#how terrifying it is to lose even the certainty of knowing what you’re hearing and seeing is real

[pastryfication]

Maybe pre wedding jitters with Nicole? She kind of steps in as your own mom for the day and reassures you that you're right for Oscar?

pre wedding jitters

pairing: oscar piastri x reader note: thank you so much for requesting this!! nicole would absolutely be the best mother in law

the soft morning light spills through the delicate curtains of the bridal suite, casting a warm glow over the room. you stand in front of the mirror, taking in your reflection in the dress you spent months dreaming about. the lace hugs your figure perfectly, the silk skirt flowing around you just as it’s supposed to. it’s everything you wanted, yet as you stand there, it all feels so overwhelming. today, you’re marrying oscar piastri—the man who’s been your best friend, your rock, and your biggest supporter for the last years.

but as the moments tick by, nerves begin to creep in. your heart races, your hands feel clammy, and suddenly, the reality of it all starts to weigh on you. you stare at your reflection, fidgeting with the delicate necklace oscar gave you on your last anniversary, feeling a wave of doubt you can’t quite shake.

the door creaks open softly, and you expect to see your mom or one of your bridesmaids, but instead, it’s nicole, oscar’s mom. she steps inside quietly, her face lighting up the moment she sees you. she’s always been more than just oscar’s mom to you—she’s been someone you’ve looked up to, someone who welcomed you into the family with open arms from the very start.

she immediately picks up on your nerves, noticing the way you’re wringing your hands and staring at yourself with uncertainty. she crosses the room, her steps quick and purposeful, and places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “hey, you look absolutely stunning,” she says softly, her voice full of warmth. “oscar is going to lose his mind when he sees you.”

you smile, but it’s wobbly, and you can feel the tears threatening to spill. “thank you, nicole. i’m just... i don’t know why i’m so nervous. i’ve been waiting for this day for so long, and now that it’s here, i’m suddenly terrified.”

nicole guides you to the chair by the window, sitting down beside you and holding your hand tightly in hers. “sweetheart, it’s completely normal to feel like this. this is a huge moment, and it’s okay to have a little freak-out.”

you nod, looking down at your lap. “i just keep thinking... what if i’m not enough? what if something goes wrong today, or what if—” you pause, the words getting stuck in your throat. “i love him so much. i just want everything to be perfect for him.”

nicole’s expression softens, and she squeezes your hand, her grip both comforting and strong. “you are more than enough. oscar has loved you since the moment he met you. i’ve never seen him light up the way he does when you’re around. you bring out this side of him that’s so pure, so full of joy. he’s happier, calmer, and more himself with you than i’ve ever seen him.”

she looks at you with a fond smile, her eyes brimming with affection. “i remember him calling me after your first date—he couldn’t stop talking about you. he’d found this person who got him, who made him laugh, who understood him in a way no one else ever had. and it wasn’t just how much fun you had together, it was how deeply he respected you, how much he admired the way you saw the world. he told me then, ‘mum, she’s the one,’ and he meant it with every part of his heart.”

tears slip down your cheeks as you listen, overwhelmed by the love nicole’s words carry. you always knew oscar loved you, but hearing it like this, from his mother, makes it feel even more real.

“and it’s not just that he loves you,” nicole continues, her voice full of certainty. “he’s proud of you. every time you accomplish something, he’s right there cheering you on, bragging to anyone who will listen. when you’re sad, he’s the first to comfort you. when you’re happy, his whole world lights up. he would do anything for you, and you would do the same for him. i don’t think he’s ever been surer of anything in his life than wanting to spend it with you.”

you take a shaky breath, feeling the warmth of nicole’s words seep into your heart. “i just . . . i can’t believe i get to have this. i can’t believe i get to have him.”

nicole smiles, brushing a tear from your cheek. “believe it, because he feels the same way. you’re his world. and today, when he sees you walking down that aisle, he’s going to be reminded of every reason why he fell in love with you. you make each other better, and everyone can see it.”

you laugh softly, a mixture of nerves and overwhelming happiness. “i feel like the luckiest person in the world.”

nicole pulls you into a hug, holding you tightly. “you two are so right for each other, and i’m so glad you found each other. this is just the start of a beautiful life together.”

as you pull away, nicole gives you a reassuring smile. “oscar is the luckiest man, and he knows it. he’s never loved anyone the way he loves you, and he never will. you’re his person.”

and as you look at yourself in the mirror one last time, the nerves are still there, but they’re quieter now, overshadowed by the joy of knowing you’re marrying a man who loves you more deeply than you ever thought possible. today is the day you get to say ‘i do’ to your best friend, and as you walk out of the room, you know you’re walking toward the greatest adventure of your life—with oscar by your side, forever and ever and always.

[imogenkol]

— WIP WHENEVER

tagged by @cassietrn and @socially-awkward-skeleton thank you lovelies! 💕

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @adelaidedrubman @florbelles @marivenah @simonxriley @shegetsburned @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @inafieldofdaisies @statichvm @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @jackiesarch @gwynbleidd @shellibisshe @loriane-elmuerto @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut

My brain has been mostly fried the past couple weeks, but I managed to play Phantom Liberty and really enjoyed it so Vaune is getting more attention from me finally (major spoilers for the DLC!)

The shadows casted from the low light of the monitor in the back of the van only accentuated how gaunt So Mi’s features had become as she slumped wearily against the front seat. She looked ghoulish — like just another ghost that took up space in Vaune’s already crowded head. She swallowed a lump in her throat, gripped by mounting fear that the netrunner wouldn’t make it down the block, much less all the way to the spaceport and into a shuttle. The merc quickly ran through all of her options when So Mi shuddered. 

“V?” 

Vaune placed a steady hand on her knee. “Yeah?”

“I don’t wanna die,” she whimpered with a fear so deep it sounded more akin to sorrow. Even with the booster, So Mi started to fade. Her next plea came out slow and slurred. “Can’t help but regret… I just… Help me.” 

At the back of Vaune’s mind, she had the thought that those words may just be the most genuine ones So Mi has said to her thus far.

And then it clicked. 

One and only one, So Mi had said.

Vaune didn’t know exactly how yet, but she suddenly became struck with the certainty that there was no cure. Not for her, at least. After Reed’s warnings, So Mi’s insistence, the desperation of someone who had nothing left to lose at death’s door, it became crystal clear in Vaune’s mind. 

She had been played by them all in one way or another. Myers, Reed, now So Mi. She had to be Night City’s biggest fucking fool. What a goddamn mess. 

“Fuck, V,” Johnny’s voice echoed in her mind as he flickered into existence in the passenger seat. Vaune didn’t need to see his expression to know how conflicted he felt about the situation — she was at a loss, herself. “What are you gonna do?”

The merc couldn’t say she felt surprised. A huge part of her had been waiting for the other shoe to drop this entire time. Dead end after dead end after dead end. Why would this be any different? She should be angry with So Mi. She should call Reed and end this whole thing right here and now. 

But Vaune looked at this terrified young woman who had lost everything, dying in the back of a van from corrupted tech, and saw nothing but a mirror. Vaune couldn’t bring herself to hate her. And she certainly couldn’t bring herself to completely abandon her, not this late in the game. Vaune had been hired to do a job. She was going to follow through. 

Someone should get to live. 

She reached out, gently took So Mi’s face in her hands and told her what she desperately longs to hear herself from the lips of someone who actually means it. “You’re not gonna die.”

So Mi weakly leaned into her touch, but her features twisted in more hopeless agony. “You’re a good person, V,” she said with obvious regret. 

Vaune gritted her teeth as her face fell. All of the people she’s unintentionally gotten killed or hurt would probably beg to differ. In all likelihood, it’ll end the exact same for So Mi, too. It always seemed to go that way whenever she tried to do the right thing. 

“Hang tight,” Vaune said, giving her shoulder an encouraging pat. She pulled away and climbed into the driver’s seat, ignoring the apparition’s hard stare beside her. “I’m gonna get you where you need to go.”

[mythvoiced]

-. Hades brainrot, have a few disconnected thoughts:

fighting Lernie is so MUCH FUCKING FUN oh god i can’t get enough of that fight IT’S MY FAVOURITE

he only recently dubbed her Lernie for me but what the fKIG ‘Lernie Vanquished’ THIS GAME

i underestimated the lambert plume at first but by god the way it makes me lOSE MY MINd you get to a certain point Zagreus becomes so fast (if you get a few Hermes boons while you’re at it, EVEN FASTER) that i sorta start cackling maniacally at my screen

next god i’m forging a bond with is Ares because that guy’s doom curse saved my ass so often and also i love how this rendition of him makes him so ELEGANT~

Asterius gib me that AUTOGRAPH, Zagreus WHY WON’T YOU ASK HIM

one of these days i’m gonna figure out how to fuck up Theseus before Asterius bc i wanna hear the dialogue that would produce

when Hermes asked me if i wanted him to shut up for a moment i was APPALLED he better never

least favourite gods are Zeus for obvious reasons and Poseidon bc he was the first trial of the gods disadvantage i had to get through and that wave PISSED ME OFF

least favourite boons are Dionysus’ but that’s only because i don’t know how to use ‘em lmao I MEAN THAT? GAIN SOME HEALTH WITH EACH HIT ONE? oh god that actually got me through that first hades win EDIT: that’s not a boon, that’s a daedalus hammer for Stygius lmao

that thing people say that when they hear Eurydice for the first time? or Orpheus singing his lament? yeah, it’s true, i lost all brain capacity because i truly tried to get into this game BLIND as hell, they fucked me up

there was this one point where i was doing pretty well with the pierced butterfly and Zagreus drops a line after clearing a chamber that sounded SO EERILY like Thanatos (like? the delivery?) and there’s no way Darren Korb didn’t do that on purpose HE’S INSANE he obviously did

Than’s butterfly pisses me off the moment i hit asphodel and start stepping in magma I MEAN i got the layout down SURE but YOU KNOW

i will literally sometimes choose a chamber JUST because i want to talk to that particular god and by that particular god i mean Hermes no strategical thinking there, just straight up brainrot

a few runs ago i somehow managed to guess that not only was Thanatos gonna spawn in this run but also the exact chamber he’d spawn in, i just chose a door and was overcome by this certainty that Than would be on the next field and BOOM, thanks for the centaur heart bby

my least favourite fury to fight against is Alecto because i’m far worse at defeating her than i am at the other two lmao (altho surprisingly Tisiphone almost beat my ass the other day, i haven’t lost against a fury in AGES that would have been embarrassing~)

i can’t bring myself to give Sisyphus a nectar because the version of his myth i’m familiar with makes me hate him and i can’t get past that lmao but i also WANT to get him a nectar FOR THAT COMPLETITION RATE

when i got into the temple of styx for the first time i almost threw an aggressive tantrum and start crying at the notion of having to fight Cerberus and I KNOW he’d never would have but the small part of me that doubts everything DOUBTED and then Zagreus stopped his bullshit and gave the CUTEST LIL LAUGH I’VE EVER HEARD and that laughter right there defined so much about how i see him lmao he’s a cute lil shit he’s the worst he’s my baby he’s an immortal god he’s sassy as fuck he’s absolutely useless at administrative work he’s strong and dangerous he’s just some guy he’s my son and my enemy he’s in love with everyone he isn’t related to he’s fucking terrifying

demeter is so COLD and MEAN she doesn’t know she’s my grandmama AND IT SHOWS

[ragazza-paradiso]

not to be cheesy but since it’s past midnight here, it’s officially my 5 year anniversary of getting out of the psychiatric ward. i am not 100% better but i’ve come so far since then. back then i honestly didn’t think i would even be alive in a few years, let alone holding down a full time management job and making plans for my future. i don’t even take any antipsychotics or antidepressants anymore. i know there is always a chance of relapsing and i don’t want to get too ahead of myself but i’m very proud of myself for working hard to get better and actually getting better because of it. the summer of 2017 was the worst time of my whole life but if i can get through that and come out the other side, then i really truly can get through anything else that comes my way. i just need to take it day by day.

[twilight-orchid]

How the Undatebales React After A Fight

Thank you to my friendo @wholelottatiffy ​ who helped me brainstorm this one. I’m only on chapter 19 at the moment, so I haven’t interacted with anyone but Diavolo much. And thank you to everyone who wanted a follow up to my previous post, I did not expect that. Y’all are super sweet!

tw: Fighting (a bit more in depth than my first post), description of panic attack, minor name calling, insecurity, depression, angst with resolution.

Diavolo:

Diavolo doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

To start, we need to talk about how the argument unfolds.

He’s not used to arguing. 

He’s Lord Diavolo, Prince of The Devildom, head of the RAD student council. No one defys him on anything.

So you raising your voice at him, trying to get him to see your way,

It was very overwhelming.

He tried to reason calmly with you at first, but he felt cornered. 

When fight or flight kicked in, his body chose fight.

His wings burst open in all their glory as he screamed back, his towering frame far more intimidating than yours.

The blind rage is slapped out of him when he sees your terrified face.

If you’re at the castle, he’ll order you to leave if you haven’t already. Anywhere else, he’ll turn and leave without a word. 

He wants to put distance between you both for fear of making things worse.

He absolutely cannot believe he just blew up at you. He would have never thought he'd raise his voice at his partner regardless of the situation.

He can’t shake the image of you flinching from him from his mind.

Now, being the prince of hell certainty has it’s perks; He has power, influence, and everything he could want.

But the one thing he wants the most seems to evade him no matter what: a friend.

A real friend. 

He has Barbatos and Lucifer, but it’s Barbatos’ job to accompany the prince, and Lucifer is bound to Diavolo whether he likes the future king or not.

MC was the first person who chooses to be with and around him for no other reason than the fact that they love him.

And now he’s terrified them. Gotten in their face and screamed at them.

He assumes he’s permanently driven you away.

As soon as you leave or he gets home, he rushes to find Barbatos. To explain what happened and hope his butler would know what to do.

He’ll text Lucifer and ask him to check on you as well.

He just feels lost. 

He wanders the palace aimlessly and he can’t focus on his work without his thoughts drifting to you.

He doesn’t feel like going to school or even getting out of bed. He doesn’t want to speak to anyone - to put on a happy face and pretend his world isn’t shaking.

Yet, a prince has his responsibilities. He will go about his normal public appearances as usual, smile and laugh and carry on, but it’s a mask.

Those close to him clearly notice the prince isn’t himself.

After school he visits the spots that you two visit together frequently.  

Anything to make him feel as if you are still at his side.

If you don’t sleep in his bed that night, he’ll take it as proof that he was right and that you don’t want to be with him anymore.

He doesn’t sleep that night. He clutches your pillow that still smells of you and just bawls. 

He will tell Barbatos he feels unwell the next morning and to postpone his obligations for the day.

This prompts Barbatos to seek you out and see if he can help resolve the issue.

Barbatos tries to stay out of your relationship as he doesn't feel it's his business, but his job is to assist Diabolo in any way necessary. And right now, he needs you more than anything.

If you sleep at his side still, it will be a glimmer a hope. That all may not be lost. 

He’ll give you you space that night. He’ll walk around you on eggshells but always watch you from the corner of his eye to gauge the temperature.

He avoids your gaze, stays on the other side of the room as you prepare for bed, and as much as it kills him, doesn’t hug you or kiss you goodnight.

He spends the night staring at your sleeping face and making silent promises that, if you forgive him, he will never let this happen again.

He thinks of how to apologize. What he could say, what he could do. 

Ultimately though, it feels like everything he could think of is too little of an apology. 

He pretends to be asleep when he sees you stir and decides to let you choose if you want to forgive him on your own.

You will have to approach him first. 

He thinks losing his temper with you was unacceptable and feels like he has no right to ask for your forgiveness.

Worse, he’s terrified of not being given forgiveness.

Thus, I feel a fight with Diavolo will take as long as you let it. He’s willing to suffer as long as you need him to.

Barbatos:

Barbatos doesn’t argue. He sits quietly and watches you, his responses calm but absolute.

He’s no pushover, he will defend his side, but he’s not going to enter a screaming match. It’s just not him.

You know you’ve really gotten under his skin when he offers a tight, forcefully pleasant smile.

He finally shuts down the conflict with "It's your right to feel that way just as it's mine to disagree." And leave it at that.

Post argument, he will avoid you and lock his feelings about the fight inside.

He tells himself he doesn’t have time to deal with the terrible feeling clawing at his heart and takes to his duties as an escape.

If you sleep in another room, he realizes that this isn’t a minor disagreement and he’s suddenly very distressed.

His instinct is to use his future vision. 

To scour the timelines and see how the different versions of himself handle it and to replicate the one with the most desirable outcome.

However, he stops himself. He feels it isn’t fair to you. 

You have a right to be upset about things and he doesn’t want to manipulate the situation, and by extension, you.

Thus, he must find another way to cope.

He’s always a devoted butler, but it’s not his whole life. 

He takes time for himself throughout the day and in the evenings. Unless Diavolo needs him, nights are usually his to do with as he wants.

Now, however, his identity becomes Diavolo’s butler. 

He’s constantly asking for extra work and hovering more than usual around the young lord in hopes of being given a task. 

Diavolo finds it odd and asks about it, but he brushes it off. This isn’t anyone else’s business, least of all his employer’s.

Even though Barbatos won’t tell him, Diavolo can clearly tell his friend is off.

In hopes of giving him something to distract himself with, Diavolo requests hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookies and Barbatos jumps on the opportunity. 

Baking has always been his escape as well as his happy place. Diavolo’s favorite isn’t easy to make, so he looked forward to the task.

And it worked. Keeping track of the ingredients, the steps, and the technique required was enough to occupy his mind.

But then it was time to wait for it to bake. 

He suddenly feels trapped in the suffocating silence of the kitchen.

His mind replays the argument on repeat as he falls down a rabbit hole of what ifs.

He loves you more than anything and the last thing he could ever want is for you to be mad at him.

No, the worst thing would to no longer be able to call you his.

Suddenly, he becomes aware of the sharp scent of burnt food.

He jumps up and runs to the oven. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed the timer go off.

He pulls the blackened desert out, puts the cookie sheet on the stove top, and just stares at the burnt cookies.

His sight blurs and a soft sob escapes from the prison he’s created in his heart.

He wasn’t crying because he burnt the cookies, but because they were a visual representation of everything he’s been trying to suppress.

Once he collects himself, he knows he can’t continue like this. 

He doesn’t want to invade your space in case you’re still mad, but he needs a resolution.

He’ll send a quick text and silently begs you to respond. 

“MC, I understand if you are still upset with me, but would you be willing to talk though it? I look forward to hearing from you.”

If you still sleep with him that night, it is a great weight off of his shoulders. 

He hopes it means that it will be easier to make up with you and that you aren’t too mad.

When you wake up, he will be watching you like he has all night with a small, tired smile. 

He’ll put on your favorite tea as you get ready for the day then asks if you’d be willing to talk things over.

Because of how it affects both his job and himself, a fight with Barbados will not last long. He’ll seek a resolution by one, maybe two days tops.

Solomon: 

Lucifer may be the avatar of pride, but Solomon can certainly give the demon a run for his money.

In the moment of a particularly heated argument, he absolutely will not admit he’s wrong. 

In fact, he really doesn’t consider it a possibility.

There’s no point in trying to get him to see your side until things have calmed down. It’s like talking to a brick wall.

He won’t yell, but he gets a pissy, condescending tone and almost talks down to you.

If you really push his buttons, his patience with this “useless” argument runs out.

“Oh please, listen to yourself! You’re acting like a dull child!”

Freezes as soon as it leaves his mouth.

He didn’t mean to say that.

He opens his mouth to apologize immediately, but upon seeing your hurt reaction he becomes flustered and can’t get the words out.

He’ll simply turn and leave. 

He’s absolutely furious with himself. 

Solomon is old and wise. He’s seen many things, been many places, and he knows many things.

Sometimes though, he needs a reminder that he doesn’t know everything.

Even if he still feels he was right, he knows name-calling is unacceptable.

In fact, he doesn’t miss the irony that he was the one being childish. 

His self-fury is replaced by overwhelming worry if you sleep in another room that night.

Of all the treasures he’s come across, none were as precious as you. 

He can’t stand the thought of losing you because of his thoughtlessness.

For once, he feels like an idiot.

He locks himself in his study that night and brainstorms on how to make it up to you.

He decides to approach you in the morning at RAD. He’s terrified that you think he actually meant the insult and wants to clear the air as soon as possible.

He’s afraid of you taking anything less than his highest praise to heart or for you to think that he views you as below himself. 

The thought of how he must have made you feel makes him sick to his stomach.

The more he thinks about it, the more his body demands that he act. 

While he has many virtues, patience is not high on his list. 

Assuming you returned to The House of Lamentation that night, he’ll text Asmo to explain what happened and asks if he’d let him in first thing in the morning.

Thus, when you leave to head for breakfast, be careful not to trip over your sorcerer who’s seated against the wall outside of your room.

He scrambles to his feet, his hair and clothes a mess and bags heavy under his eyes.

“MC! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I just- *sighs* I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Would you be willing to discuss the matter again? The right way this time.”

If you do sleep with him, he’s at least relieved that you don’t seem like you plan to leave him.

Once again, however, he wants to clear the air as soon as he can.

You’ll both be sitting in silence as you get ready for bed. He’s clearly lost in thought, his eyes focused unblinking on his feet and any movements slow and disjointed.

He's not sure how to apologize, if it's too soon, and is afraid to make things worse if it's not an appropriate time.

However, seeing you move about the room he decides to risk it so he doesn't risk losing you.

Suddenly, he stands up straight and locks eyes with you.

“MC, we don’t have to talk about the fight tonight, but I need you to know that I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry.”

It’s up to you if you want to forgive him immediately, but he will at least apologize for the insult as soon as he gathers his thoughts.

Simeon:

If you yell at him, Simeon is just gonna sit there stunned

Your relationship is usually as laid back as he is, so he doesn't know what to do with you blowing up at him.

All he knows it that this is bad and he needs to find a way to make you happy again. 

The thought of losing you takes precedence over everything and, though he will not sway to your side just because you’re upset, the argument loses any worth it had to him.

He’ll go to Solomon almost immediately in hopes your fellow human might know better about how arguments are resolved between human couples.

He becomes very distressed when Solomon says everyone handles it differently. He then asks what he should to make up with you specifically.

He doesn't have a defined emotion right now, he's just on edge. He wants to gather information first and foremost so he can figure out what to do from there.

He’s just a walking ball of anxiety and those close to the angel even become concerned. No one has seen him like this before.

If you decide to sleep in another room, the anxiety just takes over. 

His chest feels like fiery chains are crushing his ribs, he can hear his heart is hammering in his head, and his body begins to shake as if he were buried in an avalanche.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying as he struggles to breathe.

Solomon had expected something like this may happen so he made sure to be nearby to help coach him though it.

Once he’s calmed down, Solomon urges him to talk to you as soon as possible.

Simeon isn't sure though. True, he wasn't in a good place, but he didn't want to push you if you weren't ready to talk.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t feel like he can think let alone coherently tell you how he feels.

He begins to feel overwhelmed again and decides to try writing down his thoughts in hopes of it helping him sort through the tsunami of emotions consuming him.

While it doesn't completely calm him down, it does help.

He stares down at the messy, tear blotted papee and has an idea.

The next morning you should expect to find a hand-written letter slipped under you door.

The letter is long and and rambling. His usually pristine handwriting is as shaky as his hands were when writing it.

It's not as dense and heartbroken as his original one, but the further it goes the more desperate his words become.

He writes about how much you mean to him and apologizes for allowing things to get that intense. He writes that he loves you and doesn’t want to lose you. 

He reminisces about his favorite memories of you two together more than once.

Finally, that no disagreement you two could ever have is more importantly to him than being with you.

It's really just a collection of everything sitting on his heart at the moment.

That day at RAD he’ll watch you from the sidelines and pray you approach him about the letter so you two can work things out.

If you still sleep in his bed, he’ll be very conflicted about if he should approach you yet. 

He’s afraid of making it worse if you’re still mad.

However, Simeon is an open book when it comes to his emotions so you will absolutely be able to tell that he’s freaking out.

So please, save the man a terrible night and talk it though with him.

He wants you to not be angry anymore, but even if you’re still upset just having concrete information to cling to will help him immensely. 

He’s thinking of all the worst case scenarios and needs reassurance that the relationship isn’t over.

Simeon will try to make up within a day, so however long it lasts after that is up to you.

Luke (MC is his best friend):

Luke will be very, very distressed. 

You’re his best friend aside from Simeon. Friends don’t fight like this, right?

Wait, so if you’re fighting with him, does that mean you’re not his friend anymore???

As soon as the thought enters his mind, he decides that must be the case. 

Real friends don’t fight with each other like this.

Externally he takes a “I don’t need a lousy human like you for a friend anyway” attitude. 

He’s not just testy with you though, anyone who interacts with him that day learns that chihuahuas bite.

Simeon immediately realizes something isn’t right and is very concerned.

As soon as he asks him what’s wrong, Luke's mask of anger is discarded and he tosses himself in the older angel’s arms crying hysterically.

He doesn’t want to lose you for a friend.

I doubt Luke has ever truly argued with someone so this uncharted territory is earth shattering to him.

Simeon, as he tries to calm Luke, he will text you and ask you to come to wherever they are immediately.

Because of Simeon’s intervention, the fight will only go undiscussed for a few hours max.

Again, sorry if I don’t know these characters as well as I’d like yet. Thank you for reading! 

[cyberfeather]

Hi, I saw some of your little dabbles and they looked really good. Might I request:

“you’re  doing  great, okay ??   i mean it .”

With a past reconditioned Dogma and your choice?

Hi, thank you for the ask! 💗 I’m so glad you enjoyed my previous drabbles! I went with Dogma integrating the Coruscant Guard after Umbara here, because that’s a fandom headcanon I enjoy and felt like exploring myself. I hope you’ll like it!

“You’re doing great, okay? I mean it.” - Dogma

When given the choice, Dogma avoids 79’s at all costs. He doesn’t get why his vode fancy the place so much. The music is too loud and the lights, too bright. Just staying inside for a few minutes is enough to give him a headache that will take hours to leave.

But today, he’ll just have to suffer through it. A fight broke out at the bar and the Coruscant Guard was called to put a stop to it. Not that Dogma is complaining. A night where they have nothing more to do than separate a few drunkards is a good night; one that won’t end with having to mourn the loss of a brother. The urge to accomplish his duty is stronger than whatever discomfort he might experience, anyway.

Calming down the inebriated troopers doesn’t take long. Most of them cease all hostilities the moment they notice the red and white armors, and a few words of warning from Commander Fox are enough to deter the recalcitrant ones. They’re almost ready to leave when a vod who’s had one too many drinks loses his balance.

Instinctively, the man starts flailing his arms around so not to fall. In doing so, he accidentally hits Dogma and knocks off his helmet. Without it covering his face, Dogma immediately feels unease rising in his chest.

Ever since he came back from Kamino, he hasn’t felt comfortable taking it off outside of the Guard. A sentiment many of his brothers stationed on Coruscant share, which is a relief. He hates feeling different from them.

Since his reconditioning, he’s been plagued by the fear of disappointing his brothers, of not fitting in, although he has no idea why. The troopers of the Coruscant Guard have been nothing but kind to him since he joined them, there’s no reason why they would reject him, and yet, it terrifies him.

During his first days in the Guard, he even suffered panic attacks from making the slightest mistakes, each time convinced his vode would get mad at him for it and send him back to the Kaminoans. It took all four of his commanders comforting him and promising to never do such a thing to calm him down.

Once the first shock has passed, Dogma scrambles for his helmet. To his relief, it didn’t fall far away and he quickly retrieves it. However, before he can put it back on, he hears a surprised gasp in the crowd.

“Dogma?”

He immediately freezes, because the soldier who called his name looks familiar, even though Dogma has no memory of him. But at the same time, he’s also sure to have already seen the tattoo that takes up most of his face somewhere before. It’s all so confusing.

The vod isn’t wearing any armor, but since he obviously knows him from before, Dogma assumes he must be from the 501st. It’s the battalion that Rex, the captain who sometimes visits to check up on him, belongs to. He is looking at Dogma the same way Rex does, too: waiting for a sign of recognizance, clearly mistaking him for someone else, someone who doesn’t exist anymore.

He has no idea how to answer, because while Dogma is his name, he’s also not the Dogma this trooper fought alongside with. It suddenly stops mattering when his mind fills with flittering flashes, with images and sounds all mixed together. Fog. I hope you can live with yourself. The sound of blasters. Fire. The devastating certainty that it’s all his fault.

It lasts less than a second, but it leaves Dogma overwhelmed and breathless. He still can’t remember the vod’s name, but he’s suddenly positive that the man must hate him. That he has every right and reason to, after what Dogma’s done, even if he doesn’t have the slightest idea what that is. He feels trapped, he wants to escape, to run far away, but he can’t because he’s on duty, he’s Coruscant Guard, he has to play the part and prove worthy of his rank even if he’s screaming on the inside…

“Is something the matter, trooper?”

Without warning, Commander Fox puts himself between Dogma and the soldier, his arms crossed. That tone of voice, colder than ice, is the same one he uses when dealing with the rudest senators. Dogma immediately feels safe behind him, knowing no harm will come to him as long as Fox’s here. It helps him breathe again, even though his body’s still shaking. He takes advantage of the welcome distraction to put his helmet back on.

“I… No, sir. Everything’s fine.” The soldier stutters after hesitating for the slightest second, not daring to defy the commander of the Guard.

“That’s what I thought. Since everything’s back in order, we’ll be heading out.”

Dogma is more than happy to obey this order and turn around, eager to leave the suffocating bar. Behind him, someone calls for a Jesse, but he barely registers it. All he wants is to get out. He sighs in relief once he finally pushes the exit door and the music fades. He’s glad to resume his patrol with his squad, even if he’s still a bit nervous.

They’ve moved down a few blocks and reached one of the less crowded streets of the neighborhood when Fox takes him aside.

“You alright? You looked pretty shaken in there.”

Dogma doesn’t try to pretend nothing’s wrong. Fox has taught him he doesn’t have to hide how he’s feeling, not around other members of the Guard. He’s safe with them.

“I’ve been better, but I’ll manage. I just… wasn’t prepared for this. I’m glad you stepped in.”

His voice trembles more than he’d like it to. Upon sensing his distress, Fox moves a hand towards him and stops midtrack.

“Can I?” He asks, mindful of not overstepping his boundaries when it comes to being touched, for which Dogma is grateful.

A comforting touch sounds like a nice perspective at the moment, so he nods his approval, and Fox puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I know it’s hard, meeting people who knew you before and failing to remember them, but you’re doing great, okay? I mean it. Not everyone handles things as well as you have.”

Dogma trusts Fox on this. There are many reconditioned troopers in the Coruscant Guard, all of them grateful for how the commander looked after them upon their return from Kamino. He’s not the first vod he’s helped and definitely won’t be the last. Still, Dogma fears Fox doesn’t quite get what’s troubling him.

“I’m not sure you understand. When I saw him, I… I did get a few memories back, but… It all hurt. It… It made me feel awful about myself. So, what if… what if I don’t want to remember?”

Dogma’s eyes are starting to fill with tears, and he has no choice but to briefly remove his helmet to wipe them off. It’s not something easy to confess, not when he has seen reconditioned troopers regaining some of their memories and crying happily while being reunited with their brothers. He can’t even tell if he’d like to have the same happen to him or not, just knows it’s a situation he can’t imagine himself being in, not when he reacts so badly any time he’s reminded of something from his old life.

“Then it’ll be okay. The Guard and I will care for you all the same. You don’t have to force yourself into being the person you were before reconditioning. Only you decide who you are now, not anyone else. Just take things at your own pace. And if one day, you change your mind and want to look into your old life, that will be okay too. No need to pressure yourself.”

Each of Fox’s words feels like balm to Dogma’s fractured soul. It leaves him speechless for a second, struggling to find words that’ll express just how much it means to him.

“I… Thank you… Just, thank you. For listening to me, and… everything else.”

“Any time. It’s my role to be here for you, vod’ika.”

Even if he can’t see Fox’s face, he hears the fond smile in his voice. Maybe Dogma doesn’t remember what went wrong in his old life, but he knows he has reasons to be happy now, as well as brothers he’d give his life to protect; this time around, he’ll do everything not to mess that up.

[janecrockeyre]

scum villain is a greek tragedy disguised as a regular tragedy disguised as a comedy disguised as a danmei

this is going to be long, and this is only PART ONE.

a.k.a, Analysing the plot of Scum Villain’s Self Saving System through Aristotle’s Poetics, because I Have Mental Issues

Part One: Introduction and the Tragic Hero

Scum Villain’s Self Saving System is a tragedy disguised as a comedy, unless you’re Shen Yuan, in which case it’s a mixture of a romance and a survival horror. It's a fever dream. It's a horrible, terrible book that made me feel new undiscovered emotions when I finished reading it. 

The thing is... SVSSS shares characteristics with some of the most famous tragedies in the West, such as Oedipus Rex, Medea, Antigone, the Oresteia... if you haven’t read these, I’ll explain everything. But the gist of my argument is this: SVSSS is the perfect tragedy. In triplicate. 

Tragedy as a genre is old as balls and so it has meant slightly different things to different people over the last few thousand years. I'll be focusing on ancient Greek tragedy, which was performed at the yearly Festival of Dionysus in Athens during the 500-350s BC (give or take a hundred years). Aristotle, when writing about this very specific subset of tragedy, had no idea that one day Scum Villain would be written, and then that I would be using his work as a way to look at Shen Qingqiu’s Funky Transmigration Mistake. Anyway!

Greek tragedy greatly influenced European dramatic tradition. I have a lot of opinions about white academics idolising and upholding the classics as the "paragon of culture" but I'll withhold them for now. I have no idea if MXTX has read Greek tragedy or not, so don't take this as me saying they are writing it. 

In my opinion, tragedy is a universal human constant. We are surrounded by pain and hurt and none of it makes any sense, so we seek to process that pain through drama, art, literature, etc. We want to understand why pain happens, and how it happens, and try to make sense of the senseless. The universe is cold and cruel and random. Tragedy eases some of that pain. 

On that note: Just because I am analysing Scum Villain through a Greek lens doesn't mean that it was written that way. I'm pasting an interpretation onto the book when there's probably a very rich and deep history of Chinese tragedy that I just don't know about. If you ever want to talk about that, please, god, hit me up, I would love to learn about it!! 

Anyway, tragedy. MXTX is excellent at it! Mo Dao Zu Shi? Painful dynastic family tragedy. Heaven Official's Blessing? Mostly romance, but she managed to get that pure pain in there, huh? 

But in my opinion, Scum Villain holds the crown for the most tragic of her stories. MDZS was more of a mystery. TGCF was more of a romance. Neither of them shy away from their tragic elements. 

Scum Villain would fit right in between the work of Sophocles, Euripides and Aeschylus. How? Let me show you. Join me on my mystery tour into the world of "Aristotle Analyses Danmei..."

Part One: The Tragic Hero

What is a tragic hero? Generally, Greek tragic heroes are united by the same key characteristics. He must be imperfect, having a "fatal flaw" of some kind. He must have something to lose. And he must go from fortune to misfortune thanks to that fatal flaw. 

There are two (technically three) tragic protagonists in SVSSS and all of them are tragic in different but formulaic ways. Each protagonist has their own version of “hamartia” or a “fatal flaw”. 

Actually, hamartia isn’t necessarily a flaw - rather, it is a thing which makes the audience pity and fear for them, a careful imperfection, a point of weakness in the character’s morality or reasoning that allows for bad things to happen to them. For example, in Oedipus Rex, the king Oedipus has a “fatal flaw” of always wanting to find the truth, but this isn’t exactly a flaw, right? Note: this flaw can be completely unwitting, as we see with Shen Yuan. It can also be something that the protagonist is born with, some kind of trait from birth or very young. 

Shen Yuan

Shen Yuan’s “hamartia” is his rigid adherence to fate and his inability to read a situation as anything but how he thinks it ought to be. He believes that Bingmei will grow into Bingge, and it takes several years, two deaths, and some truly traumatising sex to convince him otherwise. 

Shen Jiu

Shen Jiu’s fatal flaw is his cruelty. It is his own sadistic treatment and abuse of Binghe which directly leads to his eventual dismemberment. This is kind of a no-brainer. Of course, it isn't all that simple, and as an audience we pity him for his cruelty as much as we fear it because we know it comes from his own abuse as a child. This just makes him even more tragic. Delicious. 

Luo Binghe

Luo Binghe’s fatal flaw is a complicated mix of things. It is his position as the “protagonist” which compels him to act in certain ways and be forced to suffer. It is his half-demonic heritage, something entirely out of his control, which sets in motion his tragic reversal of fortune when he gets yeeted into the Abyss. He also, much like Shen Yuan, has the propensity to jump to conclusions and somehow make 2 + 2 = 5. 

As well as having their respective “flaws”, all three protagonists match the rough outline of a good tragic hero in another way: they are in a position of great wealth and power. Even when you split the different characters into different “versions”, this still holds true. Yes, Luo Binghe is raised a commoner by a washerwoman foster mother, but his dad is an emperor and he also ends up becoming an emperor himself. 

Yes, Shen Jiu is an ex-slave and a victim of abuse himself, but Shen Qingqiu is a powerful peak lord with an entire mountain’s worth of resources at his back. 

Shen Yuan is a second generation new money rich kid. 

Bingge is a stereotypical protagonist with a golden finger. Bingmei is a treasured and loved disciple with a good reputation and a privileged seat by his shizun’s side. 

In a tragedy, having this kind of good fortune at the beginning of your story is dangerous. Chaucer says that tragedy is (badly translated into modern english) “a certain story / of him that stood in great prosperity / and falls out of high degree / into misery, and ends up wretchedly”. If we follow this line of thinking, a good tragedy is about someone who has a lot to lose, losing everything because of one fatal point of weakness that they fail to address or understand. 

If we look at Shakespeare, this is what makes King Lear such a fantastic tragic protagonist. He is a king in control of most of England, who from his own lack of wisdom and excess of pride, decides to split his kingdom apart to give to his daughters, favouring his murderous, double crossing progeny, and condemning his only actually filial daughter to death. He loses his kingdom, his mind, and his beloved daughter, all because of his own stupidity.

This brings us to:

Part Two: Peripeteia

This reversal of fortunes is called peripeteia. It is the moment where the entire plot shifts, and the hero’s fortunes go from good to bad. Think of it like one of those magic eye puzzles, where you stare at the image until a 3D shark appears, except you realise the shark was always there, you just couldn't ever see it, waiting for you, hungry, deadly, always lurking just behind that delightful pattern of random blue squiggles. 

Each tragic hero has their own moment of peripeteia in SVSSS, sometimes several:

Shen Qingqiu

In the original PIDW, SQQ’s peripeteia presumably occurs when he finds out that Bingge didn’t perish in the Abyss but has actually been training hard to come and pay him back. There’s really not much I’m interested in saying here - as a villain, OG!SQQ is cut and dry, and the audience doesn’t really feel any pity or fear for him. As Shen Yuan often mentions, what the audience feels when they see OG!SQQ is bloodlust and sick satisfaction. There is also the trial at Huan Hua Palace, which I will talk about in Shen Yuan’s section. 

Shen Yuan (SQQ 2.0)

One of SY’s most poggers moment of peripeteia is the glorious, terrifying section between hearing Binghe for the first time after the Abyss moment, and getting shoved into the Water Prison. 

“Behind him, a low and soft voice came: “Shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu’s neck felt stiff as he slowly turned his head. Luo Binghe’s face was the most frightening thing he had ever seen.

The scariest thing about it was that the expression on his face was not cold at all. His smile wasn’t sharp like a knife. Rather, it showed a kind of bone-deep gentleness and amiability.”

This is the moment of true horror for Shen Yuan, because he knows what happens next: the plot unfurls before him, inevitable and painful, and he knows that death awaits him at Luo Binghe's hands (lol). Compare it with the bone deep certainty with which he faces his own downfall during the sham of a trial later in the chapter (I’ve bolded the important part):

“In the original work, Qiu Haitang’s appearance signified only one thing: Shen Qingqiu’s complete fall from grace. [...] Shen Qingqiu’s heart streamed with tears. Great Master… I know you’re doing this for my own good, but I’ll actually suffer if she speaks her words clearly. This truly is the saying “not frightened of doing a shameful deed, just afraid the ghost (consequences) will come knocking”!”

After the peripeteia is usually the denouement where the plot wraps up and the threads are all tied together leaving no loose ends, but because this tragedy isn’t Shen Yuan’s but the former Shen Jiu’s, it’s impossible to finish. 

Shen Yuan cannot provide the meaningful answers that the narrative demands because 1) he doesn’t have any memory of doing anything, and 2) he wasn’t the person who did them. Narratively, he cannot follow the same path as the former SQQ because he lacks the same fatal flaw: cruelty. 

This is why Binghe doesn’t kill him - because he loves him, rather than despises him. And this is why Shen Yuan has to sacrifice himself and die for Luo Binghe in order to save him from Xin Mo: because the narrative demands that denouement follows peripeteia, and SQQ’s fate is in the hands of the narrative. 

(Side note: I believe that this literal death also represents the death of OG!SQQ's tragic arc. The body that committed all those crimes must die to satisfy the narrative. SQQ must die, like burning down a forest, so that new growth can sprout from the ashes. After this, Shen Yuan's story has more room to develop instead.)

It must happen to show Bingmei that SQQ loves him too. And this brings us to Bingmei.

Bingmei

Bingmei has two succinct moments of utter downfall. The first is a literal fall - his flaw, his demonic heritage, leads his beloved shizun to throw him down into the Abyss. From his point of view, SQQ is punishing him simply for the status of his birth. He rapidly goes from being loved and cherished unconditionally, to being the victim of an assassination attempt. 

He realises that he is totally unlovable: that for the crimes of his species that he never had a hand in, he must pay the price as well: that his shizun is so righteous that no matter what love there was between them, if SQQ sees a demon, he will kill it. Even if that demon is Bingmei. 

The second moment is when SQQ dies for him. Again, from his point of view, he was chasing after a man who was struggling to see him as a human being. Shen Qingqiu’s death makes Bingmei realise that he has been completely misunderstanding his shizun: that SQQ would literally die for him, the ultimate act of self sacrifice from love: that SQQ loved him despite his demon heritage. 

Much like King Lear holding the corpse of his daughter and wailing in sheer grief and pain because he did this, he caused this, Bingmei gets to hold his shizun's cold body and cry his eyes out and know that it was his fault. (Kind of.)

(Yes, I’m bringing Shakespeare into this, no I am not justifying myself)

Maybe I'm a bit sadistic, but that scene slaps. Let me show you a comparison of scenes so you get the picture. 

Re-enter KING LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms; EDGAR, Captain, and others following

KING LEAR

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones:

Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so

That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!

I know when one is dead, and when one lives;

She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass;

If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,

Why, then she lives.

[...]

 KING LEAR

And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life!

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,

And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,

Never, never, never, never, never!

Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.

Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,

Look there, look there!

Dies

Versus this scene in SVSSS: 

Luo Binghe turned a deaf ear to everything else, greatly agitated and at a loss of what to do. He was still holding Shen Qingqiu’s body, which was rapidly cooling down. It seemed like he wanted to call for him loudly and forcefully shake him awake, yet he didn’t dare to, as if he was afraid of being scolded. He said slowly, “Shizun?”

[...]

Luo Binghe involuntarily held Shen Qingqiu closer.

He said in a small voice, “I was wrong, Shizun, I really… know that I was wrong.

“I… I didn’t want to kill you…”

PAIN. SO MUCH BEAUTIFUL PAIN. Yes, I know Shakespeare isn’t Athenian, but he was inspired by the good old stuff and he also knew how to write a perfect tragedy on his own terms. Anyway. I’ll find more Greek examples later.

This post was a bit all over the place, but I hope it has been fun to read. Part Two will be coming At Some Point, Who Knows When. This is a bit messy and unedited, but hey, I’m not getting paid or graded, so you can eat any typos or errors. Unless you’re here to talk to me about Chinese tragedy, in which case, please pull up a seat, let me get you a drink, make yourself at home.

ps: if you want to retweet this, here is the promo tweet!

[archies-litterbox]

of poison, forest floors, and terrified wizards

Summary: Out all alone on what was meant to be a simple errand, collecting herbs for Merlin, Douxie is downed when some pickpocket throws a fistful of black powder in his face - a magic surpressant and poison to wizards, he comes to find out the hard way. Unable to move or use his magic, as attempts to do both cause nothing but agony, the moppet has no choice but to rely on the slim hope of someone finding him before the poison overtakes him.

A/N: This is my first toa fic! I’ve spent the past year mostly just doing fic for witcher, so this is a nice change of pace :) I had fun with this! I thought about what would happen if there was some sort of substance in TOA that acted as a poison/magic surpressant to wizards... and ofc it turned into douxie whump (but it’s moppet!douxie which is even more painful :( ). Enjoyyy!

[CW: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Poisoning/Sickness, Temporary Paralysis, blood mention (but no bleeding)]

---

All Douxie had been sent out to do was collect some herbs for Merlin. It wasn’t even in the uncertain ground like the Wild Wood, but a patch of forest he’d been sent to fetch ingredients from countless times. It should have been a simple enough task for the moppet, which is why he hadn’t woken Archie from his afternoon nap - which he was taking on Douxie’s bed - to have his familiar accompany him. And truly, the task itself was simple; it didn’t take Douxie very long at all to go into the woods and find a patch of the plants Merlin told him to fetch - something about a potion ingredient, the apprentice vaguely recollected.

Indeed, he found it without any trouble, but when he felt a figure speed past his back and steal away the little pouch of herbs he’d collected before speeding off into the woods, that was when the trouble started.

The rational part of him (which said exactly what he’d reckoned Archie would be telling him right now) told him just to pick more, but it was overshadowed by how downright insulting this woodland pickpocket was! Before he’d been taken in by Merlin, conning and using slight-of-hand to his advantage was one of his only means of survival, so to not only be stolen from, but in a way so lacking in cunning? The audacity!

It was the principal of the matter that sent him running after the thief, darting this way and that until he was lost in the thick of the woods, focused only on tailing the pickpocket.

“Hey! Stop!” Douxie panted, “You’re stealing from a master wizard!”

That didn’t seem to entice the thief to stop.

“Well… his apprentice, anyway!” he added for reasons unsure to even himself. Maybe honesty would help?

Well, thanks to his trusty, gangly legs, he caught up to the thief and got close enough to grab their wrist, and he thought it would be smooth sailing after that.

Yeah! Alright! I’ll just get my herbs back and deal with this thief and -

The thief turned around and threw a handful of black powder in his face.

Fuzzbuckets.

Douxie squeezed his eyes shut as soon as he felt them sting, coughing into his elbow to hack up the charcoal tasting powder that flew into his mouth and nose. That little trick stopped him in his tracks, but he wasn’t deterred. Not mentally. He still wanted to try to catch up… 

...but his legs wouldn’t move.

No matter how badly he wanted - demanded his legs to obey him, they remained tense, frozen in that position of one in front of the other.

What?

One terrifying moment later, they did move. But not into the sprint he wanted to take - no, to do something worse: to buckle underneath him and send him falling onto his side against the forest floor. 

And he couldn’t get up.

No matter how much he willed his body to do it, he couldn’t get up.

It was like when he’d have nightmares and he’d realize he was having a nightmare; it took forcing his body to toss and turn and shift from side to side as much as he could to rouse him back to the realm of the fully conscious.

But he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t rouse himself from this nightmare because he couldn’t push himself up.

Wait.

No.

He couldn’t move.

Nearing complete panic, he internally begged and pleaded to find some sort of mobility, but his limbs grew numb by the second, and wherever he still had feeling, it ached - utterly, reprehensibly ached. Not only that, but it was cold. So, so cold, despite the warm atmosphere of the summer afternoon that hung around him so tauntingly.

He’d never felt more scared in his life. Not even being threatened at swordpoint by Sir Galahad and his men, knowing that he’d be killed for something like a measly alley trick, was as terrifying as this - not even that made his blood run cold (literally, it felt like, as well as figuratively) like this did.

And he was sure that was clear to the thief he’d tried to catch. They stood over him, and he couldn’t see their face from where his head lay on the ground, cheek against the grass, but with his glassy, wide eyes flickering between straining to look at his poisoner - because that’s what this was, a poison -  and darting around wherever they could look without him moving his head - because he couldn’t even do that - as black strands of hair lay loose on his cheek because he couldn’t lift a hand to move them, he was sure looked every bit as terrified as he felt.

The thief laughed. Laughed.

“A master wizard’s apprentice, eh?” they spoke, their voice dripping with mock fascination that made Douxie wish that someone, anyone would come to help him, “And your great master never told you to pick your battles? He must not have, if you felt so inclined as to chase me all through the woods for a plant you could have just picked a little more of. It was right in front of you, after all.”

The realization which dawned on Douxie would have made his blood run cold if it didn’t feel like it already was. They’d pickpocketed him because they counted on him pursuing them, even to the point of ending up in the thick of the woods, far away from where Merlin or Archie expected him to be - far away from where they’d know to look for him.

Douxie finally tried to shout for help, but his throat was just as tense - as frozen as the rest of his muscles, and his jaw was too tight to open as much as he’d need to scream. All he could do was gasp and force shuddering breaths in and out of his lungs, which was still a trying ordeal - too trying for something like breathing to have been.

“Trying to scream? Really?” the poisoner-thief asked as if it was an absurd thing to do in the moppet’s position (which it wasn’t), “Next thing you know, you’ll try mustering a spell.”

Against his better judgement, for trying a spell couldn’t have been a good idea if his own assailant was suggesting it, he tried to force a little magic to his fingertips.

It burned. Oh, sweet heart of Avalon, it burned. His hand hadn’t even hurt this badly after he’d botched a lightning spell and scarred his wrist in the process.

Douxie wheezed at the sensation, and the thief laughed again.

“Oh, this is rich!” they exclaimed, “this has already paralyzed you hand and foot, and you thought some conjuring would help? What do you think this was made to diminish, Apprentice of Ambrosius?

Douxie couldn’t even think of a swear worthy of this (“fuzzbuckets” was too tame), his mind still flooded with fear and his hand still aching from his botched magic attempt. How had they already known he was Merlin’s apprentice? Sure, he’d mentioned being an apprentice to a master wizard, but he wasn’t that specific.

But he wasn’t worried about that as much as what this implied about his magic, and what this - whatever it had been - was doing to it.

“This,” His assailant bent down and held up their fingertips to his face, showing him the black powder on them. “Seeps away your magic. Or poisons it, or diminishes it, or eats away at it - I’m not a poet, and apt synonyms aren’t my strong suit.”

They stood back up all the way, and Douxie wanted to plead, but the words wouldn’t come out. They wouldn’t even form. This - he couldn’t lose his magic. Not on something as measly as an herb collection.

“All of this-”

They gestured to his paralyzed, twitching form.

“Is just a side effect. A byproduct of attacking your magic.”

Douxie tried curling his hand into a fist. Not only were his muscles so weak that he could only curl his fingers for a second in what looked more like a spasm than a conscious movement, but grabbing the wrong end of a knife would have hurt less.

The powder-tosser winced mock-sympathetically.

“Shame, really. I hoped the master wizard you served could be the one to deal with this.”

For a moment, in his agony, he wished he was. Douxie squandered the thought as quickly as it came up, hating himself for conceiving it. He couldn’t wish this on anyone, least of all the wizard who saved him, who plucked him off the streets.

But why couldn’t he save him now?

“Ah, well.” They reached down to Douxie’s face and put a strand of hair behind his ear.

Douxie wanted to cry.

“S’pose you’ll do. It’ll be a kick in the teeth for him anyway, when you don’t come back from your little errand after hours and hours, and by the time they send out a search party…”

The smugness and certainty in their tone made Douxie whimper, the first vocal noise he’d been able to make in all of this, after naught but wheezing and gasping. Where was he going to get dragged off to? The Wild Wood? Were they in league with trolls, hoping to get an edge on King Arthur? Or were they a bandit, hoping to take all his goods off of him (which weren’t much, unless they counted the black cat fur on his vest) and keep him in some rackety shack until a ransom note made its way to Merlin?

(Would he even pay it, considering Douxie’s incompetence?)

“Well, they’ll find you right here, I’m sure, but…”

Douxie could hear them mock-wince again, and their implication was worse than anything he’d assumed in the moments before. He couldn’t hear the rest of their sentence over his own panic that, combined with the poison, made his head swim.

He wasn’t going to be taken anywhere.

He was going to be left here, to - to - to - 

His panic pushed him to try his magic again on impulse alone, and it felt like both his hands were on fire. His throat, as tight as it was, finally let him groan through his teeth.

“An exercise in futility, little wizard.” his attacker taunted, “In fact…”

They took his bracelet - only three fingers wide at this point in his training - right off his wrist, which made him squeak as he tried, tried, tried to shake his head, and threw it into a bush in what was both further assurance of his powerlessness and an insult to injury.

“I would say you should try to get comfortable…” 

They stood up and took a few steps back, leaving the little field of vision Douxie had from where his head lay on the ground.

“...But I suppose that would be another exercise in futility.”

He heard the poisoner-thief run off, their footfalls fading as the pounding of his racing heart, which drummed against his ears in sync with their steps, drowned out the noise until they were out of earshot.

He was alone.

He couldn’t move, some poison was seeping away his magic - his very lifeforce - and tensed his body up so rigidly that he couldn’t even scream, and he was alone.

If he could’ve, he would have curled up into a ball as small as he could make himself in hopes that the dangers of the woods and the dire circumstances of his situation would pass him by.

If he could’ve, he would have screamed, even though he knew he was far away from the earshot of anyone who might have come looking for him by that patch of herbs where he said he’d go, and he knew that Archie, who could have tracked his scent here, was still sleeping because, in his arrogance, he hadn’t thought to wake him.

If he could’ve, he would have dragged himself to his gauntlet, wherever it had been thrown, because even if it wouldn’t have done anything to get him out of this, at least he wouldn’t have felt so helpless, even though helpless was exactly what he was.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and feel his tears run down the bridge of his nose as his lips contorted into a grimace, the only two things he could do with his body where the movement itself didn’t outweigh how badly he wanted - needed to do it.

All he could hope for, against hope itself, was that he’d be found here.

Before all that could be found was his body.

---

He wished he could just sleep.

The grassy ground underneath him was soft enough, and his position on his side could have been comfortable enough. Maybe it would have helped pass the time until the poison ran its course, whatever that entailed.

But whatever this was, it didn’t even grant him that luxury. Whether it was an effect of the poison or a product of his own adrenaline and terror, Douxie was wide awake.

Not only that, but after what might have been an hour or two (judging by the sunlight’s reflection off the dewey grass), his body would periodically twitch because of the poison. Sometimes his leg would kick out like a dog, or his shoulder would seize up to the point where it touched his ear, or his hand would ball into a fist.

But his poisoned body didn’t care which of his movements were voluntary or otherwise - it stung all the same. Not like the horrific burning that came with his attempts at magic, but a grating, awful ache right down to his bones. The spontaneous twitches never let him even come close to unconsciousness, and maybe that was a good thing - every breath was more or less of a laborious gasp, a conscious effort of his, and if he’d lost consciousness and stopped forcing them in and out of his lungs… he didn’t want to imagine it.

He wished his panic would quiet enough for him to get bored laying here - he would have preferred it to this, and it would have made sense, considering that he was stuck staring at the same blades of grass and patch of trees that he’d been staring at for the past hour.

And they weren’t even particularly interesting trees or blades of grass, not that they would have distracted him very well if they were.

He wondered if anyone had started looking for him by now. Maybe Merlin was growing impatient without the ingredients he asked for, and maybe Morgana had started to wonder why “Little Douxie” hadn’t come back to the castle.

He wondered if Archie had woken up from his nap and noticed Douxie’s absence yet. If anyone could insist that someone go out and search for him, it would be his familiar. He didn’t want to delude himself by thinking it would help though.

He wondered the importance of those herbs he was collecting before. Were they really that important to whatever Merlin had been working on? Were they worth chasing that thief down? Were they worth all of this?

He was pulled from his thoughts when a shadow cast over the grass he’d been staring at - the shadow of a creature flying overhead and hovering above him.

If he could’ve curled into himself, just to look as small as possible, he would have. What if it was a vulture, waiting to scavenge him? What if it was a monster, or a winged troll, here to carry him off to some trollish nest in the Wild Wood? None of the thoughts that came to mind were soothing by any means. As the creature swooped down, all Douxie could do was squeeze his eyes shut and hope he wouldn’t be harmed any further.

Even when the figure landed in front of him and stepped closer and closer, he didn’t look at it. It wasn’t until he could feel it’s breath on his face, one of the only sensations of the past few hours that didn’t hurt, that he opened his eyes.

A face of black fur greeted him.

And yellow eyes.

And a round pair of glasses.

Archie!

He couldn’t even say the word, but a sob escaped his throat - a sob of relief? A sob of terror that this might have been the start of an onslaught of hallucinations, the first of which being a sign of rescue? He wasn’t sure. Either way, all he wanted to do was reach up and pet the cat-dragon familiar, or hug him and not let go, but he couldn’t. His arm felt like it weighed half a ton, just like the rest of his limbs.

So, he sobbed. It was all he could do.

“Douxie!” Archie cried.

Merlin’s apprentice could hear the worry in his voice as he stepped back a few paces, his ears back and his wings to his side. Of course, he’d shifted into his dragon form - he must have been able to track Douxie’s scent like that. But Douxie hated the thought of his familiar being in danger because he’d flown here. He was already suspicious enough as a black cat, since they carried the notion of being bad omens. What if he’d gotten taken down? He wasn’t worth that!

Douxie was too relieved - yes, he chose relief, not terror, because that’s all he could afford - to think about all of that though.

“Douxie, I’ve been looking for you! What’s happened to you?” Archie asked, “Merlin expected you back hours ago!”

The first thing that came to mind, despite everything, was an apology for his absence - an apology he couldn’t even say. He couldn’t even say what happened to him, not like -

A spasm cut off from his speeding, scrambled thoughts - a large one in his left arm (his right was still mostly underneath him) that reached all the way from his fingertips to his shoulderblade, forcing his hand to ball into a fist, his arm to fold so tightly that his fist touched his shoulder, and his shoulder to tighten so much that his shoulder pressed to his ear.

The sound of agony ripped from his throat was the closest to a scream he’d gotten yet.

Archie looked horrified, and Douxie could only imagine what the sight of him was like - black strands loose from his bun strewn over his face, his eyes puffy and tear-ringed, his lips contorted in a pained grimace. He imagined he looked as pitiful and helpless as he felt.

(In fact, he didn’t have to imagine it. He could faintly see his reflection in the lenses of Archie’s glasses, and he was right in what he pictured, save for the addition of smudges and speckles of that powder still on his face, the black splotches of dust contrasting his color-drained skin, pale as death.)

His arm relaxed again after a few agonizing moments, letting his hand fall in front of his face and leaving a throbbing ache down to his bones, and Douxie tried to collect himself. He had to tell Archie what was wrong. He had to try. If Archie knew, he could fix it. He could get Merlin to fix it. Right? Right.

“P-” he started, trying his absolute best to form words despite the constriction in his throat and lungs that barely let him breathe at all, “puh- poi-”

His own wheezing cough cut him off.

“Poison?” Archie asked, getting it right much to the little relief that Douxie could manage. He nodded - at least, as close to the motion as he could accomplish - and tried to hum a “mhm” of affirmation, since trying to talk hadn’t exactly worked. Far from it.

Archie stepped forward and sniffed his face. He immediately recoiled, his big eyes widening, and Douxie was proven wrong for thinking he couldn’t be more terrified.

“Oh, dear.” His eyes glanced to what must have been a few more clumps and speckles of dust on the ground, “Ohhh, not good. Not good at all.”

No. Archie couldn’t be scared. If Archie was scared for him, then this was so, so much worse than he thought. How could it possibly be worse?

Douxie squeaked out a whimper in fear, and Archie’s attention snapped back to him (as if it could have been anywhere else).

“Douxie, don’t worry.” he said, “You’ll be alright.”

Archie was never a good liar, much to Douxie’s dismay. If Archie was going to hide the truth to soothe him, he at least would’ve liked it to work. His immediately telling Douxie not to worry had the opposite effect of what was intended; it showed him his worry - his terror - was entirely warranted, which was the exact thing he didn’t want to know. Even if all he said was “You’ll be alright.”, the fear that seemed to bristle through his fur was indication enough of the contrary.

Archie’s eyebrows, indicated by the grey patches in the fur above his eyes, upturned as if in dread.

“...But I need to go.”

NO!

If Douxie could have screamed the word and reached out to hold Archie, he would have done it right at that moment, but all he could do was whine like a kicked puppy, his eyebrows raising as his head shook - an unconscious movement, minute despite his desperation.

“Douxie, Douxie, listen.” Archie said, softening his voice, “I can’t carry you back to the castle. I wouldn't be able to fly carrying you anyway, but especially not with your-”

Archie got cut off by another one of Douxie’s spasms - this one made his left leg curl up so tight that his thigh touched his torso, causing the apprentice to nearly involuntarily hit Archie with his knee, which the cat-dragon barely dodged.

“-that." Archie said, "Not with that.”

Douxie saw the sense in that, despite his panic. He did, he did, he did.

But - 

He sobbed again.

-But he didn’t want to be alone.

Sweet heart of Avalon, he didn’t want to be alone. 

The worst of his pain and terror wasn’t from the paralysis, or the aching, or the random twitches, or the burning that came from trying to use his magic, or even the tightness in his throat and lungs that robbed him of speaking or even screaming; it came from being alone in this - from wondering if anyone would come for him, or find his body; it came from knowing that there was nothing he could do but lay there, at the mercy of nature, the poison wracking his body with every beat of his heart, and the determination (or lack thereof) of someone else to find him.

And when he opened his eyes to find Archie there, all of that went away - all of that fear that told him he’d die alone here. He didn’t want it to come back. He would’ve rather the poison take him right now.

“I just need to go back to the castle and bring Merlin here. He’ll know what to do.”

Archie put his paw in Douxie’s limp, open palm. All Douxie wanted to do was hold it, and he so desperately hoped the next twitch would be in his hand so he could.

“I won’t be long. I promise.”

But what if it was too long, even if he hurried?

What if Merlin was too late, even if he hurried?

What if it took too long to convince his master to come here? Would the fact that he’d been poisoned and needed help be enough, or would Merlin refuse because it served Douxie right for his insolence?

(No, no, he wouldn’t do that. Merlin said that mastery over magic was mastery over life, and he had to learn how to live. He couldn’t learn to live if he died here in the woods.)

What if… 

What if this killed him before Archie came back?

...No.

It wasn’t the same this time. Douxie wasn’t lost here, hoping against hope that someone would find him. This was hope - someone knew where he was, and help would come. He could handle a little bit more fear for that hope, he knew.

So, fighting the grating, awful ache in his bones, Douxie closed his hand around Archie’s paw and put on as brave a face he found himself able to muster, nodding as much as he could while causing as little pain to himself as possible.

He didn’t trust much in this - not even his own body to keep fighting the poison - but he trusted Archie, and he trusted his promise.

His familiar gently pulled his paw away before slipping it under the side of Douxie’s head, lifting it a little off the ground. The little apprentice was confused for a moment, until Archie reached behind Douxie’s head with his mouth. He could hear the sounds of the woods stifle as fabric came over his ears, warding off the now-coolness of the woodsy air around his head as Archie pulled the hood of his vest over his head and gingerly laid it back down.

Ah, he got it now - it was a little comfort, a little shelter from the world.

And of course he took it, hoping his eyes conveyed his gratitude.

He kept up his brave front as Archie turned away from him, something Douxie could tell he’d done reluctantly, and flew off. It wasn’t until he couldn’t see his familiar anymore - until the sight of the cat-dragon vanished behind the treetops - that he let it fall and shatter.

He just had to keep waiting. That’s all he had to do - wait and trust Archie to come back with Merlin. He knew that.

But he could still feel new tears come down his face.

---

Douxie wished he could see the sunset from where he lay. It would have been beautiful, he knew.

The spasms subsided a little while after Archie flew back, leaving Douxie limp on the ground - still unable to move without hurting himself or try to use his magic without thrusting himself into agony - with a lingering pins-and-needles sensation in his hands and feet that felt like it was crawling up from his ankles and wrists.

(Honestly, Douxie still wasn’t sure if the spasms had truly subsided for good, or if this was just a rather long interval between them. He hoped it was the former. The spasms never hurt any less as they went on, and he was so, so tired of the pain.)

Archie still hadn’t come back with Merlin yet, obviously, and at this point, it seemed like Douxie was fighting off his doubt more than the poison. At least he knew what the poison was doing to him - he could feel it every waking moment. But Archie… Douxie didn’t know what had happened to him, and he wouldn’t unless he came back.

(No, until he came back. Douxie had to keep that certainty alive in his mind.)

But how was he supposed to know that his familiar hadn’t taken a tumble? That he hadn’t been brought down by some witch hunter’s net? What if Merlin was being stubborn about coming for him? What if he’d been busy in another row with King Arthur?

...Indeed, he would have loved to see the sunset - to at least try to let it distract him from the tornado of worst case scenarios in his mind.

But he couldn’t.

For a bit, he tried distracting himself by thinking about how Merlin might’ve reacted to him being in danger - to hearing that he’d been poisoned. He sort of liked imagining how scared he’d be, for he preferred fear to indifference. The mental image of his master dropping whatever book he’d been flipping through and rushing to follow Archie… it was a comforting one, as strange as it might sound. That fear meant he mattered.

But Douxie soon grew tired even of that. He hoped he might’ve ran into a patch frequented by fireflies. Those would at least come low enough to dip into his line of sight, and they were always so beautiful, like stars visiting earth for a night before going back to the sky…

Douxie grew cold again at some point. Not just cold, but damp. Since it hadn’t started raining, fortunately, he rightly assumed that it was sweat. Perhaps he was finally sweating this out, like a fever, but that was too good, too fortunate to figure. This was another progression of the poison, he was sure. Just like…

Douxie noticed something in his left hand that lay in front of his face, something wrong…

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon.

His veins were black. 

Hoping, begging, praying to be wrong, he pushed through that dreadful ache in his arm so he could pull it closer, but it only confirmed his suspicions - his dread - his terrors.

The veins in his wrist, in the creases of his knuckles - they weren’t deep blue anymore, just barely visible underneath his skin, but as black as that powder that got blown in his face. Ink could be coursing through them right now, and he’d have been none the wiser.

In that moment, Douxie was proven wrong once again for thinking he couldn’t be more terrified.

He gasped as much as his throat and lungs let him, and he didn’t stop gasping. But then his chest -

No no NO!

-his chest started to seize up.

He fought the growing tightness in his chest with every breath, forcing each one in and out like a wheeze, but it wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t tell if it was from poison or panic, but it wouldn’t go away. He’d even started coughing, which was inevitable, but the black splotch that splattered into his hand terrified him all the more.

This was it. He was going to die here. He was going to succumb to this. He’d never come back to the castle - to Archie, to Morgana, to Merlin - from a trivial herb picking. Archie would come back here, but all he’d find was - was - was -

“HISIRDOUX!”

Douxie burst into tears.

He could recognize the voice of his master - his father - anywhere, but he was so, so scared that it was a hallucination. The fear in his voice already sounded so foreign, coming from the great and powerful Merlin Ambrosius, and if the sound of his voice and his footsteps coming near him came only from his desperate imagination, then he’d - he’d -

A hand gripped his shoulder and turned him onto his back. Finally, he could look up at the sky, aglow with sunset, but his glassy eyes only saw Merlin kneeling down at his side, and Archie flying above him.

The terror in Merlin’s eyes was the exact opposite of comforting, but Douxie didn’t get to see it for long before Merlin conjured a damp cloth and wiped off his face what had to have been the rest of that poisonous powder. He hadn’t realized how flushed he’d been until that moment, when that rag felt so cold against his cheeks.

Merlin finished wiping off Douxie’s face and made the cloth disappear. Douxie missed the coolness on his face. He wanted it back.

“Hisirdoux, say something!” he demanded. But Douxie couldn’t - didn’t Merlin think he would’ve already been screaming his lungs out if he could?

“D-” he choked, “Da-”

He hacked up another throatful of black phlegm, whimpering as the violence of his cough made his torso curl up. Merlin dodged the cough, but put an arm under Douxie’s back before he could fall back.

An apology lay at the back of his throat - one he didn’t know the reason for, even if he could’ve said it.

Merlin brought his other arm behind Douxie’s knees and lifted him like he weighed nothing (and he probably didn’t weigh much to Merlin, being the gangly moppet he was). The edges of the plating of the master wizard’s armor dug against him uncomfortably, but it was the least discomforting thing about this, overshadowed near-completely by the comfort that came just by being held. But he was still scared - if more of that powder was on him, and Merlin touched it by holding him, then -

He stifled a cough, and his leg kicked out unconsciously like a thumping rabbit’s foot. He didn’t realize how badly he’d been tremoring until it was contrasted with the steadiness of Merlin holding him.

Yes… steadiness, safety - two things he’d wanted to cling to more than anything since all this had started. And now, he had them. He had his familiar, and he had his father.

His head, still covered with the hood of his vest, lolled back uncomfortably without any support, but he felt something soft push against the back of it- it was actually Archie, though Douxie couldn’t see it - until the side of his head lay against one of the shoulderpieces of Merlin’s armor, cushioned by the cloth of his hood.

He sighed as much as his tightened chest would allow.

He was so scared.

Douxie was still so, so terrified that Merlin couldn’t save him after all; that he’d die tonight; that he’d never use his magic again; that he’d never get to become a master wizard or get his own staff to wield; that he’d never again get to go back down to the marketplace and talk to that pretty girl who frequented the shops.

(What was her name? Zelda? Zona? Zola? Zo-)

He felt something warm settle on his abdomen - Archie had turned back into a cat and curled up on his tummy, purring as he nestled where Douxie’s legs curled.

At least, despite everything else he feared, he didn’t have to be terrified of being alone anymore.

---

Douxie wasn’t sure if Merlin used a portal, or the relief of being found by his master had finally let him lull out of consciousness for the length of the time it took to be carried back, but the next thing he knew, he was in Merlin’s study. Despite the fluttering of his eyelids, he could recognize the shelves, the desk, and the stained glass window letting in the last light of day.

Home.

He was home.

No matter what happened next, he was home.

“Douxie!” He could hear Morgana’s voice shouting his name in worry, followed immediately by her fast-approaching footsteps.

“Mmh…” Douxie whimpered. It wasn’t clear whether or not the noise was just a pained whine or an attempt to try saying her name - not even to Douxie himself. He couldn’t see her very well, but he could tell when she’d come to them, stepping to the side as Merlin walked forward to his desk.

“Is he alive?” she asked.

“Somehow, yes.” Merlin answered. Douxie hated that “somehow” and the fear it brought, but it was just a little more to add to the onslaught of the past hours. He could just add it to the pile, he supposed.

In the middle of the room, Merlin’s big desk was empty, so the wizard laid him down on the surface, having him lay flat on his back with his hands at his sides, his legs straightened out, and his head facing up. Now, he could fully see Morgana, the sorceress he’d come to see as something of a big sister just as he came to see Merlin as a father, looking down at him. Her face was upside-down from where she stood over him, but he could still see her upturned brows and glistening eyes, and the way she clasped her hands close to her chest so they didn’t even touch him. He hated that look of worry on her face. Seeing Morgana - always fearless, always grasping for more from the world than what others had permitted, always steadfast in her ruthless ambition - look so scared for him… 

...It was worse, if such a thing was possible, than when he saw how scared Merlin was for him, and there was so much he wanted to say, but he was still just focused on trying to breathe as deeply as he could.

Archie got off his abdomen and sat next to his head, gently headbutting his temple before putting a paw on his forehead. It was a little comforting, almost enough to distract Douxie from realizing that Merlin wasn’t at his side anymore.

Almost, though. Not enough.

Douxie tried turning his head to the side, but Archie gently kept it still with his paw.

“He’s just finding a spellbook, Douxie.” he assured, immediately knowing what the apprentice was trying to turn his head for, “He’ll be right back.”

Morgana looked down on the little scene and closed her eyes for a moment, as if to quell her tears, before opening them again.

“You shouldn’t have held him.” she warned, turning her head to wherever Merlin stood now, “You know what that can-”

“I’m well aware.” Merlin interrupted from wherever he still was, “And you know I’ve little concern for that.”

Douxie didn’t understand. There was still so little he understood about whatever was doing this to him, and he didn’t know how to ask about it - he couldn’t.

But apparently, his upturned brows and whimpers of confusion were enough to indicate - at least to Archie - how lost he was.

“Douxie, that powder - it’s called Draining Dust.” Archie explained, “It’s a magic suppressant, and… a poison, as you know by now.”

“Witch hunters would put this in shackles.” Morgana said, finally speaking to him, “To nullify wizards’ and witches’ magic on their way to the gallows. Or the stakes.”

“Trace amounts, yes.” Merlin came back into his view, an open spellbook floating near him with a signature green aura around it, “Pinches of it, cast in the metal. It would suppress the wearer’s magic as long as it was on their body, with a few side effects. Fatigue, headaches, nausea…” he started listing as he flipped through the pages.

Douxie remembered the handful of the stuff that had been thrown in his face. That was far from a few pinches. And those side effects he’d started listing - they sounded tame, menial compared to what was happening to him now.

“But direct contact with raw powder…” Archie started. Douxie knew he was hesitant to finish that sentence, and it wasn’t hard to assume why (but it was terrifying).

“It’s deadly.” Morgana said, “Few wizards have ever survived inhaling or digesting it. More sadistic witchfinders have used that to-”

“Morgana!” Merlin snapped, urging her to leave off. But she didn’t.

“He should know!” she snapped back, “It’s already in his bloodstream, old man. It’s killing him, and he deserves to-”

Douxie started crying again at Morgana’s brutal honesty, as if this all weren’t brutal enough. His eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down his temples, but when he opened them again, it was darker, like he was looking through a veil. The sight made him want to cry even harder.

It was in his tears.

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon, the poison was in his tears.

It made sense now, why Morgana was so scared to touch him. His own body fluids - his blood, his tears, probably his sweat soon enough - were turning poisonous from this. The only reason Archie was still touching him was probably because he wasn’t a wizard, but a familiar, and this wouldn’t affect him so badly.

(It actually very well could have affected Archie for the worse, but watching Douxie endure this without any comfort would have been worse than any poison.)

“It’s not killing him.” Merlin denied as if he was trying to convince both Morgana and himself, “His death is not certain. If it were, I would have already placed a sleeping spell on him by now.”

Douxie clung to that little hope and tried to watch Merlin scan for the spell he’d been looking for. Merlin had a way to fix this, of course he did; it’s as he said - he would have already put Douxie to sleep to grant him some peace if he didn’t.

Douxie watched his master’s page flipping stall as his eyes scanned over one particular page. His face fell - a minute, near-unnoticeable change in expression, but one that made Douxie’s pounding heart sink.

“Merlin?” Archie asked, “Have you found something?”

Merlin said nothing at first, only taking his place by stepping right to the table’s edge, coming right to Douxie’s side.

“I’ve found a spell to expel the poison and it’s remnants,” he explained, still only scanning the book, “But purging it from his body when it’s progressed this far will be…”

His eyes fell on Douxie’s.

“...quite excruciating.”

But Douxie was already so, so tired.

Not physically - the combined force of the poison and his own adrenaline warded off any chance of fatigue - but in his heart. He was so tired of being scared. Of being in so much pain. He didn’t want to do it - he didn’t think he could…

...But he remembered something Merlin said to him before.

“If there is a universal truth in this world, it is that struggle is the flame which forges one’s soul into steel.”

Well, if there was something tougher than steel, that’s what his soul would become.

Because wizards were strong. Brave. Unrelenting to pain or fear. That’s how Merlin was, that’s how Morgana was, and that’s how he would be.

He put on a brave face - as brave as he could possibly muster in the face of what he’d endure - and nodded. He could do this. He had to do this.

And he would.

The green aura around the spellbook faded as Merlin set it down. Archie lifted his paw from Douxie’s head and stepped back a few paces.

“Morgana, keep him still.” Merlin said, “His thrashing may cause him to injure himself.”

Morgana nodded and brought her hands up, an unsaid apology in her eyes. Seconds later, Douxie felt warm, gentle heat around his wrists and ankles. It didn’t hurt, but it was unrelenting. He didn’t test the bonds, lacking the strength or any actual will to do so. Still under a sort of paralysis, he wasn’t scared of being pinned down, for he knew it was just a precaution; he was just scared of how bad the pain would be in order for restraining him like this to be necessary.

The precaution was far from unwarranted, he came to realize in the coming moments.

Merlin hovered one hand over Douxie’s chest and the other over his abdomen. Douxie watched him say some incantation, but he didn’t catch the words. He was too busy bracing himself for the pain as he saw the green aura of his master’s magic out of the corner of his eye, glowing above his torso.

Before Merlin even got to take a breath after the incantation, the pain started.

And no amount of bracing could have prepared Douxie enough.

The sudden agony in his torso ripped the breath from his lungs. He thought - hoped it would start small and get worse and worse, like a simmer that got hotter and hotter, but instead it was like a pot of scalding water got poured over his chest. No, even that would have hurt less. This… it started at the surface, but it bled deeper and deeper under his skin, and then -

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon.

-then it started to spread.

In moments, as if searing agony itself coursed through his veins, there was nowhere on his body that didn’t burn, not even his fingertips or the tip of his pinky toes. If he could feel it, it hurt, and it hurt unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

As the agony overrode his paralysis, he thrashed against Morgana’s magic that kept his wrists and ankles in place, arching his back one moment and curling forward the next.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to try to open his eyes. It hurt to keep them squeezed shut. It hurt to try to hear the voices of those around him - Morgana trying to tell him to be strong, Archie trying to soothe him, Merlin repeating the incantation. It hurt even to think - the pain, blinding and deafening, flooded out all other thoughts.

For a moment, like a fire burning so hot it feels cold for a fleeting beat, he stopped feeling the searing, searing agony.

But the moment was too, too fleeting before it wracked him again.

Finally, finally, he screamed.

It was a raw, shrill, agonized thing. He felt it come up from the base of his throat, and when Douxie realized, through his hysteria, that he was actually screaming, not wheezing or whimpering or anything he’d had to settle for tonight, he couldn’t stop. He screamed for all the torture of the day, all the fear of being alone, all the panic and terror and despair that he couldn’t let out in the woods, tense and spasming and paralyzed. 

All the screams that couldn’t come out before, when his throat was so tight that it barely let him breathe, came out right now, bursting at the seams of his pain-delirious mind.

He didn’t stop screaming until he finally felt Merlin’s magic let off.

Even then, his screams settled only into groans and wails until the burning across his body finally cooled; until the pain weakened from a searing sensation all over him, like the most brazen of fires, to a low ache, like the embers of a dying camp flame.

Once he fully stilled, which took a few more moments, Morgana’s magic came off his wrists and ankles.

Finally, he came back to his senses and see Merlin, Morgana, and Archie still around him. Archie looked relieved and nuzzled the side of Douxie’s head. Morgana smiled a shaky, hesitant smile - still so foreign to see from her.

And Merlin…

Well, he seemed as difficult to read as usual, but at least he no longer had the expression on his face of a man watching his apprentice die. Traces of relief lay there, and Douxie gladly took them.

So… was it over?

Douxie groaned and lifted his arm. It didn’t hurt to do anymore - well, it did, but more like a soreness left in the wake of heavy lifting, a residue of what happened than a symptom of it. He brought it up to his face so he could see his wrist.

His veins were blue again.

Sighing, he let his hand fall on his face and wiped away some tears - lifting it to see they were purely clear, like before - before letting it slide off his cheek and fall limp next to his head.

“Master…” his voice was so little, so hoarse, “‘s it gone?”

“Every bit, Hisirdoux.” Merlin said, putting his hand on Douxie’s shoulder, “It's over.”

He sounded weary. Douxie hoped that spell didn't take too much from him.

“Mm… my magic… 's it gone too?”

Merlin’s eyes said he wasn’t sure himself.

Douxie sought to answer the question on his own and willed forth his magic. He felt his fingertips thrum with the life of his sorcery. Lifting his hand again, he saw little specks of light, blue and true. It didn’t burn anymore, but it felt warm and gentle, like a heartbeat. His heartbeat. Exactly as it always felt.

He sighed. Not shaky, not fighting to keep his breathing level - a tired, relieved sigh. Despite how sore even the muscles in his face felt, he smiled a little smile.

“Thank you…” he said, “If you all hadn’t… I’d be-”

Merlin moved his hand from Douxie’s shoulder to his forehead.

“Don’t pay that scenario any mind, Hisirdoux.” Merlin urged, “You’ve survived, and although you and your magic have been weakened, both will fully recover.”

Douxie’s little smile fell.

“Wha… what about the poison? It couldn’t just be gone.”

“That it can.” Merlin assured, taking his hand off Douxie’s head, “As brutal as it is to the wizard affected, an unaffected wizard with strong magic can eradicate it from their body and return it to it’s untarnished condition.”

...Well, that was that, and Douxie wouldn’t question it. Besides, he remembered something.

“Mmmy bracelet… I lost it. That - they took it off. It’s in a bush out there.”

“I can see that. That’s alright.” Merlin said, “It can be retrieved.”

“And… and I'm sorry.” He said to Merlin’s subtle but obvious surprise, indicated by a little raise in his eyebrows.

“What for?”

“I… the herbs.” he answered, “I couldn’t bring them back. They got stolen.”

“It’s alright,” Merlin said, “They aren’t a rarity, you know.”

...Douxie sniffled.

“That… they only snatched those plants so I’d follow them deeper into the woods. So I’d get lost. So they could throw that dust in my face and - and leave me there, knowing I’d gone further into the forest than… than anyone would’ve looked, and I wouldn’t be found.” 

“But you were found, Douxie.” Archie said, “They weren’t counting on you having a dragon that could track scents for a familiar.”

Douxie’s voice started to break.

“I should have left it alone - I knew I should have left it alone. There was more right there, I should’ve-”

“Hisirdoux, cease this.” Merlin said in a tone that left no room for insistence, “You must grant yourself some relief in you and your magic’s survival. I won’t have you fret over something as menial as a handful of herbs, so-”

“But Master-”

“-Don’t “But Master” me.”

Douxie sighed. That statement didn’t leave any room for argument. It never did.

Finally, a little normalcy tonight.

Morgana put her hands to the sides of Douxie’s head. After she’d been so scared to touch him this whole time, the feeling of her fingers against his temples, brushing his hair away from his face, was a final, true assurance that the poison had been well and truly purged.

“Sleep, Little Douxie.” she soothed, “I promise you’ll wake.”

He couldn’t tell if she cast a sleep spell in that moment, or if this was from his own fatigue, but he obeyed without hesitance as he was finally lulled away from the realm of the conscious and fell into slumber.

---

Merlin looked down at the boy lying asleep on his desk, the color slowly trickling back into his face as his chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths. 

“He’s a brave little moppet.” Morgana said as she kept her fingers against the sides of his head, her voice hushed despite the fact that the boy’s exhaustion had lulled him into a deep slumber, and he’d sleep like a stone until morning no matter what.

“...No, he’s not.” Merlin denied, “Not for this.”

Morgana snapped her head up.

“He’s just gone through more torment from that powder in one day than either of us have in all our lives!” Morgana she contested, “Not even you have endured effects that brutal from Draining Dust.”

“To be brave requires a choice - being faced with the ultimatum to either run and give up, or face your fight.” Merlin said, too proverbial and righteous-sounding as he stood over Douxie, “A choice was the exact thing he didn’t have in this. Perhaps if he’d been withholding something from that assailant, even with the threat of this, then it might be different. But as it is, even if he’d wanted to succumb to this before Archie had found him, his adrenaline hadn’t let him.”

“Maybe so,” Archie started, “but when I found him there in the forest, and I told him I’d have to come back with help, he was terrified of being left alone again. I could tell. But he put on as brave a face he could have. He chose that for himself, at least.”

“He did the same thing moments ago, when you told him how much that spell would hurt.” Morgana added, “He may not have had a choice in enduring this, but he did choose to steel his nerves when faced with every reason not to, and there’s bravery in that, old man.” She crossed her arms. “Even you have to admit that.”

Merlin almost found it endearing, seeing them both try to defend his apprentice’s honor when they felt it threatened, and maybe he could’ve seen the bravery they saw, if he’d been looking at anyone else.

But as he looked down at Hisirdoux… that’s all he saw. Hisirdoux. His apprentice. His son. His gangly little moppet who tended to cause more messes than he cleaned up, but smiled like the embodiment of joy itself.

If daylight decided to make itself corporeal and walk among humans for a while, Merlin wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if it took the form of Hisirdoux Casperan.

So, the sorcerer didn’t see bravery when he found Hisirdoux writhing and gasping on the ground in those woods, he didn’t feel bravery when the boy trembled in his arms, and he most certainly didn’t hear bravery when the boy wailed and screamed his lungs out as that poison was taken out of him, black tears streaming down his face until they became clear again.

No, if Douxie had been brave, pride in that laid nowhere in Merlin’s mind. 

After all, when fear for his son’s life flooded his mind, and hatred for whoever did this to him flooded out that fear, where, pray tell, could pride reside?

Morgana kept looking down at Douxie as he slept.

“How could you risk that?” she asked Merlin.

“Risk what, Morgana?” he asked, “Be specific.”

She snapped her head back up.

“You know what I’m talking about!” Morgana almost shouted, stifling her volume so the sleeping moppet wouldn’t hear, ““Eradicate” my foot, old man. I know the spell you used. You didn’t use a spell of eradication, you used a spell of transference!”

Arhcie had been staring down at his own sleeping familiar, but he snapped up when he heard that word, “transference”. First he looked to Morgana, then to Merlin.

“You told him it got destroyed, but you just - all you did was soak it up like a sponge!”

“Merlin… is that true?” Archie asked, obviously afraid that after all of this, Douxie would wake up without his mentor - his father - because he’d taken the poison for him. The little apprentice left without a master would never stop blaming himself, no matter how hard Morgana and Archie tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

Merlin sighed, an affirmation without words or nods.

“I spent the years since it’s conception,” he started, “building an immunity to the dust and its properties. It was too big a risk, potentially having a weakness to something so daunting - something I’d seen subdue and poison countless wizards. Too high a risk - a threat to the greater good.”

“So… the poison’s not having any affect on you?” Archie asked, stepping around Douxie to approach Merlin, “It’s not… he couldn’t have gone through all of this just to lose you.”

“And he won’t.” Merlin assured in confidence, “Much more than a handful of that powder would have had to be thrown at him to have any severe affect on me. No, this won’t need more than a night of rest to fix. Besides, what’s the good in spending all that time building up an immunity to Draining Dust if not to make use of it? A waste of time and tolerance built.”

“You couldn’t have known it wouldn’t...” Morgana said, “You couldn’t have possibly known you’d survive taking all of it like that!”

“I didn’t.” Merlin snapped.

Morgana’s eyes widened, as if everything about what the boy meant to him fell into place.

Because he hadn’t worried about his survival - the matter didn’t even cross his mind, not when he could still hear Douxie whimpering in pain with each page of that spellbook he skimmed. No, he only concerned himself with the likelihood that it would save the boy, his only worry being about how badly it would hurt Douxie when he’d already had to go through so much senseless, ludicrous torture.

Merlin always prioritized the “greater good”, some vast, staggering, intangible concept that encapsulated so much - the lives of thousands, the wellbeing of millions, the good of humanity.

But when he found his son writhing, hurting, suffocating, dying, he found he couldn’t spare any more regard to the “greater good” in that moment than he would a layer of dust on one of his books. If saving Hisirdoux’s life meant casting aside the greater good, then there was no question about it - he’d let the greater good rot.

It didn’t matter to him if his magic would’ve been permanently diminished by extracting the poison, or even if it killed him. Cast the greater good aside - the greatest good was the life in Hisirdoux’s eyes, and by all the heavens, he’d protect it.

And thankfully, he did just that tonight, at the cost of neither his life, his health, or his own magic. And that was the greatest good he could have asked for.

With another sigh, relieved that Morgana chose not to pry, Merlin looked down at the boy, still sound asleep, laid out on his desk. He put one arm under Douxie’s back and the other behind his knees, picking him up just like he did when he found him in those woods.

But this time, instead of trembling in his hold, Douxie made a little noise and unconsciously put his arm over Merlin’s shoulder, snuggling closer, if it were possible, to the master wizard.

Yes. he thought. There’s no greater good than this.

Morgana put her hands over her mouth and looked at the two of them as if the sight was something adorable, and Merlin huffed. Archie took his same spot curled up on Douxie’s abdomen.

“I’m taking him to his room.” he said, hushing his voice even though he knew the moppet wouldn’t wake, “And I’ll let him sleep in tomorrow morning. He needs to rest.”

The sun had set sometime during the painstaking ordeal, but torchlight along the walls of the castle made it easy to take his sleeping apprentice back to his room even once night has fallen. After using a simple spell to swing the door open while his arms were in use carrying the boy, Merlin walked in and used another little spell. The green aura of his magic glowed around the blanket on Douxie’s bed as he folded part of it over using his magic, providing room to lay Douxie down on his bed with head nestled right in his pillow’s usual dent. Once Archie stepped out of the way, Merlin reached over and laid the blanket back over him.

Douxie stirred a little, but only to turn from his back onto his side, his back to the wall and his front facing Merlin. Once the boy settled again, Merlin tentatively reached behind his head and let his bun loose so it wouldn’t get tangled if he moved around too much in his sleep. He doubted it would, considering the exhaustion and soreness in his muscles would probably enticement enough to stay still, even unconscious, but the gesture couldn’t hurt.

Archie crawled right underneath one of Douxie’s arms and nestled against his chest, and the moppet unconsciously held the bespectacled cat a little tighter.

And that was Merlin’s unspoken cue to leave Hisirdoux to rest for the night, so that’s what he did. He needed rest too, after all - his built-up immunity may have saved his life, but the poison, like everything else in the onslaught of the evening, left him weary.

Tomorrow, a search would begin.

Tomorrow, Merlin would find out who was behind this.

Tomorrow, the greatest and most powerful wizard in Camelot would not relent until he found the monster, human or trollish, who almost killed his son.

But tonight, Hisirdoux lay curled up in his bed, sound asleep as he kept his familiar close. Tonight, his life was saved.

And tonight, that was enough.

[kiyosamu]

painful reminders

(part 1/3)

——— ♡ ———

pairing: suna rintaro x female reader

genre: angst to comfort

cw: brief mentions and descriptions of assault (not from suna, not domestic violence), reader experiences post-traumatic stress, panic, anxiety

——— ♡ ———

“hey, i’m here now. you’re safe.”

the words echoed in your mind for a few seconds too long. you were hardly able to register their meaning while under the influence of your deep fear. you felt nothing but dread; impending pain and horror that you were sure was coming at any moment.

——— ♡ ———

suna slumped his body on the window of the train, trying to contort his larger than average build into a position comfortable enough to get a few moments of rest before arriving at his stop.

“attention passengers. there is a situation and we need to make an emergency stop at the next station. please gather your belongings and file out of the train as soon as we arrive.”

weird, he thought. must be another petty robbery. maybe someone refusing to get off of the tracks, or something exciting, like a mass murderer.

suna caught himself just as he had the thought, stopping his process immediately.

he shook his head, unimpressed at his ability to appear removed and disinterested no matter the situation. not to mention the scenarios running through his mind; scenarios that would terrify any sane person with an ounce of emotion no matter who they were.

suna scoffed and sat up to grab his bag.

of course, he knew it was nothing like that. that’s probably why he didn’t stay in his head and scare himself with anything further. why bother upsetting yourself by simply letting your mind run away from you? stupid, he thought. he never understood overthinkers. not only was it not productive, but it was exhausting.

thankfully, this station was only about a ten minute walk from the next, the one he was supposed to get off at. even though he was coming home from a tiring practice, the athlete never seemed to run out of stamina.

suna squinted as bright blue and red lights lit up the dark streets. rain began to pour and suna cursed his odds. the forecast predicted only a 10% chance of rain, and he just so happened to be getting caught in that unlucky percentage when he had to walk even further just to get back home.

he groaned and pushed his hair out of his face. the rain soaked his clothes, his sweatpants and shirt clinging to his body. suna felt disgusting and suddenly the thought of a hot shower was even more appealing than the leftover onigiri he had waiting in his fridge.

just as another thought of self pity was about to cross his mind, another police car flew by him.

must be pretty bad, wonder what happened..

that thought was as far as his curiosity went. if it was major, he’d probably hear about it on the news or in the paper. if not, well, it really was none of his business.

as he turned down the next street, he saw four police cars all blocking off the station. police tape sectioned off the area and officers stood with their arms crossed and chests pushed out as other vehicles pulled in.

he blinked a few times, taking in the scene for a second before realizing he’d stopped walking. suna brought himself back to reality and stared at the ground with his hands in his pockets. while he was shamelessly nosy as a teenager, he’d grown into quite the reserved young adult who knew how to mind his business.

unfortunately, that new trait flew out the window the second he heard a familiar voice.

——— ♡ ———

“officer, please. he said he’d come back for me, i don’t feel safe going home… i don’t have family here, i don’t have anywhere else to stay-“

“look. you’re just scared, but you’re not injured.” the man stared down at you with an emotionless glare. “there’s nothing more we can do for you. the suspect assaulted two other women and they’re cooperating. why are you asking us for more when we’ve done everything we can so far?”

his voice was as cold as your quickly declining temperature, the rain soaking through your t-shirt and causing you to shiver.

“he.. he held a knife to my throat. there’s-“ you lifted your hand to lightly trace the marks on your neck that had been squeezed in place only an hour before. “he said he was going to kill me but…” you trailed off, the night’s events playing over and over in your mind with no indication of stopping the endless repeat. “but then he saw the lights and ran. he said he’d be back for me…”

the officer sighed.

“criminals often utter threats to make their victims submit to their words and give in. they want to commit their crimes as quickly as possible. we’ve gone over this, you didn’t know him. he doesn’t know anything about you-“

“but what if he does?!” you shouted, tears streaming down your cheeks before you’d even realized you were crying.

“listen ma’am, you need to calm down-“ the officer grabbed your wrist and you ripped it away from him, covering your mouth and staring in disbelief at the officer. you were in shock. you couldn’t process what was going on, let alone what had happened. you didn’t know what to do.

you froze as you felt an arm around your shoulder. a familiar voice spoke your name with tenderness and a low, empathetic tone that you’d never heard from him.

“i’ll take her home, officer. she’s my neighbour.”

while that was true, you were still surprised at the gesture. rintaro suna had been your neighbour for 3 years. the two of you were friendly; you’d been to each other’s homes a handful of times and sometimes would share a meal or drop off some food that was too much for one person.

you were both single, living alone in your apartments. although you weren’t super close, you always felt like he was a friend. a slightly distant, reserved, quiet friend, but a friend nonetheless.

the two men exchanged words for what felt like an eternity before suna squeezed you closer to him, guiding you out of the area and walking you towards your apartment.

you opened your mouth to say something. anything. even just a greeting, a thank you for the escort home.

when you stopped walking, he stayed close to you and looked down at your expression.

you opened your mouth to say something but the moment you did, you relived the traumatizing situation once again and fell into a deep panic.

“i-i-… no-n..” your words broke as you felt your body shaking. the cold rain was doing nothing to help your condition, and if you could describe it in any way, it was like losing control of your own sanity. you felt the panic wash over you as the phantom pressure of the knife pressed against your windpipe - your mind quite literally putting you in a choke hold.

“hey. i’m here now, you’re safe.”

the words echoed in your mind for a few seconds too long. you were hardly able to register their meaning while under the influence of your deep fear. you felt nothing but dread; impending pain and horror that you were sure was coming at any moment.

suna wrapped his arms around you protectively. he didn’t know why, he didn’t even really know what was going on, but he knew that all he wanted to do in that moment was to prevent anything further from hurting you.

you clutched at his hand and dug your nails into his skin. you didn’t mean to, you didn’t even realize you were doing it. suna would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt, but he ignored it and held you close against him until you felt like you were okay to walk again.

when you caught your breath, you pulled his hand away from your face.

“i’m sorry… i don’t know what happened.” you choked out.

“you had a panic attack.” he said quietly. “we don’t need to talk about anything right now, though, okay? let me get you home. you went through something horrible and you’re freezing cold. it’s just a little more up the road, can you make it?”

you nodded, dropping your hands to your side and suna instinctively held onto the one closest to him.

“i’m scared to stay in my apartment… alone…” you whispered.

“you can stay with me.” suna said this with more certainty than suggestion. if anything, it was a statement. he was planning on having you stay over or even him staying at yours. whatever worked, he just didn’t want you to be alone and he knew you had nobody else to call.

he had never planned to get involved in your personal business like this. he didn’t want to be the weird neighbour, and he already worried if bringing you food some nights would make you uncomfortable.

those thoughts were always put to rest whenever you smiled at him and graciously accepted his gestures. your warm smile and the way your cheeks made your eyes squint when you were really happy was an image he’d always have trouble shaking out of his head for the following days.

suna snuck a glance at you as the two of you started to walk again. your smile that he swore could light up an entire city was nowhere to be seen.

he would do anything to see that smile on your face right now.

you looked like a shell of what you once were. he knew that you’d experienced something traumatic, but seeing you like this made him feel something hard in his chest.

you didn’t deserve that.

a painful squeeze developed deep inside him when he thought of what your face must have looked like when it had happened. a sweet girl who seemed to always bring out the bright side in any situation. you’d made him sweets (that he secretly broke his athletic diet for) when he’d lost an important game, and always made him smile whenever he saw you.

it was different right now. he felt anxious. he squeezed your hand in his and you didn’t even flinch, didn’t even seem to notice as you looked ahead with a blank stare.

on the other end, his touch alone was enough to give you the tiniest bit of comfort. it wasn’t much, and you were still scared, but it was enough to get you home.

——— ♡ ———

part 1 | part 2 (in progress) | part 3 (in progress)

[zinzinina]

Next

This is just my little submission for the lovely @firstofficerwiggles’s wonderful Victory Ball AU event! I’m sneaking this drabble in on the last day; I hope that’s okay! x

Pairing: ARC Trooper Jesse x F!Reader Words: 500 CW: No warnings with this one! Just a soft little moment with Jesse.

It’s much cooler on the balcony. The night air is soothing on your cheeks, still overheated from the crowded ballroom behind you. Letting the noise fade as you step out, you aren’t surprised to find him leaning against the balustrade.

“Everything alright? You said you were just getting us drinks. I didn’t know you were going to leave me there with Tup and Dogma. I can only hear that joke about the Trandoshan manicurist so many times.” Your tone is light and teasing as you rest your hand gently against his lower back, feeling the flex of muscle under his skin as he straightens.

“Just needed some fresh air.” He catches your hand in his own, bringing it to his lips and keeping his eyes trained on your face. “Have I told you yet how beautiful you look in that gown?”

You smile. “Only a few times.” His usual seriousness is underscored with a peculiar tension and you step a little closer, until you’re beside him. The city sparkles; innumerable speeders and windows winking with lights all the way into the skyscraper-blurred distance. Billions of people; working late into the night, stressed and distracted. Curled up together watching holodramas. Asleep in their beds. It’s dizzying, the sheer number of lives here, and the thought of how fragile their safety had been.

“Do you ever think about it?” you ask him. “What might’ve happened if Fives hadn’t found it?”

“It’s all I can think about.”

You can hear the frown in his voice. Here, away from illuminated chandeliers inside, the black halo of his tattoo obscures his expression. You let your head drop sideways, resting against his shoulder. The stiff dress uniform feels starchy against your cheek, but it’s still softer than plastoid. 

“I don’t think you would have hurt anybody.” You’re both still gazing outward as his arm snakes around your waist to hold you close, his other hand clasping yours. “Even if they’d... activated it. You would’ve fought it.”

“I don’t know.” He roughly clears his throat through a waver of some unnameable emotion. “Maybe I’d lose control of my own thoughts. I don’t think I would have been able to stop myself.”

“You would.” You don’t even hesitate with your response, voice firm. 

He’s quiet for a few moments, his arm tightening around your body. There’s a burst of raucous, masculine laughter, muffled by the closed doors at your back. When he speaks again, he sounds unsteady. “I don’t... know who I am without the war. I don’t know what to do next.”

You nod to yourself, weaving your fingers between his. The Clone Emancipation Act hasn’t been passed yet, but it’s a near-certainty. The reveal and subsequent removal of Sheev Palpatine had left a vacuum of authority, one which senators like Organa and Mothma had been all too ready to fill. For a man like Jesse, who had lived his entire life unreservedly prepared to die serving the Republic, it must be a terrifying change.

“You can do whatever you want,” you murmur. “You’ll figure it out. You can go anywhere in the galaxy now.”

“We.” You tilt your face up to look at him, confused. He continues. “We can go anywhere in the galaxy.” 

Backlit by the warm glow of the celebration behind you, the two of you stand wrapped close on the balcony for a good while longer.

Taglist: @kaorikoizumi​ @bvcketfvcker​ @saradika​ @mandaloriandin​ @whatanoof​ @thiccumz​ @smoldjarin​ @rexsjaigeyes​ @sgtdogmastyle​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @just-fics-i-read​ @tacticalsparkles​ @alucas528​ @chromia7567​ @sithwitch-crosshairs-toothpick​ @cannedsoupsucks​ @clanoffetts​ @delusionsxfgrandeur​ @bobas-missing-codpiece​ @ladyopress​ @writeforfandoms​ @pinkiemme​ @justanothersadperson93​ @just-fics-i-read​ @fuckyeahbeskar​ @hyperfixation-archives​ @parkotedarasuum​ @space-b33​ @14mcmd1122​ @justanotherstarwarswhore​ @vaderthepotater​ @dangerousstrawberrypie​ @infinity-mars​ @the-grey-jedi​ @jakiejellybean​ @meabravo​ @techposting​ @galacticgraffiti

[supercorpkid]

Two Luthors are better than one.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Lillian Luthor x Granddaughter!Reader

Word count: 3100.

If you haven’t you can check out It’s you against the world first, if you would like a little bit more of context.

You wake up feeling almost too rested to be true. You get out from under your blankets, and you expect to see blood and dirt everywhere, instead you’re cleaned. You look at your clothes and you’re wearing your favorite pajamas and they smell like home. Home.

It feels like you haven’t stepped foot home in a lifetime. So much has happened. So much pain and sorrow have taken over you and your family. You sit back on your bed, looking around. Can you even call this home if Lena is not in it?

You have slept too long. You don’t know how many hours you’ve slept, but that doesn’t matter. Five minutes would’ve been too long.

A small part of you believes Kara. Sure, it wasn’t all your fault. How could’ve been, right? How could you have been everywhere at the same time? How could you have gone for Lena when Kara’s location was right there? Still. Still-

You feel like an exposed wound waiting for something – no, not something, Lena – to care for it. To patch it up with an assertive and unquestioning ‘this isn’t your fault’.

“Momma.” You call and it doesn’t take long for you to see Kara’s face poking at your door. “How am I clean?”

“Oh.” Kara gives you a soft smile, walking in your bedroom. “You passed out from exhaustion before we got home. So, I had to give you a shower, and food while you were sleeping.”

“What?” You furrow your brows, confused. “I can eat while I sleep?”

“Apparently.” Kara agrees with her head and touches your face with a big smile. “It’s good to see your pretty face again. You were looking really, what’s the word? Dead.”

“I think I was dead for a minute before you saved me.” You exhale, finally realizing you are glad to be alive. “Thank you.”

You throw yourself in her arms and Kara catches you, giving you a little kiss on the head, then puts her cheek on top of your head, while stroking your back lightly.

“My baby.” Kara’s voice is so full of love, she doesn’t have to say anything else for you to understand what she means.

“I’m sorry about what I said.” You sigh, feeling there’s no more anger left on your body. You’re done fighting the world completely. “I was so full of rage I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Oh, my love.” Kara cups your face, making you look at her and her blue eyes meet yours. “When will you understand that you are my heart beating out of my chest? If you’re mad, I’m mad too. If you die, I will die too.”

“Momma, I love you so much, but I-I miss her. What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t get her memories back and she doesn’t-” You stop yourself, when a tear slides down your cheek.

“Then you can’t do it.” Kara says, and you furrow your brows in question. “And someone else will try. And if they can’t do it, we will live with this.”

“How?” Your voice comes out small. Kara forces a smile out.

“I don’t know, kid. But we will.” She kisses your forehead, and you close your eyes at the familiar comfort that brings. “What you can’t do is bleed yourself dry for this.”

“But it 's mom.”

“But it’s you.” Kara’s forehead rests against yours. You cry, and she cries too. Both of your hearts are beating so painfully slow. “And I can lose the entire universe, except you, my heart. And I can tell you with absolute certainty your mom feels the same way.”

“Not anymore.” You whisper and Kara’s forehead stop touching yours, as she brings you back into her arms in a comforting hug.

“We can always ask for help.”

You think about it for a second. You think about how much you wanted Kara’s help in battle. How much you needed her fighting with you side by side, because two Kryptonians are better than one. If that is true, then two Luthors must be better than one. Your Luthor is, um, unavailable. So-

No. You could never.

No. She would never.

Right?

You snap your head up, looking at Kara. She looks back at you, knowing that look on your face. The look of an idea.

“Yes?” She asks, unsettled. You super speed through your morning routine, and Kara snaps her eyes wide open at you, waiting for a response.

“I think I’ve got it.” You run out of your bedroom but come back a split second later. You kiss Kara’s cheek with a smile. “I love you. You’re the best.”

“I-I love you too.” Kara says, still surprised by your sudden change of attitude, and you leave again. This time for good.

“I have to say I’m amazed to see you, granddaughter.” Lillian says when you land in front of her. She tilts her head, and you almost salute her off. But you don’t have time for that.

“I have important pressing matters to discuss with you.” Your answer also seems to amaze her, as she raises her eyebrows at the sound of that.

“Do tell.” Lillian looks as interested as you thought she would. You never deny her your company when she appears in front of you. Once in every other month. But this is certainly out of character, so she looks curious. You look around, to be sure no one can hear you before you start.

“Some shapeshifters kidnapped Lena. They’ve mind-wiped her and hurt her, and now-now she doesn’t remember-” You think about it for a second. If Lillian’s going to help you, she needs to know exactly what Lena doesn’t remember. But what if Lena not remembering you and Kara is exactly what she always wanted? “Me.”

“Aliens.” She scoffs in disgust, almost forgetting you too are an alien, or half of one for that matter. “Let me guess. Supergirl imprisoned them in a cell and will try to turn them good eventually?”

“Well, not exactly.” You look down. Face burning at the thought of the words you’re about to say. At the truth that is about to be confined to Lillian freaking Luthor. “I-I killed them.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t have said that faster. Or have a more surprised look on her face. But slowly she comes down from her shock.

“I’ve been working on reversing their technology, but, well, I’m not much of a scientist as much as I am an inventor of sorts.” You say, receiving an agreeable nod from her.

“So what exactly is your pressing matter with me, dear?” Lillian asks. She knows what you want. It’s pretty obvious. And it’s also pretty obvious she wants you to ask for it.

“I could use some help.” You wait a beat. “Your help.”

Lillian’s nod is so tiny, if you weren’t staring at her with your undivided attention, you would’ve missed it.

“Do you still have your lab at L Corp?” She asks and you shake your head, agreeing. “What are we waiting for?”

It’s all she has to say for you to fly to L Corp with her. You look at Lena’s office to be sure she is there, before walking into the building.

“Oh, Mrs-Mrs. Luthor.” Aly shuffles in her chair uncomfortable, and you listen to her heart beating terrified and almost out of her chest.

“Hey Aly, Lillian and I have some, um, stuff to work on in my lab. You know the drill. Don’t let anyone interrupt us.” You ask and she agrees with her head, eagerly.

“Should I tell your mom-”

“No!” You stop her, before she’s half finished. “Please don’t disturb my mom. It’s all good here. Ok?”

“Of course, Miss Luthor-Danvers.” She agrees and you make a mental note to tell your mom, when all of this is over, to give Aly a raise. You thank her and make your way to your lab, with Lillian right behind you.

When you open the door, you startle yourself by the look of the place. You don’t remember the lab looking this wrecked ever before. There are cans of red bulls everywhere. Broken parts, and oh yeah, you punched a hole in your working table. Also, the amount of blood here is absurd.

“I see you’ve been working through mental breakdowns-” She pushes one can with her feet, almost too gracefully for the action itself. “Sleepless nights and-” She stares at some blood stains on the floor. “Wherever that blood came from.”

“Me. Mainly.” You point out, not entirely embarrassed by the truth of what she’s saying. You pick up your chair on the floor and point to the main computer. “You can start looking at the alien tech while I try to clean up the place a little.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Working with Lillian is not like working with Lena. It’s methodic, barely satisfactory, and it doesn’t leave space for any chat or contribution. You don’t care. You’re not looking for fun, but for results and as long as she gives you that, you don’t mind the deafening silence.

“How did it feel?” Lillian asks, after maybe two hours of uninterrupted silence. You raise your head from the new metal halo you’re making. “To kill them?”

“I don’t know.” You answer, truthfully. “I was dying with them.”

“Of course you were.” Lillian says like that’s the answer she was expecting to hear. Like hearing you had killed someone made no sense, and now with this little piece of information it all makes sense again.

After what it feels like another two hours, Lillian looks back at you with a nod. “Ready for testing.”

“Okay.” You pick the halo you made and transfer the new coding system she created to it. “I’ll make myself forget something with the mind wiper I invented and then try to bring that memory back.” You explain, but it feels stupid. It is self-evident the entire experience. “I guess I’ll forget my uncle’s name and you can remind me if it doesn’t work.” She agrees with her head. “Bye Lex.” You use your memory wiper, forgetting whatever his name is. Then you grab the halo, placing it over your head. “Ok. I’m ready.” Lillian presses a few things on the computer and nods at you when it’s over. “My uncle’s name is-”

Nothing.

“It didn’t work.” You sigh. Exhausted. “I don’t know his name.”

“I think I see the problem.” Lillian resumes working on the computer, and you wait.

“What is it?” You ask after a while, because not remembering is bothering you. “His name, I mean. What’s his name?”

Lillian turns her head back at you, to look at you from the corner of her eyes. “I don’t think not knowing will harm you more than doing so. You’re better off without this information.”

Ok, then.

“Done.” Lillian says and you do the entire process again. You sit on your chair, after erasing someone else’s name from your mind, and you sigh before putting the halo on.

“I hope this works.” You whisper, more to yourself than to her. “I miss her.”

Her eyes are filled with something that can only be described as pity when she looks at you again. Lillian blinks at you, trying to ignore your feelings. You swallow them down too. You put the halo over your head and give her a thumbs up. She turns to the computer again.

“Miss Finnick.” You say absolutely certain this time. A smile comes up your lips and, like it hasn’t been beating for all this time, your heart races on your chest, beating into your ribcage. Thank Rao. And Lillian, you guess. “It worked.”

“Luthors are geniuses, after all.” Lillian agrees with her head, and that’s all. She walks to the lab door, and you furrow your brows. “I think you can take it from here.”

“You’re not going to stay? You can tell her you did it all yourself and-”

“There’s no point.” Lillian stops you. “I won’t get any form of appreciation. And I don’t think she would trust something I made.”

“Well, she doesn’t remember me. She might not trust something I made too.” You say and Lillian gives you the closest thing to a full smile you’ve ever seen on her lips.

“Darling, look at your face. Lena might be distrustful of people, but no one is immune to your charm.” Lillian tilts her head, clearly saying this conversation is over. “Granddaughter.”

“Grandmother.” You salute her off, and Lillian opens the door of your lab. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t answer. You nearly repeat yourself, but she closes the door. She heard you. You’re sure.

Less than a minute after you called her, Kara is knocking on your lab door. You let her in with a smile, and call Aly asking her to send Lena to your lab without mentioning your name. Every second before Lena arrives is filled with anticipation and Kara has to hold you, so you don’t fly away, unable to hold yourself down.

“Listen, baby.” Kara whispers softly. “I’m sure it will work perfectly, but if it doesn’t-”

“Then we’ll figure out how to live with this.” You look up to her and she smiles at you.

“We will.” She repeats.

You hear the click on the door, when the L Corp id is accepted. You hear when the door unlocks. You watch the handle slowly opening. And what it feels like a lifetime later, you watch Lena coming in. You wait a beat for the expression on her face to reveal something. Anything. Love, hate, care, unfamiliarity. You would take anything. But Lena’s expression is unreadable.

“I’ve been wondering when I would see you again.” Lena says, directed at you. She apparently saw Kara after. “I suppose I have some thanking to do.”

That’s all. The silence lingers for another entire minute. Was that a thank you?

“But now, I’m dazed as to why and how you’re here in one of my labs.”

“It’s my lab.” You answer, taking your id card from your pocket and showing it to her.

“I suppose you’re right.” Lena agrees with her head. She takes something out of her pocket too. Looks at it for a few seconds, before showing it to you. “It’s you.”

It’s a picture of the three of you together. Old enough, but still not so old you would be unrecognizable. You were probably ten or eleven, and your faces are all smushed together, and all your smiles are so large you wish you would remember what made you guys so happy.

“How is this possible?” Lena asks, and you finally see it. Your mom, behind the façade of the strong professional CEO peeking out. And she is scared. She walks a little bit closer to you. “Was it-” She points at the large scar on the side of her head.

“No.” You say, and Kara pats your back encouraging you to say more. You breathe deep trying to calm yourself. “Alien tech, actually. I can explain it to you now, or…” You go to your table and grab the halo. “After we bring your memories back.”

“Oh.” Lena furrows her brows. She looks at the picture one more time, almost as confirmation. Like the picture is telling her that she can trust you. She goes to where you’re standing and sits on the chair you’re pointing to. You put the halo on her head and move to your computer.

“It’s Kara, right?” Lena asks and you stop looking at the computer, to look behind you. Lena is looking at your momma, who’s staring at her from across the room. Kara agrees with her head vividly. “Can you, please, stop looking at me like that? It’s, um, distracting.”

Oh great, she doesn’t even know who Kara is and already wants to sleep with her. Yes. That sounds like your mother alright.

“Sorry.” Kara’s face blushes completely. “I haven’t seen you in a long while.”

“Four days hardly feels like too long.” Lena says, and you smirk at her.

“Yeah, you clearly don’t remember anything.” You look back at your computer. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Lena says and you agree, doing exactly what Lillian has done. Lena is zoomed out for a few minutes, and you and Kara just look at her, patiently waiting to see if it worked.

You only know it worked when Lena looks at you, eyes full of tears, and she throws her arms around you so hard, even you with your super strength can feel it.

“I missed you so much.” You say, crying silent but happy tears, and you feel Kara’s arms around both of you. Lena kisses your forehead so many times, it feels like she's trying to make up for the past few days when she wasn’t around to do so. She only stops to kiss Kara’s mouth, also repeatedly for a few times, and you smile, between your tears.

“You saved me, babygirl. You saved me.” Lena says so softly, your heart swells on your chest.

“Not before they wiped your memories, though.”

It comes. As natural as the daylight. The patch, the care, the healing. Everything you were expecting, it comes.

“That was not your fault!” Lena says, assertively. And if you weren’t crying already, you would’ve started now. “Hey, baby-” Lena holds your face in her hands and smiles at you, so fondly there’s no way she doesn’t remember everything about you. “You did the impossible. You saved me, cared for me, and now you brought my memories back.”

“With Lillian’s help.”

“Sure. But that doesn’t take away everything you have done.” Lena wipes your tears and holds Kara’s hand lovingly. “I’m so proud of you.”

“She almost died to save us.” Kara adds, so Lena understands all you have done.

“You have to stop almost dying.” She begs, between tears, and you smile.

“Well, like Bukowski once said, ‘you have to die a few times before you can really live’.” You smile at her.

“He didn’t mean literally!”

“Rao, you two are such nerds I feel bad about getting in the hug and lowering the IQ of the hug.” Kara says and Lena chuckles, pulling her closer and kissing her dearly. “We’re fine.”

“We are fine.” Lena agrees.

You breathe in their words. You let them go inside of your body and let them fill you, head to toes. You’re fine. You’re fine. You hug Lena, smelling her familiar scent and you smile. You are fine.

[barzzal]

take me as i am

summary: like he always does, sidney picks you up after work. the only thing he didn’t expect was to see you kissing one of your workmates. the one he’s been jealous of, to be exact.

↳ pairing: sidney crosby x you

↳ warnings: jealousy, make up sex, and the whole narrative of sidney learning you love him for the first time, minors dni*

↳ genre: angst if you squint, fluff, smut, pre-established relationship (you’re not there yet but almost), +18

↳ length: imagine; 5.9k

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: skin, drunk on love by rihanna

note: this fic has been in my drafts for a while and i’m just happy i get to share it with y’all now! a lil nervous putting this out but as always, feedbacks are very much appreciated! <3

Sidney has never gripped a steering wheel so hard in his life not until he spent the entirety of waiting outside the café of your building, watching the innocent touches and laughs you share with a colleague that he has been secretly observing every time he comes and picks you up after work or your usual work brunches such as this.

You hadn’t been dating officially which is basically the reason behind why he didn’t want his petty issues out in the open. But Sidney has got to admit that even though the obvious age gap between the two of you didn’t bother him, the sight of you hanging out with guys your age– someone who could potentially connect with you in levels he knew he never could, scares the shit out of him. 

So, when he sees you give that guy a kiss goodbye and a smile that he knows he only brings out of you, that’s when he lost it. 

As soon as you get out of the café, you immediately see Sidney’s car parked at the usual spot he takes. His car was fairly tinted so he makes it a point to come out and greet you with a quick kiss before opening the door for you. However, this time, (the first time for the matter) instead of Sidney’s well built arms, what welcomed you were the car’s flashing lights beaming your way, signaling you to walk over where he was.

You didn’t mind, thinking that he must’ve been just tired from practice. Once you’ve snuck in the car and got settled, you turn to Sidney who was already turning the engine on without even bothering to give you the one thing he’s never failed to do ever since you two started going out. Kisses.

“Hey, babe.” You greet him, hand already massaging his nape as you lean in to plant a small kiss on his cheek. When you feel his jaw clenched, that’s when you knew something was definitely wrong. With furrowed brows, you were utterly bemused at his strange behavior. 

“What’s with you?” You ask him, hand still placed on his nape, now running your thumb on top of it endearingly to ease out the stress you thought he was under. Sidney didn’t bother answering and instead turned his eyes onto the rear view mirror, finally pulling off the parking spot and into the main road. 

He mumbles something which you didn’t quite hear. “What?” 

Sidney only shakes his head, dismissing the attention you have been giving him. “Nothing.” 

You decide not to push him further so you just took your hands away from him and closed your arms. You look outside the window, watching the normal busy day of the city rush before your eyes. 

It’s safe to say that you and Sidney spent the whole ride sitting in an uncomfortable silence. You try and steal a couple of glances, evidently clueless as to what caused his sudden change of demeanor. You were sure the two of you were fine because you had woken up real good this morning and even shared a steamy shower before heading for work. You sat the remainder of the car ride listening to Sidney’s heavy sighs that comes every time he stops at the traffic light. 

“Baby, come on. What’s wrong?” You ask him. This time, fueled with the desire of learning what could have possibly upset him. 

“Nothing.” He repeats only now with his voice distant and inattentive as his eyes were still pinned hard on the road.

Your gaze tread onto his veiny hand holding on the steering wheel. His brief movements whilst he maneuvers it, and his Rolex shining under the golden sun, were more than enough to send your mind miles away from where you are. You clear your voice, practically turned on by the man who’s busily ignoring you, “When you’ve done nothing but ignore me, it’s definitely not nothing.” 

Sidney is a fairly quiet man. A man that’s secured and guarded. A man that thinks about how he should react to certain situations. A man with certainty— a man that knows what he wants. That’s at least what you’ve learned from going out with him for almost a year. Sure, you haven’t had the talk about making things official after said given time, but you absolutely see yourself committing not just to him but more importantly to the relationship you have been able to build with him.

You were still working your way with having a full grasp of his sudden mood changes although this time, you just know it’s different. You see, Sidney may not be that talkative compared to his teammates but he still treated you differently. He moved around you differently. Perhaps, it’s even safe to say that the only time he gets to be himself is whenever he’s with you. His connection with you was just undeniably surreal that he’s even certain himself that he has never been this comfortable and so at home with someone who was probably still cruising through life when he got drafted in the NHL; let alone, connect with her on so many levels that no one, not even a shit ton of girls from his dating track ever did. 

However, given said time, and possibly even the age difference, Sidney does tend to get all dominant towards you that it even intimidates you at one point. That being said, that intimidation would later on ignite a fight that’s usually composed of blank stares, cold shrugs and treatments as the two of you ignore each other for the rest of the day. 

“Hon, come on. Tell me what’s wrong. Please?” You ask for the hundredth time as you tugged on the hem of the sleeves of his shirt.

You keep persuading Sid to tell you what has been bothering him that it finally got into his nerves, resulting in him involuntarily snapping at you with the sudden rise in his voice. 

“Stop it, y/n! I said it’s nothing. I’m tired. I just want to go home.” He finally breaks, causing you to take your hands off of him in an instant as if his words burn your skin. 

Lo and behold, “Alright. Fine.” were two words that rang in his ears all the way home. You did what you’re told and shut up and ignored him the whole time. You would often see him taking glances in the corner of your eye but your ego was far too stepped on to even care. You did care. He was just too much of a prick to acknowledge it. Now that he’s made his bed, he can lie on it as long as he pleases. 

Much to his realization, he immediately regretted having to raise his voice. He didn’t mean to, of course. It’s just that the image of you and the guy you’re working with was the only thing running in his mind all throughout the car ride. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you because who was he to begin with?

He didn’t have the right to tell you these things because he wasn’t exactly in the place to do so. He would never order you to quit seeing that man nor will he ever ask for more than what you can give. He just hated himself for feeling insecure and quite possibly terrified of the idea that he’d eventually lose you to a man that’s far better than him. However, out of all scenarios playing in his head endlessly, you realizing that you’re better off without him was what scared him the most. 

As soon as he pulls over the driveway, you get out of the car without uttering a single word. A thing that Sidney knew will cause him another night of sharing a cold bed with you.

𖥸

Sidney follows you into his home and watches as you head towards the stairs. The cold dead air settles quickly between the two of you whilst you continue to ignore him completely. Sidney frustratingly sighs and tosses his keys onto the accent table. He ran his hand through his hair as he followed after your steps, knowing full well that he was clearly the one in the wrong.

He sees you sitting at the end of the bed whilst you take off your red pumps. “I’m sorry.” he says at once, voice still soft amidst the fact that he was still testing the waters.

Without an ounce of thought, you stood and walked over his closet to get rid of your work clothes, sparing not an ounce of attention for the man. As you walk further his huge closet, you hear the sliding doors glide all the way as Sidney follows after your track.

“Baby…” He coos, the familiar tone in his voice that was missing a while ago now hits every nerve in your body. Although, despite feeling the same effect he’s always had on you, you still manage to let out a wild scoff while you start removing your white button down shirt in front of the mirror that stretched all the way to the ceiling, revealing nothing but your black laces that held your breasts underneath. A mundane sight that’s always left Sidney’s throat high and dry.

“Oh, so now I’m baby?” You snarked, eyes darting on him through the giant mirror.

Sidney didn’t break off contact as he approached you but once he did, your skin was the first thing his hands found the moment he wrapped his arms around your waist before you could even protest. He then plants a small kiss on your shoulder before he rests his chin on top of it.

The biggest mistake you’ve made however, was to turn your gaze on his apologetic eyes because not only did it make your heart beat faster, but it also made you realize that you can never win with this man. You were done for for good.

Besides the sight put forth exclusively for him, you brush your hand on his skin, making up for the time you’ve spent ignoring each other.

“I’m sorry.” He concedes with a pout and the little voice he makes when he’s done arguing with you; enough to make you let out a quiet laugh whilst the two of you rest in each other’s arms. You just roll your eyes and bite back a smile. A thing that lets Sid know he got through the fight even if it barely was one.

“Why were you having a fit anyway? Rough day?” Your hand finds his cheek to caress it while Sidney presses feather light kisses on your now exposed skin. 

“No. I’m just– tired.” He lies again, losing count on how much he’s told you that he was just tired. Or that it was nothing worth worrying about. But he should’ve known better. You weren’t that gullible to believe it. So, you just arch your brows and watch him stifle a tight smile upon having caught on his lie. 

“Come on, tell me.” You persuade him.

“I saw you with that guy earlier.” He starts, treading his way lightly on what’s been bothering him. His voice leaves vibration on your skin as he speaks.

You hum and asked, “Who? Mike?”

Great. He even has my back up name. He thinks but only resorts to nodding his head, admittedly enjoying how your hand brushes on his muscular arms, making it difficult for him to argue his case.

“What about him?”

“I saw you kiss him—” were just the words you needed to hear to understand the whole point being Sidney was a big jealous man himself. “You’re jealous.” You confirm with a smug smile on your face. Now having a full understanding of his unusual quietude. 

“Honey, there’s nothing to be jealous about.” You guarantee him. You then turn your back and face him. You put your arms around his neck whilst his arms fitted well as it embraced your middle. You plant a small kiss on the tip of his nose, sending heaps of the same immeasurable feeling through his system.

Sidney lets go of a sigh. Amidst his knowledge, and frankly, even the certainty of you not breaking his trust, he had nothing just as much as the guy you’re working with. The only difference, however little, was that he’s the one who’s able to take you home. Other than that, he wasn’t really sure if you were feeling the same thing as him. Or if you’d even reciprocate what he’s been trying to tell you. 

Despite that, you know best that Sidney was a clueless man and was frequently teased by his constant miss on the more important things. (Other than getting that puck inside the net.) That being said, you were just as scared as him when it comes to dealing with where your relationship with him was headed. Or if it was even headed somewhere.

“I know you would never do anything and I trust you. It’s just that– I can’t help it. It bothers me.” He confesses. The man of the ice that everyone has looked up to crumbles before your eyes— and all that because you kissed a friend goodbye. 

You giggle at the sight of a jealous Crosby unravelling before you. You wrap him in your arms whilst he buries his face on the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, savoring it as much as he could.

“You’re so cute.” You tell him the moment you break off the hug. A wide smile printed on his now reddened face, quite smitten and shy to be put under your gaze.

As you inevitably drown in his scent whilst he cages you in his embrace, the next words slipped off your tongue as fast as it recoils your way the moment you heard it yourself. “You know I love you, right?” 

To say that you were nervous was an understatement. Horrified would not even suffice what you felt the moment your eyes locked with Sidney’s. His dark round irises looked through yours as if he knew what’s going on inside your head. If only you could move past this and save it for another fight, but you know you couldn’t. Not when his arms were still wrapped around your middle. Thus, for lack of a better term: you’re screwed. 

You were frozen to your feet at your sudden profession. Sidney, albeit having dreamt of this moment, was just as startled as you, feeling his throat dry whilst he tries to utter the right words. Both of your rapid and yet seemingly still breathing serves as the only constant exchange between your bodies.

Finally, Sidney gathers himself and speaks, “Now I do.” 

Before you could even break a smile, Sidney’s lips was what welcomed yours in an instant. The urgency and desire overflowing with every move his lips make as if to drown you deep in the pool of his voracious thirst, letting you know that what you had just told him is exactly what he’s been feeling towards you. Perhaps, even more. 

“You love me.” He breathes, both your teeth clashing just as you both gasp for air, perceptibly choosing to deluge yourselves in each other’s kisses than to take even just a second to catch your breaths. You take all might you still have left and nod your head, you’re hasty at how his kisses felt more than enough to tell you he felt just the same. 

Once you caught up with his pace, Sidney finds support by pinning you up against the giant mirror. His hands, roaming on the hem of your skirt before pulling it up just above the middle of your thigh. His hand then moves to your back, pushing his body closer to yours. He breaks away from your lips just so he could make his way onto your jawline and down to your neck, leaving sloppy and wet kisses in every corner he could get into. 

Without a word, Sidney takes you in his arms, busying himself with your lips yet again. Your arms wrap around his nape just as he makes his way towards the king sized bed. 

Once the bed is beneath the two of you, he carefully lays you down, letting his physique tower all over your body. The sight of your half-nakedness burns before his eyes— sending shivers on his skin, the fervent wanting to have you all out for him and him alone circles his now empty mind. Empty, being that there was nothing else cruising it other than the thought of having you take him through and through.

You watch him take off the shirt that mirrored the color of his irises, revealing his strong athletic built. Your eyes travelled from his flushed torso, down to his well-sculpted abs, before finally settling onto the thickness of his jeans that was hindering you from seeing his bulging member. Sidney lets you take him all in, his eyes grim and filled with lust once it meets yours. Not long after, clearly not needing to mutter any word, he dives on top of you, claiming your lips as if to seal a dance that ought to fuel the burning desire kindling in your veins with every touch he floors you with. 

You have gotten used to how Sidney takes you in the bedroom. Slow and steady at first, clearly holding himself back from all unimaginable pains and pleasures you know he would take no second guesses inflicting on you. This time, however, the only thing he wanted was to give you all that he has to offer. You two have always connected in ways more than just for the sake of satisfying each other in the bedroom. Or occasionally, in the passenger seat. Nonetheless, every kiss and every touch he leaves you with wasn’t meant to send you such insinuations. This time, what Sidney wanted from you was to be his alone. All for him— just like what you have told him. 

You know I love you, right?

The two of you gasp for air, evidently aroused by your deep desire to claim each other. Sidney’s fingers found your neck as his lips sought resort on your clavicle, leaving marks all over your skin just as his free hand went to unclasp your bra.

Once your breasts are out of the only material covering it,  Sidney assures no second is spared as he takes one bud into his mouth, letting himself feel your muffled moans through the vibration on your neck, resulting in him tightening his grasped onto it just before letting go so his hand could tend to your other bosom.

His kisses then moved to the center of your body, enough to make you arch your back for him, meeting him in between whilst his hand got busy with discarding all the remaining material that has irkingly caged the part of you he certainly needed most. Sid’s hands grazed every line, every curve, and every inch of your nakedness. 

You feel the firmness of his skin graze from where your neck meets your shoulder, to the skin parting your breasts, down to your stomach before stopping onto the hem of the last undergarment you were wearing. You watch him savour the sight of your black work underwear, the undeniable truth of Sidney wanting to rip it all off exuding off his demeanor. Nonetheless, he stopped himself, trying to sustain his breathing and keep his mind straight.

“Sid…” You moan under his touches.

As an effort to make things easier for Crosby, you part your legs voluntarily, giving him all access to the thin fabric covering your now throbbing core. And just like that, once he sees your moistness through your laces, a muffled groan escapes his lips, making him grip onto your thigh all the more tighter than he already did. 

Sidney throws himself on top of you just so he could kiss you once more. His lips moving slowly as he stops to take the sheer material of your panties in his mouth, getting a whiff of your now damped sex whilst his eyes were pinned on yours, savouring how you sheepishly return his gaze; visibly still shy to be put under his sole attention. Despite that, you watched him strip the clothing off. You lightly push your back upwards so he could get it under the curve of your ass before he finally succeeds in letting it slide down your smooth skin, the material falling onto the floor like the rest of your clothes.

Full, wet kisses was what welcomed your body next. It was gentle— yet firm as Sidney presses his lips onto your thigh, his hand lightly grazing the other in an upward motion. Your hand finds Sidney’s hair once he’s knelt in his desired position. He feels you tugging his head onto your center, silently pleading what you have been wanting him to do the moment he laid a hand on you. 

He hushes at his needy pup, “We have all night, my love.”

Sidney returns his attention back to your inner thigh with a smug grin. He makes sure to place whole kisses to every corner but your core, leaving you wanting, aching and more.

His breathing didn’t do much help either. It made the yearning much worse as Sidney’s touch becomes so addicting that you find yourself fighting for more than what he could give. 

Thankfully, Sid finally obliged. 

He takes pleasure in getting a whiff of your scent. Overwhelming his senses, sending jolts of adrenaline up his spine. He wanted to take you right then and there. Only taking you whole wasn’t the only thing he had in mind. He wanted to own you— mark you. Even if it meant having to do it all night so no one else would be worthy enough to even dare to share a bed with you.

One single stroke sent you to madness. The tip of Sidney’s nose, already doing wonders you’ve never once imagined. “Sid, please.” You beg in a muffled whimper. To which he only reciprocated with pressing his lips on top of your slit, humming. Not long after he takes his tongue out and lets himself taste your wetness. 

Your fingers weave through his midnight colored hair, pulling him closer as he stuck his tongue inside you, the humming he occasionally makes sends overwhelming pleasure through your walls. As your endless moans and whimper covered the room sinfully, Sidney pushed his fingers inside your center. Letting himself bask in your warmth, curling it so he could finally fuck you while he endowed himself with the treat that is: eating your cunt. 

As you mount your high by grinding your hips against Sidney’s lips, his name was the constant thing you utter— almost as if it was a prayer for the gods responsible for having such a man kneel down before you; taking all you could give him with every mouthful of liquid dripping out from your now tightening and pulsating sex. 

You were close to your high upon the continuity of Sid’s teasing strokes, switching from circling his tongue on your bud to the nibbling he does that surely floods you with ecstasy. Sidney knew you were close, so the only thing he did was to keep going, curling his fingers inside you as he keeps hitting the right spot over and over again— and once he feels your pussy throb in his mouth, he positions himself down on your opening just so he could take all of your juices, his arm wrapped around your hips to secure his wedged head in between your thighs, making you squirm and yell all the words you could even utter, your fingers sinking onto his duvet sheets.

Sidney takes his fingers out of your already spent pussy, fixated on watching your heaving chest, breasts spread out beautifully for him whilst you still drown in the bliss of meeting your high. He then takes both fingers into his mouth, sucking all that’s left of you on his skin, your distinct taste waking up the beast in him. 

Sidney was eager to spend the night worshiping you. To give you the love and affection you deserved even when he still feels like he’s no good for you. All he wanted to do was to prove himself to you. Not just as someone who would gladly concede before your needs, but as someone who’s worthy enough to spend what remains of your waking days regardless of it being good or bad.

No matter the circumstances. No matter the highs and lows. Sidney wanted to be the one holding your hand through it all. He was ready, and willing to give it all up if that meant having a chance at a life spent with you. He wanted nothing else but you alone. 

The odds must have taken his side for when Sidney looked into your eyes, he knew you wanted the same thing too.

Before Sidney could hover back on top of you, you were quick to pull yourself up which startled him for a bit, clueless as to why you were getting up not until he met the suggestive look on your face whilst you crawl your way towards the end of the bed. 

Your hands find their way to the thick fabric of his jeans, teasingly creeping up to his belt buckle without breaking your gaze off of him. He doesn’t say a word and lets you do what you do best. He watches you work your way through, the sound of the cold metal on your hand echoes in your ears as it further builds up the anticipation of finally getting your hands on Sidney.

He helps you get his pants off and once it was on the floor with the rest of your clothes, his hands then take rest holding your hair, gathering it all in his fist whilst you busied yourself by stroking his far too hardened dick along with the pre-cum that’s already dripping on its tip. 

Sidney’s flushed chest heaves the moment you take the head of his cock in your mouth; looking up at him as you continue teasing his end, licking off what remains of his pre-cum. You take time just like what he did a while back, ensuring that no part of him was left untouched by your lips— that his massive build will be taken by your mouth down to the very last inch. 

“Fuck.” He groans, his grasp on your hair tightening as he pushes his length further into your throat. 

Nothing but sloppy and wet noises of your mouth taking Sidney whole was what can be heard in the room. Every moan that slips off Sidney’s tongue makes you feel alive more than ever before. The muffled praises he gives you whilst he watches you devour him whole was all that ran in your head. The beads of sweat on his temple, the hoarseness of his voice, and the way his Adam's apple moves the closer he feels he is to coming signaled you to continue whatever it was you were doing not until seconds after you take his hardened balls into your mouth. 

“Baby, no.” He didn’t want to but it is what he had to do. He pulled himself off of you when you started sucking on his balls. Your tongue was doing too much with the build up thickening in his region. He didn’t want to spoil the evening by cumming sooner that he intended. The night was still young and if he’d let you devour him all the way, he knew he only had seconds left before he fails in stopping himself from cumming all over your face. 

You shot him a puzzled look and quickly rose to meet his eyes, “Why? Is there something wrong?” 

He breathes, taking both his hands on your shoulder, steadying you under his softened gaze. “Nothing. It’s just- I don’t wanna cum yet.” He sheepishly admits, enough to make you bite a smile and rest your head on his chest. 

You whisper an assuring “Okay.” and wrap your arms around his nape to lock him in another kiss. His rough hands grazed your naked body so beautifully. Tucking some of your hair at the back of your ear before travelling down the line your back as it finally takes rest on your butt, the other brushing on your nipple first before it goes down just below your breasts and your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Sidney tread to the corner of your lips as he lightly presses small kisses, working his way down from your jaw line onto the crook of your neck before finally settling down on sucking onto your clavicle. Once he breaks away, you both look deep into each other’s eyes, completely enthralled and enamoured to be in each other’s embrace, drowning in what seems to be the night you’ll never forget. 

“I love you.” He professes, the words finally leaving his chest out for you to hear. 

You always thought you’d smile when you hear it but you just didn’t. You were happy, sure. But for once, throughout the time you’ve spent in Sidney’s arms, whether in bed or not, you were so sure that none of the scenarios you’ve played in your head endlessly came off as right as caging him in your hold, sealing his words with a much needed passionate kiss. Pretty much like how he did when you’d told him the exact words you needed to hear moments ago back in his closet.

Sidney brushes his thumb on your cheeks and looks deep into your eyes once you break off, “What do you want me to do, y/n?” he asks, voice husk and yearning.

Without even giving it much thought, you chase Sidney’s lips and let out words enveloped with the same wanting and desire he had already been feeling from months on end, “Take me, Sid.” was the only thing you tell him. “I only want you.” 

Sidney wasted no second and claimed you with his lips once again. This time, lustful and needy— like the kind of kiss that takes your mind off where you actually are but not so much as to let you fly far off his reach so he ensured keeping you close to his skin whilst the two of you basked in a much heated kiss. 

His hands squeezed every inch of your skin he could find and with just one swift motion, Sidney props your legs around his waist as he finally takes you down the bed, allowing you to feel him in your middle, hard and heavy for your core. 

“I’ll go get the rubber.” He says, aiming for the bedside table instantly but you lightly grabbed his nape and planted a kiss on top of his nose, “No, don’t. I want to feel you.” 

“Are you sure?” He asks you, concern evident in his eyes. It’s not like you needed him to have it anyway. You were safe after having met with your gynecologist for an appointment a week ago. You give him an encouraging nod and smile, taking his lips as an answer. 

Sidney gladly does what was asked of him and delivered. His mouth travels from your chin before nestlin’ down one of your buds just as his hands roamed your body before landing on your thigh, positioning himself in front of your entrance. 

Sidney hovers back on top of you, meeting your lips yet again, finally thrusting inside you. Your walls overwhelming his senses in a snap as you choke his thick length, making the two of you gasp in between each other’s mouths. 

“Sidney, please.”  you beg underneath his weight. He pulls out just to push back slowly, easing himself through your tight walls. “Always so fucking tight for me, eh?” 

He rests an arm just above your head the other entwined with your fingers, sinking both your bodies in his sheets once his thrusts progressed at a pace both your bodies exactly needed. 

Your wails went in sync with Sidney’s antagonizing groans. Admittedly not helping you straighten your mind for it did nothing but worsen your hunger to have him. He rests his forehead on yours, sharing beads of sweat whilst he continues to pump himself through you. In and out, just like you need him to. 

As he further himself inside you, hitting your end over and over again right on the very spot that only shows how much he knows you and your body and how you communicate with him without having to say a word other than your moans and his name leaving your lips as a curse. 

Your fingers ran and dug on his back the closer you feel yourself reaching your own high. Your eyes swell with tears, overwhelmed with the feeling Sidney has been pouring you all night with. Letting his touches resonate within you, sending you a well-received message of how much you mean to him. Perhaps, more than you will ever know. 

You were it. And for once in his life, after all the years he’s spent alone; nights spent with his arms wrapped around the wrong people, he finally found someone that was able to make him feel so much more than he thought he could ever do.

“I’m coming.” You breathed out just as you finally let yourself collapse beneath him. Your legs shaking with ecstasy whilst you let Sidney pump himself inside you faster now that he feels nothing but your throbbing walls retching him whole. 

“God, y/n.” He grunts, biting his lower lip as you feel his body tensed up, his jaw clenching, and his biceps filling your palm like stones.

“Come for me, baby.” You pant, meeting his gaze before he shuts his eyes once he finally lets go and fill your walls with all of his juices, coating it all and letting it sit as he lets his body collapse on top of you. 

You let out a small laugh at how flushed and hot his cheeks were once he buries himself on the side of your head. You sweetly plant a kiss on his cheeks and he meets your irises with a gentle gaze. 

He makes his way down shortly, pecking on your shoulder before pulling himself up again to release his shaft from your core. 

“Wait for me, okay?” He says at once, savoring how his cum spills from your lips, fashioning your slit with a sight that only leaves Sidney wanting for more. 

Nonetheless, he knew you were tired. He strut his way back to the master bath to get a warm cloth that ought to clean you up. You, on the other hand, propped yourself up, letting your weight sit on both your arms as you admire the scenery of Sidney Crosby’s ass. 

He walks back towards you with a smile, his face glowing with the post-sex rush, holding a white gentle cloth that ended cleaning you down your clit, making you gasp instantly upon contact. 

Sidney then throws the cloth with the pile of mess you won’t bother cleaning up until morning. Once he was settled with you in bed, he takes you in his arms with the same gentleness he’s never failed to give you whenever you’re in his embrace. You rest your head on his arm, your hand safely placed atop his chest, content and satisfied in each other’s presence.

Now with both of your breathing settled and steady, exhaustion slowly catching on, Sidney places a soft kiss on your temple as you bask in each other’s arms, finally letting yourselves drift off to sleep.

[thefanficmonster]

You Call It A Mess, We Call It Baking

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Tons of fluff

Summary: A friendly argument via Discord leads to a baking session. Said baking session leads to a kitchen looking like it was the victim of a tornado. The lesson here is: don’t leave Corpse and Y/N in the kitchen together.

Requested by Anon, thank you so much for your request, hope I captured what you wanted well and I hope you enjoy reading it.

Corpse’s POV

I’ve been sitting in a Discord call with Y/N for about three years now, keeping her company as she’s editing some footage Sean sent her earlier. In the meantime, I’m reviewing the recently submitted stories by my viewers, reading some lines I find funny or downright terrifying to her.

“When I went in the kitchen to check on the cake, it was already out of the oven, a sticky note next to it on the counter that read: ‘smells nice’. My blood ran cold.“ I read the eerie sentence that is suggesting one of my most frightening scenarios - a stalker getting inside your house. I get chills just imagining what was probably going on in the sender’s head when they saw that.

“Jeez, it’s been so long since I’ve cooked something other than omelet.“ I hear Y/N reply absentmindedly, completely neglecting the fear factor of what’s going on in the story.

“Good job missing the point.” I chuckle, my eyes continuing to scan the email until my brain actually comprehends what she said, “Wait, you mean to tell me you have baked anything ever?! No offense, Y/N, but I was honestly doubting your ability to make an omelet as well. In all the years we’ve been friends I can’t remember you ever not saying ‘I hade takeout’ when I asked you what you had for dinner.” 

The scoff that comes through my headphones is the most adorable thing ever. She’s one to easily take a joke and never get offended by anything, but I know how heated she can get with her sarcasm. If I’m being honest, I’m always here for it. 

“There are many things you don’t know about me, Corpsy. A girl’s gotta have some aces up her sleeve.“ I can just imagine the narrowing of here eyes and the tilting of her head as she says that. She has a very specific way of expressing her thoughts. When we first met I accidentally made the comparison to one of those children’s books that have pictures, stories and small buttons for audio. That comparison has stuck with me and I look back at it very often. To fully catch her point, you don’t just listen to her. No, no, no. You focus on every change in her face and body. The way she looks away during certain parts of her speech, the way her voice plays with several different tones at once. Her posture while speaking. Just like those books - you don’t just listen to the audio, you look at the pictures and read the text.

“Well you know how much I like playing poker, why don’t you come over and throw those aces down.“ The last thing you should ever give Y/N is a challenge. She won’t only homerun it, but will never let you forget it either. When we met she was a girl with self esteem in the negatives, so seeing her brag about her achievements to me always brings me joy.

The details I’ve listed are pretty in-depth, aren’t they? That’s because I don’t want to let anything slip when it comes to her. This realization hit me early in our friendship and it was only like two years in that I finally connected the dots - this investment in her of mine was not simple nor platonic. Come to think of it, I reckon it never was.

“No way, I’m not changing out of my pajamas just to come to your house.” She laughs, once again making me picture her full body reaction to her statement.

I smirk, knowing I’m about to bring out my main weapon, “Oh come on, I’ve seen you in pajamas countless times. You can just admit you don’t wanna embarrass yourself. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

I can sense her fuming even though she’s like two miles away. “I’ll be there in 15.”

She hangs up before getting the chance to hear me lose control of the laughter I’ve been suppressing. 

Man, I love this girl.

Y/N’s POV 

“It’s on.“ I say as soon as the door in front of me swings open to reveal the smug smirking face of my bestfriend. The foundation of my tough, unbothered act is shaken up by the outburst of butterflies in my stomach which occurs every time I see him. I can never look at this man and not turn at least a little red in the cheeks. 

It’s been long since I self-diagnosed with the malicious ‘falling for someone who would never reciprocate my feelings’ illness. I’ve been living with it for a while. What medication do I take? Dating other guys. One bad relationship after another, scolding myself that every one of them has been a desperate attempt to get him to change his gaze on me from ‘best friend’ to something more. Hell, I don’t even know how to define that ‘something more’. I once even tried to admit my feelings, but I was so vague and so incoherent that I didn’t understand myself, so how was he supposed to grasp my downright sad excuse of a confession. 

“No ‘hello’, no nothing?“ He moves aside to let me in. I walk right past him with a sassy flip of my hair to mask the nervousness of being aware that his eyes were on me, “Rude.“ He murmured with an obvious smile in his tone.

He looks as cute as ever, black sweatpants and a black tee, hair messy as though he has just rolled out of bed. I can say with the upmost certainty that he’s the only one who can pull of that hairstyle.

I hide mine as I throw on the apron that’s hanging by his fridge, ready to take over his kitchen and put those aces of mine to use. I can’t help but furrow my brows when I see him enter the kitchen behind me and lean against the counter. That’s when I notice the counter is lined with all the ingredients I’ll need for the cake I had in mind. 

“OK, what do we do first?“ he claps his hands together, straightening his posture as he gives me a expectant look.

It takes all my brain cells to prevent me from freezing up completely. I’m not usually like this, mind you, I’m a lot better at keeping what’s going on inside my head camouflaged. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I don’t have much time to dwell on that. If I do, he’ll pick up on it right away.

“Um, we are not gonna do anything. I will be here baking, and you will remain outside the kitchen until I’m done. If you need something, ask and I’ll bring it to you. I can’t have you sabotaging my project, impostor.” I narrow my eyes at him like he’s the most dangerous of threats. And he is, for my mental sanity.

He fakes a hurt expression, clearly fighting to the best of his ability to hide how much he’s enjoying messing with me. “We’ve known each other for five years, Y/N. Don’t you trust me?”

I lean over the counter to where we’re about two feet apart and whisper, “Not. Even. A. Little. Bit.”

He smiles, “You’re just trying to get away with making this cake by watching a YouTube tutorial. Admit it, you can’t even crack an egg properly.” His eyes are now as narrowed as mine as we stare each other down at a proximity that’s rapidly raising my body temperature and heartbeat. It’s not fair. I’m a mess around him so he automatically has the upper hand.

As expected, I give in, “You better not mess around though.”

After I force him to give me several different oaths, we start. I’m working on the batter, he’s working on the frosting. We decided to decorate it with crimson and dark purple frosting. We’re both really pick about the color shades so he’s currently struggling to get the crimson perfect. 

“Let’s make it a layer cake.“ He suggests out of the blue, “Two layers, nothing crazy.“

I think it over for a moment or two before shrugging, “OK, but then you better grab a bowl and help me with the second layer. You know how to make the batter, right?”

He confirms that he does and walks out of my line of sight. I hear him open the fridge as I whisk the eggs I have cracked with the sugar. 

“You want something to drink?“ He asks while rummaging through the fridge.

I decline, try to focus on the recipe that I have somehow memorized to the smallest of details. As I’m reciting the it silently to make sure I didn’t skip any steps with the batter, I feel something cold run down my back causing me to scream.

“What the fuck was that?!“ I turn around and glare at him just as the ice cube slips out from under my hoodie and falls to the floor. The fucker’s laughing whole heartedly, not giving a damn that he just gave me a mini heart attack. Mainly cause I thought it was a roach or something, and he know I hate bugs.

“You do realize how boiling red you are, right? You look like a lobster. I thought you needed something to cool you down.“

Instead of being annoyed, I do a full 180 and decide to play his game, “Yeah, I know...” I trail off, reaching my hand back towards the bowl of flour. Grabbing a a handful of the white powder I throw it at him before he can even catch on. Needless, to say, his outfit and hair aren’t so black anymore. “Ah, I knew your hair would look good with snowflakes in it, but you can never be too sure.”

“This means war, Y/N.” His smile is borderline malicious, getting me excited for what’s to come. 

Him and I have always had these so called wars, but never like you’d imagine. We are silent, strategic, subtle. Neither of us knows when the other will attack until it’s too late. That’s why instead of going for a counter-attack right away, he heads to complete his mission of making the batter for the second layer.

All is quiet except the noises of the utensils clinking together every now and then. I keep a close watch on him out of the corner of my eye and I notice no sus behavior. That is until I see him take a spoonful of his batter and eat it. I whirl around at the speed of a gust of wind, eyes wide, “Do you want to fuck up your guts.” He ignores me as he takes another spoonful, bringing it close to his mouth. This time, I grab onto his arm causing the contents of the spoon to spill on my hoodie.

I roll my eyes, unbothered by the brown stain that by some miracle missed the apron and fell on my grey hoodie, “Don’t. Eat. The. Batter. Copy?“

“Paste.“ He nods, smirking with pride as he puts the spoon aside.

I sigh and return to my side of the kitchen, focusing on the next task: poring the batter into the circular baking tray which he, for some reason, has two of. He repeats the task soon after me and we put the two trays in the oven. I help him with the frosting, getting the shades close enough to what we had in mind. 

After about five minutes of the crusts baking, a wonderful smell spreads throughout the kitchen. At this point, all we have to do is wait for the oven to signal that our cinnamon crust is ready to be taken out, wait for it to cool down and then frost the cake.

“It smells really good.“ He comments, turning his head to look at me.

I’m sitting atop the kitchen counter and Corpse is standing next to me. This is the only time him and I are at approximately the same height. The realization brings a thought to my mind, one that makes me feel like an evil mastermind.

“Hey, remember earlier when you said I couldn’t crack an egg properly?“ He hums affirmatively, “Well...“

The carton of eggs is within arm’s reach. I grab an egg, chip it off the side of the counter and crack it apart above his head, its contents coating his hair. “How’s that for a proper egg crack?” I ask victoriously.

He lets out a surprised sound, something between a gasp and a laugh. Shaking his head to get the yoke to fall down, he says amusedly: “I don’t know...you tell me.”

Too late for me to do anything. There’s milk all over me.

The malicious smile on his face is replicated on mine and now it’s really on. However, as we reach for the items meant to be out weapons, the oven dings.

Frosting the cake goes about as well as you expect: there’s more frosting on us than the cake itself.

“Let’s make amends, please. I’m so not looking forward to taking three showers tonight.“ I say, raising a white napkin and waving it around.

“Fair enough.“ He shrugs and we shake hands.

As I’m about to pull my hand back, he holds onto it, making me look up at him. Our eyes lock and I suddenly regain that same shakiness and vulnerability I always have around him. It never leaves me, I just manage to ignore it. The sound of my panic is muffled by the sound of my heart thumping the loudest it has ever. 

Expectedly, he is the bold one who makes the first and final move. The move to end one era of us and start another. His lips touch mine and all fades. It’s just him and I. The friends who were never just friends. The cowards who suck at dealing with emotions. The fearful little kids that are afraid of rejection because we both mean so much to each other, to the point of suffering to prevent the possibility of losing one another.

We embrace who we are, finally admitting that friends is not what we are meant to remain forever.

The kiss might’ve been brief, but the meaning it carries makes it the most valuable moment of my life. One I’ll cherish forever. Something in his eyes tells me he will too. That’s all I need. That’s all we need. No words are necessary.

Suddenly, our bubble bursts as a result of his ringing phone. He lets go of one of my hands and takes his phone from the counter.

“It’s Dave”, he smiles, picking up the call and turning to get me in the camera frame. “Hey Dave, look who’s here with me.“

I wave at the camera and at the baffled face of Dave. “Hi!”

“What, in the name of God, is that mess?“ He raises both his eyebrows as his eyes scan us and the kitchen behind us.

“You call it a mess, we call it baking.“ Corpse and I look at each other and smile, blushing as red as the streak in Dave’s hair.

“Am I missing something here? Did I call at a bad time?“ He asks, still struggling to rationalize what he is seeing.

“Yeah, you actually did. I’ll call you back.“ Corpse dead-ass hangs up on him, putting his phone away before turning to me, “We have more important matters at the moment.“

He kisses me again, this time more confidently. His arms wrap around me and prep me up on the counter, insinuating that this kiss won’t be as short as the last.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 41)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: This was difficult to write, burnout hit me hard. But I like the result, and I hope you like it too. Ik I said I was going to stray from Saturday updates, but here we are, I am apparently once again/still on Saturday updates

Also, remember Persephone is depicted as a woman almost-always wearing a red veil to cover her face, since it is symbolic of the veil brides wore in Ancient Greece.

You open your eyes, but all you can see is red. No, that isn’t right. Everything you see is tainted red, like you’re looking through a piece of stained glass.

Somewhere at your back there’s a laugh, melodic but cold, but you don’t bother turning, you know she isn’t there. Instead, you step forward, and the ground under your feet trembles, as if the earth is split in two.

There’s the faintest of touches on your face, the uncertain caress of hands not used to gentleness; and there’s the most familiar call of your name, even if it will forever sound foreign.

You see him past the red, you make out the shape of his lips, and the curve of his nose. But you miss the blue of his eyes.

And you lift the veil.

When you open your eyes you almost expect to have the world be tainted red, but you shake off those thoughts before you are fully awake.

You settle better in your place, feeling your hair uncharacteristically restrained. It is then that you remember the loose and half-done braid Ivar wove into your hair last night, that has surprisingly held through the night. These people and their damn braids.

When you turn around in your place you find your husband still asleep, turned on his side towards you, one arm stretched towards you.

Eyelids heavy, you find how easy it would be to just drift off again. But you don’t want to fall asleep yet, you want to linger in this world between worlds, between awake and asleep, for a while longer. For the first time, though, you realize that there is no reason to wish to live in that world between worlds.

For the first time, your dreams do not haunt you with the uncertain future that hangs by a choice that as time went on seemed less and less like a choice you could stand to make, and the world you wake up to isn’t stained with the ever-persistent reminder of the borrowed time you lived in.

For the first time, the dreams speak of a choice made, and the world around you -unchanged, even if it is so different from before- is the result of that choice.

Blinking past the daze that threatens to pull you back under, you focus on the man sleeping by your side, and you feel your lips pulling into a lazy smile.

You remember those first mornings you spent in the same bed as him, how you’d linger hopelessly on Ivar’s features, relaxed in sleep, eyes guiltily taking in what your pride didn’t let you while he was awake, categorizing each faint scar and angle.

From the slope of his brow, to the straight line of his nose, down to his lips -lips that on that first night spent as husband and wife you kissed, lips that you longed to kiss again each night since-.

You truly don’t want to wake him, but you cannot remain idle, and restless fingers trail over his own, tracing the back of his hand, up to his forearm and the arm-ring he wears.

Your eyes follow the wanderings of your hand, and your attention is drawn to the glint of your wedding ring in the low light. It has been quite a while you have worn it, and yet, strangely, it almost feels like the first time.

Maybe that is what it should have been, maybe this is what your first morning as husband and wife should have been. Quiet, and love, and peace. Even if Ivar always disturbs the first one and claims to detest the last one.

Your fingers continue trailing up, and you are done pretending you don’t intend to wake him when you reach his head, and let your fingers trail aimlessly through Ivar’s hair, down to his face, the ghost of a caress over his cheek.

With a low hum from somewhere in his chest, Ivar turns his face towards your caress, the hand previously stretched between you reach up to softly grasp at your wrist.

It’s the blind acceptance of your affection, the subtle seeking of it, that makes your chest pull tight. It’s the blue of his eyes when he blinks past the draw of sleep to focus on you that robs you of breath.

And, as usual, it is your name leaving his lips in a sigh that makes you want to thank the Gods for this, for him.

“Stop waking me up when you’re bored.” He grumbles, making a foolish smile pull at your lips.

“I am not,” You argue, “I missed you.”

His eyebrows raise, and the face he makes tells you he doesn’t believe you, but there’s still lingering softness in him when he moves the hand he trapped with his won against the side of his face and places it before his mouth, breathing a kiss over your knuckles.

“Missed me, hm?”

“I was bored of missing you, perhaps.” You concede finally.

You have missed him, if you are honest. Missed what it was like before you told him about the Greeks, when he didn’t stop himself from reaching for you, when those barriers you were once so interested in studying and crossing had become dust, when the fear of the choice you’d make was a distant one.

Even if it has been a couple of weeks since you told him, you have already found a certain routine, even in the wavering certainties, and you know that you never have to miss him for long.

Still, that is over. Once the words are able to leave your lips, once you are able to find a way to prove that your choice is him; then you won’t have to miss him for long, at least not like that.

“I didn’t tell you, last night. I tried to.”

Pulled away from your musings, you hum in question, “Tell me what?”

“You make me happy,” He tells you, a flickering smile that is so unusual, so young, that your heart skips a beat. Ivar’s eyes are unusually soft when he gazes at you, “Happier than I ever thought I could be.”

His father one told him happiness is nothing, and when Ivar told you of those words, he also told you he hasn’t really known what happiness feels like. It broke your heart then, and it still does, even if now it soars to hear these words.

“Is it nothing, then?”

His eyebrows raise, the smile is a tad more playful now, and tone light even if the words aren’t, “It is still terrifying.”

“Doesn’t that mean it is a good thing? Something worth keeping?”

“Weaknesses aren’t good things.”

“Not everything is about war.”

“Who said anything about war?” He retorts just as easily as you, the beginning of a smug smile on his lips, that you only roll your eyes at.

Ivar clears his throat, and when he speaks again his voice is quiet once again.

“It…keeps me awake, sometimes. Losing this. Kattegat, my brothers, the army,” A pause, and then, “You.

Your heart squeezes in your chest, because in all the things he did, he never made you doubt you had him. I am yours he told you last night, but you have known for a long time, since before he put a ring on your finger, that there were few things that could make you lose him.

“You already know that,” He states, voice soft, strangely muted. “I have told you so much already, sometimes I wonder if you really did bewitch me.

Your lips pull into a lazy smile, and you offer a non-committal shrug. Ivar’s mouth curves on one side, and he reaches for you, his hand rough but warm on the side of his face.

His thumb brushes gently -with a gentleness that is particular to him, you dare think, one that belongs to someone that isn’t used to much gentleness at all- under your eye when you lean into his touch, and you sigh.

“I…I never thought I’d have this, not really. Even if I had, I couldn’t have known it would feel like this,” For such a vague use of the word ‘this’, you find yourself understanding what he means, and yet you offer nothing but silence, expectant. “All my life, I would…I would watch them. My brothers, the other men. I had no choice but to watch. I knew I could never be like them, so I watched,” Ivar’s eyes fall from yours, and his gaze and his mind are lost in a place you weren’t fast enough to meet him at, in a life you were too late to be a part of. “And I would watch them with…with their wives, and how they would wait for them at the docks when they returned from a raid, and how they wouldn’t hesitate to touch or…” His brow furrows slightly, as if he is searching for the words, “-love them, and…it would feel like seeing a fire from afar. I knew it had to feel warm, I knew it had to feel…safe, and-…but I couldn’t know, not really. I couldn’t feel the warmth, I didn’t feel-…”

When his eyes focus on you again, you cannot help but hope the words he doesn’t say speak of how somehow you have been able to give the same he has you, and the warmth isn’t so distant just like the cold of Kattegat isn’t so biting for you.

You remember that first night as husband and wife, the faintest of trembles in his voice when he voiced a plea and tried making it sound like a command. Kiss me, he had asked you. You did, and now with distance your pride lets you admit you never quite forgot how he stilled under your gentle touch and how even then he leant towards the affection.

It would have been easier to hate him if the hunger would have been something he had no qualms about demanding be satiated. It would have been easier to forget he is human if out of all the things he could have asked for he hadn’t asked for softness.

Ivar continues,

“I would imagine it, sometimes. What it would be like, what it would feel like, to have a woman that would l-love me,” You don’t fail to notice the way his voice changes at those words, as if even saying it means something you could never truly understand. Your left hand reaches between you, fingers carefully tracing the side of his face. Ivar answers to your caress with a soft smile, but it turns rueful after a breath, “Pathetic, isn’t it? Poor Ivar, begging the Gods for someone to love him.”

Your chest pulls tight at his words, and you frown, affronted.

“There’s nothing pathetic about being human, you know,” You chastise, and Ivar meets your eyes, an anger that you know well, that you are familiar with by now, shining in his gaze. The anger of having shown more than what your pride wants you to, the anger of being more human than you would like to be. One of the first things you noticed about him was how he shared pieces of him as if he couldn’t do anything but, as if secrets and pain escaped his grip like sand, and left his lips as if you truly were what they say you are, and had bewitched him. That never changed, and you hope it never does. But the anger, the anger that looks a lot like apprehension, like pain; you hope that leaves. For now, you can do nothing but offer the beginning of a smile, “And I won’t let you speak of my husband like that.”

This time when his smile widens and softens, it remains that way. Ivar’s eyebrows raise slightly as he looks at you, defiance shining in his eyes in a way that makes a small chuckle leave your lips.

Gods, you love him.

His hand, rough and always warmer, grasps the one that cups the side of his face, and brings your fingers to his lips, kissing your knuckle right over your wedding ring. You have worn it for so long, and so many things have changed since he first put it on your finger, but you honestly can’t remember what it was like not wearing the gold band of engraved flowers you can trace with your fingers and engraved promises that aren’t so apparent.

“When I first saw you, in that field near Dublin, you…” His eyes lift to meet yours, before his gaze returns to your hand, and the gold ring that adorns it. “I saw you with that Greek, you were being so gentle towards him, so loving, so…warm. And then…” A short chuckle leaves his lips, still lost in the memory, “Then you took down a Viking with a shield that weighed more than you do, and one arrow.”

You chuckle, “I was lucky.”

“You were…” His eyes return to yours and the words die on his lips. When your smile widens as you wait for him to continue, his attention is diverted to your lips. You wonder if he is seeing in you the memory of that day. A little lost, a little dazed, he finishes, “A vision.”

Your heart does a strange thing on your chest, as if it were shocked off a regular rhythm by his words, and now stutters and stumbles to return to normalcy.

You offer a smile, and the faint squeeze of your hand on his as you tease softly,

“I am very much real, Ivar.”

A slow blink, and you wonder if he even heard you.

“You-…that day, you seemed like everything I ever wanted. Not just seemed like it, you were,” He confesses, a movement on his jaw to indicate he doubts whether he should continue. A few breaths go by until finally, his voice quiet, Ivar says, “You still are.”

“And you are everything I want.” You confess quietly, your heart suddenly beating a tad quicker, because the words you have known you have to say for a day now are at the tip of your tongue.

If we name things, we make them real, you told him once, the same words he reminded you of last night, when he jested you should remind him of your love more often.

But it is true, what you told him. The stories of your Gods, they were made real because someone spoke them, shared them. The vows you made, to take revenge against Stithulf, to accept Ivar as your husband; they made a promise real because they asked it to be spoken aloud.

And there is one more promise you must make real now.

You reach for the clasp at the back of your neck, taking off the pendant that has hung from your neck since you were old enough to remember. The twelve Olympians and the chthonic Gods in a small circle metal, with an inscription at the back, bend to the Fates, but don’t let them break you.

You lean up on one elbow, and hold the pendant between you, offering it to Ivar who only watches with curious eyes.

“When my father gave this to my mother, it was…a promise. They taught me that whatever promises are made before the Gods mean nothing if we aren’t willing to make promises of our own, on our own. This always meant a promise,” Your eyes linger on the engraving depicting the twelve Olympians and the chthonic Gods. When you speak next, your words are a promise of your own, even if under the fickle and transparent veil of speaking of the promises your parents made. “A promise to spend a lifetime side by side, and, if the Gods are merciful, an eternity after. I can’t…I can’t promise to find you in the life after this one, but I can promise to be with you for the rest of this life.

And now that you voice it, it is something so close to being true, to being real, that you think you may understand what he meant about that distant warmth.

Only this is different, this is a fire you can -and will, not Fate itself can stop you- get close enough to so you can truly feel its warmth.

“I-I want you to have this. My promise to you, my promise that…my choice will always be you.”

Ivar remains frozen, eyes on you as piercing as they were across a battlefield, yet as vulnerable as they were when you first told him you loved him.

Swallowing tightly, caught between assuming he doesn’t believe you or something worse, you take his hand.

Once, you stood next to him overlooking Kattegat, breathed past your hesitation and reached to put your hand over his, hoping and dreading the return of the hold. And now, just like then, he turns his hand to meet your own, pliant at your touch.

You place the pendant on the palm of his hand.

“Yo-You-…I don’t…” A breath that sounds somewhere between a gasp and choked inhale, “Y-You don’t have to choose yet.”

I am living on borrowed time as much as you are, you told him once. This is the first time you realize how true that was.

For as much as you usually babble on about things, now words seem to fail you, and with your heart beating wildly in your chest all you can offer is the smallest quirk of your mouth. One of the few times you are able to render him speechless, and you’re not allowed to enjoy it.

“I have made my choice. If Stithulf died today, nothing would change,” You tell him, as simply as you can put the choice that changes both your lives. “I want to spend the rest of my days with you.”

His eyes are wide, wider than you have ever seen them, and yet he remains deadly still. You dare think he isn’t even breathing.

Eventually, when Ivar speaks, it sounds rough and ragged, like he hasn’t spoken in a hundred years.

“They want you with them, they will come find you.”

“Again. They will come find me again,” You remind him slowly, “And just like I did before, I will say no.”

His eyes harden, “Why?”

“I love you, more than…more than anything,” At his silence, your heart stops and your brow furrows, “Do you not believe me?”

His eyes search yours, none of the franticness that coated his words gone from his eyes, where it only seems to simmer and heighten, where more than the search for truth you dare think he desperately looks for a lie.

Maybe believing you are lying would be easier, maybe believing what you say isn’t going to hold would be easier. Real things can be taken from you.

Past the clear tell of gritted teeth, Ivar insists, not answering your question,

“They will return to Greece when winter passes.”

“And I will still be here.” You reply, easily.

A breath, and the faintest of questions,

“You’re staying with me?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

“No matter what?”

“I would think I’ve proved I’m stubborn already.” You whisper, the jest a little lost in the way your voice swells with emotion.

Ivar holds your gaze, determined even if searching your eyes desperate for certainty, unwavering even if his brow trembles and so do his hands.

“Promise me.” He says. A dare, a command, a plea.

With your own left hand lifted to your lips, you press a kiss against your wedding ring, the closest you would ever have to a piece of jewelry where you are to vow something before the Gods themselves.

“I promise.”

His breath leaves him in something between a sigh and a gasp, a small, incredulous little smile curving his lips before it too falls.

You don’t have time to take in the way his expression falls, falls with something like relief, something like joy, something like love; because he leans forward, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that makes everything but him disappear.

Your mouth moves against his with ease, not missing a beat in surrendering to the feel of him, your hands holding on to his shoulders with feather-light softness, while his grip tightly at whatever part of you he can find, a muffled sound that sounds a lot like a whimper when he presses closer, not accepting even an inch of space between you.

Before long you are on your back, and his arms cage you against the bed. His weight is a comfortable one over you, especially when your tongue teases at his and you make his strength falter, make Ivar pull away with something shaped like your name but that sounds like a prayer leaving his lips.

The shine in his eyes when he pulls back just a bit speaks of love, of gratitude, of relief; and it makes tears clog at your throat. How could there exist a world where you leave this, leave him, behind?

Ivar takes a breath, his chest expanding under your hands, reaching up with one hand to put your hair behind your ear, making your eyes flutter shut and the soft caress.

You barely have to tilt your head towards him when he is obeying the silent command, leaning down to kiss you again, this time letting you control the kiss, surrendering to the feel of you with a sigh that makes your stomach tighten.

His lips part from yours when the smile that curves at his mouth refuses to give way, and you breathe a little laugh at the still shocked joy written in his expression, from the faint red tint in his cheeks and ears to the way his eyes glisten and shine a tad more vibrant.

Ivar leans closer and kisses you again, a short press of his lips on yours before he whispers quietly, a secret even if it never was one,

“I love you,” You return the same, the words never more freeing as they leave your lips, and something in between a shaky sigh and a delighted chuckle leaves his lips. Holding your face gently in between shaking hands, he presses his brow against yours, “I-I’ll make you happy, I’ll-…anything you want, you’ll have it.”

The promises that leave his lips in between frantic kisses feel like vows that you won’t regret this, like reassurances that he will make sure the choice is worthwhile.

But it always was, just for this alone. For the feel of his arms around you, for the intoxicating taste of his lips, for the way your name sounds in his voice.

“All I want is you.”

“You have me.” There’s not a moment of hesitation, but the words -the certainty, the truth, the slight tremble in his voice and in his hands- make your heart pull tight in your chest.

Your eyes meet his and you promise, “And you have me.”

____ ____ ____

I hope you like this, and that I’m not too rusty after my little hiatus lol. Would love to know what you think!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss   @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @chibisgotovalhalla @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside @aprilivar @msrawog

[sweetestlamb]

Temptation

Summary: Vincenzo is feeling parched.

Author's note: These two have been living in my mind rent free lately, I'm just shallow and they look so damn good together and when you add the chemistry, well I'm a goner. Just a little drabble based on today's episode, I'm taking a break from BMTL this weekend because it's going to be another 10k probably and it's the first weekend I'm off with my bf so I promised not to ignore him to write all day lol. Update soon though!

Bon appetit!

Wispy dark lashes flutter just above her high cheekbones as she awaits the blow, her pretty face scrunched up in anticipation as a minor twitch in her lip distracts him.

That's been happening far too often lately, more than he'd care to admit. It was easier when she was blindly following Babel and refused to see the insidious truth about the morally bankrupt company, it was easier to pacify his attraction when she was the bad guy. Not that he was the right candidate to judge, he'd done notifiable heinous things in his life. Her father had been the first person to look at him like he was worth something, like the evil that lurked under his skin could be used for something good.

But her eyes had been opened, in the end she had chosen her father. If only he'd been here to see it.

That decision unhinges the small grapple he has on his control, he finds himself looking at her all the time cataloging the many emotions that distort that expressive face. She's like a living caricature and instead of finding that off-putting he's intrigued and mesmerized. Constantly battling with his lips that won't stop rising in her presence, he's not someone who smiles lightly. Has never had much of a reason to.

Until now.

"What are you waiting for? Just do it." She whines impatiently, squirming side to side and pursing her full lips.

That small move captures all his attention, eyes locked on the rosy pink skin. Instinctively he steps forward until he can feel her body heat, her face is even more captivating up close. She was beautiful, that wasn't hard to admit he was a man after all and his eyes were functional. It was.... everything else that he couldn't admit, not even to himself.

Just do it.

If only she knew what those words did to him, he felt as if he was lit in flames by his own lighter; burning up just from his prolonged vicinity to the loud lawyer. She was being her usual brazen self but she had no idea, not the slightest inkling of what exactly he wanted to do to her. It usually ended in passionate screams in his dreams. Her wild abandon was a thing of beauty, he didn't even mind the mess on his silk sheets because his mind supplied such vivid imaginings.

Staring down at her he wonders how she would taste, perhaps like the spicy noodles she was so fond of or maybe something sweeter and forbidden, once you peeled back the many layers you would discover something so delicious it was addicting. She would be his ambrosia.

"Come on, you're killing me! What's taking so long?" She grumbles now pouting, plush bottom lip jutting out enticingly and his finger hovers in front of her forehead but he can't move, can't bring himself to hurt her no matter how insignificant the hit. Somehow this woman has weaved a web around him, he feels like a fly caught in a spider's deadly but beautiful trap.

What's wrong with me?

There must be indeed something wrong with him because he feels his hand unfurling and lowering until he's nearly cupping her jaw, the delicate point barely above his hand. He's so tempted. Taking another step forward he lifts his second hand, curling around the dip of her lower back. She's so petite despite her loud bark, her entire body could fit easily in his hand.

He wants to lower his hand, grab her face and her waist and.... And what? What is he thinking? This is not why he came to Korea. He wasn't supposed to get involved more than he needed to and he knows no good can come of this, there's only one outcome for men who are lured by seductive sirens. He has to ignore her song no matter how much his body aches when he's with her. Woman have never been elusive in his line of work, gorgeous Italian women who opened up for him easily, surrendering under his capable hands. They were nothing but a good time, a perfunctory scratching of an itch. But, Cha-young he wants to wreck her, take her apart piece by piece until she's putty in his hands.

"What are you doing?" She says sounding amused and he lifts his eyes to find her twinkling ones already on his face. She looks at the twin hands hovering above her body with a raised brow, face now turned into the hand adjacent to her cheek.

"Do you want to change the specifics of our deal?" She teases darkly and he gulps, finally lowering his hands but twisting them around his back to prevent himself from making a huge mistake.

"No." He lies, trying to douse the fire that is blazing in his blood.

"Aishhh. You're such a bad liar." She huffs, nose crinkled up in disbelief and he hates the way his heart smarts his lips twitching to form a smile. He feels so warm and he doesn't know what any of it means.

"Come here." She doesn't give him an opportunity to disobey before reaching out to grab his tie, her hands wrapped around the luxurious material and with a sharp tug he's pulled into her, their bodies colliding and everything feels right.

"Stop." He whispers throat feeling raw, his voice comes out rougher than he intended. His eyes widen at the red flush that it yields, he's not the only one affected it seems.

"You don't want to flick me," she states with certainty, eyes searching his face as she tightens her hold on his tie his neck strains under the slight pressure, leaning down to lessen the tension. Too late he releases how much closer that brings their faces, she's barely an inch away from him now her soft puffs of breath landing directly on his face. "What do you want to do to me instead, Mr. Cassano?" She boldly finishes her statement, dark eyes ping ponging between his lips and his eyes.

Mentally berating himself for his weakness he suddenly grabs her waist, his arm circumvents the entire circumference with room to spare. She gasps in surprise but doesn't look scared, rather she looks curious, biting her bottom lip as she earnestly watches him.

"Do you really want to know?" He bites out, bringing his hand to her jaw and then sliding lower curling it around her neck, fingers tickling the soft nape of head.

She smirks, unflinching in the eye of his storm. She stands on the tips of her toes, bringing them that much closer, "Oh you don't know how much I want to know, Vincenzo." His name is exotic on her tongue, the letters not quite settling correctly but it sounds delectable to his ears, he wants to hear her scream it loudly too.

"I'll show you then." He's done with words, it's clear that they're both cognizant of what's happening between them, the air is so charged it's nearly crackling. She isn't backing down and despite his better judgement he doesn't want to lose, he can't be the way to pull away now. Simultaneously they yank each other closer, him by her neck and her by his tie. He sees the passion in her eyes, finally bursting to the surface and that's all the consent he needs, if she wants him too then she can have him.

Twisting his head he surges forward, eager to capture her lips and devour her moans of pleasure, his hand is now curled possessively around the small swell of her tight posterior, her suit pants always putting it beautifully on display. He had been hungry to touch it, grab it and feel the plumpness in his hands. It's every bit as amazing as he's imagined, her lips fall open as he squeezes at the flesh and he leans forward prepared to eat her alive.

She wraps her free arm around his neck, dragging him down to meet her and he easily lifts her off the ground, grinning boyishly when she squeaks releasing his tie to wrap both arms around his neck, their faces are now level. His hand remains on her ass.

Silently they move towards each other, intent crystal clear.

He can feel the heat from her lip, just as he grazes the smooth skin he hears a loud crash from behind them and they both jump, foreheads knocking accidentally as they react to the sudden sound.

He unceremoniously drops her, but her arms still latched around his shoulder force him forward making his forehead now collide with her chin. She lets out a loud scream of pain, shoving him away and shouting obscenities. He rubs at the pained skin, wincing in discomfort before turning towards the loud interruption with a murderous glare.

Who the fuck was it?

Nam Joo-Sung stands quivering in apparent fear looking like he's seconds away from urinating himself, his knees knocking together viciously.

A deer in the headlights, his eyes are as huge and terrified as one.

"I--um well you see.... I forgot to water the plants....you both look angry. Scary. You don't want an explanation. I'm going. Gone. I'll just. Go." He stutters out nonsensical, suddenly grabbing the plants and he watches as the frightened man awkwardly lifts the pots, cursing when the soil falls out dirting his clothes and the wooden floors, then he falls to his knees scooping it back into the pots, crawling backwards until he's out the door.

They both stare at the door.

Awkward silence remaining even with the man's departure.

And then a vibration fills the air, she jumps as if broken from her stupor reaching into her tiny bag and retrieving her phone. He can barely hear her over the beating of his own heart but he catches the disappointed look she sends his way, they can't continue this.

"Yes. I understand, we'll be right there."

Grabbing his briefcase he takes a moment with his back turned to her to catch his breath, collect himself. He's Vincenzo Cassano, not some prepubescent teenager. He can control himself, control is his middle name.

Then he turns back around and loses all his hard worked composure.

She's right in his space, rubbing absently at her neck as she looks at him.

"We'll finish this later. Don't think I'm going to let you off easy, I always finish what I start." She promises, pointedly looking his lips before grinning then boldly she lightly smacks him twice on his cheeks, "Pick your jaw off the ground, we have to go."

Her long hair bounces over her shoulder as she skips away, his eyes locked on the hypnotic sway of her hips. Her hands are cutely by her side, her signature walk that he had found ridiculous before. He doesn't view it the same way now.

Next time, there will be no interruptions he will make sure of it. Even if he has to kill someone.

[pigeonp0st]

Oh you could write one where reader and Supergirl are fighting together against some supervillain and reader gets hurt and almost dies and Kara is freaking out because she can't lose her girlfriend and just... angst (please don't kill reader though, i'm begging you)

Kara Danvers x Reader #5

Words: 1,905

Warnings: Angst, Explosion not described in detail. Just an aftermath.

Notes:

MWHAHAHA! I technically didn’t listen to your plead...so i’m sorry? (Thank you for the request and sorry for all spelling mistakes)

——

They were kids.

You weren’t bulletproof like Kara, definitely not grenade proof, you knew that...but they were kids. Kids clutching onto their mom looking terrified. Terrified that their mom would get hurt, terrified that the three of them were going to die.

You’re terrified too. Lately as your life has gotten better with Kara, beautiful, caring Kara, you’ve been getting more scared everyday, scared that something was going to happen to ruin your happiness.

The fear is almost enough to paralyze you when you see the latest National City supervillain get ready to throw the grenade, but alas...when the man throws the grenade the stupid instinct to protect overtakes you and you jump into the air to catch it like a ball, before it can get to close to the family.

You’re more invincible than them, even if you’re not nearly as invincible as Kara...it’s time to test that theory, you think bitterly.

Turns out—when the grenade goes off and a piercing scream hits the air—you’re not that much more invincible than a regular human.

Kara, you think, tears running down your face, Kara, Kara, Kara. Kara. Everything hurts but all you can think about is Kara and whether or not she’s going to be okay fighting without you. Forever, possibly. Fighting without you forever, and just thinking about your death feels like ice water being poured over you until the cold sinks in and it’s just panic.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

It takes moments before she’s by your side, moments that feel like a lifetime, she was slowed by the kryptonite she was fighting against and wasn’t able to get to you in time when the grenade went off but now she’s here, and she’s sobbing. Sobs that wrack her body, and you’re trying to sit up despite the ringing in your ear.

“Kara!” You yell, eyes wide, and you don’t want to be doing this to her, you want to pretend like you’re okay with this—you want to be strong for her—but you can’t. You can’t, because holy fuck. Fuck. “I can’t feel my legs, Kara. Baby, I can’t feel anything. I can’t...why can’t I move?”

Kara places a hand on your chest, and you can feel that, it hurts, “Alex,” she says into the comms, “it’s Y/N...she’s badly injured. I can’t bring her to the DEO, I can’t fly; the kryptonite is still in the air around us, and I can’t move her away from it either.”

You hear Kara’s panicked voice next to you, and when you focus you hear it in your own comms.

Alex’s voice crackles through immediately, and even she sounds scared, “how bad, Kara?”

“She says she can’t feel her legs, and she...she’s losing a lot of blood. She’s cold, too, and her breathing is labored,” Kara’s practically ranting now, her fingers shaking against your chest. “I’d put pressure on the wound but there’s a lot of blood and I don’t know—”

You turn your face away from Kara when her hand travels to your cheek, and you try to tune her out, because her face...it really says everything about your condition, and you don’t want to hear Kara talk about all of the ways you’re dying.

You catch the last thing Alex says and it fills you with dread that makes your bones feel even heavier, “keep her awake, Kara. There’s no telling if she’ll wake up again if she falls asleep now.”

Kara’s resulting sob rips your heart to shreds.

“I didn’t realize until I met you how much I don’t want to die,” you tell her after a moment filled with her cries. You’ve never felt so scared in your life (besides after Kara’s fight with Reign) “but I really don’t want to, Kara. I really don’t want to.”

“You won’t,” Kara says, trying to give you a reassuring smile, “you won’t because I need you to stay. What am I supposed to do without you?” She tries to laugh afterwards but it’s really just a choked sound, and you can hear the fear in her words.

The iron taste that was on your tongue felt like death, but now as you slowly start to taste it less, and as the smell of gasoline slowly slips away, you wonder if this is really a sign of death. The reapers signature.

“You’ll live.” You say, “you have to. There’s no other choice.” Your voice is filled with too much certainty for a dying woman, “It’ll be fine. You’ll get to eat the last popsicle in the fridge,” a humorless chuckle forces its way out of your throat, “I hid it. It’s under the frozen peas.”

You can tell by the look on Kara’s face what she’s thinking about. A half empty bed when she goes home alone to your shared apartment, your favorite mug sitting on the counter half full of cold coffee, your dishes still in her sink—your sink—your clothes in the washing machine, your…

“I can’t,” Kara whispers, her voice filled with the amount of sorrow only she can manage, “I can’t lose two of my worlds. I’m not strong enough.”

Kara Zor-El not being strong enough. It’s a humorous thought. You know Kara will fight, she’ll fight because it’s all she knows. She’ll find her reason. She won’t give up on the world, even if she gives up on herself for some time. It’s the one thing you need to be sure of right now.

“Yeah you are,” you mumble, trying to lift your shaky hand to cup her cheek. She grabs a hold of your hand and helps you to your destination. You try not to scream curses at the world at the sight of your blood on her pale cheek. “You, Kara Danvers, are an anomaly in the way you never let anything knock you down.”

“This is enough,” Kara promises, and it’s the last promise you’d ever want to hear from her, “you’re enough to ruin me.”

“Kara,” you whisper, hating the world so furiously in that moment for all it wants to take. “That’s the last thing I want to hear...I only ever want to build you up.”

“And you do,” Kara says, “but love really does both, doesn’t it? Sometimes it hurts as much as it heals.”

“That isn’t fair,” you whimper out, and Kara nods against your hand, closing her eyes and trying not to breathe in the smell of your blood.

Moments later Kara opens her eyes in a panic after realizing that you haven’t spoken, only to see you trying to blink your eyes awake. She squeezes your hand repeatedly, trying to get your attention. “Y/N, it’s not time.” She tells you desperately, “it’s not time.”

One of her tears fall against your cheek, causing you to pout. “Stop crying,” you slur, delirious from the blood loss, “I resent it when you cry because of me.”

Kara shakes her head, only crying harder.

You smile up at her sadly, “I'm sorry i’m dying.” And you mean it.

“Stop saying that,” Kara pleads, like it’s breaking her, “stop.”

You wish you could give Kara what she wants but your eyelids are getting heavier and heavier and you don’t think you have much time. “Just tell Alex to name a kid after me, or at least tell her to name a fish after me.”

Kara’s shaking her head and shaking your arm, trying to get you to open your eyes again, “Y/N! Hey! Stop, come on, baby, just open your eyes…”

You try, you really do, you’ve never tried so hard to listen before, and it works for a moment, just for a second you manage to open your eyes, much to Kara’s relief, and that’s when you finally notice a crowd of people and a slumped alien (the man you two were fighting) a little ways behind you and Kara. When did Kara do that to him? When did the people come?

It’s when you see Alex though, rushing out of a black van, that you feel some sort of relief. Alex will protect Kara when you’re gone. You’re sure of it.

—

“Wake up! Wake up,” Kara sobs, “Alex, Alex—please, she’s not—”

—

“She died, Kara, in the van, we managed to bring her back...but things are looking uncertain right now. For now, the best thing you can do is look after yourself”

Kara’s glowing red eyes snap up from the floor towards Alex. Her powers have been going haywire since they arrived at the DEO. “Save her,” Kara pleads, voice hoarse from crying. “Please.”

—

It’s late at night after Kara hears your heart stop (the second time) that she gets placed in kryptonite handcuffs.

Alex doesn’t want to do it but Kara isn’t in control of her powers anymore, and she almost seriously hurt someone. Multiple times.

Kara doesn’t leave your side after they get your heart going again, she can’t hear your heart with the kryptonite on so the only thing she can take comfort in is the beeping of your heart monitor.

—

You wake up two weeks after your accident.

Kara’s asleep next to you when you do.

You’re confused and thirsty so it takes you several long moments for you to remember what happened, and once you do you’re sobbing hard, crying loud enough to startle awake a sleeping Kara.

She freezes when she sees you, you’re curled up in the hospital bed and shaking with your relief and the leftover fear, and she’s watching you like she doesn’t know what to do now that you’re awake.

She’s been praying for this moment, imagining it, waiting for it day after day, minute after minute, second after second, but now that it’s actually happened she’s paralyzed with her overwhelming emotions.

“Y/N?” Kara stutters, eyes filling with her own tears of relief.

You laugh at Kara’s face, loud and completely joyful, and suddenly she’s sobbing too, grinning all the while, because you’re here—finally— you’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay, and you’re laughing, and the world is finally okay again too.

“Damn, weren’t we dramatic?” You smirk, paying no mind to the tears running down your or her face.

Kara laughs, pulling you into a careful hug (she got her handcuffs taken off only a day ago). “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you whisper back, tightening your hold on Kara as much as you can and simply breathing her in. Breathing life in.

“I feel like i’m dreaming,” Kara says after a while, voice trembling. You feel like you're dead...and like you're in heaven. Is this heaven?

“You aren’t,” you reassure Kara anyways.

She nods against your shoulder, shaking even harder than you were. “Are you okay?” You ask worriedly.

“you’re the one who had to go and die two times.”

“Nearly three times,” Alex says from the doorway.

You notice Kara tense and shift in front of you until she realizes it’s just Alex, and you think that’ll probably be something you two will have to talk about, but for now you roll your eyes at Alex and say, much to both Kara’s and her amusement; “the only reason you tried so hard to save me is because you didn’t want to name your kid after me, isn’t it?”

Alex’s shrug and “maybe” gets a glare from Kara and a smirk from you.