#i don't have time for ceramics anymore

[margolovescoffeeandbooks]

i miss being a little kid and spending hours making pottery in my mum's atelier with her favourite jazz music playing in the background

[irndad]

a/n: continuation to this, but you don't necessarily have to read it first! all you need to know is reader got shot protecting maeve, and both survived. spencer has been in love with her the entire time.

“Have you called Maeve?” 

She asks it on a beautiful, rainy day, about five weeks after the event in question. She’s a little too nonchalant about the whole thing, has been from the start- Spencer’s been correcting for that. He’s been treating her like something fragile, a beautiful glass figure that was almost shattered. This is something he knows irritates her, but how can he not?

He tries not to think of it, but the memory of her in a hospital bed, bandages over her abdomen, the wooziness of giving her blood. He can’t help his caution, now. People assume, quite often that Spencer was unaware of the fact he’s in love with his best friend. Like it was something he didn’t know, didn’t have to live with. 

Spencer can be oblivious about a lot of things, but being in love with the person he’s shared a desk with for 4 years is not among them. 

“No,” he replies, looking up at her as she sits down, handing him the cup of tea she made him. They’re at his apartment. She’s been cleared for desk work, but Spencer had been nervous about the whole thing. They’ve fallen into a rhythm of her going to his apartment after work, and for how determined he is to tell her how he feels, he’s not really able to pluck up the courage.

“Spence,” she sighs, “You have to call her.”

“I did! When it happened, I called her. We talked. We just don’t talk anymore.”

She furrows her brow in an adorable way, and Spencer’s heart threatens to fall out of his chest. He’s been playing a game of she loves me, she loves me not in his mind for the. Past few weeks. 

Took a bullet to see me happy. She loves me. 

She stirs her ceramic spoon, the clink of it against the mug fills the silence. She bites her lip, clearly disappointed with his response. 

Wants me to call my not but kind-of ex. She loves me not.

She’s wearing this blue floral dress, and he is trying not to stare at where the fabric has ridden up, kissing the skin above her knee. She’s got lipstick on, and he tries not to read into how she’s sitting so close to him. Except he is kind of reading into it. 

Before she got hurt, he had tried to shove this feeling down- tried to ignore the swoop of his stomach when she walked by, or when she gave him a compliment, or when she let him do a card trick for her. He tried to shove down how much he fucking hated it the one time she had a date pick her up at the office. 

She’s just easy to be in love with. She writes little smiley faces on post-it notes and leaves them on his desk, and when the whole Emily thing had gone down, she’d spent weeks taking care of him through her own grief. 

She’s sitting on his couch. Five weeks ago, she was half-dead in a hospital bed, and now she is on his couch, in a beautiful dress after returning from the job they both share. 

He does not want to call Maeve. 

The comfortable silence turns tense as the episode of Doctor Who plays in the background, and he’s still a little gunshy- she’s breathing, she’s okay. He feels creepy, but he lets his eyes close for a moment so he can hear the sound of her breath, to know it’s still there.

“Spencer,” she says, after she pauses the show, and he turns fully to face her, “I am okay.” She grabs his hand, and he takes a couple of seconds to process the touch as she places it over her own wrist. ‘I am fine. They fixed me up. You are allowed to stop worrying.”

Her tone is even, but intentional. She’s giving him permission, as if his presence is some guilt-driven notion that’s stopping him from getting what he really wants. It’s true, though, that he doesn’t always believe she’s okay. Notices how she’ll wince when she bends a certain way, and the scar by her eyebrow is healing well, but he still searches for it in her face.

He savors the feeling of the soft skin of her wrist under his touch, running his fingers over the junction of her hand and wrist with delicate affection. How she hasn’t figured out he’s in love with her is anyone’s guess. 

He wonders what it would feel like to kiss her there.

“I know I can call her,” he manages to say back, meeting her warm gaze in a maybe too honestly in love glance, “I’m where I want to be.”

“Before I got hurt, you picked out an outfit, you asked for advice on dating, Spencer. You did that. I just-“ she sighs, moving her hand from his grasp and pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, “The piece of you that wanted that is obviously still there. You don’t have to spend a Friday night with me in your apartment because you feel guilty that I got shot.”

“You’re not here because I’m guilty-“

“Then why-“

“You’re in my apartment right now because I am in love with you, and if you’re out of my sight for more than twelve hours than it’s like I forget that you’re still alive. That you didn’t get yourself killed before I ever got the chance to actually tell you.”

He’s not yelling. Well, he’s kind of yelling. Talking loudly, anyway. Her eyes widened and he’s hyperaware of how close she already was, is. She smells like lilies and her, and it’s all so present. She could have died. She might have never heard it. 

She’s heard it now, he supposes. All the weeks of agonizing, notebooks he’s managed to fill in the last few weeks trying to figure out a way to say it to her that could charm her into loving him back- all gone. He’s told her, now. 

All the cards are in her hands.

Her doe eyes almost sparkle at him, her head tipped to the side in a fond, loving gesture, and he wants to kiss her, wants to feel her faded-lipstick pout against his mouth. He wants his I love you to turn into I can have this. 

“Spence,” her voice is a trembling, insecure thing. One half of his mind wants to rage at him- there’s no way she’s going to tell him she loves him back, that someone like her could ever want someone like him. But the other half, one that seems dangerously like hope- she took a bullet for him. She didn’t even think twice. “You’re in love with me?”

It’s like it’s not even him who replies. Some bitter thing takes over his voice and speaks for him. 

“How could I not be? It’s you.”

It’s then he notices, that oh, she’s tearing up. 

A beat passes, and Spencer sucks in a deep breath before rambling an absurd amount. 

“You don’t have to- We can still be friends, obviously, you know that. But we can, I just- I needed to tell you because when you were in that hospital bed and you’d never heard me say it, I just couldn’t live with you never knowing. But now you do, and you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay-“

He doesn’t get to keep talking, because she grabs him by the collar of his shirt and kisses him. She’s warm and beautiful and her hair brushes up against his cheek and there’s something in him that takes over when he moves to  cradle her head between his hands, both desperate to keep her in his grasp and savor the moments he gets to hold her. She tastes like cherry chapstick and something completely undefinable. 

When she pulls away after a moment that feels entirely too short, heavy lidded eyes meeting his in affection, and Spencer thinks he’d like to do that for the rest of his life. 

“I love you too,” she says back, and he commits it to memory, the sound of her so-sweet voice wrapping around the words he’s fantasized about hearing since the first time she smiled at his joke about philosophy. “I’ve loved you a really, really long time, Spence. I just thought I lost my chance, you know with- with everything. I never really thought I had one.”

He can’t even speak, really. He doesn’t think he can wrap his head around the fact that she felt like he wouldn’t like her back. 

It doesn’t feel like a concern, now, when he leans in to kiss her again. She smiles into him, and Spencer memorizes the feel of her waist encircled in his arms, when he realizes that this is the heart he is able to hold without limits. 

She loves me too, he thinks. She is safe, she is okay, and she loves me back. 

On the following Monday, when Morgan sees the two of them with linked hands before Hotch gets to the office, he doesn’t say anything. 

He does hand Emily 20 dollars, though. 

[yawnderu]

reader morosely talking about how ‘we need a break, that it’s problem after problem and i feel like it’s just too much. i cant deal with it anymore and i know it’s affecting you as well. –and im just so…done’

and simon is frantically thinking of how to fix the situation and how to make everything alright, for reader to love him again, and to make promises of how he can do better —be better.

“so what do you think, si? hawaii or italy? i think we really need this break”

simon: ☠️😭

-🪷

THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY HJKBFEBHJEFHBJKEF this man would get a heart attack :(

''I'm sorry, Si. It's just... things have been difficult lately and I'm just tired. I think we need a break.'' You look out the window with a small frown on your lips, completely unaware of the way he's staring holes into your head.

What did I do wrong? Am I away too much? Am I too cold? Don't give up on me, please.

He bites the inside of his cheek, not sure on what to say and simply looking down at his cup of tea, hands tightening around the ceramic.

''That right?'' He asks softly, finally looking up at you with a calm expression despite the way his mind is running rampant with ways of being a better boyfriend for you. He doesn't want to lose the love of his life, his future wife.

''Yeah! How about... Italy? Maybe even Hawaii. We could use the time off.'' It takes him a few seconds to register what you meant, his heart finally calming down once he understands what you meant.

''Fuckin' hell, love.'' He sighs softly, putting down his cup of tea on the table before walking over to you, burly arms wrapping tightly around your waist and his face buried on the crook of your neck.

''Italy sounds good.''

[earthtooz]

I have this suddenly in my mind and I need to share it, rins the type of person whos like " stop giving me morning kisses" But the day you forget to do that hes like *cold sweat* "wheres my morning kiss"

sfw but suggestive, gn!reader sits on rin's lap, unedited bc i wrote this with my heart

rin rustles awake to the sound of the faucet running as you pull the handle of the sink and the stream clunks to life, and he can't think of a worse way to start the day.

for one, he did not need the harsh sound of water running to aggravate him.

and two, he didn't wake up to you beside him, all warm and comfortable tucked in his embrace, which is even more aggravating than the grating noise of water against ceramic.

today's an off-day that management issued; a real shame for rin because all he wants to do is spend time with you whilst fitting a quick workout in or two. it was a friday too, which is the perfect day to just relax and do nothing. however, you still have work and no matter how hard rin tried to subtly convince you, his methods did not work.

under the warmth of the covers, rin wonders if he can telepathically send a message to your brain and demand for you to come back into his arms. if you really were soulmates then you'd know, right?

as if it was scripted, you peek around the doorway of the bathroom, blinking in surprise when you see your boyfriend awake and grumpy. he feels a little triumphant when you smile at him.

but the feeling of triumph dies when that's all you do, greeting him with a 'good morning, rin' before turning back to do your skincare. blasphemy. do you even love him anymore?

feeling petty, he yawns loudly, the sound border-lining a groan in hopes of capturing your attention. nothing, you don't even peek around the doorway, instead, he hears the sound of a cap opening.

reluctantly, rin tosses the covers off and pads towards the bathroom, catching you off guard when you spot him in the mirror.

"bit early for you to be up, isn't it?" you question.

"what are you doing?" rin yawns, dodging your query completely.

"what's it look like, babe? my skincare."

he frowns. "that's not what i meant."

"then what do you mean?"

"i meant, what are you doing?" he parrots and you're only more puzzled.

"uhm... talking to you? getting ready for work-"

"you're not where you're supposed to be."

there's a beat of silence. "which is?"

"where do you think?"

"what's with the mind games this morning?" you ask.

once again, he avoids your question. "you should be in bed. with me."

at his admittance, you can't contain your laughter, turning around to cup his cheeks and for a second, rin thinks he has you right where he wants you. any second now, you'll relent and join him in going back to bed. you'll call in sick and you'll give him the good morning kiss he's been waiting for-

"-you're cute, rin, but i need to go to work today."

damnit.

"why?" rin persists.

"because i like my job, and there's big things i need to plan," you explain, turning around to face the mirror again so you can continue your morning routine but your boyfriend has other plans.

instead, he grabs your hips and spins you around so you're facing him again. this time, you see the uncharacteristic, albeit small, pout dancing along his lips. "won't you indulge me? you still haven't given me a reward for my match last weekend."

"i would beg to differ, your reward was more than satisfactory, you thought so yourself, you're just selfish."

rin grins lightly at that statement as he presses you against the bathroom counter. you're right; itoshi rin is selfish, particularly so when it comes to you. he should let you go to work, and he will, but he can't help but want to take up some of your precious time before your job snags you away from him, and he'll have to wait a laborious 8 hours before seeing you again.

"please? just a few minutes?"

exhaling through your nose, rin knows that you've given in before the words even slip out of your mouth. when they do, however, his celebratory smile is contagious as he drags you back to the bed. sitting down on the edge of it, he invites you to straddle him, the unmade sheets pooling around you naturally.

he doesn't mind living like this for the rest of his life.

"aren't you forgetting something?" asks the athlete.

you blink once, then twice. "no?"

rin holds back his groan. "kiss," is his only prompt but you seem to understand instantly with the way you throw your head back in laughter.

"you mean my normal morning kisses? i thought you hated them. always swatting me away," you lightheartedly mention.

"i do."

"fine then. no kiss."

he almost loses his cool for a second, but composes himself in the blink of an eye. rin's hands begin rubbing your hips, as if persuading you to give in.

"please?" tries the dark-haired.

relenting to the unusual softness in his icy gaze, you place a lingering kiss on the tip of his nose, but rin's got a look of displeasure settled on his expression, and you immediately know why he's upset- because you didn't kiss him on the lips like he was hoping.

"that was pathetic."

"excuse me?"

"another. do it right this time."

cute. you want to give in, but your normally stoic and hard-to-crack boyfriend is acting unusually clingy today, and you want to push your luck in this rare scenario.

"i don't want to kiss you though, you have morning breath," you murmur, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

"what happened to in sickness and in health?" he murmurs, now tracing circles on your skin.

"we're not married."

"we should be, though."

you almost choke on your own spit, shocked by his boldness. "sure. let me go to work first."

his hold around you tightens as he buries his face into your neck, breathing you in as he cherishes the few minutes he has left. "hold on, i just want to be with you a little longer."

you pull him closer. "if you let me go i'll give you a morning kiss."

"a real one?"

"a real one."

he unwinds his grip ever so slightly and you let one hand trace his jaw before giving rin what he wants: his good morning kiss. he indulges in your touch and your closeness, taking whatever you provide because you always are so kind and fair to him when he's all rough edges and jagged ends.

eventually, you pull away, taking your warmth with you. you gave rin your part of the promise, now it's time for his to keep his. except it seems like he's having a harder time fulfilling it.

"i want you to stay," your boyfriend confesses, no louder than a whisper as he looks up at you through his bangs. "don't want you to go."

"i know, but i'll be back this evening and then i'll be all yours."

rin sighs, unwinding his arms and letting you climb out of his lap. a shiver runs up his spine at the absence of your weight and he doesn't like the empty feeling that fills him up.

"go back to bed, rin. you should rest." you mutter.

"after you leave."

"okay."

you give him one extra kiss before you go.

hope u enjoyed, anon! sorry i kinda deviated a bit HELPP but i loved ur prompt (evidently), thank you for dropping by :D

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[hyunnie04]

summary: changbin loves to spoil you, but you won’t let him.

pairing: changbin x gn! reader

word count: 1117 words

warning: small mention of financial insecurities

genre: fluff

a/n: hi! this is my first drabble/short fic on this blog, i know its a little rough around the edges but i hope you guys like it anyways! any feed back is welcomed ^^

a more recent a/n; i edited this a bit at the end just to make it more coherent!

im having binnie brainrot atm excuse me

------

changbin has always been an observant person. when you and changbin first started dating, he began to notice something you did often. 

when you two would go out to run some errands together, or just simply go out on a date- it would be almost a routine that you two would just walk around, looking at clothes and or just looking at necessities for your shared apartment. changbin trails behind you, glancing and observing some of the random paraphernalia on the shelf.    

you smile at the white knit sweater that you have been eyeing since earlier this year, feeling it’s nice and soft material between your fingers. oh how you wish you could bring it home, but you knew better. your wallet and your conscience was practically yelling at you to not spend a single dime on stuff you probably don't need. you suddenly feel changbin’s gaze on your figure. 

“you like that sweater?” he tilts his head towards the article of clothing, adjusting his thick black frame resting on his nose bridge.

you knew that look, his eyebrows raising in question. he wants to buy it for you. putting the piece of fabric back in it's place, you turn to him and smile. “i-no, it’s alright.” he stares at you again, making you tilt your head at him. “but you’ve been eyeing that sweater every time we pass this place.” 

“you should get it.” he continues and smiles at you. “i’ll get it some other time. I don't… have the money right now.” you lie, voice much smaller. shaking your head and waving him off, you continue to browse the isles. he strides after you, confused. “i can get it for you, you know.”

“bin, it's okay, really.” you smile and insist. you hope that he wouldn’t press on the topic anymore. his keen eyes notice once again when you hold up a ceramic cup with a silly design that he knows you love, but after staring at it for a good minute, you quickly put it back down. changbin sighs and makes a mental note of the things you were eyeing. he’d just have to make an impromptu trip back to this shop once he has some free time.

-

now back at home, you sigh and plop down on the plush couch. your feet are just aching from the miles and miles you two have walked the entire day. changbin presses a kiss onto your forehead and beelines it to the bathroom. grumbling about how he has to pee. you laugh.

after a while, the rumbling in your stomach signals you to finally get up and make dinner for the both of you. shuffling to the kitchen, you start with opening the stove and chopping up some veggies. a strong pair of arms suddenly engulf you from behind, startling you.

“bin! i am holding a knife, don’t startle me like that.” you laugh as he starts to trail kisses on the column of your neck. he chuckles and rests his head on your shoulder for a moment. it takes a while before he starts swaying you side to side without saying anything. you've known him for so long to know when he has something on his mind.

"what's on your mind, honey?" you hum, putting the greens into the pan. "i should be asking you that." confused, you tilt your head at his answer.

"why won't you let me buy you stuff?" you glance at him, he leans on the counter and continues, "i mean- it's just that you've been holding off buying stuff for yourself for so long. you deserve a little splurging y'know."

mouth gaping like a fish out of water, you shut your mouth and continue to stir the pan.

“now, tell me why my baby doesn’t want me to spoil them?” you deflate at his words, knowing this conversation was about to happen sooner or later. 

aside from wanting to save some money on things you probably don't need part, you grew up with this feeling- having to be ashamed of people spending their money on you, you were determined not to make changbin an exception. accepting help from others growing up meant that there we're feelings of being a bother- feelings of being a waste of time.

years and years of conditioning yourself has lead you into believing whatever mental gymnastics you did inside your head was the absolute truth, no matter how absurd it sounded. maybe your strict upbringing also had a hand in it. that's the way it's always been.

so you explain to him. in all your vulnerability, all the while stirring your hot pan of stir fry.

“but i like doing this for you.” he stresses. changbin moves to rub your shoulder affectionately in an attempt to further reassure you.

biting your lip, “i just feel guilty.” you probably say for the umpteenth time. looking at him, you open your mouth to speak but is immediately cut off, “baby, please." he sighs, and turns off the stove from behind.

"why don't we come up with a compromise?" your buff boyfriend smiles at you. "like what?"

"tell you what, if you let me buy you something you want," he leans incredibly close to you, his breath fanning your face. "you'll get a kiss from me." you blush at his proximity and furrow your eyebrows at him, his grin widening by the minute.

"how is that a compromise?" you say after mulling it over.

"well," he starts, hands trailing and drawing simple shapes on your forearms. "you would get kisses and... and...." you look at him with your eyebrows raised, now very interested in his defense.

"and?"

"ah whatever!" he groans and burrows his reddening face into your neck. you chuckle and run your hands through his black hair, comforting your poor whining binnie.

"please just please let me spoil you!" he throws his hands up in defeat. changbin gives up his argument and grabs both of your hands, making his best pleading face. you can't help but laugh at your boyfriend's ridiculous sudden 180 turn. binnie continues to do his over the top aegyo at you, hoping you would crack.

"o-okay. alright! you win." you reluctantly agree with his constant pleading, his puppy eyes certainly winning you over. you turn to plate the poor neglected stir fry on the pan as he lets go of your hands and hug you from behind.

"but seriously- i'm really, really not bothered. and again, i like doing this for you- correction, i love doing this for you. so please let me?"

"...alright." you grin, already feeling lighter about the whole thing.

"thank you for putting up with me."

"anytime, honey."

[akxmee]

★ 02. 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗣𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗘.

"I must have forgotten that you know me so well."

Suguru gave you a closed mouth smile, closing his eyes and relaxing. If only he could tell you things would be so much easier. But things were more complicated than you could even imagine anyways.

"Unfortunately, i can't tell you."

You frowned, disappointed.

"You said you would explain everything."

"Anything but that."

"Why?"

The man sighed. That must be your favorite word, wasn't it? He couldn't blame you though, this new information is hard to digest and thank god you didn't kick them out when you came back to your senses. Moving his hand close to yours, his fingertips made contact with the palm on your hand while you two were still laid on bed, tracing unrecognizable patterns on your skin to soothe you. He liked contact, not as much as satoru, of course, but he did find it comforting. As a cat, he would always purr when you scratched behind his ears or brushed his long hair. Seems like he, as a human, still enjoyed it.

"I can't. They're always listening."

"They? Who are them?"

The question left your mouth sooner than expected, not even thinking about it. Were they in some kind of mess with bad people? Oh, your poor pets. Suguru was about to answer when another voice interrumped him, Satoru's.

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

He threw himself on the bed behind you, wrapping his arms over your figure. You tensed a little, still not used to them and neither trusting them enough to let him hug you like that. Not for now at least.

"i already cleared the hall. Not to flatter myself, but i'm an excellent cleaner! No broken ceramic anymore."

"Good boy, Satoru. Want a treat?"

Suguru cooed at him, joking around. Satoru scoffed, complaining about him being mean. They talked while you were still there, sometimes letting you join the little chit-chat and sometimes just arguing, until you all got asleep.

But you didn't.

You let Satoru have the pleasure of hugging you to sleep, since you couldn't. Suguru was already breathing calmly and resting, but you were not capable of doing so. There was still a bad feeling deep inside of your chest, like some sort of uncertain worry.

"Psst."

Someone whispered. You looked at Suguru, he was still asleep so it couldn't have been him. That only meant the one that called you was..

"Satoru?"

"That would be me, yes."

Of course it was him.

"Shh, you'll wake suguru up! What do you want?"

"You're so tense." He whispered back, making a pause. "Am i making you uncomfortable?"

"Just not used to going from sleeping with my pets to sleeping with grown men. Specially hybrids ones."

He chuckled, you felt his body shake because of that. Unlike suguru, he had a cheery laugh. Suguru's was soft, while his was loud and contagious. You shushed him again, and this time he did as told.

"That's okay, you'll get used to it. You're already making progress."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"How? I still feel like i'm going to throw up anytime."

This time it was your turn to laugh quietly, careful not to wake the black-haired man. Reality didn't feel real anymore, and you wondered how could he even see any type of progress when you feel like you're going crazier minute by minute. He just smiled.

"You don't look at me like i'm a killer anymore."

You paused.

He didn't say anything else, slowly burying his head in your back and closing his eyes.

This time you didn't mind the contact.

It was true, you said that. And you remember exactly the face he made when you you pronounced those words.

He looked so hurt.

As far as you remember, he even stopped talking when the words left your lips. Suguru carried the explaining then, because Satoru couldn't find the strength to do so. Everyone could easily tell that he had a huge spot on his heart with your name carved in it that you gladly claimed, and that, for Satoru, felt like you were just about to discard it and leave. Because he has been called a killer, a monster and a curse, but never in a thousand worlds did he expect to hear it from you. Because when he was called names, it was you he ran to help him feel good. Until you were the one calling him a killer with such scared eyes and a cold voice, and he couldn't bear it.

It didn't matter when people called him one when at least you loved him.

And know that you called him one too and no one is there to defend him, he might start to believe it.

And then you realized.

Satoru, human or not, was still your puppy.

And like it or not, he was there when nobody else has been. Sure, what you said is justifiable; you were scared after all and didn't even recognize him. But still, you didn't even apologize and you were certain that he was still thinking about that moment because of how tight his hold was into your shirt.

So now you were left thinking for seven minutes straight whether or not to apologize to him. You should, no, you must because that's what feels right.

"Hey, Satoru."

He kept quiet. You guessed he was asleep due to the way his breathing synchronized with Suguru's, both relaxed and steady.

"I'm sorry. I don't think you're a killer."

You had to get it out of your chest if you wanted to sleep peacefully, so you did.

And then you closed your eyes, sleeping a few minutes later when exhaustion finally reached you. The atmosphere was quiet, the room was dark and piles of clutter were scattered around the room. It was so messy, yet so peaceful.

The three of you were laid in bed, finally comfortable with eachother. Suguru had his long hair spread across the pillow as he slept quietly, keeping his distance from you in bed as you requested unlike satoru, who was still clinging to you even when he was sleeping.

Then the tight grip on your shirt ceased.

"I forgive you."

Sleeping, huh?

So here you are, after the worst sleep you had in your whole life, making breakfast for two potentially dangerous people according to the government. Satoru had a bowl of sweet cereal and juice, while suguru had a cup of coffee and a toast. You were hesitant to give him the coffee at first, but he assured you he had tried it before and it didn't make him sick or something between the lines of that.

"God, I always wanted to try this brand! It's your favorite. Right, Y/N?"

"That's right, Satoru. Now please, eat in silence."

"You're no fun in the mornings."

He mumbled, taking a spoon of the cereals and milk to his mouth and exaggeratedly humming because of the taste. Suguru rolled his eyes, taking a sip of the coffee.

Both of the men eyes were following your figure, wondering where you were going to wandering around the kitchen like that. You were..looking for something? Yeah, it seemed like it.

"Here you are."

You grabbed the thing you were searching for seconds ago and placed it on the table in front of them. It was..

"A paper and a pen?"

Suguru looked at you curiously. You nodded, sitting on a chair and writing something.

"Yeah. We are going shopping for you both, you can't keep wearing that old piece of fabric."

Satoru's eyes illuminated, while suguru didn't seem as happy as his. What was wrong with their clothes? Yes, they were used, but they weren't that bad.

Except for the fact that they actually were.

He sighed, some new clothes would do him good anyways.

"What are we waiting for? I wanna go right now."

"Slow down, Satoru."You pointed at him with the pen, frowning."I need to know first, where did you get that from? We can't go shopping with you two like that."

"what do you mean like that ?"

Suguru looked a little bit offended, taking another sip of his coffe.

"looking like you just got out of jail, obviously."

Your tone was deadly serious even if the sentence sounded as a joke, because they did look like that. They were both wearing not dirty but pretty much used clothes that, as handsome as they were to pull them off, needed to get thrown away immediately. Those clothes were obviously not bought, maybe stolen or found when someone was throwing them away. They looked decent far away, but you could tell the fabric was about to rip off when you looked at it closely.

"It's not that big of a deal. Right, Satoru?"

The man shrugged, smiling. Satoru nodded.

"Yeah, they didn't need them anyways and it's not like we could go shopping anytime we wanted."

You sigh at that. So they did steal those clothes.

"Just—" You stop yourself before saying anything else. Remember Y/N, they're hybrids, that's justified or whatever since they were weird themselves. "Just go to my room, I'll give you borrowed clothes and we'll get in the car."

Satoru cheered, and no time was wasted.

So there you are now, in a mall helping the boys choose clothes for themselves. Not only did you have to lend them clothes, you had to handle satoru and suguru fight for the passenger seat just for them to end up sitting at the back. Not to mention that, to get this morning free for them, you had to call choso to please do you a favor and cover your turn. He, being the sweetheart he is, agreed with close to zero complaints and told you not to worry. You had the best friend in the world, didn't you?

"Hey Y/N! I found this."

Satoru came over, holding a strange item in his hand.

"Found what? Let me see."

He handed it to you, and you could easily tell what it was. Those were a pair of sunglasses, round shaped with black tinted crystals.

"Aren't those amazing?"

"Yes, Satoru. But aren't these such a waste?"The blue eyed man looked at you with certain doubt, so you kept talking."They will hide your eyes."

"Is it a big deal? I like them."

He tilted his head to the side, not sure if he misunderstood you. Perhaps you weren't fond of those, maybe he should get another color? Surely he could find blue-tinted ones, those would suit him too. Then you smiled, shaking your head and putting the glasses on him, covering his eyes. You looked at him, the black of the glasses contrasting perfectly with his pale skin and hair. Maybe a black outfit would look good on him, a gray one, a dark blue one?

Doesn't matter, he looked good in everything.

"You like them, so get them."

A wave of happiness ran over the white haired man who thanked you, gave you a short hug and instantly ran off to tell suguru the new item he was going to wear. Oh, suguru was going to be so mad! You watched as he looked for his bestfriend, giggling.

That only reminded you once again of how close they are, and all thanks to you. You found and adopted them when they were just pups while you were just a child, and they've been your companions ever since until now that you were an adult. Suguru and Satoru were the definition of brothers even if they shared no blood, they were both so troublesome when they were little. Suguru has matured a little, while Satoru only looked mature when he wanted to which was practically once a decade.

"Ah..what a child."

You breathed out for yourself, looking for shirts and blouses at the men section of the store satoru and suguru picked, looking for something comfy for them when you didn't actually know what they would like. Suddenly, you hear a voice behind you.

"You look lost."

When you look to where the deep voice comes from, you see a man. He wasn't even looking at you, reaching for a shirt that was hanging above the one you were looking at while he talked. He had a muscular body, masculine features, dark hair, and even if you didn't have too much time to look at him good you could swear that you saw a scar on his mouth. He grabbed the shirt, a black compression one, looked at the price of it and threw it in his cart before finally looking at you with a smirk.

"Need some help, doll?"

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 🌷

—𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘: Second chapter finally done, this one is longer so i hope that it paid off the wait! Anyways, i'm sure you can guess who that is right? ;)

—𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

@kingshitonly @snake-lover-artist-blog @ashers-playpen @pizza-market @channies-bbg-room @pdacex @spindyl @foliea @queen-luna-007 @labelt-san

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

yk how it's a thing that dad's will see you like a fruit once and then will fill the fridge with that fruit? THAT but with our boy Steve? it doesn't have to be fruit, it can be anything. like u once mentioned u like something and next thing u know he keeps getting u stuff related to that. he does it so much that r gets frustrated a lil and tells him that they don't like that thing THAT much

hope that made sense<33

took inspiration from my own obsession with cups and my own flower teapot. gn!reader

he won’t stop buying you cups.

you told him once when he asked, “what’s with all the mixed-matched mugs?” and you told him, “when i go to the thrift store and find some that catch my eye i can’t help myself. plus it’s extra storage for my many knickknacks.”

and when your anniversary arrived that year, steve gifted you a white mug with a bright red ladybug painted onto the ceramic with my love bug written in looping cursive. you cooed and fawned over him about remembering that small conversation.

but now you’re gonna blow your top off. it was cute the first two times, but after the fifth one was a bit ugly, you’ve had to withhold from ‘accidentally’ breaking it.

“baby.” you looked away from a rerun of i love lucy to see steve standing in your doorway with his hands behind his back. wonder what it’ll- “look what i found!” and he pulled out a teapot shaped into a flower. it was so cute.

“oh, stevie…” climbing off your bed to meet him halfway. gentle palms holding onto the body and handle as your eyes took in the details and color.

“reminded me of you, of course. your love from drinking utensils and you’re my favorite flower.” pressing a kiss to your forehead for punctuation.

“it’s beautiful, but steve i have been meaning to tell you-“ “oh god is this a breakup pot!”

“what? no! no it’s not, absolutely not!” rushing to ease his panic. “it’s about the mugs.” pitching your voice down, worried about such a silly subject.

his brows pinched, “you don’t like them?” sounding just a bit hurt. “no i love them, it’s just… you don’t have to just buy me mugs!” unintentionally yelling. steve’s eyes bugged, taken aback, “woah.”

“i appreciate that you remember why i told you, but i don’t even have space for them anymore. and- and i would feel bad if i gave them away, but steve-“ gently placing the pot on the foot of your bed then eyes back to steve, “i don’t want anymore pots or cups, that’s final.” pointing behind you.

he licked his lips then sighed, “well i already knew you liked them so i know i wouldn’t mess up giving you gifts. i don’t want you to pretend to like something just cause i bought it for you.” looking at his hands.

“well i’ll be honestly,” reaching to curl a hand along steve’s, “i hated that clown one. haunted my dreams for weeks, had to hide it deep in my closet.” shuddering at the reminder and it caused steve to laugh with you following. “but seriously,” using your other hand to curl two fingers into his belt loops and give a tug, “you know me very well. so stop putting yourself down and remember, i love you even without constant mugs.”

[driaswrld]

(ii) the unconscious consciousness.

— satoru gojo and suguru geto. a tsr interlude.

Satoru sits at the foot of the couch, cross-legged and nursing a ceramic mug in cupped palms.

From across the way, he sees you.

Having just sent the kids to bed, your eyes hung low with that thin lipped smile that falls when you finally shut the door and can truly feel the weight.

The weight of nothing, the weight of empty.

Satoru's tea is cold.

"Toru?" You whisper, fingers fiddling with the frayed ends of the t-shirt you're wearing, some idol group plastered at the front and the colors faded. His shirt.

"M' okay, don't worry about it." He mumbles, a lanky arm outstretched to receive you when you bend your knees to join him on the floor, his grip tightening just a bit when he inhales your entire being — but you don't smell like you anymore.

It's funny, that now he thinks about that thing Tsumiki said she had to write for school earlier.

"It's an interpretation thing," Tsumiki had explained, clutching her notebook close and pointing a guiding finger to Satoru, who didn't really understand a word of what the assignment was about. "An essay about what love is — like explaining what sunshine feels like."

( to someone who's never felt it. )

"And you picked that prompt willingly?" Suguru chuckled, hunched over the kitchen counter, half asleep and preparing tea for when you finally woke up, Megumi's head stuffed into the fridge, the twins trying to climb over the small boy's shoulders to get a look too.

Sundays were always slow like this.

Soft conversations in the kitchen, helping the kids with whatever homework was left, maybe having sweets for dinner. . .

"It's romantic!" Tsumiki defended.

She never ended up writing the essay though.

Satoru and Suguru never got the chance to help her explain on paper what love feels like.

That same afternoon, Suguru had been called in for a mission. A simple one, not too far in the city.

You and Satoru bundled all the kids into their jackets to go get udon while you waited for Suguru to meet up with you, hoping to get some time to drop by that bakery down the street together. As a family.

Even after so much time it felt weird to say it in his head. Family.

Yet, most of tonight remains a blur in Satoru's mind.

What came back that night wasn't Suguru. You and Satoru knew the moment you looked at each other, in the middle of the crosswalk.

The air was thick, the energy was different.

They say the eyes are the window to the soul, the dead giveaway of any hidden emotion, but that thing looked like Suguru down to the flecks of gold in his irises, the twitch of his eyelids in the night air, the curl of each lash.

Often, eyes deceive.

Souls don't.

"Satoru, you need to sleep." It comes hushed, your hand under his shirt, palm to rib, pulse to flesh, flesh to bone, bone to exhaustion. "Please."

Satoru thinks about what he would've told Tsumiki.

What even is love?

He thinks about you, wearing his shirt and your hair tied up — smelling like incense and some french cologne. Nothing like you, but everything like them.

He thinks about the way he stays up, cerulean in his gaze pooled into a flood — it's already past midnight — his cursed energy burns, his veins have been throbbing ever since that thing wormed it's way into your lives and stole Suguru from you while he was right there.

Right in front of the kids.

Is love that fear pulling taut at his gut when a gust of wind wisps through the curtains ever so often?

Is love the tightness in his shoulders and the burn in his eyes when he looks at you, at what he has and what he's lost and what he failed to protect?

Is history repeating itself?

"I can't— I need. . ." He needs to stay awake. He needs to be right here, eyes wide open and waiting for whatever else will come because he knows it will. "I'm not tired, I swear."

Will it come for you next? Megumi? The girls?

Satoru's tea is cold.

The house is quiet.

He was just here. Just a few hours ago, wiping down the counter and sticking his tongue out at you, cheeks plastered with sanrio stickers and doodles in sharpie, scolding you and Satoru about what sweets not to buy.

Satoru's breaths can't keep up, your hair is falling loose and Suguru's not here to tie it.

Love is the awareness of all those gaps, the cracks in the spaces that were so full of him.

"Then I'm not tired either." You affirm, tucked into Satoru's side, the soft tick of the clock above the mantle echoes in the dim room, your heartbeat slows. "I'm staying with you."

Do you notice those gaps in between your consciousness, Suguru?

Do you feel the emptiness of a soul without a body?

Do you carry us in those threads of awareness, all the strands of us that fill you?

Will you fight that thing until we come for you?

"He's ours." It's never been a question. From limb to organ. "He's ours, and we'll get him back."

Love is the unconscious state we reside in, where it's only you, him and me.

i had thoughts and this is purely stream of consciousness from my notes app ngl, but this is part of the “oh no kenny takes sugu’s body” canon event that’ll be expanded on

for now i leave tsr babes with this drabble <33

[tarjapearce]

Bad Teachings (Pt. 9)

Older! Miguel x Reader

WARNINGS: Slow burn, Relationship building, mild angst, friendship establishing, spanish learning with Miguel. Mild sexual innuendos, Age gap implied.

Summary: Instrospection and more bonding with Miguel.

A/N: Forgot to update this week. Hope you enjoy c: Thanks to my beta reader @oharasmommymilkers00 ❤️

Previous Pt. 10

—Remember that time when we agreed to take that Accounting class but we got it canceled last minute?

Oh god, don't remind me. Statistics was worse. Nearly fail that one, nearly tear my hair out of the stress.—

—You looked cute when stressed.

                                     Ahh, shut it.—

—It's true. And look how gorgeous you've turned.

          You just wanna get in my pants—

—I'm polite enough to take you out on dates before that happens, mon cherie. ;).

—If you want to, of course.

You chuckled at the message and covered your flushed cheeks. Same sly dumbass that had asked you to date him after one of your worst days in a class. His clumsiness had been one of the things that came in handy to conquer you.

Sometimes you often wondered about the what ifs and what not with Simon. And so far he had shown you nothing but kindness and respect. He'd be straight forward. Just like Miguel.

But Miguel was a bit cryptic when it came to his words. His warnings left you pondering and surmising over your current situation. He seemed unbothered by the whole thing. Rather amused and borderline intrigued.

As if waiting for a chance to prove himself right. But in truth, it was his own way to say 'I'll let you experience this for you to trust your gut more and learn to not be so gullible over pretty words' He was teaching you a valuable life lesson without actually intervening too much. Not that you knew anyways.

A life lesson that he had learned in the worst way possible. Sometimes deciphering him was a true challenge. You thought that things would be different considering the two of you had shared his bed. Not once but twice.

And again, he seemed unbothered by it. He was cautious, a bit too reserved with certain things, but honest. A bit too blunt, but somehow, an enjoyable company despite him having the personality of a black cat sometimes.

He was true to his words of hating formalities once a line was crossed. At least he thought of you as a reliable person. Your heart had leaped a bit too fast upon hearing those words and his reassurance.

The buzz of your phone pulled you out of your thoughts about Miguel.

—Want us to go to a date? A proper one, I mean.

Simon had sent and you couldn't help but stare at the screen.

Probably in another timeline it'd be Miguel asking you such things. But in this you were sure that he was currently working, cussing in spanish to his useless coworkers in his mind. The thought made you chuckle.

He knew what he wanted. But it didn't mean you were in that personal list.

Right?

He didn't seem the type to be actively seeking for a partner either. You sighed.

You didn't know anymore. Conflicted as you were you typed back a reply.

             Sure. Next Friday night at 7. —

Maybe trying to figuring him out wasn't your duty. If he'd want something, he'd tell you. And so far the silence from his end regarding such things made it all clear. Friends. That's what you two were and his actions only reinforced the thought.

-----

"Birdie?"

"Hm?"

Hobie threw in the hoodies in a box as you packed up the ceramics and fragile objects. He had asked your help to make some little renovations here and there back in the shop.

Despite the paintings that adorned the local were cool and part of the subversive aesthetic, they were fading and were in dire need of a retouch. Just like the front desk you found him in sometimes.

"Lately you seem to be up in the clouds a bit too much. You ok?"

"Oh yeah. Just had a rough day at work. Glad I'm here."

Hobie kept putting things inside the boxes, the voice of Conor Mason echoed through the place as he sang 'Animals' with his band, Nothing But Thieves in the background speakers.

"Do you have any particular favorite food from here, Hobie?"

"Wish the rich could be edible, but doubt they'd be good tasting. They're shitty as they are." He shrugged nonchalantly, "I settle for that little dinner two blocks away on east from here. Gotta luv me a good strawberry shake and chips."

"That actually sounds good."

"Innit? Might take you and the mates one day."

You chuckled. "Sounds good."

"How's the friend making thing going?"

You put all the watercolors in a box labeled with the provider's name.

"Oh great, actually. Met with an old friend of mine. My ex from college actually"

Hobie's face deadpanned and rolled his eyes. You huffed in disbelief.

"Geez, seems everyone has an opinion on him lately"

"He's your ex for a reason, birdie. Just saying"

Your face puckered, "We were just... friends that kissed back in college if I'm honest with the status. The Boyfriend-Girlfriend thing was merely honorary"

"Still, an ex." Hobie pointed out flatly, again.

"We barely saw eachother in between classes! Then he left to his homeland to finish his career."

"And that is?"

"Industrial engineer."

Hobie's brow quirked in derision but smirked

"And what about the big bloke?"

"Big bloke?"

Hobie brought the ladder and soon began dismantling the hooks the clothes were on

"That big, mean dog looking bloke that helped you with the door?"

You giggled at his description. They'd probably wouldn't like eachother that much and would hate to be in a Get Along T-shirt.

You opened a new text chat with Miguel and typed quickly

I know you dislike texting, but I finally had the time to open up my photography profile. —

You hit send after copy pasting the link to your media profile and put the phone back on your blazer's inside pocket. He'd take a while to reply.

"Oh? You mean, Miguel? What about him?"

"What does he do for a livin'?"

"He's a geneticist"

Hobie grunted "Must be nice for him to fuck around and find out with nature."

"He seems passionate on his work. Workaholic even."

Hobie stored the ladder and sighed, "Or he's trying t'cope."

"Cope? With what?" your face puckered

"Thought you knew him." He shrugged.

Even though unintentional, Hobie's words just reminded you of how little you still knew about eachother. And so far you still kept doing the effort in knowing him more.

You groaned to your insides to then let out a heavy sigh.

" It's complicated. I'm in... We are in the process of getting to know eachother and I don't want to push him into doing things he feels uncomfortable with."

"How old is he?"

"Fourty two."

"He'd tell you if something is wrong. Still, smells like dady issues."

Your cheeks grew warmer and your eyes widened at his words.

"It's not like that! He was my teacher. My dad was pretty loving and attentive by the way."

Hobie just laughed and you hit his shoulder playfully.

"To each their own, Birdie." He raised his hands in defense, "Jokes aside, the bloke seems good. Bitter but good."

"He is."

There was a little smile on your lips that vanished as a couple entered in.

A tall, black man with honey eyes and a kind face, a little afro ontop of his head and a soft stubble, a smile that only stretched upon seeing Hobie, followed by a blonde young woman with her right side of her head shaven and her hair with a pink ombre on its tips. Hand in hand.

"Miles! My man."

Hobie smile stretched genuinely as he hugged and gave him a secret handshake.

"What's up, Hobes?"

"Hey, Gwendy."

The both gave a heartfelt hug and then Hobie gestured towards you.

"This is Runway Girl. Corporate slave"

With a playful scoff and a roll of your eyes, you introduced yourself properly with handshake. Both looked in their fresh twenties.

"Nice to meet you both."

"Ready for new paintings?"

Miles spoke as he placed his backpack on a nearby table. Hobie explained that Miles was the artist that had painted his place. That they had known eachother for a couple of years, after all Hobie had moved to Nueva York a while back, surfing through apartments until he settled in your building.

"Please tell me he's doing graphic arts in college"

"He went for physics"

Gwendy, or rather Gwen spoke as Miles and Hobie chatted through new ideas on the paintings.

"Did he?"

"Yeah, the art-thingy is just his own business."

You couldn't help but groan

"God, I feel so useless and old right now."

Gwen giggled

"Totally get you. Barely on my twenty-one and I feel like I need to step up my game. Or I'll die."

You giggled. After a while of witnessing Miles skills on the grafitti, you told everyone their goodbyes, earning a little tease from Hobie and how obedient you were for da system. But truth was that you had been skipping meal prepping costing you a little splurge of money on food.

Once home, you changed into your pj's and removed your makeup, followed by the little ritual of a skin care routine.

The constant drip dropping in the kitchen's sink made you annoyed . No matter how much you tried, the leak kept flowing.

You snapped a picture and reported it to the landlord. Just as Miguel's name popped on your screen. Fingers padded at his chat box.

—Impressive, specially these two from this album.

He sent you a picture of a tied up man, black and white. Despite the bdsm-ish undertones in it, you had kept it classy and esthetically pleasing to the eye. Those had been your first essays back in Photography 101.

The other one was a hand holding a chain, connected to the model's collar. Same black and white setting.

Didn't know you were into this sort of stuff, Mr. O'Hara —

—Told you to quit calling me that. Are these your creation entirely?

      Of course. Had to bribe a classmate with a week worth of burgers to get these pictures, he knew bondage. —

— Well, it was really worth it.

You know?... You could be a great model for me 🤔—

—No.

Not precisely this sort of theme 🙄, dummy. Just pure portraits. —

Wanna practice them. And you happen to have a photogenic face.—

—Do I now?

You sighed and rolled your eyes with a little pink on your cheeks.

                   Sure. Are you in or... —

—Lemme think about it.

You were about to type when he beat you to it.

—Gotta go. Long day tomorrow at work. You have talent. Keep it up.

                                 Thanks! GN. -

—Goodnight, guapa.

-----

Even though you were in a meeting your attention wandered to the pretty skies out the window. A mix of blue, peach and a dash of lilac painting the endless blanket of clouds above, extending past your vivid imagination.

Some clouds had shapes. Or at least you tried to create 'em. A bowling man, a fork with a huge star in it. A bee in a skull.

Your lips curved involuntarily at the mental image, within a blink of an eye you were back on the meeting. Julius sure knew how to lead a team, but when it came to speeches he'd lose a crowd's attention span almost immediately.

He dismissed your team for lunch break.

Food was enjoyable. After all, no pleasure should make feel oneself guilty. You had prepared some Asian food thanks to a new YouTube channel you had found by mere coincidence as you were trying to add new music to your playlist.

You went through your phone media while eating. You updated to some stuff, liked some posts, laughed at the dad joke level memes, and checked on your new profile media.

A couple of comments in the ethereal flower themed album, some others in L'Art Du Bondage, the bdsm aesthetic album. And to your surprise a couple of new followers. The name m.oh2099 made your brow to quirk.

You stalked the profiles but so far the only that looked like a bot was the 99 one. No data or pictures. Deciding to ignore it, you resumed back to your eating.

The scarf was almost done, and by almost done you'd mean halfway there. As much as it pained you to use the first thing you created for other purposes, you were sure that this new one would look and would be built better. With a much more less error margin and something that was actually wearable.

Your mind rambled through the thoughts and soon you were back to your work. Making briefs was like an automatic process for you at this point.

And soon, you'd continue pouring yourself over work until you reached three thirty pm. Friday evening, seemed like a good chance to wander the city again. This time however, an idea popped in your mind.

Your legs crossed underneath the table as you sorted through your contact list and dialed Miguel's number.

It took a while, he didn't pick up. But returned the call almost immediately.

"Aló?"

His gruff and terse tone made you purse your lips

"Is it a bad time?"

You heard some shuffling and papers being crumpled

"Not really"

"You sure?"

Miguel sighed, "I'm sure. What is it?"

Taking a deep breath you spoke "I was going to city wandering today, and I thought it would be fun if you'd came. To relax us a bit. You sound stressed."

His sharp cheekbones rested on his knuckles with a softer expression upon your words. He was about to bring Simon into the conversation but gave a mild grunt as his joints popped together. His ass sure was sore to be spending the whole day correcting and approving projects.

"Sure. Need to stretch out my legs. Me duele el culo de estar sentado todo el pinche día." (My ass hurt from sitting all fucking day)

He grumbled the last bit to himself with a creasing face.

"Okay? Uh, see you at the same parking lot of last time then ."

"Right."

-----

He was there when you arrived to park the car. You put the lock and walked towards him.

"Sorry for making you wait, had a little brief in last minute."

You pulled out your phone and soon both started walking. You let him to go ahead for a couple of steps. You snapped a first picture of him looking with deep eyes over his left shoulder your way. Gray strands shone under the dying sunshine rays.

" What are you doing?"

"Taking natural portraits of you."

He crossed his arms and you snapped another picture. His upper lip scowled at the suddenness of the whole thing. He wore a navy blue shirt, black dress pants and shoes with his ever trusting matching belt and his glasses.

"Let's go." You giggled and took his arm.

You snapped more on the way, He crossing the street as you snapped one behind him, earning a good shot of his back. People stared at you both as you walked by, everytime he seemed to protest, you took another picture, and that's how you both discovered a new treasure.

A little French café. The sweet and coffee aroma instantly assaulted your noses once you came closer.

"Wanna try it?"

He just pushed your lower back inside.

Large glass windows with simple decor, a warm chocolate and beige color on the walls and the outside chairs and tables, scattered in the front. The name 'Belle Vie' printed in brown san serifs capital letters on the beige large tent in the entrance.

A couple of people filled in the outside tables as the inside was full. Seeing the different desserts in display on the front made you curious.

"I'll get this one. You invited last time." You spoke as you pulled your little hand purse as he took his wallet.

"Not a fan of that."

"Too bad."

You smiled and pulled him closer. Of course, he'd order a black coffee and a slice of French flan. You asked for a hot chocolate and a croissant to dip and went outside to occupy a table.

You had already took some pictures of the desserts and the place. He smiled at your eagerness.

"I now understand why you like wandering the city"

"Hope you're having fun"

You smiled before immersing yourself into editing the pictures as your order came. You giggled with a mischievous grin as you tweaked his photos.

"I think it's polite to pay attention to the person before you, guapa"

"Gimme a minute"

Your fingers slid and tapped dexterously and he leaned towards you. He called your name with a voice you knew too well. His teaching voice.

"Yes, sir?", You blinked dumbly and snorted, correcting yourself as you looked up at him "Yeah?"

You were pulled out from the instant trance as he pried your phone from your hands with a little smirk at your default reply.

"H-Hey! "

"Pon atención" (Pay attention)

He warned you while waving his index finger at you.

You gulped and stilled. Immediately looking at his expression. Smug, but serious. Like the one he gave you when saving your ass from failing his class at the library years ago.

"May I have my phone back, please?"

"You can chat all you want with Simon later"

That broke the sudden spell as you deadpanned

"Uh, what? No! I was editing your pictures. Give it back, please."

He chuckled with satisfaction plastered all over his face.

"Quick lesson. Say por favor." (Please)

"Por favor?" You tried as your tongue rolled with the words, making him laugh gently and you to pucker.

"Glad you find my ignorance in spanish amusing."

"Ah, no te enojes, preciosa. Im just kidding" (Don't get worked up)

He cleared his throat

"Look at my lips and how they move. Try to copy that movement"

And oh you were looking. Plump lips moved as he spoke, his voice making your brain tingle.

"-Por favor"

Again, you repeated the word and he seemed pleased that you didn't butchered the phrase.

"Relax your jaw. Let loose your face muscles." One hand cupped your jaw and he squeezed softly, making your lips to pout as you giggled.

"That's better. The tongue rolls better when you're loose"

"We're learning Spanish, right?"

You both chuckled and he let your face go with a soft look in his eyes.

"Of course. Show me the pictures"

"I happen to need my phone for that."

"And what do you say?"

"Can I have my phone back, por favor?"

He smiled and handed the trinket back to your hands.

"Gracias."

His eyes widened a bit and you giggled, "Thats the only phrase my brain could keep in the past two days. "

"You're doing good."

"Gracias."

With a bashful smile you finished the retouching and showed him the pictures you took of him.

"See? You're photogenic"

It was his time to give a shy smile.

"You're not used to be taken pictures."

"I don't like em much."

"Too bad. You're a natural at this. A bit more of production, my professional camera and my. The shots I could do with you."

"You can do better than this old man."

You rolled your eyes at the comment with a scoff.

"You're not old. And you look good. I'd say you're in a beekeeping age"

His brow quirked, "What is that?"

You shrugged with a smirk "That's your homework."

The waitress apologized for delaying as she brought your order. The treats instantly filled in your lungs. She suggested to put some whipped cream inside the chocolate. That it tasted better.

You sat to replenish your energies with a contempt smile on your faces. The sky was gorgeous, you were having a good time, the drinks and treats were delicious.

You could see his tense shoulders slumping at the taste of the coffee and Flan. You snapped a final picture of him about to eat a piece of Flan.

"That's my favorite" You showed him the picture without editing. He looked relaxed and borderline inlove with the coffee taste.

"I'm keeping it."

Just as he was about to take a picture of you, his eyes wandered away snatching all his attention to something. More like someone.

Mahogany eyes trailed after hot magenta. He put the phone away as his eyes followed the woman.

"Miguel?"

His attention was elsewhere and you followed his looking. Nothing out of the extraordinary but a group of people.

A tall black man with a lovely and fashionable coat, a woman with a hot magenta pixie-punk haircut and shimmery cinammon skin doing some shops, and a group of young adults with a dog. Nothing out of the common, except the pink haired woman.

You shrugged

"She's so pretty" You'd mumble casually as you dipped your croissant on the whipped cream mix chocolate, ignoring the subtle mood swing on Miguel’s face.

His eyes casted down to his coffee, the bitterness hitting a bit too hard as he sipped it, so he took a large chunk of the Flan to appease the rioting taste buds.

You attention full on the sweetness and pastries before you.

"Thanks for coming. Means alot."

He cleared his throat with a rasp and shook his head briefly.

"Thanks for inviting me. It was good."

His attention going back to you, despite his mind chanting to look up again, and when he did, the woman was already gone.

It wasn't a hallucination. He knew what he saw. You lips moved to say something and then smile.

A flurry of questions knocked at his mind's door, the noise coming too strong and his breath hitched.

"How do you say look at me in spanish?"

"Mírame"

You nodded.

"Miguel?"

your voice was pulling him out the unpleasant trance he got himself in.

"Hm?"

"Mírame" even though the accent was still there, he looked at you. Many emotions crossed his eyes, confusion and discomfit taking the lead.

"You ok?" He nodded.

He wasn't ok. Not when ghosts of his past came back to haunt him in such a subtle way that had rattled his mind. .

"I'm fine, guapa."

For once, he lied to you.

----

Tag list:

@jkthinkstoomuch @katitakenway @amylasagna @rositabluemoon @lyrasdrawer @plumplumpurin @damhanallagorm @chibiiichann @incustellar @taeecups @vonev @kinkybandages @ittybxttykxttytxtty @del-ightfulling @tatatida @queenofroses22

[itsabouttimex2]

Ok, ok, HEAR ME OUT-

How about lmk Monkeifam and Bullfam with a Y/N who isn't afraid to throw hands —

Like i mean in a response to trauma or manipulation, becouse i fell it isn't explore enough in this situation -

Sure, your loved that you belived was a friend trapped /kidnapped/gaslight you is heartbreaking and of course you are gonna be sad and more incline to behave butttt-

There is always the other way of absolute rage that comes in once you realized you have been trapped/kidnapped /gaslight ecc- like i don't care anymore, i wanna throw hands, those people are death to me.(even thought this isn't the smarter choice considering the strenght of some of the people here) like them breaking Y/N down so they can comfort them to manipulate them, but then unsurprisingly the get the biggest smack/punch of their life . Just- wow the audacity.

Throwing Hands

Bullfam & Monkiefam

“…is this some sort of pathetic attempt at ‘rebellion’, Y/N? I am not impressed.”

Your hands straight bounce. Like punching a bag of wet cement, the Demon Bull King’s skin just shifts around under your fists, never breaking or bruising. You only shatter yourself against it, leaving you worn and looking foolish.

He might not even punish you, given that it’s likely that you break a wrist on impact.

“Now, look what you’ve done to yourself, foolish child. Did you truly think your mortal flesh could stand a demon king’s might? Well, now you know better.”

You lost your temper and struck him. Immediately, you learn better than to do that ever again, and he considers it lesson enough.

Surprisingly merciful, all things considered. (Partially because he finds it somewhat funny.)

I once said in my yandere alphabet that: “Red Son doesn’t want to waste his time doing something like caning or whipping you”. And though I think that viewpoint is usually true…

This changes that. It’s maybe the only situation where he would actively engage in any form of normalized torture “corporal punishment”.

Being physically attacked switches Red from ‘mildly reasonable, if a bit hair-trigger’ to ‘vicious and cruel’. Through brute force alone does he wrestle you into submission, binding your arms behind your back with a pair of metal cuffs.

He tosses you onto the nearest bed and couch before burning the lower half of your clothing off. He then takes up a thin metal rod to utilize in “disciplining” you, sharply lashing it down against your now unprotected skin. He’ll leave puffy, bleeding welts from the top of your rear to the bottom of your thighs, ensuring that you won’t even be able to think about walking for at least a week.

Problem is that not only does it not solve the problem of you being scared and angry, it also just… makes him feel bad afterwards. It breaks him, seeing you weep brokenly over his bed. Blood sluggishly trickles from the skin he’s lashed open, and you scream your lungs out into the sheets as you try to adjust to the pain.

And then he “has to” (wants to, in truth) settle in for some awkward form of aftercare, offering lotion and bandages. When you don’t accept, he forces you to drink a cup of honeyed tea loaded with sedatives because you won’t stop shrieking.

Antiseptic while you’re asleep, a few stitches here and there, then the lotion and bandages he tried earlier. And then a few cautious back rubs, trying to calm your fitful slumber.

“Gods, Y/N… what have I done to you? I… I was just… I was… no, I… I’m sorry.”

An outright dodge. Princess Iron Fan has no time for your nonsense. For trying, she’ll lock you into whatever room has been set aside for you, barring the door with powerful magic.

One shallowly-filled bowl of food every two days, adding just a little bit more to it each day. One ceramic cup of room temperature water every four hours. A change of clothes every three days. Instead of brute force, Iron Fan teaches you through deprivation.

After a month of this, she might see fit you allow you back out of your room, letting you mingle with the family you have been forced to adopt.

After writing her a letter of apology, of course. Two pages. Pray you have the mind to keep your pencil steady.

So very many tears to deal with, probably on both ends. MK knows that he’s doing isn’t all that great, sure… but it’s because he loves you!

Can’t you love him back, please? Ok, he’s been manipulating you! Maybe he’s been driving some friends away! Maybe he’s sent a few clones to tail you around the city! But, please, please- you can’t stop loving him! He just can’t risk having you hurt!

“Please, Y/N! You don’t understand! I’m just trying to keep you safe! You can hit me again, hit me as many times as you want! Just- please, Y/N… I need you. Please…”

His last resort is stuffing you in Shuilian Cave, given that you can’t escape with his or Sun Wukong’s help. Maybe a few ropes to keep you in place. He’ll cry with each knot tied, begging you not to hate him.

Sun Wukong tanks your punch and gives your head a little pat, frowning at the display. “Sorry, bud. Trust me, I know I’m not exactly the good guy here. Go ahead and let it out. I… kinda deserve it, huh?”

The Great Sage knows you have every reason to be upset. Really, you do. All there’s only so much waylaying of emotions to be done, unfortunately. You were going to crack eventually.

He stands firmly in place, one hand rubbing your back while you break your fists against his body, watching you scream and cry. The man is just… unsurprised? He’s starting to realize that he messes up a lot of things.. So just letting you whale on him seems fair, gently trying to shush your angry tears while your skin grinds to bloody pulp against his shredded abdomen.

“How about I make us some tea,” he offers afterwards, surveying your destroyed hands. “And I’ll patch you up. Then… I think you’ve earned yourself an early bedtime for the rest of the week, bud.”

“Oh, kiddo. Do you know what “screwing up” is? After this, they’re gonna put your picture in the dictionary as an example.”

Macaque does not tolerate having hands laid on him. Not by friends, not by enemies. And certainly not by his little student, who is supposed to be wide-eyed and placid, in awe of his every move and strike.

You are supposed to be sweet and respectful. You are supposed to be kind and loving.

And he’s sure that with a little bit of “training”, he’ll get you back to that disposition.

He’ll snap his fingers with an angry snarl, shadows springing all around you like cold wires. You are gagged with a cold ebon muzzle, both your hands locked inside a cuff of swirling black and purple. You want to act like an animal? Macaque will chain you to the wall by your new muzzle and treat you like an animal.

Maybe a few days spent so on a chain so short you can’t lay down will teach you better than to raise a hand against “the only person who even loves you, Y/N!” ever again.

[auroravictorium]

high infidelity (pt. 1) (k.b.)

do i really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?

Summary: pekka gives up on trying to get information from reader and decides to wait for kaz's arrival instead. reader endures a bad injury, and the crows arrive to help. reader finally gets her revenge.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship)

Word Count: ~4.3k

Warnings: LOTS of blood and violence (stabbing, vague description of gutting someone), minor self harm (reader holds a piece of porcelain tight enough to cut her fingers), death of non-canon character(s), use of guns, shooting, lots of pain, mentions of illness/infection

Genre: angst and action

Author's Note: if you didn't read the warnings, PLEASE go back and look at them! this is a lot more violent than previous parts. also! this is from reader's pov! you can find kaz's pov here! sorry for the wait! i hope you all enjoy :))

part two

It was raining.

The pooling of water in the corner of your cell was the only indication you had of the weather outside. Seeing the filthy puddle forming made your already dry mouth seem borderline painful. You hadn't dared to touch the dirty bucket of water in the corner, surviving only off the broth and the small bowl of water your captors occasionally provided. At this point, you were willing to take the chance of drinking the rainwater leaking into your cell.

You ran your thumb along the edge of the porcelain shard you sharpened upon your return to your cell however long ago. The threat of piercing skin was a nice distraction from the aching of your throat, the white-hot pain in your chest, and the beginnings of a fever you were trying desperately to ignore. The gash on the back of your head hadn't started to heal; instead, it had gotten worse. 

If you threatened to cut your finger enough times, you could ignore the reality of your situation settling over you. If they don't kill me, my injuries will. Internal bleeding, infection, starvation, dehydration.

However you considered it, you didn't have much time.

You didn't want to consider the possibility of Kaz not coming to get you. He had to be looking for you. He'd worked too hard to keep you out of the Dime Lions' hands to give up when mercenaries did their work for them.

But he had to know that Pekka planned to kill him if he came to get you. Kaz wasn't a fool.

Would he leave you here to die or come to get you and risk death himself?

The porcelain shard broke the skin of your thumb. Blood beaded at the wound and seeped down the ceramic, staining it a deep, lethal red. You almost didn't feel your finger throbbing, and it took a few moments to register in your mind that you should drop the makeshift blade. You should stuff it beneath your shoddy pallet and try to sleep until the mercenaries dragged you back upstairs. You shouldn't add to the injuries on and beneath your skin.

You did none of those things. Kaz will come for me. You curled your fingers around the shard, slicing the skin of your other fingers, and let your eyes slip shut.

He will.

As drowsiness wrapped you in its cool embrace, you realized you weren't sure if you believed it anymore. Not because Kaz would abandon you, but because you knew you were running on time that wasn't your own. You were at the mercy of the mercenaries, Pekka Rollins, Kaz's ability to get to you. You were at the mercy of exhaustion and the infection taking root in your blood. 

If Kaz made it to you, would he find you alive or dead? Would he bring you back to Ketterdam to heal or to be buried?

Nine months ago, you'd faced death at the hands of a rogue Dime Lion on a job. As you'd felt those ice-cold shackles on your limbs, you'd thought of Kaz's smile. At the time, you'd never seen it; you'd convinced yourself you never would, but it was a thought you suddenly refused to accept as death came for you. Your defiance brought you back to life and to Kaz, stubborn, foolish Kaz, who decided to wait until your near death before confessing he cared.

Now, having seen that smile, having felt his hands in yours, having born dozens of wounds for the chance to get back to him, would you accept death as it stalked closer? Would you let it pull you into its embrace, lead you to the Saints as it had millions of others? Would it take you this time?

Unconsciousness claimed you before you could answer any of your questions, sinking its talons into you and jerking you beneath the cold waves.

-

When you woke up, you saw the sky. Your eyes were so bleary, weighed down in a way they hadn't been when you fell asleep, that you thought you were imagining it. But no, it was there just beyond a grimy window and far from your reach. It was grey and dreary, and the air smelled faintly of rain, untouched by the mildew and rot of your cell.

Your cheeks felt hot, yet you shivered as you glanced around at your surroundings. You were in the main room of the warehouse now, surrounded by rusty machinery, empty burlap bags, and other miscellaneous garbage from the building's production days. The mercenaries were nowhere to be found, nor was your porcelain shard. But you weren't alone; Pekka sat in a chair before you, his legs propped on a crumbling metal table. He spun a revolver in his hand and added a bullet each time he finished a rotation.

He'd cleaned the blood from his face and beard and changed his clothes since you'd seen him last. He looked as he had the day he first arrived, an unknown amount of time ago. Clean. Composed. Disgustingly powerful.

You jerked your hands against your bindings as if you had the strength to pull them free or break them against the wooden support beam you were tethered to. "Either pull the trigger or leave me be," you said. Your voice was unexpectedly hoarse, and you flinched at the sound. Each word sent scraping pain down your throat, and every breath coming out of your lungs felt too warm, too final.

Pekka smiled pleasantly and slid another bullet into the chamber. "These bullets aren't for you, lass. My men have seen your crew in the city, coming to make their rescue. I reckon an hour until they find you, maybe less if the boy knows where to look."

"I'll make sure your next of kin is aware they can expect to find your body in the canal in a few weeks," you snapped, forcing as much venom into your words as you could, which wasn't much in your state. You leaned your forehead against the wooden beam and shuddered, squeezing your eyes shut. It was too warm in here. You were so cold.

The news of the Crows being nearby should have perked you up and motivated you to keep fighting until they arrived. Instead, you could barely bring yourself to offer a scathing remark in acknowledgment. Even your worry for Kaz was dimmed by your worsening fever and overwhelming fatigue, not to mention the pain coursing through you as you shifted your weight from one leg to another.

The sound of boots echoed against the stone floor and off the walls, and you slowly opened your eyes to see who it was. All three mercenaries were prowling over, armed to the teeth and looking no less than bloodthirsty. The Crows had to be getting close to the warehouse, wherever it was; otherwise, the mercenaries wouldn't be leering at you like they had a few final sick bits of torture they wanted to inflict.

The one you hadn't seen since the coach ride, whom you half-heartedly decided to name Number Three, stepped forward and pulled a knife from the sheathe at his thigh. His free hand was bandaged, the result of your bite as he attempted to drug you in the coach, and you would've been smug about it if the world wasn't starting to wobble around you. Number Three cocked his head, and his brown eyes roamed you up and down, taking in the sallowness of your skin and the injuries scattered over you like a gruesome painting of red, blue, and purple. "Not much bite left, huh, sweetheart?"

You didn't bother responding, resting your head against the support beam and letting out a slow breath. Your heart thundered in your chest, making your head throb painfully; it took everything in you to not panic. Being outnumbered hadn't bothered you before, but it felt more threatening now that you knew Kaz and some, if not all, of the Crows were close to rescuing you. You were so close to freedom. 

Hold on a little longer.

"Someone not feeling well?" Sergei drawled. He prowled closer, and the tip of a blade traced over your hollow cheek. It slid down your jaw, a terrifying caress as it traveled down your throat, shoulder, and bicep until it stopped at your forearm. You stiffened, turning your face away and trying to shift around the support beam to get away. But a body stood behind you, and Fjerdan Asshole clamped his fingers onto your shoulders to keep you in place.

You gritted your teeth and jerked your shoulders, but the grip only tightened. "Now, now," Fjerdan Asshole chastised. "Hold still." His fingertips pressed painfully into your flesh, and you fought to keep from groaning through your teeth. 

Breathe.

Sergei slowly slid your shirt sleeve up, revealing the dark ink of the Dregs tattoo on your skin, and you held back as he lifted his knife. He pressed the tip of it against the crow's head, nipping the skin, and your breathing sped up as blood slowly trickled down your arm. 

He leaned in until his mouth was against your ear. You trembled and turned your head away, but you refrained from cracking your skull into his nose. It was too risky in your condition, and the pulsing of the gash in the back of your head told you that you needed to stay still. The world was still tipping from one side to the other, in time with the throbbing of your wounds.

"Tell me," Sergei hissed, "has the pain been worth it, knowing that we're going to kill him the moment he steps through that door?" In one swift movement, he sliced the sleeve of your shirt right off, leaving a thin cut around your bicep where he'd removed it. "Knowing that it was for nothing? That you marked yourself with a symbol that will mean nothing the moment Ketterdam hears he's dead?"

He twirled the blade across his fist, his eyes darkening with a rage that made you feel sick. If your stomach weren't empty, you would have vomited onto the floor as you realized what he had planned. The knife. The utter hatred for the symbol on your arm. The slicing of your sleeve from the rest of your shirt like a surgeon performing a routine exam.

His words were deliberately spoken as if you'd live to see a Ketterdam without Kaz Brekker in it, where your only reminders of him would be your memories and your tattoo. This man intended to tarnish the first with pain and ruin the second with blood, and the rest of your captors intended to watch. 

The orchestrator of it all smiled, a disturbing glee filling Pekka's eyes as he watched the realization cross your face.

You jerked your arm in his grip as your shoulders and breathing trembled with panic. It rattled your lungs, irritated your broken ribcage, filled your mouth with a coppery, bitter taste. "Get your hands off me," you snapped, twisting your arm to hide your tattoo. But there was nowhere you could go, absolutely nothing you could do to prevent this, and Sergei only readjusted his hold. Firmer this time, making the skin whiten beneath his filthy fingers. It would bruise, and your ruined tattoo wouldn't be the only reminder of what he'd done.

"I'm going to do you a favor," Sergei whispered like he had a secret to share. He brought the knife's tip to the top of your tattoo again, near the crook of your elbow. Your pulse thrummed beneath the touch of the metal, and you had to look away from the sight of his thumb tenderly stroking the inner skin of your elbow. Nausea rose in your throat, bile seeping onto your tongue as someone other than Kaz touched you with such gentleness. "Wipe the slate clean. If you're still, maybe you won't have a scar."

Tears brimmed in your eyes, and you couldn't bring yourself to stop them. There was nothing to be done, nothing to stop this. No breathing to exhale the impending pain, no controlling the sudden spinning of the room. You squeezed your eyes shut and sagged against the post as a quiet sob slipped past your lips.

No mourners. No funerals.

It was the only thing you could think, echoing through your mind in Kaz's voice. A quiet rasp shared in the dark of his room before you left, however long ago. The most he could offer right then, but more than enough for you. 

You clung to what little comfort the memory provided and focused on every detail you could remember. Kaz's eyes. The concerned purse of his lips. His dark hair, ruffled from running his fingers through it too many times. Dust motes spinning lazily through the air, caught in the faint moonlight streaming through his window. How he looked as if he wanted to say so much more.

The comfort was temporary, beaten back as the blade pierced your skin. It was the worst pain you'd felt since you'd been taken, a hot flash of agony reverberating bone-deep. Your arm was on fire, liquid flame dripping down your skin as Sergei drove the knife deeper and slowly carved it downward.

You screamed. The sound tore at your raspy throat and echoed around the warehouse loud enough to make Pekka, Number Three, and Fjerdan Asshole flinch. Sergei remained unaffected, continuing his morbid surgery with a nauseating glimmer of amusement in his eyes. You tried to pull your arm from Sergei's grip, but his hand was an immovable vice around your arm that locked it in place as he slashed your Dregs tattoo in half. 

Torn, jagged edges of skin, seeping blood. It was all you could see through your tears as you sobbed, turning your face into the wooden support beam to hide the damage from your view. The world started to tilt and spin faster as blood rushed from the wound and dripped onto the floor, splattering your boots and turning the stone red.

Sergei released you, but you couldn't let your arm drop to your side as you wished. With your wrists bound around the pole, you were forced to see your arm utterly ruined before you. It was the worst kind of torture, seeing blood where ink once was, how quickly a mark you fought to earn could be destroyed.

You heard footsteps moving away from you, and the hands resting on your shoulders disappeared. Wooden chairs scraped against the stone floor as the mercenaries started to settle around the table Pekka sat at, murmuring and snickering amongst themselves.

Metal thumped against stone, and the sound was followed by the rattling of chains.

The mercenaries went silent, and their chairs shifted once more. Safeties clicked on guns, and you heard metal hissing against leather as daggers were drawn. "Grab her," Pekka hissed. "It's Brekker's crew."

Nobody got the chance to lay hands on you before the doors to the warehouse slammed open, and four figures came rushing inside. Two tall ones, two shorter ones; a glittering crow on a cane, shimmering blades, spinning pistols, and sparkling coat buttons. Kaz, your friends, your Crows. Even through nauseating dizziness, you would know them anywhere.

Before you could call for any of them, the room exploded into chaos as Kaz threw a phosphorous bomb down and filled the air with smoke.

Chairs moved, and weapons clashed, filling the air with noise that rang in your ears and made you want to take cover. Pistols fired, and someone groaned. A body hit the floor next to you, and you flinched away from the face of Number Three staring up at you, a bullethole clean through his forehead.

To get out of the line of fire, you carefully maneuvered around the support beam, using what little leeway you had. You ducked as something flew right past where you stood moments ago: barely recognizable, charred chunks of chair legs.

You let out a shaky tremble and tried to get closer to the floor, unable to do much more than wait until someone cut your bindings. Until then... Despite the searing pain in your arms, you slowly started to scrape the rope against the wooden surface of the support beam, hoping a stray thread would catch in the rotten, splintering surface. Please please please. This isn't their fight alone.

Through the white haze of the room, Sergei noticed your attempted evasion and snarled. He broke from fighting with Inej, blocking a slash of her blade with one of his own before crossing to you. He cut through your bindings, jerked you to your feet, then held his bloody blade to your throat. 

You cried out as he hauled you back, stumbling and nearly tipping over as the world did flips and your legs went out from under you. Black spots danced across your vision, and bile rose in your throat. You lifted your uninjured arm to get a grip on his wrist so you could push out of his hold, but he pressed the blade to the underside of your chin just hard enough to nip the skin. "You move, and I slash your pretty neck," Sergei growled in your ear. "Now, we're going to walk toward the back, and you aren't going to fight me."

Sergei started to walk backward, keeping his dagger positioned at your throat and ignoring how it shallowly cut your skin when you stumbled. As you got further from the clearing smoke and saw your friends locked in combat with Fjerdan Asshole, you felt the fading sparks of your energy flare back up again.

They smoldered until they sparked, sparked until they set alight, heated until they burned hot enough to burn away your pain and your exhaustion and your memories of the past days. You forgot about your fever and the wound in your arm rapidly losing blood. All you saw was the leader of the mercenaries swinging his fists at Jesper and batting Inej away like a fly, and Pekka landing a strike on Kaz's face hard enough to break the skin. 

All you felt was rage for what they'd done to you and what they planned to do to your friends.

Bracing your hand against Sergei's arm, you bashed your head back against his chin and pushed away the weapon in his hand at the same time. Pain shot through your skull and right down your spine, threatening to send you sprawling to the floor. But you managed to stay upright and turned on your heel, swinging your left fist toward Sergei's face. His head cracked to the side, and bone crunched beneath your knuckles. His knife clattered to the ground as he grunted and stumbled back from the force of your punch.

You dove for the knife, landing badly on your injured arm with a loud cry, and narrowly managed to wrap your fingers around the blade's handle before Sergei shoved you onto your back. He pinned you to the floor with his weight and tried to wrestle the dagger from your grip, his fingers clamping around yours with bruising force. You panted and struggled, anything to keep him from establishing a hold on the weapon you'd managed to grab. The first one you'd had access to since yours were taken.

You'd die before you gave it up and let yourself be unarmed again.

Sergei suddenly froze above you, halting his attack as his face turned bright red. His chest was still, frozen on an exhale of breath, and he clutched his throat with his blood-stained hands. You watched in bewilderment as his eyes rolled back in his head, and his lips turned blue. Blood bubbled at the corners, starting to slide down.

You gasped for air, glancing over Sergei's shoulder to find the source of his agony. Nina stood there, her hands outstretched as she squeezed his heart and lungs. More blood seeped from his lips as her grip tightened on his organs, her fingers curling toward her palms. Her lips were pursed in determination, and her blue eyes were dark with fury. They flicked to yours, and she nodded.

Now.

You didn't need convincing. You drove the dagger into Sergei's chest as hard as you could with one arm's waning strength. Blood poured onto your hand as you pushed it up to the hilt beneath his ribcage, soaking into your remaining sleeve and sticking it to your skin. Sergei's mouth fell open as if he might scream, but no sound came out. Red drops fell from his lips onto your face and neck, and you wanted to gag as you twisted the blade to force it as deep as it could possibly go.

Sergei teetered before slumping to the ground, writhing and trying to pull the dagger from his chest. His frantic movements slowed until his arms fell to his sides, and he seemed to realize he was beyond saving. 

It should have been enough. Seeing death approach in his eyes should have satisfied the hungry wrath burning in your chest, roaring in your ears. Instead, you pushed yourself into a kneel at his side. The ground was slick with blood as it pooled around him and dripped from your arm, and the world wobbled around you as you wrapped your fingers around the dagger's reddened hilt.

You ripped the weapon from his chest, making him scream in agony. A sick, twisted part of you relished in the sound. Good. I hope he hurts. 

"Was it worth it?" you hissed, turning his words back on him as you positioned the blade above his navel. "Drugging me, breaking me, trying to kill me, only for you to die by my hand?" You dug the weapon in, piercing his flesh with slow precision. "By your own weapon?" You leaned in until your faces were inches apart, letting him see the wrath in your eyes. How unapologetic you were for what you planned to do. 

He was alive enough to finally look afraid of you.

"I'll make sure there's enough left of you to be buried," you breathed. "Maybe if you grovel, the Saints will ensure you spend eternity in fewer pieces."

Sergei's eyes drifted shut. It was possible he didn't hear your words. Perhaps death had already claimed him, but you didn't care. You couldn't as rage flooded every nerve in your body. At that moment, you knew nothing else, even as black dots danced across your vision and you swayed unsteadily.

Your hand trembled as you twisted the knife in his abdomen, burying it further before shoving it upward with the rest of your strength. Blood slickened your palms and pooled around your knees. Distantly, you could see how much damage you'd done, how he was cut clean open from his navel to his sternum. You didn't want to look any harder than that.

The rushing in your ears slowly died out, leaving you in a heavy, numb silence as Sergei died before you. The fighting had stopped sometime during your moment of fury, and the air reeked of sweat and the metallic tang of blood. It was you and Kaz and the Crows, surrounded by the culmination of every decision you'd made up to this point, from leaving your family to whispering 'I love you' in a city full of vengeance. You never imagined your life and hands would be tainted by blood and death.

You'd always imagined the world spinning slowly, twirling gracefully on its axis. It was colorful and bright, carefree and uncomplicated. Clean, untouched, magical.

The world was not so.

You collapsed onto the stone ground between one blink and the next. The room spun too fast around you, so blurry and dizzying that you squeezed your eyes shut. Hands, so many hands, found your body, pressed against your wounds. 

Gentle fingers pressed to your forehead, and you felt your pulse begin to slow. Sleep started to tug on you, pulling you under.

Tears slipped down the corners of your eyes, hot against your clammy skin. "No," you whispered, trying to turn away from the probing fingers. But your muscles couldn't or wouldn't cooperate. "No more. Please." You'd slept enough. You didn't want to sleep anymore.

You forced your eyes open, trying to focus on the blurry shapes moving above you. Four faces, your friends. One was closer than the rest, pale and streaked with blood. Kaz was hunched over you, examining your wounds.

"Nina, her arm," Kaz said. His raspy voice was familiar and comforting, like cocoa on a bitterly cold day, but panic lay beneath the words and froze you to the bone. You'd never heard fear in that voice before. "Jesper, the coach. Take Inej. Go."

A flurry of activity happened around you; two sets of footsteps disappeared as quickly as they arrived, and gentle fingers started to work on your arm and the back of your head. Gloved hands wiped away at the blood they could find, then one found your hand and gently squeezed as your eyes fluttered shut.

Sleep overtook you as your resistance failed, eased by Kaz's careful touch. It tethered you to earth, a silent promise that he wouldn't let you drift away. He was gloved and dark and the subject of every faded dream that danced through your mind as you slipped into unconsciousness.

You trusted him to pull you out of the fog when it was time.

kaz pov (part 2) here!

TAGLIST: @tonberry-yoda, @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r, @futurecorps3, @statsvitenskap, @sapphiccloud, @casualladyinternet, @d34drapunzel, @noctemys, @whitejxsmine, @so6, @franzelt, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @marlene-the-witch, @thestudiouswanderer, @lyjen, @rideacowb0y, @weasleybuns, @dal-light, @mariatpwk, @dreammgc, @elysian-chaos, @breadbrobin, @poppyflower-22, @halfofagayallofaqueer, @battleraven, @amarokofficial, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @poppyflower-22, @madnessinwrighting, @ponyboys-sunsets, @circus-of-thoughts, @empresspenguin18, @mediocrestuff, @stonksman8, @alanis-altair, @thefandomplace, @alohastitch0626, @the-royal-paintbrush, @just-here-for-ff, @whos6claire, @jodiereedus22, @be-lla-vie, @despoinapav05, @arianyo, @willowpains, @geekmom3, @dark-academia-slut, @aeslenya, @directioner5life, @notjustsomeblonde, @osteopsycho, @travelingmypassion, @tiana76, @angelhxneyy, @princessatoru, @despoinapav05, @writingatdusk

[reve-writes]

—tea leaves; dan heng.

ʚ dan heng x reader | honkai: star rail | 0,9k words. ʚ dan heng brews you tea and then you taste it on his lips. ʚ first kisses; friends-to-lovers. ʚ a/n i headcanon dan heng to own those traditional chinese tea sets. also i am finally writing for someone other than leon kennedy and kaz brekker.

Dan Heng prefers to be alone.

It's a known fact aboard the Astral Express. He treasures his peace and quiet, breathes in the stillness of an uninhabited room, feels the most at home as he's by himself.

That is, until you come along, and suddenly he doesn't seem to be able to fall into that tranquility anymore.

He's bouncy, often shifting his weight from one leg to the other. His eyes often shift to the door as he's inside the Archive Room—he never locks it anymore, not when you're keen on popping in as you please. It feels like every second he's anticipating for the next time you burst his quiet bubble.

“Dan Heng?”

The door slides open. He has his back turned away from it, typing away new entries into the data bank.

“Did I come at a bad time?” You ask, hovering around the doorway.

“No.” He finds himself answering too eagerly. Dan Heng clears his throat, tearing himself away from the screen. He leans against the desk, facing you. “Do you need anything?”

He speaks in a soft and amicable voice as usual.

“Not really, no.” You look down at your shoes. The door slides shut behind you. “I'm just looking for company since March 7th is off with Welt and Himeko. Although, if you're busy, I can leave you be.”

“I am not. However, I'm not sure I would be a good company.”

Your head tilts to the side. “Really? I enjoy your company very much.”

You're blunt in a way that it occasionally takes Dan Heng by surprise. His composure wavers and he's left with nothing to do but clear his throat.

“Likewise. Shall we go have some tea, then? Or did you have anything else in mind?”

“Tea sounds good.”

The Omni-Synthesiser sits in the Parlour Car untouched. Dan Heng prefers a more... traditional approach to tea-making, instead of the convenient cosmic way, which you find endearing. He has a whole tea-making set that he lays out on the small, round table before you.

A perforated tray sits neatly, housing a clay teapot, two ceramic teacups and a small tea pitcher. Dan Heng has let the tea brew in the pitcher for a couple of minutes. Strong, earthy aroma envelopes the interastral train car.

“It smells amazing,” you comment, watching as he carefully uses two hands to pour out the tea into the cups. You're shamelessly staring at his hands, fixated on his long fingers, with the guise of paying attention.

He humms. “It's Jin Shan tea. One of my favourites.”

You hold your hands out for your cup. Dan Heng hands it over, but before it reaches your grasp, he pulls it back slightly. “Be careful, it's hot.”

You nod, eagerly taking the cup in two hands and finally take a sip. You let out a satisfied noise, the yellow tea washes smoothly down your throat and leaves a pleasant aftertaste. Dan Heng's turquoise eyes trace over your figure as he, too, takes a sip.

“It tastes amazing as well!”

Dan Heng's face lights up at your approval. “Is that so?”

You hum. “I may start getting addicted to your tea brews.”

Heat creeps up his cheeks. “I don't mind.”

You set your cup down gently on the table, leaning back on the upholstered couch. Dan Heng is hyperaware of your presence, feels the brush of your shoulder against his, the warmth of your thigh next to him.

“What? Is there something on me?” You tilt your head slightly in question and Dan Heng realises that he has been staring. He blinks, for the first time noticing your proximity. Too close. If he leans forward slightly, your nose would bump against his. If he leans forward a little more, then he'll be kissing you.

His entire body freezes, tensing as the thought passes over him. His blue-green eyes flick down to your lips for a split second and you notice it. It fuels your bravery.

“No,” Dan Heng whispers, as if in a daze.

“Do you mind if I...” you lean forward ever-so-slightly and your nose brushes his.

“No,” he answers again.

With that, you press your lips against his, a tentative peck and your eyes immediately flutter close. His gloved hand snakes up your arm, finds itself on your neck, thumb brushing the square od your jaw. He tastes sweet and slightly earthy from the tea.

He pulls back slightly. You chase after him, your lips brushing against his when he speaks. “Was that okay? That's my—I'm not experienced in this matter—”

You tug on his bottom lip with your teeth. “More than okay.”

With that, he surges forward to capture your lips in his again. His other hand presses on the small of your back, guiding you closer to him—as close as he can on the sofa.

You hear a scratchy cough and jump apart. You pull your legs back, in the midst of your passion, they've slung over Dan Heng's lap.

“Pom Pom!” Your voice is higher-pitched from both the surprise and the embarrassment.

The bunny shoots the two of you a look. “Really? In the parlour? Don't you have your own private rooms?”

“Apologies. It won't happen again,” Dan Heng replies as calmly as ever. His face is lightly flushed but he looks composed as usual, aside from the slightly messy hair and reddened lips.

“It better not or Pom Pom is dropping you off in space!”

[ ]

[saturnianprincess]

[𝐩𝐚𝐜] 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

💗𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧💗

This is the first section of a collaborative reading on what does 2023 have in store for you. Please do read the other two parts linked below.

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐲 @starb0t 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐲 @lueurais

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞: 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬. 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧. 𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐲.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏

The people who choose this pile have recently undergone a challenging phase in their life mostly emotional purging. You have shed your old limiting beliefs or people who don’t align with you anymore. You are enlightening yourself and your loved ones by broadening your horizons and knowledge. You have left those who are bounding you and hindering you from being your authentic self. I see a period of recovery and self healing. Maybe some of you had a bad break up or ending of a close relationship. A restoration of balance in your energy is what is happening for you this year. You are in full control of your life’s wheel. You know where you are headed and what you must to do to keep yourself on that path. I see spending time with your family or people who are like your family/close friends. A strong theme of reconnecting and strengthening your relationships. Some of you may find a new group of friends/community or even a partner. You are recharging yourself so that you can be fully present in your relationships, activities and life.

extra messages: girl/boy nextdoor, green landscapes, home-cooked meals, 444, shavasna yoga pose

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐

I see someone entering your life in next few months. This person is definitely a soulmate or belongs to your soul tribe. They are very successful in their careers and have a lot of established wealth. They could also work in finance or business related fields. You could even meet them at work. Some people here could also end up in a business partnership with this person as well. A romantic individual at heart who will cherish you and your relationship with them. You will feel blissful with them. A few of you could even get married to this person quite quickly in your relationship. Alternatively, im picking up on a lot of stability and grounding from this person. You will learn a lot about yourself through this relationship. Your person will not ditch when it gets challenging instead they will strengthen their support to you. They could possibly have a lot of earth (Virgo, Taurus or Capricorn) placements in their chart.

extra messages: financial freedom, baby sprouts, love candy, 1010, 2222, beige blazers, office romance

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑

Trusting people has always been a traumatic task for this group. I feel like some of you could have strong water sign placements specifically pisces or cancer venus. You are the type to fully trust the other person where you completely end up sacrificing yourself only to find out that they are backstabbing people. I know you are tired of hearing “establish better boundaries” and “don't look at them with rose colored glasses”. But it is so comforting to do exactly the opposite isn't it? Anyways you are headed on the path where you will eventually get your dreamy, safe and secure relationship but the universe is keen on testing you before this happens. You have the capability to see the person and acknowledge who and what they are. You are now well aware of what it is you seek from your romantic/platonic relationships. This year will be your final exam before you get your desired result. Stay put, you got this! Your person is waiting for you at the finish line.

extra messages: 100%, coffee, hand made ceramics, Neptune and Venus aspects, 1211, 555, life changes

©️saturnianprincess 2023 | home

< star’s mlist > < pearl’s mlist >

Pictures from Pinterest • Read my note

[mellowwillowy]

Yan! (....) × Revived GN! Doll Reader

"Now my dearest, try to remember, what kind of form did you have?"

You wake up to the sweet gentle voice that echoes in the whole room. It seems to be luring you out of your long peaceful sleep. A sleep that seems to make your body feel heavier.

Readjusting your eyes, you were met with their eyes gazing into you with longing and love. You recognize them. In fact, you know them really well, so well that something feels unreal.

You know them so well and yet you can't seem to know them. You know who they are, their names, likes, dislikes, sins. You even remember all the memories you once shared with them.

And yet why can't you recognize them as your own?

Looking at your hands, you notice how ceramic-like it is. It is indeed a ceramic hand. ....joints? It looks like...

Realization strikes you and you immediately sit upright. You hold your left arm tightly and realize how hard it is. It's not made of skin and flesh but rather, porcelain. Unlike a porcelain doll, you can bend the limbs that are imparted to you easily.

Though your left arm seems to be made of flesh, you can feel how dead the nerves are. It's able to function properly but-

"Having fun moving around my dear?"

You snap out of your thoughts and bring your focus back to the person sitting next to your bed. How long has it been since you last saw them? You? Me? Her? Him? Who were you referring to again? Your head starts throbbing painfully as you question yourself.

Who are you?

"Dear?"

They look worried now. Judging by the reflections of you in their eyes, you know how pale you look right now. The reassuring hands did not leave your back even once. It's calming and scaring you at the same time. Just who exactly are they trying to reassure, you, or someone else?

"You are probably suffering from shock right now, I know, It's been a while since you last woke up right?"

Shock? As in your porcelain arm or this flood of memories?

"Don't worry, nothing will harm you anymore"

Maybe they are not referring to any of those 2?

"You will never die anymore"

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐞, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 <𝐆𝐎𝐃>.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

The atmosphere was as tense as a violin chord, thick and heavy as a blanket.

Yae eyes darted from Ei figure, calmly sipping tea from her cup, enjoying from time to time some small bite of the mochis on her plate, to you, clearly upset by something by the glares that you threw to the Shogun, who was obviously ignoring your attiotude.

Usually the afternoon at the Shogun residence, where the three of you shared some good chatting, news, and gossip from the towns, was a moment of pure relaxation and nothingless. It was the moment when the Raiden Shogun, the Head Maiden of the Narukami Shrine, and the Creator weren't such mighty and important figures, but just three friends who loved to spend some quality time together.

At least that was the case for the other days, since now there are some problems between you and the Shogun.

"Oh my, I wonder. You both are so chattering today. I'm guessing that whatever happened between you two must have been quite an event."

Before speaking, Ei's eyes sparked toward her friend. Did she really need to bring that up?!

"Me and Y/N had a discussion a few hours ago."

"We argued-"

You corrected, noticing Ei eyes rising toward you in the same glare.

"About some matters that aren't supposed to be on their minds right now."

"Um, um, and...what are those matters, to be precise?"

"I asked her to teach me how to fight."

The ceramic Ei cup clattered with the small plate in her hand. Why do you have to be so stubborn? She loved that thing about you, but, seriously, on those occasions, it was impossible! Yae hears, on the other hand, pointed up, showing her her full interest in the matter. Her eyes were full of a small glimmer.

"Oh really? And...why so?"

"Why not?!"

"Because you don't need to! I can protect you just like this!"

Finally, Ei decided to get out of her small, composed shell. She raised her voice, shocking you for a momet, and Yae, not so used from the Shogun to shout.

"I don't want to be protected! I want to be able to do it myself!"

"This world is merciless; one wrong step and-"

"I've been hurt and hunted by the nations, Ei; I'm far more aware of how this world works! I want to protect our people too!"

The two of you keep on having that argument in front of the fox lady.

She found the entire ordeal quite cute. She knew that, at some point , this was supposed to happen. You wanted so much to prove yourself, while Ei tried with all the strength of her being to reject the thought of losing her Creator. It was meant to happen that the two of you would crash at some point; it was later than she believed, but better than never, no?

Posing her cup, she started to adjust the front of her kimono.

"Umm...well, it seems like she won't help you, dear Y/N. Forget asking her to help you master the art of polearming."

Finally, thought there was some sense in that discussion! It was strange to hear Yae finally siding  with-

"So, instead, why don't try to master another weapon? Sarah would love to get the chance to teach you the bow—or the Kamisato sibling? I can sense it; the art of the sword would elevate your status."

Your face glowed (literally) for happiness, while Ei looked at the scene with confusion and so much disdain.

"Do you mean it?!"

"Of course! Maybe you can master all of them! Why don't we pay them a visit later?"

"AAAAAW! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!"

You launched towards her, hugging her closely. She giggled a little, caressing your head in delight.

"I'm going to change! I'm going to need some proper gear...FIGHTING CLOTHING!"

You disappeared from the room, leaving the room again in the same silence. Ei keeps throwing light from her eyes towards the fox.

"....DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT?"

"They want to protect their and your people, Ei, and they don't want to be scared anymore... You should acknowledge that..."

[yorshie]

Scars

SFW Blurbs with the songs that I listened to

Leo (Oh Children by Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds)

Leo pulled you closer against his plastron, face tipped up and eyes closed as he slowly allowed himself to relax.

Your fingers were soft on his scales, tiny points of connection that he was hyper aware of as you slowly mapped your way across his skin.

The tip of one nail scored along the side of his pectoral scute, and he shivered underneath you, letting out a low hum at the feeling.

"Sorry." You whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder in apology.

"S' alright." He said softly, not moving when your palm pressed flat agaisnt his bicep. "It's doesn't hurt, not anymore."

He was aware of how your expression had crumpled upon seeing the almost surgically clean crack up on side of his top left scute, though your expression and scent when his whole shoulder had been covered in bandages had been far worse. In a way, he's morbidly thankful that the blade had been so sharp and well maintained. Now that the wound was fully healed and filled with ceramic epoxy, there were no harsh edges to scrap against you, barely any sign of how deep the wound had been.

It hurt though, to watch you touch him so hesitantly. He loved it when you let your fingers travel over him, had lost count of the hours you'd gently explored his tattoo or the whorls on his shell.

And now...

He reached down, palmed the back of your head, held you close while you stared at the scar on his shoulder.

Now, if he could go back in time, he wouldn't have hesitated to gut his opponent when he had the chance.

Your head tilted upwards towards him, brows drawn up in the middle and lower lip quivering, and he blanked on what to do, had no idea how to make it better.

Slowly, so slowly, the very edge of your finger traced along the healed crack, and he fought not to let his breathe stutter at the feeling, chills erupting along his limbs.

"I love you, Leonardo." You whispered it against his skin, but he heard the words you were really saying.

I almost lost you.

"I'm here." He answered, and knew from the warmth of tears slipping across his collar that he was right.

Mikey (Another Love by Tom O'Dell)

Mikey was sure you thought he was asleep, the way you moved so slowly, your touch whisper soft as you pet over the curves of his arm, tracing the orange flowers and shaded dots, running your finger over and over the carefully ink lines. It felt so nice, and he was content to let you explore for as long as you wanted, until your finger whispered over to rest on the scar tissue right at the edge of his plastron.

You gasped when he moved, when he pulled your hand off the damaged, raised scales and tucked your appendage around the far edge of his chest. His heart twinged at the sound, so he pulled you closer so you wouldn't think he was pushing you away.

"I'm sorry." Your whisper was small, and the regret in those two words had him rubbing a hand soothingly up and down your back, internally cringing once more.

"Don't have to be sorry, baby." He said softly, pressing a kiss into your hair. "It's just a little sensitive when I'm not expecting it."

You were quiet against him for a moment, and he silently hoped that you'd drop it, that you wouldn't ask...

"What happened, Mike?"

He breathed out slowly, hope dashed, and tried to decide what to say. Some time had passed, he technically should be ok to acknowledge the wound, but whenever his thoughts trended towards that night, the hurt bubbled up once more.

He didn't want to spoil his time with you bringing up old ghosts. Didn't want to make you wonder if he had ever accessed you as a potential threat despite the length of your relationship.

"I love you." He said instead, giving you a squeeze and pressing his mouth once more to your hair.

Your arm tightened around him, holding him close, hoping one day he'd be able to tell you. That one day he'd let you help soothe whatever wound he hid.

Raph (Dangerous Man by Little Dume)

Raph could feel you, barely, draped over his carapace, your soft hands rubbing that coconut scented lotion across his scutes and making sure the various cracks across the surface were still filled with ceramic epoxy and smooth to the touch.

"Feels good, sweetheart." He rumbled, relaxing into the sweet treatment, letting a churr come out when you finished and simply splayed across the width of his shell.

"You'll have to let me do the front in a little bit, big guy."

He grunted at the thought of your soft fingers ghosting across his chest. "Not all the ones on the front are filled in yet. Don wants to give 'em another week."

You gave a little sigh at his words, and his heart twinged heavily at how weary the sound was. When you remained silent however, he shifted one arm back, letting his fingers curl around your ankle in silent askance.

"You always have new cracks, Raph." You whispered, voice almost breaking on his name, and something slimy curled up under his plastron, stifling his throat.

He had to swallow twice before he could gruffly say. "Sometimes it just happens, sometimes it's just the only way."

Your foot twitched in his grip, your next words pressed against the central scute on his shell. "No one else has this many cracks, Raph."

He let spark of anger in your sentence boil under his skin, tried to breath it back down before giving a little tug on your foot. He rose up and tipped to the side, sliding you off his carapace to land with a huff on the mattress.

"No one else has this many cracks because I take 'em for them." He said, trying to sound serious, knowing you probably saw through to the ire beneath. "These cracks could be on Mikey, on Don, hell a few even got Mr. Perfect Ninja's name on 'em. So don't-" He broke off, suddenly aware of how your face had done deathly still and red.

You were trying not to cry. He sighed heavily, letting his head hang and brush against the bed, taking a deep breath of the combined scents of you and him to calm himself down.

"I'm sorry I-" The feel of your foot on his plastron cut him off once more, when you used the leverage to push away from him and slid to the edge of the bed. You stood, turned to look at him, eyes red.

"You're more than just a protector, Raphael." When he opened his mouth to retort, you held up the empty bottle of lotion. "I'm gonna go get that disinfectant lotion from Donnie."

And then you were gone, and he slumped fully on his shell to wait for your return.

Donnie (Hey There, Delilah by The Plain White Tees)

Donnie doodled away one-handed on the notepad balanced on his thigh, his other hand softly rubbing back and forth across your lower back where you were tucked in close, snoozing away to the point a gentle snore burred in your nose.

The Lab was relatively quiet, only the sound of soft classic rock playing from his main computer around the bend and the gentle ping of the Atari game still on standby where you'd fallen asleep halfway through the game an hour earlier providing the background noise Donnie needed to sit still.

He didn't pause writing when your snore caught, and you sleepily turned into his hand, a secret smile ticking the corner of his mouth when you grabbed his hand with gentle pressure and moved it so he was palming the soft swell of your stomach.

"Time?" You asked, voice sleep laden and raspy, and he hummed back, letting his thumb press against your flesh in acknowledgement.

"Only an hour later." Donnie assured you, eyes flicking over briefly when your soft hands started trailing up and down his arm, over the bubbly texture that even after all this time he knew you didn't expect.

"S'cold." You said, nails gently scratching over his ruined scales, and Donnie twisted his hand, the stretch a burn in his wrist, to trail the rough texture of his thumb over your own, conscious of the pressure he was exerting against you.

"That hand's always colder." He could go into detail, explain restrictive blood flow and damaged, seared nerves, but the press of your lips against his palm quieted his mind, let him focus instead on the pressure and tingle that shouldn't be there instead.

You sighed, tucking his hand into the neck of your hoodie, and he huffed out a laugh that could have been a snort, returning to his notes, his half ruined hand slowly warning up inside your clothes.

"Are you doing your exercises?" You asked, sounding closer to sleep once more, and he nodded before remembering you couldn't see.

"I have to," He clicked the pen, set aside his notes, and sighed heavily, rolling over to spoon against your back. "If I wanna keep being able to grip my Bo."

He flexed his hand inside your hoodie, and you grumbled, hiking up his arm so the both of you could lay properly, trapping his misbehaving hand in a position that hopefully would keep it from falling asleep.

Donnie smiled against your hair, snout whispering over the soft texture, drifting off to the soft pressure of your thumb on his arm, high enough where he could truly feel the sensation.