#i keep going back and i keep getting stabbed in the heart

[totalswag]

heartbreak — RAFE CAMERON

authors note cheaters suck.

summary a week after finding out your boyfriend cheated on you with a girl from his college, your friends invite you to a bonfire. when rafe finds out about the breakup he gets upset.

warnings cheating, crying, cursing, anger, overprotective!rafe

You sat at the edge of the bed, running your hands through your hair, tears streaming down your face, wondering what you had done to deserve to be treated this way by someone you thought loved you unconditionally.

It started off with you on your bed, phone in hand, browsing instagram. A photo captured your eye and made your stomach sank. It was a photo of Lucas, your boyfriend, with a girl from school. They were at an event at the University of North Carolina, arms around each other and beaming warmly.

Lucas goes to University of North Carolina for school and football; one of the stars on the team. You stayed home at a community college then transfer to a four year afterwards.

Early today, you were scrolling through instagram like you typically do when you have nothing else to do. Your gut told you to go through Lucas following, so you did. Came across a girl name, Emily.

You clicked on her profile, your heart beating faster with each passing second. There were further images of her and Lucas, some more intimate than others. You had a dreadful twist in your gut as you went through the comments and captions.

"You've got to be kidding me" you mumbled under your breath in disbelief in what you were seeing.

Lucas had never mentioned Emily before, certainly not in a way that said they were more than friends. Your eyes began to sting with the fear of tears.

For the past few weeks, your boyfriend, Lucas, of two years has been acting strange towards you and taking hours to respond to your texts and calls. You started feeling like something was up before you went to visit him at college.

Lucas was home for the summer, and you knew you had to approach him about it. You couldn't keep the treachery inside you any longer. You took a long breath to calm yourself down, then texted him to come over. Within an hour, he was at your door, smiling and entirely ignorant of the storm rising inside you.

"Hey, babe," he said, leaning in for a kiss. You moved your head, and his lips brushed across your cheek instead.

"We need to talk," you said, your voice wavering despite your efforts to remain composed.

Lucas frowned, worry lines etched on his brow. "What's wrong?"

What's wrong? You cheating on me.

You opened Instagram, showed him a photo of him with Emily, and watched as his face paled. "Who is she?" you asked, your voice firmer now, rage fueling your resolve.

He knows he's caught.

"She's just a friend," Lucas replied, too soon and defensively. His gaze shifted away from yours, confirming your worst thoughts.

"A friend?" You could hear disbelief in your own voice. "Friends do not look at each other like that. Friends don't hide anything from their girlfriends."

Lucas gulped hard and ran a hand over his hair. "Look, it's not as you think. We...came close, but it didn't mean anything."

"Didn't mean anything?" You reverberated, your voice increasing. "Did you sleep with her?"

He paused, his gaze catching yours for a brief, painful moment before moving away. "Yes," he said quietly, the word like a stab to the heart.

Two years down the drain.

You felt the tears well up, but you didn't bother to brush them away. "How could you, Lucas?" "How could you do this to us?"

"Did I mean nothing to you? Two years of us being together mean nothing Lucas? I can't believe what I'm hearing from you" you ramble with tears falling from your face.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking. "That was a mistake. "I was drunk, and I wasn't thinking clearly."

"That doesn't make it okay," you said, your voice breaking. "You betrayed me."

Lucas leaned out to touch your arm, but you backed away, shaking your head. "I need you to leave," you murmured in a hollow voice. "I can't even look at you right now."

He simply nodded, knowing better than to dispute. "I'm so sorry," he said as he walked out the door, leaving you alone with your broken trust.

When you heard the front door close, you collapsed onto your bed blanket, shedding all of your tears. You never thought this would happen to you.

A week after the break up you've barely left your house; you wore comfy clothes around the house, ate, showered, cried, and cried.

Your friends texted you, wondering where you had been for the previous week. You needed to tell them since they knew you well enough to notice when you go missing for an extended period of time.

He doesn't deserve you.

He's a piece of shit.

Who does he think he is.

Later that night, as you sat cuddled up in bed, your phone vibrated with a message. It came from your friend Mia.

Mia: hey, there's a bonfire on the beach tonight. you should come. It'll help you get your mind off things.

You paused for a moment before deciding what to do. Anything was preferable to sitting in your room, rehashing the awful break up with Lucas over and over.

The beach was bustling with laughing and the crackling of a bonfire. You found friends quickly and attempted to immerse yourself in their presence.

When your bare feet touched the sand, you felt your body relax. Maybe coming here was a good idea.

"Hey, Y/N," Mia says with a grin, "I'm glad you made it, how are you doing?" She asks, concerned, examining your face for an answer.

"I'm alright just still getting over the break up" you stutter with your words, "this will help me get my mind off it."

Mia smiles, taking your hand, leading you to everyone else.

After thirty minutes, you've had one drink of Truly, talked with your friends, and are now sitting on the log, drowning in your thoughts after hearing Lucas' name mentioned.

"Hey, are you okay?" a familiar voice inquired, jolting you out of your thoughts. You turned to see Rafe Cameron, a close family friend, staring at you with concern. 

Rafe Cameron has been one of your closest friends since middle school. You moved into the area a few houses down from Tannyhill.

You managed a feeble smile. "I'm fine," you lied.

Rafe lifted an eyebrow, obviously not buying it. "Come on, let's take a walk."

You followed him down the beach, the waves calming in the backdrop. Rafe came to a halt and turned to face you once you were a safe distance away from the flames. "What's going on?"

The dam had broken, and you found yourself telling him everything. About Lucas and Emily, about treachery and pain. Rafe listened quietly, his expression darkening with each word.

"That asshole," he mumbled when you finished. "I've never liked him." He does not deserve you.

You stared up at him, taken aback by the passion in his voice. "Rafe, it is not worth it. "He's not worth it."

He shook his head, his jaw tightened. "No one should be able hurt you without consequences. "He needs to learn a lesson."

"Rafe, please," you begged. "Violence won't solve anything."

He took a big breath, clearly attempting to relax himself. "You're right," he finally replied. "But it irritates me that he treated you like this. You deserve to be valued, not taken for granted.

"Thank you," you said quietly, taking some comfort from his words. "I just...I just need to move on from this."

"You will," Rafe replied firmly. "And I'll be here to assist you get through it. Always."

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[help-itrappedmyself]

Tim Drake Vacation

     Tim Drake likes to think he's a rational person.

     He just got back from his year-long quest for Bruce. Everyone is back home in Gotham. Bruce is trying to bond with demon spawn, and Jason is attempting to talk to the family again. Tim knows he will only get in the way of that. 

     Damian and Jason both have individual issues with him that would only make it harder to work with the rest of the family. And Tim needs time too. He's not angry at them! Goodness knows it wasn't really their fault. 

     But he knows he wouldn't be able to be alone with either of them right now. And he is mad at Dick. And Steph. And Bruce too, a little bit. 

     And his heart is broken. He never got to mourn. His dad, Dana, Steph, Superboy, Impulse. The betrayal from Steph and Dick still sting in his heart and behind his eyes. And while Steph, Superboy, and Impulse are back, he can't just immediately get over the fact that they were gone. Well Steph wasn't, but he thought she was, and the hurt from her fake death is just as real as the hurt from her tricking him. 

     So, he's going to take a sabbatical from the whole vigilante thing. Just a short one. It'll be good for him. He needs the time to figure out life without a spleen anyway. It'll be an adjustment period and he should do everything he can to minimize his chances of infection until his body becomes stabilized with the antibiotics. I mean, he'll keep doing whatever he can to not get infections after that as well of course, but the reactions should be less extreme if he gives it a healthy amount of time. And it's much easier to not get infected when little brothers with swords aren't trying to stab you, not to mention when roaming the streets of Gotham, especially as a vigilante. Maybe he'll get his GED. Who knows? He's never really had a vacation before. 

     But he can't stay here and get in the way of the family reconnecting. Tim needs time to calm down before he blows up at Dick. And he wants to give Damian and Jason's problems time so hopefully they stop wanting to kill him on sight. Tim is so tired of near-death experiences. 

     If Tim had any more hope in him, he would hope that maybe he and Jason could be friends at some point. Maybe he could be a brother to him and Jason. Tim had always wanted siblings, and a little brother would be a dream come true. He thinks he could be good at it if Damian would let him.     But, for now, sabbatical. Tim tells the team he's taking time off to get Bruce resettled. He tells Bruce that he's on a mission with the team. Then he leaves.

He wants to be close enough for emergencies. But far enough he won't accidentally run into any bats. And somewhere they wouldn't find him on the off chance they come looking. 

     So, he goes to Metropolis. This also helps him keep an eye on Kon. Tim doesn't think he memorized his heartbeat or anything, so it should be safe. And the reminder that he's back will be helpful. 

Of course, villains are a problem wherever he would've ended up going. He didn't think it would be as difficult as he is finding it to stay out of things. The supers have things well in hand in their own city, aside from the property damage. But the urge is there. Once you get in the habit of running towards danger, it becomes incredibly hard to stop.

[agirlandherquill]

alpha-write

returning to writeblr after a short break has been so enjoyable I thought I'd kick things off by creating a tag game of my own! (since the first one I made people really did seem to enjoy, and it warms my heart) and it's an easy way to ease myself back into the creative flow, so here goes!

rules: for every letter of the alphabet, compose a sentence/short paragraph beginning with that letter

A - "Anything you have to say for yourself? Or is nothing perhaps the better choice for you? How else could you justify the blood on your sleeves?"

B - "Broken. Not bruised, not damaged - You made me broken. That hardly seems fair."

C - "Can we do this?" "Can? We will. We have to. It must be done. Right or wrong, balance must be restored."

D - Dragging a corpse is difficult enough, but when you resemble a corpse yourself? There's some irony in there that even the Gods aren't smart enough to conjure.

E - Everything hurt, everything ached beyond relief, beyond the threshold of pain, until she felt nothing and everything, all at the same time.

F - Forget him? That was a plea she could never answer, could never give light to or thought or hope, to forget was to forgo herself, her feelings, her very being - He was as much a part of her as the air in her lungs - to lose him would be death.

G - "Go." Not a scream, not a growl, but a whisper - a calm command that sent the hairs raising along her skin. For once, she obeyed.

H - How did this happen? How did she forget herself so badly, so stupidly and allow her vulnerabilities to be exposed? Even worse, how could she let him be the one to do it? He knows, and knowing is death. This was the end, for her, she knew it.

I - "If you must be such a pain in the neck could you go about it quietly? One more squeak from the sole of your boot and I will rip those laces out and around your neck. I mean it." "Then give me a reason to stop pacing."

J - Just a kiss. Just. As though the fleeting encounter was nothing more than that, as though it hadn't taken every strength he had within him. To her, it was just a kiss. To him, it was ruin.

K - "Keep running. To stop now is death, is that what you want? Because I will not stop to carry your corpse, I will not stop to remember you. If you falter, you are gone. Do you hear me?"

L - Loathing burned her insides, it sent her skin crawling with heat and her muscles tensing with a carefully restrained scream. She loathed him. That was it. After all this time, she understood it. It was not love, it was loathing.

M - "Marry me." "The last time we tried that... Someone died." "Marry me." He said again, more firmly. "Marry me, or we both die."

N - "Never again." "Why? What was so wrong the first time?" "The dozens of times after that. It cannot happen." "A kiss never got anyone killed." "Then you do not know this Court, and you do not know me."

O - "Opinionated, are we?" "Is this because I told you to your face what a horrifically mannered man you are?" "No, this is because you tried to stab me with a fork." "I missed, didn't I?" "That's hardly the point."

P - Pressing her cheek to his shoulder, she let herself break, let the tears fall and the emotions flow. He said nothing, and neither did she, it was only them and the silence of the lake, and that was enough.

Q - "Question me again and we will see what happens when you try my patience." "Try? I've been getting under your skin for the better part of the day, why haven't you done anything about it?"

R - Rest was a foreign luxury, it had abandoned her body long ago, instead she lay suffocating in boredom and misery until she could bear it no longer, and found herself outside his door.

S - "Step away, out of this room and far from earshot - Do it now, before I see fit to carry you."

T - "Trust me." "Why-" She had no chance to complete her question, he threw her out of the window.

U - Under the stars, all seemed calm, a false calm, but a calm she had long since been craving nonetheless, until his voice, as gentle as the wind, startled her wishful reverie. "Leave if you must, but not without knowing that I love you."

V - Verily, she was done. Her soul was in ruins, her body in tatters, and her heart beat it's last drum.

W - "When you decide to have some compassion, let me know, until then I want nothing to do with you."

X - (if this one's impossible to do, no biggie, skip if necessary) - "Xanthetia is a flower full of poison that could damn well kill you, what are you doing lying in a bed of it?" "The scent is the only thing that helps me sleep."

Y - "You know what you did. As do I. And it's unforgivable." "I do not seek your forgiveness, but I will beg, every day if I must, for the honour of your company." "...We shall see."

Z - "Zealous, insufferable bastard - that's what you are!" "You've said worse, you can say better than that." His smug look riled her up even more. "You are incapable of being loved, you're not worthy of that, only loathing, you despicable, monstrous being!" "Loathe away by all means, I rather enjoy the flush it brings to your face."

i'll make this an open tag as well as include my tag list! (this one's a doozy, so bear with me)

@the-ellia-west @willtheweaver @tildeathiwillwrite @drchenquill @tiredpapergirl

@365runesofthesystem @coffin-hopping @godsmostfuckedupgoblin @a-mimsy-borogove @frostedlemonwriter

@i-do-anything-but-write @r-u-living @thatuselesshuman @lead-to-code @sunflowerrosy

@theaistired @phoenixradiant @autism-purgatory @corinneglass @patheticexcuseforawriter

@missmisanthrope @littlestchildofthemoon @morganxduinn @thebrownleathernotebook @rmhashauthor

@lamuradex @fantasy-things-and-such @glasshouses-and-stones @hattonthehatman @humbly-a-doppelganger

@hopewriteszstuff @ramwritblr @s-pendragon7 @thelastneuron @heartreactor

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@ramitola @yrndrgn @riveriafalll @lawrencespen1777 @theverumproject

@zackprincebooks @justjariel @orion-lacroix @jupiter---daydreams @vinniehorrible

@stars-forever @thewritingautisticat @anaisbebe @whatwewrotepodcast @appleandsnow

@urnumber1star @chaotictravelerrants @andagii-projects @dragmewithyoutonirvana @a-bi-cat-with-books

@fearofahumanplanet @just-a-domesticated-cryptid @attemptingwriter @kitkins13 @ray-writes-n-shit

@theonewholivesinthemovies @rheas-chaos-motivation

[dangerousduckcloud]

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

“Hello?” You whispered as soon as the call connected. But instead of the typical ‘911 how can I help you?’ response you were expecting, the only thing that reached your ear was static so bad you couldn’t even hear a voice on the other side, with a wavering voice, you tried once again. “Hello? Please, I need help.” The call ended, and with it your hopes of escaping died.

Chapter 4 < > Chapter 6 [soon]

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog

Sunshine poured into the still room, warming up everything the cold night had cooled down, your stomach rumbled, and a trembling finger hovered over the button.

As soon as you woke up, right before the sunrise, you briskly grabbed your phone, dialing 911 to finally end this nightmare.

But you couldn’t do it. Why couldn’t you? Because you didn’t know what to say, and ‘yeah, I got kidnapped by comic book characters’ might not be the best idea.

Besides, you had no idea where you were, so even if they believed you, where would they look up for you?

Why were you even doubting to call? Pressing the call button, you closed the door to the walk-in wardrobe, hoping to muffle your voice as much as possible.

“Hello?” You whispered as soon as the call connected. But instead of the typical ‘911 how can I help you?’ response you were expecting, the only thing that reached your ear was static so bad you couldn’t even hear a voice on the other side, with a wavering voice, you tried once again. “Hello? Please, I need help.”

The call ended, and with it your hopes of escaping died. Tears and tears rolled down your cheeks, falling onto your clothes. You let the phone drop to the ground, hugging your legs and crying until your head hurt.

No wonder the bastards let you keep your phone, let the flame of hope flicker dimly only to be put out by a tidal wave. You should’ve known, it was clear whoever was paying for all of this was rich, a billionaire, even, what would be but pocket change for them to install a jamming signal?

Silent weeping turned into an inconsolable wailing, your breath hitching and eyes burning. How had you gotten yourself into this mess? You should’ve taken your chance to stab Dick and run away when you could.

Your whole body felt heavy, straining your arms just to clean the tears blurring your sight. You didn’t even react at discovering Cass standing outside the closet, a concerned look on her face. With a tremulous smile, you invited her in, you wanted so bad to hate her, to blame her for not helping you out of this madness.

But you didn’t know if she felt the same, if she’d at some point had been in your place, scared and distraught at not knowing what the future entailed, not knowing if she would have a future anymore.

Maybe she’d developed Stockholm syndrome, maybe they’d brainwashed her, hell, maybe they were blackmailing her or were threatening her.

Or maybe she was doing this out of her own volition. You couldn’t know.

Regardless, your heart didn’t want to believe that someone as soft looking and calm as her would be willing to hurt people for fun.

“What’s wrong?” She asked in such a delicate voice you almost didn’t hear it over your crying.

“I don’t… I don’t understand it.” Your voice was rough, croaky. “Why me? What is going on? Just tell me what…”

“You are lost.” Cass grabbed your hands; a tingling burning was felt everywhere her fingers touched. “But they’ll help you get back home.”

She was so far gone like the others. There was no helping her. No helping you.

For a moment, silence reigned, until your stomach rumbled once more and elicited a chuckle from both of you.

“Breakfast is ready.” She helped you stand up. You’d been hungry since you woke up, but the only thing you would’ve achieved if you’d tried to find the kitchen on your own would’ve been to get lost.

With the daylight, the paintings on the walls now had faces to them, everyone in them smiling as if they weren’t mentally torturing helpless people. As you moved along the walls, more and more people were added to the portraits.

At first it was simply a young-looking Bruce, less scars and less gray hairs on his head, and a small, bright boy with a missing tooth. The more you walked, the more they changed, some all grown up, others missing from the next portrait, some changed from standing to sitting on a wheelchair, but the smiles on their faces remained.

Had they waited so long to take these photos, or did they just simply kidnapped kids that would fit the description they needed in that moment? What had happened to them?

The kitchen smelled lovely, a mix of vanilla, butter and coffee pervaded the air. Unlike the rest of the house you’d seen so far, it was obvious this was a constantly used area, cleaned but lived in, not like those rooms you’d see on ads or catalogs with everything so perfectly in place it unnerved you.

Colorful mugs were visible on the kitchen cabinet, photos, notes and even school tests were secured to the fridge with magnets. There was even forgotten paperwork left on the kitchen booth to your right.

An older man wearing an apron stood in front of the stove, placing the fluffiest pancakes you’d ever seen on a plate with the rest of them. The bubbling of boiling water on the coffee maker blending with the sizzling of the pan.

“Good morning, Alfred.”

“Ah.” Alfred placed the spatula on a holder, turning towards you and extending a hand. “Good morning, Miss Cassandra. And good morning, Miss Jane. I’ll beg you forgive me for not being present last night, I wasn’t feeling my best. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Alfred Pennyworth. Wayne’s family butler.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Pennyworth. I hope you’re feeling better now.”

“Never better.”

Goddammit, every single person here was making it impossible for you to hate them, Tim was so cute and touch-starved, Dick was so easy-going and funny to be around, Cass was so gentle and even Alfred had that lovely grandpa-aura around him.

Maybe this is how they’ve been getting away with everything for so long.

“If you are hungry, I suggest you eat now. I’m sure Master Tim will not wake up until later today.”

“The smell of coffee will wake him up.”

Alfred sighed, flipping another pancake on the pan. “Most likely, Miss Cassandra. Though I sure wished he’d stop drinking so much of it.”

Both you and Cass sat down on the booth, the rays of sunshine filtering through the gaps on the curtains. More than a simple breakfast, the table belonged to a buffet in a five-stars hotel; strawberries, blueberries, chocolate chips, rainbow sprinkles, whipping cream, bananas, chocolate syrup, maple syrup, honey… Everything you could imagine was put neatly in small, ceramic containers.

Covering your fluffy pancakes with the topics you craved for the most, you relished on the sweet and smoot flavors. Forks and knives clinking against the plates.

A thud alerted you of the body that’d dropped itself on the chair next to you. Eyes unfocused and bags under his eyes, Tim was slouching on the chair, a hot cup of coffee on his hands, holding it as if was the elixir of life. Maybe it was to him.

You now had proof that if vigilantes were real, people would have to be incredibly stupid to not being able to recognize them. Batman could be a bit harder due to the suit covering half his face, but the rest of them? They only had a mask covering the area around their eyes, the rest of the face clear as day.

Of course, maybe it was easier to recognize them since you knew their ‘secret identities’ already.

You kept on eating, sharing glances with Cass and smirking at how long it was taking him to notice you. Or was he only playing his part? It was getting harder and harder to differentiate between their genuine actions and the ones done specifically due to their characters.

When he finally looked at you, he squinted his eyes. “Who are you?”

You and Cass broke out in laughter, with him looking back and forth between you. At this moment it didn’t matter if they were holding you captive and their actions were fake, you needed something to make your days feel somewhat normal.

“Master Bruce offered to take in Miss Jane while our… Nocturnal friends help her get back home.” Alfred removed Tim’s cup, the kid following it with his eyes and a whimper leaving his lips, the coffee now replaced with an orange juice. “Speaking of… Master Bruce had to leave early today due to business affairs, and he’ll be out of the country for a while. He wanted me to tell you, Miss Jane, how sorry he is he can’t be here, he wanted to show you around the house, but it seems now Miss Cassandra and Master Tim will have to do it.”

“Fun!” Cass exclaimed.

Once you finished breakfast, both Tim and Cass led you all around the manor showing you the garden, the greenhouse, the library, the conservatory and were now sitting on the drawing room after a much-needed bath you took, with Cass lending you some of her clothes, luckily you were similar in both height and weight.

“We can ask Alfred to take us tomorrow to the mall and buy you clothes. I still have one of Bruce’s black cards… Also, there’s this new camera lens I want to buy.”

“Couldn’t we… Go by ourselves?” You asked, as it would be easier to escape with just two people watching you rather than three. “I mean… He seems to be quite busy; I wouldn’t want to be a bother… More than I am.”

“It is a must.” Cass said. “You need clothes. It’s not a bother.”

‘Tomorrow’ never seemed to come, as everyday something would occur that impeded Alfred’s availability to drive you to the mall. You weren’t surprised, if anything you should’ve know they never intended to take you to a place where you could ask for help and ruin their plans.

And so, one day had turned into two, and then three, then four and now you’d been with them for almost a full week. Nothing much to do besides watching the news and playing board games with Cass.

She would rarely leave your side.

The day after your meltdown, you tried once more to call the police, this time out in the garden and hidden behind the trees, but the same static filled your ears, your phone’s low battery chime going off, turning it off to save as much battery as you could.

On the fifth day, you finally met Bruce’s oldest child, Dick. At least him and not his Nightwing persona. You were walking down for dinner when you saw him and Cass speaking in sign language. You’d only started to take sign language classes after a couple of deaf clients had visited the hotel you worked in —and, coincidentally, because you’d been inspired by Cass’ character.

However, you never got too far in your classes, barely able to spell out your name, something they clearly weren’t doing. You chided yourself for not learning it sooner.

“Hi.” You made your presence known. “I don’t think we’ve met.” You lied.

“No, we haven’t.” He said with a charming smile. “I’m Dick Grayson-Wayne. Nice to meet you. Alfred’s a bit preoccupied tonight, so I’m in charge of dinner, and by that, I mean take out. I bought vegan, cheese, and pepperoni pizza, so you can choose whichever you prefer. Usually my go-to is cereal, but I’ve been told that’s not the healthiest meal… You’re not lactose intolerant, are you?” He asked after a second, doubting if he should’ve asked first before buying the food.

“I’m not.” You chuckled, putting a slice on one of the plates laid out on the table. Just two of them. “Are you not joining us for dinner? Where’s Tim?”

“Tim’s with Alfred and I have to… Pick up a friend at the airport.” Reading a message on his phone, he hastily grabbed a slice of pepperoni, walking out of the kitchen. How come theirs did work in here? “Speaking of, I’m late, nice to meet you, Jane!”

The worst liars on earth. You knew exactly what those three were doing. Tim would always ‘mysteriously’ disappear at night, and Alfred would retire to bed around the same time Tim did. And Cass would wait until you were asleep for her to go down to the cave as well.

For a family of ‘detectives’ they never detected how predictable their movements could be.

Nevertheless, the day before, after you made sure you were truly alone in the house, you made your way towards the garage, checking every single car’s dashboard (why would someone need so many cars?), a small jolt of excitement at seeing all of them had the same button you saw Bruce press to open the gates.

Today it was barely ten past eight, Cass would always leave around one in the morning, your leg bouncing under the table wishing time would go faster.

Today is the day.

“Are you alright?” Cass asked, your breath catching in your chest. “You seem… Nervous.”

“Yes, no. I mean…” You drank some soda to clear your throat and give you more time to think of a lie. “I’ve just… Been thinking. We haven’t heard from Nightwing at all and just… What if I can’t go back home?”

Easier to sell a lie when it has layers of truth on it.

“I know Nightwing. He will get you home.”

Your smile wavered. You’d cry yourself to sleep every night and the pain was catching up to you already, crying at different moments of the day.

“I’m sorry. I think I’ll go to sleep early.”

You put your plate on the sink, hurriedly walking to your room, ignoring whatever Cass wanted to tell you.

A long, steamy shower helped you collect yourself. Your mind had to be clear of everything if you didn’t want to fuck up your escape tonight. You made a mental note of your fool-proof plan; wait until one in the morning, fake being asleep, go to the garage, walk towards the gate with one of the bikes and then… Leave, be free, escape this nightmare.

Why did it feel so difficult?

Laying on the bed, —one you had to admit would totally miss sleep on— looking at the ceiling with only a gray ‘Gotham Knights’ sweatshirt that’d seen better days on, you counted the seconds, the minutes, until you heard Cass’ door open and close.

The dim light coming in from under the door was suddenly obscured by a shadow, covering your body up to the head with the sheets, just in time before the door opened faintly. You forced your breath to even out, even turning yourself in place.

For a moment you thought she’d discovered you, as she stood there longer than usual, or had she forgotten to close the door? You couldn’t know, as you had your back to it and turning again would probably alert her if she was still here.

Luckily, she finally closed the door, your only hint that she was no longer there was the light streaming in from under the door again, her steps unnoticeable as usual.

Waiting another fifteen minutes, you finally removed the covers, putting on a pair of jeans and your sneakers.

Your hands were trembling, cold sweat drenching Cass’ sweatshirt, your phone on the pockets heavier than it should be. You’d never thought to check which keys were for which vehicle, taking the whole bundle with you and trying them one by one in a rush until finally one of them worked. Dropping the rest to the ground, you took out the bike from a side door, half-jogging with the bike at your side until you were finally face to face with the only thing hindering your escape.

Time to test your theory.

Getting on the bike and bringing it to life, you pushed a button on the side, the seconds lasting hours, the wind rustling the leaves and your wet hair. Until finally, the trees outside could be seen without metal bars obstructing the view.

This is it, you did it.

[wannabee-in-progress]

everytime i go back to banana fish i know im gonna cry and i always forget my fyckin tissues and i feel like im dying inside and i CONTINUE WATCHING alksjfljdfka jfjkas im in tears even as i write this 

[in-fair-verona-we-set-our-scene]

I think Slay the Princess is so popular partially because the *gets stabbed* "I'm in love" reaction is both intentional on the part of the developers and then they completely follow through on it.

[muzzlemouths]

Psst. Just wanted to let you know that you're cool and I hope you have a really nice day today! You seem to be Goin Through It™ and I just wanted to let you know that we (your followers) like you no matter the quantity of stuff you're able to make at any given time (though we most certainly do like what you make, but that's not why most of us stay, I believe); you're very funny and have insightful opinions about writing, and you're always super nice when I stop by to say hi! Please remember to be kind to your mind and heart this upcoming Spring. I hope The Delights come into your life in leaps and bounds, and that you'll receive good news soon!!! <33

ooh...ohh.h.....th.ank you for the kind words........

[deadsetobsessions]

Damian Wayne was like a duckling. A violent, stab-happy, danger-prone duckling, yes, but a duckling all the same. Which means when Danny almost got stabbed by a sleepy, instinct driven Damian, he was able to wave it off with a laugh. Damian, on the other hand, stared in horror at the butter knife firmly lodged in Danny’s arm.

“PENNYWORTH!” Danny jerked back at Damian’s scream. “RICHARD! FATHER!”

God damn, the kid had a pair of lungs on him. Danny’s wince was interpreted as pain to Damian, who gently grabbed his injured arm and started to pull him towards the kitchen’s marble island.

Danny blinked, non plussed as his hearing picked up a thundering of feet as the present family members scrambled towards Damian’s distress call.

“Wait, Damian, I’m fine. It’s-”

“You have been impaled, you imbecile! Had it been any of the other simpletons, they would have-!”

“Ouch.” Danny put his other hand in mock hurt over his slow-beating heart. He literally doesn’t care about the butter knife. He’s just impressed there was enough force in there to impale him. “Are you calling me names now? After- gasp- stabbing me?”

Before Damian could reply, the beginnings of regret, remorse, and guilt on his face, Alfred, Dick, and Bruce burst into the kitchen.

“What happened?!”

“My word, master Danny!”

“What is it?!”

“I’m fine. It’s like a small stab. Not even a big stab. I’m good.”

Dick paled, seeing Danny’s arm clutched in Damian’s hand.

“That’s- that’s a knife. In your arm. How is that ‘fine’?!”

“What happened.” Bruce asked Damian, gently removing Danny’s arm from Damian’s death clutch.

“I- I did not mean to,” Damian starts, guilt coloring his voice.

“He didn’t,” Danny cuts in. “I startled him and got stabbed for being dumb. I won’t fault him for having a defense mechanism like that, ancient knows what I might do if you guys startled me.”

The awkward silence that settled at his words made Danny twitch awkwardly.

“Uh, so, can I add this knife to my collection? Even if I didn’t get mugged?”

“Danny.”

“Bruce.” Danny stared stubbornly back. With his uninsured hand, he patted Damian on the head. He was going to enjoy the fluffiness before Damian’s guilt was no longer enough to hold him back from snapping at Danny’s hand like a grumpy alligator. Bruce loses, obviously. He’s a teenager who was also an ex-vigilante. Batman’s got nothing on a determined halfa.

“Master Danny, I must insist you refrain from getting stabbed. There is only so much gauze and antiseptic cream in the house.” Alfred returned- huh, when did he leave?- with a med kit.

Danny called bullshit because he knows there’s a whole ass medical bay beneath the manor.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Alfred said, promptly beginning the extraction of the butter knife.

“Are you okay?” Dick asked, hovering worriedly. “He- are you…?”

Damian was allowing Danny to ruffle his hair, so…

“Yep, I’m good. This isn’t even on my top thirty most painful stabbings,” and it really wasn’t. That honor was given to the GIW and that one time Jazz accidentally stabbed him with her earrings. “That was pretty impressive, actually. It’s like, a butter knife. The other ones had pointy ends.”

“Do not clump me with those pathetic wastes of spaces. I am naturally superior and would… would never harm you on purpose.” Damian said, getting quiet at the end like he was trying to plead to Danny to believe him.

“Of course not. But- if you want help me keep the knife, you can hit me with a mug, it would technically be a mugging.”

The pun got the desired effect. Damian leaned away with a disgruntled look and Dick stopped hovering as close in order to let out a small cackle.

“Done.”

“You should go get changed, kiddo. We’re going to see Tim’s photography at the Gotham Gallery today.”

“Oh, for real?” Danny patted Damian’s fluffy hair one last time, pushing away from the counter. “Oh, I’ll clean up here first and-”

“That will not be necessary,” Alfred scolded, a mop somehow already in his hands. “Please see to it you are prepared for the day.”

“Thanks, Alfred. Can I keep the knife.”

“Very well.”

“Sweet. See you guys later?” Danny pranced off after seeing the nods.

——

“He’s… he got stabbed a lot. Before us, I mean.” Dick tapped a furious rhythm onto the counter. “Not that we’ve stabbed him until now but even once is concerning for a civilian.”

“He was used to it.” Bruce replied.

“Perhaps we should join Todd in his endeavor and ensure that his worthless tormentors are permanently out of the picture.”

“God, he said top thirty. He was counting.”

Damian silently withdrew a kitchen knife.

“No murder with my quality chef’s knives, Master Damian.”

“Tt.”

“Master Jason follows the same rules. Now, out of the kitchen. I may be old, but I remember the last time master Bruce and master Dick stepped foot in here and I will not have a repeat.”

[chuluoyi]

LOVER'S QUARREL

- fushiguro megumi x reader

“i can't do this anymore.” you and megumi are just too different; he's stoic, you're bubbly, he prefers solitude, you love being social. it starts with fights, words you don't mean, and ends with an event that would haunt him for a long time to come.

genre: angst, breaking up, post-breakup feelings, mentions and description of injury and blood, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end (you make up!)

note: dear god i’m finally getting this out of my drafts. loosely inspired by real life events i’ve seen around my friend’s relationship sooo it might hurt a bit 🤏🏻 but who can say no to angst to eventual fluff? tagging @lees-chaotic-brain and @kasumitenbaz (as per request in the ask!), you two are always here for my megumi works, thank you!! :3 and thank you for dropping by for the event!

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

Everyone pointed it out as a joke, that you liked him way more than he did you.

And you used to never let it ruffle you. To you, Megumi’s sternness and silence meant that he was comfortable with you. You never wanted him to change his ways just because now you were seeing each other.

But when you thought it over now, as you stood before him with an aghast expression and knives stabbing your kind, soft heart, you couldn’t help but do a double-take.

You were the one who confessed first. Most of the time, you were the one who initiated dates. You always texted him first, asking about his day, and even when he brushed you off, you would keep being this ball of sunshine and wished him a good day.

You never realized it before… that through everything, it has always been you. Unfailingly.

So how dare he spout this now?

“I can't do this anymore.”

"You... can't?" you spat out, feeling the first tendrils of anger course through you. "What exactly it is that you can't do? What do you even mean?"

"Look," Megumi stared at you squarely, and you thought now, that it was the coldest of eyes, straight and true. "It's always been like this between us lately. It's only right that we end this."

This, he said. He didn't even want to define your relationship anymore.

You scoffed. "And why do you think we always end up this way? Have you ever considered, even once, that it's because you make no effort at all?"

"I'm trying," Megumi quickly replied, almost in a hiss, and you almost recoiled. "But I just see that we'll end up nowhere, that's why I'm bringing this up now."

Oh, that freaking hurts. You boyfriend had just told you that this relationship would go nowhere. Right in your face.

Your eyes stung with tears, yet you fought to hold them back, fixing your gaze on the lamp overhead and inhaling deeply.

"You're... selfish," you stated, filled with ire. "You're always walking around eggshells around me, never telling me what is it that you really want—"

Megumi's unclouded eyes fixed on your trembling form. "We just disagree on a lot of things. You know it and it bothers you. It bothers me too. Rather than forcing our relationship, I think it's better—"

"It's always me!" you yelled then, lips quivering and eyes watering, unable to hold your emotions back any longer. "All dates, lunches—everything!" you locked your eyes with him, in mocking disbelief. "How can you say you're trying when, in truth, I'm the one putting in so much for us?!"

In that very second, Megumi thought that he hated seeing you like this. You were supposed to be the cheerful one in this relationship, and when he agreed to go out with you, he made an unspoken commitment to himself that he would at least not make you miserable.

And yet...

"...I'm sorry."

Came his reply, and you were sure that this was it.

And to rub the salt in your wound, he added, "I can't lie to you and say I haven't thought this for a while too."

As tears welled within you, you wondered and questioned what you lacked that led to this. However, the overwhelming sense of betrayal consuming your thoughts ultimately prevailed over any other emotions.

Now he could've appeared before you as a stranger and you wouldn't bat an eye, as the cold steel in his tone said, "And if blaming me is what it takes to make you feel better, then so be it."

You couldn't pinpoint the source of your sudden boldness, but in the next hot minute, you marched past him, your shoulder harshly colliding with his in a deliberate, almost spiteful manner—which, indeed, was your intention—and then you ran.

Which led to the next scene: you found yourself bawling your eyes out in the girls' lavatory.

Yuji and Nobara saw everything unfolding right before their eyes. They hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but you and Megumi were literally breaking up right the middle of their shared classroom, and it was hard not to follow the discourse until the end.

"Are you okay?" Nobara had come to your side, ensuring privacy by locking the restroom door out of your consideration. You were a sobbing mess, attempting to wipe the overflowing tears away while letting out all your emotions.

"He's..." Your voice faltered amid sobs as you gazed at your steadfast friend, your throat clogging up. "He said... he's been wanting t-to... break up with m-me..."

"That's okay, that's okay..." Nobara brought you to her arms, patting your back in reassurance. "Fushiguro is insensitive like that... don't cry over him now. He's just a wimp, okay?"

"Why is it me?" you asked her, voice brittle, still shaking with tears. "I t-tried everything! Being the supportive girlfriend..."

"If he can't appreciate what you did, then the problem lies with him," your friend stated, traces of irritation brewing in her resolute gaze. And as she firmly grasped your wrist, her next words resonated. "Not you."

. . .

"Do you really have to break her heart like that?" Yuji fidgeted with his hoodie, staring at his best friend with a blend of confusion and sympathy.

Megumi sighed, finally ruffling his hair into a mess, as if expressing his own state of mind. “This is for the best.”

Yuji’s eyebrows visibly creased. “How is this ‘for the best’? She’s miserable, and you…” he assessed him, scanning him from head to toe, “it doesn’t seem you’re faring any better too.”

“The longer she is with me, the unhappier she will be.” Megumi glanced at the bathroom’s direction. “She can deserve better.”

He was always too quiet, too boring, not able to match your energy too. He couldn’t fault you for expecting more, whereas he was just not exactly built for your expectations.

Megumi really thought he wanted it to end. At one point, it even felt like a chore, but…

How strange. Why did it feel like something was clawing at his chest?

Time heals. Megumi knew that by theory, but he really did see it firsthand when he saw you all giggling and happy again three weeks after he initiated the breakup.

With Hakari.

“Yo, what are you glaring at?” Panda asked, but Megumi didn’t pay him any mind.

An upperclassman, Hakari Kinji, was naturally cool and talented. He was laid back, knew how to have fun—all in all, a total opposite of Fushiguro Megumi altogether.

Three weeks. It’s only been three weeks since then.

“Megumi?”

Wait… Aren’t three weeks too fast to get over your ex?

“Megumi!”

“Huh?” he turned to the sentient panda with a jerk. “Oh, what is it?”

He looked at him with a concerned gaze. "Why do you look so scary? It's almost as if you're about to punch someone..."

But who was he to argue? He had no right to be upset now.

"Is it Kinji?" Panda gasped, finally putting two and two together when he followed his line of sight. "Oh Megumi... but you—"

"Just shut up, please," he blurted then, a hint of annoyance in his tone. With that, Panda didn't pursue it further, leaving him with his thoughts.

From where he was at the field, he could clearly see your radiant smile for Hakari. It was clear that the two of you shared a degree of friendship, but Megumi never knew that you two were that close.

...huh?

Why did the sight irritate him so suddenly? Why did his chest twinge again?

What a fool. You're the one driving her away, you idiot.

Suddenly these memories popped up one by one—

Of you suddenly hugging him from behind in an attempt to surprise him.

How he pressed his lips on the crown of your head when you fall asleep on his shoulder.

How you would give him that dopey smile when he pulled you close.

But on harder days after missions gone wrong, he’d ignore you altogether— the slight disappointment in your smile then. How your expression fell when he told you to go. How you slumped and looked back in hopes of him changing his mind.

“Haaaah.” Megumi turned away, unwilling to keep watching you any longer. Why? Why hadn’t it occurred to him before now?

Why did he long for you now? Why not before, when you were still his?

They were right. It seems people tend to desire what isn't meant for them.

What could have been more painfully awkward than being sent into a mission with your ex-boyfriend?

You would kill Gojo for this. Or at least give him the lowest possible score in his teaching evaluation for the year. How could he? Your breakup was an infamous public spectacle, so this setup was undoubtedly intentional!

You were losing your head over this, and yet your ex-boyfriend...

"Keep your guard up," Megumi reminded curtly, in a warning tone. He looked as vigilant and straight as always, as if he wasn't even bothered.

You threw him a dirty look, offended. "You don't have to tell me twice."

This just cranked up the discomfort to an excruciating level. The mix of unresolved tension and memories—okay, you might be an emo, but how were you supposed to be cool with all of these hanging in the air?

Your site of exorcism was an abandoned warehouse, and the cursed spirit in question was supposed to be a grade 3. You two were grade 2 sorcerers now, so you were a perfect fit to exorcise it. But there was indeed this unease in the air that you couldn't put your finger to.

"Isn't it awfully too quiet?" you unwittingly muttered, staring at the darkness of the wall. You couldn't feel any cursed energy belonging to any possible malevolent entity, and that was what unsettled you the most.

Megumi frowned at your line of sight. "It is. Stay close."

You blinked at what he said, and before you knew it, the familiar scent of him being near to you made your entire body burst with this equally familiar warmth. When you looked up to him, seeing the solid sharpness in that dark eyes of his and his jaw set, dead butterflies in your chest rose back to life again, against your heartbreak and better judgement.

Stay close, he said... So he is worried...

And in an attempt to hide how flustered you were, you looked down.

You walked a few good steps, when suddenly he asked, "So, are you with Hakari-senpai now?"

"Huh?" You spun around, your expression a mix of surprise and confusion.

"You two seem close."

Seem close? Seem close... wait, so Megumi had noticed...?

Suddenly, you felt incited and it made you angry. "That's none of your business," your voice carried a sharp edge, hissing. And you knew you were being a bit mean by adding, "You broke up with me, so why do you even care?"

In that moment, Megumi could've sworn his chest throbbed. Your cutting tone pierced directly into his heart, lodging itself there.

You had all rights to be annoyed, and he knew that. Why did that question even slip out of him?

"Nah, nevermind," he mumbled in response, looking away.

Awkwardness lingered afterwards. You hated this, but no, you weren't above being petty. He had broken your heart and it still stung even now. If your intentionally biting words did to him even a fraction of what he made you feel, then you would find a small sense of satisfaction in it.

But you weren't able to ponder about your mess of feelings further when Megumi abruptly yanked your arm, his voice soaking with urgency, "It's here!"

Sure enough, the grotesque cursed spirit with the shape of a giant bee broke through the walls with a bang. The two of you immediately readied your fighting stance. Megumi was ready with his divine dogs, while you with your cursed weapon.

For a while, you engaged the cursed spirit with all you had. You were trying to focus on the enemy, but you couldn't help but notice the way Megumi always looked at you every few seconds, checking for any signs of injury or harm.

Frankly speaking, he trusted your strength and knew that you were a capable sorcerer. You had been paired in a mission before and he knew both your potential and shortcomings. It was just there was something about this place that had his senses on high alert.

And his fears were proven true when you yelped and were flung onto the grimy floor. "Y/N!"

"I'm fine!" you shouted in a rush, scrambling to your feet. However, as you spun towards him, your scream tore through the hall as you caught sight of the bee lurking behind him. "Megumi!"

He got distracted. The bee quickly latched onto him and almost stung him, until he wrestled it off and summoned Nue and exorcised it.

You went to his side that instant. "Are you okay?!"

"I am." But then he winced and almost fell on his knees if you didn't have a secure grip on him. He savored your touch and breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that now you two were safe.

"Megumi! Oh god!" Panic surged through you as you pulled him close. His side was bleeding, and you widened your eyes at the sight.

"I'm okay, I promise," he rasped, looking you in the eyes. "What abo—"

Then you saw it, the flicker from deep from that corner of platform, and suddenly, you grasped the source of the unease that had been lingering within you all this time. It wasn't the bee Megumi had just exorcised—

At that moment, there was no room for thought, one thing was certain: you didn't want him to get hurt more.

He didn't manage to finish his sentence when suddenly you pushed him away with so much force he never thought you had. Everything crashed so suddenly, he didn't have the time to brace himself or grab you with him, as another cursed bee appeared out of nowhere and—

Reality flashed before his eyes as he stared at you in sheer horror. At how the cursed spirit tore your body, sinking its hollow stinger in you.

You didn't really know what happened next. Everything was muffled—the frantic movements around you turned into a blur, along with Megumi's yells. Otherworldly pain coursed through your entire being and your ears rang, then everything in your line of sight became distorted and faded, along with your consciousness. Next and the last thing you knew was Megumi's battered face, a final imprint before you succumbed to the void.

Megumi had exorcised the remaining cursed spirit and staggered to his feet—falling a few times, but he made his way towards you through gritted teeth. You are hurt. He forced himself to get to you and pull you into his arms.

And suddenly, suddenly, nothing mattered anymore as overwhelming terror consumed him upon seeing you. Blood streamed from your abdomen so much that it made a continuous pool.

"You stupid—!" He choked out, voice hitching. You were no longer conscious and it devastated him even more. "Hey, hey? Wake up—hells—"

You, who did everything you could to save your relationship. You, who cried tears for him when he blatantly broke your heart. And you, who put himself first—and now facing the consequences.

It crashed upon him in that very second, the clarity. What was he thinking back then? He still loves you.

"If you die on me, I won't forgive you."

Megumi scooped you in his arms, pressing you close to his chest, the blood seeping from his wound be damned as he looked at your serene face. His heart shattered in the worst way possible and he almost wheezed at the sticky sensation of your blood—and how lifeless you felt in his grasp—but he willed it away.

"Don't," his broken rasp echoed the walls as he took each step to get both of you out of this hellhole. He winced and hissed at his own injury, chewing his lip in frustration, at how helpless he was.

"Don't leave me."

It was like a distant, hazy memory.

Was it a memory though? No. It seemed far too real for that.

The throbbing headache pounding through your skull and shivers that wracked your body pulled you back to reality. There was a heavy pressure on your abdomen and any movement sent sharp pain shooting through you.

You gradually opened your eyes, squinting against the brightness. You were in a hospital gown, an IV was injected on your arm, and the sterile scent made your stomach twist, as nausea creeping through your guts. Your vision was still blurry as you tried to look around to find someone who waited for you. As you slowly turned your head to the side, you saw him, sitting in the chair right next your bed.

Megumi was sleeping in such uncomfortable position, his head resting on the edge of your bed. He appeared peaceful, almost childlike, devoid of his usual stoic demeanor.

Your heartstrings were tugged at this rare sight. He also sustained injuries and yet... he was waiting for you to wake up, here.

Your chest swelled with warmth, which was quickly followed by a sting of heartbreak. Still, you two broke up...

You jolted, and the inadvertent movement sent a wave of pain that seemed to paralyze your nerves, causing you to whimper. The noise woke Megumi from his slumber, as he shot his eyes open in alarm, catching your hand in his.

"Hey... Are you okay?" Megumi worriedly looked down at you with a visible frown, and the grimace of pain on your face, accompanied by trembling lips, was enough of an answer. He hastily scrambled out in slight panic, "I'll get Ieiri-san."

When Shoko came and got you the painkillers, your pain receded somewhat. Through it all, Megumi stood there, casting concerned glances in your way.

"Bedrest for the week," Shoko stated firmly, assessing your wound with a no-nonsense expression. "Your injury isn't minor—it's serious enough that you're strongly advised against excessive movement."

You could only nod in response. Megumi bowed. "Thank you, Ieiri-san." Once the doctor departed, silence settled over the room once more.

“Why did you do that?” he quietly asked then, referring to what you did for him. And when you turned to him, you saw it clearly.

He looked pale, and there was this haunted look in his eyes. It broke your heart a little.

"You were hurt." Your voice came out dry, and you realized firsthand just how parched you were. Seeing Megumi looking down never quite sat right with you. He was meant to be an unwavering presence, someone strong enough to sway your convictions.

However, a pang struck when he countered with stern eyes, "You didn't have to do that."

...he was right. You didn't have to. What he didn't know was that you were still holding on these stupid feelings, which drove you to shield him. It made you ponder: if your roles were reversed, would he not step in to protect you at all?

"Why are you here?" You weren't sure if the bitterness in your tone was evident, but you continued anyway. "You don't have to be here either."

"Don't have to?" His gaze bore disbelief, as if not believing your words. "I'm—"

"If it's because I saved you, Megumi—"

“Do not even think, even for a moment, that I won’t be concerned over you.” His voice, deep and hoarse, struck you to the core, silencing your words. “Never. I always, always want you to be safe.”

Your mind became a blank slate. Suddenly, all that mattered was his voice.

"Don't you realize how terrifying it was? Seeing you like that?" Megumi spat, his green eyes shining with intensity, teeth gritted and fists clenched. "How could you even think that I wouldn't be here—" his breath hitched, and then his lips trembled slightly, "—for you?"

You blinked quickly, a feeling stirred within you—stemming from that cursed, fragile heart of yours to be exact, evident from the rapid thumping in your chest.

You dumbly uttered, "But we are—"

"Oh, Goddamnit." Megumi cursed, and honestly you were taken aback. It wasn't really in him to swear, so this really bugged him. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and despite the situation, your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Even a mess in a hospital gown, your ex-boyfriend was still undeniably attractive.

He stared at you squarely in the eye, unflinching, steadfast and true, the very image of Fushiguro Megumi you admired from afar and fell in love with in the first place half a year ago. "You don't have to... say anything, if you don't want to. Right now... just hear me out."

And the things he said next... all of them, you could say, caught you entirely off guard.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not trying hard enough, and—damn it, for making you sad. I never, ever wanted to see you that upset."

Megumi drew in a sharp breath, averting his gaze. "And for days, I've wondered if you and Hakari-senpai are now a thing... and you know what? I hate it so much. I know I have no grounds to feel this way, after what I did, but..."

And like a train wreck, his final words hit you hard. Tears welled up in your eyes in immediate response.

“I'm a loser, and a coward too, maybe,” he shrugged, a tinge of self-deprecation in his tone. “And I suck at telling people my feelings, but I love you. I still do.”

A sob slipped out of your throat and you hastily pulled the blanket over your face, much to his surprise. He thought he had worsened things, with the way you were turning away from him.

But then, from beneath the blanket, in a croaky voice, you proclaimed, "Fushiguro Megumi, you're a complete and utter idiot."

And Megumi didn't know that he had been holding back his breath as he chuckled heartily, relieved that you would still take his ass back after this prolonged mess. He knew he still had a lot to make up for and was determined to show it through his actions.

"Maybe I am, yeah."

"That's possibly the longest shit you have ever spouted in one breath."

"Yeah..."

But he got his chance back, and he knew that you would be alright. Both of you are.

On one sunny day...

"Hey, are you alone?"

Megumi glanced up from his phone, only to be met with a random girl standing in front of him, batting her eyelashes with an ambiguous intent. He blinked at her curiously.

"No. Can I help you?"

The girl twirled her hair suggestively. "Ah, you see... I see you all in your lonesome and I think you're quite cute—"

The hell? Megumi frowned, and he was really about to give this bimbo a piece of his mind when—

Oh, oh. Forget that. Megumi's attention snapped to you on the opposite side of the crossroad. All pretty and dolled up with that crop tee and miniskirt he once mentioned would look great on you by a slip of tongue—that accidental comment earned him your teasing quips for weeks already.

"Sorry, I'm here for my girlfriend. Bye."

Abruptly dismissing the girl, he didn't catch how comically offended she was for being turned down in a span of 20 seconds. He took big strides towards you, as you crossed the street, and you immediately beamed when you caught the sight of his face.

"Megumi!"

Ah, this is going to be a good day, he thought. As he gazed at your pretty face, and caught your hand in his, clasping it tightly, reveling in your scent and the warmth of your presence beside him—

He was content, and once again it dawned on him, that he likes you so, so damn much.

"Let's get started on our date, shall we?"

[aerynwrites]

Longing

Halsin x Fem!Reader

A/N: I have been burning with an intense CRAVING for Halsin and there is such little fic about him (although there are some good ones out there 👀) so I had to do my part and add to the pool 😏 hope y’all enjoy!

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, reader is insecure about her virginity, talks of inexperience, love confessions, Halsin is a sweetheart, references to NSFW content. Very very minor spoilers for act 2.

Part 2

The fur of the rabbit is soft between your fingers as you prepare it. Yet, despite having a knife in your other hand and your task being a delicate one, you can’t seem to focus.

Your eyes keep drifting back to the druid across camp chopping wood for the fire. The axe is a large one, heavy - heavier than you’d be able to lift. Yet the large elf manages to bring it up above his head and swing it back down with a grace you never understood how he possessed.

The muscles in his shoulders ripple with each movement, accompanying the rythmic thump of the axe through wood. His soft grunts as he pulls it from the stump he’s using before placing the next log onto the surface and starting the process all over again.

“The rabbit is already dead, darling.”

The familiar voice rips you from your staring as your head whips around to see none other than your vampiric companion standing over you, a smirk tugging at his lips. You huff at him before looking down to the rabbit by your knees and heat rushes to your cheeks. What should have been a simple skinning job to get the meat ready for dinner has turned into a mess. Cuts in the wrong places, the hide nowhere near usable anymore.

You look back up just in time to see Astarions red eyes go from you, to Halsin, then back again. His smile grows. He shifts his feet, one arm resting across his chest as he gestures with his other to Halsin.

“You know, you could paint a portrait. It would last longer.”

Your cheeks somehow get even hotter, as you turn back to the rabbit in front of you, doing a much better job than earlier.

“Leave me alone, Astarion,” you mumble, cursing internally when the elf lowers himself to the ground beside you, arms resting on his knees.

“And why would I do that, when teasing you gives me so much joy?”

You can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Okay, well you got me all flustered. So now that’s out of the way, did you need something or did you really interrupt your reading to bother me?”

The vampire sighs, leaning back on his hands as he looks over to you. “What I need is for you to finally jump that druids bones.”

You nearly choke as the words leave his lips, looking around to see if anyone heard and feeling heat creep up your neck once more as you see Shadowheart failing to hide a chuckle.

You turn to face your friend, eyes narrowed. “Could you be a little more quiet? I don’t need the whole camp hearing you.”

Astarion laughs this time, loudly, and it draws more glances than you’d like. You roughly shove the man next to you before he can speak.

“Your next words better be a whisper or I’m going to stab you ” you threaten, poking the knife in his direction.

Astarion places a hand over his heart, faux hurt in his eyes. “You wound me, darling. I’m just trying to help you. Plus,” he gestures to the camp, “it’s not like your attraction is a secret, nor Halsin’s.”

You shake your head turning back to grab another rabbit, embarrassment welling up in your chest. “He doesn’t…” you trail off, getting defensive. “Nothing’s there, Astarion. So can we please just drop it?”

Of course, he doesn’t.

“Look,” he starts, “all I’m trying to say is that neither of you are benefiting from holding back so…indulge, for once. Gods know we all deserve it.”

You ignore him. Curling in on yourself at the mention of…indulging. There nothing wrong with it of course. Everyone at camp has blown off steam along this adventure. Just…not you.

And the vampire must be able to tell too, because at your silence he straightens up, brows pinching in the rare way that shows he’s concerned.

“Wait, have you never…?” he gestures vaguely in the air.

His words, despite their genuine curiosity, strike a chord in you. You stand abruptly, tossing your work to the ground and stabbing your knife in the dirt.

“No I haven’t. Not that it’s any of your business.” Your words are louder than you intended and draw the eyes and ears of your other companions.

Astarion softens, obviously not expecting this reaction. “I didn’t mean to upset you-“

You clench your fists at your sides, interrupting him. “You never mean to Astarion but -“ You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath. “You’re such an ass sometimes.”

You turn on your heel and storm from camp before anyone can stop you, ignoring the concerned gaze of a certain druid.

———

The water is cool against your skin as you squat by the stream’s edge, rubbing at your hands as you try to get the blood off of them.

You feel foolish now, storming off like that. But Astarion pointing out your inexperience just struck you. It’s not something that’s ever bothered you before. Especially not in recent months since dealing with the tadpole. You all have more important things to worry about.

But the moment you rescued Halsin…it’s like something changed. You were instantly drawn to him. His kind smile and thoughtful words. His care for everyone and everything in nature.

And he flirted with you.

The memory is still fresh in your mind. The night of the tiefling party after you had stopped the ritual at the druid camp and saved Halsin. You were worried you were talking his ear off, but he was attentive the whole conversation. Answering your questions and asking some about you.

Then he said those honeyed words. Suggested celebrating by spending the night with someone special. Implied he would spend it with you if his mind wasn’t elsewhere.

You withdraw your hands from the water to drag them down your face as more memories surface.

More flirtatious banter and kind words. Thoughtful conversations and fighting side by side. The night sat by your bedside nursing you back to health after a particularly nasty fight. After Ketheric Thorm almost took you out.

Your side still aches with the memory. But the thought of his hands with their soothing healing glow, makes the ache subside.

You sigh, sitting back into the grass as your eyes lock onto the slowly gurgling stream, Astarion words playing over and over in your head.

Indulge, for once.

You want to. Gods do you want that.

You’ve spent many sleepless nights thinking about it. About his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, the sweet words he’d no doubt whisper against your ear.

You shudder at the thought before shoving it away. Because any time he hinted at that - showed any interest in you - you would be so elated before insecurity took over.

Halsin’s views on love and intimacy are no secret. You’d asked him once about current lovers and while he did confide no one currently held his affections back home he also expressed that there were others in the past.

Others. Plural.

And you’ve never been with anyone. Not physically or emotionally, you’ve never trusted anyone enough.

Not until now.

You sigh, frustration creeping back in as you press the heels of your palms into your eyes before quickly standing up. You need to apologize to Astarion and finally, maybe, talk to Halsin.

You turn on your heel to do just that when you run straight into a solid mass. You gasp, stumbling backwards just as two strong hands reach out to steady you, gripping your wrists firmly.

Once steady, you look up to see none other than the man haunting your thoughts smiling down at you.

“You must have been very deep in thought for someone like me to sneak up on you, little one.”

You have to suppress a shiver at the nickname. A moniker he’d given you since you teased him about his size at the beginning of your friendship.

You shake your head, moving to step away and only stopping when his hands let go only to slip down and take your own gently.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I was just…thinking.”

Halsin stares at you for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face before he steps away, gesturing down the first path, one hand still in your own.

“Walk with me?” he asks. “I know being in nature helps me clear my head of even the darkest thoughts.”

You give a hesitant nod and follow him as he turns towards the path, not able to stop the smile when he doesn’t drop your hand.

———

The walk is mostly silent, a comfortable silence, but silent nonetheless. And you are grateful for it, not sure what you would say if Halsin were to ask what has you so upset.

But, silence can’t last forever it seems, because eventually the large Druid breaks through the sounds of nature surrounding you to speak.

“I overheard your conversation with Astarion,” he says, voice gentle. Probing, but not not forcing you to talk if you do not wish.

You stiffen, your pace slowing slightly, wanting to pull away from the man at your side. But his sure grip on your hand keeps you in place. The warmth of his skin on yours puts you slightly at ease.

“You…you heard that?” you ask, cringing internally. “You were across camp.”

The druid chuckles, gesturing to his ears with his free hand. “One of the curses of us elves. Impeccable hearing. Even when we don’t wish for it.”

You can feel your shoulders creeping up to your ears. Embarrassment settling in once more. “You were listening to us? To me?”

Halsin shrugs. “Not intentionally,” he admits, slowing his steps until you’re both stopped and he’s facing you. “But I find my attention turning towards you more often than not these days.”

His words tie your tongue and before you can gather enough sense to respond he continues.

“Nature works in mysterious ways, little one,” he tells you, eyes never leaving your face. “There is no one way to traverse it, and others journey do not define your own. Each one is unique, as it is intended.”

His words are beautifully woven, as always. And despite his cryptic deliverance, you know the meaning behind his words.

He’s comforting you. And once again, he speaks before you can detangle the jumble of thoughts in your head.

“And,” he reaches out, placing a curled finger beneath your chin to urge you to look up at him, “if it’s any encouragement, I seek you out as much as you do me. Possibly more so.”

Your eyes widen, heart stuttering in your chest at his words. He…does he feel the same way? Rationally you know he does. But that ever familiar self doubt, the tiny voice in your mind has always brushed away the flirting - the kind words and gentle touches as just part of his nature. None of it is reserved just for you.

Right?

Halsin smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners gently as he looks down at you. “Is that really such an outlandish thought? That I return your affections?” He pauses, “unless my heart has run ahead of itself and I have misread-“

You stop him then, reaching up to place a staying hand on his own beneath your chin.

“No! You haven’t…you haven’t misread,” you assure him, trying to still your racing heart.

His smile never falters, his other hand finally coming up to cradle the back of your head, teasing soft strands of hair between his fingers.

“That is good to hear,” he says, pulling you ever closer, his nose almost brushing yours, “it puts this old druid's mind at rest.”

Gods, you can’t breathe. The air in your lungs refusing to expel as he lean even closer, lips a hairbreadth away from your own. Your body sings with anticipation, your skin hot despite the cool air ushered in by the sun sinking below the horizon, the days last rays barely filtering through the trees.

“Can I kiss you, my heart?”

Halsins words are soft, barley a whisper and nearly drowned out by the sounds of nature around you and the roaring of blood in your ears.

You nod. “Please-“

The word barely passes your lips before he descends upon you, sealing his mouth with your own.

It’s both everything you expected and completely surprising at the same time. His hands are sure as he pulls you into him, one hand still cradling your head as the other slips down to your hip before wrapping around your waist. Yet his lips, the kiss itself is…soft. Gentle. Loving. The action speaks louder than any words either of you have said to one another. Louder than the words you never worked up the courage to speak.

Finally, your mind catches up with you, and your hands slide up his chest to clutch tentatively at his shoulders.

Halsins still hasn’t broken away from you, and when his tongue brushes against your lips you let him in. You tug him closer then, one of your hands sliding up to rest at the back of his neck eliminating any empty space between you as his tongue slides against your own.

He only pulls away when he must sense your need for air, but he doesn’t go far, lips pressing gently to the corner of your own, and then another to your jaw.

You’re breathless.

Chest heaving against him, as he pulls away just enough to look at you once more.

“As much as I’d love to continue…” his hand squeezes your hip gently, “we should make our way back to camp. I can imagine our absence as stirred gossip with our vampiric companion and..” he sighs, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. “I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

You can’t surprise the shiver that runs down your spine, or the smile that tugs at your lips.

“I’m…I’m okay being overwhelmed if it’s like that,” you tell him breathlessly.

Halsin laughs, a deep down genuine laugh that makes your heart sing even as he steps away from you.

“Then I will overwhelm you in all the ways I know how.” He promises, eyes trailing over you heatedly.

Your stomach does a flip at his words, and the effect they have on you must show on your face because Halsin chuckles again, leaning in to press one last kiss to your cheek before tugging you back in the direction towards camp.

“Another night, my heart,” he says, thumb brushing over your knuckles from where your hand remains in his own.

You let out a shaky breath, and nod, smiling as you walk closer to him. “I’m holding you to that.”

“I hope you would, though I doubt I will forget such a promise,” he assures before letting silence blanket you both one more.

You can’t stop the thrill that runs through you at his words.

Yes, I’ll hold you to that promise indeed.

[snootlestheangel]

Post-MW3 but Laswell had only faked Soap's death, all under the guise of it being the better thing to do.

Let Makarov believe he had actually killed one of the 141. He'd walk away from that thinking he had a small victory and wouldn't feel pressured to make his next move soon. Laswell wanted him to go into hiding, wanted the team to take the time to figure some things out.

She obviously hadn't anticipated the loose cannon of Captain Price, and him killing Shepherd threw a wrench in everything.

A few months have gone by, and Laswell gets a hit on some activity from Konni group. She tells the team they'll meet her informant there.

Obviously, there's a bit of a big blowout when they realize John 'Soap' MacTavish is the informant. Ghost takes it the worst of all of them, but he doesn't outwardly react. Not in front of Soap. But when they're alone with Laswell to ask her "what the fuck?" Ghost lets it all out.

He's cussing up a storm, saying it was all bullshit, that they should have been in on it.

"Who in this room knows what it's like to be dead better than anyone else? Bloody hell where the fuck do you think "Ghost" comes from?"

And Ghost doesn't ever talk directly to Soap or Laswell the rest of the time they're working on their latest Intel. It's upsetting to everyone, especially Gaz cause he isn't quite sure what the fuck has happened to his team. But Soap seems to be handling Ghost's cold shoulder pretty well, so Gaz keeps his distress to himself.

Finally, Ghost gets a moment alone with Soap. And Soap starts to leave, starts to give Ghost privacy because that's what Soap thinks he needs: some time and space to figure it all out in his head.

But Ghost stops him.

And the mask comes off, and Ghost slips away to reveal Simon. Simon who looks so small despite still standing over Soap.

And Soap is sorry, he's so sorry, Simon.

And he's begging for forgiveness and Simon has yet to say a word. So Soap falls quiet, lets the silence eat away at him as Simon stands there, jaw working as he thinks of something to say.

"I had lost you, Johnny."

It's such a quiet whisper, and it's so broken and it just stabs Soap through the heart. But he doesn't say anything back.

Instead he reaches for his Simon, reaches up to try and hold his head in his hands once again.

And Simon leans into the touch, allows himself a moment of softness during all this war. Allows this tender moment as he lets Soap hold him gently.

And it doesn't last long, doesn't need to. They're back with each other, in each other's hands, safe and breathing. That's all Ghost, all Simon, had ever begged for.

"The next time you die, I'm fucking going with you, you understand?"

"Of course, LT. You and me, aye?"

"Always."

[ash-says]

Survival 101 :

Buckle up your seatbelt darling because this is going to be triggering and one hell of a ride. Don't expect mushy from me. Might do it when tapped in my soft girl era but today I feel like a Villain.

1) Keep your mouth shut where you don't hold the power. No power no expressed opinions that can put you in trouble.

2) Learn manipulation and seduction skills. This will help you to detect when someone is trying to manipulate and seduce you. Saves a lot of drama and heartache.

3) Fight back strategically. We don't want to lose a job, a degree certificate, a bruise on your body,etc depending on your situation.

4) Facts over emotions. Always.

5) 90% of older men are creepy. Speaking from experience here. Play with them by ear. Get what you want by being polite and respectful but if they try to harass you or take advantage we turn Medusa on them or if you are not in a position to fight and walk out safe just play cutesy and shy and dumb. Ask him what he means and do not take a word said by him seriously. Dodge his advances like your life depends on it until you get an opening to run for the hills.

6) Snap out of delusions and pay attention to reality. People are not what you make them out to be they are what they show you. Stop making excuses for them.

7) Anxiety can be crippling. Panic attacks are the worst but no matter what happens try your level best to never show them publicly. Men are vultures and vulnerable women are easy prey for men.

8) That one friend who is all sweet to you and is your bff but anything positive happens in your life and suddenly starts becoming passive aggressive. Not your friend. Don't share any secrets. Best to be kept as an acquaintance.

9) Develop sarcasm and don't be afraid to put self entitled bitches and bastards in their place. Better being called a 'Mean Girl' over a 'Doormat'.

10) Bully back the bullies. It's 2024 sweetie we don't wait for an opportunity for revenge we fucking create it.

11) No matter how tough your life is going everyone shouldn't be getting a broadcast about it. At least not by your own mouth. Try to act as put together as you can.

12) Kindness is virtue but being apathetic saves you. Don't be the fool who bleeds through the stabs of the same knives again and again. "Because I can't see them in pain. I have a heart." Babygirl you have a life too. All that emotional stress is going to result in some serious problems in the upcoming years.

13) Learn when to quit. The most emotionally intelligent people I know are great quitters. They know when it's the end of an era.

14) Never disclose your family issues to outsiders. Until and unless a person has proved their loyalty to you year after year only those selected one or two people should know your domestic issues. Anyone else knowing it is like having a good gossip for tea time.

15) Lastly, there are no fucking saviours in real life. You are your own saviour.

[arminsumi]

First request ever: Can you make a story about Gojo, where their both in a relationship but gojo had to end it because he was afraid that she would be in danger?

Thank you! Keep up the good work, I love your stories!!!

LET ME MARRY YOU

↳ GOJO さとる + fem!reader

The risk of dating you his too much for him to handle, so he breaks it off, only for him to come back to your doorstep years later and ask: "Let me marry you."

2k

Note : istg each time i edited this... the wordcount grew lol. i hope u enjoyyy 🥹💗 tysm for enjoying my work it means everything

Warnings : angst -> fluff (?) -> happy ending trust me, Shibuya arc spoilers (Ep 9), manga spoilers (chapter 221)

🍒 More from Jay : Gojo works / Gojo fave works / JJK works / oct. reqs open

The risk of dating you is thrilling when Satoru's just a teenager in puppy love. But as he grows older, and heads into those dreaded 20s, the risk makes him more and more nervous.

What if something happens to you?

He presses kiss after kiss to your forehead and feels his chest tremble, feels his lips quiver, as he refrains from telling you the truth about the Jujutsu world. Satoru just can't do it.

There are so many instances of him saving you from curses that you're oblivious about. He just smiles strangely, and you wonder why he looks like he's just seen a ghost. Because he has, those pretty eyes see ghosts. But those pretty eyes also see you, "What am I looking at?" he responds after you ask why he's looking at you so tenderly, "I'm looking at my future wife." he flirts just to fluster you.

That's at the cafe, when things are still simple. He keeps thinking to himself, as he lays with you in bed some nights;

I want to marry you.

I'm going to marry you.

Please let me be your husband one day.

As if he's trying to manifest it.

Everything is okay-ish... until he gets pangs of fright when your name starts to be known outside of his closed circle of friends.

It's October 11th.

Gojo Satoru breaks up with you.

He leads you to believe that the two of you are just "right person, wrong time". It all hurts an incomprehensible amount for him, to finally cut the string that tethers the two of you together.

He sits on the stairs, head in his hands, mourning.

He starts many mornings with crying spells that last until midday.

He destroys evidence of you and him. In case anyone ever finds it and thus finds your apartment, or work, or college... or anything.

But he can't part with a very special photo. It's you and him in Okinawa, sharing a cheesy kiss at the beach. In the moment this photo was captured, Gojo remembers having whispered some dirty joke in your ear and that's why you smiled so big into his kiss.

He drifts to sleep to the lullaby lovesongs that defined your love.

Years pass, he refuses to even talk to you. The heartbreak worsens with time, he laughs when he realizes that on his 27th birthday.

Isn't time supposed to heal all wounds? Someone said that to him once. Well, they must have been lying without realizing it.

The day Gojo Satoru is sealed, he looks into Suguru's eyes, and remembers you through them. When he resides in that awful prison realm, he only thinks of you you you you you you you oh god he misses you so much that it feels like the very thought of your smile stabs his chest. Every memory is painful. Every flashback puts one more crack in his heart.

"Can't I ever catch a break...?" He laughs to himself, chattering skeletons making their eerie symphony around him.

He thinks. Ponders. Wonders. Broods. Daydreams. All about you. Always about you. Never anything else. Just his first love, from the late spring of his 17th year.

His earthly goddess.

The purpose of his benevolent actions.

He cries. And sobs. And weeps. Because no one can hear him but the skeletons and he's sure they don't mind the sight or sound of a 27 man howling in pain over a lost lover.

It's not just your relationship that he's mourning. But the fact he can't feel you in this cube... that he can't feel your presence in the world... that's worse than the heartbreak. At least through all these years, he's been able to sense your existence. Feel the subtle ripples of your soul no matter how distant you are; you'd be stood in a coffee shop, he'd be at Jujutsu High teaching, and yet feeling you.

Because as he promised to you at 17, "Half my soul is yours. And half your soul is mine. I'll always be with you even if I'm not there."

He has the biggest breakdown of his life in that little cramped suffocating claustrophobic eerie creepy box.

It's 19 days later. He's out. He's back in the world. And he feels the sense of you, your existence, swelling in his chest, tickling his mind, prodding his heart.

"Gojo sensei, where are you headed?"

"I'm gonna go find my other half." he says cryptically.

It's a stark bright day.

Gojo Satoru knocks at your apartment door.

You open it.

He looks at you, and you look at him.

"Hi."

"...hey...? Wow. Haha... you grew into your features, huh?"

Your voice fills his heart with life.

"You too... glad you still live in the same place... I was worried you might have moved out..."

"... Ah, Satoru, you'd be able to find me no matter what corner of the world I resided in."

Your laugh fills his mind with pleasant memories.

There's an a magnetism between you and him just like there always used to be. It feels like two magnets connecting at last, after feeling the distant attraction throughout all these years of distance.

"You're right." Satoru says after a silence of just staring into your eyes.

"I'll always find my way home."

A silence ensues after he says this.

"...haha... don't cry... or I'll cry..."

"... Satoru... I thought of you every day after you left me at the station."

"... me too."

"... why did you leave?"

He stares at you.

"... I was scared of you being in danger."

He gulps.

"Me? In danger? But you're the strongest, why would it matter."

Oh god that's right. You said it then when you were 17, "You're the strongest" and he carried that title with him from then. And now you've said it again. He's reminded. He feels a bit stupid. A bit ridiculous. A bit...

"You're right..." he chokes up. "I am. I could have protected you I guess..."

"... yeah, duh."

He smiles meekly.

It was more complicated than that, sweetheart. But I won't tell you.

He hesitates. He contemplates.

"I have to tell you everything... will you promise to believe everything I say even if it sounds insane?"

"Of course. What is it?"

He inhales deeply. And instead of blurting out his whole life story of being a sorcerer in the Jujutsu world, he just leans in and kisses you hard and truthfully. Cups your cheeks. Closes his eyes. Tastes you like a sweet from his childhood that he hasn't had for years. Presses to you. Takes in your scent.

Yeah yeah... he'll tell you everything in a minute.

But for now just let him kiss you until he runs out of breath.

Let him just...

"Hey..." he pulls away, gasping, "Let me marry you."

"Haha, Satoru..." you take it as a joke and laugh, because it sounds as bizarre and unexpected as one. Then you realize there's that serious look on his face. "... Satoru?"

"Can I?"

"... what?"

"Can I please?"

"... huh??"

"Can I marry you, please?"

He looks at you and waits for your answer. His poor heart. It's palpitating. His whole chest cavity inspires with love for you. This man that you haven't seen in years has just asked if you'll let him marry you — with very specific wording.

Can he? Will you let him?

It's funny in a way, because you think to yourself; this is such a Satoru thing to do... show up unannounced years later on your doorstep and ask for your hand in marriage as if no time has passed, as if you know the full story.

"Satoru... what happened to you throughout these years for you to come back to me and ask for my hand in marriage?" you ask, genuinely baffled.

He swallows slowly. "I know I sound like I've lost my mind. But I promise I haven't."

"That's hard to believe. The Satoru I remember was always on the brink of mania. A bit insane but not quite."

You make him laugh. "Yeah..."

"So are you asking to marry me out of insanity?"

"No."

"Well alright then. I guess I'll marry you."

You make him laugh again, with that funny tone. He hasn't laughed genuinely in years... it's always been that plastic laugh. But this is his genuine laugh. Silky and quiet. The opposite of his demeanor.

"I guess I should be explaining everything to you properly... before I ask you something like that."

"You're damn right..."

"... don't scold me too hard when I tell you all the reasons I left. Or, if you do, then at least hold me while you scold me. And run your fingers through my hair like you used to."

"Satoru."

"Yes?"

His heart throbs. He looks at you.

"Stop standing at the doorway and come inside."

"Oh."

You sigh. He smiles. Then he bows his head so it doesn't hit the top of the doorframe. Damn tiny Tokyo apartments. Your archway always had it out for the crown of his head. You laugh when he bumps into it just like he always used to.

So the two of you sit down and just talk. And talk. Maybe cry a bit. Actually, you cry a lot. And he holds you. And he says he's sorry. He says sorry over and over, as if the word is a bandage he's trying to wrap around all your heartbreak wounds that he caused.

"I'm sorry."

Satoru's apologies aren't easy to come by, and when you receive them, they nurse your heart. It's the gentleness with which he says it, and earnest too. Each successive sorry means more than the last.

"My angel..."

When you call him this after he vents to you about his time in the Prison Realm, and his overwhelming duty of being the strongest, he breaks down completely and just weeps in your arms.

He sobs like you've never heard him sob before, like a dog.

Finally. At least for a moment. He could be weak. Let down his guard. Be raw. Be emotional. Not a teacher. Not a sorcerer. Just your boy. Your Satoru.

Your consolation is all he wanted throughout these years. He looks up at you, eyes red and sore, nose sniffling, and stares at you like he can see your soul.

"...Satoru?"

"Marry me."

You chuckle again.

"If that will stop your tears..." you joke.

He sniffles loudly and swallows, composing himself.

"I thought about marrying you so much when we were together... 'n I tried so hard to bite my tongue when your name nearly rolled off it while talking to my students some days. I was always..."

On the verge of saying your name.

He sniffles long and hard and waits for your hand to weave into his hair.

"Will you think about it?"

"I will."

There's a silence. Satoru feels hopeful. He lays on your chest, arms around you like you're his whole world that he won't dare let go of again.

"There." you say with finality. "I thought about it. Let's get married."

"That took you, like, ten seconds."

You laugh with him. "Yeah... I already knew in my heart when you asked me at the doorway... you know... Satoru... it's funny. When you left, it felt like half my soul was gone. And when you knocked on my doorstep, it felt like I was whole again. Does that sound freaky, or does it tie into all this... Juju... Jujutsu stuff?"

He's silent.

"I have no idea."

"Wow. My future husband isn't knowledgeable at all." you joke.

His heart flutters at 'future husband'.

"Sorry." he says, smiling softly, "My mind is blank when your fingers are running through my hair."

The two of you go on and on, until you're laid in bed sleeping at each other's side. Resting. And god, did Gojo Satoru need a good rest.

In your arms, he's no longer an insomniac.

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[queenpiranhadon]

𖤓⎸⎸ 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 ⎸⎸𖤓

A/N: You all voted on this poll, and this poll, and this poll, and after a LOT of voting, I present you this :) BIG thanks to @that-multi-fandom-hijabi for beta reading this go follow her writing acc rn (@novaaaaaa-writes). Here's my masterlist! Divider made by @cafekitsune

Warning(s): Enemies to lovers trope, mentions of burning, stabbing, blood, bad descriptions of both fire of water (ice, snow ?) bending, Zuko is whipped, just a little confused about it, reader is a baddie, water benders unite (not me tho), reader is GN but written with f!reader in mind, reader looks non-threatening, is underestimated a lot, this takes place at the end of season one, I think that's it

Pairing: Prince Zuko x GN!Reader

“You shouldn’t be here” you glare, your gaze sending shivers down his spine. 

But that could just be because of all the snow and ice surrounding the both of you. 

The fire prince remains unfazed though, his amber eyes sweeping over your form- assessing the threat you posed. 

He could take you down in seconds. 

Zuko doesn’t respond to your jab though, because he knew you were wrong. He had to be here, it was the only way he could finally receive his father’s favor- as the heir and as the son of Firelord Ozai. It was his duty, his honor. 

And he wasn’t going to let a non-threatening waterbender get in the way of that. 

Reaching back, he unsheathes his dual swords, the glint of the waning moonlight reflecting the dangerous glint in his eye. 

And yet you didn’t back down.  

Pooling some water from your waterskin, you assumed the stance you had trained yourself to take whenever you honed your skills. One with the water, one with the ice.  

‘Power should flow, not force itself” Master Pakku had told you once.  

People had always underestimated your skills, saying you were better suited for healing. But after showing Master Pakku how you could use your bending to control the falling snow around you, he gave you a chance.  

He had told you to let the power settle in your body before releasing, instead of forcing it out immediately. Conceal and then control. 

You met Zuko’s fiery gaze with an icy one of your own. You were going to protect your home.  

With a yell, you form flurries of snow, whipping around your form as you channel your strength to change the form of your flurry, snow turning to water, water turning to sharp daggers of pure ice.  

Zuko scowls, setting his hands ablaze and you run at each other, fire meeting ice.  

Time slows down, as the intensity of your elements picks up, until all you could hear was the steady thump – thump – thump – of your heart, and the roar of crystalline knives swirling around you. 

Flames lick the side of your leg, wincing as the raw burn of the fire sears through your skin in white-hot pain. Razor sharp icy shards cut into Zuko’s skin, finding chinks in his armor, piercing his flesh and drawing blood. 

The snow beneath the both of you was dotted red now, both of you staring at each other, panting heavily.  

“You really shouldn’t be here.” you repeat again, but this time, it was barely a whisper, swallowing down tears as the cold wind of the Northern Water Tribe stung your gaping wounds. 

Zuko growls, grunting in pain as he pulls a shard of ice out of his skin. “I don’t take orders from a little waterbender” he spat, venom dripping from his words. 

You reciprocate with a snide comment of your own. “This ‘little waterbender’ just sunk 5 icicles into your skin.” 

Zuko was just about ready to tear your head off, hands igniting with vermillion flames before you collapse, the burns along your thigh and calf were much more severe than either of you realized.  

You choke out a sob of pain but keep your control of the water left in your waterskin. You couldn’t die, not today, and not at the hands of the prince of the Fire Nation.  

Zuko’s heart throbs unexpectedly, the look on your face too familiar for comfort. The face of someone who worked so desperately hard, only for all that effort to go down the drain. But he didn’t care for you. He couldn’t- couldn’t grow attachment to a non-threatening waterbender. Yet you sat there on the snow, dotted with blood, with that raw look in your eyes. His flames extinguished, without him meaning to.  

You flinched as he threw his swords down frustrated, impaling themselves into the nearby snow mound, standing straight up. 

He stomps over to you, and you frantically move back, but your leg flares up in pain again, and you yelp, hissing in pain. 

“Stop moving, you’ll make it worse.” he says, glaring at you, but not as intensely as he had before.  

You want to scream, kick him, punch him, anything, but your body betrays you as he sweeps you up into his arms, carrying you to the nearest place he can find, where he can keep you safe. You feel his strong arms hook under your knees and under your back, holding you securely to his firm chest. Even through his armor, he radiates warmth, a gentle heat, unlike the flames he threw at you merely minutes ago.  

He hates this, with every fiber in my being, his voice screaming at him to drop you and burn your frail body to a crisp, vengeance for the blood dripping from his own body, but he keeps moving, step after painstaking step. 

You try to stay awake, you really do, yet channeling so much energy from your battle, the numb throb in your lower leg, and the comforting heat radiating off the fire prince who refuses to look at you, you slip into unconsciousness.  

Zuko feels a weight press against his chest, and he huffs, honey-colored eyes catching onto the details of your face, the curve of your nose, the apples of your cheeks, the slight pout of your lips as you nuzzle into his armor unintentionally, how pretty you were when you were at peace. 

He stops himself there, reprimanding himself for thinking such things. He can’t have feelings for the enemy. 

And yet, even as he and his troops head home, battle wearing and dejected from the loss of a major battle, Zuko can’t help but think about his little waterbender.  

*** 

When you wake up, the kind woman tending to you tells you all about the mysterious and handsome man who carried your sleeping form across the entire Northern Water Tribe because he didn’t know where the healing center was.  

[rileyslibrary]

Okay okay but hear me out- reader gets assigned on their first solo mission by Price and Ghost is inwardly concerned for them and keeps subtly giving tips to reader about the basics of any mission as way to prepare them

Hi, anon and thank you for requesting this! I made some minor adjustments to the original idea since I got lost in the process once I began writing. Reader is also fully aware of Ghost’s concerns and messes with him.

Fluffy, the usual banter, an emotionally constipated Ghost, yada yada. Enjoy!

———————————————————————

“Again,” Ghost murmurs as he shuffles through the row of tactical knives on the table. He decides on one, picks it up and walks towards you. “What is this?” He asks.

You look up from tying the laces of your boots and redirect your attention at him. He either believes you’re an idiot or doesn’t trust you enough. Either way, it’s not a good sign.

“Good question, Lieutenant,” you reply. “What you’re holding in your hands is a knife. Knives were one of the earliest tools used by humanity to-”

“Cut it out.”

“That’s correct!” you exclaim. “You mainly use one of those to cut stuff.”

A long sigh escapes him, and he throws his head up. He lowers the knife and walks towards the table, scratching the back of his balaclava with the other hand. He takes a few breaths, turns around and lifts the knife again.

“That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it.” He growls. “What kind of knife is it?”

“A sharp one.”

“Stop it.”

“You mean stab it?” you ask and continue tying your laces. “Yes. Yes, you can definitely stab with it.”

He throws the knife onto the table and leans on a chair, holding it with both hands. His brows are tied together, and you can see his jaw tightening beneath the balaclava.

“I need you to focus.” He says firmly. “This is not the right time for jokes.”

You stand up and walk towards him, now standing by his side. You grab his shoulder and squeeze it. He doesn’t budge, yet he slowly shakes his head.

“You’re worried.” You state.

“I’m not worried.” He replies. “I don’t know what Price was thinking; the stakes are too high for this to be your first solo mission.”

“So you don’t trust me.”

“Of course I trust you.” He says and lets go of the chair. “It’s just too dangerous for you to go alone.”

“So you are worried.” You whisper with a smirk.

He looks at you with the side of his eye and picks up a map from the table. He spreads it out in front of him.

“Alright,” he says, “let’s go over the route again.”

“Got it,” you nod. “So, what’s the plan?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s the plan?’” He shouts, turning to look at you with wide eyes. “We’ve been through this-”

“-a hundred times now.” You interrupt. “Yet you still want to go over it again and again and again and again.”

“I just need you to be ready.”

“I am ready!”

“Then go on,” he says, pushing the map towards you, “what’s the plan?”

“Alright,” you begin, pointing to a door on the eastern side of the facility. “I’ll start here, at the service entrance. It’s not heavily guarded since they mainly use it for their occasional smoke breaks.”

“But you’ll still need to be cautious,” He adds.

You ignore his remark and continue to outline the route.

“From there,” you say, moving your finger along a series of corridors, “I’ll make my way through the maintenance tunnels. They’re narrow and dark but should provide good cover from security patrols.”

“And when you reach the central hub,” Ghost continues, pointing to a large room at the heart of the facility, “you’ll need to be especially careful since that’s where the security is the tightest. There’s only one entry point, so once you get to this door you should-”

“Knock.”

He slowly turns towards you and gives you a side-eye. “You’re not taking this seriously,” he whispers.

“On the contrary, Lieutenant,” you jest. “I’m deadly serious.”

“Deadly serious?” he scoffs and shakes his head. “You might end up seriously dead if you don’t pay attention.”

You roll your eyes and let out a sigh.

“When I get close to that door,” you say, pointing at the map, “I’ll wait for Soap and Gaz to manipulate the security systems and set off the alarms. Once the commotion is at its highest, I’ll infiltrate the hub, collect the intel, and escape through the ventilation shafts.”

“Right,” he says and folds the map. “Do you have everything you need?”

You turn your attention to yourself, checking your tactical vest, and he does the same. His eyes scan over every piece of equipment on you. He walks around you, tracing his fingers along the edges of your gear, checking for any signs of damage. He reaches out to adjust a loose strap on your vest, ensuring it’s securely fastened.

“You need to make sure everything is secure,” he says as he continues to search each pocket and pouch on you, ensuring that your supplies are well-stocked and easily accessible. “We can’t risk losing any essential gear during the mission.”

You follow him with your eyes and smirk as he inspects you. “Is that what worries you?” You ask. “Losing gear?”

He pauses for a second and meets your eyes. “You know what I mean,” he says as he tightens a buckle on your waist. He takes a few steps back and nods. “Everything looks good,” he concludes.

“Alright,” you nod back and walk towards the door. “Let’s do this.”

“Stay sharp out there!” he shouts.

“Yeah, yeah,” You shout back as you exit the briefing room, “sharp like a knife!”

———————————————————————

[yandere-daydreams]

file #4: the body mod fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!wriothesley x reader (genshin).

length: 3.1k.

warnings: non/con touching + groping, nonconsensual piecing, dubiously consensual tattoos, permanent body modification, intimidation, needles, obsessive behavior, and unbalanced power dynamics.

“Just one?”

The question had been hushed, meek, directed more towards your lap than the man sitting across from you. The warden – Wriothesley, you chided yourself, biting the inside of your cheek and attempting to remember what he’d asked you to call him, Wriothesley – broke into a wry smile, but nodded, leaning back in his armchair. “Just one,” he reassured. “And you’ll taken care of until your release date.”

You didn’t respond, but he must’ve seen the way you paled at the suggestion. “Having second thoughts?”

“No, it’s just—” You grit your teeth. Your eyes flitted up momentarily, but fell back to your legs just as quickly. “I… I’ve never really liked needles, I guess.”

You could see his eyes light up, his grin broadening as he tried to stifle his laughter. You scowled, but couldn’t blame him. He was used to dealing with hardened criminals, the scum of Teyvat, thieves and spies and murderers, and here you were – on the verge of fainting because he asked you to get a tattoo. “I promise, you don’t have anything to worry about.” At least he was trying to sound comforting, even if it was clearly a half-hearted effort. “I’ll make sure you’re in good hands.”

And he had, in a way.

You just wished he would’ve mentioned that those hands would be his own.

Calloused fingertips dug into your bicep as a scarred palm pressed into your skin, keeping one of your arms loosely secured against the mattress of the cot while the other was pinned between the bedframe and his chest (the placement unintentional, or so you hoped). You’d been shaking when he brought out that terrible machine – a vial of dark ink trapped inside of a cage of copper and steel; a single, silver needle protruding out of one end and a leather grip wrapped around the other – but it’d only taken an hour for fear to fade into boredom, another for boredom to drag on into a rotting, discolored sort of exhaustion. For as much as you’d been dreading it, there was more pressure than pain. It was repetitive, if anything – a monotonous pierce, stab, pierce, stab that you could only try your best not to focus on. You could already feel an ache settling below the skin of your shoulder, already knew that you wouldn’t be able to lift your arm for days, but you tried not to—

His needle stabbed into the thin skin over your shoulder blade, and you couldn’t stop yourself – letting out a low hiss as you flinched into the cot’s thin mattress. You expected Wriothesley to laugh, to drag a damp cloth over the affected area and mutter something like ‘bear with me’ or ‘my bad, love, my bad’ like he had a dozen times before, but instead, there was a muffled click as he switched off his awful machine, a dull clatter as he dropped it onto a bedside table already crowded with bottles of disinfectant and the nurse’s bizarre tools. “We’ll stop here. It’ll take another session, but I think you’ve been through enough for one day. For a virgin, especially.”

You were only half-listening; the phantom of his machine still buzzing in your ears. “Are you sure?” You asked, trying to hide how desperate you were not to spend another night in the empty infirmary with a man you barely knew. “It’s not that bad, I can go for another—”

“I’m sure. Sit up, I’ll let you have a look.”

You pursed your lips, but didn’t protest. You could see how Wriothesley had gotten into such an authoritative position. The way he spoke, his constant undertone of stern stability – it was hard to so much as imagine talking back to him, let alone breaking one of the rules that’d been meticulously and painstakingly drilled into you when you’d arrived at the Fortress of Meropide a little under a week ago. Still, you’d been terrified – too scared to so much as speak to another prisoner for the first two days. You weren’t dangerous. You couldn’t hold your own in a fight, or protect yourself if someone else, someone stronger decided they had a problem with you. You could barely even call yourself a criminal, but apparently, the Iudex hadn’t agreed. You’d been on your way to the fortress before he could finish reading out your sentence, and now, you were trapped in the darkest, deepest place in all of Fontaine, alone and so, so painfully vulnerable. If it hadn’t been for Wriothesley, you probably would’ve requested to forgo your imprisonment entirely and be sent straight to the gallows.

A hand on your shoulder, a softened lull to his voice. “You can sit up, can’t you? I’ll have to call Sigewinne, if you’re in that much pain.”

“Right, I— uh, sorry,” You stammered as you shook your head and pushed yourself up, careful to keep the thick, overly starched cot sheet pressed to your chest. The infirmary was empty, the door locked and sealed, and while Wriothesley hadn’t seemed to think much of ordering you to take off your shirt and lay face-down, you couldn’t bring yourself to brush off the stark, damp chill that came with any amount of exposure in the fortress so easily. You guessed that, after enough time, you’d get used to it. You guessed that, when you did, the thought of not being so cold so constantly wouldn’t make you feel so sick. “I…  I think I’m still getting used to this,” you went on, with a strained smile. “Still a little out of it, I guess.”

“That’s alright, love. We all take a few months to find a way to cope.” When you glanced over your shoulder, there was already a mirror in his hand – a compact, small enough to fit in his palm. You had to crane your neck to see it, but Wriothesley knew how to strike the right angle, and soon enough, the sprawling, spiraling pattern stretching from the lower curve of your shoulder blade to the ball of your shoulder came into view. It took you a moment to make out the pattern, but relief accompanied the delayed realization. Lumidouce bells, all blossoming and linked together by a single vine. He’d finished the linework, and there was a smattering of color in the bottom corner – only, oh, he’d gotten the shade wrong. Rather than deep violet, he’d used a light blue, more similar to ice than the water nearly everything in Fontaine stole its palette from. Judging by his expression, though, all beaming pride and low-brewing mirth, he hadn’t caught the mistake. “What do you think? Don’t keep me in suspense, now.”

“It’s… nice,” you said, the sentiment sincere despite your hesitance. And then, laughing, “I was—Well, it feels a little silly now, but I was terrified you’d leave me with, I don’t know, a sea monster or a giant wolf or something.”

“Maybe next time. Not a wolf, though - you don’t strike me as that vicious.” You bit your tongue, forcing yourself not to tell him there wouldn’t be a next time and opting to focus on the soreness starting to knot in your shoulder, instead. You swung your legs over the side of the cot, moving towards where you’d left your shirt draped over an unopened crate, but Wriothesley caught your wrist, tugging you gently back onto the thin mattress. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his playfulness suddenly more irritating than it had been, a few second ago. “I don’t think we’re finished, yet.”

Not for the first time, your smile wavered. “I… I thought we only agreed to one, sir.”

“Of course.” He squeezed your wrist teasingly. “One of each.”

Something heavy and spiked dropped into the pit of your stomach. This time, you couldn’t help the way your expression dropped. “Sir, that’s really not what I—”

“It’ll be worse the longer you put it off.” You weren’t dangerous. You weren’t a criminal. You weren’t strong, but Wriothesley was. Before you could so much as push yourself to your feet, his arm was around your waist and he was perched on the edge of the cot, one leg tucked underneath him to make more room for your body, soon pulled between his thighs. The back of your shoulder screamed where it pressed into his chest, but you managed to swallow the little, pitiful sound threatening to bubble past your lips and clung to your sheet – suddenly so much thinner than it’d seemed, seconds prior. If Wriothesley noticed your apparent panic, the distress of his prisoners was an inconvenience he was willing to endure. Only half-consciously, you tried to shove yourself away from him, but his muscle-bound arm was snaked around your waist before you could gain any distance, keeping you flush against his broad chest. He was so much bigger than you’d realized, when he was on the other side of that desk, when he was engraving something intrusive and permanent into the very fabric of your being. This had been a bad idea. Trusting anyone here had been a bad idea. You should never have—

Your elbow slammed into his diaphragm, and Wriothesley let out a slow grunt, his fingers burrowing into the plush of your side. “Easy now, love,” he half-muttered, half-breathed, bowing his head to speak into the side of your throat. “We had a deal, remember? Can you tell me what it was?”

“You—you said I wouldn’t get hurt if—” You forced yourself to stop, to swallow, to breathe. “But, I only agreed to get one tattoo, and you—”

“I said I’d take care of you. Get you a nice, cushy job with the fortress administrator, keep you out of any over-crowded bunks, make sure the other prisoners don’t cause you any trouble – that kind of thing. I’m really not supposed to play favorites, so even doing that much is going to take more than a little discretion on my part.”

“But, you offered to—”

“I said I’d take care of you, and I’m going to.” You could see him fishing something off of the bedside table with his free hand, but you forced yourself not to look, not to make the ever-growing pit in your stomach feel that much more hollow. “You’ve heard a few stories about what it’s like in the underworld, right? I try to keep all of you nice n’ safe, but a few are bound to fall through the cracks. Rehabilitation can only do so much and—well, I’m sure you know all about how bloodthirsty desperation can make someone.” There was a pause, an ebbing lull to the tenderness in his voice. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, sweetheart. Are you going to help me get a little practice in, while I do that?”

Practice. If he wanted practice, you were sure there were another hundred prisoners who’d willingly lay down and let him carve a hole through whatever he wanted to. Still, you did your best to calm yourself down, to stop thrashing, to shut your eyes and try to ignore the large, pulsing thing you could feel pressing into your ass. You didn’t nod, didn’t give him permission, but when his fist balled around the infirmary sheet and tugged it away from you, the only resistance you managed to scrape up was a slight frown and a wary glance in his direction. “You’re already in for a rough night,” he explained, as if that was any excuse. “Might as well get the hardest one out of the way first, right?”

You refused to let yourself linger on the implication that this wasn’t going to be the last, too.

You clenched your eyes shut as his large hand pawed at the right side of your chest, kneading into the softened flesh with an almost delicate sort of care. “It’s easier after a little stimulation,” he murmured, as if that meant he had to spend so long circling your nipple with a calloused thumb, occasionally swiping over the sensitive bud in a way that made your thighs twitch and your face burn. When your nipple was stiff and pebbled, he pulled away, but it was a momentary reprieve – torn away from you with a splash of freezing disinfectant. It dripped down your chest and filled the stagnant air with a thick, chemical haze as Wriothesley caught your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching tightly. You felt the long, curved tip of his piercing needle against your skin, and braced yourself for the pain. Wriothesley wasn’t kind enough not to drag it out, though. “Wanna count me down?”

You shook your head, pushing yourself that much closer to his chest, desperate for any kind of stability. You’d hoped that Wriothesley would take your clear obstinance as a sign not to drag it out any longer, but he seemed to savor it – the agony of the wait, the way the dread seemed to multiply tenfold every time you forced yourself to suck in a ragged inhale. Seconds seemed to pass like frozen honey, only just beginning to drip. You’d started to think he wouldn’t do it, that he’d just laugh and admit this was all part of some bizarre, invasive hazing ritual when Wriothesley let out an airy chuckle and plunged his needle into you.

Oh, archons.

You really thought the tattoo would’ve been worse.

It was faster, at least; a bright shock of pain followed immediately by a steady, throbbing sort of ache that seemed to drown out every other sensation and fill your mind with a buzzing, numbing static. You didn’t realize your eyes had shot open on reflex until tears blurred your vision, until you glanced down just in time to watch as he dragged the needle through and replaced it with a small, silver stud – a barbell, as wrong as it felt to think of yourself having something so vulgar attached to you. You were crying unabashedly by the time he finished, pain and humiliation dripping down your cheeks in hot, wet streams, but Wriothesley’s shallow pool of sympathy must’ve run dry. “Ah, don’t make that face, sweetheart – we’re only halfway done.” You felt him panting into the crook of your neck as his hand found the other side of your chest. The last threads of his veil of composure frayed and broke apart as he groped unabashedly at your chest, toying with your nipple as your sobs echoed off of the clinic walls. You felt something thick and hot and wet crash against your collarbone and drip down the curve of your chest, and forced yourself to believe it was only disinfectant. That there was nothing it could’ve been except disinfectant.

Wriothesley’s hips rocked against your ass, the rigid outline of his cock pressing into you, incinerating any lingering delusions you might’ve had of helpful prison wardens exchanging one favor for another. Five fingers bit into the plush of your chest as he brought his needle to your unmutilated nipple, his hand surprisingly steady despite the airy, drawling moans he was pouring into your throat. “P-please don’t,” you managed, fighting to speak above the pathetic cries and choking fear doing their best to strangle out your voice. “Please, I can’t—I don’t want to—”

But, Wriothesley wasn’t listening. It wasn’t a spark, this time, but a red-hot knife, stabbed deep into your chest and twisted as far as it could go. You heard Wriothesley let out a rough groan, felt something warm and damp against your ass, and then, you were gone.

~

You startled awake hours later; bolting upright as you heaved in jolting, uneven inhales. Immediately, pain knocked you out of your panicked daze – sharp and piercing, imbedded into the back of your shoulder and either side of your chest, strong enough to remind you to measure out your breathing and calm down before you blindly threw yourself back into a seething pit of violent criminals. It took you a second to realize that you weren’t on an undersized infirmary cot, anymore, and another to piece together where he’d taken you – a bedroom nearly triple the size of your bunk. The warden’s chambers, you figured, as you scanned over the limited decoration and piles of dust-coated paperwork stacked onto every possible surface. Wriothesley’s room.

Wriothesley’s bed, at that. A cold chill ran down your spine as you realized that he’d taken the time to strip you out of your ill-fitting coveralls and redress you in a shirt sizes too big to be one of yours – the bleached, threadbare material a stark contrast to the satin sheets draped over your legs. You started to push them away and move towards the edge of the mattress, but froze as a door on the far side of the room creaked open – Wriothesley slipping inside and letting the door shut behind him. He moved away from it quickly, but as it closed, you could’ve sworn you heard the muffled, deafening click of a lock sliding into place and cutting you off from the rest of the world – or, the rest of the underworld, rather. As if there was anyone out there who would bother to save you, even if they could try.

“There’s my sleeping beauty.” He grinned as he lowered himself on the side of the bed, positioning himself closer to you than he absolutely had to. He reached out, moving to cup your face, but quickly let his hand fall back to his side when you flinched away. His smile dimmed, but didn’t fall away. “Get a chance to see the improvements, yet?”

After a second of hesitation, you shook your head, and he nodded to your chest - the gesture more of an order than a suggestion. Reluctantly, you pinched your collar between two fingers and peeled away from your skin. Through the narrow sliver, you could see his handiwork: a pair of twin rings hanging from either nipple, connected by a thin, lax, silver chain – so light, you could barely feel it brushing your diaphragm as the air caught in your chest.

You dropped the collar before you could give in to the nausea beginning to coil in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t bear to look at Wriothesley, so you kept your eyes on the sheets, kneading at the fabric half-consciously as you struggled to find your voice. “That wasn’t what we agreed to,” you muttered, mostly under your breath. “Can I go back to my bunk, now?”

His smile took on an almost apologetic note. You tried again. “Am I... Am I going to be able to leave?”

This time, when he reached out, flinching away wasn’t enough to stop him – his hand catching your chin and drawing you that much closer to him. You tried to lurch away, but it was too late, his lips were already crashing into yours, his tongue already slipping past your teeth and raking over your own. While your eyes widened in shock, his went half-lidded, closing just a second too late. Abruptly, it occurred to you that you’d never really noticed the color of his eyes – a pale, faded blue. The color of the half-formed flowers currently stretching across your back.

Wriothesley’s hand slipped to the nape of your neck. You let your eyes fall shut, and did your best not to think at all.