phone to see it was already nearing 11. What the fuck? I never slept that late.

I put my hair in a low ponytail, lose strands falling into the front. I put on a cousins shirt because walking down in a tank top wouldn’t end well, and it matched my plaid shorts anyways.

I made my way down the stairs to see Conrad on the couch and Belly sitting at the island beside Laurel.

Belly smirks, “You slept in, dreaming about someone?”

I laugh, “Yeah, yeah.” but I was distressed, I mean after the talk with Conrad last night which won’t leave my mind.

Ugh.

I sat next to Belly and my body felt like it was being lifted to heaven when I saw the box of muffins in front of me. I grabbed the blueberry one, securing it as mine.

“Jeremiah made sure to save that one for you.” I felt my heart swell. He does that for everyone. Stop it.

“I can’t believe it! My girl Is going to be a debutante!” Susannah says, running into the room and grabbing everyone’s attention. Conrad is now fully standing and i’m just as curious as he is.

“What? Belly your doing it?” I looked towards Belly who could only mouth me a “sorry” before going to hug Susannah.

I knew where this was going, and I attempted to get up but Susannah grabbed my arm.

“Y/N, please. It will be better this time.”

I could feel Conrad’s eyes on me. Almost begging me not to do it. Then, I looked at Belly. Her face was full of life, and how could I disappoint her? I wish I could look at the world like Belly does. To her, nothing is impossible. She was the sun that shined on this house, and I just felt like the rain that drowned everything out.

“I- I mean—” I stumbled on my words, before looking at Belly.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” I could see Conrad’s eyes widen at my answer.

“Yay!” Susannah squeals while writing my name down on the card. “Now we just have to find you two dates, but we have plenty of time!”

Maybe I shouldn’t have signed up for this.

—

I sat in my room, looking at my closet with no thoughts. The first bonfire of the season is always the best. I was hoping it was this year. Last year was the first year I went and opted out of me and Belly’s tradition with Susannah and Laurel. I remember the look on Belly’s face when I fled.

June, Last Summer.

Laurel was nervous because the boys always went to the Bonfire, but this was the first year I was going. She felt safe though because Conrad was going, always the protector.

“Are you excited?” Conrad said to me. I smiled at him as we walked ahead of Jeremiah and Steven to his car.

“I’m happy i’m not sitting at home and doing nothing.” Conrad smiles at me and shoves my shoulder a little.

“Yo! I’m driving!” Jeremiah says while rushing to the drivers seat. I couldn’t help but blush at his demand. I think it was obvious because Conrad was staring at me.

Jeremiah turned to me and smirked, “Shotgun?”

“Always.” I say before Conrad can object. He slowly gets in the back seat.

“Poor Belly.” I said, not realizing my thoughts were being spoken aloud.

“Don’t feel bad for her, she’s still a baby in my eyes.” Steven blurts out and a laugh comes from Jeremiah’s face.

“Seriously, Y/N, you’ll have the best time.” Jeremiah puts a hand around my shoulder and redness succumbed to my face.

“Just don’t fuck anyone.” Steven starts rambling on how i’m too young and Conrad was laughing in the back.

That night, I had never felt so young. I mean, I was almost 16 but still 15. That didn’t stop me from attempting to flirt. I thought about running back to the house and begging to be forgiven and watch movies with the girls.

I grabbed a shot and chugged it down. I had dranken before, but Steven said he wouldn’t cover for me until this fall, going into Junior year. I could never drink too much. Now, I could do whatever. I could get fucking drunk.

I saw Jeremiah getting cozy with a group of girls and I felt my heart jump. He was always so mixed. He would almost kiss me one day but then act like nothing happened. Even though I never told Conrad, because that’s awkward, he always knew what was on my mind.

He caught wind of me and walked over to me, making me feel kinda happy.

“Hey! How you doing?”

I looked around to realize he probably came over to make me look normal. Nobody was talking to me. I was a loner.

“Better now.”

He smiled and put an arm around me. “How many of those have you had?”

I smirked, “mmm, I can handle it Fisher.”

“I know you can.”

For a split second I swore he was about to kiss me, like the sun and the moon were finally merging to make an eclipse. Everything would be worth it.

“I’ll see you around, Y/N.” He let’s go of me and then rushes back to the group of girls that had been calling him. What the fuck.

I grabbed the nearest drink and downed it. Suddenly I really missed Conrad.

Present Day:

“Y/N! Come on!” I heard Belly scream from downstairs. This was her first year at the bonfire, and i didn’t wanna ruin it for her. I wore a pretty blue tube top with white jean shorts.

Once I got downstairs, I was brought to se Steven and Belly yelling. Once she saw me, her eyes lit up, like I was her savior.

“Y/N! Tell Steven how I should go to the bonfire?”

“Steven, she’s 15. It’s not a big deal.” Why was Steven overreacting?

“You were more mature than Belly was. Besides, mom won’t even let you.” This wasn’t true, all belly had to do was ask.

Laurel and Susannah come running into the room, with a bunch of snacks. “Who’s ready for movie night?”

Belly sighs, knowing she’s lost this fight. I pat her on the back, “sorry bells, if you need anything text me.” She sticks her tongue out at me and smiles.

—

The bonfire was packed, way more than I remembered last year. Maybe it was just my bad memory. Jeremiah disbursed into the crowd of people who already knew him. Typical Jeremiah. I lost track of Conrad and Steven was talking to some chick.

I walked around, trying to gauge someone I knew. I felt so stupid, out of place. I was shy, but I knew these people. Why did I feel this way?

After tons of walking around, I decided I needed a drink, or two or three. However many my heart wanted.

I chugged the first two drinks down easily, already trying to feel the buzz.

“Don’t choke.” I furrowed my eyebrows and turned around to see a guy. He was hot. Brown, fluffy, blue eyes from what I could see.

“I know what I’m doing.” I say, with a playful tone.

“I just would hate to see a girl like you choke.”

“What’s your name?”

“Josh. You?”

“Y/N.”

He smirks which made me blush a little bit. He was no Jeremiah, or Conrad for that fact but he was something.

“Well, Y/N. Would you like another drink?” I giggled a little and took the cup from his hands, drinking whatever was in his cup. It was strong, stronger.

We talked about a lot of things. He played football, I played volleyball. It kinda just went on from there. I couldn’t help but hear voices that were too familiar to me not to turn around. It was Belly.

“I’ll be right back.” I say, before giving him one last smile and making my way over to Belly.

“Bellsssssss!” I say, slurring my words. I hadn’t moved much, and the drinks were finally starting to get to me.

“Hey, are you.. drunk?” She says.

“No! What are you doing here?” She smiles shyly. I didn’t even have to hear her answer to know she snuck out. Something else had caught my attention.

Conrad. Making out with a girl. I knew her. I knew her all too well. I felt his eyes linger to mine, as well as the girls.

“Y/N? Is that you?” She says and I’m forced to show her a smile. She gets up from Conrad and hugs me. I could feel his eyes, burning into mine as if the sun was right next to me.

“Hey, Nicole.”

“I saw Susannah pick up two sheets for the ball, are you gonna debb this year?”

I felt my body heat up and I knew Conrad noticed it too.

“Susannah wants me to try again, but—”

“You totally should! Paige is still kinda mad about last year, you can make it up to her.” I cringed at her words.

“Yeah i’ll think about it, I— i didn’t know you and Conrad?” I make a gesture between her and Conrad.

“It’s none of your business.” Conrad says, only making my anger burn so much more. Nicole rolls her eyes and sits back down next to Conrad, “Don’t be mean.”

I walked away before any of them could say something else. This night was a shit show. I looked around for the guy Josh but everything was just blurry. I grabbed the nearest drink and downed that as well. I didn’t want to feel. Not anymore.

“COPS!”

Shit. I couldn’t really see much but I heard people screaming and saw blue and red lights. I felt a hand tug on mine and looked at them, seeing their beautiful blue eyes. It was Jeremiah.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

I followed his lead, not letting go of his hand. If only he had grabbed it just because, not because the stupid cops came. Then my night would be fine.

—

I was stuck in a car with Conrad. Belly and Steven were no where to be found and Jeremiah left to go find them. The air was thick. I felt like I was climbing Mount Everest.

“How much did you drink tonight?” I hear him say. His words shoot like lasers through my ears for reasons I’ll never know.

“It’s none of your business.” I mock him.

“You shouldn’t drink that much.” I hated him. How could he say that when he’s drunk?

“Your drunk, Conrad. Don’t tell me what to do.”

He didn’t say anything else.

There was a knock on the door and we both turned to see a police officer, and I knew we were fucked.

“You kids been drinking?”

—

wooohooo!! end of chapter 2!! These Chapters might be a little slow because in order to get to the main plot I gotta give some background lol. Enjoy!!

tag list: @callsignwidow @kkrenae